A notice went up announcing that a ball would be held that Christmas in honour of the Triwizard Tournament. In any other year, most students would have been eager to go home for the holidays, but this year it seemed nearly everyone was staying. Girls moved in packs, dissolving into fits of laughter at the slightest provocation. Boys watched the world with anxious eyes, desperate to secure a partner.
The Hogwarts professors appeared determined to make this the finest Christmas in living memory.
Enormous Christmas trees draped in socks of every colour had been erected throughout the castle, golden bells glittered from the ceilings and walls, and icicles that would never melt hung from the marble banisters. Golden owls wheeled through the air, crying softly as they flew.
Hogwarts had been building toward Christmas for a full week, and the excitement had reached a fever pitch.
At that very moment, the person who might reasonably be called the centrepiece of the ball—Harry Potter—was doing this:
"I'm really sorry, Carina."
He was apologising to Carina Malfoy.
An apology is, in principle, a noble act—a request for forgiveness in acknowledgement of one's wrongs. And yet, remarkably, it carries almost no weight between two people in a relationship. Between lovers bound by feeling rather than reason, a wrong is not a logical error to be corrected but an emotional debt incurred. The premise is different, and so an apology resolves nothing. Harry understood this instinctively.
What made it worse was that he had nothing else to offer.
"What exactly are you sorry for?"
There it was. Harry swallowed, facing what was, by any measure, the most difficult question of his life.
He was a boy of extraordinary talent. But before this historic question, even he was helpless.
Carina folded her arms and gave a slow, deliberate nod.
"Right. You don't want Durmstrang or Beauxbatons—or whoever your enemy is, lurking somewhere out there—to know about us. So we can't be partners at the ball. Obviously, because I might be put in danger. I understand."
"...Thank you for understanding. You're not angry?"
"Angry? Shall I explain to you why I might be?"
Harry looked at Carina—arms crossed, gaze glacial—and knew at once.
If it had been jealousy, it might have been almost endearing. But this was something far beyond endearing. If he let her walk away now, it would follow him for the rest of his life.
"Carina—I know it's not much of a substitute, but I could slip away in the middle of the ball. We could meet somewhere and dance then—"
"Am I a hyena? You expect me to pick over whatever scraps someone else has chewed and left behind?"
Impregnable.
Harry cast about desperately for some way to soothe her, but however much he might be the Chosen One, the world was not so easily managed.
Carina exhaled slowly and began twisting a strand of her hair around her finger.
"Harry Potter. I'm sorry, but I'm rather busy preparing for the ball. I need to find a perfume to wear, and I need to get a potion for my hair, and I have to try on my dress robes—so would you mind stepping aside?"
Harry had been about to do exactly that when something made him pause. His instincts, sharpened to a fine edge by the dangers of recent weeks, sounded a quiet alarm.
'Perfume. Hair carefully done. Dress robes. Why is she telling me all of this, right now, at this exact moment?'
She wasn't trying to seduce him. That much was clear.
He thought for a moment, and the answer came.
Simple enough. She was telling him how much she had been looking forward to the ball. Letting him know, without quite saying so, how much effort she had put into preparing for it—loading him with the weight of that knowledge.
And if he let her go now?
Harry caught her arm.
"Wait, Carina. Just a moment."
"What now?"
Carina answered with her irritation carefully pressed down, and beneath it, the faintest thread of something that might have been hope.
Harry needed an answer. As everyone who had ever faced this question had needed one.
It would be enormously difficult. But some things demanded their price.
"Carina—do you trust me?"
"Why on earth would I trust you?"
"Ha. Fair enough. Carina, I'll find a way to make this work, I promise. But in the meantime... will you go to the ball with Viktor Krum?"
The moment the words left his mouth, Carina's eyes went cold.
"That's the best you've got?"
"No—I genuinely have a plan. So go with Krum—or at least pretend to."
"...Whether I do or not. That's my decision to make, Harry Potter."
She left without another word. Harry found himself thinking that he would sooner face the dragon again than deal with Carina Malfoy.
She made no effort to conceal her displeasure in the Great Hall either. Barnette Crabbe and Gray Goyle had long since grown accustomed to her moods and paid them little mind, murmuring to each other in low voices.
"You've already picked your partner? Who is it, who?"
"I'm not telling you. If I tell you, it'll be all over the school by tomorrow."
Crabbe pressed and pressed, but Goyle refused to answer. Carina watched them, and a thought occurred to her.
Why hadn't either of them asked her who her partner was? It was precisely the sort of information Crabbe would be most desperate to know.
She waited. Crabbe never asked. She was nearly on the verge of asking herself.
Then, from further down the Slytherin table, Pansy Parkinson's voice rose in indignation.
"Rita Skeeter. That woman again?"
