Harry Potter – December 16th, 1994 – Gryffindor Tower

"Well, that settles it then. I'm coming with you."

She was standing in front of him, arms crossed and an eyebrow arched high into her forehead, as if daring him to disagree.

'If she thinks she can boss me around, she's got another thing coming,' he thought, still sour over Daphne Greengrass' parting words from a few days past.

'I don't need Dumbledore's help. I don't need anyone's help and I certainly won't drag her down!'

"I said no, Hermione. I can do this alone."

The bushy-haired girl scowled. Ron, for his part, snorted and returned to his chess game with Neville. They were in the common room of Gryffindor tower, off to one side of it. Sunlight filtered in through large, ornate windows and made the red-and-gold standards hung from the walls that much more regal. In the hearth, a large fire roared, helping to keep the room warmed in the wintery weather.

"No, Harry, you can't," she retorted, matter-of-factly. "If not for me, you'd still be sitting in the library, scowling at nothing!"

"She's got a point, mate," Ron inserted, not even bothering to look up from his game.

"Do you have a date yet?" Harry snapped, whirling back around to face Hermione before the Weasley boy could respond.

"It's just some dress robes, Hermione, I don't need help picking them out!"

"Yes you do, Harry! Daphne Greengrass is from a noble family! They have traditions that you need to abide by!"

Traditions?

That was news to him...

"Still can't believe you're going to the ball with a Slytherin," Ron muttered, taking Neville's rook and smiling idly as his knight chopped the thing in half. "They're all… slimy and evil and… cheaters."

"Not Daphne," Harry retorted, grasping at the distraction like a starving man would food. He was rapidly losing ground in his argument and he knew it.

He and Daphne were also back to a first name basis. Not because they agreed upon it but because he found it odd to refer to her by her last name.

Yeah.

Admittedly, she was unaware they were referring to each other by their first names.

"You'll also need to practice the steps for the dances!"

Dances?!

"What?" He blurted. "With an 's'?!"

"Honestly, Harry. It's a ball!"

"I know that, I- But dancing?"

"As one of the champions, you have to lead the opening da-"

"Bugger." His face was pale, he was sure of it.

"Dance steps, dress robes," Hermione counted, ticking off her fingers one by one as she did. Each one felt like another nail in his proverbial coffin. "You do have the color swatch, right?"

He nodded mutely, his hand reflexively diving into his pocket just to make sure the piece of fabric was still there.

It was, much to his relief. Colin Creevey ran up to him two days ago, stuffed it into his hands then ran off before he could get a word in edgewise. The boy hadn't even asked for a photo or anything. The color swatch had not left his pocket since then.

"Good," his bushy haired friend-turned-savior said. "We'll have to get you some contact lenses too, at least for the night of the ball."

Harry nodded again, feeling all too much like a bobble head. He knew – now – that his eyes were attractive, as odd as that thought was to think. He also knew that his glasses… hid them, somehow. As though his lenses were not clear.

Whatever.

"Dress robes, dance steps, contacts," he muttered, blinking. It was Friday, so he could sneak out of the castle tomorrow, go to Gringotts, get some of his money and then-

'Oh bugger it all.'

"Hermione, will you help me tomorrow?"

She opened her mouth, her brow furrowed, then snapped it shut with a click. She swallowed, smiled, then opened her mouth again: "I'd love to help you, Harry!"

Daphne Greengrass - December 17th, 1994 – Slytherin Dungeons

"I still can't believe he bought that."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "You've mentioned that three times now, Tracey."

"I honestly did not think Draco would really believe you agreed to go with Potter to… what? Sabotage him somehow? What does he think? You embarrass him at the ball and he suddenly loses all of his skills?"

She shrugged. "He is rather good with a wand."

"We'd all be good with a wand if we were Dumbledore's pet student."

A snort escaped her but she did not argue the point. "With a broom at least, then."

"Defending him now, are we?" Tracey said, turning from where she sat on her bed to look at her properly. They were currently the only two in the dormitory. "I bet you'd like to see his skills with a broom. Ride it good and-"

"You can stop whenever you want!" She spat, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed. The girl had no decency at all!

Tracy laughed and promptly began making kissing sounds. Complete with exaggerated lip puckers.

"Tart," Daphne retorted, for she could think of nothing else to say. Now that they were on the topic, her mind was fixated entirely on Potter's newly discovered muscles and how riding that broom of his in front of him, with his arms around her-

She slapped a hand over her eyes.

