Ten minutes after the Greengrass family departed, Minister Delacour himself appeared at Crystal-Harmony's side with the practiced timing of someone who'd been monitoring the entire ballroom's social dynamics.
"Your Highness," he said with a warm smile that reached his eyes, "I hope you'll forgive my interruption, but there are several international representatives quite eager to meet you. If you're feeling up to it?"
Crystal-Harmony straightened in her wheelchair, and Harry watched the transformation happen again—the slight shift in posture, the cooling of her expression into something more regal, the way her hands relaxed on the armrests to project confidence rather than pain.
"Of course, Minister," she replied. "It would be my honor to represent Abyssantica to your distinguished guests."
Harry started to step back, giving her space for the official introductions, but Crystal-Harmony's hand shot out and caught his wrist. Her eyes met his with a clear message: Don't go far.
He nodded slightly and moved to stand a few feet away, close enough to observe but not so close as to intrude on the diplomatic theater about to unfold.
Minister Delacour led a small procession toward them—a carefully curated selection of international dignitaries who'd clearly been waiting for this exact moment. Leading the group was...
"Your Highness, may I present Ministra Isabella Lombardi of Italy," Delacour said. "And her delegation."
"Ministra Lombardi," Crystal-Harmony inclined her head with perfect grace. "Italy's contributions to magical theory are renowned even in the deep waters. My father speaks highly of your nation's innovations in protective enchantments."
Lombardi's eyebrows rose slightly—clearly she hadn't expected such specific knowledge. "Your Highness is too kind. Though I must confess, Abyssantica's own magical traditions intrigue us greatly. The integration of natural ocean currents into spellwork—we have nothing comparable on the surface."
"Our magic is shaped by necessity," Crystal-Harmony replied. "When your entire civilization exists under pressure that would crush stone, you learn to work with the forces around you rather than against them."
A tall wizard in severe black robes stepped forward—part of the German contingent Harry had noticed earlier.
"Staatsminister Ernst Müller," he introduced himself with a crisp bow. "Germany. Your Highness, there are theories circulating in our academic circles about deep-sea magical resonance patterns. Would you say that Royal Sea Horse magic operates on fundamentally different frequencies than surface casting?"
Crystal-Harmony considered the question with visible care. "Different, yes, but not incompatible. Think of it like... musical harmonies. Surface magic and deep magic are different notes, but they can create beautiful chords when properly combined. Harry demonstrated that quite effectively during his time in Abyssantica."
Harry felt several pairs of eyes turn toward him at the mention of his name, but he kept his expression neutral.
"Fascinating," Müller murmured, producing a small notepad from his robes. "And the theoretical applications of such combinations—"
"Herr Müller," a new voice interrupted smoothly, "perhaps we might allow Her Highness to finish one conversation before beginning another?"
The speaker was a woman—late twenties, with sharp features and darker blonde hair styled in a practical bun. Her robes were deep blue with silver embroidery that Harry recognized as Russian styling.
"Ekaterina Belikova," she introduced herself directly to Crystal-Harmony, bypassing the Minister entirely. "Representing the Russian Ministry's Department of International Magical Resources. Your Highness, it's an honor."
Something about her directness seemed to amuse Crystal-Harmony. "Miss Belikova. I appreciate your intervention—German thoroughness, while admirable, can be somewhat overwhelming."
Müller harrumphed but didn't disagree.
More dignitaries pressed forward—a Spanish wizard whose elaborate robes suggested significant wealth, a French academic from the Académie Magique, even a delegation from Sweden who'd been observing from across the room. Crystal-Harmony handled each introduction with practiced grace, though Harry noticed how her knuckles had gone white on the wheelchair's armrests.
"Your Highness," the Spanish wizard began, his accent thick but his English clear, "Spain has long admired Abyssantica's... how do you say... prudent management of certain rare resources."
And there it was. Harry had been wondering how long it would take someone to bring up Aqualis.
Crystal-Harmony's expression didn't change, but something cooled in her eyes. "Spain's interest in magical resource management is well-documented, Señor...?"
"Álvarez. Diego Álvarez, representing our Ministry's Department of Trade." He smiled warmly, but his gaze was hungry. "We understand that Abyssantica currently maintains an exclusive agreement with France for the provision of Aqualis crystals."
