The first day of classes was full of gossip and chatter, so much so that Hermione practically wondered why the professors bothered trying to have class at all. Students from houses across the board got points taken off for talking during class, passing notes, and creating bottlenecks in the hallways. Flitwick was pleading with students to focus and not be distracted, and Hermione had heard that even the cheerful Professor Sprout had snapped at people when they weren't paying attention. Snape seemed to be taking particular pleasure in descending upon groups of gossiping girls in the hallways and docking points from the lot of them, whereas McGonagall just seemed more and more exasperated with each group she came across.

There was just so much to gossip about, though, that the students couldn't seem to stop. The safety changes were at the top of everybody's mind, as it was immediately obnoxious to have to take a classmate with you when you needed to use the bathroom instead of discretely excusing yourself. The professors docking points from anyone who forgot to have someone with them was an very unpopular decision, but it did help everyone remember to go everywhere with someone else tagging along.

Next was the story of the Ministry descending on Hogwarts, only to find that Hagrid had fled the grounds. Many of the Hufflepuff students seemed to think this was a clear indication of guilt, but most of the rest of the school seemed to think Hagrid had done the smart thing. Gryffindors liked Hagrid and fiercely defended his innocence; Ravenclaws were of the opinion that it was an intelligent choice to do whatever necessary to avoid going to Azkaban, regardless of guilt; and Slytherins were of the opinion that there was no way that Hagrid was the Heir of Slytherin, but good riddance to have him gone.

Stories of the Travers family's fury over the winter break circulated through the castle as well, with different facets percolating throughout the day. There was the story of the Travers family marching up to the castle the day break began, demanding to speak to Dumbledore and see their daughter; there was the story of the Travers' very public interview with The Daily Prophet, given to force the Headmaster's hand; and there was the story whispered among the Slytherins, the story of how Lilian Travers, a pureblood, had been attacked, and what did that truly mean? Was she not a pureblood like the Travers' claimed? Surely if she had been, the Heir would never have attacked her, right?

Hermione took distinct pleasure in overhearing Draco talking to Theo and Blaise about how his father was pushing for a subtle investigation into the Travers' family tree, sure that they must be hiding impurities somewhere in their line if Lilian had been attacked. It meant that Hermione had managed to rattle Lucius Malfoy. He was the cretin behind all of this somehow, she was sure – he deserved to be uneasy about it like the rest of everyone, too.

But despite the gossip, Hermione found herself obsessing about the end of the day, when the elves would come to get her to attend their Wassail Eve celebration.

Hermione had no real idea of what Wassail Eve consisted of, only the vaguest idea that the Druids used to celebrate it in groves. She knew that vestiges of it had traveled out to muggles, who now sang Christmas carols because of it, but she wasn't really sure what she was in for.

She did know it involved drinking cider, eating apples, and not making live sacrifices, though. So she was more excited than anxious about the whole thing.

After dinner, Hermione lurked around the common room for a while, watching other people play chess or get a start on their assignments. Once people finally filtered out, going to bed, Hermione made sure it looked like she was retiring along with them, yawning and changing into sleepwear and curling into bed. As soon as her dormmates' breathing evened out, though, she was up and out of bed, quickly changing into woolly tights, her warmest dress, and her heaviest cloak.

She hurried out into the common room, fussing with her scarf and mittens, when a House Elf popped into the common room, beaming at her.

"I is Mopsy," it told her proudly. "I is taking you to the Wassail Eve."

"Pleased to meet you, Mopsy," Hermione said, nodding to the elf. "Err—Do I just follow you?"

The House Elf giggled.

"No, Missy Hermione, we is being popping," it told her. "Nosy professors cannot be catching elves when they are popping about."

It offered her its hand, which Hermione took hesitantly.

"Now, we go!"

There was a sensation of being twisted tightly through a tube and her vision went black, and then they were going through a thin sheen of cold, like gliding through a veil of mist. There was vague feeling of a chill wind on her skin for a moment, as Hermione lost nearly all perception from her senses, before abruptly being reborn as they popped into existence again in a copse of trees outside.

Hermione staggered for a moment, fighting to regain her balance. She failed and fell over, landing in the soft snow. She sighed and just laid in the snow a moment, looking up at the dark, clear sky. The elf hurried over to her.

