"You arranged a date for Harry?" Hermione asked incredulously.

Ginny Weasley was sitting across from her on Hermione's bed, thumbing through one of Lavender's copies of Witch Weekly as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Well, not exactly," Ginny said. "I arranged a meeting for Harry. Luna and I are meeting up to study Transfiguration together in the library later, and then you, Neville and Harry are just going to happen to be studying there too, so Harry can meet Luna and see if he thinks she's all right. Neville and I worked it all out."

Hermione was shocked. She wasn't sure if it was because Ginny Weasley, who had had the biggest crush on Harry Potter from the time she had first heard the story of the boy who lived, was now setting up dates for him with other girls, or because a plan had to be hatched and she somehow wasn't involved.

"But you like Harry."

"Well, he doesn't exactly like me back, does he?" Ginny said grumpily.

Hermione sighed. She'd been telling Ginny for months that if she could just find a way to be less nervous around Harry, he'd actually have a chance to get to know her.

"Besides," Ginny said, "I already said I'd go with Neville. What was I supposed to do, leave him flat and ask Harry to take me? Neville would hate me—and rightly so."

In addition to hurting Neville, that would also just serve to make Harry even more standoffish with Ginny, Hermione thought, as she rearranged the books in her bag.

Ginny fingered the page of a glossy, glittering ad, and shrugged. "So I told him about Luna."

Hermione didn't know anything about Luna Lovegood except that she was a third-year Ravenclaw who was in Ginny's Transfiguration class—and that some people called her Loony Lovegood. But Hermione didn't put much stock in gossip.

"This way," Ginny said, a little angrily, "he can't say that I'm some stupid fan girl who sends him nonsense poems and follows him around just because he's famous. I helped him get a date—that's not what mental people do."

Hermione eyed Ginny carefully. Clearly, she had missed something important last night at dinner.

"I'll ask Viktor to stay clear of the library today," Hermione said, grabbing up a piece of parchment to write on.

"Why?"

"Well, Harry's nervous enough as it is. And Viktor tends to attract a crowd," Hermione explained.

She finished up her note to Viktor, and Ginny grinned impishly. "So we're at the point of writing love notes to Viktor then?"

Hermione laughed. "Yes, love notes to help my best friend—how romantic."

But when she glanced up and saw her Yule Ball dress hanging in the closet, her stomach did a little flip.

It was the most frivolous, fanciful thought that relentlessly logical Hermione Granger had ever had—but she was excited to go to the ball. She had wanted to go with someone as excited about the ball as she was, with someone who wanted to go with her. And while she had no idea if she even liked Viktor in that way—honestly, they'd just met—this feeling she had, this anticipation and hope for a night filled with music and fairy lights and, most of all, dancing was positively thrilling.

Practicing with Harry had been the only time she'd ever danced with someone her own age—every other time was just with her mum or dad in the living room—and while she had always loved dancing, she found that it was a completely different experience when your partner wasn't a relative.

Harry's hand had been warm on her waist, and she'd felt different somehow: taller, more grown up, like she'd been on the precipice of something—adulthood, she supposed.

It had also felt exciting, discovering someone she knew so well in a completely different way. When it came to physical activities, Harry had always seemed so confident—flying on a broomstick or a hippogriff, perfectly arcing a dungbomb into a cauldron so she could steal ingredients during Potions, the way he never hesitated before he dueled in class. But when they were dancing, he was tentative, sweet, unsure—like it was something they were learning together.

She had no idea what dancing with Viktor would be like, but she was eager to experiment, to see if it was always the same with blokes her own age, or if every person was different.

Ginny followed Hermione's gaze to her dress and grinned.

"I can't wait to see the look on my brother's face when he sees you in that with Viktor Krum," she said gleefully. "Did you know he made fun of me for going with Neville? Said no one would want to be caught dead going with him."

Hermione felt a flare of anger in Neville's defense. "At least Neville had the guts to actually ask out a girl," Hermione retorted. "Two, even."

Ginny nodded, and then her eyes fell on Hermione's dress robes again.

