Disclaimer: As of my birthday, I own the most gorgeous pair of leather lace up boots. But still not Harry Potter.

AN: Ok, so I am so, so sorry – I could make up so many excuses of why this took so long (most of them to do with work and school), but that would involve an exchange too close to bitching and whining…soooo…
Suffice it to say I do apologize for my tardiness, and part of the reason for this involves rethinking my plot for 3rd year…

So without further ado:

Chapter 32: Of Dances and Daring Feats

"You wanna dance?"

Harry turned to face Terry, horror, incredulity, and ridicule fighting for dominance on his face. "What?"

Terry shrugged uneasily. "Well, we're just standing around, and you said that none of the girls are pretty enough to dance with…"

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "And you think you are?"

Terry turned bright red in an instant. "No! I just meant, er, looks shouldn't really matter if it's two blokes and all…"

Harry sent him a flat look. "All you've done is presented a paradox – you see, the only way, I figure, that two blokes would dance is if they fancied each other, in which case each would care what the other looks like. If they didn't care, I don't suppose they'd be in a position to dance with each other in the first place. Either way, I don't swing that way, Terry."

Terry's face grew impossibly redder. "That's not what I meant! I just, uh, argh!" He huffed. "I'm bored! And I like dancing, even if it has to be with you!"

Harry mock pouted.

Terry sent his friend a pleading look. "All we're doing is standing here in the corner while there's a bloody party going on –"

"A party we never wanted to go to in the first place."

"- while we're all dressed up in our new dress robes –"

"Bloody scratchy things should burn in hell…"

"- it seems like such a waste! And I don't even want to think about what will happen if you keep on drinking all that champagne!" Terry snapped, snatching away the most recent glass Harry had just picked up.

Harry blinked at him, plastering a look of shock on his face. "Oh my god."

"What?" Terry asked, suddenly alarmed.

"Hermione, what are you doing here! I thought I said no girls allowed!"

Terry scowled at him, placing the champagne glass back on the table. "Shut up."

"It's my birthday. I can say what I want."

Terry sighed exasperatedly. "And all you want to do on your thirteenth birthday is sit in a corner, watching people dance and drinking champagne?"

Harry tapped his chin thoughtfully. "You're right Terry, that is kind of lame…"

It was 8 o'clock in the evening of July 31st, 1993 – Harry's thirteenth birthday. After the incident in Rome, he and Terry had, indeed, been stuck as the hotel chef's kitchen help; though Harry was used to the sort of work that was handed to him, Terry wasn't, and the combination of doing chores whiles on a vacation and Terry's whining was enough to nearly drive him insane. When the punishment was finally over in two weeks' time, though, that was when the real vacation began.

They spent a little more than a week on the coast, staying in a small cottage and and enjoying a private beach – the weather was warm and pleasant, and Harry and Terry were gleeful at the prospect of not only being free from the menial duties their punishment had piled upon them, but also having their own little portion of the Mediterranean Sea to explore and gallivant about in. The week after that, Mr. and Mrs. Boot visited friends in Venice, leaving the two boys to their own devices. Though they managed to keep from getting arrested again, they did not leave Venice before Harry's bad luck had a chance to kick in – in the midst of arguing animatedly with Terry over whose Venetian mask was cooler, he managed to lose his balance and somehow fall into the Grand Canal. The experience was rather…disgusting.

Florence and its museums had been the next stop, and was to be the last stop – the Boots had been invited to some posh ball, and Mrs. Boot, as Terry had predicted, had insisted that Harry and Terry tag along. But it wasn't just that – oh no. Harry had been stuffed into a set of black dress robes, and Terry into a matching outfit of blue. However, this unfortunate situation wasn't without its merits; one upside, Harry thought, was that he was finally able to wear his red bowtie (much to Mrs. Boot's chagrin). Terry had only looked at him oddly; Harry didn't care though. He knew the bowtie didn't exactly look good (i.e., dashing, fashionable, or suave), but he still liked it. It was just one of those things…

The second upside had suddenly become evident – the ball was hosted in an enormous mansion, crafted of marble stonework which, when not rising up sheerly with stalwart smoothness, crept and crawled and twisted and danced about, forming alcoves, stairways, halls, and arches – the mansion was fashioned as a white forest of stone, and Harry could not help but wonder what sort of secret passages and hidden rooms were buried within the artistically formed domicile.

He grinned at Terry. "An adventure. I should really like to have an adventure for my birthday."

Terry blanched. "What sort of…adventure?"

