A week had passed since the latest incident. By silent, mutual agreement, Harry and Draco were avoiding each other as much as possible. Their classmates only interpreted this to mean that they were involved in a lover's spat, and within a day, the whole school knew what Harry had shouted in Charms. Even Draco, who responded by retreating to his room to inspect the limbs in question for any sign of imperfection. To his vast relief, his wrists were still as lovely and elegant as ever.

It was halfway through dinner when Dumbledore rose to his feet. Seeing the Headmaster stand at attention, eyes set to maximum twinkle, many students groaned inwardly and despaired of the inevitable bad news.

"Ah, students…" he began genially, causing even the first years to cringe. "I have a bit of an announcement to make."

"Filch prefers me in pink knickers, and his prick tastes like Lemon Drops," Seamus parroted, doing his best Dumbledore impression.

Harry choked on his pumpkin juice and glared. "Thanks for those images, mate."

"Well, you and Malfoy can't be our only source of naughty imagery," Dean pointed out helpfully.

Harry shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering image. "Filch and Dumbledore together is nasty, not naughty. Unless you've got some dirty old man fetish I don't know about." He raised a brow.

Seamus and Dean both blanched.

"You know," Seamus murmured softly. "I think for once we've gone too far…"

"Hear hear," Harry agreed heartily, raising his goblet in a toast. "To not knowing when to shut the fuck up!"

"Cheers!" Dean smiled, touching his goblet to Harry's.

Seamus, not to be outdone, called out, 'Cheers!" and joined them.

Taking in their surroundings, the trio suddenly noticed that the entire school, staff and students alike, were staring at Dumbledore in abject horror.

"Oh right, the Old Coot was talking," Seamus remembered.

Harry grimaced. "Don't think I want to know what he said."

"Hear, hear," Dean murmured.

"Oi, Neville," Seamus said. "What'd Filch's pink-knickered Love Kneazle have to say?"

"EW!" Harry protested.

"Double EW, Shay," Dean chided. "Shut it down."

Neville regarded them with considerable confusion. "What are you on about?"

Harry translated. "What'd Dumbledore say that's got everyone's," he paused to wink at Seamus, "pink knickers in a twist?"

"Hear, hear!" Seamus cried.

Neville chuckled. "You lot are mad, today." Then, he sobered. "The Headmaster says that, in light of the dark times we face, we need a bit of cheering up, so he's scheduled a Yule Ball for everyone fourth year and up."

Harry frowned, taking in their classmates' gobsmacked expressions. "As long as we're not obligated to go, and I don't have to bloody dance, it's not that big of a deal…"

"That's not all," Neville explained warily, wondering if the news would cause the Boy Who Lived to start stabbing random people with cutlery. "It's mandatory, everyone has to dance, and in the interest of promoting inter-House cooperation, we all have to go with someone from another House."

Three voices were simultaneous in their exclamation of, "Bloody Hell!"

At the Slytherin table, Pansy Parkinson let out a loud, and rather unladylike, screech at the news. Then, she completely upset the mealtime Slytherin hierarchy by shoving Crabbe out of the way so she could get close to Draco. Which just went to show, really, how inept Vincent was as a bodyguard. Gregory was even worse, considering that he was currently double-fisting drumsticks, face covered in treacle tart, and had yet to notice the upset. The Slytherin Prince sighed long-sufferingly. You'd think his father would've done a bit of research before assigning these two buffoons to protect him. Then again, seeing as Lucius wasted his time chasing after that mad, half-blooded twit, Draco really shouldn't expect better judgment.

"Dray, did you hear?" Pansy whined, leaning into his personal space and daring to touch a sacred arm.

He rolled his eyes, moving rudely out of her reach. "No, Pansy, I've unexpectedly lost the use of my ears."

"What?" Her face scrunched up unattractively.

Draco couldn't quite cover his sneer. "Yes, I heard."

"This is just awful!" she cried desperately. "It means we can't go together."

"Hmm," he mused. "What a Greek Tragedy."

"What?" Her face scrunched up unattractively.

