AUTHOR'S NOTE AND DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fanfiction, written and posted solely for the enjoyment of readers of fanfiction. The author makes no claims and receives no remuneration. All characters and locations in this story are from the works of JK Rowling, or derive therefrom. Many thanks to Ms. Rowling for letting us riff a little.
A Mosaic of Warping Mirrors
Chapter Six
The Liberator
Who could have predicted that dealing with Griselda, the Hungarian Horntail, would turn out to be the least tedious part of Harry Potter's day?
Once he'd left Griselda and Chuck to their peculiar familiarization ritual outside Chuck's lair, Harry got back on his Firebolt, picked up the collar Griselda wouldn't be wearing any longer and flew South. He was feeling pretty giddy after the aerial combat, the mid-air negotiations, escaping multiple close calls with Griselda's dragon fire and the final, romantic moments watching the two batting eyelashes and brutally whipping their prospective mates with horn-equipped tails.
"Have fun, kids!" Harry called out, mounting his broom and taking off over the heather-covered hills.
'So sweet,' he thought.
As soon as Harry reached the closest point where he could fly over Hogwarts' great lake, he dropped down to the water's surface and let the dragon collar go. With luck, he thought it would find a soft, muddy bottom and begin sinking immediately. He told himself he wasn't destroying evidence. Of what was the collar evidence? Besides, he didn't destroy it, he just dropped it.
Harry returned alone to the arena, flew down and landed atop the great boulder where the golden egg still sat. The crowd was still good-sized although there were fewer people in the stands than there were when Griselda appeared to chase Harry away. The remainder seemed to be divided evenly between the ones who wondered where the dragon went and those who genuinely wanted Harry to come back alive and claim the egg.
Picking up his prize, Harry stood atop the boulder and acknowledged his supporters, holding the egg aloft, bowing, smiling, putting his hand over his heart a few times. When he was satisfied he had established that he was still alive, Harry turned, egg under one arm, broom over the opposite shoulder and walked back through the opening in the arena into the ready area.
"WHERE HAVE YOU PUT THAT DRAGON, POTTER?" shouted Barty Crouch, Sr. the instant Harry appeared in the tent.
"I haven't put it anywhere, Director," Harry answered as he tossed the egg and his broom onto the cot he'd been provided.
"You will return that dragon…"
Crouch was spluttering with rage, Dumbledore was maneuvering, apparently trying to get between Crouch and Harry, the others standing, looking on, trying to make sense of the last competition.
"You freed that dragon and led it off, somewhere," argued Crouch. "Everyone saw you. Then you came back without it. Did you kill it? Do you know what it will cost the Ministry if it can't return that beast?"
"No," said Harry.
He removed the cape with 'POTTER' across the shoulders, the one he'd been wearing as he stayed ahead, just not too far ahead, of Griselda. There were a few holes surrounded by well-carbonized fabric while the entire back panel had the look and smell of scorch.
"How did you get away with the dragon?" Crouch demanded.
Harry held up the cape so Crouch could see the back.
"I don't know…Who would use Harry Potter for bait, Director? Sounds like a job for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. If the lads can find out for you, I'd like to request you let them tell me, as well. By the way, how is that investigation into the placement of my name in the cup coming along?"
Dumbledore got in front of Crouch before he could reply to Harry's insolent comment.
"I…I…I demand…" Crouch began, until Dumbledore leaned in close.
"Barty, time to move on," Dumbledore said. "The Ministry made certain representations to the refuge, did it? And now it will have to make good. Of course, the dragon broke the Ministry's restraints, I believe? And Mr. Potter had nothing to do with selecting the hardware. Who did, if I may ask? The DMLE wouldn't have been the experts on that, by any chance?"
The other champions had congregated on the far side of the tent. Harry had sneaked a look or two and they appeared to be enjoying Barty Crouch's distress tremendously. Harry caught Cedric's eye and gave a little head motion toward the exit opening and beyond that, the castle. Cedric turned to Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum and the four students slowly withdrew, leaving their advisors to enjoy their argument for as long as it continued to amuse them.
"How'd everyone do?" Harry asked as the four climbed the hill toward the castle.
"Fine, surprisingly," said Cedric. "Dragons!"
"Yes, dragons," agreed Krum. "Why? How is that a magical challenge? No spell work, charms, or curses. The possible bad outcomes are numerous."
Something about Krum's comment made no sense and all the sense in the world.
"Good one," Harry said, chuckling.
Krum and Fleur were expected to return to their ship and carriage, respectively, so they all split up in the courtyard. Harry and Cedric went inside.
"Something to drink?" Cedric asked.
"Sure," said Harry.
The two turned into the Great Hall and sat at the Hufflepuff table.
"I want a large water," Cedric said when the elf appeared.
"Can you bring us a pitcher and two glasses?" Harry asked.
The elf looked mildly annoyed at the simplicity of the tasking, snapped its fingers and disappeared as the water pitcher and glasses materialized on the long plank table.
"Do you have any idea what is going on?" Harry asked as Cedric poured two glasses of water.
