The Temple of Le Fay

Chapter Twenty-One: The Aftermath

Harry lay in bed a week later, completely wide-awake. He'd just had a long bath in the Prefect's bathroom in which he'd replayed the last few minutes of his practise with Dean the week before.

"Do you mind if I ask Ginny to the ball?"

Harry had stared at him for a long moment in shock.

"What?"

"Do you mind if I ask Ginny to the ball?"

"You want to ask Ginny to the ball?"

"Yeah. I mean, she's really hurting right now. I want to do something to cheer her up, and I know we'll have fun if we go together. We're good friends, you know?"

And then someone else, someone using Harry's mouth and Harry's voice, because it certainly wasn't Harry himself, replied:

"You don't have to ask me. I broke up with Ginny. No one needs to ask my permission to ask her out. She can do what she wants."

"Great! I'll ask her, then. Thanks, Harry."

"You don't need to thank me," he laughed, although it had sounded to him more like a duck being strangled. Dean hadn't noticed.

No, no need to thank me, Harry thought as he stared up at the canopy of his bed. Every night since then, he had lain awake for hours, thinking uncomfortable thoughts about Dean and Ginny.

Since when has Dean liked Ginny?

Well, he was going to ask her out last year.

This is a bit much to take in. I never even thought he might still like her. He says they're just friends. Can I believe that? What business is it of mine, anyway?

I can't trust anyone.

I guess if I ever wondered about that, now I know. I can't trust anyone. I know I'm right.

I guess I know who it was that Trelawney predicted Dean would stab in the back now.

Rolling over, he thumped his pillow several times, and settled down to a fitful sleep.

*

"My lord!"

Harry stood quietly by, watching once more from the shadows as Voldemort's Death Eaters stood before him.

"So, once again you will ride out, Macnair. Tell me this, will you find for me what I seek this time?"

"We shall try, my lord," Macnair replied thickly. Harry recognised the tall, bulky Death Eater as being the man who had been selected to execute Buckbeak the Hippogriff nearly three years before. Harry wondered absently where Buckbeak was now.

"You will try," Voldemort repeated. "You are too stupid to lie to me, Macnair, you lack the imagination for anything beyond anticipation of killing. I am grateful that you will not be leading the assault tonight."

"No, my lord."

"Rather, I have a newcomer to the ranks, one who is placed most valuably in wizarding society. A man with real value to me, and not some lackey in an insignificant role in an insignificant department of the Ministry. No, our new friend here has a very important role. Far, far more important than any of you. Our friend here is in the inner circle of Minister Fudge and is, you might say, a deeply trusted colleague."

There were a few laughs at this, and Harry inched forward, trying to see who the newcomer was. He had to warn Dumbledore, as soon as he awoke. In the meantime, he could take advantage of his invisible presence. He slipped closer to the light, but still stayed in the shadows. He was afraid of moving into the light, as though only the shadows were what kept Voldemort and the Death Eaters from realising his presence.

Leaning around a column, Harry tried to identify the Death Eaters, but they were all masked. Instead, he looked toward the newcomer, trying to identify him instead. The newcomer had his back to Harry, but there was something familiar about his wavy blonde hair. Harry tried to place the man, but his line of thought was interrupted when Voldemort rose from his chair, and stepped down from the raised plinth on which it stood. Harry almost smiled as the Death Eaters tried to move away from Voldemort without being noticed, only to have his serpentine features contort into a sneer that made Harry and several of the Death Eaters shudder. Only the newcomer stood still, his stance serene and confident, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

"Traditionally, there is a ceremony for the welcoming of a new Death Eater to our ranks," Voldemort told the blonde man, who nodded as though he knew all the details and was happy with the arrangement. One or two of the Death Eaters shifted uncomfortably. Harry pulled slightly further back into the shadows, uncomfortably aware that Voldemort could probably find a way to hurt him, even in a dream.

