To the ever loyal gold fish WE LOVE YOU and your wonderfully awful drawing, don't be offended we really did love it. I giggled for ages. And you are welcome to all of mi-mi's money if you can find it because when rummaging through her purse I unearthed a traveler's check and a lot of trash. If you can find it, she owes me two dollars, after I take that its all yours!

Hermione took a tack from her mouth and shoved it into the ceiling, hard. Her jammed thumb was rewarded with a satisfying crunch as the tack poked through ancient wood and plaster. She held the crepe paper in one hand and the next tack in the other as she searched for the next spot to pin the streamers up before stepping down and moving the ladder.

Leaning far to the left, she managed to hold the magically shimmering crepe paper (it constantly flashed all the colors of the rainbow) up just where she needed it, without overbalancing. Unfortunately, this awkward angle made it nearly impossible to drive the tack in. Pushing with all her might, she managed both to poke herself in the thumb with the sharp point of it, and to bend the tack in nearly a right angle before it fell with a muted clink to the floor.

Sighing and sucking blood from her thumb, she let go of the streamers and limbed down the ladder. She spat the tacks into the palm of her hand, swallowed hard and licked her dry lips. Picking the bent tack up, she tossed it into a nearby trash can. She then moved the ladder seven inches to the left and climbed back up.

She was decorating for the pre-dance party- seventh years and dates only. It would be held in a miniature banquet hall at five the evening of the dance. She still had about a week to go, but with the amount of help she was getting from Blaise, she would need every minute. It wasn't that he wouldn't do the work, it was that he wouldn't do it in a way that met her standards. He just wanted the job done; he wasn't always willing to put in the sweat and toil that she was, and it annoyed her. Actually, pretty much anything the Slytherin did annoyed her.

And it didn't have anything to do with him calling her a headcase.

Of course not.

It had everything to do with the fact that her counterpart was a lying, cheating Slytherin. Her annoyance with him had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he thought her a complete and utter nutjob who belonged in St. Mungo's before she hurt someone.

Even if those weren't his words, exactly. He'd said that she was "a bit off, y'know? In the head." Which was worse if you really thought about it.

Which of course she hadn't.

Hermione jabbed another tack angrily into the woodwork as Blaise sauntered into the room, surrounded by a gaggle of chattering girls- mostly Slytherins, but a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had grouped around the aristocratic youth as well. Hermione even thought she saw one of her dorm-mates in the crowd, but the girl ducked her head quickly after spotting Hermione, so it was hard to tell.

Blaise stopped dead. He had obviously not counted on her being there. "Well, hello there, fellow Head." He greeted, that charming smile painted on his handsome features- No, damn it Hermione, you don't think he's attractive, he's a dirty rotten Slytherin scoundrel. "What are you doing here?" He asked, running his eyes over her.

She ignored him while she continued to struggle with the mutant crepe paper, and he looked up at her struggle with no small amount of pleasure. Of course, Hermione realized later, it could have also been the front row view of her knickers. He continued to stare up her skirt and she continued to ignore him, and the fan girls continued to giggle. When she had finally had enough of the giggling girls and the unhelpful boy her hair was a fire engine red and she spun around with a tack still in her mouth.

The quick motion caused her to lose her already precarious perch on the ladder, and her hair was bleached of color by the time Blaise caught her. He smirked again, that dreadful little Slytherin smirk that stretched across his face, showing the most blindingly white teeth to ever exist. It crinkled up his eyes and she knew with a sudden irrational burst of reason that he was going to have crow's feet when he grew up.

They would probably look good on him, though, there wasn't much that didn't. Not that she had been thinking about him or anything but it was a normal reaction. And she was approaching this from a purely analytical perspective. As Hermione thought about Blaise he watched with fascination as her hair turned from a amazing shade of white (the color suited her, she had nothing to worry about when getting old) to her once normal shade of brown) neither of them noticed the time that was passing around them until one of the gaggle of girls that always surrounded him burst into tears.

He thought she was a fifth year, Gryffindor, maybe Hufflepuff. "Blaise how could you. You said you loved me!" It was a lie, he was almost positive he didn't go for cradle robbing (unless the girl was very worth it) but it had a nasty result.

"You little whore!" One of the Slytherins jumped on her and suddenly, before he could even put Hermione down all of his girly minions were in a nasty catfight. He looked down at the girl in his arms, her hair had turned a sick green yellow. He recognized the green as disgust or loathing whichever feeling Malfoy managed to evoke in her. And it was the same yellow as her hair was whenever Weasley burst into a particularly funny turn of phrase.

He set her down gently before looking at his fan club. He went through his mental list of fight stoppers before he gave a big sigh. It wasn't loud but his fan girls, always attuned for the slightest sound from their prince. The girls stopped midway through pulling each others hair, or clawing at eyes too listen to what he was going to say. He fluttered his long eyelashes once, twice before lowering his voice and adding the slightest tinge of hurt to it. He muttered something in Italian about tomatoes and foolish love struck children before slowly turning on his heel.