"What do you mean?" asked Cedric.
Harry noticed Cedric looked left and right, then over Harry's shoulder, eliciting a reaction when Harry copied Cedric.
"I mean I can't figure out what is going on," said Harry. "The Ministry and the schools cook this whole tournament up after two or three hundred years of it being dead and forgotten. They cancel quidditch, which is for everyone, so three people can have a tournament. Rita Skeeter has no business being here on Hogwarts grounds, talking to students without supervision. The Ministry isn't just letting it happen, it is in the middle of everything. Fudge and Crouch. Bagman. Today could have been a complete disaster. A dragon got loose with the stands full of vulnerable students. First years can't defend themselves from dragons."
Cedric considered Harry, tilted his glass and took a drink, never taking his eyes from him.
"Just between ourselves?" Cedric asked.
Harry nodded, "Of course."
"Money and publicity."
Harry leaned well over the table but Cedric kept his voice so low as to be nearly inaudible.
"Either one or both. It doesn't matter. There is a lot of money being bet on the tournament. Some on the events but there is already big money with the bookmakers on the final standings. Then, when Minister Fudge has to stand for re-election, a successful tournament will be a feather in his hat. Politics is all bread and circuses, Harry. Always has been, always will be."
"I kind of thought it was that way," said Harry. "I didn't want it to be."
"I know," said Cedric. "My dad told me something a couple of years ago. 'Cedric, life will disappoint you, it's inevitable, so the best you can do is not disappoint yourself.' I think about that a lot. When I want to slack off, I remember the philosopher Amos Diggory."
Harry ran over what Cedric said, pushing it here and there, thinking of some times when life had disappointed him.
"Yeah, that's good," he said, smiling at Cedric across the table. "I'm going to remember that. Thanks a lot, Cedric."
Harry was making a serious effort to keep current with his classwork so when he and Cedric split up he went back to the Gryffindor dorm and opened his potions text. No matter how hard he tried the density of the prose and the arcane ingredients allowed him to read it three or four times through while retaining very little of what the author was trying to convey.
Harry read through the current chapter and took the self-test at the end. He got one answer correct out of five, snapped the book closed and got up to look for Hermione, who at that moment was sitting alone in the common room.
"Ah," said Harry, nodding at the book Hermione held. "Potions."
"Yes," Hermione said. "And?"
"I have a question," said Harry. "It is a genuine question. How do you make sense of this? It puts me to sleep."
Hermione smiled and patted the settee next to her with her hand. Over the next half-hour they talked about Harry's study problems and Hermione's methodology. Harry found the potions text indecipherable. He mentioned the subheadings that helped him remember what he had read, in every subject except potions.
"That's all true," Hermione said about the subheads. "Does anything besides those strike you as being part of a plan? How about these things at the beginning?"
Hermione opened her textbook to the first page of the chapter they were working on in class.
"See these?" Hermione pointed with her finger. "Chapter objectives. The author wants the student to be able to perform an operation, brew a potion or understand a magical phenomenon of some kind. Everything in the chapter refers back to one of the objectives."
"It does? That makes sense," said Harry. "I never knew."
"You didn't know?" asked Hermione. "What didn't you know?"
"They tell you at the beginning what they want you to learn," said Harry.
"Ye-s-s-s-s," agreed Hermione. "Organization. It turns up everywhere, once you're aware."
"Thanks, Hermione," said Harry. "I'm going to give this a try."
Hermione watched him until he'd crossed the common room and took the stairs to the wizards' dorm. Harry had discovered one fraction of the code yet remained oblivious to the rest. No wonder he struggled. She wondered if Ron had the same affliction or if he was simply uninterested.
The controversy and ministry consternation over the results of the first task died down. The champions began working out the puzzle of the golden eggs. Harry never did learn how the loss of one Hungarian Horntail was finessed.
Despite his best efforts to substitute improvement in his potions marks for the tyranny of stray and intrusive thoughts, Harry continued to have trouble ignoring the annoying demands intrinsic to his status of Triwizard Champion. Potter Stinks was still a thing, and would be until it was displaced by a suitably-insulting phrase of equally succinct punch and wit. Harry wouldn't have minded being the butt of such humor if it meant he could produce a button he could sell for five galleons each.
An owl arrived during the week following the adventure with the dragons Griselda and Chuck. The package it carried was about three by three by one inch and wrapped in plain brown paper. Harry happened to be in Hogwarts' owlery, talking to his owl Hedwig when the little barn owl flew up.
"Prek," it stated, simply, as it adjusted itself on a perch.
"Hedwig?" asked Harry.
Hedwig looked like she wanted to administer some disciplinary bites, beginning with Harry. Hedwig had a jealous streak.
"Prek," she conceded before turning away from Harry and the barn owl and staring out at the hills surrounding Hogwarts.
Harry retrieved the package, reached in his pocket and found a good-sized chunk of sausage for the barn owl. He broke off a piece, which he palmed, and let the barn owl have the rest.
"Here," Harry said, opening his hand to give Hedwig her piece of sausage.
