"Those are just the same robes he wears every day," Hermione says, staring at Snape. Harry stands with her in entrance hall, leaning against the wall, and tries not to laugh. Snape talks quietly and in a serious tone to Igor Karkaroff, who still looks like he's recovering from his illness weeks ago - he looks pale and drawn, his skin tinged green despite the warm firelight. "It's just a shinier fabric. It's the exact same design."

"I know," Harry says. "Funny, isn't it? He wore the same ones to the Malfoys' Christmas Gala least year." Hermione chuckles, smiling, and when Snape looks over to them, Harry gives him a cheerful wave. He rolls his eyes and stalks into the great hall, leaving the two of them laughing together and waiting for their respective dates. Hermione looks beautiful in a set of periwinkle dress robes with ruching at the skirt and a carefully cut neckline, and her hair is drawn up over her head, thick but only slightly wavy. All of its usual tight curl is eliminated for the evening, and there are flowers woven into the hairdo.

"Are those the robes they bought you last year?" Harry nods his head. They're a sweet, plum red, and the birds embroidered on the sides of the robes and on the long sleeves are in golden thread that moves animatedly across the fabric: the birds dance one way and then the next, as excited about the Yule Ball as he is. "They're nice. Oh, there he is." Hermione smooths down the imaginary creases in the front of her skirt, and she moves forwards gracefully, offering Krum her arm.

Harry knows she's spent weeks walking up and down the Gryffindor dorm steps in those steps, making sure she won't fall over in them.

"Ah, Her-my-own, you look- you look very nice," Krum says, softly, and he bows to kiss the top of her hand. His robes are silver, thick with accents of black fur, and Harry envies them as a nice coat for the winter. "And you, Harry."

"What, I don't get a kiss as well?" Krum laughs, his head tipping back.

"Perhaps ven you have a shorter skirt." Harry grins, leaning and kissing Hermione on the cheek.

"You guys go in - I'm just going to go into the courtyard to wait for her." Krum frowns, furrowing his thick eyebrows in confusion, and Harry hears Hermione begin to explain to him as they go into the great hall together. The courtyard is decorated with roses and icy silver ribbons and the like: despite the night chill, it's actually pleasantly warm outside, and he has no doubt if he looked under the rose pots he'd find enchanted heaters and the like. He sees Draco speaking irritably with Pansy Parkinson, who seems uncharacteristically bored with him, and he elects to step towards the path and avoid being drawn in.

Hermione is completely uninterested in Draco, and Harry has no idea how many more times she'll have to turn him down for it to sink in, but for the meantime it's awkward and Draco is positively hateful. Across the grounds, fairy lights linger in the air, illuminating the grass with subtle golden light, and he sees the Beauxbatons students and the Durmstrang ones coming up toward s the castle in dribs and drabs.

"'Arry, go inside," says a teasing voice. "It is too cold out 'ere for a little boy!"

"You go inside, Fleur. Go stand with the other ice sculptures." Fleur laughs, patting Harry's cheek as she walks past him, and he grins, shoving her hand away. He puts his hands in his pockets as he sees a coach approaching from down the path, and his grin grows as the nothing-drawn carriage draws to a close, and Afifa Lanjwani steps from inside, her chin held high as she stands straight. The fabric of her dress robes is a deep, shining blue, and embroidered around the neckline and the waist are numerous gem stones and bronze threads; her earrings are a similar colour, and the braids of her hair are shining with bronze thread.

"Ravenclaw colours?" he demands. "You're joking me!"

"You've no leg to stand on, Potter," Afifa says, arching an eyebrow at him. He's found he's kind of missed Afifa Lanjwani's judgemental eyebrows. "You're bedecked like a Gryffindor." He offers her his arm, and she smirks, taking it in hers. Harry finds himself relieved she's wearing flat shoes: he's grown taller, this year, and Afifa is only a little bit taller than him. With heels, he's sure she'd tower over him.

"Thank you," he says quietly as they walk slowly through the courtyard. Her dress jangles quietly as they move through the magic-warmed night air, and Afifa smiles at him. They've kept in contact via Harry's letters, and Harry knows she keeps herself busy at her parents' shop. "For this."

