A/N: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and her associates. Please support the official release.
Headmaster's Office
The door to the Headmaster's Office opened to reveal a large, circular room. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting tiny puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses, most of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. At the back, a set of stairs led up to a raised dias, containing an enormous, claw-footed desk, a strange cupboard containing vials of clear liquid, and a modest library of bookshelves.
Next to the massive desk, a majestic scarlet bird stood perched on a stand, black eyes regarding Harry with an eerie sense of clarity. Its golden beak clicked open in some vague form of greeting, before it proceeded to nibble away at its right wing, as if scratching some invisible itch.
"Ahh, Harry," the voice of Albus Dumbledore came from somewhere amidst the bookshelves. "Come in, come in. Make yourself at home, and I'll be with you in a jiffy."
"As you wish, Headmaster," Harry replied, ascending the stairs to give Fawkes a closer inspection. The phoenix looked a great deal older now than he had the last time Harry had seen him, indicating that Burning Day was imminent.
"Hello, Fawkes," Harry said as he came to a halt in front of the desk. "You're looking a little worse for wear."
The phoenix screeched at him in annoyance, obviously offended by the insinuation. "At least I can respawn when I die, human."
"Oi, I'm only joking. No need to get upset now," Harry smiled, before running a tender hand across his scarlet feathers.
"My apologies, Harry. Fawkes tends to get a bit snappy with age," Dumbledore said, emerging from the back of his office, a leather-bound tome in his hands. "Alas, I fear it may be too ingrained a habit to change at this point."
"It's okay," Harry shrugged. "I know he doesn't mean anything by it. Fawkes likes me."
Fawkes squeaked a silent trill in affirmation, before proceeding to jump onto the mahogany desk and stealing a Sherbet Lemon from Dumbledore's glass bowl.
"I think you're right, Harry. Fawkes would not have come to your rescue in the Chamber of Secrets if he did not harbor a great deal of love for you, after all."
An uneasy silence descended on the room as Albus put the leather-bound tome in a drawer, and got seated behind the desk.
"Now, you are probably wondering why I have called you here," he started, a troubled expression settling on his features.
"Not really," Harry replied, choosing to remain standing. "I'm here because of what I did in the arena."
"You are partly right," Dumbledore nodded. "But there is more to it than that. Before we get into the particulars, however, I would like to take this opportunity to express my deepest apologies to you."
"Apologies?" Harry blinked.
"Yes, apologies. You see, ever since your enrollment here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I fear I may have treated you with more skepticism and apprehension than you were due. For this, I am truly sorry."
Genuine surprise washed over Harry's mind at the Headmaster's words. Receiving an apology from the old geezer was the last thing he had thought would happen here today, and as such, the suddenness of it threw him completely off-balance.
"Uhh… Wow, I… I don't know what to say to that," Harry frowned. "I mean, I've always known you to be a conniving old man, but this… if this apology is part of some grander scheme, then I must say, you have me stumped."
"So you are angry with me, then," Dumbledore sighed, rubbing at his tired eyes with one hand. "It's only natural, I suppose."
"Angry with you?" Harry asked, cocking his head ever so slightly to the right. "No, I am not angry with you."
"It's okay, Harry. You don't have to lie."
"I'm not lying. I'm genuinely not angry with you. I'm just smart enough to realize that you're a powerful, self-aggrandizing old man who suffers from a harsh case of tunnel vision."
A disapproving grimace ghosted across the old man's face, before he regained his mask of professionalism.
"Do you truly think that ill of me, Harry?"
"Of course I do," Harry nodded. "I mean, you've essentially done nothing but deceive me ever since I first got here. You constantly speak in riddles, and every time I think you're finally being honest with me, it always turns out to be more half-truths and convenient excuses. So can you really blame me?"
A multitude of emotions came bubbling to the surface of Albus's expression. Harry saw surprise, anger, confusion, excitement, and a little bit of amusement amongst the many variations.
"Hmm… I suppose there is some truth to your words," Dumbledore said. "As much as it pains me to admit it."
