Chapter Thirteen

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, 'was this all just a dream?' she wondered, but as she thought about it the scent of sandalwood and musk washed over her.

"You tell me," Hermione whispered, her voice breathy and deeper than usual.

"Only time will tell," the rich, controlled voice continued. "All will be revealed when the time is right. I look forward to our dance." The hands released their clasp and the scent faded.

Hermione span around to find her dream-man vanished. "Phew, is it getting hot in here or is it just me?" She thought to herself, a warmth spreading across her entire body. "This man, whoever he is, is affecting me in ways I had forgotten I could even feel." She thought as she entered into the ball room once more. She had to calm herself down as her next partner stepped forward and offered her his hand. She was more aroused than she had been in a long time, and she didn't want to get carried away.

"Fancy a snog?" An Irish accent asked abruptly half way through the slow dance.

"Seamus?" Hermione squealed, "is that you?"

"Arrrr, you've ruined me fun now Granger." Seamus Finnegan replied. "But my god girl, you are lookin' fine tonight – are you sure you don' fancy a snog anyhow?"

Hermione had to slap his hand away from her bottom, as she said assertively, "No Seamus, I DO NOT! You are drunk!"

He pulled her towards him and she could smell the firewhisky on his breath, he leant in for the kiss and she slapped him hard across his left cheek.

"I will pretend that didn't happen, if you walk away now!" she admonished him. Seamus skulked away with his tail between his legs muttering all the while.

"Only tryin' to be friendly," he grumbled as he disappeared into the shadows.

"Seems I'm not the only one feeling inappropriately horny tonight." Hermione thought as she looked up at a beautiful gilded clock that was hung above the stage area. "Ten 'o' clock," she thought, "only half an hour to go, I am going to find out who that hunk is if it kills me!"

A mountain of a man walked over to her, "My dance I presume?" he asked in a deep baltic accent. "If that little man upset you I will break him."

"Viktor?" Hermione squealed. "No, no it's fine he's just had too much to drink, anyway," she said, "I didn't know you were back in England, how are you?"

"I am good Hermione, and you... you are looking vunderful tonight. I miss those lips." Viktor looked gorgeous in his Russian-style dress robes, "I am here for the Quidditch. I am leaving soon. I vish I could take you with me."

"You and I weren't meant to be Viktor," Hermione said soothingly as they danced across the floor. "I will always care about you though, you know that right?"

"Ah..." he groaned, "I know," Hermione sensed his disappointment, "and if you ever change your mind, my torch for you vill alvays burn brightly."

At the end of their dance the pair embraced lovingly, and went their separate ways. Hermione glanced again at the clock, "10.15," Hermione thought, "not long now."

Her next partner was a fine dancer but not much of a conversationalist, they whisked around the floor exchanging few words and as the music finished her partner bowed and retreated into the crowd.

Around her people were getting more and more intoxicated, couples were staggering as they danced and quite a few pairs had given up dancing all together in favour of full-blown tonsil hockey.

The clock read 10.27 and Hermione began to scan the room looking for her mystery man, she wound her way through the embracing couples and enthusiastic dancers, all the while keeping her eye on the clock.

10.29 and 35 seconds 36... 37... 38... She span around on the spot, she couldn't see him anywhere. 49... 50... 51... "He's not going to show!" she thought, cold fear coursing through her veins. 57... 58... She couldn't keep her eyes off the clock. 59...

A warm, strong hand tapped her on the shoulder.