Arth managed to somehow sneak into the dormitory without getting caught, even when there was about a hundred kids waiting in the Gryffindor Common Room.

When he entered his room, he found Ron and Harry who where on his bed still fully dressed. They looked up when Arth quietly closed the door behind him.

Seeing the looks on their faces, Arth had an uneasy feeling.

". . . . What are you looking at?"

"Oh hello," said Ron.

He was grinning, but it was a very odd, strained sort of grin.

"So," Harry said. "Congratulations."

"What d'you mean, congratulations?" said Arthur, staring at Harry and Ron. There was definitely something wrong with the way they was smiling: It was more like a grimace.

"You've been nominated for a tournament that's famous. There is even a prize for winning."

Arth frowned.

"So? Does it matter? I didn't want to enter the damned tournament anyways."

"Do you think we don't know that," Replied Harry with a sigh. "People have died before in this tournament. We figured that someone wanted you to die or something."

Arth raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

Ron rolled his eyes.

"Do you think we would be jealous of you entering?"

Harry let out a hollow laugh.

"I've had enough near death experiences to realize that fame isn't always a good thing."

"I did feel jealous at first, but then I had this weird feeling that jealousy was really really bad. . . . I wonder why?"

Arth averted his eyes and let out a cough.

"I wonder why? Well anyways, that's a surprise, I thought for sure that Ron would get so jealous about me becoming a champion and Harry would be excited about me risking my life. I'm glad that you two have somewhat grown."

Harry and Ron exchanged looks before letting out a bitter smile.

"It's about time we grew up isn't it?" Said Harry. "Can't stay a child forever."

"He is very right." Nodded Ron, "we need to act like m.a.t.u.r.e fourteen year olds."

Arth narrowed his eyes.

Something was off.

"What's wrong with you guys?"

"What do you mean?"

"There is nothing wrong."

"Yep, nothing wrong."

They were acting even more suspicious.

"What is it," said Arth with a deadly glare, "What is it that you want?"

Ron was shifting around nervously while Harry looked as though he was stuck in between a dilemma.

". . . . Fine."

Harry eventually gave up after being pressured by the murderous glare of Arth and told him.

"Well, Ron was wondering why Dress robes were a requirement."

"Yeah, So I asked Professor McGonagall why and-"

"She said it was for the Yule ball."

Arth frowned.

"That's it?"

Harry and Ron both nodded their heads furiously.

Arth raised an eyebrow.

"Why was that such a big deal? It's just a ball. No reason to hide it from me. In fact, I already knew."

Ron sighed.

"We know mate, but you know-"

"You are now a champion and-"

"Champions you know. . . ."

"The champions and the Yule ball-"

Arth froze.

In his mind, a particular tradition surfaced and refreshed his mind.

The Yule ball always went along with a certain tradition. A tradition where three certain people started the Yule ball with a dance.

However, this year, there were four instead of three.

Arthur slowly placed his hands on top of his temples and begun to massage them.

"N-no. . . . Th-this can't be."

Harry patted Arth on the back.

"I'm sorry, but it's reality."

"B-But I can't! I can never do that-"

Ron shook his head in pity.

"You have to, Champions need to dance. It is a mandatory requirement."

"This is. . . ."

Arth sank into his bed with hollow eyes.

"I. . . . Have to dance in the Yule ball. . . ."

"Yes you do."

"This is the reason why we knew you didn't enter your own name in. . . ."

Of course, with the almost genius level of intellect that Arth possessed, a certain, very versatile phrase danced upon his lips.

"God, you mother f.u.c.k.i.n.g son of a bitc-"