White Bird on a Silver Thread

Chapter Three: Under the Mistletoe

All the breath and the bloom of the year in a bag on one bee:

All the wonder and wealth of the mine in the heart of one gem:

In the core of one pearl all the shade and the shine of the sea:

Breath and bloom, shade and shine - wonder,

Wealth - and - how far above them -

Truth, that's brighter than gem,

Trust, that's purer than pearl -

Brightest truth, purest trust in the universe -

All were for me

In the kiss of one girl

- Robert Browning

Ginny was walking towards the North Tower as she had done every day for more than two months. She didn't even bother to light her wand, choosing instead to walk in complete darkness.

I shouldn't be doing this, she raged silently at herself. I should be in bed, sleeping like a good girl.

And yet there she was.

She stopped just outside of the North Tower, drawing her cloak more closely around her. Why, she asked herself, am I here?

She had never felt any collar around her mind since that night two months before. She had never felt any tugging. She was there of her own free will. But why?

Because I'm an idiot, she thought, almost amused at her own folly. These clandestine meetings - the North Tower - they appeal to my childhood dreams of romance. Not to mention Malfoy is good looking . . .

She tossed her red hair, and it gleamed like fire in the darkness. Then she pushed the door open.

"You did well in the game against Hufflepuff today," said Draco, when he saw her.

"Thank you."

She seated herself at the window ledge, as usual. He was sitting at the table, twirling a quill between his fingers. She smiled at him, already anticipating his answering smile, and then swung her legs onto the ledge and tucked them beneath her. The window was already open, and bits of light snow, blown sideways by a gentle wind, settled itself on her face and hair.

"Trying to get yourself killed?"

"Right. I am exactly the type of person to commit suicide by throwing myself out of an open window."

"Sarcasm doesn't become you. You are bursting to tell me something. Out with it."

"Terry Boot asked me to the Christmas Ball." [A/N: as the Yule Ball is 'a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament' only, I have taken the liberty to invent a Christmas ball.]

"You mean the big, fat, strutting Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain?" Draco's face was as impassive as ever.

"You make him sound like a Christmas turkey," said Ginny, looking injured. "He's not fat and he doesn't strut."

"Right. Just like I'm not evil scum and Snape doesn't sing in the shower."

Ginny nearly fell out the window. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, sweetheart."

"I don't see why you even care who I go to the Christmas Ball with. You've got Blaise, and if she can't go, you even have Pansy as a back up."

"Jealous?"

Ginny tossed her head, and the snowflakes in her hair settled on the cold stone floor. "Why should I be? She's the one stuck with a measly, musteline, malignant - "

The door swung open before she had a chance to finish off with the magnificent flair she had intended. Ginny jumped, but fortunately fell into the room instead of out of the window.

"Ginny?" Ron was standing in the doorway, looking incredulous. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"It's nice to see you to," said Ginny crossly as she picked herself up, hoping her voice would disguise the sound of her heart thumping.

"I didn't think you would lie to me." Ron's expression was pained as he walked slowly into the room. He glanced from Draco to his sister, his gaze lingering a minute longer on his archenemy.

"I never lied to you," said Ginny indignantly. "If you would have asked me, I would have told you where I was going every night."

"I heard rumors. I didn't believe them at first... but I came to see for myself."

Ginny took a deep breath and composed herself. "So," she said, and there was something about the way she spoke that made Ron back away a little. Ginny could be very intimidating if she wanted to. "What did you hear?"

"That you came up here every night to - to meet Malfoy." Ginny wondered at the way he paused before he said the word meet. He had heard other things, too, she thought, her mouth twisting into an amused, bitter smile. "Now I see it's true."

Ginny held her temper sweetly - a dangerous sign, if Ron had known. "You will kindly keep your nose out of my business," she said coolly. "I never intrude on your friendship with Harry and Hermione - I never ask what you do when you sneak out at night - and you should do the same."

Her voice was scornful as she continued. "I don't understand," she said. "Why I should have to sneak here every night, afraid to tell anyone where I am going. Your emotions are not mine. I think with my mind and feel with my heart, not yours."

"Ginny," said Ron, and he sounded tired. A faint guilt began to gnaw at her. "How long have you been coming up here?"

"Two months."

"Two months." Ron paused, thinking back to two months ago. "Since after that Quidditch match?"

"To the day. I had detention with him for a whole week before that. And since you can't be bothered to find out about what I do, you have no right to ask why."

"Ginny, I don't understand. You might have been murdered. He's a Slytherin. He's our enemy. HIS FATHER WAS THE ONE THAT GAVE YOU THAT DIARY - "

"Don't you dare talk about that," said Ginny in a taut voice.

Ron retreated to a safer topic. "He's evil. He's a heartless, selfish bastard - "

"HE IS NOT!" said Ginny, apparently forgetting that a moment ago she herself had called him a measly, musteline, malignant etc. etc. The spice of perversity in her was roused. If Ron had begged her to love Draco Malfoy passionately and madly she would have declared that he was a fool to think of it, but as she was peremptorily ordered not to associate with him, she immediately made up her mind that she would. "He has never even touched me."

"He understands nothing but the dark arts - " began Ron again.

"Shut up - just . . . shut up."

Ron's face twisted as he looked at his little sister. "Where did I go wrong?" he asked. "What did I do wrong, Ginny, that you have to punish me like this?" Ginny shook her head. "Don't," she said, but he kept on talking, the look in his eyes making her feel worse than anything he had said. "When I saw you fall off that broomstick, when I thought you were going to die, do you know how I felt? I sat there in the hospital wing, and you were lying there so still and so cold, and I promised myself that I would take better care of you from then on."

"Stop - stop - I don't want to hear it."

"No - listen. I know I was never there for you, Ginny, when I should have been, I know it wasn't me but Harry there in the Chamber of Secrets. And I promised myself that that would never happen again. I promised myself that I would be there to catch you when you fell."

Ginny lifted her chin. "Has it ever occurred to you, Ron, that maybe I've grown up? That maybe I am quite capable of taking care of myself, that maybe I don't need a protector but a friend?"

"When did you and I grow so distant?"

Ginny closed her eyes and shook her head. When did you and I grow so distant? he had asked.

"I don't know," she cried, angry with him and with herself. Angry, in fact, with the whole world. Why were the stars against her? Why wasn't he yelling at her? If he yelled at her she could yell right back. But he only stood there looking sorrowful and disappointed. "Bill and Charlie doted on me, because I was the baby of the family. Percy taught me everything he knew, because I was the only one who would listen when he talked. Fred and George - they protected me, because I was a girl. But you, Ron - you loved me. We held hands every year as Bill and Charlie and Percy and Fred and George boarded that train and left us behind. I can hardly blame you for leaving as well. And I never blamed you for having two best friends that replaced me. Because I realized that we were bound to grow apart, that you had your friends - and I had to find mine.

"You've had your secrets, Ron - you kept a great deal from me, and though I understood, it hurt. But did you ever realize that I had no friends? Not one, until Jennie came? Because I can't bear giggling and gossip and infatuations."

