Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Chapter 15: Tainted Yule

With all of our magic, you’d think the Hogwarts staff might show the slightest interest in preventing us freezing to death out here.

Ginny Weasley pulled her scarf and coat closer to her body, trying to shield herself from the bitter cold of the Scottish winter. The snow continued to fall, blanketing the ground and the hundreds of students trudging down to Hogsmeade village. Christmas was less than a week away, and most of the students planned to use this opportunity to buy gifts for family and friends.

Ginny was no different, though her funds were rather limited. Her family’s relative poverty had always been a constant fact of life for her, and she tried to help by making herself as little of a burden as possible. She had accepted secondhand books, clothing, and other items graciously and appreciated what she had. Her siblings all reacted differently to the family’s financial status. Percy just tried to forget about the whole thing as he strove to make his ambitions reality, the Twins constantly looked for ways to exploit their remarkable and unusual talents to make a few galleons, and Ron was rather resentful of the whole thing. He wasn’t alone, though. Charlie had behaved much the same way at the same age, but he’d risen above that. Bill, the most successful of the current generation of Weasleys (to date, at least) had become determined to overcome it.

Recently, of course, Ginny’s normally frugal approach had changed a bit. On top of the new broom that she had convinced her parents to buy her if and when she made the Slytherin Quidditch team, she now needed dress robes. And not just any dress robes, but nice ones. This entire thing meant so much to her.

So she’d sent a letter home, using a spell that Hermione had taught her to ensure that her parents were the only ones who opened it. In that letter, she’d explained Harry’s invitation and, in terms that she knew her mother would completely understand, how she felt about it. It was a tremendous relief for her, and also, she thought, for Harry. Both had felt something for the other for some time, but neither one had been willing to risk admitting it. Ginny had been getting close to asking Harry herself when he’d finally marshaled up the courage. Initially, she’d been thrilled. Even Harry’s request that they take it slowly and see if it would work before rushing into things wasn’t enough to dim her enthusiasm. Because somehow, she knew that it would work. She told her mother this, and then asked them to give her the money to buy a formal gown. She knew that she was asking a lot. She knew that those sorts of things cost money the Weasley family barely had. She had held out hope that her acceptance of their situation throughout her childhood might have given her a little slack.

Her parents’ response had come back in just a few days. She had been fairly certain that they would approve of a possible relationship between her and Harry, especially if it was for the right reasons and they took a mature approach. Her fears to the contrary had proven to be unfounded. Her mother had been extremely pleased for her, and praised both of them for having the maturity to take things slowly. Her father had also approved, not that Ginny would have declined Harry’s invitation if they hadn’t, of course, but it helped her self-confidence. She knew that her brothers wouldn’t be nearly so accepting, at least not the ones still at Hogwarts. It had taken them long enough to accept her placement in Slytherin, and longer until they’d stopped blaming Harry for that happening in the first place. But her mother’s letter had also contained some bad news: they simply couldn’t spare the money to buy her the kind of gown she wanted. However, her mother had promised that she’d found a compromise, one that she was very certain her daughter would be content with. In this case, Ginny had decided to trust the wisdom of her mother, who probably knew her better than anyone else in the world. As the only women in the Weasley household, they were natural allies. So Ginny would trust in her wisdom, and hope for the best. Something else that gave her hope was that her mother had outright refused to entrust the parcel she was sending to the tired, decrepit family owl, Errol, and had instead paid for a post office owl.

On either side of her, Harry and Hermione struggled through the snow.

Harry’s heavy robes were drenched from melted snow and he was visibly straining through the howling wind. “You know, you’d think they might let those Threstrals do the work in weather like this,” he grunted through his teeth.

“You know as well as I do that they aren’t native to cold environments,” Hermione replied. “They live in Eastern Europe, but they hibernate during the winter. They aren’t much better suited to this than we are.”

Harry didn’t respond to that.

Scattered around them were other groups of students, mostly from Hogwarts, although Ginny could see a number of Durmstrang students in their heavy, fur coats. Of everyone here, they were probably the most accustomed to this sort of activity. The opposite was true of the few Beauxbatons students that had decided to brave the cold. They looked miserable in their light robes. Harry speculated that the school was located in Southern France, which made a lot of sense considering the Beauxbatons students’ obvious dislike of cold temperatures.

They were about halfway there, but Ginny was beginning to wonder if she was going to make it. She was exhausted and was rapidly losing the feeling in her hands and feet, despite her mother’s thick woolen mittens and socks. Her face stung from the freezing temperatures, despite all she did to conceal every inch of skin with her hat and muffler. She shivered violently, mentally cursing the snow. Then, abruptly, she felt a wonderful wave of heat wash over her, spreading over every inch of her body and practically blocking out the cold. She looked around and saw Harry returning his wand to his holster, underneath the sleeves of his heavily robes. “Warming charm,” he explained, yelling over the howling of the wind. “I was a bit nervous about using it because I’m so new to it, but you looked like you needed help. And, no offense, Hermione, but I knew you weren’t going to do it because you were afraid of lighting all three of us on fire.”

Hermione’s cheeks, already pink from the cold, darkened a little in embarrassment. Harry seemed to realize what he had said hadn’t come out that well. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean-”

“I’ll forgive you if you do the same to me,” she cut him off. He did exactly that, then used it on himself. Insulated from the cold, the three friends managed to beat the majority of their fellow students into the village.

They ducked into the Three Broomsticks, and sat down at a table. Harry ordered three Butterbeers and they consumed them quickly, allowing the warm liquid to rejuvenate their tired bodies. All three had things to do, so they decided to split up and return in a few hours, which ought to be long enough to complete their Christmas shopping. Hermione, of course, had already finished ordering presents for her friends, no doubt books from Flourish and Blotts. Ginny had created a mental Christmas list for her close friends and siblings. Even Ron. After the fearsome tirade from her mother when he’d failed to get her something the previous year, he’d learned his lesson.

Ginny was very conflicted when it came to Ron. There were times that she hated him, hated being related to him. But most of the time, when she calmed down and looked at it rationally, she loved him. He was her brother. There were even a few times when they were both much younger that he’d played with her, and defended her from their older brothers. And she knew that, no matter how awful his methods, he had her best interests at heart. He was just too bloody stupid to understand that she was where she was supposed to be, doing what she wanted to do. Eventually, she knew, that truth would penetrate even his thick skull. It just was taking far too long.

Once Harry paid for their drinks (he insisted, since Hermione had done it the previous time,) they split up. Neither one of them ever asked Ginny to pay for anything, or even expected her to. And while they were trying to help her, it did emphasize her own financial situation. But they meant well, so she could forgive them. Especially this time, because the money she’d saved was going to be spent on gifts for her friends.

But Ginny’s first stop was the post office. The students were beginning to take over the town, but Ginny managed to get through the arriving masses and inside without much trouble. She walked up to the counter and dug three Knuts out of her purse, the standard fee for receiving a parcel. An elderly worker with kind blue eyes, and a weathered face took the coins and asked for her name.

