Unofficial Portkey Archive

Author: nacey
Email: tosh@opera.iinet.net.au
Category: Romance, humour
Rating: R
Spoilers: PS, CoS, PoA, GoF

Timeline: For the sake of my sanity, 806 Never Happened.
Summary: Christmas has hit Hogwarts in Harry's final and seventh year, and it's up to Ron to organize the Christmas Party to beat all Christmas Parties. Harry has no time to help however; he's made Hermione swear off text books for a week and she's made him swear off Quidditch. Ron's life is marred by a schoolboy crush on Fleur Delacour, but he's helped along by the companionship of Lavender and Parvati as they help him out with the party. Hilarity ensues. (I hope).
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author notes: This story I started in December 2002. It is now January 2004. It was a Secret Santa challenge that blew up in my face. To the girl I owe this to (God, I forget who you were), here's your fic. Sorry it's late. :T I hope you don't mind me sharing it with everyone. Here was my challenge:

*a British television celebrity mentioned (I mentioned three, I think…)

*Ron Weasley teasing Draco Malfoy and completely succeeding

*Harry and Hermione being trapped somewhere whilst the Christmas party is going on

*Ron going crazy trying to find them, with Fleur Delacour, and both of them arguing with each other over where the two could possibly be

*Fleur teaching a class and having difficulties because of her accent

I want to thank my audience readers, and my beta-readers Anne Urbanski and Lissanne Jones. Without them this fic wouldn't be quite so polished and pretty. Gods bless you both.

~~*~~

Chapter One

Harry Potter was determined that nothing was going to ruin his Christmas. There were a number of things in his chaotic last year at Hogwarts that could throw his good mood to the winds, but as he'd agreed to himself, he was not going to let it happen. Nope. The only thing that threatened this, besides Malfoy's claim that his father was going to get him a brand-spanking new Cirrus Farpoint for Christmas (a broom which Harry had been coveting for some time now, even though it wasn't that far superior to the Firebolt), was Hermione's current state of well-being.

He quite simply hated to see Hermione worked up or upset, and taking this year into account, he'd been rather worried for her for most of it. She'd been in a particularly bad state all year for many reasons; one of which was that the delectable and ravishing (as Ron so often described her) Miss Fleur Delacour, who had been teaching at the school since their sixth year, had now been made a proper teacher, instead of a mere aide. She was now Professor Delacour, and it was with much gritting of teeth and many steely glares that Hermione referred to the blonde bombshell as such.

Two things were cause for great amusement for the other students during Fleur Delacour's classes. Firstly, Hermione would become about as frightening as McGonagall. She had become able, over nigh two years of putting up with Fleur, to glare her into next week. Fleur disregarded it coolly and took advantage of her higher status. This tended to make Hermione seethe with contempt.

Secondly, Ron Weasley's behaviour seemed to get ridiculously strange during his classes with Fleur. He'd become more of a smart-arse, his heckling reaching even the best efforts of his legendary older twin brothers, Fred and George, and he'd openly flirt in an altogether roguishly charming way. To put it simply, when he got in those moods he put Errol Flynn to shame. He wasn't the gangly nervous gulping boy of fourteen that he'd been when he'd first met Fleur, and if he'd tried his efforts on anyone other than the icy Veela, he most definitely would have succeeded. Hermione seemed to get particularly angry at this, and a fair few of the students found this most amusing.

Of course, this was the least of Hermione's worries. She was not only Head Girl that year, but with the NEWTs upon her she was at the end of her tether, having little energy to put up with any other sort of upset. Then her parents came through with the news that they had to spend some time with some important people over Christmas. Their hobnobbing was becoming a very frequent occurrence, and this time it was her father's new partners that he was venturing to open a practice with. It would be bigger, whiter and more antiseptic smelling than the old one, with magazines newer than 1993 and of a kind other than Readers' Digest and Women's Weekly. His partners had invited them on a holiday to Paris over the Christmas week, and they told Hermione she might as well stay back at Hogwarts.

From what Harry had garnered from Hermione's stressful ramblings as she picked through library books and scribbled down notes furiously, or before she ran off to the next Prefect meeting, she had been looking forward to having this time to be with her parents, to sit back and watch TV, to tune out of the Wizarding world for a few precious days before it exploded in her face for the finals. He thought she could also probably use some time away from Ron, who only seemed to get her into a rigorous lather these days. He talked about Quidditch, Fleur, or what he'd do once he'd got out of Hogwarts, which he hadn't decided yet, and his seeming lack of concern drove Hermione right up the wall.

"Honestly! All I wanted to do was to sit back for five minutes and watch some old episodes of French and Saunders!" she pouted, looking very miserable. "Now I have to stay here and watch Ronald Weasley is Chris Barrie as Ace Rimmer, put up with bloody Malfoy during this meeting and consider the prospect of the early signs of high blood pressure!" As if on cue, her cheeks grew red. The poor girl looked nearly in tears.

Harry sighed, hanging his arm over her shoulders and squeezing her gently. "You need to relax a bit, Hermione. You should take this week off. Really. You were going to anyway, right?"

She gave a slow, uncertain shrug.

"Do it," he said, patting her arm sharply before pulling his arm away.

She gave a defeated sigh. "Perhaps. But what will I do? There's so much to be done here! At least at my parents' house I was far away from here and they would never let me get my things from my trunk. Here, I'm surrounded by temptation!" She looked to Harry with large brown frightened eyes, standing on tiptoe to meet his own green eyes closely. "Things to organise! Students to keep in line!" She clutched his arm, almost quivering in fear. "Exams to study for! Big fat juicy books just lying around for me to flick open at the slightest provocation and before I know it I'm having a mental breakdown over the Arithmancy exam!!"

With her wild hair, flushed cheeks and gleaming eyes, Harry considered that Hermione was extremely amusing when she was stressed out. He pinched her chin in his thumb and finger and tutted.

"Don't be silly," he said. "For a week, I won't let you."

She moaned then, turning away and gripping her elbows in nervous kneading. "But I really *should* study anyway, I mean-"

"Hermione," Harry said, stopping her and turning her around. "All you have been doing for the past six months is eating, sleeping, studying, learning, prefecting and helping me out of scrapes," He shook her by the shoulders gently as he said, "You need to stop! For just a few days, you need to stop worrying about anyone else but yourself!"

Hermione let out a great sigh, nodding. "You're right." She looked down for a moment, considering her black Mary Jane shoes, and then glanced up to him with soft brown eyes. "Will you really not let me?"

He nodded. "Not until you've relaxed."

She nodded again, putting her hands over his and squeezing them. "Right. The Christmas week then. No work. No Prefecting. No-" She gulped. "No studying." Her eyes grew wide and she stared at Harry. "What about light reading?"

He tilted his head and looked wary. "Hermione…"

She whimpered. "Fiction only?"

He sighed. "All right. Fiction is allowed, but should I see a text book within five feet of you after tomorrow-"

"All right," she said. "Agreed."

"And," Harry said, pointing at her, "I'll forbid Ron to speak of Miss Delacour in front of you." He had the delicacy not to call her Professor in front of Hermione.

There was a flicker of a glower behind Hermione's eyes and she gave a sharp sigh. "Good luck!"

With that, she turned and strode towards the empty classroom they used for the Prefects meetings. Perhaps it wasn't the wisest of things for Harry to talk about before the Prefects meeting. After an hour and a half of fevered debating and discussion, Draco Malfoy left the meeting with his tail between his legs and his pride battered beyond recognition. Everyone seemed pretty set to steer clear of Hermione for the rest of the year, even the Gryffindors, who lived with her.

