A/N: I have returned to bestow upon my wonder readers/reviewers Chapter 19 and many thanks, especially to the following: ellamalfoy8, Silver Tears 11, hippychick21, nehimasgift, Skavnema, san01, svelte, hanvu, pottersgirl91, The Almighty Cheez It, litprincess, Shadows08, pastyglue, and HPluvagrl.

And one more quick note. In this chapter, a new character appears, a character fashioned after one of my great friends from the site as well as the HermioneGranger/OliverWood Yahoo! Group, Mima (a.k.a. Vera-Sabe on the site). Her name is, in fact, truly Romanian and very beautiful if I do say so myself (which I do), and the proper way to pronounce it is here: Iemima Amariei - Ya-mee-ma A-ma-ree-yay (told you it was quite lovely)

Anyways, enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 19 – A Grand and Glorious Affair

Hermione frowned at the mirror before her. She sat in her room, staring at the vanity and wishing that she were anywhere but where she was, preparing for what she was. The night of the ball had sprang on her like a black cat in the dark.

'My life has become a bad clash of Lavender and Parvati meets Pansy and Fleur,' she mused in desperation as she placed her face in her hands and groaned. What had happened to the practical Hermione?

'I'll tell you what happened,' a snide, Ron-like voice spat from the depths of her mind. 'She's stuck in the twentieth century while you're stuck in some wretched mistake which causes you to parade around in itchy, ridiculous dresses while clinging to the words – and arm, no less – of the future wizarding world's Dark Lord. Are you proud of yourself, little miss practical?'

"Oh, shut up!" Hermione growled into the mirror before standing and heading toward the balcony.

The creak of the door hinges stopped her though, and the King's voice called to her.

"A glorious night it shall b-," he began, but stopped abruptly at the sight of her. "Why have you not yet dressed? There is but five minutes before you are to be downstairs."

"I might be a little late," Hermione mumbled, turning from him and staring out at the clear, darkening sky. The stars would definitely shine brightly for the ball tonight.

"Is something the matter?" asked the King. Hermione pondered for the tiniest second about telling him of the General's plans, but his next question pushed those thoughts quickly from her mind. "Are you not well? You act as though you have caught something that causes you ill as of late." If she were to tell him, then he would certainly think she was sick.

"No," Hermione sighed before turning and giving a more cheerful tone, "Father, nothing brings me ill being. It's nerves, you see... all those people and..." Her voice trailed off, and she forced a smile as he cooed at her while grinning.

"There's nothing to fear. The people attending will love you," he assured her as he pulled her into a tight embrace and then held her at arm's length to look her over. "My how you've grown... eighteen already. I had hoped that your mother would be here to see this day, but I guess she's not here in the way I had expected her. From our hearts she watches, and she tells me that she wants to see you dressed quite beautifully, so hurry now. Shall I send your ladies to help?"

"Oh, no," Hermione answered quickly, remembering the dresses that they had tried to get her to buy. The last thing she needed was the help of Mary and Janessa in a task such as getting ready for a ball. "I'll manage," she added with a tense smile.

The King sighed and returned her smile before leaving, shutting the door behind him. Hermione shook her head and dropped down at the vanity once more. She pulled her wand from its drawer and pointed it at the door. After locking it to all outsiders, she effortlessly went to work on making herself somewhat to the King's expectations.

"This uniform is pure idiocy," Tom growled as he tucked two fingers between his choking, stiff gold collar and his irritated neck.

"Ah, but the ladies love a gent in uniform," Arthos stated with a cheeky grin. "Though I think it will be hard to get any ladies to notice us other gents with you in the room," he added as he looked longingly after two young women who passed, both looking Riddle over and giggling.

"I have no interest in them," Tom reassured him in a serious, half muttered tone. His eyes scanned the room, passing over the King who was among a group of important looking men, one of them the General. 'A snake in a bag of old ropes,' Riddle thought as he continued to scan the room. He spotted Porthos entertaining a group of four or five young women, all of them in a giggling nature as he flashed a Lockhart-like grin. 'Ignorant fool... wouldn't be surprised if he was related to the Malfoys.'

