Perfect
"Hermione!" Harry called up, testing the stairs to the girls' Gryffindor dormitories with one foot. It was no use: he knew as soon as he tried to climb them, the stairs would smooth to a slide. "Hermione, we're going to be late!"
"Shut up Harry!" she called back down, her voice thick.
"Hermione, are you crying!?" Harry brow furrowed.
"No! Just… just go without me, okay? Go find some pretty Beauxbatons girl and dance with her."
"Oh," Harry realised what the matter was. "Hermione! You look perfect! I promise."
Then she appeared: wraped in a floating, violet material, hair twisted back and decorated with flowers, her skin glowing and radiant… and an uncertain, slightly watery smile on her face.
"See?" Harry told her, pushed a loose tendril of hazel locks behind her ear. "Perfect."