The clock was tolling at Hogwarts. It startled a handful of birds from their perches, tossing them into the air to flit like leaves on the wind. Its resounding peals rolled forth in waves over the grounds, warden and protector of all that they touched. On a still night such as this, the sounds made it all the way up to the Gryffindor tower, where four boys huddled nervously around a fire, unspeaking.

They picked at their collars and shrugged their shoulders. All had left little scuff marks in the dust at their feet – a tribute to the gathering nervousness. The fire roared, though the night was mild. They cleared their throats far too often, but none would brave the feat of speech. For to speak was to lend a certain credence to that which hovered over their heads. As if, in their defiant silence, what lay ahead remained intangible. Escapable.

But it would not last; the Ball was upon them.

How fickle time was, James brooded. An hour and a half trapped in a Runes classroom could stretch on for what seemed like weeks, yet this day had slipped by like scenery on the Hogwarts Express. Here and gone, before he had been able to register more than the foggiest of details.

The fire crackled and hummed; happy to fill the yawning silence that stretched between them. As the last toll of the bell faded into the night, they felt the weight of what was to come settle over them, and suddenly, the silence became threatening.

'Should probably get going,' mumbled Clip, leaning on a bedpost and staring fixedly down at his shoes. He'd been that way for the past half-hour. Eye contact had been scarce, perhaps for fear of each of them seeing their own trepidation reflected back in the eyes of their brothers.

'Might not be so bad, you know.' The hollow ring to Fred's words were matched only by the emptiness of his shrug.

'At least I'm not going with a psychopath,' James added. The ribbing was familiar, and thus safe. It was a comfortable bond which they held on to so tightly, for they all knew that tonight, at some point, they were going to be cut free to face their battles alone.

'And I'm not the one who only asked my date because the girl I really fancy told me not to.'

Once again, a wealth of regret washed over James at having revealed the contents of his conversation with Odette to his friends. 'I just can't believe Tristan actually got asked. By a girl.' An abrupt change of topic was in order.

'Well I wouldn't have said yes to a bloke.'

Of all of them, Tristan carried the least nerves. His back was the straightest, his eyes the clearest, his jokes, the only ones present. Perhaps being asked himself had taken the pressure off. Or perhaps it had been the several Butterbeers that lay empty next to his position.

'I don't think I've said one word to this girl the entire time I've been here,' James mused.

'Chloe Swann.' Fred tossed up her name as if testing out a foreign language. 'I think I might have accidentally given her a Fainting Fancy once in Transfiguration.'

'Not Keel-over Chloe?'

'That's the one! I heard she beat Cassie in a Potions test once, and Cassie swore eternal vengeance.'

'You're a braver man than I, risking Cassie's ire like that,' James said with the first hint of a real grin all night. 'What were here words when she heard? "Fraternising with the enemy" I believe.'

'You're all just jealous because you've picked the wrong people,' here Tristan gestured to Fred and Clip, 'for the wrong reasons.' He nodded to James. 'And my date actually fancies me and we'll have a great time while all of your nights will be a disaster.'

Outside their window a startled raven gave a baleful cry.

'Fancies you? Mate, she cornered you coming out of the lads' bathroom and practically pinned you up against the wall until you answered.'

'Yea well… you play the hand you're dealt. C'mon, we said we'd meet the girls at six. We're late already.'

With the momentary light-hearted distraction quelled, the boys shared a final gloomy look before shuffling off out to make their way to the Great Hall and their awaiting fates. The fire behind them coughed and sputtered with the closing door. It gave a final whoosh of flame and died before their footsteps had faded from earshot. But none remained to witness.

Their traipse down to the Entrance Hall was both interminable and instantaneous. Looking back, James couldn't put his finger on any single detail of the journey, but he recalled it seeming to take a lifetime. A death-march, Fred had jokingly called it. They'd all given a half-hearted chuckle at that.

James remembered trying repeatedly to cheer himself up. It was only a Ball, he had told himself. How bad could it be?

The boys froze as one at the final landing of the Grand Staircase. Before them, the Entrance Hall was swimming with a sea of riotous colours. Greens and yellows and purples all floated side-by-side in an array that stung James' eyes to even look at. Everywhere he turned, another garish show of style was on display. Feathers warred with glittering sequins for attention. Expensive jewellery winked and glinted its way to the fore, aided by the warm, flickering light from the chandeliers above.

