Harry folded up the letter from Sirius and placed it in his robe pocket as he gazed out on the moonless night; just the stars lighting up the snow on the grounds. It had begun snowing two days after the dragon task and had been falling for a straight week now. Not so much a storm, as just a steady, continuous snowfall of fat, glistening flakes that stuck and piled up quickly.

Hagrid’s classes had already been cancelled for the rest of the term – he had assigned several book-based research projects instead, to be turned in on the first day of class next term. Harry hadn’t even started, he was more concerned about this stupid Ball that the tournament required he attend.

He had three weeks to go and not a single prospect. He had even resorted to owling his godfather – notorious in his past Hogwarts conquests – for advice. The letter in his pocket was the man’s answer – and it was not much of one.

Harry,

Tell me you aren’t old enough to ask this question? Merlin, you are. And I can understand why you would ask me instead of Sni – ah, Snape, this question. He really wasn’t much of a ladies man during our school years, your mother being the only girl I EVER saw him with.

However, he would probably kill me if I ever told you some of my more fanciful exploits during my dating years. So, I’ll save those for when you are older and he isn’t in the room.

Just be yourself – surely you have all sorts of girls interested in you? I have to admit you’ve grown quite handsome, so there is nothing to worry about there. Trust me, the right one will come along.

In the meantime – don’t sweat it, just have fun.

Love always,

Snuffles.

Harry was always himself! And that wasn’t working. He finally jumped off the window embrasure and headed down to the Common Room to join his friends at dinner. Maybe he would ask Hermione if she knew anyone.

****

“Harry, I don’t know...”

“Hermione, please! I’m begging you!” Harry pleaded, batting his large green eyes in her direction and pouting dramatically.

“Harry Potter-Snape! That is not going to work!” She laughed in his face, smacking him lightly on the arm for his audacity.

“Can’t blame a bloke for trying,” he pointed out. “C’mon, don’t you know any girls that still need dates?”

“Well, I do know one...” she said thoughtfully.

Harry perked up at this as they turned onto the main staircase leading down to the entrance hall. “Really? Who?”

She shook her head. “Nope, not telling – at least not yet. I need to suss her out first. I’ll get back to you on Monday. If we’re really lucky, she may know of someone for Ron – trust me he won’t ask. Do you know what he said to me?”

“What?”

“He was complaining to his brothers about how he couldn’t find a date, then looks straight at me and goes ‘Hey, Hermione, you’re a girl!’” She huffed in annoyance and Harry had to laugh outright at this.

“He didn’t?”

“He most certainly did. So, I whacked him over the head with my book and left the library.”

Harry sniggered. “Which book?”

“Arithmancy.” She grinned over at her best friend who winced at the thought. “Yes, the heaviest of all my schoolbooks. Well, really! ‘You’re a girl’. So well spotted. What in Merlin’s name have I been up ‘til now? A well trained poodle?”

“Arf?” he responded, which earned him another whack that he took good-naturedly. “Sorry, you walked into that one,” he explained, rubbing his tender shoulder.

She grinned over at him before giggling. “I did, didn’t I?” She threaded her arm through his and walked him through the open doors and over to the Gryffindor table where they spotted several red heads and two platinum ones of Luna and Draco. Harry and Hermione greeted everyone and sat down to load up their plates.

Harry was content. Yes, he still needed a date; yes, he was still getting nasty looks from the Hufflepuffs – but the rest of the school had been impressed with his performance with the Dragons and it seemed to have elevated him to be treated with a modicum of respect. People still wore the Support Diggory badges, but very few went as far as flashing the second part of the buttons in his face.

There were notable exceptions to the rule – Nott’s Slytherin gang for one. But the rest of the school seemed to have accepted that Harry was part of this tournament and was going to be a worthy adversary, and one to watch. Fred and George had even informed him that he was gaining in popularity with those who were betting for him to win.

Personally, he still felt as if they were all waiting for him to die during one of the tasks and that he’d had a ton of luck on his side with the dragons. Who knew they spoke Parseltongue? There were only two speakers in the last hundred years, and Harry wasn’t about to ask Voldemort if he knew that little bit of trivia.

He had taken the egg he’d rescued – or rather been thrown at - down to his father’s workout room so that he and Professor Moody could see the clue.

Some clue. The egg screeched at them before Harry hit the button he had found a second time and closed it up. Blessed silence reigned, but the reverberations still rang in their eardrums, and Moody hit the side of his head a few times in an attempt to clear his hearing.

