Harry Potter and the Perseus Castle

By Ahn Na Blue

Standard Disclaimer: We all know who owns Harry Potter. And we all know it isn’t me.

Chapter Five: The Yule Ball

Immediately after the announcement of the Yule Ball, the castle took on a semblance of the normal routine. Gossip was flying everywhere, particularly from the lips of Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, who were spreading information, founded and unfounded, through the school like they were generating Hogwarts’ version of the Daily Prophet. In all of that ‘who’s going with whom’ melee was the steady buzz surrounding the subject of Harry and Hermione, who had obviously broken up. When Lavender discovered that Hermione was going to the Ball with Ron, the steady buzz escalated to a dull roar.

The student body seemed to find this level of normalcy comforting. Boys with sweaty palms could be seen lingering in the hallways, waiting around for a particular girl that they intended to ask. Girls were often huddled in protective gaggles, tossing their heads prettily, then whispering to each other and giggling.

To Harry, this kind of normal was just as annoying as the tense hush that had occupied the school before the Ball announcement. He still got the stares, only now there were pointing fingers as well, and sniggers from most of the Slytherin boys, who had come up with a new rendition of “Weasley is Our King” just for the occasion of Ron stealing Harry’s girlfriend. Hermione didn’t seem to be faring too well either. She always bolted from the classroom the moment they were dismissed, her head bowed like she might ram through anything that got in her way.

The Yule Ball and Holiday Feast was in three days. Harry still hadn’t asked anyone. After his initial anger about Ron and Hermione had faded, he didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t even said anything to Ron, who was still acting as though they were best mates. Hermione wasn’t speaking to him.

Harry walked desolately down a deserted side corridor on the way to lunch. Just ahead of him, the corridor joined a main hallway, and a throng of students was rushing past. He’d have to merge into it in a few steps, and cringed at the thought of being so near the other students. What a change from years past, when he had rather enjoyed being popular and had loved being near his friends. He scuffed his shoes along the stone floor.

“Why in the world are you going with that Weasley anyway?!”

Harry’s head snapped up as he heard a sneering girl’s voice, just in time to see Hermione dart past him in the crowd, ducking low and trying her best to be invisible. Harry thought maybe he should lend her his cloak.

“I bet Harry dumped you, didn’t he? Can’t imagine he’d want to hang around very long, with you being so terribly ugly!”

Harry bristled. The voice belonged to Pansy Parkinson, a particularly nasty Slytherin. He opened his mouth to tell her off, when a red headed girl flew onto the scene. It was Ginny.

“Shut your fat mouth Parkinson!”

“Oooh, it’s Weasley number seven! Nice to see that you’ve inherited the family looks.” She crossed her arms across her chest. Harry noticed that Millicent Bulstrode, an enormous girl who had given Hermione a fair walloping during their second year, had emerged from the crowd to back Pansy up. Harry moved quickly to stand behind Ginny.

“Do you have a problem, Pansy?” he asked, startling Ginny as she realized he was there.

“Oh no Harry!” Pansy simpered. “Little Miss Weasley and I were just talking about poor Hermione, having to go with the Weasel after you dumped her…”

“Hermione doesn’t need your sympathy,” Harry spat.

“And she certainly doesn’t want it,” Ginny added wrathfully.

“Well, I suppose,” Pansy sighed. She was mean, but also cowardly, and didn’t have the nerve to continue her insults before the two of them. “I guess I’m just moody because I don’t have a date for the Ball yet,” she batted her thin eyelashes. “After all, with dear Draco off on this dangerous mission…”

“He wouldn’t have asked you anyway!” Ginny screamed, and then, as Pansy’s mouth flew open in enraged surprise: “Petrificus Totalus!” She threw a double full body bind at her and Millicent, who was making to charge. The two girls fell to the floor with distinct thuds, (one much more distinct than the other) and lay there powerless, their furious and frightened eyes bulging out of their heads.

“Nice,” Harry mused as they walked away towards the Great Hall.

“Learned that one from Hermione,” said Ginny proudly.

Harry smiled, then thought of something. “Hey Ginny, why don’t you come to the Ball with me this year?”

Ginny stopped in her tracks and looked down at her toes, obviously uncomfortable. Harry put on his best boyish smile, trying to win her over. It would be perfect, Ron would be weirded out, and Hermione might be a little jealous… and Ginny knew what was going on, so he wouldn’t be hurting her feelings.