Upbeat music rolled out from the doors to the Great Hall, struggling to be heard over the shouts and calls of a hundred eager students. Nervous greetings were on display across the floor; tentative pecks on cheeks, or awkward hugs. A few flimsy handshakes from the faint-hearted. Friends grabbed friends unceremoniously, pulling each other this way and that to gossip or introduce or simply to ogle. The odd shouting argument reared its ugly head on occasion, even in the short time the boys were observing. With tensions stretched so taught, it took only the slightest of pressure to snap them clean, leaving the participants with only the angry recoil and hurtful words.

And tension there was, overlain on it all. A latent expectation filled the air so full that it was stifling. It was a breath held, by all present. That moment where they all stood at the cliff's edge; or the peak of a Wronskei Feint. The dive was before them, but would the sound torn free from their lips be ecstatic laughter or gut-rending fear. The presence of so many still out gathered in the Entrance Hall showed that few were bold enough to find out. One would need to move first.

James took a step forwards.

He had seen the girls, gathered together in a small huddle to the side, as out of the way of the chaos as was possible. The three others followed, after a round of straightening collars and flattening creases. The press of the mob was hot and close. The smells were overwhelming, and stung James' nose – too much perfume and aftershave, everywhere he turned. Voices shouted harshly in his ear, in English, and French, and the multitude of languages entertained at Durmstrang. He elbowed, and was elbowed back in turn.

When he finally broke free, his friends were a sight for sore eyes. So relieved was he, that he dashed up to the nearest of them and pulled them into an enveloping hug.

'Well, hello James Potter. This is most unexpected.'

Oh, bloody hell.

James leapt back as if Rain has just zapped him with a Stinging Jinx. The smile she offered him was exceedingly smug, and her eyes twinkled with glee as if she had just won the House Cup. It sent a wave of shivers down James' spine. Her nervous-looking Beauxbatons date shuffled uncomfortably nearby.

'Ahem.'

James turned sheepishly to face Holly, where she stood with an arched brow and a very level stare. He took a shaky step towards her. In his periphery, James could see Tristan with his head in his hands.

'Hello, James. It's me, your date.'

'Yes, it is.' James practically squeaked.

And it was. But somehow, it almost wasn't. It was Holly, but a Holly James had never seen before. Gone was the messy braid with its perpetually-sodden tip from incessant chewing. Gone was the self-conscious hunch to her shoulders and the shifty, downcast gaze that she reverted to when she thought no-one was looking.

In their place was this girl – this young woman – who looked like Holly, and certainly she glared like Holly, but who was somehow completely new to James. He was struck speechless.

A thick cascade of midnight locks tumbled freely over one shoulder, flowing from an artful array piled high atop her head and fastened with a glistening silver-and-jade flower pin. Her dress was of two parts; the skirt, a long, flowing mass of black silk that stretched to the floor, split right up one side to allow the occasional scandalous flash of skin. Her top was of the same hue, with patterned lace all the way down to her wrists. It left the thinnest sliver of her stomach bared; ivory skin shining bright in contrast, drawing James' eyes to that spot again and again as if by some force of magnetism.

She quirked dark-painted lips in the barest of smiles, and her scowl melted somewhat as she surveyed James in turn.

You look amazing. That was the first thing to come to mind. But he couldn't say that, could he? Not to Holly, surely. She'd slap him. Was that type of thing acceptable between friends? He still hadn't made his mind up on just what he would say when he opened his mouth to speak.

'You- erm… Hi, Holly. Nice to see you.'

'Thank- oh. Nice to er, see you too.'

James didn't miss the flicker of disappointment that sparked in her grey eyes. He kicked himself internally. He opened his mouth to correct the mistake and say it again, but Holly was looking away already, toward the Great Hall. The moment had passed. Idiot, he cursed himself.

Finally able to tear his eyes away, James looked around to see that the others had made a somewhat more successful start to their evenings. Clip and Alannis were in fits of hushed laughter over some part of a private conversation. Rosie was fawning all over Fred's arm, and Chloe Swann looked up at Tristan with nothing short of utter admiration. Cassie, a nervous-looking Emry Sameer on her arm, was glaring daggers at Chloe's back from a safe distance. Even Cat and Pot-Head seemed to be able to comport themselves better than James.

