Astronomy lessons that week are cancelled. Sinistra's quarters are on the fifth floor, adjoining the Astronomy Tower, and she seems to mimic Professor Trelawney: she's not to be seen in the rest of the castle at any time at all, and apparently takes her meals in her quarters. It's unnerving for Harry - despite the fact that Sinistra has never been a favourite or least favourite teacher of his, night-time Astronomy lessons with the Ravenclaws have been a simple truth of his school weeks since he was eleven, and seeing Sinistra silently making her way down one corridor or another, or chatting with Pince in the library, is normal.

Her absence is strangely palpable.

The day after Sinistra's breakdown, it's reported in the paper, and when Theodore pushes the paper in front of Harry, Harry doesn't initially understand why. "Belle Rosier Killed In Brutal Attack," he reads, and he glance at Theo perplexedly. He sees Chad Arnett's name in the paper, and a quick scan of the page tells him that Belle Rosier had been a shop assistant in the American's haberdasher's, but had publicly spoken about his obsessive adoration of Gilderoy Lockhart and his snap after Lockhart's imprisonment in Azkaban. It's horrible, and it's tragic, but it doesn't really surprise him - Belle Rosier is the third person he's heard of Lockhart's lot murdering. "So?" Theo, Blaise and Draco are all looking at him seriously; Draco and Blaise are sat together on the floor beside Draco's bed, and they seem to understand immediately.

"Belle Rosier was Sinistra's sister," Blaise says emphatically. "Sinistra is her married name."

"Oh, God," Harry says, staring at the page. The photograph of Belle Sinistra is printed in black and white, a smile on her face as she poses in a set of well-accessorized dress robes, and now he looks at it he sees the similarities in the shade of their skin, the shapes of their noses and their lips. "What did they send her, then? Why did she break down like that?"

"They haven't printed them," Theodore says, "but my cousin Nyx works at Witch Weekly, and they sent them photos."

"Photos?" Harry repeats, and he leans forwards in the same way Draco and Blaise do when Theodore pulls a set of glossy, full-colour photographs. Draco snatches them to look at them first, but immediately he pales a little, and he drops them into Blaise's lap before running out of the room. Blaise frowns after him, but Harry says, a quiet dread settling in his belly, "He's squeamish sometimes. Can't stand the sight of gore." Blaise's expression is completely neutral as he looks at each of the pictures: they're about the size of a postcard, and there are six.

"Merlin's beard," Blaise says quietly, and he turns his dark eyes to Theo. Theo looks slightly overwrought, and Harry reaches slowly for the photographs.

He wishes they were in black or white. In full colour, the thick, bright shininess of the blood on the floor and the walls is sickening: Belle Rosier's eyes are unseeing as she lies suspended in the air on her back in just a silken black nightdress: holding her between the posts of her bed and the top of a dresser are dozens of intricately braided, colourful ribbons, and on her skin in little blossoms of blood are pinned badges and buttons. Needles stick out from her cheeks, and Harry sees the thin, ragged slit in her neck. The animation of the photo shows blood that drips to the puddle beneath her like a dribble of water from a faulty tap.

The other photographs are worse. In the other photographs, Belle Rosier is still alive.

He passes the pictures back, turning is head away and reaching for the glass of pumpkin juice on his desk. He feels sick. Not like he'll vomit - Harry's had his share of grisly injuries, and he's seen similar pictures to this one in some of the Dark Arts books in Grimmauld Place - but in a horrible, cold way. He feels sick of the world, of people like Chad Arnett.

"You think she got sent one of these?"

"Yeah," Theo says, and Harry shakes his head. "Nyx said they're not publishing the pictures, but they're publishing the letter that came with them - it's all Lockhart talking about facing up to criticism, and how they're going to show the wizarding world how impressive Gilderoy Lockhart can be."

"Is his new ambition to be the next Dark Lord?" Blaise asks dryly, arching an eyebrow. When Draco comes into the room, he sits on the edge of Harry's bed, looking green, and Harry pats him on the shoulder.

"If we're lucky," Harry murmurs, "He and Voldemort will just fight each other. At least that'll take Lockhart out of the equation."

"You never know," Blaise says lightly. "Lockhart could win." Harry laughs, and he ignores the way Draco and Theo look between him and Blaise, scandalized, and he lies back on the bed, putting his foot against Draco's knee. Draco looks a little ill, still, and Harry watches him for a moment as Blaise and Theodore start to talk about Lockhart's plans. They're not best friends, he and Draco - for the most part, Draco spends his time with Crabbe and Goyle, who Harry's never managed to hold much of a conversation with, and no one could match Hermione in his life at this point, but still... Harry feels upset to see him like this.

