Take My Hand

Ron and Harry were up late, as per usual. Hermione had gone to bed half an hour earlier, which was quite uncharacteristic on her part. Harry suspected that she was likely studying up in her room in order to avoid getting trapped in distractive conversation.

"So, what did you and Tate talk about?"

Ron shrugged. "Home life and such. She doesn't like to talk much, but she was really interested in the Burrow, and growing up with wizard parents." He sighed. "It's weird. She really doesn't know anything about wizards. She didn't know who you were, nor much about You-Know-Who."

Harry was thoughtful for a moment. "I can't put my finger on it, but something about her just doesn't sit right with me. What I mean to say is..." He scrunched up his face, searching for the right words. "Blimey, I don't know. It just doesn't add up. She doesn't add up." Ron nodded, slightly - he was no longer blatantly enamored with her, now he was rather confused, albeit still interested.

"Talk to Hagrid," Ron suggested. "He always seems to know what's going on around here. And if he won't come out and tell you, you can always weasel it out of him." Harry grinned and nodded.

"I think I'll do that."

*** *** ***

Hermione had long since been nestled into her luxurious bed, deep in sleep, when she was startled awake. Sitting up like a rocket, she wondered what had roused her from such a peaceful slumber when she heard it. A bone-chilling scream shattered the silence, and Hermione felt the hot, viscous blood in her veins turn to ice. She caught her breath, and leapt out of the bed and threw back the curtains to Tate's own bed. What she saw terrified her.

Tate was twitching and writhing in her bed, as though someone were performing the Cruciatus Curse on her. And she began to scream again, high-pitched and terrified, and Hermione could discern words amidst the wailing.

"No, please don't take me there! Let me go, please! NO!" Hermione grabbed Tate by the shoulders and tried to shake her awake. Tate reacted to her touch as though she had been scalded with boiling hot water. She recoiled and twisted away, screaming louder and begging for mercy from an invisible tormentor.

"SUMMERE KALLIOPE NATALYA...SOMETHING SOMETHING, WAKE UP!" Tate jerked into a sitting position and seized Hermione around the wrist in a bone-breaking grip. Hermione gasped in pain and surprise. Suddenly, her body failed to comply, and she grasped Tate's other hand with her own. An unnatural feeling flooded her mind, and she felt herself lift off of the ground, and dive down into what seemed like an endless tunnel of spiraling color, leaving the comforts of Hogwarts behind...

She felt her body slam into what had to be a chair. Gingerly, she opened her eyes. She was sitting in a classroom, but one she had never seen before. This classroom looked more like her grade school classrooms than any classroom she had ever seen at Hogwarts. All the students sat at tables, two to a table, with about ten tables in the classroom. The teacher stood at the front, and he was a rather fat, jolly sort of man, and he was going on about something called galvanic cells. There was a large blackboard behind him, and a poster on the wall with an apple on it that read "Treat Your Teacher - He Deserves it!" Glancing up at the chalkboard, Hermione read the words, Electrochemistry, Chapter 12. Looking around wildly for someone familiar, she recognized Tate sitting next to her. But Tate looked drastically different than she did now. She was not nearly as thin, she had no circles underneath her eyes, and less rigidity in her shoulders and back. She had buoyant color in her face. There were no scars on her hands.

"Tate, what are we doing here?" Hermione was downright hysterical. "Where have you taken me?" Tate did not respond, nor did she even acknowledge Hermione's presence. In fact, not a single other kid in the class seemed to take notice of Hermione, not in the slightest.

'I must be in her memory, like a pensieve,' Hermione thought to herself. 'That's why no one can hear me! But how...how is that possible?'

A boy at the table in front of Tate turned around. He looked suspiciously evil, rather like Malfoy did - as though he had some horrible secret of yours, and was liable to spill it at anytime. The boy lowered his voice as he spoke to Tate.

"I know what you are, bitch." Hermione flinched at the word. "We all do." Tate didn't react at all, she merely waved him away with her hand, and continued listening to the teacher.

"I've seen where you go at night. I know what you're doing. And I've told people." His voice was rising quickly. Tate's face remained unreadable, but her eyes flashed with a sudden fury that Hermione shrank back from.

"I know you're a witch! Everyone does!" The boy was screaming now, and everyone in the class looked back to see what the commotion was. As if on cue from the boy, every single student began shouting horrible threats at Tate.

"Witch! Fucking witch! We're going to kill you!"

The teacher ran towards Tate, as if to shield her from the onslaught of hatred, but he was far too late. The boy who had originally mouthed off to Tate drew a pocketknife off of his key ring. Lightening fast, he lunged at Tate's face, and she whipped her head around, causing him to miss her cheek and slash a sickle shaped mark behind her right ear. Her hand shot out and snatched his knife-wielding hand. With a sickening crack, she snapped his wrist, and he screamed like a wounded animal. The muscles in Tate's jaw clenched, and her eyes began to glow with a frightening rage. The boy's laptop computer shuddered, smoked, and exploded in a fiery, orange blast. Beakers on the back lab tables began to explode in succession. The sickening, harsh smell of gas filled the room. Complete pandemonium ensued, as students screamed, ran in every direction, some even jumping out windows. Textbooks were flying and glass was shattering everywhere, and yet Tate remained seated where she was, arms folded, with that far away look in her eyes...she grimaced in pain suddenly, and clenched her right hand into a fist. Hermione could see blood squeezing through her knuckles...then she was up and running, Hermione magically pulled behind her. Tate burst through glass double doors into a parking lot filled with cars. She was running between the cars, breathing heavily in fear, when a boy stepped out in front of her. They collided, and she stiffened and choked. A low, painful moan of defeat escaped her. Hermione looked on in horror, as the boy yanked something away from her chest - a small knife - and plunged it into her back. She went down to her knees, wheezing in pain, and the boy began to wave his arms and shout. "She's over here! Come quickly!"...and suddenly Hermione was lifted off of her feet, and was racing down that colorful expanse of tunnel again...

She landed next to Tate in a starkly lit, cold cell. Tate was dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit, and quite a large woman was standing over her.

"Stupid little white bitch. I'll teach you a lesson," she was shouting. She slapped Tate so hard across the face that Hermione winced. Blood trickled out the corner of her mouth. And still, she showed no response. The intimidating woman was further angered. She punched Tate full force, closed fist, in the jaw, and there was still no reaction.

"Fucking whore!"

"That's funny," Tate said silkily, "Aren't you the one in this cell who is under charges of solicitation?"

The woman was furious now, and she seized Tate by the arms to haul her up, probably to throw her against the bars of the cell. But as soon as she touched Tate's upper arms, it seemed she couldn't move them, nor let go. Her hands began to smoke. She yelped in pain, and recoiled back, gaping at her hands. They were burned bright red, and she looked at Tate with the utmost horror in her eyes. The woman began to scream for the guard.

The environments morphed again, and Hermione was standing in a pitch-black cell, if you could even call it that. It was more like a box, and she sensed Tate's presence next to her. Turning to Tate, she gasped in utter revulsion. Tate was standing in an incredibly awkward position. Her arms were high above her head, shackled to the top of the small box. The sleeve of her orange jumpsuit had fallen to her elbow, and Hermione saw what looked like a broken wrist, judging from the size of the swelling, as well as a red halo of blood seeping from under the thick, rusty handcuff. Her legs were shackled to either side, and her head hung in dazed exhaustion. She had a very swollen lip, cracked with blood that trickled down her chin, and both her eyes were blackened. There was a raised blue lump on her forehead, covered in dried blood. In Hermione's later years, she would often awaken from her sleep screaming in fear, Tate's empty, haunted eyes staring at her in dreams. Her breathing was heavy, labored, and Hermione would not have been surprised at all if it had simply stopped right then. However, that short terrible moment was broken by raised voices, followed by a loud thud from outside the box. Without warning, the door opened, and light stabbed Hermione's eyes, blinding them momentarily. But she would know that voice anywhere.

"Hello, my dear. We have been looking for you." A very hazy Albus Dumbledore stood in front of Tate, flanked by Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape. With a wave of Dumbledore's wand, the shackles opened, and Tate collapsed to the floor. Professor Snape was reaching for her...

Hermione was swept up into the whirling kaleidescope of color, and deposited right back into her room, cradling a violently trembling Tate. Hermione's heart melted for this poor creature; she had been through so much. She was soaked through with sweat, and her shaking seemed unstoppable. But after about ten minutes, she began to calm, and Hermione smoothed her hair, tucked her back into bed.

