The Great Hall buzzed with excitement, the chatter louder than usual as students speculated and gossiped about the upcoming Yule Ball. Candles floated gently above your head, casting a soft glow over the long Gryffindor table. Plates clinked, and laughter echoed, blending into a warm hum of anticipation.

You sat between Angelina and Alicia, both chattering excitedly in hushed tones about their preparations for the night ahead.

“I still can’t decide if I want emerald or midnight blue dress robes,” Alicia admitted, her brow furrowing in mock distress.

Angelina laughed softly. “Personally, I’m more nervous about tripping over my own feet than picking a color.”

You laughed softly, twirling your fork through your mashed potatoes. The whole castle had been in a flurry since Dumbledore announced the ball. And though you tried to play it cool, your own nerves had been creeping up on you too. The thought of who might ask you — or if anyone would — lingered in the back of your mind.

Across the table, Fred and George were up to their usual antics, animatedly discussing something that probably bordered on breaking at least five school rules. Fred shot you a mischievous wink when he caught you glancing their way, while George simply smirked, eyes twinkling.

You shook your head with a smile, focusing back on your food — until you felt the slightest brush against your hand under the table.

Startled, you glanced down. Your fingers touched a folded piece of parchment being carefully slipped into your palm. You looked up quickly, but everyone around you was still engrossed in their conversations.

Except George.

He was looking at you now, barely suppressing a grin as he pretended to listen to Lee Jordan’s story. His eyes flicked from yours to the note in your hand, encouraging you silently.

Heart fluttering with curiosity, you unfolded the parchment beneath the table.

In George’s slightly messy, familiar handwriting, it read:

So, I hear there’s a bit of a dance coming up… I happen to know someone who’d very much like to take you — provided you don’t mind a night full of laughter, bad dancing, and the occasional stolen pumpkin pasty. If you’re interested, meet me in the courtyard under the clock tower after dinner. — George

You read it twice, your cheeks warming as you tried to fight the smile tugging at your lips. Slowly, you looked back up, heart beating faster.

George caught your eye and, without missing a beat, shot you a playful wink.