Disclaimer: Honestly, if it was mine, would i even be writing this? Dense...
A/N: Writer's Block, that's all i have to say. Enjoy
Chapter Eight: Humility and The Blossoms of Spring
The Riddle mansion stands on its plot of land maliciously, a black blot on the night sky. The cemetery behind it teems with the spirits of Riddles long gone from this world. Out of the many tombstones crept the figures. Like dementors the Death Eaters glided among the graves, forming a circle as they waited for their leader to appear. Rumors abounded on whether he had truly regained his original form. Others were that a new student at Hogwarts was stirring things up and might have to be dealt with. All the voices ceased upon the entrance of the Dark Lord in all his former glory. The powerful and evil face with slits for a nose and snake eyes drilled holes into the Death Eaters.
"Welcome my faithful followers," he said in his serpentine voice. "You have all proven to be the closest to my heart. You and your families that serve me elsewhere are to prepare for war." The group exploded with murmurs and whisperings. "Now that I have returned to my original form, it is time for me to take back this world that rightfully belongs to me! Our first target is the accursed Hogwarts!" Cheers resounded among the tombstones, so that any passing Muggle, fearing the wrath of the risen dead, ran home to the sanctity of their home.
Classes continued after Christmas as usual, with the New Year celebrated in true Hogwarts fashion: fireworks display, endless butterbeer, and the modified countdown led by Peeves the Poltergeist who naturally counted to five before restarting at ten. Fortunately, the more seasoned students announced the real countdown even as Peeves threw peanuts at them. The entire school welcomed the New Year enthusiastically. After a week of partying and recovering, school promptly started up again. Ron, wound up tight with suspicion over his girlfriend (courtesy of Kristin), finally caught her about to sneak off with a Ravenclaw who seemed overly fond of his Muscle Charms. The shock humbled him considerably, but it wasn't until the Quidditch Final that the Weasley finally turned around. Dennis Creevey, the camera-toting first year Harry had met so long ago, was Gryffindor's Seeker and pretty good too. Still the most naïve and gullible little snot Harry had ever met, though. Well, the day before the final match against Slytherin for the Cup he had managed to ensnare him in a trap and hid the fourth-year in a spare closet on the third floor enchanted with a Sleep Hex. So, obviously, the Final was about to get underway with no Seeker in sight. Poor Ron was beside himself with anger and panic. Taking the opportunity, Harry stepped forward and offered his services. Many of the Gryffindors in the stands cheered but the team had not forgotten the embarrassment, which still stung when they thought about it. The decision stood then in the hands of the captain. Either forfeit the game to Slytherin, or put the smartass in as a Seeker. Seconds ticked by and James was ordered to suit up. The game got underway, with Harry scanning the field for the Snitch. It appeared over by a Slytherin stand, its gold wings propelling it in seconds around the seats as the crowd watched the game, oblivious. Malfoy and his bodyguards Crabbe and Goyle took control of the Quaffle and flew with it, the swinging clubs an effective shield that broke through the gold robes. The same impenetrable pattern brought a large lead to the green robes as Ron tried desperately to take possession. The score stood at 130 to 0 before Harry decided to step in, having been flying around observing. The Gryffindor stands watched Harrison revert to a blur of gold and red and dive-bomb into the green formation. The force of the dive broke it apart and James held the Quaffle in his hands. Speechless, the crowd gaped awestruck as the last minute replacement scored a goal. Then a tumultuous cheer rocked the stadium. The gold team beheld the reaction and just went with it. The resentment could be saved for later; right now they had a game to win.
