"It works?"
"It works."
"When's the air tank coming?" Pricilla asked.
"On the 27th," I replied, while taking the gemstone out, safely, and placing it in my pocket.
"Should you really be putting that in your pocket?" Pricilla asked. "I put my one in a mole skin bag, then placed another sixty-eight mole skin bags in my personal vault. Each of the mole skin bags is placed in an anti-theft ward that notifies me through my bracelet."
"I like to keep it on me. It feels safer that way," I replied before disconnecting the helmet and folding up the suit. "So... you got your dress ready for the ball?"
"You got a date settled?" Pricilla countered.
"Yeah!" I answered.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm going with Fleur. She's my girlfriend," I responded.
"Fleur is definitely not going with you," Pricilla said smugly, and as I looked confused. "Have you asked her?"
"I assumed..."
"You assumed that she'll go with you because she's your girlfriend," Pricilla interrupted as I nodded. "Then you assumed wrong. She said she'll go with Roger Davis if you haven't asked her by midnight."
"She can't do that."
"She can do that," Pricilla said as I stood up. "Hold your horses and sit back down. Now, if you joined us for breakfast today, you would have found out that Fleur was a little upset that you hadn't asked her yet. Jessica made something up and said something along the lines of you planning an elaborate evening to ask her, and for her not to ruin the surprise."
"I've planned jack shit."
"We knew you were emotionally dense, but not this dense. You're denser than tantalum," Pricilla said while shaking her head. "Do you know what phase of the moon it is today?"
"Full moon," I guessed.
"Waning Gibbous," she corrected. "Do you know what season we're in?"
"Do I look like a five-year-old? We're in winter."
"You have the emotional intelligence of a five-year-old. Do you know of a particular winged insect from the lepidopteran suborder Rhopalocera that is active around this time of year?"
"I know of two."
"Thanks to Hagrid, we managed to secure the prettier kind for your date tonight," Pricilla said smugly.
"Are you being serious?" I asked.
"You'll have to ask Hagrid to set them up, but it will be a sight to behold."
"Thank you! Thank you!" I spat out like an excited puppy. "You guys are the bestest friends I could ever ask for."
"Relax on the corniness. One of us will take Fleur to wherever Hagrid sets up around a quarter to four. Just remember to bring flowers and a gift," Pricilla said.
Friday, December 23, 1994
Outside Hagrid's Hut
15:30 PM
Percival Ebonwood's POV
"You're cutting it a little late, aren't you, boy?" Hagrid said as I approached him. "Sun set is in less that half-an-hour."
"It took longer to get ready, and the when I checked the food wasn't ready yet," I said as Hagrid walked closer with a blanket and a bucket. "The food should be ready around the time she arrives."
"Still too close to my liking," Hagrid said as he handed me the blanket. "Woven out of acromantula silk. It could fetch a pretty penny on the market. I had Filius charm it so it would say warm throughout the night."
"Thank you Hagrid. Are the butterflies ready yet?" I asked as I folded the blanket.
"One last thing, then I'm done," he said as he motioned to follow him. "Would you like to feed the Thestrals with me?"
"No, thank you. I promised I'll do it with Luna sometime soon. Being within touching distance is fine, but doing it too much gives me the creeps," I said.
"I know the feeling. Used to happen to me, until I got used to it," Hagrid said, as he rummaged through his pocket, retrieving a small whistle. He gave it to me. "When you want the magic to happen, blow the whistle. After I finish feeding the Thestrals, I'll finish setting up the butterflies."
"Will you have enough time?"
"You are doing the show after sunset?"
"Yes," I nodded.
"Then it'll be plenty of time," he said as we approached a crossroad and he started pointing at one of the paths. "Follow the path. When you get to the next crossroad, take the path second to the left. You'll reaching the clearing after a short walk. If you stand at the rock facing the direction you came, your date will be coming from the left. Understood?"
I nodded.
"Did you bring flowers and a gift?"
