Take My Hand

The following day was bliss. Morning classes passed mercifully quick, and afternoon classes were cancelled - a tradition since year the before. Dumbledore felt it allowed the students to compose themselves for the coming evening and say their goodbyes, as tomorrow the majority of students would depart for the hols. The afternoon consisted of snow fights and ice skating on the Hogwarts grounds. Hermione had barely noticed the absence of Dean and Tate, who were AWOL since the end of breakfast up until the convergence of the Gryffindors into the common room. Before she knew it, the sun was setting and the Yule Ball was upon them.

It was seven in the evening, and all the Gryffindor girls were grooming for the night to come. Lavender Brown had surprised everyone with several bottles of expensive Elvish champagne, and everyone was giggling, all bearing flutes of the lovely stuff.

"Parvati, take that horrible necklace off!" Hermione seized Parvati and unclasped a ridiculously large, winking topaz from her neck.

"Hey, give it here!"

"Not a chance," Hermione snapped, holding the hideous necklace out of reach. "It's awful! It's yellow, and your wearing PINK!" Most girls laughed and it was unanimously agreed that the necklace should never have been created in the first place. Parvati, however, clawed valiantly for the necklace, screeching that it came as a set with the dress, and the omnipotent Elves Saint Laurent was not to be questioned.

"Parvati, it looks like piss. Here, wear this," said Tate as she dug around in her little jewelry box. She threw a fine silver chain with a rose quartz pendant, cut in the shape of a star, and Parvati caught it. Parvati looked at it appraisingly, and put it on. It complimented her bright pink robes perfectly.

"Thanks," she said. Tate waved her off.

Hermione looked ravishing in robes of flowing crimson silk chiffon, her hair expertly coiffed into a lovely twist at the top of her head, with a mass of shining curls spiraling down her back. She was, at the moment, assisting Tate with her hair. Tate had attempted to use Muggle curling devices, to the chagrin of the entire dormitory. Hermione had ripped them away and begun casting curling charms on Tate's hair. It looked excellent so far. Hermione marveled at Tate's dress. Ron is going to lose his mind, she thought, laughing a bit. The dress was sleeveless, satin, and silvery, with a tight bodice and a flowing skirt. The bodice was clasped with shimmering silver buttons shaped like leaves, all down the front. On her left shoulder, a black tattoo (Sanskrit, she had explained, for balance) was visible. A tiny swan, encrusted with white jewels, sparkled at her throat, on loan from Lavender. All the other girls were rather in awe of Tate's long, white arms. She had very taut muscles that rippled in her shoulders, back, and arms. It wasn't very feminine in the least, but it seemed to suit Tate's rather hard demeanor. It had not gone unnoticed among the dormitory that Tate rarely giggled or acted girlishly, unless she was in the company of Hermione, and occasionally Ginny (or Ron, Hermione noted to herself). Otherwise, she was rather stoic, even a bit withdrawn.

"D'ya have to work out a lot to get your arms that way?" Parvati asked Tate, as she examined her own pale arms. Tate looked at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Of course," she said briskly, "I wasn't born with them." Parvati opened her mouth, as if to say something, then shut it quickly, looking rather hurt at Tate's terse reply. Then she apparently changed her mind.

"What do you do?" Tate spun around in the swiveling chair to look at her. She grinned wickedly.

"This," she said, and made a shockingly rude gesture with her left hand. Everyone gasped, and then burst into laughter. "Kidding! Just kidding."

Tate had tried to coerce Hermione into wearing another dress of hers, a gorgeous black concoction, also with a bodice that laced sensuously across the back and a shimmering satin skirt, but she had flat out refused. Hermione would not break the dress code, even if it meant an evening in one of Vera Wang's most fabulous creations. Lavender, however, was ecstatic about it, and Tate had loaned it to her. Even so, Hermione could not escape Tate when she insisted on applying muggle cosmetics to Hermione's face.

"Come on," Tate had said, "I swear I won't make you look any different. My mother was a cosmetologist, now sit down." Hermione, to the delight of the other girls, had finally given in (though she hadn't much of a choice, as Ginny, Parvati, and Lavender had helped to hold her down), and she had to admit that the cosmetics were quite becoming. Tate had ended up applying them to everyone else as well.

"Aren't you done yet?" Tate whined to Hermione, who was still casting charms on her hair. Hermione made a face at Tate, and shook her head. Ginny came to stand beside Hermione, watching her deftly spin her wand around.

"When are you going to teach me how to do that!" Hermione threw up her hands in disgust. Now Ginny was whining!

"I have shown you ten times," Hermione shrieked exasperatedly, "and we have established that you are hopeless." Ginny stuck out her tongue at Hermione, who threatened to tell everyone that Ginny had purchased skivvies at Eowyn's Exotic Emporium, on Sinners Row, katty corner to Knockturn Alley. Ginny shut up immediately and nervously adjusted her robes.

"You look incredible, Ginny." Tate might as well have been saying 'pass the butter' for all her tone revealed, but Ginny flushed with happiness anyways.

"Thanks! I hope Seamus likes my robes." Ginny's robes had originally been emerald green, but Mandy Brocklehurst, one of her closest friends from Ravenclaw, had suggested blue at the last minute. Mandy was, by far, the most fashion savvy girl at Hogwarts. She had created a sketch in Ginny's likeness, and they sat together, alternating the dress and eye color to pass away the free time. When they charmed the sketch blue, Mandy had flat out insisted on color charming Ginny's robes. Ginny, in awe of the sketch, couldn't refuse. Now, she was swathed in sapphire blue satin, and Hermione had temporarily charmed her eyes. Instead of brown, they were ice blue. Her glimmering red hair cascaded down her back in loose, curling tendrils. Tate watched her, an amused smile on her face.

"What are you grinning at, Chuckles?" Hermione asked her.

"Your mom." Hermione blinked at her, confusion plain on her face.

"Why would you be thinking about my mum?"

Tate shook her head, laughing. "Forget it. It's an Americanism."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "It better not be one of your dirty Americanisms!"

Tate batted her eyes at Hermione. "When have I ever had a clean one?" She grinned wickedly, one eyebrow raised. Hermione laughed.

"You know you like quite evil when you do that."

Tate reached up to feel her hair. "That's the idea. Hey Gin, c'mere for a minute." Ginny appeared at her side. Tate swiveled around in the chair, and looked around for Lavender.

"Lavender! Where are you?"

"Over here! What d'ya want?"

"Can I dig around in your jewelry for a minute?" Lavender nodded. "Thanks. Accio." Lavender's large, ornate jewelry box flew to Tate. She put it on the counter, opened it, and began rifling through the masses of sparkling, rather gaudy jewels. After a minute or so of fruitless searching, she shook her head in annoyance, closed the box, and began digging through her own jewelry bag. She withdrew a sparkling choker, and beckoned to Ginny.

