Harry didn't sleep well, his mind full of heat and cold and wild, spinning potentials. At one point there was a stag and an enormous eagle, melted together.

He woke long before dawn to a dormitory full of snoring, farting teenage boys but his head was full of her. Of the five in the dormitory, only Dean had gone home for Christmas, owing to wanting to see his elderly grandmother, but he had promised to try to come back for the ball.

Harry rose, then went and showered in the bathroom half a turn up the tower from their dormitory. He brushed his teeth twice, almost scrubbed his skin raw and put more effort than at any point in his life into trying to tame his hair. Then he went back to the dorm and dressed quietly, selecting his best clean pair of trousers, his flying boots, a shirt and thick sweater in Gryffindor red.

He arrived at the entrance to the Great Hall a little before seven-thirty. It was still overwhelmingly dark and there were only a handful of students around, mostly NEWT-level probably getting ready for some arduous task. A small group of what looked like first-year Gryffindors walked past, opening the doors to the Hall and revealing what was easily more than fifty people already seated.

As he waited, Professor McGonagall appeared looking sleepy and wearing what looked like riding leathers.

"Good morning, Professor." Harry said, suppressing a yawn.

"Ah, Mr. Potter good morning, you're up early." She replied, pausing next to him.

"Yes, Professor, I'm meeting my date for the Yule ball. I think she's going to be teaching me to dance."

McGonagall's thin mouth turned up at the edges in the slightest hint of a smile. "Ah, wise girl." She looked him over with the scrutinising eye he was used to. "I must say, Potter, you're surprisingly well turned-out this morning."

"Thank you Professor, why are you up so early?" He asked.

"I've always been an early-riser," she said, "and I like to take an hour early on Saturday mornings to go flying. My broom is old, but well-maintained – nothing like that monstrous Firebolt of yours of course."

"I didn't know you fly." He said, astonished.

"Indeed I do, I was captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team for four years back in my day. If you get enough detentions with Mr. Filch, I'm sure you'll come across some of the trophies we won."

Harry laughed. "And I thought I'd made at least one full lap of the trophy room by now."

Before she could reply, there came the sound of bootheels on the stairs from the dungeon level.

"Hi Potter, sorry I'm late!" Pansy said, emerging from the dark. She stopped a few feet away, eyes wide at the sight of McGonagall.

"Miss. Parkinson." McGonagall said turning to glare at Pansy.

Pansy looked at Harry with a mingled expression of horror and excitement. She looked radiant, like she was already prepared for the ball. She was wearing a knee-length pleated purple and grey skirt, white blouse and black cardigan with tall black leather boots.

There was a brief silence before the noble, straight-laced and proper Head of Gryffindor House turned to look at Harry with a raised eyebrow. "Your date, I assume, Mr. Potter?"

Harry smiled a teeth that felt more like a grimace. Then after a few seconds, his brain slipped into gear and he quick-stepped over to Pansy, taking her hand. "Yes, Professor. I asked Pansy to accompany me to the Yule Ball yesterday."

"Good morning Professor," Pansy said affecting a tiny curtsy, "I've been practicing the iron-to-steel transfiguration you set the other day, it's really hard, but I'm getting there."

McGonagall nodded sharply, staring at the two of them over her glasses. "That's very good Miss. Parkinson. Maybe you'd be able to help Mr. Potter here with his Vanishing spells? If memory serves, you still had half of your kitten left at the end of the last class, Mr. Potter?"

"Just the back-half, Professor." Harry replied, sheepishly.

"Always the hardest part," Pansy said, squeezing his hand. "tell you what, I'll help you with Vanishment if you help me with Zabraxian's Hex-Breaker – I just can't get the hang of it."

He looked at her, amazed at her audacity. "Sure, deal."

McGonagall, clearly surprised by the whole encounter smiled what might have been the largest smile Harry had ever seen cross her face. "Well Mr. Potter, Miss. Parkinson – I must say I'm surprised by this turn of events, but so long as you maintain a strong focus on your studies, I can only wish you all the best. Also, should you wish to make use of it, I will have the dance studio on the second floor north corridor left open for you until dinner."