Slytherin took possession, the Quaffle flying between the three Chasers as they moved to their goal. The Gryffindors, with Ron and James directing them, split into two groups and formed a wall in front of the goal. Malfoy reacted by immediately calling the Beaters to disperse the defense. Just as the burly oafs were about to reach the wall, Bludgers appeared from the sides and collided with their heads. Thanks to years of refining their hard heads, the balls just disoriented them. It was all the lions needed. A whistle sounded and the ranks split in half. James shot through the gap at full speed toward Malfoy. The stone-faced captain flinched and dropped the Quaffle, which was picked up and taken to the other side for a Gryffindor goal. For some time the tides turned but Slytherin finally wised up to the Gryffindor tactics and fought back. The sun set on the ongoing game with the score 400 to 410 with lions in the lead. None of the stands were empty; there was no way anyone was leaving until the Cup winner was decided. Replacements on both sides kept the strategies changing and unpredictable. However, Ron and Harry as well as Draco and pals remained the whole time, none refusing to back down. Due to scuffles while trying to take the Quaffle, cuts and bruises decorated their faces and arms. The Snitch had been completely forgotten in the wake of their anger, Harry for his loss and Ron for his hatred toward the Slytherin. Many of the professors could not remember a more exciting game. The score rose to 450 even and Harry saw the Golden Snitch fly by his very face. The glimpse jarred him to reality and he went after it, but Malfoy had seen it as well. Knowing he could not compete with a Firebolt, he hatched a plan to get the bastard out of the way. One nod to both Crabbe and Goyle made the Beaters send the Bludgers storming toward James. James noticed one second too late and pulled back on his handle. The nose pulled back, narrowly avoiding the flying projectiles, but Crabbe and Goyle were right behind. The clubs connected with a loud thwack and James was knocked off his broom from over six hundred meters in the air. He plummeted to the ground as the other Gryffindors watched in horror.
Kristen sat riveted from the grace James exuded on his broom, his skill and power unparalleled. But when he was thrown into the air, she could feel all breath leave her. Why did his fall seem so slow, like every second was made to lash her with agony? She wanted to scream, but paralysis stopped her from doing anything but watching. That didn't shield her from thought. 'Stop falling, get back up, don't! Someone help him! James!'
Harry thought fast, summoning the Firebolt underneath him as he slowed himself enough to grab the handle of the broom. Swinging a leg over the broom he rocketed in Malfoy's direction. Dear God he was so close to the Snitch! Concentrating all his euphoria and magick ability, Harry launched himself from the broom, speeding like a bullet toward the golden ball. Time slowed around the two as the crowd held its breath. Harry caught the Snitch right out of the Slytherin captain's grasp and fell to the floor. This fall was much shorter and he landed on the ground with a loud thud. Slowly, dramatically, he stood upright and presented the Snitch in his right hand.
The stadium erupted, the cheering rocking the stands and deafening anything with ears for miles around. Etiquette, decorum, and simple common sense were forsaken as the Gryffindor team rushed the winner. All that could be seen was a mass of arms and legs screaming and struggling to share the joy their owners were feeling. Harry watched from the side with an enormous smile, having easily evaded the dog pile. Also off to the side stood Ron, his eyes focused intently on the source of his humiliation and greatest victory. He always prided himself as the best flyer on the team, since he had to deal with the handicap of having a slow-as-hell broom that was older than he was, but then James came in and ripped all the pride away with his lightning-fast broom and godlike skills. On top of that, Parvati cheated on him with a muscle-bound dupe from Ravenclaw! It was just a bad time for him, but… James never really did anything that bad, and he did win the Cup for them. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all. Once the decision was made, Ron joined his teammates in glorious and brainless rejoicing. James turned to his old friend and smiling offered his hand. Ron took it.
The party in the Gryffindor common room was above all the loudest Hogwarts had ever seen. Not one Lion slept, each finding room either by the Fat Lady or the fireplace chattering about the match. Hermione sat by the stairs having long since given up on sleeping. Instead she drank butterbeer and read her Dark Arts textbook. Ron sat on the sofa with the team, discussing all his moves as he contributed to the victory. It was clear that James had done most of the work, but embellishing a little never hurt anyone, right? As for the man of the hour, he was nowhere to be found. Kristen, who was still nursing her first butterbeer, noticed his absence almost immediately and decided to go looking for him. She chugged the rest of her butterbeer and left the common room.
Harry leaned against one of the many pillars that made the walkway connecting the North Tower with the rest of the castle, musing of what to do about the upcoming N.E.W.T. exams. He could pass them easy, but did he really want to become an Auror? So far they and the Ministry had done nothing to stop Voldemort. Indeed, it was as if they did not know he was back! Besides, he wasn't too willing to take orders without question just yet. It was a dilemma all right, a real problem. 'Being an Auror would put all my training to good use, but then there are the stories of Aurors ordered to destroy entire villages just to capture a few Death Eaters.' Whispers of corruption were common, so maybe he should steer away from them. If not a wizard soldier, then what else could he be? Professional Quidditch, scientist, entrepreneur, seer, or Ministry lackey, none of these appealed to him. Then there was of course the Muggle occupations, boring and dull as they may be. His thoughts were interrupted however by a sharp slap on his shoulder. By the way, while leaning on the pillar he was also balancing on the guardrail with a sheer drop of at least a hundred feet just waiting for him. So when the slap landed, it broke his stability and he involuntarily leaned over the chasm.
