SIX
The Great Hall buzzed with activity around Harry.
Both students and staff worked together to transform the ancient castle for the upcoming Yule Ball. Enchanted snowflakes drifted lazily from the ceiling, disappearing just before they could settle on anyone's head. Harry himself was balanced rather precariously on a ladder, helping Ron hang crystalline icicles along the walls.
"Mate, you're doing it wrong again," Ron called from his own ladder. "Hermione said they need to be exactly forty-five degrees to catch the light properly."
Harry adjusted the sparkling decoration with perhaps more force than necessary. "Since when did you become such a perfectionist?"
"Since my girlfriend threatened to make me reorganize the prefect patrol schedules if this isn't perfect," Ron grimaced, though his eyes softened when he glanced at Hermione across the hall. She was directing a group of fifth-year prefects with the precision of a military commander.
Harry couldn't help but smile at his friends' dynamics, even as something heavy settled in his chest. While he might not be feeling the best right now, he was glad Ron and Hermione at least had each other.
The past week had been… complicated.
While he absently worked on setting the icicles, his mind wandered.
Ever since that night during their tutoring session, when he and Fleur had fallen asleep watching the stars from the Astronomy Tower, things had been….different. He'd woken up just before dawn, her head resting against his shoulder, silver-blonde hair catching the first rays of sunlight. For a moment, it had felt perfect.
Then he'd overheard Professor Graves asking her to the ball later. And suddenly, everything felt a little…awkward? Weird? Scary? He didn't exactly know what to think.
"Harry?" Daphne's voice pulled him from his thoughts. She stood at the base of his ladder, her blonde hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, holding up another box of decorations. "Where do you want these?"
"Over by the entrance would be brilliant, thanks," Harry replied, grateful for the distraction.
"Excellent. If you're done daydreaming then, we could you use your help with the ice sculptures," she called out, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Harry descended the ladder, deliberately avoiding looking at the staff table where he knew Fleur would be working with Professor Flitwick on the enchanted ceiling decorations. He'd been avoiding her all week, making excuses to skip their tutoring sessions and taking alternate routes to classes. It was childish, he knew, but every time he saw her talking with Graves, that familiar monster in his chest would rear its ugly head.
He didn't know what was worse- the fact that he didn't know why he felt jealous, or the fact that he might have an idea but was afraid to confront it.
Fleur was an esteemed faculty here at Hogwarts. She had her whole life ahead of her- a brilliant, talented witch. Harry barely had any idea of what he'd do next year once he graduated- sure, becoming an Auror was his main interest, but there was a lot he had to do in between that. Clearly, she would be better off without some lost-looking student bagging her down, correct?
Yes, Harry! his mind said. But his heart felt disappointed all the same.
"Mate," Ron waved a hand in front of his face and jerked him from his thoughts. "What's up with you? You've gone back to doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"That thing where you brood like a proper tragic hero," Ron frowned. "Though I reckon you've got competition in that department now." He nodded toward where Daphne was artfully arranging ice sculptures, her expression indeed rather mirroring his.
"I'm not brooding," Harry protested, though he knew it was a lie. "Just… thinking about NEWTs."
Hermione appeared beside them, her hair slightly frizzled from orchestrating the decorating efforts. "NEWTs? Is that why you've been practically running away every time Professor Delacour comes near you?"
Harry busied himself with another box of decorations. "I haven't been running away. I've just been busy. You know, with…" he gestured vaguely at the decorations, "…all this."
"Right," Hermione said, in that tone that meant she wasn't buying it for a second. "And I suppose you just happened to take the longest possible route to Transfiguration yesterday? I saw you, you know."
"I fancied the exercise," Harry muttered.
Ron snorted. "Mate, you're about as subtle as a Blast-Ended Skrewt in a china shop."
Before Harry could defend himself, a burst of laughter drew their attention to the other end of the hall. Professor Graves was helping Fleur with a particularly complex charm for the ceiling decorations, standing perhaps a bit closer than strictly necessary, in his opinion. Harry watched as Graves said something that made Fleur smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that made his stomach do uncomfortable flips.
"Harry," Hermione said gently, "if you're upset about Professor Graves asking her to the ball—"
"I'm not upset," Harry cut her off, perhaps too quickly. "Besides, I'm going with Daphne. She asked me, and it would've been rude to say no, wouldn't it?"
Ron and Hermione exchanged a look that spoke volumes.
"What?" Harry demanded.
"Nothing," they said in unison, which only irritated him more.
"Potter!" Daphne called again. "These ice swans aren't going to arrange themselves!" She paused for a moment, and Harry caught a subtle smile cross her face. "Well, technically they could, but Professor McGonagall specifically said we weren't allowed to use animation charms after last year's incident with the reindeer."
Harry seized the excuse to escape his friends' knowing looks. Fleur…wasn't someone he wanted to talk about right now. Ron and Hermione- bless them- were trying to help. But a part of Harry wished that they'd just leave him alone.
As he helped Daphne position the ice sculptures, he couldn't help but notice how the enchanted snowflakes seemed to avoid Fleur entirely, as if even they knew better than to disturb her perfect appearance. Not that he was looking.
Oh bloody hell. Who was he kidding?
"You know," Daphne said conversationally, adjusting an ice swan's wing with careful precision, "for someone who's not looking at Professor Delacour, you're doing an awful lot of looking in her direction."
Harry nearly dropped his end of the sculpture. "I'm not—"
"Please," Daphne rolled her eyes. "I may be a Slytherin, but I'm not blind. Though I am starting to wonder if you are."
Harry groaned. "Can we not talk about this? Please?"
The girl next to him huffed. "Alright then. Suit yourself."The preparations for the Yule Ball continued throughout the week, transforming Hogwarts into a winter wonderland that even Peeves couldn't resist admiring (though Harry caught him dropping a handful of enchanted snowballs on unsuspecting first-years). While he went around (not) avoiding Fleur, Harry found himself settling into a comfortable routine with Daphne instead. He'd come to appreciate the Slytherin's practical approach to everything, and the way she just seemed to meet everything head-on.
"You're thinking too much about it," Daphne commented one afternoon as they worked on transfiguring plain tablecloths into elaborate frost-patterned coverings. "The trick is to visualize the pattern as a whole, not each individual snowflake."
Harry watched as she demonstrated, her wand moving in an elegant arc that transformed the plain white cloth into something that looked like it had been woven from winter itself. "Show-off," he grinned, though he was genuinely impressed.
"Some of us actually paid attention in class instead of saving the wizarding world," she replied dryly, but there was a warmth in her voice that made Harry laugh.
Daphne was fun. The work kept his busy, and prevented him from thinking too much. Of course, there were a few quiet moments when his mind seemed to rush a hundred miles an hour, but they were not as often as he dreaded.
It was during one of these quieter moments, as he was heading back from the kitchens with supplies for the next day's decorating session, that he found himself alone in the third-floor corridor. The torches cast long shadows on the walls, and the silence was broken only by the distant sound of Peeves singing a rather inappropriate version of Jingle Wards.
"'Arry?"
He knew that voice, knew the way it made something in his chest tighten inexplicably. Fleur stood at the other end of the corridor, a stack of books floating beside her. She looked slightly lost, which wasn't unusual – Harry knew the castle's ever-changing layout still confused her sometimes.
"Professor Delacour," he managed, trying to sound normal and probably failing spectacularly. "Are you… er, looking for something?"
"The library," she admitted, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. "The stairs 'ave moved again, and I thought this was the correct way, but…" She gestured vaguely at the corridor, which definitely did not lead to the library.
"Oh, right. It's actually two floors up from here. The stairs usually cooperate better if you take the eastern staircase after dinner." Harry shifted the box of supplies in his arms, desperately searching for an excuse to leave that wouldn't sound completely obvious.
Fleur took a step closer, and Harry found himself studying the intricate stonework of the floor with remarkable intensity. "'Ave I done something wrong?" she asked quietly.
"What? No, of course not," Harry replied too quickly, still not meeting her eyes.
"Then why are you avoiding me?" The directness of her question caught him off guard. "You 'ave missed our last two tutoring sessions, and whenever I see you in ze 'all, you suddenly 'ave somewhere else to be."
Harry felt heat creeping up his neck. "I'm not avoiding you," he lied, knowing how transparent it sounded. "I've just been busy with the ball preparations, and NEWTs, and…" He gestured vaguely with the box, nearly dropping it in the process.