Harry had looked at his father who had a very contemplative look on his face. When he didn’t respond immediately, Harry sighed.

“Well?” he finally asked the man.

Severus slowly turned to face him. “No idea,” he drawled.

Gaping, Harry blinked at him. When did his father never have the answer? This was unheard of! He finally turned to Mad-Eye. “Do you have any ideas, Sir?”

“Nope, this one is beyond me, Snape. Damned noise – almost sounded like a racket of banshees!” He shook his head, apparently still ringing, and stomped out of the Dungeon room muttering to himself.

So, Harry had decided to leave the clue alone until after the holidays, deciding to handle one major problem at a time. He stuffed it under his clothes in his trunk and put it out of his mind. Besides, he didn’t need it until Valentine’s day – two months away. The Ball was more immediate – and worrying. But, now that he had Hermione on the hunt for him, maybe that would turn out alright as well.

He smiled to himself, content with the world and very grateful that it was treacle tart night.

****

“So, you’ll go with him to the Ball?” Hermione asked the other girl.

“Sure, but he has to ask me himself – I insist upon it,” she responded.

Hermione smiled. “Oh, he will. I can promise that. You wouldn’t happen to know if there is anyone willing to let Ron take them?”

“What are you, their mother?” the other girl asked, laughing.

“Sometime I wonder...” the Gryffindor agreed ruefully.

“I might – but it’s the same deal, he’d have to ask – but I can guarantee they’d say yes.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said thankfully.

“No problem, Granger. Have both of them in the Entrance Hall at eight o’clock tonight,” the girl requested.

“They’ll be there – if I have to mobilicorpus them!” The two girls laughed at the image that invoked and went their separate ways.

****

“Tonight? Hermione!” Ron whinged before getting elbowed by his best friend.

“Tonight will be fine, Hermione – thank you. Will you come along at least to introduce us?” Harry asked.

“Of course – and to also make sure you will complete your mission. Look on this as just another task of the tourney, Harry,” she pointed out. She then pointed her quill at Ron. “And you, you will be absolutely polite to whomever is to be your date. It is just one evening and I know your mother drilled in you how to be a gentleman, so use it!” She bent down to her notes, effectively dismissing them and they took the hint – heading up to the dorm to spruce themselves up. They both had a feeling that tapping their intended quarry on the shoulder and saying “Hey, wanna go to the Ball with me?” - like Fred had done with Angelina – was not going to work for them.

At ten minutes until the appointed hour, Harry and Ron presented themselves before the third part of their little group for inspection. She walked around them, tucking a tag in here, straightening a collar there, having them huff in her face to make sure they’d brushed and used a freshening charm, and inspected their nails to make sure they were clean and trimmed.

“Very good – now let’s go, we can’t be late!”

Ron gulped loudly, but led the troops out the portrait hole and down the many flights of stairs – which were thankfully cooperating, not moving much between the seventh floor and the Entrance Hall. Slowing down, so they weren’t out of breath, they descended the last set of stairs and approached the pair of girls who were standing in the shadows.

Hermione went ahead, nodding her head at the dark haired girl standing forward.

“Miss Parkinson, may I introduce Mister Harry James Potter-Snape, current Champion for Hogwarts and tying in first place with Cedric Diggory. Harry, please say hello to Pansy Parkinson,” Hermione said, initiating the introductions in a formal manner. Harry and Pansy were now obligated to follow form.

Harry bowed, as his father had taught him to when addressing witches formally. “Miss Parkinson, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He smiled at her while straightening up and she smiled shyly back.

“And yours, Mister Snape. Shall we walk over here while your friend meets his potential date?” she asked. He nodded to her again, offering her his arm while they walked to a small window embrasure where they could talk without being heard, and yet still keep things civil.

Harry snuck a peek at Ron who was speaking to Daphne Greengrass. “At least he’s not hexing her outright,” he noted, smiling back at Pansy. “I’ve been meaning to tell you for quite awhile, I watched you at Opening feast with the firsties. You’re quite nice with them,” he complimented.

“Does that surprise you?” she asked, cocking her head a bit to the side.

“Not really – pleasantly though. I’m used to having to run from or hex most of our year in your house – so it was nice to see someone being outwardly nice to the new students,” he explained.

“Well, not everyone follows Nott’s or Draco’s sires. There are many of us being tarred with their brush – is the Muggle saying, I believe?”

Harry told her it was the correct usage of the term, surprised she knew the phrase. “That is good to know. Does my father know?”