Kristen, in her annoyance at having to search almost the entire castle, did not really think it through when she slapped James on the shoulder. However, when she saw him tipping over the guardrail her heart leapt into her throat and she reached for him. Her hands closed on air as he fell. She was about to scream when she looked over the walkway to see him standing on the wall with a grin on his face.
"Gotcha," he said as he walked parallel to the ground back to safety. Once he was safely on solid and horizontal stone she punched him in the gut.
"Don't do that you idiot. What the hell are you doing out here anyway?" The mirth in his expression faded slowly and he turned away from her. Concern sprouted within her and she stood next to him, trying with peripheral vision to see his face and failing miserably. "You okay?"
"Yeah, fine. I was just wondering about what to do after I get out of here."
"You mean as a job or something?"
"Yep."
"Man, you need to lighten up. A new religion has just formed you know."
"Oh," he inquired with raised eyebrows, taking the bait.
"It's called Harrisonism, and it's dedicated to the blind worship of your image. Every Gryffindor is officially a faithful disciple. You should go and give them an image of perfection." She was joking, obviously, but the idea of everyone in the common room bowing to a painting of him made him chuckle. But then the last sentence she had said registered.
"So you're saying I'm perfect," he asked with a knowing glance. Kristen did not catch on immediately, but once it sunk in the teenager blushed a deep red. God, who needed enemies with a mouth like hers? Thankfully, he just shrugged it off. "I don't feel like being surrounded by fans right now."
"Don't play modest with me, Harrison," she said in an effort to continue on this path of conversation. "You know damn well you enjoy the drooling."
"No, I don't. I hate it." It wasn't so much what he said, but how he said it that caught her attention. "All of them, each with their dime-store respect and idolatry towards you, they'll love you for a while. But when something goes wrong, whom do they point the finger at? They blame you, because it has to be connected somehow to you, because only you have the ability to move mountains or save worlds. All of which stemming from one event that holds no bearing or relevance to the new situation, but it's all they need. No matter what happens, the idol becomes a scourge, a source of disgrace." The words were spoken softly with hardly any emotion attached to them. It seemed almost as if he spoke of first-hand experience. It occurred to her then how little she knew of James. Sure they had been friends from their first meeting, but what of his life before it? What kind of life did he have that made him who he was?
"James, can I ask you something," she said timidly, since silence had descended after he had spoken. She knew that to ask would mean she ran the risk of having to tell as well, but she had to know.
"Sure, what is it?"
"I just realized that I know nothing about you. So it's time to 'fess up, buddy. Tell me something about your past." For a moment he did nothing before a soft sad smile appeared on his stoic features.
"Are you sure you want to know?" The question confused her, not to mention scared her a little, but she simply nodded. "All right, let me start at the very beginning. I was born July thirty-first of 1988 to a pure wizard and Muggle witch, making me a half-blood. Anyway, around the time before my first birthday, a group of Death Eaters, led by-"
"What are Death Eaters?"
"It's a title given to the servants of Lord Voldemort."
"I've never heard of that name." This time he chuckled, a hollow, distant sound.
"No, I don't suppose you would have. You see, Lord Voldemort was a very powerful Dark Wizard that appeared thirty years ago and wreaked havoc on the wizard community. His influence was so great, the fear associated with him so strong, that no one would even say his name, preferring to say 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' or 'You-Know-Who.' That was his greatest victory I think, but that's not the point. Back to my story, Voldemort led a group of his followers to my parent's home and murdered them. Immediately following the incident, he was defeated and forced into hiding."
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," she said, regretting her persistence and cursing her curiosity. He just smiled that same smile and continued.
"It's in the past. After their death I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle, who were pure Muggles. They of course knew of my lineage, but refused to condone or accept it and seemed determined to let me know on a daily basis just how much they disliked me. Ten years I spent in their private, sterile Hell until relief came in the form of Hagrid."
