Masquerade or Of sanity and other such luxuries

Harry gazed straight ahead. A haunted-looking young man, impeccably dressed in alluring purple velvet robes stared back at him through dull green eyes, his visage partially concealed under a mop of unruly black hair.

A ball.

A dance, a celebration, a get together of friendly, like-minded – or at the very least opportunistic – people of note and a somewhat grabby persuasion. A congregation of the worthy, worldly, worshipped and – incidentally – wealthy glamorous top of society.

How he despised the lot of them.

In a daze of detachment, he watched his mirror image scowl in shared disgust. Victory Ball the Prophet had called it, trying to gloss over where it was to take place. A Victory Ball to honour the victims of the still undisclosed Lethifolds – at his home.

Fate could be so cruel.

'Master Harry, you is being very late! You is needing to get going!'

Harry lowered his eyes. Minnie was prancing around his feet, picking at a few creases he couldn't bring himself to care about right now.

'The Mistress is already being there too! Master Harry shouldn't be keeping the Mistress waiting.'

His original plan to treat Tracey to an evening of swish socialising just for the fun of seeing her squirm now seemed like the infantile prank of an idiotic boy. It hadn't even been a fortnight, but he couldn't help feeling some amount of revulsion towards the person that had left Hogwarts to celebrate a belated Yule. The past was full of bloody fools.

On the positive side of things, Tracey was unlikely to pester him with questions. With a sigh, he corrected his posture and assumed a scrupulously neutral expression. 'Anything else I should know, Minnie?'

'The Skeeter woman of the Prophet is being here at the leisure of the Minister, Master Harry.'

Harry swore wildly, causing the small elf to look at him in horror. 'Sorry,' he said, running his hand through his hair. 'I'm a bit...on edge.'

'Master Harry is not needing to apologise. But you is needing to get going, sir!'

'Yes, yes,' he mumbled.

Yielding to the gentle ushering, Harry eventually made his way down the set of stairs towards the intermingled, indistinct voices. Once every few seconds – like a wave – a laugh would rise above the incessant sea of mumbling only to dissolve again, meaningless and ephemeral.

His grandfather was entertaining several older foreigners. Nearly two dozen gentlemen in fine clothing stood around the rather short and wrinkled Lord Black, hanging on his every word. It was a trick, Harry knew; the softly spoken words were meant to captivate the audience, force them to listen attentively whilst projecting calm confidence. Harry did it too.

Circling around the enthralled audience, Harry nodded politely towards a few ancient witches he identified as, in every meaning of the word, old acquaintances of Arcturus, making his way through the crowd until he spotted Draco cowering behind Leo.

'Hey, there you are!' Leo hailed him happily.

Draco gave an immense start, turning around and raising his hands defensively. When he saw Harry, he took a deep breath of relief. 'Thank, Merlin,' he said, looking around nervously. 'You haven't seen the evil twin, have you?'

'No.'

'Good!'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'Aren't you overreacting a bit? You can't have been here longer than half an hour, can you?'

'Amy's got the whole evening planned out,' explained Leo. Seeing Harry's disbelieving expression, he added, 'For maximum unpleasantness.'

'Oh, I see. Who else is here?'

'Pretty much everyone,' said Draco, repositioning himself to have Leo and Harry hide him from view.

Leo nodded. In a lower voice, he said, 'I think your whole family is in attendance, Harry. Except for Tonks; I heard she's working or something.'

'Truly?' Curious, Harry had another look at the crowd. Family reunions weren't really a thing for the Blacks unless there was some very good reason involved. With a frown, his eyes lingered on Amaryllis talking animatedly with Ophala. They were friends from school but...

'Is your grandfather expecting trouble?' asked Leo, his eyes sweeping across the crowd too.

'I don't know. Where are the girls?'

'Still sitting at our table, I hope,' said Draco with a shudder. 'Can't you distract your cousin a bit, mate? I don't deserve this; I haven't even done anything tonight!'

Truth be told, Harry couldn't be bothered. Amy would keep Draco on his toes and thus from bugging him; a win-win situation as long as one disregarded Draco's discomfort. Harry thought he might just manage to make that sacrifice. 'She's your cousin, too, you know?' he said in a low voice. 'But I'll keep it in mind,' he added, thinking it might be a bit impolite to outright refuse.

'Thanks, man!'

'Don't mention it.'

'Are you alright, Harry? You look a bit pale,' asked Leo suddenly.

'It's nothing. Couldn't sleep so well tonight.'

'First, you can't stop sleeping; and now, you stop sleeping altogether? Stop being so extreme about it, mate!' said Draco with a grin.

Harry chose not to dignify that with an answer.

'Anyway,' continued Draco, who seemingly didn't need any prompting to keep the conversation going, 'you should have a look at Greengrass' dress! Wowsa!'

'Are we really talking about this?' asked Harry, levelling a disgruntled look at the younger Malfoy.

'Whatever problems that girl might have, you have to give her credits for her great knockers!'

'Cut it out, Draco!'

'I mean, Tracey's as flat as a pancake, and your sister, Leo-' Draco visibly flinched, apparently reconsidering. 'Well, I just can't think about her that way. But Greengrass not only got volu-'

'I'm warning you, Draco!' barked Leo, looking extremely uncomfortable. 'I'm not going to take the heat for you another time.'

'Another time? What are you talking about?'

'Forget it!'

Harry silently followed their quick-tempered exchange. In a way, he was glad for Draco's crude choice of topic because it meant that all he had to do was nod and sip on the drink Cranky had stealthily offered him. The others hadn't even noticed, and that was perfectly fine because – frankly – Harry didn't feel like partaking in that conversation of theirs, or any conversation at all, for that matter.

'You alright, mate?' asked Draco out of the blue.

Harry looked up, surprised. Sadly, it seemed like some kind of conclusion regarding Daphne's figure had been reached. Had he really been so obviously blanking out? 'What? Oh, I'm fine. Just tired.'

'If you say so,' said Draco, doubt leaking from every word.

Harry shrugged.

Leo looked from Harry to Draco, somewhat taken aback by his cousin's reaction. 'Shouldn't we be heading over? The girls might get angry, you know.'