"The ceremony impresses upon candidates the seriousness of the choice they are making, the glory of being a Death Eater for Lord Voldemort," Voldemort continued, prowling around the blonde man, who stood motionless as he was studied carefully by the evil wizard.

"Your arm," Voldemort hissed. The blonde man slowly unclasped his hands and brought his right arm out in front of him, rolling back the sleeve of his robe to present his bare forearm.

Voldemort turned away, and raised his hands, the sleeves of his own robes falling away to reveal his skinny, pale, scaly arms. His black wand was held aloft, seemingly absorbing all the light around it.

"Gladius!"

Voldemort spun, the dagger in his hand plunging down at the blonde man's unprotected arm. Harry gasped as it drove home, piercing the man's flesh easily, and yet the blonde man didn't even flinch.

Voldemort withdrew the dagger, and it disappeared in a puff of steam. Belatedly, Harry realised that it hadn't gone through the man's arm, rather that it had stopped short. Blood had welled up quickly, and was now spilling from the man's arm, but, as far as Harry could tell, he didn't react in any way.

Voldemort watched the man dispassionately, and then reached out one scaly hand and touched the flowing blood. Several Death Eaters gave up all pretence and stepped backward sharply.

The blonde man reacted as well. As Voldemort kept his finger on the man's arm, he shook violently, as though he was having a seizure.

"As the blood of the enemy will be spilled to bring me the power of Morgan Le Fay, so the blood of the loyal is spilled to bind you to me," Voldemort intoned.

For Harry, it seemed as though an age passed. His scar began to throb, quickly reaching an almost unbearable level of pain. He couldn't understand why he hadn't already woken up.

"Eternus Nox!" Suddenly, Voldemort pulled his hand away, and the pain Harry was feeling suddenly multiplied many times over. He dropped to his hands and knees, half in and half out of the shadows, his only legible thought was that the blonde man now had a black mark on his forearm.

And then the last of Harry's strength left him, and he collapsed to the floor.

*

Harry snapped upright in his bed, his covers twisted and tangled around his legs. He struggled free of the sweat-soaked sheets, and dashed from his dormitory and out of Gryffindor Tower.

As the Fat Lady swung closed behind him, he slumped against a wall. He felt as though he'd run a marathon, as though he'd spent an entire double lesson being used by Professor Skeeter for sparring practise.

"Out of bed, Potter? Twenty points from Gryffindor."

Harry turned slowly. Professor Snape stood behind him, smiling in revolting glee at having caught Harry out of bounds.

"Professor," Harry said, pushing himself upright. "I had another dream, another dream about Voldemort."

"Of course," Snape sneered. "Famous Harry Potter has a bad dream, so it's perfectly acceptable for him to be out of bounds."

"He was making a new Death Eater," Harry persisted. "He stabbed him in the arm, and put a spell on the cut and the man had the Dark Mark on his arm."

Harry was panting quickly, trying to fight the fatigue that was threatening to fold him up like a cheap set of robes.

Snape looked at him curiously, then snapped out a hand and grabbed Harry's shoulder.

"Come with me, Potter," he said, hauling Harry easily upright and marching him away from the Fat Lady's portrait. Snape marched Harry quickly through the corridors, freezing two of the moving staircases with a spell that Harry absently remembered, in case he ever got his magic back.

Snape brought them to a halt beside the familiar stone gargoyle that marked the entrance to Professor Dumbledore's office.

"Toffee Penny," Snape snarled. The gargoyle sprung to life, turning around to reveal the stairs to Dumbledore's office. Snape and Harry stepped onto the moving stairs and were carried upwards. Harry found himself wondering whether they would be waking Dumbledore up, or if the Headmaster worked through the night.

As soon as they stepped off the staircase, the door to Dumbledore's office swung open, and for a split second Harry thought that Dumbledore had somehow known they were coming. But it was Professor McGonagall who held the door, a faint look of surprise crossing her features before they settled into their usual stern appearance.

