"Looks great on me, doesn't it?" Elliott claims right before a yawn, joining me on the old leather sofa in the common room. "What do you think? Will Cassia like it?"

"I was under the impression", I begin, not once looking away from my book, "she was only going to the ball with you because of your good sense of humor."

"Oh, she does." He shrugs it off. "But good looks can't hurt either, can they?"

I wanly nod and continue my reading until Elliott chuckles yet again, informing me, "I've told the Bloody Baron to prank the kids – that'll be fun …"

He's a wizard indeed, I can't help but grin. Elliott loves sending our house ghost on missions. "Does Peeves join him as well?"

"But of course!"

Triumphantly and with utmost self-satisfaction he's stretching out on the pillows just when Lestrange and Avery join us on the sofa across.

"I hate waiting," Lestrange grumbles.

"What's your hurry?" Avery keeps playing with the cufflinks on his sleeve. "The sooner we get dragged into the Great Hall, the more we'll have to dance …"

"Unfortunately, he's right," I mutter.

"Tom, what are you reading?"

I look up at Avery. "You wouldn't know the book."

He nods, knowing fully well that this good conversation has come to an end. But it's not for long until the ladies are ready as well, freshly powdered and giggling all the way from their dormitories.

Cassia's robe suggests she'd rather attend her own funeral. Rouvenia, for her part, is wearing a dark purple gown embroidered with black pearls.
Pretty perfect. Of course …

"Cassia." Elliott clears his throat, he sounds almost shy. "You … you look …"

I poke him in the side, though for no one to notice. That's precisely what we'd been talking about recently. If he praises her to the skies, she'll just give him hell.

"You look … good," Elliott hence finishes his sentence.

"As do you, Rou," I join the exchanges of politeness and stand up to offer her my arm. "You just likely can't feed fantastic beasts tonight."

"That'd be your responsibility, for once," she retorts, hooking into my arm with a wink. "After all, you've probably picked up a trick or two from me over the years."

"Let's not count on that."

We dully smile, as two people in a partnership of convenience do, then someone calls out my name.

"Riddle, do tell …" Orion Black enters the common room and soon runs right up to me. "You know that Ravenclaw Sullivan, don't you?"

"Why do you ask?"

"She's my date tonight." His smile is so suggestive that I already feel a certain urgency to curse a Furunculus into his face.

"So what?"

"Well, what's she like? Do you think she'll allow me to make a move?"

"I think …" I let my dark amusement show on purpose. "In your clumsy attempts to find out, she'll curse you right into Hades and back – if you're lucky."

He turns to his friends to laugh out with incredulous ignorance. "Honestly, what's a girl supposed to –"

"Slytherin doesn't underestimate witches, Black, you should know that," I cut him off. "You better behave yourself." He's giving me a scolded and sour look, but I already lost interest and turn to Rouvenia. "Let's go."

She nods, however not without a bitter glare aimed at Black – as a witch just like Cassia visibly offended by his prejudice. Then the four of us make our way to the Great Hall.

Peeves and the Baron are already buzzing around in high spirits even though the Professors have also long joined the festivities. It indeed seems to be an event of a lifetime, judging from the exorbitant amounts of redundant decoration – even the entrance of the Hall got poshed up.

Inside, of course, things got even worse. Magical snow flakes keep falling from the ceiling, and a huge Christmas tree – not more than Nimrod cult, if archaeology sources are to be believed – merrily reflects all the lights with its countless glass balls. And moreover, a lot of space for dancing has been created right behind the round dining tables.

"Look, there's punch back there," Elliott rejoices. "Come on!"

He starts passing goblets to the ladies at once, as well as to me, but I decline.

"You haven't even tried it yet," Elliott protests. I keep shaking my head, but at least now I take the goblet he's about to fill for me.

"Aguamenti!"

"Wait, how did you do that?" Cassia asks. "Without a wand?"

"Tom's magic is ever present," Elliott answers for me, "he surprisingly often doesn't need a wand."

I work up a vague smile, then I say, "Let's take a look around – the robes tonight are exhilarating even at first glance."

