Nine

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I intend no infringement and am making no profit.

***

Hogwarts was filled with girls who gave little thought to their regular classes but seemed constantly preoccupied with the thought of the upcoming Yule Ball. I'd seen their type my entire life...they penciled in dances, dates, and other social engagements weeks, oftentimes months, beforehand. Their preparedness was both confusing and astonishing to me; while I envied their obvious enthusiasm, I simply had never possessed the time or the patience to give such matters more than passing consideration.

With my attention wholly focused on our progress with the Wolfsbane, I spent little time that week aware of the fact that the Yule Ball was imminent. Ginny frequently shot me questioning glances and looked as though she wanted to speak with me, but though I smiled at her guiltily every time, I always had to rush off after my meals to attend to one chore or another in order to free more time for my research. When I was not attending lecture or making rounds, it was almost solely Madam Pomfrey with whom I interacted, and she paid no mind to the castle's social goings-on.

Needless to say, our last day of classes and the evening of the Yule Ball didn't simply rush up on me...they pounced. I was in the laboratory finishing with my work when Madam Pomfrey, who was just about to leave, made idle mention of it.

"I'd better be off," she grumbled, making no effort to hide the disgust evident in her voice. "I'm sure I'll have to treat at least a dozen students for love potions tonight. They never do learn."

"What?" I called distractedly from the work bench, where I was putting my nervous energy to industrious use. A sudden collision with Professor Snape in the hallway earlier that day had left my heart unable to settle at its normal pace, and I still felt taut and on edge. He had been as caustic as ever in his remarks to me that week, and so gradually I'd slipped back into the mode of viewing him as my professor and admiring him from afar.

"The ball," she called back. "Every time they promise me they'll make sure the students don't manage to get a hold of illicit potions, and every time Severus confiscates at least six and sends the poor students to me. Merlin knows he'd let them suffer rather than help them."

Her mention of the ball only faintly registered in some distant compartment of my mind. I was torn between paying continued attention to the ingredients I had to preserve and the fact that she had, four days ago now, ceased to refer to him formally as "Professor Snape" in my presence. She'd reverted to calling him by his given name every time, and I couldn't help but wonder if she even realized what she was doing.

Perhaps, I thought wryly, she figured that between the two of us, there was no further need to be formal...I had, after all, admitted before the Wizarding world's largest judiciary committee that I was attracted to him. What use was any further dissembling?

I could hear her footsteps receding down the hallway and had just turned back to make one final observation of the cauldron when the remainder of her statement began echoing in my brain.

The ball.

I'd completely forgotten about the damned ball.

My immediate thought was that becoming panicky over a ridiculous ball was nothing short of pathetic. A week prior, I had honestly fantasized about strapping on a great dress and boldly asking him to dance, but the rational part of my mind knew that I would never muster the courage to do such a thing. And, after all, it had been an absurd schoolgirl crush that had led to my previous conniving in the first place. Of what importance were lovely dresses and fixing one's hair when I had a potion to attend?

I had done everything I could possibly do for that particular trial, however, and I now had at least twenty-four hours to wait before I could continue. In the process of expending as much of my nervous energy as I possibly could, I had never spared a thought for stopping early enough to prepare for the ball.

I made the run from the dungeons to the main floor in record time. I was horrified to see who was standing just across the hall, staring intently at me, when I burst onto the scene, looked around for the nearest clock, and swore rather loudly.

"Damn!" I cried, noting that I now had less than an hour before it began. I hadn't had an evening engagement for which to prepare since our fourth year, and as I recalled, taming my hair had taken a great deal more time than that.

"Is there a problem, Miss Granger?" his silky voice called softly from the entrance to the Great Hall. He appeared to be standing watch just outside the doors, accompanied by the taciturn Slytherin ghost, the Bloody Baron. I was momentarily surprised to see the two of them standing together, obviously having been in conversation, but I supposed their somewhat saturnine personalities were acceptable to one another.

