Happiness is the feeling of being alive, really alive. It's like having one of the best days of your life. A day during which living is what matters, no stress, no clocks, no dress code. Spending time doing what you love and the exciting feeling that being alive brings. Nothing but joy, pure joy, which is an upbeat energy all its own.

That's the feeling surrounding Hogwarts. Ever since the announcement of the Yule Ball, a festive noise arose and resonated throughout the castle halls. There's been nothing but unadulterated happiness, excitement, and liveliness throughout, even in the dungeon. The castle is alive and bursting at the seams with rapture. It makes for some of the best days ever.

While people were figuring out dates, Hermione and Marcus sat back and relaxed. That's already taken care of. They're going to go with each other. So now, all the duo needs to consider is what dress robes to wear. Unlike the happy couple, many others were scrounging around for dates. One of them happened to be Neville. Hermione felt terrible and worried her lip at having to refuse her friend. He asked, but she told him, "I already have a date for the ball Neville. If I didn't, I would most certainly go with you."

However, Ron thought she was lying. "You already have a date? That quick? You must be making it up."

Cutting her eyes at the red-headed idiot, Hermione tried not to let his words affect her. Words sometimes hurt more than anything else, especially being called a liar by a good friend. "Just because you don't have a date, Ron, doesn't mean I don't also. I do have a date with someone to the ball. To be clear, it's someone not in Gryffindor. And before you say anything else unkind, let me tell you this. Be sure to taste your words before you spit them out like you do your food," she admonished him. Then grabbed her bag and exited out the door.

Motioning to Hermione's exit, Ron told Harry and the other Gryffindors in the common room, "She really needs to sort out her priorities." Harry only raised an eyebrow in question, for he knew if anyone needed to do that, it's Ron.

Today Marcus had asked her to meet him at the quidditch pitch. Since it was not a tutoring day, Hermione brought her knitting bag to keep herself entertained while he practiced drills. Her sweet hairy beast, which she's taken to affectionately calling him (like the beast from Beauty and the Beast), has received two more tryout offers. This time the proposals are from the Appleby Arrows and Pride of Portree. Marcus was over the moon. When he shared that news with her, Hermione hugged him hard and told him how proud she was. He'll definitely get picked up by one of the four teams. Surely he must.

As she walked to the pitch, feeling the chilly air blowing on her face, thoughts of hot cocoa and snuggly blankets flooded Hermione's mind. Tending to her own business, she did not see a particular fair-haired Slytherin on the path. And like always, he didn't have anything pleasant to say. Nothing burns quite like frigid weather or Draco Malfoy's words.

With his goons behind him, Malfoy informed the Gryffindor, "I told myself this morning that I was ready to face any challenges that might be stupid enough to get in my way. And here it is, the big, foolish mudblood. Your boyfriends let you alone outside? I'm surprised, considering they can't find their way out of a paper bag." His friends laughed.

With a sigh, Hermione realized she was not as put off by Malfoy as in the past. In fact, she told him, "If you say a thing often enough, it becomes less formidable. Every time you speak the word mudblood, it becomes more of a nuisance, not the insult you wish it to be. But I bet that's above your intelligence level to comprehend."

Ignoring the annoying adversary, she made to move past them. However, Draco did not take what the girl said kindly. "Granger, you might be an ugly mudblood, but you're also a..." Hermione saw him thinking about what to say, then he blurted out, "Perfection slag. That's what you are- a muddy perfection slag."

Goyle, Crabbe, Nott, and some guy named Roper (who must be a third-year because she's never seen him before) gave Malfoy high-fives. Rolling her brown eyes, Hermione carried on her way, all while the idiotic boys taunted her, saying, "Perfection slag!" No doubt that will be going around the school before dinner.

Shaking off the idiotic comments and making her way to the pitch, the brunette's irritation warmed her insides more than any heating charm would. Ron and Malfoy sure know how to put their feet into their mouths. If they didn't hate each other so much, they could be friends- a pair of miserable friends. Although she's not really sure what Ron's problem is lately unless he's just cranky at the world. In which case, that's a personal problem.

Dropping her bag close to the middle of the field, Hermione conjured two warm blankets (one to sit on and one to throw over her legs). Before taking out the knitting needles, Marcus flew to her spot and hopped off his broom. Sitting beside his girlfriend, he kissed the side of her head and asked, "How are you?"

Gazing at him, Hermione commented, "Just dandy. Did you ever have one of those days when you had only one nerve left, and someone tried to touch it? That's me today. Ron and Malfoy are trying to see who can get on my nerves more."

Of course, her hairy beast wanted to know what they said, and she explained the boy's words. Naturally, Marcus got incensed over what they both told her, especially Malfoy calling her a perfection slag. That is degrading and wrong.

"I cannot believe he called you that. That dirty little toe fungus! You have my word. I'll put a stop to it," he mentioned. His fists were balled up at his side.

