Chapter 15 - The Spells That Bind

Author's Note: Thanks so much for sticking with the story everyone. Although I rarely post, I'll never stop writing it. It's just too much fun. If you like what I'm doing or have any feedback, positive or negative, feel free to let me know in the comments. Keen to know everyone's theories at the end of this chapter. So, without further ado.

'"And before you know it, snap! You're caught in the whirlwind of another heart, if not the confused musings of your own." This is the only redeeming quote in the entirety of Gilderoy Lockhart's bibliography. It strikes me that even in a vast ocean of self-aggrandising, hypocritical, no-sense nonsense and Grade A Hippogriff manure as 'his life's work', one can still stumble across a pearl. Although one does wonder if he stole that too.'

Badger's Book Review, published in The Quibbler after being rejected by Witches Weekly.

In the last few days of term, snow marched over the grounds of Hogwarts in gleeful waves; the Whomping Willow was half-buried, most of the lake was frozen solid and the path to Hogsmeade would have been completely snowed under were it not for the prolific efforts of Hagrid. It even got so bad, the groundskeeper was forced to move into temporary accommodation in the castle lest he get snowed into his hut. This meant fang and he were often seen loitering around the halls between gaps in his lessons and he kept readjusting the finishing touches on the twelve Christmas trees dotted throughout the castle, wishing passing student's a Merry Christmas and handing out rock cakes to anyone brave enough to try.

"Oh, thanks, Hagrid," Harry said, taking a tiny bite of the appropriately named sweets before stuffing the rest into his pocket when Hagrid wasn't looking. Harry toyed with the idea of getting him a cookbook for Christmas but didn't have the heart to hint at Hagrid's mediocre baking skills. In the end, he'd gotten Hagrid something a little more meaningful; something he couldn't wait to see his friend's face as he opened it on Christmas Day at the burrow.

"Yer welcome, 'Arry." The friendly half-giant replied. "Say, ain' 'Ermione due to come ou' soon?"

"Yeah, we should be getting her tomorrow." Neville picked up when Harry couldn't answer; teeth still stuck even in the minuscule piece of rock cake he chanced.

"Give er' my best won't ya."

"We will." Harry managed to mumble before the boys had to leave for class. Harry spent the next hour picking out the spare pieces of cake from his mouth while trying to pay attention to Flitwick's instructions.

"Now, listen closely class. Turning water into wine, while difficult, is very much a gateway to other charms of a similar nature. Once unlocked, you should easily be able to apply the technique to turn almost any liquid into another." The tiny professor squeaked stroking his white beard with one hand and pointing to the detailed wand movements on the blackboard with the other.

"Now please break off into pairs, and help to correct each other's movements. I shall wander round as always." And like that, the class went about their assignment. Harry noticed that Seamus and Dean were particularly excited about this one. He wondered why until Ron piped up next to him.

"Can you imagine?" Jubilance evident in his voice, "Being able to turn water to wine or better yet, water to butterbeer." His eyes glazed over channelling his brother's penchant for mischief.

By the end of the class, however, Harry was the only one able to manage the charm. For which he'd earned ten points for Gryffindor. Ron thought he'd struck gold when he'd turned the water dark but upon tasting it realised he'd just turned it into something resembling balsamic vinegar and spat it out.

Proud that all his extra studying and experiments with magic were paying off, Harry left the class bolstered about his own grasp of magic. That was until he was bombarded with requests from his classmates to turn water into every drink under the sun: most of them of the alcoholic persuasion. Channelling his inner teacher, Harry dodged and denied their requests, vehemently stating it was much more satisfying when they learned to do it themselves. He was also sure the rest of his roommates had failed to read the spell's fine print; a fact Hermione recited to Ron as they picked her up the next day.

"Ron, it won't taste the same."

"Ay?" Was all Ron could go for.

"Think about it, if all wizards could simply turn water into anything, then there would be no need to buy any of the actual products."

"Then why was Flitwick going on about it for?"

"It's a very useful spell, to charm objects to take on another's properties. But only water can be conjured and be expected to taste exactly as it is. If you try to conjure wine, then you'll be tasting sour grapes. If you conjure butterbeer, you're more likely to taste pure butter than beer." The look on Ron's face suggested he didn't think that was all that bad. Hermione, meanwhile, seemed as happy to be out of the Hospital Wing as to have fallen back into her old place within the group as their regular teacher.

"Sorry, Ron. No infinite supplies for you." Neville said chuckling.

"Well, why didn't Flitwick mention that?"

"I'm guessing he didn't want to spoil the surprise," Harry replied.

Ron then pulled a face like a duck and pranced off in the direction of The Great Hall for lunch. Harry noticed he got over his indignation after a few moments as Hermione sidled up to him and hooked her arm into his. The act turned Ron flush red and caused Harry and Neville to stifle their smirks.

"Good to know I haven't missed anything," Hermione said happily. While not back to her full strength, she was very much her old self. A fact the boys and particularly Ron was grateful for. At least he was until his mind became distracted by that same object of affection.

Finally, and like a slow omen that creeps up over time, the night of Slughorn's party dawned. For half an hour, Harry fought with his hair before he eventually abandoned all pretence and brushed it as 'normal'. In contrast to his housemates, who wore traditional wizarding robes - so traditional they were turning to rust in Ron's case - Harry had opted for a muggle tuxedo complete with coattails and bowtie. Wizard's robes, while elegant, were a little dated, Harry concluded. So, when he went shopping earlier that summer, he'd opted for the muggle equivalent judging them to carry a little more style. Let alone ease, he thought to himself as he watched Ron tackle his frills like a matador would bull horns.

Harry glanced sideways at himself in the mirror. The reflection that met him was a far cry from the one before the Yule Ball two years ago; his hair, while always scruffy, was less wild now and he'd grown into it over the last year; likewise, he stood taller and thanks to the morning workouts he'd filled out his suit rather nicely. A whistle emanated from the doorway.

"Not bad, Harry," Seamus said, walking in. His friend hadn't received an invitation or found a date with an invite, so was the only one of their dorm shackled to the great hall's Christmas feast.

"Thanks, mate," Harry replied feeling for once rather proud in his own clothes.

"Good to see a normal tux instead of all this overblown garments magical folk use." He said, indicating Ron's continuing struggle with his frills and Neville's with the multitude of buttons. Harry couldn't stop a smile cracking on his face as he contemplated the small bow tie in his hands. Several perplexing seconds passed without ideas. Turned out Ron and Neville weren't the only ones struggling.

"Need a hand with the tie?" Seamus offered, his voice dotted with mercy.

"You know how to tie these?"

"Sure, my da' has one similar to that."

"Perfect, cheers." For the next five minutes, the two conducted their own wrestling match before they finally got it looking right. All the while, a realisation dawned in Harry that he hadn't actually talked much to his outspoken rival from last year. Seamus had always been the hothead of their dorm. He shared the duty with Ron on certain occasions Harry had to admit. But now, standing there bantering with him, Harry got the distinct impression his friend had a question he was afraid might escape his tongue.

"Seamus?"

"Harry?"

"Everything alright?"

"Yea, course. Why wouldn' it be?" He said, abruptly trying to put some finishing touches to Harry's tie.

"I don't know. You seem like you've got something on your mind." Harry let his implication hang, leaving the floor open for Seamus to go where he wanted.

"Oh, no it's nothing…." Harry had never have thought of Seamus as shy but right now he was experiencing a side of his Irish friend he'd never seen before. "So, are you looking forward to going with Luna?"

Harry's eyebrows knotted. "Yeah. Sure. She's great. Plus, it's good to be going with someone I know is nice, rather than any of the fan club." Harry said, indicating a last-ditch bunch of chocolates on his bed from Romilda Vane. He didn't get too close to them, worrying she might have poisoned the very air around them.

"Nice, of course. But I mean, -you're just going as friends…right?" Seamus tried casually.

"FOR MERLIN SAKE!" Ron swore behind them, his match entering its brutal final stages. The boys ignored this.

"Absolutely," Harry confirmed. "Nothing between us but friendship…" Seamus visibly relaxed opposite and an unmistakable energy leapt to his posture. "She's cute, though. Don't you think?"

"Are you kidding, Harry? She's gorgeous…"And then Seamus caught Harry looking at him and stopped fiddling with the tie. "I mean…I, er-"

"Relax, mate. I understand. She's great. Good looking, smart. And speaking from a position as a trusted friend, she's probably one of the most loyal people, I know."

"Right…Too much to ask for you to put in a good word for me?" Harry considered him for a moment. Seamus had always had a big mouth when it came to the girls of Hogwarts. He was always ready with a hefty handful of banter, gossip or his take on who was the hottest, a game often initiated by him when the boys were alone. However, this year, Harry had noticed he'd laid off things like that. He wasn't sure whether it was the growing seriousness of things outside of Hogwarts or simply the growing nature of their lives inside, but Seamus and many others were starting to take life a little less for granted.

