Chapter 21: Symphonies of the Planets

Flick once upwards, make a b…

Dean Thomas practiced the wand movement, his wand directed at an egg. Then, in a loud voice, he cried out, "Dongurami!"

A circle of power flashed around the egg. He picked it up off the table, then let it fall to the floor.

Finally, on this fifth attempt, the egg bounced without cracking.

He pumped his arm in triumph, and then bent down to pick up the little marvel. Even when he turned it in the light, he could barely detect the soft sheen of magic surrounding it.

"Hi Dean," said Padma's voice behind him. "What are you doing?"

Dean turned to see her carrying a bag full of experiment supplies. He flashed her a grin, holding out the egg for her inspection. "Harry showed me this new spell today, one that he's going to test out on a rocket. It's supposed to protect any object against damage. I was thinking it might help me with the Gameboy project, since the Faraday Cage didn't work." He still felt disappointed about that—he had been so certain. "It only works for a few hours, and it won't protect against strong magic, but it's worth a shot, right?"

Padma turned the egg in her hand. "You're very dedicated to this project. It's admirable."

Dean smiled, giving a small bow. "Thank you. I just hope I can solve this before the year's up."

She set down her bag on the table, but instead of emptying it like usual, she fidgeted with the clasp. After a few moments of silence, she said, "Umm…will you teach me the spell? I'd like to learn it too."

"Of course!" said Dean, who'd never thought he'd have a reason to teach her anything. She looked nervous, so he hastened to reassure her. "It's easy once you get the hang of it."


On Saturday morning, Harry sat by the window in one of the many abandoned hallways in Hogwarts, an open book perched on his knees. He recast "Thermos," as he was forced to do much more often lately. It was about time to invest in a winter warming charm.

Harry checked his watch again. He didn't know if Hermione would show up, but he decided not to pester her, in case she wanted to sleep in. Also, the last time he'd tried to wake her, he'd gotten an earful about how "some people don't like to get up at the crack of dawn like you, Harry" and "it's not polite to enter a girl's room uninvited, even if it's just your Patronus." This time, he decided he was perfectly content to read and wait.

A few minutes later, he heard shuffling footsteps. Hermione came around the corner, rubbing a tired hand over her eyes. "Hi, Harry. Can I just open the quest door and you can go without me?"

He nodded and closed his book, his heart dropping a little in disappointment. He'd suspected that she would suggest that, but he'd barely seen her all week. She even spent her meals at different house tables. She'd told him it was just for the food, but it still felt like she was avoiding him.

Harry watched uncertainly as she approached the quest door. He knew her heavy schedule of coursework and Auror duties probably left her craving alone time. And considering that she associated him with chaos…well, she probably wanted less to do with him than usual. As much as he missed her company, he worried that pressuring her about it would only drive her farther away. The safest course of action would be to be available when she wanted him.

Hermione readied her wand. "If you get anything nice, like a crown or a necklace, split it with me."

Harry nodded. "Of course. Right down the middle."

Hermione opened the doorway, and Harry moved to step inside, his Ravenclaw side warning, Hum, it's the first time we've done this, what do you think-

A green barrier flashed up and pushed him away. A shrill voice chanted. "Sneaky student, this quest you steal, will slip inside and make you heel!"

Harry bent over, clutching his stomach, making choking noises. Splitting pain twisted his insides as something jumped inside him.

"Harry!" cried Hermione, clutching his shoulders.

Harry's mind flashed back to the Alien movie, where the alien burst out of John Hurt's chest. With dawning horror, he realized that if Hogwarts had ancient magic that would create deserts out of nowhere simply for failing a quest, who knew what it would conjure up for trying to steal one.

Bile and spit were rising in his throat, his stomach roiling in pain as his brain choked up a word. Frogs. He'd seen the jinx used before, and outside of some unknown body horror, it was the closest thing he knew that could cause so much pain.

