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Harry Potter rolled his eyes, unable to resist anymore. Ron Weasley had been waxing poetic about Fleur Delacour since the day started. It was mid-afternoon now; Ron didn’t show any sign of slowing down any time soon. And while Harry knew Fleur was attractive, she wasn’t eight-hours-straight-of-lovestruck-babbling attractive.
“And her eyes are like . . .”
To the best of his ability, Harry tuned Ron out.
He double-checked that his Transfiguration book was in his bag. The doorway to the classroom was packed with his classmates. Thankfully, he was able to avoid Professor McGonagall once again. He was so tired of explaining that no, he didn’t have a date yet.
The Yule Ball was all that seemed to be on anyone’s mind. It was an especially heavy weight on his. Harry didn’t want to take just anyone; he didn’t want to give a witch false hopes. His parents would be horribly disappointed in him if he played with a pureblood witch’s heart, even unintentionally.
After pulling off the prank of the decade, and getting the Goblet of Fire to accept him as the Fourth Champion of the Triwizard Tournament, then claiming total innocence when his name came out of the Goblet, he didn’t want to bring down his parents’ gloating high.
“If he doesn’t shut up soon, I’m going to Langlock him,” Neville Longbottom, his best friend and godbrother, muttered beside him.
“I’ve had the thought more than once myself today,” Harry whispered back.
Neville elbowed Harry with a smirk, and turned to face Ron as they stepped out in the corridor.
“Well, if you fancy Mademoiselle Delacour so much, why don’t you ask her to the Yule Ball?” Neville suggested.
Ron gawped, paled, and then stuck his chin out mulishly and said, “Fine, I will. I’ll do it. I’ll ask her to the Yule Ball!”
Harry snickered. Oh, Merlin, he hoped he was around to see her response when Ron asked. Assuming, of course, Ron would even be able to speak in her presence. He hadn’t managed it yet.
“Right. And I’m taking Malfoy,” Harry said, before rolling his eyes.
There were several harsh gasps behind him. Harry looked over his shoulder to see Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass. They stared at him, stunned, on either side of Delieva Malfoy.
A wicked smirk painted itself across Malfoy’s face.
“Don’t forget to send your waistcoat with your house-elf, Potter. I’ll be very displeased if it doesn’t match my dress robes. I’ll never agree to accompany you again if you get me on the Worst Dressed list in the society pages,” Malfoy said.
She didn’t wait for a response before sauntering past him and down the corridor.
“Did that just happen?” Harry asked, watching the corner she had turned.
“Uh, yeah. It did,” Neville replied.
“But Malfoy hates me!”
Neville clapped Harry on the shoulder and laughingly said, “It seems like you might be wrong about that, Harry.”
“Mum is going to make jokes about Potters being obsessed with Blacks for weeks after this, even though Malfoy’s a Malfoy.”
Harry groaned. However, it would be continuing tradition somewhat, wouldn’t it? His grandfather Charlus bonded with Dorea Black and his father courted his mother, Lyra Black. He could already hear his mother laughing and saying he had found a Black-blood Lady for himself.
“Harry, I hate to break it to you, mate, but anyone with eyes knows that you’ve been obsessed with Heiress Malfoy since you met her at Twilfitt and Tattings when you got your school robes made before first year.”
Neville’s lips twitched.
“You know, when you let my sister braid your hair and Heiress Malfoy thought you were a witch and wanted to be your best friend because you were almost as pretty as her.”
Neville burst into laughter.
Harry groaned, before punching Neville in the arm and asking, “Did you have to bring that up again?”
“I’ll bring that up until the day I die. I’m never going to let you live that down, Harry. Never,” Neville promised.
“Great. Just great.”
“Maybe she’s interested now that you finally grew. You haven’t looked like a pretty witch in at least a year, Harry,” Neville teased.
Harry flicked his wand and said, “Langlock,” smirking when Neville’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
“I don’t have to take this from you!”
Harry huffed and stormed off, not that it did him any good. Neville followed right behind him, hissing laughter the whole way.
It wasn’t until they reached their dorm room that Harry canceled the hex with an absent-minded, “Finite.”
He threw himself on his bed and covered his face with an arm.
“Do you . . . do you think she meant it, Nev? Or do you think she’s plotting to humiliate me for daring to say I was taking her without even asking?”