The girls looked at each other and simultaneously rushed to get up and follow him. This resulted in them all ending on the floor again rubbing heads, shoulders and other body parts that had connected. They got up more slowly and flooded around Blaise, begging him to forgive them, and he gave a small smirk before he looked at Hermione again. Her hair hadn't changed, but now she was trying desperately not to laugh out loud. She was already rolling on the floor clutching her stomach.

Blaise kept his self-satisfied smirk as, with a flick of his wand, he sent all the decorations sailing to their rightful places.

The devil's minion crepe disentangled itself from where it was twisted about Hermione's limbs. (She noticed two things about it: 1) she must have not let go of it when she fell, and 2) it must be more magically enhanced than just the color. Paper made of crepe was not generally so strong.)

The streamers formed themselves into a beautiful, iridescent banner and draped itself all over the room, like fairy dust, just as Hermione had imagined it.

The garland made of gold and silver bubbles drifted up and flung itself artfully around the hall perfectly, along with everything else she had procured for the occasion.

When the golden-haired (literally gold, for now- out of awe) girl turned her honey-colored eyes back to the Head Boy, his smirk broadened.

"I'm surprised you didn't think of that charm earlier, Granger." He growled, flipping his shoulder-length hair out of his eyes. "It was much easier than finding a ladder in this place had to be. How'd you get one, anyway?"

Hermione's hair was tainted with that sickly color he'd noted earlier, but only for a moment. "I… conjured one, actually." She said, embarrassment flooding her cheeks. "But that was some incredible magic. How did you-?" She began, floundering out of amazement.

"Magic." Blaise said, turning and striding out of the room the way he came. "Come on, girls." He called to his giggling fan club. "Let's let Miss Granger get her work done."

And with that, he and the girls were gone, leaving Hermione alone in the empty room again to contemplate the entire confusing encounter. Her hair took on a lavender sheen as she puzzled over it.

Ron Weasley started to grow very fond of his wings after he had managed to fall off his broom for the third time. He was sure that the only thing that kept him from falling to a very painful death was the blue iridescent wings attached to his back. The others had laughed when they saw him hovering three feet off the ground his wings flapping languidly. He wasn't sure why exactly he kept falling off his broom, but he had a feeling that it had something to do with the Aphrodite incarnate sitting in the stands.

Hermione had taken pity on him and he was now in proper man clothes, with no heels. Thank god there were no heels anymore. He didn't see how chicks could stand it.

"Ron, get back on your damn broom! Ginny scored on you five times already!" He flushed and urged his wings to take him upwards. Unfortunately his control over his new appendages wasn't as well developed as he may wish and he ended up falling the rest of the three feet. He scowled darkly as his sister and best friend giggled insanely and he summoned his broom with an angry flick of his wrist.

Unfortunately he wasn't as good at controlling his anger and the spell that should have brought his broom flying smoothly into his hands ended up summoning all the brooms from the school. As soon as they arrived they began hitting him over the head.

He tried every spell he knew of, but they wouldn't freeze, or slow down, or burst into flames, or explode, or go attack his now uproariously laughing teammates. He managed to last five minutes before a particularly well place broom hit knocked him out.

Harry was amazed at how amazing he felt. He hadn't been this happy since… well… he couldn't quite remember just when, but it had been a while.

He wasn't getting out the Snitch today- they didn't need it, not really. His team was fabulous, they were a shoo-in for the Cup this year. He was euphoric. He just floated on his broom off to the side and watched them practice, occasionally shouting out compliments on form to the players.

And thinking of the one form he wasn't able to compliment from the pitch.

No. He told himself, shaking his head as he tore his eyes from her majestic visage as she arced across the sky on her broom. No, you cannot have these thoughts about her, she is Ron's sister. You are an awful, awful friend to be having these thoughts about her.

Still, though, her hair did glint most beautifully in the sun like that. Like a sunset. Or leaves in autumn. Or aged honey, thick and syrupy, in a jar.

She must look amazing in dress robes. Gray, he thought, a soft but sparkling gray would set off her skin and that hair…

Stop. He reminded himself, trying not to smile. Not only are you coveting your best friend's baby sister, you are thinking like an enormous poofter.

At the thought of the word poofter he started to giggle insanely. Combined with the laughter that was already wracking his body from his best friend's predicament it was enough to make him fall off of his broom. He hit the ground at almost the same time as Ron.

Ginny rolled her gray eyes and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "O.K. Team, great practice today. Beaters I need your help carrying the two idiots over there. Chasers, split up and find Hermione tell her to come to the hospital wing."

Hermione was still adding the finishing touches to the hall for the dance. It would take place the next day and she wanted it to be perfect. It was admittedly a lot easier to do the work once Blaise had come down. Not that he was doing the work but his love struck minions were eager to please and would gladly do anything he asked. She wanted to roll her eyes, really she did. But she couldn't help but be grateful and a little amused as he leaned back on one of the chairs like a king reclining on his throne and dictated orders. Until he started to order her around.

