Truth or dare has probably never been more boring, at least until Slughorn lets yet another whisky magically appear on the table – and most of those present rejoice.

"Truth," I choose once the empty game bottle points at me for the first time. Nott is going to be the one asking a question, after all – and he'd never dare asking me a precarious one.

Nervously he says, "Oh, so … Tom, well, I wonder why you … don't drink whisky?"

I give him a mirthless glance. "My body is a temple."

Harper tries to hide a grin. The look on her face literally screams how accurate that can be when I consider tearing my soul apart …

But the way I've had Mrs Cole and her ever trembling hands in front of me for as long as I can remember is hardly anyone's business.

"Commendable, yet a pity, really," Slughorn lightly sighs and can't resist patting me on the back. "I feel similarly, Tom, but I wish I had your strength of will."

I'd wish the same if I were him …

"If I may." I continue the game, spinning the bottle myself.

And it stops at Raymond.

"Truth I had last time – so I'm left with dare," he grumbles, his eyes never leaving my face. "Tell me – what do you want me to do?"

"Professor," I turn to Slughorn, "would you be so kind as to provide a suggestion? I'm entirely uninspired."

"Oh, sure, I'd be happy to help out, of course! Dancing, Mr Greene! With the next person chosen by the bottle!"

The old bat is having too much of a blast for my taste, but so be it …

"Wonderful idea," I claim, "Professor, why don't you spin the bottle now?"

Slughorn does just that with obvious glee, and the fact that it stops on Harper, of all people, is simply proof of my bad luck.

"Ms Sullivan," Slughorn chuckles, "Mr Greene can count himself lucky with you, he could have got me as well!"

"That might have been better," Raymond mumbles, though softly enough that at least the Professor can't hear it.

"What a pleasure," Harper asserts with moderate enthusiasm as Raymond moves to stand beside her seat to help her up. "Let's make the best of it," she whispers to him with as much patience as she can work up. Then she loudly asks, "Professor, can your gramophone do fast Jazz? Duke Ellington, perhaps?"

Of course she wants a bit of America in Scotland on this occasion …

"I don't know who that is, my dear," the Professor admits, "but your wish shall be my command!" He does magic – and promptly his office becomes an overseas dance hall.

"Is that Muggle music?" I hear Raymond ask Harper. "You want a snappy rhythm so we can get it over with fast?"

She just rolls her eyes and likely tells him to act right before the music itself sweeps him along and makes him swirl around the room with Harper.

Their further conversation during the dance is something I have to make sense of. Based on their lip movements and looks, I simply jump to conclusions – he apologises to her for his vulgar insult, she asks him to reconcile with his sister again.

I'm sure she can't resist mediating …

For his part, however, Slughorn soon begins to clap along to the music, and several others with him. "This fresh energy brings zest – ladies and gentlemen, don't you think?"

Even Raymond can no longer hide his amusement. It's awful.

"Yes, Professor," Rosier shouts and proceeds to grab a dance partner – just like tipsy Dolohov – to swing as well.

More and more couples follow suit until Slughorn and I are finally the last ones left at the table.

He soon leans towards me and says, "I think the bottle game is forgotten due to all the dancing, Tom – why don't you enjoy yourself as well? Ask Ms Sullivan!"

The bottle game.
Oh, my nerves …

"Professor?"

"Yes, Tom?"

"The moment has come," I say, quite resigned to fate. "Have a whisky with me. Watching this …" My gaze wanders around the room full of cheerful youths whose discipline and self-control has long since been forgotten. "I guess it seems necessary this once."

"I'm so glad you say that!" He gloats like a happy child and is back sooner than I like. "To this Mr Duke and his music!"

This euphoria is so hopelessly simple-minded, yet it does become contagious.

"To your club," I say, toasting to then empty the glass in one sip.

"I'll have to tell Professor Dippet about that," Slughorn chortles in triumph, "since I bet with him that it would happen eventually."

