Thank you SO MUCH for 24 reviews under the last chapter! Not to mention 900 favorites and 1500 follows! Just a quick clarification on what I've said in the last chapter because someone seemed not to understand me. I didn't mean that I find teenage emotions distasteful, but the way some authors have written those 'angry Harry monologues in front of the entire school.' That's what I have an issue with, and that's why I don't intend to write it. So far, in my opinion, at least only AuthorK managed to write this scene in their 'Harry Black' series in a way that doesn't cause me to cringe when I read it. I strongly suggest you guys check it out as it's one of my favorite series. And I'm not saying that my stuff isn't cringy since I can't judge it properly. Each time I read my chapters before uploading them, I keep having this feeling that I could have made them better, but I simply don't know how XD. So, I apologize if some of my stuff is barely readable. I'm trying to do my best with each chapter.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 14

"Well, that was interesting," Neville commented as he and Harry sat down at the Gryffindor Table for lunch. The dark-haired boy looked at his friend with a questioning look while at the same time filling his plate with chicken breast and potatoes. "Potions, I mean," Neville clarified. Harry laughed slightly at that.

"Yeah, I was beginning to worry that something was wrong with Snape," Harry replied. "I mean, he didn't take points from me for a few weeks now, so I should have guessed that he would do it soon. Not to mention that he gave me an 'O' for that assignment."

"Yeah," Neville agreed with a chuckle. "And you have to admit that he took it to a whole new level. I mean, accusing you of stealing his supplies? And what was that about you brewing Polyjuice Potion again?" he asked, taking a bite of his chicken sandwich. Harry chuckled again.

"That's an inside joke," he replied; his amusement was reflected in his eyes as well. "I might tell you one day."

"I'd certainly like that," the other boy replied, laughing again. "And since you've mentioned the grade for the assignment… I guess it makes the two of us."

"You got an 'O' as well?" Harry asked in disbelief. Is the world ending? He couldn't help asking himself.

Neville nodded in confirmation. "I mean, I would have been perfectly comfortable with an 'A,' but I believe that it was much below Zabini's ambitions. I never thought that I would say that, but I'm actually glad that I was working with a Slytherin," he commented with a chuckle that was mimicked by Harry.

"Same here," he replied. "Well, I guess that once you see past Malfoy and others like him, they're not actually that bad. At least some of them," Harry added after a moment of hesitation, resulting in another wave of chuckles. "And I'm pretty sure that if it weren't for Daphne, this whole assignment would be a total crap on my part."

"I'm sure my cauldron would have melted the moment I started boiling water in it," Neville commented with another chuckle. "So, how did the two of you make it work out?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders, taking a bite from his chicken breast. "I don't really know. We were just sort of doing everything together and, miraculously, of course, it somehow worked," he informed the blonde boy. "And you and Blaise? How did you manage that?"

"Well, I've always been quite good with Herbology," Neville started, only to be interrupted by Harry.

"Quite good?" he asked in disbelief. "You're far better than anyone in our year, and don't even try to deny that." Neville blushed heavily at the praise.

"So, we've figured out that I should take care of handling the ingredients preparations, and Blaise would take care of brewing," he continued after clearing his throat.

"What potion did you have?"

"Antidote to Common Poisons. Not that difficult to brew, actually. If I have to be honest, the correct preparation of ingredients is much more important when it comes to that draught," he said, blushing slightly again. "How are the Ball preparations going?" Neville asked after a moment of eating in silence.

"Forward," Harry replied.

"You know, I asked Ginny a few days ago," Neville started hesitantly. Harry turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. Upon noticing his friend's questioning look, the shy boy blushed again. "She refused," he added a little too quickly. "So, if you're looking for a partner, I'm pretty sure you should ask her. She told me that she's actually waiting for it," he admitted quietly. Harry didn't fail to notice the disappointment in his friend's voice.

"I already have someone to go with," he informed the other boy.

"Really? Who?"

"You'll see at the Ball."