Tracy gasped. "You are thinking about-"

"If you love me you won't finish that sentence! I have a reputation to maintain as the heiress of House Greengrass! I can't just… just fall to bits whenever he's around because his stupid eyes are gorgeous or… or…"

She released an explosive sigh-turned-growl and fell back onto her bed with a huff. It was part infuriating, part pleasing that her mind always returned to thoughts of Harry Potter over the last few days. In class, during meals, out on the grounds; it did not matter where she was, he would inevitably come up in conversation – because Draco did love to make fun of him - and hunker down in her head for an extended stay.

And to think, only four days ago she thought of him as a whiny, stuck up, spoilt child. Good with a broomstick and quick with his wand, but completely detached from reality in a way that made it impossible to converse with him. Self-centered to the extreme and always focused upon his problems and his problems only.

Which he was.

All of that.

But now…

Well, now he was a hot self-centered teacher's pet with an ego the size of the giant squid.

And for some reason, she was okay with that.

The bed shifted as Tracey placed herself at Daphne's feet, crossing her legs under her.

"You've got it bad, don't you? Like, Pansy bad."

She shook her head. "Not that bad but… it's safe to say I find the bloody boy who lived attractive."

"Huh," Tracey grunted, pulling her hair back away from her face. It was tossed about when she sat down. "Well, he is kind of a hunk in the right light. Get some meat on his bones and I bet you he'll fill out nicely."

"But keep the hair."

"But keep the hair," the girl agreed. "And the smile. And the eyes. He does have nice ones. From his mother, I hear."

Daphne grunted something illegible. "He does… Did you see him run into those tables when-"

"Yes! He hit like, three on the way over!" She broke into peals of laughter. "Add contacts to the list for your future dreamboat."

She snorted. "You're acting like we'll be together forever."

Even as she said the words she felt herself entertain the idea. Pureblood children grew up faster than other children might and she was no exception. It was not because their families were more prone to breaking apart, rather, it was because pureblooded children were expected to meet and play nice with people who did go through that.

Daphne herself remembered meeting Blaise's mother when she was six and marveling over the fact that the woman was on her… what? Fourth husband?

Suffice it to say, any sort of romantic idea of finding the one and settling down forever was inadvertently beaten out of her by the time she was ten.

Mostly.

"I mean…" She started slowly. "It wouldn't be a bad thing, right?"

"You'd be famous," Tracey inserted, nodding. "That must be nice. People would know you wherever you went!"

"Not because I'd be married to the boy who lived though. I want to be famous in my own right."

"Then use his name to do something," she shrugged, pushing herself off the bed with grunt. Then, she turned toward Daphne and held up her hands, one at waist level and one in front of her, around shoulder level. "Well, shall we continue?"

The eldest Greengrass child nodded and pushed herself up as well, placing an arm around Tracey's shoulder.

"You are so lucky I'm doing this for you," the brunette muttered as they started going through the steps. "If I start leading my date and he throws a fit, you'll be hearing from me."

Harry Potter - December 17th, 1994 – Twilfitt and Tatting's, Diagon Alley

"I think this… No, no, this one is a match."

"That looks a mite dark, mate."

"It really does, Harry," Hermione inserted, standing half behind a rack of ties-that-weren't-really-ties. More like poofy shirt collars with a tail. But… wizarding fashion, so…

Apparently one of those poofy-shirt-ties meant something to pureblooded wizards and witches.

Like Daphne.

Err, Greengrass.

…Whatever.

Defeated, Harry dropped the test swatch of cloth back down on the table that he and Ron stood at. In front of them lay at least thirty different kinds of blues and each little fabric square would proclaim the name of its color in a soft, little voice if they were touched.

"Maybe go back to the darker navy blue one," Ron suggested through a mouthful of Florean's ice cream – the real reason he tagged along today. Still, the red headed boy's presence was a welcome distraction, prone as he was to accidentally dish out back-handed insults toward Slytherin House as he tried to help.

"Wear some dragon hide under your dress robes, mate. She'd appreciate you taking precautions, since, you know, she's a Slytherin and all. They like that backstabbing kind of edgy-murder-mystery stuff."

"Get the green inseam- inline? Lining? Lining, whatever 'Mione. Get the green stuff. That's almost as nasty looking as their colors."

"Hey, if she tries anything, shoulder check her. That's what Slytherin's house team does, so she'll know you watch their quidditch squad… even though they cheat. I mean, it's the thought that counts right?"

Bonus points because Hermione's scowl grew every time the boy attempted to help him out.

