A/N: Straight citations from the original are in bold, and I couldn't help but bow to one of the funniest McGonagall lines* of the film. : ) Sorry!

Also, I corrected two mistakes in the previous chapters, I hope it's more enjoyable this way.

And, of course, it's not mine, it's Rowling's and her legal associates'.

TN_Chapter 39.

(19)

26th November to 19th December 1994

Anne sat at the stands of Highbury Stadium in London, hiding her freezing hands in her pocket and trying to grab the last threads of her sanity as the crowd roared around her and George Smith, shouting chants for Manchester United while Hughes tried to sweep. The game had already lasted a first half and a windy half-time, and yet there were no results, no matter how hard the team fought, or their supporters roared.

George was still enthusiastically re-telling Kanchelskis' hat trick against Man City only a few weeks before. She also overheard an older man recounting Man United's chance during half-time, which awkwardly reminded her of hunkering on the small bench of the sixth-floor balcony at Hogwarts and listening to exactly how "dead chuffed" Snape was about whipping Man City. The unlikely picture only faded from her mind's eye as a bloke on her left mentioned the recent defeat from Gothenburg. Being caught pants down against Barcelona in the Champions League was keenly felt, especially because – if she believed the man sitting four seats on her right – their only chance would now be a miracle for Gothenburg to win against Barcelona and United defeating Galatasaray on home field. George seemed dubious about their chances, and she caught herself wondering what Snape would have to add.

Once the game started the second half, Anne realised how dearly she loved Schmeichel and how she felt more at ease whenever he stood at the gate. The fact his back injury held him away from the game was discomforting, which surprised her, for she hadn't considered herself a particular fan before, only someone who enjoyed the matches. However, it seemed that the season was growing onto her, and for the first time, she had decided opinions about playing Ince after he'd been let off at the last match, and she felt an additional buzz when Kanchelskis got the ball.

While the emotions around her were heightened with another missed coup, she had to admit her feelings were similar to what she sensed from multiple fans in the crowd whenever they cheered for Cantona or sang for him as if he was God's gift for Manchester United, and thus to humankind… There had been enough of those chants during half-time and praises on the balcony, even if Snape hadn't gone as far as to actually sing his opinion… Somehow, she still felt that that'd been a close call…

She stopped chuckling when Ince got a yellow card, and the crowd roared in disagreement. She also couldn't fault Hughes when he was sent off just minutes before the end. It was a battle for the win, taking her senses on a rollercoaster ride, flying and plummeting with the various emotions of the crowd. The final nothing to nothing was insufficient to express what she had lived through, and she had the highest appreciation for the beer and the pub's warmth where George and his pals took her to unwind.

She watched a bloke in his mid-thirties leaning on the counter, waxing eloquently about the team, and a thought crept onto her about Snape leaning on the Gazebo's rail, balancing a cadged fag between his fingers and essentially doing the same. When she mentioned George's idea about seeing the match, she was unsure whether the professor would take it in stride or admonish her for using a Time Turner for entertainment. She wasn't ready for his envy and the defiant way he advertised it openly, letting his defences down enough for her to experience its entire range. It still made her smirk. He communicated on a different level but got the message across when he wanted to.

Anne drank her beer and mused over her changing life. After that chance encounter on the balcony, it'd seemed silly to try and seek him out again. She'd told him she'd liked going there, so she had had no reason to expect to bump into him again, even if he also had claimed the spot as his. She remembered the strange thrill of mounting the wooden stairs a night later… the risk, the shy, self-reproaching hope of seeing this person, not at all a teacher but someone so unexpectedly perplexing with whom she somehow had left a bit of the school-enforced boundaries behind...

"Not you again," – he'd groused when he'd seen her, and Anne risked a smile because he hadn't seemed put out when he spotted her that time.

He never returned her smile, but the crinkles in the corner of his eyes deepened, adding warmth to his glance, and his stance remained loose. She pulled the pack of cigarettes from her pocket, and he rolled his eyes. He never offered her a seat, but a slight move of his shoulder suggested she should step past him to the bench. He never mentioned her curfew, only that it was getting late. Anne used that to tell him about her day in London and altering the Arithmancy for her potion research. It was easy to talk because he listened keenly.

"…and he made me sit on the spin stool between shifts to ask if I was ready to work more hours after Yuletide. Apprentice Scott will have a fit when he learns I said yes," – she shrugged uncertainly, showing her discomfort about the mess it would make.

"If that pillock can't stand the heat, he shouldn't sit in the furnace," – Snape grumbled. Anne imagined Scott at the receiving end of his disgusted glare and secretly smirked. Then his look turned calculating. "Sheambaum doesn't care for dunderheads, which might speak for you, but doing the ledges for St. Mungo's will be slaving for days on end. You wouldn't have holidays or even a breather before your schedule recommences with the New Year."

Anne appreciated his warning, but she wasn't worried. "I'm not into Christmas."

"Girl, it's not about Santa or the shindig. You'll be knackered again sooner than you'd realise, and I won't have spare time to knock more sense into you," - he drawled, exhaling smoke, and as if for emphasis, he flicked the fag into the night behind the rail.

The emphasis worked well enough. Especially against Anne's better judgment: now, she couldn't stop herself from taking his arrogance down a peg.

"To be frank, sir, I only thought of sharing my news with a friend."

She didn't say she didn't ask for his permission, and he still winced at the sir. It was more satisfying than it probably should have been.

"And so you did," – he stated simply. "Amaze me then! How much does Walt offer for the sweats?"

"I–" Anne stared and then tried to stare some more. "Well, he didn't mention about that, but– erm… Walt?!"