Hermione went to bed as soon as she got back to the Common Room, and Ron walked in behind her from the meeting, shaking his head. It was a great source of pride for Mrs. Weasley that Ron was also a Prefect for Gryffindor. No one was more surprised than he was when he got his letter, and he wondered who had been drinking when they addressed the envelopes to be sent out to the students. He thought it even more of a miracle that it wasn't a mistake.

"She's wound up tighter than Filch on Leaving Day," he said with amazement.

Harry nodded, sitting by the fire and looking thoughtful, his homework scattered about him.

"Ron, I'm worried about her."

Ron huffed a laugh and sat across from Harry. "Tell me something the whole world doesn't know about already."

Harry looked up at Ron from his Charms essay and looked surprised. "Excuse me?"

"You've been fretting over her for the past - " He gave a soft laugh. "Well I was going to say three months, but truth be told, you've been on your toes about her since the beginning of the year."

"She's taken a lot on," said Harry, a touch defensively. "She's my best friend, Ron. I don't want to see her burn out."

"She won't," said Ron, waving a hand. "This is just her coping mechanism at work."

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. And even if it is, I'd rather her relax properly this week, and that means no egging her on." He eyed Ron meaningfully at this point and the redheaded fellow groaned.

"Oh don't *start*," he said.

"I mean it, Ron," Harry said. "No quips, barbs or digs about studying, being a Head Girl, her hair, her habits or her cat. Just nothing, okay? Nothing."

Ron groaned again and nodded, "Fine, I'll avoid her for a week."

Harry smirked a little and nodded back at him. "Maybe that's not such a bad idea."

With that out of the way, Harry felt confident that perhaps Hermione might be able to de-stress over the next few days sufficiently enough to be able to tackle the last portion of her year without losing the rest of her mental faculties. This was aided by a little occurrence the following morning at breakfast. It was a vitalising little verbal spar between Harry, Ron and Malfoy, and it was far more amusing to Hermione than ten episodes of French and Saunders end on end, and just as relaxing.

Harry had been tucking into breakfast - porridge with a dribble of treacle - with Ron next to him and Hermione across from him, when Malfoy had sauntered over to their table, fingering the silver button on his cloak superiorly.

"Looking forward to the Quidditch season, Potter?" asked Malfoy. "Oh that's right, you probably won't. You're on an outdated broom and the best keeper you can rustle up is him on a Cleansweep." He nudged his chin towards Ron.

"The Weasleys are quite the talented family when it comes to Quidditch," said Harry airily. "And you should know full well that it's not the broom the makes the seeker, Malfoy."

Ron smirked. "He should. You kicked his arse well enough that year when you were on the two thousand," he said, referring to the Nimbus 2000 Harry had when Malfoy had the 2001 model.

"Well we all know what boot-lickers the refs are around here," Malfoy said sharply. "You'd be buggered in the real league, Potter."

Now Ron chuckled openly. "At least they'd let him in," he said. "Can't pay your way into their ranks, Malfoy. Don't think you'd stand a chance."

"I'm not the one breezing my away around on my supposed fame," Malfoy spat, a glint of desperation in his eyes. "I don't think you've had to put any real effort into anything your whole life."

"You'd know all about that," said Ron, enjoying his good run of witticisms, "Getting 'Daddy' to pay for everything!" He giggled, drawling 'Daddy' out in a particularly whiny and, truth be told, Malfoyesque way. Malfoy ground his teeth.

"At least my father can support his family," Malfoy said, but it was lost in Harry and Ron's snickering. Hermione shook her head at this, tilting her head and wincing at Malfoy as if he were wearing pin-striped MC Hammer pants.

"Malfoy, do get lost, won't you? Watching you get brow-beaten this badly is really rather painful."

Malfoy seethed a moment at the three of them before turning and skulking off, muttering threats under his breath at them. Both Ron and Harry broke into applause at Hermione's critical last blow, and shook her hand.

"Well done, very well done, Granger," said Ron with a grin.

"Wouldn't have been able to do it without your wonderful set-up," she said and smiled.

Harry grinned. It was good to see her smile for once. She'd been frowning and glowering and pouting for far too long. Her mood was momentarily aided even further that day due to Fleur Delacour's minor slip-up in Defense Against the Dark Arts. They were speaking of enchanted bogs and water masses, not in the actual curriculum but something they veered off onto during one of Delacour's informative lectures. The worst kind of enchanted water body, she said, was one of despair and depression.

"Zey are ze worst to encounter," she said, tapping her wand into her hand primly, sitting on her desk with her legs crossed, thankfully in long black sleek pants so that the boys could concentrate for more than two seconds. "Zey will often suck you deep into ze mires, an' you will be too gripped wit' despair to fight zem."

"You can fight them though, right?" said Neville. "I mean there are spells or counter-curses, right?"

Fleur lifted a brow, looking rather superior as she said, "Actually, 'ah-peenis is ze best defence!"

Hermione blinked, her cheeks growing red and her lips pursed together. The rest of the class stared at Fleur in shock. Did she just say…?

Ron rasped, "Uhm… could you repeat that?"

Fleur frowned fitfully and sighed. "I said, 'Ah-peenis-"

The class broke into riotous laughter, they just couldn't help it. Hermione even giggled, hiding behind her hand, tears streaming down her face. It was all too much. Poor Neville just looked confused.

"How's a puh- a penis supposed to help?"

Fleur was downright flustered now, and a blush roared on her ivory cheeks.

"'Ah-PEENIS!" she exclaimed, "Haah-PEENIS!"

This only made things worse, and quite a few students fell out of their chairs. What she seemingly meant dawned on Neville, and his eyes brightened.

"OH! Happiness! That makes much more sense."

It was too late for Fleur. The class were in hysterics, and Harry himself could barely breathe. He was sure it was the funniest thing he'd heard uttered by a professor in some time. It was sure a gaffe he wasn't going to forget in a hurry. Unfortunately, the rest of the class weren't willing (or able) to forget it either. At the ruckus she caused, Fleur rolled her eyes tiredly, and tried to calm down the class but it was very much in vain. It was a room filled with sixteen and seventeen year olds - half of whom were male. She would most likely be hearing about this for the rest of the year. Harry glanced to Hermione, just to see if this amusement had cheered her any.

Much to his surprise, Hermione was frowning at the class around her, and she looked to Fleur then, sympathy in her eyes. Harry found himself feeling rather amazed. In the same position, say if Harry saw a whole class of students laughing at Draco Malfoy, he wouldn't feel bad at all. Indeed, when he had been able to get people mocking Malfoy, he felt rather triumphant (since usually it was the other way around). To Harry's even greater surprise, when the class ended, Hermione decided to stay behind.

"You feeling all right?" he asked her. She nodded.

"I'm fine," she said. "I just wanted to talk to Fleur. I mean…" She frowned. "Professor Delacour."

Harry nodded. "Want me to stay?"

Hermione's feelings for Fleur bordered on neurotic at times, and he was a tad worried. Hermione shook her head.

Harry went back to the Common Room and commandeered the best chair by the fire. Thankfully it was empty, and he usually never kicked kids out of it so this was a good thing. Embarrassingly enough, Ron or Dean would often tell any younger students to rack off should they be sitting there. As such, nobody sat in the closest high-backed chair by the fire. Harry sat there, eyes closed, feet up on a pouffe, just breathing and thanking God the Christmas holidays were here and soon the castle would be mostly empty. Quiet steps and the creak of the painting at the hole alerted Harry that someone had just come back, and he tried to guess by the sound of the steps who it was. He smiled a little to himself.

"Feel better?"

There was a shuffle, a sigh, and the sound of someone collapsing into the chair across from him.

"A bit," said Hermione, and Harry felt a thrill that he'd figured right. "Oh it was really dreadful, what happened to her."