As if realizing at the same moment, Hermione let out a shaking breath and stepped back. "Rana Exidus!"

The jumping ceased instantly, and Harry vomited his breakfast, along with five dead pond frogs onto the castle floor.

Harry fell to his hands and knees, dry heaving, while Hermione cleaned the mess and rushed to his side, her hand resting against his back. When Harry could finally speak, he said softly, "Thank you, Hermione Granger, for your quick thinking and your amazing memory."

"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice shaky with tears. "I—I had no idea that would happen."

"Neither did I," said Harry, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Don't blame yourself."

"Let's just close the quest door," said Hermione, her wand pointed at the hole in the wall. "Umm…how do I do that?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I never tried before."

Harry sat on the floor and watched her attempt several different strategies, her failures quickly building into frustration.

"Uggh!" groaned Hermione, stomping her foot. "Go away, stupid door! Close Sesame!"

That strategy didn't work, either, though it did make Harry smile.

He considered getting off the floor and helping, but his stomach didn't like that idea. He offered a few more suggestions, which she tried, but the quest door remained open.

"What if we just leave?" asked Hermione. "It has to close eventually. I mean, it has to."

Harry shrugged. "Not really. I've seen enough to conclude that Hogwarts can do whatever it wants with its doorways. We could take the safe course of action and ask a professor for help, but I'm going to tentatively suggest we do the quest. It won't last more than three hours, anyway."

"What do you mean?

"The quest respects time limits," explained Harry. "It always calls when you're not busy, and it won't interfere with class schedules or activities."

Hermione brightened in sudden realization. "You're right. And we have lunch at noon, don't we? And dance class at 11:00!"

Oh, that's right…he'd been trying to forget.

"And it's 9:00 am now," she said. "So that means the quest will take two hours, tops."

Harry glanced up at her, hope rising in his chest. "That's certainly possible. I even finished in one hour once."

Her eyebrows raised sceptically. "One hour? How many different games?"

"Four," replied Harry.

"In that case," said Hermione, lifting her chin. "I'll do it in 45 minutes."

The light of competition danced in her eyes, and he grinned in anticipation. He rose to his feet. "Well, what are we—oh, ouch, oww!"

He staggered, his stomach folding in on itself, and Hermione gazed in concern. "Are you sure you want to come? I could…"

"Give me a second," he said through gritted teeth. Harry pulled a book from his pouch, flipping through until he found the page. The hand movements were tricky, and the words were hard to pronounce, but he had to at least try.

"Sàrachadh pian," he said, his wand pointing at his stomach. The instant relief told him it worked.

"All right then," said Harry, hiding a smug smile as he put away his things. "Shall we go?"


Hermione realized in the middle of the Ravenclaw quest that there were two things wrong with her plan to beat Harry's record.

The first was that competition with Harry sort of equalled flirting. She hadn't realized this was always true until the second quest, when she'd started teasing him about being slow, only to realize that her next impulse had been to kiss him.

The worst part was, he was so good at teasing her back. He probably just assumed it was friendly banter and didn't realize it was basically her kryptonite.

The second thing she realized was that even troll unicorn princesses couldn't run on high-octane mode all week and expect to fare well by the end. She stumbled through the 4th quest-oversized Mine Sweeper-and then almost groaned when the 5th was giant Wizard Chess. The quest didn't care about her exhaustion, only the 2 hour time limit.

She tried to keep up her spirits, but Harry could tell she was flagging. "Hermione, you beat four quests in…38 minutes," he said, checking his watch. "I'll concede that you bested my record, and you can let me take the lead on this game. I can end it in three moves."

"I haven't won until I finish the quest," she protested, hopping onto a knight piece. "And I've still ten minutes left in my hour."

He frowned, and though he didn't suggest that she quit again, he kept a close eye on her during the game. He cast spells to soften her falls from the pieces, and at one point offered to cast a healing spell. She shook her head—her body healed itself—but her heart pounded at the fact that he cared.

