Author's note: Next chapter! Yule Ball! Sorry it doesn't cover the party afterwards; I'd kind of intended it to, but this one is well over 5k words (my threshold for putting up a chapter) even before the party starts, so I decided to put this up separately.

- Aside from OCs and AUs everything is the property of J K Rowling-

-XX- Now Dance for Me-

"Does this look right?"

Harry tilted his head, eyeing Liram's reflection in the mirror.

"Pretty good." He commented, before standing and going over.

"Clearly not good enough." Liram commented sardonically as Harry pulled his bow tie apart and began re-knotting it.

"Well, I was hoping for a more appreciative audience." Came a tart voice from behind them a few moments later. "But I see you boys have eyes only for each other."

Liram's eyes flicked over Harry's shoulder, amused. Harry barely concealed his alarm as he turned to find Tracey standing at the bottom of the staircase to the common room.

"Looking good." He commented, smiling at her and relaxing as he registered the lack of suspicion in her expression. She did look good. Her dress was long and a rich purple, flattering a remarkably curvaceous form for a girl who'd just celebrated her fifteenth birthday. He dark brown her tumbled neatly over one shoulder.

She didn't look as good as Liram, though, whose dress robes were dark gold, edged with fine lines of curling Persian script. They made him look newly exotic under the soft lamps of the common room, his hair and eyes ink dark and mysterious.

"You nearly done?"

"It's different when I'm not doing it on myself." Harry answered, frowning at the offending strip of silk.

"I'm not going to ask what you're talking about." Drawled another voice from the stairwell. Blaise stepped into the common room, tall and lean, almost ascetic looking in robes of black velvet. Harry didn't answer, concentrating on his task as Blaise smiled at his date and pressed his lips to her fingers.

Anthony and Padma entered the common room together, arm in arm and both looking slightly flushed. His robes were nondescript, but didn't look bad on his lanky form. Padma's sari was a shocking pink, though, and she rather cast him into shade.

"Umm, are we ready to go?" Anthony asked awkwardly, running a hand through his carefully gelled hair.

"Yeah, just waiting for Daphne." Harry answered, adjusting his work for a final time before stepping back, involuntarily admiring Liram for a second before reminding himself that he had a boyfriend.

He turned when Blaise let out a half-mocking, half-admiring whistle. Daphne stepped off the final stair, her dark blue dress gleaming like a current of deep water as she came into the room. She smiled gently as they admired her.

"You look beautiful." Liram said hastily, sounding genuinely impressed.

"Thank you." She answered, her eyes flicking over him before they drifted across to Harry. She frowned.

"Aren't your robes a little," she hesitated, "loose?"

Harry blinked at her, feigning surprise as he looked down at sleeves that were brushing his knuckles and a hem that was dragging against the carpet.

"You might be right." He acknowledged, smirking at her before pulling a tiny glass phial from an inner pocket. He uncorked it and let the four drops of cloudy liquid inside slide onto his tongue.

"Umm, what was that?"

Harry didn't answer Liram, instead gritting his teeth against the pain as his bones began to grind against one another. His joints suddenly felt like they were covered with sandpaper and his back twisted agonisingly for a second before straightening.

"Wow."

Trying to catch his breath, he looked back at Tracey.

"Well, the robes fit now." Daphne remarked lightly, though Harry was amused to note her own gaze trailing over him.

"Ageing potion?" Blaise asked.

"Yeah, got the idea from the Weasley twins, weirdly, when they tried to sneak their names into the Cup. Thought I could do with looking a bit older this evening, what with a seventeen year old part Veela for a date."

"Are there male Veela?" Tracey blurted out, staring.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Harry replied, grinning at her.

"That's what, three years?" Daphne asked, moving a few steps closer to examine him.

"About two." He answered, feeling a little strange now that he was looking at them from a couple of inches further up than he was used to.

"Suits you." Daphne remarked shortly, before stepping back and resting her arm on Liram's sleeve.

"Are we ready?"

Blackleprickle murmured its collective assent and followed her out of the common room. They found the entrance hall already thronged with guests busy greeting one another and slowly trickling into the Great Hall. Harry caught glimpses of a few faces he knew and exchanged a couple of smiles as he made his excuses and his way to the main doors. The steps had been freshly swept and carpeted, protected from the slowly falling snow by enchantments as guests from London and abroad made their way out of the thestral-drawn carriages that had been enlisted to transport them from the entrance to the grounds.

