Chapter 26 – A Better Ball

The Saturday before the end of term was the final Hogsmeade weekend of the year. Perhaps more importantly, it was the final opportunity for the students to purchase a few items which always seemed to be required to make the best impression on others at a social event as important as the Yule Ball. Or, to be more precise, the female members of Hogwarts' student population needed to purchase a few final items. To the male students, such things were a matter of supreme indifference, though only the densest of them would have said such a thing within hearing of any young lady.

Harry and his friends had gone together to the village and the hustle and bustle of High Street was beyond what would generally be seen most weekends where the students were allowed to go. In particular, and unsurprisingly, Gladrags was the busiest, with many students purchasing their accessories, and some complete outfits even, though Honeydukes, Zonko's, and the other shops in the village all saw their fair share of traffic. Harry could not help but imagine that the merchants of Hogsmeade were grateful for the newly formed tradition, as it guaranteed that the students would be in a frenzy of buying in preparation for the ball.

"What about this one, Harry?"

Startled, Harry stared up at the face of his amused betrothed, wondering if his expression was as vacant as he imagined it was. Having sat there for the past half hour while she rummaged through baubles and accessories, Harry's attention had quickly wandered, and now he was uncertain as to what he was being asked.

"I think we've lost Harry's attention," Hermione said with a smirk. She had appeared from behind Fleur, with an expression which matched the one which currently graced the French witch's face.

"All right; you don't need to gang up on me," Harry grumbled under his breath.

Hermione's chuckle mingled with Fleur's silvery laugh. "All right, Harry, I think that's just about enough," said Fleur, finally taking pity on Harry. "Hermione and I will go and pay for our items, and we can move on."

Gratefully, Harry nodded and waited for a few moments while the ladies settled their accounts before he escorted them out into the street and on to the next shop. While the three had come to the village with all of their friends, the group had had different priorities, and most had separated to their different destinations upon arrival, agreeing to meet back at the Three Broomsticks later, and leaving Harry with his two closest female friends.

They made their way down the street to their next stop, the very small premises of Hogsmeade's only florist, Roses and Blooms. Though it was not a tradition in the Wizarding world, Harry had thought it would be nice for Fleur to wear a corsage to the ball, and they had decided on a nice wrist corsage which would go with her dress and complement Harry's robes. In truth, it had taken little persuasion to induce her to accept it—she was a woman, after all, and in Harry's limited experience, most women liked flowers. Even his aunt, who had at times not even seemed very feminine to Harry, almost melted the rare times that Vernon had brought home flowers for her.

It was at the florist where Harry had a slightly unusual conversation with Fleur which left him scratching his head.

"Harry," she said in a low voice, "why don't you get Hermione a corsage too?"

Hermione was at that moment admiring a beautiful, if odd, bloom on the far side of the room. This flower was obviously magical, considering the rainbow of petals, surrounding a center which was an amazingly bright shade of pink.

Sensing from Fleur's tone of voice that she did not want Hermione to overhear their conversation, Harry responded, matching Fleur's tone. "What? Why?"

Laughing lightly at what Harry could only assume with amusement at his cluelessness, Fleur put a hand on his arm and favored him with a bright smile. "She's your closest friend, Harry—I think it would be a nice gesture."

Now Harry was by no means any sort of Casanova—his experiences with Fleur were quite obviously his first in a romantic relationship with any female. But regardless of his lack of experience, he was aware of the fact that a corsage was given to a woman by the man who was escorting her to a function, and the type of flower often said something about his intentions, or their status. As Harry was going with Fleur, would it not seem odd for him to give Hermione a corsage as well?

Well, perhaps it was not quite as Harry had stated. In fact, they had all agreed to go as a group, as most of the group was officially unattached. Of course it was obvious that Harry and Fleur were together, and Neville and Luna, though nothing had been said openly, had begun spending a considerable amount of time in one another's company. The twins were also seeing Angelina and Alicia as well, though in a very understated manner for the usually irrepressible duo. Still, if they all went as a group, no one would be left out and as Daphne had pointed out, there were more girls than guys, so this way it would be equitable and the girls would have to share. That still did not change the fact in Harry's mind that regardless of semantics, he and Fleur were going together.

As such, he voiced his thoughts, rather ineloquently, even to his own ears. "But Fleur, I'm going with you."

"That's not exactly true," was Fleur's reply.

"Technically it is," Harry insisted. "I'll spend most of the evening with you, and our relationship is hardly a secret."

"So what if it is or isn't?"

Harry regarded her as though she was daft—Fleur knew more about the Muggle world than she was letting on. "Giving a corsage to a woman is usually done when she's your date. And despite this 'going as a group' thing we've cooked up, you are my date."

"Perhaps, but I don't think corsages are strictly for one's date," Fleur responded. "Besides, they are not really used in the Magical world, Harry. No one will know what it means. You can use it simply as a gesture of your friendship."

"Hermione will," Harry countered.

"So?" said Fleur. "Tell her it's a mark of your esteem and in thanks for her continued support. And besides, Harry, she's a beautiful girl. I think it's a mark of your affection and esteem that you would offer to get her a flower. She is your best friend."

