He should not be this nervous.
Harry picked at lint on his black sleeve and straightened his jacket. His hair was still a mess.
It was just a Ministry Ball. He looked over at the cream envelope that sat opened on his dresser top, The red wax seal with an imprinted Ministry M in the middle.
It had arrived last month after dinner by the largest owl he had ever seen. The behemoth had tapped on his window and Harry had sloshed his wine all over his shirtfront, staining the white fabric a deep red. He had taken the envelope (somewhat roughly) from the imposing owl and ripped it open.
As Harry read, he ran his fingers through his hair. His hand twitched and his shoulders slumped as an array of emotions washed over him, leaving him feel like all of the blood was being drained from his body. It was an invitation to a Ball. A celebration of those who contributed in the Battle Of Hogwarts. But the headline read: A Celebration of Harry Potter, The Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived, A Wizarding Hero! sat slowly back onto his chair and sighed deeply. Of course, three years would never dampen the events of 1997, how could he have ever expected it to? But why now? Why after all this time would the Ministry hold a Ball? To give the world a mourning period? How could Kingsley ever agree to it? Questions and objections whirled around in Harry's head followed by memories of pain and suffering.
Three years it had been and feelings and wounds still seemed fresh. Names flashed through his mind and screams echoed in his ears and the feeling of blood drying on his hands made him feel as if he were to vomit. Remus, Tonks, Fred, Collin… the fifty who had died in battle and then those who had died before the war. Their faces so clear in his memories, their voices and smiles.
No— he mustn't dwell on the past. He was moving on, though he would never- could never forget. But a Ball? Dancing and drinking…a bloody freaking Ball! His chest tightened. Why not just an article in The Prophet or a private meeting or…something-anything but a happy, merry Ball. Harry had never attended the Annual Ministry Holiday Ball, or The New Years Ball, or the Midway Ball, none of that! The only Ball he had ever been to (and then thoroughly regretted) was the Yule Ball in his fourth year at Hogwarts, when he had feeling for Cho Chang (who now owned her own Magical Home Renovation business), when he had been entered in the Triwizard Tournament… when Voldemort had come back into power.
He really needed to stop thinking about Voldemort. But even now, his mind returned to the horrid topics of horcruxes, death, and Hallows. Harry pushed off from his chair and walked into his small front room. He paced over the wood floor and around the ugly red couch that had come with his flat. He came to a stop at the small bookshelf that held pictures of Ron and Hermione, The Weasley family, Neville and Hannah, Luna and Scamander… and Ginny. Ginny on a broom, Ginny with her family. She waved and smiled up at him from the frames, blew him kisses and laughed and swung from branches and ate at tables.
She was the reason he was still here, no matter how sappy that sounded. Which reminded him that he needed to see her, her and Ron and Hermione. As Harry went to get his cloak from the kitchen he passed the clock in the hall. 11:09. Harry paused and almost laughed. Neither Ron nor Hermione would want him dropping into theirs flats at this time, especially if they were together…
Today was Thursday. He would see Ron at the office tomorrow and he would stop by the Rights of Magical Creatures department first thing in the morning. He would have to meet up with Ginny after work and after her Harpies practice. Maybe they could go out for dinner.
Harry turned and walked into his bedroom. His room might as well have been a museum documenting his life. More pictures lined the walls, sat on shelves. Walls devoted to friends and wonderful memories. Harry couldn't help smiling at a picture of himself at fifteen, surrounded by Dumbledore's Army. Collin had taken the picture. Harry took off his shirt and threw it to the floor. He was to tired to take a shower and getting up early was not a problem. Harry climbed into bed, pulled the quilt that Mrs. Weasley had knitted him for Christmas up to his chin, and drifted of to sleep, and drowned in dreams that turned to memories.