Another chapter! And this one's a long one, I spoil you guys :P special thanks go to JessicaRavenGlade, bluebook1496, InsaniumArtisan and Ariel for your reviews - as always, feedback is TEH BOMB and I love it. Hope you enjoy it!
Hermione had forgotten all about the Yule Ball until two hours before it was supposed to start. She was sitting in her office, re-reading her Charms notes when there was a sharp knock on the door. The spell flickered, and for a split second she saw through the wooden surface. It was Ginny.
"Come in!"
She pushed the door open. Her long red hair was piled on top of her head and she was wearing a green dressing gown, and the moment she saw Hermione her mouth fell open in horror.
"You look nice," said Hermione, smiling, "going somewhere special?"
"Yes," she said, "and so are you! Hermione, we've only got two hours until the ball starts! You've got to get ready!"
Hermione froze. It felt as if a bucket of ice had been thrown into her stomach.
"W-What? That's today?"
"Yes!" Ginny snapped, hauling her to her feet, "Merlin's pants, have you even washed your hair? How could you forget it was today, what've you been doing?"
She ran her hands through her hair, leaving streaks of ink across her forehead. Ginny winced.
"I've been…are you sure it's today, Ginny?"
"Yes!"
Hermione darted back to her bedside table. She grabbed her dress – still wrapped up in its brown paper packaging – and a towel before Ginny shooed her out of her office and down the corridor towards the prefects' bathrooms.
In the end, they had only just made it.
She'd showered, scrubbed the ink off her fingers and dried her hair so fast that when she'd finished, it had looked like a dandelion clock. She'd spent fifteen minutes creeping around the corridors with a towel wrapped around her head while Ginny sniggered uncontrollably, and ten more minutes trying to buy a bottle of Sleekeasy's Hair Potion from a well-groomed Ravenclaw coming out of the communal bathrooms. The pair of them had raced back to Gryffindor Tower, flattened down Hermione's Bride-of-Frankenstein hair when Hermione realised she'd left her shoes in her office.
"Oh, Hermione!" Ginny had wailed.
In the end, Ginny had sent a love-struck second year down to Hermione's office with the words 'it's for Hermione Granger' and he'd re-appeared in ten minutes, holding her shoes as if they were made of diamonds. His name was Oliver Tipple, and Hermione promised him she would dance with him at the ball before the rest of the seventh-year girls wrestled her back into the dorm to fix her make-up and force her into her dress.
And now, with only five minutes to spare, the last brush of powder had been applied and the seventh-year Gryffindor girls stepped back to let Hermione see herself in the mirror.
It wasn't what she'd been expecting.
It wasn't that she didn't like it, it wasn't that at all. Her dress was beautiful – a strapless, glittering silver thing with a very full skirt. It wasn't like the dress robes she'd worn in fourth year – much closer to something a Muggle might have worn – but Hermione had noticed that since Voldemort had been defeated everyone was suddenly keen to embrace Muggle culture. It hadn't surprised her that the latest fashions were a far cry from traditional wizard dress, not with Voldemort's legacy hanging over them all…
And it wasn't the rest of her, either. The Gryffindor girls hadn't been able to get rid of Hermione's curls completely, but they'd swept them up into an elegant knot on the back of her head and she no longer looked as though she'd been electrocuted. They'd done a good job on her make-up too. It was very subtle – her lashes were longer, the dark circles under her eyes were hidden and her lips seemed fuller – so subtle that she had to look hard to see where they'd put it in the first place.
No, it wasn't that.
But it wasn't what she'd been expecting. It was almost as if something was missing, some kind of inner certainty that had been taken away from her…
"You look great," said Ginny, giving her shoulders a squeeze, "come on. We'd better head downstairs."
The Great Hall was beautiful.
As Hermione entered, she thought for a moment that the walls had vanished and that they'd stepped straight into the snowy grounds of Hogwarts. Enormous Christmas trees lined the wall, each decorated in delicate silver, and the enchanted ceiling was glittering with stars and snow. Tiny candles floated around the ceiling in little clusters, and white drapes had been spread across the floor and tables.