"I could mention something. Although, if you want my advice, I'd suggest being confident without cocky and just ask her to hang out in Hogsmeade."

"Right you are, Harry. Good one. I'll bear that in mind. Listen, don't mention anything to anyone. Alrigh'." Seamus whispered conspiratorially. "It's nothing and she doesn't even know yet. So, there's no need for anyone to find out." Out of nowhere, a feeling of righteousness bubbled to the surface in Harry.

"She's nothing to be embarrassed about, mate. And if you are, I don't exactly think you're her type." Harry couldn't keep the defensiveness out of his voice, suddenly feeling very protective of his airy friend.

"No, no, no. It's nothing like that, Harry." Seamus practically ran to say. "I just…what if she says, no. I haven't exactly got Ravenclaw's smarts and I don't really know much about the things she's interested in."

So, Seamus really did like her. Otherwise, Harry doubted he would be seeing him act so self-consciously; Seamus brushed his hand through his hair and for the first time dropped the cocky grin that followed him round as though it were a lightning-shaped scar: The absence of which caused a yearning in Harry to help him.

"Well, maybe take an interest. Ask her about herself, or perhaps, read the quibbler. You've got time over the Christmas break. Knowing Luna a little, I think she'd appreciate you just being nice and honest. Do that and maybe she'll say yes to Hogsmeade."

"Right you are. Thanks, Harry!" Seamus positively beamed. No doubt he was bolstered by the fact that Harry's intentions were far less libidinous than his own.

"There. Now, stay!" Ron said, drawing everyone's eye. He had finally pinned his robes for the three count and managed to flatten the wrinkles to a manageable degree.

"What do you think?" He said spinning round to the rest of the waiting boys.

"Surprisingly," Harry began, "you actually look-"

"Passable." Seamus filled in. And he wasn't lying either. Despite tumbling around with his robes for over half an hour now, Ron had managed to de-crease, flatten or otherwise tame them just enough so they now suited him.

"Passable?" Ron replied confused.

"To be fair," Dean continued, "that's at least four grades up from laughable, which you were two years ago." Ron considered this, turning back towards the mirror. He grinned in mild appraisal and Harry was sure he caught Ron uttering 'passable' under his breath while nodding. The rest of the boys smirked at each other.

"Right. Any longer guys and our dates will be the one's waiting on us." Harry said. "I'll see you at the party. I'm off to Ravenclaw." He turned one last time to thank Seamus and clap him on the shoulder.

The common room was abuzz with a couple of Gentlemen already clad in their dress robes and awaiting the arrival of their dates. The girls had yet to descend and Harry wanted to slip out before he was cornered or distracted by the show. In fact, the way the rest of Gryffindor were lingering round the room all sporting beady eyes and wet lips, reminded Harry of a catwalk at a fashion show. Anything for the students to get excited and gossip about, Harry thought, glad he wasn't the current centre of attention. He managed to slip round and out the portrait hole without much fuss - although Romilda Vane nearly 'bumped' into him as he was leaving. Harry was savvy enough to see her coming and quick enough to steer clear. She shifted her hands behind her back so Harry couldn't see what was in them, but he guessed it was nothing he wanted any part of.

The Fat Lady gave him a not so subtle whistle as he walked down the hallway, which Harry promptly ignored. Although, he couldn't help a smirk spread across his face. He managed to zip through the castle relatively unseen, portraits and peeves giving mock bows as he went. Hogwarts really does love its drama.

When he rounded the next corner, he saw Luna waiting at their agreed meeting point. She wore a bright red dress and a bemused smile while considering the floating lanterns above her as though they possessed the secrets to magic itself. As a smile formed on his face, Harry knew he'd have to be stupid not to recognise Luna's beauty. Unlike the more superficial forms worshipped by Witches Weekly, it was not one defined purely by her outer appearance and instead by her untroubled innocence which burst from behind a radiant smile.

While Harry didn't have a thing for Luna, he'd be lying if he said she wasn't deeply attractive; even if unconventionally so.

"Luna. Hi."

"Oh, Hello, Harry." She replied as if surprised to see him.

"You look great! Red really suits you."

"Why thank you, Harry." She seemed to take the compliment in its stride.

"You look very handsome in your suit. I don't think many others will be wearing a muggle outfit there. So you're sure to stand out."

"Er,-thanks, Luna. But I think you're more the show-stealer tonight than me."

Luna seemed to shrug off her own innocent beauty, as though she doubted Harry's words but was too polite to say. "No really, Luna. You do look amazing. And I know for a fact someone else thinks so too."

Luna's face wrinkled in confusion. "That's very sweet of you, Harry but, you don't have to make things up to make me feel better."

"No, honestly, Luna. I wouldn't lie to you. I have it from a reliable source that you've caught someone's eye." She looked at him curiously considering his words as a gazelle might a waterhole before it dared to put its head in. After a moment she replied.

"You're right, Harry. I know you wouldn't lie to me. It's probably because I've started to grow into my breasts a lot this year." Harry nearly tripped over his tied shoelace.

"Um, well, I er-."

"It's okay, Harry. I've noticed lots of boys start looking at me recently. There's no need to feel embarrassed." Luna said, as though she'd just mentioned Flitwick's homework, not her prospering maturity.

"I don't." Harry managed lamely. "I mean, I am a little, but only because people don't really talk about this sort of thing…Out loud that is."

"Which is strange if you think about it. Considering we're in school and clearly, everybody's changing and thinking about it all the time." Harry couldn't help but chuckle at her directness. Always a source of uncomfortable truths, Luna was so disarming in her earnestness, he couldn't help but be endeared to her off-beat brand of humour.

"Yeah, you're right. Silly really. I'm happy you're at least brave enough to talk about them."

"And you, Harry. I hope you don't mind me saying so but I don't think I could talk about these things with Ron."

Harry had to laugh out loud at that, the image of Ron's face turning various shades of uncomfortable as he was blindsided or bludgeoned by Luna's quips came to mind. "I can see what you mean. And it really is nice to be going with you, Luna. Changes or not. Thanks for saying yes."

"You're welcome, Harry. I should thank you for the DA and everything you've done this year too. It's really nice to feel like we're still active in the war. Even though, lots of people try to ignore it while they're here." Knowing all too well what she meant, Harry could only nod in return. And instead of letting the night be soured by thoughts of Voldemort, the war and what lay beyond, Harry shook it off and offered his arm to his effervescent date. She gladly accepted and the two carried on chit-chatting until they were within earshot of Slughorn's party.

"Although, out of curiosity, Harry." Luna breached out of nowhere right before they arrived, "Who is it that was admiring me?" Was it Harry or were her cheeks showing a rare moment of shyness?

"Well, I'm not sure I can reveal that, Luna. But I am sure he'll be in touch soon." Harry said with a wink making Luna crane her head curiously.

As they neared their destination, the echo of unmistakably upbeat Christmas music reached their ears. The final corridor supported a wealth of colourful banners and eloquent decorations fit for a palace; floating lanterns, lush mistletoe and wreaths of matching colours were dotted along the walls; all culminating in the entrance to Slughorn's office which had been magically expanded and enhanced, welcoming guests on a red carpet like some kind of magical opera night.

"Slughorn's gone all out," Harry said aloud. But as they walked under the bannered entrance, he realised the hallway wasn't even the starter.

The entire ceiling had been coated in red and green interwoven banners, reminding Harry of ribbons on the world's most elegant present. The walls were decked in see-through veil's which combined with faint trails of smoke that puffed round the room creating an aura of moody mystery; the perpetrators of which were a band of warlock's who'd huddled themselves in a corner taking long hard drags on a shisha pipe. Adding to the atmosphere were the energetic harmonies of a jazz band that stole the stage in the far corner. The lights had been replaced with candles and several ornate lanterns, all of which hovered in mid-air above their heads. And dotted throughout were the House Elves of Hogwarts who balanced precarious platters of wine glasses or goblets in one hand and tray's of nibbles and aperitifs in the other. If Dobby was here, then there was definitely an accident waiting to happen, Harry thought not unkindly.

Surprisingly, many guests had already arrived, only half of which were from Slug Club. Harry spotted a few members of the Order; Elphias Doge and Emmeline Vance he recognised from his exodus from The Dursley's last year; to his surprise, Harry then spotted Remus, with a resplendent Tonks on his arm. Chatting with them was the unmissable Kinglsey Shakelbolt, draped in wide-reaching robes. Idly, Harry wondered if Professor Slughorn was a member of the Order as well and pocketed the question for later.

