Chapter Text

March 9th, 1996

Harry sat on the floor in the dark, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of stars and planets, a small figure alone with his thoughts.

He could still remember the first time Professor Quirrell had shown him the star spell. Nothing Harry had seen since compared to the wonder of that moment. Seeing the stars and the planets in their beautiful, silent movements moved him almost to tears. He'd been convinced that there was something great and wonderful out there in the mysterious unknown that he would one day explore.

It was his mission and life's work, epitomized in a single image.

But now, the stars brought up different memories. Hermione, resting her head against his shoulder. Her excited laughter as she showed him her moon and stars manicure. Her silent wonder as she watched the stars with him.

He'd never realized until now, but in every fantasy where he'd travelled through space, she'd been by his side. It seemed like a given, the way things were meant to be. For the first time, he wasn't sure if she still wanted to go.

Or if he wanted to, either.

You're being ridiculous, said his Slytherin side. The hypothetical presence of a girl won't change the importance of your mission, and should not affect your work ethic. Get up. Now.

Harry remained motionless.

So is this who we are now? said Slytherin. Pathetic. Do you not see the literal writing on these walls that have named you public enemy number one? Or how about the war that's starting with your name on it? The time for space travel off this rock encroaches closer and closer, and you're WASTING TIME on GIRLS.

Wrapping his arms around his knees, Harry stared at the dark, lonely night, feeling the coldness of space seeping into his soul.

Not to mention, doofus, your mission requires that—

Don't speak to me thus, said Harry. You're talking to the next dark lord.

What?

Yesss, Harry's thoughts hissed the word. Potter shall be a name to be feared. I'll start by burning down Hogsmeade, especially the Quibbler stand. Maybe cast a few innocents into the proverbial fire. Should I deface a monument of Dumbledore while I'm at it?

And if the world gets destroyed while you have your pity party?

Who cares. Screw the Zen Harry program, screw heroism. It's blood and gore from me from now on. After all, what reward did Quirrell and Dumbledore get, for all their years of sacrifice? Nada, zilch, zero. Might as well be a Voldemort, might as well go find happiness in the arms of sweet vengeance.

And what of your parents? Your friends? Will you let them die too?

My parents—

He stopped, snapping out of his irritation.

Harry was being publicly slandered by a terrorist organization, and it stood to reason they might escalate to violence. If they couldn't get to him, the next best thing would be to attack his family.

Harry scrambled to his feet, threw open the door to his lab, and marched out to the hallway. How in Merlin's name had this never occurred to him before? He'd made plans to protect himself, after all, though that hadn't come to much besides 'stay at Hogwarts.' When it came to defence, it was the safest location by far. It could be he was subconsciously absorbing the Wizard tendency to ignore Muggles, in which case he needed to have a serious conversation with his brain about responsible use of mental heuristics.

On his way to McGonagall, he passed Remus Lupin walking down the hall, avidly reading a parchment floating in front of him. Harry thought a few seconds, then said, "Remus, wait a minute. I have a question for you."

The man turned, blinking behind his reading glasses. It was said that the Sorting Hat made seven mistakes, and Harry was pretty sure sticking Remus in Gryffindor was one of them.

"Good afternoon," Remus smiled hesitantly. "What do you need, Harry?" He had to admit, there was a genuine quality to Remus that made him seem trustworthy, like he was the stranger you'd tell him your life story to on a train ride to wherever. But it was his twenty years of experience with the Unspeakables that prompted Harry to have this conversation.

"What can you tell me about warding?" Harry asked.

Remus blinked again, shifted to face him. "Well, that is a broad subject. It depends on what you want to know."

"What is the strongest warding spell, what can it protect against, and what are the resources required to cast it?"

"If we're talking about a warding a building," said Remus. "The strongest warding spell is blood locking. A well-maintained blood lock creates an impenetrable fortress—"

Harry cut him off. "And the only places protected by it are the Ministry, Hogwarts, and Gringotts, because the blood warding enchantment has been lost. I want to know the strongest spells that can currently be cast."

"Well…I know the best that money can buy is Capita warding. It will defend against scrying, entry, and most attacks. Aristocrats save up for a century to ward their ancestral homes, and it usually takes about six months to properly cast."

"Okay, so if I'm hearing you correctly and standard warding is an excruciatingly slow process, how can I…get started with the minimum viable product that achieves acceptable levels of protection within a week?"

Remus's intent gaze settled on him. "It seems this might require a longer conversation. Join me in my office?"

When Harry entered Remus's office, he saw twelve bookcases lining the shelves, each one full of expensive and beautiful books. Seriously, how are you not in Ravenclaw?

Harry knew that Remus used to be best friends with his father, the heroic Quidditch champion, but it was hard to believe. He seemed less like his father's childhood friend, and more like someone his father would have picked on.

Dutifully, Harry examined the spines. Gold and silver titles shimmered as he read: Bottomless Cauldrons: How to Stretch Your Supplies. Making the Most of Persimmon Part 13.

Remus set down his papers on his desk. "I understand why you're concerned, Harry," said Remus, arranging the parchment in careful stacks. "The Factionist attacks haven't stopped, even if the Daily Prophet fails to report on them. And if they aren't using bombs, that doesn't mean the Factionists aren't attacking Wizards in other ways."

"Muggles too," said Harry quietly. "I'm surprised more students aren't concerned for their parents."

