During lunch break, no one knew who let slip that Hogwarts would be hosting a ball at Christmas, but the unverified rumor spread like wildfire through every corner of the school. While the young witches and wizards buzzed with excitement and anticipation, an official announcement from the four Heads of House ignited the fervor brewing among the students.
On Thursday evening, all Gryffindor students in fourth year and above were summoned by their prefects to a room lined with mirrors. Professor McGonagall was already waiting, standing beside a tall gramophone.
Evidently, the Muggle contraption next to Professor McGonagall piqued the curiosity of many students from wizarding families. Muggle technology rarely functioned near Hogwarts, so for some, this was their first close encounter with an ordinary electronic device.
Harry recalled seeing Nicolas Flamel tinkering with a similar radio in the research wing last term. Professor Stanislav had mentioned it was part of a magical science project. Had they really perfected it in just half a year?
Once most of the Gryffindor fourth years and above had arrived, Professor McGonagall instructed everyone to split into two groups—boys and girls. She then stepped to the center of the room and raised a hand to silence the crowd, particularly the girls, who were whispering excitedly.
"I'm aware that a certain rumor about Christmas has been circulating," Professor McGonagall said, her sharp gaze sweeping over the students. "Some of you may already know that Hogwarts will indeed host a Christmas Ball. But let me make this clear: the Yule Ball, a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament, is both an excellent opportunity to connect with our foreign guests and a chance to relax and express yourselves. The ball is open only to fourth years and above, though you may invite a younger student if you wish. However, I do not want to see any first or second years at the Yule Ball. Is that understood?"
A ripple of laughter broke out among the girls, but it quickly subsided under McGonagall's stern gesture.
"I trust you've all received your dress robes," she continued. "At the Yule Ball, everyone must wear their dress robes—no exceptions, unless you choose not to attend. The ball will begin at eight o'clock on Christmas evening in the Great Hall and continue until midnight. During that time, you may, well… let your hair down and enjoy yourselves…"
McGonagall's tone carried a hint of disapproval, prompting stifled laughter not just from the girls but from the boys as well. Ron, catching a hair-related joke, began whispering to Dean, who was seated beside him.
There was something absurd about hearing "let your hair down" from Professor McGonagall, whose own hair was always tightly pinned in a severe bun.
Ignoring the chuckles, she pressed on. "…But that does not mean we will relax our expectations for Hogwarts students' behavior. If I catch any Gryffindor bringing shame to this school in any way, their holiday might not be particularly pleasant."
"And now…" McGonagall drew her wand and pointed it at the gramophone by the door. The play button clicked, and a gentle waltz flowed from the machine's large speakers.
"First, I'll demonstrate," she said, her eyes scanning the boys before settling on one. "Mr. Weasley, come forward."
She beckoned to Ron, who pointed at himself with a bewildered expression. Clearly, he'd been too busy joking with Dean to notice what McGonagall had been saying.
What followed could be summed up in three sentences:
A confused Ron Weasley was conscripted as a teaching aid.
A rigid Ron Weasley danced a waltz with Professor McGonagall to the soft music.
An exhausted Ron Weasley earned applause and cheers from the boys—and wished he could cast Obliviate on the entire room.
After the dance lesson, Hermione was asked to stay behind by Professor McGonagall. A few minutes later, she hurried out of the classroom.
"Hermione, what did McGonagall want?" Ron asked curiously as the trio made their way back to Gryffindor Tower.
"Just a small matter," Hermione replied, glancing briefly at Harry, who was walking silently beside her. She quickly changed the subject. "By the way, have you two finished your homework? We've got Divination tomorrow, don't we?"
Ron, suddenly remembering his untouched Divination assignment, turned to Harry with a pleading look. "Harry, my best mate…"
The next morning at breakfast, Professor McGonagall began registering students staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. Nearly every fourth year and above signed the list, including Harry, who hesitated before adding his name. It seemed all the older students planned to stay—except one: Malfoy.
"Sneaking off home alone… hmph!" Ron scoffed upon learning Malfoy hadn't signed the list. "I bet he's up to no good, the git. Right, Harry? Harry?"
Getting no response, Ron turned to find Harry staring blankly at a pork chop on his plate.
"Still thinking about dance partners?" Ron mumbled through a mouthful of bacon, watching a gaggle of giggling girls pass the Gryffindor table. "I'm the same. Ever since I heard we need partners for the ball, it's all I can think about. Honestly, four years here, and I never noticed how many girls there are at Hogwarts…"
Harry didn't reply, still fixated on his pork chop.