Now Harry was becoming truly uncomfortable. Again, though he was not a complete dolt, he was aware of the fact that a girl would consider another getting too close to her boyfriend a rival, and would react accordingly. Fleur, however, appeared to be completely oblivious to the fact that she was talking Hermione's desirability up with all this talk of beauty and other attributes. Harry already knew his best friend was a very desirable girl—with the way Hermione had blossomed over the past year, he would have to have been blind not to notice. But he could never be with Hermione and would prefer to focus his attention on Fleur so he did not get… distracted.

"Umm, Fleur, aren't you… I mean… that is to say…" Pausing, Harry pulled a hand through his hair in agitation, wondering how he could possibly articulate his question. A glance at Fleur and he was astonished, as the blonde seemed to be laughing at him. Laughing! Did she not know that this was a serious matter?

"Fleur, you know I have no interest in Hermione, right?"

"Oh?" Fleur said with a raised eyebrow.

Harry ignored the nervous butterflies fluttering around in his stomach and responded, "She's just a friend."

"Harry," Fleur chided, "I'm the one who suggested you get her a flower. I wasn't implying anything by it. I'm sure she'd appreciate it."

So it was that Harry ended up purchasing two corsages from the florist shop. And though Hermione was obviously appreciative of the gesture, Harry did not miss the long look his friend directed at his betrothed when the offer was made. This, of course, did not help Harry understand the situation any further, but when the girls turned their attention to the blooms their enthusiasm helped the awkward moment dissipate. In the end, they chose a pale yellow rose surrounded by small pink carnations, symbolizing friendship and love for Fleur, while Hermione received yellow rose with white carnations, symbolizing the same friendship, but loyalty and faithfulness as well.

Privately, Harry thought the flowers would look beautiful on the wrists of the two ladies, and though they would not tell him what their gowns looked like—or even their colors—they assured him that the flowers would complement them nicely. The rest of the afternoon, Harry spent in blissful contemplation, looking forward to the time he would finally see them.

"What was that all about?" Hermione hissed.

They had arrived at the Three Broomsticks and were sitting in one of the booths, and as Harry had left to visit the men's room, Hermione finally had a chance to demand what Fleur had been about with the flowers. It could not have been Harry's idea, after all—even he could not be that clueless.

Raising an eyebrow, Fleur replied in an exasperatingly mild tone, "What was what all about?"

"The flowers," Hermione sputtered, gesturing futilely. Hermione really liked her friend—they were almost to the point where they shared everything—but one of the things about Fleur which absolutely infuriated Hermione was her tendency to act innocent and sometimes downright stupid when she did not wish to speak about something, or knew that she had done something Hermione would not like.

"What, you don't like flowers?"

Hermione glared at her willful obtuseness. "You know what I'm talking about Fleur. Are you trying to push Harry toward me?"

"Perhaps you need a little push."

"Please don't do this, Fleur," Hermione begged. "I need to figure this on my own, and it's never going to happen if you interfere."

Fleur sighed and followed it up with a wry smile. "I won't, Hermione. I know that it is difficult for you. Part of me hopes that you will get on with this, but I know you need time. The flowers are really an understated thing, you know—no harm will come of it."

At that moment, Harry returned to the table, and the rest of their friends started wandering into the pub, so Hermione had to be satisfied with the answer she received. She would not, however, stop watching her friend for any untoward behavior. Thus far Fleur had been very respectful of her need to decide this on her own and had not pushed. She supposed that the suggestion of the corsage was nothing more than Fleur had said it was, but Hermione could not help but suppose that it had been motivated—even if unknowingly—by a desire to induce Harry to see Hermione as she was—as a girl, rather than simply a best friend. So far Harry had not seemed to clue in to that possible ulterior motive, which suited Hermione just fine. She would not allow herself to be pushed into a decision before she was ready.

And to be honest, Hermione wondered why Fleur was so set on creating this match. She could have Harry to herself, after all, without any need to push a second wife on him. She appeared cheerful about it for the most part, but there were times when she let her guard down slightly, and Hermione could not be so certain that she truly wanted this. She was never overt, and brushed off any suggestion that they should take it slower, but that did not mean that she was completely happy about it. But she seemed to have settled on having Hermione become another wife and pursued it with determination.

Another awkward moment—for Hermione, anyway—occurred early the next morning. Though mail was often light on a Sunday, most families tending to write to their charges on the weekend and send it so the mail arrived on Monday, that morning saw Fleur receive a short letter from her father. Hermione watched her as she opened it, noting the smile and the growing excitement with interest. It was not until Fleur turned to her that Hermione had any inkling that the letter had anything to do with her.

"My parents would like to invite you and your family to Chateau Delacour for Christmas," she said, her excitement coming out in a bubbly sort of way, which Hermione had rarely seen in the older girl.

Startled, Hermione said nothing for several moments, though she did catch odd looks from both Ron and Ginny. She immediately understood—the Weasleys had had Harry for Christmas in the past and even knowing that he would be spending it with Fleur and her family this year, it was likely a bit of a shock that they would not see him on that day.

"Are you sure?" she finally responded. She was hesitant to accept, knowing that Harry still needed time with Fleur and her family—time to get to know them and become more comfortable with them. Hermione would just be in the way in that endeavor.

"Absolutely, Hermione. My parents like yours very much, and we would all be very happy if you would join us."

"You should go, Hermione," Ron spoke up. It was sudden and startling for Hermione that he should speak up in such a fashion. Ron, however, did not notice her hesitation. "You've never spent a Christmas with Harry before—well except last year, and then we were all preoccupied with the ball and everything that went with it."

