A/N: So this is the first of a bunch of stories I'm writing, based on fairy tales but set within Harry Potter. They'll all be based within the general canon storyline, but with details altered from canon to allow the story to take place. This is the only one that's actually written out, though I've got a couple of ideas for others, so there probably won't be another one posted for a little while.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Cinderella

"I am pleased to announce," said Dumbledore, standing up and clapping his hands to get their attention, "That, as is traditional during the Triwizard Tournament, we will be holding a Yule Ball this Christmas. The Ball will only be open to fourth years and above, and I am delighted to reveal that on this occasion we have decided it should be a Masquerade Ball."

He sat down again, his words having clearly had the desired effect. Hermione rolled her eyes as, beside her, Lavender and Parvati began to whisper excitedly about what they were going to wear and who they wanted as a partner.

On her other side, Ron had a panicked look on his face.

"Does this mean we actually have to ask someone to go with us? As in, an actual girl?" he asked Harry, as though the very idea of talking to a girl were too difficult to understand. Harry went a little pale.

"I think it does, mate," he said. Hermione snorted. It was hard to believe that this was the same Harry Potter who had faced Voldemort on three occasions and lived to tell the tale. Honestly! They were acting as if girls were a different species. Anyone would think they didn't hang around with one every single day.

But this didn't seem to occur to Ron as he listed the different options.

"Well there's only Lavender and Parvati in our year who are Gryffindors," he was saying, "And they're both too giggly. What about the other Houses?"

Suddenly, Hermione's mood turned from amusement to hurt. Muttering something about going for a walk, she headed out of the Great Hall, through the Entrance Hall and into the cool, evening air.

Taking big gulps of air, she tried to push back the tears that were threatening to fall. It was a vain attempt, and she soon felt them trickling down her cheeks, no doubt making her look even less attractive and like a good partner for the Yule Ball than usual.

It wasn't that she wanted Ron to ask her to the Yule Ball. She knew he and Harry both saw her just as one of the guys. But it would have been nice, after three and a half years, for him to have at least registered that she was a girl.

"What's my idiot brother done this time?" Hermione swung round in panic, then relaxed as she realised it was just Ginny.

"What do you mean?" she asked, "What makes you think it was Ron?"

"He's an insensitive prick and he's the only one who ever makes you cry like that. Besides, I know you fancy him."

"What?" Hermione spluttered, "I don't … that's ridiculous! I don't … fancy … that's … Ron isn't …" she subsided as she saw the look Ginny was giving her.

"Hermione, you're very perceptive and you've given me some good advice about Harry, but when it comes to Ron you really are very stupid. You fancy him. It's obvious."

Hermione didn't argue with that. Of course she fancied him. But the logical part of her didn't want to fancy him. He was her friend. She didn't want to mess that up. And him and Harry were at such a stupid, awkward stage right now that she didn't want to scare him by talking about actual feelings and emotions. Besides, he didn't even realise she was a girl.

"And that's how everyone's going to see me," she told Ginny, then realised she had been saying all of this aloud, "I'm just plain, bookish Hermione Granger. Even if I look really pretty at this ball, it won't change who everyone knows I am."

"So be somebody different," Ginny said slowly, that gleam coming into her eye that always appeared when she had some outrageous idea.

"What?"

"Don't go as Hermione Granger. It's a masquerade ball, right? So people don't have to recognise you. It's perfect!"

Ginny's excitement was infectious, but Hermione did her best to remain practical.

"That's silly," she said, "One little mask won't stop people recognising me. They've known me too long."

"Yeah, yeah," Ginny said, brushing that aside as irrelevant, "But what's the point of being the brightest witch of your age if you can't find a potion or charm to solve that problem? It would be so cool! Nobody would know except us, and I won't even be there unless an older student invites me. Everyone would be going mad trying to figure out who you were! At least say you'll think about it?"

"Alright," Hermione agreed, "I'll think about it. But I'm not promising anything."