Then Tom's eyes landed upon the entrance to the room. Hermione's two so-called ladies in waiting, Mary and Janessa, entered the room on the arms of two military men. All four wore the same expression of a simple child in a candy shop which made Riddle give himself a mental note to check up on them later; he was sure there would be some hilarity that entailed trouble to be seen. But all thoughts of such events were soon swept away as another entered the room.

Eyes downcast and hands clutching to the folds in her dress, Hermione made her way in. Tom felt awed by her beauty; it was of the simple, yet elegant type, something he admired in that moment. A hazy sort of euphoric expression adorned his face as he took in her features. The milky, silken sheen of her skin that lay bare above the fabric of her dress seemed to entrance him. He imagined himself running his fingertips down her unadorned neck, which many would say was plain without jewels, but he saw it perfect. He traced that imagined path to the dip of her collarbone, which with each breath made her look like a goddess of grace and poise.

His eyes raptured in examining the rest of her. She didn't even seem like the same Hermione he had been working with as she stood at the doors of the room. Her hair, pulled back at the nape of her neck, held a curl that wasn't usually its own. And the golden tiara that sat atop her head made her seem like more of an angel with a golden halo.

His heart gave a strange pang as his eyes wandered over her. From her bare shoulders to her floor-sweeping, sapphire dress to the sparkle of her eye, Tom found all aspects to be ones of ravishing delight. He was jerked from his inspection though as her head jerked up upon the voice of someone over all others.

"Announcing the arrival of our esteemed hostess of honor... the Princess... Anastasia!" bellowed a guard at the door.

All eyes turned to her, chattering paused for only a minute, which felt like an eternity to both Tom and Hermione, before the room burst into a polite, well-mannered, and light applause which sounded like a pleasant rain on a tin roof. Her eyes shifted nervously over her guests as she bit at the inside of her lip. Sure, she had been in a situation somewhat of the same manner before, but never to this magnitude. The time before she had been only in the soft glow of the limelight on the arm of one Bulgarian champion, Viktor Krum. Yet, here she was now, the center of attention; the limelight blinding her as chatter started once more.

People were obviously talking about her as they whispered to their surrounding neighbors and glanced at her every few seconds. She wanted more than ever to close her eyes and make it disappear, but that would make her seem a fool. Stomach beginning to churn, she decided that being rooted to the spot was not the best thing for her. 'If I move away from the center of their attraction, then maybe they'll go back to talking amongst themselves about other matters,' Hermione thought to herself. She made to take a step, but was caught at a crossroads only half through her footfall. Tom grimaced as Porthos stepped up to her, inclined his head, and held out an arm for her much to the displeasure of his earlier female companions. She was saved the trouble of having to accept his arm though when the King stepped forward.

He made his apologies to Porthos and swept Hermione away from him to the center of the room. The blond-haired soldier glared at the King as the group of females surrounded him once more as all beseeched him for his first dance of the night. Riddle's lips twisted into a satisfied smirk before he turned away and began walking around the edge of the room, Arthos following him and smiling graciously at any girls who passed.

Back at the center of the room, Hermione was once more thrust into an unfamiliar and all too unsettling situation. The King had begun to introduce her to people; ones she was supposed to remember from her past.

"And of course you remember the Count... or as he prefers, the Earl of Sandwich," the King babbled. "Count John Montagu... remember?"

"Oh, yes," Hermione lied as she forced a toothy grin.

"And his wife, Countess Martha Ray... although you won't remember her. They've just recently been married," the King continued to rattle.

"Congratulations, then," Hermione managed before he turned her in a one-eighty fashion and began to spout off more names.

"Oh, and the Marquess of Wellesley... So good of you to come, dear Richard," the King shook hands vigorously with the man as Hermione inclined her head and prayed for the madness of introductions to stop.

"Ah, Anastasia, my darling daughter, you must greet our wonderful friends, the Duke and Duchess of Holyhead!"

"Duchess Rodmilla," Hermione said stiffly as she inclined her head once more. "And Duke Rodden... you should both join us for lunch again one day."

"That would be splendid," the Duke chimed as he finished shaking the King's hand and beamed at Hermione, though the Duchess harrumphed and stuck her nose in the air before walking away.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and as she did, she spotted Tom in the corner of the room. He smirked at her, but not in an uncomplimentary way. She gave a quick half smile before the King swept her off to meet more of their guests.

