Harry straightened the collars on his dress robes and looked in the mirror. For a moment, he had trouble comprehending what he was wearing – these robes were certainly fancier than anything he had ever put on in his life – and he was not sure if it really suited him. After some getting-used-to, however, he began to appreciate that he looked, in his unrefined opinion, quite decent, though definitely still more posh than he was accustomed to. Some vengeful part of Harry's brain even wanted for Uncle Vernon to be here right now. He would have been shocked to see him, not only not in Dudley's cast-offs, but wearing something that may have put his own work suits to shame.
He went out into the living room, where April and Orville were waiting. Both had already changed. Orville was wearing a set of dress robes rather like Harry's, but they were even more stately and fitting. April, meanwhile, was wearing a long, deep blue garment that was somewhere between a dress and robes. It, however, suited her quite well.
'Those robes look good on you, Harry,' Orville commented. 'Looks like my tailor did as good of a job for you as he does for me. What do you think, Harry?'
'I…uh…they look great,' Harry replied, a little awkwardly.
'They definitely do,' April agreed, smiling.
Some minutes later, Tracey came out from her room. Her dress matched her mother's in colour, though it was shorter, looking a little like a longer skirt, and her hair was made up in a sort of bun. She looked at her mother, grinning, then her father, and finally, at Harry. When she did, Harry felt his face warm up a little and butterflies flutter in his stomach.
'You look great, honey!' April gushed, rising and going to examine her daughter's dress all over. Orville gave a little laugh as April walked around her daughter in circles to get a look at her from every possible angle. Finally, after a minute or so of admiration, April faced Orville and Harry again.
'Ready to go?'
Orville nodded and stood up. 'Let's get going.'
Harry instinctively began walking over towards the fireplace, for having seen April and Orville using the Floo so many times, he assumed that that would be how they would be getting to the Ball. To his surprise, however, Orville stopped him.
'Where're you going, Harry?' he asked.
'To the Floo?' Harry replied rhetorically, confused. 'Aren't we going?'
'Ah,' Orville said with a chuckle. 'No, we aren't going by Floo. That would get us all sooty, among other things. No, we'll be going by road. Come on.'
Harry, confused, nonetheless followed Orville and the others. They stepped out the door and into the narrow stairwell. Harry wondered as they descended if they would be walking, but somehow, that seemed like a rather odd and unlikely entrance for the family of one of the most important members of the organisation hosting the Ball.
He was, however, completely not expecting to see what he saw when they reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped out onto the street. Parked on the side of the road was a vehicle that somewhat resembled a carriage, but at the same time one of those classic, open-top cars that Harry had seen in some of Uncle Vernon's magazines. There was, however, no steering wheel – or any control interfaces, for that matter. A man was seated in front of the passenger compartment, right where the motor would have been in a normal car, and he, like Harry and Orville, was wearing a set of fitted dress robes.
The man that Harry could only call the 'driver' stepped out of the 'car' and took a slight bow to Orville. 'Good evening, Mister Davis.' He turned to April and Tracey and repeated the gesture. 'And you, Missus Davis, Miss Davis.' Finally, he turned to Harry. 'And a very good evening to you, Mister Potter.'
Harry blinked, surprised that the 'driver' knew his name. 'I gave him our names,' Orville whispered in Harry's ear before looking back up at the driver. 'Good evening, Thomas.'
Thomas gave a thin smile, nodded, and walked over to the side of the 'car'. He drew his wand and tapped the side of the 'car' once. All at once, four doors opened, and Thomas gestured for the four of them to climb in.
'Front seat, Harry?' April asked. Eagerly, Harry nodded, sitting down in the 'car' next to Orville.
The 'car' began to accelerate slowly and steadily, the wheels rolling smoothly over the cobblestone road, Harry not feeling a single bump – it must have been magic. 'What is this thing?' Harry asked Orville quietly as they made their way down a rather quiet Diagon Alley.
'It's a "horseless carriage",' Orville replied. 'Does exactly what the name says it does. It's a bit like the cars that you have in the muggle world – just that it moves itself with magic.'
'How does it do that?' Harry questioned. 'Move itself by magic, I mean.'
