If a person were to enter the girl's dormitory of Gryffindor, they would find a room with a spiral staircase leading up to it. To the left side of the room when having your back facing the stairs, there was a bed, laid with scarlet sheets of cotton and silk. On top of the covers, legs hanging over the bed's edge, was none other than a girl of sixteen named Hermione Granger.

Hermione hadn't heard the footsteps on the stairs, but a voice followed the footsteps, and then a boy of sixteen.

"Little Hermy let her mind wander."

Hermione knew she had heard that voice before. That was a voice of a tenor, manly and soft. It sounded more mature, more masculine, than when Hermione last heard it. Despite only hearing the voice this morning, it now had more effect on her.

Forgetting the rose in her hands, Hermione turned her face toward the voice of the man, and smiled broadly.

"Little Hermy thought," he continued. "'Am I fonder of books, or of goblins, or maroon sweaters?"

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed quietly.

"Or of riddles or cloaks?" he quoted.

"Those picnics in the attic?" she commented softly. Oh, how the memories of Ronald and herself came back to her.

As a little girl, Hermione would sit on her knees, smiling with Ronald. They would pretend to be a married couple out for a Sunday picnic in the park. All the while, they were in the cold, haunted attic where the ghosts kept. They were never frightened, of course, since they had each other to keep company.

"Or of chocolate frogs?" Ronald spoke suddenly, beginning to smile. He began to walk over to her, kneeling by the four poster where the girl sat.

And it became all too familiar.

The distinct smell of cinnamon filling her lungs…That, she recalled, was the scent of Ronald de Weasley.

Suddenly without warning at that very moment, as quickly as they came, the memories left Hermione's head, filling them with new thoughts. Thoughts of her Angel and her encounter only hours before. His spirit filling her soul as she sang, his soft voice calling her name, the black ribbon and the rose…

But wait, she thought to herself. I've told Ronald about the Angel of Magic, didn't I? So, he therefor might remember it.

"Sirius playing the violin…" she hinted.

"-As we told each other dark stories of Voldemort." The boy recalled, unknowing to what Hermione was trying to suggest. So, she spoke bluntly.

"'No, what I love best,' Hermy said, 'is when I'm asleep in my bed…" She paused for a split second to find Ronald's reaction, for she sang "And the Angel of Magic sings songs in my head.

"The Angel of Magic sings songs in my head." They repeated the song together. So, he remembered and recalled the story of the Angel of Magic.

Placing her hands into his, he breathed a sigh. "You are the one who sang like an angel tonight." He gave a warm smile and locked eyes with hers.

She bowed her head and laughed softly. Was Monsieur de Weasley flirting with her? His gestures and his words did show a large amount of favor toward her. Perhaps all the feelings kept inside for almost ten years were starting to flow uncontrollably. Might have he been showing his true feelings at last?

Pushing the thoughts of flirtation from her mind, Hermione responded, "Sirius said: 'When I'm not with you, Hermione, I will send the protection of the Angel of Magic to you.' Well, Sirius is dead, Ron, and I have been visited by the Angel of Magic."

Interrupting her last words, Ronald joshed, "Oh, yeah. Seriously no doubt about it.

"And now we'll go down to the Great Hall for the feast." He ended, gliding away from her bed and over to the spiral staircase. He had ended the conversation, but Hermione hadn't. She wanted to – she had to – make Ronald understand her Angel. He was here protecting her and it wasn't some joke, as he might have thought.

"No, Ron. The Angel of Magic is really strict." She confirmed.

Ronald, still joking and in disbelief, chuckled and said, "Well, don't worry. I won't keep you there too late."

"Ron, no-"

He scoffed and confirmed, "You got to change out of that dress and into your robes. I'll be waiting in the common room. Just two minutes, Little Hermy." And with that, he walked out of the room and down the spiral staircase quickly.

Hermione pleaded, getting up from her bed. "No, Ron, wait!" But it was too late. The door of the room closed, and he had left her.

Hermione Granger, the girl of sixteen, was left in the dormitory to await her Angel of Magic.