"I don't suppose you were able to do something with my dress robes?" she asked.

"Sort of," Hermione said tentatively, heading for her closet.

Ginny had written to Mrs. Weasley as soon as Neville asked her to the Yule Ball, and Mrs. Weasley had sent Ginny's dress robes—the one's she wore to her Aunt Muriel's birthday gala the year before. Ginny had found Hermione, completely panicked, because she'd grown a bit this past year, and while it was one thing to have dress robes that were a little short, it was quite another to wear dress robes that no longer fit your chest.

"I managed to make them your size, I think," Hermione told her, taking the dress out. Considering all of the times she'd tried shrinking Harry's clothes, she'd had plenty of practice with size alteration spells. "But I couldn't do anything about the color."

The robes were pink—a lovely color on some girls, but it was the exact wrong shade of pink for Ginny's hair color and complexion. Hermione had tried every spell she could think of to no avail; then Parvati had told her that a lot of designers put no-dye enchantments on their garments—and Parvati knew about such things.

Ginny took the robes from her, holding them to her body as she looked in the mirror. She gave Hermione a grateful smile. "Thanks for trying—at least I have a dress to wear now."

She turned back to the mirror and sighed. "I never should have let mum buy this awful color."

"You're going to look fantastic," Hermione tried to assure her, forcing a smile. Pink really wasn't Ginny's color.

"Hermione!"

Hermione had barely made it through the portrait hole when she saw Harry sitting in the armchair facing it, book in hand, apparently waiting for her. She'd just returned from the Owlery, having sent her note to Viktor.

"What's up?" she asked.

"It's Mermish," he grinned, standing up as she walked toward him.

"What's Mermish—you mean the egg?"

He nodded and she beamed, feeling instantly lighter. If Harry figured out the egg's language, they were one step closer to surviving the second task.

"How do you know?"

He stuck out his hand and gave her his book. She turned to the dog-eared page—she was so excited she ignored that particular desecration of a book—and read the paragraph Harry pointed to, as he read over her shoulder.

If he had been expecting a smile and a compliment from her, he was sorely mistaken. As Hermione read the words—it's not unlike that of the merpeople, which is known for sounding like the screeching howls of a mortally wounded animal—she felt elation rising in her. They were one step closer and Harry was one step safer, and she was so happy and relieved to have a new clue to figure out, and so proud of him for buckling down and doing the work that she turned and threw herself into his arms.

Whether he had been expecting a reaction like this or it was just his quick reflexes, Harry caught her and only had to take one step back to avoid toppling onto the armchair from the force of her excitement.

"Harry, this is really great!" she enthused.

This was, quite possibly, the best Christmas gift he could have given her. She'd been so afraid he'd leave the egg to the last minute, so afraid they'd have another nerve-wracking weekend like the one before the first task, but he'd done it.

"Er, thanks," he said, as she disentangled her arms from his neck. He looked a bit embarrassed, his cheeks flushing red, but also a bit proud.

"We'll have to start researching right away," she said, beginning to pace in front of him. "We should go to the library—there's an entire section on merpeople, and I'm sure we can find something useful about how to decipher Mermish. Oh, but doesn't Professor Dumbledore speak it? I could swear he does, he speaks a whole list of languages, and I believe that's one of them. I read about it in Modern Magical Mysteries—there was a bit part about it when talking about his discovery of the 12 uses of dragon's blood. But I don't suppose he would help out, would he? He's really not supposed to—neither am I for that matter, but it would be quite different for a headmaster to get involved than another student. Though I'm sure Karkaroff and Madame Maxime are helping their champions. Still, I don't know that Dumbledore would break the rules, so we probably should just go to the library."

She looked at Harry expectantly, but Harry looked amused.

"We are going to the library," he said. "To meet Ginny and Luna. And we should probably save the Triwizard stuff for when they're not around."

Hermione didn't like that at all. Now that they had another clue, she felt reinvigorated by the search.

"I'm perfectly capable of multitasking, Harry," Hermione said. "They won't even realize what I'm researching."

