Hogwarts was down one Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
Naturally, someone had to step in to replace him.
Hermione felt a wave of despair. The professor now standing at the front of the classroom was someone they'd all gotten pretty sick of seeing.
Severus Snape kept up his usual intimidating glare, dishing out fear equally to every single student.
As soon as class ended, Hermione bolted from the room.
She had to get ready—and fast!
Something weird had happened yesterday when they'd gone to Hogsmeade. Everyone kept giving her these dreamy, expectant looks.
"Hermione, I heard you're going to the Yule Ball in two weeks?" Harry had finally spilled the beans.
The envy and longing in his eyes actually made Hermione feel a little proud for a second.
But then she remembered—she didn't know how to dance.
"Yeah… that's right," Hermione said with a cough. "I heard you guys can come watch the ball, you just can't join in the dancing."
"Ron and I are definitely going," Harry said. "Have you found a partner yet?"
Just thinking about it made Hermione mad.
Her partner was that infuriating, shameless jerk who was just a tiny bit too handsome—Tom Riddle!
"I've gotta run, I'm in a hurry—thanks, guys!" Hermione hugged her books tight and sped off without looking back.
Who in the school even knew how to dance properly?
"Granger."
Hermione stopped again as someone called her name.
Malfoy was his usual flashy self, slicking his blond hair back to show off his shiny forehead.
"I heard you're going to the ball."
"Yeah," Hermione snapped, not bothering to be polite. "So, what do you want?"
For once, Malfoy didn't fire back. He actually looked a little hesitant. "Well… I'm guessing you haven't found a dance teacher yet. Maybe I could…"
Teaching Hermione to dance wouldn't be the worst thing!
"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll find someone."
"No, no, wait," Malfoy said quickly, backpedaling when his plan flopped. "I mean… you know, the Malfoy family is kind of a big deal in the wizarding world. I happen to know a really great dance teacher. She could help you."
Hermione's expression softened a bit. "You're not messing with me?"
"A Malfoy never lies!" He puffed out his chest proudly, then coughed. "Anyway… tomorrow—no, lunchtime. I'll bring her at lunchtime."
He was stammering a little, avoiding her eyes like he was hiding something.
"Huh? Malfoy, why are you helping me?"
"Just paying back a favor! I don't want people thinking a Malfoy doesn't return kindness. I'll get in touch at lunch!"
Weird.
Hermione sighed. Ever since she and Tom started swapping places, the strangest things kept happening around her.
First she suddenly had a new friend—Cho Chang from Ravenclaw. Now Malfoy was acting all weird.
…
That afternoon, Malfoy actually came through and brought a dance teacher for Hermione.
She was an elegant older woman dressed in luxurious gold-trimmed silk that probably cost a fortune. Her hair was perfectly styled and clearly well-maintained, and she stood in front of Hermione in high heels with the unmistakable air of pure-blood aristocracy.
"Miss Granger, lovely to meet you." The woman lifted her skirt slightly and curtsied. "I am Noyaton Elizabeth."
"Hello, Madam Elizabeth," Hermione replied, mimicking the gesture by lifting the hem of her robes and bending her knees.
"Your palm should come up just a bit higher, Miss Granger," Elizabeth said gently. "And don't bend too deeply. In the future you might wear all sorts of gowns, and too deep a curtsy could look a little unseemly."
Elizabeth was patient and kind, explaining every little detail.
This is what a real teacher is like!
Take notes, Professor Snape—look at Madam Elizabeth!
"Oh my, Miss Granger, your hair is gorgeous. You clearly take great care of it. And your skin is better than most young witches I've seen… Did you coordinate your outfit yourself?"
Tom had picked it out for Hermione…
He'd labeled every shirt with which pants or skirt it went with. They were usually hidden under robes, so only someone paying close attention would notice.
"Thank you for the compliment, Madam Elizabeth…" Hermione's cheeks heated up. She coughed. "Maybe… we could get started?"
"Of course." Elizabeth took Hermione's hand. "We'll begin with the basic steps. Just follow me—I'll lead you."
Five minutes later, Hermione was feeling pretty awkward.
