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Dances weren’t her thing.
That much, Hermione felt, should be evident to everyone, particularly her family—particularly her father, who was just as nerdy as she was. Still, then again, she probably should have factored in that her book-loving father also loved to go dancing with her mother, so one could definitely say dancing was his thing. And he was, according to her mother and the other women in town, actually quite good at it, to the point of causing women to swoon.
Which was a bit odd, given how much of a bookworm he was, how much of a nerd he was, having those degrees from the Muggle university so he could freely help out not only at the dentistry but also at her grandparent ’s clinic. Of course, when people asked what her parents were, she kept it simple—they were dentists, despite her father’s penchant for having many jobs, from making music with her Uncle Lettie and Uncle Cassio, which he was actually pretty good at, to being a bookkeeper at her great grandfather’s bookstore whenever he and her Uncle Lettie needed help.
Her father was anything and everything he wanted to be, an enigma of sorts yet always looking dashing. And even though Hermione wasn ’t into talking about boys as Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were, she couldn’t help but want a prince charming like her father was, a dashing gentleman. Yet, there had been absolutely no luck on this front, nor did she, that moment she saw the letter for her fourth year requesting dress robes, think there would be such a thing.
She was, after all, logical and realistic, and didn ’t think twice about the possibility of a guy asking her to come dance that she was definitely not interested in. “I don’t think I’ll go.”
“Go where my dear?” her mother said, bustling about the kitchen being one of the few days she made lunch with her father focused on reading books to Jules at the kitchen table. And Jules was perched in his lap, despite her being a year shy of possibly getting a Hogwart’s letter, following along as he read her the picture book. And Jules had been adamant that she didn’t like reading and liked being read to, although she’d readily attempt to sneak Hermione’s books away.
“A school dance. I don’t think I’ll attend,” Hermione said. “So there’s no need to buy me a dress or anything like that.” She was careful not to say dress robes, words her Muggle parents wouldn’t understand, particularly since, in some instances, they were the same thing.
“You should go,” her father said, the book he was reading to Jules forgotten. A stray lock of curly black hair hung down in front of his eyes; the rest pulled back into a short ponytail, the style he was in the mood for today. And he was looking at her with those grey eyes of his, which strangely reminded her of something she couldn’t quite place.
“What?”
“You might regret not going,” he said.
“But dances aren’t really my thing,” Hermione said. “And I’m sure we don’t need to go.”
“Well, if it is, you should have a dress, so we’ll go and get you one,” her mother said. “I wonder if Elizabeth would like to go with us.”
“Really?” Hermione said. “I’m not fond of clothes shopping either. And it isn’t as if a guy is going to ask me, and I’ll have to do something about my hair.” To which she looked at her dad, begging him to intervene, as when she did need to do something with her hair, she turned to him, as he had a way of getting the curls in her bushy hair untangled without much fuss.”
“But what if a guy does ask you?” He said. “And there might be a spell for that?”
To which she raised her eyebrows. “You, the one who told me not to use magic for useless things even though I’m not allowed to use magic in the house?”
“Yeah. That,” her father said. “And you knew what I meant.”
“I honestly don’t,” Hermione sighed.
“Would you rather your mother go with you or me?” he asked, meaning she wouldn’t get out of it.
Yet she chooses not to take it that way, a giddy feeling setting in. “Oh, would you? Would you really take me dress shopping?”
“I’d be delighted,” he said, not batting an eye before kissing his youngest on the top of her head. “Sorry, Jules. We’ll continue reading our book later.”
Hermione frowned, remembering what her mother said. “Should I go ask Elizabeth if she wants to go with me?”
“You should. She’d be rather put off if she was left out of dress shopping, and maybe this might convince her to actually attend your school if dances become a thing once one hits the fourth year?”
“That’s a lot of catching up on, though,” Hermione said, watching her father tense up. “Not that I don’t think she can do it, but she’s getting so behind.” She set her letter down. “I’ll just tell her we’re going to go and get a dress for a school dance and not mention the magic bit, and she can decide on her own.” To which she took off, knocking on her sister’s door.
Elizabeth opened it up, frowning. “What do you want?”
“Dad’s taking me dress shopping,” Hermione said.
Elizabeth stared, then said, “You? Dress shopping?”
“It’s a requirement this year. School dance, I guess.”
“I don’t like you,” Elizabeth said, indicating she didn’t like the idea at all.
“Oh,” Hermione said, remembering there was definite friction between them because of how brilliant Hermione was and the whole magic thing. She started to turn and leave when—
“But if I don’t go with, you’ll likely pick the most horrendous dress out. And it would be nice to surprise dad rather than having him help you pick the dress out,” Elizabeth said. “So I’ll go, but only if Jules isn’t going.”