"Well," said Remus. "Wizards are a strange group. They complain all the time and worry about nothing. I think magic makes them feel invulnerable. And besides, most people feel like the situation doesn't concern them, as the Factionists haven't targeted many populated areas. I know it's different for you. The terrorists have been demanding your head on a spike for crimes you haven't even committed, and vilifying you like you're the son of You-Know-Who. It stands to reason you're going to lose sleep over this, and worry for your family's protection."

Harry stared at Remus, who still shuffled papers around as if he hadn't just casually brought up a forbidden topic.

"Sorry if I upset you," said Remus, his voice intent but kind. "I assumed you already knew. But if you didn't, then you deserved to know."

"Well, no one else seems to think so," said Harry, his voice remaining quiet. "I can't tell anyone. It makes me want to scream sometimes."

"Adults underestimate what children can handle," said Remus. "They forget that life doesn't start being difficult when you turn 18. In your shoes I'd be desperate for information, and I'd prefer you get that from a trusted adult than from the newspapers. So, let me know if you have any questions, and I'll tell you what I can."

Harry nodded, not really trusting himself to speak.

"Anyway," said Remus, floating a paper out of the bottom of his stack. "I hope this information helps alleviate some of your fears. Last summer, Headmistress McGonagall commissioned a strong level of warding on your parents' home. I know this, because she showed me a copy of the invoice when I asked how they were protecting you. You can look at it, if you like. She warded the Grangers' home as well."

Harry felt a weight lift off his shoulders, and he read the invoice, noting that the total cost was something close to the diameter of Jupiter in inches. "This might seem like a weird question," Harry said, handing back the paper. "But can we contact the warder so he can show me what he did? I'd like to inspect his work, for personal reasons."

Remus hesitated, scratching his chin. "Normally I would say yes, but the Ministry just banned Apparition and portkeys within the country. The only way he could get there would be to fly or travel by floo."

"I see," said Harry. "Well, my parents don't have a floo, so that's inconvenient."

"Yes, I think making travel inconvenient was the point," said Remus. "In any case, I can speak with his company and see if they'll arrange a meeting here for next week. You'll be able to check the wards for yourself over Easter break, if you think you can wait."

"Right, that should work. I appreciate it."

Remus nodded.

"Now, Harry. How about some good news?" He reached into his desk and pulled out a brown paper package, carefully wrapped. Harry immediately recognized it as the Questionable White Powder. "I believe I've figured out what this is. I wanted to tell you first, since it was your quest item."

"Weeeell, technically it belongs to Hermione," said Harry, shuffling his feet. "She won it in a Hufflepuff quest. But as research partners, I don't think she would mind if you…shared your preliminary findings with me?"

Remus Lupin studied Harry for a moment, then he chuckled.

"You did indeed inherit your mother's curiosity," he said, setting down the package. "But let's keep it under wraps until I contact Hermione. I promise, it's worth the wait."

Harry waited while Remus sent a message, adrenaline coursing through him at the thought of their meeting. It was surprising and somewhat disturbing how quickly his brain descended into 'dur dur' mode in Hermione's presence, and he was hoping he wouldn't embarrass himself in front of his new friend. But several minutes passed and Hermione still didn't arrive. Remus frowned, sending another message with his Patronus, who returned with the reply, "Hermione is currently occupied. Sincerely, Marguerite Valentine."

"Ahh," said Remus, blinking as his wolf Patronus vanished. "Well. I wonder what that means?"

"It's four o'clock now," said Harry dryly. "So she's probably getting ready for the ball."

"Oh," said Remus. "I see. The festivities start at six, I presume?"

"No, closer to eight." In response to Remus's raised eyebrows, Harry said, "My theory is that girls take an excessive amount of time to get ready as a power move to intimidate their dates. Either that, or they're casting witchcraft on themselves and need time to set up the appropriate sacrificial rituals."

Remus smiled. "Perhaps all those sacrifices will be appreciated once you see your date this evening."

Harry snorted. "Come on, my idea of fun is reading ancient books and inventing spells to warp space and time. What am I going to do at a dance?"

"Trust me, I can relate. Studying and experimenting was how I spent my time at Hogwarts. It was also how I avoided most major social events at school, though I did have fun the one or two times I decided to go."

Before Harry could respond, Hermione opened the door to Remus's office. "I got away for a moment," she said, swiftly closing the door. Considering the distance, she really must have run. "What's going on? You said you had an update on a quest item?"

The moment she entered, Harry's eyes took in every inch of her. Her eyes were glassy and lined with dark circles, her hair was a frizzy ball, and Harry could almost see the tension radiating off of her.

Man, those dark beauty rituals sure take a lot out of you.

Remus gazed at her, his voice touched with concern. "Yes, we're discussing the white powder. Are you well?"

She blinked, rubbing her eyes. "I'm…okay. Stayed up too late last night. Anyway, what does it do?"

Annnnd now I feel like a jerk. Is she really okay?

Remus turned to the desk, and slowly unwrapped the package. She joined them, standing beside Harry, her movements gentle and light. Harry felt this strong desire to take her hand and squeeze it, but resisted.

Remus tapped a finger against the brick. "This powder is a treatment for lycanthropy, or the werewolf disease. It moderates the fluctuations of magic within the person's body, preventing them from turning into a werewolf."

"A treatment for lycanthropy?" said Harry. "I thought the only treatment was the Wolfsbane potion."

"Up until recently, it was. Once this new treatment hits the market, it will be cheaper and much more effective than the alternative." Remus turned to them, his eyes alight with excitement. "When did you get this prize, Hermione?"

She thought back. "October…5th, I believe. Last year. Why do you ask?"