"You mean the Care for Magical Creatures professor?"
"That's the one. Apparently Dumbledore, the old Headmaster, had been sending letters to me inquiring as to whether I would like to come to school in September, but dear old aunt and uncle had been intercepting the letters. Needless to say, I jumped at the opportunity to learn more about my past. I came to Hogwarts for my first and second years, and it was paradise, a veritable Eden for me. But all good things come to an end."
"What do you mean," she murmured, enthralled by his tale.
"When school let out for the summer I would return to my aunt and uncle's house to wait out the interval. However, the summer after second year I was once again visited by a group of Death Eaters, minus a Dark Lord. They murdered my remaining family and burned the house to the ground."
"But how did you survive?"
"I ran away from the carnage, torn between conflicting emotions. On one hand I mourned the loss of kin and vowed revenge, but then I remembered how savagely they treated me, how heartlessly they tossed me aside in favor of their obese son, showering him with gifts he did not appreciate. With those memories, I was… glad, so very relieved that they were dead, away from me. God, I was never as afraid of myself as I had been that day." He shuddered involuntarily at the memory. It had been right after his first night in the cave. His anger had faded with the adrenaline and all he could do was sit and remember all the things those people had done to him, and for one horrible moment he cheered their demise before his morality came down on him. He never visited their graves, nor did he recall the day save as the end of his old life. Kristen could see him turning into himself, shutting off the world. Thinking quickly she cupped his cheek with her hand. James jumped slightly before turning to look at her.
"I'm sorry for making you relive that," she said as the heat burned her face. His smile then was brilliant.
"It's okay. Come on chic, let's go join the flock of my faithful," he said with a smirk and led the way to the common room. The chattering could be heard from outside the entrance.
"Oh hello dearie," the Fat Lady said in a drunken slur. Her hair was wild and cheeks red with the wine. "Come on in, they're waiting for you." Without warning she swung open, nearly knocking the two against the wall. "Oi listen up you blokes. The one, the only James Harrison has arrived," the woman cried. For a second the Gryffindors looked like a painting of a feast but they soon grabbed him and thrust him into the center of the chaos, leaving Kristen breathless at the entrance. The questions came in from all sides, lashing his skin with desperate adulation. Air became scarce and heavy. Harry closed his eyes and with his most commanding voice he spoke.
"Shut up."
The group silenced immediately and looked hungrily at him. He merely glared back. "So we won the Quidditch Cup." The cheers rocked the dust from the ceiling. "But do you know why? It wasn't because of our superior team, or the fact that I have a Firebolt, or even that I participated. Ronald Weasley, the captain, was faced at the beginning of the game with the choice of forfeiting the match or taking me on as replacement. Now, the team won't admit it, but I totally kicked their broom tails up and down the field long ago, and I suspect I made enemies of them. They had no reason to take me on, but Ron looked past that and made the best decision. He is the true hero of the match. So don't cheer for me. Go ask him how it went." Obeying without question, the river changed sides and flowed to Ron who stood proudly in front of his team members. James gave him the thumbs-up before heading to the dormitory.
"Nice job with the mob, Harrison," he heard Hermione say from behind a large textbook. Placing it on her lap, she gave him a huge smile. From the entrance Kristen saw the twinkling grin and felt molten lava pulse in her veins. "But don't try going to sleep. No amount of Silencing Charms could block out this party." He smiled but did not reply. Kristen saw that smile as well as ice replaced the lava. A pain she could not identify assaulted her, burning, scratching, seething, and razing the surface of her heart. She could not stay there in the common room watching that bushy-haired bitch. Sadness juxtaposed her anger at having thought such things about a fellow student and friend. Overcome with emotion, the violet-eyed American left the feast for her own introspection.
God, his smile was so perfect! Hermione could not discern when the shift had occurred, but somehow she found herself thinking more about James. She knew she should feel guilty for betraying Harry, but there was nothing. Almost as if… but that couldn't possibly be it, would it? Could it?
Harry made it to the window whilst debating on what to do. Hermione was right of course; there was very little chance of him getting a good night's sleep now. So… might as well occupy the time some other way. Summoning his sword to his side he wrapped the strap around his waist and leapt out the window to train.