'Wonder what that's like,' remarked Draco sarcastically.

'You could've just asked out another girl before Amy had the chance...' said Leo with an exasperated sigh.

'I had a date! But she suddenly told me she didn't want to go with me any longer!'

'Who was it?'

'Parkinson,' grumbled Draco.

'Well, you might get better results with your dates if you stopped talking about their breasts as soon as they're out of earshot,' said Harry, rolling his eyes.

'Then what's the point of them having any?!'

'You're annoying, Draco. Please, just shut up.'

'That's just because Greengrass keeps shoving hers into your face all the ti-'

'SHUT UP!' yelled Harry.

Draco and Leo stared at him, as did a few guests all around them. Confronted with the widening enclosure of silence all around him, Harry's eyes widened a bit with realisation. 'Look, I'm sorry, Draco.'

'Er, no problem, mate.' With a grin, Draco added, 'Didn't know Greengrass' boobies were such a heavy topic for you.'

In his head, Harry silently counted to five. 'Are you quite done?' he asked angrily.

Draco shrugged, grin still plastered all over his face. 'Meh – for now, I guess.'

'Come on, guys,' said Leo apprehensively, pointing towards the beautifully set table their company was sitting around, apparently engrossed in a conversation of their own. Amy and Daphne were, Harry corrected himself. Tracey, somehow managing to appear lonely whilst surrounded by her friends, looked moony.

Amy had gone for a formal and decidedly conservative set of umber robes. Daphne, by stark contrast, was wearing a truly stunning and rather daring, figure-hugging silken dress of silver and green. Surprisingly, Harry now felt rather lenient towards Draco's vulgar excitement from earlier; Daphne really did look amazing, shining like a Slytherin-coloured jewel in the gloom of the candle-lit hall. To his slight surprise, Tracey was actually wearing a dress as well. Nothing as extravagant, bold or eye-catching as Daphne, but the short and simple teal dress looked surprisingly good on her.

'Harry!' gushed Daphne excitedly, tackling him with a rapturous hug.

'Daphne. Good evening, girls. I'm glad you could make it,' said Harry over Daphne's shoulder and with a polite nod. Daphne's lingering embrace sadly prevented him from observing the niceties of custom and tradition, so this would have to suffice.

'Hey, Harry!' said Amy.

'Hullo,' muttered Tracey with something vaguely akin to a smile.

'Come on, let's take a seat, Daphne,' said Harry. 'Grandfather is sure to address the guests in a few minutes.'

'Oh, right! And inviting them to open the first dance...' Her voice trailed off very softly as she beamed at him expectantly.

'Don't look at me like that,' he said with a chuckle and an exasperated little smile. 'Officially, Leo is your companion for the dance, so you'll have to share this very first dance with him at least.'

'I knew that!' said Daphne, looking a shade embarrassed.

'Wait, that means I actually have to dance with you?' asked Tracey, squirming uncomfortably in her seat.

'I'm afraid so.'

'But I've never danced at the ball!'

'That's because you either came as the daughter of a guest or because you went with Daphne,' explained Harry, trying to sound reasonable.

'But I can't dance!'

'Maybe Daphne can give you a few tips? You still have loads of time!'

'How long?' she asked hesitantly.

'Er, about fifteen minutes.'

'I don't dance!'

'Maybe we should get your mother's opinion on this?' quipped Draco from the sidelines, grinning evilly.

Tracey hung her head. 'I...hate you sometimes, Draco!'

'I understand you're looking forward to the dance,' said Leo with an enigmatic smile. 'Please treat my sister well.'

Draco's smile froze.

'We'll have so much fun!' said Amy excitedly. 'I hope you don't mind I picked my spikiest lady's shoes for tonight! Hope you're wearing sturdy footwear!'

'Harry?' The Malfoy heir hissed from the corner of his mouth, smiling boldly at Amy. 'You know a charm to toughen leather, don't you?'

'I'm sorry, I just don't seem to recall,' replied Harry ruminatively, deciding that he hadn't quite forgiven Draco's lecherous comments after all.

'Ladies and Gentlemen,' the voice of his grandfather interrupted their spiel. 'Esteemed Minister, honoured guests, dear friends and family members-'

'Family member,' someone called from the table behind Harry to barely audible sniggering all around.

Arcturus' smile seemed to widen a bit, despite the rude heckling. '-I would like to take this opportunity to give you my heartfelt welcome...'

Harry had trouble concentrating on his grandfather's words. It was always the same anyway, greet the important guests in the right order, make a few remarks appropriate for the occasion, close the speech with a few light remarks to set a mellow mood. Once upon a time, Sirius had bragged that he could hold such a speech even after a dozen pints of ale. As a child, Harry had found his boastful godfather hilarious, but today he could see how the words might have held some resentment, too.

Harry allowed his mind to wander as his eyes swept across the hall. Even Lucius, who usually delegated all tasks concerning social events to his wife, was present, sitting stiffly at a table with a few other people Harry identified as belonging to the Hogwarts Board of Governors.

Leo had been right; most of his family seemed to be present, which – if Harry's memory didn't fail him – he'd only ever witnessed once, shortly before he'd officially taken his place as Arcturus' heir.

The vast majority understood family as a simple word with a very definite denotation. Harry, as a Black, had a somewhat different and rather differentiated concept of family by necessity.

To most, family was a fated bond with people of your blood.

To some, it meant legacy.

But not to the Blacks.

Glancing over to the source of the steady stream of soft hissing and cursing, his eyes found Druella Rosier, whom the entire British high society knew better as the Fuming Devil (though none but the most suicidal of witches or wizards ever called the infamously snarky and vicious woman that to her face). She was bickering madly with the rest of the Rosier clan, especially one particular grandniece of hers that leant a bit too casually against the wall, parading her disinterest for all to see.

And right next to the bored Rosier heiress stood...

Harry blinked, his eyebrows creasing. What the bloody hell was she doing here?!

Thankfully, the Black Ball was attended by a very vocal minority of ancient witches and wizards who didn't hold to such nonsense as total quiet and remaining seated. Ignoring the indignant looks of both his friends and the nearest guests, Harry quietly got up and shuffled over to the right-most corner of the room, squeezing through the mass of people, all of whom looked at him in annoyance, almost as if they had been really listening to a word his grandfather had said.

