Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 13: Dancing

Harry awoke slowly, emerging from unconsciousness as one might stagger out of waves at a beach. When he finally came to, his opened his eyes, then closed them just as quickly, blinded by the harsh fiery glare ofthe afternoon sun. He rolled over, and felt a hand on his shoulder, a hand too small to be Daphne’s and too big to be Ginny’s. Shading his eyes as best he could, he opened them again, and was met by the sight of Hermione sitting in a chair at his bedside. He smiled, “Hi,” he croaked.

“Hello yourself,” Hermione replied. “Nice of you to finally join us. We were starting to wonder if you’d wake up in time for the next Task.”

Harry blinked. “How long have I been out?”

“Five days.”

“What?!”
Harry gasped. “What happened to me?”

“You mean you don’t remember?” Hermione asked, sounding concerned.

Harry tried to think back to the last thing he was able to remember. Ouch. “I remember getting knocked off my broom by the Short-Snout,” he said. “And I remember knowing that I was pretty banged up but not actually being able to feel it.”

“That’s probably why you pulled that boneheaded stunt,” she said, her voice getting higher as she allowed more of her anxiety and anger into him.“You didn’t actually bother to look down and realize that you’d
broken-”

“Your right arm in two place, right wrist, right ankle, four ribs, bruised your hip, and suffered a terrible concussion that probably affecting your hearing and eyesight, to go along with a contusion on the right side of your head,” Madam Pomfrey said as she moved into the space where Harry was resting. “And to top it all off, you were in apparently just enough pain to nearly kill yourself with an overcharged Numbing Charm, then magically drain yourself. In case you didn’t know, Mr. Potter, when you feel pain, that is your body telling you that it is injured and shouldn’t continue doing whatever it was doing.” The Matron’s voice was harsh and accusing. Harry knew that she didn’t like seeing him lying here as often as she did.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you did,” Hermione insisted. “You could have called it off. The dragons were a lot nastier than everyone had thought, for some reason that completely escapes me. Cedric suffered some nasty burns to his face and back, Fleur twisted her ankle and nearly walked into a stream of fire, and Krum was just flattened by the Horntail.”

“How bad was he hurt?”

“I don’t know, because Mr. Karkaroff is refusing to allow me to attend to him. And I assure you, I am the most qualified Mediwitch within eighty kilometers. If anyone can fix him up, I can. But that man just whisked him away, back to the ship. Just from the accounts I’ve heard, I suspect both legs are broken, and he has some deep wounds from the spikes on the tail.”

“I hope he’s alright.”

“You weren’t any better,” Hermione interjected. “Youwerejust more boneheaded and stubborn, and decided to take a terrible risk for the sake of winning. You swore to me that survival was at the top of your priority list. I guess you were lying. Again. Ginny’s just as upset as I am.”

“You don’t understand-”

“Yes, I do,” Hermione practically screamed at him, tears streaming down her face. “You want glory more than anything else. You want to be recognized, to be admired, to be respected by your peers. You are determined not to look weak in front of them.”

“HERMIONE!” Harry yelled, stopping her mid-rant. “Listen to me. Something was off about that dragon. I fought it because I didn’t have a choice. The thing was set on killing me.”

“That’s impossible,” Hermione protested.

“I’m fairly certain she’s correct, Mr. Potter,” the Matron said. “Albus assured me that the dragons chosen were protective females, ones that had shown no signs of unprovoked aggression at any point during their past.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Harry said. “But when I was fighting it, I looked inside its mind…I dunno, looking for an edge, I guess. It was dark, angry, enraged. Look, I’ve never been inside the mind of a dragon before, but I can’t imagine that that’s how they would normally feel. It didn’t even care about the eggs. It just wanted to squash me like a bug.”

Hermione had turned pale. “Are you saying that someone was controlling it?”

“Or at least enhanced its aggressiveness, made it hate me above
everything else. I couldn’t just forfeit, Hermione, because I knew the thing would kill me before anyone had a chance to stop it.”

“This is all very worrisome, Mr. Potter, but I suggest that you take it up with Professor Dumbledore. I have a job to do. Miss Granger, tell Miss Weasley you’ll be able to visit him in an hour or so.”

Hermione gave him one last look and then departed, leaving her friend to be
poked and prodded by the determined Mediwitch. He soon decided he might as well just say that he hurt everywhere. Five potions later, he passed out.

Charlie Weasley’s eyes widened as he saw Daphne striding toward him. The Grey Maiden had expected this, and understood the reasons for the 2nd Weasley brother’s concern, however unwarranted it was. “Mrs. Dressler,” he said, backing up a few steps. This was one case where her reputation was more of a hindrance than a help.

“Don’t worry, I’m not angry with you or anyone else here,” Daphne said. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. If what she suspected was correct, someone here was a traitor, and she was rather upset with him or her. “I’d just like to know, have the dragons been acting strangely, recently?”

“No more than is to be expected,” Charlie said. He waved at the scene below. The pit was now filled with four enormous cages, each holding a sleeping or drowsy dragon. A few handlers milled around, probably arranging the details of the return trip. “We’re still here because it takes time to get permission to transport dragons. We couldn’t get it in advance because we couldn’t give them the precise amount of time that we’d be here. So Lizzy is working out the arrangements with the Romanian government.”

“I can imagine the paperwork,” Daphne said, sympathetic. “But you haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.”

“Not really,” Charlie replied. “The dragons are rather riled up, of course. It’s to be expected. They’ve been taken out of their natural habitat, flown all the way here in massive crates, unable to stretch their wings, put in an arena with thousands of screaming people around them, and faced a person trying to somehow incapacitate
them in order to steal something from their nest. You’ll forgive us if we have to keep them sedated.”