"You're not a stupid man," Harry continued, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. "You know I'm right. What I'm wondering, is why you're choosing to admit to it now."
"I wish to make amends for my mistakes, Harry, and regain your trust," he replied. "And… I want you to tell me where Daemonis Magicka is."
A prolonged moment of silence followed, before Harry gave his response.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I won't tell you where the book is. You want my trust? Well, then earn it. Convince me that you are a person I can rely on. I'll even give you a hint; asking me to give up my biggest trump card is a very bad way to go about it."
"Harry…" Albus sighed. "Do you know how dangerous that tome is? How much damage it could inflict on you and the people you love?"
"Yes, I do," Harry said. "Which is why you can rest easy, knowing it is in my possession."
"Your words do not inspire much confidence," Albus continued. "You're still a young boy, despite your impressive mental acumen. I do not think you are able to perceive the full magnitude of the risk you are taking."
"Ahh, you forget; risk-taking is my area of expertise," Harry smirked. "Me and risk go way back."
"Your jests only strengthen my belief, Harry," Albus said. "You are not ready for this."
"I've never been ready," Harry spat in response. "I wasn't ready to have my parents murdered as a child. I wasn't ready to take my uncle's beatings. I wasn't ready to kill Professor Quirrell in my First Year. I wasn't ready to slay a Basilisk. I wasn't ready to face the corruption of the Ministry, a government that would convict an innocent man to life in Azkaban without a trial. And I wasn't ready to participate in the Triwizard Tournament, and face that dragon. But face it I did."
"Harry, please-"
"No, shut up and listen. You're right; I've never been ready. Not once. So forgive me for attempting to level the playing field. For trying to ensure my own survival. Because Godric knows no one else will."
"Have you surrendered yourself to the Dark, Harry? Have you decided to follow in Tom Riddle's footsteps?" Dumbledore asked, his voice laden with impassioned emotion. "Have you turned your back on the Wizarding World, and undertaken sinister rituals for the sake of your own personal gain?"
"There is no such thing as Light or Dark magic, Headmaster. Only power, and the intent that guides it," Harry recited. "And my intentions are entirely focused around one area: my own survival. I do not intend to harm anyone, nor do I intend to sacrifice my life for the betterment of society. I simply wish to live, so that maybe, just maybe, I'll get a shot at having a life of my own."
A tense expression befell Albus as he pondered upon this heartfelt confession. Harry allowed him to take his time, as he sensed the presence of a potential breakthrough, a shift in the tides of metaphorical war between him and the Headmaster.
"Will you allow me to use Legilimency on you to verify the credibility of this claim?" he asked at last, blue eyes coming up to regard Harry with cautious attentiveness.
"Yes," Harry replied immediately. "I will. But don't try to look for anything else in there. I'll know if you do."
"I am a very skilled Legilimens, Harry," Dumbledore breathed. "If I wanted to break into your mind, I am afraid there is precious little you could do to stop me."
"Oh, you'd be surprised," Harry grinned. It was a positively feral grin. One that seemed to invite contention.
Albus's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
"Are you ready?"
"Go for it," Harry said.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, an invasive presence suddenly made itself known in Harry's mind. It hammered against his Occlumency barriers with relentless force, searching for something hidden deep within his psyche. Instead of letting it struggle, Harry gladly presented its desired evidence.
The presence gorged on the truth it had been served, consuming it entirely to check for any potential faults or inconsistencies. Needless to say, it found none. What Harry had said was honest; he truly did wish for nothing more than his own survival, and the survival of his loved ones.
Now… leave, Harry projected, shooing away the invader. His Occlumency barriers closed in around it, pushing it further and further away, until only a speck remained in his mind. A loud gasp came from Dumbledore.
"What… What tremendous Occlumency barriers!" he stammered, after taking a couple of deep breaths. "Are you even human?"
"Not fully, I suspect," Harry replied. "Now, if there was nothing else…?"
