Hogwarts' Golden Glory

"What are you still hesitating about?" Ginny's voice came from behind, with a hint of probing and urging.

She was standing at the foot of the bed, adjusting her earrings, but her gaze remained fixed on Hermione.

"I didn't hesitate," Hermione said. "I was thinking about the order."

"The order doesn't matter, what matters is that you start doing it now."

Hermione reached out and picked up the compact powder, opened the lid, and saw that the surface of the powder had a layer of extremely fine powder that was almost invisible in the light.

She picked up the powder puff, but her movement froze in mid-air. She didn't know which direction to apply the powder. The powder puff paused for a moment, then she put it down and picked up a comb first, starting to tidy up the stray hairs around her ears, letting them fall back into place naturally.

"He'll see me tonight," Hermione said.

"Of course he'll see you. You're sitting next to him, so he'll see you."

"What if that dress doesn't look good on me?"

"You've already tried it on, and the dress fits you perfectly."

"What if he looked away as I walked past?"

"Then he'll look back after you've walked past," Ginny said calmly and clearly. "Because when you walk by in that dress, he'll remember the silhouette of your walk."

Hermione didn't ask any more questions.

She picked up the powder puff and gently pressed it onto her cheek. The powder spread evenly on her skin without leaving any obvious boundary lines, as if she were covered by a very thin layer of light.

She picked up another brush, dipped it in a little light-colored powder, and lightly swept it over her cheekbone, the movement very light, as if she were identifying the location on her body.

The figure in the mirror gradually became clearer.

Hermione looked at her face in the mirror and saw her outline being slowly shaped into a painting. Her gaze never left the eyes of the person in the painting, as if to confirm whether her gaze was truly falling where it should fall.

Her heartbeat didn't slow down. She sat in the chair and checked the length of her skirt one last time.

She stood up, turned around, and Ginny helped her adjust her skirt so that it fell naturally an inch above her ankles.

She took a deep breath and exhaled a second one, feeling her breathing gradually become calmer, but not completely calm—though it was no longer suspended in mid-air like before.

Draco stood in front of the mirror in the common room, with an open silver box in front of him containing a cufflink. It was silver, without any extra patterns, except that the edges were polished to be slightly brighter than the center.

He had already taken the cufflink out once, put it back, and then taken it out again, as if repeatedly checking whether it really matched the cuff of the dark green robe. Finally, he fastened it, adjusted it to the upper outer part of the cuff, and then took a half step back to see the effect.

Pansy sat in an armchair by the window, examining her earrings.

She looked up at him, frowning. "You haven't tied your bow tie yet?"

"I'm all tied up."

"It's tied, but it's crooked."

Draco glanced down at his bow tie; its edge was indeed slightly off to the left, by less than a finger's width.

He untied it again and retied it, and this time it didn't slip.

"Those few strands of your hair that are sticking up haven't been flattened yet."

He reached out and pressed down on a few stray hairs on the left side of his head. They flattened briefly before sticking up again.

"There's no hairspray over there, so we can't do it."

"You should have borrowed a bottle earlier." Pansy looked down and continued to examine her earrings, his tone relaxed, as if he was enjoying a rare moment when he needed her to give him instructions.

Draco did not refute this.

He stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself again. The dark green robe's shoulder line fit his shoulder contours perfectly, and the silver trim on the collar matched the color of his cufflinks.

He turned to the side, glanced at the lines on the side, then looked away to make sure his gaze was on the right spot.

His brother, meanwhile, was still standing in the dormitory in his usual robe, without having changed his clothes.

Kane sat on the edge of the bed, holding a book in his hand. He flipped to the middle, not reading it seriously, but his finger was just pausing on a certain paragraph, and his gaze was on the sky outside the window.

Igor perched on his shoulder, his silver eyes also looking in the same direction, as if waiting for a time that had been announced, but not knowing the exact time of arrival.

A rhythmic knocking came from outside the dormitory door—two knocks, very short intervals, as if the person knocking had already confirmed that the person inside wouldn't stop what they were doing because of the knocking. Kane closed his book and put it aside, without standing up: "Come in."

The door opened, and Hibiscus stood in the doorway, her light gray scarf already on, the collar edge overlapping the light-colored area of ​​her coat. She didn't come in, but just stood in the doorway, saying, "You haven't changed your clothes yet."

"I'm still thinking about how to respond to what you said."

"You said you would go."

"I meant I would stand near the entrance; that doesn't count as attending the ball, that's just being present."

"Then you should always wear that black robe when you attend. If you walk in your current clothes, people will think you're there to inspect fire safety facilities."

Kane looked at her for a while, his gaze lingering on her for a moment, as if checking her outfit for the day.

Then he stood up, placed the book on the edge of the bed, and turned to walk towards the wardrobe. Igor flew off his shoulder and landed on the windowsill.

He opened the wardrobe and took out a dark-colored robe. The fabric was thicker, and it was more formal than his usual robe, but still without any extra embellishments, except for a very narrow dark gray trim along the inside of the collar. He put it on, adjusted the collar, and then turned around: "Is this alright?"

"You also need to adjust the collar, and then shift it half a finger to the left."

"You're similar to your Pansy, but more accurate."

He adjusted the neckline to align it with the shoulder line.

Furong stood at the doorway, her gaze following his movements. As he finished adjusting himself, she checked his posture and said, "Your hair is neater than usual." Her tone was steady, as if she had already prepared the words before speaking them.

"I combed my hair this morning."

"You usually comb your hair, but you combed it more carefully today."

Kane did not deny it.

He walked to the door and stopped beside her. Then he turned and closed the door, and the two of them walked side by side toward the cellar exit, their steps synchronized.

Igor didn't follow. It remained perched on the windowsill, as if the ball tonight didn't need its company. Its owner had already decided on the rhythm of staying in that spot, and all that was left was for one person to walk over.

Night had fallen, and the candlelight in the corridor was a notch brighter than usual, casting two parallel shadows on the ground in front of them.