In the end, the expanded office looked like a cross between what Harry thought the Hogs Head would look like if it were hosting a closing down party and a Ministry gala for the rich and famous. A combination he relayed to Luna.

"Yes, it's a little too much if you ask me. Style over substance, Dad usually calls it." She replied, causing Harry to stifle a smirk. Perhaps, tonight wouldn't be so bad after all, Harry dared think.

"Ah, Harry m'boy!" Professor Slughorn said, ambling over with a bounce in his step he seemed to reserve for Harry. The portly professor looked right at home in his crowd, wearing his smoking jacket as a king would a crown. "Good to see you could make it. And you've brought a lovely date. Miss Lovegood, I believe." Slughorn gave an exaggerated bow while holding his baubled hat in place.

"Hello, Professor." They intoned together before Slughorn whisked them away to meet his assembled companions. First, there was Eldred Worple and his vampire subject Sanguini: in contrast to the stereotypical vampire appearance, Sanguini was rotund, tanned and full of latent energy, his pale beady eyes zipping around the room as he licked his lips. After that, Slughorn pulled a member from the lead singer of The Hobgoblin's along for a brief introduction, then roped in Gwenog Jones of the Hollyhead Harpies for a companionable chat about the new rules of Quidditch as debated in an advanced copy of a book he'd received from a friend: a prideful piece of name dropping ensued after another drink and revealed the author to be none other than Ludovic Bagman. A revelation that none were to reveal given Bagman's ongoing precarious situation with galleon-owed goblins.

Through all of this, Harry clung to Luna's arm as though she were a life jacket in a social storm made up of 'can you believe it's' and 'I told you so's'. Though, how mistaken he was. For Luna was far more than just his saviour, she was a social hitwoman, adding sleek comments and harebrained theories to the conversational mix that both confused and entertained Slughorn's collectables. Many of whom mistook Luna's misgivings for sarcasm.

"Oh, how delightfully witty." A lady with a dead animal for a shawl said before ambling off. Then in a move that both shocked Harry to his core and made him want to award Luna a marauder badge of excellence, she broke her airy countenance and winked at him.

"Luna, did you do that on purpose?" He whispered to her.

"Sorry, Harry. I didn't have a choice. Did you see how she wore that poor animal?"

"Of course, but there's no need to be sorry. In fact, you've just made my evening." A statement that caused Luna to glow like one of the lanterns above them.

For the next half an hour, Slughorn seemed eager to keep Harry by his side, as if this whole affair had been catered so he could show off the crowning achievement of his collection: the great chosen one, the boy-who-lived. As a result, Harry had a hard time politely sidestepping the professor and found himself entangled in the Devil's snare of high society.

Just as the potions master was elaborating on a theory of how he'd accidentally caused quidditch rivalries through favouritism, his voice started to face into the background and Harry found his feet swept from under him.

Standing in the doorway was one Daphne Greengrass.

With eyes wider than the moon, Harry drank in her appearance as though it were air to his lungs. Her chestnut hair was as silky as ever, except now it cascaded over her shoulders like waves riding the shore. She wore a dark sleek dress with navy lashes interlaced and slits at the bottom allowing hints of her long smooth leg to peek out. It clung to her in a way Harry was infinitely grateful for, as well as cautiously weary his cheeks were turning a shade of red only seen on Weasley children. He went to swallow but almost choked on a mouth drier than the Sahara.

She walked into the room as delicately as an angel taking a stroll through heaven. Greeting people with a curt smile but staying casual and cool.

Somehow Harry managed to find his voice and reply to a question Slughorn had asked. Merlin knew if it was the correct answer. Averting his eyes was another matter though, finding them practically glued to his secret duelling partner. Without even being near her, Harry's heart was in his throat, and right in that moment, he wished for nothing more than to be the one whose arm she had interlaced with.

Unfortunately and much to Harry's dismay, Blaise was the one who had the honour. The slick Slytherin sported his usual haughty grin and was sticking out his chest through dark robes as though he'd just swallowed a balloon. He waved and greeted a few members of Slug Club as he tugged her round. Daphne, on the other hand, didn't seem to relish her companion's demeanour. Instead, she appeared to be gritting her teeth, although did so behind a smile that was only marginally less icy than normal.

Then, from across the forest of the room, their eyes met. For a split and insatiable second, her stony smile melted revealing her heart-stoppingly genuine one. A moment later she averted her gaze and quickly reconstructed her outer facade, but not before Harry's heart, which remained steadfast in his throat, sent waves of red fire bursting round his body.

Unfortunately for his eyes, but fortunately for his decorum, this had the added effect of snapping him back to reality. It turned out he'd completely missed the last few paragraphs of conversation causing everyone to stare at him.

"Sorry, sir. Miles away. Forgive me." He stuttered, hoping to play off his embarrassment as daydreaming.

"Ha, quite alright, m'boy." Slughorn replied, a glint in his eye. "We're only young once, after all." Bugger.

If even someone as clueless as Slughorn could read Harry then he must have been obvious! Luckily, Gwenog and Luna didn't seem to think much of it and Slughorn moved on quick enough, ever eager to keep the carousel of conversation spinning to his whim. Vowing to keep his cool - as well as not give himself away - Harry redoubled his efforts to stay with the conversation. From now on, he was not going to be distracted. No matter what.

"Ah, Ms Greengrass, Mr Zabini." Slughorn gestured for the two new arrivals to join their small group. Great! Harry cursed the portly professor to infinity.

"Wonderful to see you could make it. Always a pleasure to have such talented students in attendance."

"Not at all professor, we appreciate the invite," Zabini replied with an entitled swagger, although Harry was sure Slughorn was referring to Daphne's obvious talents, not his. In dramatic opposition to his normally sullen and obnoxious demeanour, Zabini had checked them with his coat and was now sporting an overly charming and cocky bravado. It seemed to suit his fancy dark robes which strutted in extravagant rolls as though trying to get away from his body. Harry had a hard time stifling the urge to punch him straight in the face.

"You know, Gwenog Jones, of course, Star of the Hollyhead Harpies. And, Mr Potter you'll remember from Slug Club with his date, Ms Lovegood."

"Charmed," Zabini said, completely ignoring Harry and Luna. He bowed exaggeratedly, locking eyes with the befuddled Chaser and kissing the back of her hand. To Harry's surprise, Zabini then turned to him and gave him a look of triumph as he gripped Daphne's hand and puffed out his chest. Harry raised an eyebrow, but couldn't bring himself to nod or acknowledge his opponent in any other way.

"Potter. Lovegood." Daphne said in a neutral tone.

"Greengrass," replied Harry, mirroring hers precisely.

The chit chat carried on from there with Slughorn exerting his finely tuned talent for delicious gossip and fanciful name-dropping. If Hogwarts gave out masters in the magic of conversation, Slughorn could easily teach it over potions. Despite the professors' skill and near-boundless energy to fill the silence, an increasing urge to get as far away from the group, and especially Blaise, grew in Harry. It wasn't that he felt threatened by the Slytherin, though not from lack of trying on Blaise's part, but that he found his eyes continuously drawn to Daphne.

She truly was breath-taking. As much elegant as mesmerising. Harry was afraid his heart would betray him and leap clean through his chest or that his feet would start to shift her way as though she were the sun pulling him ever closer. Swallowing hard, he was thankful when a waiter brought round another goblet of fresh butterbeer and used it as an anchor to reality.

On the other hand, Harry wasn't going to let himself cower in the face of Zabini's goading. The haughty Slytherin kept trying to interrupt Daphne and show her off whenever any other Slytherin walked by as though she were a trophy in a cabinet. It made a sickly feeling arise in Harry. One that had nothing to do with the bittersweet butterbeer he was gulping down.

"Ah, and Harry I'd like for you to meet a dear old friend of mine. Harry this is Bathilda Bagshot. A name I'm sure you'll recognise." Slughorn said, slinging his lofty arm over the cramped shoulders of an old lady who seemed to move as a mole would if it was forced to walk on its hind legs. She sported a long and pointed nose and drank sherry at a rate that would put Trelawney out of stock.

"Mr. Potter. Yes, yes, lovely to see you. Dumbledore speaks very highly of you, of course." She drawled in a loose Welsh accent, then addressed everyone else in the group politely. Try as he might over the next few minutes of conversation, Harry couldn't remember where he'd heard the name of the shrewd lady now listening to Slughorn. He was sure Hermione had said it at some point, likely she'd written a book, though given how many books Hermione spoke of over the years that didn't narrow it down.

"Oh come now, Batty." Slughorn was saying, "I'm sure there are plenty more secrets worth plundering in the depths of Hogwarts. Enough at least for another volume, wouldn't you say?"