"Walter Sheambaum, isn't he? There are not many with such a name, and I happen to have run a few times too many into your chosen slaveholder. That's what we call working without receiving a wage, Rosier. This is not advice, only grammar."

Anne wanted to shove a comeback into his face, a good one, a witty one, that would restore her self-confidence and restore the peace… Alas, nothing came to mind, and she watched helplessly as he slowly turned his face to watch the grounds. It felt so unjust! She didn't wish for his approval but for him to share her joy. And yes, she wanted to brag. But was that such a bad thing?

What she'd understood as an opportunity suddenly sounded like naïveté, making her feel too young, too inexperienced, and precisely the dunderheaded amateur she knew he disliked the most – but then what the hell was he doing here smoking her cigarettes after midnight for the second evening? It wasn't what she sought when she tried to find him again…

"So how did you do it?" – she suddenly asked, hoping to balance out the now glaring inequality of their friendship.

She knew she had surprised him when his shoulders froze and his head lifted, but he didn't turn back to look at her.

"Do what?"

Anne rolled her eyes. Even he must have been a boy sometime before he became an expert!

"I'm at the fifth chapter in your copy of Advanced Potions. It's damned good. Even the blind can see the work that went into all the alterations, and some random notes refer to research that couldn't have been done in the school library…"

He finally glanced at her. "Did you perhaps try to revise the alterations?"

Anne did him a favour, and she openly grinned. "I even wrote up about a dozen equations only for the Essence of Insanity. The trick about the wormwood's root almost roughed up my figures, but –"

"You didn't solve that one," – he challenged, turning to face her fully.

Anne lifted her chin and replied, "Why? Others haven't seen through your juggling with the alchemical symbols?"

"There's no Arithmancy you could possibly write for them," he stated and stepped closer, so she had to crane her neck or lean her head onto the castle's wall to look him in the eye.

Anne rose to a knee on the bench to gain some height against him. She stared right into his challenging grey eyes and told him with glee: "Unless I transcribed it. I might not know my Greek or Sumerian, but I am sufficient to catch someone running an unnecessary circle."

"You shouldn't flatter yourself believing you found reason to criticise the changes."

"Why would I criticise the most fun read I've ever had? It's so brilliant it deserves a revision!" she laughed, never knowing the same greed crept into her gaze she'd been so astonished to have seen it in his eyes. "How old were you, sir? When did you write it?"

He finally stepped back and looked her over. "Does it matter?" Anne shrugged and watched his slow smirk reappear. "I never had a Time Turner, Rosier. I was sixteen."

"You must have had someone to help you like you helped me come up with my first brew…" Anne guessed, arriving at her initial reason for beginning this conversation.

He turned his face aside confusingly shyly. Anne couldn't recall seeing a similar layer of him yet.

"What makes you believe –"

"It doesn't match anything I have ever heard of Professor Slughorn."

He rubbed his neck, and she heard his short chuckle. "No, I expect not… although he certainly didn't mind it, either…"

When he looked up, his glance was testing. Questioning. Finally, only two words came: "Reuben Sharp."

Anne felt his intent gaze on her face as she tried to figure out why that name was so familiar… "I only ever heard about an Aesop Sharp… Slytherin, too… He was the one who modernised Potions at Hogwarts."

She more like heard than saw his smirk widening. "Someone did her duty to Hogwarts. A History, I see."

"In multiple editions," – Anne absently commented. "Who was Reuben?"

He stepped back to lean against the rail, sweeping the hair from his face.

"His son," – he summed it up. Thoughts chased each other in his mind for a few seconds. "I realised I needed… assistance when a cauldronful of bulbadox blew into my face towards the end of my second year. Poppy sometimes still tells me how she believes I whined not to let my mother see me that way, so our acquaintance had begun," – he added in dry humour. "My House Head… let's just say he wasn't eager for a repetition of my performance, and so in the summer, I decided to turn to his predecessor.

"Being the snotty little swot, of course, didn't think about Aesop Sharp long not being among the living, but his son answered my owl. He sent me shortly to hell, but his words confirmed what I might have suspected, that he also was a potioneer, and within about a year, he found my correspondence worthy of his time."

Anne was amazed. "What did you write him about?"

"Alchemy, mostly… at least what I used to consider as such. I dug up every Potions Quarterly I could put a hand on and attempted to decipher the origins of the newer brews and methods. Reuben wanted me to understand what made a potion a necessity. He believed there wasn't a thing in the world without a need for it and demanded my attention to detail and a fresh mind to follow others' creative ideas. They soon led me to have mine… Sluggy might not have liked those, but he recognised the results."

His look was far away, and Anne wondered how old Aesop Sharp's son must have been when Snape was a student. "How long did you correspond?"

"Until he realised I wasn't the one I made him believe." He noticed her confusion and sneered. "You didn't imagine he would have stopped to open a scroll a nameless boy just sent him?"

It slowly dawned on Anne that the childish nickname she'd seen on the cover page of his potions book might be more than a wordplay. "The Half-blood Prince?" When his brows rose challengingly, she guessed on: "It wasn't just any Prince, was it? Did you refer to the Princes and their fame as brewers? Why them? Have they learned about it? What happened?"

"So many questions," – he groused, but Anne felt he didn't mind her enthusiasm. "The story goes on with an unfortunate turn when my chosen mentor found my game a breach of confidence and much less entertaining than you apparently do. Shortly before my NEWTs, when I asked him to act as my grantor for a lease from the goblins so I could build and begin a business, he decided he was through with me. After that, I found other means to promote myself."

