it's so cute i'm gonna DIE

Malfoid

Harry loses a bet and asks Malfoid to the Yule Ball. It started, as many of Harry’s worst ideas did, with Fred and George Weasley. "You haven't asked anyone," Fred said, as if this were news. "He hasn't asked anyone," George agreed, "because the only person he wants to ask is going with Diggory.” Harry told them to shut up. He was in the common room. Ron was practising looking like a person who would rather die than wear dress robes. Hermione had a book open and was not reading it. "Tell you what," said Fred. "A Galleon says you won't ask Malfoid." "Which Malfoy?" said Ron, alarmed. "There's only one at school, Ronald. Do keep up." "I'm not asking Malfoy," said Harry. "Malfoid," said George, pleasantly. "That's the bet. You don't. We collect. You do — well. Then you've got a partner, haven't you? Everybody wins. Except you, probably." "She's not going to say yes." "Then you've lost nothing," said Fred. "Go on. Champion's privilege. The worst she can do is hex you, and she does that on Tuesdays anyway." Harry should have refused, but he was anything but a coward. He found her in the library, after asking around a bit, which would have been embarrassing were it not assumed he was looking for a fight. She sat at a table in the corner by a window. Her pale hair was pulled back so tightly it seemed to lift the pointed bones of her face. She was alone. That was the first piece of luck. The second was that she looked up before he could lose his nerve. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “What do you want, Potter?” "I lost a bet," Harry said. "So let's get this over with. D'you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?" She looked at him for a few seconds without changing her expression. Then she looked to the side. She appeared to be blushing. “You must be desperate.” She attempted a laugh. “Is this some kind of joke, Potter? Me, going to the ball with a half-blood like you? Get real.” “Alright, good,” he said firmly. He turned to leave before she could humiliate him any further. “Yes,” she proclaimed with an upward lilt, as if she had surprised herself. He stopped in his tracks. “What?” He almost raised his voice too loud for the library before turning around to look at her again. She had a mischievous smile. “Yes.” “Why,” Harry asked, exasperated. This was not what he expected. “Why? Because I can’t resist the opportunity to torture you. I am going to embarrass you, if you are even brave enough to follow through.” Harry sputtered. “What? You can’t find a date?” It was his best attempt. “Oh I could. I have been asked many times already. I have no interest in those inferior specimens. The Malfoys have standards, you see. But I will make an exception for you, because this is just irresistible.” He stood there, speechless. He looked out the window. Before he could come up with a response, she picked up her book and stood up. She walked over to him, grabbed his tie, and pulled him close, staring him down with malevolent eyes. "Eight o'clock on Christmas Day. Dress robes. Not a Muggle dinner jacket. Not whatever the Dursleys think is formal. If you arrive smelling of broom polish I shall hex your shoes together and let you open the dance like that. Do we understand each other?" Before he could come up with a response, she walked away. … "You asked her." "That was the bet." "You asked her and she said yes." Ron was pacing around the room. Seamus and Dean were laughing it up. "She's going to hex you," Ron said. "That's the game, that is. She says yes, you show up, she hexes you in front of four schools and tells her father you begged." "She already said she'd hex me. That part's settled. It's only if I step on her toes or dress like a Muggle." "You are Muggle-raised," Ron said, as if this had only just become legally relevant. "What does she think dress robes are? You can't wear trousers from the Dursleys, Harry. She'll know. They've got a look.” Hermione, when they took it downstairs, pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fred and George," she said. "Fred and George," Harry agreed. "And she said yes." "She said yes, and then she said a lot of other things." Hermione was quiet for a moment. "Wear your green dress robes," she said at last. "The ones from Madam Malkin. Not a tie. Not Dudley's anything. If she tries to pull something nasty don’t let her get away with it." “Right,” he replied. He had no idea what that meant. Fred and George, passing the portrait hole with the satisfied air of men who had invented Christmas, flipped him a Galleon. "Don't spend it before she kills you," said Fred. "Buy a card," said George. "Something tasteful." Harry told them to get stuffed. He put the Galleon in his pocket anyway. …. The green robes made him look, he thought, like a Christmas tree that had learned shame. Harry checked his shoes three times. They were the same shoes. "If she hexes you," Ron said, struggling into maroon velvet and a quantity of lace that history would not forgive, "I'll — I'll do something. I don't know what. Don't look at me like that. I'm in this." By ten