Hermione had already taken a seat with Luna on the long bench at the edge of the dance floor. Both their gazes involuntarily fell upon Sherlock and Gemma in the center of the dance floor.
Luna still held a headband covered with feathers, her fingertips unconsciously rubbing it. Hermione straightened her back slightly, complex emotions flickering in her eyes.
She noticed that as the Weird Sisters' music tempo accelerated, Sherlock and Gemma's dance steps beca correspondingly livelier and more rhythmic. Their movents grew larger and more intense, until the people around them even cleared a space.
Hermione's fingers unconsciously tightened on her sleeve. She noticed that Gemma's dancing skills were more practiced and fluid than her own had been earlier. Every movent carried perfectly appropriate elegance, even though she'd secretly practiced for this ball without telling anyone.
Gemma's natural talent in this area far exceeded her own, and with her tall figure making her appear even more graceful when spinning, she undoubtedly had more advantages.
However, Sherlock remained as steady and elegant as a rock. No matter how rapid Gemma's movents, he could always catch her dance steps firmly, the pressure of his palm always perfectly calibrated, as if supporting a safe domain for her.
Their coordination was no longer the tentative exploration of the beginning, but rather a kind of synchronized dancing that ca from deeply understanding each other's rhythm, as if they'd partnered countless tis before.
Spinning, leaping, eyes closed in trust. Their movents flowed like water, as precise as if rehearsed a thousand tis. The corner of Sherlock's mouth maintained a shallow smile throughout, his gray eyes focused on Gemma as if deconstructing the logic of the dance steps themselves. Gemma returned his gaze with equal focus and appreciation.
Their dancing was truly too captivating. The surrounding dancers involuntarily slowed their steps. So simply stopped to watch and admire. Others beca so distracted they accidentally stepped on their partners' feet, drawing small yelps, yet still couldn't bear to look away.
"They dance so well!" Luna spoke up. "Better than the elf dance I saw last ti in Diagon Alley."
Hermione nodded, a trace of wistfulness barely detectable in her voice. "Yes, they dance really well—"
"Her—mi—o—ne?" At that mont, a voice with a heavy Eastern European accent sounded beside her.
Hermione and Luna both lifted their heads to see Viktor Krum standing before them. His tall figure nearly blocked out the light behind him. His expression was no longer as gloomy as usual, but rather his eyes held a trace of nervousness and obvious expectation.
"May I have this dance with you?"
Hermione couldn't help but be startled.
She hadn't expected that after she'd refused Krum's invitation to be her dance partner before, he would extend another invitation.
She instinctively straightened her back, her tone polite but unhesitatingly refusal. "I'm sorry, Mr. Krum, I have my own dance partner—"
"But he is dancing with soone else!" Krum beca agitated all at once.
He pointed toward Sherlock, who was dancing with Gemma in the center of the dance floor, his voice carrying a trace of grievance and urgency. "If I were your partner, unless you asked to, I would never leave you aside to dance with other girls!"
Hearing the implied criticism of Sherlock in Krum's words, Hermione's expression suddenly darkened.
She frowned slightly, and even her originally polite tone turned several degrees colder. "Mr. Krum, this is between Sherlock and . It has nothing to do with you."
Krum quickly realized he might have touched Hermione's sore spot and hurriedly explained. "Sorry, Her—mi—o—ne, I didn't—I didn't an it that way. I ant to say—"
"You'd better just call Granger." Hermione coolly interrupted him, though the hint of distance in her eyes didn't dissipate. "Sherlock dancing with other people is his freedom, just as my unwillingness to accept your invitation is my freedom."
With Hermione speaking to this extent, Krum's expression beca like the sun covered by dark clouds, dimming all at once.
Seeing him like this, Hermione felt sowhat reluctant in her heart. She could sense Krum's sincerity. However, she only felt the respect of friendship for this boy. Strictly speaking, they weren't even friends yet.
But he had extended his invitation before the Christmas Ball—that is, before she'd transford from ugly duckling to swan. So ultimately, he was different from those shallow boys who only looked at appearances.
However, this reluctance only lasted a second before she hardened her heart. The more it was like this, the less she could give him hope. After all, the longer it dragged on, the greater the harm to him.
Yet Krum still wouldn't give up. With a trace of pleading, he called Hermione's na once more in his imperfect accent. "Her—mi—o—ne—"
"I'm sorry, please don't invite again," Hermione took a deep breath and steeled herself to say. "I'm afraid Sherlock would misunderstand."
Krum: (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)
For Krum, Hermione's words were undoubtedly a bolt from the blue. His eyes filled with shock and loss. His lips moved but couldn't produce a sound.
A romance he'd quietly cherished for so long had ended completely before it even truly began.
His heart felt like sothing had violently struck it, and he imdiately cried out inwardly: "No—Hermione—no—!"
Krum was already a world-class Quidditch superstar, and now he'd beco a Triwizard Champion and Durmstrang's team leader.
Naturally, many people observed his every move, particularly mbers of the Krum Fan Club. So when they saw Krum inviting Hermione, they all cast hateful and jealous looks at her.
