~The Dance of the Dreoilin~
...
Summary: The Yule Ball did not go well, so Dobby decides to use ancient elf magic to create another Christmastide ball for Harry and his friends. But elf magic is a dangerous thing - you may get exactly what you wish for. Harry/Tom romance.
Warning: Rated T for mild Harry/Tom Riddle slash (same-sex romance).
Author's Note: My apologies for my long absence! I am still struggling with the next chapter of To The Waters and the Wild, but it should be up shortly.
A note of explanation for the title of this story: Dreoilin is the Irish word for "wren". In Ireland, Boxing Day (December 26) is sometimes also known as Wren's Day. Traditionally, this was the day when the roles of servants and masters could be reversed, so it seemed like a good time for Dobby to let loose some of that pent-up elf magic upon the wizarding world!
...
"What is wrong, Master Harry?"
Harry glanced up. He had been lying slumped in one of the wingback chairs in the Gryffindor common room long after bedtime on Christmas Eve, tormenting himself by analyzing every idiotic thing he had ever said in Cho Chang's presence. He managed a small smile. "Oh, hello, Dobby!"
"Is Master ill?" There was a look of alarm in the little elf's huge green eyes. His glance traveled to Ron, who was draped listlessly over another chair, studying the carpet with an expression of deep interest the worn red rug hardly deserved. "And Master's friend, too? Dobby can get some medicine..."
"Oh, no thank you, Dobby," said Harry quickly. "We are not sick. Just a little tired after the Yule Ball, that's all." He looked around at the festive crimson and gold Christmas decorations that adorned the Gryffindor common room and sighed deeply.
"But Harry Potter seems despondent, sir," whispered Dobby. "And his friend as well. Did something terrible happen at the Yule Ball?"
Ron gave a mirthless laugh. "I suppose you can say that, Dobby."
The elf's gooseberry eyes widened in fear, and Harry hastened to add: "Oh, nothing really serious, Dobby. Just... girls. Neither Ron or I did terribly well at dancing, and our dates were quite upset with us. Parvati accused me of staring at... at some other girl all night, which was completely unreasonable. I'm just not a good dancer, so I didn't really feel like waltzing around with Parvati all night. And of course I looked at Diggory and... and his date from time to time. He is one of the contestants in he Triwizard Tournament, after all, and I thought it would be useful to observe him and discover what sorts of skills he has. His dancing showed that he is both graceful and athletic, unfortunately. Parvati was angry with me, though, and Padma was just as upset with Ron, who didn't feel like dancing either. And Hermione was quite happy dancing with Krum, but then Ron said some things she didn't care for, and she stormed off to bed."
"It's all her fault, you know." Ron sounded as if he were about to cry. "I mean, I was giving her perfectly sensible advice about Krum, but she just seemed to take it all the wrong way. And now she is angry with me, as if it's all my fault somehow. She said she'd never speak to me again." He studied the carpet with renewed fascination, swallowing hard.
"Oh, no!" said Dobby softly. He stood irresolutely for a moment, regarding Harry and Ron with an expression of deep concern on his small wrinkled face. Then he lit up. "Dobby knows what to do, sirs!"
"What?" Ron didn't sound terribly hopeful.
Dobby beamed. "It is that most enchanted time of year, sirs. Tomorrow is Christmas, and the day after is Wren's Day, or Boxing Day."
"That's nice," muttered Harry. "Thanks for trying to cheer us up, Dobby, but..."
"Dobby thinks," said the elf firmly, "that another ball is in order, Harry Potter, sir."
Harry and Ron stared at him in horror. "Another ball?' said Harry weakly. "Listen, Dobby, I think one Yule Ball is quite bad enough. It's over now, thank Merlin, and we definitely don't want another."
Dobby laughed. "Not a Yule Ball, Master Harry. Dobby is thinking of a very different sort of ball: The Dance of the Dreoilin. In the old times, when house elves had a more equal relationship with wizards, it was the custom for elves to present a favorite human wizard with a traditional holiday gift: The Enchanted Dance of the Dreoilin. Elves don't usually want to do this magic for wizards these days, sir, as they did of old, since some wizarding families can be quite cruel to their house elves. But Master Harry has always been so generous and kind to Dobby, and Dobby would like to repay Harry Potter for his friendship and generosity. And since Dobby has no master now, he can perform this ancient magic of the free elves if he so chooses." Dobby's eyes were shining now. "The day after Christmas, on Wren's Day, Dobby will invite all Master Harry's dearest friends to the Dance of the Dreoilin!"
