The Christmas Party

napalmnacey

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 22/02/2004
Last Updated: 22/02/2004
Status: completed

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).

Chapters

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

4. Chapter Four

1. Chapter One

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.

~~*~~

2. Chapter Two

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

*A Christmas present from Hermione's parents to Harry

*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 Two

Harry had come to a very firm and proven conclusion. Time was a complete and utter whore. He’d had an inkling of this when he was younger, but it was nothing compared to what the bitch did to him now that his feelings towards Hermione had been thrown into utter disarray. With Ron being busy, neither of them really had anyone else to hang out with. Well, this wasn’t true. Harry could have chosen to hang out with Neville, Seamus and Dean, but that would have left Hermione all alone, and only a complete and utter prick would let his best friend languish alone during the Christmas holidays, no matter how bloody confused he was. So he kept spending time with her, making a concerted effort to ignore his churning stomach and spinning thoughts.

Whether Hermione noticed any change in his behaviour, he wasn’t sure. Since their talk in front of the hearth she’d kept herself busy getting ready not only for Christmas, but the party that Ron was organising for Christmas Eve. Before the ‘talk’, he would have told her to forget about the party and relax, but with Hermione running around the place for Ron he had the opportunity to have some time alone to think, which right now he valued greatly.

He needed to talk to someone. He wrung his brains thinking of who he could talk to. Hagrid… well what would he say? “Oh ah? Yes, well… yes… These - problems aren’t really my specialty ‘Arry, but it’s always good to be nice to a lass and take her for dinner…”

That’s the last thing Harry wanted to do – well, it wasn’t, but he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to go there in the first place. And it seemed clear to him that Hermione didn’t. The idea had seemingly been so abhorrent to her that she was threatening violence on Lavender the next time she even uttered a word the wrong way.

Ron was completely out of the question, as presently he’d been spending far too much time with Lavender and thusly was beginning to think like her. That left Harry with very little choice in the matter as to who else he could talk to. Sirius. He could write to Sirius. The question was - did he really *want* to? The only problem with this idea was that he’d rather slowly peel back his own fingernails than discuss this particular quandary with his godfather, and it wasn’t because he had any problems communicating with the man. It was just that it was all so damned humiliating. Sure, save the wizarding world? No bloody problem. Figuring out what the hell he wanted from his best friend? Forget it.

The long and the short of it all, however, was that Sirius was really the only person he had to consult on this matter, unless he wanted to complete his humiliation and distress and talk to Dumbledore of all people about it. And there was no metaphor colourful or painful enough to address that possibility.

He drew close the curtains around his bed and, pulling out a scroll and eagle-feather quill (with a wistful thought as to who gave it to him), he began to compose his letter in his head. Thankfully most people were out shopping or playing in the snow or hanging out the study hall and writing their Christmas cards, so the dorm was pleasantly empty and quiet. All that could be heard was his breaths and the sound of his quill squeaking against the parchment.

Dear Sirius,

Even though my present and card for you are still to arrive, Merry Christmas. I really appreciate all you’ve done for me over the years, and I’m not quite sure what I’d do without you around to talk to and generally smack me around the ears when I’ve been an idiot. You’ve been a marvellous godparent, and I thought I’d remind you how much you mean to me.

Bloody hell, I can’t tell you how hard this letter is to write. I may as well get it over with and well and truly make a complete dick of myself.

See, the thing is that Ron and his friend Lavender seem to think that there’s something going on between Hermione and me because we’ve spent so much time together this Christmas. We’ve only been spending this time together because she couldn’t go home this Christmas as her parents went on holiday. Not that it’s the only reason; because she’s my friend, I like being with her naturally. Anyway, Ron and his lovely friend are of the opinion that you don’t spend the amount of time that Hermione and I have been spending together without feeling something for the other.

I had thought that they were completely and utterly full of shit, pardon the French. That was until I sat down with Hermione… well, I sat, she sort of paced about… but anyway, I talked to her about it and she got all upset at Lavender, and I think she was horrified at the thought of Lavender marring the sanctity of the pure and unyielding bond between Hermione and myself. Now, not to put too fine a point on it, I was rather surprised to find myself utterly disappointed by her response, and not in the way I was expecting. I mean, I was flattered that our friendship meant so much to her, and - well her exact words were rather confusing. She was complaining about people categorising everything, and Lavender trying to fit what Hermione and I have into some kind of conventional idea of what a firmly platonic friendship should be. Then she launched into exactly how amazingly close we are and how Lavender just couldn’t understand that, and if she tried her head would fall off. Her head. Off her shoulders. I think I nearly got up and kissed her for that, and that’s just the sort of thing I *don’t* want to think when I look at Hermione!!

Anyway, I’m really bloody confused now and I could throttle Lavender, I really could! I’m sorry to waste your time with this pap, but it’s just been getting to me and I don’t really have anyone else to talk to about it. I better go. I have to wrap Christmas presents to be sent off and I have to send yours too. Then there’s getting dressed for the party tonight. You know, the one that’s not supposed to exist.

--Harry.

He folded up the letter and slipped it in and envelope before stuffing it into his pants pocket. He decided he’d send all his other Christmas mail later, as this one wouldn’t be done with Hedwig and it was only a short flight for the owl anyway. He sent off one of the brown nondescript mail birds and took a moment to talk to Hedwig whilst he was there.

“Don’t worry,” he said, patting her soft feathers fondly. “I’ll have plenty for you to send off later. All right?”

She nipped at his finger gently and made a low hoot.

That afternoon he did all the things one does on the afternoon before Christmas. He wrapped his presents, he addressed envelopes to be sent off, he sent them and he came back to the Common Room in improved spirits. Being so busy let his mind come back to his uncertainties with a fresh and more logical approach. He was quite sure that what went on the afternoon a couple of days back was the effects of being around Lavender for more than five minutes. And Hermione was right - after all they’d been through, they were bound to have a different kind of relationship than most people would expect. There. All sorted out.

As he strolled through the Common Room he saw Hermione lounging on the big chair by the fire, looking rather thoughtful. He smiled, stopping by the couch and leaning on it, watching her a moment.

“Hey…”

She glanced up and smiled faintly. “Oh hello.”

“You’ve been scarce lately,” he said.

She shrugged, looking back to the fire. “Ron needed help arranging the - thing.”

He nodded. “I figured as much. How are you getting to the party tonight?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “A lot of people have been asking other people out but - I don’t know, it’s just a silly gathering, I thought it wasn’t necessary.”

“Want me to take you?”

He’d said it before he’d even thought about it. Hermione looked up at him as if she were a deer caught in a set of headlights.

“Oh… oh, I don’t know, Harry.”

“Well, I expect we’d be hanging out there anyway. We may as well go together. Oh - unless there’s someone you were hoping to see there…”

"Don't be silly," Hermione sighed impatiently. "I just thought there might be someone else you'd rather take."

Harry gave a cheeky smile, shaking his head. "Not really, no."

"Ah..." She blushed, shrugging. "All right then."

He smiled and slapped the back of the couch he leant against. He felt much happier than he wanted to be feeling at that moment. "Right. We should start getting ready, the party starts in an hour."

She nodded, getting up out of her seat slowly. "Yes. I've been waiting for Lavender and Parvati to finish in the bathroom but I don't think that'll happen. I may as well storm my way in there and try to get some mirror space."

Harry chuckled. "They'll rue the moment they got in your way."

Hermione rolled her eyes and blushed. "I'll see you in half an hour."

Harry turned and headed for the boys' dorm, rather pleased with himself. He'd offered to take Hermione to the Christmas party that night and he wasn't even remotely excited in any way out of the ordinary. Yes, he had this silly 'tingly' business quite under control.

~~*~~

Ron had never been so stressed out in his entire life. Even his OWLs were a pittance compared to the pressure of the entire seventh year depending on him to throw the best party they'd ever been to. Supplies of wizard's ale and firewhisky aside, the cottage they'd hired had to be better decorated, better fitted and just all 'round better everything than the rumours and stories of the year before. This would not be a hard task. Nobody had come up with anything memorable since Fred and George's efforts in 1995. That was the source of the bulk of his distress. It was a matter of personal pride that this party rock the pants off anything that had been before, and it was a matter of personal worth that he do something better than his lunkheaded twin brothers.

He had been preparing for the party with Lavender and Parvati all day. Parvati had been at the cottage with Lavender, charming it to burst with decorations and filling every crystalline floating snowflake platter and floating ice bowl with sweets and pastries. Out the front of the cottage would be the most amazing Christmas party decoration ever. Parvati had practiced her knuckles raw getting the charm just so. Lavender helped her all morning with these particular demonstrations as they were the most time consuming, and then she got back to the castle to help out Ron in his dealings with the 'help' they hired to run the party. Ron didn't know whether to be insulted or not at Parvati and Lavender's insistence that one of them be with him at all times when talking to their soon-to-be hired help. Or the leader of the hired help, anyway. Truth be told, Ron thought they should be doing it for free. Lavender had brought him round so that they could have the help at all, but not without Ron's grousing.

"I can't believe we're paying them for this!"

"Firstly, it's not our money, most of it is Malfoy's," said Lavender as they strode down the hall to the lower levels. "Besides, our little friend in charge said that for the extra work and the indignity of poncing around in little red and green suits with bells on--"

"He loves those suits!" cried Ron.

Lavender eyed him. "That may be so, but they represent the servitude of a working body of elves unpaid by the erroneously benevolent Big Man in the silly red suit-"

"--Erroneously--" Ron spluttered. "It's Father fucking Christmas, not the bloody Grand Inquisitor Torquemada!!"

Lavender listened to him snap, then smiled sweetly. "Feel better?"

Ron frowned in thought for a moment, then nodded. "Much."

"They'll deserve it, Ron," she said, squeezing his shoulder to calm him. "They're flat out as it is making this castle lovely for Christmas."

Ron felt himself relaxing, and he nodded. "It's not our money, it's Malfoy's," he said, almost a chant.

Lavender lifted a brow, eyeing him again. "Ron... don't you find that just a little bit amusing?"

Ron looked back to her. He thought about it. Malfoy. Paying their help. He broke down into laughter at the sight of Malfoy when he found out. Lavender watched him laugh heartily, a naughty grin on her features.

"You're brilliant!" he hooted, "You are absolutely-" He chuckled harder. "Oh my... Oh that'll keep me laughing for a week that will! Bloody hell!"

Lavender looked proud and curtseyed, then clasped her hands together and shook them over her head like a triumphant politician. "Thank you, thank you."

The paying of their help was a quick and clean affair, thanks to Lavender, and they were both free of their duties by about three o'clock that afternoon. It would be another three hours until the party would start, but Ron knew that Lavender would need the time to get ready.

"You can go now if you like," he said as they went back to Gryffindor Tower. "Get ready for the party." At the word ‘party’, Ron groaned. "Bloody hell. I forgot."

Lavender rose her brows at him blankly. "Excuse me?"

"I never asked anyone to go with me." He swore under his breath.

The girl next to him became very quiet, and she shrugged, looking away. "Why don't you just ask Hermione?"

"Harry would kill me," he said. "Besides, we'd just fight all night."

Lavender looked genuinely surprised. "I thought you liked that."

"It got old," said Ron, perhaps a little sadly. "It's just better getting along with someone, you know?"

She nodded.

"So who are you going with?" he said, looking to her.

She had already been acting strange. Now Ron was shocked to see the girl blushing and acting coy.

"Oh... well..."

"Lav?"

She looked up to him, sighing hotly. "Nobody. I'm not going with anyone."

Ron skidded to a halt in the hallway. He was dumbfounded. Lavender. The Queen of Dating, the girl who couldn't survive if she didn't have her romantic life in full swing with all social events accounted for, wasn't going with anyone. Here was the girl he was sure could get any fellow in the entire year if she wanted to, by her looks alone! Though... most of the boys found her personality as trying as - as he used to. He surprised himself. He'd almost forgot that he'd seen a part of her that, with the possible exception of Parvati, only he got to see. When she forgot about trying to be the redoubtable popular pretty thing with all the gossip, she was a lot of fun to be around. She never made issue of the fact he was a Weasley, in fact other than thinking that his brother Bill was a rather handsome fellow ('babe' was her exact description), and that Fred and George were incredibly funny, she didn't really care one way or the other. She didn't use him as a way to Harry, either. He was just Ron, great in his own right in the mind of Lavender, and she was currently dateless.

"Is Parvati going with someone?"

Lavender folded her arms and looked away. "Dean, of course."

"Oh..." Ron frowned, as he just couldn't figure it out. "Didn't anyone ask you to go with them?"

The girl blushed redder than he'd ever seen her. "Yes, of course they did but uhm..." She shrugged and sighed. "I didn't really feel like going with any of them."

"I see." Ron looked down to his feet. He looked back to her. She was frowning softly, gazing down the hall where they'd been. She looked very sad. "Can I ask you why not?"

She frowned deeper, turning away a little, cheeks blazing. "Look, it's no big deal. I've just been really busy and I didn't think about it."

Ron tilted his head, doubt on his face. "Yeah right – you, not thinking about dating?"

She spun about, glaring at him. "Do you think that's all I care about? Whose arm I'm on and how pretty I look? I've got a bloody brain, you know!"

He felt immediate regret at saying what he did, and he took a hold of her shoulders, shaking his head.

"I know, I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to say that. It's just - you do tend to make a big deal of it."

"I know," she said. "And I do enjoy it, it's just... it's not my entire world, you know?" She seemed embarrassed then. "And the boys that did ask me, I mean... they meant well, it's just when it came to looking them in the eye and imagining myself spending such an important evening with them, I..." She shuddered a little. "I just couldn't do it. I couldn't say yes." She glared at Ron again, and there seemed to be a glint of accusation in her eyes. "And I don't know why."

He felt himself burning up at this look from her, and the palms of his hands ached in an altogether pleasant way. He shrugged shyly, toeing the ground and looking away.

"Well... you could go with me, you know, since we both haven't got anyone to-"

"Yes."

Blank shock struck Ron. Yes? It was the first time any girl had said yes to him in his life. He hadn't gone on a proper date since the Yule Ball and he'd made a habit of hanging out in large groups since then rather than doing any one-on-one evenings out. He felt himself burning to the very tips of his ears, and he smiled.

"I thought you said you couldn't imagine going with just 'any boy'."

Lavender looked coy. "Well... I could imagine going with you."

"Oh..."

Dizziness set up home in his brain. He looked at her. She really was a great bird. Pretty blue eyes, bouncy brown hair and an infectious smile. He was really glad he'd become friends with her. A funny feeling surged up in his stomach, and on a whim he stepped forward and dropped a kiss to her cheek.

"See you in a while."

He strode away quickly, maybe so she wouldn't be able to hit him, but hitting wasn't on the girl's mind at all. She was watching him go with a fascinated smile, her hand resting on her cheek.

~~*~~

Harry stood in front of the long mirror, frowning deeply at himself. His hair was a ruffled mess on top of his head. Sadly, there was very little he could do about that. No matter what he did, magic remedy or no, it would stick out at all angles. He hoped Hermione could forgive him for that, because it was one of the most anticipated evenings of the year and they would walk in there with him looking like he only just got out of bed. Even she could fix her hair if she needed to. For a moment he wondered what she was going to wear... A deep shock thrilled through his system as he remembered what she'd said to him earlier... Did I get something to wear to the party... Dear God! She'd thought about it! She thought about him and her going together!

"Don't be stupid," he sighed to himself, striding to his trunk and pulling out two sets of dress robes. One was from the year previous, a deep emerald green sort of thing with a jet black clip at the collar. The other was a spartan affair, deep black, soft and sleek without being an embarrassingly girly silk. It was sturdy and warm, which was the important thing. Harry held up both of the cloaks, staring at himself in the mirror.

"You only have half an hour to get ready, you know," said the mirror.

Harry sighed hotly. "Well, are you going to help me or are you going to keep insulting me?"

"Which would you prefer?"

Harry gave a patient tapping of his foot. "I have a very good hammer right where I can get at it."

"Temper, temper. Must be some date..."

"It's no big deal," Harry said.

"Of course not," said the mirror gently, a touch of sarcasm to its voice. "That green makes you look like a Christmas tree."

"Thank you," said Harry, bundling up the cloak and stuffing it in his trunk again. Standing in front of the mirror, he looked at himself. He had a fine-knit turtleneck sweater on, which was a rather snug fit. Not that he liked to sing praises about himself but it made his shoulders look rather broad (which they were). Instead of his regular jeans he wore a pair of very nicely fitted black pants, and unbeknownst to him his father would have been incredibly proud. He looked like a real beatnik. Either way, he looked good enough for the mirror to whistle in appreciation.

"Quite an outfit. Are you going to give someone else a turn now?"

"All right," Harry growled, fussing with his hair as he strode to his bed. He watched the snow out the window as he fixed his black dress cloak to himself, and he felt a bit like Luke Skywalker in Return of the Jedi, with all the black and the turtleneck. He would have laughed about it if his nerves hadn't been so bad.

"Wow, Harry, are you on the pull tonight?"

Harry turned about in time to see a smirking Ron duck into his alcove, drawing his curtains about himself.

"No, goodness no. I just didn't want to disappoint Hermione," he said. "Nothing worse than going having to a huge party with your best friend as your 'date', and I didn't want to compound the situation by dressing like I did it with my eyes closed."

"Well, you already look like you did it without brushing your hair."

Harry pressed his fringe down with a frown. "You know I can't help that."

Ron burst out from behind his curtains, fully changed into a rather impressive set of robes. Harry was surprised to see that Ron had moved away from the general maroon colour he'd been lugged with all these years thanks to hand-me-downs and his mother's taste in clothing and had chosen a silky emerald green material for his dress robes. Harry was always amused at Ron's choices in clothes now he had the money to spend on himself. They were very Wizard, and he liked that a lot. Ron looked like a real well-to-do wizard, and nothing pleased Harry more than to see Ron in nice clothes for once. He was also a little surprised that they'd nearly worn the same colour to the party. Thankfully he'd gone with the black for once. He looked back to his best friend. Under the robes Ron wore a billowy white shirt of a rough homespun cotton, and a matching green silk waistcoat that was patterned in a gold vine-stitch. He wore black pants and his shoes were black shining leather. He looked a million dollars. Harry stepped into the bathroom as Ron fussed with his hair in the mirror.

"Holy cow..." he said. "Did you invite the Queen?"

Ron spun about. "What?"

"You look great!"

Ron looked away again, a pre-occupied look on his face. "Oh. Thanks, Harry."

"Sharp," said the mirror. "Get me a medic, I think I need stitches!"

Harry frowned at the mirror. "Biased goit."

The mirror somehow managed to blow Harry a raspberry.

Ron turned away from Harry, rushing back into the bedroom. Harry followed him, rather entertained by Ron's odd behaviour.

"Who are you going with?"

"Lav," Ron said, fiddling with the collar of his shirt while pacing about.

"Oh, did Fleur knock you back?" joked Harry.

Ron glared at him, and in the next moment looked rather shaken. He glanced away, gulping. "I never asked her."

Harry fought a smirk off his face and he nodded. "I guess it wouldn't be proper to invite a teacher."

"Right!" Ron nodded, pointing at him, sounding rather thankful. "Exactly! That's why."

The alarm clock on his bedside table caught Harry's eyes, and he jumped.

"Shit! It's five-thirty already!"

Ron jumped at this too. "Bugger!"

Harry swore under his breath as they both raced to the door and down the stairs. As he descended the stone steps, he was thinking of a wide range of things. How Ron suited money. How it was a relief that Ron seemed to be forgetting about Fleur. How he hoped his less dressy formal cloak would keep him warm. He quite forgot about any of the things that had been bothering him before, about Hermione being anything to him other than a best friend, or what Ron and Lavender had said to him. He'd quite neatly dealt with all his preoccupations and he was back in a logical and much happier place. This was the way things were supposed to be. Best friend at his side, best friend down the stairs, the night just waiting to be lived.

Harry leapt down the flight of stairs, and as his feet hit the last step, his breath was knocked right out of his chest. He was too dumbfounded to do anything other than stare with his jaw dangling at what he saw.

Hermione had used the half hour very cleverly. Most of her hair was pulled up in a messy knot on top of her head, pinched into place with a Muggle hair-clip, some long tresses dangling down free of it in warm honey-brown tones. It made her abundance of hair a heaven, framing her face gently with whispy strands. She wore a light blue shimmery blouse, ruffled neck open to her cleavage (Dear God, he thought, When did she get those?), a long skirt, deep blue like the night, with a split that went up past her knee to show the exact amount of thigh to keep it distinctly classy. Strappy shoes cradled her beautiful long feet and toes, which were painted in blue nail polish. He stared her up and down, mouth opening and closing without sound leaving it. She was beautiful, utterly beautiful.

He never took in her expression as he'd come down the stairs, and by the time he cleared a space in his overloaded brain to say something she was frowning at him with affectionate amusement.

"Harry," she said, "Close your mouth."

Harry did so, gulping. "Sorry."

Good, that was good. He said something that wasn't 'boobs', 'ugh' or 'want now'. Ron came trotting down the steps behind him, very tall and proud, and then performed the same stunned blank stare and gaping fish routine as Harry just had, but with his eyes locked upon Lavender. Harry had great difficulty dragging his eyes from Hermione to see what Ron was so enthralled with, but when he did he found himself impressed. No wonder the girl had been hogging the mirror as Hermione had claimed!