"Is it Cho?" Neville asked with a mischievous smile. Harry blinked a few times in surprise, seeing that expression on his friend's face for the first time since he met him. "You're not that discreet in staring at her, you know?"

Has everyone noticed it? Harry asked himself, absentmindedly looking at the Ravenclaw Table where he expected to see their House's Seeker. Indeed, she was sitting there with her friends, though she wasn't looking in his direction. She has her eyes set on Diggory, Daphne's words pierced his mind and heart. Upon closer examination, Harry realized that Cho was indeed looking at the Hufflepuff Table, although he couldn't really see her eyes. However, the angle at which her head was tilted strongly suggested that she was staring at the other Hogwarts Champion, who seemed to be oblivious to it.

His gaze met Daphne's for a split second as he turned his head back to his plate. The expression in her eyes was unreadable. "It's not Cho," Harry informed his friend. "I think she's going with Cedric." He really had no idea why he said that.

"Oh… sorry," Neville mumbled.

"Don't mention it."

"So… who is she?"

"You'll see at the Ball," Harry repeated, fighting with all his strength against glancing at the Slytherin Table. "And did you ask someone else?"

Neville blushed again. "Yeah… and I don't know if I should be glad that she accepted or terrified. I'm not much of a dancer, you know?"

"Neither am I," Harry admitted. "So, who's the lucky girl?"

If it was possible, Neville blushed even harder. "Luna Lovegood. She's a Ravenclaw and one year beneath us. Actually, it was Ginny who suggested I should ask her. They're good friends, apparently."

"I have no idea who she is."

"I didn't know that either," Neville admitted with a chuckle, running his hand through his hair to hide his embarrassment. "She's nice, really nice, but a little… odd."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrow.

"It's a little hard to explain," he said after a moment of hesitation. "I think you'll see at the Ball."

"Can we sit here?" a female voice interrupted them. Harry closed his eyes, immediately recognizing its owner. He did his best to avoid Ron and Hermione the previous day, but he knew that it would be impossible to do that forever. Being in the same House made it somewhat difficult.

"Yeah, sure," Neville replied before Harry could say anything. Apparently, the blonde boy didn't notice the Champion's reaction. Harry more felt than saw Hermione sitting next to him while Ron took the unoccupied spot on the other side of the table. Ginny was with her brother as well.

"Harry," Hermione said. The young boy kept his gaze firmly on his almost empty plate, though he hummed in response, somewhat acknowledging her presence. Her words from Saturday evening still caused a dull pain to spread through his chest. How could she believe that? Harry moved a few centimeters to the left upon feeling her hand on top of his; Hermione retracted her arm immediately as if the contact burned her skin. "Did you figure out the clue yet?" she asked after a moment of hesitation.

"I think Harry has more important stuff on his head right now," Ron commented. Even though Harry couldn't see his face, the grin in his voice was easily hearable. Why are they even talking to me? He asked himself, still refusing to raise his eyes from his plate. "He has to ask someone to the Ball, remember? Come on, mate, we can figure something out together." Harry could swear that he heard Ginny clearing her throat.

"Honestly, Ronald, how can that be more important than the Second Task?" Hermione asked; her voice was practically dripping with rightful indignation. "Harry, I know that… we didn't talk much on Saturday, and I know that you have every right to be angry with me right now, but… I want to fix it," she mumbled. Harry closed his eyes again and rubbed his temples. "I want to help you with the Second Task. Please, Harry, you need my help."

"I might have needed your help before the First Task, Hermione," he finally replied. "But you weren't there. And don't take it personally, but I do not need, nor want, your help right now. I've already got someone else helping me with the Second Task," Harry informed her, standing up from his seat. Once again, he didn't risk glancing at the Slytherin Table. "And I already have someone to go to the Ball with, so I don't need your help either," he added, looking briefly at Ron before leaving the Great Hall, trying to ignore his former friends' shouts behind his back.

DADA wasn't productive for Harry that day. Sure, even without paying that much attention to Professor Moody's lecture, he was able to successfully cast the spell they were learning that day. Not that he needed the lecture in the first place. After his display against the dragon in the First Task, Professor Moody insisted that students should learn how to shield themselves with a Protego Spell. Obviously, he called Harry to the center to demonstrate, even asking him to repeat his performance with the water shield.

