The Only Girl

Bingblot

Rating: G
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 28/06/2006
Last Updated: 05/07/2006
Status: completed

AU 4th year. Harry decides his best hope of surviving the Yule Ball is to ask Hermione-- and everything goes on from there... The Yule Ball the way it should have gone.

Chapters

1. The Date

2. The Way You Look Tonight, Part 1

3. The Way You Look Tonight, Part 2

4. The Way You Look Tonight, Part 3

1. The Date

Disclaimer: This is AU; do I really still need to tell you that I do not own HP and I am only borrowing JKR’s world for fun?

Author’s Note: Written originally for the fanfict00bs drabble-a-thon for Amethyst_J’s request: AU fourth year. Harry decides his best hope of surviving the Yule Ball is to ask Hermione. Whether she accepts or not is up to you.

And then, well, the plot bunny went and ran with the idea… So the build-up to the Yule Ball the way it should have gone (with some slight rearranging of canon to suit my purposes) and the Yule Ball itself, as it should have been. Borrowing some lines from canon which you will probably recognize. Enjoy!

The Only Girl

The Date

He had thought facing down the Hungarian Horntail would be hard—this was ten, no a hundred, times harder.

He had to go a ball?! And he had to go the ball with a girl—and dance?!

Harry could almost wish he had let the bloody Hungarian Horntail fry him to a crisp instead.

A girl—he had to ask a girl to go to the Yule Ball with him.

He grimaced as his stomach seemed to roil at the very thought. He wondered if he were going to be sick. (He was sure that would just be great, really add to the luster of his reputation as the school champion along with Cedric- going up to a girl and asking her to go to the Ball with him and then promptly puking all over her shoes.)

Yup, this was going to be terrible.

Dragons were positively cute and cuddly compared to the terrifying prospect of facing a girl and asking her to go to a ball.

A girl- a girl- Hogwarts seemed to be full of girls all of a sudden—but who should he ask?

He knew who he wanted to ask—in some alternate world where he was taller and could actually talk to her without stuttering and blushing and looking, in short, like a complete idiot.

But in this world- this world where he couldn’t even look at Cho without panicking and turning into a bumbling, incoherent idiot- who could he ask?

But even as he thought it, he knew the answer.

The one girl whom he could talk to, the one girl he liked to talk to, the one girl—the only girl—who could possibly, probably even, make going to the Ball not a nerve-wracking disaster of an evening.

Hermione. He needed Hermione.

He hurried over to the library where he knew she would be, finding her hunched over a table and frowning slightly as she read the enormous book open in front of her.

“Hermione,” he whispered urgently, “I need to talk to you.”

She looked up with a slight smile and closed her book. “Okay.”

She slid her books into her bag and stood up and they left, Harry oddly, uncomfortably aware that Krum, whom he hadn’t even noticed earlier when he’d walked into the library, was watching them go. (What was his problem?)

He waited until they were on the stairs- which jerked and then started moving creakily.

“What is it, Harry?”

He looked at her, his eyes wide, as the staircase stopped at another hallway and they hurried to get off it and into the hallway. His heart was suddenly beating at three times its normal rate—this was Hermione, for heaven’s sake; he couldn’t be nervous about talking to Hermione.

“I- er- I need you to do me a favor,” he began, nervously, his fingers fiddling with the folds of his robe.

“Of course, what is it?”

And the friendliness and willingness of her smile somehow did something to him—and he found himself staring at her as if he’d never seen her before, seeing the warmth of her eyes and the color and shape of her mou—he stopped that train of thought, uncomfortable with where it was heading. Her smile—she had a nice smile, a pretty smile, he found himself thinking suddenly.

This was Hermione and she was his best friend—and the thought gave him some courage.

“I- er- IwantyoutogototheBallwithme,” he blurted out, very quickly, in one breath.

She blinked and stared, as spots of color appeared on her cheeks.

“I have to go to the Ball and dance and stuff,” he found himself continuing to speak very quickly, not letting her answer because he was nervous and desperately afraid of what he would do if she said no, “and I- er- I want to go with you ‘cause I know you and I like you and- and I think, if I went with you, it could be fun.” Fun, as opposed to excruciating.

She was still flushed but then she smiled. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, I’ll go to the Ball with you,” she clarified.

He let out his breath. Okay. “Thanks, Hermione.” He managed a smile for her—and then was surprised at how easy it was to smile now that he wasn’t nervous anymore and was even glad.

He would go to the Ball with Hermione and maybe, it would be fun.

He glanced at Hermione as they walked back towards Gryffindor Tower, saw the small smile playing on her lips and the lingering pink of her cheeks. Hermione was, he decided, quite pretty, even with her bushy hair, and wondered why he’d never really noticed before. And he could talk to her, felt comfortable with her.

He smiled, suddenly looking forward to the Yule Ball. It would be fun.

~*~*~

Another Date?

It was amazing what having a girl to go to the Ball with could do to his mood and his mindset. Harry found he was much more relaxed without the dread of that hanging over him and only the worry of the golden egg and the Second Task—which, as he told himself repeatedly (and never more emphatically than after Hermione had reminded him of it) wasn’t for another two months which would surely be plenty of time. Especially with Hermione’s help.

Plus, having a date to the Ball gave him a water-tight excuse to refuse the girls who came up to him randomly at times, whether he’d ever spoken one word to them or not, and asked him to go to the Ball. “I’m already going with someone” sounded much better than a flat “no.”

Harry had been rather afraid that Ron might explode or something when he found out about him and Hermione going to the Ball, which was why he and Hermione had tacitly agreed not to mention it at first, until they had to—and, as it turned out, that had probably been a wise decision.

Harry and Hermione got back to the Common Room one evening to find Ron looking ashen-faced and somewhat ill, as he sat in a distant corner of the room, with Ginny talking in what seemed to be a soothing voice.

“What’s wrong?”

Ron looked up with a sort of blank horror on his face. “Why did I do it? I don’t know what made me do it!”

“What?” Harry asked.

“He- er- just asked Fleur Delacour to go to the ball with him,” Ginny said, looking and sounding as if she was fighting back a smile.

“You what?” Harry asked, his voice rising slightly in his surprise.

“I don’t know what made me do it!” Ron gasped. “What was I playing at? There were people- all around- I’ve gone mad- everyone watching! I was just walking past her in the Entrance Hall—she was standing there talking to Diggory—and it sort of came over me- and I asked her!”

Ron moaned and put his face in his hands, still talking though Harry could hardly understand his words other than to decipher that Fleur had (predictably) not been particularly gracious in her refusal.

He glanced at Hermione and met her eyes, seeing that she was also torn between sympathy for Ron and some reluctant amusement at Ron’s shell-shocked reaction.

“She is part Veela,” Harry told Ron in an attempt to make him feel better. “Her grandmother was one so it’s no wonder she acts the way she does.”

“And she’s not the only pretty girl,” Hermione added encouragingly.

Ron looked up at Hermione as if he had never seen her before or she had just said something absolutely astounding. “Say, Hermione, you’re a girl!”

Harry winced inwardly on Ron’s behalf. The expression on Hermione’s face was about as welcoming as a Blast-ended Skrewt. But Ron- seemingly oblivious- forged on anyway. “You’re a girl,” he said again, “you can come with me.”

“No I can’t,” Hermione snapped before she opened her mouth again to admit the truth but Harry interrupted her, saying it before she could, thinking vaguely that Ron might take the news better from him or, at the very least, would then be more angry at him and not at Hermione, who didn’t need to have Ron angry with her for this reason.

