Blood Magic

78 -- The Halloween Ball

Ron scowled at his reflection in the mirror. "Look at my shoes! They look as though I pulled them out of a rubbish dump!"

Harry, whose own clothing had received more than one disapproving comment from Ron that evening, was not feeling charitable. He shrugged. "You're the one who wouldn't go to look at clothes." He pulled on the tight shirt and tugged it down until it was smooth.

"I ... I wasn't happy with you."

"I'd noticed." Harry plopped onto his bed and leaned back on his elbows. "Hey, remember the Yule Ball? How we went walking in the garden?"

Ron reddened. "Harry!" he hissed. "That sounds --"

"Yeah, doesn't it?" Harry grinned over at Dean, who was trying to hide a smile by arranging the pleats of his stiff, golden-brown robe. "We were such little innocents. Though I did get some idea of what Fleur and Davies were doing."

"Is there a point to this?"

Harry smirked. "Well, I had this idea...."

"Which you'll tell me about, some day."

"Right. Well, since both of us have a rather better idea what walking in the garden is for, now, as well as, I hope, better prospects to do it with...." Harry drew a little object from behind his back and tossed it to Ron. "Catch!"

Quidditch reflexes were faster than Ron's thoughts, or he might have been too suspicious to comply. As it was, he stood and stared at the thing in his hand. "A ventriloquism drop?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "So if you're in the bushes with Lavender --"

"I don't think she would."

"Well if, and Snape comes out, or anyone else, you can draw him off to some other set of bushes." Harry stood up. His trousers made an interesting creaking sound at the change. "Here. Let's see if we can polish those shoes a bit." He drew his wand from the thigh-sheath and pointed it, trying to recall the spell Draco used to fix his boots. Polirio, he thought, with a slight gentle stroke. "Here, lift the robe a few inches -- I've no idea what this will do to fabric."

It took him four castings, but he managed to get Ron's shoes inconspicuous, if not attractive.

"A little extra curricula study?"

"There's no need for you to sound nasty about it -- I just did you a favor."

Ron shut his mouth tight. After a few small twitches to his jaw, he said sulkily, "Thank you."

"You're welcome. And no, I didn't go looking for boot-polishing charms. I just pick these things up from Draco. I suspect his parents are as insistent on grooming as on good marks."

"When have you seen Malfoy getting dressed?"

Ron sounded horrified. Harry laughed. "Oh no. You don't understand. Draco uses this spell if he scuffs his shoe brushing by the leg of a desk, or kicking a stone, or something. I hear it several times a week, and I have never seen Malfoy getting dressed."

Dean took a few steps towards them. Seamus was standing uneasily by the door. "You two ready?"

"I suppose," Ron muttered. He was starting to look nervous again. Harry tumbled back down on the bed and rolled onto his side.

"You lot go on. My partner requested a late entrance."

Ron whirled, his uncertainty suddenly fury. "Are you insane? You're going to the ball with some scheming Slytherin gold-digger who wants to show you off?"

Harry caught his own answering quick flash of anger and bent it into something else. "Uh-huh. But I've heard she goes all the way."

With a wordless expression of anger, Ron turned to storm out. Dean gave Harry a reproving look, and Harry sat up quickly. "Ron!"

Ron froze with his hand at the door. "What?"

"Don't spend all evening being angry. I shouldn't have been baiting you, but you've been a complete prick about my clothes, you know. Call it even?"

Ron frowned. "Later, Harry."

He didn't slam the door. Harry decided that was good enough.

When everyone was gone, Harry stood up and walked over to the mirror. Ron's earlier anger had kept him from surveying his outfit as critically as he would have liked. He studied it carefully, now. He'd filled out slightly since he'd stopped getting visibly taller from week to week, so the trousers were tight enough, now, though still possibly not as tight as the salesgirl would have liked. The lacings left a pattern of diamonds and triangles of pale skin visible along the outside of either leg from hip to knee, where his black boots, underneath, made the lower crossings much more subtle. Harry thought it might look better with boots in a contrasting color, but it was acceptable with black.

