Chapter 8: Dancing Time
McGonagall told the champions to stand in pairs behind each other and follow her. The whole room clapped as they appeared, and the professor led them to the large round table at the far end where the judges sat.
The walls of the hall were silvery with hoarfrost. Garlands of mistletoe and ivy hung from the dark, star-speckled ceiling. The long dining tables had disappeared, replaced by a hundred tables (each seating ten people). Lanterns burned cozily on the tables.
Fleur walked and dreaded one thing - Harry probably hadn't learned the dance. God, how could she have missed this moment! It was Harry! Panic was gripping the girl. She really didn't know what to do.
Potter didn't seem to care about anything: the straight posture, the proudly raised chin, and the appraising look he was giving the rest of the crowd. Nothing new, really.
Dumbledore, who headed the judging table, greeted the approaching couples with a bright smile. Ludo Bagman, wearing a purple robe embroidered with gold stars, applauded loudly along with everyone else. Madame Maxime, who had replaced her black satin uniform with a loose robe of light pale purple silk, clapped politely as well. Percy Weasley was filling in for Mr. Crouch, who was being treated for the effects of his son's imperius.
Glancing meaningfully at Potter, Percy, carefully averting his gaze from the champion's companion, gestured an invitation to sit in an unoccupied chair. Before Harry could sit down, Weasley began to speak.
"I've been promoted. I've been assigned to..."
"Fleur, is something wrong?" Without looking in his direction, Potter decided to find out why his companion was a bit twitchy.
"By the way, I'll be grading you, and you can..." Percy didn't like being ignored.
"Harry, tell me you can dance!" she blurted out.
"Hey, don't ignore me! I'm filling in for Miss-"
"Of course I can dance. I believe it's something every decent subject of the Queen should be able to do. Did you think I could forget such an important thing? And ruin the whole evening? How could you-"
"Who reminded you?"
"What do..." stammered Harry, seeing the absolute disbelief on the veela's part. "Dumbledore."
"Oh mon dieu, thank him for that. How did you not think of that yourself? Can't you be a little more attentive to the details around you?"
"There are no trifles for a great mind!"
"Oof!" jerked Fleur's head. "I'm hungry for food. Soupe à oignon."
The dish appeared right on the plate. It wouldn't be a bad idea if it was always like this, Potter thought. You wanted something, oops, you got it. I should hire myself a houseboy, or at least nail Dumbledore into providing one.
"Cigarettes from my room," Harry decided to try his luck.
A pack of Marlboro appeared on the plate.
" 'Arry, you're not going to smoke right at the table!" whispered Fleur indignantly in his ear.
"Of course I'm not smoking right now," replied the young man a little irritably.
Conversations flowed smoothly at the table. Hermione was teaching Cram how to pronounce his name. Victor never learned, and Harry finally learned the name of the prissy girl. Cho and Cedric were discussing something Quidditch related, they were both on their faculties' teams. Headmaster Dumbledore was discussing something with Madame Maxime. Karkaroff was peppering Granger with stares, and Bagman was just gobbling.
All in all, the most usual fishy squabbles. Potter was beginning to slowly tire of all this... society.
Slow music began to play.
"Come on," Fleur whispered languidly. "It's supposed to be dancing now."
Harry confidently took the veela's hand, placing the other exactly on her waist. Not an inch lower. And they twirled smoothly in a waltz. All eyes were focused on the three pairs of champions. Harry and Fleur were staring into each other's eyes. It looked very beautiful from the outside.
Ginny was very angry. She should have been in the shoes of that veela whore! Dancing with Harry Potter, hugging Harry Potter, snuggling up to Harry Potter, marrying Harry Potter. SHE! It all makes sense: she looks like his mother, he looks like his father.
And she ends up going with that stretchy Neville and watching that veela having fun. Charmed Harry with her magic and she's happy. Whore. Slut. Cunt. Bitch!
She's living with him! He has such a fancy place, even though she's seen a glimpse of it (behind her back). Ginny comes to ask Harry to the ball, and there's this Fleur with her stupid accent in her stupid sexy robe.
But at least she gets to do one dance with her hero.
So one song ends and another begins. Time to change partners. Ginny, ignoring Neville's babbling nearby, headed for her Hero.
One dance now, then he would be enchanted by her, and then the only thing left to do is to not take birth control once.
