Chapter Text
“Gryffindor please stay!” Professor Williams announced at the end of the Transfiguration lesson with the Hufflepuffs.
“Can Alex also stay?” George called out from the back of the classroom. “He’ll still be waiting for me in the corridor!”
Claire Williams gave him a displeased look, but nodded.
“Yes, he can. But this doesn’t absolve Mr Albon from listening to the same information from Professor Brown,” the Head of Gryffindor uttered sternly.
Hufflepuff’s seventh-years began packing and finally left class – except for Alex, who put his chin on his arms. George was tickling his friend’s cheek with the flesh of a feather while the girls across the row were giggling.
“Mr Russell!” Professor Williams’ demanding voice caught up with him. “This concerns you first of all! What have I just talked about?”
“Erm– That the information is important?”
“Right, Mr Russell,” said the Head of Transfiguration and daughter of the Headmaster, Professor Frank Williams, who replaced retired Minerva McGonagall. “I repeat for you personally. The Yule Ball will take place on Christmas Day. It’s a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament. Dress robes will be worn. You should come to the ball with a dance partner – you can invite somebody from another school, because it’s an opportunity for us to socialize with our foreign guests.”
Then George finished to listen and winked eloquently at Alex, who instantly blushed and tried to hide his smile. Williams was talking about something else, but when the Gryffindors began to leave the classroom, she went straight to them.
“Mr Russell, as a Hogwarts champion, you must invite the girl to the ball. Not Mr Albon.”
Her words were predictable – in their sixth year she caught them kissing in an empty classroom and nearly fainted. Putting the Guide to Advanced Transfiguration in his bag and zipping it up, George stared at the Professor.
“Let me decide it myself.”
“George, you need to understand me. The traditions of Hogwarts … What would the founders think?”
A wave of tolerance and openness to self-determination finally reached the conservative magic world of Britain. But not all of the Higher teaching staff were ready to accept this.
“Your adorable Headmaster Dumbledore used to be in love with men,” George reminded pointedly.
Three years ago The Daily Prophet’s journalist Jennie Gow expanded Rita Skeeter's source base in Life and Lies and conducted an even more impressive investigation about the personal life and romantic preferences of the twentieth century's best wizard. The article was like an explosion in the British wizarding community – many people had became bolder, some coming-outs swept even through the Ministry of Magic.
“The Yule Ball is traditionally opened by the champions and their partners, Mr Russell,” said Professor Williams adamantly, carefully avoiding the delicate topic. “The partners of the different gender. I don’t forbid you ... to be friends as you wish, but at the official events you must compline with the rules! You represent the honor of Hogwarts!”
“How that’s better than the oppression of the Muggleborns we had fought against?” Alex asked quietly. Both they were born in the year of the Battle of Hogwarts in the midst of the Second Wizarding War, which left a mark on all wizarding and blended families.
“Your words are dangerous, Mr Albon,” Professor Williams said preachy. “I’ve told everything to you, and now leave the class – otherwise I’ll be forced to take points from your Houses. Yes, including my own, Mr Russell!”
She watched the students go out the Transfiguration class and adjusted the collar of her robe. Despite this drawback, George was still her favorite – she took their class from Professor McGonagall in their third year, and even then he demonstrated a high talent for Transfiguration. Claire was pleased that the Goblet of Fire had chosen George as a school champion. She hasn’t been forgetting to glance proudly at Toto Wolff, Poison master and the Head of Slytherin. His protege, Lewis Hamilton, went out of business.
***
During the long break George and Alex settled down in the courtyard in one of their favorite places, where a brick wall protected either from the bright sun, or, as now, from snow and wind. The cumbersome Numerology homework had to be rechecked, but George couldn’t bring himself to, because he was still raging with indignation. He didn’t have time to tell Alex everything he thinks about Claire Williams and her relatives up to the fifth generation, because Lando Norris, a fifth-year student from Hufflepuff, appeared. The families of George and Lando have been living in England almost next door, so all three had become friends at school, despite different years of study. Lando threw his giant backpack with the textbooks onto the bench and almost crumbled beside them, stretching his legs.