“Ginny Weasley,” she replied. The man got up and headed into the back of the building. A minute later, he returned with a large parcel.

“Took two owls to carry this item,” the man said. “Nothing out of the ordinary, of course. We offer the holiday discount for the season. No extra charge for the additional owl. Lots of big packages being delivered at this time of year.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking the package from him. The man nodded, and Ginny headed for the exit. The urge to rip open the package and see what her mother had sent her was overwhelming. She decided to at least wait until she got to Gladrags, where she could use one of the dressing rooms to try it on. She had a good feeling about the contents.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Hermione Granger shouldn’t have been in this position. On practically any other Hogsmeade Weekend, she would have spent any time that she had to herself holed up in the bookstore. The problem was that the same store was packed to the gills with late Christmas shoppers, and the noise and number of people moving up and down the aisles had been enough to drive her away. Instead, she’d decided to come out here, to the Shrieking Shack, where she’d hoped she’d find a bit of peace and quiet. But the cold had proven too much, and she’d been about to head back into town when she heard the arrogant tones of Draco Malfoy from behind her. Initially, she didn’t turn around.

“I’m talking to you, Mudblood. What, did Potter and the Weaslette abandon you? Did they leave you all alone out here while they went somewhere else to snog?”

Hermione continued to ignore him, but she subtly dug into her pocket and wrapped her half-frozen fingers around her wand. She was quite aware of the fact that Malfoy’s muscled goons, Crabbe and Goyle, were probably present and left her outnumbered. She’d like to think that Malfoy wouldn’t be stupid enough to assault a fellow student, but she wouldn’t allow herself that luxury. It would be giving him too much credit. Slowly, she turned around. “Is there a point you’d like to make, Malfoy?” she asked, glaring at him defiantly. “Or are you just talking because actually taking action is beyond your capabilities. I have no interest in speaking to you, either way.” She moved to walk back up the path, but the three Slytherins blocked her way.

“Potter’s getting rather full of himself,” Malfoy began.

“You don’t say,” Hermione interrupted. “I hadn’t noticed. I’ll, of course, address this with him right away. Thank you for you concern, Draco.”

“Listen, you,” Malfoy growled. “I don’t appreciate Potter trampling on my turf. Slytherin House belongs to me, to my family. Not some upstart Light Halfblood that was lucky to survive to see his second birthday. He’s baiting some pretty dangerous individuals, and you are right next to him on the firing range.”

“A Muggle expression? How unlike you? Get out of my way. I’ve no time for your empty threats. I don’t need to understand the inner workings of Slytherin to know that you are a joke. You’ve proved nothing.” Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, revealing her wand gripped in her gloved right hand. “I’m not afraid of you, and I’m hardly alone.”

“We’ll see about that,” he spat. “You’re a bright Mudblood, aren’t you, Granger? Surely you’re capable of simple arithmetic. There are three of us, and one of you. I’d say you were being a bit overconfident. Even if you were half the duelist I am, my friends don’t need magic to…ah, make a point.”

“I’m warning you, Malfoy.”

Draco laughed. “Warning me? You are warning me? A little backwards, don’t you think?” He advanced toward her. Hermione extended her wand toward him, stopping his advance.

“Stay back,” she ordered.

“You’d never risk it. You’d never risk getting thrown out of Hogwarts for attacking a student,” Draco said, sounding more confident than Hermione would want. And, truth be told, getting thrown out of Hogwarts was one of her worst nightmares.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Hermione said indifferently. “Depends how badly I hurt you first.” She was running through a number of different spells she might be able to use if it came to that. She considered loosing a Burning Curse, but she didn’t want to risk it. Besides, she wasn’t confident in her own ability to control it.

Draco drew his own wand with an unnecessary flourish. “Care to take me on, Granger? They’ll be digging pieces of you out of the snow. Come on, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Hermione dropped into an approximation of a dueling stance, the best she could manage with all of the clothing she was wearing. She was a bit nervous now. She didn’t know how skilled Draco was in dueling, and her own technique and approach left much to be desired, despite Harry’s frequent compliments. She was making progress, but she had a lot of work to do. And she didn’t want to really hurt Malfoy, no matter how much she hated him and what he stood for. She certainly didn’t want to kill him. That left her at a serious disadvantage. She decided she’d let Malfoy make the first move. She wouldn’t be baited into any kind of situation where she could claim she acted in self-defense. She saw a flicker of movement over Malfoy’s shoulder.

“Get away from her,” Harry bellowed, coming down behind Malfoy on the path, alone. Ginny didn’t seem to have accompanied him. His eyes blazed with anger, and his wand was already drawn. “Back off, Malfoy,” he repeated.

“Well, this looks like your lucky day, Granger. Harry Potter has come to save his damsel in distress,” he said, smiling maliciously at her.

Harry walked directly up to Malfoy, staring at him directly in the face. “If you threaten my friends, then you will answer to me. You’re scared of me, aren’t you? I know that because you are using the tactics of a coward. You’re trying to terrorize my friends to force me to back off. I’m not going to, and if you lay a finger on Hermione or Ginny I will make you pay for it.”

Draco sneered at him. “You’re all talk, Potter.”

Harry’s vicious uppercut was as much a surprise to Hermione as it was to Draco. It caught the Pureblood heir squarely in the jaw, knocking him clear off his feet and into the snow. Harry had his wand on him in an instant, as he shook his left hand to dull the pain. “Don’t even try it,” he said to his helpless foe. “That’s means you too,” he said, meaning Crabbe and Goyle, who were sneaking up behind him. “Get out of my sight,” he spat.

Draco unsteadily got to his feet, massaging his jaw. “Fighting like a Muggle,” he hissed. “I expected better, even from you.”

“Well then let that be a lesson to you. I’m not bigoted or stupid enough to forsake a perfectly effective strategy when it serves my needs,” Harry replied. “Now leave.”

Draco glared at him for another moment, and Harry’s wand arm tensed. “Come on,” he barked at his bodyguards. The three of them made their way back up the path and into Hogsmeade. “You’ll pay for this, Potter. You won’t get away with this.”

“I’ll be waiting for you,” Harry shouted back. Once they were gone, he said, “Looks like I went looking for you at just the right time. I finished my shopping and sent the stuff ahead to Hogwarts, but I didn’t find you in the bookstore. I decided to try here, since it seemed like the least logical place I could imagine, and you not being in the bookstore was highly illogical.”

“I could have taken care on myself,” Hermione protested.

Harry grimaced. “I hate to break it to you, Hermione, but that’s simply not true.”

Hermione glared at him, and then looked away, realizing he was right. “You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”

“He’s just arrogant enough to be dangerous,” Harry replied. “He knows his own weaknesses, yet he ignores them because he wants to be superior to others. He might do drastic, inadvisable things because he is afraid of seeing how weak and powerless he truly is. And knowing that, yes, I am concerning that he’ll strike at you or Ginny to get at me.”

“So you want us to be careful?”

