Disclaimer: JK Rowling and assorted publishers own Harry Potter.

This is a work of fanfiction: no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.


Chapter 54

The weather wasn't playing.

The last Hogsmeade weekend of the year, the last chance to buy Christmas presents, and generally stock up on things, and it was raining.

Correction. It wasn't raining. It was pouring. Sheets of rain were hammering into the ground, the paths about Hogwarts crossed with miniature streams, deceptively deep puddles and the persistent drum as the rain hit stone and glass and ground and tile.

Drawing her cloak tighter, Hermione stood on the school steps, watching the procession of umbrellas file miserably towards the gates, vainly hoping that it would ease off. She'd already cast an Impervio on the cloak, and she'd charmed the umbrella to always maintain the optimum angle against the rain, but there was still the whole 'going out in the dreary December rain' thing to get over.

There was also the small matter that this would be the first time she'd visited Hogsmeade without Harry or Ron. Ron would be wrinkling his nose at the rain, and would only be cajoled into braving the elements with elaborate descriptions of warm butterbeers and exotic-flavours of Sugar Quill. Harry would plough on regardless, not even bothering to consider being put off by mere weather (she still remembered the Quidditch match in the third year, all the players looking like drowned rats).

Dean, Ginny, Seamus and Lavender were a little way down the path now, Dean having charmed the two immense umbrellas (Gryffindor colours, naturally) to spin constantly. Parvati, surprisingly, wasn't with them; probably gone in with her sister, then, mused Hermione, beginning to think that a walk through the rain would be a lot less unpleasant if she had some company of her own.

As students continued to file past, Hermione wondered if anyone would notice if she slipped past the statue of the one-eyed witch, and took the tunnel in instead. After all, it wasn't as if anyone would know...

"Hermione..."

"...sweetheart..."

"What?" asked Hermione warily, but sharply, as Fred and George materialised at her elbows. She was pretty certain it was Fred holding the umbrella, whilst George was peering into the gloom with evident distaste.

The one she thought was Fred affected mortal hurt at Hermione's tone, "D'ya hear that, brother? Did you hear the suspicion?"

"The insinuation?" enquired George (probably).

"The very allegation in that tone of voice," agreed the first Twin, "oh Hermione, may the perils of being but poor misunderstood..."

"...and innocent," chimed the second.

"Yes, yes," agreed the first, "poor, misunderstood and innocent er, um..."

"...artistes..." supplied his brother, helpfully.

"Yes, that's right, that's right... may such perils never be visited upon one so lovely as your kind self."

"What do you want?" asked Hermione, eyes narrowing. Flattery, it was said, got you anywhere. Flattery from the Twins, however, tended to be a direct prelude to trouble.

"Ah," said George (she was pretty certain it was George - he was always the slightly more reserved one... relatively speaking), "well, dearest Hermione, we have a, erm..."

"...a plan," supplied Fred.

"A plan, indeed. As it happens, a most excellent..."

"...inventive..."

"...original..."

"Get on with it," commanded Hermione, tersely, although she was quite enjoying the return of the Twins' prankster selves.

"Never, never, ever rush a Weasley," cautioned Fred, warningly.

George made a coughing noise that sounded remarkably like 'Angelina', and Hermione cheered up noticeably at the sight of Fred's ears going pink as she raised her eyebrows enquiringly.

"Most sweet Hermione," explained George, seemingly oblivious to the scowls being sent his way by his twin, "we have a new Wheeze..."

"...a really, really good Wheeze..."

"I sense a 'but' somewhere," observed Hermione, astutely, wondering if she was about to be dragged into something she would regret at a later date.

"Well," hedged Fred, shuffling slightly, "not exactly a 'but', as such..."

"More... more a sort of a... small... bijoux... problemette," extemporised George flapping his hand in a circular motion as he tried to come up with a phrase appropriately trifling to convey the tiny size of the favour they were about to request.

Hermione waited, patiently, having decided that if they were going to ask for her help, then they'd better go through the full 'walking-across-hot-coals' and 'Hermione-we-are-forever-in-your-debt' routines first.