"Because," said Remus. "The powder is extracted from of the sap of a hybrid plant. It is very difficult to make, especially since there are only ten known viable specimens in existence. In time, that number will grow. However, only a small gram of the powder currently exists in the workshop of a man in Sweden."

Harry and Hermione were silent for a few moments, then Harry reached into his pouch and drew out the Identification Potion. "I'm going to use some of this on it."

Remus nodded, and Harry cut off a bit of the powder and poured the potion on top.

"Item: Esis Powder. An ingested treatment for werewolf symptoms. Item code: 902830.

Hermione frowned. "When we used it last January, it kept repeating, 'Unknown.'"

"Exactly," said Remus. "Because as of three days ago, it didn't exist."

They went back to Harry's lab, where he loaned Remus several more of his items for study. (He kept the star orb though. He suspected he'd need it.) Hermione remained with him, a silent companion, while Remus bid them goodbye.

"I will return these to you shortly," he said, a warm smile on his face. "Thank you for being accommodating, it will really help my research."

"No, thank you," said Harry. "For everything. We look forward to hearing the results."

Remus nodded and left. Harry turned to Hermione, "Can you believe it?" he said. "I know it's too early to get too excited about a theory, but this could be evidence that the Hogwarts quests are accessing other dimensions. Unless of course the items were created through some form of, I don't know, object based time travel. If further experiments pan out, this is ground-breaking."

"Hmm," said Hermione. "Or maybe the items existed in someone's mind, and the Quest Gods just…knew, and created it."

"Another possibility," said Harry, smiling. "It'll require years of study to conclusively prove, but whatever the reason is, I can't wait to discover it." He set his hands on the counter. "I've been thinking, if my plan to explore the stars is delayed, I could go work in the Hall of Mysteries. Remus seems like he'd make an acceptable co-worker, and you and I would technically have the same workplace.

"That's true," said Hermione, shrugging. "Maybe we could take our lunches together."

Harry paused, trying to read Hermione's expression. Her eyes were puffy and tinged with red. She stood with her arms folded, her face drawn and pale.

He frowned. Sleep deprived or not, it was obvious something else was going on. He ought to ask her about it, but he felt the words sticking in his mouth. Harry never knew how to respond to Hermione when she was emotional, he always said something dumb, and no amount of cognitive restructuring (even the Zen Harry rules) seemed capable of making him respond like an emotionally sensitive human being.

Well, brain? What do you have to say for yourself?

Dur dur.

"I have to go back before Marguerite notices I'm gone," said Hermione. "Talk to you soon, okay?"

"Alright—umm, wait Hermione," said Harry, reaching out instinctively. "If you want to talk, I'll be hiding from the horde of people invading our school. If you need anyone to save you from bad music and boring conversation, well…you know where I am."

She laughed, and Harry said, "I'm serious. Come if you need me."

Hermione's quiet, searching gaze made him realize how that must sound. He hadn't invited Dean, after all, who was her date and the source of said 'boring conversation.' Harry thought about including him in the invitation, then didn't.

He knew it was wrong, because what he wanted to do was completely ruin her evening by pouring out his heart to her. I want you to need me, Hermione. Demand things from me. Inconvenience me and force me to change my plans for you. You and you alone can do that, because you're my heart.

There were several seconds where he stood motionless, the thought of unburdening himself so tempting. But how could be do that to her? Instead, he just said, "If I don't see you again, I hope you have fun tonight."

She smiled softly, weariness behind her eyes. "I appreciate that. See you later, Harry."

Hermione sat on her bed, half-heartedly doing her hair. The mirrors in the room were already clogged with other young Beauxbatons girls who were preparing for the dance. And, since she didn't even have a date anymore, Hermione didn't think she ought to take first dibs.

"Ahh! Nathalie, be careful with that! You almost singed my eyebrows!"

Hermione wouldn't have agreed to go at all, except for she'd spent so much money on this nice dress, and plus the single Beauxbatons students had made a pact to go together. Female solidarity, all that. She didn't want to let that stupid boy…or rather, that somewhat thoughtless boy…keep her from enjoying herself.

"Marguerite, do you have a spare wrinkle-free charm? My dress needs it."

Someone almost stepped on her foot, and Hermione tucked her feet closer to the bed. The girl sauntered off, hands fluttering as if the world would end, and Hermione silently finished her hair.

Once everyone was ready, Marguerite lead the first group of girls down to the waiting area in the Beauxbatons common room. "The most important thing, girls," she said, with regal solemnity. "Is that everyone has fun, but remember to act like ladies. The art of seduction does not require you to throw yourselves at the first boy who's interested."

"Yes, Ms. Marguerite," they replied.

No danger of that here, thought Hermione, before reminding herself she was supposed to have fun.

They made their way to the Great Hall, where they would be holding overflow for the ball. The main event would take place outside in a transfigured garden, with white string lights and band music playing. Hermione had seen the preparations yesterday—it was about as close to a garden party as you could get, without actually being in a garden.

Hermione glanced around, searching for a non-coupled girl she could go talk to, when she saw Padma standing with Dean by the snack table. Padma's dress was maroon with silver highlights, to match Dean's white shirt with his red dress robes.

Hermione looked down at her pink dress, which was supposed to match his…

And she turned and walked out of the room.

Harry spent about fifteen minutes in the Ravenclaw dorms that evening before he just couldn't stay anymore. Everyone was stressed, and for some reason over applying the exact same scent of cologne charms, and there was no reading to be done here.

So, he decided to go downstairs and take a walk.

