The Friday of the last day of term saw Harry sneaking towards the staffroom, Invisibility Hood tugged protectively over his forehead and an armload of unmarked homework slowly slipping out from underneath his left elbow.

Bertha Kelly had been spotted wandering hopefully down the corridors in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. Harrys Coleridge and Quixley had been evaded through the judicious use of a convenient secret passage. And Evelyn Jones and her posse were probably still waylaid by the wonderful Professor Trelawny. How Harry had ever struggled with that witch was a positive puzzle; she was a paragon of virtue.

He was alone.

The corridor Harry now tiptoed down was full of the noise of distant chatter; the last classes of the day had been let out and students had mostly made their way out of the corridors to arrive at whatever club, gathering or activity they needed to be at. It meant that Harry's invisible arrival at the grey stone gargoyles went entirely unremarked upon, even as his disembodied head popped into view and his body was revealed shortly after.

"Oi," came a gravelly voice as the gargoyle on the left shifted its form, one clawed foot shifting on its pedestal. But it was the graunching sound of its stone-leather wings rearranging themselves that had Harry twitch, and let slip his parchments one further inch towards freedom.

The gargoyle continued in a voice that sounded like rocky stone. "What's all this 'hen?"

Harry's first instinct was to clutch desperately at the pile of homework that was making its getaway, and there was a chance that he spoke a tad more abruptly than as necessary. He was bent almost double, busy with the juggling of already-full hands and the distraction of his robes rearranging as gravity moved around him. A tendril of hair slipped out of his tied-back hair, and his eyelids blinked jerkily.

"Not now, Carrig," he managed to huff out.

Stone chafed. "No need t' be loike 'at!" The gargoyle reeled back, offended. "S'my job to keep the students ou'."

"I'm a teacher today."

The stone gargoyle did a double take, his horned head twisting. Then he squinted short-sightedly. "Are yer? That's no' the usual 'hing." Harry rescued what parchments he could and began to straighten as the Gargoyle asked, "Peadar?"

Peadar, the gargoyle on the right-hand side of the door didn't bother moving as far as Harry could see, except for his mouth, through which spoke an even lower, growlier voice than Carrig's. "S'not ma turn t'day."

"Awww, go'on. 'His kid 'ere says ee's a teacher."

"Yer job t'day, Carrig."

Carrig subsided with a rasping scrape of stone. "Hrgh."

Harry blinked hopefully. "We did speak yesterday about this," he reminded.

"Yer don' say. Well, I never." The gargoyle eyed Harry through squinted eyes before visibly making a decision. Then, with the graunching sound of stone-on-stone, it turned stiffly to face forward again, settling rigidly back down on his pedestal. Its wings once again folded up and the rock stiffened into solidity. The sound of the door unlocking beneath all that was barely an audible click.

"Thanks."

It took a weird hip shimmy, an odd shoulder twist and a firm nudge with his left boot, but then Harry managed to open the door and hurry through into the private retreat of generations of staff He'd never realised what a sanctuary it was before this term.

The wood-panelled room was warmly welcoming, the thought slipped past, as Harry made the desperate lurch towards the closest wooden table before his parchments escaped to scatter everywhere. Both cosier and quieter than the usual stone rooms of the castle, this space seemed to shut the weather and the chaos safely outside of its doors.

No wonder the teachers spent so much time in here!

Despite his desperate lunch, Harry spied a well-stocked tea station from the corner of his eye, nestled just behind the now-closing door. The antique-looking sideboard also was covered in an array of freshly cooked biscuits, sandwiches and cold drinks and waiting tankards for self-service.

In the three weeks of spellcasting teaching that Harry had been doing, he'd grown convinced that at least one of the ever-full bottles contained a very fine batch of whiskey, although he hadn't tested it himself.

He huffed, straightened, and reached his arms out to stretch out the kinks in his spine. He took in the room.