She made a face, doing her best impression of other students mocking her: "There goes Hermione, doing her essays two terms in advance."

Harry was about to respond, but was interrupted when an owl tapped on the window near the fireplace. Harry ran over and opened it. He ripped open his letter, while Hermione retrieved a treat for the owl from Harry's bag.

"Is that from Sirius?" she asked. Harry had received a response from Lupin last week about Rita Skeeter's article, assuring Harry that Lupin didn't blame him for anything and that he didn't have a clue how Skeeter had heard Seamus, but Lupin had told Professor Dumbledore so he could be on alert. Sirius was the only other person Harry wrote to.

Harry nodded, reading. "He was going to suggest a conjunctivitis curse for the first task—"

"That's what Krum did!"

"But he said my way was better," Harry finished, blushing a little, a proud smile on his face as he added, "He was impressed."

"Well, of course he was, Harry, it was very impressive. Does he say anything else?"

"Just that whoever put my name in the cup probably isn't feeling too happy right now, but that I've got to stay on guard and stay out of trouble."

Hermione nodded. "That last bit is probably good advice," she commented, glancing at her watch. "Come on. We'd better find Neville and get to the library."

Luna Lovegood was not what she expected. Ginny Weasley was sitting at a table with a girl with a dreamy disposition and straggly, dirty-blonde hair, her wand carelessly placed behind her ear. She had on her school robes and a butterbeer cork necklace. They were ostensibly studying transfiguration—a perfectly legitimate subject—but Hermione distinctly heard the mention of crumple-horned snorkacks as they approached.

"Hi Ginny," Neville said. "Can we join you?" Ginny nodded, and Hermione and Harry sat across from her and Luna, respectively, with Neville taking the spot at the head of the table.

"Everyone, this is Luna," Ginny said. Luna looked at them all curiously, and her eyes fell on Harry.

"You're Harry Potter," she said, and Hermione felt her stomach drop. This is exactly what Harry didn't want.

"Er—yeah."

But then, instead of flicking her eyes to Harry's scar or asking him about the tournament, she turned her pale eyes to Hermione and Neville.

"Who are you?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Neville Longbottom."

Luna nodded at all of them, her face impassive, and then returned to her book. Harry gave Hermione and Neville a questioning glance. Neville shrugged.

"So, er, do you like butterbeer, Luna?" Harry asked, focusing in on her necklace.

She looked up at him, that dreamy expression on her face. "Oh yes," she said, touching her necklace. "Especially the corks." She leaned in closer to him, whispering conspiratorially, "They keep away the nargles."

Hermione felt her temper flare.

"What are nargles?" Neville asked.

"Nothing," Hermione said. "They're not real."

"Yes they are," Luna retorted angrily, her demeanor changing instantly.

"Where's the proof then?" Hermione asked, her eyebrow raised. She knew she shouldn't be making this difficult for Harry, but honestly—nargles?

"There are plenty of eyewitness accounts," Luna said.

"There's no evidence in any legitimate resource," Hermione retorted, about to launch into a lecture on irresponsible misinformation when Luna interrupted her.

"Before you got your Hogwarts letter, did you think magic existed?" she asked.

"What?"

"Did you?"

"Well, no," Hermione admitted.

"So just because you don't have proof of something doesn't mean it doesn't exist," Luna remarked, her tone losing its anger, going back to what must be her usual dreamy state.

Ginny, Harry and Neville were watching them, swiveling their heads like they were at a tennis match.

"But just because something could exist, doesn't mean you can pretend it actually does," Hermione snapped. "If you want to find new creatures, you have to actually go out and discover them."

"I suppose you'd better hope you have a camera ready because if you do discover them without one, no one will believe you," Luna shrugged.

Hermione was about to open her mouth to respond when Neville touched her on the arm.

"We need to find that book, remember?" he said.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She did want to go look up merpeople, and she realized that this probably wasn't helping Harry's case much—although from the entertained expression on his face, maybe it was helping him to relax—but she also couldn't stand walking away from this debate. Her indecision must have been written on her face because Ginny kicked her in the shin—hard.

