Spring had arrived, and it was time for... ahem.
Though the Scottish Highlands were currently freezing cold, it was clear that spring had come for the young wizards.
Ever since the fourth years and above had attended etiquette lessons, the atmosphere in the castle had changed.
The girls had become chattier, moving around in giggling groups while pointing at the boys and occasionally bursting into silly laughter.
In previous years, most students would return home for Christmas, but this year was different. Nearly all fourth-years and above had chosen to stay.
Even many third-years and below had remained, mostly to spectate, though some hoped to attend the ball with the older students.
"Lawrence, would you be my dance partner?"
On the way to Transfiguration, a fifth-year Ravenclaw girl stopped Wayne, her eyes shining with hope.
She had clearly dressed up carefully for the occasion, even puffing out her chest slightly as she spoke, creating quite the impressive display.
Wayne offered a polite smile. "Sorry, I already have a partner."
At that, Hermione smoothly looped her arm through his, discreetly rolling her eyes.
"Alright," the girl said dejectedly before walking away.
The two continued upstairs, Hermione remaining silent the entire time.
Similar incidents had happened far too often these past few days. Wayne had turned down at least forty or fifty girls by now, and she had grown used to it.
Still, Hermione couldn't help voicing her doubts. "Just how many dance partners have you agreed to? You've promised me, then Cho, and oh—that girl from Beauxbatons too. Can you even handle it all?"
"Of course," Wayne said proudly, puffing out his chest. "I could take on ten!"
Hermione pinched him in annoyance before striding into the classroom ahead of him.
At the back of the room, Harry and Ron were nervously flipping through a book, each page turn seeming to require immense effort.
Harry flipped three pages in succession, exhaled in relief, and nudged Ron.
"Your turn."
Ron's face fell. Gritting his teeth, he turned a page. When nothing happened, he grinned in delight—only to stiffen as he turned the next page.
BAM!
A fist suddenly shot out from the book, punching him squarely in the eye.
"Ow!"
Ron howled in pain while Harry burst into laughter.
This was one of Wayne's latest prank inventions—the Luck-Testing Notebook.
Outwardly, it looked like an ordinary book, but if you flipped to a trap page, a fist would spring out and deliver a solid punch. The catch was that the trap pages randomised after each strike, never staying fixed in one place.
Those with good luck might flip through a dozen pages unscathed, while the unlucky ones would get hit on the first try—hence the name.
It had been an instant hit upon release, selling like hotcakes. The force of the punch could be adjusted, with the strongest setting capable of reducing someone to tears.
In just two days, several close friendships had already been shattered because of it.
Hermione stared at the cackling Harry and Ron with the expression of someone watching utter fools.
How childish, even at their age.
She couldn't understand why toys she found utterly boring were so popular among the boys.
Soon, Professor McGonagall arrived with a stern expression:
"I'm dissatisfied with many students' progress. You'll be facing your O.W.L.s next year, so you must start preparing now. No more slacking off."
The Beauxbatons students looked relaxed – their exams wouldn't come until sixth year, so they had nothing to worry about.
Meanwhile, the Hogwarts students wore expressions as if they were constipated.
With a year and a half to go, wasn't this preparation a bit premature?
What really exasperated the young wizards was Hermione nodding solemnly in complete agreement with Professor McGonagall.
Professor McGonagall handed each student a teapot. Today's task was to transfigure it into a mouse and make it circle a designated pillar.
This inspiration had come from watching Cedric during training.
The first task had clearly demonstrated the difference between rigid Transfiguration and true mastery. Professor McGonagall didn't expect everyone to reach Cedric's level – just being able to control a small animal would suffice.
The results, however, greatly disappointed her.
Many students produced mice that still resembled teapots. Those who barely managed proper mice couldn't control them at all – the creatures scampered wildly the moment they appeared.
Professor McGonagall spotted Neville's mouse with a perfectly normal front half, while its rear end remained distinctly teapot-shaped, spinning confusedly in circles.
It frustrated her so much that she nearly intervened to help Neville directly.
Fortunately, not everyone was so vexing.
Hermione's performance pleased Professor McGonagall immensely.
Her mouse deftly navigated several pillars before obediently returning to Hermione's side.
"Could you handle controlling another one?" Professor McGonagall asked on impulse, handing Hermione an additional teapot.
True to form, Hermione accomplished this with ease.
The number of mice gradually increased. It wasn't until the seventh that Hermione began showing signs of struggle.