"I see," Fleur said, though her tone suggested she didn't see at all. There was something in her expression – hurt? confusion? – that made guilt settle heavy in Harry's stomach.
"Actually, I should probably get these back to the Great Hall," he said, hefting the box. "Hermione's got us on a strict schedule, and you know how she gets about schedules…"
"Of course," Fleur replied, her professional mask sliding back into place so smoothly it was almost painful to watch. "Don't let me keep you."
Harry nodded awkwardly and hurried past her, trying not to notice the faint scent of vanilla and something distinctly floral that always seemed to follow her. It wasn't until he reached the end of the corridor that he remembered he hadn't told her the quickest route to the library, but when he looked back, she was already gone.
Later, helping Daphne charm wreaths of evergreen to hover above the house tables, Harry tried to convince himself he was doing the right thing. After all, she was a professor – assistant professor, his mind unhelpfully corrected – and he was a student. The fact that she was barely two years older than him, or that her eyes seemed to change color depending on the light, or that her laugh made him forget what he was supposed to be doing… none of that mattered.
"You're charming that wreath to float, Potter, not bloomin' orbit the castle," Daphne observed.
"Right, sorry," Harry muttered, quickly stabilizing it before it could turn into an impromptu flying hazard. "Got distracted."
"Clearly," Daphne said, with that knowing look that made him wonder if all Slytherins were required to master it before graduation. Malfoy must have taught them that, he reasoned. "Though I can't imagine what by."
Evening crept through the castle windows, painting the stone corridors in shades of amber and gold. The last of the decorations had been hung, the Great Hall transformed into something out of a winter fairy tale. Harry's arms ached pleasantly from the day's work, and even Hermione was finally satisfied with the results.
"You did well today, Potter," Daphne said, tucking her wand into her robes as they left the Great Hall. The click of her shoes echoed against the stone floors, a steady rhythm in the quiet corridor. "Though I noticed you still haven't mentioned anything about the actual dancing part of the ball."
Harry felt his stomach drop. "The what now?"
"Dancing," she repeated, amusement dancing in her dark eyes. "You know, that thing where people move to music? Often in pairs?" When Harry's expression remained blank, she sighed. "Please tell me you at least remember some of what you learned for the last Yule Ball."
"I remember stepping on Parvati's feet a lot," Harry admitted. The memory of his first Yule Ball was not one he particularly enjoyed revisiting. "And there was definitely some awkward swaying involved."
Daphne stopped walking, turning to face him with an expression that reminded him eerily of Professor McGonagall. "Right," she said decisively. "This won't do at all. Come on."
Before Harry could protest, she had grabbed his wrist and was leading him down a side corridor. They passed several empty classrooms before she finally selected one, pushing open the heavy wooden door with a flourish.
The classroom was small but cozy, with large windows that let in the last rays of sunset. Old desks had been pushed against the walls, leaving a clear space in the center. Dust motes danced in the golden light, and the worn wooden floor looked smooth enough for their purposes.
"This should work," Daphne declared, pulling out her wand. With a few elegant flicks, she transfigured a spare piece of parchment into a small music box. Soft orchestral music filled the room, reminiscent of what they'd heard at the last Yule Ball.
"Daphne, I really don't think—"
"That's your first problem," she interrupted, moving to stand in front of him. "Less thinking, more moving. Put your hand on my waist."
Harry hesitated, suddenly very aware of his hands and having no idea what to do with them. Daphne rolled her eyes and grabbed his right hand, placing it firmly at her waist before taking his left hand in hers.
"Now," she said, "the basic waltz is simple. Think of it as a box. You step forward with your left foot—no, your other left, Potter—and I step back with my right."
Harry looked down at their feet, trying to follow her instructions. He promptly stepped on her toe.
"Sorry!"
"Eyes up here," Daphne commanded, though her lips twitched, and Harry had to fight a grin himself. "The feet will follow if you stop overthinking it. One, two, three… one, two, three…"
Slowly, awkwardly, they began to move around the room. The music swelled gently around them, and Harry found that if he focused on counting the steps in his head, it wasn't quite as impossible as he'd feared. Daphne was a patient teacher, adjusting his posture with gentle nudges and quiet instructions.
"You're too tense," she observed after a while. "Dancing isn't an exam, you know. You're allowed to enjoy it."
"Easy for you to say," Harry grumbled, narrowly avoiding stepping on her toe again. "You probably learned this stuff before you could walk."
"Actually, I was horrible at it," Daphne admitted, surprising him. "Used to drive my tutors mad. But then my sister Astoria taught me to think of it like a duel—you have to read your partner's movements, anticipate their next step. You're good at that part, when you're not busy panicking about it."
Harry found himself relaxing slightly at the comparison. It was true that when he stopped focusing so hard on getting everything perfect, the steps came more naturally. The music had shifted to something slower, and the dying sunlight cast long shadows across the floor as they moved.
"There you go," Daphne murmured approvingly as they completed a turn without him messing it up. "You might actually survive this ball after all."
Harry managed a small laugh, and for a moment, he forgot about everything else.
"You're awesome, Daphne." He simply stated.
She blushed. "I know, Potter."
They danced for a few more minutes, and Harry slowly felt like he was able to get the hang of it. At least, the basics- enough to not make a fool of himself. Of course, that respite didn't last long.
"Ready to try something a bit more complicated?" Daphne asked.
"Let's not push our luck," Harry replied, but he was smiling now, more at ease than he'd felt all day. It couldn't hurt to try, right?
The music box played on, and as the last light of day faded from the windows, they continued their dance practice, their shadows stretching and shrinking in the flickering torchlight that had automatically illuminated the room. For now, at least, Harry could focus on not stepping on Daphne's toes and pretend that was the most complicated thing he had to worry about.
"One, two, three… one, two—ow!"
"Sorry," Harry winced as he stepped on her foot again. The counting in his head scattered like startled birds, leaving him fumbling for the rhythm.
Daphne's laugh was surprisingly gentle. "You know, for someone who can outfly a dragon, you're remarkably nervous about a simple waltz." She adjusted his hand on her waist, straightening his posture with a light touch to his shoulder. "Again. But this time, stop counting."
Harry frowned. "But how will I know when to—"
"Listen to the music," she interrupted. "Feel it. Like when you're flying – you don't count the seconds between turns, do you?"
"That's different," Harry protested, but he closed his eyes for a moment anyway, letting the melody wash over him. The orchestral piece had a gentle sway to it, like waves lapping at the shore of the Black Lake.
"Ready?" Daphne asked softly.
Harry nodded, opening his eyes. This time, when they began to move, he tried to let go of the rigid counting in his head. The music seemed to flow through the space between them, guiding their steps in a way that numbers never could. They turned slowly, and for a few precious moments, Harry didn't step on anyone's toes.
"Better," Daphne murmured. "Now, let's try that turn again."
The next attempt at turning was less successful. Harry stumbled, nearly pulling them both down, but Daphne steadied him with practiced grace.
"You know," she said conversationally as they regained their footing, "my first dancing lesson ended with me hiding in the garden after I accidentally set my instructor's robes on fire."
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "How did you manage that?"
"Accidental magic," she shrugged, guiding him through another basic step. "I was seven and absolutely terrified of getting it wrong. The more nervous I got, the more things started… combusting."
The image of a young Daphne setting things ablaze in her anxiety made Harry laugh, releasing some of his own tension. "I suppose I should be grateful I'm only stepping on your feet, then."
"Precisely." Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Though the night is still young. We haven't tried the more complicated steps yet."
They practiced until Harry could manage it without looking at his feet, the rhythm finally beginning to feel natural. The torches burned lower, casting everything in a warm, intimate glow. Outside the windows, stars had begun to appear in the velvet darkness, twinkling like the enchanted icicles he'd hung earlier.
"Now," Daphne said after Harry had successfully completed several turns without incident, "let's add something new." She guided his hand higher on her back. "When I step back, you're going to lead me into a spin."
"I'm going to what?"
But she was already moving, and Harry found himself following instinctively. Their joined hands lifted, and Daphne turned gracefully under his arm, her robes swirling around her like ink in water. For a moment, Harry thought they'd actually managed it – then he tried to step forward at the wrong moment, and they collapsed.
"Well," Daphne straightened her robes, chuckling, "that was… creative. I've never seen anyone mess up a spin like that."