"Oh, all right," Hermione sighed, walking with Neville toward the section on merpeople. Ginny also made herself scarce. Hermione and Neville perused the shelf, looking for something promising, as she half-listened to Harry and Luna's conversation. They were discussing Hogsmeade—Luna had been for the first time and was telling Harry about all of her favorite places. They included the Post Office and Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop—they were two of Hermione's favorite places, too—as well as a rare bookstore that Hermione had never been in, but that she was intrigued by.

"Where do you like to go Harry?"

"Usually the Three Broomsticks," he replied.

"Oh yes, I hear it's quite nice. No one's ever invited me to go—most people think I'm a bit odd. But Davey Willis snuck some firewhisky from the Three Broomsticks last year and he and the other sixth years figured out how to make it. The parties when Ravenclaw won quidditch got much louder after that."

Hermione's jaw dropped. Davey Willis was supposed to be a prefect.

She moved past a section on merpeople diets just as Luna and Harry moved on to quidditch.

"I quite like going to the games," Luna said. "The shapes of the clouds can be quite interesting, and they can tell you how well you're going to play, did you know? I especially like Lee Jordan, particularly when he makes Professor McGonagall yell."

"Yeah, apart from the snitch and the adrenaline and the winning, I think Lee Jordan is one of the best bits of the game, too." Hermione smiled at the amusement in Harry's tone.

"I suppose you must be rather sad this year then? Playing quidditch with a team must be more fun than a tournament by yourself."

Harry was quiet for a second. Hermione wished she could see his face.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "It is."

Hermione could hear the relief in his voice that there was someone else who understood him, and she felt a rush of affection toward Luna.

She eyed a book called Meetings with Merpeople: How Not to Sound Like a Landlubber, and took it down from the shelf, revealing a hole that she could see Harry and Luna through.

The dreamy look was back on Luna's face, and she was telling Harry a story about Cornelius Fudge using his army of heliopaths—another imaginary creature—to run the goblins out of Gringotts. Harry was listening intently, a sparkle in his eye. He caught Hermione's eye through the row of books and raised his eyebrow at her, as if daring her to come back and debate Luna. She rolled her eyes and continued reading.

Hermione rifled through chapters on how to decipher a screech from an eek—Harry didn't have time for this, she thought with a sigh.

She flicked past a chapter on common Mermish insults to avoid, to a chapter titled "A Shortcut."

It was one sentence long: If you really want to talk to a merperson but don't feel like taking the time to actually learn their language, just go underwater and you'll understand what they're saying in your native tongue, you lazy git.

That's it! All Harry had to do was take the egg underwater! She moved through the aisle to find him, her entire body buzzing with excitement at this revelation. As she approached the table, she saw Harry rubbing his elbow.

"Er, listen, Luna," he said. "Would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me—as friends?"

Hermione watched in astonishment as Luna's whole demeanor changed.

"Oh yes, I'd love to go with you as friends," she said, beaming, staring at Harry in wonder. "I've never gone to a ball before with a friend!"

Hermione felt a stab of guilt at her earlier irritability toward Luna. She knew what it was like to be the girl with no friends, only thanks to Harry, her solitude had only lasted two months, not two and a half years.

Harry grinned. "Great! Then I'll meet you in the Great Hall?"

Hermione, who had reached the table now, frowned, turning to Luna. "He'll pick you up at Ravenclaw Tower like a proper date," she said, but at the panicked expression on Harry's face, she amended her statement: "Like a proper friendship date."

Harry looked at her quizzically, but then nodded. "Right," he said. "Ravenclaw Tower."

They parted ways not long after—Neville decided to stay with Ginny and Luna to finish up his Charms essay, and Hermione promised to review it when he was done. Harry and Hermione walked back to Gryffindor Tower together in silence.

"A proper friendship date?" he finally asked her, the note of incredulity apparent in his voice.