Harry nodded. “Just watch your backs. Try not to wander around alone. Make it as difficult as possible for him to get at you. With luck, he’ll see some sense and back off.”

At twenty minutes to midnight on the predetermined evening, Harry Potter slipped out of his bed, donned his invisibility cloak, and snuck through the nearly deserted common room into the dungeons. He easily made his way into the Entrance Hall, and cast a quick Silencing Charm on the hinges of the massive oak doors of the entrance to slip into the night. Carefully, he made his way down the snow-covered path towards the lake, his pulse pounding in his ears. He didn’t want to get caught on this night. When he was out of view of the castle, he removed the cloak and continued down to the water’s edge. When he got there, he heard a noise and spun to see Daphne Greengrass, dressed in jet black robes, her long hair silver in the moonlight, emerging from the cover of some trees. The night air was frigid, but despite her relatively light attire, she wasn’t shivering.

“Potter, you made it. Good.”

Harry nodded as he moved closer to her. “Is your father going to meet us here?”

“Yes, but we are still waiting for one other.”

Harry frowned. “Another student? Who?” He peered off, scanning the hillside for any dark shapes advancing toward them.

The question answered itself when a voice spoke out from the darkness, coming from Harry’s right. “Me.”

Harry spun and found himself staring into the dark eyes of Blaise Zabini.

“Neat trick,” Daphne said.

“I don’t understand,” Harry said.

“It’s a basic magical illusion,” Greengrass explained. “He was coming toward us the entire time, but when we looked toward him, our eyes looked everywhere except when he was at the time.”

Harry nodded, understanding. Zabini’s father, if he remembered correctly, was an Illusionist, so it would make sense that he’d taught of few of the more basic skills to his son. “Zabini,” he said in greeting. “Didn’t expect to see you here. I didn’t realize you were friends with Daphne’s family.”

“We aren’t,” Greengrass replied curtly. “At least, not yet. That’s partially what this gathering is about. My father wants to bring together several important individuals and form the basis of an alliance against Voldemort within the ranks of the Dark Purebloods. You were invited, Harry, for two reasons. First, despite your family’s Light history, you may yet chose the Dark, and second, you appear most likely to be the leader in this next war, wise or not. You should be there as Alliances are cemented. The third family, that we will meet at the location, is an old friend of ours. They have three children, all home-schooled. All of them are skilled and powerful witches and wizards. I do not believe that you have met them before tonight.”

Harry shook his head. It didn’t sound familiar. “Are many Wizarding children home-schooled?”

“More than you’d think,” Blaise replied. “A lot of pureblood parents, especially Dark purebloods, don’t trust Hogwarts or any of the other European Magical schools. They’d rather select their children’s’ curriculum and have it taught to them by private tutors. They come out pretty well, and often far better prepared.”

As Blaise finished, there was a small flash of light, and Aiden Greengrass materialized a few feet behind them. He’d not only Apparated on the Hogwarts Grounds, something thought impossible, he’d also done it silently. Then, noticing the urn held casually in his hands, Harry realized that it was a Portkey. “Greetings,” he said cheerfully. “Glad you could make it. Please grab on to this Portkey.” He offered the glowing urn, which appeared to be empty.

Harry, Blaise, and Daphne grasped the urn, and Harry felt the familiar jerk behind his navel as they were ripped off the ground and sent hurtling through a tunnel of flashing colors and blurred images. Harry braced himself and managed to avoid falling as they hit the ground. His landing was still the least graceful, as he stumbled when his feet touched the snow. Aiden and Blaise barely lost their balance, and Daphne’s landing was as calm and collected as her usual demeanor.

“The others are waiting over this ridge,” Aiden explained.

“Where are we?” Blaise asked.

“ Cornwall,” Aiden replied. “A few miles from the border with Devon, near the coast. The location is not especially important. This ceremony, this ritual does not draw upon the historical significance of the surrounding region. While it will take place on land that belongs to a pureblood family, the Rostrons, the fact is that we’re holding it here because its been used for similar ceremonies for hundreds of years. We’re not sure who installed most of the stones and created the markings, but it serves our purpose. It’s out-of-the-way, far from the prying eyes and common blood of outsiders.” The way in which Aiden spoke made it clear that he didn’t embrace the bigotry and arrogance of many of his peers.

He led the three of them over several ridges until they came to a large depression in the ground, several hundred meters across, and surrounded by snow-covered hills. Around the perimeter of the depression were stone posts, and a large circular piece of gray stone at the center, ringing a pit at its center. Runes and carvings were visible thanks to the raging fire at the center, a blue-green flame that appeared to spring up from the ground itself. Standing loosely around the pillars and the central wheel were five people. Initially, Harry couldn’t make out their faces. He was able to identify two of them when Blaise continued toward them after the Greengrasses had stopped. For a moment, all of them stood there, the only sound the howling of the winter wind. However, whether by topography or magic, Harry did not feel the expected biting cold. A comfortable warmth spread through him, but the snow around the wheel did not show any signs of melting.

“I believe some introductions are in order,” Aiden said, his voice carrying easily despite the wind. Indeed, it was almost as if the wind had died down when the man had spoken. Harry noticed that he’d raised the hood of his robes, and his eyes were hidden by shadow. Daphne had done the same. Harry decided not to do the same, as the heads of the Zabinis and the still-unidentified family remained uncovered. “Harry, while you are an acquaintance of Blaise, I do not believe that you have met his parents. Harry Potter, meet Arabella and Stefano Zabini.”

The three of them moved closer together. Harry got his first look at Blaise’s parents.

Arabella Zabini looked considerably younger than she really was, her black hair braided and her beauty undimmed by age. Her skin was as dark as her son’s, and her eyes sparkled with a kind of curiosity and mirth that made him rather uncomfortable. She was a Songstress, Harry knew, possessing a rare and prized voice that could compel others to do just about anything, or simply to bring them to tears with her rich and passionate tones. Arabella, who’d either been born in Africa or born to someone who had been, had a tremendous presence about her. He could understand why Blaise worshipped her. Harry bowed politely, and she returned the gesture. “I am pleased to finally meet you. We have heard much of you from Blaise and others. It is time we had a chance to judge you for ourselves.” Her voice was musical, almost intoxicating. As she spoke, Harry could focus on nothing else but the woman in front of him. She commanded the attention of his every sense.

The first thing Harry noticed about Stefano Zabini was that he couldn’t have been more different from his wife if he tried. His tanned skin was many shades lighter than his wife and son, and in sharp contrast to the overwhelming and compelling presence of his wife, Harry was only certain that he was there because his grip was firm and strong. The man seemed to shrink every time Harry laid eyes on him, to disappear into the shadows and conceal his very presence. He was quite handsome, with a well-trimmed goatee and bright blue eyes, but his appearance was pristine and nothing more. His face could melt into a crowd of elites as easily as his magical and physical presence. “I am also pleased to meet you,” he said in a soft, but strong, voice. Harry released his hand and turned back to Aiden.

“Now then, I’d like to introduce both Blaise Zabini and Harry Potter to Grigory Ivanov, and his heirs, Nikolai and Natasha,” Aiden said.

