Hogwarts was officially down one Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
Naturally, another professor stepped in to fill the void.
Hermione stared at the front of the classroom in pure despair. The man standing behind the lectern was one they'd already seen way too much of.
Severus Snape continued radiating his signature oppressive aura, spreading equal-opportunity terror to every single student.
The second class ended, Hermione bolted from the room.
She had preparations to make—immediately!
Ever since their little adventure in Hogsmeade, people had been giving her these dreamy, envious looks.
"Hermione, I heard you're going to the Christmas Ball in two weeks?" Harry asked, eyes shining with pure longing.
That mix of envy and hope actually made her feel a tiny bit proud for half a second.
Then she remembered she still couldn't dance.
"Yeah… that's right," she coughed. "I heard you guys can come watch, just… not actually dance."
"Ron and I will be there. Have you found a partner yet?"
The question instantly pissed her off.
Her partner was that ridiculously handsome, inside-and-out shameless bastard—Tom Riddle!
"I've gotta run, I'm in a hurry. Thanks, guys." Hermione clutched her books to her chest and hurried off without looking back.
Who at Hogwarts even knew how to dance?
"Granger."
She got stopped again.
Malfoy was as flashy as ever, blond hair slicked back to show off his pale forehead like he was trying to blind people with it.
"I heard you're going to the ball."
"Yeah!" Hermione answered without a trace of politeness. "So? What do you want?"
For once Malfoy didn't snap back. He actually looked a little hesitant. "Er… I'm guessing you haven't found a dance instructor yet. Maybe I could—"
Help her learn to dance? That would work!
"Thanks, but no need! I'll find someone."
"No, no, no." Malfoy quickly backpedaled when he saw his plan failing. "I mean… you know, the Malfoy family is a rather prominent wizarding family. I know an excellent dance instructor. She could teach you."
Hermione's expression softened a fraction. "You're not lying?"
"A Malfoy never lies!" He puffed out his chest. "Cough—tomorrow… no, lunchtime. I'll bring her at lunch."
He sounded a bit awkward, eyes darting everywhere except at her, like he was hiding something.
"Hm? Malfoy, why are you helping me?"
"Just returning a favor! I don't want anyone thinking a Malfoy doesn't repay kindness. I'll contact you at lunch!"
Weird.
Hermione sighed. Ever since she started swapping bodies with Tom, the strangest things kept happening around her.
First Cho Chang suddenly became her friend, now Malfoy was acting all weird…
…
That afternoon, Malfoy actually delivered.
The woman he brought was dressed like pure luxury—gold-trimmed silk robes that probably cost more than most families made in a year. Her hair was pinned up with obvious care, and she carried herself with the effortless poise of old money.
"Good afternoon, Miss Granger." She gave a graceful little curtsy, lifting the hem of her skirt. "I am Lady Elizabeth Norton."
"Hello, Lady Elizabeth." Hermione copied the curtsy as best she could, lifting the edge of her own robes.
"A little higher with the hand, dear. And don't bend quite so deep. You'll be wearing proper gowns soon, and too deep a curtsy can look… improper."
Lady Elizabeth was incredibly patient, explaining every tiny detail with gentle warmth.
This was what a real teacher looked like!
Professor Snape could learn a thing or two from Lady Elizabeth!
"Oh my, Miss Granger, your hair is in wonderful condition. You clearly take excellent care of it. And your skin is far better than most children I've seen… Is your under-robe coordinated as well?"
Tom had picked all of that out for her…
He'd labeled every single outfit with exactly which trousers or skirt it went with. Most people never noticed because she was always wearing her outer robe, but it was there.
"Thank you for the compliment, Lady Elizabeth…" Hermione's cheeks burned. She cleared her throat. "Shall we… start?"
"Of course." Lady Elizabeth took her hand. "We'll begin with the most basic steps. Just follow my lead, dear."
Five minutes later, Hermione was mortified.
"Miss Granger, you seem a little tense?"
Hermione nodded, eyes flicking nervously toward Malfoy, who was watching from the side.
Lady Elizabeth understood immediately. She smiled at Malfoy. "Young Master Malfoy, a young lady often feels embarrassed when first learning to dance. We don't mind spectators at the actual ball, but during practice…"
"I understand." Malfoy sighed, looking defeated, and shuffled out, leaving them alone.
"Shall we continue, Miss Granger?"
Three hours later, Hermione had finally gotten the hang of the basic social dances.
It wasn't actually that hard—mostly because Lady Elizabeth was an incredible teacher. The real difference came when she made Hermione switch to high heels the next day.
Back in the dormitory, Hermione collapsed onto her bed, calves screaming.
Staring at the ceiling, she thought about Tom.
Tom… probably hadn't found a dance teacher yet.
Heh. This time, she was one step ahead!
…
Room of Requirement.
Tom stood in front of the Mirror of Erised with Professor Dumbledore.
"Professor Dumbledore, what do you see in the mirror?" Tom asked.
"Hm… nothing much. Tom, you asked me to bring you here because you wanted to…"
Dumbledore's words trailed off as Tom started moving.
In the mirror, he saw himself and Hermione dancing a perfect social waltz—on a grand stage, with hundreds of people watching below.
Their movements were flawless, elegant, impossible to criticize.
This was how you were supposed to use the Mirror of Erised!
Who the hell used it to reminisce about the past?
Tom used it to learn new skills!
[You have successfully performed a dance. Rating: Perfect. Social Dancing +300.]
[You have successfully performed a dance. Rating: Perfect. Social Dancing +300.]
[You have successfully performed a dance. Rating: Perfect. Social Dancing +300.]
Less than an hour later, Tom had already grasped the core techniques and his proficiency was skyrocketing.
"Tom…" Dumbledore finally spoke when Tom stopped. "You brought me here… just to do this?"
"This is extremely important knowledge!" Tom said seriously. "Professor, there will be second year, third year, fourth year… I'll have to attend lots of balls. I need to master this before then.
You know I have a lot of friends, Professor. Some shy little partners might come to me embarrassed, asking me to be their dance partner. I need to be good enough so they don't feel awkward."
"What a… good child."
Dumbledore was at a complete loss for words.
How was this boy's heart so pure? The Mirror of Erised showed a person's deepest desire.
He had no idea how Tom had managed it. The boy had literally just fought Voldemort, yet his greatest wish right now was to dance beautifully at the Christmas feast!
"Professor, want to join me?"
Dumbledore: "No, no, thank you. Though I would suggest asking Professor Sprout. If she knew you wanted to practice social dancing with her, she would be over the moon."
Professor Sprout, huh?
He'd go find her tomorrow.
"Professor Sprout was quite the dancer back in her Hogwarts days. Her social dancing is the best I've ever seen."
"That's perfect! Thank you!"
The next morning, Tom found Professor Sprout and told her what he needed.
As expected, she was delighted—almost ready to cancel all her Herbology classes just to give Tom the perfect Christmas.
Of course Tom refused. That wasn't his style.
[You have successfully performed a dance. Rating: Flawless Refinement. Social Dancing +500.]
[Title Acquired: Dance Dreamer.]
[Dance Dreamer: While wearing this title, even a partner with zero experience can perfectly follow your lead.]
A week slipped by.
Morning.
When Tom woke up, little Tom had already left. Soft brown curls tickled his neck.
That familiar milky scent…
One week left until the feast?
Perfect. Plenty of time.
Tom counted the days on his fingers. More than enough!
But before that…
A little devil sparked in his eyes.
Senior Cho… you were laughing at me last week, weren't you?
Tom sat at his desk and started writing furiously.
This weekend, Senior Cho was going to pay the price.
Just a tiny, harmless little punishment.