Harry scowled. Sometimes, he really could understand Hermione's frustration; those wilting, wizened, waistcoat-wearing weasels wanted nothing more than to publicly destroy his family, and yet they thought him rude for interrupting their chance to express polite indifference and disdain for his grandfather.

The rest of the way, Harry trod on a few more shoes than strictly necessary, making it a point to apologise loudly and extensively every time.

People finally made way for him after some time. It really was a pity though; he'd just spotted Susan Bones standing next to her aunt. He wouldn't have minded accidentally flattening her pretty court shoe, but – then again – maybe it was better to not intentionally anger and provoke the head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement.

'Stepping on toes, I see?' whispered Aenor with a wink when he'd finally arrived.

'What are you doing here?' he hissed back. 'Didn't you say you wouldn't make it?'

She shrugged, taking a sip from her glass. Her other hand, almost unnoticed even by Harry, who stood directly in front of her, flicked her wand – a privacy charm. 'I did. But then someone managed to deprive me of my little project in the forest.' Her head was still directed towards the orator in the centre of the hall, but she glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. 'Do you, by any chance, remember me telling you repeatedly to be careful and not do anything foolish?'

'Couldn't have dropped a hint, maybe, that you knew exactly what we were dealing with, could you?' Harry replied bitterly.

But Aenor just shrugged. 'How was I to know you'd do something so foolhardy? Also, it's not like you asked, you know? Anyway, since I don't have anything better to do tonight, I thought I'd have a few free drinks on your family.'

'You didn't even dress up,' said Harry reproachfully, indicating her ordinary navy-blue robes.

'Blue goes with anything! Lamenting the fact that you couldn't see me all dressed up again?' she added with a provocative smile. 'I'm just taking a bit of a break from grading, really.'

Harry flicked his tongue, ignoring her question because the answer was probably yes. 'Anyway, since your little game of hide and seek is over, can you at least now answer a few questions?'

Aenor shrugged, taking another sip, her head still facing Arcturus. 'I suppose.'

'When did you realise you were being hunted by the Lethifolds I summoned last Yule?' Harry demanded, ashamed and angry at the same time.

'Well, I first suspected when they followed us to my little abode off the coast. You wouldn't know, but that place is warded against some of the bolder denizens of the sea, and the wards were going haywire the entire time. But I had proof the moment I set foot on the mainland. I originally planned that detour to have my mysterious assailant meet a tragic accident. Remember that I told you about what I thought to be a break-in? I was quite annoyed.'

Harry glared at his shoes. What good does it do to be angry with her?! I'm the stupid one!

'Frankly,' she went on with a pitying tone, 'I was convinced you'd finally understand when you met me directly after my one day trip. You know, the only time the weather somewhat improved was, by chance, exactly the day I wasn't in Scotland?'

Harry raised his head. Aenor was, while still not exactly turning his way, giving him a look somewhere between pity and amusement. 'If you'd followed the Muggle news, you might also have realised that a few dozen Dutch fishermen mysteriously vanished at the end of last summer, incidentally around the time we were in the vicinity. They followed me to my next stop further east too.'

'I couldn't have known where you went to, though,' Harry protested angrily.

She just shrugged. 'I suppose not.'

'And after that?' he demanded, resigning himself to hear the full extent of his incompetence.

'Well, I raided the Hogwarts library in an effort to find out more.'

'You did that?! We thought the topic had been purged!' Harry exclaimed hotly.

'It was. But I went and picked up the crumbs, so to speak. I even left the books in my private study. You saw me reading them, remember?'

Harry stared at her, feeling his face go red with embarrassment. Bloody hell!

'Anyway, Dumbledore was keeping a close eye on the whole situation after your little adventure in the forest.'

At this point, Harry had to take a deep breath and avert his eyes.

'Oh, yes, he knew. That's why the Aurors arrived so suddenly that very weekend. Can't say I blame him. If the Lethifolds had gotten you, your grandfather would've levelled the castle, I imagine.'

Harry looked up at her through his fingers. It seemed at least that she didn't know about their family's connection to the Lethifolds... Speaking of which! 'Do you have any idea how they came back?!'

'Now there's finally a question that isn't dull or full of self-pity,' she said with a smirk. 'I thought about that too, but you were so reluctant to share anything about that spell of yours. I suppose that hasn't changed since?'

Harry shook his head, watching her closely.

'Pity! Well, this is all purely theoretical – hypothetical, really, since I can only make daring assumptions about the underlying principles. But I assume you used magic to...call them forth, didn't you?'

Harry returned her questioning look with utter blankness. 'Alright,' she conceded, raising her hands. 'Forget I asked. Anyway, assuming this all hasn't been your intention from the very start, I can only see it going one way; all manners of summoning usually require a subject, an object, a gate, and – in case the summoning isn't permanent – an amount of magic proportional to the intended length of the summoning. Usually, that gateway also functions as an anchor of sorts. I suppose you falsely identified your contract runes as the anchor to keep them in this world?'

Very slowly, Harry nodded.

'Well, I can see how you'd come to that conclusion, but you probably overlooked something right from the start. You see, I didn't banish your cute little pets from the mansion back then. No, I'm quite sure I actually destroyed them. Mind you, they were much weaker at the time, before they started feasting on hundreds and hundreds of creatures and men.'

'Thank you for reminding me,' muttered Harry darkly.

Aenor only rolled her eyes, taking another sip from what gave off a hint of orange and – predictably – a bit more than a hint of juniper. 'Don't be such a cissy, Harry. Anyway, you should've started thinking why they came back. The gate, the anchor if you prefer that terminology, probably slipped your notice. Before arriving at the ball, I thoroughly cleansed the duelling chamber, by the way – with the permission of your grandfather, naturally. Not saying they weren't interesting objects of study, but I think considering how it all turned out, it might be best to draw the line here.'

For a few seconds, they stood in silence, watching the muted figure of Lord Black addressing the solemn crowd.

'What makes you think they were the same Lethifolds, anyway?' she asked unexpectedly.

'What?' stammered Harry.

