The Next Dance

THE NEXT DANCE

BY AERIE22

CHAPTER 3

I'LL GET THEM

* * *

Calvin Curtis sat quietly in his office in the back room on the second floor of the Diagon Alley Gladrags store, the flagship store of his retail empire. He looked again at the newspaper reports of the downfall of the now notorious fugitive from justice, Lucius Malfoy. And he sighed with a sense of disquiet. Calvin Curtis was a long-time acquaintance of Lucius Malfoy from the days when they were classmates at Hogwarts. And Curtis owed much of his current good fortune to the influence of Lucius Malfoy and the Malfoy family.

All of this didn't mean Curtis and Malfoy were friends. Quite the contrary. Calvin hated Lucius. And always did. But Lucius did provide Calvin with little bits of help here and there, often unsolicited. And Calvin knew he owed Lucius. It was a Wizard's Debt. And Calvin knew what that meant.

He knew that he might be approached to help the fugitive. And that kind of aid he could not give. Not for a friend. And certainly not for Lucius.

But what of the debt?

It weighed heavy on the retailer's soul as he continued to read the reports in the Daily Prophet. Then he saw it. Right below reports of the disappearance of all of Malfoy's liquid assets from Gringotts and the freezing of all identifiable assets of the Malfoy Estate by the Ministry of Magical Law Enforcement was a paragraph on the future of Lucius' son, Draco.

Calvin Curtis knew Draco Malfoy. He seemed an insufferable little git, a true Malfoy. But now his future was uncertain. With no money, one parent dead and another a fugitive from justice wanted for attempting unforgivable curses on private citizens and Aurors, the boy had nothing.

And Calvin Curtis smiled. A favor to a wizard to help in business ventures incurred a wizarding debt. But a personal favor to a wizard's family in time of desperate need canceled all debts and created new ones. He decided in an instant. He knew on this he didn't have to consult his wife. She hated Lucius and Narcissa with as much passion as he did. And it would not be a great burden on the family finances. No, he would do it now. He slowly opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out a personal parchment and placed it on his desk. After careful thought, he committed quill to parchment.

Dear Headmaster Dumbledore:

I have read with chagrin of the actions of my classmate, Lucius Malfoy. As a fellow Slytherin, I feel that his actions have reflected poorly on our House and on the institution of Hogwarts in general.

I feel it is incumbent on the alumni of Slytherin House to take actions to support the institution of Hogwarts and of our beloved House and all they stand for to show that the actions of one do not reflect upon the character of all.

I have pondered this for some time. And I feel that one way for this member of the Slytherin House Alumni Association to make a positive contribution to Hogwarts and to wizarding society in general is to establish a scholarship program for needy but deserving members of society who may not otherwise have the wherewithal to attend Hogwarts.

I therefore am enclosing a note, payable to Hogwarts, in an amount sufficient to support one student for the equivalent of one seven-year course of studies at Hogwarts. I make only one condition to your acceptance of this note: That the recipient of the scholarship, for the remainder of his stay at Hogwarts, be one Draco Malfoy. I do believe that this student now is in financial straits and will need support from someone outside of his family in order to continue his education.

I do this in the belief that the sins of the father not be visited heavily on the son. Just as I, in the past, was afforded the opportunity to develop and prosper thanks to my experiences at Hogwarts and the friends I made there, I hope that the young gentleman be provided with an opportunity to redeem his family name and become a credit to the institution to which he owes so much.

With all the regards of a true Slytherin,

Calvin Curtis,

CEO/Gladrags Enterprises Ltd.

* * *

Word began to circulate quickly around Hogwarts. The school was still reeling and partying over what some members of the Ministry of Magic, including Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, and the newspapers had trumpeted as the final destruction of Voldemort and his corps of Death Eaters. But now came a new revelation. Harry Potter did the deed, the quiet, strange Gryffindor, long looked at as a mythic hero from their youth, who people only this year began to notice more as he seemed to be a little less remote. But now word was spreading that it was not just Harry, but his house mate, Parvati Patil.

Students looked at each other and laughed uproariously. Harry Potter and Parvati Patil, looking for some place to shag, ended up saving the wizarding world. 'The Lovers' Showdown in the Forbidden Forest' story from the Daily Prophet was taken up as a mantra among students from every house. Even in Slytherin, a majority of the students huddled and chuckled in relief and amusement that an assignation could end so spectacularly.

But not everyone shared the joy. Draco Malfoy was devastated by the disgrace of his now fugitive father. He feared his father, but was unprepared for his death. A visit from Professors Dumbledore and Snape to reassure him that he would not be forced to pay for the sins of his father as far as they were concerned was no solace. The one constant in his life, albeit a brutal one, had fled in disgrace. And now the name Malfoy, always despised, was no longer feared.