"I knew you were lonely," said Ron. "But I didn't know what to do."

"I don't blame you. I really don't. But sometimes I know that if it weren't because you and I were brother and sister, we really wouldn't get along at all. Harry and Hermione - they're your friends, and you chose them. But me? I'm your sister whether you like it or not."

"Ginny, I'm so sorry."

Ginny opened her eyes at last. Looking at her brother, at the way he stood there, his eyes sad, she knew that the pattern of her days had finally broken. Pattern, she thought tiredly. How could days have a pattern? What made her think they did? Life, she had once read, is a pattern in space and time. But it was too soon, she mourned, knowing that she couldn't hold on to these starry, dream-filled nights, knowing that she couldn't keep what wasn't hers.

Ginny swallowed, saying with an effort, "Please go, Ron."

"But - "

"There are some things I should like to settle with Malfoy."

Ron looked at her for a long time.

"You have to start trusting me some time, Ron. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And," said Ginny, rounding on Draco, who had been silent for the past half hour, "don't you dare laugh."

"I wasn't," said Draco, in an indignant tone.

Ron shook his head, eyeing his nemesis warily. "Goodnight then, Ginny."

"Good night, Ron," she answered.

"I don't know when I lost you," said Ron softly, as he turned to leave the room. "But I know that I did."

When he was gone, Ginny drew a shaky breath.

"Cry. It'll make you feel better," advised Draco.

"There are some things that you should know about me, Malfoy, and the first one is I never cry." At least, not where others can see me, she added on silently, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion.

He didn't answer. Ginny sat back down on the window seat, watching the pale snow falling on the silent night. At last she said quietly, without looking at him, "I won't come back."

"I didn't think you would."

Her knuckles were very white as she clasped her hands together in her lap. Her eyes closed for a moment. "Goodnight, Malfoy," she said at last.

"Goodnight."

She stood and walked slowly out the door. But before she turned the corner she whispered, "Have a happy Christmas."

**************

The next afternoon

"Draco? Draco? Oh, Draco!" The singsong female voice was getting closer with every second. Draco wished he had an invisibility cloak. But since he didn't, he ducked into the nearest empty classroom and held his breath. After the footsteps had faded away, he returned cautiously to the hallway.

"I knew you were somewhere nearby," said Pansy, beaming as she caught sight of him, and Draco was hard put not to groan out loud.

"Hello to you, too, Pansy," said Draco gloomily. He couldn't bear Pansy. She looked like a pug, to begin with, and then the smell of her perfume was always . . . overpowering. And she always looked subordinate to her expensive clothes. Whenever you saw her, you noticed the richly colored robes first. Pansy was a sort of afterthought.

But ever since the Yule Ball in their fourth year, she had made it very clear that Draco was her man. It was certainly news to Draco. He had only gone with her because Blaise had gone to Scotland for the holidays. But ever since then she had constantly dogged his heels until he was seriously considering jumping into the mouth of the giant squid in hopes that she would follow him there as well.

He refrained himself, however. Look at that self-control, he thought morosely. Ah, well - what was Pansy doing?

For she had flung herself at him, and was now clinging to his neck. Draco was reminded of the vampires he had learnt of in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He vaguely wondered if he should start carrying garlic around.

"Er - Pansy - I've got to go," he said desperately. He tried to think of an excuse and grabbed at the first one that came to mind. "I've got homework to do."

Pansy released him a little. "But the term ended yesterday!"

"Right. But - er - I've got a lot to do, ok?"

"Oh. All right. But I'll see you later." She leaned forward, gave him a wet kiss, and trotted away. Pug, thought Draco uncharitably. She even slobbers. Perhaps if I throw a bone out the window? - no, no - he tried to chase away the thoughts. I'm too good-looking to go to Azkaban...

He wiped his cheek on his sleeve and hurried away to the library. He would have to hide there until dinner.

*************

The air was crisp and a light wind was blowing. The snow diamonds sparkled insistently, the trees were covered in soft blankets of snow. The world was all white and pale violet, woven here and there with the dark magic of the shadows of trees. The sun was hidden behind fleecy clouds. Ginny, in her bright crimson cloak, her hair spilling over her shoulders and her cheeks stung scarlet by the cold, was building a snowman with Terry Boot.

As Terry solemnly stuck branches for arms on their snowman, whom they had christened Sean, Ginny came stealthily up from behind him, her arms full of snow.

Splat! Terry whirled, saw her, and retaliated. Ginny fell, laughing, into the snow as she was hit in the shoulder.

"Snow angels," gasped Ginny, her eyes so bright and merry that Terry couldn't help but grin back. "I haven't made snow angels since I was six."

She beckoned, and he obliged. As he sprawled down obediently, and began to diligently make snow angels, Ginny bent over him and stuffed snow into his shirt.

"Hey - Ginny - you - ow - it's cold - " he spluttered. Ginny laughed. It had begun to snow, lightly, and she brushed the snow from his eyelashes and hair. Terry was very good looking. Ginny had always had a weakness for good-looking men. His face was finely chiseled; square of chin, strong of jaw, with deep set hazel eyes and a sweep of brown hair falling over his forehead. He wore a soft white shirt, and his cloak was Ravenclaw blue with gold trimmings.

Ginny liked him very much. He was handsome and courteous and honest and easy-going and all those things that women value so much in their men. And above all, she knew he would never hurt her. She bent over and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

"Are you just feeling mushy, or do you truly love me?" he teased.

"I'm just so very happy. Thank you for asking me to go to the Christmas Ball with you. Thank you for building that snowman and making snow angels for me."

"It was fun." He smiled up at her. A perfect smile too, thought Ginny, her lips curving in response as she stood. "Let's go coasting," she proposed. "It's such perfect weather."

He nodded agreeably. "Let's go get the sled then," he said, holding out his hand to her.

Within ten minutes they were at the top of the hill, perched neatly atop of Terry's red sled.

"All ready?" asked Terry, who had Ginny in his lap. She nodded eagerly, and he wrapped one arm around her waist and used the other to give them a starting push. They sailed smoothly downhill, and Ginny shrieked with laughter while Terry chuckled in her ear at her obvious enjoyment. But her red hair blew out too freely behind her, and Terry couldn't see properly to steer correctly and they crashed headfirst into poor Sean!

They tumbled over with a tangle of limbs, cloaks, and snow, rolling until they came to an abrupt halt at the foot of a tree. Ginny sat up and laughed until she cried. Terry, seeing that she wasn't hurt, took her in his arms, lifted her chin, and brushed his mouth gently against hers.

***************

Draco was sitting at the library window, not even bothering to pretend to read. Outside, in a great big heap of red and blue against the snow Ginny Weasley and Terry Boot were laughing and kissing. An overturned sled and what looked like the remains of a snowman, his head and face still intact, lay near by. Ginny was obviously having a good time; her face was bright and merry until she lifted her head a little and met his eyes over Terry's shoulder. Her smile faded a little, but then she winked - yes, winked - at him. He smiled, and winked back. She turned back to Terry, and said something; he nodded, stood up, and reached for her.

