Two to Lead

Chapter 22: Dancing in the Dark

You can't start a fire

Worrying about your little world falling apart.

This gun's for hire,

Even if we're just dancing in the dark.

-Bruce Sprinsteen, Dancing in the Dark

*******

"Potter?!" Draco roared, standing abruptly from the edge of the satin bed.

"Don't tell me you're jealous," she scoffed. "It's just a stupid dance."

He glared down at her, beautifully enraged, like an avenging angel. The avenging angel of school formals, Ginny thought, snickering. That didn't go over too well.

"You still like him," Draco accused.

"Don't be an idiot," she snapped.

"I'm not the idiot here, Red. You are."

"Merlin, Draco. I'm going to a dance with Harry Potter. I'm not selling my body in Knockturn Alley for enough sickles to buy illegal mind-altering potions."

"Michael Corner. Dean Thomas. Terry Boot. Seamus Finnegan," he counted off.

"Why have you memorized all of the guys I've dated?" she asked suspiciously.

"Your blind loyalty to Dumbledore. The fact that if Potter told you the Dark Lord was hiding in the middle of a pack of blast-ended screwts, you'd actually follow him into it."

Ginny was utterly lost. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has everything to do with everything!" he yelled. "I'm doing everything I can to save you, and you're doing everything you can to fuck it up!"

"Save me? Save me from what?"

"From yourself! From being a casualty in Potter's grand quest for more admirers to kiss his ass! From ending up with seventy children and a husband whose idea of foreplay is passing gas and then shoving your head under the blankets!" He was wild-eyed.

"I see," Ginny said grimly, staring him down. "So because I'm entirely incapable of running my own life, you've decided to run it for me."

"Exactly!"

"How creepy and overbearing. If you don't mind, I think I'll be going now."

His jaw dropped open, almost comically. "What?"

Ginny collected her bag and walked over to the door.

"So you're going to storm off in a huff?" he asked disgustedly. "Like a child?"

She spun around before she could think. Shortly thereafter, she was pointing a Molly-ish finger in his face. "You think I'm being childish?" she hissed. "Walking out on someone who believes that you haven't got the wits to survive another day without their help isn't childish. Treating people like inanimate fucking objects is childish, Draco."

He held up his hands, as if trying to appease her. "I'm not treating you like an inanimate fucking object. I'm trying to stop you from throwing your life down the toilet."

"My life!" Ginny said stridently. "Mine! Why doesn't anybody understand that? If you want to go around making decisions for me, then you're going to have to bloody well stand in line behind everybody else!"

"Excuse me," he said dryly. "I forgot that you're overprotected. How tragic for you."

"And I forgot that you're a self-centered asshole who has no comprehension of the fact that the rest of us actually think and feel and don't need you to improve our lives."

"If you think that, then leave," he said, turning away and crossing his arms. "Merlin, is this what do-gooders get for their efforts? No wonder Potter's such a wanker."

"Trying to run somebody's life isn't doing good, Draco," Ginny said, astonished once more by how clueless he was. He didn't answer, and she headed for the door once again.

He spoke as her hand touched the doorknob. "I didn't know about the trap."

Ginny turned, staring at his rigid back. "Trap? What trap?"

"In the Department of Mysteries," he said curtly. "I didn't know about it."

She hadn't forgotten about the purpose of her initial interest in Draco Malfoy; it had just been sort of pushed aside for more important things. Months ago, a revelation like this would have been analyzed for weeks. As it was, she honestly didn't know what to think.

"So in the Trophy Room, you lied?" she asked.

His shrug seemed forced. "I only lie about unimportant things."

"In my experience, the opposite is true," she said. He didn't react, and there was a long silence. "So why did you let me go, then?" she asked carefully.

"I don't know. I just did," he said.

Something in the tone of his voice evoked something in her. The look on his face when he'd declared that he didn't care about her. His long-suffering sigh as he'd led her over to the cushions to work up to taking her virginity. In moments like those, there was always a subtext to what he was actually saying. Just like there was now.

For her part, Ginny was more than sick of trying to figure out Draco Malfoy.

"It's just you and me here, Draco. None of your cronies are lurking under the bed, and you're not going to lose any face by telling me what you really mean. So just say it."

"What does it matter?"

Fed up with talking to the back of his head, Ginny stomped across the room to stand in front of him. "I'm just asking you to be honest with me. Why is that so bloody difficult for you?"

He looked her right in the eye, but didn't say anything.

"Draco," she said impatiently.

His eyes raised to the ceiling. "What do you want me to say?"

"I'm not putting words in your mouth. Just answer the question."

"Which one?"

Ginny grabbed his shoulders. "Why did you let me escape from Umbridge's office?"

"I don't know," he said insistently.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake..." she growled.

He sighed. "Fine. I let you go because you looked hot."

She closed her eyes and counted to ten. "Are you even capable of being serious?"

"I am being serious. Your hair was all tousled and you had your wand in your hand and were about to curse me and you had this determined look on your face, and..."

"...and you let me go because of some pornographic fantasy?" she finished.

"Interpret it as you will."

She let him go, stepping away. "I really have no idea what to think about that."

"You're the one who wanted a reason," Draco said, everything about him closed to her.

"So if my hair fallen in a less attractive manner, I'd have been finished," she said sourly. "That's lovely. At least I know you're not trying to impress me with your depth."

"I'm Draco Malfoy," he sneered. "I was born impressive."

It was such an arrogant, stupid, random, Malfoy thing to say that Ginny was torn between leaving and breaking out into laughter. They stood there for a long moment like that: him staring down his nose at her in distaste, her utterly stymied.

The ridiculousness of the situation finally hit her. Ginny reached up and honked his nose.

He recoiled, shocked and offended. "What the hell was that?"

"A nose honk," she answered.

Draco didn't seem to know what to make of this development. "Is that how Weasleys show affection or something?"

"Sometimes."

"What do you do when you're angry? Give each other wedgies?"

"No, we do this." Ginny wet her finger and stuck it in his ear.

"Ew! Bloody disgusting, Red!" Draco stuck his tongue out and wiped his ear frantically.

Ginny grinned. "I can't help it. It's just so much fun to ruin that icy Malfoy façade."