“I think,” Neville said, quiet and serious, “that you’re the only person she will allow to call her ‘Malfoy’ without her title being attached. I also know that you’re the only pureblood heir in the entire castle that she will address without using a title. She even calls her godbrother Heir Theo.”
“I never even let myself imagine what it would be like,” Harry whispered.
“I couldn’t risk my heart like that; I have too much Black blood. Broken-heart induced insanity is something I could never risk. Mum’s mind almost snapped when Dad jokingly flirted with Heiress Lily Lestrange for a few months. Someday, I’m going to be Lord Potter, Duke of The Eternal Eyrie. I can’t serve my family the way it deserves with a shattered mind.”
“Hell, Harry, she would never do that on purpose. Your parents would start a Blood Feud between the Houses of Potter and Black and the House of Malfoy. She has to know that. My family would stand with yours, and so would several others. Heiress Malfoy is cutthroat, but she’s cunning. She wouldn’t risk her House or her siblings like that,” Neville said.
Harry rolled his shoulders and decided to take a chance.
He summoned his personal house-elf. “Lagnor!”
The house-elf that appeared wore a smart tunic with the Potter Family Crest and brown leather boots.
“Yes, Master Harry?”
“Please take the waistcoat for my Yule Ball robes down to Heiress Malfoy’s house-elf,” he said.
Lagnor’s wide eyes opened even wider.
“Yes, Master.”
He snapped his fingers and the waistcoat appeared in his hands.
“Lagnor be being back shortly, Master.”
Lagnor popped away.
Harry was paging through a back issue of Quidditch Quarterly, not reading a single word, when Lagnor returned with the waistcoat. Harry’s stomach dropped; it was the same crimson-red it had been when Lagnor left with it.
“Heiress Malfoy be being so beautiful in Potter-Crimson, Master Harry. Lagnor thinks Master will be being very pleased to be seen with her!” Lagnor said.
He snapped the waistcoat back into the wardrobe.
“Will that be being all, Master Harry?”
“That’s all,” Harry croaked, hands shaking.
“Merlin’s bollocks,” Neville said.
He looked just as stunned as Harry felt.
“I overheard several of the girls talking on the train to Hogwarts at the beginning of the year. Lady Malfoy took Heiress Malfoy to Wizarding Italy to get her Yule Ball gown designed and fitted at Olympus. I can’t even guess at how much it must have cost . . . and she just had her house-elf charm it to match your waistcoat.”
Neville collapsed back onto his bed.
“I think it’s safe to say she isn’t toying with you, Harry.”
Harry’s heart galloped in his chest faster than a prize-winning Aethonan could race. A wide grin split his face as the shock started to fade.
“Merlin, Malfoy’s going to wear Potter-Crimson to the Yule Ball. She chose me. She’s risking her Black-blood heart on me, for all to see. Neville, I think I’m going to bond with Malfoy.”
“So do I,” Neville said.
“I can’t believe . . . and she . . . wow.”
Harry sighed and beamed at the canopy of his bed. This was unbelievable. And Harry wished with all his might that this wouldn’t be a cruel dream from which he woke.
“Harry,” Neville said.
Harry was too lost in possibility to respond.
“Harry.”
“Hmm?”
“Harry!” Neville snapped.
Jerking out of his daydreams, Harry stared at his godbrother. Neville rarely used that tone of voice, but when he did, it was serious.
“What?”
“Anyone with a pinch of intelligence heard the sarcasm in your voice when you said you were taking Heiress Malfoy. She agreed anyway. She apparently ordered her house-elf to charm her couture gown Potter-Crimson. She couldn’t be any more blatant if she kissed you in the middle of the Great Hall,” said Neville. “Be careful, Harry, not to break her heart.”
For just a moment, Harry remembered the last time he had seen Bellatrix Black. He flinched violently. The mere thought of that crazed look in Malfoy’s gray eyes was unacceptable. If insane cackling ever spilled from her lips, instead of snide snark, he would never forgive himself.
“I won’t. I’d never do that to her.”
“Good,” Neville said. “You’ve convinced me. How are you going to convince her?”
“Lagnor!”
The house-elf popped into the room.
