Chapter 227
The wind howled outside the windows. For many students, staying in their respective common rooms and enjoying the warmth of the fireplace was the most pleasant way to spend the evening.
Hermione sat in the Gryffindor common room, staring blankly at the blazing fire. Her thoughts were just as restless, burning like dry wood in the flames—unsettled, anxious, with no outlet.
"Are all beautiful girls so sharp-tongued?"
Ron's voice suddenly broke the silence. He entered with Harry, grumbling loudly. Harry, on the other hand, looked equally troubled, his expression dark.
"What happened?" Hermione asked, forcing herself to focus.
"Why did I do that?" Ron burst out, completely exasperated. "I don't even know why I did it! Especially after she mocked me like that—was it my fault? Yes, fine, it was my fault! I know that's what you're thinking, Harry—but I've already paid the price! Did she have to be so harsh? How was I supposed to know? If she hadn't brought it up, I would've forgotten that stupid thing entirely!"
He spoke in one breath, as if venting would somehow ease his frustration.
"Er… he just invited Fleur Delacour to the ball," said Ginny Weasley as she walked in. She was clearly trying not to laugh, though she patted Ron's arm sympathetically.
"I don't know why I did that!" Ron repeated, breathing heavily. "What was I thinking? There were so many people watching! I completely lost my head! I saw her in the Entrance Hall—she just passed by—and for some reason, I called out to her!"
"I couldn't stop myself—I just went up and asked her!"
He groaned, covering his face. His voice dropped into a muffled complaint.
"She looked at me like… like I was some kind of sea creature. Didn't even bother answering at first. And when she finally did—I wish she hadn't!"
"Ron, calm down," said Harry Potter quietly.
His tone was low and strained. He needed comfort just as much, but for now, he had to steady Ron.
Not long ago, Harry himself had gathered the courage to invite the girl he liked—Cho Chang.
He had noticed her as early as last year, when they faced each other as Quidditch rivals—she, the Ravenclaw Seeker; he, Gryffindor's. Today, he had finally worked up the nerve to approach her.
"I'm sorry," she had said.
It felt as if his insides twisted painfully.
Then came the reason.
"Cedric already asked me. I'm sorry."
Her words struck heavier than anything else. At that moment, Cedric Diggory called out to her, and she left with a quick apology.
Harry regretted everything. If he had asked sooner, maybe things would have been different. He was a champion—Cedric wasn't. If only he had acted earlier… or at least asked around first…
"Maybe you're overthinking it," Ginny said, noticing his distant expression. She stopped smiling and tried to comfort both of them.
What was worse than being politely rejected?
Being humiliated.
"In other words, she was reminding you not to try again," said Fred lightly. "If you think about it that way, she cares about you. You should be proud—your story might even spread to France!"
"May I have this dance?" George suddenly said, putting on an exaggeratedly shy expression as he addressed Fred.
"Oh, let me think…" Fred stroked his chin, pretending to evaluate him. "Ah yes, I've heard of you. Very distinctive hair. Quite memorable."
"R-really?" George said eagerly, touching his red hair.
"Yes. Aren't you the one who provoked a Hippogriff and got injured? What gave you the confidence? That empty head of yours?" Fred sneered theatrically. "Even if I skip the ball, I wouldn't accept someone like you."
He turned dramatically and walked off.
Ron's face turned even redder.
"Maybe lower your standards," George added with a shrug. "Choosing the right target makes things easier. Look at me—I got Angelina without trouble. Think about it—don't you already have a suitable candidate?"
Fred nudged Ron meaningfully.
"But I already have a partner," Hermione said coldly, cutting them off.
"Who?" Ron's eyes widened, his shock overriding his embarrassment. He hadn't expected that.
"Krum," Hermione replied, trying to sound composed. "Yes—Viktor Krum. The same one you're thinking of."