In the Last Chapter: Harry completes the first task with the other champions and is ready for the long break between tasks that will follow. Exhausted both physically and mentally, Harry goes home with his guardians for a short reprieve.
With the end of the first task and the second task not to take place until the spring, Harry figured he would at least get a little more peace and quiet. However, to the young Ravenclaws utter dismay, the official announcement for the Yule Ball had ushered in a kind of frantic excitement he'd never seen before. Because, although the tasks were something that seemed to set everyone's blood alight, they were—ultimately—a spectator's sport and they couldn't really take part the way they could with the ball.
But even more than that, it was like an infection was rapidly spreading throughout the student body. In only 24 hours, the student population as a whole seemed to have gone absolutely mad!
Harry saw groups of girls meticulously planning ambushes and preemptive strikes on their prospective dates. He saw groups of boys nervously asking their older peers how in the hell they secured dates of their own. Meals in the Great Hall became almost entirely occupied by either gossip on who would ask who or eagerly scanning the room for potential dates.
There were those that were less interested in the whole affair, but it was too small of a percentage. In his opinion, at least.
There seemed to be a few days of just people trying to decide who they would ask, but after, Harry began to see his fair share of nervously shouted invitations in the halls, swift and brutal rejections, and gestures of such grandeur that Harry wondered if one night felt like a lifetime of commitment for these individuals.
It's not that Harry thought less of those who put their all into the event—in a way, their earnestness was rather endearing—it just seemed to be another one of those things that kind of went over his head. Endearing, but still not something for him. No, instead Harry had been planning on going home for Holiday as he usually did, and getting a break from—well, everything.
Unfortunately, some bad news came to Harry about a week after the first task in the form of a Ravenclaw prefect interrupting his Arithmancy class and saying that he needed to follow her. Harry obliged, but when he asked her what it was about, she said she didn't know. A few short minutes later, Harry arrived at an unused classroom and the prefect was already leaving before he'd even opened the door.
When he entered and saw the three other champions, Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, and McGonagall and he sighed internally. Harry seemed to be the last to arrive, so once the door was closed behind him, McGonagall took charge by welcoming them and jumping right into the matter at hand.
"As you all should know by now, because of the tournament, by tradition, we will be hosting the Yule Ball on December 25th. Because it is considered an official event in the tournament, you four will be required to attend." She paused for only a moment to let them process her words. Glancing at his fellow champions, Harry didn't see outright disdain, but it was clear that attending a dance was not high on any of their lists of priorities. McGonagall cracked a rare and subtle smile as she continued.
"It is more than just a social event and a duty for the champions to attend; ultimately, it is a dance!" Harry had never seen the depute Headmistress so . . . giddy. It was quite the sight. "You will be leading the ball into the first dance with your dates, which means you will have to learn the steps. It is the reason you are gathered here right now. You will meet a total of three times following this meeting and Madame Maxime will be your instructor. I am requiring all Gryffindors, fourth and up, to take these lessons as well with me. I cannot speak for the other head of houses, but if Pomona or Filius plan on giving lessons of their own you could choose to attend those instead." McGonagall was speaking to her two Hogwarts students at the end.
They both nodded, even though it was unlikely either professor would do such a thing, and even if they did it was far better to fumble and embarrass themselves in front of only a handful of people rather than their entire house.
Harry was not looking forward to the Yule Ball. He'd seen how rabid his peers had become over the past week and now he'd been thrown right into the thick of it. It sounded chaotic and migraine-inducing, not to mention that eventually he'd have to find a date and Harry had a bad feeling that that in and of itself would be a nightmare.
'I think it'll be entertaining.' Harry mentally scoffed at his companion knowing that Death would take great amusement in his suffering. The cold rattling chuckle echoed in his head and he had to push Death out of his mind so that he could focus on the rest of what McGonagall was saying.
They set up the dates, scheduled for each Saturday up until the ball, and then they were all sent back to class.
Just as he'd expected, the ball was already taking a toll on his life. News about the champion's required attendance had gotten out almost immediately and apparently Harry had done a good enough job up till that point of making it clear he had no intention of attending (as had one or two of the other champions). However, once everyone knew they were required to go and to bring dates, it was utter madness. Everyone who didn't already have a date—and even a few that had—wanted to attend the ball with one of the champions. For the majority of them, Harry honestly doubted it really mattered to them which one, as long as they were a champion.