"Oh, there is much I would like to speak with you about, Harry, but… we shall leave it for another day. You have already given me plenty to think on. I fear… I may have severely underestimated you," Dumbledore breathed. "Let us retire for tonight."
"I agree, Headmaster," Harry nodded. "You have underestimated me. But who knows? Maybe there is hope for you yet. Perhaps, given enough time, the two of us could begin fighting on the same side."
"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, running a hand through his long beard. "It would be much preferred to the alternative, at least."
"Very much so, yes. Goodnight, Headmaster. I'll see you at the Yule Ball."
"Goodnight, Harry."
With that, the black-haired boy turned his back on Albus, and began walking towards the exit. A thoughtful silence followed in his wake.
Albus Dumbledore was a great man. Of this, there could be no doubt. But, as he stared at the retreating form of one Harry James Potter through his half-moon spectacles, it slowly began to dawn on him that maybe this boy - nay, man - in front of him could one day be even greater.
Ravenclaw Tower
The Ravenclaw common room looked strange; an array of different colors blanketed the spacious interior, as people had changed into formal attire befitting the occasion. Harry saw dashes of purple, brown and blue amongst the students, which was a stark contrast to the usual mass of black. It was clear that everyone had put forth their best efforts this evening, and the results were rather magnificent.
As for him, Harry had opted to go for a charcoal suit with emerald highlights, to compliment his (now fake) eye color. Well, he said "opted", but in reality, it was more like the choice had been forced upon him by a most insistent Hermione, who wanted their respective outfits to match for the ball. Being able to Apparate to and from Diagon Alley had proven a vital boon in the pursuit of this endeavor.
Tapping his foot against the midnight-blue carpet, Harry struck an impatient pose as he waited for his date to appear. The two of them had decided to get ready for the ball in the company of their fellow Housemates for once, rather than secluding themselves to the Room of Requirement like they usually did. It had felt distinctly weird for Harry to be back in the boys' dorm again, but thankfully, it had only been for a short visit as he got changed. Come nightfall, he would be returning to the Room of Requirement, and his shared bed with Hermione.
The thought brought a smile to his face.
The sound of Hermione's voice ripped him from his thoughts, as she called out to him from the top of the stairwell. His eyes promptly trailed across the room to meet hers, only to widen in shock as his jaw fell open.
The person in front of him did not look much like Hermione at all. She had done something to her hair; it was no longer unkempt and curly, but sleek and lustrous, and twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. Her slender body was draped in robes of the finest silk - low-cut and colored a deep emerald - and she was holding herself differently. There was a certain regality to her posture that belied her Muggle upbringing, which Harry found himself utterly spellbound by as she descended the stairs with graceful movements. Upon closer inspection, he also noticed that she had put on some makeup, which was not an embellishment she usually bothered with.
"So… how do I look?" she asked once she reached the bottom of the stairwell, doing a little twirl to showcase her new robes.
"Absolutely breathtaking," Harry replied, an honest smile adorning his features.
"Aww…" she smirked, before moving to interweave her arm with his own. "I'm glad we went to the effort of color-coordinating then. You look positively dashing in that suit."
"Why, thank you very much," Harry nodded, his pride swelling at the compliment. "I had a friend pick it out for me. She has a keen eye for these things, you see."
"Ahh. Well, then I must say she has great taste," Hermione beamed, reveling in the banter. "Now, shall we head downstairs? It wouldn't do for a Hogwarts Champion to be late to his own ball, after all."
"It's not my ball," Harry said, shaking his head in amusement. "But very well… let's go."
The entrance hall was packed with students as well, all milling about waiting for the clock to strike eight, when the doors to the Great Hall would be thrown open. Those who were meeting partners from different Houses were edging through the crowd trying to find one another. Harry quickly spotted Neville and Luna standing over on the far side, some distance away from the main group, and gave them a wave to attract their attention.
"Good evening, you two," Hermione said as they met up near the open gate leading out into the courtyard. A cold wind blew outside, but Heating Charms placed on the gate's frame prevented it from reaching them.