But this was already enough to delight Professor McGonagall.
The way she looked at Hermione was practically how one would gaze upon a beloved daughter.
"Miss Granger, would you like to join my Transfiguration club?"
"Of course," Hermione replied with delighted surprise.
"Excellent, come to my office this Saturday morning." Professor McGonagall left with evident satisfaction.
Being Wayne's teacher hadn't brought her much sense of achievement.
After all, there was too little assistance she could offer him. But Hermione was different – though outstanding, she still fell within McGonagall's realm of understanding.
The last time she'd felt this way about polishing a rough gem had been when Lily was still around.
Thinking of that red-haired girl, Professor McGonagall let out an almost imperceptible sigh before returning to the lectern.
...
The moment the bell rang, Harry eagerly pulled out his predictive notebook, ready to play a few more rounds with Ron.
"Potter, come here for a moment."
Harry startled, quickly handing the notebook to Ron before approaching the lectern.
Only when the classroom had emptied did Professor McGonagall speak: "Potter, have you chosen your dance partner yet?"
"Professor, I wasn't planning to attend the ball," Harry said.
Professor McGonagall gave him an odd look: "You're unaware of the Triwizard Tournament tradition, then? The champions must open the dance."
Harry froze: "What? Why didn't anyone tell me?"
He'd never heard anything about an opening dance. Even attending Sirius's lessons had just been to show support.
"Now you know." Professor McGonagall was clearly exasperated. "You must prepare a dance partner, Potter. Don't look at me like that – it's your obligation as a champion."
With that final, uncompromising statement, she left.
Harry stood dumbfounded. He'd rather face the Hungarian Horntail again than deal with this situation.
A dance partner... where was he supposed to find one?
Soon, Ron learned of Harry's worries and thought he was overreacting.
"You're a champion! There'll be girls queuing up to be your partner. Just pick one you like."
"But they'd only want the spotlight," Harry countered. "I'd just be a prop."
"Fine then," Ron shrugged. "Keep that energy and say it all to Professor McGonagall."
Harry immediately deflated.
At that moment, Fred and George came storming through, brandishing their Bludger bats with furious determination.
Harry watched them curiously: "There's no practice today. Where are you going?"
"To teach someone a lesson!" George growled. "Bloody Cedric asked Angelina to be his partner."
Fred clutched his chest dramatically: "And Angelina said yes!"
"This isn't over!"
With that, they stormed out of the common room in a rage.
Harry gaped as Ron burst into laughter beside him.
He knew Fred and George had been hesitating over who should ask Angelina first. Now someone had beaten them to it.
Seeing Ron's amusement, Harry asked: "Have you chosen your partner yet?"
Ron's smile faded instantly.
...
They weren't the only ones troubled by dance partner dilemmas.
On the third floor of the new building, in the Mahoutokoro dormitories...
Inside Sakura and Tomoyo's room.
"Ugh, this is so annoying!"
Sakura rolled around on her bed, muttering incessantly before finally stopping, her slender pale legs swinging restlessly.
"A competition is one thing, but why must there be a dance too?"
"Because it's tradition," said Tomoyo softly from the writing desk where she was sketching costume designs. "The champions' opening dance has been a custom for centuries. You should have known this already."
"If I'd known earlier, I wouldn't have signed up," Sakura puffed out her cheeks. "I don't want to dance with any of those people. Tomoyo, why don't you be my dance partner instead?"
As soon as the words left her mouth, Sakura's eyes lit up.
She realised she was practically a genius for coming up with such a brilliant idea.
Tomoyo looked at her with pity. "Sakura, if I were a boy, I'd definitely accept your invitation. Unfortunately, I'm not."
"Wayne has those Gender-Swap Mints, but they're absolutely forbidden at Hogwarts – worse than Dungbombs. Best not even think about it."
"Wayne..." Sakura lowered her head, murmuring dejectedly, "That leaves my only option gone, too. He'll definitely open the dance with Fleur."
Tomoyo's eyes curved into crescents. "I don't have such worries, though."
"You're planning to invite Wayne, too?" Sakura gasped.
"No, it's Wayne who's already invited me."
"Nani?!" Sakura sprang up from the bed, so shocked that her native language slipped out. "When? How come I didn't know?"
"He asked me right after Charms class today. I hadn't had time to tell you yet."
Sakura bit her lower lip slightly harder.
Suddenly, her previously resigned mood became unsettled.
