CHAPTER 38 – SPLENDOR IN DISGUISE
As they neared the Great Hall, Ron sidled up to him, Hermione having dropped back to speak with Ginny. "Hey, Harry, what's with the flowers?"
"It's a Muggle tradition," Harry replied. "At most formal occasions, a guy will get his girl a corsage for her to wear. The flowers can have special meaning as well."
"Why did you get one for Hermione?" Ron's tone held a hint of suspicion, but Harry, not wanting to delve into the matter further, deflected him with the explanation he and Fleur had discussed in the flower shop.
"She's always been my biggest supporter, Ron. I got her one in thanks for her friendship and help."
Though Ron's eyebrows furrowed in thought, he immediately nodded and smiled at Harry. "Well, that's okay then, I guess."
Exaggeratedly and with a certain level of satisfaction at tweaking his friend's nose, Harry slapped Ron on the back. "Sorry, Ron—I didn't think you'd appreciate the flowers. Otherwise, I'd have gotten some for you too."
Ron's responding glare was enough to send both Fleur and Harry into fits of laughter. Walking away with feigned injury, Ron muttered, "Merlin! The guy gets a pretty girlfriend and suddenly he thinks he's a comedian."
Smiling to himself, Harry rose and greeted the two girls, daring to bend and place a kiss on each of their hands, amidst the sighs and giggles of nearby onlookers. As they all took their seats at the table, the group descended into chatter. Harry, meanwhile, gazed around, absorbing the sights and sounds of his second Yule Ball. The scene in the Great Hall, while similar, had subtle differences from the previous year. The winter theme persisted, with icy decorations and falling snow dominating, but there was now a hint of reds and greens throughout the hall. The trees were adorned with sparkling red garlands and blue fairy lights, and the icicles and snowflakes twinkled with a decidedly red and greenish hue. It was done in an understated fashion, yet it managed to brighten and bring warmth to the room, which had been beautiful but chilly the previous winter.
Harry pondered if these colors were meant to represent some Muggle Christmas traditions, and if the Purebloods were aware that red and green were the de facto Christmas colors in the Muggle world. A quick glance at Malfoy, seated on the other side of the hall, revealed nothing. The blond did not appear to be staring at Harry with anything more than his usual level of rancor. Similarly, Professor Dumbledore, who caught Harry's quick glance, merely smiled and winked before turning back to his conversation with Professor McGonagall.
Shrugging off any further contemplation of the hall's color scheme, Harry redirected his focus to his friends. The current song had ended, and many club members were drifting over in their direction. With the band on a break, the area buzzed with chatter and laughter, and Harry relished the feeling of interacting with close friends. The irrepressible twins promptly christened Harry's table the "champions' table," given that the only two champions from the previous year in attendance were seated there. Rolling his eyes at their over-the-top antics, Harry returned to the conversation with his betrothed.
Unlike earlier in the ball when his gaze had been solely reserved for Fleur and Hermione, Harry now kept an eye on another girl seated at a nearby table. He wasn't being unfaithful to his betrothed, but he had reflected on his behavior from the previous year and realized that there was someone to whom he owed an overdue apology. Determined to make amends in as public a setting as possible, he intended to act on it that evening.
As the band resumed playing, and the first strains of music once again filled the Great Hall, Harry stood and, excusing himself from his companions, made his way to the table to set his plan in motion. Walking away, he noted Fleur's approving smile; he had made the French witch aware of his plans, and she wholeheartedly supported his decision.
Navigating around his friends, with some watching him curiously, Harry stopped in front of a pretty dark witch dressed in a lavender gown. "Hello, Parvati, may I have this dance?"
The Indian witch, Parvati, looked up at him, initially startled, before breaking into a smile and accepting his invitation. Harry led her to the dance floor, and as they assumed their positions, the music started. Despite not considering himself a particularly good dancer, he felt he managed to acquit himself admirably, certainly better than the previous year.
As they swayed to the music, Harry took the opportunity to address the matter that had been on his mind. "Parvati, I wanted to apologize for my behavior last year," he said. "I should have paid more attention to you and made sure we both had a good time. I failed you, and I want you to know that I am truly sorry for it."
Parvati, having anticipated the conversation, smiled and inclined her head. "It's okay, Harry. I know you had a lot going on with the tournament and all."
"That doesn't excuse how I acted," Harry insisted. "It was a night to have a good time, to make sure you had a good time, and I sat and brooded. I wanted to let you know that you're a beautiful girl, and I shouldn't have treated you that way."