Mrs. Bagshot didn't seem to relish Slughorn's tone but appeared entertained by his exuberance, "Oh, Horace. I could write a hundred books about her and Hogwarts would still have secrets to reveal." And that's when it hit Harry.

"Bathilda Bagshot. Hogwarts A History, you wrote that book?" Harry said, at the same time realising how dumb he probably looked.

"Well, naturally, dear boy." She replied bemusedly, not appearing the least bit offended. Blaise, however, was grinning and shaking his head.

"Honestly, Potter. You need to learn your manners." The Slytherin said haughtily, only to receive a slight elbow to the stomach from Daphne. Harry smirked but Daphne didn't look at him.

And then out of nowhere a wild idea entered Harry's mind. "Um, Mrs. Bagshot, you know everything there is to know about Hogwarts, right?"

"Well I doubt anyone knows everything there is to know about this castle, that's what makes her so interesting. Although from what I've heard," she levelled her gaze at Harry, "you've unearthed more secrets than most ."

Harry smiled disarmingly. "Well, you probably know as well as any other Mrs. Bagshot that the Hogwarts rumour mill is a secret of itself. But I wondered if I could borrow you for a short moment?"

She may have had wrinkles that compared to bark on an old oak tree, but at Harry's words, her eyes shone with an energy that defied age. "Of course, dear boy."

"Excuse us, professor." Slughorn was more amused than put out by way of response. Harry caught Daphne, however, eyeing him curiously.

Leading the aged witch out of earshot and within view of the door, Harry asked the question that had been burning his mind for a while now. "Mrs. Bagshot, I was wondering if you know anything about an old symbol of Hogwarts. An early version of the Hogwarts crest, perhaps?"

Mrs. Bagshot held his gaze for a second. Fuelled by another healthy swig of cherry - that in no way compromised her sagacity - she appeared to toy with her response before answering. "Few people know of such a symbol, Mr. Potter. I assume you're referring to the one above the door." She gestured without looking to its position above Professor Slughorn's door frame. It was barely visible through the faint sheet adorning the wall. But through it, Harry saw it was now complete. Whereas a month ago, it was only three-quarters full, this one was fully formed. How could it change like that, Harry wondered. A question he posed to his informant.

"Hmm, indeed an interesting question for an intriguing young student. But what is it to you I wonder?" She pondered cradling her cherry glass with delicate efficiency. Harry got the impression she was weighing him up and almost wished he hadn't asked. As an author, she might be looking for her next story and given his past luck in that area he was afraid it had dropped right in her lap.

"Don't worry," she continued, the look on Harry's face all too evident. "I'm no Skeeter. Nor am I interested in the gossip of journalism. History is my muse, I dare say. And uncovering its secrets my business. As such, I can tell you this: that symbol is not a modern alteration nor is it even a symbol of Hogwarts itself, per se."

Confusion wrinkled Harry mind. "Then why would it be here and why does it resemble the Hogwarts symbol?"

"Ah, because my dear boy, that symbol existed before Hogwarts itself. It is not the symbol of the school, but the symbol of the founders. And as such, it exists in only a few rare places. Places or objects which were owned by the four of them."

Harry's eyes ballooned, the party forgotten. The music drowned. Objects which were owned by them? Does that mean his notebook, the book that sat around hidden for so long had been owned by none other than the founders themselves? What does this mean? Does it have hidden secrets in it, secrets revealed only through some spell? Perhaps, it was just a trinket: an old heirloom lost after they died. But something about its magic radiated like a volcano concealing its true strength with a lukewarm heat, convinced Harry there was more to it that met the eye.

In the time these thoughts tumbled, like stones down an avalanche, through Harry's mind, Mrs. Bagshot never wavered her eyes from him. "People have said you are a curious boy, Harry Potter. Now I know they were wrong. You're a precocious young man. One who, if rumour has it right, may be juggling more than he can chew. A suspicion that I can see bears only as much truth as is allowed until one meets the source."

Harry reappeared from his musings in time to reestablish his countenance. But before he could utter a placating word, Bathilda beat him to it. "You needn't worry, Mr. Potter. If it should give you reassurance, I'm an old friend of Dumbledores. And somewhat of an honorary member of his Order. A group I'm sure you're familiar with."

Harry tried not to betray the serious direction the conversation was taking on his face, just in case people were watching. Smiling, he decided that even if he could trust her and even if no one watching was suspicious, he'd need to be as cautious as calculating with his next question.

"Okay. Then as a confidant of Dumbledore's, and the Order, could you tell me any more about that symbol or where else I might find it?"

Bathilda Bagshot's former drunkenness was completely cast aside at that moment. Harry could practically see the fireworks pinging around her eyes, as though they were lighting up after a long hibernation. All the while she never averted her gaze from Harry; somehow looking down her long nose at him, despite the fact Harry was about a foot taller than her. "Few relics from that long ago remain, Mr. Potter. And even fewer that bare such a mark. Most items, of course, would have degraded in the time that's past. Unless the magic placed on the item was replenished regularly," and with that, she gestured to the symbol above Slughorn's door. Naturally, the school contained so much magic it kept ghosts and paintings alive and kicking for centuries longer than intended.

"-Or the magic in question was incredibly powerful…"Mrs. Bagshot looked Harry over, appearing to size him up before she spoke her next words. "If indeed you have found another such symbol on an item, then you truly are a very lucky young man."

"Well. Hypothetically, Mrs. Bagshot ," Harry began keeping his smile and cool facade alight, "might you know of any items left behind by the founders?"

"Items that might contain said symbol, perhaps?" She asked rhetorically. Harry merely shrugged and smirked, as though outwardly enjoying their present chit chat, while underneath he was bursting with anticipation. "Unfortunately, Mr. Potter, items like those are rarer than treasure and often not reported, lest they be stolen. As has happened through the ages."

"But you have suspicions?" Harry prompted, reaching, perhaps, farther than he should.

A house-elf Harry didn't recognise darted by and offered fresh goblets of wine. Batty's lips sealed as she deftly took another goblet, replacing her empty one. In a flash, the house-elf zoomed off rather haggardly. The historian waited until she was sure no one was close before continuing.

"I'd wager even you would be surprised at how many ears Hogwarts has." She said, casting alert eyes around their vicinity.

It struck Harry that he should put up a privacy charm, but if anyone saw or realised what he was doing it would invite, if not confirm, any suspicious eyes. Bathilda took a swig before continuing. Except it didn't seem to tip her over but sober her up.

"The most famous items are the individual trinkets of some renowned left by the founders. Helga's cup, for instance, or Godric's sword, which rumour has it you became acquainted with not so long ago." She said raising her eyebrow inquisitively.

"Surely," Harry replied, "a historian like yourself knows better than to believe the gossip column."

"Part of my job is being good at detecting the truth amongst the lies." She smirked knowingly.

"I see. I don't suppose there's any truth to the myth that some other items might bear the same symbol?" Harry knew he was pressing his luck. Even if his intentions could only be inferred from his questions before, now they were outright obvious. But he couldn't help himself. He needed to know.

"Not for certain." dropped her voice to a whisper now. Despite this, it was obvious she was enjoying their conversation immensely. "Though some scattered sources talk of a shield, a dagger, a locket and a diary."

Harry's heart left his body. Was he in possession of the Founder's actual diary? Fortunately, he was too shocked for the information to process, so his face remained amicable.

Bagshot smiled through toothy gums and cherry stained lips. "Of course, if one of these happened to…hypothetically be in your possession, then I would advise you to keep its existence very close to the chest. A great deal of blood has been spilt over far lesser items. In case one crossed your path, you'd be wise to trust its identity to no one."

Suddenly, Harry was worried he'd revealed too much. He didn't even know this woman. Maybe she was a spy: For Dumbledore if not for Voldemort. No, Harry. You're being paranoid. Although, the omniscient twinkle in the old lady's eyes too closely resembled another aged wizard for comfort. Harry hastily considered his options, which flung themselves round his mind with all the subtlety of a centaur in a potions shop.

"And how do I know I can trust your word?" Harry finally asked.

Bathilda Bagshot's posture didn't seem to register the question, but her demeanour shifted from one of animated curiosity to soft and kindly. "People tell you you look like your father, no doubt, Harry." Harry didn't know how to respond. "And that's true. At least on the surface. But underneath. You're very much your mother." With a stretched and bony finger, pointed to the wall next to them. To Harry's surprise, they were standing by Slughorn's wall of Slugclub. Just a few feet away was the picture of Harry's mother, sitting front and centre over twenty years ago. She was surrounded by fellow Slug clubbers all grinning with pride. Was it Harry's eyes, or did she glow a little brighter than the rest? Even in black and white, Harry thought his mother radiated an invisible warmth; her friends and fellow students smiled all the brighter for being near her.

