[Castling] Chapter 63

It wasn’t until the next morning that I fully realised it was over—Potter wasn’t in the tournament.

Of course, the threat of Voldemort’s return hadn’t disappeared. I was sure he’d come back sooner or later. But now, at least, that moment had been pushed back indefinitely, giving me a much-needed breather to sort out other issues—and actually have some time for my own life. Plus, I didn’t have to worry about Harry or try to save Cedric anymore, which was a bonus.

All in all, Sunday morning felt downright fantastic, even with the usual grey rain clouds hanging outside the window.

On the way to breakfast, the feeling of a peaceful, fun year ahead only grew stronger. There’d be no harassment of Potter—or me, if I stood by him—so we could discuss the upcoming tournament as eagerly as the rest of the school and cheer for Diggory without any baggage hanging over us.

After breakfast, the twins brought us fresh gossip about the first task. But aside from the date and the fact that it was supposedly a test of intelligence, they didn’t have much. Not that it mattered—people were already launching into wild speculation and heated debates.

The day went brilliantly. I visited Percy, hung out with my friends. Later, they headed off to Hagrid’s to help set up enclosures for his grown-up magical creatures. He’d mentioned wanting to take them for for a walk with the help of the students during class, so they jumped in at just the right moment, slipping him a better idea. Meanwhile, I ran off to see Luna—we’d planned our first proper trip to Hogsmeade together.

I’d finally managed to convince her about the dress.

“It’s lovely,” she said dreamily, swaying slightly to music only she could hear. “I wanted a gold one, like the sun—lately, the weather’s been so dreary. But this is even better. I’ll be a Snowflake.”

And just like that, I saw it—her spinning on an open terrace at dusk, soft music drifting in from the hall, snowflakes lazily falling onto her hair.

Long story short, Luna approved of my choice. But she refused to let me pay for it, handing the money right back.

After that, we wandered through Hogsmeade, stopping at a cafe for milkshakes and ice cream before stocking up on sweets. I’d won seven Galleons betting on the champions, so I happily spent them on treats for Luna, Ginny, and the others. At the same time, I made a mental note of which sweets Luna liked best—so I could spoil her later.

Then, lessons started…

If I thought I was in for a peaceful year, I was dead wrong.

Malfoy was at it again—got into a scrap with Harry, and before I knew it, my mates and I were stuck with detentions.

I didn’t actually see the fight start—I’d left my Charms textbook in the classroom, and by the time I got back, Harry and Malfoy had already gone for each other outside the Potions room.

Goyle looked like a walking Bubotuber—covered in boils and oozing pus. Meanwhile, Hermione’s front teeth were growing at an alarming rate. By the time I arrived, they’d already reached past her chin. I quickly shoved her at Lavender, telling her to take Hermione to the Hospital Wing before Snape got a chance to humiliate her in front of everyone. Like she needs more insecurities with all the French girls around. She’s barely left the library as it is.

Goyle, whimpering in pain, seemed to realise no one was paying attention to him and limped off after them.

Meanwhile, Malfoy and Harry had abandoned their wands and were rolling on the floor, trying to beat the stuffing out of each other. No one interfered—until Crabbe jumped in to help Malfoy.

That’s when Seamus and the rest of our lot piled in after them, and a full-blown brawl broke out between Gryffindors and Slytherins.

It didn’t last long.

A sudden, horrendous screeching sound rang out, making everyone groan and clutch their ears.

“Well, well… I see Gryffindors have once again resorted to their usual barbaric brawling,” came a cold, dangerously calm voice.

Snape looked livid, slipping his wand back into his robes with a sharp, practiced motion.

“Absolutely disgraceful. And with foreign guests in the castle, no less. Fifty points from Gryffindor. You’ll find out your detention details later. Now get to class immediately, or I’ll take another hundred points for disrupting my lesson.”

“But that’s not fair, sir,” Harry protested furiously. “You didn’t even ask what happened! Malfoy called Hermione a Mudblood and threw the first punch! And yet we’re the ones getting punished—again!”

“I will deal with my own House,” Snape said icily, shooting Malfoy a withering glare that had the little git staring guiltily at the floor. “And you, Mr. Potter, should learn to control your temper instead of indulging your reckless nature every time you don’t like something.

“Now move, unless you want to lose another hundred points for arguing with a teacher.”

