The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming ownership - this is all done for a bit of fun.

Hermione sighed, her fingers idly gliding along the gold silk of her dress. All of the other Gryffindor Girls had been irrationally excited at the re-instatement of the Yule Ball at the school, and despite her wish to remain neutral and observant, she couldn't deny that the excitement had touched her as well. The costumes, the food, the dancing... it had promised to be a magical evening. Yet here she sat - bored and unattended - on the outskirts of the revelry. The notepad in front of her had been filled a full twenty minutes prior, all ready for her review of the traditional ceremony in the Christmas edition of the Wizarding Student Times.

Hermione had always enjoyed writing but had no specific plans to stay in journalism after Hogwarts; being the editor of the Hogwarts student paper was just another thing to pass the time outside of classes. Of course, her quiet interpretation of journalism had been shattered the day that Professor McGonagall introduced a new features editor - Malfoy. Draco had been his usual arrogant and egotistical self at the start of their work, but by the end, she couldn't deny that her feelings towards him had changed. Sometimes she even thought that Draco's feelings towards her had changed in a similar manner, but his actions had suggested the opposite. His temporary stay at the paper had ended a month ago and he had made zero contact with her since. Silly, foolish girl, Hermione chastised herself.

The Yule Ball had certainly lived up to its reputation, with the Great Hall now redecorated in the fashion of an ice castle. Snowflakes sparkled and danced above the students, while the floor shimmered, producing an iridescent blue hue on the walls. Many of the girls were in stark contrast to the icy theme, clad in red, purple and pink silks, while the boys looked smart in their dress robes. The ball was a costumed affair, with the laziest of students opting for a simple masquerade mask. Truthfully, Hermione now felt slightly embarrassed by her attempts to accentuate her gold mask. She had spent an hour decorating the edges with strips of red, gold and orange satin, which she had then intertwined with her own plaited hair, trying to mimic fire. Her elemental costume was not the most conspicuous however, and many of the teachers had outdone her with an animal theme. Professor McGonagall made a majestic peacock with full plumage, while Dumbledore resembled a fuzzy pink elephant, his trunk drooping over his beard. Harry also seemed to be regretting his costume choice, which had involved an antler-horn headpiece. Twirling around the room with a fifth year dressed as a weeping willow, her branches had become irreversibly tangled in the antlers and both had left the ball in a sulk.

The whole picture, Hermione had decided, was otherworldly. Even the music held an ethereal quality, a combination of classical and electronic instruments, played live by a spangled group of goblins. Hermione had been so entranced by the sound that she didn't notice the arrival of Ginny. The red-headed Weasley had chosen an emerald green dress with a flowered mask in favour of her date, Neville, who had an aptitude for herbology. 'Why don't you ask Seamus to dance?' The question made Hermione jump.

'Oh, Ginny, it's just you,' she smiled, an undertone of disappointment to her voice.

'Who else might it have been?' The young witch replied with a frown. Hermione shrugged in response. 'So, what about Seamus?'

'What about him?'

'Ask him to dance,' Ginny rolled her eyes.

'He's my work colleague on the paper, I couldn't do that,' Hermione replied, affronted at the thought.

'That never stopped you daydreaming about Dra...'

'Ginny!' Hermione shushed.

'Fine, fine.' She held her hands up in surrender and sat down at the table. Neville appeared with two overflowing goblets of punch, and handed one to Ginny with a bow. This resulted in the spilling of his own drink, sending a cascade of red down his white shirt. Ginny seemed thoroughly tired of her partner, flinging three turquoise napkins in his direction. As the clumsy wizard began to pat himself dry, she had a sudden idea. 'Take Neville.' Neville looked at his dance partner in confusion.

'Take me where?'

'Take Hermione for a dance, Neville.'

'Oh, no...' Hermione tried to protest. Neville, however, had received his commands - before Hermione could blink the pair were in the centre of the dance floor, her being pulled around to a jaunty jig. At least it's not a slow number, she thought appreciatively, as a spritely goblin went into a saxophone solo. Neville was a surprisingly good dancer, but nervous, and was trying to allay the awkwardness with his plant-based knowledge.

'... Professor Sprout was quite impressed with my mandrake splicing. I was hoping to produce an underwater variety akin to those of the Russian genus...'

He gave her a quick dip in time to the beat, and at the brief pause during her minima, light caught her eyes. Neville pulled her back up and they began twirling around the dance floor once more, Hermione casting her head every which way to determine it's origin. Once she had spotted him, it was hard not to - he was a newcomer to the floor, clad from head to toe in shimmering silver fabric. A layer of ice crystals and diamantes ran across the robes and over the boy's head, creating cohesion between his white eye-mask and costume.

'... then of course I realised I'd picked up the sobbing pansies, not the screaming ones, so I'd mistakenly depressed the entire greenhouse...'

The unknown boy was a veritable ice prince. In between her glances, she noticed the expressions of other dancers - all had their eyes on him. He seemed to move between the twirling couples with determination. Hermione was enraptured.

'... but of course they set themselves on fire if you leave a candle too close...' Neville paused, pulling Hermione to a halt. The ice prince had tapped Neville on the shoulder, forcing a premature end to his herbology anecdote to silently request Hermione's hand. Without waiting for her approval, he swept her into a twirl, one cool hand against her waist and the other intertwined with hers. The music moved into an almost sorrowful violin piece, so beautiful that Hermione felt herself floating away from reality.

That is, until the ice prince spoke.

'Have you missed me, Granger?'

Author's note: So I seem to be leaning towards a trilogy of-sorts, with this being the immediate sequel to Surprise Editor. It takes place roughly a month after Surprise left off, and we're now totally out of canon. If you haven't read Surprise Editor, you should still be able to follow this.