She sat for a moment, rendered motionless by what she had just seen. Then she made, what she would later decide as, a very non-rational decision. She threw on her dressing gown, grabbed her wand, and stepped out the door.

"Lumos," she muttered, and her wand tip blossomed with light. After perhaps a minute of walking, she found herself by Harry's bedside, shaking him awake. He awoke with a start, and peered at her with bewildered, sleepy eyes.

"I need to talk to you about something," she began, "and it simply can't wait until tomorrow."

*** *** ***

Harry Potter sat in front of the fireplace in the common room, letting the story Hermione had just recounted wash over him.

"So, let me get this straight...She touched your wrist, and some kind of cosmic connection sprang up between you two, and you found yourself in her subconscious?" Harry looked completely confounded. Hermione sighed in exasperation.

"No," she said firmly, "I was not in her subconscious. I was seeing her memories, her past. Either she was showing me, or I was inadvertently drawn into her last few memories before she came to Hogwarts."

"Jesus." Harry was dumbstruck. "That's quite terrifying."

"I agree," said Hermione.

"You'd never guess," he mused, "By the way she acts. You'd never imagine she was hurting in any way." He sounded impressed by her invulnerability.

"Now I at least know what happened with Malfoy, earlier today." Hermione regretted the words the instant they left her mouth. Harry sat up, as though struck by lightening, and looked at her with the expectancy of a child about to receive a lollypop. Hermione giggled at the excitement he was trying to hide, and figured her blunder was too far gone, she might as well tell him. So she explained to Harry what had transpired earlier that day between herself, Tate, and Draco. Harry was shaking in silent laughter by the time she had finished. She couldn't help laughing too.

"Finally, Draco has met his match. A girl who can lift him right off the floor, and straight into the wall." Then Harry looked serious. "Have you ever heard of anyone like this before?"

"No," admitted Hermione. "But I intend to find out." And on that note, they both went to bed.

*** *** ***

Hermione awoke that morning, and stretched languidly. She scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, and began to rise out of bed when she noticed Tate, already awake, looking at her somberly from her own bed. Hermione smiled affectionately at her.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully. But Tate did not smile back.

"I know where you were last night." Hermione felt a guilty shiver up the back of her spine. Tate looked her, not with accusation, but with an expression Hermione could not comprehend.

"You were in here." Tate tapped the side of her head. "And I know what you saw." Hermione felt a wave of guilt. She began to attempt an explanation, but Tate held up a hand to silence her. For the first time ever, Hermione noticed a deep scar that ran diagonal across Tate's right hand, stretching from her pinky all the way to her forearm below the wrist. Their eyes met, and Hermione was surprised to see pleading.

"Please don't be afraid of me. You can't understand what happened, and I wish I could explain better." Hermione's heart broke for Tate, and she rushed to her side, and reached for Tate's scarred hand. But Tate hid her hand from Hermione's grasp.

"When emotions run high..." she explained in a very controlled voice, "...Things happen. I can't explain them. They just...happen and I have trouble controlling them."

She took a great breath, and exhaled softly, as though trying to blow her problems out with the air.

"I'm not nearly as tough as I look. All this you see," she indicated her virile arms and legs, "Is just a shell. I figured that if I could be strong physically then I would be equally strong mentally, but...things didn't work out as I'd hoped. The only strength I derived from this was the ability to defend myself."

"But you are strong mentally, Tate," Hermione assured her, "Look at all you've come through. You aren't bitter or broken, in fact I'd venture that you are more alive now than you ever were before." Tate fixed her eyes on Hermione.

"Oh, I'm bitter, make no mistake. I hate those people for what they've done to me. I hate the fact that I was denied a normal existence." Her face darkened as she began to reveal snippets of her past. "Since I was six, a man, Niels, came to teach me things. He taught me things I never learned in school. He gave me a wand, showed me how to use it. He taught me how to manipulate objects, and turn them into whatever I wanted. He told me there was great magic inside me, that I was important. So I developed these skills until a month ago. Ten years I trained. Then I turned sixteen. That's when...well, what you saw happened. I spent three weeks in jail." Hermione shuddered in revulsion, recalling the terrible place that Tate was held in.

"I hate them, but I never wished harm on any of them, you know? But everyone's got their limits. I worked so hard at disciplining myself all those years that I never thought anyone would find mine. I'm serious, I did everything possible to keep myself in check - yoga, martial arts, relaxation, you name it, I tried it. I tried to stop feeling things, but I couldn't. I can't. I feel things all the time, and I lock them up in here," she tapped her heart. "I want so badly to breathe freely, but I feel like nothing is ever going to make that possible."

Hermione put her hands on Tate's shoulders, and looked deep into her eyes. "Don't be afraid to feel, Tate. There's nothing wrong with it. I'm sorry that people made you go through that. But you need to push that aside and get on with your life. If you stop feeling altogether, you will regret it. I can promise you that." Tate nodded weakly.

"Don't tell anyone what you know. I don't want people to be afraid of me. I mean, you've got to look at it this way. They'd have done the exact same thing to you, or anyone else like us." Hermione grabbed Tate in a hug.

"I am not afraid of you, and no one else in Gryffindor house would be either, I swear it. Believe it or not, but there are weirder people here than you'll ever meet in a lifetime. You don't have to worry while you're here. This school will be the best place you've ever been to. I promise." Tate smiled, weakly, but it was a smile anyways. Hermione felt much better about her strange new roommate, and the two chatted amiably as they dressed for breakfast.

*** *** ***

Once in the Great Hall, people from the other houses began to take notice of the new girl in great numbers. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw buzzed with chatter, and heads kept twisting to stare at the newest addition to Gryffindor. Tate appeared to notice none of this, nor did she notice the anticipatory way in which Ron was staring at her. Hermione did, however, and was quite generous with her notorious death glares all through breakfast. She also noticed, with her eagle eye attention to detail, that Tate was simply pushing food around on her plate. This pricked Hermione's nerve, but given the tender circumstances in which she had found the girl the night before, Hermione chose not to remark upon it. Everyone was in a particularly antsy mood, with only two days of school left.

"Which classes we will have today?" asked Tate.

"Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, Care of Magical Creatures with the Slytherins, then lunch, then Transfiguration by ourselves, and Potions with the Slytherins." Tate looked exhausted just listening to Hermione recite the list.

"Just sit next to me, I'll make sure you understand what's going on," Hermione promised her. Tate smiled warmly, and took a small bite of food. Hermione grinned inwardly, feeling very confident that she would be able to assist Tate in any problems she might have.

*** *** ***

Tate shivered uncontrollable when the Gryffindors made their way outside. She wrapped her cloak around herself tightly, but couldn't stop her chattering teeth. She was shaking down to her bones, and all the Gryffindors, especially Parvati who had an extreme body temperature problem, felt pangs of sympathy. Tate, coming from Texas, had never seen snow in her life, and she clearly didn't like it at all.

"If you're that cold, come on then!" Harry seized her arm and began to run down the path, his boots crunching on the freshly shoveled snow. Tate kept up with him and they flew down the path toward the greenhouse. Most unfortunately for Harry, Tate had built up so much speed in her haste to get near warmth that, as they came down the hill, neither could stop. Both careened right through the glass door. Hermione gasped in fear, and she and Ron ran toward the greenhouse.

Tate and Harry had stood by the time they arrived, brushing broken glass off of their robes. Harry had a small cut above his eye, and he was looking daggers at Tate.

"Sorry," she managed, and looked away.

Hermione pulled out her wand. "Reparo." The shattered glass flew back in the panes of the door. Then she tapped Harry's cut with her wand, and it healed instantly.

"See, no harm done," she consoled Tate. Tate nodded, and they all gathered around the tables as Professor Sprout entered the greenhouse, dragging a large, blue plant behind her. It's stem culminated in a large, blue, pitcher-like appendage. Thick green vines with purple thorns extended from it's stem, and occasionally it made growling noises.

"Who can tell me what this is?" Professor Sprout eyed the class hopefully. As usual, Hermione raised her hand, amid Susan Bones and Neville Longbottom. "Neville?"

"La planta del muerto." Professor Sprout smiled and nodded.

"Ten points to Gryffindor." Neville's ears turned pink with gratitude. However, the rest of the class shrank back in fear. "Now, now, not to worry. This particular specimen has been heavily sedated." She pointed to a small I.V. that was hooked into the thick stem of the plant. "Who can tell me what this plant does? Susan?"

"The plant grabs victims with it's thorned vines and squeezes them to death. It eats them through the little pitcher it has - the juices inside the pitcher digest the body."