"What makes you think it's a façade?" he asked in a dangerous tone of voice that didn't work very well with him scrubbing his ear with the sleeve of his robes.

"I don't think it is. I know it is."

The very next second, Ginny found herself flat on her back on the bed. Draco was sitting on her, pinning her arms down. He had a very Lucius Malfoy look on his face.

"Are you sure?" he asked in his most superior drawl.

"Knock it off, Draco. Let me up."

"No, I don't think so, Red." He fisted up her left hand and started punching her in the face with it in a manner Fred and George were once quite fond of, that was generally accompanied by 'Stop punching yourself, Ginny' repeated over and over again. In Ginny's mind, this was pretty much the most annoying thing one person could do to another, above even the 'I'm not touching you' game.

"Now, see what you do when left to your own devices?" he asked mildly. She tried to pull her hand away, but he just tightened his grip. "You punch yourself..."

He rubbed her fist into the top of her head. "...you give yourself noogies..."

"Arrrgh, stop it!"

"...if it weren't for me, you'd be in St. Mungo's by now..."

"Get off me, Malfoy. I'm warning you..."

"... if you want to run your own life, you should really stop hanging out with losers..."

"This is your last chance. Get off!"

"...because no offense or anything, but your bloodline's murky enough as it is..."

Bringing her feet up as close to her bum as she could, Ginny lifted up her hips, trying to throw him off balance. Realizing her tactic, Draco let go of her and stood up.

"...I honestly don't know how you managed to survive this long without me."

"I already told Harry I'm going with him, and I'm going," she said firmly, standing up and brushing herself off.

"Fine, then, if that's what you want. Merlin knows Potter won't lay a hand on you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What makes you think that?" She was in complete agreement, but Draco was acting far too smug for his own good.

"For one thing, the kid can't dance. Or at least, he shouldn't dance, and I certainly hope you have the good sense to stop him if he tries. Beyond that, he's gay."

Ginny blinked. "Harry? Gay? I don't think so, Draco."

"I'm sure he's too thick to realize it, but he is."

"Er, Draco? Harry's kind of...proven...he's not gay."

"Red," Draco said, as if he were instructing someone very slow. "He had the most sought-after girl in this school ready to jump down his trousers, and he turned her down. Gay," he shrugged.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," he qualified. "If somebody gave them a manual on how to actually go about it, Crabbe and Goyle would be more than happy to explore the rear entrance on occasion."

As supportive as she wanted to be of sexually open-minded Draco, Ginny couldn't get over the idea of Crabbe and Goyle...

She shuddered and refocused. "Draco, Harry's not..." she broke off and sighed. When Draco convinced himself of something, talking him out of it was like trying to explain to Hagrid the difference between 'cuddly' and 'carnivorous.' You just got a blank stare.

"He is," Draco said assuredly. "And he wants me. Desperately."

"Oh, Merlin," Ginny groaned, sitting down on the bed and putting her face in her hands.

"You saw when he attacked me after the Quidditch match last year, and in the train compartment on the way to Hogwarts for the start of term," he said pointedly. "Didn't you think he was just a bit too interested in jumping on top of me?"

"So I'm going to the dance with Harry, then," she said, trying desperately to get the conversation back on track.

Draco sighed long and hard. "Fine. I just hope you're not easily bored."

"Thanks for your permission," Ginny said sarcastically, getting up to leave.

"You're welcome," he said grandly.

"And stop messing with Ron's head, would you, please?" she asked irritably. "He's beginning to think something's going on with you."

"I can't help it," he smirked. "When I see him, all I can think is: I shagged your sister."

"Well, get over it."

He turned luminous eyes to her, his smirk fading. "If that's what you want, Red." Again, she could feel that there was a subtext, only this time she was completely missing it.

"That's what I want," she said, feeling as if she were agreeing to something she wasn't sure she wanted to agree to.

He nodded shortly. "And you should try to do something about Potter's hair, like introducing him to a barber. No boys are going to like him with that mop on his head."

Ginny glared at him and left, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed between them. She just wasn't sure what it was.

*******

Around eleven o'clock, Harry sat straight up in Thera's bed.

"Voldemort!" he cried, his eyes wide. He looked around the room, his confusion growing as Thera looked on, amused, from her seat at the desk. Harry touched his fingers tentatively to his scar, looked even more confused, then winced and pressed his palms to his temples, moaning.

"The Dark Lord may be evil, but hangovers are worse," she said cheerfully.

"I feel terrible," he said weakly, flopping back down and screwing his eyes shut, feeling around blindly for his glasses on the bedside table.

Digging back into her stash of pre-menstrual painkilling potions, Thera withdrew a vial and tossed it onto his stomach. Putting on his glasses, Harry drank it quickly.

"How long until it works?" he asked hoarsely.

"Not long."

"I'm never, ever doing that again."

"I've heard that before."

"I don't know what I was thinking."

"You wanted to get drunk. People want to get drunk sometimes. It happens."

"Well, you seem fine," he observed petulantly.

"I didn't drink as much as you did," she pointed out. "And I've had more practice."

"What time is it?" he asked, the beginnings of 'what did I do last night that I don't remember doing?' horror coming through in his voice.

"Eleven," Thera chirped. She wasn't sure why it was so enjoyable to be obnoxiously cheerful when a hung-over person awoke; it just was. When Thera was little, she would run into Reina's room, jump on the bed, and begin describing what sort of breakfast they should have. Then Reina would toss her off the bed, put in her a full-body bind with a silencing charm, and she'd lie there and daydream, listening to her mother's snores.

Good times, Thera thought wistfully.

"Oh, no," Harry said frantically. "Ron's up by now and they've got to know I didn't sleep there, and Hermione's going to throw a fit and I..." he paused, inhaling deeply.

"...I smell like a pub," he said, screwing up his face.

"Take a shower, then," Thera suggested. "You'll feel better."

"But won't that seem suspicious? If I show up after being out all night, nice and clean?"

"Say that you stopped in the bathroom to take a shower," Thera said, her patience waning. For all that Draco bitched about Harry Potter getting away with everything, the kid didn't seem to have a sneaky bone in his body.