The familiar room was surprisingly well-lit for this time on a Friday afternoon. Cheerful splotches of pale sunlight streamed in through the high windows on the far side of the room, splashing the opposite walls with pale grey light shimmied a tad more than muggle windows ever let in. The long wooden tables and their mismatched, highbacked chairs that scattered the room were comfortably polished with age, all the right spots worn down into comfort and glossed by resting arms and elbows. Around the edge of even those, little private mismatched nooks had been set up around the walls, where a teacher might set up in the soft, plushy armchairs and get some marking done in private.

Visible magic – a comfortably-bright web of light that twinkled – glinted as Harry gazed at the warm and welcoming space, but it wasn't uncomfortable. The room was calming, even in the spells woven into its walls.

Harry smiled.

Then he nodded at Madam Hooch and Professors Sinistra and Vector, who were chatting together over their cups at the other end of the room before casting his eye around the space before him. Someone – a wizard – was barely visible in a soft, blue armchair, only his dark brown boots visible and the regular rumble of his snores making his presence known.

But where was she…?

Ah. There she was. Harry spied the familiar ex-Hufflepuff prefect-cum-healer apprentice, Sumire Tsubaki, sitting at one of the tables near the fireplace with her eyes scrunched up in quiet concentration. Way back in second-year, she hadn't given the greatest first impression – asking Luna if she'd started the Salamander fire indeed – but she'd made up for it by now, and was something of a life-saviour in Harry's new, chaotically unfamiliar challenge.

Harry took a moment to straighten his back, tuck his Cloak back into his mokeskin pouch and straightened his collection of homework on the table so they wouldn't collapse and scatter everywhere – first-year essays, ugh – before moseying over to her in exhausted optimism.

"Sumire?"

"GAH!" She jumped, her feather quill skittering out of her fingers and clattering lightly onto the rug. "Merlin, Harry! Warn a witch, will you?"

Harry found himself smiling apologetically as he slipped into the deep burgundy chair to her right and shrugging his innocence. "I thought that was what I was doing, actually. Er…how're the studies going?"

"…They're going, I guess."

"Is that…good?"

He'd been standing up and walking around the— his —classroom for hours, and his feet and calf muscles were aching oddly. Harry was absolutely certain that he was quidditch-fit, but teaching-fit seemed to be a different beast.

It was a huge relief to lower himself into sitting and feel the stuffing of the soft armchair embrace his shoulders and hips like a supportive cloud; Harry leaned back into the comfort to cross his ankles and a subconscious whimper slipped out. From the complaints of his body this week, he was older than he'd felt in years.

"Merlin, the cushioning spells on these staff chairs are fantastic! But what's up with you? Is it the marking? Or your own, the healing lessons, that's bothering you? Madam Pomfrey treating you alright?"

The older Asian girl was wearing apprentice healer robes of sternly starched linen in a pale, buttercup yellow. The fabric rustled as her chest and shoulders rose in an inhale for the loud, heavy sigh that followed thereafter. Then she straightened in her seat to run slender hands through her short curtain of black hair and over her eyes; she'd gotten rid of the colourful stripes from her Hogwarts' days, Harry noticed, but replaced them with a colourful scattering of slowly fluttering butterfly clips which held her hair back in some kind of stripey...stripes.

The green, high-backed armchair dwarfed her, and Harry wondered when the older girl had gotten so small.

"Circe," Sumire muttered, hands still over her face. "It's just everything happening all at once!"

He nodded empathetically. "You must be busy."

A scoff. "I thought that N.E.W.T students had it hard with their workload and demanding exams and all, but when they told me that healing was 'tough', I didn't expec—"

She cut off, hands flopping away from her face suddenly and straightened so quickly Harry thought for an instant she was going to leap out of her seat. "But that's nothing compared to what you're juggling, kiddo! Merlin, but they must be mad to be handing all this over to—what are you, fifth-year?"

"Fourth."

"Gods. They must be desperate."

Harry knew exactly what she meant, even as he rolled his eyes in her general direction and let a sarcastic, "Wow, thanks a lot," slip out between his lips.

A flash of guilt prompted her flinch.

"Oh! I didn't mean…What I meant to say— You're doing a fantastic job, kid! I could never do this at your age. Blimey but they must have you run off your feet. Er…did you need me for something?"