A sneaky part of her brain, that she kept telling to shut up, suggested that maybe she ought to keep falling down. In all the romance novels she'd read, a damsel in distress always attracted the attention of the male lead, even the most aloof. Then again, what seemed romantic in books was usually annoying in real life, such as when Harry glued 44 bullies to the ceiling and released fake Eldritch horrors to "rescue" her.

Finally, at the end of the 7th quest, the two of them found the quest reward room. The doorway dipped downward, and Hermione—eager to be done—almost tripped over the threshold. Harry caught her, one arm around her waist.

"Thanks," she said, not turning to look at him, afraid he'd see her blush. Not that she needed to worry. The room was pitch black, and no lights revealed themselves even after the door closed behind them.

"Lumos," they both said.

Their wands revealed a small table in the middle of the room, and a clear glass orb resting on top.

Hermione reached out to touch it, and the room burst into light. She blinked as the brightness faded into a soft glow of thousands of stars, trembling specks in the silent darkness. It was so lifelike, she almost felt like they really stood within the vast void of space.

"Wow," she said softly. "I've never seen anything like it."

Harry didn't say anything. When she turned to see his face, she was shocked to find he seemed close to tears.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He roused himself, shaking away the emotion. "I'm fine." He cleared his throat. "It's very pretty, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded. The way to finish the quest would be to take the orb and place it in one of the bags, but neither of them felt like it. They both slid down along one wall, sitting and contemplating the beauty in front of them.

"Did you know the planets have their own song?" said Harry softly. "NASA captured the electromagnetic radiation and radio waves of the planets, and converted them into sounds that we could hear. The music is both haunting and beautiful at the same time."

"I'd love to hear that someday," said Hermione.

They lapsed into silence again, and Hermione rested her head against the wall, her eyes drifting closed. Then, she had an idea. It was something she'd always wanted to do, and she didn't know if she'd ever have the chance again.

Gathering all of her courage, she leaned over and rested her head against Harry's shoulder.

He froze, she could feel it, and suddenly she worried maybe she'd gone too far. But it wasn't like friends never did this. So, stuttering out the words, she asked, "I'm really tired. Is it okay?"

He let out a breath and relaxed a bit. "Yes, it's okay." After a few moments, he asked, "Are you…umm…is it comfortable?"

She scooted just a little closer, so her head wasn't resting on shoulder bone. "Yes."

She'd thought it might make her nervous, being so close, but it was surprisingly comfortable. She focused on the rhythmic sound of his breathing, and her eyes closed. It was nice that for once she could lean on the person who was always there for her.


Hermione sighed and scooted back, then dropped her head onto Harry's shoulder.

He sat very still, confused and alarmed. This situation had happened to Harry exactly zero times, and he wasn't sure if something was expected of him. Was he supposed to put his arm around her? Pat her head? Ask her what's wrong? He thought this shouldn't be so confusing, but it was.

She stirred, and glanced up at him. "I'm really tired. Is it okay?"

"Yes, it's okay," said Harry, realizing that her asking helped clarify things. "Are you…umm…is it comfortable?"

"Yes," said Hermione softly, shifting into a new position.

Harry swallowed, willing away the small sense of discomfort at the sudden invasion of his personal space. He knew he would have been extremely uncomfortable if anyone else tried this, but if Hermione needed rest, he didn't mind being her pillow.

He shifted slightly, feeling her weight pressing against him. It was hard, for some reason, not to speak. Gazing above him, he focused instead on the stars. There were so many that the sky seemed almost foreign, the familiar constellations swallowed up by the sheer vastness of their competition. They were beautiful, though they paled in comparison to the memory of the first time he'd seen it with Professor Quirrell.