Harry couldn't help but giggle, but seeing as he was now more of a man than a boy, it came out as an infectious deep chuckle. "It was pretty funny." He opened his eyes and looked at Hermione. She was wringing her fingers, twisting her lips a little, battling with herself.

"All right, the slip was, but-" She sighed and flapped a hand. "You don't make fun of someone's accent like that. I mean, poor Fleur!"

Harry couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "Poor Fleur? Goodness gracious me, you'll be feeling sorry for Malfoy next."

Hermione cocked a brow. "I wasn't aware that you thought Miss Delacour in the same league as Malfoy."

Harry shook his head. "No, no, no, I have nothing against her. It's just blindingly obvious that you loathe the very ground she walks on."

"That may be," Hermione said, "But a decent human being doesn't wish such things on someone merely because they rub them the wrong way."

"What about Malfoy?"

Hermione tilted her head at Harry. "Malfoy is an insufferable git who gets pleasure out of other people's pain and unhappiness." Hermione huffed and looked into the fire. "Fleur Delacour is just swimming through life in a way I find totally unbearable."

"Aaah!" Harry lifted his brows. He'd often wondered why Hermione couldn't stand Fleur, and every time he asked her she changed the subject. "So that's why you hate her so much, is it?"

"Oh I don't hate her," Hermione sighed. "I hate things about her but…" She shook her head. "I've been very immature the past year and it's made things worse for me, not Fleur. I'm giving it up."

Harry rubbed his bottom lip thoughtfully, staring into the fire. "Heh. And everyone thought it had something to do with Ron…"

Hermione did a double take in Harry's direction when he said this and she looked horrified. "You're kidding me!"

Shaking his head, Harry smirked. "Parvati and Lavender were absolutely convinced you were secretly in love with him."

"Oh, for goodness sakes!" she gasped, horror changing to distaste. "Of all the people! Those two are thicker than I thought, I mean really!"

"So it's not Ron then?" Harry, for some reason, wanted to make absolutely sure that she had no jealousy regarding Ron. He wasn't sure why, he wasn't even going to think on it, but it was just an idle thing that he wanted to get straight.

"Of course not," she tutted. "I have professional envy of Fleur, not romantic." She scowled a little. "I mean, if she wasn't part Veela, if she wasn't so beautiful and charming, I doubt she would have gotten so far, getting a position at one of the most desired schools in Europe, only a year after finishing Beauxbatons!" Hermione's scowl faded, and she looked sad. "At least… that's what I thought."

"What do you think now?"

She shrugged. "I really have no idea. I walked into the classroom, apologised for the class's behaviour and walked right out of there. I didn't say much else to her, but I think I should talk to her again soon."

Harry nodded. "I think getting over this resentment might be very liberating for you."

Hermione chuckled. "You sound like one of my father's psychologist colleagues."

Harry looked puzzled. "Why would a dentist have a psychologist for a colleague?"

"Don't ask," Hermione smirked.

~~*~~

Ron Weasley giggled at Fleur's slip up, but very quickly the moment had lost its humour. He watched the class laugh riotously, but he didn't find if funny anymore. After the class had filed out he was surprised to see that Hermione stayed behind. He stood by the door, waiting quietly, ears attentive.

"'Ermione, can I 'elp you?" Fleur's voice was tired.

"Er, well, no, I just…" Hermione seemed to mumble quietly and she sighed. "What I mean to say is that I thought the class was rather horrid to you today. I wanted to apologise for their behaviour."

Fleur was quiet for a moment before she spoke. "You 'ad as much amusement from my unfortunate accent as anyone," she said. "Don' you find your apology a leetle … eepocritical?"

Hermione gave a hot sigh. "I found the initial slip rather amusing, I will admit," she said, "But I thought the class went too far, and I did not participate in running the joke into the ground. I apologised, Miss Delacour. I had hoped you would have accepted it."

"I'm sorry," Fleur said after another long quiet moment. "It is rude of me to s'row it in your face. Forgive me."

"Only if you forgive me first."

Ron smiled, eyes roving over the tapestry across the hall from him as he listened to Fleur and Hermione come to some sort of unspoken agreement.

"All right. We are both sorry and both forgiven."

"Right!" Hermione's voice sounded lighter, happier. "Right well, I better be off. I've got a lot of studying to do so… well… yes! I'll see you around, I suppose."

At that, Ron ducked off around a corner so that Hermione didn't see him standing there and listening. He watched Hermione stride lightly from the Defense Against the Dark Arts class and raced back to it after she'd gone around the corner. Fleur was inside, her long platinum swaths of hair up in a knot on her head, her cloak over a svelte and very stylish black suit. She was sophisticated, elegant… Ron wondered what the hell he was doing even flirting with her day after day. When it came down to it, he couldn't really help it. She gathered some scrolls in front of her, tapping them straight and rolling them up in a red ribbon before tucking them under her arm, and taking up a leather-bound file she turned and strolled to the door. Glancing up she saw Ron in the doorway and sighed heavily.

"Ronald," she said. "'Ave you come to apologise too?"

Ron blushed and shrugged. "Yeah well… Hermione kinda beat me to it."

"Don't worry," Fleur said, a touch darkly, "She 'as not gained my affections any more than you would have."

At that, she slipped past him and began down the hallway. Ron jumped to a run, chasing her down.

"Wait," he said. "I thought it was rotten, what happened today."

"Of course you did," she said. "Zat is why you were laughing so 'ard."

"Fleur, you said penis!"

She shot a glare to Ron. "It was a meestake."

"Yes, a very funny one," Ron said. "But I mean, they went a bit far, I'll admit. Listen, I'm sorry I laughed, okay? I really am."

"Ronald, is zere any reason why you are chasing me like a stupid puppy?" she asked him. "You've made your apologies."

Ron stopped, hurt welling in his eyes. "Well, thanks a lot. I cared enough to bloody well come to make sure you were okay, and this is the thanks I get?"

Fleur turned slowly on her heel, her cool blue eyes regarding him for a moment. "I thank you for your apology, and I accept it. Your …" She paused and flared a nostril with distaste, "motives for such an apology are in question, but I will not be less than a lady and spurn it."

Ron couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "You don't trust a single man on this earth, do you?"

Fleur looked amused then. "I trust plenty of zem." Her amusement slid off her face. "Mos' of them are gay, or related to me."

The hurt that had splashed in Ron's heart a moment ago expanded, and he gripped his robe a little. "Is it because I'm poor? Or that I'm still in school? Is that why you treat me like this?"

A wrinkle of a frown touched Fleur's brow, and she walked right up to him so that she was just within his personal space. She was a few inches shorter than Ron, and considering he was past six foot, she wasn't a short woman by any means.

"You s'ink I am zat shallow?"

"I don't know," Ron said. "You've not said two words for me to find out."

She huffed. "It is not because of your financial status, nor your age. Perhaps it never occurred to you zat cat-calling me and treating me like a walking sex object might 'ave some'zin' to do with it?"

Ron frowned, rolling his lips slowly. Guilt now replaced the hurt, and he looked to his feet. "I was only trying to get you to like me."

She touched his chin, tilting his head down, and he thought his head might explode. "You cannot 'get' me to like you, Ronald. I will 'like' you because I will shoose to." She smiled kindly then. "You are a very sweet boy when you forget you are a man."

He blinked at her. She thought he was a man? His now near-exploding head felt light.

"Oh. I mean right, I mean- Thanks, I think."

Her smile widened and she dropped her hand. "I mus' go mark zese papers. You go 'ave a nice time w'is your friends."

Ron nodded faintly, watching her turn and saunter off. She walked like her feet never made contact with the ground, and her cloak fluttered about her, making her look like some Ice Queen dressed to slip into the night. Ron had no idea his brain could wax lyrical like it was at that moment, but it was making him a little ill. He turned and plodded away, feeling as if all his sense had fluttered away from him and left him a thoughtless zombie. His legs moved as his brain was elsewhere, and after a while he found himself at the portrait hole.

