Author's Note: Long time no see, my good readers! Thank you for being so patient! I was touched by the increased number of reviews while I was gone and decided to write in order to meet your expectations. But… I do have a sad news along with this chapter… 'Tis the season of essays for me… and I don't think I can write so frequently as before. Maybe after the winter finals, I will be back in my old pace… So sorry and thank you

Disclaimer: I do NOT own anything.

SO HERE's YOUR CHAPTER! ENJOY

Professor Dumbledore was aware that there has been increased number of conflicts within the castle since the King's arrival. He was not sure if it was the cause of it all, but he was sure the timing was right. If it was not the King himself that was inciting frustrations in students, then something must have been brought with the King. But what? He did not know.

The welcoming ball, often called the Meet Ball among the students, was postponed a few days back, but it was the real problem for Hermione. Having just opened her eyes at the world of beauty, Hermione was forced into a dilemma of whether she will choose beauty or safety. Surely, the just king would not give her a death sentence for a child's mistake. Children are supposed to make mistakes; they are not exactly children if they are perfect. In fact, no one is perfect!

Such thoughts just wildly swam across her head during the potion lecture, which, considering Hermione's usual personality, was very unusual. Hermione not paying attention in class? No one would even imagine. Of course, unless he is Harry Potter, the caring and observative friend of Hermione.

Harry practically "saw" Hermione's worries floating around her head and her eyeing each one of them with furrowed brows. It seemed quite incredulous to him how Ron was so obtuse about it all. He was usually out and about for Hermione's feelings. Harry glanced at Ron and was surprised to find him in concern as well. Well, not exactly, concern, but more like anger, or something between those two.

Scratching the back of his head with puzzlement, Harry continued to write notes on his parchment. However, he was not Hermione, and, as usual, his thoughts went a different path. He was wondering about the same thing concerning the Meet Ball. He could not stop himself from snickering a bit silently when thinking about the sense of humor of students before him. What a nice name, he thought. Then he sighed because the real big problem for him was finding a partner. He did NOT want to repeat the sad history during his fourth year in Hogwarts (AN: The Goblet of Fire, if you know what I mean). As Harry started to go over the female names, as many as he could muster in his head, the Just King was also holding his head in his hand in annoyance of the Ball.

How could he forget that there was going to be a ball? The load of work he has buried himself in must have buried the thought as well. Just like the time Lucy abruptly approached him in the library, Edmund was cornered with a job he was so unwilling to do. His problem had nothing to do with clothes or partners. He just simply disliked balls altogether. Any kind of balls, he hated.

Trumpkin looked at him with a sympathetic glance now and then but more often grinned at the thought of Edmund getting tortured by all the vibrant ball gowns, dance, and music. They all were so beyond the boundaries of Edmund's taste. Edmund preferred calmer, more monochromatic clothes and music and hated dancing whatsoever.

"What do I have to do there anyway? Just sit there, chat a little with the faculty, nod, smile, and sit a little bit more?" Edmund, sticking his lips out like a pouting child, complained.

"Oh, those too, but you missed one thing, my King." Trumpkin, not hiding his amusement at all, informed.

"And what may that be?" Feeling the coming dread already, Edmund's lips quivered a bit as he asked.

"You must pick a dance partner among the students." Trumpkin smiled victoriously.

"What? That was NOT in our agreement! Peter never mentioned such obligation, and neither did Susan!" Edmund yelled in extreme frustration.

"Oh, that's because it is not an obligation. It's a courtesy as a royal visitor to offer a dance to one of the Hogwarts students; delight the crowd, if you will." As he spoke, Trumpkin nodded as his own words made very much sense to him.

"What nonsense! Did Susan dance with male students here?" Incredulous, Edmund asked.

"Of course, Your Majesty. With King Caspian the Tenth's consent as well, she did." Trumpkin devilishly smiled.

Edmund felt his skin rising with goose pimples and shook with horror. He was not going to dance. He will never dance. He hated touching the bare hands of strangers, especially if they are witches! He had a very bad memory about a witch trying to socialize with him.

Trumpkin snorted as the king paled. "You'll be just fine."

"You never know, Trumpkin. You never know." Edmund shook his head then abruptly stopped. "Unless…"

Trumpkin eyed him suspiciously. "What is it? What kind of mischief are you planning to spread?"

"What? No. I just accepted my fate." Edmund looked up innocently, which made Trumpkin more worried.

"That was not it at all. Spill it, Ed. What is it?" Trumpkin rarely called Edmund "Ed" unless he felt it emergency.

"Oh, have a little faith in me, my friend! I… just came up with a fitting partner, that's all." Edmund smiled a little, and instantly, Trumpkin saw the little imp he always saw before a crisis.

Hermione decided beauty over safety. A girl cannot simply give up on her appearance so easily, especially when things are not exactly sure whether her life is in stake or not. She was pretty sure the just king would not do anything so openly in a so public place. Besides, Hogwarts support its family more than a mere visitor regardless the royalty—at least, hopefully, not considering those girls fainting over the king's slightest glance.

She asked her mother to send a dress she picked out earlier that year from her favorite muggle shop. She had a just right pair of heels, and her female friends were experts in hair. Facial decoration, she could do on her own. The preparation was perfect. Only if the plan goes at it is and no undefined variable randomly appears, her day at the ball would be perfect.

Edmund paced a little.

"So, when do I have to choose with whom I dance?" He inquired carefully.

Trumpkin with a raised eyebrow answered truthfully. "Whenever. Only be aware that once you choose, the whole school will know about it. Then the rumors start."

"Perfect. Rumors just what I needed." Edmund muttered, but Trumpkin noticed that he was not being sarcastic at all. He really sounded as if he needed rumors.

"Once again, I must ask you, what are you up to, you royal imp?" Now both of Trumpkin's eyebrows were raised.

"And again, nothing, you bite-size worrywart." Edmund snorted.

Trumpkin, not believing one bit of any of Edmund's words, kept staring. Edmund just ignored and continued his pacing around the chamber to conjure up a perfect plan and timing.

The event happened so abruptly that everyone involved except for Edmund was frozen in place for a good minute.

"I, I'm sorry, Your Majesty?" Hermione stammered, her arms tightening around her textbooks.

"I would regard it as a mark of extreme favor if you would stoop to honor me with a dance at the ball tomorrow." Edmund slowly repeated with an equally slowly paced bow and looked up with a gentle smile he so often used to make the best result out of negotiations. "Will you please accept my humble request, miss?"

AN: So that was it! I forewarn you that it will take a while until the next chapter is finished.

AND BONUS! HERE EVERYBODY! HEAR ME I SAY, B.O.N.U.S!

If anyone notices a quote from a movie in this chapter, I will write a short story on [Edmund/Hermione] with any sort of au the person with right answer wants me to write on! I expect a great participation, my readers! Muhwahwahwa.

Who know, I might bring the next chapter quickly if you all so participate for the bonus hehehehe [wicked smile].