A Happy New Year to everyone! Finally, we make it to the Yule Ball.
My thanks to beta readers Bexis and George.
The characters & canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.
"Keep still!" The voice in Hermione's ear was impatient but slightly muffled by the hair clips held between the speaker's lips. "If you keep fidgeting like that, we'll be here all night, and I've yet to get ready myself."
Hermione half-smiled at Lavender Brown's instructions. There were still a couple of hours before the Yule Ball began, but it seemed that Lavender had been struggling against the tangled lengths of Hermione's hair for at least that long.
It was, Hermione admitted, not her natural habitat.
She had never spent hours preparing herself in front of a mirror, with other girls primping and chattering away in various states of dress and undress. Now the air was thick with perfume and other cosmetic substances, some magical and others magical. Parvati had proclaimed that no-one in Diagon Alley could produce a scent as fine as that of Coco Chanel.
When it became common knowledge amongst the Gryffindors that Hermione was expected to play a major part in the Yule Ball, Lavender and Parvati had thrown themselves with gusto into planning to turn this book-loving Belle into Cinderella - a real fairy princess. Hermione suspected that this was their way of making up for the distance they had kept from her between Halloween and the First Task. Even so, she had never felt particularly close to her two dorm mates.
Still, for the first time, Hermione felt like one of the girls. To her surprise it was not as awful as she had feared. While Lavender and Parvati had debated the benefits and detriments of various hair treatments, charms and spells, she had learned far more about their personalities in the last two weeks than in the preceding three years. It may not have been the start of a firm friendship, but it at least constituted the start of a civil connection between them.
Right now they were treating her unruly mane with an industrial-sized supply of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. As she relaxed under the influence of her first ever scalp massage, Hermione allowed herself the luxury of letting her thoughts drift over the events of the last few weeks.
The identity of her partner at the Yule Ball had remained a secret for precisely as long as it took for Harry and Hermione to attend their first dancing lesson under McGonagall's auspices. With Neville and Ginny among the other committed couples taking the opportunity of practising their steps, Hermione's pairing was soon the subject of good-natured comment in the common room.
She had seen no need to keep the fact a secret, but it was simply not in her nature to broadcast such matters to all and sundry. When he had first heard the news, Malfoy had tried to goad a reaction out of Harry with his usual insults. He received more than he bargained for, and in the process Hermione was also taken by surprise. In a move that warned her heart, Harry had declared to everyone within earshot that he was proud to be Hermione's partner. After all, as he had told the obnoxious Slytherin: "Who wouldn't want a dragon tamer? She sure tamed you last year."
The proud Slytherin was struck dumb in his tracks.
Of course, the Pygmy Puff in the potion was Ronald Bilius Weasley, whom she had "tamed" more recently than the preening Draco Malfoy. Hermione had expected that the news would send that idiot into an even deeper slough of jealousy. Even though sorely tempted to have yet another conversation with Ronald, she doubted that her patience would last. For that reason she had steered clear of him, even though Ron at times appeared to seek another confrontation. Ron's conspicuous absence from any of the dancing lessons helped her immensely in her avoidance schemes.
Ginny's reaction had been interesting. At the initial dance lesson, when she first noticed Harry take Hermione's hands, Ginny had paled and flinched as though she, too, had been slapped. Hermione was well aware, unlike Harry, that Ginny still carried a torch for 'The Boy-Who-Lived.' She feared Ginny may choose to sacrifice their friendship over the fact, but fortunately that did not happen, despite the redhead's recent noticeable reservation towards her and Harry. The promise that Ginny could have at least one dance with Harry had restored some cheer to the youngest Weasley. Consequently, Ginny was even now helping, or hindering, depending upon one's perspective, with all the fuss that was the makeover of Hermione Granger.
Dancing with Harry …
Unbidden a smile crept across Hermione's face. Not, mind you, due to Harry's dancing skills; they had not been undersold. Hermione was relieved that before anyone had taken a step, McGonagall had instructed her charges in a handy little charm that protected fragile female toes from clod-hopping schoolboy shoes. The problem was Harry was… well, just too stiff! He was palpably nervous, his stance rigid, whilst he gingerly held Hermione at the waist, as if playing Exploding Snap. He seemed almost scared about where his hands contacted her body, and certainly worried too much about that compared to where his feet were landing,
Around his incessant apologies, McGonagall fretted and was nearly in despair over the prospect of two of her Gryffindors letting the side down on the big night, an attitude that communicated itself all too well to an ever-anxious Harry Potter.
Then again, Harry had his own problems that, despite Hermione's urgings, he had not taken up with McGonagall, or even Dumbledore. To hear him tell of them, his nightmares were becoming more defined. There was a large marble headstone dominating his dreams and he awoke drenched in sweat, hundreds of weathered grave markers and crosses filling his view. It was unsettling news.
Much more worrisome and immediate was the revelation on the last Saturday, the first day of the Christmas holiday. There were far fewer people in the Castle. Most of the First to Third years had returned to their homes, along with some of the elder students who had chosen, or been ordered, not to attend the Ball.
Harry had been poring over the Marauders' Map - Hermione suspected he was surreptitiously trying to discover Ron's whereabouts - in a quiet corner of the common room when he had called her over.
"Hey, Hermione, come and look at this!"
"What is it, Harry?"
Harry's finger pointed out one miniscule figure on the ancient-looking parchment. "See who's in Mad-Eye's office?"
Hermione squinted and bent over the map. Slowly she made out the name. "Bartemius Crouch… I wonder why he's here?" She looked to Harry. "Surely not another problem with the competition?" she said wearily. "Anyway, Professor Moody's not there."
Harry shook his head. "No, that's not all, Hermione." He moved his finger to an area of the castle's grounds, near to where a slightly larger caricature of the Giant Squid rose and fell in the lake. "Look who's talking with Karkaroff."
"Let's see… Bart- Bartemius Crouch! Barty Crouch again?" Hermione ran her finger back to the Defence Against the Dark Arts' teacher's office. Undeniably two of the dots carried the same label.
Harry appeared a little confused. "How can that happen?"
Hermione worried her bottom lip, her habit when presented with a problem, as she pondered over this fresh puzzle. After a few seconds, she spoke. "A Time-Turner..?" Then, with greater confidence. "Yes! That has to be it! He must be using a Time-Turner. But why?"
"A Time -Turner?" Harry seemed no more enlightened than before.
"It's the only way he could appear in two places at once, like us at the end of last year," Hermione replied with a certainty born of personal experience.
"But you never showed up twice last year."
Hermione shook her head. "I was careful and until I showed you, I only ever used it during class times. And you never used the Map during a lesson." She gave Harry a little knowing smile. "You normally spent your free periods playing Wizards' Chess or some other game with…" The sentence trailed off before she could mention Ron's name.
Harry shrugged and looked at the two representations of Barty Crouch. "But why?"
"I don't know," Hermione muttered distractedly.
No fresh light had been shed on that conundrum since. Whatever Barty Crouch's reasons for using a Time-Turner, Hermione doubted it boded well for her, as all of her interactions with the Ministry's representative had been confrontational.
They debated whether to reveal this information to Dumbledore or Moody, but in the end decided against. There was no proof that Barty Crouch was acting illegally. As a Ministry official he could very well have been assigned a Time Turner to allow him to complete his multitude of responsibilities regarding the competition. It could also, as Hermione had pointed out, have led to the Marauders' Map being confiscated, especially if Moody were involved.
Then there had been Hermione's interview with The Quibbler's Hogwarts' correspondent, Luna Lovegood. Hermione thought that Luna's father would conduct the interview personally, but apparently matters were handled differently in the Lovegoods' world. To be honest, Hermione was unsure how it would turn out in print, as some of Luna's questions were strikingly irrelevant, such as whether the Crumple-Horned Snorkack should be added to the protected magical species list.
'Mind you,' thought Hermione, 'Luna can't do more of a hatchet job on me than Rita Skeeter!'
She would find out if that were true when the New Year's edition was printed.
And then there had been Viktor's problems - repercussions from his breach with Karkaroff. Although Hermione understood that details of that fateful meeting were not common knowledge amongst the Durmstrang party, sides had obviously been taken. To her surprise, Viktor had proven to have a large body of support from not only the older students, who knew him best, but from many of the younger ones as well, who regarded him as a home-grown hero. Karkaroff retained support from those who shared his prejudiced views or were cowed by his reputation and status as Headmaster. It was not enough, as Viktor had explained, for Karkaroff to move against him openly. The Durmstrang Headmaster evidently remained in a self-imposed internal exile within the wooden hull. Apart from that one occasion, his name had not appeared on Harry's map since the latest blow-up over her participation in the Tournament.
