A pleasant warmth flowed through his body, just beneath the skin, pumping further with each steady beat of his heart. It was thick and sweet like syrup, and a lazy smile spread across his face. Beneath him, the soft and supple leather of the divan he was currently reclined on made the impression he was floating on a cloud.
"Would you care for another glass, my boy?"
Across the room, in front of a cabinet that stretched from floor to ceiling, Slughorn looked to Harry with large white eyes and a flushed face, holding a new, freshly opened bottle of the wine they had just been enjoying.
"Just one more, sir," said Harry indulgently, feeling a giggle bubble up from his throat.
"Yes, yes, one more has never hurt anybody. It seems as if I've misplaced some of my more refined vintages, but this one shall do just as well. We drink in celebration do we not?" Slughorn cheered with his glass, his jowls shaking. Splashes of red spilt and soaked into the rich carpet underfoot.
Harry nodded, and picked the glass floating towards him out of the air and took a long sip.
There had hardly been a moment to think since the resumption of classes following Katie's attack. The days were hectic and stressful and tense. Assignments piled up with the rapid approach of the holidays, and Harry struggled to find a moment away from his friends, their eyes never straying too far from the new mark on his face.
Beyond his own thinning patience, the toll of the end of term and its own unique stresses was felt around the castle. Come the final day of classes, students lumbered in heavy-eyed with hastily put together assignments, submitting them to professors whose heads drooped between sips from steaming cups of coffee and tea. Even Snape, perhaps the most unshakable, had been so distracted as of late that he'd forgotten to hand Harry detentions at every opportunity; and these spare moments had allowed him the one thing that drove him through the arduousness of each day.
Dumbledore liked to call them their 'magical evenings', and to Harry that is exactly what they were. He did not take these gifted moments lightly. It was a time separate from the world outside, and a place where he felt he could finally breath.
A subtle dullness had come over Harry's senses. Resting his head on the cushioned back of his seat, he flicked his eyes in the direction of Professor Slughorn, who'd sat across him.
"To think another year has almost gone and passed us by," the professor sighed. His voice was a gentle rumble to Harry's ears. Sitting on the roundness of his belly, his glass of wine balanced precariously.
Harry's final class before the holidays had been a test on Golpalott's Fourth Law of Poisons. Come the end of class, after Harry presented an expertly brewed antidote (largely in part to the Prince's book), Slughorn had invited him to come by his office for lunch.
"I would never have thought to find such pleasure in the times we are in," continued Slughorn, ponderously, before drinking deeply from his cup.
"I'm glad you've found some happiness, sir. Hogwarts is all the better for having you here."
His round face turned to Harry, its serious expression dropping and warm smiling taking its place. "It seems Albus was right with his constant pestering. I had nearly forgotten in my years of seclusion what it truly feels to be alive. Old Armando Dippet was headmaster into his early three hundred's, it makes me feel like the best is yet to come."
"Surely you don't plan on working that long, professor? That's near immortal. I feel like I'd be happily at rest by that point," Harry jested.
"No, no, immortality… well, it is better to not mention such things." Much of the color had drained from his face, leaving behind odd pale blotches on his neck and cheek. "Besides—" Slughorn wiggled in his seat, a chipper edge returning to his voice "—before we can speak of days so far into the future, we must survive tonight!"
He finished his drink with a grand flourish.
Harry laughed, and continued to sip carefully at his own. He knew it would be his last.
A lull settled between the two of them, quiet, affable, the air warmed by the orange haze of the fireplace crackling at their side. After several moments, Professor Slughorn cleared his throat.
"You know I am partial to a bit of gossip every now and then," he said, a wry smile playing at the corner of his lip, "but I just couldn't help but overhear rumblings of you missing a date for my party tonight?"
"Actually, sir… I am taking someone." The man immediately perked up in his seat, and leaned forward with great interest. "I'll be going with Daphne."
He looked surprised, but a strange smile soon grew beneath his large mustache. "Miss Greengrass, you say?"
Harry nodded.
Amongst the rest of what the end of term had to offer, he'd also been forced to deal with the gossip of who he was planning on taking to Professor Slughorn's Yule Party. It appeared to be a very important topic to the rest of the school. No one quite believed him when he said he was already taken, and some—the likes of Romilda Vane in particular—were more persistent than others. It had become a sort of running joke in Gryffindor to keep tally of the number of times he had to say 'no' each day.
"A lovely girl—extraordinarily talented and comes from a great family," Slughorn said. "I taught both her father and grandfather, you know? They were wonderful students, great technique in their brewing, but that comes as no surprise given the importance of potions in the art business. Although, some would be surprised you did not take Miss Granger…"
The look he gave Harry was not what he had been expecting.
"Er, no—" Harry tugged uncomfortably at his color. He could feel a rush of color take hold of his face. "Me and Hermione aren't like that."
Slughorn gave a big bellied laugh, clearly amused. "Well, that's no business of mine. But I will say she's dangerously sharp that friend of yours, I always look forward to reading her papers. Such talent…" His voice drifted off and echoed against the stone walls of his lavishly decorated office. "Sometimes it's almost like looking back into the past."
Not quite knowing what to say, Harry chose to sit silently and watch as Slughorn's eyes traveled to the rows of photographs sat on his mantel in a glazed, distant stare.
"Enough of me and my propensity to reminisce, let us speak of something more exciting!" Slughorn said suddenly, shaking himself out of his trance. "I've received countless letters these last few weeks expressing their excitement and anticipation of meeting you tonight, Harry!"
"In all honesty, sir, I am a bit nervous," he said, knowing this was the exact type of evening he had come to detest.
"There is no need to worry. You have faced worse than a collection of enraptured socialites if what I have been hearing is true." He winked at Harry. "In any case, I will be close at hand, ready to swoop in if you ever need saving. I've been told I have a talent for distracting others with mindless conversation."
"Thank you, sir," Harry chuckled. "I feel safer already."
"A former student of mine mentioned the want to speak to you, and this one, I think, you won't want to miss out on." Something twinkled in the depth of Slughorn's eye, the look on his red, wrinkled face was almost coy.
"Who is it?"
"Perhaps the most famous witch in all of Britain! Gwenog Jones, of course!" Slughorn looked mightily impressed with himself with this pronouncement. "You are friendly with her sister Megan are you not? Perhaps some word of your talent for Quidditch has reached her ears. I dare say you might even be better than your father."
"Wow," said Harry, the word slipping from his mouth unknowingly. His mind was off busy thinking about their previous meeting and her offer.
"Oh yes, a wonderful woman," Slughorn stated with a slight puff to his chest. He set his glass to the side and continued. "There will be plenty of interesting characters present. I have a good friend, Eldred Worple, who is returning from a tour of the continent. He is a bit of an excitable man, but he lives for adventure and his writing. He wrote me about meeting the most fascinating companion on his latest trip, and is bringing him along. The Ministry was apparently giving him a bit of trouble, but I managed to smooth things down between them."
"What was the cause of the trouble?"
"He's a Vampire! You need special reccomendations for that sort of thing. They met while travelling near the Black Forest of Bavaria."
"And he's bringing him here?"
Harry couldn't quite recall everything he had learnt about Vampires in the past, but he knew of their reclusive nature, fear of direct sunlight and, most importantly in this case, their insatiable thirst for blood.