to eight the entrance hall was a crush of dress robes and panic. Parvati went by in shocking pink and gold and did not look at Harry at all, which he deserved. He had spent two weeks looking as if he might ask her and then asked the worst person in Slytherin for a Galleon. "Potter." He turned. Malfoid was on the marble stairs. She wore a black dress. Her hair was down. She even had makeup on. Harry’s stomach did a flip. The weirdest part was, she was smiling at him. And it wasn’t a mischievous grin, like her usual sadistic glee. She looked like she was happy to see him. But she quickly changed her expression, as if she remembered, to one of disdain. "Green," she said. "Acceptable. Not Muggle. You may keep your toes for the present." She stepped down and took his arm, with surprising ease. "Do not grin. You look simple when you grin. We are going in. If you tell anyone this was a bet I will kill you." "It was a bet." "I know it was a bet, Potter. I would not have said yes to a sincere request. Do not flatter yourself.” … The house tables were gone. In their place stood a crowd of smaller ones, each with a lantern that burned without smoke. The walls were covered in silver frost. Overhead the usual black, starry ceiling had been crossed with garlands of mistletoe and ivy. It seemed like everyone turned to look as they came in, and whispered to each other. Malfoy’s fingers tightened once on his sleeve and then went loose, as if she had remembered an audience. "Breathe," she said, barely moving her mouth. "If you faint I shall leave you on the floor.” "I'm not going to faint." McGonagall met them before they could sit down. She looked at Harry. She looked at Malfoy. Several decades of House warfare passed behind her eyes and sat down, exhausted. "Potter. Miss Malfoy. You will line up with the other Champions after the meal. I expect decorum." "Yes, Professor," said Malfoy, with only a slight hint of sarcasm. McGonagall's mouth thinned. "The robes will do," she told Harry. "Try to remember, a waltz is not a tackle." She swept off. "She likes you," Malfoy said. "How unaccountable." They were seated next to Cedric and Cho of course, at the Champion’s table. Starting the torture already, Harry thought. Krum arrived last with a girl Harry did not recognise for three full seconds as Hermione. Periwinkle blue. Hair up. Ron looked at Harry with wide eyes. Harry just shrugged, as if to say: “What of it?” Cho smiled at Harry as if she were sorry and not sorry. Cedric poured pumpkin juice like a man determined to be decent. "Didn't know you two were—" Cedric began, and stopped, which was why people liked Cedric. "We aren't," said Harry and Malfoy together. They looked at each other. “I lost a bet,” she said suddenly, smiling. Harry just shook his head. She stole his excuse. Typical. Neither Cedric nor Cho seemed to know if she was serious, or how to respond. Dinner arrived and passed without a major incident, besides that Malfoid was making faces across the room, playing it up. "You're enjoying this," Harry muttered. "I enjoy winning. It is not the same as enjoying you." She narrowed her eyes as she set the goblet down. "Do not look at Granger like that. It is a hair potion and a neckline. We manage it before breakfast." "She's my friend." "I know. It is one of your more baffling hobbies. It is quite beneath you.” Was that a compliment? Harry just sighed. There was no point in arguing. She only wanted to get a rise out of him. Suddenly it was time for the dance. Harry stood. His chair shrieked on the floor. Malfoy stood up smoothly, as if chairs had never misbehaved in her life. She put her hand in the air and waited for him to take it, sighing with irritation. Her palm was cold in his hand. They walked to the floor and waited for the music to start. "If you make a mistake I will kill you. If you look at Chang I will kill you. If you count, count silently. If you talk, do not talk about Quidditch,” she whispered. "You're nervous." "I am Slytherin. I am never nervous. I am prepared." Harry put his hand at her waist as the music started to play. He thought he could see a glisten of sweat on her forehead. He used to tease her about her forehead for being much too big. Undeniably, however, she looked absolutely beautiful that night. Despite all his practice, it felt completely different in front of everyone, and with Malfoy no less. She was quietly counting as they stepped. Whether it was for his sake, or because she was afraid he would embarrass her, he wasn’t sure. "You can close your mouth," she murmured. "You have fallen off a broom in front of the whole school. This is only dancing." "You're counting." "I am not." They turned. Mistletoe swam. Ron's face went by, maroon and betrayed. Pansy went by, personally wounded. Snape, at the staff table, looked as if he had bitten a fork. "Your Head of House wants me dead," Harry said. "He wants a great many people dead. You will have to queue." A pause. Her voice dropped, unwilling. "You are not as catastrophic as I expected." "Thanks." "It was not a compliment. I am, against my better judgement, not hexing