The seductive lure of the soft seat enticed Harry further into the armchair's clutches. He managed to shrug with only a neck twitch for maximum comfort before the words came.

"I just brought down the last of the first-year essays for you and Desiree to share out and argue over. I've got a list of House point adjustments that I'd like someone to sign off for me; are you allowed to do that on my behalf, or do I need to speak to actual paid staff for that kind of supervision? Flitwick suggested I set up a homework drop box outside the—my classroom door, for students who want to sort out all their holiday homework before they leave for break, or the Yule Ball, or whatever, and I need to know who to talk to about that. Um…and I'd like you or Colm or someone to look over my lesson plans for next term before I show it to McGonagall, just in case she doesn't manage to hire someone over the Christmas hols."

Clearly more accustomed to the enchantment of the charmed chairs than he was, Sumire scoffed at him, managing to shake her head with impressive energy and effort for a Friday afternoon. "They really have dropped you into the boiling cauldron, haven't they, Harry? I won't be of much help: I've got my end-of-practicum exams coming up in a week or so, but Desiree and Colm should be able to cover the marking for you without too much trouble. It's still McGonagall you'll need to talk to about the drop-box, so you'll have to hunt her down somehow and make time for that, and Lachy's the best to talk to about the lesson plans but don't work too much on them until after New Year's, just in case."

She stopped her voice to stare at Harry in some kind of baffled disbelief. "You're a real overachiever, aren't you kid?"

With a suddenly warm neck, Harry looked away from her focused, dark-brown eyes and instead chose to look closely at his own leather boots. Oh, Harry decided after a moment. They needed a polish.

"I..." He did that twitchy shoulder shrug again. "There are things I need to prove," Harry muttered lowly, watching in fascination while he wriggled his boots experimentally. "To me, if no one else."

"And how's it going?"

His mood shifted like a sudden cloud passing over the sun. "Hufflepuffs," Harry spat darkly. "I was never this bad in first-year. Everyone's lovely and kind, well-meaning and interested and you just about think you're getting a handle of it—"

"I've heard that before," Sumire offered. "In fact, I've said it before."

"— and then the Hufflepuffs smack you in the face."

Ex-Hufflepuff Sumire's eyebrows rose.

Harry rolled his eyes. "They're so cute and bubbly, energetic and wholesome. And then: boom! 'Mr Potter, is it true you fought off three hundred dementors with nothing but a rusty sword and your broomstick?' 'Mr Potter, are you really starting a secret army to take over the ministry?' 'Mr Potter, do you have a girlfriend? What about me?' 'What are you looking for in a wife, Mr Potter?" "Will two children be enough, or do you want a whole quidditch team?' Ugh."

"Oooh," his listener winced. "I never got it that bad. Here, the least I can do is distract you from…" The arm gesture encompassed everything.

While his year-mates and friends were celebrating the release of classes and the end of the first term, Harry and Sumire leaned forward over their shared hardwood coffee table. They didn't notice the room filling with teachers, or the noise of adult chatter as Sumire distracted Harry with arguments over lesson plans and marking for an hour or so.

They barely looked up as some of the other Master's students dropped past to help in turns, some staying, others collecting their marking and making their great escape.

Finally, Harry sat back and stretched his arms out above his head.

"Done!" he proclaimed. "Merlin, Morgana and Maeve, I had no idea what I was signing up for, did I? Are all teachers this busy with the paperwork?"

While Sumire and Amity rolled their eyes and made commiserating noises, a feminine chuckle sounded from behind him.

Harry twitched.

"Well, hello there," the smooth, velvet voice sang out. "I thought I'd check up on how you're all doing. Keeping on top of things are you, Mr Potter?"

A slight hint of something cinnamony carried to Harry's eyes, and the soft, sweet shine of the older woman's dark hair Harry caught and held his eye.

"I—I—I—Yes." Harry blushed lobster red. "Definitely. I am. On top of things. Working, working. You know how it goes." He jerked himself into much better posture and remembered that he was surrounded by helpers. "And these guys. Girls. People. Lots of help. I'm coping well fine, thanks."

