For a moment, Harry felt like he might have to spend the rest of his life as a master of balancing affections.
As the saying goes, everyone has their favorites, and if Harry had to choose for himself, his biggest soft spot would undoubtedly be Veratia.
But then again, in all fairness, he really did owe Cassandra a great deal.
"You could just throw the problem out there."
That evening, Sirius called him back with his most sincere advice. "Instead of torturing yourself here, agonizing over who to pick, why not toss the question out and let them duke it out? See who ends up as your dance partner in the end…"
Hearing Sirius's suggestion, Harry began to question his entire existence, much like a certain future Italian football star whose skills below the neck were world-class.
No, this plan…
Wasn't it a bit too crude?
I might be a bit of a slag, but I'm not that kind of thoroughgoing slag!
"Isn't this a little overboard?" Harry asked suspiciously. "It's pretty rotten, isn't it?"
"Look at you," Sirius said with an expression of utter exasperation, as if iron couldn't be turned into steel. "You're good but not too good, bad but not thoroughly bad, and your body's so frail…"
Harry let the first two jabs slide—say what you will.
But the last one? No way he was admitting that.
Frail?
Me, frail?
Ha, never mind how aggressive a certain Veratia gets—every time, it's always her begging for mercy!
"Where exactly am I frail?" he shot back. "Impossible, absolutely impossible!"
"Oh, I'm just saying," Sirius chuckled, then repeated, "Anyway, that's my suggestion. If you don't want to keep tearing yourself apart, just throw the problem to them… Of course, if things go south after you do, don't rat out your godfather…"
Harry: %@#¥!
And you still claim this isn't a lousy idea!?
Grumbling, he hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and resolved to be a man who took responsibility.
In plain terms: pick one quickly and brace for the wrath of the other two.
However…
This time, Harry decided to choose Cassandra.
Once he'd made up his mind, he planned to find her after tomorrow's Potions quiz and talk it over.
The next day, Hogwarts had donned a full array of winter Christmas decorations.
The staff and students were clearly bent on leaving a deep impression on the guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, determined to showcase the castle at its festive best this Christmas.
The school was decked out with lights and colors; Harry had never seen decorations this splendid since starting at Hogwarts.
The marble staircase banisters were hung with icicles that never melted, and the twelve Christmas trees usually set up in the Great Hall were adorned with all sorts of trinkets—from glistening holly berries to live golden owls that hooted incessantly.
The suits of armor had been enchanted; whenever someone passed by, they burst into Christmas carols.
Hearing an empty helmet belt out "O Come, All Ye Faithful" was downright hilarious.
The armor only knew half the lyrics, and Filch had to yank Peeves out of them several times because Peeves would hide inside and improvise the missing parts with utterly crude and offensive lines whenever the singing faltered.
The Potions quiz took place in the Great Hall, which was piled high with Christmas decorations. Since it was an after-hours assignment, most students treated it casually, handing in their papers and leaving the hall as soon as they finished.
The whole year sat together scribbling away in silence while Snape stood at the back, seemingly absorbed in a book on potions.
Ron was still groaning and racking his brains; he was truly hopeless at Potions—or rather, he simply didn't like the subject.
Just as he was agonizing, a note suddenly slid across the table in front of him.
He looked up to see George jerking his chin at him.
Ron pursed his lips, unfolded the note, and read:
"Hurry up and make your move, or all the good ones will be snatched."
Ron scribbled back, "So who are you planning to ask?" crumpled the note, and tossed it back.
George glanced at it, then flashed his foolish little brother a kingly smirk of disdain.
He checked Snape's position to make sure the professor wasn't watching, then lobbed the paper ball at Angelina, who was whispering with Spinnet nearby.
"What's up?" Angelina asked.
"Will you go to the ball with me?" George mouthed, even doing a little dance gesture when he got to "ball."
"Sure," Angelina agreed readily.
George beamed at the response and winked triumphantly at Ron, clearly saying, "Watch and learn."
Ron took a deep breath.
He'd never imagined inviting a girl to a dance could be this straightforward.
Emboldened, he turned to Hermione.
By now, Hermione was nearly finished with her paper. As she dotted the last letter, Ron blurted, "Hey, uh, I mean… Hermione?"
"What?" Hermione looked up.
"You're a girl," Ron stated with conviction.
Hermione shot a withering glance at the hopeless Ron and sneered, "Thank you so much for noticing!
Harry knew disaster was brewing; if Ron kept talking, who knew what infuriating thing he'd say.
"Uh," Harry jumped in quickly, "Ron's been telling me for days he wants to ask you to the ball. He's just a bit shy…"
Hearing Harry, a spark of joy lit in Hermione's heart.
But Ron puffed out his cheeks, about to protest, only for Harry to clamp a firm hand on his shoulder.
Shut it, mate!
"In that case, why didn't you say something sooner?" Hermione said cheerfully. She stood, handed her paper to Professor Snape, and added with a dip of her head, "I suppose I'll graciously accept, Ronald—so you don't end up dateless and mocked, haha~"
With that, Hermione bounced out of the Great Hall like a little rabbit.
"You're really…" Ron wasn't sure if he should be happy or annoyed; anyway… it was complicated.
"Oh, don't mention it," Harry said. "If I'd let you talk, you'd probably say something hurtful and push Hermione away—"
"What do you mean push her away?" Ron bristled. "Never mind me—what about you? I think you need to make a choice. Hiding like a turtle isn't the way. I suggest you decide soon, yeah?"