'That's a good question,' Orville said, looking out at the street in thought. 'I'm not sure, actually. I know it involves a lot of enchantments, which you have to power with different crystals. I never studied Enchanting at Hogwarts, though, so I'm not certain how or with which. It's not very easy to build one of these things, and it shows in the price tag. Even a basic one might set you back three thousand Galleons or more. An import model from France or Prussia might cost six or seven thousand before duties. That's not counting the maintenance you need to put into it. These things burn through crystals. If you're going to use it a lot, it's going to cost you at least a few hundred Galleons a month – and that's the number for crystals alone and not all the other maintenance. Anyway, though, it's not very practical. There're so many better ways for getting around – Floo, Apparition, Portkey, or even broomsticks. The only reason anyone who's not drowning in Galleons would use one of these is to make an entrance. That's what we keep this one around, see? When one of us wants to impress, we show up in one of these. It's bound to raise some eyebrows and turn some heads.'
Harry was unsure if he wanted to 'turn some heads', but he supposed that Orville did not quite mean it in the way that he had encountered in his first week at Hogwarts – and it was probably too late to get cold feet now anyway. At any rate, the car – calling it an 'horseless carriage' was simply too clumsy and uncreative, he thought – seemed extremely interesting. It seemed like with magic, much like in the muggle world, there was so much room to create incredible things.
They drove on for several minutes down Diagon Alley. Harry had never come this far on their walks or shopping trips, and this part of the street looked completely foreign to the parts that they were familiar with. The road had widened slightly, and the buildings lining either side were of a newer design. There were fewer shops and more of what appeared to be residences, and the claustrophobic, winding side alleys which commonly jutted between houses to the 'older' part of Diagon were far rarer here.
After a few minutes, they made a right turn onto a surprisingly wide road – perhaps almost as wide as two lanes of traffic out in muggle London. The houses on either side changed, too. Instead of the relatively modest-looking residences that they had passed for the last few minutes, and also unlike the aged, elegant buildings such as the Davises' home, which comprised the 'centre' of Diagon Alley, these buildings were noticeably larger and newer. Their relative size, however, was not gained at the expense of styling. Just like the buildings in Diagon Alley, the buildings' facades were well-furnished and intricately decorated. Along the ground floor of the buildings were shops that, even upon a first, quick glance, were obviously catered towards a wealthier, upper-class clientele.
'Welcome to Virtic Alley,' Orville said. 'It's a new place – this street really only came into existence in the last fifty years, and only got developed in the last ten years, with the Ministry pouring huge amounts into development after the war. It's gotten a bit of a reputation as a "centre of luxury", but that's not exactly accurate. Most of the shops here actually cater to what you'd consider middle-class or upper-middle-class in the muggle world. The so-called "old" families are more likely to patronise shops that have served them for generations, and those are generally located right in the central area where we live.'
The street here was, just like Diagon Alley, quite empty – or at least, not as bustling as it would have been if it were day. Many shops were already closed, but some others were open, and patrons were coming in and out. Harry had only been to London a few times, but he supposed that during the day, Virtic Alley may resemble somewhat Shaftesbury Avenue.
They drove on for another few minutes before coming to a stop in front of a wide, rather grand-looking building with a gilded façade. Harry, for a moment, thought that they had arrived, but then, it struck him as rather odd that they had stopped here. There were no signs of activity that may have indicated a Ball was happening inside. No one was going in nor coming out, there was no sound of music or speaking, and the windows were shuttered and dark.
The driver got out and began walking towards the building. Harry looked at Orville, wanting to know if they were supposed to get out, too, but he motioned for him to stay seated. Harry watched as the driver walked up to the front door, stopped, drew his wand, and appeared to tap it once against the door handle.
There was a moment where nothing happened. Then, a small slit opened in the door, and a face appeared from behind it. The driver and the other person appeared to exchange a few lines, before the driver turned around and made his way back to the car.
'He'll open the gate and we'll be right in,' the driver said upon climbing back into his seat.
He shifted the car around a little, aligning it with the front doors of the building. For a short second, Harry wondered if they were going to drive right through – it would certainly be an entrance – but just as the driver finished his correction, the entire ground floor of the façade suddenly disappeared into thin air. Beyond it, Harry could see a spacious, well-lit space, in which a sizable crowd had already gathered.
The car moved forward slowly, passing right through where the former wall stood, amazing Harry. They drove right into the reception, and just as Orville had 'predicted', people on either side of them seemed to pause their conversations, pause what they were doing, or look up from their drinks or snacks, to study them with curious glances and talk in whispers. Harry felt his face warm up at the attention, and felt an urge to stare at his shoes, but he thought that that would probably not be very appropriate for the occasion.
