It had all been going well, very well. That is until 260 pounds of teenage boys jumped onto Hermione's bed. She had been lost in thought about an experimental potion she wanted to brew for her advanced potions course with Professor Snape, when Harry and Ron burst into her room and started tickling her. Not very fun. She finally pried them off my and demanded to know how they'd gotten into the rooms, and why they came in the first place.

            "Don't be such a spoilsport, "Mione. We only came to invite you out to some dinner." Ron whined, "Honestly, we didn't think you'd mind us coming in. You come into our room all the time."

            "You're not a Head Girl, Ron." She chided.

            "Don't be a snot." Harry stuck his tongue out. "Tell you what, you come out with us, and we'll tell you how we managed to get in here."

            Ever since Dumbledore had decided that 7th years ought be allowed to go out to dinner at town whenever they wanted, provided (of course) that they returned at a decent hour, Harry and Ron had been pressuring Hermione to go out with them. Usually she politely declined because, let's face it, hanging around two sacks of hormones during dinner time exceeds the bounds of friendship. Tonight, however, there was something different about their request, it was almost as if they wanted to show her something…as if they had some sort of surprise for her. Oh well, she wasn't making any headway with the damn potion anyway.

Hogsmeade looked like a picture out of a storybook at dusk. Children were running about catching fireflies in glass jars, or playing jump rope. Men sat in groups on the side walks, smoking and talking about their day. Occasionally they would yell at one of the children to be careful, but other than that, they would talk, flick their cigarettes and watch the smoke curl into the sky. Women stood on their verandas airing out linens and exchanging pleasantries. The smells of good, hearty, home cooked dinners combined to form an almost visible cloud of mouth-watering aromas. Had the men's smoke not been bright purple, Hermione would have sworn she was back home, her mother would be smiling on one of the balconies and her father would be lecturing the men on the perils of tobacco. She was so nostalgic the she almost turned to say something to Ron when they arrived at the inn which was, apparently, their destination.

"Oi! Here we are. This, Hermione, is your final destination." Harry said. The inn was an unimposing brick apartment building, much like the rest of the buildings on the street. It had flowerbeds in the windows, and green shutters. Sticking out from next to the top left hand corner of the door was a carved wooden placard reading "The Enchanted Rose." Through the windows, Hermione could see warm lights and many cheery people. She could smell fresh bread baking, and she could hear the good-natured ribbing of the patrons.

            "Come on, slowpoke. You'll not want to miss this, we've been planning it for weeks!" Harry and Ron bustled her in. The inside of the inn was just as beautiful as the outside. Everything from the little books on the shelves, to the rugs on the floor was perfectly designed to make a guest feel welcome. There were so many spells of harmony in the living room, Hermione was not surprised to hear a faint but comforting music surround her. The witch who had cast them was very good. All the spells of protection and welcome, as well as those keeping away danger were embedded in or as decorative objects.

            "One minute, 'Mione, this will only take a second."

"How many times do I have to ask you not to call me 'Mione, Harry?"

"Whatever," Harry pulled out his wand, pointed it at Hermione and muttered, "Caeco Tempore" Suddenly, everything went dark for Hermione. When she could see again, she realized that Harry and Ron had led her to a table with only one other person sitting there and left her.

 "What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, rather stupidly.