"Severus, Potter," she said. "You wish to see the Headmaster?"

"Indeed," Snape said. "Potter here has been having another of his useful dreams."

"Well, you had better come in then. Dumbledore is meeting with another of our colleagues, but I'm sure that they won't object to being interrupted."

McGonagall stepped aside to let them enter. She departed in their wake, but Harry barely noticed.

"Remus!"

He seemed to cross the room in less time than it took to wave a wand. He embraced Lupin warmly, feeling for the first time in weeks as though things were beginning to look up.

Letting go, he felt slightly embarrassed at the way he had greeted Lupin, as the two weren't normally so open towards one another. A single look at the warm smile on Lupin's face squashed any fears that he may have felt, however.

"How may we be of assistance, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"I... I had another dream, sir. Sorry, I shouldn't have-" he half turned to look back at Lupin.

"Quite understandable," Dumbledore said. "Now, you dreamt of Voldemort?"

The dream was already slipping from Harry's memory, and he cursed himself for the time he had wasted in greeting Remus.

"He was..." Harry's face contorted with the effort of recollection. "He was talking to a group of Death Eaters. He said that they shouldn't fail him again, that they had to bring back what he wanted this time. Then someone new came in. Voldemort said he was someone important, someone in Minister Fudge's inner circle."

"What did he look like?" Snape snapped. Harry had almost forgotten that the Potions master was there.

"He had wavy blonde hair," Harry said. "That's all I saw. He always had his back to me."

Snape made a derisive, disbelieving noise that earned him a sharp look from Lupin.

"What happened next?" Dumbledore said.

Harry recounted the ceremony that Voldemort and the blonde man had gone through. Snape hissed as he described how the new Death Eater had shook violently as Voldemort pressed his fingers against the knife wound.

"True," he muttered. "And most likely more painful since his return then the first time around."

Harry stared at Snape for a long moment, wanting to ask what role the former Death Eater was playing in the conflict with Voldemort's forces. But Dumbledore called his attention back to his dream.

"What happened after that, Harry?"

"Voldemort said something about blood being what bound a Death Eater to him. And he said he needed the blood of the enemy to get Le Fay's power, as well."

He looked at Dumbledore, who said nothing. Harry continued.

"The new Death Eater collapsed, and I blacked out. That's when I woke up," he finished, wishing that there were more.

"Very well. I shall alert the proper people of this new information. Thank you, Harry. Severus, I hate to impose further, but could you see Harry back to Gryffindor Tower?"

Snape nodded once, no emotion visible on his face. He walked to the door, and held it open. Harry nodded briefly to Dumbledore and trudged wearily from the room.

The door shut behind them, but Lupin waited until the sound of the moving stairs had faded before turning to Dumbledore.

"He looks dreadful, Albus."

"He's not sleeping, he's working harder than anyone, and he's taking no time to relax," Dumbledore replied, heavily. "What can we do? In time, he will come to realise that he can't do everything. In the meantime, he has effectively abandoned his friends, and is keeping himself at arms length from everyone."

"He didn't even ask how Sirius is," Remus realised.

"I am sure that it was not deliberate," Dumbledore declared. "Harry is under a great deal of stress this year. Even by his own elevated standards, he has had a particularly eventful term."

"Why is he shutting out his friends?"

"Ah, well, as to that, only Harry can answer your question," Dumbledore said unhappily. "Since he was hospitalised on Halloween, as you know, Harry has withdrawn from everyone. While superficially he is filling the role of the Boy Who Lived, to those who know him, he has changed markedly. It would appear that his encounter with the Boggart affected him more than he realised. Perhaps it is a consequence of losing his powers, perhaps Harry's worst fear is no longer an encounter with a Dementor, perhaps he simply believes that what he is doing is the best thing for everyone."

"You don't believe that," Remus stated.

