Chapter 3: Heart

The ride back to the inn was so short that Harry was half-convinced it was not the travel time that was shrinking, but rather the distance between locations. How else could they be moving so swiftly without his noticing?

As they stepped out of the carriage, Harry looked to the windows on the upper floor, searching for rooms that had their lights on. To Harry's relief, there were a few rooms flickering with candlelight despite the late hour. Eager to see his mother and tell her about his night, Harry took Myrtle by the arm and pulled her towards the door.

"Slow down!" Myrtle protested, stumbling along beside him. "I'm wearing heels!"

Harry obliged, though still impatient, and they took the stairs one at a time despite his desire to do otherwise. When they arrived in the hallway where their rooms were situated, Myrtle unlocked the door to her room, which was pitch black.

"Good night," Myrtle said, stifling a yawn just as Harry stifled his disappointment. Dream or not, he wouldn't wake Lily from her slumber for his own selfish reasons.

The door clicked shut, leaving Harry alone in the hall. With low spirits, Harry made his way to his room, fishing for the room key in his cloak pocket—never mind that he could not remember when he'd retrieved his cloak from the castle servants or even received said key from his mother in the first place.

Harry stuck his key in the lock, shoved the door open, and was greeted with an eyeful of bright light.

"Harry! I saw the carriage arrive—did you have fun?"

Harry was frozen in place, too stunned to gape or splutter a response.

It was not his mother brandishing an oil lamp in his direction.

"Harry? How was it? Did you dance with anyone? Steal a kiss in the rose gardens?" James Potter waggled a finger in Harry's direction, grinning widely as he settled on the leftmost bed and set his lamp down on the side table. "Why don't you sit down and tell your old man all about your night."

The expected request, though not from the expected parent. Harry wanted to ask where his mother was, but his father was... he was so excited. Harry couldn't bear to ask and be met with a look of confusion, or worse, sadness.

"Sure," Harry said, the syllables thick on his tongue, "Dad."

Harry told his father about the splendour of the ballroom and the ethereal beauty of the clock tower. He spoke at length about the handsome stranger in the garden and his own abrupt departure to meet Myrtle at the entrance.

When his story was done, Harry was surprised to find himself dressed, once again, in the nightgown from earlier. His outfit was even complete with soft satin slippers.

"Time for bed," James said, reaching over to ruffle Harry's hair. "You'll want to rest for tomorrow night, when you lay eyes on your bloke again."

Harry flushed and lay down upon the bed to better hide his face with the pillow. "He's not mine. I'm pretty sure he's older than me, anyway."

"Not too old, I hope," James said after a pause, mild disapproval colouring his tone for the first time that evening.

"Hard to tell," Harry mumbled, limbs heavy as he tugged his blanket over himself. "Mask and all."

"Well," James said quietly, as if speaking to himself, "it's only for two more nights. And you have the dagger I gave you in case he tries anything."

Harry would have liked to reply to this, but his brain was telling him that he was now 'going to sleep'.

The lamplight from the side table died, flickering into nothingness and drenching the room in darkness. Harry's vision blurred the way it did when he wasn't wearing his glasses, and when the room finally refocused, daylight was creeping in through the window and the bed next to his was empty.

Alarmed, Harry sat up and hurried to get dressed. It took an embarrassing amount of time to get his shirt and trousers on—for the life of him, he could not seem to locate the appropriate holes to stick his limbs through. Once he was dressed and had pulled on some shoes, Harry stumbled out into the hallway and crashed into someone.

"Woah, where do you think you're going?" James said, his hands coming up to steady Harry's shoulders. "And in such a hurry, no less. Is your fancy bloke coming to pick you up?"

Harry was too relieved to respond to the jibe. He clung to his dad under the guise of steadying himself, but James seemed to understand what was going on and instead enveloped Harry in a brief, but warm, hug.

"I'll take that as a 'no'."

Harry choked out a laugh. "I was just—I was just worried about where you'd gone."

"Not all of us slept like the dead this morning," James joked, giving Harry's shoulder a friendly nudge. "Come on. Your sister's in her room getting ready, and we both know how long that will take. Let's go back inside. I want to show you something."

