Helping Neville by KirstiR

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 25/01/2005
Last Updated: 08/04/2005
Status: Completed

It is the seventh year at Hogwarts for the golden trio, whose friendship is tighter than ever
(at least for now). Hermione decides she wants to help her friend Neville get a date for the
Valentine's Ball. While doing so, she manages to arouse envy in the heart of a certain
black-haired, green-eyed Gryffindor. Pairings include H/Hr, R/L, and N/??? You’ll have to read the
story to find out who Neville ends up with. *winks*




1. untitled
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**Summary:** It is the seventh year at Hogwarts for the golden trio, whose friendship is
tighter than ever (at least for now). Hermione decides she wants to help her friend Neville get a
date for the Valentine’s Ball. While doing so, she manages to arouse envy in the heart of a certain
black-haired, green-eyed Gryffindor**.** Pairings include H/Hr, R/L, and N/??? You’ll have to
read the story to find out who Neville ends up with. *winks*

**Disclaimer:** Much to my dismay, Harry Potter and the entire magical Hogwarts world are
*still* not mine. Rats. Perhaps in another dimension or parallel universe they could belong to
me? In this one, however, JK Rowling still holds that honour.

**A/N:** Neville has long been one of my favourite characters in the wonderful Harry Potter
universe and there has always been a soft spot in my heart for him. There is just something
incredibly endearing about him, and this is only reinforced by the excellent portrayal of his
character by the actor who plays him in the films. I know I should be working on my
story-in-progress, “Waking Up Harry”; however, this plot bunny has been harassing me for the past
while and refuses to go away. Sigh. A birthday card I received from my best friend says it well:
“The voices!! Oh, my . . . those hideous voices made me . . . They MADE me . . . They’re driving me
mad, MAD, I tell you! Please . . . help me . . .” Writing this story was the only way to silence
the, er, “voices.”

(And for those of you who are patiently waiting for an update to “Waking Up Harry,” I promise to
have it up by Friday. So please forgive me! *smiles* As I already whined to Lady Jane, I was on
holiday, then my kids got sick, then I got sick, then . . . etc., etc., whine, whine, yadda, yadda,
yadda. That’s why it’s taken me so long.)

**HELPING NEVILLE**

**Chapter One**

Hermione Granger was the smartest witch at Hogwarts; however, more than that, she was generous
to a fault and loyal to any and all who were lucky enough to call her their friend. Her first
loyalty, of course, was given to her two best friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. But several
other Hogwarts students were also included in her circle of friendship.

Neville Longbottom was the first wizard of her own age whom Hermione had ever met. That being
said, her first impression of his wizarding abilities had not been a good one. Hermione met Neville
on that very first ride on the Hogwarts Express, where Neville had lost his toad (and only friend),
Trevor. Hermione, being the kind-hearted girl she was, offered to help him find his lost pet. In
doing so, she gained a firm place in Neville’s heart; coincidentally, because of Neville and the
missing Trevor, she had met the boys who were to be her closest friends in the world.

If truth be told, Neville had just a *smidgen* of a crush on Hermione Granger from that day
forward. As the years went by, his admiration for her intellect and appreciation for her kindness
and bravery grew. His crush, however, gradually gave way to a hopeless understanding that she was
not for him and that one day the most powerful student-wizard at school would wake up and smell the
pumpkin juice. When that day came, he knew that Hermione would be forever lost to anyone else.

Even though the majority of students at Hogwarts perceived Neville as dull-witted and the
feeblest wizard in attendance at the school, those who truly knew Neville knew differently. They
saw a boy who was willing to stand up for what was right, even if doing so cost him everything.
They saw that his shy and diffident manner was merely a screen for a sensitive and affectionate
heart. Neville Longbottom did not have a malicious or unkind bone in his body; his lack of witty
repartee was due to his gentle nature, rather than an absence of intellect; his poor performance in
such subjects as transfiguration and potions was due to a lack of confidence, rather than a dearth
of magical ability.

Nobody knew this better than Hermione Granger.

Over the years Hermione had watched Neville endure humiliation (usually at the hands of
greasy-haired Snape or that other horrible Slytherin, Draco Malfoy) and disappointment without
retaliation. But yesterday’s events had just been too much.

Dumbledore had announced at last night’s dinner that this year there was to be a Valentine’s
Ball for all Hogwart’s students in fourth year and up. The last time such an event had occurred,
Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Neville had been in fourth year. Neville had asked Hermione to go with
him to the Yule ball, but since she was already going with Krum, she had refused. Finally, Ginny
had agreed to go with Neville, as that was the only way Ginny, as a third year, would have had the
chance to attend the ball at all. Things were different now, though. Neville and the golden trio
were in their seventh year, and this would probably be the last Hogwarts dance any of them would
ever go to as students. Desperate times meant desperate measures, and Hermione was determined that
THIS time Neville would go with the girl of his first choice. But who *was* his first choice,
and how could she bring this to pass?

Sitting in the library with Ron and Harry, unconsciously grabbing a handful of hair and twirling
it around her fingers, Hermione scowled in concentration at the parchment in front of her. This did
not go unnoticed by Harry.

“Hey, Hermione. What’s wrong? You haven’t even started your essay.”

Ron let out a bray of laughter. “Yeah, Hermione. What’s up? Fretting over that ‘E+’ you got from
Snape yesterday? That must be the first potion of yours that didn’t get an “O,” he continued,
chuckling at his own joke. “Better get cracking on that essay. After all, it’s due in only THREE
weeks! Heh, heh, heh!” A glare from Hermione cut his laughter off in mid-stream.

“*Honestly,* Ron,” she said shortly. “Not *everything* is about school.”

Ron and Harry gaped at her in astonishment.

“It’s not?” asked Ron uncertainly.

His only answer was an irritated grunt, as Hermione resumed her hair-twirling and
parchment-scowling.

Harry and Ron exchanged puzzled looks. Ron rolled his eyes heavenwards. “*She’s mental,*”
he mouthed to Harry, grinning. Harry didn’t grin back. He frowned at Ron and resumed his study of
defensive spells, darting the occasional concerned glance at Hermione.

Ron resigned himself to another hour’s torture in the library. With Hermione in one of
*those* moods, he didn’t want to risk doing anything to set her off.

Hermione was finding herself at a total impasse and she didn’t like that feeling; not at all.
Generally speaking, Hermione was always able to use her intellect to figure out a solution to any
and all situations. But last night when Malfoy made that cutting remark about everybody in seventh
year but the biggest loser—with pointed malicious glances at Neville—being able to find a date for
the ball, Hermione’s heart had been pierced by the look of sheer misery on Neville’s face. She knew
better than anyone how Neville saw himself. Because of his lack of self-esteem, most of the other
Hogwart’s students saw him as a failure. Hermione knew that if she could only find some way to
boost Neville’s confidence in himself, the rest of the student body would finally see the person
she knew: a person who was loyal, compassionate, and fearless (when necessary). But how to do this?
Hermione was stumped--thus, the scowling.

* * * * * * *

The following morning found a bleary-eyed but considerably happier Hermione at breakfast in the
great hall. During the night she had conjured up what she thought was a truly *brilliant* plan
for helping her friend. At first she had considered asking Harry and Ron to help out, but then
decided that the fewer people who knew about this, the better. No self-respecting boy would like it
to get around that he needed help to get a date, and even though Hermione knew neither Harry nor
Ron would ever do anything to deliberately hurt Neville, subtlety was not a quality either boy
possessed in any great quantity—Ron especially had a hard time hiding his feelings.

No, she was going to have to do this by herself. The whole thing was quite simple really: she
would start spending more time with Neville, a *lot* more time. Studying with him in the
library, going for walks around the school grounds, eating meals together in the Great
Hall—spending more time with Neville would allow her to find out the type of girl he liked, and
maybe offer an opportunity for noticing which girl fancied Neville. Hermione was sure that someone
must, but whom? The chances were that any girl liking Neville would be shy herself and unable to
get things going without a little help. Heaven knew that Neville would never start anything. Yes,
this was definitely a brilliant plan. She, Hermione Granger, would not only be helping Neville, she
would also be giving a helping hand to the unknown girl or girls who fancied him.

Hermione couldn’t wait to get started.

“Feeling better, Hermione?” Harry asked somewhat timidly. He had noticed Hermione’s improved
mood this morning, but was still smarting a little from her display of moodiness the night
before.

“Much, thanks,” she answered, smiling. “Oh no, you don’t,” she said cheerily, smacking Ron’s
hand with the flat side of her knife as he made to grab the last of the sausages. “You’ve had quite
enough this morning, Mister Weasley. Leave some for the rest of us.”

Ron looked on in disbelief and dismay as Hermione speared the last three sausages with her fork
and tucked into her breakfast with every evidence of delight.

“Hmmff,” he said grumpily. “Someone’s had a good night’s sleep then!” He watched somewhat sadly
as Hermione polished off the sausages with a flourish. “Finish that Potions essay I guess?”

“No,” was the happy reply. “Really Ron, we have three full *weeks* before it’s due. You
need to lighten up.” And on that note, Hermione jumped to her feet and almost ran for the door.

Harry and Ron stared after her in shock.

“Blimey, mate,” Ron sputtered, “what’s gotten into her?”

Harry didn’t answer right away, but chewed his toast thoughtfully for a moment. “I don’t know,
Ron, but something’s definitely off when Hermione tells *you* to lighten up.”

“Isn’t that the bloody truth.”

* * * * * * *

Hermione was gasping for air by the time she reached the common room and threw herself into a
chair for a moment to catch her breath. Then, using her last bit of energy, she leapt up, ran up
the stairs to her dormitory, snatched up her bookbag, and began rummaging frantically until she
found an unused piece of parchment and a quill. After a minute of frenzied scribbling, she was
finished and hurried off to DADA class. She managed to fling herself into her seat between Harry
and Ron just as the professor entered the room.

“Cutting it a bit close, aren’t you, Hermione?” Harry asked, smiling at her flustered
appearance.

“Yes,” was the breathless reply. Hermione’s cheeks were flushed a bright pink and her mouth was
slightly open as she gulped in great quantities of air.

“What?” she whispered, noticing Harry’s intent gaze.

“Nothing,” he answered hastily, his own cheeks pinking up.

*‘Stop it, Potter,’* Harry thought in embarrassment. Flustered Hermione was a rare sight;
she looked so pretty, all rosy cheeks and lips . . . Harry had never noticed how full and
well-shaped Hermione’s lips really were. And her pink tongue was peeking out as she attempted to
catch her breath . . .

*‘Hagrid in a ball gown, dancing with Dumbledore.’* Nope. Wasn’t working. *‘Hagrid in a
FRILLY PINK ball gown, dancing with SNAPE.’* Yep. That worked. Ewwww. Harry folded his hands and
turned expectantly to the front of the classroom, where their professor was preparing to start the
lesson. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione turn around and slip what looked like a note
to Neville. Neville blushed and took the note, hastily placing it under his desk. Luckily the new
Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was not possessed of a magical eye that could see through
wooden desks, and Neville was able to read Hermione’s note without detection.

Still surreptitiously watching Neville, Harry was startled to see the absent-minded boy flush a
violent shade of crimson and tentatively poke Hermione in the shoulder. When she turned around,
Harry was even more surprised to see Neville, still blushing furiously, give her a timid nod.
Hermione smiled happily and patted Neville’s hand reassuringly, before turning her attention back
to the front of the classroom.

Harry’s eyes met Ron’s in astonishment. Ron had also been following the little interlude with
interest.

“*What the . . .”* Ron mouthed at Harry. Harry shrugged, frowning slightly. What *was*
Hermione doing? Hermione *never* passed notes in class. And if she was going to do any
note-passing, it ought to be to him or to Ron, ought it not? Passing notes to Neville was just . .
. well, it was just so . . . Harry wasn’t quite sure what it was “just”; he only knew that the
whole episode was very unsettling, to say the least.

“Pssst, Hermione” he whispered. “What was that all about?”

“Shhhh,” she said, giving him a stern look. “Pay attention!”

No, the whole thing was very unsettling indeed.



2. untitled
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**Summary:** It is the seventh year at Hogwarts for the golden trio, whose friendship is
tighter than ever (at least for now). Hermione decides she wants to help her friend Neville get a
date for the Valentine’s Ball. While doing so, she manages to arouse envy in the heart of a certain
black-haired, green-eyed Gryffindor**.** Pairings include H/Hr, R/L, and N/??? You’ll have to
read the story to find out who Neville ends up with. *winks*

**Disclaimer:** Much to my dismay, Harry Potter and the entire magical Hogwarts world are
*still* not mine. Rats. Perhaps in another dimension or parallel universe they could belong to
me? In this one, however, JK Rowling still holds that honour.

**Author’s Note:** Thanks for being patient with me. I realise that it’s been a while between
updates, but now that “Waking Up Harry” is finished, I will be working regularly on this story. You
may expect updates every Friday at the latest, barring unforeseen complications, until the story is
done. Also, this chapter contains a great deal of narrative, which is not my forte; nevertheless, I
hope you enjoy the chapter!

**HELPING NEVILLE**

**Chapter Two**

The rest of class passed without further incident, although Harry found concentration difficult.
Even when their DADA professor announced that the class was ready for some very advanced magic,
including one exciting and complicated curse-repelling spell, Harry could not stop thinking about
the note Hermione had passed to Neville. What had the note said exactly? Why didn’t she mention it
to him and to Ron? Did she have something to hide? What was she up to? What were *they* up to?
The idea of Hermione and Neville being a ‘they’ was not a happy one and this also occupied Harry’s
mind for quite a while. Hermione kept hissing at him to ‘pay attention, Harry, this is really
important’; Harry, however, was too preoccupied to acknowledge her.

Immediately after class was over, Ron and Neville ran off to Herbology class, Ron having
received strict instructions from Harry to find out what he could from Neville. For his part, Harry
was determined to get Hermione to come clean and explain why on earth she was writing notes to
Neville of all people. With this in mind, he cleared his throat rather loudly.

“Ummm, Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry?” Hermione was busily packing up her enormous book-bag.

“So, that note you passed to, er, to Neville. What was that all about then?” Harry asked.

“Oh that? Nothing really; I just want him to take a walk with me later, that’s all.”

“A walk?” Harry frowned. He found that he didn’t much like the idea of Hermione asking Neville
to go for a walk, but wasn’t quite sure why the idea bothered him. After all, he liked Neville and
he certainly liked Hermione. Why shouldn’t they take a walk together?

“Yes, around the lake. It’s a lovely day.”

Harry agreed that it was a lovely day. He did not, however, think that just because it was a
lovely day this necessarily meant that Hermione needed to take a walk on said lovely day. Around
the lake. With Neville. Neville. Hmmmm. He frowned some more. With a start, he realised that
Hermione was still talking.

“. . . the best place to have a nice chat, don’t you think?”

“W-what?” Harry stammered.

“I *said*,” Hermione repeated, rolling her eyes, “that you and I have had some good talks
under that knarled old oak tree beside the lake. It’s definitely the best place for a nice chat.
Now,” she continued, tugging on Harry’s arm, “we’re going to be late for Potions if we don’t step
on it, Harry. Come on.”

But Harry stubbornly held back. “Why do you want to talk to Neville?” he blurted out.

“Honestly, Harry. I think that’s between Neville and I, don’t you?”

Actually, no, Harry didn’t, and he really hated it when she said ‘Honestly, Harry,’ in that
exasperated tone of voice.

“Now will you please *hurry up?* You know how Snape is when people are late to class. And
this time, *please* try and pay attention in class! This is our N.E.W.T. year after all and
you simply cannot afford to waste time fooling around or daydreaming.”

Frowning, Harry allowed Hermione to lead the way.

* * * * *

Harry was not having a good day. No, he wasn’t. First of all, there was the note-passing. Then,
before his conversation with Hermione could be concluded to his satisfaction, she had hustled him
to Potions. To everyone’s surprise, not the least his own, Harry had achieved an “O” in his Potions
O.W.L., which was why he was now struggling along, with Hermione’s help, in Snape’s N.E.W.T.-level
class.

Always a miserable experience, today’s Potions class was no exception. Despite an intensive
effort on Hermione’s part to get him to focus, Harry managed to produce a foul-smelling gloppy
mess, rather than the pale yellow, sweet-scented potion to be found in Hermione’s cauldron. Snape
had taken great pleasure in pointing out Harry’s disastrous mess (to the delight of the Slytherins)
and in giving him a mark of “0” for the lesson. Snape had then proceeded to take 20 points from
Gryffindor for Harry’s poor showing in class. This of course made him immensely popular with
Gryffindor.

As if the fiasco in Potions was not enough for one day, Harry had been forced to endure ninety
minutes of misery in Transfiguration. Usually McGonagall’s class was one of his favourites, but
Harry’s failure to apply himself on this day did not go unnoticed, especially when he took twice as
long as everyone else to transfigure his feather into a chicken. Finally, to add insult to injury,
the stupid chicken had ended up with purple fur instead of yellow feathers and the entire class had
burst out laughing at him. Even McGonagall had laughed, although her amusement didn’t stop her from
assigning him extra homework, he noted bitterly.

All of this was, without a doubt, Hermione’s fault. Well, maybe not *entirely* Hermione’s
fault, he thought fairly. Obviously Neville had a part to play in this as well. What had Neville
done to make Hermione want to walk around the lake with him, or to have a “nice chat” under
*their* (meaning Harry and Hermione’s) tree?

Truth to tell, Harry was also a bit perturbed over his own reaction to the whole situation.
Harry liked Neville a lot; why then, was the thought of Neville and Hermione taking a walk such an
upsetting one? Deep down, Harry knew he was overreacting, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. The
entire matter was most unsettling. He thought back over the past couple of hours . . .

Unable to restrain his curiosity, Harry had gone up to the Astronomy tower after dinner. From
there he had just *happened* to catch a glimpse of Neville and Hermione walking, as planned,
around the lake. After one time around, they had sat down under a tree (his and Hermione’s tree!)
and settled in for over an hour.

As far as Harry could tell, they appeared to spend the entire time talking—about what, he had no
idea. Actually, Hermione did most of the talking. Typical, he thought fondly. Focusing one of the
telescopes in order to get a clearer view, he watched as Neville’s expression went from puzzled to
uncomfortable to happy—all within the space of about ten minutes.

While Hermione continued to chatter on animatedly, Harry enjoyed watching the little
characteristics that were so Hermione-like: the biting of the lower lip, the waving of the hands
and pointing of the finger (‘Ha! That meant she was in lecture mode—and for a change Neville was on
the receiving end instead of Harry or Ron), and lastly, the patting of the arm (Harry frowned; why
was Hermione patting Neville’s arm? And why exactly did this bother him, Harry? Was Neville
blushing? Why was Neville blushing?). The entire matter was disturbing and baffling. When he saw
them get up, presumably to return to the castle, Harry had raced down to the common room, not
wanting to be caught spying.

Snapping back into the present, Harry sank down lower into the squishy couch by the fire,
glowering at the flames dancing in the grate. He had been sitting here for almost thirty minutes
and Hermione and Neville were still not back yet. Harry’s book-bag lay neglected by his side,
stuffed full of books, quills, parchment, and homework assignments. It sat there, mocking him. He
glared at it for a moment and then a small smile formed on his lips as he heard Hermione’s voice in
his mind, haranguing him for neglecting his studies. He really should get to work; there was that
extra homework on feather transfiguration for McGonagall, the foot of parchment for Charms, the
potion research for Snape . . . the problem was that he just could not get the idea of Hermione and
Neville out of his mind. Where on earth were they? Had they gone back for another walk by the lake,
or maybe they were having another little chat under Harry and Hermione’s tree?

“Oy there, Harry,” Ron’s cheerful voice interrupted his ruminations. “Hard at work, I see?”

A grunt from Harry greeted this comment.

Oblivious to Harry’s mood, Ron threw himself down onto a nearby chair and let out a gusty
sigh.

“Can you believe that slimy git?” he asked, referring to Snape. “Giving you a research project
two days before the match?” Gryffindor was playing Ravenclaw this coming Saturday in the first
Quidditch match of the season, and Ron, as captain, was riding them hard. He had been quite put-out
when the rest of team had begged for one night off to catch up on homework. Only after Ginny
pointed out that there would *be* no team if they all flunked out did Ron finally capitulate.
“Of course, what does he care, right? It’s not as if Slytherin were playing.”