"That's... That's awfully kind of you, Dobby," said Harry gently, "and I appreciate it, of course, but I don't particularly feel like dancing. And I certainly don't want to even think about finding another date!"
"Oh, but Master Harry will not need to worry about that!" exclaimed Dobby. "This is no ordinary ball, and there is no need for Master Harry to ask anyone to dance. The Dance of the Dreoilin involves some very powerful old elf magic. The person you most desire to dance with that night will magically appear before you. During this one enchanted night, the deepest dreams of your heart will come true."
"Really?" Ron looked at Dobby with some interest now. "You know, I think I like the sound of this, Harry."
"You mean..." Harry sat up in his chair. "The person you most wish to dance with will come to this ball with you? Just like that? And they'll really want to dance with you?"
Dobby nodded. "Of course, Master Harry. The longing of your heart will draw them to you on the Night of the Dreoilin."
"That sounds perfect," whispered Harry, already imagining swirling around some vast hall with an adoring Cho is his arms. And perhaps Ron and Hermione would finally dance together, too? He could envision them moving to the music and smiling radiantly at each other.
"There is only one tiny little thing," said Dobby quickly. "Dobby doesn't think it will be a problem, Master Harry, but Dobby should probably mention it, just in case."
Harry's heart plummeted. Of course there was some sort of drawback. There had to be - this sounded too perfect to be true! "What's that, Dobby?"
"Well..." Dobby hesitated. "During the Dance of the Dreoilin, your deepest, most desperate desire will come true, and the person in your arms will be the one you wish above all else to see there."
"Yes?" Harry held his breath.
"That's all," said Dobby softly. "But sometimes, Master Harry, what a human really wants and what he thinks he wants are two very different things. Dobby cannot give Master Harry what he thinks he wants, sir, only what his heart truly longs for."
Harry laughed. "That's it? We will all get what we truly wish for? That will not be a problem, Dobby. No problem at all."
...
Christmas day passed in a blur of lights, music, presents, laughter, and snowball fights. Because of the Yule Ball, most of the students had chosen to remain at school over the holiday, and the splendid Christmas feast was unusually well attended.
To Harry's surprise, Dobby didn't ask him for a guest list for the following night's dance; he merely assured Harry with a smile that all the right people would come.
As the boys began to stir in the Gryffindor dormitory on the morning of Boxing Day, they found that tiny envelopes bearing each boy's name had appeared on their pillows overnight. Soon the dormitory was abuzz with excitement.
"The Dance of the... what?" Dean regarded his invitation with a puzzled look.
"The Dreoilin!" exclaimed Seamus. "My grandmother said that there used to be a dance like this, back when her great-great grandmother was a girl. Blimey! I didn't think this magic still existed!"
It turned out that most of the Gryffindor students had received a similar invitation, but by some sort of silent agreement, no one spoke of the dance once they were in the Great Hall for breakfast, surrounded by others. But Harry could see a few envelopes being stuffed hurriedly into pockets as students sat down at the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables as well, and even an occasional one among the Slytherins. He tried to catch Cho's eye, but she was chatting with her friend Marietta and didn't even look at him.
To Ron's infinite delight, new dress robes had appeared on each boy's bed when they came up to the dormitory that evening to get changed before the dance. Ron ran his fingers over his elegant dark blue silk robes again and again. "There's definitely something to be said for elf magic, Harry!" he whispered. "You know, I just might ask my Mum to knit Dobby a jumper. He would like that, wouldn't he?"
"I'm sure he would!" smiled Harry, putting his own new emerald green robes on and picturing Dobby in a cozy little homemade jumper.
According to Dobby's invitation, the dance was to be held in the Great Hall at nine o'clock in the evening. Harry was rather puzzled by this - how was it going to be possible to hold a ball in the Great Hall without the other students or teachers noticing? Or Filch? Or, Merlin forbid, Snape?
"Oh, everyone who is not invited to the dance will fall into a magical sleep, of course," explained Seamus quickly when Harry voiced his doubts. "At least, that's how it happened it my grandmother's stories." He chuckled. "If his parents hadn't been sleeping, there is no way my grandmother's great-great-grandfather would have been able to court my grandmother's great-great-grandmother at the Dance of the Dreoilin. He was the youngest son of an earl, you see, and she was the blacksmith's daughter. It's a good thing he had friends among the elves..."
