Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 14: Formalities

Harry stood across the room from Hermione, and dropped into a dueling stance. She did the same an instant later. Around them, the members of their Defense Against the Dark Arts class, including Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy, watched in anticipation of the two friends wiping each other out in some kind of spectacular explosion. Harry didn’t intend to give them such satisfaction.

“Wands at the ready,” Moody instructed.

The grizzled Auror had introduced them to a number of basic dueling techniques in his recent lessons, continuing his trend of focusing on practical knowledge over textbook learning. While a number of Harry’s classmates were already experienced duelists, some of them were learning these things for the first time. He could have chosen a different pair, but he’d decided to go with Harry and Hermione, probably because he was certain that the duel wouldn’t get too ugly. As competitive as they both could be, neither one wished harm upon the other.

Harry began to plan his basic strategy. He’d decided to try to just pester Hermione at first, staying on the defensive until she began to become overaggressive. Hermione was relatively patient, but so enthusiastic that she’d occasionally lapse into bad habits. Her aggression was less focused, and when she’d exhausted her fury, she became overly defensive, over-thinking her spell casting and trying to anticipate what her opponent would do next. Harry would play right into that and then pummel her with physical spells to weaken her defenses. Nothing too powerful, of course; this was just a demonstration, not the real thing. He assumed that Hermione would stay away from fire-related spells as well. Her lessons with McGonagall had been sporadic, and hadn’t been going all that well.

Hermione immediately took the offensive. Rather than the long, somewhat dramatic movements she tended to use, she minimized her movement. “Percutio,” she cast.

“Protego.” The purple streak of magic from Hermione’s wand struck the blue barrier and was deflected into the floor. The dueling platform was rectangular, maybe four meters wide, which didn’t leave them with much room to maneuver. Still, Harry continued to shift from side to side, staying on the balls of his feet in case Hermione threw something his way that he wasn’t prepared for. Their eyes locked, each searching their opponent for his or her intentions, trying to anticipate what the other would do next.

“Dueling isn’t just about casting lots of spells and hoping for the best,” Moody was saying. “It’s about probing your opponent, learning his strengths, weaknesses, and habits, and then having the wherewithal to exploit them. Duels can be over in seconds or they can drag on for considerably longer if the duelists are well matched. I’ve seen some last hours. The reason that doesn’t often happen is that dueling takes a lot out of you. Eventually, someone makes a mistake.

As if on cue, Hermione loosed a Stunner and a Blinding Hex, followed by a Cutting Charm as almost an afterthought. His shield blocked the first two, but the last got through. He spun out of the way but the third spell nicked his shoulder. It was a minor injury, but Hermione had drawn first blood.

Regaining his focus, Harry moved forward and cast a pair of Burning Hexes as he neared, followed up by a Stunner. Hermione froze for an instant before reacting, costing her any chance she had of blocking the incoming spells. She dove out of the way, landing on all fours, but the back of her robes was set afire by one of the Burning Hexes. “Aguamenti,” she hissed, bending down, her wand pointed over her shoulder. The Extinguishing Hex did its job, but Hermione was left vulnerable, and Harry struck. “Jacio!”

One of the newest spells he’d added to his arsenal, the Flinging Hex picked up his friend and hurled her to the other end of the platform, where she landed hard on her back. He moved in for the kill, but to his surprise, Hermione recovered fast enough to hit him with an Impediment Jinx. In the time it took him to cast the counter-spell, Hermione was back on her feet, apparently no worse for the wear.

Moody applauded. “Excellent, Granger. A perfect recovery and a fine choice of spells. Potter, you need to be less overconfident. She’s good, this one.”

Harry kept that in mind as he let a pair of Striking Hexes go past him. They were locked in combat now. He could feel the eyes of his classmates studying him. Very few students had spoken to him since he’d finally escaped the Hospital Wing, but he got the sense that they were in awe of what he’d managed to accomplish with half the bones in his body broken. He preferred it that way; silent admiration was never a burden. And he’d certainly gained some respect

He struck again, this time firing three Stunners, shifting his aim on each ever so slightly so that one shot straight at Hermione and the other two flew to either side of her, making a dodge impossible. She used a Shielding Spell, and deflected the center spell into the ceiling while the others shot past her. She was more capable with defensive magic than he had remembered. She and Ginny had been working on their own recently, and it had paid off.

After blocking Hermione’s counter-attack, Harry charged her again, but more aggressively this time. She was frozen by the sudden movement and took several steps backwards. Harry was able to block a desperate Disarming Spell and then started another attack. With a much shorter distance between them, blocking spells became that much harder. Harry was gambling on the assumption that, despite her improvement, he was still the more capable with defensive magic. He loosed two Bludgeoning curses of moderate power — he was trying to knock her down, not hurt her — adjusting the force behind them by taking the urgency and emotion out of his voice. She threw up a shield, as he’d expected, but it was only half-formed, and the force of the impact from the first Bludgeoning Curse knocked her back and broke her concentration, so that the second hit her squarely in the chest and hammered her to the floor. A quick Disarming Charm, and it was over.

Harry hurried over to make sure he hadn’t hurt her. She was groaning, but she sounded more angry than in pain. She glared at him. “You didn’t tell me you knew the Flinging Hex,” she said, getting to her feet without his assistance.