Anne gaped at the sudden coldness in his eyes and tone. "He pushed you to them!" – she whispered, astounded, but it only irked him.

"I needed no push, girl," – he snarled. "He taught me a last lesson about the benefits of strong friends as if I hadn't learned that already! And those friends were rather pissed at him for abandoning one of their own."

When her eyes rounded with understanding, he turned away with an air of disgust. She was afraid to ask what pissed Death Eaters could do with an old man they thought had wronged a recruit… Evan's letters came to mind, and the darkness thickened around them.

Anne finally remembered why she decided to ask him in the first place and was glad to change the subject:

"I never thought I would seek a career as a wiz-nurse," she slowly began. "I only love Potions more than boys, and I can't rely on my family name because my father would never support the idea. But he doesn't see that I'm not meek enough just to connect him to others through marriage, and I'm not handsome enough to be a trophy!"

She didn't wish for false consolations when his glance promptly returned to her. "I have no friends to support me aside from letting me have this job, but with hard work, I might earn to step up the ladder. You must know how it feels to want something this much! But I must find my way to achieve it!"

He shut his eyes briefly. She didn't mean to offend, but who would have thought that he…

"Bad example," – she heard him mumble. Then his stance shifted in strange unease, and he rubbed a finger through his lips wryly. "Making Walt choose a wiz-nurse for the duty of an apprentice is undoubtedly an achievement. I wish you luck."

His hair fell before his face, so she couldn't really see him, but she could sense his regrets. So that was like winning an argument against Snape! She found it astounding, and it gave no joy.

Unable to come to terms with his sudden capitulation, Anne tried to save what mood morsels she could and asked him about the alchemic background he hadn't fully worked out on the margins around the Everlasting Elixirs and managed to cajole him into a lighter conversation. When she felt she could erase his discomfort, his strict occlumency opened just a shred, and he let her feel his wonderment. She wasn't sure what caused it, but it made wishing goodnight less final.

She didn't expect him to show up the next night, but in case he did, she thought he might read that as a refusal or judgment if she didn't return to the balcony around midnight. So she was there, but he wasn't around. Anne settled for short stargazing, having a cigarette before returning to her dorm. He appeared just as she placed the butt she killed under the rail to leave a sign about her former presence in case he ever sought one.

He stopped for a heartbeat when he saw her. The last pangs of his incredulity echoed in the air before he closed away his emotions. He noticed the cigarette butt and his glance turned questioning only for a moment.

"Erm… I –" he searched for words while composing himself. "I wondered if your aunt was feeling better?"

She tried not to stare or gasp, although she almost sat on the balcony floor by sheer surprise. She instead incoherently assured him that Rachel was on the mend.

He nodded awkwardly and stepped aside from the landing of the wooden stairs. "You were leaving," – he gestured for her to proceed if she wished to, but Anne shook her head.

"Actually –" Something stopped her from telling him she was glad to see him, but she did want to speak to him. Rachel had already unpacked the slender candles for the holy days, and Anne loved celebrating in the small and cluttered living room. That tiny second-floor London flat was the best part of her childhood and the closest to safety she could recall. If tranquillity had a face, that would be Rachel's in the candlelight with the enticing smell of the best food in the world curling in from the kitchen.

She told him as much now and hoped he understood. His unwavering attention still surprised her. It wasn't short of his intense focus on a new equation or figuring out the antidote for a poisoning case. Now, with the same interest, he asked about traditions she'd learnt from her gran and Rachel and listened to her tentative plans for mundane things, like playing games and singing songs. He mentioned first how unlikely she would return to Hogwarts on time after evenings like that, but the general reminders about rules and promises didn't follow. He asked her not to break too many rules and left it at that.

Compared to his known control mania, Anne was fully aware of the trust bestowed upon her, and she swore silently to herself not to misuse it this time. He made an effort to take her as a friend and an equal, and she wanted to reciprocate in any way she could.

So she brought up going to the match with George and had her impudent giggle seeing his envy. He'd never looked more casual than on the Old Trafford's stand in the summer, and now she kept trying to bring it back to him to lighten his mood. Of course, it also was funny to rile him… And that was when he waxed so eloquently about Cantona's many fantastic moves and the Team.

"So you'll be going out to see them at Highbury," – he finished a good rant. He sneered at her grin when she nodded. "And the bloke you mentioned?"

His poorly hidden suspiciousness reminded Anne so much of what Caleb would have shown that she almost burst out laughing. "You know him," she said, but she couldn't make herself bring up her gran's funeral, and making him recall Kelly's father in the Nottingham crowd at the end of summer took effort. "He remembered you," Anne mentioned when he finally admitted seeing someone around her.

"Did he?" – Snape raised an emblematic eyebrow. "I wonder why?"

Why? Well, because she once mentioned she made a fool of herself and … Anne knew she blushed and desperately wished for something to distract him – anything – from examining her face so closely…

"He's almost Gavin's in-law, he's family… even said if he saw you around, he would try to get to know you…" When he tilted his head with that damned eyebrow still raised, Anne gave up and hid behind a palm before telling him: "He might be a Muggle, but he cares for us all. He says you looked 'rough around the edges', but he wouldn't know you without… well, getting to know you. George is –"

His sudden smirk stopped her babbling. It looked warmer than ever before. "– a Muggle with good eyesight, is he?" – he finished for her.

Was that his takeaway? Or did he take offence being found rough at almost first sight? Anne rolled her eyes. "And with good intentions," – she completed the assessment.

"You like many Muggles," – he noted after a few moments of reflection.

It didn't seem an offensive remark, but Anne'd been in Slytherin for just too long… "Is it a problem?"