By Monday morning, Draco received a second blow. Aurors had descended on Malfoy Manor and, after a thorough search, found extraordinary caches of evidence and implements of the dark arts. Within hours, the Ministry had locked down and installed wards around the Manor, forcing his mother to move to an inn with little more than the clothes on her back. By midnight, she was dead of a self-inflicted death curse.

It was now Tuesday morning. Classes had been canceled for a second day to give teachers and students alike the opportunity to recover from their celebrations. But Draco was up early, not being able to sleep and unwilling to simply lie there.

So he sat on his bed, watching with blank eyes. He barely registered the absence of two of his roommates, Glenn Greinglass, the Jew and grandson of a Mudblood who was probably with his twin sister in the common room, and Aubrey Blythe, the shopkeeper's son and a person of no notice, pureblood or not. Instead, he just stared as Crabbe and Goyle packed.

Draco blinked. "When will you be back?" he asked in a small, far-away voice.

Goyle turned, his eyes red from crying. "Probably never," he managed to croak out. Crabbe, his pudding bowl haircut matted with sweat, simply stared numbly.

"Never?" Draco said in a child-like voice.

Crabbe looked down and scratched his head. "My mum says that dad is going to be all right. But he'll be going away for a long time. Azkaban, most likely. So no money for school. No money at all. Got to go to work to support my mum and the little one," he grunted out, one of his longest monologues ever.

A tear slid down Goyle's cheek. "My dad's going down, too. They caught him last night before he had a chance to pack. Me and my brother are going to have to support the family from now on. No more Quidditch. No more fun. Ever."

Draco gave a quick nod, his eyes still vacant. "I can stay. Dumbledore said I can stay. I don't think I want to. But I've got no place left to go," he said blankly.

Crabbe snapped closed his trunk. "Gotta go, Draco."

Goyle hung his head.

"I'm gonna miss you, Draco. I don't know what I'll do without you around to help." Goyle slowly held out his hand.

Draco looked at Goyle's outstretched hand blankly. Suddenly he blinked. He reached out and shook it. He then looked up at Crabbe. The boy shuffled over and then held out his hand and shook Draco's. "See ya," he grunted.

Crabbe hoisted his trunk and left, but Goyle paused. "Owl me if you get the chance, okay?"

Draco looked at Goyle. "I'll get them, Gregory."

Goyle hung his head and departed.

As the door to the dormitory closed, Draco hung his head, as well. And he cried. He cried for his mother.

* * *

Madame Pomfrey bustled over and scowled at Harry and Parvati. "Now, I'm not your mother...oh, sorry Mister Potter. As I was saying, I'm not here to tell you how to run your lives. But I think what you two are doing is foolishness," she said in a huff. "However, if you continue along in such a manner, it leaves me no choice. Miss Patil, I want you to take this potion. That will protect you from unnecessary complications for at least the next six months. You can come back at the end of February and I will give you another. There is a margin for error, but to be safe, I'll owl you then."

Parvati dutifully took the small vial and drank it, making a face at its bitter almond taste. "What is this for?" she asked meekly.

Pomfrey put her hands on her hips with a frown. "It's a contraceptive potion, of course," she said as she turned on her heels and bustled off.

* * *

Professor Moody's magic eye drifted lazily around the hospital wing, but his good eye darted back and forth between Harry, and Parvati, who was busy across the ward, talking and giggling with her sister Padma and Lavender Brown.

"Aye, she is a bonnie lass, young Potter. Don' blame yeh. Not a't'all," Moody said with a quiet cackle. "But young lassies can be yer downfall, yeh ken?"

Harry blinked in absolute befuddlement. "She's...she's my girlfriend. I'm allowed to have a girlfriend, aren't I?"

Moody's face screwed up into what passed for a smile. "Aye, laddie. The more, the merrier. So I'm gonna give yeh two words to keep in mind. Graviditas negans."

Harry shook his head in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Graviditas negans. Say it, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "Graviditas negans."

"Aye. I'll write it down so yeh dinna forget."

"But Professor. What does it mean?" Harry asked.

Moody cackled again. "It'll keep yeh from planting a wee one in yer lassie's belly." Moody's face suddenly rearranged its scars into a more serious vein. "And watch yerself. Poppy is on the side of the angels, but know what yer drinking from her hands. I'll not put it past her to try taking the ink out of yer quill, if yeh take my meaning."

* * *

"Miss Patil. Mister Potter. I hope you realize the potential trouble you two could get yourselves into," McGonagall said with a stern look on her face as she sat in a chair between the two beds. "And you, Mister Potter, are a prefect. You should know better."

Harry's head was spinning. 'What now?' he thought.

"What you are doing is potentially grounds for expulsion and, given your ages, possibly illegal. I hope you've given that a lot of thought."

McGonagall now turned to Harry. "I have a good mind to write your guardians, Mister Potter. I am sure Reverend Strowbridge would be very interested in hearing about your behavior!"

