A Wizard Song

Chapter 16 - The Valentine Ball

By Telanu

       

Harry soon became surprised at how little sleep he needed to function normally.

The routine of his days had varied little, but his nights had changed: now, whenever he couldn't go down to Severus in the dungeons, he would invariably wait until everyone was asleep and slip out to the library, sneaking into the Restricted Section with a strange mixture of thrill and purpose. He'd stay there for hours, becoming completely absorbed in the reading, finally beginning to understand what Hermione liked so much about books. There was so much in them.

He couldn't help but wonder how much he was really getting out of his extracurricular studies. After all, the false Moody, in Harry's fourth year, had warned them that spells had to have power behind them. Harry could cast even Avada Kedavra, in theory -- but what had Crouch-Moody said? He wouldn't even have got a nosebleed. What was the good of learning all these shadowed, strange, wonderful spells if he couldn't cast them? It wasn't even as if he could practise -- Harry was pretty sure that Dumbledore would know if Harry went round the school at night casting Dark magic, and while he might tolerate an affair with a teacher (for whatever reason), he probably wouldn't be too understanding about this.

Well. Harry decided to just keep up with his studies and see what came of them. There was bound to come a time when he would get to stretch his wings and see if all this stuff really worked, if he could pass muster. Maybe he could even use some of what he'd learned when it came time to pass the N.E.W.Ts. McGonagall would ask him to transfigure something really complicated, like a pig into a silk purse, or vice versa, and he would incorporate that tricky Transformatis spell he'd memorised just last night. And she'd be so astonished, and so proud, and say, Clearly, Mr. Potter, we have all been overlooking your true talents -- you're good for so much more than Quidditch...wherever did you get that spell? And then he'd ace his Potions N.E.W.T, too, and Severus would be impressed, whether he wanted to be or not...he'd see Harry was -- was really an equal, after all.

But he only thought of this after he'd left the library: while he was there, incantations, spells, and recipes for elixirs and potions absorbed him completely. Invariably he would look up when the light from his Lumos spell began to dim, overshadowed by the thin light of dawn creeping in through the massive windows. He'd curse another night of lost sleep, and then hurry back to his own bed for another hour or two of rest -- and sometimes he'd get up and stumble through his day sleepily, explaining to the others that he'd had bad dreams, or couldn't fall asleep, or whatever. But more than once he rose that hour or so later, feeling unaccountably refreshed. He couldn't understand it. It was as if his body was adjusting, somehow, getting used to less and less sleep.

Maybe this was some weird thing that happened to wizards when they went through adolescence. After all, Severus never seemed to need much sleep, either, especially not when they were together. He might even understand about wanting to study Dark magic -- Sirius had once said Severus had known an awful lot about it in school, after all. And it would be nice to have somebody to talk with about the whole thing. Harry decided to ask him about it sometime, but whenever he went down to the dungeons he forgot to do so. It was hard to concentrate on strange or worrisome things while he was busy being happy. He was just getting used to how it felt again, after feeling empty and angry and sad for what seemed like forever, even if it had only been a few months.

Being happy with Severus was a strange thing. It was just odd to be happy when you were with someone who hardly ever said nice things about anything or anybody; strange to find contentment with a person who didn't seem as if he knew what contentment really was. But Harry was. Happy. Content. With Professor Snape. It felt different from before: now Harry knew what kind of troubles they faced, but he also knew what it would feel like if they were pulled apart again. It was the difference between your first match of Quidditch and your second one -- you set to the first one with a will, and you approached the second one with a bit more caution, even though you were still enthusiastic. Because you knew what it was like now. You knew how far it was from your broom to the ground.

So while his nights were occupied with either learning or love, his days were filled with friends, studies, Quidditch, just like always -- but they had a new savour to them now. Harry didn't approach each day as if it were an obstacle course to be overcome before the next, and then the next. He rather felt as if he was waking up after a long time spent asleep. Quidditch wasn't as all-consuming as it used to be, but it was still so exhilarating, still so wonderful to cut through the air, to catch the Snitch, to win. Even his classes seemed more interesting. They weren't teaching him what he really wanted to know -- he went in search of that himself after dark -- but there was so much to learn in them, all the same. And a lot of those complicated spells in the Restricted Section books seemed to build off the simpler forms of spells and charms he was learning in his classes. If he really wanted to be able to do them some day, he'd better pay attention right now -- it was hard, when what he really tended to do was spend every free moment thinking about Severus, but he had to try.

And he did. His professors took notice: McGonagall actually complimented him one day after class on his increased dedication, and said it was a pity he was probably starting too late to be Head Boy. But she was pleased he was finally following in his father's footsteps -- in the non-troublemaking things at least. Delacour took to smiling at him when they passed each other in the hall. Flitwick looked pleased as punch whenever Harry did well in Charms, but then, Flitwick spent a lot of time looking pleased as punch anyway.

Not all of his classes were similar success stories. He'd already been studying hard for Potions, and Severus always pretended not to notice, though Harry suspected he was secretly pleased. It was still hard to dredge up enthusiasm for Care of Magical Creatures, but Harry, along with Ron and Hermione, kept on gamely pretending. It seemed to be enough to content Hagrid, as it always had. And Divination would always be a complete loss.

For reasons he couldn't explain, Harry felt new. He felt alive. For the first time in ages. Maybe for the first time in his life. He felt as if...it was hard to explain...as if he was finally becoming the person he'd always wanted to be, that he always should have been. It was fantastic.

His professors weren't the only ones who noticed. Ron and Hermione were both surprised by Harry's sudden interest in his books: it was even enough to shock them out of the world they increasingly seemed to inhabit, a world in which they were the only people. Harry was more inclined to be forgiving about that now, though. When he was with Severus at night, he sometimes felt the same way -- that nothing existed beyond the bedroom door, and that it was best that way. He couldn't really blame Ron and Hermione for feeling like that.

Hermione, as Harry had expected, was thoroughly approving of his studious behaviour. Perhaps she thought Harry was finally, at long last, simply discovering the joy of books. Ron was more suspicious.

"Listen," he said to Harry one day in early February, "I have to ask -- why're you so happy lately?"

They were hanging about in the corridor after Charms, waiting for Hermione to come out when she'd finished asking Flitwick about possible extra credit work.

Harry said, "What's wrong with me being happy?"

"Nothing! Hermione and me have been worried, if you want to know, you've been so down lately -- it's just that this seems awfully sudden. And this thing with studying," Ron added in disgust. "You never did that before! Least, not if there wasn't a test coming. Sometimes not even then," he added, sounding nostalgic.

"There's that Charms test on Thursday," Harry offered weakly, but Ron wasn't buying it.

"Then why're you studying Transfiguration, too? We don't have another thing in there until March. You can't be worried about March!" Ron seemed scandalised by the very idea of anyone besides Hermione preparing for a test over a month in advance. "I mean, you've been studying Potions all year, God only knows why, but all this? I can't help but remember what you said in the library the other day -- about, what was it, not knowing enough? Come on...what's up?"

"Nothing, Ron," Harry tried to explain as honestly as he could. "I've just...perked up a bit, is all. I think the stuff I'm studying is interesting. It just sort of hit me that these are things I, well, I ought to know. And I like Transfiguration and Defence and Charms. All that stuff is kind of fun."

"Fun?" Ron looked downright horrified.

"Well, some of it," Harry defended himself. "Come on, Ron. It's not hurting anything. And I still don't study like Hermione does. I'm not like -- like Percy or anything!"

"You better not be," Ron said, drawing his brows together fiercely. "If you start talking about cauldron bottoms one day, Harry, so help me, I'm going to get all the lads and we're going to..." then he drew off, chuckling. Harry grinned. He couldn't see himself ever being interested in cauldron bottoms, either.

"I am glad you're feeling better," Ron admitted. "Is it, ah..." he seemed hesitant, "anything to do with George?"

Harry went blank for a minute. "George? Oh! Erm...what do you mean?"

"Don't be a prat," Ron said in exasperation. "Is it, you know, getting serious or anything? When I saw him last he said you two were still just 'having fun,' or whatever it is you tell people, but I just wanted to ask, because -- "

"Oh, Ron, no, I swear -- "

"Because," Ron finished doggedly, "if you do get serious...well...it's okay, I reckon. I just wanted to say."

Harry and Ron stared at each other mutely for a minute, each of them turning dull shades of red. "Well...er...we're not," Harry said after a bit, "but...er...thanks."

Ron nodded, looking unconvinced. "Just saying. That's all."

Thankfully, at that moment Hermione came out and rescued Harry, distracting Ron as she carelessly tossed her hair back over her shoulder. Ron seemed to like it when she did that. But Harry's respite didn't last long: the subject of George Weasley came up only ten minutes later, at lunch, when Professor Delacour stood up to make an announcement.

"Attention! Attention please!" she called pleasantly. Harry looked up at the head table, getting a jittery feeling in his stomach that he couldn't quite explain. It was quite justified a moment later, when she continued, "Thank you! I trust you are all remembering ze announcement Professor Dumblydorr made before ze Christmas holidays concerning ze Valentine Ball?" At her words, excited chattering broke out. She frowned, and clapped her hands imperiously, but it took Dumbledore tapping his spoon against his goblet to quiet things down. Delacour did not look very upset at this -- she seemed to rather enjoy the sensation her words had caused. "I am pleased to see you 'ave not forgotten. Professor McGonagall and I 'ave been very hard at work, during our own free time, to plan somezing zat will please you all!"

Ron and Harry looked at each other in horror. Whatever Delacour came up with, Harry was fairly certain he wouldn't find it very pleasing -- at least, not if the last ball he'd been to was any indication. He looked at McGonagall. She didn't look very happy either: her mouth was pursed again, as if she'd been sucking on a lemon, and her cheeks were oddly flushed. He looked back at Ron, who wore an expression of the profoundest despair and mouthed the words "Oh no" at Harry. Hermione had a bored expression on her face, but she was listening attentively.

"Some of you will remember ze lovely Yule Ball from two years ago," Delacour continued. "You will all be happy to know zat zere will be no restrictions of age zis time." High-pitched cheers from the younger students. Harry glanced at Severus and saw that he looked even more sour than usual. "Neverzeless ze usual rules will of course apply." She gave a small, stern frown. "Curfew will be extended, but you will all be expected to abide by it. In ze meantime -- you have two weeks to find an escort and woo zem to ze best of your abilities!"

Even more chattering broke out at that. Delacour waved her hands. "Escorts are not, of course, required," she added, and smiled kindly on a few pale-faced first year boys. Harry envied them. To his horror, she continued, "Of course, some of you have, ah, special friends who do not attend 'Ogwarts. The day of St. Valentine is not a day to be apart from your belle amie -- simply speak to Professor McGonagall or myself and we will determine if arrangements may be made."

Oh. George would surely be allowed. For a moment Harry considered simply going escort-less, as it seemed so much less complicated, but it would look strange if he didn't at least ask the boy who was supposed to be his significant other. And knowing George, he'd want to come. If only to cause trouble and raise eyebrows.

It might not be so bad. Harry no longer got the vaguely queasy feeling in his stomach when it came to Fred and George. Maybe it was because he was so happy himself he could afford to be more generous to other people. Maybe it was because he deliberately didn't let himself think about it, or think about how Fred and George, in turn, might view Harry's relationship with Severus. Whatever it was, it made his occasional "dates" with George much easier, if he just let himself forget why they were together and tried to have a good time. Having a good time was easy with George. The ball shouldn't be much of a problem in that respect. Unless -- Harry gulped -- George wanted to dance, or something awful like that...

Well, he would just tell George that there would be no dancing, that was all, Harry decided, and turned to look at Ron again. Ron still appeared to be suffering from some sort of abdominal discomfort.

"Well," Hermione said in a businesslike voice. "I'd forgotten all about the Ball -- I'll have to pick up a new robe in Hogsmeade this weekend, and some more of that Sleekeazy stuff. I'll ask Ginny if she wants to come with me."

