They had been told that the ball would start at eight o'clock exactly and Matikina, Shearer and Patel had spent almost every available moment working on Pansy.

He had been escorted out after Matikina started work and was taken down to a photo-call with the other Champions. Photographers from a number of magazines and newspapers including the Prophet, the New York Ghost, La Voie Sinueuse and a Bulgarian newspaper he couldn't pronounce.

Fleur was radiant; impossibly beautiful and wearing a sheer gown the colour of starlight and shimmered as if it was made of a million tiny diamonds. Cedric was tall, broad and handsome in black robes with hints and flashes of Hufflepuff yellow; and Krum, dark and brooding in a burgundy jacket, black trousers and matching black half-cape. They made awkward small-talk as the photographers buzzed around, organising them constantly as reporters babbled questions in a dozen languages.

They spent just five minutes with the reporters, with most of the questions in English directed at Harry, before Professors Sprout and Flitwick arrived to chivvy them to an enormous marquee that had been erected outside the main doors of Hogwarts.

Inside was enormous, at least twice the size of the Great Hall, all ice sculptures, tables and a vast dancefloor. Even Fleur was impressed, unsure how best to criticise it, so resorted to calling it "Quel excés."

They were directed to the left, through a pair of double doors into a chamber with mirrors and a small table with glasses and a pitcher of water.

"Just wait here – your partners are being taken to a room on the other side of the hall," Professor Flitwick said, gesticulating, "when it's time, one of us will fetch you: you will cross to join them one at a time, stand at the front, facing the assembled guests, and bow. There is a small meal, then the four of you will lead the first dance, after which the night will continue. Carriages are at one, bed by half-past. Any questions?"

They all nodded, the other three looking as tense as Harry felt.

As Flitwick left and the doors closed with a dull boom, Cedric turned and poured out four small measures of the water, then handed them around.

"To the Tri-Wizard Tournament." He said, raising his glass.

They all raised theirs and drank.

Then within what felt like a few seconds, there were sounds of many feet and voices on the other side of the door. It grew louder until it became a dull, indistinct roar.

Flitwick opened the door and stepped inside, briefly admitting a wall of noise, quickly muted behind him.

He bounced on the balls of his feet for a moment. "Right: ladies first," he said, gesturing to Fleur, "then the gentlemen in order of age: Krum, Diggory, Potter. Your partners will be waiting for you.

Music started up, huge and distorted by the doors, then a voice, audible over the rest started.

"Ladies, gentlemen, students, esteemed guests, beasts and spirits. Welcome to the crowning glory of the Triwizard Tournament. With your forbearance, I give you: The Triwizard Champions of Nineteen-ninety-four!" It was Ludo Bagman, his rich baritone magically amplified to fill the space.

Cheers erupted and the doors flew open.

"Fleur DeLacour, of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and her partner Roger Davis!"

Fleur walked out, haughty and dignified, to join hands with Roger Davies. The crowd erupted into cheering and applause.

"Viktor Krum of the Durmstrang Institute, Man of the Match of this year's Quidditch World Cup final and Starshi of Arvania House and his partner Hermione Granger!" The cheering increased, but there was a definite wave of stunned chatter as well.

Harry looked around Cedric and saw Viktor and Hermione meet, but she was almost unrecognisable: her hair, normally a wild cloud around her had been… tamed into a heavy, sleek braid that was draped gracefully over her shoulder. She was smiling, radiant.

"Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, recipient of the Aelister Crowley Youth Award for Outstanding Achievement in Divination, and his partner, Miss Cho Chang!"

Cedric jogged out to wild applause, taking Cho's hand and raising it high into the air.

Harry had a few seconds to note that he felt nothing, seeing Cho now after feeling such indignant, painful rage just a week earlier at her rejection of him.

Then he saw her. Pansy was separated from him by just thirty feet, her face cast in shadow. He longed for her, the world was silent.

Then she was moving and he heard his name: "-Potter, The Boy Who Lived, Heir to House Potter and his partner, Miss. Pansy Parkinson!"

She was moving toward him and his legs were taking him to her. The sound went out on the world again as they came together. He took her hands and kissed them. The sound came back and it was deafening: a wall of noise, cheering and the cracking and flashing of countless flash bulbs.

Her hand was warm in his, even through the unwelcome glove. He normally hated the attention, the staring at his scar, furtive looks and whispered rumours, but now with her hand in his, he felt fine.

As the flash spots cleared from his vision, he made out just how big the crowd was. There were hundreds – thousands, maybe filling the marquee and up the stairs into the entrance of the castle.

He looked at Pansy and she smiled. The makeup provided by Matikina had somehow amplified every aspect of her, including making her hair at least twice as long which had been swept into graceful curls and ringlets. Her eyes were huge and dark, shadowed with green and her lips were dark and inviting. It increased that certain cool beauty that was so hard for him to quantify.

It bought to mind images from the photo album that Hagrid had given him – of his parents' wedding – in a way he didn't understand.

Then the band which had assembled at the end of the marquee started to play – just a few small opening notes, but started to swell quickly.

The four partners, who might have been briefed, turned to their champions. Pansy held out her right hand and put her left on his arm. He took her hand and put his hand on her waist.