I opened my mouth to respond but shut it immediately and shook my head. I could feel my ratty, unmanageable hair as it tangled and snarled behind my head. I was in for a hell of a battle if I intended to present myself looking at all decent, and judging by his narrowed eyes and the slightly cruel slant to his lips, Professor Snape knew it.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for inappropriate language, then," the voice murmured again, its register almost too low for me to discern. Even from that distance, the sheer masculinity of his voice made my knees weak. The fact that I was flushed and overheated from brewing all day did nothing to alleviate the sudden spike in awareness.

I didn't stick around to hear what nasty commentary he might have regarding my obvious distress. I turned tail and ran up the stairs two at a time, praying I would be able to find something in my closet suitable for the festivities.

***

I had always been a jeans-and-T-shirt type of girl, as any of my friends could attest. I occasionally exchanged the jeans for a comfortable pair of corduroys, but I certainly had never been the type to waste half an hour or more on my morning cleansing and dressing ritual. I had only my green summer dress and black heels, and I had absolutely no idea how I could possibly Transfigure the dress to make it acceptable. I could change the shape, naturally, but the color or any other details? I was at a complete loss.

I pulled it on hastily and Transfigured one of my winter scarves into a very slim but nonetheless effective black shawl, which I draped over my shoulders. Then I tripped through my door and ran for the Gryffindor common room, where I found Ginny seated comfortably in front of the fireplace. She'd roped a fellow sixth-year girl into helping her with her hair, it seemed.

"Gin," I gasped, mildly out of breath. A month ago I'd traded walking around the grounds for slow jogging, and my endurance had improved considerably, but a combination of increased studying and heavy snowfall had impeded my progress somewhat as of late. I couldn't seem to breathe deeply enough to slow my heartbeat.

Ginny stared at me, clearly lost for words. "Hermione!" she exclaimed. "Did you... Are you just now getting ready?" For a girl who did include her appearance among her priorities, my hasty approach to preparing must have verged on the sacrilegious.

"I forgot," I admitted, collapsing beside her. She was now laughing outright at my alarm.

"I didn't even think you'd go," she managed to gasp through her giggles. The girl arranging her hair frowned in consternation and muttered for her to keep her head still.

"Okay," Ginny said, " I don't know what to do with you." She eyed my dress critically. "You didn't even buy a different dress?"

"I told you: I completely forgot. I remembered a week ago and told myself I'd have to try to order something through a catalog, but it totally slipped my mind. And then Hogsmeade was canceled this past weekend due to weather and I had no other reminders..."

I stopped for breath. "Okay, look: can you give me something for my hair? I've got an idea what to do with the dress, but I don't have anything for my hair."

Ginny nodded and began fumbling through the many beauty products on the floor beside her. Her dress was a beautiful deep green that threw her fair skin and bright eyes into stark relief. Harry, I thought smugly, was going to have a heart attack when he laid eyes on her.

"Here." She handed me a bottle whose label had long since flaked off. I had no idea what it contained.

"What...?"

"Run upstairs and take a quick shower," she instructed me. "Make sure to grab some of my stuff off the counter. You smell like the dungeons." She wrinkled her nose to emphasize her point. "When you're done, you can use my lotion and whatever, but make sure you put plenty of this in your hair before you cast a drying charm, okay?"

I nodded. "Any other instructions, beauty guru?"

She bit her lip pensively and fingered one of my flyaway curls. "Yeah. After you put that in, take a few hair bands...there should be plenty of them on the counters from all of us, don't worry...cast a cleaning charm on a couple of them, and roll up large sections. Then cast the drying charm. It might help to give you curls instead of just frizz."

She grinned, unrepentant, when I smacked her arm in outrage. I dashed up to the sixth-year girls' dorm, my access unimpeded thanks to my position as Head Girl, and hurriedly undressed. The shower stung painfully after the cold, drafty air of the dungeons, but I ignored it and plowed ahead with her directions. I washed my hair, scrubbed at my skin until it shone, and slathered on a lightly scented lotion that Ginny had left sitting on her bedside table.

I tugged the dress back on quickly and began to run the mystery concoction through my hair, separating the damp curls and applying it as consistently and thoroughly as I could. After casting a perfunctory cleansing charm on several hair bands, I separated my hair into six large sections and wrapped them tightly, securing them with the bands. Praying for more controlled, defined hair rather than, as Ginny had so eloquently put it, "just frizz," I closed my eyes and directed a drying charm at the damp sections.