She took it but wasn't all that impressed.
The package contained two large silk squares, mist-like in their ability to float down over anything solid and conform to its shape. They were light gray in color with an undetectable hint of blue, turning the neutral gray slightly cool.
"Perfect," Harry said to himself, immediately turning his mind to setting up a meeting with his business partners.
Harry got a note to Pansy asking her to bring Daphne to the front door of the castle at seven in the evening. The witches arrived on time and looked around at the empty foyer.
"Here," said a voice as a hand seemed to materialize before the witches.
Lying on the open palm were two small cubes of folded silk.
"Sticking charm," said the voice. "Finite will un-stick it."
After the witches took one silk cube apiece the extra hand disappeared.
The witches each articulated a whispered 'O-o-o-o-o,' saving anything more boisterous for a private venue. The walk down the hill to the underground club rooms was uneventful, as Harry anticipated it would be. The three, beneath their invisibility cloaks, walked down in silence. Once inside and uncloaked, Harry lit the lamps and ordered a pot of tea from Dobby.
"That went well, I think," said Harry.
"It did," said Pansy.
"It did," agreed Daphne. "Now, tell us about that dragon."
"Dragon?" asked Harry. "Oh, you mean that dragon!"
The question was not unanticipated. Harry had the thought, on the day following his participation in the first task, that the conversation with Barty Crouch, Sr., would not be his last concerning the Hungarian Horntail. Therefore, he'd be wise to have a standard story ready.
In his present situation, while he felt free to speak there in Salazar Slytherin's faculty clubrooms, because he and his business partners had sworn magical oaths of confidentiality, he wished to avoid giving them an additional burden to carry around.
"She broke her chain," Harry began.
"We saw that part," said Pansy, confirmed by Daphne's nod.
"She chased me around for a bit," Harry went on. "I mostly stayed well clear. Then she set me on fire. That's when I decided to fly away from her, if I could. She got tired or bored or for whatever reason, landed up north of here, somewhere. I flew out of there and that is the last I've seen of her. She just lost interest in me, I'd say."
"That's it?" asked Daphne.
"Most of it," said Harry.
"Are you going to tell us the interesting part?" Pansy asked.
"Maybe, someday," said Harry. "It's still kind of a sensitive subject, around the Ministry, let's say. How's the tea?"
The tea was fine, coming as it did from the elves in the Hogwarts kitchens.
"Well, new business, then," said Daphne. "Thank-you for the cloaks. I've always wanted one of these. Can we pay you back?"
"No," said Harry. "You've already paid me back, with your business advice. You're welcome, although I might as well be honest and observe it solves an annoying administrative problem for me. Now I don't have to smuggle you whenever we want to use Salazar's rooms. May you wear them in good health. Has anyone come up with any new ideas you'd want to try out?"
"No, but I've been thinking," said Pansy. "We could use another Potter Stinks campaign."
"Uh-huh, thanks," Harry deadpanned. "Well, we drew our dragons, literally…a dragon drawing. Look at this."
Harry pulled the little Hungarian Horntail from his pocket and put it on a low table that sat in their circle of chairs. It wasn't charmed so it just sat there.
"Oh, so cute!" gushed Pansy. "What's it made of?"
"I don't know," said Harry. "I haven't had time to find out. Look at this, though."
He cast a weak re-enervating charm and the dragon began to move, waving its tail and blowing little flames. Then it seemed to tire and became dormant once more.
"THAT would sell," said Daphne. "Who had it?"
"Crouch had four of them in a little pouch. Each of us reached in and pulled one out. There was one dragon for each breed in the tournament. Four dragons, four champions. We had to face the one that matched our dragon from the pouch," Harry said. "I drew the Hungarian Horntail. Lucky me."
He picked the little dragon up and examined it in the lamplight.
"Probably do better outside in daylight," he said. "Feels like some kind of stone."
Pansy held out her hand for the dragon.
"If we could make a bunch of these," Pansy said, their strategic planning session now officially underway.
"Better yet, find the source, buy up the rest of the year's supply and get it in the shops before Yule," said Daphne.
Harry and Daphne both gave little nods of acknowledgement.
"Okay, so we look into a supplier," said Daphne. "I don't think I've ever seen one of these. The Ministry didn't get it at Zonko's, I'm thinking."
"I wonder how they're made," said Pansy. "They aren't alive, exactly, but they aren't just models, either."
"So, research into the miniature dragons," said Harry. "Anything else getting your attention?"
"Abraxans," said Daphne.
"Oh, I agree," Pansy chimed in. "How does someone get one of those, anyway?"
"You've got to find someone who raises them and is willing to part with one," said Daphne. "I understand the negotiations can be difficult. Breeders are not inclined to sell them for money. They have to be convinced the prospective owner is worthy of an Abraxan."
"I've heard you don't own an Abraxan. You only partner with it, if you're acceptable," Pansy said.
"Maybe we could find little pocket-sized Abraxans to go with the dragons," said Harry.