Harry was still a little nervous as he headed down to the Great Hall at nine o'clock with the other Gryffindor boys. But they met no one in the corridors, and loud snoring sounded from Filch's office as they walked by. Harry and Ron grinned at each other.
The boys were talking eagerly as they pushed the door to the Great Hall open, but as they entered, they fell silent. For several moments, they just stood still, gazing around the vast room.
The tables had been pushed over to the sides of the hall, and silver platters of delicate canapés, artful cheese trays, abundant fruit bowls, towers of chocolate confections, and crystal goblets filled with sparkling drinks adorned the long tables. Thousands of enchanted candles cast their soft light over the room, and the loveliest music Harry had ever heard filled the air. The twelve Christmas trees that had been in the hall at dinner were still there, but now they were sparkling with tiny silver stars so brilliant that Harry suspected that they had real star light in them. Many people were already dancing, while others were standing still, gazing wide-eyed around the hall.
Harry smiled when he saw Hagrid waltz clumsily by with Madam Maxime in his arms, and he scanned the crowd quickly for more familiar faces. Yes, all his favorite people were here! There was Remus Lupin, and Bill Weasley, and Charlie, and Fred and George... But who was that Remus was dancing with, the man with the long black hair? Remus raised his hand and brushed a stray curl lightly away from the man's face. But that was... No, it couldn't be!
Harry felt a sudden surge of panic as he realized that Remus was dancing with Sirius. Sirius was here! Had he taken leave of his senses? Surely, it was only a matter of time before someone recognized him and sent a message to the Ministry that a dangerous escaped prisoner was at Hogwarts?
"No need to worry, Harry," came a familiar voice nearby. "No harm will come to anyone here at Hogwarts on this enchanted night. Not even to a man running from the law."
Harry glanced up and met the kind blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore.
"Oh, I know the ancient rules for the Dance of the Dreoilin, Harry, but I never thought I would attend one myself. Your friend Dobby has rendered you and all your friends a great favor tonight. Your godfather will enjoy one magical night of freedom with the one he longs to be with," said Dumbledore softly. "I doubt anyone will remember in the morning that they saw him here, and tonight, everyone is much too occupied with their own dreams to worry about Professor Lupin's true love."
"Oh!" exclaimed Harry, following Remus and Sirius with his glance. He suddenly felt foolish for not realizing until now that Sirius and Remus were more than friends.
"So, we are still waiting for our dance partners, you and I, Harry," said Dumbledore quietly. His glance lingered on the door. "I wonder... Yes, I wonder..."
Harry craned his neck but he still couldn't see Cho anywhere. But there was Angelina, dancing with Fred... No, George... No, Fred and George! Harry couldn't help smiling as he watched the three of them swirl around the room together. And there was Neville, a stunned expression on his face, dancing with Luna Lovegood, and there was Ginny dancing with... Blaise Zabini? Blaise was looking slightly dazed, but Ginny was smiling to herself.
Ron and Hermione joined Harry now, and Harry could see by Ron's startled expression that he had not been prepared for his sister's choice of dance partner. Ron didn't say anything, though; he just glanced nervously at Hermione, as if uncertain whether he was supposed to ask her to dance or not.
"There's Viktor Krum!" said Hermione suddenly. "He's... coming this way?" She sounded surprised and slightly alarmed.
"Viktor Bloody Krum. Yes, of course." Ron reached for a glass of moonflower punch and emptied it quickly. "That's... that's only to be expected, I suppose. He's a famous man, after all, and so damn good-looking..." He put his glass down on the table with a thud. "I'm sure you will enjoy dancing with him again, Hermione." There was a slight tremor in his voice.
Hermione frowned. "I don't understand this. Are you sure Dobby did this right, Harry? According to the book I read after I got the invitation, the Dance of the Dreoilin is supposed to make the honored person's wishes and those of his friends come true. But I did not wish for this! I mean, Viktor is both charming and gallant, but..."
Viktor Krum, looking rather stunning in blood-red fur-lined dress robes, was coming closer now, an expression of slight apprehension on his chiseled features.
"Hermione?" whispered Harry. "I... I don't think he's looking at you."
Viktor Krum paused in front of them and gave a slight bow. "Good evening," he said in a low voice. "I vas vondering if I might have the honor of this dance."