The first time Harry was asked to the Ball, he had been stopped in the middle of the hall by a sixth-year girl from Hufflepuff. She'd been a mess of nerves and red cheeks as she stumbled over her invitation. Harry had been polite and direct in turning her invitation down, saying that although he was flattered, he didn't know her and would rather attend with someone who was not a stranger. Personally, he'd thought he'd been gentle and considerate. Though, the fountain of tears that rained down after that may have indicated otherwise. The girl thanked Harry for being honest, apologized for the inconvenience, and promptly fled in the opposite direction before he could even respond.
Later during lunch, Draco informed Harry that people had heard about the incident and that damned aggravating nickname had returned: 'Ice Prince.' Harry silently cursed whoever came up with that ridiculous name.
Although, he thought that perhaps it might do well in discouraging anyone else who thought to ask Harry and that was a plus.
Unfortunately, he wasn't so lucky. Harry was approached six more times that following week. Though, some were worse than others. The best was a simple note that would disappear back to its sender as soon as he wrote his answer, no face-to-face interaction at all. The worst was being caught off guard in the bathroom by a group of Gryffindor girls who each asked him out hoping he'd chose one of them.
Harry started to avoid going anywhere alone and taking different routes to his classes, as well as eating at least one meal a day in the kitchens since meal time sometimes meant multiples.
By the time Saturday—and his first dance lesson—came around, Harry was mentally and emotionally drained. The only upside being the knowledge that he wasn't alone. As they waited for Madame Maxime to arrive, Cedric grumbled about a group that had been following him around for days on end and how he felt he'd never get a moment of piece. In solidarity and a rare show of companionship, Fleur confessed to being nearly late to every class because of how often she's stopped in the hallways to listen to another sorry sod's stuttered proposal.
Viktor didn't say anything, but Harry could tell that he was still engaged in their conversation by the way that his eyes always followed whoever was speaking at the time and a few raised eyebrows or the twitched echo of a smile here and there.
When the French Headmistress arrived, they all fell quiet once more, but the air between them wasn't nearly so stifling.
They were immediately partnered up—Harry with Cedric, and Fleur with Viktor—and began the meticulous task of learning the first part of the steps while listening to the same twenty seconds of an old song over and over again. Thanks to all of Harry's extracurricular dueling sessions, the young Ravenclaw was able to avoid the quick whacks of Madame Maxime's wand on the back of the head, that which she delivered without fail when one of them made a grievous mistake. Mostly, that was Cedric. The Hufflepuff just seemed to have grown a little too quickly and wasn't entirely used to his own limbs.
Though, since it seemed that Cedric needed the most help, Harry barely got a chance all lesson to practice leading. Not that he minded too much, it was just that the dance called for quite a few lifts that had Cedric putting both hands on his waist and lifting him up as they turned, as well as the fact that one hand never left Harry's waist for the rest of the moves. Harry had always been rather reluctant to physical contact and though he'd shared a few brief touches or hugs with his friends and family when the moment called for it, he still had little to no experience with someone—especially someone he wasn't overly close with—touching and holding him in such a way. Harry was just glad Cedric was too busy staring at his own feet or looking straight over Harry's head when Maxime snapped at him to stop looking down, so that the Hufflepuff didn't notice the warm flush in his cheeks.
As for the other 'pair,' Fleur seemed to already know the movements—not much of a surprise—and although Viktor wasn't graceful in any sense of the word, he moved quickly, lifted Fleur when he needed to, and never once stepped on the girl's feet. He was completing each move with the sharpness and precision of it being an exercise rather than a dance. He'd be lying if he said Madame Maxime didn't appear a little hopeless looking at both Viktor and Cedric by the end of the lesson.
In the end, they rehearsed for far too long—in Harry's opinion—and by the time they were finally released, none of them wanted to ever hear that bloody song again. When he reached the dorms after rehearsal, he feigned a migraine and spent the rest of the evening in bed as he felt too drained to try to deal with anymore cursed invitations.
The winter morning was surprisingly brilliant and warm that day, as it streamed in through the high Great Hall windows in banners of transparent gold, illuminating breakfast tables, gleaming off gold plates, and haloing some students in its exuberant light and causing them to glow.