"Let's see how this looks." She clasped the choker around Ginny's delicate, white throat. The choker clung snugly to her, and Ginny looked at her reflection, her rosebud mouth forming a silent O.

"Wow," she breathed. Tate examined the necklace, and nodded, her eyes glittering.

"That works well, eh?" Ginny nodded, marveling at the exquisite piece. Tiny diamonds were arranged in the shapes of interlocking snowflakes, each outlined with a delicate veneer of platinum. The choker seemed to fuse itself into Ginny's throat, as though a tiny veil of ice had been arranged there.

"Thank you," Ginny murmured. "Thanks so much."

"Sure," Tate said, her eyes fixed on Ginny's reflection. She felt a great kinship towards Ginny, though she would never say so. Although Tate had no idea of the terrible things Ginny had endured during her first year at Hogwarts, nor could she even begin to comprehend the malevolent forces that had drained Ginny nearly to her death, she sensed a terrible pain in the girl's young heart. A pain that matched her own - stinging guilt intertwined with the incredulity that could only befall a person who had, at one time or another, allowed themselves to be overcome with temptation, emotion, and hunger. Hunger for something that couldn't be bought, nor stolen, nor attained through any means human. Ginny had longed for acceptance, friendship that wasn't found, and the love of a boy who would never return her feelings. Tate had yearned for the similar, yet more generalized intangibles, and both girls found themselves lost in a whirlwind of confusion and betrayal. Ginny had been betrayed by the diary that temporarily took over her mind, body, and soul. Tate had been betrayed by her own mind. Although their experiences were drastically different, the turbulent emotional aftermath was the same. Tate, for a time, had internally reasoned that she should feel something along the same lines with Harry - he had dealt with the endless pains of hatred since he had been left on the doorstep of the Dursleys'. Tate knew all about his childhood - Hermione had told her as much. But Harry was like a solid, stone fortress to Tate. His pain was caused by outsiders, from beginning to end. Ginny and Tate had cultivated their own miserable desperation. And it was this reflective feeling of latent self-loathing that had prompted Tate to reach out and bond with the youngest Weasley. Pure empathy, in the most realistic sense, riddled their friendship, like an unspoken nexus of shared compassion. Ginny, painfully sensitive to many things (namely dark magic, which chilled her very bones whenever in close proximity) since her experience with Tom Riddle, had accepted the friendship with open arms. They were, by no means, best friends - but both understood each other in ways that no one else ever would, nor could, relate to.

"Alright ladies," announced Lavender, "it is a quarter of eight, and we must be on our way!" Giggling madly, the girls filed out of the dressing room, and descended down the stairs to the Common Room.

*** *** ***

Harry, wearing his trademark green velvet dress robes, caught his breath when he saw Hermione. She always made his stomach do a spectacular flip-flop whenever he saw her (or even thought about her, for that matter), but now he was struck dumb by her beauty. She approached him, and he could only stutter.

"You look - amazing." She smiled, shyly. She curtsied in mock grandeur, as he took her hand in his. Ron came to stand beside Hermione, taking a steadying breath. She grinned up at him, and linked her arm with his. The three stepped through the portrait hall, and made their way toward an evening full of promise and splendor.

*** *** ***

Entering the Great Hall during the Yule Ball was always a fantastic experience. Everything looked spectacular, discounting the Slytherins who always looked vindictive and angry (which doesn't go well on any face). Hermione sighed in wonder. She loved the Yule Ball. For one night, everyone was beautiful and amicable, and the world seemed to stop and genuflect the atmosphere of shimmering grace. It was heaven, come to life, in the most magnificent school in the world. Hagrid had arranged the stunning décor of sparkling ice statues, enormous trees draped in dazzling tinsel and silver ornaments that seemed to hum softly. White lilies were intertwined with the fresh smelling pine and holly boughs that graced the walls. Mistletoe was strategically placed all around the Hall. Tiny snowflakes fell from the bewitched ceiling.

The Weird Sisters had opted not to return this year, due to their demanding tour schedule, which had expanded to include Japan and China. In their place was a relatively new group, called Shamanic Air. There were five male members, and most of the females in the hall were beginning to fawn over them. Harry glared at Hermione when the bassist made eyes at her. She giggled, and waved him off. She was looking around for Ginny and Seamus, when she saw Draco and Tate enter the room. Tate was looking serene and beautiful, expressionless as usual, whereas Draco was smirking at the Gryffindor table. Hermione had to admit that, with his white blond hair and strong features, he was quite striking. Maybe even sexy. Hermione jumped at her own through process.

Malfoy? Sexy? Did I just say that? She shook her head violently, whipping Harry with her curls. He laughed merrily, lithely slid his hand up beneath her silky, shimmering curls, and began running his fingers along the back of her neck. He succeeded in sending like sparks of ecstasy shooting through her shoulders. She shivered, and slapped him away.

"Later," she whispered. Harry looked quite reluctant to remove his roaming hands, but he did. Tate and Draco were dancing now, and Hermione was unsurprised to see that he was very good. With all that money and old blood in his family, she supposed it was only natural that he would have been forced to take dancing lessons. Ron finally appeared, and sat down heavily next to them. He was looking murder at Draco.

"Calm down, Ron," said Hermione, "you know she likes you." Ron merely grunted, clearly unconvinced.

Harry shook his head lightly at Hermione and whispered, "Things will look up for him. I promise - just wait." Hermione glanced at him, and nodded. "Can't say I'm too happy about it either, considering she's a bit strange," he added, too low for Hermione to hear.

The introduction song ended, and Dumbledore stood at the head of the teacher's table. He clapped his hands, and everyone looked up.

"I assume you remember how the dinner situation works." Everyone nodded, looking toward the small menus lying in front of the golden plates. "And now I would like to thank Shamanic Air for gracing us with their talent." Everyone applauded, and the band responded with roguish winks. "I would also like to thank Hagrid for his excellent decoration of the Great Hall." More applause. "At this time, I would like to introduce a very special surprise for the evening. Two of our students are exceptionally talented, musically. They have accepted my request that they grace all of us with their talent this evening. They convened with Shamanic Air several times over the past few days, and will be accompanying them for several numbers. I would like to add that the songs they will be performing are Muggle in nature." Several of the Slytherins groaned, but were immediately silenced by Dumbledore's ice cold stare.

"May I stress the ever important message that harmony with Muggles is essential to our survival. We must all live in peace to live comfortably. On this note, may I also announce that Muggle studies is to be a required subject next term." This elicited boos from the Slytherins, most of whom were outraged. "May this be your first taste of things to come." Dumbledore smiled warmly, with an ere of mystery.