The final week of term grew livelier and noisier by the day. Rumors about the Yule Ball swirled, most of them dubious—like the claim that Dumbledore had ordered eight hundred barrels of mulled mead from Madam Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks. However, judging by people's reactions, the rumor that Dumbledore had booked the Weird Sisters for the ball seemed plausible.
The Weird Sisters, whatever or whoever they were, baffled students like Harry, who'd grown up in Muggle households and never listened to the Wizarding Wireless Network. Even so, those raised in wizarding families spoke of the musical group with reverence.
Some professors, seeing the students' lack of focus, gave up on lessons. Professor Flitwick, for instance, let them play games during his Wednesday class. But such leniency was rare. Aside from Lockhart, who barely showed up to teach, no professor wanted their classroom turned into a playground. Snape even announced he'd test their antidote potions in the final class of term.
"That greasy kelp is pure evil!" Ron grumbled that evening in the Gryffindor common room, building a castle with his Exploding Snap cards. "He's deliberately trying to ruin our Christmas!"
No one responded. Hermione was curled up in an armchair, reading Hogwarts: A History, while Harry, as usual lately, was unusually quiet.
True to his word, Snape chose Harry as his test subject in the last class before the holidays. After pouring an entire vial of poison down Harry's throat, he gleefully selected Hermione's antidote and forced Harry to drink that too.
Finally, with the second snowfall, the Christmas holidays arrived. Nearly all first years and most second years went home, leaving the third years and a few hopeful second years wondering if someone might invite them to the ball.
After visiting Hagrid's hut, Harry, Hermione, and Neville dragged a bored Ron to the library to research the golden egg.
On the way, they passed clusters of girls in the corridors, on the staircases, and outside the library, chattering excitedly about what they'd wear to the ball. Whenever a boy walked by, they erupted into giggles.
"Why do they always move in packs?" Ron muttered in the library, staring at a group of girls huddled nearby. "If they'd just wander off alone, we could grab one and ask her to the ball…"
Bored by the library's stifling silence, Ron scanned the room, then spotted a familiar figure. "Hey! It's Krum! Harry! Neville! It's Krum!" He nearly leapt from his chair, lowering his voice in excitement. "Who d'you reckon his partner will be? I bet it's Fleur. She's the only one who could match him… Oh! Krum just glanced our way! Merlin, I'm done for."
The listless Ron from moments ago was gone, replaced by a hound catching a scent, circling the Quidditch star with glee.
Another figure circling like a hound was Rita Skeeter.
Ever since Hermione had faced down a dragon in the first task, Rita seemed to stalk them in Hogsmeade, as if she had a Marauder's Map pinpointing Harry and Hermione. Unable to interview Hermione directly, Rita had shifted her focus to those around her, starting with Hagrid.
During a visit to Hagrid's hut, he mentioned the irritating reporter. "That Rita Skeeter?" Hagrid said, handling dragon liver. "She interviewed me. I thought she was interested in magical creatures—after all, that's the only thing about me worth a reporter's time. But she kept steering the conversation to you, Hermione."
Hagrid scratched his head, turning to her. "Kept asking what you're like, whether you've got boyfriends, if you're a troublemaker. Hermione, that Rita Skeeter seemed dead set on me badmouthing you…"
"Typical," Hermione said, sipping her tea. "Rita Skeeter's nothing but a gossipmonger. She even wrote in the Daily Prophet that Harry's a fragile, weepy wreck."
"Harry? Weepy?" Hagrid glanced at Harry, baffled. "How'd she link him to that?"
"So, Hagrid," Hermione advised, "if Rita Skeeter comes sniffing around again, just refuse her. Otherwise, who knows how she'll twist your words."
"Don't worry, Hermione. I'm careful. She won't get anything out of me!" Hagrid thumped his chest confidently, prompting Harry and Ron, mid-sip, to choke on their tea.
"What's wrong?" Hagrid asked, his innocent eyes darting between them.
"Cough… tea's too hot…" Harry wheezed, pounding his chest, while Ron nodded vigorously, doing the same.
The conversation soon turned to the Yule Ball.
"You going to that blasted ball, Hagrid?" Ron asked.
"Might pop in," Hagrid said, his gaze flickering toward the Beauxbatons carriage. "Olympe thinks… er, I mean, I think it'll be lively. Oh, Hermione, aren't you leading the opening dance? Who're you taking?"
"Er… I haven't decided yet…" Hermione's eyes darted around, her face flushing in the firelight.
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