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George snorted when his twin brother checked once again his face in the mirror.
“Brother dearest, I assure you, you look fine. Do you really think I'd let you out of this room if you looked anything less than great?” he asked, raising a brow at the other redhead.
Fred gave him a nervous smile and attempted once more, to flatten his hair.
“We should go now. If you wait too much, Harry might just accept another invitation.”
Then, seeing his stubborn brother open his mouth to protest, he smirked:
“I've heard that Montague wanted to ask him out to the Ball.”
Fred's eyes widened in horror.
“He wouldn't. The Houses' reaction -”
“You and I both know that Montague couldn't care less about our Houses' reactions.”
That was true. If it was anyone else – any other Slytherin, that argument might have them convinced to not ask Harry out but not Montague. Montague didn't care about his House's opinion.
“I thought he was only joking about asking Harry out...” Fred finished lamely.
George decided to not tell him that Montague was not romantically interested in Harry and that while those two were close, they were not involved. If he told him that, it would surely make Fred back down and backtrack instead of inviting Harry like he was supposed to.
The only reason George even knew Montague wanted to ask Harry to the Ball was that they had those poker nights in an abandoned classroom every Friday night. Sometimes, Harry would tag along, other times he would spend the evening with his other friends. Last Friday, he elected to spend some time with Ron and Hermione after they sulked for hours at being left alone (Fred & George refused to let them tag along because they knew well enough that while they were both good kids, they hated Slytherins – or disliked in Hermione's case.). During that last Friday night, they talked about the Ball and that was when George was teasing Fred – calling him a coward, that Montague mused that maybe he (Graham) should invite the fourth Champion. Needless to say, Fred spent the following week glaring at Montague every time he saw him. It was all very amusing, especially since George knew very well that the Slytherin had said that to rile him up.
“I think I heard him say something about asking him at breakfast.”
Fred's head whipped toward him and he strode out of the room.
“Well, let's get going, brother dearest.”
That morning at breakfast, the twins sat on either side of Harry. Fred kept a sharp eye on both Harry and the Slytherin table but George was annoyed to note that he made no move to ask the younger boy out.
No, instead, he just made sure that Montague was not approaching their table.
George shook his head; his brother was a dumbass. And no, for once, he was not talking about Ron or Percy.
When breakfast was over, he nudged his twin in the ribs, eliciting a squeak from the other boy.
“What?”
“Seriously? How long are you gonna wait? I already told you that Montague is going to -”
“I know! I've heard you the first time around. I'm just... gathering my courage.”
“Well gather it faster than that,” George told him with a stern look. “At this rhythm, Ron will have a date before you even manage to say a word to Harry.”
And with that, he grabbed his bag and left the Great Hall, leaving Fred to scramble to grab his things and run after him.
Later that day, George told Fred to get his head out of his ass and to not talk to him until he talked to Harry. That... That was not fair but that may have been just the thing to say to get him to move.
Still, he was not about to admit that to his twin; his brother would never let him live it down. He was hunting down the smaller boy when he finally found him (it was a shame they didn't have the Marauders' Map anymore. It would have made everything so much easier and quicker and he wouldn't have felt the stress rise up during that time).
A look of horror crossed Fred's face when he saw something at the end of the corridor. Harry was there. But he was not alone. Graham Montague was standing in front of him and it looked like they were having a pleasant conversation.
Throwing caution to the wind, the redhead made a mad dash for the raven-haired boy, yelling his name at the top of his lungs:
“HAARRYYY!! WE NEED TO TALK!”
Fred grabbed the green-eyed boy by the wrist and, without waiting for a confirmation from either boy, he dragged the younger Gryffindor toward another corridor and then into the library.
He only slowed down when Mrs Pince gave him a sharp look. With a sheepish wave, he slipped behind a bookshelf, dragging Harry with him.
“Fred? What's going on?”
Fred swallowed.
“Uh...”
“You've been weird this week.”
Oh, so he noticed. Not very surprising; Harry may not say much sometimes but he was very observant – which was why he was always the first to know when the twins were planning a prank.
Fred opened his mouth, only to close it a second later. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to ask him to the Ball?! It was so stupid he should have just stayed hidden under his bed. At least a dozen of students had already asked Harry out and more would later. Harry had so many better choices than he, Fred Weasley.
He couldn't even begin to form the words he wanted to say. Then, he caught a glimpse of dark blue hair in the corner of his eyes and scowled even as panic clawed his throat. That rat was there! No offence to Montague but he really didn't want to see his face right now. He especially didn't want the other boy to ask Harry to the Ball. Harry might just say “yes”.
Fred opened his mouth before he even remembered what he was supposed to ask.
He meant to ask in a soft voice... what came instead was an embarrassingly loud yell:
“GO TO THE BALL WITH ME!”
“SHH!” Mrs Pince's reprimand came from the other side of the room.
Fred winced and horror-painted his traits when he realized what he had done. Oh, Merlin. Now, it wouldn't be a quiet, polite rejection. He could already see a few heads turning their ways even if the students couldn't see them clearly.
He glanced at Harry, ready for the contrite look he would offer him even as he declined Fred's invitation (wasn't it more like an order though?).
Instead, the smaller boy was smiling, a happy glow surrounding him:
“Really!?” he whispered excitedly. “You want me to go with you to the Ball?”
Fred was rather taken aback by Harry's reaction.
“Wha – What? I mean... Of course, I do.”
Why did his cheeks feel so hot now? He probably looked like a fool.
Harry bounced forwards and took both of his hands in his. The raven-haired boy's hands were so tiny, so delicate-looking. Fred was almost scared to break his fingers just by holding them.
“I'd love to.”
It took his brain a couple of seconds to properly process the answer. Then he blinked and reddened.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I'm sure it'll be great. Oh, but... I'm not too confident with my dancing skills and professor McGonagall told me that the Champions would have to open the dance. Is this okay?”
Honestly, Harry could have told him they would have to make a whole speech about the Chudley Cannons in front of the entire room, he would have gone ahead with this.
Harry had just accepted his invitation.
Holy Shit.
Later that evening, Graham Montague slipped into his seat at the Slytherin's table with a self-satisfied smirk.
“You guys owe me 10 Galleons. Weasley asked Harry out.”
Groans followed his declaration.
“Seriously? How do you even know that?” Miles Bletchley questioned him.
“I was there when Weasley asked him out.”
The Slytherins gave him a flat look.
“I bet you interfered,” Adrian Pucey mumbled from his seat in front of Terence Higgs. “There's no way Weasley would have had the balls to ask him so soon.”
“So soon?” Flint repeated. “The Ball is in less than two weeks. We've known about the ball for two weeks already.”
Adrian just shrugged.
“Yeah but Potter has yet to accept anyone's invitation. Besides, we've all seen how nervous and anxious Fred Weasley gets during exams' period. That's the only time I can differentiate those goddamn twins.”
Graham shook his head.
“My money.”
“You don't even need money!” Terence exclaimed with an accusatory finger pointed at him. “And we only have your word.”
“Fine,” Graham said with an exaggerated tone. “I guess we can wait until the Ball and then you'll have to pay me. All of you.”
The other Slytherins nodded grimly.
Damn it, Weasley. 'should have known he was a bloody Gryffindor.
The following night, Harry's dreams were full of yellow triangles telling him to make a deal with him to find the prettiest robes for the Ball. When Harry woke up the next morning, he was surprised to find out that he did remember his dreams. Did his dream self shake the Being's hand? Ah, no matter. It was only a dream.