The Other Champion

Chapter 6: 'Will you go with me?'


Author's Note: Multiple points of view here – because recounting the Yule Ball from Harry's perspective is just repeating canon all over again. In other words, boring.

Hope you enjoy reading this chapter, as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Also, I'm going to blatantly give co-author and beta credits to Dorothea Greengrass – without her, this chapter would have remained a bunch of half-baked ideas bouncing around in my head.

A big thanks to my English teacher from the ninth grade, who made me understand just what William Shakespeare (credits to him as well) was talking about in Sonnet CXVI.


Disclaimer: Recognisable portions in this chapter have been taken from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, by J.K. Rowling. I neither own nor intend to make any profit from the use of Harry Potter and the associated characters of the series, in my story.


Previously on "The Other Champion"…

'Will you look at that?!' yelled Bagman, and even his amplified voice was barely audible over the explosion of noise from the crowd, as Potter emerged, clutching the golden egg under his uninjured right arm. 'Our youngest champion is quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr Potter!'

Even the rest of the Slytherins looked dumbstruck at this performance – and rightly so; Potter had managed to prove his doubters wrong, had managed to show everyone that even he could do what three other fully qualified competitors could; that he too, was a champion in his own right…

And as she watched Potter land near the medical tent, an extremely relieved and satisfied expression on his face, she could not help but match the grin he was wearing.

Oh, you are definitely meeting him now.

Don't I know it.


'Dance partners? I don't dance.'

'Oh yes, you do,' said Professor McGonagall irritably. 'That's what I'm telling you. Traditionally, the champions and their partners open the ball.'

'I'm not dancing.'

'It is traditional,' said Professor McGonagall firmly. 'You are a Hogwarts champion, and you will do what is expected of you as a representative of the school. So make sure you get yourself a partner, Potter.'

'But – I don't –'

'You heard me, Potter,' said Professor McGonagall in a very final sort of way.

Harry sighed, for seemed like the millionth time that evening, as the conversation from earlier that day replayed in his head yet again. Beside him in the Gryffindor common room, Ron sniggered, while Hermione gave him an exasperated look, before returning to her Transfiguration essay.

Dancing! How was he, Harry, supposed to dance at a ball? He had never learned how to dance at formal occasions before – the Dursleys had not bothered to spend that money on him anyway – and now, he had to open the Yule Ball in front of the entire school. And the contingents from the visiting schools too! How?

Scratch that: he first needed to get a dance partner.

Not for the first time that day, Harry's insides seemed to curl up and shrivel, as he contemplated on the prospect of getting someone to dance with him at a Ball. The nervous reaction of his insides was only compounded by his outward response – the thought of dance partners made his face go red almost at once.

Ron sniggered again. Harry shot him an irritated look.

'You'll have to get a partner too, you know,' said Harry. 'You can't end up going alone to the ball.'

As if on cue, Fred and George Weasley plopped onto the armchairs right in front of them.

'McGonagall's told you lot, then?' asked Fred serenely. 'About the ball?'

'Yeah,' said Ron, now suddenly gloomy and forlorn.

'What are you moping about?' said George in surprise.

Ron looked over at him. 'We'll have to get dates to the ball, haven't we?'

'Yeah, so?'

Ron frowned. 'Have you already got yours, then?'

'Yep,' said Fred promptly – and without the slightest trace of embarrassment, continued, 'Angelina.'

Harry, Ron, and even Hermione looked quite taken aback. The ball had been announced hardly an hour or two ago, so even by Fred's standards, this was quite surprising.

'And you?' asked Ron, shifting his attention to the other Weasley twin.

'Katie,' replied George, almost immediately.

Ron's mouth fell open to form a small 'o', while Hermione raised her eyebrows speculatively. 'Have you even asked them yet?' she asked.

'Oh, yeah, good point,' said Fred. He looked around the common room, but there was no sign of the tell-tale braided black hair. 'Ah well, I'll ask her later, I suppose.'

George, however, did not seem to want to wait for his twin: Harry noticed that Katie had just entered the common room along with her friends, all of whom were grinning and giggling away. Presumably, they had been informed of the ball as well.

'Oi, Katie!' called George.

The common room, which up till then had been rather noisy and boisterous, fell silent at George's shout. Katie, who had seemed slightly startled at being addressed in public, located George through the mass of people and grinned.

'Yes, George?' she asked, her left eyebrow raised inquisitively – but she was still grinning.

'D'you want to go to the ball with me?'

The reaction was instantaneous – everyone in the common room looked stunned, while half of them gasped. Well, everyone except one person, of course – Harry noticed Ginny Weasley, seated on the other side near the window, shaking her head in what seemed like fond exasperation at her brother's antics.

To everyone's amazement, however, Katie barely batted an eyelid. She gave George an appraising sort of look, and, with her grin widening, said, 'Yeah, all right, then.'

George threw her a huge wink across the room, just as the crowd burst into applause. He was about to turn back to the others, when Katie called back, 'No jokes or funny business, George!'

'Wouldn't dream of it, love,' George shot back, without missing a beat. He finally turned back to Harry and the others, an impish smile on his face as Fred patted him on the back. Harry saw Katie shake her head and grin, before joining her friends who were congratulating her on being asked to the ball.

'There you go,' said George to Harry and Ron, 'piece of cake.'

Hermione raised her eyebrow. 'You were scared out of your wits.'

Harry and Ron looked incredulously over at Hermione, but George was nodding. 'Never been more terrified in my life,' he admitted. Fred rubbed his back sympathetically, while Hermione nodded decisively and returned to her essay.

'Right then,' said Fred, getting to his feet. 'You lot had better get a move on – you don't want to end up going alone, do you?'

They left. Ron looked across at Harry worriedly. 'Any idea who you'd want to go with?'

Harry did not answer; he had honestly not contemplated upon who he would possibly want to ask to the ball. His mind was still coming to terms with the entire situation.

Despite his own apprehension about getting a partner, Ron seemed to realise what was going in Harry's head.

'Give it a couple of days, Harry. You're a school champion, and you've just beaten a Hungarian Horntail. You'd probably be asked out first before you could even ask them.'

Harry shook his head. 'I'd rather have another go at the dragon, to be honest.'

Ron scoffed, but did not comment. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw him scanning the common room, as though looking for someone; but then, when he thought no one was watching, Ron chanced a glance at the bushy-haired witch sitting next to them.

Despite the rather dire situation he found himself in, Harry could not help but smile a little: it was no surprise that Ron would want to ask Hermione to the ball. Any idiot with half a brain, who had been observing them for the last year and a half, would have been able to figure out just how he felt about her. Whether she would accept his request was a different issue – privately, Harry thought she would immediately say yes – but it was blatantly obvious.

The small smile slipped off his face, however, as he stared into the roaring fire in front of him. He had no idea who he was going to ask – frankly, if it had not been for the fact that he was school champion, he would not have even dreamt of attending the ball in the first place – but Fred was right. He did need to get a move on, even if it was three weeks away.

