Chapter 9: A Red and White Christmas

Disclaimer is in the first chapter. R.R are at the bottom.

"Well done," Harry said, as Fred and George wandered into the chamber at 10 o'clock at night, rubbing their wrists and palms. As usual, it was a hive of activity, with people looking over legislature, planning and creating tricks, researching and practicing, and, in Ron's case, creating abstract diagrams of their current political and war-related status using chess pieces. "What'd McGonagall do?"

"Just the one detention," Fred reported, as he slumped into a chair with a grin and put his feet up. "Writing lines."

"I… must…not…give…the…entire…school…a…heart…attack," George mimed, bouncing over and sitting beside his twin.

"You did terrify the first years, you know," Hermione said reprovingly, glancing up from her oversized stack of laws and regulations and ceasing her frantic writing to shoot a sharp look at the twins. For their part, they looked entirely unrepentant.

"Eh, they'll get over it." Fred waved a hand dismissively. "Someone's got to improve their constitutions."

Neville raised an eyebrow as he gently brushed dust off a delicate-looking plant. It swayed, cooed slightly, and puffed out a small quantity of purplish dust. "I suppose so, but is giving our Head of House an aneurysm the best way to go?"

Ron shuffled two knights forward onto the chessboard. "I think McGonagall's immortal, so it doesn't really matter."

"What makes you think McGonagall is immortal?" Luna asked curiously, tottering over weighed down by a large pile of books. "Is it the lack of Squorking Flumps around her?"

Ron shrugged in reply, leaning back on his chair and swinging on it, letting the front legs lift off the ground. "Can any of you imagine her dead? Like, actually dead and gone?"

"He's got a point," Lee agreed. "Hey, Fred, about these trigger lines…"

"Wait," Ginny said, blinking as Fred jumped up and wandered over to Lee. "What did you actually do?"

"Nothing!" George shot her a faux-injured look. "We just put earmuffs on all the fireplaces!"

"And told everyone there were deaf heaters in the common room," Neville pointed out.

"It's not our fault 'deaf heater' sounds like 'Death Eater'," Fred yelled across the chamber, before going back to helping Lee with his oversized map of the Great Hall.

Hermione groaned, putting her face in her hands and no doubt wondering how on Earth she had ended up where she was.

"Sure it isn't," Ginny drawled. "So, who are we tagging this time?"

"I figured we'd go for honest tagging from now on," Harry said. "So we tag whoever does the most for the event. It just… when we did the armour, it was so random – I mean, I know a little of Death Eaters, and it was just too similar. Unknown identities and a uniform group." He shuddered. "We may as well start building a sort of personality, anyway… they'll appear on their own, and it'll start drawing away from our real selves, too."

"Well, Lee's setting up the activation lines, Hermione and Luna are doing the illusion, and Neville altered the potion," Ron said. "I'd say everything else can take a back seat."

"Alright, then – argh, my quill's broken again," Hermione grumbled.

"Well, you did just write thirteen feet of considerations for the Wizengamot." Neville shook his head. "That's about ten feet longer than Gran does. You're not going to read the whole thing, are you? They'll hate you. Forever."

Grumbling, Hermione threw the quill away before holding out here hand. "Accio quill," she muttered, causing a greyish, speckled feather to jump off the table and zoom over into her hand.

"Ooh," Luna commented. "Very nice. Hmm, I almost wish I could be at the ball, to see what's happening, but I don't want the thestrals to miss me…"

"Plausible deniability," Harry offered. "Hermione says that all the time."

"Perhaps," Luna agreed.

"Who's spiking the punch?" George asked.

"Dobby is," Harry replied. "Why?"

"You know your godfather told him to add Firewhiskey, among other things, right?"

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "You're complaining?"

"No! I'm just wondering if we could acquire more. Last time was fun."

"Don't worry," Hermione said flatly, "There'll be plenty of fire."