"Minister Scrimgeour wasn't very pleased with admitting a dark creature into the country. The Ministry banned all vampires from living on the isle after a nasty incident in 1729 that threatened the Statute of Secrecy. But I managed to convince them if he was travelling with old Eldred, then he must be a tame one."
"And the Ministry was okay with this?" Harry wasn't entirely sold on the idea of a Vampire attending.
"A former student of mine quite high up in the Department of Magical Creatures managed to get the appropriate papers in time for their arrival. Though, the Minister has insisted a team of Aurors must escort them for the duration of the evening."
"I suppose it will be an interesting experience," said Harry, feeling a touch unnerved.
Glancing over his shoulder to a large wooden clock hanging on the far wall, Harry was able to see that nearly two hours had gone by. Slughorn, catching his eye, noticed the time as well.
The potions professor picked himself up from his seat with a light groan and moved to his cabinet to put away their empty glasses. Stepping behind his desk, he paused and reached towards its cluttered surface. He stood there for some time, as though contemplating something, before finally turning back to Harry, his sausage-like fingers playing nervously with the folds of a white envelope.
"I was given this… not a few days ago. It is not uncommon for former students of mine to reach out, but this one—well, let us just say it has been some time." He approached Harry carefully, the envelope still partially hidden up his sleeve so that the writing on its cover was obscured. "Given these strained times, I have been debating what exactly to do with this ever since it arrived. It was entirely unexpected, of course! She was one of my better students all those years ago, but surrounded herself with the wrong sort of people. Her declining of my invitation came as no surprise, but what did come as a shock was this attachment."
Slowly, without a word, he reached out and passed over the envelope. Taking it and reaching inside, Harry could feel the expensive vellum under his fingertips.
"I'm not sure what business she has in writing you," Slughorn continued. "Especially given the recent history between your two families, but I figured it best if I passed it on and let you come to your own decision."
Harry nodded in understanding, his thumb stroking the thick, dark wax of the already broken seal. He didn't recognize the writing, as delicate inky letters slowly came into existence in a manner that was eerily similar to Tom Riddle's diary. The letter was short, the tiny script immaculate in its shape and spacing, and the message clear.
To Harry James Potter,
I understand any reservations you might have in reading my message, and it is well within your right to stop now and burn this letter to ash, but I ask you—as a mother—to hear my plea.
Through this war, I have already lost two sisters, a pain that will never go away: one to madness and another to a family I can never accept. I cannot lose any more. My son is in danger, lost in the mess of his parents. I have been locked out, frozen in the cold of his detachment, and been forced to watch as he's rotted under the weight of something he will not share. I know of his past actions towards you and your friends, but I beg you to do what his own mother has failed in, and save him from himself. You are the best chance he has.
Narcissa Malfoy
"I can't believe you got drunk with a professor again!"
Hermione's brown eyes burrowed into him like a pair of Nifflers from her seat across him at the Gryffindor table. It was clear she wasn't impressed. Ron on the other hand was trying his best to hide his snickering.
"I didn't get drunk," Harry said, bending the truth. Much of the wine had worn off after he ate.
"That's beside the point! It's entirely irresponsible. You aren't even of age yet!"
Harry wasn't sure why she was telling him this, when it was Slughorn she should be scolding. Though he remained quiet on that matter, because he knew, come tonight, she would if he mentioned it.
"Oh come on Hermione, my brothers were sneaking drinks starting back in third year. It's not that big of a deal for wizards," Ron said, somewhat snappily.
Harry looked between his two friends, feeling something was off. Their usual bickering was missing much of its playfulness and the glare Hermione sent back lacked its usual affection.
What's going on between them? Harry wondered to himself.
"Listen, there's something I want to show you," Harry said impatiently. Ron and Hermione both turned to him, taking extra care to keep their gazes apart from one another. "When I was leaving Slughorn's office, he passed this on to me." Harry sat the opened letter on the table. Hermione reached out first and unfolded it to read. "I'm not really sure what to make of it."
He watched Hermione carefully as her eyes scanned the parchment once, twice and what looked to be a third time. Silently, and seemingly forgetting her previous issues, she handed the letter over to Ron who took it with a muttered 'thanks'. Ron's eyebrows slowly crept higher and higher up his forehead the further he read, to the point where they almost reached his hairline.
"Are you sure this is real? That it came from… her?" Hermione finally said in a whisper, breaking the meaningful pause that had fallen over them. Ron remained silent, still holding the letter, now frowning heavily.
Harry slipped out his wand and subtly cast the Muffliato charm. "Slughorn was certain it came from her, and I trust him."
"Do you think she's telling the truth?"
"To an extent," Harry replied.
"Who the hell does she think she is, telling you about losing family!" Ron broke in furiously. His face was the shade of a blazing red he had never seen before. "It's her bloody family who are a part of the ones responsible for it!"
"I know, Ron, thanks mate," said Harry smiling faintly. He gripped his friends shoulder in a brotherly gesture. "I don't think she really cares about me or my family and what's happened. I think it's only Draco she's really worried about, which… is sort of understandable."
"It's still entirely out of order for her to expect you to do anything," Hermione said.
"I think she's desperate," Harry replied, deep in thought. The letter still troubled him greatly. He took it from Ron and read it again.
"I think it's a trap." Ron looked Harry carefully in the eyes. "She's a Malfoy, you can't trust any of them. She has to have another motive behind the letter."
"It is her only son," Hermione pointed out. "I know what I would do in her position, and—" she stopped and looked at Harry, while toying with the frizzy ends of her hair "—we all know what your mum did for you."
Harry sucked in a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. He felt his head and heart slowdown from their racing pace. "I'm not concerned with what mothers will do for their sons, because she'd equally curse me dead for Draco if given half the chance. The important thing is that this letter proves what I've been saying: Malfoy is up to something."
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but quickly closed it without a word. She looked torn, her mind fighting over evidence, common sense and motive. "It doesn't really prove anything." Her hand shot up to stop Harry's coming outburst. "It suggests that there is something wrong in his life. Now, that could be caused by a number of things, like his father going to prison, You-Know-Who starting an open war his family is in the middle of, or the fact that his girlfriend's mind was essentially destroyed."
"Or it could be because Voldemort gave him a mission and he's a Death Eater," Harry grumbled.
A kindle of resentment burned within him then, as he stared at Hermione. Why did she refuse to believe him? Had he not been right about enough things in the past to warrant some sort of trust? He was about to open his mouth again, when Ron spoke up first.
"Something's up with Malfoy, you're right about that, mate." Ron gave Harry a distinct nod of the head. "Whether he's a Death Eater or not, I don't know, but first he's sneaking around the castle with that silk bag of his, and then all of a sudden Katie almost dies by touching a cursed necklace. I don't think that's a coincidence."
"Ronald!" Hermione gasped, her hands shooting up to cover her mouth. "You can't think Malfoy tried to kill Katie?!"
Harry checked over his shoulder in the direction of the Slytherin table. Amongst the scattered heads of students wearing their green-trimmed robes, Malfoy's blonde head wasn't there.
"It has to be!" Harry jumped in. "He's the only suspect that really makes sense. His girlfriend dies, and then he retaliates."
"But why Katie?" Hermione asked, her eye's wide and very disbelieving.
"I don't think he really cared who it was," Ron spat out. The look on his face was dark, and his eyes betrayed thoughts even darker. "I say he deserves Azkaban for what he did. Maybe he can share a cell with daddy."
