The Great Hall this evening literally shone, having finally become what the Hogwarts teachers had been turning it into—an ice palace with several blue spruces, decorated as if no one had taken them from the snowy forest, just hung toys without shaking off the snow, and that's it.
The floor and walls seemed to be created from ice, but not transparent, no—as if the stone itself had become ice, and the perfectly smooth surface of the floor reflected the ceiling with an illusion of a bright and starry night sky, under which decorations and garlands of mistletoe and ivy hung motionless. Instead of four house tables, there were small round tables everywhere, and while the part that stood near the entrance served the function of a rich buffet, in the middle of which stood ice castle-lamps, and concurrently sources of various drinks, closer to the center and further, to the far end of the hall, the round tables implied seating—no more than ten people.
It was to these tables with seats that McGonagall directed the main mass of students in festive attire, but no one sat down. Only when everyone had taken their places did McGonagall give the signal to us, the "champion couples," and we moved forward. Cedric with Cho went first, then me with Fleur, and Krum with Hermione brought up the rear. The principle in this order was simple and depended on the results of the first task.
Did I like the general attention? I am neutral about it. But Miss Delacour smiled, albeit not obviously, but out of politeness. Theoretically, she can be understood—I don't think learning to control this Veela aura is so simple, and it's scary to think how many problems this can bring a little girl at school. Children, as is known, are cruel.
But Cho Chang walking in front of us was more than satisfied with everything—it was readable in her gait and proudly raised head, in the movements of her hands, wrists. Wonder how Hermione is doing behind? Surely she is not very comfortable from all this multitude of glances, sometimes evil, envious. Well, let them envy, because the bracelet given to my sister is clearly doing its job, and as for emphasizing beauty—here clearly did not go without the help of older girls, who are more adequate and will not envy a fourth-year. Look, the Gryffindor Chasers are applauding us and Hermione like everyone else, but smiling sincerely, standing next to the Weasley twins. Maybe they helped, because my trained eye sees one hand in the eyeliner, and other details of female "camouflage."
Under general applause, McGonagall led us to a large round table at the end of the hall, where the teachers' table is usually located. Now there are places for completely different people here—at the head, as expected, the Headmaster, but not on a throne-like chair, but simply a massive and rich one. Actually, to his right and left were exactly the same chairs for Madame Maxime and Headmaster Karkaroff. To the right of Karkaroff sat Ludo Bagman, and to the left of Madame Maxime—Mr. Crouch. The latter, true to himself, came in a perfect dark three-piece pinstripe suit and a black robe, clearly emphasizing that even at the ball he is on duty.
Krum and Hermione went closer to his Headmaster, and I am sure that Karkaroff himself insisted on such seating, because as I know, his students do not feel any reverence for him. We, the four remaining, were entitled to places next to Crouch and Madame Maxime.
As soon as we sat down, Dumbledore calmed everyone present with a gesture of his hand, and silently pointed to the places at the tables. Everyone sat down and clearly expected some opening speech, but instead quiet conversations of students with each other began, and, apparently, far from everyone understood for what merits he could get food on his plate, because there is, Merlin help me, a menu! This clearly amused Dumbledore, he demonstratively took the menu in his hands and began to study it. The eyes of many turned to the Headmaster—the guys were waiting for the Headmaster's actions that would make food appear. Naturally, some already guessed, but the Headmaster simply shifted his gaze to his plate and ordered aloud: "Pork chops!".
His plate was immediately filled with food, and it is worth noting that the presentation was very, very decent, like in restaurants.
"And so the most terrible secret of this evening has been revealed," I noted aloud the fact of food appearing on the Headmaster's plate, which caused a slight smile from Fleur and those few who heard me.
I considered one plate insufficient for myself, and having fun on an absolutely empty stomach, and even considering the volume of food I'm used to... with an elusive movement pulling my wand from the holster on my wrist, I applied a modification of the Multiplication Charm for organics to the plate—simultaneously simple, but at the same time complex charms from supplementary materials to the upper years' program.
"Hm?" Fleur looked at my actions with an obvious question, as did Mr. Crouch.
