Harry Potter with Technology System

Boys separated to meet with their dates while Harry walked ahead with the girls. Astoria, always the instigator, turned to him with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Have you decided who to dance with first, Harry?” she asked, her tone far too innocent to be genuine.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ve seen enough women’s magazine quizzes Aunt Petunia solved to know this is a trap. You lot can decide among yourselves. I’m not playing a losing game.”

Tracey smirked. “Smart. The moment you pick one, the rest will start keeping track of who gets the most dances. This way, if anyone’s upset, it’s their own fault.”

Pansy huffed. “That’s assuming we would let something as petty as dance order bother us.”

Daphne glanced at her. “Wouldn’t we?”

Pansy didn’t even blink. “Absolutely.”

Ginny rolled her eyes but grinned. “At least he knows better than to pick favorites.”

Luna, twirling a lock of her hair, added, “We could always draw lots. Or let fate decide.”

Astoria crossed her arms. “Fate is slow. I call first!”

That, of course, was immediately met with protests.

“You wish,” Tracey scoffed. “You’re barely tall enough to reach his shoulder.”

Astoria shot her a glare. “I’m perfectly tall enough, thank you very much. And I called it first.”

“We’re not deciding by whoever yells first,” Daphne said flatly.

Hannah, ever the voice of reason, hummed. “We could go by the first letter of our last names?”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Yes, because nothing says elegance like queuing up alphabetically.”

Astoria tilted her head. “Then first names?”

“That’s even worse,” Daphne muttered.

Pansy smirked, tapping her chin. “What about by house, then? That would put Slytherins first.”

Everyone gave her a look.

Pansy just grinned. “What? It’s a great system.”

Hermione huffed. “You only think that because you would go before Susan, Luna, Hannah and me.”

“And you only object because you would go near last.”

Harry watched them, unimpressed. “You all do realize this is ridiculous, right?”

“Obviously,” Daphne said. “But since you refused to choose, here we are.”

 Harry smirked, glancing down at Astoria. "Sort it out amongst yourselves."

The younger Greengrass grinned like she won something, while the rest exchanged looks—some amused, some exasperated, but none outright protesting. Whatever system they came up with would probably involve a blend of subtle maneuvering and blatant scheming.

As they entered the Great Hall, the reaction was instant. Conversations faltered, heads turned, and a ripple of murmurs spread through the room. It wasn’t just Harry’s presence—it was the entire group.

Daphne, Tracey, Astoria, Luna, Hermione, Ginny, Pansy, Susan, and Hannah moved with effortless confidence, dressed in gowns that managed to balance elegance with sharp awareness of their own appeal. They weren’t just dates to the ball; they were a statement.

Across the room, students openly stared. Some were subtle about it—glancing up from their goblets, nudging friends under the table. Others weren’t even trying to be discreet. A Ravenclaw choked on his drink. A Slytherin fifth-year actually stopped mid-step and nearly tripped over his own feet.

At the Durmstrang table, a few of Karkaroff’s students exchanged looks, one of them muttering something under his breath. Beauxbatons students whispered among themselves, some of the girls frowning slightly, while a few boys openly admired the scene unfolding before them.

Ron was gaping, looking like someone had just hit him over the head with a Bludger. Dean and Seamus exchanged glances, clearly impressed.

Fred and George both grinned.

"Well, that’s one way to make an entrance," Fred murmured.

"Ten points to Potter for sheer audacity," George added.

McGonagall, standing near the champions’ table, looked like she was trying very hard not to sigh. "Potter."

"Professor," Harry greeted casually, ignoring the fact that most of the staff had their eyes on him. Even Dumbledore’s twinkle had sharpened slightly, though whether from amusement or curiosity was hard to tell.

Karkaroff, seated at the far end, openly frowned. "Is this allowed?"

Bagman, ever the opportunist, waved a hand. "Why not? Champions are given extra invitations. Potter just happened to use all of them." He chuckled, as if the whole thing was wildly entertaining. "Creative thinking, I would say!"

Karkaroff scoffed, his expression sour. "I thought champions were only allowed three extra invitations."

Harry smirked. "Yeah, three invitations for Harry Potter from Hogwarts. And three more for Harry Potter, the random name someone threw into the Goblet. Since I’m apparently two champions, I figured I might as well use all my privileges."