Ron blinked, and his expression of discomfort vanished. Now he looked like someone who had just woken up after a long sleep. "O-oh yeah," he stuttered. When Hermione gave him a funny look, he added, "I mean, I'm sure she'll be happy to go, loves girl stuff, Ginny does."

But after lunch Ron pulled Harry aside. "I forgot how nice she looked after that last ball," he said, looking much less displeased at the prospect of going. "I wonder how girls know to do stuff like that?" He tugged in disgust at a red forelock. "I mean, no matter what I did, I wouldn't look any different, that's for certain."

"Doesn't sound so bad now?" Harry asked with a small grin.

"Reckon not," Ron said. "What'd Krum do when they went to the Yule Ball? Did he get her flowers or anything?" Ron looked anxious. "I can't afford much. I'd better ask Ginny what she thinks."

"You could get her a book," Harry suggested, only half-joking.

"Yeah -- but she's read everything already."

Ron did indeed ask Ginny for advice. She giggled at him, and then looked at Harry and blushed. Harry had never been relieved to see Ginny blush before -- it seemed to be a sign that things were finally getting back to normal, or at least that she'd forgiven him. She advised Ron to get Hermione a corsage -- "Flowers you can wear while you're dancing," she explained. "And then she can put a preservative charm on them and keep them forever, if she wants."

Ron would have done anything Ginny suggested at that point, including, Harry suspected, giving Hermione a dead flobberworm. He dragged Harry along to the florist's in Hogsmeade that weekend while Hermione and Ginny were out together. He frowned over the flowers. "Red? Or white? Or both -- pink? Does she like pink?" Ron looked puzzled. "Why don't I know if she likes pink?"

"You could ask her," Harry suggested, trying not to laugh. He wouldn't have to get George anything, he was fairly certain. He was absolutely certain Severus would want nothing to do with the holiday whatever. Neither did Harry. Well, except maybe for sex. But they did that anyway.

"Yeah, but Ginny said it was best as a surprise," Ron said, looking glum. He looked sideways at Harry, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "What do you think? I mean...you know..." his voice dropped into a mumble. "I mean, is it true? That...gay...blokes know all about flowers and colours and things?"

Harry blinked. "No," he said firmly. But, not wanting to sound unhelpful, he added, "They all look nice to me. Just get her something. She'll like it."

"Thought that counts?" Ron asked weakly, looking back at the flowers with a profoundly apprehensive expression.

Harry looked over his shoulder, and, to his dismay, saw the shop attendant heading their way with a distinctly avaricious expression. "Shop lady's coming," he hissed. "Just grab something -- quick!"

Ron's expression changed from apprehension to horror, and he grabbed blindly, seizing a corsage at random. It had cream-coloured flowers and a pink ribbon. Harry supposed it was as good as all the other ones. They made their escape to the counter, where a squat wizard sold the flowers to Ron without any comment or questions, to Ron's relief.

"A whole Galleon," Ron sighed as they left. "She better like them."

"Bet she does," Harry said. "Stop at Zonko's? I need to ask George if he wants to come."

Ron snorted. "If he wants to come? Just try to keep him away...the real trick will be to keep from letting Fred angle an invite too."

"Haha," Harry said, but he hadn't thought about Fred, who would no doubt be unhappy at spending Valentine's alone. But that was one of those things he didn't think about if he could help it.

George was minding the counter when Harry came in, surrounded by clamouring crowds of third year students who were trying to persuade him to sell them the fireworks that were only legal for sixth years and up. He shooed them off, eyeing Harry and Ron with a profoundly grateful expression. "Years ago, that was me and Fred," he said, eyeing the retreating backs of the dejected students. "We could charm our way into buying anything -- and now I just want to boot the lot of them out."

"How's business?" Ron asked.

"Doing briskly," George said, looking more enthusiastic. "Fred's made a run into London with Mr. Zonko. Leaving me by myself on a Hogsmeade weekend! So I can't talk long -- " A rowdy group of fourth-year Slytherins came into the shop. "Oi," George called, "put that down -- you break it, you pay for it -- "

"Serves you right," Ron said, grinning broadly, "after all the tricks you've pulled."

"Shut up, Ron," George said generously. "How're you, Harry?" He reached out and squeezed Harry's hand quickly, causing Ron to blush and the Slytherins to catcall.

"I'm good," Harry said, turning a little red himself and pulling his hand away as soon as it was polite. "Er -- I see you're busy -- I just wanted to ask you, there's going to be this ball at Hogwarts on Valentine's Day, and I wanted to see if you wanted to come, if they let you...I mean, I'm sure they'll let you...I'll ask McGonagall tonight..."

"Sounds good," George said distractedly, glaring at the Slytherins again. "I'll told you what I told that last group," he called at them, "you can't buy those until you're sixteen!"

"Ah...er...right. It starts at eight on Valentine's Day. Saturday, that is. Dress robes. I think there's a dinner too. You'll come up to the school?"

"Sure, sure, sounds like lots of fun," George said, and turned to flash Harry that irresistible grin. "We'll have a grand time. Be the best-looking pair of blokes there."

"Don't do anything gross," Ron said. They looked at him and he flushed. "I mean...sorry."

"Ron, I solemnly swear to do nothing with Harry that you would not do with Hermione," George said gravely, and Ron turned even redder.

Harry tried not to laugh. So much for Ron not caring if things got serious between him and George. Instead, he asked, trying to couch it in such a way that Ron wouldn't cotton on, "Are you working that night? Er...can Fred spare you?"

George looked at him in surprise. "Shop's closed on the night of Valentine's," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "And I won't be gone all night at the ball anyway, will I? But thanks for asking." This time, the smile reached his eyes.

Harry felt uncomfortable -- very uncomfortable. He didn't want George getting the wrong idea, like thinking Harry approved of him and Fred...well, it was too late to help it now, he supposed. It was just an arrangement. That was all. What Fred and George got up to was none of his business, he told himself again as he and Ron left the shop while George went over to scowl at the Slytherins.

"Got the flowers," Ron said, squinting into the distance as he tallied up the situation out loud. "I'll get Mum to let down my dress robes again...reckon that's all, don't you?"

"Sounds like," Harry agreed.

"Maybe it won't be so bad," Ron said, sounding a little more cheerful. "I mean -- I wouldn't mind dancing. If she wanted." The flush was back.

Harry wondered how far Ron and Hermione had gone together -- what did they get up to, when they went off alone? And what was it like with girls, anyway? But he didn't want to know enough to actually ask. Ron seemed pretty happy, anyway.

"You think George will want to dance?" he asked hesitantly. "I mean -- I don't like dancing."

Ron gave a one-shouldered shrug, plainly lost in thoughts of Hermione. Not that this was anything new, Harry thought in some irritation. "He's George," Ron said by way of explanation. "You don't want to, just tell him to piss off."

"Mm," Harry said, thinking the idea had some merit. "Looked like they were doing a brisk business in the flower shop," he added, changing the subject.

"Not surprised," Ron said. "Everybody's excited about this thing. I heard Dean's taking Lavender. Dunno about Seamus."

"What about Neville?" Harry asked curiously. It occurred to him that maybe love was the cause of Neville's unhappiness -- Harry knew all too well how that worked. Was that what Draco had been bothering him about, maybe mocking him? Maybe Neville still had feelings for Hermione or something. Harry didn't think it would be a good idea to mention this.

Ron snorted scornfully. "Neville? He won't get a date. Who'd have him? Nothing against him," he added quickly, "perfectly nice bloke -- but, well, you know how he is, Harry."

"So -- er -- Ginny's not -- going with him again?"

"Not so's I've heard," Ron said. He scowled. "Hermione said Ginny's got a date but she won't tell me who -- well, neither of them will. He better not try any funny stuff, whoever he is."

They didn't find out who Ginny's mystery date was that night; she blushed bright pink and told Ron that he was a gentleman (whoever "he" was) and to mind his own business (meaning Ron). And Harry, who hadn't been all that interested to start with, forgot all about it that night in bed with Severus. Of course, when they were in bed, he found himself forgetting about almost everything that went on outside the bedroom door anyway.

That night, after making a conscious decision and a concentrated effort, Harry swallowed. Severus, apparently sensing his intentions, gasped, got even harder, and made feeble efforts to move Harry's head from his groin. But Harry had had plenty of practice by now, and it didn't seem fair that Severus was always willing to do this for him, but not vice versa. So he just squeezed his eyes shut, swatted Severus' hands away, refused to budge, and drank the lot down. It tasted awful, and his nose stung and some of it dribbled out of his mouth, but for a first-timer hopefully he hadn't been too bad at it. And he was glad he'd already come, because it hadn't been conducive to turning him on, even with Severus' frankly awe-inspiring groan. He'd been too worried about getting it right.

Severus' body relaxed suddenly, and he loosened his grip on Harry's hair as he slumped back down on the mattress. He tugged weakly on Harry's arm, and Harry, deciding it would be impolite to spit on the bed, or even the floor, swallowed the last bit before crawling up the bed and kissing Severus, who lingered softly over his lips, tasting himself as he let his fingers drift up and down Harry's spine. Then Harry indulged himself by laying his head on Severus' chest. He liked it there, and Severus never seemed to mind, judging from the way he always petted Harry's hair.

"Well. What brought that on?" Severus asked archly after he'd got his breath back.

"Didn't seem fair," Harry yawned, and butted impatiently against Severus' fingers until they began scratching his head the way he liked best. "You always do."

"Mm."

"Was it okay?" Harry asked anxiously.

"Yes, thank you. You didn't seem to enjoy it very much."

Harry felt obscurely guilty. "I'll probably just have to get used to it, is all." But Severus, if the relaxed expression on his face was any indication, had apparently quite liked it. Harry was relieved. "You don't taste very nice," he added jokingly, feeling that it was safe to proceed. "Must be all those horrible potions."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Listen to yourself. One would think I spent ten hours a day doing nothing but drinking noxious mixtures. I assure you I do not personally sample every concoction I brew -- "

"Yeah, yeah, all right -- "

" -- especially not the toxic ones."

"Hmm," Harry sighed, and kissed Severus' chest to placate him. The fingers started up stroking again. "I bet I taste good. From all the butterbeer and pumpkin juice."

"I hate butterbeer and pumpkin juice."

"Some people," Harry yawned. Now that his jitters had gone, he was feeling a distinct sense of accomplishment, even though there was still an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Then he remembered something and felt himself tense up as the afterglow abruptly vanished. "Oh."

"Oh what?" Severus asked, sounding more than half-asleep himself.

"It's, er...this Valentine Ball thing."

Severus went a little tense too, perhaps from the tone of Harry's voice, and cracked one eye open.

"I, I have to take George Weasley." Harry bit his lip. "So, erm, don't get upset."

"I am not upset," Severus said, his tone much too even. His fingers had stopped moving in Harry's hair.

"Oh," Harry said in a small voice, fairly certain that he was going to be kicked out of bed at any moment. Ever since Christmas night, they had avoided all talk of Harry's arrangement with George, and just now Harry remembered why. Because Severus was absolutely impossible on the subject.

"After all," Severus continued, sounding as if he was gritting his teeth, "for once, one of your little encounters will take place in a well-chaperoned environment, and you had best tell your loathsome Lothario that if he thinks to try any of the amateurish pranks he got away with while he was a student -- "

"He won't," Harry assured Severus with more confidence than he really felt. Well, George undoubtedly remembered that awful confrontation with Snape in September -- maybe he'd listen to Harry, at least this once. "What's a Lothario?"

"Look it up, Potter," Severus grunted, tucked Harry in the crook of his arm, and closed his eyes. Harry could tell he wasn't about to fall asleep, but he wouldn't be willing to say another word about it either. He sighed, whispered, "Wake me up when it's time," and allowed his eyes to drift shut, knowing there was nothing he could do about it now.

       

Three days before the Ball, Ron's careful preparations hit a snag.