"He eats a lot," Cedric, who saw everything out of the corner of his eye, explained for everyone.
"Really?" Fleur was surprised.
"I am a young, actively growing organism constantly engaged in sports. Plus brains under heavy load, and they, brains, spend about twenty-five percent of all incoming resources..."
"Let's please do without this," Cedric smirked and ordered some fish dish. "Eat, don't listen to anyone."
Having managed to order a heap of everything, I began to eat quite quickly, but at the same time absolutely strictly following etiquette, carefully, measuredly. From the side it might seem that I was as if on accelerated playback—fast, but precise.
"Talent," Crouch admired.
"And I hasten to note," I looked up from food, filling a glass with non-alcoholic, but fully preserving the taste, mulled wine—a special position on the menu. "Not a single drop of sauce left my area of responsibility."
Judging by the faces of the students, they remembered especially hungry moments in the life of Ron Weasley, a wizard widely known, so to speak, in narrow circles. Naturally, the adults had nothing to remember—they avoided the fate of dining with a hungry Ron at one table. I, by the way, also avoided such a fate even being a guest at the Weasleys, because at home, in the Burrow, Ron kept himself within acceptable limits at the table.
Meanwhile, fleeting conversations began and ended at our table, now and then someone inserted a phrase after another wizard's statement. Of course, at a round table, even though we sat only on one side of it, it was easy to talk with any wizard nearby. And one could see how Krum with pleasure tells Hermione about Durmstrang, true, without specifics, and she is glad to listen. And the others one way or another, but listened.
"...little time to admire. But in summer we fly over lakes and mountains for a long time."
"Careful, Viktor," Karkaroff addressed his charge with an extremely venomous mockery. "Watch not to say anything superfluous, lest your charming interlocutor finds the way to us."
Karkaroff, by the way, is the only one, not counting Dumbledore, of the men dressed not in dark tones, and even more, as if trying to stand out, put on white. Saruman on minimum settings. Dumbledore, contrary to my expectations, wore his pale purple robe with embroidery and hat familiar to many.
Dumbledore chuckled at Karkaroff's words, and I couldn't resist doing the same.
"You, Igor, are all secrets and secrets. One might think you don't like guests."
"Subtle," I nodded.
"What exactly?" Fleur immediately clarified, measuredly and with great pleasure tasting something from French cuisine, category: "Delicacy of delicacies."
"I am also interested," Karkaroff looked at me with a nasty smirk. "What amused you, young man?"
Naturally, everyone at the table turned their attention to Fleur and me.
"You know, I love honesty and directness, and I get enough veiled phrases communicating with noble students. How should I answer you? Honestly? Or with hints?"
"Honestly, Mr. Granger," Dumbledore answered before anyone else, and considering that he is the head of the table, it's for him to set the rules.
"Oh, please," I put down the cutlery, showing that I was full and everything was excellent, filled the already empty glass with mulled wine and, having enjoyed the chic bouquet of aromas, took a sip, immediately continuing the thought. "In short, I found Headmaster Karkaroff's desire to keep the location of Durmstrang a secret amusing, but very appropriate. Even more amusing is Headmaster Dumbledore's remark about guests."
"Is that surprising?" Madame Maxime asked immediately, and I didn't perceive her French accent as something inconvenient for myself. "These traditions are many centuries old, Monsieur Granger."
"That is so, but for Headmaster Karkaroff these are extremely relevant and vital traditions. After all, the Headmaster spends most of his time at school, and for you, Mr. Karkaroff," I saluted him with a glass of mulled wine. "It is extremely undesirable for someone to find out where you spend your time."
"What are you hinting at?" Karkaroff barely kept a smirk on his face, and clearly wanted to add either "boy" or his favorite "Mudblood" at the end.
"Hinting? Oh, no, speaking directly. Information about you, your former colleagues, and other events with your participation is absolutely open. You understand yourself, just need to draw conclusions."
"Should not mention the past, Mr. Granger," Dumbledore smirked, and "laugh lines" were clearly readable in his gaze. "Everyone has the right to a second chance. And the secret of Durmstrang's location is, indeed, one of the prides of that school, isn't it, Igor?"