He spun on his heel and swept into the dungeons like a shadow, leaving us all fuming as we followed.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” I muttered. “We’ll catch Malfoy later and beat the shite out of him. Promise. If we’re getting punished for two Houses, we might as well make it worth our while.”

The one good thing that came out of the fight? Hermione had Madam Pomfrey shrink her teeth to a normal size. She started smiling more after that.

A full week of detention under Snape felt like torture. We were jealous of the poor sods stuck polishing trophies under Filch’s watch.

Harry had to scrape slime off Flobberworms, while I got the delightful job of pulling rat brains out of skulls and soaking them in brine—every night, for seven nights straight.

It only fuelled our hatred for that blonde prick.

And the bruised Gryffindor pride? Oh, that demanded payback.

We caught Malfoy in the corridors a few days later.

Harry and I used his Invisibility Cloak to sneak up on him. With a well-aimed Petrificus Totalus, we took out Crabbe and Goyle before turning our wands on Malfoy himself.

First, I hit him with a Blindness Hex. Then, we force-fed him a handful of rat brains I’d nicked from detention—figured he could use some extra since he clearly lacked his own.

And just for good measure, we followed it up with one of the twins’ joke sweets.

His tongue stretched down to his waist.

Blinded, drooling, and stumbling into walls, he wobbled his way to the Hospital Wing, moaning incoherently.

“That’s for your big mouth, Malfoy,” I whispered in his ear before giving his royal arse a firm shove forward before he had a hance to hoddle away.

No one caught us.

Malfoy kept his mouth shut for a while after that.

Didn’t last long, though.

Had to ambush him a few more times.

Honestly, Harry’s Invisibility Cloak was brilliant. Sure, it showed up on the Marauder’s Map and under Moody’s magical eye, but it didn’t react to detection spells, meaning we could sneak right up on our target.

Snape definitely suspected something—kept narrowing his eyes at us like he wanted to set us on fire with his mind.

But as the Slytherins had taught us: if they can’t prove it, it didn’t happen.

“Next time, Malfoy, you’ll be getting that firecracker up your arse like I promised,” I whispered with an unmistakable threat, giving a sharp tug to the strands of pink hair on his head as he spluttered, still choking on his own overgrown tongue once again.

Thank Merlin, this time the message finally got through. He kept his mouth shut after that.

Meanwhile, the first task was getting closer. Charlie had written to say we’d be seeing each other soon, and sure enough, I met him in Hogsmeade. We didn’t get much time to talk—just had a quick moment to celebrate that Harry wasn’t in the tournament, and he passed along greetings and a few treats from Mum and Dad. He also mentioned that Bill had transferred to Gringotts’ local branch and was now living at The Burrow.

Can’t say that thrilled me. I’d already decided I was getting out of that house the moment summer rolled around—didn’t matter where, as long as it was far away from my family.

One evening, just before the first task, we managed to get Hagrid talking—Hermione still refused to believe the rumours about dragons.

“Hagrid, people are saying the first task involves dragons. Is it true?” I asked, all innocence, over a cup of tea.

Harry and Hermione immediately exchanged worried glances. I’d already mentioned that Charlie had hinted at dragons during our meeting, so now they were both on edge, practically holding their breath as they waited for Hagrid’s answer.

“Oh, aye,” Hagrid said cheerfully, completely unfazed, either not questioning how we knew or simply not noticing the tension. “They brought ’em in on Thursday. Absolute beauties, they are—you should see ’em… Just, er, keep it to yourselves, yeah? Don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

Hermione took a shaky breath and desperately changed the subject.

“How’s it going with Madame Maxime?” she asked, forcing an awkward smile.

“With Olympe?” Hagrid perked up instantly, letting out a satisfied grunt. “Oh, it’s goin’ grand! Took her to The Three Broomsticks on Sunday. Then the other night, we went ter see the dragons. She loves creatures, just like me…”

We stayed out of politeness for another hour, but Merlin, listening to lovestruck Hagrid ramble on about his romantic outings was not exactly a thrilling way to spend an evening.

“We have to tell Diggory and Krum about the dragons,” Harry muttered as we made our way back to the castle.

“But that’s against the rules,” Hermione hesitated, looking at me for support.

“Maxime’s definitely going to tell her champion,” Harry countered. “That would mean only Krum and Diggory are left in the dark. That’s not fair.”

