Chapter 28
All students in the fourth year and above will be required to bring one set of formal dresswear in the style of their choosing. Students are expected to use sound judgement in determining that their robes are appropriately modest and will not require transfiguration upon arrival to make them so.
That’s what McGonagall’s letter had said before the start of term. It had been so vague that Hermione and her dad had spent a solid hour guessing what the ‘formal dresswear’ could be for, after they’d opened it.
“Perhaps it’s some sort of official induction into a cult.” Her father had mused, tossing a grape into his mouth at the breakfast table.
Hermione rolled her eyes playfully. “Dad, I think if they were going to do that, it would have been done years ago.”
“Right but maybe, they needed to ensure your loyalty. Make sure you weren’t some kind of snitch before they teach you their secrets.”
“But I already know all their secrets. At least the big ones, right? I’m not sure what else they could be hiding behind the premise of teaching children to be witches.” Except for trolls and giant muggle-born-petrifying-basilisks and escaped convicted murderers.
“I don’t know, Minnie.” Her dad had grinned. “What if there are dead bodies, they make you enchant or what if they force you to conjure a headless—”
“RICHARD!” Her mum had shouted from the kitchen. A moment later she’d poked her head through the doorway, frowning with disapproval. “Don’t you say that sort of thing to her! Hermione, I’m sure it’s nothing darling. You’re going to be fifteen, I’d say it’s far more likely that they’re hosting some kind of dance for the older students, and you just never knew because you were younger.”
That had peeked Hermione’s interest. “A dance? You mean like a ball?”
“Yes!” Her mum’s expression shifted, slowly morphing into a grin as she walked fully into the room and took a seat at the table. “I mean, it’s probably not too grand—but then again, they’re witches and wizards so maybe it is! Right? A dance with the boys and girls? Everyone asking each other on dates? Getting all dolled up? Just imagine all the fun things they could do!”
“Really? Do you think?” Hermione asked, suddenly feeling nervous at the prospect.
“Of course! Dances are quite normal during the upper levels of school. I remember my first dance, even though it was years ago. Phillip Walz—I think it was—he asked me to be his date and he spent the whole night stepping on my toes.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes.” Her mum nodded. “But that’s the fun of balls when you’re young. Dancing with boys. Oh, it was so much fun to dance with a boy.” Her mum looked longingly across the room at her, her arms tightening her cardigan around herself as though she was back in the memory. “You’re nervous and he’s nervous and you both look beautiful. And he’s stumbling but determined to not let you notice—” she looked conspiratorially at Hermione, “But of course you do notice. You just pretend not to see him fumble—because he’s looking at you like you’re an angel. And for those moments when you’re together, you feel like an angel. And then at the end of the night he takes you home and when he’s dropping you at your door, he tells you he had a lovely time and asks if you’d like to do it again one day? Maybe you could go see a film. And you say yes—or you say no (if it turns out he was a rather poor dancer and conversationalist). And everything is just wonderful.” She sighed. “Isn’t that right, Richard?”
Both Hermione and her mum looked over at her father expectantly. Instead of answering though, he sneered.
“Dad?” Hermione asked, confused by his glare.
“No. No. Definitely not. It’s not a dance and you’re not going with a date. Absolutely not. I forbid it—”
“Richard!” Her mum gasped.
“Only cult ceremonies!” He stood abruptly from the table. “I don’t care how many dead bodies they make you see, but absolutely no boys! Witches and cauldrons and ghosts or whatever they want, but no—no. Absolutely not. She’s not going to some dance with a hooligan. No Jean. She’s fourteen."
“I’ll be fifteen in a month—wait, Dad!” Hermione protested at he stormed out of the room angrily. When she looked back at her mum, the woman was holding back laughter before bursting out hysterically.
When Hermione looked at her incredulously, her mum shook her head through her giggles. “Oh, my goodness—I'm sorry" She choked back, grinning. "It's not—don’t worry, love. He’s joking. Absolutely ridiculous he is. I can’t believe it. Completely absurd. And you know your father’s only saying that because he met me at a dance.” Her mum scoffed.
Hermione’s jaw dropped in surprise. “Really? Dad asked you out to a ball?” She asked, curious. “I thought you met at Cambridge?”
“We did. And no, he didn’t. His best friend did.” Her mum smirked.