Especially when a quiet, niggling thought reminds him that if photographs of a woman Draco didn't even know have affected him like this, what must Sinistra be feeling?

"You sketch, right, Draco?" Harry asks. Draco's head turns suddenly to look at him, and his silver brow furrows slightly as he meets Harry's gaze. Notebooks are stacked in Draco's bedside cabinet, due to the way he documents his life in diaries and writes down everything he's ever told, but Harry knows the journals will occasionally have an illustration or two.

"Yes," Draco answers. "Why?"

"Do we have sympathy cards in the wizarding world?" Harry asks, directing the question more to Blaise and Theo. The two of them exchange a glance, and then shake their heads. "Right. Well, Draco, grab some parchment..."

---

It ends with Harry climbing the stairs to the fifth floor with a wicker basket in his hands. Blaise had dryly pointed out it might be best to remove the ribbons braided around its handle, and Theodore had winced as he'd hurriedly moved to cut them away. Blaise had picked some lilies from down by the lake and wrapped them in paper, laying them down to accompany the card, but at that point, Daphne Greengrass had asked what they were doing, and wanted to somehow assist, and then Francis Drummond had offered a small box of Honeydukes chocolates, and then Terrence Higgs had put in some chamomile tea bags, and...

Well. The basket is full, and Harry has discovered that while Professor Sinistra is not one of his favourite teachers, she is the favourite teacher of several students in the years above.

Sinistra has no door on her office, but merely an archway, and so Harry walks neatly into her office before approaching the door to her quarters behind her desk. Sinistra's office is bright and airy, like her classroom, with windows all along one wall, with celestial diagrams embroidered in the wide rug covering the floor. He knocks gently on the door, only loud enough to be heard, and waits with his feet on Cassiopeia.

He is surprised when the door is opened not by Aurora Sinistra, but by Professor Snape.

"Sir?" Harry says.

"Potter?" Snape says, with similar bewilderment, and Harry looks past him. At a chess table in a muted set of blue robes, Sinistra is rubbing at her eyes, wiping her face with a handkerchief. A pang of further sympathy makes itself known in his chest. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought some things for Professor Sinistra, sir. From Slytherin." Harry has never seen Snape's expression soften. He usually focuses on keeping his expression utterly neutral, but now Snape's black eyes do soften the slightest bit, a downturn to his mouth appearing that's utterly unexpected.

"Let him in, Severus," Sinistra says. Her usually ringing voice is hoarse and thick from crying, and Snape steps back as Harry comes into the room. Sinistra's quarters are decorated in deep blues and creamy whites, with more wide windows and an abundance of hard furniture, and he approaches her at the little round table. The chess game is halfway complete, and white - Snape's side - is winning by a mile. "What is this, Potter?"

"We're sorry about your sister, Ma'am," Harry says, and he holds out the basket. Arlene Snodgreen in the sixth year had got a hamper from Flockhart's Locks for her birthday, and had had it spare: it's wide and deep, and after a Saturday full of snakes running back and forth, it's nearly full, with Draco's card on the top. He'd done a careful diagram of a constellation on the parchment, using a lot of blue ink, and Sinistra stares at it for a long time before she reads the inscription on the inside: With deepest condolences for your loss, Slytherin house is thinking of you, Professor, and wishing you peace and comfort in this difficult time.

"Eridanus," Sinistra says quietly. "A fitting choice." She looks at the basket, then, letting Harry set it on the edge of the table, and she scans its motley contents: chocolates, tea, sugar quills, coffee, and overtop of it all, Blaise's delicately arranged bouquet. Sinistra puts her handkerchief over her mouth and lets out a sob, and for a second Harry is terrified she's going to yell at him to get out, and tell him that they should never have tried to comfort her with sweets and hot drinks, but she stands and pulls Harry into a hug.

Pressed against Sinistra's chest, her chin on his head (she has to lean down, because she must be six feet tall at the very least), Sinistra hugs him so tightly that Harry feels like he might start crying. "Thank you, Potter," Sinistra whispers. It's strange: Sinistra's dark cheeks are tear-streaked and shiny, and her usually calm expression is utterly gone. Harry offers her a small smile, and, still teary-eyed, Sinistra smiles back.