'After we stop, April and I will probably be greeting clients for some time,' Orville told him in a whisper, remaining remarkably still in his seat. 'We'll introduce the two of you, then after that, you can slip away for a while if you'd like. If you're not sure how to do that, just follow Tracey. I'd wager she's quite the expert at doing that now.'
They stopped in a small open-air courtyard in which the reception was underway. Their driver got out to open the door for them with a tap of his wand, and Orville and April, who were both sitting on the left side, got out together. Several witches and wizards, all of whom were wearing similar-looking dress robes, quickly walked up to them to shake their hands. Behind him, Tracey started sliding over to get out of the car, and Harry, after a moment, followed her.
'Good to see you, Orville. And you, April,' a wizard was saying as he shook Orville and April's hands.
'Good to see you too, Jonas,' April replied. 'How are things with the Ministry?'
'Oh, the usual,' the man called Jonas answered. 'Department of Security is taking more time than ever with clearing Shafiq's purchase order from Egypt. Even Transportation has approved the shipment into London, and you know how slow they are. You should ask Arthur to get on that, or we'll be in for some not-insignificant losses.'
'Arthur doesn't have the authority to expedite that, even if he could,' Orville said. 'It's not his jurisdiction, and I doubt he'd be able to get the clerks actually handling this stuff to speed up very much, either. But let's not talk about this tonight, Jonas. Let's get on with the Ball.'
Jonas nodded. 'Yes, of course.' His eyes settled on Tracey. 'Ah, is that your daughter? She's grown a lot since last year.'
'I'd hope so,' Orville said with a small grin before turning to Tracey. 'Come, Tracey. Come greet Mister Diggory.'
Tracey walked up to Jonas Diggory and held out a hand, which the man shook, though having to bend down to reach Tracey's height. 'Good evening, Mister Diggory,' she said.
'Good evening, Tracey,' Jonas Diggory said. 'You've grown at least a head since last year. This was your first year at school, wasn't it?'
Tracey nodded excitedly. 'Yes, it was!'
'And did you enjoy it?'
Tracey nodded again. 'A lot.'
Jonas Diggory gave a short laugh. 'I'm sure. I still remember everything that I got up to in my first year.'
'Don't give Tracey any ideas,' April warned without seriousness.
'Of course not,' Jonas Diggory replied. 'If she ever gets up to any mischief, I'll send my brother to speak with her. He'll bore all that out of her in five minutes.'
'Too harsh, Jonas,' Orville remarked. 'Nobody deserves to hear Amos go on about the most economic method of Doxy control on Ministry premises. You'd think he'd have something more interesting to talk about – the Department of Creatures and Environment manages a whole dragon preserve in Scotland, for crying out loud!'
'Amos is far too clumsy to go anywhere near that preserve,' Jonas Diggory responded, laughing, Orville and April joining in.
When the laughter stopped, Jonas Diggory's eyes inevitably settled on Harry. 'Ah…and this is…'
'This is Harry Potter, Jonas,' April said matter-of-factly. 'He is staying with us for the summer.'
It took a moment for April's words to sink into Jonas Diggory, and when they did, his eyes grew as large as tennis balls and his eyebrows shot up so high into his hair. 'The Harry – '
'Jonas,' April hissed warningly.
Jonas's sentence died in his throat and his face suddenly lit up bright red. It took him a few seconds to compose himself, swallowing hard several times, before he looked at Harry back in the eyes.
'Naturally, very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mister Potter,' Jonas Diggory said, putting out his hand. Harry shook it quickly. 'I am Jonas Diggory. I'm a legal counsel with Orville and April's organisation.'
'Nice to meet you, Mister Diggory,' Harry said awkwardly, noticing that the man still had the sparkle of awe in his eyes.
Thankfully, April rescued him from the encounter, though it was perhaps less of a rescue than an 'out of the frying pan and into the fire' type of situation, as she and Orville went around introducing him and Tracey to the rest of their colleagues. Thankfully, the majority of them controlled themselves better than Jonas Diggory did, and the exchange of pleasantries with them was relatively less awkward.
'You can go ahead now,' April whispered to him and Tracey after a few more introductions. 'We'll find you later.'
'Come,' Tracey breathed, tugging on Harry's sleeve.
Without a second word, she ducked away, bending down lower, perhaps in an attempt to hide from adult gazes. Harry followed her, weaving through the ballroom, which had grown quickly more packed since when they had first arrived. Soon, Harry was completely lost amongst the people, chairs, and tables. Tracey, however, seemed to have an acute sense of where she was going, and Harry followed her – though it was not like there was anything else for him to do.
