Can't Stand Losing You.

An Occasion

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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters mentioned.

Chapter Four – An Occasion:

Hermione gazed into the mirror at her reflection and heaved a sigh of relief. She had spent the last two hours ferociously working liberal amounts of Sleekeasy's Hair Potion into what were once her tousled, unruly tresses – when the potion had, as its container had predicted, 'worked its magic', she had bundled her now poker-straight hair into a carefully casual bun on top of her head, leaving several neat ringlets hanging down to elegantly frame her heart-shaped face. After adding a touch of light make-up, she had stepped into the stunning periwinkle-blue dress that had stolen her breath away when she first spotted it on a bewitched mannequin at the back of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions on her last visit to Diagon Alley. Mr Weasley had informed them all that, for a reason he was not allowed to divulge, they would each require dress robes or similar clothing suitable for a formal occasion at some point this year, and Hermione knew instantly that she had found exactly what she wanted. The bespoke gown, Madam Malkin had explained, would cost a large portion of Hermione's savings and would require a fitting. She had taken almost an hour to deliberate, running her fingers over the material that floated over the mannequin's body like liquid, mentally comparing it to garments she had seen in Witch Weekly. After a quick visit to Gringotts, she had handed over the necessary amount of galleons and was fitted for the dress. Madam Malkin, a stout witch with a hard face but a friendly and almost motherly demeanour, had made the required adjustments. "You're going to knock them all dead, dear," she had told her, touching her shoulder.

Glancing up at the clock, Hermione immediately realized that the Yule Ball was due to start in eight minutes. After taking one final look in the mirror and internally wishing herself good luck, she turned and left her dormitory. As she passed silently through the common room and through the portrait hole, a part of her was nervous and another part was glad that Gryffindor Tower was totally deserted. Everyone in the fourth year and above seemed to be attending the Ball, while all of the younger students had evidently opted to go home for the Christmas holidays. Having clearly kept better track of time than her, she thought, they must all have been downstairs already. Although the corridors were as empty as Gryffindor Tower had been, the steady buzz of conversation grew louder and louder as Hermione approached the Entrance Hall. She blinked once, sucked in a sharp breath and stepped forward toward the top of the Grand Staircase.

Hermione descended the staircase slowly, fearing the worst if she tried to do otherwise – snapping a heel or tearing a hole in her dress seemed like a poor omen for the night ahead. She stopped focusing on her feet and, instead, decided to look up and push her shoulders back, an old tip her mother had given her to help one feel more confident or, at least, make one appear to be more confident. As she walked, she spotted Viktor Krum – seeker for the Bulgarian national Quidditch team and her dance partner for the evening – moving through the throng of students to the foot of the stairs to greet her, his eyes gleaming, a grin spreading across his handsome face. Despite the fact that she could feel a hundred pairs of eyes on her, she couldn't help but smiling back at him.

Suddenly, a high-pitched noise of either surprise or horror caught her attention. She glanced at the crowd to see Pansy Parkinson, wearing a frilly, tiered gown of pale pink, shaking the arm of Draco Malfoy who, Hermione assumed, was to be her dance partner. Draco's eyes, to Hermione's shock, were fixed on her. He ignored Pansy and, despite the distance between them, Hermione saw him visibly swallow hard. Her eyes caught his as he stared at her and, if Hermione hadn't known him any better, she would have sworn that she'd seen a hint of a smile.