That January at Hogwarts was unusually mild; no new snow fell to cover the remnants of December's blizzard. The students were grateful for this, as it made walking to the greenhouses and Herbology class much easier and more comfortable than in past years.

In the first class of the term, Professor Sprout informed the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs that they would be tending hemlock. Harry, Ron, and Hermione glanced at each other quizzically.

"Erm, Professor?" Hermione asked, raising her hand. "Isn't hemlock used exclusively for poisons?"

"Yes, Miss Granger," Professor Sprout answered, handing each table of students its own bunch of plants. "Professor Snape wants to poison the fourth-years again."

Harry was taken aback for a moment. Then he remembered last year's Potions lessons on antidotes.

"I'll wager none of you has forgotten how to brew an antidote, eh?" She raised her eyebrows and looked around the room as the students nodded knowingly.

Harry had thankfully missed the Potions lesson last year in which Snape had tried to poison a student--if Harry hadn't been called out of class to have his photograph taken with the other Triwizard Tournament champions, he was certain that Snape would have tried to poison him. As he and Ron inspected and repotted a hemlock plant, Harry realized that he had never heard who had been poisoned.

"Ron," he whispered. "Who did Snape poison last year?"

Ron gave him a puzzled look. "You were there."

"No, I wasn't. Remember? I had to have my picture taken for the Tournament. Hermione wasn't there either, she was having her teeth fixed. And you and I weren't ... er ... speaking then."

Beneath his freckles, Ron's face reddened. "Oh, right. Well, I guess with you and Hermione gone, it was just a question of who Snape hates most, wasn't it? I suppose the contest was between me and Neville." He grinned. "Lucky for Neville, I won."

"He poisoned you?"

"Yeah." Ron tried to suppress a chuckle. "You should've seen the look on the slimy bat's face when I took my antidote and nothing happened."

Harry smiled. He could just imagine Snape's look of malicious triumph as he had handed Ron the poison, and his sneer of angry disappointment when Ron's antidote had worked.

"I guess we've found another thing you're good at."

Ron snorted derisively. "Yeah, Potions. And I'm in such good company, too. Me and the Slytherins."

But the more Harry thought about it, the more he realized that Ron had become quite good at Potions--at least as good as Hermione. The three of them had just been too busy trying to avoid Malfoy's whining accusations and Snape's hateful glare to notice.

"No, seriously, Ron. Remember the Shrinking Potion in third year?"

Ron scowled as he packed potting soil around the roots of the last hemlock plant, a particularly large one. "Yeah. Snape gave Neville's potion to Trevor, and he turned into a tadpole. What about it?"

"You prepared most of the ingredients for Malfoy's Shrinking Potion- do you remember how it turned out?"

Ron stared off through the transparent greenhouse wall, concentrating. "Pretty well, I guess. Better than mine, since he got all my best daisy roots, the sniveling b--"

"Alright, chaps," Professor Sprout called. "By now you should have finished repotting your plants. I'll come round and collect them again. You may as well get your things together, there's not much time left before the end of class."

At that moment, the bell boomed from the castle. Harry, Ron, and the rest of the class collected their things and left the greenhouse for lunch.

***

"I hope you all had a restful holiday, because you're going to be working like Nifflers from now on."

The Gryffindor fifth-years had assembled in the Great Hall for their first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson of the term. They felt more like they were outside, though, with the ceiling glowing a stunning shade of sapphire, and the sun's likeness beginning to sink from its apex in the exact center of the blue expanse. Although the weather outside was nice for January, it was still too cold to allow them to resume their lessons on the Quidditch pitch. So they had assembled here in the Great Hall, with its tables and chairs cleared away against the walls, and a Cushioning Charm placed on the floor--mostly, everyone thought, for Neville's benefit.

At least, they thought so until Professor Green continued speaking.

"I know you've all been anxious to begin sparring," she said as she eyed each one of them in turn, "but I wanted to make sure you had a proper foundation in the martial arts first. Now, I think you're ready."

