CHAPTER SIX
The Bulgarian Duckfoot
Ron had managed to not only convince Ginny to go to the Masquerade with Draco, but to let him read her letter as well:
Dear Gin,
We don't speak to each other that often,
But when I look at you, my stone face starts to soften,
Though there's fights between our families,
Will you go to the Masquerade with me, please?
Sincerely,
Your Dragon in Shining Armor
All Ron could think was, Since when did Malfoy become a frigging Hufflepuff? Actually, that's not all Ron was thinking. He was also wondering why Ginny was crying when she read that. He'd have to ask her later.
The next few days went by as quick as flash, and they couldn't have been stranger. All the girls were comparing the dresses that they were going to wear for the ball, or deciding which dress they were going to wear. At least Harry was more relaxed about finding a date for the ball this time. Last time he was obligated to choose so fast; as all the champions were going to open the dance.
But, luckily, this time Harry had decided to ask Hermione once and for all. The ball was in one week, and today it was Friday. Harry figured that he could ask her today. If she turned him down, he could shut himself in his dormitory and not come out until Monday! Harry told his plan to Ron, who was utterly delighted, but told him not to have such a negative attitude.
The hours, minutes and seconds went by in the blink of an eye, and it came time for Harry to ask Hermione. She was in the common room, sitting by the fire. She was the only one there. "Um- Hi Hermione," Harry said, more loudly than he had intended. Hermione gave a surprised jump, then turned around to face him.
"Oh, hello Harry, you startled me!" She said, half laughing, suprised.
Harry sat down next to Hermione on the sofa, blushing even though he hadn't said anything yet. Just ask her and get it over with, he thought. Whatever happens happens, she'll still be my best friend. Harry had opened his mouth, about ready to ask her, when suddenly all the color drained out of his face. "Hello Herm-own-inny! I vos looking for you everywhere!"
Krum was back.
Harry was mouthing wordlessly in surprise. He was staring at this Quidditch player, thinking What in the name of Merlin -
"Oh, Harry!" Krum said cheerfully. "Hello Harry! It's been a long time, hasn't it?" Harry slowly stood up, almost too shocked to move another inch.
"Harry, I mailed Krum a letter, inviting him to the ball. He'll be coming with me." She was smiling brilliantly. "Isn't it great? Maybe you can go fly together or something." Hermione looked very happy, except for her dull, dead eyes, oddly disturbing Harry. There was no happiness in them.
A few minutes later when he had excused himself from the Bulgarian duckfoot, he was lying on his four poster dully.
How could I have been so stupid, Harry thought. Hermione's my best friend, not my girlfriend, date or partner for a dance - and she never will be! Harry drew the covers over his four-poster, resolving that he would still go to the ball the next day. If Hermione didn't like him then there was no use waiting around for her.
And so, Harry fell into a restless sleep, a vague image of Hermione's dull, dead eyes haunting him as he slept.
The next morning, at breakfast, Harry avoided Hermione at all costs. "I should've asked her sooner," Harry was telling Ron as they headed for Herbology. "I should've remembered. Hermione is the thing that Krum would've missed most. Great. Like I need a famous international quidditch player as an enemy."
Ron heard the sarcasm and started laughing. "Harry, it's not your fault or Hermione's fault. You wanted to ask her, how could she've known? Hermione brought Krum over, how could you've known?" As they were walking over to Greenhouse three, Harry saw Cho smelling a flower daintily.
Then Harry and Ron thought of something at the same time: What if Cho could make Hermione jealous? Harry rushed over to Cho. "Cho, do you have a date for the ball this evening?" Cho looked up, shaking her head. "Are you implying anything?" she snapped. She was still touchy of their breakup from their fifth year.
"Well, yes," Harry started. "Would you like to come with me?"