Let The Dark In

14

The Yule Ball feels like a dream when Hermione wakes the next morning. Her heart is still aflutter as she opens her eyes and lies in bed, thinking back, basking in it all. After the dance with Malfoy, Viktor managed to extricate himself from Karkaroff's clutches and they spent the rest of the night in the centre of the dance floor buried in the crowd so that no one else would disturb them.

Viktor was delightful, as good in retrospect as he was at the moment.

Hermione can't remember the last time she's had so much fun. The whole evening she just let go, enjoying herself without fretting about the future.

Viktor told her about the different places he'd visited, and the ones he thought she'd like. Wizarding communities hidden away in little alleyways and courtyards, glimpses into parts of the world that she's never been able to explore because she has no magical guardians to travel with. He didn't seem at all offended that she didn't want to talk about Quidditch or his career. She'd just wanted to know about what the world was like beyond Hogwarts.

When he left, he asked if he could write to her, if she would write him back if he did, and she blushed all the way to the tips of her ears when she said yes.

She feels giddy just thinking about it.

When she enters the Great Hall, people still stop and stare, and Cormac gives her a smile she's only seen him use on other girls. Ron offers only the most disgruntled noise of greeting when she sits down, apparently still convinced that she's disseminated classified academic information that has destroyed the glory of Hogwarts both now and forevermore.

Hermione ignores him. There's a story in the Daily Prophet about the ball, but nothing terrible or particularly focused on Hermione, which is a relief. Instead, the focus is on the Ministry attendees. Most of the news lately has been about a tax hike proposed by the Minister Cornelius Fudge. The Wizengamot is split over it, and the arguments about its merits have spilled from the chamber into public discourse as both sides endeavour to garner public support.

She spends her winter holidays in the library reading about theories of magic while keeping one eye on the Marauder's Map. When she spots Malfoy's name wandering up from the dungeons a few days later, she shoves the book back on the shelf and cuts him off in a corridor.

He gives her a long, resentful look and comes to a resigned stop, waiting for her to speak. They stand staring at each other for a moment and her heart-beat's cadence is already lit with anticipation.

"I want you to show me the Dark Arts. I want to know what I'm working towards," she says, tone crisp and matter-of-fact.

"What 'kind' of Dark Arts?" he asks in a droll, petulant voice. "That's like saying, 'show me language.'"

Her shoulders tense. "Whatever you started with at Durmstrang, show me that."

Annoyance flashes across his face, followed by a subtle look of amusement and his glances at her again, gaze lingering in a way that she isn't sure is intentional or not. "You won't be able to do it."

She sets her jaw, refusing to rise to his bait even though there's a part of her that's afraid he may be right. She's been practising at finding her magical source, but she never seems to get all the way there.

"Then I'll try and fail," she says with flat determination.

He sighs, apparently disappointed that she won't accept her inferiority at his word.

"Come down to the lake tonight. After dinner, I suppose. Past the Durmstrang ship, there's an embankment beyond the willows that can't be seen from the castle."