"Sorry," Harry grinned, running a hand through his hair. "Got a bit ambitious there."
"Try it again," she insisted, taking up the starting position. "This time, think of it like a Quidditch play. You know where your partner needs to be, you just have to guide them there."
They kept practicing until Harry's arms ached and the moon had risen high enough to cast silver squares on the classroom floor through the windows. Each attempt at the spin got a little smoother, a little more confident. Sometimes he still stumbled, but the awkwardness had transformed into something almost comfortable. Harry didn't really fear dancing anymore. A weird statement, obviously, but that didn't make it untrue.
The music box had shifted to a slower melody, something that reminded Harry of autumn leaves and quiet evenings by the common room fire. Daphne hummed along softly as they swayed, no longer counting steps or worrying about perfect form.
"See?" she said after a while. "Dancing isn't about getting everything exactly right. It's about…" she paused, considering her words. "It's about finding your own rhythm, I suppose. Even if it takes a while to get there."The music box had wound down to silence, but neither of them moved to restart it. Daphne moved to sit on one of the old desks, her feet dangling above the floor, while Harry sat cross-legged below, his back against the desk's wooden leg. Moonlight spilled through the windows, painting silver paths across the classroom floor.
"Did you ever think we'd end up here?" Daphne's voice was soft in the quiet room. "After everything?"
Harry tilted his head back, looking up at the shadows playing across the ceiling. "Honestly? Sometimes I didn't think I'd end up anywhere at all."
"That's cheerful," she snorted, but there was no bite to it. "Though I suppose I know what you mean. That last year…" She trailed off, absently swinging her feet. "Do you remember when Crabbe and Goyle tried to curse all the firsties' candy on Halloween?"
"And ended up turning their own hair bright pink for a week?" Harry grinned at the memory. "Hard to forget that one."
"They were idiots," Daphne said quietly. "But they were our idiots, you know? Sometimes I walk past the Slytherin table and expect to see them there, stuffing their faces and plotting something stupid."
"I get that. The other day I turned to make a joke to Colin about his camera and…" Harry swallowed hard. "Yeah…It's the little things that catch you off guard."
"The little things," Daphne echoed. She kicked her feet against the desk leg. "You know what I miss most about before? The way everyone used to argue about completely pointless things. Like whether the Holyhead Harpies were having a better season than the Wasps, or if Binns actually notices when people fall asleep in his class."
Harry chuckled. "Ron's convinced he doesn't even notice when he's fallen asleep."
"How are they? Weasley and Granger?"
"Happy," Harry said simply. "Really happy, actually. Though Ron still complains about Hermione's revision schedules-"
"Some things never change, then."
A comfortable silence settled between them. Outside, an owl hooted softly.
"Can I ask you something?" Harry shifted to look up at her. "Why did you really ask me to the ball?"
Daphne was quiet for a moment, considering. "Because you looked like you needed someone who understood what it's like to be stuck between who you were and who you're supposed to be now."
"And you understand that?"
"Please," she rolled her eyes, but her smile was gentle. "I'm a Slytherin who fought against the Dark Lord."
Harry laughed softly. "Fair point."
"Besides," she added, "you're not terrible company when you're not being all broody and heroic."
"I do not brood!"
"Potter, you literally spent twenty minutes yesterday staring moodily out a window while it snowed."
"I was thinking about…Quidditch…erm, strategies!"
"Mm-hmm," Daphne hummed skeptically. "Very important brooding about Quidditch."
"You sound like Hermione."
"Merlin forbid." She kicked his shoulder lightly. "Though speaking of Quidditch – is it true you once caught the Snitch with your mouth?"
"That was one time," Harry groaned. "And it wasn't exactly intentional. Why is everyone talking about it now?"
"Only you, Potter," she shook her head, laughing. "Only you would accidentally swallow the Snitch and still get praised for it."
"In my defense, I was eleven and someone was trying to curse my broom."
"Your life is ridiculous, you know that?"
"Trust me, I'm aware." Harry stretched his legs out in front of him. "Though these days I'd settle for my biggest problem being an angry troll in the bathroom."
"Instead of learning to dance?" Daphne's voice was teasing. "That bad, am I?"
"Worse," Harry grinned up at her. "At least the troll didn't make me waltz."The moonlight had shifted, casting longer shadows across the classroom floor. Harry watched the silvery squares stretch and fade, feeling the weight of the evening settling into his bones.
"We should probably head back," Daphne said softly, though she made no immediate move to leave. "It's getting late."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, but remained where he was, his head still resting against the desk leg. The stone floor had grown cold beneath him, yet there was something comforting about this quiet moment, something he wasn't quite ready to let go of.
"Harry?" Daphne's voice had taken on a different quality, something softer, more hesitant. She slid down from the desk to sit beside him, close enough that he could smell the faint trace of lavender in her hair.
"Mm?"
"You know," she began carefully, "we could be good together. If you wanted to be."
The words hung in the air between them, delicate as frost. Harry felt his chest tighten with something that might have been regret, might have been relief.
"Daphne…" he started, then paused, searching for the right words. "You're brilliant, you know that? And tonight has been…"
"But?" she supplied, a knowing smile playing at her lips.
"But I think we'd both be settling for something that isn't quite right," he finished quietly. "And you deserve better than that."
Daphne was quiet for a long moment, then let out a small laugh. "You know what's truly annoying, Potter? You're actually really decent at letting a girl down." She bumped his shoulder with hers. "Though I maintain that you're an idiot."
"No argument there," Harry smiled, grateful for her understanding. "Still friends?"
"Well, someone has to make sure you don't completely embarrass yourself at the ball." She stood up, brushing dust from her robes. "Come on, it's past curfew."
They made their way through the silent corridors, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. At the junction where their paths diverged – she to the dungeons, he to Gryffindor Tower – Daphne paused.
"Potter?"
"Yeah?"
"Whoever she is, Professor or not," Daphne said carefully, "I hope she's worth all this confusion you're putting yourself through."
Before Harry could respond, she had turned and disappeared down the darkened corridor, leaving him alone with thoughts he wasn't ready to examine too closely.
The walk back to Gryffindor Tower seemed longer than usual, each step accompanied by a dull throbbing in his temples. Emotions swirled in his mind like leaves caught in an autumn wind – guilt, confusion, longing for something he couldn't quite name. The Fat Lady gave him a disapproving look as he approached- Harry had no idea about the context behind it- but mercifully said nothing as he muttered the password.
"Mate!" Ron's voice greeted him as he climbed through the portrait hole. "Where've you been? Hermione's been driving me mad with seating arrangements for the—" He stopped, noticing Harry's expression. "You alright?"
"Yeah," Harry managed, though the headache was getting worse. "Just tired. Think I'll turn in early."
He could feel Ron and Hermione exchanging concerned looks behind his back as he headed for the dormitory stairs, but he couldn't bring himself to explain. How could he, when he barely understood it himself?
The flickering candlelight painted the castle corridors in shades of gold and amber as students lined up outside the Great Hall, their dress robes rustling with barely contained excitement. Harry tugged at his bottle-green dress robes, grateful that at least this year he'd managed to find ones that actually fit properly. Beside him, Daphne stood, quietly elegant in robes of deep burgundy, her dark hair cascading down her back in elaborate waves.
"You look beautiful," Harry said softly, surprising himself with how much he meant it. The rich color of her robes made her pale skin glow in the candlelight, and tiny crystals sparkled in her hair like captured starlight.
A faint blush colored Daphne's cheeks – something he'd never thought he'd see on the usually composed Slytherin. "You don't look so bad yourself, Potter," she replied, straightening his collar with practiced ease. "Though your hair is still a lost cause."
"Some battles aren't worth fighting," Harry grinned, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. Several heads turned their way, whispers following in their wake. Daphne's shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly, her chin lifting in that proud way he'd come to recognize as her defensive stance.
"Hey," he nudged her gently with his elbow. "You look radiant. They're just jealous they didn't think to ask the prettiest girl in Slytherin first."
"Careful, Potter," Daphne's lips curved into a small smile. "Keep talking like that and people might think you're actually charming."
"Can't have that," Harry agreed solemnly. "My reputation would be ruined."