Kristen wandered aimlessly through the halls, dwelling on her reaction to what she had seen. Why had she gotten so angry? 'It was just James after all. No reason to get so bent out of shape.' Her thoughts were interrupted by the night air's caress. She took the time to look up. She couldn't get enough of the stars. After all, back in Miami the only ones you could really see were those belonging to Orion, and it gets boring after awhile. Here in the untainted air of Hogwarts they appeared in infinite patterns, each one as unique as a fingerprint. They were constant and stayed with her until the sun chased them away, but she found comfort in the fact that they would return that night, as with every night before. The constancy, the intuition was something she could not find in Miami, where it was a constant war of secrecy and double lives. During the week with daylight she was Kristen Myers, a high school junior, one of thousands on her campus, with a sharp tongue and sharper mind. But when the sun traveled to the other side of the world, she ditched the schoolbooks and responsibilities to join the Sisterhood, the coven that had embraced her growing abilities and, under the tutelage of Madam Rosetta, taught her to use them. The greatest challenge lay not in the astronomical amount of work she struggled with from both side, but in the effort to keep the two lives apart. It went without saying that she failed miserably in that aspect. Thankfully, the students and faculty simply wrote her off as weird and left it at that. Her parents however, when they found out why the reason their daughter always had somewhere to go weekend nights and never held a job, were furious. Her father refused to believe a word Kristen said in her defense, and her mother merely stood at his side, her noncommittal expression a harsher blow than his words. "Police" and "Military School" were words frequently issued from his lips that were slowly reddening until they seemed purple with rage. She had not been surprised by his reaction, he was a man after all, but the idea of being sent off to some boot camp full of coked up bitches with names like Molly and Big Jane did not seem remotely appealing. She left them to their spat and went to her room, mind full of ideas for escape. Needless to say she was shocked to find a huge owl on her bed, its saucer-shaped eyes boring into hers before tapping its claw on a letter. Preferring not to dwell on the fact that there was an owl sitting on her bed, the teen reached for the letter and opened it to reveal the answer to all her problems. With some clever wordplay on her behalf they readily shipped her off to England to "the most intense training a delinquent can imagine in their darkest nightmares." Still, as she sat in the waiting lobby for the boarding to begin, she found it difficult to detach from her parent's embrace, and they seemed just as reluctant. Finally, the stewardess began the call and she tore away, hastily wiping her eyes of any evidence of tears she had not been shedding. The flight was long and boring, and the depression of having no one to meet her at the end felt unbearable. But upon arriving in Europe she found an owl much like the one that had been in her room perched above a street sign, its eyes willing her to it. With closer inspection came a rolled-up map, directions to Diagon Alley, and a gold key with an ornate cursive G stamped on it. With map in hand finding Diagon Alley was easy, but it took a big chunk of the day just figuring out what the damn key was for, followed by a mad scramble to get everything she needed. The moon was high in the sky when she finally settled into her room at the local inn, robes and books scattered everywhere. Tired beyond endurance, the American fell on the mattress, twirling her new wand like a baton. That was something she never understood nor gotten used to: the use of wands at Hogwarts. Madam Rosetta had taught them to channel the magical energies in her body through the hands and all the necessary chants to make the power bend to her will. Now she was reduced to spinning an enchanted stick and mumbling one-word spells. 'Still… it's better than military school,' she thought as sleep finally shut down her fatigued body that day. The next day brought with it new problems as she ran up and down the London Terminal like a headless chicken searching for the goddamn platform.
Then James came along and swept her off her feet.
Wait a minute…
That wasn't how it happened! Was it?
Yes, that's exactly how it happened.
But what could she do about it? James was in a league of his own. Although he hardly ever showed it, she could see a large amount of power radiating from him. It reminded her of Madam Rosetta who could split a boulder in two with just a flick of her pinkie. He could do more though, that she could sense instinctively. At once charming and funny, there weren't many who could hold a grudge against him, unless of course they feel threatened by his energy. Still, there was a deep emotion always hiding beneath the surface of that smile and wiseass attitude. He seemed to hold a secret; something enormous that burdened his heart. The incident with the thestrals came to mind. He had seen things, many things that she could only imagine, not to mention the death of his entire family! Her mind halted then and she realized just how much she had studied this man, for he was no boy. Was this love, to see a person and to know them and accept their pasts? She didn't hate him, not after all he had done for her. 'But… he's a male,' that same voice argued bitterly. 'Males cannot be trusted!' But why can't I trust him? He would never do anything like that! He isn't a liar! The voice died away in the face of her conviction and she knew what to do now. Setting her chin firmly in place, she headed out for the lake.