Any further musings on who he could potentially take as a date to the ball were broken by loud cheers and applause from his fellow Gryffindors – the Weasley twins had just demonstrated the Ton-Tongue Toffee with the help of an unwitting Dennis Creevey, whose tongue was now more than a foot long and lolling about on the floor. Within seconds, however, Fred had performed the counter-charm, and Dennis – his tongue back to normal size once more – joined in laughing along with the rest of the excitable crowd.

'Ton-Tongue Toffee!' roared George to the twittering students around him, Fred, and Lee Jordan. 'Our very first invention – six Sickles a-piece!'

The distraction proved to be a bit of a godsend – Harry barely thought about the ball for the rest of the evening. It was only after dinner, when they were back in their dormitories and getting ready for bed, that the topic was broached upon once again by Seamus.

'Got any ideas for the ball then?'

Dean and Neville shrugged, and Ron shook his head, although it was a little too quick for Harry's liking. It was only a few seconds later that he realised that everyone else was staring at him, evidently waiting for his answer.

'Oh – erm…' he said, 'I dunno. Still got three weeks, anyway.'

'Have you decided then?' Neville asked Seamus, as he pulled on his pyjamas.

'Yeah,' said Seamus with a grin. 'Lavender.'

Neville raised his eyebrows, while Dean wolf-whistled suggestively. Ron was smirking as he shook his head and changed into his pyjamas.

The lights in the dormitory lanterns went off soon after that, which was their cue to use their wands to clamber into bed without knocking anything over. The room was soon filled with the snores of Ron and Neville, and the slow, heavy breathing of Dean and Seamus. Harry, however, lay awake for a long while, his mind repeating the question that had bothered him since that Transfiguration class.

Who am I going to ask to the Yule Ball?

As though in response, the image of a blonde-haired girl, with mesmerising sapphire eyes, a small nose, and a cute, round face adorned with an enchanting smile, arose in his mind.

He could not help grinning goofily at the image, but it was almost immediately followed by a rather audible groan.

I'm doomed.

Yes, I suppose you are.

It was a very long time before Harry finally got to sleep that night.


'Well, that certainly wasn't the worst test we could have had. Although, I suppose I could have answered question three in a little more detail, I don't think I –'

'Trace, do us a favour, and shut up.'

Tracey glared at Blaise, but fell silent at once.

They had just finished their last Potions lesson of the term. Professor Snape, true to his word, had set them all a test on poison antidotes. Judging by the reactions of most of the students, it had not been an easy test – most of them were sporting dishevelled and confused looks as they exited the classroom.

'What an absolute nightmare!'

'I didn't even know what the answer to question six was, did you?'

'Forget question six – what was question four even all about?'

Daphne smirked to herself as these comments – and more – echoed in the corridor around her. Snape had spared no one – even the Slytherins were surprised at the level of difficulty of the questions. Their Head of House had claimed that this was the level of question they could expect for their O.W.L.s, which Daphne highly doubted: the model question papers which she had flipped through in the library were relatively easier as compared to this.

Nevertheless, she had studied rather diligently for the test, and had consequently performed rather well – in her opinion, at least. Even without Snape's favouritism, she was reasonably confident of getting at least an E, if not an O.

Her eyes roamed over to land on her two friends: Tracey appeared to have won her argument with Blaise, and was now rather animatedly discussing the question paper with him. She inwardly laughed as Blaise met her eyes, and then looked up theatrically with an expression of despair, as though praying for someone above to save him from Tracey's clutches. She was grateful that Tracey had not dragged her into the conversation – despite her pride at her performance, she was in no mood to discuss the paper.

Not when things were not normal.

She snapped her eyes to the door of the Potions classroom, just in time to see the boy with the messy, jet-black hair, and round-rimmed glasses, step out into the corridor, along with the bushy-haired girl and the redheaded boy. Weasley and Granger appeared to be in animated conversation – funnily enough, from a distance, it seemed rather similar to the argument Blaise and Tracey had been having earlier.

That did not matter to her, anyway. Her only concern was Potter – and why he had been acting so…odd.

There was no other way to describe it: for the last two weeks, Potter had been acting very differently towards her. There were days where his eyes would light up when they caught sight of each other, but on other days, he seemed to barely acknowledge her presence. It was as though, on those days, he was merely waving at her out of formality and necessity, instead of enthusiasm.

She had no idea what had happened to him: the frequent change in his behaviour reminded her of those Muggle devices Tracey had told her about – switches. She did not have the opportunity to speak to him about it either – where could she, with all her House-mates hovering around her all the time? Even now, most of the Slytherins were waiting in the corridor for the last few House-mates to exit the Potions classroom, so that they could return to their common room together. Their chance encounter outside the dragon enclosure before the first task had been an honest fluke; since then, neither of them had had the chance to meet up privately – just the two of them.

She supposed she could attribute it to the attitude of the members of her House – most, if not all, were inherently hostile towards all Gryffindors, and would immediately fend off any approach from any member of the Lion House. Potter, despite his supposed courage and bravery, would not have considered approaching her to talk to her separately.

Especially when Draco Malfoy was around.

Daphne's eyes fell on the blonde boy, standing a few feet away from her, with his two boulder-shaped bodyguards Vincent and Gregory on either side of him. He had a rather haughty expression on his face as he nonchalantly lolled against the wall of the corridor. A quick glance around her told Daphne that he was waiting for Pansy Parkinson to join him.

Daphne did not consider Pansy as a friend now – the two girls had had a very frosty, formal relationship since their first year at Hogwarts. Anyone who had watched Pansy closely over the years would have figured out the reason behind the friction: Pansy absolutely envied anyone who was prettier or more beautiful than her. Daphne, rather unfortunately in this situation, was blessed with stunning natural beauty, so much so that Pansy began imitating her fashion choices, in the hopes of achieving the same results.

Sadly – and rather fortunately, in Daphne's opinion – it seemed to have quite the opposite effect on her: where make-up and fashionable clothes only accentuated Daphne's radiance, it dimmed whatever beauty Pansy did have in the first place. Soon enough, the rest of the Slytherins caught on to Pansy's actions, and began taking the mickey out of her for it. Not in person, of course, and certainly not to her face – the Parkinsons were rather influential, just like the Malfoys and Warringtons – but it was quite common to see people stifling their giggles at Pansy's dressing choices, or whispering snide remarks about her after she had left the room.

Pansy's envy also seemed to stem from the fact that Draco had been obsessed with Daphne – again, mainly due to her looks. The former girl had always harboured a dream of ending up as the next Lady Malfoy, and seeing that glorious vision shattered by the presence of her, Daphne, had caused Pansy to behave rather unpleasantly towards Daphne. It had culminated in that infamous incident during DDT, when Daphne had made her position perfectly clear to the younger Parkinson heiress.

Since then, Pansy had chosen to wisely avoid interactions with Daphne in private, while restricting herself to only the bare necessary formalities in public. It was an unwritten rule in Slytherin House that even if you had issues with other House-mates, they were never displayed in public; the much-maligned House of Hogwarts needed its members to present a united front to the rest of the school.

