The Sugar Quill
Author: Carma  Story: Pirouettes  Chapter: Default
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.

Author’s Notes: Thanks again to the marvelous Mizaya, my beta






“ ‘That’s decided, then,’ said Hermione briskly, getting to her feet and performing a graceful pirouette.”

- Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, US pg 472




“Hurry up, would you?  I told mum we’d be back before dinner!”  Ron’s stomach growled, emphasizing his urgency.


“You didn’t have to come with me, Ron.  I told you I was perfectly capable of Apparating to and from my house alone.”  Hermione was rummaging through her bedroom closet, which caused her Muggle clothing to fly across the room.  “This is very important.  If I can find this book, it’ll give us a huge advantage when we leave for Godric’s Hollow.”


Ron stood across the room, mindlessly scanning the titles on her bookshelf as he mumbled something that sounded something like, “Mum made me come”.  He looked rather uncomfortable in Hermione’s childhood bedroom, as he was shifting anxiously on his heels, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets.  “You’re sure it’s not one of these?” he asked audibly, tilting his head to the side as he read off some of the titles of what sounded to him like defensive spellbooks. 


“No, Ron.  I’ve checked my bookcase twice.  Jinxes for the Jinxed isn’t from my collection.   I sort of… borrowed it from the Room of Requirement last year.” 


Ron’s eyes widened in realization, and he turned to grin proudly.  “Y’mean you knicked it?” 


Borrowed,” she repeated, dropping to her knees and tossing out shoes over her shoulder.  “It’s got to be in here,” she muttered to herself, ignoring Ron’s chuckles.


Ron took the time to allow himself to look around Hermione’s bedroom.  It wasn’t at all how he pictured it, besides the personal mini-library in the corner.  It was sort of… girly.  Her furniture looked as if it was made from white-painted wood, and pale yellow canopies hung over her bed.  He felt his face heating slightly as he noticed that she actually had a rather large bed—larger than his, at least.  It was neatly made and looked quite inviting, actually.  Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he directed his attention elsewhere.  He whistled impatiently as he crossed the room, and the glimmer of something shiny caught his eye.  Ron walked toward it to the higher shelf next to the window.  “Oi, what’s this?”


Hermione continued digging through the bottom of her closet.  Honestly, she really meant to clean this mess last month, but she hadn’t had time since she was summoned to the Burrow sooner than she’d expected.  “What’s what?” she said absentmindedly, not bothering to turn around.


Ron picked up the object—which he quickly recognized as a small trophy with an animal figure on top.  Hermione J. Granger—Junior Division Equestrian Champion was engraved on the stone at the bottom.  Ron didn’t know what “Equestrian” meant, but he could certainly identify that animal.  “Blimey!  Why didn’t you ever tell me you were a champion Hippogriff rider?  You said you were scared of heights!”


Hermione whirled around, not bothering to stand.  “Didn’t I tell you not to touch anything?” she said half-heartedly.  “It’s a horse, Ron.  They’re non-magical.  Horses don’t have wings.”


Ron’s face fell.  “They don’t fly?  Where’s the fun in that?”


“There have got to be some fun activities in this world that don’t involve flying for the flying-impaired!”


Ron snorted.  “There aren’t any, really,” he replied as he placed the trophy back onto the shelf.  “Unless you count snogging,” he muttered under his breath.


Unfortunately, Hermione heard his pig-headed comment and inattentively threw the nearest shoe at him as she continued to search for her book.


The pale pink slipper went straight for Ron’s head and his Keeper-reflexes allowed him to catch it with ease.  “Watch it!”  He stared at the shoe, blinking in confusion.  This was no ordinary shoe.  “What the hell?” he whispered to himself as he examined the shoe, pulling at the long, ribbon-like laces.  The tip was hard as wood, but the middle was flexible; Ron could almost bend it completely. 


Hermione sighed in frustration as she stood and moved to check her bookcase again, freezing as she saw what Ron was holding.  “You give that back this instant!” she said suddenly, sounding rather panicky as she lunged at him.


Ron was quite surprised by her reaction, which only meant that this was something that he shouldn’t be holding.  Grinning mischievously at the thought, he held it high over her head.  He snickered as he watched her jump a few times, unsuccessful to reach it.  “You threw it at me!”  He looked up at the shoe.  “What kind of shoe is this, anyway?” he asked curiously, wiggling it teasingly over her face so the shoe’s long ribbons just barely grazed the top of her head.


“It’s… for Muggles only!  You wouldn’t have ever seen it before,” Hermione said quickly, her cheeks a blazing scarlet as she waved her hands to try and get it back.  “It’s for, erm… horseback riding!”  She hated lying, but she knew Ron would never stop taking the mickey out on her if he found out the truth.


