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“Are you sure we have to go to this?” Harry asked, with barely a hint of a whine.
“Yes, Harry, I’m sure," Hermione replied. "The ICW needs to see we’re at peace again before they’ll be comfortable reopening borders, and at this rate we’re likely to miss the Quidditch World Cup Qualifiers entirely. You know how much that means to everyone. Lee was on the Wireless the other day, and he was saying that half of our import and export agreements are on hold right now, waiting for travel to open up again. And if we have to wait until the 2000 Quidditch World Cup for the Ministry to finally get that sporting revenue, that’ll just drag the recovery on even longer. We need this, Harry. All of Wizarding Britain does.”
“I know, I know. But the Malfoys? A masquerade? Really?”
“The masquerade is supposedly traditional. And there used to be more places that could host a massive event like this, but, well, not many survived the wars." She glanced at him, a little uncomfortable with the topic. "The Potters used to have a ballroom, but the entire manor house was burned to the ground in the first war. The Longbottoms have one, but their wards are still recovering from the Lestranges' attack. Hogwarts has occasionally hosted charity balls over the years, usually to raise funds for the school itself, but even the Great Hall is far from being suitable at the moment.”
“Fine,” Harry sighed, still annoyed. “I guess we should get ready then?”
“Yes, Harry. I told Kreacher about the dress code. Do try to stick with whatever robes he picked for you.”
Harry made another face. He’d be lucky if they were only as bad as Ron’s were for the Yule Ball in Fourth Year. Knowing Kreacher, they’d probably be twice as ruffled, and covered in snakes or something.
***
“Jesus, Hermione!” Harry yelped when he caught sight of her coming down the stairs. “That’s what you’re wearing?”
“Why? Is something wrong with it?” Hermione asked, putting up a brave face, but looking a little nervous nonetheless.
“Only that the purebloods are all gonna lose their bloody minds,” Harry said, and gave her a big grin.
“Well in that case… Good,” she said with a smirk.
“That’s what you’re going for, then?”
“You could say that. Or, you could say that I’m merely channeling my inner Princess Di,” she proclaimed.
“Oh?”
“Mhmm. My mum helped me pick it out last month, you know. It’s rather like the dress Princess Di wore to make her ex-husband jealous.”
“Ron’s still being a prat, then?”
She sighed, “He’s certainly not been any less difficult lately, nor has he apologized yet.”
“I think I heard he had asked someone to attend the ball with him…”
“Yes, I heard that, too. Lav Lav again. Well, I’m over it.”
“Maybe you’ll hit it off with someone new tonight?”
“Maybe,” she replied with a laugh.
A soft bell chimed, and they turned to look at the clock.
“It’s time,” Hermione said, and they both put on their masks. She grabbed a pinch of floo powder, and a moment later, Harry followed her through the floo.
***
He stumbled when he landed, always so awful at wizarding travel, and took a moment to orient himself.
The Malfoys had clearly outdone themselves, covering the walls and tables with strings of fairy lights, flowers, and peculiar objects, most of them in silver and gold.
He spun around, looking for Hermione, and saw that she was already making her way to the dance floor, clearly set on her mission for the night. If she wanted Ron to be jealous, he sure as hell would be with her in that dress.
With a grimace, he took in the rest of the room, trying to identify a good spot to camp out for the evening. The buffet table was promising, though he didn’t quite like the avaricious look of some of the older crowd hanging around there. The students he’d known at Hogwarts had gotten better at keeping the hero-worship to themselves, thanks in large part to long years of seeing each other at a distance and passing each other in the halls. The older crowd, though, was still just as rabid as they’d been that first day Hagrid took him to Diagon Alley.
The musicians had a space cleared in front of them that was certainly empty enough, though he wasn’t sure he’d enjoy the headache of it being so loud all night. It seemed he wasn’t the only one wary of hearing damage, as that corner was quite empty.
The bar was certainly an option, and was looking to be the best one so far. There was a crowd there, but not as dense as the dance floor or the tables were, and with the several friendly classmates he thought he recognized by their hair alone, he knew he wouldn’t get swamped there either. It was an option.
With a frown, he did another sweep of the room, hoping there would be a better option before he was noticed.
Then, his attention was drawn to some movement by the cocktail tables, and he broke into a grin. An empty table. Perfect.
With a small saunter, he ducked through the crowd, happy to claim it before someone else could.
***
He was glad Dumbledore had demonstrated how to order from these menus at the Yule Ball, because otherwise he wouldn’t have had a clue what to do.
