Chapter 612: Going to Ask for a Dance Partner
As usual, it was SSC Activity Time. Neville stood at his desk, a tiny, pale-yellow chick trembling nervously on the tabletop, its black bead-like eyes scanning the surface for food.
“Snufflifors!” Neville whispered the Transfiguration charm, waving his wand at the chick’s back. The little bird twitched violently, its body contorting as if being kneaded by invisible hands.
After a few seconds, the chick transformed—into a mole with two tiny wings. Confused, it flapped its wings and scurried forward on all four claws with surprising ease.
“Another failure…” Neville slumped, shoulders drooping. He whispered to himself, “My Transfiguration is still so terrible.”
Wade sighed.
He could guide others through precise incantations and gestures—especially in spells and Defense Against the Dark Arts—but for something like Transfiguration, which relied so heavily on the wizard’s inner focus and mental image, his help was limited.
“You’re too tense, Neville,” Wade said, waving his wand again to turn the winged mole back into a chick. “The key to successful transfiguration lies in imagining the essence of the target creature—establishing a mental connection with it. Success depends entirely on your focus.”
“…Focus?”
Under Wade’s calm gaze, Neville seemed to grow even more anxious. He strained to conjure an image of a mole in his mind—but the more he tried, the clearer the image of the winged mole became.
Wade watched as Neville’s breathing quickened, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead, his eyes darting restlessly beneath his eyelids.
Suddenly, Wade reached out and tapped Neville on the forehead. The boy jumped, startled, and the mental image shattered like glass.
He blinked, wide-eyed and dazed, staring at Wade in confusion.
“Stop thinking. Go rest for a bit,” Wade said. “True transfiguration comes naturally when you’re relaxed.”
“But…”
“Go rest.”
“…Alright.”
Neville hesitated, glanced at Wade once more, then set down his wand and headed toward the rest area in the Umbrella Room.
Michael was enthusiastically building a new nest for his magic puppet pet, Pipin. Seeing Neville approach, he immediately said, “Hey, Neville! Pass me that board, would you?”
“Sure.”
Neville handed over the thin wooden panel. “Are you building a little house?”
“Yeah!” Michael grinned. “I finally saved up enough pocket money—bought this three-story nest! Look—”
He demonstrated how the tiny cabinets, smaller than a thumbnail, slid open effortlessly.
“Once it’s all assembled, Pipin can use every single piece of furniture inside! Isn’t that amazing?”
In his pocket, Pipin’s fox-shaped puppet peered out, eyes wide with anticipation, inspecting its new home.
Magic puppets from Aslan Magical Workshop came in countless personalities, but there was one trait they all shared: an insatiable longing for a proper nest.
When one of these refined trinkets tilted its head up, gripped its master’s finger with tiny paws, and gazed up with shining, admiring eyes—softly begging to be given a beautiful new home—most masters couldn’t resist.
From what Wade knew, the sales of magic puppet accessories had long since outpaced the puppets themselves. Miniature clothes cost more than Hogwarts uniforms, and some tiny nests even fetched the price of a dozen wands at Ollivander’s. Still, people spent lavishly—some even threw money at home upgrades without hesitation.
That’s why Machionni was now preparing to launch a lottery, giving away select mini puppets for free—to further expand the market.
“Wade!”
Harry suddenly burst through the door, his face twisted in an expression like he’d swallowed a fox in heat. He marched straight toward Wade.
“Today you didn’t go to Transfiguration class.”
“Yeah,” Wade said, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t know? I sometimes sneak into other year levels’ lessons. And today’s lesson was turning a pearl chicken into a guinea pig—something I’ve already mastered.”
Harry took a deep breath, as if steeling himself to drop a bomb. His voice dropped, heavy with dread:
“So you don’t know…? We can’t go home for Christmas. The school’s holding a ball. We have to wear formal robes.”
Wade glanced around the Umbrella Room. “I’ve heard. If you’d arrived ten minutes earlier, you’d have seen Michael bouncing around like a maniac.”
“Hey, Wade! I only spun twice!” Michael called from behind, turning sharply and protesting loudly.
“And there’s one more thing…” Harry’s expression grew even graver. “As a Champion in the Tournament, you have to invite a partner. By tradition, the first dance at the ball is performed by the Champion and their dance partner.”
He stared at Wade, hoping to see the same panic on his face—something to ease the weight of his own dread. It would help if he wasn’t the only one suffering through this.
After all, wasn’t Wade even more averse to social events? He rarely attended Ravenclaw’s internal gatherings, didn’t he?
But to Harry’s disappointment, Wade didn’t even look surprised. He simply rubbed his chin and said, “A dance partner, huh… Better get started soon. Wouldn’t want the best ones to be taken before you can ask.”
“You… you…” Harry stammered, stunned and baffled. “Can you even dance?”
“A little, at least,” Wade replied. “Doesn’t Hogwarts teach students how to dance?”
Harry shook his head, miserable. “Professor McGonagall never mentioned it.”
Wade blinked, puzzled. He thought McGonagall had taught dancing… but maybe he was mistaken.
“Well, no matter,” Wade said cheerfully. “If you can’t, I’ll teach you. Any idea who you’re asking?”
“I…” Harry’s face turned crimson. He tried to play it cool. “I haven’t decided yet…”
“Alright,” Wade said, glancing at him once more. “Same as before, Harry—once you’ve decided on someone, ask them right away. Don’t wait until the last minute and find your choice already taken.”
“Got it…” Harry mumbled, nodding distractedly. He turned and left the classroom, completely forgetting to ask Wade who he was planning to invite.
But Michael, still busy assembling furniture, turned back and asked, “Hey, Wade—whom are you thinking of asking as your dance partner?”
“Hmm…” Wade hesitated, almost speaking.
He’d originally considered asking Hermione or Padma—assuming neither had already been asked. If they hadn’t, he figured a polite letter asking would be hard to refuse.
But then he paused.
Attending the ball together… it would be too much.
They were already close friends—close enough that any hint of romance could easily twist their bond, turn something pure into something awkward.
So he shook his head.
“Still haven’t decided.”
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