She didn't think her tone was sharp, but she saw how it made him pause. "No," – he said. He looked at her like his mind wasn't preoccupied with her words but more whatever they reminded him… "No, I see no difference."

Since then, she got through her Friday classes (DADA was a horror), her shift (Apprentice Scott roughly sent her away from the A-Room), a restless night at her dorm (stubbornly denying herself that bloody cigarette on the balcony because she knew better), and parading around the Common Room, so enough students would have sufficient memory about seeing her recently. Then she did as she had told him and met George to watch the match. They ended up tied, but she held her beer, and that night, she would spend in her comfy London bed. Life was good, and the bloke by the counter finished chanting.

She didn't anticipate anything complicated for the next eight days—Hogwarts, as usual, only with less emphasis on returning on time. St Mungo's shifts were in the afternoon, but she avoided overworking herself and instead hurried home. Home.

For once, she knew where home was. In the coming days, she was too caught up in the rare wholesomeness and serenity that Rachel and celebrating gave. Anything else – her usual life – was now only a second thought or a leitmotiv. She focused on her aunt and visited with her brothers and the Smiths whenever she could make time around her shifts, occupying her mind first and foremost with family and giving them sweets to share her joy. She was only marginally aware of the exuberant feelings about Rita Skeeter's interview with the fourth-year Parkinson girl and the need to brush up on her duelling skills. She let the world play its tune and, for once, didn't engage with it.

After all the candles were lit at Rachel's, and her aunt even sang silently, watching them burn down after she told tales from her childhood again with Rose that didn't fill her with sadness and fell asleep, Anne tiptoed around, clearing up, then she returned to Hogwarts. She spent eight nights at home and now climbed up to the sixth-floor balcony to watch the sleeting fall over the Forest. It froze over the sparse spots of grass and shimmered under the narrow paths of light cast from the castle's windows.

In her present mood, hearing Snape's steps approaching the balcony on the raspy wood of the hidden stairs was only natural and expected. She didn't even know she was smiling when he appeared, and couldn't care less why he stopped short when he spotted her.

"I took these for you, sir," – she pulled a handful of sweets from her bag. "Thank you for letting me break even more rules."

She thought it was all a matter of course, but he held the chocolate coins and halva snacks as if they confused him. Perhaps it should have weighed more that he wasn't family or even privy to their habits, but without his permission, she'd hardly got to spend this much time out and about.

There was something wary in his expression as he looked her over. She almost joked about how she'd never poison Halva because it was way too good to spoil like that, but she was glad she didn't when he noted that she looked different.

She beamed at him without thinking. "I'm happy."

His gaze searched her long. "I can't recall hearing anyone ever saying that."

Anne didn't believe him, but his understanding of the significance of her mood was appreciated.

"I wanted to share," – she replied, pointing at the snacks to avoid anything graver.

"Thank you."

She soon wished him goodnight; there was nothing to add, and she needed space between herself and those two odd words of gratitude. Odd because they rang more earnestly than she'd ever heard these simple words pronounced, and something was branding in their nakedness, defiled of their casualty.

The night after, she chose to watch the match against Galatasaray with George, regretting that she had to return to Hogwarts because her special little holiday was over. Discussing the Muggle papers with George after classes and before her night shifts helped her through the next few days. They both were disappointed that Barcelona had proved better and had to accept that Manchester United had fallen from the Champions League. George optimistically argued that it was all for the better, for this way, the boys could focus more on the home games. Anne didn't disagree, but she had a lingering feeling that Snape would be more passionate about the issue. It still wasn't enough to send her back to the balcony.

The next night at the St. Mungo's, Effie ran through the Magical Bugs Ward levitating bedlinens or bedpans with the same smile on her face, imagining what Snape would probably tell George. She was immersed enough in her daydreams never to notice Mediwizard Spleen watching her every move. It was safer to imagine things than to risk her balance testing her ideas.

When Snape showed up in Slytherin's Common Room after next day's classes, Anne almost missed him in favour of a sausage roll and a cup of soup she wanted to choose in London, skipping the Hogwarts dinner before her night shift. Sophie was still sore about their squabble, and she saw no point in speaking with anyone in her year. Whenever she felt lonely in the crowd, lately she sought alternatives, increasing her life's happiness rate in surprising proportions.

As it happened, the dumb second-years, with their trigger-happy wands out on the dungeon corridors, hindered her escape with misfired jinxes. She put up a hasty Protego and waited for them to finally move on when one of the hexes flew up the dim staircase, rebounded from something, and hit the damp stonewall about a heartbeat before their House Head appeared, wand in hand. It looked pretty obvious that the errant hex only missed him because of his shield charm, and Anne was fed up enough with these troublemakers to linger and gloat.

Snape didn't disappoint her when he said: "Pritchard! What an abysmal lack of surprise! But you're not one for lonely endeavours, are you? After all, getting caught without collaborators would seem like a sign of a backbone. Who is your accomplice this time? Ah, Mr Baddock! Own to your impaired judgement and step closer, Mr Baddock! Why would you even try to break school rules if you only have enough boldness to hide behind a corner?"

Anne stayed calmly by the dungeon stairs and did her best not to chuckle. A good Snape dressing down was always amusing, especially when it was just and addressed to others.

Baddock stuttered something about a misunderstanding, and Pritchard's apologising couldn't stop the horrors.

"Both of you report to my office tomorrow at six sharp," Snape said, finishing with them. "I will occupy your time without needing you to use a wand since it's so spectacularly beyond your capabilities," – he promised darkly. "Now away with you! I don't have all day."