Harry moved toward the family, and gradually, he began to make out their features. Grigory Ivanov was tall and regal, his gray hair and mustache making it clear that he was the elder of the group. His face was cracked by age lines, but in his eyes was a cold resolve, like hardened steel. He was clearly not a man to cross, or anger. His grip was no less hard, and Harry forced himself to stare into the man’s eyes as their hands clasped, a show of determination and confidence that Harry wasn’t sure he really had. As Blaise did the same, he turned his eyes to the brother and sister.

The first thing that occurred to him were that they were twins, and this was confirmed when Aiden spoke again. “Grigory is an old family friend, one I met through my wife. He has chosen to raise his children in private instead of sending them to a magical school. Natasha and Nikolai are twins, as you might suspect. They are a bit older than you, both eighteen years last month. His family came to Britain during the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917.”

“Thank you for the introduction, my friend,” Grigory said, his voice a booming bass, his accent not thick, but discernable. “Harry Potter. It’s quite remarkable for us to meet at last, especially under these circumstances. I am pleased to see that you have not forsaken the Dark as so many might have expected you to. It has been the failing of many, Dumbledore among them. I might have fought for him if he had had me. But I had an obligation to my heirs, and so we remained hidden, known to just a few. It is also a pleasure to meet you, Blaise Zabini. We have had sporadic contact with your family, although this is the first time we’ve met in person.”

Harry studied the twins again. They were about the same height, both shorter than their father. Dark-haired, with light blue eyes shining out into the night. As they stepped forward in unison into the firelight, their hair was revealed to be a dark brown rather than black. They had sharp features and a cold resolve about them that mirrored their father’s. Like Fred and George, they seemed to share a kind of mental connection. Their movements were synchronized, coordinated. Nikolai shared a look with his sister, and a decision was made. He stepped forward and offered his hand. Harry took it. His grip was like a vise, and his eyes no softer than his father’s. Natasha’s grip was slightly lighter, yet the cold resolve seemed to run in the family.

“I’m honored to meet a person of your stature, Mr. Ivanov,” Harry said. “I am also honored to be present at a ritual of such importance to your family. I appreciate the trust that you have shown in my motives.”

“Indeed,” Grigory replied. “I’ve known Aiden for many years, and he told me that despite your family name, you would be respectful and an enthusiastic spectator. That was all that was required to earn my approval. And the Zabini name carries powerful connotations itself, and since we wish to form an alliance, we felt the invitation was appropriate. Now that introductions have been made, I feel it best that we proceed.”

“I agree,” Aiden said, moving away from his daughter. “Each of you must take your place around the altar, approximately equidistant from the each other, and stand perfectly still while I invoke the rite. We must hurry, as midnight is only a few minutes away. Our window is closing.”

Harry waited for those with experience to find places around the stone, moving into a spot between Natasha Ivanova and Arabella Zabini, directly across from Aiden Greengrass. Aiden drew back his hood, and raised his wand to the air, then began chanting.

Harry was no Latin scholar, and the speed at which Aiden spoke made it even more difficult to understand anything of what he was saying. But several words stood out.

Memory.

Family.

Blood.

Honor.

Death.

As Aiden spoke, Harry could feel invisible waves of powerful magic sweep around the gathering, drifting towards a focal point several feet above the fire, which was now a brilliant emerald green and had increased in intensity. He looked to his right and saw Arabella Zabini with her eyes closed, an expression resembling that of perfect ecstasy on her face. To his left, Natasha’s arms stretched out from her sides. Her eyes were open, and for a moment, they met his gaze. He looked away, staring over the top of the fire at Aiden, trying to detect the smallest minutia with any of his senses, trying to figure out what was happening.

Then, Aiden fell silent. A brilliant flash lit the altar and the assembled witches and wizards, nearly blinding Harry. More chanting began, this a mixture of many voices. To his stunned amazement, he felt his own mouth moving, his own lips forming words that he did not know, the sound of his voice, blending with all of the others. He did not understand the words; they weren’t Latin or anything else he recognized. But it didn’t matter. Waves of Dark magic washed over him, heightening his senses, flooding his system with adrenaline. And then, at the very peak, the moment of greatest intensity, when Harry felt that his soul might rip free of his body, everything stopped. No sound but the beating of his heart, no cold, no magic. It was as if he stood in a vacuum, as if the world around him had melted away.

Then it came. The rush of memories that were not his own. Images, songs, moments of fear, passion, bliss, indifference. Blue-white flashes of light arced through the air, swirling about in a hurricane of magic. Then the lights converged on the altar, and the memories fell away. A single figure now stood in the center of the fire. Harry’s jaw dropped in stunned disbelief. A man he had never seen in person, yet whose face he knew all too well. The boyish features of a man never able to release his last, precious grip on childhood. Sandy-blonde hair worn shot, a well trimmed goatee. Blue eyes that always seemed to be full of mirth and laughter.

Edmond Dressler stood before him within a swirling, bright blue vision. His features were unmarred by the violence that had ended his life. He looked renewed, reborn into perfect form. It was not until Harry noticed his mouth moving that he realized the man was speaking.

…fear not the darkness, Harry, but shun not the light. A balance must be found, a gray area where hopes and dreams will be built, and put to the ultimate test. Your friends will grow in number, and they will serve you because they believe in your ability. Do not be tempted by the promise of power. Pragmatism is a Slytherin’s greatest virtue. And when the time comes when all may seem lost, you must let go. Remember that, Harry. When the time comes, when you are losing something you feel that you cannot live without, you must let go. If you do not, what you seek to preserve will itself destroy you…

Edmond’s voice faded away into a howling wind, a shrieking crescendo of power being sucked out of the depression, blasting back into the sky. A loud crackle ripped through the air, and the light died as the fire at the center of the altar was extinguished. For a moment, everything was silent. Then Harry forced himself to take a deep breath and exhale it, even as he tried to sear each of Edmond’s words into his memory.

He saw that each of the others was also reeling, some appearing weak-legged and stumbling as they tried to maintain their balance. Eyes were wide, breathing was ragged. A few had expressions of disbelief on their faces. Aiden brushed away what might have been a tear. After what seemed like an eternity during which none of them spoke, Grigory Ivanov finally broke the silence. “For those of you that have not experienced this ritual before, I will explain what just happened. On this night, the longest of the year, representing the symbolic conquest of Dark over Light, we call back the spirits and magic of those that have gone before us, to give us wisdom. Each of you saw a different person standing on that altar, heard a different message. These messages are sometimes difficult to decipher, but never disregard the words of the dead. They know more than we will ever understand, until the day that we join them.”

Harry nodded in concert with everyone else. Each of the families began moving together. Aiden and his daughter exchanged a few words, while the Zabini family whispered excitedly among themselves. The Ivanov family stood silently, watching the others, although Harry knew that with each glance between brother and sister, some information was exchanged. Harry stood alone in the bitter night, unsure of what to do. He dared not move in the direction of any of the families, at the risk of offending them. What they had experienced was something intensely, infinitely personal. He had no right to know anything.

