Since the moment she'd stepped into the wizarding world, Hermione had appreciated the increased freedoms afforded her. She was allowed - required, even! - to attend school just like boys were, to take the same classes that they did and develop intellectually. The wizarding world had even had their first female Minister for Magic, Artemisia Lufkin, in the last fifty years! Her options were unlimited here, at least compared to the Muggle world. Unlike there, her interest in politics wasn't minded, although she kept the near-radical nature of those politics to herself, just in case. She always felt like she was learning some new step forward that she could take in her new world.

While even here, women were often expected to marry (as far up as they could) soon after school, there were many men who didn't mind their wives having a career of their own. (Minister Lufkin had been married!) These men were less common in the upper class, but many of those families expected their sons to marry Pure-blooded women, so it didn't matter much to Hermione.

Hermione knew that she had a reputation as a bit of a moralist. She preferred to think of herself as modest and honestly quite progressive, but her Muggle sensibilities often snuck into her behavior at Hogwarts. Young men knew that, like many Muggle-born students, she was hesitant in any non-platonic dealings with the opposite sex. She had had suitors (informal courtship was allowed, if not encouraged, in this world if chastity and decorum were followed), although of course they hadn't described themselves as such.

The first time a boy had approached her with the faintest implication of courting - the beginning of her fourth year - she had thought she may die of embarrassment. She had felt her face heat as she turned bright red and tried to stutter out words that she hadn't thought of yet.

Ernest Macmillan was charming, and he was not an idiot. "I'm sorry," Mister Macmillan had apologized. "I thought that-"

"You're very kind," Hermione interrupted. She hadn't meant to, but she simply did not want to hear any more of his explanation. "I am simply not looking for any potential suitors at this time, Mister Macmillan." It came out as more of a dismissal than she had intended, and more than a bit forward. Hermione reminded herself that he had been more than a bit forward - she was still three years off from her presentation!

"I understand," he had said, although clearly he had been put out and didn't really understand. Then he'd bowed his head and left.

Her friends didn't always understand, either. She was the only Muggle-born girl in her year in Gryffindor, and it sometimes showed, although less so over the years. Parvati, Lavender, and Fay were all Pure-blooded girls who had nevertheless given her permission to use their given names. They were always kind when she occasionally fumbled a wizarding tradition or got her societal norms mixed up, this latter happening most often near the beginning of a school year. The current time of year, she thought miserably.

It could be difficult, going back and forth between her two worlds.

She thought herself restrained, but the Muggles she knew thought her unhinged. Her family was of a high enough status that nobody would say anything outright, but she knew that the confidence with which she always returned from school and her wild mass of curls that refused to be tamed by any non-magical means were the subject of… glances. She didn't mind them thinking her eccentric, though; it made the balls easier to deal with.

As her parents, a physician and his wife with a razor-sharp wit, were fairly high on the social ladder, this last summer Hermione had been invited to a great number of balls, although certainly not yet to be formally courted. Hermione had politely dismissed each attempt from boys to dance. None of them would let her have a career if they were to marry, and she was determined to have one. She was ambitious, even if the Sorting Hat had not placed her in Slytherin.

That was why it was always such a relief to return to Hogwarts. A girl could be anything here; a woman could be anything here. She was at the top of all of her classes, not lording it over anyone but very proud of herself. Her high marks came because she spent most of her spare time in the library. She liked the library very much - it felt quiet and soft and safe, and there were more books than she could ever have found at home.

Of course, the library was where she had first seen him. Mister Adrian Pucey.

She had been thirteen, a few months into her second year, and from her understanding he was two years above her and the youngest in his year, an August birthday. Her heart had fluttered, and for the first time in her life Hermione understood why young women tittered and giggled after young men. He had been good-looking even then, at the tender age of fourteen. Even younger than Hermione was now…

She caught herself glancing around the library for him and shook herself. She was here to learn, not to find a husband.

She was only able to study for an hour or so before Lavender pulled her out of the library by her arm (not very ladylike, Hermione had told her with a laugh) and practically dragged her into the corridor.