She stood rather nervously, clasping her hands together (When did Lavender ever get nervous? Harry thought), gazing at Ron like he was Prince William. She was garbed in the most breathtaking gown Harry was sure he had ever seen. It was made of layers upon layers of a translucent pinkish white material, thin and floating in nature. The gown was cut in fashionable ribbons at the bottom, and similar long slips of fabric also hung from her shoulders and about the bodice. All the layering and curling of the fabric made Lavender look as though she were dressed in giant lily petals. The colour made her skin look immaculate and it glinted with pearly glitter that blinked as she moved. Her eyelids seemed to be dabbed with stardust and her hair shone like the night, her dark brown tresses spattered with even more glitter. From her shoulders arced the most amazing things Harry had ever seen. Looking almost as if they had been plucked from a real insect, long shimmering clear wings stretched out from her back, every now and again fluttering and angling open and closed like butterflies' wings. The veins that ran through them were black and made them look like delicate stained glass windows. Lavender made quite the perfect Christmas Faerie.

"You look... I mean... your hair, and the - the dress!" Ron gulped. "Wow."

"Yeah," nodded Harry, his eyes trailing back to Hermione every now and again, "You look great, Lavender. How..." He frowned at the wings. "How are they doing that? The moving?"

"Just a simple charm," Lavender said, shrugged her shoulders, the wings shuddering as she did so. "It'll wear off in a few days."

Ron's eyes roved over Lavender and her outfit as he found it in himself to mumble, "Uhm... Everything's set at the cottage."

Lavender grinned. "Great! Let's get going then before everyone starts arriving!"

At her grin, Ron's eyes glazed over. He stepped forward dully as Lavender grabbed his hand.

"Are you both coming?" she asked Hermione and Harry. Harry was still in the process of getting used to seeing this much of Hermione.

"Soon," Hermione said, turning and watching them make their way to the portrait hole. "I'm going to have some of the non-alcoholic Christmas punch Dobby brought us with Harry."

Ron's face twitched as Dobby's name was mentioned, and he smiled thinly. "I'm going to leave. He might have spiked my glass." He put an arm around Lavender and tipped his head to the portrait hole. Lavender smirked and they climbed their way out and off to the party.

Harry looked about. The Common Room had been quite empty on the way up to his room, but the seventh year dorm had been quite busy. The highly preened and beautiful students were quite quick to disappear once they were ready, not willing to mill about the Common Room and risk getting caught. Harry fidgeted nervously as Hermione strolled briskly over to the pitcher and goblets of punch at the coffee table by the fire.

"We shouldn't stick around," said Harry. "Don't want to be caught, you know."

Hermione smirked. "I have it on good authority that Dumbledore is keeping McGonagall clear of the tower tonight." She winked at him. "At least until eight-thirty anyway."

Harry shook his head, accepting a goblet of punch from Hermione. "He's a sneaky bugger."

Hermione chuckled. "I know."

The punch was deliriously good. It was a challenge for Harry not to down the whole thing in one gulp. It was an unconventional melange of different fruit juices, with what seemed like a splash of butterbeer and something else Harry couldn't identify. He sighed deeply.

"Wow."

Hermione nodded eagerly. "I must give Dobby an extra pair of socks for this."

Harry smiled. His cloak rippled in the corner of his eyes, and he remembered what he wore. Compared to Hermione's eye-popping outfit, and Lavender's astounding garb, not to mention Ron's princely attire, Harry felt quite underdressed. He stepped back, frowning at himself.

"Do I look all right?"

Hermione nodded as she swallowed some punch. "Oh yes, you look very nice."

Harry shrugged. "I feel like Luke Skywalker..."

"Oh, don't say that!" Hermione gasped, breaking into laughter. "Now I'll think that all night!"

He blushed, pulling his cloak about himself

"Well, you're better looking than Mark Hamill," she said, stepping forward and batting his hands away to open his cloak. "You look understated. It brings the attention to your lovely green eyes." As she said that she looked up at him, into his eyes.

Her eager smile drifted from her features, and Harry felt his skin burning. Her hair sat about her face just so, and her eyes looked so warm and brown with the firelight from the hearth. He gulped, feeling as though he had a fever. He then grew irritated. There was a clicking and a tapping and it made Hermione look away. Her eyes glinted and he looked to where she was looking. The window?

"It's the mail!" she said, and she strode over to the window, opening it for the snowy white owl. “Are you expecting something?”

The owl flew directly over to Harry, alighting on the table gracefully and blinking up at him with her gold eyes. Harry's heart jumped in his chest and thumped hard as he remembered the letter he'd sent to Sirius. A response? So soon? Harry needed days to even try to calm himself down in this situation, and Sirius answered him in one measly afternoon? He pulled the letter from the owl's leg, and he realised with great embarrassment that Hermione seemed interested as to what he'd received.

"A letter from Sirius," he said. "I asked him about Quidditch."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione turned away, pouring herself some more punch. Harry sighed with relief, and with shaking hands, opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. It was in Sirius' long elegant script, and it was exactly fifteen words long.

Dear Harry,

For God's sakes, just take the girl out for dinner.

Love,

Your Godfather.

Harry stuffed the letter back in the envelope, cheeks burning brightly, swearing a storm under his breath.

"Smart-arsed git," he growled, "Bloody smart-arsed smeggery bollocked fat-headed greasy bastardly git!"

Hermione spun about, opening her eyes wide at Harry's exclamations. It took a lot to get Harry to swear that much.

"He thinks he's funny," Harry said, shoving the letter into a pants pocket hastily and grabbing his scarf from the couch, as well as Hermione's, and her cloak. "Come on, we better get going."

"Okay," she said, setting down her drink, eyeing him warily.

"I'm all right," he insisted, feeling like an idiot. Hermione did not seem at all convinced. "Really."

She just sighed at him.

They quickly strode down the hole, arm in arm, and Harry swung between steaming over the letter and staring at Hermione. Staring at Hermione was bad. He was supposed to have this all sorted out. One silly outfit was not supposed to throw all his hard work out the window like that. And Sirius - he expected him to understand! He was as bad as Ron and Lavender! Harry came to one conclusion. The world was populated with sex-crazed perverts.

Of course, he thought to himself. They're the ones that reproduce the most with all their sex-having.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Hermione said, "You look hot. Are you coming down with something?"

She reached up and began pressing her hands to his cheeks. He stifled a whimper and pulled her hands away.

"I'm fine, I really am," he said, holding both her hands (gosh, they were soft) in his, bringing him far more joy than he wanted it to. "This cloak is just better at keeping me warm than I realised."

"Thank you for reminding me," she said. They were just at the door of the castle already and Hermione set about putting on her cloak. Harry reached out for it.

"Here."

She glanced up at him, seemingly surprised. She let him take it, and he wrapped it around her shoulders. As she pulled on her scarf, he lifted the thick loose tresses of her hair, his fingers running through them as they settled on her shoulders. His fingers positively tingled, and he felt a jolt that went from every point in his body right to his toes. He gulped. There was quite a persistent voice in his head that demanded that he do that again. His hands ached, and he tried to quell the feeling by patting her on the shoulders to tell her he was done. She turned, looking up at him, her face soft.

"Thank you."

Harry shrugged, his mouth deciding that it was going to go on holiday unless there was to be some kissing on the menu. He stepped forward, opening the door for her, and the chill from outside struck their faces. Harry wrapped his (rather suave) black scarf around his neck tightly for good measure, and putting an arm around Hermione protectively, stepped out into the night with her.

"Gosh, Harry," she said, gazing about them. "Look at all the snow! It's wonderful!"

"Heavy fall this year," Harry managed, nodding shortly. He was proud of himself, for the second time that night. He managed not to say something royally embarrassing.

"Now, remember that the portkey is an old hole-riddled mitten."

Harry nodded. "What colour is it?"

Hermione frowned. "I don't know. I'm sure we'll find it easily enough, what with all the snow about."

"Yes," Harry said, a squirmy feeling in his belly. He did the first thing that he thought of to make himself feel better - pull whatever made him feel so nice closer to him. It happened to be Hermione, whom he had his arm around. She looked up at him, a shy but seemingly amused smile on her face.

"You are acting strange tonight, Harry," she said.

"Oh, sorry..."

"Don't be," she said, taking his other hand and putting it over hers.

Harry smiled. In all his worrying and fretting, it never occurred to Harry that Hermione might act positively to any notions of romance between them. Though, him opening a door and being unusually affectionate was hardly the sort of thing that indicated attraction (certainly not the skin-burning heart-thumping affliction he'd been suffering from the past few days), so she might have been returning what could have been easily misconstrued as a sign of affection. Shit, he thought. This has to be complicated.

They rounded the corner of the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and just beyond this was a hollow and decaying log. Hermione broke away from Harry, running to it and looking in the hole, lighting her wand.

"Yes!" she said, "It's here. What time is it?"

Harry checked his watch. "Six."

"Good, it'll send us off in a few minutes!"

She grabbed the portkey and held it out to Harry. It was a green mitten, riddled with rather neat-looking holes, and it smelt very nice, almost as if it had been dunked in expensive cologne. Hermione sniffed it and tilted her head at it.

"It's a bit conspicuous, isn't it?" she said. "They really should be more careful."

Harry nodded in agreement, taking hold of the thing with his hands. Hermione pulled off her own maroon gloves and stuffed them in her cloak pockets before taking hold of the portkey. They stood there for a long moment, and Harry found himself staring at Hermione again. Thankfully, this time it was her face he was looking at. She would look away, at the trees or the ground around them, and then shyly (or was it perhaps a coy look there?), she would look back to Harry.

"Ugh. Bugger it’s cold”, he muttered, shivering in the night air. He sent a wide grin at Hermione. "Wouldn't happen to have a fire in your purse, would you?"

She suddenly looked very embarrassed, and digging inside the presumably charmed purse, pulled out a jar of blue flame. Harry barked in laughter.

"What the hell?!"

"Oh, don't laugh!" she said, flapping a hand and stuffing the jar back in her purse. "I don't know why I brought it. I always get very worked up before going anywhere and I make sure I have things for every possibility. Don't ask me why... there's a pen in here, and my wand, and a scarf, my lipstick..."

"You're wearing lipstick?" he asked curiously.

"Of course I am," she said. "What, do you think my lips just magically got this colour?"

"They're not that colour?"

"Goodness no, Harry!" she said, smiling in disbelief. "They're a good three shades darker than usual!"

"Oh..." He blushed, feeling rather stupid. "They look the same to me."

Hermione rolled her eyes, slapping her purse shut. "So much for that..."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head, trying to salvage the situation. "I mean they look lovely. They always look lovely."

She frowned at him through a slight bluster of wind, cheeks reddening (from the sudden cold he was sure). Slowly, a humouring smile made its way to her face.

"Nice save, Harry."

Harry blushed, wishing he could just rewind past that whole conversation and start with something suave, like, "Gosh your lips look nice tonight. New lipstick?" But then he figured he would have just sounded incredibly gay. Move on, Harry, move on, he thought. Hermione sighed, clutching the mitten that Harry had been holding onto, for the five minutes wait was nearly over.

"Excited?" she asked him.

"I think so," Harry said. "This night might turn out to be okay."

Hermione looked at him oddly. "Oh? What made you think that it wouldn't?"

At that very moment the portkey pulled them in with a flash, and in the next they were gone.

~~*~~

Harry landed on a cold stone floor. All around him was dark, and above him was not a myriad of stars set in a blue satin sky, but a raftered stone roof. He rolled over, and sitting up he saw desks lined up all around them, and a podium behind him. There were strange objects all around the room, and a set of small steps on the podium behind a lectern. With a groan, Harry realised they were in the Charms classroom, and not at the party.

"What on earth?" he heard Hermione gasp. "Where- Charms?!"

Harry nodded. "Bloody hell. Ron's stuffed up."

Hermione was quiet, and pulling herself to her feet she raced over to the door. Harry heard the doorknob rattling, and he assumed she had pulled out her wand as she muttered spell after spell.

"Alohomora!" she exclaimed, getting increasingly irate. "Finite incantatem! Oh for bloody hell's sakes, open up door!"

"I don't think that's an official spell, Hermione."

"Lumos," she muttered, holding up her wand. After a moment, she shook her head. "Ron didn't do this," she said. "Everyone would be in here in that case, because the mitten would have sent them here." She sighed, tapping her foot. "And whoever did this did a good job on that door."

"Would have to have been a top grading student," Harry reasoned.

"With a green glove," Hermione said, "And a lot of money, judging by the smell of it."

They made eye contact and knew exactly who the other was thinking of.

"Malfoy," they said in unison.

"He's getting us back for the dig in the hallway," Harry said. "Bastard."

Hermione looked about them, and she jumped a bit. "Oh of course! The window!"

Harry frowned and turned to where she was looking. Behind the podium was a row of stained glass windows, and Hermione ran over to them, reaching for the handles. She struggled with them, growling as she yanked and pushed and tugged.

"Bloody - when's the last time they - AARGH!"

The window swung open and nearly took Hermione with it. Harry raced over, grabbing her about the waist and pulling her to him. Her arms were about him tightly, and she buried her face in his shoulder, breathing rapidly.

"Careful!" he said.

Stepping forward, he looked out the window. He quite remembered the three-storey fall from the Charm's classroom windows, and seeing it did nothing to calm him.

"Your broom," Hermione said, voice tense, her arms still about him. "Accio your broom."

Harry shook his head. "I can't, Hermione. It's locked up, it's a really expensive broom."

Hermione groaned, smacking her head on Harry's shoulder and pushing herself away from him, sitting down heavily on the podium behind her.

"Perfect."

"Come to think of it, Ron's is locked up too," he said, sitting down next to her. "And they're the only brooms I know the location of - apart from Madam Hooch's first year training brooms but they're locked up as well."

Hermione sighed. "And you can't accio a broom you can't picture in your mind," she said.

"Exactly."

Suddenly Hermione stood, frowning at the door. "Damn it. I know I can beat that door. Especially if it was Malfoy who did it. If I've kicked his arse in duelling then I can kick his arse with this."

With that she stomped over to the door, and with sparkle after flash, worked at the lock.

Harry felt a sinking feeling in his chest. Her eagerness to get out of the present situation did not leave Harry with the warm and fuzzies. In fact, his brain was formulating a range of reasons why Hermione would like to get away from being stuck in a room with him. Most of them had something to do with him being a stupid pathetic gimboid with all the grace and charm of Goyle after a few beers. Perhaps he was being too hard on himself.

"Bloody door!" growled Hermione.

Then again... perhaps not.

~~*~~

The sight for anyone walking up the path to the party cottage was one to behold. Ron really had outdone not only himself, but his brothers and every other Hogwarts student that ever endeavoured to hold a Christmas Party. In the front gardens, hopping, skipping and dancing in a delightful box-step, were eight snowmen and women, dressed up rather fetchingly in old worn accessories like scarves, top-hats and shawls. Glowing orbs lined the path to the front door, and on a sign on the door in twinkling glowing red and green letters were the words, "Merry Christmas." Added hastily underneath in blue paint were, "Unless you're a teacher, then you can sod off."

Inside was more lavish than out, as they didn't want to attract too much attention to the cottage. The dancing snowmen were, however, pretty much making that care pointless. Once inside, guests were greeted by the sight of the air full of Christmas faeries, warm dry magic snow and floating trays of hors d’oeuvres. Everlasting Icicles lined each doorway and banister, table, chair and window. Upon the tables laden with nibbly delights were also large everlasting ice-sculptures of the animal of each Hogwarts house, all wearing some silly kind of Christmas accessory. Gryffindor's lion wore real holly in its mane, Hufflepuff's badger wore mittens and a scarf, the eagle of Ravenclaw had a string of mistletoe around its neck and the snake of Slytherin wore a Father Christmas hat on a jaunty angle. The windows were charmed so that the frost moved and changed to form Christmas greetings all evening, though it was obvious Ron had gotten in there to do some charms of his own as every now and again the windows would say, "Malfoy is a Git" and "Go Gryffindor".

The piece de resistance, however, was the twenty or so house-elves running about the entertainment area, filling up people's cups with mulled wine and Christmas punch, charmingly dressed as Christmas Elves. They were resplendent in their red jumpers, little green overalls and long striped socks with pointy green slippers. They wore hats with bells so that one could hear where they were running and not step or sit on them. They were grinning and bouncing and seemed to be having as much of a good time as the students were.

The students were obviously awed. Their eyes would linger on the decorations as they chatted and socialised. Whenever anyone arrived, they would make a beeline to Ron and Lavender and Parvati.

"Brilliant," said Justin Finch-Fletchley, whapping Ron on the shoulder quite roughly. "Bloody fantastic! You've really done an awesome job, Ron!"

Ron smiled, very pleased with himself, and shrugged modestly. "Lavender and Parvati did a lot of work on it, so I can't take all the credit."

"No, he can't," said Parvati with a smirk.

"What about Harry, did he help too?" asked Justin.

"Naw, mate," said Ron, trying not to snigger all of a sudden. "He wanted to relax this Christmas."

"As well as chase skirt," muttered Lavender into her goblet of wine. Ron broke into a giggle.

Justin just looked bewildered, and giving Ron a final smack on the shoulder he wandered off.

"Hmm, that is something," said Parvati. "Harry's not here yet."

Lavender frowned, and turning about she checked the watch of a nearby student. She looked to Ron.

"He should have been here half an hour ago."

Ron waved a hand. "Bah. He's probably snogging Hermione in the Common Room."

Parvati's jaw dropped. "You're kidding? They're--"

"Not yet," said Lavender. "But you can tell Harry is absolutely dying to. I think Hermione's still a bit clueless about it all."

Parvati would have said something to this, but Dean shoved a goblet of alcoholic punch into her hands.

"Drink that and be quiet," he said, a glint of humour in his eyes. For that, he received a smack from the pretty Indian girl.

The party quickly whipped up to quite an event, the wizard wireless beating out some of the students' favourite tunes, the living room jam-packed with dancing teenagers, the food and the wine being consumed at a hell of a rate. Draco Malfoy arrived fashionably late, as one would say. He looked devastatingly handsome in his black garb, which, for the occasion, was edged in intricate silver embroidery, as was his waist-coat. His platinum blond hair was tied back in a black ribbon, and the shorter tresses were loose at the front, serving to make him look rather Victorian. The hair was only half an inch above his shoulders when out, but then again he'd only decided that he wanted to grow his hair the year before. Crabbe and Goyle plodded in behind him, and even they couldn't help but lift their eyes to the ceilings and the windows in admiration of the decorations. Draco looked down his pointed nose at the party around him, and slowly making his way over to Ron, he gave a huffing sigh through his nose.

"Well..." he said in his trademark drawl. "You managed not to completely stuff up the arrangements." His cold grey eyes fell on Ron. "Well done."

Ron shook his head. "Thanks, Malfoy. I'll try to take that as a compliment."

"Don't try too hard," replied Draco. He looked around, as if something smelt wrong. "Don't see your bosom buddy Potter around. Did you both have a lover's tiff?"

All of Ron's good will was sorely tested. "No, Malfoy. I'm sure he'll turn up eventually."

Draco stared at Ron, cool amusement on his sharp pale features. "Yes. I'm sure."

The rich boy swanned off, his dark cloak flapping behind him. Ron had an awful feeling in his stomach. It was a cold squishy feeling. He turned to Lavender, shaking his head.

"I think I should find Harry."

Lavender glanced about the faces of the people at the party, and looking back to Ron, she sighed. "All right. I'm sure he really is just back at the Common Room with Hermione."

"Yeah, but I'd like to make sure," said Ron. "I trust Malfoy as far as I could comfortably spit a rat, and the git looks like he knows something I don't."

Lavender nodded, following Ron as he strode to the door, grabbing his cloak from the closet.

"I'll come with you," she said.

Ron shook his head, clutching her shoulders.

"Nah, Lav. I need you to stay here and make sure the party goes all right. I won't be gone long."

The girl looked to her feet sadly, a dent of frustration in her brow.

"You will," she said. "I know what it's like when you and Harry and - and Hermione go off on one of your adventures." She eyed him, eyes glinting sadly. "I won't see you until tomorrow. And when I do you'll probably be in the infirmary again."

Ron sighed, running a hand through his fiery red hair. The look that Lavender was giving him was killing him. He never knew it could be this hard to leave somebody behind somewhere. Ron's stress levels had gone from nonexistent to peaking. They burst through the roof as a male student let out a gleeful yelp.

"Hey! Professor Delacour is here!"

Lavender's eyes flashed, and she folded her arms with a hot sigh. "Who invited her?"

"One of the fellas, no doubt," Ron groaned. He gave his cloak to Lavender and stormed through to the front door. "Oi! What are you doing here, can't you read the bloody sign?"

Fleur lifted a brow in amusement. Dressed top to bottom in an elegant gown that was the purest of white, hair piled up on top of her head in a roll, looking as if she just clubbed Marilyn Monroe over the head and stole every last drop of her mojo, Fleur obviously did not expect such a greeting from Ronald Weasley, of all people. She probably expected him to pee down his own leg.

"You are not 'appy to see me," she said, patting her hair lightly.

"Of course I'm not," Ron said, dragging her aside by the elbow. He was livid. His cheeks were scarlet. He was trying very hard not to look at Fleur's cleavage. "You're a professor! You're not supposed to be here!"

"I won't tell any of ze other professors," she said. "Come, Ronald. I am a young woman who would like to 'ave a good time, and I s'ought I would go to a party for Christmas. Yours came quite recommended from Monseiur Malfoy."

Bloody Malfoy, thought Ron. He'd do anything to get a piece of arse.

"Besides, many of the boys 'ad invited me, and I s'ought it would be rude to refuse zem."

"Rude?!" Ron wailed. "This from a woman who slaps me down every time I even LOOK at her the wrong way?!"

Fleur's cool eyes twinkled. "Ah, but Ronald, I expect more from you."

"Why?!"

She smiled. It nearly felled him. "Don't you remember? You're a nice boy when you are not looking."