Hermione took the hand closest to her and unfurled it. Rubbing soothing circles on its top, she confided, "There are worse things to be called. At least he thinks I'm a perfection slag and not a real one. That would be a terrible lie. But let's not ruin our time together by talking about Malfoy. Instead, are you going to explain why you wanted me to join you at the pitch this afternoon?"

A huge cheeky grin lit up Marcus's handsome face. He confessed, "I asked you here because I want you to go riding with me."

Looking around, she asked, "Riding... alright, but where's the horse?"

He gently gave her shoulder a bump and said, "You silly witch. Not a horse, my broom." His hand motioned to it.

Their eyes met, and she pointed right at the thing. "Well, good luck with that because there's no way you're getting me on that deathtrap," his Minnie remarked.

Marcus chuckled. He had a feeling she would say something like that, which is why he told her, "You were sorted into Gryffindor for a reason. Get your courage together and take a risk, Hermione. You never know; the risk you're terrified to take could end up changing your life. Don't allow fear to win. Besides, you'll be riding with me, and I won't let you go."

Then moving in front of her to look directly into her kind eyes, Marcus confided something. "The truth is, flying isn't hazardous. It's when you crash out that it is. But Quidditch is my thing, and knowing how to fly a broom is one of the standard requirements. If a person isn't a top-notch flyer, they get cut. Despite how I may look while playing the sport, I'm a safe broom driver. You're in good hands. This I promise you. So feel your fear and fly regardless."

Now it's Hermione's turn to chuckle because she could hear that insurance commercial playing in her head. The one about safe driving and being in good hands. As much as flying and heights are not her things, she has to admit her Slytherin has a point. She's a Gryffindor, and risks are a part of life, but still, "What are the perks if I do this?"

Raising an eyebrow, he smiled. "So glad you asked. I'm sure you've heard of chocoballs from Honeydukes, but have you ever had a hot chocolate ball," he asked?

Seeing her curly hair shake no, Marcus told his girl, "It's one of the best things in the whole world! Instead of sipping hot chocolate, you eat. The ball melts in your mouth and warms up. It's like a warm chocolate explosion with the flavor of hot cocoa. I have some under a stasis spell waiting for us. Besides, you'll be with me, so that's another huge perk. Also, I preheated my broom, so you'll not even notice it's cold weather along with the heating charms on our bodies. Finally, you'll have bested your fear. I can't think of any other bonuses needed than those, especially the last one."

She has to admit, "Those perks sound wonderful. However, why do I feel like I'm making a deal with the Devil? To be clear, you're not the Devil, but flying and gravity are."

She stared off in the distance, thinking things over. Coming to a conclusion, Hermione shared, "Alright, Marcus, let's do this. But please don't go fast or drop me." That's part of her fear of flying a broom- dropping to her doom.

Holding up a pair of promise fingers, her Slytherin stood and stretched out his hand. Taking the proffered hand, Hermione was pulled to stand by him. "I'll get on first, then you get on behind me," he mentioned. She nodded, and Marcus got onto the broom with ease. However, unlike him, the Gryffindor did not. With hesitation and much reluctance, as evidenced by biting her lip, the witch mounted the broom behind her boyfriend. Her fingers clung to him for dear life, especially on the take-off. That's when her stomach almost made friends with her kidneys. It would have been terribly embarrassing.

While Hermione was wrestling with her fear, Marcus was relishing the wind in his face. There's freedom in flying that can't be obtained from the ground. To be able to fly and to truly enjoy it, a person has to be willing to give up everything that weighs them down. Marcus's soul is in the sky. It's a passion, and his second home is there. Being able to do what he likes is true freedom, which is why he hopes one of the quidditch teams will sign him after tryouts. That will be the essence of true happiness, instead of working a crummy job with his father's investment company.

For Marcus, flying is about feeling alive in the moment because his adrenaline is going ninety to nothing. His thinking (at that present moment) is not somewhere else- it's right there on the broom. He's not considering what will happen ten minutes from now or anything else. That is one of the reasons why flying is pure joy. It's because he's focused on the space around him and in front- he has to be present.

Living in the present is what feels freeing. There's no other place the muscular Slytherin would rather be, except maybe with Hermione sharing what he loves with her. This is ironic because that's what they're currently doing- flying together.

But to even think of anything beyond living in the moment, in the sky, is foolish. It's all about being aware of it. No matter what, either in the sky or on the ground, be all in. That's why Marcus was drawn to flight. Because he loves the unlimited nature of it. In the air, there are no limits. There's nothing to bring him down. Where it does bring him mentally, it's the most uncorrupted, most pleasant thing to be in the clouds. The thing about it is that no two flights are the same. It's because of that that the flight becomes more meaningful.

And the secret of flying is this: you have to do it immediately before your body realizes it's defying the laws of gravity. Marcus supposes that's part of Hermione's problem. Her rational brain can't switch off, and she's consumed with gravity- all the things that hold her down. But that's okay because he'll help her let go and be free. It's all in knowing how. Just close your eyes and leap.