'It's not like they introduced themselves, did they? Lethifolds are known and rumoured to be many things, but loquacious certainly isn't one such thing. It's not like they speak, do they?' She chuckled, taking another sip.

'Yes, of course, they don't,' Harry agreed feebly, his mind racing.

'My point is that it's not entirely certain they were the same, is it? Maybe they were just attracted to the ones you summoned last year? Who knows?! I don't even know if they're capable of intelligence...'

Harry's throat felt as dry as a desert, so he took a generous sip from his glass. It also soothed his nerves a bit. 'So...what were you researching, then?'

'Oh, their mind attacks. Fascinating creatures, really, extraordinary even! Imagine what one could do with powers like theirs...'

Grimacing, Harry emptied his glass. He could imagine.

'More importantly, how are you holding up?' she asked unexpectedly, fully turning around to look at him at last.

'Fine,' he said automatically.

'You don't say,' she said with another brief smirk. 'You don't seem fine to me, but oh well.'

'I said I'm fine!'

'Listen, Harry, I'm not asking just to be given the same crappy excuse of a lie you give all those fools out there.'

Harry sighed, about to take another sip before he remembered the desolate state of emptiness his glass was in. With a flick of his tongue, he clicked his fingers and had Cranky refill it.

'Incidentally, what is it you're drinking?' asked Aenor curiously.

'Butterbeer with a lacing of rum, Miss Rose,' answered Cranky faithfully. 'Would the Miss like to try it as well?'

Aenor shook her head and waited until the old elf vanished again. 'Anyway, we were talking about how you're coping.'

'I thought we were done with that already,' Harry returned stiffly.

'No, we're not. Truth now!'

Harry scowled, taking another sip, his eyes flickering from Aenor to the crowd of fools they'd invited into their home, fools who'd sentence him to death – him, his grandfather, and his present company – should they ever learn the whole truth.

'I...' He clung to his glass, mouth partially opened, desperately struggling to find the right words. 'I'm ashamed,' he confessed in a low voice.

'Ashamed?' she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

'I...I something's wrong with me!' he practically shouted, turning around to stare at the witch beside him. 'I know what I did was inexcusable. I know I should've been more careful! I...I know those people died because of my idiocy.'

'Debatable,' said Aenor expressionlessly. 'But do go on.'

'I didn't mean to kill them,' said Harry impatiently, clutching the glass so tightly that it hurt. 'But that doesn't mean it wasn't my fault.'

'I see,' muttered Aenor. Her eyes bore into him, dissecting him as if he lay on a slab in front of her. 'So you think you need to take re-'

But Harry cut her off. 'But that's not what I'm ashamed of,' he whispered, taking another desperate gulp to seek bravery through intoxication.

'It isn't?' said Aenor, looking surprised.

'I...' He looked around, his eyes lingering on the styled mane of hair of his cousin that he could make out even from where he stood. 'I feel so empty,' he admitted, in a hushed tone of dread. 'I'm terrified that I risked my family, terrified that I did something that might harm us, inconsolable over how I endangered those who sought to help, demeaned by how...how everything turned out because I wasn't clever enough, fast enough, knowledgeable enough.'

He looked up, up into those light blue eyes that observed him attentively.

'But no matter what, I don't feel half as bad about all those who died like cattle in the streets,' he confessed, feeling sick. 'And that thought makes my stomach turn.'

Aenor was still staring at him as the clapping broke out. Arcturus' speech must have ended, but neither of them made the least effort to partake. Two people – rocks in a sea of polite cheering – jade green on icy blue.

Eventually, the crowd was still proclaiming its very limited enthusiasm, Aenor delicately licked her lips. 'Do you know what guilt is, Harry?'

He wrinkled his brow in confusion.

'Guilt, Harry, is what fools feel instead of responsibility. Do you feel responsible for what happened?'

'In parts,' he said slowly.

'There is no "in parts",' she cut him off impatiently, putting down her drink. 'Listen, you're either responsible, or you're not.'

When he looked at her with obvious doubt, she narrowed her eyes. 'Did you intend to slaughter thousands of Muggles and Wizards?'

'No?' he croaked, alarmed.

'Was it even possible to foresee such an event coming to pass as a consequence of our spar last year?'

He stared at her. 'I...guess not?'

'Then your path is clear.' When he just gazed at her, she sighed impatiently, taking up her drink again. 'Even if your actions lacked far-sightedness, lingering fear or guilt is a critical weakness, Harry. Kill it!'

He took a step back, blinking. 'What, you mean...?'

'What else did you take Occlumency for if not coping with the horrible? If you believe you aren't responsible, you have no need of those feelings. Kill them! Most weaknesses are nothing to be ashamed of – they make us human. But guilt over spilled wine...or blood...won't help you move forward; guilt can destroy men and dreams, Harry, and some dreams are too great, too good to give up over a few stains of red.'

The crowd started to move, gushing towards the middle of the room like a tide finally free of the dam, seizing Harry in its wake. He was still staring motionlessly at her.

'Oh,' she added, taking another sip as the privacy charm broke, nodding towards the dance floor. 'And do something about Davis. She's looking even worse than you.'

'Is that concern?' he half asked half shouted to make himself heard.

She just shook her head. 'A matter of safety for you.'

~BLVoD~

The current of enthused witches and wizards washed him, as if by magic, ashore directly at Tracey's feet. The slender witch looked gloomily at the floor, barely acknowledging his arrival.

'Where were you?' asked Daphne from the side, standing next to Leo.

'Having a talk,' he replied uneasily, glancing at Tracey, who was determinedly looking away.

Daphne was about to challenge his flimsy attempt to evade her inquiry when Leo held out his hand. 'Would you give me the honour of this dance, Daphne?' he asked ceremonially, bowing politely.

'What? Oh, ahem, yes, of course.'

With a polite little curtsey, she took his hand and let herself be led towards the dance floor.

Harry watched them walk away until their figures vanished in the crowd. Eventually, he turned to look at Tracey, who was still facing away from him.

'I don't want to dance,' she mumbled sullenly.

'But we really should,' he said with a bit of a helpless grin. 'At least this one dance.'

'I don't feel like dancing!'

'I can relate,' he admitted. 'I never do.'