“Why would Jules go with us?”
“Because Jules wants to do everything we do, but do I need to answer why that would be a disaster?”
“She’d insist I’d get a horrid dress with tons of bright colors here and there,” Hermione said.
“Yes. She’d pick something out that a little kid would wear, and she’d be upset if you didn’t get the dress,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll get ready to go. Be ready in ten.”
“I’ll tell dad that,” Hermione said.
“You really should learn to take ten yourself,” Elizabeth said.
“I don’t see why. Or are you going to tell me it’s because even mom takes ten?” Hermione asked.
“No, I was thinking that it’s a dad who tends to take care of his personal appearance more than mom.”
“And?”
“It’s not normal.”
“He’s our dad,” Hermione said. “And you know he has his quirks.”
“Yes, well—I’m taking my ten now,” Elizabeth said, closing the door to her room.
Hermione sighed, shaking her head before heading down the stairs, letting her father know Elizabeth would be down in a bit. They then both headed towards the local dress shop, where there were quite a few gowns.
And when they arrived, the shop clerks stared—they specifically stared at her father before turning to whisper to each other. Elizabeth stuck her chin in the air, a slight tremble to her posture. Hermione ’s father smiled, putting on his usual charm. “Hi. My daughters and I are looking for…”
“They’re your daughters?” the first clerk said, her brown eyes going wide as curly red hair cascaded around her face.
“You’re way too young for them to be your daughters!” the second said, pushing a pencil behind her ear along with a strand of light brown hair.
“He’s in his thirties,” Elizabeth said. “And yes, he’s our dad, and he’s taking us dress shopping.”
“Oh! Well, why don’t you sit over there, and we’ll help the girls out?”
He nodded, to which started the rather uncomfortable—there was a reason Hermione didn ’t like clothes shopping. Still, she finally settled on a periwinkle blue dress that was absolutely to die for, and wouldn’t look too out of place among the other girls, or at least she hoped. And Elizabeth picked out a shorter seafoam green dress to which came the time to show them off. And there was that sparkle in his eyes when he saw her, and he said, “You look lovely in those dress robes.”
Which, of course, made the two women look at each other while Elizabeth gave their father a weird look. Hermione, however, brushed it aside, assuming he ’d taken a look at her supply list like always and thus knew that the term wizards and witches used was dress robes. “You think so?”
“Any boy not wise enough to ask you to the dance will realise what a fool he is,” he said. “Promise me you’ll tell me all about it when you return from school?” Hermione opened her mouth, knowing her mother’s moratorium about talking about magic with her father. “You don’t have to go into all the magical details. Just the important ones.”
Which was, of course, his way of saying she could talk about it without talking about magic. Yet, it felt nice that he was interested, mainly since she ’d not been able to speak to him about school since that debacle was going with her to get school supplies and sent him into an anxiety attack where he was out for the rest of the day. “I will. I don’t think anybody will ask me, but should you really be encouraging me like that?”
“What do you mean?” He asked.
“What she means is dads are supposed to be overprotective and want to interrogate the guy their daughters are going out with?” Elizabeth sighed, having rolled her eyes when her father used the word magical.
“They are?” He said, making the shop clerks giggle. “I can’t exactly do that, though, but I’m sure your sister has enough sense that I don’t have to, as do you.”
“So I can start dating?” Elizabeth asked.
“Take that up with your mother. I dare not give you an answer that she doesn’t approve of on this matter,” he said, making Elizabeth let out a groan.
“Of course, you’d say that.”
“And you like the dress?” Hermione said.
“Of course, but I hope you have a delightful time. Your mother and I, we enjoy going dancing with each other. It’s,” he paused. “It’s one of those magical moments between your mom and me, I guess, that I hope both you girls experience with someone special.”
“Dad! You’re embarrassing us!” Elizabeth blurted out.
“You mean he’s embarrassing you,” Hermione said. “Particularly since he used the word magical again.” She glanced at herself in a nearby mirror. “I think mom will like the dress as well.”
“Most definitely,” he said.
She hadn ’t expected him to ask her to show it off, let alone if he could have a dance with her while her mother took pictures, the entire thing flustering Elizabeth while Jules wanted a dance as well, one with her dad and one with her older sister, because Jules—well, Jules was Jules. Meaning even if she didn’t attend, the dress didn’t feel like a waste.
Not that it was, with Krum asking her, though Ron did manage to ruin it, both things she couldn ’t wait to tell her father when she got back home, thoroughly planning on keeping her promise.