He knew his real name was David Monroe, but he would always be Professor Quirrell to Harry. He'd been Harry's mentor, and his friend, and pretty much the only person who had ever truly understood him. Harry's heart still ached at the loss, and sometimes he went over what he could have done to preserve him. A stasis charm, perhaps, or a deep freeze…

Hermione stirred a little, letting out a sigh, and he noticed that her breathing had deepened. She was asleep. He couldn't see her face, but he could feel her soft curls against his neck. Harry moved his arm to hold her around the waist, so she could rest a little more comfortably. Professor Quirrell might be gone, but Harry could still be there for the people who needed him. He liked knowing that Hermione trusted him to take care of her.

As the minutes passed, one thought kept running over and over in his mind. Her hair smells really nice.

Harry frowned, resisting the strange temptation to press his nose into her curls. Could it be more unicorn magic? Few had the chance to study wild unicorns, but Harry suspected their magic ran counterpart to that of a Veela. It made Hermione beautiful, graceful, and gave her an air of purity, so perhaps it also made her smell amazing too. Then again, it could just be her shampoo.

Dismissing the thought, Harry leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He hummed in his mind the song of the planets, soothed by their peaceful harmonies. He made a mental note to find a spell that could play any song he wanted.

After a while, Hermione stirred, lifting her head. "How long was I asleep?"

"Maybe half an hour," said Harry. "Do you feel better?"

"Yeah, I do." After a few moments, Harry realized his arm was still around her. He pulled away, crossing his hands around his knees.

They sat in silence, and Harry checked his watch. It was 10:30, though it felt later. The darkness was messing with his internal clock.

"Harry," said Hermione. "I was thinking. I know you said you don't want to date until you discover immortality, but…do you ever think about falling in love? I mean, what sort of girl would you want?"

"I haven't thought about it much," said Harry, which wasn't a lie, though he could admit to himself that his list of required traits classified him as picky. "In any case, I don't think I need a woman to be happy. Dating, romance, and all of that stuff seems unnecessary, especially for people like us."

Hermione blinked. "People like…us?"

"Yeah, just think about it. A house with a yard, a picket fence, two kids. Doesn't that seem boring to you? I know I would be driven to drinking if that's all I had in life, and I can't imagine you'd enjoy being a housewife either."

Hermione was quiet for a long moment. "No, I suppose not," she said softly, then shrugged. "Maybe you're right. I might be happier if I just focused on a career."

Harry felt he might have gone too far there. "Umm…I'm not saying you shouldn't have a romance if you want one. But there's a lot of people who achieved great things without it. Like Florence Nightingale, for example. Or Isaac Newton, and Nikola Tesla." Harry grimaced. "Though, I will ask, if I ever start obsessing over pigeons or anything, I'd like you to…you know…"

Hermione frowned. "A mercy killing?"

"No!" Harry burst out. "I meant put me to sleep in cryostasis until we find a cure for insanity. Geez, Hermione, anything before death. Everything else can be fixed."

Hermione's forehead wrinkled as she concentrated on her knees. "I'm not sure I agree with you there, Harry. There are things worse than death."

"Hermione…"

"Look, I know what you're going to say, but just hear me out." She let out a breath, gathering her knees to her chest. "This is how I think of it. Everybody dies, both good and bad people. If there is no afterlife, then I can't see a way to balance the equation."

"Balance the equation?" asked Harry.

She shrugged. "Yes, between good and evil. See, all of our lives, we're told that doing evil is wrong. It's not just because we'll be punished—which is what some behavioural scientists would claim is the reason—but because it will "weight the scales" in the wrong direction, turning us from good to bad. This fear is so ingrained in our minds that many people would choose to die—even to face punishment—rather than to violate their morals."

She glanced away from him, a faraway look in her eyes. "I don't know if there is an immortal soul, but I know everyone has an innate hope that there will be some reward for doing good. For choosing to do the right thing, even when it's hard. But if a hero sacrifices their life to save another, and ultimately has the same fate as Grindelwald, then all their good works were worthless. So, it makes me think…there must be something after death, beyond nothingness. A reward that makes all the suffering worth it."

