“Because we want to send a letter, you stupid great prat,” said George.
“Who d’you two keep writing to, eh?” said Ron.
“Nose out, Ron, or I’ll burn that for you too,” said Fred, waving his wand threateningly. “So… you lot got dates for the ball yet?”
“Nope,” said Ron.
“Well, you’d better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones will be gone,” said Fred.
“Who’re you going with, then?” said Ron.
“Angelina,” said Fred promptly, without a trace of embarrassment.
“What?” said Ron, taken aback. “You’ve already asked her?”
“Good point,” said Fred. He turned his head and called across the common room, “Oi! Angelina!”
Angelina, who had been chatting with Alicia Spinnet near the fire, looked over at him.
“What?” she called back.
“Want to come to the ball with me?”
Angelina gave Fred an appraising sort of look.
“All right, then,” she said, and she turned back to Alicia and carried on chatting with a bit of a grin on her face.
“There you go,” said Fred to Harry and Ron, “piece of cake.”
He got to his feet, yawning, and said, “We’d better use a school owl then, George, come on…”
They left. Ron stopped feeling his eyebrows and looked across the smoldering wreck of his card castle at Harry.
“We should get a move on, you know… ask someone. He’s right. We don’t want to end up with a pair of trolls.”
Hermione let out a sputter of indignation.
“A pair of… what, excuse me?”
“Well—you know,” said Ron, shrugging. “I’d rather go alone than with—with Eloise Midgen, say.”
“Her acne’s loads better lately—and she’s really nice!”
“Her nose is off center,” said Ron.
“Oh I see,” Hermione said, bristling. “So basically, you’re going to take the best looking girl who’ll have you, even if she’s completely horrible?”
“Er—yeah, that sounds about right,” said Ron.
“I’m going to bed,” Hermione snapped, and she swept off toward the girls’ staircase without another word.
The Hogwarts staff, demonstrating a continued desire to impress the visitors from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, seemed determined to show the castle at its best this Christmas. When the decorations went up, Harry noticed that they were the most stunning he had yet seen inside the school. Everlasting icicles had been attached to the banisters of the marble staircase; the usual twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall were bedecked with everything from luminous holly berries to real, hooting, golden owls, and the suits of armor had all been bewitched to sing carols whenever anyone passed them. It was quite something to hear “O Come, All Ye Faithful” sung by an empty helmet that only knew half the words. Several times, Filch the caretaker had to extract Peeves from inside the armor, where he had taken to hiding, filling in the gaps in the songs with lyrics of his own invention, all of which were very rude.
And still, Harry hadn’t asked Cho to the ball. He and Ron were getting very nervous now, though as Harry pointed out, Ron would look much less stupid than he would without a partner; Harry was supposed to be starting the dancing with the other champions.
“I suppose there’s always Moaning Myrtle,” he said gloomily, referring to the ghost who haunted the girls’ toilets on the second floor.
“Harry—we’ve just got to grit our teeth and do it,” said Ron on Friday morning, in a tone that suggested they were planning the storming of an impregnable fortress. “When we get back to the common room tonight, we’ll both have partners—agreed?”
“Er… okay,” said Harry.
But every time he glimpsed Cho that day—during break, and then lunchtime, and once on the way to History of Magic—she was surrounded by friends. Didn’t she ever go anywhere alone? Could he perhaps ambush her as she was going into a bathroom? But no—she even seemed to go there with an escort of four or five girls. Yet if he didn’t do it soon, she was bound to have been asked by somebody else.
He found it hard to concentrate on Snape’s Potions test, and consequently forgot to add the key ingredient—a bezoar—meaning that he received bottom marks. He didn’t care, though; he was too busy screwing up his courage for what he was about to do. When the bell rang, he grabbed his bag, and hurried to the dungeon door.
“I’ll meet you at dinner,” he said to Ron and Hermione, and he dashed off upstairs.
He’d just have to ask Cho for a private word, that was all… He hurried off through the packed corridors looking for her, and (rather sooner than he had expected) he found her, emerging from a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson.
“Er—Cho? Could I have a word with you?”
Giggling should be made illegal, Harry thought furiously, as all the girls around Cho started doing it. She didn’t, though. She said, “Okay,” and followed him out of earshot other classmates.
Harry turned to look at her and his stomach gave a weird lurch as though he had missed a step going downstairs.
“Er,” he said.
He couldn’t ask her. He couldn’t. But he had to. Cho stood there looking puzzled, watching him. The words came out before Harry had quite got his tongue around them.
“Wangoballwime?”
“Sorry?” said Cho.
“D’you—d’you want to go to the ball with me?” said Harry. Why did he have to go red now? Why?
“Oh!” said Cho, and she went red too. “Oh Harry, I’m really sorry,” and she truly looked it. “I’ve already said I’ll go with someone else.”
“Oh,” said Harry.
It was odd; a moment before his insides had been writhing like snakes, but suddenly he didn’t seem to have any insides at all.
“Oh okay,” he said, “no problem.”
“I’m really sorry,” she said again.
“That’s okay,” said Harry.
They stood there looking at each other, and then Cho said, “Well—”
“Yeah,” said Harry.
“Well, ’bye,” said Cho, still very red. She walked away.
Harry called after her, before he could stop himself.
“Who’re you going with?”
“Oh—Cedric,” she said. “Cedric Diggory.”
“Oh—right,” said Harry.
His insides had come back again. It felt as though they had been filled with lead in their absence.
Completely forgetting about dinner, he walked slowly back up to Gryffindor Tower, Cho’s voice echoing in his ears with every step he took. “Cedric—Cedric Diggory.” He had been starting to quite like Cedric—prepared to overlook the fact that he had once beaten him at Quidditch, and was handsome, and popular, and nearly everyone’s favorite champion. Now he suddenly realized that Cedric was in fact a useless pretty boy who didn’t have enough brains to fill an eggcup.
“Fairy lights,” he said dully to the Fat Lady—the password had been changed the previous day.
“Yes, indeed, dear!” she trilled, straightening her new tinsel hair band as she swung forward to admit him.
Entering the common room, Harry looked around, and to his surprise he saw Ron sitting ashen faced in a distant corner. Ginny was sitting with him, talking to him in what seemed to be a low, soothing voice.
“What’s up, Ron?” said Harry, joining them.
Ron looked up at Harry, a sort of blind horror in his face.
“Why did I do it?” he said wildly. “I don’t know what made me do it!”
“What?” said Harry.
“He—er—just asked Fleur Delacour to go to the ball with him,” said Ginny. She looked as though she was fighting back a smile, but she kept patting Ron’s arm sympathetically.
“You what?” said Harry.
“I don’t know what made me do it!” Ron gasped again. “What was I playing at? There were people—all around—I’ve gone mad—everyone watching! I was just walking past her in the entrance hall—she was standing there talking to Diggory—and it sort of came over me—and I asked her!”
Ron moaned and put his face in his hands. He kept talking, though the words were barely distinguishable.