"Good idea. And I'll tell them..." He trailed off, looked around the room as if an excuse might pop out from behind the wardrobe.

"You were walking around all night, contemplating your horrible fate," Thera supplied.

Harry blinked at her. "You're good at this."

Thera rubbed a hand down her face. "Just take your bloody shower."

The potion must have taken effect, because Harry leapt out of bed. Thera gave him a towel and invited him to use Draco's hair products. Seconds later, the water started.

Thera had spent the majority of the time since she'd woken up contemplating Harry Potter's 'power.' She had little information to go off of, but anything that Harry had over the Dark Lord interested her. She was - to say the least - a stakeholder in the situation.

A short time later - short enough to make Thera doubt that he'd washed everything that truly needed washing - the water stopped. Love and making people do things for him, Thera mused. In her mind, it all added up to charisma. Like Hitler, only good.

She sat back and picked at the thought a bit. Harry was hardly charismatic. He wasn't the type to command attention; he was too unassuming. And yet, there was something about him when you were with him alone. He wasn't outgoing, or witty or interesting, he was something else. He was almost...endearing.

Not even saying the word aloud, Thera was uncomfortable with it. Nothing about this seemed right. Nonetheless, she couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't like what was going on with them, that he'd given himself a giant guilt trip about it, and that he'd only come back because of some sort of extenuating circumstances. She also couldn't shake the feeling that regardless of his opinion towards her, he wanted to protect her. Though she'd never asked for it, and didn't much desire it, she knew somehow that she had it.

She couldn't see why. She couldn't put all of the pieces together in a way that suited her. Beyond that, it was a useless sentiment, considering that the only way he could help her would be to defeat the Dark Lord. But she felt it anyway, and she didn't like it. It made her feel indebted to him in a way she couldn't possibly repay. Whatever Jesus complex he was walking around with, she simply didn't have it.

Harry strode out of the bathroom fully dressed. Even wet, his hair stuck up in the back, as if it had been genetically designed to make him look comical, to throw everybody off.

Picking up his invisibility cloak, he moved his eyes to her, the door, and then her again.

"You should get going," she prompted.

"Yeah." There was a long pause. Harry coughed uncomfortably.

"Well, shouldn't you go then?" she prompted again.

"I should," Harry said, pushing his glasses up his still damp nose. "I just...I wanted to thank you. For last night. And for the potion and letting me take a shower."

And there it was again. He was obviously staving off humiliation and wanted to escape as soon as possible, and yet he was standing here thanking her. Thera held up a hand to stop him before he hurt himself.

"Harry, you're welcome any time you want to get drunk and spill your deepest secrets."

He sent her a terrified glance, then swallowed, as if deciding that the best course of action was to just ignore it all. "Yeah, well, anyway, thanks." Without another word, he draped the invisibility cloak over himself and fled.

Thera chuckled and a knock sounded on the door to the Slytherin dormitories.

Thinking it was Blaise with her homework for Monday, she was surprised to find Draco instead. "What, did the Weasley girl dump you?" she asked.

He didn't answer, instead strolling in and lounging on her bed they way he always did.

"Make yourself comfortable," she muttered.

"I can't imagine you have a date for the dance, so I figured we might as well go together," he said. Then he frowned. "You do own dress robes, don't you?"

"I have a pair of robes that are red. I imagine that's what they're for."

"So it's settled, then," he said, putting his hands behind his head.

She laughed shortly. "No it isn't, because I'm not going."

"Not going with me, or not going at all?"

"Not going at all."

"Oh, come on. Why not?"

"Because I refuse to waste any portion of my life drinking Hawaiian Punch and watching teenagers dance badly under a sea of construction-paper hearts."

"We'll spike the punch and mock the people dancing," he offered. "And the hearts, too."

"No."

"It'll be fun."

"I highly doubt it."

"Honestly. What else do you have to do?"

"Draco," she said seriously, "if I spent the night slitting my wrists with old razors and pouring salt into the wounds, then it would still be a more worthwhile use of my time."

"I'll buy you something," he said tantalizingly.

She studied him. "Why do you want to go so badly? And why are you asking me?"

"I want to go because I like dances, and I'm asking you because you're the only person I know who doesn't have a date."

"If you like dances so much, why didn't you get a date weeks ago like everybody else?"

"I didn't want to rush into anything," he said casually, waving a hand.

Thera winced. "Okay, that's just too far below your usual standards to let it slide."

"Fine," he said, sounding harassed. "I didn't want to go, but now everybody's going and something interesting might happen and I don't want to miss it."

"Then go. Find someone who's willing to dump her date for you and go."

"Why won't you just go with me?" he asked frustration leaking out of every pore.

"I've already told you why. In detail."

"And I said I'd buy you something."

Thera crossed her arms and smirked. "I want a pony."

He raised his eyebrows. "You want me to buy you a pony," he said slowly.

She nodded. "A palomino. I'm going to name it Speckles."

"Where are you going to keep a bloody pony? How are you going to care for it?"

"Well, if you're going to buy me a pony, you're obviously going to have to find some way to take care of it. I certainly don't know anything about horses."

"Then why, may I ask, do you want one?"

Thera shrugged. "Every girl wants a pony."

"Thera, I'm not buying you a smelly horse just to get you to go to a dance with me."

"Then I'm not going to the dance with you," she said amiably.

Draco swore creatively. "Okay, so what is it you really want?"

"A pony," she said, wide-eyed.

"Cut it out, Thera. You're obviously softening me up."

Grinning, Thera ripped off a sheet of parchment, grabbed a quill and wrote:

1995 Ferrari F50

Red exterior

Black leather interior

Standard transmission

Bitchin' sound system

She handed it to Draco. He stared at it, confused.

"What is this?"

"It's a car, and I want it."

"You want me to buy you one of those Muggle things?!" he shouted, appalled.

Digging into the bottom drawer of her desk, Thera found an old, well-worn copy of Car & Driver. Locating the dog-eared page, she opened the magazine and handed it to him.

"I want you to buy me that," she said.

"Oh. Wow." Draco stared at the picture for a very long time. Then, with some sort of male instinct for luxury automobiles, he began flipping through the pages.