Another grunt.

“Something eating you, mate?” Ron inquired with lifted brow. “Seem a bit grumpy.”

“Hummmf.”

Ron looked at him quizzically. “So, looks like you’ve made a lot of progress tonight on the
homework. Glad to see you’re taking advantage of the night off from Quidditch practice, eh?”

Grunt.

“Didn’t you tell me McGonagall wanted that extra work handed in by tomorrow.”

Grunt.

Ron grinned. If Harry was going to be a prat, then he, Ron, might as well have a bit of fun.

“Did you hear the news about Snape and Professor Sprout going at it in the library? Caused quite
a scene, that did.”

Grunt.

“How about that McGonagall, eh? Shagging with Hagrid *and* Dumbledore on the head table in
the Great Hall during dinner?” Ron’s grin widened.

Grunt.

“Did Ginny tell you she saw Neville snogging our Hermione down by the lake?”

“WHAT?” shouted Harry, jumping to his feet. “Neville and Hermione?!”

“Hey, settle down there, mate,” Ron laughed. “I’m just yanking your chain. Got your attention
though, didn’t I?”

Harry collapsed back onto the couch cushions and glared at Ron, who was doubled over with
laughter.

“Sorry, Harry,” he gasped out between howls. “It’s just—it’s just . . . you should have seen
your face! Priceless!” He continued to chuckle, holding his sides.

“Yeah, real bloody hilarious, Ron,” Harry noted, his eyes shooting daggers at his friend. “What
if it were true, though? How funny would you find the whole thing then?”

“Oh, come on, Harry,” Ron protested. “You can’t be serious--Hermione and *Neville?
Snogging?* Give me a break.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry responded somewhat bitterly. “You think I’m mad, do you? What did Neville tell
you about the note Hermione passed him in class?”

“He wouldn’t say,” Ron said. “He got all red and sweaty and then told me it was private.” He
frowned. “Harry, you don’t really think that Hermione and Neville . . .”

“Hummmf,” was the intelligent response. “Why else would he refuse to tell you?”

“I dunno,” Ron looked puzzled for a moment; then his face cleared. “You know, Hermione is always
helping him with school—with homework and stuff. It’s probably something to do with homework and
he’s embarrassed. Not easy for a bloke to admit he needs help now, is it?”

“Ron,” Harry said impatiently. “This is *Neville* we’re talking about here! Since when has
he, or anyone really, been embarrassed to accept help from Hermione with homework? Never, that’s
when! It’s something else.”

At that moment the two objects of their discussion came through the portrait-hole. Hermione was
smiling in what looked like satisfaction, while Neville appeared bemused, dazed, and happy all at
the same time.

“Hi Harry, hi Ron,” Hermione greeted them cheerfully.

“Hey guys,” said Ron.

“So,” Harry said somewhat loudly. “Have a nice walk?”

“Umm, yes, thank you” Neville stammered.

“Yes. It’s a lovely night,” Hermione said composedly.

“What about all your homework?” Harry demanded. “Have all that done already, do you?”

“Homework?” Neville asked, bemused. “N-no. How could we have done our homework? We were taking a
walk.”

“Ha!” Harry said triumphantly. “Exactly. Exactly!”

“Right then,” Neville hesitated, giving Harry a strange look. “Right . . . Well, I guess I’d
better go upstairs and get started on it then.” He smiled uncertainly. “G’night Ron, Harry.
Goodnight, Hermione. And thanks a lot—for everything.” With that, he headed somewhat hurriedly for
the stairs and the sanctity of his dormitory.

“Thanks? Thanks for what?” demanded Harry.

Hermione’s eyes bored into him.

“Harry Potter! What was that all about?” Hermione asked, annoyed.

“What was all what about?” was the rather ungrammatical response.

“You were interrogating Neville.”

“What do you mean, ‘interrogating’ Neville,” asked Harry indignantly. “I wasn’t ‘interrogating’
him. I was merely curious as to how he could waste time on a walk when he has a pile of homework to
do, that’s all,” he nodded self-righteously.

“And how is that your business?” inquired Hermione.

“Maybe we should get started on it, then,” suggested Ron, diplomatically. Someone had to step
in. Hermione was getting *that* look. Although Ron may have enjoyed seeing Harry at the
receiving end of her wrath for a change, he didn’t want his Seeker upset two days before a big
match, now did he?

“It’s *my* business because he’s in *our* House, and if he doesn’t do his work then
Gryffindor will lose points!” Harry said with eyes narrowed. “Maybe I don’t want him running around
and wasting time on walks when he needs to study.”

“Losing points for Gryffindor, Harry? Would that be like the way you lost points for us today in
Potions? And when you refer to Neville **wasting** time on walks,” Hermione continued in a
dangerously sweet tone, “I assume you mean wasting time on walks with *me*?”

“Uh, guys?” Ron asked, eyes darting back and forth in confusion. “Hello?”

“Yes! No!” Harry shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “Don’t try to confuse me. You know
what I mean, Hermione.”

“No, I don’t think I do; pray, enlighten me. That is, as long as you are not too
*confused*.”

If there was anything Harry hated more than hearing Hermione say, ‘*Honestly*,’ it was when
she said, ‘*pray, enlighten me*,’ in that infuriating tone.

“Oh come on, Hermione. Don’t play dumb with me,” Harry said angrily. “You know *exactly*
what I mean.”

“So, how about that homework? Shall we head over to the library?” Ron asked hopefully.

“*Honestly,* Ronald!” Hermione turned to glare at him. “What’s come over you lately? You’ve
become absolutely **anal** about studies and homework.”

“What,” asked Ron, flummoxed. “ME?” Nobody had ever accused him of *that* before.

But neither Harry nor Hermione were paying him any attention. They were both on their feet,
fists clenched, faces red.

“You think I’m ‘dumb’ then, do you Harry?”

“I never said that,” Harry sputtered. “Don’t you twist my words around, Hermione Granger. I said
you were *playing* dumb. That’s not the same as *being* dumb, and you know it.”

While Hermione fumed, temporarily speechless with anger, Harry continued doggedly on. “I asked
you a simple question. What were you doing walking around the lake with Neville?”

“And I,” Hermione responded, finding her voice again, “don’t see how that is any of your affair,
Harry Potter!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Guys,” Ron made one last attempt to stop the gathering storm. He could tell that something was
wrong with the two of them, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what.

They both ignored him. The air in the common room had turned electric, every eye in the
Gryffindor common room focused on the *uncommon* sight of a (heated) quarrel between the
Boy-Who-Lived and the Girl-Who-Up-Until-Now-Had-Always-Supported-Him.

“You don’t, eh?” Harry said furiously, turning very red and shaking with frustration. “You
don’t? HA!” he shouted, whirling around and beginning to stomp upstairs.

“Don’t you raise your voice to *me*, Harry Potter!” Hermione yelled after his departing
figure. She swiped angrily at the tears beginning to spill down her cheeks. “Don’t blame *me*
for your moods! Just who do you think you are anyway? Huh! Honestly, you are such a . . . such a .
. . GUY!” And with that final and highly intelligent comment, she turned and stormed up the stairs
to her dormitory.

“Don’t mind me,” Ron stated in defeat. “I’m not really here, actually.”



3. untitled
-----------

**Summary:** It is the seventh year at Hogwarts for the golden trio, whose friendship is
tighter than ever (at least for now). Hermione decides she wants to help her friend Neville get a
date for the Valentine’s Ball. While doing so, she manages to arouse envy in the heart of a certain
black-haired, green-eyed Gryffindor**.** Pairings include H/Hr, R/L, and N/??? You’ll have to
read the story to find out who Neville ends up with. *winks*

**Disclaimer:** Much to my dismay, Harry Potter and the entire magical Hogwarts world are
*still* not mine. Rats. Perhaps in another dimension or parallel universe they could belong to
me? In this one, however, JK Rowling still holds that honour.

**Author’s Note:** Thanks to all who have read and reviewed this story. Your reviews mean a
lot to me and I appreciate every one of them. I **will** eventually respond; these last weeks
have just been rather busy. Don’t you hate it when RL gets in the way of fandom, LOL?

**HELPING NEVILLE**

**Chapter Three**

If there was a hell on earth, Ron decided, this was it. He was living it.

On one side of him slouched Harry—hair messier than ever, green eyes bleary from lack of
sleep—listlessly poking at his soft-boiled egg and grumbling under his breath. On the other side
sat Hermione—hair frizzing out wildly in every direction, brown eyes glaring—taking angry little
bites out of her toast. Harry gave his egg one final poke; the egg-cup toppled over, rolled to the
edge of the table, and crashed to the floor.

“Ron, would you please ask Harry to try for a little consideration? *Some* of us have
headaches this morning,” Hermione groused.

“Uh, well . . .” Ron stammered.

“Hey Ron, do you think you can remind *Hermione* that she’s not the only one on the planet
with a headache . . .”

“Er . . .”

“Ron,” Hermione snapped, “it might be helpful to mention to Harry that I am well aware of that
fact, and furthermore the entire planet is not currently seated at this table.”

“. . . *and*,” continued Harry tightly, “that I didn’t drop my egg on purpose. Accidents do
happen, you know.”

“Of course, mate,” Ron said hastily, “could happen to . . .” Once again he was cut off in
mid-sentence.

“And please tell *Harry*,” Hermione ground out through clenched teeth, “that *some*
people’s carelessness makes them absolute *magnets* for trouble.”

“Yes, well . . .” Ron tried again.

“Good morning everyone! Looks like another great day, eh?” Completely oblivious to the tense
atmosphere, Neville plunked himself down across from the trio and helped himself to pumpkin
juice.

Ron gazed at Neville like a starving dog at a bone. “Yeah, sure does,” he said a little
desperately. “Lovely day. Wonderful day. Good thing we have Hagrid’s class today—perfect chance to
go outside and enjoy the sun.”

“Oh, I bet Neville would much rather take a *walk*, wouldn’t you, Neville?” Harry asked
with a nasty chuckle.

“A walk?” asked Neville, baffled.

“Yes,” Harry said, with what Neville thought was a bit of a sinister laugh. “There’s nothing
you’d like better than a walk beside the lake and a nice chat, right Nev?”

“Uh, no,” Neville responded. “No walks planned for today, Harry. I’ve got a full load of classes
and there’s still some homework . . .”

“Reeaaally,” said Harry in a dangerous tone. “I thought that you and Hermione would be racing
off to the lake again, first chance you got.”

“N-no,” Neville shot Harry a frightened look. “I’ve got class first thing.”

“Why, Neville Longbottom!” Hermione said brightly, with a horrible grimace disguised as a smile.
“Don’t tell me you forgot about our date?”

“Date?” Harry asked.

“Date?” squeaked out Neville, turning pale and looking nervously at Harry. “W-what date?”

“Why the one for this afternoon,” she said, fixing him with a gimlet eye. “*Remember?”*

“Uh,” managed poor Neville. He jumped to his feet, knocking over his juice goblet. He was not
keen on arguing with Hermione when she was in such an obviously bad mood, especially in the Great
Hall in front of everyone. At this moment she bore a rather scary resemblance to his grandmother;
the only thing missing was the vulture hat.

“*Reparo**,*” said Hermione, absently waving her wand in the direction of the mess.
She got to her feet and advanced forcefully towards Neville. “Let’s go.”

“But I haven’t had breakfast yet,” objected Neville. He glanced uneasily at Hermione, who had
almost reached him.

“Fine!” Hermione snatched up some toast, slapped a serviette around it, and thrust the toast at
him. “Here, you can eat this. Come on.” She seized Neville’s arm and tugged him towards the door,
leaving Harry steaming, Ron stunned, and the rest of the Gryffindors amused.

“Good one, Harry,” said Ginny sardonically. “You ought to hang up your shingle and charge a
galleon a turn. You’d make a terrific matchmaker.”

“What are you talking about?” he snapped, glaring at Hermione and Neville’s retreating
figures.

“Oh, come on,” she scoffed. “You’re not *that* thick, surely? I can see Ron doing something
like that, but . . .”

“Hey,” Ron protested. “What’d I do? What is this? Pick on Ron day?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Ron, you’re a great guy, but you’re not exactly Mister Sensitive. But
you, Harry! Really, I’m surprised at you. Are you *trying* to get Neville and Hermione
together?”

Harry scowled.

“Because if you are,” she continued, “then this last move of yours was nothing short of
brilliant!”

“What move,” asked Ron, still clueless.

Another eyeroll. “I’m talking about Harry’s idiotic comments. ‘*There’s nothing you’d like
better than a walk beside the lake and a nice talk*, *right* *Nev*?’ or, my personal
favourite,” she continued, deepening her voice to mimic Harry’s angry tones, “‘*I thought that
you and Hermione would be racing off to the lake again, first chance you got*.’”

“Well,” Harry snapped, still fuming, “it’s the truth, isn’t it. Turned out they did have a date,
didn’t they?”

“Harry,” Ginny sighed wearily, “you really don’t have the foggiest, do you? All right, let me
explain. There. Was. No. Date.”

“There wasn’t?” Ron frowned. “What are you on about, Gin? You heard Hermione.”

“Yeah,” added Harry with a frown. “She said they had a date.”

Ginny sighed again. “Yes, I heard her, and I said there *was* no date. However, there is
one now.”

“Huh?” chorused Ron and Harry.

“That’s right,” she continued. “Neville and Hermione now have a date, thanks to you, Harry. You
forced them into it”

“Me?!” Harry’s voice went up a full octave. He coughed and attempted to compose himself and
bring his voice back into a more manly register. “What . . . how . . .?”

“You verbally abused Neville, Harry. By blowing everything out of proportion, you made Neville
feel attacked. You also hurt Hermione’s feelings by questioning her choices.”

“Verbally abused . . . feelings . . . questioning . . . have you been reading those bloody
Muggle magazines again, Gin?” asked Ron suspiciously. “Because you sound just like those
psychotrist nutters in the Muggle advice columns you like so much.”

“Psy-cho*-*lo-gist, Ron, not psychotrist,” Ginny said impatiently. “And so what if I’ve
been reading Muggle magazines? Maybe a little exploration of the female psyche would do you two
some good!”

“*‘Female psyche?’* *Bloody* hell, Ginny, would you listen to yourself,” Ron said
incredulously.

Ginny tossed her head and ignored him.

“I never ‘questioned her choices,’” protested Harry. “I never said a word about choices or
anything else to her—in fact, I haven’t spoken to Hermione since last night. I was talking to
Neville. And you heard her, she and Neville had already made a date for today before I even opened
my mouth!”

“You have to look beyond what a girl says and listen to what she really *means*,
Harry.”

“How the hell is he supposed to do that?” asked Ron indignantly. “He’s not a bloody mind-reader.
Although that’s what girls seem to expect,” he continued under his breath.

“He doesn’t need to be a mind-reader, Ron,” explained Ginny. “However, Harry could be a little
more sensitive to Hermione’s feelings in all this, especially after that display of temper he put
on last night.”

“Hello?” Harry interjected irritably. “I’m still here you know.”

Ginny gave them an exasperated look. “Listen guys. Girls aren’t all that difficult to
understand.”

Two incredulous stares greeted this comment.

“Nobody likes having their every move questioned or scrutinized, and that’s what you were doing
to Hermione, Harry. Not to mention,” she continued, ignoring Harry’s sputtered objections, “that
you’ve been completely beastly to Neville lately.”

“What?” Harry said angrily. “I’ve never . . . I didn’t . . . I like Neville!”

“Yeah, well,” Ginny gave him a look, “you could’ve fooled me. If you like Neville, what would be
so terrible about him going out with Hermione?”

“I . . . he . . . she . . .” Harry glared speechlessly.

“Exactly,” said Ginny with satisfaction.

* * * * *

Ronald Bilius Weasley was miserable. Everything in his world had turned upside down, and he
didn’t know what to do about it. No he didn’t. For four days now, four of the longest days of his
life, Harry and Hermione had been bickering. And when they weren’t bickering, they were glaring, or
sighing, or giving each other the silent treatment, or otherwise acting totally unlike themselves.
Ron had entered a parallel universe where up was down and down was up. Hermione was supposed to
bicker with *him*, not with Harry!

To make matters worse, they had both chosen him as their confidant. When Harry wasn’t on a tear
about the latest Hermione-Neville incident (half of which, Ron was convinced, were all in his best
friend’s rapidly-deteriorating mind), then Hermione was bending his ear over how *insensitive*
and *unfeeling* Harry was being towards her. During one particularly horrible talk, Hermione
had actually broken down and *cried*! *Cried*! Ron shuddered at that dreadful memory.

“I don’t care what Ginny said the other day,” Ron grumbled to Harry as they made their way to
breakfast that morning, “girls are mad. All of them—completely and utterly mad. And confusing? HA!
All this hidden-meaning stuff and all these emotions hiding behind the simplest sentence: why can’t
they just say what they mean and put us out of our misery? Is that too much to ask? And now as if
things weren’t bad enough, this stupid ball comes along to put the final nail in our coffin. Have
you thought about who you’re going to ask, Harry? We’d better hop to it and ask *somebody*,”
Ron noted glumly. “Somehow I don’t think Parvati and Padma will be jumping at the chance to go with
us again, eh?”

Harry did not respond.

“Of course if you get desperate enough, I’ll bet I could get Ginny to take pity on you.”

A grunt from Harry.

“Or,” Ron snorted with laughter, “there’s always Winky!”

Another cross grunt.

“Ginny was right about one thing, though,” Ron continued, eying Harry uneasily. “You have been a
bit of a git with Neville lately, mate. I can understand why you’re being snappish with Hermione;
she’s completely mental, but Neville . . .”

“No she isn’t,” argued Harry, fixing Ron with an unblinking stare. “She’s brilliant.”

“Uhh . . . right,” Ron agreed, wondering who this bloke was and what he’d done with Ron’s best
friend.

It was almost enough to put a man off his food.

* * * * *

Harry felt like the worst kind of scum. Not only was Hermione not speaking to him, but he had
also managed to alienate Neville to the point that the tension in the seventh-year boys’ dormitory
was unbearable. Mealtimes weren’t much better. He could feel every pair of eyes in Gryffindor
scrutinizing his smallest move. Breakfast this morning had been another miserable affair, with
Hermione ignoring him and speaking only to Ron, Neville, Ginny, Seamus . . . everyone but him,
actually. Finally, he had dragged Ron away from the table on the pretense of needing to talk to him
about a secret Quidditch move they were supposedly planning for the next match (which was over
three weeks away).

Logically, Harry was aware that he was acting like a total prat. He knew that Ginny was right
and his behaviour was hurting both Hermione and Neville (not to mention himself), but he couldn’t
seem to stop. It was like his brain and mouth were no longer connected. This couldn’t go on. He
needed to get a grip, or else he was going to lose the friendship of the best girl in all of
Hogwarts. And as much as he hated to admit it, Ron was right about the ball. Just last night they
had witnessed Seamus asking Lavender, who had accepted with a peal of giggles. He knew for a fact
that Dean was planning to ask Parvati and had a sinking feeling he knew who Hermione was going
with. Probably no decent girls left, he thought gloomily. If this kept up, Winky would be looking
pretty good to him.

“I’m an idiot,” he proclaimed to Ron. “What’s the matter with me? Why do I *always* open my
big mouth lately and say just the exact thing that will make Hermione mad? And what’s wrong with
*her*? She takes everything I say the wrong way and we’re always at each other’s throats. I
can’t take this any more.”

Silence.

“Ron?”

“Yeah?”

“What should I do?”

“You’re asking me?” Ron snorted in disbelief. “Harry, in case you haven’t noticed, the only
reason Hermione and I aren’t fighting right now is because she’s too busy fighting with you. I’m
not the person to ask. But,” he plowed ahead, “for starters, you might want to lay off Neville. And
I’m not saying you’re in the wrong here, but apologising to Hermione would probably not be a bad
idea. What’s more important: keeping Hermione’s friendship or keeping her away from Neville? Not
that you’ve been all that successful in doing that either, mind!”

“Hmmff.”

“You’ve made the whole situation a lot worse, actually.”

“Thanks Ron.”

“In fact, if you continue on the way you’ve been going,” he added with a laugh, “they’ll be
engaged by Christmas.”