Of course, Viktor had translated the gist of his exchanges with Karkaroff, both at the judges' meeting and the icy discursions that occurred behind closed portholes. Although professing some faith in the Ministry's protection, even if only as a last resort, Viktor had taken elementary precautions, such as keeping at least one of his friends always at his side on board the Durmstrang ship. He clumsily joked that he was imitating her and Harry. So far he had not sought to "hide behind Dumbledore's skirts." Hermione could tell Krum was thinking ahead to what might befall him after he left the relative safety of Hogwarts. One consequence was his spending less time in the Library, and instead tending to his own good standing within his school's student body.
"Nearly finished!" Lavender sounded elated, as if she just completed her own personal extra credit project.
Hermione hauled herself back to the present and glanced at her reflection in the mirror.
"Ooh! There's beautiful!" At least the mirror seemed remarkably upbeat in its opinions today. This time around it was completely justified.
Hermione could hardly believe it herself. The side strands of her hair, courtesy of Ginny's magical braiding with one of Molly's many handy personal spells, now wound around her forehead, providing a band that kept her fringe from flopping over her eyes. The rest of her long hair that, when wet, passed well below the small of her back, was now sleek and shiny instead of its usual tangled mess. It formed elegant knots at the back of her head and on her temples. Stray tendrils floated around her ears, providing a more natural look and a pleasing frame to her face.
"You do look beautiful," Ginny commented wistfully. "You're dead lucky, Hermione, getting the Boy-Who-Lived as a partner."
"But I haven't," Hermione replied.
"Haven't what?"
Hermione sighed. "I'm going to the Ball with Harry." She noted with resignation the perplexed expression worn by Ginny's mirror-image. "My friend Harry. Not the Boy-Who-Lived."
"Same thing," sniffed Ginny.
'So she was that clueless.' Hermione turned in her seat. "Ginny, you have to remember Harry isn't the Boy-Who-Lived. He hates being called that, or even thought that."
Her answer left Ginny looking a little resentful. "Why would he?"
"Well, Harry likes being thought of as … normal."
Ginny stared hard at Hermione for a moment. "What rubbish, Hermione. Harry's the greatest wizard on Earth."
Hermione just shook her head. "I can assure you, he doesn't think that way." She lowered her voice so that the other girls did not catch her next words. "And calling him the Boy-Who-Lived only reminds him of who didn't that night."
Ginny blanched. "Oh," she replied in a very small voice. Hermione reached out an arm to gently reassure her younger friend.
"Ginny, if you care about Harry, don't put him on a pedestal," Hermione spoke frankly. "He's very special - and every bit as much a hero to me as to you." Actually Hermione doubted that, given Ginny's obvious crush on Mister Potter. "But he's happiest when he can be plain old boring Harry Potter."
"I doubt that," Ginny shot back tartly. "Harry could never be boring."
Ginny was worse than clueless. For a second time Hermione sighed, this time internally. She was determined to enjoy her Christmas Eve, and this discussion was not helping. Setting Ginny Weasley straight was not on her agenda, not now and maybe never. "Just trust me, Ginny, and treat him as a normal fourteen year-old boy," she said to little apparent effect.
So much the better. Ginny, at least, would never have any success with Harry that way.
Time to change the subject. "Would you like me to help you with your hair now?"
* * * * *
Finally the Gryffindor girls were prepared.
Hermione had stepped into her own periwinkle-blue dress and was gratified to find that it fitted as well as it had done last month, magically hugging her figure. Sure, it may appear a little conservative compared to some, she thought as Alicia slipped past in her own slinky little silver number. As far as Hermione was concerned, it was the most beautiful garment she had ever worn.
Pulling on her own matching shoes, with their more-than-slightly-higher heel than she wore ordinarily, Hermione was grateful for yet another Weasley family charm; one that ensured she could keep her balance. She applied the last of her deliberately sparse make-up: a touch of eye shadow and a little lip gloss was all she wanted. She did accept Parvati's help with a small glamour charm that hid what Hermione saw as unsightly dragon fire scars on her cheek.
Ginny's traditional little black dress had been deemed perfectly acceptable by the Weasley matriarch. Indeed, Molly had applied a little more family magic in updating what Ginny revealed was regarded as a family heirloom. But that was before Ginny added a little spell work of her own; it was now highly unlikely that the dress would pass Molly's strict guidelines. Did she use yet another charm to keep it in place?
Only magic could have restrained Katie Bell's generous endowment, as she stalked past in a scarlet replica of Liz Hurley's Versace "safety-pin" effort. Hermione wondered how the older and absent Oliver Wood would have reacted if he had glimpsed his girlfriend's attire! Hermione hoped for his sake that Lee Jordan would behave himself tonight.
What had become the grand dressing room slowly emptied as more and more girls drifted away to meet their partners in the common room, or if their partners were not Gryffindors, the Entrance Hall. Before long, Hermione was the last one left, feeling like the ugly duckling straggling behind.
She felt something else: butterflies, stirring deep within her stomach. She had attended the odd engagement, wedding and grown-up birthday party away from Hogwarts. But she had never been to an event where she was to be one of the centres of attention.
But that was not really it, and she knew it. Hermione could no longer deny to herself that Harry was the source of the majority of butterflies. Any body else's opinion paled by comparison. She felt nearly as nervous as she had before taking on that dragon.
Her self-delusions had come to a crashing end. She could no longer deny that she wished to take their friendship a step further.
If only her timing had not been so ruddy rotten, and she were not caught up in the mire of the Triwizard mess.
'Even if it's only one evening, I can pretend Harry's all mine.' The thought provided her with a hint of bittersweet solace.
Taking a deep breath and hoping it would pacify her fluttering nerves, Hermione started down the staircase to the common room. With every step she feared that her traitorous legs would give way.
Mercifully, she spotted Harry before he saw her. Dressed in robes of a very dark bottle green, he stood in the middle of the common room with his back to the stairs, staring at the fire.
'Did he even care?' She wobbled at the thought. Thank Merlin for Molly's charm!
Another couple of shaky steps; only a few more to go.
Harry turned, and as he saw her, she watched as his eyes opened and his jaw dropped perceptibly.
What was wrong? Had she smudged her minimal make-up? Was there something wrong with her dress? Had her hair reverted to its untamed primal state? Was there a smut on her nose? Had the spell concealing the scarring failed?
Hermione was on the verge of turning on her tail and fleeing back up the stairs when Harry seemed finally to collect a semblance of thoughts.
"Wow!" he said, the word low, breathy and drawn-out.
Hermione froze, hardly believing her ears. Was that really Harry talking - trying to talk?
"You look…" Harry's voice hitched. He was lost for words.
Ginny, watched this whole non-exchange with resignation etched in her face. Finally she seemed to have had enough. "Stunning, Harry?" she prompted the boy. "Smashing? Beautiful, perhaps?"
Oblivious to the sarcasm, Harry nodded absent-mindedly. "Bloody hell, yeah! All of those." He sounded like every dream he had ever had just came true.
Ginny shook her head. "I think you've broken him, Hermione." Her gay tone was more than a little forced. "If he recovers his wits and makes it to the Ball, I'll have that dance with him later."
With that, Ginny took Neville's arm. An interested but silent observer to the three-way exchange, he had been offering her his attention for some time. He swept the two of them towards the portrait hole without a backward glance.
Only a few more steps and Hermione reached Harry's side. "Are you all right, Harry?" she enquired. He looked so damned handsome in those dress robes!
"Umm… I think so - yeah," Harry replied in a distant tone. He acted uncertainly, not sure what he was supposed to do next.
Hermione was quicker in recovering her poise. Instinctively she reached out and straightened his bow tie. Having so obviously won Harry's attention gave her confidence. All those butterflies had taken full flight, and Hermione felt she was floating on air alongside them. "Hadn't we better go? Best not to be late."
"Hmm ..? What?" Harry was still lost in his own warm little world until he snapped out of it. "Oh! Yes, we'd better." He turned towards the portrait hole, took a step, then stopped mid-stride. His shoulders slumped as he turned around and rather shamefacedly offered his arm to his date. "Sorry, not quite with it," he apologised.
Hermione smiled at her achievement in somehow unsettling the boy. "Do you really like it, Harry?"
"You look… really, really… um, nice, Hermione," he stammered nervously. Her smile faltered for a second at this blandest of compliments. "Um… not just nice… would you be offended if I said you're very pretty?" he offered tentatively.