"You knew my parents?"

"Well, I ought to. I babysat you enough times."

Confusion leaked over Harry's face as the wind sweeps through a field of grass. Mrs. Bagshot laughed in response. "I live in Godric's Hollow, dear. We were neighbours." She whispered conspiratorially as though that were the real secret.

Harry had no idea what to say, this had never happened to him before. Unless you counted Sirius. Or Remus. Actually, every other year, someone new popped up who seemed to know his parents intimately but hadn't contacted him before. So, in that vein, he was about due.

"Ah, Batty, there you are." As instantly as Slughorn materialised in their vicinity, the music found its way back to Harry's ears and Bathilda Bagshot's demeanour switched from affable warmth to warmly besotted once again. "Try not to hog Harry all to yourself now," Slughorn lamented and shook his bottomless goblet into the air as a kind of reprimand.

"Horace, now, now." Bathilda swatted disarmingly at his smoking jacket. I was just filling Mr. Potter here in on the various history's of the goblins," she swayed drunkenly slathering her words as if they were dollops of butter on a tiny cracker. Slughorn, looked rather put out, but must have considered himself somewhat the hero taking a bullet for his protege because while shoehorning 'Batty' away, he winked at Harry as if to say, 'you're welcome.'

In the vacuum of their retreat, Harry was left alone to contemplate everything. Thoughts and possibilities bubbled like tempestuous cauldrons. He wasn't able to linger on them for long, though, as he caught a hand at the edge of the throng waving him over.

Taking the circumventive route to avoid any further discussions, Harry wound his was to his target.

"Moony, how are you?" Harry said greeting his old teacher with a hug.

"Hello, Harry," Remus replied, welcoming Harry to his table and offering him a seat. "Better than you, I imagine. Slughorn seems to have a particular affinity for you."

"You have no idea," Harry replied, the words turning sour in his mouth. "I didn't know you were coming."

"I wasn't supposed to. Dumbledore asked me to pop along. I was on duty watching over the school for the order anyway, so he suggested I watch from here." Harry's heart was ever grateful to the headmaster's decision.

"And Tonks?"

"She insisted. Reasons to celebrate are few and far between these days. Besides something tells me she's been missing the socialising."

Harry followed Remus' gaze and noticed Tonks chatting with Ron, Ginny and Neville. She was gesturing animatedly while demonstrating her metamorphous skills to the delight of the table. Harry glimpsed Remus' smile in the corner of his eye.

"You look well, Remus." The energy in his face making his worn robes seem all the less so.

"Thank you, Harry. This is the longest period of the month without a transformation so I feel my fittest now."

"That wasn't exactly what I meant." He replied, eyes darting to Tonks.

"Oh, yes, of course. I forgot whose godson I was speaking to. If you want me to admit it then, yes. We're doing very well together." As though her ears were burning, Tonks looked over at the two of them and with rosy red hair winked, making Harry smirk all the harder. Indeed, the afflicted werewolf looked younger than Harry had ever seen him. An observation he relayed to his confidant.

"What can I say. When happiness is kind enough to strike, have the good grace to embrace it."

"Words to live by." Harry said, his own eyes drifting over to Daphne. Surprisingly, her ever clingy date was nowhere in sight. What was even more surprising, though, was who she was talking to: Hermione and Hannah. Did they know each other? Perhaps, they took Ancient Runes together, Harry speculated rather dumbly. Regardless, Daphne appeared far more relaxed in their company than Blaise's and even tried a smile out for size.

"Any progress on your front?" Remus cut in, wiggling his eyebrows.

"I don't know what you mean, Moony," Harry responded, feigning innocence. "But as far as happiness goes, I'm doing a lot better than last year. That's for certain."

"Good to hear. You know, I have a wolfs instinct for some things," then he leaned into Harry and whispered, "So take my advise and just go for it. Love is always worth it. "

Harry wished it was that simple but didn't say so out loud. Remus was the one person who knew his plight; who knew that as long as there was a Voldemort, Harry would know no peace. But here he was relaying encouragement behind a mischievous smirk anyway. And given what Remus was and that the source of his own anguish was relatable to Harry's, he took his words to heart.

"I'll bear that in mind, Professor," Harry said teasing his former teacher. Meanwhile, his eyes drifting over to Daphne again.

Before Harry asked his next question he checked no one was in range and could eavesdrop on their conversation. "How'd your latest meeting with the wolves go?"

"About as well as expected. Although, I did manage to report on the numbers for Dumbledore."

"Any good news?"

"Not on that front. But I may have something else to tell you." Remus' voice dropped so as not to be overheard.

"I won't go into too much detail here, but we may have a lead on a defector."

Harry's brow creased. All effort went into visibly not reacting. "From the Death Eaters? Has that happened before?"

"Only with our favourite greasy haired antagonist. And he's not been able to shed any light on the defector's identity. The only thing we know so far is he's close enough to know Voldemort's inner workings. Specifically the organisation Snape is not privy to."

So he says, Harry thought but didn't say. Instead, he went with, "Sounds like a secret partner."

"As close as."

"But you have no clue who it is?"

"We have educated guesses but we won't know until-,"

"-Harry, old fellow! There you are!" Slughorn said, popping out of the crowd like a genie from a lamp, "-I'd love to introduce you to-," But the name was lost on Harry as he cursed the professor underneath his breath.

"We'll talk at the Weasleys in a few days," Remus whispered after him, before pushing Harry off in the direction of Slughorn's open arms.

As Harry nodded politely, he turned and saved one last finger curse so Remus could see him. It was a further twenty minutes of social ping pong before Harry could extricate himself. Luna had long since wisened to Slughorn's fawning and steered clear, leaving Harry to bear the brunt of the professor's attention. It was with a heavy head and irritable ears he finally slotted down at his the table with his friends a little while later.

"I knew you would be the highlight for him, Harry," Ginny began, "but this is taking it to a stalkerish new level."

Harry smiled humourlessly. "As soon as I think I've escaped, he pulls me back in."

"Just like Lightning Sand in a Fire Swamp," Luna said out of nowhere; the rest of them looked on befuddled.

After a few airy moments, Hermione exclaimed, "The Princess Bride."

"Precisely," Luna exclaimed happy someone knew what she was talking about. For the rest of them, this only added to the confusion.

"It's a film," Hermione elaborated rather righteously.

"Anyway," Ron said, ignoring the conversation, "Harry, why don't you cut him off before he can come to you. Maybe then he'll leave you alone."

Harry was incredulous. "You want me to go back into that?"

"Yeah, why not? Just for a few more minutes, might stave off an attack." Ron's strange suggestion was followed by an even stranger kick underneath the table.

"Ow!" Ron said.

"No meddling," Ginny whispered next to him.

"Meddling?" Harry was truly lost now. "What's going on, guys?"

"Hm, nothing Harry, Ron's just sticking his foot in his mouth." Harry wanted to take her at her word, but the rest of his friends were having a hard time meeting his eye. Ron and Dean were stifling smirks, Neville and Hannah hid their mouths behind napkins and Ginny was using the same innocent smile she wore when trying to slip under the twins radar. In fact, everyone looked on the brink of full-blown laughter, all except Luna who smiled on wistfully.

"Oh my god! You guys are betting on me and Slughorn, aren't you?"

Neville let out a snort then Ron followed and finally half their table erupted.

"We're sorry, Harry. But after the first twenty minutes, it sort of turned into a bit of a game." Hermione said sheepishly.

"Yeah and from there we started taking bets." Ron continued proudly.

"We, whose we? No, wait better question, how many bets have you taken?"

"Twenty," Ron replied matter of factly.

"Twenty?"

"Ish."

"Oh, come on."

"Well, I'm sorry mate but if you're going to suffer, I may as well make some money out of it."

"Glad I can help," Harry said having a hard time keeping the mirth out of his voice. The band changed the song to an upbeat melody.

"Come on, Ron," Hermione interjected. "Let's dance."

Before Ron could reply with a 'do we have to,' or 'but your toes,' Hermione had dragged him up and onto the dance floor.

"I feel like I now want to take bets on how long Ron can last on the dance floor." Harry said smugly.

"I'll take that," Dean was the first to offer, but Ginny cut him off.

"Oh, no you won't," and pulled him up for a dance as well. A moment later Neville was standing and bowing before Hannah and Harry and Luna were the last two sitting. Spinning around to his effervescent friend, Harry held out his hand, "Would you care to dance, Luna?"

"I'd love to, Harry. But perhaps just a few dances, I want to have enough energy later to find my shoes." Harry had no idea what that meant but swallowed the yes at face value and led his date onto the floor.

