Hurry Up and Get Dressed

Youth is a fleeting and beautiful time.

Professor McGonagall watched them, and for a moment, she seemed to see a reflection of her own fifteen- or sixteen-year-old self.

Harry's transformation pleased her the most.

Dressed in formal robes, his hair neatly combed, and carrying himself with a scholarly air—this was how Hogwarts' top student should look. His usual demeanor made him seem more like a knight, someone who would blend seamlessly among the castle's armor displays.

Hermione was the same.

She had always been an adorable girl, yet she stubbornly refused to dress up. Just like Harry—two of a kind.

From the shadows, Snape stood watching, his gaze locked onto Hermione rather than Harry. In his dark eyes, another fifteen-year-old girl flickered, her image superimposed upon the young Gryffindor before him.

As the other students, led by their professors, entered the Great Hall, they were met with an unfamiliar arrangement.

Instead of the usual four long tables, the hall was set up with round tables. Once everyone was seated, Professor McGonagall led the three Triwizard Champions and their partners through the doors.

All eyes were on them.

They stepped onto a long red carpet, walking slowly forward as the Sorting Hat hummed a soft tune.

George and Fred, each with a dance partner, craned their necks, their hands itching to play a certain famous piano piece.

But they didn't dare.

If they so much as hummed a note, Harry and Hermione would have them strung up and hexed before the night was over.

At the far end of the hall stood a larger round table. The judges and professors were already seated, and six vacant chairs were clearly reserved for the Champions and their partners.

"Please take your seats, Champions," McGonagall instructed as she moved toward her own place beside Dumbledore.

Without hesitation, Harry led Hermione to the seat furthest from Karkaroff.

Fleur sighed in disappointment. She had wanted to sit beside Harry, but wearing high heels made it impossible to keep up with his pace. Instead, she abandoned her own partner and claimed the third-furthest seat.

Karkaroff wasn't having a good night.

Even Fawkes had taken a swipe at him, burning off his sleeve—a wound that no repairing charm could mend. He had to use Transfiguration to piece together a temporary fix.

And that lingering stench of bird droppings? It still hadn't faded.

No matter how many times he waved his wand and muttered Scourgify, the offensive odor clung stubbornly to him. Who knew how Crookshanks and Hedwig had managed it?

Everyone at the table found him unbearable.

Gryffindor students had already begun spreading rumors that "Karkaroff prefers to sleep in chicken coops."

Dumbledore stood up, gave a long-winded speech about the beauty of youth—far longer than usual—before finally announcing the start of the feast.

The Hufflepuffs and Ron had been waiting impatiently, but no food appeared on the table. Instead, a small golden menu materialized in front of each student.

Dumbledore picked up his menu, pondered for a long while, and was about to speak when McGonagall swiftly cut him off.

"Please do not order cockroach clusters. This is a Christmas feast—let's not ruin the atmosphere."

Dumbledore sighed, deliberated a moment longer, then reluctantly said, "Pork chops."

A plate of sizzling pork chops instantly appeared before him.

Hufflepuffs and Ron's eyes gleamed with excitement.

They could order their food tonight? No more rummaging through heaps of dishes just to find something they liked?

The hall instantly erupted into lively chatter.

"Harry, you look fantastic tonight," Dumbledore complimented him warmly. "You really should dress like this more often."

McGonagall nodded in agreement.

"It's too much of a hassle," Harry replied flatly, ordering a simple steak. "I wasted over an hour just for this look."

"Even if not so formal," Fleur interjected, "at least put in some effort on normal days?"

"You both should, actually," she added, eyeing Hermione. "I have to admit, you do look quite beautiful tonight."

Harry shook his head. "It's impractical for combat. I feel like my clothes would tear if I had to roll on the ground, and they wouldn't even block a single spell."

Fleur blinked in surprise.

Krum also turned to look at him, clearly startled.

Why is he even thinking about combat?

This is school.

McGonagall's expression stiffened. She coughed lightly. "Hogwarts is a safe place. Mr. Potter just… lacks a sense of security."

Harry nodded. "Professor McGonagall is right."

Karkaroff sneered. Maxime grinned broadly.

A few glasses of gin later, the four younger attendees relaxed, chatting more freely. Fleur and Krum's partners barely spoke, clearly out of place at this table.

Krum shared stories about Durmstrang, Fleur boasted about Beauxbatons—before long, they were arguing over which school was better.

Dumbledore and the professors exchanged jokes—particularly ones involving rabbits.

Finally, Hermione realized what Dumbledore had tried to say that day.

She shot him a deadly glare. Old pervert.

Then she turned to Harry.

At least he was serious and proper—not one for such nonsense.

—

The feast ended with an astonished gasp from the Hufflepuffs.

Dumbledore gestured for the students to rise. With a wave of his wand, the tables transformed into elegant decorations surrounding the now-empty dance floor.

The teachers' area shifted and rose into a stage where the renowned Weird Sisters took their places.

Despite their misleading name, the eight-member band consisted entirely of wizards, and their style was surprisingly calm.

A gentle melody, like a flowing stream, filled the hall.

Harry extended his hand.

Hermione, blushing, placed her hand in his.

Together, they stepped onto the dance floor.

Krum and Fleur only seemed to react then, politely inviting their partners before following suit.

Dancing was not Harry and Hermione's strong suit.

Despite McGonagall's lessons, they were still clumsy.

Hermione's high heels and elegant dress didn't help—her steps were hesitant, and they moved awkwardly, far less graceful than the other two champions.

Yet all eyes were on them.

Unlike Fleur and Krum, who kept a courteous distance from their partners, Harry and Hermione—despite their obvious inexperience—moved together as one.

They embraced the moment, fully immersed in the music, their awkwardness somehow endearing rather than embarrassing.

As the song ended, Hermione let out a soft laugh, breathless but happy.

"Harry, I was terrible. I must have stepped on you so many times."

"At least it was the top of my shoe and not the heel," Harry noted.

Hermione playfully nudged his chest. "If I had worn stilettos, I wouldn't have made it across the floor."

Ron came bounding over—then stopped abruptly, reconsidering.

He waited until the second dance began before finally joining in with Lavender.

After three songs, Hermione was exhausted.

Harry helped her to a seat, and Ron, after some hesitation, followed suit with Lavender.

"You two were amazing!" Lavender gushed excitedly.

Hermione smiled, shaking her head. "We were so clumsy."

"But the feeling was perfect," Lavender insisted, eyes shining. "Professor Trelawney once predicted you two were soulmates, and she was right."

Ron scoffed. "I don't think you need a Seer to figure that out."

"But Trelawney predicted it first!" Lavender turned to Ron with wide eyes.

Ron frowned. "We didn't even take Divination until third year."

Lavender blinked.

She turned back to Harry and Hermione, suddenly confused.

Had they always been this way—even before third year?

Fleur, still unwilling to admit defeat, approached to invite Harry for a dance.

He refused outright.

One after another, others followed—some witches, a few wizards—but Harry turned them all down.

Even Ron barely got a word in.

Harry leaned toward Hermione, whispering, "Feeling better?"

"Much." Hermione blushed, nodding. She leaned in slightly as well. "Want to go for a walk?"

Harry nodded and pulled out his wand.

With a flick, her high heels transformed into comfortable flats.

Hand in hand, they slipped out of the hall.

Ron made to follow—only for Lavender to yank him back into the dance.

George and Fred clapped him on the shoulder.

"Let them be, mate," George said sagely.

"Yeah," Fred added. "They've got something way more important going on."

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Powerstones?

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