"No, not at all." The smile she beamed back at Harry could have set him alight.
"How about beautiful, then?" He upped the ante as his own fortitude began seeping back. "When did you, um… your teeth?"
'At last,' Hermione thought. 'He's noticed.'
"After the dragon knocked them out."
Harry blinked. "I knew there was something different," he muttered, almost to himself.
"Harry," Hermione was just a little impatient. Harry just stared at her. "The Ball?"
He left his own musings behind and offered her a gentlemanly arm. "Right - must get the Champion there on time!"
As they walked towards the marble staircase they saw the Entrance Hall emptying rapidly, as students from all three schools filtered through the doors into the Great Hall.
"Entrance?" Hermione suggested.
"Thoroughly." Harry answered absently, before realising what she meant.
For one enchanted evening… or maybe, just possibly, something better. Hermione fought with herself throughout the trip to the Great Hall. She was the Gryffindor champion. She was a fifteen-year-old girl. She had stolen a dragon's egg and lived to tell about it. She had feelings that she couldn't even put into words. To the Goblet of Fire, she epitomised Gryffindor bravery. To the boy next to her, she epitomised a best friend. She should. She shouldn't. Finally, with the Great Hall just around the last corner, she wondered if this would be the night when she discovered where she stood with Harry. She shivered at the thought.
By the oak front doors stood the other three Champions and their partners. At this distance Hermione could not quite make out who Viktor's and Fleur Delacour's dates were, but the unmistakeably slight figure of Cho Chang could be seen standing close by Cedric.
Arriving at the foot of the stairs, Hermione and Harry were accosted by Professor McGonagall. Her habitual stern expression had become uncharacteristically flustered, just as her customary black robes were now replaced by a green, dark blue and black tartan, shot through with threads of red and white.
"Potter, Granger, I had feared you were going to be late." She favoured her charges with appraising sweeps of her eyes, before leaning in close to Hermione. "I was certain that dress would suit you, and you wear it so well."
"Thank you, Professor." Hermione's smile was growing broader by the second.
"And you, Mister Potter." McGonagall brushed what Hermione thought must have imaginary lint off of Harry's shoulders. "Scrubs up quite nicely." She turned to Hermione again and the student was mildly shocked when her teacher winked at her. "Would you not agree, Miss Granger?"
"Y- yes, Professor," Hermione admitted, and not merely for her teacher's benefit.
"Good, well…" McGonagall assumed her normal authoritative air. "If you will just join the other Champions. I shall signal when you are to enter the Great Hall." With that the Deputy Headmistress strode off to stand by the large doors on their left, where the last few late arriving dance goers were trickling through, quite a few glancing curiously at the guests of honour. She did seem to give a glare of some disapproval to someone or something in the Entrance Hall, well beyond Hermione's field of vision.
The nearest couple were Cedric and Cho. She wore the very simple silver ball gown that Hermione had spotted her trying on in Gladrags. Hermione shared a brief nod of association with Cedric and mouthed a quiet "Hello" to an equally nervous looking Cho.
With a glance to her side, cold, harsh reality came to re-impose itself upon Hermione. Harry could hardly tear his eyes away from the Ravenclaw Seeker. Unknowingly biting her lip, Hermione wondered if her chances were any better than those of hero-worshipping Ginny.
Hermione momentarily sought to distract her thoughts with Viktor, who was dressed magnificently in something akin to a Nineteenth Century Hussar's colourful tunic. He turned to face Hermione, and caught some look of regret in her expression. Flinching, Viktor eventually offered the same awkwardly formal short bow of the head as when they first met. The identity of Hogwarts' ambassador was now revealed as Penelope Clearwater - an obvious choice, Hermione reflected, as Head Girl - who wore a strapless dress of midnight blue. Both seemed to be perfectly satisfied with their choice of partner.
Furthest away from Hermione and Harry, closest to the doors, stood Fleur Delacour, in stunning robes of silver-grey satin. The Beauxbatons' Champion also wore the look of the cat that had the cream.
Intrigued as to whom her Ambassador might be, Hermione stepped a little wider. That was strange - it looked like …
"Bill?" She took a couple of steps in his direction.
Sensing her approach, William Weasley turned and smiled rather nervously at Hermione. As he did so Fleur, whose arm was linked with Bill's, perceptibly tightened her hold on her prize.
As if Fleur had anything to fear from the likes of her.
"Hermione." He gave a low whistle of appreciation. "You look lovely tonight."
'Well,' she thought, as she blushed slightly at the compliment. 'Perhaps a little.'
"Thank you. You're quite dashing as well." That was no exaggeration. His flaming red hair was tied back, exposing his rakish fang earring. He filled out the formal robes of the Guild of Curse-Breakers in fine fashion. "I'm just a little surprised…"
Fleur, appearing a mite jealous at the attention Bill was both receiving from and showing to Hermione, pouted slowly. "Mais Guillaume, why settle for le garç on when l'homme is 'ere?"
"Yes, we were all a little… surprised." McGonagall's tart observation drew attention to the Deputy Headmistress, who had abandoned her post now everyone else was inside. "Still, Miss Delacour's… unorthodox choice -" Fleur shrugged in a typically Gallic gesture "- has both Professor Dumbledore's and Madame Maxime's approval. I suppose as a former Head Boy William does represent the School." She shook her head. Hermione guessed that matters would have been different in McGonagall's day.
Bill had the good grace to blush a little. "I'm just the poor innocent here, Professor," he pleaded with some mock humility.
"Hmph!" scoffed McGonagall. "Mister Weasley, the one thing I could never accuse you of being was innocent." But the clear warmth behind her words robbed them of any insult.
Playing his part, Bill gave a mock tug of his forelock. "Yes, Miss!"
Under her breath McGonagall muttered something about "Weasleys" and "trouble." Then she addressed the eight young people. "In a moment I will lead you into the Great Hall. Now, partners pair up!"
Hermione started to turn back to where Harry was standing, looking a little like she felt - forlorn, with his date chatting to Bill, and Cho hanging off Cedric's arm. She was interrupted when Fleur tapped her on the shoulder. Hermione turned.
"I must zank you for introducing Beel to me." The word 'Bill' was drawn out as though savoured on the tongue. "'E is, 'ow you say, 'andsome - trè s beau!" With that the French girl turned to smile at her partner, ready to lead the parade into the Ball.
Bringing up the rear, Hermione and Harry heard the applause begin as the assembly caught their first glimpse of Bill and Fleur. The two leading pairs both seemed quite at ease in this setting, whilst Cedric and Cho appeared as nervous as Hermione felt and Harry looked. Hermione tried to disperse some of her anxiety by seeking out those she knew - Ginny, with Neville, or Lavender, or Parvati - favouring them with some self-conscious waves.
The Hall was almost completely unrecognisable, made up to look something akin to a winter wonderland, with silvery frost and ice sparkling, reflecting hundreds of tiny lanterns.
On their way to the top table, Hermione caught the predictable sneers of Draco Malfoy, clad all in black, accompanied by a frothy pink sensation that might have been Pansy Parkinson. Pink was so not her colour!
So far, she had not seen Ron nor found out who was his partner.
Not that she cared, not anymore.
There were a few more surprises awaiting her at the Top Table. Perhaps the least surprising was the garish purple and yellow combination sported by the never-understated Ludo Bagman.
But the other Ministry representative was not, as expected, Barty Crouch. His place was taken by Percy Weasley, who was spending most of his time glaring at an unsuspecting Viktor Krum. Hermione, who had her own issues with this renegade Weasley, stood unmoving for a second or two, before Harry pulled out a chair for her. Sitting down next to Madame Maxime, Hermione contributed her own glare in Percy's direction, until she overheard a more interesting exchange between Viktor and Dumbledore.
"Karkaroff?" Viktor's voice was devoid of emotion or surprise.
"Ah, well," Dumbledore responded. "Igor is… indisposed this evening. Apparently an urgent matter has arisen in Kiev that requires his immediate and personal attention."
Unlike Hermione's silent treatment, Harry chatted in a desultory fashion with Percy, who had news to recount. Despite her feelings towards him, Hermione could not help but be intrigued. Crouch's ill health, all too apparent to her weeks ago, had worsened due to workload, with the Tournament following closely on the heels of the World Cup. Recalling her own exhaustion last year with the Time Turner, Hermione was not surprised at that outcome.
Apparently Crouch received an extended leave of absence over Christmas, in hope he would recuperate sufficiently to take up the reins again when the Triwizard recommenced in February. As a result, Percy had been promoted to be the Ministry's official representative in the interim.
