I AM SO, SO, SO, SORRY. YOU GUYS HAVE BEEN SO KIND AND PATIENT, AND I PROMISE TO UPDATE AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE FROM NOW ON TO MAKE UP FOR IT!
Disclaimer: If I owned the series, you would not have read it. Period. End of story.
Harry sat on his four-poster, early this fine Saturday, thinking over what Hermione had said.
He didn't always follow Ron. Sometimes, like with Quidditch, he didn't do what Ron did. And he didn't ignore 'Mione, he just... He just didn't acknowledge her. Of course he never ignored her. She was his closest female friend. Always a fountain of facts, aggravated when she couldn't do something on her own. One of his two best mates. His 'Mione.
Admittedly, he had followed Ron's lead with the chess thing. Ron was his best friend. Even if he didn't exactly agree with Ron's reasoning, best mates stuck together. Plus, 'Mione had other friends.
Harry thought about that. 'Mione had other friends, right? If she did, why didn't she ever talk with them? Wasn't she friends with Lavender and Parvati? What about those two other girls in the dorm? He'd never heard her say anything mean about any of them. And what about Neville? He practically worshipped the ground she walked on because she was always so willing to help. She was always helping everyone else. But she never sat with anyone else. Never.
One of Ron's chainsaw-like snores jerked Harry away from a very important epiphany. Never, was the last thing on that line of thought to come through his head, perfectly in tune with Ron's obnoxious snore.
Resolving himself to get back in 'Mione's good books, he did something he hadn't really thought he'd do in his school life. He went to the library to do extra studying. That 'If - ' poem/quote/thing was bugging him, and he wanted to be able to give her a poem/quote/thing to think on in return. And he was going to look up Flamel.
Once in the library, he noticed Hermione was nowhere to be found. Good, so she hadn't come out of her dorms while he was in his own.
James had been the only one to see this, and he was mighty proud. He wasn't proud of the whole 'going-to-the-library-on-a-weekend' thing, but he was of his son's willingness to devote time to stumping one of the smartest witches he'd personally met with a poem he probably wouldn't understand.
... This was going to take a while. Maybe he should stock up on snacks before he left. Hadn't he hidden some of the sweets from Christmas in his top drawer?
After many a dusty volume of muggle literature, Harry found the poem he was looking for. It took seven or eight reads for him to understand just what it was going on about, but he got it eventually. And now, to search for a bit of poetry 'Mione hadn't read. About two hours later, he found what he was looking for.
Hermione was about to go crazy. The ghost of Lily Evans-Potter was stalking her, Harry was gone, Ron had been a pig - again - and told her the truth of his friendship, Harry had disappeared, Lindsay Criship had pulled a Seamus Finnigan and blown up a picture she was trying to animate in the dorms (thus stinking up the whole place), Harry wasn't here, her hair was being especially bushy, and she couldn't find Harry.
Lavender and Parvati walked into the dorm just then, chatting about some nonsense. When the Lily-ghost turned to look, Hermione dove under her bed, scrambled for the shoe box she always kept there, and pelted out of the door before the Lily-ghost could notice.
Hidden in the box under her arm was all of her vital ballet articles: pointe shoes, tights, toe supports... She'd been neglecting practice since she entered the school.
She had promised herself just after her aunt's death that she would pick up ballet again. Her aunt had been the one to prod her along in ballet, the one at every single class, the one at all of her recitals, the one who took her out for ice cream after her first successful pirouette. She'd always been so sure that Hermione would go far.
And Hermione was going to.
... But how?
Hermione's train of thought was interrupted by Professor McGonagall's brisk, "Miss Granger?"
"Yes Professor?"
Minervera McGonagall had never met a more brilliant student than Hermione Granger (and she wagered that she never would). Seeing that student looking so harried, Minevera's maternal side unexpectedly flared to life. She knew from experience that the hassled look meant a bad morning, and she also had been informed that Miss Granger had recently lost her aunt. Add in her bad judgement in friends - Mr. Weasley was simply a pig - and you had an almost certified horrible day.
"What do you have there?" Minevera tried to make her voice kind.
Miss Granger licked her lips, her eyes darting to and fro as if Peeves himself was after her. "It's kind of a secret, Professor."
"Well then, do you need anything?"
Her eyes continued to dart about. "Is there any place to practice ballet?"
Minevera blinked. "Do you have a teacher, Miss Granger?"
A quick head shake.
"Come with me." Minevera was off. Miss Granger tagged alongside her, and failed to keep the look of muted horror off of her face when she found herself at Minevera's office door.
"I am trusting you with this password, Miss Granger. Do not betray my trust. Vera Gall."
And Minevera opened her office door.
Revealing a ballet studio, complete with a wall of mirrors and thee walls of barres. Minevera smiled at the awed look she received.
"Who was Vera Gall?" Hermione asked later, as she examined the changing room.
"A famous ballerina of the wizarding world. She was a part of the Pheonix Troupe, lead ballerina and minor talent scout. But that was a long time ago."
Minevera did not tell her that Vera Gall was the stage version of Minevera McGonagall. There was no need to dwell on ancient times. After all, the Pheonix Troupe had crumbled nigh on forty years ago.
Miss Granger exited the changing rooms, already outfitted in black tights, a pair of matching pointe shoes in hand. Minevera's eyebrows scrunched. It was quite unusual - in both the muggle and magical worlds - for an aspiring ballerina to wear black. The to-be-cavalier, the boy, was usually to wear black. Maybe she came from a backwards studio?