He descended from the Ravenclaw tower and came to the landing outside the Great Hall, staring down at the milling people inside, waiting for the ball to start. Due to the influx of members, they almost couldn't fit inside. The boat from Durmstrang and the carriage from Beauxbatons had arrived an hour ago with the junior members of each school.

It would be packed in there, but his brain still envisioned Hermione alone, waiting for Dean to find her. She'd smile as he approached, embrace him, listen to him tell her how beautiful she is, because even exhausted and pale she'd still light up that room…

Neville appeared beside him, fussing with his dress robes. "Hi, Harry," he said. "Did you decide to go after all?"

Harry just stared at Neville, raising his eyebrows.

"Right," said Neville, wiping a hand over his forehead. "Truth is, I dunno if I'm going either but…"

A Beauxbatons girl rushed past them, then stopped, whirling to face them, "Excuse me, boys," she said. "Have either of you seen Roger? I can't find him anywhere, and we're supposed to process in with the champions soon."

"Err, not sure," said Neville. "I think I saw him in the upstairs hallway? Dunno what he was up to, though."

Marguerite sighed. "Oh, I swear, that boy is such a mess. If he doesn't get down here in five minutes, on the dot, I'll abandon him for someone else. I've at least five better candidates. Anyway, my girls need me, so I'll be downstairs. Ta ta."

She raced back down, Neville and Harry staring after her. "Why does she even bother with him?" asked Neville.

"One of life's mysteries," replied Harry, though he was 95% sure it was blackmail.

Neville scratched his head. "Umm, anyway, like I was saying, I think I might go to the ball. It's last minute, but it's time I stopped acting like an idiot. I got so caught in chasing after a dream, I didn't realize the wonderful thing I had right in front of me."

"Good for you," Harry said. "Who are you going with?"

"A really special girl," he said softly. "If she'll still have me."

With that, Neville left, and Harry was alone again. He returned to watching the Great Hall, like the Grade A stalker he was. It's not like Hermione even wanted to see Harry, she didn't need him right now, so…why couldn't he seem to move from this spot?

He sat down on the stairs, racking his brain for an answer. He knew there was some part of him that held out hope for a romantic future with Hermione. Maybe if he saw Dean and Hermione together—dancing, laughing, falling in love—he could finally come to terms with the fact that she cared for Dean, not him. He could move on.

Is that even possible? asked his Hufflepuff side. What if we never get over her?

Harry knew that thought wasn't rational, and that eventually time would distance him from these feelings. In theory, anyway. At the same time, he couldn't imagine a version of himself, past or future, that wasn't in love with Hermione Jean Granger.

We have to try to move on, said his Ravenclaw side. It's what's best for everyone.

Is it what's best? said Hufflepuff. Or am I just being a coward? Why can't I fight for her too?

Suddenly, Hermione appeared, storming out of the Great Hall, alone. She furiously wiped her eyes, as if she was trying to hide her tears.

Harry stood up, his eyes tracking her until she disappeared up a flight of stairs. Without a second thought, he raced after her.

Hermione ran up the stairs of Hogwarts, her tears blinding her, searching desperately for somewhere to go.

She couldn't go to her room—too many other girls were still there, getting ready. They would see her crying, and she didn't want everyone gossiping about her the next morning.

So she ran for the first place she could think of that would be completely deserted, a place that felt as comforting as a warm hug.

The library.

Hermione stepped into the library. As she suspected, it was empty. Even the librarian was absent, which had never happened before in known history. It was half lit and somewhat chilly, so Hermione cast the Thermos charm.

Then she stoked a fire in the fireplace, sat down on the couch before it, and stared into the flames.

Her hands itched for a book, but she did not have her extendable pouch with her, just a simple bag for carrying lipstick and a few other necessities. Of course, she could always search for a book in the library. Mad Eye had even suggested several she should read, to build her understanding of certain spells to make them easier to cast.

But she couldn't make herself move.

The flames crackled the log underneath, dancing along the edges of the wood. She stared at it, letting her thoughts wander, the sadness calming as she zoned out.

She heard a noise behind her, and she whipped around—she didn't even have a wand to defend herself. Harry held up his hands.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I followed you from the Great Hall. I can leave, if you want to be alone."

Hermione unclenched her fists, adrenaline settling down. "No…it's okay. You can sit."

Harry sat beside her, on the opposite side of the couch. He didn't speak for a long moment, and the silence dragged. Finally, he said, "What happened, Hermione? Why aren't you at the dance?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not going."

"What? Why not?"

Hermione sighed. She might as well admit it. "Dean chose to go with Padma. I was going to go to the ball anyway. You know, female empowerment, I don't need a man." She'd meant to say that jokingly, but her voice broke. "But it…well…it was just too painful to see him with her, and…"

She sighed. Harry turned towards her on the couch, but he said nothing.

"I'm not even sure if I'm upset that he dumped me—I mean, that wasn't fun, and I ate enough ice cream that I was scared I wouldn't fit my dress, but…" She shrugged, her voice coming out soft. "I've always wanted to go to a dance. It's an important life experience, you know?"

"I wouldn't put too much stock in important life experiences," said Harry. "I can confirm that fulfilling them isn't always what it's cracked up to be."

"Yes, well…" said Hermione. "Even so. I spend so much of my time studying, working, and basically acting like an adult. I feel like I'm missing out on all the fun things I'm supposed to do when I'm young. I thought I'd finally get to experience that tonight, but..." Her shoulders sagged. "I know I'm not normal. My future is some big, scary important thing that will probably be really long and maybe very sad. But just for tonight, I wanted to feel like a normal girl."

She lapsed into silence, unsure if she could continue without crying.