Suddenly remembering himself, James spun back to Holly – he hadn't even given her a hug! Unfortunately, he did it just as the group decided to move off to the hall, and so he ended up dropping his shoulder into her sternum in what would have been considered a rather impressive rugby tackle, and not in the slightest an attempt at an affectionate gesture.

'Ow, Merlin! James that hurt.'

'Sorry,' James felt his ears burning, and contented himself with proffering his hand, falling in step behind Tristan and Chloe, as the throng slowly filtered into the Great Hall.

'Get it together,' Tristan mouthed over his shoulder when Holly wasn't looking. James nodded, drawing in a deep breath and running a hand through his hair nervously.

'Don't do that,' Holly hissed out the corner of her mouth. James looked at her, quizzically. 'You're always doing that. For once in your life, could you just leave it alone?'

James nodded mutely. He'd managed to upset her already; even he could work that out. Normally, he'd have no trouble getting a smile out of her again. He'd crack a joke, or tell a story, or pull her braid from her mouth with an exasperated look. But that was with regular Holly. With this new and frightening version, he had no idea how to even begin. He chose to stare off into the crowd instead, his mind fervently working to come up with something clever and sophisticated enough for the situation.

He quickly caught sight of a disturbance in the flow of the crowd. People were shuffling and fidgeting, stepping on toes and twisting ankles in high heels to get out of the way of something. A fortuitous gap in the press allowed James a look in to see just what was behind all of the fuss.

Naturally, it was Odette Mansfield. Her, and that Beauxbatons fop Loyal Clavet, were sauntering through the crowd as if they were merely a horde of their own subjects. Loyal was wearing outlandish dress robes of periwinkle blue, with golden trim and an alarming array of peacock feathers quivering all about his person. But it wasn't only he that was gathering the myriad stares. Odette's dress of shimmering silver was cut to the absolute millimetre of decency. With a swooping neckline, and the way it seemed to cling as she walked, it left little up to the imagination-

Ow! James looked down to where Holly's hand was resting on his arm. Her black-painted nails were dug deep into the sleeve of his robe, and pain was lancing all the way up to his shoulder.

'See something you like?' Holly's voice was scarily quiet.

'No, nothing at all,' James quickly replied. This time, while looking directly at Holly.

The pressure on his arm tightened to nigh-unbearable for a heartbeat, before releasing. He felt Holly give a sigh, and look pointedly away.

Get it together was exactly was James needed to do, and fast. They hadn't even entered the Great Hall yet, and already he'd managed to upset Holly at least a dozen different ways. He just hadn't been prepared. He'd picked Holly because he had thought she would be the least difficult to deal with. They got along great, usually. They'd done loads of things together before, just the two of them. Late night study sessions in the library, or tucked away in the Waterfall Room underneath a blanket reading up on Defensive Spells. Why was it all of a sudden so different, so difficult? There was something that had wedged itself between them now that James couldn't figure out, something that had settled over their relationship, destroying the entire dynamic.

James worried that if he didn't hurry up and figure out what it was, he wouldn't ever be able to get back what they had.

The Great Hall was a welcome distraction. They passed through the great oak doors, and James joined in the others in their gasps and exclamations of wonder, glad to finally have something acceptable to say.

The four long house tables were all gone, and in their stead stood a hundred or more small round counterparts, dotting the edges of the room. They were covered in shimmering silken cloths, and each one bore its own, individual ice sculpture, carved after one of the four Hogwarts Houses. The ceiling had been enchanted to show the clearest view of the night sky, so bright that every single star was visible, with the Milky Way splashed across as a backdrop to it all. As they looked up, it seemed that the stars themselves were falling, tiny flakes of glimmering snow fell down, disappearing again as soon as they touched hair or shoulder.

The fires roared in their hearths, casting out a shifting, primal warmth over the entire room. The floating candles were absent, and the way the light from the fire had to weave between the myriad tables to be seen lent the dance floor the feel of a hidden clearing, deep within the forest, a secret spot that might be shared only by lovers.