An abundance of snow covered the castle grounds, giving way to a winter wonderland that was a joy to behold. In the courtyard itself, an area of lawn right in front of the castle had been transformed into some sort of grotto, full of fairy lights - meaning hundreds of actual fairies were sitting in the rosebushes that had been conjured there, and were fluttering over ice sculptures of what appeared to be Father Christmas and his reindeer.
Beyond that, far in the distance, Harry could make out the Beauxbatons carriage, looking like a pale, frosted pumpkin next to the gingerbread house that was Hagrid's cabin. Down at the Black Lake, the Durmstrang ship's portholes were glazed with ice, and the rigging stained white with frost.
"Good evening," Luna said, dragging his focus back to the present. A proud Neville stood at attention next to her, an uncharacteristically cavalier smile playing at his lips. They both looked incredible in their respective attires: Luna was wearing a turquoise, open-back dress that stretched down to her lower thighs, complimented by a flower-shaped hairpin that rested comfortably on the right side of her curled, blonde hair. Neville, on the other hand, was wearing black velvet dress robes with a modest collar, which Harry thought suited him surprisingly well.
"You look gorgeous in that dress, Luna," Hermione beamed. "But I already knew that, since I was the one who helped you get into it."
"Yes, you did," Luna nodded. "Thank you for that, by the way. I am not very good at these things."
"Neither am I," Hermione admitted with a smile. "But a girl has to try, right?"
"Looking good, Granger," a cocky voice interjected. A quick look told Harry it belonged to one Cormac McLaggen, a blonde-haired Gryffindor who was considered an attractive specimen by most of the girls in his Year. Not that Harry cared about such things.
"Wish I could say the same, McLaggen," Harry replied, causing the boy to send him an angry glare. "Those crimson dress robes do not fit with your hair and eye color at all."
"I don't remember asking for your opinion, Potter," he snarled.
"And yet, you got it," Harry smiled. "Now run along, before you embarrass yourself any further."
"Listen here, you cocky little shit-"
"Please, Cormac. Do as he says," Hermione sighed.
Her words gave the boy pause, and Harry could see the anger diminishing in his eyes, only to be replaced by clear disapproval.
"I seriously don't understand what you see in that loser, Granger," he scoffed, before walking away.
"Ohh, did you hear that, Hermione? McLaggen called me a loser," Harry remarked, a playful smirk on his lips. "How can I ever recover from such a devastating blow?"
"Honestly, Harry…" Hermione said, shaking her head in exasperation. "Can't you just play nice for once?"
"Come on… McLaggen is small fry. He was practically begging for it with that comment," Harry replied.
"He just gave me a compliment, in his own… special way," Hermione breathed. "He didn't mean anything by it."
"No, I'm pretty sure he wants to fuck you," Harry stated matter-of-factly.
"T-That's… beside the point…" Hermione stammered.
"Actually, you know what? You're right. I can't rise to every little stupid comment I hear," Harry admitted. "I need to exert more self-control than that. I'm dealing with wizards, after all."
"Thank you," Hermione sighed. "Let's just… try to get through this night with minimal conflict, alright?"
"Alright."
The walls of the Great Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crisscrossing the starry, obsidian ceiling. A curtain of snowflakes drifted down from invisible clouds, vanishing as soon as they landed on something. The usual House tables were gone; instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.
Harry took it all in as he and Hermione found an empty table close to the front, followed closely by Neville and Luna. And only when the two joined them at the table, did Harry realize that Neville and Luna were attending the ball together.
Neville, it would seem, had somehow found the courage to ask Luna, and she had said yes.
A proud smile played on Harry's features as he sent his friend an approving look. Way to go, Neville.
Once everyone had gotten seated, Professor McGonagall emerged from the entrance hall, and told the Champions and their partners to get in line and follow her. They did as instructed, and everyone in the Great Hall applauded as they started walking toward a large, round table at the top of the room, where the judges were sitting.
Harry cared little for the ovation, and walked with an indifferent expression through the crowd. Hermione, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying herself; she was beaming at everybody around, and steering Harry with a gentle touch.