Things were different this year, however. The choice of Cassius Warrington as school champion meant that Slytherins needed to stick together even more than ever – but things were not exactly going to plan. Warrington's rather friendly camaraderie with Potter – as the two school champions – and his refusal to take the 'Potter Stinks' badge made by Draco had caused a slight shift in the dynamics of the House. Now, with Potter having performed so well in the first task, there were more than a handful of Slytherins who were beginning to believe what Warrington had insisted right at the start of the Tournament: Potter had not entered into it of his own free will.

United front be damned.

Daphne watched as Pansy exited the classroom and made a beeline for Draco; she grabbed his arm in a rather possessive manner, and looked around, as though challenging anyone else to do the same to him. There was also the rather large hint of smugness on her face: clearly, she felt extremely important on being the girl on Draco's arm.

Daphne sighed inwardly. Pansy Parkinson had not been like this when they had been growing up. Sweet, kind, and rather caring, Pansy had been a charming young girl with whom Daphne enjoyed spending time. Granted, her father had been a Death Eater, but her mother had looked to make sure that his activities would not interfere or influence their daughters' upbringing. Mrs Parkinson's views on this issue were quite like those of Mrs Narcissa Malfoy – their children were not to be tainted by the remnants of their father's dark pasts.

And so, Pansy and Iris Parkinson, along with Daphne and Millicent Bulstrode, had been quite inseparable before Hogwarts. It was also no secret that the Parkinsons wanted Pansy and Draco to get together at some point in time – there had been negotiations and discussion on the issue in the past – but nothing had been finalised. Unfortunately, Pansy had grown up with dreams and fantasies of being the next Mrs Malfoy – Narcissa's regal looks and aristocratic bearing had only increased her desire.

When Draco instead became fascinated with Daphne during school, Pansy had considered it as betrayal of the highest level. Friendship broken, she had taken recourse to ridiculing everything Daphne said or did; when that did not work, she began imitating and copying her. One by one, things slowly got out of hand, until that one evening…

Daphne sighed quietly again. At least Pansy was happy now, with Draco accepting her advances and opening up to her. He was even taking her to the Yule Ball as his date – a fact which Pansy had gushed about for two hours to Millicent in the girl's dormitories.

Speaking of the ball…

Daphne had let out the most exasperated and irritated, yet silent, groan, when the Yule Ball had been announced by Professor Snape in the Slytherin common room two weeks ago; she had never been too fond of large social events like dances and parties, instead preferring small get-togethers with her group of friends. Her family's standing in the wider society, however, demanded that she attend such events – the prim and proper heiress of the Greengrass family. Despite her dislike, they were at least bearable to a certain extent, thanks to the presence of her parents, and her younger sister, Astoria.

This time though, there would be no parents to 'protect' her, nor would her sister be around to accompany her – unless she was asked to the ball by an older student. Daphne deemed that scenario to be quite unlikely to take place – Astoria was only a second-year student, and was hardly at an age to attend a huge social event on her own, with teenagers and other adults around her.

So no – Daphne had no viable 'shield', so to speak, from any of the lecherous stares, or the constant badgering, by boys wishing to go with her to the ball. But she ultimately had to attend it – her father had made it quite clear, in his last letter to his daughters, that she was to be present at the ball. And that meant she needed a date.

Daphne had never dated anyone in her life – and for good reason: most boys who had approached her rarely cared about her as a person, and were instead interested only in her looks and fashion sense. A 'trophy partner', as Tracey and Blaise had put it rather succinctly: unfortunately, most boys were only looking for that from her. Her refusal to date these boys, combined with their thick-headedness, had resulted in more than a few 'incidents': these had subsequently established, rather firmly, her reputation as someone not to be trifled with. It was also through these incidents that she had developed her rather infamous stare – she had been told that it resembled a cold, freezing gust of icy wind, one that pierced the resolve of most people who received it. There were barely a handful of people who had experienced the stare, and had not blithered an incoherent response.

Harry Potter was one of them.

Daphne looked over at the boy in question again, who had been joined by the Longbottom boy and two others – Thomas and Finnegan, if she remembered correctly. Potter had, rather smartly in her opinion, opted to hang back instead of joining Granger and Weasley in their discussion regarding the question paper. He had just pushed himself off from the wall of the corridor, against which he had been leaning, when their eyes met.

Emerald-like green eyes locked gazes with striking sapphire-blue eyes.

And almost immediately, Daphne understood the reason behind Potter's unusual behaviour – something that made her, rather surprisingly, blush slightly.

He wants to ask me.

His eyes were no longer lit up, like they had occasionally been, nor were they dull and slightly lifeless when he considered it a chore to wave at her in response. They were…filled with something else – something she could not quite place: was it desire? If so, what for – to ask her to the ball?

Even if it was true, would she even say yes?

Potter was the most unlikely candidate for a date that anyone could have thought of for her…and yet, it just made sense. He was, from what she had seen and observed, kind, caring, and sensitive; he was also thoughtful, honest…why was she even going on with a list? Potter as a date made sense to her – especially considering the fact that he was unlikely to be asking her out solely on the basis of her looks, and his desire to have someone beautiful, stunning, and popular, on his arm for a night. His fame was enough for that.

Strangely enough, she did not seem averse to the idea of being Potter's date at all. In fact – and here, her blush betrayed her a bit more – she was ready to go for it.

But what about your friends? Your House? Family? Astoria?

Since when have you cared what they think?

This is a big event – it's the Yule Ball! I can't go to the Yule Ball as Harry Potter's date!

Why not?

Did you not hear the reasons just now? There will be too many repercussions from this – it will be too much to handle.

For him? Or for you?

Does it matter? Bottom line – I can't go.

you know you want to, Daphne. You can't deny that to yourself.

And despite every conceivable point that the voice of reason sounded out inside her head, she knew – just knew – that she wanted to go with him. And she also knew that he wanted to go with her. The look he was giving her right now was ample proof of that.

It seemed like an eternity had passed – although in reality, it had only been a few seconds – before they broke eye contact; Daphne gazed over the top of the heads of the crowd of Gryffindors, as though looking for something or someone; she was sure Potter was doing the same over the Slytherins' heads.

But as they looked at each other once more – the one last time when no one was looking in their direction, when they usually exchanged their waves – Daphne could see the question in his eyes. The mixture of hope and happiness, with a slight tinge of resignation and defeat.

Will you go to the ball with me?

Convincing herself that it was the right thing to do, she stared at him, without blinking, trying not to let her resolve slip, but also attempting to convey what she wanted to say through her own sapphire eyes…and shook her head, ever so slightly.

I want to…but I can't.

At that moment, Daphne hated herself for the brief flash of pain that appeared in Potter's emerald eyes – but it was gone as quickly as it came. Quite expertly, he schooled his expression into one of polite greeting, tilted his head in acknowledgement, turned on his heel, and left.

Every click of his shoes against the stone corridor felt like – dare she think it – an icy stab to her heart.