“Very good,” Moody growled. “A fine demonstration of technique and strategy from both of you. You still have a ways to go, of course, but that’s to be expected. Potter, you might have pressed your advantage better, and been more prepared for her counter-attack. The rest of you will write an essay, due next class, in which you will describe several techniques that we’ve discussed that these two used, how they used them, how effective they were, and what could have been done to counter them. Class dismissed.”

“Sorry,” Harry whispered, as the rest of the class filed out. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you sure that you’re alright?”

“Fine,” Hermione said, brushing herself off. “That was rather impressive, Harry. I wasn’t expecting a physical dimension, and that second charge caught me completely off guard. How’s your shoulder?”

“It fine,” Harry said. “You put up a pretty good fight.”

“I try,” she said, modestly.

“Very impressive,” Moody said. “Come over here, both of you.”

They did as he asked, approaching with a bit of trepidation. Moody hadn’t really made an effort to connect with any of his students, certainly not in the same way that Remus had the previous year. “Yes, professor?” Hermione asked.

“You two have definitely been practicing outside of what you are asked to do for this class; I mean it as a compliment. I applaud your initiative and wish that others would do the same. When the war comes, most of my students will be entirely unprepared. Even the 7th Years are more concerned about what they might be asked about when they take their N.E.W.T.s than anything that’s useful or practical in combat. I’m pleased to see that such apathy is not universal.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said. “My guardian has spoken highly of you, and feels that you were the perfect choice to serve as the instructor of this course for this term. Based on everything we’ve seen, I’d say she’s right.”

“Daphne has always been sharp,” Moody remarked. “I appreciate the compliment, Potter. I trust Albus, but sometimes I think he’s a little too reluctant to expose all of you to what it is you will be facing. Now, I’m afraid that I need to get a few things done, so I’ll have to cut this meeting short.” Moody looked strangely concerned about something, and glanced at the clock hanging on his wall. “You two had better be off.”

“But, sir-” Hermione began.

“That’s not a request, Miss,” Moody growled, turning around quickly. Harry reluctantly followed her out.

Once they were out of earshot, Hermione asked, “What do you suppose that was about? One minute he seemed poised to have a long conversation with us, a talk that I’ve been looking forward to, and then the next he’s ordering us out with a vague and unsatisfying explanation.”

Harry was puzzled as well. Something wasn’t quite right. Perhaps he ought to mention it to Daphne. He planned to see her later that afternoon to discuss the possibility of taking Ginny to the Yule Ball, as well as to…well, ask her to teach him how to dance. He knew that she was at least competent, as most Pureblood heiresses were required to be, and figured that her agility in combat should serve her well on the ballroom floor. Though he was also concerned about Hermione. Would she understand? Occasionally, he’d seen an unexpected flash of jealousy from Hermione when he’d been spending a lot of time with Ginny. Harry had guessed that perhaps she feared being left alone; he knew she hadn’t gotten on well with her Muggle classmates when she’d been younger.

“So, Harry, have you thought about who you are taking to the Ball?” Hermione asked. His internal conversation faded into the distance, replaced by more than a little shock at how bluntly Hermione had posed the question.

“Well, yes,” he said. He was nervous now, uncertain as to whether this was Hermione’s indirect way of asking him to invite her. As friends, of course, he knew. But the fact that he wasn’t sure, and the fact that he’d essentially already settled on another, caused him to sweat a little. “I have a few ideas.”

“You are aware that the Champions traditionally open the Ball, right?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, I am,” Harry replied, a little irritation showing in his voice. What was he supposed to do now? He still hadn’t the slightest clue what Hermione meant by bringing it up. He had some trouble understanding girls, but with almost anyone besides Hermione, he’d probably assume it was a veiled request for an invitation. Well, if Tonks posed the question, she’d undoubtedly be just attempting to mess with him in the process.

Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so entirely lost in his entire life.

“Well, the date is fast approaching, so you’d best get a move on it. I’m sure there are quite a few people interested in going with you.”

This was getting worse and worse, Harry decided. Maybe, just maybe, Hermione was hinting at Ginny, but she might also be making a desperate plea on her own behalf. If she were doing it for that reason, it would also mean that their friendship wasn’t exactly in terrific shape at the moment. That wasn’t good either. “I suppose. Just as I said, I have a few people in mind…I need to think it over, that’s all.”

“You don’t need to take my advice, Harry, but I’d suggest picking someone you know well. This wouldn’t be the time to ask out Cho Chang.”

Harry felt his ears turning red. Yes, he thought Ravenclaw’s Seeker was quite pretty, and she seemed nice enough, but he’d never really felt anything for her. Still, the fact that Hermione had been able to detect, or at least guess that with so little information was unnerving. He was still unable to determine anything about her intentions from her voice. Well, he could tell that she was getting progressively more irritated as her not-so-subtle hints failed to penetrate his thick skull.

That wasn’t the problem. He knew that she was making hints and that she was trying to point him in a certain direction. He was just unable to determine which direction she was pointing him in, and the possibility of making the wrong assumption terrified him.

“I wasn’t really considering that,” Harry said. “And I think you are right.”

“Oh for the love of…” Hermione fumed. “Boys!” she hissed, then stormed off.