"Excellent, ten points to Hufflepuff. Now, as I am hoping most of you read in your assigned reading last night..." she eyed the class suspiciously, "The liquid inside the plant's pitcher is extremely corrosive and poisonous, but it has very special uses in..." She looked expectantly at the students. "Yes, Hermione?"

"The pitcher fluid is used mainly for the demolition and smelting of abnormally hard metals, alloys, and stones. It can eat a hole through a single-carat diamond in 96 hours. And lately there has been speculation that it may cure some blood diseases when administered in miniscule doses."

"Take another ten points for Gryffindor." Hermione beamed. "Normally, we would be harvesting the pitcher's fluid, but under the circumstances, Dumbledore has decreed it too dangerous, considering your dragon hide gloves will provide you little protection. Instead, we will be studying it's vegetation habits, it's diet, and on Wednesday, we will study the effects of the pitcher fluid on several different specimens." Class continued in the fashion of boring observation.

*** *** ***

When it was time to go to Care of Magical Creatures, Tate nearly had a heart attack when she saw the creatures Hagrid had prepared for them that day. Three very large, green creatures were lumbering about in a paddock, breathing smoke and screaming in tones that rocketed from baritone to soprano in mere seconds. They resembled great lizards, covered in iridescent scales that reflected the bright snow and sunlight.

Tate began muttering softly to herself. "Ярόна матъ! Он полный крейза!" Hermione snapped to attention.

"What language is that?" Hermione loved new things, and the wheels in her mind were turning already. Tate could teach her a new language!

"R-Russian," Tate chattered, "And handy it is. No one really speaks it in Americ-ca, so it's always safe to start swearing in it-t-t." She grinned at Hermione, "Want to learn?" Hermione nodded her head vigorously.

"Do you know any other languages?" Hermione inquired.

"A few," Tate was being evasive again, and Hermione would have like to question her further, but they were approaching the gate. Hermione groaned as the Slytherins began muttering among themselves, pointing at Tate. Draco looked simply murderous.

"Well he looks a bit like the abominable snowman, doesn't he?" Tate indicated Draco, and Hermione and Ron burst into laughter. With the snow reflecting off his hair, in contrast with his horribly pale skin, Draco did look quite like a very angry snowman. Realizing he was being made fun of, Draco made a loud comment about the new "American Mudblood". Tate's eyes flickered, and she lightly placed her hand on Hermione's lower back, taking care that no one would see, and began to speak in Russian. Hermione heard the Russian, but to her great amazement, she understood every word. It seemed as though her mind decided to briefly abandon even thinking in English in favor of Russian.

"Ð-й керюха, иÐ'и сюÐ'а!," Tate shouted, "Так и хочется впагтъ тебе по чайнику как слеÐ'ует!" Hermione was dying in laughter, as well as stunned amazement. How was it that she suddenly understood Russian, a language she'd barely even heard spoken before?

"Залупάнец!" Hermione was shocked to hear her own voice joining in the roast. She had spoken perfect Russian. Tate grinned, and removed her hand from Hermione. She turned her gaze to Draco, and winked. He lifted his hand and drew his finger across his throat, smirked, and turned his head. The class continued with no further interruptions.

*** *** ***

Lunch was another interesting moment. Three large barn owls zoomed through the window of the Great Hall, carrying between them quite a large parcel. It was dropped right in front of Tate. She stared at the package, wide-eyed, and exhaled softly.

"Hope that's Brad Pitt, wrapped in a box, just like I asked my mom to send." Then she wrapped her arms around the parcel, and walked briskly out of the Great Hall, passing Pansy Parkinson as she went. Pansy looked at her with utmost hatred and stuck out a foot to trip her. Hermione half rose in her chair, and nearly shouted at Tate to be careful, but Tate lightly leapt over Pansy's outstretched foot, and smiled sweetly at her. Then she skipped lightly in a circle, and leaned toward Pansy. Hermione was too far away to actually hear the exchange, but she strained anyways. Tate, by this time, had deadpanned and spoken a few words to Pansy, before moving swiftly through the large double doors. Pansy stood, as though in shock, her mouth wide open. Then she promptly turned around and slapped Crabbe, who was seated directly behind her, as hard as she could. She glared at him, flounced away and sat at the other end of the Slytherin table, amid the heinous glares of her fellow Slytherins.

Weird...thought Hermione.

*** *** ***

After lunch, Transfiguration rolled around. Professor McGonagall was tight-lipped and severe, as usual.

"Today," she announced, "We will be tackling a very difficult area of magic. The transfiguration of a very small object into something rather large. This particular section will span at least a month's worth of class. Now, seeing as though this will be your last class before the holidays, I am going to allow you to turn the small object into whatever you wish. But it must be significantly larger, in its finished state. A tadpole to a toad simply won't do, Longbottom." Neville shrank in his chair, but nodded.

"Now then. You will all find a button on your desk. Begin now."

Hermione racked her brain...with unlimited options, she found herself unable to decide what to do. There were so many things? What would be a sufficient test of her talent? Images flooded her mind...a dragon? No way, that was far too large, not to mention dangerous. A car? Still too big. She settled on her mother's piano, and proceeded to begin the spell. A puff of yellow smoke later, and she was looking at a large, very beautiful grand piano, reminiscent of the one her mother kept at home.

"Very good, Ms. Granger!" Professor McGonagall rewarded her with a proud smile. Hermione grinned, her ears turning pink. All around the room, buttons were being turned into larger objects, but nothing quite as impressive as Hermione's piano. Ron transfigured his button into a six-foot tall boot, and Professor McGonagall shook her head in irritation.

"How many times have you come across a boot this size," she scolded him, "It wouldn't even fit a giant!"

Harry turned his button into a bright pink sofa. Unfortunately, it still bore the button holes. Hermione laughed, and told him how to fix it, earning herself a sharp glance from McGonagall.

In her concentration and subsequent amusement, Hermione realized that she had forgotten all about Tate. She looked over, worried, and saw Tate absentmindedly fingering her dark, shiny wand. There was a look of deep meditation on her face, and Hermione wondered if it were simply masking her confusion. She began to move toward Tate, ready to assist her, when Tate raised her wand. There was a bang like a gun, and an abnormally large penguin stood where the button once lay. Hermione stopped short, and stared in mute wonder. The entire class looked up in bewilderment. Laughter erupted, in multitudes. The oversized penguin, which stood at an even five and a half feet, began to waddle around and squawk agreeably. Tate grinned excitedly, and jumped up to play with the penguin. Dean and Seamus were laughing so, that Hermione thought they might have trouble breathing soon. Professor McGonagall strode over to Tate, bent her head, and exchanged a few words with her. When she stood, she had the faintest twitch of a smile on her face. She stopped in front of Hermione, looked down at her, and said,

"Well done, Ms. Granger. She is adjusting." Hermione glowed with joy. Professor McGonagall's compliments meant more to her than anything any other teacher in the world could have said. Her euphoria was interrupted by the soft music that broke through the loud ruckus in the classroom. Tate had situated herself at Hermione's piano, and had begun to play. The music was quite beautiful, and Hermione heard a hint of familiarity in it, though she couldn't place it. The penguin danced around, much to the delight of the female students.

"Blue jean baby...LA lady...Seamstress for the band..." Dean jumped to attention.

"I know that song!" he shouted in excitement. He ran over to join Tate at the piano, and began to sing with her. Hermione grinned - Dean was recognized as perhaps the best musician Hogwarts had to offer. She propped her head on her hand, and smiled at Dean.

"Pretty eyed...pirate smile...you'll marry a music man..." Hermione's memory snapped, and she recognized the song.

"Ballerina...You must've seen her...Dancin' in the sand..." Tate seemed to be playing effortlessly, she covered the keys so well. Everyone fell silent in respect. Tate broke off singing, and left that part up to Dean, as she was relatively weak in vocalizing, while he was incredible.

"And now she's in me...Always with me...Tiny Dancer in my hand..." The song provided everyone with a legitimate reason to ignore the assigned work, and transfiguration was pleasantly forgotten. Even Professor McGonagall was not impervious to the effect of the music. The only thing that could break the euphoria was the sound of the bell, ringing shrilly, signaling their descent into hell, also known as Potions. Hermione latched herself onto Tate, preparing to shield her from the horror that would be undoubtedly wrought upon the Gryffindor six years by Professor Snape. She had to kick the door to the Transfiguration classroom shut so the penguin wouldn't follow them out. It was a well known fact that Snape hated all Gryffindors, and Hermione didn't think it would be a good thing if Tate were to shatter the cauldrons and beakers in the Potions classroom. Much to her surprise, Tate squeezed her hand, and looked her in the eye.