Harry shrugged on a black cloak of cloud-soft wool, trimmed with sleek dark fur that he didn't want to think too much about the origins of, and made his way across the grounds in the direction of the powder blue carriage glowing in the moonlight. He wasn't really sure what kind of reception to expect, but was a little startled when Fleur herself immediately opened the door at his knock and made her way down the steps.

"Good evening." She purred softly, her pale eyes gleaming as they played over him. "I see you 'ave made some… adjustments." She sounded vaguely amused.

"I hope I meet your approval." Harry replied, smiling slightly and feeling a little on edge.

"We will 'ave to see." Fleur replied archly, extending a slender hand to brush the door to the carriage closed behind her.

"You look breathtaking." Harry told her. It was true, of course, because she always did, but he could see little of her beneath the long, hooded cloak that covered her from her hair to the ground.

"I should 'ope so. I 'ave every possible advantage." She acknowledged smugly, before her lips twitched slightly. "I even 'ave my own cloak, so you will not have to be a gentleman and freeze by lending me your own."

"I considered bringing a spare." Harry replied.

Her chuckle filled the cold night air, and Harry felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine.

"Come," she instructed, reaching beneath his cloak to take his elbow, "the others 'ave all gone, and we would not wish to miss our entrance."

Harry wondered idly whether all Veela had such a flair for dramatics, or if it was just the French.

They found Professor McGonagall at the top of the steps to the entrance hall, greeting arrivals in her Scottish burr and looking slightly uncomfortable as a flood of London high society descended upon her school. She was wearing a rather conservatively cut dark green dress with a tartan sash and a hair style that looked fractionally looser than usual.

"Good evening, Miss Delacour, Mr Potter-Black." She greeted them politely, though Harry noticed her frowning at his aged form.

They found the entrance hall considerably emptier than when Harry had left. The last few guests were just disappearing and a line of Triwizard champions and their partners had assembled in front of the doors to the Great Hall. A head of golden hair turned at their approach, and Harry locked eyes with Cedric. His boyfriend looked slightly taken aback by his new appearance, before his expression softened into appreciation. Harry hoped no-one else was looking at him too closely, because Cedric was not doing a good job of hiding his interest.

His concern on that score was assuaged when he removed his own cloak and held out his arm to take Fleur's. The dark green cloth flowed from her body like liquid as she handed it to him, revealing a dress that had every eye still in the room pinned in place. Her silver gown clung to an impossibly perfect form, drinking in the light from the candles and casting it onto skin that shone with a pearlescent glow. Her silver-blonde hair fell freely about her face, casting tantalising shadows as it brushed against the curve of her exposed back. Her face needed no makeup, but her cheekbones seemed even more prominent than usual, her perfect lips two blood red petals set beneath eyes that were all the more luminous for the caresses of shadow that accentuated them.

"Well?" She asked Harry, tilting her head almost playfully. The string of emeralds around her neck dipped into the delicate hollow of her throat and the matching stones dangling from one ear brushed against her bare shoulder. There was no man on earth who could have failed to be distracted by the sight, and Harry took a moment to gather his scattered thoughts.

"I see now why the muggles believe in angels." He told her at last.

Her lips stretched back.

"You are very good." She told him approvingly. "And your robes were well chosen." She acknowledged, casting an eye over layers of silk of a green so dark that it looked almost black in the folds. "We will be Slytherins together." She declared, tossing her hair and sending every man within twenty feet into a state of nervous collapse.

Harry laughed, and they joined the rear of the line of assembled champions just as Professor McGonagall abandoned her position by the main doors and came over to inspect them. There were perhaps three dozen of them lined up, in all, for it seemed as though many of the twenty-four champions had decided only another champion would do for an escort. Harry noticed, much to his irritation, that Cho's dress of navy and gold made her look like some kind of imperial princess, delicate and lovely. He was gratified to note, though, that Cedric's gaze had hardly strayed from him, barely glancing at even Fleur in all her glory.

Harry stood next to his partner at the back of the line, behind the two champions from Uagadou, waiting for Professor McGonagall to finish her examination. Eventually, she seemed satisfied.

"You will enter the hall, process to the front, be greeted in turn by Minister Fudge, and take the seats you are shown to." She declared shortly, before gesturing sharply with her wand to set the huge doors swinging wide.

The Great Hall was silent as the procession entered. The champions ahead walked in to the sound of polite applause. Harry had half been expecting it, and so wasn't surprised when Fleur's grip on his arm suddenly tightened just before the couple in front of them stepped through the entryway.

"Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq." He heard her breathe slowly, before her fingers released him and returned to their previous position. They moved forwards together, to the suddenly released murmurs of the assembly. Harry hoped there was only admiration in the remarks, but he knew the comments would be running the spectrum from approval to dislike to hatred to lust. He pitied Fleur her allure in that moment, as he watched hundreds of men and a scattering of women lose all sense of their self and surroundings.

A blessing, perhaps, but mainly a curse.

She smiled, however, and swept up the hall, a queen before her subjects. The thousand floating candles that usually lit the room had been gathered into great crystal chandeliers suspended from the starlit sky above. Ice sculptures depicting fantastical beasts reared up, glittering against the walls, interspersed with trees heavy with baubles and dusted with snow. A thousand pairs of eyes followed every step of their progress. The delay in their entrance had been sufficient for Minister Fudge to greet the remainder of the champions, and so he stood alone on the dais at the far end of the hall, smiling a politician's smile. His expression froze and he flushed as Fleur drew closer.

"Miss Delacour." He greeted after a slightly awkward hesitation, his hand shaking slightly as he extended it to press a polite kiss to her fingers. "And Lord Potter-Black, a pleasure to see you again."

Harry wondered how long it had taken Fudge to memorise the names and faces of all of the champions as he returned the greeting.

"A feeling I share, Minister Fudge." He answered pleasantly, as Fleur inclined her head slightly.

Fudge tittered nervously and jerked a hand.

"Please, join me." He invited.

Dumbledore had apparently been stripped of his throne for the evening, and so all of the chairs at the head table were the same. The headmaster sat in his usual place, with the Minister to one side and Professor McGonagal to the other. The champions who were still in the tournament and their partners were seated in the remaining spaces, interspersed with headteachers and various senior Ministry officials. Harry found himself opposite Lord Crouch, who had his pet Weasley on one side and an unfortunately familiar face on the other.

"Father!" Fleur exclaimed. Harry could not tell whether the smile on her face was real, or whether the apparently delighted greeting contained an undercurrent of annoyance. Sebastian Delacour barely glanced at his daughter as he returned her greeting, his gaze fixed on Harry.

"Lord Potter-Black. What an honour to meet you again, under your own name." The man had much less of an accent than Fleur, and the eyes that were the only feature he seemed to share with his daughter were as cold as ice.

"Monsieur Delacour, I am also delighted to see you again." Harry answered, stiffening and offering a smile he hoped looked slightly warmer than the one he was receiving. "Have you been involved in the arrangements for the tournament?"

"The tournament?" The man seemed almost surprised. He gestured a hand dismissively. "No, no. I am here on the behalf of Minister Delacroix."

"Not to keep an eye on me, father?" Fleur's tone was light, but Harry was sure there was an edge to her words.

Sebastian Delacour ignored it, snapping open his napkin and tucking it into the collar of his robes.

"Of course not, you have brought great pride to our family, and I have come to celebrate your achievements." He answered, his face half hidden by the menu he was perusing.

Harry thought he was probably the only one who noticed Fleur stiffen, but she smiled politely and raised her own menu.

"Bouillabaisse."

"Ah, French food, Lord Potter-Black! Are you attempting to charm my daughter with your taste?"

The delicious smell of his dinner was filling Harry's nostrils, but Monsieur Delacour looked like he'd caught a less pleasant scent in his own.

"If your daughter was so easily charmed, then I would be learning to cook French food, not merely consume it." Harry answered calmly, a little unnerved by the continued hostility.

"Please, father." Fleur entreated softly. Harry felt the weight of her hand on his sleeve. Sebastian Delacour's eyes flicked to the gesture and his mouth twisted slightly, but he inclined his head.

"My apologies." He murmured. "Let us try this British food in French clothing. Bouillabaisse!"

The golden plate in front of him reformed into a shallow dish, which filled itself with fish stew.

"Pork chops!" Lord Crouch's barked command broke the silence, and Harry watched with veiled amusement as his pet Weasley hastily mirrored his boss' order.

"So, have you had an opportunity to watch any of the tournament, Monsieur Delacour?" Harry asked politely.

"I have not." The man replied. "Though my wife and younger daughter both witnessed the First Task."

"How is Gabrielle?" Harry asked, smiling.

The frown returned to Delacour's face.

"She is well, and in Paris with her mother."

Harry took that for a dismissal.

"Please give her my regards." He replied neutrally, silently praying that Fleur would distract her father. Luckily, she seemed only too eager to draw him off with a conversation in French about something to do with a Veela community in the Pyrenees.