One student, dressed in a pale blue satin uniform, had abandoned his breakfast in favor of staring at one particular student illuminated by such light, who sat a little further down his table.
"What about him?" He asked the similarly dressed boy next to him without dropping his gaze once. The other boy glanced up from his food for only a moment before sighing.
"Out of all of the people you could possibly want to invite to the Yule Ball, it just had to be a champion! Not even our champion, but one of Hogwarts'—who also happens to be the youngest, by the way." He spoke bluntly to his friend, feeling exacerbated at his friend's antics.
His attention finally shifted from the young Ravenclaw in order to glare at the boy next to him.
"Does any of that really matter? I mean, we are supposed to be promoting 'inter-institutional-comradery,' or what have you. Besides, it's not like our own champion will be taking any of us." He didn't bother lowering his voice, despite the fact that Delacour sat only a few seats away and clearly heard him if the dark glower she sent him was anything to go by.
She wasn't the only one listening in on their conversation, it seemed. An older Ravenclaw girl huffed in amusement and when both Beauxbatons boys looked at her, she leaned in with a smirk.
"No offense, but I think you'd have better luck asking a Hippogriff to tango!" She stated in a lowered tone that caused the girl next to her to snort and nod emphatically in agreement.
"Oh? And what makes you say that?" The French student asked, the slightest hint of defensiveness slipping out under his tone. The girl glanced down the table at her young housemate before looking back at the Beauxbaton boys with an unimpressed gaze.
"It's Harry Potter. Never mind that he's been famous since he was in nappies. He's the heir to both the Potter and Black lines—and who knows what else—he's also incredibly wealthy, has very close ties with the Malfoys and Goldsteins, is top of his year academically, is thought to be practically a prodigy in Defense, and overall Harry is considered to be the most unobtainable student we have!" By then, she'd gathered the attention of even more Beauxbatons students as they looked from her to the current subject of their focus, who sat silently unaware. The boy who'd started the who discussion frowned and spoke up once more.
"'Unobtainable?'" He asked.
"Unobtainable. Don't get me wrong, he's perfectly polite and courteous to everyone he meets, however . . . there's clearly a 'distance' between him and everyone else. There's a reason he got the title of 'Ice Prince' so soon after coming here. The only ones he allows close to him are his friends—he only keeps a few—and those that he keeps, he is fiercely protective of. In the four years he's been here, he has never once dated, shown interest in someone, went out of his way for someone outside of his group, or paid mind to any kind of predetermined social structure." She confessed with obvious admiration. The girl next to her nodded eagerly and jumped in with her own information.
"I heard that he was singlehandedly responsible for freeing his Godfather, Sirius Black, from Azkaban and now he lives with him and a werewolf!" A lot of the French students were surprised by that, as they had been warned before traveling to England that Britain's Ministry's laws against magical creatures were far more ridged then their own. Overall, most looked impressed to hear about the boy's living arrangements.
The Beauxbatons boy looked back at the younger student once more with a mixed expression of admiration and disappoint that he probably would not be taking the beautiful and impressive young man to the Yule Ball.
There was also another Beauxbatons student who was now looking at the champion with curiosity, though what she would do about the information she'd just received about her fellow contender, she didn't know just yet.
Meanwhile, a little further down the table, Harry was just feeding a bit of his breakfast to an unfamiliar standard post owl before carefully retrieving the bundle of post from its ankle. It flew off just as Harry unshrank the bundle and frowned at its significant growth. Lately, the number of letters—as well as some very unwanted gifts—he'd been receiving from 'admirers' had more than doubled with all of the media attention he'd been getting because of the tournament lately. He was getting more secret portkeys than ever and had to spend even more time checking over each and every letter he'd received. Especially since one of his more aggressive 'fans' had smarted up and began labeling the return address being to 'Sirius Black' in hopes that Harry would open it without checking for spells or portkeys.
Reluctantly, Harry had reached the point that he had to send a letter to Philias to inquire about getting an official targeted postage-block—which was usually reserved only for high-ranking politicians and Ministry Officials—which would work much better to keep out those who were determined enough to get passed the general postage-block he had for everyone but those he actually wanted letters from. Philias had been nearly immediate in his response and had told Harry to make a list of those he specifically wanted to block, and also to send him the unwanted gifts and letters so that he could investigate, give out warnings, and file restraining orders for the worst of them (such as the ones who sent threats and curses and edged on actual offenses by talking about kidnapping and pedophilia).