Goyle heard it and unfolded the copy of the Daily Prophet she had pushed aside. Her expression hardened as she read, and she looked up at Carina.
Another article, then. Carina opened her own copy and found Rita Skeeter's column.
[EXCLUSIVE: HARRY POTTER IN A LOVE TRIANGLE?!
Barely weeks after rumours of a romance with top student Hermione Granger set tongues wagging, this reporter has uncovered a dizzying and deeply secret entanglement.
Has the youngest Champion been bewitching the girls of Hogwarts? Before his first task, Harry Potter was heard whispering sweet nothings to Slytherin princess Carina Malfoy—using a long-distance listening charm to bridge the gap between them. Though separated in body, it seems their hearts beat as one...
Slytherin's Pansy Parkinson insists: 'I cannot imagine those two together. They've been at each other's throats since first year. The idea of them dating is about as likely as Gryffindor and Slytherin merging into one house.'
Yet this reporter has established beyond doubt that the pair have been lovers for some considerable time.
Like Romeo and Juliet, they have been conducting their secret romance beneath the very noses of two houses that despise each other...
One must wonder: was Hermione Granger nothing more than a toy Harry Potter used to deceive the public?]
Carina's hands trembled. The noise at the Slytherin table died away as her fury settled over it like a frost.
She crumpled the newspaper in her fist. It wasn't the exposure of her relationship with Harry that enraged her most—it was the fact that she had become fodder for the gossip of a journalist as contemptible as Rita Skeeter.
Carina flicked her wand and set the paper alight. She watched the Daily Prophet burn to nothing—not even ash remaining—and tossed the remnants aside.
"Pathetic gossip. Not even worth dignifying with a response."
"R-right... no need to respond, really..."
Crabbe said it flatly. Goyle agreed with visible reluctance.
Pansy Parkinson ventured carefully, "Carina. So the contents of this article..."
"Complete rubbish. Not a single thing in it is accurate. A love triangle? Ha. The nerve."
"R-right? So then, Carina—have you sorted out a partner?"
Crabbe and Goyle turned to look at Pansy with expressions of profound pity.
"Of course. I decided ages ago."
"Who?"
"Viktor Krum. We have a certain... connection, one way and another."
"Ah... right. Because of your connection with Professor Karkaroff..."
Pansy's shoulders drooped, and she drifted away with the air of someone who had expected exactly this. Crabbe and Goyle, however, stared with wide eyes.
"Viktor Krum?"
"Yes."
"But—why? How?"
"What do you mean, why? It's a little disappointing, perhaps, but the Durmstrang Champion is at least a fitting partner for me."
The truth, of course, was that it was Harry's request. But Carina had already decided: if Harry failed to produce his promised solution, she would go with Viktor Krum in earnest.
Crabbe deliberated for a very long time before finally speaking.
"So... what about Harry Potter? He's a Champion too, isn't he...?"
"You don't actually believe that article, do you? He and I are nothing to each other."
Carina, still sharp-edged with irritation, delivered the lie with practised ease. Crabbe replied with poorly concealed reluctance.
"Fine. I'll tell the others the same."
"Tell them? It's simply the truth."
Carina left with a look of distaste and walked down to the lake, hands clasped behind her back, lost in thought.
How had they found out?
Someone had clearly seen her with Harry. But how? There had been no one else in that tent—only the two of them. She had been wearing the Invisibility Cloak; only her voice would have been audible.
Her voice. Something clicked, and she murmured to herself.
"...That's it. My voice. They could only hear my voice, so they assumed he was using a long-distance listening charm."
Not even the truth—just a plausible misreading. Which made it all the more convincing. Rita Skeeter had been there. She was certain of it now. Hiding somewhere in the tent, just as Carina had been hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, watching the Champions.
And when she heard Harry whispering to someone unseen, she had assumed it was a charm.
"Tch. I can't even be properly furious about it."
Rita Skeeter's reputation was so thoroughly disreputable that the article carried little credibility on its own. But that was beside the point. What rankled was that Harry's concern had proven real—had arrived, in fact, before either of them had expected it.
It seemed she would not be spending this ball with Harry after all.
A dull melancholy settled over her.
Not anger. Not wounded pride. Simply a deep dissatisfaction with the way things were.
She wanted to be the most beautiful person in the room. She wanted to be the one everyone looked at first. These were desires she had carried since childhood—elemental, unashamed.
But recently, a new one had taken root alongside them.
She wanted Harry to be the first to see her. She wanted to watch his mouth fall open, wanted to see him flustered and speechless, and then take his arm and lead him forward while she was still glowing with satisfaction.
Such a small, ordinary wish. And yet it had run headlong into reality.
With a heavy heart, Carina turned toward the Durmstrang ship. She had a meeting with Karkaroff to keep, and a partnership with Viktor Krum to arrange.
