So another fluffy story! But I promise that I will be posting a smut one in a few weeks... Maybe Favorites and Reviews might motivate me to post it sooner. Or maybe an Author's Alert... Oh, and there is betting in this story. I might have a subconscious problem.

"Miss. Granger, I believe your theory to be wrong. But, nonetheless, I will participate in this bet with you."

"Thank you Professor McGonagall, this really will be a wonderful opportunity for both of them. So, you will neglect to tell Harry that he has to take dance at the ball, and I will..."

"Yes, Granger, I do know the plan. Now, go, before anyone becomes suspicious."

"Once again, thank you for agreeing. And I whole heart-idly expect my winnings to be in one lump sum payment." And with that she left the classroom in a graceful flounce, leaving an unconvinced McGonagall to 'tssk' as she sat down to grade a large pile of essays...

Harry's face was burning with embarrassment. He was so humiliated that he did not notice Ron's face had turned the same the colour as his hair, a spectacle that in other circumstances would have him on the floor, drowning in tears of laughter. What cruel, ill- intentioned god could have led Professor McGonagall to leave out such a crucial piece of information? Harry, being a champion, had to dance with his date, to mark the opening of the Yule Ball. Meaning that everyone would be watching Harry and Ron slow dance together. They had agreed, on mutual terms, to go together, as their only other option was to spend the night with the very giggly Parvati twins, which to neither boy seemed a very wise option. Oddly though, several girls had agreed to go with Harry, would then disappear for no more than five minutes, then would come back, blushing profusely while muttering apologies and then proceeding to make obvious lies as to why they could not go. So Harry, as a last ditch effort, had asked his best friend, explaining to a hesitant Ron that they could go as friends and they would not have to dance. Well, he thought gloomily, I guess I was wrong about the dancing. Sucking up his courage, he grabbed Ron's hand, dragging him into the middle of the dance floor, into the path of so many eyes. He could not understand why he was so nervous; he had fought a Hungarian Horntail without much difficultly. But even now, that seemed like a stroll around the Black Lake compared to what he was about to do. His heart was pounding, his palms were sweaty, his throat was dry, and he suddenly realized he did not know how to dance. With shaking hands, he pulled Ron close to him, placing his hand on Ron's back, right in the middle, which seemed to him a nice platonic compromise, and intertwined his unused hand with the hand that was not on his shoulder, noting dully how long and slender his friend's fingers were. Somewhere, echoing in the distant, he heard laughing, catcalls, whistling, and someone calling him and Ron horrible names. But all of that faded away, all of the people, the noise, the world, when he realized that he was pressed flush up against Ron, and that he was enjoying the feeling much more than he should have. Through hideous moldy dress robes, he could feel the hardness of Ron's muscles, complimented nicely by the soft layer of fat. He then noticed Ron's crystalline blue eyes and how beautiful they were. He had noticed Ron's eyes before, but he had never seen them. The music began to play, a sad, slow song, that dragged Harry out of his reverie. Ron took the lead, and as they were both virgins to the act of dance, they could do no more then clumsily stumble over each other. Harry took a vague notice of how other couples were beginning to dance. A sensible part of his brain was screaming, was begging for him to stop, he had done all that was asked of him, he could stop dancing, that any more and it would lead to awkward conversations in the future, could lead to riffs, tears, breaks, in their friendship. But Harry liked the feeling of being in Ron's arms too much to listen to reason. They only stopped dancing when they became aware of the lack of music, aware of the decrease of couples on the dance floor, and aware of every pair of eyes in the vicinity focused on them. Again... Both boys untangled their limbs and Ron, blushing furiously, moved rapidly to get out of the spotlight. But Harry, seeing this as a perfect opportunity to do what he had come to realize he had wanted to do for the past three years, once again ignored his rational mind and grabbed Ron's sleeve, pulling his best friend into his arms. Again... Everyone in the Great Hall disappeared, for the second time that night, as they looked into each others eyes. They started to lean forward at the same time, very slowly, very tentatively. Neither of them knowing how to kiss, but both of them quickly figuring out as their lips meet in a very chaste brushing of lips. It was everything a first kiss should be; shy, imperfect, and wonderful. Their lips parted but foreheads met, neither ready to leave the closeness and comfort of the other. Catcalls, whistling, clapping, and a few jeers and boos were enough to cause them to pull back, but not before intertwining their hands. With his head held high and his hand firmly grabbing Ron's he led them off of the dance floor, eager to tell Herminone of his new found happiness. Curiously enough, they found her sitting at a table, hidden away at the back of them room, slightly flushed from dancing with Krum, accepting money from Professor McGonagall, a wide smile on her face.

Too fluffy, too short? Or did you have a heart attack from all of the sweetness? If so, I apologize.