"We maintain a partnership with France," Crystal-Harmony corrected gently. "Based on centuries of mutual respect and cooperation."
"Of course, of course," Álvarez said smoothly. "Though one wonders if Abyssantica might consider... expanding such partnerships? Spain would be most interested in discussing terms for regular Aqualis shipments. The material's applications in healing magic alone—"
"Are considerable," Crystal-Harmony finished. "Which is precisely why Abyssantica carefully controls its distribution. Aqualis is not merely valuable—it's sacred to my people. We don't treat it as a commodity to be sold to the highest bidder."
Minister Delacour looked pleased by this answer, though he maintained his diplomatic neutrality.
Staatsminister Müller cleared his throat. "Germany would also be interested in exploring potential trade agreements. Our theoretical research into crystal-based enchantment matrices could benefit enormously from access to Aqualis samples. We would, of course, offer fair compensation—"
"As would Russia," Ekaterina Belikova added, her voice carrying an edge that suggested she didn't appreciate being left out of the negotiation. "Our alchemical research programs are among the most advanced in Europe. Access to Aqualis could accelerate developments in multiple fields."
Crystal-Harmony's smile had become fixed, as if someone had carved the smile into her face. "I'm sure all of your nations have excellent research programs. However, Abyssantica's Aqualis production is limited by natural growth cycles and careful harvesting practices. We barely produce enough to meet our own needs and honor our existing agreement with France. Expanding distribution simply isn't feasible at this time."
"At this time," Álvarez repeated, latching onto the qualifier. "But perhaps in the future, if production could be increased—"
"Production cannot be increased without damaging the crystal farms," Crystal-Harmony said firmly. "And Abyssantica will not sacrifice the long-term health of our resources for short-term profit."
The German official adjusted his monocle. "Surely there must be some arrangement that could benefit all parties. Germany would be willing to offer technological exchange—our advances in underwater detection charms, for instance, could assist in identifying new Aqualis deposits—"
"We don't need assistance identifying deposits," Crystal-Harmony interrupted, and for the first time, genuine irritation crept into her voice. "We've been cultivating these crystals for millennia. What we need is for surface nations to understand that not everything rare should be commodified."
A brief, uncomfortable silence fell over the group.
Ministra Lombardi broke it with a soft laugh. "Well said, Your Highness. It seems we've all been rather transparent about our interests."
"Refreshingly so," Crystal-Harmony agreed, her tone warming slightly. "I appreciate directness over subtle maneuvering. But my answer remains the same: Abyssantica will not be expanding Aqualis trade agreements in the foreseeable future."
"Even for exceptionally generous terms?" Belikova pressed, clearly unwilling to let the matter drop entirely.
Crystal-Harmony met her gaze steadily. "Even then. My father, King Anden, believes that some things are more valuable than gold or political favor. Our relationship with France is built on trust and mutual respect that developed over centuries. That cannot be replicated through a simple trade agreement, no matter how generous."
Harry felt pride swell in his chest. This was the Crystal-Harmony he knew—the one who'd stood up to Dark Royal Sea Horses and her father's conservative council, who valued principle over expedience.
Minister Delacour stepped in smoothly. "Perhaps we might move to less mercantile topics? Her Highness's journey to the surface is a remarkable achievement in itself. I'm sure many would be curious about the transformation process."
The gathered dignitaries seemed to recognize the redirect for what it was—a polite but firm suggestion to drop the Aqualis discussion. Most accepted it gracefully, though Harry noticed Belikova and Álvarez exchanging glances that suggested this conversation wasn't over, merely postponed.
"The transformation," the French academic spoke up eagerly, "we have so little documentation of such magic. Your Highness, if I might ask—is the process purely alchemical, or does it involve transfiguration principles as well?"
Crystal-Harmony visibly relaxed at the shift to less politically charged territory. "A combination, actually. The base potion is alchemical, but it requires active magical participation to guide the transformation. My body doesn't simply change—I have to direct the change, mentally mapping how legs should function based on surface anatomical knowledge."
"Extraordinary," the academic breathed. "And the duration is limited?"
"Twelve hours before I must return to water, at least partially. Extended transformation attempts can cause permanent damage to my ability to shift at all."
