Harry Potter One Shots

Just Different

All rights belong to the author, DreamPainter

"Potter," Professor McGonagall called as I started out of the classroom. I paused to look back at her and she beckoned me towards her. "A moment, if you would." I exchanged a look with Ron and Hermione. Ron looked as baffled as I was, but Hermione seemed like she wanted to ask what I had done this time. Shrugging a shoulder, I shook my head to tell them I had no idea what the professor wanted.

Trudging a bit reluctantly to the front of the room, I stopped in front of McGonagall's desk and glanced up at her. Was she going to ask about my progress on figuring out the clue for the second task? Quite honestly, I hadn't the slightest idea where to even start. Every time I tried to open the stupid egg, it would release that same godawful screeching as before.

"Professor?" I spoke up when she didn't say anything right away. I really hoped she wasn't going to ask about the egg.

"Have you a date, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked me.

"Ma'am?" I asked, a bit confused.

"For the Ball, Potter," she clarified. "Have you a date?"

I felt my heart sink. I'd really hoped I wouldn't be asked about that, either. "Erm... Well, actually, professor, I wasn't going to go..."

"Out of the question. It is tradition for the Triwizard champions and their dates to perform the opening dance at the Ball. You must attend, Potter, and you must have a date," the woman told me.

If my heart had been sinking before, it had fallen into my toes, by then. How was I supposed to get a date for the Ball when I hadn't the first clue how to even ask anyone to go with me? Who would I even ask? There was, well, no one. I had thought that if I had to go, going with Hermione might not be so bad, but she already had a date. I had jokingly suggested to Ron that we could go together, but he had practically choked at the idea.

"There's no need to look so downtrodden, Potter," McGonagall said, seeming a bit surprised by the expression I must have been wearing. "You're an attractive young man – you're the Boy-Who-Lived! There must be several students who would love to attend the Ball with you. You just have to ask one of them."

"Yes, Professor," I murmured, hanging my head, because that wasn't exactly the problem. Like she said, there had been a few people who had expressed interest in going with me – some more obvious than others. It was just that with my best friends out, there wasn't anyone I wanted to ask. Hermione or Ron would understand it was all just for fun, but somebody else? Well, somebody else might misunderstand, and I really didn't want that. My life was complicated enough.

I found myself distracted for the rest of the day, wracking my brain for someone, anyone, I could ask to the Ball without giving them the wrong impression. It occurred to me that it shouldn't have been such a struggle for me. Everyone else seemed to be excited about going to the Ball and if they didn't have dates already, they at least had an idea of who they would like to go with. Me? I had no one. When asked who I wanted to go to the Ball with, my mind was blank. Even Ron could rattle off two or three girls he wouldn't mind going with (not that he was having any more luck finding a date than I was, but at least he had some idea).

My wandering thoughts caused me to fail spectacularly in Potions, earning me a detention and Snape's bitter tongue as he insulted my intelligence and took ten points from Gryffindor. Maybe there was just something wrong with me.

Detention that night was one of Snape's favorites – and one of my least: dissecting toads for potions ingredients. It was a messy, disgusting task, which is no doubt the reason the greasy git liked assigning it to me so often. At least it helped take my mind off the impossible task of finding a date. In fact, I almost would have preferred to be in detention than have to ask someone to go to the Ball with me, only to embarrass myself in front of the entire school and portions of two others.