“Horses?”  Ron looked back up at that trophy, and there certainly wasn’t a shoe like this on the shiny figure’s foot.  “Bollocks.  You do know what a terrible liar you are, don’t you?”  Ron looked around and jumped over to the telephone, which was conveniently on her bedside table.  “I bet Harry’ll know what it is!  I’m glad Dad taught me how to properly use this thing.  Lucky for me I’ve got Harry’s number memorized from the last time—” He picked up the phone and began to dial (He hadn’t really memorized the Dursleys’ telephone number, but unlike Hermione, he was quite good at lying.).


Hermione panicked and pounced on her bed, nearly tackling Ron as she wrestled the shoe out of his grasp.  “Fine!  Merlin, you’re incorrigible!  It’s a pointe shoe, okay?  Just put the telephone down!”


“A what?”


“A pointe shoe!” she said exasperatedly, adverting her eyes from him.  “For ballet,”  she added in a muffled tone.


Ron stared blankly at her after he placed the telephone back onto its receiver, watching Hermione turn several shades of red.  Flashbacks of an eight-year-old Ginny in a ridiculous getup dramatically prancing around the Burrow entered his mind.  “Ballet?” Ron managed, his grin growing wickedly.  “You’re a ballet dancer?”  His hand flew to his mouth as he tried not to burst out laughing.  “Did you wear a frilly pink thing with those shoes?” he inquired urgently, looking as if Christmas had come early.  Oh, this was priceless.


Hermione tried desperately to recover her composure, holding her head high even though her cheeks rivaled the shade of Ron’s hair.  “I’ll have you know, Ronald, that ballet dancing is not an easy sport!  It takes hours of practice and perfect form and balance—it’s just like Quidditch!”


That did it.  Ron fell to the floor laughing, clutching at the stitch in his side.  “Like Quidditch! Ballet?  You’re barking!  Oh, wait until Harry hears this one.  Maybe he’ll use it to catch the snitch!”  Ron jumped up suddenly and rather ungracefully held his hands over his head while performing a few overly dramatic twirls.  “This would be good for warm-ups, anyway.  What d’you think, Hermione?”   


Hermione sat on her bed cross-legged, her arms folded over her chest as she glared at him.  “Are you quite finished?” she asked through gritted teeth, nostrils flaring.


“Not yet!” Ron performed a few more spins and flowing arm movements while humming a very out-of-tune melody to accompany his pitiful dancing.


Fuming, Hermione suddenly pulled out her wand, pointed it directly at Ron’s chest, and said very forcefully, “Robarius frivale!


Ron’s laughing instantly turned into a gasp of horror when he looked down to see his clothes transfigured into a complete ballerina outfit.  A very form-fitting pink leotard covered his body, a puffy tutu protruded around his waist, and laced-up ballet slippers were strapped to his feet and calves.  “HERMIONE!”


It was Hermione’s turn to keel over in hysterical laughter as she watched Ron struggle to pull off the tutu, which wouldn’t budge an inch.  While he was battling the tutu, Hermione jumped off of her bed to reach into one of her drawers for her Muggle Polaroid camera, and she took a perfect snapshot of Ron before he realized what was happening.  Smirking victoriously, she shook the photograph to urge it to come into focus.  “I’m sure Harry would love to see this,” she said wickedly, throwing his taunts right back at him.  “As would Ginny and your brothers, I’m sure!”


Ron froze as all of the color drained out of his face.  “You wouldn’t dare,” he said uneasily as he caught a glimpse of the photograph. 


Hermione almost felt sorry for him.  Almost.  She shoved the photograph into the back pocket of her jeans, crossing her arms over her chest.  “I’m not going to show anyone this photograph unless I have to.  Have you learned a lesson?”


Ron shifted uncomfortably.  “Yeah.  Bloody tights don’t hesitate to go right up your arse, do they?” he said angrily, reaching around to try to remedy that problem. 


Hermione pursed her lips in an attempt to stay stern, but it was obvious that she was about to burst into laughter again.  “What lesson have you learned, Ron?” she asked again, holding out her wand threateningly.  “Unless you want to return to the Burrow in that, I suggest you—”


“Don’t ever poke fun at you again!  I get it!  Now get me out of this bloody thing!”  Ron gritted his teeth, completely humiliated as he added weakly, “Please?”


With a wave of her wand, Hermione successfully transfigured Ron’s clothing back to normal.  She turned back to her drawer to slip the camera back inside when she spotted it.  “Ah!  Ron, look!”  She pulled out the copy of Jinxes for the Jinxed and hugged it to her chest. 


“Finally,” he muttered as he took the book from her, his stomach growling again.  “Let’s get out of here.” Ron had only just passed his Apparation exam a few days ago, so he hesitated.


“Go on,” Hermione urged.  “Destination, Determination…”


“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” he grumbled; there was still a soft shade of pink in his cheeks as he shut his eyes and Disapparated back to the Burrow.


Once Hermione saw that Ron hadn’t left any body parts behind, she pulled the now fully developed photograph out of her pocket and snickered lightly at the image.  After she placed the picture safely back into her pocket, Hermione raised her arms and performed a perfectly polished double-pirouette before Disapparating right behind him.


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