Harry took deep breaths to enhance his concentration, sword held diagonally over his right shoulder. 'One… two… three,' he counted down before swinging. The sideways arch moved fluidly into a spin and upward slash. The attack continued as the wind whistled in his ear, the blade flitting in the light of the moon. Even as his fluid movements sliced the wind and made the grass tremble, his mind was churning. After the Quidditch Final there was the Spring Ball, a new addition to the school since his time, and every student was expected to attend. But attending it meant going with dates, as in people of the opposite sex with which one was to dance and spend an all-around romantic evening with. Yes, it was a problem. He already knew whom he wanted to go with, but did she feel the same? Worse, did she want to go with someone else? A sinking sensation made all his vital organs drop to the floor at the idea of her dancing with anyone other than him. His swings jerked suddenly and in an unconscious move he brought the blade down like an axe, effectively splitting the earth with a violent explosion of dust and grass. He couldn't do this; he had to work up the nerve to ask, despite the risk. Before he could plan his approach, however, he heard the hissing of air and he unconsciously grabbed the moving arm, twisting it around until the owner stood with her arm behind her back. Wait…her? Letting go he noticed then it was Kristen. The moment he did she turned and swung, catching him on the chin.
"You bastard," he heard her say. "I come here looking for your sorry ass, and you go all gung-ho commando on me! I don't even know why I bother! Fucking-ay dude, you scared the shit out of me with that stunt." He smiled at her colorful language and rubbed his chin gingerly. Not even a bruise.
"Sorry about that chic, you just caught me off-guard. I don't get many visitors when I'm out here. Speaking of which…" he trailed off leadingly and was rather surprised to see her blush. But it was fleeting as the tough girl came out to play.
"I don't know, I don't think an apology is going to fix this little slip-up of yours," she said with an evil grin that he returned quickly, unfazed.
"Well then, how do you propose I go about seeking repentance then, O Merciful Queen," he said in a regal tone complete with a bow and sweeping hand movements. The title made her blush fleetingly but she charged forward, hoping against hope that she wouldn't be too scarred.
"Um, well, how about this? I forgive this transgression only if you take me to the Spring Ball." Harry almost fell back in shock, although his face retained that same grin. The possibilities of such a situation made his mind run wild and for a split second he hesitated. Kristen saw this and felt the earth fall away beneath her feet. 'Of course, what was I thinking?'
"Yeah, I think I can endure that," she heard a voice say, the words echoing as if in a long dark tunnel. His face came into focus and she could see the grin. She couldn't help but smile. Then, while still smiling, she swung at his face again. James easily caught it, her fist enclosed in his hand.
"So, I heard you need a sparring partner," she said flippantly.
"Where'd you hear that?"
"A little bird told me." James smiled before twirling her and using her own arm to pin her against him. Not a second past before Kristen dug her elbow into his gut and flipped him over her head. A laugh issued from the kicked-up dust before he stood and rushed her. She froze at his sudden speed but felt no pain when he threw her to the ground. Reeling from the unexpected shift in balance she could only stare as he spoke.
"Yeah, I'll teach you a few things. You don't need to ask." He said and a hand materialized from thin air to help her up. The beast of pride reared its head and she roughly stood up. 'Why that arrogant son of a- I'll teach him a thing or two,' she thought angrily before falling into her karate stance. In all honesty she had only gone up to her green belt, but that should be enough right? The rest of the night heard only grunts and the slap of bone against bone.
They screamed, her muscles literally cried their anguish in her ears as she sat in History of Magic. It seemed she had deeply underestimated James, but he had taught her move or two. 'And he's going with me to the ball.' The very idea of being in his arms, swaying gently to low music with her head on his shoulder made her blush to the roots of her hair. Suddenly Friday seemed like much less than two days away and the thought of what to wear filled her mind, pushing out all other thoughts (not like she had much else to think of otherwise, this was History of Magic after all). Her wardrobe manifested itself before her, each shirt, skirt, and dress rolling slowly by her line of sight. All the combinations were studied and broken down before being rejected. Nearing the end, she sought out anything and everything. It was the last dress, as usual. The lavender chiton from Greece now seemed perfect.
