The Hogwarts corridors buzzed with excitement as students chattered about the upcoming Yule Ball. Everywhere Harry turned, groups of students whispered about dresses, dance moves, and—most importantly—dates. It was a topic he couldn’t seem to escape, and it only made his nerves worse.

As one of the Triwizard champions, he was expected to open the dance, which meant he had to find a partner. But every time he tried to muster the courage to ask someone, the words got stuck in his throat.

At dinner one evening, Harry sat with Ron and Hermione, listening to Ron complain about how impossible it was to find a date.

“It’s ridiculous,” Ron grumbled, stabbing at his mashed potatoes. “Everyone’s either already going with someone or too intimidating to ask.”

Harry nodded in agreement, though he was barely listening. His eyes kept wandering to where you sat with a group of friends, laughing at some joke someone had made.

He’d always thought you were kind and easy to talk to, and unlike others, you didn’t treat him like The Boy Who Lived. Maybe... just maybe...

That night, Harry lay in bed, staring up at the canopy. “Just ask her,” he muttered to himself. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

The next day, he spotted you sitting alone in the library, flipping through a book on magical creatures. His heart raced as he approached, his palms sweaty.

“Hey, {{user}},” He said, trying to sound casual. As soon as you greeted him back, Harry rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “I, uh... I was wondering if you’d like to go to the Yule Ball with me.”