Professor Vector chuckled again, kindly enough, and leaned over to pat Amity on the shoulder. "I think the four of you are doing incredible things, picking Defence like this, on top of your Master's, girls. And your schooling, Potter. Do let me know if you need a hand, won't you?"

Harry stuttered out something cheerful and agreeable sounding, and eventually subsided into abject embarrassment.

"I hope you don't mind my overhearing, but I think your current systems are quite nicely thought out," Profess Vector added. "Who made the marking scheme for your essays?"

"Lachy made some time to help me," Harry admitted.

"Such a nice young man," Professor Vector nodded thoughtfully. "If only I'd been here to snatch him up when he was looking into further study. Well, my loss, Pomona's gain."

"Is that so?" Harry didn't know what to add, so he let the older girls carry the conversation while he tried not to sound too stupid until the professor straightened up.

After cheerful goodbyes to them all, Professor Vector wandered off towards the tea service, leaving two older witches staring at Harry in acute fascination.

The feeling of their stares on his skin grew more and more intense as the sound of her footsteps moved further and further away.

"You like her," Sumire announced gleefully. "You're in love with Professor Vector!"

Harry bit his tongue. "Oh, no. No. Not…no, indeed."

"You do! I've never seen you that red in my life! Aren't I right, Amy?"

Amity Maxfield, a cheerful nineteen-year-old witch of maternal figure and more freckles than Harry could count, shrugged conspiratorially. She had the kind of fine, curly hair that looked constantly windswept no matter how much she tried to manage it with long braids, and her riot of escaping fly-aways somehow made her look all the more mischievous. "He certainly tripped over his tongue suspiciously, I'll give you that."

"It's not like that!" Harry protested. "I…she's a teacher!"

"So are you."

"Not like that."

Sumire leaned forward. "Are you going to invite her to the Yule Ball?"

"Can he? I mean, he's got a point about the teaching."

"What? He's a teacher too! Kind of."

"No! I never even thought about it," Harry blustered ineffectively. "Really! I...I mean, she's really pretty, and clever. And kind too, but…it's just…I admire her, is all."

"Sure that's all."

"Your face gives you away, sweetheart," Amity added cheekily.

"Damn you both," Harry muttered good-naturedly. He felt his face radiate heat.

"Hey!" Amity shrugged. "It could be worse. Your Gryffindors could have found out."

Harry winced.

Wisely, Sumire put her smile away and pursed her lips in a considering face. "Not to mention the witches. I know at least a couple of girls – your year and above – who would be heartbroken to hear it."

"It wouldn't hurt to ask though, right?" Amity suggested.

Harry sat upright. "No!"

"Aw, go on!"

"No way!"

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"I'm telling you—!" Harry noticed how loud they'd gotten, and that Professor Vector was still in the room, back at the table with the other teachers. He coughed. Lowered his voice. Eyed the girls urgently. "It's not like that! I don't want to fall in love, I don't want to go out with anyone, and I don't want to deal with the gossip, please!" He paused. "Besides, I have a date for the Yule Ball, thank you very much."

"Oooooh!" the older witches exclaimed in unison. "Tell us more!"

"Who is she?"

"So you are in love with someone!"

"Just as friends," Harry added before the tension could build further. "I'm taking Luna Lovegood. You know her." He nodded at Sumire.

But Amity didn't. "So…you're in love with her, instead?"

"Oh, no. No," he disagreed immediately. "She's like a sister to me. And one of my very best friends. I, er."

"…Go on."

"I asked Ginny Weasley first, actually," Harry admitted, scratching at the back of his neck. "I kind of owed her the chance." He couldn't exactly come out and say, 'I thought at one stage I was going to marry her', could he? "But," Harry continued, with only a slight pang in his chest, "it turns out she's going with Neville. Apparently it was all organised ages ago."

Amity eyed him speculatively. "So you have a thing for younger women?"

Definitely not. Not that much younger than him, anyway. "I asked Fleur before Luna, actually."

"Fleur Dela—!?"