Harry's grin grew as he grabbed Terry's hand. "I dunno yet." And with that, he took off, tugging Terry behind him, glancing about the room rapidly, looking for some way to escape the stuffy company of dancers and gossipers and whatever other sorts of people attend balls. It was when they came across an archway opening up to a balcony that he stopped and smiled – the smile morphing into frown when he felt Terry collide into his back.

He rolled his eyes, and then whirled about to face Terry. "Grace, Terry, and stealth. The bread and butter of an adventurer."

Terry frowned confusedly. "…ok then," he said slowly, following Harry through the doorway and onto the balcony – quiet and deserted, seeming to occupy a tranquil space entirely separate from the vivacious gathering within. His frowned deepened as he watched Harry pace back and forth on the balcony. "Are you…looking for something in particular?"

"How very perceptive of you," Harry remarked, a smile breaking out on his face as something caught his eye. "Follow me."

And with that, he clambered up onto the writhing, yet stalwart form of the stone balustrade of the balcony, taking a moment to balance himself before he shakily stood and reached up to take hold of one of the protruding mouldings of the mansion's exterior.

"What are you doing!" Terry hissed.

Harry looked down at him with a perfectly innocent countenance, tempered with a 'what are you, stupid?' expression. "Climbing. Idiot."

"I believe the implied question there was 'for what purpose?'" Terry gritted out.

Harry, who had kept on climbing, shifting from footholds and handholds, and was now several metres from where he had started, paused and shrugged. "That's what adventurers do, I suppose – climb."

Terry's face was a befuddled mixture of incredulity and panicked concern as Harry carefully clambered up onto a ledge, which signified the beginning of the next floor of the building, slowly removing his hand from the handhold he had used to lift himself up. He waved it, attempting to call on his unpracticed wandless magic and causing the window that sat but a few feet away to rattle, but nothing more. Frowning, Harry waved his arm again, this time slowly, laboriously, causing the window to begin to inch open. Once a sufficient opening had been made, he grinned and clambered over to it. But his joy was interrupted by Terry's panicked whisper,

"Harry! You can't do that! That's trespassing."

Harry glanced down at him and rolled his eyes. "Duh."

Terry's expression turned desperate, and yet defeated. "Why, Harry? Why can't we just attend the party like normal people – eat all the food, drink a bit too much, flirt with some girls...I take it back - you can have all the champagne you want!"

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Why?"

"Because that would be boring," Harry insisted, sticking his head into the window, popping out again, and then climbing halfway inside. "Come on!" And with that, his form disappeared into the darkness beyond the half-opened window.

Terry sighed resignedly, grimacing and shaking slightly as he cautiously climbed up onto the balustrade, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. But when he opened them, and chanced a look below him, he could not help but exclaim in an embarrassingly small voice. "Harry! What if I fall!"

Harry's head poked out the window, which suddenly seemed very, very far away, and he grinned. "Why Terry, you know I have an excellent hovering charm."

Terry's countenance grew more desperate. "Please Harry…"

Harry stuck out a pouty lip. "Well if you're going to be like that, I'll just explore on my own."

Terry groaned, closing his eyes and scrunching up his face in intense thought. Seeming to have resolved something in his mind, his eyes snapped open a moment later, and taking a deep but shaky breath, he began the ascent up the ornate façade. Much to his relief, it was not long before he scrambled onto the ledge and through the window, with such nervous fervour that he tumbled onto the floor with a crash. He groaned as he rolled over, stumbling to his feet to observe the unimpressed face Harry, who was staring at him with his arms crossed, gave him.

"Do you want us to get caught?" Harry asked flatly.

Terry shook his head rapidly, and then paused glancing around the room. "Where are we now?" he asked unsurely.

Harry strolled over to the desk that stood to the side, picking up one of the pieces of paper and thrusting it towards Terry's face.

Terry squinted to read who the letter was addressed to. Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Mr. Gregorio Medici!"

Harry grinned and nodded. "The owner of this ostentatious piece of real estate. Business man, art dealer, collector, and if the magical Italian tabloids are to be believed, mob boss."

Any colour that was left in Terry's face was instantly drained away. "Harry, we've got to get out of here…"

"No!" Harry said urgently, "Don't you see? It's perfect! It's like fate wanted us here – I mean, what are the chances? The window's unlocked, right above the balcony we happened to stumble onto…"

"This place is probably warded," Terry interjected, "We've got to get out before we're caught…"

Harry shook his head. "See, that's the beauty of it. The man doesn't have any family – so the only people he needs to keep out are intruders. There weren't any extra brute force security measures, so any warding over and above the other wards on the house must be …"

"Intention based," Terry finished for him, a thoughtful frown on his face. "It fits. We don't mean any harm, so the detectors haven't gone off…"

"So we can snoop all we want," Harry concluded smugly.