When Harry could see she was finished explaining, he said, very gently, "I agree with how you feel, and I wish you were right. But everything I've seen tells me that life isn't fair. It's not merciful or just, and won't have a happy ending just because we want it to. Consider that, even after centuries of research, we can find no conclusive proof of life after death. The Department of Mysteries supposedly even has a portal to the afterlife, which they study as part of their research on Death. But as far as we know, they've found nothing. If they did, then wizards would have founded their own religion by now, as other sects have done for much less evidence.

"I'll admit, if I ever had the chance, I'd study the portal myself. If I found any proof, I would happily revise my beliefs. Until then, while believing in it is comforting, it's a fairytale. I know that my parents died fighting Voldemort. Professor Quirrell did too." His voice caught, sounding harsher than he expected. "They're all dead and gone. So, I can either believe a comforting lie, or I can stare death in the face and do something to change it." Harry shrugged. "I made my choice."

Hermione turned back to stare at the stars, and Harry noticed her troubled expression. "Are you upset?" he asked.

"No," said Hermione. "I'm scared."

"Why?"

She bit her lip, eyes blinking hard. "I think I might have to live for a very long time. I'm scared of who I might become, if I had to live in world that is so harsh and unfair."

"I think," said Harry slowly. "That whatever happens, you won't have to go through it alone. If you are immortal, then it stands to reason the one who made you so would be too. If It were me, then I know I wouldn't have gifted you with it without also doing the same for myself." If he'd been the one to do it, that is. "It's also possible that our families are immortal as well."

"Possible," said Hermione, her voice soft. "But not even remotely certain."

"Well, there's a lot of things about the letters that we can't be certain about. We don't know who sent them or if all the information is correct. I may not have discovered immortality at all, but…" He hated admitting that, it scared him. "Even so, I will figure it out someday. It's my destiny. Just like you, Hermione Granger, are going to save the world."

She smiled. "Harry, I have enough trouble with my own delusions of grandeur, I don't need you encouraging me."

"What delusions? You're awesome."

She laughed. "And you're sweet." Her laugh turned into a sigh. "You aren't making this easy for me, you know."

"What?"

The door opened, and Harry took that as a sign they were supposed to get out. He checked his watch.

"Looks like it's time to go," said Harry, standing. "Want to meet up after the…dance lesson?"

Hermione shook her head. "Maybe later. Here, you take the quest item this time."

Harry put the orb into his quest pouch, wondering if today she would eat lunch with him. Probably not. "I guess I'll see you Sunday."


Harry stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his dress robes.

"You're wearing the red tie?" asked Michael, confused. "You know most of them are Slytherin."

Harry glanced at his dormmate in the mirror. "True. But this would only concern me if I were trying to impress them."

This comment was met with a chorus of eye rolls. Harry didn't understand why everyone else took the Slug Club so seriously. It was just a chance for Slughorn to show off, disguised as a networking event.

Anthony Goldstein gave Harry a patient look. "You should take advantage of this opportunity. I mean, there's probably at least thirty students in our year who want to work at St. Mungos, and only one of them got picked to go to this dinner. And Slughorn knows three hospital executives."

Michael nodded, sitting up on his bed. "He also knows several higher level executives within the ministry, ranking Aurors and charms masters. Anyone who has a smidge of ambition is dying to attend his meetings."

"I wasn't even invited," said Terry glumly. "Even after I scored an Outstanding on my potions exam. I got to attend one regular, boring meeting, and that was it."

"Same for me," said Anthony. "It's really hard to stay in the club. But I guess you don't have to worry about that, do you Harry?" His voice was bitter. "Since you're the Boy-Who-Lived and all."

Harry could hear the jealousy in his voice, and in the other boys' sullen silence.