Hermione had been a bit off-temper for the past week or so. At first Harry and Ron had thought it was more to do with the fact that she had only made 98% on her Charms test: an all-time low. But when she became snappish with Ron in particular, they knew something was up. "Reckon she thinks I haven't done anything about this Ball thing," Ron said with a wink at Harry. "Well -- she'll be surprised!"

"Maybe you should tell her now," Harry suggested.

"Now? I was going to tell her on the night of the Ball, you prat -- I mean -- a girl would think that was romantic. Wouldn't she?" Ron suddenly looked anxious.

"Maybe you should tell her now," Harry repeated firmly. "Before she comes in to fuss at you about it and you have a big blow-up." He himself had done nothing at all about the Ball, besides making sure his dress robes didn't have any wrinkles this time, and making tentative, hopeful plans to go down to the dungeons when the whole ordeal was over so he could have some real fun.

"Yeah, I guess." Ron looked disheartened. "Ginny said it would be nice to surprise her and all, but I reckon you're right -- Hermione doesn't like being surprised very much."

They found her in the library after lunch, sitting with Ginny; Hermione was, predictably, doing extra-credit work to make up for her poor Charms marks, while Ginny appeared to be reading some sort of romance novel for witches: the woman on the cover was breathing very deeply and appeared to be on the verge of popping right out of her tightly-strung bodice. When Ginny saw Harry and Ron approaching, she blushed and put the book in her lap.

"Hi, Hermione," Ron said brightly, making sure to keep his voice down as he plopped into the chair nearest her.

"Hello, Ron," she said, her voice decidedly chilly, eyes fixed on her work.

Ron got right to the point. "Listen -- you don't have to worry -- everything's all taken care of."

She looked up from her parchment then, frowning. "What is?"

"The Valentine Ball," Ron said in some exasperation. "What else? I bet you thought I'd forgotten," he said with a grin, "but don't worry -- got my robes all fixed up, I got you flowers, I -- " he turned scarlet, "I even thought we could go for a walk in the garden if the weather's all right...I got some bottles of butterbeer, and I can nick a couple of those fancy goblets from the kitchen -- "

It all sounded pretty good to Harry, who tried not to snort at the idea of taking a moonlight stroll with George. Or Severus, for that matter. Who hated butterbeer...the thought threatened to pull him into the usual daydreams, but Hermione's sharp voice jolted him back into the moment.

"So you've thought of everything, have you?" she asked in a low, dangerous sort of way that rather reminded Harry of Severus, actually. Ron, plainly sensing he was in trouble, glanced to Harry and Ginny for help, but they looked as blank as he did.

"What did I forget?" he asked defensively. "You were taking care of your clothes and all, so I got the flowers, and I shouldn't look too bad, even next to you, thanks very much, and I thought you'd like a walk in the gardens -- "

"Ronald Weasley, you forgot to ASK ME TO THE BALL!"

Silence fell at the closest surrounding tables as everyone stopped studying to listen in. Madam Pince glared their way, looking a little shocked underneath the frown: Hermione had never raised her voice in the library before. Ginny's jaw dropped. So did Ron's, but he looked less horrified and more flabbergasted.

"Ask you?" he repeated faintly.

"Yes! Ask me! 'Hermione, want to go to the Ball?' You know, that sort of thing! Must have slipped your mind!"

"But -- but -- " Ron looked at Ginny pleadingly. "You never said -- "

"You didn't ask her?" Ginny said, sounding aghast.

"But she's -- Hermione, you're my girlfriend!" Ron hissed, ears going red, keenly conscious of all the interested listeners, some of whom were starting to titter. "Who else're you going to go with?"

Hermione didn't appear to care about the listeners, however. "Oh, and that means I'm to be taken for granted, does it?" she asked. "I'm a sure thing? Means I wouldn't like a nice invitation?"

"I -- but -- c'mon, Harry," Ron pleaded, "help me out -- "

"Yes, perfect example," Hermione said acidly. "Harry asked George, and they're dating, aren't they?"

"Leave me out of this," Harry said instantly. Personally, he couldn't see what Hermione was making so much fuss about, but he wasn't about to say that.

Ron, looking humiliated and angry, said, "Sorry I can't do anything right -- guess you don't want to go with such a lousy boyfriend -- too bad Neville's not around this time, or Krum -- "

"We are not talking about that again," Hermione snapped, got out of her chair and flounced out of the library. Ron didn't even seem to notice the hair-toss. Harry wondered, staring open-mouthed at Ginny, who stared back, when and why and how often Ron and Hermione still fought about Krum. Or Neville. Or both.

Ron was left staring in a very hostile way at all the tables around him, whose occupants were now openly watching. "What are you lot looking at?" he asked furiously. When they looked away, tittering again, he looked back at Harry and Ginny with an expression of profound suffering. "You never said anything about asking her!" he accused Ginny.

"I thought you could come up with that on your own!" she said.

"Yeah?" Ron asked, obviously in a temper. "Did your mystery date ask you on bended knee with chocolate and flowers and all that rot? 'Perfect gentleman,' was he?"

"He was," Ginny said hotly. "Justin was very polite, and he said -- " she clamped her lips shut and blushed beet red again.

Ron's jaw dropped. "Justin? Finch-Fletchley? From Hufflepuff?"

Ginny nodded mutely. Harry was about to say something along the lines of "nice fellow" when Ron continued, "How well do you know him? Is he a decent bloke? Does he, you know, try anything? How long has he been -- "

"Ron!" Ginny squeaked indignantly. "He's very nice, he helped me with an extra-credit problem in Arithmancy -- he's a year ahead, so he said he'd be happy to tutor me, and then he asked me to the Ball and he was very nice!"

"Of course he was nice," came a lazy, drawling voice from behind their table that instantly made Harry's back straighten. "Could sense a kindred spirit, couldn't he?"

Harry turned around, a snarl already forming, to see Draco Malfoy smirking down at all of them -- with a profoundly nervous-looking Neville Longbottom standing behind him, clutching three heavy books. Malfoy's own hands were in his pockets. Far from his wand, whispered a strange voice in Harry's head. Careless. Careless. And you didn't even hear him coming up behind you. Careless too.

"Who asked your opinion, Malfoy?" Ron spat. "What are you even talking about, anyway?"

"Well, Weasley, one couldn't quite help overhearing your lovers' spat," Malfoy said, still wearing that slappable smirk as he gestured around at the tables of listening students. "And then this business with Finch-Fletchley -- well, the Mudbloods obviously know where to go when they're desperate for company, that's all I'm saying." He raised a pale eyebrow and sneered at Ginny, who gasped, before turning back to Ron. "Although apparently even that insufferable Granger thinks she can do better than you -- "

Ron shot out of his chair, hand going for his wand, and excited chattering broke out all around them, but suddenly a loud BANG came from the other end of the library: Madam Pince had her wand in the air, the first time Harry could ever remember seeing her use it, and it was shooting out angry-looking red sparks. "Out!" she barked. "Out at once, before I bring this before the headmaster!"

"He's not worth it, Ron," Harry said, laying a restraining hand on Ron's arm. Besides...I get first crack at him later. Malfoy would regret every insult he'd ever made, some day. Soon.

"Let's just go," Ginny whispered, looking mortified, and ran out of the library, clutching her romance novel and not looking back.

Malfoy didn't look perturbed in the least. "Got those books, Longbottom?" he asked without looking around.

"Y-yes," Neville quavered.

"It appears we're not welcome here," Malfoy said with a sneer at the advancing, irate librarian. "Come on." He turned and strode out after Ginny. Neville turned to follow, but Harry caught his arm.

"What's going on?" he demanded. "Why're you carrying books for Malfoy?"

"No reason," Neville mumbled, not looking at him, but rather after Malfoy's retreating back. "We -- we're doing extra credit, for Potions. We're partners. You know. I have to go, Harry -- "

"Those are history books," Harry said, frowning at the thick tomes in Neville's arms.

"It's a history project for Potions!" Neville said, voice rising into that shrill pitch that made everybody wince. "Listen -- just -- just mind your own business for once!" And he wrenched his arm away from Harry's grip and hurried out of the room after Malfoy.

"Of all the," Ron began, but then seemed to realise that Madam Pince was nearly upon them. He quickly ushered Harry out of the library, ignoring the snickering and staring that followed them. "Of all the crazy stuff," he finished in a low voice once they were in the corridor. "I mean, Snape's been hard on them both, I...guess they would need extra credit," he said, sounding doubtful.

"Yeah," Harry said, resolving to ask Severus about it at the earliest opportunity. Say, that very night. "Maybe people will remember that, and not the thing with Hermione," he added hopefully.

Ron did not seem greatly cheered.

       

"Extra credit?" Severus frowned at Harry across the chessboard.

Harry shrugged as he considered his next move. He wasn't being as careful tonight, probably due to his curiosity about Malfoy and Neville. "That's what Neville told me."

"Harry, when, in all the years you have spent in my class, have you ever known me to give extra credit of any kind?"

"Never for any of us," Harry admitted. "People always thought you let the Slytherins have it on the sly, though." He moved a pawn.

"I would not give Draco Malfoy extra credit," Severus said stiffly, but Harry couldn't help noticing he didn't completely deny the charge. "And I have not. Whatever Malfoy and little-brained Longbottom are up to has nothing to do with me." He moved his rook. "If you have any brains, you won't let it have anything to do with you either."

Harry frowned at the board. He was going to lose this one. "But Neville's been acting so odd lately. And I caught Malfoy, I don't know, threatening him or something in the corridor -- I know something's up -- "

"Let it be," Severus said sharply. "Draco Malfoy may be young, but he is eminently capable of causing more trouble than he is worth. As for Longbottom, let him reap the consequences of his own actions, for once, instead of constantly leaping to his defence." When Harry glared at him, he added a touch more gently, "You are not responsible for the welfare of every Gryffindor student."

"I know," Harry said, staring down at the chessboard, and moving his queen half-heartedly.

Severus captured it so promptly that Harry winced. "Check. And if I thought you did know, I would be far more reassured."

       

Harry wasn't very reassured himself by Severus' words, but the events of the next day, two days before the Valentine's Ball, drove Neville and Malfoy right out of his head. Another letter arrived from Sirius.

Ron and Hermione forgot their quarrel long enough to lean eagerly across the table as Harry read the letter aloud at breakfast.

By the time he finished reading the letter, Harry was practically writhing with curiosity. What was Sirius' "mission?" Ron and Hermione looked equally on edge.

"It sounds dangerous," Hermione said, sounding troubled and giving Harry an unpleasant knot in his stomach.

"Cut it out," Ron said angrily. "He said it was going well, didn't he? Si -- Snuffles knows what he's doing. He'll be all right. Right, Harry?"

"I hope so," Harry muttered, tucking the letter inside his pocket.

Ron glared at Hermione. "What did you have to say that for? Snuffles will be fine."

"I never said he wouldn't," she said heatedly, "I just said it sounded dangerous! But I'm sure he knows how to handle himself in dangerous situations -- I'm sure he'll be very careful!" She glanced at Harry. "I didn't mean -- "

Harry tried a small smile. "I know you didn't. I'm sure you're right. He'll be fine."

"Look what you did," Ron said, scowling. "You know he worries about him -- why'd you have to -- "

Hermione went red and her eyes got bright. She stormed away from the table without a word. Ron looked down miserably at his plate and pushed his kippers around with his fork. Harry sighed in irritation; he didn't want to deal with this on top of everything else. "She still mad about the Ball?"

"Yeah," Ron said glumly. "Asking her. Of all the stupid...who else was she going to go with?"

"You could apologise anyway," Harry suggested, who knew from experience how much good that could do, even if you didn't really mean it. Especially if your lover tended to get a bit...prickly. Or prickish. Or both.

Ron looked outraged. "Apologise? I can't, Harry! It's the principle of the thing!"

"Fine," Harry said dryly. "Have a good time with your principles when you're dancing with your glass of punch on Saturday."