"What's all this about?" Hermione asked, rearranging her bag and half-heartedly wishing she had given Mister Macmillan a chance, that he might carry her things for her.

Lavender gave her a sly smile from the side. "There's a Quidditch match," she said teasingly. The school had moved all of the games up into the first half of the year, as apparently the pitch was needed for an event in the second half. It was probably miserable training for the players, but the speed of the cup being decided was exciting, and it would offer the foreign students coming in for the Triwizard Tournament a true taste of student life at Hogwarts.

Hermione's breath caught. "Who's playing?"

"Slytherin, of course!" Lavender threw her head back and laughed gregariously. "Why else would I make sure to drag you out to it?"

Hermione blushed, but didn't argue. Mister Pucey was a Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch team. She wasn't a particular fan of the game, but she attended as regularly as was expected, although she sometimes missed matches when she lost herself to reading. She typically sat beside Fay at the end of their little line of Gryffindor girls, as Lavender and Parvati spent most of each game making practically sinful comments about the players in a hushed whisper. Their knowledge was useful, though: according to them, Mister Pucey was the only Slytherin player whom no one had ever seen cheat or foul.

He was noble, she liked to think. She didn't really know, as they'd never been introduced. She thought often about subtly hinting for an introduction, but could never quite get up the courage. Not very Gryffindor, she supposed. When she studied in the library, he was almost always there. Noble and studious, and her heart yearned for him ridiculously. She wished desperately that she could seek him out, get to know him, and find out how noble he really was.

The wizarding world could be incredibly feminist - a new word Hermione had learned over the summer in a brochure her parents didn't like - in some ways, but it was as patriarchal as the Muggle world in others. Women were still not to be in the company of men outside of the family unattended, and they were not to address those men without an introduction. While she did not require a chaperone simply to enter a social situation, there were of course rules for what conversations could and could not be held in front of her, making genuine (non-romantic, thank you) connections somewhat difficult to foster with the boys of Gryffindor.

Fortunately, Mister Potter and Mister Ronald Weasley were happy enough to bend the rules (perhaps especially the latter boy; he had no real aspirations to the upper class and took joy in flouting the rules), and so she had them as friends; one generally acted as the 'chaperone' while she visited with the other if the common room was otherwise empty, when really of course they were all visiting together.

If anyone in Gryffindor objected, they had yet to voice it to Hermione. Of course, all of this only applied to those of 'good family,' although the term seemed to encompass more families at Hogwarts than at home. She wasn't sure if those outside of society were just more likely to teach their children at home. They didn't have servants to help around the house, she knew, and often depended on their children - especially daughters - to help. Hermione was very blessed, as her father was a well-known physician, even if a Muggle one.

Drawing herself back into the moment, she found Mister Pucey again and let her eyes follow him around the pitch. Noble, and so terribly handsome. He was quite tall for seventeen, and she assumed he was in fine physical shape from playing Quidditch. It was impossible to tell, as he was usually wrapped in layers of shirt and vest and collar and coats, and during games he was in the usual flowing sport robes with a bit of protective padding. Not every player wore padding, she mused, looking out into the game, but he was willing to take precautions in the name of self-preservation despite how he must be teased. Admirable.

When it was over and Slytherin had won, Lavender and the other girls let Hermione float back to the library for a while before dinner. She still was thinking only of Mister Pucey.

He was seventeen now: a seventh year on the verge of manhood. She knew her small little feelings for him were ridiculous; he almost certainly didn't know who she was, and she was only sixteen and would graduate a full year after other girls had had a chance to charm him. She was sure he wouldn't be interested anyway. He probably noticed the way she stared sometimes, captivated by him as he read, and was just too polite to say anything about it. Realizing she was daydreaming again, she shook her head and focused on the page in front of her.

This focus was interrupted almost immediately. "Miss Granger," came Mister Ronald Weasley's voice, sounding more proud and formal than she had ever heard from him before. "May we borrow your attention?"