Two thin leather straps held the wand sheath to his right thigh. There was nothing Muggle about that, but it made him look dangerous, and he certainly wasn't about to spend Halloween unarmed. Harry wondered if his knife would work as well, or if it would be too much. He tried it. The fiery sheath contrasted nicely with the black trousers, but his usual worn belt looked silly. Harry transfigured it into a heavy, flat chain and tried that. He decided the additional texture detracted from the striking pattern of the lacings. Reluctantly, he set the knife aside.

The close-fitting iridescent shirt gave a general impression of silver, with strong notes of blue and green and gold. It clung to him in a manner that even Harry had to consider questionable. He wasn't usually aware of girls' nipples, never mind boys', but he could see his own quite clearly, set off by the color changes that marked every contour of his chest.

He had pulled his hair back in a single ponytail, for a more Muggle look. It changed his face, but after a few experiments, he decided he didn't dare leave the glasses off, although they were now merely glass. Instead, he changed the shape of them slightly, and darkened the lenses.

He tried a few poses in front of the mirror and found a way to stand, with one hip out, that was aggressive rather than feminine. After that, he got embarrassed and drew the curtain over the mirror, then practiced with the wand sheath until he could draw his wand quickly and with a minimum of thought. He checked the time. The ball had started fifteen minutes ago. That was probably good enough.

The music had not yet started when Harry walked through the great doors; that suited him perfectly. A few people fell silent when he entered, but most did not notice. Harry pressed in until he was clear of the staff table. A little ripple of disrupted conversations spread in his wake.

He took a deep breath. Olivia was over by the punch, not far from the door, talking to another Slytherin girl. Blue stars twinkled in her fair hair as her head shifted. She was wearing robes -- no, Harry corrected, a gown -- of shimmering white on white brocade, open in front to show an underskirt that barely hinted of blue. She looked beautiful, but in some distant, aristocratic, manner. She looked untouchably perfect.

"Oy, Olivia!" Despite his intent, Harry was surprised at how clearly his voice carried across the busy room. People turned and fell silent. It was with an effort of will that Harry kept his head proudly up. He set his hand on one hip and let the other move slightly to the side, leaving his free hand hanging just at his wand. "You with me?"

Olivia giggled. "Ooo, Harry!" She nodded and wriggled her shoulders, left bare by the gown that modestly covered her ankles, and started over to him. "Absolutely!"

People were talking again, quietly and urgently. Harry glanced back towards the head of the hall and saw his father staring at him, still too shocked to be angry. Harry smirked back, and watched the open-mouthed astonishment tighten to rage. You thought I was a strutting, arrogant brat? You just watch me be that. He turned away to greet Olivia with a hand trailed down her hair, her neck, her chest (not quite as shockingly far as it was uncovered) and her side. He took his time reaching her waist, and only then pulled her close.

"Don't do anything that could get us thrown out," she whispered.

He pushed his hips up once against her, then stepped a few inches back -- just enough for the space to show between them.

"I only want to dance, of course," he whispered, and she laughed, a low, heady sound.

"To the floor, then?"

She hung off his arm as if she were drunk, and he strutted out onto the dance floor. As if on cue, the band struck up their first dance. Harry thought privately that they couldn't have staged it better. Olivia clung to him, and he pulsed up against her, doing his best to time the measure to the music. She whimpered into his ear.

"Oh. Perfect."

"Huhn. You look gorgeous. You can't imagine what nerve it takes to touch you."

"Potter!"

Harry shot a quick glance over his shoulder. His father was striding towards them looking absolutely livid. Olivia's eyes went wide.

"I didn't think he'd be that angry."

Severus grabbed Harry's arm, then let it go again, as quickly as if it had been scalding. "You ...." He spluttered, then pointed at the door. "Leave this room and put on some decent clothing!"