“No, she can’t,” Harry spoke up, hesitating for a split second before finishing, “she’s going with me.”

Ginny’s ill-hidden amusement vanished immediately.

Ron blinked and then glowered. “Say, I suggested she go with me first.”

“No, I asked her a couple days ago,” Harry said honestly.

“You what?” Ron looked from Harry to Hermione, gaping and looking markedly less than pleased.

“He asked me and I said yes,” Hermione said, her tone daring Ron to make some sort of protest.

Ron half-glowered at Harry, a distinctly mulish expression falling over his face, but he took the hint and didn’t say any more on the subject.

“I’m going to bed,” Hermione announced, not looking entirely mollified at Ron’s sudden tact. Her tone softened as she offered Harry a slight smile. “Good night.”

“Night,” Harry answered automatically, looking up at her with the ghost of a smile curving his lips in response.

Ron waited until Hermione was out of sight and up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory before he glowered at Harry. “What’s going on between you two?” he demanded.

“Nothing!” Harry answered quickly—and, he also thought, honestly. “We’re friends and we’re just going as friends. I couldn’t think of any other girl to ask and figured that at least if I went with Hermione, the Ball wouldn’t be so terrible.”

“Okay, then,” Ron accepted rather grudgingly, but afterwards he never mentioned the subject again (although he did start watching Harry and Hermione like a hawk whenever they talked or were even in the same room together).

A week later, Ron still had no date and was making no attempt to hide his displeasure at the fact.

“I think I’m the only one left who hasn’t got anyone,” Ron groused to Harry. “Except for Neville. Hey—guess who he asked? Hermione!”

“What?” Harry started slightly, completely distracted by this news. Neville—and Hermione? He liked Neville well enough but- Hermione? Hermione deserved better than that. Heck, she deserved better than him—but Harry avoided that thought.

And then Hermione came up to him, looking a little uncomfortable, and said, “Harry, can I tell you something?”

“Sure, what is it?”

She glanced around and pulled Harry into a quiet corner of the Common Room.

“Viktor Krum just asked me to go to the Ball with him,” she blurted out very quickly.

He stiffened and stared at her, trying to ignore the sudden twisting of his stomach. “Krum?”

She nodded a little shyly. “Yeah. You know how he’s been hanging out at the library a lot these days—and well, he- he said it was because of me,” she admitted, blushing slightly.

“Oh,” was all Harry said, flatly. He had told himself that he was a much better partner for the Ball than Neville but he couldn’t convince himself of that about Viktor Krum. Krum! The Viktor Krum, the one who had been so wonderful at the Quidditch World Cup, Krum who flew like no one he had ever seen. Krum, who was famous and a real champion, not like him who was more of a champion through some trickery when he hadn’t even wanted to be a champion at all.

He looked at Hermione again, seeing the color in her cheeks and the almost-shy expression in her eyes. Hermione- shy? “If you’d rather go with him, you can, you know. I-er- I can find someone else to go with,” he lied, sternly suppressing the automatic wave of panic he felt at the very idea. Someone else?! There was no one else whom he would ask! But if Hermione wanted to, he owed her that much. She deserved a chance to go to the Yule Ball with a world-famous Quidditch player and school champion.

A slight shadow crossed Hermione’s face as she studied him, as if trying to see how sincere his offer was. Harry felt his stomach twist into knots. Oh God, she really did want to go with Krum instead of him…

And then she smiled slightly. “Hmm, go to the Ball with my best friend or go to the Ball with a boy I barely know and who calls me Hermy-own…” She pretended to think for a moment before smiling at him. “No, I think I’d rather go with you, Harry.”

He returned her smile with one of his own, sagging back into his chair with the depth of his relief. “Okay.” He paused and then asked, with amusement in his tone, “Hermy-own?”

Hermione laughed. “He can’t seem to pronounce Hermione and I didn’t bother correcting him.”

Harry grinned, suddenly feeling much happier now that he was sure Hermione would still be going to the Ball with him and was laughing with him. “Maybe you should have told him your middle name; he should be able to pronounce Jane.”

Hermione’s smile widened as she nodded. “You’re right; maybe I should have.” She paused and then asked, “How do you know what my middle name is?”

“You told me, at the beginning of last year, when Ron admitted his middle name was Bilius after his Uncle Bilius who died after seeing a Grim.”

“I did? I don’t remember.”

Harry shrugged a little. “It was sort-of in passing; we got kinda distracted by calling Ron Bilius after that for the fun of watching his face turn red.”

“And you remember that?”

“I remember almost everything you’ve said,” he admitted honestly.

Hermione flushed pink with pleasure and smiled brightly at him, her eyes positively sparkling, and Harry thought again that Hermione really was pretty. Had she always been so pretty and he just hadn’t noticed it?

To be continued with the Yule Ball…

2. The Way You Look Tonight, Part 1

Disclaimer: In Part 1.

Note: Thank you, everyone, who read and reviewed the first part. I’m glad you enjoyed it so much and I hope the Yule Ball lives up to your expectations! Once again, using lines from canon. The Yule Ball will be divided up into 3 parts, because it just got too long. Enjoy!

The Only Girl

The Way You Look Tonight

Part 1

Hermione had asked Harry if she could meet him in the Entrance Hall instead of in the Common Room and though Harry hadn’t understood her reasoning, he had agreed.

Parvati, whom Harry had finally asked to go with Ron since Lavender had by then already agreed to go with Seamus, was waiting for Ron in the Common Room, actually looking quite pretty in robes of extremely bright pink, her hair braided with gold and gold bracelets at her wrist, making soft jingling noises when she walked. Harry nudged Ron in the back, making Ron start a little and then go up to her, saying awkwardly, “You-er- look really nice.”

Parvati looked pleased at the compliment as she took Ron’s arm (although Harry noticed Parvati looking askance at the frayed edges of the neck and sleeves of Ron’s dress robes) and Harry followed them out of the Common Room.

The Entrance Hall was crowded and milling around with people.

Harry saw Cho with Cedric and felt his stomach twist unpleasantly at how pretty Cho looked in her dress robes and hurriedly looked away, his eyes falling on Fleur Delacour, looking absolutely beautiful in robes of silver-grey satin with the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, Roger Davies.

The oak front doors opened and the Durmstrang students entered with Professor Karkaroff. Krum, Harry could see, was with one of his fan-girls who looked nearly faint with excitement while Krum was striving valiantly not to look disgusted. No doubt Krum was wishing he was with Hermione, and Harry surprised himself at the flicker of sympathy he felt for Krum—as well as the even smaller flicker of pleasure at knowing that he, not Krum, would be the one to have fun with Hermione tonight.

Which reminded him- where was she? He turned to look for her and his eyes fell on a very pretty girl in blue robes whom he didn’t immediately recognize and moved on over the crowd when he stopped and turned to look back at the girl, some instinct nagging at him.

His jaw dropped.

It was Hermione.

But it was Hermione as he had never seen her before, as no one had ever seen her before. Glancing surreptitiously around, he could tell that he wasn’t the only person not to recognize her immediately. Ron looked straight past her without noticing. Harry stared, his gaze taking in all of her that he could see with the people between them as she smiled and started walking towards him.