They were still in the process of sorting that mess all out, so he was still getting quite a lot of mail. All in all, it was yet another big headache to sort through. Though, at least with this he could get outside help and put most of the work on someone else.
Amongst the mail that he didn't even bother to open—especially not there in the Great Hall when he had no idea what they contained—Harry finally hunted down the letter from Sirius and Remus and vanished the rest up to his dorm room for the day while he was in class. They were only about a week away from the start of winter holiday and Harry's last letter home had been to inform his guardians that he would—unfortunately—be unable to return as he was being forced to attend the Yule Ball celebration. He'd made it very clear in his letter that he very much did not want to attend, and was hoping that the letter he held would be his guardians sharing his opinion and would be offering to possibly get him exempted from the event.
However, what awaited him was not that at all. Apparently, Remus and Sirius had been over the moon at the news and informed him that he was to meet them at Hogsmead for the next Hogsmead trip they had at the end of the term and they would apparate Harry to Diagon Alley to get him fitted for new dress robes. Harry groaned inwardly and targeted his frustration at his invisible friend.
'This is all your fault, you know?' He silently grumbled.
'Oh really? And how do you figure, little raven?' Death inquired with seemingly perpetual amusement woven between his lipless teeth.
'This whole ordeal could have been avoided, had you helped me go after Voldemort sooner, before he put this ridiculous plan into motion!'
'Despite what you may think, I cannot actually see the future, and therefore I can only infer about Tom's behavior after the ritual. He will be disoriented, possibly in a lot of pain, and might lash out violently afterwards. At that point, you definitely weren't ready to face him in that state. Not only that, but you do not yet fully understand your connection with Tom and how it may affect you. It would not do well for you to hesitate in the moment because of it. Also, from what I've seen, you're only just finishing preparations for the ritual. Be angry all you like, but this tournament has put you where he needs you in order to access you, and it's given you the time you needed to prepare yourself.' Death argued back calmly, causing the majority of Harry's frustration to fizzle out.
Death was right, although it all seemed so tedious and unnecessary now, there was an end goal to it all that he kept letting slip his mind. He would endure the long dance lessons, the embarrassing and bothersome date-proposals, the fussing and robe-shopping with his guardians, and all of the other little annoyances along the way because in the end, all that mattered was the ritual. Harry would finish what he'd started and make sure that he did something useful with his immortal life.
Harry ignored the echoes of smugness he could feel radiating from the veil at his back, and continued to work through his breakfast before his first class began.
Several days later, the last Hogsmead trip of the term came and Harry reluctantly dressed and readied himself with the rest of his dormmates—dressing in his thick winter robes, water-resistant dragonhide boots, and a matching set of thick and very dark blue gloves and scarf that Remus had gifted him the previous Christmas. It had been snowing for the past few days and the recent temperatures had even the most eager third years feeling a little reluctant to make the trip.
Harry, however, slipped into an unused room on his way out—since his friends would be going together after breakfast and weren't currently with him—and donned his invisibility cloak before leaving Hogwarts. That way, he only had to walk to the edge of the wards before he could apparate the rest of the way. It didn't shave off much time, but even a single minute more not spent outside was a minute worth saving.
In Hogsmead, Harry found his guardians waiting at The Three Broomsticks and after a brief reunion, Sirius apparated to Diagon Alley and Remus followed soon behind with Harry on his arm. They headed straight for Twilfitt & Tattings, a more high-end tailor that had clientele such as the Malfoys, Zabinis, and most prominent families in Wizarding Britain, as well as some international connections.
Honestly, Harry didn't understand the need to purchase all new dress robes when he had perfectly fine ones he'd almost never worn waiting for him at home. When he brought this up to his escorts before they'd reached the shop, however, he received only a grin from Sirius and a soft tut from Remus. When they entered the shop, Harry could immediately see the difference between it and Madame Malkin's. Instead of large sections of pre-made clothes one could buy or have tailored for them, Twilfitt was significantly sparser with the majority of the clothing around the shop serving only as samples for customers to see and help with customizing their garments.