—
One in the morning. Harry Potter sat alone in the Gryffindor common room. Ron and Hermione were keeping watch in their respective dormitories, so there was no risk of anyone coming down.
When the time came, the fire roared. Green light flickered in scattered bursts, and then the flames gathered and shaped themselves into the form of Sirius.
"What's brought you to call on me, Harry?"
Harry sat down before the fire.
"Sirius. You heard I made it through the first task?"
"I did. A broomstick—who'd have thought of that. James would be amazed. I wondered why you'd bought a Firebolt, and now I know."
"That wasn't actually why. But regardless—whoever put my name in the Goblet of Fire didn't manage to hurt me during the first task."
Sirius nodded.
"With Mad-Eye Moody keeping watch over you, they won't find it easy to make a move. His nose for danger is extraordinary."
"Yes. Professor Moody said he'd be monitoring my surroundings throughout the Tournament and keeping me safe from threats. That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."
Harry leaned forward and lowered his voice.
"I think Professor Moody is suspicious."
"Ha—what? Mad-Eye?"
Sirius laughed as though Harry had made a poor joke, then caught Harry's expression and went still.
"Are you serious, Harry? What's your reason?"
"Someone was watching me. Someone witnessed me talking with Carina while she was under the Invisibility Cloak. It was probably Rita Skeeter—and it ended up in the Daily Prophet."
"Ah, that article. I assumed some gossip-hungry journalist had stumbled onto the truth by accident. You two are actually together, after all."
Sirius chuckled and teased him, but then the implication caught up with him and his smile faded.
"Wait. Someone was hiding in the same place as you?"
"Without question. But Professor Moody didn't notice. Or he pretended not to."
"The Mad-Eye Moody I know couldn't fail to notice something like that. He saw through my Animagus form when I was a dog. He can even see through James's Invisibility Cloak."
"Then there's only one conclusion. He chose not to notice. Or he was negligent in his duty."
Harry's suspicion was sound, but Sirius struggled to accept it. He was quiet for a long moment before offering, reluctantly, an alternative.
"Harry. Is it possible he simply dismissed Rita Skeeter? She's a tabloid journalist—perhaps he decided she wasn't worth the trouble..."
"Is that the sort of thing Mad-Eye Moody would do?"
"Damn it. No. He'd assume she was a Death Eater in disguise and have her on the ground before she could blink. You're right—something is off."
"If he'd mentioned it to me beforehand, that would be one thing. But to simply leave it alone—that's wrong."
Carina had been wearing Harry's Invisibility Cloak, and she was his girlfriend. Harry had told Mad-Eye Moody as much—it seemed only practical, given that Moody would otherwise interfere every time they met in secret.
"Negligence? This was during the Triwizard Tournament—the most dangerous period of my life. That's a dereliction of duty. And if it wasn't negligence? Then it's either incompetence, or..." Harry paused. "Or the person threatening me is him."
That was the conclusion Harry had reached. Sirius let out a long, pained sound.
"...But Harry, Mad-Eye is one of Dumbledore's oldest friends. He's a hero who put away more Death Eaters than anyone can count."
"If he's really Mad-Eye Moody."
Remarkably, Moody satisfied every condition required of the culprit.
Someone who had arrived at Hogwarts at the start of this term.
Someone who could have accessed the Goblet of Fire without being seen.
And someone who would be free from Mad-Eye Moody's surveillance—because he was Mad-Eye Moody.
If that was true, Harry was in danger at this very moment. Sirius spoke quickly.
"Harry. What about Professor Dumbledore?"
"Professor Dumbledore left after the first task. Until the ball begins, Hogwarts is effectively unguarded."
"Don't do anything rash. Stay still. There's still a chance this is a misunderstanding. Just in case—act as though you know nothing, and only move when other professors can see you. I'll get word to Professor Dumbledore. If he's here, he can sort this out."
"Thank you, Godfather. As quickly as you can, please. I'd like the ball to go ahead without incident." Harry allowed himself a small smile. "I'd rather not miss seeing Carina in her dress robes. She's been talking about her perfume and her hair, and I don't intend to miss it."
Sirius laughed, a little helplessly.
"I thought you seemed on edge—and of course it's about that girl again."
"Is there a problem with that?"
"No, no. To protect someone properly, you need to be exactly that on edge."
"Thank you for understanding, Godfather."
"All right. I'll contact him as quickly as I can, and I'll arrange to visit Hogwarts myself before long."
"There's no one else like you, Godfather."
"Yes, yes. Now wait for my word."
The flames surged. Sirius's face blurred and dissolved into smoke.
As the fire scattered, his faint, weary voice drifted through.
"Good grief. He looks after his girl even better than his father did."
"Hey—Godfather. The Floo network isn't closed yet."
The fire went out completely, and the connection with Sirius was severed. Harry laughed quietly to himself as he rose from his chair.