“Krum might already know,” Hermione mused, frowning slightly. “He’s been spending a lot of time in the library. And yesterday, I noticed a whole stack of books on English dragons on his table.”

“Right, then—we have to warn Cedric,” Harry decided. “I’ll use the Invisibility Cloak and slip him a note.”

The moment we stepped into the castle, he bolted off to find Diggory.

The first task fell on a Monday.

We managed to squeeze in our first two lessons before heading off, chattering excitedly as we joined the crowd streaming toward the stadium. The area had been transformed, with an enclosed pen for the dragons and towering spectator stands.

The dragons were immense.

I’d been to the reserve before, but I’d never seen them up close—especially not ones this size. The ones I’d seen before had been seven, maybe eight metres long, just teenagers. But these beasts? They were fifteen metres at least.

And the stands?

Completely unprotected.

Sure, they were set at a reasonable distance from the dragons, but that didn’t exactly put me at ease. If one of those scaly ladies decided to breathe fire or break free, well… good luck.

No wonder the tournament had been banned for a while—too many deaths. In America, they’d apparently underestimated the dangers. A Horntail had snapped its chains and torched the spectators' stands.

I’d also learned something new—the schools rotated every five years, with the three competing ones chosen by lottery. Hogwarts hadn’t taken part since the war with Grindelwald.

The first to step onto the field was Cedric.

His opponent? A Swedish Short-Snout.

Their match was anything but thrilling—frankly, it was nerve-wracking more than anything. The entire crowd seemed to be collectively holding their breath, waiting to see if the dragon would just eat him.

Maybe it was because he was the first up—no one had actually seen how one was meant to handle a massive, fire-breathing monster.

Cedric transfigured a bunch of nearby rocks into dogs, sending them darting around the enclosure, barking madly to distract the dragon while he crawled toward the nest behind a pile of boulders.

The dragon wasn’t immediately interested in the diversion, which made things a bit tricky for our champion.

Instead, she just huffed a few half-hearted flames in their direction, barely even bothering. She had no intention of leaving her nest.

So Cedric enchanted one of the dogs to attack.

It started circling dangerously close, lunging at the dragon, trying to provoke it into reacting.

And finally—it worked.

The audience was sweating bullets, the tension unbearable. Time crawled.

But in the end, to our massive relief, the dragon lost it.

With an earth-shaking roar, she smashed the poor transfigured mutts to bits, burning them to a crisp.

And in the chaos, Cedric snatched the egg and began creeping back.

But just as he was nearly across the safety line, the dragon finished off the last of the conjured dogs.

Triumphantly, she reared back—then noticed him.

With an enraged bellow, she spewed a torrent of flames straight at him.

Cedric barely dived behind a massive boulder in time, the fire engulfing the rock instead.

Still, some of the heat licked at his boots.

Luckily, as we later found out, they were made of dragonhide, so they didn’t catch fire. Otherwise, he might’ve ended up losing both feet.

So, in the end, Diggory got away with just a scare—same as the rest of us.

The whole ordeal lasted about fifteen minutes.

Next up was Fleur.

Instead of removing the previous dragon, they simply hit it with Petrification Charms and sealed off its section of the arena, opening up a new one.

Waiting for her was a Welsh Green—a sneaky little bastard.

But, surprisingly, she handled it faster than anyone.

Less than three minutes in, she had the egg and was waltzing off to the medical tent with a smug little smile.

At first, all she did was stand gracefully at a safe distance. Then, she started singing.

The song was slow, droning, almost hypnotic.

Before long, everyone in the stands was starting to relax—yawning, even.

And the dragon?

Fell straight into a trance, then collapsed into a deep sleep.

Fleur casually walked up to the nest, plucked the egg, and strolled back.

As she reached the edge, the dragon let out a snore, sending up a harmless shower of sparks—though it did singe Fleur’s skirt, giving the audience a nice view of a toned thigh and a glimpse of lace.

The dragon remained fast asleep as they locked it away.

Fleur might’ve looked like a delicate little princess, but clearly, she was a damn strong witch.

It usually took three trained wizards to pull off a sleep charm on a dragon.

Krum was the third to step onto the field. And bloody hell, did he put on a show—the perfect thing to shake the crowd out of the enchanted drowsiness Fleur had left behind.

His opponent? A Chinese Fireball.