Then they were dancing. There were six others nearby but they were just motes of dust, so distant that they could have been in another room, in another house, another town, another galactic cluster.

They came back down to earth as the music ended on a long, high note from a violin. They stopped slowly, separating was terrible, almost painful.

The applause started, there were more photographs and cheering. Then Hermione was hugging Pansy, then him. Cedric and Viktor were shaking his hand and Fleur was kissing him on both cheeks, which made him slightly giddy.

Then Bartemius Crouch was there with Ludo Bagman, a tiny woman with a heavy French accent, Dumbledore, McGonagall. Pansy was hugging him – that lasted decades; beautiful, sunlit decades.

Then they were being walked around, introduced to people. Faces passed in a blur until there was a tall, severe looking woman in flowing purple robes and an almost alarmingly well-groomed man with Pansy's black hair and blue eyes standing before them.

"Mother, Babbo; I'd like to introduce you to Harry Potter." Pansy said, gesturing from them to him. "Harry, this is my mother and father."

Harry looked from them to her. Her eyes were gleaming bright. "Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson," he said, bowing slightly.

Mr. Parkinson scrutinised him in the same way Pansy did, that afternoon in the corridor then smiled, holding out a hand. "Ciao, ragazzo mio. Mi ha raccontato tutto di te." He said.

Uncomprehending, Harry looked at Pansy.

She slapped her father's hand playfully and spoke in rapid Italian. He rolled his eyes and grinned.

"Excuse my husband," her mother said, cutting in and allowing Harry to shake her cool hand, "he never took the time to grow up."

Mrs. Parkinson had a certain aloof coolness – also like Pansy – that in some way reminded him of Draco's mother.

"But I'll always be the life of the party, as you know well cara mia." Mr. Parkinson said to his wife before slapping Harry on the arm. "You both look wonderful, and I'm sure she'll teach you to dance one day. We can speak later. Go enjoy yourself for now." He had a quick, lilting kind of voice with a strong accent.

"Grazie mille, babbo." Pansy said, hugging both her parents again.

"You're so beautiful sweetheart." Her mother said, releasing Pansy with what looked like a great effort.

Then they were in motion again, shaking hands with strangers whose faces stuck in his mind less than their names.

Snape. Severus Snape was standing there, his hair washed for once, but his sneer and black robes as consistent as gravity.

"Professor, I'm so glad you came!" Pansy said, curtsying to him.

Snape's black eyes flicked to Harry. "Well, I couldn't allow one of Slytherin's bright lights to be unsupported, could I Miss. Parkinson?" He said. "Mr. Potter is being an at least adequate partner, I hope?"

She took Harry's hand. "Harry has been a perfect gentleman Professor, thank you."

He looked at Harry in his normal disgusted way. "Mr. Potter."

"Professor." Harry said, nodding and trying to think of anything he could say that wouldn't result in some cutting remark.

Snape beat him to it, "Enjoy your evening, Miss. Parkinson. Potter." He nodded and turned, melting into the crowd.

He was replaced almost instantly with a tall, grizzled man that looked instantly to Harry like an elderly lion. His amber eyes went straight to Harry's scar as he held out a calloused hand.

"Ah, you've met already!" Cried Cornelius Fudge, appearing out of nowhere – for once without his hideous lime green bowler hat. "Allow me to introduce you, won't you? Mr. Harry Potter, this is Rufus Scrimgeour – Head of the Auror Office. Rufus, this is Harry Potter, of course. I'm sorry Potter, I don't know your companion here."

Harry shook Scrimgeour's hand; it was like grasping a piece of old, petrified wood. "It's a great pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter." The old man said in a strong Cardiff accent, his amber eyes glinting.

"And I you, Mr. Scrimgeour." Harry said. "Let me introduce Pansy Parkinson."

"Charmed, I'm sure." Scrimgeour said, bowing with an unusual hand gesture to both of them.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss. Parkinson," Fudge said, kissing Pansy's hand. "Now, if you'll excuse me Mr. Potter, Miss. Parkinson, I need to introduce Mr. Scrimgeour to my French opposite number."

Then they too were away.

Ron was next, his face sweaty and a ridiculous grin plastered across his face. "Harry!" he cried, hugging him hard. "Thanks so much for the robes, I don't think I'll ever repay you." He whispered into Harry's ear.

The robes were a soft pastel blue, just the right shade to soften the effect of his bright red hair and cut to reduce how gangly he looked.

The effect was revealed in full as Luna appeared, smiling broadly. She wore a flowing gown of silver cloth with a single heavy silver bangle and thin chain around her slender neck. Ron's robes made her normally dirty-blonde hair look like spun gold.

"Oh hi Harry, Pansy." She said, throwing her arms around them. "This party is amazing." She drew the final word out into at least five syllables, her huge eyes shining with glee.

"Come and dance!" Ron said, taking Pansy's hand as Luna took Harry's, pulling the pair back toward the dancefloor.

As their shoes clicked through the transition from carpet to wooden boards, Pansy managed to slip Ron's hand and threw her arms around Harry. He felt her lips brush his ear.

"If I don't get another chance, I just wanted to tell you…"

"Tell me what?" He said, his free hand finding her hip, squeezing gently.

"I.. think I-"

What she thought was lost as Ron caught her hand again, drawing Pansy and Harry inexorably back into the music.