One word echoed through Harry’s mind as her footsteps grew softer.

Shit.

“To be perfectly honest with you, Harry, I’m not sure what she means, and I appreciate your predicament. I also sympathize with her.”

“But what do you think she means?” Harry demanded.

“If you are making the assumption that all women, regardless of age, communicate with some kind of secret language that is entirely indecipherable to men, I’m afraid you are making a rather large mistake,” Daphne said. “To answer your question, I think, based on your relationship to this point, that she’s trying to get you to ask Ginny. But I’m not sure. The other things that you’ve told me make it rather difficult to discern her motives. But Hermione doesn’t strike me as the type of girl that would demand that you take her to the Ball to maintain her own self-esteem. I think she values your friendship more than that, and is content to simply be at your side in other ways.”

“So what you are saying, essentially, is that she is probably telling me to ask Ginny, but not necessarily, and you aren’t going to let me assume that you are right and then take the blame when she refuses to speak to me for the rest of the year.”

“A rather cynical way of looking at it, but, regardless, yes,” Daphne said. “I don’t know your friends as well as you do, nor perhaps as well as I should. I’ve never exactly been in her situation, either. I never went up to James and hinted that he should ask out Lily. He didn’t need my encouragement.”

“Did you ever talk to Lily about it?”

“No,” Daphne said. “Though your father won me over eventually, I was never convinced that he was the right person for your mother to spend the rest of her life with until a few months before they married. I was wrong, obviously. As strangely as it may have begun and as tragically as it…ended, they were made for each other.” She grimaced, probably trying to fight off tears.

“There is another problem. I don’t dance.”

Again, Daphne burst out laughing. This is probably a record. “What is it this time?” he asked, irritably.

“Lily was one of the most horrendous dancers you will ever see. It was remarkable how uncoordinated she was. James was perfectly competent, but Lily was a disaster.”

“That’s encouraging,” Harry replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Do you suppose you could help me to discover which genes I inherited?”

“Certainly,” Daphne replied. “My father taught me to dance formally when I was a young girl, as part of my training. It’s not something I’m especially fond of, but I can teach you enough basic steps that you’ll make a good accounting of yourself.”

“Alright,” Harry said. “Daphne?”

“Yes?”

“Say I do invite Ginny to the Yule Ball. Is there anything that I should bear in mind?”

“Outside of not making her hate you until the sun explodes? I doubt her brother will be especially pleased. And some might question your choice. The Weasleys aren’t at all respected by the Purebloods, and if you enter into any kind of lasting relationship some might refuse to ally with you on principle. Basically, Harry, there are concerns, and some of them are worrisome. It comes down to this: is what you have or will have with Ginny worthwhile and promising? If it is, then you shouldn’t allow political considerations to dictate your actions. But if it isn’t…”

“Then it isn’t worth the risk,” Harry finished. “I understand…sort of.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “I think I’m probably going to ask her. If I’m wrong about Hermione…well, I’ll just do what I can to make her understand. She isn’t the kind of person to hold that kind of grudge for very long, and she’s close to Ginny.”

Daphne looked him in the eyes. “Harry, you are getting to the point in your life where you need to make you own decisions. I don’t mind helping you, offering advice and guidance, but I cannot make your choices for you. You must learn to be independent or you won’t be able to cope when I’m not here for you anymore.”

The fact that that time might not be in the distant future weighed heavily on both of them. Harry sensed that his guardian felt she didn’t have long to live, and while he knew that it would be a terrible loss, he thought he could recover from it. At least he hoped that he could.

“I understand,” Harry told her. “I know I need to show some independence, to act on my own without looking to others for approval every step of the way.”

“That’s not to say you should try to go it alone,” Daphne cautioned. “You have wonderful friends, Harry, and the potential to gain a number of allies. You will need help to win the coming war. It isn’t enough to merely vanquish Voldemort, a task much easier accomplished if you can send your allies against his followers. You must hand the Darkness complete and utter defeat. It is the cycle, one that has been a part of wizarding history for centuries. Most of the time, the Light triumphs, crushing the Darkness and driving its leader from power, forcing his followers underground and establishing peace.”

“But other times…”

“The Light is not always victorious. There have been periods throughout our history when Darkness reigned and attempts to destroy it met with defeat. Actually, there are only a few instances of the Dark being overthrown; much of the time, it consumes itself. The Dark Lords rule by fear and threats. Such a rule cannot sustain itself; eventually, it will collapse if the populace is not content,” Daphne explained. “But the price that is paid…you must not allow yourself to be willing to settle for a short period of rule by Lord Voldemort, with the knowledge that he will eventually fall. You and your friends would not live to see it.”

“I’d never allow Voldemort to win,” Harry swore. “I’d do anything in my power, including sacrificing my own life, if it were necessary to defeat him.”

“If that is true, then you are ready to face the challenge,” Daphne said. Her voice was quiet, strangely serene. “Because you might be asked to sacrifice yourself and your friends in the pursuit of victory. And you must be ready for that, and not hesitate for so long that your opportunity is lost. For a leader of the Light, there is nothing harder than sending others out to die for you. Indeed, that is the difference between you and Voldemort’s kind. They do not value life, in any form. Dark families may join you, because they cannot live with wholesale slaughter, even of Muggles. Those that can will not join you. They will view your compassion as a sign of weakness.”