“O.W.L. is only six months later, what do they think?!” he gasped. “I’ll soon invent a poison by myself and use it on Wolff.”
“We always knew that you’re the kindest boy in Hogwarts,” Alex said conciliatory.
“Did Wolff tell you the news?” George suddenly asked.
“He left only the Slytherins. Professor Brown should tell us, but I have no Charms with him today. You too, right?”
“We've already heard everything from Williams,” George revealed the secret. “At Christmas there’ll be a Yule ball, and we have to come there with the partners for dancing. So look for a girlfriend, Lando,” he was out of sorts and therefore joked below the belt. “I saw you staring at Kelly from Beauxbatons at breakfast. But don’t hope – her legs end at the level of your ears. Although, maybe this is not so bad.”
“I wasn't staring at Kelly,” Lando muttered. In fact, he had looked three meters to the left, but his friends didn’t need to know about it.
Everyone had heard about Kelly Piquet, the fatal dark-haired beauty. The next day after the arrival of foreign delegations, two Durmstrangs had fought over her with magic and fists. Both, including the future school champion, had ended up in the hospital wing with multiple fractures.
“You know what Williams told me? ‘Mr Russell, the Yule Ball is traditionally opened by the champions and their partners of the different gender,” George mimicked the Professor's stern voice. “These Frenchmen will surely go together, because they contempt of all stupid traditions of mossy Britain.”
“Not French. Charles is a Monegasque,” Lando said.
“Who?”
“From Monaco,” Alex explained delicately.
“How do you know this?” George turned to Lando.
“Probably, I could overhearing this from someone,” he answered in a casual tone, but blushed immediately.
“Yeah, yeah. You heard it while were hanging near to Kelly,” George flashed his eyes.
Lando wanted to swing at him, although the strength was unequal, but the bell saved them from the scuffle. Lando trudged off to Transfiguration, George – to Numerology without re-checking his homework, and Alex to Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Ravenclaws.
***
Remembered the Beauxbatons, George actively turned around with his head on the way to the classroom – he didn’t want to run into this couple jumping out from the another corner. Charles Leclerc was the champion of Beauxbatons, Pierre Gasly – his best friend. Actually, more than just a friend – they felt absolutely no embarrassment, holding hands in front of everyone, and were sickly-sweet, babbling to each other in French and having no care for anybody else. Once, George had almost threw up into a plate at dinner, when the one of them was hand-feeding the other with pumpkin pie. And also those stupid baubles in their hair and on their wrists!
However, he began to respect Charles after the first task, where it was allowed to take only your wand. On the appointed day at the end of November, three champions were gathered in a tent and were offered to pull out the serial numbers. George got the first, Charles the last, and the Hogwarts champion soon walked out to the cheering stands, squeezing only his wand, squinting due to the sunlight and feeling a jitters.
“You should go down and cross the chasm as quickly as possible,” explained Professor Brown, who had accompanied him. “And you mustn’t Apparate.”
The teacher Disapparated – apparently, Headmaster Williams had took off Anti-Disapparition Jinx especially for him. George was seeing in front of him a dangerous mountain road, along which it was necessary to get down to the same rigid plain, and only there – a huge chasm. And you definitely can't jump over it. But first you need to go down, you can think about the chasm later. So George started to move carefully, holding his wand and getting ready that someone or something would attack him at any time. This would be inappropriate, considering that he jumped from rock to rock and was hardly keeping his balance. As a result, he nevertheless fell, overcame the last meters head over heels with the crowd screaming. He braked with his palms and kicked his skin to a pulp.