They re-entered the room and sat down on a bed together. James retrieved a plain wooden chest from his bag and opened it up. Inside was Harry's masquerade mask. James lifted it out with care, like it was made from porcelain instead of paper and fabric.

Harry couldn't see what was so special about it. "What did you want to show me?" he asked cautiously, unsure if this mask was the same mask he had worn last night.

James offered the mask out. Harry took it in hand, examining the front, and noticed that the silver part of the design had expanded outward; it now covered maybe half of the entire surface. The shape of the upper portion now had more of a rounded point. Harry was happy about this change, however, because the new shape meant his scar would be mostly covered.

"It changed," Harry said, wondering what it all meant.

"Identities tend to do that."

Harry didn't think he had changed very much of the course of the evening. He still felt very much like himself. "Am I wearing this tonight?"

"If you like," James said warmly. "You'd best change soon, if you're to leave on time."

Harry glanced outside. The sun was setting again. "Okay," he said. "I will." Would the mask change more once the night was over?

James helped him dress for the evening. It was a different experience compared to getting ready with Lily. There was no corset to wear, but there was an extraordinary amount of time dedicated to combing and tousling Harry's hair.

When it was done, Harry examined himself in the room's singular mirror. Was it his imagination, or did he look taller? The cut of his trousers even made his knees look less knobby.

"You'll put them all to shame," James said proudly as he came to stand behind Harry's shoulder. "Even royalty can't compare."

Harry ducked his head. "I doubt that," he said honestly. This was not an admission he would have normally made, but with his dad, he felt safe enough to admit his feelings of inadequacy.

"Nonsense. My son is a catch. Potter men have all the best genes." James gave Harry's shoulder a shake. "Now, if that bloke of yours tries anything, you do not hesitate to stab him or hex his bollocks off. Or do both of those things at the same time."

"He probably doesn't even remember me," Harry muttered.

"I must have gone temporarily deaf," James said loudly, "since I couldn't hear a word you just said!"

The mischievous glint in his dad's eyes succeeded in teasing a half-hearted smile out of him. "Very funny."

James puffed his chest out. "Of course I am. How about we go check on your sister, hm?"

"Okay." Harry turned away from the mirror, sorry to do so not because it meant leaving his improved reflection, but because he was leaving the sight of the two of them—him and his dad—behind in the mirror. He had not seen the two of them side by side since his first year at Hogwarts.

"That's my boy." James gripped him lightly by the arm and guided him out to the hall.

When they entered Myrtle's room, she was seated at her vanity applying rouge to her cheeks. Her dress was the same, but there was a lovely silver shawl draped on her bed that Harry assumed she would be bringing with her.

Myrtle nearly dropped the little pot she was holding as she caught sight of them. "Is it time to go?" she asked worriedly.

"You have time," James said, the corner of his mouth curling upwards.

"Good," Myrtle huffed, setting her pot of makeup down. "You don't rush a lady."

Both Harry and James watched her attach silver butterfly clips to her updo. The clips were very pretty and fluttered occasionally after she secured them in place.

"Do you need a hand?" James asked.

"With the back ones," Myrtle said, pouting. "I can never get those on straight the way I want."

James took her extra clips in hand and got to work, deftly arranging the clips into Myrtle's fancy hairstyle. It was clear he'd done this dozens of times before.

"I am a master of hair," James declared when he was finished, clapping his hands together.

Myrtle caught Harry's gaze in the mirror and rolled her eyes. "Time for us to go. I hear the carriage outside."

"Great," Harry said, now nervous. He would not even have the full length of the carriage ride to steel himself because in this dream, the passage of time was absurdly unrealistic.

"I have all the faith in the world that the both of you will enjoy yourselves tonight," James said. "Now, off you pop!"

The carriage ride lasted seconds. They barely sat down before the driver—Harry didn't even remember there being a driver, but that was another issue entirely—announced their arrival.

Myrtle leapt out of the carriage without waiting for Harry to aid her. "Hurry up," she said to him. "You're so slow."

Harry spluttered. It was not his fault that this carriage moved quite literally at the speed of light.

They entered the castle, taking an entirely different route than before, and stepped down the wide stairs that led down to the ballroom. The number of people in attendance had swelled impossibly larger, but Hannah Abbott managed to find them and drag Myrtle off to dance.