"It doesn't excuse it," she replied with a laugh. "But it does make it understandable. Thank you, Harry. I accept your apology. I should have known better than to expect more from it than you intended."
Confused, Harry looked at Parvati in askance, wondering to what she was referring. Laughing, she continued, "You really don't know what effect you have on girls, do you, Harry? I allowed myself to imagine I was a princess that night, and that you were the handsome prince who would sweep me off my feet."
Harry could only gape at her, unsure if she was teasing him. Parvati laughed even harder at his incomprehension, but after a few moments of merriment at his expense, she took pity on him.
"You excite the imaginations of so many, Harry, and you do it so effortlessly. It's not only your fame—though that's a part of it—but it's also your personality, how you try to make everyone feel important. It's how modest and unassuming you are. Most girls in the school would give their right arms to be with you."
"I'm no prince, Parvati," Harry managed to stammer after a few moments, feeling uncomfortable with the praise.
"No, you aren't," Parvati agreed. "You're a wonderful young man, faults and all. If you ever have need of a second wife, please let me know—I'd be honored to accept the position." Harry once again became shamefaced at this unexpected proposal, but Parvati was having none of it. "You have your faults like we all do, but still, you're a wonderful person."
Eyes widening with disbelief, Harry stammered, "S… Second wife?"
"Oh, Harry," Parvati said with a laugh, "don't worry—I was just joking. And besides, I think we all know who is most likely to get that particular title." Her last words were accompanied by a smile and a glance in the direction of the tables. Harry, though suspecting that Parvati might be privy to something he wasn't, chose not to delve into that particular conversation for all the galleons in Gringotts.
By the time Harry had regained his composure, the dance had ended. Gratefully, he took Parvati's hand and escorted her from the floor, leaving her at her table with her friends. Padma, who had observed their interaction with interest, smiled and nodded at Harry. Returning the gesture, he excused himself.
Sinking into his seat beside Fleur with relief, Harry couldn't help but wonder if he would ever understand women. Fleur smiled and kissed him on the cheek, expressing her approval of the way he had made the apology and telling him she was proud of him. Aware that his closest male friend had made a similar impression the previous year, Harry attempted to catch Ron's eye and gestured toward where the twins were sitting. However, Ron had already risen from his seat. A few moments later, he led another Indian witch to the dance floor, presumably to make his own apology.
The prevailing mood among Harry's extended group of male friends was that Fleur looked absolutely stunning that evening—a sentiment with which Harry wholeheartedly agreed. Fortunately, the other girls, all very pretty in their own right, didn't appear to harbor any resentment that Fleur outshone them. However, while Fleur received countless compliments, none were as direct and blunt as Seamus's.
Seamus, a self-appointed connoisseur of feminine attraction, spoke up a few moments after Ron had left for his dance. "Harry, you are one lucky bugger," he declared rather inelegantly.
Harry, not considering Seamus a close friend but having mended their differences to some extent, bantered with him. "I can't really argue with that statement."
"Nor should you," Seamus responded with a snort. "I mean, you have the audacity to become betrothed over the summer, which keeps you out of trouble with the Ministry. Instead of being tied to some warty old witch—which would have been poetic justice, by the way—you end up with the most beautiful witch any of us has ever laid eyes on."
Fleur blushed again, giving Seamus a quelling look, but Harry was thoroughly enjoying himself and didn't see fit to protest. "I think anyone would count themselves lucky to be betrothed to Fleur. Who wouldn't be attracted to her?"
Harry chuckled, diverting attention to Dean with a wry smile. "Pretty sure he wouldn't be," he remarked, nodding toward a table situated across the bustling hall. Everyone tuned into the conversation followed Harry's gaze, revealing the unmistakable figure Dean had in mind. Malfoy lounged at the table, surrounded by his cronies, including Pansy, and a handful of Slytherin associates. The glare he shot at Harry seemed to be the standard-issue, garden variety disdain that he routinely threw in Harry's direction whenever their paths crossed. It was a look that accused Harry of nothing more than simply existing, lacking the fiery hatred that would have charred him to a crisp if Malfoy possessed the power to wield it.
"Malfoy?" scoffed Seamus, his tone dripping with disdain. "Who gives a knut about what he thinks? Besides, it's not like it's a shocker he wouldn't be into such a fine specimen of female beauty. He's always been a bit dodgy anyway, hasn't he?"
Laughter erupted across the entire table, and Seamus, wearing a mischievous grin, adopted an expression of feigned innocence. "What? You've seen him, right? Always hanging around with those two gorillas. I'm betting his thing with Parkinson is just a smokescreen. He doesn't really pay her much attention, does he?"
