Author's note: With thanks to Mynuet for sharing the plot bunny that got this whole thing started, and a double dose of gratitude to where_is_truth, for the beta and the pep talks.
***
Draco Malfoy was scowling deeply as he stomped down the hallway. No one at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would have thought anything was amiss – on the contrary, the sixth-year Slytherin was far more likely to have an unpleasant expression on his face than he was to be caught smiling – unless they had seen the parchment crumpled in his hand.
The missive from his father had come to him via the family eagle owl, Callidus, during lunch in the Great Hall. He’d known it couldn’t be good news. Malfoys didn’t put quill to parchment to relate positive sentiments; that would be wasteful.
He’d managed to read the letter after ordering Pansy to stop peeking over his shoulder. She had the annoying habit of sitting as close to him as she could manage. More often than not, her flowery perfume was so overpowering that it gave him a headache and put him off his food. Bloody aggravating bint.
“We’ll be doing a great deal of important entertaining,” his father’s short note read. “It would be beneficial for you to stay at school over Yule and study. Your marks could use improving. Perhaps your Head of House could suggest a study plan. Additional flying practice might also be helpful.”
Years of experience had taught Draco how to decode these messages from Lucius: “Mummy and I are having the Death Eaters over to plot Harry Potter’s demise. Stay at school and study – it’s humiliating that your marks are always second-best to that Mudblood’s. Can’t Snape help you cheat your way to the top, if you can’t get there honestly? Also, if you lose to Potter in Quidditch one more time, I will see to it that you aren’t part of your house team. You’re an embarrassment to your mother and me.”
So he’d be stuck at school. The only Slytherin staying, as far as he knew – even Crabbe and Goyle were going home for hols. And he’d heard the Weasel in Potions, ears flushed red with stupid pleasure as he told Potter that the Mudblood had invited him to come home with her.
Potter was staying, of course. Draco rolled his eyes at the thought. It wasn’t enough that he’d be stuck at school, but stuck at school with Potter? Gods, what a Yule this would be.
***
Ginny Weasley was smiling as she climbed the stairs to the fifth-year girls’ dormitory. She smiled frequently, but today Ginny had an extra cause for her secret delight. Ron was going home with Hermione tomorrow. The thought of having an entire two weeks free from her older brother’s prying eyes inspired such joy that she broke into an impromptu dance, shimmying the rest of the way up the stairs and into her room.
It was too bad Harry wasn’t going too, Ginny thought ruefully. Now that would have been perfect. He’d been invited, of course, but had insisted that Ron and Hermione should enjoy their holiday and had no need of a chaperone. “Besides,” he’d added with a wink across the table when they asked him yet again to come along, “I won’t be alone. I’ve got Ginny.”
The redheaded recipient of his affectionate gaze looked up, managing a weak answer to his smile.
“That’s all right, then.” Ron smiled broadly, completely oblivious to his sister’s red face as he delivered what he thought was a sly nudge to Harry’s ribs. “The two of you can just keep other company.”
Ginny groaned at the memory as she flopped onto her bed. Ron had been trying to push them together ever since the train ride back to Hogwarts. His clumsy attempts at matchmaking – limited to “Say, Harry, maybe you could help Ginny with her Potions essay!” and the like – wouldn’t have bothered her so much if Harry hadn’t seemed strangely receptive to them.
He hadn’t started seeking her out on his own, but every time Ron made one of his subtly nuanced suggestions, Harry quickly agreed to help Ginny with her homework, or her flying, or whatever flimsy excuse Ron was using to push them together. And Ginny let him, because it made everyone happy. Ron and Hermione beamed at them from across the common room where they were snuggled on the couch, and Harry smiled more when he was with Ginny than anyone else. The only one indifferent to the interaction was Ginny.
