The following hours saw the castle become very quiet. Specialist decorators arrived to set the scene for the biggest social event Hogwarts had seen in what could have been centuries. By six o'clock the halls were deserted and the bathrooms fit to bursting, with a couple that had been shut down due to the low population re-opening to cope.

The boys – those old enough – shaved and splashed on cologne while the girls coiffed their hair and laboured over makeup. Harry made it back to the dorm before Seamus or Ron and immediately went to get ready in order to meet Pansy back at McGonagall's office at seven to get her dressed. He showered, brushed his teeth and did a reasonable job in taming his hair, despite Patel claiming it was one of the things that made him most interesting.

Dean arrived at six-thirty by specially arranged port key, getting to the dorm while Harry was adjusting his robes.

"Bloody hell Harry, you look sharp." He said, getting Harry to do a twirl for him.

"Thanks," Harry said, trying to maintain a cool façade.

"You okay mate?"

Harry didn't respond immediately, just managing a tight nod. He cleared his throat, "How's your gran? Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas. She's okay, no one thinks she has long left though." Dean said sadly. "But she's almost ninety, and she says she's ready, you know?"

Harry didn't know, it was hard to understand how someone could ever be ready to die, but he managed what he hoped was a sad, 'stay strong' kind of smile. "It's great to have you back, Seamus has been moping around ever since you left."

Dean rolled his eyes, "He's hopeless; top lad though. Right, I'll find him later, I need to go find my date."

"Who is it?" Harry asked as Dean was heading out of the door.

He turned back grinning, "Tabitha Fortescue –Huffler the year above us. She's well fit." He laughed and headed out of the dorm and down the stairs.

Harry turned back to his mirror, trying to make sure his robes were perfect.

The door opened, "Forget something?" Harry asked.

"What? Did you see Dean's made it back?" Ron asked.

Harry turned around to see Ron pause at his bed, seeing the box.

"What's this?" He asked, picking it up. "This from you?"

"Yeah, it's your present – didn't arrive until a couple of hours ago." Harry said, heading for the door – hoping to avoid any argument from Ron about how he couldn't accept the robes or how Harry shouldn't have.

"Bloody hell, Harry. Hang on."

He stopped and took a breath before turning back to the dorm. Ron was holding the robes up, a stunned expression on his face.

"The guy I spoke to said they'd really suit you and go well with Luna's hair." He said.

Ron looked from the robes to Harry and back.

"Do… you like them?"

He dropped the robes and hugged Harry, throwing his arms around him.

Harry patted him hard on the back. "I'll take that as a yes?"

Ron pulled back. "I… I don't know what to say."

Harry shrugged and slapped Ron on the arm, "Just say 'Merry Christmas', then go have a great night with Luna."

"But… I've been a proper dickhead with you this year – over the whole Goblet thing." Ron said, colour rising in his cheeks.

"We were both stupid, right?" Harry said, "Look, I need to get back to meet Pansy – they're going to be brilliant – just have a good night."

Ron smiled, "Right, cheers. I owe you one." He slapped Harry back on the arm, "Now bugger off, you fancy git, don't want to be late."

Harry arrived back at McGonagall's office at the same time as Pansy, approaching from opposite directions. Her eyes were wide, looking him over constantly as she came closer.

"You look amazing." She said, taking his hand and turning him.

He showed off his robes. "You like?"

She nodded. "Oh yeah. It makes you look… like…" she paused, biting her lip as she tried to express herself, "they make you look more like you than you, it's weird but…" She gave up and kissed him, a single hard moment.

His hands found her waist as McGonagall's door opened and they quickly broke apart. She was wearing long, flowing robes of Gryffindor red tartan and her hair was pinned so that it cascaded like a silver stream down her back.

"Mr. Potter, Miss. Parkinson, what is that?" She asked, looking at the air around them. "Do you have some kind of ridiculous scintillating charm on those robes, Potter?"

