A Little White Lie

Author's Notes: This little plot bunny attacked me at approximately 2 AM on a school day. Luckily, I had my journal next to my bed and was able to jot down this idea. I've never found a missing moment that explains how Dean comes to ask Ginny out. Everyone knows that Ginny fancied Harry, and I doubt Dean would have been an exception.

Dean Thomas poked his head around the edge of the tapestry he was hiding behind in the Gryffindor common room. He flicked his gaze down to his watch, where the digits glowed twelve midnight. He'd already been lurking behind this particular tapestry for an hour, and was starting to wish he'd brought his sketch pad, or a book to read, or something to do. He was waiting for a particular person.

Hermione Granger was sitting in an armchair, chatting animatedly with Ron Weasley and Harry Potter while a pair of charmed knitting needles flashed and clicked midair in front of her, knitting a pair of – well, what looked like a pair of socks, though they were so shapeless Dean couldn't comfortably make the assumption that it was a pair of socks. She held a quill loosely with her fingertips, her hand hovering over a piece of blank parchment that was spread out on the small writing desk in front of her. A small stack of books lay to the left side of the table, although Dean couldn't see what their titles were.

Ron yawned hugely. 'I reckon I'll turn in,' he said through his yawn.

Hermione's eyes flashed angrily. 'But you haven't finished that essay for Snape yet, and that's not to mention all the other work you've – '

'Neglected,' Ron finished irritably. 'Hermione, I'm right knackered. How am I supposed to think when my brain seems to have turned to fairy floss? Besides, the essay isn't due 'til the day after tomorrow.'

Hermione frowned. 'But you've – '

Ron cut her off. 'Hermione, I'm going to bed. Good night. 'Night, Harry.'

Yes! Dean thought, wanting to punch the air in triumph. One down!

''Night, Ron,' Harry said, returning his attention to the sheet of parchment spread out in front of him on his own writing desk. Heaving a sigh, he dipped his already-loaded quill back into the bottle of ink to his right.

Hermione huffed. 'He's unbelievable! Now, Harry, how's your essay coming along?'

'Oh... er. Yeah, it's going well,' Harry said, not looking at Hermione. Dean knew instantly that Harry was lying. Apparently, however, Hermione did not. She nodded briefly and returned her attention to her own sheet of parchment.

Harry scrawled for a few more minutes, then laid down his own quill and yawned and stretched. 'I reckon I'll turn in too. Good night, Hermione.'

'Good night, Harry,' Hermione said, looking up briefly from her parchment.

Let's go! Dean thought. He poked his head out from behind the tapestry, checking that the common room was completely deserted, except for himself and Hermione.

'Hermione?' he said. Hermione's head whipped around in alarm.

'What – oh! Hello, Dean. You gave me a fright!'

Dean sat down in the armchair opposite to hers. Hermione laid down her quill, clasped her hands in front of her, and met his gaze.

'I need your advice, Hermione,' he began hesitantly. Hermione nodded.

'What sort of advice were you looking for?' she asked.

Dean hesitated. 'Girl advice.'

Hermione smiled. 'Oh. You think I'm any good at that?'

Dean smirked. 'Well – you're a girl. But more to the point, you're friends with a girl whom I'd like some advice about.'

Hermione nodded again. 'OK. Which girl would that be?'

Dean scratched his ear, feeling slightly embarrassed. 'Well, it's – it's Ginny. Ginny Weasley.'

'Ginny,' Hermione repeated. 'OK, what did you want to know?'

Dean swallowed, contemplated the patterned carpet on the common room floor, and looked up again. 'Well, I fancy her, and I'd like to ask her out. But I know – I think everyone knows, really – that she's carried a huge torch for Harry Potter, and I wanted to know if she –' he trailed off.

'– If Ginny still fancies Harry,' Hermione finished for him. Dean nodded gratefully.

Hermione's gaze briefly shifted down and to the right.

'Look, Dean, you're right. She fancied Harry, and it's – it was quite intense.'

Dean looked directly at her. Hermione matched his gaze steadily.

'But I'm happy to let you know that she's given up on him. She still likes him, of course, as a friend, but no, she doesn't fancy him anymore.'

Dean started, jerking in his chair. 'You're serious, then? Ginny doesn't fancy Harry anymore?'

Hermione nodded. 'No, she doesn't.'

Dean smiled. 'Well, that's – that's good. That's brilliant, actually. Thank you, Hermione. Er – good night, then.'

Hermione smiled back. 'Good night, Dean. And good luck with Ginny.'

Dean took the stairs two at a time. Once he was out of sight, Hermione's shoulders sagged and the smile dropped off of her face. She'd lied to Dean. Ginny was lying to herself. Hermione would sometimes observe her friend's actions when she was in Harry's presence, and the vitality, the pleasantries – none of them quite rang true.

In a certain context, however, Hermione had not lied to Dean. She knew that Ginny did not fancy Harry.

A lie by omission, then, if anyone wanted to challenge the rationalisation Hermione had made to herself when confronted with Dean's question. The lie remained, however. Ginny was in love with Harry.

Hermione was sympathetic to her friend, watching the quiet, introverted little girl blossom into an outgoing, popular adolescent witch – a transformation that had needed to occur. Ginny chatted gaily with her group of girlfriends and helped Colin in Charms and patted Crookshanks when he jumped into her lap.

But her vivacious friend was languishing in love, even as she finally began to meet Harry's gaze, as she christened their Defence Against the Dark Arts group "Dumbledore's Army", as she dashed off another essay for Transfiguration, as she gamely performed a near-perfect imitation of Professor Umbridge (hem, hem).

It hurt Hermione to watch Ginny at work, rest and play, because in so many ways it was an act. Hermione only hoped that, if Dean did ask her friend out successfully, Ginny would have the inner strength to carry on with this deception.