“Of course he does – but we must lay low for now. But let’s talk of more pleasant pastimes. I believe you have a question for me?” she prompted running a finger along his left arm which caused him to shiver in delight.

He blushed. Way to go, Snape. “Y- yes.” He cleared his throat, damn thing had become tight! “Miss Parkinson, will you accompany me to the Yule Ball?” he asked with a formal little bow and extremely proud his voice hadn’t cracked.

Pansy blushed as well and granted him a small curtsy saying, “Yes, Mister Snape – I will. Thank you for asking.” When she smiled at him, she had two little dimples that transformed her face from the haughty Slytherin to a delightful young woman, and Harry responded with a spontaneous grin. That hadn’t been too hard.

Afterwards, in the Common Room, Ron was sitting gobsmacked on the couch. “I’m going to the ball with Daphne? How’d that happen again, Harry?”

“You opened up your mouth and asked her, you prat, and she said yes. Now, do you have dress robes?”

“If you can call them that,” Ron said, frowning. “C’mon, let me show you what mum sent. I swear they look like Ginny should wear them!”

“I wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot wand, Ronald! And I better not find them in my dorm!” his sister threatened from across the room.

“Sisters,” Ron growled to his best friend. “C’mon,” he said leading Harry up to the dorm. He closed and locked the room door before reaching under his canopy bed and pulling out a battered garment box and tossing it on the bed. “Open it,” he commanded Harry.

With a raised eyebrow, Harry worked the lid off and lifted out the musty smelling pile of deep burgundy velvet – obviously a little worse for wear. The bobbin-lace was falling apart and had been dyed at one point to try and match the velvet – it hadn’t worked. It clashed horribly.

“Umm, I don’t know what to say...”

Ron sighed, dropping down on the bed next to the box and ripping the garment out of Harry’s hands. “You don’t have to say a thing. They’re horrendous. How can I take Daphne in that! Merlin, they’re older than Dumbledore!”

Harry had to laugh at that comparison. “Look, there has to be something we can do... Let’s take them to Professor McGonagall tomorrow – maybe she can help with some charms?”

“You think she will?”

“Maybe if we sweeten the deal with some chores over break – dusting the Transfiguration room or something?” Ron looked disheartened at that. He never willingly did chores – but to fix those robes, well he was desperate and it showed on his face as he stared down at the moth-eaten lace.

“Anything, Harry. Let’s just hope she can help. We’ve got that house meeting with her tomorrow – maybe after that is over?”

“My thoughts exactly. What was the meeting covering?” he asked, unlocking the door and grabbing his shower kit and pyjamas.

“I’m not sure,” Ron admitted, stuffing the box back under his bed before the rest of their dorm mates clambered into the room for the rest of the evening.

****

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are here as a house to learn the fine art of partnered dancing. This is a Ball and you will be expected to dance several waltzes at the start of the evening. After ten o’clock we have invited a local wrock group to entertain you, but prior to that you will be dancing the required dances. So, let’s start with basics. Mister Weasley, if you please.” She motioned to Ron to stand up and join her in the centre of the room. Harry grinned at his friend’s discomfiture, smiling at his brothers as they plopped down next to him on the bench, settling in to watch.

“That is it; place your hand on my back at my waist, very good. My hand goes on your shoulder like this, and your left hand takes my right hand like so...” She led the intrepid red-head through the steps; counting out slowly, then gradually increasing the tempo until she nodded to Hermione to start the music on the ancient gramophone. Ron counted under his breath concentrating on his feet and trying not to step on his teacher’s toes. “Look up, Mister Weasley.”

He snapped his head up, still counting as he led her around the room in little circles, smiling as he realised he was actually dancing. “I’m doing it! Oh, sorry, Professor!” he cried as he lost his concentration and stepped hard on her instep. He immediately dropped her hands, slapping his own over his mouth in horror as his brothers were bent over in their seats in silent laughter.

McGonagall winced in pain, but managed to not even limp as she walked over to the two sixth years and whacked them on the back of their heads.

“Just for that, you two are next – go get yourself some partners – no not each other, you fools - girls! Over there!” She pointed to the other side of the room, in case they hadn’t noticed the gender split in the room. Still sniggering, they headed over after executing an assisted pirouette in the middle of the dance floor to scattered applause from the boys.

The professor led Ron back over to Harry, saying quietly, “Well done, Weasley – see me after this session and we’ll see about your robes.”

Gratefully he stammered a thank you to her then looked over at Harry. “You manoeuvred that?”