Harry sat in his usual place at the center of the class in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin had his face in the Daily Prophet as per usual while the class practiced all their spells for the upcoming N.E.W.T practical exam. At least that was the assignment. Many of the students were confident in their abilities and so they divided into their respective cliques to gossip and talk. Ron and Hermione were in their usual places, but after the Quidditch Final the two had made great leaps and strides forward to fix their friendship and he knew it was his influence that did it. Although the three of them still didn't hang together like before, at least they were speaking to each other. There was a lot of tension and mixed words to go through and with Harry hiding his identity it was even harder. They just didn't trust him enough yet. But never mind that, his mind was burdened with other thoughts at the moment, like what he would wear and how he was going to get over this enormous feeling of nervousness come Friday.
"Right then," the voice of Professor Lupin said from behind the newspaper. "It's time for your practice test." The students all grumbled back to their seats and took out their wands.
The rest of the week was uneventful as the entire school waited anxiously for Friday. It finally arrived and Kristen was beside herself with panic. Everything felt strange. The announcement that the Ball was to begin at four in the afternoon didn't help things at all. She was so used to dances being at night, and she knew it shouldn't have mattered, but it did. Who starts a party in the afternoon, a dance even? By the time it gets around to ten, everyone would be tired! It never dawned on her that that was exactly why the Houses chose the time they did, for with later hours came the prospect and possibility to do "things". Better to avoid that completely. Her hands trembled as she placed the pin of her dress, despairing over the realization that not even the pleasure of silk could soothe her fried nerves. Harry wasn't doing any better in his dormitory. Ron and the others teasing him about his chiton didn't help matters either, and it forced him out into the dormitory. 'It won't be long now,' he thought as he stood by the fireplace, watching the low flames dance as he waited. It was almost time for Kristen to come down anyway. Just as he was about to lapse into another of his many memories, he heard someone coming down the stairs. Turning to receive whomever it was, he felt the wind leave his body in one short gasp.
Kristen almost missed the last step when she beheld James standing by the fire, shadows playing over his skin and chiton. He stood like a god before her, and she could feel her defenses melting before his influence. So with a glowing smile, she took the last step and stood before her date. Each looked into the other's eyes, trying to say everything without speaking anything, engorged nothingness. Finally James bowed deeply and offered his arm to her, which she took with a light chuckle. The two left the common room for the Ball.
The Great Hall was of course the location being the only room in the castle capable of housing all the students and tables. The ceiling, which normally displayed with great accuracy the outside sky now held the illusion of pink petals among twinkling stars and of streaks of light that could only be recognized as comets. The long stiff tables were replaced with circular and more ornate affairs with pearl-white sheets draped over them and at the very center a bouquet of the reddest roses Kristen had ever seen. Soft classical music played from the band in the corner near where the faculty table stood and the wondrous voices of a female quartet singing opera filled the newcomers with an undeniable feeling of warmth. Next to the great doors on both sides floated the ghosts, greeting the couples as they entered. Peeves was nowhere to be seen, the work of Professor Lupin who had managed to trap the poltergeist in an Unbreakable Box and magically soundproofing it. It rumbled and hopped under his chair. One of the ghosts, a thin and balding creature in a tattered gray tuxedo with coattails, floated just above the entrance and spoke. His voice boomed and cut through the rest of the music and conversation easily.
"MAY I PRESENT JAMES HARRISON AND KRISTIN MYERS!" She could feel her cheeks burn from the proverbial spotlight but was glad to see only a few people turned to look. Looking uncertainly over at James, she was relieved to see him turn and shrug at her.
"Shall we then," has asked while gently pulling her forward. Without a word she let him lead her to a table near the dance floor that lay bare save for a few unembarrassed couples that swayed to the intensely romantic melody. The rest of those attending had situated themselves at their tables awaiting the promised dinner and butterbeer before trying anything as remotely scandalous as dancing. The two sat and with a wave of his hand the six other empty chairs disappeared. Left to their own devices the two lapsed into conversation, laughing and chatting like the friends they were, complimenting the kitchen elves by tapping their feet three times, and commenting on every dress that walked by. It was only when the more sprightly (to quote the Headmistress) music began playing that the awkwardness set in, because Kristen wanted to dance, had daydreamed about it for the better part of a week, but she didn't have the slightest clue how to approach. Harry fared no better, and so they were at a standoff. That is, until some seventh-year that Harry recognized to be a member of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team asked for a dance that he finally manned up.