A few people nearby stifled laughter, and even some of the judges looked vaguely amused. Bagman, who never missed an opportunity to turn something into a spectacle, chuckled. "Well, you do have a point there! Very creative use of the loophole, my boy!"

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly debating whether it was worth arguing. Meanwhile, Karkaroff’s scowl deepened, but he didn’t press further.

While all eyes were on Harry and his dates, another unexpected sight had people whispering—Fleur Delacour, graceful as ever, sat beside none other than Neville Longbottom.

If anyone had expected Fleur to pick a boy who fawned over her or some rich, pureblood heir, they were sorely mistaken. But what truly shocked people wasn’t just that she had chosen Neville—it was that it made sense.

Boys looked outright baffled, but among the older students, especially the girls, there were nods of approval. The Neville Longbottom they had met in first year—shy, clumsy, and nervous—was long gone. After years of Harry forcing him into training, changing his wand, and making sure he stopped doubting himself, Neville had grown into someone entirely different. He was strong, confident, and no longer afraid of his own magic.

“Honestly,” a sixth-year Hufflepuff muttered, watching Fleur and Neville take their seats, “I’m surprised more girls haven’t noticed him before.”

Another girl huffed. “Oh, they noticed. Just too slow to do anything about it.”

Meanwhile, Viktor Krum had chosen a date that made far more sense—Evelyn Bulstrode. She wasn’t as well-known at Hogwarts, but she carried herself with poised grace. Unlike many of the girls who had practically thrown themselves at Krum, she seemed uninterested in his fame, which was probably why he had picked her.

Unlike Fleur and Neville, Krum’s choice didn’t cause much controversy—Durmstrang students barely reacted, and Slytherins simply acknowledged it with the same indifference they gave to most things. Evelyn, for her part, handled it smoothly, unfazed by the attention Krum received.

Fleur, seated at the champions’ table, raised an eyebrow as she glanced at the girls flanking Harry. "Zat is a lot of dates, ‘Arry."

Harry shrugged. "It’s a ball. Might as well make it interesting."

The Hogwarts students were watching with admiration, jealousy, and disbelief. Some were whispering furiously, trying to figure out how Harry had pulled this off. Others were staring outright, mostly at the group of girls who, regardless of house, all looked like they belonged right where they were.

Across the hall, Ron still hadn’t recovered. He gawked at Harry and his dates, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Seamus elbowed him. "Mate, say something before you pass out."

"How—what—" Ron sputtered, gaping at the spectacle before him. He turned to his date—a Gryffindor girl who seemed only mildly interested in his outrage. "Why would they put up with that?" He gestured vaguely at Harry, who was now settling in at the champions’ table, surrounded by all nine of his dates like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The girl barely glanced at Ron before looking back at Harry. "I wish I was there too."

Ron’s jaw dropped. He spluttered for a moment, then gave up, crossing his arms and sulking into his goblet of pumpkin juice.

At the champions' table, Harry leaned back in his seat, adjusting his cuff while ignoring the looks being thrown his way. The arrangement wasn’t exactly practical—there were too many of them for the space available—but he wasn’t about to split up just because people found it odd. The girls had already claimed their spots, with Daphne to his right and Tracey to his left.

Across the table, Kingsley, dressed sharply in deep navy robes, observed the scene with barely contained amusement. He let out a quiet chuckle and shook his head. "You don’t do things halfway, do you?"

Harry smirked, picking up his goblet. "Kingsley, you know me better than that."

Daphne reached for the breadbasket, passing it to Astoria, who had managed to squeeze herself between Hermione and Luna. "People are staring," she said idly, breaking a piece of bread.

"They’ve been staring since we walked in," Pansy said, twirling a fork between her fingers. "Honestly, I expected at least one dramatic fainting by now."

"Give it time," Tracey muttered. "I’m sure someone’s already planning it."

Fleur raised a brow, shaking her head. "Zat is… dazzling, ‘Arry."

Harry flicked a glance her way. "Says the woman who could’ve had half the school on their knees if she wanted."

Fleur gave a delicate shrug, as if to say, Well, yes, but that’s different. And doesn't work on you!

Krum grunted and turned back to his food.

As dinner progressed, the chatter in the hall never fully died down. Even while eating, people kept glancing over at the champions' table, whispering among themselves. Ron had sunk further into his seat, glaring at Harry like he personally set out to ruin his night. Seamus and Dean, meanwhile, were making bets on who would Harry dance first.

Fred and George, sitting a few seats down, were practically vibrating with amusement.