"You're not supposed to make fun of them," Rouvenia hushes, unmistakably ready to do exactly the same. "I'm sure everyone made an effort tonight."

"Yeah." I nod in mock fascination. "Effort …"

She grins, pointing to a girl wearing a dark brown dress with embroidered fringes. "There we have an Acromantula."

"And a Grindylow," I retort as a Hufflepuff in a horrible light green suit passes us by.

"I guess he's heard that," Rouvenia giggles. "Now he's looking at you like a Niffler."

"Or so it seems."

Cassia sighs. "You two are shameless."

"We're just having a good time," Rou claims. "Kind of like Ms Blishwick from Witch Weekly …"

"So the press is here indeed," I groan. "You've got to be kidding me."

"The witch over there, see, that's her," Rouvenia confirms, pointing to a lady in a tweed costume.
Very professional …

But I'm already searching the Great Hall for another familiar face anyway. I just don't see her anywhere.

"She's not here yet," Rouvenia whispers to me. "Don't look at me like that – I know who it's about."

"Who's that?"

"Sullivan, of course," she says with a wink. "I know you better than you think. So will you do me a favor, Tom?"

I just give her a look of wary disbelief.

"Dance with her tonight." Her smile is pretty complacent by now. "You two might want to get closer."

"I thought I was here to dance with you."

She just waves it off. "We both know you'll run for the hills after a maximum of three rounds. But that's fine. We're convenient for each other, don't you think? Always were."

"You are indeed convenient, Rou," I admit. "If it weren't for you, I'd probably have been bitten to death by a Hippogriff as I can't accept bowing down to an ambitious eagle horse. However, for the life of me, I can't see what added value I'm offering to you."

"You don't?" she asks, quite confused so. "Each and every class I quiz you on the complicated stuff of the other subjects. You've basically been like a tutor to me since our first year …"

I nod in surprise. "I thought that was just our academic style of conversation – but if that's the case …"

We smile at each other, then she adds, "Besides, my cousin from Durmstrang is terribly jealous. Thanks to this pureblood madness my family falls for, I've been promised to him since I can remember, and this ball was really anathema to him. But when I mentioned that I was going there with someone who really had no romantic interest in me whatsoever, his letters started to sound a lot happier again …"

"So I helped de-escalate your future marriage," I assert. "Who'd have know."

Meanwhile Merrythought, Ravenclaw's Head of House and our Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, approaches us.

"Good evening," she says, her lips thoughtfully curled up, especially as she catches sight of Cassia and Rouvenia. "You look lovely, ladies!"

"So do you, Professor," Cassia is quick to reply. "Rowena couldn't have been more beautiful."

It's quite true. Merrythought is wearing a midnight blue robe that suits her extremely well.

"Thank you very much." The professor smirks. "One does, after all, want to try to make the own House proud. Mr Bryant, would you be so kind as to pass me a punch?"

"Certainly," Elliott says, filling her a goblet.

Why, though, is Merrythought that interested in four Slytherins?

"Mr Riddle, you are drinking water?"

"Indeed, Professor."

"Very commendable," she says. "But don't be so hard on yourself, you should have fun now and then."

"Oh, I'm having the time of my life," I claim.

The Professor all but chuckles in the face of my latent cynicism, however she finally comes clean. "Well, Tom, I was hoping you might know where Harper is?"

"No, ma'am, I'm afraid not."

"Too bad," she sighs, "Madam Rashlay still hasn't seen her, and the choir will be singing soon."

"How unfortunate, but surely she wouldn't miss that."

"We'll see." Merrythought shrugs a shoulder. "From what I know, she still had a few difficulties regarding her wardrobe tonight."

As she's already heading back into the crowd, Cassia repeats, "Wardrobe difficulties? How can anyone not be prepared for an event like this?"

"Maybe she'd rather not be sewn into a dress as tightly as you," Elliott chortles. "Tom, I guess trousers are a real blessing, huh?"

"The ladies could have worn them today," I say. "It's all the rage in London."

"Maybe among Muggles." Cassia snorts. "But witches have far too much self-respect for that kind of clothing."

"I'm afraid if self-respect has to be rooted in that of all things, there's not much hope anyway."