Even though Tomoyo was her best friend, Sakura still felt strangely conflicted...
Why had it turned out like this?
Meeting Wayne, becoming friends – I was there first in both cases. Yet he only invited Tomoyo. Why not me?
Annoyed, Sakura flopped back down and covered her head with a pillow, grumbling incoherently.
The more the girl thought about it, the more agitated she became, itching to confront Wayne immediately about this.
Yes, I'm a champion and my dance with Fleur would conflict, but how would you know I wouldn't agree unless you asked me?
Stealing a glance at Tomoyo, still absorbed in her drawings, Sakura secretly made up her mind.
Tomorrow, she'd go ask Wayne directly. If he refused, she'd find a way to skip the dance entirely.
Whether feigning illness or making up some excuse, she absolutely wouldn't dance with other boys.
While Sakura was still stewing in her room, someone else had already taken action.
At the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room, Cassandra had a young badger summon Wayne outside. "You owe me that favour. I've decided what I want."
Wayne wasn't stupid – he'd guessed Cassandra's purpose the moment he saw her.
"You want me as your dance partner?"
"Y-yes," the usually haughty blonde girl stammered uncharacteristically. "D-don't get the wrong idea. It's just that among all the students here, you're the only one worthy of matching with me."
Wayne corrected her: "The only one who can dominate you."
Wayne Lawrence yielded to no man. Even when sweet-talking girls, he had to establish the hierarchy.
"You..." Cassandra gritted her teeth, barely restraining the urge to swear—her upbringing forbade such vulgarity.
"I don't care. You owe me a favour. No matter what, you have to be my dance partner for the opening dance."
The girl's eyes burned with stubbornness. "Even if Fleur invites you, you must promise me."
"No problem."
Wayne agreed so readily that Cassandra froze for two full seconds before eyeing him suspiciously.
"You're not tricking me, are you? Fleur hasn't invited you?"
"Why would I do that?" Wayne spread his hands. "You'd hate me forever."
"Relax. Since I promised, I'll definitely attend as your partner."
Cassandra studied him for another two seconds. "I'll hold you to that."
"But... how's your technique? Don't keep stepping on my feet."
Wayne rubbed his chin. "You're worried about me? I'm worried about you. Shall we practise first?"
The girl's eyes flickered with interest.
"Fine. Where?"
"Just follow me."
Wayne led Cassandra to the Room of Requirement.
...
Half an hour later, both were thoroughly satisfied.
The golden-haired girl's face was flushed, with beads of sweat on her forehead. "I never expected you'd be this good."
"Likewise. I'd never have guessed it was your first time. Quite the natural talent."
Wayne handed her a handkerchief.
Praise from him made Cassandra preen slightly. "Hmph. I can waltz. The foxtrot's simple—just needed a glance to learn."
Wayne smiled. "Then I'll look forward to your performance at the ball. By the way, have you prepared your dress?"
"I had it custom-made over the summer."
"Then I needn't worry for you."
With a wave, Wayne exited the Room of Requirement first.
Cassandra lingered, curiosity about the room keeping her inside as she explored.
Truly Hogwarts—to have such a magical place.
Though Ilvermorny's grounds were vaster and its buildings more numerous, it lacked enchanted staircases and secret chambers.
This must be the difference in heritage.
...
The next morning, a sleep-deprived Sakura confronted Wayne directly.
As the champion with the highest first-round scores, her every move drew attention.
"Wayne... will you be my dance partner?"
Wayne: "..."
My dear champion, such matters should be discussed privately—not shouted across the hall before an audience.
Indeed, perhaps to steel herself, Sakura's final words came out as a near-shout, audible even at distant tables.
Swish-swish-swish.
Dozens of eyes snapped towards them—some amused, some gleeful, others accusatory.
Fleur scrutinised Sakura. She didn't mind Wayne dancing with others; as a champion, the opening dance was hers regardless.
But Sakura was also a champion.
Instantly, Fleur's guard went up.
At the Hufflepuff table, Wayne's two-second hesitation made Sakura visibly wilt. Snapping back to attention, Wayne hastily said, "I never said no, I agree."
This time, it was the little badger watching from the sidelines who was dumbfounded.
Many people had witnessed him promising Cassandra yesterday, so how could he agree to Sakura today?
Cedric, covered in bumps, gazed deeply at Wayne with a nostalgic look.
Take a good look now. If you don't, you might never see him in one piece again.
Was he trying to get himself killed like this?