Harry rocked back on his heels, unsure what to say.

"Thank you, Professor, that's very kind." Pansy said, curtsying again. "Would you excuse us, Professor? I'm starving."

"By all means, Miss. Parkinson. Mr. Potter, you'd better put the work in on the dance floor – you are representing all of these islands in the competition, after all." McGonagall said, waving a dismissing hand.

"I'll do my best, Professor. Thank you." Harry said, as McGonagall stepped through the entrance gate into the cold morning air.

Harry and Pansy turned to face one another and without a word, threw themselves into a hard hug.

"I hardly slept a wink." Harry said, breathing in that flowery scent again.

"Me too – mostly for good reasons." She replied, pulling away and smiling a slightly wild grin.

As they stood there, a group of more than a dozen Ravenclaws entered the short entrance space, all wearing quidditch robes – the first and reserve team. Their loud chatter fell silent as they passed Harry and Pansy and quickly rose again into a wave of loud, obvious gossiping.

"All around the school, as you said." Harry said, drawing back. He nodded at the Great Hall doors. "Shall we?"

She nodded, taking a deep breath and they entered the Hall together.

Inside was already very loud and seemed incredibly crowded, in spite of the huge space being at less than ten percent of its capacity.

There was no instant reaction as they entered the hall, but within a few seconds, a couple of people had noticed them. The silence spread quickly, filling the space like smoke.

When their hands found each other – their fingers slipping together like the previous night – the gossip started.

"Yours or mine?" Harry whispered.

Blowing out a breath, she thought about it. "Yours, I wonder if they under-cook the bacon on your side too."

They walked, their hands hard together and sat in the middle of the Gryffindor table, Harry offering a hand.

"Thanks." She said, sitting primly. Her posture was rod straight.

He sat next to her, straddling the long bench, keenly aware that there were some in both Gryffindor and Slytherin who might not take kindly to the two of them being sat together. "You're welcome."

The gossiping and chatter had increased, returning to its normal dull roar.

"Teachers' table is empty. Hadn't expected us to out ourselves to someone like McGonagall yet." She said, nervously.

As they settled into their places, serving platters of breakfast things appeared in front of them. Pansy picked up a piece of toast and nibbled at it.

Realising something, Harry quickly loaded his plate with bacon, baked beans and fried egg then turned to her. "What's your favourite food?"

"What?" She said, looking across at him, distracted.

He smiled. "I just realised we don't really know anything about one another. What's your favourite food?"

She paused, smiling back, thinking. "Here, it has to be the treacle tart."

"Mine too!" he said, laughing as he buttered a piece of brown toast.

"Back home… my dad cooks the best steak you've ever eaten." She said, looking up, reminiscing. "What about you – on the outside?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. Mrs. Weasley makes an amazing roast dinner."

"What about your family – I…" she stammered, "I read that you live with your aunt and uncle."

He nodded. "Since I was one, since – you know. My aunt is a good cook, I guess. I remember when I was little, maybe five, six years old, she made me a birthday cake with a knight on it. I love knights and dragons."

"Always been a hero at heart?" She asked, relaxing visibly as she disassembled a croissant.

Harry laughed, "Hardly."

The hall grew busier over the next ten minutes. They didn't eat much but talked constantly. He learned that she had two siblings, a half-sister, ten years older than herself and a younger brother who would be starting Hogwarts the next year. She loved green and was allergic to prawns.

She – like everyone almost always did – had a basic understanding of him already.

"From – you know – articles and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and all that."

He was about to reply to this when Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle came into the hall. They took a seat as normal, not noticing them until another Slytherin, a sixth- or seventh- year from the look of her, pointed them out.

Crabbe immediately almost jumped to his feet and was pulled down again by Goyle. Malfoy looked embarrassed but didn't say or do anything.

More familiar faces appeared over time, including Cedric Diggory – without Cho – and most of the older Hufflepuffs who could usually be found following him around like an honour guard.

By a quarter-past eight, they were tired of being stared at. They stood and left the Hall hand in hand.