They didn't know it when the three walked back up the hill beneath their cloaks but the seed of their next enterprise had been planted and was even then germinating in the fertile growth medium of their brains. The key turned out to be an obscure book on an obscure craft that was once popular but had gradually dropped in popularity. Pansy was browsing in the library when she stumbled across Rainy Day Fun for Magical Children. She pulled it from the shelf and opened it at random to the first page of a chapter called 'Replication.'
Pansy read enough to know it what she'd been looking for, the key to moving ahead with the new project.
"Here it is," she said, opening the little book where she'd stuck the slip of parchment.
The process was simple enough, assuming one could use magic, had a wand and could perform a few precise steps. With a little practice, Pansy and Daphne could replicate uncomplicated objects. They started with Rainy Day Fun for Magical Children. The cover was perfect but the pages were blank.
"Maybe that makes sense," said Pansy.
"The wand doesn't see the print," suggested Daphne. "It does the cover and the pages."
She thumbed through the blank book, thinking.
"There must be a spell for transferring the text," Daphne said. "It doesn't matter, though, does it? We just want to make more little dragons and they don't have anything printed inside."
The two witches began practicing and before long had replicated five of Harry's Horntails. The enervation charm worked perfectly. They strolled past the Beauxbatons carriage and captured the image with their wands. Returning to the Slytherin witches' dorm, they cast the replication charms and materialized two perfect miniature carriages. The Abraxans were relaxing in a pasture not far from Hagrid's hut so they copied one and materialized a team to go with the carriage.
"Amazing!" said Harry when the witches showed him their results. "And it was all in that rainy-day book?"
"Rainy Day Fun for Magical Children," confirmed Daphne.
"Who would have thought?" asked Pansy. "Right there on our library shelf."
"I need to go see Zonko's," said Harry. "Negotiate a little shelf space."
"Oh, I thought we'd just sell them ourselves," said Daphne.
"Harry might be right," said Pansy. "Maybe we don't want to be associated with them. Maybe we'd ought to be a bit more obscure."
They talked it over, for and against, finally deciding to give Zonko's a try. They were, in theory, students. They didn't want to give their professors the impression their real interest was not academics but commerce.
Zonko's commissioned a small sign calling attention to the shelf of 'Triwizard Tournament Souvenirs!' and sold out their limited stock the first weekend.
"How many?" Harry asked, astonished.
"I'd like a hundred," said the manager. "Can you do it?"
Harry and the witches moved their manufacturing to Salazar Slytherin's club rooms. Harry thought it might be a good idea to let their host know what they were doing. The Founder sounded a little groggy at the beginning but became sharp enough fairly soon.
"We have a little business and we need just a bit more space than we have in our common rooms," Harry said.
"Business?" asked the Founder.
"Yes, Professor," said Daphne. "What you might have called trade. We're businesspeople. Merchants, in your day."
"Oh! You sell wares in the market! Do you have a stall?" asked Slytherin.
"It is a little…different, from back then," said Pansy, nearly stubbing her rhetorical toe. She thought over the words she wanted to use. "We have a merchant in Hogsmeade who sells our wares to the public. We concentrate on making and let him sell."
Slytherin thought it over.
"Remarkable," he said. "And you are all students?"
"Yes, sir," said Harry. "The witches are members of your House."
"Remarkable," Slytherin repeated. "Well, better get busy. Make your fortunes."
Salazar Slytherin's shade seemed to drift back off to sleep. Harry suggested using the kitchen for their miniature dragon fabrication space. The long worktable was commodious enough and they soon had a stock of Hungarian Horntails ready to go to Zonko's.
The Beauxbatons carriage and its team of Abraxans was more complicated and took longer. They never got the Abraxans to fly but the little winged horses seemed to enjoy flapping their wings, stamping their hooves and prancing around.
"We should keep production limited," said Daphne. "Maybe not for Harry's dragon but the carriage. Flood the market and we lose the collectability. We don't want it to become too common."
"You have a point" Harry agreed. "We need to get the Durmstrang ship copied. Make it a thing to get both."
Thus it happened. Zonko's sold all the Hungarian Horntails the three cared to replicate, until they cut off production to explore other projects, primarily the rapidly-approaching Yule. The limited-edition carriages and ships became collectibles almost immediately
It was just before the Yule Ball when Harry took delivery, from Twillfits and Tattings, of three basilisk hide cloaks with acromantula silk lining, one for each of the partners.
"Be careful," he said when he handed them over. "Basilisk. I don't understand everything about the leather but they're supposed to give some protection from malevolent spells. That means they're magical even if we aren't doing magic. Just out walking."
The witches took their time looking at the cloaks. The leather was smooth and flexible, not stiff at all. The finish didn't call attention to itself. They appeared to be ordinary cloaks, in leather, no different from workaday magical outerwear.
"Let's be discreet," said Pansy when the witches had finished with their thank-yous.
"Absolutely," said Daphne. "I don't want to be asked where I got a basilisk cloak."
"Agreed," said Harry. "Best wishes for many safe and happy Yules."
Pansy looked over at Daphne, who looked back, then both looked at Harry.