Daphne saw Charlie’s point. No wizard would be completely normal after that kind of experience, either. Perhaps she was just being a bit too paranoid. But there were too many coincidences, too many suspicious and unexplained happenings. Something was up, she just knew it, even if she couldn’t actually prove it. Her sixth sense, as it were, had never failed her before. She’d had bad dreams in the weeks leading
up to the Siege of Hogwarts, felt uneasy before her life had come crashing down around her with the death of Edmond and her friends. It hadn’t been just normal anxiety caused by the constant danger she had faced. It had been more than that: a deep and primal feeling of fear and worry that had been proven justified. “I see your point.”

“Okay, then what is it that you are concerned about?” Charlie asked. “I’m
going to assume that you aren’t simply concerned that the Swede was able to bang around Harry. He did a number on the poor thing as well. It’ll take weeks for her leg to heal. What did he do to it, anyway? It’s almost as if it broke ten times and the pieces of bone all fractured! I’ve never seen that kind of damage to a dragon. And the scales around the leg are practically untouched.”

“He’s powerful,” Daphne said, simply. “And to answer your question, I’m not so much concerned that the dragon was able to hurt Harry; that was always a realistic possibility. What I amconcerned about is that the dragon seemed far more interested in harming him than she was in protecting her nest. Is that normal?”

Charlie frowned. “You thought that too, eh? Yeah, I wondered about that myself. The Horntail is an aggressive bugger, but even it didn’t lash out at Krum until he got too close. Tried to be cute with that Blinding Hex. Problem is that even a really powerful one, like the one he used, last only a few seconds, and makes the dragon ten times angrier.”

“Are Short-Snouts normally that hostile to flying objects?” Daphne asked.

“No, they aren’t,” Charlie said. “I mean, we have birds and such fly into our camp all the time. The dragons don’t really pay much attention to them. They just tend to ignore them, or casually watch them. But they don’t strike out at them, even if they are circling their heads over and over again. So I found that a bit odd, myself.”

“Charlie,” Daphne asked, her voice almost a whisper. “Is it possible for a very powerful Dark spell, one that affects behavior and judgment, to create that effect? To become more aggressive and fixate on a single target.”

“Well, hypothetically, yes,” Charlie said. “But I’ve never seen it done, or heard about it,” he added quickly. “Are you telling me that you think someone Cursed the Swede to decrease Harry’s odds of survival?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Daphne replied. “I don’t know who, or how, but what you’ve just told me fits with my theory.”

“I don’t know, ma’am,” Charlie said. “Dragons are tough. Most magic doesn’t effect them, and getting into a dragon’s mind has got to be the hardest of all.”

“But it could be done,” Daphne pointed out. “And if that’s possible, then it has to be given serious consideration.”

Charlie shrugged. “I can’t help you with that. I really ought to get down and help my buddies pack up the camp. We’ll be leaving tonight.”

“It’s been good seeing you again, Charlie,” Daphne said. “I haven’t seen you in almost fourteen years. You’ve changed, and for the better, I might add. You were a bit of a troublemaker, back then.”

“I’ve found my calling,” Charlie said. “But I still know how to have fun. I suppose that we all change, over time. What we will be is as much a part of us as what we are now. We’re always improving, or at least trying to.”

When Harry next regained consciousness, he was met by the sight of a redhead sitting in the chair next to his bed, a book in her lap. She looked like she was close to falling asleep, and Harry could see that it was night outside. “Hello, stranger,” he whispered.

Ginny jumped slightly, and then shook her head to clear it. “Hello yourself. How are you feeling?”

Harry tried to sit up, but Ginny reached over to stop him. “Madam Pomfrey told me to make sure you didn’t try to do that. You need to lie down, Harry, your body isn’t recovered. From what I understand, your body was so drained of magic when Madam Pomfrey tried to heal you that the spells and potions are working considerably slower than usual. On top of that, even as your magic is restored it’s used to heal your body…which then slows down how fast it can be restored...so you have less magic with which to heal…”

“I get the point,” Harry said, squirming a bit as he tried to find a comfortable position. Ginny helped him adjust his pillow. “Merlin, I’m exhausted, and I’ve been lying here for almost a week.”

“Get used to it,” Ginny replied. “Madam Pomfrey says she’s not letting you go until Monday at the earliest.”

“That’s four days from now!”

“Three, actually. It’s Friday evening,” Ginny replied. “But that time will only increase if you keep trying to speed up everything.”

“Alright, have it your way,” Harry said. “Can you at least help me prop up my head so that I’m not talking to the ceiling?”

Ginny got up and helped him. It wasn’t comfortable, but at least he could look at her face without considerable effort. “So, what’s been going on while I’ve been out?”

“Well, you caused quite a stir with everything you did. I mean, what you did was bloody incredible. You somehow managed to knock out that dragon and drag yourself all the way across the arena with one leg, dragging a collection of damaged body parts with you, and then get into the nest and grab the egg. I’ve never seen anything like that. I needed too, though.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you like that,” Harry said, softly. He reached out and took Ginny’s hand in his, holding in a firm, but gentle grip. “That was about the worst case scenario that I could have imagined.”

“I thought you were dead,” Ginny blurted. “We all did. You just…one minute you were in the air, and I was just watching you, laughing and cheering, and then… Merlin, Harry, I just couldn’t imagine that you could have survived. You hit the rocks so hard, so fast.” Tears
were glistening in her eyes now. “I just…”

“Sssh,” Harry shushed, squeezing her hand. “It’s okay. I made it through, and that’s what matter. I’m okay Ginny, I’m right here.”

“I know,” she said, wiping her tears away with her free hand. “I’ve
never been that scared for you before. I just…I found myself wondering what I was going to do without you.”

“Don’t,” Harry told her. “It’s not going to accomplish anything but to upset you. I’ll be here for you, Ginny. I’m your friend, and I won’t abandon you.”