"Listen," said Harry. "I'm not attending this meeting to make friends or strategic connections. I'm just thinking of it like a transaction. Professor Slughorn gets to show me off like a trophy for a few weeks, and in exchange I get access to a few secrets." Harry grimaced—saying it like that made him feel a little dirty. "As long as I smile pleasantly and don't say anything too insulting, I should be done with Slughorn by Christmas."

"But…" said Terry, confused. "Don't you have ambitions? There must be something you want to do after Hogwarts."

"Of course," said Harry. "I'm planning on taking over the world."

The best reaction he got was a condescending snort. He made this joke so often that it didn't even phase them anymore.

"Even if that were true, you would need connections," muttered Anthony.

The truth was, Harry didn't want anyone to know his real plans until he'd hammered out the details and was ready to set things in motion. It wasn't anything as complicated or bloody as staging a coup, but it was about as mentally taxing, and he knew he wouldn't be able to properly begin until after graduation. Still, if everything did go as planned, it would take the wizarding world by storm. One might even say he'd conquered it.

Harry left his dorm and headed towards the Slytherin dungeons. While Hogwarts regularly conjured empty classrooms, on occasion it created rooms that could only be described as regal. Professor Slughorn had reserved the one near the Slytherin dorms for his special meetings.

On the way, Harry stopped by the Beauxbatons common room to pick up Hermione.

They'd decided on Friday that they would go together. Neither of them wanted to go alone, and besides, what if there weren't assigned seats, and they got roped into sitting separately? It just made more sense to go together. It wasn't a date or anything.

Yet it was still awkward when Harry knocked on the Beauxbaton's door, and said, "Is Hermione here?"

The girl who answered raised an eyebrow and said, "She's still getting ready. Please come inside."

So Harry took a seat on the velvet couch beside another boy from Durmstrang dressed in brown robes. Harry clasped his hands, leaning forward on his knees. He could feel the eyes of every girl in the room watching them, like he was on display. He was just starting to wonder if he should get out a book when Hermione came down the stairs.

"Sorry for making you wait," she said, waving a hand at her hair. "It took a little longer than I expected."

Harry stood up, waiting until they'd left the room to speak his mind. "Really, Hermione, you didn't need to go to all the trouble. It's just Professor Slughorn."

She sighed. "Sometimes I like to get dressed up and look nice. It's not like I get the chance to do that very often."

Harry glanced sidelong at her blue dress and straightened hair, which she'd braided. There was nothing wrong with dressing up, even if it was for a Slughorn party, and he got the sense that he'd hurt her feelings. "You do look nice."

"Thank you," she said softly. "You…umm…you look nice too."

They made their way to the Regal Slytherin room. Harry opened the door for them and they stepped inside.

The room was lit by giant chandeliers, whose light glittered against the emerald backed chairs at the dining table. The shiny black grand piano played itself, the chatter of students and guests threaded through the music. Harry knew that Slughorn kept around fifteen students in his weekly group, and twice that number had already arrived. Some of them looked like people he'd seen in the Daily Prophet, though he couldn't recall any names.

Professor Slughorn, dressed in Slytherin green robes, broke from his conversation and came to greet them. "Welcome! I'm glad to see you both could make it. Dinner will be starting in a few minutes, and there's a few people I'd like you to meet first." He linked arms with them both, pulling them towards the group he'd just left. "Have you met Bertie Bott? One of my former students..."

For the next few minutes, Harry followed his plan of smiling and not saying anything too offensive. He'd never liked small talk, and he hated it even more when he was forced to participate. Hermione was managing to laugh at some terrible joke from Bertie Bott, and even came up with a charming response. He was slightly in awe of her performance.

Eventually, Professor Slughorn went off to greet someone else, and they made a beeline for the drinks table.

"I hope someone spiked the punch," said Harry, pouring two cups.

"Me too," said Hermione. "This is awful."

Harry nodded sympathetically, and looked for a quiet spot they could hide in until dinner started. The room was too small, though, and it wasn't like either of them could fade into the shadows for long. Harry watched Hermione tilt her head back to down the drink, a silver bracelet jangling on her wrist. Her blue dress complimented the glow of her skin, as well as the chestnut brown of her hair. She really did look quite lovely, and he wondered how much was natural to her, and how much was unicorn magic.

