A sparkling layer of snow blanketed the school grounds on Christmas morning. The atmosphere was languid in the castle and its courtyards. Year after year, Albus met this day with an unvarying ritual: he stood at the window, his gaze lost in the snowy distance, and pondered his good fortune.
There had been different periods in his life: he had known delirious happiness, succeeded by the deepest despair. Yet now that the year had reached its close, he preferred to focus solely on his best recollections. It was his father's smile, his words of affection and the warmth of his embrace that shone most brightly in his early memories. There was Ariana as well, her blond curls flying as she twirled in her new dress, a pale green one—a luxury in those days. Like a delicate bell, her laughter rang out in his mind, as vivid as if it had occurred yesterday. Another special part of his heart belonged to Bathilda Bagshot; he could picture her younger self entering her parlour, a book in one hand and a plateful of freshly baked cauldron cakes in another. Even as her lips curved in a sardonic grin, her eyes betrayed fond emotion. And how could he forget the Hogwarts of his youth? Mysterious yet hospitable, the school had become both a sanctuary and a riddle to him: every day would reveal a new surprise and more books than he could ever read, though it was not for the lack of trying. As for the summer of 1899… its days and nights had brought him joy without equal.
It was strange, perhaps, but he could swear something—or someone—watched over him, had always done so, even during his darkest years, which he had spent working round the clock from fear of finding himself alone with his thoughts. How many times had he faced mortal peril, only to survive by what had seemed to be pure luck? This was not all: by an unfathomable turn of circumstances, he was constantly surrounded by kindly, talented, and well-intentioned people. Numerous wizards loathed him, that much was true, but they tended to keep their distance, as if repelled by his proximity. This particular blessing was, no doubt, the reason he had mustered the strength to endure the years of pain.
Whatever it was that protected him, it had not spared him an ounce of suffering; instead, it had provided him with the necessary tools to withstand it. Years had passed since, and he had much to be grateful for. He had a loving husband, who at last had recovered some of his magical freedom. He could not be prouder of his adoptive children, whose success was rivalled only by their family's harmony. Fawkes, his familiar, was worth dying for. His colleagues had become his friends, and he delighted in working with them. All in all, he was far from alone against the foreboding future that loomed ahead, and he would do his duty towards anyone who relied on him.
When he turned away from the window, the pile of presents delivered in the night captured his attention. Beautifully wrapped packages took up his entire table and both chairs. With a sense of wondrous disbelief that refused to fade away with age, he approached to open them.
A lovely potted pink quill bore a card from Pomona; beneath it lay a vinyl record of Maurice Ravel's most famous masterpieces, hand-picked by Filius. Severus had sent a batch of useful potions—like many wizards of his profession, he appreciated orderly routine far more than he did surprises, and his gift never varied; in return, the headmaster always gave him a book on the Dark Arts. Minerva's box concealed a pair of warm gloves with a cheeky criss-cross pattern. A perfect fit.
"What did I tell you about expensive presents?" he muttered, touched.
Among copious books and food baskets, he noticed an ornate jar with a set of round, colourfully painted stones. As soon as he lowered those inside the glass, they arranged themselves into the constellation Virgo, his birth sign, and glowed bright, forming a charming lamp. He sighed in amazement.
"Thank you very much, Aurora."
Since the d'Angellis had invited him to spend Boxing Day with them, they had agreed to exchange their presents in person after a family dinner. There was, however, one parcel delivered from Italy, and it displayed Olivia Ollivander's signature. Inside it, he found a most exquisite box carved from wand wood, along with the best Italian coffee and pastries: as elegant a gift as the witch herself.
The last items came from the heads of the two foreign schools. Madame Maxime had settled for French chocolate—he hoped she would enjoy the array of fudge in various flavours he had packed for her. As for Karkaroff, his long bag concealed a bottle of Cauldron Spirit with a rather worn label, as if it had spent a while sitting in his private liquor cabinet. Still, it was a quality beverage, and Albus felt almost at fault for sending him Butterbeer as a private jab. Almost.
No sooner did he dispose of the wrapping paper than guilt started gnawing at him. Since Ariana's demise, he and Aberforth no longer acknowledged each other at Christmas. No bond remained between them unless mutual aversion could be counted as such. The idea of presenting his brother with at least a card had surfaced more than once; only, Albus knew for certain the latter would throw it away unopened. And yet, Aberforth was one of the loneliest wizards he knew.
Torn between melancholy and gratitude, the headmaster went down to breakfast, where he was happy to exchange good wishes, words of thanks, and embraces with his colleagues. As he lowered himself into his chair, Miss Granger's name reached his ears—Septima Vector had uttered it in her conversation with Bathsheda Babbling, the Ancient Runes teacher. A Christmas card lay open in front of her.