The dancing lesson was a bit of a fiasco. Harry, more than capable of looking after himself in a duel and completely at home on a broom found himself clumsy and uncoordinated on his feet with music playing.

Pansy was not the most patient teacher, given to laughing when he tripped himself over and lost for words when they figured out he had trouble keeping time.

"It's fine, we have… almost a week." She said, dancing away from him after he swore and tried to blow up the gramophone in the corner for the fifth time.

She waved her wand at the ancient music maker and the needle rose, replacing the record as she pulled her boots off, tossing them near the door to the room.

Harry sat, grumpy and sweating against the wall as some huge, unfamiliar music – all strings and brass – filled the room.

Pansy was stood, stock still in the middle of the room, hardly seeming to breathe. Then as the music started to swell, she unfurled like a great, graceful plant, rising onto the points of her toes and starting to dance.

She moved like water: fluid and incredibly graceful. "You need to feel the music: let it fill you, flow through and around you."

Her dancing was profound, moving something inside him. He couldn't bring himself to speak nor move. All he could do was watch as she moved – flowed – round the room. As she went, she somehow threw her cardigan off, becoming a streaming, almost gleaming star in the low-lit space.

Her wand was somehow in her hand. "Will you let me lead?" She asked, her words coming in the spaces between footsteps.

"What do you mean?" He managed to reply after a few seconds.

"I think I can help you move – kind of like Confunding someone – I mean, lead you." She said.

When he didn't reply at once, she leapt over to him, seeming to float on the air, moving too far for just a jump. "Do you trust me?"

He caught her eyes, managing to track her as she kept moving somehow. Then he nodded.

She tapped her wand between her eyes then between his. His arms became light, moving almost against his will. He stood, took her by the waist and they were moving together. Their shared movements were simple, inelegant to what he had seen her do.

They moved, filling the space, using it in ways he had never imagined. Time blurred and suddenly they were still, panting, breathing like they had run for miles. The song had come to an end and the needle was running on the outer groove of the record, hissing faintly.

"That…" he gasped, bent over with his hands on his knees.

She sagged, sitting hard on the floor and flopping onto her back, her chest heaving. "Well done, Mr. Potter. That was excellent considering you were like a baby thestral before."

He sat down too, casting a spell Fred had shown him to open his lungs then tapping her on the nearest part he could reach – her outstretched foot. She took a huge breath and coughed.

"Wow, what's that?"

"It's called Ventannium – one of the twins showed me a few weeks ago – opens the lungs. Really good, eh?"

She nodded, sitting up. "Really good, I wish I'd known that when I was doing my last dance exam over the summer."

"You're incredible." He said, reaching out and taking her hand.

She squeezed his fingers, shuffling closer so she could kiss his index finger. "Thank you for trusting me with that, Harry."

"Thanks for not giving up on me."

"You will be an adequate dancer for the Yule Ball, believe me. That's a great way to learn; next time we dance you'll see how much better you are."

He looked at his watch. "Bloody hell, it's eleven a.m already. People will be wondering where I am."

"Got something better to be doing?" She asked, that daring, challenging look in her eyes again.

"Than be with you? No. But Ron and Hermione might send a search party out if I don't surface soon." He said, standing and drawing her up with him. They were both damp with sweat, he felt a single droplet run between his shoulder blades then down his back.

Close together, he could smell the magic pouring off her, mixed with a cool spiciness that must have been somehow essentially her.

He ran a finger across her brow, moving a couple of strands of midnight black hair away. "I could quite happily spend all day with you. But I need a drink."

They pulled each other close, just holding each other, still breathing hard.

"You smell amazing, you know?" She said after a few seconds.

"You too, there's so much power in you."

"What do you mean?" She asked. Disconnecting herself from him and going over to her boots. "Help me with these?"

"I don't know, you just smell powerful, like… you know after big spells go off, there's that magic in the air?"

She pulled a face, sliding her foot into one boot and waving to him for the other one. He knelt next to her and helped her into them. "Kind of. Tell me more over juice? I'm famished."

"Sure." He said, kissing her nose then opening the door for her. "After you Miss. Parkinson."