"You know," Fred said, nudging his brother, "this might be my favorite Hogwarts event yet."

George nodded, biting into a piece of roast beef. "I mean, if Potter keeps this up, next year he might just declare himself Headmaster and see if anyone stops him."

"I would vote for him."

"Same."

Soon, as the last plates vanished from the tables, McGonagall stood and clapped her hands. “Champions, please take the stage for the opening dance.”

The room quieted slightly, eyes shifting towards Harry, waiting to see what he would do. He stood, stretching his fingers briefly before glancing at the nine girls seated around him. “Have you decided?”

The girls exchanged looks, then laughed.

"We did," Tracey said, grinning. "We pulled lots."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"Daphne's first," Pansy announced, smirking. "Try not to step on her toes."

Daphne rolled her eyes but placed her hand in Harry's, letting him lead her toward the center of the Great Hall. Around them, the chatter softened, anticipation thick in the air. The music swelled, the first notes of the waltz filling the space as the other champions and their partners took their positions.

Harry set his hand on Daphne’s waist, guiding her into the first steps with practiced ease. She followed without hesitation, their movements smooth, effortless.

From the side, Tracey whistled. "Of course, they make it look easy."

"Should’ve gone first," Astoria muttered, arms crossed.

"You’ll survive," Pansy said, amused.

The students watching didn’t bother to hide their reactions. Some of the girls whispered among themselves, their eyes flicking between Harry and Daphne. The boys, meanwhile, had frustration and grudging admiration on their faces.

Ron scowled from his spot at the Gryffindor table, muttering under his breath. "Figures."

Seamus nudged him. "You could’ve learned how to dance too, you know."

Ron shot him a glare but said nothing.

As the song neared its end, Harry spun Daphne once before smoothly passing her off, turning to Tracey, who grinned as she took his hand.

"My turn," she said, stepping into position.

"You lot actually planned the whole order, didn’t you?" Harry asked, amused.

"Obviously," she said. "You think we would leave it to chance?"

Tracey was livelier than Daphne, her movements more playful, and her luck had it, the song had shifted into a livelier rhythm. She grinned as she stepped into place, resting her hand lightly in Harry’s before taking the first few steps with him.

"Finally, something with a bit of energy," she said, matching his movements effortlessly.

Harry spun her without warning, making her let out a short laugh before she fell back into step. "Figured you would enjoy this one."

"You figured right," Tracey said, twirling under his arm before sliding back into place.

Their dance was more fluid, less rigid than the earlier waltz. Tracey leaned into the beat, letting him lead but throwing in her own flair when she could. A quick step here, a spin there—enough to keep it from being predictable.

From the sidelines, Pansy smirked. "She’s having way too much fun with this."

"She’s just making sure he remembers the dance," Daphne replied, sipping her drink. "In case he thought we would all be content standing around like decorations."

Astoria, arms crossed, tapped her foot impatiently. "She’s taking too long."

"You’re next," Luna said, watching the dance with interest. "Unless Tracey suddenly decides to keep him."

Astoria narrowed her eyes. "She wouldn’t dare."

The song ended, and without missing a beat, Harry turned, already offering his hand to Astoria. She beamed, stepping forward without hesitation.

"About time," she muttered, taking her position.

Harry arched a brow. "You’re acting like you had to wait hours."

"Felt like it," Astoria said, letting him guide her into the first few steps. Unlike the others, she was smaller, which meant he had to adjust slightly to make sure she wasn’t overextending. Not that she seemed to care—she kept pace easily, her expression smug.

"You’re lighter on your feet than last year," he noted.

Astoria tilted her chin up. "I’ve been practicing. Can’t let Daphne have all the grace in the family."

Daphne, overhearing, rolled her eyes. "You could’ve just asked me to teach you."

"And listen to you criticize me the whole time? No thanks," Astoria shot back, spinning with a bit more flair than necessary before settling back into step.

The music shifted again, and as the song reached its end, Harry passed Astoria off smoothly to Luna, who stepped forward like she had been waiting for this exact moment.

Dancing with Luna was always different. She never moved quite like anyone else, swaying as if she was hearing a melody beyond what the band was playing. But she wasn’t clumsy—if anything, she followed Harry’s lead without effort, flowing into the steps with a sort of dreamlike ease.

“You’re very good at this,” she mused as they spun across the floor.

Harry smirked. “You sound surprised.”