George blew on them, hastily picked up off the ground his wand that had flown to the side and looked around again. So far it was nothing like a task of the Triwizard Tournament. But he stopped thinking that way when something wet and rough poked into his left hand at the site of the abrasion. George almost screamed in horror, because there was no one around. But someone alive was licking his palm! George convinced himself to think straight and even got to his feet. He realized that it was a Thestral – that’s why he was seeing emptiness. They had studied Thestrals in their fifth year in Creature Care: these beasts instinctively appeared with the smell of blood. They could also fly, and he finally understood the logic of the task. Avoiding any fast and sudden movements, George allowed the Thestral to get used to him, gently petted the invisible croup and decided to put his leg over it, imagining how funny it looks for people who see this breed of winged horses. It had been able the first time, and he hoped he wasn't sitting backwards. But the flap of leathery wings suggested that everything was correct, he left the ground as if without support. At the opposite side of the chasm, George had promised himself that he would never approach to Thestral again. He thought he had been to call in a broom, like Harry Potter during the 1994 Tournament.
The Hogwarts nurse Miss Sefton, who was called by students simply Charlotte because of her young age, hastily treated his wounds, ordered him not to touch anything and promised to return after the tasks for other champions. Friends weren’t allowed here, so George stood near Charlotte to watch performances of his rivals.
Max Verstappen from Durmstrang finished the task, barely starting. George had been stepping carefully a few minutes ago, but Max rushed down very quickly, hoping to hold on, and fell after a couple of meters. He rolled down onto the plain and at full speed crashed directly into the Thestral. He didn’t understand anything and fired a Stunning Spell at random. The Thestral kicked up, Max still didn’t recognize where he was taking the hard punches from. It looked not very good, so the patrollers (the teachers from all three schools) hurriedly intervened in the course of the task.
Soon Max was belching curses in the tent, where Charlotte was giving him medical assistance. George was preparing to watch how Charles proves himself. It was quite good that one of his rivals had failed, but on the other hand he didn’t meant anyone to be getting hit by the hooves of an angry Thestral on the edge of the chasm.
Charles assessed the situation, waved his wand and became to go downstairs so lightly and gracefully, as if he had soft slippers on his feet. A smooth road was laying in front of him. George almost hit himself over the head, forgetting the nurse's instructions – of course, he had had to use this nonverbal Absorbing Charms and not to pose as an acrobat to be embarrassed anyway in front of hundreds of people.
George's observant position was far away, but suddenly he saw some fear or horror on his rival’s face. Charles was staring into the void and doing nothing, although the time was running out. George didn’t understand what was happening until he realized. Charles had seen the Thestral. He came alive only after a while, apparently, having dealt with his inner demons and remembering how to lure the creature. Without thinking twice, he stubbed his arm with a Cutting Spell, quickly got along with the winged horse and also flew over the chasm.
In a couple of minutes they were already sitting next to each other. Charlotte quickly healed Charles’ wound with some kind of Charmes, and there was hardly any trace. Then she smeared George’s palms with a terribly smelly ointment and applied bandages.
“Why can't you do the same with me?!" George was indignant.
“Injuries caused by magic are best healed with magic, and vice versa,” Miss Sefton explained and handed Charles, who was still breathing hard, some kind of potion. “It tastes horrible, but drink it all. It makes you feel better.”
“And for me?!” George asked again.
“You're clearly okay.”
She had gone to check Max, who was in more poor conditions. George decided to ask, sincerely believing that in Charles’ place he would have completed the task much faster.
“Do you see Thestrals?”
“Yes.”
“I wish I could see them too.”
“Sure?” that sounded calm, without mockery, and George finally realized that he blurted out. Thestrals were seen by people who not only had seen death, but managed to feel it and realize what happened. If Charles had seen them at his seventeen or eighteen years old, there was enough shit in his life.
“Oh. Sorry.”
They both were given equal points, and George found it fair. He had completed the task faster due to Charles’ hitch, but like a real Muggle he had been climbing the rocks without magic and gave the audience a spectacular performance. Finally George was surrounded by his happy friends led by Alex and Lando. Charles was hugged tightly by Pierre, who had probably known all his thoughts during the task. For a minute they were staying absolutely still.
***
Professor Zak Brown hadn’t announced the Yule Ball for each course separately and, in the best traditions of Hufflepuff, he had came to the common room after the lessons and explained everything.
“Sir, can I not go to this ball?” Lando asked, and some students nodded in agreement.
Professor Brown was surprised and wrinkled his good-natured face.
