Harry Potter with Technology System

On December 10th, McGonagall marched into Transfiguration with the air of someone about to ruin everyone’s day. The class quieted immediately—partly because it was McGonagall and partly because she had that look. The one that meant whatever she was about to say wasn’t up for debate.

“The Yule Ball,” she announced, “will take place on Christmas Day.”

Whispers broke out instantly. Some students looked excited, others horrified.

McGonagall ignored the reactions and continued. “As tradition dictates, the ball is open to fourth-years and above. Younger students may only attend if invited by an older student. Formal attire is required.”

More murmurs spread through the room. The boys, in particular, looked vaguely ill at the thought of dress robes.

McGonagall’s sharp gaze landed on Harry. “As Hogwarts’ champion, Potter, you are expected to open the dance.”

Harry chuckled, completely unfazed. He had been attending Yule celebrations since his first year, and last year, he had even arranged his own. The Potter Yule Ball was already set to be hosted by Petunia and Augusta Longbottom in his absence, which meant he had no obligations there. That left him free to handle the Hogwarts event however he wanted.

“How many guests am I allowed to invite?” he asked, casually adjusting his sleeve.

McGonagall blinked, caught off guard. Around him, several girls chuckled, already anticipating the chaos that was bound to follow. The so-called ‘Emperor Potter’ had his fair share of admirers, and they knew this was going to be a competition.

McGonagall cleared her throat. “Champions are given additional invitations, but the exact number—”

“How many?” Harry cut in smoothly.

McGonagall gave him a long look before sighing. “Three.”

Tracey raised her hand without hesitation. “Professor, can you raise that number by at least... ten?”

McGonagall, who had just been regaining control of the class, paused mid-sentence. “Ten?”

Tracey leaned back in her chair, unbothered. “Fifteen?”

Pansy snorted. “Emperor Potter is building his harem, after all.”

That sent the class into laughter. Even some of the Gryffindors were chuckling, while McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose, looking like she was questioning all her life choices.

Daphne and Hermione, however, ignored the teasing. “Harry should invite Ginny, Luna, and Astoria,” Daphne said, tapping her quill against the table. “They can’t attend otherwise, and the rest of us are eligible anyway.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “That would be fair.”

McGonagall exhaled sharply. “This is a ball, not a social experiment, Miss Davis,” she said, turning back to Tracey, who was grinning unrepentantly. Then she faced Harry. “Five is the limit, Potter. No negotiations.”

Harry simply shrugged. “That’s fine.”

Blaise groaned, throwing his head back. "Could you at least leave some girls for the rest of us, Potter?"

Draco smirked. "You say that like any of them would accept your invitation."

Theodore snickered. "Yeah, but if you’re desperate, I could invite you instead."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Generous, Nott, really. Maybe I’ll return the favor at your wedding."

Tracey, still grinning from the earlier chaos, leaned on the table. "You all realize this means half the school is going to spend the next two weeks trying to get Potter to ask them, right?"

Daphne sighed. "The other half will be hoping he rejects someone dramatic enough to cry about it."

Harry ignored them, spinning his quill between his fingers. It wasn’t like he was going to waste time stressing over a school dance. He already knew who he was inviting. The only real question was what kind of spectacle the Yule Ball would turn into once the Prophet got wind of it.

Draco, lounging across from him, studied him for a moment. "I suppose I should be relieved you’re not sweeping up the entire female population in one go."

"Still could," Harry said idly.

Draco snorted. "Now that would be a sight. The great Harry Potter, arriving with an entire entourage."

McGonagall took a long breath, clearly trying to suppress whatever headache Harry and his friends had just caused. Then, without another word, she raised her hand in a sharp motion.

"Enough. Come, Mr. Potter. Show me if you are ready."

The class went silent. The boys who had been dreading the idea of dancing suddenly looked relieved that they weren’t the ones being called forward, while the girls watched with interest.

Harry didn’t hesitate. He stood and moved to the front of the room. McGonagall, still holding herself with the same rigid authority as always, extended a hand. He took it.

McGonagall gave him a sharp nod of approval. Then, without further instruction, she led the first step. Harry followed smoothly.

The room watched in complete silence. Some students were stifling laughter at the sheer absurdity of seeing Professor McGonagall in a dance position, while others were just baffled that Harry wasn’t struggling like they’d expected.

Ron, who had been hoping for some kind of embarrassing misstep, scowled. "Why does he know how to do that?" he muttered under his breath.

Hermione shot him a look. "Because he actually pays attention in situations where it matters?"