Anne felt Snape's eyes turn to her as soon as the two aghast boys scurried away. "Entertained, Rosier?"

She checked herself and realised that biting into her lip didn't erase the merriment from her eyes. The foyer was empty.

"Maybe a little, sir. Sounds better when aimed at another…" – she stepped closer and turned her face up to look straight into his eyes. "Sorry."

Did she imagine things, or was that indeed a tiny private smirk?

"Better join the masses, girl. This will involve you too," – he gestured toward the wall that hid the entrance of the Common Room, and Anne said goodbye to that sausage roll with a heavy sigh and a mumbled password.

His tone didn't, but his words made her worried… Whatever could involve her? Anne waited for the buzz to die down and the Common Room to welcome the House's Head. Mostly, seventh and sixth years sat around the fireplace, as usual, but some of the lower years were also present, and someone ran up to the boy dorms to alert everyone of Snape's presence. He visited often on the weekends, but it was a novelty on a weekday. All the attention was on Professor Snape as he dutifully stuck an official-looking poster on the notice board.

Hestia and Florence Hornblow, a seventh-year girl, were the first two who gasped. The poster announced a Ball – a legit Hogwarts Ball to be held on Christmas Day.

Snape cleared his throat, and the Common Room fell into silence.

"What I'm about to tell you is nothing less or more than what the faculty deemed necessary to announce. *The Yule Ball has been a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament since its inception.* The Ministry and the three participating schools did not overlook this established practice. Thus, on Christmas Day night, we and our guests will gather in the Great Hall to experience what some decided to call well-mannered frivolity."*

His voice mimicked McGonagall's intonation so well that Anne almost giggled, and she was not the only one. She heard some of her housemates also jerked their heads at the mention of the Great Hall, silently asking each other about Hogwarts' ballroom, which had been unused in the corner of the Entrance Hall for years.

"As you will soon undoubtedly see, even the announcement calls attention to the festivities being limited to an appropriate age. In other words, I expect to see none of you under the fourth year, and even the fourth years may only enter due to the pressure of unforeseeable alterations in the composition of the champions. After all, we cannot discriminate prospective heroes from the merrymaking."

The giggles and chuckles ran through the students, and Anne began to suspect that Snape undertook this particular duty under severe pressure from the other House Heads and maybe even the Headmaster. He phrased his announcement to undermine the fourth Champion – not that anyone had a problem with that in the House, but perhaps some of the fourth year enjoyed this more than the rest.

"This occasion is not one for overthrowing morals and politeness but an opportunity for you to showcase your social skills. Let me add that might I find fault in your endeavours in that regard, your presence will not continue among the civilised partakers of the evening."

"No surprise about that, eh?" Anne heard the sixth-year Per Derrick's voice whisper in her ear. Until then, she was only aware of his presence because she stood awkwardly in line between him and his friend, Warrington, and had to endure their secret discussion through hand gestures. No matter if she liked them more than her own year mates, they were hellishly annoying this time.

Their professor, meanwhile, looked similarly upset with the forest of raised hands around him. Anne made a conscientious attempt to regulate her features and not laugh when she saw how hard he tried to avoid rolling his eyes.

"Let us make this as painless as possible! I will grant three questions, and then years four, five, six, and seven will move to another location to address this unavoidable affair's more infernal aspects. Decide among yourselves!"

Low murmurs filled the Common Room, and the number of raised hands declined. Sure as hell, Hestia was still adamant to ask something, and both seventh-year girls wished to speak. However, Professor Snape didn't look at them. In fact, he looked somewhat taken aback, scanning the group of fourth years on the left side.

"Mr Goyle?" – he asked, his voice a mixture of stunned surprise and disbelief.

"Can't figure, sir… fourth years and up. So whatever should a fourth-year come up with for a date?" The boy's uncommonly deep voice boomed, giving more than one of his peers a pause before a lot burst with laughter.

"Oi, Butterball, consider a girl?" was perhaps the most contained advice Greg Goyle received, and Anne had to adjust the defences around her mind when the glee around conflicted too much with the boy's emotions.

"Silence!" Professor Snape didn't have to raise his voice, no one wanted to tackle the beast moments before an official party. "We all owe Mr Goyle for asking a coherent question, which is a reason to consider that maybe this torture is worth getting through. Unfortunately, your pool of options is finite, Gregory. You may ask one of your year mates or a member of another House if you wish. Perhaps that makes it easier." Greg Goyle nodded with reddened cheeks, finally grasping the assignment. "And what's on the witches' minds? Miss Elderton?"

Thymea Elderton was a seventh-year student, and Anne knew little about her except that she was trying for NEWTs in Charms and Divination. Her dormmate, Florence Hornblow, used to be Anne's regular customer.

"We noticed that the rules didn't exclude anyone older than the upper years. Can we invite older acquaintances from outside of Hogwarts?"

Anne imagined showing up with Dan White at a magical Yule Ball among witches, wizards, singing decorations, and self-setting tables.

"You'll have to fall back on whatever the school and her guests are ready to offer, Miss Elderton. This is a private gathering. The last one?"

A seventh-year boy shook his curly blond locks out of his eyes and grinned with such confidence only one who had already inherited his father's business and was months away from stepping into his place could show.

"Fire away, Mr Norton!"

"I heard there will be music, sir. Some even mentioned the Weird Sisters. Is that true they would come?"

"Good thinking, Mr Norton" – Professor Snape nodded without missing a beat. "I might have been remiss to establish, but a ball is indeed prone to have music. All of you who oppose such frivolity should undoubtedly stay away from the night."