“Then I must let them go, and teach them the error of their ways,” Harry said. “If they cannot abide by that rule, and truly believe in it, then what use are they to me? If you act and think as the enemy does, then you become the enemy.”

“Wise words,” Daphne replied. “And truer words were never spoken. In the end, titles and names don’t matter. It is our actions that define us. If you become like Voldemort, then there will be little difference between his rule and yours, and others that might have fought beside you will instead fight against you. And if the wizarding world is divided into more than two sides, then the battle will be long, hard, bloody, and ultimately catastrophic. Wizarding Wars never last long because there are so few of us in the world. Prolonged warfare would do irreparable harm to our numbers, and not even the most evil of wizards wish to see our kind wiped out.”

“That’s the last thing they want,” Harry agreed. “If he didn’t have a legion of followers to worship him, and a conquered people to rule over, he wouldn’t have won anything. Nothing is to be gained by destroying the wizarding world. Then Muggles are all that remain, and he believes wizards should rule Muggles.”

“What about the egg?” Daphne asked, abruptly changing the topic. “Have you gotten any closer to figuring it out?”

Harry groaned. He’d been stymied by the latest clue, and after several attempts knew only that he never wanted to open the damn thing in public again. Snape had made several harsh, if possibly deserved, comments about the disturbance that had caused in middle of the Slytherin Common Room. The ear-splitting screech that had nearly deafened him and Ginny wasn’t one to be soon forgotten, and he still got a few irritated looks. “You know what it is, don’t you?”

Daphne smiled evilly. “Of course I do,” she said. “But I’m not going to tell you. It’s something you should be able to figure out on your own, and I’m fairly certain that Maxime and Karkaroff feel the same way.”

“Can’t you at least give me a hint?” Harry pleaded.

Daphne shook her head. “It’s really not that difficult, Harry. I’m very confident in your abilities to figure it out.”

“Thanks a lot,” he groaned under his breath.

She opened Madam Fisher’s Guide to Household Charms, a fairly old copy at that. She’d been interested in learning about how Mrs. Weasley created the magic that washed dishes and did the laundry for her for quite some time, but with her increased workload and helping Harry with the Tournament she hadn’t had the time. She figured she’d browse all of the books and mark sections she’d want to examine in greater detail when she had the time. When she wasn’t too tired, Hermione liked to read for about an hour before she went to bed. It calmed her mind.

She thumbed through the first few pages, stopping at the table of contents and noting a few specific passages. The book was well worn, indicating that it had been both heavily used and a part of the Hogwarts library for quite a while. She noted the page numbers of the sections about washing dishes and clothing.

Then she heard it. It was a sound that she had grown to hate more than nails sliding across a chalkboard. The collection of airy voices and annoying giggles that indicated the presence of Viktor Krum…and the gaggle of girls that followed him everywhere. For some reason Krum always chose the table adjacent to hers. She clenched her teeth and tried to read the words on the page, but nothing got through. All she could focus on was the giggles and stupid girly comments about Krum’s physique, whispered in perfectly audible voices by those that made her ashamed to be of the fairer sex. It was maddening. It took much of her self-control to not get up and calmly hex all of them to the Hospital Wing. But that wouldn’t reflect well on her permanent record, she decided.

The presence of these girls also made it hard for her to feel sorry for Krum. Harry had told her about their conversation, and she supposed she did pity him for failing to live up to the expectations he was forced to endure, both at the Quidditch World Cup and during the First Task whenhe’d been the only champion to fail to retrieve the Golden Egg. Since it was vital to his preparation for the next task, it had been given to him. He’d only suffered in the points standings. Harry’s scores had been the strangest of the bunch. Some, like Daphne, Dumbledore, Crouch, and Bagman had been impressed by his perseverance and power. Maxime and Karkaroff had unsurprisingly scored him low, on the basis of the injuries he’d sustained.

Injuries that had come damn close to killing him.

Hermione knew that she needed to let go of that fact and look forward to the next Task, starting by helping Harry figure out what the screech from Hell that was emitted each time he opened the egg actually meant. She knew that she needed to internalize the expectation that Harry wasn’t going to play it safe, and that she needed to accept his reasons for that, and support his choices…well, most of them. The ones that weren’t entirely suicidal.

She’d spent quite a bit of time trying to understand her motives and feelings concerning Harry’s actions. She’d come down to a few basic motivations.

First, she didn’t want to see Harry hurt, or worse, killed. That was a pretty reasonable wish, she decided, but the problem was that it tended to shoot to the top of the priority list. And she had learned in the last few years that even if she did try to protect him, he wasn’t going to let her hold him down. If there was something that he felt needed to be done, he was going to do it, in spite of her protests. Part of her motivation for trying to fix this was that she feared losing him in another sense: losing his friendship.

This was where things got complicated. She’d been rather upset when she’d finally realized how often she resented Ginny’s relationship with Harry, one that had grown stronger and stronger even as the one between her and Harry had been strained by their disagreements. But she’d come to the conclusion that those two developments weren’t directly related. Harry was more than willing to have both of them as close friends, and Hermione was happy to have Ginny as part of the group. The strain that she’d placed on her valued relationship was her fault, not Ginny’s. Well, maybe, to an extent, it was also Harry’s, but she really didn’t have much control over that.