Draco glared at Blaise, who was gleefully watching the exchange. "I suppose the Old Coot wants the Houses to get along," he offered lamely, inwardly leaping for joy over having a solid reason not to go with Pansy to the Ball.

Pansy was under the mistaken supposition that they were getting married the minute they graduated, and thus it was automatically assumed that they'd attend every Hogwarts event together. As Draco would rather brand 'I Heart Voldemort' on his balls than marry Pansy, he'd vowed that the bonding would never take place. It would require all his Slytherin cunning to make it so, however, and for now he kept his cards close to his chest.

The girl in question was fuming. "Just wait until my father hears about this!" she snarled. "That Old Coot won't be Headmaster for long!"

Blaise burst out laughing.

"What?" Her face scrunched up unattractively.

"We're on the brink of war, Pans, and you're going to bother dear old dad about a school dance?" He raised a brow. "You'll be lucky if he doesn't decide to try out his best hexes on you for practice."

"I can't believe this," Harry huffed. "It's inhumane to force students to attend a Ball, and dance, for Merlin's sake!"

Dean nodded. "This whole fiasco's more likely to start an inter-House war of jealous girlfriends and boyfriends." He glanced sideways at Seamus.

"I'll be taking a girl, Dean," Seamus pointed out quietly. "The thought of getting into her robes is more disgusting than imagining Dumbledore in his pink knickers."

Dean smiled.

"Who the fuck am I supposed to ask?" Harry wondered aloud. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't have the best of luck with girls from other Houses."

Ron overheard him and glared. "Don't pretend you're not thrilled for the chance to take your pet snake." In his mind, this was all Harry's fault. He'd probably asked the Headmaster to make up the rule about inter-House dates just so he could be with Malfoy, and thus screw up Ron's chance to ask Hermione.

"Ron, give it a rest, would you?" Harry pleaded, not having the energy to get into yet another tussle with his supposed best friend.

The redhead's eyes widened. "So, you admit it!" he shouted, drawing all eyes to their table.

"Ron…"

"You're really shagging that slimy git! You probably set this whole thing up so you'd have an excuse to take him to the Ball."

Ron stood, and Harry rose to face him. A cold wind began to gust through the hall.

"Why're you being such a fucking prick?" Harry demanded. "What's crawled up your arse and died recently?"

"You!" Ron snarled.

Harry grimaced. "First of all, EW! Second of all, you're the one that ran off to bloody Skeeter, not me. I haven't done anything to you!"

"You've taken up with a Malfoy," Ron accused.

"I haven't taken up with anyone!" Harry shot back. "It's all bloody rumors and speculation." He paused. "Then again, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you'd choose to believe rumors over me." His voice matched the cold and bitter wind that whipped around him. Lights began to flicker, and the false ceiling grew stormy and dark.

"I certainly hope you haven't fucked him; he's a disgusting, slimy snake," Ron sneered. "But you didn't deny it, and then you bloody defended him! He's a Malfoy. You don't defend them, you rid the world of their taint."

Professors Snape and McGonagall rose in tandem, thinking it was time to head this off at the pass. Snape was just itching to slap Weasley with detention and take House points. Dumbledore raised a staying hand to detain them. The two Heads of House shared a disgruntled glance over the Headmaster's bizarre behavior, but obeyed. Reluctantly.

A light went on in Harry's head. "So, that's what this is all about? His bloody surname?"

Ron glowered. "The Weasleys and the Malfoys have been at war for years. By defending him, you've betrayed the entire Weasley family," he declared.

Harry's body grew still, a position belied by the harsh wind and flickering lights. "Let me get this straight. Anyone that doesn't openly declare their hatred for the Malfoys has betrayed your family?"

"Yes." The redhead looked proud and defiant, happy that his friend finally understood and was preparing to apologize.

The Boy Who Lived arched a brow. "So, by that logic, Dumbledore himself has betrayed the Weasley family by allowing Lucius and Draco to attend Hogwarts," he concluded. All eyes turned briefly to the Headmaster, who wisely said nothing.

"What?" Ron's face scrunched up unattractively.

Harry was on a roll. "I find it interesting," he sneered, "that the Weasleys, who don't stand for pure-blooded bigotry and nonsense, would stoop to upholding a wizard's Grudge."