Some chuckled, some rolled their eyes. Cas Warrington asked above the background noise:

"But, sir, the Weird Sisters? They are… kind of a big deal..!"

"Such as the Tournament, Warrington. Another reason why you all should consider what behaviour would exclude you from the festivities and what would be acceptable. Now, those of you who are determined to partake, even with the additional threat of what we are to call music, follow me!"

Among disappointed sighs from the three lower years, an excited crowd of Slytherins filed up the dungeon stairs to approach the old ballroom. Per Derrick, who was still on Anne's left, called his friend Warrington to catch up with them.

"Look at Snapey!" – he mumbled to Cas. "I swear he would have more spring in his steps towards the gallows… D'you think he dances?"

"Don't be a berk," – Cassius whispered back. "Hogwarts held balls yearly only until some years ago… Do you really think he wouldn't attend?"

Per's hand shot to his forehead. "Blimey! He might even be good at it, isn't he?"

Anne felt Cas Warrington's elbow casually touching hers. "What do you think?" The tall boy asked.

Anne shrugged. The last she wanted was to discuss Professor Snape. "I only wonder why they chose the Great Hall if we have an actual ballroom?"

"Flitwick talked about some slip-up with an Extension Charm. That would explain why they chose the Great Hall…" Per readily explained. He was thoroughly into Charms, one of those at Flitwick's NEWT who honestly wished to pursue the area and loved talking about his field. "Imagine so many couples dancing simultaneously, and the Weird Sisters? They couldn't make the Sound Charms and the Amplification Spells work just anywhere! The castle is outdated, so you should modify a bunch of spellwork interwoven in the very walls! Besides, the Great Hall is already charmed to show an Enchanted Ceiling and the vista…"

Anne and Cas exchanged an amused look at his enthusiasm.

"Oh, we see it'll be wicked, all right!" Cas tried to control his friend.

"I just hope that now we are not expected to dance too…" Anne changed the subject. "It's been a while since Master Buoyant!"

"I remember the old man," – Per grinned at her. "Gods, I couldn't be more than six! My ma insisted…" He peeked over at his friend as they reached the unknown winged doors and added: "Don't worry, Cas and I will have you covered. You'll be fine!"

Although Anne couldn't fathom why she should be fine with Derrick and Warrington in a bloody ballroom, she did her best to recall more details of those weeks when she was about eight or nine and Master Buoyant came to the manor. She and her brothers had to behave and jump circles to satisfy the whims of the old dance instructor 'all families that mattered' apparently employed. She wondered whether others' memories were fresher of Master Jig Buoyant and his million exercises. Unfortunately, Snape left no time for her to figure that out. As soon as the four upper years stood by the walls in the enormous, airy room, with mirrors on the walls and candleholders floating in the corners under the guilded ceiling, he closed the door with a swish of his wand and quietly spoke:

"This, as you see, is Hogwarts' Ballroom, blissfully out of use for the last handful of years but sufficient for us to fulfil our painful duty and ensure that your families raised socially acceptable witches and wizards instead of the bunch of inept idiots you often force me to deal with. Once again, a ball is for you to showcase the social graces your parents hope you've been blessed with. Among those, to my dismay, is dancing. Now. Those of you who consider themselves unequal to such a challenge should step to the right corner and wait for instructions."

The sheer reluctance in his tone made more students smirk than any kind of anticipation or ridicule of those who reluctantly walked to the appointed area. They left the remaining crowd short of girls, but the seventh-year Elroy Shortwood fortuitously asked Lucian Boyle to dance, which almost balanced the odds. Professor Snape called Theo Nott over to the right corner to demonstrate the steps, and finally, everyone had a chance to find a partner.

Anne would have lied if she said she wasn't worried, but her memories awakened when Snape flicked his wand, and music filled the ballroom from an unseen source. When Warrington bowed before her, she involuntarily sank into a casual curtsey – damn or bless Master Buoyant for that! Warrington saw Snape's dissatisfied look and turned them away from him, leaving others in the professor's immediate reach if his temper didn't hold.

When soon they heard their House Head's voice, Cas's foresight proved advantageous.

"Miss Davies, please avoid the parquet if you can't bridle your hormones! This inane giggling will hardly facilitate an acceptable experience for you or your partner."

Per Derrick spun his fourth-year partner closer to them – Daphne, if Anne remembered correctly – and winked at Warrington. "He's warming up to it," – he said softly enough for the music to cover his voice.

"Just wait," – Cassius advised.

Soon, as if to prove him right, they heard Snape mention "hands" twice, then just as the first song ended, "Mr Bletchley, be so good and keep your hands to their predetermined location unless you want to experience a Sticking Charm holding them in place."

"Y-yes, sorry, sir!"

Cas and Per dissolved into soundless snickers on their partners' arms. All four of them tried to face the wall to hide the giggles. Apparently, Higgs and Marcus Flint hadn't had the foresight or the opportunity to cover…

"If you find that amusing, consider how the same principle applies to all your interactions within the hour and on the 25th. I will not stand for you humiliating yourselves, your House or your school by giving into childish impulses. You will manifest the essence of polished manners or face the consequences. Now change partners!"

Warrington swiftly bowed first to Anne, then Daphne, and Per did the same in reverse order. Who would have expected Malcolm Urquhart to bow simultaneously on Anne's other side?

"Sorry, mate, she's busy," – Per lightly took hold of her hand, and although she'd never considered Per Derrick a prominently heroic boy, this time, she was ready to see the knight in shining armour in the blabbermouth.

"Thanks, Per!"

While the boy shrugged off her gratitude and Urquhart stumbled away, disturbing at least two couples on his un-merry way and receiving Professor Snape's attention, Anne noticed Flora Carrow watching her above Miles Bletchley's shoulder.