"Miss Granger, you seem a little stiff?"
Hermione nodded, her eyes accidentally flicking toward Malfoy, who was watching from the side.
Elizabeth understood immediately. She smiled at Malfoy and said, "Young Master Malfoy, a lady can feel all sorts of embarrassment when she's first learning to dance. We don't mind gentlemen observing at a formal ball, but during lessons…"
"I get it." Malfoy sighed, looking dejected as he shuffled out and left the two of them alone.
"Shall we continue, Miss Granger?"
Three hours later, Hermione had mostly gotten the hang of ballroom dancing.
It wasn't that hard—partly because Elizabeth was an amazing teacher who guided her the whole way, and partly because there's a big difference between flat shoes and heels. Elizabeth told her to wear high heels next time so they could practice properly.
Back in the dormitory that night, Hermione collapsed onto her bed and finally felt how sore her calves were.
Staring at the ceiling, her thoughts drifted to Tom.
Tom probably couldn't find a dance teacher, right?
Ha! This time, she was the one coming out on top!
…
The Room of Requirement.
Tom and Professor Dumbledore stood together in front of the Mirror of Erised.
"Professor Dumbledore, what do you see in the mirror?" Tom asked.
"Hmm… nothing in particular. Tom, you asked me to bring you here to the Mirror of Erised because…?"
Dumbledore's words trailed off mid-sentence—Tom had already stepped forward.
In the mirror, he saw himself dancing a perfect ballroom waltz with Hermione on a huge stage, hundreds of people watching below.
Their steps were flawless. Not a single mistake.
This was the proper way to use the Mirror of Erised!
Who wastes it reminiscing about the past?
Tom was using it to learn brand-new skills!
[You have successfully completed a dance. Rating: Perfect. Ballroom Dancing +300.]
[You have successfully completed a dance. Rating: Perfect. Ballroom Dancing +300.]
[You have successfully completed a dance. Rating: Perfect. Ballroom Dancing +300.]
In less than an hour, Tom had grasped the essentials of ballroom dancing, and his proficiency kept climbing.
"Tom…" Dumbledore finally spoke once Tom stopped moving. "You brought me here to the Mirror of Erised… just for this?"
"This is incredibly important knowledge!" Tom said confidently. "Professor, there's still second year, third year, fourth year… I'll have to attend plenty more balls. I need to perfect my dancing before then.
"You know how it is—I've got a lot of friends. Some of them might feel awkward and ask me to be their partner. I need to be good enough that they won't feel embarrassed."
"What a… good kid."
Dumbledore was at a loss for words.
How was Tom's heart so pure? The Mirror of Erised shows a person's deepest desire.
Dumbledore had no idea how Tom managed it—he'd literally just met Voldemort and even fought him—and yet his greatest desire right now was dancing beautifully at the Yule Ball!
"Professor, want to join me?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "No, thank you. But I can suggest you ask Professor Pomona. She'd be thrilled if you wanted to practice ballroom dancing with her."
Professor Sprout?
He'd look her up tomorrow.
"Back in her Hogwarts days, Pomona never lacked for dance partners. She's the best ballroom dancer I've ever seen."
"That's perfect! Thank you!"
The next morning, Tom found Professor Sprout and explained what he needed.
As expected, she was over the moon—she even offered to cancel her Herbology classes and take the day off just to give Tom the perfect Christmas.
Of course, Tom politely turned that down. It wasn't his style.
[You have successfully completed a dance. Rating: Masterful. Ballroom Dancing +500.]
[Obtained title: Dance Dreamer.]
[Dance Dreamer: While this title is equipped, even a partner with zero experience can perfectly follow your lead.]
A week slipped by quietly.
Morning.
When Tom woke up, little Tom had already left his body. Soft, fluffy brown curls tickled his neck.
That familiar milky scent…
Only one week until the ball?
It was coming up fast.
Tom counted the days on his fingers. Plenty of time!
But before that…
A tiny mischievous impulse popped into his head.
Cho Chang, didn't you laugh at me last week?
Sitting at his desk, Tom grabbed a quill and started writing furiously.
This weekend, he was going to make Cho pay—just a tiny little punishment.