Amidst the laughter, Dean chimed in, "Seamus, mate, you've got a point. Malfoy's priorities are as twisted as a Kneazle's tail."
"Twisted indeed," agreed Harry, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "But let's not waste our time pondering Malfoy's romantic entanglements, shall we? We've got more important things to focus on, like acing our exams and figuring out how to dodge Filch on our next nighttime adventure." The table erupted in a chorus of agreements, the lighthearted banter continuing as they enjoyed the camaraderie of the moment.
The laughter in the hall grew exponentially, drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity, with Malfoy at the epicenter of the mirth. It didn't take a genius to deduce that the raucous amusement was at his expense. The scowl deepened on Malfoy's face, a clear indicator that the joyous atmosphere wasn't endearing those involved to him. The uproar also didn't go unnoticed by the rest of the hall's occupants. Most merely shook their heads and returned to their activities, but Dumbledore couldn't help but allow himself a smile of indulgent amusement before refocusing on his discussion with the other professors.
However, Fleur, being a non-native English speaker and grappling with colloquial expressions, found herself lost at Seamus's statement. "A poof?"
This question sent Harry into further spasms of laughter, and it took several moments before he—or anyone else—could muster a response. Even Hermione, the epitome of straitlaced behavior, couldn't resist a chuckle, though she tried to maintain a stern and disapproving demeanor. Predictably, it was Hermione who recovered first, attempting to explain the matter, albeit awkwardly.
"A poof is… well…" she stammered, clearly uncomfortable delving into such topics in front of Fleur.
"It's a guy who likes other guys," Luna interjected with her characteristic nonchalance. She had been nearby, listening to the conversation while sitting with Neville. Though she appeared as airy and spacey as usual, her eyes gleamed rather suspiciously.
The information caused Fleur's eyes to widen. "You are calling him a… um… pédé? Un homosexuel?"
"That's exactly what we're saying," Seamus replied with a smirk, eliciting continued amusement from the group. The air was thick with laughter and camaraderie, punctuating the already lively atmosphere of the Hogwarts hall.
Fleur observed Malfoy critically for several moments, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then, with a slightly mischievous smile, she turned back to Harry. "You know, he might have a point."
Harry joined in the laughter that ensued, pausing only to engage in an exaggerated moment of contemplation. "Hmm… I wonder if I could add that to my repertoire of insults specifically reserved for the little prick."
Amidst the laughter, Harry noticed Hermione's disapproving glare. In a gesture of surrender, he held his hands up. "Don't worry, Hermione—I have no plans to unleash this insult on him. I don't think he'd take it well. He seems to have a rather high opinion of his… virility."
Laughter once again swirled through the group. At that very moment, the band struck up a lively tune, prompting Harry to rise and extend his hand to Fleur in invitation. She accepted with a smile.
It was a slow, melodic song, and while there were no specific dance steps to follow, Harry was content to hold Fleur close and sway to the music. They continued in this manner for some time before Fleur let out a sigh and leaned in, resting her head on Harry's shoulder. "I'm glad we decided to move our relationship forward, Harry," she said. "There are certainly some benefits to be had."
Harry chuckled, pulling her even closer as they continued to dance. The moment felt serene and right. "Benefits indeed," he agreed, the soft melody providing the perfect backdrop to their shared contentment.
For Fleur, the night unfolded like a magical dream, exceeding all her expectations for what the final Yule Ball could be. Unlike the previous ball, which had started with promise only to end in disappointment and unwanted attention, this one was a joyous experience, made even more special by the presence of someone she truly admired—Harry. She had spotted Roger around the hall, but he wisely kept his distance, not intruding on her newfound happiness.
The thrill of Harry's initial reaction to her appearance lingered in Fleur's memory. While she understood that genuine relationships extended beyond mere physical attraction, she also acknowledged its importance. Judging by Harry's looks and glances, she had no doubt about his strong attraction to her. Whether their feelings would evolve into something more profound remained uncertain, but she relished the journey.
Indeed, their connection was evolving. As a Veela attuned to the emotions of love, Fleur sensed the first stirrings of something special between them. It was exhilarating—she could hardly believe how smoothly they were progressing, considering the initial shock of the betrothal.
"A knut for your thoughts?" Harry's voice gently broke through Fleur's contemplation, and she smiled at him as they continued to glide across the dance floor. "Nothing in particular. I was just reflecting on how far we've come and how remarkably easy it's been." The enchanting melody surrounded them, creating a perfect backdrop for the dance of emotions unfolding between them.