He swallowed, but his throat was dry. He took a sip of his drink.

The dinner bell rang, and both of them took a seat beside each other.

The meal was equal parts boring and stupid. He knew most of the students at this table already, and none of them had done anything particularly noteworthy. He didn't care if their parents had built a fruit snacks empire or been Quidditch champions. When it came time for his introduction, Harry just said, "My parents died because of Voldemort. I currently do my homework and perform science experiments. Nice to meet you." Slughorn frowned at this, but Harry could only restrain his sarcasm for so long.

Hermione had prepared a cute, sort of awkward story to explain what her parents did for a living, and Harry noticed Boris Krum chuckling at her. As the introductions continued, Boris never took his eyes off her. It unsettled Harry to the point that he whispered to Hermione, "Boris Krum keeps staring at you."

She blushed and answered, "Oh. Well, don't worry about it."

A few moments passed. "Is something going on between you two?"

"Well, he sort of…admitted he had a crush on me. But he agreed to be just friends."

In a flash of insight, the pieces came together. Harry kept his voice calm when he asked, "He's the one who was making suggestive comments to you?"

Hermione nodded.

"And when you said he was attempting to be my rival because his feelings were hurt?"

"He was jealous of you. I took care of it, so don't worry."

Harry looked at the Quidditch player, who licked a bit of gravy off his finger while looking at her.

What. The. Hell. said Gryffindor.

Let's spit on him! cried Hufflepuff.

I have a better idea, suggested Slytherin. How about we fake a doctor's report that says he's contracted Molluscum Contagiosum? We'll write that it gave him bumps all over his 'tiny sausage.'

The main meal ended, and it was replaced with an ice cream sundae. Harry didn't bother to touch it, hot anger still coursing under his skin. Something Hermione said was still bugging him.

"You're friends with Boris?" asked Harry. "In what way exactly?"

"Well, more like acquaintances. I'm helping him study English on Saturday afternoons in my study group."

"Every Saturday?" asked Harry.

Harry didn't know much about Boris Krum, but he did know that he wasn't there to study English. Harry gave Boris a Death Glare that he didn't see, because he was conversing with the person beside him, presumably in English.

Once the ice cream was finished, Professor Slughorn encouraged everyone to be social with one another over mugs of hot chocolate. One of his guests, a sixth year Ravenclaw, was cajoled into playing Christmas music on the piano, though it was still November. Once he started playing, Professor Slughorn came for Harry. "I've one more person for you to meet. He's a well-renowned artist from Glasgow, and he's been asking to speak with you."

Hermione shifted as if to stand, but Harry said, "Stay here, I'll be back in a minute." He didn't want to drag her to another of these awful meetings if he didn't have to.

"Greetings Harry," said the man, pumping his hand. "I'm part of the team for Associated Playwrights, and we've got a fascinating idea for a script. Tell me, how do you feel about Muggle soap operas?"

During this conversation, in which the playwright attempted to regale Harry with his artistic vision, Harry noticed that Boris had approached Hermione. They took seats together to watch the Ravenclaw pianist.

Harry watched their every movement, his eyes narrowing. He knew from duelling experience that Boris was a huge hot head, and yet he smiled gently at Hermione, pretending he was kind and cultured. He leaned over to say something, probably a random, boring fact about piano players, just to get into Hermione's personal space.

"And then after that,'" said the Playwright. "Time-displaced Harry falls in love with Tom Riddle, and they have to hide their relationship from Bellatrix. So after every meeting, the Obliviate each other, and all they can remember are the feelings. With me so far?"

"Yeah, sounds great," said Harry distractedly. "Wait…what?"

"Oh, but that's just the first draft!" interrupted Slughorn hastily. "Right, Peter?"