At the front of the line, Ron stood fidgeting in his new dress robes – a dramatic improvement from the frilly disaster of fourth year. Hermione had her hand tucked in the crook of his arm, her periwinkle blue robes floating around her like morning mist. Her usually bushy hair had been tamed into elegant curls, for the most part.
"If you step on my toes, Ronald Weasley, I swear by Merlin—" Hermione was saying, her voice carrying back to where Harry and Daphne stood.
"I've been practicing!" Ron protested, turning back to look at him. "Tell her, Harry!"
"Yep," Harry called back, "He's not horrible anymore…I think," earning a glare from Hermione and a grateful grin from Ron.
The great oak doors swung open, revealing Professor McGonagall in elegant tartan dress robes. Her stern expression softened slightly, Harry noticed, as she surveyed the assembled students.
"Welcome," she announced, her voice carrying clearly through the entrance hall, "to the Yule Ball. I trust you will all conduct yourselves with the dignity and grace befitting Hogwarts students." Her gaze lingered particularly on a group of giggling fourth-years, though Harry had no idea what they'd done. Nor was he interested. With his mind finally feeling at ease after several talks with Ron and Hermione and hours of Quidditch, he didn't want to complicate things more than they had to be.
"When the doors open," she continued, "the Head Boy and Girl will lead the first dance, followed by the prefects. The rest of you may join after the first verse." She paused, a hint of warmth creeping into her voice. "And do try to enjoy yourselves – within reason, of course."
The doors to the Great Hall opened fully, releasing a wave of enchanted snowflakes and the soft strains of orchestral music. Ron straightened his spine, offering his arm to Hermione with an exaggerated flourish that made her roll her eyes even as she smiled.
"Shall we?" he asked, his voice carrying a tremor of nervousness that Harry could relate to. For the hundredth time, he was happy he'd declined the position of Headboy.
"Try not to panic," Hermione replied fondly, taking his arm. "Just remember what we practiced."
Harry watched as his best friends led the procession into the Great Hall, Ron's height and Hermione's grace making them an oddly striking pair. Despite Ron's nervousness, his steps were sure as he guided Hermione onto the dance floor- much better than the lat time Harry had seen him dance. The music swelled, and they began to move together with a comfortable familiarity.
"They look happy," Daphne observed quietly.
"Yeah," Harry smiled, watching Ron twirl Hermione without stepping on her toes once. "They really do."
"Who would have thought Weasley had it in him?" Daphne mused, but there was no malice in her tone. "Though I suppose love makes people do extraordinary things."
"Like agreeing to attend a ball with Harry Potter?" Harry quipped.
"Exactly," Daphne agreed sarcastically. "Clearly, I've taken leave of my senses."
The music shifted, inviting other couples onto the floor. Harry took a deep breath, offering his arm to Daphne with what he hoped was more confidence than he felt. "Ready to see if those dance lessons paid off?"
"Try not to set my robes on fire," Daphne teased, taking his arm. "They were rather expensive."
"No promises," Harry grinned, and together they stepped onto the dance floor, the enchanted ceiling above them sparkling with countless first steps were always the hardest, Harry decided as he guided Daphne onto the dance floor. His heart thundered against his ribs, counting out a rhythm entirely different from the orchestra's gentle waltz. The enchanted snowflakes drifted around them, dissolving into sparkles just before touching their shoulders.
"Breathe, Potter," Daphne murmured, adjusting his grip on her waist. "You're not facing a Hungarian Horntail."
"The Horntail was easier," Harry muttered, carefully placing his feet as they'd practiced. "At least it wasn't wearing expensive robes I could step on."
"There's that famous Potter charm." Daphne's laugh was surprisingly warm. "Though I must say, you're doing better than Longbottom over there. Poor Abbott looks like she's leading a three-legged troll."
Harry risked a glance over his shoulder to where Neville was indeed struggling to keep time, Hannah Abbott valiantly attempting to salvage their dance. "Should we send help?"
"And miss the entertainment? Absolutely not."
They turned slowly, and Harry managed not to stumble. The Great Hall sparkled around them, ice sculptures catching and fracturing the light from thousands of floating candles. Nearby, Ron and Hermione were lost in their own world, moving with the kind of grace that comes from complete trust in one another.
"Speaking of entertainment," Daphne nodded toward where Seamus had just narrowly avoided setting his partner's dress on fire with an enthusiastic gesture, "I believe you owe me five Galleons. You said he wouldn't make it ten minutes without a combustion incident."
"That wasn't a proper combustion," Harry protested, guiding them through another turn. "Smoke doesn't count!"
"The singed eyebrows suggest otherwise."
"You're enjoying this far too much."
"Obviously." Daphne's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Though not as much as I'm enjoying watching you try to pretend you remember which foot goes where."
As if on cue, Harry nearly missed a step. "I'm choosing to take that as a compliment about my acting skills."
"Of course you are." She adjusted his stance with practiced ease. "Left foot first, Potter. Unless you're planning to introduce a new dance style made up of random stumbling."
"Could be the next big thing," Harry grinned. "The Potter Shuffle. Very avant-garde."
"I bet you don't know what that means."
"Maybe," Harry shrugged, a grin crossing his face as a weight he didn't know he was carrying seemed to disappear all of a sudden. "But it sounds cool."
They settled into a comfortable rhythm, the music carrying them across the floor. Around them, other couples swayed and turned, some more gracefully than others.
"Remember in fourth year," Harry said, carefully executing a turn, "when Ron spent the entire Yule Ball glaring at Krum?"
"While he kept stepping on Padma Patil's feet? How could I forget?" Daphne's lips twitched. "Though I must say, Granger's worked miracles with his coordination."
"Love's a powerful motivator."
"Indeed." Daphne's expression softened as she watched Ron dip Hermione, both of them laughing. "They make it look easy, don't they?"
"The dancing or the love part?"
"Both, I suppose."
The orchestra shifted to a slower melody, and couples around them drew closer together. Harry adjusted his hold on Daphne, grateful for the simpler steps.
"Potter?"
"Mm?"
"Thank you coming with me to the dance." Her voice was quieter now, more vulnerable than he usually heard. "Even if it was just because—"
"Hey," Harry interrupted gently. "I agreed because you're brilliant and terrifying and somehow became one of my favorite people to talk to. Even if you do make fun of my dancing."
"Especially because I make fun of your dancing." But she was smiling now, real and warm. "Though I maintain that you're still an idiot."
"No argument there."
They swayed together as the music washed over them, the enchanted ceiling above showing glimpses of stars between drifting clouds. Near the punch bowl, Harry noticed a welcome sight- George Weasley demonstrating an embellished version of the waltz to a crowd of amazed first-years. The older Weasley brother had come to visit the castle, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes being one of the sponsors of the decorations for the Yule Ball.
"Harry."
"Mm?" Harry asked, turning his head back to look at the golden eyes staring at his.
"Most embarrassing Quidditch moment?"
Harry raised a brow. "What's brought this on?"
"Can't a girl ask?"
"May I know why?"
Daphne pretended to think for a moment, before chuckling. "You may not."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Alright then, you difficult woman-OW!"
"Careful, Potter," Daphne winked, as she drew back her hand from the quick punch she'd given him.
"Merlin, you know how to throw a punch," Harry glared at her, rubbing his arm. "But to answer your question- you probably already know that one."
"Let me guess," Daphne looked up, thinking. "The one where you swallowed the snitch?"
"Yeah," Harry nodded. "Getting it back out was…horrible," he shuddered.
"I can imagine," she said, quirking a lip before elegantly spinning into a twirl as Harry guided her.
"Your turn," Harry said, narrowly avoiding a collision with an enthusiastic couple. "Most embarrassing dance memory?"
"Easy. Third year, when Pansy convinced me to try teaching Crabbe and Goyle to dance for the Christmas party." Daphne shuddered dramatically. "I still have nightmares about my poor toes."
"Worse than me?"
"Marginally. Though at least they had the excuse of being built like trolls. What's your excuse?"
"Years of being uncoordinated?" Harry suggested, making her laugh again.
The music swelled, and Harry attempted the spin they'd practiced again. To his surprise and delight, it actually worked, Daphne turning gracefully under his arm before returning to their original position.
"Well done, Potter," she said, genuine approval in her voice. "Those practice sessions weren't entirely wasted after all."
"High praise indeed." Harry grinned. "Though I notice you sound surprised."
