"Arthur, I really can't find a dance partner. You have to help me!" Harry pleaded, grabbing Arthur like a drowning man clutching at driftwood.
"Easy," Arthur replied casually. "Hermione recently upgraded her gender-change potion. One sip lasts a full week. With your looks after the transformation, I guarantee you'll be drowning in invitations."
Arthur didn't know about others, but Draco would definitely be interested in a female version of Harry.
Speaking of Draco—Arthur actually wondered whether he'd found a partner yet.
If not, pairing up with Harry wouldn't be such a bad idea.
Whether Harry sensed Arthur's malicious amusement, or simply imagined himself turning into a girl and being surrounded by overeager boys, he shuddered violently.
"Let's… let's forget that idea. Is there any other way?" Harry asked quickly.
"Of course there is," Arthur said seriously this time. "Why are you only looking at girls your own age or older?"
"You know, students younger than us aren't allowed to attend the Yule Ball unless they're invited. They'd be thrilled to receive an invitation from an upper-year."
"And honestly—aren't you pretty close with Ginny? Why not try inviting her?"
Arthur finally gave him a genuine suggestion.
Of course, he definitely wasn't curious to see Ron's expression when he found out his best friend had invited his little sister to the ball.
The Weasleys only had one daughter, doted on by all her brothers.
Forget Ron—if the twins found out, Harry might not survive the night.
Harry, completely unaware of this potential disaster, suddenly looked enlightened, as if struck by divine inspiration.
"That's right! Why did I only think about girls in my year?"
Overjoyed, he thanked Arthur and immediately dashed toward the girls' dormitory.
Arthur grabbed him by the collar.
"What are you doing?"
"Inviting Ginny! What else?" Harry replied, confused.
Arthur rolled his eyes.
"It's bathing time in the girls' dormitory. If you want to die, go ahead and charge in."
Harry froze mid-step.
"…Oh."
Changing the subject, Arthur continued, "By the way—have you figured out the riddle inside the golden egg yet?"
"No. What does that have to do with bathing?" Harry asked.
Arthur smirked.
"Try taking it into the bath with you."
He didn't elaborate further.
Riddles were meant to be solved with hints, not handed answers. Otherwise, where was the fun?
Coincidentally, it was bathing time. So Harry returned to his dormitory, grabbed his golden egg, and went to wash up.
Since the dorms only had showers—and Arthur specifically said bath—Harry found an unused prefects' bathroom and filled the tub.
Clutching the golden egg, he sank into the warm water.
The moment he opened the egg, a hauntingly beautiful song filled the air.
"Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground.
An hour long you'll have to look,
And find what we have took."
Harry instantly recognized the voices.
Mermaids.
Hagrid had talked about them in Care of Magical Creatures—ugly, aggressive, but possessing breathtaking singing voices.
Interestingly enough, merpeople were officially classified as humans by the wizarding world.
Originally, the ancient Wizard Council—precursor to the Ministry—defined "human" as any being capable of speaking human language, which excluded merpeople, since they spoke only underwater.
Later, wizards discovered that merpeople could speak—just not on land—so they were reclassified as a special humanoid race, like centaurs.
To this day, merpeople were still invited to international wizarding conferences.
As for Arthur, he preferred calling them fishmen rather than mermaids.
They looked nothing like the elegant mermaids of fairy tales.
Of course, not all merpeople were equally ugly.
According to Fantastic Beasts, northern species—like Irish Merrows and Scottish Selkies—were famously hideous, while merpeople from warmer southern waters, such as the Caribbean, were considered genuinely beautiful.
Environment shaped everything.
But Harry wasn't concerned with aesthetics.
What mattered was the message of the song.
He had to go to the merpeople's domain—underwater—and retrieve something within one hour.
That alone made the second task extremely dangerous.
Underwater, Harry couldn't speak, which meant no verbal spellcasting.
And at his current level, silent casting was impossible.
Bubble-Head Charms existed, sure—but they were fragile. One poke, and the charm would burst.
Facing aggressive merpeople, that was practically a death sentence.
So Harry decided he'd need a potion that allowed underwater breathing.
Which meant—
He set his sights on Snape's stores.
That, however, would have to wait until after the Yule Ball.
Just as Harry was planning his next move, Moaning Myrtle suddenly burst out of the water and started groping him enthusiastically.
It looked disturbingly like a perverted fan assaulting her idol.
While ghosts couldn't truly touch the living, their contact brought an icy chill—like someone stuffing snow down your back in winter.
Harry shuddered violently.
Only then did he remember why no one ever used this bathroom.
Realizing he was completely naked, Harry snatched a towel, wrapped it around himself, and fled in utter panic.
Time flew by, and soon it was Christmas Eve.
Most students below fourth year had gone home, save for a few staying behind.
Yet Hogwarts felt livelier than ever.
The Yule Ball venue glittered brilliantly as students from all three schools entered in pairs.
Of course, many were still making last-minute preparations.
Harry was one of them.
Having just changed into his dress robes, he headed to brush his teeth—just in case he got too close to Ginny later.
When he returned, he saw Ron standing before the mirror, wearing the dress robes his mother had sent.
Ron gestured wildly.
"Look! Lace! A torn collar! And it smells weird! This is the worst dress robe I've ever seen!"
"It is very… traditional," Harry said, discreetly stepping back. "Also—why didn't you wash it?"
"Uh… I forgot," Ron admitted awkwardly. "It was so ugly I didn't touch it after it arrived. Anyway—help me transfigure it already!"
He handed Harry a photo of a modern dress robe design.
Harry studied it, then drew his wand—but not before casting Scourgify to clean the robe.
No way he was letting Ron's partner flee halfway through the dance.
Only then did Harry transfigure the robe according to the photo.
Ron admired himself in the mirror—then frowned.
"Hey, where's the back pattern?"
"What pattern?" Harry asked. "You didn't give me a picture of the back."
Ron slapped his forehead. He'd forgotten.
Still, it looked good enough.
"The ball's about to start. Let's go—our partners are waiting."
As they walked, Ron eyed Harry suspiciously.
"Why is your robe green? Are you secretly a Slytherin?"
Harry rolled his eyes.
"The school doesn't restrict colors. Besides, do you think finding a well-fitting robe is easy?"
He recalled shopping in Hogsmeade with his mother.
She'd dragged him through the entire shop, making him try on everything before settling on this one.
Harry swore that day was the most exhausting experience of his life.
He would rather fight a Hungarian Horntail again than ever go shopping with a woman—
Especially his mother.
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