"And Mrs. Malfoy wants you to… help him?" Hermione turned to Harry, both perplexed and uncertain of the idea. "What does she mean by you being his best chance?"
"This smells like You-Know-Who's doing, Harry. It's just another way for him to somehow get close to you." Ron gripped him tightly around the arm, his large blue eyes filled with rage and fear. "Nothing good has ever come from the Malfoy family."
"It doesn't really matter now," Harry finally broke in, his head starting to hurt from all the arguing and wine. "We're leaving Hogwarts after tonight. How about we ask your dad over the holidays, Ron, and see what he thinks. Maybe Mad-Eye or Kingsley can help as well."
Both Ron and Hermione seemed to like the idea, and nodded in acceptance.
"And if you ask me, finding out what Malfoy is up to is far more important than saving him," Harry said, while folding the letter and tucking it into his robes.
The remainder of their late lunch passed on in a more pleasant fashion, and Harry noticed the earlier tension between Ron and Hermione had simmered down. They talked about the exams and assignments they had crammed in the last few days, and of their approaching visit to the Burrow and who they were excited to see.
For a moment, as Ron detailed a letter he had received from Charlie about winter on the dragon reserve, Harry looked between his friends and smiled at the glimpse at how things used to be.
However, the moment was short lived.
Taking out her wand and casting a quick tempus charm, Hermione jolted and jumped to her feet. A slight grimace crossed her face. "I need to leave to get ready for tonight," she said, while hastily packing up a scattering of loose papers into her bag.
"So early?" Harry questioned. It was still a good few hours before the party started. Slughorn had told him the first guests were set to arrive at half-past seven, and Daphne had asked him to meet her in the main hall at eight.
"It takes me time to get ready." Hermione pulled unthinkingly at her hair. "A lot of important people from the Ministry will be there tonight, and I want to make a good impression."
"I guess I should probably head up soon as well and shower. You coming Ron?"
"Actually—" Ron's eyes darted away from Hermione and in the direction of the mostly empty Ravenclaw table "—I'm not going to Slughorn's party."
Harry stopped short and turned to his friend in disbelief. Wasn't he going with Hermione?
"Each year at the end of term, Ravenclaw hosts a broom race around the grounds for NEWT students. A lot of the D.A. members are going," Ron continued, not looking the least bit disappointed at not attending the Yule Party. In fact, he looked almost happy. "Think I might have a chance of winning since you won't be there. You don't mind if I borrow your Firebolt, do you?" Harry nodded and Ron pumped his fist in excitement, his grin growing wider. "Nice! There's an after party as well, so I guess I'll see you two on the train."
Stepping away and waving goodbye, Ron left to join a growing collection of upper year students at the entrance to the hall.
Harry couldn't help but feel just a little disheartened that there was broom race going on he couldn't take part in. He turned back to Hermione, noticing her silence. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, staring after Ron.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Hermione replied quickly—too quickly. Something resembling hurt flashed across her face.
"You're not taking him?"
"I—He… I'm going with Cormac." Hermione couldn't meet his eyes.
Harry felt his eyebrows climb up his forehead. Had he been drinking water, he was certain he would have spat it across the entire hall. "What are you doing going with him? We both know the type of person he is."
"I wasn't thinking okay!" Hermione burst. "I panicked. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to ask Ron, but…"
All strength seemed to leave her body in that moment. She slumped down on the bench. Her face disappeared behind her hands.
Harry took a seat next to her and waited.
"Have you not noticed how Ron isn't around as much?" He could hear the tears in her voice. "I thought maybe we would—that he… it was foolish." Her shoulders shook against him. She sounded miserable. "I asked McLaggen because I thought it would get his attention."
Eventually, Hermione lifted her head and peered up at him with watery brown eyes. "It hasn't been the same this year," she said, sounding so very small in that moment, like the little girl trapped in a bathroom with a troll. "Everything is falling apart. Nothing is like how I thought it would be."
Harry was lost for words. What had happened? How had he missed all of this? He searched his memory, but couldn't find any clear instances. In truth, he hadn't noticed anything.
It had just been this summer where he thought it was only a matter of time for the two of them, but now…
Hermione opened her mouth to say something but closed it just as quickly, as if thinking better of it. Hermione was one to rarely hold back her words, especially when it came to him.
"You've been distant, Harry. I miss you," she said instead.
Harry sat there, silently, lost in her words.
It was true. He couldn't pretend otherwise. He'd been distant. A rift had grown at some point, one small, insignificant and unnoticeable at first—likely after returning from the graveyard, now that he thought of it—but over time it had grown. It had grown and grown, with him enduring and suffering and shutting himself off inside. But the prophecy was the tipping point. Trelawney's words had changed everything. Dumbledore had given him a choice that night, cramped in Mr. Weasley's cluttered shed, and he'd chosen. Chosen to cast himself off from his friends in a detachment which could not be mended.
For a moment, a second of absolute vulnerability that seemed to drag on infinitely, Harry considered revealing to Hermione everything. It was a mad thought, something entirely keeping with himself, and a way to, perhaps not heal the chasm between them, but reel it in and involve his friends as he'd always had before. But he couldn't.
The moment passed, as did his weakness and his madness; and the secrets he held weighed crushingly on his soul.
"I'm sorry." It was all he could say.
For about the thousandth time since exiting the common room, Harry found himself scratching and tugging at a spot just underneath his left arm where a bothersome seam was digging into his skin.
The material of his dress robes for the evening were a fine silk, which had cost him a fair few galleons over owl order. Depending on the light, the black of the silk would flicker between shades of deep purples and blues and greens.
However, given the rushed nature of his last minute order and the franticness of holiday shopping in general, his robes came in a size too large. With Dean's help, they managed to charm the material down to a suitable size. Ginny's boyfriend was especially talented at subtle charms, but even still, the robes were not a perfect fit.
A part of Harry was thankful for the pinching material, as it distracted his mind from most of his anxiety over the evening. Standing at the bottom of the staircase leading to the entry foyer, he let out a long held breath trying to clear the remnants of the nerves playing inside him.
The halls and corridors of Hogwarts were nearly vacant, with students likely throwing together some last minute packing before enjoying a final evening in the common room before the holidays. No one had walked past Harry in the ten minutes he'd been standing waiting.
Two giant Christmas trees had been put up on either side of the main door to the castle, and fantastically cut ice sculptures were fashioned into decorative fountains all along the path to the entrance of the Great Hall. It reminded him of the Yule Ball and years previous where he'd stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays.
Checking the time, Harry saw that it had just hit eight o'clock, and precisely at that moment he could hear the distinct sound of heels clipping on stone.
Looking up and across to the staircase directly opposite his own, Harry felt his breath catch and his heart stutter within his chest.
Daphne, wearing a dress that glittered in the low-light like a jewel, looked absolutely stunning. Its color matched the shade of her brilliant eyes, and the fabric stretched over one of her pale shoulders, leaving the other bare, and hugged its way down her willowy figure.
She smiled at him, and Harry felt his throat dry.
"You're hear on time," She raised an eyebrow at him, teasingly. The scent of peaches tickled his nose pleasantly.
"And we are already late," Harry noted. "I didn't know purebloods were ones to arrive fashionably late."
"Well, I wouldn't expect a halfblood like yourself to understand," she replied with a matching smirk. "Sometimes it's best to make an entrance."
Her confidence was intoxicating.