Ron shook his head. He didn't care. He didn't have to deal with this. Harry was missing and it was far more important.

"Look, I don't care, I really don't," said Ron, letting go of Fleur and striding over to a scowling Lavender. "I gotta go."

"You are leaving your own party?" asked Fleur.

"Yeah," said Ron. "Don't spread it around but Harry's late and no one's seen him. I'm off to check the castle."

Without even a flutter of her lashes, Fleur stood straight. "I am coming wi'z you."

"Like hell!" growled Lavender, striding foward and yanking Ron back. He staggered, not expecting such a rough tug from the girl, and wondered for a moment why he'd never thought of seeing if she would be any good playing Quidditch. She had a beater's strength. He put his hands on her shoulders to calm her, but she still scowled.

Ron looked to Fleur. A determined look was about her. Wandering about a castle with Fleur Delacour... why did it not seem as thrilling a prospect as it did a week ago? Harry's missing, he thought. How can you think about girls when Harry's missing? Yes, logic was also Ronald Weasley's friend. The most important thing was Harry. Harry. Two gorgeous women... brunette on the right, blonde on the left. Ron really didn't want to go anywhere. Harry! Right Harry...

"He's probably just spending time with Hermione," Ron said, waving his hands at Fleur. "Just stay here and have a good time. Look after Lavender till I get back."

Lavender glared at him. Her message was clear. She would rather look up Snape's robe with a very bright torch than spend another moment with Fleur. Ron was suddenly bewildered. He never remembered Lavender being so hateful to Fleur before. It was ten times worse than the annoyance that Hermione seemed to exhibit towards the woman. Regardless, he was going to leave right now. He took his cloak from Lavender and wrapped it about himself.

"You do not understand," said Fleur, grabbing Ron's arm. "'E saved my Gabrielle's life, an' he saved mine. If 'Arry is in trouble I would like to 'elp 'im."

Ron stared at her oddly. "Fleur... he's probably off having a snog."

Fleur lifted a brow, folding her arms. "Oh? Z'en why are you so worried?"

He sighed. Bollocks. Smart-arse. "All right. Come on then."

Lavender jumped forward in protest. "Ron!"

Rubbing his face he turned about, taking Lavender by the shoulders.

"Lav, I'll be back soon, all right? I told you, I really need you here."

She frowned, pixie-like lips pouting, her large blue eyes filled with genuine hurt. She sighed, turning away.

"Fine."

He took in the sight of the woman standing there. She was hunched, half turned away, faerie wings waving morosely. The dress was still as pretty as it had been earlier, but with her sadness she made a tragic vision. She was lovely, but she was nothing next to Fleur. Fleur in her glittering white dress and flawless ivory skin looked as a goddess next to Lavender's tiny spritely presence. Lavender's hair sparkled in vain in comparison to Fleur's long platinum blonde locks that gleamed with a beauty entirely and infuriatingly natural. Fleur did not have to work hard to look as beautiful as she did, and with a little added glitz she blew the competition away. Lavender's prettiness was one achieved through daily regimens and hours of primping. Underneath the care and neatness was a regular brown-haired girl a touch on the skinny side with no features that really set her apart from any other mildly pretty young witch.

And for some damn reason his guts told him that this was the most gorgeous thing he'd ever laid eyes on, that it was all he'd ever want and that he knew he'd be perfectly happy if he had nothing but her for the rest of his life. It was crazy talk, utter nonsense. He felt this new conviction slipping through every inch of his veins, making him tingle all over, his mind losing hold of all the things he thought he knew about girls and finding itself in utterly uncharted territory.

Ron did the only thing he knew to do at that moment. Smiling shortly and oddly at Lavender, he grabbed Fleur by the arm and strode out the door into the night.

~~*~~

"Adaperio ianua! No? Bugger. Too easy. Aperio incantatem! Finally! Here we are... What?! That sneaky bastard!"

Harry looked up from the floor. Hermione was stooped in front of the door, peering at the lock, her wand glowing as she swished and flicked and tapped her little heart out. She was scowling at the door know, gripping the knob and seemingly frustrated.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"He's obviously dipped into his father's library for this one," she said. "It's a binding spell I don't recognise."

Harry sighed. "You can't break the spell?"

She looked over her shoulder at him, her face lit by the cool wand-light. "It's flattering that you think I could so easily unravel an obscure and obviously incredibly old spell such as this. Sadly for you, no, no I can't. Not without some library time anyway." She blew a sigh through her cheeks.

He frowned. "Sadly for me?"

"Of course," she said, looking at him with a humouring but slightly self-deprecating smile. "You hardly wanted to spend the night locked with me in a room with the Christmas party of the decade going on a few miles off."

"I don't mind," he said with a slight shrug. The only problem with this time in the classroom was that Hermione was giving all her attention to the door.

Hermione shot a frustrated sigh and she turned about, leaning against the door. "Oh really, Harry, you don't have to be nice for me. I know you're disappointed."

"I'm not," said Harry, "I'm really not."

She frowned, turning away from him and crouching in front of the lock. "Now you're just being stubborn."

Was he disappointed? He thought about it, thought about the party and then he thought about what he had here. Yes, it would have been very nice to see the fruits of Ron's labours. But right now he had Hermione all to himself, and there was no chance of anyone walking in, or for her cat to distract her, or for any other intrusion that could annoy Harry. He knew that had they been at the party, they would have either been perched at the drinks or on a couch, watching everyone get staggeringly drunk. This in itself seemed fun enough, and Harry had intended on getting quite soused himself. The problem was that he would have probably said something to embarrass himself, most likely about Hermione's cleavage. The night would have been a very slow burn, his mind wrapping itself around the wish that he could just, for two moments, have her alone so he could sort out the wild feelings that plagued him. And here she was, his, entirely his for however long it took for them to be found, or till the spell wore off.

"Are you disappointed?" he asked her suddenly.

She looked over her shoulder again. Her brows knitted as she sighed.

"Not really," she said. "It would have been nice to see Ron's efforts pay off, but there will be plenty of parties this year."

Harry couldn't help but smile. "My thoughts exactly."

She seemed to fight a smile. "So you really aren't disappointed?"

"No, I'm not disappointed."

She blew a sigh through her teeth, and turned away from the door. "All right. I think I got rid of the other spells that were laid over the binding charm. You know, silentius and so forth. So if someone comes, we'll hear them, and they'll hear us through the door. Other than that, it's a waiting game."

Harry looked about himself. The windows of the classroom were wide open and the clouds had rolled by earlier that night to leave the sky bare and a deep rich blue that was a riot of stars. There was a spot on the podium that looked nice. He walked over to it, and opening one of the nearby cupboards he pulled out some cushions.

"May as well make ourselves comfortable," he said, holding up a cushion.

Hermione sighed, plodding over to him and taking the cushion with a weary smile. She sat down with Harry, leaning against him a little, her arm against his chest.

"What?"

She shook her head, fighting a smile on her face. "Nothing. I'm just thinking... I hope Malfoy is having a good time."

Harry sniggered. "Are you kidding? He's probably pinned in a corner by Pansy Parkinson. She's drunk beyond hope and at any moment she's going to go for the grope."

"Oh God!" Hermione burst into laughter, flapping a hand. "Please let's not talk about that."

"Oh? I thought you girls all found Draco 'sexy in an evil way'!" He lifted his voice to imitate a girl, probably Lavender.

"Ohhh no," Hermione groaned. "I suppose he's pretty in a completely shallow way. I don't know. I don't like blondes too much."

Harry's stomach did a flip-flop of utter glee. "What do you prefer? Red-heads? Sandy-haired fellows?"

"Not at all!" she protested. She paused suddenly, and Harry could feel her squirming uncomfortably beside him. Her next words were a rushed mutter. "I like men with very dark hair."

His stomach leapt into his throat. All right, let's not get too excited, he thought. Calm down, be cool.

"Well! I'll just have to tell Sirius to watch his back, then," he quipped.

In response, he was whacked rather firmly on the chest, Hermione gasping at him.

"He's old enough to be my father!"

"It was a joke, Hermione," Harry said, stifling a snigger.

"Well he is rather attractive, but..." Hermione shook herself. "No, we're not going into that territory! Gosh!" She turned on him. "When on earth did you turn into such a pervert?"

"Pervert?" he chuckled. "I was joking! You were the one considering it!"

"It's not my fault your godfather is so bloody handsome," Hermione grumbled. "We're moving off this subject."

"Are we? All right." He chuckled again, quite unable to stop. He found he loved it when she was flustered. "What are we talking about now, then?"

"Anything but what we were talking about previously."

"That's nice and vague," said Harry. "Have you enjoyed your break then?"

"Oh yes," Hermione sighed happily. "It's just a shame that it's going to be over soon. But it's good that it's ended. Imagine holidays lasting for any longer... Ugh! I would go mad if I didn't have anything to do."

"I think the signs of that were showing yesterday, what with you growling at Lavender because she wouldn't let you look at the charms book she'd gotten from the library."

"I just wanted to help her!" exclaimed Hermione. "She was doing it all wrong!"

"I'm sure she would have figured it out in her own time," said Harry amusedly. "Besides, we had a deal."

"I remember the deal," said Hermione, "And it's all very unfair! You told everyone about it, didn't you?" Harry smiled broadly and nodded. "You evil bastard," she muttered darkly. "Notice I never told you that you weren't allowed to fly your broom."

"Of course not," said Harry with a smirk. "It was a way out of here."

She sighed hotly. "Well, I was trying to help Lavender, wasn't I?"

"Hmmm, I don't think it counted as an emergency situation."

"So it had to be an emergency situation for the agreement to be broken?" she said. She sat upright, glaring at him.

"Yes," said Harry, making an effort to keep his eyes to her face as she had her lit wand at a most interesting angle that made the most of her outfit's low neckline. Hermione was frowning at him.

"Since when did being stuck with a room with you count as an 'emergency' anyway?"

Harry lifted a brow. "You obviously didn't see yourself trying to get out of here. You were downright desperate!" He sat up and began to wave an invisible wand about, imitating Hermione's well spoken incantation style and looking completely gay in the process. "Alohomora! Adaperio ianua! Aperio incantatem! Finite incantatem!"

"I wasn't!" she gasped, pulling his hands down from the play-acting and glaring at him, trying not to laugh at how silly he was being. "And I told you, I was more concerned about your night than mine!"

"So far I'm thoroughly enjoying it," he said with a chuckle.

"Well, that doesn't make sense!" Hermione said, folding her arms with a puzzled frown. "All we've done is sit in this stupid classroom and natter at each other!"

"I know."

Hermione's breath rushed from her chest, and her cheeks burned red. Her brown eyes seemed to glint with a fire, her lips parted slightly and he knew she was thinking, adding it all up. He felt his own skin burning, tingling. Did she understand now? Did she know how hard his heart was beating in his chest? She didn't look away, not even when he gazed back at her, adoration clear in his eyes.

Giddiness overwhelmed him as Hermione shifted onto her side, leaning closer to him. He tilted his head, hunger consuming him unexpectedly. He opened his mouth a fraction, eyes drifting closed.

It was at that exact moment that there was a rafter-shaking thumping on the classroom door.

~~*~~
Onto Chapter Three

3. Chapter Three

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

*A Christmas present from Hermione's parents to Harry

*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 Three

The night was brisk enough that Ron's teeth began to chatter. Fleur was wrapped in a magnificent white fur-lined cloak, white gloved hands clutching it about her. Her pretty face was proud and unreadable, despite the icy conditions that would have had anyone else wincing and shuddering. They strode purposefully down the muddy back road from the cottage, the mud crunching with slushy ice. Fleur seemed to be thinking now. Ron could guess from the fluttering lashes and the funny little pout that had just formed on her lips.

"We must start at ze beginning," she said. "Where was ze last time you saw 'Arry?"

"In the Common Room," said Ron, annoyance and worry making his insides heavy. "The portkey is just after this turn in the road, by the way."

Fleur nodded. "And what was 'e doing?"

"He was having some punch with Hermione."

Fleur had the slightest dent of thought on her forehead. "Mmmm.... was z'ere any's'ing suspicious about zis punch?"

"It was non-alcoholic," said Ron. "And the House Elves made it. Apart from that..."

Fleur sighed. "Perhaps 'e is 'off for a snog', as you say."

"Very good!" Ron sniggered. "I wasn't aware you were making an effort to learn our filthy 'eenglish' ways!"

Fleur laughed. Her smile lit up her face and the sound was like crystal bells. "Of course I am. You 'filsy Eenglish' would never let me live comfortably here if I did not!" She stood tall, and it was as if a beautiful white crane had extended itself to full height. "I know much English now. I can say... Bloody hell, and bollocks!" She shouted the foreign words with an enthusiastic ardour. "I also like bugger! And... Sod off you silly smegging plonker!"

The words seemed so absurd falling from Fleur's beautiful flawless lips that Ron couldn't help but double over in helpless laughter. Fleur laughed too, giggling till her ivory cheeks were pink. She rarely ever did anything around anyone other than smile distantly or look superior. As she giggled she almost looked human, reachable, and not a lofty dream, not an angel on high. Ron took a good look at her, his smile fading but his heart warming gently.

"You know... you're really beautiful when you forget you are."

Fleur's smile fell away, and she narrowed her eyes affectionately at Ron.

"I feel like it is a curse to me sometimes," she said. "I am proud of who I am, of what I am, but sometimes I wish I was not part Veela." She looked down. "I wish that I could do my job wiz'out dressing up to my neck. I wish I could talk to a man and know 'e is listening to what I am saying, and not lost in 'is own 'ormones." Her narrowed eyes became cold and sharp. "I envy your friends."

Ron frowned. "My friends?"

"'Ermione. And that Lavender girl."

Damn. Flipping damn damn buggery damn. Why did she have to bring up the one woman he really didn't want to be thinking about right now, not when things with Fleur were going so swimmingly? It was a waste of a perfectly good job of forgetting about the girl. Despite this, some stubborn part of him got very annoyed and he found himself arguing with Fleur.

"They're beautiful!" he said. "Just not the same way you are."

"Exactly," she said. "Zey are not so beautiful zat ze men about zem cannot function normally. Not so much zat boys like you don't even s'ink to get to know z'em properly."

"Boys do want to get to know you," said Ron. "It's just... you don't share much. You distance yourself all the time, you know?"

Fleur lifted her head, and a brow. "Sharing is often mistaken for romantic interest. Being part Veela, such a s'ing could be a matter of life and death."

The full gravity of Fleur's words hit Ron, and the isolation and loneliness she suffered was keen and bright in her pale blue eyes. Some part of him felt it was best to move Fleur off the subject in case the melancholy that had become her consumed her entirely. He patted her shoulder, smiling at her kindly.

"Don't worry," said Ron. "We'll find Harry and when we get back to the party, you can have a nice time dancing."

Fleur smiled, snuggling deep into her cloak.

"And will you dance wi'z me, Ronald?"

Ron gave a tense smile as he imagined the situation. He'd be on the floor, out cold after an enraged Lavender Brown would make her opinions on the idea of him dancing with Fleur known. This would involve her racing across the floor, knocking Ron to the ground accidentally in blind rage as she would reach to claw out Fleur's eyes and instead wrapping her long fingers about Fleur's fragile and swan-like neck. While this vision occupied his brain, however, the rest of him was distracted by Fleur's pretty smile and the way her lips wrapped deliciously about his name (...Rrrronald...) and before both his brain and his body had a chance to confer, his penis hijacked his mouth and made it mutter:

"Sure, yeah... okay!"

Fuck.

Fleur squeezed his hand with a grin. "Wonderful!"

It was a troubled Ron who picked up the portkey as they reached it. It was a dusty and rusted old cauldron, about the same size as a rockmelon (for small potions obviously). It was quite a clever set-up that Ron had arranged, but he was of the opinion that it was merely an enhancement of the old method. Lavender and Parvati were of the opinion that it was a bloody brilliant bit of wizarding on his part. Instead of the portkey going with its traveler (which caused all sort of annoyances in the past, like someone having to stay with the portkey to take it back and forth from its transition point) he had figured out a way to alter the charm so that the portkey object stayed behind, and then linked it to another portkey so that this separate portkey took the traveller back to the first one. Ron was just busting to tell his father about it, but he knew he'd have to wait till school was over so that he wouldn't get in trouble for setting up such a network without Hogwarts permission.

The portkey network Ron had set up activated every ten minutes of the hour. Luckily for Ron and Fleur it was 7:18pm, so they hadn't long to wait at all. Ron was inexplicably thankful for this beyond all his reason. He tried to convince himself it had nothing to do with the way Fleur was looking at him and the way it was making him feel. He found himself trying not to think about either Fleur or that other girl who made his crotch feel like it was about to explode. In the next moment, however, Ron was relieved to find himself thinking about neither of these things, for the world felt like it was being drawn through his navel very, very quickly. Then he fell over, and it was cold and dark.

~~*~~

He coughed, his breath being a bother and not coming back to him the way he wanted it to, the pull through the portkey being a little rougher than he expected. Dragging himself shakily to his feet, he wondered why it was so dark and cold. Upon lighting his wand he realised that the reason for this was that he'd landed in a snow bank and had sunk a good two feet into the white fluffy stuff. Holding his wand up to the bank he saw the struggling limbs of Fleur waggling out of it, and he jumped forward, pulling her out of the snow.

"You all right?"

She nodded. "Oui. But now I am all wet!"

Ron waggled his wand with risen brows and a cheeky smile. "Not a problem." Pointing to her robes he said, "Adsicco!"

His wand glowed and shot a wave of gold over Fleur, a hot breeze fluttering past her. She felt her robes, and satisfied that they were perfectly dry, smiled at Ron.

"Well done," she said. "I couldn't 'ave done it better myself."

Sliding his wand away, Ron guided Fleur about the difficult path, and then they were striding across the lawn towards the castle, looking awfully determined.

"We'll look in Gryffindor Tower first," said Ron, "Since that's where we saw 'em last."

Fleur nodded in agreement. Ron was glad she agreed and didn't ask questions. He was quite deliberately going to the Tower, mainly so he could go up to Harry's trunk and dig out the Marauder's Map to save some time. Of course, then a play-act of Ron not knowing where Harry was would have to follow, but Ron was sure that if he were clever enough he could manipulate his way to Harry very quickly. Providing he was still in the castle, of course. He better be in the bloody castle, thought Ron. If he's not, I'll kill him. Ron always thought in death threats when he was under dire stress and subject to worry for people he deeply cared about.

It didn't take them long to get up to the Tower, and once there Ron ducked up to the dormitory. He unlocked Harry's trunk and digging his hand into the elasticated pocket in the side, he pulled out the map. Unfolding it, the map yielded the answer to the question of Harry's whereabouts.

"Charms?" he breathed. "What on earth?"

Shaking his head, he stuffed the map back in the trunk and ran down to the Common Room.

Fleur was peering at the old tapestries hung about the room, resting a hand on the mantle of the fireplace.

"Uhm... they're not there," he said. Fleur lifted a brow, bringing her hands together with a sigh.

"Well zen... we mus' look elsewhere."

"The classrooms are probably a good place to start," Ron said as laid back as he could, but without being too laid back and giving him away. As a result, he looked a touch constipated. He just decided to stop acting like anything at all. "Come on."

Fleur followed him as he strode down the hall purposefully. Not that he knew it, but she frowned at him. After he had gone down two corridors without checking any of the broom cupboards, nor any of the stairwells that curled off it, or even calling out Harry or Hermione's names, she pulled him to a stop.

"Where are we going?" she demanded.

"To look for Harry and Hermione," Ron said, looking at her as if she were a little soft in the head.

"Well you 'aven't even been looking!" she said, "Z'ey could be anywhere 'ere and you 'aven't checked!"

He looked back and forth and frowned. "Well, they're not here."

She lifted a brow and stared at him. "'Ow do you know?"

He frowned seriously. "I have a feeling. Come on."

"No," Fleur said, striding to a door and opening it. "I don't trust de 'feelings' when a student's well-being is in jeopardy."

Ron rubbed his face tiredly. Great. They'd be searching through half the school all night, and he'd be missing out on the greatest party of the century.

"Fleur, just believe me, all right? My feeling says the classrooms. I've been right before, now let's just keep going."

"'ARRY!" she cried, calling into the stairwell that was on the other side of the door she opened. "'ErmioNEE!"

"SHhhH!" hissed Ron, running over to her and pulling her away from the door. "Are you *trying* to get me into trouble?"

She looked at him sharply. "Obviously zat is more important to you z'an 'Arry's well being."

"No, of course not!" he said. "I've more than managed to help him out in the past without getting us both into trouble. Now, come here and be quiet!"

Fleur seethed. It was apparent she did not appreciate being talked to in such a way. She would never have been talked to in such a way in her life, and particularly not from Ron, who reserved that sort of behaviour for Hermione.

"I will not 'eel like a wayward puppy!" she retorted.

He blinked at her. "Then don't act like one!"

Her jaw dropped. Her ivory cheeks grew red. She stormed over to Ron and with a swift swing, slapped him right across the face. He staggered back, clutching his face, shocked at the sting that slammed over his cheek. He wasn't expecting such a thing, as he'd never had a woman react like that in his life. He looked back and forth between them, then stood very tall.

"I'm going to go look for Harry and Hermione now."

Without another word, he stomped off towards the classrooms. He was so incredibly mad that he didn't even want to look at Fleur. Slapping might have been all well and good back in France, but here, and with the people he socialised with, it was just a little uncalled for. Behind him the woman continued to call for his friends, doors opening and closing as she checked in closets and walkways. The first classroom they'd hit was Transfiguration(). It was just a few yards up ahead. He ran up to the door, and going in he made a good show of looking for Harry and Hermione. He checked behind tables and chairs, in cupboards, behind the podium, all around the room. Of course they weren't there. He knew exactly where they were. He just hoped they were still there when he got to them.