Ron left off outrage and went back to looking miserable again, but it appeared, to Harry at least, that he was giving the advice a good think.

       

Judging by the fact that Ron and Hermione were on perfectly good terms again on Friday afternoon, Harry decided, Ron ought to try thinking more often. It was just as well. He hadn't fancied having to watch them snipe at each other all the way through an event he didn't even want to attend in the first place. It seemed as if everyone else in the school was wildly excited: even Flitwick had set their Charms class to making singing flowers for the table centrepieces, which irritated Harry to no end. He'd been looking forward to the lesson on different kinds of immobilising charms and hexes, which would have proved immensely useful for his midnight studies. But Flitwick was something of an incurable romantic, as he explained to the class while he charmed a dozen-rose bouquet into singing "Un bel di vendrino" in a pleasing soprano for his wife. Ron charmed his bunch of carnations to sing a popular ballad by the Swinging Sorcerers, and it turned out Hermione did the exact same thing. Blushing and grinning at each other, they exchanged flowers while their classmates whooped and teased them; it seemed Ron didn't mind any more if people were "all talking" about their little romance.

Harry sighed heavily. Only this time last year Ron would have agreed with him that this was a dreadful exercise in soppiness. As for Harry, the only love songs he knew were the ones Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had danced to on their old Victrola when Dudley was upstairs sleeping and Harry was in his cupboard being kept awake by the racket. He wasn't about to pick one of those. Peevishly he decided on "Jingle Bells." At least Christmas was a proper holiday.

Severus, of course, had allowed no such nonsense in his class that morning -- they'd worked on their foul-smelling antivenin potions again, designed to keep poisons from going straight to the heart. Harry appreciated the irony (and was sure it was fully intentional), but he doubted anybody else noticed it, what with being all bug-eyed and swoony.

The day seemed to drag on interminably. It was even noisy in the library: Madam Pince appeared to have given up on repressing student chatter as students hunted for last-minute Entrancing Enchantments and legal alternatives to Love Potions. Every first-year girl in the school seemed to be wearing pink. Harry fled to the Quidditch pitch, where Imogene also appeared to be seeking refuge, and spent an enjoyable two hours trying to get practice Quaffles past her. It was nice to try out being something besides a Seeker, for once.

"Well, you don't have the bulk for Chaser," Imogene said with her usual brand of blunt good humour, "but not bad, Potter, really. Think I'll keep you on as Seeker, though."

"Thanks," Harry grinned. It had been fun -- but he couldn't picture ever playing Quidditch and not looking for the Golden Snitch. It felt like so much a part of who he was now.

But did he really want to stay that way? Wasn't he studying so he could be something more than a Quidditch player, a copy of his father, a boy with a scar?

Harry shook his head as he headed up to his dormitory, hoping to escape the hubbub for another hour or two. Thinking like that made his head hurt. He had another year before he had to make any permanent decisions -- no sense rushing things. In the meantime, George wasn't due to arrive until seven-thirty, so he might as well try to find some peace and quiet. As luck would have it, his dormitory was empty and he was able to get in some quality time with the latest book they were reading in Defence Against the Dark Arts, _Shadowed Past, Uncertain Future: What Do Ancient Dark Rituals Mean In the Now?_. It was interesting stuff, although to his frustration it didn't have much concrete information about how those rituals had actually been performed. But it had a decent bibliography and lots of the books it referenced were in the Restricted Section. That was a stroke of luck. He'd have to look them up soon.

At seven he had to put the book aside as the other boys came thundering back into the dormitory. "It's a madhouse out there!" Dean gasped, flopping back down on the bed. "I couldn't talk to Lavender all day, what with that gaggle round her!"

"You're smart, Harry, staying up here," Seamus agreed.

"Hermione and Ginny left to get ready two hours ago," Ron said, a tinge of wonder in his voice. "Anybody seen Neville?"

"Not all day," said Dean.

Seamus shrugged into his dress robes and ran a comb through his hair. "Reckon that does it for me," he grinned. "Anybody up for Exploding Snap?"

The four boys settled down to a game, which lasted until Ron looked up at the clock on Dean's nightstand and cursed. "Seven-thirty," he said. "George'll be waiting. You did ask McGonagall about him, right Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said, throwing on his own dress robes, neatly-pressed this time, and slipping out of his shoes into his dragonhide boots. "She said it was fine. Went a bit pink, actually, and almost smiled."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Fred and George could always get away with anything, even with her," he said. "Charm the clothes off your back, they can."

"Watch out for that, Harry," Dean leered. Seamus chuckled nervously and looked away. He still didn't seem very comfortable with the idea of one of his room-mates dating a man.

"No worries," Harry said dryly, and hurried downstairs. In truth, he hadn't actually spoken with George since inviting him to the ball -- he hoped George remembered. But when he arrived in the foyer, there was a very familiar grin waiting for him, topped off by flaming red hair.

People turned to stare at them as they met in the middle of the room, which irritated Harry. Hadn't they been in enough bloody _Prophet_ articles, hadn't they met enough times in Hogsmeade, that people would stop being so surprised by this? George had even told him, once, that he'd found a reporter lurking by the trash bins behind Zonko's in the hopes of catching Harry coming by to visit. Why did people care so much? Harry knew that they did, and that it could be used to advantage -- but he still couldn't see what was so interesting, exactly, about him dating George Weasley.

George, mindful of decorum (not to mention Harry's threats to hex him), bent and placed a perfectly chaste kiss of greeting on Harry's cheek. Aware of all the eyes on them, Harry blushed anyway and hoped Severus was nowhere around, and that he wouldn't hear about this. A couple of cheers and whoops went up. Ignoring them, Harry straightened, tried to make his blush die down, and said, "Hullo, George."

"Hi, yourself," George said, still grinning. He was looking round the foyer, obviously impressed: whoever had been responsible for the decoration -- Harry rather suspected Professor Delacour's personal hand -- had outdone themselves. Huge wreaths of real roses hung from the rafters overhead, and they smelled sweet, but not cloyingly so. Garlands of other flowers decorated all the enormous windows, and an enormous ice sculpture of Cupid stood by the entrance to the Great Hall, where people were already going in and out. "Not bad, Harry, not bad!"

"Er, yeah," Harry said, somewhat at a loss. The actual feast didn't start for another -- he checked his watch -- twenty-five minutes. "Ron's still upstairs -- you want to go say hi?"

George opened his mouth, apparently about to say yes, but no words emerged; instead his lips formed into the shape of an "O" and he went just the tiniest bit paler as he looked over Harry's shoulder. Harry winced and felt his heart drop into his stomach. The hairs on the back of his neck were prickling. Which only meant one thing.

He turned around to see Severus Snape bearing down on them, face like a thundercloud. Students around them either watched with sympathy or snickered. As for Harry, he couldn't help but notice that Severus was wearing those wonderfully soft dress robes again. His heart began to pound wildly, both from apprehension and...well. But what on earth was possessing Severus to confront him and George here in public?

"Erm," he said, confused, as Severus stopped in front of George. But the Potions master didn't even look at him. "Empty your pockets, Weasley," he barked. "This instant."

George looked indignant, his faint pallor fusing into a flush. "What?"

Severus' eyes narrowed as he bared his teeth in a very nasty smile. "Rules, Weasley, though I realise the concept may be somewhat foreign to you. Due to recent events in the outside world involving a Dark Lord -- perhaps you have heard of him? -- all outsiders invited to the Ball are to furnish proof that they are not carrying dangerous items, if so required. I'm requiring." George stared at him open-mouthed, and Snape's voice rose again. "Well? Are you deaf, boy?"

George's jaw had set and his eyes were bulging with anger, but he turned his pockets inside-out, to display a few bronze Knuts and a lint ball. Harry felt frozen and prayed that nothing worse than this was going to happen.

"Very well," Snape growled, looking a little disappointed that George's pockets held nothing incriminating. "Keep this in mind, Weasley -- you might have left this school, but I can damn well punish Potter for any little infraction you might be tempted to commit." He smirked, but his eyes were as cold and hard as glass. "I am sure you'd never intend to cause your beloved such pain and inconvenience." Harry fought not to roll his eyes, not overly bothered by the prospect of yet another detention in the dungeons.

"It's good to see you again, too, sir," George said in a low voice, through gritted teeth. "I hope you have as nice a time tonight as I'm planning to."

Harry closed his eyes in horror. They popped open again when he heard Snape's voice drop to a soft, deadly whisper: "Weasley, I know a spell that will break both a man's legs at a hundred paces. Just so you know. Have a lovely evening." He turned to glare at Harry, who stared gaping at them both, and said in a more audible voice, "Incidentally, Potter, anywhere beyond the foyer and the Great Hall itself is out-of-bounds for guests. I felt you should know. One would hate for you to find yourself in trouble yet again." Then he stormed off in a whirl of black.

As he left, Harry became aware again of the crowd watching them. He quickly tugged George towards a more empty patch of the foyer, muttering, "Come on."

As they stood together against the wall, apparently absorbed in each other and wary of listening ears, George muttered, "Real catch you've got there."

"Shut up. It's because of last time you saw him, in the hallway," Harry snapped. "You know that. Anyway, what did you have to go say that for? About having a nice time?"

"I am going to have a nice time tonight. Just not -- " George lowered his voice still further, "with you. Well, I expect I will have a nice time with you, but not like -- look -- is he always like that? Acting like he's your bloody keeper? I mean -- "

"No," lied Harry, not liking the direction the conversation was taking. Well, Severus was possessive. So was Harry, but George wouldn't understand that. Harry wouldn't like the idea of anyone making that sort of innuendo about Severus...nobody had better make that sort of innuendo!

And maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have someone who wanted to keep him. For once.

"There they are!"

Harry and George looked up to see Ron, Dean and Seamus descending on them, all decked out in dress robes. This was the first time Harry had seen Ron in dress robes since fourth year, when he'd ordered the twins to find their brother some new ones. These were dark blue. Much better than that maroon dress. At the moment he was wearing a big grin to go with them. "Hey, we don't clean up half bad, do we?"

"Some of us do better than half-bad," Dean said smugly, breaking away from the group to approach Lavender, who stood in a corner blushing and giggling with Parvati and Padma Patil.

"Not my cup of tea," Ron grunted, turning his eyes away from the girls. "You haven't seen Hermione yet, have you, Harry?"

"No, not yet," Harry said.

"Hi, Ron," George said. "Please calm down. You're embarrassing me. I mean, it's only been a couple of weeks since I've seen you."

"Shut up, George," Ron said affably. "How's Fred?"

"Fine, last I checked," George said. "He's at home, trying to work up a new exploding shamrock firecracker before Saint Patrick's Day."

"Really?" Seamus asked, interestedly.

"Yeah. Expect I'll get roped in when I get back -- he never can get the smells right when they combust."

"So they didn't stop you at the door, eh?" Ron asked with a grin. Harry winced, and George scowled, glaring towards the Great Hall where Severus had gone.

"Funny you should mention that," George said. "Good old Snape remembers me, apparently. Had me turn out my pockets the moment I got through the door."

Ron and Seamus were not appropriately sympathetic, choosing instead to roar with laughter. George scowled further. "It's not funny! What if I'd had something on me? One of my new inventions?"

"I'd be glad you had to get rid of it before you could use it on me," Ron said. "Could have been worse. Least you got to stay."

"With a proviso," George said.

"With a what?"

"If he breaks a rule, I get detention," Harry put in. "Not that this'll stop him, I expect."

"Oi!" George placed a hand over his heart and got a wounded expression on his face. "How could you suggest such a thing, Harry? How could you believe I'd betray my heart's truest love in such a fashion?" He seized one of Harry's hands and brought it to his chest to cover his own. "This is the holiday of love! Or...whatever. But truly, I am your humble servant, yea verily."

Harry blushed. So did Ron, who muttered, "C'mon, cut it out, George -- "

"Oh, look," Seamus said quickly, sounding very relieved, "there's Hermione, Ron! ...Wow."