"It's all numbers," Bathsheda remarked.
"Precisely, it's an equation; you need to solve it to read the message." Septima smiled. "It's genius, really. Like I said, between the Outstanding Miss Granger as good as bullied out of me and the Outstanding Miss Greengrass deserves, there is a world of difference."
"So this, I take it, is a thank-you card from Miss Greengrass."
"Yes, the only student attentive enough to have sent me one. Good manners are not something you can buy at a Christmas market."
Bathsheda laughed. "Miss Greengrass sure has you wrapped around her little finger, my dear Septima. One could say, be careful when accepting gifts from highly talented Slytherin students."
The Arithmancy instructor waved a dismissive hand. "Old prejudice, to be honest. I wouldn't have given Miss Greengrass an Outstanding if she hadn't fully earned it. The girl truly is talented, and Severus agrees with me."
A sceptical smile was Bathsheda's only response; she did not wish to argue. Unnoticed by both of them, the Potions Master had come close enough to overhear the discussion, and he nodded at Septima, his gesture unusually respectful.
"Quite right; Miss Granger's reputation is greatly exaggerated and works in her favour even when it is undeserved. Prejudice against my students, on the other hand, is sadly commonplace. And yet, isn't it Mr Potter and his sidekicks who are always caught blatantly breaking the rules, showing disrespect, and even endangering their fellow students? The whole attitude, I believe, ought to be re-evaluated here."
By Albus's side, Minerva straightened up, her hands tense on her cutlery. It was fortunate no doubt that Severus changed the topic, addressing Albus.
"Headmaster, I need to talk to you. In private, please."
"Certainly; let us talk in my office right after breakfast. And thank you for the potions, Severus. Merry Christmas."
Still curious about Miss Greengrass's achievement, the old wizard then turned towards Septima. "Do you mind if I take a look at that equation, dear?"
She passed him the card, and he saw the message was, indeed, conveyed as a lengthy mathematical formula. The temptation was too great: he started solving it on his napkin.
Moments later, a small commotion tore him out of the task: taking advantage of Madame Maxime's trip to the bathroom, Karkaroff had accosted Aurora, claiming the vacant seat next to hers.
"Good morning. I hope to have ze honour of dancing viz you tonight."
"Oh…" Although taken aback, the Astronomy teacher quickly recovered. "It's very… nice of you to offer, but… I'm afraid my dance card is looking rather full already. But I'm sure many of my colleagues would be delighted. One thing is certain: the witches of Hogwarts are great dancers."
"Yes, yes, so am I. Vot is zis dance card nonsense?"
At Aurora's unease, Albus stepped in.
"It's the booklet attached to your official Yule Ball invite—it lists all the dances scheduled for the evening. There is a blank space next to each dance, where you can write down your partner's name. The idea is to have the booklet filled out in advance; this way, the evening will flow smoothly and there will be no need to search for a partner in a hurry."
"Vhy vould you make it so complicated?!" Karkaroff demanded. "Vot kind of vizards are you if you're afraid to ask a vitch without a stinky piece of parchment?"
The staff table fell quiet. Even now, the man's rudeness did not cease to shock certain teachers and anger others, especially Minerva.
"At Hogwarts, we respect tradition," Albus said innocently. "And this is an old one. In any case, Madame Maxime has raised no objection."
"An old tradition?" the other headmaster returned. "Yesterday's soup is old, Dumbledore!"
Having no chance to contribute to the organisation, though, there was little he could do but rage. With a shrug and a polite smile, Albus resumed his mathematical endeavour. Naturally, the Ukrainian did not give up.
"Vell, ve'll get zis sorted, never fear," he promised to Aurora, as if she had expressed displeasure. "Did you enjoy ze first task? You haff to agree Viktor came up wiz ze most impressive solution."
"To be honest, I'm still haunted by those heartbreaking shrieks of pain," the witch objected despite herself.
It earned her a chuckle. "You haff a soft heart. It's adorable in a voman." He then leaned in. "Haff you ever been in the north? I sink you'd razer enjoy Durmstrang. Ve often haff aurora borealis in vinter months—just like your name. Ze polar night too; so many zings you can do at night…"
If Olympe had not chosen that instant to re-emerge, there was no telling how much more disagreeable the situation could have become. As it was, her irritated cough came as a salvation.
"Professor Karkaroff, you are blocking the lady's seat," Albus called.
The man glanced around, realised it was true, and heaved a sigh. Before standing up, he did not deprive himself of kissing Aurora's hand.
"Anyvay, sink about it. I'll pay you twice as much as Dumbledore does. See you soon, my beautiful."