Müller was scribbling notes furiously. "The magical strain must be considerable. Have there been studies on long-term effects?"
"Limited ones," Crystal-Harmony admitted. "The transformation magic is ancient but rarely used. Most Royal Sea Horses have no desire to visit the surface."
"But you did," Ministra Lombardi observed. "Why?"
"Curiosity," she said simply. "And the desire to understand a world my people have kept at arm's length for too long. Isolation may feel safe, but it leads to stagnation."
"A progressive view," Belikova noted. "Not all underwater civilizations share it, I think?"
"No," Crystal-Harmony agreed carefully. "Some prefer complete separation from surface affairs. Krakenreach, for instance, maintains no diplomatic relations with any surface nation."
"Krakenreach," Álvarez said quietly. "Twelve thousand feet deep in the Atlantic. We know very little about them."
"By their design," Crystal-Harmony replied. "They believe surface dwellers are... unworthy of interaction. Their isolation has made them powerful but also dangerously insular."
"And hostile?" Müller pressed.
"Potentially. Though Abyssantica maintains neutral relations with them. My father believes in diplomacy even with those who reject it."
"Your Highness," the French academic ventured, "might you demonstrate your ice magic? We've heard remarkable things about Royal Sea Horse elemental abilities."
Crystal-Harmony hesitated, and Harry could see the exhaustion creeping in around her eyes. She'd been performing for nearly an hour now, maintaining her princess facade while her legs screamed in protest.
But she nodded gracefully. "A small demonstration."
She held out her palm, and ice began forming—not the simple flower she'd created for Astoria, but something more complex. A miniature replica of Abyssantica's palace began taking shape, complete with tiny spires and flowing bridges, all rendered in crystalline ice.
The gathered dignitaries gasped collectively.
"Magnificent," Lombardi breathed.
"The detail," Müller murmured, adjusting his monocle to study the tiny structure. "How do you achieve such precision?"
"Ice remembers," Crystal-Harmony said softly. "It holds the shape of what it represents. I simply guide it toward that memory."
She closed her hand, and the ice palace dissolved into snowflakes that evaporated before touching her dress.
"Remarkable," Minister Delacour said warmly. "Your Highness, you honor us with such demonstrations. Though I fear we've monopolized too much of your time. Perhaps you'd like to rest before the evening's dancing begins?"
It was a graceful exit offer, and Crystal-Harmony took it gratefully. "Thank you, Minister. I would appreciate a few moments to recover."
The dignitaries offered their thanks and farewells, though Harry noticed several slipping cards or small notes to Minister Delacour—likely requests for private meetings to discuss trade opportunities.
As the group dispersed, Harry moved back to Crystal-Harmony's side. Her hands were trembling slightly on the wheelchair's armrests.
"You were brilliant," he said quietly.
"I was exhausted," she corrected, but she was smiling. "Do all surface diplomatic events involve people trying to acquire your nation's resources?"
"Pretty much," Harry confirmed. "Though you handled it better than most would. That bit about Aqualis being sacred rather than commodity? Perfect."
"It's true," she said simply. "Father would never forgive me if I treated our crystals like mere trade goods." She paused, then added, "Though I notice several of them will try again. The Russian woman, especially."
"Belikova," Harry supplied. "She seemed... determined."
"She's intelligent and ambitious. Dangerous combination." Crystal-Harmony's wheelchair began moving toward a quieter corner of the ballroom. "Though not as dangerous as the Spanish wizard. Did you notice how he watched when I mentioned Krakenreach?"
Harry had noticed. "You think Spain's trying to establish contact with them?"
"I think Spain wants Aqualis badly enough to consider multiple sources. Krakenreach produces it too, though their crystals are... different. Darker. Some say corrupted by the extreme depths."
They found a relatively secluded alcove where Crystal-Harmony could rest without being immediately accosted by more dignitaries.
"How are your legs?" Harry asked.
Crystal-Harmony grimaced. "Painful. The transformation doesn't get easier with time." She looked down at her dress, at the way it concealed legs that felt foreign and wrong. "But it's worth it. To be here. To see this world properly."
"Even the parts where people try to use you for political gain?"
"Especially those parts," she replied with surprising firmness. "In Abyssantica, I was always different. Too human-looking, unable to perform water magic properly. Here, being different is... valuable. People want to understand rather than dismiss."