As the girl slipped her shoes on, she murmured, "You knew her, didn't you?"
Minevera thinly veiled her shock. "That I did. Very well, Miss Granger. Very well indeed. How did you guess?"
The girl shrugged and finished the tying of her right pointe. "Your eyes. Will there be someone to mentor me?"
"Ask the mirrors."
Harry was surprised when he didn't see Hermione at dinner. Lily had gone off to look for her, leaving James to wander through the halls listlessly until his son finished with his dinner or his wife found Hermione. Spotting Minnie's office, James thought it'd be nice to check in on what his favorite ex-Head was doing, and thus floated through the door. Only to find the object of his wife's search performing pirouette after pirouette.
"Hermione?" he couldn't help but squeak.
The girl in question fell out of her pirouette. "Er... Mr. Potter's Ghost, sir..."
James' nose wrinkled. "James'll work, Hermione. You're doing ballet."
She shot him a 'No Really?' look. "Yes."
"I thought you were a muggleborn."
"I am."
"But... How do you know how to do ballet - even the simple stuff? As far as I knew, only wizading children had to practice. Do muggle ones usually have to do so?"
"... No. My aunt - Aunt Beatrice - put me in when I was little. She insisted that I get my head out of my books and make some friends... But she kinda forgot about my perfectionist qualities, and they really came to life when I was learning."
At this point, the mirror butted in. "She's a right obsessive gal, that one. She's been in here all day, buildin' her stamina. Askin' me the entire time about how well she been doin', too."
Hermione ducked her head and blushed a bit. "Well, I haven't really done much more than keep up my ability to stand on pointe since I came to Hogwarts - Aunt Bea had commented on it - so I'm only a little above worthless. I'm trying to make her... memory... proud."
"You're not worthless."
"Thanks. Why did you ask? Well, other than the reason you already gave?"
"Purebloods are usually forced to do ballet - y'know, it gives grace, poise, a sense of dignity, blah, blah, bla-blah - until they go to school. Then it's quite rare to find a student that continues. I know that Sirius dropped it first thing when we got to school... Why am I telling you this?"
"You wanted to? I'm the only one who can hear?" She shrugged. "Pick one."
James looked pensive. "Guess I did." He paused, stroking an invisible beard. "Harry has a surprise for you. Oh, and its dinner time."
Her eyes got wide. "Dinner?" She cast a simple freshening charm on herself. James noted that this was a fourth year spell.
"Yep. You can just wear your wrap and sweater. No one will notice."
In seconds, James was left in an empty ballet studio, a half open shoebox and a pair of sneakers for company. He chuckled to himself a bit, remembering past experiences with tardiness.
Surprised would have been a kind way of describing Draco as he watched Mimi skid into the Great Hall not ten minutes before dinner was scheduled to close. On top of that, she was wearing a skirt he recognized as a cover for ballet tights, a matching sweater, black pointe shoes, a pink patch on each cheek, and her hair quite mussed. What was this?
No one else looked up from their meal but a second year 'Puff - Cedric Diggory. Wasn't he related to Draco somehow? No matter.
Draco carefully assessed what emotions crossed the other boy's face. He saw shock, the most blatant thing, but under the surface was a mix of awe and appraise. Diggory's eyes followed Mimi as she skittered to Potter's side and ate through a rather size-able plate of food.
At one point, he saw Mimi throw a glance and a wink in his direction before returning to her vegetables. Soon after, she stood. "Off to the library. See you Harry. Ronald."
He got the hint. Wiping some nonexistent roll off his lips, he subtly excused himself and left for the library.
Steeling himself up to ask if she did indeed dance was about all he was focused on - until Diggory came into view. He seemed to have the same destination, which irked Draco... Until he remembered that tiny space no one would bother to find.
He nearly giggled (but rest assured that it was a manly giggle) when he saw Diggory give up and exit.
Oh, my fabulous readers, I have been despicable to you. I'd run out of ideas a while back, and just starting neglecting ya'll. *gets down on knees, attracting odd stares from other bus riders* PLEASE FORGIVE ME!
Now, let me explain the reason behind my ballet addition. By creating ballet as a 'Wizards Only' kind of staple, James and Hermione will have a bridge between them that I couldn't have included before. I'm thinking of having James do a kind of Phantom of the Opera (minus the whole 'falling in love with his pupil') thing - orchestrating and giving support to Hermione's career. And helping her fend off the boys in a myriad of ways when they come.
After all, Lily and Hermione will be able to relate in the next couple of chapters over the finding of Flamel. Great minds, y'know? I want her to get to know James, so she'll trust his word when PoA - and Sirius - comes around.
Additionally, in (approx.) fourth year, I'm gonna have an interesting thing that'll tighten - and maybe flare up - Hermione and Harry's friendship/relationship, while simultaneously revealing Snape's good traits and Draco's... Loopy-ness. Along with bringing in the ever loved Luna Lovegood.
Once more, I'm so sorry. I promise an update will happen within the next ten days - probably less. I have half of the next chappie already written, and school is so slow I can usually average two completely filled pages of my mini-writing per day. The bottleneck occurs only when I get home - I'm allowed only an hour and a half to type up four hours worth of work. It's not exactly easy, so the weekends (when I receive three hours) are when your updates are more likely to come.
One last note:
I LOVE YOU ALL! THANK YOU FOR STICKIN' WITH ME!
PS: Kyna, I've been just as horrible to you. I'm sending over Surfing ASAP. Luffs and stuffs.