And she did think about it. A great deal. It was an exciting idea, but she wasn't sure she was brave enough. After all, she was just Hermione Granger. She didn't do crazy things like going to balls in disguise.

When Professor Snape started teaching them about a potion used for disguise, it seemed like fate. The potion was perfect. It worked, not by changing the person's actual appearance, but by slightly confusing those who looked at them, so they wouldn't recognise that they actually knew them. It was too subtle to work on anyone who was expecting something like that, but it would be ideal in this situation. After all, who would expect the mystery girl to be plain old Hermione Granger? But she still wasn't sure if she was brave enough to go ahead with it.

And then Viktor Krum asked her to go to the Ball with him. For a moment, she was tempted. Wouldn't it be satisfying enough simply to walk in on Viktor Krum's arm, and to see the looks on people's faces? Did she really need to go ahead with this silly disguise?

She turned him down. It wasn't enough. She didn't just want to shock people. She actually wanted to be a different person for the night, without the judgements and opinions people had already formed of her.

Viktor's invitation gave her the courage she had been lacking. If an international Quidditch player whom every girl in the school was in love with had chosen her, then maybe there really was more to her than met the eye. She would do this. She would show them all.

Ginny was delighted by her decision. On the next Hogsmeade weekend, she dragged Hermione off to a tiny little dress shop to have her ball gown and mask custom made. And then she insisted that Hermione buy a pair of the newest shoes, made of a strange, transparent material that shaped itself to fit only the foot of the owner. Supposedly this made them easier to dance in, and Hermione had to admit that they were certainly very comfortable. They were far too expensive, but they were beautiful, and for once Hermione decided to stop being practical and just buy them.

A week before the Ball, Ron finally remembered she was a girl and said she should go with Harry, since he was a Champion and needed a partner. Hermione refused, saying that someone had already asked her, but that she had turned him down because she wasn't going to the Ball. It was true, in a sense. This Hermione wasn't going to the Ball. A very different Hermione was.

Ron told her she was being petty and childish, and then turned to Ginny as a partner for Harry. Ginny revealed that she was going with Neville, which was a surprise to everyone but Hermione, who had already known. She knew Ginny must be regretting that now, having just missed the chance to be Harry's partner.

But when she talked to Ginny, she discovered her friend didn't regret it after all. She explained that she didn't want to just be a last resort for Harry because he desperately needed a partner and Cho was taken. If she wasn't his first choice, she didn't want to go with him at all. Hermione understood completely. She felt the same way about Ron.

When the night of the Ball came, Hermione and Ginny got ready in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. That was where Hermione had prepared the potion, and it was essential the nobody saw Hermione getting ready, since she wasn't supposed to be going at all. They probably all thought she was off crying in a bathroom somewhere anyway.

"And remember the potion only lasts five hours," Ginny said for the hundredth time, "So if you drink it at seven you have until midnight, and then you have to get out of there. Otherwise people might start to recognise you."

"I know, Ginny," Hermione said, "Right, that's your hair done. You do mine now."

Half an hour and copious amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion later, Ginny was satisfied with Hermione's hair. They did their own make up, then slipped on their dresses and put the masks in place. Hermione turned to look in the mirror.

She couldn't quite believe what she saw. Her hair was up, neater than ever before, with soft curls falling around her face. Her gown was a deep red, a colour she never wore normally, but which seemed to fit her new, intriguing personality. And the mask obscuring half her face somehow managed to utterly transform her, to the point that she hardly recognised herself.

"You look stunning," Ginny breathed, a little awed, "I can't wait to see the guys' faces when you walk in. And every girl in the school is going to hate you."

That was an odd thought: that the girls would all be jealous of her. She'd experienced a lot of jealousy for her intelligence before, but never for her looks. She quite liked the idea.

Ginny left then to go and meet Neville, but Hermione remained in the bathroom. At exactly seven o'clock she drank the potion, but she didn't leave quite yet. She and Ginny had decided her entrance would be more dramatic if she was a little late.