While Harry succeeded in creating a shield in front of himself, quickly put to the test by Professor Moody's Reducto, he failed to conjure the water shield again. He could only guess that it was due to the fact that he didn't feel nearly as threatened as he did during the First Task. After all, magic is all about intent, he commented, recalling Daphne's words. For a split second, he thought that perhaps he should feel threatened during Moody's lessons. After all, that man showed them all three Unforgivable Curses during their first class.

However, those thoughts quickly escaped his mind as he was sitting at the table near the end of the DADA Classroom as other students were practicing conjuring their shields. Since there was an odd number of students, and everyone was working in pairs, Harry was allowed to sit through the rest of the class. Professor Moody kept walking through the room, criticizing those who made mistakes and praising those who managed to raise a shield powerful enough to stop some minor hexes.

Hidden under his book was the Marauder's Map, activated. Harry made sure to cover it with the book each time someone passed close enough to see it, but that didn't stop him from studying it. The incident from Saturday night kept irritating him. Each time he looked at Professor Moody in the classroom, he quickly glanced at the Map, finding the correct pair of students. Yet, each time, the old Auror's name wasn't there. Instead, the dot labeled 'Alastor Moody' was still in the teacher's office, unmoving. And there was no indication that an additional person was anywhere near the pair of students. He would have to ask Moony and Padfoot about that the next time he saw them.

Harry rubbed his forehead as he hid the Map, realizing that there was nothing to gain from simply staring at it. His scar was throbbing again, though it wasn't nearly as painful as it was when he first dreamt of Azkaban. The nightmare repeated itself that night again. Once more, floor seven hundred seventy-seven seemed to fill his mind each time he wasn't focused on anything else.

That's why a somewhat agitated Daphne stopped their practice a few hours later. Once again, the unlikely pair found themselves in the Chamber of Secrets. However, instead of practicing various spells, Daphne was teaching Harry how to dance. And just as he started getting the hang of it, allowing his mind to stop thinking consciously about his leg movements, he stepped on Daphne's foot. Again.

"Seriously, what's wrong with you, Potter?" the Slytherin girl asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "You've been doing… acceptably, for some time now, and I actually believed we were past you stomping on my feet."

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, scratching the back of his head as he untangled himself from their awkward embrace. At least Harry thought it was awkward. "I've just… I haven't slept well tonight," he muttered. It's technically not a lie, he commented in his head.

"I fail to see how that's an explanation," Daphne replied, using the break in their practice to catch some breath. Even though waltz was a slow dance, an hour of practicing it actually proved itself to be tiring. Not to mention that her feet were slightly sore after Harry stepped on them a few times. She knew what she was getting herself into when she agreed to teach him how to dance, but it was slowly starting to get on her nerves. She sat down on the floor next to Harry, who seemed to be exhausted as well.

"Is your scar the reason you have problems with sleeping?" Daphne asked, noticing him rubbing his forehead absentmindedly. It wasn't swollen as much as a week earlier, though it was still angrily red. And no matter how hard Harry tried to cover it with his hair, she managed to catch a glimpse of the lightning mark a couple of times.

The young boy nodded hesitantly. "Have you ever had a dream that seemed to be too real to be just a projection of your mind? A dream that seemed more like a memory or as if you were living it at that moment?" he asked, not meeting her gaze with his eyes.

Each time Tori appears in my dreams, Daphne said to herself. She nearly chuckled humorlessly as the mere thought caused an ice spear to pierce her heart, filling her whole body with a cold that had nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets. Ice Queen freezing, brilliant. "Yes," she replied loudly.

Upon hearing her words, Harry raised his head, looking at her with raised eyebrows. "Really?" he queried.

"More times than I would wish to admit," Daphne replied, choosing her words carefully.

"Is it about your sister?" Harry asked hesitantly, earning himself an icy glare from the Slytherin girl. "Sorry," he apologized quickly, remembering the incident in front of the Slytherin Common Room. "Didn't mean to pry."