"Harry…I really don't think this is a good idea…"

"How often are we presented with an opportunity like this?" Harry exclaimed, "Look at all the books! And I bet there are secret drawers and cupboards and rooms everywhere! It's bloody amazing, mate!"

"Yeah…secret…hidden…impossible to find…"

"Nothing's impossible," Harry retorted, "It's the fact that they're hidden that makes it interesting. Now come on, let's see what sort of books Mr. Medici keeps."

Within minutes, the two of them had amassed a pile of books that had caught their fancy in the middle of floor – books on obscure artifacts, wards, rituals, and historical events. Among them was one on Peruvian religion, another on wards that affect brain chemistry, one on the lesser known dark lords of Siberia, and another on shamanic rituals in Central America.

They started by skimming over the introductions and tables of contents of the books, but it did not take long for both Harry and Terry to find a subject that captured their attention, and soon enough, both were absorbed in their reading. However, Terry became bored very quickly – his short attention span first manifested in fidgeting, but he soon found himself too put off to read. For a time he just watched Harry, who was deeply engrossed in his own tome, but soon enough, the flittling uneasiness in his mind got to him, and he decided to make conversation.

"So...you're finishing two vials off every week..." He cringed as soon as the words came out of his mouth – of all the things to talk about...

Even so, it managed to get Harry's attention, causing him to freeze.

Though still frustrated with his own thoughtlessness, Terry was relieved that he received no denial or snarky reply, and perhaps against his better judgement pressed on, "That can't be healthy..."

At that, Harry's book snapped shut.

Terry gulped.

"Meddling isn't either," was Harry's quiet reply.

Terry hesitated. "I...I know. But...I can't really help that I'm concerned."

Harry didn't respond to that.

"I mean...for you, you of all people, to resort to drinking those potions...the dreams must be really, really bad."

Harry simply gave him a flat look – seasoned only with the slightest bit of pleading, clearly saying 'let's not go there...'

But Terry, even as he hesitated, uneasiness swirling about in his stomach, pressed on, "Are they...about that night?"

Harry stared at him for a good long moment, trying to decide how to respond to that – eerily, over the last little while, he had seemed to have developed a strange aversion to lying to Terry. "Sometimes." Only Jean knew – only Jean, his only real family knew about those memories, which Tom had so keenly taken to tormenting him with whenever the potions began to wear off. And now Terry knew – Merlin, what was his problem?

But Terry seemed to be deeply affected by the simple answer, and he nodded slowly, tears even brimming in his eyes.

Though feeling extremely awkward due to Terry's obvious change in emotional state, Harry was at once grateful that he chose not to pester him, or ask him anymore questions, drinking up the silence like a mug of ale on a warm day, or a cup of hot cider on a freezing night. But nothing could have prepared him for the words that came next.

"He...he's still alive, isn't he? V...V-Voldemort."

Harry paled instantly, his eyes snapping towards Terry's, both sharing in a silent panic and muddled storm of uncomfortable emotion. Fear, defeat, anger, despair; yet all overpowered by the confusion and anxiety that the statement brought – because truth be told, neither of them really knew what it meant. Nor did they want to.

"Yeah." It wasn't more than a whisper, but it was enough to make Terry's heart sink.

"H-how?"

"It's complicated."

Terry nodded shakily. The past few weeks, he had been putting together clues - mostly revolving around what had happened while Harry was at Hogwarts, and Harry himself. He had been craving, anticipating an explanation, some answers that were more than mere speculation. But now...he felt like he could wait.

Both of them were silent from there. The lulling whisper of the music below and the beat of dancing footfalls and the white noise of ceaseless chatter – all of it seeped into the room, and yet seemed to make the silence starker. Finally, though, Harry groaned, tossing the book on the ground.

"Right, so this is boring now – let's look for some secret compartments or cupboards, or something…"

Terry shook his head, shaking off the silence. "…why…?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "So we're not bored anymore…?"

"And…how…?"

"How what?"

Terry sighed. "How are we going to find the secret compartments?"

Harry smirked. "Why, Terry, the thrill is in the hunt – the pursuit."

Terry grimaced. "We're still talking about cupboards, right?"

Harry waved his hand dismissively, before whirling around to start patting down the sides of the desk. "Of course. Check the drawers, will you?"

Terry nodded slowly, frowning and wondering how Harry got him to do the things he did as he stood and walked around to the other side of the desk, starting to shuffle through the top drawer.