Finally, Aiden gestured him over, and with a bit of trepidation, he joined the Greengrass family. “Harry,” he said, once he’d come within a few feet, “I have no right to ask, and you have every right to refuse to answer, but my curiosity is overwhelming. Who spoke to you, if anyone?”

With only a slight bit of hesitation, Harry replied. “Daphne’s husband, Edmond Dressler.”

Aiden’s daughter spun to stare at him in confusion, while her father'’s eyes went wide with surprise…and then… “Yes...,” he said, understanding dawning on his features. “Of course. I hadn’t thought of him.”

“May I ask why you are so surprised?”

“This is a Dark ritual, Potter,” Daphne replied. “The souls that we are calling to us, the spirits that spoke to us, and the magic that enveloped us were Dark. Karachun is held on this night to recognize the symbolic victory of Dark over Light…you see why we are surprised, no?”

“ Edmond was a Light wizard,” Harry said. “His family was Light, his wife came from a Light family. So why..?”

Aiden took a deep breath. “I can think of only a few explanations,” he said. “But they are all quite feasible. That Edmond Dressler appeared to you indicates that of all your deceased family, and, because of your relationship with your guardian, Edmond was family, he alone was not driven away by the call of the Darkness.”

“Why him? Why not my parents? Were they afraid?” Harry asked. Somehow, the possibility that his parents had declined an opportunity to appear to him, to communicate with him, was very troubling. It might indicate disapproval of the path he had chosen to walk. He would like to think that if they were still alive, they’d accept the choices he had made, and respect them.

“It’s not a matter of fear, or affection,” Aiden said. “ Edmond came from a Light family, but as a Slytherin, perhaps he was more open to the Dark. And since there was and still is a great deal of Darkness within his wife, a wife that he loved, he loved that piece of the Dark. So when the call came, he was able to answer, because he has already professed his affection for Dark magic. Dark souls.”

“And the other possibilities?”

“Considerably less likely,” Aiden said. “That your parents were unwilling to face the Dark to see you, to communicate with you. And though James and Lily stood against Voldemort, I know that your mother rarely rejected anyone based on any sort of affiliation. She would have come to you if she had been able.”

Whether Aiden knew it or not, his words, spoken in a strangely paternal voice, brought tremendous relief to the Boy-Who-Lived.

“Aiden,” Harry said, using his forename only after a bit of hesitation, “is there any kind of…time limit for the advice he gave me? This is an annual rite, correct?”

“Yes,” Aiden replied, nodding. “Harry, Dark wizards revere the dead and their magic not merely out of a sense of honoring their memory but more so because we believe that they can see far into the future and far into the past. But they also understand that we, those of us still among the living, cannot cope with such universal knowledge. Our lives are a journey of discovery, and we might go mad if we were to learn what lay at the end of that journey. At the least, we’d have a rather pronounced advantage. So they reveal our futures, and sometimes our pasts, in bits and pieces. But considering the dangers that lie ahead of you, and the destiny that swirls about you, I’d say that you will find meaning in what he told you in the next year or so. Remember what he said, Harry. Grigory was absolutely correct when he urged us all not to disregard the words of the dead. Heed his warnings, take his advice as best you can. Now, we should probably be getting you, Daphne, and Blaise back to Hogwarts. Your absence might be noticed.”

A hint of light appeared to the east. Harry checked his watch, and saw that hours had past. Just another mystery in this incredible experience. Harry tried to cling to every feeling, every sensation and imbed them in his memory.

“Tell your guardian what you wish, Potter,” Daphne said, “but be wary of what she might be best off not knowing.” Aiden nodded in agreement with his daughter’s wisdom.

“The twins want to speak with you,” Aiden said. “Quickly, I’ll get Blaise.” The sun had not yet risen above the horizon, but the clouds had turned to purple and pink.

Harry hurried over to Natasha and Nikolai. “Yes?” he asked.

“We felt your power during the ritual,” Natasha said, her voice soft and quiet. “You are indeed more than we had suspected. You should know that if our father agrees, we will form an alliance with you. Because with your power, we also felt your intentions. And we approve.”

“You have no idea how grateful I am,” Harry said. Finally, he’d made progress.

“We’ll see you again sooner than you think,” Nikolai added. “Now, return to Hogwarts, and contemplate what you have experienced. I still believe that my first Karachun was the most extraordinary experience of my life.”

“I will. Thank you,” Harry said, then went back to join Aiden, Daphne, and Blaise.

After a few brief farewells, including a few words from Arabella that Harry couldn’t understand, they walked back to the Portkey, arriving back at the shore of the lake just as dawn was breaking. Aiden clapped him on the shoulder before he departed, then the three of them silently crept back into the Slytherin dormitory, Harry with his Invisibility Cloak, Zabini with his Illusionist skills, and Daphne with her inborn grace and stealth. Harry collapsed into his bed.

His dress robes were quite handsome, a dark green that complemented his eyes, made from a fabric that was both comfortable and aesthetically pleasing. He’d long since given up trying to comb his hair into anything not resembling a disorderly mess. Bad genes, he knew. Or good genes, depending on the way he thought about it. Even the strongest of hair styling spells probably stood no chance against the Potter hair. A quick look in the mirror confirmed that he looked, well…pretty good. He was just bursting to see Ginny, Hermione had promised with a mischievous grin that he might not recognize her at first.

Harry made his way up the staircase into the Common Room, where Slytherins mingled, clad in mostly expensive, ornate gowns and dress robes. He ignored the glares of Draco Malfoy, who wore a high-collared set of robes that made him resemble a classic vicar, and his date Pansy Parkinson, whose bulk was not quite hidden by her pink, frilly gown. Harry looked around and recognized others. Daphne Greengrass, who had seemed much less cold to him since that night in Cornwall, was as beautiful as he’d expected in a backless, deep blue gown, her hair pulled into an intricate and ornate bun secured with what appeared to be two crossing wands. Her hand rested on the arm of her companion, Theodore Nott.

Blaise Zabini, who grinned at him from across the room, stood triumphantly next to his date, Elisha Moon, who had finally accepted his invitation after letting Blaise sweat for nearly a week. She’d told Harry privately during one of their potions lessons that she liked Blaise, but that she thought he needed to be taken down a notch. In the end, they’d both gotten what they wanted.

But what Harry didn’t see among the bustling mob of formally-dressed students was his date. At least, until he finally glanced back and saw her coming up the stairs from the girls’ dormitories, accompanied by Anne Grunitch, who wasn’t going to the ball and wore semi-formal black robes, and Melissa Quinn, who was, having been surprisingly invited by a Fifth-Year Slytherin named Derek Sinclair. He seemed like an alright chap, although Harry didn’t know him well. Melissa was quite elegant in her red gown, blonde hair twisted into a French braid that trailed down her back.