Harry thought about Cassiopeia Greengrass, about Álvarez and his Aqualis negotiations, about all the ways people had tried to use both of them tonight. "Some people want to understand so they can exploit better."
"True," Crystal-Harmony acknowledged. "But some genuinely want to learn. Like your friend Daphne's sister. Like Minister Delacour, who made sure I had rest opportunities. Like you."
She reached out and squeezed his hand. "Thank you for staying close. I know you have your own political battles to fight."
"We're in this together," Harry replied. "Besides, watching you verbally spar with international ministers was the highlight of my evening."
"Wait until you see me try to dance later," Crystal-Harmony said with dark humor. "That will either be hilarious or tragic."
"Why not both?" Harry suggested, earning a genuine laugh.
There was a long moment of silence between the two.
"Harry," she said quietly, catching his sleeve. "Could we... would you mind helping me to one of the balconies? I need air. Real air, not this perfumed political atmosphere."
Harry understood immediately. "Of course. There's a terrace on the east side—should be quieter."
He guided her wheelchair through the crowd, deflecting would-be conversationalists with polite but firm excuses. Her guards followed at a discrete distance, though Reef-Shield looked relieved to be moving away from the overwhelming grandeur.
The terrace doors were already open, letting in cool night air. Crystal-Harmony breathed deeply as they crossed the threshold, feeling some of the tension drain from her shoulders.
The balcony itself was smaller than the one where Harry had escaped with Fleur last year, with a low marble railing overlooking Paris. The enchanted streetlamps below created patterns of gold and silver, and somewhere in the distance, the Seine glittered like a ribbon of liquid starlight.
"Better?" Harry asked.
"Much." Crystal-Harmony closed her eyes, letting the breeze cool her flushed skin. "I don't know how you surface dwellers manage it—all those people, all those expectations, and you can't even escape into the water when it becomes too much."
"We develop other coping mechanisms," Harry replied. "Like hiding on balconies."
Crystal-Harmony smiled, but before she could respond, a voice came from the shadows to their left.
"The stars are different up here."
Both of them startled, Harry's hand moving instinctively toward his wand. But it was just the man from the wheelchair—the one with the ice-colored eyes who'd been watching Crystal-Harmony earlier.
He sat near the balcony's far end, positioned so he had a clear view of both the ballroom doors and the night sky. His long dark hair moved slightly in the breeze, and his beard caught the light from inside, making him look like some ancient prophet from one of Ted's Muggle history books.
"I'm sorry," the man said. "I didn't mean to startle you. I came out here for the same reason, I suspect—too many people asking too many questions."
Crystal-Harmony studied him carefully. Up close, she could see he was younger than his beard suggested. His wheelchair was indeed mundane, the kind Muggles used, though she noticed the wheels were engraved with symbols she didn't recognize.
"You were watching me earlier," she said directly. "In the ballroom."
"I was," he agreed. "It's not every day one sees a princess from Abyssantica. Especially not one brave enough to transform and walk among surface dwellers."
"And you are?"
"Arvalon." He wheeled himself slightly closer, into better light. "No family name worth mentioning. Just Arvalon."
One of the guards had positioned himself slightly in front of Crystal-Harmony's wheelchair. "You seem interested in Abyssantica for a surface dweller."
"Ah." Arvalon's smile was strange. "That's because I'm not entirely a surface dweller. Or at least, I wasn't always."
"What do you mean?"
Arvalon looked up at the stars again before looking back at her. "I was raised by Royal Sea Horses. In Krakenreach."
"That's impossible," Crystal-Harmony said flatly. "Krakenreach doesn't allow surface dwellers anywhere near their territory. They'd kill you before letting you see their city."
"Usually, yes." Arvalon's expression turned distant. "I was brought. As a baby—perhaps a year old, maybe less. My family's ship went down in a storm in the Atlantic. I should have drowned."
"But you didn't," Crystal-Harmony said, sounding a little awed.
"A mermaid saved me," Arvalon said simply. "Or so they told me when I was old enough to ask. I don't remember it myself—I was too young. But she found me in the water, kept me alive somehow, and brought me down to Krakenreach."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "How? Humans can't survive at those depths. The pressure alone would kill you, and you certainly couldn't breathe underwater without spells."