Harry sighed as he finished with the exterior of the desk, turning to the bookshelf behind it. "Don't forget to check the bottoms of the drawers."

Terry grumbled out an expression of agreement, shutting the drawer he was currently looking through and turning to the next one. His monotonous rifling paused, however, when he felt something jitter under his searching fingers. "Harry, I think I found one, a hidden compartment in the second drawer. The bottom sort of...shifts when I touch it."

In an instant, Harry was by his side, peering into the drawer with interest. He pointed to a knot it the right corner. "There, that dark spot there."

With the slightest trepidation, Terry stuck his finger into the panel and pulled up; and sure enough, it was lifted, revealing a small compartment beneath.

Almost greedily, Harry reached inside, and a moment later, his hand emerged with two things; a ring of keys and a stack of letters. Slipping the keys over his fingers, he carefully unfolded the topmost letter, smirking as he read. "It would seem that Mr. Medici is cheating on his girlfriend. And his other one…ooh, and his other one…"

Terry grimaced. "Bastard."

Harry's lips twitched. "Capitalist."

Terry stared at him in disbelief.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm only joking. Of course he's a bastard." With that, he stuffed the letters back into the compartment, shutting it and sliding the door shut.

"What about the keys?" Terry asked curiously.

Harry smirked. "These must be for something even more secret than the compartment – a lockbox, a vault, a secret room…" he continued to list as he turned to the bookshelf, resuming to his task of inspecting the books, only pausing to gesture for Terry's aid.

Slowly, the boys worked their way up the shelves, sliding out or tugging at books, peering behind them in an attempt to locate some indication of a hidden vault or chamber. When Harry tried the fifteenth book on the sixth shelf, it was then that he was finally able to let out a triumphant shout, as a deep sounding click was heard, and the bookshelf shifted, and beginning to inch to the side.

Meanwhile, Terry gaped between Harry and the door slowly being revealed. "How did you know? How could you possibly have known there'd be a secret room in here?"

Harry grinned. "You didn't actually think I was leading you on a wild goose chase, did you?" He discretely patted his pocket, where he ever kept his deck of tarot cards.

Terry simply stared at him, not quite knowing what to say to that.

Harry only smiled at his friends reaction, turning his attention to the newly revealed, heavy wooden door, leaning down to inspect the lock on it. Not minding Terry's anticipatory stare, he took a few long moments to thoroughly observe the steel lock – odd, for a wizard to have something steel, he could not help but notice – before he turned his gaze to the ring of keys in his hand. It took him only a second or two to recognize the key formed in the correct shape. He paused dramatically, holding the key just in front of the lock. "And now, to see what secret treasures lie within."

Terry rolled his eyes, but he could not keep the glimmer of excitement out of his eyes as Harry slid the key in, turning it smoothly, and with his other hand, pushing the door forward.

Both of the boys gasped at the picture painted in front of them. Least exotic were the chests of gold – the statues and carvings of ivory and jade, tattered scrolls, and ancient urns and pottery were what drew the eye.

Only a moment of stunned silence passed before Harry squealed (though he would never, ever admit it) with joy, bounding forward into the musty, dark room to inspect the treasure trove they had found.

"Terry…Terry! You seeing this?" Harry breathed.

"Uh…yeah…" Terry replied dazedly, leaning toward one of the statues, seemingly entranced by it. "I don't know how you do it Harry, but…just…wow."

"It's a pity we can't steal anything," Harry mumbled.

Terry looked at him sharply. "Don't touch anything, we don't know what might set off the wards…"

Smirking, Harry made a show of hovering his finger above a richly engraven bronze candlestick.

"Harry…" Terry said warningly.

Harry simply retracted his finger and chuckled – but suddenly, the flippant echo of his laughs died out.

When Terry turned around to see what had caught his friend's attention, he gave a start, though he knew not why. Harry was standing in front of a large jar, the pottery old and cracked, the elaborate charcoal paint ornamenting it blistering away – for a reason unknown to the two boys, it seemed to be the oldest thing in the room; the oldest thing they had ever seen, in fact. It was nearly a metre tall, and it was not slender, nor was it wide; as a whole, it was unremarkable, an average shape and an average size – perfect for carrying. A lid rested on the top, decorated in much the same way as the rest of the jar – black, possibly the blackest black they had ever seen, though worn, writhing over the surface area of the jar, forming intricate patterns and pictures, swirls that could be said to depict any number of letters, fractal patters that seemed to scream out words, only just undecipherable.

"W-what's that?" Terry asked slowly, approaching the place where Harry stood before it with caution.

"A jar," Harry said flatly, but he could not keep the wonder entirely out of his voice.