Parvati was now staring at Harry, who turned to her with confused and frightened eyes.

"Now off with you, Mister Potter! I have things to discuss with Miss Patil."

Harry scurried off to the corner where Sirius was now asleep. But he just could hear McGonagall as she sat down with Parvati, her features softening.

"Miss Patil, I can understand your feelings. I recall feeling the same urges in mae prime. Sean...Mister McGonagall cut quite a figure himself..." she said, a sudden wistful look on her face.

Suddenly, she cleared her throat. "Be that as it may, we were a wee bit older. So I would advise you two to behave yourselves. However..." and the old woman took a quick look around the hospital wing to make sure no one else was within earshot. "I would advise you to learn the Graviditas negans charm," she whispered.

Harry, only 15 feet away, gave a sudden snort, earning a sharp look from McGonagall.

McGonagall turned back to Parvati. "Very good, Miss Patil. And see that you use it," she said firmly. "Both of you!" she said over her shoulder, making sure Harry got the message, as well.

* * *

Snape looked down his nose at Harry, trying to look stern while looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Mister Potter. Miss Patil. I presume Madame Pomfrey discussed with you two the Impeditio Graviditas potion." He suddenly shifted his weight uncomfortably.

Parvati looked up at the Potions' Master, trying to stifle a grin. "She didn't tell us its name. Does it taste like bitter almonds?"

Snape shifted again. "So I have been told," he said stiffly. Then he turned to Harry. "For you, Mister Potter, I would suggest an Imbecillitas potion, although I doubt you would appreciate it."

Harry now was fighting a laugh. "I prefer ink in my quill, Professor."

Snape suddenly blushed noticeably. "Very well," he snapped and turned on his heel a strode out of the hospital wing.

Harry and Parvati turned to each other and burst out laughing.

"Why is it that everyone knows about our sex lives except us?" she whispered with a giggle.

Harry blushed a furious color, earning a tender kiss on the cheek from Parvati, who now, along with Harry, was considered one of the most notorious sex symbols in the wizarding world. One who, little more than 72 hours before, was playing with her favorite unicorn, Snowflake.

* * *

"She's on the move," Ben Watson whispered to Cyrus Jordan.

Cyrus looked around the hospital wing for anything out of place and nodded, then casually sauntered out into the hallway, hitching his robe with the two red chevrons up a little.

"Hey Cy, anything new? When can we see them?" Bozo Zorch asked casually.

Cyrus glared at the diminutive reporter. He didn't allow anyone to call him 'Cy,' much less a little prat like Zorch. "No Bozo," he said with a growl. "But I'll tell you what. As soon as all the real reporters get through, we'll see if we can fit in a question or two from you. No promises, though." Cyrus ignored Zorch's angry look, and the titters from the rest of the remaining press camped outside the hospital wing, and strode down the hall in the direction that Rita Skeeter took moments before.

Cyrus had just rounded the bend in the hallway when he saw her jiggling a door to what appeared to be an office and removing a pin from her hair. "No, Rita," he said in a firm voice.

She turned casually with a faint smile. "Just looking for a toilet that I don't have to share with that godforsaken ghost, Myrtle."

Cyrus gave her a knowing smile. "Well, there's no toilet in there. That's where the students hold their sex orgies."

This time, Rita let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, I wish. That's a story I could sell." Then she looked at Cyrus through her huge, goggle-like glasses. "So what is it? You didn't follow me down here to check the ladies' rooms."

Cyrus gave her a knowing smile. "Oh, just wondering how you were doing."

Rita's eyes narrowed. "What is it this time? You want a story? Some puff piece on the brutal, thankless life of an Auror? Well, forget about it. I'm out of a job and I couldn't sell one of those pieces even to OddBins. Not even if I threw in a ten-sickle word every other sentence. So get yourself another shill."

Cyrus smiled. "No, Rita. Nothing like that. I was just talking to a friend, and your name happened to come up."

Skeeter cocked her head, making her eyes distort a little more through her thick lenses. "Well you're obviously looking to unburden. So talk."

Cyrus gave her a wry look. "Well, I just got off the floo with Bernie Castle."

Rita's eyes widened. "Bernie Castle? As in Witch Weekly Bernie Castle?"

Cyrus nodded. "It seems he would be willing to pay...oh, suppose...350 galleons to a reporter who came in with the first, and exclusive, interview with Potter and Patil."

Rita sucked in a breath. That was nearly two months' pay at the Prophet. It would keep the werewolves from the door and would be just the thing to get her name circulating again as a reporter in the wizarding world. She gave Cyrus a wary look. "What's this going to cost me? Don't tell me you want a piece of the paycheck."

Cyrus suddenly glared at Skeeter. "I have never taken a knut on this job," he said icily. "And none of my people have ever taken a knut on the job. Maybe I was wrong to talk to you," he said, now angry.