With this, he finally regained his chair, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. Attempting to lure a teacher from one wizarding school to another violated an unwritten code of ethics; everyone was conscious of it. His appetite diminished, Albus finished solving the equation, which proved to conceal seasonal greetings, and handed the card back to Septima. Breakfast was over, and he had promised to speak to Severus in private. The two wizards were on their way to the exit when Karkaroff's voice stopped them in their tracks.
"Dumbledore, vait."
There was nothing for it; the older wizard shot Snape an apologetic look, and the latter walked away, his annoyance perceptible in spite of his inscrutable expression.
"I vos thinking," the Durmstrang headmaster started, "if you insist on zat stupid old tradition… vell, zere can't be many dancers around anyway. Mad-Eye has got only one leg. We can kick him off zat list. Not to mention, if he is to dance wiz anyone, he vill only announce zey are soon to be murdered, and vot kind of dance vould zat be?"
"We cannot kick dancers off anyone's lists, professor," Albus deadpanned.
"And vhy not?"
"Because we have no right to abuse our power. Professor Sinistra can dance with anyone she likes. If she has agreed to dance with Alastor, it's her choice."
Karkaroff sighed again. "Let us hope zen he von't crush her toes wiz his wooden leg. Good day to you."
Unless Albus was much mistaken, this was not the end of it; the man was likely spinning plans to detain Aurora for the entire evening and then take her to his cabin on the Durmstrang ship. Little did he know she had organised a seminar on Astronomy for those interested to observe the night sky after the ball. A number of volunteers had already signed up, and if such an event had occurred in the days of Albus's studies, he knew he would have jumped at the occasion. The idea of watching the starry sky after an evening of Christmas festivities, clad in his dress robes, sufficed to make him daydream.
He retired to his room. Before the preparations began, he wished to spend a little time with his familiar, only the two of them in the armchair in front of the blazing fire.
Two hours elapsed like two minutes. It pained him to part from Fawkes, who so enjoyed playing and being caressed, but he had to oversee the changes in the Great Hall and the construction of a grotto in front of the main entrance. His duties included welcoming the Weird Sisters to Hogwarts and lending them private quarters where they could rehearse, dine, and rest. By the time seven o'clock came and went, he was too harried to feel hunger. He went upstairs to freshen up. His outfit was ready in the wardrobe: dark robes with an impressionistic pattern in green and shades of blue and lilac.
"Do you approve?"
Fawkes reassured him with a merry chirp.
Many years ago, right in the middle of the seventies, he had glimpsed a fashionable lady in the streets of Chelsea and had fallen in love with her clothes: a long purple skirt, an off-the-shoulder blouse with golden accents, a waist-cinching belt, a gauzy scarf, a flattering headpiece. With its regal majesty, its feminine suppleness, its distinct nomadic touch and its hint of an Oriental fairy-tale, that look had been a work of art. He had never found out which Muggle designer had created it. One fact could not be argued: what a variety of outfits he could have worn, had he been born a lady! Nevertheless, he was happy with his dress robes.
The Great Hall shone and sparkled like the interior of an ice palace. All of the hundred tables were topped with lanterns, crackers, sprigs of holly, and nametags. Albus felt enchanted at the sight; he had every intention of paying the house-elves a call the following day to personally praise them for their exceptional work. He would have done so already, had he not worried his visit might disrupt their schedule.
Judging by the commotion in the entrance hall, the students were impatient to enter—it sounded indeed as though they meant to break down the oak doors and storm in. It was nearly the hour.
"Good evening." He smiled at Alastor Moody, who nodded, indifferent to the grandeur of their ballroom.
Except for his discreet bow tie, the Auror had not changed from his morning clothes. He had never been one to celebrate Christmas either. In his opinion, the consumerist attitude would be the end of their society; besides, he claimed, nothing that came in a box could be trusted. Rolanda's approach swiftly put his lifelong beliefs to a test. Attired in a long-sleeved black dress that called a stylish coat to mind, and which she wore over classic trousers, the witch was certain to turn heads. Her hair was windswept and voluminous, and smoky makeup highlighted the amber of her eyes. She considered Moody, one eyebrow arched in amused disapproval.
"Alastor, you are aware, of course, the Yule Ball is about to start?"
Both his natural and his magical eyes were fixed on Madam Hooch, unable to look away. "I should have put more effort into this, shouldn't I?"
"You probably should have." For all her admonishments, there was laughter in her voice. "Now I feel ridiculously over-dressed."
"There are a thousand words that could describe you, Rolanda. Neither ridiculous nor over-dressed are among them."