"Now, may I present Mr. Dean Thomas, and Ms. Tate Blackeberry." The Hall echoed with applause (and boos from the Slytherins) as Tate and Dean made their way toward the stage, smiling nervously at each other. The Gryffindors cheered and whistled the loudest, all of them on their feet. Dean and Tate retrieved their instruments from behind the teachers' table. Dean threw the strap of his bass guitar over his head, as Tate lifted her acoustic guitar from its case. Both taking places to the left of the lead singer, the drummer began his count, and they all began to play.

Hermione grabbed Harry and Ron and dragged them toward the dance floor, positioning herself right in front of the stage, grinning up at her two classmates.

Raven-Haired...Ruby Lips...Sparks fly from her fingertips...Echoed voices in the night, she's a restless spirit on an endless flight...

Ron had finally begun to smile, as Tate winked at him from onstage. Dean's face was lit up with pride as he expertly played his bass.

Ooh-Ooh Witchy Woman...See how high she flies...

"I never knew he was so good at the guitar," mused Ron, "I mean, I knew he could play, but I didn't know he could play." Ginny and Seamus came to stand with them, beaming at Dean.

"Will you have a dance, Ron?"

"Sure I will, sis." Ron swept Ginny away into the crowd.

"Well, since I'm here with the loveliest girl at the party, I can't very well not be dancing, can I?" said Harry. Hermione blushed with flattery. Harry extended his hand to Seamus.

"Come on, love! Dance with me!" Seamus choked with laughter and swatted Harry's hand away.

"You soddin' puff, get away!" All three laughed, and Harry slid his arm around Hermione's waist and they begin to dance.

A new song began. Tate furiously strummed her guitar in time with the other male guitarist, who resembled a young Gilderoy Lockhart. To everyone's great delight, Dean sang. Hermione smiled, recognizing the song.

Ever since I was a young boy, I played the silver ball...From SoHo down to Brighton, I must've played them all...

"My parents play this all the time," she said dreamily. They began to dance faster, quickly moving out of the way of Neville and Eloise Midgen, who were both awkwardly turning in circles, Eloise was trying her best to keep her delicately shoed toes from Neville's lethal two left feet.

That deaf, dumb, and blind kid sure plays a mean pinball...He's a pinball wizard, there has to be a twist...

Dumbledore and McGonagall sat at the teachers table, looking at the array of festive joy below them.

"Quite an interesting night, isn't it Minnie," said Dumbledore. She nodded in silent awe - she was still in waning shock at the events that were destined to unfold in the short future.

"Where is Severus," she asked, annoyed slightly with his lack of presence. No sooner had she spoken, then Snape slid into the chair next to her.

"Fashionably late again, Severus?" Dumbledore winked at the sallow potions master. Snape nodded curtly, and turned his attention to the stage.

To everything turn, turn, turn...There is a season, turn, turn, turn...And a time to every purpose under heaven...a time to be born, a time to die...a time to plant, a time to reap...a time to kill, a time to heal...a time to laugh, a time to weep...

"Rather appropriate song, don't you think?" Dumbledore cocked his head slightly toward his fellow professors. McGonagall nodded sharply, Snape did not react. Dumbledore sighed lightly, and seized his menu.

"Sushi!" A colorful array of sashimi and hand rolls appeared on Dumbledore's plate. Snape and McGonagall looked at him as though he grown another head and was making plans for a political switch to communism in Britain with a twelve foot tall Professor Flitwick.

"What?" asked Dumbledore. He pointed at Tate. "It was her idea. Not bad either." Snape shook his head.

"You're going mad, you are." Dumbledore merely grinned at him.

A time for peace, I swear it's not too late...

Tate and Dean strode to the center of the stage, sitting on the stools that had been placed there. Dean had put away his bass, and perched on his seat, looking as though he were made specifically for the purposes of entertaining a crowd. Tate began to play her guitar, the lone instrument involved in the song. She seemed to lose herself in her playing, her face a mask of concentration and intense pleasure. They began to sing together, Tate lightly harmonizing behind Dean's magnificent voice.

By the rivers of Babylon...Where he sat down...And there he went...When he remembered Zion...Oh for the wicked, carry us away...Captivity...requires from us a song...Oh, how can we sing King Alpha's song in a strange land...

People began to dance, humming along to the catchy tune. Hermione and Harry swayed delicately, and Seamus took over dancing with Ginny. Professor McGonagall accepted an invitation to dance by Snape, much to the horror of all the Gryffindors. Professor McGonagall herself looked confused, yet flattered - or it might have been nausea.

So let the words of our mouth, and the meditation of our heart...be acceptable in the sight...Over I...

After the song ended, Tate and Dean shook hands with the band, and returned to the dance floor, to the profuse congratulations and encouragement of their fellow students. Tate was flushed with happiness, as was Dean. They hugged and congratulated each other and then scattered to find their respective dates. Ron's stomach sank as he realized she was going to look for Malfoy. He spun around, bent on returning to his table to brood, when he felt a strong hand descend upon his shoulder.

"And where do you think you are going?" demanded Tate, in a playful tone. Ron smiled, a sudden debonair charm overtaking his nervousness.

"Right here," he said, taking her hand. He led her to the dance floor.

Hermione, desperate to see how the outside of Hogwarts looked, drew Harry through the side door, toward the garden path, which had been majestically glamoured to shimmer iridescently with live fairies, as always. They walked along, Hermione's robes making a light swishy noise. The fairies were singing, their voices like tinkling bells, and it seemed as though Harry and Hermione were inside a dream. Magnificent red and white roses bloomed in the hedges, intoxicating all who entered with their seductive aroma. Settling herself on a stone bench, shaped like a mermaid, Hermione snuggled against Harry's muscular chest and sighed contentedly. He tipped her face up, and his lips touched hers. Lightening hot warmth cascaded through her body, and she melted into the kiss, bringing her hand up to run through his thick, untidy hair. He sighed softly, and moved his lips to her neck, sending jolts of electricity down her spine.

"Oh, Harry," she murmured, "can't tonight just stay?" Harry looked at her with his liquid green eyes, his face glowing with affection.

"If I could make it, I would." He traced her jaw with one finger. "You are so beautiful," he whispered. "You know I love you, right?" Hermione's eyes filled with tears of love, and she pulled him to her tightly.

"I love you so much," she whispered. "No one can ever take this from us." And she lifted her face and kissed him again, temporarily forgetting the foreboding of war that seemed to surround her being every day. There was a tiny, permanent fear emblazoned on her breastbone, at all times. But now, in this perfect moment, she staunchly ignored it, telling herself that Voldemort would have to get past her if he wanted Harry. And there wasn't a chance in hell any man would ever get past a woman in love.

Ron held Tate as they danced to a particularly interesting slow song. The Shamanistic Air apparently had some dirty lyrics they had "forgotten" to mention to Dumbledore. Tate was shaking in silent laughter, as the lead singer went on about a waitress and what she had done to make him so "happy" in a bathroom stall at the Quidditch World Cup. Professor McGonagall leapt onto the stage and attempted to wrestle the microphone away from him. Dumbledore was chuckling, with that familiar amused gleam in his eyes.

