Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine.
This story is a translation of Yule Ball by Milenrrama.
Image icon from Margot's Drawings.
This fic participated in its original Spanish version in the multifandom activity of the forum Alas Negras, Palabras Negras with the following prompts: Castle [place], Dance [scenic], Suspect [verb] and the following condition: LGBTIQA+ theme or characters.
It's an idea from a long time ago. In a challenge, I got a request from Seremoon, who asked for a Drarry where "Harry asks Draco to the Yule Ball, where they accept that they've been in love since they met". At the time, I solved it differently, and sketched out what this story ended up being, because the 1000 word limit of that challenge prevented any development between the characters. And, starting from the same idea, I wrote this one from scratch, keeping only the Weasley joke and the fact that they met at Madame Malkin.
THE CONCOCTION
"I don't think it's a good idea," Harry says slowly, shaking his head. The twins' arguments are pretty powerful, he has to admit, and he's tempted to accept their offer, but his intuition tells him that it's not the brilliant idea they're trying to sell him. Besides, it's not the first time he's seen the consequences of one of the Weasley brothers' prank products, and he knows they're not always pleasant, even if they've never been irreversible. Fred and George seem to understand that this is a firm refusal, as they focus their efforts on selling their services to Ron.
"Of course it is!" Ron hesitates for several seconds. It's a big mistake, because that allows Fred to make a couple more arguments. "We're sure it has no side effects, but we need to test it on someone who can tell us in detail how they feel in order to perfect it."
"And, since you're our little brother, we'll let you have it for free."
"In a few days, people will be fighting over it, and then it'll cost you a good few galleons," says Fred, boasting.
"Even though you're our brother." George grins mischievously.
"I don't know—" Ron shakes his head, trying to shake off the doubts that urge him to agree.
"Oh... come on, you're the only ones who haven't found a mate yet," says George, urging.
"We're not required to have a partner." Ron replies immediately. Fred and George both grin hugely, instantly detecting the way their little brother is trying to deflect the conversation with an excuse they don't quite believe.
"But you want to, and that's what matters," says Fred, triumphantly. Ron's face, wracked with doubt and a longing to fit in with everyone else, gives way for a few moments.
"And you can't ask anyone," says George, by way of a punchline. It doesn't quite work as he'd hoped, though, because it darkens Ron's expression, making him shake his head again.
"And even Ginny will bring someone," assures Fred to him, a little desperate for his brother to agree to be their experimental subject.
"What?" Ron frowns and Harry cocks his head to one side, curious and still glad that the attention has shifted from him to his friend, though he doesn't know if Ron's annoyance is because Ginny, who shouldn't be able to go to the ball because she's in third year, has found someone older than her to take her, or because someone is interested in her, as he's always tended to be a bit overprotective, or because his sister who isn't old enough to go to the ball herself has been able to get the date that he hasn't.
"Neville," Fred explained, as if it were obvious.
"You mean Neville's taking her, Ginny's not old enough to go to the ball on her own," Ron corrects, irritated.
"It seems more like she's the one who asked him, so—"
"And she didn't even need to try our concoction to find the perfect match," adds George, adopting the voice of a salesman trying to praise the properties of his product. "Something you'll have to use if you don't want to go with Harry like a bad gay romance novel. That way, at least you'll have a chance to ask someone instead of being left in doubt forever."
"That's what you think," mumbles Ron, who is still digesting the information about his sister and has let his guard down. "We did ask people, just so you'd know."
"Yes?" Fred and George speak at the same time, suddenly interested. Their smiles grow as wide as Harry's eyes, which roll because of Ron's big mouth.
He ducks his head over his Potions essay, which is due the next day and which Ron hasn't even started, trusting Hermione to help him at the last minute. Though Harry doubts it, his friend has been a little strange for a few days, as many as they suppose. The news that all fourth through seventh year students will be able to attend the Yule Ball at Hogwarts during the school holidays and bring a date has unleashed mass hysteria in the Gryffindor common room about trying to find someone to go on a date with that night, even if it looks like it's going to turn out to be a terrible plan.
Actually, it's not a Gryffindor thing: fever has struck everyone in the castle and suddenly the entire student body is obsessed with finding a date to attend the aforementioned ball, and couples are being formed that even Harry would have guessed, but also the most bizarre that anyone could think of. Such is the fervour that it has even overshadowed the news that the Ministry's investigation into the fake Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who impersonated Auror Moody and put Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire is apparently dismantling a network of former Death Eaters who were plotting to try to bring Lord Voldemort back. Of course, in Harry's opinion, they might have become suspicious of him the moment he started teaching Unforgivable Curses in his classes.
Half-listening as Ron stammers on, telling his brothers about his infamous attempt to ask Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons participant in the Triwizard Tournament, to the ball and Harry's even more embarrassing request to Cho Chang, who is going to the ball with Hogwarts representative Cedric Diggory, Harry continues to patiently scratch at the parchment with the tip of his quill, cursing Snape and the endless tests he orders them to do on every potion and ingredient, with Defence Against the Dark Arts now added on top of that, as Dumbledore can't seem to find a suitable replacement for the fake Professor Moody and the real one who is still recovering from his kidnapping at St. Mungo's.