“Come on, what do you say? You’re not going with anyone, are you?”

“I think I’ll probably go with Neville, as soon as he works up the courage to ask me.”

“Neville? Oh, right, sure. You two went together before right?” Harry was floundering awkwardly. He hadn’t thought she’d say no. The entire Ball was shaping up to be a nightmare. He’d be there alone, and Ron would be snuggling close to Hermione…

“Harry? Are you all right?”

“What?” Harry hadn’t noticed that his hands were balled into fists and he was shaking. “I’m fine. I’ll see you at lunch.” And then he pushed past her and stalked into the Great Hall.

Ron waved to him from the table, his plate already heaped with cheese soufflé. Harry hadn’t walked more than three steps toward him when he heard Professor McGonagall’s voice.

“Mr. Potter, you are to come with me at once!”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks and turned to her, his shoulders slumped. “You have got to be kidding me. I didn’t even make it to the table this time. Can I at least grab a sandwich first?”

****************************

Harry munched gloomily on his sandwich as he walked with Professor McGonagall to Dumbledore’s office. It was chicken salad and watercress. He had become extremely fond of that type of sandwich since Aunt Petunia had told him that it had been his mother’s favourite. Now Dobby made several of them every day at the midday meal. Harry stuffed the last bit of it into his mouth as he entered the room.

“Here he is, Headmaster,” Professor McGonagall said softly, and then gave Harry a little bow and left without meeting his eyes. Harry frowned. What had that little bow been for? He had never really seen Professor McGonagall stoop before. Part of him had just assumed that her spine was incapable of bending.

Despite the announcement, Dumbledore hadn’t turned to face him. The formidable wizard was standing before Fawkes’ perch, stroking the Phoenix, who had his head low and was chirping softly. Harry glanced at the large desk. Medusa’s Mirror laid upon it, face down. He was growing increasingly uncomfortable. Why was everyone acting so strangely? What had happened?

“Professor,” he said as politely as he could. “What’s going on?”

Dumbledore’s only response was a sigh.

Harry’s heart began to thump. Was it Lupin? Or Hagrid? They had yet to return to the castle. “Professor Dumbledore! What’s happening?” Harry heard the note of urgency in his own voice. He really hoped that Dumbledore would answer without riddles.

The gray-bearded wizard swished gracefully past him to sit behind his desk, motioning for Harry to sit as well. There was a particular weariness in the way that he walked.

“Every Auror in the Ministry’s service is en route to Hogwarts.”

“What? Every Auror?” Harry’s mind fought to digest the number.

“To stand against every Deatheater. We will need them all, and more.”

Harry felt a panic rise in his chest. It was a new panic, and yet familiar, because all his life (well, at least since he was eleven) he had known that it was coming.

“Lucius Malfoy has been captured,” Dumbledore continued. “I received a message from Professor Snape just before dawn. It seems that young Draco did not kill his father after all. Although,” he added wryly, “according to Severus, it is not for lack of trying.”

“They’re bringing him back,” Harry whispered. “He can get me into Perseus Castle.”

“That is what we hope. Professor Snape will administer the Veritaserum as soon as Lucius is safely inside the Dungeons.”

“How long do I have?” Harry asked levelly. This was his destiny; there was no running now, even if he had to physically hold his legs down to prevent them from running from the room, out of Hogwarts, and back to the Muggle-world. To any Muggle. Even the Dursleys. Even just Dudley.

“A few days,” Dumbledore replied solemnly.

Harry’s heart and stomach were doing somersaults. At this rate, not even Madam Pomfrey would be able to disentangle them. But the news was too fast. It wasn’t sinking in, that in a few short days, the war would be over, one way, or another. He would be facing Voldemort, the end at last, the chance to avenge his parents, and Sirius…but the chance to die as well. His mind raced over the text of the prophecy that he had memorized the moment he heard it, trying to find a loophole, a clue…

“Not only Aurors will be fighting, Harry.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“This is the final battle. It will require everyone who can be gathered, all of the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix, the champions from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.” He peered intently at Harry through his tiny spectacles. “And members of your own D.A.”

Their images flashed quickly into Harry’s mind. “No.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I wish it were not so. But it is necessary, I assure you.”

“If I had known what I was training them for, I never would have done it,” Harry said with surprising bitterness. “I only wanted them to be able to protect themselves.”