His nerves suddenly returned in earnest.

Tristan led the group to a table not too close to the dancefloor, and James helped Holly to her seat – mentally patting himself on the back for at least remembering that one gesture of tact. Sadly, there were no lofty speeches from Renshaw to further delay the event, as she announced the opening of the ball right on the stroke of half-past six. They had until midnight to revel. Five and a half hours left for James to try and avoid dancing of any kind. He looked across at the way Holly was tapping her fingers in time to the music already. His chances didn't look good.

'It's just so lovely to finally meet you all!' Chloe announced into the awkward silence. 'It's so nice to hang out with new people, Tristan has told me so much about you!'

James quirked an eyebrow at Tristan. It appeared to be the first Tristan was hearing of this.

'Yes,' Cassie replied. 'I imagine spending all of that time locked up in Ravenclaw Tower must get lonely, eventually.'

Chloe tossed her head defiantly. Her short, blonde hair was arranged so intricately that it must have been held in place by magic.

'Well Cassandra,' Chloe shot back, 'if you want to be the best, sometimes you just have to work for it.'

James was glad that Cassie didn't have her Dragon Book on hand.

'I'm glad we're all getting along!' Fred yelled into the centre of the table.

'Isn't it so lovely,' Rosie crooned.

James nodded noncommittally. This was beginning to get weird. These were, for the most part, people he had spent almost every day with for the past two years. There was never awkward silences. But dress them up and threaten them with dancing, and all of a sudden it was like they had forgotten how to act altogether.

Rain's Beauxbatons date took the opportunity to nudge her gently and gesture towards the dancefloor. She graciously accepted, holding out her hand for him to lead. The poor lad looked terrified. James didn't entirely blame him.

'Until later,' Rain purred to the table, but the way her eyes lingered on James, he felt as if she had been speaking directly to him.

'What is it with you two?' Holly hissed in his ear. 'You can't be in the same room as each other without making love-eyes at one another all day long. Don't think I don't see it, I'm not stupid.'

'What? It's nothing! She's Rain. She's weird, that's all. She looks at me and it feels all funny.'

In the blink of an eye Holly was leaning back away from James, her arms folded. 'Well then, if she makes you feel so funny, why didn't you ask her?'

'I didn't want to,' James mumbled, feeling horribly out of his depth.

That softened her somewhat, and she leaned back in, visibly relaxing. 'I'm sorry James, it's just- you're you, and, well… sometime I just have to pinch myself to make sure this isn't some kind of a sick joke.'

Not knowing how to respond, James put his hand out on the table for Holly to take. It seemed to be the right thing to do, for she took it and gave him the first real smile he'd got all night. His stomach did a little bit of a lurch.

Clip and Alannis were the next to head off to the dancefloor, and Cat and Cassie, with their respective partners not long after. The remaining three boys stayed defiantly in their seats, despite increasingly obvious hints from the three girls.

'Well,' Holly announced to the table. 'I'm going to get something to drink. Would you like a Butterbeer, James? It might loosen you up a bit, you're as stiff as one of these ice sculptures.'

'If that's the case don't leave the poor boy hanging!' Tristan blurted out in alarm. 'At least finish what you've started.'

Chloe laughed as if he'd just told the most hilarious joke in history. Holly rolled her eyes so hard James was surprised she didn't come back dizzy. 'One of these days, you're going to meet someone who's your match, Tristan, and she is going to terrify you.'

Tristan looked only partly concerned.

Holly gestured for the other girls to follow. James hadn't realised that they'd silently been holding hands for the past fifteen minutes, but when her fingers slipped free from his, he instantly missed the contact. It had felt comforting.

As soon as the girls had left earshot, Fred leaned in. 'I don't think we're going to last, gents.'

'The way Holly's talking, it sounds like James sure isn't,' Tristan quipped.

'If she doesn't slap you first, mate. Did you want to ogle Mansfield a bit harder? And what was that hugging Rain thing all about?'

'I dunno,' James mumbled, running a hand through his hair. 'Bit nervous, I guess. Could do with a Butterbeer, or six.'

'Tell me about it,' Tristan agreed. 'Hey, does Chloe seem… normal to you guys?'