Feeling his earlier nerves begin to swell, Harry rubbed along his jaw and breathed in deeply. From his pocket, he took out his wand and walked towards the edge of the nearest fountain. He could see the intrigue lurking behind Daphne's gaze.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember Dumbledore's words exactly as he had taught them. He could feel floating in front of him the sculpture of a snowflake, and from each of its six unique arms, water shot out, dancing like colored ribbons in the wind.
With a gentle swish of his wand, he took command of its multicolored streams, directing them in the air like the conductor of an orchestra. Reds, blues and greens and silvers all intertwined within one another in a gentle mist, slithering like a rainbow of snakes amongst a tangle of vines.
When Dumbledore had first introduced the topic of elemental transfiguration to Harry, weeks ago, he thought he would be taught a cute trick to use for Daphne. Instead, they had delved much, much deeper.
"Elemental transfiguration is not turning a matchstick into a needle or a porcupine into a pincushion. It is manipulation of the foundations of the earth itself," Dumbledore had said as he filled a cup with fresh dirt and traced his wand carefully overtop. "It is not switching between animate and inanimate, but taking the very building blocks of life and using them to accomplish feats beyond imagination."
Harry could still remember the crisp freshness of the water at the back of his throat, and the way Dumbledore's eyes twinkled when passing over the cup.
"Whether it be the most delicate of tasks or something earth shattering in nature, there is no truer way to wield such power than with what came before us and what will most certainly remain after us."
Now, like the blood in his veins, Harry could feel the magic of the water flowing across his skin, and with a final spin of his wand, the colored streams coalesced into one, refracting the light like a diamond. With precise brushes, the streak of water flowed through the air and attached itself to the base of Daphne's wrist. She stood frozen in place, her mouth agape and eyes wide and dumbfounded. Like a vine, it wrapped and weaved across the pale skin of her forearm, branching out and blooming into an arrangement of lilies and roses and orchids, lush with more color than seemed natural.
The spell had ended, but the silence between the two remained.
"How?" That seemed to be the only word Daphne could find. Her blue eyes stared wonderfully at Harry.
"Just a little trick I picked up," said Harry, with a boldness he hadn't intended. He wasn't quite sure where it came from. "It won't die… in case you were wondering," he added.
"Why is that?" Daphne asked, staring at the flowers on her wrist. Delicately, her fingers stroked the edges of the petals, as if testing to see if they were truly real.
"Water gives life—it refreshes. It's a cycle that isn't touched by time. Those properties have been transferred to its current form." He explained it as Dumbledore did to him. "It's a lot easier to do with water than any other element. Water on its own is neutral, malleable, and can flow in whichever way it wishes. Whereas fire is more difficult because of its hunger and burning passion, or earth is limited by its rigidity and need for structure."
"That's… actually quite fascinating," said Daphne, looking at Harry in a way that made heat crawl up his neck. "To think people thought you were actually stupid until the Triwizard Tournament."
Harry laughed and took her arm, leading her to the party. But before they reached the first of the moving staircases, Harry stopped. "Do you want to take the staircase? Because I know some passages we can take instead."
Daphne looked at him queerly. The barest hint of color rose in her cheeks. "Are you trying to get me alone in a dark passageway?"
"No, nothing like that," Harry quickly corrected himself, blushing like a fool. His hand itched at the irritating seam at his side. "The stairs have just been a bit… unpredictable as of late and I could do without their excitement right now."
"I figured, Harry," Daphne laughed. The sound was gentle and pleasant to his ears. "You aren't the type to take advantage of a woman in tightly enclosed spaces."
"Just think of it as the Harry Potter exclusive tour of Hogwarts. It'll prove pretty useful in getting to class on time."
"Only for people who lack punctuality."
The banter between the two of them continued all the way as they travelled through Hogwarts. Despite Daphne's best attempts to hide it, Harry could tell she was impressed with each false wall, disappearing tapestry, and whispered word to activate a moving portrait or statue. An excited smile was spread across her lips and it was the most care free he had ever seen her.
"Are you sure that was him? I couldn't understand a word he was saying," Harry remarked as they finally got past a stubborn old portrait that refused to move out of their way.
"Yes, Harry, I'm sure that was him. The former caretaker before Filch. He was a stickler for rules and guarded the castle like it was his own child. I remember grandfather speaking about him once, it's why he wouldn't let us pass."
"You mean until I threated to blow him to pieces so small they couldn't put him back together?"
"Yes, until you did that," Daphne giggled.
"He must have been speaking backwards then, nothing he said made any sense."
"No, that was Gobbledegook. It was the only language he was able to communicate in, which was why none of the students ever understood what he was saying. You're thinking of Jorpus the Jumbled, the wizard who tried to make a translation spell but ended up only speaking backwards for the rest of his life. He's down by the third floor bathroom if I'm not mistaken."
"Oh, now that I think about it, he did sound a little bit throaty. How do you know so much about these paintings?" Harry asked, impressed. Most students hardly paid any attention to the painted eyes that followed them around the halls, having become desensitized to it all over the years.
"My family has a history of dealing in art. I guess some of it has rubbed off over the years," Daphne said with a shrugged.
The sound of the party and its rising din could be heard as they turned the corner before Slughorn's office. The buzz of lively music and impaired laughter could be heard filtering from inside.
In a distinctly theatrical manner, Harry drew in an exaggerated breath to which Daphne elbowed him sharply in the side.
"Suck it up, it won't be that bad," she said with a snort and nudged him into the room.
Had Harry not known any better, he would have thought he had walked into Fred and George's shop. It was absolute madness, though not in a bad way, given the outlandishly expensive decorations that were arranged around the room, but in the general chaos and absurdity that surrounded him. Fairies fluttered around the room trailing their moving light in a manner resembling strange comet-like tails; the outfits of attendees ranged from a collection of tapestries wrapped similar to a mummies bandages, to a wearable chandelier and a dress that changed color based on the mood of those around it; a band of small gnomish figures comprised the strangest string quartet Harry had ever seen; and a woman wrapped head-to-toe in fur had decided to bring all nine of her Kneazles.
"Harry, my boy! I am so glad to see you've made it!" Through the crowd, Harry could see Professor Slughorn bouncing towards them. He stopped with an incredibly pleased grin plastered over his face and accepted a flute of champagne from a floating silver platter. "You as well, Miss Greengrass—don't you look marvelous. Such a spiffing pair the two of you make!"
"Thank you again for the invitation, sir," said Harry. "It looks like it will be an interesting evening."
"Yes, yes—well, I find that it is best to add a hint of spice wherever possible in life, especially given how dry some of the Ministry personnel can be at times." He finished his drink with a practiced sweep of the arm and returned his glass to another silver try passing by. "I will leave you two for now, but I won't be too far away in case you need me." He gave Harry a wink and turned back to the rest of the party, shouting after a witch in pink.
It was after his departure where the fun really started, or at least for Daphne it did. She pulled Harry along to various important looking people who she seemed very interested in speaking to, and who, in turn, seemed more interested in speaking to Harry. Daphne spoke for the both of them, and more often than not won their interest with her charm. It was a monotonous cycle of names and positions and false pleasantries, which very quickly wore him down.
