Love and Understanding

Everyone knows that the days leading up to Christmas go slowly, but mine went slowly for a different reason. I was still thinking about Hermione, for a start. At random moments, my brain would replay the moment when I turned her down. It was starting to make me feel sick. I'd already composed several letters which said I was sorry and I'd love to go to the ball with her, but one week became two, and Christmas Day got closer and closer until I was absolutely sure that she'd have another date by now. The thought killed me, but there was still a tiny part of my mind that insisted it was better this way.

I woke up on Christmas morning, and wished I hadn't. I had a tree, presents, and my family were coming over later for Christmas dinner. I should have been happy. But I wasn't.

I made a fuss of Nimbus for a while, but she was more interested in sleeping than in investigating her new catnip plant. To pass the time, I Flooed over to the Burrow to see Fred and George. They were looking very cheerful, fiddling around with their new toys. "Oliver, old bean!" greeted Fred. "How are you?"

"Good," I replied, peering at a box of fudge. "Can I have a bit?"

Fred shrugged. "Go ahead. But Oliver..."

"Aren't you supposed to be somewhere?" George finished.

I looked up in surprise. "No, not really. My family aren't due to arrive for hours. Why? Are you trying to get rid of me?"

One twin glanced at the other. "Do you mean you're not going to the ball?"

Immediately I thought of Hermione on the arm of someone else. "No," I replied. "Why would I?"

"Well, we thought..." Fred hesitated.

"We thought you'd be going with Hermione, to be honest. Didn't you ask her?"

I sighed, and hung my head. "Actually, she asked me."

George looked faintly impressed. "Gutsy little thing, isn't she? What did you say?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "I'm hardly getting dressed up as we speak, am I? What do you think I said?"

Their mouths dropped open. "You never said no?" breathed Fred.

"I think you'll find I did," I said snippily, doggedly avoiding their eyes.

"You... idiot," said George.

"What?" I stared at him. I'd expected a 'why?' and a 'how did she react?' but not that.

"You two are... you're crazy about each other! D'you not think it's obvious? Everyone else does. That's why we spoke to the newspapers. We thought it'd give the two of you a little push in the right direction."

I was speechless. Well, almost. "You spoke to the newspapers? You?! Oh, my God..."

I buried my head in my hands.

"Sorry," said Fred, sounding distinctly unrepentant to me. "But you have to admit, you do seem to be spectacularly incapable of managing your own love-life."

"I just wish you'd left it to me, that's all. I could have handled it," I said indignantly, and then knew I'd made a huge mistake.

George leaned forwards, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. "So you do fancy her!"

Fancy her... The words didn't do justice to the incredible sense of euphoria I felt every time I saw her, or heard her voice, or picked up a letter to see her handwriting. "Fancy her?" I croaked. "Unless I'm much mistaken, I love her."

Silence hung heavy over our heads for a while. I could be wrong, but I thought I heard George sniff, and I almost laughed. He always was the more sentimental one. Eventually Fred gave me a poke in the ribs and said, "Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be going to a ball, or something?"

I nearly threw myself out of the house.

* * *

I had stood in Gladrags for nearly four hours before deciding that this was the dress for me. It was white, and stunning, and fitted me like a glove.

I had bought it before asking Oliver, on a whim, really, because a tiny part of me screamed that of course he would say yes, and stupidly I trusted it. I had forgotten my place, you see. I got so wrapped up in the idea of being his friend and having a special bond with him that I didn't stop to consider where the line was, and that maybe I shouldn't cross it.

"No."

I kept hearing that one word in my head, over and over again, late at night. I'd cried over it, just once, with Ginny, who hadn't known what to do except comfort me. We decided, some time later, that the best thing to do would be to go to the ball anyway, preferably with Oliver's worst enemy, but since that wasn't exactly feasible, we settled for Draco Malfoy.

I still snickered at the thought. For such a vindictive boy, Malfoy was still over-influenced by the contents of his trousers. A few glimpses of flesh, a sexy laugh here and there, and he was intrigued. Ginny started a few rumours about my feminine talents, and voila - he sidled up to me in Potions, gave me an appraising look and muttered something about picking me up outside the Gryffindor common room at seven.

It didn't hurt that he was rather good-looking himself.

So there I was, slipping into my dress, attacking my hair with the Sleakeazy's and generally making myself look good.

Shoes? Check.

Hair clips? Check.

Cute bum wiggle? Tried and tested... check.

Mantra for the evening? Check.

My self-devised mantra was this: I do not need Oliver to have a good time. Oliver is a schmuck. Malfoy is not. It was a blatant lie, of course, but the truth was not what I needed to think about that evening. I'd been repeating the mantra ever since breakfast, sometimes under my breath, which alarmed anyone who happened to walk too close.

Harry and Ron were waiting for me in the common room. They'd appointed themselves as my bodyguards, despite the fact that they also had dates with the Patil twins. How that was going to work, I didn't want to know. They looked duly impressed as I swept into the room, hair neatly clipped back, balancing gracefully (I hoped) on my silver heels.

Malfoy, true to his word, was lurking by the portrait hole. His eyes raked over me and I felt as if I might as well have been naked for the way he was looking at me. He offered me his arm, which I took, and we descended the stairs. Harry and Ron left, reluctantly, to pick up Parvati and Padma who were doing their beauty thing in the Hufflepuff common room.

"Alone at last," Malfoy murmured, and I couldn't help smirking. "So what's your story, then, Granger? You must have one."

"Not much of a story person, really," I replied vaguely, wondering what he was getting at.

"Be that as it may, there's still a story, isn't there? One about you and the delightful Mr Wood?"

I froze. "That depends. How much do you know?"

He tugged me onwards. "I didn't take that ridiculous article as gospel, obviously. I read between the lines and deduced - brilliantly, I might add - that the two of you are probably just friends; that the Daily Prophet simply exaggerated it all. Am I right?"

"Y-Yes," I replied, and looked up at him. His eyes gave the impression that he was looking inside me.

"Ah, but there's more, isn't there? Let me guess... you like him?"

"No," I said quickly. "We're friends, that's all."

His skepticism was unnerving, but he said nothing more. We entered the Great Hall to find several hundred of pairs of eyes fixed on us. Malfoy, ever the exhibitionist, smiled and placed an arm around my waist. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Professor McGonagall dropping her plate in shock.

We sat with Harry, Ron, and the Patil twins for dinner. Parvati kept giving me a thumbs-up when Malfoy wasn't looking, and Harry and Ron's expressions remained stony throughout the meal. Just when I thought there might be a ritual bloodletting of some kind, the band struck up a lively piece of music, and many couples strode bravely onto the dance floor. "Shall we?" Malfoy offered.

"Anything to get away from this bloody table," I whispered as we stood up.

It wasn't going brilliantly, I admitted, but it could be going a whole lot worse.