What followed was half an hour of funny, silly, awkward and brilliant dancing; although, dancing may be stretching the definition too far. Once they'd had their fill the group split off and chatted with various members of the order and Slug Club. All the while, Harry's gaze kept peeling its way to Daphne. He caught her eye once or twice but looked away quickly. Uncertain of how to proceed. He knew what he wanted to do, that much was obvious, but how?

Then, when Harry noticed Zabini trying to charm a pair of twin witches supporting the band, he saw his opportunity. Surreptitiously excusing himself from his friends, he weaved his way through the mass of the party, ducking around guests, avoiding Slughorn's intrepid gaze, until finally he approached the table with a sole occupant. His tongue was dry and his legs uncertain but in an extraordinary moment of bravery, that surprised even Harry, he walked up to one Daphne Greengrass.

"May I have this dance?" Harry said, offering his hand to her.

Daphne's eyes widened. "Harry," she whispered glancing around, "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

She didn't say no, so there's a chance, he dared hope. "It's just a dance. Everybody's doing it." He indicated over his shoulder, where several Slug Club members and alumni had paired off. Indeed, half the party seemed to be turning to the dance floor at this later hour.

"I don't know." She bit her lip, uncertainty riding her words to the surface.

"I do." He replied with confidence giving her a reassuring smile.

Slowly, almost cautiously, as if afraid she might be stung, her hand raised and placed in his. Leading her up gently, he walked her onto the dance floor, all the while enjoying the sheer sensation of her hand in his. As they matched the song, their other hands joined and Harry began to lead her around; the Slug Club and guests dancing loosely around them. Not that Harry cared, his eyes were transfixed on the woman in front. How could they not be? She was even more incredible up close, so much so Harry struggled to keep his feet moving in time to the rhythm.

"I suppose I don't have to tell you how beautiful you look tonight," Harry said, instinct beating sense to the punch. She blushed and tried to hide a smile that could have melted ice. "-So, I'll just say, holy shit and wow."

That was the first time he made her laugh out loud. It filled his lungs with such hearty energy, Harry felt like he could fly to the moon and back on repeat. Daphne stifled the smile back down to a smirk. "Thank you, Harry…The coattails do you well too."

"A little different than my usual workout stuff," the scent of her perfume threatened to overwhelm him, and he was close to letting it.

"Somehow you make both work." Her words made him glow on the inside; their eyes meeting for a blissfully long second.

"By the way, I owe you a thank you," Harry began.

"Oh?"

Harry dropped his voice to a whisper. "The healing spell you used on me. I copied it when Hermione was…well, when she was in danger."

"Really? Wow. I'm glad I could…I mean, I'm happy it worked. She seems to be doing well again."

"I admit I was a little surprised to see you two talking."

"Just classmates passing notes." She said with a suggestive smirk. Although, come to think of it all of her smirks were suggestive, just in a myriad of different ways.

"I'm sure." Was Harry could answer, meanwhile relishing every second their proximity brought.

"And what about you? Charming secrets out of Mrs. Bagshot, were you?" Daphne asked teasingly. "Don't you think she's a bit old to be part of the Fanclub, Potter?"

Harry had to stifle his laugh so as not to draw attention. "Just Hogwarts enthusiasts passing notes, Ms. Greengrass."

"I'm sure," she replied, a knowing smile touching her lips. "I suppose I should thank you again for the gift. Although, I had a hard time explaining that one to Tracy."

Harry hadn't thought about that. Conversely, if Daphne had got him something so obvious, he would have had a hard time hiding it from the inquisitive eyes of his friends; particularly the bushy-haired kind. "Your welcome on both accounts. Do I want to know the excuse you made up?"

"I told her the truth." Harry blessed his seeker's skills that he was able to keep dancing while his heart balanced along a tightrope. Dare he imagine that Daphne told Tracy something intimate about them?

"Oh?" He mumbled.

"-I told her I won it from after whipping your butt you in a duel." It was a minor miracle Harry didn't step on her toes.

"-Ah, I see…And she didn't have any trouble accepting that?"

"Naturally not. She knows how talented I am, so it wasn't in question." She remarked fake haughtily, dancing with words like leaves in the wind.

"Well, she's not wrong." Harry finished, meeting Daphne's eyes.

The upbeat song ended and the band started to play a slower melody. Harry was afraid Daphne would flee, frightened of what the shadows might say. But she didn't. For the next few minutes, they held each other's eyes and danced slowly along with everyone else. Harry simply enjoyed resting his hand on her hip and was hard-pressed not to let a smile erupt on his face. For the most part, he reigned himself in and managed to avoid her toes. Every second that floated by was a perfect moment, a perfect embrace, one in which Harry realised he would never need something like Felix Felicis when he had this.

Their feet moved, their arms shifted and their hips swayed, all the while their eyes never wavered communicating something, Harry hoped beyond hope, was more meaningful than friendship. If her heart was anything like his, then a deep longing had stolen their voices and plunged them into a world of their own. They could have been dancing for an hour or a year. But after what was likely only a few minutes, Harry realised something happening between them. Intensely, as though the world were slipping by in sweetened slow-motion, the two started to drift towards each other.

Harry's mouth parted. Daphne's eyes sparkled. It was barely a gesture, barely a movement as their bodies ventured out into the depths of the unknown, lost in the rhythm of the music and the magic of the moment. Barely an inch separated them. And just as Harry's heart leapt, the song ended and Daphne's eyes widened.

The catch to the sweetest seconds of your life falling into slow-motion, Harry would late reflect, is that if they turn sour then you get to watch every painful millisecond of your dreams plummetting around you.

As though reality had slapped her across the face, Daphne broke the moment and pulled back to a safe distance to end the dance. The Hobgoblins encore had concluded and they took a few hearty bows, embracing the cheers and adoration from the crowd. Meanwhile, Daphne's eyes were shooting round like bullets in a vacuum as she tried to discern if anyone had seen them. Harry had a hard time not swallowing his heart, which betrayed the tune of his downfall.

"That was silly, Potter." She whispered.

Out of nowhere, the mood and atmosphere disappeared, swallowed by the sober grip of reality. They now appeared only as stolen moments fading away with the band's echoes, that somehow left a deeper hollowness than was there before. "…People are starting to stare."

"They're always staring at me." He said, fighting to keep the bitterness out of his mouth.

"Well, I'm not used to it. And I can't have questions or even suspicions." She said starting to turn away.

"If it were up to me, they wouldn't. And then we could…then we wouldn't have to stop." He said, trying to hold on to the boldness of moments past.

She looked at him for a second, as if she were absorbing what was left of the moment and Harry thought he saw, or was it a trick of his prurient eye, the hint of a sadness flash across her face. In the next, she'd shaken it off and gave a thin-lipped smile. "Thank you for the dance, Potter." Her mask now firmly back in place. To most, it acted as an invisible barrier keeping people at a stark distance, but to Harry, it was a fence, a wall she would never let him climb.

Harry held her eyes for a long second, his stony composure matching her famous one beat for beat, "The pleasure was mine, Greengrass." His voice betraying barely a hint of emotion. Harry clapped along with the rest of the band's admirers as he turned towards his table, and didn't look back. It was a walk of only a few simple paces, but contained within was a desperate struggle to arrest his untimely heart.

As soon as he was within earshot, Hermione jumped in, "Harry, What was that all about?" Ron echoed something similar, although with a few choice swear words.

"What do you mean?" He replied, exerting considerable effort to keep his voice in congruence with the breeze.

"What do we mean?" Ron squeaked.

Hermione answered. "How do you know Daphne?"

"Daphne?" Ron Inqirued, "Since when is she not Greengrass?"

"Since forever, Ron. We don't all think Slytherin's have only last names." While Ron stuttered over a response that didn't come, Hermione angled her line of questioning back at Harry.

"I don't," he said taking a seat next to her, "Well, I mean we've worked together in class once this year. Why?"

"Why?" Ron cut in incredulous, "Because it sure as Merlin looked like you two knew each other on the dance floor."

"What? Come off it, it was just a dance." Somehow Harry felt himself to be more convincing than he knew he could be. Perhaps, it was the frustrating distance or the immediate separation Daphne reasserted after their dance but whatever it was, Harry couldn't help the cold disappointment that surged through him.

"I dunno mate, looked like a bit more than that if you ask me," Ron said. Harry didn't trust his voice in that moment and simply shrugged. Thankfully, he was rescued in more ways than one by Luna, who swooped into the empty seat next to him.

"Hello everyone. I thought you might like some Butterbeer." She said, placing several glasses down on the table with a clatter. Behind him, he heard Slughorn thanking the Hobgoblins and suggesting 'nobody could follow them,' before ushering the Warlocks who'd been in the corner most of the evening onto the stage. It turns out they had the apt name of The Smoking Warlocks. Mercifully for Harry, their style of play was more upbeat than their name suggested and provided a necessary distraction.