"I already have…"
Before he could finish, Snape materialized behind them and whacked each on the head with a rolled-up parchment.
Harry shrugged, stood, and handed his paper to Snape.
Snape took it and gave a cold humph.
Harry was dying to ask if Snape had attended a Christmas ball back in his school days—whether he'd sat alone on the sidelines, teeth gritted, watching James and Lily dance—but he wisely held his tongue.
If that had been the case… well, it wouldn't have ended nicely.
After leaving the Great Hall, Harry headed for the Slytherin common room to find Cassandra.
At the entrance, he spotted Draco chatting and laughing with Crabbe and Goyle.
"Draco," he said.
Draco turned, saw Harry, and greeted him with a grin.
Harry pointed toward the common room. "Is Cassandra in? I need to talk to her about something important."
At Harry's question, Draco leaned back dramatically, eyes wide with respect.
"So you've finally seen the light?" Draco prattled on, clearly thrilled. "You've finally come around to inviting Cassandra to the ball as your partner… I mean, come on, Miss Grindelwald did graduate from Hogwarts after all… I mean, graduated…"
Even though Draco wanted to root for Cassandra, he didn't dare badmouth Veratia outright.
If Veratia found out, not even Harry and Cassandra combined could save him.
"Call her out," Harry said to Draco.
Draco scampered off gleefully. Moments later, he returned, followed by a coolly composed Cassandra.
"Speak," Cassandra said, head held high, her long neck elegant as a swan's. "What is it? Or… are you here to deliver some bad news?"
Harry gave Draco a suspicious glance; Draco shrugged, indicating he hadn't spoiled the surprise.
"Come with me," Harry said to Cassandra, reaching out to take her small hand.
Draco sucked in a breath, holding it, afraid to ruin this historic moment.
Yes! Perfect!
Potter's finally woken up! Starting to take my ancestor's hand of his own accord!
Caught off guard by the sudden grasp, Cassandra froze.
She hadn't expected Harry to be so direct.
Her hand felt wonderful—Cassandra always wore white lace gloves, so he couldn't feel the skin beneath, but even through the fabric, the astonishing softness came through.
It didn't match her personality at all—not quite; peel away Cassandra's tsundere shell, and inside she was actually quite soft.
Held by the hand, Cassandra said nothing, head high, following Harry silently.
But her cheeks were flushed pink; if you looked closely, her beautiful eyes had gone glassy.
Harry led her to an abandoned classroom, shut the door, but didn't release the "claw of Mount Lu" gripping her small hand.
Only then did Cassandra snap out of it.
She scanned the surroundings, lips parting slightly.
"What, is this something shady? You had to drag me here to tell me?"
The sarcasm in those phoenix eyes was crystal clear to Harry.
The little mole at the corner of her eye added a touch of fox-like charm.
"Cass," he said, "I, um…"
"What's wrong?" Cassandra asked.
Harry's mind flashed to Veratia—an enraged version, the one who'd once schooled Gellert.
But the image vanished as quickly as it came.
Joking aside, if he let her scare him now, how would he ever enjoy the blessings of multiple partners?
He took a deep breath and looked steadily at Cassandra.
"I want to invite you to the ball with me," he said.
Hearing the sudden invitation, Cassandra blanked for a moment.
Then the corners of her lips curved up.
"Oh?" Cassandra said with a light laugh. "What, did Grindelwald turn you down? So you're settling for second best and asking me to the ball?"
She regretted the words the instant they left her mouth, but it was instinct—she was used to a couple of barbed jabs.
Harry, who knew her well, didn't take it to heart. He leaned casually against the desk beside her, still holding her hand.
"I'm serious, Cass," he said. "I haven't asked Veratia, and I haven't asked Poppy… I think for this ball, I should ask you—and only you."
Cassandra's throat bobbed; an inexplicable light flickered in her eyes.
"Oh?" she asked. "Why?"
Reasons?
There were plenty, of course…
But having inherited Sirius's wisdom, Harry knew the optimal answer in this situation.
"Do I need a reason?" Harry chuckled, reaching out to ruffle Cassandra's hair. "I just felt like it, so I did it. That's all."
The answer was undoubtedly perfect.
Cassandra's gaze softened, melting into a pool of spring water. "Fine," she said with a smile and a nod. "I accept. I'll go to this Christmas ball with you…"
Then, with a half-smile, she added, "And what about your Grindelwald? If she finds out you asked me and not her, with her personality, she'll probably flip Hogwarts castle upside down…"
Hey, what's with "your Grindelwald"… Oh, wait, she is kind of my Grindelwald. "I'll talk to her tonight."
Harry answered with a grin, finally releasing her small hand—only to shift it to her thigh.
"Don't worry, she'll understand."
"I highly doubt that," Cassandra said, clearly holding back laughter, her eyes full of mischief.
She could already picture Veratia's meltdown when she heard the news.
After all her scheming, she'd never expected Harry to actively invite her…
Just thinking about it, Cassandra felt a century's worth of pent-up resentment dissolve completely.
Hmph.
Grindelwald…
You have this day too!
As Cassandra reveled in her mental victory, the crystal ball communicator in Harry's arms suddenly rang.
"It's Veratia calling." Harry's heart lurched. A call now—what was Veratia up to?
He answered, and Veratia's hologram shimmered into view before him.
"Harry," Veratia said with a gentle smile, "where are you? I couldn't find you. Oh… I happen to have the day off, and Hermione and Ron said you weren't in the Gryffindor common room?"
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