The store cupboard at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower is the perfect base for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Sat at a desk on one edge of the room, Hermione counts that week's earnings, and on each of the room's now clean shelves are stacks of merchandise: Skiving Snackboxes, fireworks, fake wands, owl order forms for Wizarding Delights, and even posters of Harry rolled into tubes and kept tied with twine. The room is of a modest size, and with four chairs, a desk and the shelves everywhere, it's just right for them to conduct business out of the way of the rest of the school, with privacy assured. The only ones to come in and out are Harry, Hermione, Lee Jordan and the twins.

Hermione sorts the coins quickly into piles of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. She does it with a silent, focused efficiency, and Harry takes the stacks of coins in tens, dropping them into the moneybox that's to go to Gringotts that evening. The two of them are waiting for the twins, and for the meantime they're just counting what money has come in that week: Hermione had organized a schedule at the beginning of the year for money to go to Gringotts on Saturdays.

The moneybox is interesting to Harry: it's a round, silvery ball with a leather loop at its top, and if Harry puts his eye right to the orb's surface, he can see the coins stacking in circles inside. On its outside it proclaims its contents in Knuts, Sickles and Galleons, and on its base is its serial number and the name of the goblin that had made it: Redkey. The Gringotts moneyboxes can't be opened by anyone but a Gringotts goblin, and despite the weight of the coins, it weighs barely anything at all.

"Okay, that's everything that's going," Hermione decides, setting aside the shrapnel they're keeping at Hogwarts. "What's it at?"

"For this week," Harry says, "Twenty Galleons, forty Sickles, ninety Knuts." He sets the moneybox on the desk as Hermione notes it down in her accounts book with a quill, and Harry can't help but smile a little. "You enjoy this, don't you?"

"Running a business? Yes!" Hermione has a satisfied grin on her face.

"No," Harry says, shaking his head. "Being an accountant." Hermione sticks her tongue out at him, and Harry laughs, turning his head as he hears the knock on the stone. He hisses out an open, and Fred and George quickly come into the little room, the stone sliding shut behind them. "What's wrong?" Fred has a foul expression twisting his face, and George just looks resigned. He hands Harry a letter, flopping into one of the wooden chairs they'd pilfered for their office, but Fred stays standing, drumming his fingers irritably on the desk.

Ludo Bagman's handwriting is barely legible, but Harry can make out some phrases - "just can't oblige", "oh so sorry", "that's just how things go", and he frowns, furrowing his brow.

"We bet all of our savings at the World Cup," George says tiredly, rubbing at the side of his face. "On Ireland winning, but Krum catching the Snitch."

"God," Hermione says, seeming impressed. Despite her faux-disapproval for gambling, Harry knows that she loves a good bet, and he suppresses the urge to laugh. "How much did you bet?" Fred slams his hand down on the desk, and Hermione arches an eyebrow. "That much?"

"We've been hounding him since the match," Fred says, tone full of acid. "He keeps saying he hasn't got the funds, and that he can't oblige, but he won't even give us our original bet back, the bastard. I just want to-" Fred holds up his hands, clenching them into fists, and George shakes his head, taking the parchment back from Harry. "We're earning more money now than we had, selling everything, but it's still-"

"No, it's an honour thing," Harry says, shaking his head. "If he was taking bets, he should have honoured the win." This is only another reason to add to Harry's list of why to hate Bagman, and he frowns slightly, crossing is arms over his chest. "You could drop a tip to Skeeter. She'd love to disgrace someone so involved in the Tournament."

"We don't want any reason for that hag to get any bonuses," George says as Fred comes around the desk, leaning over Hermione's shoulder to look in the accounts book. Fred's sour mood seems to dissipate a little bit, if not by much, and he reaches for the pad in the corner of the room. It's a Muggle A3 sketchpad, with plain pieces of paper, and the first thirty pages are full of complex, brightly coloured diagrams of future WWW products. Harry's fascinated by most of them - there are plans for breeding Puffskeins, for making hats and scarves with protective spells weaved into their cloth, for love potions and daydreams and all kinds of things. Fred and George are geniuses. After all, this is the sketchpad they've not finished yet - in the corner are six more that are full of diagrams and notes.

"Me and Harry added a few things today," Hermione says, and George looks at her, a bright smile on his face. Hermione raises her chin, looking pleased with herself, and Fred sets the book on the floor, turning to the latest pages. There are a few simple notes of Harry's that are just business plans rather than actual products - notes on the cost of hiring Colin to take a few architectural shots of the castle and then selling them as postcards (as well as an explanation of what postcards are, as the wizarding world doesn't yet use them) as well as on selling specialized ribbons, badges and the like to customize one's Hogwarts robes, like Cho Chang does - but Hermione's diagrams are more like Fred and George's, albeit without the use of so much coloured ink.

"Oh, I like this," Fred says, tracing the animated image of a knitted bobble hat changing colours, thanks to its enchanted yarn, and he takes a quill, crossing out some of Hermione's notes on the charms and adjusting them. Harry and Hermione both lean forwards to watch him, and while Fred doesn't actually offer explanations as to what his adjustments are doing, Harry expects a lot of it is to do with how long the enchantments will last once embedded in the yarn.

The next page had been Hermione's idea, but the notes are in Harry's handwriting - she'd been too excited, walking back and forth and calculating prices, to actually sit down and write.

