When Harry thought of the Yule Ball later, he would think of glimmering specks of cold light in a calm black night.

Unsurprisingly, the decorations were beautiful. The 'midwinter fantasy' theme that they'd had last timeline had been kept, but the specifics of the night were vastly different to what Harry remembered. Perhaps it was the media attention. Maybe Mr Lloyd-Elliot's interventions. He hesitated to blame Umbridge.

But what Harry knew was that when McGonagall announced the Champions and they all paraded into the Ball, their partners on their arms, it was like someone had scattered gemstones and jewels made of light all over the night scene.

There were the gasps and applause of the onlookers as the Champions were first revealed, and ahead of him, Fleur beamed into the audience on some Slytherin boy's arm – not Roger whatshisface this time, Harry noted, but handsome enough.

Krum and Hermione stepped in next, followed by Cedric and Cho – the adorably anxious Hufflepuff had finally worked up the nerve to ask her and Cho had said yes in a heartbeat.

Last but not least, Harry and Luna in their dark purple and yellow stepped into the Hall and the full grandeur of the room was thrust upon them.

Harry hoped there hadn't been any photographers doing their jobs at that particular moment, because the light and magic of it all had quite stolen his breath away. He felt like he could stand there and study it all night: learn the charms, the transfigurations, the cantrips and spellwork that had the Great Hall lighting up like artwork.

Maybe he'd so do later, Harry figured. When he had time and all. It was stunning.

"Isn't it lovely, Harry?" Luna remarked with equal wonder in her voice.

All he could manage in response was, "Wow," which he breathed out in a voice soft and absent-minded.

Harry found himself drawn to the magic of the enchantments around him that sparkled in colours innumerable.

Above that, in the enchanted ceiling, white stars were luminous.

Someone had charmed all the clouds away for the night so that the full grandeur of Scotland's winter constellations shone coldly down upon the dancing Champions and watching audience.

The tender strains of the first dance song began from a corner – the Weird Sisters, playing a slow classic – and Harry and Luna arranged themselves within each other's arms while they waited for their beat.

Harry's hands were clammy. His feet felt stuck to the floor and his shoes suddenly seemed three sizes too large. The weight of eyes and expectations on him felt heavier than usual.

Then from his chin height, Luna shot him a tiny, eager little smile and Harry forgot all of that so he could give her the night she deserved.

The dance began and Harry and Luna moved like they had danced together a hundred times, as if they knew each other's rhythms so well that there was no need for words. As if they were dancing for nobody but themselves, and to make each other happy, and to enjoy the moment with pure pleasure.

And it was all true.

Harry saw the pale light catch Luna's hair, silver in the gentle shine of light, and watched as the mist of magic around her ankles turned and flared and glowed with her movement.

Her pale silvery eyes were alight with delight, and they shared a grin with each other as they skimmed over the dance floor like it was theirs for the taking. It was a grin of secrets kept and sharp humour and a complete lack of regard for any of the audience watching or judging.

Luna, Harry found himself reflecting, had taught him so much.

Around the dance floor, on which he and Luna spun and spun, stood dark grottos of huge, potted Christmas trees, on which candles and fairies glimmered in pale blues and yellows. The scent of fir and pine reached him, even in the middle of the room, as Fleur and Thingy waltzed past them elegantly and Hermione and Krum followed with stately steps.

Catching Harry's eye as he and Luna stepped and turned, the dark grottos of potted trees were arranged around elegant, delicate ice sculptures of dragons, phoenixes, unicorns and beasts and dancing ladies and more. Even beyond the magic in them, which Harry could see as delicate strands of silk-thin threads and glimmers of mage-light, the ice itself reflected the glow of stars and candles in abstract shapes. Splotches of colour landed on the floor and in the trees, refracted from above, and Harry lost himself in the gentle wash of colour that broke through the dark.

Soon the first dance ended with polite applause and more photography flashes that Harry had not wanted but still expected. Then other students joined the champions on the dance floor and the Ball began in earnest.

The Hall warmed with their movement and heat, and Luna threw back her head and laughed in joy at it all.