"Nice," he breathed, admiring a BMW.

"Well, they're certainly better than the Malfoy carriage."

He flipped back to the Ferrari. "Do you even know how to work one of these?"

"Well, it's a step up from Reina's Chevy, but yes."

Draco touched a finger to the picture, as if wishing he could encourage it to move.

"So this is what you want?" he asked, sounding as if he wanted it for himself more.

"Oh, yes. Buy it and arrange for storage. I'll pick it up this summer and keep it at Shirag Castle." She could just feel the car's power as she cornered a nice, curvy highway and took a straightaway at full speed. That ought to take the sting out of being a Death Eater.

"Unh," he said, turning the magazine pages so he could drool over the new Corvette.

"So?"

"Will you teach me how to work it?" he asked, dazedly.

"One doesn't learn how to drive on a Ferrari, Draco. Buy yourself a domestic piece of shit and I'll see what I can do, but you're not touching that car. It's mine."

"How much does it cost?" he asked, looking up.

"I'm no good at transferring Muggle money into wizard money," she said, looking away.

"That much?"

"Oh, Draco," she said, patting him on the cheek. "What's the point of being rich?"

"I have only one question: what is a 'Bitchin' sound system?'"

"It's a necessary accessory for a Ferrari," she said expertly.

He looked down at the car and then back up at her. The expression on his face was one she'd seen a million times before. It was animalistically lustful and entirely male, and largely reserved for bare-breasted women, glorious moments for their team of choice in their sport of choice, and ridiculously expensive cars.

That's when Thera knew she would have her Ferrari.

*******

"Do you think she'll look like she did at the Yule Ball?" Ron asked for the hundredth time. He was pacing around in front of the fireplace in the common room.

"I'm sure she'll look great," Harry said distractedly for the hundredth time from his seat in front of the fireplace. He didn't particularly want to go to this dance. He was not a dance-going sort of guy. The Yule Ball fourth year had been the first time in his entire life that he'd gotten dressed up. This was the second, and he felt itchy and weird.

The common room was filled with boys milling about anxiously. It was like a prison they could only leave once their date finished with whatever it was girls did to themselves to get ready for dances and set them free. There was a great deal of asking each other about their appearance and pacing.

For some reason he would probably never be able to understand, girls liked doing certain things in packs, like going to the loo. Apparently coming down from the dormitories for a dance was another. Ginny and Hermione came down in the middle of a flock of six.

Hermione wore dark purple robes, her hair - as Ron had hoped - sleek and straight and long. She was wearing makeup and really did look great. Ron told her so. Several times. Then he shuffled his feet and seemed disinclined to touch her. Harry could see Hermione's annoyance growing. Ginny caught his glance and nodded her head towards the portrait hole so the two of them could escape before the inevitable fight started.

"I'm still Hermione for Merlin's sake. Would you stop shying away from me so we can go downstairs?" her voice sounded as Harry and Ginny reached the portrait hole.

"I'll never understand what they see in each other," Ginny said, shaking her head.

"I wonder sometimes myself."

They joined the queue of people making their way into the Great Hall.

"Oh, dear," Harry said as he caught a glimpse inside.

"I know," Ginny said apologetically. "It's completely awful."

"I guess Cho wanted to make absolutely sure nobody forgot it was Valentine's Day."

They finally got inside, both of them studiously ignoring Colin Creevey's attempts to get their attention. There was a bit of a logistical problem, considering Ginny's string of ex-boyfriends, but they found Neville and Luna sitting with Hannah Abbott and Zacharias Smith and figured it was the best they were going to get. Pulling up two chairs, they saved another two for Ron and Hermione, whenever they chose to show up.

The table was involved in an animated discussion about the previous night's D.A. meeting. Having more or less run out of offensive and defensive spells to teach them, Harry had begun staging battles. They were a chaotic mess and generally ended in a tie, with at least one person getting sent to the Hospital Wing, but everybody enjoyed them.

"Harry, did you see me hit Michael Corner square in the face with an Impedimenta last night?" Neville asked excitedly. "It really messed him up."

"Yeah, Neville, that was great," Harry said, wanting to encourage any brief flash of the old Neville that came through. Since his grandmother's death, something in Neville had hardened. He no longer looked lost, but he worked at the D.A. meetings with a single-minded determination that Harry knew very well. It was the same determination he applied to his training with Fox. It was not, Harry realized, a healthy determination.

But there was something about this new Neville that made Harry nervous. Every once in a while during a battle, there would be a look of pure hatred on Neville's face that Harry had never seen before. The hatred was understandable from anyone who had just lost somebody to Voldemort, but it bothered him more because it was Neville.

Ron and Hermione arrived breathlessly. Ron was bright pink and Hermione's hair was not nearly as smooth as it had been in the common room, and both of them kept making surreptitious adjustments to their robes. Apparently they'd worked out their differences.

The food appeared, and everybody dug in. Hermione tried - and failed - to have a coherent conversation with Luna while Harry, Ginny and Ron discussed their upcoming match against Hufflepuff, who had completely embarrassed Ravenclaw in their match, and Ron and Ginny were worried about the intricate offense they employed.

"You saw them, Harry. It's like their chasers share a brain," Ginny said.

"Well, you guys seem to do alright. I'm more worried about our beaters," Harry sighed.

"They're terrible, but at least we've still got you," Ron said. "Nine times out of ten, the better seeker wins the game."

The band walked up on the stage that had been erected where the head table usually sat and started up a rollicking tune. Students got up and began to dance. Harry quickly turned away from the dance floor. In all of the preparations and date-choosing coercion, Harry had pretty much forgotten about the whole 'dancing' part of the dance.

"Umm...why don't you go dance with Neville?" he suggested to Ginny.

She sent him a knowing smirk. "Don't worry. I'm not going to make you go out there and do that twitchy sort of thing you did at the Yule Ball."

"I...twitch?" he asked, belated humiliation creeping up his neck. Had he really made that big a fool of himself fourth year? And when had Ginny started smirking, anyway?

She patted his hand. "Sorry, Harry. You're just going to have to settle for being rich, handsome, famous, heroic, nice and moderately smart."