“*Thanks* Ron; I get it. You really know how to cheer a guy up.”

Harry was silent the rest of the way to class, obviously deep in thought. When he and Ron got to
Transfiguration, Hermione was already seated and busily scribbling away. Taking a deep breath for
courage, Harry sat down beside her, darting a quick glance at her parchment. Studiously ignoring
him, Hermione continued to write frantically, only stopping when Professor McGonagall entered the
room. Harry was now staring openly at Hermione, who was trying to pretend she didn’t notice.

“Good morning class,” Professor McGonagall said briskly. “Today we’ll be attempting a very
interesting but complicated spell.”

Hermione visibly brightened and leaned forward eagerly, while the rest of the class looked
depressed.

“In order to do this successfully,” McGonagall continued, “you will be working in pairs. You
will have no need for desks,” she said, and waved her wand. All desks vanished and books, quills,
and parchments flew neatly back into book-bags. “Everyone on their feet”-- another wave of the wand
dispatched the chairs.

Harry, who appeared to have come to some sort of decision, quickly pushed his way next to
Hermione. Except for the two bright spots of colour on her cheeks, she paid him no attention.

“Excellent,” said Professor McGonagall. “Please pick a partner and we’ll get started.”

Hermione turned and made her way determinedly towards Ron.

“Let’s partner up then,” she said grumpily.

“Sorry Hermione,” Parvati smirked, not sounding sorry in the least, “but I already asked Ron to
work with me.”

“Oh,” Hermione hesitated. “How about you, Seamus?”

“I’m paired up with Lavender,” said Seamus regretfully.

“I’ll be your partner.”

Hermione turned around to find Harry at her elbow.

“Um,” she said, nonplussed, “I . . . “

“Everyone ready?” asked Professor McGonagall, interrupting her. “Right then.” And she began
explaining the lesson. “This is a very difficult transfiguration,” she continued, “and most of you
will need several class periods to achieve the final result. I suggest you study the steps
carefully,” with a wave of her wand, instructions appeared on the board, “and practice one step at
a time. I’ll be working my way around the room and will help each of you in turn. This is one
lesson where talking will be allowed, since you will need to discuss each step of the
transfiguration with your partner. Please begin.”

“Well,” Hermione began speaking very quickly without looking at Harry. “Let’s check out step
one, shall we? Now, step one says to first practice the incantation before learning the wand
movement, but I remember reading that . . .” she stopped abruptly at the touch of Harry’s hand on
her arm.

“Hermione,” Harry whispered urgently, “I want to talk to you.”

“Rag on me, you mean,” Hermione stated with raised eyebrow.

“NO! Talk to you . . . with you,” Harry said, his face a dull red. “Come over here,” he
insisted, tugging her toward a back corner.

Frowning slightly, Hermione allowed herself to be pulled.

“Well,” she said, folding her arms.

Harry looked down at his feet. “Um, I wanted to . . . um” he hesitated, still blushing, “I
wanted to . . .”

“Yes?”

“Apologize. I wanted to . . . apologise.”

“Hmmmm. And what are you apologising for?”

“Come on, Hermione,” he said desperately. “You know what for.”

“You mean for treating me like a wayward child and behaving insufferably towards Neville?”

“Yeah, that,” Harry admitted. “I don’t know what’s come over me lately, but I don’t want to keep
on fighting with you, Hermione. I miss . . . I miss you. I miss *us* . . . all of us,” he
clarified hastily, blushing an even brighter red, “all of us together . . . you and Ron and me. I
want things to go back to the way they were.”

Hermione’s stern look softened. “I miss you too, Harry. But things can’t go back to the way they
used to be if you keep jumping down mine and Neville’s throats constantly.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry said sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

At the same time he was thinking to himself, ‘. . . *mine and Neville’s throats?’ Since when
does Hermione refer to Neville and herself as a unit? I guess if I want to keep her as a friend,
I’m going to have to learn to deal with it. Maybe Ginny was right and I’ve been blowing this whole
thing out of proportion. It’s the pressure of seventh year and the whole thing with Voldemort
looming ahead of me; that’s why I’m feeling so out of sorts. Hermione has always been there for me
and I should be there for her, no matter which way this thing with Neville goes.*

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said with a sniff, “It’s all right. And I’m sorry for a lot of the things
I’ve said. It’s just that you got me so *angry* and made me feel, well, *hurt* because
you seemed to think the worst of me!” She looked at him and he saw with alarm that her eyes had
welled up with tears.

“It’s okay,” Harry responded, worried that she was about to start sobbing in the middle of
class. “We’re both sorry. We’ll talk more about this later, okay?”

“Okay.”

“So, is Neville taking you to the ball?”

“Harry!”

“Sorry.”



4. untitled
-----------

**Disclaimer:** Much to my dismay, Harry Potter and the entire magical Hogwarts world are
*still* not mine. Rats. Perhaps in another dimension or parallel universe they could belong to
me? In this one, however, JK Rowling still holds that honour.

**Author’s Note:** Thanks again to everyone for reviewing—you rock, each and every one of
you! I feel terrible about not responding to all my reviews but still haven’t given up on
eventually doing so. I feel that if someone takes the time to review, the least I can do is
acknowledge their effort. *smiles*

I’m not completely happy with this chapter and it’s a bit shorter than I’d like, but given the
option of not posting at all this week, or posting what I have, I chose the second option—because I
promised. I’ve taken on a heavier teaching load this semester, and free time is scarce. Thank
heavens for insomnia, or I’d never get my writing done, LOL! That being said, the next installment
will be up either next Friday or the one after. I’d rather wait and do a better job, so if
inspiration does not strike in time for March 4 (although I will do my best), look for an update on
the 11th.

Okay, enough of my babbling. Without further ado, I present Chapter Four of,

**HELPING NEVILLE**

**Chapter Four**

Neville was starting to have second thoughts about this whole
help-Neville-get-a-date-for-the-ball business.

When Hermione first approached him with the idea of “fixing him up” with the girl of his choice
for the Valentine’s ball, Neville had been both shocked and pleased. It had seemed like such a
great idea at the time—Hermione could help him discover what kind of girl he liked (truth be told,
one of the girls he *really* liked, Hermione, was already taken even though she didn’t know it
yet), find out which (if any) girl was interested in him, and then help him get up the courage to
ask said girl out.

The shocking part of this whole thing was not the fact that Hermione wanted to help him; she had
always been there for him, ever since that very first day over six years ago when a shy, scared
eleven-year-old had lost his toad on the Hogwarts Express. No, what had shocked Neville had been
his *own* reaction to the affair. He had been surprised to realise how much he was looking
forward to entering the strange and exciting world of girls. Although Neville had no problem
confronting Death Eaters, dark Lords, or evil ferrets when his friends were in danger, the thought
of putting himself on the line and asking out a—gulp--**girl**, was terrifying. Still, he had
decided optimistically, with the smartest witch in over a century helping him out, how could he
fail?

Unfortunately, after that initial rush of exhilaration Neville had come plunging back down to
earth. Why? Simple answer—the Harry Problem.

Everything had started in DADA class, with Hermione’s mysterious note:

*‘Neville,*

*We need to talk. Meet me after dinner by our tree (mine and Harry’s) beside the lake. **Do
not** show this to anyone! I’ll explain everything later.*

*Hermione’*

Harry’s curiosity and – jealousy? – over Neville getting a “secret” note from Hermione had been
obvious; then had come the walk by the lake.

Nothing strikes fear into the heart of any man or boy like the ominous words ‘*we need to
talk,’* and Neville was no different. What did Hermione mean by ‘*we need to talk?*’ He and
Hermione were just school buddies, so Neville was safe there. Hermione had two obsessions: school
and Harry Potter-and-the-whole-Voldemort/Death Eater-menace. Maybe she wanted to talk to him about
that? Perhaps Hermione had made some magnificent discovery about Voldemort and how Harry could
defeat him? But then why talk to him, to Neville? Wouldn’t she be better off talking about this to
Harry? The entire situation was most perplexing.

When he and Hermione did finally take that walk and he found out that the subject of her
interest was *him* and how she could help him find a date for the Valentine’s ball, Neville
had been embarrassed by the myriad questions Hermione had fired at him. Hermione being the
organised young lady that she was, a list of questions—a very *long* list—had been produced
with a flourish. However, under Hermione’s skillful interrogation during their hour-long talk,
Neville had shyly admitted that, yes, he preferred girls who were more confident and secure
(probably because he himself was not) and no, he didn’t really believe he was partial to any
particular physical type. This had earned him a nod of approval from his curly-haired
matchmaker.

“I’m happy to see you have more depth than another friend of mine whom I shall not name! Just
because a girl isn’t perfect in every way does not make her a *troll*,” was Hermione’s
scornful observation, “although *some* people certainly don’t seem to understand that.”

Neville had too much sense to get into a discussion of Ron’s short-comings with Hermione,
especially when she got that militant gleam in her eye. He would just as soon return to the castle
before midnight and with all his body parts intact, thank you very much!

No, their talk had gone well. Hermione’s brisk and business-like manner had quickly put him at
his ease. The problems started when they returned to the Gryffindor common room—and Harry
Potter!

After sharing a dormitory with Harry for over six years, Neville thought that he and Harry knew
each other pretty well, and the two boys liked and respected each other. Harry was always quick to
take Neville’s part when the other boys teased him about Trevor, or girls, or his propensity for
blowing up cauldrons in Potions. (Neville had been very shocked and pleased to net an “Exceeds
Expectations” in his Potions O.W.L. When not forced to perform under Snape’s malignant gaze,
Neville was quite good at Potions; fortunately however, not good enough to get a mark of
“Outstanding.” The “E” had satisfied his formidable grandmother while at the same time ensuring
that Potions with Snape was a thing of the past—an enormous relief!)

Up until now, Neville had never personally encountered *this* Harry: suspicious,
intimidating, and jealous! Yes, Neville knew without a doubt that Harry was jealous. If the whole
situation wasn’t so unnerving, Neville might have enjoyed watching Harry’s stiff-armed “don’t piss
on my territory” approach to any chap daring to pay attention to Hermione.

The problem was that Harry obviously did not realise his true feelings yet and had convinced
himself that his anger over Neville’s “relationship” with Hermione was based on nothing more that
the righteous worry of an overprotective brother. Neville wondered how such a powerful wizard as
Harry could be so clueless when it came to his own feelings. One day, Neville mused, Harry would
stop fooling himself and understand that his possessive feelings for Hermione went far and beyond
mere friendship.

Hermione’s failure to recognise her own position vis-à-vis Harry was more surprising. Generally
speaking, Hermione was an introspective girl who appeared to have no difficulty untangling the web
of teenage emotions, whether her own or those of anyone else. When it came to Harry, however,
Neville suspected that Hermione was involved in an intricate game of self-deceit. Being the smart
witch that she was, chances were that she *refused* rather than *failed* to see the truth
about Harry and her feelings towards him.

Be that as it may, after that first talk and walk around the lake with Hermione, Neville was
quite taken aback to find himself in the Gryffindor common room being grilled by The Grand
Inquisitor, aka Harry James Potter. Luckily he managed to make his escape when Harry switched his
wrath over to Hermione. Neville didn’t hear much of the bickering between the two best friends,
though. Once he reached the sanctity of the seventh-year dormitory, he had leapt into bed, thrust
the bed-curtains shut, and placed an *Imperturbable* Charm around the entire bed so he could
do his homework in peace without fear of further harassment by an irritable Harry.

Nevertheless, the next day Hermione had regaled him with the entire story.

“I don’t know what has gotten into him,” she had said indignantly. Then she proceeded to rave on
about Harry’s “idiotic” behaviour and sudden obsession with homework.

“He’s never acted like this before,” she concluded crossly. “*Honestly*! You’d think I was
a five-year-old and a total nitwit! First he gives me the third degree about my conversation with
you and then he has the unspeakable gall to accuse *me* of playing dumb! Playing dumb! Really!
I ask you: he has some nerve, doesn’t he?” she demanded fiercely.

Having a keen desire for self-preservation, Neville didn’t say a word.

* * * * *

The next few days had been interesting, to say the least. Hermione and Harry had bickered and
sniped at each other at every free moment. When she wasn’t quarreling with Harry, complaining about
Harry, or asking Neville (rhetorically) what was wrong with Harry, Hermione was preoccupied with
the Valentine’s ball and her determination to find Neville a date. In fact, in her obsession with
Neville’s “situation,” Hermione seemed possessed of an almost missionary-like zeal formerly only
seen by her fixations with Harry and S.P.E.W. Although Neville was touched and gratified by
Hermione’s interest in him, at times she was almost scary in her single-mindedness.

As he made his way to lunch, Neville wondered uneasily what new horrors were in store for him
during another meal with jealous Harry and angry Hermione. Entering the Great Hall, he was
pleasantly surprised to see Harry and Hermione sitting together and laughing as if nothing were
wrong.

“Hi, Neville,” Harry said politely, while Hermione beamed proudly at him. “Have a good
class?”

“H-hi, Harry,” Neville answered cautiously. “Yes, thank you.”

“Here, I saved a seat for you.” Hermione patted the chair on her other side and began filling a
plate with beef stew. “There you go,” she said, placing the loaded plate in front of him. “Eat
quickly; we have things to do,” she commanded.

“Things?” asked Harry brightly.

“Um,” responded Neville.

Hermione shot Harry a warning look, and he subsided with a gleam in his eye that Neville didn’t
much like.

“Well, I see that you two have stopped arguing,” Ginny interjected with a nod towards Harry and
Hermione. “If you’re not going to be a jealous prat any more, Harry, maybe we can finally have a
peaceful meal.”

Total silence as the Gryffindors stared at Ginny, appalled.

Then,

“Jealous? I’m not jealous,” Harry said indignantly.

Ginny shot him a pointed look. “No? Then what’s all the fuss been about then?”

Hermione was frantically trying to catch Ginny’s eye; Neville slouched down into his chair, as
if hoping it would swallow him up.

“You should just go ahead and ask . . .” finally noticing Hermione, who was subtly shaking her
head back and forth, Ginny subsided.

“So,” Ron said rather desperately, “what do you think about those Cannons, eh Harry? With that
new chaser of theirs, bet they have a chance to duplicate that stunning win they had in 1892!”

“Huh?” Harry was still glaring at Ginny.

“You know, the Quidditch team? The Chudley Cannons? My favourite team?” Ron prompted him.

“What about them?” Harry continued to look intently at Ginny, who was frowning slightly.

“What is it, Harry?” she asked, noticing Harry’s look.

His eyes narrowed and he leapt to his feet. “Can I have a word?” he asked her, indicating the
door. “Outside.”

“I’m not done with lunch.”

“Please, Ginny?” he responded, more politely. “Can we talk in private? There’s something I
really want to ask you.”

Hermione stiffened.

“Ask me something? All right then,” Ginny said. Maybe if she went, the rest of the table could
finish their lunch without the threat of another Harry-tantrum.

“Well,” Hermione interrupted with a forced smile. “Time we were off then. Things to do. Come on
Neville.”

“But Hermione . . .”

“Come on,” she commanded. With a sad look at his barely-touched stew, Neville complied.

“Why don’t you let the poor guy finish his lunch, Hermione?” asked Ginny. “What’s the big hurry
about, anyway?”

“Oh, just things,” Hermione said vaguely. “See you all later.” And with that she grabbed a
reluctant Neville by the arm and hauled him away from the table.

“She’s going to starve him, she is,” Ron noted with sympathy.

With puckered brow, Ginny got up and joined an impatient Harry who was waiting at the door.

“All right, Harry,” Ginny said. “What’s so important that you couldn’t wait until we finished
eating?”

“Them,” Harry responded intelligently, beginning to pace fretfully back and forth, finally
heading in the direction of the Common Room. “Hermione. Neville. What you said.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “What? Are you channeling Ron? Be a little clearer, Harry.”

“Back there at the table . . . you called me a jealous prat. What were you on about, Gin?
Jealous of what?”

“Oh come on, Harry,” she said. “You’re so jealous of Hermione and Neville that you can’t see
straight. Why don’t you just ask Hermione to the Valentine’s Ball and be done with it? Ouch!” Harry
stopped so abruptly that Ginny banged into him.

“Me! Ask Hermione?” Harry squeaked. “To the ball?”

Another eye roll from Ginny. “Who were you planning on asking then?”

“Uh . . .”

“If you don’t have anyone in mind, why not ask Hermione. After all, she is one of your best
friends, right?” said Ginny, slyly.

Harry stared as her for a moment. “Welllll,” he mused, “I guess I could ask her. Only as a
friend, of course,” he added hastily.

“Of course.”

* * * * *

A/N: Don’t get too complacent everyone—all is not as it seems. *evil cackle*



5. untitled
-----------

**Disclaimer:** Much to my dismay, Harry Potter and the entire magical Hogwarts world are
*still* not mine. Rats. Perhaps in another dimension or parallel universe they could belong to
me? In this one, however, JK Rowling still holds that honour.

**HELPING NEVILLE**

**Chapter Five**

“Hermione,” Neville called, slightly out of breath, “would you mind slowing down please?”

“Sorry, Neville,” was the reply, “but there’s no time to waste. Do you realise the Valentine’s
Ball is less than a month away? We really need to revise our strategy if we are to have you set up
in time with a suitable date. I made a few new visual aids before breakfast this morning; they
might help.” Hermione continued walking rapidly towards the staircase, Neville in tow.

“Visual aids,” Neville repeated, stunned. “But, Hermione, don’t you think . . .”

“What I think is that we need to strike Ginny Weasley off our list. Did you hear Harry tell her
he needed to ask her something ‘in private?’ Well,” she said briskly, “I don’t think we need
Trelawney’s crystal ball to figure out what he had in mind!” She continued muttering to herself.
“Hmmmf! Not that I care, of course, although this does mean that we’ll need a new candidate for
slot number five, now that Ginny’s out of the running. I need to check the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw
flowcharts again; maybe we missed someone. Do you think we should just move everyone up one notch
higher on the list? Or would it be better to re-examine our options and possibly increase the
pool?” She stopped abruptly and twirled to stare at Neville, evidently expecting some sort of
response.

As Neville had been basically trotting along without listening, he almost crashed into her and
thanked his lucky stars when he was able to stop in time.

“WELL?” she asked.

Uh-oh. Hermione had her hands on her hips and was drumming one foot rhythmically on the stone
floor. This was not a good sign. Neville wished he had been listening, since she was obviously
waiting for an intelligent answer.

“Huh? What?”

She glared.

His head was spinning; it really was. Thanks to ‘The Harry Problem,’ he hadn’t had a decent meal
in what felt like days. Then, just when it seemed as if things were finally getting back to normal
on that front and he was looking forward to the savory stew on his plate, Hermione had grabbed him
away from the table and was now leading him who knew where and babbling about visual aids, lists,
charts, and candidates. She was a brilliant witch, and Neville knew he was lucky to have her as his
friend, but sometimes he couldn’t help wishing she were a little less brilliant and, well,
*manic* was the only word he could think of.

Never let it be said that Neville Longbottom was slow on the uptake, though. “Whatever you
think, Hermione. I trust you.”

Hermione’s expression softened.

“All right,” she said thoughtfully. “I guess it doesn’t really matter, does it? We have enough
candidates already. We’ll go with option one and just move all the candidates up one slot. That
should take care of the problem nicely. We still need to go over our strategy more, though. Let’s
go to the library.”

Neville followed dutifully, but he couldn’t help wishing that she would stop calling his
prospective dates “candidates”—made him feel like he was some kind of political office they all
aspired to.

*** * * * ***

While Hermione and a resigned Neville were pouring over lists, charts, and ‘visual aids’ in the
library, Harry was sitting in the Common Room, getting up his courage to do something that
frightened him more than facing Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest: ask Hermione to the Valentine’s
Ball. With him. As his date.

No! Not as his “date,” he revised hastily. The word “date” implied things he didn’t want to
think about--scary things. Things he wasn’t ready for. After all, he justified to himself, his was
not exactly a stress-free life. No sir. Other seventh-year wizards only had their schoolwork and a
date to the ball to worry about; he, Harry, had much more important concerns, like Voldemort, the
war, his very special part in said war, his probable death . . . He didn’t have the strength left
to worry about “dates.”

