Just as Harry was eagerly waiting, a group of Slytherin students came up the steps from their underground common room.
Leading the way was Malfoy, wearing a high-collared robe of black velvet, looking exactly like a parish priest.
Pansy Parkinson was dressed in a frilly pale pink robe, clinging tightly to Malfoy's arm—it was clear she was his partner.
Crabbe and Goyle were both in green, like two large moss-covered boulders, standing alone and unpaired, obviously having failed to find suitable companions.
The oak front doors were opened, and everyone turned to see the Durmstrang students entering alongside Professor Karkaroff.
Krum was at the front, with a pretty Ravenclaw girl by his side.
Over their heads, a patch of lawn in front of the castle had been transformed into a grotto, twinkling with fairy lights—this meant hundreds of living fairies, some sitting in magically conjured rose bushes, others fluttering their wings atop statues that appeared to be Santa Claus and his reindeer.
At that moment, Professor McGonagall's voice rang out: "Champions over here, please!"
Professor McGonagall was wearing a red tartan robe, with a rather ugly wreath of thistles around the brim of her hat.
She had them stand by the doors to wait, letting the others go in first. Once the students were seated, the champions would process into the hall in pairs. Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies were standing closest to the doors.
Davies seemed unable to believe his luck in landing Fleur as a partner; his eyes were practically glued to her.
"He's so pathetic," Ron whispered critically about Davies. "I bet he feels proud, like he's never had a girlfriend before..."
But despite saying that, Seamus clearly didn't agree.
"If it were me, I'd be over the moon too—after all, that's Fleur Delacour..." Seamus looked enviously at Roger Davies. "If I could be her partner, I'd even be willing to be her boyfriend!"
"Keep dreaming," Ron said, giving Seamus a disgusted look.
Seamus's partner was Lavender Brown from Gryffindor, and when Ron spoke, Lavender shot him a reproachful glance in defense of her date.
"Where's Hermione? Why hasn't she come out yet?"
Ron changed the subject; he was actually getting a bit anxious himself. The ball was about to start, and she was still nowhere in sight—he couldn't help but worry.
Suddenly, his mouth fell open in shock.
A beautiful girl entered through the doors, slender and tall, instantly capturing Ron's gaze.
It was Hermione.
But she didn't look like Hermione at all. She'd done something to her hair—it was no longer bushy but sleek and shiny, elegantly pinned up in a bun at the back of her head.
She wore a robe of floaty periwinkle-blue material, and somehow her whole demeanor was different—perhaps simply because she'd shed the twenty-odd thick books she usually carried everywhere.
She was smiling—of course, a bit nervously—but her front teeth, now smaller, looked even tinier.
Ron's mouth went dry, and he began to question his sanity. Was something wrong with his eyes?
No, how had he never noticed before that Hermione was this pretty?
Now it was clear: Hermione wasn't just a girl; she was a very pretty girl.
Hermione, of course, noticed Ron's entranced and utterly astonished stare. She felt immensely satisfied inside and mentally chided him as an idiot.
Then she walked forward and linked her arm with Ron's right one.
It was only then that Ron snapped out of it.
He could hardly believe it—this beautiful girl was his partner, the Hermione he saw every day...
Merlin's sweetest shampoo, Hermione... Hermione was actually this close...
His body suddenly stiffened, his hands unsure where to go, his brain rusted in place—he could only stare straight ahead, chest puffed out in feigned composure.
"What's wrong, Ron?" Hermione asked softly beside him.
"N-nothing," Ron replied, maintaining his puffed-up posture, as if he'd just completed a month-long boot camp for veterans.
Hermione could tell he was nervous, but to save her partner's face, she just gave a sly smile and said nothing more.
Up ahead, Professor McGonagall was questioning Harry.
"Potter, where is your partner?" Her expression was stern.
Harry thought to himself, I wish I knew where my partners have gone.