At ten past seven she slipped on her beautiful dancing shoes, sticking out one foot to admire the way it sparkled as it caught the light. Taking a deep breath, she glanced in the mirror one more time to give herself strength.

She was ready.

Walking through the empty corridors, she didn't meet a single person. Fourth to seventh years were all at the Ball already, and the younger students had mainly gone home for Christmas. Her stomach began to churn a little with nerves. Could she pull this off?

Stepping through the doors into the Great Hall, she felt every eye upon her. She was sure that at any moment someone was going to call her out on her little trick: Look – it's only Granger! How pathetic that she though no one would recognise her.

But nobody did. They just stared, until she began to feel distinctly uncomfortable. The chattering had died away at her entrance and an awestruck silence hung over the room. Deciding just to go with it, and reminding herself that she could be whoever she liked tonight, she tilted her chin upwards and swept through the room. Fortunately there were no house tables; she would have wanted to sit at the Gryffindor table, but would have risked giving away some clue about her identity.

She could see Harry up at the top table, looking distinctly uncomfortable, but didn't know where any of her other friends were. It was odd to see everyone in masks, a sea of half-familiar, half-strange faces, only recognisable if you looked closely.

She spotted a half-empty table in the corner, and made her way over there. She could have sat in the centre of the room to ensure she remained the centre of attention, but she didn't need to. Every eye was already on her, and she'd seem more mysterious, sitting alone in the corner.

She hadn't been expecting quite this much attention. Yes, she'd come in a little late. And yes, no one knew who she was. But everyone was a bit mysterious tonight. Why the interest in her in particular?

To her relief, Dumbledore drew everyone's attention at that moment by announcing his meal to his plate and watching it appear. It vaguely occurred to her that this must be a lot of extra work for the house elves, but she couldn't manage to get worked up about it. S.P.E.W. belonged to a time other than this night, a person other than the one she was right now.

The other people at her table looked rather awestruck. They were a small group of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw girls, who she was fairly sure were in sixth year, and didn't appear to have any partners. Bored of sitting in silence, she started up a conversation, confident that the position would ensure her voice didn't give her away. After they got over being stunned that she was speaking to them, they were very interesting to talk to, though she stuck to safe conversation topics.

Then the dancing began, and the Champions had to begin. Hermione almost laughed out loud at the look of panic on Harry's face as Parvati steered him around the dance floor.

She was distracted from her friend's plight, however, when a large group of guys turned up at her table, asking whether she wanted to dance. Scanning their faces and trying to figure out who was who, she accepted the invitation of the one closest to her, a blonde boy in black robes. It was only as he led her out onto the dance floor that she realised who he was.

Draco Malfoy!

Her first instinct was to snatch her hand from his and run as fast as she could, but she resisted. It was rather satisfying, really, to imagine Malfoy's face if he were to realise he'd practically begged Hermione Granger, the Mudblood, to dance with him.

"You look stunning tonight," he was saying as he twirled her around smoothly, "May I have the honour of knowing your name?"

"Oh, but that would spoil the fun," she said coyly, looking up at him through her mask.

"A clue then, perhaps?" he asked, "Have we met? I'm sure we haven't; I would have remembered meeting someone so beautiful."

Was Malfoy flirting with her? This was all too surreal! Though it was interesting to learn that he could actually be quite charming when he wasn't being affected by some prejudice against her.

They continued to flirt for the rest of the dance, him trying to draw out her true identity with compliments and leading questions, her eluding every attempt. She politely declined his offer of a second dance, and returned to her table. A small group of guys was nonchalantly hanging around there, among them Ron. He looked absolutely mutinous, and for a moment she thought that he had recognised her and was going to call her a traitor for dancing with Malfoy.

But he merely extended a hand.

"A girl as pretty as you shouldn't be dancing with a prick like Malfoy," he said bluntly, "Dance with me?"

His clumsy attempt at flattery was so sweet that she almost accepted. But then she remembered his previous words: You're a girl, Hermione. Spoken in such a tone of absolute astonishment. He wouldn't have asked her to dance if he'd known it was her. He wanted her for the same reason he'd wanted that Fleur girl: she was mysterious, unattainable and everybody else wanted her.