Remembering the two episodes in his dating career, Harry shuddered. The first time, with Parvati
Patil at the Yule Ball in fourth year, the date had been “forced”: as one of the Hogwarts
champions, Harry had been required to attend the ball with a date and he had only asked Parvati out
of desperation when Cho Chang said no. His second experience, with none other than Miss Chang
herself, had been a nightmare of epic proportions.

So, two dates—two bad experiences; this didn’t exactly fill a chap with confidence in his
ability to ask a girl out. And this time, he wasn’t thinking of asking just any girl—this was
Hermione, his best friend for the past six-plus years. Wrecking their friendship was not an option,
which was why he had decided to make it very clear that he was asking her as a friend. That would
keep any awkward nonsense from interfering with their friendship and keep her (and Harry!) from
feeling uncomfortable.

There was only one odd note in this scenario: if he was planning on asking Hermione to go with
him to the Valentine’s Ball as a “friend” in order to avoid discomfort, then why was he so
nervous?

Harry supposed his nerves were based on the fact that Hermione was a girl. And girls, by their
very nature, were a mystery; girls had a tendency to fly off the handle at the slightest
provocation—or with *no* provocation that a guy could see. Granted, Hermione was much more
sensible than the average girl, but the fact remained that she *was* indeed a girl (a fact he
seemed to be more and more aware of lately) and therefore possessed the potential for unpredictable
behaviour; thus, the nerves.

Harry was startled out of his reverie by a hard thump on the back.

“So,” came the voice of his other best friend, “did Ginny say yes?”

“What?” asked Harry.

“When you asked her to go with you to the ball,” Ron explained impatiently. “Did she say
yes?”

“I . . . I didn’t ask Ginny to the ball,” Harry said, confused. “What made you think I asked
Ginny?”

“Come on, Harry! Right before Hermione dragged Neville away from the table, you told Ginny you
wanted to ask her something in private. We all thought you were going to ask her to go to the ball
with you.”

“No.”

“Then what *did* you need to ask her,” Ron inquired, curiosity evident in every part of his
freckled-face.

“Uh . . . ummm . . . erm . . . nothing,” Harry stammered. “Nothing, really. Don’t remember.”

“If you don’t want to tell me, Harry, just say so.” Ron sounded hurt.

“No . . . it’s not that,” Harry said miserably. “It’s . . . oh, all right, I’ll tell you. But
you have to promise not to go blabbing this around, okay?”

“Okay,” Ron said eagerly.

“After talking to Ginny,” Harry continued, lowering his voice, “I decided to ask H . . . to ask
Hermione to go to the Valentine’s Ball with me--as a friend.”

“WHAT!” Ron shouted in surprise. “You’re going to ask H-”

“Shhhh!” In desperation Harry slapped his hand over the red-head’s mouth. “Quiet down, will
you?”

“Mmmmmfffff. Sorry!” Ron managed, pulling Harry’s hand away. “You just shocked me a bit, that’s
all.”

“Obviously,” Harry responded crossly. “What’s so shocking about it? I need to ask
*somebody* to the ball, and I don’t want to be miserable all night worrying about having to
impress some girl I don’t really care about. So asking . . . well, *you* know*,* is just
a sensible solution all around.”

Ron continued to stare at Harry. “But what . . .”

“Who are you gonna ask?” Harry broke in quickly. “Time’s running out, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ron said glumly. “I dunno.”

“How about Lavender?” suggested Harry.

“She’s going with Seamus, remember? Besides, she’s not really my type.”

“Okay. Who is your type then?”

Ron looked puzzled. “I don’t know if I have a type. I’m not that fussy, really. Just as long as
she’s nice, easy to talk to, likes Quidditch, is pretty . . . or at least isn’t a troll,” he added
hastily.

“You don’t want much,” Harry snorted, laughing at Ron’s indignant look. “Okay, let me see.
There’s Hannah Abbott—you, know, in Hufflepuff. Or Susan Bones. They’re both pretty nice and I
don’t think you would call either one of them a ‘troll.’ Plus, they’re both in the DA, so you kind
of know them already.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed slowly. “I guess.” Then he brightened. “I guess Hannah or Susan would be
okay; they don’t play Quidditch, but they come to the games, don’t they? And they’re not too
mental. I like Susan’s hair, too,” he added absently.

“There you go then,” said Harry. “Just ask whichever one of them you see first. No big deal,
Ron. You can do it.”

“Yeah,” Ron repeated, somewhat doubtfully. “I can do it.”

*** * * * ***

Harry had no chance to talk to either Ron or Hermione until later that night. He and Ron were in
separate classes during the afternoon, and although Harry did have Potions with Hermione, there was
no opportunity for conversation of any kind, never mind private conversation. Snape seemed
determined to make sure that every student under his aegis spent the next two weeks before the ball
buried in the library, doing research on a project involving an obscure and fiddly potion.

Heaven forbid Snape let up and allow them to enjoy a little time off before the ball, Harry
thought cynically. Probably spent his free time dreaming up ways to make their lives even more of a
misery, as if having to find a date for the ball weren’t bad enough. Harry passed an uncomfortable
hour at dinner trying not to stare at Hermione and desperately wishing he had already asked her and
gotten it over with.

Ron was fidgety throughout the meal, and when he spotted Susan Bones leaving the Hufflepuff
table, had jumped up and rushed out of the Great Hall, leaving his dinner unfinished. As this was
an unprecedented event in the history of Hogwarts, every Gryffindor at the table remarked on it.
Hermione asked Harry if Ron was ill; Harry just smirked and said he didn’t think it was anything
serious. Ginny snorted at this; Hermione frowned.

Dinner was particularly good that night: roast chicken with pumpkin pie for dessert, and as a
result, the majority of students lingered over the delicious food. After dinner, Harry turned to
Hermione and asked her if she wanted to go to the library with him to get started on the Potions
project. Hermione seemed surprised but pleased by Harry’s obvious eagerness to crack the books and
readily agreed. The two friends headed back to the dormitories to fetch their book-bags and
arranged to meet back in the Common Room.

When Harry came down the stairs, he found Ron sitting by the fireplace, elbows leaning on his
knees and staring into the flames. Harry wasn’t sure if it was the fire or not, but his friend’s
face seemed redder than usual. He hoped Susan hadn’t turned him down.

“Hey,” Harry said softly.

Ron turned a stunned face towards him. He didn’t say anything, but now Harry was sure it wasn’t
the fire that was responsible for the brightness of his friend’s complexion.

“Um . . . so did you . . . you know . . . ask her?” Harry inquired hesitantly.

“No,” Ron said in a low voice. “I never got the chance.”

“What happened?” asked Harry.

“Well,” Ron said slowly, “I was going to ask her. I followed her out of the Great Hall after
dinner, you know.”

Harry nodded.

“But then, before I could catch up to her, Looney, uh . . . I mean . . . *Luna,*” he
corrected himself, “uh . . . grabbed me.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry said with interest. “What did she want?”

“Well . . . uh,” Ron blushed an even more fiery red; his freckles stood out in stark relief to
the crimson background. “She . . . she asked me if I’d like to go to the Valentine’s Ball with
her.”

“What did you say?” asked Harry, agog. *This* was unexpected!

“I . . . erm . . . didn’t say anything at first. Couldn’t,” Ron cleared his throat. “Didn’t get
a chance. She pulled me into an alcove and she . . . she,” he choked, “*kissed* me! Right
under that portrait of Ethelgrove the Elder—he saw everything!”

“She kissed you!” Harry repeated, stunned.

“Yeah! She did; more than once,” Ron said in a faltering voice. Then, in a whisper, “and the
second time, she slipped me the *tongue!*”

Harry was speechless. He stared at Ron in amazement. Finding his voice, he managed to ask, “What
was it like—the second time, I mean?”

“Well,” a reluctant grin spread over Ron’s face, “that’s the strange thing, you see. It was . .
. it was brilliant, actually!”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I was surprised and everything—well, bloody stunned if you want the truth. How
many times has a girl grabbed you and kissed you, *French*-kissed you, right there in the
corridor of Hogwarts right after dinner?”

“Never,” Harry answered truthfully.

“And this was Looney . . . *Luna . . .* Lovegood! But Harry, she is an amazing kisser! Not
that I’m an expert or anything,” Ron confessed self-consciously, “but you know how she acts all the
time, kind of spacey and weird?”

Harry nodded.

“There was nothing spacey or weird about her this time! She was really . . . firm and . . .
determined, and her lips were really soft and her tongue was . . .”

“Okay, I get the idea,” Harry interjected hastily.

“She said I was a brilliant kisser and that she just couldn’t help herself.” Ron smiled
modestly. “Said she might be kissing me again!”

Harry had no words.

“After that,” Ron continued, “what could I do? After all, she’s obviously crazy about me! I
couldn’t say no to her after that, could I? Wouldn’t want to break her heart, would I?”

Harry shook his head. No, Ron wouldn’t want to do that.

“And,” Ron added, “after all, there is the . . . well, there is the chance of more . . .
*snogging*. What guy in his right mind would pass that up?”

“Did I hear you say you had a chance for some *more* snogging, Ron?” asked an amused voice
from behind them.

“Hermione!” Harry burst out. “We didn’t see you coming down.”

“That’s obvious,” Hermione said with a smirk. “So, Ron—what’s this about?”

Ron flushed again and he grinned at Harry.

“Oh go on, Ron,” Harry laughed. “Just tell her. You know she’ll hear about it anyway.”

Ron told her, blushing furiously but appearing quite pleased with himself all the same.

“Guess we’ll be hearing a bit more of that ‘Weasley Is Our King’ song at the next Quidditch
match then,” Hermione teased Ron. “Or maybe that lion’s head hat will be making another appearance,
hmmmm?”

“Shut up, Hermione,” Ron said, but with no rancor. A reluctant grin spread across his face.

She smiled at him and then turned to Harry. “You ready?”

“What’s up?” Ron asked.

“We’re going to the library to work on our Potions project,” Harry said.

“Sounds like great fun,” said Ron sarcastically. “What a pity I don’t have Potions any more and
won’t get to experience this with you.”

“Haha. Very funny.”

“Well, have a good time you two.” Ron added. Then, “Hey Harry, when are you going to ask
Hermione . . .” he broke off at Harry’s glare.

“Ask me what?”

Harry continued to glare at Ron, a slow wash of colour creeping up his face.

“Go on, Harry,” Ron urged. “It’s just Hermione.”

“Yes, it’s just me,” she repeated dryly. “Ask me what, Harry? Is something wrong?”

“No,” Harry said slowly. “Nothing’s wrong. I just . . . um . . . I . . .”

“He wants to ask you to go with him to the Valentine’s Ball,” blurted out Ron. “He doesn’t want
to go with a girl he likes—wants to have fun and be comfortable. Doesn’t want any pressure.”

Harry closed his eyes and prayed for mercy.

“Oh,” Hermione’s voice was flat. “I see. Harry wants to be comfortable and going with me would
be like wearing an old pair of shoes or a favourite worn-out track suit—comfortable and
dependable.”

“Exactly,” Ron agreed, pleased that she understood. “Of course, he likes you, Hermione, but not
*like that,* if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know *exactly* what you mean,” she said in a strangely high-pitched voice.

“Look,” Harry interrupted, his face aflame. “I don’t think of you like an older pair of
trainers, Hermione. I just . . .”

“It’s all right, Harry,” Hermione said calmly, but still with that odd timbre in her voice. “And
I would be happy to go with you. Unfortunately, however, I’m already going with someone else. Now,
shall we go to the library? We have a long night of Potions work ahead of us.”

Oh, joy, thought Harry.

**A/N**: Sorry, I know you all **hate** cliffies *glances around nervously for knives and
sharp stones*, but at least I didn’t make you wait a full two weeks, did I? That’s worth something,
isn’t it? J *coughs, still nervous*

All right, perhaps we can all agree that Harry is in BIG trouble, thanks to his ever-helpful
friend, Ronald Weasley. Tune in next week (I will not make you wait longer than that) and find out
1. How does Harry get himself out of this one and, 2.The answer to the million-dollar question:
just who is taking our Hermione to the Valentine’s Ball?

Hugs, Kirsti



6. untitled
-----------

**Author’s Note:** I’m back! *looks around frantically but can’t see any readers* Hello?
Anyone still out there?

I’m very sorry for not getting this chapter up sooner; unfortunately, RL got in the way. In
order to make it up to you, this chapter is a **wee** bit longer than usual. Also, I’m already
more than half-way done with Chapter 7, so the next update WILL be within the week—and that’s a
promise. In fact I **must** update before next Sunday (March 27) rolls around and the
Easter-candy-sugar-high-frenzy hits my rugrats. Once that happens, the only way I’ll get any
writing done is to either shoot the Easter bunny or lock myself in a padded cell with a bag of
stolen Cadbury’s crème eggs!

I have finally caught up on all my review responses (hurray!) and want, once again, to thank all
of you who have taken the time to give me feedback on this story. Feedback encourages authors to
write more frequently and is an immeasurable aid in helping one improve one’s writing. *beams
affectionately at reviewers and sends virtual hugs*

**HELPING NEVILLE**

**Chapter 6**

When Hermione had said they had a long night of Potions ahead of them she wasn’t kidding, Harry
thought glumly. Not only were they working on his least favourite subject (since he could never
open a Potions book without thinking of the sinister—ugh--Snape), but Hermione was not exactly Miss
Bubbles and Cheer. She had reverted to brainy -bossy-Prefect-Hermione mode and seemed grimly
determined to keep any and all conversation between the two of them focused on Potions. Despite
Harry’s best efforts, for the past three hours they had been researching Potions, talking about
Potions, and writing about Potions. Bah!

Harry had known the minute Ron opened his big mouth that he, Harry, was in major trouble and was
going to have to come up with some way to redeem himself in his best (female) friend’s eyes. Unlike
his oblivious dorm-mate, Harry was immediately aware that Hermione’s feelings were hurt by Ron’s
words, and this bothered him no end. Despite Hermione’s brilliance at all things scholastic and
magical, she was still a teenage girl, and Ron’s unfortunate statement that Harry was planning on
asking Hermione to the Valentine’s Ball because “he doesn’t want to go with a girl he likes—wants
to have fun and be comfortable. Doesn’t want any pressure,” was hardly a flattering account of
Harry’s intentions!

So what exactly, Harry wondered to himself, *were* his intentions?

Well, he reasoned, it *was* true that he wanted to go to the ball with Hermione because he
was comfortable with her. But was that truly the *only* reason?

Harry, like many teenage boys, was not particularly comfortable examining his feelings, and was
especially uncomfortable examining his feelings re Hermione. Their relationship was complicated—the
relationship of the *trio* was complicated.

The trio had actually started out as a duo, when he and Ron became instant friends on the train
to Hogwarts during first year. In Ron, Harry found his first friend and someone with whom he could
share adventures and explore the new and amazing wizarding world. In many ways, he and Ron were
polar opposites: Ron came from a long line of pure-blood wizards, while Harry was raised by Muggles
and was the product of a wizard and a muggle-born witch; Ron had grown up poor but happy as a
member of a tight-knit family circle, while Harry grew up in a cupboard, shunned and abused by his
cold relatives; Ron sought recognition and praise, while Harry only wanted anonymity and love. What
it came down to, was two boys who could not be more different but still became best mates.

When Hermione first burst onto the scene (“Have you seen a toad? A boy named Neville’s lost
one”), she was nothing more or less than an infuriating, bookish, know-it-all, poking her nose into
things that were none of her concern. Her obvious brainpower did not endear her to either Ron or
Harry, and Ron especially was very open about his annoyance. Then came the incident with the troll
on that Hallowe’en night during first year. By lying to their professors and taking all the blame
for the troll confrontation (and thus keeping Harry and Ron out of trouble), Hermione earned their
admiration and trust. That night a new friendship was born and a close bond forged amongst the
members of what would come to be known throughout all of Hogwarts as “the trio.” With Ron and
Hermione’s help, Harry kept the Sorcerer’s Stone from falling into Voldemort’s clutches and bought
more time for the wizarding world.

In second year, the bond between the trio tightened as they worked together to solve the mystery
of the Chamber of Secrets. Even though Hermione was petrified for a good part of final term, her
research and brilliance were instrumental in helping Harry defeat the Basilisk and banish Tom
Riddle. If he closed his eyes, Harry could still feel the power of that enormous hug as Hermione
flew at him in the Great Hall. Then in third year, while Harry, Ron, and Hermione remained close
friends, Ron was confined to a hospital bed while Harry and Hermione used the Time Turner to save
Sirius and Buckbeak.

When they pulled Harry’s name out of the Goblet of Fire during fourth year, the trio’s dynamic
underwent a shift—slight, but there just the same. Jealous and angry, Ron refused to believe that
Harry had not sought out more fame and glory through the distinction of “Hogwarts Champion.” That
had hurt Harry; hurt him a lot. In fact, the only one who truly believed him and believed *in*
him was Hermione. Never once did she doubt him, something Harry would never forget. Although Ron
eventually apologised and Harry forgave him, a tiny bit of trust was lost and could not be
replaced.

Yes, Hermione had never once left his side during his more than six years in the magical world
of Hogwarts. Even when he was acting like a total prat the summer before fifth year . . .

*‘I SUPPOSE YOU’VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN’T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER--’*
Harry closed his eyes, remembering how he had yelled at Ron and Hermione. And then, Hermione’s
response: ‘*Harry, we’re really sorry,’* her eyes had sparkled with tears, but she had refused
to desert him, her only chastisement a gentle, ‘*You’re* *absolutely right, Harry—I’d be
furious if it was me!’*

His explosions of rage had continued on throughout all of fifth year. Hermione had been hurt,
*must* have been hurt, by his childish explosions of rage. However, she always knew just the
thing to say to calm him down. His mind wandered over yet another memory . . .

Harry was in the Gryffindor common room after Seamus had let him know in no uncertain terms that
he believed the rubbish written about Harry in the Daily Prophet:

*‘What’s up, Harry?’* Hermione had asked him. *‘You look really angry about
something.’*

*‘Seamus reckons Harry’s lying about You-Know-Who,’* Ron had said. Harry had expected
Hermione to be angry on his behalf, but instead she had sighed and said gloomily,

*‘Yes, Lavender thinks so too.’*

Harry had felt so angry with Hermione over what he thought was her disloyalty that he had
blurted out*, ‘Been having a nice little chat with her about whether or not I’m a lying,
attention-seeking prat, have you?’*

He would never forget her dignified response,

*‘No, I told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you, actually. And it would be quite
nice if you stopped jumping down Ron’s and my throats, Harry, because if you haven’t noticed, we’re
on your side.’*

She was an incredible witch—brilliant, loyal, loving, and . . . pretty.

Harry blinked in surprise. Where had that thought come from--Hermione, “pretty?” He shot a
furtive look at the witch scribbling away by his side. Hermione was frowning slightly, an
all-too-familiar look of concentration on her face, her rosy bottom lip caught up in her (now
normal-sized) white teeth. Her long dark lashes fanned out over her pink cheeks and her thick
chestnut hair frizzed out wildly around her head. This was the second time in less than a week that
he had thought of Hermione as “pretty.”

Harry’s eyes moved down to her hands and the quill clenched tightly as it moved rapidly, filling
the creamy parchment with her small, neat script. Scribble, Scribble. Faint splotches of ink were
scattered over her hands; she even had a small smudge under her left ear. Harry reached out and
gently wiped at the tiny ink spot. Hermione paused and looked over at him, still frowning,
chocolate-brown eyes unfathomable.

“You,” Harry’s voice was slightly hoarse, “you had a bit of ink on your . . . erm . . . on your
face.”

“Thanks.” She turned back to her writing.

Harry let out a small sigh and slouched down into his seat. He hated having Hermione upset with
him, especially with their relationship still strained from before.

“Hermione?”

“Hmmmm?”

“About what Ron said earlier . . . in the common room . . .” he paused, unsure of how to go
on.

Hermione’s quill continued to fly over the parchment. Scribble, Scribble.

“Uh . . . well, I . . . erm . . .” he stammered.

Putting down her quill, she turned to face him, her deep brown eyes unreadable.

Harry froze as he stared into them.

“Yes?” Hermione’s voice was soft.

“I just wanted you to know that . . . um . . . well, that . . .”