"If you really must know, then yes, it was about my sister," Daphne informed him. She had no idea why, though. She never revealed it to anyone outside of a very small group of people she considered friends. And while it was true that she and Potter were civil with each other, at least most of the times when he wasn't doing his absolute best to annoy her and that they were going to the Ball together, Daphne doubted she would call him a friend.

Then why did she say what she did? For once in her life, Daphne failed to find a response to the question that kept bugging her.

You did agree to go with him as friends to the Yule Ball, a voice in her head – the one that so often argued with her – whispered softly. Daphne barely resisted the urge to groan heavily.

She cleared her throat. "Out with it, now," she demanded in the bossiest voice she could muster to hide her momentary embarrassment caused by revealing one of her deepest secrets. Harry looked at her with raised eyebrows and a chuckle; apparently, her most intimidating tone wasn't working on him as she intended. Brilliant, she commented in her mind. "What keeps you up at night?" she added to clarify what she meant. Daphne raised one of her eyebrows. "Chang?"

Harry's soft smile quickly faded away from his lips, followed by a heavy sigh. He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I wish," he mumbled, sighing once again. "Would it be weird if I told you that I have dreams about a supposedly dead man?" he asked in a whisper; all traces of his previous mirth were gone from his voice. Daphne's second eyebrow joined the first one in a silent question.

"A supposedly dead man," she echoed his words. "That excludes your father," she commented bluntly.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, kicking a small stone that lay on the marble tiles. "That excludes him," he confirmed. "You have no idea, though, how much I wish that he was in those dreams." He breathed in heavily before turning his head to look at her. "It's Voldemort." Harry's words came out in an almost inaudible whisper. However, right there, in the Chamber of Secrets, that single sentence seemed to be magnified. For the first time since he learned his parents' murderer's name, Harry shuddered. It didn't escape his attention that Daphne's body trembled as well, even if just a little.

"He is dead," she finally stated after a few minutes of sitting in uncomfortable silence. Daphne wasn't sure if she wanted to convince herself or Harry. However, one look at his face made her reconsider her statement.

"I don't think so," Harry muttered finally. "You wanted to know what really happened here, right?" he asked her, earning himself a nod of confirmation from Daphne. "What I didn't tell you was that the Diary, which possessed Ginny, used to belong to a person who was a Hogwarts student fifty years ago, known as Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was in Slytherin," Harry added after a moment of hesitation. "Yeah, I thought that this name wouldn't tell you much," he chuckled, noticing her puzzled expression. His small smile faded away quickly, though. "He's now known as Lord Voldemort."

"How can you be sure of that?" Daphne asked, straightening her skirt to hide her nervousness. She couldn't help it – it was an integral part of her, just like her Magical Core. And she was willing to bet all her family's money that each and every Pureblood, or even Half-blood, would react similarly. It was just the way of things. "That Diary could have belonged to anyone after all."

"Because I have seen him," Harry informed her, not noticing Daphne's reaction. His eyes were fixated on a spot further down in the Chamber, where the Basilisk's corpse lay. "He stood right there, next to the Diary and Ginny. It was… well, I don't really know how to describe it. He wasn't a ghost, of that I'm sure. He wasn't transparent, for starters, and he was able to pick up my wand. I'm not quite sure what was happening, but he said that he was draining life from Ginny in order to return fully to his physical form. I don't know how he was doing that, but he said that the Diary, in which a memory of him remained, established a connection with Ginny that Voldemort later used to influence her and connect her life to his. When I stabbed the Diary, the connection broke, and Voldemort just… disappeared, I guess, as well as his hold on Ginny."

"That still doesn't answer my question," Daphne replied after a moment of sitting in silence and processing the information she's just received. Her eyes darted towards the Basilisk's corpse; her mind, against her own will, created a mental picture of Lord Voldemort standing just a few meters away from her. The mere thought sent shivers down her spine, though she did her best to hide her body's reaction. "How can you be sure that it was You-Know-Who? That Diary could have been some cursed object from Knockturn Alley."