He managed to close his mouth with a Herculean effort as she drew nearer and he saw her better. She looked—she looked—different. Her hair was sleek and shiny and twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. She was wearing robes of some floaty, periwinkle-blue material that left Harry made uncomfortably and dramatically aware of the fact that Hermione was undoubtedly a girl. (The thought hit him with all the force of a Bludger to the head. Of course he’d always known she was a girl but- but he hadn’t known she could look like that!) She was holding herself differently, somehow—he wondered if it was just the absence of her usual bundle of books slung over her back—but whatever it was, she was- graceful, he thought, poised.

She was standing in front of him now, smiling with just a hint of nervousness in her smile. “Hi, Harry.”

He swallowed hard and stared at her, forgetting to breathe, forgetting how to talk, forgetting everything. Her smile faltered slightly, a flicker of vulnerability passing over her face, and that snapped him out of his stupor. “Hermione,” he managed to say, “I-er- you look—you look- really nice.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Harry. You look nice too.”

He felt heat creep into his cheeks at her compliment but was spared having to respond by Professor McGonagall calling out, “Champions over here, please!”

Hermione slipped her hand through his arm as they walked to where Professor McGonagall was standing, dressed in robes of red tartan and with a what-was-no-doubt-meant-to-be-decorative-but-was-really-quite-ugly wreath of thistles around her hat.

Krum’s frown deepened when he saw Harry and Hermione together. Cedric and Cho were close to Harry, too, and Cho smiled when she saw him. “Hi, Harry,” she said in a friendly fashion that just days ago would have reduced him to incoherence.

“Hi,” he said automatically, distracted as he was in thinking about the incredible change in Hermione’s appearance—and the fact that she was with him, her hand holding his arm.

When everyone else was seated in the Hall, Professor McGonagall led the champions and their partners in, as everyone started to applaud at their entrance.

Hermione’s hand slipped down his arm to touch his hand and gave it a brief, reassuring squeeze, as she sensed Harry’s discomfort at the attention, before releasing it. He glanced at her with a thankful smile, which she returned with an understanding smile of her own—and so it was that the first glimpse most people in the hall had of the youngest champion was of him smiling warmly at his partner, his best friend.

Harry glanced over at Ron as they passed him to see that Ron had finally recognized Hermione and was now watching her- and him- with narrowed eyes. He sensed rather than saw Hermione’s miniscule hesitation when she saw Ron’s expression and it was his turn to move just a little bit closer to her, enough so their hands were partially hidden by his robe and give her fingers a brief pressure, indicative of support.

Dumbledore was smiling and beaming at the champions; Karkaroff looked rather as if he’d eaten something sour. Ludo Bagman, resplendent in flashy robes of bright purple with large yellow stars on it, was clapping enthusiastically, while Madam Maxime, in lavender silk rather than her usual black satin, clapped politely. Mr. Crouch, however, was nowhere to be seen and in his spot was- Percy Weasley.

“I wonder where Mr. Crouch is,” Hermione whispered to Harry under her breath and he nodded but couldn’t say anything as they had reached the top table and Percy, who looked pointedly at Harry and then at the empty seat beside him.

Harry grimaced inwardly but took the less-than-subtle hint and sat down next to Percy, wondering if he could look forward to a long discourse on the thickness of cauldron bottoms all evening—but then he caught Hermione’s eye as she sat beside him and felt better. The evening wasn’t going to be that tedious; it couldn’t be when he had Hermione next to him to talk to instead of Percy.

“I’ve been promoted,” Percy announced instead of greeting Harry and Harry studiously avoided meeting Hermione’s gaze although he felt her eyes on him, because he knew that if he did meet Hermione’s eyes, he would burst out laughing at Percy’s smug tone, which wouldn’t have been out of place if he had been announcing his election as Supreme Ruler of the Universe. “I’m now Mr. Crouch’s personal assistant, and I’m here representing him.”

Harry bit back his urge to laugh and only asked, “Why didn’t he come?”

He listened with half an ear to Percy’s long answer as he looked around the Great Hall, noting how different things looked from up on the top table and with the decorations. He turned his attention back to Percy when he heard Percy say, “…misbehavior of that house-elf of his, Blinky or whatever she was called…”

“Winky,” Harry interrupted automatically and, under the table, reached for Hermione’s wrist and gripped it loosely, sensing that she was about to launch into a defense of Winky.

“Whatever,” Percy said dismissively and continued on as if Harry had never spoken. “Naturally he dismissed her immediately afterwards, but—well, as I say, he’s getting on, he needs looking after, and I think he’s found a definite drop in his home comforts since she left…” And so it went while Harry swallowed back his urge to ask why Percy didn’t simply volunteer to be Mr. Crouch’s personal house-elf too. (He certainly had the worshipful attitude down already.)

Percy had finally stopped talking and then Hermione leaned over and whispered very quietly in Harry’s ear, “I wonder whether Mr. Crouch has stopped calling Percy ‘Weatherby’.” Harry choked on a laugh which he quickly turned into a cough as he met Hermione’s amused gaze and grinned.

Harry looked around and then followed Dumbledore’s lead in looking at the menu and ordering into his plate. He glanced at Hermione to see what she thought of this new system that must create more work for the house elves and saw that she was frowning down at her plate. He didn’t want Hermione’s evening to be ruined because of S.P.E.W. though and under the table, gave her hand a quick squeeze. She glanced up at him and he smiled slightly, as he nodded his head down at their plates, silently letting her know that he understood but she shouldn’t allow this to get in the way of her evening. She returned his smile and he knew she understood.

See? A small voice inside his head said. I knew going to the Ball with Hermione would be fun.

Krum’s fan-girl had finally managed to get over enough of her awe that she had asked Krum a question on what Durmstrang was like.

Harry rather expected that Krum, who didn’t seem given to talking and whom Harry had never heard actually speak before, would grunt or make some other noise that would kill the conversation. But to his surprise, Krum answered—and answered fluently.

Harry blinked—Krum talked!—but then he saw something that simultaneously told him exactly what had caused this burst of talkativeness in Krum and made him promptly decide he disliked the Bulgarian.

Krum was ostensibly only answering his date’s question but he kept glancing over at Hermione every couple words and was deliberately speaking in such a way as to guarantee that Hermione—and Harry and everyone within four seats of him—could hear him.

Harry was surprised at the very vehemence of his reaction, the strength of his newly-discovered dislike of Krum.

He was describing Durmstrang’s castle with a surprising amount of enthusiasm—and, Harry saw with annoyance directed entirely at Krum, Hermione (to say nothing of Krum’s date, who was gazing at him as if every word out of Krum’s mouth was divinely inspired) was fascinated.

Bloody stupid Bulgarian. Of course Hermione would be fascinated by a description of Durmstrang! Harry could have predicted that; he knew Hermione and her curiosity and her love of learning about things and places she didn’t know. It was why she enjoyed her summer travels with her parents so much, partly why she read so much. And Durmstrang, which was a place of some mystery and therefore exotic to Hogwarts students, was ideal to distract Hermione’s attention. He knew all that and understood why—and, somewhat irrationally, the fact that Krum had obviously guessed that about Hermione as well (and guessed accurately) only annoyed Harry more.

Viktor Krum! Fancying Hermione? Viktor Krum didn’t even know Hermione! How could he? He hadn’t talked to her; he hadn’t spent any time with her unless you counted the time he had (apparently) spent in the library watching her. The only thing Viktor Krum could possibly know about Hermione was what she looked like and that she liked the library. And he fancied her. The nerve of him! Fancying Hermione simply because she was pretty! (Harry could feel himself growing steadily more annoyed at Krum by the second.) Yes, Hermione was pretty—but there was so much more to Hermione than that. Hermione was—smart, the cleverest witch of their year and the smartest person Harry knew; she was kind and loyal and brave and honest (he still remembered how she had stood up to Professor Trelawney last year, too straightforward by nature to hide her disdain for Divination) and a great friend… So what if she didn’t know or care that much about Quidditch?