“It’s just…with the war, and all the danger we’re going to be facing…I don’t want to lose you…but I know we can’t just seal you in a room and wait for the danger to pass. You have to be out there, on battlefield, you have to be a leader. And I’m scared, Harry. I’m scared that some of us won’t make it. I don’t know how I could possibly survive it.”

“You will,” Harry said. “I promise. You’ll get through this, Ginny.” He started to say that they all would, he stopped. That was a promise he just wasn’t sure that he could keep. He didn’t want to baby his friend, to give her the expectation that they could fight a war like the one that was coming and no one that she cared about wouldn’t fall in the process. But somehow, someway, he knew that he couldkeep his promise to Ginny. He would keep her alive, even at the cost
of his own life. The implications of that thought slammed into him. As a Slytherin, his first loyalty was supposed to be to himself, to his own interests, and his own survival. Yet if worst came to worst, he wasn’t sure he could stand by and live if Hermione or Ginny
died. They meant too much to him. Hermione he could understand; for all of their disagreements, they depended on one another and had endured hell together at the respective ages of eleven and twelve. But Ginny…

He didn’t know. He couldn’t understand. It was nothing against her; she was a wonderful, strong person, intelligent and cunning, yet still compassionate and understanding. She was a loyal friend that would never betray him. But somehow, his relationship with her was different than the one he had with Hermione. And he couldn’t understand it. Even if he was in love with her, which he found extremely unlikely, he wasn’t sure that this feeling could be
explained in that manner.

Or perhaps it could. Daphne’s grief and guilt over the death of her husband left little doubt in Harry’s mind that Daphne would have, without second thought, flung herself in front of the Killing Curse that struck him down. She would have done the same for Lily.

And what he, Lily, and Edmond had in common was that Daphne had loved them. He supposed he lovedHermione in that sense. He’d often thought about her as a slightly older sister. The same went for Tonks, although, as much as Harry cared about the older girl, he didn’t feel as dependent on her as he did with Hermione. But Ginny…he’d never thought of her that way. He’d never thought of her as a younger sister.

“Harry?”

Ginny’s voice snapped him back to the present. “Sorry,” Harry said. “Just got lost in my thoughts a bit…Ginny, try not to dwell on the future. The future is what it is. Daphne once told me that millions have tried to stop the future, and in the end, they’ve done nothing but create it. Because the future can be anything. Live in the present, and remember the past. But the future, at least, that far ahead in the future, is always changing. Trying to predict it, much less to prevent it, is pointless. How can one prevent something if one neither knows it will happen nor how it will happen?”

“I suppose you can’t,” Ginny said. “It doesn’t really make me feel any better, though, to know that I’m helpless to do anything
about the future.”

“At least it will prevent you from worrying about thing you can’t change. Believe me, it’s a waste of time and effort. Apathy is one thing, realism is another. The only thing you’ll manage to do is make yourself feel worse about it.”

Ginny sighed, accepting that. She didn’t ask the question that occasionally poked its head above the ground: how does one determine what one can and cannot do? Is it any better to assume one is incapable of something and learn later that something could have in fact been done? Harry didn’t know the answers to those questions. He suspected he never would. If one could anticipate every possible consequence of one’s actions, one would never make mistakes. One would be perfect.

And
if there was anything in this world that Harry was absolutely certain of, it was that nothingwas perfect. And one didn’t really have to look that deep to find the warts hiding in plain sight.

Ginny squeezed his hand again. “Just…do your best to get through this. If not for yourself than for me, and Hermione, and all the people that really care about you. You have this tendency to forget the reason that Hermione is always pestering you about your personal safety.”

Harry shook his head, at least as best as he could given his current position. “It’s not that I forgetthem, Ginny, it’s just…”

“You think we’re wrong.”

“No,” Harry said quickly. “That’s not it either…I can’t really put my finger on it, Ginny. I just…I wish that I could listen, but I
can’t.”

“Why?”

Harry noted that Ginny’s question wasn’t asked in a hysterical voice, as it often was when Hermione asked him the same thing. She wasn’t really even indicating how she would feel about his response. She just wanted to know.

“I…” Harry said, trying to find the words. “I suppose that I…I don’t know. I really don’t know, Ginny. And I know that sounds stupid, especially if I’m obeying these mental commands without the slightest clue as to my motives, but, I just do…I can’t put it into words. There are expectations that people have for me, for what I’ll become, for what I’ll accomplish. I haveto meet them, or at least to try; I don’t have any choice. I can’t just throw away who I am, whatI am. Is this making the slightest amount of sense to you?”

Ginny shrugged. “Yes…and no, at the same time.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well…I understand that you have a destiny, and that you were, I suppose, born for a purpose. Maybe the universe is conspiring to put you in a position to fulfill that destiny, maybe you’ve internalized it to the extent that it’s become an inseparable part of you, as deeply embedded as your love of flying. Or maybe it’s a responsibility that you feel. I mean, everyone’s afraid of failure, Harry. It’s a part of all of us. To our ancestors, failure could mean death. I suppose it does in this case as well. Maybe you just don’t want to disappoint everyone, not just because you don’t want to be embarrassed, but because you believe, deep inside, that if you fail, everything will be lost. That you are the Wizarding World’s
only chance to emerge from this war free and prosperous.”

Harry gaped at her. She blushed a bit when she saw his reaction. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “That just came out. But it’s true, at least…I’m pretty sure it’s true. It’s just not fair,” she growled. “Why you?Why does it have to be you?”