"Uh-huh?" Harry said.
"Yule," said Pansy. "Yule Ball. What are you going to do? You have to take someone."
"Oh, well, I didn't know how to ask," Harry said. "I wondered if I could take you."
"Me?" asked the two witches together.
"No, both of you," said Harry. "Is that okay?"
"Oh," said Daphne.
"Ah, no, I don't think so," said Pansy. "We…you tell him."
"We talked, Harry," Daphne began. "We would like to do what you're suggesting. We're sure it would be fun. We just don't think it would work. With the school, and, well, some of Slytherin House."
"Malfoy!" said Harry.
He sat down on a chair, crossed his arms and indulged in a little petulance.
"I know you're right," he said. "Merlin, I'd like to punch him in the nose."
"We've been very careful, keeping our business as private as we can," said Pansy.
"Pansy thinks, and so do I, that full public disclosure could work against us," Daphne said. "We have a nice, profitable, growing business here. I'd like to keep it going. We might turn it into a good-sized business in a few years."
Daphne tilted her head in a 'See?' gesture. Harry nodded.
"I need to ask someone," Harry said. "McGonagall was clear. As representatives of Hogwarts, Cedric and I have to be in the procession and dance the first dance with our dates. It's embarrassing."
"Do you have anyone else in mind?" Pansy asked, not looking at Harry, but Daphne.
"No," said Harry. "I've been trying to have this conversation, with you two."
"How about Granger?" asked Pansy.
Daphne looked between Harry and Pansy.
"Already accepted an invitation," Harry said. "Between ourselves? Viktor Krum. Bulgarian international quidditch and Durmstrang Triwizard Champion."
"Really? You know this for a fact?" asked Daphne.
"That's what she says," said Harry.
"Um," Pansy began. "Um, some observers have thought they saw you and Chang making eyes at one another, from time to time."
"Cedric Diggory," said Harry. "It's okay. I think they really like each other."
"Okay, then," said Daphne. "We have something in mind."
"Uh-huh, so hear us out," said Pansy. "It actually makes sense and it ties in with our other concern."
"Oh-oh," said Harry.
"Millicent Bulstrode would love to accompany you to the Yule Ball," Pansy began. "Stop! Don't give me a look yet, this makes sense. We haven't offered you up…"
"Maybe it isn't necessary to put it just so, Pansy," said Daphne.
"Right," Pansy agreed, "Millicent just looks a bit pugnacious. She is really very sweet."
"She had Hermione on the floor, her head in a headlock and all her weight on her," said Harry. "Dueling club, second year. Remember?"
"Well, yes, but that was second year," said Pansy. "Millicent is much more mature now and besides, she likes you. What reason would she have to throw you to the floor and put you in a headlock?"
Harry took some time to think. He wiped his open hand across his face while he avoided looking at his co-conspirators. What did he know about Millicent, especially the current Millicent, as Pansy suggested? Not a lot, he admitted to himself. He expanded the thought to, 'Nothing at all.'
"Does she want to go? With a date? A boy date?" asked Harry.
"She does," said Daphne. "This isn't something we made up. We sit around the witches' dorms and talk about current events, much as I understand happens in the wizards' quarters, isn't that right?"
"Exactly," said Pansy. "World events, economic news, who wants to go to the Yule Ball with a date."
Harry probably knew right then and there that the plans were set and in motion and it was a done deal but he decided it wouldn't hurt to probe just a bit.
"Millicent Bulstrode would like to go to the ball with me," Harry said, a statement that was actually a question.
"That is our understanding," said Daphne.
"She doesn't have any hostile Slytherin plans to ambush me or hex me into next week?"
"Not at all and we wouldn't even be having this conversation if we suspected she did," Daphne said.
Pansy took the opportunity to second Daphne's point.
"I admit I am a little surprised that we need to say so," she said.
"Oh, fine, then," Harry said, his final surrender implicit in his tone. "I'll ask her. We have double Care of Magical Creatures tomorrow, don't we? I'll think of a way."
It didn't take any thinking at all. When class ended, Millicent stood a little apart from the mass of Gryffindors and Slytherins, putting her materials together in her book satchel. Harry noticed a volume nearby, lying on a boulder that was usually in use as a place to sit and observe. He walked over and picked it up.
"Is this yours, Millicent?" he asked, holding the book out.
"Oh! It is!" she answered. "I'd have been looking for that. Thanks a lot, Potter."
"Call me Harry, if you want," Harry said.
Millicent smiled, then looked at the rest of the class, most already halfway back up the hill.
"Maybe we should get started," said Harry.
"Good idea," Millicent agreed as they stepped off.
"I—um—that is," Harry began. "I wanted to ask if you wanted to go to the Yule Ball, and if you had a date. Someone…that's someone to go with."
"I do know what a dates is," said Millicent.
Harry took in a breath. He looked straight ahead, up the path to the castle. His face felt hot even though the day was definitely crisp.
"Hey, that was a joke," said Millicent.
"Oh," said Harry. "Yes, good one."