As she brushed the snow from her cloak, he retrieved the maltreated sled, and arm in arm, they walked back to the castle. Draco watched them until they vanished from sight.

****************

In another corner of the library, Hermione was bending over a ponderous tome. Ron and Harry were busy making up dire predictions for Divination, as Trelawney had insisted on giving them work over the holidays. They were glad it was snowing, as that offered so many possibilities for disaster - avalanches, gigantic snowballs, and the classic freezing to death

Some things never change, thought Hermione amusedly, as Ron foresaw his own death by dragon. Ron and Harry had been killing themselves off for four years now, and they were none the worst for it, though they did have some narrow escapes. Hermione shuddered as she thought of their fifth year.

She returned to searching the crisply new, five-inch thick book in front of her. Sword, sword, sword, she thought, flipping through the pages. Since the weeks that she had discovered what the Caelum épé, the Heaven Sword, was, she had been camping out in the library, looking through all the books she had already gone through again. She had pretty much gone through every book in the library, but she still hadn't found anything.

And suddenly, there it was. The picture of a sword. Hermione stuck her nose to the book and read the tiny captions. The Heaven Sword, it read. Companion to the Earth Saber.

"I've found it!" she exclaimed triumphantly. Harry and Ron looked up from their Divination homework.

"You've found it?" asked Harry excitedly, upsetting his inkbottle. He scooted his chair closer to Hermione's. Ron stood up from his seat by Harry and plopped himself down on Hermione's other side.

Hermione lifted the book so that they could all see it. The Heaven Sword, circa 1000 AD, they read. Carried by Godric Gryffindor, its origins are unknown. It first demonstrated its powers during the Battle of Lambourne, when Gryffindor fought against the House of Slytherin. After his death, it mysteriously vanished. In the 1950's, it reappeared in the hands of the great witch Lady Gwendolyn, founder of the Sisterhood of Nyma and last in the ancient Gryffindor line. "Voldemort spoke of her in my dream," exclaimed Harry in a whisper. She was one of the great Four.

"Uh - what?" asked Ron and Harry together.

"The Four," said Hermione impatiently, skimming the last few lines. "That's the name given the four great witches and wizards of the mid twentieth century." She read aloud from the book. "'Gwendolyn was of the north, Serilla of the south, Hadrian of the west, and Ramsey of the east. They were the first Element Wizards in nearly two thousand years' - so that explains the dragons in the Prefect's Meeting Room! Oh, if you don't know what I'm talking about, never mind - 'and banded together, they might have defeated Voldemort at his height of power. But Hadrian and Ramsey mysteriously died, and Gwendolyn went into hiding for unknown reasons. The sword reappeared in the darkest hour from Lady Gwendolyn's mountain stronghold, and is rumored to contain the secret to defeating the Dark Lord.'"

"No wonder Voldemort wants it," whispered Harry. "Go on."

"'The companion of the Heaven Sword is the Earth Saber, which is also of unknown origin. It is the only known weapon that can counter the Heaven Sword, and legend has it that it was wielded by Salazar Slytherin.'" Hermione stopped reading. "Harry, do you recall this sword from your dream?" Hermione pointed to the picture of the Earth Saber, which lay on the recto of the page.

Harry shook his head.

"You-Know-Who made no reference to it at all?"

Harry shook his head again.

"I wonder if You-Know-Who has the Earth Saber?" she mused.

"Well, we'll never know, will we?" said Ron.

Hermione shrugged. "I guess it really doesn't matter, as long as You-Know-Who doesn't have the Heaven Sword."

"But what if," said Harry slowly, "what if the Earth Saber can not only counter the Heaven Sword, but is also a weapon of evil? They do have such things, don't they?"

Hermione shivered and nodded. "Let's hope You-Know-Who doesn't have it, then."

"Look," said Ron practically and a little hopefully, "the Heaven Sword and Earth Saber might only be myths."

"Apparently, Voldemort doesn't think so," said Harry. "He was telling Wormtail to look for it."

"Did he say where to look for it?"

"Yeah. But I can't remember the name, it was a weird one. It was some kind of mountain, I think."

Hermione did a double take. "'The sword reappeared in the darkest hour by Lady Gwendolyn in her mountain stronghold,'" Hermione hissed eagerly. "I'll bet it's near there. But where was Gwendolyn's 'mountain stronghold?'"

"Don't look at me," said Ron. "Looks like you'll have to do more research."

But Hermione had already gone.

*************

As the days slipped by and Christmas drew ever nearer, Hermione had still found nothing on Gwendolyn's fortress. She spent nearly every waking moment in the library, and the boys had given up telling her to lighten up. She walked about murmuring things under her breath, as though she were pondering answers to the intrigue, and often fell asleep on one of the piles of books she had lugged to the Gryffindor common room from the library. To humor her, Harry and Ron tried looking, too, but they weren't much of a help.

"Honestly," said Hermione three days before Christmas, as she flipped through Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century. "You think you can find anything about Gwendolyn in cheap paperback romance novels?"

"It's historical romance," protested Harry feebly, as Hermione Banished A Shameless Seduction into the common room fire.

"And we were just getting to the good part, too," said Ron indignantly, retrieving it with his own wand. The scantily clad witch on the cover batted her eyes at him.

Hermione nearly choked on her own tongue. "Ron Weasley, what would your mother say if she knew what you were reading?"

"She wouldn't say anything. She'd be speechless with shock," grumbled Ron, as a wizard with a bare chest appeared on the cover as well. Hermione's jaw tightened as she returned to her own book.

Harry's mind began to wander. Only three days until the Christmas Ball, and he still hadn't found a partner. He had gone with Cho in his fifth and sixth year, but she had graduated already. He might ask Hermione, but he was afraid she was going with Ron, as she had done for the past few years. Hermione and he were 'just friends,' he knew, but he didn't think he could bear it if she said 'No,' whether he really cared for her or not.

"Ron?" asked Harry in an undertone.

"Yeah?"

"Do you have a partner for the Christmas Ball yet?"

"Sure. Jennie Milbank."

"Oh."

Ron went back to reading A Shameless Seduction, sniggering at intervals. After a while, Harry mustered his courage and poked Hermione in the back.

"What? If you're going to ask me something about that awful novel of yours, I won't help," she snapped, looking up and glaring at him.

Harry backed away. "Nothing," he said.

**************

Harry cornered Ginny after dinner that day. He was really starting to get desperate. Of course, he really would have preferred Hermione, but judging from today's encounter, he didn't think Hermione preferred him.

"Ginny," he whispered. "I need your help."

"Sure. Name it."

"You have a partner for the Christmas Ball?"

Ginny looked puzzled. "Yeah."

Harry sighed. Another negative. "You know anybody I could go with?"

"Erm," she said, "Hermione?"

"Nice try. I don't think she'd want to go with me."