"Harry's right," Ginny spoke up, resolved not to allow her sense of loyalty to Ron keep her from doing the right thing. "We can't condemn the practices of other pure-bloods and then suddenly invoke them when we find it useful. It's hypocritical."

Harry's smile of thanks lit the room, and lessened the storm raging in the Hall's false ceiling. Hermione laid a comforting hand on his forearm, but felt that interfering would only make things worse.

Ron's face grew splotchy with rage. "What the bloody hell are you on about?"

Ginny sighed, unhappy that the entire school was avidly watching the latest episode of the Weasley vs. Potter show. "It's wrong of you to call on that Grudge. Not to mention that the Potters have never taken any formal oath on the Weasleys' behalf, so you can't accuse Harry of betraying the entire family by defending a Malfoy."

Ron exploded. "Lucius fucking Malfoy gave you the diary that nearly got you killed!"

"Exactly!" Ginny agreed. "Which is why I'll hate Lucius until the day I die. But I won't hate all the Malfoys, nor will I expect anyone else to. Sounds a bit too Tom Riddle-ish for my taste."

Ron's eyes bulged comically, or perhaps not so comically if you were one of the many blood vessels that ruptured. "But Gin, Draco Malfoy was raised by Lucius. There's no bloody way he won't turn out just like him!"

Harry's emerald eyes began to glow. "I see," he hissed, interrupting the siblings' interchange. "So, that means I'm doomed to slap my child around and call him a freak and lock him in a bloody cupboard?" He swore in Parseltongue, sending tingles up and down a certain Slytherin's spine. "That's how Vernon raised me, right? So that's what I'll be, an abusive, bigoted sodding ingrate! By that logic, we wouldn't be having this conversation, because Arthur Weasley is one of the noblest men I've met." The Hall went utterly silent, and all that was left was Harry's voice. "How nice that the world is so fucking black and white for you, Weasley."

"What?" Ron's face scrunched up unattractively.

"Too complex for you?" he sneered. "Let me make it simple. I'll be like Vernon the day Tom Riddle wears a cowboy hat and hugs a fucking Muggle."

"He's Draco bloody Malfoy, Harry." Ron turned his glare on the Slytherin table. "Look, he's sitting there laughing his arse off at you right now."

Draco cleared his throat. "Actually, Weasel, I'm laughing my arse off at you," he drawled. "You're the one set on making a spectacle of yourself."

Ron turned back to Harry. "He's made our lives bloody miserable for years!" he exclaimed. "And now you want to be, what, best friends?"

Harry eyed Draco up and down speculatively, causing the Slytherin to shiver against his will. "Well, I don't want to braid his hair or paint his nails," he murmured. "But, what I also don't want is to treat him like an enemy any longer. War is upon us; my dance card is full."

"Then why don't you just suck his bloody knob and be done with it!" Ron blustered. "Since you clearly want to so badly."

He didn't expect Harry to nod briskly, say, "Right, then," and move toward the Slytherin table.

"BLLIDDY FWMRRKIN VRELL!" Ron shouted. Regaining his faculties, he added, "Think, Harry. You can't be a decent bloke and take up with a Malfoy."

"A decent bloke like you, Weasley?" Harry uttered softly, dangerously.

"Yes!" he blustered. "He's a bleeding Slytherin. They're all Death Eater scum! I know you've got a sodding hero complex, but he's evil through and through. Bad blood will out!"

Harry eyed him thoughtfully for a long moment, wondering if he realized just how much he sounded like a fat, prejudiced Muggle, and then calmly approached the snake House. Dropping to one knee in front of a wide-eyed Slytherin Prince, he said, "Draco, would you do me the honor of being my date for the Yule Ball?"

Said Slytherin, knowing instantly that he could get Weasel and Parkinson in one blow, rapidly calculated the odds of this aiding his endeavor to extricate himself from his impending nuptials. A sideways glance at Blaise caught the dark-haired Slytherin regarding Potter with something akin to respect. Meeting the pair of ludicrously green eyes that awaited his answer, Draco bobbed his head briefly and murmured,

"Why yes, Harry, I will."