He found far more enjoyment in watching the room around him, resorting to the occasional grunt to respond to any questions posed to him. Popping in and out within the crowd, McLaggen and Hermione played a thrilling game of cat and mouse, as she did her best to avoid her date while simultaneously trying to speak to as many Ministry officials as possible. Dean and Ginny were standing next to a long table laden with food, looking to be in the middle of one of their more frequently occurring rows, while just off to the side was Blaise standing with a rather voluptuous seventh year Hufflepuff, eyeing the couple like a hawk. In the midst of it all, there was an old witch with more wrinkles than a raisin who kept shooting him furtive glances from across the room. Before he could continue his observing of the party, a tug on his arm brought his attention back to Daphne.
Standing in front of them now, replacing the two portly wizards Daphne had been engaged with previously, was a stout man with horn-rimmed glasses and another who looked more beautiful than handsome. The latter man was so pale his skin was nearly translucent, and the sharpness of his features drew you in to the two dark pits of his eyes.
"Mr. Worple, isn't it?" said Harry, extending his hand to them both. He wasn't surprised by the noticeably stronger grip of Mr. Worple's beautiful companion. "Professor Slughorn told me about you and your friend."
"Harry Potter! I am very honored for you to know my name. I see Horace has been putting in a good word for me! I'll need to thank him when I see him tonight." The man was a big ball of nervous excitement. He was nearly vibrating on the spot. "Allow me to introduce my special companion for this evening, Sanguini." He gestured to the unmistakable vampire beside him.
"A pleasure," Harry said, smiling tightly. His eyes hadn't left Sanguini since the moment he recognized what he was. "This is Daphne Greengrass," Harry introduced.
Daphne looked just as uncomfortable as Harry felt in front of Sanguini, and quickly turned to Mr. Worple's much more pleasant face.
"Ah, a Greengrass, how wonderful! I've had some dealings with your family for my publications," he said, before shooting a calculating look at Harry. "Speaking of books, I have always wondered when yours would come out?"
"Mine?" Harry asked surprised.
"Why yes, of course! The biography of Harry Potter! I find myself asking the same question every day: when will the world know your story? Wasn't I telling you this earlier, Sanguini?" The vampire paid him not attention, his eyes fixed solely on Harry in a dead, unblinking stare. "No matter, Sanguini loses himself at times—no doubt a by-product of living so long. I'll tell you what, if you set aside a few afternoons for me I would be delighted to write your story for you. It would be done quicker than you would think, and the galleons we would make—"
"Mr. Worple, pardon my interrupting, but you spoke about doing business with my family. I would love if you could tell me more about that," Daphne asked innocently, pulling at the sleeve of his dress robes in a way that made the man blush like a schoolgirl.
Worple couldn't help but surrender to Daphne's will.
"We were fated to meet Mr. Potter," Sanguini spoke for the first time, and Harry very much wished he hadn't. His voice was like fresh steel, both sharp and smooth with an underlying danger that sent a shiver down his spine.
"I guess you could say that," Harry replied carefully. "I heard that Mr. Worple met you near the Black Forest."
"He did not encounter me. I sought him out. But yes, that is where my kind finds its home."
"Why were you looking for him?" Harry asked, unsure of where this was leading, yet still having a feeling that he wouldn't like where it ended up. In that moment, he really wished he had taken up Luna's offer and bought some of her father's garlic jewelry.
"The shadows spoke that we were fated to meet. Worple was merely a vessel to which fate used to bring us together."
Something cold took hold Harry. "So you're a seer?"
With quicker reflexes than Harry could ever dream of having, Sanguini's arm snapped into motion. Had he gone for Harry's neck, he undoubtedly would have been dead. Instead, resting in Sanguini's corpse-like hand was a rat. From behind pale lips, razor sharp fangs grew and sunk deeply into the squealing animal's innards as he greedily drank its blood.
Harry was speechless, and looking around to Daphne and the crowd beside him, he appeared to be the only one to have seen this.
The vampire looked directly at him, while its tongue looped around its lips, lapping up stray droplets of blood.
"Seers are for those with the eye, and their living blood upon which we feast. In my state of eternal existence, we see differently. The plane of shadows extends beyond that of the eye. You will encounter my kind again. It would do you good to remember that hunger drives us and we devour those who don't seek to join us. We live in the night, and you best pray that morning comes quick." Sanguini finished with a show of his red-stained fangs, before turning back to his companion with a flat look on his face as if nothing had come to pass.
Harry must have looked quite the sight, because when Daphne turned to speak to him she immediately gripped his arm and led him away to get a drink. "What happened? Are you okay?" she asked worriedly. Her eyebrows were scrunched up in concern, and her hand reached to feel his forehead.
"Nothing… it's just that I really don't like vampires."
"I don't blame you," she said, while scooping out a foaming green punch from a cauldron and handing it to him, "they are awful creatures. The best decision the Ministry ever made was getting rid of them."
Harry took a sip of his drink and nearly choked on the strength of the alcohol in the punch. His throat was burning, and not in the intentional way that it was meant to like with fire whiskey.
The two of them shared a subtle look before simultaneously pouring the punch back into the communal cauldron and placing their empty glasses on the first floating tray that passed them. They managed to hold themselves together for a moment before bursting out laughing.
"Oh, Harry, thank goodness!"
Hermione came bursting towards them just as they were beginning to compose themselves. Strands of her brown hair had started to make an escape from the mounds of Sleekeazy potion she'd used to trap them. "The mistletoe—" she stopped and looked around in a panic "—He… never mind, I managed to get away just in time—Oh! Hello Greengrass," she said distractedly and immediately turned back to Harry. "What is she doing here?"
"We actually came together."
"Why did I decide to take him?" Hermione continued to ramble without pause, not hearing Harry's response. "He's so touchy and everything he says is so completely inappropriate."
Her eyes suddenly fell upon the great foaming cauldron, and she reached to pour herself a glass.
"No!" Harry and Daphne shouted together in horror.
"Why?" Hermione looked at them perplexed.
Daphne looked at the full glass in her hand and said, "Unless you wish to die."
"In that case…" Hermione quickly filled another glass and downed both of them in succession. Harry stared at his friend, lost for words. In fact, she wasn't done, as she quickly filled two more glasses before scurrying away into a crowd of very outspoken wizards arguing over the current British and Irish Quidditch League season.
"Ah! Harry, mate, have you see your little friend Hermione around? I've seemed to have lost her." Cormac McLaggen appeared out of nowhere from behind Harry's shoulder.
"Uh, no…"
He scratched his blonde hair in confusion, and his eyes roamed the sea of guests. "Huh? Funny, I thought I had spotted her over here."
"Well—er, she was here… but she had to leave to do, uh… womanly things…"
"Womanly things?" A disgusted look crossed his handsome face, before quickly morphing into something that could only be described as unashamedly lecherous.
Harry only noticed his mistake when it was already too late.
"Well then, maybe I'll stop by and help her out with a serving of the McLaggen Special." McLaggen shot him and Daphne what he likely considered to be a charming smile, but was more hideous than anything else.
"Cormac!" Harry heard Daphne call out from his side. There was something dangerous in her voice as she spoke. "I saw your Aunt Drezela across the room earlier, she was telling me how much she misses her 'little Mac' and wanted me to let her know if I saw you."
Something miraculous happened in that moment. In less than a second Cormac transformed from his pompous perverted self into a frightened little boy. "You didn't see me," he squeaked before scampering off to the furthest corner of the room.
"Womanly things?" Daphne turned to Harry when McLaggen was finally gone, her arms crossed and feet tapping against the ground.