He laughed at Millicent's explanation.
"Yes. Well, laughing at myself, of course," Harry said. "Guess I should ask. Millicent, would you like to go to the Yule Ball, with me? I'll tell you in advance, if you say yes, we will be part of the procession, the people who walk in first and start things by dancing the first dance. Together."
"Oh, that's some pressure," said suddenly-thoughtful Millicent. "Okay, I can handle that."
After that they walked along together, not saying much, smiling all the way back to the courtyard.
Harry was thinking Millicent hadn't turned out to be anything at all like what he had expected, or feared. She wasn't belligerent, she just looked you in the eye and dealt with you in a straightforward fashion. It was also clear she had a way of seeing the humor in whatever was going on around her.
She was largish while Harry was slight. He might have lacked an inch or two in height, but so what? The Triwizard Tournament and its stupid Yule Ball could turn out to be fun, after all. They were different enough to be interesting and neither cared if other people thought they looked funny together.
Christmas approached at a stately pace and the Yule Ball became the principal topic of student conversation. Harry had attended all of the ballroom dance classes Professor McGonagall held for Gryffindor. He had not had a lot of opportunities to make plans with Millicent. The unfortunate state of relations between Gryffindor and Slytherin meant it was wise to keep some distance during the days before the ball.
Harry would not have been welcome in the dungeons near the Slytherin common room and dormitories. Even though he knew where the occluded doorway was, Harry wasn't able to pick up his date at her own front door. It didn't really matter, though, as the corridor and vestibule outside the Great Hall was the preferred meeting spot for all the couples who came from different houses. People began arriving about twenty minutes before the band was scheduled to begin playing. In no time the space became a huge, noisy pre-party. Harry arrived early, as did Millicent.
Early arrivals divided into two groups, one on the outside of the vestibule space and another in the middle. No one organized them but the two bodies began rotating, very slowly, one clockwise and one the opposite. The students were constantly changing position, dropping one conversation and greeting another student or couple. The noise increased in volume as the temperature went up and up. Faces got shiny. Formal robes started to become oppressively hot. Students had begun to think about going outside for fresh air when Professor McGonagall cued Madame Hooch, who responded with a blast on her whistle.
"Could I have everyone's attention?" McGonagall demanded.
Harry looked to his right, where stood Millicent Bulstrode, tall, straight and formidable, a slight smile showing at the corners of her mouth. Millicent caught Harry's eye and her smile widened. Harry looked up and stood even straighter, lifting his arm to give Millicent a place to rest her hand.
"You look fantastic," Harry managed, feeling heat in his face as soon as he spoke. Millicent snickered and looked down, embarrassed for just a moment.
Millicent's own right hand came up and covered Harry's left, her head inclining toward him for just the slightest, most momentary touch.
"Thank-you," she said. "You aren't bad-looking yourself, once you're in your party clothes. Ready?"
The answer didn't matter at all, not in the slightest, because the procession got underway, Harry and Millicent swept along with the current. Harry remembered Professor McGonagall's coaching and kept Millicent's long skirt in mind. He extended his right arm a little and put a few more inches' distance between them. Millicent held Harry's arm with her left hand while reaching down and taking her skirt in her right. They circled the dance floor with the other champions and their dates before stopping at the quarter-circle points to await the first dance.
Harry kept an eye on the orchestra so they wouldn't be taken by surprise when the music began. When the conductor turned and faced the orchestra, Harry opened his left hand letting Millicent lay her right across his palm and fingers. Harry's right hand was at Millicent's waist and her left was managing the skirt of her gown. As the first notes sounded they smiled and began to dance.
Both had the good sense to dance modestly at first. Millicent had to stay clear of her long skirt, as did Harry. Harry had to steer away the other couples.
"Want to stay?" Harry asked when the music stopped and they applauded the orchestra.
The floor was filling quickly as others got in place for the next song.
"Yes, if you do," said Millicent.
"Oh, I do," said Harry as the music began again.
After they'd danced for a minute Harry leaned toward Millicent and spoke quietly.
"A lot less room now," he said.
Millicent nodded vigorously, smiling.
"I don't mind," she said, closing up a little of the distance between them.
"This is actually better," she said.
Harry wondered if he was interpreting Millicent correctly and slid his right arm a bit further around her waist.
"It is, isn't it?" he asked.
"Lots," said Millicent.
The floor was crowded so it wasn't possible to move very far or indulge in flashy moves for fear of hitting other dancers. The dancing became a mass of couples, all embracing, rocking back and forth, keeping time with the orchestra. They weren't going anywhere so Millicent dropped her skirt and put her left hand on Harry's shoulder. They stayed on the floor through the third, fourth and fifth songs. Harry noticed the line of sweat beads on Millicent's upper lip and suggested they sit down and get something to drink, to which Millicent quickly agreed. Harry steered Millicent to a table near enough to enjoy the orchestra and distant enough to permit conversation.
"I see it. I don't know if I believe it," said Draco Malfoy when Harry and Millicent had first stepped onto the dance floor.