“And so they will. And in doing so, they will protect others.”

“But Professor. People are going to die!”

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment. “Your concern is never for yourself, Harry.”

Harry ignored the subtle compliment. “This is what you meant, isn’t it? When you said I wouldn’t be fighting alone? You knew all along that the D.A. would be there, and all of the Aurors.”

As Dumbledore nodded his gray beard shook. “Yes, Harry, I knew. Professor Trelawney had another of her rare, but very detailed, true visions. But that is not, exactly, what I meant when I said you were not alone.”

Harry didn’t have time to consider the riddle. He had only days to live. The initial feeling of panic was subsiding to a dull sadness. In a few days, people would die. Well, Harry thought, if I die, I’m taking Voldemort with me. He thought of being gone, of the things he would miss. “Hermione…”

“What, Harry?”

Harry’s eyes met Dumbledore’s with determination. “Hermione. You can’t let her fight.” Dumbledore looked unconvinced. Harry scrambled for an excuse. “What I mean is, she’s been studying field medicine with Madam Pomfrey. She’ll be much more useful tending to the wounded.” Please don’t put her in in danger, please don’t put her in danger…

“Hermione Granger is the leading member of the D.A. She is needed.” Dumbledore said, raising his eyebrows gently.

“I’ll lock her in a closet,” Harry said simply.

“Harry- she is needed. As is your friend Ronald Weasley.”

“No, not Ron either. I’ll break his wand, I swear it.” Harry’s mind was racing. At least Ron would have his parents there to look out for him. Hermione would be alone…he’d be fighting Voldemort…he wouldn’t be able to protect her. “Professor Dumbledore please! You’re the Headmaster of Hogwarts! You can keep them out of this!”

“I assure you I cannot,” Dumbledore said with sincere regret. “And I doubt very much that my forbidding it would keep them out of the fight, even if I had the authority. They are true Gryffindors, your friends, and-”

“I love her!” Harry half-shouted, and his mouth clapped shut after the words. For a moment his mouth twisted down and he felt like he might cry. Not in front of Dumbledore, he ordered himself.

But Dumbledore looked extremely pleased. Like he had been trying to coax exactly that response out of Harry in the first place. “Have you told her?”

Harry shook his head.

Dumbledore sighed. “Young love is never easy, Harry,…LOVE is never easy. I think that it will take three days for us to prepare…in that time, I strongly suggest that you make your peace…that you leave nothing to regret,” Dumbledore paused. Harry thought his voice sounded funny. Like he was trying to control his breath. “Well,” the old wizard said, straightening his hat and redirecting the subject. “For those three days, you are excused from all classes save for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Your other time will be spent honing your skills with Medusa’s Mirror. I have asked Professor Moody to help you.”

Harry looked at the mirror with some concern. Somehow, he didn’t feel connected to it. Dumbledore rose to his feet and handed it to him. Harry rose as well, then turned to go. Halfway to the passage, he turned back.

“Professor Dumbledore?”

“Yes Harry?”

“I just wanted to- I just wanted to thank you.” Harry tried to smile; he was sure it looked sheepish. “For always being there. For protecting me- for showing me this world.” Dumbledore was smiling sadly. “I want you to know, that it’s all worth it. I wouldn’t trade it. Not even if it did only last for seven years.”

“Do not resign yourself to death!”

Harry was surprised by the note of urgency in the Headmaster’s voice.

“You are the best hope for us all, Harry, and your parents would be so very proud of you.” Dumbledore straightened, and looked as commanding as Harry had ever seen him. “And I am proud of you. This is not an easy thing for me to do, sending you to fight, not easy at all-”

“But there’s no other way,” Harry finished for him. They looked at each other gravely, and then Harry took his leave.

*********************************

The next two days passed with a surreal pace. Harry spent most of his time practicing wielding Medusa’s Mirror with the help of Professor Moody. But no matter what they tried, he couldn’t get it to work. The mirror just sat in his hand, shimmering, and reflecting the image of him, Ron, and Hermione walking together and smiling. He couldn’t use the mirror to project the simplest of spells; he couldn’t even use it to make ‘lumos’ brighter. Trying his Patronus was a joke.

By the middle of the second day, Professor Moody was uttering words that Harry had never heard spoken by a professor.

“We only have one more bloody day!”