Ignoring Ron completely, Hermione turned and accepted the hand of the boy beside him. He was from Durmstrang, she discovered, and was very good-looking. But he could barely string two words together – which she suspected was due to his lack of intelligence, rather than a language difficulty – and she escaped from him as soon as possible.

When she returned to the table, Ron was still there. That surprised her. Normally if he was rejected he would get embarrassed and avoid the person who had caused it. But instead, he informed her politely yet firmly that he intended to dance with her if it took him all night.

He didn't sound like Ron when he said that. If it hadn't been for the fact that she'd helped Ginny make his mask, she might have questioned whether it really was Ron behind it. He sounded older, more mature. And determined. Why did he care so much about a simple dance?

She accepted, and he twirled her out onto the dance floor with remarkable ease. Who would have guessed that Ron Weasley could dance?

Ginny winked at her as she danced past in Neville's arms, wincing as he trod on her foot. Hermione smirked and then looked back at Ron. He was gazing at her, a strange look in his eyes.

"You're beautiful," he said. It was blunt and to the point, typical of Ron, but it was also utterly sincere.

"How can you know that?" Hermione asked, "You can only see half of my face."

"I don't need to see the rest," he said, "You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."

Hermione was seriously beginning to doubt that this was really Ron. Perhaps someone had used Polyjuice Potion? But why would they do that? Why would someone need to look like Ron?

Even as she considered this, she knew it was a load of rubbish. He was Ron. She knew that with every part of her being, knew that some part of her would always recognise him, no matter what he looked like.

The danced for a long time, or perhaps a very short time; Hermione barely noticed the time pass anymore. Neither of them spoke; they didn't need to. As they stared into one another's eyes, all the communication that was necessary passed between them. All that existed was she, Ron and the music, and she didn't want this moment to end.

But end it must, and as they both grew tired, they moved to the other side of the room. Ron left in search of drinks, and Hermione watched the other dancers absently. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she barely noticed anything around her, until a voice in her ear made her jump.

"It's been a long time since I've seen a student brew that potion so effectively, Miss Granger."

She looked round quickly, but a figure in dark robes was already disappearing through the crowd. Hermione stared after him. Had Snape just complimented her? Was the whole world going mad? She had been complimented by Snape, flirted with by Draco Malfoy and called beautiful by Ron all in one evening. And all before midnight.

As soon as that thought crossed her mind, she glanced up at the clock on he wall. It was a minute before midnight!

Panicking, she began to push her way through the crowd, heading for the door. Ron caught her arm as she passed him, but she tore it from his grasp and fled. She could hear the clock chiming behind her as she ran through the doors and up the stairs. In her haste, she tripped on one of the steps and her shoe came off, but she didn't dare stop and get it. Ron might have come after her, and the potion was probably wearing off even now.

Diving sideways through a tapestry, she made her way through a passageway that would lead her to Myrtle's bathroom. She had to get there as quickly as possible.

Ten minutes later, changed into her normal clothes with her dress stashed safely away, she breathed a sigh of relief. That had been close, but she'd pulled it off. It had really been an incredible evening.

"I'm telling you – I have to find her!" Ron exclaimed as he and Harry sat down at the Gryffindor table. Hermione looked up from her breakfast.

"Find who?" she asked. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Some girl he danced with at the Ball last night. He's determined to find out who she was."

"She's not just some girl, Harry! You wouldn't understand." Hermione looked at Ron in surprise. She'd through the sweet, romantic Ron was restricted to last night, when he'd found courage from the mask, and the fact that he didn't know the girl he was dancing with and probably wouldn't see her again. Her own personal Prince Charming, but one who would live only in her memories. She was perfectly happy with that. She could hardly expect a fourteen-year-old guy to be like that in real life, just like she didn't expect Snape to compliment her or Malfoy to flirt with her in real life.