"Elliott!" Cassia shouts. "Tell Riddle to keep his mean comments to himself!"

Elliott couldn't care less, if anything, he seems to grow less fond of Cassia by the minute. Proving this very theory, he says, "Why don't you just tell him yourself?"

But there's no more time for that. Dippet asks for attention beginning his speech, it sounds like a sermon, and he's speaking of cohesion and friendship, of love and of Christmas.

And then the choir sings – in fact without Harper.

I almost grin. Only in greatest distress would she have missed joining the choir. Unfortunately, her absence now also leads to questions from her simple-minded date.

"Riddle," Black whispers to me as Dippet is about to open the dance, "you know where she is, don't you?"

"Me?" I raise a brow. "She's your date, weren't those your words?"

He just growls impatiently, still looking around the Great Hall.

"Being really friendly, though, I'll give you a heads-up," I tease, "she may well come in trousers."

His face instantly freezes. "Then she'd better not come at all …"

"Thought you'd say that."

"You think that's funny?"

"Oh yes, Orion, I certainly do."

"Excuse me, may I?" If that isn't exactly her bright voice, trying to make her way to us … "Excuse me, just an inch."

"There you are!" Black immediately shouts – as though she wasn't the sight of the evening, right in the midst of the surrounding people.

"Sorry I'm late," she apologizes, "I just needed to rush to the Owlery right before coming here …"

Surely to pick up this dress. It's floor-length, elfish, sparkling playfully through ornate layers of tulle, and quite possibly a little frivolous for the occasion since it's causing all sorts of stir right now …
Her hair is unusually tamed, and only the heavens know how she managed to do that in the meantime – she looks adorable.
Why does the dress look so familiar to me, though?

"At least you're not wearing trousers," Black grumbles, causing her to shoot a mischievous glance into my direction now.

"Time to dance!" Dippet's voice is echoing through the Hall, and excited, happy faces immediately gather in the center of it.

I for my part, however, groan along with Elliott.

"Ah, ah, don't," Rouvenia demands, already grabbing my arm again.

I get it. Discipline … "Here we go then."

"Finally ready?" Black also asks, turning to Harper.

A block of wood could radiate more charm, not even Professor Merrythought misses that.

"Mr Black, don't be so brash with your companion!" She gives him a stern nod, then looks at Harper, asking, "Are you all right, Ms Sullivan?"

"Did I miss the choir?"

"I'm afraid so. Do you have a good reason for that?"

"I was still naked a few minutes ago?"

The Professor surely would like to be shocked, yet she only giggles in the face of disarming honesty. "I see … Still, I'm afraid I'll have to deduct 30 house points, since everyone else made it on time – and clothed as well."

"Sure, I apologize, Professor."

"Anyway – you look very pretty," Merrythought adds right before Professor Slughorn asks her to dance.

"Magical," he calls out to us, "isn't it a magical evening?"

Elliott and I draw in deep breaths almost simultaneously as we're being pulled to dance by our respective dates.

A spin here, a lunge there. And the supposed magic, more like an over-candid haunting, abruptly dissolves into bliss when Elliott and I finally drop off to the tables again.

Two to three rounds of dancing are more than enough, or so we believe. Rouvenia didn't expect more of me anyway, Cassia, however, expressed her displeasure to Elliott fervently. He got lucky she was flexible enough to look for other dance partners for herself and Rouvenia in practically no time …

Hence, the only fleeting pleasures of this evening so far are as follows:
Terrified first-years fleeing from the Bloody Baron and Peeves into the entryway in front of the Great Hall, and Harper frequently slapping Orion Black's hands with a grim look as she tries to maintain poise while dancing.

I may not be entirely innocent of the fact that sporadically he takes an overwhelmingly stupid dance step, his insolent hands, however, are fully on him. Yet the combination ultimately leads up to her running away from him in a huff – and looking for me instead.

"Can't take it!" she mumbles the moment she finds me. Just like the friend she brings she takes a seat right next to us, red from rage.

"Can't take what?" I saintly ask. "That Winky Crockett didn't have time to freshen up after his Quidditch practice?"