A slight blush brushed over his handsome face for a moment, and he held out his hand hesitantly. "Vot do you say, Mr. Veasley?"
Ron stared at Viktor's outstretched hand. "What? Me? What? What do you-?"
"Vould you care to dance, Mr. Veasley?" whispered Viktor Krum.
Ron stood frozen for a long moment, just staring at Viktor, his face flaming red.
"No?" Viktor Krum started to withdraw his hand. "I apologize, I should not haff... I think I should leave, perhaps."
"Wait, I'll dance," Ron's voice was hoarse, and the words came tumbling out of him. "I'll dance with you. Just don't go away."
Viktor's face lit up in a smile then, and he pulled the blushing Ron onto the dance floor where they disappeared in the crowd.
Hermione laughed. "Well, that was unexpected! No wonder poor Ron didn't want me "fraternizing with the enemy"! Perhaps he was jealous, poor lamb."
"Speaking of the unexpected..." muttered Harry, glancing nervously over Hermione's shoulder. "It seems that one of us wished for him to be here tonight, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't me."
"What?" Hermione spun around.
There was a hectic blush on Draco Malfoy's otherwise pale features as he stood before them. "Granger? I was wondering if... If you would care to... I mean...er, dance?"
"Draco Malfoy?" sputtered Harry. "You can't be serious, Hermione? Him?"
Hermione drew her breath quickly and gazed at Draco in wonder. Then she said, her voice a little unsteady: "Elf magic is a powerful thing, Harry. It knows us better than we know ourselves." She took Draco's hand and smiled at Harry. "I think you will discover as much for yourself."
"I don't think the magic is working for me. I don't even see Cho here tonight," muttered Harry.
"Oh, Harry!" There was something resembling pity in Hermione's eyes. "You don't know your own heart very well, do you? Of course Cho isn't coming! I could have told you that."
Harry felt confused. "Not Cho? But then, who-?"
But Hermione just shook her head and walked onto the dance floor with Draco. She called back to Harry over her shoulder: "You will see. I just hope I'm wrong..."
"All right there, Mr. Potter?" Minerva McGonagall joined Harry and Dumbledore now, and Professor Moody thumped over on his wooden leg as well. "Sweet Merlin, what a night! Sirius Black dancing at Hogwarts!" She chuckled and reached for a glass of punch. "And... oh, dear me! What is this? Another escaped prisoner among us! I think this one's here for you, Albus!"
To Harry's surprise, Dumbledore turned pale and grasped at the table for support. A very old and very thin man dressed in prisoner's rags was making his way toward them.
"Albus!" he whispered hoarsely.
McGonagall raised her glass to the newcomer. "Welcome, Mr. Grindelwald! I see that there is magic about tonight that is even stronger than the walls of Nurmengard."
Dumbledore stood motionless, staring at the old man for several long moments. Then he whispered: "It's good to see you, Gellert! Oh, Merlin, it's good to see you!" A tear was trickling slowly down his face, and the other man reached out with a trembling hand and brushed it away.
"Let's dance, Albus!" he said softly, and Dumbledore nodded and took his hand.
As the two of them vanished into the crowd, Harry turned to McGonagall, bewildered: "Was that really... Gellert Grindelwald? The dark wizard Dumbledore defeated in 1945?"
McGonagall smiled a little. "Yes, indeed it was, Mr. Potter. He was once Professor Dumbledore's friend, you see. Well, perhaps more than a friend, as it turns out. It seems, in spite of their fabled enmity, that the headmaster truly wished for him to be here tonight."
"Who are you waiting for then, Professor?" asked Harry gently.
McGonagall flushed. "Me? Oh, I'm not waiting for anyone, Mr. Potter. The only one I would ever wish to dance with is long since dead, and no magic I know of can bring him back. Oh, Merlin! Who is that? The man who looks like Sirius Black?"
Harry turned to look. A young man with tousled black curls was standing by himself, looking curiously lost.
"But that's Regulus Black!" Moody's magical eye swirled frantically around in his head. "But that can't be! Regulus Black died many years ago!" His voice cracked a little.
Minerva McGonagall's glass dropped to the floor and shattered. "Died? Why, so did Dougal McGregor!" she whispered. "And yet, I see Dougal here, standing by the door..." A strange sound, like a choked sob, escaped her, and she rushed over to a bewildered-looking stranger.