“Maybe…maybe it’s because I survived. I was spared for a reason, Ginny. And I suppose that it’s my fault I was in that situation to begin with…”

Ginny frowned. “That’s circular logic. Of the worst kind imaginable.
You are blaming yourself for putting your life in jeopardy to fulfill a destiny, that, by your conscious choice puts your life in jeopardy. How in Merlin’s name can you blame yourself for surviving when your parents died to fulfill your destiny when your destiny, according your logic, is the reason they died in the first place. And if you start blaming yourself for your own destiny, I’m going to slap you,” she said. Harry could tell she wasn’t joking. “You didn’taskfor this, it was forced upon you. The only thing that you contributed was to be born, which you didn’t have any control over, either. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“I need to be moved to the Permanent Ward at St. Mungo’s?”

Ginny did hit him this time, whacking him solidly on the arm. “Ow!” he protested. She glared at him. “Sorry,” he apologized.

Ginny closed her eyes, rubbing them with her free hand. “Merlin, maybe over thinking this is just making it worse. I suppose we’ve established a few things, at least. You keep acting contrary to our
expressed wishes because, for whatever reasons, you need to fulfill your destiny and don’t want to be held back. You are not at fault for any of this, because you didn’t chose or ask for it. You were just telling me not to think about trying to prevent things I have no
control over.”

“I know…I was reaching, I guess,” Harry said. “You know about
Survivor’s Guilt, right? The idea that a person who managed to survive when people close to him died or suffered feels guilt about not being one of them. That they wonder why it was different, why they didn’t suffer the same fate.”

“Yes, but-” Ginny began. Harry cut her off.

“I’m not one of those people, Ginny. And the sole reason that is true is-”

“Because youhavean explanation for how you survived. You survived because your mother chosefor you to survive. You survived because you had no choicebut to survive,” Hermione said, moving toward them.

“How much-”

“Most of it,” she admitted. “I’m not really sure what to say. It’s making far too much sense for my own comfort. I suppose I just wish it didn’t haveto be true. But who am I to challenge the will of the universe?”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Harry said, smiling. His smile faded quickly. “Hermione, I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I suppose, in the long run, I’ll probably wish it wasn’t. But things have been set in motion that cannot be undone. To attempt to stop them is, well…probably more dangerous than simply going with them.”

Hermione nodded, although her reluctance was clear. From the way she was biting her bottom lip, she wasn’t very comfortable with the idea. But as she’d been forced to do before, she accepted it. Perhaps even permanently.

Conversation turned to more innocent things, including Hermione’s intimidating rundown of all of the work that he’d missed while he’d been unconscious. She also commented that she was getting rather annoyed with Viktor Krum, who seemed to be spying on her in the library.
Harry couldn’t imagine that the Durmstrang Champion would do that kind of thing with any malicious intent, and told her so, for all the good it did. Hermione was apparently more annoyed with the amount of noise that his gaggle of admirers made when they followed him there.

Harry was buried. Around him was a virtual fortress of textbooks, from every single class that he was taking. It was a Saturday afternoon, and he was holed up in the library, two completed essays lying on the table, one nearly complete one in front of him, and the blank parchment for six more lying on top of the books. He was nearly out of ink for his quill, and his hands were tired. While he’d been out, every single one of his teachers had decided to assign an essay, and Snape had given him two. Some of them were more liberal in terms of the extra time he had to complete them, others, like Snape, could really care less that he’d been unconscious for five days and bed-ridden for three more. It had been four days since he’d finally escaped the Hospital Wing, November had turned to December, snow had blanketed the ground, and he was still wasn’t even close to catching up. He’d managed to stay on top of his assignments for the week, but hadn’t finished all the reading he had missed. The sound of quill scratching parchment echoed in his ears.

…the
Goblin revolts of 1789 demonstrated to Minister Mullen that the previously signed agreements were not to be honoured, and that the Goblins had decided that they wanted more concessions from the Ministry of Magic. Complicating the situation were simultaneous riots in France, coinciding with the complete overthrow of the magical and
Muggle governmentthere in the early stages of the French Revolution. A corrupt and powerful wizard named Maximillian Robespierre (ironic, because he was nicknamed “the incorruptible”) quickly maneuvered himself into position to become the leader of the Revolution, flaunting previous conventions that forbade wizards from leading Muggle governments. In the end, the Goblins’ timing was not to their benefit, as a conservative reaction in Britain to the French Revolution in both the magical and Muggle communities meant that the revolts were brutally put down, the leaders arrested and executed in a matter of days…

Harry marveled at what he’d just written, or rather, marveled at the fact that something that was so intriguing to him could be so incredibly boring because he was doing it for Professor Binns. This was the kind of history that fascinated him the most, the kind that brought in both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds and had repercussions in many countries. That this came on the heels of the American Revolution, a pivotal historical event led by a coalition of wizards and Muggles, in a show of unprecedented cooperation and respect of magical secrecy, only made it more intriguing. Yet he would rather be doing pretty much anything else at that moment.

“That looks fun,” a familiar, sarcastic voice came from beyond the stacks of books in front of him. He pushed a number of them aside.

“Unless you are offering to do it for me, Blaise, I’d rather you didn’t distract me,” Harry replied, setting down his quill and shaking his hand to get the cramps out of it. “What do you want?”

“Do I have to want something?” his housemate asked, sitting down across from him. “Or is it not acceptable to merely want to talk with you. We haven’t seen much of each other this year.”

“No, we haven’t,” Harry agreed.

“Why is that? Did I do something to offend you or to alienate you? Or did you agree to stop associating with me to placate your friends who were wary of your interactions with other pureblood children.”

Harry wasn’t sure how to respond. Perhaps the second reason he’d given might explain his initial lack of contact, but he’d had a number of conversations with Daphne Greengrass, whom Hermione would consider a far more poisonous influence, without comment from either one of his friends. “I don’t know. I suppose there really isn’t anything stopping us from being friends again.”