“Not at all,” she said lightly. “It makes sense. The stars have always liked to dance, too.”

Harry just hummed, choosing not to ask. It was Luna, after all.

By now, the spectacle of him cycling through dance partners was causing even more murmurs across the hall. He could see people whispering, speculating, probably wondering if he’d gone mad or if this was some sort of power move. Neither was true—he just wasn’t about to choose between them.

As the music shifted again, he guided Luna into a final turn before passing her to Hermione. She took his hand without hesitation, her grip firm and sure.

“You’re not nervous?” Harry asked as they stepped into the next rhythm.

Hermione huffed. “Why would I be?”

“Because half the school’s watching?”

“They’re watching you, not me.” She glanced up at him. “Besides, you’re a good lead.”

He smirked. “You don’t need me to lead.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Obviously. But I can let you pretend.”

She wasn’t as fluid as Luna, nor as flashy as Tracey, but she was solid, following the steps with ease. It was clear she had practiced, though whether that was out of actual interest or sheer refusal to be bad at something was up for debate.

The song changed again, and Hermione stepped back as Ginny took her place. The youngest Weasley was grinning, clearly enjoying the way the night was unfolding.

“You do realize you’ve made every other guy at this ball look like an idiot, right?” she said as they started.

“Not my fault they lack creativity,” Harry said.

Ginny laughed. “You just stole half the girls they were hoping to ask.”

“Sounds like a them problem.”

Ginny smirked, keeping up easily. She had the advantage of growing up in a house full of Quidditch players—her footwork was fast, and she didn’t hesitate to spin sharper than necessary just to test Harry’s reflexes. He caught her every time.

As Ginny stepped back, Pansy stepped in. She didn’t wait for the next song to fully begin—just grabbed his hand and pulled him into motion with her usual confidence.

“Dancing with everyone tonight?” she teased.

“Figured I might as well.”

Pansy smirked. “I bet you’ll be the talk of the Prophet by morning. ‘Harry Potter and His Nine Dates—Is He Forming a New Wizarding Tradition?’”

“Probably.”

She was smooth on the dance floor, as expected. Like Daphne, she had been raised to know how to waltz, but unlike Daphne, she leaned into it with a touch of drama. Every turn was a little more pronounced, every step sharper than necessary. She was putting on a show, and she knew it.

Tracey, from the sidelines, was grinning. “Merlin, she’s eating this up.”

“You’re just jealous,” Pansy shot back without looking.

“Not at all. I got my turn already.”

Pansy rolled her eyes but twirled one last time before stepping back and gesturing at Susan. “Go on, Bones. Try not to look like you’re interviewing him.”

Susan shook her head but took Harry’s hand, stepping into place.

She wasn’t first to dance with him tonight, but it still felt like something special. Ever since their first year—since that flying lesson where he caught her before she could hit the ground—she had known she had a crush on him. It hadn’t faded over the years, only settled into something stronger the more time they spent together. And now, with his hand in hers, guiding her smoothly into the next steps, she wasn’t thinking about the audience or the whispers in the crowd. Just him.

“You’ve been holding back,” she murmured.

Harry spun her, his grip steady. “How so?”

Susan smirked, catching his gaze. “You’re making sure none of us trip. I know you could go faster.”

Harry chuckled. “You saying you can keep up?”

She squeezed his hand. “Try me.”

He did. His steps quickened, and Susan matched him, a grin tugging at her lips as they moved in sync. The crowd barely noticed the shift, but the girls watching did. 

Pansy hummed. “Bones is competitive when she wants to be.”

As the music slowed, Harry pulled Susan into a final turn before stepping back. “Not bad.”

Susan flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Told you.”

She moved aside as Hannah stepped forward, smiling as she took his hand. Unlike the others, she wasn’t here to show off or prove anything. Dancing with Harry wasn’t about making a statement—it was just nice. Comfortable.

“I was worried you would be tired by the time you got to me,” she teased as they started.

“Should’ve fought for a better spot, then,” Harry said.

Hannah laughed, easily following his lead. She wasn’t as quick as Susan or as practiced as Daphne, but she was light on her feet, steady in her steps.

From the side, Ginny tilted her head. “Hannah’s good.”

Hermione nodded. “She’s not nervous, either.”

Hannah, still focused on the dance, glanced up at Harry. “Are you actually enjoying this, or is this just another thing you have to do?”