Edging away, an elated Albus hastened to join the rest of his colleagues, most of whom had applied themselves to the task of memorising the layout of the tables, so as to guide the guests to their seats. It was fascinating to observe their choices of finery. Sober and sophisticated, Septima Vector had opted for a dark skirt suit with a geometric motive along the hems. Pomona Sprout had come in a long butter yellow dress adorned with a beaded clutch purse. Both Poppy Pomfrey and Bathsheda Babbling looked festive yet comfortable in their formal dress robes, and so did Minerva, who had a great liking for soft tartan fabrics—she had jokingly confessed once she did not care for any clothes that could restrict her from running. The youngest member of the staff was a sight to steal one's breath away. In her royal blue Nigerian dress and headwrap, both of which were embroidered with gold and beads and balanced out by a red necklace, Aurora could have been a queen. Even Snape and Flitwick could not help but do a double take in passing. While the Potions Master did not feel the event warranted a change from his day-to-day clothes, Filius had donned a suit, as true lovers of classical music were wont to do.
A careful glance revealed a lonely figure by one of the Christmas trees. Albus mistook her for Sybill at first, only to realise this was Charity Burbage. There was sheen to her plum dress with sharp shoulders and a puffy skirt, and her blond hair had been teased into an ample mass of curls. It could be a trick of the light, but something about her features had changed. Albus assumed she was channelling the style of a Muggle fashion movement. Be it as it may, she appeared so sad and forlorn that he stepped towards her, determined to engage her in a conversation. Sadly, at that very instant, the clock struck eight, and Minerva hurried to open the doors.
It was a fancy and colourful crowd that poured in with much chatter, sending awed looks across the Great Hall. Olympe Maxime and Igor Karkaroff promptly joined Albus at the top table, followed by Ludo Bagman and, against all expectations, Percy Weasley. The young man had not forgotten their altercation of late—when their gazes crossed, his smug expression faltered.
"M-Mr Crouch is indisposed, professor," he explained, hitching up the sleeves of his navy robes. "He left me in charge."
He was granted a cool greeting. "Welcome, Mr Weasley."
Under the teachers' directions, the guests did not delay in gaining their seats, and soon, to the general applause, Professor McGonagall led the champions in. First marched Fleur Delacour, proud and resplendent in her silver dress and accompanied by Roger Davies. Albus felt pleased by her choice—he would not have guessed she had searched for a partner at Hogwarts.
The next couple was even more unanticipated: a well-groomed Viktor Krum, dressed in a classic suit like the rest of his classmates, was lending his arm to Miss Granger. She was lovely to look upon and visibly excited at this change from her study routine—in this, Albus could relate.
Cedric Diggory had come with a young girl from Ravenclaw, Cho Chang. Witnessing romance between two distinct Houses always lifted the headmaster's spirits, and this was, without a doubt, a romance—the pretty girl was leaning onto her date with a sense of familiarity; they were perfectly at ease with each other.
At the end of the procession walked Harry, a head shorter than the rest of the champions and so endearing in his emerald robes that Albus could not contain a chuckle. Parvati Patil from Gryffindor was his partner. The old wizard did not recall ever seeing them together, and this friendship puzzled him a little. By all means, they formed a sweet couple: the girl was like a rosebud, ready to bloom into a beautiful flower in only a few years.
As they converged around the top table, the applause died down, giving way to the rustle of hundreds of printed menus. As scrumptious and elaborate as the listed dishes were, Albus had to restrain himself, for he would be eating another dinner after midnight, and it was advisable that he partake of a single dish and skip pudding altogether—not the least because of the dancing ahead. In the end, he settled for pork chops. So did Ludo—the only person brave enough to launch into small talk despite Madame Maxime's curtness. By their side, Karkaroff was peering at the other tables, unable so far to locate Aurora. As for Percy, he had fully dedicated himself to a lengthy self-account for Harry's benefit.
"… and then we had the tournament to arrange, and the aftermath of the Cup to deal with—that revolting Skeeter woman buzzing around—no, poor man, he's having a well-earned, quiet Christmas. I'm just glad he knew he had someone he could rely upon to take his place."
The young man's monologue had no end, and no one could blame Harry for letting his mind wander. Between spoonfuls of goulash, the boy's green eyes came to rest longingly on Cho Chang, though she only had attention for her companion.
So this was what was going on. It certainly elucidated the mystery of Miss Patil's presence and the fact that she had been invited as a substitute once Harry had lost his chance at going with his coveted date. Albus felt sorry for the children, especially the girl: she deserved to be noticed and admired for being herself. This did not promise to be an enjoyable evening for either of them.
As if to thicken the plot, Fleur Delacour kept gazing resentfully at the back of Mr Diggory's head while indulging in a tirade that left no inch of Hogwarts uncriticised. No matter how loudly she complained or how artfully she employed the Veela charm, the boy never turned around. This was not the case for Mr Davies, who was becoming giddier by the minute—some wizards were more affected by the Veela allure than others.
"Ouais, pfff," the girl concluded with another scowl at Cedric, "zis place doesn't 'old a candle to Beauxbatons. A beeg let-down, bon ben voilà quoi."