Between them, wearing a simple, yet pretty gown of a light gold, her fiery hair similarly arranged in a practical but attractive French classic that let much of her Weasley-red hair fall down her back and shoulder, was Ginny Weasley, a nervous grin lighting her face. To Harry, she was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen. She looked years older, despite her small frame, and her smile as she caught sight of him lifted his spirits immeasurably. She walked toward him, beaming, but didn’t say anything. Something felt amazingly right about that moment.

“You look…amazing,” Harry breathed. Ginny blushed, ducking her head.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, “You look pretty good yourself. Got all of those steps memorized, or should I watch my feet?” she asked, referring to the crash course in formal dancing that Daphne had given him.

“I think I’m ready,” Harry replied. She smiled. “Do you know what Hermione is doing?”

Her grin got bigger. “Yes, but I’m not allowed to tell you.” Despite her attempt at appearing confident, Harry could see that she was as anxious as he was. Neither one of them had any experience with any sort of relationship and both were anxious to make it work.

Harry forced himself to take a deep breath, and just enjoy the moment. “We should probably get going, since we’re beginning the Ball,” he told her. She nodded, and the two of them linked arms and headed out of the Common Room. Most of the other Slytherin couples were leaving as well, and the few that had extended invitations to students from other houses were already gone.

Harry and Ginny emerged into an Entrance Hall that was packed with well-dressed students, including a sizable representation from Durmstrang and Beaxbatons. There appeared to be more inter-school couples than Harry would have expected, including the absolutely stunning Fleur Delacour, arm-in-arm with Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain. Fleur was getting death glares from both sexes, from multiple schools. If looks could kill, she’d be dead about twenty times over.

Harry focused on Ginny, reassuring her that she was his first and only choice, and one that he definitely didn’t regret. They managed to make their way over to the doors of the Great Hall, which were now being opened. McGonagall smiled at the two of them and scanned the crowd for the last two champions. Harry joined her visual search. He spotted Cedric hurriedly pushing through the crowd with Cho Chang on his arm. She was quite attractive, although Harry had never been as enthralled with her personality as he had been by her looks. Then, he saw Krum…

And Hermione.

“You weren’t kidding,” Harry whispered to Ginny. Somehow, his best friend had managed to straighten her hair and arrange it in a single braid that wrapped down around her neck. The result was quite stunning. She beamed widely at him as she saw them standing there, and got to their side a few moments later. “You two look fantastic,” she gushed.

Harry still wasn’t quite able to get his mouth working. As Ginny had predicted, he could barely recognize the bushy-haired bookwork he knew so well.

“Wow, that turned out even better than I expected,” Ginny said, giving her friend a warm hug. “You look beautiful, Hermione.”

“Yeah, you do,” Harry got out at last. Her fine periwinkle-blue dress completed the look, and Harry realized that those bulky school robes certainly hid more than he’d first suspected. “Hullo Viktor,” he said cheerfully.

“Hello Harry,” the Bulgarian Seeker replied. He seemed a bit distant, distracted. Most likely, he decided, by the girl standing next to him. It was relieving, in a way, to know that even a Quidditch phenom such as Krum still got nervous in the presence of a very attractive girl. Harry realized that Krum was probably used to girls fawning over him, whereas Hermione didn’t show signs of outward affection. She looked pretty pleased to be his date, however.

Students began moving into the Great Hall, which had been transformed into an ornate ballroom, softly lit with blue light that seemed to come from the night sky above rather than the blue candles scattered about. Tables had been set off to the side, and the students were being directed to stand on either side of the center aisle. McGonagall gestured for the champions and their dates to stay back. In the meantime, Harry watched the student entering, spotting some rather unusual couples. Topping the list had to be Neville Longbottom in a set of robes best fitting a man three times his age, and Luna Lovegood, whose hair and ears were decorated with ornaments that might have been hand-made out of rubbish from a classroom waste basket, including tin-foil earrings. She stared straight ahead, in contrast to the nervous Gryffindor who looked around as if searching for an exit. Ginny giggled a bit when they passed. Luna gave him an odd, demented smile when they reached the line of students.

Hagrid and Madame Maxime made up the largest couple present. Flitwick and Sinastra, the Astronomy Professor, made up the smallest. The Weasley brothers passed through without a major confrontation, although Harry knew that might change after they got off the dance floor. Fred and George had each asked out one of the Gryffindor chasers, and Ron, looking rather glum in a mothballed set of robes that might have belonged to a great-grandfather, had somehow managed to get Parvati Patil, who didn’t look altogether thrilled with the arrangement.

Finally, the other students had taken their places, and it was time. Dumbledore welcomed them to the Ball, told them to enjoy themselves, and then gave way to the Champions. Classical music filled the air, along with some applause, and the ball began.

To Harry, dancing was not at all like Quidditch. Yes, there was a degree of grace and instinct involved. But since he lacked the latter, he’d essentially memorized his steps and executed them like a machine, one movement at a time. He tried to relax, but nearly tripped over Ginny in the process, and went back to focusing on precision. They kept it simple, opting not to try to impress the crowd. After the first two dances, other couples began to join them on the floor, including a rather agile waltz by Dumbledore and McGonagall that got many other couples excited enough to try. Harry had heard that the start of the Ball would be more formal, followed by the popular Weird Sisters, who would play music more suited to the age of most of the participants. Harry wasn’t really a huge music enthusiast.

Ginny, for the most part, seemed to be enjoying herself. She moved with a grace and fluidity that he simply lacked. She quickly adjusted to his mistakes, and led him when he became somewhat hesitant. Harry supposed that to the casual observer, their dancing was perfectly average, nothing more or less.

Eventually, Harry started enjoying himself. He was getting the feel of dancing, and his initial anxiety had faded. He smiled brightly at Ginny, who smiled back. “Are you having fun?” she asked.

“Now I am,” he replied. Harry glanced over at the other couples. Hermione was laughing and Krum had actually held a smile. Everyone else he could see seemed to be enjoying themselves. Harry finally decided he’d had enough, and with Ginny’s consent, they moved off of the dance floor and found a table, where they were joined by Krum and Hermione.

“I didn’t know you could dance, Harry,” Hermione said teasingly. “Honestly, that looked quite good. Did you enjoy it?”

“Mostly,” he said. “Do you know how we’re supposed to actually get food?”

Hermione shrugged. Ginny pointed to the table where Dumbledore and most of the other teachers were sitting. It was impossible to make out what he was saying, but every time his lips moved, a plate of food appeared in front of him. Harry decided it was worth a shot. “Chicken?” he asked the seemingly inanimate table. In front of him, the requested food appeared. His request for pumpkin juice met with equal success. The rest of them ordered food and began eating.

“Harry, if you don’t mind, I’d like for both of us to get back out there again,” Ginny commented. Harry agreed.

He turned to Krum, who was smiling as Hermione laughed at something he had said. He appeared to be a lot more relaxed and confident than he’d been earlier. “Had any luck with the egg, mate?”

Krum shrugged. “I probably vouldn’t tell you if I had discovered anything important, no offense.”