"As friends," Harry hastened to add. "I wanted to know if she needed the favour. I know she finds it a hassle having boys moon over her all the time. It's frankly embarrassing to watch, if you're ever in the area. She almost said yes, too, but wanted to hold out for a proper date in the end. Apparently she's holding out for the 'proper exchange student experience'. But she'll save a dance for me."

"So Luna was your backup?" Sumire asked sceptically.

"Backup?" Harry was astonished. "No, I—I can see how it might look like that. But no. I owed the others the chance – long story, too much to tell – but I was always hoping for Luna, to be honest. She's too young to get into the ball without a date, and she is technically the one who's been teaching me to dance all year." He'd keep secret that hidden room with the footsteps on the floor. "Besides, Luna's an absolute blast, so I'm glad it's her in the end."

"Uh huh?"

"No worries about enjoying the Ball with Luna," Harry told them. "I won't have to worry about publicity scandals, or potions or inappropriate…things, or secret crushes, or…" he gestured vaguely to encompass everything that was going on in his life about now. "And she'll be fascinating to talk to all evening. One of her hobbies is people-watching, did you know, and she has some of the most interesting insights to share."

"How did you ask her?" Amity asked, hazel eyes alight with interest.

Harry shrugged. "The usual way? There's less pressure when you go as friends, you know." He eyed Amity curiously, wondering what unknown stressors were weighing on her mind. "Luna and I walk around the castle together regularly. I just…asked. Normally."

"She said yes, just like that?"

"Yeah?"

"You think Lachy would say yes if I asked him?" Amity mused, a pale pink flush on her cheeks making her freckles pop. "I could ask him to go just as friends…"

"Surely not," Sumire disagreed. "He'll never look at you right if you misdirect him like that at the beginning!"

"But he's so good-looking and clever!" Amity bemoaned. "And I'm just fluffing around making stupid mistakes and getting overwhelmed all the time. All the time. You get on with him just fine, Sumire. I bet he'd go with you if you asked him."

"That's because I don't think of him like that," Sumire shrugged.

"Oh!" Harry twitched. "So you like him like that, do you? Sorry, I never realised."

"Oh, don't tell him!" Amity flushed even worse. Adorably innocent. "Merlin, Harry, don't act any different around him, will you? I couldn't bear if things got all awkward between us."

"Almost everyone has a bit of a thing for Lachy," Sumire explained to Harry wisely. "Even Professor Vector just now. You heard her."

"That was as a professor though, right?" Harry checked.

"Maybe?" Neither of the witches seemed sure.

"Does that mean you too?"

"Oh," Sumire waved the question away. "I'm not like that. But everyone else, sure."

This time it was Harry's turn to lean forward, curious. "But why do girls like him? Like that, I mean, Amity?" he added hastily. "I mean, he's a good bloke and all, but…I just don't see it."

Sumire shot him a grin. "He's the intellectual type."

"So?"

"You're just a boy," Sumire announced with a dark kind of delight. "Just let me explain…"

Harry was baffled as the conversation rapidly descended into the kind of conversation he had never before had with girls. Not even Katie, Angie, or Alicia.

After what seemed like ages, and the sun had definitely gone below the horizon, the conversation returned full circle.

"So you're not taking Hermione to the Ball?"

Harry's eyebrows rose. "No? I mean…She already has a…Doesn't she have a date yet!? I was sure and certain that someone had already asked her!"

"I'm sure a few people have. But I was under the impression that she might be waiting for someone?"

"Oh? You noticed Viktor Krum likes her too?"

"Oh dear," Amity spoke over Harry's head to Sumire. "I see what you mean. He's adorable."

"Who is?"

"You, Harry darling. Don't you worry your pretty little celebrity head about it: you've got enough going on, dear."

"Riiiiight," Harry dragged out. "Please don't call me that. No, I'm pretty sure that Viktor's had a thing for her for weeks, and I wouldn't want to get in the way of Hermione's first romance or anything."

Both Amity and Sumire shrunk back in a wince. Probably at the idea of ruining the romance. Harry nodded wisely. He'd wised up since this time last timeline and that awful thing between Ron.

"Oof," Amity pursed her lips.

Sumire's voice rose a tone or two as she seemed to change topics. "What are your plans, anyway?"