Harry pulled Hannah a little closer, moving easily with the rhythm of the music. "You know I like spending time with you," he said. "Doesn't matter if it's dancing, gossip, or Charms. If I didn't want to do this, I wouldn't."

Hannah's lips quirked into a small smile. "Good to know," she said. "Otherwise, I would start thinking you were just suffering through this to keep us happy."

Hermonie, standing off to the side, snorted. "Oh, please. If he was suffering, we would know. Potter doesn't do things he doesn't want to."

Pansy nodded, watching as Harry twirled Hannah before pulling her back into step. "True. He barely tolerates half the school as it is."

"I’m right here, you know," Harry said dryly.

Hannah laughed. "They have a point, though."

Daphne, sipping her drink, hummed. "It’s why people get so worked up over you. You don’t play by their rules, and it drives them mad."

"That and the fact that he just pulled off a full ballroom rotation with nine different girls," Astoria added, grinning.

The music shifted again, signaling the end of the song. Harry guided Hannah into one final spin before letting go. She stepped back with a satisfied look, brushing a stray blonde curl over her shoulder. "That was fun."

Harry gave her a nod before turning back to the others. "Anyone else need another turn?"

Before anyone could answer, McGonagall clapped her hands, signaling for the floor to open up to the rest of the students. The tension eased slightly as people moved to join the dancing, though most of the attention was still on Harry and his group. He extended the Champion Dance to nine from original one.

Fred and George strolled over, grinning like they had been waiting for this moment.

“Well, well, Emperor Potter,” Fred said, crossing his arms. “That was painful to watch. Nine dances, and we had to wait?”

“Shocking, really,” George added. “Some might say you’ve forgotten the little people.”

Harry snorted. “I try.”

Fleur and Neville approached just as a few girls on the sidelines started inching closer, eyeing Harry like they were working up the nerve to ask for a dance. He had already promised he would join a few of them for a song or two, and at this rate, the list would only grow.

“You’re making quite the scene, ‘Arry,” Fleur remarked, tilting her head. “Nine partners? Ze girls in Beauxbatons are furious.”

“Relay my apologizes,” Harry said, watching as a few of them glared in his direction.

“Jealousy iz not your concern,” she agreed, then smirked. “But I do wonder ‘ow long before they try to hex your feet.”

Harry smirked. "My feet are quick. Doubt they can land a hex."

Fleur huffed a quiet laugh, but before she could say anything else, Pansy cut in with a smirk. "Maybe not, but I wouldn't be so confident about your big head."

Harry smirked. “Wanna know who actually has a big head?”

Pansy snorted. Daphne rolled her eyes. Astoria, the only one looking genuinely confused, glanced between them. “Wait, who?”

Laughter rippled through the group. Hermione sighed, already regretting being in the middle of whatever this was about to become.

Tracey grinned. “Don’t answer that, ‘Tori. You’ll sleep better not knowing.”

Astoria huffed, crossing her arms. “That just makes me want to know more.”

“Then I’ve done my job,” Tracey said, smirking.

Harry chuckled and turned his attention back to the hall. The Yule Ball was in full swing, students pairing off on the dance floor while others sat around watching, gossiping, or stuffing their faces.

Pastries and drinks appeared on the tables as Harry’s group settled into their seats, the initial excitement of the Yule Ball giving way to relaxed conversation. The music played on, students drifting between the dance floor and their tables.

Draco, Theodore, Blaise, the twins, and Cedric arrived with their dates, finding seats around Harry. They were all in good spirits, barely holding back their laughter when Dumbledore took McGonagall’s hand and led her to the stage. The sight of the stern Transfiguration professor being gracefully twirled by the headmaster was enough to leave half the table grinning.

Snape, meanwhile, looked about five seconds away from hexing the entire event out of existence. His glare flicked between the dancing couples, the laughing students, and Dumbledore, as if personally offended by the festivity.

“That man has no shame,” Draco muttered, watching Dumbledore spin McGonagall with an enthusiasm that was honestly a little disturbing.

Blaise snorted. “You would think after a century of living, he would be over embarrassing himself in public.”

Tracey leaned forward, smirking. “You lot just wish you had that kind of confidence.”

Pansy smirked. “What, to prance around like a lunatic in front of the entire school?” She flicked a glance at Harry. “Oh, wait. We already have someone who does that.”

Harry, unbothered, picked up his goblet. “Try harder, Parkinson.”