Hermione sighed. "She was just so excited," she said. "It's her first ball, and even if you are just going as friends, it should still be special."

"And is Krum picking you up at Gryffindor Tower?" Harry asked.

Hermione flushed. "Well, no," she said. "But the circumstances are completely different."

"Of course," Harry smirked.

"Can you imagine the scene?" she asked, earning a laugh from Harry.

"No, I couldn't possibly imagine causing a scene here at Hogwarts," he said dryly. She grinned.

They walked in silence, Hermione thinking back on the strange meeting with Luna, and she couldn't help but ask Harry if he was positive about his choice.

"And you're sure you want to go with her?" Hermione asked.

"Well, it's a little late now to change my mind, isn't it?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Well, yes, I suppose," Hermione said. "She's just a little… well…eccentric, isn't she?"

"Oh, completely mad," Harry agreed. "At least half the stuff she says. But Ginny was right—she is nice. Plus, I'm pretty sure if I step on her toes when we're dancing, she'll just blame it on the whirling wimperbees or something."

Hermione considered that and nodded.

"And…" Harry said, but he hesitated.

"What?" Hermione asked, glancing his way.

"Well, she's pretty smart, too, right?" he asked.

"Based on what? Her knowledge of nonexistent creatures?" Hermione asked stiffly.

"No," Harry said. "Because she kept up with you."

He glanced at her, grinning, and she couldn't help but blush at the compliment.

"Did you find anything out about the merpeople?" Harry asked.

"Oh, yes," she said. How could she possibly have forgotten about that? "Apparently, if you want to understand Mermish, you just have to go underwater."

"Brilliant, Hermione!" he said.

She beamed.

"I don't suppose the showers in the dorms would work, would they?" Harry asked.

"No, I think the egg's got to be completely submerged," Hermione said. "You need a lake or a pond—though it's far too cold out for that—or a bath."

"Where am I supposed to find a bath?" Harry asked miserably.

Hermione gave him an incredulous look.

Harry read her meaning—that she knew exactly where to find a bath and he should too—and grumbled, "Please don't ask me if you're the only one who's read Hogwarts, A History."

"I was going to ask if I'm the only one who ever listened to Percy Weasley," she replied.

"Oh," he responded, thinking about it. Then he shrugged. "Probably."

"Well, there isn't a single thing about being a prefect that Percy didn't talk about, and apparently the prefects have a bath in their bathroom," Hermione informed him. "The map should tell us where it is, but it's password protected, so we'll have to figure that out."

But she was confident they would—they always did.

Hermione awoke early on Christmas Day to a pile of presents. She'd remained behind at school for the holidays the past two years, but most other students had gone home, including Parvati and Lavender.

So it was a bit of a different experience for her, waking up on Christmas morning in a full dorm.

"Happy Christmas!" Lavender said happily, as she opened a pink glittery package and revealed diamond earrings.

"Oh, Lavender, those'll look perfect with your dress!" Parvati gushed. "Happy Christmas, Hermione!"

"Happy Christmas," Hermione replied, turning to her own pile of presents.

She'd sent an owl with gifts for her parents last week; she'd ordered that book on dragon dentistry that she'd found while helping Harry research for the first task—she thought they'd find it interesting—and also sent her mum a new scarf and her dad a new set of driving gloves.

They'd returned in kind with several packages—mostly new clothes for her to wear, some muggle books, as well as a lovely silver necklace with a note from her mum to wear it to the Yule Ball.

She also received a box of sweets from Hagrid—all store-bought, thankfully; a hat in Gryffindor colors from Ginny; a book on rare magical plants from Neville—it was one of his favorites—and a beautiful set of new quills from Harry.

She had sent Ron some chocolate frogs—unsure exactly where they stood—and had received cauldron cakes in return.

After dressing, Hermione went down to the common room to meet up with Neville and Harry.

Secluded in a corner, the three of them spent most of the morning sizing up the various Gryffindor prefects to decide who to ask about the password to the bathroom. It's a conversation they'd been having for a few days; Hermione had once bitterly suggested they blackmail Davey Willis into telling them—she was still annoyed that a prefect was illegally making firewhisky—but while that had earned a smile from Harry, they all agreed a Gryffindor prefect would be best.

