Hogwarts' Golden Glory

Near the entrance to the hall, the candlelight suddenly dimmed by half an inch, as if something was suppressing the light.

Then Hermione walked in.

As she stepped across the threshold, the edge of her skirt let in the light first, and the pale purple fabric slowly glowed under the candlelight, as if it had been set ablaze.

She paused for a moment, as if it were the first time she had stepped across the threshold wearing this dress of this length, and she hadn't quite gotten used to its sway.

Her hair was down; the dark brown tuft that was usually tied in a ponytail hung down from her shoulders tonight, the ends gleaming faintly in the candlelight.

She had a small silver hair clip tucked behind her ear, which flickered occasionally in the candlelight before falling silent again.

She took a step forward, and the thin white mist parted to the sides at her waist before slowly closing back up.

Her skirt swayed naturally about an inch above her ankle as she walked, landing smoothly with each step.

Lee Jordan was the first to notice her.

He was drinking butterbeer, and just as the rim of the glass touched his lips, his hand suddenly stopped.

He seemed to freeze, his eyes fixed on the entrance. After a long while, he finally put down his cup, the bottom making a very soft thud as it hit the table: "...Hey, who?"

The person next to him followed his gaze, first seeing a figure, then looking back, confirming twice: "Hermione? That's Hermione?"

"She's dressed like this today? Are you sure you haven't mistaken her for someone else?"

Why would I lie to you? She is Hermione.

Lee Jordan put the cup back on the table, his fingers still resting on the rim, his gaze fixed on her: "When she usually wears her hair up, I always think she's the kind of person who would wait for you at the library entrance to return your books, but today, with her hair down, she's like a completely different person."

The person next to her chimed in, "What color is her dress? Light purple, it suits her quite well."

"How come I never noticed she dressed like this before? She never wore skirts of this color before."

"Because she had never dressed like this before."

The rhythm that was flowing in the foyer was interrupted when Hermione passed by.

Some people are speaking, the last syllable lingering in the air, forgetting to end their sentences. Others are turning their heads to look for their dance partners, their gaze only halfway across before being stopped, as if their vision has been tripped up by something.

A Ravenclaw boy in a light blue robe was chatting with his companions. When he saw Hermione approaching, he opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if the words he was about to say had been replaced by a new set of images, and he needed time to calibrate them.

His companion glanced at him: "Why aren't you saying anything?"

"...Never mind what I'm saying, look over there, who's that?"

"where?"

"The one in the light purple dress, towards the entrance."

His companion followed his gaze and stopped there as well: "Is that Hermione Granger?"

"Yes."

"When she usually wears her hair tied up and is wearing her school uniform, I always thought of her as the kind of person who stands in front of you and reminds you of the deadline for assignments. But when she walked in today, no one would think of the deadline first."

"This dress must not have been chosen randomly."

"The light purple suits her much better than the colors she usually wears; it's like this dress perfectly finds the right place on her body."

Several Ravenclaw girls also noticed Hermione. One of them, while speaking, glanced towards the entrance out of the corner of her eye, and her gaze involuntarily stopped. Her companion followed her gaze and said, "...Is that Hermione?"

Her companion tilted her head, as if confirming whether the silhouette truly belonged to the name she knew: "She's dressed quite differently today. She usually doesn't seem to care much about these things, but judging from her appearance tonight, she definitely considered the color scheme and how the fabric interacts with the light."

"Her outfit was truly eye-catching, not just the clothes, but the overall impression that she had carefully considered the occasion tonight."

After pausing for two seconds, the speaker added in a low voice, "I always thought she was just the kind of person who 'gets good grades,' but when she walked in today, the first thing I noticed was the edge of her skirt under the candlelight, and then I noticed that she wasn't carrying any books."

Someone nearby chimed in, "She definitely looks different when she's not holding a book. Usually, when she comes over with a book, you see what she's holding first, and then you see her. Today, her silhouette isn't obscured; you can directly see where she's standing under the light."

In the foyer, someone turned their head to speak to the person next to them, their voice low: "Granger's outfit today really suits her. She doesn't usually wear this color, but the color of this dress contrasts perfectly with her hair color. When she walked in, the effect of her standing in the light was more noticeable than when she was wearing darker clothes."

"She should have tried this style more often in the past."

"She never had the chance to wear this kind of dress before; her school uniform covered most of her figure."

Hermione didn't hear those words. She continued walking, her steps still slow, as if adjusting to the sway of her skirt. The candlelight fell on the fabric of her shoulders, sliding down the shoulder line in an arc of light, becoming a small, blurry patch of light as it touched the ground. That arc of light continued to move as she walked.

Someone in the foyer was shifting their gaze away and then back, as if trying to confirm whether the silhouette they had just seen truly belonged to her.

Hermione turned her head slightly as she walked through the foyer, as if searching for a spot. She walked a short distance, paused briefly in the middle of the foyer, and then continued on her way.

It's as if there's a spot reserved just for her, where she can stop and arrange all the details she needs to set up for the evening.

As she stood there, the continuous flow of conversation in the foyer did indeed pause almost imperceptibly; someone was putting down a cup, and someone was turning their head to find a better angle of view.

Kane walked in from that direction, his arm around Fleur's wrist.

She walked to his left, the edge of her silver-white coat collar perfectly aligned with the lighter-colored area of ​​the coat itself, her strides almost synchronized with his, as if the two of them had walked the same distance together many times before.

Kane's dark robe barely reflected the candlelight, and a narrow, dark gray trim along the inside of the collar would briefly gleam when he passed by at certain angles.

His pace was neither hurried nor slow, without any deliberate adjustment of speed, as if tonight's ball was just an ordinary item on his schedule, requiring no extra preparation.

However, some people still noticed his arrival. The person who had just taken their gaze away from Hermione turned back, as if a second mystery had appeared before the first one had been solved.