"I think I'll cut in, Weasley," Draco snapped, in a voice dripping with disdain. Tate looked up, and before Ron could say the rudest thing he could think of, she told Draco she would dance with him when the song was over. Draco's eyes flashed, but he nodded, and turned away. Ron felt a surge of jealousy and hatred. Tate smiled at him, and placed her head on his shoulder. The song ended. Tate snatched both his hands, before he could walk away.

"Do you like me?" Ron was struck blind by this question. He fumbled for words, spluttering like a madman. How could he answer that without sounding stupid, or desperate, or...

"Yes or no will do, Mr. Weasley." Ron took the chance.

"Uh, yes. Yes I do."

"Good. I like you too. And that settles it. Now, I am going to dance with him because he asked me to accompany him to this little shindig. And because he is my friend. But don't take any offense by it." With that, she went up on her tiptoes, which caused several Hufflepuffs to snigger, as Tate was by far the tallest girl at Hogwarts, standing at just under six feet tall (although, in combination with her fancy heeled shoes, she broke even at six foot one), and Ron still managed to tower over her, at six foot five. It made a for a rather funny arrangement. She lightly kissed Ron on the cheek, turned and disappeared into the throng of brightly colored robes. Ron was rooted to the spot, dumbfounded. He exhaled a deep sigh, without even noticing he'd been holding his breath. The reality of what had just been said set in, and a grin stretched wide on his face.

"Yes!" he cried, and strode over to a table to join Dean and Seamus.

Hermione and Harry re-entered the Great Hall to see Tate spinning wildly with Draco to a fast paced swing dance song. Draco was very well schooled in dance, as he not only kept up with Tate, but was, in fact, leading. People laughed as he lifted her into the air, and then swung her body around his waist. Harry and Hermione made their way over to Dean, Seamus, and Ron to watch the spectacle. They were soon joined by Ginny and Lavender.

"Wow, Draco is a really good dancer," marveled Lavender. Dean, her date, looked at her in horror.

"He looks like a bloody fairy out there!" exclaimed Seamus. Harry and Ron began to laugh.

"He's as bent as a nine pound note," added Ron. The whole table was laughing now. Draco flipped Tate over his back, and she went on to perform several back-hand-springs, hampered slightly by her skirt and heeled shoes. To everyone's great shock and amazement, so did Draco.

"Wow!" marveled Ginny, "he didn't even stumble!"

"Damn it, someone hex him next time he does one of those! Maybe he'll break his neck!"

"Seamus, you'd better be quiet!" As Ginny and Seamus began to get into it, Harry rolled his eyes at Hermione, who giggled. "Lovers quarrel," she mouthed. The song ended, and Tate and Draco were laughing hysterically, patting each other on the back. Most of the school was shocked. No one had ever seen Draco Malfoy smile before. The Slytherins looked blue murder. Pansy's rage was so intense that Hermione could feel it coming off of her, like a humid, suffocating heat reeking of sulfur. The feeling intensified, but as Pansy huffily exited the Ball, it lessened, and finally dissipated.

*** *** ***

The Ball ended quite late, but most of the Gryffindor sixth and seventh years were still awake in the common room. Lavender's Elvish champagne had made reappearance, and everyone was warm and very tipsy. Hermione sat in Harry's lap, Tate was sprawled across Ron's stomach on the couch, absent-mindedly strumming her guitar. Dean had his guitar too, and Lavender was curled up beside him. Ginny and Seamus lay on their stomachs next to the chair Neville occupied. Tate's white-gold puppy, Minky, was darting around the common room, overjoyed at the abundance of human company. Crookshanks was perched on top of a cabinet, furtively watching Minky with strong interest. Every once in a while, he would leap off the cabinet and land directly on top of Minky, causing the overexcited pup to howl madly.

"So Neville, how was Eloise Midgen?" sang Hermione. Everyone giggled, and Neville turned pink.

"She was fine," he said meekly. "Never complained about me stepping on her feet once." Ginny laughed harder.

"Not likely!" she cried. "You have feet of stone! I think mine are still scarred from third year!" Neville chuckled and tossed a pillow at her.

"Man, Draco can dance!" giggled Parvati. "He looked so smooth out there! Does he have big muscles, Tate?" Tate's face broke into a wide smile as a dozen expectant feminine eyes turned her way.

"Yes, I must say he does. And you know what they say about guys who can dance!"

Ron snorted, as the girls giggled scandalously. "Yah, they fuckin' put dresses on, and prance around like puffs!" The boys exploded with laughter.

"Pink ones!" shouted Harry, wiping tears of mirth out of his eyes. He squealed suddenly, and quite high-pitched, when Minky planted a sloppy puppy kiss on his ear with her long pink tongue.

"Parvati, darlin'," Tate drawled in a forced southern accent, "I heard you've got a sister named Padma."

"I do," giggled Parvati, "What of it?"

"Do y'all know the etymology of your names?" Parvati shook her head. "It's Sanskrit," Tate told her. "Both of 'em. Parvati means 'daughter of the mountain'. Padma means 'lotus'."

Parvati grinned, and raised her champagne flute. "Everyone hail to the daughter of the mountain!" Lavender booed her, and Parvati threw mistletoe at her.

Hermione glanced at Tate, rather squiffy herself. "You know Sanskrit too?" Tate nodded without looking up. "How many damn languages do you speak, silly bint!" Tate merely smiled and shook her head.

"My secret," she grinned, and then addressed Seamus in a new language, and his eyes brightened considerably. They twined on for a few minutes in what was apparently Gaelic, and Hermione began to shout at Tate to stop showing off. Tate pulled a pitiful face and batted her eyes at Hermione, who laughed despite herself. Harry mimed holding a telephone to his ear.

"Hello, Kettle? This is the pot. YOU'RE BLACK!" Hermione snorted in irritation and playfully bit Harry's wrist.

"What do you Americans do when you're out getting pissed like this?" Neville looked over at Tate, his eyes unfocused. Tate smiled, good-naturedly.

"Pretty much the same things you do," she said, "hang around, watch movies, leave lit fireworks on the math teacher's doorstep, play truth-or-dare, you know...stuff." Lavender's eyes widened, and she bounced up and down in glee.

"Truth or dare!" she shrieked. "We simply must play! I haven't played in forever!" Ron groaned and swatted Tate on the shoulder. He looked at her reprovingly as if to say "why did you have to go and do that?" She giggled, and poked him in the side.

"Bark like a dog!" Tate shouted playfully at Lavender. Lavender tittered, and refused. "Boring, eh? There are better games."

"No, no, let's play," asserted Dean. "There's plenty of things I'd like to ask people here, and I'd fancy the opportunity to get a straight answer."

Harry nodded in agreement. "In vino, veritas."