“What?!” Hermione gaped.
“You do know who your uncle John is, right?” Her mum asked, referring to her father’s close friend who also owned a Dental practice up in York.
“Uh, yes?”
“Well, guess who was your uncle’s first kiss.”
“MUM!” Hermione shrieked. Her hand flying to cover her mouth.
“What?” She laughed, ignoring her daughter’s horror. “I was a young woman too, once. John and I had a few classes together. You know—advanced biology, anatomy, that sort of stuff.” She waggled her brows.
Hermione squeezed her eyes tightly together, which only made her mum laugh more. “Please stop talking.” She begged.
“Oh Hermione, don’t worry. I’m just messing with you.” She said, pulling Hermione’s hand from her face. “Your uncle and I just went on a few dates. Then I met your father at a dance for some social group or another and I told John it just wouldn’t work out.”
“What did you tell him was the reason?”
“Oh, just that I was fairly certain I had fallen hopelessly in love with his flatmate the night before—”
“You broke up with Uncle John the next morning?”
“Well, I’d met your dad. And I dare say that worked out fairly well, so don’t go around judging me young lady.” Her mum scoffed. “Imagine how you might’ve turned out looking if I’d stuck with John anyhow.”
“Mum,” Hermione broke out laughing at her ridiculousness. They both knew perfectly well that her mother’s only option would have been adoption, regardless of who her husband was.
“I’m just kidding,” She pulled Hermione in and hugged her. “I’d probably still love you then too, John’s bloody freckles and all.”
“You’re insane.” Hermione muttered into her shoulder.
“Yes, but I believe that’s what your dad liked most about me.”
“Mhm.”
“Hey,” Her mum pulled back and smiled softly. “What do you say I take the day off tomorrow, and we go have a girl’s day.”
“Don’t you have to work?”
“Yes, but that’s the whole point of taking the day off.” She shrugged. “Your Dad can handle it anyway. Plus, you need a dress, and that’s going to take quite a bit to find.”
“How do you know? What if I like the first one I try on?”
“Because I’ve done it plenty of times before. You never like the first dress you try on. I remember for my first dance Gran and I took the train into London and spent the entire day hopping between second-hand shops looking for a dress. It took us hours.”
“Did you find one?” Hermione asked eagerly, she’d never heard this story.
Her mum beamed proudly, “Of course. We found several. The one we took though was from a small place over in Chelsea. I remember Gran practically bullied the poor woman into a deal. She gave us a whole dress and shoes for under forty quid.” She wagged her eyebrows. “We left so proud of ourselves then—which reminds me, we’ll need to get you a pair of heels too.”
“What? Heels?” Hermione grimaced. “Mum, I can hardly walk right in flats as it is. How do you expect me to spend a whole night walking on my toes alone?”
“Practice, love. Practice.” She tapped Hermione’s nose with her finger. “We’ll get you a nice pair, that way they’ll be more comfortable, and you can trust them. I promise. We’ll have to stop by Harrods, so we have a bigger selection.”
“Harrods?!” Hermione scoffed. “Mum don’t be absurd! I’m only going to wear it for one night! There’s no reason to spend that kind of money—”
“Oh, Hermione, please let me have fun.”
“But—”
“I only have one daughter and I own several successful dental franchises. This is why we have them! You never ask for anything darling and while it was appreciated when you were younger, it’s different now. I want to buy you something nice that isn’t some old Ancient Greek philosopher’s diary that neither of us can actually understand—”
Hermione frowned in slight offense. “Hey! I could understand part of—”
Her mum looked at her with hopeful, pleading eyes. “Please let me buy you a pretty dress and stupid shoes that will make you look even more gorgeous than you already are! I want you to feel like the princess you deserve to be, love! Really stick it to the arseholes who look down their nose at you. Show them what they’re missing!”
“Mum,” Hermione groaned.
“Please, please, please!” Her mum begged, making Hermione feel like she was the adult in the situation.
And despite her hesitance at the kind of money they might spend, she acquiesced. “Alright. If you say so. I guess we’re going shopping tomorrow?”
“Yes!” Her mum had shouted.
Now as Hermione glanced down to the beautiful blue gown sitting in her trunk, she felt glad she’d listened to her mum’s advice. Her dress was beautiful. The tule fabric was delicate but likely the most elegant thing Hermione had ever owned. It flowed around her like magic itself. Though she’d been hesitant looking at it on the mannequin, once Hermione had tried it on, she felt like the Princess Diana.