Krum didn’t even know Hermione and he fancied her… Or rather thought he fancied her; he couldn’t really…

Well, don’t you fancy Cho and how much do you know about her? You haven’t spent any time with her, have you? A voice in his head spoke up and Harry stopped, mid-bite.

Oh God, it was true. He didn’t really know Cho at all; he’d never talked to her. All he knew of her was that she was pretty and that she was good at Quidditch… Could he really fancy her?

He glanced down the table to where Cho was sitting, seeing her smile at something Cedric said, her eyes bright—and felt something tug at his chest. But then he looked at Hermione sitting beside him and just then she looked up to meet his eyes and smiled quickly at him—had she always been so pretty when she smiled?—and the something was back, only stronger.

And for a moment, he couldn’t breathe, forgot how to breathe really, could only stare at her as one thought echoed in his mind—he didn’t fancy Cho after all and- and- Hermione was pretty too and he did know Hermione, liked her…

“Harry, is anything wrong?”

Hermione’s voice broke into his thoughts and he turned to her. “What? No, why do you ask?” he hastened to assure her.

“You had an odd look on your face,” she said quietly.

He managed a smile for her, oddly touched at how much she cared about him. “I’m fine, just thinking about something.”

“Okay.”

Karkaroff’s voice cut across the table and they both turned to look at him, as he addressed Dumbledore with a wide smile that was quite clearly fake, on the pride in protecting the secrets of their schools.

Harry snorted softly at Dumbledore’s characteristically whimsical answer about a room that could only be found when one had a full bladder and met Hermione’s amused gaze.

She nudged him with her elbow and gestured with her head to where Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies were sitting.

Fleur was talking disdainfully about Hogwarts and its decorations as compared to Beauxbatons, slapping her hand down on the table to emphasize her point of how quickly a poltergeist would be expelled from Beauxbatons if one ever had the temerity to enter.

“Absolutely right,” Roger agreed immediately, slapping his own hand down on the table in an exact echo of Fleur’s gesture. “Like that. Yeah.”

The expression on Roger’s face was comical for how dazed he looked and he was having some difficulty eating his food because he kept missing his mouth with his fork, distracted as he was in staring at Fleur as if she were some sort of goddess.

Hermione leaned over to whisper in Harry’s ear, “Roger looks like a fish out of water with his eyes so wide and his mouth gaping like that.”

Harry glanced at Roger again and had to grin at the accuracy of Hermione’s description.

“She must be used to having boys stare at her like that,” Hermione said softly, with just the tinge of wistfulness in her tone.

Harry shrugged a little; it was undeniably true that Fleur must be very used to the sort of admiring stupor which Roger was in now. “Yeah, but it must be hard to be friends with a girl like that. Honestly, I think I’d rather be with a girl I could actually talk to without feeling like some sort of lower being.”

Hermione’s expression brightened as she looked at him. “Really?”

“Yes,” Harry said simply- and honestly, although it had never occurred to him to think that way before. But it was true; he couldn’t imagine really enjoying himself with someone like Fleur, who was so preternaturally beautiful she would make anyone feel painfully inadequate and unworthy. He would rather spend time with someone whom he could laugh with, whom he could talk to.

Hermione’s answering smile was the brightest he had ever seen and for a moment, he could only stare and the thought flitted through his mind almost too quickly for him to catch that he would do a lot for the sake of seeing her smile like that…

To be continued with dancing!

3. The Way You Look Tonight, Part 2

Disclaimer: See Part 1

Author’s Note: Thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing the first two parts. This is Part 2 of 3 of the Yule Ball, the way it should have been. Enjoy!

The Only Girl

The Way You Look Tonight: Part 2

When everyone was done eating, Dumbledore stood up, asking the students to do the same, whereupon he made all the tables fly back to line the walls, leaving the floor clear. Then he conjured a raised platform along the right-hand wall and a set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello and some bagpipes were placed on it.

The Weird Sisters paraded onto the stage to enthusiastic applause; Harry couldn’t help but think that they looked rather like the traditional Muggle stereotype of what witches looked like, with wild hair and dressed in ripped black robes.

And then Harry belatedly remembered just why he’d been dreading the Yule Ball so much; the champions all had to dance with their partners. For a moment, he felt a flare of panic inside his chest and he was tempted to flee—where he didn’t know, anywhere he wouldn’t have to dance in public. But then he felt Hermione’s hand on his arm, gently tugging him to his feet, and he stood up, half-tripping over his dress robes as he did so. She sent him a reassuring glance and he felt marginally better as the Weird Sisters began playing a slow, melancholy tune. He kept his eyes focused as much as possible above everyone’s heads or, barring that, on Hermione. And he was beginning to feel much better when he and Hermione came to a stop on the dance floor and he realized with a jolt that in order to dance, he and Hermione were going to have to touch, to stand close- too close- together. He swallowed hard and fought back a blush as he placed a tentative hand on Hermione’s waist and held her hand with his other hand and, slowly, they began to dance. Or more accurately, they started revolving slowly, taking small steps sort of in unison with the music, while he kept his gaze focused on the walls above people’s heads as he could sense Ron staring at them (as he’d been doing off and on the entire evening) with narrowed eyes.

And he absolutely did not notice the warmth of Hermione’s body through the rather flimsy fabric of her dress robes or the fact that they were standing so close together he could feel her every breath or the fact that Hermione was the perfect height so that positioned as they were, if she just lifted her head and he met her eyes, their lips would end up within inches of each other. He didn’t notice the way her hand fit within his and somehow felt- right- there. He didn’t notice some of the lingering curls of her hair just touching her neck or how smooth and soft the skin of her neck looked or how his fingers nearly itched to touch her neck to discover if her skin could possibly be as soft and smooth as it looked.

He didn’t notice any of those things. And if he kept on telling himself that, maybe it would somehow come true.

He didn’t want to notice any of those things about Hermione, about dancing with Hermione. That way led to things, to thoughts, to feelings, he didn’t want to think about; could change things and that terrified him more than anything else in his life to date. He was comfortable with things the way they were, with being simply best friends with Hermione and not really noticing how pretty she was or anything.

Harry was so distracted by his thoughts that he was startled when he realized that other people had joined them on the dance floor, which meant that the champions were no longer the center of attention. The worst part of the evening was over, he realized—and it had even been rather fun. Because it was Hermione.

As if she had read his mind, she looked up at him at that moment with a small smile as she said softly, “See, this wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He smiled back, sincerely. “That’s because it’s you,” he told her simply. “I’m sure if I had come here with anyone else, it would have been terrible.”

“Oh honestly, Harry…” Hermione demurred but there was a pleased flush on her cheeks.

He shrugged a little, or as much as he could while still dancing. “It’s true.” He paused and then added softly, partly by way of thanks and partly because he wanted her to know, “You look really pretty tonight.”

“Thanks, Harry.” She grinned up at him and then, lowering her voice as if she were going to tell him a secret, confessed, “I used up almost a full bottle of Sleakeazy’s Hair Potion to make my hair look like this.”