The head seamstress was a severe, no-nonsense woman with grey hair and a tight expression despite the wrinkles. Harry allowed his guardians to do most of the talking as he just stood on a little platform, followed her instructions and tried not to squirm as the enchanted tape measure flew about and took all of his measurements. The only time they really involved Harry in the deliberations came when selecting from a bunch of different swatches of dark fabric. Most were black or charcoal grey, with a few dark blues, greens, reds, or browns. Harry didn't pay much attention to color, and instead focused on the feel. If he would have to wear the robes all night and even dance in them, then he'd want something light and non-abrasive. In the end, he chose a black silk that caused the adults to change a few of their plans for design, but ultimately, they seemed rather pleased by his choice.
Harry was just thankful when they finally left, their order placed and the robes set to arrive at Hogwarts a few days before the ball. He hadn't paid enough attention to the discussion to know exactly what his robes would look like, but he knew that both the seamstress and his guardians were confident that he would turn heads.
They were about to all go get lunch when the door behind them opened once more and the seamstress called after them, they were in a less populated branch off of Diagon Alley and were able to hear her well enough from where they stood. Apparently, they'd forgotten a few details. Sirius quickly made his way over, but when Remus moved to follow, Harry stopped him for a moment to say he didn't want to go back in—it felt too stifling in there—and would wait outside while they finished up. Remus glanced around them at the nearly deserted alley before agreeing and telling Harry that they'd only be a moment.
Once alone, Harry breathed in the winter air deeply, even though it stung his lungs a bit. It was quite warm in the shop and now that his winter wear was back on, he definitely didn't want to step back into that furnace. After a moment, his attention wandered and he looked around at the buildings surrounding the shop, as it was his first time in that section of the alley. He could hear the busy rush of people a distance away at the mouth of the small branching alley he stood in and he wondered at the lack of people there.
Though, from what he could see, many of the buildings there were either offices with the curtains drawn, or empty and available for purchase or rent. Wanting to make sure the blood kept flowing to his limbs in the cold weather, Harry slowly began walking a bit deeper down the alley, making sure he was still in sight of Twilfitt should his guardians step out soon.
He was perhaps a good twenty meters away when the door to a shop to his right suddenly opened and a figure came out in a rush, startling Harry and catching him off guard so that he didn't move quick enough to avoid bumping into them. The other persons leather bag hit the ground and Harry apologized as he knelt to retrieve it for them.
"My apologies, I didn't mean to knock into you." He remarked politely as he stood and handed over the bag to a man who looked to be in his thirties with a very tall and thin build with a plain and unremarkable face. The man was in the middle of waving off the apology as he took his bag back when he actually looked at Harry and went completely still. His eyes wide and unblinking.
Harry wasn't really sure what to make of the reaction, so he kept his expression neutral and bid the man farewell, but before he could take a step away, the man dropped his bag once more in his haste to grab onto Harry's shoulders with both hands. He still didn't blink as his face stretched into a wide grin of pure glee.
"You're Harry." His voice was low with unmistakable awe and wonderment. Feeling highly uncomfortable with the physical contact, Harry gave a hesitant smile of acknowledgment as he tried to step out of the man's grip, with no luck. The man licked his lips nervously and squeezed his shoulders, causing an unpleasant chill to run up his spine.
"You might not recognize me, but it's me, Jonas. I know you've gotten my letters, right?" Harry felt his smile slip and the blood drain from his face. Jonas? Oh, he knew Jonas.
Jonas Bellmore. He was one of the very reasons that Harry had to talk to Philias in the first place. Since Harry was twelve, he'd been receiving letters from Jonas. At first it had been nothing more than the typical fanatic letters that praised him for his 'accomplishments' and went on about his future successes. Nothing truly concerning. But then, even though Harry never replied to any letter that wasn't family, friends, or official correspondence from Gringotts or the Ministry, Jonas would talk about things in his letters as if Harry were replying to them, talk about their 'growing bond.' Jonas seemed to truly believe there was some kind of relationship between them.
Jonas had also been one of the firsts to send him a portkey, in the form of what appeared to be an engagement ring, so that they could 'run away together.' The reason Harry even remembered the letters' contents was because of the way they grew more and more aggressive as he assumed Jonas devolved mentally. Fantastical and outlandish plans to sweep into Hogwarts and take him away for a life of luxury transformed into woeful laments about his 'beauty' and then into how dashing he would look with a ring of hand-shaped bruises around his fair neck, and so on.