"You see," stated Fred, determining that the time for blunt speaking was upon them, "the thing is that, McGonagall..."

"...for some strange, deluded reason..."

"Yeah, McGonagall has started to keep tabs on our Hogsmeade trips..."

"Paranoid," observed George, pityingly, shaking his head at how the mighty had fallen.

"Obviously," continued Fred, "we have to go to Zonkos..."

"...and buy most of it."

"But we need some, er..."

"...components..."

"...ingredients, yes, ingredients, for the new Wheeze, and, well, it would be..."

"...advantageous..."

"...not to mention instrumental in prolonging our very attendance at this hallowed institution..."

"...if we were to acquire said ingredients, er, discreetly..."

"If, for example," observed George, in a wholly hypothetical manner, "perhaps a third party were to procure them on our behalf?"

"Of course," mused Fred, thoughtfully, "it would need to be someone of... impeachable character..."

"...and excellent academic standing..."

"...not to mention, of course, brave..."

"...daring..."

"...intelligent..."

"Keep going," supplied Hermione, helpfully.

Fred narrowed his eyes, "You drive a hard bargain, sis."

Hermione blinked. Sister? Unlike Harry, Hermione did of course have a family of her own, albeit one without siblings. Yet much like Harry, she sort of viewed herself as an extension of the Weasleys... quite how Molly Weasley could have seven children and still welcome more into the fold was mind boggling, but completely heart-warming. Few places on the planet tasted as much of home as The Burrow.

Won over, Hermione handed her umbrella to George, and linked her arms with the Twins' respective free ones. "You both understand, of course, that I had nothing to do with this, don't you?" she asserted, as the trio stepped out from the protective arch of the school entrance, and followed the slow crocodile of umbrellas towards Hogsmeade.


Sweeney's was slightly different from the usual shops in Hogsmeade, and although Hermione, Ron and Harry had often passed the top end of the street (named, for some undoubtedly obscure reason, The Rack) on their way to the far end of the village, they had never actually had cause to wander down.

The Rack was a quiet street, off the High Street, and near the edge of the village. It was something of a surprise that there were any shops at all, but Fred's whispered instructions had been precise, and Hermione found herself standing outside a small shop, with darkened, square paned windows, and a grimy, dust-covered door that was almost entirely hidden in the shadow of the porch.

The door creaked open (somehow, she'd known it would), and a dry rattle of wooden chimes announced to the owner that a customer had entered. Looking up, Hermione realised that the chimes were actually made of bone, and shivered slightly. Whoever had made the chime had obviously chosen bones that looked just like human ribs, she noted, with a growing sense of unease.

The three walls of the shop (the other wall to the room comprising the window and the door) were lined with shelves, which, in turn were crammed full of boxes and jars and storage pots and books and plants and a whole host of other things not immediately identifiable. Much of the place was covered in a reasonably thick layer of dust - shelf life clearly wasn't an issue dear to the owner's heart, she deduced.

"Oh hello, dear," cried a gentle, elderly voice, and Hermione's attention was drawn to the proprietor, who'd entered via a small doorway in the back wall, behind the counter.

The shop was so dark, unkempt and vaguely sinister, that Hermione had been expecting someone more, well, Slytherin than the short, round-faced old witch who greeted her now, smiling kindly. "Now," she enquired, "what can I get for you?"

Wilfully forcing her eyebrows to maintain their normal altitude, Hermione started to work through the somewhat extensive list the Twins had imparted upon her: "Ah, well, have you got any Moroccan Yarrow Root? Red or green, doesn't matter..."

"Moroccan Yarrow?" enquired the witch, as she flicked her wand at the wall nearest the door, and a terracotta storage pot came floating through the air, bringing with it its own cloud of dust and cobwebs, "Well let's see... it's been a while since anyone's asked me for that..."

As Hermione continued working her way through the ingredient list, it was starting to become something of a challenge to find an item that Sweeney's didn't stock. "Um," she enquired, lightly, having completed the Twins' shopping, "I don't suppose you have any summoning chalk, do you?"