He grinned at her, thinking that this was what he liked about Hermione; she wasn’t silly about things like this like other girls were and could even laugh about how she’d worked so hard to look good. He seriously doubted there was another girl in existence who would have told him that, no matter how much Sleakeazy’s Hair Potion or other beauty-enhancing magical products they’d used. “Did you really?” He made an exaggerated show of pretending to study her hair style before saying, “Your hair looks nice.”

She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

And then he surprised himself by blurting out, “But honestly, I think your hair is fine without Sleakeazy’s too.”

“Harry, my hair is bushy,” Hermione whispered in the tone of one announcing a terrible, but obvious, truth.

“Yeah, but it’s just part of what makes you Hermione.” And I kinda like you as, well, you, he thought.

But then he saw the way Hermione’s eyes shone and her expression softened. “Oh, Harry, that- that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

And he realized he had spoken his thought out-loud. Oops. He made a mental note that apparently trusting Hermione the way he did was not always a good thing; it made him too likely to simply blurt out what he was thinking without stopping to reflect on what he was saying.

He hastily took the opportunity to look around him, seeing Dumbledore waltzing with Madame Maxime, which was a rather comical sight given that the top of his tall pointed hat barely reached her chin but he was surprised to see that Madame Maxime actually moved quite gracefully for all her size. Mad-Eye Moody was dancing, in his rather ungainly fashion, with Professor Sinistra, who kept one nervous eye on his wooden leg.

“Hi, Professor Moody,” Hermione greeted him with a slight smile.

“Granger,” Moody nodded and then added, “Nice socks, Potter,” in his gruff voice as he passed, his magical eye staring through Harry’s robes and his shoes.

“Oh- yeah, Dobby the house-elf knitted them for me,” Harry grinned.

Hermione smiled to herself; she hadn’t known that Harry would still be wearing the mis-matched socks Dobby had knit for him with his dress robes. The fact that he was- and that he’d admit it so freely (and she had caught, even if she knew Harry hadn’t, Parvati’s look of disapproval as Parvati had been within ear-shot when Harry had admitted that), was just one of those things she really liked about Harry. He was nice, for lack of a better word; he wasn’t mean or thoughtlessly cruel or a bully or any of the things he could have become after finding out that he was such a hero in the wizarding world. He was nice to Neville, nice to Colin Creevey despite his irritation at Colin’s enormous case of hero-worship, simply nice.

Harry looked back at Hermione after attempting to catch Ron’s eye as he passed close by but Ron seemed deliberately avoiding looking at him and at Hermione, to see the lingering soft smile on Hermione’s lips and the oddly- soft was the only word he could think of- expression as she looked at him. “What is it?”

Hermione shook her head slightly as if to dismiss her thoughts and only admitted, “Nothing; I just remembered one of the reasons why you’re my best friend.”

The look in her eyes told him more than anything else, although he was still at a loss to imagine what had brought this on, and so he fell back on humor. “You mean, because I’m one of the school champions?” he joked lightly.

Hermione laughed, falling in with his joke. “Oh, that of course, and the fact that you’re famous and all.”

Harry laughed, reflecting that only with Hermione, really, and with Ron now, could he joke about this because he knew that Hermione, of all people, was the one who really cared least about his fame or his hero status.

The final quavering note of the bagpipe ended and everyone applauded. Harry was aware of a distinct reluctance to let go of Hermione and that feeling terrified him enough to make him resolve that he shouldn’t dance with Hermione again, at least not immediately.

“Let’s sit down,” he suggested instead. “I’m kinda thirsty,” he lied as the Weird Sisters began their next song, which was a much faster one.

“Okay,” Hermione agreed and they started to make their way off the dance floor, skirting around Fred and Angelina, who were dancing so energetically that everyone was leaving a wide radius of room around them.

“Uh- Hermy-own?” Suddenly Viktor Krum was standing in front of them, looking distinctly uncomfortable as he nodded rather stiffly at Harry who nodded just as stiffly back.

Hermione smiled in a friendly fashion, the same sort of smile she used to make Neville feel less self-conscious. “Hi.” And for a moment, Harry wished, irrationally, that Hermione weren’t such a nice person and inherently incapable of exploiting someone’s obvious nervousness, if it would mean that she wouldn’t smile like that to Viktor bloody Krum.

“Vill yu dance vith me?” he blurted out.

Hermione hesitated and then turned to Harry. “Harry, do you mind if I dance with Viktor for this song?”

Yes! A small voice inside Harry’s brain nearly shrieked out a protest but he squelched it. He would not be mean. After all, he told himself, it was just one dance and she was still there with him and would be spending most, if not all, of the rest of the evening with him. Only one dance. He could be nice—and, after all, he knew that Krum had wanted to come to the Ball with Hermione in the first place and might even have come with her if it hadn’t been for him, pushing away the automatic flare of protest at the thought of Viktor Krum coming to the Yule Ball with Hermione as his date.

He managed a smile. “I don’t mind. Go ahead. I’ll just go sit with Ron,” he added, spotting Ron sitting on the sidelines with a disgruntled-looking Parvati sitting close by.

And he felt that his magnanimity was (almost) fully repaid by the bright smile Hermione gave him and the brief touch of her hand on his arm. “Thanks, Harry.”

Quite candidly wishing that the entire country of Bulgaria along with every person named Krum could be at the bottom of the ocean, Harry trudged over to where Ron was sitting.

“Hey,” he greeted Ron with an attempt at a grin.

Ron acknowledged him with a rather sour glance. “Where’s Hermione?”

Harry felt his grin vanish as he waved a hand in the general direction of the dancing couples. “I let her dance this song with Viktor Krum.”

Ron turned to gape at Harry as if he had just announced that Hermione was dancing with Voldemort himself. “You- what? She’s dancing with who?” Ron swung his head over to glower at the dancing couples until he caught a glimpse of Krum and Hermione over at the far side of the dance floor.

Harry looked too, unable to stop himself, noting darkly that Krum seemed to be quite a good dancer and that Hermione appeared to be enjoying herself.

Bloody Krum. Bloody Durmstrang. Bloody Bulgarian. Bloody Quidditch star.

He was momentarily distracted from his brooding on Krum and Hermione by Parvati leaning over to ask Ron if he minded whether she danced with a boy from Beauxbatons.

“What?” Ron asked distractedly, still glowering out in Krum’s direction and Parvati flounced off with an angry sniff and a “Never mind,” that made Harry feel a fleeting moment of pity for her. It wasn’t her fault that Ron could be single-minded at times and was currently focusing that attention on Hermione and Krum.

He wondered, not for the first time, whether Ron fancied Hermione to make Ron so dour all evening or whether Ron was merely being over-protective as he was with Ginny.

The idea of Ron fancying Hermione sent a jolt of dismay through Harry and he studied Ron out of the corner of his eye, wondering if it could be true. Could Ron fancy Hermione? He still fought with her and argued with her as often as ever, still disagreed with her and still said things that were almost exactly designed to, if not deliberately hurt, at least anger Hermione.

No, Ron couldn’t fancy Hermione, not with the way he bickered with her. And the fact remained that Ron’s glowering expression showed remarkably little difference when he was watching Hermione and Krum than when he was watching Ginny with Neville.

Harry’s eyes went back of their own volition to where he could just see Krum and Hermione past the other couples and felt something clutch at his chest as he saw Hermione laugh at something Krum said. He tore his gaze away from them, trying to focus on the sight of Hagrid dancing with Madame Maxime or Cho dancing with Cedric (in a futile attempt to forget about Hermione).

