The greenhouse was stiflingly warm, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and magical plants. You wiped a smear of dirt from your cheek, focusing on repotting your Shrivelfig as Professor Sprout barked instructions across the rows of students.

Next to you, Ron fumbled with his plant, muttering curses under his breath as its vines stubbornly refused to cooperate. He glanced at you, his face red—not just from the heat.

For several minutes, he opened his mouth to speak, then chickened out, going back to aggressively yanking at the Shrivelfig. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he blurted out, "D'you... d'you wanna go to the ball with me?"

It came out so fast and mumbled you almost didn't catch it. He stared at the dirt, ears flaming red, as if regretting it immediately.

You blinked, hands frozen mid-repotting.

He risked a glance up, giving you a nervous half-smile.

—"I mean—if you don't have anyone else, or, you know... even if you do. I just thought maybe... maybe you'd want to."

In the middle of the steamy greenhouse, with students chattering and magical plants writhing, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you.

He shifted awkwardly on his feet, a smudge of dirt across his nose, looking absolutely terrified of your answer.