Hermione began to feel overheated as all she saw were a whirl of pearly smiles, flashy ballroom gowns, sparkling jewels, military uniforms, and suits of high ranking royalty. She felt like she was in a circus where royal husbands paraded around their wives and female guests in a show of who had more jewelry and gems or the most snobbish demeanor. A sick feeling was settling in her stomach, and all she wanted was a little air and maybe a drink. Her wishes were granted when someone spoke to her from beside her.

"You look parched, dear Princess. Here, have a drink," Porthos offered as Hermione turned to him while trying to hide her disappointed expression.

"Thank you," she said, taking the drink and wondering if it was safe. 'I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to poison me right here in the ballroom.'

He watched; waiting for her to take a drink. So she contented his probing gaze by raising the small, golden goblet to her lips, yet she didn't drink as she made it appear she had.

"If you'll excuse me," she said to the King and Porthos as she moved away from them. "I feel some fresh air is in order." She nodded to them as the sapphire-eyed boy opened his mouth, obviously ready to offer his company. "I'll join you again shortly after I freshen up," she added to cut his offer short.

She turned and left, giving Riddle a quick, pointed look from the corner of her eye as she passed him. He joined her by some long tables which held many small types of appetizers and drinks for the guests, though most were preoccupied with mingling so they were partly to themselves.

Just as Hermione was about to speak to Tom in hushed tones, someone called out to her from behind.

"Well, if you aren't a sight for my sore little Romanian eyes," a girl stated rather loudly.

Hermione turned around and watched as the girl approached. She was a rather pretty girl with long, dark hair which hung to the center of her back in flowing curls. Her dress, one of a lustrous ruby color, made her dark eyes seem all the more twinkling. She smiled in a warm, friendly way as she pulled Hermione into a gentle hug.

"It's so nice to see you... I haven't talked to you in over half a year," the girl said.

Hermione stared at her while trying to get some clue as to her name or something, but there was nothing on the golden earrings or golden chain around her neck. The only clue as to her rank that Hermione could find was a small, ruby studded tiara on her head.

"You don't mean to tell me that you've forgotten me so quickly?" the girl asked in a somewhat amused way. "I know it's been a while, but you've got to remember your best friend."

Hermione bit down on her lip and shook her head.

"Boy... that baker's son really got your head all messed up," the girl sighed incredulously. Hermione was surprised with her speech; she seemed out of place in this time period. "How can you forget me?" she asked, still unbelieving. "You know," she stated in a bored, exasperated tone. "Iemima Amariei... Romanian Princess of Austria," she drawled, still sounding bored. "Mima... something's got to ring a bell here."

"Oh!" Hermione gasped. "Yes! I just didn't recognize you."

Hermione pulled her into another hug, reciting her name over and over in her head to remember it so she wouldn't make a fool of herself again. 'Mima. Mima. Mima.'

"So... who's your friend?" Mima asked as she gestured to Tom who was watching the exchanged between the two girls.

"Oh, him? Well, this is Aramis-"

"And I'm Arthos," said Tom's military acquaintance as he stepped forward and took her hand in his, brushing his lips across her knuckles as he went. "Thought I had lost you back there for a moment there, Aramis," Arthos added as he bowed away from Mima who cocked her eyebrow at him in an amused way. "So, when will the merriment begin?" he inquired as he turned toward the crowd.

"Right about now," Mima replied slyly as she looked from Hermione to Tom and grinned. "You two should have the first dance together."

"No, thank you," Riddle declined quickly.

"Then you won't mind if I take the Princess's first dance, then?" Arthos asked as he bowed past Riddle to Hermione before taking her hand and leading her to the center of the dance floor.

"Now why on earth would you let someone else step in on you like that?" Mima questioned him lightly.

"I did no such thing."

"Well, I don't believe it's you out there dancing with that boisterous, friendly, lovely Princess, now is it?" she countered. "So, let's me and you take the first dance and get something straight." Before Tom could protest, Mima had him out on the floor in a waltz-like dance. She was graceful, light on her feet, but he was quick to keep up with her after stumbling only on the first few steps. "I hear you rescued my wonderful friend from that evil baker's son," she laughed.