Tracey gave a snort and finally looked up. 'I can't dance!' she went on complaining. 'I don't think I'll remember Daphne's tips one bit!'

'We'll go slow, and I'll lead. No Transfiguration Mastery is required, I assure you.'

She looked up at him, her golden eyes petulant and beseeching. 'I don't dance,' she repeated insistently, though her voice seemed to have lost a bit of iciness.

'Come on,' he said, taking her hand, ignoring her protests. 'We've already had the honour, remember?' When she cutely wrinkled her brow in confusion, he mimicked both of their hands writing the still very familiar motion of the runes.

Despite herself, Tracey gave another snort of amusement. 'That wasn't a dance!'

'But it was,' he said with a teasing smile. Deciding to push a bit further, he continued, 'Considering you've already lost your dancing innocence, you might as well roll with it.'

'You're a prick!' she grumbled. He noticed that she had finally stopped trying to wiggle her hand free. 'Fine,' she mumbled, sighing heavily. 'Let's just get on with it. And don't you dare complain when I mess up!'

'Wouldn't dream of it.'

Despite her flimsy protests, Harry dragged Tracey towards the middle of the floor, with people making way for them. Laying one hand on her waist – and ignoring her twitch – he said, 'Well, here goes nothing.'

Tracey nodded grimly, gawping at their feet with a look of intense concentration, causing Harry to laugh as he led her into a turn.

'Stop laughing,' she hissed, her head jerking up to glare at him as she viciously trod his feet in retaliation.

'I'm sorry,' he said, still smirking unrepentantly. 'But I've never seen you so serious before. You'd think you were dancing to save your life!'

'I don't want to embarrass myself, you jerk!' she snarled, looking around stealthily.

'Relax, Tracey. Just give in to the music. See?' he said, after a few moments without the unintentional stepping on toes. 'You haven't looked at your feet ever since you decided to glare at me so fiercely.'

For a second, Tracey appeared bewildered, but then she looked around again, saw her parents dancing close by, and lowered her gaze to stare at her feet again.

Harry rolled his eyes, stifling his laughter this time. 'I'm surprised you decided to go with a dress,' he said just to make conversation. 'I believe this is the first time you haven't attended wearing robes.'

Her head shot up again, looking at him, mistrustful. 'Daphne insisted so she wouldn't look too out of place.'

Harry's gaze wandered for a second to his left where Leo and Daphne were twirling, talking animatedly.

'And I'm ever so sorry for not having the same effect as Daphne!' remarked Tracey coldly, following his gaze.

'Not at all,' he said earnestly. 'Actually, I rather think it suits you.'

Her aureate eyes narrowed, but confronted with his genuine smile, she faltered a bit, stumbling, nearly bringing the both of them down. 'Thanks – I guess.'

'You're welcome.'

Tracey stared at him, agonising. Harry just smiled politely and continued to lead them as best he could, steering them subtly away from those he knew would make her nervous.

'How come you can be like this?' she demanded suddenly. 'Normally you're all nervous and awkward with girls, even us, and then – like flipping a switch – you can be all suave and stuff.'

Harry returned her gaze. Remembering how much the witch in front of him hated dishonesty, he chose to shoot for a bit of truth. 'It got a lot easier since last year, but even before that, I could do it if I really wanted.' Forseeing her indignant protest, he added, 'It just wasn't very honest.'

'So you're just pretending, is that it?' she muttered, seemingly offended.

'Before – definitely; now – about half-half, I'd say,' he returned with a laugh.

'Oh.' She looked away again, though not at her feet, he noticed. 'They're gone, aren't they?' she breathed, leaning a bit closer.

Harry knew they weren't talking about dancing or girls anymore. 'I think so.'

'Good.' She relaxed a bit, and after a few seconds, another thought seemed to occur to her. 'Anyway, can you do me a favour?'

'Hm?'

'Can you please, please compliment Daphne on her dress? She's developed a bit of a trauma about you ignoring her, and she won't shut up about it. If you don't say anything, I'll have to suffer her whining for weeks again!'

'Oh,' he said, chuckling awkwardly. 'I, er, guess I could.'

'And how honest will that compliment be?' she asked challengingly, raising her chin.

'About half-half, I'd venture,' he said with a bit of a smirk.

~BLVoD~

Taking as much time as he dared, Harry weaved his way through the throng of twisting couples. Merlin, who would've thought that one compliment would set her off like that!

And indeed, ever since Harry had given Daphne the compliment he'd promised Tracey, the Greengrass heiress had positively stuck to his side, despite his protests that he didn't want to dance or any subtle or not so subtle attempts to keep a bit of distance.

In addition to his clingy cousin, he was also desperately evading Rita Skeeter, who had briefly spotted him as he'd left to get drinks – or rather to get away for a few moments. He wasn't afraid of giving an interview or anything, but there was no doubt that nothing good could come of it, in the end.

Making his way around a few older, pipe-smoking witches, he nearly crashed into a foreign-looking man in his fifties wearing loose robes of striking orange and red. 'I'm sorry, sir,' he muttered, trying to take his leave as soon as possible, just in case Skeeter was still on his heels.

'Halt! Just one second, young man!'

Reluctantly, Harry came to a stop, his eyes scanning the crowd, on the lookout for any sign of devious reporters.

'Well met, my youthful fellow,' the man said with a rough accent. 'Am I right in assuming you are Arcturus' boy?'

With a sigh, Harry concluded that if this person was on speaking terms with his grandfather, he'd never be able to get away from his conversation.

But 'well met, my youthful fellow'? Ye gods!

Giving the man another once over, he noticed the effortless posture, the knowing smile, and – curiously – the scar that ran from his brow down to his chin, forcing the man to squint through one of his eyes. 'Yes, my lord,' he returned, bowing politely. 'Though I cannot say I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance yet...?'

'Oh, we'll have none of that!' the man said with a beaming smile. 'You just call me Pepa! My, but what a strapping young lad you turned out to be. Arcturus must be proud!'

'I suppose so...Pepa? I appreciate your kind words,' returned Harry, trying to place the accent. Eastern Europe? No, not quite.