Ron's head snapped up as if it was on a string. Descending the staircase from Gryffindor Tower, arm-in-arm, were Hermione and Ginny, laughing and chatting and looking not the least bit nervous -- unless you counted the blush on Ginny's cheeks. They looked splendid. Ron appeared stunned. Harry nudged him sharply in the back, and then he seemed to jerk back to life, tottering over to the stairs to offer Hermione his hand. Ginny looked approvingly at him and Harry suspected her coaching at work again.

"Y-you look very nice, Hermione," Ron stuttered.

Hermione gave him a very pretty smile. "Thank you, Ron. So do you."

Ron beamed. Ginny frowned at him. "Where are her flowers, Ron?"

Ron's smile disappeared to be replaced with a wide-eyed blush. "I forgot them!" he gasped, and barrelled right past the girls to bolt up the stairs to the tower. Next to Harry, George convulsed in silent laughter. Ginny sighed heavily, but Hermione only smiled and, Harry rather thought, went pink.

Ron re-appeared a few minutes later, panting slightly and clutching a box. "Here," he gasped, thrusting it at Hermione with little of the practised formality he'd shown earlier. Then he snatched the box back. "No, wait, I'll put them on you -- "

They were both very red now, but apparently unaware of the many eyes on them as Ron fumbled the corsage onto Hermione's wrist, tying the delicate satin bow with the greatest care, obviously terrified he'd drop the flowers. Hermione was beaming too. "They're lovely, Ron."

"Glad you like them," Ron mumbled.

In that moment it occurred to Harry, as clearly as if lightning had flashed: He really does love her. And she loves him.

A strange feeling occurred in his stomach just then. It wasn't quite jealousy and it wasn't quite happiness; it was neither; maybe it was both. But for a moment Harry wished, with a longing that was like pain, that he could look at Severus in public like that, and have nobody mind. Maybe Severus would even look back. There wouldn't be any flowers involved, of course.

He felt a hand on his arm, and looked up to see George watching him with sympathy in his gentle brown eyes. "Rough, isn't it?" he asked. Harry looked away.

Just then he heard Ginny's voice saying somewhat breathlessly, "Oh...hello, Justin."

Harry looked up, and saw Ron tear himself loose from his Hermione-induced daze to glare at the Hufflepuff boy, who looked very spruce and was wearing a shy smile as he offered Ginny a corsage of red flowers.

"Finch-Fletchley," Ron said tightly.

"Hm? Oh, hi, Ron," Justin said, looking away from Ginny with that same blank expression Ron had just been wearing. "How are you? Hi, Hermione, Harry -- oh, George Weasley, Ginny said you'd be here -- "

"H'lo," George said with a sunny smile. "Behave around my sister or I'll rip your nuts off."

Ginny squeaked and looked horrified. Justin blinked. "That goes double for me," Ron growled.

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said reprovingly. "I'm sure Justin will be a perfect gentlemen. Listen, they're calling people in -- it's time for the feast!"

Harry thought Justin looked rather glad to squire Ginny away, and understandably so, as George said to Ron, "Look, it can't go double for you, because he's only got two, and by the time I got through -- "

"Oh, shut up, George!"

Just like at the Yule Ball two years before, the five tables had been pushed as close to the walls as it was possible to get them without squashing people in order to make room for dancing. The floor in the middle was no longer stone, but a raised, shiny parquet. The long benches at the tables had been replaced with beautifully carved chairs with plush velvet cushions, making everyone feel very grown-up indeed. It was an unusually clear night outside, and the stars on the ceiling sparkled brightly and coldly, the view occasionally interrupted by an enormous hanging garland of roses, ivy and baby's breath. Harry was quite relieved to see that there were no singing dwarves, or yards of pink tulle, as there had been in his dreadful Valentine experience in second year. The draperies had all been replaced with long swathes of burgundy-coloured velvet, and white candles glowed softly from every chandelier without ever melting down.

The singing centrepieces, Harry was chagrined to notice, were in evidence at every table. Thankfully, the one nearest him and George was only singing some song in French in a pleasant tenor. To Harry's surprise, and somewhat to his embarrassment, George pulled out his chair for him and gave him his most charming smile when he sat down, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

"Let's just have a good time," George said in a low voice, "all right?" And his expression was so hopeful and good-natured that Harry couldn't help answering, "All right" in return, although he'd frankly been dreading tonight.

"I'm not dancing," he added.

"Sure, sure," George said agreeably, and poured some water from one of the nearby crystal pitchers into Harry's glass.

"Cor," Seamus said suddenly, his eyes riveted up on the head table.

Everyone had sat down now, and was looking up as Professor Delacour rose from her place at the head table to address them all. If she had looked beautiful over Christmas, she had outdone herself for Valentine's Day -- her hair fell in a waterfall down her back, over her soft white robes embroidered with silver. She'd left off her hat, and it made her eyes look even bigger. Next to her, on Dumbledore's right, McGonagall sat staring up at her with a rather blank expression on her face. Severus, Harry noticed, was at Dumbledore's left, instead of in his usual seat down by the end of the table, which was now occupied by Professor Sinistra. She was looking very grumpy about something.

"Welcome, welcome!" Delacour said, her smile lighting up the entire hall. "Welcome students, teachers, guests! As you can see, we 'ave worked very 'ard to bring zis event to you -- let us have some applause for Professor McGonagall, who was so 'elpful to me, and to Mister Filch, for putting up ze decorations. And, of course, for Professor Dumbledore, for giving us permission to host ze party!" She laughed, and the room erupted in applause. McGonagall's lips pursed.

Dumbledore, smiling himself, stood up. "Thank you, Professor Delacour," he said, and Delacour sat down. "I trust," Dumbledore said, addressing the students now, "that you all appreciate the great amount of hard work Professors Delacour and McGonagall, and Mr. Filch, have put into making this an enjoyable evening for you. I am certain you will reward them by being on your best behaviour all evening, and then perhaps we will be on our way to making this a new Hogwarts tradition!"

Delacour looked positively delighted. The rest of the staff seemed to be freezing their smiles in place.

Dumbledore spread his hands out benignly. "Now! Enough of my maudlin musings. Growing bodies will need their nourishment if they are to dance the night away. Let the feast begin!"

The food magically appeared on the plates. There were no menus as there had been at the Yule Ball: Harry supposed it was because there weren't any fancy foreign palates to appease this time, except for maybe Delacour herself. He enthusiastically loaded his plate with chicken, potatoes and salad greens.

"I've missed this," George said wistfully next to him, plucking a fat white roll out of the breadbasket. "Nobody does a feast like Hogwarts...tins of beans at the flat just aren't the same."

Remembering his manners, Harry poured George a generous glass of pumpkin juice. "Well, eat up, then," he said cheerfully, spirits rising fast at the smell of the delicious food. He hadn't realised how hungry he'd been. It was much easier to be optimistic about an evening on a full stomach.

The food was as delicious as ever. Looking around the table, Harry decided that almost everybody seemed to be having a splendid time. Ron and Hermione were whispering to each other between bites of food; Dean kept grinning at Lavender while she giggled; over at the Hufflepuff table, Ginny sat next to Justin and seemed to be in a perpetual blush. The tips of Justin's ears were red and he had a small, goofy smile on his face. Near the head of the Gryffindor table, Imogene was sitting quite close to -- Harry did a double-take -- Ellen Beers, and they looked very cosy together. The only person who didn't seem to be having a good time was Neville, who sat down at the end of the Gryffindor table, near the younger students who didn't have escorts. He kept staring down at his plate and picking at his food, refusing to talk even when his friends called down to him and invited him to join them.

"What's got into Neville?" George asked curiously, generously offering the last muffin in the basket to Harry.

Harry shrugged and refused the muffin. "He's in some mood lately. Nobody can figure it out."

"Huh," George said, and apparently lost interest, biting off a chunk of muffin. "So...what's the betting on my little brother stepping on Hermione's toes at least twice?"

"I think we can count on more than that," Harry grinned. "I hope they have enough bones in their feet left to take that walk in the garden," he added, beating down a faint pang of envy. All this mushy stuff was terrible, but going walking with someone you loved sounded nice.

George's eyes took on a strange gleam. "A walk in the garden, eh?" He asked thoughtfully. "Well...well." But when Harry pressed him about it, he would say no more.

Dinner drew to a close. At the end of the hall, on a raised platform near the double doors, the band started taking position: Delacour had engaged a group of witches called Daughters of Night, who were apparently very cutting-edge on the Wizarding Wireless Network these days. George's eyes got alarmingly round. "Daughters of Night?" he gasped. "I love them -- have you heard their latest, 'An Eye for an -- '"

"No," Harry said quickly. "Remember -- no dancing."

The music started. It was very...loud. And, Harry had to admit, rather catchy. Students were trickling timidly onto the dance floor, obviously wary of being the first ones out, but when Daughters of Night finished their first song and went on to the second -- which, judging from the cheers that went up, was a big hit -- people flooded out in pairs. Hermione dragged Ron behind her. He didn't seem to object too much, and soon they were lost in the throng.

George had to speak loudly to be heard over the music. "So why don't you like dancing?"

Harry hunched his shoulders. "I'm no good at it," he said. "I feel like an idiot."

"Why?" George asked reasonably. "It's not like anyone is looking at you."

"They were too," Harry reminded him crossly. "At the Yule Ball?"

"Ah. Scarred for life, were you? Well, this isn't the Yule Ball," George reminded him. "Whoops," he added as an enthusiastic pair of Hufflepuffs danced so closely to them that they almost fell into their laps. "Let's go over there, by that wall -- " He and Harry quickly vacated their chairs and manoeuvred themselves into a safer position where they could watch the whirl of bodies and listen to the music in peace.

George started off by tapping his foot in time, and soon began to move his body subtly. "Dancing is fun," he said a bit wistfully. "I dunno why you think you're a bad dancer, Harry, but I bet you're wrong -- you've got a bit of natural grace. Even on the ground." He winked.

"Not really," Harry muttered.

"Sure you do. I've seen you enough, haven't I? Don't try and pretend you can't keep up with me, I know you better..."

"No. I mean, I could probably keep up with you, but I'd be no..."

"Really?" George did a simple box step. "You can't take four steps? Some Quidditch player."

"Well, I suppose I could do that, but I don't see the -- "

"Come on, then! Just by the wall, by ourselves, so it's not real dancing. See?"

"All right -- if it'll shut you up -- "

"Not bad. Look, do it with me. See? We're practically dancing, aren't we? And most of this music doesn't even need real steps, you just kind of move however you feel like moving. Look at all those people out there, you see what I mean?"

"Well -- "

"Try it again, you're doing great."

"George..."

"Yes, that's it, good job, Harry. Pity you don't want to dance, you're so close! For example, if I put one of my hands here, and the other here, and you put your hands here and here, then I'd say -- away we go!"

"George!" Harry squawked, but it was too late. His partner had already swept him onto the floor and he was surrounded by a crush of moving bodies. George had been right about one thing: this wasn't like the Yule Ball at all. People seemed to be moving any old way they felt like, and nobody was even looking at anybody else, and he wasn't being steered around like a ship by Parvati Patil. George guided him gently, never taking his eyes from Harry's face, saying repeatedly, "Just right! You're doing great, Harry! I knew you'd be a good dancer!"

"I didn't want to dance!" Harry gasped.

"I know -- but it's not that bad, is it?" George gave him a rakish grin that, even now, Harry couldn't quite resist.

"I guess not," Harry admitted. "But you should have said."

"Maybe. But then I wouldn't have got to dance with you. Besides, I'd better enjoy it, before he breaks both my legs with that bastard spell of his."

George was looking over Harry's shoulder. He swung Harry around and Harry saw Severus staring from the head table, watching them both through the crowds, his face inscrutable. He sighed. "You just like stirring up trouble," he accused, as George swung him away again.

"Spice of life!" George replied cheerfully.

"I -- I don't think he'd really break your legs," Harry said hesitantly. "Not in public, anyway."