"Good," Lee said, "Because for their next trick, Gred and Forge are intent on turning the third floor into a swamp, and we need the castle dry enough that we don't all get pneumonia and have to take lung-purging potions."

"If that kills the spiders that nest along the windows, then I'm all for it," Ron commented. "I don't care if I'm spitting phlegm out for the next week if it kills the ugly buggers."

"You know spiders can swim, right, Ronniekins?" Fred asked.

Ron turned a funny grey and didn't answer.

"Great," Neville grumbled, getting up from his pot plants and putting down the watering can. "You've broken him again."

Ron turned to him. "Nev," he began. "What happens to the spiders you was down the drain or flush down the toilet?"

Ron was already halfway through a conversation on Quidditch tactics with his date by the time Parvati and Lavender came down from the dorms. This was fine by Harry, because a bored Ron wasn't something he wanted to deal with half an hour before the Ball. Last time Hermione had neglected to keep Ron occupied, at the beginning of third year, a door had been sealed shut with a combination of locking spells and muggle superglue. Nobody had made that mistake again. Except Fred and George, who expressed that intentionally causing Ron to become bored might be a decent way of destroying the castle. Neville thought they were insane. Hermione postulated that they were insane, and there was no thinking about it.

"You look nice," Harry said slightly awkwardly, handing Parvati a small bunch of flowers he'd acquired on yet another trip to Hogsmeade (this one with all the boys in tow, and a shopping list from half the fourth and fifth grade). "Er… shall we go?"

Parvati beamed. "Sure!"

Parvati did look genuinely pretty. Apparently, four years spent studying magical fashion and makeup did actually make you a dab hand at generally making yourself look excellent for the occasion. Both Parvati and Lavender had picked out good colours for their dress robes, good makeup palettes, and done their hair nicely. Harry, however, wasn't really fidgety because Parvati was looking better than normal, especially since she usually looked pretty good day-to-day. It was more a combination of nerves over the Gang's latest mischief and having absolutely no clue how to deal with a date. He suspected, for one thing, that his godfather had been deliberately unhelpful.

If this got stuffed up, Padfoot would be acquiring a Howler. Or boils. Perhaps both.

"So… excited?" Harry asked.

Parvati nodded. "Oh, yes, it's my first ball. I mean, sometimes the pureblood families hold balls as well, but I've never been able to go. They're mostly for the adults, I suppose. It's such a shame, really, they're supposed to be really nice, and there's nowhere else to go dancing and dress up," she said eagerly. "Lavender and I have been preparing for ages. I mean, we didn't know what it was, but dress robes were on the school list, and that means there must have been something on. I'm glad they picked Christmas, really, because it's too hot to dance in summer…"

"I… can't really say I've ever danced myself," Harry admitted, "But I'll do my best not to crush your feet."

Parvati giggled. "Thank you, Harry."

Harry smiled slightly. "Um… look, I'll be honest, Parvati, I'm not really super excited. I mean, parties are nice and all… But I was basically obliged to bring someone along, and I figured someone might as well have a good time of it. I'll try not to bring your day down, so if I'm being – I dunno, broody or something, I think Ron said – tell me. Really."

"You don't like dancing?" Parvati sounded like she was unsure if that was even humanly possible.

"Well, I've never danced before, so I don't know. It's more a case of me hating attention, really. If I gave you a flower every time I don't want to talk to someone tonight, you and Lavender could distil it and have enough nice-smelling things to last a lifetime. And probably that of any children you might have. But that's life, I guess. I have a lovely date to take my mind off it, right?"

Parvati nodded, reassured. "You can count on me."

Harry decided that all Gryffindor girls, and not just those in the Gang, were wonderful after all. If sometimes rather giggly.

Three hours later, Harry stepped to the side, narrowly missed Dobby, who was carrying a large bottle of unidentified liquid under the guise of being a Hogwarts House Elf, stole a sandwich from the snacks table, and wandered over to Neville. Hermione was still with Krum, Fred had insisted on dancing with Ginny, Ron and Katie were nibbling on biscuits and discussing the World Cup outside, and Parvati had been filched ten minutes ago by a Durmstrang boy who was far too charming for his own good. Harry didn't mind so much, since his feet didn't approve of his dress shoes, so he let Parvati go, assuring her he was fine with it and would meet her at the end of the night.