"He really does smell like that," Harper's friend giggles.

"I can't stand the guy," Elliott immediately informs us, after all, Crockett is his nemesis. "He's as dumb as a rock, but everyone loves him because he's the Captain."

"How come you don't play Quidditch?" Harper's friend asks him. "I'm sure you'd make a good Beater. I see that sort of thing, I'm on the Hufflepuff team. Leonora, by the way …"

"A badger?" He grins, giving me a quick side-eye. "I'm Elliott, nice to meet you. And you know what? Slytherin loves Hufflepuff."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yeah, indeed, and as for Quidditch – I'm not surprised you said that, it's just that everyone in my family has very fragile wrists …"

Harper and I all but exchange glances, and from then on, the two of them don't seem to know what to talk about first.

He's definitely forgotten about Cassia …

"So," I begin again as Harper and I turn away from the two chatterboxes, "what is it you can't take?"

"Well, for one thing, he can't seem to dance at all because he's been stepping on my toes constantly, and for another, he's been trying non-stop to let his hands wander lower." She's inwardly raging, I can tell by the way she grits her teeth. It's quite the sight.

Still, teasing her a bit more can hardly hurt. "What did you expect?"

"Because of the low backline on my dress?" she immediately about to protest. "I simply had nothing else to wear, but that doesn't give him the right to –"

"I'm talking about the fact that he's just not the brightest."

"Oh." She takes a deep breath. "Well, then …"

"Why does that dress look so familiar?"

"My mother didn't forget the ball, unlike me. She sewed it herself and had Ginger Rogers in Vivacious Lady in mind. She loves Hollywood …"

"That's it, yes," I say with genuine relief. "Now I remember where I know it from, but I wouldn't have thought of it on my own."

"Are you watching Muggle movies?" The warmth in her smile is almost mocking me.

"Harper, think – where did I grow up?"

"Yeah, right …" Before she lets silence arise, she asks, "So will you dance with me like Fred would dance with Ginger?"

To even ask that takes courage. And yet again, it doesn't. I couldn't say No to her, and she knows it well.

"Why should I?" I tease anyway. "In Vivacious Lady, Fred doesn't act at all, and James Stewart hardly has to dance."

"Because he's too intellectual for it?"

I can't help but laugh and shake my head given the absurdity of this discussion.

"You remember how the movie ends, don't you?" she continues. "He embarrasses his family so they'll let go of their classism and he can be with Ginger."

"Well, how inconvenient. I have no family to embarrass."

"Then all that remains is to say that dancing is fun!"

"Yeah, looks like it," I assert, pointing to the tired crowd.

"Waltzer is just a warm-up," she claims. "We'll be moving into Swing soon!"

"So you didn't just dress up as Ginger? And I didn't read Fitzgerald for nothing?"

She beams. "Hogwarts' model student reads Gatsby and acts as my Astaire. Who knew it'd be so worth it not to perish in your Fiendfyre today?"

She takes my hand and pulls me along, in every way.

"You'd actually owe me one for dancing if I hadn't almost turned you into a pile of ash today," I inform her.

She just rolls her eyes. "Quid pro quo."

We push our way through the crowd – Elliott and Leonora are having the best of conversations anyway – and I'd prefer to steer clear of the Professors ahead, but as it happens, Harper directly greets them.

"Headmaster Dippet, Professor Dumbledore, good evening!"

"Harper, Tom," Dumbledore acknowledges us, almost displaying a faint smile. "I gather your argument over the salt shaker is forgotten?"

"Oh yes," Harper confirms. "It's been for quite a while."

Dumbledore nods while eyeing me as always, Dippet however, pats me on the back, praising, "We really appreciate to see inter-house friendships like yours at Hogwarts!"

"We took your speech directly to heart," I reply.

While Dippet can't hide how effective this kind of flattery is, Dumbledore hums, "What a little tact …" He gives me a level-headed look and then glances at Harper, "… and a tad of collaboration can lead to …"

"One never stops learning," Harper cheerfully replies. "But would you excuse us, please? I hear they play one of my favorite songs …"

"Go ahead, go ahead," Dippet encourages us. "Oh, but Tom?"