Draco wasn't the only one. Hardly anyone knew Harry had asked Millicent to accompany him or that Millicent had accepted. None of Harry's friends knew. The only person he had told was Professor McGonagall who had pressed him on the subject, worried that he was afraid to ask anyone. Pansy and Daphne had been in on it from the beginning and they had to confide in Tracey Davis to get her to cease speculating about who was taken and who wasn't.
"Hi Millicent!" Pansy said when Harry left Millicent to fetch some drinks.
"Pansy, and is that Daphne? What a surprise!" said Millicent. "Where are your dates?"
"Oh, we're wallflowers," said Daphne. "Lonely wallflowers. We were wondering…"
Millicent cut her off with a raised hand and an aggressively neutral facial expression.
"I know you two worked this all out before either Harry or I had ever thought of going together," Millicent began.
"Oh, well, perhaps some 'what-if' talk," Pansy began. "Idle speculation."
"If you weren't a Slytherin I'd say something impolite, Pansy Parkinson," said Millicent. "How about if I let you each have one slow dance and one more when the Weird Sisters take over. Those will be your thank-you dances for getting out of the way and giving me Harry. He is mine for the evening, or was I wrong about how that custom works?"
"Oh, fine," said Daphne.
"We're not greedy," Pansy explained. "Just give us a little taste. Please?"
"Pansy," said someone.
The witches turned to see Harry standing by their table with two tumblers filled with ice and some kind of pastel-colored liquid.
"And Daphne," said Harry. "This is a surprise."
Harry didn't look angry but neither was he visibly glad to see them. After getting their perspective on his suggestion that he take both of them to the ball as his date, Harry gave up on his plan and adopted theirs. Then he had such an interesting conversation the day he'd asked Millicent to be his date, he stopped thinking of taking a witch as a duty and began to see Millicent as someone who was simply fun. Harry looked forward to the Yule Ball, once he and Millicent were committed to going together. Even so, he had no idea the Slytherin would show up in the front foyer looking so lively and eager for the evening to begin, eager, that is, to spend four or five hours in the company of Harry Potter. Now she looked like she might be equally eager to send her housemates scurrying, were she not such a polite young witch.
"I don't have any more hands for carrying punch," Harry said as he placed one tumbler in front of Millicent and another at before the empty chair behind which he stood. "I could go get…"
"No need, Harry, I've promised Pansy and Daphne one slow dance and one when the real music starts, and these two lovely witches were just leaving to go make the rounds and see…what…they can pick up," said Millicent.
"Ah," said Harry, his hand on the backrest of the empty chair. "Good luck with the picking, then, witches."
With that he pulled the chair out, the one next to Millicent. He smiled at his date and sat down.
Daphne took Pansy's right hand in her own left and gave a little head-toss toward the other side of the Great Hall. Pansy didn't know where they were going but she followed Daphne's lead. A few seconds later the crowd closed around them and Harry and his date were the only ones left.
"So," Harry said, "I owe them dances?"
Millicent started to laugh.
"They did this," she began.
"Oh, I know," said Harry. "I want you to know I am grateful to them. I had no idea we would have so much fun. At least I'm having fun. I hope you are."
"Absolutely," said Millicent. "I owe them, too, for chickening out on going with you."
"You heard what I had in mind? Taking them both?" Harry asked, sounding startled.
"I didn't hear, I didn't need to," said Millicent. "Some of us have been watching you since third year. It's the way you try to convince everyone you don't even know them, then the next thing you know all three of you are walking up from the lake or leaving the library with one book each. Once I caught on, I couldn't help noticing."
Harry just stared, shaking his head. While he was trying to think up something to say he reached for his glass of punch.
"It's just business," Harry muttered.
He looked around. No one was close so he went ahead.
"We cooperated on a little business deal. They had a proposal. I went in on it. We made a profit," he said. "We keep it to ourselves, otherwise we're running an employment agency."
"You started a business together? Last year?" asked Millicent. "At thirteen?"
"Shh—please, we have to keep it quiet," said Harry. "It's like delivering the Daily Prophet or exercising peoples' kneazles or anything other stupid thing people do to earn a sickel or two. We work well together. That's all, really."
Millicent studied Harry's face.
"Let's dance," she said as she stood up.
Harry took the offered hand and led Millicent back to the dance floor. The crowd was very accommodating for the Gryffindor champion and his date, clearing a space so they would have plenty of room to dance, or, if they wished, to talk.
"I'm going to be frank," said Millicent. "It will mean taking a risk, although one I'd just as soon take now as later."
Millicent leaned backward into Harry's right arm, smiling a little, to which Harry responded by smiling back. Millicent had a weight and height advantage on Harry. It was slight but it was there. The movements of her body coordinated perfectly with subtle signals from the fingers of Millicent's right hand that told Harry she wanted him a little closer or a little further away or to dance leftward or rightward. When she chose she could communicate 'Come here!' as clear as a bell. Harry felt himself drawn toward Millicent. He went willingly, not that he had a real choice.
"We are a witch and a wizard, Harry."