Rita suddenly panicked, but tried not to show it. "Wait, Cyrus," she said quickly but coolly. "I know you and yours all abide by the 'Wee Wizards and Witches' oath. Clean, honest, reverent, and all that. I just want to know what the conditions are, that's all."

Cyrus slowly turned back to her, his eyes narrowed. "It's easy, Skeeter. Straight interview. Background interviews with the parties directly involved in the event. All supervised. No 'unnamed sources close to the bottom.' No sly innuendo. No slime, no dirt, no trash. Just two young kids who were just beginning to discover romance faced with the greatest horror of the age and who lived to tell about it. The story sells itself, without all the peripheral stuff. Castle wants 4,000 words. You know their readership. You could write it in your sleep. We supply the pictures. Photography doesn't come out of your cut. A straight 350 galleons. Take it or leave it."

Rita knew she would take it. But she paused as if to consider. Then Cyrus turned. "You were our first choice. Zorch is our last choice. But there are four other reporters down the hall, and about 50 more within a quick owl from here." Cyrus now turned his back on Skeeter and began to walk back to the hospital wing.

"I'll take it," she said in a rush. "And you'll forget the insect?" she said, hoping to finally get out from under the potential charge of being an illegal animagus.

Cyrus stopped and looked over his shoulder. "No, Rita. It's 350 galleons. We'll forget about the insect if and when the insect leaves and never returns," he said with a smug expression.

Rita closed her eyes in disappointment. Then she shrugged. 'Oh, well. It was worth the try,' she thought. 'And 350 galleons was 350 galleons.'

* * *

Ron quietly made his way toward the hospital wing with his sister Ginny in tow. He turned to her. "The Aurors know me by now. I think it'll be okay. Just stay with me."

Ginny looked up at her brother with anxiety in her eyes. She nodded.

Ron stopped by an empty stretch of corridor between two suits of armor on the floor below the hospital wing. "Tangello," he whispered. The hidden door opened and the two entered.

The room was basically a medical storage area. But it did have a second door that opened to a stairwell that led to the staff area of the hospital wing. The two Weasleys climbed the stairs to another door, which Ron opened. He approached one of Madame Pomfrey's assistants, a young witch named Mercy. Mercy raised her eyebrows.

"My sister, Ginny. She's a good friend," he said quietly.

Mercy nodded in sudden recognition. "The basilisk, right?" she said in an even tone.

Ginny nodded.

Mercy returned the nod. "I remember." She disappeared into the hospital wing, returning moments later. "Okay, but be quiet and don't tell anyone about the door," she said to Ginny, motioning her head toward the supply room.

Ginny nodded solemnly, and Ron led her into the wing.

She noticed a couple students in the beds near the entrance. Ron nodded at one. "Peter."

Peter, his arm in a sling charmed to immobilize it, smiled. "Still here. Too much partying on Saturday night. The elbow's still sore but the bone is knitting nicely, according to Pomfrey. But I don't know. It can't seem to decide whether to be sore or just sit there and itch," he said with a smile.

Ron smiled. "I don't want to know what you and Paul were doing on top of the entrance archway. You're lucky you didn't break your neck," he said with a smile.

Ron began to walk down the aisle when Ginny gave his arm a tug. "Who's that?"

Ron stopped. "Peter George. Fifth year Ravenclaw. He and his mate Paul Manwaring were dancing on the ledge above the entranceway arch when Peter fell and broke his elbow. He's nuts," he said with a smile.

Ron resumed his walk down to the end of the aisle. As they rounded the privacy curtain, Ron laughed. "Snog alert. No one under 15 may witness what is going on here." Ginny blushed furiously.

Harry was lying on his back under the covers, propped up on his pillows. Parvati was lying next to him on her side on top of the blanket, leaning her head on her elbow. The couple was obviously just chatting, but Parvati had her right hand resting on Harry's stomach. The couple looked up and smiled at Ron, then noticed Ginny.

"Hey, Ginny," Harry said with a smile. "Great to see you."

Ginny stared at the couple wide-eyed, forcing herself to put on a half smile. She felt a little sick to see her long-term crush lying there so comfortably in the bed with another girl. "Hi, Harry," she managed to croak out.

Harry slowly pushed himself into a more upright position, still being careful of the burns on his hand. "Ron, stop being a troll and grab a chair for your sister," he said with a laugh.

Ron made a face at Harry and gave Ginny a look and stepped around the curtain to grab a couple chairs.

"Hello, Ginny," Parvati said with a smile.

Ginny continued to force a smile. "Hi."

Parvati saw Ginny's surprise and disappointment. She looked back at Harry as she thought about the hurt Ginny must be feeling. She knew of the young girl's longstanding crush on Harry. But it couldn't be helped.

Harry looked back at Parvati and suddenly understood what both girls were thinking. Harry closed his eyes and sighed. "Ginny, come here," he said, giving her a soft smile.