"Is Miss okay?"

She sat up slowly, her eyes meeting Mopsy's.

"I'm fine," Hermione told the worried elf. "That's—that just wasn't what I was expecting."

"Elves' popping is much nicer than wizards' popping," the elf informed her. "Wizards is squeezing tightly to go through the air tunnels. Elves' popping is popping in and out of veils to get from place to place. Much nicer."

"I've never been Apparated," Hermione said. "I've only ever traveled by Portkey before."

Mopsy made a face.

"Portkeys is being even worse," it told her. "Yanking at Missy's magical core… Portkeys is not to be trusted. Elves is disliking them for good reasons."

"I'll keep that in mind, then." Hermione got to her feet, dusting the snow off her cloak and robes, before looking around. "Where… where are we?"

"We is in the grove," the elf told her, its eyes alight. "It is Wassail Eve, and it is time. Come – Tolly is waiting."

They walked through the trees; many of them apple trees, from what Hermione could tell. There was a glow from a fire ahead of them, despite the snow, and Hermione could see dozens of small creatures dancing around. There was a tingle in the air, almost physically palpable, and Hermione was surprised to realize she recognized it.

"There's magic in the air," she said, awed. "I can feel it."

Mopsy gave her an amused look.

"It is Wassail Eve, and we is in a Druid grove," the elf told her. "Did you be thinking there would not be magic about?"

As they neared the fire, Hermione looked around. There was a large circle of trees surrounding the small clearing the fire was in, each one of them of a different type. She drifted away from Mopsy, slowly going around the outside of the circle and looking at the different woods, running her hand over the bark.

"Has Missy Hermione never been to a Druid grove before?"

Hermione looked up to see Tolly looking at her. Hermione gave her an embarrassed look.

"I have not," she admitted. "This is… this is amazing. The Druids planted these?"

"Theys did," Tolly told her. She gave her a wizened smile. "Wizards is forgetting the old ways a long time ago, but we elves is keeping them. Come – it is Wassail Eve, and you is to be joining in on the fun."

Hermione obediently followed Tolly to the fire, where the elves were celebrating.

Cider and apples were set up on an odd, ramshackle sort of wooden table to the side of the clearing, and many elves had mugs in their hands. They were singing and chanting and laughing, and they were throwing the bits of holly that had hung around the walls of Hogwarts into the fire. Some elves were teasing others and urging them to jump over the fire, and Hermione watched on in awe as they did so, leaping high into the air, doing flips and twists.

"I didn't know elves could jump so high," she said, impressed.

"Elves is being nimble and twisty," Tolly told her. "We is having good bodies for being twisty."

Hermione watched as another elf launched itself over the large bonfire, doing a flip and landing on the other side with a neat somersault. "I can see that."

Tolly led her over to the table where a few elves were helping pass out apples and cider. There was what looked like fruit-studded bread, too.

"Miss!" The elves at the table's eyes grew large, and they both bowed hurriedly. "Cheers on this Wassail Eve!"

"Cheers to you as well," Hermione said, unsure of the traditional response. "Err—is this mulled cider?"

"This is being Wassail Ale," one of the elves told her, its eyes nearly reverent. "It is being mostly mulled cider, but it is being other spices and things thrown in as well."

Hermione accepted the mug it offered to her, the metal warm in her hands. "Thank you."

"You is most welcome, Missy!" the elf beamed at her. "We is glad you is coming to the grove."

The Wassail Ale was warm, spiced, and surprisingly good. There wasn't the burn of alcohol Hermione had been cautiously expecting, but there was another sort of undertaste that she couldn't quite make out. She finished her cup faster than she expected, and before she knew it, an elf had handed her another.

"Wassail!" it told her, eyes alight, before skipping off with her empty cup, and Hermione mentally shrugged as she wandered over near the fire.

The elves were continuing to dance and chant and sing and flip over the fire, sometimes breaking out into clapping patterns that they all seemed to recognize and know. Hermione watched from the side, sipping her hot drink. It was fascinating to see the elves celebrate and to get a glimpse of their secret culture.