'Hello, Harry,' came a girl's voice directly off to his left. Harry turned his head, and to his surprise, saw Nura Shafiq – a fellow Gryffindor of his year – standing by a table with two older people that Harry assumed to be her parents.
'Oh, hello, Nura,' Harry replied, Harry realising that Nura's family must have been the Shafiqs that Orville was talking to Jonas about. The two of them looked at each other for a few uncomfortable moments, neither knowing what they should say to one another. They did not really talk to each other much during the school year – Nura was in Ron's circle, which Harry was not exactly keen to get in on – and there was nothing that Harry knew to say that would not have sounded extremely awkward, weirdly probing, or both.
'Good summer?' Nura asked.
Harry nodded. 'And you?'
'Not bad.'
The two of them stared at each other for a few moments more before Harry decided to break off the conversation. 'Well, it was good to see you.'
'Nice to see you, too.'
Tracey had stopped a few steps in front to wait for him, and Harry quickly caught up with her. 'Was that Nura?' Tracey asked.
Harry nodded. 'Yup.'
He and Tracey kept walking around. Several servers were now putting out snacks and drinks onto the tables. As the two of them passed by one of the now-full tables, they stopped to take a look at the selection on offer.
'I don't really like cauldron cakes,' Tracey noted, pointing at the confections that Harry vaguely remembered from his first day on the Hogwarts Express. 'They're overrated. Too much sugar and too little flavour.'
'What're those?' Harry asked, pointing at a pyramid of blue, pentagonal boxes.
'Chocolate frogs,' Tracey said. 'It's exactly what it says it is – a frog made of chocolate. They have an enchantment to jump when you open the box, and you have to catch it. There're also cards in the package of famous witches and wizards that some people like to collect. Personally, I've never particularly cared – '
'Tracey!' a voice, which sounded rather familiar to Harry, suddenly called. Tracey spun towards the direction of the voice, and when Harry turned his head, he saw Daphne and Pansy standing several tables away. The first thing that Harry noticed was that both were wearing long, elegant, and almost glowing dress robes that may have compared with April's – which Harry was sure was no accident.
'Oh hi,' Tracey called back, sounding a little timid. 'When'd you get here?'
'Ten or fifteen minutes ago, maybe,' Daphne replied. 'We've been looking around for you.'
The two of them walked towards Harry and Tracey as if closing in on them. Harry felt a sudden urge to try to slip away, but he knew that there was no way he could do that without seeming horribly unpresentable at the very least. Contrary to his will, he stood as still as he could as Pansy and Daphne stopped in front of him, their eyes, to Harry's immense unease, trained on him.
'Good evening, Harry,' Pansy said, her voice haughtier and more superior than ever as she delivered the line with a curtsey. 'How do you do?'
Harry blinked, frozen, as Daphne repeated the same motions – the two of them, always acting so superior, had never greeted him, or anyone, really, this way. 'I'm…I'm doing well, thank you,' he stumbled after he finally managed to react – what was he supposed to do in reply to such a greeting? 'How…How do you do?' he added after another moment's hesitation. Though he really did not care in the slightest how the two of them, who had been rude enough to him and his friends, and Hermione especially, in the previous year, were doing, he did not want to embarrass Tracey by possibly acting inappropriately.
'I am well, thank you,' Daphne replied without the slightest hesitation or unsureness, and Harry was certain that she was gloating internally at Harry's exhibited lack of direction. 'If I may ask, who did you come with?'
'Tracey invited me,' Harry answered curtly, interpreting Daphne's question as thinly veiled doubt at his right to be here.
Daphne and Pansy seemed to not have noticed or cared of his attitude, and both turned towards Tracey, raising their eyebrows. Tracey gave a little nod in reply to their unvoiced question.
'Well, why don't you grab us a plate of cauldron cakes, Tracey, then we'll be off?' Pansy asked, reverting back to her normal, commanding tone of voice.
'Cauldron cakes aren't very good,' Daphne interjected. 'I'd go for the pumpkin pasties, personally. Let's just all get our own.'
Pansy gave a little grunt before reaching for a plate and plopping a few cauldron cakes on it. Daphne and Tracey followed suit, both filling their plates with orange-coloured pastries that Harry assumed to be pumpkin pastries. Snacks gathered, Daphne and Pansy turned towards Harry again, much to his dread.
'It was good to see you, Harry,' Pansy said in her 'cordial' tone of voice, giving another curtsey. Daphne, once more, followed suit.