She closed her book gently and stood, and when she looked up she tensed every muscle in her body to avoid jumping out of her skin. She had thought he had Mister Potter in tow and was simply teasing her. Instead, there stood -

"Miss Granger," her friend said, "allow me to present Mister Pucey."

They each offered a small nicety, and then Mister Pucey spoke genuinely to her. His voice was deeper than she'd expected and she felt like it warmed her through. "Miss Granger, would you happen to know where I can find Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms? I can't seem to find it on my own, and I understand you're the woman to see about books." He smiled, as if to assure her that he knew she had value outside of being a library catalog but that right now he would really appreciate her expertise here.

She fought back a blush at him calling her a woman and replied, "I have that one on my person. I apologize, I was borrowing it for light reading."

Mister Pucey's jaw actually dropped, but he snapped it shut quickly. "Light reading?" he asked, his voice sounding muffled or strained. "It's a complex text, I was going to use it for my Ancient Runes essay." NEWT-level essay, he didn't have to tell her. Mister Ronald Weasley snorted in a very ungentlemanly manner, which the other two ignored.

"Oh, well, of course you can have it!" she said quickly. "There are more than enough other books I can read." She sat down and rifled through her stack of books to find it, inadvertently knocking one to the floor.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mister Pucey dive for it. "I've got it, Miss Granger."

When she found the runes text, she stood and offered it to him, only to find him staring at her with an intensity she wasn't entirely familiar with but that made her blood feel hot under her skin. "Here you are, Mister Pucey," she said weakly.

"Thank you, Miss Granger. And here you are," he said, setting the book she'd knocked over the edge gently on the table. It was another NEWT-level textbook, and from the look on his face, he knew it.

"Thank you," she murmured. She got lost in his dark eyes for a moment, and she thought he might be lost in hers, because he didn't look away until Mister Ronald Weasley coughed gently. Of course this is the time he chooses to act the proper gentleman, she thought spitefully.

"I'll be going, then. Th-" he started, then turned to their introducer. "Thank you for the introduction; I very much appreciate it." He had started to thank her twice, she thought uncharacteristically romantically. Perhaps he really had been lost in her eyes.

Thanks to the students at the surrounding tables, she was free to sit with her friend in peace. She sat down primly and waved for him to do the same.

"What was that?" he asked with a grin. "Pucey walked up to me and asked to be introduced. I don't even know him."

"He what?" She thought she may faint.

"Well, I know him from the Quidditch pitch, obviously, but not outside of it," he amended. Then he squinted playfully at Hermione. "Is there a reason you two were in a staring contest at the end?" He could be worse than Lavender, and he didn't even have the excuse of being a girl.

"You can leave now," Hermione said bluntly.

"Don't tell me you're taking suitors and didn't let Potter or I know," he complained. "I could've used a wife who's smarter than me."

"Mister Ronald Weasley, you are an absolute idiot." She didn't mind being rude to him, and he never seemed to mind when she was. It was a friendship she didn't think she could've had in the Muggle world. "It will be easy for you to find such a woman."

Proving he could take it, he only laughed and stood to leave. "I'll be in the common room playing chess. Stop by, I can always use the challenge."

"I've only ever beaten you twice," she pointed out, "but I'll make a note of it. And-" she faltered only briefly. "Thank you. For the introduction."

He just laughed again and left the library.

Intellectually, she had known that the influx of foreign students for the Triwizard Tournament would be a shock, but she hadn't really understood until they were there. It might have been less irritating if her parents hadn't insisted she be tutored in French; overhearing snippets of conversations in two languages, her mind always having to decipher which it was before putting the words together, was exhausting.

The students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had mostly kept to themselves, which Hermione found disappointing. She really had been excited to learn more about their cultures (although she never bothered hoping to learn where the mysterious Durmstrang was located), but she couldn't reach out to ask questions without being rude.

She sighed, leafing through pages of her book on Durmstrang. It seemed for the best that she hadn't been able to meet any of its students. She was Muggle-born, meaning she wouldn't have been allowed to attend the school. They seemed to teach the Dark Arts, too, which made her rather uncomfortable.