"No, no I do not," Dumbledore said. "However, I spend my time chasing around the country, working with our colleagues, conducting research into the Temple of Le Fay... I have to trust that Harry will come to no harm here. The members of the faculty are watching him, Remus. It would be... unfortunate if more ill were to befall him. Believe me, we are aware of the problems Harry is facing, but if anyone were to try and interfere, how do you think he would react?"

"Badly," Remus sighed. "He's as stubborn as James was. Worse, maybe. It's all the fault of those Dursleys. Harry's far too independent for his own good, but how else could he have survived with those worthless Muggles?"

"It is unfortunate that Harry has had to endure the Dursley's care for so long," Dumbledore agreed. "Nonetheless, it has been necessary, Remus. As you are doubtless aware, Harry will turn seventeen years of age next summer. He will be an adult, and then he may leave his relatives behind."

"Does he know that?"

"I do not believe so."

"Would telling him make any difference?"

"I do not believe so."

Remus frowned. "I hate seeing him like this, Albus. He's like a nephew, family, really. Seeing him torture himself..."

"Torture? No, Remus, there I think you may be wrong," Dumbledore said. "Harry is certainly misguided, yes, but he is not torturing himself. In fact, I would say that by setting himself apart from his friends in this way, he believes that he is saving himself from further torture."

And with that pronouncement, Dumbledore pressed his fingers together, forming a pyramid over the top of which he stared, his gaze resting somewhere in the the middle distance.

*

Hermione and Ron sat together at breakfast the next morning. Ron filled Hermione in on Harry's dash from the dormitory the previous night.

"Up and gone," he said. "Must have been another dream."

"I wish there were something we could do," Hermione said, stabbing a sausage. "But if Harry won't confide in us, Ron, then I don't see how we can force him to."

"Yeah, I know," Ron said, slightly surprised at Hermione's change of tune. "Besides, it's not like he's worth worrying about when he's acting like this. Anyway, I'm worried about Ginny. She didn't sleep well last night. Daniella Spinnet told me. Says she was talking about Harry, and woke up loads of times. She really needs to get over him, Hermione."

"And I don't think there's anything we can do about that, either," Hermione said. "Except to be there for her if she needs our help."

Ron huffed loudly. "At least today isn't too bad. Thursdays: Herbology and Dark Arts. We finish early, too."

"And I suppose you'll be going straight to the library after Defence, won't you?" Hermione asked.

"Hermione!" Ron grinned, rising to the bait happily. "You make it sound like I never do any work. I work very hard, thank you."

"It wouldn't hurt you to work harder," Hermione said.

"I wouldn't bet on that, Hermione," Seamus said, taking a seat opposite his friends and holding out that morning's Daily Prophet. "Seems like the only safe thing to be these days is a complete eejit."

Hermione and Ron stared in shock at the three pictures on the front page of the Prophet. Wizards milled around aimlessly as medics carried bodies from the wreckage of three separate, destroyed buildings. Hermione's eyes drifted downwards to the story beneath the pictures

MORE ACADEMIC ATTACKS

The Dark Mark was seen once more last night, writes our exclusive reporter Rita Skeeter. Three wizarding homes were attacked, and each was the home of a noted academic wizard.

Little Whinging in Surrey was home to noted medieval expert Giorgio Marini. Marini, who chose to live in Little Whinging because of its closeness to a medieval burial site, was killed when dark wizards invaded his home. His cook survived the attack, but the house was completely destroyed.

Professor Daniel Connolly, expert in ancient runes, was tortured by hooded wizards. The dark wizards murdered Professor Connolly's wife before him. The Connolly's house elf witnessed the attacks, and has been placed under protection in case it is required to give testimony regarding the attacks. Professor Connolly, who lived in Arkley, North London, has been taken to St. Mungo's for care, where he has been listed as critical.

Doctor Solomon Cassius was a healer at St. Mungo's, and an enthusiastic amateur in the world of Arthurian legend. It is believed that the learned Doctor Cassius, who lived alone, was also killed by dark wizards. The Dark Mark hung over the remains of his home in Blackburn, Lancashire, and his body was excavated from the ruins in the early hours of this morning.