'It was...good…to see you, too,' Harry forced out.
Pansy and Daphne started to leave. 'I'm sorry,' Tracey whispered hastily when they were a few steps away. 'They were trying to show off. I have to go. I'll find you later.'
With that, she dashed off to join the two of them, leaving Harry all by himself. Without much else to do, he continued wandering around the ballroom, hoping to find a familiar face. He had asked Neville several days earlier whether he would be coming, but he had replied in the negative, much to Harry's disappointment. Nonetheless, he kept walking, trying to find someone with whom he could talk to without feeling awkward.
'Is that Harry?' finally a familiar voice called. Harry turned around, and there stood Raul, wearing pristine dress robes quite similar to Orville's. He was rather tall for their age group, and as such, seemed to Harry like he was already half a businessperson – if he were not holding a filled plate of snacks in one hand and a mug of what looked to be butterbeer in the other.
'Hello, Raul,' Harry said. Stealthily, he looked around him to make sure that Ron was not with him and was satisfied to find that he was nowhere to be seen. 'How's your summer?'
'Good,' Raul replied, taking a swig of butterbeer. 'I was in Spain until Monday. I'm not here for long, though – I'll probably go back to Zaragoza by Sunday.'
'What've you been doing here?' Harry asked.
Raul shrugged. 'Not much myself. Parents have business with their clients here – they're trying to expand their business here or something. Too boring for me. And of course, there's this ball. Who did you come with, Harry? I thought you were staying at Hogwarts.'
'The Davises.'
Raul's eyebrows shot up. 'You got invited by the Davises? Like…one of the families running this whole organisation that's hosting the ball?'
'I've been staying with them,' Harry replied, trying to sound offhanded.
'Weren't you at Hogwarts?'
'It's a long story,' Harry said, not really wanting to elaborate further about everything that had happened to him over the last weeks.
'Raul! Ahí estas!' came a low, male voice. Harry turned his vision and saw a man and a woman, both dressed in robes very similar to Raul's, rushing towards him – obviously his parents. 'Porque te andas escapando así?'
'No me estaba escapando,' Raul replied, a hint of attitude in his voice as he gestured at his plate. 'Solo queria agarrar un poco de comida.'
Raul's mother looked for a second at the plate and mug in his hands. 'Porque agarraste tanta?' she asked. Her voice was calm and normal in volume, though Harry easily could hear some edge to it. 'Que te hemos enseñado sobre solo agarrar lo que te vas a comer?'
'Pero tengo hambre, mama,' Raul whined, bringing his plate closer to himself as if protecting it. 'Y esta comida esta muy rica! No tenemos comida así en España.'
'Si la tenemos,' Raul's father snapped, gesticulating at the plate, which, for a moment, threatened to topple as Raul nearly lost his grip on it. 'No hay nada especial sobre unos pasteles ingleses que ameritan llenar tu plato de ellos. Pero ya que agarraste todo eso, no puedes desperdiciar la comida. Estas prohibido de agarrar mas comida hasta que te acabes todo eso, sin importar que tan buena se vea. Entendido?'
Raul opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to protest, but his mother gave him a sharp look. 'Si, señor,' he muttered through gritted teeth.
Raul stalked away, and Harry and Raul's parents introduced themselves to each other. Harry was not sure what to think of Raul's parents. They were nice and respectful, but they also seemed to have an air of haughtiness – though nothing in comparison to the likes of Pansy and her friends. Part of that may have been due to the language barrier – Raul's mother spoke English quite well, but his father could only converse with some difficulty – though still, Harry could detect at least some hint of snobbishness in the way they spoke, with them being a bit too eager to elaborate about their own business successes than Harry cared for.
Thankfully, their not-very-exciting conversation was not very long, and soon, Raul's parents moved on, and Harry continued wandering about the ball, picking up the odd snack or drink as he went. Several times, he saw someone he thought that he might have seen in the corridors of Hogwarts, but none whose name he knew or could recall.
After some more time spent wandering, Harry spotted a tall, silver-haired man several tables away in front of him, a boy with similarly coloured hair flanking him. They looked immediately familiar to Harry, and it took only a moment more for Harry to realise who they were – he recognised the boy well enough, and the father, he had seen walking into Knockturn Alley almost a year ago together with his son on the day that Dumbledore had accompanied Harry to purchase his school supplies. It was the Malfoys.