"My, we are on something of a mission today, aren't we, dear? Would that be calcite or silver based? The calcite's the one for basic communication, but you need the silver for transference."

Hermione tried to act as though the distinction wasn't news to her, "Oh, well some of both, actually - if you've got it, that is."

After a brief rummage through a large wooden box that had been hidden underneath the counter, two small, cloth wrapped bundles were added to the small stockpile of ingredients, and Hermione was starting to wonder how she was going to get everything back to Gryffindor Tower without arousing suspicion.

Still, whilst the iron was hot; "Um, also, I need some Filament Candles... er, seven, actually..."

Hermione didn't really believe in Destiny, but, on the other hand, when the various items she needed were practically being thrust into her hands, it was hard not to feel that she was going to be successful...


The Three Broomsticks was busy, the air tinged with the thick taste of wet cloaks and the tavern's warmth. Hermione caught sight of Cho, seated with her fellow sixth-years, next to an ominously large pile of Gladrags' carrier bags; clearly, the Ravenclaws were going to do the Ball thing properly this year.

Moving deeper into the building, Hermione eventually found the quartet of Dean, Lavender, Seamus and Ginny, occupying one of the booths at the back wall. Juggling the two bags of supplies into a more comfortable position, Hermione headed towards the space Ginny was making for her.

"...no way, Dean. Don't. Even. Think. About. It," warned Ginny, sternly, who then looked imploringly at Lavender, "They can't can they?"

"Absolutely not," confirmed Lavender, fixing Dean with a piercing glare, unmoved by the wizard's wide-eyed expression of complete innocence.

Hermione flicked her eyes between the four faces, "Um, what did I miss?"

"Dean," explained Ginny, gratingly, "has just asked my brothers for some more Exploding Hair..."

"Oh, the pink hair thing?" asked Hermione, bemused.

"They thought it would be amusing," continued Ginny, glaring at Seamus (Hermione noticed that Lavender and Ginny had chosen to direct their ire towards their opposite Wolf, as it were), "to go to the Ball with pink hair."

"We would have shared it," offered Dean, in a futile attempt at placating Ginny.

"Dean," urged Seamus. "Earth to Dean: when in hole, stop digging." Evidently desperate to change the subject, his eyes alighted upon Hermione's shopping, "Sweeney's, Hermione? What were you over there for?"

"Oh, this?" queried Hermione, trying not to sound flustered, "Oh, well, just a few bits and pieces, for the project, you know..." She neglected to say which project the 'the' referred to; after all, it was hardly her fault if they leapt to the wrong conclusion, was it?

Dean frowned. "I thought Padma was in charge of getting that stuff together," he mused, and then shrugged. "Oh well - have we got everything?"

Choosing to ignore the first half of Dean's contribution (which was a far safer option than lying and saying that Padma had asked her to pick the things up), Hermione answered as evasively as she possibly could, "Well, pretty much... there are still things we need, but Neville should be able to get us the Herbology stuff, and... hey, where is Neville, anyway?"

Lavender and Ginny exchanged a look, "Er, he said he was going to walk in with you," replied Lavender, "didn't he meet you at the school entrance?"

"Oh no," said Hermione, recalling with a sinking feeling that ever since agreeing to accompany him to the ball, Neville had become quite... attached to her during the past week. "I must've missed him; I walked in with the Twins... Oh, you don't think... he wouldn't still be waiting for me, would he?" As Hermione asked this question, she also noted that she was in grave danger of playing gooseberry to the two couples; an escape route was presenting itself to her, complete with opportunity to stash the Sweeney's shopping discreetly before the others got back.

"Oh, he's a big boy," assured Lavender, "I'm sure he'll have worked out that he must have missed you by now..."

"Well..." observed Hermione, dubiously, "you know how he is... I'd better go back, to see if he's OK... as a friend!" she asserted, with what she hoped was something that could be mistaken for unconvincing denial, at Lavender's 'oooh'.