That left Harry standing awkwardly next to what could only be an enormous ice statue of a koala. Not eager for a repeat of last night's bar debacle, Harry decided to return to the gardens.

The air outside was less fragrant than before. A pleasant breeze fluttered the hem of Harry's robes as he searched for the stone bench. Much to his surprise, the stranger from last night was already there.

"Back so soon?" asked the man, and there was definitely teasing in his voice as he smiled in Harry's direction.

Harry shrugged. "Don't like dancing."

"You don't have to dance to enjoy the music," the man said. He hummed a few bars of the music that was playing, then stopped and patted the space next to him. "If you'd like?"

Harry did like to. He sat down, mindful of the gap between himself and his companion. "Are you having a nice night?" he asked awkwardly.

"It comes and goes. Better with company."

Harry liked hearing that. He wanted to ask something else, to prolong the conversation, but he had no idea what to say.

"Do I have you with me until midnight?" asked the man, and as he turned to face Harry directly, his eyes caught the light of the moon and glinted in a dazzling kind of way.

"Yeah," Harry said, a tad too quickly. He and Myrtle had not discussed it, but Harry knew they were meant to meet at the ballroom entrance at midnight. "How about you?"

"I'll be here, of course."

Harry shuffled his feet on the stone pavement, restless and drawing blanks on what to talk about. What did people talk about at parties? He had never managed to figure that out.

"I gave up, by the way," he said.

"Gave up?"

"On giving you a nickname. So unless you tell me, I'll just be thinking of you as this one bloke I met at a party."

The man laughed. It was a deep, happy sound that rang sweeter than the background orchestra. When it tapered off, he said, "You're quite the delight, Harry. Thank you for that. I haven't enjoyed a laugh at my own expense in... well, let's say in a very long time."

Harry didn't think being referred to as a random bloke was an insult, but he was willing to play along. "Glad to help."

The man snapped his fingers. "Refreshing. That's the word I'm looking for. You, my dear, are refreshing. An entire ballroom stuffed to the heavens of boring, brainless people, yet I found you, a gemstone buried in the dirt of the masses." The man crossed one leg over the other and regarded Harry with a rapt expression. "Tell me more about yourself. I'd like to know more."

Harry hated talking about himself, but he could muster up something, couldn't he? "Well, you know I have a sister..." Who was he, in this world? Did he attend Hogwarts? Harry had popped into this place without any information whatsoever. He could be nobility for all he knew.

"I like Quidditch," he added lamely. "Er, I play Seeker." That was interesting information, right? "And I hate dancing." Which they'd already talked about, for crying aloud. "Um. What about you?" There. It was over. Thank goodness.

"Fencing. Horseback riding. Dueling. Alchemy, when I have the time."

That was a lot. "That's impressive," Harry said. "Do you have your own horse?"

"Not quite." The man smiled at him. "I also specialize in studying magical artifacts."

"Oh." Harry thought about that. "Have you found any interesting ones?"

"A few here and there. As interesting as objects can be, at any rate. Recently I've had a change of heart on the matter."

"A change of heart?"

"Mmm, yes." The man leant in, dipping his head so that the soft breath of his voice brushed against Harry's ear. "You see, I'm beginning to find that people can be just as interesting as ancient artifacts, if not more so, and are infinitely more precious and worthy of my attention."

"Oh," Harry said. It was a different kind of 'oh', one that prompted him to turn his head to look at the clock. There was plenty of time left before he was due to meet Myrtle.

The man withdrew, apparently satisfied with Harry's reaction, but his hand settled lightly on Harry's forearm as he asked, "What holds your attention, Harry? What do you value?"

The question was hardly louder than a whisper, but it sent a shiver down Harry's spine. Still, he knew what his answer would be. "My family," he said with confidence. "And my friends." There could be no better answer than that.

"You are very wise." The hand on Harry's arm slid away, leaving a chill behind. "Will I see you tomorrow night?"

"Yes," Harry said immediately. It did not matter that this was a dream. He would make it happen. "I'll be here."

"I look forward to it."

The clock tower began to chime, but this time Harry felt no urgency. He would reunite with Myrtle soon enough. "See you then?" he asked.

The man touched Harry's cheek lightly, then pulled away. "See you then, Harry."