"We'll be fine." Hermione stared at her in confusion. "The penguin will protect us." Hermione spluttered in pleasant annoyance, and whisked her off to the most dreaded class in Gryffindor history.

The Gryffindors filed into Potions and took their respective seats. Tate was left standing next to a seated Hermione, so she perched herself on the edge of the table. Hermione looked at the Slytherins, some of whom were twisted around in their seats, staring at the new girl. Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini were glaring at Tate, shooting invisible arrows at her. Lazily, Tate rotated her gaze around the room, and her magnetic eyes locked upon Pansy. Pansy's ice blue stare faltered for a moment. Hermione glanced at Tate, who sat stock still, her eyes unblinking, as though in a trance.

Put your hand on her arm, said a tiny voice in her head. Without even wondering why, Hermione lifted her hand and rested it on Tate's shoulder, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. She too turned her eyes toward Pansy. Pansy flinched in her seat, as though she had been shocked. Her blue eyes dropped to the floor, and she swiveled to the front, as the slamming dungeon door signaled Snape's entrance to the classroom. He strode, purposefully, to the front of the classroom where he turned to face his class. His cold black eyes came to rest on Tate. She held his gaze, unwavering, and nodded at him, ever so slightly. He sneered at her, but Hermione didn't miss the fleeting look of recognition and acknowledgment glittering in Snape's black eyes. Snape's eyes glanced at Hermione, whose hand still rested on Tate's shoulder. His gaze hardened.

"Please remove your hand from your classmate, Ms. Granger. Save the public affection for your free time." Giggles erupted from the Slytherin side of the class. Hermione very reluctantly removed her hand from Tate's shoulder. She felt a sense of warmth and security emanating from Tate, whenever near her, and she was beginning to question this odd sensation. She felt something along the same lines when she touched Harry, but she knew there was a significant difference in that. She felt love and passion for Harry. But she felt a magnetic connection between herself and Tate. Her curiosity piqued and she resolved to find out what the hell was going on.

"Today we will have a pop-quiz," Snape said. A universal groan sounded from the class. "And if you are not prepared," Snape continued, "Then it will be very embarrassing for those who will serve as test subjects." The color drained from Neville's face, and he shrank in his seat. "The potion you will brew is the Feline Lingua Potion. If brewed correctly, the potion will enable you to understand and converse with any feline species for a maximum of two minutes. If brewed incorrectly, the feline will likely attack you." He looked around at the class, an evil sneer curling his lip. "As we have a new Gryffindor, the partnerships will now be equal. Mr. Longbotton will be removed from his original partnership of Ms. Patil and Mr. Thomas, and will join the new student."

"But Professor Snape! Shouldn't she -"

"Silence, Granger!" He glared in fury at Hermione. "This is not open for question! BEGIN!"

Hermione glanced helplessly at Tate, who left to join Neville. She turned to her own partner, Lavender, who was looking at her with wide eyes.

"This is going to be a ruddy mess," said Lavender, shaking her head. Hermione said nothing, but silently agreed.

Forty-five minutes later, Hermione was stirring the cauldron, checking her watch every few seconds.

"Hand me the catnip," she said to Lavender, who passed her a bowl filled with the pungent herb. Hermione tipped the contents into the frothing concoction, which hissed and turned a pleasant shade of lilac. She glanced fearfully toward Neville and Tate, who were both staring into their own cauldron. Neville looked slightly green.

"Time!" shouted Snape. Everyone put down their stirring spoons. Professor Snape pulled the cover off of a large cage. Two orange kittens blinked at the class. Snape opened the small cage door, but the kittens ignored it and remained inside.

"Potter and Finnigan! We will test your potion first." Harry and Seamus ladled their potion into two small teacups and approached the front of the class. Harry pinched his nose and threw back his potion, which tasted remarkably like dirty socks. He coughed and shook his head. Then he eyed the kittens cautiously.

"Strange this, isn't it?" Harry blinked. The larger kitten, who had a thick Scottish accent, was peering at him through open cage door. Harry smiled, and said,

"Yes, I must agree. This professor, he's an insufferable git. Springing up pop quizzes and what not." The kitten laughed amicably.

"That wee man keeps his office a bloody mess, he does! And he drinks, constantly! I asked him just the other day for a pint, and he ignored me, th'dirty bugger." Seamus and Harry began to hold their sides in laughter.

The other kitten piped up. "Now, now Tommy, yeh just don't like him because he didn't want to pet yeh. He likes me fine, he does."

"That's because ya've got a face like a wee hard disease, and misery loves company!"

"I'll have yeh for that one!" The kittens attacked each other furiously, shouting various insults - however, Harry and Seamus did not get to hear half of the amusing swear words because the potion wore off, and there was only exasperated mewling to be heard. Snape was not pleased.

"Thought you'd hack off the kittens, did you? Make it difficult for anyone else to enjoy the effects? Ten points from Gryffindor." Seamus snorted indignantly, causing another five to be taken. He and Harry returned to their seats in fury.

"Ms. Blackeberry and Longbottom!" Neville, quite terrified, slunk to the front of the room. Tate came behind him, two cups of their potion in each hand. Neville glanced at Snape with trembling fear, accepted a cup from Tate, and they both took a draft. Neville choked on the taste of sour lemons, Tate kept her grimace as minimal as possible. They looked at each other and turned to the cage. The kittens were still boxing with each other, but the presence of Neville and Tate stopped them.

The kittens regarded the two students carefully for a moment. Then they shot through the open cage door, and leapt at them, snarling viciously. Neville squeaked in terror and stumbled backwards, knocking over Professor Snape's swiveling chair. The larger kitten clung to his chest with its claws, screeching. The other kitten had attached itself to Tate, and weaseled its way into her collar, its orange tail disappearing into her robes. She reached for it blindly, shrieking madly as the kitten scratched and bit her. Pansy and Blaise were howling in laughter, pounding on their desktop. The Gryffindors were horrified, but unshocked - there was nothing else to expect from such a pairing. Neville batted wildly at the kitten on his chest, but it refused to let go, and bit him merciless when he attempted to grab it. Tate seized the kitten on his chest, and Neville plunged his hand down the back of her collar and groped for the hissing lump that was situated near her shoulder. He yanked his hand back out, grasping the kitten tightly. Tate, her hands securely locked around her own kitten, stood and brought it up to her face.

"Now, see here cat!" she shouted, "That's not nice at all! My friend and I don't appreciate unwarranted attacks!"

The cat struggled valiantly. "Well, ya'shouldn't go drinking essence of mouse then!" Tate glared at the cat.

"Do I look like a mouse to you?"

"Well, come to think of it, no. But HE does!" And the kitten fixed a hungry eye on Neville.

Neville was furious. "A mouse, am I!" he shrieked at the kitten. "Bet you couldn't catch a real one if you tried, pipsqueak!" The cat hissed angrily.

"Aye, come over here yeh divvy an' let me take a pop at'ya!" Neville lunged angrily toward the kitten, but Tate put a foot in his shoulder, and shook her head. Luckily for them, the potion wore off at this point, and the kittens became significantly more docile. Docile enough, at least, to allow the two to put them back in the cage. Snape had a wicked smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, and Tate shot him an annoyed glare.

"That'll be another ten points from your house today." Snape's quill scratched scathingly in his book. She and Neville returned to their desks, out of breath.

"It's going to be an interesting year," she whispered to him. He groaned, and nodded.

*** *** ***

Harry stared into his teacup, languidly turning it around and around in his hands.

"Treacle fudge, Harry?" Hagrid offered him a large plate. Harry smiled and shook his head. Hagrid selected a chunk of fudge the size of Harry's shoe for himself, and popped it into his mouth.

"So what's been botherin' yeh, Harry? I can tell when yeh're out of sorts, and I think it's safe to say yeh are now." Harry sighed deeply, and looked into the massive face of his oldest friend.

"That new girl, Tate," Hagrid nodded, "Theres something weird about her. Something I don't like much. She's hiding something...something dodgy."

Hagrid shook his head. "Yeh don' know what yer talking about, Harry. That young lass and yer Hermione are goin' tah -" He stopped himself short, winced, and threw his hands in the air. "Cor Blimey, I always do that! Why can't I keep my big mouth shut?"

Harry smiled to himself. "No, Hagrid, please go on. I'd really like to know what that little spitfire has in mind."