And then he felt Ron dig an elbow into his side, making him start, as Ron hissed, “Look, he’s kissing her hand!”

Harry turned his head sharply to see that Krum was, indeed, bending over Hermione’s hand and kissing it, in a gesture that would have seemed ridiculously fake if anyone else (that is, if Harry) had done it but which Krum- the blasted Bulgarian- somehow managed to make seem merely gallant.

Hermione looked surprised but also, Harry noted with dismay and a growing dislike of Krum, flustered and a little flattered and a little pleased.

Bloody Bulgarian trying to charm someone else’s date like that.

Hermione made her way over to where they were, her face slightly flushed from dancing to the fast-paced song, and smiled at them both. “Hi.”

She sat down next to Harry and smiled brightly at him.

Harry returned her smile automatically. “Did you have fun?”

She nodded and answered, “Viktor’s actually quite nice if you get to know him. He-”

Ron cut her off sharply. “Viktor? You call him Viktor now? What, he hasn’t asked you to call him Vicky?” Ron’s tone somehow managed to make both Viktor and Vicky sound more like epithets than names.

“What’s up with you?” Hermione asked in surprise and some dawning irritation.

“If you don’t know,” Ron bit out scathingly, “I’m not going to tell you.”

Harry guessed that Ron was only saying that to make Hermione angry because every inch of his posture, to say nothing of his expression and his tone, told that Ron was positively itching for a fight when he could tell Hermione exactly what was bothering him.

Harry turned to Hermione, trying to pretend he hadn’t noticed anything unusual about Ron’s deliberately baiting manner, and suggested, “Let’s go get something to drink. Aren’t you thirsty?”

Hermione gave him a grateful look, standing up immediately. “Yes, thanks, Harry.”

Harry stood up as well and carefully avoided looking back at Ron as he and Hermione left, wondering why he suddenly felt like a traitor to his best friend for trying to evade what had all the promise of turning into one of Ron and Hermione’s worst rows yet, a positive brawl rather than simply bickering.

To be continued with eavesdropping and the Yule Brawl the way it should have gone…

4. The Way You Look Tonight, Part 3

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author’s Note: The last part of this fic on the Yule Ball the way it should have been. Thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing; I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed this fic so much!

For my dear Amethyst_J who got me started on this and for thephotoman- happy belated birthday, Jim!!

The Only Girl

The Way You Look Tonight

Part 3

They skirted around the dance floor, passing by Fred and George who appeared to have cornered Ludo Bagman although he managed to escape them quickly enough.

“I wonder what they’re up to,” Harry mused idly, more to say something than out of any real curiosity.

“Oh it’s Fred and George; they’ll be up to no good,” Hermione responded distractedly, not as if she cared much but more as if she simply felt obligated to respond.

Harry glanced at her, wondering if she were still angry at Ron but found, to his relief, that her frown had cleared.

After getting a glass of lemonade, Harry automatically turned to return to where Ron was sitting but then stopped when he saw that Percy had sat down in the empty seat next to Ron and was no doubt being his usual pompous self, judging from the extremely grumpy expression on Ron’s face.

“Let’s go outside,” Hermione suggested just before he opened his mouth to suggest the same thing and he agreed with alacrity, thankful to avoid another dose of Percy’s company after spending all of dinner with him.

The front doors of the castle stood open and the fairy lights in the rose garden twinkled among the bushes, winding ornamental paths and large stone statues. Harry could hear the sound of splashing water, which he guessed was a fountain and people were sitting on carved benches scattered here and there.

“Dumbledore spared no efforts in decorating Hogwarts,” Hermione commented.

Harry made a noncommittal sound, thankful for the darkness, as it concealed his sudden blush at the unwanted thought that he couldn’t imagine a more romantic spot to walk in and that he was glad to be out here with Hermione. She was the only girl he’d really want to be out here in this romantic setting with… And then he mentally stopped his train of thought so quickly he should have left skid marks on his brain. He had no business thinking of romance and Hermione in the same sentence, let alone together like that!

They had set off on one of the winding paths through the bushes but had gone only a few steps when he heard a familiar voice, effectively distracting him.

“…don’t see what there is to fuss about, Igor.”

It was, he decided, the first (and last, he was sure) time he would be relieved to hear Snape’s unpleasant voice.

“Severus, you cannot pretend this isn’t happening!” Karkaroff’s voice sounded on the verge of panic and hushed, as though he was equally anxious not to be overheard. “It’s been getting clearer and clearer for months, I am becoming seriously concerned, I can’t deny it--”

“Then flee,” Snape answered curtly. “Flee, I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts.”

And then before either Harry or Hermione could gather their wits, Snape and Karkaroff came around the corner, Snape blasting rose bushes apart with his wand, his expression as dour as ever. Squeals issued from many of the bushes as dark shapes emerged from them.

“Ten points from Hufflepuff, Fawcett!” Snape snarled as a girl Harry vaguely recognized ran past him. “And ten points from Ravenclaw, too, Stebbins!” as a boy ran after her. “And what are you doing here?” he snapped, seeing Harry and Hermione ahead. Karkaroff looked uneasy to see them there, his hand going nervously to his goatee and beginning to wind it around his finger.

“We were going for a walk, Professor,” Hermione answered, her tone perfectly polite and as cold as a glacier.

Harry glanced at her admiringly, not for the first time struck with Hermione’s quick thinking and ability to keep her calm, but slightly surprised at Hermione’s cool tone when speaking to Snape. He knew Hermione didn’t like Snape but she was never as virulent about her dislike as either he or Ron were; this open coolness was a bit unexpected.

“Keep walking, then!” Snape snarled and brushed past them, his black cloak billowing behind him as Karkaroff hurried after him.

“I wonder what’s worrying Karkaroff,” Hermione murmured under her breath. “It might be why he’s been frowning all evening and Viktor did mention that Karkaroff has been more short-tempered than usual lately.”

“And since when have he and Snape been on first-name terms?” Harry mused aloud, keeping his voice hushed as well.

They had reached a large stone reindeer, over which they could see a tall fountain, the water sparkling in the moonlight. The shadowy outlines of two unmistakably large people were visible on a stone bench, watching the water.

“Momen’ I saw yeh, I knew,” they heard Hagrid say, his voice oddly husky.

Both Harry and Hermione froze, Harry wondering with embarrassed dismay whether they were destined to keep overhearing odd conversations. This one in particular did not sound like one they should hear. Harry looked back up the path for an escape route only to see Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies half-hidden behind a rose bush, engaged in an activity that made Harry blush and then make a quick decision not to move. Listening to Hagrid while alone in the dark with Hermione was one thing; passing by Fleur and Roger when they were snogging enthusiastically was another thing entirely. This was uncomfortable enough; he saw no need to make it hellish and quickly ducked deeper into the shadows behind the reindeer, relieved when Hermione seemed to have the same thought and ducked down beside him.

Harry tried very hard not to be hyper-aware of how close she was to him, her arm brushing against his, the sound of her breathing suddenly sounding very loud in the quiet of the night. He stole a quick glance at her to see that her face almost seemed to glow in the dim moonlight and he couldn’t help the fanciful thought that flitted through his brain that she looked angelic. Her lips were slightly parted and he didn’t know if it was a trick of the odd play of moonlight and shadows but her lips seemed to be glistening. For one fleeting moment, his breath caught in his throat, his lungs simply ceased to function and all he could do was stare while part of him wondered what she would do if he simply kissed her…

Fortunately (for the preservation of their friendship) and unfortunately (for the part of his mind that was very preoccupied with his suddenly quickened heartbeat and this incredible urge to kiss her), Madame Maxime’s low voice broke the silence with all the efficacy of a bucket of cold water as she purred, “What did you know, ‘agrid?”