The Daily Prophet calls for an immediate capture of these dark wizards, who clearly pose a threat to all...

Hermione set the paper aside, and looked at Ron and Seamus.

"More attacks, and just like last time, Harry had a dream the night they were carried out."

Seamus shook his head.

"This is seriously weird," he said. "I know Harry's always been, well, special, but it's like he's turning into some kind of alarm system."

"Doesn't seem to be working very well," Ron said, staring moodily at the picture of Professor Connolly's destroyed house. "Didn't help these people, did it?"

"Here he comes," Hermione said.

Harry entered the Great Hall, looking as though every step was an effort. He nodded to one or two people as they greeted him, and took a place at the end of the table, separate from anyone else. Hermione squinted at him. It wasn't hard to see the heavy bags under his eyes, nor how pale he looked.

"Idiot," she murmured. Ron looked at her, and then followed her gaze to Harry.

"Yeah," he agreed. "He's daft. He's pushing himself way too hard, won't stop to take a break. But what can we do? It's his choice. You know it's not worth trying to get through to him. He's a stubborn idiot."

*

Harry could feel someone's gaze on him, and he looked up just in time to see Ron and Hermione looking away. He looked back down at his scrambled eggs, only for a shadow to fall across them. Looking back up, he blinked to see Draco Malfoy standing before him. Even after three months, it still felt unusual to see Malfoy in the blue edged robes of Ravenclaw, and without Crabbe and Goyle standing menacingly behind him.

"Harry, are you feeling okay?" Draco asked, concern evident in his voice.

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking," Harry replied. He had mastered the exact tone necessary to cut dead any further enquiries regarding his health. Draco looked at him dubiously, but didn't say anything. "Can I help you with anything? A personal session or anything?" Harry went on.

"Hardly," Draco laughed. "I am in Ravenclaw, after all," he added with a touch of his old arrogance. "No, I'm here to ask when you'll be returning to teach the Dueling Club. There's something missing when you're not there to teach us."

Harry was momentarily left speechless, but recovered quickly.

"I won't be teaching at the Dueling Club until I can cast spells again," he said. "Ron, Dean, Hermione and Professor Skeeter are, I'm sure you'll agree, more than able to deal with things in my absence."

"They," Draco said earnestly, "are not you. They don't have your experience in fighting the Dark Arts."

"Don't you listen?" Harry snapped. "I said I'm not doing it. If you want my help, sign up for a private session. I'm not helping with the Dueling Club anymore. In case you didn't hear, I can't do magic!"

Harry stood abruptly, and stormed out of the Great Hall. He was furious, both at Malfoy for his persistence, and with himself for losing his temper over such a small incident. He dropped onto a bench, and scraped his hands back through his hair.

"Hello there, young Harry."

Harry looked up. "Hello Nick," he replied dully.

Nearly Headless Nick settled into a seated pose next to Harry.

"You don't look well, Harry."

"I'm f- I'm not sleeping well," Harry admitted. "Nick, do ghosts sleep?"

"Well, it is difficult," Nearly Headless Nick said cheerfully. "After all, when your eyelids are transparent, it makes sleeping difficult. The best one can hope for is to find an absolutely pitch black room. Of course, Peeves has a habit of arriving after only a few minutes and setting off fireworks and so on. Most vexing. One rather learns to do without much sleep after the first few centuries. Some ghosts have no need of it at all - the Bloody Baron, for one."

"Maybe I should ask him for lessons," Harry said thickly, his head hanging low.

"I suggest you get some fresh air," Nick said. "I was just going to float outside for a few minutes anyway. Care to join me?"