Harry immediately voiced his support for the plan and Hermione directed a smile at both him and Ron, all the while feeling a little ashamed of herself. She had almost expected Ron to go on one of his jealous snits that she had been invited to spend the holidays with Harry, but he had not. She had not taken into account the fact that Ron had improved remarkably in the past few months; she resolved to do better in the future.

"But wouldn't you like to have Harry alone for the holidays?" Hermione asked in one last feeble attempt. "He's joining your family, after all."

Laughing, Fleur replied, "Actually I think it's more accurate to say that I am joining his family. But Harry and I have come a long way," she continued, directing a smile at Harry and taking his hand in her own, "and I think we can manage the distraction you would be."

Pretending affront, Hermione glared back at her friend. "In that case, I don't see how I could not serve as your… distraction."

Laughs echoed around the table, and Hermione smirked at a now complaisant Fleur. "I will have to ask my parents, of course."

"Of course," Fleur responded graciously.

"I'm glad you are considering it, Hermione," Harry said with a warm smile, and Hermione suddenly felt the butterflies fluttering in her stomach again. Harry had never realized the devastating effect of his smiles on half the girls in Hogwarts, and certainly not on herself. If he had, Hermione was certain he would quit smiling altogether, disliking the attention as much as he did. Moreover, she was very afraid that if he ever did learn how they affected her in particular, that she would not survive the experience.

And so it was done. Within a few days, Hermione had her reply from her parents—delivered by the ever-dependable Hedwig, whose services Harry had offered for the task. Her parents replied that they would be delighted to accept their invitation. And Hermione found that she could not but anticipate it keenly; a Christmas spent in the company of her parents, her best friend, and her closest girl friend. What could be better?

The Yule Ball was in full swing and had been for several hours when Harry sank down into one of the chairs, grateful for the respite. He had danced nearly every dance that evening, with just about all of his friends, and had surprised himself by enjoying the festivities immensely. Given his experience at the last ball he had attended, he would have thought he would not have had a good time, but apparently the ability to choose one's own partner, rather than accepting one out of desperation—while pining after another girl—and the fact that he was not now the center of attention, worked wonders for his enjoyment. Hermione and Fleur, with whom he had spent the bulk of the ball, had just gone to refresh themselves, and Harry was happy for the respite which allowed him to rest for a few minutes.

"Well look who has deigned to join us mere mortals," Ron jibed good-naturedly from his side. The group of friends had commandeered a couple of tables to one side and sat there whenever they were not engaged in dancing. In addition to Ron, one of the twins was also present—his other half was somewhere on the dance floor—as well as Tracey, Ginny, Susan, and some of the other club members were sitting at nearby tables as well.

"I didn't know you were so much of a dancing machine, Harry," Ron continued in a teasing tone. "I'm not sure you've sat down the entire night."

"Not a whole lot," Harry agreed, feeling lethargic and companionable in the company of his friends. "I seem to have been in demand a lot tonight."

Tracey snorted. "When you speak like that, it's no wonder most of my house thinks you have a big head."

Lifting a glass in salute, Harry took a swig of his drink before setting it down. "That's because most of your house has never tried to get closer. I'm actually quite pleasant and rather dashing when you get to know me."

Another louder snort and roll of the eyes was all the answer Harry was to receive. He waggled his eyebrows and grinned at the girl, noting the fact that when Tracey actually took the time and effort to do something about her appearance, she was actually rather pleasant to look at. He suspected she did not care much to please others, though part of her reticence might have been because she knew that she would never equal her closest friend in looks—Daphne was, after all, a very pretty girl.

In fact, he thought with a chuckle, he was not the only one who had noticed the beautiful Slytherin. From his first sight of her that evening, Ron had seemed smitten, and hardly able to take her eyes from her. Predictably, Daphne had rebuffed Ron's efforts to become "better acquainted", though Harry had not missed her secret smile at having an effect on the boy. They had danced a couple of times that evening, but if Harry were a betting man, he'd wager that no romance would result between the two. Daphne was a rather refined girl and Ron, while he'd certainly made progress, was still rough around the edges. He likely always would be, Harry thought fondly.

"Your vision in blue returns," the twin at the table spoke up, interrupting Harry's reverie, and he looked up and saw Hermione and Fleur making their way around the edges of the room towards him. He was once again struck by just how lovely they both were and was reminded of his reaction upon first seeing them.

Harry waited in the Gryffindor common room, pulling a little at the collar of his shirt. He was uncertain how a garment which had been worn by men for centuries could be so uncomfortable, and with the black bowtie, which seemed an indispensible accessory to the suit he was wearing, it seemed all the more uncomfortable and constricting. His suit was similar to that from the previous year, but of better cut and finer material. He had stayed with the mainstays of black trousers and a black jacket, over which he wore a long wizard's cape. The only article of his clothing, other than the shirt, which was not black, was the smart royal blue waistcoat he was wearing, an item Fleur had insisted upon. She told him it would go nicely with her ball dress, and Harry was not about to argue with his betrothed.

Ron was waiting with him, thankfully dressed in a set of black robes of his own and not in the awful old robes he had had the previous year, as were the rest of his group of friends. Or the boys were, at least—the girls had not yet seen fit to join them; understandable, Harry supposed, due to the great effort they seemed to take with their appearance. Privately, though he would never say it to any of the girls of his acquaintance, he was glad it was the fairer sex who had to put up with such things as makeup and the like. Not only did it make them even more pleasant to look at, but it also meant that he did not have to deal with it himself.

