A/N: Okay, I just couldn't give myself a break-I had to go and start my next story! I'm working on writing the third chapter already…but I thought I'd give you a taste of how it's coming!

I only own the plot and Malia, Ellie, Katelyn, Lindsey, and Madame-I don't own Hermione, Ron, Harry, or any of the HP characters. I also don't own Julliard (though I wish I did). Oh-and I wish I owned the flapper dresses.

To anyone who is experienced in ballet: I don't take ballet or know a ton about it, so some of these steps strung together might be a little weird, I dunno…Don't hate me for being inaccurate on that part!

Chapter 1: B-A-L-L-E-T Spells Pain

"Someone once said that dancers work just as hard as policemen, always alert, always tense, but see, policemen don't have to be beautiful at the same time."
--George Balanchine

…releve…pique, pique…arabesque…I thought to myself.

I was drenched in sweat.

Everyone thinks ballerinas never sweat, that they are always beautiful, graceful, and wearing pink tutus. I guess we're graceful while dancing, but I don't know about the beautiful part.

It was the summer before my twenty-second birthday, and I was in New York-in the United States! I had made it into one of the most prestigious fine arts schools in the world-Julliard, for my dancing.

I've been dancing since I was two-and I still love it! Especially ballet: it revolves around technique, which revolves around exact perfection, which is my specialty.

It was hard when I decided to come to Hogwarts-I couldn't dance all year round! During the summers, however, I attended numerous dance workshops (even one in France!), and my hard work paid off. I was now a dancer at Julliard.

I finished my routine with five fouettes and a switch leap. The dramatic music ceased, and I struck a pose. Madame Chouinard applauded along with the other girls in my class.

"Very good, Hermione, very strong technique-wise. However, you haven't quite grasped the artistic side yet. Try to feel the music. You're supposed to be in love! Feel it!"

I nodded my head. "Yes, Madame." It was the same-flawless technique, but no presence. But, think about it- I spend hours upon hours perfecting the technical side: plies, pirouettes, jetes. How are you supposed to practice how you feel; your expressions?

I left the barre room, sat on one of the pink painted benches, and removed my pointe shoes from my aching feet. I grimaced as I examined them. Two lovely, aching, bleeding blisters. Just wonderful.

"Ouch, that looks like hell," a voice drawled from behind me. It was Ellie White, another dancer in my class. "But it was worth it, wasn't it, Mya?" She grinned and removed her own pointe shoes.

I cringed once again. Ellie had picked up the habit of calling me "Mya" from-oh, I don't know where, but it was irritating, to say the least. The point is, she was probably my least favorite classmate.

"Yeah, I guess so." I looked into her mischievous blue eyes. Ellie was the troublemaker of Julliard's dance department-famous for hiding audition music and flirting with the ballet pianist, Leopold. It was a wonder she hadn't been kicked out yet.

Although I disliked Ellie, I also felt sorry for her. She wasn't exactly "overweight" per se, but she was definitely on the curvy side, and every couple of weeks, Madame Chouinard would lecture her on her eating habits, and Ellie would storm out of the barre room in a flood of tears.

"Hey, Hermione," Lindsey Coffman said, while shaking her long, butter-blonde hair out of her fierce ballerina's bun, "some of us are thinking about catching a show tonight. Wanna join us?"

"This is your last class, right?" Katelyn Samuels asked as she stowed her pointe shoes in her bag.

"Ummmm…" I ran through my schedule in my head. I just had ballet…theatre was in the morning, then lunch, then modern before ballet…jazz tomorrow, then hip-hop…and no conditioning tonight.

"I'll be there," I said happily.

"Great! It's been, what, two months since you've come out with us all? Haven't you missed the fabulous New York night air?" My best friend at Julliard, Malia Bacani, walked into the room, looking exhausted, yet exhilarated. Everyone laughed at her sarcastic comment.

Malia, in short, was beautiful. Before coming to Julliard, she lived in Hawaii. Her dark hair fell halfway down her back (when it wasn't up in a bun or French braid), and her skin was a deep brown I could never achieve, not even if I visited a tanning bed regularly. She had the amazing ability to make everyone laugh, as well as calm everyone down when there were catfights. As well as being my roommate, she was my first-and best- friend in New York. In many ways, she reminded me of Ginny Weasley.

Something in my stomach burst when the name Weasley popped into my head.

"Hey, what was that look? You okay?" Malia asked gently as the rest of the girls got up to leave, chattering on their way out.

"Yeah…you just made me think of…you know…"

Her face fell. "Oh, Hermione, I'm sorry," she apologized, her brown eyes woeful. She leaned down and hugged me tightly. "Don't worry, a night on the town with the girls'll do you good," she said optimistically. "I'm gonna run down with Ellie to get tickets; you can go ahead and get changed."

"Okay…"

We walked together until we reached the staircase. Malia walked down to meet Ellie in the lobby; I walked up to the dorms.