"I don't know," Arvalon admitted. "Whatever the mermaid did, it changed me. Made me able to survive in the deep. But I was an infant—I have no memory of the transformation, no understanding of the magic she used. All I know is that when the Royal Sea Horses found us, I could somehow exist in their world."
"And they just... accepted you?" Crystal-Harmony asked. She knew how her own people could be about differences, about those who didn't fit their expectations. "Krakenreach is known for being hostile to surface dwellers. Why would they let a human child live among them?"
"I've asked myself that question for years," Arvalon said. "I don't know the truth. Maybe they were curious. Maybe the mermaid who saved me had some influence—she seemed to have status among them, though I never learned her name. Or maybe they simply pitied a helpless infant." He shrugged. "Whatever their reasons, they let me stay. Raised me in the margins of their society."
"The margins?" Crystal-Harmony's voice was gentle.
"I was human," Arvalon said simply. "No matter how well I learned their language, their customs, their ways—I would never be one of them. The children were kind enough, curious about the strange boy who couldn't swim properly. But the adults..." He trailed off, a flicker of old pain crossing his features. "Let's just say I understand what it's like to be the different one in an underwater kingdom."
His ice-colored eyes met Crystal-Harmony's, and she felt an unexpected kinship. He knew. He understood what it meant to be judged for differences you couldn't control, to be constantly aware of not quite fitting in.
"How long were you there?" she asked.
"Fifteen years. From infancy until they decided I'd learned enough of their secrets. That keeping a human, even a modified one, was too dangerous." His voice remained neutral, but Crystal-Harmony could hear the abandonment beneath. "They brought me to the surface, left me on a beach in Iceland. I hadn't walked on proper land since I was a baby. Had to relearn everything. I needed to crawl like a worm until some people found me and thought I had left of my wits, asking why I wasn't walking."
"Why do they live so deep?" she asked. "Krakenreach is deeper than any other underwater city. Even Abyssantica is only four miles down. Krakenreach is more than double that. Why build a city in such extreme depths?"
Arvalon shook his head. "I asked that question many times. The only answer I ever got was 'safety.' From what, they wouldn't say."
"Safety from surface dwellers?" Harry suggested.
"Possibly." Arvalon adjusted his position in the wheelchair, and Crystal-Harmony noticed scarring on his hands—old marks, like burns or magical damage. "Though I will say this: the people of Krakenreach hate surface dwellers. Not just distrust or dislike—genuine hatred. They believe humans and magical beings of the surface are inherently corrupt, dangerous."
"Why?" Harry asked.
"Many reasons accumulated over centuries," Arvalon said, his ice-colored eyes distant with memory. "They have extensive archives documenting every perceived transgression. Wizards experimenting with deep-sea magic in the 1600s who accidentally destroyed breeding grounds. Surface magical governments hunting sea creatures to near extinction for potion ingredients in the 1700s. They keep records of it all—a whole library dedicated to what they call 'The Surface's Crimes Against the Deep.'"
Crystal-Harmony felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. "They're building a case for isolation."
"More than that. They're building a case for why all underwater civilizations should cut ties with the surface entirely." Arvalon's voice was grim. "Every incident, every careless action by surface dwellers—magical or Muggle—gets added to their archives as proof that we can't be trusted. They used to not hate the muggles as much compared to magical wizards and witches, but in 1912. I never got the full details—they don't like talking about it, even in their histories. All I know is that a muggle wreckage from the surface came down on part of their city, half of a ship or something. Killed a lot of Royal Sea Horses when it fell down on top of a big house. After that, they started hating on the muggles as well, since they too were dangerous now."
Harry and Crystal-Harmony exchanged glances, but neither pressed for more details.
"Your city, Abyssantica—you maintain diplomatic relations with surface nations," Arvalon continued, looking at Crystal-Harmony. "Krakenreach sees that as betrayal. They think all underwater civilizations should unite against the surface world."
"That's incredibly isolationist," Crystal-Harmony said, though her voice held more sadness than judgment. "And dangerous. Cutting yourself off from potential allies just makes you weaker."
"I agree," Arvalon said. "But try convincing them of that. I spent fifteen years there and never managed it."