Viktor Krum, at least, was enjoying himself: his interest in Hermione was genuine and vexed no one.
Well done, Miss Granger, Albus thought. However thoroughly Karkaroff sought to brainwash his students and set them against their British hosts, youth and attraction were more powerful than slander. All things considered, Viktor Krum was a decent young wizard, having fallen for a clever girl without the slightest concern for her blood status.
"Ve have a castle also," he was saying, "not as big as this, nor as comfortable, I am thinking. Ve have just four floors, and the fires are lit only for magical purposes…"
At this, Karkaroff stopped craning his neck and fixed the boy with a piercing look. His false burst of laughter did little to conceal his alarm.
"Now, now, Viktor, don't go giving avay anyzing else now, or your charming friend vill know exactly vhere to find us."
Considering his efforts from that same morning to lure Aurora to Durmstrang, this was a feeble excuse at best; besides, Albus had already travelled to the Northern school once. No, Karkaroff was most likely worried about the Ministry officials' reaction, should they find out how much he had stolen from the establishment he had sworn to protect. The occasion to needle him was too good to ignore.
"Igor, all this secrecy… one would almost think you didn't want visitors," Albus said jovially.
"Vell, Dumbledore, ve are all protective of our private domains, are ve not?" came a verbose reply. "Do ve not jealously guard ze halls of learning zat have been entrusted to us? Are ve not right to be proud zat ve alone know our school's secrets, and right to protect zem?"
Jealously guard them indeed, like a magpie perched over a nest full of stolen trinkets.
"Oh, I would never dream of assuming I know all Hogwarts' secrets, Igor. Only this morning, for instance, I took a wrong turning on the way to the bathroom and found myself in a beautifully proportioned room I have never seen before, containing a really rather magnificent collection of chamber pots. When I went back to investigate more closely, I discovered that the room had vanished. But I must keep an eye out for it. Possibly it is only accessible at five-thirty in the morning. Or it may only appear at the quarter moon—or when the seeker has an exceptionally full bladder."
Not a word of this story was true—Albus had invented it for the simple pleasure of seeing an uptight Percy Weasley bristle at this use of toilet humour at table. Harry laughed, though, and the headmaster sent him a wink.
"Now that you mention the halls of learning," he went on slyly, "I've never forgotten the dining hall at Durmstrang. It offers the most spectacular panoramic view of the mountains, and its wall encrusted with diamonds must be unique in the world. If I had such an ingenious system of illumination at my disposal, I would never mind the short daylight hours of winter."
The bait worked: Viktor Krum frowned at him, confused.
"A vall vith diamonds? Vot vall? There vere never any diamonds in the dining hall."
The next second, he had to return to his meal and speak no more: his headmaster's expression was much too threatening. Albus's mirth passed as quickly as it had risen. As comical as it was to imagine Karkaroff sneaking into a nocturnal dining hall and using a knife to pry the diamonds off the wall, the vandalised and impoverished state of Durmstrang was nothing to laugh about. Whoever was chosen to direct the school after the Ukrainian would have an immense amount of work to do. Albus was grateful to know Giacomo meant to apply to the board of governors.
Within half an hour, dinner was over, and it was time to clear the Great Hall and prepare the stage for the Weird Sisters' performance. Maybe it was old-fashioned of him, but a conventional orchestra playing the great waltzes of the previous century would have pleased the wizard most. Not that this particular genre of music was not inspiring, he had to admit, as he and Madame Maxime joined the champions and their partners on the dance floor. She still was in no hurry to converse with him, but she danced with earnest grace, her moves so controlled that the lavender silk of her gown draped around her at every turn. When the song ended, numerous couples surrounded them, and they met the band's introduction with cheers and applause. Bowing to Olympe, Albus excused himself; he had to find Aurora, his next partner. He saw the young witch part from Alastor and advance towards him, beautiful like a painting.
"Headmaster, if I may, you look splendid tonight," she complimented.
"Thank you, dear. Not half as splendid as you do." The Weird Sisters struck a faster tune, causing the entire dance floor to come to life. "Thank you for your thoughtful present—it's an exquisite and unique lamp."
"As long as it serves you, you have nothing to thank me for," she assured him. "And let me thank you in turn for your kind words. I've made this dress myself."
He studied the sparkling beads and golden ornaments on her outfit with admiration. "It resembles stars and comets blazing in the midnight sky. Did you know that according to a Navajo legend, the stars of the Milky Way are footprints left by the spirits and deities travelling between the realms?"
Aurora offered him a wide smile.