A serious dragon—one that could launch fireballs at a frightening range.

But Krum didn’t even let it open its mouth.

The second he stepped onto the field, he hit it with a Blinding Hex.

The dragon screamed in pain, the sound so piercing it made our blood run cold. It thrashed wildly, crashing into the walls of its enclosure, trying to sniff out its attacker and crush him.

The entire time it was spewing fire in random directions, sending rocks flying with its massive claws and tail, Krum moved like a bloody machine. He powered toward the nest, ducking, rolling, blocking attacks with his shield charm—completely unfazed by the chaos around him.

His task took just a minute longer than Fleur’s.

In the end, Fleur took first place.

Krum landed in second—he lost two points because, in its blind rage, the dragon crushed a few real eggs.

Diggory placed third.

People wouldn’t stop talking about the task all the way up to Christmas.

And honestly?

I was just as hyper as everyone else but the task left me slightly suspicious. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the organisers had secretly slipped all the champions a few drops of Felix Felicis right before sending them—everything had gone too smoothly.

Not much else happened after that.

Well—except for the fact that Luna and I found an abandoned classroom and started learning to waltz.

There was this box inside with ten pairs of enchanted ankle bracelets and five glowing stones.

Once the stones were placed in specific spots on the floor, they formed a network of glowing circles, all connected by shimmering lines.

We each stepped into a circle, strapped on the bracelets, and I slid my arm around Luna’s waist, taking her hand in mine—just like the diagrams in the instructions showed.

Then, music started playing—not the real kind, but the mechanical, from a music-box that came with the set.

And suddenly, my feet moved on their own, gliding across the floor.

It felt exactly like stepping onto ice skates for the first time.

The music was slow at first, and we moved carefully along the glowing lines, a few times crashing into the other circles, which spun alongside us.

And somehow, it actually felt like hitting a real object.

The instructions explained that the enchanted space wasn’t just for learning the dance, but also for teaching spatial awareness—so you wouldn’t go barreling into other couples on the dance floor.

As we got better, I noticed the music getting faster each time.

After two and a half months, we’d mastered the waltz.

I loved twirling around the room with Luna, laughing and messing about. It was honestly disappointing when our lessons started coming to an end.

I would’ve gladly learned something else under her careful guidance.

Unfortunately, even though the box listed other dances—mostly old-fashioned ones—Luna said the enchanted stones for those were missing. The only one left was the waltz.

Later, out of nowhere, Harry, Hermione, and the rest of the lads started joining us.

After months of agonising over it, Harry finally worked up the nerve to ask Cho to the Yule Ball.

And—surprise, surprise—she actually said yes.

I’d honestly thought she’d pick Diggory, now that he was a champion. But apparently, The Boy Who Lived was a better catch—rich, orphaned, famous.

Or maybe she was genuinely interested in him.

But after what happened with Luna, I wasn’t exactly feeling charitable toward her.

I saw right through her, and no amount of Harry’s smitten rambling was going to change my mind.

Still, I kept my thoughts to myself. No point ruining his first proper crush.

When he actually got the date, he couldn’t believe his luck.

Then, he panicked.

Terrified of embarrassing himself—and Cho—at the ball, he begged us to teach him how to waltz.

Everyone already knew I’d been sneaking off to Luna in the evenings for lessons.

And after McGonagall announced mandatory dance classes for anyone who couldn’t waltz, the rest of the lads quickly decided it was better to look like fools in front of us than to make a spectacle of themselves leading the professor across the dance floor.

Seamus and Dean, inspired by Harry’s bravery, asked Parvati and Lavender to the ball.

Neville, meanwhile…

Asked Ginny.

And I swear—the git actually came to me first, stammering out some kind of formal request, like he was proposing and I was some overprotective father.

So, obviously, I kept a dead serious face and granted my permission.

That’s how we ended up with Seamus and Parvati, Dean and Lavender, and Harry and Hermione all learning together.

(Though, to be fair, Hermione already danced beautifully—she was only there to help Harry.)

Someone had definitely invited her to the ball—she’d been blushing about it for weeks.

Not that she ever admitted who.

So, she wasn’t exactly feeling left out in our group.

Then Neville and Ginny joined in, and our lessons turned into chaotic, noisy fun.

Eventually, Luna and I started slipping away during the group sessions.