I should have said yes.

You did the right thing, Daphne. Let it go.

Tracey and Blaise never did find out why she became so morose and forlorn even after the end of term.


Well, this is odd.

Cassius stared at the girl in front of him, his expression quite clearly betraying his confusion at the whole situation. He chanced a quick glance around him, but there was no one in the vicinity: evidently, this was not a prank.

That being said, this was certainly not normal.

A normal situation would have been Cassius going up to a girl and asking her to accompany him to the Yule Ball. It would have involved him mustering up that long-buried courage to approach a girl in that manner, and behave like a proper gentleman of the Warrington household. It may have also included a rejection or two, before someone finally accepted his request.

It would not, however, have involved Iris Parkinson walking up to him in the Slytherin common room during lunch time on Tuesday, and asking him if she could be his date to the Yule Ball.

You're staring too much.

Cassius averted his eyes from Iris at once, instead focusing on a spot on the wall of the common room just above her head. The almost black stone walls, though slightly rough, seemed to be glinting in the light cast by the round, greenish lamps that hung on chains from the ceiling – they gave an impression of a distant galaxy of stars, twinkling away as they sniggered at his predicament.

Even the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, situated above the elaborately carved mantelpiece, seemed to be mocking him with a sly grin.

Great. I'm being laughed at by a portrait of an old man.

Iris' expression had not changed in the minute or so which he had spent in self-contemplation. She continued to look up at him inquisitively, her eyebrows raised as she awaited an answer to her question.

What do I tell her?

Iris Parkinson was, in so many ways, unlike her younger sister – a good thing, in Cassius' honest opinion. Where Pansy was arrogant, self-centred, and rude, Iris was confident, humble, and yet gentle. The ambitious heiress of the Parkinson family was also much better looking than her apparently 'pug-faced' sister – and although even Cassius knew that that was going a tad too far, he had to admit that Iris was, in fact, quite beautiful.

Quite fortuitously, Iris had not been raised with the pretence and airs of an entitled and spoilt pureblood witch. Although they had not been in the same play-group – Iris had rather preferred to be with her sister and her friends – Cassius had heard that she had been quite a charming girl. Oh, there were incidents, of course – a pureblood household was bound to have some of them – but Iris grew from the experiences. By the time she arrived at Hogwarts, most wizarding families knew of Iris Camille Parkinson, and not in a bad way at all.

Her reputation only enhanced as she studied at Hogwarts: Iris was one of the few Slytherin girls who stuck to the House ideals of ambition and desire, with a dash of cunningness that Slytherin himself would have been proud of. The deadly combination of beauty and brains that she possessed made other girls want to be like her, and boys want to court her. Thankfully, she never allowed her fame and intelligence to get to her head: keeping her feet firmly on the ground, Iris worked her way up as one of the top ten students of her year, performing quite well in all of her subjects.

One of her most standout traits was her ability to mingle with everyone, and not appear stand-offish, despite her knowledge. The desire of other girls to imitate her stemmed from admiration and inspiration, rather than jealousy. Iris Parkinson served as a role model for her friends and acquaintances alike, resulting in her being deservedly appointed as a Prefect in her fifth year.

'The true embodiment of a Slytherin,' Snape had said one day – and for the first time in a while, not many disagreed with his statement.

It was with all this in mind that Cassius felt rather justified in questioning her choice of asking him to take her as his date to the Yule Ball. What could Iris Parkinson possibly see in him, Cassius Warrington?

Despite being in almost all the same classes, they had never spent too much time together. The Warrington family's reputation had automatically caused people to believe in his alignment with the Dark Arts; this was only supported, rather oddly in his opinion, by his general outward appearance. The Parkinsons, on the other hand, were known to have publicly renounced the ways of the Dark Lord following his downfall; Philip Parkinson had served time in Azkaban, and was now a well-respected employee of the Ministry – or at least, as respected as a former Death Eater could be.

Mrs Parkinson would have never allowed her daughters to associate with 'known' Death Eater families – the only exception being the Malfoys, who apparently had also renounced the old ways – so Cassius thought his scepticism was rather reasonable.

A sentiment, however, that did not sit well with Iris.

'D'you think I'm joking?' she asked, her soft and rather melodious voice cutting through his thoughts.

'Erm…'

Oh, get a grip, Cassius!

Iris narrowed her eyes ever so slightly, a sign that Cassius immediately recognised from his interactions with other girls and his mother – the ire was building. Such situations usually demanded a pacifier of sorts – either an acceptance to what the woman was saying, or a change in topic.

Cassius chose the grey area in between.

'Why me?'

To his surprise, Iris' eyes softened, and she let out a slight giggle; it immediately put his senses on alert for a prank. No one giggled in a serious situation like this.

'Well…' she said, still smiling, 'for one, you're not like the other boys.'

It was Cassius' turn to arch his eyebrow in surprise. What was that supposed to even mean?

She must have noticed it, because she continued to explain, 'I mean, most boys would have been dying to take me to the ball. In fact, I've already had to turn down every boy from our year and the seventh years – most of them seemed too eager for my liking.'

Cassius knew what she was talking about: Slytherin House had been abuzz with the question as to who could take Iris Parkinson to the ball. In fact, the only other person topping her in the rumour charts was Daphne Greengrass. The sixth and seventh year boys' dormitories had been filled with nothing but each person's desire to have Iris on his arm, and the laughter of everyone else as the said person was turned down by her.

Cassius also noticed the humility with which she told him about her popularity – it was without the stuck-up air of a narcissist, nor was it with the exaggerated 'why me?' expression that everyone else portrayed. Her manner of speaking – frank and factual – impressed him.

'So I'm the last one left?' said Cassius with a grin, trying to make it sound like a throwaway joke.

It seemed to work: Iris smiled a bit wider, and her dark brown eyes sparkled. 'Yes, well, you're my last hope, Cassius. I implore you to save the damsel in distress!'

They both chuckled at that – his deep voice in a rather appropriate contrast to her gentle trill. The irony of her statement was not lost on Cassius, however: if anyone needed saving, Iris Parkinson was definitely not that person.

They quietened down, the ice broken and a relatively easy camaraderie established between them, but the question still lingered. Cassius was not entirely convinced that she had given him the full reason for her to ask him.

Iris sighed, evidently recognising the elephant in the room. 'I know you've been dealing with a lot of things lately, Cassius. Your selection as the Hogwarts champion has not helped in lessening that load. I just…' She paused for a bit. 'I meant what I said – you aren't like the other boys. You're not the typical heir to a pureblood family, aren't you? I've seen you eschew the mania of pureblood superiority, what with your help to Muggle-born and half-blood Slytherins, your silent campaign against the outdated and ridiculous beliefs spouted out by the dimwits of our House –' Cassius gave a slight snigger at that '– and your improvement as a person as a whole.

'I'm like you, Cassius. I don't believe in any of it, either. The whole pureblood mania is bollocks, and needs to be stopped before it causes further damage to us, and Hogwarts too. I asked you to the Yule Ball because I wanted to talk to you about all of this, and join you.