"Admittedly, not my best work," Harry said. His hand reached to itch where the pinching seam had gotten worse under his arm. "I don't remember meeting an Aunt Drezela," he remarked as the pair of them sifted through the throngs of the party. More people than ever appeared to be packed into the room.
"We never did," she replied simply.
"Then how did you know that would work?"
"Purebloods like to gossip."
It was the only explanation he got.
As they entered a small gap in the crowd, which eventually would clear to become a dance floor, Harry spotted a familiar figure a dozen feet away swarmed by a horde of guests. Gwenog Jones shot him a wink, indicating she noticed him as well.
"Is there a reason that old lady keeps on staring at you?" Daphne spoke up from his side. Her eyes were directed at the woman he had noticed earlier. She was standing just beyond Gwenog, partially hidden by a heavy curtain that hung from the wall.
Before he could respond, Gwenog managed to detach herself from her fans and made her way towards him.
"Harry Potter, Professor Slughorn mentioned you would be here, I'm glad he wasn't emptily boasting. A pleasure, Gwenog Jones," she introduced herself, her face blank and inviting, and giving no indication they had met previously.
Harry and Daphne replied in kind.
"I'm sorry to have steal away such a good looking date," said Gwenog, looking over to Daphne with sympathy in her eyes, "but I need to talk to Harry here alone. Confidential Quidditch stuff—a load of nonsense if you ask me—but I don't make the rules, I just play the game."
Daphne did not look the least bit pleased with this development, but rather argue, she stepped and painted a polite smile on her comely face.
"I'll be back right away," she said pointedly. Her eyes never left Gwenog's, who met her stare head-on. "I'll grab us some of the food Slughorn put out." She then left promptly and without another word.
"You've got yourself a feisty one there, and a Slytherin too." Gwenog grinned at him cheekily and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I was at your last match; you were very impressive. Just don't get too cocky, because catching the snitch gets infinitely harder when you hit pro."
"The team has been playing surprisingly well with so many new faces and Katie was doing a fantastic job."
"Still just as humble, I see. Who's the captain now?"
"We actually haven't decided on that yet," Harry replied. In truth, the team had tried to thrust the captaincy on him again and he had to decline.
"You should take it," Gwenog said seriously. "Only until Bell comes back, but it's important to get a taste of what it's like." Pausing, and checking carefully around the room, she pulled him into a quiet corner of the party. "Before we get into some of the more serious stuff, has my sister talked to you recently?"
Harry was caught off guard with the question. "I haven't really seen her since the accident," he said honestly.
There was sadness and disappointment in Gwenog's eyes. "Megan has had a really tough time since the incident. She's locked up in her dorm most days and keeps pushing off the homework the professor's bring her. I know why, and everything would make more sense if you knew too, but it isn't my place to tell. Whenever you have a chance… I just think she'd like to talk to you."
Harry nodded. He cared for Megan, speaking to her was the least he could do.
"Now on to the juicy stuff," Gwenog said, as she stepped closer and lowered her voice. There were only a handful of people around them, and most were engrossed in their own conversations. "Every year, the leagues around Europe hold a party for the captains, owners, and officials. They're usually quite a bore—I only go for the free food—but a lot of important people attend this thing.
"A couple weeks ago at this party, I overheard a crowd of ICW dignitaries. They were discussing our Ministry and Minister Scrimgeour, and…" Gwenog stopped, her face taking on a greyish hue "You-Know-Who." She said the name fearfully, as if he would appear out of thin air. "It's what caught my attention initially. I tried to get as close as possible without looking suspicious, so I couldn't hear everything they were saying. But I did hear them say it was only a matter of time before the Ministry would fall. Apparently the ICW is in close contact with other governments preparing for this, and all ICW employees and agents have been told to prepare to leave at any moment."
"They're leaving us to fight on our own," Harry realized out loud. "They're abandoning us."
Gwenog looked to him sadly and rested her hand gently on his shoulder. "I'm sorry it wasn't good news, but it's all I have."
Harry let out a heavy sigh and itched at the seam under his arm. He could sense the irritation rising within himself. "It's okay, Gwenog, thanks. I appreciate what you've done, a lot."
She smiled at him kindly and squeezed his arm. "I think I've spent just a little too much time with you. I don't want the papers saying I tried to seduce a minor even if it's Harry Potter." She embraced him carefully, before stepping back and looking at him a final time with a serious expression. "You're a good kid, Harry. I hope when all of this is done I'll be playing against you on the pitch."
Harry stood in silence, watching as she set off to mingle amidst the crowd of her waiting admirers. Unfortunately, his minute of solitary peace was cut short, as someone slipped in from behind him and clamped around his arm like a vice.
"Harry," a voice purred in his ear in a blatant attempt to sound alluring, but only served to heighten his earlier irritation.
He looked down to where his arm was nearly being pulled from his body and saw a young woman—no, a girl—clinging to his arm. She had dolled herself up to a point which was almost comically excessive for the actual event. Beneath the painted on makeup, he recognized the pinned up black hair, olive skin, and rich dark eyes of Romilda Vane.
She must have noticed the recognition in his eyes, because a pleased smile spread along her red-painted lips. "I don't see anyone with you, Harry… I knew you were just playing hard to get with me." She leaned uncomfortably against him as she spoke.
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't, as he was suddenly overwhelmed by a nauseating wave of overly flowery perfume. He felt himself choke, and started to look around desperately for help. Gwenog was occupied by a surrounding mass of fans; Ginny and Dean were on the opposite end of the room, and well outside earshot; Blaise was off snogging his Hufflepuff date next to the quartet of gnomes; and he couldn't catch sight of Daphne anywhere. The only person he could clearly see was the staring old witch from earlier, who was walking in his direction.
"How did you get in here?" Harry asked, while staring up at the ceiling. He didn't want to turn his attention back to Romilda, whose hot and sticky breath was pressing against his cheek.
"It wasn't very difficult," said Romilda, looking down at where her hot pink dress pressed her breasts together.
Looking at her then, and the naïve expression on her young face, and the hopeful, yet unsure look swirling her in eyes, Harry almost felt sorry for her. She didn't know what she was doing. She was still a child.
"Excuse me." A low, croaky voice interrupted from the side. Harry turned, and came face to face with the old woman. "Excuse me, darling," she said, poking Romilda with a long bony finger.
"What?" Romilda exclaimed, somewhat rudely. Her eyes widened at the sight of the crooked lady, and she took a step back.
"Could you help me, darling?" The old woman looked through keen, squinty eyes. She poked Romilda again with her finger. "I seem to have lost my broom. I can't fly home without my broom. I need to find it. Could you help me, darling?"
"No. Can't you see I'm—"
"Actually, I think Romilda would love to help you," Harry interrupted, seizing the opportunity. Romilda shook her head desperately at Harry, her eyes imploring him, but he pretended not to notice. "It would be such a kind thing to do, and I'd appreciate it so much."
"Excellent, dear," the old witch cackled. She took her crooked finger, and instead of poking Romilda again, she jabbed it in the direction of the punch table across the room. "I think I left it over there, but I'm not sure. Could you go check for me?"
Romilda nodded hesitantly, all the while looking towards Harry. He gave a single nod in return, which proved to be enough. Slowly, she went off in search of the missing broom, her expression that of a sad puppy.
When he turned back to the old woman, he stopped, shocked. Before his very eyes, her wrinkly skin began roll and twist and tighten into something much more youthful looking. The bones of her face rearranged themselves, her chin widened, and her entire stooped frame shoot up about half a foot and straightened. In a matter of seconds, the old witch was gone and Tonks stood before him, her purple hair resting on her shoulders.