“None taken,” Harry assured him. Even though the two of them had an amiable relationship, they were still both competitors.

“But I haven’t discovered anything extremely helpful. I have merely managed to make a lot of noise on the ship. I think I might have some ideas, but I haven’t had a chance to explore them. Have you figured out vat it is?”

Harry shook his head, swallowing some bread before replying. “I’m stymied by the bloody thing.”

“I am certain that both of us will figure it out,” Krum replied confidently. “I look forward to the rest of the competition. May the best vizard vin.” He raised his glass, and Harry did the same.

“I’m with you there. We should probably just enjoy the company tonight,” he said, smiling at Ginny. Krum gave Hermione a similarly affectionate look.”

“I love how they talk about us as if we aren’t here. Quite arrogant, honestly,” Hermione said.

“Typically male.” Ginny giggled, and Harry flashed a quick glare.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said in defense.

“I’m just teasing you,” she assured him. “You are many things, Harry, but chauvinistic is not one of them.”

“Having fun?”

Harry groaned. Without turning, he asked, “Can’t find your date, Weasley?”

“I had better things to do.”

“I still can’t believe that you got Parvati to go with you in the first place. What did you do, knock her out and force-feed her a Love Potion?” This time, he did turn around. He felt Ginny’s hand on his arm.

“Honestly,” Hermione hissed. “What is your problem, Ron? And why are you provoking him, Harry?”

“Because he annoys me,” Harry replied in a low voice.

“Because he’s involved with my sister, and he didn’t bother to tell anyone,” Ron replied.

Harry moved to stand up, but Ginny beat him to it. He decided to let the siblings fight it out. “Despite your own beliefs, you don’t own me, Ronald,” Ginny said. “I don’t need to tell you or the twins or anyone else what I’m doing and who I’m doing it with. I’m not your baby sister anymore; I can take care of myself.”

“I’m just looking out for you,” he responded weakly.

“How? By harassing my friends because you don’t like them? I don’t care if you approve of my actions or choices. They are mine, and mine alone. Harry didn’t force me to go with him.”

“He asked you. It’s not like you were going to refuse or anything. Besides, you’ve been crazy about him since you were in diapers!”

SLAP. Harry had winced a second before Ginny had even raised her hand. Ron backpedaled, while Ginny’s face was bright red, anger searing in her eyes. “Back off. That’s the last time I’m going to tell you. I’m a Slytherin. My date is a Slytherin. Some of my friends are Slytherins. I think a whole lot of Gryffindors, including you, are self-righteous arses. Get over it.”

“Ginny…”

“Go away,” Ginny growled. “And tell that to Fred and George, too. I love you, Ron, but I can’t stand you sometimes. This is one of those times. Leave before I hex you.”

Ron retreated under the verbal onslaught.

Ginny sat down, radiating fury and frustration. Harry laid a hand on her shoulder, and squeezed gently. “I can’t believe him…”

“Relax,” he told her. “It wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be, anyway. Fred and George weren’t even involved.”

“They aren’t huge fans of you either,” she admitted. “But they do a much better job of hiding it. Ron wouldn’t know tact if it ate him, much less bit him on the arse. Merlin knows how they’ll react if they see us snogging.”

Harry’s mind froze for a moment. A quick glance at Hermione and Krum showed that they were engaged in their own quiet conversation. Hermione seemed to be in the process of explaining something, and Krum was at least playing the part of attentive listener. “Don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself there?”

Ginny shrugged. “Granted, I’m not sure I’m entirely ready to turn this into a full-blown relationship, but you’ve had fun, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, a little less enthusiastically than he’d intended. He was rather conflicted about the whole thing. He liked Ginny, really liked her. She liked him. The problem was that he already had so much to think about, to plan, to consider. Adding a relationship with one of his best friends didn’t sound like a fantastic idea. Although he’d come to understand that when it came to these sorts of things, sticking to a plan was difficult at best. “Yeah, I have. I mean, the Ball’s not even finished yet, but I’m willing to give it a go if you are.”

She nodded. “Look, Harry, I understand that you have a lot to think about, that you have a lot of stress on you right now, what with the Tournament…and the war, and everything else. But I really want this. And I can sense that you want it too. And forgive me for saying but…I don’t think you should let your obligations prevent you from doing this.” Ginny turned and took Harry’s hands in her own.

“I know,” Harry replied. “Look, I don’t know what to expect, and neither do you.”

“That’s the way first relationships tend to go,” Ginny said dryly. Harry realized how silly he sounded.

“Of course you’re right,” he said. “I just…”

Ginny put a finger on his lips, cutting him off. “Stop thinking,” she ordered. Then she smiled and laughed. Harry did as well. “Do you want to dance?” The Weird Sisters were playing something relatively slow, and he’d eaten his fill.

She smiled again. “I didn’t think you were actually going to ask. Of course I do.”

For the rest of the evening, Harry was about as relaxed as he’d been in ages. He took Ginny’s advice, and managed to push all of his other thoughts, fears, and concerns into the back of his mind. He focused on the present. On Ginny. On his feet. Occasionally he took a look around, and they took a break to catch their breath, but for the most part he allowed himself to just live in the moment.

There were a few things he did notice. For one, Barty Crouch wasn’t in attendance, instead he was represented by Percy Weasley. If his guardian had made an appearance, he hadn’t seen her. She’d never promised to come to the Ball, but he’d hoped she’d at least find time to stay for a few minutes. Most of the other students seemed to be enjoying themselves (a notable exception being Ron, who was sulking at a table with Seamus Finnegan, Lavender Brown, and Dean Thomas.) Many of the students were mingling freely with the young men and women from Durmstrang and Beaxbatons. A large percentage of the young males in the room were still dumbstruck by Fleur, who eventually disappeared outside with Davies. On the dance floor, they had a brief encounter with Cedric and Cho, who were pleasant enough. Harry decided he wanted to get to know the Hufflepuff boy better. He was one of the more honest and bright people he’d met.

Eventually, Harry and Ginny slipped out of the Great Hall and went outside. It was a clear night, the air crisp but surprisingly tolerable. Much of the snow from the recent cold snap had melted in the last few days, and a number of students were mingling around some of the bushes…as well as engaging in other activities. Flitwick’s Warming Charm Lesson had come just in time for the 4th Years. Ginny told him about some of her experiences with her brothers when she was young, and Harry listened intently, eager to learn more about them. Besides Ron, who had once apparently been a decent human being, they all seemed pretty friendly and interesting. It was evident that her family was still extremely important to her. They also talked more about the gifts they’d received that morning, with Ginny bursting out in laughter as Harry described Dobby’s presentation of his gift, a pair of mis-matched socks. Harry had recently checked in on the elf, who was doing well at Hogwarts. It seemed entirely possible that Daphne might just allow him to stay there. He seemed happy, although he was clearly frustrated by his inability to please Crouch’s old elf Winky, who’d also obtained employment from Dumbledore. She was still moping about being dismissed. Hermione hadn’t been pleased, and might have ended up making the situation worse. At least she’d abandoned her plan to publicize her criticism of the way house-elves were treated.