A frenzy of murmurs broke out among the students. Ron looked excitedly at Harry. "You're going down, Potter," he whispered, grinning madly.

Only Neville seemed the least bit apprehensive. He smiled at the other students nervously, as though pre-emptively asking for mercy. Professor Green began moving among the students, pairing them off.

"Right, then: Neville and Ron, Lavender and Parvati, Seamus and Dean, Harry and Hermione. Fighting stances, everyone."

Disappointed, Ron left Harry and faced Neville. Hermione and Harry squared off, hands raised, feet apart, just as they had been taught the previous term. She looked determined: not the least bit worried, but intent and focused. Harry noticed that Neville's apprehension seemed to have eased now that he was paired with Ron; apparently, he expected Ron to go easy on him. Ron, however, had developed anxieties of his own.

"I'm worried about what he might accidentally do to me--or to himself!" he whispered to Harry as Neville looked eagerly to Professor Green, awaiting her instructions. Harry shrugged and chuckled.

"It won't be so bad," he whispered back. "What's the worst he could do?"

Ron frowned fiercely and opened his mouth to reply. Unfortunately, Professor Green chose that exact moment to address him.

"Ron, pay attention!" she called. "Your posture's completely off. You're supposed to stand with your feet apart, like this--yes, that's right." Professor Green backed away from Ron and surveyed the Gryffindors.

From behind him, Harry heard Dean Thomas say, very solemnly: "I know Kung Fu."

The entire class dissolved in giggles.

"This is not a joke," Professor Green barked, staring at them sternly. The laughter promptly ceased. "Now, Harry, Parvati, Ron, and Dean," she called out, pointing to each student as she spoke his or her name, "you will be the aggressors. When I signal, you will approach your opponents and attempt to trip them." Ron shot a final, pleading look at Hermione and Harry, then gave up and turned exasperatedly to Neville. Professor Green took another look around the room, and said, "Let's see what you remember from last term."

With that, she pulled the silver whistle out of her pocket and blew it. The shrill note echoed through off the stone walls and floor, and the aggressors lurched forward. Harry wasted no time, quickly closing the distance between himself and Hermione. He placed his right foot behind hers, and attempted to push her backward.

But Hermione was ready for him. Just as soon as Harry had planted his foot behind her, she stretched out her right arm and swiftly placed him in a headlock, knocking him off-balance. He teetered in front of her for a split second, then landed flat on the stone floor.

Harry was stunned. He remembered how easily he had beaten Malfoy. He had presumed that defeating Hermione would be just as easy--but he had presumed too much.

Professor Green knelt near Harry's head, smiling wrily. "Not as easy as you thought, eh? Not everyone's as ... slow to learn as Malfoy is. Here," she held out her hand to help him up, "try again."

He did. He and Hermione spent the next hour trying to trip each other, and Harry quickly learned to anticipate her moves. By the end of the class period, Hermione had spent a considerable amount of time on the floor. Longer, in fact, than Harry had.

A short distance away, Ron and Neville were taking turns knocking each other onto the floor and, by all appearances, enjoying themselves immensely. Nearby, Seamus was standing over a prone Dean Thomas, smiling triumphantly. Parvati and Lavender both appeared quite disheveled and unhappy--somehow they had both ended up on the floor simultaneously.

"Good work today," Professor Green told them all just before class ended. She clasped her hands together and looked around with an expression of approval. "Remember what you've learned. In a few more weeks, it'll really get interesting."

Ten minutes later, the entire class was making its way up the stone staircase, panting, covered in sweat, and in desperate need of a bath.

"I let him throw me a few times," Ron whispered to Harry. He eyed Neville, several steps ahead of them on the landing, and safely out of earshot. "I figured it would be more fun that way."

Hermione looked back disapprovingly. "Ron, you shouldn't do that! How will he ever learn if you just let him win?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Trust me, Hermione, he wouldn't learn anything sitting in the hospital wing with a broken arm."

Hermione sighed indignantly, but she had to concede the point.