"Er, yeah, okay," Harry said, standing up. He looked at his watch. There was still twenty minutes before he had to go to Herbology, and he could head that way as he walked with Nick. Shouldering his bag, he trudged after Nick as the ghost chatted amiably about the latest prank that Peeves had played on the Fat Friar. Harry listened vaguely, hearing some of what Nick was saying, but not all of it. Only when they walked out of the West Door and into the bright winter sun did Harry perk up.

He found himself relaxing as they made their way across the lawns and through the rose gardens. Harry breathed in the perpetual aroma of the ever-blooming flowers and his interest in Nick's conversation increased. He smiled slightly as Nick recounted the Bloody Baron's latest efforts in his centuries old quest to win over the Grey Lady. By the time they approached the other sixth years queuing for Herbology, Harry's mood was much lighter.

"Thanks, Nick," he said, stifling a yawn. "That actually helped quite a bit."

"You're very welcome," Nick said graciously. "Being a house ghost entails certain responsibilities, after all. Taking care of our young students is one of the more pleasant ones. And taking the time to remind the more serious minded among those students to take the time to, ah, smell the roses is barely even a responsibility. Now, I must be off, Harry. I believe one of your friends wants a word.

Harry watched Nick float away before turning around. He was half expecting Hermione to be there, ready to nag him about missing sleep.

But it wasn't Hermione.

It was Cho.

Again.

Harry felt his good mood start to slip away.

"If you're here to try and wind me up again-"

"I'm not," she interrupted.

"What do you want, then?" Harry asked, his tone of voice betraying an aggressiveness that even surprised him.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said. "I just didn't sleep well last night."

"Your diary wouldn't be much fun, would it?" she asked. "Scar hurts, bad dream, no sleep, fight Voldemort. Pretty boring, really. I don't see any books about you selling very many copies."

Harry scowled at her. "I thought you weren't here to wind me up."

"I'm not. I was trying this thing called 'humour'. You may have heard of it," Cho said.

"Why are you here, if not to wind me up?" Harry went on, ignoring her.

"Well, I'm here because I have Care of Magical Creatures in about five minutes," Cho said. "If you mean 'Why am I talking to you. . ?'" she looked at Harry expectantly, but he didn't say anything, instead just fixing her with a stern, unamused glare.

"Fine. Harry, did I hear right? Has McGonagall ordered you to go to the Hogmanay Ball?"

"Yeah, that's right," Harry said. "She won't let me help out, and she says that everyone has to enjoy themselves. Including me."

"Well, heaven forbid that the saviour of the world should have any fun," Cho said. "You make it sound like it's some horrible fate."

"Look, you're a girl, it's easy for you," Harry said. "You just have to wait until someone asks."

"Oh really?" Cho smiled, her eyes twinkling in genuine amusement. "In case you didn't notice, Harry, there are a lot of girls who're queuing up to ask you to the Ball, now that you're single again."

"What? Don't be stupid," he said. "No one's asked me."

"Stupid, am I? I'm a Ravenclaw, Harry. The girls are watching this, believe me."

Harry looked around. There did seem to be a lot of people watching him and Cho talking. He opened his mouth to reply, although he didn't have a clue what he was going to say. Fortunately, at that moment Hagrid came out of his hut and started calling the seventh year Magical Creatures class around him.

"Well, I'd best be off," Cho said. "I'll see you later. Oh, and Harry?"

"What?"

"I want to know how many girls ask you to the Ball by dinnertime tonight. Keep count, okay?"

With that, she dashed off to catch up with the rest of her class. Belatedly, Harry realised that the sixth years were filing into the greenhouse, and he had to hurry to catch up.

*

By the time dinner came around, Harry had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Beginning with Parvati Patil as he sprinted through the greenhouse door that morning, no less than fourteen girls had asked if he was going to the Ball, and if so, did he have a date? After the initial horror had worn off, he'd stammered through a reply to Parvati about not being sure if he was even going.

By the time Padma Patil cornered him outside Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry had his reply memorised. He explained to her that he wasn't sure if he'd be going, that he was very flattered by her interest, and that he'd certainly let her know by the end of the day one way or the other.