Placing my wand on the counter, I kept my eyes closed while carefully extricating the hair bands and unrolling my hair. When I opened them a moment later, I very nearly screamed. After the ball, I planned to waste no time in demanding from Ginny the name, price, and ingredients of whatever it was I'd just slicked through my hair because its effects were far superior to the Sleek-Eazy potion I had applied fourth year. My hair was still thick and curly, undoubtedly preparing to fluff out rebelliously at any second, but for the time being it looked fantastic. Devoid of the usual kinks, which had been replaced by looser spirals, it now fell past my shoulder blades.

Grinning madly, I dashed back down into the common room. The two girls had now exchanged places, and Ginny was studying the blonde girl's long, straight hair carefully, mulling over what to do with it.

"Hey!" she cried when I reentered. "You look terrific!" She ran her fingers through my hair and beamed at me. "I'm jealous. Your hair's so pretty like that! Here..." She grabbed another product from the mess they'd created in the center of the room and began to run it through her fingers. It looked barely more viscous than water, but when she ran it through my hair and offered me a small cosmetic mirror, I was thrilled. Each individual strand shone like it had been recently burnished.

"Gorgeous," she pronounced me, and then she pointed firmly in the direction of the Fat Lady's portrait. "Now go! You've got"...she glanced at her small gold watch..."twenty minutes to figure that mess out." I knew without asking that she was referring to the dress.

***

I had frequently hoped I would soon have the opportunity to be reunited with Dumbledore, in the form of his portrait, of course, but I had rarely seen Professor McGonagall, with the obvious exceptions of class and the regular meetings with the Heads of House and the Head Boy and Girl. I couldn't imagine how she'd been controlling the immense stress of both teaching Transfiguration and running the school, but when I entered her office, I found the answer immediately.

She was sitting at her desk, looking positively exhausted, with a massive tea service in front of her. Professor Sprout sat across from her, munching on a biscuit, and the portrait-Dumbledore, wide awake and twinkling benevolently, waved me a jovial hello when I entered. A painful clenching in my chest reminded me instantly of just how badly I missed him, and I knew instinctively that he had been Professor McGonagall's source of sanity.

"Miss Granger!" she exclaimed, putting down her tea cup and appraising my unusual attire.

"Hello, Professor. Hello, Professor Dumbledore!" I cried, tears pricking at my eyes. I'd momentarily forgotten my errand, but Professor McGonagall seemed to understand.

"Hello, dear girl. How are you enjoying your last year?" he asked, motioning for me to have a seat in one of the chairs across from the desk. I did so, and Professor Sprout poured me a cup of tea, which I began to gulp nervously.

"It's wonderful so far," I admitted. "But I'm afraid I haven't exactly kept on top of things like the Head Girl should...I completely forgot that the Yule Ball is this evening, and I never went to buy a dress!" I gestured in chagrin to the light summer dress and rather pathetic attempt at a shawl, and Dumbledore burst out laughing.

"No need to worry," he said. "Our dear Minerva is not a Transfiguration instructor for nothing, yes? Minerva, surely you can do something for her."

"That's why I'm here," I admitted, turning my gaze guiltily to Professor McGongall, who was smiling slightly for the first time in weeks. "I'm truly very sorry, Professor. I know I should have been prepared to help with the ball, but between research and classes and all my other duties, I really did forget."

"There's no need to fret," she promised. "Now, stand up. Let's see what we can do."

I did so, and she and Professor Sprout immediately began volleying ideas back and forth.

"Burgundy!" Professor Sprout threw out. "Long, and with long sleeves. I think she'd look lovely, don't you, Minerva?"

"She'll get rather too warm in all that," the practical Headmistress pointed out, pursing her lips in thought. "No, I think if you're going to go with something long, Miss Granger, it had better be strapless. Now, what color would you prefer?"

I thought for a moment, tempted to say black or blue, but I decided black was far overdone, and wearing blue to the Yule Ball seemed completely cliché. Half the girls present would be hoping to achieve the sleek, icy look that had predominated at the last ball.