“Of course you can, Mr Norris, but why don't you go?”
“I don’t like it all,” Lando shrugged.
“That’s your right, but guys, if I were you, I’d go! There’ll be a lot of delicious food, good music and, of course, dancing!” he showed several ridiculous movements. “Who doesn't like to dance?”
Lando rolled his eyes and returned to the massive Defense Against the Dark Arts homework. Alex pored over something nearby – he was preparing for N.E.W.T., but also he had had time to run on dates with George. Lando lately too, but, of course, not with George. And not that on dates – in his head he called them just meetings, being afraid to think about something more. He had been touching the coin in his pocket all evening until it warmed up and the time and place were shown on it.
He faked a yawn, said good night to everyone and went into the fifth-year dormitory, which, fortunately, was still empty. Lando put on his warm sweater, hat and gloves, pulled out his broom from under the bed and flew out into the freezing air, not forgetting to use a spell to close the window back. Lando wasn’t worried about being caught by the teachers – the time wasn’t quite late. Furthermore, the Professors had given an unspoken permission to fly to the members of the house Quidditch teams so that they wouldn’t lose their skills. Due to the Triwizard Tournament, the Inter-House Quidditch Cup was canceled, and Lando – quite short, thin and nimble – was Seeker on the Hufflepuff team. He took higher to the level of the highest floors, looked for the necessary isthmus between the two turrets and leant forward to the broom shaft. When he jumped onto a small area, he was already awaited.
“Hola, mi corazón,” it was Carlos Sainz, a gorgeous Spaniard from Beauxbaton, leaning on his broom. In Lando’s view, Carlos was the most handsome guy in the world, but Lando hadn’t voiced it to him and anyone else. Unless to himself, hoping that the curtain over the bed and the good old spell Muffliato before sleeping wouldn’t let him down. Lando had been imagining Carlos’ black hair, his dark chocolate eyes and a well-defined line of full lips.
“Hi,” Lando tried to make his voice more usual. “You’d still have called me to the bottom of the lake, it's cold! Make it warmer.”
Carlos chuckled, waved his wand and whispered something in Spanish. The air around them really became hotter.
“Is there okay now?” he asked with a humorous bow.
“Probably yes,” Lando said favorably.
“Then sit down please,” Carlos was the first to settle on the ledge, quite comfortable and far from the edge.
Lando sat down beside him and asked a question that had long interested himself.
“Is this even possible if you could’t hold your magic someday? For example, there’ll be a great outbreak of emotions. Could you accidentally burn everything around?”
Carlos shrugged. He had been literally ruling fire – not just controlling the flames, but could make them subside or, as now, heat the air around him. Not with the usual Incendio, but with ancient Spanish Charms that his clan wielded.
“This shouldn’t be. But in theory ... In childhood, my accidental magic manifested itself exactly in this way. This gift has been passing on in our family through two generations, and before I was born, literally everything around had filled with Extinguishing Spells. But at first I was a quite peaceful child, until the age of four – we had gone to a picnic with all our relatives. And when I found out that the sweeties could only be eaten after other dishes, I got angry and burned all the food in general” he smiled and paused while Lando was laughing. Soon Carlos continued. “Then my great-grandmother taught me to control it. When I got a magic wand – to use it as a conductor of this power. So don't be afraid, I can only burn you with my eyes,” he poked him in the ribs, and Lando made a funny high-pitched sound.
“You already do it every time we see each other!”
“I don’t mean to,” Carlos replied. “Actually, do you know why I had invited you tonight?”
“I have no idea. None at all!” Lando was hopping that he knew the correct answer deep down, but cause if not? If he says it and Carlos laughs at him? But Carlos grabbed him around his waist, pulled him close single-handed, as if Lando was weightless, and whispered in his ear:
“Lando, want to come to the ball with me?”
He chuckled nervously.
“Carlos, but we ... Shouldn’t we both invite some girls?” he had no idea why he was asking this, because he wanted to shout “yes” and stop empty talking.
“So what? Charles and Pierre don’t mind about this – they’ll go together. Given that Charles is a school champion, they’ll be in sight.”