"Best make myself scarce after this thing is over, eh?" George winked. "What say you give us a nice little shimmy? Just to make it worth your while? Won't do to let him take you for granted."

"Er...no thanks," Harry said. He didn't fancy the idea of doing any kind of "shimmy" with George Weasley, whatever that was, and he was a little unsettled at how casually George was referring to the whole business with Severus. As if he didn't think it was shameful, or even odd, at all. Well, when you were sleeping with your own twin --

Harry shied away from that thought quickly. "Can we stop now? I'm thirsty," he lied.

George looked vaguely disappointed, but he agreed, and they made their way to the punch bowl. Harry tried not to look over at Severus, but couldn't help himself. His lover's eyes were still fixed unnervingly on him, but at Harry's gaze, they turned away. Harry tried not to wince. He wished he could...could wink at Severus, or something. Maybe George was right. It wasn't good to be that possessive, was it? Severus had to know that Harry wasn't really interested in George. Didn't he? He couldn't think that just dancing with somebody else was a crime. Could he?

The fast song came to an end, and Daughters of Night segued into a slow, melodic ballad. Several couples left the floor then, looking embarrassed, as did the people who had been dancing in groups as opposed to pairs. Sipping at his glass of punch, Harry watched with some amusement as Dumbledore rose from his seat and took McGonagall's hand, leading her onto the dance floor, students parting before them like the Red Sea as they began to waltz in easy, elegant circles. They had obviously danced together many times before. The remaining students started dancing with their partners, many struggling not to trip over themselves, watching Dumbledore and McGonagall with envy. Some people applauded, most noticeably Hagrid, who hadn't moved from the head table and seemed to have had quite a lot of wine. Harry couldn't help grinning when he noticed that Ron and Hermione were still out there, doing a rather awkward shuffle together and looking acutely embarrassed.

"Oh, wow," George said suddenly, "would you look at that!"

Harry, thinking he was watching Dumbledore and McGonagall as well, glanced up at George -- and saw that his eyes were fixed on the teacher's table, where Severus Snape was bowing stiffly to Professor Delacour and offering her his hand. She gave him a charming smile, though she looked surprised, and rose gracefully to her feet, taking his hand in hers.

Harry blinked.

Students everywhere were whispering and pointing, but Severus and Delacour seemed oblivious as they entered the dancing crowd, waltzing in much the same manner as Dumbledore and McGonagall, if more formally. There was a perfectly proper distance between their bodies. Severus' hand was placed in an absolutely correct position on Delacour's waist.

Harry realised how mistaken he'd been. Obviously, dancing with somebody else was a crime. Dancing -- talking and almost-smiling -- touching --

George elbowed him sharply. "You're staring," he muttered.

Harry tore his gaze away and stared blindly into his punch, aware that his heart was hammering in his chest and that his hands were clenching around his glass. Delacour was graceful, and beautiful, and she was allowed to dance with Severus in front of everybody and no one would mind, even if they did think it was strange. And Severus danced gracefully too. Harry wondered why he found that surprising.

"Bit of the green-eyed monster, eh?" George asked knowingly. "What say you and I go out there and -- "

"No," Harry snapped. "I don't want to -- to play games." Not with Severus. It was just a dance. That was all. There was no need to feel like this, no need to feel as if someone were pricking his skin with hot little pins all over, while his heart sat sick and heavy in his chest. Just a dance.

"Well, we should do just one slow dance," George said briskly. "It'll look odd otherwise. Promise I'll behave."

"Fine," Harry said through his teeth. "But not this one." He wasn't going to be seen twirling around like a fool on the same dance floor as Severus and Delacour.

Trying to take his mind off it, he looked at the other couples on the floor. Ron and Hermione were still working on their ungainly two-step, but looked as if they were having an easier time of it now. Ginny and Justin were dancing on the edge of the crowd, looking into each others' faces, Justin still wearing that shy smile, Ginny still blushing. Malfoy was dancing with Pansy Parkinson, his steps rigid and correct, his facial expression one of extreme boredom. Pansy didn't look happy, precisely, but she did look determined. Too bad she never applied that drive when she was Harry's Potions partner. McGonagall and Dumbledore also appeared to be watching Severus and Delacour; McGonagall's expression was rather shocked, while Dumbledore looked the slightest bit amused. At one point, Harry saw, Delacour looked over at McGonagall and gave her an angelic smile.

Looking over at the Gryffindor table, Harry saw Neville sitting down by himself, looking oblivious to Dean and Lavender sitting together only a few chairs away. He appeared to be watching Adrian Nott dancing with Blaise Zabini. Deciding that he was as good a distraction as any, Harry nudged George and said, "Let's go and cheer up Neville."

"All right," George agreed. They began to make their way towards the table around the edge of the dance floor, trying not to bump into anyone. Neville, however, looked up and saw them coming. He quickly got to his feet and left the Great Hall without stopping to speak to anyone.

George stopped, frowning. "That was weird," he said.

"I told you," Harry said resignedly. "He's hardly talking to anybody any more. Ever since," he frowned, "ever since that article about me in the _Daily Prophet_ came out, back in September." Which, now that he thought about it, seemed odd. To say the least.

"Neville's always been a bit of a strange bird," George said carelessly, sitting down in an empty chair. "Even when Fred and I hadn't turned him into a canary."

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, grinning in spite of himself as he remembered. "That was funny..."

The next several minutes passed in conversation. When the slow song finally ended, after what felt like years, Harry kept a weather eye on Snape and Delacour as they left the floor. Snape bowed to her again once they'd reached the edge of the parquet, led her to her seat, and then took his own without saying a word. She appeared flushed from the dancing, but unruffled. Harry tried to slow his heartbeat again and tried to pay attention to what George was saying about the possibility of going on a joint venture with Honeydukes' and putting Ton-Tongue Toffees on the market for the first time.

He managed to keep up gamely enough all the way through the next two songs, which were quite a bit faster, and which produced some very funny moves from the people on the dance floor. Ron was jerking around like a puppet out of control. Hermione looked as if she was trying not to laugh at him, and Harry and George had to stop talking more than once to have a good chuckle at Ron's expense. It made Harry feel a little better, and when the next song came on, another slow one, his stomach felt more settled.

George stood up. "Might as well be this one," he said.

"Yeah, okay," Harry said, and followed him onto the dance floor.

George put one hand on Harry's shoulder, and another on his waist, just as he had done before, but it felt more intimate somehow. Probably because they were moving much more slowly. "Stand a little closer," George advised. "Not too close, if you don't want. Now we don't even have to do any steps -- we can just sort of circle around each other, if you like."

This was much more to Harry's way of thinking, even though he was bored and apprehensive all at once. The back of his neck was prickling again, and he knew Severus was watching them. He decided not to look up at the head table; someone might catch them staring at each other, and anyway, it would be better to appear totally engrossed in his own date. At the same time, he felt a little awkward staring right into George's face, only a few inches from his own. Maybe he could look at George's shoulder instead.

After a few minutes, he began to relax. The three women on the stage certainly had a way with their instruments, and the lead singer had a lovely voice. Perhaps he should listen to the wireless more often. He stopped paying attention to the dancing, to George's shoulder, to the pricklings of his neck, and let himself drift away on the music.

"This is the one I was telling you about," George whispered. "They're playing it all the time on the wireless now."

Harry felt a shudder running through his body. "It's creepy," he said.

"Yeah, but it's cool," George said. "Fred loves the melody, can't stop humming it."

"It is kind of cool," Harry admitted, but he shuddered again. Maybe he was cold, even though it was quite warm in the Hall. He moved in a little closer to George, feeling reassured by the presence of another person, even though he wished it was Severus instead.

...Didn't he?

Harry thought for a moment, looking around at the other dancing couples. Hermione was resting her head on Ron's shoulder, and Ron's eyes were almost closed. He saw Imogene and Ellen dancing for the first time, gazing into each others' eyes and wearing very soppy expressions he'd never seen on the pitch. Everyone dancing out in the open, everyone having a good time. Even he'd been having a good time, he was shocked to realise, except for that moment of jealousy. George had been funny, and nice, and -- and normal. He knew how to talk to people, how to tease, how to laugh. He didn't have a mysterious, shadowed past full of pain. They hadn't spent years hating each other. Harry didn't have to pick his words with George for fear of offending, didn't have to care that the whole school could see them dancing together, looking at each other.

Was this what it was like to have a normal relationship? Where he could just be himself and not worry about hiding anything? He tried to ignore the idea, feeling vaguely disloyal to Severus for even considering it, but the sensation didn't go away: the sensation that, just for once, maybe he could do something like other people did...

"What are you thinking about?" George asked quietly.

Harry started, and saw that George was watching him, his expression gentle and unwontedly solemn. It was such a change from his usual mischief that Harry found himself blurting out the truth. "What life would be like -- if things were really like this," he stammered. "Open, I mean. If we didn't have to be scared."

"Me, too," George said.

Harry stared at him, wondering if he'd heard wrong.

"Me, too," George repeated, looking more solemn than ever. "I feel like a rotter for even thinking about it. But do you know how long it's been since I've had a good time just dancing with somebody? I mean...I could kiss you in public and nobody would care. Except maybe for Mum, who would say it wasn't gentleman-like."

"Yeah," Harry whispered.

"And -- and -- Merlin. I do like you, Harry. I like you an awful lot. I don't feel for you the same way I do for Fred, nowhere near, but sometimes in the dead of night -- I'm awake, and I can't stop thinking about all the people who can go walking down the street holding hands -- "

"I know," Harry said, feeling the heavy feeling return to his heart. "Or...or waltz."

George swallowed hard. "And then I catch myself thinking -- don't be angry, please, Harry -- that you deserve so much better than you've got. Not just...him, but all of it, and I wish I could make things better for you, and then there's Fred and I realise what I'm thinking and I feel horrible."

Harry swallowed too, and went back to looking at George's shoulder, some part of him registering that the back of his neck was prickling again. "Then we'd better not think about it," he mumbled. But how many times had he thought the same thing? That George was such a nice bloke, and could -- should -- do better than shagging his own twin brother? Why should George be thinking anything different about Harry?

We know what it's like to love someone you're not supposed to.

Harry sighed heavily. It all came down to that, didn't it? They could wish all they liked, but at the end of the day, that's where things stood.

"I suppose you're right," George said, pulling Harry out of his reverie. The song was drawing to a close.

A long, wailing guitar riff split the air, and the singer's voice rose to a crescendo on the last word. When it was over, the crowd applauded, and the dancers separated. Harry looked over to see Ron whispering something to Hermione. She smiled up at him, and they left the floor, looking rather furtive.

"Hello," George said, sounding much like his old self as he watched them leave. "And where are they off to, then?"

"That walk in the gardens?" Harry suggested absent-mindedly as they made their way to the sidelines. "Maybe that's it."

"Maybe." A gleam was appearing in George's eye, a gleam Harry knew all too well. "Gardens nice this time of night, are they?"

"What are you thinking?" Harry asked suspiciously.

George was indeed sounding in much better spirits as he turned around so that his body was facing away from the high table. He turned up the loose cuff of his left sleeve to show Harry a secret pocket sewn inside. "I didn't empty all my pockets for Snape," he said with a smirk. "Ron was scared I'd use my latest invention on him. Very bright boy. Want to help make my brother's Valentine's Day memorable?"

"Miserable, you mean," Harry said. "C'mon, let them go."

George shook his head. "I'm sorry, Harry, but even true love cannot stay my hand," he pronounced grandly. Harry rolled his eyes. "A brother's duty must come first. Are you in or not?"

"What are you going to do?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out."

"Then I'm out," Harry said. "When Ron comes charging up to me, I want to be able to say I had nothing to do with it."

"I'll even tell him you tried to stop me," George said. "Of course -- you failed. Have a glass of punch or something. Be right back!"

Harry watched him go with mixed feelings of apprehension and amusement. Well...maybe "normal" was too strong a description for George after all.