"I saw you lose your points."

Harry had subtly been trying to watch Crouch talk to Percy Weasley, and work out what their surprisingly agitated conversation was about, but the unwelcome observation forced his attention away. He found Andrei, the Russian champion who'd seemed to take a disliking to him all those weeks ago, staring at him. He was a seat down from Harry, the girl who was presumably his date separating the two of them and looking as though she would rather be anywhere else.

"Yes." Harry agreed, masking his irritation. "I was disappointed, of course, but I still have a reasonable position in the standings and I hope to fight my way back to the top."

"You do not intend to fight the judgement?" Lord Crouch's voice intruded suddenly.

"I see no reason to." Harry answered, his irritation fading as he read the clear annoyance in the other man's expression. "I have every confidence in my abilities, and if the authorities see fit to handicap me then it is not a problem, merely a minor obstacle." He finished lightly, barely able to resist smiling as Lord Crouch's moustache twitched and his pet Weasley's face adopted a look of anger. The redhead seemed about to say something, but a sharp gesture from his boss had him holding his silence and returning sulkily to his pork chop.

"You would be wise to restrict yourself to less dangerous tactics, Lord Potter-Black." Crouch warned, and Harry had a feeling it wasn't just the tournament he was referring to.

He smiled back at the man.

"I will do my best."

The conversation for the rest of the meal was less fraught. Lord Crouch didn't thaw, and Andrei didn't soften much either, but the Russian's date proved to be a charming enough girl from Durmstrang who hadn't been selected by the goblet. She seemed to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of its history, however, and her tales of various past champions' unfortunate demises proved morbidly fascinating. It probably wasn't terribly appropriate conversation for a formal dinner, but the fact that Harry could see Percy Weasley beginning to look a little green about the ears kept tempting him to press the girl, called Linnea, for further gory details.

The house elves had outdone themselves. Even the two Delacours nodded grudging approval over the bouillabaisse, before declaring the lemon tart to be 'acceptable'. Harry kept trying to get a glimpse of Cedric, but his boyfriend was on the same side of the table as him and a dozen or so seats down, so he didn't have much hope.

"Are you ready?"

Harry turned to Fleur, a little guilty that he'd allowed himself to be distracted by thoughts of Cedric and his conversation with Linnea.

"For?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"To dance." She murmured, inclining her head slightly in the direction of their vanished dessert plates.

"Of course," he answered, "but I doubt we'll get to that before Dumbledore's given us a monologue."

As if in answer to his remark, the headmaster rose from his seat, smiling gently as the hall slowly fell silent.

"Good evening. For those of you who are not students or existing guests, welcome!" He began. Compared to his usual tastes, Dumbledore's robes were restrained; long and pure white. He looked almost angelic in the frosty Great Hall, with his snowy hair and robes and benevolent expression. "I hope that you have all enjoyed our meal this evening, I know that I, for one, have been looking forward to it for weeks…" he rambled on for some minutes, congratulating the champions, celebrating the relations being forged and the glory to be won. Harry quickly tuned him out, his attention caught by Professor Moody, who was on a table nearby and seemed to be engaged in a staring competition with Lord Crouch. Neither of them looked particularly happy. Harry smirked when eventually Lord Crouch turned away, his eye twitching irritably.

"But now, we must move on to the second part of what has thus far been a wonderful evening—" Dumbledore's voice broke back into his thoughts "so might I invite all of our brave champions to take to the floor?" As he finished speaking, he spread his arms wide and all the tables in the room, guests still seated around them, were brushed smoothly away from the centre, leaving a large rectangle of floor empty.

Ok, that was seriously impressive. Harry had to acknowledge to himself. Dumbledore had just moved thousands of objects, hundreds of humans, with staggering precision as though it were nothing. The murmurs, interspersed with a few cries of alarm, told him that he was not the only one taken aback by the display.

Sebastian Delacour glowered at Harry as he stood with Fleur and escorted his date down the steps to the hastily cleared dance floor.

"I hope you 'ave not forgotten how to dance, 'Arry."

Harry smiled back at Fleur as he turned to face her, profoundly grateful that he'd taken the Ageing potion and could now match her height in heels.

"I struggle to remember anything when I look at you." He answered, smirking playfully, though feeling slightly nervous as he placed his hand on her waist and found his fingers resting on bare skin. Fleur returned his expression, taking his other hand in hers and straightening as the music struck up.