"I…understand how you feel," said Harry. He hesitated a moment, then stood up. "But it's not wrong for you to want to be happy. And I…well…would you like to go to the ball with me?"

Hermione blinked at him. "But you hate dancing."

"I don't mind, if it's with you." His face was flushed, speaking too fast. "I know I'm not a very skilled dancer, so I understand if that's a contributing factor in your refusal. But I will try my best."

"Everyone will probably think we're a couple." She didn't know why she was trying to talk him out of it. Maybe because it was hard to believe this was happening. "You know how the rumour mill tends to spread stories about us."

"Right. Of course. Then…" Harry drew his wand, and raising it towards the ceiling, cast a few spells.

Hermione watched as their old, musty library was transformed into a brightly lit ball room, with its own dance floor. Soft piano music played in the background. Above their heads the rows of books extended into a dark sky enchanted with falling snow.

"Hermione," he said, reaching out his hand. "Dance with me."

Hermione was speechless for several moments. Her brain made a few connections, and then squealed, It's just like Beauty and the Beast!

As she stared in rapture, Harry stood before her, still as a statue.

"Where did you learn to do this?" she asked breathlessly.

"Arnold Melcamp's Decorative Spells," he said softly. "Do you like it?"

She nodded absently, still turning to examine the room. The detail was incredible! Even the well-worn books looked pristine and elegant, as if they belonged in a stately manor. Still, she couldn't understand why Harry would ever attempt to learn a complex decoration spell like this, as it was mostly used for hosting parties. Maybe his obsessive reading had led him to pick up information by osmosis.

"Oh, before I forget." Harry took his wand, transfigured a few small carnations, and gently placed it on her wrist. "It is a flower festival after, all." He glanced skyward. "Sorry about the snowfall."

"No, it's lovely. I like it." Indulging in a little whimsy, Hermione skipped over to Harry, curtsied, and took his hand, which was very sweaty. "Thank you for this dance, Mr. Potter."

He returned the bow. "I'm honoured, Miss Granger."

Harry led her to an open part of the library. He put his hand around her waist, and she placed her hand on his shoulder.

The song was a gentle waltz, played on a violin. They slid into a rhythm, moving in time to the beat.

It quickly became clear Harry hadn't picked up much beyond the simple box step McGonagall taught them, but Hermione still liked the dance. When the song ended, she asked, "Do you mind if I lead this one?"

"Uhh…sure. If that's what you want."

She smiled. "Okay, follow me, ready? One, two, three…"

Teaching Harry dance steps was so much more fun than she expected. He was slow at first, but in spite of her gentle teasing, he quickly picked up the moves she showed him. They laughed at each other's mistakes, and even spun each other a few times.

After the songs started to repeat, Hermione asked, "Can you change the music?"

He nodded, flushed from exertion. "What would you like?"

"Hmm…" She considered Harry's dancing abilities. "Let's try something slower."

He flicked his wand, and the song shifted into a soft, romantic piano. Harry looked at her, a bit helpless as to what to do next.

"Let's slow dance," she suggested. "I…umm…think that's part of the Important Life Experience."

"Oh, right! Of course," replied Harry.

She encircled her arms around his neck, and his hands met her waist. Slowly, they swayed to the beat. Though the dance steps were easy, it was suddenly impossible to focus. Everything seemed so much more intimate than before. Hermione became acutely aware of the soft music, Harry's hands against her waist, and the fact that there was nothing to do but gaze into his eyes.

It was a little uncomfortable, which could explain why Harry couldn't stop talking.

"Your dress is pink," he observed.

She looked down.

"It's a nice colour, but I like the blue dress better."

Hermione blinked, confused. "The blue dress?"

"The one you wore to Slughorn's event. It matches your colouring, and it's very pretty on you. Not that the one you're wearing isn't." He flushed, and would not meet her gaze. "Though I suppose purple would split the difference."

"Or I could have worn a yellow dress," she said, gazing at him fondly.

"Why yellow? Uggh, nevermind." Harry turned back to her, his eyes aflame with intense embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I give you permission to place a silencing charm on me in case I say anything else that's even more stupid. I hope I'm not ruining the slow dance."

She smiled softly. "Not even a little bit."

Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder, turning their dance into more of a hug. He froze, his arms stiffening, and then he pressed her closer.

She closed her eyes, letting the comfort of his embrace wash over her. It was strange, but it always felt like nothing could bother her in his arms. Her thoughts of Dean and loneliness, her fears of being strange and abnormal, were scattered to the winds. A part of her wondered if this meant she still had a crush on Harry, but the rest of her was just happy he was there for her.

Against her head, Hermione could feel his heartbeat pounding hard in his chest.

"Are you nervous?" she asked.

"A little," he said, his voice reverberating against her ear. "I may step on your feet."

She smiled, wrapping her arms a little tighter. "Better not, or my dress will turn red."

They barely danced now, each step a slow swaying back and forth. His hand moved to stroke her back gently, resting his head beside hers. She sighed, basking in contentment. It was exactly what she would have wanted a first date to be like…not that this was one.

But he was her friend, and he cared for her, and that was enough.

Hermione Granger was in his arms, and he couldn't think straight.

He didn't know where his hands were supposed to go. Should he hold her waist? Her wrist? He'd been so focused on being an adequate dance partner, that he hadn't prepared for full body contact.

At this point, Anything Could Happen. For example, he could step on her feet, if he got clumsy enough. So far, he'd avoided that fiasco. Now he was blindsided by how wonderful she felt and how much he wanted to kiss the top of her head.