It became even more blindingly obvious than it had been before, that bringing Luna as his date had been the smartest choice available to him. She was fabulous.

As soon as the room was properly filled up with the sounds of students stepping, robes swishing, and couples starting to chat and giggle, Luna also began speaking. Harry quickly remembered that her wit had placed her in Ravenclaw without the Hat's quibble.

Maintaining a devastatingly demure smile despite her subject matter, Luna's light voice kept Harry highly entertained with quips, stories and embarrassingly sharp insights about every second mage who happened to catch her eye all evening.

"That is Banastre Blackburn," she told him shortly after their second dance, while the dancers all around them were starting to relax but before whole blocks of students had lost their inhibitions. She sounded a little bit misty, but not quite as distant as she sometimes did.

"Eh?"

Harry and Luna had pulled out of the throng to stand in the shadow of a particularly tall fir grotto, and were catching their breath for the next song. In that shadow, Luna pointed subtly at a boy still on the dancefloor, her little finger bringing a tall, dark-haired bloke to Harry's attention. "He's determined to make himself miserable, and his life plans are going well so far."

Harry felt the rhythm of the band's bass thrumming through the soles of his feet. "He looks happy to me."

"Not for long," the blond girl told him. "Not if he has anything to say about it."

Harry raised his brows and handed Luna a crystal goblet from one of the refreshment tables, cool condensation clinging damply to the side of the cup.

She took it with a smile of thanks and spoke again, this time nodding at a slender brunette witch who was dancing with what looked like two of her best friends. "Isadora O'Hara's favourite things are honeysuckle, blue silk and romantic poetry. You can tell from her shoe buckles."

Harry looked.

"By the time that she's thirty, she'll have five children and be stick thin, even more than she is now. She's the type to share her own energy with the people around her and leave nothing left for herself. I hope she lives a long life; I've worried about her for years."

"Is that so?"

He looked at the Ravenclaw in question, her pale blue dress flaring over her hips and dancing feet, her long hair piled on top of her head like a princess. The magic around her was normal, Harry figured. The dress had been sewn together with some kind of enchanted instrument, from the olive-green lines that followed her seams. She'd charmed her hair up with a bronze-grey magic, and nothing in her aura or expression suggested she might be a less-healthy Molly Weasley.

Luna took a sip of her literally sparkling gillywater and nodded towards the other side of the room.

"And that French teacher, the Charms master who came over with Beauxbatons? He's in love with one of his students – just a glance, Harry. Don't stare! He feels guilty enough as it is – but that's why he's still teaching when he hates the lifestyle and worries so much about the ethics of his feelings."

"Hang on…What?"

"It's not hopeless though," Luna informed Harry. "With how things are at the moment, it could go either way. His attentions will be requited by next Yule, or he'll resign to travel the world."

Harry was immensely intrigued. This ball experience was far better than what he'd sat through last timeline. This girl was an absolute treasure.

Of course, his enjoyment of the night might also have had something to do with Harry's own attitude: this time around, he wasn't going to sit around. An older, wiser Harry Potter was resolved to give things a proper go.

As such, he had promised dances to a bunch of friends and acquaintances and sound found himself back in the middle of the dance floor; in between spinning and being spun by Luna for the majority of the evening, it was around nine when Harry snuck in a waltz with Fleur, who was surprised at his gracefulness.

"A misconception. That's all on Luna," he informed the French witch honestly. "You wouldn't have wanted to see me before I had, what? Almost a year of dance lessons with her? It works out to be something like that, I think. I was terrible at first."

"Zis I do not believe." The taller French girl curled her lip and made Harry pull her in for a dip. Jealous eyes stared at Harry from all around as he did so. "I 'ave seen you on a broomstick before zis."

"Ohh, you should definitely take my word for it," Harry tried, but her eyebrows remained unconvinced.

"Nobody zat graceful on a broomsteek can be…" she muttered in French before shrugging, "un-graceful with zeir own feet."

Harry snorted a laugh and rescued himself from what was almost going to an embarrassing fumble.

When the early-evening dancing drew to a close and the whole Ball was paused for dinner, Harry grazed the tables for borscht, Quiche Lorraine, Salade Landaise and spätzle, pelmeni and more.