"I hope you feel better soon, Professor," Harry says, and he steps back towards office. On one of the walls, beside a full colour photograph of Belle Rosier and Professor Sinistra laughing around a fishbowl cocktail, there's a picture of Snape and Sinistra playing chess at a Christmas dinner. Sinistra is wearing a Santa hat, and Snape is almost smiling as he takes her queenside rook. The picture must be ten or fifteen years old, and Harry thinks about it as he steps back into Sinistra's office. Snape, who he'd almost forgotten about, is behind him, and he closes the door in a neat motion.

"Potter," Snape says, and Harry glances at him. Snape's expression is indecipherable as he looks at Harry, and then he says in a crisp, business-like tone, "Fifty points to Slytherin." Harry stares at him. "Tell the others."

"Yes, sir," Harry agrees, trying not to show his shock, and Snape returns to Sinistra's quarters with the quiet click of the door latch.

---

Professor Snape goes to the funeral with Sinistra, as well as Professor Burbage and Professor Flitwick. Harry sees a photograph of those in attendance at Rosier's burial in the paper, and Snape is in the photograph beside Sinistra. He also recognizes Joaquin Flockhart, Florean Fortescue and Dawn Finchley from Diagon Alley, as well as Dromeda, Nymphadora and Ted Tonks. The photograph obviously hadn't been taken with permission, because Dromeda looks ready to pour bleach down the throat of the photographer as she notices the flash, and Snape's hand is on his wand.

Dromeda writes him about the funeral, and how Sinistra had mentioned the sympathy basket - all of the staff this week have been unusually tended to reward where the Slytherins are concerned; Flitwick had awarded Blaise twenty points to Slytherin for handing a book to him, and Sprout had dropped a (sealed) bag of sugar mice in Draco's Mandrake pot. It's strange, being rewarded - it had never crossed Harry's mind that they'd get points or the like for this, and it gives him a lot to think about.

Mostly, he thinks about Snape, and the strange realization that he actually has friends other than Lucius Malfoy, who treats Snape as something between an adopted son, a rescued bat, and a drinking buddy.

Snape is sat at the lunch table that day, and he is in deep conversation with Filch. Usually, Snape doesn't seem to speak much in the conversations he has with other people - he usually listens to them talk, dryly commenting at one point or another, but with Filch the roles seem somewhat reversed. Barely anyone seems to actually talk to Filch, from what Harry has seen, and nobody likes him, but he and Snape are almost friendly, in the strange, emaciated way "friendly" can be applied to either of them.

"Harry?" Hermione says, and Harry glances at her.

"Yeah?"

"It's five days to the Yule Ball. Have you got a date?" Harry stops thinking about Snape abruptly.

"No," he admits. "I asked Fleur. She said no." Hermione laughs, and Harry frowns.

"Oh, that's alright," George says as he slides to sit beside Harry. "She's going with me." Hermione and Harry both stare at him, and Fred gives a gleeful little laugh as he settles beside Hermione. "What?"

"You're going to the Yule Ball with Fleur Delacour?" Hermione demands, slightly shrilly.

"Well, yeah," George says. "I was gonna ask you, Hermione, but I thought a threesome with me and Krum would be a bit embarrassing, you know. A seeker's just not got the same measurements as a beater, and I wouldn't want to upset him when he couldn't match me." Harry chokes on his pumpkin juice, and George cheerfully pats him on the back as Hermione's cheeks darken.

"Oh," Hermione says, trying not to look embarrassed. "Right."

"If anyone cares," Fred says, "I'm going with Angelina. Who're you going with, Harry?"

"No one, so far," he says grimly. George pats his hand sympathetically.

"There's always faith."

"Faith?" Harry repeats.

"That's the name of the anatomy skeleton in the Transfiguration cupboard," Fred supplies, and he and George laugh. Sighing, Harry shakes his head, and he glances back as Draco approaches the Gryffindor table. He puts his hand on Harry's shoulder, doing his best to disguise the movement as friendly, but Harry can feel the other boy leaning on him.

"So, Granger," Draco says, "Do you want to go the Yule Ball with me?" Harry's eyes go wide as he stares at Hermione, who seems shocked speechless. Fred and George, to their mutual credit, don't say anything either: they just stare at Draco with similar expressions of shock.

"Uh, no," Hermione says. Fred snorts. "I mean- Sorry, I didn't mean to say it like that, I just meant- no, sorry, Draco, I'm, um, I'm not interested in you. That way." Hermione speaks awkwardly and hurriedly, words tumbling over each other, and Harry mouths an apology at her - had he known, he'd have warned her, but Draco had given no clue that he was going to do this.