"Well, it helps when a guy gets such an amazing betrothed," Harry quipped with a playful waggle of his eyebrows.
"Flatterer!" Fleur accused, letting out a joyful laugh.
"It's true," he replied earnestly. "I didn't know last year how amazing you are because I never really took the time to get to know you. But you are amazing, Fleur. I'm happy that everything has worked out the way it has."
Overwhelmed with emotion, Fleur, unable to find the right words, stretched up and softly kissed his lips. Though the kiss was chaste, it conveyed a depth of feeling, reciprocated by Harry, that left Fleur almost breathless.
The romantic interlude lingered for a few precious moments before they both pulled back, a shared understanding that such overt displays of affection were better suited for a more private setting. As they continued to move together in perfect harmony on the dance floor, Fleur couldn't help but reflect on how their situation had unfolded and feel grateful for the person Harry was. If he had been different, the outcome could have been far less pleasant. With Harry, she could almost taste the happiness awaiting her in the future.
The evening had grown late, and many students had retired to their beds. However, the more adventurous ones, along with those attending with their special someone, still graced the gathering. The significance of the last dance was not lost on such couples, providing a fitting conclusion to a magical night.
Of the few not engaged in the dance, Hermione Granger sat at the table she and her friends had occupied throughout the evening. On the whole, she mused, it had been a satisfying night, even without a specific date, unlike the previous year. In fact, she found it more pleasant this time around—Victor had been a gentleman, but he proved rather dull. Polite and attentive, Victor seemed slightly lacking in intellectual depth, steering every conversation toward Quidditch. While he had suggested her visiting Bulgaria and maintained a correspondence afterward, Hermione knew she could never have pursued a serious relationship with him.
Tonight, she had danced with many friends, primarily sticking close to Harry and Fleur. Despite Fleur being Harry's apparent first choice, Hermione felt that Harry had likely shared an almost equivalent number of dances with her as with Fleur. She couldn't help but sense the scrutiny of some Purebloods in the room, aware of the possibility of Harry having more than one wife. They wondered if she would accept such a proposal. Initially irked by the attention, Hermione had quickly concluded that it didn't matter and decided to ignore the speculative looks, both real and imagined.
Now, as she sat there, drained by the evening's activities, she found herself oscillating between disinterest and a slight envy of her fair-haired friend. She was well aware that she shouldn't feel this way—after all, it had always been a foregone conclusion that Harry would dance the last dance with Fleur.
Hermione genuinely liked Fleur and considered her a close friend. They complemented each other well, and Hermione believed they had the potential to make each other genuinely happy. Despite this, she couldn't shake the occasional longing to be in Fleur's position, dancing with the boy she not-so-secretly fancied. This feeling persisted despite Fleur's generous offer—the chance for Hermione to be with Harry as well.
However, Hermione remained caught in a web of conflict and uncertainty. As much as she desired to embrace Fleur's proposal eagerly, her insecurities held her back. While Fleur assumed Hermione's hesitation was rooted in concerns about the Muggle world's view of plural marriage, that wasn't the primary source of her indecision.
Plain and simple, Hermione was afraid. What had seemed like solid advice initially—Fleur's assurance that Hermione would be on equal footing given her long-standing relationship with Harry—now left her grappling with doubt. Fleur believed this would balance any perceived inequality in their looks, but Hermione couldn't deny the truth. While she acknowledged herself as pleasant and maybe even attractive, she couldn't escape the fact that she paled in comparison to Fleur's undeniable beauty.
And there lay the crux of the problem. Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that she would forever be in Fleur's shadow, especially now that Harry and Fleur's relationship seemed to be progressing steadily. She recognized the irrationality of this sentiment, understanding that Harry valued depth and wasn't swayed by superficialities. If she were to marry him, she knew he would cherish her just as much as Fleur. Yet, this knowledge failed to quell her fears, no matter how much she rationalized that her anxieties were unfounded.
With a sigh, Hermione leaned back in her chair, tearing her gaze away from the dancing couple. She reminded herself that she was still young—only sixteen! She had ample time to navigate through this dilemma; it wasn't a decision she had to rush.
"Boyfriend trouble, Granger?"
Startled, Hermione snapped her head back around to find Malfoy standing there, staring at her with a sardonic eye.
"Bugger off, Malfoy," she retorted, her irritation evident.