"Pleasantly so." She adjusted his posture again, more out of habit than necessity now. "Keep this up and people might actually believe you know what you're doing."
"Can't have that. Better step on your toes a few times to maintain my reputation."
"Don't you dare."
Around them, the ball was in full swing. The Weird Sisters had taken over from the orchestra, though they were playing something surprisingly mellow. Ginny and Neville had switched partners, with Ginny now leading Hannah in an elaborate dance that seemed to involve a lot of twirling, while Neville was teaching a group of younger students some basic steps.
"Remember when we thought the hardest thing we'd have to deal with was finding dates to dances?" Harry mused, watching as Dennis Creevey attempted to charm his dress robes different colors, but eventually turned into a rather undignified shade of brown.
"Simpler times," Daphne agreed. "Though I seem to recall you being spectacularly bad at that part too."
"Daphne! I got a date, didn't I?"
"Yes, and all it took was nearly dying in the Triwizard Tournament first."
They turned again, and Harry caught sight of Ron attempting to teach Hermione some sort of jig, both of them laughing too hard to actually dance. The sight made something warm settle in his chest – after everything they'd been through, seeing his friends so happy felt like a gift he wasn't sure he deserved.
"Sickle for your thoughts?" Daphne's voice pulled him back to the present.
"Just thinking about how different everything is now." Harry guided them through another turn, more confident in his steps. "A year ago, we were…"
"Fighting a war," Daphne finished quietly. "And now we're arguing about dance steps and dress robes."
"Bit surreal, isn't it?"
"Life usually is." She squeezed his hand gently. "Though I must say, this is a definite improvement over dodging hexes in the corridors."
The music changed again, something faster now. Around them, couples adjusted their steps, some more successfully than others. George had progressed to teaching what appeared to be a magical version of the chicken dance, much to McGonagall's visible disapproval. The first years loved it though.
"Fancy trying something more challenging?" Daphne asked, a glint in her eye that made Harry instantly nervous.
"Define 'challenging.'"
"Nothing too terrible. Just a few quick turns, maybe a lift—"
"A what now?"
"Kidding, Potter. Though your face was priceless."
Harry relaxed slightly. "Evil woman."
"Slytherin," she corrected primly. "Now, left foot first, and try not to look so terrified. It's just dancing."
"Says the woman who threatened to hex me if I stepped on her dress."
"An entirely reasonable precaution."
They moved together across the floor, their steps more confident now. Harry even managed a few more successful turns, earning an approving nod from McGonagall as they passed- something that boosted his mood more than he wanted to admit. The enchanted snow continued to fall, catching in Daphne's hair like stars.
"You know what's really strange?" Harry said after a while.
"Your continued inability to keep time?"
"Besides that." He rolled his eyes. "This actually feels… normal. Like we're just students at a dance, not…"
"War heroes who defeated a dark lord?" Daphne supplied dryly.
"Something like that."
She was quiet for a moment, considering. "Maybe that's the point. To remember how to be normal again, even if it's just for one night."
"When did you get so wise?"
"Around the same time you learned to dance without maiming anyone. Miracles do happen."
The Weird Sisters launched into another song, this one with a stronger beat that had several couples attempting more elaborate moves. Seamus had progressed from merely smoking to actual sparks, though thankfully nothing had caught fire yet.
"Want to take a break?" Harry suggested, watching as Dean and Hannah narrowly avoided a collision with an enthusiastic pair of third-years. "Before the dancing gets actually dangerous?"
"Afraid you can't keep up, Potter?"
"More like afraid of getting trampled when George inevitably convinces everyone to try that spinning thing he's been demonstrating."
Daphne glanced over. "Point taken. Punch?"
"Lead the way."
So Harry did.
"You're getting better at this," Daphne said as they spun around the floor, headed towards the refreshment stands, though neither of them seemed in a hurry. "Almost graceful."
"Don't jinx it," Harry muttered, focusing on not stepping on her feet.
That was when he saw her.
Fleur moved like moonlight on water, her silver dress catching every glimmer of the enchanted starlight above. Graves led her through a complex turn, and Harry's heart clenched at the smile lighting up her face. Her hair was styled in some intricate way he couldn't begin to describe, with tiny crystal flowers woven through it that sparkled with each movement. She looked like she'd stepped out of a fairy tale.
"Eyes on me, Potter." Daphne's voice snapped him back. "Though I have to admit, she does look rather spectacular tonight."
Harry felt his face burn. "I wasn't—"
"Save it." Daphne guided him through another turn. "Your dancing's worse when you're distracted."
He tried to focus on their steps, on the music, on anything but the way Fleur laughed at something Graves whispered in her ear. But his eyes kept drifting back, drawn like a moth to flame.
"Let's get a drink," Daphne said after a minute, mercifully pulling him off the dance floor. "Before you actually do step on my feet."
They made their way to the refreshment table, where Harry grabbed two butterbeers more forcefully than necessary. The bottles were frosted with real ice, small snowflakes melting against his palm.
"Thanks," Daphne said, taking one. She leaned against the table, watching him pretend not to watch Fleur. "You're not very subtle, you know."
Harry took a long drink instead of answering. But he couldn't help glancing back at the dance floor, where Fleur was now moving in perfect sync with the music. The crystals in her hair caught the light like stars, and her eyes—
Those eyes met his.
Harry whipped his head around so fast he nearly spilled his butterbeer. His heart hammered against his ribs. Had she seen him staring?
He counted to ten, then couldn't help himself – he looked again.
She was still dancing, but something had changed in her expression. There was a softness there that made his chest ache. The way the enchanted lights played across her features made her look almost ethereal, like an angel from heaven, and Harry had to remind himself to breathe.
"You're hopeless," Daphne sighed beside him.
Harry just gripped his butterbeer tighter, knowing she was right.
"Harry!" A familiar voice cut through the buzz of the Great Hall. "If it isn't my favorite investor!"
George made his way through the crowd, his dress robes a deep purple that somehow worked despite all logic. He'd grown his hair out a bit, and there was a new scar above his eyebrow that Harry hadn't noticed before.
"George!" Harry grinned, genuinely happy to see him. "How are you?"
"Pretty good, mate" George shrugged, snagging a butterbeer. "Besides, I had to make sure the firsties found the trick step we enchanted. Educational purposes, you understand."
Harry laughed. Some things never changed. "How's the shop?"
"Brilliant! The new Daydream Charms are flying off the shelves. Though we did have a slight issue with the Extended Euphoria Edition…" George's eyes gleamed with familiar mischief. "Let's just say some bloke spent three hours convinced he was a singing teapot."
"Sounds about right," Harry grinned. The familiar chaos of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was exactly what he needed right now to distract himself from… other thoughts.
"But enough about my adventures," George waved his hand. "Ron tells me you lot haven't lost a match yet? Always knew my investment in you was solid."
"Yeah, we're doing alright. The new Chasers are—"
"Excusez-moi."
Harry's heart stopped. Just… stopped.
Then started again at twice its normal speed.
He knew that voice. Knew it like he knew his own heartbeat.
Slowly, feeling as though he was moving through honey, he turned.
Fleur stood there, radiant as starlight, a slight smile playing at her lips. Up close, Harry could see that the crystal flowers in her hair weren't just catching the light – they were creating it, tiny constellations dancing through the strands of silver-blonde. Some of the most beautiful charms he'd ever seen.
"Would you care to dance, 'Arry?"
His mouth went dry. From the corner of his eye, he saw George's eyebrows shoot up, a grin spreading across his face. But all Harry could focus on was Fleur, the way she held out her hand, the gentle curve of her smile.
"I… yeah. Yes."
"Real smooth, Potter," he heard George whisper, but it sounded like he was a mile away.
Harry took her hand, and the world narrowed to the point where their fingers met. The music seemed to shift, or maybe that was just his pulse doing strange things in his ears.
They moved onto the dance floor, and Harry sent a silent thank you to Daphne for all those practice sessions. Fleur's hand was light on his shoulder, and he tried not to think about how close she was, how he could catch that hint of vanilla and flowers that always seemed to follow her.
"I saw you watching me earlier," she said softly, as they turned with the music. There was something in her voice he couldn't quite read.
Harry's face burned, but something made him answer honestly. Maybe it was the guilt. Or maybe his heart decided to take charge. But he found that he couldn't but agree.
"Can you blame me? I don't think anyone could keep their eyes off you tonight."