"Something light, please," I said. "Rose, or cream."

"Cream would look lovely with her complexion," Professor Sprout piped up with a clap of her hands. "Strapless and cream-colored, perhaps a little tucked in at the waist? She'd look beautiful, Minerva."

"Yes, she would." Professor McGonagall raised her wand and said, "Now, lift your arms, Miss Granger. I don't want to get your limbs tangled while the fabric rearranges itself." She cast a quick incantation, and I felt the disconcerting sensation of my clothing melting and slipping, disappearing from one area only to reappear, snug and silky, in another. When she'd finished, it fit perfectly across my breasts, dipping in to complement my waist and flaring out with the shape of my hips.

"Beautiful! Just as I thought," Professor Sprout said happily. Professor McGonagall made no comment; she had begun to work her way around the massive wooden desk and was now circling me critically, eyeing the fall of the fabric in every location. Finally she gave a satisfied nod and an unusually bright smile.

"You look lovely, Miss Granger."

"Thank you." I was half breathless with relief. "I really do apologize, Professor...I feel very ashamed that I forgot about all this."

She gave me a warm pat on the shoulder. "Not at all. I've never seen a student with a course load as challenging as yours this year...there's no reason to feel ashamed. Now," she continued, "I think we'd best get down to the Hall. They'll want to start at any moment, and Merlin knows Severus can only hold them off for so long before abandoning his post entirely." She finished on a good-natured grumble, and from overhead, Dumbledore chuckled richly.

"I told you not to entrust that to him," he chided her gently. "The poor man couldn't care less if they trample the place before it's properly decorated. He hates chaperoning these affairs."

"I don't care how he feels about them personally! My command should be word enough!" she exclaimed in frustration. Professor Sprout, dressed in rose-colored dress robes and a frighteningly ornate beaded shawl, started laughing and took my hand gently. We began to make our way downstairs, Professor McGonagall following closely behind. The noise emerging from the the Great Hall had already reached deafening levels.

"Go ahead, dear," Professor Sprout murmured to me with a mischievous wink. She gently prodded me in the direction of the doors, which had already fallen shut behind the last party goer to enter. Steeling myself against the overwhelming compulsion to skulk unnoticed on the edges and seek a glimpse of one person in particular, I pulled open the doors and walked forward purposefully. The light tapping of my heels, perfectly in sync with those of the other women, bolstered my confidence. We made our way across the room. As had been done in my fourth year, the usual dining tables had been cleared out to provide ample space for an arrangement of smaller, cozier tables and an area for everyone to dance.

As we forged ahead, the crowd parted to admit us entry. I became slightly flushed and a little embarrassed at the thought of my lack of preparedness; I hadn't even put on some makeup to give myself a little color and confidence. My lips were bare, and my skin was undoubtedly still tinged red from the fierce scrubbing in the shower. I began to worry that I might closely resemble a lobster wrapped in a toga.

Finally we reached the front. I quickly stepped aside and sat next to Ginny, who had already scouted out a table for us. Professor McGonagall gave a brief but heartening speech about our victory as a community and Harry's incomparable courage in defeating Voldemort the summer prior. The Hall saluted him with a rousing bit of applause, and then the party commenced, the small group of chamber musicians breaking into a lively waltz.

"You look great!" Ginny informed me, rather too loudly. I took a suspicious glance at what her glass contained and concluded that someone must have spiced the punch just a bit too liberally. "I love that color on you, by the way." She began to finger the folds of my skirt admiringly while Harry and Ron snickered at the picture we made, me looking uncomfortably warm and self-conscious, and Ginny with her hand halfway up my skirt.

"Think you could give me my girlfriend back now?" Harry teased. I glared at him, smacking Ginny's hand away, and she laughed and crawled into Harry's lap.

"Good God," I moaned, "you're not going to do that again, are you?" I found myself half hoping one of the teachers would reprimand them for indecent displays of affection in public; but then again, I was probably the only one at the moment who was sufficiently lovesick and bitter to begrudge them their intimacy.