But apparently Ron didn't feel like that. It seemed he didn't want the girl at the Ball to be just a happy memory. He actually wanted to find her.

"You'll never manage to find her, though," Ginny said, "I've already heard five different girls claim to be her. Every guy in the school is in love with her and every girl in the school wants to be her. How will you know who's telling the truth?"

"Aha!" said Ron, looking very smug, "That's where my stroke of genius comes in. As she was running away, one of her shoes came off. It was one of those special shoes, the kind that's charmed to fit your feet. So it'll only fit on one girl's foot, and she'll be the one."

At another time, Hermione might have stopped to be amazed that Ron knew about shoes. But right now, she was too bust staring at the shoe he had drawn out of his schoolbag. This was her chance. Like Ron had said, if she put that on her foot it would prove beyond doubt that she was the one.

But looking at Ron's face, she couldn't do it. He looked so excited, his eyes lighting up as he talked about this amazing, beautiful, perfect girl who had chosen to dance with him. How would he feel if he were to find out that it was her, his boring friend who barely qualified as being a girl?

Hermione was under no illusion that she was pretty. She had looked pretty amazing last night, but that hadn't been her. Not really. And she was okay with that. One night of being beautiful was enough. She liked the real her better, in the long term.

She would let Ron keep his mysterious princess; she wouldn't ruin that for him. And she would keep her charming prince, a wonderful memory in the back of her mind.

It had been a great evening. She'd leave it at that.

Over time, the mysterious girl from the Ball was forgotten. Nobody found out who she was, and nobody really wanted to know. To discover that she was just an ordinary girl, somebody they knew, would have spoiled the magic of it.

Ron eventually dropped the subject, much to Harry's relief. He wasn't used to his friend being so romantic and girly. Ron went back to being his usual, insensitive self, but Hermione knew he had kept the shoe, hidden away in his trunk. And although Ron didn't know whose shoe it really was, she was touched by the gesture.

She kept the other shoe, too. She wasn't sure why. Perhaps to remind her of the Ball. Perhaps simply out of some distant hope that they would one day be a pair again.

"Tell us a story, Grandpa! Tell us a story!" Hermione smiled as she watched Hannah and Lily, her daughter Rose's five and seven year old daughters, clamber into Ron's lap. He loved to tell them stories, and they loved to listen to them. the breaking into Gringotts story, the one about the rat who was really a man, the troll in the bathroom: they'd heard them all and often requested a particular one.

"What will it be today?" Ron asked, balancing a girl on each knee. The girls thought deeply for a few moments.

"Tell us the one about when you fell in love with Grandma," Hannah said, "That's my absolute favourite."

That got Hermione's attention. She hadn't heard that one before.

"Once upon a time," Ron began, "There was a boy. And one day, this boy was going to a ball. It was a masquerade ball, so everyone had to wear masks and it was hard to tell who they were. And while the boy was at the Ball, a girl arrived. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he asked her to dance. The first time she turned him down, but he knew he had to dance with her so he asked her again and she said yes.

"The girl and the boy danced all evening, and the boy thought she was the most amazing person he had ever met. But at midnight, the girl suddenly ran away. As she ran, one of her shoes came off, and the boy kept it. He was in love with the girl, and he knew that one day he would marry her."

"And what happened then?" Lily asked, "Did he ever find her again?"

"He did indeed," Ron smiled, "And then he married her and they lived happily ever after. Now run along girls. You need to wash your hands before dinner."

As the girls scampered inside, Hermione turned to Ron with a look of wonder on her face.

"When did you find out it was me?" she asked, "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I found the shoe in the attic the other day," he replied, "I'd pretty much forgotten about the whole thing, but I took it downstairs to put it in that chest under our bed, which was where I'd though I'd put it already. And then I discovered that it was already there, and that the shoe I'd found in the attic was the other part of the pair. I guess that was when I properly realised."

He paused and took her hands in his.

"It wasn't really a surprise, though," he said, "I think part of me knew all along. After all, you really do have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."