Here she is, making the sweetest and most innocent face possible, walking up to Potter and asking:
"Hey, Harry, let me ask you to dance."
It didn't bother her at all that at this point he and Fleur were already dancing instead of relaxing. It didn't bother her that they were clearly not paying attention to anything around them. It didn't bother her that they were talking at this point. Ginny genuinely thought she was doing the right thing. Her mom had told her that she was clearly better than some veela.
No wonder Harry didn't even pay attention to her. Everyone around him did, but Ginny wasn't about to give up. It was probably the fault of the punch, which the twins had obviously put something in. She walked over and tapped the boy on the shoulder.
"Harry, I say let's go dance at last."
"I already have a dance partner," Potter seemed a little taken aback by her insolence when he noticed.
"Don't worry, couples can be changed all the more...like this," Ginny continued, ignoring the veela's murderous stare.
That's when Harry came to his senses.
"Look girl, if I wanted to dance with anyone but Fleur, I would have danced already, now get out of our way," Potter replied coldly, not even looking at the redhead.
"Harry, come on, like we don't know each other? You rescued me from the Chamber of Secrets, remember? Don't worry, your veela won't be offended if you dance with me."
"First of all, Fleur isn't mine. Second, no, I don't remember. And third, I don't want to dance with you. My lady," he turned to Delacour, "let's go outside, since we are not allowed to dance in peace.
"Oui, some girls allow themselves too much."
With those words, they walked away from Ginny towards the exit.
Weasley stood stunned. She had thought that at the very least she liked Harry. I mean, he was saving her, and here...
Honestly, Fleur was wildly pissed off at this girl. Typical English racist. But she calmed down quickly enough when she realized that Harry was leading her outside with his arm around her waist. Veela quickly sensed the romance: the bench by the lake, the full moon, the couple from the ball...
Potter, on the other hand, wanted to smoke. And he was cold, so he walks outside, hugging Fleur. He was pretty specifically grossed out by that little redhead. You had to be so stupid. He was showing with all his looks, voice and eyes to go far and deep, and she was also shaking her rights.
Harry decided that the bench and his expensive suit would not fit together and transfigured a small but comfortable couch for them to sit on.
He lit a cigarette.
Well, basically, now it was safe to go back to his apartment. The alchemist's diary wouldn't decipher itself.
"Alright, Fleur. I'm going home if you want to stay.
"But... Harry, the ball has just started!" exclaimed Fleur, almost crying. So much for romance, so much for the ball... "It's only nine o'clock! The ball will be until eleven at night!"
"I did the opening dance. My part in this...gathering is fulfilled," Harry said in a rather cold tone, squinting his eyes.
"Well... and go! I'll have my own fun here! And... And I'm not coming tonight!"
"That's the deal," the boy replied a little irritably. "I'm off."
Potter was actually pretty pissed off. He wasn't sure what he was angry about. It seemed to be what he had planned, but Fleur's snapping at him had tugged at something inside of him. But basically, it was no big deal. The diaries were more important.
Delacour was hysterical. When Harry disappeared into the castle, her tears flowed. It was painfully upsetting. Why was he... like this? Then a sudden anger came over her. She was going to go out and have fun! To spite him! She'll dance with different guys until 1:00 in the morning! And he'll just let him wither away! Yes!
"Pfft," Harry exhaled irritably. Completely unrelated alchemy thoughts pop into his head. He looks at the diary, and his thoughts are about the ball. About how he had rather rudely almost sent Fleur away. About how she was probably crying when he left.
He leans back in his chair and does a stretch thoughtfully. Nine o'clock at night. It was still possible to go back, basically... Okay, stop, what was he talking about? What kind of fishy thoughts? For him to worry about someone? That's crazy. Sure. Let her dance.
Bitch.
Fleur did exactly as she'd intended. She went dancing. She danced for a full half hour, after which she realized she was bored without her Harry. Veela decided to just go to her carriage, bathe and go to bed. It was heartbreaking that her lover was doing this to her. She couldn't sleep in her cold, lonely bed no matter how much she tossed and turned. All right, she'd been insulted enough.
About one o'clock in the morning, Harry felt someone with that familiar cinnamon scent snuggle against his side and lay their head on his chest.
He wasn't the least bit glad she had come. Not at all.
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