"Uh, yeah, but I mean...it seems kind of..."

"Amazing."

"I was going to say weird."

"That too." Harry shook his head, frowning at the jar in front of him. "It's funny...I could swear I've seen it somewhere before..."

Terry quirked an eyebrow.

"Wonder what's inside…"

Suddenly, Terry's hand shot out to catch Harry's, which had begun to inch toward the lid of the jar.

"Harry!" he hissed.

Harry glared at him. "Let go. I just want to see what's inside."

Terry glared right back. "That's a really bad idea."

"Why?"

"It...it just is," Terry replied emphatically.

Harry frowned at him, wrenching his hand out of his grip and staring him straight in the eye for a good few moments – before he snaked his hand toward the jar, placing a finger on the lid.

"See?" He grinned. "No touch-activated wards."

Terry let out a shaky sigh and tried to look relieved.

Slowly, Harry lifted the lid off the jar, ignoring the brief scraping sound that the aged pottery made, and placing it on a shelf beside the jar. It was then that he noticed a light, a small glow growing from within the jar – it was white and pure, though faint. With wide eyes Harry leaned over to catch a glimpse of what lay within, vaguely noticing Terry leaning over his shoulder to catch a glimpse as well.

It was a cube, small, eerily like a rubix cube in appearance, with all the divisions and panels on its surface, sat at the bottom of the jar. Both boys gaped at it for a moment – it looked so out of place, pristine, clean, and new in the decrepit old piece of pottery. Before he knew what he was doing, Harry had reached in and pulled the cube out, marveling at the comforting warmth it exuded as he held it out in front of him. It was as though the light wanted to embrace him, to crawl inside of him and never let him go - but something was holding it back.

"Bloody hell…"

Terry simply stared, glancing between Harry and the cube with concern in his eyes. "Harry, I'm not sure that…"

"No," Harry stated confidently. "This, this is a good thing. It's like…it's like…"

"Like the shadows flee before it."

Harry stared at him incredulously. "Uh…yeah."

Terry blinked. "I don't know why I said that."

Harry quirked an eyebrow, but was then silent, his eyes soon joining Terry's to stare at the strange glowing cube in his hand. "What is it?"

"I have no idea." Terry squinted, studying the queer object for a moment before gathering his resolve and reaching down to touch it with his finger. But as soon as the sensation of warmth came over him, something strange happened to the cube – a sharp click was heard, and then it began to move. The glowing panels on its surface began to shift, sinking and rising as whirring gears rose to the surface, which was fracturing into tiny pieces, gradually dancing into a new shape.

Both boys gaped at the new shape – some sort of complex polyhedron, a shape that seemed better than the last, exuding more warmth and light, as though the tiny box was trying to...open up – the cogs in their brains turning rapidly, fueled by all the questions and possibilities spinning through their minds.

"I think…it's a puzzle of some sort," Terry postulated.

"Yeah, or a lock box."

Terry's eyes glittered. "Maybe if you solve the puzzle, you find a treasure inside."

Harry's lips twitched. "Let's keep it."

Terry's eyes grew impossibly wide. "Harry, no! That's stealing, and stealing is wrong! Not to mention illegal…"

Harry huffed. "It…it doesn't belong to Mr. Medici. It wants to come with us."

Terry looked positively befuddled.

"Let's bring it back, and solve the puzzle. Come on, I know you want to."

Terry bit his lip. "You want to steal it." It wasn't a question.

Harry groaned. "I bet he didn't even know about the cube inside the jar. It's not really stealing – "

"You want to steal it, you intend to steal it," Terry interrupted, "And no wards, no alarms have gone off."

A grin crawled its way onto Harry's face. "See, it's destiny. I really want to figure out what this is, and I know you do too."

Terry exhaled shakily. "Fine, yeah, I know – too curious for my own good! Let's just get out of here, okay?"

Harry's grin grew, and he nodded, stuffing the cube into his robes, placing the lid back on the jar and ushering Terry out of the secret room, locking the door behind them.

And as the boys meticulously made sure the office looked no different than it did before they disturbed it, both were high on the excitement that their escapade had given them, oblivious to the creeping, crawling shadow that had slithered out of the ancient piece of pottery, escaping into the darkness of the night, as well as the fact that if they had looked just a bit closer, just a bit longer, the patterns ornamenting the shadow's former prison may have been recognized as the letters:

ΑΠΑΓΟΡΕΥΜΕΝΟΣ

So, there's the early seeds of my newly contrived plot which is hoping to writhe its way into the events of 3rd year. We'll see how that goes…

So, what do you think? Review!