"Yes, of-of course," said the Playwright. "We're still looking for the right angle. I was thinking…"

Hermione laughed, and Harry's head whipped in her direction. Boris had his hand on her arm, whispering something in her ear, and she giggled again.

An awful, burning feeling twisted in Harry's heart. Hermione seemed comfortable in his presence, and it was like watching a rabbit playing with a snake. Everything Boris did was fake and calculated to lure her in.

"Excuse me," said Harry sharply, breaking away from the conversation. "I've got something to do."

He stormed over there, imagining how he would rescue her. He wanted to say, "Here, Hermione, let me deal with this wanker. He's stolen enough of your time." If Boris refused to back off, it would be within Harry's best friend rights to gouge his eyes out, but he would settle for clocking him in the nose. Sure, Hermione wouldn't like it, but she'd forgive him eventually.

A hand grasped his arm. "Harry, wait."

He turned to see Professor Slughorn, who gave him a strained smile and said with a fake lightness. "I believe that the stipulations of our agreement were that you would attend three of my meetings. During that time, I do expect you to refrain from jinxing anyone in the room. It would spoil the mood, you know."

Professor Slughorn had sweat on his forehead, and Harry could have sworn that the professor looked scared of him. "Of course not," said Harry, struggling to keep the anger from his voice. "I'm just…going to get some air. Excuse me."

Harry disappeared into the hallway, casting invisibility as he sank against the wall, struggling to calm himself. He knew that his anger was a defence mechanism, inherited from his cavemen ancestors' response to danger. Men needed a surge of adrenaline to fight against the attacking invaders to protect the tribe.

His hands shook, and he clenched them. Of course, this fight or flight reaction was less useful in modern times. Hermione wasn't in any real danger, since Boris would never succeed in seducing her. Besides, Hermione was more than capable of protecting herself. Even so, the thought of Boris being near her, and the anger it caused in Harry, wouldn't die down.

Harry trudged back into the room a few minutes later, feeling grumpy. To his relief, Hermione had freed herself from Boris and was talking to the piano player, but the Durmstrang boy hadn't strayed far. Blaise strode over to Harry's corner, sipping a mug of butterbeer.

"How are you enjoying the party?" he asked.

"About as much as I expected," replied Harry sullenly.

Blaise blinked. "Damn. You really do hate social events, don't you?" He glanced around to see who Harry was glaring at. "Did someone spit in your food or something?"

Harry very deliberately took a sip of his drink, refusing to respond.

"Well…cheer up," said Blaise. "At least you get a nice gift at the end of all this."

"Indeed." Harry folded his arms, his tone icy. "So, what did you get for informing Professor Slughorn on the details of my experiments?"

Blaise lifted his drink to his lips. "I did it as a favour to my head of house. Why would you think I need another reason?"

Harry nodded. He knew all about Slytherin plotting habits, such as trading favours like currency. Normally, he would enjoy getting involved with a plot, but he was too aggravated to indulge Blaise at the moment.

"Anyway," said Blaise. "I'm off to do some last minute networking. Maybe you could try leaving the corner next time, yeah?"

Blaise left, and Harry continued with his sulking.

The dinner wrapped up a short time later, and Harry walked back to the dorms with Hermione.

"The party wasn't great," she said, checking her sleeves for stains. "But it was a little more fun once Professor Slughorn stopped talking."

"Uh huh," said Harry. "I think you should be more careful around Boris. He's not trying to be your friend."

Hermione snorted. "Well, I don't intend to start hanging out with him or anything. But he wanted to talk, and I was just being polite."

"Well, don't be too polite," grumbled Harry. "You'll give him the wrong impression."

They'd reached the Beauxbatons doorway, and Hermione stopped and turned towards Harry, a peculiar expression on her face. "You're really upset about this, aren't you?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't trust him."

Hermione smiled and gave him a side hug. "You don't need to worry about me," she said. "But I appreciate it."