Harry didn't like to walk into situations without a plan, especially not if it was a new, unusual one. But every time he tried to form some semblance of an idea, some way this dance was supposed to go, it was completely shattered by emotional assault. It was like trying to do calculus with half his brain missing, and which meant he needed to figure out how other people did this sort of thing.

His hand moved a little up her back, and she sighed, so he did it again. Over and over, gently rubbing her back.

It transported him into a kind of trance, where he couldn't think about anything—just focused on the feel of her body against his. If he could imagine a heaven of perfect contentment, this would be it. Their closeness felt so natural, that if she tilted her head up, smiled at him, he would lean down and…thaaaat was why people had a plan, so they were discouraged from doing reckless things.

The song ended, and he reluctantly let her go, his brain still too fuzzy for coherent thought. It felt a bit like being drunk.

Hermione led him to the couch, and they took seats in front of the fire. They sat for a few moments in silence, and then Hermione said, "I don't get it. We've been so dumb."

"Hmm?"

"We're both best friends, and we like spending time together, right?"

He nodded.

"So why does it seem like this entire year we've been finding reasons to avoid each other? I started secluding myself because of work obligations, and then later it was you avoiding me because of your science experiments. We spent all this time missing each other—when we're literally in the same building—instead of trying to find ways to make it work."

He stared at her, feeling like a complete idiot for not having anything to say. He was going to have to figure out how to fix this impairment. "You're right, Hermione." He finally managed. "I can't even remember what I was doing that was so important."

"Anyway," said Hermione. "I just think we should spend more time together, that's all. Starting now."

She reached over and took his hand, giving him a mischievous grin. His heart did backflips, and he couldn't help grinning back. "Yes, Hermione?" he asked. "You look like you have an idea."

"Well, I was just thinking it might be fun to spy on the drunk couples."

"Indeed," said Harry. "Let's go observe teenagers in their natural environment."

"And maybe," she said. "If you're up for it…"

She let the sentence hang there, then shook her head. "Nevermind. Shall we go?"

Oh, that is just going to taunt me, isn't it?

He released the spell on the room, and it dimmed back to an ordinary library. Hermione doused the fire, and they set off. As they made their way downstairs, they heard music playing, and Hermione said, "Look, we can see the ball from here. There's so many people."

She leaned against the railing, her curious gaze watching the people as they left the Great Hall. A good number of them were giggling, arms slung over a partner as they tried to sneak off to a secluded alcove.

She chuckled softly, then whispered, "You know, Filch swore up and down that no kids would be getting up to 'funny business.' How many galleons you want to bet he's waiting to catch them?"

Hermione started giggling into Harry's shoulder when she heard shrieks, and the couple ran down the hall, eyes wide in fear.

"This next one," said Harry, reaching around her shoulder to point them out. "Watch them. Ten knuts that's the couple Filch goes after."

"What about the couple with the flower headdress?"

"Nah, too risky. They obviously came to be gawked at, so who knows how they'll react when Filch starts yelling?"

They bet on a few more couples coming out of the room, and Harry considered turning them invisible for privacy, but decided against it. Hermione gripped his hand, leaning close whenever Filch walked near them. Part of the fun was knowing they could be caught too.

After a while, they weren't really betting, just leaning against each other and listening to music.

It was a bit of an awkward position, but he was too happy to care. His brain started strategizing, wondering the steps he ought to take after this point. Unfortunately, his traditional fare of books didn't have much to say on that.

He yawned, then instantly regretted it when Hermione said, "Oh, you're tired. Do you want to go to sleep?"

Harry checked his watch. It was only 10:30 pm, which was shamefully early to turn in. "Not yet. We could…umm…I'm happy to stay here. But if you want, we can go to the Great Hall and get some snacks."

"No, that's okay. I'm not hungry." There was a pause, and then she glanced at him. "Why, did you want to go, Harry?"

"Well, no, but it's not about me," he sputtered. "I just want you to have a good time. This is your Important Life Experience, and I didn't want you to miss anything, or have any regrets."

She smiled, gentle and mysterious. "You don't have to worry about that. I got everything I wanted."

"Everything?" His voice was soft.

"Yes. Let's see, Number 1, I got to have a dance in the library, which is my favourite place in the whole world." She counted on her fingers. "Number 2, I got to teach you how to dance the waltz. Which was so much fun, even though you're terrible." He pretended offense, just to see her smile. "Number 3, I got to spend time with my best friend. So, I suppose as far as first dances go, I ticked off just about everything I wanted to do."

She smiled again, and it completely melted something in his brain. He found himself saying, "What else is expected after a dance?"

"What?"

"Getting food is customary," he said. "But besides that, is there anything else? Should I hug you or…perhaps…a kiss?"

His voice didn't come out very strong, but he was too stunned to repeat himself.

Hermione blinked, and didn't say anything for a long moment.

"Well…umm…I think there's usually a kiss in front of the girl's doorway."

There was a short pause.

"Okay." He didn't know how he got the words out. "Then…shall we go?"

The whole long walk, he couldn't even look at Hermione. His heart was hammering, and he was sweating buckets, and what was he even thinking suggesting that. This was supposed to be a nice, pleasant dance between two friends-who-would-eventually-start-dating, once he gradually stole her heart. There wasn't supposed to be kissing yet.

Not that he planned on taking it back. He had to admit, he'd been going back and forth with himself about this all evening, hoping for it while not quite believing it was possible. The fact of the matter was, if she wanted to kiss him, he really didn't think there was an atom in his body that could say no.