"Harry," Afifa points out in a measured tone, "You've just invited me to the party of the century. To open a ball. Do you really think you need to be thanking me?" Harry considers this.

"No. I guess not." Afifa's hand smacks hard upside his head, and Harry laughs as she ruffles his hair before taking his arm again. "You ready?"

"Completely," Afifa says, and he leads her into the great hall.

---

"Well done, Harry," Afifa murmurs as the opening waltz is slowly faded into another song by the orchestra; George is talking quietly to Fleur as he leads her off the dance floor, and although Cedric, Cho, Hermione and Viktor are still dancing, Harry's more than content to step to the side. The great hall is decorated in silvers and golds, a huge Christmas tree dominating one side of the room, and there are thick, golden cloths over the two tables pushed to the edges of the room.

"Ms Lanjwani," comes a voice, and Harry arches an eyebrow at Percy. Percy's dress robes are a burnished gold, the same colour as some of his lighter freckles, and he does his best to look airy and casual; he'd entered with Amelia Bones, and from what Harry can see she's now in conversation with Madame Maxime. Percy looks nervous and out of place, holding himself even more stiffly than usual, but Afifa doesn't seem to be put off in the least.

"Percy," Afifa replies dryly. Percy seems slightly surprised by her use of his first name, jolting back slightly. Harry doesn't miss the nervous way the tip of his tongue flits over his lip, and he tries to ignore the twinge the movement sends through him.

"Would you- er, that is to say-"

"Of course I'll dance with you," Afifa says, cutting through Percy's bluster. "How nice of you to ask." She gives Harry a wink as she takes Percy's arm, and Harry grins, putting his hands in his pockets as he makes his way to the side of the room to get something to eat. His mouth goes dry when he sees Luna sipping at ice-coloured punch: her dress robes are white, the skirt in several dozen lacy layers, and she looks beautiful.

"Hello, Harry," Luna says, smiling at him. He smiles back. "Are you enjoying the evening?"

"It's only just started," Harry says, "but yeah, I guess I am. What about you?"

"Oh, yes," Luna decides, giving a nod of her head. "I'm having such a good time. We should dance, later."

"Sure," Harry agrees, and he watches as she walks away. The layers of her skirt sway as she moves, and Harry breathes in before letting out a small sigh. He shakes his head, turning to get himself some food, and he sits with George and Ron at the edge of the room. Ron had come to the ball with Padma Patil, who seems less than pleased at Ron's lack of interest in the dance and at his hideously ugly dress robes. Harry finds he enjoys the actual dancing, though - he dances with Padma and Parvati, with Fleur, with Afifa again and with Hermione throughout the evening, as well as assorted girls in the years above, and from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. It's not as awkward as he expected - they make small talk and talk about the people dancing around them, about the party, about the upcoming tasks.

And Snape, Harry realizes as he copies the bow a Durmstrang girl had given him, is dancing. Harry isn't the only one staring as he sidles to the edge of the room: Sinistra dances with an impossible grace, seeming to glide over the floor without actually touching it, but Snape... Snape's dancing is technically perfect, and seems to completely fit the rhythm of the waltz, but his body is stiff, and Harry feels like he's watching a clockwork doll dance rather than a man. His steps aren't anything like the smooth steps he takes down any of the corridors, seeming to flow with the shadows of the castle, but they're good.

Sinistra and Snape give each other short, polite bows as they draw apart, but before Snape can finish turning on his heel to move back to the side of the room, where he'd been watching the evening's proceedings, Afifa intercepts him. Snape arches a single, dark eyebrow at her as she offers him her hands, and then he smirks at her. He smiles a little as he sees the two of them begin to dance. The room is warm, though, and he feels a need to be outside, so he slips towards the entrance hall and then out into the courtyard, his hands in his pockets.

He sees Bill Weasley in a set of red dress robes, who'd been invited to the Yule Ball thanks to his volunteering to work on the Second Task, and he opens his mouth to say hello, but then he sees his little grin as he lets a girl take his hand and pull him behind a wall. Harry coughs into his hand as he recognizes Fleur's silver-blue dress shimmering in the torchlight, and he turns his head away. As Harry casually makes his way through the courtyard and out under the fairy-lit grass, which is slick with evening dew, he sees that Fleur and Bill aren't the only people who've paired off and slipped out of the way - he sees a pair of Ravenclaws sprawled on one of the benches, snogging as if they'll drown without having their tongues touching, and a few different pairs here and there.