Harry's eyebrows rose. "What do you mean? I'm taking Luna. Ah…we'll dance the first dance together, at least?"

"Obviously," the rolled eyes came back out again, and Harry didn't like the gossipy glint in the older girls' eyes. "What kind of robes have you got? What colour will little Lovegood be wearing? How will you match her? Are you going to buy her a corsage, or are you transfiguring them?"

"Er…" Harry blanked.

"Do your dress robes from the beginning of the year even still fit? You've grown a few inches this term so far."

The Time-Turning, Harry figured, before: actually, maybe he was just a healthy teenage boy now.

Sumire interrupted. "Do you—don't mind me asking, will you Harry?—But what are you doing with your hair on the night?"

A hand reached up to pat his head unconsciously. "What's wrong with my hair?"

"Nothing at all, normally. But men's hair at your length normally gets tied back with a ribbon to match your ensemble."

"It…does?"

"You know not to buy her jewellery, right? Unless you're thinking about marrying her?"

"…That's…good to know?

"Harry," Sumire once more sat upright, pulling herself up from when she had slipped down to lounge over her cushioned armrests. "Harry. If you needed advice about this, all you had to do was ask."

"Parchment and quill for this, I think," Amity added. "Go on. Take notes."

"You'd better give wee Lovegood an evening she'll remember."

After receiving the impressively long list of 'Things Witches Want on Dates – Even As Friends', Harry found the time rush past until the Yule Ball arrived.

It turned out that he'd had a lot to do and not much time to do it in. Since Luna's ballgown was yellow, he'd needed to find himself some quality flowers (in December!), an actual haircut of the likes of which he'd never before managed at Hogwarts, and new robes. They should be a deep, dark purple, he'd been informed once he'd reconvened with Sumire for further instruction. They wouldn't do much for his skin tone but would go great with his hair and they'd make Luna's yellow pop.

"A rush order, it'll have to be," Sumire instructed him firmly. "Do you already know your measurem—No? I'll sort that out now then. Stand up with arms outstretched." Her wand was already whipping out to measure him. "I'm sure there's a place in Hogsmeade that would love to do a rush order for Harry Boy-Who-Lived Potter. What!? You're stuck with it, kid, so you might as well make it work for you!"

He rushed out his own homework that same week, owl-ordered the last gifts to give away, wrote the last of the year's letters to his various correspondents and was just about thinking that he'd organised everything when it became apparent that on the night there was to be a gift exchange; Luna would most likely give him something small but thoughtful and Harry needed to reciprocate.

It changed all his plans.

Christmas morning rushed onwards without any slowing, and Harry managed a perfectly enjoyable day that was rather overwhelmed by the approaching evening entertainment.

When the moment came, Luna – of course – had managed to magic up somehow a pair of exquisitely quirky cufflinks: yellow and white daisy-chains that opened and closed their petals depending on his movements. They weren't real jewellery either, or they'd have to get married or something. No, Luna had charmed them somehow out of real flowers.

"They'll last the night, Harry Potter," his little blonde friend told him as she fitted them onto his robe cuffs. "But you should plant them before you go to sleep tonight, and then they'll spring up overnight with proper root systems and you can keep them in your library with the rest of your collection."

"How do you even know about that?" Harry couldn't help but wonder. No one had ever been invited into his library compartment in his trunk. Or his trunk. Luna in particular hadn't ever made it into the boys' dormitory in Gryffindor either.

She smiled up at him.

Two giggling, whispering witches rushed down the Ravenclaw stairs and pushed past where Harry and Luna stood, not quite as out-of-the-way as he'd thought.

Another of those very helpful hints he'd been given – and where had Sumire been in his last life? – Harry had been informed in no uncertain terms that it was gentlemanly to collect his date up from her residence, no matter which House she resided in, and they were now a few steps behind where a handful of older wizards were still waiting with impatience for their own dates to come down from the Ravenclaw Tower.

"Isn't it obvious, Harry?" Luna asked him, blue eyes wide.