"He wrote his name in the air: 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' that he later changed to 'I am Lord Voldemort." Once again, Harry didn't notice Daphne's small shudder. "Besides, it wasn't the first time I had seen him, so it wasn't that hard to believe."

"There's no way I'll believe that you remember your first encounter with You-Know-Who," Daphne protested immediately. "You were one when that happened."

"I didn't mean that night," Harry countered, turning his head to look at her. "I faced him at the end of our first year as well. Remember Professor Quirrell?" he asked her upon noticing her puzzled expression. Daphne nodded her head in confirmation. "Do you want to know why he was wearing that turban? It turned out that he served as a host for what little remained of Voldemort." Harry closed his eyes, recalling one of the most frightening experiences of his young life. "He remained hidden under that turban, at the back of Quirrell's head." His lips curled up in a small smile, and he chuckled slightly, despite the seriousness of their conversation. "I wonder how Voldemort reacted when Fred and George cast a spell on a couple of snowballs, causing them to hit the back of Quirrell's head," Harry said, chuckling again.

Daphne's lips curled up involuntarily, though she quickly schooled her features to her usual mask. "That's… quite interesting," she agreed, trying to imagine the scene that Harry had described. The sole idea of the Dark Lord living at the back of one of the professors' head, right under Dumbledore's nose, seemed impossible. Daphne was certain that she wouldn't believe that story if she heard it from someone else. And no matter how much she wanted to blame Harry's extravagant imagination for creating that story, her mind seemed to accept the explanation she was given. Daphne knew that, contrary to common belief, the boy beside her wasn't seeking attention, and she wasn't willing to believe that he would make something like that up. His lack of knowledge about the Magical World was enough proof to her that he wouldn't be able to tell such an absurd story unless he witnessed it. She shuddered once again.

"Do you believe any of that?" Harry asked in a barely audible whisper that echoed across the Chamber. Daphne sighed heavily.

"I must admit that both those stories sound even more absurdly than when you first told me about what happened here," she replied after a while. Unlike the first time Daphne commented his words, Harry didn't roll his eyes, waiting for her to continue. "And again, I don't believe you would be able to make something like that up, no matter how much I'd like that to be the case."

"What do you mean?" Harry queried, clearly puzzled by her words.

"Think about it, Potter," Daphne answered, turning her head to look at him. "Who would like to believe someone who claims that You-Know-Who isn't dead?"

"Death Eaters," Harry replied immediately. Daphne nodded her head, processing his response.

"Yes," she agreed. "But, other than them, you won't find anyone who would want to believe it. And I'm not saying that you're a liar," she added quickly, silencing Harry before he could say something in response. "And I think I've already said that you're terrible at not telling the truth," Daphne added after a moment of hesitation, earning herself a chuckle from the Gryffindor boy. "Which reminds me, how are those stories connected to your dreams?"

Harry sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes; all traces of his previous mirth were gone. "In the night before the attack during the World Cup, I had a dream in which I saw Voldemort, Pettigrew, and some other man, and-"

"Pettigrew?" Daphne cut him off. Harry nodded his head.

"I've told you in Hogsmeade that I've seen proof of Sirius' innocence, remember? That proof was Pettigrew, who confirmed it himself that he was the one who betrayed my parents," Harry informed her. "We tried to capture him, but we failed at that. He escaped, and I haven't seen him once since that happened. Anyway, I saw the three of them in some old house, talking about something important… about me," he added after a moment of hesitation. "There was also this other man; I think he was a Muggle. At least, that's what I understood from Voldemort's words. He… I saw him murdered in my dream," Harry muttered; the unmistakable flash of green light appeared in front of his eyes.

"What did they want from you?" Daphne couldn't help but ask.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Voldemort wanted to get me. At first, I believed it was only a dream, nothing else, but then the attack during the World Cup happened. And seeing how I was dragged into this Tournament, I'm starting to doubt that it was only a dream. I mean, it was too real to be just a nightmare. Also, my scar hurts each time I have a nightmare like that."