Harry was beginning to think that passing so close to Fleur and Roger might have been the smartest option after all but it was too late. If he could have, he would have plugged his ears and tried to make himself go temporarily deaf but that hardly seemed possible. Instead he tried to focus all his attention on a beetle crawling along the stone reindeer’s back (he refused to focus his attention on Hermione again) but the beetle could not possibly have kept his interest enough to drown out Hagrid’s next words, short of the beetle suddenly expanding to at least 10 times its current size and possibly beginning to tap dance on its back legs.

“I jus’ knew… knew you were like me… was it yer mother or yer father?”

“I- I don’t know what you mean, ‘Agrid…” The purr was gone from Madame Maxime’s voice, being replaced with a distinct note of wariness.

“It was my mother,” Hagrid went on quietly. “She was one o’ the las’ ones in Britain. ‘Course, I can’ remember her too well… she left, see. When I was about three. She wasn’ really the maternal sort. Well… it’s not in their natures, is it? Dunno what happened to her… might be dead fer all I know.”

Harry was aware of Hermione stiffening and sucking in a breath in surprise at Hagrid’s first words but he was a bit slower to catch on to the implication until Hagrid mentioned his mother being one of the last ones in Britain and he guessed immediately. It wasn’t that hard to figure out.

Madame Maxime was making a very creditable impression of one who had been turned to stone as Hagrid continued and Harry, in spite of himself, gave up on trying not to listen. He had never heard Hagrid talk about his childhood before.

“Me dad was broken-hearted when she wen’. Tiny little bloke, my dad was. By the time I was six, I could lift him up an’ put him on top o’ the dresser if he annoyed me. Used ter make him laugh…” Hagrid’s deep voice broke and Harry felt a stab of sympathy and pity for Hagrid. “Dad raised me… but he died, o’ course, jus’ after I started school. Sorta had ter make me own way after that. Dumbledore was a real help, mind. Very kind ter me, he was…”

In some small corner of his mind, Harry thought, well, that explains part of Hagrid’s incredible loyalty and devotion to Dumbledore.

Hagrid pulled out his large, spotted silk handkerchief and blew his nose heavily. “So… anyway… enough about me. What about you? Which side you got it on?”

Madame Maxime finally appeared to have recovered and stood up suddenly. “It is chilly,” she announced, her voice about as cold as the wind from the Arctic tundra, “I think I will go in now.”

Harry winced for Hagrid’s sake.

“Eh?” Hagrid responded blankly. “No, don’ go! I’ve—I’ve never met another one before!”

“Anuzzer what, precisely?” asked Madame Maxime, her tone even icier than before.

Don’t answer that; don’t answer it, Hagrid; please don’t answer it; you really don’t want to answer that… Harry mentally addressed Hagrid, gritting his teeth in a vain hope that Hagrid wouldn’t answer.

But, of course, he did. He was too fundamentally honest not to.

“Another half-giant, o’ course!”

“’Ow dare you!” Madame Maxime shrieked, her voice exploding through the night like a foghorn. Behind him, Harry was vaguely aware of hearing Fleur and Roger falling out of the rose bush. “I ‘ave nevair been more insulted in my life! ‘Alf-giant? Moi? I ‘ave—I ‘ave big bones!” And with that pronouncement, she stormed away, angrily pushing aside bushes as she went.

Leaving Hagrid to stare after her blankly for a long minute, before he stood up and strode away in the direction of his cabin.

Harry felt almost sick with pity for Hagrid and thoroughly ashamed of himself for having eavesdropped. “C’mon,” he whispered to Hermione. “Let’s go…”

Hermione looked up at him, her expression filled with the same mix of sympathy and guilt he was feeling and nodded silently, standing up straight.

“Did you know?” Harry whispered as they walked away from the stone reindeer. “About Hagrid being half-giant?”

“No,” Hermione said softly, before she hesitated and then added, “Well, I didn’t know exactly but I had sort of guessed it. I mean, what else could it be? He’s too big to be fully human.”

“I suppose.” He paused and then asked, “What’s the problem with giants? Why’d Madame Maxime throw such a tantrum when it’s pretty obvious she’s got to be half-giant too?”

“Oh Harry, you don’t understand,” Hermione half-sighed, not condescendingly but with warmth in her tone, as if Harry’s inability to understand was endearing. “It’s because wizards in general have a really strong prejudice against giants, sort of like they have for house-elves and even centaurs. I mean, it’s true that giants are, well, violent and they’ve killed a lot so that makes people say they’re just vicious by nature and like to kill. I rather think that it’s more that they can’t help it; giants aren’t the brightest of creatures and so when they’ve been constantly hunted and harassed by humans, I think it’s their instinct, like any animal really, to lash out in their own defense. It’s only that, thanks to their size and strength, when they hit back, they can destroy and kill a lot of people really easily.”

“Still…” Harry objected. “It’s not like there’s anything wrong with Hagrid.”

“No, there isn’t but it’s understandable that Madame Maxime would lie about her giant blood. Wizards in general won’t treat her well if they knew. I mean, all the giants in Britain were basically hunted out and killed by Aurors, although they were dying out anyway. There are supposed to be giants abroad though, hiding out in the mountains for the most part.”

They had gotten back to the castle by now and made their way into the Great Hall, going over to join Ron, who was alone again, where Harry quickly filled Ron in under his breath of what they’d just overheard.

Ron’s reaction to the news that Hagrid was a half-giant was, Harry supposed, typical of most wizards. A look of shock and something like horror crossed his face as he stared. “He’s a- what?!” Ron hissed, keeping his voice low.

“What did you think he was?” Hermione asked, her voice a little sharp, telling Harry that Hermione hadn’t quite forgiven Ron for his meanness earlier.

“I don’t know. Blimey, no wonder he keeps it quiet. I always thought he’d got in the way of a bad Engorgement Charm when he was a kid or something. Didn’t like to mention it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes in skepticism at Ron’s theory but refrained from saying anything.

“So what if Hagrid is a half-giant? He’s still our friend,” Harry spoke up defensively.

“Well, yeah, no one who really knows him will care ‘cos they’ll know he’s not dangerous but- but half-giant… Harry, giants are- well, they’re vicious. They just like killing people; everyone knows that.”

Harry glanced at Hermione at this proof that what she had said was correct, to see the fleeting look of annoyance at Ron’s belief in the stereotype.

They spent the rest of the evening talking more about giants and about the snippet of Snape’s and Karkaroff’s conversation which he and Hermione had overheard. Harry could see that Cho and Cedric spent the entire evening dancing together, noting it with a surprising indifference, given that only days, possibly even hours, ago, the sight of Cho and Cedric together would have made him want to kick something, hard.

The Weird Sisters finished playing at midnight and, after giving them a last round of applause, everyone started making their way into the Entrance Hall. Many people were heard expressing the wish that the ball could have gone on longer and Harry surprised himself by almost agreeing with them. It hadn’t been all fun but it had been much more enjoyable than he might have expected, thanks to Hermione.

Out in the Entrance Hall, Krum paused to say, “Good night, Hermy-own,” nodding at Ron and Harry, and Hermione smiled at him. “Good night, Viktor.”