"Wotcher, Harry!" She beamed brilliantly at him.
"Bloody hell Tonks! That was you the whole time? I couldn't figure out why you were staring at me."
"Come on, Harry, are you telling me there aren't any cougars part of your fan club?" Tonks whooped in her own amusement.
"Don't go giving Tonks the credit for that one, Potter. It was my idea," said Auror Fardale, who emerged next to Tonks in what appeared to be a formal version of the usual Auror garb.
Tonks hair flicked through a motley of colors. "It was a team effort, Heath. You couldn't have done it without me."
"Stroke of good fortune that we got put together if you ask me."
The eyes of the two Aurors met and held for what felt like to Harry to be a prolonged time.
"What happened to that good looking witch you had on your arm earlier?" Fardale finally asked, breaking the moment. He slipped his arm around Harry' shoulder. "She's different from the last one I saw you with. You work pretty fast, huh?"
"She went to get food," Harry answered, trying to disentangle himself from the larger man.
"Oh, well we've tried the lot, and most of it is pretty good, if not a bit posh for my liking. I'd stay away from the Welsh Green meatballs—they give awfully bad breath. Me and Tonks have been pawning them off on whoever we can."
"That woman with all the Kneazles knocked a couple of them out after eating a handful," added Tonks with a snort.
"I figure you two are here for actual work?" said Harry.
"Vampire duty. The bloke Worple seems to have it pretty well in hand though." Fardale pointed to where the two of them were standing next to the dessert table. "Just look, whenever the Vampire starts looking shifty he gives him a pastry."
"It's fairly boring stuff, we're trying to keep ourselves entertained. I heard tonight is the night of the annual NEWT broom race," she said with great interest.
"Ron's competing tonight," Harry said.
"Charlie actually won the only year I competed in," Tonks said, looking at Harry. "He probably could have lapped all of us. We had no chance. It was also the last year they used the Owlery as an obstacle. A kid called Brian Copper crashed into it and was coughing up feathers for weeks. He works at the Ministry now in the Department of Magical Transportation, and people still call him Birdo to this day."
"Huh, I always wondered why people called him that," said Fardale, tapping at his chin thoughtfully with a poorly hidden smirk.
"Fardale! Tonks!" A stern shout could be heard from a dozen feet away. A large, physically imposing figure came marching towards them.
"Did you know Harry Potter was at this party, Conner?" she gushed and batted her eyelashes in his direction. "I just couldn't pass up the opportunity of meeting him."
It was only then that Auror Conner noticed Harry's presence, too focused on stomping over towards the two slacking Aurors.
"Good evening, Potter," he said stiffly. His hard face and dark eyes betrayed nothing as he spoke.
"Evening, sir. It's been a while." Harry extended his hand for a polite shake.
"Yes, it has," he drawled, before flicking his eyes to his two partners. "Why, may I ask, have you two been chatting up Harry Potter, and not maintaining watch over our target? In case you have forgotten, he is a Vampire."
"Yeah, and the only way you would ever find yourself in any danger with that one was if you were flaky and sweet and full of fruit or cream," Tonks shot back. She indicated towards Sanguini, who was currently busy sucking the jam out of a roll.
Harry wasn't entirely sure about that. Despite whatever performance Sanguini was putting on, the vampire's sinister nature was lurking just beneath his cold, dead skin. A chill ran along Harry's spine. He could still smell the fresh blood coating Sanguini's lips as he spoke of devouring others.
"Listen Reg, we know how dangerous they can be. We also know that not all creatures are the same," said Fardale appealingly to his older partner. Surprisingly, Auror Conner's stony expression softened a touch. "That one, for whatever reason, looks to be pretty tame and is less likely to cause trouble than half of the drunken guests here. Besides, as beastly as his kind can be, he would have to be the biggest idiot I've ever seen to try and attack someone under Dumbledore's roof."
"Do we quit doing our job just because Dumbledore is around? He can't save everyone." Auror Conner's expression hardened into a grim mask, and Fardale shook his head with a tired sigh. "You should know better than to settle on the risks of assumptions. Now, Worple and the vampire are scheduled to leave soon and we need to escort them back to the Ministry." Auror Conner glanced quickly towards Harry, before returning to his two partners and saying, "I don't suppose the two of you will have any trouble handling him if he's as harmless as you say he is?"
"There's that sense of humour the office loves so much." Fardale smiled a toothy grin and clapped Auror Conner on the back. "Come on Tonks we need to get rid of him before all the pastries are gone. See you, Harry," he called back, as him and Tonks made their way to Worple and Sanguini.
Harry heard a grunt from over his shoulder. Facing him, having remained behind, stood Auror Conner. The Auror's eyes shifted towards him. "Are you leaving the school for the holidays?" he asked.
"I am," Harry answered.
"The Minister mentioned wanting to speak with you. I'd expect a meeting with him sometime soon." With those words, and without even waiting for a response, he marched away in the direction of his team.
It was in a daze, that Harry wandered through the party, his mind awhirl with more thoughts than he could handle. So much had already transpired this evening, and the party wasn't even half-over. He could hear his name being called out around him, but he'd long lost the patience to entertain pointless conversation. He desperately needed a seat… and a drink.
The party had dragged on long enough in his opinion, and now he didn't even have Daphne. He could feel his head spinning as he tried to make for one of the exits, his body fighting the nauseating pull of the party.
Just as he reached the door, it flew upon, nearly knocking him to the floor.
Marching in with a triumphant smile on his ugly face, was Filch. Squirming within his iron grasp, and held by the scruff of his neck, was Malfoy. The two of them were clearly arguing, but Harry couldn't make out their words over the noise of the party; and before Filch could accomplish whatever it was he set out to do, Professor Snape came swooping in out of nowhere.
He whispered something into Filch's ear, whose eyes bugged and grip suddenly slackened. In a matter of seconds, Filch's expression went from one of victory to one of defeat, as he shuffled back out of the room.
Malfoy and Snape remained behind, and Harry edged his way closer to the door, hoping to overhear something. He still couldn't make out anything being said, but he did see Snape's face red with fury and Malfoy's uncharacteristically nervous demeanor. In fact, Harry noticed that Malfoy looked terrible—completely dishevelled, with bags and wrinkles hanging under his eyes, and a sickly yellow tint to his skin.
With a sudden jerk, Snape pulled Malfoy into the hall and disappeared into the darkness of the exiting corridor.
Not a second later, Harry reached into his pocket and moved to follow them.
"Harry…?"
A confused sounding voice stopped him in his tracks.
Swivelling on the spot, Harry could see Daphne standing a several feet away holding two plates of food in her hands. She looked just as beautiful as she did when he saw her on the stairs, but now her face was cut with hurt.
He knew what it must have looked like, and hated the thought of abandoning Daphne, but time was of the essence. With every second that passed Malfoy and Snape were further away and the more likely it became that he would miss what they were saying.
It was a choice between staying for Daphne or leaving for Malfoy and Snape, and he choice neither.
"Come on!" he shouted, rushing forward and grabbing her by the arm. She dropped the two plates and they shattered across the stone floor. The crash must have drawn the attention of the room, but Harry's back was already turned and they were off sprinting down the hall.