'I want to help.'

Cassius had been a little astonished when Iris had spoken about his 'awakening', and even more when she said she was like him. But the most profound impact on him came from her last statement…one which touched him deeply, and invoked memories of a desperately suppressed past.

'I want to help…'


'I want to help.'

Cassius gave her a pained look.

'You can't help me,' he said, hoping that she would understand. 'No one can.'

'There has to be a way!' And this time, her voice grew louder with every word, until she yelled out that last one into his face. Her own tear-streaked one looked extremely pale, as though she was about to collapse in a dead faint, even as the opals around her neck glinted in the weak sunlight.

'I wish there was,' said Cassius, his voice breaking – not unlike his heart. Every word he had spoken up till then felt like a suicidal stab to it. 'Believe me, I wish there was –'

'No!'

Just over a year of Quidditch training and games had honed his reflexes surprisingly well: he caught his companion just in time before she fell, evidently from shock, and held her close to his chest. Her sobs pierced him like nothing had ever done before – he hated seeing her cry, and felt absolutely horrible that this time, he was the cause for it.

'No, Cassius, no…' mixed with 'I won't leave you…' were the only words that he could make out from the muffled cries against his chest; she gripped his robes tighter as he drew her closed, both arms wrapped around her back in a protective embrace.

He wanted to comfort her…wanted to tell her that everything would be alright, that everything would return to normal – but how could he lie? How could he reassure her of a future that he knew would never happen – one that could never exist? What hope and faith could he offer to her, when he had none himself?

Cassius was not one to cry often, but the tears fell freely this time – one salty drop after another, until he could control them no longer; he buried his face into her soft hair, inhaling its scent as he gasped for breath after every choked sob, trying so hard to commit it to memory…

Was this what it was supposed to feel like? Was it supposed to be this painful – this horrible? He had heard stories of the terrible power it had – what it could make people do or not do, promise or not commit…how it could make people feel… Surely, love could not be this hurtful – it was love, after all, so how could it?

What did he know of love, anyway? He was too young, too innocent in the world, to be worthy of feeling such emotions – apparently, love was choosy, and would not go near young men who were not eligible to experience it…

But they were wrong, he thought fiercely, as he clutched her robes just as tightly, they were all wrong; he had experienced it, had fallen into it, and was now being forced to get out of it, because of something he knew was not true – something that could never be true…

'Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments…'

But impediments had come; they had been admitted, in a manner so cruel, so cold, that the consequences of it all were too severe to bear – they were forced to be apart, to step away; it was a superficial reason, of course – but what choice did they have?

'Love's not Time's fool…'

He knew he would have to let go of her completely – have to move on – but like all things in this world, it would be easier said than done…but he would never forget her…

And that was his promise – a dying man's wish, some would call it, even if it was not literally true – but it was a promise to a kindred soul: one who understood him, who valued him –

Who loved him.

'But bears it out even to the edge of doom…'

This felt like his doom – like the ground was slipping away from underneath him; from a solid, firm standing, he was going to have to tread water in unknown oceans, desperately attempting to stay afloat in the stormy seas, all without his anchor…

'I'm so sorry, Sophie.'


'Are you okay, Cassius?'

The gentle voice of Iris Parkinson broke through his melancholy thoughts; Cassius had to blink furiously at least twice to refocus his attention on the conversation at hand. Slowly, the scene in his mind evaporated – his eyes were now staring at the still-twinkling wall of the Slytherin common room.

It took him a few moments to realise that his vision had also become slightly blurry: the memory of that last evening with her had caused him to tear up – again.

He tried to speak, but he somehow knew that his voice would be too choked up to get a coherent word out. He would have wanted to say 'yes' – that he was fine – but it would have been a blatant lie. He was most certainly not fine, and there was no need for him to act macho around anyone, and Iris Parkinson even less so.

He shook his head. Thankfully, Iris seemed to understand almost immediately.

'It's alright,' she said softly, even as Cassius bit his lip to cease its quivering. 'Whatever happened, it will be fine.'

Cassius needed a few more moments to regain a semblance of control over his emotions: it had been a long time since he had permitted himself to think about her, and that evening. The barriers within his heart had been built over a long and arduous year; he did not want to undo all of his efforts in a flash.

It's better this way.

It doesn't seem like it, though.

Don't worry. It will be.


With term having ended, the common rooms of the Houses of Hogwarts were – unusually for a winter break – packed to the brim. The upcoming Yule Ball had convinced everyone upwards of fourth year – and a few lucky younger students who had been asked to attend the ball by their seniors – to stay back at Hogwarts for Christmas, giving an impression that classes were still taking place.

The result of all of this, however, was that Cassius had not yet found an appropriate time to speak to Iris. His mini emotional meltdown in front of her had ended in him excusing himself to his dormitory, where he spent the next two hours forcing his mind to stop replaying that evening from more than a year ago. He was extremely grateful to Iris, who did not question him about anything at that time.

He knew he owed her an explanation, though. He was not sure why, to be honest – they had barely interacted in classes and outside, save for the occasional greetings and exchange of notes on important topics – but her request to join him and help in convincing others of the absurdity of pureblood superiority had him intrigued. Cassius had never thought of doing such a thing in the first place – he was content with his own 'awakening' and understanding of the truth – but Iris was right: it was important, and had to be done before Slytherin House and the rest of Hogwarts crumbled under it.

Also, having Iris Parkinson as a date to the Yule Ball was definitely a plus point.

The task of finding Iris and accepting her request was easier said than done, however. With the lack of classes, and the cold weather outside the castle, most of its occupants – including Iris – chose to remain indoors; more often than not, this was in the common room, where almost everyone else could be seen lounging about, or, in some extreme cases, finishing off their holiday homework in advance.

Cassius did not want to embarrass himself by approaching Iris in full public view – there were bound to be catcalls, wolf-whistles, and almost certainly a round of booing and hissing directed towards him. The vitriol was likely to be aimed at Iris as well – which was probably why she chose an empty common room as the setting for her initial request.

Then again, they were both sixth year students, with plenty of shared classes between them. Asking her for help on a subject that he was known to be weak in, and getting her alone to discuss this, seemed as good an option as any.

And so it was that Cassius found himself walking to the Hogwarts library on a bleary Tuesday morning, two weeks before the Yule Ball on Christmas Day. He had spotted Iris heading to the library from the Entrance Hall ten minutes ago, a stack of books in her hands. It was the perfect place to talk to her about it – the library would afford them the privacy they would need, while also ensuring that, in case things went south, he would not be subject to yells and screams from her.

While he highly doubted that the last situation would arise, it was always good to address every possible outcome.

The library was, as usual, very silent, save for the occasional scraping of chairs, scratching of quills against parchment, and the quiet murmurs of students as they whispered away. Cassius walked past the tall windows on the south side – currently depicting the almost empty and definitely chilly grounds of Hogwarts – and the desk of the vulture-like irritable librarian, Madam Pince, to reach the desks at the far side of the library. These desks were the usual haunts for Slytherins and a few extra-studious Ravenclaws, who preferred to stay away from the main crowd in the room and finish their work in peace.