"Right," Karkaroff decided to change the topic. "We all care about our domains and jealously guard the seats of learning entrusted to us. We are rightfully proud that no one but us knows all their secrets."
"And I wouldn't claim to know all the secrets of Hogwarts," Dumbledore parried. "Just this morning I went to the toilet, took a wrong turn, and found myself in a lovely, completely unfamiliar room with an excellent collection of chamber pots. Later I returned to examine it better, but the room had disappeared. I will, of course, find it anyway. Perhaps it is available only at five-thirty in the morning, or maybe when the moon is in the first quarter phase or when the bladder is too full."
I barely restrained myself from rolling my eyes, but Mr. Crouch, Madame Maxime, and Mr. Bagman, shining today in a robe with stars embroidered on it, considered such a gesture quite appropriate—the old man's quirks are known to many. However, from this phrase I caught that somewhere in the castle there is a certain room that provides you with what is very necessary. Perhaps this concerns only the restroom, but nevertheless.
"Should not have spoken like that to Monsieur Karkaroff," Fleur spoke quietly, filling her glass with mulled wine. "He is still a Headmaster and a respected wizard..."
"Respected?" I answered just as quietly so no one would hear us. "By whom, beg your pardon?"
"Ahem..." Madame Maxime, sitting next to us, clearly heard us, and I miscalculated. And Crouch looked as if he was carefully hiding anger at Karkaroff in particular, and the world in general.
"Okay," I smiled. "Reopened old wounds. Tell me, Miss Delacour, since schools were discussed at the table, how is it at Beauxbatons?"
"Oh, it is a beautiful castle," Fleur smiled. "Our dining hall is decorated with ice sculptures. They do not melt and sparkle with all the colors of the rainbow. Our food is also completely different, not as heavy as here. And most importantly, the castle itself is not a fortress, but a palace. Without armor in every corner."
Delacour even shuddered—so, apparently, this armor got to her.
"And without ghosts. And certainly—without poltergeists."
"I think," I smiled in response to the girl's slight indignation directed at our castle. "Our school reflects culture, history, and much more. Like yours. And yes, Hogwarts is not so much a fortress as a monastery. I think if you mentally remove the magical component, you can easily see such a thing."
"Perhaps," Fleur nodded. "I haven't considered this question from that point of view."
So dinner went on with light conversations about nothing. Students at other, small tables had almost finished eating and were sipping drinks when Dumbledore stood up and invited everyone to follow his example. He waved his wand, the tables moved to the walls, forming an empty space. Another wave, and a stage grew along the right wall—with drums, guitars, lute, cello, and bagpipes. Wizards came onto this stage, who were immediately greeted with enthusiastic applause by almost everyone present.
"The Weird Sisters," Fleur explained, not seeing the expected reaction from me. "A very famous group even with us."
They looked like rockers, hair disheveled, and clothes deliberately worn in the right places. So they took their instruments, which means the first dance will start soon.
Taking gloves out of the inner pocket of my robe, I put them on, and out of the corner of my eye I saw long gloves above the elbow appear on Miss Delacour's hands by themselves, and their color repeated the base of the dress—silver with a slight bluish tint.
The lamps on the tables began to dim, but the light decreased slightly.
"Allow me," without unnecessary words, I offered my hand to Fleur, and she accepted it with a smile.
While the other "champion couples," clearly unaccustomed to balls and similar events, realized what was about to happen, Fleur and I were already walking arm in arm to the center of the hall, and with the very first notes launched into the dance. Immediately, as they say, headfirst into the pool.
It was decided to open the event with a Viennese Waltz, quite fast, and in the understanding of past centuries, at the time of its inception, considered vulgar. Now, whirling in the dance, I remembered how selflessly McGonagall resisted when we, representatives of the "champion couples," put forward this proposal. She didn't like that we would open the ball with this dance, but we just glanced at each other—not a tango, right? This argument won, but McGonagall gave another—where are you, beginners, going with a fast waltz in three steps? Convinced her that we would cope.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noted that Fleur and I, entering the rhythm from the very first note and moving in a circle on the formed dance floor, attracted a lot of attention. Also noted that this allowed the latecomers Krum and Hermione to catch the rhythm and tempo. Well, and Cedric with Cho coped quite well.