“I’m not sure we were ever really friends, but I appreciate the offer. I know you don’t really have a reason to trust me, and I can see just from watching you that that is the thing you look for the most in a friend, but I’d like to earn that trust. I like you, Harry, because while you are a Slytherin, cunning and driven, you also have a conscience. I can’t say the same of many of our classmates. You can about the consequences your actions have for other people. That’s a valuable and rare quality in a person belonging to this House, and one that is to be commended, not derided.”

“I appreciate that,” Harry said, his words genuine. “What exactly do you want to do to earn my trust.”

“At the very least, I can be another wand on your side. You are trying to take down Malfoy, to usurp him as the de facto leader of Slytherin. Taking him down as an individual will not be all that difficult, although he’s a decent duelist as has received a great deal of training in the last two years. But he has influence because of his family, and he has allies within Slytherin. He’s also aggressive
and paranoid. That can work to your advantage, or it can make your job much harder.”

“Are you close to him, or something?” Harry asked, his voice a hushed whisper.

Blaise responded in kind. “I suppose you could say that. I drift from
group to group, learning all that I can, taking few risks and trying not to offend or alienate everyone.”

“Keeping your options open,” Harry said. Blaise nodded.

“Yes. But I’m more inclined to join with you if you are willing to accept
me. I think that I can help you.”

“I’m sure you can,” Harry said. “But, as you said, I value trust above all when I choose my friends. How do I know that I can trust you?”

“I suppose you can trust my morals, at least,” Blaise said. “I pulled Granger out of the Forest because I felt it was the decent thing to do, not because I was trying to gain favor with you.”

“I remember that,” Harry said, “and I believe you. And as far as I can tell, you haven’t told anyone about the Room of Requirement.”

“I keep my promises,” Blaise said. “If nothing else, trust in that.”

“If I ask you to hide something from your parents, can I trust you to do
that?” Harry asked. That was the key issue. Blaise was close to his parents and confided in them often. They expected him to provide them with information that they could use in their own interactions with the parents of his classmates. And if he couldn’t get Blaise to
promise him to not tell them certain things he didn’t want them to know, he wasn’t sure if this was going to work.

“Yes, I can,” Blaise said. “I’ve…tried to separate myself from them, somewhat. It’s not really the norm for a boy my age to be so attached to them. I suppose I’ve tried to be more independent, more free-thinking and self-reliant.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Well enough so far,” Blaise said.

“Then maybe we do have something here,” Harry said. “I can’t make any
promises. But I’ll at least acknowledge your existence most of the time. We’ll see what happens from there.”

“We’ll see,” Blaise agreed. “Thank you for giving me this chance, Harry. I’m not going to disappoint you. If I find out anything that I think might be of value, I will tell you.” With that, he was gone, leaving Harry to attack his pile of incomplete essays. He was still sitting there, buried near the back of the library, when the sun fell beyond the horizon. His stomach’s repeated protests finally dragged him away from his work. He’d have to try again tomorrow.

“You are dancing, Harry, and well,” Luna Lovegood said, stopping Harry in his tracks. It was Sunday morning, and he’d been on his way back to the library when the distant, nonchalant tones of the mysterious Ravenclaw brought him to a halt. He looked around, trying to find the girl who spoke them. She jumped out from behind a pillar.

“Have you been waiting for me?” he asked.

“Perhaps,” Luna said. “Or perhaps you just happened upon me. The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know. Coincidences happen. They happen more often than you’d think.”

“I
believe that, to a certain extent,” Harry said. “But when there are too many coincidences, my experience tells me that there is usually a connection. Unless you were just hiding there, planning to ambush any poor soul that happened by, you were specifically waiting
for me.”

“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe you are looking for connections where there are none. Are you so certain that it wasn’ta coincidence that the Swedish dragon was so furious with you and knocked you off your broom? How do you know that there was Dark Magic involved? Is it possible that you are just conceited, and your pride was hurt by being knocked around by that dragon? You were confident going in, remember? Perhaps you are looking for plot where there are none, because you are afraid to admit that you were simply beaten?”

“Is that what you think happened?”

“I never said that,” Luna said. “I was merely posing a hypothetical
question, or, rather, a long series of them. Are you sure that you haven’t had your brains addled by Huffworms? The side effect of a Huffworm infestation is rigid thinking.”

It always amazed Harry that Luna could punctuated a deep, insightful conversation with such utter nonsense. And he was now certain that she knew it too and felt obliged to treat it as fact. Harry wasn’t sure if that was out of respect for her father, because it distracted her from having to think about the more serious implications of her
thoughts, or because she enjoyed messing with other people. “Luna, while I respect your judgment, I think you are wrong about this. What I felt in the mind of that dragon wasn’t…natural.”

“Have you ever been in the mind of a dragon before?” Luna queried.

“No, but…”

“Exactly.”

“No!” Harry practically screamed at her. “Luna, I’m sorry, but there’s no way that I managed to offend that dragon to the extent that it was focused on absolutely nothing except seeing me dead. Dragons aren’t Dark Creatures. I’d expect to feel that in the mind of a werewolf, or a Dementor, but not a dragon. They aren’t exactly peaceful, and they are predators, but the natural instincts of the dragon should have overridden any dislike of humans. When any creature’s young is threatened, it protects them. That’s hardwired into the brain of every single mother, human or otherwise.”

“Remember, Harry, I was only playing Devil’s advocate.”

“So you think that I’m right?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Harry suppressed a groan. He wasn’t sure what Luna’s point was, or how she was trying to make it. All she was succeeding in doing was making him more and more irritated. Seeking to change the subject, he asked, “What did you mean by what you said before? That I was dancing well?”

“Must you seek a deeper meaning in everything?” she asked. Her tone wasn’t exasperated, but as distant and vague as ever. “Perhaps the statement was meant to be taken literally.”