"Humph," said Ginny, who had her own private opinion on the matter. "I'm really sorry, Harry, but I don't know . . . hey, look, there's that Ravenclaw prefect, Jade Lewis. Why don't you ask her?"

Harry spun around. A tall, slim sixth year was coming down the stairs, her arms full of books. She was sophisticated and pretty, with long braids of glossy black hair. Harry shrugged. Why not?

Taking a deep breath, he met her at the foot of the stairs. Ginny had conveniently disappeared.

"Hi, Jade," he said nervously. She smiled in a friendly fashion. "Hi, Harry," she said.

"Er."

Her dark eyes twinkled. Her grin was so infectious that he felt his tongue loosening a bit.

"Do you want to go to the Christmas Ball with me?" he asked, his voice sounding surprisingly clear and steady.

She looked surprised, and blinked a few times. Then she shut her open mouth with a snap.

"Sure. Why not?" she said at last.

"Thanks," he said. She nodded, still looking slightly baffled.

"Well then," she said, to break the uncomfortable silence. "I'll wait for you here, ok?"

"Sure. See you around, then."

"Yeah. Have a good night."

She grinned at him again and walked off toward what he could only assume to be the Ravenclaw dorm. Then he turned back toward Ginny, who had appeared again.

"Thanks, Ginny," he said, and she nodded. "No problem. After all, she was right there."

"You going back to Gryffindor Tower?"

"Yeah."

"So am I. Let me carry your books."

"Oh. Thanks." He took her books and they walked back to the Gryffindor common room in companionable silence. After giving the password to the Fat Lady ("Jingle Bells") they climbed inside. Seamus and Hermione were standing by the fire, talking. At least, Seamus was talking. Hermione was looking embarrassed. When they heard the portrait hole open, they both turned.

"Hey," said Seamus. He looked a little uneasy.

"Ooooh," teased Ginny. "Plotting to gang up on Harry and shave off all his hair?"

Seamus laughed, if a trifle uncomfortably.

"Yes," said Hermione, who had been watching Harry through narrowed eyes.

"Excuse me?" asked Ginny, startled, at the same time that Seamus said eagerly, "So you'll go with me?"

"Yes," repeated Hermione. "I'll go to the Christmas Ball with you." Then she turned and flounced up the steps to her room.

Ginny and Harry looked at each other. Seamus, looking much relieved, said, "You don't mind, do you, Harry?"

"No. Not at all," said Harry coldly. "I'm going with Jade Lewis."

Seamus nodded, apparently oblivious to Harry's frigid tone. "Jerry's sister. She's a nice girl. All right then. I'm off to bed. Goo' night, Ginny, Harry."

"Good night," said Ginny, easily returning the brotherly kiss he gave her. Harry nodded stiffly at him. Ginny climbed up the stairs to her own room, smiling in amusement.

She wasn't going to play matchmaker. Let the two foolish darlings figure it out for themselves.

*****************

Hermione was crying in her room.

She had been waiting for Harry to ask her to the ball. Cho wasn't in the picture anymore, and when Ron had asked her to the ball, out of habit, she supposed, she had refused him gently, knowing full well that he was relieved to be free to ask Jennie.

But Harry hadn't asked her. Instead, Seamus had.

It seemed to Hermione that she had always loved Harry, although she had only known him from the age of eleven. She had loved him for the same reasons she respected him: his incredible generosity and courage, his warm and compassionate heart. She thought of that long ago night in their first year when they had gone through the fire, facing uncertainty together. She remembered how she had thrown her arms around him and he had exclaimed in shocked surprise, "Hermione!"

"Harry - you're a great wizard, you know."

"I'm not as good as you," he had answered, turning several shades of red.

She had wanted to cry with a combination of fright and doubt. "Me! Books! And cleverness! There are more important things - friendship and bravery and - oh Harry, be careful!"

She thought she could hear their childhood voices echoing off the old walls. How much more had they shared since that night? They had faced life and death together, and triumphed.

How many times had she thought that he was dead for sure? It had been that first time that she had realized she loved him. She had stood over his bed, wanting to touch him and yet afraid to. She had known that she could no more bear to have him cast out of her life without agony than she could have cut off her right hand and cast it from her. When he had waken her relief had been so great that she had fled the room, unable to face him until she had had time to sort out her tangled thoughts.

Harry, of course, had to go drooling after a pretty face.

Oh, Cho was a looker all right, and she was sugary sweet and very clever. But she was so . . . ugh was the only word Hermione could think of that would not get her into trouble.

Couldn't he see the love she had to give him? It was bitter to have such a gift to give and nobody wanting to take it. Well, thought Hermione defiantly, shaking the tears from her eyes, she would love him forever. And even though he didn't know it, surely such love would hover around him all his life like an invisible benediction, not understood by dimly felt, guarding him from ill and keeping from him all things of harm and evil.

****************

For the next two days Hermione felt as if she were invisible - to Harry, at least. It was an odd sensation, giving her an almost inexplicable sense of freedom. As they ate breakfast the next morning she chattered and laughed with Ron, Harry opposite her at the table, saying all the usual innocuous things like 'Pass the salt.'

Watching him, his face suddenly seemed all planes and angles to her. She couldn't find any softness anywhere. There was the way his cheekbones stood out sharply and the hard line of his jaw and even his mouth seemed different, the indentation of the lips just a thin, light shadow resting against a fuller, darker shadow. He would turn his head to the left and say something to Ginny, and turn his head to the right to speak with Ron, but not until they were almost finished, not until they were eating their desert, did he look in front of him. And then she could see how his eyes slid over her as though she didn't exist.

There was no question about it. From the moment Harry had found out that she was going to the ball with Seamus, she had ceased to exist for him.

If she and Harry had been able to speak freely to each in the day that followed, then perhaps they might have changed what happened afterward. She would have been able to go to sleep that night knowing that there as no anger separating them. She would have been able to face Draco's cold, piercing gaze without quivering, without feeling that ache in the pit of her stomach that she could not bear, that ache that is part unhappiness, part restlessness, and all uncertainty. But they were silent all that day, and in the evening when she could bear it no more, she retired early to her room. She could hear Draco's voice in her head. She could hear the words he had spoken to her some weeks ago, when she had complained of being tired and uncertain and unhappy. Just remember, he had said to her. If you ever need someone to talk to, send me a note and I'll wait for you by the lake.

Well, she thought savagely, why not? What difference does it make? Why shouldn't I see Draco if I want to? They won't miss me - least of all Harry, she thought bitterly.

She sent a quick note to Draco, asking him to meet her at midnight. She dressed quickly, and sat down by her window. She wanted to be outdoors, free of all confines, free of walls and roof. But she must not attract attention, and so, she must wait.

The minutes crept by painfully slow. When at last she heard the striking of the clock, she tiptoed silently down the stairs to the common room, testing each board before she dared to put her weight upon it, hoping that no one would hear her leave the tower.