Much better, Hermione reasoned, to let them think that than allow them to start wondering exactly what exactly she had bought that morning. Besides, it was barely eleven - if Neville was there, she could drag him back out to Hogsmeade in time for lunch anyway. "I'll see you later," she promised, as she gathered the various bags together once more, and headed for the door.

Having a reputation for being slightly manic did have its uses.


The following Tuesday night saw the Away Team once again congregating in the South West Tower. With Padma and Cho involved in the Portkey and Portal research, and no Harry present to drive things along, the meetings seemed to have less of a purpose these days. They all knew what they had to do, after all.

Some good news had been relayed earlier by Professor Dumbledore, who'd explained that Cornelius Fudge had relented to allow Harry visits at Blackrock. No more than two visits per week, and all visitors had to go through the goblins' security procedures, but still, at least it was something.

They agreed that Hermione would arrange to visit him on the coming Saturday, and thereafter they'd work out some kind of rota to make sure that he wasn't left alone for too long. Prison would be bad enough. Prison and solitary confinement would be worse. But prison, for life, in solitary, blind and only fifteen years old was almost beyond comprehension.

They all knew Harry was strong - but Hermione's assertion that the rumours of Harry's treatment by the Dursleys didn't relay the half of it didn't lessen the whole Team's belief that he would need all the support he could get from them. They were the Away Team - that they would do everything they could to help him was a given, and Hermione derived no small amount of pride from that knowledge.

The Portkey business was going slowly, Padma explained - although they had a reasonable supply of the basic components (Hermione heaved a sigh of relief at this, as it then tied with the story she'd spun at The Three Broomsticks at the weekend), attempts to construct a Portkey primed to the Astronomy Tower had not gone well.

Padma held up a piece of shattered, charred masonry, "You see, if you don't get the timing and the ratios exactly right, it just sort of explodes..."

"Well hey, flambé!" noted Dean, quietly impressed.

Padma ignored him, "Still, we're getting closer, I think, and once we've got a Portkey working, I'm of a mind to say we should go for it with Hermione's carving."

Hermione tried not to wince at the Ravenclaw's... unfortunate phraseology.

"Wouldn't it make sense to break the carving into several pieces, so we're not restricted to one chance?" suggested Seamus. "No offence, mind," he added, towards Padma, lest she think he was belittling her abilities.

"And not too much taken," returned Padma, sweetly, "but no; the greater the presence of the destination in the Portkey, the more likely you are to be able to construct it. So our best chance is with using the carving as a whole... Hermione, you said you'd bring it tonight?"

"Well, um, yes... but if we're not ready to run with it just yet," hedged Hermione, wishing that she could somehow skip the inevitability of the reaction she was about to provoke.

"C'mon, let's see it," urged Parvati, "I mean, I can't believe you didn't tell us about it at the start of term!"

Hermione knew that Parvati would believe soon enough, as she delved into her bag to fish out Viktor's carving, finally presenting it to the group. "It's an example of traditional Bulgarian folk-art," she asserted, eyes blazing defiantly at anyone who might dare to suggest otherwise.

Jaws dropped collectively in the half-light, stunned disbelief evident in the eyes of all around her, as if saying 'is that really...?'

Lavender was first to recover, letting out a scandalised shriek; "Hermione!" she gasped, "That's... that's rude!"

To Lavender's left, Parvati raised her eyebrows enquiringly, indicating that she suspected there was a great deal more to the story behind the carving than Hermione had divulged to date, and promising further interrogation to come, once they'd returned to the safety of their dorm.

Seamus was obviously struggling to find breath, open-mouthed in incredulity, and looking desperately as though he was going to say something... just as soon as he regained his power of speech.

"It's culture," persisted Hermione, doggedly. "Art," she added through gritted teeth, surveying the rest of the Away Team, just daring them to mock (poor Neville appeared to be in severe shock).

Ginny, eyes sparkling with mischief, corrected her, "No, no, that's... that... that 'thing', it's... it's obscene," before succumbing to a wicked giggling fit. It was Hermione's considered opinion that Ginny's eyes appeared far more knowing than any self-respecting fourteen-year old's ought to be in the matter.