He strode to the door, and just as he opened it, Fleur arrived on the other side. They almost bumped into each other, and as it was they stood barely an inch apart. For a long moment she stood there, hands bracing the doorway, breathing quite smoothly, eyes locked on his before glancing at his lips momentarily. She met his eyes again, and cocking a brow, stepped back from him.

"You looked?"

"Yeah," said Ron.

She paused, eyeing him judiciously. "Properly?"

If he were a bird, he could have ruffled his feathers indignantly. Instead, he puffed up his chest and scowled at her. "Yeah, of course!" He sneered then. "I even called out their names!"

She narrowed her eyes and lifted her nose. "Good. Let's keep going."

She was slowly sending him up the wall. He never knew she could be like this. All the time he'd been chasing her, she'd seemed cool and unflappable and wonderful and never had he thought she'd be infuriatingly superior. Well... he would have expected her to be had he used his brains, but he'd conveniently forgotten the fact. His body, however, didn't care in the slightest and was still very excited after sharing the same air as her heavenly body for a few moments. It was teeth-grindingly annoying, to be so angry with her and so bloody turned on by her at the same time.

"'Istory," Fleur said, opening the door and swanning into the dark room. Ron followed her, listening to her call out his friends names, sans the 'h's.

He watched her as she looked, and it occurred to him that something had changed since she'd struck him. He couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but he'd seemed to have moved up in her esteem somehow. Perhaps it was his reaction. Maybe all the other men acted differently when she did that to them. She must have done it before, she was too easy to fly off the handle at him. What did they do - what would they do, men so terribly in love with her? Grovel? Beg? Ron felt like doing neither, and at the moment he was swinging between hitting her or kissing her rather possessively.

Kissing? It was an odd thing to want to do. He'd often felt the same towards Hermione. He wracked his brains, he didn't like feeling things he didn't understand.

"Zey are not 'ere," Fleur said, and she went past him, wafting of perfumes and beautiful soaps. He quietly followed, thinking deeply, trying to understand.

Charms was next. He'd be back to the party soon, back to Lavender. God, why did he keep coming back to that? That girl was like a song that got stuck in your head. It kept popping up every five minutes in the mind and wouldn't leave until he thought about it for a good minute.

Fleur reached the door to Charms and she turned the knob. It did not open for her. She frowned, and gripping the knob, pulled and pushed the door, wiggling it back and forth, and after this didn't yield results, she growled. It had to be the cutest sound Ron had ever heard, and he tried to ignore his neck and cheeks going hot. He reached the door, and Fleur was attacking it with several unlocking charms.

"It is not working," Fleur said, a little bit of panic in her voice.

Ron frowned and did the only logical thing left. He thumped on the door repeatedly, calling out their names.

"Harry! Hermione!" And he added, "Are you in there?!" Even though he was fairly certain they were.

It was odd. For a few moments there was nothing. No sound, no movements. Then there was a flurry of footsteps, and their voices were loud on the other side of the door.

"Ron!" It was Hermione. It was strange. She sounded distinctly guilty. "What are you doing here?!"

He blinked. "What?"

"Ron, what time is it?"

That was Harry this time. Ron frowned. This was getting very peculiar.

"About seven thirty!" He cleared his throat. "Have we interrupted something?"

"NO!" came the reply in unison, both voices peaked in panic.

Fleur just smirked.

"Well - what are you doing in there?"

"We think Malfoy might have something to do with it," said Hermione, "He left a trick portkey. A green mitten."

Ron growled. "I left a maroon one! I'd say you've been diddled all right!"

"Thing is, we've tried everything on the door," Hermione continued. "It must be a spell I'm not aware of."

"It is a particularly complicated one," said Fleur. "I am not surprised."

"Is that Fleur?" called Hermione.

After a guilty pause, Ron replied. "Yeah."

There was another pause. Then Hermione spoke. "I thought you were taking Lavender out tonight!" She sounded quite accusatory.

Ron blushed, not that they knew it. Fleur just arched a brow.

"Uhm - I did, I mean I am! Fleur was just helping me look for you both!"

"That's nice," said Harry. Ron wasn't quite sure how to take that one. "Listen, Ron. Can you take my broom out for me? Leave it on my bed? I can Accio it and then Hermione and I can get the hell out of here."

"All right," said Ron, quite relieved that the whole situation was just a particularly clever prank against Harry and not some terrible plot by You-Know-Who to take over the world. He really wanted to get back to the party. "That'll only take me a few minutes. We'll head off now, all right?"

"Thanks Ron!" called Harry. "You're the best!"

Ron nodded. "You've no idea. Well..." He squirmed a little, meeting Fleur's rather amused expression. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do in there."

"RON!" cried Hermione from the other side of the door. Fleur chuckled.

"See ya!"

As he strolled off with Fleur (in a much calmer state), he could hear Hermione shouting at him from the classroom, but thankfully he was too far away now to hear any insults she may have had for him. She then went quiet very quickly. Ron didn't want to think about why. Really did not. They turned the corner, and Ron enjoyed the fact that he didn't have to overly worry about Harry's well being for once.

"You were right about ze classroom," Fleur said.

Ron shrugged. "I had a feeling."

"I don't doubt it," Fleur said in a rather dry tone.

"Hello, are you accusing me of something?"

Fleur just smiled. "You 'ave your secrets, you and 'Arry and 'Ermione. You 'ave your way of finding s'ings out, and I am not silly. I know you break ze rules, and I know zat you are not all you seem, you and zem." She tapped his nose. "I don't expect to find out your secrets, I just know you 'ave z'em."

"Good, ‘cause I'm not telling."

He turned about and walked up the steps on the way to Gryffindor Tower. Some part of him was feeling the proximity every time Fleur grew close to him, and the other part just wanted to back away and get going, be in a place with people other than Fleur. She was too beautiful, too tempting, too much. They walked in silence for a while until they reached the portrait, when Ron muttered the password. As they climbed into the hole and into the Common Room, Ron could hear her breaths as she struggled in her dress. He turned, and he reached out.

"You all right?"

"Z'is dress is too long and too tight!"

"Here..." He put his hands on her ribcage, and pulling her forward, helped her out of the hole.

They staggered for a moment, and then righted themselves, Ron leaning against the wall, Fleur wobbling then finding herself up against him. Her large blue eyes gleamed at the contact, and she eyed him, a little smile on her face. Ron never imagined in a million years that he'd be so close to her, that he'd have his hands on her like this. She felt perfect, absolutely perfect.

"It's a pity," she breathed.

"Huh?"

She batted her long dark eyelashes prettily. "Z'ere is no mistletoe 'ere." She dragged her finger down the line of his jaw.

"You always require mistletoe to lay one on someone?"

Fleur giggled. "Mmm, non..." She leant in, and at the last moment breathed his name in that way that had him dizzy.

Round soft lips settled upon his own, and he was rather shocked as they pressed down, parting, warm and delicious. His body thrummed, his skin warm, but his heart... Oh God it was incredibly still. He frowned, wondering what was wrong, wondering how anything could be wrong when this is exactly what he always wanted! He pressed his lips against hers, wrapped his arms about her, teased her mouth with the tip of his tongue, eliciting a rather surprised moan from the woman in his arms. Oh yes, tingles, warm skin, hot breaths... nothing. Absolutely nothing. His mind wandered as his body enjoyed the sensations it was experiencing, and a thought flit through it. I wonder how Lav's going at that party...

A crashing heat plunged through him, and he pulled Fleur away with a jerk. He panted, eyes wide, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry."

Fleur frowned, and was rather surprised when he broke away, storming up the stairs to the dorms. He could suddenly only think of one thing, only one vision filling his mind, and it had nothing to do with ivory dresses and long platinum hair. He laid Harry's broom out on the bed, opened the window in the dorm and bolted back down the stairs. He had to get back to the party.

Fleur awaited him at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded, a slightly bemused look on her face.

"'As somes'ing come up?"

Ron cleared his throat. Reaching the bottom of the steps, he took her hands, looking rather apologetic.

"Actually, it's what didn't come up," Ron said. Fleur blinked. "Sorry, bad joke, not really appropriate. I'm really sorry, Fleur, but - it's just not happening, you know?"

A dawning look spread across the beautiful face across from him, and she nodded. "Of course."

"You understand, don't you?"

She looked a little sad, but also knowing. It killed Ron to do it to her, but he suddenly knew a truth more deep and more binding than any he'd ever experienced before. Fleur smiled slightly, pulling her hands away from his.

"You go to 'er, Ronald," she said. "I 'ave my fun elsewhere tonight, mmm?"

Fun. Good. He was just fun. He leapt forward, dropping a kiss on her cheek briefly. "Thanks!"

He turned away and ran for the door.

"Ah... Ronald?"

He stopped, glancing to Fleur.

Fleur pointed to her lips. "You 'ave lipstick on your mouth. I would get rid of z'at before proclaiming your love to a woman."

Ron turned beet red and wiped at his mouth furiously. "Oh... thanks!"

Fleur smirked. "Go."

Ron did exactly that.

~~*~~

Of all the times Ron had to save the day, it was this one. And of all the times Ron had to be actually perceptive for once, it was the time that he sounded hopelessly guilty and put upon. Thankfully, Ron didn't make much of it. Probably because he was alone with Fleur Delacour. These thoughts did not have time to linger in his mind. His heart was still beating from the moment he'd had stolen away from him, and as Hermione gripped the doorknob, shouting at Ron and Fleur about spells and so-forth, all Harry could think about was how close he'd been to tasting her lips. The space between Hermione and him - barely a foot - was suddenly too much. He stepped closer to her, and with a shaking hand, he touched her hip. Hermione looked down, then up at him, cheeks going crimson. Listening to Hermione bark at Ron, he let his hand slide forward and cup the curve of her hip, fingers shifting back and forth experimentally, and Hermione gazed at him flusteredly before shouting through the door again. He sighed, heart thumping so mad it shuddered his ribcage, deciding that this situation had to be dealt with, quickly and precisely.

"Listen, Ron. Can you take my broom out for me? Leave it on my bed? I can Accio it and then Hermione and I can get the hell out of here."

Hermione looked up to him, and he could see she was rather worked up about everything. In the light of their wands, her face had a handsome blush about it. He unwittingly squeezed the hip under his hand in affection and Hermione stifled a gasp, her hands gripping the door helplessly. She shook her head at him with a look of panic that told him exactly how little control she had when he did that to her. Oh, how he wished Ron would just smeg off now.

"All right," cried Ron. "That'll only take me a few minutes. We'll head off now, all right?"

"Thanks Ron!" called Harry. "You're the best!"

"You've no idea. Well..." A pause. A very naughty pause. He would kill Ron. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do in there."

He would most definitely kill Ron.

"RON!" cried Hermione, jumping up and down in front of the door, getting even more steamed when she heard Fleur laugh at them.

"See ya!" came Ron's voice from further away. Good. He was leaving.

"Oh, you COME back here, you evil sod!" Hermione shouted, thumping the door. "Ron! Just you wait I'm going to make you pay for that!!"

"Hermione..."

Hermione slammed her hand on the door, and then kicked it for good measure. "Like he can bloody talk, poncing around with that blonde trollop!"

She stepped up to Harry, planting her hands on her hips angrily. "I can't believe he's done this to Lavender!

Harry smiled as she grumbled, adoring every moment of it. He decided he loved how she got angry. He loved how she swore under her breath and got that little dent in her forehead when she complained about things. He loved it so much he was going to kiss it. He turned her about, the girl still seething with rage, and quietly, swiftly, pressed a soft kiss to her brow. Hermione stilled, her hands curling about his fore arms and taking hold.

"Harry..." she breathed softly.

Her eyes were half-lidded and he could see the desire in the colour of her skin. He didn't let her say anything else. He cupped her jaw in his hands, dipped down and pressed his lips to hers.

Her arms crawled up around his neck, her lips opening underneath his, a plaintive sigh leaving her. After a long caress that went from shy and sweet to verging on heated, Hermione pulled away, smiling coyly, her breaths rushed. Harry ran the pad of his thumb down the line of her jaw, leaning his forehead against hers.

"You're absolutely beautiful," he said. "I think I nearly peed myself when I saw you tonight." He giggled, feeling positively giddy.

Hermione did too, and she sighed. "Harry! Well... thank you, but I often wonder if you see the world the way the rest of us do, particularly regarding me."

"I don't think Ron would have had that crush on you for all that time if you weren't something lovely to look at."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Please! It made complete sense from a psychological standpoint for him to develop a crush on me! I'm the closest non-related female he knows and if he's going to discover anything about his sexuality it's going to be with m-"

Harry cut her off with a kiss, running his fingertips down the dips in her throat lightly. As he pulled away, he met her eyes with his own half-lidded in desire.

"You're beautiful, Hermione."

A sigh left her, her eyes locked with his, and she nodded very faintly. "Th-thank you."

He sighed too, cradling her jaw in his hands, gazing at her contentedly.

"You know," he said, drawing his thumb back and forth over the round of her chin, "I thought you weren't interested in me. Not like that..." Alarm made his eyes shine. "Or - am I being presumptuous...?"

"Harry!" she gasped, smacking him in the side playfully and pulling him down to her. She kissed him, not like she kissed him before. It was a forceful, fiery caress, and a shudder of delight swept through his body as her tongue stole between his lips. Pulling away, she was a little breathless, and her brown eyes gleamed with certainty.

"I'm more than interested in you, silly git."

Harry couldn't wipe the damn silly grin of his face.

"Whatever gave you the impression otherwise?"

His grin sobered, and he shrugged. "Well... your reaction in the Common Room when I told you what Lavender had said about us..."

"Oh," She rolled her eyes, embarrassed. "Did it ever occur to you that I have always assumed that you're not really interested in *me*? I mean, I'm not exactly the most glamourous of girls around-"

"So?"

She giggled. "Harry! You have looked at your track record, haven't you?"

He blushed. The few girls he had been interested in did all have a flashy gorgeousness about them, but it wasn't that that he liked. It was their confidence, their wit, and Hermione had that in abundance.

"It wasn't them who were there for me when I needed them, was it? They never calmed me down when I was angry, or made sure I was all right. Or went head-on into danger for me..." He shook his head. "No girl could compare to you, Hermione. Not one." He pressed his forehead to hers, smiling softly. "You're the only one that's put everything on the line to protect me. The only one that saw me for who I was, right down to the core, and didn't walk away."

She sighed, smiling softly, and she wrapped her arms about him, hugging him tightly.

"And I won't," she said, "I never will. Not if I have a choice in the matter."

Harry closed his eyes, resting his cheek on her head. After a time like this, Hermione pulled away, her liquid brown eyes meeting his. He couldn't help but stroke her skin again - the lovely line of the cheek, to the jaw, down the neck, to the base and the curve of her collarbone. Hermione shuddered, her mouth dropping open a little, her eyes fluttering closed.

Stepping forward, Harry lifted her jaw, closing in on the lovely length of her neck and pressing soft kisses there. Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders, digging her fingers in and melting in his arms.

"Ooh, Harry..."

He'd never heard Hermione speak like that, not with her voice thick with desire and arousal. It sent his blood boiling, and he shook a little, opening his mouth on her neck, sliding his tongue over her skin. She made a noise in her throat, and Harry sucked in a deep breath, trying to combat the dizziness overwhelming him. He had to have her lips again, and he kissed her, dipping within, exploring and teasing. Hermione moaned.

"Harry," she huffed, "We have a party to get to..."

His expression fell. "You want me to stop?"

"Oh, you-" She sighed. "Harry, if we keep on like this I'll look a wreck and I already have to reapply my lipstick. Besides..." She smiled. "We have all night."

Harry's brows lifted. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

She primped at her hair, picking her wand up off the floor. "Better to take our time when no-one is expecting us. Lord knows what Ron thinks with the delay we've had already."

He understood. She wanted to take her time in exploring this new thing between them, she didn't want it to be some rushed groping in a locked up classroom. He nodded, straightening out his own clothes, forgetting his hair because it was a dead loss anyway.

"Come on then," he said, "We're missing the party of all parties."

Hermione wrapped her arm about his own propped and bent elbow. Lifting his hand he called his broom to him. After a few moments, it zoomed into his hand.

"Will you be all right with this?" he asked her. "I know you're not fond of these."

"If I flew one from my house to Grimmauld Place, I can ride on one with you, especially considering you're a markedly better rider than I."

Her firm glance told him that she would be all right. Her arms around him as they mounted the broom were still tight, but he didn't mind in the slightest. They stopped by the bathrooms in Gryffindor Tower to neaten themselves up before hopping out the window on the broom to the cottage where the party was taking place. They avoided the Common Room for McGonagall could have been on patrol by that time. That, and it was far too tempting to stay right there and wile the night away with each other.

~~*~~

He'd looked throughout the entire house. Nobody could say where she was, either because they were too drunk to be able to produce words, or because they actually hadn't seen her. His heart sinking, he trudged outside through the snow. He shivered, pulling his cloak tight around himself. The dancing snowmen had tired some and were no longer doing jigs, but now leaning on each other in slow dances. Ron ignored them, plodding about them and making his way to the back end of the cottage property. He nearly slid onto his bottom on the icy cobbles that lined the passage to the yard. He rounded the corner and as he did, the sight that welcomed him both broke his heart and took his breath away.

She sat under a naked towering dark oak, wings waving back and forth forlornly, shimmering in the cool light of the moon. Her skin was pale and light, some of her hair had fallen loose, the deep brown tresses glittering slowly in the still night air. Her face was upturned to the sky, and a single tear twinkled on the sublime curve of her cheek. Her cloak covered her lap, and her arms were folded on it, fingers woven. On her hair and wings sat flakes of snow, and she looked utterly ethereal.

He trudged over to her quickly, and he knelt in the snow next to her. He lifted a hand and pulled a strand of her hair behind her ear, gazing at her like an unearthly vision.

"Why did I leave you tonight?" he breathed, shaking his head. "I'm a bloody git."

Lavender jumped a little, sprung from her reverie, and she frowned at him. "What are you doing here?"

"I came back."

"I know that," she said sharply, pulling herself to her feet.

"Why don't you put your cloak on, you look like you're freezing." He stood, reaching for her cloak, but she pulled it away from his grip.

"I have a warming charm on me," she said. "I didn't want to ruin my wings."

"I don't want you catching cold," he said. "Why aren't you inside with the others?"

She scowled at him and turned away, leaning on the trunk of the oak. "I couldn't stand to see people snogging."

Ron kicked some snow, looking down at his feet guiltily. "I'm sorry."

"Pfft!" Lavender snorted. "You know how humiliating it is? Being thrown aside for that flipping floozy?"

"I didn't throw you aside!" Ron said. "I was looking for Harry and I found him! He's all right. Malfoy pulled a trick on him!"

"I know," said Lavender darkly. "I heard him bragging about it half an hour ago."

Ron nodded. "Well. It was Fleur's choice to come with me, you know. I wanted to stay with you."

The girl leaning sadly on the trunk of the tree scoffed, pulling her cloak about her partway so not to crumple her sad wings. He stepped around her, meeting her eyes.

"I did! I was really looking forward to spending time with you tonight!"

Lavender put her face in her hands to avoid his gaze, shaking her head. He sighed, panic taking him at the thought that she wouldn't forgive him for his righteous fuck up, that he could lose her tonight.

"You ran off, Ron," she said. "I saw you. You looked at me, you took one good long look at me and you ran out the door with her like a shot!" She glared at him, and her cheeks were pink, her eyes rimmed red with tears. "Do you know what that felt like?!"

"I'm such a git," he swore to himself. "I'm a steaming great frigging idiot!"

She only gave him an agreeing look.

"Listen," he said, taking her shoulders into his hands. "I was afraid. I was really really afraid, all right?"

"I scare you?" she said, brows tilted up, hurt in her eyes.

"No, not you exactly, it's just..." He sighed. "I looked at you and I... I felt like all I could possibly want was -" He took a breath, fear and disbelief taking him as the last words rushed out. "All I wanted was you."

"That made you run away?" she said with narrowed eyes.

"I'm only seventeen, Lavender," he said. "And I have this feeling inside of me that I feel like could make me the biggest man around or break me into a quivering pile of slush! I- I've never felt like that before."

Her lips were pressed together, as if she were battling something inside her, on the verge of forgiving or banishing him. He knew he had to bare himself, he knew he had to be naked and exposed to her before she could feel trust again.

"I think I might be falling in love with you, Lavender," he said, voice shaking, "I feel like -- you know when you're on a sled, and you're just beginning to rush down the hill? Well I'm just over the lip and I'm beginning to rush down... and I know time will go on and I'll keep hurtling and feeling more and more. You know what I mean?"

She didn't say anything. Heavy tears spilled down her pretty face.

"So I'm gonna be honest, and you'll probably never talk to me again, but I'm gonna take that risk cause I don't want to be with you without being completely honest with you - right?"

She nodded slightly.

"I kissed Fleur tonight. Well, she kissed me, but then I kissed her back-"

His heart panicked as Lavender's chin dimpled, her shoulders shaking as a sob took her.

"No, no, you don't get it," he said. "I really kissed her, and I may as well have been kissing a wall!" When he got a confused and hurt look from Lavender, he squeezed her shoulders. "There I was, kissing this woman that I'd been drooling over for years, the most perfect woman I thought existed, and I felt nothing! Absolutely nothing!"

Lavender shook her head at him. "Congratulations!"