"Pardon, sir?"

"You are a student at a respectable wizarding institution, Potter! You will not walk around in that obscene --"

Severus's rant and Olivia's nearly hysterical giggles were interrupted by Professor McGonagall.

"Professor Snape!" They turned to see her glaring. "Pray control yourself." She graced Harry with a tight -- and rather shaky -- nod. "While his clothing might not be suitable for regular wear, I think it is within acceptable parameters for Halloween fancy dress." She assumed a strained smile. "Besides, I believe it is traditional Muggle garb. Am I right, Mr. Potter?"

"Wha-- Oh, yes."

"Traditional for what?" Severus was at least managing to sneer, now. "Prostitution?"

"Er ... clubbing."

"Muggles fight in that?" McGonagall exclaimed.

"No, going to clubs, that means. Dance clubs."

McGonagall smiled triumphantly at Severus. "There, you see? You really should learn to be more culturally tolerant, Severus."

Severus's face spasmed, as multiple expressions tried simultaneously to occupy his features. Finally, wordless, he whirled (At least eighteen inches. Fuck!) and strode back to the head table.

"Do, however," McGonagall chided, "try to dance with a bit more propriety. You're likely to give us old people heart failure." She covered her nose and mouth with one hand. "Excuse me," she gasped, and then McGonagall, also, hurried away, passing the staff dais to walk swiftly out of the door into the Entrance Hall.

Olivia, her face pink, looked at Harry. "McGonagall ... Is she usually that odd?"

Harry leaned close to whisper. "She was trying not to laugh. In front of us, anyway."

Olivia giggled. "I don't know what was wrong with Snape," she confessed, just as quietly. "He's not usually that...." Words failed her.

"It's me. My father used to torment him when they were at school, from what I've heard. And he knows how to hold a grudge! McGonagall protects me when she can."

"But you bait him."

"Why not? I've been as deferential as I could stand to be, and it didn't change a thing."

"Oh." Olivia looked down. "He's not bad, really. He takes care of us."

"I know." Harry kissed the side of her face. "Dance some more?"

When, several songs later, they sat down, Harry finally got a chance to look over the other students. About half were in modern dress robes. Some, like Dean, were in older or foreign robes -- Harry was pleased when he realized he could now tell the difference. Dean seemed to be taking advantage of his skin color to carry off a traditional Moorish look, which implied at least one other Muggle-raised wizard had figured it out, as well. Harry remembered how Dean had surveyed him the other day and frowned thoughtfully. Perhaps such things were more obvious to an artist's eye.

Hermione looked lovely in deep blue swirling robes that set off the copper highlights in her hair, which was pinned up in a very feminine style. Lydia had made a similar choice -- her hair was swept back and up in a multitude of little plaits -- but her red robes were of cleaner, tailored lines. Harry wondered if they had worn each other's house colors intentionally.

Pansy Parkinson, nearby, was wearing a formal gown in a beautiful green which suited her badly. She looked bilious as she hung off Nott's arm. Crabbe hovered behind them. Harry looked for Goyle and found him much further along the wall, with a group of younger Slytherins, but Draco was not with him.

Harry scanned the room for a fox, and saw several kitty-cat girls, and a large seventh-year boy with a tiger's ears, tail, and ruff, combined, oddly, with a sort of armor which Harry vaguely recognized from one of Dudley's video games. He thought it was Japanese. He was distracted by a girl dressed, quite cutely, as a storybook page boy. He took a few moments to appreciate the unusual sight of tight leggings under a short tunic, combined with not-quite-adequately bound breasts, before he realized it was Zoë. He sincerely hoped she had just tucked her hair under her hat, rather than cutting it. It wasn't until the appearance of her partner, instantly recognizable as Robin Hood, that Harry realized she'd taken his suggestion and dressed as Maid Marion -- but Maid Marion in her boy's disguise.