Theodore glanced at Snape and smirked. “Forget Dumbledore. Look at Snape. He looks like someone just cursed his favorite cauldron.”

Across the hall, Snape’s expression had only worsened. The way he was staring at the dance floor, it was a miracle he hadn’t set something on fire through sheer willpower.

Fred nudged George. “Five Sickles says he storms out before the next song.”

George hummed. “Tempting, but I reckon he’s got a personal bet with himself to see how long he can tolerate this before he snaps.”

Daphne, idly swirling her drink, glanced at Harry. “Bet he’s just mad because you managed to get nine dates and he can’t even get one.”

That set off a round of quiet snickers. Even Cedric, who usually stayed out of their nonsense, chuckled.

Ginny shook her head. “You lot are terrible.”

Susan, who had been eyeing the dessert table, set down her goblet. “Speaking of terrible—” She tilted her chin toward Ron, who was still glaring at their table from across the room.

Hermione sighed, already bracing for whatever nonsense was about to follow. “What now?”

Ron, after what looked like a short argument with Seamus and Dean, finally stood up. His movements were jerky, like he wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to do this, but his expression was set—annoyed, determined, and just stupid enough to push forward.

“Oh, this should be good,” Theodore muttered.

Draco smirked. “This is going to be embarrassing for him, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” Blaise confirmed.

Ron stomped over, barely glancing at the rest of the table before focusing on Harry. His ears were red, which wasn’t unusual, but this time, it was less from embarrassment and more from irritation.

“Oi, Harry,” he said, loud enough to turn a few heads. “Can I talk to you?”

Harry took a sip of his drink. “You already are.”

Ron scowled. “Alone.”

Tracey grinned, resting her chin in her palm. “But we’re having so much fun watching.”

Ron shot her a glare before turning back to Harry. “Seriously, mate, what the hell is this?” He gestured vaguely at the table. “Nine dates? Are you trying to show off or something?”

Harry leaned back in his chair. “What does it look like?”

Ron huffed. “It looks like you’re trying to rub it in everyone’s face.”

Pansy scoffed. “Oh, please. If Potter wanted to rub something in your face, you would know.”

Ron’s jaw tightened. “I’m just saying, it’s a bit much, isn’t it? Some of us had to actually try to find dates.”

Harry raised a brow. “And?”

“And it’s not fair,” Ron snapped. “You already get everything handed to you, and now you have to take all the girls too?”

The table went silent.

Pansy let out a quiet laugh. “Oh, that’s adorable. You actually think you had a chance.”

Ron flushed. “That’s not the—”

“You’re acting like I forced them,” Harry said, cutting him off. His tone was casual, but the sharpness underneath it was unmistakable. “They agreed to come with me. You could’ve asked them yourself. Didn’t.” He tilted his head. “Sounds like a you problem.”

Ron opened his mouth, then shut it again. His hands clenched at his sides, but he clearly wasn’t sure how to argue back.

Fred, who had been watching with interest, finally spoke up. “Alright, Ronniekins, maybe it’s time to retreat before you dig yourself deeper.”

Ron glared at him. “Whose side are you on?”

George shrugged. “The side of common sense, which you clearly abandoned the moment you got up.”

Ron looked like he wanted to argue more, but the weight of every stare in the room was pressing down on him. With a frustrated huff, he turned on his heel and stomped back to the Gryffindor table.

The moment he was out of earshot, Tracey let out a low whistle. “Well, that was pathetic.”

Draco smirked. “At least he gave us something to laugh about.”

Daphne shook her head, picking up her drink. “Honestly, that was embarrassing for everyone involved.”

Harry didn’t look fazed. He had dealt with worse from Ron over the years. The jealousy was predictable at this point.

Harry glanced at Ginny, catching her frown. He exhaled through his nose, already expecting it. Ron had always been a problem—rude, bigoted, and stubborn beyond reason. It wasn’t like Harry hadn’t tried. He had included him in things, given him chances, but it never worked. Ron hated anyone who wasn’t exactly like him, saw Slytherins as enemies, and treated anyone smarter than him with suspicion. If he had been born on the other side of the war, he would’ve fit right in with the worst sort of purists.

Ginny, at least, wasn’t that thick. She was soft-hearted, sure, but not stupid. She knew Ron was wrong—probably more than anyone. Her lips pressed together briefly, but then she let out a breath and turned back to the conversation at the table, joining in as Tracey teased Daphne about something.