Blast her!

"So… did you like dancing with Cas?"

Anne needed a moment to return to Per from enumerating reasons why Flora was setting up Urquhart against her again.

"Huh? Uhm… uh-humm…"

She noticed Per's confusion and finally bothered to pay attention to his emotional state. Tapping into magic, it seemed the boy was a mess. He was worried, undecided, a little embarrassed, and determined to do something. Anne's eyebrows rose in an awkward question, and then, to discourage Per, she spoke of his friend more warmly than she was inclined.

"Yeah, it was nice. Warrington is a skilled dancer."

"Some say he is also handsome," – offered Per with all the nonchalance of a lidless antelope.

"Do they?" – Anne's voice climbed into the higher registers. "You don't need to hide either …"

"W-what? Thanks… Er. But Quidditch! He's bloody good at Quidditch. Could have been on the Team again, you know…if not for…"

Anne sensed how his embarrassment and determination grew simultaneously, and she wished he stopped pushing himself.

"Yeah, he flies well, I remember."

"You do?" – Per looked at her for the first time since this awkwardness began, and she sensed his eagerness and joy.

"Sure. Warrington – Quidditch – Chaser… I saw it all..." – she plastered a smile.

"You should call him Cas like everyone else," – Per suggested. Now, that made slightly less sense, but it was still alarming.

"If it's important to you…" Anne wished the dance was over, but she had never been that lucky…

"If –what? No, not me!"

Anne sighed, and Per suddenly halted, so Flint and Hornblow bumped into them.

"Klutz!" – Florance Hornblow cried out, dropping his partner's hand. Flint managed to bow and reclaim her before Snape started to walk in their direction. Judging by Marcus's red-hot face, this surely wasn't the only interruption.

Anne chuckled with Per, glad the sudden awkwardness dissolved with the episode.

"Rosier, look, you don't get it," – Per began after they resumed dancing. He rolled his eyes and iterated, watching the air above Anne's head, as if a centuries-old etiquette book was hovering there: "Fair Miss Rosier, I'm talking to you on behalf of my good friend, Cassius Warrington, a great admirer of your many charms. His countless talents blah-blah… and his steady interest blah… may –"

"For the goddess' sake, Per Derrick, stop quoting that shite!"

Per's shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank Merlin! I have no idea about the third part! I guess I should reread it…"

Anne couldn't believe him! "You cannot mean what you began! I am not interested in Warrington and will not enter a bloody courtship! " She paused and looked around, hoping her outcry wasn't louder than the music.

Thankfully, just two couples were in their proximity. Norton and Elderton didn't waste a glance at them, and the Parkinson girl was busy watching the young Malfoy with Hestia Carrow from Goyle's arm.

"He didn't write to my father, did he?!" – Anne demanded.

Per stopped mumbling to himself and finally looked into her eyes. "No. He doesn't want a courtship. We thought you were allowed to date after… you know the French berk and all the rot."

Well, that was enlightening! "No! I never dated him! Any of them, it was just… we were talking. That's what this year's about…you know…"

"Oh!" Per looked surprised but glad. "International fuss and whatever… Good. Carrow said… but she's a shady cow… Cas will like that!"

Anne paused and almost missed a step. "What did Flora say?"

The music stopped at the most inopportune time.

"Change partners!" – Professor Snape ordered them from the other side of the room.

"Don't worry about it," – Per smiled at her after bowing, notably relieved that their dance was over.

Anne worriedly looked around, but before Urquhart could return, Per waved Lucian Boyle closer, and the boy led Sophie to them so they could exchange partners.

"Good job, keeping it simple," – Anne remarked when the music started, and Lucian swirled them around Per and Sophie.

"Aye, we have each other's back," – he winked. "So what do you want, Rosier, an eight-minute chat or shaking it like a girl?"

Anne rolled her eyes. "No shaking, please!"

Lucian nodded. "Chat then. Did Per convince you to go with Cas?"

"Nimue! In cahoots much?"

"We all have our interests," – Lucian shrugged. "You and Borgin should pipe it down to avoid further gossip. Per would need some good-boy points with the olden names, and Warrington wants a shot, you know…"

"And what do you want?" – Anne asked.

Lucian grinned shyly, avoiding her eyes. "Have your guess," – he mumbled.

Anne sensed his unease and thought about Lucian's emotions and life for maybe the first time. Slytherin's boy queen had about as much chance to land a suitable date at school as an ice pop in Hell.

She said, "The best for us all would be to go like this. Like we are dancing now…"

"Now that would be my kind of guff," Lucian grinned, this time looking at her. "But wouldn't Warrington be gutted?"

Anne shrugged, and he nodded understandingly.

"I'll mention them a group date," – Lucian told her, bowing when the music finally stopped. Snape signalled for everyone to leave in an orderly manner… Gods, he looked awfully sick and tired of the whole endeavour, and it wasn't even The Ball yet!

Leaving through the large winged doors after a last warning about proper behaviour, most thanked the professor politely before stepping through the threshold or mumbling a hasty goodbye. However, when Anne raised her head, he avoided her eyes.

She'd never been more grateful for the reprieve at St. Mungo's. True, Bert asked her about Apprentice Scott when she had her round in the A-Room, and for some reason, Mediwizard Spleen required her presence at the Bugs Ward so she couldn't try to impress Sheambaum further. Still, all the politics of the hospital corridors couldn't make her one-tenth as uncomfortable as wizarding etiquette and house affairs.