'Aside from the fact that she hasn't let go of your arm all night?'

'You can hardly talk, Fred. I'm fairly sure I saw Rosie sniffing you when you weren't looking.'

'Well I can't blame her, I'm a nice-smelling bloke. Here-' Fred lunged towards Tristan, stuffing his head unceremoniously into his armpit. The ensuing struggle knocked over a crystal goblet filled with water.

The girls had chosen that moment to reappear, and stood about uncertainly, frowning quizzically at the scuffle.

'Have we interrupted a… moment?' Holly enquired.

The boys separated, and all three of them accepted their drinks sheepishly.

'So Tristan, Chloe tells us that your date doesn't end tonight. That you have plans to spend tomorrow morning down by the lakeside, having a picnic. That sounds lovely.'

For some reason, Holly stared very pointedly at James at this point. His face bore only honest confusion; this was the first he was hearing of any such arrangement. By the way Tristan appeared to have inhaled some of his Butterbeer, he was only now learning about it, too.

'We do? I mean, erm, yes we do.'

'He's even promised to bring me flowers.'

Tristan was getting paler by the second. 'It appears I'm quite the romantic.'

'Well, maybe it's time you showed us, Tristan darling.'

As if they had rehearsed it, the three girls rose to their feet as one. Holly's hand on James' shoulder was an iron grip. The boys shared one last glance, raised their bottles and downed the contents.

The ending of the current song was a dirge to James' ears, as they made their way out onto the floor.

They waded once more through the melange of laughter and colour. It seemed now that some barrier had been torn down, that the nerves and the tension were no longer present. Unabashed enjoyment had flooded in to fill the void; the smiles were genuine, the shortness of breath a measure of how much fun one had been having.

And so James felt even more out of place, as he made his nervous way through the crowd. He could feel stares on him from every direction. He felt like an outsider, like all of these people out here enjoying themselves were now part of a private club, where membership was earned through one's ability to dance. And here he was, a lowly newcomer, stumbling gracelessly between them, red-faced and with heart racing from fear, rather than exertion.

'Just relax,' Holly whispered into his ear.

'Holly, I don't- I can't-'

She had chosen a spot near the centre of the room. People pressed in on all sides. James was certain they would collide with another couple. She laced her fingers through his own. Her palms were cool and dry. A stark contrast to his own.

'Take my waist.'

'Your what?'

The previous song ended on a single drawn-out note, and Holly favoured him with a scowl. James compromised by placing his hand halfway up her back. Even that contact was making the entirety of his right arm tingle.

'Lower,' her voice slid over him with the softness of silk, and James shuddered.

He moved his hand down a half-inch.

Holly stepped in, closing the gap between them to almost nothing, and whispered 'Lower.'

They were so close that her breath was stirring the hairs on James' neck. It seemed unnaturally heavy. She smelled of flowers that James didn't even know the names of. Beneath his hands, James could feel her body tense in anticipation.

His own mouth was dry, his heart hammering in his chest so loudly that even Holly must have heard it. He shifted his hand as low as he dared – any further and he'd be resting it on the sliver of skin she had bared.

James had thought they were close before, but somehow, without even taking a step, Holly shifted her weight so that barely a sheaf of parchment could have fit between them. Her face was centimetres from James' own. Her eyes filled his vision, and he could count every lash.

'Don't make me say it again,' she whispered.

With his heart pounding, and a rushing sound in his ears that must have been his own blood, James went for it. He shot his hand downwards, as far as he dared, in what he could only describe as a desperate lunge. He felt it alight on soft, round, fabric-covered skin.

Luckily, the music had started up, and it was enough to stifle Holly's yelp of alarm as she grabbed hold of James' wrist and moved it firmly upwards to come to rest at less scandalous location.

And thus, in that moment of flushed cheeks and averted gazes, began the very thing that James had been dreading all week.

He had been worried about finding a girl, and asking a girl. About the ridicule that he would get if he was turned down, or the rumours that spread like wildfire each time he so much as acknowledged a potential candidate. He had worried about who his friends were taking; about Odette and her goading, and whether his response in taking Holly had been the right decision. He had worried about having asked her for the wrong reasons, and about getting her hopes up. But now, having her in his arms, his heart racing wildly, he was worried that this night was going to end, and come tomorrow things would go back to how they had been and this woman who wore the painted lips and twinkling eye of his dear friend would go back to just being Holly, and he would have no idea about how to get her back again.