Ron’s scowl was back after this exchange and he hurried up the marble staircase after throwing a last glower at Krum’s departing back. Harry and Hermione followed but halfway up the staircase, Harry heard his name being called.

“Hey- Harry!”

It was Cedric Diggory; Cho was waiting for him in the Entrance Hall below.

“Yeah, hi,” Harry said with a half-smile as Cedric ran up the stairs towards him.

Cedric looked a bit uncomfortable and Hermione took the hint quickly and left them alone, with a slight smile at Cedric and a brief touch of her hand on Harry’s arm.

“Listen,” Cedric began quietly as Hermione disappeared. “I owe you one for telling me about the dragons. You know that golden egg? Does yours wail when you open it?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered cautiously, wondering where Cedric was going with this.

“Well… take a bath, OK?”

Harry stared. “What?” What kind of hint was that?

“Take a bath, and- er- take the egg with you, and- er- just mull things over in the hot water. It’ll help you think… trust me.”

“Okay…” Harry answered, his skepticism clear in his tone and in his expression.

“Tell you what,” Cedric said, “use the Prefects’ bathroom. Fourth door to the left of that statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor. Password’s Pine-fresh. Gotta go… want to say goodnight--” He grinned at Harry.

“Thanks,” Harry said quickly with a half-smile.

Cedric shrugged it off. “I owe you,” he said dismissively and turned to go back down the stairs to where Cho was waiting.

Harry walked slowly up the staircase towards the Gryffindor Tower, frowning slightly as he tried to understand Cedric’s vague hint. Take a bath? He couldn’t think of any action that seemed less likely to yield answers about the infernal wailing the egg made when opened but, with a shrug, Harry decided as he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, that he may as well try it. It wasn’t as if he had any other ideas.

He climbed into the Common Room to find Ron and Hermione having a blazing row and Harry guessed (correctly) that Ron had turned on Hermione the moment she entered the Common Room. They were standing ten feet apart and yelling at each other, Ron’s face scarlet and Hermione flushed with anger as well.

“...You’re fraternizing with the enemy, that’s what you’re doing!” Ron yelled just as Harry entered.

Hermione’s mouth fell open as she gaped at Ron. “The enemy? Honestly, who was the one who was all excited when they saw him arrive? Who was the one who wanted his autograph? Who’s got a model of him up in their dormitory? And it was only one dance!”

Ron chose to ignore what Harry privately thought was a good point Hermione made. “He’s Karkaroff’s student, from Durmstrang! He’s one of them!” Ron made it sound as if all Durmstrang students were known criminals and Death Eaters. “He knows who you hang around with—he’s just trying to get closer to Harry- get inside information on him- or get near enough to jinx him--”

Harry blinked, beginning to wish he had lingered more on the staircase, and utterly confused as to Ron’s convoluted idea about Krum’s possible motives in asking Hermione to dance. Surely Ron didn’t think that the only reason Krum would want to dance with Hermione was because of her friendship with him. Harry didn’t think that Krum could really fancy Hermione because he didn’t know her but Harry didn’t question that Krum thought Hermione was pretty and probably smart and well worth fancying. Frankly, he didn’t think any bloke could do better than to fancy Hermione if she would like him back…

Hermione looked as if she had been slapped, a flicker of hurt passing over her expression in spite of her anger. “He hasn’t asked me one single thing about Harry- not one!”

Harry opened his mouth to intercede; he hadn’t been going to (getting in the middle of one of Ron and Hermione’s rows was never pleasant) but the flash of hurt he had seen on Hermione’s face tipped the scales.

But before he could speak, Ron attacked again with an entirely different tack. “Then he’s hoping you’ll help him find out what his egg means!”

“I’d never help him work out that egg!” Hermione shot back furiously. “Never! How could you say something like that—I want Harry to win the Tournament. Harry knows that. And anyway, since Harry was my date tonight and he was okay with my dancing with Krum, I don’t see why you’re being such a prat about it!”

“You let him kiss your hand!” From the tone of Ron’s voice, he made it sound like Hermione and Krum had been snogging madly in the Great Hall or something.

The color in Hermione’s cheeks deepened a little. “He was just being friendly! Harry didn’t mind, did you, Harry?” she appealed to him.

He had minded, had minded a lot, but there was no way he was going to admit that now. “No, I didn’t mind,” he assured her and then turned to Ron. “She is right, you know, Ron,” he began, a little cautiously, “you’re being a bit…” he trailed off, not wanting to tell Ron he was being mean or irrational or even a right arse, and unable to think of some nicer way of putting it.

“Oh, of course, you’d side with Hermione!” Ron flared up at Harry with an Et tu Brute expression in his eyes. “Hermione, the know-it-all, who’s always right!”

“Ron, you--” Harry began but Ron cut him off.

“Never mind. I’m going to bed,” he bit out sharply, storming up the stairs to the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory.

Harry turned to face Hermione almost reluctantly. “He- he didn’t mean it, you know,” he finally said, rather lamely. “He’s just being—you know…” he made a vague gesture with one hand, although he didn’t quite believe his own words.

“He’s just being Ron,” Hermione sighed, with an attempt at a smile that failed miserably.

“Yeah.” Harry moved to stand closer to her, putting a hand on her arm in a rather awkward attempt to comfort her, for a moment wishing he dared hug her. He felt a quick stab of anger at Ron for hurting Hermione with his unjust accusations; no one should ever make Hermione have such a wounded look in her eyes… Accusing Hermione of disloyalty when Hermione had, in fact, been a more loyal friend than Ron had been before the First Task… For a moment, Harry wanted to cast that up to Ron but he had forgiven Ron and he was still too glad to be on speaking terms with Ron to bring it up again. “I’m sorry for what he said.”

She paused, blinked, and then finally managed a slight smile. “It’s okay. And thanks for trying to help.”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “It was nothing.”

“No, it meant a lot.” She paused and then added with a soft smile, “Thanks for taking me to the Ball tonight, Harry. I had a good time.”

“Me too,” he admitted. “I think you’re the only girl I could have gone with and had a good time.”

She flushed a little and smiled again. Then she gave him a quick hug and disappeared up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory before he could react or his brain could register anything other than the fleeting warmth of Hermione’s body against his.

After a moment, he turned to go up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory, mentally bracing himself in case Ron was still up for a confrontation. He was relieved to find that Ron had drawn the curtains closed around his bed in a clear sign that he didn’t want to talk anymore and after changing into his pyjamas, Harry rolled into bed, drawing the curtains of his bed closed as well.

For a moment, he thought more about Cedric’s hint to take a bath but that train of thought was quickly derailed by mental images from this evening.

Hermione as she’d looked in the Entrance Hall before the Ball… Hermione smiling at him over Percy’s characteristically pompous conversation… Roger Davies’ stupefied expression as he stared at Fleur. Dancing with Hermione… Hermione dancing with Krum… Hermione flushed with anger at Ron… Hermione as she’d looked outside in the moonlight…

It occurred to him that he couldn’t really remember anything Cho had done that evening, could hardly remember what she’d been wearing, whereas his mind was filled with memories of Hermione as she had looked tonight.

He yawned, settling into bed and thought, sleepily, that maybe it would be okay to kiss Hermione, to become more than just friends…

It had been a nice evening, in spite of everything, because of Hermione… And Harry drifted off to sleep with a slight smile lingering on his lips.

~The End~

Note 2: Before you ask, yes, there is a sequel to this fic.