'Ah, but I see I'm holding you up, my boy! Looking for your fine, young lady, perhaps?' he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

'Er, I'm getting drinks for the both of us,' Harry returned honestly because there just didn't seem to be anything else to say.

'Good chap! The blonde, is it? A fine young lady if ever I saw one. Enjoy the evening, lad, and be sure to treat her right!'

'I will, thank you,' said Harry, adumbrating a bow.

The man returned the bow, rather respectfully so, and turned around to greet another acquaintance. With a shrug, Harry continued his journey to the table where the elves perpetually refilled drinks. He could, of course, have just summoned Cranky to do it, but that would beat the whole point of the exercise. With grim satisfaction, he realised that the queue was quite long.

'Have you heard that dreadful gossip about the Prewetts, dear?' an elderly woman in front of him said to her equally ancient friend next to her. 'My word, I just couldn't believe my ears!'

'I say!' the other witch returned, holding one hand in front of her mouth in an appropriate show of mild horror and palpable glee. 'I've always thought there was something nasty about the man.'

'Really? And here I thought you worshipped the ground he walks on!'

'I won't deny he's got a boyish charm to him, but that business with his wife? Awful!'

'You really believe it, then?'

'Oh, I'm sure he didn't kill her, you know these stories get blown out of proportion. But – as they say – accidents happen, don't they? You have to admit it's fishy how Lucretia "got sick" so suddenly that she died two days later. I never knew her to be so frail.'

'A colleague of mine always said the man had a temper. My grandnephew told me he practically shouted everyone out of his class when some poor girl confronted him with the rumour, tossing furniture and all.'

'How horrible!' the other woman cooed.

Harry had always wondered just what catharsis felt like; now, he had a pretty good idea. In a decidedly better mood, he returned, the two promised drinks in his hands.

'Took you long enough!' said Amy, grabbing one and offering the other to Daphne, who looked a bit disappointed but took it nevertheless.

'Where were you?' she asked sulkily.

'The queue was incredible – incredibly long, I mean!' he said, correcting himself at the last moment. 'I also had to evade Skeeter. Merlin, that woman is like a hound.'

'On the prowl, you mean,' interjected Draco, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

'You're disgusting, Malfoy. You know that?' said Daphne conversationally, taking a sip, idly playing with her straw. 'She didn't get you, did she?'

'Thankfully no.' With a sigh, Harry sat down.

Daphne immediately sat down next to him. 'Are you thirsty? We can share if you want,' she said with a smile, offering him her straw.

Ignoring Amy's amused look, Harry sat up straight. 'Oh, no, thank you, Daphne. I'm good.'

To his slight relief, Leo chose this moment to get his attention. 'Hey, Harry. Have a look to your left, two tables down.'

Curiously, Harry looked up. 'Hm? Whe- Hey, isn't that Dora? I thought you said she wouldn't come?!'

'So she said. I spoke to her only yesterday. Apparently, she's been drafted into another unit or something.'

'Who's the black person next to her?' asked Tracey curiously.

'I don't believe I've ever seen her before,' said Harry.

'Anyway,' said Daphne reproachfully, 'you shouldn't spend so much time with the adults.'

'What do you mean?' asked Harry, honestly confused. 'You know I need to welcome at least some of them. I'm Grandfather's heir, and it's expected of me!'

'It's just...' said Daphne, struggling for the right words, 'you're getting unrealistic expectations!'

'Unrealistic expectations...?' Harry repeated, completely perplexed. Draco and Leo too looked out of it for once. Tracey, by contrast, simply rolled her eyes.

'Emeric's Evil Eye, I don't even know what your problem is,' said Amy, chucking down her drink in one go. 'When I stand next to you, I always feel like a stable boy next to the princess, Daphne.'

'Stable boy?' repeated Daphne incredulously.

'I know what I said,' said Amy, nodding at Daphne's dress. 'Not that I particularly care, but maybe you should learn to see things in perspective.'

'Maybe this isn't a conversation we need to have right now, is it?' said Tracey urgently, just as Daphne was about to answer.

'Oh, don't mind us!' said Draco enthusiastically. 'Please, do go on!'

'Shut up, Draco!' snarled Tracey.

Draco laughed, shuffling closer. 'Well, I see why you would be worried, Tracey. Looking around, I can't help but noti-'

'Amy,' said Tracey sweetly. 'I think Draco wants to have another go at dancing!'

In the end and after twenty minutes of begging, Draco was spared another round of Amy's 'I-stab-your-feet-game'. How exactly he could have danced, hobbling like he did, would have been quite another question, of course. For some mysterious reason, Draco soon excused himself – pointedly polite, especially towards Amy – wincing as he slowly made his way across the floor towards the Floo.

~BLVoD~

It was getting late.

Harry, despite his protests, soon found himself not only sharing a dance with Amy, but also Tonks, who enthusiastically told him of her recent promotion into a special program, and – naturally – Daphne, who seemed to think that every dance Harry shared with another woman automatically entitled her to the same.

If Harry was being honest with himself, it wasn't all that bad though. Amy was uncomplicated and as far from boring as it was possible to be, and he actually found himself enjoying their short dance, mostly because its objective seemed to be to politely piss off as many couples as possible, bumping into them at inopportune moments to cause maximum embarrassment.

And Daphne, well, truth be told, despite her overbearing nature, he couldn't even begin to get angry with her. It had always been like that. There was little doubt that he'd send any other girl who tried to smother him like that to hell. Daphne, however, had been the very person to first get him out of his shell, the first person to truly demand nothing of him except his attention in exchange for unwavering loyalty, adoration and the kind of human warmth he hadn't known since the Potters had died – not that he could remember that too well.

Still, he wasn't particularly upset when Tracey, Amy and Daphne vanished to discuss some 'lady business'. He shared a few drinks with Leo, who'd asked if he could try whatever Harry was having, observing with some amount of amusement as the rather uptight boy got progressively redder and just a tad more gassy with every round, ranting loudly about the obscenity of his cousin.

'Seriously, Draco's such a swine. I wouldn't care, but it's always me who pays for it! Knockers, boobies, bristols,' he slurred, just as a figure came to a sudden halt next to him, 'I swear I'm going t-'

'And what in Merlin's name is going on here?' hissed the bristling voice of Bellatrix Lestrange, to both Leo's and Harry's horror. With a dangerous look, she bowed down to give her son's drink a sniff.