Ron muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue.

McGonagall led them through a few turns, testing his ability to match her movements. Harry moved with ease, stepping in time with the rhythm she set, his grip firm but not stiff. After a few rotations, she stopped and released his hand.

"Excellent performance, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said with a rare smile. "I saw you dance at the last Potter Yule Ball, but now I can confidently say you’re ready."

Harry dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Appreciate the confirmation, Professor."

McGonagall turned to the rest of the class, her expression returning to its usual no-nonsense demeanor. "Now, Mr. Potter and I will oversee the rest. Mr. Weasley, please. Mr. Potter, you may begin with anyone you choose."

Ron, who had clearly been hoping to avoid this moment, stiffened. The rest of the class, however, was watching Harry closely.

He had danced with nearly all the girls in his circle at various Yule Balls over the years, so he already knew their skill levels. Still, he wasn’t about to rule them out. If he was going to be forced to oversee a bunch of Gryffindors fumbling through their first real dance lesson, he might as well start strong.

Before he could even call a name, Pansy all but launched herself onto the floor. "Mine first," she announced, grabbing his hand before anyone else had the chance.

Harry smirked. "Impatient?"

Pansy grinned. "Efficient."

McGonagall pursed her lips but gestured for them to proceed. "Very well. Begin."

Pansy settled into position with ease, one hand in his, the other resting lightly on his shoulder. When he stepped forward, she matched his movements effortlessly. Unlike most of the students in the room, she wasn’t worried about stepping on toes or tripping over herself. She let him lead without resistance, following his pace without hesitation.

"You know, if you keep dancing like this, you might actually convince people you’re not a complete menace," Pansy teased under her breath.

"That would ruin my reputation," Harry replied dryly.

Across the room, Tracey snorted. "They look like they’ve done this a hundred times."

Daphne, watching with arms crossed, hummed in agreement. "Probably because they have."

Hermione looked vaguely impressed. "At least someone’s making this look good."

She turned to Ron and McGonagall, exhaling through her nose. Ron was making a mess of it, stomping on McGonagall’s feet every few steps, whether on purpose or just sheer incompetence was anyone’s guess. Either way, McGonagall looked one misstep away from hexing him.

"Mr. Weasley," she said, barely holding onto her patience. "You are not attempting to crush your partner’s toes. Step lightly!"

Ron scowled, looking anywhere but at McGonagall as he mumbled, "Not my fault this is stupid."

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. "Would you prefer to make a fool of yourself in front of the entire school instead?"

Ron flinched and muttered something under his breath, but at least he tried to correct his footing.

Pansy, still dancing with Harry, let out a quiet snort. "Well, that’s painful to watch."

Harry glanced over. "It’s painful to listen to."

McGonagall turned back to the class, her sharp gaze sweeping across the students. "Girls, pair up and dance with Mr. Potter for assessment. Boys, line up for me."

A collective shuffle followed as students either moved toward Harry or reluctantly stepped into McGonagall’s line of fire. Some of the girls looked eager, others hesitant, and a few were clearly trying to suppress their excitement. The boys, on the other hand, looked like they were being marched to their doom.

"First up," McGonagall announced.

Before anyone else could move, Tracey stepped forward, smirking as she took Harry’s hand. "I want my turn before the chaos starts," she said.

Harry raised a brow but didn’t object, shifting into position. The moment McGonagall gave the nod, they started.

Tracey wasn’t bad. A bit too playful, but she kept up well enough, twirling smoothly when Harry led her into a turn. McGonagall clapped her hands sharply, cutting through the murmurs. “Keep moving, ladies. If you are not dancing, you should be practicing with your partners.”

Harry adjusted his grip as Tracey settled into position, one hand in his, the other resting lightly on his shoulder. She raised an eyebrow at him. “So, Emperor Potter, how many girls are you planning to crush underfoot today?”

Harry stepped forward, leading her into the dance. “Depends. You volunteering?”

She grinned. “Please. If anyone’s getting injured, it’s the Gryffindors.”

Harry spun her once before passing her off to Daphne, who took his hand without fuss. Unlike Tracey, who liked to joke around, Daphne was all business. She moved with ease, following his lead without hesitation.

“You’re taking this seriously,” Harry noted.

“Dancing is useful,” Daphne said simply. “And unlike some people, I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of the entire school.”

“That a jab at Tracey?”

Daphne’s lips twitched. “If the shoe fits.”

Tracey, standing nearby, scoffed. “I heard that.”

Harry moved her through a few steps before McGonagall signaled for the next girl.