When a crusader-era knight passed them, Harry thought for a fleeting moment that it must be an associated Gryffindor before he recognized Draco.

He was wearing a white, long-sleeved tunic that came down almost to his knees. The hem and cuffs were bordered by wide bands of green fabric embroidered in more white, and a glittering shirt of fine chainmail covered his torso and shoulders. His leggings were white, as were his boots, and he had cut his pale hair short -- not in any modern fashionable style, but in a plain bowl-cut -- but then, somehow, curled it slightly, so that it caught the candle-light in little turns of white and gold. A broadsword hung at his left, and a short knife at his right, both suspended from a wide, white belt and sheathed in tooled green leather highlighted with silver. Harry was still staring when Draco turned and saw him.

Draco smiled and came to join them.

"Hello, Harry. Good evening, Olivia." He bent to kiss Olivia's hand before coming to stand half-behind Harry's seat. "Pity that shirt of yours isn't darker," he confided.

"Why?"

"We make a stunning contrast, don't you think?"

Harry considered Draco's position, standing with one hand on the high back of Harry's chair, bending slightly to speak close to his ear. He glanced at Olivia, who was smiling.

He stretched his legs out his legs in front of him and crossed his arms over his chest. "You're posing."

"And you are trying to, but don't know how."

Harry shifted to glare at Draco, and Draco nodded.

"There -- that smoldering look is much better. You do that well."

Olivia burst out laughing, and Harry, reluctantly, smiled.

"I thought you were going to be a fox."

Draco shrugged and, with much jingling of steel rings, sat. "I attempted a few variations. Sadly, they all involved turning my hair a frightfully Weasley red. I couldn't do it."

Harry snorted. "I'll tell Ron."

"If you must."

Harry reminded of Ron, looked about for him. He finally spotted his gangly friend (his hair was, Harry decided, quite fox-colored) sitting at a small table on the other side of the hall. He was wearing the dress robes the twins had bought for him at Harry's request, and sitting with his knees perhaps a bit too far apart for the style, watching Lavender talk to the Patil twins. Anthony Goldstein was with them -- Harry thought he might be Padma's date.

His attention was diverted from the scene by the arrival of Hermione and Lydia. Lydia stood uncomfortably, but Hermione plopped down on the other side of Olivia and looked around her at Harry. She was flushed from dancing.

"Hello! Introduce me?"

"'Course! Um ... Olivia, this is my friend Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is Olivia Wilkenson."

The two looked uncertainly at each other. After an awkward pause, Hermione held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Olivia."

"Likewise," Olivia answered, a bit stiffly. Hermione looked past her, to Draco. "Hello, Malfoy! You look quite impressive!"

He continued to watch the dancers. "Thank you," he said coldly. His lips barely moved.

Frowning, Hermione stood and walked over in front of him. "What's the problem, Malfoy?" She considered him for a moment. "Willing to be pleasant to me in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but not out here, where your friends can see you?"

Draco looked up, then rapidly away. He scanned the room thoughtfully. "It is rather.... That class is a self-selected group, especially when taught by a known werewolf. There are no negative repercussions to social contact with you there. Here ..." He looked up at her. "...it does have risks, yes."

With a graceful shrug, he stood, jingling, and inclined his head briefly. "May I have this dance, Miss Granger?"

Hermione stared at him for a moment. Distaste overtook pleased surprise across her features and she stepped back. "I think not."

"Pardon?"

"It's hardly appealing, under the circumstances."

"Oh go on," Harry urged. "It will be good for both of you."

"Harry! He has made it clear I am for convenience --"

"This is not convenient!" Draco glared at her. "You are right. I am apologizing."

Hermione took a deep breath. "All right. It's appreciated. But I still prefer to dance with willing partners."

"Hermione, go on!" Harry urged.

"Why?"

"It ... it commits him to it. This is a public place. And you could use the contact."