She slipped like a shadow through the empty hallways, and out a hidden door that Harry had shown her in their fifth year. She followed the path to the lake, and when she rounded the corner, saw that Draco was already waiting for her on the soft barren ground of the banks. She sat down beside him, drawing her cloak around her very tightly and hugging her knees to her. The moon seemed imprisoned by the interlaced branches of the giant oak, and looking at it, she stirred restlessly.

"Would you like to tell me what's wrong?" asked Draco gently.

Hermione was silent, gazing across the vast expanse of frozen water. "It's Harry," she said at last, choking a little. "He won't even talk to me," she said, the ache in her throat spreading to the pit of her stomach.

Draco placed his hand gently on her shoulder. "He won't even look at me," she cried, angrily. "He's my best friend, and he won't look at me. He won't talk to me."

"I will," said Draco, still gently. "You come to me, because you know I will."

"Oh, I'm such a fool," she whispered bitterly. " And it hurts to be a fool. Oh, God, how it hurts. There's nothing so painful in the world."

"You love him, don't you?" asked Draco, his voice clear and steady, his face blank and emotionless. "Look at me, Hermione," he said softly, when she closed her eyes and turned her face away. It seemed to him that she was trying to escape him by retreating into her thoughts. "Damn you, Hermione, look at me."

Hermione gave a little sob.

"Yes," she said fiercely, turning away, so that she did not see the emptiness that was in his eyes.

****************

On the twelfth day of Christmas

My true love sent to me

Twelve drummers drumming

Eleven pipers piping

Ten lords a-leaping

Nine ladies dancing

Eight maids a milking

Seven swans a swimming

Six geese a-laying

Five gold rings

Four calling birds

Three French hens

Two turtle doves

And a partridge in a pear tree!

Jennie's silver, flute-like voice filled the still night air. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Seamus, Ginny, Terry, and Jennie, all wrapped up like mummies in their scarves and cloaks, were sitting on fallen logs just outside the castle. They were caroling, and Terry had bet Jennie that she couldn't sing The Twelve Days of Christmas nonstop, without making a single mistake. Jennie had tossed her head and launched immediately into the song. When she had finished, she had said to Terry triumphantly, "You owe me three Galleons, Terry Boot."

Terry, laughing, handed her the money. "Your turn, Ginny," he said.

Ginny sniffed. "Fine," she said. She paused, and the night air was silent, as the others looked expectantly at her. Then she took a deep breath and sang softly, "On the first day of Christmas/ my true love gave to me/ A partridge in a pear tree . . ."

*****************

Draco Malfoy was sitting in the window seat of the North Tower. He could see for miles - the Forbidden Forest, the lake, the mountains beyond. But he wasn't watching scenery.

Instead, he was looking down on Harry Potter's little group of friends.

It seemed to him that he spent a good deal of his time watching Gryffindors these days. He had no desire for company, or at least, the company that could be found in the Slytherin dungeons, preferring to be alone with his own thoughts.

They were all wearing scarlet cloaks, except for Terry Boot, of course. He stood out like a sore thumb. Draco resisted the temptation to hex him. Ginny, easily recognizable by her cascade of flaming hair, was singing.

On the first day of Christmas

My true love gave to me

A partridge in a pear tree . . .

******************

Ginny woke early on Christmas morning. It took her a minute to figure out what had disturbed her sleep, when another well-aimed pillow bounced off her forehead.

"Oh. Merry Christmas to you too, Jennie."

"Presents," said Jennie simply.

"Right," said Ginny, tumbling out of bed and kneeling in front of her pile of presents. Jennie was already unwrapping her own boxes.

Her mother had sent her the usual sweater and some fudge and pies. Charlie sent her drawing pencils and a new sketchbook, the twins some stuff from their joke shop, Percy gave her watercolors, and there was a lovely white fur-lined cloak, with a card signed, Love Dad, Bill, and Ron. She supposed that Ron had picked it, her father had paid for it, and they had simply tacked on Bill because they knew as well as she that he was still too depressed to bother with Christmas shopping. Hermione gave her a new novel, Jennie a set of earrings, and Harry a very pretty and very interesting white hat trimmed in fur and covered in feathers and ribbons. He noted in his card that it was to match her cloak, and she assumed that he and Ron had picked out her gift at the same time. Terry had gotten her some books as well.

There was one last box to be opened. It was wrapped in tissue paper the color of old gold, and inside was a necklace. The necklace had a single charm on it - a pear.

There was no card. Ginny stared at it for a long time. And suddenly, the words she had sang the night before drifted through her mind.

On the first day of Christmas,

My true love gave to me,

A partridge in a pear tree!

****************

The Gryffindor room was full of people dressed in fancy clothes. Harry stood by the fire, his hands in his pockets. Jennie was talking cheerfully to him, her brown curls and pale eyes set off by a dashing costume of cardinal and cream silk. She had told him that Ginny was helping Hermione do her hair, and however unwillingly, he found his eyes drawn time and again toward the Head Girl's room.

Presently the door opened, but it was not Hermione that stepped out, but Ginny, swathed in a pale green gown of light silk, trimmed in gold and ornamented with crystals. She wore a thin gold necklace, the odd little charm nestling in the hollow of her throat, and clusters of crystals at her ears. Her hair was down, pulled away from her face in a Pollyanna bun with pale green and gold ribbons.

Hermione followed her more slowly down the stairs. Harry drew his breath in sharply. He had forgotten, as he always forgot, how beautiful she could be. She was dressed in a confection of pale pink chiffon strewn with pale blue forget-me-nots and strings of pearl at her neck and wrist.

"All set," said Jennie, as the two girls descended the stairway. "Come along, Ron, Seamus, let's get going so we can meet up with Jade and Terry."

They climbed carefully out of the portrait hole to avoid ruining their nice clothes, and strode down the stairs. Jade was leaning gracefully against the banister, peacock-like in an extraordinary gown of gold, black, deep purple, dark blue, and rich green silks. Terry, wearing his customary blue and white, took Ginny's arm.

"I've always wanted to make a roomful of guys jealous," he whispered in her ear. She laughed. "Kissed the Blarney Stone, haven't you?" she said lightly, as he steered her through the entrance hall.

"Would you look at that," said Ron to Jennie, grinning and pointing above them.

"Ron," wailed Jennie, though not exactly devastated, noticing for the first time that they were standing under mistletoe. "You did that on purpose."

"And what if I did?" he asked, bending and saluting her gallantly.

Once the doors of the halls were opened, the crowd surged forward into the Great Hall. It was decorated in the usual manner - ivy, holly, a stray bit of mistletoe here and there, twelve magnificent Christmas trees, icicles and frost. Seamus protected Hermione heroically from the throng of people around them.

Terry and Ginny, Ron and Jennie, Harry and Jade, and Seamus and Hermione chose to sit together. After scanning their menus and ordering their dinners, they applied themselves to the excellent food with varied degrees of enthusiasm. Hermione ate industriously, though the contents on her plate did not grow noticeably less. Harry didn't even pretend to eat. He just pecked. His appetite was non-existent, and although the meal was a decorative vision in cuisine artistry, his taste buds appeared to be on strike.

