223 The Trap is Set

"Champions over here, please!" Professor McGonagall said as she walked through the Great Hall's double doors. The teachers also seemed to have dressed for the occasion, and true to her Scottish origins, Professor McGonagall had worn dress robes made out of red tartan. (Though whether or not dressing like an American woodcutter was appropriate for a fancy dance party was still up for debate.)

As Oleandra was thinking all sorts of disrespectful things about Professor McGonagall and Scottish fashion, she noticed Hermione's makeover, almost doing a comical double take upon seeing her, but she somehow restrained herself. It's not as if Oleandra thought that Hermione was ugly by any means; she was just surprised to see her accompanying Krum to the dance. How in the world had that happened?

It seemed as though it was fate for the Gryffindor Golden Trio to never be separated; be they champions or their dance partners, all three were assembled. The rest of the students, meanwhile, trickled into the Great Hall, leaving the champions and their partners outside in the Entrance Hall. It seemed as though the plan was to let them enter last, so that the school could get a good view of them when they finally entered.

And that's exactly what happened; when they crossed the great double doors in pairs one after the other, everyone in the Great Hall applauded. As soon as Oleandra set one foot inside the Great Hall, she instantly felt control of the gigantic Age Line transfer over to her; Daphne had done a good job of setting everything up. Oleandra smiled and waved as she walked; she felt rather like a princess right about now. Ron also seemed to enjoy the attention; maybe even more than she did!

The teacher's table, which had been enlarged to welcome the judges and the champions, was drawing nearer and nearer, for that was their destination. Oleandra didn't relish the idea of eating anywhere near Mr. Crouch, but to her surprise, he was the only judge missing. In his place, there was Percy Weatherby. Oops, Weasley.

The teachers and judges had all worn their best robes. Professor Dumbledore was beaming at them, no doubt daydreaming of peace in our time and Wizards of different nationalities getting along and dancing under a rainbow while holding hands. Professor Karkaroff seemed much less enthused; he was glaring at Hermione, no doubt thinking she wasn't good enough for his precious champion. As for Madame Maxime… well, Oleandra had no doubt her tailor was rich.1

"Right, I nearly forgot," Oleandra said to Daphne mentally. "Dumbledore's here, you can go ahead and begin."

"Bad news," came Daphne's response. "The Devil's Snare hasn't grown nearly as large as I'd hoped; probably due to the cold. I'll need to climb up part of the way before I can reach it. Keep me informed."

Much to Ron's chagrin, Oleandra elected to sit near Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain and the man Fleur had chosen as her dance partner. Glancing upwards to look at the decorations, Oleandra noticed that hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy had been hung across the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling, which was now reflecting the starry night sky.

Mistletoe… That brought back memories. Daphne had helped bring down the Basilisk by immobilizing it with the parasitic plant. It had been two years since then, but it almost seemed like a lifetime ago— Hang on, wasn't this the perfect moment to try out what she'd theorized back then?

"What, are we going to kiss under the mistletoe?" Daphne had said sarcastically.

"Hey, that's not a bad idea," Oleandra had noted. "If it were closer to Christmas, we might have chance to make it work by invoking a sympathetic magic ritual, but's that's not what I meant."

With everyone's mind on the dance, the lovey-dovey ambience would be perfect to prank someone… It certainly would be very funny to make Professor Dumbledore snog Professor Karkaroff. And now, the image was seared into her brain.

"What are you going to order?" Oleandra asked Ron, looking back down at her menu to take her mind off the mental image.

"Er—" said Ron, tearing his eyes off of her. "Can't go wrong with pork chops, I s'pose… Woah!"

Pork chops had just appeared on his plate— as if by magic. So that was how the menu worked… Usually, the House-Elves would make a variety of dishes appear on the tables, and everyone could help themselves to whatever they wanted.

"Goulash," Oleandra said into her plate, before sampling a taste of the tomato sauce from the dish that magically filled itself before her eyes. Bleh— too much marjoram, tasted like soap. The Hogwarts House-Elves must not be very used to making foreign dishes…

"Lovely décor you 'ave 'ere, Dumbledore," Madame Maxime was saying.

"Zis eez nothing," Fleur said to Davies. "At ze Palace of Beauxbatons, we 'ave ice sculptures all around ze Dining Chamber at Chreestmas. Zey do not melt, of course… zey are like 'uge statues of diamond, glittering around ze place. And ze food is seemply superb; none of zis 'eavy cream. And we 'ave choirs of Wood Nymphs, 'oo serenade us as we eat. We 'ave none of zis ugly armour in ze 'alls, and eef a poltergeist ever entaired into Beauxbatons, 'e would be expelled like zat."

"You make Wood Nymphs sing for you?" said Oleandra, a hint of anger creeping into her voice. After all, her family's bloodline origin was the Wood Nymph. Depending on the kind, they could live upwards of three thousand years. They were making those beings entertain them?

"'Ow eez it any different than zose Fairies buzzing around you?" said Fleur Delacour haughtily.

A good number of the Fairies from the garden outside were still floating happily around Oleandra, basking her in their otherworldly light.

"I'll have you know they do that on their own," said Oleandra shortly. "Jealous much?"

Delacour snorted in disbelief and turned back to Roger Davies, whose face lit up like a Christmas tree. That man was certainly very easy to please…