"It's only because he won't dance with me," Ginny retorted with a displeased, feminine pout. "He says he doesn't dance after the last Yule Ball."

"What's wrong with you?" I demanded of Harry, pouring myself a glass of water. My hand shook lightly, setting the ice cubes crackling and tinkling in the liquid. I was endeavoring to pay attention to my friends while keeping one eye on the people milling about, scouting around for the large void of black I knew had to be contained somewhere within.

"You and Parvati were fine last time," I hastened to finish when they began giving me searching looks. I'd spent too much time feigning concentration on my water when in reality, I'd been scanning the crowd.

"I hate dancing," Harry griped, "and unless they force me, I'm not going to do it."

"But what if you're the only one not dancing, mate?" Ron pointed out. Luna was nearby, chatting with a friend, and Ron was continually shooting her longing glances. She looked particularly alluring, I thought, with her long, dark blonde hair piled atop her head and a gauzy, light blue dress floating around her. It completed her general air of surreality nicely.

Harry snorted. "You know Snape won't dance." He clamped his mouth shut the moment the remark emerged and glanced over at me with sudden remorse. Ginny had been halfway to elbowing him in the ribs, but she halted when she took note of his visible regret.

"How do you know?" I returned lightly. "Just because he didn't dance last time, that doesn't mean he won't this time."

Ron choked on his drink. "What, you mean with you?" I felt my ears burn when several people from the nearby tables turned to glance at us interestedly. There was definitely an illicit additive in that punch. I wanted to smack him.

Luna, having heard his rather loud and cynical outburst, seemed to float as she meandered over to us. She alighted next to Ron and began to lightly run her fingers through his hair. "You look really nice, Hermione," she told me in her lilting, half-absent voice.

"Thanks, Luna." I sipped at more water. "That's all thanks to Ginny and Professor McGonagall, though...I totally forgot this was even scheduled until about an hour ago."

"Really?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I would've thought it would take far more than an hour to get your hair under control."

Ron spluttered again, and his cheeks grew very red, but I laughed it off. I was accustomed to Luna's unusual frankness, and God knew that after eighteen years, I'd come to agree with that particular opinion wholeheartedly. "I thought it would too," I assured her, "but Ginny proved me wrong, I guess."

"You really do look lovely. You should ask Snape to dance."

This time Ginny had to abandon her comfortable position in Harry's lap in order to dash around the table and forcefully pound on Ron's back several times. He'd inhaled so much of his drink that he couldn't breathe properly for the next three minutes. The rest of them simply sat there silently, each loath to be the first to respond.

"You know..." Mercifully, Ginny finally broke the silence. "Why don't you?"

"...You mean other than the fact that he'll say no?" I supplied dryly.

"You don't know that. One of the Hufflepuffs has already danced with Professor Sprout, and one of the Ravenclaw girls is out there dancing with Flitwick. And she's a fourth year," Ginny added, her brows crinkling slightly in distaste. "That actually does seem inappropriate."

"There's nothing wrong with a friendly dance."

I realized belatedly that I'd just annihilated my own argument, and the two girls continued to goad me until finally, the butterflies in my stomach fluttering wildly at the thought of being in his arms again, if only for a moment, I rose. Hesitantly I began to search for my target. He was standing across the room on the outskirts of the crowd, his arms crossed defensively over his chest. His entire posture bespoke his disgruntled attitude, and it hit me with astonishing force just how foolish I was to think that he would warm to anyone in such an environment.

"Go on," Luna prodded softly. "You'll always regret it if you don't at least try."

"Well, there is a Valentine's dance this year," Harry interjected. "You don't have to ask him now. You could wait..."

I knew that Luna was correct, however, even if only for the short term. If I didn't at least make the attempt, I would spend the entire night...and undoubtedly the next few months...wondering if I'd passed up the opportunity to discover sensations that, theretofore, I had only been able to imagine: what his hand would feel like wrapped around my waist and the warmth of him swaying against me. The thought was intoxicating.

I waved off Harry's objection and started forward, aware from the moment I began to move that his sharp eyes had caught me. They were watching every centimeter of my progress in his direction.