"In my pocket."
"Good lad. I hope you have a pleasant evening."
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
"Thank you."
The forest path is narrow, a soft ribbon of dirt beneath my boots. Chelsea boots, to be specific. Dragon hide boots are good, but they are really uncomfortable to wear. Professor Prince threw a small fit when he saw me wearing these to his potions. Although these weren't the footwear that the schools recommends, they did fit the regulations after I had them enchanted.
Each step stirs the damp earth, and the scent of pine mingles with the faint sweetness of moss. Overhead, the trees loom tall, their branches arching, dappling the path with patches of almost golden sunlight. The air was cool here, alive with the hum of insects and the occasional rustle of leaves as something unseen scurries deeper into the underbrush.
My breath comes steady, matching the rhythm of my strides. The deeper I go, the quieter it gets. It's peaceful, but there's a pulse to the silence, like the woods themselves are listening. This was the forbidden forest where a multitude of creatures, both sentient and not, live so I wouldn't be surprised if there was something looking over at me.
Up ahead, the trees began to thin, and the light grows brighter, warmer. I can feel the path opening up, and when I round the last bend that Hagrid described, I see it—a wide clearing bathed in sunlight. At its center, like a secret unveiled, lies a massive flat stone.
It's ancient, weathered smooth over time, the grey surface broken only by delicate veins of lichen. Wildflowers crowd around its edges in a riot of color—purple, yellow, white, and soft blues—all swaying gently in the breeze. The flowers seem to glow against the rough stone, as if nature itself has been patiently cultivating this hidden beauty.
I step closer, the sound of my boots muffled by the soft grass now underfoot. There's a serenity here, a kind of peace that would not be found anywhere else at Hogwarts. Clicking my fingers twice, a blanket appeared on the flat stone. Moments after, there was a basket, two sets of cutlery and plates, as well as a jug filled with juice on the blanket. At the centre of the blanket, there was an empty vase. I reached into my pockets and retrieved the flower I had ordered earlier today and placed it inside the vase.
As I placed the flowers into the vase, I heard the crunch of leaves under an approaching boot. I turn to face the approaching figure. She maneuvered carefully along the path, the soft crunch of leaves beneath her black boots the only sound in the stillness of the forest. Her white shirt peeks out from beneath a coffee-colored jumper, its knit fabric warm and slightly oversized, hanging loosely around her frame. The jumper's earthy tone blends into the winter woods, but the white shirt beneath it catches the fading light, drawing my eye as she moves between the trees.
Her leather leggings hug her legs, sleek and dark, reflecting small hints of light as she walks. They shimmer faintly, like the glossy surface of wet leaves, adding a sharp contrast to the softness of the jumper. She paused for a moment at the edge of the forest, taking in the scent of pine and damp earth, her breath clouding slightly in the cool air. Then, with a soft pull on the sleeves of her jumper, she continues forward, heading towards me.
"Stop staring and help me. My boots are getting muddy," Fleur said as she walked towards me.
Waking up from my stupor, I walked over to help her towards the flat stone. I lifted her up by her waist and placed her on the stone before joining her.
"What are we doing? I am feeling a little peckish after missing lunch," Fleur said, looking towards me with her legs dangling.
I pointed towards the sky. I sat cross-legged on the stone, its surface still warm from the day's surprising sun. My palms rest on its rough edges as I watch the horizon melt into shades of orange and gold. The air was cooling, but the stone beneath me holds the lingering heat, and I lean back, letting the warmth seep into my skin.
The sky was putting on a show now, colours bleeding together like a slow, deliberate watercolour. Pinks and purples brush across the heavens, the kind of vibrant hues that make it hard to believe they're real. The sun hung low, an orange globe sinking into the distant line of trees, casting long shadows across the clearing.