Bitterly, Hermione wondered how much his official complaint against her had aided Percy's promotion. The Peter Principle was obviously alive and well in Wizarding Britain. 'Over-promoted, more like!'
McGonagall was trying to break the ice with Fleur Delacour, regaling her with tales of Bill's exploits during his Hogwarts' years. From the little she could make out, Hermione concluded her anecdotes were exaggerated, otherwise she could not figure out how Bill ever made Head Boy. Regardless of veracity, McGonagall was evidently successful; life was soon breathed into the Auld Alliance of France and Scotland.
Bill, as relaxed as Hermione was tense, chatted merrily with Cedric and Cho, every so often turning his attention to his beautiful partner. Harry quickly tired of Percy and joined in. Inevitably the talk turned to Quidditch, as three Seekers discussed tactics and ruses, with Bill contributing stories of Charlie's prowess in that position.
Hermione was slightly surprised that Viktor Krum, undeniably the greatest Seeker present, had not yet contributed to the Quidditch debate. Viktor seemed quite happy to talk with Penelope Clearwater, paying careful attention to her words, and phrasing his own carefully in a language foreign to him. Penelope was equally happy to bask in the attention. Perhaps too happy; Hermione noticed that every so often Penelope would glance up the table at Percy, then, each time, with a satisfied smile, turn her back just a little more to the new Ministry representative.
Each time, Percy would return her glance with an undignified glare at the happy couple.
Hermione finding herself in Madame Maxime's extremely large shadow, started her own conversation with the Beauxbatons' Headmistress. Both women took the opportunity to polish their own skills in the other's language. Hermione was truly interested in the differences between Beauxbatons and Hogwarts, although the French school would not be an option if she were expelled from Hogwarts, as her magic would disappear along with her education.
From further down the table, Hermione caught snatches of discussion between Fleur and Penny Clearwater. "Zey told me zey 'ad zis boy - Rog-air I zink 'is name - but nevair would I choose…"
Once Dumbledore started the meal by declaring "Pork chops!" Harry quickly ordered a plate of goulash, the dish appearing immediately in front of him. Hermione realised she was not all that hungry, especially with a dance to follow. Feeling guilty at putting the house-elves to even more work, Hermione politely requested a cheese and mushroom omelette and light salad.
Wine appeared for the adults, with sparkling water, pumpkin juice or Butterbeer for the under-age students. Again, Hermione felt out of place; the only Champion in the latter category.
As the meal continued, Dumbledore and Maxime swapped tales of their respective schools, laughing merrily at each other's humorous stories. Percy chose to laugh the hardest at anything said by either Head.
Viktor, opposite her, regaled Hermione with stories about Durmstrang, and explained the workings of the strange ship that had brought him to Scotland. Penelope was hanging on the Bulgarian's every word. Harry asked occasional Quidditch related questions, each of which drew exasperated looks shared between their partners. 'Boys!' thought Hermione in jest.
Tuning out the talk of Quaffles, Bludgers and Snitches, Hermione looked around the Hall, trying to pick out her friends. Seamus had won the fight for Lavender's hand. That meant Dean Thomas was now partnering Parvati, whose body language betrayed her dissatisfaction at being second choice.
'I know how you feel,' Hermione sympathised with a tinge of sadness. Her thoughts were underscored by Cho's nervous giggle from down the table, no doubt prompted by some tall tale about Bill's days in Egypt.
Then she caught sight of Ron, looking rather surly at the turn of events. One reason undoubtedly was his obviously handed-down dress robes. They left the unfortunate impression that he was wearing an old-fashioned lampshade.
Hermione nudged Harry's elbow.
"Hmm?"
Hermione leaned in and surreptitiously pointed out Ron's location.
"Is that..?"
"Eloise Midgen," Harry confirmed. "Ron must have been desperate."
"Harry!" Hermione reproached, a mite scandalised at his rather chauvinistic comment.
"Well," Harry replied defensively. "He did say her nose was off-centre."
"That's…"
"Unfair?" Harry whispered with a smile.
"Well, yes," Hermione struggled to hide her own grin.
The Horntail had done worse to Hermione's nose than anything Eloise could possibly contemplate. Fortunately Madam Pomfrey had far more success in restoring Hermione's nasal structure than whoever had treated poor Eloise.
"But true, wouldn't you say?"
Hermione made an uncharacteristic girlish laugh, which brought a grin from her partner. "I wouldn't say," she whispered. "And neither should you."
Looking away, Hermione caught Ron staring at them as they swapped banter. Instead of the anticipated anger, she saw another mix of emotions that she could not decipher at this range, before Ron turned his attention back to the mountain of food he had ordered.
Hermione hoped that Eloise was light on her feet.
Dessert came, with Harry choosing ice cream and Hermione a crepe. Then Dumbledore rose, and, after asking everyone else present to do the same, with one majestic wave cleared the floor of tables and introduced the Weird Sisters, the night's band.
It was time for the main event.
Hermione shared a nervous glance with Harry, who seemed a little pale. They both knew what was coming next. Hermione produced her wand and tapped the tip against her stylish heels, turning them into perfectly acceptable pumps.
The Hall was pitched into darkness, with the exception of the lanterns over the Top Table.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, students and staff of Beauxbatons, Durmstrang and Hogwarts, please welcome the Champions of the Triwizard Tournament."
Once again the air was filled with applause. Swallowing her nerves, Hermione took the hand Harry offered, and they followed the other three pairs onto a now empty dance floor.
For a second, the two of them stood there, uncertain what to do. Finally, Hermione made the first move. She reached out, took Harry's right hand in her left, and guided his left onto her waist. Fixing him with all the confidence she could muster, she took in his near panicked expression and rigid stance.
'Is this really how he feels?' she wondered.
The first few notes fluttered through the air.
"Just relax, Harry," she ordered. "Just think of it as…" She searched her mind for an appropriate simile. "Just like flying a broom. You're not afraid of flying, are you?"
Harry was almost incoherent. "Um… not with you, I guess."
'Was that how he felt?'
"I'll steer," Hermione commanded. "Just follow… Go with the flow, Harry."
With that, she bore off with her obviously reluctant partner. Luckily the first dance was a simple waltz, and between Hermione's improvisation and Harry's natural sense of timing they managed a passable enough stab at it. No significant damage was inflicted on either their reputations or Hermione's toes.
Hermione was just staring to enjoy herself when the music finished. With a sinking feeling, she looked at Harry, hoping to communicate her desire stay for another twirl, but fearing that he would seek the anonymity of the crowd on the sidelines.
Other couples now joined the four pairs on the floor, bringing with them some of that anonymity. Harry glanced around briefly, then met Hermione's pleading eyes.
"Fancy another go?" he said quietly.
Hermione beamed. "I would be delighted and honoured, sir," she replied with the slight dip of a curtsey and more than a hint of another giggle. This time Harry remembered exactly where his hands should go, but was still content for Hermione to assume the lead.
Two dances became three, and then four. It was only them, just two partners moving in simple, uncomplicated steps, ignoring the world around them. Hermione found herself gazing deep into Harry's eyes, wishing she could feel like this forever. She forgot all about Ministry bureaucrats, dragons, or Goblets of Fire. Just for tonight she was a young witch enjoying herself, dancing with the boy she admired and…
Friendship. What was she thinking? That was all Hermione knew she could ask for, or expect, from Harry. Anything more was simply wishing for the moon and Hermione Granger was not one for impossible targets. Well, not of the heart, anyway. Down that path lay anguish and distraction, and she needed to avoid those twins now.
But not tonight. Tonight she could make believe she was dancing in the arms of a truly special friend.
'I am going to enjoy myself tonight,' Hermione swore to herself. 'Then even if they throw me out, or I walk away, I will still have my memories.'
"Hermione?"
Jolted from her meandering thoughts, Hermione thought she detected a note of concern in Harry's voice. She shook her head.
"Nothing, Harry. Just thinking."
"You never stop that, do you?" he mused, then stopped dancing. "Take a break?"
Hermione was about to protest when she realised how warm it really was, even under the illusion of a wintry Christmas. "Yes, that'd be okay."
"You grab some seats and I'll get the drinks. Butterbeer okay?"
Hermione nodded. "Please."
As they drifted to the fringes of the dancers, Hermione took the opportunity to watch some of the couples. Ginny grinned at her as Neville twirled the pair of them past, showing some skill that the Yorkshire lad had previously kept hidden under a bushel.