How am I going to wear this? She wondered as she pulled on one of the soft straps. Hermione wasn’t willing to take it out of her trunk yet—she was quite terrified that some mysterious force could pop up at any moment and stain or tear the thing—but when she’d gotten back to her room today, she couldn’t help staring at it.
“What if I don’t have a date to the ball, mum?” She’d asked when they set their bags down from shopping.
“Oh you’ll have a date, dear.” Her mum hadn’t even thought about it. She was so confident—Hermione wanted to be that confident.
“But what if I don’t? Do I go by myself?” She looked at green bag holding her gown anxiously.
“If you don’t have a date a week or so before the ball, you’ll just ask Harry.”
She looked at her mum doubtfully. “But what if Harry already has a date?”
“Then you’ll ask Ron.”
Hermione scoffed with disbelief. “Mum, if it’s a week before the dance there is no way Ron won’t already have a date.”
“Then you’ll go by yourself, and you’ll look marvellous and every boy in that hall will regret not asking you to be their date first.”
The dance was two weeks away now, and Hermione couldn’t really believe it. She was going to the dance and a boy had asked her. Sure, she didn’t really know Victor that well—for Merlin’s sakes she didn’t even know his last name. But Victor was nice, and tall and handsome. And sure, talking to him made her incredibly anxious for no reason, but Victor listened. Whenever Hermione tried to explain something to him, Victor looked as though he was taking note of her every word. As if he really cared what she had to say.
Hermione grinned stupidly as she looked into her trunk. She had a date to the ball. She did. Even if all of her friends were taken by people, Hermione wouldn’t be alone that night.
Abruptly a muffled shout called through the door of her dorm, and she looked away, remembering herself. Hermione had asked Harry and Ron to wait for her while she grabbed a jumper before they walked to lunch. She must have been taking too long.
“Sorry!” She called back, quickly dropping the dress and looking around her trunk for the red jumper that wasn’t there. Hermione looked up to the rest of her things and found it. She grabbed the worn Gryffindor wool that had been sitting on her bedside and ran out the door.
“Sorry. I got distracted.” She told them as she found Ron and Harry waiting at the bottom of the stairwell for her.
“By what? It took you five minutes to grab a sweater.”
Hermione’s face heated at Ron’s frown. But she followed Harry as he led them out of the common room. “I was just looking at something for the ball is all. It was an accident.”
“Godric, the stupid bloody ball.” Ron groaned. “It’s all anyone can talk about.”
“What?”
“I’m so tired of this fucking ball.” He reiterated.
Hermione looked to Harry for some hint at what was wrong. He shrugged and shook his head, “Seamus asked Parvarti to be his date during divination earlier. Which means Ron’s the only bloke in our dorm without a date now...except for Neville and Dean." He said pointedly.
“What?” Hermione frowned. “But I thought Dean and Seamus were dating. I could’ve sworn I saw them together literally just last week.”
“They were, but then apparently Dean got caught doing something—” Harry looked at her and shook his head dismissively. “I didn’t ask questions. I don’t want to know. And now they’re not together.”
“Oh, that’s awful.”
“Yeah, it’s awful because now Seamus thinks he can just ask whoever he likes and decided to ask Parvarti!” Ron scoffed with indignation like it was the most absurd thing any of them could hear.
“Were you planning to ask Parvarti?” She questioned. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen the two of them speaking to one another outside of classes, but perhaps she'd missed something there.
“No—I don’t know. I’m just saying it’s not bloody fair.”
“How is that not fair?” Hermione frowned as they turned a corner.
“Because Seamus already likes blokes!”
Hermione and Harry both looked at each other, waiting to see if there was anything more he would add on to the statement, there wasn’t.
“And?” Harry asked, looking over Hermione at Ron almost nervously as they entered the large room.
“He doesn’t fucking get both!” Ron insisted. “You can’t just date a bloke and then decide the next day you’re going to take one of the birds too—”
Hermione looked at him indignantly. “Seriously Ronald? Do you know how belittling that kind of language is? You can’t just diminish all women to an—”
“Yeah—whatever Hermione. I know.” He waved a hand at her in dismissal as he sat down next to her. Hermione seriously contemplated hexing him. “That’s not the point. The point is we already go to basically the smallest school ever where there are no girls to ask. How is a bloke like me supposed to find anyone to go with when people like Seamus are going around doubling up on everything? It's just wrong."