Hagrid's face went bright red. "Now, see here Harry, there's no reason in yeh distrustin' the girl. She means no harm."

"How do you know, Hagrid?"

Hagrid sighed deeply, thinking very hard about his reply. "Because Dumbledore trusts her, he does. I'd follow tha' man into Hell an' back. She's like him, she is. So's our Hermione." Harry looked at him in confusion.

"In what way are they alike, Hagrid?"

Hagrid grinned at him. "Oh no, yeh don't, Harry. Yeh won't be gettin' any more out of me about that. Jus' trust me, all right?" Harry gave up, and nodded. Hagrid did present a good point, but now Harry was more confused than ever. What did Hermione have to do with Tate, beyond being her roommate and friend?

*** *** ***

In the short break before dinner, Draco Malfoy sat in the library. His Arithmancy homework lay in front of him, finished and perfected. He loved Arithmancy to no end - it was so logical and straightforward. There were no difficult intangibles and hypothetical ideas one had to deal with. He mentally thanked Granger for supplying him with this nugget of wisdom, even though he had been eavesdropping when he heard her discussing her preferral to Potter and Weasley. Eavesdropping on Hermione had become one of Draco's favorite hobbies. He always seemed to walk away with a new truth, or ideal.

Not only clever, but a tasty dish to boot. Draco smiled to himself, ever mindful of his taste for the clever and quick-witted. It was a damn shame that Hermione seemed to prefer the hero instead of the villain. Draco swept up his Arithmancy sheet and carefully tucked it into his bookbag. His homework done, he stealthily leaned back in his chair and pulled a small, ragged book from the pocket of his black velvet cloak. Smiling at his own ingenuity, he opened the book and began to read.

Innumerable charms can be woven into the namesake of a single person. Logically enough, the surname cannot be charmed because it is carried on throughout the family. Charms and spells cannot be cast on names that link the person being charmed to the dead. However, any name beyond the family surname is applicable. Legally, a child may possess up to one hundred names (excluding the surname), and each name may be charmed up to six times. Any more, and the child in question would implode due to overloading of the biological nerve circuits. The charms may vary from -

A pair of strong hands wrapped around Draco's neck. His chair was forced backwards, and he found himself staring at the ceiling. Blindly, he reached for his wand with one hand, and lashed out at his assailant with the other. He fumbled around in his cloak pocket, seized his wand, and prepared to attack when he found his chair upright, and the hands from his throat gone. Tate was sitting on the table, grinning at him.

"Cor Blimey! You can't do that to me, you silly bint! I might've killed you!" Tate laughed heartily. She turned his eyes up to lock with his, which he was quickly coming to recognize as her trademark - piercing eye contact. Her eyes gave him the impression she could see into his soul. This was something he was not quite fond of.

"Sorry. But you've got to admit, I win the sneak up game tonight!" Draco furrowed his brow and glared at her with what he hoped looked like pure fury. "Oh, go on, Malfoy. It's just a joke." She swung her legs over the table, narrowly missing his head, and settled herself into a chair across from him. She pulled quite a large book from her rucksack and dropped it heavily on the table. She opened it, and dust coughed angrily from the yellowed pages. Draco however, having finished his homework, had other ideas.

"Tell me about America," he asked. Tate looked up at him in surprise.

"I thought you British folk hate America."

Draco shrugged. "I myself have never met an American. Easy to hate something you've never come in contact with. I've been taught to believe they're stupid and impulsive. Prove me wrong." Tate narrowed her eyes at him, as was her habit of doing when she was trying to decide if someone was winding her up or not. Eventually she sighed in compliance, satisfied that Draco was truly curious and not malicious.

"America is amazing," she said breathlessly, "I can't explain it very well, through words...one has to see it to appreciate it. I never would've thought this before...but now that I'm away from it, I'm missing the scenery. Everything is shiny and new. But then again, I guess it's a double edged sword, like any other country. Got lots of problems and poverty and hate. And society seems to base a bit too much personal worth on physical appearance. Notice how America worships film stars as gods."

Draco was unsatisfied. "What about your family?"

Tate looked stricken. She took a breath, opened her mouth to speak, and then shut it immediately. "Quick pro quo, Draco. Tell me about your family."

Tell me about your family. Her words echoed in his head. His eyes darkened from pale gray to charcoal. His throat went dry. In a flash, Tate, sensing his discomfort, had risen from her chair, slid across the table, and was at his side. Her hand went to rest comfortingly on Draco's shoulder.

"Look buddy, I didn't mean to pry or upset you. I just -" Draco cut her off shortly.

"I have no family. Not anymore." He raised his eyes to Tate's, fearful of what he might see. To his great relief, there was no pity in her eyes. Only compassion. He continued, unabated, with his story. When he looked back on this moment, he would never be able to fully explain what had made him confide in a stranger. Malfoy's never told secrets.

"After fourth year, my father took me into the inner circle of the Death Eaters. It had been planned since I was born. I was always going to join Voldemort's legions, I had been bred for it. But then I saw...what it entailed...the torture and the murder. But it never bothered me until I actually saw it happen. I watched my father torture this poor wizard - he couldn't have been more than twenty. It was obvious he didn't know anything substantial. But my father continued it, smiling the whole time. He didn't even have to perform the Killing Curse. Poor bloke died from sheer pain and exhaustion. His mind shut down on him." Tate drew in a breath, her revulsion plain as day. "I did not even have to tell him I did not want to join up. He knew, just by looking at my face. My whole family disowned me. Snape took me in. That's where I've been since. A year and half, next February." Draco was shocked into silence. Never before had he revealed anything about his recent past to anyone. Not to Crabbe, Goyle. No one. And now, of all people, he had confided in a Gryffindor. He was immediately scared, and tensed throughout his body. Tate realized his anxiety and seized his arms.

"Your secret is safe with me. It will never get past my mind; torture could not wring it out of me." Despite himself, Draco found himself overtly comforted by her promise. Tate went to hug him, but he stiffened and pulled away.

"Don't be a cold bastard," she said warningly, "Since you already left 'em behind." This seemed to make sense to Draco, and he was more compliant when she forced him into a hug. This sensation shocked and confused him - he couldn't ever remember being hugged by anyone...ever. It was strangely comforting, and he buried his head in her shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around him, patting his back and stroking his hair.

"See," she murmured, "Not so bad." Draco locked his arms around her back, and sighed deeply into the crook of her neck. For a split second, he thought he felt her shudder, but quickly pushed this thought aside. Right now, there was only Tate, and she was as solid and strong as a brick wall. Draco felt a great splash of relief rocket through his veins, warming him from the inside out. A weight was lifted off of his shoulders, even if only for a split second. Physical contact couldn't heal everything, especially emotional scars as deep as Draco's, and the weight resettled itself, pulling like an anchor at his heart. He regained his composure after perhaps two or three minutes, and the two returned to studying. There were no more awkward silences. Each felt comfortable in the presence of the other.

*** *** ***

Every student at Hogwarts was delighted, as tomorrow was the Yule Ball. All through dinner, Ron stared at Tate, fascination in his eyes. She never seemed to glance up from her food, he thought. She had only spoken once, and that had been at the beginning of the meal. She had leaned over Dean Thomas, with whom she had become quite friendly, and they had conversed, briefly, in whispers. Ron continued to gaze at her thoughtfully, when he was suddenly aware of a sharp elbow in his ribs.

"Ow! Harry, what was that for?" Ron was very indignant.

"You are blatantly staring at her! She can see you!" Harry looked pointedly at Tate, and Ron's gaze followed. Her head was up - she was looking at him. Their eyes met briefly, before Ron caught a flash of silver.

WHAM!

A spoonful of mashed potatoes landed smack dab in the middle of Ron's forehead. Laughter erupted all around him, as he shouted in surprise and glared around for the culprit. He was shocked to see Tate, her eyes glittering, waving a spoon at him. She grinned and winked. Ron spluttered with mock indignity. He snatched up his spoon, but before he could reach the kidney pudding, he had been hit with another mashed potato bomb, this time in the eyes. He scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and prepared to load his own ammo when he noticed Tate had mashed potatoes in her hair.