"Thanks for the drinks, Luna." He said but had a hard time keeping track of the conversation that ensued. Something about the mating rituals of unicorns and how they parallel the dust leftover from the moon's glow. Even Luna's brilliance wasn't able to pull Harry out of his trance, and after a few long minutes, he excused himself and made his way to the terrace.

As though Hogwart's herself loved the idea of defying expectations, somehow a balcony had been erected for the occasion; the limits the old potions master would go to collect his medals knew no bounds, Harry thought.

It was a cool crisp night that greeted him when he pushed the door open, his only companions the scattered flecks of falling snow. As soon as he reached the rail he slung the remainder of his drink over the side. Butterbeer had always left a distracting tingle in his head, one he didn't wish to trip on right now.

Alone Harry stood gazing out into the darkness; not even the moon was visible behind the black velvet of cloud. Nothing but the faint glow of Hogwarts penetrated the dark blanket before him, and even that only lasted to a certain point. It was as if Harry stood on the edge, on the precipice of two worlds. One he'd come to know and love that held the past but increasingly less the present; and the other the future, an unknown road winding and warping before him out into the darkness.

For a strange moment, Harry felt outside himself. Felt like despite everything he'd learned and seen tonight, despite having fun and dancing with his friends, a nightmare crept along the horizon. A nightmare that everybody saw and nobody could escape, least of all him. Destiny doesn't knock, Harry thought as his feelings for Daphne and what they almost shared solidified for the first time inside him, it hammers with an iron first. And if destiny wore a name, she'd hit him so hard in a place that hurt so much, it took all Harry had not to lose his equanimity.

A fleeting chill sailed over the balcony and tickled his nostrils. Harry drank a deep breath, drawing strength from the air around him and extinguishing the thumping heart in his ears. A solitary star poked its lonesome peak through the night sky.

Sometimes I wish this hadn't happened to me…That I could have lived and loved and been happy away from all of this, helping on the sidelines, but staying out of it. I could have been content that way, I could have…I could have been free to love who I want, and they would be free to love me back…A normal life.

But then I remember. Someone has to do it. Someone has to stand here and be the light in the dark, to lead the way forward, to be strong when others can't, have hope when there is none left…even love when where others can't. That person, that strength has to be me. It has too because I can't let anyone else die, I won't. No matter what. No matter if I have to stand alone, no matter if no one can love me. I must be the one who stays in the face of darkness. I am the light that never goes out.

Words never spoken, etched onto his soul. With his silent resolve radiating like invisible strokes across his life's canvas, Harry stared into the night, into his future, with a strange sense of oneness. As though realising that their world was on the edge of a war it couldn't contain, and before it all began he could at least appreciate one last night with his friends before charging headfirst into the abyss.

In the next second, the door to the balcony cracked open. Turning, Harry saw Ginny pop her head out.

"Harry? Merlin, it's freezing out here! Aren't you cold?" She said in quick succession and hugging herself as she came to stand next to him. Her sleeveless purple dress was hardly fitting for this weather and Harry easily discerned the chill spreading up her arms. Yet, that did nothing to wane just how incredible she looked with her long auburn hair falling in graceful haphazard waves down her back. A warm feeling within him simmered into an easy smile.

"I hadn't noticed." To which she gave him a look that said, 'seriously?'

"Really." he insisted, trying for sincerity. She shook her head and shivered as flakes of snow landed on her shoulder. Harry took his jacket off and pulled it around her. She simply smiled in response but not at him: something made her stare off into the night, a thought that tickled her mind, perhaps, or a question that refused to stay buried.

"So," she said a moment later and not breaking her stare, "want to talk about it?"

"Huh?" He replied dumbly.

"You know, the dance of a thousand love songs. You and Greengrass, half an hour ago. Ring any bells?"

"Oh. That." Harry was worried she would pry and read him like she had an uncanny ability to do. "You noticed?"

"Noticed? I think Shakespeare may have stirred in his grave the tension between you two was so strong. Seriously, Harry. I'd have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to have seen it."

Great, if it was that obvious then the whole school would be talking about it, Harry thought. And for what? Nothing apparently. She'd walked away, leaving him to swallow his feelings like they were a giant batch of Madam Pomfrey's Skelegrow.

"It was nothing." Was all Harry could say.

"Well, thank god we're not in a place where people talk about nothing. Otherwise, you'd be screwed…" She said playfully. Harry had to break his brooding and release a smile at that.

"Yeah, lucky us."

Ginny turned back to look inside. "Yeah. But it could be worse…" She let a pause hang in the air for a second. In Harry's mind, it appeared like she was struggling for what to say. Something rare for her.

"You okay, Gin?"

She swallowed before speaking. And when she finally found her words, it was not the girl he'd met all those years ago at Kingscross, not his best friend's sister he'd saved in the Chamber or the teenager he'd fought with at the ministry last year: it was the words of a young woman, made too wise for her age. "…We all love you, you know that don't you, Harry." She started, searching his eyes and causing Harry's to sober in response.

No one had ever told him that before.

"-And I know you've got a lot going on this year. Things you're not telling us. Things you're probably… feeling." Ever the open book. Nice job, Harry. "-But I just want you to know, you don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Don't get me wrong, you're handling things way better than last year. But you don't have to do it all alone. We're here for you. And always, always will be."

Harry was speechless. He must look like he'd been caught with his guard down: disarmed so keenly by the person he was beginning to respect as more of a mind reader than Dumbledore. He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly more aware of the cold than he had been before. A lithe arm wrapped around his waist, stopping him mid-motion. Ginny stepped closer to him, looked deep into his eyes then leaned forward and gave Harry a hug he would never forget.

Rarely was Harry close to people. In his life, he'd only really been embraced by a small handful and even those had been few and far between. But Ginny. She was as welcome as land in an endless storm: her warmth contagious, her words unconditional.

Letting himself relax, Harry forgot, if for a brief second, his troubles and enjoyed the simple hug that said nothing but meant everything. A few long and precious moments passed before they released each other.

"Thanks, Gin."

"For what, Harry?"

"For being you."

She smiled and caught his for a second before switching tones. "Okay. Mr cheese." She joked, prompting Harry to laugh. "Shall we go back inside?"

"Absolutely. Fancy a dance?"

She mirrored his smile, "We'd better if we're going to warm up again, Potter." She quipped. He opened the door for her, leading her back to reality and onto the dance floor.

There wasn't much left to the rest of the night. His earlier high with Daphne left a constant presence in the mind, like a sweet taste that refused to be forgotten. Yet somehow, as if he was numb to any moment other than the present, he embraced the ebbing merriment with his friends, dancing with and even enjoying Luna's brand of banter and whimsy; her airy directness, her honest optimism a breath of fresh air in the claustrophobic quarters of his heart.

After a couple more random conversations and failed dance attempts on Ron's part, Hermione suggested the group head back. Looking around they noticed they were some of the last present. Slughorn was still engrossed in energetic conversation with Firenze; the centaur, however, appeared more concerned the addled professor didn't spill wine on his hooves than on the topic at hand.

Taking one last sweeping scent of the room, Harry followed his friends out and back up to Gryffindor tower. He didn't notice Daphne when he'd come back to the party. And if he was honest with himself, he was glad. He wasn't sure he could take an exchange of glances with the silky haired brunette. At least not without his heart bursting through his chest.

The drama of said thoughts wasn't lost on Harry: Particularly as his walk took him through an extravagant castle of applauding portraits. But try telling a teenager their heart doesn't mean everything.

And if that wasn't enough, the walk back to Gryffindor Tower ushered in a new kind of awkward silence between the group. Awkward for Harry that is. Luna insisted on walking herself back to Ravenclaw, "No, thank you, Harry. I think I'd like to walk by myself tonight. The castle feels very magical." And with those wistful words, she danced off in her own direction. Similarly, Neville opted to accompany Hannah back to Hufflepuff leaving Harry to play fifth wheel to Ginny and Dean, and Hermione and Ron.

Normally, and at almost any time through their five and a half years at Hogwarts, Harry would have sought out the company of any if not all of the current group. But after a night of candles, dancing, butterbeer and music, the couples were sweeter than sugar. For them, the evening had been bliss. For Harry, it had been a rollercoaster, swaying back and forth so much he wasn't sure if he wanted to jump for joy or lean his head over the staircase and spill his insides.

He settled for something in the middle and tried keeping to himself while the others snuggled in their couple bubbles. Never had the walk to Gryffindor taken so long. Were there always this many stairs, he found himself asking?