At the same time, all the students in the entrance hall turned their eyes toward Harry.
Indeed, the champion still had no date...
"Let's go in," Professor McGonagall said seriously, glancing at Harry but saying nothing more.
As a professor, she was well aware of Mr. Potter's tangled, complicated romantic entanglements. She didn't want to get involved, and she certainly wasn't going to.
Who knew if those three poor girls were dueling it out right now to decide who got to be Potter's partner?
At the thought, Professor McGonagall's expression grew even more...
Once everyone was seated in the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall had the champions and their partners line up two by two and follow her in.
They filed in, heading toward a large round table at the front where the judges sat, and the people in the hall burst into enthusiastic applause.
The walls of the Great Hall were covered in sparkling silver frost, the ceiling was a starry night sky, and hundreds of garlands woven from mistletoe and ivy hung down.
The four house tables were gone, replaced by about a hundred smaller ones lit with lanterns, each seating around a dozen people.
The champions reached the top table, where Dumbledore was smiling happily, and Karkaroff was too—his black-stained teeth more prominent than ever.
Ludo Bagman was wearing bright purple robes with large yellow stars and clapping just as enthusiastically as the students.
Madame Maxime had shed her usual black satin uniform for a flowing gown of lavender.
Harry sat down next to Viktor, feeling a bit hungry.
At this point, he wasn't too concerned about where his three partners had disappeared to; he just wanted something to eat.
"Hey," Viktor suddenly murmured.
Harry turned, looking at Viktor in confusion.
"Where is your girl?" Viktor grumbled in his thick accent, with his characteristic emphasis on the "O" sounds.
"Probably some urgent business," Harry said nonchalantly, then lowered his voice: "Compared to wondering where they are, I'd rather know how to get some food. God, I'm starving—the kitchens didn't prepare anything for us..."
But Viktor sharply caught the key word in Harry's sentence.
They?
Not "she," but "they."
Still, adhering to the principle of not asking what shouldn't be asked, Viktor decided to observe for now.
Harry rummaged in his dress robe sleeves, trying to conjure up some food for himself.
The golden plates were still empty, but there was a small menu in front of each person.
Harry picked up his menu without hesitation and looked around—no waiters. He saw Dumbledore carefully study his menu, then clearly say to his plate: "Pork chops!"
Pork chops appeared immediately. The others at the table caught on and followed suit, ordering their favorites onto their plates.
"Roast chicken," Harry said—he was craving roast chicken.
Instantly, a whole carved roast chicken appeared before him, accompanied by roasted mushrooms and potatoes, with a few bright red cherry tomatoes as garnish.
"Nice," Harry said with a smile, spearing a cherry tomato with his fork and popping it into his mouth.
It was cooked perfectly—not overdone, tangy and appetizing, ideal for a little pre-meal bite.
Veratia's temporary office.
In front of the serpentine mirror, Cassandra's jade-white fingertips lightly traced the living silver snake clasp coiled around her corset.
The magical creature, taken from the Black family dowry chest, immediately raised its head, its emerald-inlaid eyes shooting two beams of eerie light that made the dark green taffeta gown shimmer like the depths of the Black Lake.
"Purissimum sanguinem."
She lifted her chin to the mirror, her fingertips tapping lightly on the whalebone hoop.
As the incantation sounded, seven invisible silver threads emerged on the gown—emblems of the seven pure-blood families allied with the Malfoys through marriage, now transforming into flowing mithril that wove a genealogical chart in Gothic script across the hem.
This gown was left to her by her mother... hidden away in her vault.
"Cassandra?"
Poppy's voice came from outside, and then the door was pushed open.
"Cassandra?" Poppy poked her small head in. "The ball is about to start. Aren't you going to the Great Hall? Harry and the others should be about to dance the first dance..."
"Didn't Grindelwald go?" Cassandra asked casually, the silver snake ornament on her head glinting.