A glass of punch didn't seem like a bad idea, though. Skirting along the wall to avoid bumping into people, and thinking perhaps he would find Seamus, Harry made his way toward the punch table.

Then, as he left the shelter of the wall and passed by one of the Great Hall's side doors, a hand seized his shoulder, and before he could even think to cry out, Harry felt himself being hauled through the door and into a small corridor.

He reacted without conscious thought. He didn't yell, which probably would have been the smart thing to do, but his wand was in his hand before he even realised it. Just then, though, his brain kicked in and he saw that the hand on his shoulder belonged to Severus. What on earth did he think he was doing, snatching Harry away from the Ball, when anybody could have seen -- when for all Harry knew, anybody had --

A door opened and then shut before Harry realised Severus had dragged him into a small, empty room that seemed to be filled primarily with vases of various sizes. Harry had a brief, semi-hysterical flashback to Dumbledore's story about the mysterious room filled with chamber pots before he whirled on Severus, who stood with his back to the door, staring at him. There was a moment of silence as Harry tucked his wand back in his robes, breathing heavily.

"Having a pleasant time, are we?" Severus rasped.

Oh, like that, was it? Harry's eyes narrowed as he remembered Severus waltzing with Professor Delacour in precise, graceful circles. "Yeah," he said. "You are too, by the look of it."

"He's getting too close to you," Severus said, taking a step closer, "when he stands -- when he dances -- "

"Least I have a reason for dancing with him," Harry snapped, stepping forward himself, "least I have an excuse -- "

"An excuse," Severus spat. "All those protestations of 'just friends' to the _Prophet_ -- all those chaste kisses on the cheek -- all that talk of how you don't like dancing, and you had an excuse, you had a 'reason'?"

"I don't believe you!" Harry said, visions of Severus and Delacour whirling relentlessly in his head, refusing to leave his mind. "I don't believe you, dragging me in here when anyone could see, and yelling at me, and you, you dancing with her -- with HER -- " Delacour, elegant and veela-perfect and just old enough --

Without warning, Harry launched himself at Severus, who staggered backwards into the door at the impact. He grunted, but Harry didn't notice, as he was far too busy mashing his mouth against Severus', forgetful of technique and intent only on imprinting himself, making Severus know he was there, and that it was him, just him.

Mine, he thought, as Severus snarled and kissed back hungrily, you're mine -- you're MINE! Nobody else mattered in here, none of them, not Delacour, not George, not Ron or Hermione or Malfoy. There was only Severus, and his hands gripping tightly at Harry's bum, his mouth kissing Harry's so violently that Harry knew there would be bruises, Harry giving back as good as he got.

He tore their mouths apart. "No more dancing with her," he managed, not sure where the well-spring of possessive anger was coming from, but flowing with it. "Or anyone else. No!"

"Nor you, then," Severus said, "with him," and it was Harry's turn to be pressed against the door while Severus kissed him feverishly again. Harry felt his cock swell, and he moaned. Oh, he wanted. But they couldn't, not here. Severus seemed to come to the same realisation, as he pulled his mouth away with a groan. Gasping, Harry rested his head on Severus' shoulder, feeling the rage drain out of him as quickly as it had welled up. He was trembling. So was Severus.

"You promise?" he whispered, hearing his voice shake.

"I -- yes. Yes. And you?" Severus' grip on Harry's arms was brutally hard. Harry nodded, and it relaxed -- somewhat.

The memory of his conversation with George intruded, and he had to stifle a wry snort. No, it seemed he wasn't cut out for a normal relationship after all. This was what he wanted. And he had to have it. It couldn't be taken from him again, or -- or it would be horrible.

Except that it could, and pretty quickly, if anybody were to come in this room. He reluctantly pushed away and looked into Severus' eyes, which were dazed, hungry, burning. Harry's mouth went dry, and he had to swallow a few times before he managed to say, "Shall I come down tonight?"

"Ye...oh. I imagine I'll be busy." Severus appeared to be regaining command of himself, and Harry envied him the ease of it. He felt shaky around the edges. "This damned Ball -- idiot children thinking they can make free of the place all night -- I won't even get back to my rooms until -- "

Harry's heart fell and he and Severus stared at each other in frustration. Harry told himself firmly that if it wasn't even safe to kiss here, then it certainly wasn't safe to do anything else. Even though he really wanted to.

"You could wait for me," Severus said, his eyes smouldering like banked coals.

Harry blinked at him.

"In my rooms," Severus added, as if this was not clear. "Sneak down and wait for me. I'll get there eventually." He took a deep breath. "The password is 'reverie.'"

In some corner of his mind, Harry realised he had been entrusted with something important. Severus didn't just go around giving people the password to his private rooms, not even his lover. Perhaps Harry should say something about that. But he was still feeling a bit pole-axed, so instead of mentioning it, he only nodded and pointed mutely at his lips.

Severus sighed, and tapped the tip of his wand to Harry's lips, murmuring "Reduceron danosi." By now it was as familiar as the Abstersius Charm. "You go first."

Harry nodded, took a deep breath and another long look at Severus, and slipped quietly out the door.

The next thing he knew, he was standing in front of the punch bowl, as if what had just happened had been the briefest, most inconsequential detour from his intended goal, and watching one hand hold a glass steady while the other ladled the bright pink punch into it, with a few ice cubes. They made a clinking, splashing sound as they fell in. How long had he been gone? Where was George?

His question was answered less than five seconds later, when he heard a familiar voice at his ear saying, "That was fun."

He looked up to see George grinning down at him. "Oh," he said, rather stupidly, waiting for his brain to start working again. "Got it done?"

George's grin changed into a puzzled frown. "Yeah," he said. "Are you okay? You look a little..." George's voice trailed off and he looked somewhere behind Harry. "Oh," he said. "I see."

"See what?" Harry asked, trying to sound curious, although he knew that George must be looking at Severus, who was probably coming through the little door by now. George looked at him, and Harry felt himself blushing.

"Least you know how to clean yourself up," George said, with a faint smile that still looked a little sad. "If it weren't for that moony look on your face I'd never have guessed a thing." The rakish grin returned, but it was missing some of its essential sparkle. "Good thing everybody else'll think it's for me."

"George -- "

"Although I'm bound to say he looks just as constipated as ever -- "

"George," Harry said firmly, feeling more in command of himself. "What did you do to Ron and Hermione?"

George gave him a quirky half-smile, apparently willing to change the subject. "Oh, it was horrible," he said airily. "I threw these new pellets over them, the ones I've been developing with Fred, and they burst open above their heads. You really should've come -- rain of toads, newts, spiders..."

"You didn't!" Harry said, horrified. That sounded even worse than what Fred and George normally came up with. Ron would never forgive Harry for letting it happen.

"I -- " George began, but just then, Harry saw Ron and Hermione coming back into the Great Hall. They appeared to be covered with some kind of glittery, sparkly substance, and flower petals too. They were laughing. Ron was trying to help Hermione brush sparkles out of her hair, and they were each carrying what looked like a fancy goblet of butterbeer.

Harry raised an eyebrow at George. "Well," George said with a small smile, "maybe it didn't rain spiders, exactly."

Harry couldn't stop himself from grinning in reply.

       

Harry had almost been sorry to see the Ball come to an end: by the time George had given him a saucy good-bye kiss on the cheek, he'd been having a decent time. But as he sat in the dark silence of the dungeon, waiting in Severus' bed, he couldn't help but be glad it was over.

It was past midnight. The door had swung open, silent and butter-smooth, as Harry had whispered "Reverie," from beneath his invisibility cloak. It was strange, going into the familiar rooms and knowing Severus wouldn't be there, being alone in them for the first time, as if he had some kind of right to be there.

Still, Harry hoped Severus would get here soon. He might be allowed inside without supervision, but he didn't think Severus would like the idea of Harry poking around and getting into his things, even innocent things, like books.

Harry blinked.

Books. Severus had lots of books. Some of them were undoubtedly Dark Arts books. Maybe even things the Restricted Section didn't have. After all, Severus wanted the Dark Arts job. Harry had asked him about it once. He hadn't admitted it, precisely, but there had been something in his eyes that hadn't been a denial, either.

Harry knew he really should talk to Severus about this...compulsion he had to study Dark magic. Severus really might understand. And in the meantime -- it probably wouldn't hurt to take just one quick peek at the shelves --

There was a noise at the door. Harry promptly forgot all about the books and sat down on the bed as silently as possible, throwing the cloak over himself again just in case.

There was a brief rustling sound in the sitting room, and then Severus swept through the open bedroom door, face pale but for two spots of colour sitting high on his cheeks. He was still wearing his dress robes. Harry swallowed back a faint groan.

Severus' eyes darted over to the chair in the corner, where Harry had left his clothes and shoes, and then looked around the bedroom with a raised eyebrow. Harry remembered abruptly he was still wearing his undershorts beneath the cloak: he hadn't wanted to get undressed completely, but he'd rather liked the idea of waiting for Severus in the altogether, or mostly so. He couldn't stop a faint grin at Severus' puzzled, faintly irritated expression, and cleared his throat softly. Severus didn't quite jump at the sound, but his eyes whirled to fasten on his bed. Harry remained under the cloak, feeling his nerves transforming into anticipation.

"Take that sodding thing off," Severus ordered, stalking towards the bed and unbuttoning his robes at the neck as he came. Harry clapped a hand over his mouth, but a faint chuckle escaped all the same. Severus paused, and the impatience slowly dissolved into a menacing smirk.

"You want to play games, do you?" he asked softly, in a voice that made Harry's insides squirm. "After tonight, do you think I am in the mood for games?"

There was a sudden blur of movement, and before Harry could think to react, Severus' body had hit the bed like the Hogwarts Express travelling at full speed, knocking Harry backwards and pinning him down, shocking a gasp out of him, making the bed rock. A thrill shot through Harry, all the way from the soles of his feet to his fingertips.

"My, my...what do I have here?" Severus breathed, quickly patting down the invisible body in front of him and rearranging himself so that Harry's shoulders were held down by his hands, so that Harry's hips were firmly trapped between his knees. "Is it an insufferable little tease? Is it a trouble-making brat?" The muscles in his thighs tightened, holding Harry firmly in place, and his grip on Harry's shoulders was downright fierce, almost cruel. Harry saw that he was baring his teeth, that the wild look was in his eyes again, and he suddenly realised that Severus hadn't really calmed himself back in that little room, that he'd just slipped into costume while they were still in public -- the anger and the fear still burned, and the little tic was going by his left eye --

Severus' cheeks were red. Harry raised a trembling, cloak-clad hand to touch the left one, very softly.

Severus froze at the invisible caress. Harry drew his knuckles over the razor-like cheekbone, over the sallow skin at the hollow, again and again, feeling himself getting hard from Severus' warm weight holding him down, losing himself in just this, the complex simplicity of his lover's face. As he stroked, he watched in wonder as the frenzy in Severus' eyes faded, to be replaced with something deeper, unfathomable, and his full-body grip on Harry relaxed. The flush in his cheeks faded under Harry's stroking fingertips.

"I can still hear you," Severus whispered, and Harry supposed he could, at that; he was breathing hard, after all. The light touch on Severus' cheek became an urgent tug at his neck, Harry coaxing him down, guiding his face so that Severus could kiss what he couldn't see. Severus' eyes closed and his grip on Harry's shoulders released entirely, so that he could lie fully down on top of Harry, still kissing, supporting himself on his elbows. Harry moaned and shifted his hips, glad he'd already taken off most of his clothes. He held on tightly to Severus, letting his hands glide over the soft, slippery material of the dress robe.

Then, again without warning, Severus growled and flipped them over, holding Harry tightly as he rolled until he lay on the bottom, cradling Harry against his chest, still kissing him. "If you keep your eyes closed," Severus murmured against his lips, "you can hardly tell the difference."