Hermione hated being alone. And she knew that feeling all too well. She’d never been accepted during her Muggle schooling, having been identified as a bookworm and avoided like the plague, especially by the other girls. She’d struggled to find acceptance at Hogwarts too, until she’d become friends with Harry. Now, despite the fact that her friendship with Harry did quite a bit to isolate her from the other Gryffindors, she clung to him like a lifeline. He was one of the only people who accepted her for what she was, and embraced the bookish personality that had driven others away. Well, there were some Ravenclaws, but she didn’t know them that well, and she certainly didn’t have the shared experiences with them that she did with Harry. She’d stared down death at his side more than once, and that formed a kind of bond that could never be truly broken.

Still, they did have their misunderstandings. Such as the one she feared now existed, the one that might make Harry come to the conclusion that Hermione desperately wanted him to ask her to the Ball.

Hermione sighed. She hadn’t been entirely clear, she supposed. Of course, she believed she’d been clear enough for most people to understand she was practically begging Harry to invite Ginny, but Harry didn’t seem to understand. Ginny was far too skittish and stubborn to ask Harry herself, and terrified of what would happen if he didn’t want to. She could see both sides of the puzzle, and saw that they fit together perfectly. Both wanted the same thing, but both were afraid to ask the other. Hence, Hermione tried to help Harry along…with potentially troubling results.

She wanted him to be happy. She wanted Ginny to be happy, too. They’d both been through a lot, and they deserved it. And she believed that she did as well, considering all she had experienced since she’d become a part of the magical world. She just wasn’t sure how she could do that. She always felt content when pouring over thick, obscure books to learn everything she could, yet there was still something missing. Maybe she’d find it. Maybe she wouldn’t.

What she did know for certain was that she wasn’t going to accomplish anything of any significance if she stayed where she was. Somehow, she might not have noticed Krum’s girls as much had they been yelling instead of excitedly whispering to each other. She began to pack up her books, frustrated that she couldn’t find peace and quiet where she normally did, when she felt someone standing over her. Strangely enough, the girls had suddenly gone silent. Curious, she looked up.

Krum was standing there, and he was practically radiating anxiety and worry. She sat there, staring back at him, bewildered and hopelessly confused. He tried to say something, but she couldn’t understand him through his thick accent. He’d also mangled her name. “Come again?” she said.

“I vas vondering…vould you like to go to ze ball vith me?”

Time practically stood still for a moment as Hermione’s normally active brain went blank, then tried to process the words that Krum had just spoken. When she did, she was so shocked that she wasn’t sure how to respond. She could decline; indeed, she almost wanted to…but she felt sorry for him, now, and based on how nervous he looked at the moment, eyes practically pleading with her, she simply couldn’t bring herself to…besides, he was rather good looking… “I…” she began, “…yes. Yes, I would. I’d be honored.”

Krum smiled nervously. “Thank you. I’ve been…vanting to ask you for some time now, but…vell, I’ve been vatching you and…”

“It’s alright,” she said, laughing. “I’ll go with you.”

“Thank you,” he said. She could practically feel the other girls glaring daggers into her back as they whispered disparaging comments, but for the moment, she ignored it. She could enjoy her triumph later. With that, he gave a slight bow, and left. The girls lingered, but eventually followed him out.

Her mind spinning, Hermione sat back hard in her chair. Viktor Krum just asked me to go to the ball with him. Viktor Krum, the world’s youngest professional Seeker or whatever it was, actually likes me. He chose me…

She was aware that, based on her normal behavior and attitudes, she ought to be disgusted by her reaction, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to recognize that.

She also realized that she had the perfect way to defuse the situation between her and Harry. If Harry knew she were going to with Krum, that might make him understand that she never wanted to go with him in the first place…well, she wouldn’t have minded, but that she wanted him to ask Ginny all along.

Suddenly, her day was looking much, much better.

“Greengr ass.”

It was how most, if not all of their meetings began. They were almost always alone, somewhere in the depths of the castle. They exchanged surnames in greeting and then they sparred verbally, with the Pureblood heiress practically grading his developing skills and approach. This time, however, seemed to be different.

“I’m going to get right to the point, Potter,” she said. “You know that my father is interested in the possibility of forming an alliance with you, against my own advice.”

“Of course,” Harry said.

“Traditionally, alliances in the Pureblood community are built upon mutual trust and benefit. As is the case with almost all alliances, regardless of size. My father has decided, presumably as a result of your inexperience, to make the first move. I am to invite you to a certain ceremony, one that takes place on the 22th of December. Your guardian is also welcome to attend, although my father believes she will not.”

“What’s the celebration called?” Harry asked. He felt foolish asking, but he knew of several different rituals traditionally practiced on or around the Winter Solstice.

“In this case, it is known as Karachun,” she replied. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you hadn’t heard of it. It’s part of an old Slavic festival recognizing the triumph of Dark over Light. Despite its terrific symbolism, few British families observe it. My mother’s family has roots in the Ukraine; distant, but it’s still a part of my heritage. My father chose to keep the tradition alive after she died. I suppose he is honoring her that way. There will be others there, Potter, others that might choose to support you when the time comes for the sides to be drawn.”