“Luna, I can’t dance. You’d know that if you cared enough to comment on it. It’s a metaphor, isn’t it?”

“Is it? If you want it to be, I suppose it can be. Our minds are very different, Harry. It’s probably a mistake for you to assume you know how I am thinking, and vice versa.”

You can say that again. “Assuming that it is a metaphor, what’s it supposed to mean? I guess that I’ve heard dancing mentioned in the context of gathering allies, solidifying relationships, reconciling diverse motivations and ambitions into a common purpose. I suppose that would describe what I was doing.”

Luna only nodded. Her emotions were impossible to read. If the eyes were the window to the soul, then Luna’s badly needed cleaning.

“You think that I’m doing a good job?”

“If you are looking for vindication or approval from me, whatever you get
isn’t going to mean much. I was a bit mean to you last year, I suppose. So I’ve decided to be nice to you this year. If I have something mean to say, I’ll just keep it to myself.”

“You accused me of being blind when it came to Daphne,” he reminded her.

“And so you are,” she said. “That’s a fact, one that cannot be ignored. To deny it, either to me or to yourself, would be to lie. You know it’s true as much as I do. And Harry, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You are not objective when you analyze your guardian because you are close to her. You love her. That is certainly not a crime.”

Harry blinked at her. “I understand that. But…”

“In time, you’ll truly understand,” she promised him. “It isn’t your fault,” she added.

“What
isn’t?”

Luna was silent, and Harry figured that she might have let something slip
she hadn’t intended. “So, about this new…attitude towards me. You are saying that I should take whatever you tell me with a grain of salt, because you’ve decided after sending me that nasty dream last year that you want to be nicer to me? How does that help me in any way?”

“Maybe it doesn’t,” Luna said. “Or maybe it does. It’s up to you, really. I’ll just go on about my business, watching, listening. That’s my lot in life, you know? My greatest blessing is also my greatest curse.”

“I
don’t…”

“In both cases, I am who I am,” she said, smiling bitterly. “I can see things that others can’t, I can look well outside the box, I can play tricks with the minds of others, and see what they are thinking. But because I understand, I am lost when among those that I observe. I don’t think like them, I don’t act like them, and I
don’t speak like them. They think that I am strange, maybe even insane. Perhaps they are right. Dad always said that the Gupas would get me at an early age. They infest your brain and make it work backwards. For some reason, you can still talk normally, but you think backwards,” she added by way of explanation. Harry gaped at her for a moment.

“I understand…”

“No,” Luna said. “You don’t. You never will. And you should be grateful for that.”

With that, Luna was gone. Harry stared after her, trying to understand the implications of what she had just told him.

Harry began to pack up his bag, clearing his books, quill, and ink off the desk. A double Potions class had just ended, and he was anxious to get to the Great Hall for some lunch. He had the strap nearly over his shoulder when he felt, more than saw, Snape looming over him. He had to fight not to show any reaction. Despite Daphne’s urgings, he found it extremely difficult to suppress the memories of what he had seen. They hadn’t had an Occlumency lesson since that day. “Professor?” Harry asked.

“Potter,” Snape replied. “I’ve been asked by the Headmaster to remind you of something. One of the traditions of the Triwizard Tournament is the Yule Ball.”

“I know,” Harry said. “I’ve done my reading on the Tournament.”

“Have you also read that its expected that the Champions and their dates will begin the dance?” Snape asked, a somewhat evil smile forming on his lips. It wasn’t malicious; it was the closest Snape ever got to an expression of amusement. As for the question, Harry hadn’t picked up that particular detail. His response was indicative of
that.

“No, sir, I didn’t,” Harry admitted.

“Then I suggest you find a date, and quickly. Do you even know how to dance?”

“I’m certain that I can learn.”

“Then do so,” Snape said simply, then disappeared back into his office.
In the past, the Potions Master would have tormented him for considerably longer. Now, after Harry’s display of power in the First Task, and his rage towards Snape because of what he’d seen, Slytherin’s Head of House seemed determined not to provoke him. It
might even be safe to say that he was afraid of Harry. Or afraid of Daphne. In Snape’s mind, they had to be the same thing. Daphne had been waiting for an excuse for a long time, and all she needed to do was to tell Sirius or Remus what Harry had discovered, and stand back while one or both of them tore him into bloody pieces. Remus would not even need to be transformed to accomplish it.

But now, Harry was faced with a larger problem. He needed a date.

He supposed that it might not be so intimidating as it sounded. Harry knew that Hermione or Ginny would be with him as a friend if he asked either of them to. But…well, this was an opportunity, he supposed, to see if there was something more between them. Really, once he thought about it, he didn’t have many doubts. If he wanted to ask someone to the Yule Ball with any intention of starting a relationship, it had to be Ginny. He…did like her more than he admitted to himself. She was pretty, she was caring, compassionate, and understanding. She wasn’t as constantly on edge as Hermione was, and she knew how to restore sanity to his life when it needed
restoring.

He cared for Hermione dearly, maybe even loved her, but as a brother
would love a sister. They just weren’t compatible. They both thought the same way, although they expressed themselves differently. And he’d never really felt anything of that sort for her anyway. And, Harry supposed, that was the most important factor. If he didn’t feel anything for Hermione, how could he enter into a relationship with her? Relationships were not formed by careful considering of a person’s flaws and graces, and an analysis of how they would complement his own.

But he did feel something for Ginny. That much he knew, and he wanted to act on it. This was as good a time as any. He was certain that she’d agree. Did she feel the same way? He wasn’t sure. Much of her hero-worship was gone, although she always looked up to him and used
him as a role model. But that was because she respected his experience and “wisdom,” he thought, not because she still had this image of an eleven-year old conquering hero etched in her memory.