One by one, Harry danced with the girls while McGonagall drilled the boys, most of whom failed spectacularly. By the end of the lesson, she looked like she was deeply regretting her life choices.

“We have a lot of work to do,” she announced, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Harry and most of the girls were fine. Slytherins, in particular, handled it with ease. Most of them were either pureblood or from families with deep magical heritage, meaning they’d been drilled in etiquette and ballroom dancing since childhood. Daphne barely needed any guidance. Even Pansy, for all her dramatics, had solid footwork. Tracey, while slightly playful, could at least follow a lead. 

Gryffindor was a different story.

The boys, in particular, were a disaster.

Seamus stepped on his partner’s toes so often that McGongall had to start casting protective charms on her shoes. Dean wasn’t the worst, but he clearly hadn’t done much formal dancing before. The real catastrophe, however, was Ron.

After stepping on McGonagall’s feet for the fourth time, she stopped mid-step, inhaled sharply, and shot him a look that had the entire room silent.

“Weasley,” she said, voice dangerously level, “if you stomp on my foot one more time, I will personally transfigure you into a chair and make you sit out the ball entirely.”

Ron flushed red, muttered something under his breath, and tried to avoid further disaster. He failed.

Harry, watching from the side, exchanged a glance with Theodore, who looked vaguely entertained.

“I didn’t think it was possible to be that bad at standing upright,” Theodore muttered.

Harry smirked. “He’s talented.”

McGonagall finally called it after another round of suffering, rubbing her temples like she had an incoming migraine. “Right. That’s enough for today. We’ll continue next week.” She cast a final, tired glance at the boys. “Practice, unless you want to make a fool of yourselves in front of the entire school.”

Harry and the rest of the Slytherins left the classroom in a much better mood than the Gryffindors. As soon as they stepped into the corridor, Tracey stretched her arms above her head, rolling her shoulders.

"Well, that was entertaining," she said. "Watching McGonagall try not to hex Weasley might’ve been the best part of my week."

Daphne adjusted her bag. "At least you didn’t have to dance with him."

Pansy snorted. "He looked like he was trying to duel the floor and losing."

Behind them, Ron muttered something under his breath, but nobody paid him any attention.

The next few days passed with the entire school still buzzing about the upcoming ball. Invitations were being thrown around, gossip was at an all-time high, and people were desperately trying to secure dates.

By the time the weekend arrived, Harry had lost track of how many people had either hinted or outright asked if he was free. Some were subtle—longer conversations, lingering glances, casual mentions of the ball. Others were about as subtle as a Bludger to the head.

A fifth-year Ravenclaw stopped him outside the library. “Potter! I was wondering if...”

Harry gave the girl a polite smile. “Sorry, Dawnsong. I’ve already got my partners sorted. But if you’re up for it, we can dance for one of the songs.”

The Ravenclaw looked a little disappointed but nodded with a small smile. “That’d be nice.”

She hesitated, then turned back to her friends, who were already whispering. Some of them stole glances at Harry, giggling behind their hands. He gave them a brief wave and walked away, Tracey and Daphne flanking him.

“That makes, what, the twelfth girl this week?” Tracey asked, amused.

“Thirteenth,” Daphne corrected. “You’re forgetting the Hufflepuff outside the library.”

Tracey whistled. “Impressive. You’re like a moving target. They’re getting bolder.”

Harry smirked, completely unbothered. "Everyone wants a piece of the emperor."

Astoria, the little menace, giggled beside him, eyes alight with mischief. "You should hurry, Daph, or you'll lose your chance to be the Harem Lead."

Daphne exhaled through her nose, unimpressed. "Not happening."

"That’s what they all say before they start fighting over him," Astoria sing-songed, twirling a lock of her hair. She turned to Tracey and Pansy, her smirk widening. "Aren’t you two in the running as well? You should be sharpening your claws by now."

Pansy gave her a flat look. "Please, I’m not going to chase after Potter like some brainless Ravenclaw. If anything, he should be fighting to stay in my good graces."

"Exactly," Tracey chimed in, smirking. "Besides, Daphne’s already been marked as the main wife."

Daphne shot her a warning glance. "Shut up." She then shook her head, clearly done with the conversation. "I’m not entertaining this."

"But you’re not denying it," Tracey pointed out.

"Because I don’t engage with nonsense."

"Then you’re in the wrong company," Pansy muttered, gesturing at the group.

Astoria clapped her hands together. "Exactly! This is peak nonsense, and you’re stuck with us."