Harry was nice, sure. But Hermione had spoken the truth when she told Harry that Ginny had moved on, although no one knew the truth of the matter. Ginny held that secret closely, not trusting it to the pages of a journal or the ears of a roommate. There was a certain someone who’d caught the youngest Weasley’s interest, and she’d seen his name that morning on the list of those students staying in the castle over the break. Her grin widened. What a Yule this would be.
***
The next morning, Ginny hugged Ron goodbye with perhaps a trace too much eagerness, but her brother seemed not to notice.
“Happy Christmas, Gin,” he murmured in her ear. “I’m glad you’re staying with Harry.”
Ginny bit her tongue, fighting the urge to deny his claim. She wasn’t staying with Harry. Harry happened to be staying at the castle, too. She wasn’t staying with Harry any more than she was staying with Professor Snape.
Hermione hugged her then, brown eyes twinkling as she wished Ginny a happy holiday.
“I imagine you’ll have lots of stories to tell us when we get back,” she said brightly, and Ginny tried desperately to ignore the emphasis placed on “stories.”
Professor McGonagall stuck her head through the portrait hole then, urging the Gryffindors to hurry downstairs.
Hermione expertly levitated Ron’s trunk beside her own and turned to bestow a quick hug on Harry, who had come to say goodbye. He grinned back at her.
“Happy Christmas, Hermione,” he said cheerfully. “You too, mate.”
Ron returned the grin and took Hermione’s hand as they climbed out of the portrait hole.
Harry turned to Ginny, green eyes sparkling merrily. “I thought they’d never leave,” he admitted.
She gaped at him.
“C’mon, Gin, you’ve got to admit he’s been a bit annoying lately, what with all his shoving us together.” Harry’s expression was amused as he took in Ginny’s shocked face. “What, you didn’t think I knew? Been a bit obvious, hasn’t he? Blimey, Gin, I’m not that thick.”
Ginny could only stare. Finally, she collected her thoughts enough to form a reply. “You knew? All this time, you knew? Then … why …”
Harry’s face turned serious as he met her eyes. “I knew what he was doing, Ginny. I just didn’t mind.”
“Oh!” Ginny gasped, hand flying to her mouth. She’d suspected, of course – she wasn’t thick, either – but to have Harry Potter openly express his feelings was something she would never have anticipated.
And now what? She had to say something, anything, but she could only stand there as the blush crept up her cheeks. That damnable Weasley blush always betrayed her, and it was doubly traitorous on this particular occasion, as Harry completely misinterpreted it.
The grin returned to his face. Finally, Ginny’s mouth started to open, even as her mind still frantically searched for an appropriate response, but Harry startled her again when he put a soft finger on her lips.
“Don’t say anything, Gin,” he said, letting his hand fall back to his side. “We can talk more later, okay? Professor McGonagall wants me to come meet with her now, but I’ll see you at supper, yeah?”
Ginny might have managed to nod; she wasn’t sure. Harry exited the common room and still she stood, rooted to the spot, until her senses returned to her and she collapsed onto the nearest sofa. Damn, she thought. Now what?
***
Draco had watched silently, jaw set, as his fellow Slytherins exited the common room. Crabbe and Goyle had grunted their goodbyes, and Pansy had flung her arms around his neck as she wished him a happy Yule. Her flowery scent had assaulted his senses as she attempted to squeeze the breath out of him, and he sneezed as he stepped out of her embrace.
“I wish I was staying here with you,” she breathed. Draco smiled stiffly at her.
“My father wants me to concentrate on improving my marks,” he drawled slowly and deliberately, forcing himself to meet her eyes and give her a teasing smirk. “And I could hardly concentrate if you were here, could I?”
He nearly choked on the words, but his Malfoy heritage carried him through. He studied Pansy’s face carefully for any sign that she’d heard a faint note of hesitation, but as always, she was oblivious.
She was beaming at him. Slytherins should not look that happy, Draco thought sourly. They shouldn’t succumb to such blatantly false flattery, either, but then Pansy had never been as adept at this game as Draco. She was very far from being a worthy adversary, so it was no challenge to play with her.
