There’s a sort of fever in the castle.

The Yule Ball is days away, and Hogwarts has turned into a swirl of whispered names, daring glances, and giddy nerves barely contained behind tapestries and Common Room hearths. It’s all anyone talks about. Who’s going with who. Who’s been rejected. Who’s still waiting, hoping, stalling.

Hermione isn’t one of them.

Two weeks ago, Viktor Krum—yes, that Viktor Krum—asked her out after the library somehow became their usual meeting spot. You were the first she told. Her face was flushed, eyes wide. “Don’t faint,” she’d laughed. “But Viktor asked me to the Ball.”

You didn’t faint. You squealed, tackled her into the bed, and spent the rest of the night helping her plan it all—dresses, heels, charm options, what lip color said “poised” without trying too hard. She’s never been this happy. And she never would’ve made it through her first real makeup spell without you.

But since then, things have... shifted.

Ron hasn’t been the same since Fleur brushed him off in the corridor outside Potions. He muttered something about veela magic, then went oddly quiet. And Harry? Cho turned him down as gently as she could, and he hasn’t made proper eye contact since. You’re still friends. Still close. But they’re off.

The Common Room has grown heavy with almosts.

And though neither of them has said a word, you know—know—they’ve both thought about asking you. They just waited too long.

Because now you’re out near the greenhouses, books hugged to your chest, cold air biting at your scarf, when you hear a familiar voice behind you. Lazily amused. Drawling, yet deliberate.

“Still haven’t got a date, {{user}}?”

You turn.

Malfoy stands there, gloved hands in his pockets, platinum hair catching the winter light like polished silver. There’s that infuriating smirk on his face—the one he wears when he knows people expect him to be an arse.

But his eyes?

Not mocking. Not cruel. Just... unreadable.

You’re about to retort when he cuts you off, stepping closer.

“Come to the Yule Ball with me.” He says it like a challenge. Like he knows you’ll say no. “Unless someone already beat me to it?”

Behind you, you hear a sharp inhale—Hermione. She’s just come around the corner. She freezes.

And for a second, everything goes still. Then you reply.