"Uh... yeah," he lied; unable to think of what else to say as he tried to keep up with her steps and search for Hermione on the floor.

"So the word is that you take quite a fancy in her," Mima continued to interrogate effortlessly.

"And so what if I do?" Riddle challenged before he knew the words slipped off his tongue.

"Nothing... just make sure she's happy and well taken care of," the Austrian Princess shrugged as the song ended, and they switched partners.

Tom looked to the girl in his arms and expected to see Hermione as Mima went whirling away with Arthos, but it wasn't so. It was someone he didn't even know, and as Riddle looked for Hermione, he felt slight worry set in. 'In a room this big, she could be with anyone, stuck in a situation much worse than she was with that Princess Mima,' he thought.

He stopped dancing and narrowed his eyes as he spotted her. She was twirling around the floor with Porthos, one arm snaked tightly around her waist and the other holding her hand tight. 'Time to put him out of his misery,' Tom mused as he walked up and tapped Porthos on the shoulder.

"If I shall be so bold as to cut in," Riddle remarked.

"No, I-," Porthos began, but turned his back on Tom as he and Hermione danced. At the mere mention of 'no', Riddle felt anger bubble beneath the surface. "Don't think you will," Porthos finished when he was once more facing the dark haired Aramis impostor.

A fire flared in Tom's eyes as the blond whisked Hermione away through the dancing couples across the floor. He clenched his fists and stalked away, passing Mima and Arthos.

"Where's Anastasia?" Mima called after him, but he gave no answer.

"That can't be good," Arthos mumbled as he began looking for Hermione.

"There she is," Mima said with a nod in the other girl's direction.

"And I can see why Aramis is mad," Arthos concluded.

"Why?"

"That's Porthos that the Princess is dancing with... right evil prat who's always trying to step on the toes of Aramis to try and get to the Princess and impress the King," Arthos explained.

"Well, then," Mima sighed, "let's put a stop to it, shall we?"

"What?" Arthos asked in surprise as Mima walked up to a blond haired girl.

"Hi," Mima greeted politely. "I just thought it kind of me to let you know that that boy over there - Porthos is his name – was talking about how he adores you earlier this evening to myself and my friend. He talked of nothing more than how he wanted to dance all night with you and only you and how the beauty of the Princess was nothing compared to yours."

The blond looked shocked at first, but then a grinned spread upon her face as she gave a giggle and bound off toward Porthos who had just split from Hermione.

"What was that all about?" Hermione asked, a little breathless.

"Oh, nothing," Mima chuckled. "Just hoping our Heavenly Father forgives me for a small, white lie which is all in the name of love."

At that, Hermione exchanged looks with Arthos who gave a half-hearted smile and shrugged his shoulders.

"Where's Aramis?" Hermione asked, changing the subject.

"Well...," Arthos began as he scoured the floor for him, "I'm not entirely sure."

"Fine time for him to run off... I need to speak with him," Hermione grumbled.

"Oh, no need," Mima supplied sheepishly.

"What? Why?"

"I already did."

"And what did you say?" Hermione quizzed.

"Oh, just that I thought he was a nice guy and that he had better treat you right," Mima admitted.

"You didn't," Hermione begged, an exhausted expression on her face.

"I'm afraid I did," Mima confirmed. "Why?"

"I don't like Aramis like that."

"Then you both have a funny way of showing feelings," Arthos interrupted.

"What?" Hermione asked, turning to him.

"Well, Aramis is always watching you. He gets dead jealous of any guy when he comes around you," Arthos admitted.

"And I saw the way you were looking at him when I first approached you tonight," Mima added.

"Is it that obvious?" Hermione questioned, a bit worried.

"Yes," Mima and Arthos answered in unison.

'Oh, no,' Hermione thought as she stared at the highly polished floor. 'I can't believe this is happening. I'm letting stupid feeling show... and they're getting in the way. Everyone sees it. This has to stop, or else we'll never get back to the future like we planned.'

"I talk with you later," Hermione muttered to them quickly. "I have to go find Aramis." With that said, she rushed off to search the room for him.