Hogwarts' Golden Glory

Harry couldn't hide his joy after getting Cho Chang's permission.

Ron and Hermione spotted them immediately in the Gryffindor common room.

"Do you have a dance partner?"

The two asked in unison.

"right."

Who is it?

"You've met Cho Chang of Ravenclaw."

In the Gryffindor common room, Harry was still standing at the entrance, unable to suppress the smile on his face.

Ron sprang up from the sofa, nearly knocking over the wizard chess set in his hand.

"Wait—you mean Zhang Qiu? The Zhang Qiu who always sits by the window in the library?"

"Yes." Harry nodded.

Hermione put down her book, her gaze turning serious and scrutinizing: "When did you invite her?"

"This afternoon," Harry said, his voice still carrying an undisguised lightness, "in the hallway. She said yes."

Ron slapped the sofa armrest: "Wow! You said she might reject you, and you just swooned her! Why don't I have that kind of luck!"

"You're lucky too," Hermione said. "Lavender agreed, didn't he?"

Ron's expression suggested he'd been reminded of something he hadn't fully processed: "...Yes. Lavender promised me."

"You seem very uncertain," Harry said.

"I just haven't decided what to do on the day of the prom yet," Ron said. "She was laughing the whole time she was walking, and it gave me the creeps."

Harry chuckled. "You seem to like her quite a bit, don't you?"

"I can't say for sure, maybe," Ron said. "But let's not talk about me yet, are you sure Cho Chang agreed? Did she say 'okay'?"

"I said it. I said it twice."

Harry said, "She said she was willing to come with me, and she said she wouldn't change her mind."

Ron looked at him, his eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions—a mixture of envy and happiness—"You look really happy."

"Of course," Harry said.

Hermione sat beside him, watching the barely suppressed smile on his face: "So, what are your plans for the ball? Have you practiced the dance steps? Is your robe ready? Have you thought about how to pick her up that night?"

Harry's smile faltered for a moment: "...I haven't thought that far ahead."

"Now you can start thinking," Hermione said. "She said yes, but you need to give her an experience that makes her feel like she made the right choice. Girls aren't satisfied just because they said yes; she said yes because she wants to have a great night."

"Hermione's right," Ron said. "You need to think carefully about how you're going to perform, or people will be disappointed."

Harry stood there, feeling like he'd just climbed out of one pit only to fall into another: "What should I do?"

Hermione leaned back on the sofa, arms crossed. "You should figure out her preferences first. What kind of place does she like? Does she prefer quiet or lively places?"

Harry thought for a moment: "She likes to read; she often reads in the window seat in the library."

"Then you can take her for a walk in the garden first. Then go to the chapel later."

"A garden? Outside in winter?"

"There are gardens in the castle, and greenhouses over there."

Harry nodded. "Do you think she'd like it?"

"It's not a matter of my opinion; you have to try it to find out," Hermione said. "If she likes it, then you've done the right thing. If she doesn't, you still have a chance to adjust."

Ron sat opposite her, his hands behind his head: "Hermione, you seem to have a lot of experience."

"I have no experience. But I've read a lot of books."

"Can reading books teach you how to pursue girls?"

"The book describes communication methods, not specific steps for pursuing girls."

Ron turned to Harry: "I think you should do the right thing by doing what she says."

Harry nodded: "I'll give it a try."

"Oh, right," Hermione said, "there's one more thing."

"What?"

"How do you plan to pick her up?"

"Pick her up?"

"When you go to the ball, you can't let her walk to the entrance of the Great Hall by herself, can you? You can go to the Ravenclaw Tower to wait for her beforehand, and then go to the Great Hall together."

"Wouldn't this seem too deliberate?"

"No. It's called politeness."

Ron chimed in from the side, "I've never seen you so seriously teach someone how to woo a girl."

"Because no one has ever seriously asked me that before," Hermione said.

Harry stood there, listening to Hermione and Ron's conversation, and suddenly felt much more at ease.

He didn't know if he could do it well, but at least someone told him how to take the first step.

"I'll head back now," Harry said. "We can think about this tomorrow."

"Will you be able to sleep tonight?" Ron asked.

"...Maybe not."

"That's perfect. When you can't sleep, you can think about what you're going to do next," Ron said.

"I'll have to wear a formal dress then."

"You bought it?"

"No, but my mom already made it for me. I heard it's a little different from Fred George's."

"That's great!"

Harry smiled and turned to walk towards the dormitory stairs.

As he entered the dormitory, he glanced at the night sky outside the window—there were no stars, and the moonlight shone on the windowsill like a thin layer of white frost.

He lay down on the bed, closed his eyes, and the sweet promise Qiu Zhang had made to him that day floated into his mind.

His lips curved into a smile again.

He turned over and pulled the blanket up to his shoulders, as if trying to hold onto the warmth of the night.

Next, I need to buy a dress.

Hogsmeade Village was covered with a thin layer of snow in the cold December wind.

Harry and Sirius walked side by side down the main street, where shop windows were filled with Christmas decorations—twinkling lights, singing Christmas trees, and silver stars floating in the air.

Sirius walked slowly, as if he were helping Harry identify which shops were worth going into, or perhaps he was enjoying the feeling of "being able to walk openly on the street."

"That one," Sirius pointed to a shop on the street corner, "I bought a formal gown there before, and wore it for three whole years."

"Three years?"

"Because it was expensive when I bought it, the quality is good, and I think I look really handsome in it."

Sirius Black pushed open the door, and the bell on the door rang crisply. "Go in and try."

The shop was filled with all sorts of formal robes, mostly dark-colored, with delicate silver embroidery on the collars and cuffs. Harry stood in front of a row of black robes and reached out to touch the fabric of one of them—smooth, cool, like the surface of water in winter.

"That one is nice."

Sirius's voice came from the side.

Harry took off the robe, went into the dressing room, and closed the door.

When he put on the robe, he found that it fit perfectly—the shoulder line was just right, the sleeves reached his wrists, and the hem fell about a hand's width above his knees.

He walked out of the fitting room, stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself. He looked like a different person, a little more mature.

"It's alright," Harry said.

"It's not just okay, it's excellent." Sirius leaned against the counter. "Your father had one in a similar color back then. Lily gave him several extra glances when he wore it."