Hermione turned her mind to brighter thoughts. The Yule Ball was in less than two months, and she was very excited, in an intellectually curious sort of way. It was already different from the usual affairs: boys were to formally ask girls to accompany them, rather than the steady rotation of (attempted) dance partners she was used to. Because of this, the only way she would be attending was alone, as the only boy she wanted to take her to any ball was hardly likely to ask. Her friends had all been asked, already, and she didn't begrudge them for it. Lavender would be attending with Mister Ronald Weasley, Fay with Mister Corner from Ravenclaw, and Parvati with Mister Finnegan.

No, instead she would attend by herself, partake in whatever light refreshments were available, and write notes afterwards on the differences between the Yule ball and those in the Muggle world. Her parents might actually be interested in something she had discovered, for once. Perhaps if Mister Potter wasn't attending with anyone, they could have a dance together.

Her closest friend appeared from behind the shelves, smiling widely. "Lavender, what are you doing here? You hardly study," Hermione teased.

"Well, now's as good a time as any to start, don't you think?" said Lavender brightly. With that, her friend settled into the seat across from her. She took her Potions book and a scroll of parchment out of her bag. "I just need to find my quill and ink…" She leaned down to search through her bag and found her supplies quickly. She leaned back up, finally ready to work. "That was - oh!"

"What?" Hermione asked, glancing down to check her pinafore for ink.

"He just walked in," Lavender hissed, her lips hardly moving. Hermione didn't have to ask to know who she meant. Her heart was already racing. "Don't turn around," she warned, as if Hermione would do that. "Oh, I think he's coming to us, look busy!" Hermione had been busy, before Lavender had interrupted!

Before she could voice that, there was a familiar deep voice beside her. She looked up and nearly got lost in Mister Pucey's eyes again before he spoke. "Do you mind if I speak with you for a moment, Miss Granger? My apologies, Miss Brown," he added, even looking like he meant it. Lavender just giggled and waved the two away.

"I'm sorry to steal you from your studies," he blurted once they were a short distance away (but entirely visible) from the study tables. "I just have a question for you." He was stalling, she thought.

She gave him a friendly smile to draw out what he needed, but it only seemed to make him more nervous. "What book do you need to find this time, Mister Pucey?"

He blushed, for some reason. "It's not a book this time, Miss Granger, although I thank you for your willingness to help. I…" He took a deep breath and let it go. "I was wondering if you might accompany me to the Yule Ball?" The words were rushed, but she understood exactly what he said.

She didn't understand why he'd said it. This was not part of her plan for the ball, this was entirely unexpected! They'd spoken exactly once, and it had been but a short conversation! What sort of impression could she have made in that time? Unless… unless he'd been watching her as she watched him. How could they have never caught one another, if that was the case?

She realized that he was waiting for an answer and growing more worried that longer she took. "Yes," she said simply, smiling widely, "I'll happily accompany you." She resisted giving a curtsy.

"I will count down the days," he said, smiling now too. A bolt of pure glee ran through her at the sweet words. "Thank you, Miss Granger." Then he turned and left, apparently not wishing to study just then.

She practically floated back to Lavender. The look on her face must have been dreamy, as Lavender's first words were: "Did he ask you?" She wouldn't find out until later that Lavender had connected the dots and rushed to the library after overhearing Mister Pucey nervously ask Mister Potter where 'Miss Granger' might be.

"Yes," Hermione sighed. "I can't believe it. You'll have to help me with a dress this coming weekend," she added. Fashion was Lavender's area of expertise, and the tailor in Hogsmeade wasn't terrible for formal events.

Lavender pouted. "What if I already had plans?"

"You're the only one who can help me," Hermione said plaintively, "and besides, you love nothing more than pretending someone's one of your dolls."

"Well, you're certainly right about that!" Lavender admitted brightly. "We'll make a day of it!"