"Fine then! Fine, you bloody children," huffed Ron. Hermione laughed and threw a hair clip at him, which bounced off the side of his head. He turned to her, and put a mock gun to his head. She grimaced at him.

"I'll start," piped up Lavender. "Hermione..." she began. Hermione groaned, irritably. "Have you shagged Harry yet?" Everyone cracked up as Hermione spluttered indignantly.

"What a rude question, Lavender! Have you no tact? Honestly!"

Lavender merely laughed harder, slapping the ground. "You have to answer! Those are the rules!"

"Yah, cmon Hermione!" Seamus was in hysterics.

"Not that it is any of your business, but no I have not!" Hermione was in a complete tizzy over the question.

"HA! Harry's not getting any," Ron exclaimed in glee.

"Hey," Harry shot back indignantly, "I'm getting a hell of lot more than you are! At least my girlfriend is real and not the sleeve of my favorite jacket, you bloody wanker!" The laughter was explosive. Ron choked in fury, and fixed his eyes, full of promising revenge, on Harry.

"Oh go on Hermione, I meant no harm, it's just a game," Lavender said, in a placating tone, "Have some more of this, you'll feel better!" Lavender filled Hermione's flute with champagne. Hermione giggled, and accepted the glass, raising it in toast to Lavender. "It's your turn now."

Hermione looked around at her victims, grinning wickedly. Who to pick? What to ask? Finally, she settled on Ginny.

"Ginny, I dare you to show Seamus that naughty little number you've got on under your robes." Ginny turned bright red, and howled in protest. Seamus's face glowed with excitement, and he gave Hermione an exuberant thumbs up. Everyone else looked expectantly at Ginny, most especially Neville, Dean and Harry. Sure, they all had girlfriends, but why pass up a free look at a very beautiful girl's naughty skivvies? Seamus shot them all looks of doom. Ron was horrified.

"All the boys, shut your eyes!" he bellowed.

"Ah, cmon Ron!"

"NOW!"

The game continued on in quite a festive manner. Most people were quite drunk at this point, most notably Parvati and Lavender, and the dares were getting ruder, the questions more intimate. It was Neville's turn, and he tried to recover sufficiently to find a person to direct something at. His head was still spinning, as Seamus had made him choose which Professor he'd most rather shag; Professor Snape or Argus Filch. Neville had nearly hyperventilated. He gazed around the room and settled on Tate.

"Show us all of your tattoos!" he demanded, and everyone sat up in excitement. Tate giggled and shook her head. Ron put his hand over her mouth.

"No cheating!" he said. "You laughed when they made me go moon the third years!" She shrugged and gave in.

"No peeking!" she shouted, and waited until she was sure everyone had hidden their eyes. She undid her bodice, removed it, and used a fogging charm to cover herself appropriately.

"Alright," she said gruffly, "here they are." The room, filled with giggles and whispers, went silent. There were more than tattoos on her body. There were two jagged scars on her torso - one on her back, and one on her stomach, a few inches below the juncture of her ribcage. The muscles in her stomach were as defined as Harry's. Hermione surmised that they looked so prominent due to the significant weight loss Tate had experienced during her incarceration at the muggle prison. Ron was a bit astonished. Despite her height, Tate was a pretty waifish girl. The muscles were a bit too pronounced and a bit too boyish for most tastes. Several of the Gryffindor boys found it rather unattractive, most especially Harry. This was, he reasoned with himself, due to the fact that he really didn't like her much at all. That, and she was making him look bad. He was the one with the washboard abs in Gryffindor! Naturally, he found himself in constant competition with Seamus, Ron, and Dean, but adding another person to the list was just a bit too much - especially when that other person was a girl. Harry bit back the petulant grimace that was threatening to spring forth.

Tate adjusted her skirt to reveal a black tattoo on her hip. "This is elvish writing. Tolkein invented it. It means 'friend'." Hermione restrained herself from correcting Tate. Elves did exist, and J. R. R. Tolkein had most certainly not created that language! He was just an acquaintance of theirs. But she held her tongue, placating herself with the promise that she would inform Tate later. Tate turned around and indicated a Chinese symbol in the center of her back, right on the spinal cord.

"It means 'enlightened'." She neglected to explain the Sanskrit tattoo on her shoulder, as it had been visible throughout the evening, as had the tattoo on her wrist. She adjusted her skirt again, and a small fairy appeared, etched on the small of her back. Lavender squealed in pleasure, and expressed her own wishes for a fairy tattoo. Tate lifted her skirt from her feet and stuck out her left foot. On the top of her foot was the brightly colored gecko Hermione had seen the first day she had met Tate. On her ankle was a black bar code. She wobbled a little bit, and nearly fell into Ron.

Neville could not restrain himself. "What are those scars from?"

"Neville!" Hermione glared at him, angry enough to spit nails. Neville had no right to pose such a personal question, even considering that the scars were in plain sight. Common etiquette postulated against such intrusions.

He bowed his head immediately. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I shouldn't have asked that." Tate shrugged.

"No biggie," she said dismissively. "Everyone turn around again." Everyone did, and Hermione, even with her hands in front of her eyes, could not erase the mental picture of the two disfiguring scars she had just seen on Tate's torso. It bothered her more, she realized, because she had witnessed the attack that caused them, while suspended in Tate's memory.

"What, no penguin tattoos?" teased Ginny. Everyone began to laugh again.

"Penguins are amazing creatures," insisted Tate. "They ought to be higher in the food chain than humans!" Ron snorted.

"And why's that?"

"Because," Tate began, "a penguin can get up on his little iceberg and look around at a crowd of eight million penguins, find one and say 'that's my baby'! And then they are together for the rest of their life! They find their soul mates just by looking at them. Look at us, for Christ's sake! We can't find shit, and when we do, we can't decide if we want it or not!"

"I found mine." Hermione's voice was as delicate and smooth as silk, and she slid her arms around Harry's neck. He rested his head on top of hers.

Tate rolled over on Ron's lap to face them, her face twitching as though she were holding back a howl of laughter. She extended her hand to Hermione, and spoke in a deeply forced, funny French accent. "I see zat you are very fond of cheese. May I possibly offer you some ham? Perhaps a nice platter of corn?" Hermione put her hand over her mouth to suppress her giggles. She blushed, realizing that she had been quite cheesy - very Un-Hermione behavior. Damn this wine! Hermione attempted valiantly to change the subject.

"Who will be staying then? For the hols?" Harry, Ron, and Tate raised their hands. "Where are you going, Ginny?"

Ginny smiled coyly, and linked her arm with Seamus. "I'll be spending Christmas in Ireland this year. We're going to go to his -" She was interrupted by the violent outburst of laughter from Ron and Dean. Tate had leapt out of her perch on Ron's lap to stand above Hermione and Harry. She was playing her guitar and mock-serenading the two.