They had waited for some time, lounging in the chairs in the common room and making small talk, when Neville, whom Harry had noticed becoming more impatient all the time, suddenly stood from his chair. "I'm going to go to the Ravenclaw common room and meet Luna. I'll see you all at the hall."

Though he managed his declaration with credible composure, he certainly could not have missed the snickers and the knowing looks which were directed at him as he exited the room. The shy Gryffindor had been gaining confidence and his interest in the flighty Ravenclaw had not gone unnoticed.

A noise on the stairs caught Harry's attention, and he looked up to see Angelina descend to the common room, followed by Alicia and Katie. They all looked smart in their dresses, and very pretty indeed. Harry, however, could not suppress a sting of disappointment that it had not been Fleur.

Angelina, apparently noticing his reaction, smiled at him merrily. "Don't worry, Harry; she's almost ready."

"Shall we stay around and watch as his eyes fall out of his head when she comes down?" Katie asked in a stage whisper.

Sniggers met Katie's comment, and Harry glared at her severely, which, of course, did nothing to suppress her mirth.

"Of course," Alicia said between giggles. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Over the next few moments, more Gryffindor girls descended the stairs, and though they were all dressed up and looked amazing, Harry had eyes for only one girl. It was, therefore, only a few moments later when she stepped down into the common room. Though he had known that he would be amazed, the fact was he was almost struck dumb with awe by just how wonderful she looked.

If she had been beautiful the previous year in her silver dress, this year she was positively breathtaking in her sky blue gown, a color which perfectly set off her fair skin and flowing blond hair. The gown was modest, though it had a touch of daring, as it had just one strap over her left shoulder, fitting tightly around her bust. It was gathered at the waist, and spilled down in pleated waves around her legs. The dress was accentuated by a wrap of the same shade as his waistcoat which was draped over her shoulders. Her hair was pulled up into an elaborate pile on the top of her head, and the earrings in her ears chimed as she moved. She was, in a word, beautiful.

And then she stepped aside and Hermione descended, and Harry felt all the air leave his lungs once again. The intervening year of growth and maturity had done wonders for Hermione. The previous year she had looked pretty in her blue dress; this year, she was amazing. The dress was a darker shade than the previous year, approaching a midnight blue. It was cut in an empire style, with the waist just below her breasts, from whence it spilled own her body in straight waves, hanging down to her ankles and shimmering in the light. Rather than do her hair up as she had done the previous year, she had gathered it in a knot at the base of her neck and allowed it to fall freely down her back. She looked enchanting and, Harry noticed distractedly, her dress also complemented his waistcoat nicely.

"Oh, Fleur, I think you broke him," said Hermione quietly, as they approached him. They were close enough that Harry did not think the rest of the room had overheard her comment, though further snickers were in evidence at his obvious reaction.

"We broke him," Fleur replied, the smugness in her voice unmistakable.

Hermione swatted at Fleur with mock displeasure before turning back to Harry and meeting his eyes. Though he had the impression that Fleur had meant for him to notice them both and was not put off in the slightest by his admiration of Hermione, in addition to herself, now was not the time to consider such things. Indeed, any rational thought seemed beyond him at the moment, swallowed up in the brilliance of the two dazzling enchantresses who stood before him.

Moving before he had any real conscious intention of doing so, Harry stepped forward and, taking Fleur's hands in his own, he leaned forward and kissed her, almost shocking himself in the process. The Harry of old would never have made such a blatant and open display of emotion.

"You look wonderful, my dear," he said as his lips grazed hers. "You will be the most beautiful girl at the ball."

He had not thought the confident and self assured Fleur knew how to blush, but her cheeks and neck immediately bloomed, and she shyly returned his gaze and murmured her thanks. Harry was left wondering just how far down her blush extended. He then immediately shook his head mentally to free himself of that random thought, and returned her smile, noting to himself that regardless of his reactions or feelings, she was a wonderful girl who deserved his respect, and thinking in such a manner was not in any way respectful. At least at this point in their relationship…

Harry then turned to Hermione, who had been watching their display with amusement, and drew her forward to kiss her cheek. "I am amazed how much more beautiful you become every year, Hermione."

As if on cue, Hermione's cheeks immediately matched Fleur's and though she appeared unable to respond, her brilliant smile more than made up for it.

Turning, Harry grasped the two boxes which had sat beside him on the chair, all the while hearing the murmur of the other students in the room. Comments such as, "How romantic!" or, "When did our Harry become such a charmer?" echoed through his ears. But while he was normally reluctant to be in the spotlight, he decided that at this moment he simply did not care.

He pulled out the corsages, grateful for the kind witch at the shop who had put a stasis charm on them to keep them fresh, and fastened one on Fleur's wrist, and then the other on Hermione's. He then put the boxes aside and, smiling at the girls, extended one arm to each, and said, "Shall we?"

They exited the room and with their friends in tow, made their way down the stairways toward the Great Hall. Harry used this time to clear his head of the muddle it had become, and to try to affect a more confident demeanor. It would not do to appear in the hall like a slobbering baboon, after all.

They had almost arrived when Ron sidled up to him, Hermione having dropped back to speak with Ginny. "Hey Harry, what's with the flowers?"