Sure enough, Iris was seated at one of the tables: her dark hair was a little loose from the ponytail she'd pulled it back into – strands of it kept falling and obscuring her vision as she worked on one of the many essays they had been asked to complete over the break. Cassius had to hand it to her – there were not many people who could generate – and maintain – that level of focus and attention required for completing their holiday homework, even as the rest of the school became caught up in the festivities.

His footsteps must have caught her attention, for she looked up as he approached. Her expression, which a moment earlier was one of intense concentration, relaxed into an easy-going and friendly smile; her eyes softened, and she gestured for Cassius to take a seat.

'Hey,' said Cassius.

'Hey.'

Silence.

Iris smirked at him. 'Are you proposing to have a silent conversation, then?'

Cassius chuckled. 'Oh yes, I'm quite good at sign language, didn't you know?'

She raised an eyebrow – a challenging sign. 'Prove it, then.'

Cassius grinned. 'I'll try my best to make it simple enough for you to understand,' he said cheekily.

Iris giggled. 'Try me.'

Cassius' grin widened. 'Okay then.' He pointed at her, then raised his hands to mime a ballroom dance – with his left hand holding an imaginary right one, and his right wrapped around a waist – and then pointed at himself.

Iris was now smiling at him – a genuine smile, quite unlike the mocking grin that the portrait of Salazar Slytherin had sported that day. She tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear – the action got Cassius' attention to her earrings: a simple emerald green pendant on either side.

'Took you long enough, Cassius,' she said at last, but there was no mockery in her tone.

'It's a bit difficult to get you alone, to be honest,' he replied. 'I had no intention of embarrassing either of us by having this conversation in public.'

Iris raised an eyebrow, apparently quite impressed with his line of thought. 'Fair enough. I wouldn't have wanted it that way, either.'

'Yes, well…'

Silence fell over them once more. A group of Ravenclaws two tables over got up and left – they now seemed to be the only ones in that corner of the library.

Cassius looked at her.

'Don't even think about it,' she warned, waggling her finger.

'I have no idea what you're talking about,' he said, a little too innocently.

'Yes, and I'm not Iris Parkinson,' she fired back.

'Does that mean I asked the wrong person to the ball? I'm so sorry – that was so stupid of me,' he said with a smirk, and making a show of getting up.

'Alright, sit down,' said Iris, laughing softly. 'You're a prat, you know that.'

'It isn't news to me,' he said, grinning.

Iris reached forward and swatted him on the arm playfully. They lapsed into a comfortable silence once more, as she returned to her essay.

Cassius broke it after a few minutes. 'So…'

She looked up at him. 'Hmm?'

'Erm…' How was he going to tell her this? 'You – erm – you haven't said if you would be coming with me.'

Iris grinned at him. 'I think it's pretty obvious, since I asked you first.'

Cassius stared at her. Iris giggled again.

'Of course I'll go with you, Cassius,' she said. 'Like I said, I did ask you first.'

'Right, yeah,' he said, and he felt an odd sense of relief sweep over him. 'Great, okay then, that's good.'

She poked him with the edge of her quill and bent over her essay once more.

'Also…' began Cassius. 'Thank you.'

Iris looked up at him curiously. 'What?'

'I – thank you. For understanding.'

Her confused expression gave way to another of her brilliant smiles. 'Don't mention it, Cassius. I hope I can help you with whatever it is.'

He nodded, albeit half-heartedly. He doubted if anyone could ever help him in that situation – even he had not been able to help himself, or her, at that time.

'I should go,' he said, after a minute. 'Need to finish some stuff.'

'Oh, okay.' Did she sound slightly – disappointed? He couldn't tell. 'Alright then, I'll see you at the common room?'

'Yeah, alright.'

He stood up to leave, just as she stood up as well. Confused, he watched her step around the desk towards him, only to wrap her arms around him in a gentle hug. He stood there, frozen, unable to react to the embrace – but by the time his brain kicked into gear, she had stepped back.

'It will be fine, Cassius. I promise.'

Her words, thought soft, seemed to carry a ringing tone of confidence and optimism, which instantly rejuvenated him. And despite the logical side of his mind – and a part of his heart too – telling him it would not be fine, he felt quite reassured by what she had told him.

He gave her a slight smile, muttered a hurried 'Thanks', turned around, and began walking towards the exit.

It was as he walked past the Astronomy section in the library that he heard two people having a whispered conversation. This was quite normal – Madam Pince was very strict on the noise one was allowed to make in the library – except for the owners of the voices.

'I haff been vanting to talk to you for a long time.'

Cassius froze at that statement. That was Viktor Krum – but who was he talking to? And what on earth was he talking about?

'Really? Why now, then?'

The voice sounded familiar – he had heard her before, which meant she was definitely a Hogwarts student – but he could not quite place it.

'I did not haff the – vot do you call it – courage, before.'

'Oh.'

There was silence. Cassius realised just then that he had been standing in the same position, in plain view of anyone who was looking to access the Astronomy section for books. He quickly stole into the next line of shelves, taking care that he could not be seen by either Krum or the other girl.

'So, erm…did you want to talk to me about something?'

'Uh…' faltered Krum. Cassius wondered what was making the internationally famous Quidditch star sound this nervous and unsure. 'I vos vanting to ask you if you vould like to – uh –'

The girl did not respond; Cassius imagined she was wearing an expression of polite puzzlement, whoever she was.

Krum's voice dropped even lower in volume. 'If you vould like to go to the Yule Ball, with me.'

Cassius almost jumped up in shock. He had certainly not expected this to be the topic of conversation to be overhearing – especially with Durmstrang's champion involved. He glanced around, but there were no gaps between the shelves through which he could look through to see who the girl was.

There was silence at the end of the conversationalists. Nearby, another set of chairs scraped the floor, followed by the sound of footsteps fading off as they proceeded to the exit.

The girl finally seemed to have regained the use of her voice – Cassius imagined she would have been stunned at the question from Krum. 'Oh! Erm – I –'

And that instant, Cassius knew she was going to turn him down.

'I'm so sorry, but I've already said I'd go with someone else.'

The girl fell silent. Cassius could not hear any more sounds from their end – had they slouched off to another, more private, corner to discuss? Then he figured he would have heard Krum's footsteps – there was no way that a person that big could be completely silent.

After about another minute, Krum finally spoke.

'I see, okay. Vell, there was no harm in asking, I am thinking.'

'I'm really sorry, Mr Krum –'

'Please, call me Viktor,' said Krum; his voice sounded a bit more jovial and normal now. 'It is alright, do not apologise. I vos a little late, I am thinking.'

The girl gave a slightly shaky laugh, as though she was not sure if she could laugh at that or not.

'May I haff von dance with you at the ball, at least?'

'Oh!' came the flustered reply. 'Well, yes, I suppose that would be alright.'

'That is good, then,' said Krum. He paused for a bit, and then said, 'Who are you going with?'

