tradition

09

Harry Potter trudged through the crowded Great Hall, his mind awash with regret and uncertainty. As he neared the long Gryffindor table, Parvati and Padma Patil caught sight of him.

"Hi, Harry!" they chimed in unison, their voices filled with warmth.

Harry offered them a kind wave, his eyes lingering for a moment on Parvati's bright smile. But his gaze soon drifted past her to a small group of Ravenclaws seated a few tables away. Among them was Briar, her curly hair framing a face set in a melancholy expression as she quietly ate her breakfast. She sat with Eloise, Georgia, and Cedric, but seemed distant, absorbed in the sad news of the Daily Prophet. Harry felt a pang of guilt. Briar's current misery was, undeniably, a result of his careless actions.

"Ugh! She's done it again. Just listen," Hermione groaned from across the table, her voice tinged with frustration as she read aloud from the newspaper. "Miss Rose, an ambitious and beautiful girl, seems to have developed a taste for the Triwizard champions. Her latest prey, sources report, is none other than Cedric Diggory. The girl could be seen cheering loudly for her best friend's brother. How will Harry Potter handle this heartbreak?"

Hermione shot a sympathetic look towards Briar, who winced as the words pierced through her morning routine. Briar turned slightly to glance at the Gryffindor table, her eyes meeting Harry's just as he accidentally sputtered out pumpkin juice. His cheeks flushed a deep crimson as he hastily dried his chin. Briar's sigh was almost imperceptible, but Cedric, sitting beside her, noticed and leaned in.

"Are you ever going to talk to him?" Cedric asked gently.

Briar shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's the one who decided to go talking about me to Rita Skeeter."

Cedric frowned in confusion. "That's not what he said happened. Rita pressured him into mentioning you, but Harry never said your name."

Briar looked back at Harry, her mind clouded with conflicting emotions. Just then, a scene near the Gryffindor table drew her attention. Ron Weasley had pulled out a frilly, lace-trimmed gown from a box, his face a mask of horror.

"Mum sent me a dress!" Ron exclaimed, holding it up against his body in disbelief. "Ginny, these must be for you," he said, thrusting the gown towards his sister.

"I'm not wearing that, it's ghastly!" Ginny retorted, her expression one of pure disgust.

Ron furrowed his eyebrows, looking even more perplexed as Hermione tried to stifle her laughter. "What're you laughing about?" Ron snapped.

"They're not for Ginny, they're for you. Dress robes," Hermione explained, her amusement evident.

The surrounding students burst into laughter, and Briar, who had overheard the entire exchange, couldn't help but giggle at Ron's predicament.

~

"The Yule Ball has been a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament since its inception. On Christmas Eve night, we and our guests gather in the Great Hall for a night of well-mannered frivolity. As representatives of the host school, I expect every one of you to put your best foot forward. And I mean this literally, because the Yule Ball is first and foremost, a dance," Professor McGonagall's voice echoed through the Gryffindor common room, her tone both stern and encouraging.

The girls, seated on one side of the room, erupted into excited chatter. "A dance? Oh no... Mum's going to make me wear heels," Eloise groaned, her face scrunched up in apprehension.

Meanwhile, the boys on the other side grumbled in unison, their collective dread palpable.

"The House of Godric Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the wizarding world for nearly ten centuries. I will not have you, in the course of a single evening, besmirching that name by behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons," McGonagall continued, her gaze sweeping over the assembled students.