"If only Fred or George were a prefect," Neville commented, "then it would be easy."

Hermione snorted derisively. "Peeves has a better chance of being made prefect than those two."

"But honestly, Harry, I think you can ask any of them," Neville added. "They want to see you win."

"Yeah, I guess," Harry said, but Hermione noticed that Harry was a bit subdued, like his head wasn't entirely in this conversation.

After lunch, Fred asked if they wanted to join in a snowball fight, but with a glance at Ron, Harry declined.

"What's up?" she asked him, as the three of them wandered the grounds, Neville holding a jar full of blue flames she had conjured for warmth.

"Nothing," Harry said, when clearly, it wasn't nothing.

"Does it have something to do with that gift from Mrs. Weasley?" Neville asked. Harry looked at him questioningly, and Neville shrugged. "You've been acting weird since you opened it."

Mrs. Weasley had always sent Harry jumpers, the same as her own children, ever since their first year. It was a running joke between Hermione and Lee Jordan that they were the B-List Best Friends, but they both knew it was because while Lee and Hermione got a pile of presents on Christmas, Harry got relatively few.

Hermione didn't believe that Mrs. Weasley would treat Harry differently just because of his fight with Ron—but there was a time she wouldn't have believed Ron would abandon Harry either.

What did she send?" Hermione asked.

"A green jumper," Harry said.

"That's what she usually sends you," Hermione noted, watching him carefully. He was walking between them, looking down at the snow, studiously avoiding both of their faces.

"Exactly," Harry said. "Isn't it weird for me to wear it when I'm not friends with Ron anymore? She's his mother."

He looked uncertain and more than a little sad—a part of him must have thought that losing Ron meant losing the entire Weasley family, and Hermione knew just how much being wanted by them meant to Harry. She couldn't help but feel a flare of anger toward Ron—Harry had already lost too much in his life to now be worried about this.

"She doesn't send you presents because you're Ron's friend," Hermione told him, perhaps a bit more forcefully than she intended. "She's never sent me a Christmas present. She sends you presents because she cares about you."

"Plus, you're still friends with Fred and George, aren't you?" Neville chimed in. "Fred just asked you to be on his team in their snowball fight."

"That's right," Hermione agreed. "Fred and George know all about your fight with Ron and that hasn't changed how they act around you."

"Yeah," Harry said slowly. "But it's not exactly like I can spend my summers at the Burrow, bunking in Ron's room anymore, can I? And what if… what if Ron hasn't told Mrs. Weasley about our fight? And when she does find out, she doesn't want…"

He trailed off before he could say "me."

Hermione grabbed his hand on an impulse, and though their hands were separated by the layers of wool from their gloves, she hoped he could somehow feel the comfort she was trying to give him.

Hermione thought it was a distinct possibility that Ron hadn't told Mrs. Weasley anything, but even when she did find out, Hermione couldn't possibly see Mrs. Weasley abandoning Harry.

"Mrs. Weasley won't stop caring about you just because you fought with her son, Harry," Hermione said firmly, before adding dryly, "If anything, she'd probably blame Ron."

"Well, it was his fault," Neville retorted, earning a half smile from Harry.

"Honestly, Harry, she thinks of you like a son," Hermione said. "I know she does."

She couldn't possibly be sure on account of how thick her gloves were, but she thought she might have felt his fingers curl around hers.

"And… if you'd feel too awkward going to the Burrow… if you want, you both could always spend the summers at my place," Neville said, a little shyly. "I don't have loads of people around except for Gran who's sort of frightening, but we've got a lake and the food is good and sometimes Great Uncle Algie puts on these brilliant firework displays."

"That would be great," Hermione beamed, and even Harry couldn't help but smile at the offer.

They hung around for another hour after that—the mood considerably lighter—but then Hermione had to head back up to the castle. It was time to get ready for the ball.