"Oh," Poppy said. "She said that for such an important occasion, you should make your entrance first—"
Cassandra froze.
Then she let out a scornful sneer.
"Can I take that as charity from the victor?"
"Oh, come on." Poppy squeezed in and sat beside Cassandra. "How could it be charity? Don't worry, Veratia absolutely didn't mean it that way..."
"Heh."
Cassandra stood up and reached for the black cloak nearby.
With a flourish, she draped it over her shoulders.
In a daze, Poppy caught a glimpse of silver-white script flashing quickly on the cloak's lining.
"Sanctimonia Vincet Semper."
Typical of the Malfoy family—their obsession with purity and pureness was truly...
"Let's go. Don't keep Potter waiting too long," Cassandra said, head held high like the proudest swan. "I really don't want him crying in such an important setting, do you? Sweeting?"
"Call me Poppy." Poppy grinned and hugged Cassandra's arm.
Actually, when Cassandra heard Poppy say that, she really did want to call her Poppy.
But then she suddenly felt a soft pressure on her arm, and looking down, her previously decent mood instantly cracked a bit.
"Heh," she muttered softly. "Vulgar."
"Ah! You're so mean!" Poppy protested. "How am I vulgar? Where? Where? Where?"
"Everywhere," Cassandra huffed, striding toward the Great Hall.
In the Great Hall, Harry was devouring his meal. He'd just polished off a whole roast chicken and was now tackling a steak.
Viktor didn't seem very talkative—at least not with the girl beside him.
He kept trying to strike up a conversation with Harry, but Harry always managed to deftly change the subject.
Slippery as an eel.
Meanwhile, Fleur Delacour was criticizing Hogwarts' decorations to Roger Davies.
"It's nothing special," she said, glancing at the starry walls with disdain. "At the Beauxbatons palace, our hall is filled with ice sculptures at Christmas. Of course, they don't melt... like enormous diamond statues glittering in the hall. The food is top-notch too. We have a woodland fairy choir; they sing serenades while we eat. We don't have these ugly suits of armor along the walls. If some prankster ghost tried to get into Beauxbatons, they'd be thrown out—just like this."
She impatiently slapped the table with her hand.
Roger Davies watched her speak with a rapt expression, several times missing his mouth with his fork.
Harry thought Davies was so busy staring at Fleur that he wasn't even hearing what she said.
"Absolutely!" Davies hurriedly agreed, mimicking Fleur by slapping the table too. "Just like that, yes—Peeves is really annoying."
Harry thought, you're the annoying one. How long have you known Fleur to start badmouthing the school with her? What a fair-weather friend.
When Fleur extended her criticism to the Gryffindors, Harry suddenly interrupted her commentary.
"I think Hogwarts is great—at least for us, it is," he said. "Everyone has different tastes. I'd hope you could focus on appreciating beauty rather than picking faults in this ancient castle."
"Are you saying I shouldn't point out Hogwarts' flaws?" Fleur asked unhappily.
"Oh, no, not at all," Harry smiled. "It's just a suggestion. Being good at spotting beauty is a virtue, but being good at spotting flaws isn't."
Stuffed by Harry's words, Fleur felt thoroughly choked.
But she quickly composed herself and raised her proud head again.
"You're right," she said. "I am indeed very good at spotting beauty, but I haven't found any girl at Hogwarts more beautiful than me."
She meant it sincerely, stating it as if it were simple fact.
Viktor opened his mouth but said nothing; his Ravenclaw partner looked indignant but had to swallow her anger, because...
In terms of looks, Fleur was unquestionably the standout—the kind that made others feel inferior.
Just as Harry was about to say something, a collective gasp rippled through the Great Hall.
Fleur instinctively looked up, suddenly realizing her bold claim had been instantly slapped down.
Standing at the entrance to the Great Hall was a girl in full formal attire.
Though Fleur didn't know who this woman was, she could tell at a glance from her adornments that this was a Slytherin beauty.
--
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