"And yet," she said, those blue eyes catching his, "I only noticed one person looking."
They turned again, and Harry was suddenly very aware of his hand on her waist, the fabric of her dress cool and smooth beneath his fingers.
"You're like starlight," he said without thinking, then wanted to kick himself. "I mean… you just… you know, sort of glow. Like when you're up in the Astronomy Tower, and the stars are so bright they make everything else fade away, and…" He trailed off, mortified. What was he saying?
But Fleur's laugh was like silver bells, a blush coloring her cheeks as she ducked her head slightly. "You say ze most unexpected things, 'Arry Potter."
The way she said his name made his heart do complicated acrobatics in his chest. He'd spent the last few weeks trying to get over this feeling. Trying to shut it down. Trying to get over…her.
And he had- for a while.
But what he discovered now was that the feeling had never truly left. They'd come back- with a vengeance, like a bunch of fireworks exploding in his chest.
Harry was, well and truly, a goner.
They kept dancing, moving together as if they'd done this a hundred times before, and Harry found himself wishing the song would never end. He tried to focus on the steps, on anything but the warmth of her hand in his, but his mind kept spinning like autumn leaves in a storm.
Fleur's voice broke through his thoughts, soft but steady. "Are you going to tell me why you've been running away from me?"
"I haven't been—" The lie died on his lips as her fingers tightened around his, almost painful. In the enchanted starlight, her eyes blazed like blue fire.
"Do not," she said, each word sharp as crystal, "lie to me, 'Arry Potter."
He drew in a shaking breath. Around them, other couples spun and laughed, but they might as well have been alone in the universe for all he noticed them. "It's… complicated."
Her grip tightened further, making him wince in pain.
"Try me."
"You're…" The words stuck in his throat. He looked at her – really looked at her – and felt something inside him crack open. It was as if a dam burst loose.
"Merlin, Fleur, you're like something out of a dream. You're brilliant and fierce and so bloody beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes. And I'm just… I'm a student here. Not even a professor. What would people say? They'd think I was trying to – and you'd be – I can't let them drag your name through the mud just because I can't keep my feelings in check. You're Fleur Delacour for Merlin's sake! And I'm just…you know, Harry Potter!"
The words tumbled out like water through broken glass, and he couldn't take them back. He didn't want to.
So instead, he waited with baited breath, for the cold dismissal his brain agreed to but his heart warred against.
Fleur made a soft sound, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, catching Harry off-guard.
"Always ze hero," she murmured, but there was something tender in her voice that made his heart stutter. "Always thinking of everyone else's happiness before your own."
"It's what I do," Harry said quietly, trying for a weak smile. "Though I was rather hoping you wouldn't hex me for it."
She stopped dancing. They stood there in the middle of the floor, other couples moving around them like water around stones in a stream. This close, Harry could see the constellation of freckles dusted across her cheeks, so faint they were almost invisible. Could count her eyelashes, silver-tipped in the magical light. Could feel her breath, warm against his skin.
She was so wonderfully, beautifully, beyond him.
And yet-
"'Ave you ever thought," she whispered, and her voice held worlds in it, "about what I might think of zat?"
Harry's heart forgot how to beat entirely. She was so close he could see flecks of silver in her eyes, like stars reflected in deep water. The whole world seemed to hold its breath.
"No," he breathed, the word barely a whisper in the space between them. The enchanted stars wheeled overhead, casting shifting patterns across her face as she smiled – a smile that held both warmth and warning, like the first kiss of winter frost.
"You silly boy," she murmured, her fingers finding his shoulder in a grip that made him wince again. "I might 'ave told you my answer tonight, if you 'adn't been so… what is ze word? Ah, yes. Stubborn." Her grip tightened, and Harry fought back a groan of pain. Merlin, what was with women and bodily harm against him? "So determined to be noble that you didn't even give me ze chance to speak."
Beneath the floating candles and drifting snowflakes, her eyes held him captive. There was something fierce there, something wild and untamed that made his heart race like a snitch trying to escape.
"I'm sorry," he managed, lost in the storm of her gaze. He didn't know what else to say. Didn't know what else to thin, even.
Her expression softened then, like sunlight breaking through clouds. "I will forgive you. Zis time." The pressure on his shoulder eased, but her touch lingered, sending sparks through his dress robes. "But you must promise me something, 'Arry Potter."
He nodded, helpless to do anything else.
"No more running away." Her voice was steel wrapped in silk. "If there are… problems, we talk about them. Together. Comprenez-vous?"
"Yeah," Harry said hoarsely. "Together."
The music shifted around them, something slower now, full of violin strings that seemed to catch and hold the moment like amber. Fleur's hand slid from his shoulder to rest against his chest, just over his thundering heart.
"Good," she said, and now there was something almost shy in her voice, a softness that made his breath catch. "Because I would like to keep talking with you, 'Arry." Her eyes dropped for a moment, then rose to meet his again, blazing with that inner fire that made her so impossibly her. "You are… 'ow do you say… one in a million. Even when you are being très stupide." Her lips curved in a fond smile. "But worth ze 'eadache, I think."
The words settled over him like stardust, each one a precious gift he wasn't sure he deserved. Harry felt the weight of her words settle over him like snow, delicate but undeniable.
"I missed our evenings in the tower," he admitted softly, the confession easier now in this space between heartbeats. "The way you'd tell stories about Beauxbatons while we watched the stars come out."
"Mm." Her fingers pressed slightly harder into his shoulder – not enough to hurt, but enough to remind him of his recent transgressions. "And yet you chose to avoid them."
"I know. I'm—"
"If you apologize again, I will step on your foot." Despite her words, there was a warmth in her voice that made his heart skip. "Very deliberately."
Harry couldn't help but smile. "Noted."
They turned together, and Harry was surprised to find the steps coming naturally now. There was something different about dancing with Fleur – a harmony he hadn't felt before, as if they were reading each other's movements before they happened.
"You 'ave improved," she observed, following his lead through another turn. "Though your form still needs work."
"Had a good teacher." He gestured vaguely in Daphne's direction. "Though she was considerably less threatening."
Fleur's laugh was low and musical. "Per'aps that was 'er mistake." Her eyes caught his, sparkling with something between mischief and warning. "I find a little… motivation… can work wonders."
As if to demonstrate, she subtly shifted her grip on his shoulder, finding a pressure point that made him wince.
"Point taken."
"Good." She relaxed her hold, but her smile remained sharp. "Now, tell me what you 'ave been doing instead of our lessons."
"Besides hiding in corridors and taking the longest possible routes to class?"
"Oui. Though we will discuss those choices… later."
The promise in her voice sent a shiver down his spine – half anticipation, half terror. "Mostly helping with the ball preparations. And…" He hesitated, then decided honesty was probably safer than risking more creative punishment. "Thinking about you."
Her steps faltered slightly – so briefly he might have imagined it. "Oh?"
"Yeah." Harry's heart thundered in his chest. "Fleur, I—"
"Non." She pressed a finger to his lips, the touch sending electricity through his veins. "Not tonight, 'Arry. I told you – you lost that chance when you chose to run."
"But—"
"Shh." Her finger moved from his lips to tap his nose, oddly playful despite the steel in her voice. "Tonight, we dance. Nothing more."
A part of him wondered if anyone else was sneaking a glance at them. But most of him couldn't bloody care less.
The music shifted, something slower now, full of yearning violin strings. Fleur moved closer – close enough that he could feel the warmth of her, could catch that hint of vanilla and flowers that had haunted his dreams.
"I missed this too," she said quietly, her breath warm against his ear. "Our conversations. The way you see the world… it is different from anyone else."
"Different good or different concerning?"
"Both, per'aps." She smiled against his shoulder. "You are… 'ow do you say… an enigma, 'Arry Potter. Even when you are being completely ridiculous."
"Only sometimes ridiculous," he protested weakly.
"Mm. Like when you think taking ze longest route to class is subtle?"
"I was being strategic."
"You walked past my classroom three times in one day."
"I got lost?"
Her fingers found that pressure point again, making him yelp softly. "Try again."
"I was a coward," he admitted, the words easier to say with her so close, when he didn't have to meet her eyes. "It was easier to run than to face… everything."
"And now?"
Harry took a breath, gathering his courage. "Now I'd like to ask you something."
"'Arry-" There was a warning in her voice.
"Not that," he assured her quickly. "Just… will you tell me? Someday?"