With the ever-curious Luna at his side, Harry actually tried more of the foreign food than he usually would have and found he loved almost all of it.

The rich flavours of France, of Russia, of Germany and Spain and all the other fare that was set out for buffet dining were varied, bold and brilliant.

He didn't like borscht though. It might have been the insidious flavour of beetroot or it might just be the colour but, fortunately, he could gulp the red liquid down quickly to get it over and done with. He knew well enough to never waste food, and once that was over, the meal was pleasant.

They took a walk in the pop-up rose garden outside the main doors to digest. The roses were blooming at their most delicate peak, all heirloom scents and delicate petals trembling under the gentle snowfall. Harry heard other noises around them though, as the garden was more full than the lazy circling of fairy lights would suggest, and promptly ushered Luna inside again.

Around eleven, they were all back on the dance floor with stomachs still uncomfortably full – Harry had narrowly avoided overeating – and the teachers gracefully bowed out of the dancing, leaving wild students flushed on the dance floor for the Weird Sisters to really get going.

It was then that Ginny also got a dance, and it contained none of the awkwardness that Harry had been afraid it would.

"You're not bad off a broomstick either," the youngest Weasley complimented him with a grin and a healthy blush that was definitely a sign of her exertion and not remnants of shyness as far as Harry could tell.

"Thanks."

"I think you're actually better than Neville," the redhead continued. She was whirling around to the rhythmic beat with less grace than either Fleur or Luna, but just as much enthusiasm. Her pale cream dress twirled out around her ankles as she her, highlighting the smooth paleness of her skin; the tiny freckles on her neck and shoulders caught Harry unaware and he had to stare at the performing band for a bit so as to avoid being embarrassing. "And I know that his grandmother gave him lessons for years and years. Plus, you're even more of a gentleman than him," she continued with almost perfectly even breath despite whatever she was doing with her footwork.

She saw the odd look on Harry's face.

"Oh, I have more fun with Neville, of course, but this is nice for one dance."

The oddness of her comment trickled slowly into Harry's brain and it was almost thirty seconds later when the meaning finally dawned on him. For two or three beats of the song, Harry's feet completely stumbled and he was just lucky that the song ended at around the same moment.

"Ugh?" he managed, completely lost for words.

Ginny grinned at him. "Thanks for the dance, future captain. It was good to get to know you a bit better."

"…Captain?" he croaked out, accidentally skipping over his real question to focus on the easiest hint in her words. The shock, he assumed.

"I want to get a place on the team next year," the redhead grinned. There was the slightest of sheens on her forehead. "And you'll be captain then, won't you?"

"No? Angie's th—"

"You're the most obvious candidate," she seemed to have no doubts, "unless McGonagall doesn't want you to do that on top of being the fifth-year prefect." She shrugged. "I'll have to work hard to beat Ron at Keeper either way; I know he's going for the same spot too!"

"Wha—?"

"See ya, Harry," floated over her shoulder as Ginny made to leave the dance floor while the band prepped for another song. "Thanks for the dance!"

Obviously, Harry also spent some time with Hermione, who was as stunning in a dress of dark gold as she had been in periwinkle blue. Her hair wasn't as sleeked back as Harry remembered last time, but she'd done something to her curls that had them cascade over her bare shoulders and bouncing with her movement.

Harry smirked. Hermione's date had worked out almost exactly as it had last timeline, but when he spied them on the dance floor, Viktor looked equal parts smug and defensive. At least partly because of the way Hermione's hair gleamed and her dress caught the light, there was a whole bunch of other wizards eyeing her from their places around the room.

Harry nibbled at his lip. He'd spent some time trying to catch Hermione in a free moment before eventually deciding to cut in on Viktor during a less-frantic song. He counted the music carefully in his mind, head nodding.

"Ready when you are!" Luna piped up, and then the pair moved.

When the beat was just right and Harry's steps close enough to make do, Luna twirled in like a yellow storm to replace Hermione in Viktor's arms. Viktor's eyebrows shot up and he stumbled. Harry also made his move, turning just in time to see Luna giggling gleefully as she swept the quidditch star away.

