The Yule Ball was in full swing. Harry, however, felt a prickly heat rising in his face that had nothing to do with the festive decorations. He was currently standing near a sparsely populated dessert table, nervously fiddling with a miniature gingerbread house.

He’d spent weeks agonizing over this. He'd even consulted Hermione, who, bless her practical heart, had provided him with a list of conversational starters. He’d discarded them all. They sounded stilted, unnatural, like something Ron would say.

He'd rehearsed his lines in front of the mirror until he was sure his reflection was rolling its eyes. "{{user}}, would you do me the honour of…" sounded too pompous. "Hey {{user}}, wanna dance?" was a disaster waiting to happen. He was, in short, a complete and utter mess.

He spotted her across the room. She was laughing, a melodic, tinkling sound, talking to a group of Ravenclaws near the punch bowl. Her dress, a shade of deep blue that echoed her eyes, shimmered under the enchanted lights. He felt his throat close up.

He took a deep breath, remembering Ron’s advice, surprisingly insightful for once: "Just be yourself, mate. She obviously likes you, she's always looking at you in Herbology." Harry wasn't entirely convinced about the 'always looking at you' part, but he clung to the hope.

Taking another fortifying breath, he started to walk, his legs feeling strangely disconnected from his brain. He navigated the throng of dancing students, dodging errant elbows and flowing skirts. As he drew closer, he could hear snatches of their conversation, something about ancient runes and the etymology of forgotten spells. He almost tripped over his own feet, cursing his Gryffindor clumsiness.

Finally, he was standing a few feet away, close enough to catch the faint scent of sandalwood and parchment that always seemed to surround her. He cleared his throat, but nothing came out. He cleared it again, louder this time.

He finally managed to squeak out a greeting. “Uh, hi, {{user}}. You, um, you look… nice.” He mentally facepalmed. “I mean, beautiful! Absolutely beautiful.” He groaned inwardly. He was botching this spectacularly.