A silence fell, broken only by the distant sounds of the ballroom orchestra and the night breeze rustling through the gardens below.
Harry was studying Arvalon with obvious suspicion. "You said a mermaid saved you. But you won't say how."
"Because I don't know how," Arvalon replied simply. "I was a baby. Whatever magic she used, it's beyond my understanding. All I know is that I can breath underwater, and water doesn't feel hostile to me the way it does to other surface dwellers."
"And you can't walk," Crystal-Harmony observed quietly, her voice gentle rather than probing.
Arvalon's expression showed pain for a brief moment. "No. The price of spending fifteen years in the deep. My legs work well enough in water, but on land..." He gestured to the wheelchair. "This is my reality now."
Crystal-Harmony felt a wave of sympathy. She understood that struggle intimately—the agony of transformation.
Crystal noticed that Harry had gone a little quiet. Crystal-Harmony noticed his gaze had fixed on something. Following his line of sight, she saw what he'd spotted—a dark ring on Arvalon's right hand, on his little finger. The metal looked old, very old, with an intricate carving visible on its surface.
The image showed a sun. This sun was underwater, near what appeared to be the sea level. Above it, where sky and the lands above sea should be, there was only darkness. Below, in the depths, the sun's rays spread through water like golden fingers.
Harry said nothing about the ring, but Crystal knew from his expression that he didn't seem to like the sight of it.
"Why tell us all this?" Harry asked, his tone still wary. "You could have just introduced yourself without the dramatic backstory."
Arvalon's ice-colored eyes met Harry's directly. "Because Her Highness deserves to know that she's not the only one caught between worlds. That being different doesn't mean being alone." He turned to Crystal-Harmony. "And because I've been wanting to meet you for a long time. I am sure you know, but a Royal Sea Horse with human features is very rare,"
"How did you know I'd be here?" she asked, though her tone was curious rather than suspicious. "At this specific ball, in France?"
"Word travels fast in certain circles. An underwater princess attending a surface diplomatic event? That's news in any language." Arvalon began wheeling himself back toward the shadows. "I made arrangements to attend specifically to meet you."
"Why?" Harry's hand had drifted toward his wand again, a movement Crystal-Harmony noticed with slight exasperation.
"Curiosity, mostly. And the desire to speak with someone who might actually understand." Arvalon paused at the edge of the light. "I'll be in Paris for the next few weeks. Perhaps we might speak again? I have so many questions about Abyssantica, about your father's kingdom, about how you manage the transformation magic."
"I'd like that," Crystal-Harmony said, meaning it.
Arvalon smiled. "Until we meet again, Your Highness. Mr. Potter."
He wheeled himself through the terrace doors and was swallowed by the ballroom's chaos, leaving only the scent of salt water lingering in the air.
"That," Harry said into the silence, "was deeply unsettling."
Crystal-Harmony turned to him with surprise. "Was it? I thought he seemed rather lonely, actually. Sad."
"He was watching you all evening before approaching. That's not normal behavior."
"Harry, he spent fifteen years underwater with creatures who never fully accepted him, then was dumped on the surface with legs that don't work properly." Crystal-Harmony said. "Of course he's a bit odd. Wouldn't you be?"
Harry frowned, clearly unconvinced. "There's something he's not telling us. Something important."
"Perhaps," Crystal-Harmony allowed. "But there's also something genuine about his pain. About understanding what it's like to be caught between worlds." She looked toward the ballroom where Arvalon had disappeared. "I know what that feels like, Harry. The isolation. The sense that you'll never truly belong anywhere."
"You belong," Harry said immediately, protective. "Your father loves you. Your people are learning to accept your differences. And you have friends here on the surface."
"I know." She smiled at him. "But that doesn't erase the feeling entirely. And Arvalon... he doesn't seem to have anyone. Imagine spending fifteen years in one world, then being cast out to another where your body doesn't even work properly anymore."
Harry's expression softened slightly, though suspicion still lingered in his eyes. "You're too kind, Crystal. Not everyone who seems sympathetic actually is."
"And not everyone who seems odd is actually dangerous," Crystal-Harmony countered. "Sometimes people are just... broken. Trying to find others who understand."
Through the terrace doors, they could see Arvalon across the ballroom now, speaking with a cluster of dignitaries. He looked comfortable, at ease—laughing at something one of them said.