The whiteness of it all made her eyes hurt a little, and Ginny laughed. She was resplendent in robes like a red sheath, and as she waved and smiled to her friends across the hall Hermione felt a little stab of envy. She could feel the eyes trained on her face; she would have given anything for Ginny's easy confidence.
Ginny threaded her arm through Hermione's and steered her across the dance floor, where her friends were waiting. Hermione knew most of them by sight, but she'd barely said two sentences together to Ginny's friends all term, she'd just been so busy…
She smiled nervously at each of them in turn until the band started to play and somebody tapped her on the small of her back. She turned and saw Oliver Tipple, his dark head barely higher than her waist, bowing and holding out his hand with a hopeful expression on his face.
She took his hand and led him onto the dance floor, smiling.
As it turned out, the dance she had with tiny Oliver Tipple was the best she had at the Yule Ball. He'd spent the whole song staring at his feet and stammering, but when the song had ended he'd squeaked his thanks, blushed scarlet and ran back to his friends, his eyes shining.
The rest of Hermione's dance partners had not been nearly so gentlemanly. They'd trodden on her dress, looked her up and down and held her fingers in a vice-like grip, as though worried she might escape. As the night wore on they only got worse and, at half past ten, Charlie Jackson finally made his move.
He staggered up to her, lurching through the couples on the dancefloor and collapsed into the seat next to her. He pulled out a tiny silver bottle from his pocket and offered it to her. The smell of Firewhiskey stung her nostrils.
"No thank you, Charlie," she said, smiling as politely as she could. He scowled at her, folding his arms moodily and slipping the bottle back into his pocket.
"Fancy a dance?" he said, slurring a little as he spoke.
"I couldn't possibly," she said, her false smile still in place, "I'm exhausted."
"Come on," he said, slipping his arm around her shoulders, "I'm a good dancer, I swear."
Hermione peeled his arm off her shoulders. "I'm sure you are."
"Oh come on, Granger!" he said, seizing her hands in his meaty fists, "dance with me! I'm a nice guy, you know I am! Just one little dance, go on…"
"I'm sure you're very nice, Charlie," she said, staring around the hall for Ginny. She was nowhere to be seen.
"I am," he said, nodding, "I'm always looking out for you. That Malfoy kid bothers you again, I'll teach him a lesson. No Death Eater's gonna mess with Gryffindor girls, not while I'm around."
Her head snapped up. She glared at him but Charlie was oblivious, a slightly unfocused grin plastered across his face.
"What do you mean, teach Malfoy a lesson?"
He grinned at her. "You know, rough him up a bit, like I did last time. You don't need to worry about him giving you trouble, I'll look after you."
Draco's bruised face and cut lip flashed across her mind's eye. She tugged her hands from Charlie's grip and jumped to her feet.
"I can look after myself," she snapped, glaring down at him, "goodnight, Charlie."
She was out of the Great Hall before he could stop her. She ran up the marble staircase, clutching her skirts, and as she ran she heard him crashing through the dancefloor and shouting after her. She did not stop, not even once, not until she had put four flights of stairs between herself and Charlie Jackson.
For a moment she just stood in the corridor, fists clenched and teeth set, listening to the distant sounds of the music. Charlie wasn't following her any more – she'd heard him give up, swearing, at the foot of the marble staircase – but she was still furious.
He'd been the one who'd given Draco all those bruises…
Was he also the one who'd been giving Draco all those letters?
She shook her head angrily and took several deep breaths. Even though she would've liked nothing better than to shout and scream at him, being angry with Charlie Jackson wouldn't do her any good. She needed to be calm and thinking clearly if she was going to prove he'd been sending those letters.
She turned on her heel and headed for the library. She'd just sit there for a minute and breathe in the smell of the books. No-one would be there now, not on the last night of term when the Yule Ball was in full swing. She could just sit there in peace and pretend that she really had forgotten this horrible night…
She pushed the door open.
Draco Malfoy was sitting in the library, bent over a pile of books and academic journals. For a moment she wanted to run, but then he looked up and saw her.
His mouth fell open.
"Hermione."