At least Cho was being marginally sympathetic, "Oh Hermione, I'd have died," she confessed, trying, unsuccessfully to contain her laughter.

Absently, Hermione passed the carving across to Padma, who had held out her hand to request further inspection; after all, Padma was in charge of the Portkeys, and she was a Ravenclaw. It was nice to have at least a couple of mature people to hand. Her thoughts were cut short by a scandalised shriek from Padma, however, and she realised that her Ravenclaw counterpart had probably just discovered that...

"It moves!" exclaimed Padma, conflicting expressions of surprise, wicked delight and scandal crossing her face, as she demonstrated Viktor's handiwork's animation.

This was the news that finished Seamus off, who now collapsed completely into Lavender, tears streaming down his face as he beat his fists against his legs, trying to control himself, "You... thing... Viktor," he wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. "Classic..." he managed, before further speech was rendered impossible by continued fits of hysterics.

Dean was faring little better, "Wh... wh... where the smeg di... no, no, what the... how?" Words, for once, had clearly failed him, and he and Ginny clutched each other as they convulsed silently in delirious mirth.

Hermione trained a practised, withering glare upon them, her lips tightened into a razor thin line, but to no avail. The dark suspicion that the whole thing had been an elaborate practical joke at her expense was starting to grow once more.


Hermione glared at her recalcitrant hair in the mirror, hoping that Parvati would eventually sense her distress and offer to help, rather than she be forced to admit that she didn't actually know any hairdressing charms.

Parvati and Lavender were sifting through accessories at the other mirror, Lavender vetoing anything silver (which was unfortunate, since she really wasn't keen on gold). Both girls had similar cuts of robe, a little more daring than Hermione's, but she'd never really been that interested in clothes. Things like saving the world always seemed to get in the way.

Hmphing once more into the mirror, and gathering her rebellious hair up in a very loose bunch, Hermione flicked her eyes hopefully to Parvati's reflection.

"Oh, Hermione," called Parvati, "would you like me to do your hair for you? There were some really good charms in October's Charmed Life..."

Finally. "Oh, are you sure?" asked Hermione, sounding as though she didn't want to impose, "I mean, I wouldn't want to be any trouble, but..." she took her hands away from her head, and the bushy hair once more fell back into its customary frizziness. She could have drowned it all in Sleekeazy, but she'd learnt than the Sleekeazy factory used, not employed, but used, exploited even, House-Elves in production, and she'd vowed never to touch their stuff again.

Which was, of course, all very well, but it did rather leave her in a fix for the Yule Ball.

"Here," commanded Parvati, who'd materialised behind her, wand clenched between her teeth, as she gathered her hair up, "now, what did you want? We could put it up," she mused, "or how about a French plait?"

Hermione almost forgot to voice opinions on the various styles Parvati was suggesting, as she watched her friend's fingers flick about her head, mystifyingly taming her hair with ease. Of course, she reminded herself, Parvati had probably grown up with her sister's hair to experiment on (just as slick, black and obedient as Parvati's own), and then, at Hogwarts, she and Lavender had always been swapping style tips.

But then, they didn't have hair that looked as though it had been grafted from a Cabbage Patch Doll.

At some point, and she was never quite sure when, Lavender and Parvati had taken control of Hermione's transformation completely, and she resigned herself to being a passenger along for the ride... and loathe though she was to admit it, they were actually doing a rather good job.

Even if it did sound a little bit like being in theatre: "Lippy," requested Lavender, "mascara..."


"It's eight already!" fretted Hermione. "It's started... and Neville'll think I'm not coming..."

"Don't move," commanded Parvati, as she continued sticking alarmingly long pins into Hermione's hair, tiny ivory ribbons flickering from their heads.

"It's good for them to wait," advised Lavender, knowingly, her hair sparkling with the non-precious metal glitter she'd sprinkled through it. Hermione had never seen anyone actually wear blue lipstick before, but Lavender managed to carry it off, somehow.

Parvati frowned at Hermione's reflection, "Not bad... not bad at all. Lavender?"

"Oh, definitely," concurred the third fifth-year, "although... well, Hermione, the watch has to go... maybe a bracelet, Parvati?"