Hermione shook her head, but more in astonishment than negation. Draco looked amused. "All right," she said. "I have an offer." She looked at Draco. "I will dance with you -- if Harry does."

"What?" Harry sat bolt upright. She turned to face him.

"Since you're the one who cares."

Harry thought quickly. She obviously expected that he would refuse and she would be out of it....

"All right."

"What!"

Harry shrugged. "As long as it's not a slow dance." He glanced over at Olivia. "And as long you don't mind."

Olivia shook her head, but Draco stepped back. "Now, I'm not sure I'm interested. I expect my partners to be rather more enthusiastic."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "Take it or leave it, Draco."

He laughed. "I will take it, Miss Granger, but we are not yet on a first name basis." He shot a glance, steel grey and blade quick, at Harry. "You're next." He held out his arm. "Miss Granger?"

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

Severus Snape glowered as he watched Harry with Olivia. He thought it might keep him from looking inappropriately horrified. At least the boy was sitting down ... not that those skin-tight trousers were much more decent from the front than from the back. From where Severus stood, he could see the triangle-bordered diamonds of exposed skin that ran from the top of Harry's hip down to the tops of his boots. He glanced around to determine who else was looking.

Remus was, a slight smile on his lips, and his head bent towards Minerva. Well, he was hardly likely to be making salacious comments to the deputy headmistress. Severus hoped they were not talking about his reaction, instead -- not here, where others might overhear. He caught the instinctive paranoia and realized that the danger was not as great as it had been. He need have no fear of tomorrow's gossip. The only witnesses that could harm him now were the ones who would join him in the presence of the Dark Lord before dawn. Surely, they would all be called away soon?

Distracted, he scanned the room for those of his Slytherins he feared he would see later that evening. Goyle was over by the wall, looking lost -- perhaps he would stay. Crabbe was missing already -- surely he had been with Parkinson, earlier? He went to prepare, most likely. Disappointing, but not unexpected. He grew anxious when he could not spot Draco, either. He had held some hope the Malfoy boy might resist, if only in pride. Automatically, his attention reverted to Harry, and his heart stopped. Leaning over the back of Harry's chair, a shining knight attendant upon a rather sullen prince, was Draco Malfoy. Severus saw him lean forward and whisper, his mouth inches from Harry's ear. Harry sneered in response, and leaned back to stretch out black-clad legs and cross bare arms across his shimmering shirt. He spoke back over his shoulder at Draco. Whatever Draco said in reply made him whirl in quick offense. For a moment, Severus was taken by the image of them -- dark against light, both passionate and strong -- before stumbling into the realization that Harry was the dark one, here, while Malfoy -- not, however fond of him Severus might be, a pure boy -- appeared a Galahad of pristine light.

Harry and his challenger settled, friends again, or perhaps comrades in arms, sitting side by side. So engrossed was Severus in the study of his young hawks that he did not notice the approach of the girls until Granger stepped in front of Draco, and he rose to look down at her. Severus watched Harry speak in rising anger. This, Severus thought in relief, is it. Here is where it all dissolves. He will turn on Draco, in favor of his brave girl.... He jerked back as Draco thrust his elbow at Granger, and she slipped a hand around it. Together, the two walked out on to the dance floor, and with barely noticeable hesitation, the Malfoy heir set a hand to the Muggle-born girl's waist, as she laid her hand on his shoulder. Bodies close, but politely distinct, they waltzed through a dance of moderate tempo, while less practiced couples clung and swayed. Severus looked back at Harry and saw him watching with a fond, but superior, indulgent smile.

When the dance ended, Draco walked Granger back to Harry and her token girl, and Harry stood. Severus expected him to reclaim Granger from the indifferent Ravenclaw, but instead, Harry went to Draco.

No taking of arms, now. There was a single look, of challenge as much as connection, and Harry led the way out onto the crowded floor.