"I had one thought of how you were doing here, wondering if you were all right - just *thinking* of you, Lavender, and I felt lightning from my head to my toes. And I knew then, I knew that it didn't matter what girls I kissed, or who I distracted myself with..." He shook his head, cradling her face in his hands. "I'd never feel for any girl the way I feel about you." He fumbled in his cloak for a hanky, and pulling a white gold-trimmed one out he dabbed at her cheeks tenderly. "Please don't cry, Lav. I'm not worth it."

A little hand wrapped around his and she laughed through her tears.

"I think you are," she said, sniffling. "You stupid bastard!"

Ron laughed with her, too scared to assume a thing.

"Here, you have that," he said, putting the hanky in her hand. He cradled her face again. "I'm sorry, I really am. I know screwed up, but if you could ever forgive me... It'd mean more to me than you know. I mean, I don't expect you to forgive me straight away, but-"

"You are thick, aren't you?" she sighed, and tiptoeing, she wrapped her arms about him, hugging him tightly. "Of course I forgive you."

Carefully, Ron slid his arms about her, avoiding the wings, burying his face to the nape of her neck, every moment thanking God that she was holding him.

From inside, a song filtered through on the Wizards' Wireless. Were a Muggle standing there they would have said it sounded like slow jazz, but only Ron and Lavender were there to hear it. He looked up at the sky mottled with clouds, the moon being hugged by the grey. A soft slight flurry of snowflakes drifted past them, and Ron looked back down to Lavender, smiling.

"I like this song," he said, and Lavender smiled.

"Me too."

He briefly remembered instruction he'd had in his fourth year in preparation for the Yule Ball, and digging deep in his memory he pulled out a shred of propriety for the situation that presented itself to him at that moment. He put an arm about her slim waist, and took her hand, pulling her away from the tree.

They shuffled in the snow, warm light from inside amber on the snow, the moon a cool and magical blue, the both of them dancing where they met. Lavender's wings fluttered every now and again contentedly in accordance to her mood, the hem of her dress and cloak drifting back and forth in the snow. The music wrapped them like a blanket, a sound that said how they felt, perfectly and easily. Ron's heart swelled when Lavender leant her head on his shoulder, abandoning the proper ballroom stance and winding her arms about his chest. He smiled and wrapped his arms about her in kind.

As the song wound to a close, Lavender looked up at him, blue eyes gleaming happily. In Ron's opinion, she really was the greatest girl ever to walk the Earth.

"Thank you," he said, "For-"

She tiptoed again, and this time she silenced him with a kiss.

~~*~~

They grinned, bobbing up and down to the music that had burst from the radio after the slow song. They waved their hair about, shouted and span, the room crowded to capacity and the smell of sweat and alcohol thick in the air. There was also smoke from those puffing on pipes of varying kinds of leaf. The Elves had long abandoned the party, too many stomping feet for their health. The charms and the majesty of the room had begun to wane some hours ago from the wear and tear of the house guests. Food was stomped into the carpet, liquor had been spilt. Ashes made dark grey spots here and there. With the rate of alcohol consumption, it would likely be the contents of someone's stomach some time soon.

Harry and Hermione were in the middle of the bouncing throng, holding hands, knocking back full strength butterbeer. They were warm, heading for tiddly, making an effort to get completely drunk. Every now and again they'd wrap their arms about each other, swinging to the music, and Harry really didn't care who saw and what they made of it. He knew it'd be nothing compared to what he really felt.

"Great party!" said Hermione.

"What?!"

"I said GREAT PARTY!" she shouted.

Harry nodded and grinned, and Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes, signalling that she wouldn't try much conversation anymore.

Two figures made their way in from the passageway to the back door, and as they came into the room from the kitchen, Harry roared. Everyone joined in; they were, after all, two thirds of the powerhouse behind the party of the millennium.

Ron blushed bashfully, and Harry was delighted to see that Lavender's arms were wound about the lanky redhead. In his opinion, the far more suited girl was by his best friend's side.

Ron came over, hugging Harry and Hermione briefly.

"Glad you could finally make it mate!" he shouted into Harry's ear.

Harry nodded, bouncing to the music and leaned to Ron. "I'm going to fucking kill Malfoy!" he cried.

Ron looked at Malfoy. He was sitting next to Fleur on the couch, being as charming as he could possibly manage. Considering what a slime-ball he could be, this wasn't as charming as you could imagine.

"You might not have to!" he cried back.

"Oh?!"

"I've got a little bit of an idea!" he cried. "But for it to work, we have to make sure he's really bloody drunk!"

Harry looked over to Fleur and smirked. "That won't be hard!"

"No," shouted Ron. "I just need to ask Fleur the favour. Care to distract the bastard for me?"

Harry cracked his knuckles, not that it could be heard. "Ron, it would be my pleasure!!" He dropped a kiss to Hermione's cheek before walking across the room to Malfoy.

Ron hung back, keeping a keen eye on the situation for his moment.

Harry poked Pansy Parkinson, who was sitting next to Draco in vain. She scowled at him, and he leant to her.

"Mind if I have a word to Malfoy?" he bellowed into her ear.

A dark look let him know what she thought of that.

"It'll get him away from Fleur!" he added.

She blinked slowly, and then with an elegant tilt of her head, rose from the seat and strolled over to the drinks table coolly.

Harry threw himself into the vacated spot and flung his arm around Malfoy.

"Malfoy!" He shook Draco roughly.

Malfoy stared at him like he was the walking dead.

"How the fuck did you get here?!"

"Language, Malfoy, Language!" cried Harry. He slapped him on the shoulder warmly, acting entirely inebriated. "I'm more powerful than you know, you know." Harry waggled his fingers in Malfoy's face.

Draco frowned.

"Malfoy! Can I call you Draco?"

Draco opened his mouth but Harry squeezed him tightly.

"DRACO!" he shouted. "You are the BEST! You wanna know why?! I'll tell you why! You see Hermione over there?" He pointed to the gleefully dancing Hermione. "Isn't she beautiful?!"

Malfoy scowled. "Matter of opinion."

"Yeaaah, she's beautiful all right!" he grinned. "And thanks to you, she's MINE!"

"Thanks to me?"

"If it weren't for you," he shouted, "We wouldn't have been locked up in that bloody room! And we wouldn't have had to amuse ourselves! If you get what I mean! Say no more eh?" He elbowed Draco and cackled. "See? It's all because of you! We revealed our long concealed feelings and now we're in love! We're so fucking happy and it's all thanks to YOU, Malfoy! MATE!" He shook Malfoy by the shoulders again for good measure.

"Potter," said the blond man loudly and shortly. "If you don't extricate yourself from my immediate vicinity I'm going to get that bottle of butterbeer and shove it up your ever-loving arsehole."

There was a flash of a camera, and Harry looked just in time to see someone run away, giggling fiendishly. Harry grinned. Good - he'd get to have a record of this.

He saw Ron babbling away to Fleur in the background, and Fleur looking withdrawn. After a moment the blonde woman nodded with a weary smile, and Ron grinned, shaking her hands in his before giving Harry the thumbs up. He dived back into the crowd, making a beeline for Lavender. Harry looked to Malfoy and squeezed him far too tightly.

"It's all right!" he cried. "It gets me emotional too, mate! You have a good night with your lady here!"

He ruffled the blond hair that looked as though it took hours to style, and nodded with a grin.

"Bless you, ya slimy bastard!"

With that he staggered to his feet and ploughed into the dancing throng of students, Malfoy wiping at his shoulders as though he'd been touched by a leper, Fleur looking incredibly amused. Pansy was soon back at her station.

Harry giggled, meeting back with Hermione, Ron and Lavender in the thick of the party, out of Malfoy's line of sight. He looked to Ron.

"So - did Fleur agree?"

Ron grinned, nodding and giving the thumbs up. "Oh yeah. She said that she would have passed thanks to me --" He stopped and wriggled a moment, avoiding saying anything incriminating, "Thanks to certain circumstances, but she said that Draco was also a... what was that lovely phrase she used? That's right! 'A vile little shit with no respect for those around him.' She thought he thoroughly deserved it thanks to the crap he's given her for the past two years!"

Hermione smirked, and turning about, she grabbed her drink from the mantle and sipped it.

"Nggg - Gah!"

Harry blinked, watching Hermione spasm at the taste.

"What?"

"Oh... s'just the firewhisky I put in it."

Ron blinked. "You're drinking?!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, passing the drink to Harry who sniffed at it interestedly. "Yes, Ron. You really think that I'm going to go to all the trouble of breaking half the rules in the book just to get here without going all the way?" She shook her head. "Honestly, I thought you knew me."

Lavender giggled, snaking an arm around Ron's middle. "You’ve been told!"

"So what exactly are we doing to Malfoy?"

"Oh no," Ron said. "I'm not telling you."

"Why not?" asked Hermione, looking somewhat disappointed.

"Hello? Head Girl Hermione? If I tell you what we had in mind you'll put a stop to it won't you?"

"Ron!" she gasped. "You think I'd do such a thing?!"

He only stared at her dourly.

Harry chuckled. "Ron, I think you forget that she's had to put up with Malfoy as long as you have."

"Not to mention the fact that he's the worst abuser of the Head Student system Hogwarts has ever known! The amount of points he's taken from Gryffindor and - Ooh!" Hermione scowled. "I still can't forget that bloody argument in the Prefects Meeting last week about the toilet paper supplies..."

"Bugger, we've started her off," Ron groaned. "All right, all right, over here, I'll tell you."

Ron pulled Hermione away from the throng, and Harry was content to stay where he was and watch her face as she was told the Great Plan. She listened intently, and after a moment her mouth popped open and her eyes were wide. Obviously she was shocked. That's it, thought Harry, She's going to forbid us from doing it. He felt very sorry because it was such a deliciously evil idea, too. But she didn't look mad. She bounced and shouted in Ron's ear excitedly.

It was then Ron's turn to look shocked, and he gawped at her. After a moment of opening and closing his mouth like a suffocating fish, he gulped and nodded, and nodded repeatedly looking really very impressed. Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head, and after a moment more of heated talking, they wove their way back to Harry. Hermione winked at him with a cheeky smile on the way over, and for a brief moment he forgot where he was.

"What are you up to?" he asked.

"Just making sure Mr. Malfoy gets his comeuppance!" she said demurely into her glass.

"If I were Malfoy I'd be incredibly worried about now..."

"Ohhhh, he should be."

"He's not. He's currently getting drunk, and it looks like Fleur is helping him."

"Good."

Harry grinned. He loved her rebellious side, that naughty little part of her that reared its head when justice needed to be served. What delighted him most was that it was being with him that encouraged this in her, that all her years of looking out for him had helped turn her into this mischievous imp in front of him. Sure, she had always been capable of that, but with his gentle playful prodding she'd gone from strenuously doing her best to behave at all times, to behaving as much as she needed to and indulging herself in a bit of fun if she wanted to. He dared to think that this part of her was his and his alone, but he stopped because he knew one had ownership over themselves only, never anyone else.

Either way, it made him very proud to see her in full 'evil' mode.

"Have you had any of this yet?" she said, lifting her glass.

Harry shook his head, and she smiled.

"Come on then, I'll get you a glass."

~~*~~

The night became magical. It was a word overused in this world, he knew it, but through the beauty of the evening that unfurled about him, he knew what real magic was. There was such surprise, such deep disbelief that the bliss and delight he was feeling was from something he had been denying himself so forcefully the past few days. What was he thinking? Why had he been afraid? He didn't know now, all he saw was Hermione.

There was still modesty, fear that he might say or do the wrong thing, but deep down a security lived that it would be all right, that she wouldn't be as flighty and high-strung as Cho had been.

Now they were dancing, glitter charms creating sparkling snow that drifted down about them, the music weaving a most delicious spinning spell about them. He wasn't too conscious about what other people were doing, they were a very nice backdrop. Hermione grinned in the soft light of the candles about them, brown eyes sparkling with glee, looking as though the night was all she could have wished for.

It brought Harry such intense joy that it was merely him that made her look so happy.

It helped that he was quite leg-wobblingly drunk.

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, straining to whisper in his ear, forgetting that it was too loud for that. She ended up shouting.

"Harry, I thought you should know that I'm really very drunk!"

He nodded.

"Really."

He gave her a puzzled look. This shouldn't be news. She'd had a good four shots of firewhisky already.

She nodded, smiling broadly at him before slithering off him and going for another shot of whisky.

"Sure you can stand another?" he shouted over the din, following her shakily.

"I’ll be fine!" she cried back. "One more! Just one more!"

"Me too," he said. "But I look after you."

She tilted her head and smiled. "I know."

She grabbed the bottle of whisky, hugging it to her chest greedily. She turned about, squirming through the crowd, and Harry scrabbled to keep up.

"Hey!"

She motioned him to hurry. After a moment's struggle of working through the squish of people, he saw Hermione had been racing for a recently vacated spot on the couch. She leapt for the spot, sitting down with a look of satisfaction. There was scarcely room enough for him there. She looked next to her at the half torso-width there, and with a frustrated dent in her brow she huffed at the student next to her. The student paid no notice, being too busy exploring the intricacies of the tonsils in the girl in his lap. Hermione wriggled in the spot and looked to Harry pleadingly.

No good. He wouldn't usurp someone that had every right to be in the spot he wanted to sit in. It was quite clear there was only room for one bottom.

Hermione smiled. She stood, and with a wave of her arm, offered Harry the spot.

He shook his head.

She offered it to him again.

Rolling his eyes, he sank down onto the couch, wondering what good it would do *him* sitting there. No sooner had he gotten comfortable than he'd gotten an armful of Hermione. His cheeks roared as she sat square on top of him, wriggling restlessly to get comfortable in his lap. She looked very pleased with herself, brandishing the bottle of whisky and the tumbler in her hand.

"See? Problem solved!"

What she didn't realise was that a completely new problem had arisen, so to speak, as every time she shifted her bottom (the soft, warm thing that it was), he was in danger of letting her know exactly how much he enjoyed her sitting on top of him, in the worst possible way. He was just glad she was drunk. What he couldn't believe was that it was Hermione of all people slugging whisky straight from a bottle on top of him.

She offered him the bottle pertly.

"Come on, you only live once."

Harry smiled slowly, shaking his head and taking the bottle from her.

"Tsk! What kind of example do you think you're setting, Miss Granger?"

Hermione turned her head about slowly, tumbler held delicately in one hand, her opposite brow arched askance.

"Harry."

"Yes."

"Take a look around you."

He did. The scene was a little less risqué than one would expect of a mild ancient Roman orgy. Harry coughed and leant close to her.

"What about it?"

"You'd be lucky to find anyone here sober enough to say the word 'example', let alone tell you what it means." She pointed to the bottle in his hand and held up her own tumbler. "Cheers!"

With a sigh of defeat, he knocked back the bottle, taking a good dose of whisky into his mouth, watching Hermione gulp down the entire contents of her glass. Their reactions to the liquid were quite different. Hermione twitched bodily. Harry felt like he'd been smacked in the face with a hot fire iron. Forcing down the whisky, he dissolved into strained and choking coughs, curling up some, only vaguely feeling Hermione rub his back and chest (and bugger it ALL he was too deprived of oxygen to enjoy it). Fire raged down his throat and into his stomach, and he wondered if this is what swallowing dragon's piss might be like.

"Harry! Are you all right!?" Hermione seemed to sober a little in worry.

He could only nod and wave a hand after giving her the whisky bottle back.

"You need to get used to that stuff! It's very strong!"

He gave her a wry look and she winced.

"Would you prefer some rum?"

He choked again. "What am I, a pirate?!"

She held up the bottle in her hand. "Yo ho ho!"

He grabbed the whisky bottle from her and growled.

"Gimme that!"

He shot her an affectionate scowl and tried again. Again, the slap of burning hit him like a kick in the teeth, and he forced himself not to fall to pieces like he had moments ago. He grit his teeth and looked at Hermione, feeling his eyeballs sting with tears. The stuff was painfully strong, but dear God, he would not be outdrunk by Hermione. She lifted her brows, waiting for him to dissolve again, but it didn't happen.

He looked about him. The party was in full swing, and the music from the wireless pounded the room to the very fibres. He saw Ernie MacMillan sharing a dance with Hannah Abbott, and the tall blonde boy (who'd always reminded him vaguely of Steven Fry) lifted a brow as he looked back. He wondered what was getting such a response. He was surprised as he saw Ernie talk into Hannah's ear, and Hannah was swung about in the dance surreptitiously. Her pale blue eyes hit them and her mouth grew to a happily scandalised 'o'. It was like a game of Chinese Whispers from then on. In the dance she spun about and tapped a friend on the shoulder. She mumbled into their ear, and the look hit Harry. He lost count of the people who looked at him, their stares lingering a little too long, and then a long smirk would always break out on their faces. He wasn't entirely sure what the fuss was. It was just Hermione in his lap. So, yes, his hand was on her back (the lilt of the curve of her spine was so very nice, he could stroke it for always), and she was very comfortable against him, sipping at - okay not sipping, slugging - at the whisky and swaying to the music. So what? There were students next to him practically performing open mouth surgery. There was snogging everywhere, and one could assume that the bedrooms upstairs were completely occupied. Why did *he* have to be such the big deal? Again?

He squirmed, frowning a little and leaning to Hermione's ear.

"We're being looked at," he said.

"So?" She shrugged.

"Well... I think they're making assumptions about us," he said.

"And this is a problem, why?"

He blushed, shrugging. "I don't know, I just - I don't want them thinking badly of you."

She lifted a brow. "They could be thinking badly of you."

He chuckled doubtfully.

"They could," she went on. "They could be thinking, 'Oooh, look at Harry Potter. What a bloody slut!'"

"Hermione!"

"Well, it's true!"

He rolled his eyes and nodded. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

"And besides - I wasn't aware that our developing relationship was something you wanted to keep secret."

It was hard to hear her above the clamour of the party, and this wasn't a topic he wanted to shout at her over the noise of other people.

"I'd rather talk about this later," he said.

Hermione frowned, fingers playing with the neck of the bottle in her lap. The hurt in her eyes rang loud and clear, and he sighed, thinking that perhaps kicking himself in the head was a good idea about now.

"It's a matter of safety, all right?" he said. "Not embarrassment."

She looked up at him, and there was doubt in her expression.

Harry sighed. Bugger it. He looked about him, and other people's eyes dragged from boyfriends and girlfriends to him, and then at the drunken elves, and then a melting ice sculpture that had a bad charm - the general chaos that was going on about them. People were having a good time, people didn't care. They were kissing and falling in love and some were just having a good time on their own getting hopelessly drunk. God damn it, he wasn't going to live under a rock. He was going to be one of them.

He leant forward, stroking her jaw deftly and tenderly to turn her head. She took a breath in surprise, and his lips were upon hers.

Her mouth was still as he kissed her firmly, his hand on her back pulling her to him. It was a statement of pride, this kiss, an unabashed display to let the world know that he'd found someone and he didn't care if it was who everyone assumed he would eventually get with. He was a regular seventeen-year-old boy, kissing a beautiful girl on a couch at a party, and it was absolutely wonderful.

~~*~~

Onto Chapter Four

4. Chapter Four

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

*A Christmas present from Hermione's parents to Harry

*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 Four

Harry had assumed that the party could not get any more debauched than it had already been, and it was a terrible mistake. After a while a game of spin the bottle broke out, and there were people kissing each other left, right and centre. Eventually the bottle was abandoned, and people just attached themselves to one or two other people and snogged heavily, regardless of sex or appearance. It really was becoming a free-for-all, and the party goers were slowly beginning to pass out.

Not that they knew it, but it was this phase that was the death knell of many a party. No longer was it the loud raucous chit-chat phase. For those with someone to latch onto, it was the time to stagger to some corner and kiss and grope till their lips were sore. The more established couples hung in quiet groups with other couples or the rogue single person (and there were a lot considering they were all only seventeen) and talked about things that seemed utterly deep and significant to them, but in actual fact were quite banal and ridiculous to the sober mind. The music had been turned right down, and the elves were trying to clean as best they could.

Ron had dismissed them and told them to get some sleep and come back in the morning.

Harry had enjoyed most of the night dancing, having the odd nip of whisky and snuggling with Hermione. He talked with Ron, danced with Lavender and Parvati, laughed with his friends. It was the best night he could remember having. Even the Quidditch parties weren't as good as this. Though, it probably had something to do with the fact that he wasn't in a position to put his hands on Hermione at those parties.

It was all a slow descent for him, from anxiety to a strange tingling bravery. Every new thing he did with Hermione - holding her hand, or stroking her shoulder in an unmistakably romantic way - was tinged in fear, but once done bolstered him with a delirious glee. Just placing his hand on her back made his mind reel, wondering what he was doing, and another part of him would thrill in relief and delight, that this is what he should have been doing the whole time. He could see Hermione adjusting too, though she took to it far swifter than he did.

There was one point in the night where she definitely stroked his upper inner thigh, so fast and swift and casually that it looked as though she was dusting fluff off his pants, but the fingers hung around a moment too long, and her eyes met his with a knowing.

At that a sudden dizzy spell took him that made him stop and blink for a moment. Damn, the girl was good.

The party was dying and Harry wasn't so eager to be around so many people now. He yearned to be alone, and he could see that it was a feeling that other people shared. Most were invited to stay at the cottage, and there were a couple of large rooms decked out with beds and fluffy rugs. The cottage was charmed so that a few of the rooms were bigger on the inside, so it could accommodate the huge group of students intent on staying. Of course, not all needed beds. Most were content to pass out right where they were. As a result, students were lying about the place like the awry Christmas garlands.

Ron ambled in from the kitchen, a bottle of alcoholic butterbeer in his hands, and sat down on the couch next to Harry. He offered one to his best friend, who shook his head. He looked to Hermione, who was snuggled against Harry, hugging her now empty whisky bottle and leaning on his shoulder with eyes closed.