As I walked, I tried to sort through my thoughts, my history, my life since I'd left Hogwarts…

Graduation was sad, yet happy in some sort of way at the same time. I was Head Girl and top of the seventh year class. Harry, on the other hand, wasn't so joyful. True, he had finally defeated Voldemort, but at the cost of so many other lives: people who had died to save him, knowing that if he died, it was all over. Professor McGonagall….Hagrid…Luna Lovegood…Neville Longbottom….Tears burned my eyes as I recalled the names. Harry, after returning from the battle, seemed…well, shadowy-never the same, irreplaceable. He didn't think he was worthy of such sacrifice.

And Ron…My stomach twisted when I thought of him. He had been the one who, alongside of Harry, destroyed the flock of Death Eaters. If only I could have helped (I had already been Stunned at that point), maybe, just maybe, those people would have lived.

I fumbled to put the key in the door's lock. Finally, it opened, and I walked into the room. I dropped my bag on my bed, took a quick shower, put on my robe, and blow-dried my hair. If only I could have used magic…

After we graduated, I settled back at home and began applying for jobs at the Ministry. That's when the letter arrived.

"Oh, Hermione, look what's come in the mail!" my mother squealed, running into my bedroom one hot summer afternoon.

"What is it?" I asked curiously. It took a lot to get my mother this worked up.

"Open it!" she cried, brandishing the envelope.

I took it. It was addressed to Miss Hermione Granger. The return address was Julliard.

"Open it!"

I slit the flap with a shaking finger. I scanned the letter, gasped, and read it more carefully.

"What?" my mom asked frantically, snatching the letter. I waited silently for her to confirm it, like it was an urban legend or something. She screamed.

"Oh, baby-oh, poppet," she gasped. She read: " 'Dear Hermione: We have seen your exemplary talent and would like for you to be evaluated for instruction during the following school year. You will be attending…ON FULL SCHOLARSHIP TUITION?!'"

She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me like a boa constrictor.

"Oh, your dreams are coming true…" she breathed.

I took the letter back. "Julliard…" I whispered, staring at the coat of arms at the top of the letter. Then it finally connected. "I'M GOING! I'M GOING! I'M GOING TO JULLIARD!" I jumped up and down gleefully.

Telling Ron and Harry hadn't been so easy and blissful.

"You applied without telling us?" Ron demanded furiously. "I can't believe it! A Muggle school across the ocean?"

"She is a big girl, let her decide for herself," sigh Harry wearily. His normally unruly hair drooped, and his eyes were surrounded by hollow-looking shadows.

"You're not going, right?"

Ginny chose that moment to walk in, following Ron's comment.

"Going where?"

The room fell silent. I said carefully, "Julliard."

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. "You got in? That's amazing! Well done!" Then, a moment later, "I'm gonna miss you so much!" She hugged me and ran out of the room, wailing.

"Women…" Ron muttered gruffly.

The worst part was the departure from the airport.

After hugging a somber Harry, a sobbing Ginny, and an even louder sobbing Mrs. Weasley, I kissed my mom and dad on the cheek.

"Make us proud, honeybun," Mom said, her eyes glistening.

"She will; she always does," my dad said shakily.

I turned and prepared to walk down the runway to the plane. An arm caught me.

"'Mione…" It was Ron.

Oh no…

"Please," he begged, "please don't go. We need you here-I need you here. Who else'll look after me?"

"Ron," I said pleadingly. "I have to go."

"No, you can't. There's lots of dance schools here in London-"

"Miss, are you boarding the plane or not?" a flight attendant inquired impatiently.

I turned and looked at Ron sadly. "This is my dream…you don't understand. I have to go. I'll be back…I guarantee it." I smiled, kissed him on the cheek, and began to walk down the ramp.

"Hermione-" he called. "I-I-" His voice faltered. "I'll-um, write often."

I smiled even wider, although my heart squeezed painfully.

My last visual memory of Ron is him standing alone in the airport with one single tear running down his cheek.

The dorm door opened and a breathless Malia walked in. She looked stunning in a red '20's sequined flapper dress.

"You like?" she asked, twirling gracefully for me. "Ellie broke into the wardrobe room and-um-borrowed a bunch of these little numbers." She tossed me a black dress identical in style to hers, then examined my face.

"Hermione…is it Ron again?" she coaxed.

I nodded and swiped at my tears.

"Honey," she said soothingly, sitting down on my bed. "It's gonna be alright. Before you know it, you two'll be eating crumpets and drinking tea together at your wedding."

I burst into laughter at this thought. Malia thought everything in England revolved around tea and crumpets.

"Now, put this on," she commanded. "We've got a show to see."

"Off or on Broadway?"

"On-it's Hairspray."

"Excellent-can you hand me that, over there?"

"Sure…"

I finished dressing, twisted my hair up, and secured it with a pair of black chopsticks. A touch of red lipstick, and I was good to go.

"Ooooo…quite bewitching," Malia commented, wiggling her eyebrows. She was the only one of the girls who knew all about my other world.

Someone banged on our door. "Come on!" Ellie yelled. Katelyn and Lindsey giggled audibly.

"Let's go," I said, fixing my mascara, then heading for the door.

A/N: So…do you like it? Review please! I won't be updating till Tuesday at the earliest…sorry….

Oh, and I'm thinking of a title change, so don't be surprised if the name changes...Just to let you know...

Much love, Pepstepper