With all of this running through his mind, James had barely registered that they had started moving. He jerked in alarm to realise that he was swaying gently on the spot, that Holly looked to be enjoying herself, and that he hadn't trod on her toes even once.

Which brought forth an entirely new set of worries; like how to react, as she led him about in a slow circle, or how close her body was to his, and the way it flowed so smoothly beneath his hands, or the way their cheeks would occasionally brush together. Until at one point he realised that he wasn't worrying about these things any more, he was simply experiencing them, and living them.

Such as the way Holly swayed sinuously, and James twisted his hips to better compliment her movements, or the way when she came in close, he, too would lean in until their noses would touch for the most fleeting of moments, moments packed with an eternities worth of promise. They began to move more calmly, more together, and before James realised it, he was dancing.

There were no flashy leaps to the sky, nor any dress-flaring twirls to be seen, but it was more than exhilarating enough for James. The way that Holly moved was mesmerising, how she managed to fit so much gracile fluidity into such an understated dance was enough to send James' mind reeling again and again, as she seemed to flow around the dancefloor before him. Her dark dress hugged the shadows, making her elusive enough to the eye to keep James' gaze fixed avidly upon her, afraid of missing so much as a second of the display he was now part of.

He gained confidence from her competence, and when the music brought them close, he saw a glimmer of the same disbelieving excitement mirrored back at him.

The crowd, with their haughty stares and directed whispers, faded into little more than a colourful backdrop, as James' attention was stolen more and more by the black and white figure before him. There was little to measure the night by, but for the waxing and waning of the distance between their bodies, and the number of wordless, breathless moments that they shared when their eyes met. Moments increasingly filled with confidence, gazes that lingered a little longer each time, lips that began to part in an almost expectant manner…

Their rhythm was broken as James sensed a disturbance in the crowd. A gap was opening up, and through the shifting bodies, he spied the reason.

Odette Mansfield had taken to the dancefloor.

She and Loyal Clavet were busily carving out their patch of ground, and bringing a number of bystanders to a standstill in the process. James couldn't help but look on, his attention ensnared by half of the dancing couple.

Holly was graceful to a fault, and moved with a fluidity that James still could not comprehend. Her dancing was shy, yet inviting, flitting in and out of the shadows and offering a coy sway of the hips, or a flirtatious arch of the neck. Each movement asked just a little more, a timid proposal fearful of rejection up until rejection was no longer an option and the two of them couldn't help but sign off on the promise that their bodies had been making.

There was nothing shy or timid about the way Odette moved; it was with a raw, unadulterated sensuality that made James' cheeks colour just to watch. Her movements didn't so much as invite her partner, as they did grab him and drag him in with no option of escape. Where Holly had used the shadows to hide her more vulnerable moments, Odette's diaphanous silver dress caught every facet of light in the room and reflected it back tenfold, so that one couldn't help but to look.

The music changed, but James' attention was still elsewhere, and he felt himself stumble, his foot coming down on something soft and uneven.

'Ow, James! That was my foot.'

He brought his eyes back to Holly's. The spark had faded. They left the dancefloor after that song, and Holly excused herself to rush to the bathroom.

James shuffled back to their table, kicking himself. He had been so close, so caught up in the moment. The next time they were drawn together, he was sure that they would have… And yet Odette had ruined all of it with her mere presence. James grabbed a half-empty Butterbeer from a nearby table and downed its contents.

'Where have you been all night?' Fred was waiting at the table, an entire sleeve of his dress robe burned away and still smoking slightly.

'All night?' James mumbled, helping himself to another drink.

'It's nearly eleven. Alannis kissed Clip for everyone to see and then ditched him five minutes later for some specky git from Beauxbatons, Leah and Rosie tried to feed me some sort of love potion which they bungled and has had me hiccupping fireworks all night.' He held up his tattered sleeve. 'To think a Weasley wouldn't know a properly-brewed Love potion when he smelled one! Chloe dragged Tristan off towards the Basement after about ten minutes of dancing. Haven't heard from him since. It's been an unmitigated disaster across the board so far, thank Merlin you managed to do it right though.'