'I only had that one!' prattled Leo, pointing at his half-full glass that coincidentally stood next to three empty ones.

'Harry?' demanded Bellatrix dangerously.

'Oh, er, yes! He only had that one,' he invented wildly, going along with Leo's stupid lie and hoping for the best. 'The others are mine. Didn't know he would handle it so badly.'

'Exactly!' said Leo with a lopsided grin. 'Harry's had the other three I didn't have!' he added, hiccuping helpfully.

Bellatrix stared at Harry, one hand grabbing the shoulder of her son rather tightly to make him finally shut up. Harry, for that matter, wished she'd done so a few seconds earlier.

'Up!' she commanded. 'Out! We'll talk about this tomorrow. And you,' she said, pointing her finger at Harry, 'you better hope I don't accidentally tell your grandfather!'

'Come on, Auntie! I didn't know you were such a prude philistine!'

The second the words had left his mouth, Harry, with a strange rush of horror that was only vaguely connected to his aunt's scary expression, sobered up as quickly as if he'd taken a dive into ice water. Bellatrix, one hand still gripping the shoulder of her otherwise softly swaying son, stared at him, motionless like a predator ready to pounce. After a few seconds of tension, she turned around. 'Do as you like.'

Without another word, she forcefully dragged Leo out of the hall, presumably towards the Floo. Harry shrugged, sighing contentedly as he nibbled on his drink. Sliding down in his chair a bit, he observed the comings and goings from his now empty table, watching with amusement as some of the younger crowd scared off the older couples. In contrast to last year, quite a few fellow schoolmates of his seemed to be attending. He followed the movements of Padma Patil dancing with a boy maybe two years their elder with idle interest – until the girl noticed his gaze and waved diffidently at him.

'Already cheating on Greengrass?'

Surprised, Harry looked up. Aenor had taken a seat in front of him, smiling smugly.

'Will you stop with that nonsense?' he asked, irritated. 'It's getting a bit old. And what about you? Didn't you say you only stopped by for a few drinks?'

'What can I say? The drinks are good! You seem to know what I'm talking about,' she added, pointing towards the assembled glasses on the table.

'Only half of those are mine,' he replied with a shrug. 'Anyway, you don't need to pretend; I saw you making nice with loads of people.' What Harry neglected to reveal was that he'd kept an eye on her most of the evening, unsure if he wanted to talk with her or not. He knew that he shouldn't try to find faults in her conduct, especially considering his own epic stupidity. But then again, anger wasn't always something you could just turn off – at least, unless you were willing to resort to the Mind Arts, something Harry wasn't even considering on principle right now.

'Yeah, well, I'm taking a break from that. As useful as contacts are, it's also unfathomably dull to listen to these people complain about their petty little lives or the newest gossip. Good job besmirching Prewett, by the way,' she said with a grin, raising her glass.

'Thanks!' he replied, flashing a smirk before he reminded himself that he was angry.

It really seemed like a shame not to raise his glass to Prewett's little scandal, though, so he did just that.

In silence, they watched people dance, talk behind each other's backs, forge alliances, plan deceits, and enter contracts. Harry, however, was deep in thought, not even paying attention when one of the degenerated Notts some dunderhead had invited made a spectacular fool of himself by insulting the next best Muggle-born, who – incidentally – turned out to be the Secretary-General to the French Minister for Magic.

No, now that Aenor was silently sitting at his table, apparently enjoying the break from the meaningless prattle, he couldn't help feeling his thoughts return to their earlier conversation.

A shiver ran down his spine.

Kill the guilt.

Was that even a human thing to do? How broken would a human being need to be to even consider doing so? True, it might solve his problems, for now at least, but what would become of him if he ever went down that road. His family was ruthless; he held no illusions, but until now he had never really doubted that – still – they were...humane – in their odd sense; brutal, relentless, unforgiving, at times cruel – yes – but ultimately human.

His grandfather, as cold as he could be, as cold as he had been when he had decided to let Harry follow through with the mistakes that cost thousands of people their lives, had often told Harry how much he regretted the path their family had had to take as a consequence of Arcturus' father's actions. Not to mention that his iron determination to protect and nurture all those he counted among his family was at least as warm as his fury was cold towards those who wronged them.

But killing his guilt...?

For the first time, Harry considered talking to his Grandfather about the aftermath of his...error in judgement, as he'd come to think of it, forced himself to think of it. So far, he'd shied away from the man, partially – he admitted at least to himself – because, yet again for the first time, he realised that the Black's credo of responsibility at any price and Arcturus' will to protect his family were not necessarily overlapping interests. In a dark corner of his mind, he couldn't help wondering which belief his grandfather would ultimately choose if ever he was forced to pick one over the other.

Hadn't he already?

Then again, another voice in his mind that sounded a bit like Regulus told him, maybe he believes that learning whatever lesson there was to be learned would be for your own good. Freedom, after all, is nothing without the freedom to face the consequences of your actions.

Harry shook his head, trying to think of something else as he took another sip, his eyes again lingering on the witch in front of him.

In a way, he thought, Aenor was the antithesis to Daphne.

Where Aenor was cold and pragmatic, Daphne was emotional and empathic. Daphne, he was sure, wouldn't turn from him if he told her what he'd done. Tracey couldn't, he knew, ignoring the turning of his stomach and putting the glass down, but Daphne wouldn't – not because of obligations, but because she'd never leave him unless he made her leave.

Daphne, despite the tragic disaster of her childhood and family, represented something humane, something good, something unbroken. For some reason or another, that tenacious girl had managed to, well, keep the innocence of her being unscathed. Despite watching her mother getting unjustly beat to the point of being unrecognisable; despite hearing her father die screaming in the flames; despite her grandmother stealing her name, her childhood, her family; despite Esmerelle's best attempts to cut her off him, Daphne was ultimately still undamaged at the core.

Obsessive, bordering on fanatical, maybe, but in the end, she was still an innocent girl that craved warmth and was more than willing to share it with her family and those she loved.