I didn't shoot her though, he thought. Looking around wildly he saw Dumbledore tuck a spoon into his robe. Tate was laughing, really laughing, her head thrown back, hands banging on the table, a look of pure bliss on her face. No one could know this, but Tate had not laughed like that in ten years. Hermione watched her intently, intrigued by this incredible show of emotion. She could actually feel the laughter coming off of Tate, like waves of energy. Her train of thought was interrupted, however, when Harry pelted her with a handful of cheesecake. Startled, then furious, she dug her hand in the ice cream bowl (a huge mistake, as her hand immediately went numb), and, catching him by the neck of his cloak, smeared it over his neck and hair. The situation got out of control when Ron sent a spoonful of tripe toward Ginny, who ducked. The tripe hit a very familiar silvery blonde head, which spun around wildly. Ron waved his spoon at Draco.

"Thought you'd like some, Malfoy! It's delicious!" The Slytherin table exploded in fury. Food filled the air, hexes as well. Every table was involved, and even the professors were taking hits. Hermione climbed under the table with Tate and Ginny, and they began pelting people with food from their spoons. Hermione was tickled at the agility and accuracy Tate possessed. Every single gob of food that was released from Tate's spoon managed to hit a new target directly in the eyes. She hadn't seen her miss once.

"Watch out," yelled Ginny, over the din, "Malfoy is going for Ron!" Sure enough, Malfoy was stampeding towards the unknowing redhead. A scoop of mashed potatoes, dispatched by Tate, hit him square in the eyes. He paused, enraged, and then another scoop was launched into his neck. Shaking with fury, he dropped to the ground, attempting to avoid any further assaults. A third shot hit him in the nose. Hermione closed her eyes on this scene and huddled on the ground, dissolving in peals of laughter. She laughed until her sides ached, and Ginny joined her in hysterical fits of giggles. Tate was not laughing, but grinning. She saluted Malfoy, who had wiped the potatoes out of his eyes, and he glared at her in a manner Ginny and Hermione identified as hatred. But to Tate, it was playful.

"He'll have to redo his make-up," joked Ginny, and Hermione lapsed into yet another laughing fit. It was only when she heard Dumbledore's voice, magically magnified, that she desisted.

"Students will cease this food war immediately!" Everyone did exactly as they were told - no one questioned Dumbledore. He sighed, exhaustedly.

"This is terrible, terrible behavior for students to exhibit. Some of you are about to graduate. Perhaps it may benefit you, if you begin to act like adults. Act like children, and we will treat you like children." Everyone nodded, mutely.

"Now, may I please see Ms. Blackeberry, Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Potter. Follow me into my chambers." Hermione blanched - Dumbledore knew they had started the fight. They were sure to receive detention! She gritted her teeth and followed Harry up toward the door Dumbledore had exited through. Tate went through first, then Ron, followed by Harry and Hermione. They entered a warm, spacious room, full of mahogany furniture. A fire burned brightly in a large fireplace. Dumbledore was waiting there, sizing them up from across a magnificent table. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Dumbledore cut her off.

"As you were the first four involved in the fight, you deserve punishment. As you, Mr. Weasley, are the cause of the fight spreading from Gryffindor to the entire school, you deserve double punishment." Ron looked absolutely petrified. "And you, Ms. Blackeberry, as the sole instigator of the fight in question, you deserve triple punishment." Tate was expressionless. Ron opened his mouth to contest this, but a sharp look from Dumbledore silenced him immediately.

"I also think it fitting that you should be punished in the same manner you chose to get into trouble with." With a wave of his wand, he shot a large, creamy chocolate cake at Harry. Hermione was hit with Baked Alaska. Ron got vanilla custard in the face, and quite an oversized jelly doughnut in the chest. Tate got the worst however, with a Crème Brulee that covered her hair like a net, a lemon meringue pie to the shoulder. Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly, as if in deep thought, then smiled and waved his wand at Tate. A Rasberry Bombe hit her square in the chest, steam rising from the frozen sherbet and ice cream. Hermione almost had lockjaw from keeping her laughter to herself. Harry was shaking with suppressed laughter next to her; Ron stood stock still, his face purple with exertion. Tate remained straight-faced.

"Very well," sighed Dumbledore, clearly pleased with his work, "You may go." The four turned and exited quickly, finding an empty Great Hall. Ron felt someone sweep over his head, and turned to see Tate, wiping the vanilla custard off of his head.

"Thanks," he said, meekly.

"No, thank you," she replied, and proceeded to lick the vanilla custard off of her fingers. Ron howled with laughter and shouted that everyone must stop. Surprised, everyone did and looked at him.

"I'm still hungry," he announced, "So I want to see which one of you has got the best desserts on them." Harry roared with laughter, and nodded his head vigorously in agreement.

"Well, what've you got?" he asked Ron.

"Vanilla custard and jelly doughtnut." Harry grimaced.

"Yech! I hate both! Always have. What's Tate got?"

"Dunno, ask her yourself. Better ask Hermione too, before they both eat it all." And sure enough, Tate and Hermione were deeply engrossed in the dessert that had splattered across the others face and neck. Ron and Harry suddenly found themselves unwillingly to interrupt this wee spectacle. They both stared, openmouthed, at the two girls.

"Are they even bothering to use their hands anymore?" Ron asked very quietly.

"No, that was definitely a tongue I just saw."

"Oh...Wow..." Neither boy could look away. They stared, hearing and seeing nothing else.

"What're you boys gawking on about?" asked Hermione, "Have some of this Crème Brulee, it's excellent!" But neither could move. Finally, exasperated with their male comrades, Hermione and Tate left the empty Hall. This seemed to restore leg movement to Ron and Harry.

"What the hell did we just see?" asked Ron. Harry shrugged, at a loss for words. They fled after the two girls.

*** *** ***

The Common Room was abuzz with excitement. Hermione and Ginny sat off in the corner, among Harry, Ron, and Tate, excitedly discussing the upcoming Yule Ball. Ginny was going with Seamus, and Hermione, of course, was going with Harry. Ron looked absolutely dismal, and everyone knew he was trying very hard to get over his shyness. He very badly wanted to ask Tate to the Ball. Tate was listening to Harry, who was explaining the basics of Quidditch.

"My dress robes are taffeta, and emerald green," Ginny was saying.

"Oh, how perfect Ginny! That'll look wonderful with your hair!"

"What color are yours, Hermione? Please tell me you aren't going to be frugal and wear the exact same robes you did fourth year?" Hermione bristled. She was far too tall for those now! Everyone knew that, as she had chosen to wear those for the fifth year ball - a mistake she would never forgive herself for.

"Of course not, Ginny. My robes are - " She stopped, realizing that Ginny's attention was now directed elsewhere. Ron, Ginny, and Harry were staring wide-eyed at Tate, who was looking back at them with a bemused expression on her face.

"Ok. What did I miss," Hermione asked. Ginny turned toward her.

"She has a tattoo!" Hermione was unfazed.

"So?"

"Well, no one has tattoos! You have to be eighteen to get them, don't you?" Ginny looked around for agreement. Tate looked at Hermione and rolled her eyes, affably.

"So..." began Tate, "Where is this fabled tattoo you claim to have seen?" Hermione giggled. Ron glared at her briefly, and then seized Tate's left wrist, drawing back the sleeve, revealing a tiny black Kanji symbol.

"Aha!" he shouted gleefully, "Right there!" Tate grinned, and allowed Ron to keep holding onto her wrist. He seemed to take notice of this and reddened...but he did not let go.

"That?" she said innocently, "That's not a tattoo...it's merely a...a doodle I did during Divination when I was bored!" She smiled quite innocently.

"Fat chance," he said, "Since we didn't have Divination today." He spit on his hand, attempting to wipe off her "doodle". Ginny gasped scandalously at her brother. "See! It's real!" Ron looked quite triumphant.

"Oh fine," said Tate, "You've found me out." Hermione drew in her breath as she noticed a fine white scar tracking vertically through her wrist. Ron saw this too, but pretended not to notice.

"It means justice, and I got it when I was 14."

"Do'ya have anymore?" Ron was rather intrigued, by the look on his face.

"Lots more," said Tate, "But we'd have to be a lot closer if I were to show you the others." She grinned wickedly, and Hermione could not control herself at the site of Ron's hilarious expression. She had to excuse herself to the other side of the room, where she startled Dean and Seamus by collapsing on the ground in laughter. Ginny and Harry quickly joined her, as they had noticed the strange purple color Ron had turned. It was a crucial moment for Mr. Ronald Weasley. It was now or never, if he wanted to take the sassy American to the Yule Ball.