“Please tell me you’re joking.” Hermione didn’t even know what to say to her friend.
“I’m not joking. It’s not fair!”
“That is absolutely not fair." She glared. "And-and by your logic people like Seamus, are helping you! I mean look at Harry!” She waved a hand to their friend across the table.
Harry looked at her like a deer in the headlights. “What? Why are you bringing me into this?"
"If we're allowing this absurd notion that choice doesn't exist and everyone is automatically bound to only having one opportunity to ask a partner to accompany them to the dance—which is absurd—then Harry and by some extension Seamus are actually helping you. Again this is stupid," She huffed. "But obviously Harry's taking Theo, and if you're correct—which you're not—and all men are somehow in competition for the hand of a woman at the dance, then Harry and Theo alone have just taken out two opponents by going with each other and not two witches." Hermione lowered her voice to not be overheard. "Seamus and Dean would have done the same thing and the fact that they're not, doesn't make your competition more difficult, Ronald it simply doesn't make it harder. Harry's already given you a leg up in finding a date, do you really need more than that?"
“What about Harry finding a date?”
Hermione's attention was drawn upwards as a new voice entered the conversation. Theo had just walked up to their table and evidently heard their conversation as he took a seat beside Harry.
“Oh—hi.” Hermione started. She hadn’t spoken to Theo in several days, though she didn’t know why. Every time she turned to have a conversation with him after class he’d already been gone by the time she’d looked.
“Hi.” Theo said with a careful smile that Hermione returned. He looked protective as he glanced over Harry quickly. And she thought there might be a false casualness in his expression as he wrapped an arm around him before turning to Ron and Hermione. “Sorry for interrupting. But, what were you saying?"
“Yes, do tell."
Once again Hermione was startled by a new voice, this time it came from behind her. Luckily she recognized his teasing lilt immediately, and turned around, grinning softly.
"Hi," She said, her eyes bouncing between Fred and George as they moved together and took their seats on the bench beside her before turning to the group at large.
“What has our dear Ronnikins done wrong this time?” Fred asked her.
"Why do you assume I've done something?" Ron asked, clearly annoyed at his brothers' appearance.
"Because, when have you not?" Fred scoffed.
“Yes, has he upset you m’lady?” George continued. “Shall we be proud of our brethren or disown him immediately?”
“Oh shut up. Nobody asked you two.” Ron grumbled, loading his plate with food from the table.
“I’ll take that as an answer then.” George said.
“Indeed. We formally un-associate ourselves from him.”
“Say, who’s the scruffy one over there?” George asked Fred, pointing directly at Ron as though he were confused.
“The one with the hideous face?” Fred answered, bewildered.
“Yes. Never seen him before. Good Godric, he must’ve been the last in his family.”
“No good looks left to give him.”
“Had to end up like that.” George shook his head mournfully.
“A true shame.”
“As if I’d be bloody lucky enough not to be related to either of you.” Ron glared across Hermione at them.
Fred gasped, looking appalled. “Oh, say it isn’t so! Did you hear that, Georgie?”
“I don’t think the strange man likes us much, Freddie.”
“I don’t think so indeed.”
“Why are you even here?” Ron protested petulantly. “Don’t you have your own friends to bother? Where’s Lee?”
“Ah, Lee. Lee is in the process of asking—“ Fred looked at Hermione, raising a brow, “Who was it? Was it Anastasia?”
“Who was what?” She laughed. “Why would I know?”
Fred nodded, tongue in cheek as though he hadn’t heard her. “No. Yes, you’re right. That’s it. It was her.” He turned to Ron. “Lee’s in the process of asking Sophia to the dance as we speak.”
“Sophia?” Theo frowned. “How do you get that confused with Anastasia?”
When Hermione looked back to gauge the twins reactions, both of them were staring blankly at Theo. Apparently neither had noticed the curly haired brunette sitting across from them.
“Who are you and why are you canoodling with our precious Chosen one?” George finally demanded.
“Pardon?” Theo asked as Harry groaned.
“Oh, come on. Leave him alone. I know you guys both know who Theo is.”