"Did it repeat?"

"Yes, a few times," Harry informed her.

"And that's why your scar was so swollen a week ago," Daphne deducted, glancing at Harry's forehead. The famous mark still didn't return to its previous state, but it didn't look nearly as bad as when they finished their Potions assignment.

Harry shook his head. "No. It didn't happen because of that dream."

"Then why?"

"I've had another nightmare a week ago," Harry revealed with a sigh. "It repeated this night, and it was much worse than the one I had during the summer. I…" He took a deep breath. "I think it was more like a memory of something. I didn't see Voldemort, but it looked as if I… as if I were him," he admitted in a whisper. "I saw myself, or rather him, and a few Death Eaters entering Azkaban. If that dream was a memory, then I'm pretty sure it had to happen years ago. I mean, Voldemort had his physical form and all."

"What did he want?" Daphne once again couldn't help but ask, though she wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer. Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"I have no idea," he admitted. "I think they were searching for something. At first, I thought that they were wandering aimlessly through Azkaban until they reached an empty cell or something like that. It wasn't significant or anything like that. People who accompanied him entered that cell, and Voldemort sealed the door behind them. The last thing I remember is seeing the floor's number: seven hundred seventy-seven." Harry took in a deep breath before continuing. "When I woke up after having that nightmare the first time, my scar was swollen and bleeding, and I have absolutely no idea why. I mean, it never happened before. I would be grateful if you kept that to yourself," he continued after a moment of silence. "I… I haven't told that to anyone."

"I feel flattered," Daphne commented in an attempt to lighten the tension. "Not everyone can praise themselves for being the great Harry Potter's secret keeper," she added; her smirk was slightly more visible than usual. Harry chuckled at her words.

"And ummmm… I'd also be grateful if you kept the Map's and Cloak's existence a secret as well," he muttered, scratching the back of his head. "They're the only things I have after my father. I… I feel somewhat closer to him by having them," he admitted.

"I bet you were sure today that Snape was going to confiscate them from you when he stormed towards your table?" Daphne commented, brushing a loose strand of her hair from her face. "Speaking of which, what did he mean when he said that you're brewing Polyjuice Potion again?"

Harry chuckled at that. "It goes back to our second year," he started. "Remember how everyone was wondering who was the Heir of Slytherin?" Daphne nodded in confirmation. "Well, Hermione, Ron, and I suspected that it was Malfoy. We wanted to make sure, and Hermione suggested that we could use the Polyjuice Potion to turn into Crabbe and Goyle. Long story short, we eventually succeeded in that and managed to sneak into the Slytherin Common Room and have a little chat with Malfoy. It turned out that our efforts were pointless since he had absolutely no idea who could have been Slytherin's Heir."

"Let me get this straight," Daphne said, staring at him with a raised eyebrow. "The three of you brewed a Polyjuice Potion, managed to get a piece of Crabbe's and Goyle's bodies, I don't want to know how, and entered our Common Room, just to get some information from Malfoy?" Harry only nodded in confirmation. Daphne scoffed, shaking her head. "Is it a regular thing for you to break rules each time you have a chance?"

"I guess so," Harry answered with a nervous chuckle.

"Unbelievable," Daphne commented, standing up from where she was sitting.

"You're… you're not going to tell anyone about that, I hope?" Harry asked hesitantly, also standing up from the floor. Daphne tilted her head to a side, pondering his request.

"You know, you're actually asking a lot," she said after a moment of silence. "I mean, you've actually assaulted two of my Housemates and broke one of the basic Hogwarts rules about entering the other Houses' Dormitories." Daphne sighed heavily. "There is one… no, scratch that, two conditions if you want me to keep all that a secret."

"Anything," Harry blurted out, unable to see a flaw in her reasoning.

The left corner of Daphne's lips twitched upwards higher than usual. "The first one regards the Ball."

"Haven't we discussed those already?"