"Go alright?" Harry asked.

Neville shrugged helplessly. "I stepped on her feet at least twenty times in the first dance. Weird, the fast ones were easier."

Harry laughed. "I get you. I hope Parvati doesn't hate me too much, I stomped her feet a few times too."

"Where is she now, anyway?" Neville asked.

"Hmm? Oh, this guy from Durmstrang – Bran – Branimir? I think that was his name… anyway, apparently, he thought Parvati was quite pretty. That bit he made clear."

"Ah. You don't mind?" Neville asked.

Harry shrugged. "My feet hurt. Hers, somehow, don't. Besides, I was right about dancing not really being my thing. Not fair if I drag her around the whole night, is it?"

"Mm," Neville hummed. Taking a sip of his drink, he frowned and held it out at an arm's length. "This tastes odd."

"By now, it's probably been spiked," Harry pointed out, remembering Dobby wandering past.

"Ah, right… doesn't taste like firewhiskey, though."

"Could be anything," Harry said. "Gillywater, mulled mead, wine, Winter Vodka – butterbeer, even. If I was to spike the drinks, I'd mix it up and make people play roulette with the punch bowls."

Neville snorted. "You're a horrible person. I don't feel hot or cold, so it's not the whiskey or vodka, and it doesn't taste remotely like butterbeer…"

Harry leaned over and looked into the drink, but it was plain orange, too ordinary to give any indication of what was inside. The scent, on the other hand… "Wow, that's got to be strong stuff."

Neville laughed. "Well then, better enjoy it before we're all washed out at 1 AM."

Harry frowned. "I think we've corrupted you. You're not meant to enjoy this, Nev."

A quarter of an hour later, the plan finally came into effect.

It was set up quite similarly to the Hallowe'en incident, using a combination of illusions and an effect on the populace, mostly because the first incident had such a good reaction. It had seemed like a good way to entwine the celebration and even, ensuring people would never be able to mention Christmas of 1994 without instantly thinking of what had occurred. Not that they wanted to overshadow the ball; just to add to it.

A single trigger was linked by runes to around twelve different points around the hall, set up a day beforehand using an invisibility cloak, a knife, and three pounds of grey chalk. It was set up to activate under two specific circumstances:

1. It would be past 9:30, and

2. A trigger phrase would be uttered.

Harry was rather surprised it had run almost an hour overtime, considering the trigger was so simple. Plausible deniability, Hermione had said about fifty times over the term, so plausible deniability they created, using a fairly common phrase but a small area in which it would work, meant to throw suspicion off. They would be genuinely surprised when the prank went off, because they couldn't know when to expect it.

Tracey Davis, who was gossiping about… something, sighed from her table, turned to Daphne Greengrass and grumbled, "My feet hurt."

The first sign that something had occurred was the soft sound of bells, then a sharp whistling. A few people looked up, but most people were too busy with their own thing, and the Weird Sisters' frankly overloud music drowned it out. Harry, dancing with Katie while Ron was fanboying over Krum, noted both Tracey and the noise, but ignored them fairly well. Besides, Katie wasn't much better at dancing than he was, at least not with a partner.

It was, however, rather difficult to ignore the Hungarian Horntail that smashed through the window, accompanied by three crates of fireworks and a small number of whole turnips, one of which hit Percy Weasley on the nose. Apart from the fact that dragons are usually quite dangerous, especially when, like now, they were sending tongues of sparking fire around the room, and the few people who had instantly gone into hysterics, Katie had stood on his foot. Though she was no Crabbe, a person who spends time throwing a heavy leather ball around and is an entire year older than you is usually rather heavy, and Harry winced as his toes protested quite liberally.