“I will be there,” he promised. “I’ll be prepared.”

“Good,” Greengrass said. “I have a busy day ahead of me, so forgive me if I cut this short. Discuss this with your guardian; my father insists that you have her approval. However, no one else is welcome. If you were to try to bring Weasley or Granger, the consequences would be…unfortunate.”

There was no need for her to elaborate. This was a sacred rite, and it had probably been established long ago that only Pureblooded witches and wizards were allowed to attend. Harry couldn’t fight the forces of tradition. He would need to embrace them if he were to gain trust and support, even of those that believed in old, bigoted rules. Eventually, he would have to force them to work together with those they might consider inferior. But there was no need to attempt that now.

“I understand,” Harry replied. “I will talk with my guardian. But tell your father that I will do everything in my power to ensure that I am there. Where will the ceremony take place?”

“That will be revealed to you once you confirm that you are coming. My father will send you a letter that includes the location. You should be very honored, Potter. My father does not trust easily, and by inviting you, he is showing a great deal more faith in you than I possess.”

“Then I will do my best not to disappoint him.”

Greengrass didn’t respond, and they went their separate ways.

“What?” he asked, even more confused by her behavior.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, by the way. I missed you at dinner last night.”

“I know, Snape kept Moon and I late. We had to prepare the ingredients for our next lesson. What’s got you so excited?”

“I was just asked to the Ball…by Viktor Krum.” Hermione looked like she might burst with joy at that moment. He was stunned by that revelation, but knew that if he just stood there, open-mouthed, she wouldn’t take it well.

“That’s great,” he blurted, not knowing what else to do. “Really, great.” He flashed her a smile. “When did he ask you?”

“Just now, in the library,” she replied. “He seemed rather nervous about the whole thing, really. Honestly, I thought he was going to keel over after I didn’t respond immediately. I still can’t believe it. You’re fine with it, of course.”

“Of course,” Harry replied immediately, fearing the consequences if he didn’t. He liked Krum, felt he was a decent person and even felt sorry for him when he failed to live up to expectations, though he was still floored by the revelation that he would chose Hermione, above everyone else, to accompany him to the Ball. It was nothing against his friend, but, well…he didn’t really think she measured up to most of the older girls in…a number of areas. Whatever Krum saw in her, it was something deeper than superficial attraction. That had to be a good thing, right?

“I wasn’t sure I was even going to go to the Ball with anyone, until today,” she continued. “Thank Merlin I bought a nice set of dress robes. They look good on me, right?”

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, they looked great,” said Harry quickly, trying to recall when he ever saw Hermione in her new dress robes.

“I suppose I really shouldn’t be asking you about that. You’re my friend, so you’re hardly going to say I looked terrible. And, no offense Harry, you aren’t exactly a fashion critic.”

“None taken,” he assured her. “I’m really happy for you.” And he was. Hermione tended to be ignored by her peers, to be overlooked because she kept to herself, had succeeded in alienating her entire house, and came off as a know-it-all show off. It was good that someone had finally seen past that. That it was Viktor Krum made it all the better, and he was certain this would do a lot for her self-esteem. At least, that’s what he hoped. This also meant that he didn’t have to feel guilty about inviting Ginny to the ball instead of Hermione. Indeed, he was starting to wonder if that’s what Hermione had in mind from the beginning. Considering how pleased she was to be invited by someone else, it seemed less likely that she had ever desperately wanted anything more than what they had in the first place. That made him feel considerably better, even if she couldn’t know.

“By the way, have you figured out who you are going to take?” she asked. Her impatience was blatant, and she made little effort to hide it.

“Ginny,” he said. “I’m going to ask Ginny.”

Hermione grinned. “Excellent. She’ll be thrilled, Harry, really. She hasn’t said as much to me, but I can tell that she was hoping you’d take her. She won’t be able to go otherwise. She was worried about that.”

“Do you want me to tell Ginny the good news?” Harry asked. “Or would you rather do it yourself?”

“Go ahead,” Hermione told him. “I don’t have any need to keep this a secret. Bloody hell, I’m going to flaunt it.”

At that moment, Harry began to wonder once again if he’d ever understand those bizarre and foreign creatures known as girls.

“Yes?” she replied, letting her classmates pass by. Colin Creevey lingered a bit, trying to catch a glimpse of his childhood idol, but a glare from her sent him scurrying away. Harry ran up to her and stopped, panting a bit.

“Ginny, I wanted to talk to you, er…I wanted to ask you something,” he said, rushing through his words.

She laughed. “What is it that you felt the need to run halfway across the castle to ask?”

“Would you go to the Ball with me?” he asked, calming his voice slightly.

Ginny was floored. But she was uncertain. She needed to make sure she understood the situation. Secretly, she’d been hoping for this to happen for some time, but she’d come to realize that it might not happen after all. That it was possibly that Harry didn’t return the affection she thought she felt for him. He didn’t really show many signs of it…well, not obvious ones. She’d tried not to get her hopes up, only to have them dashed. “As friends?” she asked.

“Well, I guess.” He seemed disappointed and yet relieved, somehow. “Not necessarily, but that would depend on what you were comfortable with.”