Which was probably true. News had spread quickly across the castle when Harry Potter had reserved his date for the dance. Everyone wondered how it was they'd failed to notice when The Boy Who Lived had begun seeing the wizard from Durmstrang. And Ginny Weasley herself had been especially vocal about her disappointment with Harry's decision.
Hermione really had no doubt that the twins had already been informed extensively on the wizard Harry was dating by their younger sister. Though she did have to hold back a laugh when Fred pursed his lips in a glare at him. “Potter the adults are speaking.”
George nodded soundly. “Yes. State your intentions now or forever hold your peace.”
“I—” Theo started, and looked to Harry for direction.
Harry just rolled his eyes and tilted his head at Theo. “Ignore them.”
“No. Ignore him. I am not afraid of a wizard’s duel.” George scoffed. “Now if you please, your name and Gringotts key.”
“George!” Hermione laughed and leaned past Fred to look at him. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Granger, I’m trying to intimidate. Stop distracting me.”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever been intimidated by you.” Harry informed him sarcastically.
“Hush now, you don’t get a say.” George mocked.
Hermione shrugged, rolling her eyes at him. “He’s right though. Not very intimidating.” She looked at Theo. “I wouldn’t be afraid at all. Their perfectly harmless.”
“Oi. Granger. Why are you still here?”
“I’m eating.” She answered, glancing down at the empty plate she hadn’t yet filled.
“Fine. Fred, distract her.” George ordered and Hermione scoffed over at him.
“Distract me? Fred can’t distract me. He doesn’t even—”
“Hey, Granger,” Fred tugged on her elbow, effectively drawing her attention away from the table with his low voice. “Meet me in the southern courtyard at half five today?”
“What?” She asked. A little dumbfounded by how successful he'd just been, and not sure she'd even heard him properly.
Fred leaned over her just a bit to make sure she could hear better before repeating himself. “South courtyard. Half five. Would you meet me there?”
“Why?” Hermione’s brows furrowed with intrigue. She didn’t think he would try one of his pranks on her, but then again…
“It’s a surprise.” He grinned and Hermione’s stomach fluttered strangely, though whether it was from nerves or Fred’s smile, she couldn’t tell.
“What are you planning?” She asked as her fingers started fidgeting together anxiously.
“Don’t worry about it.” Fred shook his head. “Just promise you’ll meet me?”
“Fred—” She started to protest again, but Fred cut her off with a raised brow, challengingly.
"Please?" He asked and Hermione's defense crumbled.
She swallowed tightly. “Ok fine. I’ll be there. Five o’clock—”
“Half past.” He corrected with a growing smile. Hermione had barely opened her mouth to ask why when he explained. "I have training till five and I’d rather come prepared than be hurried.”
“Training?” Hermione frowned. “I thought all quidditch was cancelled for the year.”
“It is. Not quidditch training. I just meant training—really, it’s more like lessons,” Fred shrugged. “But George thinks it sounds stupid if I’m taking extra lessons on the side. So he calls it training."
“Training for what?”
“Ah, Flitwick.” He informed her, as though it were much of an answer. When Hermione just stared at him, he continued. “I want to do charm work—but I’m not sure I can—if I could have the time and money and—you know, everything, to do a mastery when I graduate. So, Professor Flitwick has been helping me.”
“Helping you?” She repeated, lost by what he was implying.
“Get a mastery—well, not a mastery, technically. But-but something like it. I’ve been meeting with him regularly since last Christmas holiday ended and—it won’t be official or anything,” Fred shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. His smile was self-depricating and it made Hermione’s jaw drop. Fred was dismissing himself while literally telling her he’d been unofficially accomplishing an advanced degree while still maintaining his standing as a fulltime student. “But I’ll have the knowledge, which is really all that matters for what I want to do.”
“Fred that’s amazing!” Hermione told him. “You’re brilliant. I can’t imagine, merlin, that’s—wow.”
“It’s really not that big of a deal.” He told her quietly, his cheeks heated with embarrassment. “I just—it’s not. And that’s not the point I was trying to make. What I wanted say was that I can’t meet you at five, because I’ll be across the castle. But if you still can, I’ll meet you there at half past?”
Hermione wanted to ask more questions, she still wasn’t sure how she felt about whatever surprise he had planned. But his face was so earnest as Fred looked down at her, that Hermione couldn’t even think of saying no.