The music, predictably, had quickened; no more than one song of half-dozen was slow. Harry and Draco danced as if they were fighting, as if they were maneuvering for the Snitch. They focused on each other's faces, both tense with concentration, sparing only occasional flickers of attention for body motions. Duelists -- he was willing to bet at least one of them had started this on a dare. He certainly hoped so.

The floor started to fill, blocking Severus's view of the incongruous couple. He scanned the crowd for other watchers: Remus, studious, now; the Weasley boy, visibly distressed, and his younger sister, amused; Miss Brown, absolutely wide-eyed. Zabini, shaking his head; the new Slytherin Chaser, whispering to the girl at his side.

When he next caught a glimpse of Harry and Draco, both had relaxed somewhat. Draco was the better dancer, but Harry possessed enough focused energy to make up for his lack of art. Both were now receiving looks that were more admiring than shocked.

As the music ended, Draco bowed formally to Harry, and Harry, as loose-limbed as ever, nodded back. For a few paces, the two walked together, leaving a spreading wake of whispers and stares, then Harry paused and said something which made Draco turn his hand in languorous dismissal.

Severus was not surprised that they did not leave the dance floor together, but he was astounded to see Draco, not Harry, return to Olivia, Granger, and the Ravenclaw girl. Harry was weaving across the crowded floor, and it was a moment before Severus identified his destination -- the punchbowl.

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

Harry, his breath still settling, poured glasses of punch for himself, Olivia, and Draco, who did not appear to have a partner. As he was filling the third, a dark mass moved into place at his shoulder. "Mister Potter," a familiar, icy voice hissed. "I want a word with you."

Harry put down the ladle and the glass and turned to look at his father, as coolly as he could with the music still pounding through him. Clearly, Severus had decided to try again, this time with more self-control. "Yes?"

"I realize the concept may be beyond you, but Miss Wilkenson is a young lady of good breeding. You are demeaning her by appearing in this attire."

Harry blinked, then rolled his eyes. "She knew exactly what I was going to wear. She liked it." He shot Severus a sly look. "Possibly, Draco liked it a little more...."

Severus inhaled sharply, as if he had been burnt, and Harry wished he had held his tongue.

"Don't worry," he said hastily. "It's ... I turned him down, really. I mean, I know we danced, but --."

Severus's nostrils flared. Harry knew he was narrowly holding back a screaming fit. Instead, he stepped closer and spoke in a low, threatening whisper.

"The problem with showing a Malfoy your backside, Potter, is that it puts him at your back. And Malfoys so frequently have knives, as well as wands. Of course, Gryffindors like risk, don't they?"

"I said, I --"

"Excuse me." Olivia appeared at their side. She smiled brightly and insincerely at Severus. "Is there some problem, Professor?"

"Problem! You are making a spectacle of yourself with this --" His eyes flickered over Harry with a quickness that was almost like fear -- "this unsuitable boy." He turned to her, changing his focus with relief. "What would your parents say?"

"Well, Mummy would give me advice on keeping him interested, and Dadda would want to know if his rumored violent fits were confined to his enemies --"

Harry felt his face heat. Before could think how to respond, his father's breath caught. Harry saw his body twitch slightly and his fists clench. Harry did not need to wonder why; his scar was suddenly searing. He closed his eyes and worked on blocking awareness, on dropping the connection, on sliding under Voldemort's distracted notice. He heard a Severus mutter, and when he opened his eyes, his father was gone. Olivia, however, was staring at him with eyes wide as saucers.

"What?"

"Why ... You...." Involuntarily, her eyes flickered towards his bare arm, and Harry nearly laughed. A different kind of pain surged through him. He wasn't certain whether he was more distressed that she understood -- he had thought her innocent of that -- or relieved not to need to explain. He wondered if anyone else had noticed that he tensed with pain when the Dark Lord summoned his servants.