The Slytherin upper years were the last to settle for dinner in the Great Hall, and she couldn't erase the voices of her housemates from her head… Flora's giggles, Hestia's snorted amusement when Higgs suggested something to her, which Anne missed because Sophie just overheard Lucian explaining the idea of a group date Warrington…. the way she looked at Anne and away toward the French boys made her feel chilly. But Sophie must have heard about the Carrows' gossiping, too; Per and the other boys were her year mates, after all!

Of course, Snape didn't bother to show up in the Great Hall, which really was a small mercy. Anne loved how she began looking at him as a friend these last few weeks. He behaved on the balcony like someone would with Effie. Like they weren't exactly at Hogwarts, but maybe casual acquaintances from Hogsmeade or two friendly strangers sharing a good spot for a beer and a fag by chance… he wasn't her Head of House, and she liked it that way. But if he watched through all the hassle about the ball that unavoidably dragged her back into house politics she desperately tried to avoid, she would again be just Anabella E. Rosier, who at least knew her name under pressure and caused him additional pains with her blasted abilities and Time-Turner!

Anne had reservations about going to this Ball in the first place. The oldest in the House were Shortwood and Norton, both over eighteen already and neither ready to date a grey mouse like she knew herself. However, she was older than either of them! Would it be fair or even decent to agree to a date with someone two or three years her junior without ever having the chance even to tell them? It was hard to admit, but one thing tempting in Warrington's idea was that he approached seventeen, the closest among the sixth years.

Anne walked through the Bugs Ward for one last time and nodded to herself with satisfaction when she found everything in order. At least there wasn't a problem or a case to solve this time. However, turning back time and returning to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade was different. It was tempting to ditch the late-night dorm talk and seek reassurance on the balcony instead; only she was afraid of facing herself in case of disappointment, which she would undoubtedly suffer if Snape weren't ready to comply and instead of a friend, he appeared more like a teacher or her House Head after he witnessed her in the ballroom in the afternoon.

It was silly. She shouldn't feel betrayed only by the thought of someone acting his station…. Anne sat on a rock by the tunnel entrance in Hogsmeade and looked up to the shadowy silhouette of the old castle, imagining she could see if someone was on the balcony at all… Shouldn't she be more of a realist? Depressingly, she found that Snape was right when he said he was an abysmal friend – at least for her. She didn't really care about unknown others, but in her case, she had to admit that he actually had a point. Perhaps not the one he made, but a point nonetheless.

Flora must have spewed the worst of her venom earlier because when Anne entered the dorm, she could only sense remnants of hostility, envy, malice, and strangely, astonishment and satisfaction. Hestia spread some magazines over her bed and was deeply immersed in dress robe patterns and fabric shades. Her sister played with the more delicate clothes they brought from home, trying to transfigure lace on one as Anne could gather, and neither gave them too much attention before she had a warm, calming shower and realised how tired she was after her shift. Yawning, she prepared to close her bed curtains when Flora decided to mention:

"No worries about breaking curfew witchling. I was about to tell on you, but Borgin says you weren't with the Beauxbatons, so… I guess we are good. I won't be the one who roughs up Snapey before the Ball."

Anne wondered what she meant, but she sensed no hostility, so she only nodded.

"Okay."

"Hey, that goes for you too, Rosier," – Hestia reminded. "You keep your end, too, or I don't care whatever came over Borgin, d'you hear me?"

Anne tried to clear her mind of the haze of sleepiness and peeked at Sophie through the breach between her curtains.

"What's my end?" – she asked.

"Flora gets to date with Romain, and Per takes out Hes," – Sophie summed up whatever they agreed upon in her absence. Recalling how the sixth-year boy called the Carrow girls cows just a few hours before, Anne wasn't sure it was such a brilliant idea, but she had sense enough to shrug and wait it out.

"Fine."

Seven hours of sleep didn't make it any clearer, but when Warrington asked her about the colour of her dress robe in the morning, she turned to Sophie by the Great Hall's breakfast table.

"You told Flora you agreed," – Sophie looked back at her as if she was the awkward one.

Her lingering hurt and ever-present anxiety that drove Anne mad this year rounded up with Cassius' hopes and discomfort as he waited for an answer. Anne thought about the perfect dress at Gladrags and at least calmed down the boy:

"Midnight blue, turquoise and silver linings."

"Cool, thanks," – Cas grinned and left with his pals.

"What the hell have I agreed to?" – Anne whispered to Sophie.

"That you don't care about Chad and won't be upset if she tried to… well, you know, she has plans for the big night," – Sophie pulled her lips to the side in distaste. "We are not to tell Snape if she ditches the dorm for the night or if her braindead sister leaves Per to join them instead."

Anne paused. "Didn't you have plans with… you know," – she gestured towards the floor, indicating the cave under the castle, and bore Sophie's outraged glance before she looked around, making sure they weren't overheard.

"Would you shut up?! I don't go around… that when the castle is full! D'you have any idea how everyone would be all over the place?"

"I didn't say anything," – Anne shushed back urgently, "I just didn't want you to be alone… I am willing to help you, Sophie! I don't need to agree or understand!"

She felt how her friend's emotions changed when she understood her. Sophie almost broke down in tears of relief, which finally assured her that at least this friendship she wasn't only imagining. After a few seconds of thinking, Sophie reached out and weaved her arms around Anne's shoulders.

"I missed you, witch!"

"I missed you too," – Anne admitted softly. "D'you want to feed the squid before classes?"

When Sophie nodded and stood up, she had her back at the high table, so she never saw Snape's eyebrows sliding up in silent question. However, Anne did. And she regretted the missed opportunity to involve him in whatever silly way the night before.