They arrived at the doorway, and Hermione turned to him. "Umm…Harry…"

"Yes?"

"You don't have to kiss me."

"Oh…"

"I mean…I would be okay with a hug or…even just a wave goodbye. You don't have to force yourself."

Force myself?

"Wait. You don't still think I hate kissing?"

"Well…" she shrugged. "I don't know? I just don't want you to be uncomfortable."

The blood thundered through his veins, and some force compelled him to step towards her, put his arms around her. She gasped a little, her eyes wide in shock, but she didn't push him away. He leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek.

It was a soft kiss, and he lingered there before pulling away. He hadn't wanted to overwhelm her, but as soon as it was over, he wished he'd had the courage to give her the kiss he'd really wanted.

"How was that?" he asked, stepping back.

She blinked again, and then laughed lightly, as if punch drunk. "It was…err…acceptable."

"Acceptable," he murmured, while waiting for the ceiling to crash down on him.

"Oh, no I…liked it, Harry." Hermione smiled, gentle and encouraging. "Today was wonderful, so thank you." She fidgeted, her gaze on her feet. "I know you don't like dancing, so it may not have been fun for you—"

"Hermione." Her eyes rose to meet his. "I had fun. And I should have gone dancing with you a long time ago."

Standing in her doorway, framed by the pale light of the moon, Hermione looked so heartrendingly lovely. Her pink dress glistened, and her skin practically glowed. Time froze, and he lost himself staring at her. Feelings burned inside him, so intense and real he wanted to shout from the rooftops.

His thoughts raced. It was scary, it was wonderful, how much hold she had over him. He didn't want to go back to his dorm, didn't want to leave her for an instant, and he didn't care if Finch yelled at him, either.

If we both liked the kiss, can I do it again? And properly, this time.

He stepped forward, the floor creaking under his weight.

It was as if a spell had been broken. She blinked, stirred, and said softly, "It's late. I should go in."

"Alright. Goodnight, Hermione, and sweet dreams."

She opened the door, giving him one last smile before she left him.

Meanwhile, in the dance hall…

With thirty seconds left to spare, Roger stumbled into the Great Hall, hastily tucking in his shirt.

Beneath her Perfect Smile, Marguerite was seething.

"Where were you, you dolt?" she whispered, linking arms with him, joining the champions who'd already lined up.

"Sorry!" he cried, and she hushed him. "Sorry," he repeated, softly. "I just got…held up by someone."

"Who?" she asked, then shook her head. "Nevermind." Taking a breath to restore her Calm Demeanour, she said, "Roger. We discussed this. A lady can make a man wait, as it is her prerogative, but a man must be on time. Especially for something like this!"

"I know, Marguerite, I—"

She just knew he was about to ramble, try to make things right by grovelling. She sighed. He still had so much left to learn, and not much time left to teach him.

"Roger, don't worry about it. Let's go in and have a good time, yes?"

He lit up with expectation, and she remembered why she'd chosen him. The boy might be clueless, but he had a heart of gold, and an eager desire to improve himself. With just a little confidence and social skills training, he would make a fantastic partner for any girl.

She smiled. It was hard for a Veela to ignore such low hanging fruit.

It was warm outside tonight. Daphne stood under the pavilion, flushed with excitement, waiting for Neville to come back with drinks.

Giddy with delight, her mind replayed the events of that night. Neville, down on one knee, asking her to the dance. The flurry of excitement in getting ready. Going together to the ball, watching the procession, and then Neville leading her to the dance floor.

They'd danced twice, and each time was amazing. He was a wonderful dancer, always considerate and willing to show her new steps, but not too serious that he wouldn't laugh at their mistakes. Was there anything he wasn't good at?

He was even kind enough to go get the drinks, so she could stay there and rest. Nervously, Daphne checked her hair, just to make sure it hadn't strayed from her bun. She marvelled at the lights and the potted tulips, deciding this was the most beautiful Spring Fling in the history of ever.

After a few minutes of waiting, she bit her lip. It sure was taking him a while.

She rose on her toes, trying to see over the crowd for Neville. It was hard to see that far, though she did spy a few of her friends. On the dance floor, Ginny and Michael were doing the Merengue. Lavender seemed to be having a good time, teasing Ron by the band stage. Daphne hadn't seen Susan or Romilda yet, though.

Merlin's ghost…there were so many people.

All the older students from Hogwarts were here, as well as everyone from Durmstrang and Beaxbatons. She knew it was fun to have a dance, but why come so far for just one night? Logistically, someone hadn't thought this through. The visitors clogged up the dance floor, and everything had a line, including the snack table, which was probably why Neville was so late.

Maybe she and Neville should go inside to the Great Hall, since that might have emptied out. Then again…Neville did like flowers.

He appeared from within the crowd, two cups in hand. Handing her one, he drank his punch in one big gulp. Wiping his brow, he crunched the empty cup in his hand, his eyes scanning the crowd in confusion.

"What's wrong?" asked Daphne.

"Ahh…" Neville blinked, turning back to her. "Something weird happened when I was getting drinks."

"Really?" Daphne frowned. "What kind of weird?"

"Well…I don't know. All of a sudden, I felt tired and kinda sick."

"Oh…" She felt panicked, realizing this might just be an excuse to leave. She'd already scared him off. "Do you want to sit down? Or-or go inside? Here…umm…you can have my drink!"

She shoved it to him, and it spilled over his hands. After apologizing, she rubbed her forehead, wishing she could stop being awkward for one day.

