This story contains spoilers from Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery. I've played the game about halfway through year five. I've tried to keep references to prior events and possible outcomes as general as possible, and made a few tweaks of the storyline of my own.

Obviously, I own nothing and this is written solely for your enjoyment :-).

"Six weeks to Hogwarts Midsummer Ball. Paul Finch, wash dishes. You look too happy. Then go to the storage room and count how many punch bowls we have." Pitts, the house elf in charge of the Hogwarts kitchens, gave orders to the rest of the detention students and waved dismissively for everyone to get to work. If there was one thing Pitts despised more than his own staff, it students like Paul.

Paul put on his best happy face, which vanished like fog as soon as he turned to face the sink. Nicknamed the Finals Feast and the Farewell Feast, Midsummer Ball was a dance for fifth years and up that celebrated the end of OWLs, NEWTs, and for the graduating students, their time at Hogwarts. Six weeks? Girls were ordering dresses, and boys were ordering tuxedos, except for Paul. He was the only one of his circle of friends without a date. Even though he'd broken through four Cursed Vaults, which meant he'd saved the school at least twice, many people still looked at him as the cursed student. In his five years at Hogwarts, Paul had had two short relationships: one that ended because they didn't have enough in common, and another because he couldn't stay out of trouble. The girls he knew were happy to have him as a friend, but he just didn't seem to be boyfriend material.

Paul found a brush and a towel. He heated up the water with his wand, then plunged up to his elbows into hot suds and dishes. He winced as the hot water prickled his skin. He tried to keep the water as hot as he could stand it because it cleaned the dishes faster, and it gave his stamina a challenge. Steam made his wavy brown hair cling to his cheeks. Paul sighed and rubbed it off with his shoulder. He'd probably be spending the Midsummer Ball in his room. Maybe he'd go next year. That is, if the Cursed Vaults didn't kill him or something. Or worse, if he flunked all his OWLs.

"Well, if it isn't everyone's least favorite cursed student," he heard behind him.

"Morrigan's cauldron...," Paul moaned under his breath. He glanced over his shoulder. Merula Snyde. The hazel-eyed, messy-haired witch took her time walking over. Her eyes made his heart do flip flops, but her demeanor brought him back to earth like lead shoes every time. The color splash in Merula's hair was jungle green this week. She wore her signature combat boots and leggings with sort of a mesh pattern under her school uniform. Paul had to give it to her: she had style, even if she was a pain in the neck as a classmate.

She turned up her nose slightly as she approached the sinks. Paul had the impression that she was used to house elves doing this kind of work. "Hello, Queen of Hogwarts," he said. "Lost any duels lately?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm unbeaten in the dueling club. And outside of it. Other than our duels." She stood at the sink next to him, which he was using to rinse dishes. She rolled up her sleeves, took the dish he was washing and started to rinse it.

That surprised Paul. He'd never seen Merula in the kitchens. And why help him wash? "Is that what got you down here washing dishes and making meals with the rest of us?"

"Sort of. Someone just had to prove he was better, and I proved he was wrong. We were caught just after I flattened him."

"Well, good job with the duel. Maybe they'll let you dry with your wand while I wash."

"Laugh it up, Finch. You've got the longest lucky streak at school."

"I can't be that lucky. You're here drying dishes with me."

"Yeah, well. That's not why I came over."

"Then why did you?"

"Because...," Merula looked away. She twisted the towel in her hands. "Because..." Merula tapped her foot, the rubber sole of her combat boot making a quiet slapping sound on the floor. Paul sensed a short, ferocious fight inside her. Merula rolled her eyes and grumbled, "Because I don't have a date for the Midsummer Ball."

Paul frowned. "I thought you were seeing Nigel, Earl of Hair Products. Did he forget to ask or something?"

"Nigel's the one I dueled. He had an inferiority complex about me. The idiot challenged me to a duel—right in the middle of the common room! And he's as clumsy with his wand as he is with his hair. It was all I could do not to kill him by accident."

Paul snickered. "Well, you let him down easy. So why me?"

"You've always... respected me, as a witch... even if you're a jerk—I mean, sometimes... and you have the guts to break a few rules."

Merula looked like she'd rather be re-bristling every broom in Flying class. Paul got the feeling that giving him compliments was harder than any class she'd ever taken. "I'm honored and insulted at the same time. Thank you. Kind of."

"Look. I saw Badeea turn you down in the courtyard. I know you want to go."

"Oh, for crying out loud." Paul's cheeks burned.

"So let's help each other out, make the best of it and just... ask me already!"

Paul wanted to say, Forget it. I'll sit in my room and read and play wizard solitaire, but he really wanted to go, and before he could stop himself, he said, "Fine. Will you go with me to the Ball."

Merula blinked. "Yes," she said—probably before she could stop herself, too.

"I—all right..." Did that just happen?

Merula looked for a place to put her towel. She turned left, then right, then left again, then finally said, "Here," and put her towel into his hands. She hurried away. Over her shoulder, she said, "I'll be in touch about flowers."

Flowers? What? "What about these dishes?"

"I don't have detention. And I have a dress to buy!" She left the kitchens so fast a pair of house elves had to snap-apparate out of her way.