“Alright.” She nodded with a small smile. “Yes, I guess I’ll see you then.”
“Brilliant.” Fred beamed. And they’d stared at each other grinning for a solid moment, before both Hermione and Fred turned awkwardly back to the conversation happening around them.
“Honestly, Weasley, it’s not that hard.” Theo was saying, his face locked in a disappointed frown, as though he disapproved of his own words. “If you’re so terrified of going alone then just ask someone.”
“Easy for you to say!” Ron shock back and Hermione noticed everyone else had nearly finished eating. “All you had to do was ask Harry. It’s not like he would’ve told you no. Besides the fact that you already knew he fancied you—”
“Hey!” Harry spoke up in a protest that went ignored.
“Harry’s too nice to say no to anyone. He would have gone with you no matter what! You didn’t have to worry about rejection.”
Hermione watched Theo desperately trying to school his sneer as he listened to Ron’s speech—though she sincerely doubted Ron noticed.
“I’m not even going to talk about that because...” Harry rolled his eyes and held up his hand to cut in. “Like Theo said before, if you’re afraid of going on your own, the only solution you have is to ask someone. There’s no use in waiting for some force of magic to intervene, it’s not happening.”
Theo looked at Hermione blandly and added in an aside, “Not to mention the serious concern it is for our generation if you’re determining your entire worth based on whether or not you can get a partner to accompany you to a school dance.”
“But that’s not the point, is it?” Harry huffed. “The point is: just ask someone. If you fear rejection just ask whatever girl, you think is least likely to reject you.”
“Otherwise known as whatever witch positively desperate enough for attention that they’d want to say yes.” Hermione was barely able to contain her laughter at Theo’s quiet muttering. Though when she glanced over at Fred and saw his disbelieving grimace towards his younger brother, she couldn’t hold back. Hermione burst into laughter which she tried to hide by ducking her head away and towards her shoulder where she tried to focus on Fred. Except, seeing Hermione's laughter triggered Fred's own, and that caused all subtlety to fail as they both shook their heads hysterically at one another.
Normally, this might have been dismissed as the two of them losing their minds of simply having a moment of fun, but this was not a normal situation and calling attention to themselves only served to worsen everything tremendously. The next several moments left Hermione positively dumbfounded when she heard her name.
“Right.” Ron had been nodding slowly in contemplation before turning over. “Hey, Hermione,” He started abruptly.
Hermione tried to force herself to stifle her giggles when she turned back, though admittedly she did a poor job. “Yes?” She asked, contorting her face back to resemble something serious.
“You’re a girl.” Ron informed her—as though this were some new information she needed to know.
“Well spotted, Ronald.” She told him, not even sure what the proper response was. Should she be insulted? Probably.
“Why don’t you just go to the dance with me?"
And it was like the fastest sobriety potion in the world as she gaped at him. "What?!" Hermione demanded, gasping the word. For a moment she wondered if she was imagining things, but Hermione felt Fred stiffen beside her completely, and knew she'd heard correctly.
“Why don’t you just go to the dance with me?” Ron nodded casually, clearly missing her reaction. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. It’s perfect. I need a date, and obviously you need someone to go with to, so you’ll go with me. That way you don’t have to be embarrassed either.”
“Either?” Hermione glared. “Obviously? What on Earth are you on right now?”
“Is that a yes?” Ron looked at her questioningly. Beside her, Hermione felt Fred's elbow jerk against her's momentarily as she stared at him.
“No. It is absolutely not a yes, Ronald.”
“Why the hell not?” He frowned, his face morphing into frustration as Hermione’s own disbelief soared. “It’s not like you have another option. Why wouldn’t you go with me? You’d rather go alone? I mean—come on, Hermione.”
And maybe Hermione was insane, but something in her snapped. Ron was supposed to be her best friend, and yet it was clear he thought so little of her. Not only were his expectations for her low, but his response was such horror and surprise that Hermione might have her own opinion and say on the matter, she just couldn’t help it.
“As a matter of fact, Ron Weasley,” She glared, gathering her bag in her arm—she didn’t want to spend another moment at the table with him. “I don’t need to go alone because someone has already asked me.” She gritted, standing up off of the bench. Hermione’s glare was fierce as Ron’s expression dropped in surprise. “And. I. Said. Yes.”