'I wouldn't be so sure of that,' James growled. Holly was still nowhere in sight.

'Speaking of which…' Fred looked as if he'd just seen a Thestral, and fled.

'James my love, you look simply dashing tonight. Enough to set a poor girls heart to racing.' Odette was bearing down on him with the air of a circling hawk, and a glass in her hand that held something that definitely wasn't pumpkin juice.

Up close, James didn't know where to look. He found himself standing up, unbidden. 'Hello Odette.'

'Don't stand up on my behalf, sweetie.' Odette reached over and planted a hand on James' shoulder, firmly guiding him back to his seat. 'These chairs are so tacky aren't they? It looks like someone's tried to set that one on fire. I'd hate to get this dress dirty.'

With no further warning, she slid down to place herself on James' lap, wrapping one arm around his shoulders for support, the other nursing the glass that was giving of suspiciously Firewiskey-esque aromas.

'Much better,' she giggled.

James' throat felt like it had constricted entirely. Up close, Odette's scent was heady and overwhelming. James' head was sitting in the arch of her neck, and he dared not look down for fear of catching another glimpse of what her salaciously-cut dress was trying so hard to show him.

'Where's Loyal?' James managed to stammer.

'Oh, off bragging to his groupies about his dancing prowess no doubt. I've no idea why, poor soul can hardly last a minute. You, meanwhile, were making quite the scene out there. I got so caught up in watching you, I almost forgot to breathe. You take my breath away, James Potter. How does that make you feel?'

In truth, it made him feel like he'd just flown as high as he could on his broomstick, only to realise it had suddenly disappeared beneath him. Like he was in for the wildest ride of his life, and it might well end in his death, but damned if it wouldn't be thrilling every step of the way.

'Erm… cold?'

Refusing to be caught off-guard, Odette flashed a secret smile, and shuffled in to James a little closer. 'It is, isn't it? You wouldn't believe the breeze in this dress.'

James flushed just thinking about it. From the corner of his eye, he was desperately scanning the room for Holly. She would likely murder him if she caught him like this. But he was torn about what to do. A large part of him was telling him to get off, bid Odette a polite farewell, and go check on the wellbeing of his date. Holly was the reason he was here, after all.

But Odette is the reason you are here with her. Said the other part. That small anarchistic voice in his head that lived for the Chaos that Odette Mansfield injected into his life. The one that would whoop with glee as he hurtled towards the earth. It was only a tiny part of him, but it was mad, and thus it screamed the loudest.

'It's almost midnight,' James observed lamely.

'Is that a suggestion, my dear? Just enough time for us to steal away together, a secret rendezvous beneath the stars. Hidden from the eyes of all save the moon, hurrying back before the clock strikes, lest our absences be noted…'

'I have a date.' The sentence was stilted and jarring, but the sentiment was clear. Odette switched demeanours on a knife-edge.

'And how is that going for you, James?' Odette's voice was rising now. 'I see you took my suggestion to bring Brooks along. She's like a kicked puppy looking for a home, that one. It was cute of you to try and make me jealous, James. I'm flattered, I really am. The fact that you would go out of your way to ruin her night for me truly is heart-warming-'

Crash!

James spun as best he could with Odette on his lap. Standing not three feet away was Holly, a rapidly-growing puddle at her feet where the two bottles of Butterbeer she had been bringing James lay shattered.

James leapt upright, but Odette was already clear, spinning off to re-join the crowd with childish glee etched all over her face. He bolted out the door after Holly, catching her at the entrance to the Dungeons, and spinning her around to face him.

'Holly, wait!'

Smack!

Stars burst to life in his vision, as Holly's slap left him staggering. He tasted blood, but refused to release her hand, waiting for the world to right itself before speaking.

'Get away from me James!'

'Just wait, Holly. Let me explain, please.'

'Explain what, James? Because from where I'm standing it all makes perfect sense now. Drooling over Mansfield any chance you get, having her all over you the second you think I'm out of the picture. Is it some sort of sick little roleplay game you two have going on, is that what it is? Whose life will we ruin tonight?'

'I'm not trying to ruin your life Holly.' James felt that assertion was a little over the top.