Fleur was quiet for a long moment, and Harry held his breath, afraid he'd pushed too far. Then she lifted her head from his shoulder, meeting his eyes with an intensity that made his heart stutter.
"Per'aps," she said finally, her voice soft but sure. "When you 'ave proven you can stay instead of run. When you are ready to 'ear it." Her lips curved into a small smile. "But for now, we dance."
And so they did, moving together under the enchanted stars, each step bringing them closer to something neither was ready to name. The music wrapped around them like a promise, and Harry found himself wishing he could capture this moment – hold it like a snowflake in his palm, perfect and fleeting and entirely their own.
"Your friend," Fleur said suddenly, her voice carefully neutral, "ze Slytherin girl. You two seem… close."
Harry bit back a smile at the forced casualness in her tone. "Daphne? Yeah, she's brilliant. Really helped me with the dancing."
"I can tell." Fleur's fingers drummed a light pattern against his shoulder. "And ze dancing was… all she 'elped with?"
"Well, there was the time she threatened to hex me if I didn't stop brooding by windows—"
"You were brooding?" Her grip tightened slightly. "About what?"
Harry couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "About someone who gets remarkably flustered when asking about my dance teacher."
"I do not get… flustered!" Fleur replied, though a faint blush colored her cheeks. "I am merely… collecting information."
"Of course." Harry's grin widened. "Very professional. Very thorough."
"You are enjoying this far too much."
"Maybe a little." He guided her through another turn, enjoying the way her eyes narrowed. "It's nice to know I'm not the only one who—"
"Pardon the interruption."
Professor Graves' voice cut through their bubble like a blade through silk. He stood beside them, impossibly tall and elegant in dress robes of midnight blue, wearing an apologetic smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I believe I need to reclaim my date," he said smoothly. "Unless you object, Fleur?"
Harry felt her stiffen slightly in his arms, then relax. "Of course not," she said, stepping back. The loss of her warmth hit Harry like a physical blow. "Thank you for ze dance, 'Arry."
"Yeah," Harry managed, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Thanks for… yeah."
He watched as Graves led her away, his hand settling on her waist where Harry's had been moments before. The orchestra played on, oblivious to the sudden hollow feeling in his chest.
Making his way back to the tables, Harry spotted George sitting alone, nursing what looked suspiciously stronger than butterbeer.
"Oi, lover boy," George called as Harry approached. "Quite a show you put on there."
"Shut up," Harry muttered, dropping into the chair beside him.
"No, really," George grinned, but there was something careful in his eyes. "You two looked… cozy."
Harry studied the worn wood of the table, tracing old spell marks with his finger. "It's not what you think."
"Isn't it?" George took a long drink, then set his glass down with unusual precision. "Look, mate… about Fleur. You should know – she and Bill, when they split…before marriage, thank Merlin-"
"I know," Harry said quickly, not sure he wanted to hear the details.
"No, you don't." George's voice was uncharacteristically serious. "It wasn't… clean. Bill won't talk about it, but…" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just be careful, yeah? She's not exactly… well, she's complicated."
"Everyone's complicated these days," Harry said quietly, watching as Fleur laughed at something Graves had said. The sound carried across the hall like bells in winter.
George snorted. "Ain't that the truth." He studied Harry for a moment. "How's the shop investment working out for you?"
Harry seized the change of subject gratefully. "Brilliant. The reports you're sending me are all great, that's what Hermione agrees to. Though there are some cases, like you said about the singing teapot incident-"
"Ah, yes!" George's eyes lit up with familiar mischief. "Would you believe the bloke actually had a decent voice? We're thinking of marketing it as a feature…"
They fell into easy conversation about the shop, about Ron's surprisingly successful management skills, about the new products George was developing. It was comfortable, normal – exactly what Harry needed to distract himself.
"You know what's mental?" George said after a while, gesturing with his glass. "Sometimes I'll be in the middle of inventing something, and I'll turn to tell Fred about it, and…" He trailed off, his smile dimming slightly.
"Yeah," Harry said softly. "I get that."
"Course you do." George's smile turned wry. "You've got your own ghosts, haven't you? We all do, these days."
Harry thought of all the empty seats at the Gryffindor table, of the names carved into the memorial stone by the lake. "Sometimes I wonder if we'll ever really move past it all."
"Dunno if we're supposed to, really." George shrugged. "Maybe it's not about moving past it. Maybe it's about… learning to dance with it."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "That was almost profound."
"Must be the firewhisky." George grinned, then grew serious again. "Just… whatever you're doing with Fleur – or not doing, don't give me that look – make sure you're doing it for the right reasons. Not because you're both trying to outrun something else."
"When did you get so wise?"
"Probably around the same time you started making eyes at former Triwizard champions." George waggled his eyebrows. "Though I have to say, your taste has improved since Cho Chang."
"Prat," Harry muttered, but he was smiling now.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the dancers spin beneath the enchanted stars. Occasionally, Harry caught glimpses of silver-blonde hair in the crowd, but he forced himself not to stare. Instead, he listened to George's increasingly elaborate plans for new joke shop products, letting the familiar enthusiasm wash over him like a healing charm.
It was easier than thinking about the weight of Fleur's hand in his, or the way her eyes had sparkled when she'd threatened to step on his feet, or how much he wanted to ask her what she would have said if he hadn't been such a coward. Easier than wondering if George was right about complications and ghosts and learning to dance with the past instead of running from it.
Besides, he had promised her – no more running. Even if that meant sitting here, watching her dance with someone else, feeling his heart do complicated things in his chest every time she laughed.
"Mate," George said suddenly, "What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing?"
"Right," George rolled his eyes. "Come on, give me cover while I spike the punch. For old times' sake."
Harry hesitated, glancing back at the dance floor. Fleur was saying something to Graves, her face animated, hands gesturing elegantly as she spoke. She looked happy, comfortable, completely at ease.
"Yeah," Harry said, turning back to George. "Alright. But nothing too strong – I remember what happened last time."
"That was one exploding punch bowl," George protested. "And besides, Percy's eyebrows grew back-"
Harry raised a brow.
"Eventually!"
He shook his head and joined the Weasley in making his way back to the refreshement table, where he found Daphne, perfectly poised despite the chaos of the ball swirling around them. She raised an eyebrow as he approached, a knowing smile playing at her lips.
"Done testing my dancing lessons with other partners?" she asked, offering him a fresh butterbeer.
"Something like that." Harry accepted the bottle gratefully. "Sorry for abandoning you."
"Please," Daphne waved her hand dismissively. "I've been thoroughly entertained watching Thomas try to master that spinning move George taught him. I think he's only knocked over three chairs so far."
They watched as Dean attempted said move again, narrowly avoiding a collision with Professor Flitwick. Hannah Abbott looked simultaneously amused and terrified.
"Though I must say," Daphne continued, her voice deliberately casual, "you and the Professor seemed… comfortable together."
Harry nearly choked on his butterbeer. "I… we were just…"
"Dancing very close?" Daphne's dark eyes sparkled with mischief. "Looking at each other like you'd forgotten anyone else existed?"
"Was it that obvious?" Harry asked weakly.
"Only to anyone with eyes." She took a sip of her own drink. "Is that why you never tried to kiss me? Even when we were practicing alone all those nights?"
Harry felt his face burn. "I… yeah. Sorry."
"Don't be." Her voice was softer now. "Though I have to say, Potter, you're full of surprises. Here I thought you were just being noble and gentlemanly, and maybe it was some other girl from the seventh year…and it turns out you were pining after our Charms professor the whole time."
"I wasn't pining!"
"No?" Daphne's smile was gentle despite her teasing tone. "Alright then."
"You don't agree, do you?"
"Mm-hmm." She set down her butterbeer. "Well, come on then. You owe me at least one more dance before the night's over. Show me what other moves you've been practicing."
Harry let her lead him back onto the dance floor, grateful for the change of subject.
"You know," Daphne said as they found their rhythm, "for someone who spent half the term hiding in corridors, you've turned out to be a surprisingly decent friend."
"High praise," Harry grinned. "Coming from the ice queen of Slytherin."
"Watch it, Potter." But she was smiling. "I'm trying to have a moment here."
"Sorry, continue."
Daphne rolled her eyes, but her expression remained fond. "What I'm trying to say is… you have more friends than you might think. Even among us supposedly evil snakes."