"Perhaps they are footprints indeed. You never cease to amaze me, headmaster: very few wizards around here can call themselves experts on Native American beliefs. I have heard if it, I'll admit, but I am blessed to have been taught by extraordinary witches and wizards. Speaking of the stars, are you sure you wouldn't like to come to my little seminar around the witching hour? Quite a few students have signed up, even Miss Johnson and Mr Zabini, I'm delighted to say. Naturally, there is no helping the rivalry between the Houses, but I'm truly happy to see that even Gryffindors and Slytherins can enjoy something in common. After all, while upholding the honour of one's House is a matter of pride, there is so much more to each and every student, don't you think?"
"Absolutely. Under different circumstances, I would happily discard all formality and join the students at your special Christmas lesson; only, I need to leave Hogwarts after the ball. I'm hopeful we will have more occasions for such memorable seminars." Albus paused, growing serious. "There is a question I would like to ask you, and it will doubtless sound very unusual. I've been wondering whether it might be possible for me to meet mambo Lucille. Should she be willing to grant me an audience, I would gladly go to Haiti."
The young witch's eyes widened. She nearly stumbled in surprise and then blushed.
"Oh. I… I am not sure. I suppose she is open to welcoming anyone, really, but… this isn't what you really are asking about, is it?"
Her guess was accurate, and as soon as she voiced it, he understood. Hordes of people, wizards and Muggles alike, were bound to come to mambo Lucille on a daily basis, begging for or even demanding her help. Aside from being notorious for her mastery of a brand of magic only few could perform, she had also rendered her home accessible. Imploring her help presented a delicate challenge.
"You are right." Albus bit his lip in thought. "The candles you so kindly gave me are what inspired this idea—the purifying Light magic they contain is unlike anything I know. It would mean the world to me if mambo Lucille consented to teach me this spell—I feel it's my only hope for helping those I love."
Aurora said nothing for a moment but followed his lead through a vibrant throng of students.
"It must be serious," she deduced. "The spell contained in those candles is, in essence, similar to what Necromancers use: the bokors, the shadow folk. The only difference is that they call upon the Dark deities and pay the price in blood. The candles charmed by mambo Lucille serve as a beacon for the Light forces. Contrary to the popular yet misguided belief that evil is, somehow, more potent than good, this enchantment is one of great strength, and I believe mambo Lucille is one of the few witches powerful enough to conjure it."
The velvet black eyes met the sky-blue ones, and the young woman's gaze softened.
"Your familiar is a phoenix," she went on. "It makes me think you have it in you too, except you have never practiced Sakrémaji. Also, there are many who seek to take advantage of mambo Lucille and the arts she teaches, so you need to be careful when you make your request. Of course, I can send her an owl—and mambo Lucille is not difficult to find at all as she too is the headmistress of her own school—but when the time comes, I only ask that you be truthful. From my side, I nurture deep and sincere admiration for you both, but the world has not been kind to mambo Lucille."
The song came to an end. After letting the witch make one last twirl, Albus kissed her hand.
"I promise to do as you say: I will be nothing but candid with mambo Lucille. And whatever the outcome, I'm forever in your debt, Aurora, dear."
She squeezed his fingers. "I believe your intentions are pure, headmaster. Otherwise, I wouldn't have made such a promise."
Leaving her in Ludo Bagman's company, Albus went to pour himself a sip of water; their heart-to-heart had cheered him up considerably. Not a wink later, he caught a glimpse of Karkaroff, who was staring at the witch, his posture positively hungry. Something had to be done, and fast—given their full dance cards, he and Ludo could not protect her for long, and Alastor was bound to disappear with Rolanda halfway through the evening. Only one solution presented itself. He sought out Snape.
"Severus, if you don't intend to dance, will you do me a favour? Could you please distract Karkaroff and keep him out of the Great Hall for as long as possible? You can ask me for anything in return."
Stationed in a quiet corner, the Potions Master arched an eyebrow. The plea seemed to have amused him.
"As you wish, headmaster."
He was as good as his word: the Ukrainian vanished from sight and was still away three songs later. Reassured, Albus danced with Poppy Pomfrey, having partnered both Minerva and Pomona. The continuous exertion left him out of breath; as soon as a break ensued, all he could do was reach the nearest table and down an entire glass of water. His legs ached a little.
The female student from Durmstrang happened to be standing nearby. She was dressed in a boyish style and was speaking to her date, an open bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky in hand.
"—nothing here is impressive. But the barman of Hog's Head is nice. His pub is gonna be open on New Year's Eve."
"Go easy on zat, Yyhely," the boy advised. "If Karkaroff sees you, he'll make you clean ze deck all over again."
She grimaced, her stance somewhat aggressive all of a sudden.
"Last time, it was because of you—"
Albus tried not to gape at his brother's admirer, who had found Hog's Head more hospitable than Hogwarts. It was Ludo Bagman who diverted his attention, striding over to pour himself a drink.
"No rest for the wicked, eh?"