“One more day?” Harry asked, feeling the now extremely familiar panic rise above his exhaustion.

“Dumbledore’s prepared the Aurors. Knows the incantation. That ruddy Malfoy spit it out after one sip of Veritaserum.” Moody clenched his fists and shook them, cursing. “Medusa’s Mirror,” he spat. “What bloody useless-”

“Maybe there’s some kind of incantation we need to activate it,” Harry suggested hopefully.

Professor Moody just grumbled. His magical eye was spinning with rage as it surveyed the mirror. Then he stalked out of the room, shouting over his shoulder that he was going to put some of the staff to work researching.

Harry stared down at the mirror and fought the urge to break it. He needed it to face Voldemort. He needed it to win, to avenge his parents, and Sirius, and so many others. He needed it to save the world, and it refused to work.

“If only Hermione were here,” he whispered dismally. She would know what to do. She always knew what to do. Except that she didn’t even know that he was here.

Dumbledore had insisted that only select members of the student body be informed of the coming battle. A general announcement would be made after the Yule Ball, but until then, only those directly involved would be told. Therefore, Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, Parvati Patil, and Luna Lovegood were the only ones who knew.

Harry had asked to be the one to tell Ron and Hermione. But so far, he hadn’t. It wasn’t that he was trying to avoid them, he told himself. It was just that, he didn’t know what to say.

*************************************

The day of the Yule Ball dawned to find Harry crying soundlessly into his pillow. The strain was getting to him, and he was embarrassed about it. He had been in serious scrapes before, and it hadn’t made him cry. But this time, he carried the burden alone.

“Good morning, Harry,” Ron chimed, drawing back Harry’s bed curtains. Harry rolled away quickly and began discreetly wiping his eyes.

“Good morning, Ron. Ready for breakfast?” The affection in his voice was genuine. In the wake of the news, Harry was much less angry at everyone.

“What kind of question is that? You know I’m a bottomless pit. Why do you think I’m waking you?” Ron chuckled, and then stopped abruptly as he looked down at Harry’s bed. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

Embarrassed, Harry threw the blankets up over his tear-stained pillow. “Nothing.”

“Come on. Out with it. Haven’t you found a date for the Ball yet?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m going alone.”

Ron looked incredulous. “Harry Potter! Going alone?! What kind of ruddy plan is that? Just yesterday Parvati told me about six pretty Ravenclaws that wanted to go with you, and four stunning Hufflepuffs, not to mention any one of our own Gryffindors…” Ron leaned down. “She also mentioned a pretty Slytherin was interested, but you and I both know that there aren’t any pretty Slytherins!”

“Look Ron,” Harry snapped. “I’m going alone, and I’m fine with it.” I’m better than fine with it. That’s the way it should be, he thought, and his temper cooled with sadness.

Ron looked uncertain. “Are you sure, Harry? Is there- is there maybe something else going on?”

Harry looked up at his friend. There was definite fear in Ron’s voice. “No,” Harry said, forcing the smile that always convinced him. “Nothing. I’m just an awful moody prat this morning.”

“Well, then let’s get something in your gullet. Hermione’s probably already in the Great Hall.”

**************************

Harry managed to choke down a fried egg and a glass of juice. Ron was chattering away happily with Seamus Finnigan, and after some hushed whispers, decided to get up and go pull an exploding griddle cake prank on Parvati, Seamus’ girlfriend, who according to him, needed some cheering up. Harry didn’t think that her breakfast blowing up in her face would do the trick. He knew why she was upset. She would be standing in the ranks of an army tomorrow, scared to death that the aim of her stuns would be off.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered from across the table, where she had been observing the way he picked at his food. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re barely eating. Ron might be ‘the bottomless pit’, but you’re ‘the pit with the very very deep bottom’.”

Harry didn’t trust himself to look up at her. She’d see right through him. And he couldn’t tell her. Not yet. He wanted her to have one last night free, before she had to grow up.

“I’m still upset about you and Ron going to the Ball tonight.”

“No, that’s not it.”

Harry smiled, and hid it with his hand and another bite of egg. Why did she have to be such an adorable know-it-all? “Yes, that is it,” he tried to snap at her. “Why wouldn’t I be upset about it?”

Hermione blushed. “Well of course you’re upset about it. But that’s not what’s bothering you the most.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You haven’t been coming to all of your classes.”