"Well," Draco says, sticking his nose in the air. His cheeks are a dusky pink. "It's hardly my trouble if you go alone. I was merely trying to be charitable." Harry winces.

"She's going with Viktor Krum, mate," Fred says lightly. "And if she decided to go with you, you definitely wouldn't be the one showing charity." Draco's pink cheeks darken to a plum red, and he looks between the twins and Hermione. It's one thing for Draco to occasionally look at Hermione too long or talk to her in the library, but asking her to the Yule Ball? Given Hermione's complete disinterest, he's not surprised by her reaction.

"Would have been embarrassing to attend with a Mudblood anyway." Fred, George and Harry stand at the same time, but Draco is already leaving the great hall at speed, the back of his neck as red as the Gryffindor banners on the wall, and they watch after him, scowling.

"He's disgusting," Hermione says quietly, revulsion twisting her features. Harry doesn't say anything as they sit down again, and he tries to think not about Draco Malfoy, but about who he's going to take to the Yule Ball. It's when Hedwig brings him a letter from Leicester that he thinks about it, and he smiles at the page as he pets her head.

He's going to have to make some kind of entrance, and he knows one way to do so.

---

Draco is in their bedroom, and subsequently, Harry is sat in the common room where it's safe. They're talking about Snape, and Theodore is openly wondering if Sinistra is going to let him take her to the Yule Ball. Blaise, leaning against the wall, is openly shaking his head as he stands with his hands in his pockets.

"I don't think they're interested in each other like that," Harry says, thinking about what he'd overheard between him and Lucius back during the summer. The chess table had been set up between them, their chairs back from the tables, and the distance between them had looked like it would be almost professional, and certainly not romantic. "I heard Lucius nagging him about it in the summer."

"Is Lucius still trying that?" comes a voice from behind him, and Harry whips his head around to stare at Professor Sinistra. She's in a set of her usual brown robes, wearing her hat, and she looks amused. Everyone in the common room is staring at her, and she says archly, "He started it when Severus and I joined the Hogwarts staff, so it's gratifying to know he retains hope for his and I bearing him a few dozen godchildren, unlikely though the fantasy is." Harry laughs. He's one of the only people in the room that does.

"Do you need anything, Professor?" Theo asks, and Sinistra looks around the room. Her expression has returned to its usual quiet neutrality, but then she smiles, her dark lips quirking into the expression.

"I wanted to thank you, all of you," she says, and despite the quietness of the words, they ring through the room. "Slytherin is a house that looks after its own, but I thought that familial spirit had ended upon my completing my education. It is heart-warming to know that the code of honour still applies. Thank you, children." There's a long, silent pause.

And then Blaise says, "If he's not taking you, I don't suppose you're free?" Sinistra laughs. The sound is rich.

"I will offer you a single dance, Mr Zabini," Sinistra says charitably, but then she leans forwards, patting the top of his head, and says, "Though as a partner, I would routinely recommend choosing someone more appropriate to your age and, indeed, your diminutive height." Theo and Harry laugh at Zabini's affronted expression, and laughter rings around the room. Blaise is the tallest of the Slytherin fourth years, but they're all still a little shorter than Snape, let alone Sinistra.

"You are going, though?" Harry asks. He still feels sympathy for her, of course, but as Sinistra is probably the only attractive member of staff at Hogwarts, he also feels that he wants to see her in a set of tight-fitting dress robes.

"Yes," Sinistra says quietly. "She'd have wanted me to. Good night, children." She bows her head before exiting the common room, and Harry watches after her, frowning.

"Can't believe she never remarried," Blaise says, "Though I suppose that means there'll always be room for me once I'm of age."

"Dream on, Zabini," Theo says, shaking his head, and Harry grins a private smile at Blaise, who winks at him. "Bloody sad, though, isn't it? Apparently she and her husband were only married for two years or so before he got killed - he was a Mediwizard, died right on a battle field. My father said Flitwick killed the woman who did it, caught her with an Oppugno and she fell into a ditch and broke her neck."

"Ironically," Blaise murmurs, "Had Maxwell Sinistra been alive, he likely could have saved her. But to lose her husband in the war, and to lose her only sister to a madman like Chad Arnett? That's tragedy."

"Especially given that her best friend seems to be Snape," Theo says, and despite himself, Harry laughs. He shakes his head, leaning back on the sofa, and he thinks of the upcoming Yule Ball.

Now that he has a partner sorted, he actually feels sort of excited. It's going to be great, he's decided: the Yule Ball is going to be the best party of his life so far.