She smiled at him cheekily and dragged Neville out onto the dance floor. Hermione finally succeeded in doing the same thing to Ron and the others followed suit, leaving him alone at the table with Luna Lovegood. She was wearing bright orange robes, her ever present butterbeer-cap necklace, and what looked like two clumps of dirt as earrings.

"I like the battles we've been doing in the D.A.," she said. It was a surprisingly normal opening line, and Harry was relieved.

"You're all getting really good."

"Neville certainly is," she said, her protuberant finding him on the dance floor. "He's very angry about his grandmother. He wants to find the LeStranges and kill them, and then he wants to find Voldemort and kill him, too. I tried to tell him that he'll see his grandmother again someday, but I don't think he was ready to hear it."

Harry looked down at the table. "Do you think he's going to be okay?"

"Eventually. He's only angry now because he doesn't want to be sad. He's afraid if he lets himself feel sad, that will mean his grandmother is really dead. And once he starts feeling sad, he can't stop, because if he stops that means he's forgotten about her."

Harry stared at her. For all her flakiness, Luna had her insightful moments. Especially when it came to death, for some reason. Harry remembered their discussion before the leaving feast last term, how she'd made him feel better about Sirius.

"So have you lost anything yet this year?" he asked, feeling slightly guilty for avoiding her all the time.

"Yes. My favorite pair of earrings," she said, fingering the brown lumps hanging from her earlobes. "But I made these myself, and I'm quite proud of how they turned out."

"They're very nice. What are they?" he asked politely.

Luna beamed at the compliment. "Crumple-horned snorckack droppings. Dad and I sent a whole bunch to the Ministry with a detailed map of where we'd found them, but the Ministry sent them back." She sighed. "They just refuse to believe the evidence."

Harry realized very clearly and painfully in that moment that he was conversing with someone who wore poo as jewelry. He turned back to the writing mass of students and wished he didn't look twitchy when he danced.

*******

Having just blown a healthy percentage of one of his trust funds on Thera's rather attractive Muggle auto-thingy, Draco was relieved to see that she had at least bothered to do herself up properly. Though she generally looked as if she'd simply rolled out of bed and gone on with her day, when fully done-up, Thera was irresistible. It was like there was an entirely different Thera that she only took out on a special occasions.

She wore a clingy set of red robes with her hair in some complicated twisty something or other and practically oozed sex appeal. Malfoy pride dictated no less from his date.

The Great Hall looked as if somebody had vomited pink and red all over it. Earlier that day, he'd put in his time in this very room, cutting out hearts and floating them to the ceiling, hanging streamers and trying to negotiate with the cherub's union. Red had worked nearby, but there had been no innuendo, or even covert glancing. Something about cheap construction paper hearts just sapped every sexual urge out of his body.

Crabbe and Goyle had escorted Millicent Bulstrode and her younger sister Gertrude. The four of them immediately fell into a very intense discussion about how to make the perfect brisket. Pansy was with some brown-haired kid and the two of them seemed rather demonstrative through dinner. Which is to say that Pansy ate dinner while sitting in the poor kid's lap and sending Draco and Thera death glares.

"So how long do we have to stay here?" Thera asked, sounding martyred.

"Until it's over," Draco bit out. The things he'd had to do and the people he'd had to bribe to get that stinking Ferrari for her; you'd think she could at least keep quiet. The fact that he had a picture of the Ferrari in his pocket and that he got vaguely aroused every time he looked at it was none of her business.

"I don't think he can breathe under there, Pansy darling," Thera said, turning her head to where the brown-haired kid's arms were waving frantically. Pansy had leaned over him to talk to a friend at the next table, and her bosom was in danger of committing involuntary manslaughter.

Pansy turned around, giving the guy some oxygen. "Slut," she hissed.

"Cow," Thera returned sweetly.

Draco turned his attention to Crabbe and Goyle in the hopes of staying out of the fight.

"New Potatoes, when they don't overcook them," Millicent was saying.

The others grunted.

"With a little salt," Crabbe slavered.

"And butter," Gertrude drooled.

"And rosemary," Goyle said, closing his eyes in bliss. The foursome moaned in pleasure.

Draco decided he would rather get dragged into the fight.

Fortunately, the fight was over. Pansy was cooing to her date and Thera was guzzling butterbeer. Setting the bottle down, she put a hand to her mouth and belched. Well, at least she covered her mouth. After all, you can take the girl out of the pub...

The band started up, and he led Thera out to the dance floor. Draco was not one for improvisational dancing, and Thera didn't seem to be, either. They could both waltz like pros and foxtrot with the best of them, but anything else was pretty much limited to bouncing up and down or the solid step-touch, step-touch with the occasional spin.

Nearby, he finally got a glimpse of Red. She wore gold robes, her hair wild and loose around her shoulders. She was laughing and shaking her booty with Longbottom.

Thankfully, she'd had the sense to leave Potter at the table, but where had she gotten this talent for finding the most useless male in the place and latching right onto him? He could only credit it to her Weasley upbringing.

Thera suddenly flicked him on the forehead. "You're so bloody obvious. Keep looking at her bum like that in public and you're never going to get away with it."

"Get away with what?" he asked innocently.

"Fucking her is fine. She a fuckable girl, and if your father found out, he'd think it was great. He'd go out of his way to run into her father so he could say something casual about the two of you knowing each other so well, wink-wink, nudge-nudge."

"Yes, he would."

"So why don't you tell him? It would certainly make his day."

"Who I fuck is none of my father's business," Draco said frigidly. It was hard to pull off while dancing, but he managed. "And by the way, it's none of your business either."

"But what about sticking it to the Muggle-loving Weasleys?" Thera asked. "Why keep trading juvenile insults with her big brother when you've already struck them right in the soft underbelly? You've corrupted their little princess. You should be gloating."

"Oh, believe me, I am." Catching sight of the oafiest of all the Weasleys, he sent the kid a knowing smirk. I shagged your sister. Weasley's face suffused with color.

Thera watched the exchange, looking underwhelmed. "That's it?"

Draco shrugged. "It'll do for now."

"You know," she said slowly, a malicious smile creeping across her face, "it's not very nice of you to deny Cousin Lucius his fun."