To him, Hermione is also kind of like flying. In flying, there are crashes. Some can be good crashes, like if you knock an opponent out of the game. And some can be bad, like when he crashed into the tree. He's spent most of his pre-teen and teenage years flying solo hoping someone would crash into him. Someone who wanted to crash into him. No one ever did until her, his Hermione, and it left him breathless in the same way flying does. Really, he just wanted someone to leave their mark on his skin and make him feel alive because so many of his years he's spent barely living- just going along breathing and trying to break even. But between her and flying, it's the greatest.

When the couple was grounded again, Marcus helped Hermione off the broom. Her arms came around his waist, and he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "So, how was it," he asked?

Looking into his expressive eyes, Hermione told him, "Not terrible."

The picture of shock came across his face, and he had to know. "Not terrible? That's it?" Of all the things she could say, that's the one she chooses.

So she reminded him, "I hate heights. But I will concede that flying with you was so wrong that it also felt right. I would not be opposed to doing it again sometime. Not anytime soon, though. I have to take a breather from this adventure."

Those responses confirmed what he knew. Hermione likes control, and flying is out of her control. It defies gravity, and her logical brain can't shut off. It begs to be said, "Anything is possible, Sweetie. Open your heart and mind up to it. Trust your instincts and breathe. Because everyone, especially you, deserves a chance to fly."

Somehow she knew he wasn't actually talking about flying itself. In a way, Marcus was using the act of flying as a metaphor. A metaphor for the things that bring her down. Locking her eyes with his, she acknowledged, "I'll give that some thought. Thank you. Now, where are these hot chocolate balls? I've been able to think of nothing else since you mentioned them."

After summoning the plate of them with his wand, they sat on Hermione's heated blanket, snuggled together. After taking one, she started to raise it to her mouth. Seeing that, Marcus stopped her. "No, Min. You have to savor it. Take your time, don't eat it in one gulp. It'll ruin the experience. Develop an appreciation for the chocolate. You'll thank me for it," he instructed.

So, the petite witch savored the hot chocolate ball. Every bite was a memory. As he mentioned, the flavor exploded in her mouth. It made her feel warm, special, and giggly. It made her say, "This is really good stuff. I've never had anything like it. This hot chocolate ball is a party for the mouth. Did you buy them, or are they homemade?"

Marcus wore a proud, broad smile. "It's actually a family recipe from my grandmother. Her kitchen elf, Taffy, makes them for the family. I'm glad you like it. You're the first person I've shared them with."

Knowing that made the treat all the more unforgettable and unique. Hermione told him, "Thank you for sharing them with me. Please tell your grandmother they're amazing." She took a bite of the other one he handed her.

Now it's his turn to think about what she said. His stomach knotted up, and his voice sounded unsure. "Actually, I was hoping you might tell her yourself. I know everyone is staying at the castle for Yule, but we've been given permission to floo home after the ball. If you would like to and would be up for it, I'd like to introduce you to my Gram. If not now, then maybe at the Easter holidays." Marcus picked at a thread on his old quidditch pants while he waited for her response.

Taking his hand into her own, Hermione stated, "I'd love to. I'd love to meet your grandmother if you genuinely want me to do so. Whether it's now or later is up to you. Just let me know which you would prefer."

A huge weight lifted off his shoulders. "Alright. I'll think about it and get back to you," he declared. Hope glittered like the snowflakes dotting the sky.

The two packed up their things and walked to the castle holding hands. Before they entered, the couple made plans to meet after dinner and "practice" waltzing. Really they wanted to keep each other close and enjoy the warmth of a caring embrace. They parted with a kiss from Marcus to Hermione on her forehead.

Magnolia Sterling (a sixth-year Slytherin) accosted him the minute he walked into the Slytherin dorm. Her voice sounds like a squawking bird, and her personality is bitter, not sweet. "Marcus," she crowed sweetly.

He inclined his head her way but gave no response. Why would he? Magnolia flipped her sleek brown hair over her shoulder and smiled a big smile. It showed off her perfectly pearly white teeth. Trying again, the girl said, "Marcus, the Yule Ball is coming up. I was wondering if you would want to go with me? I'm quite the catch, you know."

Yes, for a fox, maybe. This time Marcus responded. "I already have a date for the evening. Perhaps you might Goyle or Crabbe. They're still looking." When he mentioned those two fools' names, she huffed and turned on her heels to stalk away.

With that disaster mitigated, the oldest Slytherin returned to his room. After putting away his broom, he hit the shower and readied himself for dinner. Once a spritz of Spellbound was applied, Marcus headed for the Great Hall with Graham and Adrian. The three joked about how desperate most of the girls in their house are.

Graham stated, "Being desperate is unattractive. I don't care how pretty a girl looks if she's desperate, then I'm out." Both of his friends agreed.

No sooner had Marcus sat down at the table than a great long-eared owl swooped into the massive dining hall. One look at the bird, and he knew it's his father's owl, Ascalaphus. The creature dropped a rolled letter in front of him and flew out of the room with remarkable fluidity. Unfurling the missive, Marcus read it and crumpled it in his hand. Not caring about dinner, he went to his room to lie down and think.