When at last everyone had eaten their fill, the tables were swept away to the sides and the dancing began. The band struck up a very fast song, and Terry held out his arm to Ginny.

"Care to dance?"

She laughed up at him and took his offered hand. "With pleasure," she said, and away they went, with so much skill and spirit that Jade stood and pulled a reluctant Harry toward the dance floor.

Ginny thanked her lucky stars that the dance was a fast one and consequently made talking impossible. She was too distracted to have been able to hear anything that Terry might say to her. She scanned the crowd discreetly over Terry's shoulders, searching for a certain silver head.

It was a lively scene, for the spirit of the season took possession of every one, and Christmas merriment made all eyes shine, hearts happy, and heels light. The musicians fiddled, tooted, and banged as though they enjoyed it very much. Everybody danced who could, and those who couldn't admired their neighbors with uncommon warmth. Pansy Parkinson gazed longingly at Draco Malfoy as he spun about the room with a beautiful Blaise Zabini in his arms. Ron covered himself in glory by dancing everything, whether he knew it or not, and introducing impromptu pirouettes when the figures bewildered him. Jennie bore it all bravely until he danced her into a table and nearly broke her hip. Harry danced several waltzes with the air of the martyr, until Jade finally lost patience with his dullness and abandoned him for her Ravenclaw friends. He joined a repentant Ron and disgruntled Jennie at a table and sat down, searching for searching for Hermione's pink gown and the familiar hue of her hair in the crowd.

She was galloping away with Seamus in a glorious polka-redowa. Harry followed her with his eyes, for she neither romped nor sauntered, but danced with spirit and grace. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Justin Finch-Fletchly catch Ginny under a sprig of mistletoe. She sportingly offered him her cheek, while Terry looked on with mock indignation.

"May I steal Ginny for a dance?" asked Justin. Terry relinquished her unwillingly, and away they went, Justin in one direction and Ginny in the other.

"Keep time to the music!" gasped Ginny, laughing so hard she turned scarlet.

"Can't, never could," returned Justin wickedly.

"Keep step with me, then, and don't tread on my toes," pleaded Ginny, wheezing.

"Never mind, keep bobbing, and we'll come right by and by," said Justin, giving his unfortunate partner a sudden whisk, which nearly landed both on the floor.

But they did not get right by and by, for Justin nearly annihilated poor Ginny. He tramped, he bobbed, he skated, he twirled her to the right, dragged her to the left, backed her up against people and furniture, trod on her feet, rumpled her dress, and used her sash as a handle by which to twist and turn her by. Ginny was much disturbed, but bore it as long as she could.

"Oh, do let's stop now," cried Ginny breathlessly after a wild turn nearly tossed her out the window. "As I am not a battering ram, I decline to be knocked about any longer."

Justin, laughing, handed her back to Terry (who, Ginny decided, looked remarkably like a giant teddy bear when in the protective mood) and winked. As she stood catching her breath, Lisa Turpin sidled over and whispered something in her ear, whereupon Ginny promptly turned red with suppressed mirth, and Terry looked faintly curious. After Lisa had gone on to spread her juicy bit of news to other people, Ron came by and begged for a dance with his sister; Terry passed her over with less reluctance and went to take a good spin with Jade Lewis.

"Oh Ron!" whispered Ginny, sounding hysterically amused, as they danced to a merry Christmas tune, "Lisa Turpin - you know, she's in Ravenclaw - just confided to me that she is engaged to Jerry Lewis! He asked her tonight, and she agreed. They'll be married once they graduate. Isn't it droll? They're not even eighteen!"

"They will be once they graduate," said Ron dryly, dancing into the wrong corner and bumping smartly against a Hufflepuff third year, who scrambled out of the way.

"It's still too young, I think. But it's so amusing, and rather alarming, too. What if it's contagious?"

Ron threw back his head and laughed so loudly that several people stared. Ginny grinned. "Love is as much an illness as anything else, and I daresay it's as catching as chicken pox. Do go and fall in love, it would be so amusing, and you shall be so funny."

"It seems like a rather painful disease," remarked Ron soberly, though his eyes danced.

"It may be fatal," retorted Ginny.

"What are the symptoms, I beg to know?"

"Oh! Well, you see some young, pretty girl who makes a favorable impression on that susceptible organ of yours and you begin to think of her a great deal, and want to see her often, and get generally sentimental and absurd," said Ginny, laughing.

"And the cure, doctor?"

"Propinquity," promptly answered Ginny, whose sense of the ludicrous was strong, and who couldn't resist the temptation of horrifying Ron.

"The cure is worse than the disease!" laughed Ron. Ginny noted the color of his cheeks, and wondered if it was due to the dancing or something else.

The music ended, and Ginny curtseyed with a flourish. "Thanks, Ron. Looks like Jennie needs you, she's waving."

Ron turned and saw the other girl. "Oh. Well, I'd better run, Gin. Hope you're having a good time."

"I am. Thanks." Ron kissed her forehead before hastening back to his divinity's side. Ginny watched him leave with a smile on her lips.

"Looks like I've caught you at last," said Terry's laughing voice from behind her.

Ginny spun around. "Mistletoe, darling," he supplied helpfully, when she looked puzzled. Ginny looked up. Sure enough, there hung an enormous sprig of the ugly branches.

"Oh Terry," sighed Ginny. "You're incorrigible."

"I know," he smiled, and bent his head. His mouth brushed hers.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered.

************

Draco was decidedly bored. He looked around the room, and in his moment of distraction accidentally stepped on Blaise's foot.

"You've chipped my nail polish!" she shrieked, poking out an elegant foot in strappy sandals from under her pale blue dress. Draco squinted but couldn't see a difference.

Too wise to say this, he placated her with a kiss. "I'm thirsty, Blaise," said Draco. "Do you mind?"

"Oh, not at all," she said, quite happy to be free to pursue other eligible Slytherins. She was immediately asked to dance by Vyson Grené-Vispara, and Draco, with a sigh of relief, grabbed a glass of cool punch and hid himself behind a large potted plant, praying that Pansy wouldn't see him. He was raising the glass to his lips when his eyes fell across something that altogether made him forget his drink.

Two people kissing under a mistletoe, their silhouettes thrown into sharp relief by the flickering candlelight.

Ginny Weasley and Terry Boot.

************

"Would you like to dance again, Hermione?"

Hermione, lounging at a table and panting rather heavily, granted Seamus her most dazzling smile. "I'm afraid I'm rather out of breath as of now."

"Would you like me to get you a glass of punch?"

"Oh, I'll be quite all right." She fanned herself with her hand, her face red from dancing. "Go on and enjoy yourself, Seamus. Don't sit out this one on my account. I'll need to catch my breath."

"Are you sure?" asked Seamus hesitantly.

"Of course."

He hesitated a minute longer, then bent and kissed her cheek. "Thanks."