Gradually, a minute and a half later, other dancing couples began to join us. McGonagall had a fair fear that in the Viennese Waltz we would knock each other down easily and naturally, but the number of dancers is growing, we are moving well counterclockwise on the dance floor, and no incidents occur. Understanding did not come immediately that among the dancers were only those who stubbornly practiced with us in the Ballroom—the rest, it seems, did not risk it.
Soon the first dance came to an end, and some couples, apparently, danced themselves out—not a training session after all, responsibility, people are watching, all that stuff. In general, individual students were already leaving the dance floor, heading to the buffet, and very rare individuals even seemed to have danced their entire program for today at once—sat down at the tables. Bad form, I must note.
"It's a children's ball," Fleur explained with a smile, seeing my disapproval. "It is not at all necessary to strictly follow etiquette."
"Perhaps," I nodded, simultaneously looking around at those present and noting certain acquaintances. Surely there won't be any trouble? It simply has to be. "Another dance? This one is slower."
"Perhaps," Fleur nodded.
The next dance was indeed slower and calmer, even more lyrical, or something. Our teachers easily got into this dance, and even Hagrid, looking surprisingly decent for him, invited Madame Maxime. Now the Headmistress of Beauxbatons could not particularly restrain herself in movements and clearly enjoyed it. It seems she rarely gets to dance without limiting factors in the form of partners short by her standards.
Miss Delacour decided to press me with her aura and find some limit to my self-control. Naturally, I didn't intend to become stupid, because this aura has a somewhat different effect on me, and therefore we continued to dance. It was very amusing and even pleasant to feel this duality of desires, mixed with more than explicable light arousal—the partner, like other Veelas, is extremely good. But even though I enjoy this resistance to reflexes, consciousness does not intend to succumb to them, even if I weaken control a little.
"I won't become stupid, even if there is no one around but Veelas," I quietly told the girl, looking into her eyes quite calmly and with a slight smile.
"A very self-confident statement," she tensed a little more, pressing purposefully, without affecting those around.
"It just affects me differently."
"And how?"
And the dance continued.
"Banal arousal."
"Oh..." for two seconds she comprehended what was said, after which she pressed even harder, and the dance was slow, contact close—expectation froze in Fleur's eyes. Well, clear what of.
This made me smile even wider.
"Yes-yes," I nodded slightly. "That very arousal. Only I am insured against embarrassment too—strong consciousness."
Miss Delacour was slightly embarrassed, turning pink at the tips of her ears.
"Moreover," I continued to speak. "Arousal is not targeted, but... General."
"How is that?"
"Whom I see, I want."
"And if..."
"Girls."
"But it would be funny."
"I'm not a prude, but I like girls, and I sincerely don't understand how one can have a different position on this issue at all."
The dance gradually faded away, and I escorted Miss Delacour to a group of students, among whom the French dominated. They just gathered at one of the buffets, and chose a table such that one could sit down, because nearby, almost closely, stood a regular table, clearly occupied by the same group, and just stand and talk.
"I suppose," Fleur spoke when we almost approached the guys. "You should invite that charming Miss in the blue dress?"
She nodded towards the group of Slytherins, some of whom had just stepped away from dancing. Among them were Daphne and Pansy, standing at the buffet in the company of girls and boys. With my eyes I quickly found Malfoy and Nott—they were hiding on the sofas in the company of Crabbe and Goyle and looking at everyone with a regal smirk on their faces, discussing the objectionable clearly in a negative way.
"And what about the mandatory three dances?"
"Do not wish to deviate from etiquette, Monsieur Granger? But following it, you are obliged to dance with other ladies."
"And you?"
"Let's address each other by name?"
"Alright, Fleur."
"And I will rest, talk with the others. And since you desire the mandatory three dances so much..."
I led Fleur to the table, and she immediately took one of the glasses with drinks.