"It's a Muggle tradition," Harry replied. "At most formal occasions, a guy will get his girl a corsage for her to wear. The flowers can have special meaning as well."

"Then why did you get one for Hermione?"

Ron's tone was somewhat suspicious, but Harry, not really wanting to think about the matter further, deflected him with the answer which he and Fleur had discussed in the flower shop.

"She's always been my biggest supporter, Ron. I got her one in thanks for her friendship and help."

Though Ron's eyebrows furrowed in thought, he immediately nodded and smiled at Harry. "Well that's okay then, I guess."

Exaggeratedly, and with a certain level of satisfaction at the ability to tweak his friend's nose, Harry slapped Ron on the back. "Sorry, Ron—I didn't think you'd appreciate the flowers. Otherwise, I'd have gotten some for you too."

Ron's answering glare was enough to send both Fleur and Harry into gales of laughter. He walked away from them, feigning an injured air, saying, "Merlin! The guy gets a pretty girlfriend and suddenly he thinks he's a comedian."

Smiling to himself, Harry rose and greeted to the two girls, daring to bend and put a kiss on each of their hands, amid the sighs and giggles of the nearby girls. They both sat at the table and the group descended into chatter, while Harry gazed about him, taking in the sights and sounds of his second Yule Ball. The scene in the Great Hall was similar, yet subtly different from the previous year. While the theme still centered on winter, and the icy decorations and falling snow still dominated, there was more of a hint of reds and greens throughout the hall. In particular, the trees were decked with gaily sparkling red garlands and blue fairy lights and the icicles and snowflakes twinkled with a decidedly red and greenish hue. It was all done in an understated fashion, but it served to brighten and bring warmth to the room, which had been clearly cold, though beautiful, the previous winter. Harry wondered if the colors were meant to represent some Muggle Christmas traditions, and then if the Purebloods were aware of the fact that red and green were the de facto Christmas colors in the Muggle world. A quick glance at Malfoy, who was seated on the other side of the hall, revealed nothing, though the blond did not appear to be staring at Harry with anything more than his usual level of rancor. Professor Dumbledore did not reveal anything to Harry's quick glance either, as he merely smiled and winked before turning back to his conversation with Professor McGonagall.

Shrugging, and not considering the matter of any real importance, Harry turned his attention back to his friends. The current number had ended, and many of the club members had begun drifting over in their direction. As there was a lull in the music, due to the band taking a break, the area became quite busy with chatter and laughter, and Harry reveled in the feeling of interacting with close friends. The irrepressible twins immediately christened Harry's table the "champions table", as the only two champions from the previous year to be in attendance were both seated there. As always when the twins' antics were over the top, Harry merely rolled his eyes at them and returned to the conversation with his betrothed.

However, unlike earlier in the ball, when his gaze had been solely reserved for his affianced and closest friend, Harry kept one eye on another girl sitting at a nearby table. He was not in any way being unfaithful to his betrothed, but he had thought about his behavior the previous year, and realized that there was one to whom he owed an overdue apology. He was determined to make it that evening, in as public a setting as possible.

As the band returned to their instruments and the first strains of music once again settled over the Great Hall, Harry stood and excusing himself from his companions, made his way to the table to put his plan in motion. As he walked away, he noted Fleur's smile—he had made the French witch aware of his plans, and she had approved wholeheartedly.

He made his way around his friends—noting the fact that some were watching him curiously—and stopped in front of a pretty dark witch, who was dressed in a lavender gown. "Hello, Parvati, may I have this dance?"

The Indian witch looked up at him, startled, for several moments before she smiled and accepted. Harry led her to the floor, and they took their positions. The dance started and Harry began leading her about the floor, and though he was not a good dancer by any stretch of the imagination, he thought he managed to acquit himself admirably, and certainly better than he had the previous year.

"Parvati, I wanted to apologize for my behavior last year," Harry said once they began to dance. "I should have paid more attention to you and made sure we both had a good time. I failed you, and I wanted you to know that I am truly sorry for it."

She had clearly been expecting something of this nature, as Parvati immediately smiled and inclined her head. "It's okay, Harry. I know you had a lot going on with the tournament and all."

"That doesn't excuse how I acted," insisted Harry. "It was a night to have a good time and to make sure you had a good time, and I sat and brooded. I wanted to let you know that you're a beautiful girl, and that I shouldn't have treated you that way."

"It doesn't excuse it," she replied with a laugh. "But it does make it understandable. Thank you, Harry. I accept your apology. I should have known better than to expect more from it than you intended."

Confused, Harry looked at her in askance, wondering to what she referred.

Laughing, Parvati continued, "You really don't know what effect you have on girls, do you, Harry? I allowed myself to imagine I was a princess that night, and that you were the handsome prince who would sweep me off my feet."

Harry could only gape at her, wondering if she was having him on. Parvati only laughed harder at his incomprehension. After a few moments of merriment at his expense, she took pity on him.

"You excite the imaginations of so many, Harry, and you do it so effortlessly. It's not only your fame—though that's a part of it—but it's also your personality, how you try to make everyone feel like they are important. It's how modest and unassuming you are. Most girls in the school would give their right arms to be with you."

"I'm no prince, Parvati," Harry managed to stammer after a few moments, uncomfortable with the praise.

