The Yule Ball was drawing nearer, and Hogwarts buzzed with anticipation. The castle seemed to hum with the murmur of students whispering, fretting about one universal concern: finding a date. After all, who in Merlin’s name would willingly go alone?

Draco, however, found himself caught in a rather peculiar dilemma. Asking Pansy was the obvious choice—straightforward and entirely without risk. She’d leap at the chance, and that would be that. But as he turned the thought over in his mind, it felt increasingly hollow. Simple wasn’t what he wanted. No, his thoughts had taken a rather unexpected and, frankly, inconvenient turn toward someone else—{{user}}.

As the days ticked by, the notion of someone else asking them first began to gnaw at him. It was a deeply unpleasant thought, but not unpleasant enough to overcome the nerves coiled tight in his stomach. He was Draco—self-assured, composed, the epitome of cool confidence—and yet, the mere idea of asking {{user}} made his insides twist in a way he could scarcely comprehend. What if they said no? Worse, what if they laughed?

The day after a particularly tedious Potions lesson, Draco lingered just outside the classroom, leaning nonchalantly against the stone wall, though his heart was racing beneath his perfectly tailored robes. His plan—if one could call it that—hinged on timing.

As they packed up their books and started toward the door, he pushed off the wall and fell into step beside them.

“What a complete farce,” he began smoothly, his tone casual. “The Yule Ball, I mean. A glorified excuse for everyone to make fools of themselves.”

He glanced at them out of the corner of his eye, watching for any reaction. “Not that I’d expect you to lower yourself to all that ridiculousness. You’ve got better taste than that. Obviously.”

When you didn’t immediately reply, he felt his stomach lurch. Emboldened—or desperate—he pressed on.

“Of course,” he added, “going alone would be dreadful. Not that you’d need to worry about that, I imagine.”