Viktor Krum's skill on the dance floor matched those displayed in the Quidditch stadium, and Penelope Clearwater was proving both an eager and attentive student. The Headmaster, done dancing with Madame Maxime, was now sharing his favours with the distaff side of his own faculty. The massive Frenchwoman now cut a truly impressive swathe across the floor with Hagrid, a surprising yet oddly obvious partner. The gamekeeper was beaming and sweating buckets at the same time.
It had to be magic that was keeping Katie Bell's dress on. Either that or the eyes of every male student in the Hall.
Free seats were to be had towards the back of the Hall. Hermione pointed them out to Harry, then moved to claim them. Sitting down, fanning herself with her hand, Hermione had never thought simple dancing would be such an exertion.
Or so exhilarating.
She sensed someone come up behind her. Expecting Harry, she half-turned, speaking as she did so.
"It's hot, isn't it?"
It was Ron, looking thoroughly miserable at the state of play.
"So that's how it's going to be from now on, is it?" he said, more in resignation than with the anger she both expected and dreaded.
"How what is?" These days almost anything he said to her had her defences bristling.
Ron gestured vaguely in the direction of the dance floor. "You and him?"
Hermione felt her ire rising. "Just what do you mean?" she replied in a dangerously low voice.
"You. Him. Harry and you." He sounded vaguely sad as he held up first three, then two fingers to emphasize his next point. "The two of you. Not three." He crossed the remaining two digits.
Hermione shot to her feet. "Ronald Weasley! You are the most selfish, arrogant, pig-headed oaf I have ever had the misfortune to meet!" she hissed in a loud whisper.
"Me selfish? Look who's talking!" Ron's reply was morose rather than aggressive. "Neither of you care about me anymore."
"Why should we care, given how you've treated me and Harry?"
Ron groaned "See - that's what I mean. You think it's all about you again. You don't care that my best friend won't speak to me, that my brothers prank me, and my little sister ignores me."
Despite her churning emotions, Hermione's mind kept turning. "So you're lonely now? Guess what, Ron, it's your own fault. I was lonely for weeks - almost friendless - no thanks to you."
"Oh, don't give me that! First it's Vicky, then Harry," Ron replied acerbically. "Who's next? Cedric perhaps?"
Hermione's hand moved in a blur, but for once Ron was ready for her. He caught her right wrist in his own left hand, mere inches from its intended target, his left cheek.
His next words surprised her. "Sorry, I didn't mean that… It was cheap and undeserved."
Still fuming, Hermione grimaced, trying to pull her hand free, but Ron clung on. "Let me go, Ron!" she raised her voice, not a plea but something sounding closer to a threat.
Ron seemed the calmer of the two, perhaps having mastered the physical aspect of the confrontation. "Not until you calm down, Hermione. You've had one shot at me in Hogsmeade. All I want is to talk."
"You bloody deserved that!" Hermione barked. She tried kicking at his shins, but ball gowns were not designed for brawling.
Ron sighed; he was having difficulty meeting the fury in her eyes. "It's not exactly been fun for me, you know," he said glumly.
Still fuming at her physical disadvantage, Hermione considered reaching for her wand with her left hand. It was hidden in a special pocket sewn into the dress as standard.
"Do you know, or even care, how much you've hurt Harry?" she spat like a wildcat.
Ron looked taken aback at that, so Hermione pressed home her advantage. If she could not reach him with her hands, she could still maul him with her words.
"That's right - your 'best friend.' Any idea how much he misses your company? Although Merlin alone knows why! Yet all you do is moan about your lot. You're lonely? Tough! You made your bed, now lie in it!"
Ron's composure shattered. "I've… missed Harry… and you," he whimpered, looking as miserable as he sounded.
Sensing an opening, Hermione tried to rip her hand free of his grasp, but he was too strong. She almost cried out in frustration. Twisting, she reached across her body with her free hand, and drew her wand from its hidden location.
"Ron." A calm voice came from behind. "Let Hermione go, if you know what's good for you."
Immediately Ron did so. Snatching her slightly numb hand back, Hermione felt a restraining hand fall on her left wrist.
"You too, Hermione. Don't do anything hasty," Bill said with quiet authority. "You're a Champion. Let's not make a scene in front of an audience. Although Merlin knows why only Fleur noticed your little spat. Now, who wants to tell me what's going on?"
Ron shifted uneasily on his feet, saying nothing but avoiding looking Bill in the eye.
Feeling tears welling up, Hermione did not trust her voice to remain unbroken, so she, too, stayed silent. Without thinking, she swatted at an insect that swooped between her and the two Weasleys, shooing it away.
Bill's gaze shifted back and forth from one young Gryffindor to the other. "Okay," he said slowly, as he released Hermione's hand with a gesture that asked for calm. "Ron, you and I haven't had a chance to have a chat for a while. We'll share a Butterbeer or two later tonight, all right? Don't disappear before we talk." His voice dropped. "Not unless you want Mum to hear of this. Now off with you."
Needing no second invitation, and with one last wretched look in Hermione's direction, Ron turned and slunk away.
"Okay, he's gone. Do you want to tell me about it?" Bill asked concernedly. "The dragons again?"
Hermione shook her head. The evening had been going so well; when she had been with Harry, she had felt wonderful. Now all she wanted to do was hide herself away behind the curtains of her four-poster.
She heard Bill's heartfelt sigh. "I know Ron can be a prat," he said quietly. "Most boys are at his age - I know I was."
Hermione did not know how to reply to that, but she was saved when Harry burst onto the scene, clutching two chilled bottle of Butterbeer. "Hi Bill!" He turned to his date. "Sorry I was longer than I thought, Hermione, but you'll never believe…" His voice trailed off abruptly as he took in Hermione's flushed face and distressed expression. "What's happened?" he asked.
Once again Hermione shook her head. "Doesn't matter," she sniffed. "I… I'll just… I want to go!"
"Go where?" Harry seemed completely non-plussed.
"Away from here!" Hermione had just had enough. What she hoped would be an evening to remember was turning out just like that, but for all the wrong reasons.
"Fleur?" Hermione caught Bill's quiet request to his partner, who had been waiting nearby but far enough away so the little group had some privacy. She moved over smoothly.
"Oui?"
"Could you do me a favour, and give Harry the next dance?"
Fleur looked a bit askance at this request, but nodded her head once and turned to Harry. "We 'ave not been introduced, 'Arry, but would you dance avec moi?"
Hermione saw Harry's eyes dart in befuddlement from Fleur, to Bill, and then finally herself. She found it heartening that he appeared to await her permission to partner the stunning Beauxbatons' Champion. Swallowing her emotions, Hermione repeated Fleur's gesture of assent.
Bill reached out. "Do me a favour and leave the Butterbeer, would you, Harry?"
Looking torn between staying with his date, and doing as he was asked, Harry set down the bottles, then took Fleur's hand and allowed himself to be led towards the dance floor, casting worried looks back at the table where a depressed Hermione now sat. With a practiced gesture, Bill popped the top from one of the bottles, its glass covered in droplets of condensation, and pushed it over the table towards her.
"Drink up, Hermione. You need it."
At first she declined, but Bill nudged the bottle closer. She was thirsty, she admitted. The warmth Hermione had felt on the dance floor paled beside the heat generated by the row with Ron. Giving in, she took hold of the long-necked, amber bottle and raised it to her lips in a most unladylike way.
"So, you want to get shot of tonight?" Bill's voice was serious.
Hermione nodded vigorously. "Yes! Ron's spoilt tonight - ruined it!"
"Well, that wouldn't be very fair on Harry, would it?"
Hermione's eyes shot up with a wide stare at Bill, who watched her with studied unflappability. "What do you mean?" she asked.
Bill shrugged. "To have his date run out on him. Wouldn't do much for a boy's self-confidence."
"Might be for the best," scoffed Hermione. "After all, Ron thinks I'm stealing Harry away from him."
"Ah," Bill nodded in understanding. "Now I see."
"He's so bloody selfish!" Hermione said heatedly. "Blames me for everything."
Bill looked down at his own Butterbeer, rolling the bottle between his fingers. "Not to excuse him, Hermione, but it's a difficult age for Ron."
"Difficult? Yeah, right!"
Shrugging, Bill leaned forwards. "It's not easy, following all your brothers - two Head Boys, one winning Quidditch skipper - and with a younger sister that everyone dotes on. Trying to make your own mark."
"That doesn't mean he can take his frustrations out on me."
"No," Bill agreed slowly. "It doesn't. But from what I've heard, you and Harry have been his only close friends. He's already thinks he's lost your friendship…" Bill held out a hand to forestall any protest from Hermione "… and now he feels Harry drifting away from him too."