I turn around yet again. "Yes, sir?"

"Ms Blishwick from Witch Weekly asked me to suggest someone – for a brief conversation so she can write her article. As our primus inter pares you immediately came to mind. Would you be so kind?"

"Thank you for your confidence, Professor, of course …"

"Mr Riddle," Harper whispers as we finally move on, "so you give press interviews?"

"No comment," I murmur in her ear as she puts her arm around my shoulder and I place a hand on her hip.

"Did you know that Witch Weekly yearly awards the most charming smile?" she asks. "You might make it if you just put on a friendlier look."

"Too bad – currently I'm saving all my chivalric charm just for you," I retort.

"Mh." She grins. "Am I blushing already?"

"It's probably just the boring Waltz."

Readily she nods, then proceeds to state, "How awkward, though … Collaboration? Is that what it feels like to be indirectly scolded by Dumbledore?"

"Oh yes," I confirm, "welcome to the dark side. His gaze is probing, isn't it?"

"Unbearable," she agrees with wide eyes. "You feel caught at once, even if you haven't done anything. It's like he knows every secret."

"What's yours?" I ask her as we take a dancing turn.

"If I tell you, it's no longer one." She smiles, her eyes on me at all times. "But – well, why would I lie? You know, for asking you not to stand in the sun back then, you've really turned into a source of light for me since."

"Are you kidding me?" I ask, spinning her again. "Is the punch line that we almost burnt to death in my fire today?"

She grins. "That'd be pretty true, for one thing, and factually correct, but no … Not at all. I was terribly bored before we started to practice in the Room of Requirement."

Why should I be coy … "So was I."

"Rouvenia and you," she then hesitantly says, "you look good together …"

I chuckle, and this kind of reserved jealousy suits her like hell. "We don't," I reassure her firmly nonetheless. "Not like that."

She's giving me an indecisive glance.

"Just like you don't look good with Black."

She bites her lips at these words, then shakes her head. "Well, I guess then the logical question would be, with whom –"

"With me."

I hold her serious gaze until finally, barely audible and in mild bewilderment, she wants to know, "Then why didn't you ask me?"

"Take a look around," I quietly urge her, I knew this question would come in due time. And my answer doesn't have to be a verbal one, truly all she has to do is look around.
Everyone is talking.

She just shakes her head nevertheless. "Since when do you care what anyone says?"

"I don't. You do."

"That's not true," she whispers, almost offended.

"All right …" I nod and again we spin. "For the next ball, you'll be my date. If only to make sure Black doesn't touch you again."

She looks up at the ceiling, playfully puzzled. "Does that sound a little bit jealous?"

I just smile. "O, beware, my lord of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock … For nought I did in hate, but all in honour."

"And instead of a definite answer, he merely quotes the jealousy drama Othello," she replies with a sigh, shaking her head yet again. "You speak, and yet no one ever knows what you think. And I'm pretty sure you're aware that the next ball won't be for another distant year in the future at the next total lunar eclipse or Triwizard Tournament."

"No need for sentimentality," I reply. "At least you'll have more time to think about what to wear before the next blood moon."

"I'll still decide that last minute," she promises. "And just so you can adjust your facial expressions for the most charming smile – Ms Blishwick is already waiting for you back there …"

"Is she?"

Harper nods mischievously.

"I suddenly love to dance," I claim. "Let's never stop …"

"You can't get away from her," Harper warns me. "Just get it over with."

"All right." Taking heart, I grab her hand. She'll have to come with me …

"Wait, no!" she hisses. "Not with me!"

"I'm sure Witch Weekly wants some of Shakespeare's muse for hymns and eulogies as well …"

"I'm certainly not Desdemona!"

"You are to me," I tell her over my shoulder.

"You should do that with Rouvenia, you two are here tonight –"

"Not anymore," I say. "Come on, Rogers, move it."

"Oh, Stewart, why though?" she sighs in agony.

Less than ten minutes later, a photo of us is taken – after I tell Ms Blishwick about inter-house friendships, Hogwarts values, and the duties of a Prefect …