Immediately, Harry tried to find an escape route, but it was too late. Draco was already looking directly at him, and when he inevitably recognised Harry, his lips curled into a thin, excited smile – perhaps like some kind of beast finding its prey. He said something to his father, who raised his eyebrows, then began, to Harry's dread, striding towards Harry in long, brisk steps, his son following on his heels.
Draco's father stopped in front of Harry and studied him, his eyes tracing slowly down his body as if trying to examine every bit of him. Harry was unsure what he should do. He had half a mind to run away, but knew that he could not without causing a major scene. He did not know, however, what he should say, or if he wanted to say anything at all. Draco had certainly not proven himself to be a partner with whom Harry was very eager to converse.
Draco's father, seemingly satisfied by his visual examination, stuck out a hand. 'You must be Harry Potter,' he said in a soft, rather slick voice. 'Lucius Malfoy. It is a great honour that magic has willed us to meet, Mister Potter.'
Harry blinked, taken aback momentarily by the odd, formal-sounding greeting, but gathered himself quickly. Tentatively, he shook Lucius's hand. 'It is a great honour that magic has willed us to meet, Mister Malfoy,' he repeated in kind, though without a little bit of torture.
'Hello, Harry,' Draco groused, obviously unsatisfied at having to greet Harry cordially.
'Hello, Draco,' Harry replied, feeling the same emotions that Draco must have been feeling.
'Draco has mentioned you quite a few times,' he said a few moments after the exchange of greetings.
'He has?' Harry asked, genuinely surprised. Except for that one incident with the 'duel', Harry had barely even interacted with Draco during the school year. What was he saying about him to his father?
Lucius cocked an eyebrow. 'Certainly,' he replied slowly. 'He has spoken a good bit about you. I am sure that anyone with the…reputation…that you have would have quickly made waves at Hogwarts.'
'I wasn't looking to "make waves",' Harry muttered. 'I just wanted to have a quiet school year.'
'I'm certain that you did,' Lucius Malfoy answered, seemingly completely unsurprised and unfazed by Harry's reply. 'From what Draco has told me, the company that you are keeping seems to be that of someone…keen to avoid attention. Longbottom, I heard?'
Harry could detect the belittling, though carefully hidden behind outward respect, show through in Lucius's voice. It reminded him much of how Dudley spoke with teachers who had dared to discipline him for his behaviour. 'What about Neville?' he demanded, working hard to be cordial, covering up his irritation as best as he could.
Lucius raised an eyebrow. 'Nothing, of course,' he replied with a smile that Harry knew must not have been exactly genuine. 'I am in no place to give unsolicited opinions or advice on other people's lives. I simply find it rather curious that you would choose to befriend Longbottom, the muggle-born girl, and…I've heard that you've also made friends with the new teacher?'
Harry nodded rather defiantly, prepared for another jibe against any one of them. They had risked themselves to come down the gauntlet to save him, and he was not going to stand by while Lucius Malfoy belittled them behind their backs.
'A very cunning decision,' Lucius said, for once a hint of genuineness in his voice. 'Developing a relationship with a professor. An interesting choice, nonetheless. I am sure she must be very talented, but I would have expected you to choose a more…experienced…mentor.'
The trace of sincerity of the first remark was lost in the second, and Lucius's voice regained the undertone of sarcastic belittlement. 'She's not my mentor,' Harry replied, only avoiding gritting his teeth with effort. 'She's just my friend.'
'Certainly,' Lucius said with a sort of finality, like he was giving the final word on this topic. 'I also had heard that you were rather seriously injured in the fire in May. I would like to offer my condolences for the misfortune and hope that you have made a full recovery.'
At that, Draco gave a small snicker, but Lucius cast him a severe look, which made him fall instantly quiet and cower slightly behind his father's back. Lucius then turned back to Harry as if nothing at all had happened.
Harry could not help but feel a little satisfied at Draco being disciplined by the only person whom, by his own account, he was purported to obey. 'I have,' he replied, not bothering to deny the rumour – it was a useful story to maintain. 'Thank you, Mister Malfoy.'
Lucius nodded, giving a thin smile. 'I hope, other than that incident, that you have had the quiet year that you have wanted.'
'More or less.'
'Good,' Lucius replied. 'I wonder now if perhaps next year will be a little more exciting. It is always good to have a little variation in life.'
'Maybe, but I like things simpler.'
'If you say so,' Lucius said. 'In any case, it was very nice to meet you in person. We must go now. Have an enjoyable rest of the night.'