"Hermione, you surprised me," Harry said, and meant it. "That headlock was brilliant."

"Oh, that." She grinned. "Thanks. But after the first ten minutes, you had my number. I'm going to have to learn to think more quickly if I'm going to have any hope of beating you next class."

"Hopefully you won't get the chance," Ron put in. "I want to fight Harry next class. Hermione, you fight Neville. It'd give you the chance to make him learn something."

Over the next few days, Harry found that Angelina was as good as her word. She had spoken with Professor Green and secured permission for both Harry and Ron to run with the seventh-years on Thursdays and train with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team on Friday nights.

Harry rather enjoyed running with the seventh-years, who gave him more competition than his fellow fifth-years had. In the first run of the term, he was a little surprised to find himself finishing third, behind a very tall Ravenclaw boy and Bernard, one of the Gryffindors who had tried out for Keeper with Ginny.

Ron, on the other hand, didn't enjoy the run at all.

"I'm freezing--how cold is it out here, anyway? And those goons nearly ran me over," he panted as they headed up to the Great Hall, pointing discreetly at a trio of Slytherins. Harry just smiled and shook his head.

The seventh-years entered the Hall and took seats at the Slytherin table, just as the fifth-years did every Friday night. And, just like the fifth-years, the Slytherins sat at one end of the table, while everyone else sat at the other. Apparently Draco Malfoy didn't have to be present in order for malevolent looks to pass between the Slytherins and members of the other Houses. If anything, the tensions among the seventh-years were worse than in Harry's and Ron's year.

"Don't pay any attention to them," Lee Jordan said over dessert. He had noticed Harry's sidelong glances toward the Slytherin end of the table. "They're just jealous because they know we're going to win the Quidditch Cup this year."

A few seats away, Angelina snorted into her custard. "Lee, did you watch our last match? Or was your mouth just running while your brain was on holiday, as usual?" Everyone who heard her comment laughed, including Harry and Ron.

Lee smiled at her. "No need for such bitter mockery, m'dear. I have a good feeling about this season, that's all." He reached down to the floor and began fiddling with something Harry couldn't see. Harry stared at Lee curiously, until he pulled up what appeared to be a regular Muggle guitar. "Just for that, I am going to sing you a song, Angelina."

Angelina looked at him with mock horror. "Oh, no! Anything but that! I take it back."

"Too late!" With that, Lee began strumming and ad-libbing a very silly song:

I know a girl named Angelina.
She's captain of the Quidditch team-a.
Her feet are big, her hair is green-a,
And she's not nice but very mean-a.

She goes out with a boy named Fred.
He's short and stout, his hair is red.
He took her by the hand and said--

At this point, Professor Green very wisely cut in.

"Oh, Lee, is that it?" From her spot at the head of the table, she reached for Lee's guitar. Reluctantly, he gave up his song and handed the guitar over the heads of several wary Hufflepuffs.

"Yeah, my dad gave it to me for Christmas." He smiled proudly.

Professor Green strummed a few chords, then held the guitar at arm's length, admiring it. "Gorgeous. You'll be playing this one at the dance, then?"

"Yeah."

Harry and Ron cast wary glances at each other. "Dance?" Ron asked tentatively, as though he were afraid that a terrible fear was about to be confirmed.

"Oh, yes," Professor Green answered, handing the guitar back to Lee as the Hufflepuffs dodged and ducked apprehensively. "A Valentine's Day dance. It was my idea, I thought it might help to ... ease some of the tensions that have developed between the Houses this year." She glanced quickly at the Slytherins, who were just standing up to leave. "Professor Dumbledore is going to announce it any day."

Ron sighed heavily. Harry had developed a knot in his stomach and suddenly lost all interest in his blackberry pie. Neither one of them had forgotten the social disaster that had been the previous year's Yule Ball. They had managed to come out of the experience alive, but not before Harry had humiliated himself in front of Cho Chang, and Ron and Hermione had exchanged several unfriendly words at an elevated volume.