'Really? You're not? Well you've got a funny way of going about it! Do you remember first year, when you turned my entire house against me, because you wanted to win a game? You guaranteed that every waking moment for me inside that Common Room would be a nightmare. The names those girls call me might come from their lips, but they were able to do it because of your hand, James.

'But I looked past it. I forgave you for it. My last friend, my only friend, because that's what friends do, James. That is what friends do. They don't string them along by asking them on a date, make them feel second-rate all night and then bad-mouthing them for the whole room to hear with Odette fucking Mansfield the second their back is turned! Do you have any idea how that makes me feel James?'

'I-'

'Of course you don't! Because you are too busy worrying about yourself. Because James Potter is going to get exactly what he wants and he doesn't care how many bridges he has to burn to get there. Well enjoy it, James. Enjoy your pathetic pining after Mansfield, while she toys you along like the child you are. I hope it lasts forever. I hope it breaks you and leaves you as nothing more than a shell of a man. I hope you never love anyone else who loves you back, so that you can know how it feels for once!'

James felt the weight of her words settle down on him, and wrap around him like iron bands across his chest. A shiver wended its way up his spine.

'Please Holly, just let me explain. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. Odette cornered me.'

Holly's chest was heaving. Black trails of ruined mascara ran down her face, and were smeared up her forearms where she had tried to wipe it away. She had lost her heels in the flight, and so was back to James' eye level.

'Just tell me this James. This one thing, please. Did you, or did you not ask me because Odette suggested it? Did you hope that bringing me would make her jealous?'

James was proud of the way that he could always tell when Holly was lying to him. They knew each other that well. In the half-second of hesitation before he was able to answer, it appeared that he had given up the truth to Holly without so much as uttering a word. That the ability went both ways.

His world spun as she cracked him across the face with all her might once more, sending him staggering into the wall for support. When he came to his senses, his mouth was full of blood, and he was standing by himself staring stupidly down into the darkness of the Dungeons.

James traipsed over to sit by himself at the foot of the Grand Staircase. It was dotted with several other forlorn party-goers and their entourages trying haplessly to cheer them up. He saw a figure approaching and looked down at his shoes, eager to avoid notice. The last thing he needed was a bloody plate of fruit stacked on his head right now.

'Funny things, curses,' the Durmstrang student known to James only as Pot-Head mused conversationally.

'Curses?'

'Indeed. Anything is possible, if you mean it enough. I would imagine you are feeling a little tight across the chest right now, no?'

James nodded suspiciously.

'In a place so rich with magic, we must always be careful with what we say, when we bear our soul so close to the surface.'

James just grunted noncommittally. He didn't like the idea of Holly actually meaning what she had said. A small, childish part of him was hoping that they could sleep all of this off, and he'd wake up tomorrow with everything right once more.

Uninvited, Pot-head took a seat next to James. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Several Durmstrang students caked in dirt from wrist to shoulder filtered in through the Entrance Hall to exchange a few brief, guttural words with Pot-head, as if they were reporting the status of some unknown work. James shot a quizzical look.

'You have had your party, now it is time for us to have ours.'

The silence waxed once more, and James put his head in his hands. He couldn't shake the clinging sinking feeling that whirled around in the pit of his stomach.

'Wide-eyed stupid,' Pot-head eventually said.

'Huh?'

'We have such a saying, in our language. Wide-eyed stupid. When you know very well, with every part of you, that what you are doing is wrong. Maybe it will get you killed, or cursed, or worse, but you do it anyway. Why? Who can say? But we do it, again and again.'

With that, Pot-head stood up to leave, making his way out towards the grounds without so much as a glance backwards. James thought long on his words as he made the weary march up to his bed, the colour drained from his night now. He'd known that Holly would say yes. He'd known that there was a spark there, waiting for an eager hand to fan it to a flame. He'd known, but refused to acknowledge it, because what was scarier than admitting to something you didn't know if you wanted to be true? He'd known that that very flame would consume him should he make known the motive behind his asking. And for what? A passing chance at a girl who wanted nothing more than to drag him along and tear down his world around him?

Perhaps Pot-head was right. James smiled a bitter smile. Wide-eyed stupid, indeed.