Desperate not to be any later than she already was, Hermione complied instantly to the other girls' suggestions, and, finally, five minutes late, the trio exited the dorm, and descended the staircase down to the common room.

It was alright for boys - all they had to do was wear black robes, and that was it. Sorted. No-one complained if they wore the same thing two years running (well, except Ron, who'd managed to complain about his attire from the start, but, she remembered, he'd had just cause, even without the lace frills).

Neville and Seamus were waiting for them, Seamus a resigned, look upon his face, although he did seem genuinely pleased to see Lavender. Neville looked as though he'd just been put through triple detention in Potions, and Hermione immediately felt terrible for making him wait... Parvati and Lavender were mean at times.

"No Dean?" asked Hermione, as they filed through the portrait hole.

"Ginny was on time," observed Seamus, in a tone that stopped fractionally short of accusatory, "and they decided not to wait for us..."

"Oh, but we didn't make you wait for long, did we?" asked Lavender, linking her arm with Seamus, as Parvati took his other arm (since her date wasn't a Gryffindor, Seamus, noble soul that he was, had risen to the daunting task of escort).

Seamus, clearly, was in forgiving mood, "No, no, not at all... and you look fantastic. You don't scrub up too badly, either, Parvati..." he added, with a straight face, but earning himself a sharp jab in the ribs for his troubles.

Neville had hesitantly offered his own arm to Hermione, which she'd taken with equal trepidation. Not that she didn't like Neville, of course, but he wouldn't have been her first choice. Not that he'd have asked her, anyway.

She wondered, slightly troubled, where that thought had come from.


Reaching the double doors that led to the Great Hall, Parvati disengaged her arm from Seamus', and was immediately wrapped up in the arms of her date. All Hermione knew about him was that his name was Joshua, and he was a sixth-year.

So she noted with idle curiosity that he was tall (taller than Ron, even), with spiky black hair and piercing blue eyes... in fact, she mused, if you were the type, he was quite handsome, and was a little surprised that she hadn't noticed him before. But then, she didn't know the Hufflepuff sixths that well - as opposed to the Ravenclaws, who'd formed their own study group, commandeering one of the big tables in the library ever since Hermione had first attended Hogwarts.

"Not bad for a Slytherin," observed Lavender, appraisingly.

Hermione was aghast, "Parvati's date's a Slytherin?" she asked, incredulously, "But... but... but we're Gryffindors."

"I think Parvati's put house issues to one side for the night," confided Lavender in whispered tones, as her best friend wrapped her arms around Joshua's neck in the somewhat over-intimate welcoming hug.

"Well," observed Hermione, somewhat haughtily. Honestly, she'd expected better of Parvati, she really had, she reflected, as they made their way through the doors, and into the Great Hall itself.

The usual Christmas decorations had been supplemented by scores of charmed points of light that bobbed and weaved between the floating candles, almost like self-propelled fairy lights, glowing fluffily in soft pastel colours. Above their heads, the ceiling displayed the stormy heavens, torrential rain lashing down, yet never actually falling on the students below.

The five house tables had of course been swept away, and a small stage had replaced the staff's high table, where a band was running through a series of warm-up tunes as the students milled about, drinks in hand, trying to find a table.

They located Dean and Ginny, who'd commandeered a table with Padma and her date, Terry Boot. Where Parvati had worn striking red, Padma was wearing an ivory and turquoise combination that, inevitably, looked equally stunning... it was somewhat mystifying to note, then, that Terry seemed to have his eyes fixed on the opposite side of the room, oblivious to the sharp glances sent his way every five seconds from Padma.

Hermione followed Terry's line of sight, as she squeezed in next to Ginny, "Who's that with Colin?" she asked, the Founder of the Hogwarts Chapter of the Official Harry Potter Fan Club holding his camera in one hand, and the hand of a very pretty blonde in the other.

"Oh, that's Lilia," explained Ginny, "Hufflepuff - my year... honestly, he's supposed to be a Gryffindor... you wouldn't believe how much cajoling it took to get him to actually ask her..."