'Erm – I'm going with Ron Weasley – you know? The red-haired boy, my best friend?'

It's Hermione Granger!

Cassius could not believe how he had not recognised her voice earlier; then again, he had only heard her speak a few times this year, and never to him at all. But this was astonishing, to say the least: Viktor Krum had asked Hermione Granger to the Yule Ball, and she'd turned him down! All because she was already going with Ron Weasley!

Cassius almost felt like laughing out loud – the situation was too surprising and hilarious. Plenty of girls would have desperately wanted to be in Granger's position of being asked to the ball by Krum – and yet, she had said no. He had to hand it to Granger, though: she had let Krum down pretty well, and had even promised him a dance at the ball. He doubted if Weasley would agree to that, but he did not see any harm in it. Krum was unlikely to do anything in a single dance, and Granger would definitely not go behind Weasley's back.

Speaking of which, he was not quite sure why Granger had agreed to accompany Weasley, of all people, to the Yule Ball. Then again, he did not claim to know either of them, or the dynamics of their friendship. In fact, as he finally exited the library a good two minutes later, he figured the two of them may have agreed to go to the ball just as friends.

To each his own. I suppose.

At least you've got your date. Be happy about that.

With that comforting thought, Cassius made his way through the corridors in the direction of the Slytherin common room. He spotted Fleur Delacour as he crossed the Entrance Hall – she was surrounded by a number of boys, all of whom seemed to be gazing at her with awe-struck expressions. He resisted the urge, yet again, to laugh out loud – this time, scornfully; they were nowhere close to getting Fleur Delacour as a date as he was to solving the clue within the golden egg.

As he began descending the stone steps from the Entrance Hall to the dungeons, a distinctive clunking noise reached his ears from behind him. He turned in time to see Professor Moody limping towards him, his wooden leg and staff making alternating sounds against the marble floor.

'Mr Warrington,' growled Moody.

Cassius' suspicions towards Moody had not changed since the beginning of the Tournament, when he had dramatically announced himself in the chamber off the side of the Great Hall. There was still something off about this Moody that told him to be on constant alert. His seemingly off-hand comment about Potter's inclusion in the Tournament still rang a few alarm bells for Cassius:

'Maybe someone's hoping Potter is going to die for it.'

Too much foreknowledge…

'I'd like to have a word, Warrington,' said Moody.

Despite his inner voice telling him that it was a stupid idea, and that he should not be trusting Moody, Cassius nodded. At Moody's request, he led them down the steps to the dungeons, and entered an empty classroom. Once inside, Moody stumped over to the front desk and sat down behind it with a groan, while also indicating Cassius to have a seat. His magical eye spun around in its socket, before finally focusing on the closed door of the classroom.

'You did quite well in the first task, Warrington,' began Moody, stretching his wooden leg out on the desk in front of him. 'Inspired strategy – you'd make a fine Auror one day.'

Cassius nodded his head, but did not say anything. He could not fathom why Moody had chosen to congratulate him about his performance in the first task right now, of all times. What was he playing at?

His suspicion must have shown on his face, however; Moody's lopsided mouth stretched into a grin, revealing several missing teeth. 'I'm not going to jinx you, Warrington – you needn't be worried.'

Cassius eyed him carefully. 'You'll forgive me, Professor, if I am a little apprehensive based on what I've heard,' he said curtly.

'I would've thought you daft if you weren't, Warrington,' replied Moody. 'Constant vigilance, it's what I always tell everyone… Shame you aren't in my class though – you would have been a good student.'

'I'm not sure I have the required temperament and skill, sir,' said Cassius with a shrug.

'Nonsense,' growled Moody dismissively. 'Thinking on your feet is an important skill for Defence Against the Dark Arts, and I'd say you did that pretty damn well with that Swedish Short-Snout.'

Cassius allowed a hint of a smile to ghost across his face; despite everything, being praised on his Defence-related skills by an ex-Auror was not something that happened every day. 'Thank you, Professor.'

'You deserve it,' said Moody, before groaning again and clutching his wooden leg. 'Damn this thing…' he muttered.

A rather awkward silence lapsed between them, as Moody massaged his thigh and hamstring, and Cassius looked on. He had never found out – and for that matter, no one had seemed to know – what had happened that caused Mad-Eye Moody to lose an entire leg. Especially when there were magical healing methods that could have prevented the loss of a leg – unless it was completely blown up by a Dark curse.

Before he could muster the courage to ask, however, Moody spoke again.

'Done something about your egg, then?'

Cassius shook his head. Truth be told, he had not even thought about the golden egg until just before in the Entrance Hall, when he had spotted Fleur and the group of boys around her. His initial attempts to solve it had almost caused him partial deafness, and, in one unfortunate second year girl's case, ruptured eardrums. Madam Pomfrey had fixed her up in a tick, but he had immediately shoved the egg into his trunk, where it had laid, quite forgotten, until today.

'It keeps making this horrible screechy, wailing sound whenever I open it,' he explained. 'I can't seem to find anything that could possibly change it.'

Moody's normal eye looked at him intently.

'Have you heard of the four basic elements, Warrington?'

This question was so out of the blue that it took a few moments for Cassius to realise what he had been asked.

'F-four elements?' he queried, nonplussed. 'I'm afraid I don't quite understand, Professor –'

'You're smarter than this, Warrington, or so I've heard,' growled Moody. 'Don't ruin my first impression of you.' The electric blue magical eye swivelled to stare at Cassius, before spinning back to focus on the door. 'Know the four basic elements?'

'Erm… well, there's earth, fire, air, and…'

Moody tilted his head, as if to say, 'Go on.'

'And…water,' finished Cassius. 'But I still don't –'

'Which element did you have to contend with in the first task, Warrington?

Cassius winced involuntarily at the memory. He knew perfectly well what Moody was talking about – there was no way he could forget the searing pain he had felt on his leg.

'Fire,' he said softly.

'Yes, fire,' said Moody. 'So we could rule that one out, can't we?'

Cassius nodded, even as his brain slowly began to connect the dots. The first task involved fire, so, going by what Moody said, the second task could involve any of the remaining three.

'You've already told me that the egg doesn't make sense when opened in normal conditions,' stated Moody.

Cassius nodded again. With the egg only screeching and wailing when opened normally, that would rule out the 'air' element, too. That left only two others – and he doubted if it would make much of a difference if he smeared mud on the egg, or buried it somewhere on the grounds.

So, technically, that meant he needed…

'Well, I can't say you aren't smart, boy,' said Moody two minutes later. 'I'm glad I didn't need to spend the whole day down here.'

Cassius chuckled, but his next question was with a serious expression on his face. 'Won't this be considered as cheating, sir?'

Moody eyed him closely. 'I'll counter that with a question of my own: don't you think Miss Delacour and Mr Krum would have gotten help from their Heads?'

Cassius had to admit that Moody had a point; cheating was, after all, a significant part of the Triwizard Tournament. Each school would want to prove that they were the most magical of the lot, and would use any means to achieve that goal – even if it involved breaking the rules. In fact, it was an unwritten rule that the other rules of the Tournament were meant to be broken.