He was sipping from a freshly delivered glass of firewhiskey, somewhat more pungently flavored than the stuff Sirius’ parents left at Grimmauld Place, and was eager to tuck into the plate of finger foods that had been collected for him and delivered, when he heard someone approaching.
“Excuse me,” a deep, rich voice said, “Do you mind if I join you? There aren’t many empty tables.”
He looked up, and immediately felt himself flushing. He couldn’t see the man’s face, obviously, but he was a tall man, with silky brown hair that was artfully styled in waves, almost a nod to the gelled back look Malfoy had gone for in his first few Hogwarts years, but far more naturally done.
He was tall, and would have easily been looming over Harry if there wasn’t a table still between them. A glance down showed that his robes were cut in the full traditional style, with the hems touching the floor, so he wasn't sure if the height was all natural or if the man had perhaps been helped along with some heeled boots.
“Of course,” Harry replied, trying hard not to stammer. “Help yourself.” He waved vaguely at the other end of the table, and though he couldn’t see the man’s face, he somehow knew he was smiling. How did he do that?
He studied the man surreptitiously as he ordered his food, taking in all the details. His mask was the same unadorned gold every guest had been provided with their invitation, charmed to disappear in unison at midnight, as some sort of gesture of new friendships or fostering communication or some such rot.
Contrary to what most people wore, including the hideous robes Kreacher had chosen for him, this man was in robes that were relatively simple. They were pure black, and from this distance, they looked completely unadorned. The man wasn’t wearing any jewelry, not even cufflinks, and Harry frowned at that, wondering how he’d gotten invited if he was the kind of man to button his cuffs the muggle way. He was deeply jealous.
The man finished ordering, and when the food arrived Harry barked out a laugh before he could help himself, seeing that they’d ordered the same thing.
“Great minds think alike, hm?” the man teased.
“Hah! I guess they do,” Harry replied.
“Any favorites yet?” the man asked, gesturing to the assortment on his plate.
“Not yet, I’m still trying them all.”
“First time, then?”
“At a Malfoy Ball?” he clarified. At the man’s nod, he continued, “Yes. I, er, was acquainted with Malfoy at school, but, well, we weren’t exactly friends. I wouldn’t have come tonight, but Hermione insisted.”
“Hermione?”
“Oh, my best friend. One of them, anyways. Actually, I should make sure she hasn’t set the portraits on fire yet,” Harry mused, half to himself. “Where did she go…”
Finally he caught sight of her, wild hair pinned up in a twist for the night, getting twirled on the dance floor by another guest.
“Oh, there she is,” he said with some small relief.
“Which one is she?” the man asked.
“Oh, er, the one in the black dress, the short one that’s sort of falling off her shoulders.”
The man chuckled, and Harry turned away from the dancers to look at him in confusion. Somehow, the man knew his question before he asked, and said, “Do you know who she’s dancing with?”
Harry frowned, and studied the couple again. Without a face it was all but impossible to tell unless they had some unusually distinctive feature, and all he could tell about the man was that he had platinum blonde hair and was taller than Hermione.
He wheezed, and looked at the man incredulously.
“Ah, figured it out, then?” he asked with amusement.
“Wait, seriously? She’s dancing with the ferret?”
“They seem to be enjoying themselves,” the man mused, and Harry couldn’t help but stare again. “Come now, tonight is all about moving on, isn’t it?”
“I guess it is,” Harry replied.
***
The night passed on, and Harry wasn’t ashamed to find himself clinging to the company of the mysterious man. He was an excellent conversationalist; witty and charming and just a little mean, and he could talk about just about anything.
He had a way of making the worst of the fans decide to leave them alone, and miraculously none of the Death Eater crowd bothered them either. They ate, they drank, and at some point the man even dragged him onto the dance floor for a few of the less structured dances, to get the whole experience.
They made their way outside for some fresh air after that, seated on a bench in the rose gardens, faces barely lit by the fairy lights and a wisp of moonlight overhead. Distantly, he heard the clock start chiming, and he felt the magic on his mask melt away.
He turned to the man, smile on his lips to thank him for making it such a lovely night, only for it to freeze in horror when he finally caught sight of the man’s full face.
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
There was no mistaking it. The man met his eyes with a knowing smirk, then apparated away without a word, leaving Harry with his mind spinning.
How could that have happened? Had they missed a horcrux? Did Voldemort ever really die at all, or was the Battle of Hogwarts for nothing? He thought, clinging to any other possible explanation, maybe it was just Voldemort’s child, raised in secret somewhere away from the war?
Cheers rang out from the main ballroom, along with chiming bells, and the booms of fireworks starting to be set off. What a wonderful celebration indeed.