The Legacy

Hot and Spicy

After what felt like an eternity of slow, intimate dancing, the music shifted, becoming faster and livelier. The gentle sway between Selena and I transitioned into something more upbeat, and before I knew it, other students began flooding the dance floor, filling the space with energy. I caught sight of Ginny and Neville awkwardly stepping to the rhythm, both laughing as they tried to keep up. Mike, who wasn't exactly the most coordinated dancer, was giving it his all with exaggerated, goofy moves that made everyone around him laugh. Even Madame Maxime, towering over the other dancers, was twirling gracefully with a partner, her movements surprisingly delicate. Then, to my surprise, I saw Professor Dumbledore himself—his long silver beard swaying in time with his robes—as he moved with unexpected grace across the floor.

As I glanced around, I noticed that every champion was dancing with their partner. Viktor Krum was leading Hermione through the crowd with surprising elegance, and Cedric was dancing with Cho Chang, both smiling as they moved to the faster rhythm. But when I scanned the room, I realized that one pair was missing—Harry and Ron.

Looking over, I spotted them sitting at a table, both looking less than thrilled. Their expressions were a mix of frustration and boredom, and it didn't take long to figure out why. Their dates to the ball had run off to dance with some boys from Beauxbatons, leaving Harry and Ron alone to sulk at the sidelines.

I followed Harry's gaze and saw where his attention was fixed—on Cho and Cedric, laughing together as they danced close, seemingly lost in their own world. A pang of sympathy hit me for Harry. It was obvious how much he liked Cho, and seeing her so happy with Cedric had to be tough. His face was trying to hide the disappointment, but I could see it clearly. Ron, meanwhile, was muttering something under his breath, likely still annoyed at the disaster his own night had turned into.

I couldn't help but feel bad for Harry. This was supposed to be a magical night for all of us, but for him, it was clearly turning into something else entirely.

Dumbledore was waltzing with Madame Maxime. He was so dwarfed by her that the top of his pointed hat barely tickled her chin; however, she moved very gracefully for a woman so large. Mad-Eye Moody was doing an extremely ungainly two-step with Professor Sinistra, who was nervously avoiding his wooden leg.

Selena and I continued to sway gently on the dance floor, lost in our own little world, when something suddenly caught her attention. With a surprising urgency, she grabbed my cheek, forcing me to look into her vibrant green eyes, and quietly instructed me over the thumping music, "Don't stare, but look." I felt a surge of confusion but nodded, trusting her instincts.

She gracefully spun us around, and I found myself turning to face whatever had piqued her interest. My gaze drifted upwards, and what I saw was jarring. There, across the crowded dance floor, Ron was animatedly yelling at Hermione, his face flushed with frustration. Hermione, in stark contrast, looked devastated, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. It was as if a storm had erupted amidst the joyous atmosphere of the ball.

I glanced back at Selena, noting the worried expression etched across her features. Her brow furrowed, and I could see that she was genuinely concerned. Before I could voice my thoughts or offer any reassurance, the tension escalated. In a sudden burst of emotion, Hermione shot to her feet, her chair clattering backward as she stormed off across the dance floor. She pushed through the throngs of students, her face set in a mixture of hurt and determination, quickly disappearing into the swirling crowd.

Ron stood frozen, watching her go with a strange blend of anger and satisfaction that I couldn't quite comprehend. His eyes betrayed a sense of triumph that seemed wholly inappropriate given the situation. I felt my stomach twist as I processed what had just unfolded, the earlier festive atmosphere now feeling heavy and awkward, a stark contrast to the joy that had filled the room just moments before.