She hurled a 'Silencio!' and watched in amusement as Blaise tried to dictate but couldn't hear his voice. He tried again, once, twice and then he cast the counter-curse.

"Very amusing Hermione." He glowered at her and she gave a happy little smile as her hair turned a sunny yellow.

She looked up in surprise as two fifth years she recognized from the Quiditch team burst into the room. "Looked… everywhere…. finally….found… you…. Ron….Harry… Hospital wing" There were pants in between each of their words. As soon as their last words left their mouth Hermione's hair turned as white as her face and she took off running. The two chasers collapsed onto each other, they had run up and down ten flights of stairs and all over the castle before they thought to check in the ballroom.

Blaise hesitated a second before running after Hermione, vaulting effortlessly over the two incapacitated fifth years. He had much longer legs, being at least six inches taller then her, but she had the benefit of adrenaline on her side, plus an honest to god desire to see Potter and Weasley had, so they reached the hospital wing at almost the same time.

"What…. happened?" Hermione asked, breathing ragged and harsh, clutching a stitch in her side. Her two best friends in the world were laying unconscious, side by side, in the hospital wing.

Ginny looked up from the homework she'd been doing while sitting on the chair between the beds. "My idiot brother got attacked by broomsticks." She said curtly, jerking her head in the direction of the other redhead. "And Harry fell off his broom. He was laughing." She cocked her head to the side, a wisp of red hair falling across her eyes. "I'm not sure why. Probably at Ron, fluttering in the air with those ridiculous fairy wings of his." She rolled her eyes and made what was quite possibly the most obvious statement ever to occur to womankind:

"Boys. Can't live with them… can't Avada them."

Blaise smirked and shot her a sideways look out of those baby blues. "And why is that?"

Ginny blinked. She had noticed he was there, of course; you couldn't help but notice when Blaise entered a room, if for no other reason than the collective sigh that went through the female population. However, she hadn't really registered his presence the same way she'd comprehended Hermione's.

She blushed furiously, matching her hair. "I… erm… that is… I don't know?"

The Slytherin laughed raucously, causing Ginny to narrow her eyes angrily.

At that time, one of the boys began to stir, distracting their attention and saving Blaise from a Bat bogey hex and Ginny from a detention.

He was sure he was dead. He couldn't see anything but dark, and that was a very convincing argument in favor of dead. However, upon opening his eyes, he was flooded with a rush of white. He ached all over. Both of which placed him firmly in the "living" column.

"He's waking up!" A hushed voice hissed nearby.

Half the Quiditch team, along with about half those assembled in the stands, and the Head Boy and Girl, had gathered around his bed. He was amazed to note that his wings were fine- they'd curled up behind him on the bed.

He looked at the seemingly fragile appendages for another few moments before Hermione, noticing his lack of intrest in his surroundings figured out why he was so distracted. "Fairy wings (your wings) are very close to being unbreakable. They can withstand up to a ton of pressure placed upon them and they are unaffected by all spells that have been tested on them, which included the three unforgivables. Somewhat like griffins." He looked awed for a minute before reaching around and poking his wings as hard as he could, he ended up pulling his shoulder.

Everyone snorted as he yelped and jumped up, hitting his head on the edge of the bed which aggravated one of him many head wounds and promptly knocking him out again. Hermione and Ginny leaned on each other as they started laughing.

Pretty soon the whole hospital wing, with the exception of Blaise (who was muttering something about bloody nutty Gryffindors) were rolling around on the floor. It seemed to be happening a lot lately, Blaise had a sneaking suspicion that they were all on drugs. Maybe an over dose of cheery potion.

Madame Pomfrey came bustling into the room and kicked everyone out but Ginny, Hermione, and Blaise (much to the bemusement of every one, including Blaise). "Harry Potter seems to have a large amount of Cheery potion in his system. While I would normally not be adverse to this, it appears he also had an overdose of coffee and the combination of the two causes an effect not unlike the muggle ecstasy."

Blaise smirked triumphantly. 'I knew it!' was the predominant thought in his head.

Hermione gasped. Her hair blanched a worried off-white with a greenish tint. "Is he okay?" She asked, eyes huge and shining.

Madam Pomfrey just nodded. "I've gotten some antidote all mixed up, and once he wakes I'll have him drink it. Then we'll see about keeping it down to one stimulant at a time, hmm?"

Hermione nodded, looking at the ground when Blaise tried to meet her eyes. Her hair didn't change color in the slightest, but a light blush stained her cheeks.

Harry blinked. All of a sudden he had a terrible splitting headache. He blinked again. He was surrounded by white. Another blink and he saw the crowd of people around his bed: Hermione, Madam Pomfrey, and some Slytherin bloke he recalled having heard addressed by some girly name to the left. A fourth blink, and a final worried expression came into view.

"My angel." He muttered sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

Madam Pomfrey had time to usher everyone out and shove the antidote down his throat before he realized with mortification what he'd said.