"I reckon this party's on its way out..."

There was a roar of laughter from the kitchen, and Harry smirked.

"Well, a few are still going," said Ron with a mirrored smirk. "Dean and the others are drinking on. Cripes, what time is it?"

Harry lifted his hand and wriggled helplessly. Ron grabbed it and pulled up the sleeve, checking Harry's watch.

"Fuck me. Four thirty."

Harry grinned. "It's been a great party, Ron."

"Oh yeah," Ron nodded proudly. "A party to remember."

Lavender came through from the kitchen, bare foot, her soft faerie dress drifting behind her and her faerie wings waving slowly. She smiled at Ron and sunk down onto her knees in front of him, and then waddling on her knees, she parted Ron's legs and wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling to his chest. Ron lifted his brows, but smiled anyway.

"Hello, you."

She grinned and looked up at him, glittery eyelids batting.

"Tired?"

"Mmm... sort of." She yawned despite herself, and then leant her head on his chest, seemingly trying to keep her energy up. "I don't want to be."

"Well, it's all right if you are. I think everyone's ready to pass out anyway."

"I don't want to pass out yet," she said with a playful frown. "I want to stay awake till the sun comes up."

"I don't think you'll have to wait long," Ron smirked.

"Hello, Lavender."

Hermione had opened her eyes, and was smiling at the girl against Ron. Lavender was quite delighted to have Hermione talk to her in a friendly way. Hermione was usually distant and quiet, and it always made Lavender feel like Hermione didn't like her. She'd always assumed it was because she wasn't as smart as Hermione.

"Hey," said Lavender, "Have you been having a good time?"

"Quite a splendid time," replied Hermione, still quite drunk. "You throw a good party, a very good party."

"Awww... thank you."

"And the charms are bloody clever. I'm very impressed."

Lavender looked as though Gilderoy Lockhart had told her she had good legs. She visibly swelled with pride and looked bashful all at once.

"Thank you."

Harry smiled at Ron, rather amused to see Hermione being so sweet to the girl in Ron's arms. The fact that it was Lavender in Ron's arms made Harry very pleased. It filled him to burst with happiness; he was so very glad that the young man who had always been as a brother to him had finally found a girl he was himself with, was happy with, was satisfied with.

"So where's Malfoy?"

Both Ron and Harry exchanged puzzled glances, and looked down to Hermione. Harry had to wonder why she'd decided to bring up Malfoy at a time like this. She sighed fitfully.

"You mean you organized a practical joke and then forgot about it?!"

Ron wriggled under Lavender, who moaned.

"Keep still when I'm hugging you," the girl mumbled into his chest.

"I have to get up!" he said. "We have to get this joke done before the professors get up! We've got to do it NOW!"

Lavender untangled herself from Ron's vicinity, looking rather disappointed. Hermione slowly pulled herself up from Harry's lap, not letting go of the bottle, and Harry stretched.

"So where is Malfoy?"

"Fleur said she'd put him in the broom cupboard in the hall for us once he'd passed out," said Ron.

"Well, let's go get him then," said Harry.

Lavender hung back, looking at the Trio with some uncertainty. She watched them walk to the kitchen, and for a moment they seemed happy to walk off without her. At least until Ron stopped and looked about himself. He turned and looked back at her standing by the couch with a baffled expression on his comical face.

"Aren't you coming?"

She shrugged. "It's Secret Harry Potter business isn't it? Mischief making attached to your adventures?" There was a waver in her voice.

Ron strode over to her (as best he could with the amount of alcohol in his system) and took her hand, squeezing it.

"I want you to come with me."

She looked up to him, brows rising a little. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Come on, cause some trouble with us."

"Yay." She grinned and hugged him, and he smiled broadly, pulling her with him.

~~*~~

Draco Malfoy, the pride of the Malfoy Line and Wizard Purity, the very best dressed student, Head Boy and all-round guy to be seen, was an utter stinking mess. He was an untidy heap at the bottom of the cupboard, drool rolling down his chin and onto his designer cloak, but despite his unkempt appearance he looked very happy to be there. He snored loudly and snuggled a bottle of cleaning bleach.

Hermione winced. "Ew."

"This is going to be the hard part," said Harry.

"Bags not taking his pants off," said Ron.

"Bags not taking his jocks off," countered Harry.

"Oh honestly!" tisked Hermione. "Do you want to pull this joke or don't you?"

"Shhh!" Ron hissed. "You'll wake him up!"

"He won't wake up," said Hermione drolly, and bending over she grabbed Draco's nose in the pincer-like grip of her fingers and waggled it. Draco grumbled, rolled over and curled up with the broom.

Harry couldn't really believe what he was seeing. Malfoy had been served up to them on a platter, and now he was theirs to do with as they pleased. It was practical joker heaven. He made a mental note to organise a nice Christmas present for Fleur.

Lavender tilted her head. "Isn't this vindictive and cruel?"

"No," said Ron. "It's the code of Practical Joke making. You honour those who joked on you by joking back on them in kind or better. We're bettering that joke quite significantly."

"So you're saying he should be honoured by what we're going to do to him?" Hermione said in a sarcastic tone. "That's a new one."

"Oh God, he's grabbing his crotch," Harry said, turning around and huddling to Hermione. She slapped him off and growled.

"Come on. The both of you - Harry, Ron - charm him up now. We're going to move him," said Hermione, finding a little sobriety in purpose.

Harry and Ron exchanged a dry look. It was a look they had exchanged many times. It was the look of two people that had thought up a Wonderful Plan, only to have that Plan hijacked by someone both painfully bossy and utterly brilliant. They both knew that the plan was going to be pulled off beautifully now.

Taking out his wand, Harry stepped out of the closet and into the hall, and both he and Ron used their wands on him.

"Mobilicorpus!"

Draco drifted up into the air, and hung there like a limp doll, his head resting on his chest, a snore lifting from his perfectly pointed nose. His long hair, now out of its neat ponytail, hung in uncharacteristic draggles in his face. Lavender giggled.

"This is so much fun!"

~~*~~

The trip to Hogwarts was a slow one, what with the floating rich boy and the increasing snowfall. It was five o'clock in the morning when they made it, and they had a scant hour before the castle woke up around them. Thankfully, their target location was in the lobby.

"Careful with him, bring him over here!"

Hermione ran to the grand old Hogwarts Hog statue. It was a great bull-sized hog made of deeply tarnished bronze, polished gleaming on its extremities, giving it a look of extreme age. It was a hallowed statue, a well loved statue. It was also a statue that had had a range of disgraceful and naughty things done to it. None had been quite as daring and as shocking as this, and it really was all Hermione's fault. She stood in front of the statue, and folding her arms, she stared at the unconscious body of Malfoy with determination. Malfoy looked rather festive; snow clung the top of his head and shoulders rather prettily.

"Take his clothes off."

Harry and Ron glared at her. She glared back at them.

"Didn't you hear me?" she said.

"We heard you," said Ron, "We just thought you'd gone mad. The day I take that git's clothes off is the day my eyes have been poked out by hungry crows."

"Oh for heaven's sakes!" Hermione growled, jaw dropping a little in disbelief. "This was your big plan! You wanted to do this!"

"We wanted to keep his clothes on!" howled Ron. His voice echoed off the walls of the Entrance Hall.

"SHHHHH! God! Do you want us to be caught?"

"Was your idea to take his clothes off, Hermione," Ron growled. He looked to Harry. "You do it."

"I'm not taking them off," said Harry. "The last thing I want to see is his pasty arse."

"I'll do it!" sighed Lavender, stepping forward and grabbing the pants of Malfoy who was still hanging in thin air. "For pity’s sake, it's not like she asked you to disrobe Hagrid!"

"Ew," Ron winced.

"I'd rather disrobe Hagrid than see Malfoy naked," Harry muttered.

Ron stared at Harry as if he'd grown another head. "Think about what you're saying there..."

"I don't relish the idea of either of them naked," said Harry, "But if I had to choose, Hagrid would be it."

"And I'm sure he'd be so flattered," Ron said, shaking his head. "Aww!! Ohh! God, give us some warning, Lav!"

Lavender had yanked down Malfoy's pants, and all he wore underneath were black cotton jocks. They left nothing to the imagination. Lavender lifted a brow, tilting her head.

"My, my. Aren't we the talented one..."

"LAV!"

Lavender smirked and looked back. "Well... if you won't do it..."

Hermione chuckled.

Malfoy's shoes had long gone, and his underpants were yanked off without hesitation.

"Ohhh my my..."

The Malfoy heir wasn't talented to excess, but the eyeful he gave Hermione and Lavender wasn't unappreciated. Off came the waistcoat, the tie, the shirt and the singlet. Lavender was at the task with an almost dominatrix style determination. As she went about it, Malfoy would loll his head back and forth sleepily, the rough treatment shifting him from his deep sleep momentarily.

"No, Mummy, I don't like the pony."

Hermione covered her mouth and giggled helplessly. After Lavender's deft disrobing, Malfoy hung in midair absolutely starkers, as bare as the day he was born. Hermione and Lavender gaped at him, Lavender's mouth curling in an impressed look

"Not bad for a fellow that never sees the sun," cooed Lavender.

Ron glared at her murderously, and she utterly ignored him.

"Well! Let's get this done shall we?"

"Good idea!" Hermione agreed.

Harry was aware of Ron shuffling towards him awkwardly, looking rather conflicted.

"Harry."

"Yes, Ron?"

Ron looked to him with all seriousness. "If we don't help them, then they would have practically pulled this joke off on their own. We couldn't really take the credit."

"Yeah, but if we help out we'll have to look at Malfoy naked," he replied.

Ron glared at him, telling him he knew this full well.

"Look, I've seen Voldemort naked," said Harry, "It can't be as bad as that."

"You saw You-Know-Who naked?" gasped Ron.

Harry nodded at this as if it were nothing special. Ron looked horrified. It then occurred to Harry that he was unaware of the situation that this had happened in. He couldn't believe he was having such a flippant conversation about such a thing, but he was very drunk.

"He was a foetus-thing!" Harry cried in return. "He wasn't even human!"

"Oh..." Ron still looked disturbed. "Let's get on with this, shall we?"

"Right," Harry agreed.

The both of them turned around, jaws set and hands fisted, ready to bear the pain of seeing Malfoy in a state of undress. They were awarded with the sight of Draco Malfoy, already naked, tied to the Hogwarts Hog in quite a compromising position, knees either side of the hog's hind-quarters, his pale arms wrapped lovingly around the porcine's neck. Their jaws dropped, and their eyes fell upon Lavender and Hermione, gazing up at the view, both of them with arms crossed and faces alight with pride.

"A job well done," said Lavender.

"Oh yes," chimed in Hermione. "That was some fancy levitation work there, if I do say so."

"Thank you!"

"Bugger," sighed Ron.

Hermione turned about, and seeing Ron's disappointment, she tisked.

"Well, you two will take your time squabbling. We better get out of here before we're seen."

"They'll know it's us," said Harry. "They'd have to."

"Who cares," said Ron, "It'll be worth the detention!"

"Oh come on!" said Lavender. "You three aren't the only ones that hate Malfoy."

"Oh that's good to hear," said Hermione with a smile. "I was beginning to think that we were odd somehow."

Lavender rolled her eyes. "Sure you are. But not because you think Malfoy's a git."

A knock echoed through the Hall, and all of them tensed and glanced about themselves.

"Right, let's get out of here," said Ron. "Lav and I are going back to the cottage."

"We are?" Lavender blinked.

"Yeah. You two coming?"

Harry looked to Hermione, who had reverted to her old self in the face of remonstration and was wringing her fingers worriedly.

"Aw, no, we're going to relax in the Common Room."

Ron snorted. "Is that what they call it these days? All right - I'm off! Have fun!"

Taking Lavender's hand, Ron traipsed off towards the front door of the school. Lavender looked over her shoulder and waved to Hermione.

"Good night, Hermione!" she said, "I've had so much fun!"

"Me too!" grinned Hermione. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

Harry smiled as he watched Hermione wave to Lavender, and took her hand. Hermione watched Ron and Lavender leave, and when the door clunked shut she turned and grinned brightly at Harry.

"What a wonderful evening!"

"There's still some of it left," he said, and tugged on her hand, ushering her quickly from the Hall. Draco Malfoy snorted in his sleep.

~~*~~

The Common Room was empty. Most of the students below seventh year were on holiday, and those in seventh year who stayed for the party were still at said party. It was all very nicely convenient. In fact, Harry was eyeing the couch when Hermione slipped past him and up the spiral staircase to the boys’ dorms.

"Hermione, what are you..."

She was gone. He went after her, and he could hear her chuckles echoing off the walls of the stairwell. The door to the seventh year boys' dorms creaked on its hinges. He followed her inside, his heart beating, his mind swimming, trying to make sense of her actions. He entered the dorm, and his heart stilled.

She was standing in the middle of the room, looking about it with a pleased smile, as it was utterly empty. Her brown eyes fell upon his green ones, and her smile grew broad and knowing.

"They're all at the party," she said.

Harry nodded, stepping into the room, closing the dorm door behind him, his heart suddenly in his throat. He was terrified and enflamed all at the same time.

"I- I know." His tongue was useless.

She took her bottom lip in her teeth, and leaning forward, she took his hands in hers and pulled him towards her.

"Is this a good idea?" he babbled, burning under Hermione's intent gaze. "I mean what if someone walks-"

Hermione smothered his lips in hers, and he felt as though he'd been pushed into a bath of hot tingling water. His heart pounded as the clever silky flickering of something at his lip brought up goosebumps all over his body. His mind reeled as he tried to equate the tempting little angel in his arms with his Hermione, the good and well behaved girl. He couldn't quite do it, but only because he knew her better than that.

She slowly pulled away with a satisfied sigh, a smile spreading across her face.

"That's for the kiss on the couch," she said.

He smiled in a lost, bewildered sort of way. "Well... remind me to do that more often then."

She gave him a winning smile and turned away, looking to his bed.

"My, but this does look like a comfortable spot to snuggle in."

Harry felt his neck and cheeks burning. "W- yes- I mean-"

Hermione glanced over her shoulder with an affectionate smirk. She sank onto her knees on it, bouncing on the bed playfully, and in a half-dazed state, Harry walked over and sat down next to her. What was he going to do? What was proper? He'd only just started this - whatever this was. Was she his girlfriend yet? It was all so confusing. He knew under normal circumstances that Hermione would have been a little more coy about it all... perhaps. Maybe she was as tired of pretence as he was. Either way, the girl tugged on the curtains and enclosed the bed. She dug about in her robe and pulled out her wand, and looking about herself, she nodded.

"Very nice. Silencio!"

Harry glanced about and then to Hermione.

She shrugged. "Don't want to be disturbed, do we?"

"What would anyone be disturbing?" he croaked.

Hermione gave a little chuckle, and she pushed Harry down. "You know you're incredibly sweet, Harry. I often wonder, is it deliberate, the cluelessness, or are you genuinely that out to sea with this sort of thing. And now I know."

He gulped, watching Hermione crawl to his side. He would start sweating any moment, he knew it. He wasn't sure if relief or disappointment flooded him when the girl sank down and snuggled to his side.

"Does it... I mean... do you dislike that about me?"

She tutted and gave a little laugh.

"Harry, it's who you are - why would I dislike it?"

She snuggled some more, wriggling, and she laid her hand on his chest. Her fingers edged back and forth in tentative caresses, and she watched them with wonder. They were quiet, and Harry was wrapped up in lying there, feeling Hermione against him in such a way, her leg tangled in his, her hand stroking his chest, her breath in his ear as she nuzzled his shoulder.

"I never thought I'd be with you like this," she said, her voice a breath, wonderment in her very tones. She wrapped an arm around his middle and hugged him tightly. "Oh God I'm so happy I could burst."

He grinned, turning his head and nuzzling her tenderly. "Me too."

She took her lip in her teeth as Harry gazed at the ceiling in a happy daze. The first thing he knew of any mischievous intentions on her part was when warm nimble fingers stole under his jumper and wandered up over his stomach in curious little strokes. Harry's mouth edged open and a sigh left him unbidden.

"Oh my..." He closed his eyes, not wanting to move lest he lose the feeling that was taking him.

"You're so smooth," cooed Hermione in a whisper, pushing up his top, hungry little lips seeking out his slender hips. He moaned a little helplessly, Hermione dragging her nails up and down over his stomach.

"Her-mione..."

She chuckled, straddling him, nails grazing his flesh so lightly, lips finding his jaw and teasing him with utter dedication. He felt like he'd explode any minute. He heard a funny noise, something between a whine and a growl. It wasn't until his brain waded through the tingling and the hot bliss that he realised the sound was coming from his own throat. Okay, he had to fix this, he couldn't be having all the fun.

He slid his hands up her thighs, and he had forgotten that she was wearing a sleek split skirt, so he had to control himself when his hand caressed smooth naked skin. Her thighs were so soft, so sweetly curved. Hermione let slip a sigh, squirming atop of him as his hands cupped her bottom.

"Mmm... Harry..."

He smiled, nuzzling her neck. She arced her head back, mouth opening, eyes closed in bliss. This seemed to make the light clawing of his chest all the more ardent, and it in turn drove him just a little wild. He opened his mouth upon her neck, tongue firming and stroking the lilt in her throat, lips chasing after, teeth grazing ever so lightly. To his delight Hermione clutched his chest, pressing herself against him and moaning loudly.

"Oh my gosh!"

He chuckled, squeezing her bottom firmly in his hands, nibbling her neck hungrily. This seemed to push Hermione beyond words, and she bucked and growled a little. At this, she tore herself away, grabbing his shirt and tugging at it.

"Off," she breathed, "Off."

He gulped, regaining some reason in a rush, and he nodded faintly. Did he want to tumble into this with her without thinking? Did he want their first time to be some kind of half-drunken tussle in a deserted dorm room? Then again, what else did he want? When would be the next time he could touch her like this without fear of being caught?

His thoughts were cut off as his jumper was pulled off roughly over his head. His hair puffed even more than usual, and he propped himself up on his elbows, watching Hermione throw his shirt over her shoulder. She looked back, her eyes falling on his slender and lithely muscled frame, and a soft smile lit her face. Tender, sheepish fingers climbed his skin, and she tilted her head, sighing happily as she flattened her hands upon his stomach, sliding up to his pectorals, grazing his nipples, and then curling over his shoulders.

"You're beautiful, Harry," she said, "You really are."

Harry met her eyes, his own fiery in their green, his mind reeling at her hands upon his skin. He gave her a naked and open smile, the smile of a frightened boy finally able to show someone exactly who he was inside. It rocked him to the core to have her smile back at him, just as open, just as honest, telling him in no uncertain terms that she loved what she saw, loved it and cherished it. Holding his eyes in her own, she moved her hands to the buttons of her blouse, plucking them open one by one. He took a shaking hand and cradled her cheek, and the girl sighed and leant into the touch, eyes closed in pleasure, hands idly pulling open the shirt and shrugging it off her shoulders.

Harry's mouth went dry. He'd never seen Hermione in her underwear before and the sight of her in the light mauve bra had his blood running hot. He struggled to swallow, trying to sit up underneath her. She shifted a little, smiling shyly as he sat upright. His eyes met hers again, his fear open in his green pools. I've never done this before, he said with his very look. Forgive me.

It's okay, her eyes told him. Just touch me, Harry.

He was embarrassed as his hands shook, paused over the curve of her breasts, the wonderful things rising and falling, swelling and receding, with each of her breaths. With a gulp he cupped them, applying pressure experimentally, squeezing them very gently. Hermione's eyes closed, and she gave a naughty grin, pushing herself forward into his hands.

"Yesss," she breathed.

His mind staggered and spun at the sensations flooding him, at the sound of Hermione so ragged and aroused, at the sight of her light brown skin against his own pale flesh, her bosoms sitting so comfortably in his hands. She hung her head back, sighing happily, her hands finding his hips and stroking them. He nearly jumped out of his skin as clever fingers found his erection and caressed it firmly and lovingly. He jack-knifed despite himself, Hermione gasping as he bucked underneath her, gripping the bed in shock.

"I'm sorry!" he panted, "I'm sorry, that was just..." He gulped and clambered for breath. "Sorry."

She covered her mouth, frowning. "Did you not want-"

"No!" He shook his head. "No it's just-" He blushed. "I wasn't expecting it," he babbled in a hot breath, "and it- it felt so good." He wondered why the hell he felt ashamed of himself.

"It's okay, Harry," she whispered. "We can stop if you want... or we can keep going. I don't mind."

He looked to her, clutching the bedsheets in his hands. "I want you," he murmured. "Part of me feels... feels like I shouldn't be doing these things to you... like I'm spoiling you. Like it's my fault you're doing these things."

A flicker of sadness was in her eyes, and she cupped his cheek. She knew why he felt this way, he could see it, and she leant forward, kissing him tenderly.

"You're giving me a gift, Harry," she breathed. "We're sharing something very special. I feel so lucky that it's you I'm exploring this with. I feel safe, and I know it means something to you."

He smiled faintly. "It means everything to me."

Propping herself on her arms, she leant to him, kissing him again, softly, chastely, slowly, falling into a firm and comforting caress. He shuddered as she pushed him back onto the bed, and she shifted her weight from his thighs and settled on his pelvis, wriggling her bottom down on top of him decidedly. Harry's breath hitched, and he knew she had to feel how firm he was, he could feel himself digging into the soft warm space he'd never dared dream of. She cradled his jaw for a moment, regarding him gently, and then she dragged her fingers over his chest. Her other hand curled behind her back and there was a little 'click' in the air. Looking down demurely, she eyed the zipper of her skirt, and quite matter-of-factly, she unzipped it. Then she lifted her hips a touch, unzipped his pants and plucked open the button. He licked his lips.

