Ravenclaw

2 DECEMBER 1994—Belle was the first one to dip her toes in the dating pool.

She was tutoring Harry Potter in Charms, her best subject. But her mind kept wandering to the upcoming Yule Ball. Her roommate, Cho Chang, already had a date—with a Triwizard Champion, no less—and she didn't even have any prospects.

Harry was having trouble focusing as well. Abruptly he asked, "So, do you have a date?"

"A date to what?"

"The, um, Yule Ball. I would ask Hermione, but, um, she said she already has a date."

He's quite the charmer, Belle thought drily. But what other options do she have? She could do a lot worse than the Boy-Who-Lived.

Plastering on an encouraging smile, Belle replied, "I'd love to be your date, Harry."

"Great," said Harry, sighing in relief.

The Yule Ball went well. Harry wasn't one for dancing, but neither was Belle, so they just sat at a table together, watching the other couples. Alina Vervain was a knockout in her new satiny green dress, and because she didn't have a date, she rotated through dancing with a slew of Slytherin boys. Swan had her blond hair teased and piled high. She was dancing in the strangest fashion.

After the Ball, Harry asked Belle if she would like to go with him to Hogsmeade in January. She said yes.

And then she started finding strange notes. Notes that said things like, "Be mine," and "Hello gorgeous," and "Charms was my best class too" and "Roses are red, violets are blue, your hair is mousy brown, and I like you." They were all signed with a poorly drawn heart and…was that a nine-legged spider?

Belle did her best to ignore the notes. Instead, she focused on her upcoming date with Harry. He wasn't all that bad, really, just a little socially awkward. And there was a bit of fun in dressing up a little.

Harry and Belle walked down to Hogsmeade together. After some quick browsing at Honeydukes, they headed to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer and some conversation. Harry was a bit of a conspiracy theorist, constantly ranting about You-Know-Who's return, but Belle decided that his firm but illogical beliefs were…endearing? She was trying, okay?

Suddenly, a waiter in an ill-fitting uniform dumped a pitcher of butterbeer on Harry Potter.

"Oh, s-so sorry sir," he stuttered. "Here, a n-napkin."

"I don't think that napkin is going to do anything," Harry sputtered, blinking butterbeer out of his eyes. "Excuse me, Belle, I need to go to the men's room to dry off—"

"No need," said Belle, pulling out her wand. "Ventus!"

Rather like a blow dryer, a strong wind blew Harry's clothes dry.

"There you are," Belle smiled.

"Thank—" Harry began, but he was cut off by the waiter, who screamed, "No!"

"Excuse me?" Belle asked.

"H-he was supposed to leave!" the waiter shrieked. "And then I could c-confess my undying love in p-person!"

"What?" Belle exclaimed, disgusted. This waiter was repulsively ugly, with a sniveling demeanor and—wait, he looked familiar. Where had she seen him? Oh, he was the new assistant janitor, Peter Pettigrew. Yuck.

"Yes, I l-love you! Haven't you been getting my n-notes?"

"Ugh, that was you?!" Belle recoiled.

"I knew you were a smart g-girl! That's my second favorite thing about you, with the first b-being how your hair is the exact shade of m-my—I mean a rat's—fur!"

"Hey, back off, Wormy," a man cut in, his wand at Pettigrew's throat. He slung his free arm around Belle's shoulders, making her squirm a bit. "She's my girlfriend, and the love of my life."

"S-Sirius," Pettigrew smiled, while trying to back away. "S-sorry, I didn't know. I assumed she was with J-James' son."

"You aren't worthy of saying that name," Sirius growled. "Sectumsempra!"

A/N: The next update might be a while in coming; I'm working on another story at the moment.