On the other hand, though, he's grateful for that... normality. For once, he's not the centre of attention, apart from the moment when the Goblet of Fire spat out a fourth piece of paper with his name written on it that he certainly didn't insert. And now, thanks to the timely intervention of Dumbledore and the Ministry, Harry can enjoy, if you can call it that, the same embarrassing task as the rest of his peers: finding a partner to attend the ball with so as not to go through the even more embarrassing enjoyment of having to do it alone. And, objectively, it's a much better option than facing a huge dragon who's pissed off because someone wants to steal her precious eggs while the whole school jeers or boos him for trying to usurp Diggory's place and steal the limelight, even if he sometimes sarcastically boasts that he would prefer the dragon.
"Ready!" Completely oblivious to the Weasley brothers' conversation, Harry puts the final point on the essay, quickly going over it as he reaches across the table, fumbling for the bag of goodies that he and Ron use to reward themselves every time they finish a school assignment. He won't need to ask Hermione to help him correct it, he thinks as he chews, what he's done is enough for Snape to give even him a pass. "Shi'!"
The sour pill, which he has picked up without looking, scorches his mouth. It's a treat best eaten like candy, sucking it slowly so that it releases its potent acidity gradually, but in chewing it he has broken it and it is now too strong to tolerate without pain. He spits out the pieces of the pill, which smoke faintly and burn the skin of his hand as well, and, blinded by the burning, painful sensation in his mouth, Harry looks around, sure that there must be a bottle or glass of water nearby with which to soothe the acidity. Beside him, the alarmed voices of the twins and Ron are muffled.
"Harry, wait!" Ron shouts, loud enough for Harry, who has managed to find the bottle and raise it to his lips, eagerly sipping the cool, aromatic liquid, to hear him.
"Fuck, I 'ought I was dying," he whispers hoarsely, his mouth numb after sucking down every last drop. His tongue is sore and his throat is burning, and his mouth is dry and without saliva, but at least it is no longer burning. His head spins for a few seconds as he catches his breath, and when his vision clears, the three Weasley brothers are staring at him intently. The twins with a huge grin on their lips and Ron with a horrified expression. Suspicion rips through his mind and his heart stops. "Wha's going on?" He can't even pronounce the 'th' right. For all sakes, he can't even pronounce the letter 't' right without it hurting. And probably a handful more of the alphabet, because the pill has devastated his tongue and part of the roof of his mouth.
"How are you feeling, Harry?" Fred and George ask at the same time, leaning towards him with great interest. Harry frowns, about to reply that a little more water wouldn't hurt, because dying isn't in his current plans, but Ron speaks first.
'Dat was—" 'Concoction to find your ideal mate,' Harry understands, too late. Startled, he opens his eyes wide and looks at the twins, who seem to find it all very amusing.
"Well?" George looks at him, anxious, prompting him to speak.
"I don' no'ice any'ing," says Harry, speaking with difficulty.
"Sometimes it takes a while to kick in," says Fred, but Harry can detect in his voice the insecurity that he doesn't quite know what to expect from his new joke product. "In theory, it just takes over to guide you to the person you want to go to the ball with and ask them."
"What if he says no?" asks Ron, interested.
"In theory, that's fine." George shrugs. "We wanted to have made him lead you to the next person on the list, but—"
"Lis'?" Harry stammers, horrified.
"Oh, yes, everyone has a list, even if it's subconscious," says Fred with a chuckle.
"I don' have a lis'," says Harry, but Ron's guilty face makes him think he does.
"But if we did that, it didn't wear off until someone said yes," explains George.
"And imagine if the 26th person on the list was McGonagall." Harry, even more horrified by Fred's words, tables his hair, trying not to think of McGonagall as part of a list of possible candidates to ask to the Yule Ball lest the concoction direct him to her and ruin his social, school and personal life in an instant.
"Maybe that's why it's not working," says George, watching Harry with almost scientific interest.
"Maybe wha'?" asks Harry, hopeful that the experimental product has failed.
"Because you don't have a list. Haven't you ever thought about who you'd want to go to the ball with?" Fred asks, looking sceptical.
"I guess." There's Cho Chang, of course, but Harry never considered that she was part of a list. She was just the only person he could think of when McGonagall informed them that they could take a couple to the ball and everyone went crazy assuming it would be a failure not to. He had first noticed her the year before, at one of the Quidditch matches and had thought she was pretty. Somehow, they'd gone from wanting to defenestrate each other off their broomsticks while chasing the snitch to greeting each other amicably as they passed each other in the corridors, so it had seemed entirely logical for him to approach her and ask her to the ball together, given that he didn't know any other girls from other houses, nor did he have much dealings with those from his own apart from Hermione.
"Just our luck," sighed George.
"I'd say more. Our mirth in a barrel, little brother," says Fred, trying to laugh at his own joke, although without optimism. They both get up and, patting Harry's back gratefully, go to another part of the common room, probably to try and sort out the failure of their concoction.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Ron asks, looking at him with concern. Harry nods in relief. The arrival of Hermione, who is outraged to learn of the existence of the twins' concoction, only to sympathise when she finds out why Harry is talking so strangely. Fortunately, the girl knows a suitable spell to quickly heal Harry's tongue and soon the topic of conversation is diverted to the Potions essay that Ron has not yet begun to write.
