Chapter 330. Ron and Malfoy
Apart from the ball itself, it was choosing partners that most troubled Harry and Ron.
"So who are you going to ask?" Ron asked, his face full of worry.
"Not sure yet," Harry replied off-handedly.
"I thought so," Ron sighed again. "We don't just have to sort out partners, we need dress robes, too—I suppose Mum will post me some second-hand ones, or worse."
Harry wasn't worried about dress robes; Adrian Wesson had taken him to buy a set over the summer—his teacher had apparently foreseen he'd need them.
Two days later, what Ron had been dreading finally arrived.
At breakfast, he received a parcel from Mrs Weasley.
As the old owl dropped it onto the table, Ron's face immediately contorted into a grimace.
He stared at the bulging brown package as though it were a Blast-Ended Skrewt liable to bite at any moment.
"What's that?" Harry asked, curious.
"A big problem."
Ron's hands trembled as he loosened the string.
At once, a musty, peculiar smell wafted out, along with a little dust.
Beside them, Hermione looked up from A History of Magic and sneezed.
"Oh no—"
Ron gave a wail and hauled from the parcel a dark purplish-red robe with lantern sleeves trimmed in yellowing lace.
"I can't wear this to the ball," he said in despair. "It might be older than my gran—what will the girls think when they see me?"
Hermione gave a sniff from the side.
Ron had no mind to deal with Hermione—she'd been in a particularly foul mood these two days, and he chose not to touch that sore point.
Seeing Ron so dejected, Harry offered, "Maybe it's a vintage style? Perhaps that's in right now. If you need, I can buy you a—"
"Forget it."
Ron cut him off.
Harry had already helped him enough; he didn't want to owe any more favours.
Even he understood a simple truth—too much charity only sours a friendship.
Just then, something even worse happened.
Draco Malfoy had somehow come up behind Ron and Harry; Crabbe and Goyle stood at his sides as usual, looking nasty-minded.
Malfoy wore his signature mocking smile.
"Well, Weasley," he drawled, malice glinting in his eyes, "are those your dress robes? Looks like your mum finally sent along the family heirloom—did she fish it out of some House-elf's old clothes chest?"
Ron's face flushed scarlet at once. He clutched the purplish-red robe so tightly his knuckles went white.
Harry stood up at once, stepped in front of Ron, and stared coldly at Malfoy. "What do you want, Malfoy? If you're looking for trouble, I don't mind—"
"Oh, relax, Potter."
Malfoy raised both hands in mock innocence. "I only came to check on Weasley, and…"
He turned his gaze to Neville. "Care for another biscuit, Longbottom?"
Neville's shoulders visibly hunched—the last experience with becoming a fire lizard had left him shaken.
Hagrid's blisteringly hot chillies had made his lips swell for days.
Seeing Neville's timid display, Malfoy tipped up his chin, smugness curling his mouth.
"Coward."
With that, he began to laugh loudly.
Crabbe and Goyle joined in with their rough chuckles right on cue.
At that moment, Ron slammed his palms on the table and shot to his feet. The wooden long table rattled with a bang.
The entire Great Hall fell silent at once; every eye swung towards them.
"Malfoy!" His voice trembled slightly. "I'm challenging you to a duel. Right now!"
Malfoy arched a brow, feigning surprise as he stepped half a pace back, though triumph tugged at his lips.
"Oh? Duel me?"
He said, "In that rag you're wearing?"
Crabbe and Goyle burst into another round of hoarse laughter.
Harry grabbed Ron's arm at once. "Ron, don't rise to it—"
"No, Harry," Ron shook him off. "Leave this to me."
Harry's heart sank. Things were getting messy.
He knew how Ron could be.
Just as tempers were about to snap, the doors suddenly swung open.
Professor McGonagall appeared on the threshold and strode down the Hall. Her sharp gaze locked on Harry's group at once.
"What is going on here?" she asked sternly. "It looks like a disturbance. I believe I've reminded you not to shout in the Great Hall. This is unbecoming!"
The Hall was silent as the grave. Malfoy quickly wiped the smirk off his face; Crabbe and Goyle froze like two statues turned to stone.
Ron cooled down as well—Professor McGonagall was not one to trifle with.
"Professor," Harry spoke first, "it was just… a discussion about the Yule Ball."
Professor McGonagall's eyes swept over the crumpled robe in Ron's hands and lingered a moment on Malfoy's face.
"I shall believe you—for the time being," she said.
Everyone present let out a breath.
If they lost points over this, it would hardly be worth it.
Malfoy and his two hangers-on soon slouched back to the Slytherin table.
"Mr Potter, be sure you secure your partner well in advance," Professor McGonagall said suddenly, turning to Harry. "I have no wish for you to bring disgrace upon Hogwarts at the ball."
Harry nodded. "Yes, Professor."
"If you truly have any difficulty, you may go to Professor Adrian Wesson. He is your advising professor."
Malfoy didn't keep quiet for long.
No sooner had Professor McGonagall vanished through the doors than he sauntered back from the Slytherin table, wearing that infuriating, false smile again.
"What now?" Harry said in disgust.
Malfoy ignored him and stopped in front of Ron.
"Let's take this somewhere else, Weasley," he said lightly. "Didn't you want to duel me?
"—"
"All right, Malfoy," Ron's voice was unexpectedly calm. "Since you're not afraid, let's go. I hope you haven't forgotten the taste of slugs."
Malfoy seemed not to have expected Ron to agree so readily; his eyebrows flicked up, but the arrogant look returned at once.
Harry meant to stop him, but Ron was already on his feet, heading for the doors with Malfoy.
Harry traded a glance with Hermione and hurried after them.
Crabbe and Goyle lumbered along behind.
Neville hesitated a moment, then stood up too.
This duel seemed to have something to do with him as well?
Suddenly, he found himself rather admiring Ron.
If it were him, he wouldn't have the nerve to duel Malfoy.
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