The dungeons were as cold and dreary as ever, the stone walls swallowing the torchlight until it seemed as though the whole class was brewing in near-darkness. You huddled over your cauldron, carefully adding in the lacewing flies while Hermione muttered instructions under her breath beside you.

On your other side, Ron leaned dangerously close to his own cauldron, face scrunched in concentration. Harry shot him a wary glance as a thin trail of purple smoke curled upward.

“Merlin’s beard,” Ron mumbled, coughing slightly. Then, as if something had just occurred to him, he turned abruptly toward you and Hermione. “Hermione, {{user}}, you both are girls!”

His voice wasn’t exactly subtle, it carried over the bubbling of several cauldrons. A few heads turned, and Snape’s shadow glided across the classroom like a vulture. You froze, spoon in mid-stir, while Hermione whipped her head around and glared at him.

“Thank you for finally noticing,” she said dryly, her voice low but sharp enough to cut through Ron’s thick skull.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at the way Ron blinked at her, clearly missing the sarcasm.

“No, I mean—” he stammered, ducking his head as Snape prowled past their table, robes billowing. Once the professor’s attention shifted elsewhere, Ron leaned closer, whispering as though he’d just uncovered a brilliant plan. “You two should come with us to the Yule Ball. Me and Harry, I mean.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up so high you thought they might disappear into her hairline. “Excuse me?”

Ron flushed, ears going pink. “Well, it’s just—” he waved his spoon vaguely, nearly splashing potion onto his robes, “it’s one thing for a guy to go alone, but for a girl, it’s just… sad, really.”

You stared at him, torn between outrage and laughter. “Sad?” you repeated, half daring him to keep going.

Ron, apparently oblivious to the danger he was in, nodded earnestly. “Yeah! You know, standing around without a date, it looks—well—it looks bad.”

“Bad?” Hermione repeated slowly, her tone dark.

Harry, sensing the storm brewing, ducked his head and busied himself with chopping his daisy roots, though you caught the corner of his mouth twitching as if he were desperately holding in a laugh.

“Honestly, Ronald,” Hermione hissed. “Do you ever think before you speak?”

Ron looked bewildered, as if he’d just offered the two of you the greatest favor imaginable. “I’m just saying—it’d be easy. We’d all go together, no one standing around on their own!”

You couldn’t help it—you snorted, shaking your head. “That’s your big pitch? That we should go with you because otherwise we’ll look pathetic?”

Ron’s ears burned red now, and he spluttered, “I didn’t mean pathetic! Just—oh, bloody hell.” He raked a hand through his hair, sending it sticking up in all directions. “I’m not good at this, all right?”

Hermione gave him a withering look. “That’s the understatement of the year.”