Hermione remained irritated. "Loneliness is no justification for what he's said and done!"
Bill exhaled through his teeth. "I know. And I'm going to have a quiet private chat with Ron about precisely that before the night is out." His clear blue eyes fixed on Hermione. "Please, cut him a little slack, Hermione, if he listens to me. I know he feels bad about what he's said and done. Jealousy just got the better of him."
"I - I…" She faltered under Bill's gaze. "I'll… think about it, Bill." That was the most she was prepared to concede. Once the anger started to seep away, she accepted that some fault also lay on her side of the line. "I can't promise to do any more," she added defensively. "When I needed his friendship, Ron threw it back in my face."
His fingers absent-mindedly drumming on the wooden surface, Bill took that as the best deal he would gain. "Fair enough - neither Ron nor I could ask for anything more. He knows how badly he's cocked this up. Now, how about giving an old Head Boy a dance?"
Hermione gave Bill a confused look. "Bill, I thought I said -"
"I know," Bill interrupted. "And that would be a big mistake." Hermione cocked her head and gave him her most inquisitive glare. "Look, if you leave now, what will you remember? Your lasting memory of tonight would be what? A painful argument? That's not what nights like tonight are about." He stood up and offered her his hand. "You've earned the right to enjoy yourself - and you should, while you're still young. Don't waste this. Go with your hopes, not your fears."
Hermione grudgingly admitted there was more than a grain of truth in Bill's observations. She had so wanted to enjoy herself. Now resolved not to allow Ronald Weasley to ruin her night!
It was strange dancing with Bill. He was more than a head taller than she, and Hermione had to dance with her chin up, otherwise she would be staring at his chest. He moved divinely though, and she was more than a little jealous of Fleur.
Of course, that was one of Ron's problems, following in the footsteps of Bill and his other older siblings. Even the Twins had proven highly intelligent and full of initiative, even though they camouflaged it behind jokers' masks. Her past opinion that the Twins' qualities were ill-directed had come from her own establishmentarian views; an irony, indeed, given how the real establishment was now forcing her to re-think those beliefs.
"I never did get to thank you," Bill observed out of nothing.
"Hmm?" Hermione wondered what he was talking about.
"Introducing me to Fleur," Bill elucidated.
"Oh!" Hermione suppressed a girlish giggle. "That? I'm glad you like her." A thought then struck her and she looked up seriously at Bill's handsome face. "You know she's part-Veela, don't you?"
Bill spun them around. "Yup! Have to be good at spotting things like that in my line of work." He leaned closer. "Mind you, it doesn't worry me one bit."
Before Hermione could formulate a reply, the music halted and this dance ended. Bill leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Thanks, Hermione. Just… give Ron a little time, would you? As a favour to me?"
"I'll think about it."
"Beel?" Having materialised silently at their sides, Fleur's long-drawn out pronunciation of Bill's name was typically French - and typically Fleur Delacour, it seemed. "Zis Champion needs anuzzer glass of champagne."
Bill turned to smile at his official partner of the evening. "Of course." Then he turned back. "Good luck with everything, Hermione."
"Thanks, Bill." Her reply was heartfelt.
Now Harry stood before her, looking slightly concerned. "Not that I'm complaining, Hermione," he said. "But I'd rather have the next dance with you."
That made her feel warm and fuzzy again, stirring hope, not fear. 'That's so sweet.'
"At least I know what steps you're going to do," Harry added.
'Oh well, be thankful for small favours,' Hermione thought as she once again took control of Harry. As they twirled slowly across the dance floor, more sedately than most other couples, Hermione caught Ginny giving her a beseeching look.
"Bad news then, Harry."
"Err..?" She did think Harry looked adorable when he appeared lost for words.
"I've promised you one dance with an admirer," she whispered coquettishly into his ear.
"Oh?" Harry looked both anxious and intrigued.
"Don't worry," Hermione admitted. "It's only Ginny."
She carefully manoeuvred the two of them across the floor. This time it was Harry who leaned closer.
"Going to tell me what happened earlier?"
Hermione felt her shoulders sag fractionally. "It was… just another silly argument with Ron."
Harry just raised his eyebrows.
"It's just that - well, he's been so awful to both of us!"
Harry's grin turned into a grimace. "I can't say that I've been the best of friends to him either," he admitted.
"What do you mean?" Hermione whispered a little more heatedly than she had intended.
"Well," Harry divulged shamefacedly. "He's been so lonely recently."
Hermione was miffed at that opinion. "Rubbish - Ron cut himself off from us. Every time I've tried to make up, he's only hurt me again…"
"Maybe," Harry replied. "But it doesn't mean he's not hurting either, does it?"
'Typical Harry,' Hermione thought, 'blaming himself for his friends' faults.'
Sighing, she leaned a little closer to Harry. "Can we just forget about Ron for tonight?" she asked quietly, putting her hand on his. "Just pretend we're normal?"
Harry broke into a boyish grin. "A Triwizard Champion and The Boy-Who Lived?"
She chuckled. "You know what I mean."
"I wish… umm… I suppose…"
They meandered gently across the dance floor. Harry told her his own inconsequential news of Ludo Bagman, and the Weasley Twins' ambitious plans for their own joke products, and how that had just irritated pompous Percy to an even greater degree. That brought a wider smile to Hermione's face.
As the Weird Sisters' chords drifted away, Hermione made sure to lead Harry over towards Ginny and Neville. The youngest Weasley was virtually bouncing on the balls of her feet as her great moment of the evening arrived. Hermione felt a pang of empathy for Neville, who plainly had not missed Ginny's reaction either. Mixed in was a little pang of jealousy. Ginny was not hiding how she felt.
Shaking her head as if to clear it of those idle thoughts, Hermione allowed herself the luxury of abdicating the responsibility of steering her partner, and let Neville take the lead. He was good. She was quite surprised to find him nearly as accomplished a partner as Bill. As they twirled around, they exchanged some inconsequential small talk.
Neville's skill allowed Hermione to keep watch on Harry's progress. Far from reciprocating his current partner's enthusiasm, he was self-evidently anxious as he stepped on Ginny's toes, and cast the odd longing glance in the direction of Cho Chang, safely enwrapped in Cedric Diggory's arms.
'I suppose I should return the favour and suggest that Harry take a turn with the girl he wanted to be his date all along,' Hermione admitted with a hint of bitterness. 'But not before I have another chance with him first.'
To Ginny's undisguised disappointment, Hermione moved to reclaim Harry once that single song ended. Whether that reaction was because her dance with Harry was now over, or due to Harry's less than enthusiastic reaction when dancing with her, Hermione could not tell. She did, however, share a little of the Weasley girl's envy when she noticed Harry's eyes occasionally flicker over to the Diggory-Chang duo.
'Here goes nothing.'
"A Knut for them, Harry?"
As Harry's attention was drawn back to the girl in his arms, he looked a little guilty as well as bemused.
"For your thoughts," Hermione clarified.
"Oh - nothing." That was one little white lie he told so well, admitted Hermione.
"Why don't you just ask her for a dance, Harry?" She hated herself for being so fair, but the inquisitive part of her so wanted to know.
Harry knew to whom Hermione was referring. "No… I don't think so."
"Why? Cho didn't turn you down, did she? It was just that Cedric had asked first."
Harry looked uncomfortable. "That wouldn't be right," he murmured.
There was one way to find out. "Go on, Harry. I won't mind."
'Honestly,' Hermione lied to herself. That was one not-so-little white lie that was getting harder to tell.
Harry appeared torn with indecision, before a small grin broke out. "Okay, I will. Thanks, Hermione!"
'Oh, I do hate myself at times!'
Before Hermione could reflect further on when her foolish good nature became self-denial, once again the music stopped. Harry, like an over-eager puppy, quickly searched the floor for Cho, before darting off, his quest evidently successful.
Instead of risking being a wallflower, Hermione started drifting back towards the margins. Before she could reach the safe haven of the seats, she was intercepted by the now partner-less Cedric Diggory.
"Fancy a twirl, Gra-" He smiled at his slip. "Silly me. Would you like a dance, Hermione?"
She did not want to dance at this moment; she wanted to observe, but on her own terms. Still, it would be bad manners to refuse Cedric, especially after his support for her in the hearing. "I'd love to, Cedric."
That was one white lie she told quite well. And she could still observe.
As they danced, this time it was Hermione's eyes that tried to pick out that other couple amidst the madding crowd. A little cough from Cedric drew her attention back to her current partner.