Ginny timidly rose and approached Harry's side of the bed. Harry sat up and reached up and gave her a hug. "Thanks, Ginny, for always being there, worrying and caring. For always being my friend."

Ginny leaned into the hug, and sighed deeply. But when Harry gave her a couple gentle pats on the back, she slowly stood back up, a sad smile on her face. "I'm so glad you're all right," she whispered, fighting a barely winning battle against tears. "It's over, at last, thanks to you...and Parvati," she said gulping. "You're free at last," she whispered.

Harry sighed. "Maybe not," he said quietly.

Ron placed his hand on his sister's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "You going to be all right?" he whispered in her ear.

Ginny nodded and, regaining her composure, sat down. "We were so worried when you were brought in," she said hoarsely. "We didn't know what to think."

Harry closed his eyes and nodded, taking Ginny's hand. "I know, Ginny. And I'm sorry to cause you so much anxiety," he said softly, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand.

Ginny shivered and lowered her head. The rest of the visit passed with her barely hearing what was said. She did glance up a couple times to see Parvati watching her with concerned eyes. Ginny also noticed Parvati's arm tighten possessively around Harry's middle. And Ginny noticed as Harry, after a slight squirm, gave Parvati a smile and placed his hand around her shoulder affectionately. Harry was lost.

Parvati watched Ginny closely as she leaned even closer against Harry. Then she saw something. Ginny sighed and the cloud over her face seemed to dissipate just a little. Ginny looked up again and caught Parvati's eye. The young girl's face still showed disappointment, but there was something else there. Acceptance. Parvati's nervous smile softened as the two girls seemed to connect. And now she knew that Ginny understood that there Parvati bore her no malice. And Ginny gave her own soft resigned smile. The two girls gave each other a nod that was not perceptible either to Harry or Ron. Harry wasn't lost. It was just that someone else had found him, Ginny now realized.

Ginny straightened her shoulders as Ron rose to leave. She smiled at Harry and nodded again to Parvati and stepped in front of Ron. And as she walked out of the hospital wing, Ron noticed that his sister, for the first time in several days, had her head up and was striding resolutely.

* * *

Bernard Castle, the editor of Witch Weekly, had been skeptical. Stan Winston, the art director of Witch Weekly was downright hostile to the idea. But Rita Skeeter and publisher Marcel Voleur insisted.

"A fourteen year old?" Winstead harrumphed.

Castle nodded, solemnly. "That's the deal. You saw that trash that covered Daily Prophet? Grainy. Barely in focus. No movement. That Bozo that they've got on their payroll is the worst. He even works freelance for OddBins. If that doesn't tell you all you need to know, I don't know what does. Hell, he's a better writer than he is a photographer."

Winstead rolled his eyes. "I know. I've seen his portfolio. He'd be lucky to get work for Alohamora except for his relationship with that Skeeter witch," he said, shaking his head.

Castle nodded. "So that's the deal. We get an exclusive interview with Potter and this girl Patil only if we let this Creevey kid do the photography and they pick the cover shot...the girl, apparently."

Winston shrugged. "At least she's pretty."

"Very pretty," Castle said with an absent smile. "Could be worth a few extra copies on that basis alone."

Winston rolled his eyes. "Come on. She's okay. But I wouldn't even put her in the top ten this year for cover girls."

Castle stared at Winston. "She's not one of your vapid models! She's real. And she's only fifteen years old. The readers will eat it up." Castle chuckled. "Not that it matters. I'm doing a double run on this issue, anyway. The first, and exclusive, interview with the lovers who defeated You Know Who. Hmmm. 'The Kiss Interrupted by Death.' I think we've got the cover line," Castle said, chuckling. "Get Skeeter!" he called out to his editorial assistant.

"Well, maybe with a little wand work, the kid's stuff may pass..." Winston muttered.

* * *

Colin Creevey was so excited, he was practically bouncing in his chair in the waiting room of Weekly World Publications. He had been in love with photography since he and his brother and his parents returned from a Brighton holiday when he was seven. His father returned home from work a few days later with four sleeves of photos. Suddenly, the fun they all had at the beach that was beginning to fade into memory was brought vividly back to life.

Until then, Colin took the pictures in newspapers and magazines for granted. They were just there as decoration. Some were funny, some were pretty, but they had no particular meaning to him. Now, he saw photography as an adjunct to memory, preserving the wonderful feelings and experiences of life for review to savor at leisure. And he was hooked.

When he and his family discovered Colin was a wizard, Colin was delighted. Now he had an explanation for all the odd things that happened around him and his little brother, Dennis. But he immediately went into a panic. Could he still use a camera? Then, on his first trip to Diagon Alley, he discovered that cameras were not only available in the wizarding world, but could do things no Muggle photographer ever could imagine. He was ecstatic.