“Come on Harry,” she said quietly, “what is it?”

He cleared his throat nervously and glanced around the library. Although not deserted, it was
getting close to curfew and most of the students had already left for their common rooms. The few
who were left seemed to be engrossed in their own projects and paid no attention to either Harry or
Hermione.

“All right,” he said. “I just wanted you to know that Ron got everything all wrong back there. I
did want to ask you to the Valentine’s Ball, but not because—well, because of the reasons Ron
gave.”

“Why did you want to ask me then?” Hermione asked logically, her voice carefully neutral. She
lowered her eyes and began picking at a ragged cuticle on her thumb.

Somehow, despite Hermione’s studied nonchalance, Harry knew that his next words would determine
the direction of their friendship. If he told her that he had planned on asking her to the ball
because she was a “sensible” choice, being his best friend and all, Hermione would accept his
answer at face value and let the matter drop. He also understood that the word “sensible” would
wound her. And he couldn’t very well tell her what he had said to Ron, that he didn’t want to “be
miserable all night worrying about having to impress some girl” he didn’t really care about. That
would be devastating. It would sound as if he didn’t want to impress Hermione. And he did want to
impress her; he really did.

The problem was that for the first time, Harry was questioning his own motives for wanting to
ask Hermione to be his . . . his . . . yes, his “date” (let’s be honest here, he told himself) to
the Valentine’s Ball. Was it really because he was too much of a coward to ask a girl he fancied,
or because he wanted to be comfortable and just hang out with an old friend? Or was his desire to
ask Hermione fueled by his jealousy of the inordinate amount of time Hermione had been spending
lately with Neville? And if his motive was jealousy, then what exactly was he jealous of? And why
was he jealous at all?

“Harry?” Hermione asked softly, her voice trembling a little.

“Um,” Harry could feel himself blushing as he desperately tried to find the right words. He
risked a peek at Hermione and saw to his horror that she had tears sparkling in her big brown eyes.
He took a deep breath and . . .

“Never mind, Harry,” said Hermione in a sad, small voice. “It’s all right. I know what you were
going to say.”

“You do?”

“Yes, and don’t worry. I understand.” She reached over and patted his hand reassuringly. “It’s
getting late. Maybe we should wrap this up for tonight and head back to Gryffindor Tower. I’m
tired.”

Harry watched in dismay as Hermione rolled up her parchment and began loading up her book-bag,
keeping her head carefully turned away.

*‘Bullocks,’* he thought in frustration. *‘I’ve gone and done it again!’*

Harry continued to sit there, uncertain.

“I’ll just put these back before we go,” Hermione said, still keeping her face averted. She
picked up several large Potions reference books and made her way over to the stacks.

Harry couldn’t stand it anymore—he had to say something. But what could he say? Impulsively, he
jumped up and followed Hermione over to the stacks. She was struggling to force a heavy tome
between two others on a jam-packed shelf, but the books were not cooperating.

“Hermione!”

“Urk,” she squeaked, shooting him a startled glance. Her expression changed to horror when the
tome in her outstretched hands threw her balance off and she toppled backwards.

Harry’s eyes widened and his Seeker’s reflexes kicked in. Making a mad dash towards Hermione, he
managed to reach her just before she hit the crowded bookshelves.

Instead of cold metal smashing into her head, Hermione was surprised to feel a pair of firm arms
around her back and under her knees. In his haste to save her, Harry had snatched her up as if she
were the Golden Snitch, lifting her completely off her feet. The two teens stared at one another in
shock. Their faces only inches apart, Harry could see the moisture from her unshed tears trembling
on the ends of Hermione’s lashes.

“Are . . . are you all right, Hermione?” Harry asked somewhat breathlessly.

Hermione nodded, wide-eyed.

Silence. Then a bustling noise broke them out of their trance as Madame Pince made her way over
to the book shelves.

“What was that unearthly racket?” the very angry librarian asked sharply. “And I do **not**
allow that kind of thing to go on here. This is a *library!*” she added, outraged.

Blushing furiously, Harry realised that he was still holding Hermione in his arms; she in turn
still had the Potions tome clutched to her chest.

“Um, Harry? You can put me down now.”

“Oh. Right.”

Harry felt like a complete fool. Madame Pince glared at them, looking for all the world like an
angry bird of prey with her long thin nose and beady eyes, black robes billowing around her tall,
skinny frame. Muffled snickering could be heard from the other students still in the library.

“Well,” he said in a low voice. “Guess we’d better get back, eh?” Without another glance at
Hermione, Harry walked over to where they had been working and began hurriedly stuffing his
belongings into his bag.

*‘As if people don’t talk about me enough already,’* he thought angrily. *‘Too bad Malfoy
wasn’t here to witness that—would’ve made his day, although it’ll be all over the school by
morning, for sure!’*

Hermione slowly made her way back to their table and picked up her own book-bag. With Madame
Pince’s eyes boring into their backs, the two friends left the library.

*****

The walk back to Gryffindor Tower seemed to take forever. Harry wracked his brains for something
to say as the silence grew uncomfortable. He had finally decided to just take the bull by the horns
and tell her how confused he was feeling about everything (about her!) when they reached the
portrait hole and the touch of a soft hand on his arm brought him out of his mental anguish.

“Hey, I forget to thank you, Harry,” Hermione said quietly. “If you hadn’t caught me, I would’ve
had a nasty fall. So thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry responded, just as quietly. “I . . .”

“Well really! Just feel free to stand there all night and keep me waiting!” grumbled the Fat
Lady with a yawn. “What does it matter if *I* get tired! Kids today—no consideration!”

“Oh, sorry,” said Hermione with an embarrassed laugh. “Gred and Forge.” The portrait hole swung
open and the two friends entered the common room.

Listen, Hermione,” Harry began. “I . . .” Once again he was interrupted.

“Hermione!” Neville beckoned eagerly from a couch near the fire. “Could I have a word?”

“Of course.” Hermione smiled at Harry, a quick, mechanical smile. “See you later then, Harry. Be
sure and finish writing up that last bit for our Potions project, won’t you?”

Before Harry could respond, Hermione turned quickly and headed towards the fire. She plopped
down beside Neville and within seconds they were deep into an animated conversation.

Feeling like a fool yet again, Harry decided to call it a night and go to bed by a decent hour,
but when he made to go up the stairs, Ron called out from the other side of the room.

“Oi there, Harry. Survived the library, eh? Come here for a sec, will you?”

“What is it Ron?” asked Harry wearily. He walked slowly over towards Ron and shot a wary look at
the chessboard in front of his friend. “I’m not up to getting slaughtered in Wizard’s Chess
tonight, okay?”

“Nah, that’s not what I wanted to see you about,” Ron said, dismissing the chessboard with a
wave of his hand.

“What then?”

“Sit down and I’ll tell you,” said Ron with a grin. Reluctantly, Harry sat.

“Listen, I was thinking about the Valentine’s Ball and . . .”

Harry rolled his eyes in frustration. “Look, Ron, I’m really not in the mood.”

“I know, I know, but you screwed up with Hermione and so . . .”

“Wait a minute!” Harry said crossly. “What do you mean *I* screwed up with Hermione?”

“Telling her you don’t think of her like an old pair of trainers,” Ron sniggered. “Not exactly
the way to win a girl’s heart, eh mate?”

“I’m not the one who basically told her that I wanted to ask her because I didn’t want to ask a
girl I liked!” Harry’s voice was indignant.

“You may not have said that, but that’s what you meant.”

“No, it wasn’t,” said Harry, crosser still.

“But you told me that . . .” Ron frowned, puzzled.

“I told you that I didn’t want to be miserable all night worrying about having to impress some
girl I didn’t really care about.”

“What’s the difference?”

“What’s the difference?” asked Harry incredulously. “What’s the *difference*? There’s a big
bloody difference between wanting to go with my best friend because I enjoy her company and wanting
to go with her because she’s like some kind of old worn-out pair of track pants that I would pull
on just because they’re lying around!”

Feeling incredibly put-upon, Harry turned to examine Hermione and Neville, who were still
talking excitedly by the fire. “And now Hermione’s gone and had her feelings hurt because she
thinks I wanted to ask her for all the wrong reasons.”

“I wouldn’t worry about her,” Ron said callously. “She’ll get over it. Anyway, I wanted to tell
you about this brilliant idea I had.”

Harry continued to stare at Neville and Hermione.

“Harry?”

“What?”

“Don’t you want to hear my brilliant idea?”

“I guess,” Harry said uninterestedly. With a distinct lack of enthusiasm, he swung around to
face Ron again.

“Gee, try not to get so excited,” Ron said sarcastically. Harry raised an eyebrow. “All right,”
continued Ron, “here’s what I was thinking. You know how I was going to ask either Hannah or Susan
to the ball, but then Luna grabbed me and she . . .”

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Harry broke in with a bored shrug of his shoulders, “you’re irresistible.
Go on.”

Ron flushed. “*Anyways,* after you messed everything up with Hermione,” another glare from
Harry, “and since I have a date with Luna now and don’t need them, I was thinking that *you*
should ask Hannah or Susan to the ball.” He smiled in triumph. “See? I told you it was a brilliant
idea.”

“It’s a dumb idea,” Harry snapped. “Why would I want to ask Hannah or Susan?”

“For the same reasons you gave me,” Ron pointed out. “You already sort of know them from the DA,
they’re both nice, and neither one is a troll. Or a Slytherin,” he added.

“Hmmmfff.”

“In a bit of a mood there, eh Harry,” noted Ron wryly.

“I’m not ‘*in a mood’,*” Harry argued moodily. “I just don’t see why I should invite Hannah
or Susan when I--” he broke off suddenly.

“When you what?”

“When I . . . well when I don’t want to . . . I mean, when I don’t see why I should,” Harry
finished weakly.

‘Listen mate, you’re not asking one of them to *marry* you. You just need a date for the
Valentine’s Ball.”

“Hmmmfff.”

**Author’s Note:** See that pretty little box at the bottom of the page? Yes, that’s it--the
one underneath the nice aqua line. Wouldn’t you like to fill it up with some pretty words? Pretty
please?



7. untitled
-----------

**Disclaimer:** Much to my dismay, Harry Potter and the entire magical Hogwarts world are
*still* not mine. Rats. Perhaps in another dimension or parallel universe they could belong to
me? In this one, however, JK Rowling still holds that honour.

**Author’s Note:** Let me tell you, I was rather worried this chappie would not get posted on
time; I had everything written except for the last couple of pages when my stupid computer messed
up and I saw that dreaded message from my WordXP program, “Illegal program termination.”
Nooooooooooo—I got so into writing the story that I forgot to save every couple of paragraphs and
everything new was lost! My PC was *this close* to death! *whines and bangs head on desk*

However, I promised you that I would have the update by March 25, so Kirstithemartyr *grins*
soldiered on and rewrote (as best she could) the stuff that was lost. So, here it is, **early**
and completed—Chapter 7. Hope you like!

**HELPING NEVILLE**

**Chapter 7**

*At dinner in the Great Hall the next evening.*

“Well?” Ron asked eagerly. “Idoohdoit?”

Harry collapsed into a chair and began listlessly spooning chicken casserole onto his plate. He
looked rather depressed.

“Really, Ron,” Hermione sounded disgusted. “Do you think you could open your mouth a bit wider?
Some of us didn’t get to see ALL of your food.”

Ron glared and with an enormous swallow, managed to empty out his mouth. “To repeat the question
that I asked HARRY,” he said snippily—Hermione rolled her eyes and applied herself to her own
dinner—“did you do it?”

Harry shot him a look and took an unenthusiastic bite of his food.

“WELL?”

Harry nodded.

“Great!” Ron said, slightly disconcerted by Harry’s apathetic response. “Which one?”

“Which one what?”

“Which one did you ask?”

“Oh.” Chew, swallow. “Susan—saw her first,” was the less-than-ecstatic reply. Chew, swallow.

“Brilliant! I knew you had it in you, Harry,” Ron shouted, pumping his fist in the air.

“Had what in him?” Seamus asked from down the table.

“Harry,” Ron explained, once again stuffing his mouth full of chicken casserole. “Athked Susan
Bones to the Va’ntine’s Ball.”

“Yeah, go Harry!” Seamus grinned.

Harry looked up to see Neville and Hermione staring at him, identical expressions of dismay
plastered over both their faces.

He tipped his head in inquiry.

“Oh, um, that’s great, Harry,” Neville stammered out. “G-good for you then.” He and Hermione
exchanged glances.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Nothing,” said Hermione shortly, giving him a bright smile. “Splendid news.” Then she did
something that completely floored Harry. She reached over, put her arm around Neville, and began
whispering rapidly into his ear! Neville gave a small squeak, turned a dull red, and appeared to be
about to pass out.

Harry watched in disbelief (Hermione was *hugging* Neville—without an ounce of shame!) as
more frantic whispering from Hermione brought a reluctant smile to Neville’s countenance.

Hermione was beaming.

Harry was frowning.

Ron was oblivious, hunched over his plate and attacking his dinner with vigor, secure in the
knowledge that because of him, his best mate now had a date to the ball. What a wonderful friend he
was, Ron congratulated himself!

Ginny, at the other end of the table, was stealing surreptitious glances at Neville and
Hermione.

A few minutes later, Harry watched morosely as his female best friend and Neville left the Great
Hall, supposedly for the common room. At least this time, Hermione allowed Neville to finish his
dinner before dragging him off.

“So, Ron,” Ginny smirked at her brother, “You’re taking Luna to the Valentine’s Ball, eh?”

Ron grinned broadly and nodded, looking a bit sheepish. “Yeah. She asked me.”

“I don’t know about that,” Ginny giggled. “I heard she did more than just ask you.”

Ron choked on a large piece of treacle tart and began turning an alarming shade of crimson.
Ginny sighed in exasperation and got up to sit next to him. After a few hearty thumps on the back
by Ginny, Ron was once again able to breath.

“What’d you hear?” he asked.

“Well,” Ginny giggled again, “Natalie MacDonald saw Luna attempting to drag you into a broom
closet; apparently that didn’t quite work out and she had to . . . *hem hem . . .* (Ginny did
a startlingly-good Umbridge imitation) *snog* you right there in a corner of the corridor.
Gave poor Natalie quite an eyeful—and her only a fourth-year!”

Ron gaped at Ginny in disbelief, his face as red as his hair. “Maybe Natalie Mac-sodding-Donald
should learn to mind her own business,” he sputtered. “Incredible, eh, Harry?”

Harry was still staring in the direction of the door through which Hermione and Neville had
vanished a couple of moments before. Ron nudged him.

“What?” asked Harry moodily.

This time it was Ron’s turn to roll his eyes. “Hey, earth to Harry,” rapping his knuckles on the
side of Harry’s head. “Anyone home in there?”

Harry just looked at him.

“Er, right then,” said Ron, clearing his throat nervously. “All done there, Harry? You up for a
game of Wizard’s chess?”

Harry grunted and stabbed at his treacle tart.

Ginny shot her brother a quick look and laid a hand over Harry’s. “What’s wrong, Harry?” she
asked.

“Nothing,” he said shortly. Stab. Stab.

Ginny cleared her throat and shot an inquiring glance at her brother. Ron shrugged and shook his
head.

“Harry,” she forged on bravely, “you’re going to the Valentine’s Ball with Susan Bones?”

No response. Stab stab.

“You know Harry, if you’re just going to mash that up, you might give it to me.” Ron said
sorrowfully.

Still no response. Stab stab.

“What happened with Hermione? I thought you were going to ask her to go with you,” Ginny
persisted.

“Yeah, well,” Harry gave a bitter laugh, “Mr. Sensitive over there pretty much cocked that up
for me.”

Ron looked offended. “I only told her the truth,” he said indignantly. Harry just looked at him.
“What?”

“The truth, Ron? The *truth?*” And Harry proceeded to fill Ginny in on what had happened
the night before. She looked at Ron incredulously and smacked him on the side of the head.

“Way to go, you prat!”

“Ow,” Ron whined. “I was only trying to help.”

“Next time don’t,” Harry said glumly.

“Fine!” Ron pushed out his chair. “I’ll just . . .”

“Sit down,” Ginny barked, seizing the back of Ron’s robe and shoving him back into his seat.

“Wow, Gin,” Ron chuckled a bit nervously. “You sounded just like Mum. Bit scary, really.” At
Ginny’s stern look, he subsided and slumped down again.

“All right,” she said in a commanding tone. “Here’s what we’re going to do . . .”

* * * * *

After Ginny’s lengthy lecture, Ron, Harry, and Ginny headed back to the Gryffindor common room.
Ron was convinced he’d be able to carry out Ginny’s orders and sort things out with Hermione; Harry
wasn’t so sure. The whole business seemed dodgy, at best, and Ginny’s plan required Ron to exercise
subtlety—a quality he did not possess in abundance. However, Ginny seemed to believe that Ron could
do it, so Harry just had to hope and pray that she was right.

Unfortunately, immediately after climbing through the portrait hole, the three friends could see
that the plan would need to be revised.

Hermione was sitting in her usual spot in front of the fire, somewhat hysterically waving a
piece of parchment. Tears streamed down her face, and a flummoxed Neville was patting her shoulder
and making little noises of reassurance.

Outraged, Harry and Ron made to charge over to Hermione; small but forceful hands grabbed both
boys by the elbow and yanked them back.

“Wait,” hissed Ginny.

“Wait?” Harry ground out. “Wait for what? For Neville to upset her even more? Let go.” The hand
on his elbow tightened to a vice-like grip.

“Don’t be stupid,” Ginny said in a low voice. “Neville’s not the one upsetting her! Can’t you
see he’s trying to comfort her?”

Neither Ron nor Harry liked this idea much. Ron felt vaguely that if Hermione were upset, then
either he or Harry were the only ones with the right to comfort her. He made another attempt to
pull away from Ginny, but she continued to hang on, tugging them towards a corner couch. Both boys
reluctantly complied.

“Jeez, Gin,” Ron complained, rubbing his elbow. “You been lifting weights or something?”

Ginny ignored him and turned to Harry. “Look, this changes things. You’re going to have to let
me handle this, okay?”

Harry didn’t look happy, but he finally nodded.

Ginny stood up and made her way over to Hermione and Neville. Sitting down beside Hermione, she
gently took one of Hermione’s hands and began patting it. After a few minutes, Hermione was smiling
through her tears, Ginny and Neville both hugging her. Then Hermione turned to Neville, and after a
whispered conversation involving many hand gestures on Hermione’s part, and blushes on Neville’s,
the two friends moved apart and Hermione pulled Ginny over to sit between them.

Ron almost had a muscle spasm as he craned his neck, trying to see what was going on. The three
heads bent together amidst additional frenzied murmurs; Ginny put her arms around both Neville and
Hermione and appeared to be speaking to each one in turn. Neville turned red as a beet at one point
when Ginny’s mouth went within an inch of his ear as she whispered to him. Shortly thereafter, a
broad smile burst over his features.

At this point, Harry had to physically restrain Ron from racing over and pounding Neville into
the ground. Luckily, his impulsive friend was distracted when, after a last group hug, Hermione and
Neville headed up the stairs to their respective dormitories and Ginny made her way towards the
portrait hole.

Harry jumped up to block her path.

“What happened,” he asked anxiously. “Did you explain?”

“I’ll have to fill you in later, Harry. Right now there’s something I need to do. Just do your
homework or play a game of chess with Ron until I get back.”

“But . . .”

“Not now, Harry,” she said impatiently. “There’re only a couple of hours left before curfew and
there’s something I need to do, okay?”

Frowning, Harry agreed.

* * * * *

When Ginny returned to the common room a couple of minutes after curfew, only a few students
were still up. Ron was fast asleep on the coach, snoring softly, while Harry had moved closer to
the fire and was staring into the flames.

“Hey,” Ginny said softly.

“Hey,” replied Harry. “Should I go and wake Ron?”

“Naw, let him sleep. I’m beat and not really up to explaining everything to my dear thick-headed
brother,” Ginny laughed.

Harry looked at her expectantly.

“Well, first of all,” Ginny began, “I didn’t get a chance to talk to Hermione about your little
misunderstanding.”

Harry scowled and Ginny held up an appeasing hand. “I will,” she promised. “Trust me, Harry.
Hermione was upset about something and tonight just wasn’t the right time to get into it. I’ll talk
to her tomorrow after breakfast, okay?”