"Scar." He brushed his fingers across his forehead, feeling the heat that he knew accompanied an angry flare of red. He was tempted to release his hair to hide it. "It's ... It hurts, when...." He shrugged. "You know."

She did know. He had to look away from her. The swirl of his father's robes was just vanishing beyond the door to the Entrance Hall. Harry watched to see who else left. A seventh-year Slytherin whose name he couldn't remember had just reached the door, and another seventh-year -- a Ravenclaw, Harry thought -- was moving indirectly, but quickly, towards it.

"You know when --" Olivia stopped. "Oh, no." She grabbed at his arm suddenly. "Let's dance."

"In a minute."

"Is that door interesting?"

The Ravenclaw was close, now. A second Slytherin was at his side.

"No -- just who's going through it." At least three. Already. And he expects more after tonight. Harry repressed a shudder.

Olivia tugged. "Please." Her voice caught. "Please, let's."

Harry looked at her anxious face. He wondered who she was afraid he would see.

"It's all right," he soothed. "I'm not going to go kill them, or anything. I just like to know."

Olivia looked away. "Sometimes I'd rather not."

"Okay." Harry reached down and took her hand. He squeezed it reassuringly. "Let's dance, then."

For all her insistence on dancing, she leaned against him as soon as he turned away, and he stroked her back gently. She was afraid for someone, he was certain. He glanced around for Draco then, and saw him near their seats, leaning casually back against a pillar. Though his pose was idle, his attention was fixed, as Harry's had been, on the door. To Harry's relief, he didn't look like he planned to go anywhere.

"Let me take the drinks back, at least. I promised."

Harry did nothing more but set down the punch before the music changed, and Olivia pulled him onto the dance floor. It was a fast song, and he threw all his anxiety into frantic motion. Olivia did the same. Their eyes met at the end of every turn and jump, desperate to keep their separate motions attuned. Harry tried to give his mind completely to the way her breasts were exposed to him when she squeezed her bare shoulders forward, and the stroke of her full skirts across his legs each time she stepped close and rolled her hips, and keep it from his father, and what he might be doing in his last night of service to his terrible lord.

By the time they collapsed into chairs, two songs later, Harry could almost believe that everything would be all right after all. The feeling wavered when he could not spot Draco anywhere, and vanished like water down an opened drain when he saw Hermione hurrying through the crowd towards them.

"Excuse me," she said to Olivia, then, "Harry!"

"What is it?"

"I need to talk to you. Right away." She glanced at Olivia, who was frowning. "It's about Shadow -- something awful has happened."

Olivia relaxed slightly at what was obviously a pet's name. Harry squeezed her hand, then, remembering how Draco had greeted her earlier, stood and kissed it.

"Excuse me a moment. Gryffindor business."

She giggled in a promising manner. Hermione hustled him out into the corridor, pulled him around the corner, and cast Secretus about them.

"It's Snape."

"What happened?"

"I was checking on Shadow --"

"During the ball?"

"Lydia got into this long conversation with a cabal of Ravenclaws, and I was bored. How much can you say about note-taking technique? Snape had just left, and so did a bunch of other Slytherins --"

"Summoned. And I saw at least one Ravenclaw. What did you see?"

"Crabbe pulled Goyle out of the ball after the others left -- did you see? By the time I found Shadow, they were coming into their common room. Crabbe said Goyle had to come, and Goyle said he didn't, and Crabbe said he did, and then he threw a cloak at him and told him not to defend Snape, because Snape was a traitor."

"Shit!"

"Goyle protested, and Crabbe -- apparently he heard the headmaster call "Remus!" from Snape's rooms the morning after the full moon, so Pansy told him that meant Professor Lupin must have been there, and so she had him watch Snape while she waited near Professor Lupin's rooms. She saw Lupin come back later in black robes that were nothing like his own.

Hermione ran out of breath.

"Oh no." Harry's denial was a bare whisper.