Dumbledore smiled at the Champions as they approached the top table. Karkaroff wore an expression remarkably similar to Harry's, Ludo Bagman was clapping as enthusiastically as any of the students, and Madame Maxime, who had changed out her usual uniform of black satin with a flowing gown of lavender silk, was nodding at them politely. But Mr. Crouch, Harry suddenly realized, was not there. The fifth seat at the table was occupied by Percy Weasley.
The Champions and their partners were promptly seated at the teachers' table, and within moments, both Harry and Hermione found themselves with menus in their hands. Harry quickly scanned his, and looked around - there were no waiters to be found anywhere in the hall. Dumbledore, however, soon set an example for the others to follow, as he stared down at his menu, before enunciating very carefully to nobody in particular; "pork chops!"
A pair of steaming pork chops soon appeared on his golden plate.
"Huh," Hermione blinked. "What an incredibly convenient method of dining."
"We should have it be like this all the time," Harry agreed. "Having to reach across the table to grab stuff is such a hassle."
Dinner proceeded with little of note happening. Harry spent the majority of it engaged in conversation with Hermione, and listening to Fleur Delacour gush about the French Ministry of Magic to Roger Davies, her chosen date for the ball. The Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain seemed deeply engrossed in her words, but whether that was due to genuine interest in the topic, or the side effects of Fleur's Allure, Harry could not tell.
When all the food had been consumed, Dumbledore finally rose from his seat, and asked the students to do the same. Anticipation built as he waved his wand through the air, causing the tables to zoom back along the walls, leaving a large, open space in the middle of the hall. He then conjured up a raised platform along the right wall, upon which a set of drums, guitars, a lute, a cello, and some bagpipes appeared.
A band Harry did not recognize soon trooped up onto the stage to wild applause from the students, picking up their instruments and getting ready to play. As they did, the lanterns on all the other tables suddenly went out.
"Come, Harry," Hermione called from his right, rising from her seat to offer him her hand. "It's time for the opening dance."
"Alright… Here goes nothing, I guess," he sighed, before taking her hand and leading her out onto the brightly-lit dance floor, together with the other Champions.
After a moment of prolonged silence, the band struck up a slow, mournful tune, and the dance began.
Hermione quickly seized his hands, placing one around her waist before launching out into movement. The two of them began revolving slowly on the spot, going through the routine they had practiced in the Room of Requirement, and Harry soon found himself lost in the motion of it. Hermione smiled at him as they went along, a brilliant smile that warmed up his insides, and made his brain go slightly fuzzy. Out of all the Champion-couples currently gathered on the dance floor, he and Hermione had the best chemistry, and it showed. Practically everyone was staring at them.
After a short while, random students from the crowd started to join the Champions on the dance floor, and before long, Harry found himself surrounded by other couples. He spotted Neville and Luna dancing nearby (he could see Neville wincing frequently as he accidentally stepped on her feet), and Dumbledore was waltzing with Madame Maxime. He was so dwarfed by her massive size that the top of his pointed hat barely tickled her chin.
At last, Harry heard the final, quavering note from the bagpipe, marking the end of the song. Applause filled the hall once more, and Harry took the opportunity to plant a loving kiss on the top of Hermione's hand. She beamed at the gesture, a slight tint of red coloring her cheeks.
"Let's go sit down for a bit, shall we?" he asked, to which she responded with a nod. The band struck up a much livelier tune as they left.
"That was so much fun!" Hermione squealed as they got seated at an empty table some distance away from the dance floor. "I've never felt so desired in my life! It really is an intoxicating feeling, isn't it?"
"I'm glad you're having a good time," Harry smiled. "It certainly makes this evening a lot more tolerable."
"Oh, come on, Harry! Just admit it; you're having fun," Hermione laughed.
"Okay, okay… Maybe… I am enjoying myself just a little bit," he replied as his eyes wandered across the hall. All around him, people were relishing in the festivities, and the resulting atmosphere felt positively electrifying.