"This is the night, it's a beautiful night, and we call it Bella Notte!" Hermione shrieked indignantly and reached toward Tate, attempting to seize her guitar. Tate evaded her and continued to circle Harry and Hermione, changing songs every few verses.

"When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's amore!" Ginny dissolved in giggles. Hermione leapt up and seized Tate around the waist, bringing them both crashing to the floor. The rest of the evening was lost in laughter.

*** *** ***

The next day, most of the students departed home for the Christmas hols. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stayed, of course - they always did. Tate had also stayed, but, once the break officially began, they rarely saw her unless it was evening. To their great dismay, Malfoy had also stayed. Late Christmas Eve, Ron, Harry, Hermione and Tate found themselves together in the common room. Tate and Hermione were currently engrossed in quite an argument - Ron and Harry were playing chess.

"So you are telling me," Tate was saying, "that every single fairy tale I've ever read, with the exception of Snow White, is factual?" Hermione nodded fervently.

"It was all written by magic folk - kind of a commercial industry if you will." Tate was shaking her head in disbelief. Hermione sighed. "Didn't you have a tutor? Professor McGonagall told me you did."

"Yah, Niels, but he didn't tell me about anything surrounding the whole magical community. Actually, he completely left that out. Until I met Dumbledore, I had kind of convinced myself that I was the only one around. Niels hinted that there were magical communities around, but he never came right out and said so. The only thing he ever said with certainty was something about 'the other half'...I don't know, he was real cryptic. Don't know why he did that..." Tate was looking slightly annoyed. Her complete ignorance of the existence of magical creatures, people, and history infuriated her to no end.

"Well, perhaps he left that out so as not to shock you too badly?" Hermione suggested. Tate snorted.

"I'm going to kick him real hard next time I see him," she fumed.

"So what are you working on so diligently in the library?"

"Just trying to catch up on the last ten thousand years worth of history, I guess."

"Need any help?"

"Definitely, otherwise I'll fail potions. I've been working with Snape down in the classrooms, and I suck! He makes fun of me constantly!" Ron looked up in anger.

"What does that poncey git say to you?" he asked. Tate looked at him in surprise.

"I meant he makes fun of me good-naturedly." Now it was Ron's turn to look surprised. Harry and Hermione were rather confused too. Good-natured and Snape? Those were two words that didn't even belong in the same universe, let alone the same sentence. Tate shook her head and smiled at the three of them.

"He's not such a bad guy - I think he's funny. And he's helping me out a lot. I've never done this potion making crap before, and he is very patient with me." Hermione, Ron, and Harry were still rendered speechless. Tate sighed in defeat.

"All right, fine. You got me. He's a complete asshole and I wish he were dead," she lied.

"Now that's more like it," grinned Ron, and he and Harry returned to their chess game.

"So, what about wookies? Are they real too?"

Hermione rolled her eyes dramatically, and deftly tossed a quill at Tate, which caught her in the eye. Tate blinked with a start, and cat-hissed playfully at her, causing Ron and Harry to look up in confusion.

"I hate it when she does that," groaned Harry. Ron chuckled, and took Harry's bishop.

"You dirty bugger, I'll have you for that one."

*** *** ***

"Wake up, Ron!" shouted Harry. "It's Christmas!" Ron moaned and turned over, pulling a pillow over his head.

"Go 'way," he whined, "it's not even light out yet." His bed was tousled by a tall boy throwing himself upon it.

"Get up, Ron!" Harry pounced on him mercilessly. Ron thrashed around violently in his bed, attempting to rid himself of his rude and boisterous roommate. The door to their room swung open, and Hermione padded in.

"Happy Christmas, boys!" she sang cheerfully.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione," smiled Harry. "Got all your presents with you, do'ya?" Hermione shook her head.

"They're all down by the tree. I thought we'd have a common room Christmas this year." Her eyes fell on Ron. "Goodness, Ron, get up already! There are loads of presents for you downstairs!" At this, Ron shot up, an expectant look on his face. He leapt out of bed, seized his robe, and exited the room at lightening speed.

She giggled as she watched him zip down the stairs, nearly tripping over his long legs. She turned to yell further at Harry, but found he was already standing in front of her.

"Happy Christmas, love," he grinned, and kissed her swiftly on the lips, before darting around her and down the stairs.

"Brush your teeth, Scruffy!" Hermione shouted after him.

Once downstairs, Hermione settled herself comfortably on the inviting, overstuffed couch. Still blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she snuggled among the pillows and sighed contentedly. No sooner had she closed her eyes, than Ron had thrown a rather large parcel at her. It struck her in the stomach and she caught her breath.

"You're a bastard, Ron," she growled at the red-headed boy who was completely ignoring her as he ripped open his first present.

"Blimey, Harry, thanks!" Ron was beaming at the book in his lap - Fantastic Keepers of the 21^st Century and How To Steal Their Moves. Harry smiled, and winked at him. In addition to the book he knew Ron would love, he had also enclosed a year-long subscription for Witches After Hours, tucked carefully inside the front cover. Without another moment's hesitation, Harry and Hermione dove onto the pile of gaily wrapped gifts and began tearing them open unabatedly.

Twenty minutes later, all three had finished opening their presents, and were basking comfortably in the pleasant warmth of the fire, eating ridiculously large amounts candy.

"What do we call this rush?" asked Hermione, who lay on her back, playing idly with the cuff of her pajama sleeve.

"Post Christmas high, I think," giggled Ron, who was nearly incapacitated from all the chocolate he had consumed. Harry draped himself over Hermione's thighs and began pelting Ron with Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"Ha! There's a chuffin' toe jam flavor for you," crowed Harry as a grayish colored bean struck Ron between the eyes.

"You bloody wanker!" The air was filled with beans, and Hermione pulled a pillow over her head and waited patiently for the fight to end. She thought briefly of Tate, who had elected to remain in her room for Christmas, sorting through the very odd things her family had sent her. Hermione's thoughts were interrupted as Harry tried desperately to wriggle under the pillow with her, as Ron had graduated from throwing beans to throwing whatever was within reach. Harry yelped as Hermione shoved him out from under her pillow and a sprig of mistletoe bounced off of his head. Hermione shook in laughter from underneath her pillow fortress, when she was suddenly aware that things had become quiet.

Oh shit, she mentally shouted, and scrabbled up to escape, but she was too late. Harry and Ron leapt on her and began to tickle her mercilessly.

"Oh god, stop!" she wheezed, gasping for breath between laughs. She squirmed futilely, and squealed in a high-pitched giggles. Ron and Harry were dissolving in their own laughter, when the door to the girls' dormitory flew open and Tate came streaking out, running as fast as she could go. Speechless, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at her in slow motion, all seeing the footstool in front of the sprinting girl, but too shocked to say anything. Harry thought before anyone else, and cast a quick spell on the footstool. Tate nailed it full force, the velvet covered edge catching her in the shins. Her arms went straight out to her sides, and she looked like an oversized albatross attempting flight, her black, silk kimono sailing out behind her. She hit the ground and somersaulted twice into a sitting position, mere inches from the crackling fireplace. She paid no mind to her unceremonious arrival, and did not even bother to toss an annoyed glance in Harry's direction (though she knew he had been the one to cast a nailing charm on the footstool, thus causing her fall).