After seeing Krum leave dejectedly, they felt both relief and disdain.
This ntality was actually quite easy to understand. Hatred, because Hermione had gained Krum's favor. Jealousy, wishing that person could be themselves. Relief, because Hermione had refused Krum. Disdain, feeling Hermione wasn't qualified to do so.
However, regardless, they could only convey their complex emotions through their eyes. Making them actually co trouble Hermione—they didn't dare. After all, this was the dance partner chosen by Hogwarts' champion. Not soone to be trifled with!
Watching Krum's dejected retreating figure, Luna tilted her head and looked at Hermione, her tone carrying a trace of curiosity. "Why would Sherlock misunderstand if he invited you?"
Hermione: "..."
She opened her mouth but found she didn't know how to explain this to Luna. This kind of concern about feelings and possessiveness might be too complex for Luna to understand. She could only helplessly press her lips together without speaking.
Just then, another boy quickly walked up to Hermione. He wore a gray dress robe, his hair neatly combed, his face carrying a nervous smile. Hermione quickly recognized him.
Black hair, brown eyes, fair skin—it was Michael Corner, a Ravenclaw half-blood wizard in their year. Because they often t in the library, they had so impression of each other, though they were only nodding acquaintances.
"Gr—Granger." Michael's voice was sowhat tight. He bowed slightly, his gaze unconsciously sweeping over Hermione's dress. "May—may I—I have the honor of dancing with you?"
Hermione understood in her heart that this was one of those boys she'd just compared to Krum. Because her appearance today was so drastically different from usual, he'd co to invite her.
Hermione snorted lightly to herself, but maintained a polite smile on the surface and gently shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Corner. I don't feel like dancing right now. Thank you for your invitation."
Michael's smile froze imdiately. He stood there stunned for a mont, then said sowhat awkwardly "That's all right" before turning and hurrying away.
Over the next ten-plus minutes, several more boys ca one after another to invite Hermione to dance.
There was Gryffindor's Seamus Finnigan, Hufflepuff's Ernie Macmillan, and several older students whose nas she couldn't recall. But Hermione politely refused them all. Her reasons were mostly "don't feel like dancing" or "waiting for my partner."
"You refused them all because you're worried Sherlock would misunderstand?" After yet another older boy left with a disappointed expression, Luna spoke up again. She continued playing with the feather-adorned headband in her hands, her eyes full of curiosity.
"That's one aspect, I suppose." Hermione sighed and said as much. She felt it was better not to tell Luna about how those boys only invited her because of her appearance, making them seem shallow.
Otherwise, with Luna's straightforward personality, who knew when she might bring this up in front of those people, which would make everyone look bad.
"Besides, I only wanted to dance with my partner today anyway."
"That's Sherlock!" Luna imdiately clapped her hands, her face showing an "I get it" expression, her eyes sparkling brightly. "Don't worry, once I finish dancing this one with him, I'll let you have him! Then you two can dance and dance and dance—until the Christmas Ball ends!"
"We're not frogs—" Hermione responded with mixed amusent and exasperation.
"Okay then, when does the Christmas Ball end again?"
"Midnight."
Though she said that, a trace of sweetness quietly rose in Hermione's heart because of Luna's words. Just then, the Weird Sisters' second song happened to end, the cheerful music gradually fading.
Gemma walked straight toward Hermione and Luna, pulling Sherlock's hand. Her cheeks were flushed with a faint pink from dancing, her breathing more rapid than usual, yet she still maintained an elegant bearing.
"Miss Lovegood," Gemma gave Luna a warm smile. "How about letting Sherlock rest for a bit? The third song has an even faster tempo than before—it's a quickstep that requires quite a bit of stamina."
"Okay, okay!" Luna imdiately clapped her hands in agreent. She looked at Sherlock, her eyes full of anticipation. "Will you have more energy after resting, Sherlock?"
Gemma looked at Luna with interest. "What do you an by 'more energy'?"
"I an, after resting, will you still have the strength to dance the quickstep with ?" Luna looked at Sherlock with enthusiasm. "Like stepping on those Blast-Ended Skrewts that Hagrid raises?"
"Of course, Luna." Sherlock nodded and sat down in the empty seat beside Hermione, subtly flexing his wrist.
Gemma's gaze swept warmly over Hermione and Luna as she reached for a glass of water from the nearby small round table and handed it to Sherlock. "In that case, you need to rehydrate a bit—you'll have to deal with Blast-Ended Skrewt dance steps shortly."
Her movents and words held no deliberate targeting or showing off. The feeling she gave was purely caring for her dance partner. However, that familiarity and ease after dancing with Sherlock still made Hermione's fingers unconsciously tighten on her sleeve again.
"Thank you." Sherlock accepted the water glass, his gaze calmly turning to Hermione. "What just happened? You refused many people's invitations?"
From this one sentence alone, it was clear that during his ti dancing with Gemma, Sherlock still hadn't forgotten to observe his surroundings.