"Oh, trust me," contradicted Hermione, "I would." As Colin and Lilia headed for a table, Hermione watched Terry's eyes follow their progress across the Hall - so much for Ravenclaw subtlety.

Continuing to scan the Hall (people watching was much more fun when everyone was dressed up), Hermione noted that Parvati and Joshua were seated with a group of predominantly sixth-year Slytherins, although, frankly, the way those two were behaving, Hermione strongly suspected they could have been seated with a table of Flobberworms for all the notice they'd have taken.

And then there was Draco, other side of the Hall (of course), with Crabbe and Goyle in attendance; they were seated with three fourth-year girls, presumably Slytherins judging by the green and silver theme running through their collective attire, one noticeably prettier than the other two.

Just as she was trying to place Draco's date's name, he looked across the Hall, directly at her, and, instinctively she averted her eyes. Damn.


"Well," invited Dean, as he stood up and extended his hand to Ginny, "shall we?"

The dancing proper had begun two numbers ago, and although the majority of students had taken to the floor, the Away Team hadn't yet taken the plunge. At Dean and Ginny's lead, however, Seamus and Lavender also rose, leaving Hermione with Neville, Padma and Terry.

Neville rose, managing to knock the table, but, fortunately, not severely enough to spill any of the drinks, "Um, Hermione? Would you?" he asked.

"Certainly," she confirmed, looking pointedly at Terry as she rose, in the hope that he might take the hint and ask Padma to dance. Unfortunately, however, Terry's eyes continued to be locked firmly on Colin and Lilia, so drastic action was called for; "Terry, Padma - you two joining us?" she enquired forcibly.

"Wha?" asked Terry, startled, and turning to face Hermione, evidently having only belatedly picked up that she'd been talking to him.

"Dance, Terry... Neville and I are joining the others, and we were wondering whether you two would be joining us?"

"Oh, well, er..." stammered Terry, as his eyes once more flitted past Hermione.

"Thanks Hermione," interrupted Padma, warmly, before her tone turned icy, "but we'll sit this one out. You two enjoy yourselves."

This was all completely lost on Terry, however, and Hermione sent Padma an apologetic shrug; if last year was anything to go by, it wouldn't take her long to find someone who would pay her some attention. Still, if Gred and Forge needed a 'volunteer' to test whatever Wheeze it was they were developing, Hermione now knew just the bloke.


An extra year had done nothing to improve Neville's dancing skills (nor had it done anything to restrain Fred and Angelina's unique brand of hyperactive frenzy), and Hermione struggled to keep her face wince-free as the music progressed.

It wasn't just that Neville's feet were large - it was the supreme confidence with which they landed in the wrong place that was the killer. Focus, Hermione, she admonished herself, asphodel, yarrow root... As long as she kept her eyes on the prize, she knew she'd make it through the evening in one piece.

Or mostly in one piece apart from her toes, anyway.

"Hey Neville, Hermione," called Fred, "you up for another square dance like last year?"

Hermione would have protested, but Neville had leapt in with both feet (she couldn't help the metaphor - for some reason it had just sprung to mind), agreeing enthusiastically. Remembering that she needed him, Hermione conjured an agreeable smile from somewhere, and waited for further instruction, as Fred and Angelina set about the dance floor, corralling further victims into their scheme.


"Two words," confessed Dean, as he welcomed Hermione as his latest partner in Fred's mystifyingly complex choreography, "completely lost."

Hermione knew what he meant - Angelina and Fred obviously both knew what they wanted to achieve with the dance; it would have been helpful, if, perhaps, the two had been pursuing a shared vision, but instead it was left to the rest of them to follow first Fred calling "OK, swap partners two to your left", and then Angelina shouting, "Opposites!" and everyone staggering about the floor, trying to keep up and keep time.

And to make matters worse, the two would-be-choreographers seemed intent on outdoing each other in terms of who could call the most flamboyant move: "And spin your partner clockwise!" cried Fred eagerly, literally picking Ginny up and spinning on his heels.