"I would be offended, to let my partner's attention wander, if I hadn't been guilty of the same offence," he admitted gracefully. "Should I be worried by your date's attention to mine?"
There was no censure or annoyance behind his words, Hermione was certain. "She's a beautiful girl," Hermione demurred. "You're very lucky, Cedric."
"You're taking it well." Cedric's piercing grey eyes scrutinised her for a reaction.
If it were possible to shrug whilst waltzing, Hermione managed the feat. "What's to take? I wasn't Harry's first choice, you know," she told him as evenly as she knew how. Those white lies…
"Oh - I didn't know that," Cedric replied. "I'm sorry. But for what it's worth, I don't think you have anything to worry about."
With that, he turned so that Hermione could observe Harry and Cho. They were a mirror image of the reactions when Ginny had claimed her dance with Harry. Cho's eyes kept wandering and when they alighted upon Cedric, her smile grew wider. Harry had his "I can do this" façade up, but Hermione was a skilled Harry watcher. His demeanour betrayed a fair bit of despair that he was not the focus of her attentions.
"I think your partner is quite safe," Hermione said with heartfelt relief on at least one score.
"Yours too, I reckon. So why don't we just enjoy ourselves a little more?" Cedric's smile could be roguish at times, and Hermione was reminded for a second of Sirius Black as he injected a little more energy into their steps, sweeping the two of them around the floor in a higher tempo.
Hermione was near breathless when the waltz finally finished. Much as she had enjoyed her dance with Cedric, she much preferred Harry's arms, even if her awakening feelings for her best friend were not being reciprocated as warmly.
Still, just for tonight, she could pretend. The Gryffindor inside demanded more; the realist preached ignorance is bliss.
Harry looked a tad disgruntled but Hermione knew better than to tease him on that score. They started another dance, keeping to the simple steps that had seen them through so far.
There was something, though, that nagged away at the back of her mind, a question that had been planted in her fertile mind by her discussion with Cedric.
Harry had grown an inch or so since the summer compared to Hermione, so she had to raise her eyes a little above level now she was in her flat dancing shoes. The high heels earlier had given her parity on that score. She decided to be a Gryffindor first.
"Harry?"
"Yes?"
She screwed up a little courage. "Why didn't you ask me to the Ball?" For some reason this inconsequential detail was suddenly important to her.
She dreaded the answer, but she had to know.
Would it be: 'I thought Ron was going to ask you;' or: 'I don't think of you that way;' or even: 'You're not my type.'
To his credit, Harry considered the question seriously. Finally he spoke.
"Well, I guessed what with you being a Champion and all, you'd be snowed under with offers."
"Hah!" Hermione rubbished that suggestion once she started breathing again. "This is Hermione Granger we're taking about - bookworm, buck-toothed, birds' nest hair, house-elf liberationist and all."
Harry looked uncomfortable. Did he see her that way as well?
"Why do you always do yourself down, Hermione?" Harry finally responded sincerely. He didn't wait for an answer. "You're clever, brave, pretty… To be honest, I expected Viktor Krum to ask you, and who am I next to him. You seemed to have made a friend there."
'And he might have done,' Hermione reflected, 'if protocol had allowed it.' She wondered for a second if she would have preferred Viktor as a date, then dismissed the idea out of hand. Viktor was definitely moving into the category of friend, one that at present was not exactly over-populated. But Harry Potter was quite another matter altogether. His answer to her question had set loose the wings of hope.
"So you really don't mind then?" she asked. Harry assumed his standard 'I'm miles behind you again, Hermione' expression, so she added: "Being made to partner me by McGonagall?"
"Not in the slightest. In fact I wished I'd asked you sooner. I would've if I'd known no-one else had." He smiled. "This school is full of idiot boys, you know.
"But thanks to McGonagall, my date is the prettiest girl here."
An indefinable sensation flooded through Hermione. "You… you don't mean that, do you? After all, there's Fleur." 'And Cho,' Hermione could not bring herself to add, at least this once.
The music had stopped, yet Harry and Hermione remained, right and left hands respectively entwined, his left resting lightly on her waist. Their eyes locked. Suddenly, her mouth felt dry…
Before another word was said, their portentous silence was broken by the arrival of Viktor in his cherry-red tunic.
"Harry, I vould like to ask Hermy-own-ninny for tants. Vould you agree?"
Hermione's eyes flashed from one young man to the other as she masked her disappointment. Oh, Viktor's timing was usually so good! How could it be so rotten now?
With a little smile, Harry stepped aside. "I'd be honoured to let Durmstrang's finest have this dance - if Miss Granger will agree."
Viktor tuned to face Hermione and clicked his heels together before making a small formal bow.
"Go on, Hermione," Harry's smile grew larger. "I'll see if Penny fancies a dance." She was sure his next words were not intended to be overheard. "After all, that'll piss off Percy even more!"
Viktor had excellent social radar. For once he looked uncomfortable. "Vos not good time?" he enquired.
"No, nothing like that," Hermione sighed as she told yet another white lie. She took Viktor's hand. "I'd love a dance, Viktor."
Hermione was not surprised that Viktor proved himself as fluid a mover on the dance floor as he was on the Quidditch pitch.
"He likes you," Viktor observed out of nothing. "A lot."
"Harry? Oh, we've been friends since our first year."
There was a deep rumble coming from Viktor's chest. Was that a laugh?
"He is very - vorry about you, da?" Viktor kept speaking as he flawlessly raised his arm, turned his hand and allowed Hermione to spin gracefully before they joined again.
"Yes," she agreed. "Harry does worry about me - but not as much as I worry about him."
Viktor considered that for a few moments. "I hear… story about Harry." The hero of the World Cup towered over Hermione even more than Bill had done, and looked down at her with an indecipherable expression. "You are true friend to him, ne?"
Hermione wondered what stories Viktor had heard, but she restricted herself to a short bob of her head, before realising the habit in Bulgaria was the reverse of almost the entire rest of the world. "Yes," she said simply.
Viktor's inscrutable expression remained fixed as in stone, and he remained silent for a few seconds. "Vould you mind if I ask question?"
"N - no - that's fine, Viktor."
He would not be so gauche as to ask her the question, would he?
"The girl I dance with. Pay… Pee…"
"Penelope."
Viktor looked preoccupied. "Pay-nay-low-pee," he repeated slowly. "I not meet before this day. Yet she is… interest in me?" Now he appeared doubtful. "I forget the vord," he admitted ruefully.
Hermione tried to translate. "You think Penelope fancies you?"
For only the second time since she had met him, Hermione was sure Viktor was a little uncomfortable. "I haff idea she is not as… fancy as vould be normal. Yet she not girl who stay in Library." He sighed. "Is difficult."
Hermione thought she understood. "The man from the Ministry…" Hermione spun the two of them around slowly until she could point out Percy Weasley, now engrossed in discussion with Ludo Bagman. "He used to be her boyfriend."
Viktor cast a glance in Percy's direction. "Priyatel?" Hermione could almost hear the Bulgarian thinking. Finally he turned away and concentrated upon Hermione.
"The Clearwaters are not Pureblooded," Hermione explained. "And Percy is very ambitious," she added scornfully.
Viktor's eyes narrowed. After a short silence, he spoke. "I hoped Pee - the girl - liked… fancy me for being Viktor. Now she use me to annoy that man."
Hermione felt a little guilty at upsetting Viktor's evening with a little truth. "I'm sure Penelope does - she's a nice girl." Even if she had been one of those who never believed her about the Goblet of Fire.
"You do not like that man?"
Hermione's eyes narrowed this time. "No. He was the one who lodged the complaint about the dragons."
"Is that so?" Viktor's glower deepened, then there was the start of a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. "Perhaps I play this game with Pay-nay-low-pee as well?"
When the dance ended, Viktor repeated his bow, but before he released her he brought her hand up to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it.
"Mnogo tee blagodarya, Hermy-own-ninny," he said gently, before leading her through the thinning crowd to find their own respective partners. Hermione was sure there was a little more warmth in Viktor's greeting to Penelope Clearwater when they found her and Harry enjoying a drink. "Here is yours - and mine," he told her.
As the Bulgarian bore off his willing and attractive partner for another bash at the dancing, Hermione gratefully accepted Harry's offer of a goblet of pumpkin juice.
"Enjoying yourself, Hermione?"
"Umm, yes, quite" Hermione replied, once again fanning herself with her spare hand. Despite the winter setting, it was quite warm, especially for someone who had been dancing for what seemed like hours. Especially for her, with Harry. "You?"