"He seems well-adjusted for someone who supposedly can't walk on land properly," Harry observed.
"Fourteen years is a long time to adapt," Crystal-Harmony pointed out. "And he's clearly intelligent. People learn to navigate their limitations."
"Maybe." Harry didn't sound convinced. "But I still don't trust him."
"You don't have to," Crystal-Harmony said gently. "But I'd like to speak with him again. He might know things about transformation magic, about managing the pain, about..." she trailed off, looking down at her own rebellious legs.
Understanding dawned on Harry's face. "You want to know if there's a better way. If his experience could help you."
"Is that so wrong?"
"No," Harry admitted. "Just... be careful. Not everyone who offers understanding has good intentions."
Crystal-Harmony reached out and squeezed his hand. "I will be. I promise."
Crystal-Harmony was still contemplating Arvalon's strange ring when movement near the terrace doors caught her attention. Fleur Delacour glided toward them with that particular grace.
Her ice-blue robes caught the light from the floating chandeliers, and her silver-blonde hair had been arranged in an elaborate style that probably required either magic or three hours with a very patient maid. She looked apologetic as she approached.
"'Arry, Your 'Ighness," Fleur said, executing a perfect curtsey to Crystal-Harmony before turning to Harry. "I am so sorry for not finding you sooner. Madame Maxime wanted to discuss ze Beauxbatons exchange programs, and zen Lady Stoneheart cornered me about some spell function..." She waved a hand as if physically dismissing the tedium of the last hour. "But I am free now, and ze dancing 'as begun."
She looked at Harry with an expression that managed to be both questioning and expectant. "You still wish to dance, non? You promised me at least two."
Before Harry could respond...
"Yes," Crystal Harmony said firmly, reaching out to physically push Harry's waist toward Fleur. "He definitely wants to dance. Go. I'll be fine here with my guards."
Harry shot her a look that clearly said Are you sure? But Crystal-Harmony just smiled sweetly.
Fleur's smile widened, and she took his hand in hers. Her fingers were warm and soft, and Harry found himself being led toward the center of the ballroom like a ship caught in a current it couldn't resist.
"So," Harry started as they navigated through clusters of conversing dignitaries, "are you enjoying the ball? Or is it just another diplomatic obligation for the Minister's daughter?"
"Ah, zat is a dangerous question," Fleur replied, and there was mischief in her voice. "Most of zese events, zey blend together. Ze same conversations, ze same political maneuvering, ze same people pretending zey care about culture when zey only care about connections." She glanced at him sideways, a small smile playing at her lips. "Though I must admit, your presence makes things more... interesting."
Harry felt his ears heat slightly. "Interesting good or interesting bad?"
"Simply interesting," she said, deliberately vague. "You are not like ze others who attend zese functions. You actually mean what you say."
They reached the dance floor where other couples had already begun the evening's formal waltz. The orchestra—still floating on their platform of solid air—played something elegant and traditional.
Fleur turned to face him, and suddenly they were much closer than Harry had anticipated. Close enough that he could see the exact shade of her eyes—pale blue with hints of silver- her eyes were beautiful.
Before taking his hand, she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I should warn you—so far tonight, everyone 'as been interested in ze Princess, Abyssantica and the Aqualis. But after zis dance? Zey will turn zeir attention to you. Zey will jump on you like 'yenas, all wanting to discuss your talismans, your connections, your plans." Her expression turned wry. "Be careful, 'Arry. You 'ave made yourself very interesting to very dangerous people."
"Comforting," Harry muttered.
"I am simply being 'onest." She took his hand. "Now, shall we give zem something to talk about?"
Harry carefully placed his hand on her waist, more confident than he would have been a year ago but still very conscious of every point of contact, every breath she took that he could feel through the silk of her robes.
Fleur's other hand found his shoulder, and she adjusted their position slightly, bringing them into proper waltz formation.
"You 'ave improved," she noted approvingly as they found their starting position. "Not so uncertain as last time."
"I had a good teacher," Harry replied. Fleur had taught him last year, but Lady Andromeda had made sure he got better before this ball, him and Nymphadora.
"Flattery?" Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "You learn quickly, Monsieur Potter."
The music swelled, and they began to move.