Draco pulled her up against him, the rage he hadn't felt in months coming over him again. She'd do it, too. Thera was a great fan of threats, but they were never empty.

"Say one word to him, and I'll..." he began in his best 'don't fuck with me' voice.

"You'll what?" she interrupted derisively. "You can't kill me, and I'd clean the floor with you in a fistfight. Just how far would you go to protect your little redhead?"

Draco glared at her. "I'll hire a team of goons to go at your Ferrari with beater's clubs."

Her face went as hard as a slab of granite. "You wouldn't. You love that car too much."

"I can always buy another one. You can't."

She shook her head. "You fucking idiot. Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Shoving him away, she stalked about two meters, turned abruptly, stalked back to him and grabbed his arm. "We need to talk," she said, leading him back to the table.

"Dance floor. Now," she ordered the four burly gourmets. Pansy was doing things that shouldn't be done in public to the brown-haired kid on the dance floor. Crabbe and Goyle hustled their dates out to join her. Pansy didn't look pleased at this development.

"What?" Draco asked snidely.

"Drop her. Now."

"No."

"You're going to fuck everything up if you don't end it."

"How?" he snapped. He was not about to take romantic advice from Thera. Sleeping with anyone with a dick only made her an expert on dicks, in his mind.

Thera stared at him like he was an idiot. "Do you remember the whole plan about keeping her away from him? Do you realize that you're going to be his little puppet in a few months? She's just stupid enough to trust you, and if they find out about this, you're the perfect way to get her. Then we're all screwed. Including her, by the way."

"They won't find out unless you tell them," Draco bit out.

"You don't know that," she sneered. "And I might not have a choice in the matter."

Draco sat back, staring at her in shock. Because she had a point. A really good one. He saw now that he'd forgotten - well, ignored, more precisely - his role in the spell.

All the same, Draco wasn't used to doing without the things he wanted, and he wanted Red, at least for now. The risk was small, he felt. And he liked the reward quite a bit.

"You're right," he said obligingly. "She's done."

Thera seemed taken aback at his acceptance. "Really?"

"Of course. Stopping the spell is more important than anything else."

She stared at him penetratingly. "I'm looking out for us. Because Merlin knows you're to inept to do it yourself," she said, grabbing a butterbeer from the bucket on the table.

"Fuck you," Draco said wholeheartedly. He suddenly understood why Red had been so annoyed by his interference in her life. "You just want me for yourself."

She snorted. "The only thing I want is for your little teen romance to not ruin my life."

"You're in denial," Draco informed her, grabbing a butterbeer for himself and sitting back to mock some dancers.

*******

Fox surveyed the dance floor in front of her. It was like a magical John Hughes film.

They deserve a little fun, Fox, Dumbledore's voice sounded in her head.

What they deserve isn't my concern.

A slow song came up. It sounded like a rip-off of 'Unchained Melody.' Fancy a spin?

Fox shrugged and stood up, meeting Dumbledore on the dance floor. He was quite a good dancer. It seemed like nobody knew how to lead anymore.

Over Dumbledore's shoulder, she saw Gautham and what could only be a student with their heads on each other's shoulders, swaying slowly.

I think my partner's breaching the Code of Conduct.

Padma Patil? Yes, I've been meaning to have a chat with him about that.

The girl's hand moved down to pull Gautham closer.

You might want to do that soon, she advised the Headmaster.

You mean tonight?

The couple turned, and Fox saw Gautham's hand sneaking its way down to the girl's butt.

I think that would be a good idea.

The slow song ended and Dumbledore made his way over to Gautham, clapping a friendly hand on his back and leading him over into a corner.

Fox went back to the staff table, sitting down beside Amina, who was bouncing around in her seat to a high-energy number that sounded suspiciously like 'Turn the Beat Around.'

"Is that all this band plays? Muggle music rip-offs?" Amina asked.

"Just be grateful they don't use bagpipes," Fox answered.

"I wanna dance," Amina said, grabbing Fox's arm.

"We have to keep it clean, though," Fox warned. "There are children around."

"I agree to no crotch-grabbing and no simulated sex, but these poor kids need to learn some things," Amina said, grinding in a way that made several boys stop dancing and goggle at her, wide-eyed and very interested. Amina danced like any good Congolese would when faced with a pounding backbeat: with a lot of abdominal contractions, stomping, hip-shaking and an enjoyment for dancing that was alien to these people.

"They're British," Fox muttered to her. "Stop scaring them."

"They need to loosen up," Amina declared, grabbing a white-faced teenage boy and guiding him through a complicated rhythm that went well beyond his dancing talent.

"It's against their nature to loosen up," Fox instructed. "They're too stiff."

"You're hardly one to talk, my rigid kemo sabe."

Amina danced away. "Tonto called the Lone Ranger 'kemo sabe,' not the other way around," Fox called after her. "And it's Sioux for 'asshole,' I'll have you know."

Amina was well out of hearing distance and Fox didn't feel like sticking around to watch the terrorization of another innocent male student. Ditching the dance, she started walking back to her chambers. Two presences in a closet to her right made her stop.

Really, now. A closet? Where's your self-respect, honey?

Ripping open the door, she fumbled with the silly piece of wood that Dumbledore wanted her to use and illuminated it, shining it in their faces, feeling rather like a policewoman.

"Alright, kids, party's over. Either get back to the dance or go find a classroom, but it really cheapens the deed to do it in a janitor's closet."

For a few seconds, all she saw was the back of two people's heads, hanging guiltily. Finally the boy peered over his shoulder.

"Fox?" he asked tentatively, holding up a hand to shield his eyes.

Fox dropped her 'wand' in disgust. "Merlin, Gautham, can't you make it with somebody legal? And not in a closet?"

"I'm legal," the girl said defiantly.

"Then go do a spread in Playwizard," Fox growled. "Either way, would you mind keeping your child-woman vibe from getting my partner canned? As in, literally, being dismembered and sealed into a metal can and dumped into the Atlantic?"

"She'll be seventeen in a few months," Gautham argued. "And we're in love."

"Oh, for crying out loud."

"And we're not technically employed by Hogwarts, because they don't pay us, so we don't have to comply with the rule about not messing around with students."