"It has been the case at every dance I've yet been to," the headmaster agreed. "The number of ladies in attendance always surpasses the number of gentlemen."
"And it's only the two of us and Hagrid." The commentator peered over the students' heads. "I can understand good old Moody not dancing, but what is young Percy doing over there? And where has Severus gone to? Two perfectly fit buggers, who could give us a hand. The ladies can hardly invite centaurs for partners."
The idea made Albus chortle. Sure enough, Percy Weasley was absorbed in a passionate argument with his twin brothers—all he had done so far was lecture the other guests and brag about his promotion to anyone who would listen.
"You are right—while Severus is busy, Mr Weasley has no excuse for avoiding the dance floor. Will you please encourage him, Ludo? He won't say no to you."
Once Bagman walked away, Albus called Lompy the house-elf and shared a few instructions, as well as his compliments and thanks. This done, he was free to approach his guest of honour, who was quietly enjoying tea and cake at one of the side tables. This guest was his mother-in-law.
Even if Bathilda Bagshot was merely Gellert's great-aunt—not a close one at that—she was his only living relative, and Albus viewed her as family. Aged and frail, she was wearing a lacy white dress purchased at the start of the century. Her matching hat and fan were in place, as essential to her attire as the gloves that covered her small yet surprisingly strong hands.
"Albus, my dear."
"I'm happy to see you, Bathilda. Thank you for accepting my invite." He kissed her cheek and sat down beside her. "How have you been? Are you comfortable here?"
"Quite." The witch swept the Great Hall with a critical eye. "It's a good party, Albus. The house-elves have been working hard, I see."
"Thank you. Your opinion means more than anyone else's."
It was no flattery but the truth. His unuttered words did not escape Bathilda's notice, though; she regarded him shrewdly.
"The French dame is dissatisfied, is she?" She waved her hand in disdain. "Don't even think of getting upset over those people. She's quite the saint, that one—you should have seen the way she was bamboozling that blundering Hagrid half an hour ago."
The gamekeeper and Madame Maxime had indeed danced together earlier in the evening. Nothing about it struck the headmaster as noteworthy. "What do you mean?"
"Albus, please," she bit out impatiently, "look at her, and look at him. Individuals who are this different don't mix well, not even among half-giants. As far as she is concerned, the only saving grace your precious Hagrid possesses is his complete inability to keep a secret. Otherwise, she wouldn't have deemed him good enough to wipe her shoes."
After a century of friendship, her direct and often scathing manner of expressing herself neither shocked nor offended Albus. He had learned not to argue; humour was the best recourse in cases such as this.
"Don't let her hear you," he suggested with a smile. "I believe it is we who are intolerant and narrow-minded from Madame Maxime's standpoint."
"Is that so?" Bathilda smirked, fanning herself. "Ah, but have you noticed what a selection of students she has brought with her? Two part-Veela and a few attractive teenagers from various backgrounds. If she is as tolerant as she claims, where are the half-hags, half-elves, and half-goblins? Or does she only admit pretty half-breeds to her school?"
This was an observation he had not considered. With a triumphant smile, the witch cast about the Hall.
"Which one is the headmaster of Durmstrang?"
"It's the man with the goatee, dressed in white furs. He isn't here right now."
"Oh, that buffoon. I saw him. Good to know my great-nephew's beloved school has the worthy representation it deserves."
Her sarcasm notwithstanding, Bathilda could not stop herself from giving Albus a curious side-look. "How is he?"
"He is doing better. I'm going to see him after the ball. We'll have a meal, and I'll stay the night." The wizard's expression brightened with reminiscence. "I asked him what he would like for Christmas. He said he would love to teach me how to astral-project."
This answer of Gellert's was one of the most romantic things he had ever heard. His mother-in-law clearly disagreed.
"You should know better," she declared, unimpressed, swishing her fan for good measure. "There are so many people who love and respect you. And all you want to do with your leisure time is waste it on that good-for-nothing rabble-rouser. One who left you when you needed him most."
"Only because I asked him to leave." Albus drew a breath and then exhaled. As much as he would have liked to bring her round, it was pointless to attempt it: for numerous reasons that had to do with the older generation of the Grindelwalds, she had never been fond of her great-nephew, and she never would be. "Gellert loves me as I love him. We've been through this before, Bathilda."
"Oh, well, I had to try." She reached to adjust his sleeve, her gesture affectionate and irritated in equal measure. "You are, after all, rather bright in other matters."
The band began playing a slow, peaceful tune. With a kiss on the witch's gloved fingers, Albus stood up. "Will you dance with me?"
"Why not? If you promise to keep me distracted from this monstrosity they call music nowadays."