"No, you aren't," Parvati agreed. "You are a wonderful young man, who has his faults, as I unfortunately found out last year." Harry once again became shamefaced again at this observation, but Parvati was having none of it. "You have your faults like we all do, but still you're a wonderful person. If you ever have need of a second wife, please let me know—I'd be honored to accept the position."

Eyes widening with disbelief, Harry stammered, "S… Second wife?"

"Oh, Harry," Parvati said with a laugh, "don't worry—I was just joking. And besides, I think we all know who is most likely to get that particular title." This last was said with a smile and a glance in the direction of the tables, and Harry, though he had a suspicion that perhaps Parvati was aware of something he was not, would not have pursued that particular conversation for all the galleons in Gringotts.

By the time that Harry had recovered his composure, the dance had ended. Gratefully, he took Parvati's hand and escorted her from the floor, depositing her at her table with her friends. Padma, who had watched them with interest, smiled and nodded at Harry, and he smiled in return, before excusing himself.

He sank down in his seat beside Fleur gratefully, wondering if he would ever understand women. Fleur smiled and kissed him on the cheek, telling him that it was right for him to make the apology in the manner that he had, and that she was proud of him for doing it. Knowing that his closest male friend had made a similar impression the previous year, Harry tried to catch Ron's eye, and gestured with his head toward where the twins were sitting. Ron, however, had already risen from his seat. A few moments later, he led the other Indian witch to the dance floor, presumably to make his own apology.

The prevailing mood amongst Harry's extended group of male friends was that Fleur was absolutely stunning that evening, a sentiment with which Harry had no argument. And it was a good thing that the other girls, who were all very pretty themselves, did not appear to hold any grudge that Fleur outshone them all. However, though Fleur had had compliments aplenty, no one put it in quite the manner which Seamus did. As a self-appointed connoisseur of feminine attraction, Seamus spoke up a few moments after the Ron had left for his dance.

"Harry, you are one lucky bugger," he said in a rather inelegant and blunt manner.

Though Harry would never count Seamus as a close friend, they had mended their differences to a certain extent, enough that Seamus did not question Harry's assertion that Voldemort had indeed returned. Thus, Harry was more than willing to banter with the other boy.

"I can't really argue with that statement."

"Nor should you," Seamus responded with a snort. "I mean, you have the audacity to become betrothed over the summer, which keeps you out of trouble with the Ministry. And instead of being tied to some warty old witch—which would have been poetic justice, by the way—instead you end up with the most beautiful witch any of us has ever laid eyes on."

Again Fleur blushed, though she directed a quelling look at Seamus. Harry was enjoying himself far too much to protest. "I think anyone would count themselves lucky to be betrothed with Fleur. Who wouldn't be attracted to her?"

A chuckle from Harry's side focused his attention on Dean. "I'm pretty sure I know he wouldn't be," he said, cocking his head towards a table across the hall."

Everyone listening to the conversation followed his direction and looked over, where it was obvious to whom Dean was referring. Malfoy sat at the table surrounded by Pansy, his goons and a few others of Slytherin house, and the glare he was directing at Harry appeared to be the garden variety glare which he usually used absently whenever Harry was in the area. It was a glare which seemed to accuse Harry of being alive, rather than containing the burning hatred which would have incinerated him on the spot had Malfoy had the power to do so.

"Malfoy?" Seamus demanded with scorn. "Who cares what he thinks? Besides, it's not surprising he wouldn't be attracted to such a fine specimen of female beauty—he's always been a bit of a poof anyway, don't you think?"

The entire table burst out into laughter, and Seamus, grinning, affected an expression of innocence. "What? You know he's always hanging around with those two gorillas. I'm betting that his thing with Parkinson is just a screen—he doesn't really pay her a lot of attention, does he?"

The laughter grew exponentially, and as the entire area's attention was on Malfoy, it was easy for the ponce to deduce that their laughter was at his expense. If his deepening scowl was any indication, it seemed like their merriment was not endearing those involved to him. The outburst also caught the attention of the rest of the occupants of the hall, though most of them merely shook their heads and went back to whatever they were doing before the interruption. Dumbledore did allow himself a smile of indulgent amusement before he returned his attention to his discussion with the other professors.

Of course Fleur, not being a native speaker and still having some difficulty with colloquial English, was lost by Seamus's statement. "A poof?"

This, of course, sent Harry into further spasms of laughter, and it was several moments before he—or anyone else—was able to respond. Even Hermione, straitlaced as she was, had laughed, though she had tried to affect a stern and disapproving demeanor. Predictably, it was the aforementioned Hermione who recovered enough to attempt an explanation.

"A poof is… well…" she stammered and stuttered, clearly uncomfortable with trying to explain such a matter to Fleur.

"It's a guy who likes other guys," Luna butted in. She had been nearby listening to the conversation the entire time, sitting with Neville, and though she appeared to be as airy and spacey as she usually was, her eyes gleaming rather suspiciously.

The information caused Fleur's eyes to widen. "You are calling him a… un… pédé? Un homosexuel?"

"That's exactly what we're saying," Seamus responded with a smirk, to everyone's continued amusement.

Fleur watched Malfoy critically for several moments before she turned back to Harry with a slightly mischievous smile on her face. "You know, he might have a point."

Harry laughed with the others and then stopped to think in a most exaggerated manner. "Hmm… I wonder if I could put that into my repertoire of insults I keep especially for the little prick."