“Okay,” said Harry grudgingly. Then, “Sorry Ginny. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just
that . . .”

“I know Harry,” she patted his arm in a sisterly way. “Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything.
Hermione knows what Ron is like, so it shouldn’t be too hard to clear things up.”

Harry nodded. “So what was tonight all about then? Why was Hermione crying?”

Ginny gave him a considering look. “Weellll,” she said hesitantly, “I’m not really supposed to
say. She asked me to keep it confidential.”

Harry started to protest and Ginny held up her hand. “Listen,” she said, “I can’t tell you that
exactly. But what I can tell you is that things will work out in the end.”

“What do you mean?” Harry inquired tersely. “I need to know why Hermione was so upset.”

“No you don’t,” said Ginny bluntly. “It had nothing to do with you, Harry—not directly anyway;
that’s about all I can tell you.”

“Not directly!” Harry burst out. “C’mon, Ginny. This is Hermione we’re talking about here. She’s
my best friend and if there’s anything I can do to . . .”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “I thought both she *and* Ron were your best friends?”

Harry flushed. “Y--yeah. That’s what I meant.”

“Okay,” Ginny smiled. “But I’m still not going to tell you.”

“Hey,” interrupted a sleepy voice. “What’s going on?” Ron raised himself up on an elbow and
rubbed his eyes.

Harry laughed. “Your hair looks worse than mine.”

“Thanks a lot,” was the grumpy response. “So Ginny, where did you run off to earlier? And did
you talk to Hermione about him,” he asked, indicating Harry.

“She didn’t; what’s worse, she’s not going to tell us what Hermione was upset about,” he added
crossly.

Ron glared at his sister.

“Hey,” she protested, “don’t give me that look, Ronald Weasley. And stop worrying about
Hermione. I have everything under control.”

“What was the big emergency about earlier then?” Ron grumbled. “You said you’d fill us in later
and then just took off! So why aren’t you filling us in about what’s happening with Hermione?”

She shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

Ron’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

Ginny giggled.

Harry and Ron glared speechlessly.

“Sorry,” she giggled again. “You just look so funny Ron—like one of those Muggle puppets.”

“Why you—you,” Ron sputtered. Then he frowned. “And why were you snuggling on that couch with
Neville Longbottom? Was he bothering you? ‘Cause if he was . . .”

Ginny sighed. “Really Ron, I’m not ten years old. And relax—Neville wasn’t doing anything except
. . .”

“HA!” Ron ground out. “Looked to me like he was sitting altogether too close to you earlier . .
.”

“Why did you run out earlier?” broke in Harry. “Was it something to do with Hermione?”

“. . . and I didn’t like the way he was looking at you either,” Ron grumbled on.

“Did Neville upset her? Why didn’t she come to me? I would have been happy to . . .”

“ARGH,” shouted Ginny, startling a nearby couple in mid-snog. “Will you two let up? Neville
didn’t do anything to me or to Hermione. He was a perfect gentleman, as always, which is why I told
him I’d be happy to go to the ball with him. And I was only . . .” she looked up at Ron, who had
jumped to his feet and was clenching his fists, his jaw working soundlessly.

“Oh sit down you enormous prat,” she said, sounding completely fed up.

“Why are you going to the ball with *Neville*,” asked Ron in revolted tones. “I thought
you’d be going with Michael Corner?” He added in a whispered aside to Harry: “*Had a talk with
him a couple of months ago and threatened to test a couple of Fred and George’s newest
**products** on him if he tried anything with my sister. So he’s a safe bet for our
Gin.*”

Ginny sputtered in impotent rage. “You . . . you . . . so that’s why Michael refused to go to
the Astronomy Tower with me any more!”

Ron’s eyes bulged. “The Astronomy Tower? What would **you** be doing going to the Astronomy
Tower? And you didn’t answer my question: why aren’t you going to the Valentine’s Ball with
Michael?”

“That would be difficult,” Ginny snapped with narrowed eyes, “since we broke up over a month
ago; besides, he couldn’t very well take *two* girls to the ball, now could he?”

“What are you on about?”

“What I’m on about,” she spat, “is that Michael already *has* a date for the ball, and I’m
sure he and Hermione will have a lovely time together!”

* * * * *

The next two weeks flew by in a flurry of activity as students hurried to finish Potions
projects, complete Transfiguration assignments, and shop for new dress robes. Thanks to Ginny’s
“chat” with Hermione regarding Harry, Ron, and Harry’s *real* reasons for wanting to ask
Hermione to the ball, Harry and Hermione’s relationship appeared to be back to normal and business
as usual. However, they both made a studied attempt to avoid the topic of the Valentine’s Ball—a
task which became more and more difficult as the time for the ball approached and students spoke of
little else. Finally, the day before the ball, the trio were finishing up a Charms essay in the
library.

“Hey, Hermione,” Ron asked casually. “Save me a dance tomorrow night?”

Hermione nodded absently. Only one more inch of parchment left and she’d have a full three
meters more than Flitwich required.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances.

“So,” Ron said, clearing his throat. “How about Harry?”

Hermione looked up. Harry studied his hands.

“You going to save him a dance too?”

Hermione turned to Harry, who appeared to be fascinated by his left thumb nail. When she didn’t
answer, he raised his head and shot her a glance from under his bangs.

Hermione smiled shyly. “Of course I’ll save a dance for Harry,” she said softly.

Their eyes met and Harry smiled tentatively back. Hermione felt her knees weaken and was
relieved that she was sitting down.

*** * * * ***

“Hermione, you’ve got to help me! I don’t know what to do,” Neville blurted out in a panic.

“Shhh,” Hermione consoled him. Taking a quick peek around the crowded common room, she sighed in
frustration. The room was packed! With the Valentine’s Ball only five hours away, most of the
students were in a fever of excitement; girls clustered together giggling and chattering about
dress robes and “what will you do if he . . .” discussions, while the boys played Exploding Snap,
Gobstones, or Wizard Chess in a studied effort at nonchalance. Hermione was very aware of Harry,
sitting quietly in a corner by himself, reading “Flying with the Cannons.”

“Let’s take a walk, Neville, all right?

Neville nodded and made a visible effort to calm down. Grabbing his cloak, he followed Hermione
out the portrait hole, and together they walked towards the Herbology greenhouses. This was a
perfect place for a private conversation; Neville, as Professor Sprout’s favourite student, was
allowed free reign to use any of the greenhouses at his leisure. The two friends found an empty
bench in Greenhouse No. 4 and sat down. Hermione turned to Neville expectantly.

Neville took a deep breath and the words rushed out. “Hermione, I need to talk to you about the
list.”

Hermione shot him an inquiring look. “What is it Neville. You can tell me.”

“Well, you remember when you first talked to me about what I would like in a witch and which
witch (Hermione smiled at the alliteration) I fancied the most?”

Hermione nodded and pulled out a now-worn piece of parchment.

**Operation: Neville**

*Candidate* *House Year Neville’sNotes*

*1. Susan Bones Hufflepuff 7th Nice; a bit shy*

*2. Hannah Abbot Hufflepuff 7th Quiet; hard to talk to?*

*3. Laura Madley Hufflepuff 4th Too young?*

*4. Elenor Branstone Hufflepuff 4th Too young?*

*5. Ginny Weasley Gryffindor 6th Popular; friendly*

*6. Vicky Frobisher Gryffindor 7th Nice girl; friendly*

*7. Mandy Brocklehurst Ravenclaw 7th Seems nice*

*8. Morag McDougal Ravenclaw 7th Nice; a bit odd*

*9. Lisa Turpin Ravenclaw 7th Good at Herbology; cheerful*

*10. Natalie MacDonald Gryffindor 4th Too young?*

*11. Orla Quirke Ravenclaw 4th Too young?*

*12. Su Li Ravenclaw 7th Too brainy?*

*13. Padma Patil Ravenclaw 7th Too popular?* *Still angry about fourth
year?*

“The truth is that I wasn’t completely honest with you.”

Hermione frowned. “What do you mean, you weren’t *completely honest*?”

Neville flushed and hesitated. “The order,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t honest about the order.
You asked me why I put Laura and Elinor in the third and fourth spots when my only comment about
them was that they were both “too young.”

“Yes,” Hermione said in a puzzled tone. “And I reminded you that I was only in fourth year when
Victor asked me to the Yule Ball. When I asked you if you didn’t want to reconsider putting Hannah
in the second slot when you considered her hard to talk to, you said that the order was good and
you didn’t want to change it.”

Neville nodded. “That was because I was embarrassed to tell you who I really wanted to put down
as second on the list.

Hermione smiled her encouragement.

“After Ron yelled out that Harry had asked Susan, I was worried that you were going to push me
to ask Hannah—and I really didn’t want to.”

“I remember,” Hermione said softly. “So who was it, Neville? Who was really your second
choice.”

“Ginny Weasley,” Neville said. Then, so softly that she barely heard him, he added, “she was
actually my first choice.”

Hermione beamed. “Why, that’s wonderful, Neville! I was terribly upset when I found out that
Harry was going with Susan because I felt as if I had failed you--that I should have helped you ask
her sooner. But luckily Ginny came over to see why I was crying and . . .”

“And she saw the list and offered to go with me,” Neville finished glumly.

“Yes. Then we told her about the pickle I was in . . .”

“Thanks to Ron and his big mouth,” interjected Neville.

“. . . and she offered to set me up with Michael Corner.” Hermione sounded confused. “I don’t
understand. Why were you embarrassed to tell me that Ginny was your first choice? And Neville . . .
forgive me for saying this, but if you’re going with Ginny, the girl you like the best, why aren’t
you happier about it?”

“Don’t you see, Hermione,” Neville said desperately. “I’ve always been able to talk to Ginny;
now that we’re going to the Valentine’s Ball together as a . . . as a *couple,* I won’t know
what to say to her!”

“Neville Longbottom,” Hermione gathered both his hands in hers, “have a bit more confidence in
yourself! You and Ginny have been friends for almost six years now. She *offered* to be your
date tonight; if she didn’t care about you, she wouldn’t have done it. After all, it’s not like in
her third year, when the only way she could go to the Yule Ball was as the date of an older
student. She’s going with you this time by choice.”

Neville appeared to perk up at this. “You think so?” he asked her doubtfully.

“Yes, I do,” Hermione said firmly. “Between you and me, Ginny told me later that she’s tired of
aggressive, show-off wizards. She thinks you’re adorable,” Hermione said slyly.

Neville’s mouth dropped open in astonishment, as the hot colour rushed up to his cheeks.
“Really?” he asked. “She really thinks I’m a . . . erm . . .”

“Adorable, yes. So all you have to do tonight is be yourself. You don’t need to try and pretend
you’re something you’re not, because what you *are* is more than enough. ”

“Wow.” A slow grin began to spread across Neville’s face.

Hermione laughed out loud. “Feel better about tonight now?”

“Yeah, I do. Thanks Hermione.”

“You’re welcome. Shall we get back then?”

Neville nodded. As they walked back to Gryffindor Tower, Neville found himself experiencing a
most unusual phenomena: no matter what, he could not seem to stop smiling. They passed a mirror in
the corridor and—**there**—still smiling. It would not go away!

“I’m so glad things worked out for you, Neville. You deserve it.”

“Hermione?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Are you happy? About going with Michael, I mean?”

“Of course,” Hermione said hesitantly. “Sure. Why not? It’ll be fine.”

“Because I think that Harry truly did want to take you, you know,” Neville offered.

“Do you really think so?”

“Absolutely,” Neville nodded. “He really cares about you, Hermione, and not just as a friend. I
may not be a brilliant student like you, or brave like Harry, or funny like Ron, but I **see**
things.”

Hermione blushed and smiled at her friend as they climbed through the portrait hole and into the
common room. “Don’t sell yourself short, Neville. Ginny is a lucky witch.”

Neville gave her an impulsive hug. “Hermione, you’re the best friend ever.”

“Thanks.” Hermione hugged him back. “Now, I guess I’d better get started if I’m to look
presentable tonight.”

Neither Neville nor Hermione noticed Harry as they bounced up the stairs to their respective
dormitories.

**Author’s Note:** Please don’t be angry! *eyes knives* — the cliffhanger (of sorts) in this
chapter is not just a cheap author’s device to keep you hanging. As I pointed out to one irritated
reviewer, if this were a novel, you would only have to turn the page and the next chapter would
give you the resolution of the problem. Since this is *not* a novel . . . well, have faith in
the fact that this is Portkey and just hold onto those knives for one more week, okay? Because the
next chapter (Chapter 8) will be the chapter you’ve all been waiting for-- the Valentine’s Ball. In
all likelihood, it will also be the last chapter in the story. Probably. I think. Clear? Good.
*smiles*

*For those of you who are curious, according to the ever-wonderful Harry Potter Lexicon,
Gryffindor Natalie MacDonald (the one traumatized by the Ron/Luna snog-fest) attended Hogwarts from
1994-2001, which would make her two years below Ginny and three years below Ron, Harry, and
Hermione. The names of other less well-known students on Hermione’s list are taken directly from
the books, and details on these students can be found in the Lexicon as well.



8. untitled
-----------

**Disclaimer:** Much to my dismay, Harry Potter and the entire magical Hogwarts world are
*still* not mine. Rats. Perhaps in another dimension or parallel universe they could belong to
me? In this one, however, JK Rowling still holds that honour.

**Author’s Note:** To answer a question posed by some reviewers, according to The Harry
Potter Lexicon, Michael Corner “is a dark-haired boy who met Ginny Weasley at the Yule Ball and
began dating her at the end of the 1994-1995 school year; although Ginny, Michael, and his friends
joined the DA, Michael sulked so much after Gryffindor defeated Ravenclaw [the final quidditch
match in Ginny’s fourth year, when Ron became “a quidditch king” in truth—OOTP, Chapter 16] in
1996, that Ginny dumped him, after which he took up with Cho Chang.” Like the golden trio, Michael
is in his seventh year at Hogwarts. For the purposes of this story, he and Ginny got together again
for a short time over the Christmas holidays of the year in which my story takes place. Hope this
clears up the confusion. (I swear, The Harry Potter Lexicon is addictive; my obsession for it is
almost as bad as Hermione’s for Hogarts, a History, LOL.)

Shutting up now--on to the story.

**HELPING NEVILLE**

**Chapter 8**

Harry could not remember ever being this nervous—not facing the Basilisk, not facing the
Norwegian Ridgeback, not facing Lord Voldemort . . . okay, maybe he *had* been this nervous
before. But over a dance?

*‘This is the Valentine’s Ball, Potter,*’ he reminded himself, ‘*not the final battle. So
what if I’m a lousy dancer; I’m not trying to impress anyone.’*

*‘Oh, no?* *Maybe you’re not out to impress Susan Bones, but you’d sure like to make
**Hermione** sit up and take notice, now wouldn’t you, hotshot?’* asked the devil on his
shoulder.

Yep, Harry had to admit that he *would* like to do that. Eying his reflection, Harry
plucked fretfully at the lapels of his dress robes and made a futile attempt to smooth down his
unruly black hair.

*‘Forget it dearie*,’ advised the mirror. ‘*When have you ever been able to tame that mop
of yours?* *I think you look cute as a button—Hermione will love you!’*

Hmmm, not exactly the look he was going for, Harry thought, revolted—sexy, manly, dashingly
handsome, yes . . . but *cute as a button?* Definitely not! Wait a minute, did she say that
Herm . . .?

*‘Yes!’* answered the mirror. And she refused to say another word.

Harry’s old robes from fourth year now stopped about six inches short of his ankles, so Harry
had been forced to undergo what, for any seventeen-year-old boy, whether Muggle or wizard, was
extreme torture: he’d had to go **shopping**. The experience had been unnerving to say the
least, but Harry had to admit that the elderly witch who’d served him at Gladrags had good taste.
His brand-new dress robes were made of black velvet and lined in deep-forest green silk; underneath
the robes he wore a soft white cotton button-down and simple black dress pants.

“Oy, Harry,” came an amused voice from behind him. “Stop admiring yourself and let’s get
downstairs.” Ron sniggered at Harry’s nervous expression. “Cheer up, Harry. Hermione said she’d
save you a dance.”

“I’m not thinking about *that*,” Harry protested.

“Right,” Ron said skeptically. “Of course you’re not. Anxious to get things going with Susan,
are you? Looking forward to a nice snog in the old Astronomy Tower with your favourite
Hufflepuff?”

“Shut up, Ron,” Harry grumped. “You know I don’t feel that way about Susan.”

Ron grinned. “So what are you so nervous about then?”

Harry just glared.

“Come on, let’s go,” Ron laughed. “I’m just winding you up. She’ll think you look smashing in
those new togs, mate.”

“You think so,” Harry asked uncertainly. “Remember how good she looked fourth year?”

“Blimey Harry, you look fine. Get a grip there. And by the way,” Ron added slyly, “I don’t
remember *what* Susan Bones wore fourth year. Hormone now . . .”

Harry flushed. Get a grip, Potter.

Meanwhile, on the other side of Gryffindor Tower, surrounded by a giggling Lavender and a
smirking Parvati, Hermione was struggling with a bottle of Sleakeasy’s hair potion in one hand and
a wide-toothed comb in the other. Frustrated and out of breath, she threw down the comb in a fit of
pique.

“Bother,” she ground out. “I *hate* my hair! Stupid bushy mess!”

“Here, let me help you with that,” Lavender offered, picked up the discarded comb. “What are you
trying to do?”

“I thought I’d pull it back in a chignon, but first I need to get rid of the waves,” Hermione
said.

“Why get rid of them?” asked Parvati, surveying Hermione critically. “You’ve got gorgeous hair,
you know—thick and shiny. Men love that,” she added, giving her own luxuriant hair a complacent
pat.

“Yeah, you really do, Hermione,” Lavender agreed. “Why don’t you skip the chignon and just go
with your natural waves. No, not like that,” she laughed, when Hermione held up an unkempt strand.
“We can use Sleakeasy’s to get the frizz out, and then . . . hmmmm . . . do you have any hair
ornaments?”

Hermione shook her head and then brightened. With a wave of her wand, she conjured up a sprig of
lily-of-the-valley.

“Perfect,” squealed Parvati. Working together, the two girls soon had Hermione’s hair molded
into soft curls, which they then pulled up into a loose, high ponytail, bound together with a
covered elastic band. As a finishing touch, the spray of flowers was fastened over the elastic band
and a few tendrils pulled over to soften the side of her face.

“What do you think?” Lavender asked, smiling and turning Hermione to the full-length mirror.

Hermione had to admit that her two dorm-mates knew their stuff. She looked like herself, only
better, more . . . more *put-together*, for lack of a better word.

“Thanks guys,” she said with a grateful smile. “Guess I’m not such a ‘know-it-all’ after all,
eh? You both are head and shoulders above me when it comes to this kind of stuff.”

“Go on and have a great time,” laughed Parvati. “Harry’s gonna love the new look.”

“But I’m going to the dance with Michael Corner,” Hermione reminded her, with a puzzled look.
The blush on her cheeks betrayed her, however.

“Right,” said Lavender, grinning. “Just have fun, okay?”

“You too,” Hermione smiled at the two girls. “See you later!” And with that she headed off to
the common room, where she had arranged to meet Ginny and Neville. Ron and Harry had left earlier
to pick up their dates from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff; Michael was meeting Hermione in the corridor
outside Gryffindor Tower.

* * * * *

The decorating committee had certainly outdone itself tonight, thought Harry. The Great Hall had
been bewitched to look like a winter wonderland, and hundreds of tall, silvery trees edged the
stone walls, their long branches aglitter with shimmering ice and tiny white lights.
Pastel-coloured fairies flitted from tree to tree, weaving their way between luminous butterflies
of violet and palest green. The ceiling was enchanted to resemble a starry night sky, across which
the northern lights rippled occasionally, while the floors were covered with a carpet of magical
“snow.”

Small tables were scattered among the trees, set with sparkling crystal and china; silver
cutlery gleamed on the pristine white damask tablecloths. Tiny red roses mixed with baby’s breath
in crystal vases provided the only spot of colour. The entire atmosphere was intimate, charming,
and cozy. Harry noted with discomfort that most of the tables were set for two, although here and
there a larger table could accommodate six to eight people.