He’d move slowly, he knew. He didn’t know where this would lead, didn’t know if this could or would possibly work out. Maybe he was wrong
about them. Maybe Ginny didn’t feel the same attraction for him that he felt for her. If that were the case, rushing into something might destroy the friendship that he so valued. He neededGinny Weasley by his side, either as a friend or as…something more. Of that he was completely certain. He didn’t know much about relationships, knew little of love between two unrelated people, but he did know that he needed to have her on his side. Just as he needed Hermione.

So, he supposed, if he asked Ginny to the Yule Ball, they’d both go into it with the knowledge that it was nothing more than it appeared.
If things went well, if they felt something mirrored in one another, then they see where it took them.

But, Harry knew, it was not that simple. There were many other things to consider. It was easy enough to say that one didn’t care what others thought of them, but Harry never deceived himself into believing that was true. Perception was far more important than reality in the game that Harry was getting ready to play. Ginny’s family complicated the situation, in more ways than one. Beyond the fact that her family might have a collective heart attack at the thought of Ginny being the girlfriend of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-For-A-Destiny-That-He-Did- Not-Understand, the Weasleys were not a popular family. They were considered as bad as blood traitor got by most purebloods, a shadow of a formerly respected Light family that practically lived in poverty and freely associated with Muggles. Arthur Weasley headed up an office intended to protect Muggles from wizards. To many Light families, this was an insult of the highest order. The Weasleys were almost universally hated by Dark pureblood families. To be seen with Arthur’s daughter would alienate the others, even to the extent of erasing the possibility for alliances. At least she’s a Slytherin,
Harry thought.

But if he were to yield to these pressures and ask someone else, he risked alienating Ginny and Hermione. They trusted each other implicitly, and he’d be betraying them by bringing in an outsider. He’d also send a message that he wasn’t interested in either of them, something that could be very hurtful if Ginny reciprocated his feelings.

Trapped between a rock and a hard place, with no way out but a jump into a riverbed of needles.

Harry would need to put some serious thought into this.

And I still don’t even know how to dance.

Dumbledore gazed at her over his half-moon spectacles, his face set and grim. It was late at night, the only time when she could be certain of having a chance to speak with him without being interrupted. Of course,
Daphne Dressler hadn’t been expecting her old Head of House to be present, either. Or Snape. “You do understand the seriousness of the allegations that you are making, of course,” he said slowly. “You are accusing someone of using illegal magic to bring about the death or serious injury of children.”

Daphne’s gaze was cold as ice. “I suppose I needn’t remind you that Voldemort has never had a problem with moral quandaries. Or finding ways to get what he wants.”

“Daphne,” McGonagall said. “The only people with access to the dragons would have been their handlers, most of whom I taught myself, or whose teachers I know, the Hogwarts faculty, and the judges. You are accusing them at the least of gross incompetence, at the worst, of being a traitor.”

Daphne met McGonagall’s glare. “Yes, I am. I am merely stating what the facts have led me to believe.”

“Or, perhaps, you are looking for conspiracies that are not there, Dressler,” Snape whispered. “I know the Dark Lord. I know how he
operates. This is not his way. He will delegate responsibility for an important assassination to his underlings at times, but he will never order them to use a method that might possibly allow the target to survive. If he wants Potter dead, he wouldn’t rely on a crazed dragon to do it for him.”

“And just how wouldhe do it, Snape?” Daphne spat. “I suppose you’d be quite knowledgeable in that area, after all.”

“Enough,” Dumbledore interjected. “This is accomplishing nothing. I will not have you making unsubstantiated accusations against anyone, least of all anyone in this room. Severus, because of his past, is a valuable source of information. Not an automatic suspect.”

“I wasn’t implying anything of the sort,” Daphne said, taking a few deep breaths. “I trust your judgment enough to assume that you’d know if he’d returned to his former master.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said. He looked even older than he was at this moment. “So, Mr. Weasley told you that such behavior, such a mental state, is unnatural for a dragon, even one taken out of its natural surroundings and subjected to such an ordeal as this.”

Daphne tried to think of how to best phrase this. “He didn’t say exactlythat. He wasn’t entirely sure of what the dragon’s ordeal would have done to her mental state. But we know there are spells capable of creating a compulsion to murder. A corrupted version of the Imperius Curse, if such a thing were possible.”

“Even if it did exist,” McGongall reminded her, “it would take an extremely powerful spell cast by a remarkably strong Dark wizard. And there would be more of a chance of detection than success.” She looked to Dumbledore for confirmation.

“I am not aware of everything, Minerva,” he reminded her. “Many things, but some slip past with my recognition. It would be possible to conceal such magic.”

“Are you at least in agreement with me that something is amiss?” Daphne asked.

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore said. “I am greatly concerned by the possibility that we may have been infiltrated by agents of Lord Voldemort. All of us can
feel the darkness rising once more. I have been to the Dark Forests in the Balkans. The creatures are restless, more aggressive than I have seen them before. We all knew that because Voldemort had survived the darkness had not been banished, that we had been granted only a temporary reprieve. That time is drawing to a close.”

“Perhaps, Albus,” McGonagall said. “But how would he gather his followers if he exists only in human form? Has he been restored to the extent where he, personally, is a threat? He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ruled by fear, kept his followers in line with threats and by making examples of those that did not serve his as well as they should have.”

“There are ways,” Snape said in a soft voice, “Dark rituals that can restore a drifting spirit to corporeal form. Many of these were developed by Salazar Slytherin himself. The man was obsessed with immortality, obsessed with out-living the other founders. And yet, by a twist of fate, he was the first of them to die.”

“By Gryffindor’s blade,” Daphne interjected. “Albus, we cannot allow Voldemort to maneuver freely. We must strike first, stop him before he gains too much power. His followers are scattered, most in hiding and the rest imprisoned. He is as weak and vulnerable as he will ever be. If we want to preserve as many lives as we can, we should root out the traitor here and deal with him.”