Harry smiled, knowing Severus could feel it, but didn't speak, not wanting to break the strange intimacy of being silent, invisible, and still desired. Severus hummed softly, moving to kiss Harry's throat, carefully hunting along the edge of the cloak's hood until he found the rim of Harry's glasses, which he removed and placed on the bedside table. Then he got down to the business of sliding his hand under the cloak's folds to touch the skin beneath. He gave a rumbling sigh that ended on a groan as he stroked the tips of his fingers up and down Harry's side. Then he hit the cotton waistband of Harry's boxers and he opened his eyes, glaring into Harry's invisible face, protected by the hood of the cloak. "I thought I didn't see underwear in that pile of clothes," he grumbled. "What say next time you decide to play this little trick, you wait for me naked, hmm?"

Harry pressed his face to the side of Severus' neck so his lover could feel his lips curving into a grin, could feel the rapid fluttering of his eyelashes in tiny blinks. Severus sighed again and tugged at Harry's boxers impatiently until Harry consented to wriggle out of them, kicking them off from underneath the cloak and away from the bed.

"Strange to watch your underpants appear out of thin air like that," Severus mused. "And equally strange to touch an invisible person. An intriguing experiment, but I must insist you take it off now, I want to see -- " His hand hovered around where the cloak's hood would be, but Harry caught it gently in his own, pressed a kiss to the fingertips, and then pulled back the hood himself, smiling down at Severus.

Who shuddered. "If I thought it was disconcerting to talk to your floating head, it's even worse to make love to it."

Harry laughed now, breaking his silence, and pulled the cloak off, letting it settle in silvery folds at the end of the bed. Perhaps it was for the best -- it had been his father's, after all. If Severus was put off by the idea of sleeping with a Harry who wore a Weasley jumper, it was a wonder the fact of a Harry in James Potter's cloak didn't send him running screaming for the door. Harry decided he wouldn't draw the connection for his lover.

"Well," he said companionably, wiggling against the soft material of Severus' robe and feeling it slide deliciously over his cock. It might be nice to bring himself off this way, if Severus allowed it. "Here we are." He was glad they'd had to wait a bit tonight. He'd had a chance to calm down, take some deep breaths; the jealous rage was gone, along with the anger, and he was simply glad to be here again.

Severus' eyes were also more tranquil now -- almost mischievous. "Here we are," Severus agreed, and rolled them over again so that they lay side to side. "Go ahead and get started on my buttons," he said, and reached inside his robes to pull out his wand. Harry blinked at it in surprise, a feeling which doubled when Severus waved the wand at the door to the bathroom, causing it to swing open.

Curiouser and curiouser. Harry obediently began to slide the little buttons on the robe as quickly as he could through their buttonholes. If his memories of Christmas were accurate, he wouldn't have to do many before the garment was loose enough to remove. "Are we going to have another bath?" he asked. He wasn't averse to the idea, though the bed felt awfully comfortable now they were in it.

"Not tonight, I thought," Severus said, "though perhaps some other time, if you like. Accio Ice Hot Ointment." A small bottle came zipping through the air to land neatly in Severus' outstretched palm. Harry recognised it as the purple-blue salve with which Severus had tormented him in the bath months ago. He blushed at the memory and quickly went back to working at the buttons.

"Wh-what are you going to do with that?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound nervous.

"Do?" Severus asked, voice far too innocent. "What do you take me for? It's only here in case we can think of some use for it." Then he dropped the bottle on the mattress with apparent carelessness.

"In case," Harry started, but Severus kissed him again, and soon enough they'd got his robes off. Harry groaned as he remembered why he liked the press of bare skin even better than the satiny slide of fancy clothes, or the velvety cloth of his cloak against his flesh. Would it ever stop feeling new? Would every little slide of skin against skin ever stop sending tingles and flashes down between his legs?

He mouthed little kisses on Severus' shoulder, letting his hands wander up and down his lover's back, over his arse, wrapping his legs around Severus' waist and rubbing. Severus let him for a few moments, and then stilled him with a growl, whispering, "Wait for it."

Harry moaned. Severus kissed him, and one of his hands reached somewhere over Harry's head. Harry heard a faint popping sound, like a stopper coming out of a bottle, but Severus was still kissing him and that made it awfully hard to think.

Then, just then, a tingling sensation rocketed out from his left nipple. His eyes flew open to see Severus smirking down at him. His lover's fingers were coated with purple-blue goo, and at the moment he was rubbing them over Harry's nipple, reacquainting Harry rather thoroughly with the amazing cold-hot feeling the ointment produced. Harry's head fell back and he gasped for air.

"You still like it, then," Severus murmured, dipping his head to start biting at Harry's throat. The salve-covered hand skirted down Harry's torso, leaving tingling trails in its wake, to rest gently against a thigh. Harry arched his hips pleadingly, remembering what that stuff had felt like on his cock, wanting to feel it again.

"I'm not going to touch you," Severus whispered in Harry's ear, and Harry, already far-gone, blinked in confusion. Severus was touching him, but what Harry wanted was -- oh. Severus meant...oh no!

"Please," he begged, reaching down and taking hold of Severus' hand, dragging it to his cock. Severus pulled his hand away, and Harry found his own fingers brushing over his erection. He gasped at the contact -- it wasn't what he wanted, precisely, but it was better than nothing, but, no, he couldn't, not in front of...

Severus' eyes flew open wide as he looked down at Harry. "Don't stop," he murmured, colour creeping back into his cheeks. "If you want it, you'll have to show me how."

Harry was certain that he meant to object, but his fingers twitched, brushing against his cock again, and instead of protesting, he squeaked softly, hips jerking. Fire flared in Severus' eyes, and before Harry quite knew what he was doing, he'd curled his fist around his cock, just like he did when he was alone (though not so often, now), and it felt so good -- his head fell back again, and he was panting, feeling the heat of embarrassment and arousal all at once --

His eyes fell shut and he saw red behind the lids. He could hear his own gasps for air, twinned with Severus', as his lover's hands began to stroke and slide up and down his bent legs, teasing his inner thighs, sliding down between his legs to press lightly at the soft muscle behind his balls. Harry cried out softly, his hand moving faster, palm starting to sweat from the heat of his own erection, hips beginning to arch up into the air. "Yes," Severus whispered, his voice sounding very strained, "yes, perfect, just like that. Just like that, do it, yes," and the encouragement drove Harry wild, to have someone watching him do this, wanting him to do what felt so good --

And then he felt it, tickling, swifter than protest: one slim, well-oiled fingertip brushing lightly over his anus before pressing inside, sliding up into him, bringing and spreading the hot-cold tingle of the salve inside him until he thought its excruciating, delicious glow would reach his heart. He gasped into the bubble of silence that had descended, and opened his eyes.

Severus, crouching over Harry, was looking down at him, his face red, his eyes glittering with avarice, soaking up every one of Harry's reactions. Then, without saying a word, he crooked his finger inside Harry, and the fingertip brushed up -- up against something that -- oh --

"Oh!" Harry wailed, bucking up into his own fist. "Do that again -- !" Sneaky, cunning bastard, and it felt so good --

Severus did it again. And soon he was doing it in time with Harry's own strokes, and this couldn't last much longer, and before Harry's dazed, seeking eyes, something...happened.

He couldn't explain it. He only knew that one minute it wasn't there, and the next minute it was -- as if some kind of "blinder" over his mind had fallen away. All of a sudden, Harry felt, saw, warm tendrils of magic wrapping around both of them on the bed: he could feel Severus' magic twining with his own, lighting up with bright and beautiful flares wherever their bodies touched. It sent off sparks deep inside him, sharper and purer than where Severus stroked him with his finger, racing through his blood with the sudden influx of power and joy, glowing around their bodies. His hand stilled on his cock. His back arched and he froze, breath coming in short pants.

Severus stopped moving too. "What -- "

Harry stared at him, not seeing his face. You're so beautiful, he thought, believing it in every part of him, and without another touch to himself he came, wrapped and bound in magic, floating on it, sustained, wishing he could feel like this for the rest of his life. It seemed like the simplest work of a moment to reach out with his own magic, to touch it deliberately to Severus' aura, wanting to share the feeling; and Severus' eyes went wide, and he bucked and bellowed against Harry in instant climax.

It seemed to go on and on, but it could never go on long enough, and when it finally let him go, Harry felt his bones turning to water. Severus collapsed on top of him, driving the air from both their lungs, before rolling over with a wheezed apology and sliding his finger out. Harry stared up at the ceiling, still dazed, knowing a stupid grin was plastered all over his face.

"Oh, wow," he finally managed.

"Indeed," Severus mumbled into a pillow. "I'm quite surprised at myself. It usually takes at least a touch." Harry found the energy to turn his head and stare at Severus, who had a rueful look on his face. "Although I cannot deny the excitement inherent in watching you touch yourself." The expression in his eyes was a strange mixture of satiety and hesitation. "I have...wondered...how you looked when you did that."

Harry blinked. "But I meant -- didn't you feel it?"

"Feel what?"

"When I -- you know -- " Harry was at a loss for words. He felt as if he'd somehow touched Severus on a far more intimate level than a mere slap of flesh on flesh. Hadn't his lover noticed? "I...I could feel you..."

"Ah." Harry thought Severus looked vaguely apprehensive. "I didn't hurt you?"

"N-no..." Severus thought he was referring to the finger, Harry realised. Maybe he hadn't noticed. "But...there was this glow..."

Severus looked insufferably pleased with himself. "I thought you might like it. You are quite responsive whenever I touch you anywhere near your arse, you know."

"Well, no, I meant -- what? I am not," Harry said indignantly.

Severus raised an eyebrow as he wiped his ointment-covered hand on the corner of the bedsheet before reaching out to gather Harry in his arms. "If you say so," he said smugly.

Harry blinked, feeling a little lost and confused. He squinted at Severus, trying to detect traces of the magical glow he had felt so clearly only moments ago. Where had it gone? Had it ever been there at all? Maybe -- maybe he had imagined it. Seeing stars during orgasm, all that sort of thing. And if Severus hadn't noticed it, then maybe...

"It did feel good," he admitted grudgingly.

Severus didn't answer, but sighed softly in a way that probably meant he was exhausted. Well, it had been a long night. "You should probably go back now," he said, sounding almost regretful.

All Harry wanted to do was curl up and sleep for a week, but he knew that Severus was right: on the night of a big event, it wasn't unlikely that Filch would be prowling the hallways much later than usual, and there would be more professors keeping an eye open for curfew-breaking students. The sooner he got back to his own room, the better. He sighed, kissed Severus, and dragged his sticky, sweaty limbs out of bed. That orgasm must have really knackered him, whatever it had been. He felt exhausted and barely noticed Severus performing the Abstersius charm on him before he pulled his clothes back on.

He managed a tired smile for his lover, who lay on the bed and watched him with lidded eyes as he dressed. "At least the evening wasn't a total loss," he joked. "I liked the end of it especially."

Severus' lips pursed. "The end was pleasant," he growled, "but there was very little about that damned Ball I would call less than a complete waste of time. Even my usual seat at the high table was plagued with ill-luck. Some fool had charmed the bouquet by my chair to sing inane Christmas tunes." He scowled. Harry blinked. "Fortunately," Severus added with a tone of malicious satisfaction, "I nicked Sinistra's seat before she arrived."

"Good job," Harry said, bending down to tie his shoelaces so Severus couldn't see his smile. "See you in a night or two?"

"You have a Potions quiz on Wednesday," Severus reminded him with a frown. "I'll thank you to keep your mind on your studies -- "

"Tomorrow, if I can manage it, then," Harry said with an unrepentant grin. He'd do well on the quiz, judging from his performance in class, and Severus knew it. He bent over for another quick kiss before scooping his invisibility cloak up off the end of the bed and donning it once more. "Thanks for giving me the password."

Severus' face was inscrutable. "Do not abuse the privilege."

"I wouldn't," Harry said softly.

"And don't assume I won't change it."

"I wouldn't do that either," Harry said, still grinning, and kissed him again.

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