"Sorry, but she's with me," he said, sliding between them and whisking the American to the dance floor. Doing his very best to ignore the feeling of her hand in his, he placed his other hand on her waist and they danced. Now while Kristen may have been considered weird by a large portion of her high school population, that did not deter her from regularly attending dances and parties where she shook her rump with the best of them. Of course she usually danced alone, due of course to her misogynist outlook, but that only made her more alluring, allowing her to develop a style all her own. Now she struggled with the warmth that radiated from his touch, an almost euphoric feeling overtaking her as the two swayed among the emboldened students. He really was good at this, his hand guiding her left and right with ease, the silk of their chitons barely skimming the clothes of the other dancers. An intense urge started formulating in her mind, and before she could even begin to protest her body complied and placed her head on his shoulder. Their swaying slowed to dragging steps in half-circles. The thought of other people inhabiting this little slice of the world did not cross their minds at all, and the mist emerging from Professors Flitwick and Trelawney's wands only served to heightened the effect. His arms dragged to the small of her back, transferring all the warmth into that region, making a delicious numbing effect racing down her legs. In an effort to hold her body upright she clasped her hands at the back of his neck, causing the same feeling to draw slowly down his spine. In this position she could do nothing else but stare up at his face. The flames of the opulent candles floating overhead amongst the night sky made his profile brighten and fade, leaving his eyes as the only constant on his visage. She was drowning, falling headfirst into those swirling seas of green. So lost in their intense feelings, neither noticed that the illusion had faded away. There was no warning, no slow inching toward each other, one moment they were staring, the next their lips had met. The kiss could've leveled entire cities, decimated islands, and it burned itself into her soul. Without speaking, they made their way out of the Great Hall, ignoring the looks and low murmurs until they reached an empty hallway. Panting for more than one reason, they stood in the quiet. Kristen felt the conflict within her mind, voices screaming at each other even as she kept her eyes locked with his.
'He'll hurt you!'
'No he won't!'
'Damn it, you don't know what he's capable of!'
'Yes I do, he's my best friend! He would tell me anything!'
'HE'S A MALE!'
'I DON'T CARE!' As if to prove it, she launched herself at James, pushing him up against the wall with the force of the kiss. James, to his credit, accepted the gesture in silence and reciprocating as well he could with her tongue worming its way around the inner confines of his mouth. It was only when they heard steps coming from the other end of the hall that they finally pulled away. The source of the noise turned out to be one of the other ghosts waddling his way while talking to himself loudly. Waiting patiently for the apparition to pass through, and used that time to recompose themselves. Once they stood alone again, James opened up the impending conversation.
"So," he started, drawing out the O longer than necessary. "What happens now?"
"I don't know, this isn't something I usually do," she said honestly, looking at a crack in the wall above him, vaguely recognizing the striking blue of his eyes with her peripheral vision. Because of this, she did not see the small smile flit across his face.
"No chance of sealing the deal then?" She looked at him then and saw the same devilish grin she had grown accustomed to in the time she had spent with him. She chuckled then, feeling her lungs fill almost as if she had been holding her breath the entire time.
"Not on the first date, stud," she said, reaching up for a chaste second-long kiss before locking eyes with him again.
"Understandable, so how's Saturday for Date Number Two then," he asked, the grin, if possible, inching wider. Despite what they had been doing not two minutes ago, she still felt her cheeks burn before shyly nodding her agreement. The rest of the night was spent walking outside on the grounds, finally coaxing the Whomping Willow into letting them lie on its branches. The two savored this newfound closeness, this hope of something wonderful. Neither of them could know of what awaited the next day, of the shadow that at the moment was mere miles from the school and that brought with it all the promises of Hell. At that moment it was just the two of them, and it was all they needed.
And there goes the next chapter! Again, sorry for the long wait and I'll do my best to get the rest done ASAP
Ja ne