"Messing around?!" the girl cried, punching him in the shoulder. "Is that what this is?!"

"Padma," Gautham said in a patient voice, "I just said we're in love."

Her face softened. "Really?"

Gautham smiled shyly. "Yeah, really."

They gave each other a long, moist look. Fox took a step backward and slammed the closet door shut. She had a sudden, terrible longing for her broadsword.

*******

So far as Vivian could tell, the punch had been spiked more than once. It had that smack-you-in-the-face aftertaste of alcoholic beverages that shouldn't be mixed. It reminded her of her first year at The Institute. It was undrinkable, or - to be more exact - the sort of thing only a teenager would drink with the express purpose of getting rip-roaringly drunk.

Quickly emptying her glass into a convenient fern, Vivian surveyed the dance floor with a bit of nostalgia. Had it really been so long since she'd been out there? Yes, it had.

She was old enough to have a kid on that floor. Earlier tonight, Vivian had thought she looked pretty damn good. Now she realized she looked pretty damn good for her age.

Luckily, as only teenagers could, they ran at full strength and burned themselves out quickly. Dumbledore finally called the dance to an official end, and the students filed out, either chattering in the midst of a second wind or yawning into their dates' shoulders.

The students were nothing compared to the professors. McGonagall looked frazzled. Wisps of hair had escaped her bun and stuck straight out of her head, and her voice was hoarse from reprimanding students above the volume of the music. Vector's pointed cap was nearly perpendicular, and Flitwick was napping at the corner of the faculty table.

Or maybe he'd just had too much punch.

Vivian went to her rooms and removed her dress robes. She wandered up to the poorly-organized bookshelves, making the usual vow to herself to clean the things up one of these days. Idly, she pulled out an old text - one of her father's favorites - and paged through it. Funny that no matter how much she learned, and how much she liked to think she knew, there was always so much more that she'd forgotten in the interim.

The words were comforting, but they weren't enough. She'd been to visit Remus at least three or four times a week since she'd been randomly saved from the Ministry. She had a sneaking suspicion that Remus had had a great deal to do with financing the rescue, but she couldn't say that her actions necessarily stemmed from gratitude.

They'd fallen into a comfortable closeness that reminded her of when they'd first noticed each other forever ago. Even before they'd broken up, they'd lost that easiness with each other. She only saw that now. For all of her self-pity about being dumped, Vivian had to admit that there might have been cause beyond Remus' weighty guilt trip.

In any case, it was nice to have it back again, in whatever form it chose to manifest itself.

Knowing that he was probably expecting her, Vivian gave up and flooed to Headquarters.

As was his habit, Remus was in the upstairs parlor with a book, a hot pot of tea and a blanket over his legs. He smiled when she entered.

"How was the dance?"

"Long," she sighed. "I don't remember ever having that much energy."

"Oh, I don't know," he said casually. "I seem to remember a certain girl assuring her boyfriend that they had plenty of time before they had to be back and that they could go at it at least one more time..."

Vivian threw a cushion at him, nearly upsetting his tea.

"You were a werewolf," she said primly. "I had high expectations of your prowess."

"Yeah, Sirius was always in awe of that. I think he had half a mind to get bitten himself. He used to say you were the luckiest girl in the world."

Vivian grinned at him. "I was."

He looked at her oddly. "Really?"

"Of course. Remus, you're attractive, you're smart, you're witty, you're nice, you're polite, you're understanding, you dress well, you can cook..."

"Yes, if it weren't for that werewolf thing, I'd be a real stud."

"And you love your parents. That's the clincher. How are they, by the way?"

A shadow passed over his face. "They're...fine."

He was far too transparent. "What is it? What happened?"

He looked away. "Well, you're going to find out anyway, so I might as well tell you that they're living at The Burrow now."

"The Burrow? Why?"

"Because the Ministry seized their house."

Vivian blinked at him, not comprehending. "Why?"

Remus gave her a pitying look, but didn't say anything.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Vivian breathed, rubbing her temples furiously. Anger built, but she knew it had to be nothing compared to what Remus felt. Not remembering her statements to him or her arrest, Balder had owled her a few times. She hadn't owled back, but she desperately wanted to right now. She'd be happy to get arrested all over again if she thought it would do anything.

He stood and began pacing. "I should be grateful the Ministry was satisfied with just the house, as opposed to throwing my elderly parents into Azkaban as accessories."

Guilt suffused every syllable, and Vivian knew it had to be ripping him apart. She didn't know who had talked Remus out of turning himself in - which would have been his first instinct after hearing the news about his parents - but she wondered how long his resolve would last. They were losing the war against Voldemort, and the Ministry was spending all of its time going after a single, entirely innocent werewolf.

It was sickening. There just wasn't another word for it. It was too far beyond injustice.

"Remus," she said, trying to think of something to tell him that would make him feel better. But there really wasn't anything she could say.

"If it stops here..." he trailed off, taking a deep breath and letting it out, staring blindly at the fireplace. "If it stops here, I can deal with it, with my parents. There are things I can do." His face hardened. "But I'm not going to let them come after Harry."

"Why would they...?" Vivian started to ask. Then she swore. Sirius' will. Fudge would love to know about that, and it wouldn't be hard to find out. It was public record, and from the look of things, the Ministry was going after Remus with everything they had.

Not as impressive as bagging Voldemort, but much easier to capture.

"Can I pass it on to you?" he asked.

"Remus, don't."

"Vivian," he said sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Merlin knows Harry's been passed on enough in his life. Can you just tell me you'll take care of him?"

She put her head in her hands, grinding her palms against her eyelids. It was hardly unreasonable for him to think this way. The Ministry couldn't catch him outright, but they could certainly get him to surrender if they played their cards right. The weight of responsibility didn't sway her. The promise did. It was too much like something somebody would promise to a dying man, and it scared the living shit out of her.

Is this how he'd been living since she'd last seen him? Is this what his life was like now?

"You know I'd do it," she said in a low voice, brushing an errant, over-styled curl out of her face as she raised it to meet his eyes. "I just hate that you have to ask."

"No more than I do," he said bitterly. "Believe me."