---

Throughout the halls of Hogwarts, stillness and silence ran through them. The crowd of fans had given up on trying to catch a glimpse of their new star, and were now in the Great Hall. All students and teachers were at the feast, merrily enjoying the world around them. All but one student.

Hermoine had now changed into her school uniform. The uniform was a gray knee length skirt, white stockings to the knee, and a formal white collard shirt. Hermione, however, was now buttoning up her shirt, slightly revealing her womanly bosom, but still very modestly.

Standing up as she rolled up the sleeves of the collard shirt to her elbows, she felt a cold draft entering. She raised her head curiously at this; her eyes searched the room.

Suddenly, a cold voice whispered "Nox!" and the candles of the common room died all at once. Hermione peered sideways at the dying candles, for they were now all but wisps of smoke and ash. This made her more and more frightened by the minute. She knew she had to get out of the room and away from the presence.

She quickly paced toward the spiral staircase in which led to the door of the dormitory. As her stockings touched the first stair, the voice, chilling as ice, entered the dark dormitory, now not so distant.

"That insolent boy, this slave of fashion – he basks in your glory!"

Hermoine stopped dead in her tracks, standing silently. She began to breathe harshly. Her breaths quickened at every word the voice spoke.

"He's an ignorant fool, this brave young suitor, and shares in my triumph!"

Her arms prickled. Her throat tightened. Her voice grew hoarse, yet she gathered the courage to speak back to the voice, for she knew whom it was.

"Angel, I hear you, and I listen. My soul was weak, I know. Oh, please enter at last, master."

Not a moment later, it spoke again. "Flattering girl, don't worry, because you will know me. I hide in shadow, but look in this mirror. I'm there inside!"

Hermione's eyes turned to the mirror by the window, as the voice commanded her to do. To her extreme surprise, a silhouette appeared inside it. It was distant at first, foggy and dark, but it began to came into focus.

A head of a boy at the age of seventeen appeared in front of her. He had appealing messy hair of jet black. From what she could see, he wore an École Hogwarts vest of gray, striped scarlet and gold tie, and a black cloak. Oddly, a pure white mask covered the entire right side of his face, in which Hermione didn't know why.

But what was the most curious thing about him were his eyes. They were a piercing green, hard as lighting, but soft as candlelight. They were so somniferous, hypnotic, drawing Hermione in.

The world around her became distant. It was as if she was no longer in the girls dormitory or even at École Hogwarts at all.

Lost in his eyes, she began to walk toward the mirror in which he stood, his hand extended toward her.

"I am your Angel of Magic," he whispered. "Come to me, Angel of Magic."

Outside in the common room, Ronald had heard a voice. A voice of a male.. Worried, he tried to open the door leading to the stairs, but it was locked. It's never locked…

"Whose is that voice? Who is that in there?" he called to Hermione.

But Hermione heard none of this as she walked toward the mirror. With each step, the boy's voice became more and more hypnotic. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. She was lost in the boys eyes, his voice, his words.

"I am your Angel of Magic. Come to me Angel of Magic."

Without realization in what she was doing, Hermione stepped up to the mirror and walked through it, coming toward him.

His green eyes bore into hers as he extended his gloved hand toward her. His mouth was formed into an arcane smile as he beckoned her toward him.

Hermione, eyes connected with her Angel of Magic's, reached her palm out to him hesitantly toward him. Within a moment, the Angel clasped his hand into Hermione's in a cold, yet soothing, warm touch, and they began to walk down the path behind her mirror.

X

Gosh, sorry it took so long to post. It feels like it's been so long! I couldn't come up with any ideas for what the Phantom should look like. Does he have glasses or a mask? A cloak or a cape? A rouge vest or gray? He is probably the character I have had most problems with, but, as you can tell, I eventually figured it out.

Oh! Oh! Did you notice "hard as lightning, soft as candlelight" thing? The hardcore phantom phans know what I'm talking about. : ) Just thought I'd add that in there…

Yumi