Harry was flexing his shoulders, as though working out some kinks. "Much more than I thought I would," he confessed. "Never been to a proper dance before."
Hermione glanced up at that. "I never knew." She felt - well, a little guilty at there being so much she did not know about Harry or his life away from Hogwarts.
Now Harry shrugged his shoulders, looking a little uncomfortable. "The Dursleys never took me to any parties they had invitations for, and apart from Aunt Marge, there wasn't any family they spoke to or of, so there weren't any birthdays or wedding receptions."
Refreshed, Hermione took to her feet again. "Want another dance?"
Harry half-smiled. "You'll wear me out, Hermione." But he offered her his hand and pretended to be hauled to his feet by the slighter Gryffindor.
As they stepped onto the floor, the music started again, but this time with a slower tempo. Instead of setting herself for their normal dancing stance, Hermione stepped in closer to Harry and lightly wrapped her arms around his middle.
Harry appeared perplexed and hardly moved. His body returned to that unnaturally rigid state that had been a staple of their lessons.
"Relax, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "This is how to dance a slow number. Just put your arms around me. It's simple."
That simple something could lead to a lot of complications, but Hermione was almost beyond caring, beguiled by the slow strains of the music.
She had to admit he was good at following her instructions. His arms sat just a little higher than hers, and she could sense his nervousness in the way his hands did not pull her in as tight to him as she had hoped. Having led him all night, she did so again…
She moved -well, swayed really - to the rhythm, taking small, slow steps in an anti-clockwise direction. As she did so, Hermione felt Harry relax a little, his arms tightening around her as hers had around him. With a little smile to herself, she turned her head slightly to her right, and moved so that her left cheek was resting lightly on Harry's left shoulder.
It was so comfortable, so warm, so safe…
Just for tonight, she did not have to pretend that Harry was holding her gently, yet so close she could be lulled by the warmth of his body.
Then a cold sensation crept down her spine, making her shiver, as though someone had walked over her grave.
Her eyes snapped open, looking away to her right.
Mad-Eye Moody's magical eye was fixed on the two of them with all of its electric blue intensity.
There was evil in that eye, Hermione thought suddenly before mentally castigating herself for her irrationality.
"What is it?" Harry had sensed that something had alarmed her.
She shivered again, turned her head away from the scrutiny of her Defence Against the Dark Arts' master, and found herself lost at close range in Harry's own magical green stare.
"Nothing," she murmured, hugging Harry even closer. "Nothing to worry about now." Then she felt Harry tense up as the dance steps carried him round enough to spot Professor Moody.
"What's his problem?" Harry pondered aloud.
"Forget it, Harry." Hermione was keen to regain the chemistry of only a few seconds ago before the catalyst that was Moody engendered a negative reaction.
Any further discussion was lost as Dumbledore strode onto the stage in front of the Weird Sisters and cast Sonorous on himself.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, it is now... Midnight! A Merry Christmas to you all!"
As the band struck up "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" Hermione could not help but smile. "Merry Christmas, Harry."
For just a millisecond Hermione thought Harry was about to kiss her. In reflex anticipation, her tongue quickly moistened her lips. Instead, to her unexpected disappointment, his own smile widened. "And a Happy Christmas to you, too."
He did, though, hug her as close as she hugged him.
With that, the Yule Ball ended, and everyone started to drift off, to their dormitories, the Beauxbatons' coach or Durmstrang ship.
Hermione could not help but notice that Moody kept both of his eyes, human and magical, fixed on Harry and her as they exited the Great Hall. That worried her.
For her, the evening was ending every bit as awkwardly as it had begun, and in approximately the same location - by the foot of the stairway that led to the Gryffindor girls' dormitories. Elsewhere in the common room other couples were saying good night, some of the older ones much more demonstrably than this pair.
Holding both of Harry's hands in her own, she searched, badly, for words that would explain how much it all meant to her.
"Thank you Harry, for a wonderful evening… I really mean that. It was everything I could have wanted…"
Yet another white lie. Mentally she kicked herself once again.
"Um… You're right, Hermione." Even now he seemed just a little on edge. "I didn't think I'd like this nearly as much as I have. I need to…"
She gazed deeply into his eyes. "Yes, Harry?" It was a question, but she also hoped he might take it as an invitation.
"I've got to thank McGonagall. I heard Fleur thank you, and well… she helped us along even more…" He hesitated. "And you…"
But that was as far as it went. Harry once again lapsed into uneasy silence, whilst still holding her hands. Like her, he seemed reluctant to let the evening end… uncertain where to go from there.
For one final time Hermione reminded herself that she was the Gryffindor champion. Her chest hitching, she squeezed his hands a bit more firmly.
"Well, Happy Christmas then, Harry…"
She steadied herself, ready to pull him closer.
But what if she was wrong? What if Harry only saw her as a friend, with no prefix?
Harry was eyeing her guardedly.
If she were wrong… If it all went wrong…
Hermione blinked, then, with a sinking sensation in her stomach, pulled Harry into a replica of their hug of only a few minutes ago, only this one ended sooner than the last.
She was pretty certain she had lost one of her close friends. Hermione feared she could not cope with queering her last remaining firm friendship.
Who was it said it was better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all?
Letting slip his hands, Hermione deliberately moved a half-step back. Harry appeared a little bemused, as though he had missed out on a whole conversation.
Damning herself, Hermione recalled that she was a sham champion, not the real thing. Gryffindors were supposed to be courageous.
"Well…" Harry took advantage of her preoccupation to extract himself from an awkward silence. "I'll see you tomorrow then." He smiled that heart-breaking smile. "Christmas morning!"
Hermione nodded. The deflation after considering scaling that high was tremendous.
'I couldn't afford to lose Harry as well,' she admitted as she watched her date make his way up the stairs to the boys' dorm. 'But not knowing is unbearable.'
Those couples who had enjoyed a more rewarding evening did not help Hermione's melancholy mood as she wended her own way up to bed. Finding her bedroom mercifully vacant - Lavender was undoubtedly having an enthusiastic nightcap somewhere with Dean, and Parvati she suspected was hiding out trying to avoid Seamus - she carefully removed her beautiful dress, casting simple spells to restore it to a pristine state.
Then she flopped back on top of her bedclothes, staring into nothing, her mind elsewhere.
Frustrated as she was, Hermione was certain on one point. She wanted - no, needed - Harry to stay by her side. If he had said "no" then it would have devastated her. Perhaps, when this was all over, then she could…
She resolved to place that matter of the heart on the back-burner. But when she finally took to her bed, she found that her nights were no longer dominated by thoughts of dragons. Instead, she found herself dreaming of the wide smile of a raven-haired and emerald-eyed boy, so close, yet so far away.
But those dreams were tinged with something more sinister: eyes - two of them - one human and the other magical and vividly blue. These were Moody's eyes as she had last seen them, fixed on Harry and her as they exited the Great Hall. Something about them, and him worried her profoundly.
* * * * *
In the Muggle world, Britain's endangered and protected species are subjected to various degrees of protection and classification under the Wildlife and Countryside Act 1981 and other amendments that have subsequently followed. It is reasonable to assume that a far more interesting list of protected or endangered magical species exists!
There is no McGonagall (or MacGonagall) tartan that I can trace via the Scottish Tartans' Authority. However, Minerva would be entitled to wear any of the tartans that her ancestors were entitled to. I have chosen Leslie Green Syme as this was the tartan worn by my father's Lowland regiment, the King's Own Scottish Borderers.
In the original versions of the books, Penelope Clearwater was a year behind Percy Weasley at Hogwarts, making her three years ahead of Harry and Hermione, and so in her final year at Hogwarts in 1994/95. Later versions have been updated to show her as being in the same year as Percy. I have taken the old version (which is the edition I have been working from).
The Peter Principle is that in a large organisation one is always promoted to one level above one's competence.
The Auld Alliance with France was Scotland's most famous continental entanglement, and was aimed at their mutual and historic enemy. Dating from the late 13th Century the Auld Alliance was built on the shared need to curtail English expansion. Primarily it was a military and diplomatic alliance but for most of the Scots population it brought tangible benefits through pay as mercenaries in France's armies and the pick of finest French wines. Famous 19th Century generals MacDonald and MacMahon both had Scottish ancestors.
Alfred Lord Tennyson's "In Memoriam":
I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
From my cheap & cheerful Bulgarian phrasebook, which has been giving beta reader George kittens: -
Priyatel = boyfriend.
Mnogo tee blagodarya = thank you very much.