you." "Yet." "Do not make suggestions." The dance ended before he had decided whether to bow. Cedric bowed. Krum nodded the way Krum did everything. Harry let go of her waist. "Well," she said. "Your twins may keep their Galleon. I am going outside. I am tired of being stared at. Besides, it is much too warm here." For some reason, Harry went after her. … He thought he had lost her, when he saw her through a frosted window. She stood outside, leaning on the balcony, despite the fact that it was snowing and she was wearing only a dress. She clutched herself in her arms, clearly freezing. "You followed me." "You walked off before we had time to bow.” "I said yes to a dance. I did not say yes to stay until midnight." She did not turn. "Go back in. Granger will want to lecture you on fraternising. She has her hair up. She will be unstoppable." “It is freezing out.” She didn’t respond, but her body was shivering. He almost put his robe around her shoulders, but thought better of it. "Why'd you say yes?" he asked. "You asked." "That's not a reason. You could've said no. You do that all the time." She tilted her head up, looking up at the stars. “I told you already. I like to see you squirm.” She came up to him slowly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He flushed, not knowing how to react. He could hear his heart beating in his chest. She just looked into his eyes, smiling with glee. For some reason beyond himself, he thought of kissing her. “Besides, I couldn’t stand to see you go with that Patil-girl. Totally beneath you.” She remembered herself suddenly and added “For a half-blood, anyway.” "You're a real piece of work, Malfoid." “Don’t call me that!” she said, forcing a pout. She stepped back, pretending to be upset, but she could not hide from him the impression that she enjoyed it somehow. She went back to leaning on the railing, looking out, as if that would be the end of it. He leaned against the railing right next to her. It was only fair that he got his revenge now. "I didn't step on your toes," Harry said. "Do not fish." “Since I did a good job, I think you owe me another dance.” She paused, and then burst out into laughter, almost maniacal. It caught him by surprise. “I don’t owe you anything.” Harry took that for a no. He turned to leave. “Are you coming inside? You’ll catch a cold.” Suddenly she grabbed his left arm and hooked her arm under it. "You may have one more dance," she said. "After that I am returning you to that rotten Weasley boy. If you tell anyone funny stories about what happened tonight you will not wake up the next morning.” He couldn’t help but laugh at her idle threats. The rumors about them were already spreading and there was nothing to do about it now. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if they made the front page of the Daily Prophet. They made a striking couple, he had to admit. But he didn’t say anything about it, lest she change her mind. When they got back into the ballroom, everyone was dancing. Thankfully, hardly anyone noticed them come in. She grabbed his hand, and put the other hand onto her waist. They danced for a while without speaking. Harry hoped that nobody noticed when she laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. “You are quite serviceable for a half-blood. I think I will keep you.”

The snows outside Hogwarts had settled into blankets of white that draped over the landscape throughout the first week of winter break. All was quiet through the school, its stone walkways, staircases, and chambers mostly empty aside from the few students and faculty that had chosen to remain. Ron Weasley was one such student, not wanting to leave Harry Potter during Christmas holiday, and he stood in the one hallway that was far more active than the others. Even if he had lived a thousand lifetimes, he never would have guessed that Draceana Malfoy would be staying on campus as well, that she and Harry would be at the bathroom in the dungeons near Slytherin’s common room doing Merlin knows what, and that he would be facing down Professor Snape. All of this was a string of absurdities, but his best friend needed him, and he wasn’t about to let a potions teacher get in the way of… well he hoped it was love, at least. Snape regarded him with a cold expression. “Weasley, Potter and Malfoy were walking down this way, yet I appeared to have lost them. You wouldn’t happen to know where they went, would you?” Ron shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest idea of what you are talking about.” “Which is why I find you near Slytherin’s dungeons instead of your own House.” “Can a student not get a walk in during his time off?” “...then you wouldn’t mind if I inspected the bathroom, would you.” Ron stepped in front of the bathroom’s entrance. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you, Fred and George were using it to test out Garroting Gas a long time ago and I think they left some of it unattended.” A dull look came over Snape’s features. “They left Hogwarts over a year ago.” “And traces of their mischief remain, you can never be too careful.” Ron gave a curt nod. A faint moan echoed out from the door. Snape raised a brow. “And that would be?” Bloody hell, Harry, what are you doing to her? Ron cleared his throat. “That’s just Myrtle, you know how she gets.” The ghost’s voice creeped out of the bathroom. “Y-yes, nothing’s happening! Everything is normal! La la la~!” Ron barely stopped himself from groaning. Snape sighed through his nose. “Step aside, Weasley.” Ron held his eyes closed for a moment. You owe me butterbeers for life after this, Harry. He drew his wand from his robes, the look in his gaze steel as he focused it on Snape. Snape rolled his jaw, then drew his own wand. “I have no time for this.” “And I wish I wasn’t here. Looks like we’re both not getting what we want.” Tension filled the hallway, thick and suffocating, wound so tight that the slightest of noises could snap it. Dobby popping into existence did just that. Both Snape and Ron’s heads cut to the house-elf, who had appeared tumbling onto the ground. The small creature snapped his head from side to side, clearly looking for something, or someone, in a panic. “Snape!” Of all things that could possibly appear, the sight of a sprinting Dumbledore was another sight Ron would have never imagined. “Apprehend Dobby at once!” Dobby cowered back in a moment of fear, the crackle of magic around his body leaving a tingle around Ron. Before it could fully manifest, Snape thrust his wand forward. “Impedimenta!” Turquoise light blasted forth, striking the house-elf in his chest and sending him stumbling back. Dobby’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he looked up at the professor, like that was the first time he had seen him. He turned to Ron right after, his confusion growing. “Wheezy?” Dumbledore arrived at Snape’s side, huffing his breaths slightly. “That blasted creature told the goblins at Gringots about the hidden vault! All my hidden funds! Gone!” He waved his wand at Dobby threateningly. “You had no right to do that!” “Dobby has been underpaid all this time! So much money, all from Dobby’s work, and he hasn’t seen a dime!” The house-elf found his composure and thrust his finger at the headmaster. “Dobby saw the bronze bull and the fire, he will not be imprisoned again!” Another moan drifted out from the bathroom, much louder this time. Ron closed his eyes and titled his head back, letting a groan slip slowly through his lips. “Nothing is still happening! La la la~!” “You’re not helping, Myrtle!” Ron kicked the door. A stray thought wondered what in the world the couple in the bathroom was doing to completely ignore the chaos that was quickly starting to form. Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. “I see, Potter and Malfoy have progressed then, wonderful, fifty points to Slytherin and Gryffindor.” Snape turned to him, befuddled. The headmaster waved his hand in front of his face. “Never mind that, Professor, I require your assistance in apprehending Dobby.” “...I trust you will allow me to properly discipline Potter and Malfoy for their behavior after this?” “You have no proof that they’re up to anything!” Ron tightened his grip on his wand. “I will, once you step aside.” Ron frowned, but then an idea struck him. He was in this deep already, showing defiance to a professor, in front of the headmaster, no less. The point of no return was long past, and what he needed was an ally, someone powerful. House-elf magic had always been potent, even more than most people. He turned to the one at his side. “Dobby, Harry needs your help.” The house-elf faced him, eyes wide. “Harry Potter needs Dobby? What does he need him to do?” “He needs no one to go through that door.” Ron pointed at the bathroom. “It’s very important! Understand?” Dobby’s back immediately straightened, and iron filled his gaze. “Then Dobby will help.” The House-elf clapped his hands together and widened his stance. “HAAAAAAAA!” A spell lashed out from both Dumbledore and Snape, but Ron’s reflexes were now hardwired. “Protego!” The Shield Charm leapt from his wand and formed a thin wall of translucent light that shattered almost immediately from the two spells crashing into it. Their foes readied another, but by then, it was too late, for whatever magic Dobby was preparing had been unleashed. Everything slipped away. The floor, the walls, the light, all of it, and for a brief moment was Ron freefalling in total darkness. Then light emerged, a surge of bright white that nearly blinded him, but as his eyes corrected, he saw that a mass of that same light had formed below them, like he was looking at a washed out version of the sun up close, but without the heat. Dumbledore and Snape were in this space, composure maintained even as their cloaks billowed around them in their fall, but it was Dobby who drew Ron’s attention the most. The house-elf’s arms were spread wide, power exuding off of him in waves that made Ron unable to refer to him as small anymore. “Dobby is a free elf! In this space between spaces, Dobby is the master!” Dobby flicked out his hand, and the air above it twisted before Harry’s Firebolt appeared in his