Harry’s eyes watered. She had been watching for him. She hadn’t forgotten about him after all. He smiled sadly. He supposed he had never really thought that she had.

“Oh Harry,” she whispered, trying not to attract attention to them. The gossip mill was still in full production. “Please, please tell me.”

More than anything he wanted to. He wanted to break down and have her come to his side of the table so that he could lean on her, like he always did. He wanted her to hold his hand, and touch his face, and somehow make everything all right in that Hermione-way of hers. And she would do it. If only he would tell her. If only he would crack. He drew himself up and slugged down more juice, ready to leave, but she stood up, knocking her plate askew, and grabbed his hand.

The room went completely silent, so even her whispers couldn’t hide the conversation. All eyes were upon them as Harry stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.

Hermione’s eyes were searching, but Harry didn’t think that they looked scared. In fact, Harry thought that they looked mostly determined; determined to get whatever he was keeping from her out of him.

“Harry James Potter, I know that something has happened with that mirror, and you had better tell me what it is!” she hissed.

Harry grinned. He wanted to vanish the table that separated them, but instead, he did something he had never done before, and leaned close to kiss her on the cheek.

“Have a good time at the Ball tonight, Hermione,” he whispered. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ron watching intently, so he added, “And you too Ron! I’ll see you both there; I’m just going out flying, the wind is great, I’ll be out there all day!”

Ron quickly shook the jealous look off of his face and called out, “Okay Harry!” and waved. Harry waved back and left the Great Hall, hearing the room erupt with noisy speculations the moment he left.

Of course, he wasn’t actually going out on his Firebolt. He was going back to Professor Moody to practice with that blasted mirror. He glanced back at Ron and Hermione over his shoulder. Hermione was staring after him, and Ron was looking from him to her and back again. He waved one last time. Oh well, he thought. What they don’t know can’t hurt them. Not yet anyway.

********************************

The Yule Ball was to be a Ball to end all Balls. And it was, Harry thought as he walked in alone. Sprigs of Holly and Mistletoe hung suspended in midair, each accompanied by a candle that was enchanted to burn gold, or green, or a rich red. The air smelled crisp yet laced with spices. The ceiling shone only bright white stars, but along the walls danced the green and blue hues of the Aurora Borealis. And of course, large, cool snowflakes fell and melted without leaving a trace of water.

Harry stood in the crowd, wearing black dress robes and looking at the smiling faces around him. They looked blissful. They didn’t know. And Harry was glad for it. The dancing had not yet commenced, and the couples stood lining the floor, most hand in hand. Harry’s eyes lingered on the faces of Draco and Ginny, who were standing close by. He watched Parvati, and Neville and Luna, who had come together. Draco and Ginny’s faces were stone against the laughter of the rest. Parvati looked like she might cry. Neville looked like he might pass out. Even Luna’s dreamy gaze looked distracted.

Harry’s attention turned to the Head Table. Dumbledore was rising to his feet, and straightening his hat. The students immediately quieted.

“Students of the noble houses of Hogwarts,” he said, his voice strong like Harry would always remember it. “Students of Hufflepuff,” he said and for an instant the candles and the Aurora Borealis shimmered a vibrant yellow. “Students of Ravenclaw,” he said, and the colors changed to a bright blue. “Students of Slytherin,” caused green to appear. “Students of Gryffindor,” he said finally, waving his hand for a brilliant mix of red and gold. “Come together tonight at this Yule Ball not as members of a particular house. Nor as students of Hogwarts. But as witches. And wizards. And friends.” There was a sentimental murmur through the crowd as he paused. “To begin the night, I wish to request a very special dance. Would the following people please proceed to the dance floor for a traditional rendition of ‘the Midwinter Waltz’.”

As Dumbledore read the names he knew so well, Harry watched them file onto the dance floor. Not only students were called. Teachers too, joined Draco and Ginny, Neville and Luna, and Parvati and a befuddled Seamus, as the band began to play. The sight of Snape waltzing with Professor Sprout might have been enough to send Harry rolling on the ground laughing, if he hadn’t been rendered speechless by something else.

Dumbledore had called a final couple to the floor: Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

Harry had known she would look pretty. He had guessed that she would look beautiful. What he hadn’t counted on was her being absolutely breathtaking.