“Let’s sit down over there,” he suggested to Susan, pointing to one of the larger tables.

“Okay,” she said agreeably. Truth be told, she was no more anxious to be alone with Harry than
Harry was to be alone with her.

When Harry had first asked her if she would like to be his date for the Valentine’s Ball, Susan
had felt excited and, yes, flattered. Flattered that *Harry Potter* wanted to go somewhere
with *her*; flattered that she would be seen dancing with “the Boy Who Lived.” She had also
been surprised; all of Hogwarts (except the couple involved) thought that Harry and Hermione
fancied each other.

But after the first thrill had passed, Susan couldn’t help feeling a little nervous about the
prospect of going with him to the Valentine’s Ball. Harry was a nice person, although rather shy,
but Susan didn’t know him all that well. Being shy herself, she was worried that they wouldn’t know
what to say to each other. Up to this point, the only thing they really had in common was the DA,
and while that should be good for a bit of conversation, she couldn’t see talk about defensive
magic taking up the entire evening.

*‘Hey, Harry, learned any new curses lately?’*

*‘Oh yeah!* *Picked up one the other day—turns your opponent’s hair green and glues his
eyes together.’*

*‘That would be a great curse to try out on Voldemort, Harry--perfect protection from AVADA
KEDAVRA. Maybe it’ll keep him from killing you and the rest of us.’*

Nope, DA talk would only take them so far. Of course, there was one other possible topic of
conversation . . .

*‘So I was wondering, Harry: what’s it like knowing that the most evil wizard ever born keeps
trying to kill you? Think he’ll succeed? Think about death much?’*

Even worse. But wait—there *was* one other avenue! Even though Susan had never personally
experienced an attack by Voldemort, both she and Harry had had family members murdered by either
the dark Lord or his minions.

*‘Noticed any Thestrals hanging around the castle lately, Harry?’*

Not good.

Ever the gentleman, Harry pulled out a chair when they reached the table and helped Susan sit
down. She looked pretty in a satin dress robe of palest pink. Instead of the usual plait, her hair
fell down her back in soft curls.

For the next few minutes, Harry passed the time by asking Susan about her family and home
village. Just when he’d begun to run out of questions, Harry was relieved to see Ron and Luna enter
the hall. Luna was lovely in an offbeat way, her long blonde hair woven through with bunches of
clover (odd combination, thought Harry, but it worked) and her surprisingly excellent figure shown
off to advantage in banana-yellow dress robes. As the couple approached, Harry saw that miniature
quaffles dangled from her ears and what appeared at first to be a thin gold necklace was actually a
string of minuscule crowns.

“Hey guys,” Harry said, “come on and sit with us. Luna, you look, er, nice.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

“Very interesting earrings,” Susan remarked. “And are those crowns?” she asked, pointing at
Luna’s necklace.

“Yes,” Luna smiled. “Weasley is my **king**, after all.”

Ron turned beet-red in his dark blue dress robes and mumbled something under his breath. Harry
grinned and leaned forward to say something to Ron; just then two other couples entered the
transformed Great Hall.

Harry’s grin froze on his face and his eyes widened.

Ginny and Neville were in front; Neville, handsome and obviously uncomfortable, was wearing
dress robes of deepest plum, while Ginny was in light mauve. But for all Harry cared, the two of
them could have shown up wearing dirty trainers and burlap sacks. His eyes were on the vision
behind them.

Hermione looked amazing in a flowing robe of shimmering aqua silk with a delicate chiffon
overlay. The shirred empire waist gathered into an inverted “V” at the bodice with ruching on the
sides, highlighting her lush curves. She had done something with her hair, too: plentiful chestnut
curls spilled down over her shoulders from some kind of clip thing made out of tiny white
flowers.

“Oi, over here!” Ron’s shout startled Harry out of his mental reverie and he made an effort to
appear normal.

“Hi there everyone,” Ginny smiled and turned to Neville, who gulped and quickly pulled out a
chair for her, desperately trying to ignore Ron’s pointed stare.

“Good evening,” Michael said rather formally, pulling out Hermione’s chair and gesturing for her
to sit down across from Harry and Susan. “Hello, Luna,” he added, acknowledging the other Ravenclaw
at the table. “Susan,” he smiled, nodding at her. Inexplicably, Susan flushed.

*‘Stupid jumped-up git,’* thought Harry morosely. He noticed that Hermione’s lips were
tinted a delicate rose-pink and she was wearing just a touch of some kind of pale shiny stuff on
her eyes and cheeks; her eyelashes looked even longer than usual. And wait a minute--had Hermione
always had—those? Harry wondered, trying not to stare below her neck. He raised his eyes to find a
pair of amused brown ones twinkling at him from across the table.

“Hi,” Hermione mouthed softly, looking directly at him. A small smile played around her glossy
lips. Harry grinned nervously and unconsciously slipped a finger into his collar, pulling it away
from his neck. The white dress shirt that had seemed so perfect earlier now felt as if it were
strangling him. Hermione bit her lip and glanced away. Harry pulled harder at the offending
collar.

* * * * *

Ginny was having a wonderful time. Despite Ron’s constant attempts at intimidation, Neville
hadn’t backed down, even when Ron had asked him point-blank what his intentions were regarding
Ron’s baby sister. Ginny had been mad enough to spit, but fortunately Neville had handled the silly
git perfectly by innocently replying, “I think that’s between me and Ginny; but don’t worry, my
intentions towards Ginny are quite as honourable as yours are towards Luna.”

Needless to say Ron was rendered speechless by this and had to content himself with filthy looks
for the remainder of the evening.

Meanwhile, on opposite sides of the table, an intricate little game of “peek-a-boo” was going
on. In between sporadic attempts at small talk, Harry was stealing glances at Hermione. If she
wasn’t looking at him (which wasn’t often), the stolen glance would turn into a flat-out stare.
When Hermione would catch him at it, they would both flinch, blush, and look away. Ginny found it
hilarious.

“Have you thought about what you’d like to do after Hogwarts, Susan?” Harry asked politely.
Peek. Stare.

“I’m not sure but I think working in the Ministry might be interesting, don’t you think so,
Harry? Harry?”

Harry pulled his eyes away from Hermione long enough to give a noncommittal answer. “Sure,
sounds great.” Peek. Oops, eye contact! Flinch, blush.

“Still taking Divination this year, Harry?” Susan inquired.

“No, dropped it.” Direct look across the table. “Trelawney’s an old fraud and Firenze, well,
let’s just say he’s a bit strange.” Approving nod from Hermione.

And so it went throughout the entire meal.

Ginny smiled to herself and exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Neville. Luckily, dessert had
just appeared (literally) on their plates and Ron was too busy eating his enormous wedge of trifle
to notice anything amiss. Well, eating and sliding glances at Luna. The Ravenclaw girl, on the
other hand, seemed content to pass the time with her dreamy blue gaze fixed on Ron.

Hermione didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Did Harry *mean* to keep peeking at her in
that bizarre way, or was he suffering from one of his bouts of shyness? Michael certainly didn’t
have any problem with shyness—he hadn’t shut up for a moment. The ridiculous part was that while he
addressed his comments to Hermione, his eyes kept travelling across the table to Susan Bones. Susan
would meet his gaze, blush, jump, and look away. The situation was ludicrous.

A stifled giggle escaped.

“Er, excuse me?” asked Michael, understandably puzzled. He frowned. He was not accustomed to
girls laughing when he discussed an issue as serious as the N.E.W.T.s.

“Sorry,” gasped Hermione, making a valiant effort to stifle her amusement.

Michael shot her an alarmed glance, only to be startled by a giggle from the witch to his
right.

“Ginny?” he asked with raised brow.

“I’m . . . s-sorry,” Ginny managed between giggles. “It’s just . . .”

Looking from Michael’s outraged face to Ginny’s rosy countenance, Neville fought his own battle,
his face turning the same plum as his robe as he struggled to contain his laughter.

Before long all three had lost the battle and were laughing uproariously, tears streaming down
their faces.

Luna turned her attention from Ron to smile at them in a vague, concerned fashion, while Ron, up
to this point oblivious to everything but the food on his plate and the pretty Ravenclaw by his
side, finally noticed the commotion. His eyes darted from Hormone, to Ginny, to Neville--his brow
puckered in confusion.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with the lot of you?”

“It would be nice,” noted Michael icily, “if you could let the rest of us in on the joke.” Susan
appeared to agree, her pleasant features clouded with annoyance.

Seeing Michael’s irate expression, Hormone made a desperate attempt to get a grip on herself.
Wiping at her tears, she took a deep breath and, looking up, met a pair of amused emerald eyes.
Harry might have no clue what they found so funny but it was wonderful to see Hermione enjoying
herself—not to mention getting to see Michael with his nose out of joint.

Corner wasn’t a bad fellow, really, Harry thought fairly. A bit pompous, perhaps, but a decent
bloke. Of course, he did go out with Cho for a while there and now seemed to have his sights set on
Hermione . . . Harry frowned.

By now all three friends had managed to get themselves under control. Ginny and Neville
exchanged one last amused glance, while Hermione turned to Michael and sweetly apologised for her
“unseemly” display. She assured him (lying through her teeth, thought Harry) that the laughter had
nothing to do with him, but that the stress of the week had just been too much and well . . .

Michael nodded his understanding, although he still appeared rather put out and conversation was
subdued for the remainder of the dinner.

Happily (or unhappily, thought Harry) the table was cleared shortly after, and the band began
tuning up for the dancing. Ginny grabbed Neville and pulled him onto the floor as the first notes
sounded and Michael turned to Hermione and asked her to dance.

Silence fell over the table like a heavy blanket. Luna was humming and tapping her foot in time
to the beat, seemingly unaware of the tension. Ron’s ears had turned bright red and he was
nervously jiggling his knee and giving Luna uneasy glances.

Silence.

Harry knew he should ask Susan to dance—surely she expected him to. After all, he thought
glumly, this was a *ball* after all.

Before long the dance floor was packed with couples weaving and bobbing their way through the
enchanted snow. Suddenly, Luna turned to Ron and said matter-of-factly, “I want to dance.” Ron
winced and shot her a horrified look.

“I . . . er . . . I can’t . . . I mean, I’m rubbish at . . .”

“Oh, come *on* Ronald,” Luna said impatiently. She jumped to her feet, seized Ron’s arm,
and yanked him to his feet. “Do you think I care if you can dance or not?”

“You don’t?” asked Ron uncertainly. Luna just smiled in her dreamy way and led him out.

*‘Checkmate*,’ Harry thought, hugely entertained at the sight of his tall red-headed friend
being so thoroughly outmaneuvered. He chucked to himself, then all humour vanished as he realised
that he and Susan were the only ones still sitting at the table.

“So,” he said weakly, “I suppose you want to . . . er . . .”

“Why did you ask me to the ball, Harry?” Susan asked, out of the blue.

Harry goggled at her, aghast. “Um, well, because . . . er . . . because I . . . you . . .” he
stammered.

“Because it’s pretty obvious to me, to all of us really,” Susan said matter-of-factly, “that you
fancy Hermione.”

Harry had no words.

“I was pretty surprised when you asked me, you know,” she continued. “I mean, we don’t know each
other all that well, and I’m not exactly the most beautiful girl at Hogwarts.”

“Hang on,” Harry interrupted. “Don’t go putting yourself down. You’re a very pretty girl, Susan,
and you’re nice, too. I guess the thing is . . .” he hesitated, flushing.

“The thing is that I’m not the girl for you,” Susan said a bit sadly. “No, it’s all right,” she
added hastily when Harry made as if to interrupt, “I understand. And to be honest, although I was
flattered that you invited me, I don’t . . .” she coloured, “I don’t really . . .”

“You don’t really fancy me either,” Harry grinned. She nodded, smiling sheepishly.

Harry felt as if an enormous load had just been lifted off his shoulders. He grinned at Susan
again, this time seeing, instead of a frightening young witch all dressed up at a ball, a nice girl
who would make a good and loyal friend.

“Tell me, Miss Bones,” Harry said with a smile, “who do you fancy then?”

Susan turned an even deeper shade of crimson and examined her hands.

“Come on,” he coaxed, “you can tell me. We’re friends now, right?”

She looked up hesitantly and, seeing his concerned green eyes, said “you might want to watch how
you use those,” indicating Harry’s eyes, “if you want to be just my friend.”

At Harry’s startled expression she relaxed and chuckled. “Sorry, Harry, that was just too good
an opportunity to pass up.”

“Brat,” he managed, laughing. “Now, I believe I asked you a question, Miss Bones?”

“I guess turnabout is fair,” she admitted. “All right, I sort of fancy . . . well, I mean, I
kind of like . . .”

“Out with it!”

“. . . Michael Corner,” she whispered.

Harry struggled for words. “Oh. Well he’s a nice guy . . .”

“Come on, Harry,” Susan laughed, “you think he’s a pompous arse. Admit it!”

“No I don’t,” he protested. Then meeting her smiling eyes he gave a rueful chuckle. “All right,
so he’s not one of my favourite people.”

“He can be a bit—formal—at times, but that’s just how he acts when he’s feeling unsure of
himself. Take tonight for example, with Hermione spending the entire meal looking at you . . .”

Harry stared at her, stunned. “But if you fancy Michael, and Michael’s with Hermione, and I
fancy,” he blushed, but continued bravely on, “Hermione, then maybe we could trade dates. Not that
I wouldn’t be perfectly happy to spend the remainder of the evening with you,” he added, worried
that he’d been too blunt.

Susan gave a small laugh. “That would be a brilliant plan, Harry. The only problem is that . .
.”

“Hermione doesn’t like me that way,” Harry broke in sadly.

“No! That’s not it at all. Anyone with eyes can see that she’s crazy about you—and not just as a
friend,” she said firmly, seeing that he was about to protest. “Truthfully, Harry, someone who
thinks of you as just a friend wouldn’t be ignoring her date in order to stare at you all through
dinner. No, the problem is with me. Michael doesn’t like . . . me . . . that way.”

“Rubbish,” said a decisive voice from behind. Started, Harry and Susan turned around to see
Ginny standing there with Neville. Ginny pulled up a chair and sat down beside Susan while Neville
went to get them something to drink.

“Listen,” Ginny said firmly. “I think it’s time we had a little talk. I wasn’t going to say
anything, but . . . oh Merlin, I shouldn’t tell you. Hermione’s gonna kill me.”

“If you don’t tell us, *I’ll* kill you,” Harry burst out.

TBC

**Author’s Note:** I really did think this would be the last chapter, but this story started
to take on a life of its own. So there will be one more short and very *fluffy* chapter
left.

If you would like to see a picture of how I imagined Hermione’s dress to look, you can see a
picture at http://store1.yimg.com/I/prom2000_1837_5631579--just
imagine that the dress is made of **aqua** silk, rather than pink, which I think would
complement Hermione’s brown eyes and chestnut hair beautifully (I’m such a girl, LOL). I also had
to chuckle when I wrote the word “lush” to describe Hermione’s, ahem, physical attributes. Couldn’t
help thinking I sounded like a tacky romance novelist! Oh well, “Helping Neville” is labelled as a
“romance/humour” story after all.

The northern lights, or *Aurora Borealis*, are truly an incredible sight. I’ve seen them a
couple of times up in the Laurentian Mountains in Quebec. The following link will show you what
they look like, if you’re not familiar with them. Colours can vary. http://www.bonjourquebec.com/photos/regions/nord_quebec/baie_james_tq_003371_p.jpg



9. untitled
-----------

**Disclaimer:** Much to my dismay, Harry Potter and the entire magical Hogwarts world are
*still* not mine. Rats. Perhaps in another dimension or parallel universe they could belong to
me? In this one, however, J K Rowling still holds that honour.

**Author’s Note:** First of all, let me thank Tennant Stuart for helping me with my computer
problems. Tennant, part of this chapter is for you (you know which part *smiles*).

Secondly, for those of you who wondered if the “Hormone”s in the preceding chapter were due to
author error or a Freudian slip . . . well let’s just say I was having a hard time with my WordXP.
Every time I typed “Hermione,” my computer would self-correct the word to “Hormone.” ARGHHHH! I’d
go back and fix the problem and the next time I called up the document—those darn “Hormone”s were
back. LOL! Unfortunately my “search/replace” feature wasn’t working either. Thanks to Tennant’s
help, the only hormones you’ll find in this chapter are the ones which are implied!

Disclaimer: Read at your own risk. The author takes no responsibility for hormone surges or
dental decay incurred by the reader.

**HELPING NEVILLE**

**Chapter 9**

“What’s going on, Ginny?”

Ginny proceeded to tell Harry and Susan the entire story: how thanks to Ron’s tactlessness,
Hermione had gotten upset and lied to Harry and Ron about having a date for the Valentine’s
Ball.

“She *lied* to me?” Harry asked in disbelief.

“Come on, Harry; don’t take it personally,” Ginny advised. “Think about it—what would *you*
have said if either Hermione or Ron had told you that a girl was going to ask you on a date purely
out of desperation or because she didn’t want to go with ‘someone she liked’? And actually,
Hermione *was* invited to the Valentine’s Ball by a couple of different wizards, but she said
‘no’ to each one, because . . . well, let’s just say she said ‘no’ and leave it at that.”

“And that night, when Hermione was crying in the common room, what was that all about?”

Ginny chuckled.

Harry glared at her. “What? I was worried!”

Ginny chuckled again; sometimes Harry was just too predictable. Growing up with six brothers,
Ginny was hard to dupe.

“Come on, Gin!” Harry whined.

“That, my dear Harry,” Ginny grinned, “was about *guilt.*”

“Guilt?” chorused Harry and Susan.

Ginny nodded, but refused to say anything more.

“I think I’d better explain that part,” Neville interjected, carefully placing a tray of
butterbeers on the table.

“Are you sure?” Ginny asked doubtfully.

“Yes. It’s partly my fault that things got into such a mess in the first place.”

“Neville, none of this is your fault,” protested Ginny.

“Not directly, maybe,” said Neville, blushing. “Nevertheless, if Hermione hadn’t been trying to
help me . . .”

And Neville went on to explain the goings-on of the previous month.

“So what you’re saying,” said Harry with an incredulous grin, “is that Hermione was crying and
carrying on that night because she thought she had *failed* you?”

Neville nodded. “That’s why she was waving that piece of parchment around. It contained her list
of ‘candidates,’ ” Neville flushed again, “and--you know how she is Harry. Hermione can be very
*determined* when she sets her mind on achieving a particular goal and . . .”

Ginny snorted.

“But only because she cares so much and . . . *you* know, Harry,” Neville said
earnestly.

“Yeah, I do. That’s Hermione for you. When she cares about someone, she . . . well, she just
goes all out.” The admiration in Harry voice left no one in doubt of his feelings.

“And where exactly do I fit into all this?” Susan inquired quietly.

Ginny smiled. “That, my dear, is where the brilliance of this entire production comes into play.
Or should I say, *ahem,* **my** brilliance?” Ginny gave a little bow and grinned
self-mockingly.

“When I spoke with Hermione and Neville that night and she told me about the mess that my
darling, *tactful* brother had gotten her into, I thought of the perfect solution right away.
You see,” she continued, looking directly at Susan, “I heard that Harry had asked you to be his
date . . .”

“The whole of Gryffindor heard,” Harry inserted dryly.

“. . . and I happened to know of a Ravenclaw wizard—serious and sometimes stuffy,” this was said
with a tiny moue of apology towards Susan, “but with a good heart—who had a crush on a certain
young Hufflepuff.” Ginny beamed at Susan and Harry.

“You mean . . .?” Susan asked hesitantly.

“Yes. Michael Corner has fancied you for the past while,” Ginny told her matter-of-factly. “It’s
one of the reasons we broke up, *again,* after the Christmas hols.”

“Oh,” gasped Susan in shock. “Oh, Ginny, I’m sorry! I . . .”

“I’m not,” Ginny stated flatly. “I said it was *one* of the reasons we broke up. We drove
each other mad you know, always bickering and quarrelling; besides, I rather had my eye on someone
else myself.” And she winked at Neville, who once again flushed a fiery red.

“Anyway,” she repeated, “Michael fancied you and I knew that Harry, here,” Harry received a
wink, “fancied Hermione, and so all I had to do was grab hold of Michael before he asked someone
else out and. . .”