Most of his attention was on the surprised Hermione now in his arms, but Harry still caught the Bulgarian wizard's baffled expression before they were gone.

"You look fantastic, Hermione!" Harry loved how he could give honest compliments like this these days without sounding like an ass. "You're the belle of the ball this evening. Viktor simply can't take his hands off you."

Hermione's cheeks were flushed from dancing and the light in her brown eyes was brilliant and bold by the time Harry managed to catch her. The light sheen of sweat on her face caught the light and made her seem like she was glowing in the fairy lights, and Harry felt her hand in his, ever-so-slightly damp with sweat.

Little golden earrings peeked through her bouncing curls, and Harry spent a moment identifying their teardrop shape. Hermione had always been classy.

Then she blinked thrice at his comment, apparently accepting that Viktor was gone for at least the duration of the song, before wetting her lips to speak. "Viktor is a real gentleman," she exclaimed before Harry helped her do some kind of complicated twirl move. Really, all he did was hold his arm out and Hermione did the rest herself. Her gold dress seemed to shimmer as the light glanced off it. She whirled back in towards him, her dark curls undulating. "He's been incredibly attentive tonight."

"It's everything you deserve," Harry told her, a smile on his lips. "Er, may I ask, was it the library?"

"Pardon?"

"Where you caught his attention."

"Oh," Hermione blushed, her eyes darting away from Harry's curious face. "It was, actually. He thought I looked, um, hardworking and dedicated. And not, um, 'brainless'?"

Harry laughed as he and Hermione danced past a Patil sister and a Beauxbatons boy, both of whom were staring at Hermione but with wildly different expressions. "He was right, of course."

"Not as hard-working as you," his partner protested.

"We can agree to disagree."

The Weird Sisters' song ended and another piece started up to cheers from the students. Hermione's lungs were still heaving when Harry tugged her body in for another turn around the ballroom and set off, his smaller friend fitting easily within his arms and following his lead.

"I hope he makes you happy," Harry told Hermione sometime later as the Weird Sisters moved into the bridge of what seemed to be a classic hit.

"I'm not in love with him," she informed him, breathless from their caper about the room.

He shrugged, an awkward thing to do while attempting a lead her.

"You don't have to be," Harry said right back. "We're too young for all that anyway. But if he makes you happy and brings a smile to your face, there's nothing wrong with spending special time together."

Hermione's open mouth closed again thoughtfully, giving Harry a chance to glance around the room. Draco was swaying carefully with an older Slytherin girl, Ron and Seamus were trying to spin each other in some kind of competitive falling thing, and Viktor's full attention was on Luna in his arms, a hilariously gobsmacked look on his un-composed face.

Fred and Angelina had careened past them in some kind of full-body wrestling by the time Hermione's forehead unfurrowed. "…You really think so?"

"I really do."

She fell quiet as the band hit the chorus, and the dancing crowd flailed more with new energy. Harry found himself poking his tongue tip just out of his lips when the dance steps got to about his limit of complicated.

"…Are you unhappy with me being with Viktor?" his partner enquired when the chorus finally finished and they two swung into the final verse in the calmer-paced rhythm.

Startled, Harry met her eyes before he grinned. "Of all the people I have ever met, Hermione, you are one of the most trustworthy."

"…Oh, um…?"

"You're welcome to spend as much time with Viktor as you want, and feel free to help him with the clues if he asks. I've already solved the next clue so don't you worry about me at all. I'm doing my best to win the tournament, never mind the competition, and he's a good guy who'll treat you right."

"…I see."

She looked thoughtful, then sighed, then smiled up at Harry with so much tremulous emotion in her big, brown eyes that Harry's chest filled with a fierce burst of brotherly protectiveness.

The music stopped.

"Thanks for the dance, Hermione," he told her, starlight reflecting off her abundant, glossy curls. "I'll return you to your proper partner before he decides I've kidnapped you."

She hummed a chuckle in her chest.

"Thank you for the dance, Harry," she told him, as Luna and Viktor emerged from within the crowd. "I'm glad we had this."

"Anytime."

Later that night, it was the decorations that Harry reflected on.