Later, they walked through the corridors toward the Gryffindor common room, lost in thought.

"If I don't ask Hermione this year, I don't reckon I'll ever hear the end of it," Ron muttered. Harry suppressed the urge to laugh.

"If you don't want to ask her, don't ask her."

"Right. Well, you know ... I guess I might as well. It would be better than not going at all. I mean, why not? Right?" Ron was making an extravagant effort to sound offhand, which just intensified Harry's urge to laugh.

"You'll go, won't you?" They had reached the portrait hole, and Ron had turned to face Harry.

"Me?"

"Come on, Harry! Please? It would be so much more fun with you there. It could be the four of us--you can ask Cho!"

"Right," Harry answered sarcastically.

"No, really, I bet she'd go with you this year, since--"

Ron stopped himself, but they both knew what he was going to say next. Since Cedric's not here to ask her. Harry winced involuntarily. Ron quickly changed the subject.

"But she likes you, doesn't she? I mean, hasn't she always been nice to you?"

Harry thought about this for a moment. Ron had a point; Cho had always been kind to him, even when most of the school believed he had illegally entered himself into the Triwizard Tournament. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he wouldn't mind going to a Valentine's dance with Cho.

This time it was his turn to try to sound casual. "Okay, I guess I can try to ask her. I mean, might as well. Whatever."

***

"Our next match is with Hufflepuff," Angelina remarked as the Gryffindor Quidditch team sat in the locker room before practice the following night. "Now, they're not likely to try Slytherin's roughhouse tactics, but we've got to have a defensive strategy to counter it, just in case. Harry, you're Plan A. If you can get the Snitch before the other team has a chance to score many goals with the Quaffle, no amount of bullying can save them."

Angelina wasn't as long-winded as Oliver Wood, but she was close. Harry didn't mean to tune her out, but at the moment he was far more interested in putting together a strategy for asking Cho to the dance.

Just as Professor Green had promised, Dumbledore had announced the dance to the students that morning at breakfast. The girls had looked around excitedly, while the boys--especially the younger ones--had simply shrugged or shot each other puzzled glances, clearly not understanding what all the fuss was about.

Hermione had listened to the announcement with interest, but said nothing to either Harry or Ron about it.

"Cat's out of the bag now. We'd better say something soon," Ron had whispered confidentially. Harry had nodded. But remembering how it had felt to ask and be rejected last year certainly dampened his determination.

"Harry, are you listening?" Angelina hissed angrily.

"Uh, yeah." Harry snapped out of his reverie. "You were talking about our defensive strategy."

Fred, George, and Ron snickered, while Alicia and Katie rolled their eyes. Ginny restrained a chuckle.

"Actually, I was talking about our offensive strategy. Never mind, I'll show you. Everyone get your brooms and come on." With that, they all filed out of the locker room and onto the field.

Two hours later, the team trudged wordlessly up the steps to Gryffindor Tower. Angelina had worked them all unusually hard that night--even Ron, a reserve--and they were utterly exhausted. As they passed through the common room, they didn't see any of the fifth-years who, Harry figured, must still be eating a late dinner. He and Ron parted with the rest of the team and climbed the staircase to their dormitory, where they mumbled their goodnights and fell into bed. Too bad, Harry thought as he drifted off to sleep. He was sure that Ron had been hoping to ask Hermione to the dance that night, just to get it out of the way.

***

Author's Note: Okay, apparently free time doesn't always accompany unemployment. Nevertheless, here is the next chapter! My undying thanks to all reviewers. Oh, and I forgot to thank SiriaBlack from the UHPMS site for giving me Professor Thorne's name, and w1zzard for giving me the whole idea of the scroll. What generous individuals.

I gather that the "Hogwarts dance" is considered something of a fanfic cliche. Bummer. For the record, I conceived of this storyline not having read any such fanfics. I hope you don't find it too tedious.

Of course, this entire world belongs to the prodigiously talented and ultimately inimitable J. K. Rowling.