She was wearing a Muggle dress. It was a silvery dove grey, with matching evening gloves. It fit and flared in all the right places, and Harry silently thanked the Muggle seamstress who had made it. Silver jewelry sparkled at her wrists and throat. Her hair was piled in curls on top of her head.

Harry watched her dance awkwardly across the floor with Ron. He instinctively knew that it wouldn’t be that way if it were his arms she was in. He knew that they would fit together like to pieces of a puzzle, that they would drift and sway perfectly to the music without even listening to it. He knew that she would be laughing, and smiling, instead of making uncomfortable faces when Ron stepped on her toes.

“It would seem that young Draco is not Cinderella after all.”

Harry jumped. “Professor Dumbledore! How did you-”

“I am very quick for an old man, Harry. Though some are even quicker.” Dumbledore was looking at Draco and Ginny, dancing close, slower than the music.

“Yeah. I never saw that one coming,” Harry admitted, feeling very weird seeing the two of them together.

“Mr. Malfoy has seen something that he wanted. Something that was meant to be his. And he has taken it. He did not hesitate, he did not pay attention to the wills of others. And he won himself a girl who will stand by him. Come what may.”

Pretty lucky for a stupid git, Harry wanted to say, but when he looked back at Dumbledore, he noticed that the wizard wasn’t watching Draco and Ginny anymore, but was staring at Hermione and Ron. They were spinning close, and Harry thought he saw Hermione look at him longingly over Ron’s shoulder. Ron must have seen it too, because he quickly turned her around and whirled her to the other side of the floor.

“Hermione Granger, is the brightest witch of her age,” Dumbledore mused. “And you have not yet told her of the coming battle, like you said that you would.”

Harry blanched, embarrassed as Dumbledore went on. “She has grown to be a lovely girl. So different from when she first arrived, caring for nothing but books and studies…And Ronald Weasley is her very good friend…But I do not think that it is he that she wishes to dance with tonight.”

“I don’t know what I should do,” Harry said miserably, watching his girl dance with his best friend.

“I think I did a rather nice job, with this Ball,” Dumbledore mused, seeming to veer off topic. “The Aurora Borealis was a nice touch, don’t you think? And you know, you must try the punch. It has three different flavors; a different one each sip.” Dumbledore chuckled. “As for Miss Granger…I hesitate to use the phrase, ‘last chance’, but then, a very knowledgeable Muggle once said that every chance should be taken like it is your last.” He laid his hand onto Harry’s shoulder. “You know, Harry, I held this Ball for everyone. For some it will be a last celebration. Perhaps for many. But most of all, I held this Ball for you.” And then he turned and walked away through the crowd in a whisper of Christmas colored robes.

Harry looked out at the dancers with a mixture of inspiration and sadness. The Midwinter Waltz had faded into a new song, and most of the crowd was on the dance floor. Harry stared at Hermione, and she offered him a brave smile. Ron spun her away, and Harry could see his face going red as he talked angrily to her. Harry’s fists clenched.

As Ron and Hermione danced, she kept stealing glances towards where Harry was standing, and each time Ron got angrier and angrier, until he was more dragging her around than waltzing.

Finally, they walked off the dance floor, and Ron stuffed Hermione into a corner before heading past Harry towards the punch bowl. Harry could see silvery tears on her cheeks.

“Ron!” he growled, following him to the punch bowl.

“Oh, hey Harry,” Ron said as though nothing was going on. “Are you having a good time? What about that first dance, weird eh? What do you think that was all about? There were a lot of us from the D.A. out there.” He was scooping up two glasses of multicolor punch.

“Ron, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting some punch, mate, it’s bloody hot out there, even with the snowflakes falling.”

“I’m not surprised you’re overheated, with all the wrestling that’s going on!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hermione!” Harry half-shouted. Was Ron blind? “You’re making her cry!”

To Harry’s fury, Ron waved it off. “You know Hermione. She cries at the drop of a hat.” He turned from the punch bowl and looked out onto the dance floor. “But the one who’s going to be crying is that ferret-faced twit Malfoy! What does he think he’s doing dancing with my sister!?!”

Harry looked out at Ginny’s sad but smiling face. He hoped that Ron wouldn’t ruin the evening for her. But then, Ron didn’t know what was coming. He didn’t understand the importance of this last dance. And that, Harry supposed, was his fault. He should have told them sooner. Both of them. He had wanted them to have more time to be normal, to be unafraid, but he had also cost them time to come to terms, and make their peace. For all he knew, they’d never see each other again, after tomorrow.