With a last boyish grin, he went to join a few Hufflepuff girls, who giggled when he approached them. He had found a partner in two seconds flat. Hermione's smile faded the instant he was out of sight, and she gave a small, hopeless sigh as she gazed in Harry's direction. He was lounging comfortably with Ron and Jennie, a slight scowl on his face, looking decidedly bored.

Oh Harry, she mourned, the pain alive again, leaping within her like a newly stoked fire, the poker thrusting, the fresh log inserted, the flames consuming. Unhappily, Hermione stood up, and finding the room too hot to be comfortable, she hastened outside for a breath of the cool night air.

***********

Harry did not like playing gooseberry. With Ron and Jennie spooning in a shadowy corner, entirely oblivious to the rest of the world, he stood up and drifted aimlessly around for a bit before deciding that it was much nicer outside. With a long sigh of relief, he wandered into the gardens, the night air feeling cool and fresh against his heated skin.

**************

Hermione was so miserable that she wanted to run - and run - and run - until she had left behind all her unhappiness. But running was not an option when one wore three-inch heels, so she contented herself with a quick walk around the rose gardens.

It was thus that Harry found her, her blue cloak slipping from her shoulders to the grass at her feet. The moon had wrought her spell. They were light-headed on the heady wine that was youth and starlight and Christmastime. It seemed the most natural thing in the world when she held out both her hands to him. Nothing was wanting to bridge the wide chasm that had sprung up between them the past few days. There was no gulf, not now, under the vast, infinite sky amidst the fragrant roses of the age-old gardens. She was not invisible. Here, at last, this moment, he could see her - and he thought her the loveliest thing in the world. And Hermione knew it. This is one of the things a girl knows without being told.

Hand in hand, they walked slowly down the dim, moonlit lane to the lake, as children might have done. Hermione felt like she was in a dream, a pleasant dream from which she dreaded to wake. The voices and laughter and music echoing out from the castle died away behind them and the great silence of the night fell about them as they came to the frozen, starlight-misted lake.

For a little while neither of them spoke. Talk was a commonplace that did not belong to this enchanted hour. It was one of the moments when beauty seemed to flow through Hermione like a river. She surrendered herself utterly to the charm of the time and place. There was no past - no future - nothing but this exquisite present.

At last they turned back toward the castle. Long shadows stretched across the garden and silvery mosaics patterned the floor of the old lane. The cool wind tossed the lustrous rings of hair about Hermione's dreamy face; all the routed shadows of the hour had found refuge in her eyes.

The moon floated high in the vast conclave of the infinite, flawless sky of deep purple above Hogwarts, slowly deepening from lusterless white, through gleaming silver into burnished gold, and attended by one solitary, pearl-white star.

They could hear the music from within hall. It was a slow, charming song about love and good times, and Harry held out his arm to Hermione. She took it wordlessly, resting her head against his shoulder, and they danced there among the roses, with the cool night wind on their cheeks and the moon and the stars watching them from the heavens. Well, it was a kind of, sort of dancing; since Harry could neither steer nor remember where to put his feet, they just shifted from side to side in time with the music. But it sufficed.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, the silk of Harry's shirt soft against her cheek, and wished the moment would never end.

**********

"Had a good time, Ginny?"

Ginny smiled. Terry was leaning on the banister, and she was standing a few steps up, both her hands in his.

"Yes. Thank you for taking me."

He smiled back, looking up at her, since she was currently taller than he was. It gave Ginny a rather odd sensation, to be looking down at Terry. He reached up and kissed her cheek gently.

"Promise you'll think of me?"

Ginny was startled. "Of course I'll think of you. You know that."

"Goodnight then, Ginny."

"Goodnight."

She watched as he walked down the corridors, turning to give her one last grin. And then he was gone.

The halls were empty now. Most people had gone back to their dorms some ten minutes ago. But Ginny didn't want to go to sleep. Not yet.

Slowly, she walked out of the castle into the gardens, feeling wide awake, almost feverish. She sat down on a bench, watching the pale moon. Bending forward, she broke off a white rose, stripping away the thorns and tucking it in her hair.

The night was soft and still. She could smell the heady aroma of the roses that grew around her. The air was chilly and refreshing and crisp and clean. A soft sigh escaped her lips. How beautiful the world was! How beautiful the rose gardens, all sparkle and snow in the star-shine, with its hidden secrets.

"Think of me," Terry had said, and she had promised, as if there were a switch in her head that could be turned on and off as she pleased. Reach for the switch. Click. Think of Terry. It was so easy. It was only necessary to dial the right channel. Focus on Terry and never mind the interference. Ignore those swirling zigzag lines sweeping back and forth across the screen, those lines coalescing until they form other patterns, other images.

Why was it so difficult for her to concentrate on Terry? It should be such a simple thing to do. This was even, she thought wryly, the standard setting for that sort of thing - the still dark night, the ubiquitous moonlight, the final, inescapable cliché of roses. And yet, all she could see was Draco Malfoy, the way his eyes had burned into hers that evening as she had stood with Terry under the mistletoe.

Think of Terry, she commanded herself. Think of the way he looked at you, the way he touched you. Think of the way he spoke and the way he turned his head.

She closed her eyes but superimposed across the picture of Terry, as if the same film had been carelessly exposed over and over again, were other scenes, other images, other voices. Draco Malfoy, of course - the way he walked, the way he smiled, the way he looked at her.

The rose fell from her hair. She bent and picked it up, twisting the stem in her fingers. A noise made her turn her head. It was Lisa Turpin and Jerry Lewis, silhouetted in the moon's light. She could see the way Lisa's skirt swung with the motion of her body and she could see the gleam of Jerry's white shirt, and while she watched Lisa lifted her arms and Jerry bent to kiss her.

Ginny closed her eyes. Was that what it was like to love? she wondered. Was it so simple? Did you just hold up your arms and gather a man close to you?

She knew what it was like to kiss and be kissed. There had been Colin when she was fourteen, Colin with awkward, fumbling lips - the beginning of a series, the first of a succession of kisses, lips used to convey a greeting, or a farewell, each touch savorless and without meaning. Today there had been Terry, his mouth gentle on hers - and yet, why had there been no straining within her, no response, no reaching upward and outward, no pulling inward?

There must be something radically wrong with me, she thought wearily, bringing the soft petals of the rose to her cheek.

"Beautiful evening, isn't it?" asked a clear, drawling, insolent female voice, shattering the stillness of the night so that it fell like broken glass, and Ginny did not need to turn to see that it was Blaise Zabini.

"It was, before you came," said Ginny, lifelessly.

Blaise laughed and sat down next to her on the bench. She was very beautiful, but she didn't wear her beauty carelessly, like Jennie, or like a rose, as Hermione did. She flaunted it, and never let you forget it; she tossed her golden head and batted her bright green eyes. Ginny had hated her the minute she had seen her.

"There's something I want to talk to you about, Weasel," she said, and Ginny noted with a detached sort of interest that Blaise was not one to beat around the bush.