"Oh, Merlin," George says, and the both of them lean over the page.

"The proprietors of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes are proud to present...
Hogwarts: A Guide."

Harry hadn't enchanted animations into any of the diagrams, but it's a very stripped-down version of the Marauder's Map. The only people that would be marked on the map would be the individuals buying the product (and, for an extra two Galleon charge, their toad, cat or owl). Synchronized to class schedules, it would tell students which classes are in session, as well as holding the office hours of staff, and Harry had written down the four common rooms, as well as the Kitchens, to include directions to.

"Sirius and Remus have said they'll help us out," Harry says, and Fred and George look at him and Hermione as if Harry's just declared he's going to start growing Galleons on a tree in Hagrid's garden. "When I go back to Grimmauld Place for the holidays, I thought we'd start work."

"You can't go back for the holidays," Fred points out. "What about the Yule Ball?" Harry blinks at him.

"The what?" All three of them are staring at Harry.

"Harry," Hermione says, "You know how we were meant to bring dress robes for the year?"

"Yeah," Harry says.

"That's so we can go to the Yule Ball. It's on Christmas Day - it's a big celebration, with the Triwizard Champions at the middle of it. You, Fleur, Viktor and Cedric have to open up the dance." He thinks of Daphne, Pansy and Blaise chatting that morning about dress robes, and dancing partners, and dances. He thinks of Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil giggling over dance steps in the Great Hall. He thinks of the plum-red dress robes he has in his trunk, which he had utterly forgotten about.

"Shit," he says, closing his eyes, as George says affectionately, "You're an idiot, aren't you, Harry?"

---

"Hello, Harry," Luna says, sitting beside him at the lunch table.

"Hi," Harry says, trying his best not to be awkward about it. On the Hufflepuff table, where he's sat beside Hannah Abbot, Harry can see Neville glaring daggers at him. Luna takes a piece of lettuce, shredding it into small squares with her knife and fork. It's a dedicated exercise, and once every inch of it is in pieces, she pours a little vinegar over it and begins to eat. "How are you, Luna?"

"Oh, fine," she says, looking into the middle distance. "I've misplaced a scarf, unfortunately, but I'm sure it will come back to me. How are you?"

"I'm fine too," Harry says. Neville is staring at him, now, his jaw clenched, and while Harry has no doubt he could beat the other boy in a duel or a physical fight, he doesn't really want Neville to challenge him to either - he wishes he hadn't told Neville about him and Blaise. "Er, look, about- going for a walk-"

"Would you like to?" Luna asks, raising her eyebrows slightly.

"Yes," Harry murmurs, "But-"

"Oh, good," Luna says. "There aren't so many Wrackspurts around your head today, you know, Harry."

"Aren't there?" Harry asks weakly, and he shuts himself up with a piece of his sandwich.

---

Harry walks slowly through the dungeons, feeling the tingle in his lips. Having abandoned her parsnip flavouring for the day, Luna's lipgloss had tasted of mint, and it had made Harry's lips tingle coldly when they'd kissed. It sounds odd, but the sensation is actually great.

Harry has to hope Luna doesn't hate him by the time the year is through - he's going to ask Fred and George if her recipes would be good for the shop.

"Blaise," Harry asks when he comes into the Slytherin common room, "Could you come help me with this Charms homework?" It had been drizzling outside, but the curtain of the willow tree had made an umbrella for him and Luna. Despite the wonderful romance of it, his heart beating fast behind her, Harry had felt guilt, but moreover, he'd felt... Worry.

The Yule Ball is in just a month.

"Certainly," Blaise says smoothly, and he deals himself out of the poker game, standing up from the table and ruffling Daphne's hair as he goes. Daphne slaps his arm, but she laughs as she does it, and Blaise follows Harry into his and Draco's room. Immediately, Blaise has Harry pinned against the wall, and Harry groans into the kiss.

"I actually wanted help," he complains, and Blaise laughs, patting Harry's cheek.

"With Charms?" Blaise arches his eyebrows, obviously surprised, and Harry emphatically shakes his head.

"No," Harry admits. "I don't know how to dance." Blaise stares at him, and then he chuckles.

"You want me to teach you to dance?" Blaise asks, all but crowing the words. He leans forwards, putting one hand on the wall behind Harry, and usually Harry rather enjoys the other boy being a few inches taller than him, but for the time being? It's irritating. "What next, dear Harry? Elocution lessons? Table etiquette?"

"I know table etiquette." Blaise sniggers.

"You do not." Blaise leans in, cupping the side of his face, and Harry pretends to be about to kiss him before he draws back. "Oh, is that it? Without teaching you, I aspire to no reward?"

"Exactly," Harry says. Blaise smirks, and blows air over the tip of Harry's nose, making him groan and knee the other boy in the thigh.

"Is there something on your mouth?" Blaise asks, touching his own lips.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Harry asks, and Blaise gives a little nod of his head, expression pensive, and Harry smiles. Guilt twists in his stomach as he wonders what Luna would say, but he pushes it away and grabs one of his Celestina Warbeck records and putting it on the turntable.

"Put on Pixies At Midnight," Blaise says. "It's a Waltz." He stands in the middle of the room, his chin high, and Harry moves the needle.

"Thanks," he says. "For this." Blaise smirks.

"I'm only doing this for my reward, you know. Come here, and straighten your back."