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Harry loses a bet and asks Malfoid to the Yule Ball. It started, as many of Harry’s worst ideas did, with Fred and George Weasley. "You haven't asked anyone," Fred said, as if this were news. "He hasn't asked anyone," George agreed, "because the only person he wants to ask is going with Diggory.” Harry told them to shut up. He was in the common room. Ron was practising looking like a person who would rather die than wear dress robes. Hermione had a book open and was not reading it. "Tell you what," said Fred. "A Galleon says you won't ask Malfoid." "Which Malfoy?" said Ron, alarmed. "There's only one at school, Ronald. Do keep up." "I'm not asking Malfoy," said Harry. "Malfoid," said George, pleasantly. "That's the bet. You don't. We collect. You do — well. Then you've got a partner, haven't you? Everybody wins. Except you, probably." "She's not going to say yes." "Then you've lost nothing," said Fred. "Go on. Champion's privilege. The worst she can do is hex you, and she does that on Tuesdays anyway." Harry should have refused, but he was anything but a coward. He found her in the library, after asking around a bit, which would have been embarrassing were it not assumed he was looking for a fight. She sat at a table in the corner by a window. Her pale hair was pulled back so tightly it seemed to lift the pointed bones of her face. She was alone. That was the first piece of luck. The second was that she looked up before he could lose his nerve. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “What do you want, Potter?” "I lost a bet," Harry said. "So let's get this over with. D'you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?" She looked at him for a few seconds without changing her expression. Then she looked to the side. She appeared to be blushing. “You must be desperate.” She attempted a laugh. “Is this some kind of joke, Potter? Me, going to the ball with a half-blood like you? Get real.” “Alright, good,” he said firmly. He turned to leave before she could humiliate him any further. “Yes,” she proclaimed with an upward lilt, as if she had surprised herself. He stopped in his tracks. “What?” He almost raised his voice too loud for the library before turning around to look at her again. She had a mischievous smile. “Yes.” “Why,” Harry asked, exasperated. This was not what he expected. “Why? Because I can’t resist the opportunity to torture you. I am going to embarrass you, if you are even brave enough to follow through.” Harry sputtered. “What? You can’t find a date?” It was his best attempt. “Oh I could. I have been asked many times already. I have no interest in those inferior specimens. The Malfoys have standards, you see. But I will make an exception for you, because this is just irresistible.” He stood there, speechless. He looked out the window. Before he could come up with a response, she picked up her book and stood up. She walked over to him, grabbed his tie, and pulled him close, staring him down with malevolent eyes. "Eight o'clock on Christmas Day. Dress robes. Not a Muggle dinner jacket. Not whatever the Dursleys think is formal. If you arrive smelling of broom polish I shall hex your shoes together and let you open the dance like that. Do we understand each other?" Before he could come up with a response, she walked away. … "You asked her." "That was the bet." "You asked her and she said yes." Ron was pacing around the room. Seamus and Dean were laughing it up. "She's going to hex you," Ron said. "That's the game, that is. She says yes, you show up, she hexes you in front of four schools and tells her father you begged." "She already said she'd hex me. That part's settled. It's only if I step on her toes or dress like a Muggle." "You are Muggle-raised," Ron said, as if this had only just become legally relevant. "What does she think dress robes are? You can't wear trousers from the Dursleys, Harry. She'll know. They've got a look.” Hermione, when they took it downstairs, pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fred and George," she said. "Fred and George," Harry agreed. "And she said yes." "She said yes, and then she said a lot of other things." Hermione was quiet for a moment. "Wear your green dress robes," she said at last. "The ones from Madam Malkin. Not a tie. Not Dudley's anything. If she tries to pull something nasty don’t let her get away with it." “Right,” he replied. He had no idea what that meant. Fred and George, passing the portrait hole with the