Millicent spoke for her date, only, her lips just brushing his outer ear.
"Our class will start having weddings a little less than three years from now. Have you given any thought to that? That is the magical world's way. Young witches and wizards mature faster than muggles. Some of them are having exploratory conversations, hm?"
Millicent flicked her head toward the crowd. She leaned back against Harry's right arm and smiled, then shifted her weight and put her cheek against his.
"Lots of wizards make provision for a second intimate relationship of some kind. Second wives, concubines and so on. Different families call them by different names. The point is magical leaders have always had a little leeway, see?"
Millicent squeezed Harry's shoulder. Harry didn't know why but the pressure felt good. He hoped Millicent would do it again.
"How old are you, Harry?" Millicent asked.
"Fourteen," said Harry.
"Birthday?"
"July thirty-first," Harry answered. "Yours?"
"Two weeks ago," said Millicent. "The eleventh. Back to my point. Your two witches are thinking. They're thinking about where they want to be three or four years from now. Have you given that any thought?"
"Not really," Harry said. "I've got a lot on my mind."
Harry heard Millicent catch her breath.
The orchestra stopped playing. Harry didn't know if it was taking a break or would be starting the next number so he stayed on the floor, holding Millicent's fingertips, the two of them standing together, watching the orchestra. The orchestra wasn't taking a break and started playing something a little faster. It was a big-band arrangement of a huge muggle hit from some decades back. Harry and Millicent found a way to dance with just hands touching so Millicent could have one free to manage her skirt.
"Perfect!" Millicent said when the song ended.
Harry saw her looking around.
"I promised you to those hellhounds, one slow song each," she said. "I'm off to the ladies. Go find them and tell them you're there to make good on some of my debt."
Harry thought that sounded pretty funny so he smiled and chuckled, earning a surprise caress to his cheek by way of Millicent's fingertips. Millicent turned her back and left so Harry began working his way through the tables. Harry didn't make good progress. Every other table seemed to have someone, or several people, who wanted to say hello, ask about the tournament or otherwise get in a few words with Harry Potter.
"Hullo," Harry said when he found Pansy and Daphne sitting some distance from the dance floor.
The table next to the witches' was interesting. Draco Malfoy sat with Astoria Greengrass, Daphne's sister. He looked different to Harry, somehow. He didn't come up with a snarky challenge to Harry's ancestry or lack of wizarding credentials, for one thing. He seemed to be keeping his eyes on Astoria Greengrass, for another.
Draco's claque, Crabbe and Goyle, also sat at the table along with two more witches that Harry had only vague recollections of having seen before. That seemed odd. Hogwarts wasn't that big. Harry wondered what they'd been doing with their time to be such unknowns.
"Harry Potter," said Pansy Parkinson.
"Miss Parkinson," said Harry, throwing in a modest yet respectful bow. "Would this be a good time for me to pay my respects and ask for the favor of a dance?"
"Woo-hoo," muttered Daphne, her comment barely audible.
"Another punch, Astoria? It doesn't appear we'll be eating right away," said Draco as he stood up, Crabbe and Goyle standing as well although neither said anything.
Draco gave a barely-perceptible nod toward Harry and left, trailing the other two. Harry couldn't read the Slytherin currents so he offered his arm to Pansy and headed for the dance floor. The orchestra cooperated, playing a number Harry could dance to, meaning one with no form or steps that had to be memorized. Pansy accommodated his level of dancing development, keeping her back against Harry's right arm and her chest to herself.
"So," said Harry.
"You're looking well tonight," Pansy said.
"I'm having a good time," said Harry. "Millicent is good company."
"Just good? I thought you'd say delightful," said Pansy.
"Maybe, later," said Harry. "Will you be telling me what is going on or is that forbidden for some reason?"
"Probably, but not right here," said Pansy, a bit of steel in her voice. "Have we steered you wrong, ever?"
Harry flinched. No. Pansy and Daphne had never steered him wrong, unlike a growing number of people who were supposed to be looking out for his best interests.
"No," Harry admitted.
"Here's an idea," said Pansy. "Put negotiations on hold while we enjoy the rest of this dance, when you and I can appear together in public without messing up something that doesn't need discussing right now?"
"Okay, there's that," said Harry, bringing his right arm a little closer to himself which necessarily meant pulling Pansy closer as well.
"Mmm…" said Pansy. "I wondered when I'd be getting a little cuddling."
The song came to an end soon after. Harry loosened his arms but Pansy wasn't in any hurry to break out of Harry's embrace.
"Thank-you, Harry," said Pansy, her voice very low and private.
"No, I thank YOU," said Harry.
Pansy turned toward her table, raising one hand, palm down and waiting. Harry figured it out, eventually, bringing his own hand up underneath Pansy's and escorting her back to her table in a very chaste and proper manner. Harry was surprised to see Daphne sitting alone, sipping what appeared to be one of the muggle cola drinks through a tiny straw.
"Miss Parkinson," said Harry, dipping his head respectfully.
"And Miss Greengrass," he said. "May I have the honor of this dance?"