IX

The Ball was a grand affair. The great hall had been transformed into an autumn wonderland, with oranges and reds and yellows, even though it was the middle of December. Students milled around the hall, decked in all sorts of fancy dresses and arrays, each fiercely showing off their dates. The band sat to the left of the elevated platform, playing their pieces, each oblivious to the air of excitement in the room. And so it was, that Hether didn't see when Draco made his entrance, but she was the first thing he saw as he entered the room.

She was beautiful; decked in white and a simple silver necklace, and was seated at the epicentre of the band. She was the sole harpist, with a huge white pedal harp placed firmly between her legs, which she strummed as effortlessly as you would stroke a cat. It was a mesmerizing display of mastery he had never seen in anyone.

He stared at her, entranced by the quick, deft movements of her fingers up and down the instrument. She didn't notice him, but instead remained focused on the strings of the harp. It was an angelic tune which flooded his ears; he had never heard anything quite like it. But as the band played on, he realised he had heard it before; somewhere in a far memory that was cast aside.

He shut his eyes and raised his glass to his lips, letting the cold material grace them. The music wrapped around his head, inviting him to stay, inviting him to sleep. It rushed through his body, calming his nerves and soothing his muscles, easing him into a state of complete relaxation.

Hether lifted her eyes from the strings. There, he stood, an odd figure decked in white, with white hair slicked back, and skin as pale as the moon. His eyes were shut; his glass raised to his lips, and he stood, unmoving, as if he had been frozen in time. He stood on his own, with an invisible line drawn around him which no one dared to pass, as if he were in a league of his own. She felt the same, as she was sat in the very centre of the podium, with the rest of the band fanning out around her, as though to highlight and isolate her. No one could fully understand them, but it was okay. They weren't made to be understood.

One by one, the rest of the instruments faded into the air, until only the harp was left, strumming a continuous stream of sounds. He stood, his eyes still shut; she stood, her eyes still watching. Slowly the dancing ceased to be, as every ear was enthralled to listen. Carefully, she played, plucking all but one of the strings; and played the Forty-Six. A hush fell over the crowd; even The Emo Professor seemed caught in her net.

Hether lifted her eyes to the ceiling. The great hall was such that the ceiling was stretched up and out, so that it almost didn't exist. Today, in its place, there was a canopy of autumn leaves, with holes and gaps through which sunlight filtered. Far beyond, it, she imagined, was the sky, and beyond it an infinite number of stars and planets and galaxies, among which lay her wishes. She kept them there, locked and buried, out of sight, for she feared that she may be tempted to even breathe them.

Her gaze returned back to the harp as she brought the tune to an end. It was a short, minute long part, but it was played so that it would seem to stretch for eternity. Silence filled the hall. Professor Flitwick looked as if he were about to burst with happy tears within the next second. The band picked up their instruments again, and just like that, the spell was broken, with merry music filling the hall. Her piece was done, so she rose and left the stage to get a drink.

Draco opened his eyes, but she was gone. A pang of panic echoed through him and his eyes swept the room. They stopped, relieved, when he sighted her at the snack table. He blinked. Why was he relieved? It wasn't like he knew anything about her other than her first name or the fact that she could kill anyone if she so desired. It was an astonishing trait for a Ravenclaw, and perhaps that was what made him so surprised.

He straightened his bowtie and made his way over to the snack table, where she was sampling some Fiery Fish.

"Hello," He said awkwardly as he took his place next to her.

She acknowledged him through the corner of her eye and moved on to the next tray of food.

"Fancy seeing you here. I thought you were too posh for this."

Surprisingly, the bitter attack didn't stab him. He eyed the Fiery Fish, wanting to try one but not wanting to try his stomach. "You played well. I didn't know you were a harpist."

At this, she turned fully to face him, with a mocktail balanced between her fingers. "There's a lot of things you don't know about me." She raised the glass to her lips. "Or yourself."

"Perhaps, if we left this laconic affair and discussed elsewhere, then I would know better." He tilted his head towards the doors.

"Laconic?" she faked a frown but set the glass down. "I don't think you can use that to describe an event."

"It seemed cool to use." He pursed his lips.

As they snuck out of the hall, Hether couldn't help but wonder what game they were both getting at. The pair slunk through the shadows silently, which then turned into a giggling affair of quick steps, until they were somehow, running through the hallways of Hogwarts, laughing loudly like a set of maniacs.

They bound up and up the stairs, tripping every now and then amidst yells of "hey, that's my foot!" and "Ouch, don't rip my dress!", until they both burst unto the landing of the highest point of the Astronomy Tower in a heap of giggles.

Her bun had since become undone, so she let it out and he marveled as the voluptuous locks cascaded down to her waist. He soon become aware that they had collapsed on one another, and her torso lay on his, one hand next to his head and the other placed on his rapidly beating heart. Their chests rose and fell in a game of tag, and he noticed that her eyes glistened a warm shade of brown in the afternoon sun. he also noticed that he could smell her breath, which smelt like cherries and vanilla, and to her amusement, his face flustered pink.

Hether rose to her feet and shook her black mane, heading for the railings. He came soon after, and they both silently agreed to sit on the floor.

"How about, I ask you questions, and you ask me questions?" she eased out.

"Hm." He said and nodded. "What's your favourite colour?"

"That's a tough one." Hether scoffed. "I was expecting something more original."

Draco kept quiet. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you." He spat out.

Hether turned to face him. She knew she'd hit a nerve. "You didn't." she said softly and turned back to the clear sky. "I think my favourite colour is transparent."

"That's not a colour." He scoffed.

"But it is. You have transparent air, like this. Glass is transparent. You also have transparent clothes and bags. And then you have water. That's transparent as well." And then gently; "Do you like the water?"

"No." he picked at his nails. "I can't swim. I almost drowned when I was small."

"Oh. I'm sorry. What was it like? Do you remember any of it?"

"Hether," he said, displeased. "You don't ask someone who's nearly drowned what it was like and if they remember it. But I don't, anyway."

"Curious." She rested her head on the wall. "So how do you know you nearly drowned."

"My father told me." He glanced at her. "Said he pulled me out in the nick of time."

"You seem to have a lot of faith in your father."

"What's that to mean? Of course, I do. Don't you?"

Hether looked down beyond the ledge, where the rest of the grounds were displayed, clear in the afternoon sun. She did have faith in her Father. He was the only reason why she was here, and why she was able to do what she did. He made the path for her, and all she had to do was follow it.

"I do have faith in my Father." She looked up at the birds soaring in the sky, shielding her eyes from the sun. "It's just that you have a penchant for threatening your father upon everyone. 'My father will hear about this'. Sound familiar?"

Draco coughed up a dry laugh. "I see you've been well read on myself."

"Is that a bad thing?" she looked at him. His eyes, sharp and grey, glowed almost clear in where the light hit it.

"Maybe."

Hether turned back to the grounds. She could see some students had snuck out too, and were trying their best to hide as they did things.

"What's your name mean?" she asked him.

"Dragon. It's Latin. Like in the school motto." He turned to her. She could see where stress lines were beginning to etch themselves unto his pale face. "What about yours?"

"I'm named after a plant." She said plainly. "Did you ever think that perhaps you were a dragon?"

"Once, when I was small." He pursed his lips. "Although that soon ended, because father said I didn't have time to waste on frivolous things."

Hether hesitated. She didn't know how else to bring up the topic; to bring up the Truth. It would sting, it would register, but it was the quicker way to go. She just had to let it drop like the bombs that soared over Somerset that summer.

"That's a shame, because you are." She settled.