"Hermione... do you really wanna do this?"

"Yes."

All he could do was respond with a meek and surprised, "...Okay."

That was it. She was firm on the matter and well - so was he. He knew there was no looking back now, and a part of him was relieved for it. She slithered down atop of him, and as she laid herself against him, her bra straps sagging loosely. It was with dull shock that he realised that she'd unclasped the thing and it was free to come off if he wished. One thing at a time, Harry, he thought, or tried to think. It was hard, because Hermione was drifting kisses over his collar bone, slowly and fractionally rocking her hips against him. It was the slow delicious sort of torture that would break weaker men.

He was surprised then to feel a tug at his hips, and she huffed.

"Lift your bottom up."

He did. Wasting no time, Hermione gathered the waistband of his black jockeys and pushed them down with the pants. He worked to kick off his shoes, but they were shiny and they kept slipping and staying put. After a moment Hermione yanked them off and he felt as a naughty child. This didn't last long. She settled against him once more and put his hands on her bottom. It was clear what she wanted him to do, and he was drunk with the reality of the moment. He could feel himself straining at the very thought.

With shaking hands, he pushed her skirt and knickers over the curve of her bottom, the delicate soft light brown skin revealing itself as the slippery fabric fell away. He licked his lips, looking down on her exposed body, the planes and curves more wonderful than he could ever have dreamed. Desire flared up in his eyes, and his hands clung to her skin as he drifted them up her hips and back. His fingers slipped beneath the dangling bra straps, up the rise of her shoulders, and the bra slipped off and onto his chest. Hermione looked down at it, amused, and she plucked it from him and tossed it aside.

Harry gazed at Hermione, utterly dazed and enchanted at the girl above him. She sat astride him, head tilted, comfortably naked as if it were the most natural thing in the world, despite that they'd never done this before. There was a blush in her cheeks, a coyness that crept up on her, and it only enhanced the sight before him. He let the moment seep into his mind, a snapshot to be treasured in his own private photo album that lived inside his heart. Hermione Granger, naked and pleased of it, against him. Against Harry Potter.

His hand reached up for her cheek, and he held it as if she could break. A dent formed in his brow, and he parted uncertain lips. Hermione lifted her brows in askance, and he sighed.

"I can't find the words," he murmured. "I can't tell you this feeling inside of me."

She leant forward, laying herself against him, lips a breath away from his.

"Show me, Harry," she whispered.

So he pressed his lips against hers, enclosing her in his arms, and he did his very best to do just that.

~~*~~

The morning light had no way of creeping over Harry's chest like it always did every morning. The curtains were too firmly shut, and he had the strange sensation of existing without concept of time. It could have been any time of the morning, he simply had no clue. The ceiling was light, so he guessed it was past the wee hours and it was now mid-morning. When he had immediately awoke he wondered if Crookshanks had crept in and fallen asleep on him, for there was a soft tiny snoring and he felt warm from head to toe. It wasn't until he opened his eyes and shifted that he realised that he had a naked Hermione snuggled to his side. His mood lifted into the rafters at that moment, and a long stupid grin spread from one side of his face to the other. He closed his eyes again, wrapping his arms tightly about her, burying his face in her hair. He snoozed for some time after that, just lying there and cherishing every single second of her slumbering atop of him. It became apparent, however, that his left arm was becoming numb, and points in his back and bottom were beginning to hurt from being in the one position for too long. But he did not move. He held her and he cherished it, even though it was becoming quite painful.

Thankfully, Hermione eventually woke. She rolled aside, a long deep waking breath filling her lungs. He watched her as she sat up, looking about herself, long honey-brown locks tumbling about her light-brown shoulders. She was quiet, and he felt fear flare up inside him. Maybe she was just drunk last night, maybe she felt like she'd made the mistake of her life. Despair crept up on him, and it grew ready to devour him.

She looked down at the legs stretched out under the blanket next to her, along his torso, and to his eyes. A bright smile lit up her face, as pale from waking as it was, and she rolled over and flung herself onto him, cuddling him tightly.

"Morning!" she sighed, burying her face into his shoulder.

"Morning," Harry said, a soft smile of wonderment on his face. "You feel okay?"

She chuckled. "A little hungover." She propped herself up on her elbows and smiled at him lazily, a knowing naughty smile. Harry blushed furiously, knowing exactly what she was saying with that devious look. She wriggled up and kissed him firmly. He closed his eyes, smiling dreamily, delighting in the nuzzling of her nose against his cheek. He was so lost in bliss that he mumbled thoughtlessly against her lips.

"Mmph... God, I love you..."

Hermione stopped. A heavy feeling dropped into his belly, and he wondered if he said the wrong thing. Of course, of course, he thought, mentally kicking himself, you never say that so soon, you never say it like that. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he was afraid to open them, to see her expression. She'd taken her lips away, and edging open his eyes, he wondered if she was frowning at him angrily for ruining all the fun. But she wasn't angry.

Her eyes were rimmed red, tears welling there, her mouth half-open, and she seemed to be struggling to breathe.

"Hermione?"

She covered her mouth with a hand, gasping softly. "You do?"

A blush raged in his cheeks, and he shrugged, nodding on and off and wanting to die because he knew he'd ruined it all now. "Yeah, I mean -" He stopped and nodded. "Yes."

She gasped again, tears spilling down her face. Now he knew he'd done something wrong, and he moaned.

"I'm sorry - ignore me," he said, "You know I'm always saying stupid things..."

She blinked at him like he was mad and made a panicked laughing sound.

"I'm happy, you silly bugger!" she clucked, trying to contain herself. She wiped at her eyes furiously.

"You are?"

She nodded, still wiping at her tears.

He looked quite lost now. "W- Why are you crying?"

"I don't know!" she said, "I'm happy!"

"Oh..." He frowned, tilting his head to look at her face and make sure she was all right. "...Really?"

"Yes!" She sat up, shaking herself, pulling her hair from her face and taking deep breaths. He sat up too, and feeling helpless, he put his hand on her back, stroking it gently. She pulled away and turned about, meeting his eyes with fear in her own. "I have something to confess."

He blinked, and she continued.

"Well... I sort of... Before this week..." She blushed. "I had feelings. For you."

He frowned. "You did?"

She squirmed. "Well it wasn't - it wasn't like I had a picture of you stuffed under my pillow or anything silly like that! I just - I went for so many years looking out for you and I knew I could lose myself to that so easily. I swore I wasn't going to be like Ginny was, or like other girls are, because I knew you needed more than that and..." She sighed, looking down at herself. "I didn't dare think that I - that I should be the girl that you'd choose. I just never let myself think that way, I assumed that it would always be some other girl far prettier than I, and it was and... oh heavens listen to me!"

A frown took her face and she rubbed her eyes. She looked to him again. "I had this feeling all locked up inside, and it could be everything I wanted if I let it loose, but I never did because I knew that there were other things more important, and I didn't ever want to bother you with them. And then I wake up and you tell me what - what I wanted to hear so badly but never let myself even *think* of!"

Harry's heart melted, slowly and surely, and leaning forward he cradled her face, kissing her deeply. She shuddered against him, hands clutching his shoulders, and pulling gently away, he leant his forehead against hers, touching her nose with his.

"I love you, Hermione," he breathed tenderly. "I love you."

She grinned, tears in her eyes again. "Harry..."

He lifted his brows mischievously and she chuckled.

"Gosh, I love you too, you cheeky sod."

It was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever heard her say, and he pulled her down onto the bed with him, kissing her with utter abandon. She squealed, giggling as he drifted kisses over her neck, his hands drifting over light brown skin that was a part of him now. The panic and uncertainty he'd felt over the past week was as distant as another life, and now he felt like he'd reached a watershed, that his life would forever be divided into two phases: before making love with Hermione and after making love. He definitely preferred the latter phase. It involved early morning naked wrestling with Hermione, something he had a whole world of joy discovering. It was even better when they forgot about pinning the other down and exploring what they could do to each other with hands alone. He'd never forget the image of Hermione's body arced against him, his fingers caressing her, a great sigh escaping her lips and brushing his cheek.

After tussling and kissing and a stolen moment of lovemaking, the sound of footsteps clunking up and down the tower broke them from their bubble of isolation, and a sadness took Harry. He watched her put on her clothes, and she pulled open the curtain of the bed, looking about the room.

"No one's here," she said, and she dug about in her robe. "Where is it? Ah."

She tapped the edge of the enclosure with her wand, murmuring "Finite incantatem!"

Harry looked at himself. He was still naked under the covers, and he would have gotten up to kiss her, except that it was clear someone could walk in any moment. Things were suspicious as it was.

"I'm going to shower and have a few very strong coffees," she said. "Then I expect to see you under the tree, clean, dressed and awaiting your presents."

Harry smiled. In a way, nothing had changed, and he loved it. "Yes Ma'am."

She shot him a knowing smirk. "Good boy."

His smile turned to a grin, and he leapt up out of bed, much to Hermione's horror.

"Harry! Someone could see you!"

She'd hardly had a chance to back away before he kissed her, fully and hungrily.

"See you downstairs," he said, a rumble in his throat, and Hermione flushed, a huff taking her. She smiled faintly and pulled herself away, ducking out the door before he could try any other mischief. Harry turned away from the door, closing the curtains around the bed, looking at the rumpled mess that they'd left behind.

He grinned goofily and dug about for his pants.

~~*~~

The house was filled with the sound of merry making, thumping and laughing filtering through the wood and stone till the early hours of the morning. It was near dawn before most of the revellers settled down, and still Dean, Seamus and a couple of Hufflepuffs pissed the wee hours away in the kitchen. This wasn't a problem - someone had to drink the rest of the butterbeer. Ron relegated all responsibility for what went on from that moment to Dean, as he was tired and drunk and ready to crash somewhere comfortable. Ron was many things; impulsive, quick to anger, thoughtless, and sometimes a bit behind the eight ball, but he wasn't entirely thick. He knew what sort of party it'd be, and he knew that he had to stay there so that he could make sure the clean-up went as planned in the morning. He was sure as shit not going to sleep in the broom cupboard, or on a couch, or in the stairwell. He couldn't very well go back to Hogwarts either, so he locked and sealed up a spare room on the third floor before the party so that he had somewhere to go to sleep once all was over and done with.

Well, things were over, and the dawn was coming. So plodding through, he bid goodnight to an entirely wasted Dean Thomas, who was sprawled on a kitchen counter, arguing heatedly with Seamus about some kind of sport Ron didn't entirely understand.

"Night guys," said Ron, "Don't spew in the kitchen, all right?"

Dean stopped talking, paused, then peered at Ron down his nose. It took him a while to focus, and as he realised Ron had been addressing him, Ron had stopped speaking.

"What?"

"I said don't spew..." Ron mimed throwing up, "In the kitchen..." He waved at the room about him.

Dean frowned. "Is there spew in the kitchen?"

"No, ye stupid bastard!" swore Seamus in a thick lilt. "'E says he doesn't want ye to get sick in here!"

"But I feel fine!" Dean protested.

Ron groaned and shook his head. "Forget it. Look after him, Seamus. I'm going to go to sleep." He glanced about. "Where's Lavender?"

"She's behind you," said Seamus.

Ron looked behind him, Lavender just stepping in the door. She smiled and waved her fingers at him.

"You turning in?" she asked.

"Yes, yes I am," replied Ron, nodding. "Did you want to go back to Hogwarts or..."

"Not really. I was thinking of staying here with you," she replied matter-of-factly, and Dean choked on his beer.

Seamus giggled. Ron blushed beet red to the tips of his ears.

"Good *night*," he said, scowling at Dean and Seamus, who had started up a chorus of 'Lavender loves Ron, she wants to kiss his willy, and when he sees her boobs it makes him rather silly...'

He stomped out of the kitchen and down the main hallway to the landing, the chorus following both him and Lavender. The pretty girl giggled, finding it all very amusing, and the sound was music to Ron’s ears. Not that he could really enjoy it; he was burning up from embarrassment.

"Yes, very funny," he mumbled.

"But don't my boobs make you silly?" she laughed.

He blushed even deeper red and he ground his teeth.

"It depends."

"Oh? On what?"

He kept his face serious, but there was a giggle in his throat.

"Whether you want to kiss my willy or not."

There was a choked giggle, and Lavender blushed deep red. Ron realised he might have said something that was a bit too risque, so he stopped, leaning on the banister, running a hand through his hair.

"Sorry..."

Lavender's eyes widened and her smile froze on her face. "What?"

"I shouldn't - you know," He shrugged. "It was inappropriate."

"Oh! No, don't worry about it," she said, flapping a hand. "Fact of the matter is that I'm quite shy about... well... you know..."

Ron nodded. "Most people are when they haven't done it before."

"Besides, I only kissed you tonight."

Ron put a hand on her arm. "That's why I asked you if you wanted me to take you back to your dorm."

She smiled. "I don't mind sharing a bed, Ron."

That burning feeling of a blush rising in his cheeks took Ron's face again, and he smiled. "I've never-"

"Me either," she said, taking his hand.

A smile spread across his face, and he knew that she was as out to sea about all this as he was. He lead her up the flight of stairs, their steps slipping in and out of tandem, and reaching the last door in the landing at the top of the stairs, Ron pulled out his wand. He tapped the knob, muttering a spell, and with a gentlemanly bow, he swung open the door.

"Ladies first."

Lavender smirked, bowing demurely. "Why, I'm charmed, sir!"

Ron had to giggle. The thought of rag-tag Ronald, with the dirty old clothes and the scruffy upbringing, taking a beautiful lady like Lavender into a room in swish clean new clothes and expensive cologne made his head spin. It was simply too good to be true.

The room was spacious, but not overly huge, and a queen sized bed was in the middle, bulging with old crocheted blankets that made Ron feel right at home. The cool blue light of evening crept into the room from slightly parted curtains, stretching onto the bed. In the sliver of light, the pale gossamer swish of Lavender's dress glimmered as it fell to the floor. Turning, Ron's breath was taken away. She stood there, holding herself in her arms, dressed only in a sheer petticoat. Her knickers and delicate lace bra could just be seen, and her skin was like porcelain against her translucent undergarment. She smiled shyly, shivering a little, as Ron took off the heavy stiff outer layers of his outfit. He was down to his shirt and pants before he felt comfortable, barefoot and tousled. He didn't think he should take anymore than that off. If Lavender was comfortable with him wearing less, she'd let him know (most likely by taking whatever article off herself). The shirt was half unbuttoned, the sleeves wide open, and the cool night air slipped in and out of the cotton. He pulled back the heavy covers and patted the bed, winking at Lavender, who rolled her eyes and giggled.

She leapt into the bed with him, and wasted no time in snuggling to his side. Satisfaction and relief, and much more, spread through Ron as the girl wriggled next to him, finding the sweet spot on the mattress and seemingly in his body. She sighed finally, all comfortable.

"I had such a wonderful time tonight."

"I'm glad," said Ron.

She was quiet, and he could hear her breathe. He wondered if she was thinking.

"Thank you."

He glanced to her. "For?"

A smile, that seemed to have grown from within her heart, lit her features.

"Letting me in. Letting me be one of you."

Ron shrugged, and he stroked her arm thoughtfully, thinking on all that happened that night.

"Well..." He frowned, struggling to find the words, and he suddenly wished he'd read more books in all his time, so maybe he could say something meaningful and romantic to Lavender right at that moment. "...I think, over time, you're gonna be like my arm or my leg or something. You know?"

Lavender looked puzzled. "What... freckly?"

He shook his head. "No no no... you know - a part of my body, of me."

"Oh..." Lavender sighed.

"Yeah. I dunno. I just - I like having you around. I think I want you around a lot more from now on."

He didn't see it in the dim light, but Lavender smiled again, and she rolled onto him and kissed him firmly. He held her, still surprised by the fact that any girl would want to touch him let alone roll on top of him in a sheer slip and kiss him senseless. What he'd said to her seemed to be all the communication she needed, and now her touches were telling him what she felt. He responded in kind, completely satisfied for now to lie in bed and just kiss her and hold her, over and over again. They had the time of their lives exploring the possibilities of lips alone until soon their exhausted bodies gave up and the collapsed against each other, falling right asleep.

~~*~~

The sight that greeted those who rose on Christmas morning and made their way to the Great Hall was one that subsequent years of Hogwarts students would never forget. Its immortality was assured by Colin Creevey's itchy shutter finger, and he recorded with stunning sensitivity the emotion of the moment. The expression on the subject's face was one people would remember for years to come.

His body was not thin, and it was not grotesquely pale. It was lithe and there was little body fat, and it was crooked over the behind of the Hogwarts Hog in such away so that every time he struggled, it looked utterly obscene.

He had regained consciousness some time around eight in the morning. His own groans of discomfort woke him, and the reason why he felt bruised all up and down his front and in more tender areas became apparent to him. He was tied tight to a huge bronze hog, the hard contours of which had had a good four hours to dig into him and create some rather remarkable bruising. He wriggled his limbs, hoping that he could wrest his way free. No matter how he moved, his hands were strung tight together, and his feet were bound to the back end of the statue. He was stuck. He looked down.

He was naked and stuck.

He didn't have long to think his way out of the situation, or even come to terms with it, as the younger few students up for some morning Christmas goodies from the kitchen wandered through the Entrance Hall and saw their Head Boy trussed up against the school's mascot like a wayward porn star. They squealed and shouted and ran into the Great Hall, pointing and yelling, their voices echoing off the hall walls. Of course, sensing a photo opportunity, Colin Creevey, who liked to stay back at Christmas as it was such a short break, rushed in with camera clicking, gasping in pleasure and exultation at the marvellous work of art before him.

"Wonderful!" he cried, "Really great!"

"Creevey!" hissed Malfoy. "Stop that this instant! Fifty points from Gryffindor!!"

Colin Creevey just grinned. "No points or copies of these get to your father."

Spending six years amongst Gryffindors had not left Colin unscathed.

Malfoy's smoky grey eyes glinted dangerously. "You bastard."

Colin shuffled around, grabbing a few more snaps. By now there were a few other Sixth years about, giggling and pointing, a few girls eyeing Malfoy from behind with great intrigue. It wasn't long before there was the clip-clop of angry heels, and the distinct smell of wool tartan wafted into the Hall.

Malfoy felt his heart freeze.

"Mr. MALFOY!" cried the voice in a familiar brogue, "Dear God, put some CLOTHES ON!"

"It's a bit hard!" he scowled, "Considering I'm TIED UP, presently!"

Professor McGonagall stormed over, eyes gleaming with alarm, pulling her cloak off and making an effort to throw it over Malfoy. She fussed at him, zapping at the charms, and they did not come away so easily. Her hissing and tapping at the statue, and the noise she made and the sight of the gathering throng, caused even more students to come out. It took McGonagall fifteen minutes to remove the rope charms, by which time most of the students that had stayed behind (a good half of the school), had seen Draco Malfoy's behind.

She pulled him down from the statue, and like a shaken mother hen, McGonagall bustled him into her office. Once there, she swept past the huddled young man, making a beeline for a silver tea-set in the corner. She looked over her shoulder.

"Do sit down, Malfoy."

He nodded, edging to one of the chairs and slowly sitting down. After a moment she turned around with a hot cup of tea, and she placed it in front of him.

"Now, explain."

He was about to launch into a tirade about how Potter, Granger, Weasley and Brown had conspired against him with Delacour to get him drunk beyond reason and therefore into this situation in the first place, but it occurred to him, as he stared at McGonagall's horrified face, that by doing so he'd be shooting himself in the foot. He couldn't very well go and tell her that.

What the hell could he tell her?

He went even paler.

"... Mr. Malfoy - I'm waiting."

He cleared his throat, tipping up his head. "It was Potter."

McGonagall sighed, folding her arms. "I see."

"And Granger. And Weasley and Brown."

"Brown, now?" she said, lifting an eyebrow. "And how on earth did they get you into that position?"

"Stunning spell," he said, not sounding so certain. "Stunning spell."

"Do you have witnesses for this?" she asked, looking rather skeptical.

"Crabbe and Goyle," said Malfoy, nodding.

McGonagall eyed him. She eyed him for a very long time, and he felt those eyes almost drilling into his head. He wished she'd stop looking at him like that.

"All right, Malfoy. You may go."

Malfoy blinked, utterly shocked. "I can?"

"Yes," she said, folding her fingers together. "I can safely assume that whatever happened to you, it happened as a result of the leaving year's Christmas party that took place last night in a location unknown to us, and as such, out of school bounds. You shouldn't have been there, and I could punish you, but quite honestly..." McGonagall's face went blank, and she pressed her lips together, a twitch about the corner that Malfoy wondered if was the closest thing to a laugh he'd ever see on the evil woman. "... I don't see how I could make you suffer any more than Potter and his friends already have. Rest assured they will be spoken to. That will be all. And by the way - Merry Christmas."

Malfoy nodded, and he was about to hand back her cloak when he realised he was naked underneath it. He fidgeted awkwardly, and to this McGonagall looked as though she fought not to laugh.

"You may return it in the morning, Malfoy."

He nodded and stormed out of the door.

~~*~~

Harry forced himself not to run down the stairs. He was always excitable at Christmas time, when things weren't all going wrong for him at least, as he found no end of joy in giving presents to people that he loved dearly. It was only in his years at Hogwarts that he really got to give anything to anyone, and he decided that he very much liked it, liked watching people's faces as they opened the presents and saw what he'd gotten them. It was one of those little joys in the world that couldn't be measured, like a pretty blue sky, or the sound of birds talking to each other in the trees as though there was nothing better than to live and breath.