In the calm of the Great Hall, hundreds of tiny ice-like tables appeared just in time for dinner before vanishing again once the seated portion of the evening was finished. The Hall's ceiling put on a colourful show of Northern Lights to entertain people while they ate, and the music for that portion was an enchanted string quartet that lingered in Harry's mind hours later.

The huge, exquisite ice sculptures that had been transfigured into crystalline animals stepped out of their places to circle the room, suddenly having a variety of drinks and food samples to offer to the diners. The dancing ladies – possibly Veela, he figured, the yeti-like things and phoenixes had been easy enough to understand, little silver trays carried in their arms and talons. But Harry struggled to get his mind to understand how the dragons and unicorns carried their trays of dishes. Before they returned to their poses later, of course.

Even beyond their silvering refractions of starlight and candlelight, the enchanted statues gleamed with magic to Harry's sight. However, even the magic-blind would have found their cold, clear beauty to glimmer like diamonds or cut gems as their bodies shifted like living ice with their movement.

To others, the Great Hall must have seemed beautiful and artistic, but for Harry, the fine control of the magic, the web-crafting and light-shaping that he could see was elevated well past 'beautiful'.

He was still in awe.

When Luna hadn't been peppering his ears with insights into her fellow ball-goers, more than once Harry found himself staring, open-mouthed, at the light-shape of dragon-wings in the dark, fluttering slowly as starlight ran down their silver edges. Or the unicorn, which tossed its mane gently while glimmers of gold-light flushed through its body like shining dust motes.

Hours later, Harry remained fixated on them because, despite their very icy appearances, the Great Hall had remained comfortably warm all evening, so that even the thinly-dressed French girls with their gauzy dresses and chiffon robes were cozy in the space.

Despite the ice of the sculptures, the height of the ceiling, the cold of Scotland's winter snow and the chill of the deep shadows of the castle herself, the evening had been temperate.

In contrast…

Harry's clenched jaw let out a stiff chuckle at his own expense as another icy breeze snuck within his scarf and down the back of his neck. The absolute contrast between his first and second Turns at the evening was vastly, starkly different.

After the beautiful Tournament event was over, Harry had walked Luna right to the top of the Ravenclaw stairs and retreated to his own bed, in Gryffindor. No ladybug had followed: all evening, he'd never left the Great Hall or done anything noteworthy at all, except for getting along with a wide array of people from all walks of life. The noises around him, of other excited and exhausted ball returnees, stopped after midnight, at which point, obviously, Harry collected a few necessities and then pulled out his golden Time Turner.

"Six turns should do it," he told himself for old time's sake.

Then with barely another wasted moment, he and his companion Apparated themselves to Aberdeen, from whence he found himself an easterly direction and set forth on his broomstick.

Now he flew over Aberdeen's cold night sea. With the chilly water below, the trip was freezing cold, particularly one hundred feet up in the air on a broomstick.

Harry blinked his watering eyes, trying to warm up his eyeballs, not a usual concern of his. Air like a knife frosting the tips of his eyelashes didn't help him any, and he bit back a bad word.

It was like the world had turned inside out. Instead of the solid floor of the Great Hall with its decorations and lights, now it was the sky at night that felt like Harry could touch it. Thick, heavy clouds seemed to protrude from the sky like they were fighting their way to the ground, and around the edges of the dark grey clouds clumped reflections of dirty orange. It was the distant glow of muggle streetlights reflected on the sky.

Below Harry, much like how the Northern Lights had previously seemed untouchable and unreachable, now the deep, dark depths of the sea washed below him in a constant murmur of invisible motion, wet sloshes of disquiet waves surging in unending splashes. The noise was lower than he would have expected it to be: Harry was used to the peaceful, tiny wash of ripples on the shore of the Black Lake, not this kind of roaring rumble of oceanic water.

This was the first time he had been at sea, the thought occurred to Harry despite immediately trying to suppress it. It was hugely deep. Deeper than he could imagine, and the paler splashes of grey sea foam of cresting waves barely cut through the deep, dark blackness of the surging sea. It looked like it went on forever; not even the occasional distant glow of muggle boats at sea could fill the overwhelming feeling of blackness that surrounded him.