The Malfoys walked away, leaving Harry standing alone again. He watched them go, feeling rather discomforted, or even slightly disturbed, by the meeting. He thought that it might have been Lucius Malfoy's attitude. He was respectful, unlike his son – Lucius and the Draco that he knew could not have been more different, he thought – but it seemed like he was hiding something behind the aristocratic veneer, like he had chosen every one of his words carefully to say multiple things at once. It may have all been nothing, but his mannerism was still rather unsettling.
Harry pushed the interaction out of his mind as he continued wandering through the ball. A short while later, he ran into Orville again, and decided to stay close to him, lest he ran into Lucius Malfoy or anyone less-than-pleasant again. Though Harry was a little reluctant, Orville introduced him to some of his friends – though thankfully, none of them reacted in any way that would have made Harry uncomfortable. The one who came closest to that was Horace Slughorn, a large man with a walrus moustache who had apparently been Orville's Potions Master and mentor – though Harry could forgive him, for he had apparently known his mother.
'She was one of my favourites,' he had gushed. 'Sharpest instinct I've ever seen, understood everything the first time it was taught… With a bit of work and some help from me, she would've gone to high places: researcher, manager, started some kind of business – she had so many intriguing ideas – or maybe even the Ejwent Dexmot, though she said she wasn't interested in doing politics – she would've had the wit for it if she did, though. Could've out-argued all the Xrjeb Hyrdoszot boneheads with zero effort. Too bad what happened to her…a horrible pity… Please accept my condolences…'
Other than Slughorn, Orville also introduced Arthur Weasley – Ron, Fred, and George's father – who seemed like a pleasant, jolly, if somewhat clumsy man. According to Orville, Arthur 'kept track of his clients' good standing in the Department of Security' – which Harry thought sounded more than a little bit shady, though he did not try to think more of it – and helped him with accounting on the side. With Arthur were his daughter, Ginny – who gasped loudly and went wide-eyed as Orville introduced Harry until she was disciplined by her father – and Percy, who greeted Harry and shook his hand in the uptight manner that he was now used to from the Prefect. Contrary to the greeting that Harry had repeated back to Percy, he was not exactly 'thrilled' to see him there.
Dinner was soon served after several short speeches by Orville, April, and the other hosts, and thankfully, it was rather boring. Harry took a seat with the Davises and ate peacefully to the backdrop of classical music. The food was extremely good – it may even have been better than that which was served at Hogwarts – and the five courses were extravagant to a degree that Harry had not even heard of, even in films.
After the banquet, which lasted more than an hour, the chairs were cleared away by magic to form a dance floor in the middle of the banquet hall. Harry watched as April and Orville and the rest of their associates led the way onto the dance floor, with more and more pairs trickling in after them, all twirling to a light waltz played by the orchestra and no doubt amplified by magic.
'Woah,' Harry breathed, watching the rhythm of the display with awe. So many individual people were moving at their own paces and motions, but all together, they complemented and blended with one another to form a beautiful, flowing portrait.
'What is it?' Tracey asked.
'The dancing,' Harry replied. 'It's mesmerising.'
'Have you ever danced before?'
Harry shook his head. 'My aunt and uncle never got invited to any balls.' And they wouldn't take me, anyway, he added silently.
'Ah,' Tracey said, looking at Harry. He could see her cheeks turn a little pink in the dimmed lighting. 'Well…uh…do you want to…to dance?'
'W-With you?' Harry asked, surprised.
'Y-Yeah?'
Harry blinked. 'Yeah, sure,' he replied. 'I…but…I've never danced before.'
'That's okay. I can teach you a little. But…uh…I'm not very good at dancing, either.'
'Definitely still better than me,' Harry chortled as Tracey stood up.
Harry followed her to a relatively empty corner of the dance floor, where she stopped and turned to face him. 'What do we do now?' Harry asked.
'We…uh…dance, don't we?'
'How?'
'So…um…I think you have to put your right hand on my waist,' Tracey told him, speaking at a much higher pace than she usually did. 'And then grab my hand with your other hand.'
'I have to…what?' Harry asked, his mouth dry and his face warm at the prospect of doing what Tracey had told him to do. He had never touched a girl before – not in the way that Tracey was instructing him to, at least – and it felt awkwardly inappropriate and embarrassing. There had to be some other way to dance than to do…that.
'Uh…' Tracey stammered, her face growing red as well. 'Put your right hand on my waist,' she repeated rapidly. 'And grab my hand with your left.'