“WHAT?” Ron shouted after her, but Hermione ignored him.
“I’m not feeling very hungry anymore.” She said stiffly to the rest of the group. “I’ll see you all later.” Hermione nodded once quickly at them all before leaving. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the shocked looks on all of their faces, especially the wide-eyed expression Fred had worn, but she knew they hurt.
Hermione walked out of the Great Hall fuming with indignation.
She wasn’t going to the dance alone.
She wasn’t pathetic.
She’d been asked by a terribly handsome boy who, even though she didn’t know him well, was kind and thoughtful and had liked her enough as just herself to want to spend time with her.
What the hell did Ron know? Obviously, you need someone to go with too, he'd said.
What a load of bollocks!
What the hell did any of them know? With their stupid dropped jaws and Fred's stupid look of horror at the idea. Hermione couldn't stand it as she moved through the corridors.
How dare they all be so surprised that she would have a date to the ball! And even if she hadn’t—why was that some sort of negative expectation of her? Theo was so proud with his speech, telling Ron that there's ‘a serious concern it is for our generation if you’re determining your entire worth based on whether or not you can get a partner to accompany you to a school dance.’ But when Hermione is the one attending, then it’s perfectly fine to judge her and deem her unworthy of having a date!
It was just...mean.
She wouldn't cry. Hermione wouldn't. She was so tired of always feeling like she was being dramatic. But she would leave.
Somehow the day had only barely begun and Hermione was ready for it to be over. She didn't want to see any of them for a while—or at the very least, the rest of the day. Hermione wanted to be alone, without any of the cruel reminders of how everyone—even her closest friends viewed her. So she resigned herself to hiding up in the astronomy tower, where she doubted anyone would even think to look for her.
It was as she began climbing one of the stairwells that Hermione felt him—or saw him? Though it really was like feeling him. As though she'd been knocked into a pool of calming draught, Hermione's mind slowed the moment her eyes landed on Draco. And when he noticed her, less than a second later, and their eyes connected, she could feel the tension bleeding from her shoulders. Hermione couldn't properly explain the sensation or why it came, but just seeing Draco filled her with relief.
She wasn't sure what she'd planned to say when she opened her mouth at the same time as him, and she wasn't sure if Draco had known either. Both of them had paused with an upward twitch of their lips, momentarily to let the other speak when they lost their chance.
“Herminnie!” Victor's voice cut through the moment like a dull blade, tearing it apart and leaving pieces. Hermione felt herself stiffen once again as she turned to him.
“Victor, hi.” She smiled awkwardly. It was almost embarrassing how little she’d noticed him walking next to Draco.
“’Ello.” He told her as they met on one of the landings in the middle. Hermione wasn’t sure how to explain the awkward feeling creeping over her at his proximity in front of Draco.
It wasn’t that Hermione was ashamed of Victor’s friendship—of course she wasn’t. It was just, she and Draco had really only just begun reconnecting a few days ago and she hadn’t had the opportunity to bring her new friend up in front of him.
Though, did she need to? Hermione wasn’t sure. She wasn’t actually dating Draco, so what right did he have to knowing who she did or didn’t make friends with? None…right? Hermione shouldn’t feel guilty for being friends with Victor, and yet, when she looks over at Draco and sees the surprise on his face, she can’t help it.
“I just come zo find you.” Victor told her with a small grin, he didn’t seem to feel any awkwardness in front of Draco.
“Oh really?” Hermione asked nervously.
“Yes.” He nodded assuredly—a very Victor movement, she realized. “Ve had meeting vith Karkroff now and I need to ask you—”
“Sorry—do you know each other?” Draco nearly demanded, stepping closer as he looked between Hermione and Victor. His face was redder than normal, and if Hermione was correct his brows were glaring almost furiously.
“I—” Hermione wasn’t sure what to say, “Er, we’re friends.” She glanced at Victor for help, “Um—”
“Chert, Malfoy.” Victor scoffed mockingly in a language Hermione couldn’t understand. “Uspokoit'sya. You alreadzy have your date to zell. Or do you need to chaperone me talking to mine?”
“Date?” Draco breathed and Hermione winced at the word. When she glanced up, he looked lost, staring at her, if not through her. Hermione didn’t know what to do.
Luckily, Victor did not appear as impeded.