"Orange acid-pop," he muttered, and crawling through the hole he heard laughter.

Looking up, he saw Harry and Hermione before the fire, talking together, and at last Hermione looked much more relaxed than she had been for the past few months. He smiled faintly, glad to see her happy again.

~~*~~

Harry chuckled with Hermione, her eyes dancing with merriment as she laughed. He thought maybe he might sigh at the sight, as he hadn't seen her laugh for years and he realised that he missed it. And really, before things had gotten terribly serious for them on the Voldemort front, she didn't laugh too much anyway. She was too busy getting Ron off her back. He wondered for a moment why she stuck with them, what on earth they'd done to deserved her unwavering friendship? For years he'd just accepted her as there, taking her for granted. He'd never really stopped to look at her for who she was. It now occurred to him that she'd changed from the uncertain girl so aching to prove herself. She walked taller, with more pride. She'd grown into her vast mind, as it were, some wisdom there now to temper her thirst for knowledge. And there was a strength, a real strength in her that Harry found just a little intoxicating. He blushed at the thought of that, but there was no other way to put it. No other girl he'd ever met had that cool assurance about her like Hermione did, like nothing dark or terrifying could shake her. Yes, it was very clear to him now as he thought about it - this about Hermione drove him a little crazy. He chuckled to himself and pushed it away. All these years being beaten about trying to save people had made him lose his faculties, he was quite sure of it.

Hermione now twirled the end of a lock of hair in her long fingers, grinning and gazing into the fire, talking of happy memories of her childhood. Embarrassing stories of her parents, of how it was to have strange things happening to her when all she knew, she was a regular Muggle girl.

"It was madness," she said. "One day my father came home with the furniture from his waiting room. He bought some ghastly blue couches and puffy chairs for the waiting room, and we got stuck with this Bauhaus meets Art-Deco fire-engine red calico and chrome arrangement." She giggled, and Harry laughed too at the awful mental picture. "Honestly, it was like a Swedish ergonomic chair convention!" They laughed again and Hermione looked to him, waving a hand to quiet him. "No, that's hardly all of it. I was annoyed with them because they got rid of the old ratty comfy sofa we used to have. It was a worn out chesterfield leather lounge suite and it needed fixing and my parents just couldn't be bothered and threw it out. I was so heartbroken, I had a dream that night that the old sofas came along and ate up the new chairs." She giggled. "The next morning we walked in and there they were - the chesterfield lounges - like they'd never been gone!"

Harry shook his head in wonder. "That's amazing. Transfiguring whole lounge suites at age five."

Hermione blushed and shrugged, "Well, I'm sure you've done something rather nifty in your youth."

Harry squinted, thinking hard for a moment, pursing his lips in thought. "Uhm…. No… oh, wait… oh yes!" He looked rather modest then. "I apparated onto a roof."

Hermione gasped. "You didn't!"

Harry nodded. "I was running away from a beating and I wished I was somewhere out of the reach of my stupid cousin. Next thing I knew I was cowering against the chimney on the roof of my primary school." Harry looked dryly reminiscent. "I was underfed for a month for that."

A frown formed on Hermione's face. It was the same frown that was always there when he mentioned his bad treatment from his aunt and uncle. He reached forward and took one of her hands, squeezing it gently.

"Don't worry about it, Hermione," he said. "I don't."

She sighed fitfully and nodded, "I know. I think that's what gets to me." She gave a sad smile.

"Hey," Harry reached forward, deftly stroking her cheek as if to ward away her sadness. "You're on a holiday. No pouting."

Hermione's expression stilled, her eyelids drifting lower in a flutter. Harry paused, the back of his knuckles still at her cheek, his whole arm tingling at the electric touch. The closest thing he'd ever felt to it was when he'd picked up his wand for the first time, and it was nowhere near as enjoyable as this. His brow twitched down, confusion flooding him. Hermione opened her eyes then, meeting his. That feeling that the touch gave him swamped him again and he felt like he'd fallen a good dozen feet off his broom. He cleared his throat, jerking his hand away and giving a lost-looking smile.

"Well…"

Hermione looked down, wringing her hands together, a blush rich in her cheeks. "Yes…"

Thankfully (or maybe not, Harry couldn't figure out yet), Ron stumbled in the hole at that moment, and there was a peaceful smile on his face.

"Hey," Harry said. "Been talking to Fleur again?"

Ron's cheeks blushed redder than Hermione's and he nodded.

"Just thought she could use some company after what happened in class today."

Harry couldn't help but snigger. "Oh yes." Hermione hid the smirk on her face, and Ron just sighed, trying to battle his own.

"Poor Fleur," Ron said, plodding over to a chair next to them and sinking down into it. "I've never seen her so embarrassed."

Hermione bit her tongue and just nodded. Ron looked rather amazed at this.

"What? No witty remark?"

She shook her head. "Nope. I'm on holiday. Harry said."

Harry smiled at this and he nodded.

"Fair enough," said Ron. He lifted his hand then. "And I promise to try not to tease you this week."

Hermione looked like she was trying to hold in a laugh, and she tilted her brows up, utterly amused. "Don't pull a muscle, will you, Ron?"

Ron ground his teeth and eyed Harry. "This woman!"

Harry grinned. Yes, that woman. He leant on a propped hand, lifting his brows and looking to Hermione knowingly. "I think this relaxing thing works well for you, Hermione."

"Well, sorry to piss on your parade but I'm not sticking around to be Hermione's next de-stressing exercise." Ron gave a wry winsome smile to Hermione, who just smirked at him in response. "I'm off to see where my 'Committee' is, keep things straight for Christmas."

Harry nodded, "Have fun."

Ron nodded and got up, calling "See you!" as he walked out the door in bouncing strides. Hermione watched him go and then looked to Harry.

"What did you do to him?" Hermione said with a disbelieving smile. "He didn't tease me once! He didn't even look like he wanted to!"

"Nothing," Harry said, an intrigued glint in his eyes. "It's probably got something to do with Fleur."

Hermione smirked. "Hmm… I wonder what she said to him?"

Harry shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe she mocked him a little differently today, gave him the illusion that he was getting somewhere with her."

"Oh dear," Hermione said through a pitying frown, "He deserves better than to be led on by her, really!"

"I don't know, he seems like he rather enjoys it." He stretched in his chair, arcing his back and pushing out his arms with a yawn. "God, these late nights of studying are getting to me."

Hermione moaned in agreement, straightening in her chair and yawning herself. She waved a hand in his direction and tutted. "Oh look, you've made me yawn now."

Harry just grinned at her.

He spent the rest of that afternoon talking to Hermione. They went for a walk to wake themselves up as the warm womb-like Common Room was not conducive to lively spirits, and they talked about their much anticipated Christmas party. Whether the seventh years stayed back at Hogwarts or went home, no matter the weather, no matter what, they made it to Hogsmeade for the annual seventh years' Christmas party. It was usually in some kind of rented shack or cottage in the area surrounding the main village - close enough to an alcohol supply, far enough away not to be so loud as to be located by unwanted guests (or Hogwarts professors). These parties were notorious for their alcohol, wild music and wilder fun and games, and quite frankly, Harry had been really looking forward to it all year.