"Let's go for a walk," he suggested. "To cool off. It's pretty hot in here, after all."
"Good idea," Hermione said, getting up from her seat. "And let's grab some drinks on the way – my throat is parched!"
They edged around the dance floor, picked up some lemon-tinted champagne from one of the many drink-stands, and slipped out into the entrance hall. The front gate remained open, and the fluttering fairy lights in the rose garden winked and twinkled as they approached. They soon found themselves surrounded by bushes, winding ornamental paths and large stone statues. Harry could hear splashing water, which sounded like it belonged to a fountain. Here and there, people were sitting on carved benches made from rosewood.
Him and Hermione set off down one of the many paths through the rosebushes, but they had only gone a short distance when they heard a strange noise coming from somewhere in the vicinity.
"Uhm… Who's there?" Harry asked, eliciting a round of surprised squeals from pretty much every single bush around them. Realization dawned on Harry's mind as Hermione broke down into a fit of giggles next to him. Several student couples, it would appear, had decided to take use of the privacy offered by the rose garden to get a little frisky with each other.
"Damn it," Harry sighed as a multitude of dark shapes took off running all around him. "I didn't mean to cockblock."
Hermione gave nothing but giggles in response, and the two of them continued down the path, with Harry taking great care not to stop whenever he heard strange noises. They came upon plenty more couples as they walked; Harry even spotted Fleur and Roger Davies standing half-concealed in a random bush some distance away. They looked mighty busy trading saliva, and so he refrained from barking out an inappropriate comment, and allowed Hermione to steer him away.
"It's beautiful out here," she remarked as they came to a stop near the edge of the rose garden, at a spot overlooking the Black Lake and the Durmstrang ship.
"Beautiful, and cold," Harry commented, casting a wordless, wandless Heating Charm on his and Hermione's clothes to keep them from freezing. The suddenness of it caused Hermione to squeal in surprise, before she realized what he had done.
"I hate it when you do that," she groaned, the annoyance at being startled quickly giving way to satisfaction at the newfound warmth provided by the charm.
"Do what?" Harry asked, opting to play dumb.
"Ahh… Nevermind," she breathed, before moving close to rest her head on his shoulder. "Thank you for this lovely evening, Harry."
"You're welcome," Harry nodded, placing an arm around her waist. "Chaperoning you like this has been very taxing on me."
"You really know what to say to a girl, don't you?" she giggled, before pressing a light kiss to his cheek. "It's okay. You might be an idiot, but you're my idiot."
"Wouldn't want to be anyone else's," he said. "I doubt I could find someone half as good as you, either way."
"Flattery will get you nowhere," Hermione grinned.
"Damn, really? I was hoping it was going to score me some alone-time with you in one of these bushes."
"Oh, you were? Well, that is a tempting offer…"
"I'll even throw in some back-massage, free of charge. What do you say?"
"… Alright then, Harry Potter. But do you mind if we take it inside? I prefer a soft mattress to snow-covered grass."
"Lead the way," Harry said, allowing her to pull him back towards the Great Hall with a smile on his lips, completely oblivious to the absolute shitstorm that was about to descend on his life.
A/N: Aaaaand it's done! 3 chapters, as promised! I know I am technically one day late with this, but family and friends absorbed more of my time than I had anticipated, and so I had to postpone this chapter until today (1st of January).
Anyway, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Here's to hoping 2022 will shape out to be marginally less shitty than 2021!
I hope you guys enjoyed Harry's conversation with Dumbledore, and the Yule Ball. I tried to put my own twist on the Canon version of the ball, as I wanted to play it fairly close to the book, but I apologize if it came off a little boring. I had a ton of fun writing it, but I know that doesn't necessarily translate to reader enjoyment.
To make up for any potential let-downs, I promise to make the next chapter extra action-focused! I already have some big plans for that one, so be on the lookout!
As always, if you enjoyed the read, be sure to leave a review (seriously, I love em, and read every single one), and I'll see you guys again in the next chapter. Twisted out.