Regulus Black made his way through the crowd toward Harry and Moody. "Good evening," he said, a little stiffly. "You are Moody, the auror, aren't you? I thought I recognized your face. Perhaps you can tell me why I am here. This looks like Hogwarts, the place where I went to school, but I haven't been here for a very long time. I think I have been elsewhere, in some other realm..."
Moody staggered backwards. "Regulus?" His face was white, and his breathing was uneven. "Oh, Salazar! I thought I'd never see you again, love."
Regulus frowned. "Love-? I beg your pardon, Mr. Moody, but I think perhaps you have me confused with someone else. We have only met each other briefly, and we don't know each other at all well... What are you doing, sir!" He shied away, startled, as Moody's rough hand brushed over his face.
"Oh, blasted polyjuice potion!" cried Moody. "Don't you recognize me, Reggie! It's me, Barty!"
"Ba-Barty?" Regulus stared at Moody in wonder. "But you don't look anything like Barty!"
"Allow Dobby to help, sir!" squeaked a voice nearby. Dobby, dressed in a festive red and green towel, beamed up at Moody and Regulus and snapped his fingers. "There you go!"
The next moment, Moody was gone, and a dark-haired man had appeared in his stead. Harry blinked at him in confusion. What on earth was happening to Professor Moody?
"Barty? It's really you!" Regulus lit up in a radiant smile now and threw his arms around the other man. "I don't understand any of this, but as long as I get to see you again, I'm not sure I care. Listen, Barty, there is something I have to tell you: You need to be careful of the Dark Lord. He has no mercy toward anyone, not even his own death eaters. Get away from him while you can, love!"
Harry sank down into a nearby chair, his mind whirling. "Dobby? Dobby! What is happening here? I don't understand any of this! Professor Moody is really someone else in disguise, and he is a follower of Voldemort? And he wished for Sirius' brother to come back from the dead, and he did?"
Dobby looked a little worried. "Well, Master Harry, elf magic is very powerful, and sometimes it can have unexpected consequences... It can't be helped now, unfortunately. The magic will have to run its course. Oh!" He looked over Harry's shoulder, and his eyes grew wide. An expression of horror spread over his small face. "You! But you shouldn't be here! No! Not at Harry Potter's dance! Something is terribly wrong! Dobby's magic must be broken."
"I believe I have an invitation," said a quiet, familiar voice.
Harry wheeled around, and for a moment, the world stood still. A young man, little more than a boy, stood before him. His curls were wild and dark, and there was a curious expression in his wide silver-grey eyes, something halfway between suspicion and fascination. Harry felt a sudden chill brush over his skin.
It was Voldemort.
No, not Voldemort exactly, but Tom Riddle, as Harry had seen him in the Chamber of Secrets, only more real. How could he be here? Harry stood frozen, hardly daring to breathe. Something must have gone wrong, horribly wrong when Dobby was planning the party. Somehow, Voldemort had managed to use some dark magic to find his way into Hogwarts tonight.
Harry fumbled for his wand, but he found that he had none. The boy who looked like Tom Riddle was searching frantically through the pockets of his dark dress robes as well, but it appeared that he was also wand-less tonight.
"How very, very curious," whispered Tom Riddle. "I received an inexplicable invitation, and suddenly I find myself here, at Hogwarts, standing in front of the Boy Who Lived. This is completely absurd, and yet it feels... right?" Tom and Harry looked at each other in silence for a long moment. Something seemed to stir, deep inside Harry's soul, and suddenly he knew why Cho wasn't here tonight.
"I think," breathed Harry, "that I was the one who invited you here tonight, Tom. Yes, I must have been." It must be the ancient elf magic in the air that had turned the world upside down this evening, for it suddenly seemed to Harry that a part of him had been waiting for Tom Riddle all along.
"You invited me here?" Tom stared at him. "Perhaps I have underestimated you, then, Harry. How did you work this extraordinary magic? Why am I here, inside the impenetrable walls of Hogwarts, in the form of the boy I once was? Did you call me here to try and kill me?"
Harry shook his head. His heart was hammering in his chest. "No. Perhaps we will try to kill each other tomorrow, Tom, but tonight... Tonight I believe you are here to dance with me."