The strange thing was he was overjoyed for his friends. They were all finally forging their way into the path of adulthood. It's just for them, that meant relationships and opportunity. For him, it meant war and responsibility. At least he could live vicariously through them, Harry comforted himself. That doesn't mean I need front row seats.

Finally, they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady and the tension, Harry was sure only he was feeling, could stop. If only he knew…

As soon as Harry uttered the password and the portrait swung open, he knew something was wrong. The majority of Gryffindor was standing around the common room in their pyjamas. Some had their hands on their hips, others were buried in conspiratorial conversation, but most were hugging their arms to their bodies in a kind of nervous anxiety. It reminded Harry of the frayed tension that filled Grimmauld Place last year, when the Weasley's had to sit still for hours waiting for news of their father's fate.

Merlin, don't let anyone be hurt!

The assembled students all stopped and stared upon seeing the five walk through the portrait. Okay, so no one's dead, Harry deduced with relief. If they were there would be fear not anxiety. But if not that then…

"Harry." Colin Creevey approached them. "Something happened in your dorm room. McGonagall and Dumbledore are up there right now with Seamus."

Tingles shot up Harry's spine. Without waiting he breezed by the onlookers and took the steps three at a time. Ron, Hermione, Dean and Ginny hot on his heels. When he reached their dorm he found the door intact, but everything inside was scorched or otherwise in smouldering tatters. Seamus was next to Mcgonagall explaining something. Dumbledore stood sentinel, listening as keenly as a hawk watches. His eyes darted immediately to Harry as soon as he walked in.

"Blimey, what happened?" Ron said beside him, barging his way into the room. Behind, Hermione and Ginny gasped. Dean managed to make it through and rushed to check his belongings. For the most part, Dean, Seamus and Neville's possessions were only minorly damaged. Ron and Harry's, though, were either ripped, burnt or scorched to borderline ashes. Harry's bed was half-eaten by flame. And the covers of Ron's were burnt to a blackened crisp.

"Gentlemen," Professor McGonagall started with a measured degree of sympathy, "I'm sorry to say but it appears someone gained access to Gryffindor Tower, snuck in here and attacked your room."

"What? Who?" Ron half yelled.

"We're not sure. No one was caught." Seamus filled in deflated. "It must have been sometime during the feast when the dorm was empty. When I got back, everything was like this."

"Merlin, son of a-."

"Mr. Weasley." McGonagall cut him off. "I realise this is a trying time, but I would recommend you keep your tongue about you."

Ron gritted his teeth but, calmed down when Hermione placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Half a second later he span to search through his prized possessions for survivors. Dean was doing the same in his corner. But Harry remained rooted to the spot. His heart quaking in its cage. What had they taken? Items that held value that couldn't be measured were in his trunk.

Aware the majority of the eyes in the room were on him, Harry walked forward: his footsteps crunching over the charred remains of the curtain that used to surround his bed. The faint traces of smoke lingering in the air, tickled his nose and the atmosphere felt thin, as though the fire had sucked the life out of the room. The dorm which had held so many safe memories for him was marred in the spent fumes of ruin.

Reaching his bed he looked down to see his new trunk, always so tightly sealed and warded, ripped apart. It looked like a bomb had impacted the front of it, disfiguring its shape and giving it a permanent chagrin mouth. Within, many of his most prized possessions were strewn around. His map was torn, his photo album slashed, his firebolt bristled and broken and several of his textbooks were scrap. Even 's home nit jumpers were burnt down to chunks of sorry looking wool.

Despite all of this, everything seemed in place. Everything except…

Harry's heart fell and with it his knees when he came across the spot where his invisibility cloak should be. He had buried it in the depths of his expanded trunk and considered it safe there. Normally, he kept it with him at all times. But tonight he thought was his night off. What a fool he had been.

His fathers only gift to him. His only heirloom. Heirloom…Wait, the book!

"Is anything missing, Mr. Potter?" He heard McGonagall say, while inwardly Harry's ears were aflame. Trying not to react was like trying to stand still in a hurricane.

Harry pulled open the concealed compartment at the bottom that housed his precious collection of books. A few of them were crisped around the edges. Thankfully, his eastern Magic book Remus had given him was still intact if well done, so was his father's notebook. Next to it was an empty space where he had left The Founder's Diary. It was gone.

If he only suspected it was a diary before, the fact that it had been stolen over everything else in his belongings now confirmed it to be true. But Harry couldn't let on that the diary was gone. Admitting two defeats in one was hard enough to himself, let alone to everyone else. And something about Bathilda Bagshot's cherry addled words soaked through to him, 'keep its existence very close to the chest...In case one crosses your path, you'd be wise to trust its identity to no one.'

"...My cloak," Harry managed. "It's gone."

"Cloak?" Dean asked confusedly. "Why would someone want to steal your cloak, Harry?"

The room fell to silence. Most of its occupants already knew but it was not their secret to tell.

"It was an invisibility cloak. It belonged to my father." Harry replied, but did not move to face anyone. He just sat there, poor, dejected, conflicted and feeling as burned as the rest of the room. An incredibly naked feeling washed over him. As though without his cloak, without his father's shield, he was vulnerable like never before: open for the entire world to see. And now that the book had been taken too, he felt like the treasure that required his protection was defenceless. Suddenly everything he'd been doing this year, everything he'd worked so hard to become was slipping through his fingers.

For a second that lasted too long, he was the boy in the cupboard under the stairs again. Cold, alone and without a loving blanket for shelter. A winter chill swept through the open dormitory window engulfing him in a shiver, a few lonely tears fell before Harry could stop them.

How could he be so stupid? He should have placed extra wards and found a new hiding place. He should have protected what he couldn't afford to lose. He should have…He felt a hand on his shoulder. He didn't know who it was. But it was enough to quell his spiral.

Behind him, McGonagall was speaking to Dumbledore.

"The scorch marks do seem to be concentrated around Potter's trunk. So, whoever it was knew Harry had that cloak and where to find it."

"I agree, Minerva," Dumbledore replied, then continued gently. "Harry, I know this is upsetting for you, but can you think of any reason someone would want the cloak, or perhaps even who knew you had it."

Summoning his faculties, Harry answered through a strained voice. "Nobody knows I have it that didn't before this year." That wasn't strictly true, Daphne knew. But he was sure something like this wasn't her style. Besides, he already knew who had done this.

An answer Hermione didn't, so she asked out loud.

Ron immediately jumped in, "Malfoy did it. There's no one else."

McGonagall looked startled. Dumbledore merely sad. "I do hope you have evidence, ." The Professor's thick Scottish accent shining through. "Especially considering, I can personally attest that was in attendance for the entire feast."

Flabbergasted, Ron wheeled round to Seamus for confirmation. "It's true, mate. He was."

Ron grumbled something about poly juice and folded his arms across his chest. From there, speculation mounted as theories were shot back and forth. The silence was upheld only by Dumbledore, Harry and surprisingly Neville, who he realised was the one whose hand gripped his shoulder.

After a few moments, Harry broke the tide of conversation. "This wasn't strategic…this was anger."

"What do you mean, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Whoever did this was obviously searching for something I have. And they were either very angry I had it or very angry at me."

Dumbledore peered inquisitively down his half-moon spectacles at Harry and seemed to consider the situation before answering. "I agree with Harry's assessment, whoever did this used some very dark magic. They were desperate enough to do so while the whole school was full but clever enough to wait until the feast. Perhaps, the best opportunity. From what I can tell, they also used some very dark magic to rip open your trunk." A statement Harry could confirm by himself. Although he wasn't actively trying to scan for magic, the magic that was used was so dark he would have to be unconscious not to feel it. He would even go so far as to say that the faint aura that loitered in the room wasn't from the smoke but the twisted magic used to conjure it.

"And if they wanted to be undetected, they would simply have taken the items and caused no scene." McGonagall supplied. "The fact that they did means…"

"-Means they wanted me to suffer…" Harry spoke emotionlessly, a cold finality to his statement.

"Is everyone else sure that nothing else was taken?" McGonagall asked after a pause.

The others confirmed, all their possessions were there, just not all intact. Harry tried to be relieved about that, but he couldn't find the energy let in him to do it.

If it had just been the book, Harry would have been angry, annoyed with himself. Yet, determined to get it back. But the perpetrator took his father's cloak as well. A white-hot rage pulsed within him. Something he tried to conceal by gripping his fists tighter than he ever had. Behind him, McGonagall was saying something about temporary accommodation and repairing their belongings before the train ride home tomorrow. Internally, Harry seethed like never before.

Dumbledore may have his suspicions, but Harry's mind was made up. He knew who did this. And he knew it was up to him to get justice. The question wasn't how hard, but how and where to strike. Malfoy would not get away with this…