This is what we call the 'Margherita Sunset'. It was named after the first time we met in a pizza place watching the sunset. It was like the way the ingredients of the simplest pizza come together, so do the colours in the sky, perfectly balanced in their simplicity. The deep red of the sun reminds me of ripe tomatoes, the golden streaks like melted mozzarella, and the scattered clouds are like torn basil leaves tossed across the sky.
I smile at the thought. It's ridiculous, but fitting. The kind of name you give to something that makes you feel whole in its simplicity. Both by the view and the person I was sharing it with. As the sun dips lower, the wildflowers around the stone start to close their petals, curling inward as if preparing for the night. We watched them quietly, their movement subtle but sure, like they know the day's end better than I do. The light dims, casting the clearing in a softer, hazy glow. The sky's colors were deepening now, edging toward twilight blues.
Turning my gaze away from the twilight blues, my hands reached over to the basket that I had asked the house-elves to fix up. Since this setup was to remind her of the first time we met, I decided to bring a little of Italy to this beautiful evening. The antipasti were the first things out of the basket. Thinly sliced prosciutto and mortadella textured like marble sealed in a cold container. Opening the lid while Fleur was gazing into the distant, I whiffed up and enjoyed the gamey smell. Placing the cured meats down at the centre, I retrieved a selection of robust, creamy cheese that included Taleggio, pecorino, and gorgonzola. Thank the house-elves for packing some focaccia, because I totally forgot about them.
For the main course, the house-elves prepared a pasta salad with farfalle, tossed with roasted squash, fennel, and cherry tomatoes, and drizzled with extra virgin olive oil, parmesan shavings, and a hint of lemon zest. There was also a mushroom and spinach frittata to go along with the pasta salad. The house-elves also included a small portion of roasted almonds for us to enjoy.
Two things that I insisted on being there were the drinks and dessert. I asked for a bottle of Chianti for me, and Barbera for my fair lady. The drinks had to be there, otherwise I could not lower my inhibitions and ask Fleur out to the ball. Asking her out has got me sweating more than when I faced the dragon in the first task. I asked the house-elves to pay special attention to the Turón, because that is what we both order when we first met.
We continued to talk as we ate. She gazed at me expectedly, waiting for me to ask the key question, but I kept on delaying. I was still waiting for the liquid courage to activate. We finished the meal with an awkward silence until Hagrid's planning came into effect.
The moon had risen, silver and luminous against the deepening indigo of the sky. I hadn't noticed it at first, caught up in watching the wrinkles crinkle on the face of the girl beside me, but now it hangs high above the clearing, full and bright, casting a soft glow over the stone and over her face. The wildflowers are almost spectral in the moonlight, their colors drained to pale whites and grays. Everything is quiet, still.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, something moved—delicate, almost imperceptible. We turned our heads just in time to see a single butterfly, its wings a shimmering blue, glowing faintly as it flutters past us. Its movement is slow, graceful, like it's floating through the air rather than flying. I blink, unsure if I've imagined it. But no—it's real. The girls had managed to acquire something this rare and endangered for this occasion.
The butterfly drifted toward the flowers, its glow reflecting in the moonlight, casting a faint halo around it. We sit frozen, captivated even.
Then, another one appears, and another—more butterflies, glowing in the same soft blue, emerging from the shadows of the trees. They flew around us, their wings glowing like tiny lanterns in the dark. Fleur held her hand out, and one landed on her finger. I couldn't help but smile, my breath catching in my chest.
The clearing is slowly filling with them now, the air alive with the gentle flutter of their wings. They moved like Cornish Pixies, but less feral, weaving through the moonlit air, their soft glow lighting up the stone beneath us and the flowers at its edges. Each one seems to pulse with light, brightening and dimming as they float around.
More butterflies join until the clearing is awash in their glow. They swirled around us like a living constellation, flickering in and out of the shadows, their soft light mixing with the pale glow of the moon.
I reach out a hand, careful not to disturb them, and one drifts close enough that I can feel the faint brush of its wings against my skin. The sensation is so light, so fragile, that it feels like a whisper. It was at this moment I knew it was our moment.