He nodded at Moody's question in understanding; but just then, he realised the overall situation: he knew how to solve the egg, and so did, he presumed, Fleur and Krum. That left Potter as the only one in the unknown.

Ought he to tell him the trick? His Slytherin side would not have even considered it – self-preservation was always the first priority.

But Potter had helped him with the first task, had told him about the dragons and what they possibly needed to do; without Potter's tip-off, he would have been a goner. As it was, while his plan had involved thinking on his feet once he had picked the tiny model dragon, it was not too far from his original strategy – although the Transfigured dog may not have lasted as long as the enlarged Swedish Short-Snout.

Nevertheless, all things said and done, Potter had helped him – which meant he owed a debt to the Gryffindor. That thought immediately triggered a memory with his father from long ago:

'A Warrington always pays his debts. Never forget that, Cassius.'

He got up from his seat, thanked Professor Moody for his advice, and exited the dungeon classroom. As he approached the Slytherin common room, he let out a heavy sigh.

As if getting a date for the Yule Ball had not been tedious enough, he now had to tell Potter to take a bath with the golden egg.

He'll think I'm insane.

When are you not?

Oh, shut up.


She stared out of the window of the common room into the slightly murky waters of the Black Lake. Schools of fish swam about past her; in the distance, she could just spot the greenish tail of a merman flitting through clumps of weed. The disturbance caused the resident Grindylows to rise from the weed and shake their fists at the intruder, before sinking back into their slumber.

She sighed again, for what probably was the tenth time that day, as she tore her eyes away from the window and attempted to focus on her Transfiguration essay. She wanted to finish it as soon as possible – preferably before the week leading up to Christmas – so that she could enjoy the festivities in Hogwarts for the first time in her life.

Okay, she was being a little untrue about her intentions: she really wanted to finish it so that she could enjoy the Yule Ball, and possibly the after effects of it, without the worry of homework hanging around her neck.

You'll need a date first.

Daphne wanted to strangle that inner voice of hers that kept passing snide remarks about her lack of a date to the Yule Ball. Her ire towards that voice was matched in intensity only by the sadness she felt about rejecting the one boy who she would have loved to go with.

You did the right thing, Daphne.

Yeah? Do you see me having a date yet?

Would you rather have gone with Potter, and invited the ire of every single person of your House?

Daphne had to concede that point to the inner voice: going as Potter's date would have had unimaginable consequences for her, and for him too. Given the current climate, accepting his request was completely out of the question, despite what she really wanted.

And yet, four days later, she still did not have a date for the ball. No other boy seemed to have the courage to approach her and ask her hand for the event: it appeared that they were all quite afraid of her reaction to being asked out. Her stare and biting responses were not to be taken lightly, or so she had been told.

She had ultimately resigned herself to the fact that, even though there was more than a week left for the ball, she would probably be going without a proper date. While she was not bothered by the prospect, she was slightly apprehensive of her parents' reaction to it. The fact that she had had a chance to go with a boy – someone she would have loved to go with – but did not, only served to hurt her more.

She sighed again, just as the entrance to the Slytherin common room opened, signalling a lull in the general murmur of conversations. Cassius Warrington walked into the room, his gait and facial expression reflecting his happiness at – something. He made his way straight to the corner where his friends, Adrian Pucey and Terence Higgs, were seated. An excited whisper from the Triwizard champion was soon followed by an exchange of high-fives between the three of them.

'Seems like he's got who he wanted to go with,' commented Blaise, who had also witnessed the exchange along with Tracey and her.

Tracey nodded in agreement, but returned to her copy of Aiming High: A History of the Appleby Arrows almost immediately.

Daphne allowed her eyes to linger on the trio a little longer than was strictly necessary; it resulted in Warrington looking over at her, and catching her gaze. She immediately averted her stare to her essay in front of her, but it seemed as though the damage was done.

She noticed Tracey and Blaise looking up to a point behind her; a few moments later, a shadow fell across her essay. She turned around, and came face to face with Warrington and Pucey.

'Greengrass,' said Warrington, rather courteously. Pucey gave her a short nod and – quite surprisingly – a tiny bow. Out of the corner of her eyes, Daphne noticed Blaise raise his eyebrows in mild curiosity.

'Warrington,' she replied. She returned the nod to Pucey, but did not bow, or curtsey, or whatever she was supposed to do in that situation. She was still seated after all – why did she need to curtsey if he had chosen to bow to her?

'Could we have a word?'

Daphne had, over the years, come to rely on her instincts in a number of situations – most of which involved boys and their adventurous streaks. She decided to trust them this time, too.

'Whatever it is, we could discuss it here,' she stated coolly. 'I'm going to be telling Tracey and Blaise about our conversation anyway, so we might as well have it in front of them.'

Warrington looked at Pucey, who shrugged. 'That's fine by us,' said Pucey; Daphne noticed that his voice was quite deep, like a reassuring baritone. 'In which case…' he turned to Blaise and Tracey, 'good afternoon to you two.'

Blaise definitely looked impressed this time, while Tracey was smirking; evidently she knew something that Daphne did not. They quickly returned the greetings to Warrington and Pucey, after which the latter pair turned back to her.

'We wanted to know –' began Pucey, but hastily amended his statement as he dodged an elbow from Warrington, '– I mean, I wanted to know if – erm –'

He faltered slightly. Daphne spotted Tracey grinning widely in Pucey's direction.

'Okay, I'm just going to say it,' he said at last, after a few more stammered attempts. 'Ms Daphne Greengrass, would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the Yule Ball this Christmas Day?'

Tracey let out a giggle – but sounded more like a snort – just as Pucey finished his question. She covered her mouth with her hands, her face going red with embarrassment, but her eyes were sparkling with glee. Blaise, for his part, looked quite amused as well.

Daphne ignored the pair of them. She looked up between Warrington's easy, grinning face, to Pucey's hopeful expression, thinking…

Adrian Pucey was not a bad option at all. In fact, he seemed to fit into most of the requirements her parents would have listed out for a potential date to a ball: pureblood, good family, good-looking, Quidditch player, blonde hair…

Okay, so her parents' list was not exactly sane, but it needed to be satisfied. And Pucey did seem to fit the bill. Tall, handsome, and easy-going, Adrian Pucey would have been the perfect date for any girl wishing to go to the ball. Indeed, Daphne wondered why she had not considered him as an option before.

Her face relaxed into what she felt was a normal smile. 'Yes, I will go with you.'

Pucey – Adrian, she mentally corrected herself – grinned back at her. 'Brilliant, thanks!'

She almost laughed out loud at the change in the expressions of Tracey and Blaise: with their mouths open in shock, both of them looked as though they had been slapped right around their faces.

But as the two sixth years said their goodbyes and returned to sit with Higgs, her heart sank a little. At least, if she had gone alone, she could have had a chance to dance with him. Now, however…

I'm so sorry, Harry.