She was...insouciant – and Harry couldn't bring himself to take that from her. Maybe Ophala couldn't either.

Dully, Harry stared at his empty glass.

And what about you, Harry James Black. Are you undamaged? Are you unbroken, untainted? Nevermind your latest failure, the voice in his head went on, don't you think it's strange how Daphne, the strong and overbearing girl you know, shirks any confrontation with Prewett, the murderer of her father? How she comes to you or Tracey whenever it's all too much for her?

And what about you?

Do you confess your fears to someone? You don't.

Do you shirk confrontations with those you hate or fear? Quite the opposite, isn't it? Isn't there always the boiling rage, the desire to just give in?

Frozen, Harry stared at the glass.

Lie to whomever you want, but you need not deceive yourself! Don't pretend to have forgotten the dreams of violence...of justice.

Harry gripped the glass so tightly that his hand quivered.

You're damaged goods, Harry. You've faced the point of no return and took a step to have a look.

'Harry?'

Harry gave a start. Aenor was giving him a queer look.

'Are you alright?'

'Just thinking,' he said slowly, avoiding her eyes.

'If you say so.'

Once again, they sat in silence.

The world, or so it seemed to Harry, was turning without him. There they were, the normal people, the people who hadn't accidentally killed hundreds of thousands of innocents, who could enjoy more than five minutes of their time without another forceful reminder of their shame. And here he was.

Despite his non-gregarious reticence, Aenor leant in a very relaxed if poised sort of way in her chair, watching with amusement and, Harry thought, disdain for those around them. He couldn't help agreeing with her antipathy.

She, at least, wasn't one of them.

'Say, do you want to dance?' He felt his mouth form the words, alcohol taking the place of common sense.

She turned around to look at him, surprised. 'I'm just wearing my Hogwarts robes!'

'Blue goes with anything, doesn't it?' he shot back, good-natured.

She gave a bark of incredulous laughter, not the mincing simper but the other one, the one he'd witnessed a few times before. 'Are you sure? Greengrass won't shut up about it, you know? Dumbledore will hear of it, too!'

'Do you particularly care?' he asked with a challenging smirk.

'Not particularly,' she replied with a grin of her own.

Ignoring the murmur and the gobsmacked faces of the Patil twins, Harry led the visibly amused Aenor to the dance floor. With perfect timing, the next tune started only seconds later – a slow waltz.

'You still owe me one answer, you know?' he said as they fell into the steps of the rhythm.

'I suppose I do,' she replied cockily, following his initiated rotation fluently and without any effort.

'What would you do,' he asked in a whisper, 'if I chose to inquire about your mysterious origin?'

She drew nearer, her lips nearly brushing against his ear. 'Whatever my answer to that may be, are you sure you want to hear it? Some words cannot be taken back.'

For a few moments, or so it seemed to Harry, both his heart and the movements of their waltz stopped entirely. 'You know,' he muttered, remembering Skeeter and all the other annoying people, even Hermione, always trying to dig up his past, 'I don't think I particularly care any longer. The fantastic mystery is always much more intriguing than plain truth, isn't it?'

Aenor drew back just enough to look at him, gazing into his eyes with a peculiar but utterly unreadable expression. 'Good choice...' she breathed, her full lips breaking into a smile.

A hand fell heavily on Harry's shoulder, and he gave a tremendous jump. 'I'm so sorry to interrupt,' said Bellatrix coolly, glaring at Aenor, who took a few smart steps back, 'but I have need of my nephew. If you'll excuse us?'

Unceremoniously, she shoved him towards the exit. Harry, nonplussed, shot a look over his shoulder towards Aenor, who still stood in the middle of the dance floor.

'What are you doing, Auntie?' he demanded angrily.

'We're having a congregation. Or rather, we're supposed to have one, but we can't until the heir is in attendance. You can return to making sheep's eyes later.'

Harry gave a sort of cough before he composed himself. 'What congregation?! I don't know of any such thing!'

'Yes, well, I suppose that might explain why I had to come peel you off that trollop.'

Without another word, she led Harry up the stairs, past the first floor where many guests were enjoying private conversations, all the way up towards the third floor – into the private smoking lounge. A very select audience was waiting for him, seated in a circle. A few armchairs stood lonely and unoccupied.

'Ah, Harry – excellent. Come and join us!' Arcturus said, indicating the seat to his immediate right.

'Where in all the blazing hells were you?!' demanded a sunken figure in a rattling voice, puffing indignantly and rapping a cheap pipe on the armrest of the next seat.

It took Harry a second to gather himself; he hadn't expected this.

'My apologies, Harry,' said Arcturus gently. 'It seems, with one thing and another, I forgot to tell you.'

'Where did you find him?' asked a shrouded figure who sat sear the door and whose pleasant voice he immediately placed.

'In the ballroom, about to kiss his teacher by the looks of it!' said Bellatrix with a scoff and to some amusement.

Harry's fought to keep a straight face. Some of the witches and wizards in attendance had hidden their faces with spells and veils – some had disguised their voices even. Sixteen seats in a fumy room, all waiting patiently for his grandfather to address them.

Sixteen seats, and yet only a handful showed their faces. And only two among them knew them all.

'I welcome you all. It does an old man's heart good to finally see you all again,' began Arcturus, opening his arms in greeting. 'You cannot imagine how much the necessity for this mummer's act pains me, but you have my word that, despite the manner of our meeting here tonight, I promise I shall listen to all of your concerns and proposals.'

Harry's stare was riveted to the eight obfuscated figures. For a second, his eyes lingered on the one near the door. The figure waved sneakily at him.

'Today, I have an important topic that demands our attention, a topic of such grave importance that I fear I have to insist on your vows. Nothing of what I'm about to tell you all can be allowed leave this room. I am, as some of you might have surmised, talking about the Greengrass situation...'

Harry's gaze sought out each of the attendants – mothers, politicians, workers, students, entrepreneurs... And no matter what name they wore in public, this – he reminded himself with a melancholic smile – was his family.

AN: And we're back! See? Some people have accused me of not being able to close a chapter without some kind of cliffhanger or foreshadowing – ridiculous, I object most strongly!

Next chapter: Premonitions III.

...Ah well, I tried.