“And what your Headmaster thinks about it?”
“Professor Binotto adores Charles. He’ll support him, even if he starts killing half-bloods.”
“Don't joke about it,” Lando flinched noticeably. Almost eighteen years have passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, and the echo of the confrontation with Voldemort still haven’t disappeared.
“Sorry,” Carlos comforting pat his back. “I forgot. We haven't had anything like that for a long time in Spain. Since the days of the Inquisition.”
“It’s all right. But George was already chastised by the Head of Gryffindor for trying to go with Alex.”
“If you listen to people like your teachers, you start to think that Grindelwald wasn’t so wrong,” Carlos chuckled. “Believing that the wizards should be free to live openly and to love freely … Lando, mi corazón, I want you to go to the ball with me,” he repeated the invitation, adding a little of Spanish.
“We– We’ll go together as friends?”
Carlos’ laugh became guttural.
“No, mi alma, no,” he pulled off Lando’s hat, liberating his curly brown hair, and gently lifted the boy’s chin, prompting him to look into his eyes. “I want to hold your hand, hug you, dance with you ...”
“I can’t dance,” Lando said, unsuccessfully searching for the remnants of his personality, which Carlos had completely absorbed. “You will be ashamed for me of your friends.”
“Never,” Carlos exhaled and suddenly kissed him. This was the first time for Lando, who grabbed Carlos by the shoulders and was letting him do whatever he wanted, praying to the founders of Hogwarts that this was not a dream.
“I'll go to the ball with you,” Lando whimpered as he was free, hoping he hadn't lost his ability to speak at least somehow articulate.
“It was necessary to apply this method right away,” Carlos said in an absolutely calm voice, as if he was staying at the blackboard and answering the properties of a moonstone – not made Lando to forget his own name only with the help of his lips and tongue. “I could also give you flowers ... But you yourself can get them from everywhere.”
“Well, after all, not from everywhere. Only from wherever there is a life.”
“You diminish your abilities again.”
Lando bent down and wiggled his fingers near the foot of the roof. Hogwarts was reconstructed in the first year after the Battle, but debris weren’t removed in hard-to-reach places. Lando straightened up, holding a wooden sliver in his palm, and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. But something was missing.
“Carlos, could you make a little warmer?..”
“Come on like this,” Carlos took his free hand, sharing with a part of his infinite power. Lando closed his eyelids again, but didn’t believe that he could awake the long-dead tree, which had already been the roof of Hogwarts. But Carlos believed in him, and the magic can’t make a mistake, flowing inside. Lando had seen the history, when there was no school on this place many centuries ago. There was an impassable green forest. Lando made a mental move forward and felt the tiny beat of life whitch he brought back and breathed in. It remained to develop this, and the roots finally appeared, then a thin green sprout pulled up on his palm. Lando’s eyes widened.
“I did it! Carlos, it worked!”
“You’re so amazing,” Carlos spooned him from behind and kissed his cheek. Lando didn’t believe that all this was happening to him, didn’t understand how and why he deserved it.
“Carlos ... I love you,” he was frightened by his own words, but Carlos replied:
“Te amo, mi corazón.”
No one else hadn’t been knowing about his gift, except the Professor of Herbology Neville Longbottom – another hero of the Second Magic War. Lando had used his abilities rarely, considering them worthless, but the magic broke through accidentally when he was walking with Carlos at the edge of the Forbidden Forest a month ago. He had been feeling himself in seventh heaven. And Carlos had surprised aloud that the flowers had bloomed on the bushes around them in a few seconds in early November. Lando had bit his lower lip and looked down, being afraid to call the real reason.
“It’s– It's me,” he had finally admitted. “This is by chance, I didn't want to–”
“You? What do you mean?”
Lando had raised a branch under a nearby tree and made it grow with green leaves. Carlos had watched it with huge eyes.
“This is simply asinine, I know. You rule the fire, and I … And I can grow flowers.”
“Lando, this is a wonderful gift,” Carlos wasn’t going to laugh. He had became even more fascinated.