Title: All Grown Up (first in a series)

Author: Nora marchingflute05@yahoo.com

Subject:





It was the kind of bittersweet feeling you get when something wonderful ends, thought Harry Potter as he entered the lavish Ballroom at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And now, at last, after years of preparation and training, he would finally be ordained a wizard.

That was later. First, now, he would partake, as his classmates would, in a fun-filled and entirely non-academic celebration-- the Graduation Ball. Everywhere he looked he saw his peers dressed in formal tuxedoes and shimmering ballgowns. It was interesting to see them so when for so long he'd known them only as faces atop black student's robes. He caught sight of his friend Ron Weasley's flaming red hair and made his way towards him. "Ron!" he called.

"This damned suit," Ron grumbled. "the shirt and pants are George's and the coat's Frank's. And NONE of it fits."

Harry laughed, smoothing his own perfectly cut tux and the dark hair brushed to cover his scar. "Ah, Ron. You look fine." He looked around. "Is Hermione even HERE?"

"Knowing her, she's probably off in the library studying for finals tomorrow," Ron said.

"Ah, yes, our little superstudent, Hermione. She's going to be valedictorian, you know."

"Of course. 'Ow could she be anything else?" Suddenly Ron's eyes widened at something behind Harry's back. "'Oly cats, 'Arry, look!"

Harry turned around, expecting he knew not what. Any number of things could pop up behind you at Hogwarts. But he was totally and completely certain that what stood before him had never before been seen here or anywhere.

Hermione. Her unkempt, frizzy honey-brown hair was smoothly swept back into a glossy twist of curls. Her dark eyes shone as they always did but with excitement, not the customary mischievousness. Her form, usually hidden in her black students' robe, was sheathed impressively in an emerald green form-fitting satin gown that showed off the curves no one knew she had. Had she not spoken, Harry would have thought that this was not Hermione at all, but some beautiful secret twin.

"Stop staring at me," she ordered with her usual imperial tone. "What's the big deal? It's just me. Hermione. I'm no different than I was an hour ago."

"W-wow, 'Ermione," Ron said and gulped. "You look like--like a girl!"

"She is a girl, batbrain," Harry said, not taking his eyes off Hermione. "A beautiful girl," he added under his breath. Hermione looked at him and smiled like she'd heard.

"You two look...nice," she said, looking them over. "George, or Frank?" she asked Ron.

"Both," the younger brother groaned. Hermione laughed and turned to Harry.

"My, my," she said. "Harry Potter. Whatever am I going to do with you, looking like that?"

"Dance with me, I hope," he said, not realizing he spoke aloud. She raised her eyebrows.

"You'll have to ask my...escort about that, I'm afraid. He should be along soon."

Escort? Harry and Ron looked at each other in bewilderment. Just then a familiar and none too well-liked form appeared at Hermione's elbow.

"Ah, there you are. Here, I've fetched us some punch."

"Thank you." Hermione said, taking the glass. "Harry, Ron, may I present my date. I believe you know Draco Malfoy."

I believe you know Draco Malfoy? What in the world was going on here?

Harry and Ron each took one of Hermione's bare arms, calling 'excuse us,' over their shoulders as they pulled her to a quiet corner of the Ballroom. "Hermione, what the hell is going on here?" Harry hissed.

"Yeah," Ron added. "You 'ate Draco Malfoy just as much as we do. Since our first year!"

Hermione surveyed each of them coolly. "People can mature. And grow up. At least," pulling away from them, "some people."

Harry and Ron stared after Hermione's disappearing back. "Why, she's serious!" an astonished Ron exclaimed. Harry nodded grimly. "Does that mean she's not going to 'ang about with us anymore?"

Harry shook his head. He thought about going after her-- he was about to--- but then he caught sight of her face over Malfoy's shoulder, her eyes gazing straight at him. She nodded her head sideways--outside? Yes. And up-- the clock. Her slender hand resting on Malfoy's arm curled up into a sign of four fingers. Outside in a quarter of an hour. It was an old signal, one they'd used before. But never for anything like this.

Never before, anything like this.