“Do svidaniya, Malfoy." He said jokingly—at least, she thought—as Victor palmed Draco in the stomach, pushing him away as he walked closer to Hermione. "Can ve talk?” He said so only she could hear.
“Sure,” Hermione tried not to notice the way Draco was watching from just outside her peripheral vision.
“Right.” Victor nodded for a moment before straightening with a grimace. “I zorry I not zell you zooner vut ve only come from meeting vith Karkroff, now. Yeah?"
“Alright?" She answered, not understanding what a meeting with Victor's headmaster could possibly have had to do with Hermione.
"I vood have zold you vut I did not know until now. I vid not think it vould be an izzue." He scratched the back of his neck nervously and Hermione's stress grew. What was he so worried about? Had they done something wrong? Had he? And why couldn't she have taken any other staircase and avoided this entirely?
"I come from zhe meeting vith Karkroff, and he learn from your Headmaster zhat ve are going to have to zo a dance." Victor nodded tightly. "Zhe champions...apparently iz tradition for zhe tournament. Ve have to open the ball for zhe 'ole schoolz vith a valtz."
“We?” Hermione repeated slowly, not sure she was understanding properly. “What do you we? If it's just a dance for the champions, then Victor why would we—” and then it hit her. Hermione felt her eyes bulge as she stared at the tall wizard in front of her and she felt like an idiot. It was like he'd been wearing a mask this entire time and up until this moment she hadn't been able to see through it. But now the mask was off and it was right in front of her and now… “Oh fuck.” She gasped in horror—though whether it was at her own blindness or the idea of a dance, she wasn’t sure. “You’re—you’re Victor Krum.” She whispered.
All he did was nod.
“I’m an idiot.” Hermione told him.
“No—” Victor said quickly, grabbing her hands from where they’d begun unknowingly twisting in front of her. “No. Not at all. It’z my fault I did zit.”
“But you’re a champion.” She told him—As if he wasn’t already aware, brilliant Hermione. “You’re famous. You-you play quidditch, oh Merlin” Hermione’s head fell back in a groan. “I’m so stupid. You told me your name was Victor and I just—I don’t know what I thought I—”
“No!” He told her again. “I wanted you zo not know. I liked it. Please. Don’t be angry.”
“But—” She protested, and Victor looked up, almost stricken.
“Does zhis change things? You don’t vant zo go vith me anymore, Herminny?”
And if Hermione was honest, perhaps it might have. She didn’t like crowds, loads of attention, Hermione liked to fade into the background. The idea of having to be seen with a world famous quidditch player in front of all of her peers was terrifying. But Victor looked so disappointed, as though he just knew that she wouldn’t want to go with him anymore if Hermione knew his real identity. And that was just wrong. So Hermione steeled herself, anxiously chewing her lip as she shook her head slowly.
“No! No. Not at all. I—I’d love to still go with you, if you’ll have me.”
Victor looked so relieved, that his entire face lit up and it only made Hermione feel guilty.
“Good. Good.” He grinned. “Zhen don’t vorry avout a thing. It will be good. I cannot vait.” He squeezed her hands between his. “It’z just a simple waltz at virst and zhen everyone elze joins. Only ze basic Danube and Parizan and it’z over.”
Victor said it as though it was the most obvious thing in the world and Hermione found herself nodding. “Right. Of course.” She told him. “Easy. I can’t wait.”
She could wait. Hermione definitely could. She had no dancing skills—at all. Zero. Most young girls probably take at least once dance class during their adolescence to try it out for a while. Hermione had as well, but she had quit after less than a month because of how poor her natural rhythm.
“Good. Zhank you.” Victor told her again, completely oblivious to Hermione’s internal horror. Everyone is going to have to watch her fail at dancing. It was a fine idea to her when she’d be in a crowd of her peers moving to a planned beat where no one could make heads or tails of anyone. But it was a completely different thing to have to dance in front of her entireschool with just seven other people.
“Of course.” Hermione told him with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.
“I see you later zhen?” He asked, releasing her hands.
“Yes, definitely.” She nodded. “Or tomorrow.” Or never.
Hermione thanked Merlin she didn’t have to wait long before Victor went on his way, leaving her to amble up the rest of the stairwell. It was only when she reached the top and saw him again that Hermione remembered Draco’s presence.