*** *** ***

Hermione excused herself from the common room to the library at about nine. People had begun to filter out of the library, and it was the perfect time for quiet studying. She pushed through the double doors, and entered. The library was quiet, and dimly lit. The bookshelves, standing as high as thirty feet, beckoned to Hermione, willing her to learn all their secrets. She smiled, despite herself, and walked purposefully toward the back, winding her way between the extensive shelving. When she was between the Fungi and Magical Spores section, a small brown mouse scampered through her legs, and down the small corridor between the shelves. Hermione, though not afraid of mice, was taken off guard, and shrieked slightly. She regained her composure, smoothed her hair, and continued toward her favorite table. She tossed her bookbag onto the gleaming wood surface, and turned to find the book she had been thinking about all day. She passed several shelves, and finally turned left into the section entitled Dreams. Drawing her hand across several bookspines to remove the dust, she peered at the titles, row after row. Dream Connection caught her eye, and she removed it and prepared to return to her table when she heard voices on the other side. Both were quite familiar. But it couldn't be... She marched around the shelves, and stopped short when she came into view of another table. Tate and Draco sat together, poring over two very large books, and were looking at her in utter surprise.

*** *** ***

Severus Snape drew up a weathered hand, and rubbed his eyes viciously. His sight was becoming less and less reliable as of late, and it annoyed him greatly. He grasped a small bottle from his private storage, and squeezed a few drops into each of his eyes. His vision began to refocus. He returned to the steaming cauldron he had been stewing for the past three hours. It had gone from vibrant bright red to a deep crimson. The acid green bubbles still frothed and popped, but he paid them no mind. He dipped a finger into the potion and tasted it. A chilling sensation swept through his body. No, it was not done yet. The desired sensation needed to be much colder. Fire-Proofing potions were designed to temporarily replace the blood in the drinkers veins with an icy substance. The skin cells were also affected, taking on a hexagonal ice crystal lattice in contrast to it's usual organic molecular structure. Fire would be repelled, even in overwhelming amounts. This potion however, was of Snape's own design. He had taken a standard Fire-Proofing Potion, which usually lasted only ten minutes, and manipulated it to span a time frame of a full thirty minutes. He only hoped that the initial cold shock would not incapacitate the two people intended to take the potion.

He reflected back on the scene he had witnessed earlier today in his own classroom. Draco Malfoy, the most judgemental, intolerant child he knew, interacting affably with the newest addition to the Gryffindor House. It confounded him to no end.

Ever since early august, two summers past, he had come to look upon Draco as his own son. He had so many redeeming qualities Snape respected - cleverness, determination, ambition. He was slowly beginning to develop his own honor and morale, just as Snape had done when he had left the death eaters behind. His new life was not an easy one to carve out - it had taken incredible amounts of time, patience, and soul reflection. Turning one's back on the life seemingly intended was not an easy task. Snape sighed heavily. His mind briefly settled on an image of a sumo wrestler in a frilly pink tutu.

What the f--... He shook his head fervently, clearing his mind of the disturbing scenario, and turned his attention back to the churning potion. It popped violently, and some of the steaming liquid hit him in the eye. He jerked back in pain, swearing profusely. He wiped at the weeping eye roughly with the sleeve of his coarse robes, thinking the pain served him right. Sumo wrestlers...what had prompted that?

*** *** ***

Hermione felt as though her feet had been nailed to the ground. She stared at the two people, openmouthed. Both regarded her soberly, the once evident surprise on their faces had disappeared almost immediately.

"Since when are you two friendly?" Hermione's shock had turned to irritation. Malfoy, being the sworn enemy of Gryffindor, had no business playing false niceties to a girl who had no idea of the havoc he could wreak. And Tate! Tate was consorting with the enemy! Hermione's irritation evolved into fury.

"None of your business, Granger. Now, do scamper along and leave us be." Malfoy sneered at her, his eyes cold enough to freeze a fire salamander solid. Tate kicked him under the table.

"Whats up, Hermione? Sit down with us." Tate gestured to the chair next to her. Hermione glared at her.

"Take a running jump, both of you," she spat, and spun on her heel, stomping back the way she came. She reached her own table and threw Dream Connection onto the tabletop with much more force than necessary, causing several of the warning fireflies to flicker angrily. Hermione glared at them and shook her fist. Those damned noise sensors went off if you sneezed too loud. But they at least kept couples from snogging in the dark library nooks in the evenings. The fireflies glowed red if this occurred, and only in Madame Pince's private office. That vulture-like crone took no greater pleasure than busting two hormone crazy teenagers mid make-out. Hermione settled herself in a chair and bent her head over her Arithmancy book. She redirected all her anger into her studies, and very soon she found herself pleasantly immersed. However, her work euphoria did not last long. Tate seemed to appear at the precise moment Hermione began to really get going. This did not improve her mood.

"Yes?" she snapped impatiently. Tate looked at her reproachfully, and stretched her hand toward Hermione's book, lifting up the cover and reading the title.

"Advanced Arithmancy for the Serious Student. Sounds awful."

"It is most certainly not awful! It's wonderful and fascinating and -" Tate placed a hand on top of Hermione's Arithmancy worksheet and drew it in front of herself. Her eyes scanned the sheet, and Hermione saw pure excitement glowing in her eyes.

"Remind me to sign up for that class."

Hermione sniffed. "Remind yourself." Tate's shoulders sagged in defeat. She settled herself into the chair across from Hermione, folding her hands in front of her appraisingly. She tilted her head, and assumed a remarkably innocent looking face. Hermione was briefly reminded of a child in her kindergarten class. He assumed this same pose every time he glued a little girl to her seat (most often, this was Hermione, until she had learned to bite).

"I won't fall for that," Hermione said, seizing her worksheet and returning her attention to it.

"Fall for what?"

"That. That little act you cookie thieves put on when you've been caught!"

"Cookie thief?" Tate threw her head back in laughter, a bit too far - her chair went straight over backwards and her long legs caught the end of the table. Hermione heard a pained growl extend from the floor, as she stared with half shock and half amusement at the weathered soles of Tate's beloved birkenstocks.

"Are you OK?" she called, biting back her own laugh.

"Dandy," replied Tate, giggling madly. "He's not what you think." Hermione stopped laughing.

"He is exactly what I think. And just where do you get off lecturing me on Malfoy's character when you have known him for less than a week, whereas I have known him for a four and a half years?" Tate tapped her foot on the table.

"I see your point. But I'm willing to bet that I've talked to him more in a week than you, Harry, and Ron put together ever have. And I think he's pretty damned cool. But that's my opinion, and you can ignore it at your will. But maybe he's changed." Her feet disappeared, and her head and torso replaced them. Her chair had uprighted itself. Hermione shook her head - she was still getting used to those little tricks Tate liked to pull. Tate rose from her chair, and leaned over the table to look Hermione in the eye.

"Don't get pissed off that I choose to be his friend though. You're better than that." Hermione held her gaze, unwavering, though she slightly flushed with satisfaction.

"That's fine, but do not expect me to be nice to him." Tate grinned.

"I'd sooner ask you to dance naked at breakfast." And she was gone.

*** *** ***

Much later that evening, Ginny stood alone in the communal bathroom shared by the sixth year girls. They never minded her presence there, considering she was only a fifth year. Ginny was universally liked by all of Gryffindor. She looked curiously at her reflection. She shivered involuntarily and drew her dressing gown around her more tightly. The door opened behind her, and Tate stepped in. She smiled warmly at Ginny.

"Hey there, Gin," she said, tossing her towel and shower sandals on the counter.

"'Lo there, Tate. Off to the showers, are you?" Tate shook her head.

"Just laying my stuff out so I won't have to bring it in tomorrow when I do shower." Ginny nodded. Tate lifted herself up onto the bathroom counter, and looked at Ginny. "Tell me about this Yule Ball, will ya. Hermione never seems to have time."

Ginny glowed in excitement. "The Yule Ball is so spectacular, I honestly can't put it very well into words! It's held in the Great Hall, and the decorations are very Christmas like and beautiful. There's a live band, and everyone dresses up. Usually its held only for the Triwizard Tournament, but Dumbledore has kept it running these past two years." Tate nodded, thoughtfully.

"And you'll be going with the Irish boy?"

Now Ginny grinned. Seamus, with his rugged good lucks and sensitive demeanor, had rescued her from her nearly debilating crush on Harry. Quite often she wondered how she had ever overlooked him in her first four years of Hogwarts.

"I'll take that as a yes." Tate was smiling at her. Ginny shook her head to clear her thoughts and nodded fervently. "Cool. He's very good-looking. Reminds me of B.T. in a weird way."