As she watched, it was as if the elves left trails of sparkles in the air as they flipped over the fire. As her ears adjusted, she began to make out the words of the song they were singing:

Wassail the trees, that they may bear

You many a plum and many a pear

For more or less fruits they will bring

As you do give them wassailing

This song was usually followed by a series of loud calls and hollering and many "hurrah"s, before the clapping and singing and skipping began again and again.

There was something in the mulled cider, Hermione gradually realized. The sparkles left in the air matched the tingle of magic in the air, somehow, and she could feel it, now. Her mind seemed almost hazy, somehow, but still clear and sharp of thought.

"We is going to do the Wassail Ceremony."

Hermione looked down to see Tolly and two other elves looking up at her.

"Oh," Hermione said. "This isn't the ceremony itself?"

The elves all laughed at her, their laughter light and high and teasing.

"This is just being part of wassailing," Tolly told her, smiling fondly. "We is going to make our offering to the Old Tree soon." The Head Elf paused. "We is wondering if you will be our Wassail Queen."

"If I'll what?" Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Tolly, with all due respect, I have no idea what that even is, and I wouldn't have slightest idea how to go about doing such a thing. I came to watch and help participate from the side, but I honestly don't—"

"We is helping you," Tolly said firmly. "And Missy Hermione has stronger magic than all of us elves. Her being Wassail Queen will strengthen the offering and make for a better wassail."

"I—wait, what?" Hermione was fighting to keep up. "I have stronger magic than you?"

Tolly looked uncomfortable.

"Wizard magic is being stronger than elf magic," she admitted. "We elves is better at using magic, but wizards is able to have more of it in themselves."

That was curious, Hermione noted. "You mean my magical reserve?"

"Tolly is having no idea what that is," Tolly told her, looking exasperated. "But Missy Hermione is being able to have more magics held in her body than us elves."

"Okay," Hermione said, slowly following along. "But then… what magic do elves use?"

"We is using our own magic," Tolly said, "but we is also often just using the other magic of the world."

"What other magic?" Hermione wanted to know.

"This is being the other magic."

Tolly spread her little arms wide, spinning about.

"You is seeing it, you is feeling it," Tolly told her. "Can you not be feeling the magic in the air from our wassail?"

"I—"

"You is being the Wassail Queen," Tolly told her firmly. "Come. Follow."

Hermione let herself be tugged closer to the fire by the Head Elf. Her head seemed somehow woozy, but her vision was still sharp.

"Wassail!" Tolly called out loudly over the fire.

"Wassail!" the other elves answered. "Wassail!"

"We is here on Wassail Eve to offer to the trees," Tolly announced. "Come, let us be wassailing the Old Tree."

The elves all gathered near the table with the cider and apples. Tolly looked at Hermione.

"I is being the Wassail King and soaking the bread," Tolly told her. "I is then bringing it to you. You is then being the Wassail Queen and giving the bread to the Old Tree."

"I—aren't you a girl?" Hermione said. "Can you be King like that?"

"I is being a boy, then." Tolly shrugged, uncaring, and there was a brief shimmer in the air. "There. Now I is able to be King."

Hermione watched as the elf went over to the table, taking a slice of the fruit-studded bread and soaking it in the last of the cider. The elves behind Hermione were all humming, all in different pitches that somehow harmonized into resonating low tones.

Tolly came back with the bread and offered it to Hermione.

"We is going to the Old Tree, now," Tolly told her firmly. "Missy Hermione is to be following me."

Hermione held the sticky bread carefully, cupping her hands under it to keep as much liquid drenched in it as possible. She followed Tolly, who was singing, and the other elves were singing along. Some had small lutes and flutes, and Hermione hadn't the slightest idea where those had come from.

They went along a path in the snow until they came to a very, very large tree.

"This is the Old Tree," Tolly said reverently.

The elves fell into a hush.

"We is lifting you up into the tree," Tolly explained. "You is then giving the tree the Wassail bread. We is then saying the chant, and then we wassail."

"You're going to lift me up?" Hermione repeated, astonished. "…you realize I'm much taller and quite heavier than you, right?"