"...then I will wait for your fifth or sixth dance."
"Sigh... How did they manage to follow etiquette like that in the old days?"
The beginning of the dance was missed, but it is short—you can spend forty seconds on communication. And Daphne... Well, she, along with Pansy, boldly sends everyone far away, casting glances in my direction, actually, just like me.
"What exactly?"
"One could burst from jealousy."
Fleur covered her face with her hand, hiding a chuckle.
"What?" I feigned surprise. "Imagine, your partner, girlfriend, wife, well, in your case—boyfriend, husband... Are obliged to dance with others, and not a little. Or table etiquette, when your partner is seated away from you, next to another, so that, you see, they don't break up into groups in conversation."
Others heard my thoughts aloud—someone giggled, and someone nodded understandingly.
"That's why conventions were created," Fleur answered. "So that sparks of jealousy wouldn't let the flame of passion go out."
"Only sparks of jealousy gave birth to other centers of flame, creating novels, affairs, and so on."
"That is so. But remember," Fleur took a sip of the drink, "that etiquette is conventions of high society. And there marriage for love is a great rarity. Well, and mutual respect is not always a companion of such marriages. Go, Hector, before another dance starts."
Nodding, I turned around and headed to the Slytherin buffet. My maneuver did not escape Malfoy and Nott, and they decided to hinder me somehow, getting up from the sofa and also heading to the buffet.
"Miss Greengrass," I bowed, offering my hand. "May I invite you for a dance?"
Daphne didn't have time to answer, and the others didn't have time to react, as Malfoy and Nott appeared nearby. What's interesting—Crabbe and Goyle waved their hand at their comrades altogether, remaining sitting on the sofa. They watched the Hagrid-Maxime pair and clearly expected these giants to knock someone down finally. Actually, this is quite good entertainment for those who don't care about dancing.
"Not so fast!" Malfoy combined indignation and an arrogant smirk. "Greengrass came to the ball with Nott."
"So let him say it," I didn't remove my hand, and Daphne, hesitating for a second, put hers in it, in a high blue glove.
"I say," Nott nodded, approaching closely. "She came with me, and I do not allow a Mudblood to invite her to dance."
"You, Mr. Nott, are from a noble family, ancient. Follow etiquette."
"I am following. We haven't finished the mandatory dances yet."
The guys around listened to us attentively, but pretended to be occupied purely with their own affairs, or generally, examining the entertaining dance of bubbles in glasses with drinks.
"I'm afraid you forgot, Mr. Nott," the polite and sympathetic smile of an elf crept onto my face by itself, as did other nuances like posture, movements, and a proudly raised head. "That, having settled comfortably on that beautiful sofa, both you and Mr. Malfoy signed your impotence and drew a line under your dance program for this evening. Do I need to remind you that you no longer have a vote? Herewith I wish you a pleasant time sitting in your company."
Nodding, as expected, led Daphne to the dance floor, but was immediately called out by Nott.
"Granger," he looked stern and a little angry. "Think you're the smartest?"
"Yes. But if there are claims, formalize them into a challenge to a duel. Whether full-fledged or educational. I, in turn, promise to convey to you at this duel the full depth of your wrongness."
No one expressed claims in my direction anymore, and Daphne and I boldly switched from walking to dancing, because the music just changed. Either I'm such a good fellow, or Fleur is an excellent chess player, but now a truly slow dance was playing and according to the program it will be long—a rest for those who want to dance the next waltz, but don't want to leave. And how can one do without notes of romance in such a dance? No way.
Hand on Daphne's waist made it clear that the girl is developing by leaps and bounds. The gaze instantly noted all nuances previously always hidden by the school robe. Or maybe Fleur's aura is still acting, but it doesn't really matter.
"Familiar rose," I only now noticed the bud of an ice rose, a little flat and small, pinned to Daphne's dress like a brooch.
"That very one sprouted," Daphne smiled, looking into my eyes.
"I didn't see it in the hall."
"Charms. It was difficult, but only the creator and I can see, and only on contact."
"Cute and... romantic."
And we danced...
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