Looking down at her books, Hermione realized that studying right now would be useless. Mister Pucey must have thought the same. He really might be as excited as she was, feel as bubbly and silly and happy inside as she did! She couldn't help but be surprised, even now, that Mister Pucey would be her escort to the ball. She'd wanted it to be him so badly, and now she had it, no matter how unexpected. The more she thought about it, the more sure she was that he had been watching her, wishing for an introduction, pining after her just as she had been him.

"Let's go," she said to Lavender, who only giggled at her.

A week before the ball, an unusually small long-eared owl swooped down and sat next to Hermione's plate. It held a small package and a note on its legs, and Hermione untied them swiftly. The bird didn't wait for her to offer a snack, instead pecking a bite from her plate before flying away.

This was all very surprising, as Hermione hadn't expected any letters, much less packages. The owl was unfamiliar, and she said so to her friends, who had watched the spectacle unabashedly.

"I wonder who it's from!" Fay squealed.

"Open it!" Parvati demanded.

"Oh, fine." She was putting on airs of course; she very much wanted to see what it was. Slowly, she peeled open the small envelope accompanying the package. She glimpsed down to the bottom before reading and she knew she was suddenly wearing a soppy smile. Her friends tittering offered no doubt.

"From Mister Pucey, then," Lavender said knowingly. Hermione didn't acknowledge her; she was soaking in the note. They hadn't spoken privately since he'd asked her to the ball, observing courtship decorum without really courting, and the conversation was usually about academics when they did speak. She was curious what he had said on the page, how bold he had been in the private message (not that she didn't expect her friends to read it, of course).

Miss Hermione Granger,

I hope this note finds you well and is not too forward. My mind could not help but wander to you while practicing my charms work yesterday evening, and your beauty was my muse for this piece of responsive charming. I hope that you enjoy it and that you see yourself echoed in it.

Sincerely,

Mister Adrian Pucey

Her beauty… Did he not see her too-large teeth, her unruly hair, the way that sometimes her corsets just refused to lace properly and shifted visibly over her too-narrow hips?

Lavender grabbed the note out of her hands from across the table, interrupting her line of thought. "Hermione, this is almost scandalous!" she whispered with a wide smile. "For a boy who stutters every time he talks to you, he's marvelous with words. I'm half in love with him!"

"Let me see!" Lavender leaned so that Parvati could read it as well. "Oh, you've got him smitten!"

"What does it say?" Fay whined beside Hermione. Lavender passed the note to her, and Fay turned to her with bright eyes and said, "Well, let's see this beautiful gift!"

Hermione's hands trembled as she gently unwrapped the package. It was a gift box, Slytherin green and carefully tied with a gold ribbon. She undid the ribbon slowly, hoping perhaps to keep it and wear it to the ball if her hair cooperated.

"Oh, open it already!" Fay was growing impatient, but Hermione couldn't make herself move any faster.

Finally, she got the lid off of the box and peeled back the tissue paper protecting the gift inside. It was a smaller box, without a lid. Inside was a fine ceramic bowl of water, clearly charmed not to spill as the owl that brought it hadn't seemed exceptionally steady. She set the bowl in front of her where the others could see it. They watched with interest, hardly seeming to blink.

Just below the surface of the water, she could see a small green bud. Nothing happened, and she felt silly when she remembered it was a responsive charm. She tentatively rested her finger on the surface of the water and the charm began immediately.

The small bud grew up and out of the water and became a perfectly shaped white camellia with soft tingest of pink at the edges of its petals. Her favorite flower, and the spellwork must have been meticulous! The growth was smooth and an even speed, not an easy feat even with non-responsive charms, and she was duly impressed. Her heart felt like it might burst out of her chest. Smiling delicately, she looked between her friends to the Slytherin table. When she finally found him, he blushed and put his head down. He'd been watching for her reaction, then. Her smile grew. Yes, it was growing very clear he had been as desperate for her attentions as she had been for his.

Parvati leaned down close to the flower and sighed. "Oh, that smells really nice! Hermione, check."

