The school-assigned dance partner turned out to be useful after all—it gave Jon a perfect excuse to turn down other invitations
Truthfully, Jon had never imagined he'd be this popular with girls... No sooner had he parted ways with Professor Sprout in the corridor and returned to the Hufflepuff common room than a girl approached him.
Jon vaguely recalled her name—Elya Dexstone, a Hufflepuff in her fifth or maybe sixth year. He couldn't quite remember the details...
She asked boldly, "Hart, would you like to attend the dance with me?"
Honestly, she was attractive enough, with a decent figure—though she did have a slight squint. Still, Jon wasn't about to agree so easily, especially since he had a ready excuse.
"I'd be honored, Miss Dexstone... but Professor Sprout just told me that Professor Dumbledore has apparently already arranged a partner for me," Jon declined politely.
She looked a little disappointed but nodded. Amid the playful giggles of her friends, she retreated back to her dormitory.
Over the next few days, similar encounters kept happening.
Within a week, Jon had received at least ten invitations from senior girls (fourth year and above) across various houses.
Naturally, he declined them all the same way.
"I'm so jealous!" Zacharias said pitifully.
As another third-year who couldn't attend the ball, he clung to Jon every day... hoping that some senior girl, rejected by Jon, might turn and invite him instead.
Unfortunately, not one of them gave him so much as a glance.
"What's there to envy?" Jon said with a wry smile.
"At least you're guaranteed a partner, and you get to attend the ball!" Zacharias sighed. "Professor Dumbledore's taste can't be that bad... Meanwhile, I'm stuck..."
"Hmph... a ball? How's that more fun than Quidditch?" After suffering multiple crushing disappointments, Zacharias finally gave up.
"Professor Dumbledore's taste..." Jon suddenly shivered at the thought. "With his standards... what if my partner turns out to be some tomboy?"
...
As the last week arrived, the school grew louder and livelier by the day. Rumors about the Yule Ball spread everywhere. Some claimed Professor Dumbledore had bought hundreds of barrels of mead from the Three Broomsticks. Others whispered that the famous wizarding band, the Weird Sisters, would perform live at Hogwarts...
The entire castle was decked out with decorations.
Icicles that never melted hung from the marble staircase banisters. The twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall were adorned with all sorts of trinkets, from sparkling holly berries to live golden owls that chirped non-stop.
The suits of armor had been enchanted to burst into song whenever someone passed—though Jon thought their "singing" was, in theory, just noise.
During the last Potions class before the holidays, Jon stole a glance at Astoria and sighed quietly.
He desperately wanted to invite her to the ball... but neither of them was old enough to issue an invitation.
"Has anyone asked you yet?" Jon asked tentatively, taking advantage of Snape moving toward the back of the classroom.
"The ball?" Astoria's cheeks flushed red. She lowered her head and gave a small nod.
"Who could it be... Draco Malfoy?" Jon wondered silently.
But he didn't dare press further—not with Snape heading back their way.
...
After Potions ended, they left together and walked toward the Great Hall for dinner.
Astoria seemed distracted the whole way, her eyes flicking away from Jon's whenever he looked at her.
But just as they reached the entrance hall, they stumbled upon an unexpected scene.
A red-haired boy stood with his back to Jon, nervously stammering to a girl in front of him.
"Hello... may I invite you to the ball?"
Scenes like this had been common in recent weeks, so Jon wasn't surprised.
But that voice... why did it sound so familiar?
Jon blinked. That red-haired boy—it was Ron Weasley.
And the girl he had stopped... those deep blue eyes, that long, cascading silver hair—it was none other than Beauxbatons' champion, Fleur Delacour.
Fleur paused, looking at the boy in mild surprise.
Then Ron seemed to realize what he had done. He trembled, backing away step by step, before suddenly bolting like a fool toward the staircase, abandoning his meal entirely.
The scene was painfully awkward.
At least a hundred pairs of eyes had witnessed it at the entrance to the hall.
And the worst part was that Fleur hadn't even had a chance to respond. Before she could refuse—or, however unlikely, accept—the suitor had fled like a mouse spotting a cat.
Fleur Delacour lifted her head, her face expressionless. Her eyes fell on Jon. Then, with elegant steps, she crossed the hall toward him.
"Jon Hart?" she asked in accented English, her voice carrying over the chuckles rippling through the crowd. "Would you be my dance partner?"
It was clear she was trying to smooth over the earlier embarrassment. And besides, there had never been a rule forbidding champions from different schools from pairing up.
Jon felt his breathing quicken. He nearly nodded on instinct.
Beside him, Astoria's breathing also grew uneven.
Jon knew exactly what was happening—the Veela allure. Thankfully, he forced himself to draw on Occlumency, keeping his emotions from taking over.
With a clearer mind, he thought it through in seconds. Honestly, Fleur was nearly the perfect choice—far better than the "tomboy" Dumbledore might have arranged.
He almost said yes.
But—
"I'm honored, Miss Delacour..." the words slipped out of his mouth, "but I'm afraid Professor Dumbledore has already arranged a dance partner for me. I can't refuse the kindness of our Headmaster."
"Is that so..." Fleur smiled gracefully, showing no trace of disappointment.
"If I may ask," she continued softly, "are you related to Professor Dumbledore?"
Jon: "..."