"Harry! What are we doing?" Daphne's voice came out in a panted whisper. He'd just pulled her down a second corridor and they were turning down a third. The sound of Slughorn's party slowly dying behind them.
Putting his ear against the door of each classroom they came upon, Harry checked for any sounds from within. There were none. Cursing under his breath, Harry pulled from the pocket of his dress robes, his cloak, and threw it over the two of them. The sound of the party no longer masked their footsteps, and the last thing Harry wanted right now was to get caught.
"What in Merlin's name—" Harry pressed his finger against Daphne's lips, cutting her off. "Where did you get this?" she pulled back and whispered. Her blue eyes were alight with wonder as she took in the cloak that surrounded them.
"Family heirloom," Harry replied, while reaching into his pocket again and pulling out a large piece of parchment. Harry muttered the passphrase under his breath, and quickly found the footsteps of both Malfoy and Snape step into a classroom down the hallway to their left.
"What is that?"
"Family heirloom," Harry repeated with a slight smirk, noticing the glint of annoyance in Daphne's eye. He held up his hand for silence as they approached the room.
"What would you have told them had I not reached Filch in time," Snape's cold, harsh voice filtered through the keyhole Harry had pressed against his ear.
"I was going to say that I tried to gate crash the party."
"Dressed in your pajamas—yes, I'm sure that would have been perfectly believable." Harry could almost picture the mocking sneer plastered across Snape's pallid face.
"They wouldn't have cared either way! Let them laugh! They won't be doing it for long," Draco spat out.
"You were sloppy Draco. You let a squib catch you out in the halls. You cannot afford to make any mistakes." There was a moment of silence on the other end of the door, before Snape spoke again, lower this time, and softer. "Let me help you."
"I don't need your help!" Draco practically screeched. He sounded more panicked and terrified than angry. "I'm doing what needs to be done. I'm making progress! I just need some more time."
"Your work has not been clean. If you are suspected—if you are expelled…"
"Suspected!? I had nothing to do with that! There's no proof. There are plenty of people who could have gotten their hands on a necklace like that."
"Draco," Snape said, his voice firm and unwavering. "All of this could be avoided if you simply let me aid you. I have the backing of the headmaster—no questions would be asked."
"And how do I know I can trust you! You've been hiding under Dumbledore's protection the last fifteen years."
"Our master knows my worth, Draco. It would do you no good to question him or the role I play." Snape's voice was cold, so much so that Harry could feel the chill from outside the door. "Your Aunt has been whispering in your ear it seems. What else has she been saying?"
"Nothing! And I would never question him. I just want you to leave me alone! I've already told you what I'm doing."
"Well, judging by your latest attempts—"
"I had nothing to do with that!"
"—you need my assistance more than you believe."
"I have assistance! Crabbe and Goyle, and others too—better people."
"I took the Unbreakable Vow for you Draco, this is not a matter to trifle with. For your mother, I am risking my life to protect you."
"I don't care what you took and what my mother wanted." Draco sounded pained as he spoke. "I was given a job and I'm going to complete it."
"What is your plan?" Snape asked calmly.
"It's none of—Stop! I know what you're doing! IT won't work—I can stop you."
Harry pressed his ear as far as he could against the door.
"It seems your Aunt has done more than simply share her conspiracies. What are you hiding from me, Draco? What is it that requires you to study as an Occlumens?"
"I'm not trying to hide anything from you. He told me I needed to learn it, and Aunt Bella has taught me a lot of things."
"It would do for you to be careful with what Bellatrix Lestrange teaches. She is not feared without reason, and if any were to know of the knowledge she has passed on to you…"
"What does it matter if they find out! It will be celebrated soon enough!"
"Silence!" Snape snapped. His voice cracked through the air like a whip. "This is precisely why you are in need of my assistance. You speak too freely and too dangerously and too freely—a terrible habit picked up from your Aunt, I must say. If the wrong person were to hear you speak like that." Snape's voice was gaining strength, his growing impatience dripping from each word, building towards something. "You are entirely careless, wandering the halls without a thought of consequence for your actions, and placing trust in those fools you call friends! These are simple minded mistakes that could wind up getting you killed!"
"Stop trying to steal my glory!" Harry heard a desk crash from inside the room. "I have no choice. I need to do this."
"You have no hope if you keep acting like a child!" Snape roared, before suddenly his voice returned at an almost compassionate level. "I understand you are troubled, what with your father's imprisonment in Azkaban and the death of Miss Parkinson—"
"Don't talk about her! Stop!" Malfoy's voice cracked as he shouted. "I've had enough of this!"
The only warning Harry had to move out of the way, were two stomping footsteps before the door crashed open. He pulled Daphne into his arms.
Malfoy disappeared around the corner without looking back once. Snape exited the room nearly a full minute later, an inscrutable expression on his somber face. The man stood there for some time, his onyx eyes searching as if he could sense someone was in the vicinity.
Underneath the cloak, Harry and Daphne were pressed tightly against one another. They held their breaths for what felt like an eternity, as Snape stood sentry over the empty hall, their eyes staring directly into one another's. Daphne's hair tickled his nose, and the strong pleasant scent of peaches washed over him. Her body was torturously molded against his, and his mind started to drift dangerously. The only thing he could focus on in an attempt to distract himself from her, was the familiar pinch of his dress robes beneath his arm.
Finally, Snape appeared to be satisfied no one was lurking the halls, and he swept away back in the direction of the party, his robes billowing behind him.
Immediately, the two of them released their breaths, taking in large gasps of air, but still not moving from each other. Harry paused as his breath evened out in the silence which followed, noticing something had changed in Daphne's eyes. There was a sensitivity and fear that hadn't existed before. Before he could register what happened, their lips met in the middle, neither entirely sure who'd initiated.
It was tentative at first, a gentle exploration of the situation they found themselves in. Someone let out a soft groan as they deepened their kiss, which was all that was needed to break free of their hesitance and throw caution to the wind.
With a strength beyond her slight frame, Daphne pushed Harry to the wall; one hand gripped the material of his robes while the other brought his face closer to hers. There was a ferocity and desperation to her affection, as if this was the end of the world and the only time they had together. She bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, and Harry pulled back just far enough to peer down at her.
There was a hunger to her eye, one that matched the feeling inside himself. This moment felt like a door of endless possibilities had been cracked open. It was a beginning to something that could evolve into much more, but still something was off. It felt like something was missing.
Pushing away his indecisiveness, Harry reached out and cupped the side of Daphne's head. Her face instinctively followed the motion. He brushed her cheek with his thumb, just as he lifted her chin and kissed her with more certainty than before.
Without knowing how, Harry quickly found his hands resting on the gentle curve over her spine and gripping the soft skin of her rear. She was lithe in her movements, and in a sudden motion that took him by surprise, Daphne used his leg as leverage to climb upwards along his body. The material of her dress rode up her slim legs, and he could feel her heat pressed against him. This seemed to only encourage Daphne, who's enthusiasm Harry struggled to match.
He felt a small hand slip in between the folds of his dress robes and run down his abdomen. Out of breath, Daphne peered up at him through wisps of her dark hair, an impish smile playing on her lips. "I guess I was wrong," she whispered.
"About what?" Harry asked, still somewhat disoriented. The scent of peaches was overwhelming.
"You are the type to take advantage of a lady in a tightly enclosed space."
She giggled and silenced his coming protest with a kiss. Forcing all thoughts, including that of the irritating itch at his seam, from his mind.