When he noticed Hermione's disapproving glare amidst the laughter, Harry held his hands up in defeat. "Don't worry, Hermione—I have no plans to use this insult against him. I somehow don't think he'd respond very well. He seems to have a rather high opinion of his… virility."

A swell of laughter once again echoed through the group. It was at that moment when the band began to play again, and Harry rose and extended his hand to Fleur in invitation, which she accepted with a smile.

It was a slow song and though there were no specific steps to be adhered to, Harry was quite content to hold her close and sway to the music. They continued thus for some time before Fleur let out a sigh and leaned closer, resting her head upon Harry's shoulder. "I'm glad we decided to move our relationship forward, Harry," she said. "There are certainly some benefits to be had."

Chuckling, Harry pulled her closer and continued to dance with her, reflecting upon how nice and how right this felt. Benefits indeed.

For Fleur, the night was magical, and everything she had hoped the last Yule Ball could have been. But whereas that last ball had begun with promise and ended with disappointment and an unwanted level of attention, this one was made enjoyable by one whom she truly esteemed, and had not been ruined by Roger, whom she had seen around the hall, but who had been intelligent enough to keep his distance.

She was thrilled at the reaction Harry had had to her appearance earlier, and while she knew that true relationships were not built upon nothing more than physical attraction, she knew that it was an important component. If his looks and glances since then were any indication, she knew that she would not have to worry about his level of attraction to her, regardless of whether or not their feelings ever progressed as far as Fleur hoped.

And they were progressing. As a Veela and being in tune with the emotion of love, she knew that the first stirrings were beginning for both of them. It was thrilling—she could never have imagined that they were moving to such a level so effortlessly when she had first learned of the betrothal.

"A knut for your thoughts?"

Harry's voice broke through Fleur's reverie, and she smiled at him as they continued to dance across the floor. "Nothing in particular. I was just thinking about how far we've come and how easy it's been."

"Well, it helps when a guy gets such an amazing betrothed," Harry said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Flatterer!" Fleur accused with a laugh.

"It's true," was his quiet reply. "I didn't know last year how amazing you are because I never really took the time to get to know you. But you are amazing, Fleur. I'm happy that everything has worked out the way it has."

Unable to respond with words, a very pleased and emotional Fleur stretched up and kissed his lips softly, and though the action was chaste, it conveyed a depth of emotion—returned by Harry—that left Fleur almost breathless.

The romantic interlude continued for some moments before they both broke it off, neither completely comfortable with such overt displays of affection in the middle of a dance floor. As they continued to move together in complete harmony, Fleur was led to reflect again upon how the situation had worked out, and to be grateful that Harry was who he was. If he had been a different person, it could have turned out much, much worse. But with Harry, she could almost taste the happiness in her future.

The evening had grown late and many of the students had already sought their beds, though the more adventurous or those who were attending with their special someone were still in attendance. The last dance was important for such couples, after all.

Of those few not dancing, Hermione Granger sat at the table she and her friends had occupied all evening. On the whole, it had been a satisfying evening, she thought, even though she had not had a specific date like she had had last year. In fact it was even more pleasant—Victor had behaved like a gentleman, but he had really been quite dull. He had been very nice and attentive, but he had come off as slightly less than gifted intellectually, and had not been able to carry on a conversation about anything other than Quidditch. She could never have dated him, though his request for her to go to Bulgaria to visit him, coupled with his request to write, had made it appear like he, at least, had hoped for such a relationship to develop.

Tonight she had danced with many of her friends, but for the most part she stayed with Harry and Fleur. Though Fleur had obviously been Harry's first priority, Hermione felt that Harry had likely danced almost an equivalent number with her as with Fleur. Of course, she could not help but feel that some of the Purebloods in the room watched her, knowing of the possibility of Harry having more than one wife, and wondering if she would accept such a proposal. When she had first realized it, she had been irked, but she had quickly come to the conclusion that it did not matter, and had taken to ignoring the looks, both real and imagined.

Now as she sat, drained by the evening's activities, watching the proceedings, she vacillated between being disinterested, while on the other hand being slightly envious of her fair-haired friend. She was well aware of the fact that she should not feel this way—it had always been a foregone conclusion that Harry would dance the last with Fleur. Hermione liked Fleur and considered her to be a close friend; they were very good for each other, she felt, and would make each other happy.

That did not stop her from wishing that she was in Fleur's place, dancing with the boy that she not-so-secretly fancied. The feeling was especially unnecessary given what Fleur had offered her—the chance to be with Harry as well.

To say that Hermione was still conflicted and uncertain was certainly an understatement. Much as she wanted to accept Fleur's proposal with alacrity, she was held back by her insecurities. She was well aware of the fact that Fleur thought she was still hesitating because of the Muggle world's view of plural marriage, but while that did give her pause, it was certainly not the main source of her indecision.

Hermione was afraid, plain and simple. It had seemed like such good advice at the beginning—Fleur had been certain that Hermione would be on equal footing, as her relationship with Harry was of long standing, and that would balance whatever inequality she imagined there existed in their looks. There was no denying it—while Hermione knew that she was a pleasant, and perhaps even attractive girl, she could in no way compare with the beauty that Fleur possessed.

