Chipmunk and bear stood out starkly on the dance floor. Gemma Farley tried keeping up with Hermione's storm-like rhythm—always half a beat behind.
Hermione moved like a nimble sprite, weaving through urgent piano keys. Each rotation smooth, powerful—driving the air itself to dance.
Controlling Tiger's body was hard.
But incredibly satisfying.
Hermione's smile deepened.
Sweat beaded her forehead. Waist ached from overexertion.
But this—this was Shelby's dance!
Like discord on an exquisite painting, surrounding gazes locked onto Gemma like spotlights.
Curious. Mocking. Giggling behind hands.
Her usual elegance now tinged with embarrassment, irritation.
"Stop!"
"You're making Shelby look bad!"
Gemma gritted through clenched teeth.
Urgent steps like sudden adventure—simple, direct, yet wild and free.
Territory she'd never touched. Without her dance experience, she'd have tripped long ago.
"No."
"You don't understand Shelby."
Hermione's eyes sparkled—brightest star, radiating mysterious allure.
Right now she was a warrior charging enemy heights. No retreat.
"You'll never understand Shelby."
"Pure-bloods assign boring meanings to dancing—different occasions, different dances, different rhetoric..."
"But to Shelby, dancing isn't about right or wrong, losing face. It's emotional release. Prelude to madness!"
"Simplicity and passion—that's tango's charm, even if steps are messy..."
"Just keep dancing!"
Words fell. Hermione spun, bent low like peacock spreading wings. Eyes flashed brilliant victory, pride—taking in the world.
To avoid embarrassment, Gemma bent too. Hands gripping Hermione's slender waist—like clutching lifeline in storm. Clumsy, stiff.
"Tiger will never like you."
Hearing the whisper, Gemma showed surprise, defiance. Hermione lifted her chin. Smile growing brighter.
But then—storm-like piano stopped abruptly. Transformed into tender violin.
Hermione's steps paused.
Exhaustion, sudden change—mind wavered an instant.
Gemma, passive position, caught this fleeting opportunity.
Pulled hard. Lifted Hermione by waist, glided to center. Steps changed rapidly—light feathers turning on lake surface. Skillfully, firmly reclaimed rhythm.
"I may not understand Shelby, but I can help Shelby gain more."
"You're right."
"That beast's dictionary is full of greed."
"And you, dear little one, can't keep up. This is the adults' world..."
Prefect wouldn't admit defeat easily.
Noble bearing resurfaced.
She became leader. Guiding annoyed Hermione through melodious music.
Every step treading clouds—slow, elegant. Every turn, raised hand drawing Hermione into embrace.
Small hand on chest trembled.
Looking at familiar face so close, Hermione flushed red. Eyes growing flustered.
Gemma smiled playfully.
In surrounding eyes, previously clumsy figure now displayed stunning skills.
Bear and chipmunk merged into one. Every turn coordinated, natural—countless rehearsals.
Slow steps displayed emotional connection perfectly.
Music deepened. Distance alternately closed, widened—telling story about friendship, understanding, companionship.
Even professors stopped watching. Attracted by stunning steps.
Watching intently, praising softly. Everyone moved by elegance, harmony radiating from within...
Music faded. Thunderous applause erupted.
Hermione's hand pressed against Gemma's chest. Burning sensation penetrated clothing like current—striking straight to heart.
Panic made her break free suddenly. Ear tips flushed bright red.
Gemma crossed arms, laughed lightly. Fierce eyes flashed cunning, allure.
"See? What you know, I'll learn. But what I know, you don't dare touch."
Deep voice overhead. Barely concealing pride, provocation.
"You... shameless!"
Hermione's face flushed crimson. Even pale neck tinged pink.
Eyes widened. Glared viciously before fleeing through crowd—leaving only Tiger's figure thanking those around.
Outside the Hall, Harry and others surrounded Hermione. Lavender exclaimed:
"Hermione, you danced amazing! That fake almost fell!"
"Right, you won!"
Roommates chimed encouragement.
Forgotten—latter half's stunning steps.
"No..."
"War isn't over. Just beginning."
Under stunned gazes, Hermione's eyes narrowed. Tone firm.
Slowly opened palm. Strand of hair swayed in breeze...
Future Minister of Magic wouldn't make only one move.
Laughter from Defense office penetrated closed door, echoing through silent corridor.
Rhaella Shafiq hid at corner, merging with cold wall. Boredly counted bugs in spider web under window.
"Four, five, six..."
"Oh, quite the hunter."
Murmuring full of helplessness.
Then—laughter stopped abruptly. Inexplicable eeriness crept into heart.
Rhaella spun around. Looked toward office. Ready to leave.
However, time passed.
No sound from office—neither Hagrid's deep voice nor Tiger's hearty laugh. Silence terrifying.
Rhaella frowned. Just as she suppressed curiosity, prepared leaving—voice from staircase made heart jump.
"Shafiq, what are you doing?"
"Ma... Madam Pomfrey?"
Seeing who it was, Rhaella relaxed.
Shrugged. Lips curved helplessly, pretending casual:
"My pet got lost."
"Someone said Professor Lockhart found it. Came to check."
"But Professor seems entertaining guests. Waiting here."
"Oh, poor child."
Pomfrey looked sympathetic.
On holiday filled with laughter, Rhaella waiting alone in cold corridor—sensible yet pitiful.
"Come, Miss Shafiq."
"I'll take you to office. Feast isn't over—should return early..."
Pomfrey grabbed Rhaella's wrist. Under girl's stiff, bewildered expression, led straight to office door.
"But... but..."
As Rhaella tried finding excuse—sudden tremor interrupted.
Girl instinctively looked at door.
Then—tremendous crash.
Door, wall bricks shattered. Huge figure wrapped in debris flew out with thunderous crash.
Pomfrey's eyes widened.
"Hagrid?!"
Before she could speak—even more miserable scream. Lockhart's thin body shot through shattered hole, slamming hard onto Hagrid...
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