Hermione had just collected herself and was preparing to speak when Luna jumped in first. She said in a tone as if discovering a marvelous magical creature: "Oh! So many people ca wanting to dance with Hermione! There was Krum from Durmstrang, and Corner, Finnigan, Macmillan—ah, quite a few of them!"
Hermione's cheeks instantly flushed crimson. She looked at Sherlock sowhat flustered, then quickly said to Luna in a low voice, "Luna!"
"But Hermione refused them all!" Luna completely failed to receive Hermione's embarrassnt signal. Instead, her voice beca even clearer. She tilted her head, her face showing an expression of finding this very interesting, and continued: "Hermione said this—"
She imitated Hermione's tone from when she'd refused Krum, trying to make her voice sound calm and firm: "'I'm sorry, please don't invite again. I'm afraid Sherlock would misunderstand'!"
Boom!
The mont Luna's words fell, Hermione's cheeks instantly beca burning hot, the blush on her face extrely vivid. At this mont, she wished she could imdiately find a crack in the ground to crawl into, or simply cast a Tongue-Tying Curse on Luna.
She absolutely didn't dare look at Sherlock's expression at this mont. She could only stare fixedly at her own knees, her fingers twisted tightly together.
Gemma blinked from the side, first slightly stunned, then a knowing smile flowed through her blue eyes. That smile was warm and open, without mockery, but rather carried a trace of understanding for a young girl's feelings.
She looked at the extrely embarrassed Hermione, then at the still-calm Sherlock, and finally a clear smile appeared on her face. At this mont, she couldn't help but recall what she'd said to Hermione upon graduation.
As for Sherlock, he seed calm, but the hand holding the water glass still paused slightly in the air. His gaze swept over Hermione's side profile—so embarrassed she practically wanted to bury her head in her chest and he nodded lightly. "I understand."
"I understand"?
What kind of response was that?
Hermione suddenly lifted her head, only to see Sherlock raise the water glass and take a asured sip. From his expression, she still couldn't read any information, as if what Luna had just recounted was rely tonight's weather.
None of the three won or one man continued speaking. The atmosphere suddenly beca sowhat ambiguous and delicate. However, this brief delicate atmosphere didn't last long before being broken. By Luna, of course.
She paid no attention whatsoever to Hermione's embarrassnt or Gemma's smile. She suddenly stood up and excitedly reached out to pull Sherlock: "Are the five minutes up? Can we go dance now? The quickstep is about to start!"
"Mm, the timing is just right." Sherlock put down the water glass and naturally grasped Luna's extended hand, using the leverage to stand up. He looked down at Gemma and Hermione, who were still in a petrified state. "We'll go ahead then."
It was exactly the kind of response that didn't surprise Gemma or Hermione in the slightest. His voice was calm as still water, without the slightest ripple, as if the person who was afraid of being misunderstood wasn't him at all.
Hermione nodded sowhat awkwardly. Gemma also smiled warmly at Sherlock and Luna. The two of them watched together as Sherlock took Luna's hand and walked toward the dance floor. The Weird Sisters' exuberant and cheerful quickstep tune had already begun playing.
As soon as they entered the dance floor, Luna excitedly pulled Sherlock into a spin. Her dance steps were indeed full of unconventional jumping energy, just like stepping on Blast-Ended Skrewts. Earlier, when she wasn't in this state, Ron had been tortured quite enough by this manner. Now it had intensified even more.
But Sherlock's performance was as steady as ever. Not only could he keep up with Luna's rhythm, he could also innovate, precisely guiding her into the next step.
Even at this point, the blush on Hermione's face hadn't completely faded. She gazed at Sherlock's figure in the dance floor guiding the exuberant Luna, complex emotions churning in her eyes. There was annoyance at Luna's lack of filter, extre embarrassnt at having her feelings exposed in public.
But deeper still was a secret flutter and panic she herself hadn't fully sorted out yet. Like ripples spreading endlessly across a calm lake surface after a stone was tossed in.
Those words Luna had loudly recited—"I'm afraid Sherlock would misunderstand"—now echoed repeatedly in her heart, shaking her emotions so they couldn't calm down for a long ti.
She unconsciously glanced at Gemma beside her, only to see the latter elegantly watching the dance floor, her eyes clear and open without a trace of shadow or smugness. This made Hermione's mood even more complex and indescribable.
"Gemma, I—"
"Hermione, you don't need to explain anything." Hearing Hermione's words, Gemma withdrew her gaze from the dance floor and said with a smile: "I think you did the right thing. There's nothing to be embarrassed about."
"But—"
"I've always believed that when it cos to feelings, one shouldn't drag things out. In situations like this, you shouldn't give the other party any possibility of misunderstanding." Gemma looked at Hermione and said aningfully: "It's not just you who's afraid of Sherlock misunderstanding. I am too."
"What do you an by that?"
Gemma smiled and turned her head. Hermione imdiately followed her gaze and couldn't help but freeze. She saw several boys walking toward them. That look in their eyes and their bearing—Hermione was all too familiar with it. Every person who'd co to invite her had been exactly like this.
Except this ti, their target had beco Gemma.
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