And therein was the crux of the problem. Hermione felt even now that she would be forever overshadowed by Fleur, especially now that Harry and Fleur's relationship appeared to be progressing at a steady pace. She knew it was stupid to feel this way; she knew that Harry had a big heart and that he was not ruled by the more superficial things in life. If she were ever to be married to Harry, she knew that he would cherish her as much as he did Fleur. But the knowledge still did not overcome her fears, regardless of how much she told herself that her fears were silly.

Sighing, Hermione sat back in her chair and forced her gaze away from the dancing couple. She was still young—only sixteen!—and she had plenty of time to figure this dilemma out. It was not a decision she had to make any time soon.

"Boyfriend trouble, Granger?"

Startled, Hermione whipped her head back around to see that Malfoy had approached her and was staring at her with a sardonic eye.

"Bugger off, Malfoy."

The blond ponce merely smirked. "Oh it's quite obvious; you moon around Potter like he's the second coming of Merlin. It's quite pathetic, actually."

Hermione turned away and ignored him, but Malfoy appeared not to notice. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that his attention was focused on Harry.

"It's too bad about Potter, really," he continued in a slightly introspective tone. It was obvious to Hermione that he was thinking out loud, and was not truly paying attention to her. "I mean, even though he's just a Halfblood, he could be acceptable due to his family's long heritage, even if they have polluted their bloodline frequently with the blood of their inferiors.

"But he's blind to the reality of his situation. The Potters have a long history, and with his fame and fortune he could literally have almost anything—or anyone—he wanted. Instead he saddles himself with creatures and Mudbloods. I could have protected him from that, but he chose to become my enemy instead."

"Maybe he finds you and those who agree with you nauseating," was Hermione's terse response. "I know I do."

"You would," was Malfoy's sarcastic response. "Those who are inferior must cling to something to justify their existence. Really, I can see no difference between a Mudblood like yourself, and the Veela. One flavor of filth is really not much different from another flavor, after all."

"You're so charming, Malfoy," Hermione drawled. "I can't imagine how any girl wouldn't swoon at the sound of your honeyed tones making love to them."

An elegant eyebrow rose at her declaration. "Well, I am a Pureblood, after all. Any girl would be lucky to have me."

"Modesty is such an attractive trait." Hermione's tone was practically scathing, but it did not appear to faze Malfoy in the slightest.

"Those who have something to be modest about can be modest. I have no such need."

"You're delusional."

Malfoy smirked and paused to rake his eyes over her form, a leer coming over his face. "You know, Granger, if you're having trouble getting a boyfriend, maybe you should try me out. I bet I could show you a good time—better than that wimp Potter, anyway."

"You have such a way with words," Hermione simpered outrageously. "Any girl would swoon if you spoke to them that way. But what about Parkinson? Isn't she your betrothed?"

"Pansy will do what she's told. Besides, I can have more than one wife, or didn't you know that?" He regarded her critically. "Though the title 'wife' is a little too good for a Mudblood like you. How about 'plaything' instead?"

"You've a much higher opinion of yourself than you ought, given the fact that you've never managed to best me or any of my friends." It appeared that reminding him of his frequent failures was making him cross, as his expression darkened in response to her retorts. "And just for the record—I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot wand, Malfoy, so I suggest you confine your wooing to someone stupid enough to saddle herself with you."

"Malfoy!" a voice surprised both of them, and Hermione looked up to see Harry standing there, staring at Malfoy with an annoyed expression on his face. Of course, that was normal when it came to the Slytherin. "Don't you have some rock you need to go crawl back under?"

"Potter," Malfoy snarled in return. "I'm just having a private conversation with Granger here. Why don't you butt out?"

"I'm sure she has better things to do than banter with you," Harry rejoined. "You can run along now, and don't forget to not come back."

Hermione thought that Harry was showing remarkable restraint, given the history between himself and Malfoy. But the Slytherin was not about to depart without one final jab at his nemesis.

"One of these days, Potter, you will be put in your place. And I aim to be there to witness it." With that he turned and stalked off.

Harry was all solicitous with Hermione, questioning her closely about what Malfoy had said to her and how he behaved, and his concern touched her heart. She assured them she was fine and that she had been able to handle Malfoy without any help, and even then her friends were not truly mollified. Still, Malfoy was Malfoy and there was not a whole lot they could do but ignore him. And put him in his place when he crossed the line, of course.

"I can't imagine that he'd think you would give him the time of day," Fleur commented once Hermione had finished telling her story.

"I really don't think he was serious," Hermione replied. "It was more just an attempt to insult me. The crap that spews from his mouth never does change."

"He does ooze slime in a rather… Malfoy-esque fashion," Harry opined, prompting a look of amusement from Hermione.

"Oh, and this is the result of your determination to insult him less?" Hermione teased.

Harry merely smiled and assumed a rather arrogant pose. "That's only in public. When I'm by myself or with my friends, I feel no need to censor myself. I'm only telling the truth—he is slimy, you know!"

Laughing, the three friends left the Great Hall and followed the other students, who were even now exiting now that the ball had come to an end. They mingled for some time, ultimately making their way back to Gryffindor tower. There, Harry gallantly kissed each of their hands, thanking them for a wonderful evening, and wishing them a good night. Hermione entered her dorm smiling and thinking that if she ever did decide to accept Fleur's offer, that she would certainly not be disappointed with Harry. He was everything she could ever want in a man. Now if she could only convince herself that it would work out between the three of them.

Update 06/30/2013