"Fire away," said Ginny, her voice cool, aloof. "What do you want to talk about?"

Blaise made an impatient gesture. "Draco, of course." She paused, looking amused. "Don't look so surprised, darling. Do you for one minute imagine that I don't know how you feel about Draco? I know you meet him every night in the North Tower. I've seen the way you look at him; it's a bit obvious. You are so transparent, you know. Gryffindors always are."

"Thank you," said Ginny. "Transparency happens to be a virtue, you know, when a person has nothing to hide."

Blaise ignored her. "I know my boyfriend, Weasel. He's a throwback on his own father - the eyes, the hair, that aloofness that makes you want to scream at him, that makes you want to shake him. He's exactly like Lucius Malfoy. One woman will never be enough for Draco."

Ginny's voice was a study of indifference. "I'm afraid I don't understand you," she said, impassively. But Blaise did not miss the tremulous undertone to her words. She laughed, mockingly.

"How long do you think you can hold him?" she asked, her green eyes flashing.

"He is not a dog on a straining leash," said Ginny, her voice icy with contempt. "No net ensnares him. He does as he pleases. What does it matter to me?"

Blaise was laughing. "He'll come back to me," she said. "He always does."

"Well, why not?" Ginny had incredible self-control. A less restrained person would have smacked Blaise by now. "He's your boyfriend, isn't he?"

"Oh yes," said Blaise, still laughing. She stood, stretching catlike. "Oh, yes."

*****************

Hermione lay across her bed, a damp and crumpled tissue on her pillow bearing testimony to the bitter tears she had shed. She lay staring at the insides of her bed curtains, her breath racked by an occasional shudder - all that remained of her terrible weeping bout. She felt oddly calm now, the calm after storm.

Perhaps she had already known how it was going to be when she had first tried to speak to him, although truly she didn't know what she was going to say. She had lifted her head from Harry's shoulder, searching desperately for the right words, and they had stared into each other's eyes for one long, breathless moment. And then Harry had seemed to realize who she was for the first time, and the veil came down again over his eyes, shutting her out.

"I'm so very sorry," he said, tonelessly. "That was wrong of me. It won't happen again."

Hermione had stared at him, wanted to laugh hysterically. What wouldn't happen again? Nothing had happened - nothing physical. And yet . . . and yet everything had passed between them.

But there was nothing she could do. Harry had to lead the way, she knew, and she could only follow.

So she hadn't answered him. She couldn't. She didn't say a word to him as she turned and left him there in the garden, and went back to her room, though it was only eleven and the Christmas Ball was still in full swing.

Why couldn't people be happy? Why must they torture themselves? Why were there always so many questions, and never an answer?

Hermione tossed restlessly on her bed, and sighed wearily. If she closed her eyes, she knew her heart would betray her, her body remembering the feel of Harry's arms around her. Tonight, she had offered him all that she was and all that she could be -

And he had thrown it back in her face.

It hurt, unbearably bad. She felt utterly crushed.

***************

Ginny stared at Blaise's retreating back, not sure whether to laugh or scream. But before she had a chance to do either one, a light, slow footfall sounded behind her. She stiffened as Draco Malfoy sat down beside her.

"Blaise was here, wasn't she?" he asked.

"Yes," said Ginny shortly.

"She told you things, didn't she?" he asked, and he sounded part weary, part amused.

Ginny shrugged her shoulders elegantly. "How do you stand the girl?"

"That," said Draco quietly, "is none of your business."

Ginny was silent for a moment. She tried to bite her tongue, but the words slipped out with a will of their own. "She said - she said your father - he - " She shut her mouth with a snap. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to pry."

To her surprise, he laughed bitterly. "It's common knowledge. We Malfoys have never been good to our women. Father had the morals of a rabbit and the self-control of a goat. It didn't matter to him. He didn't care who it is - or when - or where. It was sickening. I don't know why Mother stood by him - sometimes he would beat her until she couldn't stand. And my grandfather wasn't much better. He took a lover not a week after he came back from his honeymoon. Grandmother was still young and beautiful when he died, but she never remarried. What she had to love in him I can't say, for he died in the arms of his mistress."

Ginny shivered, but whether from cold or the sordid tale she could not tell. "I think," she said, wearily, "I think you Malfoys were born with twisted souls."

"I know that we Malfoys were born with twisted souls," said Draco humorlessly. "Do you know how to tell fortunes, Ginny?"

"No," she said.

"I don't either. It's a shame, isn't it? It would all be so easy if we could. But I do know this much." He took one of her hands in his and unfurled her fingers slowly, lightly tracing the lines of her palm. "This one is life, and this one is fate, and this, Ginny, this is love. These are the lines, and from the moment you are born, they're etched deep."

Ginny pulled away from him. "I'm cold," she said abruptly. "I'm going in." She stood and walked away from him, unable to bear the ache that was in her throat.

"No," said Draco, detaining her, his hand light on her elbow. "Stay."

She didn't turn around. The clock was struck one, a single ringing chime echoing in the vast, tender infinite that was the Yuletide night. Draco stood and put his hands on her shoulders. "God, girl, you're as hard as flint. I've never known someone to be so perverse." He flung her around, his gaze searing her own, and reached out a finger and lightly touched the pear charm around her throat. She knew then who had given it to her.

"Thank you," she whispered. "It's beautiful."

He twined his fingers in a curl of her hair, looking down with a half amused, half tender look in his eyes, and pulled her towards him, bending down to kiss her, gently at first, and then not at all gently.

No, thought Ginny in panic. This wasn't right. He was all wrong for her. This wasn't what she wanted. Draco Malfoy would love more than one girl and this she could not bear. But his hand was in her hair, and his mouth was on hers, belonging to hers, and there was a sudden straining within her, a reaching upward, a stirring outward, a wrenching, tugging pull inward. She found herself clinging to him fiercely, caught up in an emotion more compelling than any she had known.

Is this, then, what it's like to love? she wondered. But it was really so simple. And then she stopped thinking. She stopped wondering. She just held her arms up and gathered him close to her.

***************

Things to ponder: Ah, those were the halcyon days. There is nothing to ponder this time besides the unanswered questions from previous chapters. Enjoy the lull =)

Author's Note: That snog scene was the death of me. I wrote most of the chapter in two days but that evil quarter-page lip-lock took me three in itself. Ugh. Will never, ever attempt one of those again unless you guys think it's good and I should give snogs another go.

Coming up: Chapter Four, in which the plot emerges. A Hogsmeade trip and unwanted visitors come calling. Harry and Ron get stuck in a tree. Hermione reads up on Gwendolyn and the Heaven Sword and is annoyingly beautiful and smart and perfect. Ginny and Jennie eat a lot. There will be no more scenes in which any of the girls (or guys, for that matter) wallow in self-pity. Though there will be a nice H/Hr scene next chapter. Yep, it is possible to write H/Hr without any snogging. ::scurries away and ducks tomato-throwing H/Hr-shippers that want snogs:: If you guys want snogs, tell me so in you review, and I may try to write one.