Flames Of Destiny // HJP [1]

Chapter Fourteen : The Yuleball 🐦‍🔥

「 ✦ 14 ✦ 」

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆

⋆˚࿔ (Y/N) 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𝕯ᥱs⍴і𝗍ᥱ the heavy load of homework the fourth years had been assigned for the holidays, (Y/n) had no desire to work once term ended. Instead, she spent the week before Christmas keeping herself busy with a personal project: redesigning the maroon satin dress Mrs Weasley had packed for her. She holed up in the girls' dormitory, using the dress as an excuse to avoid Hermione without raising suspicions—not just with her, but with Harry and Ron as well.

The dress had potential, but (Y/n) was determined to make it her own. She planned to make it sleeveless, trim the lace, and add a small slit up one leg—nothing too daring, just enough to make it fit her better. Her days were spent working on the alterations, with Parvati and Lavender occasionally popping in to admire her progress, offering compliments and asking questions about her design.

Hermione, however, was more persistent. She would try to draw (Y/n) into conversation, chatting about what she, Harry, and Ron had been up to. It was during one of these exchanges that (Y/n) learned Gryffindor Tower was as crowded as ever. If anything, it seemed to have shrunk slightly, with its residents more rowdy than usual. Fred and George's latest prank—a batch of Canary Creams—had caused chaos for the first few days of the holidays. Feathers erupted everywhere as students bit into the enchanted sweets, but by now, most of Gryffindor had learned to treat any food offered to them with caution. (Y/n) was no exception, wary of falling victim to the twins' tricks.

Though she didn't want to talk to Hermione—embarrassed as she was about her feelings regarding Viktor Krum—(Y/n) couldn't bring herself to brush her off entirely. After all, it wasn't Hermione's fault Krum liked her. The truth was painfully clear: Krum had never been interested in (Y/n); she was simply a tool. And yet, she found it difficult to shake her feelings of hurt, even though she knew they were silly.

She could tell Hermione wanted to say something—there was a certain look in her eyes, a kind of hesitation—but she never did. (Y/n) had a hunch that Hermione was dying to reveal who her date to the Yule Ball was, but the unspoken tension between them kept the conversation at bay. In some small way, it was a relief. (Y/n) wasn't ready to hear about Hermione's excitement just yet, at least not while her own feelings were still so raw.

She knew she was being unreasonable, but she also knew she had every right to feel the way she did. Processing her emotions took time, and if Hermione was going to share her news, (Y/n) wanted to be in the right frame of mind—genuine, not secretly holding a grudge or feeling irritated. She wanted to be fair, both to herself and to Hermione.

Snow was now falling heavily over the castle and its grounds. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a frosted pumpkin sitting beside Hagrid's cabin, which itself resembled an iced gingerbread house. Meanwhile, the Durmstrang ship sat ominously on the lake, its portholes glazed with ice, and its rigging coated in frost. (Y/n) had long stopped looking towards the Durmstrang ship, hoping to catch a glimpse of Krum.

Down in the kitchens, the house-elves were outdoing themselves with rich stews and hearty puddings to ward off the winter chill. Only Fleur Delacour seemed to find anything to complain about.

"Zis food, it is too 'eavy," they overheard her grumbling as they left the Great Hall one evening (with Ron skulking behind Harry, eager not to be spotted by Fleur). "I will not fit into my dress robes!"