Harry inhaled deeply. No more procrastinating. It was time. He turned purposefully to Ron and laid his hand on the taller boy’s shoulder. “Ron, you know you’re my best friend,” he said. “But you also know that I have to have a dance with her.” Ron started to sputter protests, so Harry poked him in the ribs with his half-concealed wand. “Don’t make me immobilize you.” Ron’s face turned red, and Harry walked across the dance floor to Hermione.

At first he was afraid she would turn away. He was scared that he’d get tongue-tied and wouldn’t be able to find the right words. But there was nothing to worry about.

“Forgive me,” he said simply, and held out his hand. She took it, and smiled, and he forgot the end of the world.

Harry had been right. They danced together lightly, perfectly, like they had been partners for years. He twirled her, then pulled her back in close to him, and she giggled.

“Harry,” she said with some surprise. “You’re a wonderful dancer!”

“I erm, I enchanted my shoes,” he lied, thinking back to a humiliating summer spent helping Dudley learn to tango (which of course he never did).

“That’s good thinking. I wish you’d told Ron about it; if I were wearing open-toed shoes, there’d be blood on this dance floor by now.” She smiled at him brightly. The music was slowing down, and he pulled her even closer, their cheeks just touching. He breathed in her perfume and realized that it was the one that Ron had gotten her for Christmas. Harry smiled. She was thoughtful; she had known that Ron would appreciate her wearing it.

“Hermione, there’s something I have to tell you.”

He felt her grow tense. “It’s not unpleasant, is it? Can’t it wait until the end of this song?”

He sighed. “All right.” Her waist was so small; he could almost fit his hands around it. And her arms felt so good, locked behind his neck. She was the reason he would fight tomorrow. No matter what other noble causes there were; she was the reason.

“You look amazing,” he said. “Better than amazing. I couldn’t breathe when I saw you tonight.” Harry’s own words surprised him. Where was the fumbling nervous boy with sweaty palms? Miles away from here, he thought with relief.

“It’s my mother’s dress,” she whispered with quiet pride.

“It’s lovely. But it’s not just the dress. It’s you.”

Hermione stopped dancing. Harry stepped back to look into her eyes. They were brimming with tears. Harry smiled. “Ron’s right. You do cry at the drop of a hat.”

Hermione cried and laughed. “Oh Harry…”

And then he did it. On the dance floor. In front of everyone. He leaned forward and kissed her, her lips cool and soft. The gentle pressure awakened him, and he thought for a moment that maybe he could tell her everything in that kiss, that she would just somehow know, like she often did. He opened her lips with his, trying to convey everything he felt in that instant.

And an instant was how long it lasted.

“Enough!” Ron yelled, causing the music to stop as he forced them apart. “Immobulus or no immobulus I’m not about to let you go kissing my date while I’m stuck at the punch bowl!”

“Ron, stop!” Hermione cried, grabbing his arm.

He whirled on her, shaking her off. “And you! Some date you are! Supposed to be here with me and you keep stealing bloody looks at him all night!”

“Ron, you don’t understand,” she pleaded.

The entire ball room was staring at them. Dumbledore was watching with particular interest.

“Don’t yell at her,” Harry growled.

Ron didn’t pay any attention. “What don’t I understand? I understand that you and Harry betrayed me! And then you took it all back, which was obviously a lie!”

“Of course it was a lie!” Harry interjected. “We lied for you, you great bloody git! We couldn’t bear to see you hurting.” The glare faltered on Ron’s face. “And then you go and stab me in the back. We broke it off so that we could all be friends again, not so you could have Hermione!”

Ron looked furious. “If I had my wand, I’d-”

“You’d what?” Harry challenged. The three of them were standing in a small circle of students. None of the teachers were seeking to intervene. Ginny was pleading with Draco to stop them, but he looked like he’d much rather enjoy the show.

The note in Harry’s voice sent Ron over the edge. He lunged forward, grabbing Harry’s robes and shaking him. But that was as far as he got, because Seamus and Neville (shouting “I’m Head Boy! I’m Head Boy! Stop it at once!”) grabbed him by the arms and hauled him off.