palm. He threw it towards Ron. “Fly, Wheezy!” The young wizard’s hand snapped towards it out of reflex, his Quidditch training taking over as he slipped onto the broom and kicked it into action. His head snapped back from the sudden change in momentum, but he was flying just as easily in this space as he had on the field. Dumbledore adjusted his robes. “Snape, glass.” A shower of empty vials poured from the Professor’s robes, too many to count, far too many to even carry, yet they continued to fill the space around them. With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore gathered them all into a mass and let a gout of fire blast from his from the tip of the wand. The empty vials melted immediately, and the headmaster split the molten glass into two flat circles, wide enough to stand on, before pulling his wand back. Heat left the newly made platforms, and with another flick of his wrist, they settled below both him and Snape, letting them stand upon them. He drifted away from Snape. “I will handle the elf, do go easy on Weasley, will you?” The professor snorted. “I make no promises.” He whipped around at Ron, but it was not his wand that had been readied. It was a potion, a blue one that filled a glass orb as big as Ron’s fist. The throw was accurate, placing it right in Ron’s flight path, but at the same time he flicked his wand towards it and with a twirl, altered its flight mid course to home in on Ron. The young wizard didn’t wait to see what it would do and sent a flick of power towards the potion while turning away from it. A burst of blue fire and force surged from the shattered glass, and Ron was nearly knocked from the broom from the impact against his back. He settled the Firebolt, but had no time to rest as three more of those potions flew through the flames and towards him. Ron put the broom into a dive, letting the speed of it out run the potions behind him before shooting another burst of power towards them. He was outside of the blast zone now, and immediately pulled up to come at Snape from below. The professor regarded him with an impassive look, then four bottles of black liquid fell from his robes. He flicked his wand around him, white light lashing out like a blade to slice the bottles, and black smoke filled the space around him. Ron cursed and pulled the broom to the side, looking at Snape’s newly made concealment. It had taken the shape of an irregular cloud, and there was no way to tell where the professor was hiding within. At the very least, Snape wouldn’t be able to see- Five more exploding potions flew from the smoke, the speed of them even faster than before. Ron cursed and leaned into his Firebolt to speed it forward, but against all logic, the potions were gaining ground. In the distance, he could see countless rays of light pouring from Dobby, pelting towards Dumbledore who was flicking them aside with speeds that turned his wand and hand into a blur. At the same time, spells still slipped from the Headmaster and towards the elf, crashing against the translucent white barrier that had formed over him. “DOBBY WILL NOT BE CONTAINED AGAIN!” “YOU’LL PAY FOR TELLING THOSE GOBLINS EVERYTHING, YOU SNIBBLING MISCREANT!” There was a small moment where Ron had begun to believe that this was all just a dream, just something he was experiencing after eating a bad jellybean or some nonsense that Fred and George had sent him. Yet, the air brushing against his face felt real, the broom under him the same, and the fear of those potions closing in on him was as real as any he had before. Maybe if he just let them hit him, he would wake up… He thought of Harry, who was with Draceana, and all the years that had led up to what they were doing in that bathroom, and grit his teeth. If he wasn’t around to let them see that too the end, then who would be? A long sigh left him, and he began a chant in his brain. Once, it was a song that only mocked him, but it had been turned into something that meant a great, personal triumph. This time, it would carry him further. Weasley is our King He flipped the Firebolt around, his wand lashing out. “Impedimenta!” A wide burst of turquoise light flew forth, slowing the potions for just a moment. Weasley is our King He zoomed towards the glass orbs, his hand out reached. He didn’t let the Quaffle in His hand, deft and gentle, snatched the brightest of the potions out of the air. Weasley is our King Ron kicked the Firebolt to the side and swerved it towards the black cloud. Weasley can save anything Three more exploding potions flew from the smoke, heading straight towards him. He never leaves a single ring Ron twisted the broom right as they drew close to avoid them, spinning upside down. That’s why Gryffindors all sing He sent the Firebolt into maximum speed and threw the potion in his hand. His eyes locked on it as it sank into the smoke, its momentum at the forefront of his mind, and fired a burst of magic to where it would be. Weasley is our King He pulled up right as the explosion happened, turning the broom to catch the burst of force to send him soaring upwards. The other