He bounced down the stairs, grinning from ear to ear. Hermione was by the tree in the Common Room, eyeing the presents with a look of insatiable curiosity. Hearing his steps, she glanced up and grinned.

"Hello!"

"Hey!"

Hermione was suddenly half immersed under the Christmas tree, her jeans-clad behind sticking out at rather an appealing angle. Harry was sorely tempted to slide his hand over it, but there were younger students in the room poring over their own gifts and chattering with their friends, and he knew the Head Girl getting groped was not the best example to be setting for them. He let his mind dawdle over the fantasy of it however, and when Hermione looked over her shoulder she saw the glint in his eyes, the slow patient pondering mingled with an unmistakable hunger. She gasped.

"Harry!" A giggle of disbelief fell from her, and the students on the nearby couch all looked to Harry to see what the fuss was.

Harry shrugged innocently and sank down on the floor next to Hermione. She only shook her head and dumped her present for him in his lap.

"Open that, you pervert," she said under her breath.

Harry chuckled, looking down to his lap and glancing at the present. He barely paused before tearing it open, the paper flying. Hermione giggled at his display, and then took her lip in her teeth as she waited for Harry to see what she'd gotten him.

His mouth dropped open. In his hands was a very old book, leather bounding decorated with intricate Celtic knotwork, chipped gold lettering on the cover spelling out the title 'Defeateing Darke Magick - the Art of Positive againste Negative.' In smaller letters underneath this were the names of many wizards that he'd seen here and there in history books. The one thing that struck him was the final line of credit:

Including the Defensive Teachings of Godric Gryffindor.

Harry gripped the book in his hands, mouth working, no words coming to him to express his gratitude. He did all he could think of. He leant forward and planted a big kiss on her lips.

Giggles broke out through the room, and Harry really didn't care. He pulled away, eyes gleaming, a ghost of a smile on his face.

"I can't tell you..."

"It's all right," she said. "I found it during one of my book store pilgrimages - you know - looking for new magic we can work on in the DA."

He nodded, stroking the book with some awe.

"I know that being in Gryffindor is important to you," she said gently. "It's brought you comfort in the past, and when I saw this, and saw his techniques - I knew you'd flourish with them. They deal with using one's positive emotions and bonds with protective spells, and baffling the enemy with harmless charms that cause them to be incapacitated. You know - shying away from anger and hate. It's a very old magic, Harry. I have the feeling it'll help you."

He smiled, taking her hand. "Thank you. I think it will."

It occurred to him that he hadn't given Hermione her present yet, and with a little mind-clearing shake of his head, he dug under the tree. With a little sigh of relief he found it and gave it to her.

"It's not very good," he said, and Hermione gave him a sharp look that let him know that she'd be the judge of that. He couldn't help but feel that hers was well thought out, useful and steeped in sentiment compared to his. His own gift to her was rather scattered and silly.

Hermione's mouth curled to a grin, and she looked down at the large box in her lap filled with wonderful things. She pulled out a book and giggled. On the cover was a photo of a cat with a little knitted waistcoat on, with the title saying '101 Knitting & Crochet Patterns for Your Cat'.

"Oh, Harry," she said, smiling at the cover. "It's lovely... but I could only do the knitting projects... I can't crochet."

"Well, they show you how to in the beginning of the book," he said, pointing to it. "And look..." He stuck his hand in the box and pulled out a silver crochet needle. "A needle, and I bought you some charmed wool. This stuff..." He held up a ball of wool. "The colour changes... and this stuff sparkles."

Hermione pawed gently through the contents of the box. She picked up a little velvet bag and shook it. It tinkled.

"Oh... I was going to give it to you at the end of the year, but I couldn't wait. Open it!"

She did, and tipping it up an elegant silver identification bracelet dropped into her palm.

"Oh, Harry!" Peering at the ID tag, she read it out aloud. "Hermione Granger. Head Girl, 1997."

"Look at the back!" Harry said with an eager smile.

She carefully turned it over and grinned. "From Harry."

"I thought you might want to commemorate being Head Girl."

"It's beautiful!" she sighed, "It really is!"

He shrugged and pointed at it. "I wish I'd etched 'love' before 'from' now. Doesn't seem right this way."

She looked up at him through her lashes coyly with a smirk. "It's perfect."

She leant forward and hugged him tightly, giving him a soft moan of gratitude.

"There's one more thing in there," Harry said.

Hermione pulled out another little velvet bag, and opening it she pulled out different coloured shimmery ribbons. She tipped her head at them with a bemused expression, and Harry immediately felt stupid.

"It's for when you study," he said. "I noticed your hair falls in your face, and you're always tucking it away with your fingers."

"You noticed that, did you?" she said.

"Uhm..." He blushed beet red. "Well, those are to tie your hair back. And they're charmed, so that they don't come loose after you've tapped them with your wand."

A broad smile broke on her face, and she tucked all her things in the box.

"Harry, I love all of it."

Thank God, he thought.

She gave a big happy sigh. "I'm just going to have to thank you accordingly!"

"You are?"

With a smile, she wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him on the lips. Harry heard the children about him giggle, but he didn't care at all. This had to be the best Christmas he'd had to date; this one had Hermione kisses under the Christmas tree.

"Oi! Take it to your room!"

Harry broke away, flashing a smile at the voice. Ron stood before him, Lavender trailing behind him from the direction of the Portrait Hole, checking on her heel. Ron's hair was almost as awry as Harry's usually was, mussed and sticking at all angles. He knelt next to Harry, his posh clothes looking rumpled, Lavender looking much less sparkly and her wings moving only very slowly.

"Merry Christmas, mate," he said, dropping a hand roughly on his shoulder.

"You too, Ron," said Harry. "Did you clear up the mess you made?"

He was deliberately cryptic, and Ron didn't miss a beat.

"Yep. How did the boys sleep last night?"

Harry blushed beet red. "I didn't really notice."

Hermione was blushing too, and there was a giggle behind Ron. He looked over his shoulder at Lavender and smirked.

"Right, I get the picture," he said slowly.

"Oh God," huffed Hermione. "I can't imagine the picture you'd be getting!"

"Probably the right one," tittered Lavender.

Harry was too busy burning up with embarrassment to really say anything to that. He knew that if he said anything he'd only have a slip of his tongue (mmm... Hermione's tongue) and embarrass himself. He was right in the middle of some rather shocking mental pictures when a clear, sharp voice rung out through the morning air.

"Potter, Weasley, Granger and Brown."

They all looked over their shoulders to see a rather disappointed looking McGonagall standing in the doorway. Harry froze with terror, and when he looked to Hermione he was surprised to see a resigned look on her face. They slowly got up to their feet, all still drowsy and tired from their lack of sleep the previous night. McGonagall waited for them to come over to her with primly folded hands, and as they reached her, she lifted a stern brow.

"Follow me please. Bring your wands."

~~*~~

Harry very badly wanted to hold Hermione's hand. Not that he minded getting in trouble, he was used to it. And he didn't mind getting reprimanded by McGonagall either, that was par for the course in going to Hogwarts. It was the possibility of something happening that could impact his would-be career as an Auror that bothered him. If she gave him severe detentions, it might cut back on his study time. If he got badly in trouble, maybe he couldn't use McGonagall as a reference in his entrance forms, and that would be awful because Transfiguration was one of his better subjects. He squirmed under McGonagall's thoughtful glare, and he could see the others doing the same, bar Hermione who seemed to be taking it all in stride. Poor Lavender looked terrified, and Harry knew that she'd never been in serious trouble before.

McGonagall sat in her chair behind the desk; she did not offer them to sit. Folding her hands, she cleared her throat carefully.

"Draco Malfoy was found tied naked to the school mascot statue this morning. He said that you four had stunned him and put him there." She lifted her brows at them. They all remained silent, and after a moment of this she gave a stiff sigh. "I assume you have something to say in your defence?"

Harry saw Hermione glance to him, and Harry wondered if there was any point in denying it. If it was Malfoy's word against theirs, perhaps she would believe Harry? Unfortunately, they stood thinking about what to do a moment too long, and she stood, holding out her hands.

"Please give me your wands."

"What's wrong with hearing our side of things?" asked Hermione, clutching her wand pocket.

McGonagall closed her hands, eyeing Hermione. "If you have one, by all means, tell it to me. In fact, Miss Granger, I would be fascinated to discover why the Head Girl of all people could deem ... this... as appropriate! Please... enlighten me!"

"Malfoy locked Harry and I in one of the classrooms," said Hermione quickly. "We had to escape out the window because the door was bound shut with some very old and complicated magic."

Harry nearly groaned. Of course, McGonagall would want to know how Malfoy managed to get them into the classroom in the first place.

"And because of this you justify the gross humiliation Mr. Malfoy experienced this morning?" She sighed, taking a moment to even her temper, and then looked back to Hermione. "What were you doing in a classroom at that time?"

"I was doing a quick check of the corridors," said Hermione, calm as could be. "Harry was with me to keep me company. I thought I heard something in the classroom and went in to check. The next thing we knew the door slammed shut and we were locked in there."

He looked to McGonagall. She couldn't have bought this. She knew what was going on last night, she knew it. McGonagall opened her hands again.

"Your wands."

With a heavy heart, Harry handed her his wand. It clacked against Hermione's, and McGonagall closed her hands around them slowly. Sitting, she laid them out on the table, and leaning on her knuckles, she stared at them a long moment.

"I'm not entirely sure what went on last night," she said. "I'm aware of the tradition, and Professor Dumbledore and I do what we can to make sure no one gets hurt. By being a little... lenient... we hope that we can keep the students close enough to us that we can monitor their behaviour and make sure things don't get out of hand."

Harry squirmed on the inside at the word 'monitor'. Paranoia flared up inside him and he wondered if she knew what he'd done to Hermione last night, what he'd done in his own bed.

"I'm well aware that students will play up in their final year, but never in all my years have I seen anything quite so ... audacious! I certainly expected better behaviour from our Head Girl."

Hermione, for the first time, looked guilty. McGonagall caught her breath, sinking in her chair a little, her posture still impeccable, however.

"However, I'm aware of Malfoy's ... obnoxious ... nature. While this does not excuse the humiliation he no doubt suffered, it does temper my decision. I shall also examine his wand for evidence of curses and charms used in the past twenty-four hours. If I find proof of what has happened..." She sighed. "I shall give both parties the same punishment. Fifty points shall be taken from Gryffindor for each of you."

Harry's heart dropped in his chest. He hated losing Gryffindor points.

"Now... if I catch any of you using magic illegally in the halls again in the future, especially on another student maliciously..." She eyed them fiercely. "Your punishment will be far worse than what you are receiving today. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Professor," they replied in a mumbling unison.

~~*~~

He had to wonder if they ever bothered dusting this place when not making naughty little students do it. His wand had been confiscated for the task and he was given a Muggle feather duster, and it was this he was fluffing along the tops of rows and rows of old smelly books in the school library. He could hear Hermione taking steps back and forth in between some shelves on the other side of the library. Affection would swell in his chest despite himself as he heard her voice float across the room, usually annoyed mutterings if she happened to see a book out of place or one in bad condition. Her love of books was endlessly endearing to Harry, and he had to wonder if, when you discovered you love someone, there was anything you didn't like about them, or at least tolerate. Even his Aunt would tolerate all sorts of terrible behaviour from Uncle Vernon. He marvelled at the power of this strange emotion. In the book Hermione had got him, the authors alluded to this power a lot. He wasn't sure how or if he should use it himself, but maybe there was something in it.

"Harry!"

He looked up. Hermione rushed about the corner of the bookshelf, a book open in her hand. Her eyes were glued to the page so she nearly ran into him. He caught her by the shoulders and smiled.

"What is it?"

"You should see this book I just found! I thought I knew nearly every one in this library!"

He tilted his head to see the spine. "What's it about?"

"Oh, it's about deliciously bad hexes!" she gasped eagerly.

His eyes widened and he pursed his lips worriedly. "And what exactly would we do with those?"

She rolled her eyes. "We wouldn't USE them. We should just know about them in case we run into them. You know that, silly!"

"Yes," he said, feeling some relief. "Are you dusting in the Restricted Section or something?"

Hermione widened her eyes back at him and nodded with a wide grin. "Heavens no. Perhaps Madam Pince misplaced it." She looked about himself, sighing thoughtfully. "Why do you think we got detention in the library, of all places?"

"Maybe McGonagall figured I could use the time here to glean some information for the DA..."

"Or your Defence Against the Dark Arts classes," suggested Hermione.

Harry smiled. "You better put this back. We have a lot to dust."

She sighed. "I don't want to. I just want to read all I'm seeing!"

"This *is* torture for you, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded, kicking the floor. "You bet it is. Can't imagine what torture it would be for you, other than being bored to death."

There were moments when Hermione could be remarkably perceptive. There were others where she could miss a bright red double-decker bus of a notion if it wasn't pointed out to her. This was one of them.

"Hmm, let's see," Harry said under his breath, yet loud enough for her to hear, turning back to the books and dusting them. "I'm in the library alone with Hermione for an hour a day, except that Madam Pince is in her office at the other end of the room. I could sneak in a kiss or two, but Madam Pince has the hearing of a hawk, and you can't sneeze in this place without her looking at you. So, there's being alone with her for once, and absolutely nothing that can be done with that isolation." He shook his head. "No, I don't see the torture in that for me at all."

Hermione blushed wildly and waved a hand. "All right, all right, I better get to the other end of the library before you ravish me!"

He only sighed deeply at that. It had been five days of this punishment now, and he was starting to think that he'd never want to see a book again, despite the things they'd read to each other in books that took their interest. The library was looking unnaturally dustless and cobweb free, and it seemed to disorientate students coming in the next day, because libraries, particularly ones filled with magic books, were generally expected to be dusty, cobwebby and mysterious. Still, Harry knew that McGonagall punished them for good reason, and she wasn't being random when she put both him and Hermione in the library. She'd strangely separated Ron and Lavender. Harry heard no end of trouble about that.

"Why do you get to stay with Hermione and I'm not allowed to spend time with Lavender during my detention?"

"Because McGonagall probably trusts me not to start groping Hermione in the middle of the library."

"But YOU'RE the one that - you know - " Ron went bright red and waggled his fingers in a vaguely lurid way. "You know!!"

Harry blushed back at him and shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm not going to do it in a public place."

"What makes you think Lavender and I would?"

Harry smirked. "Greenhouse Three, last Monday."

Ron glared and pointed at him. "That was heavy snogging, and we didn't know anyone could SEE us!"

"You were hiding behind a house made of glass!"

Harry burst into laughter.

He had two weeks of dusting in the library with Hermione. In the time they had there they'd amassed a long list of books they would take out not only for the DA, but regular lessons as well. Harry wasn't a keen reader by any lengths, but a few titles Hermione had shown him had piqued his curiosity, and from what he'd seen of the books, they looked like they were interesting to read, not dry and boring like the books that were given out during class. Poor Ron had to help Hagrid turn over the compost heap behind his hut, and Lavender was given tasks in the Infirmary, which was a matter of horror for her. She was a squeamish girl, greatly disliking bodily fluids and being around sick people. When back in the Common Room, huddled to Ron with a harrassed look on her face, she'd mutter to him that McGonagall knew it, damn it, McGonagall knew she hated the Infirmary. Harry didn't doubt it for a moment.

Malfoy was also given detention, as they'd found a host of naughty spells on his wand (though why Ron wasn't in trouble for half of the ones he did for the party, Harry didn't know). The blond boy had complained that McGonagall had gone back on her word, but it was made clear that her word had been given when he was not guilty of any wrong doing. He was made to help the elves in the kitchen after dinner for two weeks. It amused Harry no end that Malfoy reeked of onions and garlic for the whole time. All Harry smelt of was old books and dust, and he didn't care because it only reminded him of Hermione.

Harry found after the detention was over that he actually came to miss the time alone with her every day. It was nice to be in a quiet place, just him and her, talking to each other and sharing something, even if it was books. He ached for her every day since the night of the party, knowing that they couldn't be together in that manner for some time. He was happy to be with her during the day, and the news of their getting together was deliciously scandalous. Harry wanted to be careful about it all. He made sure he didn't act too giddy in public, though he let Hermione know in no uncertain terms that he certainly felt it. I'm keeping it quiet for your protection, he'd tell her. She was already a target, because everyone had always assumed that she was the love of his life anyway. He had his ways of letting her know how he felt, as understated and subtle as they were. And in the safety of Gryffindor Tower, they'd huddle in the Common Room and study together, utterly content. Harry knew that the changing of his relationship with Hermione could, and most likely would, cause him trouble. The bad kind of trouble he feared the most, he guessed. Though there was one thing he'd long promised himself.

He wouldn't stop living life because Voldermort wanted him and his friends dead.

~~*~~

"Harry! This is madness, we'll get caught!"

"When has that ever stopped us before?"

"I'm sure Dumbledore knows when people use this room."

Harry shrugged. "Good on him. I need five minutes alone with you without being stared at."

He closed the door behind him and looked about the room. The Room of Requirement had changed itself quite nicely to a snug room with a blazing hearth and a very comfortable couch. It also had a large plush rug between the lounge and the fire. He smiled and nodded.

"Lovely."

"This is a bad idea," she said, lingering behind as Harry pulled her towards the couch. "I am certain McGonagall knows what we got up to that night, though maybe because she can't prove it or whatever, we've not been expelled..."

"We're of age, Hermione," said Harry over his shoulder. "And I don't think there's any way to prove what we did at all."

Hermione folded her arms darkly. "You're lucky I know a thing or two about witches' prophylactics, otherwise there'd be all the proof in the world!"

"Ah. Good point." He looked up at her. She was standing in front of him, and he was all sat comfortably on the couch. "Aren't you going to sit down?"

With a stubborn sigh, she threw herself down next to him. His arm was draped over the back of the couch, and there was about a foot between him and Hermione. He eyed the space, and then looked at her, lifting his brows cheekily.

"I'm not leaning against you. What if someone walks in?"

Harry dug in his cloak and pulled out his wand. "We're practicing some hexes for DADA."

Hermione huffed and pulled out her own wand. "This is very naughty."

"We're naughty all the time..."

"For a good cause," she said, "Always a good cause."

"And what's not good about this?"

She just eyed him.

"Haven't you wanted just a little time alone?" he asked her, leaning forward a touch. "Like when we've been studying in the library? And there's something you want to say or do, but you know there are all those eyes that could turn on you and ruin it all?"

Hermione's eyes drifted close and she sighed fitfully.

"Yes! Of course! But I don't want you getting into trouble because of me."

"Come here," he said, beckoning her with a crook of his hand. "If we get in trouble, you can take the rap."

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes and Hermione chuckled, all but collapsing against him, wrapping her arms about him.

"God, I miss being with you like this," she sighed. "That party spoiled me, it really did."

"Me too," said Harry. "But I'm so glad that it all happened."

Hermione glanced to him, meeting his eyes. "So am I."

Unable to resist, Harry brought his lips to hers, kissing her slowly and gently. He could feel her melt against him, her arms curling about his neck, one of her legs hooking over his. Her sighs filled his ears, and she pulled away.

"This is going to be the longest six months of my life, I think," she moaned unhappily.

"I know," he said, then added with a smirk. "But at least we did it when the opportunity presented itself."

"Harry!" she gasped. He met her eyes with a look of amusement, and she had to chuckle back at him. "You're right."

"That wasn't the reason I did it, though."

She smiled. "I know."

"So when's the next party?" he asked her.

"Well..." She gazed at the ceiling in thought. "Nothing really happens till Leaving Day, and we're allowed to do what we like then anyway."

Disappointment crashed through Harry, and it was just a little bitter.

"Damn it." He pouted.

"We could start celebrating Valentine's Day, but that'd be entirely out of character for all of us."

"Yeah, let's not go there," he said, trying not to squirm. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

"Or we could keep meeting here on a regular basis and treasure the happy memory of it in the shower."

Harry's mouth popped open and he gasped. "Hermione!"

She grinned, propping an arm on his shoulder. "What, you don't think of me in the shower?"

His mouth worked but no sound came out. He'd never imagined the day when Hermione would admit to such a thing to him, whether they'd had sex or not. All he could do next was laugh with disbelief.

"With relish," he finally said, "But I never thought I'd hear you talk about it."

She shrugged. "Well, I am." Her hand was suddenly on his inner thigh, and with a naughty grin she leant closer. "What do you think of me doing?"

He gave an uncertain laugh, and then meeting her eyes he saw that she was absolutely serious. He strangely felt guilty for thinking about her whilst he touched himself in the shower, and her eagerness to hear exactly what he thought about her was rather daunting. He looked at her, uncertainty in his eyes.

"You don't mind that I do?"

The grin faded a little, and was replaced with a warm smile. She slid the hand up his thigh, caressing him comfortingly, touching her nose to his. "No, I like it."

"Even before we were going out?"

She grinned again. "Now that's just flattering. Come on - tell me, and I'll tell you what I thought of you doing."

He told her. With blushing cheeks and shy glances from under his eyelashes he told her every blessed detail, and he could feel them both getting heated with the description. He nearly died of a mingling of wonderful feelings as Hermione snuggled close and whispered in his ear the devilish things she'd imagined whilst pleasuring herself, and he couldn't help but close his eyes and thank God for Draco Malfoy and his insistence on making his life difficult.

In fact, he thanked God for that entire night, from the moment Hermione said that she'd go to the party with him to the moment where they fell asleep in each other’s arms. He knew his life would be different if he hadn't experienced that night as he had, taking a risk, letting Hermione know how he felt. Then the night of revelry that followed seemed a fitting celebration to the beginning of a beautiful new relationship.

All in all, he was glad he went to the Christmas party.

~~*~~