“No, no, I’d love to go with you…really. But I mean, are we going as friends or…something else.”

“Something else, maybe?” Harry asked. “I don’t know, Ginny. I don’t understand in any way, shape, or form how this is supposed to work. I just…I feel something for you, Ginny. I really like you. More than a friend probably should. I…”

She laughed again, this time out of her own nervousness. She didn’t want to mess this up, or leave him with the wrong impression. His expression was already losing the enthusiasm he’d initially had. “I’m sorry, Ginny. I didn’t mean to…”

“Would you shut up already?” she asked. “Merlin, Harry, for the future savior of the wizarding world, you are terrible when it comes to asking girls out…but, since this is your first try, I’ll cut you some slack. And, just so you don’t feel awkward about the whole thing, I’ll let you in on a secret.” She felt her cheeks redden a bit, but she plowed on, knowing that if she didn’t, this thing could end in disaster before it even had a chance. Normally, she might have waited, but she felt that she couldn’t. For Harry’s sake. “I feel the same way. I really, really, really like you, Harry. I think about you all the time. And I’d be thrilled to go to the Ball with you.”

“Ginny,” he said, still sounding anxious. “We can’t rush this. With everything that’s going on, with all we’ve been through and will go through, we can’t just blindly rush into this. That’s a recipe for disaster. We’ll go to the ball together, and see what happens, then decide if we want to go further. Is that okay with you?”

It wasn’t exactly what she’d been dreaming about. But, based on what she knew about Harry, it wasn’t exactly surprising, either. And she understood the logic behind it. She loved Harry’s friendship. She didn’t know yet if she was in love with Harry. She wasn’t even sure that was possible at their age. So it didn’t make sense to risk everything to get something that might or might not exist. If they took this slowly, they might be able to back out and remain good friends even if things didn’t work out between them. For now, it was a victory. “Okay, then we’ll just be friends until the Yule Ball. After that…we’ll see how things go. You’re right. We shouldn’t rush into this.”

“Thank you for understanding,” he said, quietly. “I knew you would. I’d love for this to turn into something even better, and lasting, Ginny. But I just don’t know, and I suspect you don’t either. It doesn’t make any sense to gamble our friendship on something like that.”

“What about Hermione?” Ginny asked.

Harry smiled. “That’s taken care of, at least now. Viktor Krum asked her.”

Ginny grinned. “I knew he liked her. I knew it.”

“You did?”

“It comes with being a girl,” she said. “You should try it sometime.”

“No. Thanks, but I’m happy being an oblivious boy.”

They stared at each other, then burst out laughing. Ginny was about as happy as she’d been in years.

Daphne sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “She’s right, Harry. It is quite an honor. But I’m afraid that I can’t go with you. My family heritage forbids it. Light families have their own counterpart that takes place during the Summer Solstice. I don’t observe it, but since I’m pledged to the Light, I don’t have the option of choosing which one I want to observe. I see no problem in allowing you to observe it, although I’m going to have to place a great deal of trust in Aiden. Trust I didn’t know I had.”

“But you’ll allow me to attend?”

“Yes, I will,” she said. “This is a very important stage in alliance-building. Aiden introduced the idea, now it’s up to both of you to make something of it. By inviting you to witness this type of ceremony, he’s showing a great deal of faith in you. I trust that you can take care of yourself if any minor problems arise. Anything more than that, and, well, I won’t exactly hesitate to make an appearance. Wear the ring. I’ll be able to track you down if things get rough. I don’t expect them to, but you never know.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed. He hadn’t been keeping it with him recently. Somehow, Daphne’s constant presence wasn’t exactly comforting. It was almost smothering, and he didn’t like the feeling. And Daphne hadn’t said anything about it until now. Harry supposed that she would understand his desire for independence. But because she was asking specifically, he’d put that aside for now. “I’ve done some research on the ritual in question. It’s a pretty rare one. But from what I’ve learned, I understand your reasons for not attending. It’s a ceremony that I doubt Light wizards would approve of.”

“Of course they wouldn’t,” Daphne said. “First, it involves calling to dead ancestors, something that Light wizards don’t believe in. For example, what have you been taught about magical Ghosts such as Nearly-Headless Nick?”

“Dead wizards only become ghosts if they are afraid of death, most often because they feel they have left something unfinished or made mistakes they have yet to atone for. But that’s not the way that everyone looks at them, is it?”

“No, it isn’t. Most Dark families have the utmost reverence for the dead, and above all ghosts, as “living” embodiments of the other side, as it were. The Bloody Baron is looked upon as a role model, although I think it’s safe to say he never really embraced that, but he’s respected and feared. On the other hand, Nearly-Headless Nick is looked upon as a bit of a pitiful curiosity. The Grey Lady is also respected, but more by the children than the adults. The Fat Friar might be even more of a caricature. My point is that Dark families practically worship their ancestors. A number of their rituals, including this one, seek to call upon the magic and/or the “soul,” for lack of a better term, of departed family members. I’ve never witnesses one in person, but I’ve heard stories. The kind of stories that seem difficult to believe, until you consider the source.”

“Wow,” Harry replied. “I think I understand why these ceremonies are so personal. And why it’s so remarkable that Aiden has extended an invitation to me, a complete outsider.”