Luckily, though Fred would later say he was disappointed that nobody managed to wet themselves, the dragon made three passes across the room, sending fire licking at the space just above people's heads, took a dive directly at the judge's table, and exploded surprisingly quietly into deep green, silver, and yellow dust. Said dust proceeded to rain down over the room, turning white and falling as snowflakes to form a small layer on the ground and upon the heads of the watching people.

"Oh, that's nice," Katie commented, putting out a hand to catch the snow. "Bit of a bore seeing the sky when the weather doesn't actually come inside."

"Ow," Harry said somewhat pleadingly.

"Oh." She removed her foot from his. "Sorry, Harry."

"No problem," Harry muttered weakly, glancing back up into the air, where the snow was falling from. As expected, words were writing themselves in the air, although Harry somewhat regretted allowing Luna to choose the colouring. In large, cheerful letters, a message spelt itself out, clashing rather horribly with itself in crimson, acid green, and silver:

Greetings, Hogwarts and guests.

Hello, it's the Gang again. Did you think we got distracted? We think not.

We brought you trouble last year, and no, we don't plan on stopping.

We are still around, and we are still recruiting. Bit slow, though. Come on, you boring lot.

Oh, and you there, you who knows who you are… well, you know what you did, once again. I really wouldn't deny it, if I were you…

Merry Christmas. Let's have some fun, shall we? The snow will continue to fall in here, but don't worry, we tested it before. The photos are lovely. No need to thank us.

Not that we intend on keeping the peace, of course.

Love, Miss Wishbone, Mister Honeysnout, Miss Pebbles, and Co.

Of course, this wasn't enough, and the letters promptly exploded too, though not before the press had taken half-a-dozen photographs.

"Is that all?" someone grumbled.

The hall waited, but nothing happened, and, as was inevitable, they drifted back into doing what they were doing before – though now with a little snow. Madame Maxime looked mildly puzzled, Karkaroff scowled, and Dumbledore moved a sizeable pile of snow off his head. A turnip fell from the rafters and hit Ludo Bagman on the head.

Of course, things were never so simple, and when Harry got up the next morning, the first thing he noticed, apart from his light hangover, was that his normally plain black hair was streaked scarlet, emerald and silvery. Neville had apparently imbibed a lot more than Harry, because his hair was a solid mix of the three colours, as was Seamus's. Dean apparently hadn't touched the punch. As for Ron, it was hard to tell when his hair was usually red in the first place.

The second thing Harry noticed was that Dumbledore appeared to have donated his eyes to almost every girl in the castle. Or at least, he had donated his sparkle.

Harry decided that Neville had either done an admirable job, or Dobby had been more liberal with the alcohol than would have been advisable.

"Alcohol doesn't make you hallucinate, Harry," Hermione said patiently. "That's not how it works."

"Magic," Harry grumbled. "It's magic alcohol, it can do what it likes. And my head still hurts."

A.N.

To write a chapter, I spend some time directly after publishing the prior one thinking about where I want it to go. I spend time writing on my other pieces... then I come back and spend a day or two writing this, and boom. And by a day or two, I mean maybe three hours total. I'm yet to figure out if this is counterproductive. Please let me know.

R.R

Loveandpower: The Firewhiskey, or the Veritaserum? Either way, I'm surprised it never happened in canon...

RebeccaRoy: Indeed it is.

PascalDragon: Ah, Slytherin house. A place which canonically has about three distinct personalities, one of which is animate box of bricks. This round, I'd like to have some Snakes in the gang, yes, and Greengrass and Davis seem like a good place to start, simply because they're never given any characterization. If they did arrive, however, it would be later, possibly in 5th year. There is still probably at least some bias against the green house among the Gang, and it'll take a decent sized story arc to get over that. Maybe half a very big arc.

CoolFanfictionLover: Thank you!

Guest [the one who keeps asking for updates]: Well, here... I should warn you, though, the more frequently I update, the lower quality the piece will end up.