“Blame it on my current upbringing. The rest of the family is Slytherin,” he said quietly. “Got it taken care of, didn’t I? Was it so painful to learn how to dance? Daphne will appreciate that, too. Now – I think I’m going to ask Hermione to dance, if you’ll excuse me.” He got up and headed over to the table where Hermione stood and spoke quietly with her for a moment before leading her out to the centre where they joined the twins and several other couples practicing.

Some of the lessons that Severus had insisted his sons take over the summer had been tutored dance lessons as well as furthering their education in pure-blood rituals. Draco had been brought up in these practices and teachings, Harry had not. But Harry joined in whole-heartedly recognising that in order to change a system, you had to deeply understand it first. Some of the rituals were antiquated and steeped in myth, legend, lore and history. Others had no basis whatsoever other than, ‘Because it has always been so.’ Harry wanted to be able to speak their language, understand their customs, before he toppled the regime and showed it as the fraud it was.

But he was discovering that there were some traditions that were elegant and beautiful in their own right. Dancing and dating rituals being some of those. The language was couched in the seventeenth and eighteenth century norms and styles; elegant with little innuendos thrown in for flavour. Much of it had never been updated officially, although younger witches and wizards tended to ignore the ritual language until it was needed for formal courtship and marriage alliances.

So, he guided his friend around the floor, surprised that she followed his direction so well. “You’ve had dance instruction?” he asked.

“Hmm, Mother insisted on a classical education. I attended an exclusive day school where our lessons were conducted in French and dancing and cooking lessons were part of the curriculum,” she explained. “You aren’t doing so badly yourself, Harry.”

“Dad insisted. You could give Draco a run for his money on the dance floor, Hermione – you’re perfect!” he exclaimed, giving her a little twirl in time to the music.

“Perhaps I’ll make sure to save him a spot on my card,” she said grinning. He laughed and spun her again, trying to make her dizzy.

****

“Alright, Weasley, show me these robes – heaven forbid!” Ron’s teacher exclaimed as he pulled out the box and opened it up on the bed.

“Well, let me see what we can do. First off, that dreadful lace has got to go!” She waved her wand and the lace detached as if cut by a sharp pair of shears, falling to the floor in a bedraggled mess. “That’s a start. Now, to mend those patches. Pay attention, boys, you’ll have to do this one yourselves when you leave and strike off on your own! Vestis Restituo!” Magically the moth holes filled in with brand new weaving and velvet matching the surrounding garment.

“Excellent, looking better already! Now, I believe we only need to make one more change and that is the colour.” A wave of the wand and the deep Magenta turned to midnight Black, which shimmered as the velvet was moved around. Ron was ecstatic.

“Professor, these are perfect! Thank you!” he gushed holding the garment up to himself and eyeing the combination in the mirror. Harry had to admit, it was ten times better than before. Daphne wouldn’t be embarrassed standing next to him.

“Yes, well, mustn’t let the house put a bad foot forward when just a few charms fixes everything. Now, mind you, Weasley – treat that young lady with absolute respect!” she reminded sternly causing Ron to nod his head energetically in agreement.

“Snape,” she said, turning to Harry. “Are you set?”

“Yes, ma’am. Dad got me and Draco sets of Dress robes this summer,” he said grinning.

“Well, then, my duty is done. Don’t forget that essay for Monday, gentlemen!” she reminded sharply before letting herself out of the door and letting her heels clatter on the stone stairs in warning as she descended to the Common Room. Harry and Ron looked at each other then grabbed their book bags, upending them on their beds as they grabbed their Transfiguration homework and started in on the two foot essay on why it was not recommended to transfigure an elephant into a mouse.

“Hey, Harry,” Ron asked a while later.

“Yeah?” Harry answered not lifting his eyes from his notes.

“Has Draco said who he’s taking yet?”

Harry shook his head. “Said I’ll find out Christmas day at the Ball.”

“Prat,” Ron said without much heat.

“Uh huh...” Harry agreed absently, turning the next page over to read about the conservation of space and volume.

“What about Hermione?” Ron asked a few moments late.

“Same answer,” his friend responded.

Ron looked over at Harry who chose that moment to look up as well. “You don’t think?” Ron asked looking slightly alarmed.

Harry thoughtfully looked off in the distance for a moment then shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think so... Do you?”

“Blimey, that would be a weird match,” Ron answered but he didn’t really look convinced. “No, I don’t think so.” He finally dismissed the notion, returning back to his essay. Harry shrugged his shoulders as well and continued to take notes for his essay attempt.