"We is using magic," Tolly said firmly. "Now, Missy Hermione, when you is offering the bread, you is feeling the Old Tree. This is where you can be offering your magic to the Old Tree with the Wassail bread." The elf paused. "Us elves is usually offering as much as we can, but Missy Hermione is not needing to do that – wizard magic is more and is more strong. But if Missy Hermione offers too much, we elves will catch you and be taking you home."

That startled Hermione, her imagination conjuring images of elves collapsing and falling backwards out of tall trees.

"I will do my best," Hermione promised, and Tolly beamed. With a raised hand and a gesture, the elves fell into a hush, moving forward, their eyes alight.

Hermione was pushed towards the tree by many tiny hands until she stood at the very base of it, looking up at the thick trunk. She glanced back, seeing the elves waiting, excited, and she nodded.

Slowly, she began to feel herself rise through the air. It was different from when she levitated herself with the air elemental; it was less a feeling of flight and more a feeling of rising, as if ascending on an invisible platform pushing up through the ground. She looked down at the elves as they pushed her up, some of them holding their hands up as they did, and she was surprised to see sparkles left behind in the air, trailing in her wake.

She reached the lowest branches of the trees, and Hermione careful stepped out of the way as she kept rising, until she was able to bend down and neatly sit on one of the branches, her hands still cupped with the bread. Thus steadied, she felt the pushing feeling of magic fade away, and she turned to the tree.

The trunk of the tree had what looked like a small mouth in it, somehow – a knot that had malformed, perhaps, or perhaps the tree had somehow genuinely opened a mouth. Hermione felt surprise tickle the back of her mind, but the rest of her was too bound up in the magic of the moment as she instinctively leaned forward, placing the bread in the mouth of the tree, and sealing the hole by holding her hands over the mouth.

The elves below her began to chant.

"Apple tree, apple tree, we all come to wassail to thee," they chanted. "Bear this year to bloom and to blow, as we wassail and make the spirits go. We honor magic, we see it through; please give back what we give to you!"

There was a sudden rush of magic in the air that Hermione could feel rush into the tree, and at the same time, Hermione could feel the tree pulling at her magic, her own magic rushing out of her and into the wood, her body instinctively having pushed her own power into the tree at the right moment the elves had set.

She mentally traced her magic to find her magical pool inside, and Hermione watched as her magic flowed out and into the tree. It was almost as if she could see it empty, sending sparkling purple swirls throughout the bark. After she was halfway drained, she could feel her core start to regenerate already, making the last half of her power much slower to drain as it constantly fought to refill, and she pushed out more, giving the tree magic faster than her core could make.

As she finally felt fully drained (a familiar feeling to her, as she still practiced every night), Hermione pulled back from the tree, separating her hands from the mouth. As soon as she did, she suddenly was gasping for air with her head spinning, not realizing she hadn't been breathing fully until she'd suddenly lacked oxygen. Her chest heaving, she looked back at the tree, wanting to see the sparkles.

The tree seemed to faintly glow with white and lilac sparkles and power.

The bread in its mouth was gone.

As she caught her breath, gradually coming back to herself, Hermione became aware that there were elves dancing through the rest of the orchard, banging pots and pans, yelling and whooping as they did. Carefully, Hermione lowered herself from the tree, hanging from the lowest branch and falling the last several feet to land in the snow, dizzy.

Tolly offered her a hand up, smiling. "Missy Hermione did well."

Hermione blinked at the tiny elf's hand, then took it. The elf had more strength than she realized; somehow, she was pulled and leveraged up without difficulty.

"Missy Hermione is giving much magic to the tree," Tolly told her. "There is being many more apples now next year, and the trees is being very happy."

"The trees are happy?" Hermione questioned. Her mind felt slow and sleepy, a quiet exhaustion creeping up on her. "How can you tell?"

"They is dancing," Tolly told her. "You can see."

The trees were all drifting slightly in the wind, as far as Hermione could tell, but as her eyes unfocused, she could see faint trails of sparkles behind the moving boughs and branches, leaving magic in their wake.

"I see," Hermione said, her eyes fluttering and fighting to stay open. "It's beautiful…"

Without realizing it, Hermione was leaning against the Old Tree, slowly sliding down its bark to lie in the snow.

"Missy Hermione is not to worry," she heard Tolly say from over her, as her eyes closed. "We is making sure you is getting back home."