Absently, he considers looking for Blaise, but he knows the two of them couldn't kiss in public where someone could see. He walks idly, his gait slow as he watches the fairies sprawl on the air around the grounds, and he breathes in the cool night air. As he makes his way down the path in the vague direction of the greenhouses, he stops short, frowning as he leans forwards.

Crouching down, hiding himself behind a thick hydrangea bush, Harry sees Draco. His white-blond hair is illuminated slightly by the torches nearest the greenhouses, and Harry frowns as he watches the other boy. As he gets closer, he realizes what Draco is looking at it: Krum is sat on the stone bench outside of Greenhouse Two, and perched on his lap is Hermione: the two of them are chuckling, noses brushing each other as they talk quietly.

Harry realizes a few seconds too late that Draco has his wand out.

---

Draco is crying. His cheeks are blotchy and red, and a black eye is blossoming on the left side of his face. A purpling, hand-shaped bruise is obvious on his throat from where Harry pinned him to the ground, and his cheeks are wet with tears, blood thick on his chin. Harry hasn't cried, but his nose is broken and there's blood all over his mouth and his chin, and he's pretty sure two of his fingers are dislocated.

"Would either of you be so kind as to inform me as to why you were brawling amongst the flowerbeds this evening?" asks Snape in a low voice, fury dripping hotly from every word. Draco sniffles, but before he can reply, Harry does.

"Draco's a snivelling, cowardly little-"

"Potter," Snape says.

"Person." Snape glances between Draco and Harry, and then he leans to fix Harry's nose. Hermione is laid out on one of the beds, and Madam Pomfrey is casting quiet spells over her, and when Harry had got a glimpse of her he'd winced, because there were heavy bruises all over her skin, as if someone had punctured all her blood vessels without puncturing the skin. Draco had meant to curse Krum, but when Harry had tackled him the spell had missed, hitting Hermione in the back instead, and Harry had taken some time to wrestle the wand out of his hand as Krum carried Hermione up to the castle. Both of them have hydrangea petals scattered over their robes and in their mussed hair.

"Ms Lanjwani sends her regards," Snape says dryly, and Harry winces. He's going to have to send her a long letter of apology, Harry knows. "Now, what happened?" Snape demands again.

"The boy vas angry Hermione vent to the Ball with me, and not with him," a sharp, accented voice says, and Krum stares down at Draco, his eyes dark and his arms crossed over his chest. "He meant to hit me. Disgusting." Krum scowls, and Draco stares at his own knees, not wanting to make eye contact. Harry coughs a little as Snape pushes up his chin to examine his face, and then fixes Harry's fingers.

"Thank you, sir," Harry says, suppressing the urge to snarl at Draco. He stands from the bed and makes his way over to Hermione's bed. Hermione is sitting up now, breathing in and out shakily, many of the bloody blotches under her skin have been healed away. She looks humiliated, and Harry feels furious. "I'm gonna just go home tonight. I'm gonna ask McGonagall if I can use her Floo now, unless you want me to stay?"

"It's alright, Harry," Hermione bites out. She tightens her hands into fists as she looks over to Draco, and Harry feels like by the time he comes back from Sirius' in January, Draco may well be dead. Serves him right, Harry thinks. "I'm sorry about this, Viktor. Are you okay?"

"This boy vas very dishonourable. A coward, casting at us when we were unavare."

"I know," Hermione mutters, and Harry gives her a hug before he leaves the hospital wing, not catching Draco's eye as he leaves.

"Hey, Potter!" Draco yells after him, and Harry turns in the doorway. He smirks at Harry, despite the blood staining his teeth. "Lovegood was snogging Eddie Carmichael under the leftside fountain." Before Harry can lunge at the other boy, Snape grabs him by the back of his robes, dragging him out of the infirmary, and reluctantly Harry goes.