"I must apologise for my father." She murmured, her lips barely moving as they stepped in sequence, carefully manoeuvring away from a couple of champions who seemed less comfortable waltzing.

"No apology is necessary. I'm sure I would hover over such a magnificent daughter."

"You would not travel from Paris for an evening meal." She answered, but she seemed to relax slightly. "I think we have the most attention from our audience." She commented a moment later.

Harry rolled his eyes at her.

"You have the most attention from your audience." He corrected. "I am merely the unfortunate object of envy in this situation."

It was mostly true: there were dozens of pairs of eyes fixed on them, even those of some of the other dancers, and the majority were on Fleur. Harry could hardly blame them. Even when still she was enough to take anyone's breath away, and she danced with astonishing grace. He couldn't help but notice that more than a few gazes, though, seemed to be following him, and he tried to focus on his steps and ignore the stares.

Fleur was giving him a look of mock-affront.

"How dare you call yourself unfortunate when you 'ave me in your arms."

"I must apologise. I was merely concerned about the number of fights for your honour that are likely to interrupt our evening."

Fleur tossed her head haughtily and pulled him into a turn that was probably rather too sharp for the music.

"I will fight for my own honour." She declared. "Although if you could curse my father, I would not object."

Harry chuckled, noticing that more couples were now joining the champions, the surrounding tables disappearing in showers of golden mist around them to clear more space. He could see Minister Fudge shuffling a rather strained looking Lady Bones along, his lime coloured bowler hat rather incongruous in the setting. Dumbledore seemed to have managed to charm Madame Maxime into accompanying him, and for all their difference in size and age the two made for a remarkably elegant couple.

Suddenly, he caught Cedric's eye, almost stumbling as he watched his boyfriend gracefully lead Cho, who barely reached his chin even in her heels, through a series of quick spins that left her smiling and breathless.

Cedric grinned at him, though when his eyes strayed briefly to Fleur his expression stiffened. Eventually, he looked away and continued dancing with his partner. Harry turned his attention back to Fleur, who was eyeing him curiously.

"You really do not feel my allure, do you?" She asked.

"A little." He lied. "Though you have forced me to work on my Occlumency."

She frowned at him, apparently a little unsatisfied as they continued stepping their way through the swirl of bejewelled silks dancing in the glittering hall.

"Why don't we find some drinks?"

Fleur nodded, and although she was as poised as ever, he couldn't help but think he registered a faint note of relief in her expression. The dance floor was crowded now, and other people had began pressing in around them. He hadn't been aware of any hands straying too close so far, but the scrutiny had been making him increasingly uneasy. It must have been considerably worse for Fleur, but he knew that she was far too proud to ever acknowledge the effect such attention must be having. He would bend first, then, for both their sakes. They made their hasty escape, moving swiftly through the throng.

The two of them reached one of the remaining tables scattered around the edge of the room, and Fleur gratefully took the goblet of ice cold water that Harry poured her from a waiting jug.

"Thank you." She said, watching him calmly.

"No problem." Harry replied, sipping his own water and feeling annoyed on Fleur's behalf that it wasn't just the drink she was having to be grateful for.

They sat down and watched the dancing for a while. They were in the corner of the hall farthest from the small orchestra beside the head table, and so could speak easily.

"Your family, they are not here tonight?" Fleur asked him curiously.

"No." He answered, shaking his head. "They were invited, but they thought I'd probably prefer to have the evening without them."

Fleur smiled.

"They are more diplomatic than my father, then, though you should not tell him that I said 'zat."

They sat conversing for a few minutes, watching the mesmerising interplay of brilliant colours in front of them as the assembly danced under the diamond splintered light of the chandeliers. The gentle swell of music and warmth of laughter filled the air, and Harry could sense Fleur began to relax next to him as her father failed to appear.

"'E must 'ave returned to Paris." She commented, brushing her hair over one shoulder. Harry caught a faint hint of the perfume she was wearing as she did so, filling his throat and chest with its heady warmth. He felt a little dizzy as Fleur faced him with a smile. "You must visit us again this summer, 'Arry. Perhaps in June, when the roses are their most beautiful."

He nodded hastily.

"I will, of course, return to see whatever delights you see fit to show me."

He blushed when Fleur lifted an eyebrow, her perfect lips twisting into a predatory smirk.

"And what are these delights you would like to see, 'Arry?" She purred.

He swallowed. The robes that had been so loose a couple of hours before were suddenly tight across his shoulders, and his shirt felt like it was stuck to his back.