“. . . arrange for him to escort Hermione, thinking that we’d somehow manage a switch, at least
for a dance. Isn’t she clever?” Neville beamed at Ginny.

Susan and Harry looked rather stunned. Then slowly, identical happy expressions blossomed over
both faces as the meaning of what they’d just heard began to sink in.

“What should we do now?” asked Harry.

“If you need me to tell you *that*,” Ginny scoffed, “then you’re even more hopeless than
Ron. For heaven’s sake, Harry, ask the girl for a dance and let her know how you feel—how you
*really* feel,” she added, with a significant look. Harry’s panicked expression made her
smile.

“As for you,” she said, turning to Neville and poking him in the chest, “you need to dance with
Hermione so that I can talk to Michael and fill him in on,” she paused and grinned at Susan,
“you.”

* * * * *

When Hermione and Michael returned a couple of minutes later, Hermione sensed a change in the
atmosphere; she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something was . . . *off*.

Surveying the others at the table, nothing was obviously out of the ordinary. She saw that
Neville and Ginny were talking quietly and turned her attention to the couple sitting across from
her. Harry was grinning and examining his hands, while Susan was smiling softly to herself. What
was going on? Her eyes went back to Harry, who seemed positively fascinated with his left
thumb-nail. Hermione frowned. She could sense *something,* but what?

“Hermione, would you like to dance?”

Hermione turned to see Neville standing at her elbow, a hopeful expression on his good-natured
countenance.

“Um, sure, all right,” she said hesitantly. “I was going to sit this one out, but . . .” Neville
remained standing there, his hand extended in invitation. “Okay. Will you excuse me?” she asked
Michael.

“Of course,” he said, “if you would do me the honour?” And he smiled across the table at
Susan.

“Oh, she’s already promised this dance to Harry,” Ginny blurted out. “Right Susan?”

“Oh . . . er . . . right,” said Susan hesitantly.

Michael tried to mask his disappointment.

Noticing the gleam in Ginny’s eye, Susan hastened to add, “I mean . . . um . . . yes! I did
promise this one to Harry.”

Before Michael could say another word, Ginny piped up. “I’ll dance with you Michael.”

Harry felt someone kick him in the shins, startling him out of his brown study and bringing him
back to reality.

“Let’s go then,” Ginny insisted, seizing Harry by the elbow and hoisting him up. “Come on Harry!
Susan’s ready for that dance you promised her.”

“Er . . .” Harry found himself on his feet and out on the dance floor with Susan before he quite
knew what hit him. Rubbing briefly at his sore elbow, he ruefully remembered Ron’s earlier remark:
Ginny really did have a remarkably strong grip for such a small witch. Her kick wasn’t bad
either—she’d have made a fair football player. Letting go of the injured elbow, he placed his right
hand around Susan’s waist and clasped her right hand in his left, making an effort to shuffle in
rhythm to the music. Fortunately for Harry, Susan’s dancing skills were better than his.

Harry took a quick survey of the dance floor and caught a glimpse of Hermione and Neville to his
left. Hermione was talking a mile a minute, while Neville nodded in agreement, his cheeks flushed
pink. Ginny and Michael were nowhere to be seen, lost in the sea of dancers.

*‘I wonder when I’ll get to dance with Hermione,’* Harry thought to himself*. ‘Should I
cut in on Hermione and Neville? No, that’d be rude. Maybe Michael will come over to Susan and me?
Ginny’s certainly capable of steering—**dragging**--him over here.’* Harry chuckled to
himself. ‘*She really is a lot like her mum, in a scary sort of way. Add about three stone in
weight and thirty-odd years and you’d have Mrs. Weasley. Poor Ron—he doesn’t stand a chance with a
sister like Ginny. Or maybe with six older brothers she’s had to become forceful in
self-defense.’* Just then, Harry felt his foot land on something soft.

“Ouch!” yelped Susan, stumbling slightly. “Harry!”

“Oh, s-sorry,” Harry stammered, mortified. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine; luckily I’ve got another foot,” Susan said dryly. “Feeling a little distracted
there, are we Mr. Potter?”

Harry flushed. “Yeah, just a bit. I’m not much of a dancer. Er . . . but I guess you’ve already
noticed that, eh?”

Fortunately, they managed to finish the dance without further damage to either Susan’s
appendages or Harry’s self-respect. To Harry’s relief, the song was a short one.

“Would you like to go back to the table?” Harry asked as the last notes faded away.

Susan chuckled to herself at the hopeful expression on Harry’s face and nodded. The two friends
headed back to the table, running into Michael and Ginny a moment later.

“I’m going to sit this one out,” Ginny said. “Hey Michael, Neville and Hermione aren’t back yet.
Why don’t you take Susan out for a spin? Harry looks knackered.” Before Ginny could finish her
sentence, Michael had seized a blushing Susan by the hand and vanished into the crowd.

Harry collapsed onto a chair and swept his fringe off his face with a trembling hand.

“Wasn’t that bad, was it?” Ginny asked with an impish grin. “Susan was still walking on her own
steam, so you mustn’t have quite crippled her.”

“Ha-ha,” said Harry sarcastically. “Very funny. After one dance with me, Hermione’ll probably
run screaming from the room.” He hesitated, “Ginny?”

“Ummm?”

“Are you sure that Hermione, that she . . . you know . . . that she . . . erm . . . fancies
me?”

“Maybe you should ask her that yourself, Harry,” Ginny smirked. “She and Neville are heading
over here as we speak.”

Harry gulped and swallowed convulsively. Sure enough, a few seconds later Hermione had taken the
chair next to his.

“Harry, are you all right?”

Harry raised his head to find Hermione’s warm brown eyes fixed on him.

“Erm . . .”

“You’re really flushed,” she noted. Frowning in concern, she stretched out a hand to touch his
forehead.

“I’m fine,” he managed, jerking away from her.

Hermione looked a little hurt at this and lowered her head. Picking up her serviette, she
fiddled with it and bit her lip.

*No! Not the lip-biting!* What was it with Hermione and the lip-biting? Harry had an almost
uncontrollable urge to reach out and . . .

“He’s just a little stressed-out,” Ginny offered bluntly. “You know how he is about
dancing.”

“Oh, right,” Hermione’s face cleared. “Of course. That always gets him in such a tizzy.”

“Hello?” Harry muttered irritably. “I can hear you, you know.”

“Uh, Ginny,” Neville offered, giving Harry a sympathetic look. “Would you like to dance
now?”

“Sure,” Ginny said agreeably. “Think you can handle it from here, Harry?”

Seeing his petulant frown, Ginny grinned and took hold of Neville’s arm.

“Oh, and Harry,” she added as she and Neville turned to leave, “did I ever tell you how cute you
are when you’re cross?”

Harry glowered at Ginny’s retreating back.

“What’s going on, Harry?” asked Hermione, puzzled.

“Nothing,” he grunted shortly. “Ginny likes taking the mickey out of me.”

Silence.

Harry could feel Hermione’s eyes boring into him. His face was burning and he mentally cursed
the sweet little old witch at Gladrags who’d sold him his new dress robes and shirt. The blasted
collar was choking him again.

He risked a quick peek at Hermione. She was doing it again! He didn’t know what it was about
that lip of hers that drove him crazy. Was it the fullness of it? Or was it the contrast between
white teeth and red mouth? Either way, Hermione certainly seemed to enjoy the habit, since she
constantly. . .”

“Harry?”

“Huh?”

“Do I have something on my teeth?” Hermione asked worriedly, picking up a spoon and peering
anxiously at her reflection.

“Uh, no. I mean, I don’t think so,” managed Harry.

“Oh. I just wondered because you were staring at my mouth and I thought that maybe . . .”

“Hermione,” Harry interrupted, “doyouwannadance?”

“Sorry?” asked Hermione, putting down the spoon.

“I said,” Harry repeated, coughing and trying desperately to speak in a normal tone of voice,
“Do you want to dance?”

Hermione stared at him.

“Er,” he said hesitantly, “if you don’t want to. . .”

“No, of course I . . . yes . . . all right,” Hermione stammered.

Harry’s chair screeched as he rose to his feet, startling him. Clearing his throat, he gestured
toward the dance floor. “Um . . . well . . .”

Hermione’s cheeks seemed pinker than normal as she followed Harry to the centre of the floor.
Her stomach was clenching and unclenching painfully and she made what she hoped was an
imperceptible effort to stop her legs and hands from shaking. Just then, Harry stopped and turned
to her.

“I’m not a very good dancer,” he said apologetically. “But you know that already,” he chuckled
nervously.

Hermione smiled, feeling some of her nerves wash away.

“It’s okay,” she said gently. “It’s just me, Harry.”

“I know.” Harry’s voice was slightly husky. Furtively wiping his sweaty palms on his robe, he
reached out and tentatively took hold of Hermione’s hand, his other arm going around her waist.
Just then he noticed Ron and Luna dancing only a couple of feet away. Luna was smiling dreamily,
while Ron was craning his neck and scowling fiercely.

“What’s the matter with him?” Harry asked Hermione, indicating their mutual best friend.

Hermione swung around to look. Then she giggled.

Harry followed Hermione’s gaze.

Ginny and Neville were dancing about five feet to Ron’s left. They were obviously deep in
conversation and both had silly smiles on their faces.

Then, as Harry watched in awe, Neville let go of Ginny’s hand and slowly, apprehensively, put
both his arms around her waist. Almost simultaneously, Ginny wrapped her arms around Neville’s neck
and closed her eyes.

Harry’s eyes widened. Was Ginny *blushing?*

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron lunge at the entranced couple, only to be pulled back
by a suddenly alert Luna. When Ron scowled at her, Luna glared in a most un-Lunalike fashion and
yanked at him again.

Harry’s eyes met Hermione’s in shared amusement, then they turned to watch their over-protective
friend being led, none too gently, away from his sister and Neville and towards the refreshment
table.

“Well,” Hermione giggled, “it appears as if there’s more to Ms. Luna Lovegood than I thought! If
I had tried that, you’d have heard Ron’s shouts of protest all the way to Gryffindor Tower!”

Harry chucked and nodded. “Do you think Neville knows how close he came to death?”

“I don’t know. I think he and Ginny are a bit too preoccupied to notice right now.” Hermione
nodded in the direction of the couple, who were looking into each other’s eyes and appeared to be
almost rubbing noses. Then Ginny tucked her head under Neville’s chin as he pulled her even closer,
both of them lost to the outside world.

Hermione beamed proudly at them.

While she was thus preoccupied, Harry took the opportunity to savour the sparkling cinnamon eyes
and glowing cheeks of the girl in his arms. Suddenly he wished he and Hermione were not dancing the
standard “arms-length” away from each other and that he had the nerve to do what Neville had just
done. Harry’s eyes wandered down to her waist and he pictured himself holding her tightly, her eyes
closing and her neck exposed. He would love to nibble . . .

“Just one kiss? Please?” Hermione’s voice brought Harry abruptly back to reality.

“Eh? What?” Harry goggled at her in shock.

“Oh, Harry. I’m so happy!”

Hermione certainly *sounded* happy, and her eyes were glistening with tears of joy, but she
wasn’t looking at Harry. No she wasn’t. Hermione’s blissful gaze was fixed on Neville and Ginny,
who were engaging in what appeared to be a kiss in plain view of the entire ballroom.

Hermione give a series of little jumps, making tiny squeaking sounds. Her expression was that of
a doting mother as Neville and Ginny came to their senses and practically ran for the shelter of
the many trees lining the edges of the enchanted Great Hall. Harry couldn’t help smiling at her
obvious excitement.

“Wow Hermione! I don’t think I’ve ever heard you make those kinds of noises before,” he
teased.

“Shut up, Harry!” she said, tipping her laughing face up to his and smacking him on the
shoulder. Cinnamon-brown met emerald-green.

Hermione’s smile faded away under Harry’s intent gaze. “H-harry?” she asked.

Harry thought to himself that if she bit that bloody lip one more time he couldn’t be held
accountable for his actions. Instead, she held his gaze, her own wide and unsure.

“Uhhh . . .” Harry swallowed convulsively. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears and
resisted the urge to wipe his palms on his robes again. Faintly, as if from very far away, he could
hear the music slowing down and then stopping completely. Still he stood there, drawn into
Hermione’s eyes.

Slowly, gradually, Harry became aware that Hermione was speaking. He dropped his eyes to her
lips and tried to focus: her mouth, her beautiful generous mouth, was moving up and down, back and
forth. Cold, his hands were cold—Hermione had removed her hand from his and pulled away. He shook
his head to clear it and her words took form.

“. . . if you want?”

“Want?” he repeated stupidly.

“Harry? Are you all right?” Hermione asked, concerned. “You’re acting a bit odd. I said that we
can sit down for a while if you want.”

No, Harry definitely did not want to sit down. He wanted Hermione back in his arms, and he
wanted her there right now.

“Okay. No--wait,” he caught at her arm. “Why don’t we go for a walk . . . maybe get some fresh
air.” Merlin knew he could use some.

“All right,” Hermione agreed slowly. Without another word, she tucked her hand into the crook of
Harry’s arm and walked with him out of the ballroom. They spend the next few minutes quietly
wandering the deserted corridors of the castle, until Hermione broke the silence.

“Did you want to go anywhere in particular?”

“No, not really. I just wanted to . . . walk with you for a while. Is that all right?”

“Of course it’s all right,” was the response. “Although I’m sure Susan and Michael must be
wondering where we’ve gotten to.”

“I don’t think we need to worry about them,” said Harry. “Ginny and Neville filled me in on . .
. things.”

“Oh.”

Glancing over at Hermione, Harry was alarmed to see that she was frowning. “Maybe we’d better
get back anyway.” She removed her hand from his arm.

“Um . . . if you want.”

Maybe Susan and Ginny had it all wrong, Harry thought in disappointment, as they made their way
back to the Great Hall. Obviously Hermione was not all that eager to spend time alone with him.
Maybe she had agreed to go to the dance with Michael because she *fancied* the stuffy
Ravenclaw! Ginny never actually *said* that she had told Hermione about Michael’s crush on
Susan. This was a horrible thought. How could he find out the truth without making a fool of
himself?

“Er . . . so, Hermione, Michael seems like a nice person,” Harry said, in what he hoped was a
casual tone.

“Yes, he is.”

She didn’t sound terribly enthusiastic, Harry noted hopefully. He blundered on.

“A Ravenclaw too; I’ll bet you have a lot in common.”

“No, not that much,” Hermione’s tone was flat. “He’s a bit too proper for my liking.”

“But he’s smart, isn’t he? Probably loves books almost as much as you do,” persisted Harry.

Hermione stopped suddenly and swung around to face him. “What are you trying to say, Harry? That
I’m a stuffy book-worm and should stick with my own kind?”

“NO!” Harry said hastily. Uh-oh! She sounded irate. “That’s not what I meant. You know I’m not
good with words, Hermione.”

She didn’t say anything, but started walking very quickly, head down and arms folded. Harry
trotted after her, mentally kicking himself for making a muck of it again. He chanced a quick look
and almost groaned out loud. She was at it again! Did she have a fetish for the bloody thing? He
couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hermione, you’re biting your lip.”

“Pardon?”

Harry was not to be deterred. “Your lip. You’re biting it.”

She kept her head down and increased her pace, but didn’t stop biting.

Reaching out, he caught hold of her arm.

“Hermione?”

She just stood there, arms folded, still biting that bloody lip of hers.

“Hermione, I know about Neville.”

She raised her head and Harry could see that her eyes were very bright, as if she were holding
back tears.

“That was a really nice thing you did for him, you know. But then again, I’m not surprised:
you’re always doing things like that for people.”

A little smile played around the corners of her poor ravaged lips. Harry watched in fascination
as a small pink tongue poked out to wet them and then the white teeth bit down again. The urge was
back and this time Harry didn’t resist—he slowly raised his hand and gently ran his thumb along the
bottom of her lip, which started to tremble.

“H-harry, w-what are you d-doing?” Hermione voice came out as a squeak.

Harry didn’t say a word, but just kept running his thumb back and forth, back and forth, never
taking his eyes off of her mouth.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” he told her softly. “Every time I see you . . . do you know how
often you do it? Whenever you’re deep into a book, or when you’re upset, or when you’re worried
about something or someone . . .” his voice trailed off and he tipped her chin up, compelling her
to look him in the eye. Hermione appeared confused and . . . something else. Harry was finding it
difficult to talk or even breath.

“Hermione, do you like Michael Corner?” he blurted out suddenly. “What I mean is do you
*like* him?”

“I know what you mean, Harry. I like Michael okay, but I certainly don’t fancy him. How could I
when . . .” her voice trailed off.

“When . . .” he prompted, his heart thumping madly. He reached down, caught hold of her hands
and gave a little tug. She made a sound that was half laugh, half slightly hysterical hiccup.

“When I . . . when . . .” she whispered. She looked at him shyly.

“Really?” Was she saying . . . ?

She nodded. “Of course, Harry.”

“Me too,” he said softly.

Later on, neither Harry nor Hermione could say who leaned forward first, but suddenly they were
standing much closer together. She caught a faint trace of his aftershave before his hands dropped
hers and began to make their way up her arms to her elbows. He tugged her towards him until he
could smell her fragrant hair and feel the pliable curves of her body pressing against his.

The kiss, when it happened, was nothing more than a whisper—the softest touch of lip upon
lip.

Afterwards they remained standing, each overwhelmed by the unfamiliar sensations crashing
through them. Harry’s forehead rested on top of Hermione’s curls and they were both breathing hard,
eyes closed, lips curled into identical smiles. Then,

“Harry?”

“Mmmm?”

“Do you think that we could . . . um . . . I mean, would you mind if we tried that again? I’ve
always read that when . . .”

Harry chuckled; Hermione looked shocked and pulled away.

“Honestly, Harry. There’s no need to laugh at me; I’m quite serious.”

“I know you are. But *honestly*, Hermione,” he grinned teasingly, “trust you to think about
books at a time like this.”

“I don’t see how that’s so terrible! I believe in being prepared and well,” she sputtered
indignantly, “it’s better to . . .”

Harry put a finger to her mouth, halting her in mid-rant.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m *cute*?” she repeated dumbly.

Harry nodded, blushing. “You’re also thoughtful, and kind, and brave, and really, really, pretty
. . .”

Harry’s words were cut off by the vast quantity of hair obscuring his mouth as Hermione flung
her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. She was making those funny little
squeaking sounds again. Probably biting her lip again too, he thought distractedly.

Well that did it. Harry might be the most powerful young wizard in the world, but he was, after
all, first and foremost a seventeen-year-old boy. And the girl he fancied above all others had just
jumped into his arms and appeared content to stay there.

“Hermione!”

He sounded rather desperate as he gave her a little shake. Then, unable to stop himself, he
began raining little kisses everywhere he could reach—her hair, her ear . . . when she didn’t hex
him or slap him, he brushed aside her long curls to reach a soft spot near the side of her neck,
his hands shaking with long-suppressed emotion. At some point after the assault on her neck,
Hermione’s lips found his and his hands made their way around her waist. Somehow they both knew to
relax their lips as tongues began a gentle and mutual exploration. Hermione moaned softly at the
taste of Harry’s mouth, while Harry felt the blood rush from his brain.

When they finally broke for air, Hermione was pressed against the cold stone wall of the castle,
errant ringlets tumbling out of her upswept ponytail. Her cheeks were flushed a brilliant rose, her
glazed eyes half-obscured by drooping lids. Harry was breathing so rapidly that he was almost
hyper-ventilating; the exhilaration he felt, akin to executing a death-defying dive on his
Firebolt.

“Well,” said Hermione breathlessly.

“Well,” agreed Harry.

Feeling her warm breath on his neck and her warm body close to his, for the first time in his
young tortured life, Harry allowed himself to truly believe that he could—that he
*would—*survive this war.

One day he would tell her. One day. For now, just knowing was enough.

~*~

FIN

~*~

**Author’s Note:** Well, they finally got down to business, didn’t they? I hope you enjoyed
my little story, although if you’ve had half as good a time reading this as I’ve had writing it,
then I’ve done my job. Thanks again for sticking with me, and since I hate to say goodbye, I’ll
just say “adieu” until next time!

Kirsti