And more than anything, Draco hated being bored.
***
Draco Malfoy was scowling deeply as he stomped down the hallway. No one at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would have thought anything was amiss – on the contrary, the sixth-year Slytherin was far more likely to have an unpleasant expression on his face than he was to be caught smiling – unless they had seen the parchment crumpled in his hand.
The missive from his father had come to him via the family eagle owl, Callidus, during lunch in the Great Hall. He’d known it couldn’t be good news. Malfoys didn’t put quill to parchment to relate positive sentiments; that would be wasteful.
He’d managed to read the letter after ordering Pansy to stop peeking over his shoulder. She had the annoying habit of sitting as close to him as she could manage. More often than not, her flowery perfume was so overpowering that it gave him a headache and put him off his food. Bloody aggravating bint.
“We’ll be doing a great deal of important entertaining,” his father’s short note read. “It would be beneficial for you to stay at school over Yule and study. Your marks could use improving. Perhaps your Head of House could suggest a study plan. Additional flying practice might also be helpful.”
Years of experience had taught Draco how to decode these messages from Lucius: “Mummy and I are having the Death Eaters over to plot Harry Potter’s demise. Stay at school and study – it’s humiliating that your marks are always second-best to that Mudblood’s. Can’t Snape help you cheat your way to the top, if you can’t get there honestly? Also, if you lose to Potter in Quidditch one more time, I will see to it that you aren’t part of your house team. You’re an embarrassment to your mother and me.”
So he’d be stuck at school. The only Slytherin staying, as far as he knew – even Crabbe and Goyle were going home for hols. And he’d heard the Weasel in Potions, ears flushed red with stupid pleasure as he told Potter that the Mudblood had invited him to come home with her.
Potter was staying, of course. Draco rolled his eyes at the thought. It wasn’t enough that he’d be stuck at school, but stuck at school with Potter? Gods, what a Yule this would be.
***
Ginny Weasley was smiling as she climbed the stairs to the fifth-year girls’ dormitory. She smiled frequently, but today Ginny had an extra cause for her secret delight. Ron was going home with Hermione tomorrow. The thought of having an entire two weeks free from her older brother’s prying eyes inspired such joy that she broke into an impromptu dance, shimmying the rest of the way up the stairs and into her room.
It was too bad Harry wasn’t going too, Ginny thought ruefully. Now that would have been perfect. He’d been invited, of course, but had insisted that Ron and Hermione should enjoy their holiday and had no need of a chaperone. “Besides,” he’d added with a wink across the table when they asked him yet again to come along, “I won’t be alone. I’ve got Ginny.”
The redheaded recipient of his affectionate gaze looked up, managing a weak answer to his smile.
“That’s all right, then.” Ron smiled broadly, completely oblivious to his sister’s red face as he delivered what he thought was a sly nudge to Harry’s ribs. “The two of you can just keep other company.”
Ginny groaned at the memory as she flopped onto her bed. Ron had been trying to push them together ever since the train ride back to Hogwarts. His clumsy attempts at matchmaking – limited to “Say, Harry, maybe you could help Ginny with her Potions essay!” and the like – wouldn’t have bothered her so much if Harry hadn’t seemed strangely receptive to them.
He hadn’t started seeking her out on his own, but every time Ron made one of his subtly nuanced suggestions, Harry quickly agreed to help Ginny with her homework, or her flying, or whatever flimsy excuse Ron was using to push them together. And Ginny let him, because it made everyone happy. Ron and Hermione beamed at them from across the common room where they were snuggled on the couch, and Harry smiled more when he was with Ginny than anyone else. The only one indifferent to the interaction was Ginny.
Harry was nice, sure. But Hermione had spoken the truth when she told Harry that Ginny had moved on, although no one knew the truth of the matter. Ginny held that secret closely, not trusting it to the pages of a journal or the ears of a roommate. There was a certain someone who’d caught the youngest Weasley’s interest, and she’d seen his name that morning on the list of those students staying in the castle over the break. Her grin widened. What a Yule this would be.