She put her head down as her friend pulled away. She was right: the smell was heavenly and stronger than any camellia she'd ever encountered. It was normally a fairly scentless bloom that made up for it by its beauty, but this one smelled of jasmine. She let her eyes fall closed and her mind drift to Mister Pucey's way with words.

Hermione had felt overwhelmed from the moment that they walked in. Surrounded by extravagant works of frills and attached flowers, her periwinkle evening gown, with its square neckline and lace sleeves that draped loosely over her arms, felt overly Muggle. She knew it was lovely and up to magical standards, given Lavender had picked it for her, but the insecurity always seemed to rise at times like this. Facing the mass of people - more than at any ball she'd ever attended - she almost grabbed his arm in fear. She managed to refrain and stood ramrod straight as he escorted her to one of the many small tables scattered about the room. This one was already occupied, by a fair, stout young man in pine green robes who was vaguely familiar to her.

"Miss Granger," her escort said politely, "this is Mister Bole, my closest friend."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she said, and she meant it. Any friend of Mister Pucey's must be a reasonable fellow, even if he was on the Quidditch team and she was fairly sure he had fouled Mister Potter a few matches ago. "You're a Beater for the Slytherin team?"

Bole beamed. "Yes, thanks to Pucey here. I wouldn't have ever tried out if he hadn't encouraged me." Whether he was just trying to make his friend look good in front of a young woman or not, Hermione couldn't tell; she decided to take his word for it.

"That's wonderful," she said, smiling shyly up at Mister Pucey. His cheeks tinged faintly with pink.

Soon enough, Mister Bole tired of their conversation - or simply wanted to leave them alone with one another - and excused himself to find the refreshments. The two sat for a moment in silence before Hermione said, "I really liked the flower. I don't think I ever thanked you."

He smiled, and for a moment Hermione forgot about the crowd of people milling around them. "I'm very glad you liked it. Miss Brown said it was your favorite flower."

Hermione laughed openly at that. "Of course she would conspire with you!"

"I only conspire to please you," he said, and Hermione blushed at his boldness, although she found she didn't mind. "If it takes one hundred flowers to do so, it will have been worth it."

It was then that Hermione had a bold thought of her own, a devilish idea. "Mister Pucey, I find myself swooning in this horrible crowd." It wasn't even a lie. His brow furrowed in concern. "Would you be able to accompany me outside for a moment, that the fresh air might help?"

His deep, beautiful eyes widened then. "Oh! Of - of course, Miss Granger." He stood when she did and shouldered ahead of her through the crowd, looking back occasionally to ensure she was still behind him.

Finally, they made it to the door out to a small patio circled with floating fairy lights: actual living fairies, floating above them and hiding in the hedges to provide light. Before leaving the hall, Hermione pulled a thin pair of gloves out of her matching periwinkle silk reticule. Mister Pucey was watching her hands closely, she noticed, and she tried to move elegantly as she slipped her hands into the gloves. When his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily, she assumed she'd succeeded. The success was heady, and she felt like she was spinning.

They stepped out into the cool night's air, keeping a respectable difference apart. They spoke of Ancient Runes: while she was interested in the weaving together of runes to accomplish complex tasks, Mister Pucey focused his NEWT work on logograms, finding Arithmantic similarities between those from different cultures. The logograms of Japanese were most interesting, he said, because almost all of them had more than one pronunciation, only some of which were used in magical contexts, and many were borrowed from Chinese. He had been slowly learning Japanese for two years and was working with a sixth year named Cho Chang who was fluent in written Chinese.

"I'm going through dictionaries right now, calculating the resonance of logograms that represent whole words with each of their pronunciations," he explained. "I record these, and soon I'll look for pairs - or hopefully, groups - with similar resonances. It sounds tedious, but I hope to eventually help speed the translation of logograms, even just morphemes, into runic arrays from common alphabets."

"That sounds incredible," Hermione said breathlessly. "That would be a huge contribution to the field - that would make East Asian magic accessible to so many more people!" It was stupidly common for Europeans and others to try to mimic a logogram in pidgin runes and end up exploding something or themselves.