The professors weren't entirely supportive of this tradition, as the students were under the legal drinking age. Admittedly, it was only by a year in the most extreme of cases, but they couldn't have it. As such, the Christmas parties were never in the same place twice, and while McGonagall always kept an ear out, Snape neurotically so, Dumbledore looked upon the tradition with a knowing humour. The students moved about each year, most of the time from the cottages and shacks that dotted the countryside around Hogsmeade, or in the tiny patches of residential townhouses that huddled near the main thoroughfare of the village. One of the more well-to-do students would rent a place for the weekend, or if there was no well-to-do student, they'd have a pool. This year they were lucky. Ron's older brothers Fred and George put Harry's monetary gift to good use over the years, and they actually managed to have their one thousand gold galleons blossom into thousands upon thousands of galleons and a thriving business of their wonderful Wizard Wheezes. Despite the fact that they'd long been graduated from Hogwarts, they were ever the humanitarians when it came to spreading good cheer and that year gave Ron fifty galleons towards the Christmas party. Not to be outdone, Draco Malfoy pledged one hundred. The Gryffindors, in turn, did not want to be outdone by Malfoy. They pledged various amounts, and during all this blind promising of money, Harry pledged thirty galleons and Hermione ten. Then Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw stepped in to even the scores. By the time this was all finished they'd raised nearly five hundred galleons for the party, and charged Ron Weasley with the responsibility of organising the party details (most likely in the hope that he could replicated the sterling effort of his twin older brothers in the famous Christmas Party of 1995).

Ron hadn't seen so much gold since Fred and George's last pay cheque, and he was initially lost as to what to do with it. Luckily for him, Lavender and Parvati designated themselves the Gryffindor members of his Christmas party committee (the mythical committee he never formed), the other members of this committee including a representative from each other house. Malfoy insisted, being one of the highest paying investors as he put it, on being in on the committee too. For the first few meetings there were punch-ups and duels, at least until Malfoy was sick and tired of the whole thing and trusted that Lavender and Parvati were in enough control that no 'damned Weasley' was puttering around with his precious money.

Needless to say, it was going to be one hell of a party.

~~*~~

The Trio made one deadly mistake leading up to their Christmas: getting on the wrong side of Draco Malfoy. Not that any of them knew it, but he was none too pleased at the successful digs Ron had made to him in quick succession as he sauntered to the Gryffindor table, Hermione's sharp tongue burying him pitifully. Quite simply, the bastards weren't going to live it down. He had decided to get them somehow. He'd get them really good.

Of course, Harry, Hermione and Ron knew nothing of this. They were busy on their separate missions. Harry was dedicated to enjoying his good mood over Christmas and the added bonus was getting to share it with Hermione, who was in the thick of taking her week off, and Ron was being completely odd and almost being organized for once in his life, with the help of Lavender and Parvati, with whom he'd spent more time over the past month or so than he had in his entire seven years at Hogwarts.

He'd discovered that when they forgot they were girls they were almost fun to talk to. Unlike Hermione, Lavender and Parvati were very open and chatty, particularly Lavender. And unlike Fleur, who often looked at him like he was something she'd scraped off her shoe, the girls actually got a glow in their cheeks when he tried some of his well-patented charm on them. This was a new thing for Ron indeed, to have some success with his flirtations rather than none at all. He found that he actually rather enjoyed making pretty girls blush and giggle.

This particular afternoon he found Parvati and Lavender in the library, going over the party inventory under their breaths and reading up on some interesting charms so that they could decorate the rented cottage appropriately. He swung down into a chair across from them and leant his head in his hands.

"So what are my clever little secretaries doing today?"

They looked up at Ron and chuckled, Lavender blushing a little.

"Everlasting Icicle charms," said Parvati, eyes back down on the text. "We want the cottage to look perfect."

"With you two obsessing over it? It'll make the Great Hall look like the Burrow."

Parvati sighed, shaking her head at the book. "Damn it. This book doesn't have the Glitter Snow charm. Back to the shelves, I suppose!" She got up and stomped off, for all the world acting as if she were channelling Hermione. Ron shook his head.

"She's been studying with Hermione for too long."

Lavender glanced back at Parvati and smirked. "She's got to get her marks up somehow."

Ron let out a funny strangled noise. "Let's not talk about marks, shall we?" He leant forward. "What are you reading?"

"Hmm… Decorative Charms and their Applications. Lightweight."

Ron leant on a hand, looking bored. "Why are you reading it then?"

She smiled prettily and flipped the book up. "Pretty pictures." She looked him up and down then. "You're not off teasing Hermione or chasing after Fleur like a dog in heat today?"

Ron couldn't quite believe what he heard. Of course, Lavender and Parvati liked to know what was going on with everyone, and were never ones to mince words when they wanted to know something.

"Erm…" Ron felt himself blushing. "I already had my talk with Fleur this morning, or what I like to call 'Bashing my head against a brick wall', and I've sworn off teasing Hermione for a week. She's having a holiday."

Lavender's eyes sparkled and she looked intrigued. "Really? Tell me something, Ron…"

Ron felt like he was a butterfly pinned to a bit of foam all of a sudden. "Okay," he rasped.

"Why Fleur? I mean other than the obvious fact that she's part Veela so your hormones make most of the decision for you… why her?"

Ron shrugged. "Don't know. She's nice." He looked down to the book in front of her, trying to answer her question. "She's really beautiful, sure, but she always looks sad, distant… lonely maybe." He glanced up, a feeling of nakedness taking him and he blushed, looking away, waving a hand dismissively. "I dunno. Who knows."

Lavender gazed at him softly. For the first time Ron could remember, she wasn't giggling stupidly or gossiping. "You know. Maybe she's lonely because she chooses to be." She then cocked a brow with a smirk. "And it would probably help your cause a little if you didn't act a cowboy around her all the time."

Ron looked embarrassed. "I don't know why I do that, it just happens."

Lavender giggled. "It's all right, it's great fun to watch."

He sighed, looking to her wryly. "I'm glad someone gets something out of it."

"What about Hermione then?"

"What's with the Spanish Inquisition?" he asked.

Lavender shrugged non-committally. She looked a little too laid back. "Wanted to get my gossip straight." She glanced up at him. "It's all you think I do, right?"

He felt a touch ashamed. "Naw."

"Oh come on, Weasley," she said. "You think Parvati and I are thicker than two wet planks laid end on end."

Ron sighed at her. "Well you don't exactly inspire me to think otherwise."

"And following Harry around and brow-beating Hermione makes us think the world of you."

He met her sharp gaze and he gulped. Checkmate. It was the first time he'd really aired his general distaste of Lavender and Parvati, and considering that he was beginning to become friends with them, he felt sort of awful for it. When he was younger he had thought badly of them, but he realised that he'd never really gotten to know them at all. In the past few weeks however, he'd actually sat down and spent time with them, and he'd been surprised a lot throughout most of it at how clever they were, how little they actually missed. Sure, they gossiped and acted like airheads, but Ron had his own bad habits too. Suddenly he didn't feel so superior to them anymore, and he actually felt guilty. He scratched at the varnish on the table underneath him forlornly.

"Sorry," he said.

Lavender blinked, looking up from her book. A blush filled her cheeks and she shrugged. "It's all right."

"No, it's not," he said. "I've always sort of - assumed the worst of you. I was too quick to judge you and with my stubbornness I kind of stuck with my idea of you. But under the giggling and stuff there's a real person, and all these years I've missed her." He frowned. "It's a shame."

Of a sudden, Lavender looked genuinely coy, as if his words were thoroughly unexpected. "Well! There really is a charmer under the cowboy act after all. Been taking lessons from Harry?"

Ron looked indignant. "Certainly not!" He smiled. "We Weasleys have our own charms, you see?"

She gave a slow smile. "I'm starting to."

He wasn't sure why, but Ron was definitely pleased to hear that.

