The boys’ dormitory was a mess of dress robes and nerves. Harry struggled with his tie in front of the mirror while Ron wrestled with the sleeves of his secondhand robes.

—"Are you sure you want to go with Hermione?" Harry asked casually, glancing at Ron’s reflection. "Or is there someone else you'd rather ask?"

Ron froze mid-struggle, his ears going red.

—"Hermione’s fine," he muttered quickly, too quickly. "I mean—who else would I ask?"

Harry just gave him a knowing look, but said nothing more.

The truth was, Ron hadn't been able to get you out of his mind all week. Every time he thought about the Yule Ball, his thoughts drifted—not to Hermione, or to any of the girls who had giggled about getting dates—but to you. He tried to ignore it. It was stupid. You were probably going with someone already. And anyway, what chance did he have?

The Great Hall glittered with floating ice sculptures and enchanted snow as the ball began. Music filled the air, and students twirled around in colorful robes. Ron shuffled awkwardly at the edge of the dance floor, feeling more and more out of place with every passing second.

He needed a drink.

Mumbling something to Harry about getting punch, Ron made his way toward the refreshments table—and there you were. Standing alone, swirling the drink in your glass absentmindedly, dressed far nicer than he'd ever seen you before.

You looked... amazing.

His heart thudded painfully in his chest. For a moment he just stared, frozen. Then, before he could think better of it, he forced his feet to move.

—"Hey," he said, voice a little rough, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Mind if I join you?"