“Please ask Heiress Malfoy’s personal house-elf to come here, and then you can return to the manor.”
It was only a matter of minutes before an adolescent house-elf in a flowy white dress with the Malfoy Family Crest on it appeared beside him.
“Heir Potter be needing Bitsy?”
“Please let Heiress Malfoy know that her jewelry for the Yule Ball will be delivered the day of by Gringotts Courier. It’ll be on loan to her for the evening,” Harry said.
Bitsy frowned and said, “My lady be thinking rubies are tacky and cheap, Heir Potter.”
Harry threw his head back and laughed. Merlin, he could picture Malfoy saying that once in passing, and her house-elf latching onto it.
“My lady be having quality jewels,” Bitsy stated.
Oh, Harry didn’t doubt that in the least. Delieva Malfoy was the first witch born in the Malfoy line in close to four hundred years. It was no secret that her entire extended family doted on her, and that Lucius Malfoy bought her anything in which she showed the slightest bit of interest.
Harry still had no idea what concession Lucius had given Headmaster Dumbledore that resulted in Malfoy being allowed to bring her Nimbus 2000 as a first year.
“Will the Peverell Blooded Diamonds be acceptable?” asked Harry.
Neville gasped.
Bitsy stared at him, shrewd, and said, “Heir Potter be wanting to keep my lady as much as my lady be wanting to keep Heir Potter. Bitsy will be telling my lady about the goblin jewelry delivery. But Bitsy not saying what jewelry. Bitsy not be ruining Heir Potter’s surprise.”
She popped away.
Neville bit his lip, and then dissolved into nervous laughter.
“And she was worried you would get her on the Worst Dressed list in the society pages. She’ll end up on the cover of everything for months.”
“She’s made a blunt visual statement about her hopes for the future. It only seems fair that I do the same in return,” Harry said.
“Bloody Potters, always making the rest of us look stingy when it comes to courting. Couldn’t you wait until I win Daphne over to make me look incompetent?” Neville grumbled.
“Don’t be absurd, Nev. We Potters win at everything.”
Laughing, Harry ducked the book Neville threw at him. This was absolutely going to be worth all his mother’s teasing.
Harry finished tying his cravat, and then pinned it in place with a blood-red diamond pin that matched his cufflinks and the jewelry Gringotts had delivered to Malfoy today.
Half the witches in the Great Hall had stared at her with envy as a goblin in Potter livery delivered the box to her at breakfast. His account manager’s nephew was well-paid for the menial (in a goblin’s eyes) errand.
“How do I look?” Harry asked.
Ron grimaced beside him and glanced down at his rather plain dress robes. A hand-me-down from . . . someone. Harry wasn’t sure who. If Ron didn’t like them, he should have asked one of the witches who knew tailoring charms to help adjust them for him. At least he had found a date in Parvati Patil.
“We look smashing,” Neville stressed, as he stepped up beside Harry.
Their dress robes were almost identical, barring the difference in House Heraldry Colors. Pressed black trousers, ankle high dragon-hide boots, a white shirt, waistcoats (crimson-red for Harry and evergreen for Neville), cravats, and ebony over-robes with tails in the front and back.
They both had their hair pulled back at the nape.
Neville elbowed Harry to get him going; Harry only made it a few steps before freezing.
“What if she doesn’t show?”
“Really, Harry? Really?”
Harry flashed back to the light blush and pleased smile on Malfoy’s face at breakfast. No way would she stand him up after that, after all the witches had stared at her with desperate envy, visibly desiring to take her place. He had honestly thought Cho Chang might choke Malfoy when Malfoy calmly summoned Bitsy to take the jewels to her room, refusing to sate everyone’s curiosity in the Great Hall.
“Right. Dumb question,” Harry said.
They headed down to the common room.
Harry grabbed Neville’s shoulder when they were a few steps from the bottom, as Neville stumbled upon seeing Daphne Greengrass. Apparently, she had decided to sneak into the Gryffindor Tower again. Neville swore he wasn’t giving her the password, yet she constantly entered whenever she felt like it.
She was pretty, there was no question of that. But Harry already knew no one would be as beautiful as Malfoy would tonight, wearing Potter-Crimson and the Peverell Blooded Diamonds.
Harry clapped Neville on the shoulder and whispered, “Try not to get so lost in her eyes that you trample her toes, Nev.”