~~*~~

Harry and Hermione were having a very good time doing something that neither of them did very often at all -- relaxing and having time out from their very busy lives. Harry had decided that he would join Hermione in her break. His following months would be filled with wall-to-wall studying and Quidditch practice. He figured that he, too, could use a holiday. Ceasing their regular activities left them with very little to do. This led to the both of them spending time together wondering what on earth they should do, and being very bored. Strangely, they enjoyed themselves, lazing about and doing absolutely nothing. It made for a welcome change.

For example, that afternoon they sat in the Common Room and tried to get Crookshanks to chase a pretend mouse Hermione transfigured from a hairclip. As they dangled the thing in front of them, the cat blinked at them like they were extremely daft.

"Oh come on," said Hermione, "Do the cat thing! You are a cat, aren't you?"

Crookshanks blinked at her slowly, his thoughts very clear. 'Yes, I am a cat. I am not, therefore, a dullard.'

Hermione sighed defeatedly, tossing the mouse across the floor.

"Bugger," she said. "I had to get a smart cat, didn't I?"

Harry shrugged, "Maybe he's just not in the mood."

"I know what I'm not in the mood for, and that's dangling a bit of dead animal in front of a bored feline!" She made a playful face at Crookshanks.

Harry smirked. "I never thought you'd get sick of doing anything with Crookshanks."

Hermione's mouth dropped open and she wrapped her arms around the snoozing cat, burying her face into his furry belly. "Sick of spending time with my Crooked Cat?! The very thought!" She made soft cooing noises into his tummy and Crookshanks narrowed his eyes patiently. Harry shook his head in wonder.

"If I did that to Hedwig she'd claw my face off."

Planting a final kiss on the tom's round head, she sat up primly. "Well, Hedwig is a lot higher strung than my boy is." She scratched his head.

"That and she's an owl," said Harry.

Hermione smiled and looked back to Crookshanks, stroking his fur. Crookshanks gazed back at Hermione, a cool yet affectionate regard in his frighteningly intelligent eyes, and for a moment Harry could swear that their bond was palpable. Harry had never really seen such a strong bond between a younger witch or wizard and their familiar before. In fact, it was the only time he could think of anyone coming close to the bond that Dumbledore and Fawkes had. There was a magic in that, and Harry was startlingly reminded, with a new perspective of age and experience, of how very powerful Hermione was. She had gone up against Death Eaters and lived to tell the tale, which many grown and fully-trained wizards couldn't say. Her abilities and awesome intelligence coupled with her natural gift with magic made her a force to be reckoned with indeed. Much to his own surprise, he felt a slight shiver at the thought of it. He looked away from her, trying to calm his heart that skipped and sped without his control.

He cleared his throat, composing himself. "So, why Crookshanks?" Hermione glanced up, her expression askance. "Why did you pick Crookshanks?"

A pert little smile formed on Hermione's face and she looked back to the lazing cat. "He asked me to take him."

Harry giggled. "You mean he piped up in his tom-cat voice and said, 'Take me, little girl, take me!'?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and smacked his arm playfully. "No, silly!" She stroked Crookshanks fondly, doting in her eyes. "He looked up at me and it … it was weird. It was like he spoke to me with his eyes."

"Oh? And what did he say?"

Hermione looked a little embarrassed at that and sighed. "He looked at me and said, in his own way, 'Well, you took your time, didn't you? I was waiting forever!' I couldn't believe it!" Harry smiled at her. "Anyway, I didn't understand. I mean, I thought I was going a little strange. He sort of paced on the spot and blinked at me, like, 'Aren't you going to take me home?' The lady at the counter started the big sell and there wasn't any reason for it. I knew that the cat would be mine whether I bought him or not. So that was it. The start of a wonderful friendship." She smiled and patted the belly of the ginger cat, who rolled onto his back a bit and got comfortable.

"Sounds like fate to me," said Harry.

Hermione glanced up at that, meeting his eyes. There was a flicker of something there, something vulnerable, disbelieving. She blinked, and looked back to the cat, smiling shyly. "I suppose so."

Harry wasn't entirely sure what passed in that moment, but from then on that shiver he'd felt before wasn't so rare anymore. It turned to a more persistent flutter in his belly, and a tingling in his throat, and it seemed to afflict him when he was with Hermione. Considering they were spending their holiday together, this was most of the time.

~~*~~

It was already Christmas Eve. Harry had spent the past two days lazing about with Hermione in the Common Room, talking about anything they could think of and walking about the school together. It surprised Harry that they'd not run out of things to talk about yet, and even stranger was that when they didn't have anything in particular to say, they'd just hang about in a sort of warm, comfortable silence. Harry had a feeling he should have been terrified at the prospect, but all he could think was that it was a shame he wouldn't be able to spend time like this with Hermione once school started again.

For the first time in days, they parted company and Harry went to find Ron. Ron had been very busy organizing the Christmas Party That Never Was so he had been rather scarce. Harry looked forward to the Christmas party being over and done with so he could have his best friend back again. He found Ron in the Great Hall, eating a late breakfast with Lavender.

"Hey," he said, sitting down next to Ron.

"Heya, Harry!" Ron said brightly. "Where's Hermione?"

Harry squashed the little voice inside that demanded to know exactly the same thing, and he shrugged.

"I'm surprised she's not with you," said Ron. "You two have been joined at the hip for two days straight."

Lavender chuckled into her goblet of pumpkin juice. "What, you mean more than usual?"

Harry looked back and forth between them with a puzzled look. "Listen, we've just been spending time together relaxing. It's what friends do."

"For hours and hours on end, without reprieve…" sighed Lavender in a sing-song voice. She stared at Ron bleakly with a curl in the corner of her mouth. "God knows I would kill Parvati before I spent more than six hours with her without some alone time."

Harry gave a light scoff. "I haven't spent more than six straight hours with her."

Ron and Lavender exchanged a look and they both broke into laughter.

"Sure, Harry. The four hours yesterday morning in the Common Room watching Crookshanks lick his arse followed by the hour loitering in here during lunch, and then the hour following in the courtyard throwing snowballs at each other all add up to diddly." She batted her long eyelashes prettily at him and Harry was sure he was blushing by the burning in his cheeks.

"Listen," said Harry, "Hermione and I are best friends, and you, Ronald Weasley," Harry pointed at Ron, "know this very well. Good friends are apt to spend some time with each other, particularly on their holidays."

"Oh sure," snickered Lavender, imitating the sound of his voice playfully.

Harry sighed. "Well - what about you and Ron? You've been spending hours and hours together over the past two months."

Ron rolled his eyes, "Oh come on! We've been planning this thingo!" He pointed at the books, just managing to curb a loud mention of the Christmas party in his duress.

"Exactly," said Lavender calmly. "And besides, we shagged twice behind greenhouse three just yesterday morning." She looked up to Harry and smiled brightly.

Harry choked, looking to Ron, who seemed to find this as much news as Harry did. He then blustered a laugh.

"Oh yeah," said Ron. "Was fucking great." He gave Lavender a bewildered frown, and in response she shrugged and smirked.

"So don't give me some jive about time not being an indication!" Lavender said.

Harry sighed, utterly flustered. "You didn't have sex! And it's - it's not even the point. This is Hermione we're talking about here, more specifically, Hermione and myself."

Lavender looked amused. "What, the girl doesn't have a sex drive?" She sniggered. "I couldn't believe that, even of Hermione!"

Harry was now quite confused. "What does her s-sex drive have to do with anything?" He immediately felt stupid for stumbling on the dreaded 's' word, and mentally swore red at himself.

"Everything," said Lavender, looking suitably amused. "I don't care who you are, no woman with a working heartbeat could spend that much time with you and not think 'Hmm, Harry Potter… now there's a naughty bit of crumpet!'"