"Not at all." Harry was used to the shorter girl by now, and it didn't even bother her when she knew things that she shouldn't. It was part of Luna's charm, he knew. "I got you a gift too," he grinned down at her. "I was told that flowers were traditional, but I thought you'd put your own spin on things, so…I hope you'll like it?"

Luna didn't even blink. "Of course I will, Harry. You're my friend."

He ruffled her hair ever so slightly before looking down for his ever-present mokeskin pouch. "I like to think I did alright," he apologised pre-emptively. "But I came up with the idea all by myself, so if I got anything wrong then it's all my own fault, I'm afraid."

Luna watched him patiently. Her dress, a vibrant yellow that seemed to disappear somehow into nothingness at the edges fluttered softly around her ankles as she stood there. (It didn't actually disappear, Harry knew. The magic of it glittered cheerfully in his other sight as a beautiful blue colour, but for others, her dress would seem to just fade away like smoke.)

"You, uh, look really nice today, by the way."

"Don't be shy, Harry. You're being unusually diffident. I'll like your present."

"It's your first ball, after all," he explained to her, arm half stuck within the depths of his pouch. "Here you go; I hope I didn't crush it."

From within the extended space, Harry retrieved his arm and with it, a golden-yellow burst of colour.

"It's a flower crown," he explained unnecessarily when Luna gave a little gasp of delight. "Neville helped me get hold of them out of season, but the meadow lily is for happiness, the crocus is for cheerfulness, and of course, yellow roses are for friendship. Um. Let's always be good friends, yeah?"

There was a suspicious ladybug stuck on a wall on the east side of the corridor, Harry had spotted her earlier, but this gift was meant wholeheartedly for Luna, that she might have all the joy she deserved. Now was not Skeeter's moment.

Before him, Luna stepped forward unconsciously, her delicate hands already reaching out for the bright blaze of cheerful colour that Harry held carefully between his hands.

"Oh my!"

He found his mouth running away with him again. Merlin, had giving presents always been this hard for him?

"You're one of my most precious people," Harry found himself rambling while the students behind him remained completely unaware of his drama, "and you've taught me so many things I didn't know before about patience, gratitude and the right way to look at things, and how sometimes I should just 'be', without pursuing something. I want you to have all the good things, and be so happy. Life…isn't always kind," Harry muttered. He couldn't talk about her mother tonight, he figured. He definitely couldn't mention the Malfoy Mansion, or her father's ill health, or the cruciatus or kidnapping...

"But you're so full of graciousness and generosity…Um." He coughed away a frog in his throat. "And kindness and loyalty. I respect you so much and Merlin but I'm making a mess of this. Be safe, won't you? Just be so happy in life? And I hope you have a marvellous evening with me. May I escort you to the Ball?"

She smiled so joyfully up into Harry's face that something in Harry's chest hurt with the purity of it, and he found himself blinking rapidly as Luna bent her head to place the riotous colour onto her long, unstyled hair that fell past her shoulders.

"Is it straight?" she asked, easing her hands off the circlet.

Harry blinked. "You're asking that? Does it matter?"

"Only so it will stay on all night," Luna grinned at him, and Harry's offer of a temporary sticking charm was readily accepted before the two of them turned to make their way to the little meeting place of the Champions. There, they'd be interviewed by reporters and instructed by McGonagall until all the other students were in the Great Hall and they could make their great entrance.

"Tonight will be a marvellously successful night," Luna informed Harry as she skipped trippingly down the stone corridors. "The winter chill set against the warmth of winter fires; dark night, stars bright. Do you think they'll be fairies in the Hall itself?"

Harry spared a thought for last timeline's decorations. "It'll be stunning," he declared. "You'll love the decorations, I bet at least one fairy will adopt you until New Year's. The reporters will take photos of it. Will you father be here? Is the Quibbler one of the papers that passed the inspection criteria?"

"Oh yes," Luna smiled widely, beaming back at Harry from where she skipped a half-pace ahead. "He's bringing his fanciest camera and let me pick the first three questions he's going to ask you, Harry. You might want to start thinking ahead: what is your opinion on the Rotfang Conspiracy?"

Harry grinned. "I'll give it some thought."