“Right.”
Harry left to collect Malfoy.
She was waiting for him at the bottom of the grand staircase, as promised. Her back was to him; the first thing he saw was her golden hair piled atop her head in curls, the Peverell Blooded Diamond combs a striking contrast, as if her hair had captured living flames. Her dress was fitted to the waist (making her waist seem impossibly tiny), and then poofed out in a full skirt that would flare and twirl as he spun her.
Somehow, Harry managed not to trip down the stairs at the sight of her.
“Malfoy.”
She turned from her conversation with Chang, who was on Cedric Diggory’s arm, and waved them away.
The festoon necklace was stunning on her, and not solely because the largest diamond hung between her breasts, which were . . . there in a way he wasn’t accustomed to due to the school robes. The matching armbands hugged her skin lovingly.
Harry was overwhelmed at the sight of her and accidentally said, “You look delicious.”
One of Malfoy’s eyebrows rose, and her cheeks turned rosy pink as she asked, “I beg your pardon?”
“I meant delightful!”
Harry didn’t have to look in a mirror to know his face was as red as his waistcoat.
“I swear I meant to say ‘delightful.’ Please don’t hate me.”
Malfoy laughed softly, and then placed her forearm atop his.
She craned her neck in an extremely distracting manner and said, “You would have to give me a very specific type of jewelry, to keep, if you want to call me that, Potter.”
Without asking his brain for permission, his mouth said, “I can do that. I can absolutely do that.”
With a smirk on her face, Malfoy led them to the front of the line of Triwizard Champions.
“We’re ready, Professor,” she said.
“Very well, then. Everyone else is seated already,” Professor McGonagall said.
She seemed surprised to see Malfoy at his side, but Harry didn’t know why. The rumors had been flying since the day he said she was accompanying him.
“You’ll open the ball with a Viennese Waltz, after which everyone will dine. When the meal has finished, dancing will commence until midnight. Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Very well.”
Professor McGonagall opened the doors and began announcing them.
“Representing Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, from Gryffindor House, Heir Harry Potter, the Earl of the Blood Moors, and his companion, Heiress Delieva Malfoy, the Countess of the Silver Isle.”
Harry was peripherally aware that the introductions continued, but he didn’t pay them any attention. How could he, when that time was better spent focusing on the beautiful witch in his arms? He was very careful with the placement of his hand on her waist, because Harry had already committed a massive faux pas that evening, which she has graciously forgiven. Harry doubted she would be as gracious if he erred in this matter.
The music started and Harry felt like the waltz passed in the blinking of an eye. It seemed to end the moment it had begun. With regret, he stepped back and bowed, before offering his arm once again.
When Harry pulled out her chair at the Champions’ table, Malfoy leaned close enough to whisper, “I’m not an idiot, Potter. I’m well aware that you entered yourself in this tournament. I still can’t believe they all think you’re innocent, and that you convinced them you might be in danger from outside forces.”
His breath caught as she smiled at him.
“Make sure you win, Potter, if you want the traditional boon bestowed upon a Tournament Champion, as in times of olde.”
Harry’s gaze dropped to her lips. They were painted Potter-Crimson; he desperately wanted to taste them as she taunted him with that possibility.
“After all,” Malfoy said as she took her seat, “to the victor belong the spoils.”
Harry slid her chair in, and then sat beside her with a roguish grin.
“Well, then, it’s a good thing Potters always win when it matters, isn’t it?”
“Arrogance, Potter?”
“Fact, Malfoy,” he corrected her, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.
For the briefest flash of a moment, insecurity flitted through her eyes.
“And can I count on that fact to be true, Potter?”
“Yes,” Harry stated, voice ringing with Magic. “You have my word.”
A Potter never broke his or her word once given.
The smile that lit up her face sent his pulse racing, but it was her response that struck his heart.
“I’ll hold you to that, Potter.”
“Good.”
Harry never wanted to do anything that would cause Malfoy to stop smiling at him like he was the center of her universe. Soon enough, if she wasn’t already, he knew she would be the center of his. And someday, when they were a few years older, and they had proven true, they could bring some stars into the universe together.
Harry couldn’t wait.
He suspected, from how her foot hooked around his ankle beneath the table, neither could she.