Harry felt his cheeks growing fiercely hot again, and he began to gain a new appreciation for the term 'wanting to crawl up one's own arsehole'. This conversation was veering straight down the road to embarrassment, via Too Much Information Highway. Firstly, he didn't even want to talk about sexual desire and Hermione in the same sentence. It was bad enough he was having stupid tingly feelings he didn't know what to do with. Those feelings were having a Mardi Gras in the back of his throat and in his stomach now, dining on a feast of a female even mentioning the word sex and the sudden bombardment of mental pictures of Hermione wearing anything less than a full school uniform.

Sweet Lord! he thought, trying to reign in his heartbeat. Okay, mind off that. Now.

He was hoping Ron would say something to change the subject, as he didn't trust himself to speak a sentence without his voice breaking.

"Harry's a crumpet," Ron said, looking rather deflated.

Oh thank you, Ron, he thought, Thank you very bloody much.

Lavender reached over and tapped him on the nose. "Yeah, but you're a big strawberry tart."

Ron blushed beet red and smiled, hiding his face behind a hand.

Harry looked away, not wishing to witness any more flirting between Lavender and Ron. It totally killed any of the tingles he was feeling before and he was trying not to feel ill. Maybe Lavender *did* have sex with him behind the greenhouse.

"You finished?" he mumbled, and Lavender chuckled.

"Yes. I was just giving Ronald's ego a boost. Now… you, Mr. Potter."

He turned and looked to her. "Me?"

"Yes. We were chatting about sex and it's one of my favourite topics of discussion."

Harry frowned. "One of? What's the others?"

"Ancient History,for a start," she said with a glint in her eyes that scared Harry, because it was quite a clever glint, and girls who were not only sexually overt but clever terrified him for some reason he hadn't fully figured out yet. It could have had something to do with the firestorm he had no control over setting itself up in his trousers. The thing that bothered him the most was that the clever little glint reminded him a bit too much of Hermione.

"Uhm, I'm going to go now," he said, standing up and pulling his cloak tightly about himself.

Lavender looked up and pouted. "Aww! We were just opening up to each other!"

Harry smiled thinly. "Yes, well, I think you know enough to amuse the rest of Gryffindor and a fair number of the Hufflepuffs for a while."

The girl at the table before him gasped, putting her hand over her heart. "Harry! What a thing to say!" Just as Harry began to look apologetic, she continued. "You should know damn well that any information garnered from our chat today will be amusing *everybody*."

Harry shook his head, turning and walking away from the girl before he said anything else incriminating. "Goodbye, Lavender."

"See ya Harry," said Ron, also shaking his head at Lavender.

"Later, Ron."

Harry made his way back to the Common Room, doing his best to purge his mind of the bizarre conversation he'd just had. He wondered how Ron could survive being exposed to Lavender for such long amounts of time. He was sure that in the same situation he'd either have snapped or become heavily withdrawn. Then again, Ron had lived with Fred and George for most of his life, so there would be no problems there dealing with outlandish personalities. Given half the chance, Ron was an outlandish personality himself.

Harry blew a sigh through puffed cheeks as he made his way up the steps to the Common Room. The Fat Lady smiled to him genially, and as he muttered the password, ("Peppercorn"), swung open upon her hinges. At the sight of an empty Common Room, his heart sank and his mind immediately pondered on where on earth Hermione could be… and then he stopped himself. He felt himself blushing and he wondered when he'd become so dependent upon her company. I can amuse myself, he thought, I absolutely do not need Hermione around to keep me occupied.

Half an hour later, he was throwing little balls of parchment into the fire to watch how they puffed into flame, sighing deeply, wishing Hermione would just come back from wherever she'd gone to. He'd looked on his Marauder's Map for her, and she wasn't at the Castle or on the grounds. He had been terribly worried for her at first, and upon grilling all the Gryffindor girls in her year, he'd discovered that she'd just gone to Hogsmeade for the afternoon. It was then he felt a twinge of depression in his chest that expanded and slowly consumed him.

Why hadn't she asked him to come with her?

Maybe Lavender was right. Maybe they *had* been spending too much time together. What if she was sick of him? Absolutely and utterly sick of him? He wasn't sick of her, not at all. That terrible feeling he used to get in his chest when his Aunt Petunia would look at him as he entered the room filled him from head to toe. It was a heavy feeling, one that told him that he just wasn't wanted, and that he was a fool to think otherwise. All he ever talked about was stupid things, not smart things. Hermione was clever. She would probably prefer to talk to someone who was as smart as she was. What the hell was he thinking, assuming that they could spend all that time together without one of them getting tired of the other? He just… he would never get sick of Hermione. The thought hit him fully, and he felt his cheeks roaring hot and red. Those annoying tingling feelings came back and he shoved them to the very back of his mind. This whole situation was going from bad to pathetic. He drew up his knees and leant on them, staring into the fire, working very hard at thinking about nothing at all.

He was so busy thinking about nothing at all that he hadn't realised how much time had passed, nor that someone had climbed into the portrait hole busily, the rustling sound of paper bags following the rushed steps.

"It's a bloody nightmare out there! Please remind me never to go shopping so close to Christmas again!"

Harry wasn't sure what he wanted to do. He could either be completely melodramatic and unmanly and complain that she didn't take him with her, or he could be manly and uncommunicative and throw himself into a huff. The second option seemed good to him, until he thought of the fact that he'd no doubt hurt Hermione's feelings in the process and accomplish nothing. He grit his teeth and looked at the girl that entered the room, unaware of how much like the dejected puppy-dog he looked.

Hermione leant her bags on the arm of the sofa and sighed, rolling her eyes at the relief. She then glanced at Harry.

"What's wrong?"

He gulped, trying to tame his torrent of upset into intelligible words. "You left me behind."

She blinked, turning towards him. "Oh Harry! Oh!" She glanced down, swearing under her breath at the bags that were tangled about her wrists. She yanked her hands away with some muttering and tugging, and then rushed over to him, wrapping her arms about him and crushing him to her chest.

"Oh, I am sorry!" she gasped, "It was just that I didn't want you to see what I got you for Christmas! I should have told you, I'm sorry."

His next words struggled to leave his lips. "You… you mean you're not sick of me?"

"Sick of you? Harry!" She gazed into his eyes, her own glinting sharply. "I will *never* get sick of you. You're my best friend!" She hugged him even tighter, and Harry felt a definite flush of relief.

As Hermione settled into the cuddle, he felt another sensation take hold of him, and he tried very hard not to panic. He took a very even controlled breath out, facing his entirely new dilemma. He could feel two perfect breasts pressed hard against his chest. If the girl who was now in his lap didn't stop wriggling and hugging him, she'd feel something she probably wouldn't want to. Much against his common sense, (which said this was Hermione, friend Hermione, no touchy-touchy Hermione) his body was pumping blood around with great glee, swelling in all the wrong places and feeling much better than it ever had before. He was entirely distracted by the sensations taking him over, forgetting that it was his best friend who was rubbing his back with little hands and kneeling next to him on the couch in a way that made his head spin. All he wanted to do now was enjoy this as much as possible, to hell with the consequences. She felt far too good to worry about who she was. He then realised what he'd just thought, and felt faintly horrified. Common sense bustled into this explosion of decadence and laid down a rather firm ground rule: no fooling about with your best friend. With an internal moan of complaint, he gently pushed Hermione off him, smiling tensely.

"It's all right," he said. "I'm just being stupid."

"Don't say that," Hermione said, pushing herself off the couch and gathering her things. "If you'd like, I'll go with you to Hogsmeade if you need to do your shopping?"

Harry shook his head with an easier smile. "I did it during the year."

"Heavens!" she said, a naughty twinkle in her eye. "Harry Potter being organized. Who'd have thought?"

His stomach did that annoying flip-flop thing again and he just sighed. "Go put your shopping away so we can go for a walk."