"To dance with you?" Tom's gaze lingered on Harry's face. "But this is... this is absurd!" His glance swept over the room, and he shuddered slightly. "And there is young Barty Crouch, dancing with a dead man, and Minerva McGonagall is embracing some Muggle farm boy, and Dumbledore is kissing the Dark Lord Grindelwald in the corner." He hesitated, then reached for Harry's hand. "Well, as long as I am dreaming anyway, I might as well dance with Harry Potter, I suppose." A sudden smile danced over his pale, handsome features. "I have had worse dreams than this." He put an arm around Harry's waist. "Let's dance then. There is something about this music that is strangely irresistible."
Harry glanced quickly at Dobby, but the elf merely shrugged apologetically. "Dobby did try to warn Harry Potter, sir," he muttered. "Unexpected things do sometimes happen during the Dance of the Dreoilin. And since he is here as Master Harry's guest, he can do you no harm tonight."
To Harry's surprise, dancing with Tom was nothing like dancing with Parvati. At the Yule Ball, he had been clumsy and self-conscious, and his feet had been in his way a lot. But now he was floating to the music, following each of Tom's movements as effortlessly as if they could read each other's mind. A small voice inside him tried to remind him that this was Voldemort he was dancing with, and that this was not how things were supposed to be. But Tom's arms were warm around him, and his silver eyes so bright that it seemed to Harry that this was exactly how things were supposed to be.
"You all right there, Harry?" muttered McGonagall as Tom and Harry danced by. "Are you... safe?"
"Yes," said Harry firmly, and McGonagall merely nodded and turned back to her companion, who was saying: "You broke off our engagement over that? You could have told me your secret, Minerva. It would not have changed anything for me. Besides, I always knew that there was a magic about you even if I didn't know what to call it."
"How very odd," said Tom softly. "There is some strange enchantment in the air tonight, for I find myself wanting to dance with you like this for ever. And everyeone else must be under a spell as well, for no one seems to care that the Dark Lord is dancing with Harry Potter. Minerva recognized me, of course - we were at school together once - but even she seems to be too preoccupied to interfere with our dance." He looked out over the room of dancers. "It must be this schoolboy form I have somehow assumed tonight. No one seems afraid of me. I don't think anyone would raise an eyebrow if I were to start hissing in Parseltongue!" He made a wry face.
Harry grinned. *I certainly wouldn't* he breathed in Parseltongue into Tom's ear.
Tom froze mid-step and stood still in the middle of the dance floor, his arms still wrapped around Harry. "What?"
*I said I wouldn't mind if you spoke Parseltongue.*
*You - you speak Parseltongue, too?* whispered Tom. *No, I must be dreaming. Harry Potter does not speak Parseltongue. Are you a descendant of Slytherin as well, then? Salazar, this dream is becoming lovelier and more ridiculous by the minute.*
Harry couldn't help laughing. "It's not a dream, Tom. Just a bit of old elf magic. No, I'm not descended from Slytherin. I got the ability to speak Parseltongue from you, I think, the night you gave me my scar."
"Your scar?" Tom's voice was almost inaudible now. He brushed a finger hesitantly over Harry's forehead. His bright silver-grey gaze seemed to be searching for something in Harry's face. "Your scar gave you the ability to speak Parseltongue?"
Harry nodded silently.
Tom's hand stroked gently over his cheek now. "How terribly odd - touching your skin feels almost like holding the locket in my hand, or the ring..." Suddenly he threw his arms around Harry, hard. "Oh, how could I have been so blind? I was so caught up in my own desperate plans that I never noticed this magic that dwells in you. But I can feel it now. Oh, Merlin, I can feel it!"
Harry looked at Tom, uncomprehending. There was something new in the other boy's eyes now, an odd sort of softness.
"Harry. You are my horcrux. You are mine..."
"I don't understand you," said Harry, half enchanted and half frightened by the intensity of the molten silver gaze.
"It appears," said Tom softly, "that I had lost a piece of my soul, Harry. But tonight I have found it again..." He leaned forward and brushed his lips gently against Harry's mouth. The kiss felt as light as a breath of wind. "Don't worry, love, I will tell you what it all means... But first, there is something I have to do."
He let go of Harry and hurried over to the young man who had once been Mad-Eye Moody. "Barty, the plan is off. There will be no interfering with the Triwizard Tournament; just let it run its course. I want you to leave Hogwarts before morning."
The man named Barty looked startled. "What? Who are you-?"