Almost as ecstatic as he was now. Harry Potter, Colin's hero and friend, had asked him to take his and Parvati's pictures for Witch Weekly. Including the cover! And he would be paid, too. Twenty five galleons for the cover shot and five galleons each for interior shots. He had devoured numerous copies of Witch Weekly from Lavender's collection, not for stories or the serials, but for the layouts and the type of photos they preferred.

He had made a real nuisance out of himself in the hospital wing, hauling in large mirrors and torches for light and ordering everyone around like a Muggle film director. He had taken over 100 photos during the session, including Harry and Parvati together and alone, along with Madame Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore. The Aurors, however, begged off.

But Colin spent most of his film on Parvati. Colin had a longstanding crush on her and worked tirelessly and lovingly on making sure she came off at her best. He smiled sadly, realizing that he couldn't compete with his friend Harry for Parvati, but at least he could make her as beautiful as possible for this photo spread.

"Creevey? Colin Creevey?" came the voice disturbing his reverie.

He looked up at a beefy wizard calling his name.

Colin looked up at the smiling florid face. "Yes?"

The heavy, balding wizard held out a huge hand. "Marcel Voleur, publisher of Witch Weekly and Teen Witch Weekly," the man said heartily. "Come on in."

Colin followed Voleur into the staff area of the magazines. He saw several witches and wizards in small cubicles, some talking in low tones or using the dicta-quills to compose stories and some reviewing parchments. There were several empty cubicles, as well. All were surrounding a large open area with manuscripts and wizarding photos scattered on long tables or floating back and forth and affixing themselves to the far wall displaying the layout of this week's issue.

One witch with long tangled hair was complaining bitterly to an elegant looking middle aged wizard with silver black hair. "...I don't care. Do you know how dangerous phony mandrake roots can be to glamour potions!" she cried. "That should be the lead! Not some rehash of You-Know-Who!"

The elegant wizard rolled his eyes. "You've got three pages with photos. It's the second lead. What more can you ask for?"

"It will be buried...!!!" she screamed and stalked off.

The elegant wizard turned and saw Colin. "Well, is this the boy genius?" he said with a broad smile. He turned to the corner of the office. "Stan! He's here!"

A thin young wizard with a pony tail and wearing dragon hide slacks turned and smiled.

"Bernard Castle, editor in chief of Witch Weekly," the elegant wizard said, walking up to Colin, his hand extended.

Colin looked at him and around the office, his eyes wide. "Uhhh, Colin Creevey, sir," he said, clearly overwhelmed.

"Colin, meet Stan Winston," Castle said with a smile. "He's more important than I am as far as you're concerned. He's the one that buys the photos and assigns the photographers around here."

There was suddenly a rude noise coming from one of the cubicles. Colin turned and saw the witch with the tangled hair staring. "Only after consulting with the reporters, he does," she said with an angry expression.

Castle waved her off. "Yes, Sadie. We know....Now where's Rita?"

"Right here, chief," said a tall, thin woman with a pinched face and oversized glasses as she strode up to the group.

"Rita," Castle nodded. "And don't call me chief," he said with a scowl. "Rita Skeeter, Colin Creevey, photographer."

Rita nodded. "Let's see the photos," she said with resignation.

Stan pulled out a large folder and began to spread Colin's photos out on the long table.

Rita gasped. "Is that the unicorn?"

Colin nodded. "It's not as recent as I would like. I took it a couple months ago. I've got a whole portfolio of unicorns taken from the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Parvati identified these three as her Snowflake," he said with calm professionalism.

Rita turned to stare at Colin. "Do you know how rare photos of unicorns are?"

Colin gave a half shrug. "I've gotten about 60 photos of maybe 12 to 15 different ones singly and in pairs."

This time, Stan looked at Colin. "You're kidding. That must have taken forever."

Colin shrugged again. "I take photos of all sorts of things in the Forbidden Forest. Mostly, flowers and nature still-lifes. But I really like the unicorns and whenever I see one, I take the shot. There's one area, around where Harry and Parvati fought Voldemort, where they like to come out and graze and sun themselves."

The group were now looking at Colin with new respect. "One of these days, I'd like to see your collection," Stan said softly.

"This one!" Rita exclaimed. It was a shot of Harry in an armchair, looking pensive, his burned hand dangling over the side of the chair's arm.

"Too serious. Not enough movement," Marcel complained.

Bernard, Stan and Rita looked up at the publisher with wide eyes. "Max, you wouldn't know a good photo if it rose up and grabbed you," Stan complained.

The publisher grimaced. "It's Marcel. I told you. I changed it. Legally," he complained.

"Max Vole is now Marcel Voleur," Rita whispered to Colin, rolling her eyes. "Too bad he couldn't change his personality. Legally."