"I never thought you were evil," Harry protested. "Terrifying, maybe. But not evil."
"Flatterer." She guided him through a turn. "Though I notice you're not denying the terrifying part."
"I'm not completely stupid."
"No," Daphne agreed, her voice warm. "Not completely."
They danced in comfortable silence for a while, falling into the easy rhythm they'd practiced so many times. Around them, other couples swayed and spun, creating patterns like stars wheeling across the night sky.
"Remember when you accidentally set that suit of armor on fire?" Harry asked, smiling at the memory.
"That was your fault! You startled me with that ridiculous impression of Snape-"
"It was a great impression!"
"It was terrible," Daphne corrected. "Though I suppose the armor did need polishing anyway…"
Harry laughed, the sound mixing with the music and the general buzz of conversation around them. "We've come a long way from hexing each other in corridors, haven't we?"
"Speak for yourself. I still hex people in corridors. I'm just more selective about it now."
"Should I be worried?"
"Only if you step on my feet again." But her smile took any sting from the words. "Now shut up and dance, Potter. We've got appearances to maintain."
Harry obliged. He shut up and danced.
"You know what's strange?" Daphne mused as they swayed to another slow song, the enchanted stars casting shifting patterns across their faces. "A year ago, I wouldn't have believed any of this was possible."
"The dancing?" Harry guided her through a gentle turn. "Because I'm still not entirely sure it is."
"No, you prat." She adjusted his posture with familiar exasperation. "This. Us. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor actually becoming friends."
"Ah, that." Harry pretended to consider it. "You're right, it is strange. Particularly since you've threatened to hex me at least twice tonight."
"Three times, actually. You weren't paying attention for the last one."
They shared a quiet laugh as the music shifted to something even slower, more dream-like. The Great Hall had mostly emptied, just a few scattered couples moving beneath the enchanted ceiling like stars drifting through the night sky.
"Did you ever imagine," Harry asked, carefully executing another turn, "that we'd end up here? Actually enjoying each other's company?"
"Merlin, no." Daphne's dark eyes sparkled with amusement. "I was quite convinced you were an insufferable git."
"And now?"
"Now you're a slightly less insufferable git. With surprisingly decent taste in dance partners."
The Weird Sisters had switched to what sounded like their last song of the night, something soft and almost wistful. Through the high windows, real moonlight mixed with the enchanted starlight, painting everything in shades of silver and shadow.
"Should we head back?" Harry asked as the song drew to a close. "Before we're the only ones left?"
"Probably should." Daphne glanced around the nearly empty hall. "Though I notice Thomas finally managed that spin without destroying anything."
"Minor miracles do happen," he said, dryly.
They made their way out of the Great Hall, their footsteps echoing in the quiet corridors. The castle felt different at this hour, more ancient and alive, full of whispered secrets and remembered magic.
"This reminds me of our practice sessions," Daphne said as they descended towards the dungeons. "Though with considerably less toppled plants."
"That was one time!"
"Three times, Potter. I kept count."
Moonlight streamed through the high windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor. A nearby portrait snored softly in its frame.
"Remember when you accidentally transfigured your shoes into ducks?" Daphne asked.
"That was definitely your fault. You startled me!"
"I sneezed!"
"Very startlingly!"
Their laughter echoed off the ancient stones, mixing with the silver light and the quiet whispers of the sleeping castle. Harry walked slowly, uneager to end the evening.
However, they eventually made it all the way back. Avoiding a few stares he got his way, Harry waited at the entrance to the Slytherin common room.
Just then, Daphne's usual confidence seemed to waver. "Did you…" she hesitated, looking almost uncertain. "Did you have a good time? Really?"
The vulnerability in her voice caught Harry off guard. It was strange seeing her like this – the girl who could reduce seventh years to tears with a single raised eyebrow, suddenly unsure of herself. Every time it happened, it caught Harry off-guard.
"Daphne," he said softly. "Tonight was perfect. You're… you're amazing, you know that? Brilliant and fierce and funny. Anyone who doesn't see that is mental, I tell you."
"Careful, Potter." But her smile was genuine, if slightly shy. "Someone might think you're actually learning how to talk to girls."
"Never." He grinned. "Complete disaster, remember?"
She bit her lip, then: "Want to kiss goodnight?"
Harry felt his face flame instantly red. "I… um… well…"
"On the cheek, you muttonhead," she rolled her eyes, but her voice was fond. "I know your heart's set elsewhere. Even if you are being ridiculously Gryffindor about it."
"Oh." He smiled, relieved. "Yeah, that would be… nice."
She leaned in slowly, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Goodnight, Harry," she whispered. "Try not to think too much."
"No promises."
Daphne stepped back, her expression soft in the moonlight. "And Potter? Thank you. For everything. I had a fun evening."
She disappeared through the stone wall, leaving Harry alone in the corridor.
Scratch!
Or… perhaps not quite alone...
Harry tensed as something shifted in his peripheral vision – a shadow moving just slightly wrong. His hand tightened instinctively around his wand. Without his invisibility cloak, he couldn't investigate too closely. But there was definitely something…
He held perfectly still, barely breathing. There – at the far end of the corridor, a deeper patch of darkness moved against the silver-streaked stones. Too deliberate to be just a trick of the moonlight, too careful to be a wandering student.
Moving as quietly as he could, Harry edged closer to the wall, trying to keep to the shadows. His dress shoes seemed suddenly loud against the stone floor, each step a betrayal in the midnight quiet.
Harry moved through the shadows. The figure ahead kept to the darker corridors, taking routes Harry had never seen used often before by the younger students– passages that seemed to wind deeper into the castle's ancient bones.
His dress shoes, thankfully silenced with a hasty charm, made no sound against the worn stone floors. But his heart seemed impossibly loud in the midnight quiet, and he wondered if the mysterious figure in front could hear him.
The more he followed, the more Harry found himself in sections of Hogwarts he didn't frequent. The castle felt different here, in these forgotten corners. Cobwebs hung like silver veils in the darkness, and the portraits were few and far between, their occupants long since wandered away to livelier frames. The air itself felt older, heavy with secrets and stale magic.
The shadow ahead paused at an intersection, and Harry pressed himself against a wall, barely daring to breathe. A shaft of moonlight caught the edge of a familiar profile –
Professor Graves!
Another figure emerged from the crossing corridor, wrapped in a cloak. They spoke in whispers, but occasional words drifted back to Harry's straining ears.
"…last two artifacts…"
"…careful timing…"
"…wards weakened…"
Harry's pulse quickened. Wards? What wards? He edged slightly closer, trying to catch more of the conversation.
"…final stage…" Graves' voice, barely audible. "…must be precise…"
The other figure murmured something too low to hear, but their tone carried urgency. Harry's foot brushed against loose stone, and he froze – but the sound was covered by a distant clock striking midnight.
"…tomorrow then…" The unknown figure seemed to melt back into the shadows.
Graves remained still for a long moment, then turned sharply- Harry pressed deeper into his hiding spot, hardly daring to breathe– then passed by on a different corridor.
He waited until the echoes faded completely before moving, his mind racing.
Wards weakened? Artifacts? It sounded like… but surely Graves wouldn't…would he?
Harry's thoughts spun like leaves in an autumn storm. Was Graves planning to rob someone? Break into a nearby house? It would explain his occasional odd behavior, the way he sometimes seemed distracted during lessons…
But something about that explanation felt wrong, like trying to force a puzzle piece into the wrong spot. There was something else here, something he wasn't seeing…
The Fat Lady gave him another suspicious look as he approached. Why were all females so moody towards him these days? "Rather late, isn't it?"
"Yule Ball," Harry mumbled the password, still lost in thought.
The common room was nearly empty, just dying embers in the fireplace casting warm shadows across worn furniture. Harry sank into his favorite armchair, his dress robes wrinkled from all the crouching in shadows.
What had Graves meant by 'final stage'? And why meet in such a secluded part of the castle- that was fairly obvious, yes, but yet, Harry couldn't bring himself to understand what was going on. The questions tumbled through his mind like restless birds, refusing to settle into any pattern that made sense, while he drifted into an uneasy sleep in front of the fire.
A/N: Updates will resume post 25th.
Have changed the tags to Adventure/Romance cause there's a sort of deviation from the classical narration here as I'm making it more angsty for a bit.