“Yes,” Daphne replied. “I must say I’m quite surprised. Pleased, but surprised nonetheless. I wouldn’t have expected things to move this quickly, but it’s for the best. You have a lot of work ahead of you, and I feel that I can trust Aiden’s motives, if nothing else. His hatred of Voldemort is complete.”

“You can relate to him, I suppose.”

“Absolutely,” Daphne said, “as you can. To intentionally perform any action that might work to his benefit would be to betray the memory of those he took away from Aiden. His older daughter and wife were precious to him, and I can tell that he still mourns them to this day.”

Harry decided not to add, just as you mourn your own lost loved ones. He wasn’t sure if he really mourned his parents. Daphne had been there for him, had filled the role of mother to the best of her ability. Perhaps Lily might have done a better job, and Harry had no doubt that Daphne believed that to be so, but he could never know. He’d barely known his parents when they’d been taken from him. His memories were faded and fragmented, composed of sounds, smells, brief flashes of visual memory that made little sense and told him almost nothing about Lily and James Potter as individual human beings. What he’d heard from others had been tainted by the passing of years and the remnants of old grudges and close friendships. As such, it was difficult for Harry to think of his parents as people. They were almost legends in their own right, dead for so long that the obscure details, the quirks, habits, and mannerisms that really separated one person from another had been lost.

“And the other families?” Harry asked.

Daphne shrugged. “If Aiden is telling the truth about believing you to be the best hope of defeating Voldemort, and as far as I can tell, he is, I am confident that he will not allow you to come to harm. He won’t invite anyone that might have loyalties to Voldemort, or that might mean you harm. I’ll be fascinated to hear the details when you return, although it’s possible he might order you to keep whatever you see secret. I’d understand if he did. But I’d love to find out more about these rituals. There isn’t much literature on them, and the resources that exist are vague and general. These types of rituals vary widely by family, and it seems to be an unwritten rule that the specific practices of each family are kept secret.”

Harry considered that. He also considered that he’d need to tell Ginny and Hermione about this soon, so that he’d have time to explain this completely. He thought they’d go along with it. Hermione seemed to be resigned to the fact that he was going to do things she considered unwise, despite her objections. He’d prefer that she see things the way he did, but perhaps there was value in having a friend that served as his personal devil’s advocate, to warn him away from his more foolish endeavors. And she was a good friend, and that was what really mattered. It would take many disagreements to make him forget the way she’d risked everything and stuck with him during their first two years at Hogwarts, moving past her Gryffindor identity to not only become close friends, but willingly following him into fire, sometimes literally.

“The next time I run into Greengrass, I’ll give her my answer,” he said. “Now, onto something else. I’m still trying to figure out what is going on with the egg, and I’m no closer than when I began. Hermione’s gone through the entire bloody library, but she’s determined that it isn’t a banshee or anything else that shrieks.”

Daphne smiled. “Perhaps you aren’t looking for the right thing, then. Consider that while you perceive it to be a shriek, it might not be that to another.”

“Banshees have mating calls,” he reminded her. “But that doesn’t help me. I think I’ve established that the noise it makes is universally perceived as an ear-splitting shriek by normal humans. The bloody thing might rupture the eardrums of a deaf man.”

“Then consider the medium.”

“Air?” Harry asked. “How does that help me?”

Daphne smiled. She was clearly enjoying this. “You figure it out. I’ve given you quite a bit of help.”

“As it’s still completely useless,” Harry reminded her. “I still have absolutely no idea what created the sound, let alone how it provides a clue for the next task. And at this point, I’m close to just forgetting about the egg and going into the Second Task blind. I’m not sure I can stand that sound another dozen times.”

“I’d recommend against that approach,” his guardian warned. “The reason you are being given a clue is because the demands of the Second Task cannot be met without specific preparation. In the interests of your safety, I’m not going to allow you to give up on the egg.”

“But you won’t give me the answer either.”

“No,” she said. “I’m not going to do your work for you. The answer is much, much simpler than you think it is. In fact, the answer isn’t all that far away from the castle. Keep at it, you’ll get there eventually.”

Harry wished he had as much confidence. Then again, if it was written anywhere in any book, Hermione would surely be able to track it down.

He unrolled the message, and read.

Harry,

I’m entrusting this message to Aegis, and since he’s never failed me before, I’m reasonably certain that it will reach you. Daphne has informed me that you have accepted my invitation to the Karachun ceremony on the 22nd of December. For reasons of security, I’m not going to tell you where exactly the ceremony will take place. Although it is not particularly dangerous, the Ministry has decided that it’s borderline necromancy. Personally, I feel that attempting to temporarily recall the spirit or soul of a person is far different from trying to reanimate the body, but I don’t make the laws. All that is required of you is that you make your way to the shore of the Lake around an hour before midnight. You will be met there, and brought to the primary site.

If you are still willing, please state so on the other side of the parchment, and attach it to Aegis.

I hope to see you then.

Sincerely,

Aiden Greengrass

Quickly, Harry scribbled an affirmative on the other side of the parchment, then re-attached it to Aegis’s leg. He noticed Daphne Greengrass some distance away, giving a small nod of approval. The falcon took flight, and Harry watched it soar into the air and out of the Great Hall, bound for Cornwall.