"Buried, almost tangible secrets filled the space between them, and so, without a second to think, she closed it."
The scars of war opened more wounds than Harry Potter thought possible. As he returns to Hogwarts for his eighth and final year, he le...
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Harry flipped over in his bed.
Asking Annabelle to the ball might have been one of the greatest challenges Harry ever faced. Voldemort and their duel seemed like child's play to him now. Sighing, he racked his hand through his messy hair, endlessly imagining the different scenarios of asking her to the dance.
Firstly, he could chicken and end up going stag. That was not too horrendous, but Harry really did want to go with her. The ravaging desire to be dancing with Annabelle and walk into the ball hand-in-hand with her greatly influenced his decision, consuming him. The drawn-up image of dancing into the night with her was heavy on his mind. He worried if he could not pluck up enough courage to ask her, it would haunt him for the rest of his life. At the very least he had to try and shoot for the stars. That was no longer a question. Still, thinking far too much, Harry knew there was still the ever-present possibility that she could reject him on the spot.
Just do it, he told himself. She's already your friend, she's not seeing anyone.... Well, she could be seeing you... No, stop thinking that.
Harry rolled over in his tight sheets, thinking hard.
Why shouldn't you? Even if you chicken, you can go as friends, right? Ron and Hermione will definitely go together; it would make perfect sense to go with Annabelle.
But what if he asked Annabelle to go with him, but just as friends? That would solve everything: he could still dance with her and go to the ball with her, but easily avoid any awkwardness in formally asking her out. It was perfect, one of the best plans Harry had ever made, if he did say so himself —
"Don't kid yourself," said a little voice, hissing in the back of his mind.
He wished that voice would just shut up, knowing it was him, but irritated by himself all the same.
"You don't want to be friends. Don't you want to go with Annabelle? Is it not all you think about? I see it all here. And haven't you wanted to be with Annabelle for months now? Yes... I know all about that. Your dreams tell all..."
Harry clamped his hands over his ears. The voice only grew louder and more mortifyingly accurate.
"You know, you could dance with her... maybe kiss her.... She would look quite pretty in a dress, wouldn't she? Even prettier in your arms, yes? Hey, if dancing starts to heat up, things could surely escalate in your favor —"
"Shut up!" Harry snapped at the terribly truthful voice, unaware he had actually spoken out loud until an equally irritated, indignant voice answered him.
"I didn't say anything, you nutter," Ron snapped, his voice croaky from lost sleep.
"Ron?" said Harry, blinking in the dark and reaching for his glasses.