He glanced at the drink in his hand, looked up and her, and then smiled. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. I wouldn't miss my date with the most beautiful girl in Hogwarts."

She flushed, and cast about for a response, and her eyes found a potted plant. "Well…you can plant a kiss on my lips any day!"

While Daphne wished she could dig herself a hole to sink into, Neville laughed. "I'm lichen you already!"

Milling among the students of Durmstrang, Romilda smiled and chatted, flitting her way from one group to the next. All the while, she kept an eye on the time, and another assessing the room.

As instructed, Romilda had spent the first two hours of the ball dancing, mingling, and making herself seen. It was important to establish an alibi, after all.

But…that didn't mean she couldn't get in a little extra work along the way.

This job, she realized, was a lot tougher than she'd thought. People didn't just waltz over to her and let their minds be read, she had to coax them into it. But with so many people here, she was bound to bump into a few with some juicy secrets. She'd already hit some of her priority targets.

Now, two hours in, it was time to rendezvous with Mr. Malfoy.

Palms sweating, her eyes swept the room. Last time they'd met, Draco hadn't been shy in expressing his displeasure with her performance. She'd been determined not to fail him again, made a point of trying to collect only useful information. Still, she had no idea if it would be enough.

Romilda laughed at someone's joke that her brain barely registered. Where was he? She expected him not to be wearing a disguise, so…

She felt a hand touch the small of her back. "Hello, Ms. Vane."

Her heart fluttered in her chest, from fear or excitement she couldn't tell. "Hello, Mr. Black."

"Oh please, let us dispense with disguises." He spoke into her ear. "You know who I really am, don't you?"

She felt a shiver run through her. "Yes."

"Then," he said, in a voice smooth as silk. "Call me your Albino Prince."

Her mouth went completely dry. He was flirting with her, using her memories as ammunition. She didn't know how to interpret that, but it certainly changed everything.

He pressed his hand against her back, leading her. "Let's go have a little chat."

Settling into the empty room (not the Room of Requirement—that place was too highly trafficked), Draco set up a few security charms and then took his seat.

Romilda sat before him with her hair carelessly tamed, her black dress hugging her curves over her sharp heels. It was the sort of scene you saw in a James Bond movie, and she looked every inch the femme fatale.

"So, Romilda," he said, in a voice commanding respect. "Show me what you have gathered. I hope it's improved from last time."

She fidgeted, and Draco felt like biting back his words. The Priestess had warned him to keep a firm hand on his charges. Still, he didn't feel like it was necessary to scare her.

"I…well…I hope it's good…I did some information gathering today too…"

"I'm sure you did well," said Draco, raising a gentle hand. "If I may?"

He touched her forehead, their eyes locked, and the transfer began.

This time, the memories came swiftly to his mind, in less of a jumble than the last. He could already catch glimpses of a few of them.

"Is it sufficient?" she asked, in a nervous whisper.

If Draco were being honest, it wasn't the best information. Neville, Roger, some Weasley girl. They each had secrets about Potter and Granger. It would be useful, he supposed, if he hadn't already gotten most of the same information from Slughorn.

"It's been difficult," she rambled, her fingers digging into the chair cushion. "The students on my list are normally surrounded by people. I didn't target the professors, like you asked, and I let no one remember that I questioned them."

"Yes…well…even so," said Draco. "What of Luna and Lavender? Why have you nothing from the Seers?"

Romilda's eyes darkened. "They're avoiding me. I think they must know what I'm after, somehow. McGonagall thinks I'm just playing pranks, but she still Obliviated Lavender."

Draco frowned. If Romilda's information gathering proved useless, they would have to Obliviate her also. He knew it as well as she did.

"But…" She looked at him expectantly. "I know I can get more information, if you give me more power." Her gaze captured his, and she rose. "Oh, I could do so much for you. Anything you want."

Draco stared at her as she moved towards him, feeling conflicted.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She smiled with such a seductive tease that his mouth went dry.

Is this my fault?

He knew that the power of the ring could cause instability, in higher does. She'd only been given a small dose, though. His next thought:

Should I stop this?

Romilda's dress showed off her form in all the right places…and her thoughts hinted that she wanted him. It might not be wrong, or even unusual, to take advantage of the situation.

In fact, many a Dark Lord had taken a lover this way—ensnared her with potions, used her, and was done with her the next day. But Draco had always wanted something like what his father and mother had. They'd loved each other, seen each other as equals. Both mourned each other's loss.

He certainly didn't want his first romance, with a girl he actually liked, to be based on a lie.

She sat in his lap, laced her arms around his neck. A jolt of fear and longing ran through him.

"Think about it," she said softly. "Every great man needs a good woman by their side, don't they?"

Then, she kissed him.

Time stopped.

He resisted at first, but it was impossible. She was fire, and freedom, and every good thing. He yielded to her passion, allowing her to deepen the kiss, matching her desire with his own. When they broke away, both were gasping for air.

What if this is real?

"Please," she sighed. "Let me do this for you, Draco. Give me enough power to make me useful. It's all I want."

Draco swallowed, nodded, and drew his wand. "Just…a little more power. And there are certain conditions that you must follow."

Nearly trembling, she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him all over. "Oh, thank you, Draco! I won't let you down, I promise."

Romilda rushed in from the cold, the power surging inside her. She could see everything! Her eyes scanned the room full of students, waiting to be divulged of their secrets.

Her world converged into a point of crystal clarity, and it almost hurt how fast the information was rolling in. Her heart beat, her soul sang, and she rushed off to find her destiny.

She had never before been so unsure what would happen next.

"Somnium," said a voice behind her.