"No, Professor, of course not." Harry said.

Pansy turned to McGonagall, her eyes and skin shining. She looked at her hands, "We don't know Professor – it just happens when we kiss."

McGonagall – always porcelain-skinned – went pale and looked from one to the other and back. "Well… might I suggest you avoid such displays of affection until after tonight's festivities?"

"Yes Professor, of course." She said.

"Do you know what it is?" Harry asked as McGonagall stepped aside, letting them into her office.

"I have my suspicions, Potter, but it's nothing to worry about tonight. Just control yourselves."

Harry nodded, watching as the last of the glow faded from Pansy's skin.

McGonagall opened the door to her private rooms and followed them through.

The dress was ready, back under the shroud.

The excitement was still there in Pansy, but she was now still, almost rigid. Harry wondered if she might shatter like glass if he were to touch her.

"Miss Parkinson, we are ready for you." Patel said, bowing.

Pansy took a couple of stiff, robotic steps forward like she didn't know what was going to happen.

"If you'd wait outside, Mr. Potter?" Shearer asked, stepping forward and putting a hand on Pansy's arm to draw her forward.

He hugged Pansy quickly from behind, putting an arm around her and kissing her hair before leaving the room. Matikina followed.

She fussed with his hair, offering him a kind of potion to make it more manageable, but Harry declined.

After a few minutes, McGonagall came in, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of a tartan handkerchief.

"She looks lovely, Potter." She said, her voice thick. "I'm expected down with the other Heads of House, can I trust you to not destroy my home?"

Harry, too astonished by such a massive display of emotion from McGonagall, nodded. "Of course, Professor. Thank you again."

She nodded and looked like she was about to speak, but instead touched his face with a cool hand and smiled before leaving. As the door close behind her there was a sound distinctly like a nose being blown.

After a few minutes more, Patel opened the door. He looked tired but pleased. "She's almost ready – just for you Prudence. Come in, Harry."

Harry entered the room and was suddenly unable to breathe properly.

The dress was the same colour as his robes, corseted and boned – cinching in her already tiny waist – with full, flowing skirts pleated at the front, slashed with the same gold as on his lapels. The skirts shimmered with spider silk-fine layers of cloth that caught every stray beam of light, throwing sparkles around the room. Her shoulders and upper arms were bare, but she wore long, elbow-length green gloves. She turned to him and Shearer removed the blindfold.

She was so beautiful, he felt tears come to his eyes, but blinked them back.

"Oh, Harry," she said, biting her lip, "you're so handsome."

The sparks – that strange shimmering – came to his hands as he crossed to her.

The gloves were thin, but were too thick – he wanted to feel her skin, to hold her. As their eyes met, hers were already alight: sapphire in the cobalt.

He tried to speak, but his mouth moved silently.

"How do I look?" She asked, her voice small.

He swallowed past a giant stone of emotion in his throat. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He said, unable to stop himself from leaning in to kiss her.

It lasted less than a single heartbeat – and his was hammering – but the room was lit, his shimmering more like beams of golden sunlight and hers like those of a full moon.

He pulled away as Shearer and Patel made sounds of surprise and he saw Matikina avert her eyes.

"Oh my word." Shearer said as the lights died down to a glow. Her hand went to her throat and there were tears in her eyes now.

Patel smiled and put a hand on Harry's shoulder, steering him away and toward a chair. "Come, Mr. Potter. Let Mrs. Matikina do her work."

"Do you know what that is?" Pansy asked, turning to Matikina and Shearer.

Shearer smiled. "Young love, child. Nothing more or less than young love."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, surprised and uncomprehending.

"You see it from time to time," said Matikina in her slow, liquid voice, helping Pansy to a tall stool, "it is a sign of a soul finding its counterpoint in another."

"Young love." Shearer said. "It's a very powerful thing – congratulations."

"Now let me work please, both of you." Said Matikina, as a brush appeared in her right hand and a box opened to the side of her.