In the fray, Harry’s hand had gone to his wand, and there it rested, waiting to be drawn. The feel of it under his fingers and the knowledge that he had almost used it cooled his temper. This is Ron, he told himself calmly, as he watched his friend try to struggle free from Seamus and Neville. This is Ron Weasley, and I want to hex his legs off like he was a Malfoy…

“Hermione,” he said softly and let his hand fall away from his wand to be held out to her.

“Harry,” she said pleadingly, looking at him, then back at Ron, her hand lifting ever so slightly.

Come with me, he thought desperately. We have to have this night, even if we’ll have no others. “Hermione,” he said again.

“Don’t you go with him,” Ron warned, still being restrained.

She looked at Ron apologetically, and then reached out to Harry.

He gripped her tightly and they ran, listening to Ron’s shouts of ‘Stop!’, out the wide doors and through the halls, and then into the night.

***********************************************

Harry kept on running until they reached the lake and its protective covering of trees. They were both breathless, and shaking, and Hermione was clinging to him, so he kissed her quickly again and again like he hadn’t seen her in months. It was impossible for Harry to believe that for six years, she had held the key to this fire in him, and he had never known.

“Hermione,” he whispered her name, and heard his whispered back as they leaned against the rough bark of a tree. Dumbledore’s words at the Ball rang in his ears as he pulled back to look at her. Oh, she was beautiful. The moonlight danced across her gown as it danced across the ice of the lake, and a faint rosy glow could be seen on her cheeks. Their breath rose in fast, white puffs.

“Keep me warm, Harry,” Hermione said, smiling, and Harry enfolded her within his robes, shivering as her chilly hands came up to rest on his back. He looked into her bright eyes, then down at her lips, slightly parted. Dumbledore was right about last chances.

“I love you Hermione Granger.” He watched her and waited with bated breath, and her eyebrows rose and crinkled. She hadn’t expected that.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that?”

“Does that mean you want to say it back?” Harry asked hopefully.

Hermione kissed him slowly, rocking him back on his heels. “Of course I love you, Harry Potter.” Harry had the unique sensation of a boy at once on top of the world and at the end of it. He leaned his forehead against hers, kissed her again. Her nose felt very cold.

“We need to get somewhere warmer.”

“I could stay here forever,” she sighed.

Forever. Harry frowned. He couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to know. “Hermione-”

“What?” she asked with concern, noticing his expression.

He told her everything, everything he knew about the end that was coming, steadily and quickly. There was no need for pauses because she didn’t interrupt. She just absorbed it, and her arms tightened around him. He felt a great weight lifted as he told her the last bit.

“And I’m scared- I’m scared, Hermione. It doesn’t matter that I’ve known it was coming…”

“I know,” she whispered.

“I can’t make the mirror work. I’ve tried and tried, but I can’t do it…”

She didn’t say anything, for once Hermione Granger was completely without helpful suggestions, but reached out tentatively and traced her forefinger along his scar. She had never touched it before.

“I want you to get away from here,” he said simply. “Go back to your parents. Hide until everything is over.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, Harry.”

“Hermione-”

“No.”

There wouldn’t be any arguing with her; he could see that. Dumbledore was right again. She was a true Gryffindor. “We have to tell Ron.”

Hermione nodded. She was completely still in his arms. “But could we stay here for a little while longer?” Her voice was strong, but in the moonlight Harry could see a tear slip down her cheek.

Voldemort, Harry thought with sudden hatred. Why did it have to be tomorrow? Why couldn’t they have just one week, one trip to Hogsmeade on a proper date, one day to spend in each other’s arms. His scar burned even in the cold.

“It just doesn’t-” Hermione said, reading his mind, her breath finally hitching. “It just doesn’t seem quite fair, does it?” She was really starting to cry now, and truly Boggart-worthy images flew through Harry’s mind as he held her. If she died…He couldn’t lose her. Thoughts of his own death paled against the idea of being without her.

“Shh, I love you, I love you,” he whispered.

“But no matter how many times you say it,” Hermione said tearfully. “We can’t pack a lifetime into a couple of hours, can we?”

****************************************

In the midst of his commingled joy and pain, Harry didn’t notice the shrub to their right, full to the brim with a certain red-head, who had been listening, and who was crying as well…..

To be concluded….

AN: So nears the end. This one got a little long. Sorry about that. Thanks so much for reading. And for the reviews. Flames are welcome you know…as long as they’re tons of fun.