satisfied air of men who had invented Christmas, flipped him a Galleon. "Don't spend it before she kills you," said Fred. "Buy a card," said George. "Something tasteful." Harry told them to get stuffed. He put the Galleon in his pocket anyway. …. The green robes made him look, he thought, like a Christmas tree that had learned shame. Harry checked his shoes three times. They were the same shoes. "If she hexes you," Ron said, struggling into maroon velvet and a quantity of lace that history would not forgive, "I'll — I'll do something. I don't know what. Don't look at me like that. I'm in this." By ten to eight the entrance hall was a crush of dress robes and panic. Parvati went by in shocking pink and gold and did not look at Harry at all, which he deserved. He had spent two weeks looking as if he might ask her and then asked the worst person in Slytherin for a Galleon. "Potter." He turned. Malfoid was on the marble stairs. She wore a black dress. Her hair was down. She even had makeup on. Harry’s stomach did a flip. The weirdest part was, she was smiling at him. And it wasn’t a mischievous grin, like her usual sadistic glee. She looked like she was happy to see him. But she quickly changed her expression, as if she remembered, to one of disdain. "Green," she said. "Acceptable. Not Muggle. You may keep your toes for the present." She stepped down and took his arm, with surprising ease. "Do not grin. You look simple when you grin. We are going in. If you tell anyone this was a bet I will kill you." "It was a bet." "I know it was a bet, Potter. I would not have said yes to a sincere request. Do not flatter yourself.” … The house tables were gone. In their place stood a crowd of smaller ones, each with a lantern that burned without smoke. The walls were covered in silver frost. Overhead the usual black, starry ceiling had been crossed with garlands of mistletoe and ivy. It seemed like everyone turned to look as they came in, and whispered to each other. Malfoy’s fingers tightened once on his sleeve and then went loose, as if she had remembered an audience. "Breathe," she said, barely moving her mouth. "If you faint I shall leave you on the floor.” "I'm not going to faint." McGonagall met them before they could sit down. She looked at Harry. She looked at Malfoy. Several decades of House warfare passed behind her eyes and sat down, exhausted. "Potter. Miss Malfoy. You will line up with the other Champions after the meal. I expect decorum." "Yes, Professor," said Malfoy, with only a slight hint of sarcasm. McGonagall's mouth thinned. "The robes will do," she told Harry. "Try to remember, a waltz is not a tackle." She swept off. "She likes you," Malfoy said. "How unaccountable." They were seated next to Cedric and Cho of course, at the Champion’s table. Starting the torture already, Harry thought. Krum arrived last with a girl Harry did not recognise for three full seconds as Hermione. Periwinkle blue. Hair up. Ron looked at Harry with wide eyes. Harry just shrugged, as if to say: “What of it?” Cho smiled at Harry as if she were sorry and not sorry. Cedric poured pumpkin juice like a man determined to be decent. "Didn't know you two were—" Cedric began, and stopped, which was why people liked Cedric. "We aren't," said Harry and Malfoy together. They looked at each other. “I lost a bet,” she said suddenly, smiling. Harry just shook his head. She stole his excuse. Typical. Neither Cedric nor Cho seemed to know if she was serious, or how to respond. Dinner arrived and passed without a major incident, besides that Malfoid was making faces across the room, playing it up. "You're enjoying this," Harry muttered. "I enjoy winning. It is not the same as enjoying you." She narrowed her eyes as she set the goblet down. "Do not look at Granger like that. It is a hair potion and a neckline. We manage it before breakfast." "She's my friend." "I know. It is one of your more baffling hobbies. It is quite beneath you.” Was that a compliment? Harry just sighed. There was no point in arguing. She only wanted to get a rise out of him. Suddenly it was time for the dance. Harry stood. His chair shrieked on the floor. Malfoy stood up smoothly, as if chairs had never misbehaved in her life. She put her hand in the air and waited for him to take it, sighing with irritation. Her palm was cold in his hand. They walked to the floor and waited for the music to start. "If you make a mistake I will kill you. If you look at Chang I will kill you. If you count, count silently. If you talk, do