There was that soft spot, smacking her in the face, forcing her to look, to watch. The soft spot was the reason she'd always kept her distance during the full moon. The soft spot was the reason she'd left quietly when he'd asked her to leave. And no matter how many years and defenses and lovers stood between them, Vivian still couldn't stand to watch Remus in pain. It was like hurting herself. It was like no time had passed at all.

Age had brought in its wake a thick shell that carried with it a sort of misanthropy. She could only care about people so much. There had been friends, and David. But none of them could evoke a teenager's undefended response with just a look. Only Remus had ever done that, and maybe only Remus could. Vivian honestly didn't know. She just knew that in the face of Remus hurting, she would agree to anything he asked of her.

"Then I'll do it. But only if you don't do anything stupid."

"Like what?"

"Like turning yourself in."

"Vivian, I already told you..."

"I know," she said harshly, closing her eyes and holding up a hand for him to stop. "But if you're going to subject me to raising a teenager, you're at least going to have a conversation with me before you turn yourself in. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

The longer the silence dragged on, the more Vivian couldn't stand it. It was one thing for her to lose hope. She hadn't had much to begin with. But she couldn't go on if Remus lost hope. After all this time and all the shit he'd dealt with, if he was throwing in the towel, then she might as well just go join up with the bloody Aurors again.

"Remus, just tell me you'll hang on, okay?"

"Hang on to what?" he asked, in that awful bitter voice. "To hiding out? To helping the war effort by reading books and feeding Buckbeak and opening the door for visitors?"

She didn't consciously know what she was doing, she just knew she couldn't take that uncharacteristic bitterness from him. Before it registered, Vivian was hugging him, saying his name over and over. It was a pretty sorry solace for both of them, but it was the only thing she could think of to do. She didn't have any words to make it better, and maybe it couldn't be made better. Maybe it was one of those pains that was painful no matter what angle you viewed it from. Maybe the only thing that could help him was to show him that he wasn't alone, that she would take some of it herself, if she could.

They'd denied it, they'd made a joke of it, she'd even used it for her own selfish purposes, but maybe - despite their youth - what they'd felt for each other years ago had been real, or at least the foundations of something real. Maybe it had deserved a chance.

What she felt wasn't hope, but it was at least a distant cousin. Vivian knew that despite David, she wouldn't have thrown away a promising career to take sides in a war she didn't have at least a realistic chance of winning. She truly wished she could give him hope. Hell, she wished she could give herself that much. But she couldn't, not honestly. Understanding: yes. Caring: sure, why not? Throw empathy in for good measure.

But hope had always come from him. Her hope had always come from him. She had no idea how to give it back to him, no matter how much she wished she could.

"We need you," she was telling him now, hugging him harder even as he refused to hug her back. "I need you."

"You don't need me," he said. "You never did."

"I need you to be you," she answered. "Isn't that the same as needing you?"

He stared at her for a moment. "I don't know, actually."

Without stepping away, Vivian took her hands back to cover her face. "I think I'm still in love with you," she confessed in a muffled voice. "I think maybe I never stopped."

He was silent for at least a minute. His hand came up to stroke her hair. "I'm sorry."

Vivian's hands left her face and she glared at him. "You're sorry?!"

He looked very guilty. These days, guilt seemed to fit him like a well-tailored set of robes. "Yes, I am. I doubt it's very meaningful to you, but I really did want you to get on with your life..."

"Merlin, Remus, stop fucking justifying it to yourself!" Vivian shouted. And she really shouted it. Belatedly, she hoped there weren't any other Order members in the house.

He seemed confused. "What do you want from me?"

"I'm thirty-four, Remus," she said in a high-pitched, rather shrill tone of voice. "I'll be thirty-five before final exams and I'm sick of beating around the bush. We talk and then pretend that we don't want to fuck each other. We fuck and then pretend that we don't want to talk to each other. Isn't this getting a little old? Aren't we getting a little old?"

"Vivian," he said, his eyes burning with an urgency that rarely pertained to her anymore, "what do you want from me?"

Vivian grabbed his face and brought it down to hers. "Do you still love me?"

He grimaced, the burdens of his nature and his current legal situation bearing down on him. She could see the lie coming. Of course he'd lie. He might be in Azkaban soon, and there was no advocacy group lobbying for innocent dark creatures to be set free.

Nobody cared.

Well, nobody but her, perhaps, and Hermione Granger.

"Don't you dare protect my feelings, Remus," she said in a shaky voice. "I'm not a fucking child, and you're not my whole world anymore. I've lived without you before."

"Vivian," he said painfully. He pulled his face free of her grip and looked at the floor.

"Fourteen years," she said in a dull voice. "And every full moon, every thought I had was about you. Are you going to tell me it was easier for you?"

"No," he said grudgingly, "it wasn't."

"Then why can't you tell me? You used to tell me all the time."

"Will it hurt more if I tell you and go to Azkaban or if I don't tell you and go to Azkaban?" he asked desperately.

"It hurts either way, Remus. That's how it works."

He looked at her woefully. "Every time I have this opportunity, I have less to offer you."

"Well, shit, then," Vivian said wryly, "we'll just have to live on my salary and my disgustingly large inheritance."

He reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. "I still love you. I always have."

"Because of my inheritance?" she asked slyly.

"That," he said, kissing her on the forehead, "and your luscious breasts." He kissed her hard on the lips. "And the fact that you're smarter than me," he continued, placing a line of deep kisses down her throat. "And Merlin knows one of us should be in good standing with the law," he said, sliding his hands up her shirt.

Vivian bit his earlobe gently. "Can you still go five times a night, wolfie?"

"Weeeellll..."

"Three?" she asked hopefully.

He cleared his throat.

"So the whole werewolf prowess thing?"

"Yeah, it pretty much played itself out."

"Actually, I think one is all this old lady can stay awake for at this point."

"One. I'm quite good at one."

"Well, I suppose I'd rather have one good one than three mediocre ones."

"Oh? Am I the one good one?"

"Of course."

"Then who are the three mediocre ones?"

"David, of course. And Balder."

"And who's the third?"

"Well, one of my fifth years is rather attractive..."

"So my competition is a vampire, a fascist prick and a fifteen-year-old?"

"Think you can manage?"

"I'll do my best."