The problem was, Padma was only the sixth girl to ask him.

Harry had thought it odd that the entire third year Hufflepuff girls dormitory had booked a study session with him on the Patronus charm. That they had all, at various points during the session, with varying degrees of discretion, asked him to the Ball, had left him feeling downright alarmed. He'd promptly cancelled his next session -Potions with four fifth year girls from Ravenclaw - and deputed Dean to cover the Dark Arts study session he'd arranged with Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Lisa Turpin and Su Li.

He made his way cautiously to the Great Hall, only being cornered once by Katie Bell, who only wanted to check he was alright to play against Hufflepuff that Saturday. When he walked through the doors of the Great Hall, however, he was besieged. Cho had at least been wrong about there being an orderly queue. He was mobbed by at least a dozen girls of all ages, and only escaped when Seamus and Josh grabbed him and pulled him from the centre of the throng.

His impromptu minders kept the mob from bothering him during dinner, and Harry kept his head down until the last of the plum pudding disappeared at the same time that Josh and Seamus did. Harry was almost the last one in the Hall, only a few stragglers remained, chatting about nothing very much.

"So, what was the final score?"

Harry didn't even look up.

"Fourteen before I got in here, then I pretty much lost count."

"I did tell you," Cho said, grinning as she sat down beside him, her back to the table so she could see his face. "Now, it's easy being a girl, is it?"

"Why today? Why did they all do it today?" Harry asked irritably.

"Because last night Ginny agreed to go to the Ball with Dean Thomas," Cho said, looking sympathetically at him.

"Ah."

"Yes."

"So it's open season on famous Harry Potter, is it?" Harry asked. Surprisingly, he found the thought didn't bother him that much. It was amazing how desensitized you could become to something when you were exposed to it so many times in such a short period.

"I'm afraid so. At least it's not just because you're famous this time," Cho said, her eyes sparkling again.

"Did you set this up?" he asked.

"Oh no," she said. "I just... Keep up with the gossip. That's all. You've become very popular since you've started your study sessions. Everyone is very impressed at how generous you are with your time."

Harry blinked.

"Anyway, I take it by now you've decided whether or not you're going to the Ball?"

"I have to," Harry said.

"And who will you be taking?" she asked.

"I don't know. I don't even know half the girls who asked me today. How am I supposed to decide who to take? I mean, whoever I go with, I want them to have a good time. I learnt my lesson with Parvati two years ago. Whoever I'm taking, I'll go all out to give them the time of their life. Just because I'll be hating it..."

"So you don't have a date?" Cho asked.

"No. Still, I have about twenty to choose from, so..."

"Well I counted fifteen girls waiting to ask you when you came in," she said. "And you say fourteen more asked before you came in?"

"Yeah," Harry said listlessly. "Suppose I should make a start on choosing."

"What if someone else asked you?" Cho asked. "Someone who wasn't expecting the time of her life, who didn't need you to be Harry the Hero?"

"Like who?" Harry asked. "The only girls who know me that well are Hermione and Ginny. And even if... Well, they've got dates already."

"What about me?" Cho asked. "Would you go with me?"

"You've got a date," Harry protested without thinking. "You're seeing Michael Corner."

"I was," Cho said. "We broke up last month."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling stupid. For the second time that day, he was left speechless.

"Well, think about it, okay?" Cho said, getting up to leave. "Like I said, I don't expect you to be some incredible date who'll sweep me off my feet. I just don't want to go with anyone, really, so if you're going to be miserable, and I'm going to be miserable, why don't we both be miserable together? You don't have to give me an answer now."

She went to walk away, but Harry reached out and caught her wrist.

"Cho, if you'll go with me, I'd like to take you to the Hogmanay Ball. I promise you that it'll be a miserable night, but at least we won't be messing it up for anyone else."

Cho grinned. "How can I turn down an invite as heartfelt as that? Of course I'll go with you."

To be continued...