Love and hope might have been in the air, but Severus Snape was having none of it. He nearly ran them over as he swooped around the area, blasting rosebushes and docking points from snogging couples, sending them fleeing into the night. Ginny speculated that all of the Yuletide joy just made Snape even more cranky. Harry had to agree.

They found a bench along the path and sat down, continuing their conversation. Harry kept his mind from drifting mainly by focusing on her. A few minutes later, they were joined by Luna and Neville, or rather, Luna dragging Neville by the sleeve of his robes onto a bench opposite them.

“Luna, are you sure you want to stay out here? Aren’t you cold?”

“Perhaps I want to be cold,” she replied.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Hello Ginevra. Hello Harry Potter,” she said. “Nice night, isn’t it? I hope you didn’t eat any of the food. It was infested.”

“Hullo Neville,” Harry said. The shy Gryffindor looked surprised that Harry was talking to him. “Have you and Luna been having a good time?”

“I suppose,” he said. “I mean, dancing’s not really my thing. I’ve sort of…well, I haven’t done Luna’s toes much good.”

“I told you, Neville, that I don’t mind. Actually, I like it. My feet don’t itch anymore,” Luna said. “And I think you are a perfectly good dancer.”

“There’s no use lying to make me feel better,” Neville protested. “I’m awful. Grandmum says so, and she’s right.”

“Do you think that your grandmother is always right?” Luna asked. “She’s old, after all. Her brain is rusty and full of holes.”

“You don’t know my grandmother,” he assured her.

Luna stared blankly at him. “Or maybe I simply know her better than you do. Familiarity isn’t always the same thing as understanding.”

It was easily the most logical and lucid thing Luna had ever said in Harry’s presence. And, knowing her, it was likely to remain that way. Poor Neville. Harry had learned to filter Luna’s words, but Neville, as always eager to please, was probably listening intently to every word, and depressed by his inability to understand her. Luna had the potential to be either the best thing that happened to Neville, or the worst thing. It was about even odds.

“I wonder how the Centaurs are feeling right now.”

Even for Luna, that was random.

“Why?” Ginny asked.

“Well, I care about everyone,” she said. “And since they always look at the stars, their necks must be very tired right now. Since you can see almost all of the stars, they’ve been craning them for hours. Water is the answer, Harry Potter.”

Harry blinked, unsure of what he’d heard. “What?”

“You heard me. I don’t need to say it again.”

“The answer to what?” Ginny asked.

“You know,” she said. “Professor Snape isn’t in a very good mood tonight, is he? I’ve always wanted to have a chance to look in his ear. He’d be much happier without the Luluworm that lives in there. It makes him dislike other people that are happier than him. That’s the worst thing someone can do, you know? It’s terrible to spread misery. There’s already too much misery in the world. How can anything get done when people spend all of their time feeling sorry for themselves, focusing on what they can’t do instead of what they can do. It’s all quite rational, when you think about it. Of course, too much happiness is a bad thing, too.”

“Now you’ve lost me,” Harry said.

“We need misery to put happiness in perspective. How can we appreciate the times that we are happy if they are no different than any other moment in our lives.”

“Do you always talk like this?” Neville asked, sounding intimidated.

“Only with Harry. He understands.”

“Understands what?”

“The price.”

If there was ever a good conversation killer, that was it. Especially on this night. “How’s school going for you this year, Neville?” Harry asked, trying to direct the conversation back into the mundane from the philosophical.

“Pretty well, I think,” he said cheerfully. “Gran’s pleased.”

“Why is it when you talk about something you do well or something you do poorly, you mention your grandmother?” Luna asked. “It’s as if it doesn’t matter what you think, it’s only about what the crazy old lady with the bird on her head thinks. Does that bird ever fly around the house? It’s quite colorful. Does it have a name?”

“Don’t say that about her,” Neville said, sounding angry. “She took care of me, raised me. She’s all that I have.”

“And you wonder why you fail?” Luna said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean.”

Neville and Luna continued to argue. Ginny nudged him with her elbow, and whispered. “They fight like an old married couple, and they barely know each other. Do you actually understand her?”

“The key is that I don’t always try to understand her. She says things that don’t have meaning, to me or sometimes even to her.”

“Then why does she say them?” Ginny asked. “Why bother talking about Luluworms if she doesn’t believe they exist?”

“I honestly don’t know…you’re shivering.”

“Yeah,” Ginny said. “It’s getting late anyway. Want to go find Hermione and Krum?”

Harry agreed and they headed back inside. When they got back into the Great Hall, the crowd of students had thinned considerably. The majority had gone elsewhere. They watched Fred and George steal the floor as they danced energetically with their dates, the Gryffindor Chasers scrambling to keep up with them. Dumbledore was applauding their efforts.

They found Krum also watching the action, standing alonenear the punch bowls. “Where’s Hermione?” Harry asked.

Krum looked depressed. Clearly, something had happened. “She left,” he explained. “She said she was tired.”

“Did something happen?” Ginny asked. Krum sighed.

“I think that I made her unhappy. I don’t think that ve have all zat much in common.”

“I’m sure you did your best,” Ginny reassured him. “So she went back to the Common Room?”

“I think so,” he said. “I asked to valk her back, but she declined.” He looked glum. “Perhaps I was foolish.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Ginny promised. He smiled weakly. Harry wondered what might have happened. He’d gotten the sense that the attraction was far more heavily weighted towards Krum than it was Hermione. Hermione liked him, thought he was handsome, as far as he knew, but Krum seemed to really have a thing for the Gryffindor bookworm. Hopefully it would work out.

Arm-in-arm, they headed back down the dungeons. They were deserted. Harry guessed that most of the students had gone outside, probably to escape the watching eyes of the teachers. Some had probably gone to bed as well, seeing as it was just past midnight. They paused outside the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” she told him.

“So did I,” he replied, smiling at her.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, without much conscious thought, Harry bent down and kissed her gently on the lips. He held it for a moment, and then looked anxiously for her reaction. She looked surprised, but very pleased.

“We can make this work,” she said. “I know we can.” She opened her arms, and they embraced. He kissed her forehead, less hesitant this time, and she leaned against him.

“Potter. Weasley.” Snape’s sharp tone destroyed whatever mood had been created in an instant as they jerked apart. Harry became very irritated. The bastard probably knew how tender a moment he’d interrupted.

“Professor?” Harry replied, trying to keep his tone as civil as possible.

“Pardon me for interrupting you, but I have news. Your friend Granger has been attacked. She’s been taken to the Hospital Wing.” He seemed uninterested in the whole thing, but Harry supposed that was better than him relishing it, if anything.

“Who?” Ginny demanded. “Who attack her?”

“How exactly would I know that, Miss Weasley?” Snape shot back. She glared at him.

Harry already knew the answer. There was only one bastard who had the motivation and the cowardice to do this, on this night.

And he was going to make Draco Malfoy pay. Soon the whole school would know not to cross Harry Potter…or his friends.