"Fleur," he began, searching for words, "anything you—"

"Lord Potter-Black."

Harry turned, relief almost overwhelming him for a moment, before he located the source of the greeting.

"How wonderful to meet you at last." The woman continued. If Fleur's purr had been seductive, this woman's voice was that of a tigress to her house cat. Harry was almost in a daze as he lifted the extended hand to his lips and felt the graze of heavy gemstones against his mouth. He couldn't help but wonder how men who didn't have the shield of being gay functioned in either woman's presence.

"Lady Zabini." He greeted, his voice fainter than he would have liked. He could probably have guessed her identity from the slight echo of her son's face in her features, but the glimpse he caught of the tiny rodent engraved into the face of one of her rings removed any doubt.

She smiled, and seemed more like a shark for an instant as her teeth shone.

"Indeed," she acknowledged, taking the chair to his left before he and Fleur could rise. She inclined her head in the direction of his date. "Mademoiselle Delacour, a pleasure."

Fleur returned the gesture.

"I was hoping I would have a chance to speak to you this evening." Lady Zabini continued, crossing her legs and in doing so allowing the high slash in her skirt to fall open and reveal an expanse of sleek, tanned thigh. She glanced at Fleur.

"Perhaps you would dance with me?" She asked Harry.

Harry, also, glanced at Fleur, before casting his gaze around. He found Blaise approaching with Padma, his gaze fixed on his mother. Liram and Daphne were just behind them.

"Of course." He replied, hoping his hesitation hadn't insulted her. "Perhaps Blaise would dance with Fleur?" He suggested. He didn't want to drag her back to the dance floor if she didn't want to go, but he could hardly abandon her sitting alone.

"Umm, yes, yes, of course."

Harry grinned to himself as the normally imperturbable boy flushed and stumbled over his agreement.

The four of them left Padma, Daphne and Liram standing by the refreshments table as they returned to the floor. Harry soon discovered that even with his extra few inches Lady Zabini was a little taller than him, propped up on heels that looked far too precarious to dance in. She managed to defy physics, however, balancing effortlessly on one leg and drawing almost as much attention as Fleur had in a dress that exposed at least as much as it concealed.

"What do you think of my son?"

Harry forced himself to look away from her dazzling honey-coloured eyes.

"I haven't known Blaise for long, but he's been a good friend to me, and I hope that I have been the same to him." He answered cautiously, wondering what she was after.

"He is a good boy." Blaise's mother remarked approvingly. "And shows much promise. I was pleased to hear of your friendship."

Harry wasn't sure what to make of her comment, but at least it seemed she did not consider him an enemy.

"You dance well." She commented. "Too well for a child brought up by muggles."

"Muggles?"

Lady Zabini waved a hand dismissively and somehow managed to make it look like part of the dance, her heavy gold bracelet flashing.

"It was quite a scandal, in certain quarters, when you brought a muggle aunt to your reception before the World Cup." She noted, not really answering his question. Her tone was arch, and Harry wasn't quite sure whether she had been one of those who had thought it scandalous.

"Perhaps a little scandal is a good thing." He commented, trying to smile charmingly.

Lady Zabini's laughter was the amusement of a cat poking at its prey.

"Perhaps. Some believe that I specialise in it." She commented airily, taking his hands and drawing him backwards to the beat of the music, her hips moving sinuously. "But I concern myself not with the affairs of lesser mortals, however much they pry into my own."

The amusement hadn't left her eyes, and Harry could see it dance anew as he tried to consider her words and follow her complicated steps at the same time. There was no question as to who was leading whom around the dance floor now. Lady Zabini seemed to revel in the attention.

"Will you be attending the Minister's New Year Gathering?"

"I intend to." Harry replied.

She smiled, before spinning him around until he was almost dizzy.

"I will see you there, then." She remarked, before he felt her hand slip from his own and found himself alone at the edge of the dancefloor, his partner vanishing into the throng.

Author's note: Thank you so much for all the reviews on the last chapter! I appreciate each and every comment. I'm sorry a couple of you feel that I've lost some of the passion I once had and perceive an increasing focus on romance in the story. All I can do is deny the lack of passion from my perspective, and note that it's kind of inevitable romance plays a bigger part once Harry starts dating Cedric etc. I really don't think, though, that this story is particularly heavy on it compared to a lot of others, and know that I love the plotting/adventure/politics dimensions just as much.

Anyway, I hope I did the Yule Ball justice, and, as ever, let me know what you thought!