The blond ponce merely smirked. "Oh, it's quite obvious; you moon around Potter like he's the second coming of Merlin. It's quite pathetic, actually."
Hermione turned away and ignored him, but Malfoy seemed oblivious. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that his attention was focused on Harry.
"It's too bad about Potter, really," he continued in a slightly introspective tone, seemingly lost in his own thoughts rather than genuinely engaging with Hermione. "I mean, even though he's just a Halfblood, he could be acceptable due to his family's long heritage, even if they have polluted their bloodline frequently with the blood of their inferiors.
"But he's blind to the reality of his situation. The Potters have a long history, and with his fame and fortune, he could literally have almost anything—or anyone—he wanted. Instead, he saddles himself with creatures and Mudbloods. I could have protected him from that, but he chose to become my enemy instead."
"Maybe he finds you and those who agree with you nauseating," Hermione retorted tersely. "I know I do."
"You would," Malfoy replied sarcastically. "Those who are inferior must cling to something to justify their existence. Really, I can see no difference between a Mudblood like yourself and the Veela. One flavor of filth is really not much different from another flavor, after all."
"You're so charming, Malfoy," Hermione drawled. "I can't imagine how any girl wouldn't swoon at the sound of your honeyed tones making love to them."
An elegant eyebrow rose at her declaration. "Well, I am a Pureblood, after all. Any girl would be lucky to have me."
"Modesty is such an attractive trait." Hermione's tone was practically scathing, but it did not appear to faze Malfoy in the slightest.
"Those who have something to be modest about can be modest. I have no such need."
"You're delusional."
Malfoy smirked and paused to rake his eyes over her form, a leer coming over his face. "You know, Granger, if you're having trouble getting a boyfriend, maybe you should try me out. I bet I could show you a good time—better than that wimp Potter, anyway."
"You have such a way with words," Hermione simpered outrageously. "Any girl would swoon if you spoke to them that way. But what about Parkinson? Isn't she your betrothed?"
"Pansy will do what she's told. Besides, I can have more than one wife, or didn't you know that?" He regarded her critically. "Though the title 'wife' is a little too good for a Mudblood like you. How about 'plaything' instead?"
"You've a much higher opinion of yourself than you ought, given the fact that you've never managed to best me or any of my friends." Reminding him of his frequent failures seemed to irk him, as his expression darkened in response to her retorts. "And just for the record—I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot wand, Malfoy, so I suggest you confine your wooing to someone stupid enough to saddle herself with you."
"Malfoy!" a voice surprised both of them, and Hermione looked up to see Harry standing there, staring at Malfoy with an annoyed expression. Of course, that was normal when it came to the Slytherin. "Don't you have some rock you need to go crawl back under?"
"Potter," Malfoy snarled in return. "I'm just having a private conversation with Granger here. Why don't you butt out?"
"I'm sure she has better things to do than banter with you," Harry rejoined. "You can run along now, and don't forget to not come back."
Hermione thought that Harry was showing remarkable restraint, given the history between himself and Malfoy. But the Slytherin was not about to depart without one final jab at his nemesis.
"One of these days, Potter, you will be put in your place. And I aim to be there to witness it." With that, he turned and stalked off.
Harry was solicitous with Hermione, questioning her closely about what Malfoy had said and how he behaved. His concern touched her heart, and she assured them she was fine and had handled Malfoy without any help. Yet, her friends were not entirely mollified. Still, Malfoy was Malfoy, and there wasn't much they could do but ignore him and put him in his place when he crossed the line.
"I can't imagine that he'd think you would give him the time of day," Fleur commented once Hermione finished telling her story.
"I really don't think he was serious," Hermione replied. "It was more just an attempt to insult me. The crap that spews from his mouth never does change."
"He does ooze slime in a rather… Malfoy-esque fashion," Harry opined, prompting an amused look from Hermione.
"Oh, and this is the result of your determination to insult him less?" she teased.
Harry smiled and assumed a rather arrogant pose. "That's only in public. When I'm by myself or with my friends, I feel no need to censor myself. I'm only telling the truth—he is slimy, you know!"
Laughing, the three friends left the Great Hall and followed the other students, who were exiting now that the ball had come to an end. They mingled for some time, ultimately making their way back to Gryffindor tower. There, Harry gallantly kissed each of their hands, thanking them for a wonderful evening and wishing them a good night. Hermione entered her dorm smiling, thinking that if she ever did decide to accept Fleur's offer, she would certainly not be disappointed with Harry. He was everything she could ever want in a man. Now, if only she could convince herself that it would work out between the three of them.
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