We preferred dancing alone, counting one, two, three in sync, twirling through the empty classroom—just the two of us.

A week before the ball, another problem popped up.

Ginny ambushed me in the common room one evening, looking seriously grim.

For a second, I panicked, thinking something was wrong.

“Ron,” she said hesitantly, looking unusually shy. “I got a punishment from McGonagall, so I’m banned from going to Hogsmeade this Sunday.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“…Okay?”

“I need you to pick something up for me,” she rushed on. “A ribbon for my waist and three yards of lace—I’ll write down the details.”

“No problem,” I shrugged. “What for?”

“I want to alter my dress for the ball,” she admitted, looking a bit embarrassed. “It’s… too plain. But don’t get silk ones—they’re too expensive. Just cotton. And don’t get white—get dusty rose. It’ll look brighter that way. But if it’s too pricey, get white. I can dye it with coffee.”

I blinked.

“…What?”

Ginny huffed impatiently, like I was being thick.

“What rose, Ginny?” I frowned. “I have no idea what colour that even is.”

“Alright,” Ginny said, sounding almost desperate. “I’ll just give you the dress itself. But don’t lose it somewhere, Ron.”

And before I could even answer, she dashed upstairs.

A minute later, she came flying back down, clutching a bundle of fabric.

What can I say… The dress was new, and that was probably its only redeeming quality.

The colour was odd—too close to skin tone, like faded grey-pink curtains that had spent way too much time in the sun. It looked plain, not like a ballgown at all, more like something you’d wear for a nice Sunday lunch with family.

And to make matters worse, it was clearly bought a size up to last longer. It wouldn’t hold any alteration charms, and it wasn’t even fitted properly—just a cheap, basic dress with a thin strip of lace along the hem.

I’d always thought I was the only one who got the short end of the stick when it came to clothes, but this?

This was pitiful.

Ginny’s first ball, and this was what she had?

Mum was right—there wasn’t much to choose from when you were skint. And the washed-out colour made my bright, fiery sister look pale and dull.

But Ginny, ever the optimist, didn’t even notice my reaction. She spread the dress out on the sofa, pointing out all the little adjustments she planned to make—where she’d sew, where she’d pin, where she’d trim.

“Alright,” I cut her off, sweeping up the dress and the money before stuffing them both into a paper bag, ignoring her protests. “I get it. I’ll sort it. Don’t worry, Ginny.”

Then I stormed off to my dorm, feeling like shit, cursing Dad’s grand ideas and our bloody lack of money.

First thing in Hogsmeade, I went straight to Mr. Addington’s shop and asked him to find Ginny a proper dress.

“My apologies,” he said with a regretful smile. “But as I mentioned before, I’m completely booked until the end of December. The Ministry’s annual charity balls are coming up in February, and every tailor is swamped. I’m sorry, Mr. Weasley—I really can’t help.”

But then it hit me.

“You still have the sample of the dress I bought before, don’t you?” I blurted out. “Can’t you just… change the colour? Remove or add something to make it look different?”

The tailor frowned, considering.

“Technically, yes… but that’s not how we operate here,” he said. “We don’t cut corners. We pride ourselves on quality and originality.”

Then he looked at me—really looked—and saw how bloody desperate I was.

“…However,” he added with a small sigh, “why not, if the customer himself has no objections? Come, I need to see your sister to determine what would suit her best.”

We stepped back into the fitting room with the enchanted mirror, and I pictured Ginny.

“This young lady needs something bold,” Addington murmured.

An hour later, I walked out of the shop with a dress that looked nothing like the original.

The lace was gone, replaced with a layer of fine golden mesh, and the fabric had transformed into something indescribable—it shimmered between deep coffee and rich chocolate tones, shifting like a chameleon depending on the light.

I’d wanted something brighter for Ginny, but Addington insisted this was perfect for her.

I really hoped she’d like it.

The price?

Ten Galleons for the dress, five for the alterations.

And for another two Galleons, I bought her a pair of simple ballet flats for the ball.

They weren’t real shoes, and they wouldn’t last long, but they did have one useful enchantment—they could change colour once.

I’d had no idea what shade to pick to match the new dress, so this seemed like the safest option.

I would’ve bought her proper shoes—she was my only sister, after all—but I didn’t want to draw attention to my money.

After all, I could only get away with so much from my “betting wins” before people started asking questions.