Harry felt tiny with the monstrous blackness beneath him stretching out and down unendingly, the sea like a void that sank deeper and deeper beneath him.

The barely-seen surface of it moved hungrily, and its depths lay below like a gaping mouth that was waiting to swallow.

Harry shivered and patted at Fred in his pocket to assure himself that he was not alone.

Meanwhile, the arctic wind was not quite blowing a gale, but it was near enough for one underage wizard in an Invisibility Cloak, heavy winter woollens and a bundle of warming charms on a broomstick above the ocean.

Even as the charms kept applying heat, Harry felt the cold wind cut into his cheeks, leaving phantom knife pains on every exposed area of his skin. For every minute he stayed in the winter sky, the cold seeped further into his bones.

The tiny, shivering form of Fred Weasley's pine-marten animagus tucked into his breast pocket failed to make things more comfortable for either of them. Indeed, as long minute passed into long minute and the warming charms began needing more and more power, Harry began to wonder if he had not made a grave miscalculation by insisting on one single broomstick.

The pine-marten was obviously shuddering in discomfort, even as he was tucked well out of the wind, in behind Harry's Cloak. He was furthermore covered by a half-grown winter coat – Fred hadn't spent the time as a pine-marten to let it grow full in, unfortunately – and a nicely charmed up woollen hat. It had been Harry's Christmas gift to him, and to his brother also.

(Keeping up his spell-work and his knitting during what Harry was coming to think of as his Dark Time was definitely worthwhile, and Fred looked adorable with the little hat perched on his tiny, fox-like face.)

But his own numb fingers slowly developing a painful tingle drew Harry's mind back to his worries.

The Firebolt was the fastest broom on the market. Everyone knew that. A Firebolt ridden by the Youngest-Seeker-at-Hogwarts-in-over-a-century and a three-and-a-half pound pine-marten would travel a lot faster and more safely than a Firebolt accompanied by a seventeen-year-old beater on a Nimbus 2000.

No, Harry told himself sternly, even as his compass spell kept his wand pointing north so he wouldn't fly off course. No, getting the flight over fast is the safest way to do it.

For all his adventures of the last Task, the Turn Back to the Gaunt Shack and everything he'd tried before, it had only been the trial run for this, and already Harry was starting to worry that his plans had underestimated its difficulty.

"Point me," Harry whispered again, but his north-pointing wand tip didn't even quiver.

"We're still on track," Harry told his pine-marten companion, knowing that even his limited vision was better than what Fred could see. "You've checked my calculations. If we keep going like this, we'll definitely see it soon. The lights should give it away, I hope. Or the dementor chill." 'I've experience at spotting both,' was probably better left unsaid.

They flew on.

And on.

On and on and on, in the inky blackness and the icy-cold wind; beneath the threatening clouds and above the tiny, yellow pinpricks of muggle boat lights.

Finally, by the time Harry was genuinely starting to worry that he'd somehow flown out into the open sea and would die, lost, near the artic, something in the air seemed to change.

A hulking black shadow rose out of the ocean like a behemoth. A cold that went beyond the physical seemed to loom out of the darkness to entrap him and his tiny companion.

And Harry slowed his broomstick, recast his warming charms and with hands that trembled only a little bit, pulled the tiny form of Fred out of his inner pocket.

"We're here, buddy," he told the animagus who clung, shivering, to Harry's left hand.

"I think we've finally arrived at Azkaban."

The thought has occurred to me that I've never really given strong suggestions on what you might enjoy if you like my writing. Specifically, I haven't actually mentioned the works that were most formative for me and my writing. Not all of these are complete, but I aspire to write this well.

I give you: brainthief's "0800-Rent-A-Hero" s/11160991/1/0800-Rent-A-Hero

BajaB's "Harry Gets Motivated" s/3427377/1/Harry-gets-Motivated

"The Arithmancer" by White Squirrel s/10070079/1/The-Arithmancer

"Time to Spare" by EmySabath s/2538955/1/Time-to-Spare

"Burning Red" by NoNameWriter /works/19793110/chapters/46860157