They gently swayed to the song. Afterwards, Bathilda needed a rest, and Albus led her to her seat before resuming his duty towards his colleagues. For the last dance on the list, he asked Charity, who had found little joy in the event, plainly wishing her fiancé had been present. In spite of this, she did not decline the old wizard's offer and even smiled when he praised her outfit.
"Thank you, headmaster. It's the latest Muggle fashion—very flamboyant and colourful."
It was true that her makeup combined vibrant shades: her cheeks were tinged with berry pink, her lips were a pearlescent lilac, and patches of yellow and blue covered her eyelids. Even her dress had a metallic shine to it: it felt unyielding under his palm, not unlike a curtain.
"I'm very sorry Andrew couldn't come," he said sincerely. "I know how important it was for you to spend the evening together. Unfortunately, we cannot go back in time or change the rules, but… can you see this tree?"
He indicated the prettiest one of the twelve Christmas trees stationed along the Great Hall.
"I have asked the house-elves to deliver it to your house with some dishes from tonight's feast. It's not much, I understand. Only a piece of magic to bring home to your other half."
She oohed, astonished by the gesture, and then leaned in to embrace him, her demeanour thawing out.
"Thank you, headmaster. I… I know it wasn't really allowed. Thank you for this. Andrew will love it."
"Then let's not keep him waiting any longer."
He hugged her and watched her hurry away. An elf had already Apparated to remove the tree from its spot.
The hour had come to say goodbye to Bathilda and extend courtesies towards Ludo, Percy, and Madame Maxime—Karkaroff still remained absent. Not without regret, the children were leaving, as perky as they had been before dinner. For his part, all Albus felt was profound contentment at the knowledge the evening had been a success. He found Snape in the entrance hall, the young man's indolent eyes lingering on the stragglers.
"I owe you an immense favour." The headmaster drew nearer. "Thank you, Severus. I'm sorry we couldn't talk earlier. What is it you wanted to tell me?"
The Potions Master uncrossed his arms and hitched up his left sleeve. For the briefest of instants, something black slithered on his sallow skin.
"It's coming back. Karkaroff's too, stronger and clearer than ever."
This was not news, not truly, but Snape had no means of knowing it. Albus sighed.
"He works fast."
There was no denying that Voldemort's progress over the last few months had been impressive in a deeply frightening way.
"Karkaroff's Mark is becoming darker too," the other wizard reiterated pensively. "He is panicking, he fears retribution; you know how much help he gave the Ministry after the Dark Lord fell. Karkaroff intends to flee if the Mark burns."
Had the Ukrainian explicitly confessed this much to the one person he half-trusted, or was it pure speculation? After all, bravado was one of Karkaroff's more prominent traits.
"Does he? And are you tempted to join him?"
"No. I am not such a coward."
Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies came tottering from the grotto. Where exactly they were headed, Albus could not tell; he would have expected the boy to escort his date to the Beauxbatons carriage.
"No, you are a braver man by far than Igor Karkaroff." Suddenly, a wave of weariness washed over him. "You know, I sometimes think we Sort too soon…"
With a nod and a wish of a good night, he went upstairs, already repenting his spontaneous words. He had not meant to offend Severus; besides, when all was said and done, he nurtured only deep respect for Slytherins. His lover was one, and so was Bathilda. Nay, what frustrated him was the prejudice surrounding every single life choice one undertook. His mother-in-law, for example, had never consented to offer her great-nephew the benefit of a doubt; the same way, Snape would not be persuaded to try to accept Harry in his heart. And yet, both of them were sharp-witted intellectuals, and both were capable of love.
Back in his quarters, Albus freshened up again, changed into more comfortable clothes, and inspected the box of food a house-elf had brought to him all the way from Bavaria. Everything was set.
The guard who was on duty at Nurmengard appeared too sleepy to do more than glance at the portion of roast goose, the bread dumplings, the red cabbage, and the generous slice of Stollen nestled in the Englishman's basket; it was cursorily that he ran a Dark Detector over the bottles of beverages as well. On the table by the wall, one could discern the remnants of his own similar dinner spread over a sheet of newspaper. Somehow, he was not sleepy enough to deprive himself of a jeering remark on the late hour of the feast Albus was about to share with Gellert, but it mattered not. Much more important was the fact that he never detected the piece of chalk and the tiny sponge hidden at the very bottom of the basket. Calmly, Albus proceeded towards the topmost cell; a wide smile lit his face at the sight of his beloved.
"Frohe Weihnachten, Schatz."
AN: While writing Olympe Maxime's character, we set out to follow the book version, which portrayed her as a chic and sophisticated lady, though not completely devoid of a certain sense of superiority. It was sad to see her turned into a source of comic relief in the movie and stripped of what rendered her unique. Bathilda's harsh comment is meant to bring out this difference while showing that, as good-hearted as Hagrid was, he had little in common with the French headmistress. Thank you for reading!