Harry and Ron were choking back laughs, but Hermione remembered her manners. She fixed a murderous gaze on Harry, who still had his wand out. He grinned at her innocently and shrugged. "Tate, are you ok?" Tate threw up a hand to silence her and stared at her watch.

"Three...two...one..." There was a loud pop and a shower of sparks issued from the fireplace. Hermione blinked, and saw the head of an unfamiliar girl, with curly blonde hair and eyes like Tate's, floating in the fire. Tate, however, clearly recognized her, because she covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her delighted squeal.

"Megan!" she gushed. "How? Who? HOW?" The girl in the fireplace laughed.

"That white-haired man. He's here now. God, it's good to see you! We miss you so much over here!" Tate pressed her knuckles to her lips, and suddenly became very interested in scrubbing her eyes.

"You have no idea how much I miss you guys. Minky misses you, too." Meghan's face lit up, and Tate grinned widely. She turned toward the stairs, and shouted for her dog. Harry grimaced - whenever she yelled her voice seemed to drop a few octaves, and he found it more than a little disturbing. Barely three seconds later, the constantly over-excited pup was bounding down the stairs, and streaked across the room in a flash of white-gold. Tate barely caught her before she leapt straight into the fire to lick Meghan. Minky whined and struggled in her arms, desperately trying to get a taste of the other girl.

"I swear she feeds that dog speed," murmured Harry. Tate jerked her head up, having briefly forgotten they were there. She looked wildly toward Hermione, and gestured frantically at her.

"Megan, this is my roommate, Hermione," Tate threw an arm around Hermione as she joined her at the fireplace. "And this is Ron Weasley and Harry Potter." Harry and Ron came to stand behind the two kneeling girls. "Guys, this is my sister, Meghan."

"Pleased to meet ya," grinned Meghan, flashing brilliant white teeth at the three. Hermione smiled broadly at the younger girl in the fire. She couldn't have been more than fourteen. There was no distinct resemblance between her and her sister, except for the identical, oddly magnetic eyes.

"What's happening down there," asked Tate, "I hope things are all cleared up?" Meghan shrugged, and nodded slightly.

"People still ask about you," she said tentatively, and then looked pointedly at Ron, Harry, and Hermione.

"Let's go get some food, shall we?" suggested Hermione, as she leapt to her feet and took each boy by the arm. They were silent, staring at the girl in the fireplace, waiting for her to say something else. Hermione dragged them both to the portrait hole, turning only to smile at Tate, who mouthed 'thank you' to her. Hermione nodded, and shoved her two best friends through the hole. Tate watched them go, and then returned her attention to her beloved sister. Unable to hold back her emotions now that she was alone, tears began to stream silently down her cheeks as she reached forward to grab her sister's hand, forgetting momentarily about the fire that encased her sister. She managed to graze Meghan's face before wincing and yanking her hand out of the flames.

"Tatums, don't cry - you'll be home before you know it!" Tate smiled weakly, tears flowing in quiet, incessant rivers, and shook her head sadly.

"No I won't, and you know it. I can't go back, not after what happened. It's not safe. Y'all will have to come here."

"Sweet!" shouted Meghan, "I've always wanted to go to England!" She turned her head, "Hey, Mom! Did you hear that? We're going to England for the whole summer!" Tate shook with giggles as she heard her mother shout back at her sister that there was not a chance in blue Hell she was subjecting herself to British weather. "Oh, shut up Mom, you're going and that's that," concluded Meghan, turning back to Tate. Her expression became rather grave.

"Now, listen, I know you're going to hate this, cause you have that whole...you know, superstition thing about people lying about death."

"It's not supersti--"

"Yah, whatever loser," interrupted Meghan. "Anyways, the jail was pretty reluctant to release a statement concerning the fact that one of the maximum security wings was not only breached, but you disappeared without a trace, so..."

"So what?" Tate asked impatiently, as her sister searched for the right words.

"...So, the white haired guy...memory charmed..." She turned her head around again, looking at someone Tate could not see behind her. "Memory charmed, right? That's what you did?" Tate heard Dumbledore reply to her, and Meghan turned back around. "Right - so the white haired guy memory charmed them, and...umm...tolemyoweredead."

"He told them I was WHAT?"

Meghan gritted her teeth. "Dead." She cringed a bit, waiting for Tate to explode. But, remarkably, Tate didn't flip out - she actually laughed. Meghan looked at her, pleasantly confused.

"I thought you'd like that," she giggled, "Actually, no, I thought you'd freak out. But think of it this way! Now, I can go to that whore of a school and scare the shit out of those lousy bastards that put you through this. They'll think you're haunting them!" She and Tate giggled madly, but they quickly dropped the sore subject of their old school (Meghan had transferred to a different muggle school for the remainder of her freshman year) and began chattering about anything and everything.

"So, tell me about that gorgeous redhead," purred Meghan. Tate blushed and shrugged. Meghan's eyes flashed.

"Nothing special about him. The speccy kid behind him is Harry Potter."

"Um, who?" Meghan arched an eyebrow. "Am I supposed to know who he is?"

Tate laughed. "No, I guess not. He's a big deal over here though."

"Yah? You mean in your wizarding world?" Meghan put a singsong spin on 'wizarding world', and then laughed uproariously at herself. Tate snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Yes, in the wizarding world! God, you're a freak! Anyways, I don't think he likes me much."

"Ah, who gives? If you're going for universal appeal, you'll be waiting forever. Especially you." Tate laughed. "It's a shame anyways, though - he's not bad-looking at all! Tell me more about the redhead!" Tate blushed, grinned slightly, and assured Meghan that there was nothing special about him indeed.

"I know exactly what that means! You are the worst liar in history! Have you set him on fire yet?" Now Tate scowled at her.

"No, I have not. I haven't set anything or anyone on fire since I've been here."

"I didn't mean literally," Meghan said soothingly, "I was just joking." She cocked her head at Tate, who was picking at a spot on the ground, looking victimized. "You're too sensitive when it comes to that. You need to learn to let it roll off you."

"I can, unless you say it!"

"Alright, fine! I'm sorry I called you a pyro!"

"Hey!" Tate glared at her in mock fury. Meghan continued to employ an expression of virtuous innocence.