***
The next morning, Ginny hugged Ron goodbye with perhaps a trace too much eagerness, but her brother seemed not to notice.
“Happy Christmas, Gin,” he murmured in her ear. “I’m glad you’re staying with Harry.”
Ginny bit her tongue, fighting the urge to deny his claim. She wasn’t staying with Harry. Harry happened to be staying at the castle, too. She wasn’t staying with Harry any more than she was staying with Professor Snape.
Hermione hugged her then, brown eyes twinkling as she wished Ginny a happy holiday.
“I imagine you’ll have lots of stories to tell us when we get back,” she said brightly, and Ginny tried desperately to ignore the emphasis placed on “stories.”
Professor McGonagall stuck her head through the portrait hole then, urging the Gryffindors to hurry downstairs.
Hermione expertly levitated Ron’s trunk beside her own and turned to bestow a quick hug on Harry, who had come to say goodbye. He grinned back at her.
“Happy Christmas, Hermione,” he said cheerfully. “You too, mate.”
Ron returned the grin and took Hermione’s hand as they climbed out of the portrait hole.
Harry turned to Ginny, green eyes sparkling merrily. “I thought they’d never leave,” he admitted.
She gaped at him.
“C’mon, Gin, you’ve got to admit he’s been a bit annoying lately, what with all his shoving us together.” Harry’s expression was amused as he took in Ginny’s shocked face. “What, you didn’t think I knew? Been a bit obvious, hasn’t he? Blimey, Gin, I’m not that thick.”
Ginny could only stare. Finally, she collected her thoughts enough to form a reply. “You knew? All this time, you knew? Then … why …”
Harry’s face turned serious as he met her eyes. “I knew what he was doing, Ginny. I just didn’t mind.”
“Oh!” Ginny gasped, hand flying to her mouth. She’d suspected, of course – she wasn’t thick, either – but to have Harry Potter openly express his feelings was something she would never have anticipated.
And now what? She had to say something, anything, but she could only stand there as the blush crept up her cheeks. That damnable Weasley blush always betrayed her, and it was doubly traitorous on this particular occasion, as Harry completely misinterpreted it.
The grin returned to his face. Finally, Ginny’s mouth started to open, even as her mind still frantically searched for an appropriate response, but Harry startled her again when he put a soft finger on her lips.
“Don’t say anything, Gin,” he said, letting his hand fall back to his side. “We can talk more later, okay? Professor McGonagall wants me to come meet with her now, but I’ll see you at supper, yeah?”
Ginny might have managed to nod; she wasn’t sure. Harry exited the common room and still she stood, rooted to the spot, until her senses returned to her and she collapsed onto the nearest sofa. Damn, she thought. Now what?
***
Draco had watched silently, jaw set, as his fellow Slytherins exited the common room. Crabbe and Goyle had grunted their goodbyes, and Pansy had flung her arms around his neck as she wished him a happy Yule. Her flowery scent had assaulted his senses as she attempted to squeeze the breath out of him, and he sneezed as he stepped out of her embrace.
“I wish I was staying here with you,” she breathed. Draco smiled stiffly at her.
“My father wants me to concentrate on improving my marks,” he drawled slowly and deliberately, forcing himself to meet her eyes and give her a teasing smirk. “And I could hardly concentrate if you were here, could I?”
He nearly choked on the words, but his Malfoy heritage carried him through. He studied Pansy’s face carefully for any sign that she’d heard a faint note of hesitation, but as always, she was oblivious.
She was beaming at him. Slytherins should not look that happy, Draco thought sourly. They shouldn’t succumb to such blatantly false flattery, either, but then Pansy had never been as adept at this game as Draco. She was very far from being a worthy adversary, so it was no challenge to play with her.
And more than anything, Draco hated being bored.
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