The group went on to choose some more photos. There was one of Parvati leaning back against Harry with Harry's arms around her waist on a hospital settee. And another of Parvati talking in an animated manner to someone off camera. Another shot of Harry and Parvati all dressed up at last year's Yule Ball. And a brooding shot of Parvati, looking darkly beautiful as if reliving the pain of her encounter with the Dark Lord.

"Now the cover shot," said Bernard.

At this point, some of the other reporters and the rest of the art department staff gathered around the table. Many exclaimed over the quality of the photos. Colin flushed with pleasure.

"Colin. What kind of camera did you use?" Stan asked.

Colin shrugged. "I've got an old Zauberblad 240 charmed to flash."

"Lighting?" Stan asked. "Parabolic mirrors?"

Colin laughed. "No. Regular full-length dressing mirrors and hospital bed sheets as reflectors."

Stan started. "You're kidding? You managed these without any equipment?"

Colin shrugged, smiling broadly.

"Kid, when school lets out, come see me. I may have some work for you," Stan said with a smile.

Voleur leaned forward to whisper in Colin's ear. "Let me see your portfolio. You could make some money with some of your mood shots," he said softly. "Just let me borrow it for a while."

Colin nodded, smiling widely, handing his thick portfolio over to the publisher.

The editorial group finally settled on a cover shot of Harry and Parvati together looking at each other and then embracing, with Parvati's face turned toward the camera. "She is lovely," Rita said levelly.

Bernard gave her a half smile. "You better sheath those talons, Rita. You-Know-Who killed, what, a dozen of his followers to absorb their magic and he still couldn't stop Potter. I wouldn't want to be his enemy," he said coolly.

Rita sighed and nodded. "I guess I learned a lesson about being on the wrong side of that crowd," she said, rubbing her eyes under her glasses.

Stan chuckled. "Don't want to go back to that one room suite in a mason jar, eh, Rita," he said with a laugh.

Rita glared at the art director. "Oh, shut up. That only goes to prove it," she said, giving Stan's pony tail a yank.

"Proves what," he said, still chuckling.

"That under every pony tail is a horse's ass."

* * *

It was Tuesday evening and Harry and Parvati were exhausted.

They had spent a good portion of Monday morning posing for Colin Creevey and over an hour in the early afternoon with Rita Skeeter, under the watchful eyes of Sirius Black, Shane Patil, and a seeming phalanx of Aurors.

The Aurors, whatever comfort they provided to Harry and Parvati, did tend to make Rita's questions just a little less probing than perhaps they might otherwise be. And when she concluded her interview, Shane nodded to her with a knowing smile, as he picked up his wand. "Thank you Rita. Now we both have a recording of your interview."

Rita frowned at Shane. "Listen, handsome. You didn't have to do that."

Shane shrugged with a wry smile. "Just in case your Recordo-Quill ran out of ink."

No one paid attention as Rita, before she exited the hospital wing, paused an gave Harry a long, speculative look.

Monday evening was no better, with several more interviews with Sejanus Cross, who was someone less officious in his interview with Harry after yesterday's events with Harry's scar and Voldemort.

Tuesday morning was taken up with a press conference in the Great Hall at Hogwarts at the side of Cornelius Fudge, who dominated it with such platitudes as "We have the situation regarding You-Know-Who well in hand," and taking credit for assigning Aurors to protect "innocent young students like our Harry and Parvati."

After one last set of 'interviews' by law enforcement and Ministry officials, and one last quick checkup by Madame Pomfrey, Harry and Parvati were finally cleared to return to Gryffindor Tower. They had not even had time to move the privacy curtains in place to change into their uniforms, when word got out and two tiny first-year bundles of energy, Willie Peters and Maura Duffy, went streaking in a blur back to the Gryffindor Tower with the advance warning that Harry and Parvati were on their way

* * *

Hermione lay in her bed. She couldn't go down to the Common Room. She just couldn't. Not with all the hustle and bustle of preparations, all those eyes turned in her direction, all questioning, speculating, laughing.

No. When Harry...and Parvati--she managed to think the name without a grimace or tear for the first time in three days--finally made their appearance, she would go down and show her colors. But beyond that, she would stay in the dorm. Stay and dread when her roommate returned. That stupid cow, Parvati.

Hermione sighed sadly and looked down again at the freshly printed copy of Witch Weekly and shook her head. All the pictures. Such melodrama. Typical Rita Skeeter, she thought. But then again, this was the stuff of melodrama. This was Harry.

She read the final lines of the article and new tears began to form.

...Thus it was for Harry Potter, who has seen so much tragedy and has overcome such odds in his young life. Was not this encounter a summation of the life he had lived? He had seen the face of death up close once more and survived. He knew its features, its creases and its wrinkles as well as he knew his own face. He knew what it was like to be on the razor's edge of death. And he knew how to survive.