"All right," said Hermione. She hauled her shopping to the spiral staircase leading to her dorms. As she got to the doorway, she stopped. "Harry?"

"Hmm?" He twisted on the sofa and looked over his shoulder.

"Did you get something to wear to the pee-ay-are-tee-why?"

Harry had to chuckle. Hermione didn't like talking about the party out loud in the dorms or anywhere a teacher could be present, but spelling it to him was no way to confuse anyone, seeing as most of the people they were worried about overhearing them were fully literate.

"Yes, I got something to wear to the party," he said, and Hermione flinched as if she were any other wizard in the world someone had popped out and said, 'Voldemort!' at.

"Want to tell me what it is?" she said.

Harry frowned at her, perplexed. Why did she want to know that? He shrugged. "Well, if you want me to… erm… why do you want to know?"

She blushed deeply, shrugging back at him and turning in the walkway. "I was just wondering… never mind, don't tell me."

She rushed up the steps before he could tell her a thing. There was one thing Harry had discovered living all these years in a co-ed school like Hogwarts. Understanding girls did not get any easier with time. The more you knew about them, the more questions you had about them. In the past, Harry had never been bothered by them one way or the other. Right now, however, he found himself with a niggling curiosity that he was having a hard time shaking off. He would have distracted himself with his latest book on Quidditch game strategy, but he'd promised Hermione that he wouldn't do anything Quidditch-related during the week-long holiday, as she wasn't allowed to read any book that was not some kind of fictional story with no educational value whatsoever. Harry's restlessness was further agitated by the fact that Hermione was spending rather a long time in her dorm. He'd had quite enough of waiting all day for her. He was about to march up to her dorm walkway and call out to ask how long she'd be when he realised with some horror that he was doing it again. He was being Hermione-dependent.

No, the thought. No, no, no. This was all Lavender's inane chit-chat getting to him and putting utterly ridiculous ideas into his head. Spending time with Hermione had never been an issue before and he was damned if it was going to be an issue now. Friends spent times with friends, it was what friends did. And with Ron being so busy lately, who else could Harry hang out with other than Hermione? Yes.

Harry decided logic was his friend.

Yeah, but what if Lavender was right? You liked spending time with her, a niggling little voice in the back of his mind said. You didn't know what to do with yourself today when she disappeared on you.

It's normal, he thought. It's all perfectly normal. It's normal to miss your friend when they're not around.

Right, but if you spent this amount of time with Ron you'd go fucking crazy! replied the voice.

I've spent this long with Ron before, he thought.

You had Hermione there to distract you.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," he breathed to himself, "Or I'll give myself a frontal lobotomy!"

"Speaking to yourself again?" said a voice, and Harry jumped, putting a hand over his chest. He was relieved to see it was Hermione returning from her room.

"Just thinking about, erm, things," he said.

She lifted her brows. "Wow. Must be pretty serious things if you're threatening yourself with brain surgery."

Harry smiled only for a moment before his brow creased in thought again. "Hermione… I can talk to you about anything, right?"

She sank down onto the sofa next to him, sighing lightly, and not looking at him, instead picking at her skirt. "I would hope so."

"Right, well…" He squirmed, also looking away. "I was just talking to Ron and Lavender earlier-"

"Pfeh!" Hermione tutted. "Just the company Ron needs to increase his IQ…"

Harry ignored that comment for the moment, trying to get to the more important topic of discussion. Hermione was going to be the voice of reason here, she had to be.

"Anyway," he said, "They seem to think that we're um - that we're spending too much time around each other."

Hermione glared at him. "What?!" She growled, jumping to her feet and pacing in front of the hearth. "What the bloody hell does it have to do with them? And it's not as if Ron's making any effort to spend time with you-"

"No, you don't understand," said Harry. He felt quite stressed now, and he wasn't sure if he should finish. Hermione's demanding expression told him he should. "They said… damn, how do I say this? It's ridiculous really, you will laugh when I tell you-"

"Oh, for God's sake, Harry, spit it out!"

He met her eyes, finding his breath had suddenly grown short. "They said that we're spending too much time together for people who are supposed to be just friends."

He wasn't entirely sure what he expected Hermione to do next, but whatever he could have imagined was quite different to what she did. He would have expected her to rant about Ron and Lavender's stupidity, or laugh at the very concept. Maybe even tut and throw a hand, telling him not to worry about such silly ideas. Those things would have comforted him.

But Hermione didn't do any of those things. She blinked at him, eyes growing large, and she strode over to the hearth, saying one thing.

"Oh."

Harry blinked back at her. "Oh?"

She gave a tense smile and looked into the fireplace. "Well, what do you expect from the likes of Lavender? I mean, really…"

This was more like what he expected, except it wasn't comforting either. She seemed a little breathless herself, and sad. Why would she be sad? He suddenly forgot about his emotional discomfort and became distracted by hers.

"Hermione, are you all right?"

For a moment there was a flicker of annoyance in her eyes, and then weariness.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, rather unconvincingly. "Shopping took it out of me."

He swallowed, not wanting to continue but knowing that for the sake of their sanity, he had to keep talking. "Hermione… it's me here."

She glanced up at him, sighing hotly and looking away. "Bloody hell…"

"Would you rather we not talk about this?"

"Yes," she said, "But I know that's not going to make you shut up about it. It'll just encourage you."

"You're that bothered by this?" he asked.

She flapped a hand, shrugging and pacing. "Why does everyone have to categorise everything? They have to put everything in little boxes! I mean, what we have, Harry, what we have-" She scrunched her nose and made a squeaking ruff of anger. "Well it's not usual, is it? I mean, we've been through so much, you just can't judge it by regular standards! And Lavender does! Without a thought!" She turned and strode towards Harry, pointing at him. "If she knew a *fraction* of what it felt like to be your friend, if friend is an adequate word, if… If she knew what it was like to go through with you what I have, to know you the way I do, to just BE there for someone the way we've been there for each other - her bloody HEAD would fall off!" She let out an angry sigh and strode back to the fire, cursing under her breath.

Harry was astounded. His brain wallowed about for words. The rest of him wanted to get up and plant a huge kiss on her lips, but that's exactly what he had been convincing himself that he didn't want to do all day. He tried to compose himself so that whatever he said or did next would be a help to Hermione rather than a hindrance or an embarrassment. He took a breath in, and opened his mouth, hoping for the best.

"Hermione… don't worry about it. You're right."

All right, that was lame, he thought. He felt incredibly inadequate all at once. Hermione had just ranted the most touching thing he'd ever heard anyone say about him and all he could come up with was something a gibbering dullard would utter (say, like Crabbe or Goyle). It seemed to suffice, however, as Hermione was over to the couch in a shot, wrapping her arms about him and sighing.

"I know, I know." She knelt in front of him, pressing her lips together determinedly. "You know what I think?"

There wasn't a lot Harry knew. Her breasts were brushing against him again. "No?"

"Bugger her. Bugger Lavender. We'll be the way we've always been and we won't worry about what other people think. Right?"

Disappointment crashed through him. It collided with a fair whack of confusion and a good dose of guilt (as he was still enjoying the sensation of her breasts on his chest), and it all caused him to feel absolutely rotten.

"Right," he said. "Right."

Hermione grinned brightly and nodded, and she pressed a firm kiss to his cheek. Just the kind that friends were wont to share.

"This has been one of the best holidays I've had, Harry," she said, hugging him tightly. "And I'm not letting anyone ruin it."

He met her eyes as she pulled away, not sure if he was trying to keep himself together of if he was relieved that this silliness was dealt with. This discussion was supposed to clear that little problem up, and it had made it a thousand times worse. It all seemed very typical to Harry at that moment.

The perfect holiday had just taken it right up the arse.

~~*~~