Hogwarts' Golden Glory

Two hours before the Christmas ball began, the atmosphere in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory had already begun to shift.

Harry stood in front of the only relatively intact mirror in the dormitory and buttoned the top button of his collar.

He was already wearing the black coat, the shoulder line hitting the edge of his shoulder perfectly, and the hem reaching just above his knee, as if someone had measured his size beforehand and then readjusted it to fit his body shape.

The cuffs were buttoned up, and there was a very narrow dark gray trim on the inside of the collar, which was almost unnoticeable unless you looked closely.

He glanced at his profile in the mirror, then turned back to face forward.

"You're dressed like an adult."

Ron's voice came from behind him, not loud, but with a subtle variation in tone.

Harry turned around and saw Ron standing by his bedside, already dressed—a dark green formal robe. The color itself wasn't bad, but the fit was the problem.

The shoulder line was about a finger's width wider than his actual shoulders, and the cuffs were so long that they almost covered half of the back of his hands. The fabric at the collar was also not very fitted, as if the person who sewed it had left extra room for it.

When Ron stood up straight, the fabric at the shoulders drooped down a little, as if the garment wasn't tailor-made for him, but rather for someone with a wider build.

"Did your mom send it to you?" Harry asked.

“Yes,” Ron said. “She said this is perfect for formal occasions, but I think she might have misremembered my size, or maybe she remembered me from three years ago.” He looked down and tugged at the cuff. “I wish they could cut three inches off here tomorrow.”

"You could actually borrow Hermione's needles and thread; she usually has spares."

"She probably won't have time to worry about my sleeves tonight; she's busy preparing her own dress."

Harry didn't reply. He walked back to the mirror and adjusted the angle of his collar again.

The outfit Sirius sent was indeed a better fit than he had expected. He had only casually mentioned in his letter that "I haven't decided on my dress for the ball yet," and the next day he received a package containing this coat.

He didn't ask Sirius how he knew his size; he probably got it from Lupin.

He smoothed out the hem of his coat, making sure it hadn't developed any new wrinkles from his previous movements.

Ron stood beside him, glanced at himself in the mirror, then at Harry, before looking away. "You do look like an adult."

"No, it's just that the cut of this dress is quite good."

"It's not just about the clothes; you look over twenty when you're standing there."

Harry didn't argue, because he wasn't sure how to respond. He stood there, his gaze sweeping over Ron before returning to his own.

The dormitory was quiet. It was already dark outside the window, and the occasional sound of trimmed footsteps could be heard in the corridor.

"Have you decided on your dance partner yet?" Harry asked.

"It's settled," Ron said. "A girl from Hufflepuff named Chloe, a third-year student. She's not usually very noticeable, and not particularly pretty, but she agreed quickly. She was looking for a dance partner when I contacted her."

"That's good, at least you asked."

"What about you? Have you already gone to pick her up?"

"Going a little later shouldn't seem too early."

Ron stood by his bed, glancing down at his sleeve again. "Do I look like I'm wearing someone else's clothes to an event I don't even know I should be there?"

Harry stood still, neither saying "yes" nor "no." He simply shifted his gaze to Ron's face: "Can you jump?"

"Not really, I haven't even figured out which direction to take the first step."

"You can step in with your left foot first, and then follow the rhythm. That's how most people learn. If you step in the wrong foot, it's not a big problem, because most people won't pay much attention to which foot you step in."

After listening, Ron remained silent for a moment, as if confirming whether he could really respond to what you said: "I hope I can keep up with the pace of what you're saying."

He walked to the door, then turned back to look at Harry: "You really don't look fourteen."

Then he turned and walked out of the dormitory, the door closing behind him.

Harry stood in front of the mirror, looking at his reflection. The light illuminated his profile, making his features appear more defined than usual. He reached up and touched the edge of his coat collar; the fabric was smooth, and his fingers felt no extra friction as they slid over it. He counted to three in his head, then turned and walked towards the door.

He was getting ready to pick up Qiu Zhang. He didn't carry any extra items in his hands. In his coat pocket were a two-way mirror and a folded tissue. His movements were more steady than usual, as if he had already placed each step in the correct position in advance.

He walked a little slower than usual, as if preparing for the time it would take to walk.

A few minutes ago, he had already adjusted the collar and cuffs of his coat, so there was nothing left to hesitate about.

As he walked down the corridor toward the stairwell, Lavender passed by the corner of the stairs. She didn't stop when she saw him, but she turned her head to look at him again, as if she had seen something she hadn't expected to see in that spot.

Harry didn't look back or slow down. He walked through the corridor, turned the corner, and entered the passage leading to the Ravenclaw Tower, stopping at the top of the stairs.

Qiu Zhang was already standing in the open doorway, wearing that dark blue long dress, without a handbag in her hand.

She saw him walk over and said, "You've changed your clothes."

"Yes. Sirius sent it to me."

"It suits you perfectly." After she finished speaking, she took a step forward and stood next to him.

Harry didn't look back at the way he came; he simply stepped aside slightly, making room for half a passageway.

As the two walked down the corridor together, he didn't look down at his feet; he simply chose his next landing spot naturally.

A deep red scarf peeked out from between the collar and the coat, its silver edges reflecting the candlelight, mirroring Qiu Zhang's deep blue skirt in the same beam of light.

And the Gryffindor Tower.

Hermione sat in front of the mirror, with the compact powder that Ginny had handed her in front of her. It was already opened, but she hadn't reached out to touch it yet.

She looked at her face in the mirror. Light streamed in from the window, casting a small shadow on her forehead, as if she were looking at the silhouette of someone else.

Her hand remained on the table, motionless.

She could feel her heart beating faster than usual, as if she were waiting for a moment that had not yet arrived but had already been confirmed.

She didn't know what she should do first—apply lipstick or fix her hair, or perhaps stand up and walk a few steps to make sure the hem of the dress wouldn't trip her when she moved.