But for a young woman named Parvati Patil, it was the stuff of nightmares. Mindless and mind-numbing violence, coming out of nowhere, aimed at her. Nothing in her sheltered life had prepared her for such a confrontation, to see mortality lock eyes with hers. The beautiful young girl, still embracing the hopeful dreams of a maidenhood, who had yet to taste the sweetness that life had in store for her, found herself in mortal danger from the forces of irrational cruelty and hatred, the worst that the world had to offer.

But for Parvati Patil, it was love that made her strong. It was love that made her face her fears. It was love that took an innocent young girl and transformed her into a heroine.

But after all, isn't it true that love makes heroes of us all?

By Rita Skeeter, reporting from The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Hermione snorted at the overblown prose of that Skeeter bitch. But somewhere inside, she felt a stirring. Suddenly the bile rose up in her throat.

Yes, she had stood beside Harry and Ron when danger loomed. Yes, she had never quailed in the face of peril. And yes, she had faced death and not blinked. But when it came to the one thing she wanted the most, she could not face her own feelings, or the boy she cared for most in this world, the boy she loved. Yes, she could face death. But in the face of love, she was a coward. Hermione cried.

* * *

Hermione had recovered some of her composure when Lavender poked her head into the dorm room. "Hermione, they're on their way back. It's time to come down."

Hermione looked up, her eyes still red-rimmed.

Lavender frowned. "Listen. Parvati's your roommate. And Harry is supposed to be one of your best friends. I don't care what you're feeling. You go down there and greet them with the rest of us," she said in cool voice. "If you're not there, they'll know what kind of friend you really are," she now said coldly. "Now wash your face and get down there."

* * *

Parvati was a little surprised when she saw the portrait of the Lady in Pink already opened for them. She turned to smile at Cyrus Jordan, who, with Professor McGonagall, had escorted them up. "I think we're safe now," she said with a warm smile. "Thank you," she said and leaned over to kiss the Auror's cheek.

Harry pursed his lips and shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know about that." Then he shrugged. "You might as well come in, Mr. Jordan. You're a Gryffindor, too."

McGonagall smiled softly and nodded, but Jordan let out a hearty laugh. "And what, catch my son doing some illegal underage drinking?"

The group laughed, and Parvati turned to Harry, her eyes bright. "Come on. This is our moment."

Harry still hesitated and Parvati simply grabbed him by his house tie and pulled him through the portrait hole.

The room burst into cheering as Parvati and the reluctant, blushing Harry entered. Parvati turned to Harry, who looked at her uncertainly. Suddenly, she flung her arms around him and gave him a deep kiss, as the room erupted into even louder cheering and now some catcalls.

Harry's embarrassment intensified, then began slowly to fade as he felt Parvati's warmth. He felt a tear from her fall on his cheek. As Parvati eased out of the kiss, he looked at her and saw her eyes glistening. He smiled and realized how much all this meant to her, how much he meant to her. And he smiled, and sudden feeling of warmth toward her surging through him. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he began to walk with her down the three steps into the common room proper.

Suddenly, Parvati gasped and he turned quickly to her. She was staring, a smile on her face slowly dissolving into laughter. He looked in the direction of her stare.

There, above the big fireplace in the room, in place of the portrait of Godric Gryffindor, was a blown-up version of Colin Creevey's cover shot for Witch Weekly, which had come out that day, a day earlier than usual.

There they were, Harry and Parvati staring at each other in the picture. Then, Parvati's head slowly moved forward to rest on Harry's shoulder as she faced toward the camera, with Harry's head tilting to rest against the top of her head. And underneath the portrait was a Fred and George touch, a caption: "The Sultry Vixen and The Boy Who Snogged."

Parvati grabbed Harry's arm, still laughing breathlessly, and propelled him into the crowd.

* * *

Amid all the congratulations and the bottles of butterbeer, Harry felt awkward and embarrassed. But at least he was among friends now.

As he looked around the room, there seemed to be someone missing. Hermione.

Then he saw her. She was sitting in a corner, watching him. She looked pale and wan, and Harry's heart went out to her.

He made eye contact with her and gave her a small, crooked smile. She sighed and tried smiling back. Finally, she got up and came over to him, being jostled by the rowdy crowd on her way. When she finally made her way to him, Harry put his arms around her and gave her a warm hug and she buried her face in his robe. He lowered his head and mumbled into her hair. "I'm sorry, Hermione. For everything."

He could feel her sigh and she slowly looked up at him. "I'm just happy you're all right," she said in a small voice that could barely be heard above the noise in the common room.

He tried to smile at her, but he was interrupted by Fred and George, who wrapped their arms around his shoulders. "Harry, have we got something to show you," Fred said as they dragged him away.

As he looked back, he could see Ron gently take Hermione's arm and begin talking to her with a sympathetic look. She nodded once and Ron led her to a couch to sit down. Harry sighed to himself. 'Maybe Ron will be good for her,' he thought. 'At least she isn't running back to hide in her dorm again.'