"Let's just say we did, OK?" suggested Hermione, nervously, as she tried to envision the carnage that would ensue if they were all to follow Fred's lead.

"Inconceivable!" cried Dean, as he scooped Hermione off her feet, and span round once.

Deep in her heart Hermione just knew it: the floor would be knee deep in body parts if Fred and Angelina weren't stopped soon.

As luck would have it, the band struck a long, closing chord to bring the number to a close, and everyone set about trying to find their original partner.

"OK, could you all line up in a big circle, ladies on the inside, facing anti-clockwise?" prompted the bandleader, "Make two circles, one inside the other if there's not enough room... c'mon, plenty of space up at this end..."

Hermione had intended to sit the next dance out, but Neville had already steered her into position in the circle, and so she resigned herself to at least seeing this one through, and then giving her feet a break.

The band struck up a moderate waltz-type number, and the two circles slowly started moving around the room.

"Right, ladies stay where you are," commanded the band-leader, as the chorus died, "and fellas move forward three places, and greet your new partner..."

As Neville headed off to accost Lisa Turpin, Hermione found herself being partnered by Lee, who, it just so happened, was an excellent dancer, all natural rhythm and fluid, graceful steps.

Hermione was actually starting to enjoy the dance, with a new partner to lead her every verse. And then, on the fifth verse, she found herself looking into the eyes of one Draco Malfoy.


"Granger," nodded Draco, as he took hold of his new partner, his face an absolutely unreadable mask.

"Draco," returned Hermione, slightly narked that he still called her by surname, "how's your evening been, then?"

"Tolerable," opined Draco, non-committally, "yours? Longbottom not pulverised your feet completely yet?"

Normally she would have leapt to Neville's defence, but, well, Draco did have a point there, "Oh, fine... really good. Good, yes..." asserted Hermione, somewhat less than convincingly.

The music had come to a close, with Draco as her final partner, before the band launched into another, slowish waltz, starting so quickly that no-one had had a chance to disengage from their partner.

Draco was quite a dancer, she had to confess. He was no Lee, mind, but he still knew how to lead, and how to hold, and he could keep time. And he didn't step on your toes every five seconds...

Actually, thought Hermione, he seemed to be holding her an awful lot closer than she remembered starting off, in fact, she was close enough to rest her head against his shoulder now. Just for a little bit, anyway.

"It's a bit warm in here, isn't it?" he asked.

With anyone else, she'd have known it was just a corny line, a barely disguised invitation to slip out of the Great Hall for a quiet moment or two of togetherness, but... well anyway, he was right. It was hot in the Hall, and what with all the throwing herself around at Fred and Angelina's behest, it would be quite nice to sneak off somewhere a little cooler, just for a...

"Malfoy!" cried Dean, in wholly fake cameraderie, "D'ya mind if I take Hermione for the rest of the dance?"

Hermione saw the flash of anger in Draco's eyes, even as he politely ceded to Dean muscling in on his partner. It was almost flattering, she mused, to think that Draco would resent Dean preventing him from dancing with a Mudblood.

"Be my guest," invited Draco, in a voice that somehow sounded cordial yet cold, before he stalked off to rejoin Crabbe and Goyle at their table.

"Sorry it took me so long," apologised Dean, "you OK? He didn't say, or do anything did he?"

Over Dean's shoulder, Hermione saw Ginny lock eyes with her whilst dancing with George (on the dance floor, no-one could ever confuse the Twins), and immediately deduced that Dean had been sent to 'rescue' her from the evil clutches of a Malfoy by his girlfriend.

"No, no," sighed Hermione, secretly wishing that Ginny hadn't taken it upon herself to be her protector, "he was fine."

"Well, if you're sure," returned Dean, dubiously, "but, well, you know what a git he is... we were worried he was up to something. You know, the way he has that smirk..."

Smirk? Hermione didn't have the heart to tell Dean he'd got Draco all wrong that evening, and deep down, it was nice to know that she had friends looking out for her.


It was as they made their way towards Gryffindor Tower that it suddenly struck Hermione, "Hey, did anyone see Cho tonight?"