"That I'd accept one of your drinks?"

Slughorn nods. "Right after he gets back, I'm sure he'll love to hear about it." He winks, and my ears immediately perk up.

"Is the headmaster not in the castle, sir?"

"Oh, no," he replies, "he's away on a trip, but he'll be back by tomorrow."

I nod, trying as hard as I can to pretend indifference, but of course, this makes me promptly stand up and say, "In that case – carpe noctem, right?"

"Oh yes, very good, Tom!" Slughorn laughs. "Ms Sullivan misses you already, see?"

I do. She does. Our eyes meet.
One dance to seem invested in the club, then we sneak out.

But as if to play fate, Slughorn has the gramophone playing much slower notes by the time I reach Harper.
Surely he has no idea who Louis Armstrong is, but When You're Smiling admittedly results in no bad choice at all …

"What's he up to now?" Harper whispers to me, amused, as she already takes my hands. Her cheeks are all red from the dancing – and again I think I'd really like to squeeze her much too tight. But instead I just put my arms around her hips, she puts hers around my shoulders, then we gently float over the stone floor along to the music.

"Might be that," I begin to speculate, "he wants us to finally get married."

She chuckles, shaking her head. "We took that hope away from him earlier."

"Hardly."

"Oh we did," she retorts. "He thinks we're friends first and foremost, despite all signs and wonders."

I give her a tired smile as this conversation is already hard to beat for ambiguity in relation to me.

"No," I soon reply quietly, "he's not that foolish …"

She looks at me for quite some heartbeats. Most of all perplexed.

"Tom, tell me," she then demands, "have we only been pretending to be nothing more than friends since Christmas? Or is that all it is to you in the end?"

"Now we're talking – why do you doubt me?" I ask. "Harper, I'm used to skepticism – from everyone – ever since I can remember. But not from you …"

"Maybe I just miss you close," she counters, holding on to me even more as she looks up. "Maybe I miss falling asleep next to you."

"What Armstrong is singing right now," I begin, "that's it. Listen. I smile when you smile. I laugh when you laugh. I don't cry when you cry, but I'm sure you get my point …"

"Yes," she says, nevertheless sighing, "but the true sharing of joys and sorrows is nothing more than friendship, as per definition."

"You want to talk about love," I simply say, "but Harper, you have to understand – I don't know what that is."

She gulps.

"I know all the fragments of its columns you showed me," I explain. "But I'm convinced that such a worn word anyways couldn't ever apostrophise the sigh of relief you embody for me." Her face in front of me, her lips so close – and yet so distant because of all the bystanders … "I just know," I continue whispering, "that logic can't capture what an irrational anchor you are to me."

She almost pauses in overflowing emotion, and the soft features in her expression literally turn my head.

"So if you're asking what we are," I still go on, "then the answer has to be everything for now, Harper. We're everything … Because only you never believed me to be a descendant of those dark creatures that found no refuge on the Ark."

She keeps watching me closely. "Riddle, how can you claim to only know fragments of love when you find such words?"

"So all that reading was good for something after all?" I retort.

"Yes," she confirms, "that was the most beautiful love declaration I will ever hear."

"Oh, you better bet on that," I say. "Nobody else will ever dare to speak to you like that. Because you and I, we only end up one way."

"Together."

I nod.

It's like a silent promise. She can never belong to anyone else, I couldn't possibly belong to anyone but her.

"And yet," she softly protests, "I can't be close to you now because we have to keep our charade going."

"You heard Slughorn," I say, spinning her in my arm. "Don't count the chickens before they're hatched. Or are you in a hurry?"

She smirks. "No, I'm not going anywhere, figuratively …"

"Perhaps we'd better continue in Dippet's office, though, in the literal sense." I suggest. "As he just so happens to be travelling at this very moment – he's not in the castle."

Her eyes widen. "Are you serious? Why are we lulling ourselves to sleep dancing then? Let's try the Crema Catalana!"

"I was hoping you'd say that."