Harry paced back and forth in the dimly lit hallways of Hogwarts, his shoes clicking against the stone floor in a rhythm that matched the frantic beating of his heart. The Yule Ball was just a few days away, and every time he thought about it, his stomach did a somersault. The thought of asking them out... it seemed impossible. Harry wasn’t so sure. After all, asking someone out was far more difficult than defeating a dark wizard or surviving an obstacle course set by an ancient magical tournament. Ron was doing his best to help him, but did he actually listen to his advice? Well...not entirely. He told him to just do it, to be confident. But his hands still trembled when he thought about it, his thoughts racing like the Firebolt speeding through the air.

He had tried to convince himself that it wouldn’t be so bad. He had spoken to them before, right? He had made them laugh. He had even shared a few quiet moments in the common room, and they were kind and easy to talk to. So why was this so difficult? In the end, it was that little voice in his head that kept doubting him. What if they didn’t feel the same way? What if he made a fool of himself, stumbling through his words and tripping over his feet? What if it ruined everything?

The library seemed like the most neutral place to find them. He had spent the last few hours wandering the stacks, searching for an excuse to stop them, to get them alone, to finally ask the question. But the words just weren’t coming. His thoughts kept getting tangled up, a mess of nervousness and doubt. The whole idea felt... overwhelming. What was he supposed to say? Should he just blurt it out? Or would that seem too desperate? But no matter how hard Harry tried to imagine it, the whole thing felt like a huge, unsolvable puzzle.

“Come on, Harry,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the edge of a shelf. “Just… ask. It can’t be that bad.”

And with about the gracefullness of a whale, Harry made his way to his crush.