Hermione isn't vain. She knows that she will never turn heads the way the Patil twins do, never have hair the same thrilling shade of red as Ginny, never move with the same grace Angelina does. But as she looks herself over in the mirror, she is satisfied. The ordinary, everyday girl is gone. In her place stands an elegant lady any Disney prince would be proud to escort. Her hair is slicked up with more Sleekeazy's than is probably healthy, but the style shows off her elegant neck. Her shoulders are straight and bare, her posture not yet ruined by the twenty pounds of books she drags around with her each day. She is showing more skin than she ever has before, is amazed at the sheer quantity of pale flesh the dress robes leave exposed, though she knows they're conservative when compared to what some of the girls are wearing. She readjusts the bodice again, jumping when she sticks herself with a pin. She had to take the top in a bit, and she's not a skilled seamstress either magically or with needle and tread. Pins in strategic places will have to suffice. She's lost weight since the Triwizard Tournament began, and all the sugar quills and chocolate frogs Ron sneaks into her bookbag can't made up for the fact that she sometimes skips meals or is too nervous to eat. She was amazed when Viktor asked her to the ball; she still can't believe he'd choose her over all the prettier, less bossy girls available, and it heartens her to know that some boys want more than a pretty face. She was, however, sad that it was not Ron who had had asked her. She's enough of a realist to know that a new hairstyle and a fancy dress won't make Ron see her as anything more than bossy old Hermione, but a small part of her can't help but hope that for this one night, she can leave the ordinary behind and be the belle of the ball. That some small measure of magic having nothing to do with spells and wands will settle upon her in a light fall of sparkly pixie dust. That Ron will notice she's a girl; that he'll notice her noticing him. With one last pat of her hair, one last look in the mirror, which says, "Very nice, dear," in an approving tone, Hermione heads down to the ball. Heads turn as she moves through the corridors, and she smiles. Tomorrow, she will be ordinary again. Tonight, she is beautiful.

It was the day after the Yule Ball at Hogwarts and Hermione was determined to do it. She was going to ask Ron out. She went down to the common room and found him doing homework with Harry. "Ron, can I have a word?" "What is it Hermione?" said Harry. "Nothing that would concern you, come on Ron," Ron followed Hermione into the hall. She led him down to the library, into a section that did not have any people. "What are we doing here?" Ron asked. "I just, I just." said Hermione "I just wanted you to ask you if.." "If what?" "If you would... if you would help me with something?" "Me, help you?" said Ron, "With what?" "Well, your brother Charlie deals with dragons, right?" "Yes?" answered Ron. "I want to do some testing on some different dragon scales, for research," Hermione said, thinking that Ron thought it was a normal question from her. "O.K.," Ron replied, "But you know that you don't have to ask me for permission to write him and ask for yourself," "I know, but I thought it would be proper if I asked if it was allright," "Well, sure, it's O.K., I'll write him for you the first chance I get," he said. "Thanks, Ron," "'Welcome."