potions that had been chasing him were caught in the blast, all bursting as well, but it was only the fragments of their glass that reached him, scattering harmlessly against his robes. When he looked back down, the cloud of smoke was gone, but Snape was unharmed, standing on the platform of glass with a magical shield of his own crackling around him. Another potion fell from the professor's sleeve and into his hand. “Oh, come off it!” Ron flicked a Stunning Charm at Snape, but it bounced off the barrier harmlessly. “Do you just walk around all day with that many potions, at all times?!” Snape looked him dead in the eyes. “Always.” The professor tossed the potion forward and flicked out his wand. “Accio Firebolt!” The broom under Ron slipped from under him, and out of reflex, he grabbed onto its bristles. The force of the spell yanked him towards Snape, and he could see the potion coming right for him. He should have been terrified, but no, the time for that had long passed. Ron dropped his wand, and with his remaining free hand, snatched the potion out of the air. The blue liquid inside it was boiling, the reactive nature of it already triggered, but the young wizard grit his teeth and let the Firebolt careen towards Snape. For once, the professor was not looking at him with arrogance or disgust, but complete and total surprise, and that was enough to make all this worth it. "Weasley is our King." The potion exploded right as he collided with Snape, robbing him of sight, sound, and feeling all at once. He could feel his consciousness slipping from him, even as those senses returned, and to his surprise he didn’t feel much beyond the soreness across his front, like he’d run headfirst into a wall. No cuts marred his skin, which he didn’t think was possible, but he guessed that Snape, despite his grievances with Ron, didn’t intend to harm him in that way. The professor in question floated in space just a few feet away, having been knocked completely unconscious. His gradually darkening vision told him that he was about to be in the same state, but with the last threads of consciousness, he turned to where Dobby and Dumbledore had battled. What he saw nearly brought him back from the brink. The house-elf floated above the headmaster, a massive ball of power formed between palms raised over his head. “DOBBY WILL WIN, AND HE WILL DANCE UPON YOUR BODY!” He threw his hands down, unleashing a massive beam of energy towards his foe. The headmaster regarded the approaching force with an impassive stare and widened his stance, pulling his wand back with both hands, as the three nodes across it filled with light. “10 BILLION POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR!” Dumbledore said calmly. …what? A beam just as wide, if not larger erupted from the headmaster’s wand, crashing into Dobby’s own in a thunderous boom that filled the infinite space. Power sparked off where the two spells met, the light of it brighter than the sun beneath them. “HAAAAAAAAAA!” “HOOOOOOOOOO!” Their roars drowned out all else, their struggle eternal, until finally, the point at which the spells clashed swelled, then burst. All turned to white. *** Harry emerged from the bathroom with Draceana. Both of them adjusted their robes, unable to meet each other in the eyes, but well aware of how red their faces were. She was the first to speak, clearing her throat with a prim cough. “I th… what happened here?” Harry looked at the hallway. Everything looked relatively untouched, but the unconscious forms of Ron, Dobby, Snape, and Dumbledore lay on the floor, smoke trailing up from each of them. He couldn’t see any evidence of battle, but the air crackled with an energy that told him some manner of spell had been used. Draceana stared at it all for a good, long while, before clapping her hands together. “Well, I think it is about time I return to my room. I have homework to catch up on.” She turned to Harry. “...this weekend, maybe, Potter?” “Uh, ye…” he shook his head, “Yes! This weekend, definitely.” She blushed and flashed him a smile before taking one last look at everything, then sped away. Harry knelt down over his friend and shook him. “Ron! Ron!” Ron’s eyes fluttered open. “H… Harry? I’m alive? Was it all a dream?” He looked at Dobby, then the unconscious Dumbledore and Snape. “No, definitely not a dream.” “You mind telling me what in Merlin’s beard happened here?” “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Ron pushed himself up with a groan and rubbed his face, wincing slightly. “We should get out of here.” “...Hog’s Head?” “Hog’s Head.” Ron stood up and walked over to Dobby. “Give me a hand with him, will you?” Harry took the house-elf and cradled him in his arms. “You’re telling me what happened.” “Only if you’re paying for my butterbeer.” Ron dusted himself off and picked up his wand before they started to walk away, their steps quick. “Did things go well?” “With what?” Ron clicked his teeth. “You know what I’m talking about.” Harry’s blush found him again. “Yeah… yeah it went really well.” Ron nodded to himself. “Then that’s a job well done.”