His most recent letters had been so disturbing, Harry had to stop reading them and instead immediately got rid of them. And now, Harry was standing in the grasp of a clearly deranged man who had fantasies about hurting him in the most violent ways just to see his expressions or hear the noises he'd make. Harry's heart began to thump painfully in his chest and his breathing became shorter and stuttering as the panic set in.
"Release me, Jonas. If you truly knew me the way you claim to, you would know I don't like to be touched." Harry demanded fiercely, his voice coming out stronger than he felt capable. Jonas didn't let go, instead he took a step closer.
"But it's different for me, right?" One hand moved to caress his cheek and Harry felt ill as he turned his face away. "It must be fate for us to meet here like this. Merlin, you're even more breathtaking in person." His wide, glassy eyes took in his every feature with reverence and he moved even closer so that his hot breath hit Harry's cheek and the young Ravenclaw tried once again to pull away. Jonas leaned in to whisper right into his ear. "I'm going to take you home, Harry. . . I bet once I get you to bed you'll open right up for me, huh, like a delicate lily. . ." Harry stilled at his words. A strength filled his limbs and the miniscule tremble in his hands ceased. A familiar cold wrapped around him and he felt entirely calm once more. Because he wasn't alone. Never alone.
His mind cleared out the lingering panic and he could once more think clearly. With his next inhale, magic spilled over and bled into his bloodstream until it was nearly dripping from his fingertips. Lifting his hands, Harry wrapped his cold, thin fingers around Jonas' wrists and the man immediately jerked back at the sensation of pins and needles penetrating where Harry touched him. Harry pushed the offending appendages away from him but didn't let go. Jonas looked at his wrists in confusion, then in growing panic as the skin under Harry's smooth pale hands began to turn blue, then purple, then dark grey as the cells died, veins closed, and bones dried and became brittle.
Jonas tried to rip his hands out of Harry's grasp, but the young boy was far stronger than the man had anticipated. The air around them seemed to thicken and darken. Jonas choked as the decay then spread up his forearms, creeping ever closer. Harry's magic had almost reached Jonas' shoulders when he leaned in, capturing the man's attention once more. Gone was the admiration. Gone was the adoration. Now it was fear. Only fear.
Harry stared wide and unblinking into Jonas' eyes, searching as the man trembled. Jonas no longer saw the graceful and fragile boy that had been the target of his affections over the past couple of years, instead he felt small and weak under that gaze.
{How many?} Harry's voice was low and thick as it rolled over the language of the dead. Unnecessary, perhaps, but he was far too angry to bother. His rage boiled slow and burned in his gut like fire whiskey. Either way, he was certainly heard.
'Three. Three children before you.' Death answered emotionlessly and Harry had to close his eyes and grit his teeth to keep from releasing his rage on the man before him right there out in the snow.
"No." He spoke aloud, startling Jonas as his cold verdant eyes flashed open and landed on him once more. "Perhaps something else." And without any other warning, Harry gave a little grunt and he ripped open the veil behind him, taking a moment to watch Jonas' gaze shift to what lay behind him, before Harry stepped back into the veil, dragging Jonas with him as he sucked in a breath to scream. They were floating in a never-ending blackness; the only light came from the tear in the veil Harry had made.
A familiar presence rushed towards them and Jonas jerked back at the sensation before it converged on the man and Harry let go as Death wrapped his skeletal arms around the frantic man. Harry met his friends empty gaze as his anger slowly eased, abated by the sight of the predator's clear helplessness.
{I don't care what happens to him, so long as he never thinks of another child again.} Harry's cold voice echoed through the space and he caught the flash of a bone-white grin amongst billowing obsidian robes before he moved back towards the tear and pulled himself through, leaving Jonas behind. Harry calmly mended the tear seamlessly, cast a cleaning charm on every bit of himself and his clothing that Jonas had touched, straightened out his robes, and began the short stroll back towards Twilfitt's just as his guardians were stepping out.
Later that evening, Harry attended his second dance lesson, ate a meal of roasted chicken and potatoes for dinner, and went to bed early after some light reading.