"Yes, but I'm altering the deal," Daphne countered immediately. "The Ball is not a regular thing, and I'd like it to be an experience worthy of remembering," she began, at the same time guiding Harry into the position in which they were practicing their dance. Once again, he was assaulted with the heavy but not unpleasant scent of her strawberry shampoo. "So, I'd like to be treated properly. Like a Lady," she clarified, starting their practice anew.

"Weren't you the one who said that I would look ridiculous if I dressed like a 'Lord?'" Harry asked, removing his hands from her waist and her grasp for a split second to form air quotes around the last word. Daphne nodded her head.

"Yes, but that was about you and your age," she replied. "However, there is no such thing as an inappropriate age for a girl to act or be treated as a Lady."

"And what does that mean?"

"I mean that, since you asked me to the Ball and I have accepted your invitation, I expect your attention to be focused on me and on me only," Daphne informed him as they continued swaying to the music that wasn't there. Instead, Harry counted from one to three in his head, just as Professor McGonagall had demonstrated when she announced the Ball.

"Well, you've said it yourself that I'm immune to Fleur's allure, whatever that may be," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. That's not as bad as I thought, Harry commented in his mind, processing her request.

"I'm mostly talking about Chang," Daphne countered immediately, causing Harry to miss his count. As the result, he stepped on her foot once again. Whether she noticed it or not remained a mystery to him as she didn't react in any way. "I saw how you looked at her today," she continued; Harry's cheeks felt ready to catch fire at any moment. "I'm not saying that I expect you to get rid of your infatuation with her, but I'd like it if you… forgot about that for one evening."

"I'll try," Harry replied after a moment of hesitation as they resumed their rhythm. One, two, three. One, two, three, he kept repeating in his mind, attempting to avoid Daphne's feet.

"My request also includes you dancing with me more than just during the opening dance," Daphne added, earning herself a heavy sigh from her companion.

"I'll do my best," Harry replied with a nervous smile. "But I must warn you that I'm not a good dancer, and I doubt that it will be only waltz during the Ball."

"I think you'll get a hang of it," Daphne commented, tilting her head. "You're actually a fast learner."

"Thanks. And what about the second condition?"

"I want you to teach me the Patronus Charm."

"What? Why?"

"You never know when you might need it," Daphne replied with a tone that suggested that it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, from what I know, Dementors are confined to Azkaban."

"And yet they attacked you a few times during the last year," Daphne countered swiftly. "And you've also proved during the First Task that the Patronus can be used not only against the Dementors."

"Do you expect to fight a dragon at some point in your life?" Harry asked with a chuckle.

"No," Daphne replied instantly. "But knowing that spell certainly wouldn't hurt."

"When would you want me to teach you?"

Daphne shrugged her shoulders. "Today will be good. We're already together, and I don't see any reason why we should delay it."

"Shouldn't we focus on the dancing?" Harry protested. "I mean, I know that the Ball is still a few weeks away, but you see the state of my abilities," he clarified.

"You're doing fine for the first time," Daphne countered. "Besides, I don't know about you, but my feet are getting sore already. I'm afraid to think what they would feel like if I hadn't applied a Numbing Charm on them."

So, that's why she doesn't react when I step on her feet, Harry commented in his mind.

And so, the two disentangled themselves from each other, taking a moment to catch their breath before the roles of a teacher and a student were reversed. Harry did his best to recall everything that Professor Lupin told him about the Patronus Charm a few months earlier, passing that knowledge to Daphne. He explained how the happiest memory she could think of was the crucial aspect of successfully casting the Patronus, revealing to her what memory he personally used.

And yet, no matter how many times Daphne tried, she failed at casting that spell. There wasn't even as much as a mist coming from her wand. After each unsuccessful attempt, Harry kept repeating the instructions, also saying that it took him some time as well to cast it for the first time. But no matter how much he tried to mimic Professor Lupin's lessons, the Slytherin girl failed each time to conjure the Patronus.

Okay, that's it for today. I hope you've all enjoyed this chapter. I'm sorry that the frequency is dropping now, but I'm approaching the end of the semester at college, and I have so much studying to do that I barely find time to write a chapter. Still, let me know what you thought about it and see you next time.