[150] The Last Dance of Ash

Hall patted Draco's shoulder with satisfaction. "That is my style."

"Is this not a bit much?" Pansy looked between them hesitantly.

Draco, still riding the high of his Galleon earnings, stuck out his neck stubbornly. What was said was said. No going back now.

Avery remained silent, looking down at Hall and Draco. Hall met his gaze with a chuckle. Draco raised his chin, puffed out his chest, practically radiating scorn.

"Keep your people in line, Avery." Draco did not finish the sentence, but the meaning was clear.

Avery gave them a long look, then walked away. A group of sixth-years followed. But several others lingered.

"Weasley, Avery is not a good person. Watch your back." A sixth-year girl with long curly hair winked at Hall. "Sometimes we think he goes too far. But his status..."

She shrugged.

"Thanks for the warning." Hall nodded.

Her smile widened. "If you really want to thank me, how about a dance?"

Hall's eyes went wide like a startled cat's.

Draco laughed so hard he nearly doubled over. Hall glared at him.

"Oh, Brenda Pursey," Draco said, recovering. "Did you not get engaged to that French wizard six months ago? I heard your fiance seems quite fond of you?"

Brenda twirled her hair around her finger, unconcerned. "Perhaps I have discovered I prefer the English weather."

"Right. Of course."

Brenda shrugged as if it were nothing.

Hall breathed a long sigh of relief.

Draco sat down and poured himself some pumpkin juice. "Weren't you usually so impressive? Scared of a girl?"

Hall poured himself a glass, extra sweet with honey, and downed half of it. "That is different. I am only thirteen."

"So what if you are thirteen?" Draco said.

Pansy handed Draco a lamb chop. "Actually, pure-blood families usually start thinking about their child's future partner around this age."

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Blaise leaned in. "You were quite famous in your first year, but you were too young then. People were just watching. Who would have thought that before the year was even over, you would transform..."

"I really appreciate that," Hall said flatly, snatching the best-looking lamb chop from Draco's hand. "Thank goodness I am a Weasley. Never before have I loved my surname so much."

"It does not matter that you are a Weasley," Blaise said, deliberately picking the most uncomfortable topic. "Brenda was the first to express interest, but that does not mean others do not feel the same. As your honours grow ever more dazzling..."

He winked. Everything was understood without words.

"Let them feel that way. I have no interest."

You could not force someone to want something they did not want. Hall put the whole thing out of his mind. Pure-blood tradition and arranged marriages had nothing to do with him.

Night.

Forbidden Forest, Nurmengard Tower.

"Is this not ridiculous? I am only thirteen! Hogwarts graduates in seven years, and I will only be eighteen!"

Hall could not resist finding a quiet spot to complain about how unreliable those people were. As he spoke, he glanced at Grindelwald. Compared to his initial withered state, he looked much healthier — just a bit.

"You cannot stop taking the medicine. Keep taking it, Teacher. Your body can still recover."

"Hmph!" Grindelwald snorted. "Take your medicine, take your medicine... If it were not for — hmph."

"Thirteen is young," Grindelwald said, annoyed at how happy Hall seemed. "But it is not like you cannot consider it. If you want, I can contact the Saints. Have them find you —"

The more he said it, the more reasonable it seemed. In-law relationships were among the more stable types of alliances.

"Teacher!" Hall nearly jumped out of his skin. "If you have ideas like that, I will call Headmaster Dumbledore to punish you!"

Grindelwald's expression flattened.

"I was wrong, Teacher." Hall sat obediently, hands at his sides, feigning pitifulness. "So you were the first one trying to arrange a marriage for me."

Grindelwald chuckled. "I was saying it casually, following your lead. If you truly did not want it, would I force you?"

Hall said nothing. He just looked at him. Those eyes seemed to ask: Really, Teacher? Are you really not that kind of person?

Grindelwald fell silent. The brat. What sins had he committed in his first half of life to deserve this?

"These things depend on fate. No matter how much I push, it is useless if you do not like someone. If you meet someone you truly care for..."

A distant look appeared in Grindelwald's eyes.

Hall clicked his tongue. He reached into a pocket inside his robes and pulled out a coin purse.

Grindelwald stared.

"I grabbed the wrong one, Teacher. Wait a moment." Hall continued rummaging. Another pouch made a heavy clinking sound. He kept searching.

"Are you a Niffler?" Grindelwald's brow twitched. So many pouches, all filled with Galleons. Given Hall's usual behaviour, he could already imagine the weeping original owners.

"I came straight to you, Teacher, before even going back to my dorm! See how I respect you!"

Hall finally pulled out the pouch he wanted — one kept close to his body, seemingly light as a feather. He opened it and tipped out a pile of ash and burned fragments.

"Since when did you take up scavenging?" Grindelwald scoffed.

"Ahem." Hall looked at the mess on the table. It did rather look like trash.

"This is Voldemort's second soul fragment."

Grindelwald paused. After a moment, he understood. His gaze towards the pile of trash shifted. This was it — the thing that would cause Albus to fall from the tower.

"Teacher! Teacher! Less murderous intent in your eyes. It looks like you want to destroy this pile of trash a second time!"

Grindelwald smiled but said nothing. What he was truly thinking — who could say?