not talk about Quidditch,” she whispered. "You're nervous." "I am Slytherin. I am never nervous. I am prepared." Harry put his hand at her waist as the music started to play. He thought he could see a glisten of sweat on her forehead. He used to tease her about her forehead for being much too big. Undeniably, however, she looked absolutely beautiful that night. Despite all his practice, it felt completely different in front of everyone, and with Malfoy no less. She was quietly counting as they stepped. Whether it was for his sake, or because she was afraid he would embarrass her, he wasn’t sure. "You can close your mouth," she murmured. "You have fallen off a broom in front of the whole school. This is only dancing." "You're counting." "I am not." They turned. Mistletoe swam. Ron's face went by, maroon and betrayed. Pansy went by, personally wounded. Snape, at the staff table, looked as if he had bitten a fork. "Your Head of House wants me dead," Harry said. "He wants a great many people dead. You will have to queue." A pause. Her voice dropped, unwilling. "You are not as catastrophic as I expected." "Thanks." "It was not a compliment. I am, against my better judgement, not hexing you." "Yet." "Do not make suggestions." The dance ended before he had decided whether to bow. Cedric bowed. Krum nodded the way Krum did everything. Harry let go of her waist. "Well," she said. "Your twins may keep their Galleon. I am going outside. I am tired of being stared at. Besides, it is much too warm here." For some reason, Harry went after her. … He thought he had lost her, when he saw her through a frosted window. She stood outside, leaning on the balcony, despite the fact that it was snowing and she was wearing only a dress. She clutched herself in her arms, clearly freezing. "You followed me." "You walked off before we had time to bow.” "I said yes to a dance. I did not say yes to stay until midnight." She did not turn. "Go back in. Granger will want to lecture you on fraternising. She has her hair up. She will be unstoppable." “It is freezing out.” She didn’t respond, but her body was shivering. He almost put his robe around her shoulders, but thought better of it. "Why'd you say yes?" he asked. "You asked." "That's not a reason. You could've said no. You do that all the time." She tilted her head up, looking up at the stars. “I told you already. I like to see you squirm.” She came up to him slowly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He flushed, not knowing how to react. He could hear his heart beating in his chest. She just looked into his eyes, smiling with glee. For some reason beyond himself, he thought of kissing her. “Besides, I couldn’t stand to see you go with that Patil-girl. Totally beneath you.” She remembered herself suddenly and added “For a half-blood, anyway.” "You're a real piece of work, Malfoid." “Don’t call me that!” she said, forcing a pout. She stepped back, pretending to be upset, but she could not hide from him the impression that she enjoyed it somehow. She went back to leaning on the railing, looking out, as if that would be the end of it. He leaned against the railing right next to her. It was only fair that he got his revenge now. "I didn't step on your toes," Harry said. "Do not fish." “Since I did a good job, I think you owe me another dance.” She paused, and then burst out into laughter, almost maniacal. It caught him by surprise. “I don’t owe you anything.” Harry took that for a no. He turned to leave. “Are you coming inside? You’ll catch a cold.” Suddenly she grabbed his left arm and hooked her arm under it. "You may have one more dance," she said. "After that I am returning you to that rotten Weasley boy. If you tell anyone funny stories about what happened tonight you will not wake up the next morning.” He couldn’t help but laugh at her idle threats. The rumors about them were already spreading and there was nothing to do about it now. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if they made the front page of the Daily Prophet. They made a striking couple, he had to admit. But he didn’t say anything about it, lest she change her mind. When they got back into the ballroom, everyone was dancing. Thankfully, hardly anyone noticed them come in. She grabbed his hand, and put the other hand onto her waist. They danced for a while without speaking. Harry hoped that nobody noticed when she laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. “You are quite serviceable for a half-blood. I think I will keep you.”