"I'm sorry, who?" Tate smiled, and jumped off the counter and gestured for Ginny to follow. Ginny scampered after her, and followed Tate up to her room. Ginny followed her through the doorway, and looked in awe at the room. Since Parvati had moved out, the stone walls were no longer electric pink, to her incredible relief. Hermione's side was the same as always - impeccably neat and organized (Ginny found this nearly maddening on occasion), but Tate's side was a riot of color. The stone walls were the same grayish, but at least eight large posters hung on the walls.

"Why don't those pictures move?"

Tate was on her knees, digging through her trunk. Over her shoulder, she explained to Ginny that they were muggle pictures. Ginny nodded, and continued staring.

"If you don't mind my asking, Tate, why are there six naked women on your wall." Tate looked up at the poster in question.

"It's Pink Floyd, Ginny. A music group from back home. See the paintings on the womens' backs? Those are their album covers. It's called the Back Catalogue." Ginny feigned comprehension, and gazed at the other posters.

"Aha! Found it!" Tate whirled around from her trunk and propped her back up against it. A black, cloth case lay in her lap, and she opened it like a book. Curious, Ginny crept next to her and watched enthusiastically as Tate flipped a plastic sheet like a page - each page contained four of the silver discs that Ginny had seen Tate mucking about with the day before when she had proved Hermione wrong and manipulated her muggle machinery to work in the magic filled environment.

"Here it is," she said, and removed a small picture from behind a blue disc. She handed it to Ginny.

"B.T.," read Ginny, "Movement in still life." Her eyes fell upon the man in the picture. "Well, will you look at that! Seamus does resemble...whoever you said this was!"

"B.T. Told ya so." Ginny giggled. "You can hang onto that."

"Oh no, Tate, this is yours, you keep it!"

"Dude, I don't need it - the disc is what I need, that's his music. What you've got is his picture. I've got his picture locked up in here." She tapped her head. Ginny looked at the small picture in her hand, torn for a moment. She examined it carefully, and realized it was folded more than once. Carefully, she unfolded it, revealing more pictures of the man on the cover, and several paragraphs detailing his songs. She looked up to Tate.

"Thanks. Does your...music player still work?" Tate nodded, a slight smile gracing her face. She pulled the disc, labeled B.T., from her case, walked to the dresser and placed it in the player. Pressing a few small buttons, the music began to play. Ginny was silent for a moment, the music washing over her.

"What do you call this?"

"Trance," said Tate. "Big thing in the states right now. It's part of this new culture. Apparently, it all started right here in Britain. How come you've never heard of this stuff before?"

"Well, truth be told, I have. But I'm not supposed to. You see, my father...he has a bit of a weak spot for all things muggle. My brothers are more interested in the big stuff, like the car he enchanted once. But me, I prefer the little things. There's a muggle radio in the cellar - I think he may have forgotten about it - and I listen to it every few days, when I'm home. I must say, I find muggle music much more entertaining than the Weird Sisters and the like." Tate looked at her hands, briefly.

"Music has a healing power. I believe that down to my bones. Do you play anything, Ms. Weasley?" Ginny blushed and shook her head. "Why not?" pressed Tate, "You've got beautiful hands! You could be an excellent pianist." Tate eyed her. "I'll bet you sing." Ginny smiled shyly.

"Perhaps," she said, "But I've got too much studying to do. I've no time for that."

Tate scoffed. "Of course you've got time. Everyone has to have time for hobbies. Otherwise, we'd all go insane."

"Well then, Ms. Omnipotence, what are yours?" Ginny glared at Tate with a playful fury. Tate smiled.

"I play guitar and piano, for one. I dance. I work out. Umm...I study?"

Ginny chuckled. "Don't we all? I dance myself - ballet, mostly." Tate looked up in fascination.

"I love ballet! It's one of the dance genres I could never pick up - used to drive me crazy. Do y'all have dance classes here?"

Ginny shook her head. "That's all extra curricular. We are expected to do things like that on our own time." Tate made a face.

"Speaking of dance, will you be accompanying my brother to the Ball?" Much to Ginny's surprise, Tate blushed furiously. She turned her head away.

"No, I won't," she said softly, "He didn't ask me."

Ginny was momentarily furious with her brother. "You're joking! I know he wanted to! I can't believe he's still so shy, at sixteen!" Tate shrugged.

"Anyways, someone else has already asked me."

Ginny jumped in excitement. "Ohhh, who?"

Well...I was...running around the...uh...halls...in search of...um...something...a tall, blonde boy asked me to be his date, and I accepted." Ginny's blood turned cold.

"You can't mean Malfoy, can you?" Tate turned to look at her, eyes glittering dimly.

"I think that was his name, I can't really remember." Tate seemed very eager to end the conversation. She looked quite wistful suddenly, "Tell Ron to save me a dance. I'd have much preferred to go with him, but I can't just sit around and wait now, can I?"

Ginny stared in shock. She agreed with her yes, but how was Malfoy a substitution? She said her good evenings to Tate, and walked down to the common room in a daze, where she knew Ron was sure to still be awake with Harry.

Ron was beside himself. "She's going with...Malfoy??" He spat the name out with utmost disgust. "How could she?? She knows who he is, doesn't she?!" Ginny patted his arm sympathetically, while Harry just stared on in shock. He shook his head a few times, attempting to clear his foggy thought.

"Well...Shit happens, eh?" Ron shook his head in disbelief, and stomped up the stairs to bed.

He threw himself down on his scarlet coverlet. He cursed himself over and over for being such a stupid prat. How could he have missed his chance? Why did he have to be so damned nervous all the time? He had made this same mistake before, two years earlier, with Hermione. Why again? A nagging feeling at the base of his skull urged him to make it right, to fix things...it continued to whine as he fell asleep, dreaming of a shadowy figure with long hair and dark eyes.

*** *** ***

Harry was the last in the common room that evening. Not because he was studying - that seemed absolutely beyond reasoning, as winter break had all but begun. For some reason, he could not sleep. He could feel a dull ache in his scar, and he needed time alone with his thoughts.

He heard door to the girls dormitory swing open, and Harry half-expected to see Hermione in front of him. He grinned in anticipation, but soon realized that it was not Hermione at all. Furtive footsteps made their way toward the portrait hole, and quickly passed through it. His curiosity piqued, Harry followed the cloaked figure out.

He followed the nondescript person for quite some time, careful not to be seen. Finally, it passed through a door that led to a balcony, one he knew all too well. How many times had he and Hermione snuck out here late at night to have some private, passionate snogging session? He waited a good thirty seconds or so, and silently slipped through the door, into the night. The figure was a girl and she had pulled back her hood, and moonlight reflected off her beautiful hair. Glints of red winked at him. Her pale skin was bathed in the silvery evening light, and her features were darkly accentuated. He recognized her as Tate. She drew a small package out of her pocket, and shook something out of it. Removing her gloves and pushing her sleeves back, Harry saw a small white stick in her hand. Harry's mind reeled, out of more habit than instinct. Was she some kind of dark witch perhaps? But his worries were quelled when she drew out a blue lighter, and lit what was obviously a cigarette. She brought it to her mouth and inhaled the smoke. She breathed deeply, soothingly, and blew the smoke out into the night air.

"It's not nice to sneak up on people, Mr. Potter," she said slowly. Harry was annoyed - he had been so quiet!

"You know, that's quite hazardous to your health," said Harry. She smiled slightly.

"I know. But it relieves the tension. And I don't mind the health risks. Choose your own way to die, that's what my father used to say." Harry chuckled grimly.

"Maybe I should start up. Might die of cancer before Voldemort has a chance to try and kill me again." Tate looked at him sharply.

"Shut up, will you? If he was so damned powerful, you'd be dead already. Hermione has told me what you've been through. Seems to me like the big bad Voldemort ought to be shaking in his boots." Harry smiled wanly, noting that she used his name, instead of the you-know-who business everyone was so fond of.

"I suppose so," he agreed, "But the battles not over. Not yet, anyways." Tate drew on the cigarette, enveloping herself in a cloud of smoke. She looked a bit intimidating, Harry thought. Give her a wand and something to be mad about, and she could probably be terrifying if she had half a mind to do so.

"So you are going to the Yule Ball with Malfoy," he said. She nodded, lifting the cigarette to her lips. "What the bloody hell for?" She smiled at the indignance in his voice.

"Dunno," she replied, "Cause he asked me." Harry snorted.

"Alright then, but be fair. You'd rather be going with Ron." He grinned at her, knowingly. She looked at him through half-closed eyes.

"Like I told Ginny, he'd be smart to save me a dance."