"So Parkinson helped him write a letter to send to Voldemort and he hopes that Voldemort will reward him, and says if Goyle came with him...." Hermione's voice trailed off.

"I've got to stop him." Harry squirmed his fingers into his pocket, trying to reach the portkey box he had wedged into the tight fold. "Tell Dumbledore. I'm going to go to his rooms and see if I can stop him."

"Harry?" Hermione's face was anxious. "Dumbledore!"

He managed to nod before the portkey yanked at his stomach, and pulled him from the dim torchlight of the corridor to his dark bedroom in the hidden roots of the castle.

"Lux!" Harry ordered, as he dashed from bedroom to kitchen to parlor. Flames sprang to life on candles and lamps, revealing empty rooms. Harry held his hand above the charred wood in the grate -- it was still warm. The black cape was gone from the hooks by the door. Severus had already left.

Panic rose in his chest and tightened around his throat. Harry tried to breathe -- to think! From here, his father would need to walk to the edge of the Apparation block on the far side of the lake. Harry could still catch him. If only I had my broom!

He gripped the back of the couch and closed his eyes. I need to think for a moment -- to plan. I can do it. Best case, I catch him before he goes to Voldemort. If that fails, then what? I could follow and try to rescue him, or try to get someone else to do it. Dumbledore might help, if I don't need to leave the grounds, but otherwise, he'll probably decide it's hopeless, or that I'm more important. Harry clenched his jaw. They think he's expendable.

Harry realized he should check the map. If his father was still close enough, he'd tell Dumbledore, but he needed his cloak to evade Voldemort's crew, and his modification of the Hunter's Stealth potion to evade Nagini. He pulled on the chain around his neck, and slid his fingers down to the rectangular locket. A moment later, he was in the empty room near Gryffindor.

He raced through the common room, past a few confused younger students, up to his dormitory, and flung his trunk open to dig for the map. The dot marked "Severus Snape" was just starting to skirt the shore. There might be enough time to catch him, if he acted immediately. He threw the items he might need into his schoolbag, and tore back down to the third floor, heading towards Dumbledore's office.

He never got that far. Hermione, her eyes wild with panic, met him at the landing.

"I can't find him."

Harry felt his entire body tense at her words.

"I can't find Dumbledore, or McGonagall, or --"

"Go back. Floo to Grimmauld Place. If no one's there, try the Burrow. I'm going after him."

"Harry!"

"I've got the cloak. I've got a PLAN." Harry heard his voice rise to a shriek and tried to bring it down again. "I need to try."

She closed her eyes for a moment, anguish on her face, then nodded. In a sudden motion, she reached out and pulled him tightly to her. "Good luck." Her whisper was not a lover's breath against his ear, but a warrior's blessing, taut as a bowstring. "Come back."

He nodded, not trusting his voice, and turned to run, then, changing his mind, vaulted onto the banister and slid down it once again. Hermione's startled shriek faded as he plunged down.

At the bottom of the main staircase, he found Olivia waiting in the doorway to the Great Hall. Her anxiety changed to fury as soon as she saw him.

"Where have you been?" She gestured angrily at his bag. "What's that thing for?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Look, something's come up. I need to go. Sorry."

"'Something's come up?'" she parroted. "Harry, we are at a ball. You are my partner. Whatever your ex-girlfriend wants can wait."

"No. Someone I love is in danger; I need to go."

"You do not need to do anything! You're just going to run off, like a stupid --"

"I don't have time for this! I'm going!"

He had taken two steps away when her hand closed on his wrist. Her voice was low and urgent. "Harry, I swear, if you walk out on me now, I will never speak to you again."

He closed his eyes for a moment. She was pretty, she was fun, she was smart ... and there wasn't a chance in the world he was staying. He didn't even have the time to explain better.

He looked back at her. "I'm sorry," he said. "I had fun." She was still staring at him in shock as he leaned forward and kissed her hair. "Good luck with everything."

She did not call after him.