"Okay!" Hermione proclaimed, striding over with two of the poofy-collar-ties in her hands. She held up one that looked like a Christmas bow with a single tail. "This one is less formal than the other one. It's generally worn by boys and- Don't give me that look, Harry, honestly. It's worn by boys and young men when they need to dress up for a formal affair."

She then thrust the other one in his face. This one had two, thinner tails, less of a Christmas bow and more of a collar. As in, two strips of cloth that looked like they would go around his neck. Like a really poofy, really obnoxious bow-tie.

"This one is… different. It's worn by adults and since you're competing in the Triwizard Tournament… I think you can get away with wearing it without rubbing anyone the wrong way."

Harry shared a glance with Ron, thankful that the redhead looked just as befuddled as him.

"You're not sure?" He vocalized.

"Well," the girl paused, chewing on her bottom lip. "It can also mean you want to duel the first person you speak- Harry! Wait! Just- It's only if you wear your house seal on it."

"Like Gryffindor?"

"No, like Potter."

He blinked. "I have a seal?"

Ron shrugged and Hermione arched her eyebrows at him.

"You should. Honestly, Harry, haven't you seen anything in your vaults with an official looking sigil on it?"

He shook his head. "The only thing I can access in my trust vault is gold, Hermione. No artifacts or jewelry or rings or ground-shattering family heirlooms."

She frowned. "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter. You won't need your seal… unless you want to duel someone?"

"I'd rather not."

"Okay, that settles it then," she said, releasing a small sigh. "So which one?"

"The second one, it looks less like a Christmas bow."

"It does look less ridiculous," the girl allowed, smiling.

Ron nodded along and, after swallowing his latest scoop of ice cream, said: "Yeah, my dad has one like that. The strips go under your collar, says it's real uncomfortable."

Harry was struck suddenly by Greengrass' voice in his head, wondering if he'd show up looking like a Weasley dressed him. The idea that Ron's father owned anything like the tie he was going to wear was… not pleasant.

Ron was a true friend, through and through, and after the boy got over his jealousy at Harry being forced to compete in the tournament, he proved it. That the redhead was willing to at least try to overlook his prejudice against House Slytherin for Harry's sake was touching.

But that did not excuse the fact that the boy's dress robes were utterly hideous.

"Ahh, I'd rather not wear anything like that under my collar," he said slowly, toying with Daphne's strip of cloth in his pocket. Blue, kind of like her eyes. She would look great in the color, no doubt. Idly, he wondered just how tight dress robes were on girls.

That was a nice thought… tighter than the Hogwarts' uniform, surely? All the sweaters and shirts and ties and what-not made it incredibly-

"-rry? Harry!" Hermione barked.

He blinked, only belatedly realizing that the clothing store attendant was in front of him.

And arching her eyebrows at him like he was supposed to answer a question.

'Bugger.'

"Uhh," he muttered, scratching at his neck and feeling his face heat up. That Ron snickered at his side did not help matters. "Come again?"

The blonde girl leaned over – which served to distract him all over again – and prodded the table with the color swatches on it.

"I said that you'll want this one," she said, picking up one of the less-navy-blue ones that he and Ron decided was off.

"Nah, that one's too bright," Ron grunted.

But the woman only gave him a smile and tilted the swatch of color up slightly, changing the kind of not-navy-blue it was entirely. It now matched-

It now matched his perfectly!

"Ohhhh," he and Ron chorused.

"Silk from Egypt," the woman said further, turning back to him. "Expensive stuff, hard to find too. I wonder what your date expected you to find?"

"That conniving Slytherin snake," the red-headed Weasley whispered, shoving another spoon full of ice cream into his mouth and gnawing on the treat like it insulted the Chudley Cannons.

Harry, for his part, could only shrug.

The attendant was leaning toward him again and it was hard getting his mouth to work right.

Thankfully, she straightened up at that point – which allowed him to see Hermione's unimpressed stare – and flounced away between the racks of clothing, presumably to help another customer.

More likely she was off to go distract another panicked guy buying dress robes for a stupid ball.

He did not voice the thought aloud.

A/N: Alright, so we're doing this! I waffled over posting this for a long while but, hell, why not? I can't make any promises about the third chapter but I'll be moving this to the 'In Progress' status all the same. This a story I work on as inspiration strikes me, sort of a break from other stories and life in general. That's why updates will be, in a word, inconsistent.

This thing is a humorous piece that I find uplifting to work on, though. I like working on it but at the same time, I don't want to put anything in it that didn't make me grin when I thought of it… Does that even make any sense?

Ah well, it's late at night and I'm half asleep already.

Enjoy! Review! Sleep!

Till next time,

Phailen