Tracey gulped visibly and offered a hand. Harry stared at it mutely, knowing what he needed to do but unable to move to do it. He looked back up at Tracey, who was blushing deep scarlet, and convinced himself that if she had offered a hand, then it would be okay. First taking a deep breath, he gingerly reached out and grabbed her hand, gripping just tightly enough so that his arm did not go limp, but unable to hold it with any more force out of embarrassment and nerves.
He closed his eyes and took another deep breath before placing his right hand on Tracey's waist, his face heating up even more as he did. Now that he had managed to get into position, however, the worst part seemed to be over. Now, he thought, all that was left was to dance, and he was sure he could dance without any more embarrassment.
'Now…uh…just…uh…step with the rhythm,' Tracey told him. 'And try not to step on my toes.'
'Step with the rhythm?' Harry asked, thinking that that was not much in the way of teaching.
'When I step back, you step forward, when I go left, you go left – that kind of thing,' Tracey answered, sounding unsure herself. 'Uh…if it helps, you could also look at what other people are doing. That's how I learned… I suppose you might have to just learn by doing it…'
Then, without even a warning, Tracey began, taking a step backwards. Harry, trying to compensate, took a step forward, but in his haste, did so with the wrong foot. When he realised his mistake, however, it was already too late, and he had stepped right onto Tracey's left toes.
'Ouch,' she winced.
'I'm sorry,' Harry said hastily. 'I messed up. I'm so-'
'It's okay,' Tracey interrupted, quickly resuming the dance. This time, Harry was a little more mindful, and as a result managed to do a little better, managing to avoid trampling Tracey's feet for several steps in a row as he followed her motions.
'Try to follow along to the music,' Tracey advised after Harry inevitably stepped on her feet again. 'The rhythm helps you keep track of how to move. It does for me, at least.'
They tried again, Harry listening out for the rises and falls of the measures. As Tracey had said, they proved rather helpful, and as they danced more, Harry found that by following along with the music, he could achieve a measure of independence from only following Tracey's motions, and even managed to surprise himself once or twice with performing the correct steps without consciously thinking about them.
They continued dancing, and as Harry improved, he found himself actually having fun. Tracey, too, seemed to be enjoying it more, her countenance bearing a relaxed smile. They had their corner of the dance floor all to themselves, where there was no one to bother them, no one to get in their way, and no one to accidentally bump into them.
They must have continued for almost an hour or more – time now passed quickly as Harry got the hang of things – and despite a few more accidents on both his and Tracey's part, it was still quite enjoyable – made more so by the fact that no one, not even Daphne or Pansy, whom Tracey surmised were probably socialising with family friends, bothered them. After a while, however, they inevitably grew tired, and left the dance floor to grab some drinks and rest for a while, before Harry, recovered, itched to dance again.
After another cycle of dance and rest, the party was beginning to wind down. As the final guests trickled from the dance floor – many of whose faces were pink with exhaustion – groups of workers began to bring out long tables, which they then began to top with piles of packages.
Harry watched as a group of people, Orville and April included, gathered in the centre of the room, where the dance floor had been. After all the tables had been filled, the workers retreated, and Orville stepped forward, drawing his wand and pointing it towards his throat.
'Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of our organisation, we would like to thank you for attending our event tonight,' he said, his amplified voice echoing off the walls and soon drowned out by applause.
'We have prepared a little gift for each of you,' he continued once the applause had died down. 'First of all, every one of you will get a sampler from Honeyduke's, which I hope you will enjoy. Additionally, for the adults, we have for each of you a copy of a new novel by our very own chief of analysis, Marcel Laplace, who is a writer in his free time and last year published his first novel, Le Printemps à Paris, about two French friends who are split apart by Grindelwald's War. Just two weeks ago, a translated version was published here in Britain. I have read it myself, and I would highly recommend it to anyone interested in history to give it a try.'
'Finally, for the children, we have prepared each of you a journal – or diary, however you prefer to call it. Personally, journaling is one of the habits I find most helpful to keeping track of what I did and what I want to do, and I would recommend it as a routine if you ever find yourselves feeling disorganised or rushed. I hope that many of you will put our little present to good use.'
There was another round of applause. 'Please line up in front of the tables, and we'll pass out the presents,' Orville announced once the room fell quiet again. 'After you've received yours, you're free to leave. This is the end of the Ball. Thank you for coming, have a restful night, and I hope for only pleasant happenings for all of you until our next meeting and beyond.'