Tate giggled, and was thoughtful for a moment. "I bet you'd dig Malfoy. He's blonde." Meghan rolled her tongue, while Tate raised her wand and summoned her digital camera. She calibrated it briefly, and settled on the desired picture. She handed the camera to Meghan with fire tongs, wincing slightly as the fire came dangerously close it. Meghan seized it, and looked at the image of Tate and Malfoy who were glaring at each other. Tate had forced Draco into taking the picture days earlier, when sheer boredom had coerced her into taking her camera around the school after she had fiddled with it enough to acclimate it to the magical environment. His anger over being tricked into having his picture snapped came out in the now magical film.

"You just elbowed him in the ribs, Tate! Ha-ha, he tripped you!"

"He what?! That prissy bastard!"

Meghan continued to gaze at the picture, in which Draco was laughing at Tate who was flipping him the middle finger as she struggled to her feet. "Oh, I'm definitely coming to England. That boy is hot. By the way, you have him in a headlock now, if it makes you feel any better."

Tate laughed, and they continued chatting animatedly.

Hermione, Harry, and Ron arrived in front of the fruit painting, and Ron tickled the pear that blocked the entrance to the kitchen.

"Oh bollocks," murmured Harry, "I forgot Dobby's Christmas present."

"Me too," agreed Ron.

"Oh, go on," pushed Hermione, "you can bring it to him later. Let's give her at least a little time with her family."

The pear finally quit swearing colorfully through its laughter, and the door swung open, allowing the three into the magnificent kitchen Hogwarts had to offer. They stepped through and were met with dozens of eager house elves. Hermione clucked her tongue in annoyance. Several minutes and butterbeers later, Hermione, Harry, and Ron were gathered around the hearth, Dobby seated on a footstool in front of them.

"I didn't know she had any family," Ron said absentmindedly, breaking the pleasant silence.

"Well, of course she has family, Ron! What, did you think she just materialized from the streets?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know, she never talks about them. Even when I asked, she just glossed over the question, like I'd never even asked it." Harry nodded.

"She doesn't seem like the type to be close to family," he mused. "Seems like a total loner. Plus, its obvious she had no friends at her muggle school." Ron nodded. Hermione had eventually told him of her knowledge of Tate's past. It just didn't seem right for her to conceal information from him.

"Well, she most certainly is," Hermione said airily. "She's incredibly close to her family. They are everything to her, and I know its killing her to be away from them."

"Yah, and how do you know that, Hermione?" Ron smiled, testing her patience.

"I just do," she said dismissively. Try as they might, Harry and Ron could not get anymore out of her. Not that it would have done any good - Hermione knew as much about Tate's family as they did. But lately, she was feeling an incredible sense of homesickness whenever around Tate. It most certainly did not belong to her - she was never homesick, as Hogwarts was her home away from home. It just made sense to be coming from Tate.

Harry was thoughtful for a long moment. The idea that Tate came from a close-knit family seemed to give her a more human appeal, and some of his suspicion melted away.

When Hermione, Harry, and Ron returned, nearly forty-five minutes later, Tate was on her feet, bellowing at her sister in a high-pitched French accent. She took no notice that they had entered the room.

"You're mother was a lizard!"

Meghan was cackling madly, and shouting back at her in the same ridiculous French dialect. Tate seized a small box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and began pelting her sister with them. A thin stream of water shot from the fire place and hit Tate. Craning her head to get a better look, Hermione could see that Meghan had a silver apparatus attached to a green tube in her hand, steadily producing a constant stream of water.

"No fair!" Tate shouted, seizing her wand and sending a small fountain of pink champagne at the fire. The stream of water intensified, overpowering the weak champagne burst and completely soaking Tate's dressing gown as she howled in laughter and held her hand uselessly against the endless barrage of freezing water.

"Tate, I've got to go!" Meghan shouted over the roar of the hose. The water tapered off, and Tate's smile melted. "I'm keeping this camera! I'll send it back to you in a bit. That Owl Host or whatever thing is weird, but we're getting used to it. We all love you! Merry Christmas!" Her sister's head flickered, and disappeared. Tate was left standing, soaking wet, staring at the fire.

"Merry Christmas," she whispered to the dying fire. She took three deep breaths, still oblivious to the presence of her three schoolmates. The fire crackled loudly and ignited anew. For a split second, Hermione could have sworn it flickered bright green.

A spun sugar Christmas tree slipped from Ron's arm and clattered to the floor. Tate's head jerked in their direction. Sheepishly, Ron bent over to pick it up, but in his haste, he lost his grip on the rest of the tasty sweets he had cradled. He swore softly as they all hit the floor. Tate deadpanned, and silently prayed that the spontaneous rekindling of the fire had gone unnoticed among the three. It had not.

"Thanks for giving me so much time."

"No problem," said Harry. "Don't you think you should put on something dry?" Tate shrugged, and waved her wand, drying her robe and pajamas. She flopped down on the couch, and peered up at her schoolmates.

"Merry Christmas, guys," she said softly, smiling up at them. She raised her wand.

"Accio." Three packages, wrapped in bright orange paper flew out of the girls dormitory and into her arms.

"Harry..." she held a package out to him. "Ron..." Ron took a parcel from her. "And Hermione." Hermione grinned and accepted the orange package from Tate. The three settled themselves into opening their gifts.

"I asked Hagrid about what y'all were into, and he told me, but I was a bit unable to get those things, as I have no clue how to go about getting them. So, I got Niels and my sister to send some things up that I thought might be of interest to you guys."

Harry smiled genuinely at her, and, for a brief moment, she seemed almost surprised. She was used to Harry eyeing her with suspicion. He gazed down at the book she had given him. It was a paperback book, entitled "The Delicate Grace of Moving One's Hand" and written by Timothy Leary. Ron had received two books, "Brave New World" and "The Doors of Perception", both by Aldous Huxley. He looked at the two books curiously, turning one over and reading the back cover. Hermione beamed when she opened her own.

"Oooh, thank you Tate! I love books! Are these both muggle-written?" Tate smiled, and shook her head.

"One of them is," she indicated the book with an odd scene, containing a cat enclosed in a box, a strange looking vial, and a hammer on the cover, "And the other is not." Hermione looked at the two books she had received.

"The search for Schrödinger's cat," she read aloud.

"Thought you might enjoy reading up on what's new in the muggle world," Tate cut in. Hermione smiled broadly - muggle science was still science, and anything school worthy was immediately loved by Hermione. The other book she had received, however, was ancient looking. It was dusty, and bound in lizard skin. There were burn marks in places, and the pages were yellowed and stiff. There was no title.

"What's this one called," Hermione inquired, her eyes never leaving the book in her hands.

"'The Blessed Few'", replied Tate. Hermione looked up and met Tate's piercing gaze. "Definitely read that," Tate smiled, "it's worth your while." Hermione felt a trembling sensation of excitement build in the base of her spine. The book was surprisingly light yet at the same time remarkably heavy. Heavy with power, her conscience whispered. She opened the front cover, and drew her breath in slightly when she read the author's name.

She gently traced a finger over the embossed lettering. Niels K. Boltzmann.