Tom sighed. "It's me, you fool. Do you need a Cruciatus curse to prove it to you?"
Barty stared at him. "My... My Lord?"
Tom nodded. "That's right. Oh, relax, Regulus. Stop that ridiculous shivering! I have no business with you tonight. I no longer need you here at Hogwarts, Barty. No harm must ever come to Harry."
"Are you certain, my Lord?" Barty frowned. "I will be happy to do whatever you wish."
"What I wish," said Tom coldly, "is for Harry to be absolutely safe from all harm, always. Is that understood, Barty, or do I need to make myself more clear?"
Barty gulped. "I understand perfectly, My Lord."
"Wait," whispered Harry. "You are the one who entered my name in the Triwizard Tournament, Mr... er... Barty?"
Barty inclined his head. "I did, yes. My... er... apologies, Mr. Potter."
"Don't mention it," said Harry weakly.
"Come," Tom pulled Harry back onto the dance floor. "There are still many hours left of this sweet enchanted night, and I don't want to waste a single one of them. You... You may not want to dance with me after this, Harry, when I regain my true form again."
"I wish you could stay like this forever," said Harry softly.
Tom ran a hand gently through Harry's hair. "You want me to stay like this? Perhaps it can be done then, Harry. I will see if I can find a way. It may involve the destruction of a few... artifacts I have in my possession, some items that until tonight meant more to me than anything in the world." He smiled. "But for now, let us dance together until morning."
He wrapped his arms around Harry, and they began to move again to the enchanted music, so closely entwined that it seemed as if they were one being. "My soul," breathed Tom and buried his lips in Harry's hair. "You were always my soul, after all."
...
Harry stood next to Dobby and Dumbledore by the window and watched the pale winter sun rise over the Hogwarts grounds.
"So, the guests have left, and the Dance of the Dreoilin has come to an end," said Dumbledore quietly. "And yet, the wizarding world will never quite go back to what it was before you worked your magic, Mr. Dobby."
"But Grindelwald is back in his prison this morning," whispered Harry, "and Sirius is in hiding. And Regulus Black is still dead, after visiting the living for one night, and so is Professor McGonagall's fiancé."
"True." Dumbledore nodded slowly. "But for one enchanted night, we saw our dreams come alive. May all be so blessed during this season." A sudden smile lit up his old wrinkled face as an unfamiliar owl landed on the lawn before them. "For you, I think, Harry."
Harry opened the small package the owl had brought. Inside a small box were a broken ring, a shattered silver locket, a twisted diamond diadem, the fragments of a cup, and... a sliver of serpent skin?
"They are from Tom Riddle," breathed Harry. "He told me something very strange last night, as we were dancing, about the things in this box..."
"Ah. I suspected as much." A smile formed behind Dumbledore's beard. "Odd courtship gifts, Harry, but courtship gifts nonetheless, I should think. You will see more of Mr. Riddle in the very near future, I believe, if you will allow it."
"I will definitely want to see him," said Harry softly. "Oh, look, there is one more thing in the box." He pulled out a small package wrapped in green paper. "It says: For the elf. This one must be for you, Dobby."
"What? For Dobby?" The little elf's eyes widened. He opened the package, a puzzled expression on his face, and pulled out something small and yellow. "What is it?"
Harry pulled out a card from the box. "Look, Dobby, there is a note."
Dobby took the note and read: "This is a curious artifact I came across long ago. It appears to be a dress robe for an elf, embroidered by Helga Hufflepuff herself. I had put it aside, since it probably has some historical value, in spite of its oddity. It occurred to me that the elf who sent me an unexpected invitation to dance might like to have it. I owe him a debt of gratitude, after all, for helping me find something precious that I had lost. Yours very sincerely, Tom Riddle."
Dobby put the robe on with trembling hands. "Helga Hufflepuff herself made it? For an elf?" He was hyperventilating a little. "How does it look, Harry Potter, sir?"
Harry grinned. "Like you are ready to go to some Great Elf Ball, Dobby."
Dobby's eyes shone. "Oh, that ball is not until tonight, Master Harry. But no one is actually supposed to know about that."
"Oh, dear me!" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Perhaps I had better send Mr. Filch out of town, then. He is beginning to grow suspicious."
Dobby inclined his head gravely. "That may be a very wise thing to do, Professor Dumbledore, sir."
...
The End.
Happy holidays to all, and may your heart's wishes come true.