He looked down bashfully to his feet. "Well, that's if it works." He was shifting his weight nervously from one side to another.

"I'm sure it will," Hermione said kindly. "

"Are you alright, Mister Pucey?"

"Of course," he said, clearly fibbing. "It's just a little warm in here."

His nose scrunched immediately as he realized what he'd said and he looked away sheepishly. She tilted her head and couldn't help but tease him. "Mister Pucey, we're outside. In December." A breeze blew past them as if to remind them of it.

Mister Pucey, a good sport, chuckled at himself and ran his hands smoothly over his hair. He had tied it back with a ribbon tonight. "Correct as usual, Miss Granger." He really was the sweetest boy she'd ever met. She shivered when the breeze came back around, and he frowned before asking in a low voice, "Would you like to wear my coat until you're ready to go back inside?" He was the sweetest person she'd ever met and the sweetest that would ever be. It was a tuxedo coat, very trendy and looking very warm at the moment; unfortunately, it wouldn't do to be caught in his clothes.

"No, thank you," she said. She eyed him pensively for a moment. "You're being very calm for a boy who's snuck out of a ball with a girl he's not engaged to. Do you do this often?" she asked as seriously as possible.

He laughed after a few seconds, apparently having decided that she was just teasing him. "I'll have you know, I'm scared to death."

She cocked her head to the side, genuinely curious now. "Of what?"

Mister Pucey came a step closer. "Of you, of course." Hermione couldn't help but laugh. How absurd! "I'm serious! I've got the most brilliant, beautiful girl in Hogwarts out alone on a patio with me; I can't afford to bungle this, you know." He was smiling down at her, and she realized how much taller than her he really was. She always knew he was tall, but he absolutely towered over her.

Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever stop blushing. Perhaps she'd just go through life a bright red from now on. "How on earth would you do that? You're doing so well," she admitted freely.

"I would hate to do anything to make you uncomfortable," he said, and although the words were innocent she could tell that he was looking at her lips while he said them. She smiled coyly and he laughed breathily. "Miss Granger, may I -"

"Of course," she said, and lifted herself onto her toes. Her heels were high, but he was so, so tall.

As sweet as ever despite his straightforwardness, he brought his head to her level and gently pressed his lips against hers. Chaste and still, it was so far beyond anything she had imagined from any boy before she was engaged, from him tonight, from him at all. She pushed that thought to the back of her mind and simply let herself feel the serenity of this for a short second.

Of course, it really was only a short second. "Mister Pucey! Miss Granger!" They jumped apart, looking around for who had caught them. Professor McGonagall emerged from the veritable maze of hedges. "Are you aware that these hedges have been spelled invisible to all professors?" Hermione felt the blood drain out of her face. The professor let the two of them simmer in anxiety for a moment. "I think it's time to go inside, don't you?" she asked with an arched brow.

Professor McGonagall waved them back toward the hall and they ran to the doors in a very undignified manner. Being found kissing a boy she had never even danced with wasn't very dignified either, though, so she thought that she sort of deserved it. Hermione didn't know if they'd escaped points being taken because she was the professor's favorite student, but she was grateful for it regardless.

Once back inside, the two finally chanced looking at each other and immediately burst into a small burst of laughter. It was quiet, but it drew the attention of a girl not far from them. Lavender caught her eye and winked exaggeratedly. Hermione was lucky she was already blushing and Mister Pucey wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

He led her over to the small table they had abandoned, the crowd only slightly less horrid now that the dance floor was open. Mister Bole was still absent, and she wondered if he was dancing or still eating.

She looked bashfully at her escort, who was staring at her like she was some sort of marvel. "I'm sorry for being such a terrible influence. We almost got in trouble."

Mister Pucey only grinned. "Just so you know," he said, "I don't regret a thing." He seemed in his eyes like he was telling the truth, and the warm feeling she now associated with him came over her, erasing the last of the December chill.

WC: 6,004