“Such aggression is unwise, Dressler,” Snape cautioned. “It is a paradox of sorts. The Dark Lord cannot be defeated until he returns to body. One cannot destroy a spirit easily. We don’t know where he is, or what he is planning. If we move too quickly, we may force him to panic. We aren’t ready, not yet. The Wizarding world is divided and uncoordinated. Alliances of old have crumbled to dust. The Ministry is a corrupt and powerless entity, and that fool Fudge has driven them into the ground.”

“So, we should wait. Wait for him to become a threat again. Wait for the Darkness to return, to sweep over the land and claim more lives,before we act?” Daphne asked, incredulous.

“Daphne, there is nothing we can do to stop the coming Darkness,” Dumbledore said, his voice tired and fatigued. I have consulted dozens of seers, hundreds of magical instruments. And I have met with the same response each time. There is nothing we can do to stop the rise of
Lord Voldemort. It is part of the natural magical cycle. We can prepare, so that when he has returned, and gathered his forces, we will be able to make a stand. But you and I both know that the Aurors are not strong enough to stand up to his forces. The newest generation of soldiers are growing up as we speak. They will be the leaders of this war, just as you were a leader of the last war. It is always the young that suffer the most.”

As Dumbledore finished, there came several knocks on the door. “Come in,” Dumbledore said. The massive oak doors swung open, and Alastor Moody hobbled into the room. Daphne frowned.

“Sorry that I’m late, Albus,” he growled. “Overslept. Happens in my old age. I’d better be more careful.”

“Indeed,” Daphne said quietly, staring at him. It was shockingly out of character for Moody to be late for anything, let alone for him to admit that it was because he let down his guard. Moody had taught her most of what she knew about how to operate in a hostile environment, how to keep an eye out for threats, how to survive in a world that was determined to get you when you turned your back. He’d always lived by that creed, and it had allowed him to become the Ministry’s most accomplished Auror, and survive multiple attempts to end his life. Daphne had a hard time believing that even old age could eventually soften the hard man.

Dumbledore explained what Moody had missed, but Daphne tuned him out. Carefully, she observed Moody, checking his movements, his posture, his inflection and choice of words. It was familiar, but somehow…not quite what she had grown so accustomed to. It seemed almost exaggerated at times, as if he had taken his trademark eccentricity to another level in order to prove to himself and others that he hadn’t lost a step.

Daphne supposed that it wasn’t inconceivable to believe that so many years apart from the war had changed him. A man like Moody lived for times of conflict. He was a soldier, a textbook professional and a battle-hardened veteran who had trouble adjusting to “peacetime.” Moody had first seen combat as a young fighter in Dumbledore’s army against Grindelwald. He’d never married, never even considered the possibility. He trained obsessively, even as his experiences robbed him of body parts. He was as nimble and capable as any healthy wizard, although he would probably still say, in private, that he was merely a shadow of his former self.

“So, you see a plot here, Daphne?” he asked. His voice wasn’t accusatory, nor did it carry with it the implication that he thought
she was wrong. Knowing Moody as she did, she guessed she had already gained a supporter.

“There are only so many coincidences that I can observe before I refuse to see connections. Someone wanted Harry in the Tournament. There can only be a few reasons why anyone would want that. Someone might seek to test him, to see what he can handle. Someone might also wish harm upon him. If Lord Voldemort was trying to decide if Harry, no longer protected by his mother’s sacrifice as he was during their last two face-to-face meetings, was worth his time, trying to see if he could kill Harry without having to lift a finger or expose himself would be an advisable option,” she concluded.

Moody nodded, a small smile breaking his scarred face. She saw pride there, but somehow, it didn’t reach his eyes. She imagined the times when she, a young, inexperienced Auror trainee, would look to him as a sort of a father figure, and she remembered the pride she felt when she hit upon the right answer. Years had passed since then, but the dynamic between them remained remarkably unchanged.

“Exactly what I’d expect a disciple of ’Mad-Eye‘ Moody to say,” Snape retorted, his voice disgusted. “You must understand, Dressler, that I do in fact care about Harry’s welfare, as a member of my House. But while I am willing to consider the possibility that we may have been infiltrated, and I will keep a close eye out for signs of
treachery, I would refrain from making our suspicions known and making accusations.”

“So, we just let the traitor operate until he makes a mistake?” Moody replied. “Potter could be dead by then.”

“I believe that we will be able to protect him, and as we’ve already seen, he’s quite resourceful,” Dumbledore said. Once again, he was trying to play peacemaker, regardless of his own personal beliefs. If given the chance, Snape and Daphne might end up in a duel to the death, and Moody wouldn’t be far behind.

“If you are going to use his survival in the First Task as an example then you are very much in error. Harry was lucky to get out of there at all, much less alive. He spent nearly a week in the Hospital Wing recovering from his injuries and magical exhaustion. The next time he tries that, it might kill him. He took a tremendous risk because he felt that he had no choice. He understands the risks involved. I’m not going to stand by and have his life placed in further jeopardy because you are afraid to offend others.”

“Do you actually have a suspect, Dressler?” Snape asked. “Or are you just making a lot of noise with no purpose in mind? Unless you plan to accuse Karkaroff — and I assure you, he doesn’t have the daring or the stealth for such an operation — there is no one else that has ties to the Dark Lord. Well, except for me, of course,” he said, daring her.

“Don’t be stupid,” she told him. “Fine. We’ll wait. But if something happens, I’ll remember this,” she said. Frustrated, yet unable to find a way around their logic, she turned and left. She felt Moody’s magical eye watch her every step of the way. He wouldn’t be happy about the way she had lost her composure.

She put that out of mind. She had work to do.