#snarryfics

EXTRACT FROM CHAPTER 15

Harry wakes with music in his ears and a smile upon his face. At once, such a sudden feeling of elation overtakes him that for an instant he is convinced that it was all a dream, all of it. He must still be in his bed at home, perhaps feverish or caught in some delusion, and has imagined all these wonderful events. The visit to Hampstead, the acquiring of the beautiful coat that he can now wear whenever he desires, the unexpected ball, and the dancing. Most of all, he must have imagined the dancing. It cannot truly have happened. But it did! And Harry knows it to be true because, even before he is fully awake, he realises that his feet are sore under the blankets. His feet are sore! From dancing!

He laughs joyfully, the sound half muffled into the pillow. And when he opens his eyes, he is delighted to realise that he is not at home, of course. Bright sunlight peaks through the drapes, bathing Uncle Gideon’s old bedroom in a golden glow. All around him, the house is entirely silent. Sounds and voices do not carry here the way they do at The Burrow, the walls of Prewett House much thicker and sturdier, but perhaps everyone is still asleep yet. They all went to bed so late, after all. And most of them have had quite a lot more to drink than they should have had. Harry himself has discovered that dancing is even more enjoyable after a fair bit of port. But even the resulting numbing pain around his temples cannot ruin such a perfect morning.

If he closes his eyes, he can still see Cedric’s handsome face. He can still feel Cedric’s hand in his as he was led amongst the dancers. Harry was so nervous at first, his heart beating so loudly that he was certain that everyone could hear it over the music. He did not want them to know that he had never danced before, not like this, that he had only ever stomped stupidly around the parlour with Charlie. That every ball he had attended before he had spent sitting by himself and wishing, wishing to be noticed, and so was terrified to forget the steps that he had barely learned and never used. But Cedric’s gentle smile and familiar presence managed to put him at ease, and Harry grew confident and fearless by his side. And Grandfather had chosen his guests well. There was not a single frowning glare on Harry, neither from the dancers nor from the bystanders.

And he danced with others as well! It seems so perfectly ridiculous to think about, but Harry danced with so many young men that he cannot remember all their names. He would dance with one, who then would introduce a friend, who then would ask for the next dance, and then introduce another friend, and so on and so on. And now Harry’s feet are sore! They are sore! He laughs again into his pillow.

Can life truly be so sweet? So perfect? Harry never wants to leave Hampstead again, and he wonders if Mamma and Papa would let him stay with Grandfather if he were to ask them. At least for a few months. Or for winter! How perfect that would be! And perhaps Charlie would stay as well! He seems to have made peace with Grandfather last night. Harry remembers Grandfather introducing him to a great number of people, and then seeing the two of them laughing together. Yes, perhaps Charlie would like to stay here with Harry for a while. It pains him, the thought of his parents all alone in the empty house in Hogsmeade, but perhaps they would allow it. Hampstead is not London, after all, and he would be safe with Grandfather and Charlie to watch over him. Oh, how wonderful it would be to remain here! He could attend the balls and dance at each one! He would not have to suffer the gossip and glaring of the townsfolk! He would not have to fear stumbling on Cormac in town! And he could see Cedric again!

May I call on you soon? Cedric had asked at the end of the night. And Harry, his head swimming with the joy and the dancing and all the port he had drunk, said yes before Cedric was even finished speaking.

As much as Harry has always loved the Prewett estate and his grandfather, he used to be homesick whenever they came to stay, and he would always look forward to returning home. But suddenly, on this particular morning, this house seems like the most beautiful place in the world to be.

He is wondering what time it could possibly be, and if breakfast has yet to be served or if he has simply missed it, when suddenly there is a great scuffle in the hallway outside and then the bedroom door bursts open. His mother barges in with a maid in tow, the poor girl desperately trying to finish fastening the ribbons on Mrs Weasley’s dress.

“Suitors!” his mother shrieks, all the while attempting to pin up the rest of her hair, but the strands keep falling again. “Suitors in the parlour! Get dressed! Quickly!”

Harry sits up in bed, startled. “What? Do you mean… for me?” he stutters.

“Yes, for you, silly boy!” she cries out desperately. “Get up now! You must meet them at once! Goodness, some have been waiting so long! We cannot let them leave!” She turns abruptly to the young maid. “Go and offer them refreshments! Go now! Quick!”

“Yes, Madam!” the girl squeals before curtsying awkwardly and hurrying out of the room.

“I do hope you packed some decent clothes!” Mrs Weasley continues at once, grasping the blankets and roughly pulling them off Harry’s bed, forcing him out of his warm cocoon of comfort and bliss.

“Poppy packed them for me,” Harry says, but his intervention is thoroughly ignored.

“Why has none of this been put away properly?” she exclaims shrilly, flushed with anger at the sight of his trunk, on the floor, still filled with clothes. “You lazy boy! Is this how I have raised you? You could have asked a maid if you could not be bothered to do it yourself!” she scolds, grabbing the trunk and hoisting it, with surprising strength, onto the end of the bed. “At least they seem properly folded,” she mumbles, rummaging through. “We cannot have you meeting these young men in wrinkled clothes, and there is no time for ironing! Goodness, hurry up, will you?” she snaps when noticing that he has not moved from the bed.

Harry jumps to his feet at once, and he has stripped off his nightclothes before she can threaten him. His hands shake as he takes the shirt that she hands him, all the while mumbling under her breath about which trousers, which waistcoat, which neckcloth is the most suitable for the receiving of suitors. She is clearly as unsettled at this turn of events, and as unprepared for it, as Harry himself is, and he finds some comfort in this.

“The blue one? Or the green one?” she asks him, bewildered, holding up two waistcoats.

“I… I do not know,” Harry stutters.

They pause and look at each other for a moment, both wide eyed and perplexed.

“The green one brings out your eyes,” his mother remarks.

“But the blue one is not as stiff,” Harry replies.

“Oh, suit yourself! The blue one it is!” she declares nervously, throwing the garment at him before resuming her rummaging in search of a good neckcloth, all the while complaining under her breath about the poor selection. “Why did you not pack more?” she hisses.

“Poppy packed them for me,” Harry repeats. “And these are all I have.”

“Goodness, we shall need to get you more. None of these are suitable. None. Absolutely none,” his mother rambles on, her hands shaking as she completely turns around the contents of his trunk.

Harry rushes over, troubled at seeing her in such a distressed state. “It is only a neckcloth, Mamma. Any one will do,” he says soothingly. “This one,” he adds, grabbing a perfectly ordinary one, “this one here will be perfect. I shall wear this one.”

He holds her shaking hand in his for a moment, gently, and then she lets out a small sob and sits down heavily on the bed. “Oh, my little boy,” she gasps, eyes filling with tears. “Suitors for my little boy, at last! Oh, Harry, sweetheart, how long I dreamt of this day…”

Harry can only stand there uncertainly as she continues, sniffling and babbling emotionally.

“Oh, I knew the day would come, of course. How could it not? You are so lovely and handsome. And you danced so beautifully last night…”

“Mamma…” Harry mumbles uncomfortably.

At this moment, Charlie appears in the doorway. He pauses for an instant, then raises an eyebrow at the scene.

“Are you not dressed yet?” he asks Harry in surprise. “There are gentlemen waiting–”