"Hermione, why are we here again?"

Ron actually had to jog slightly to keep up with her.

"Look, Ron, if you don't want to help me—"

"I do! I just don't understand your plan. You said we're going to help Harry a bit more. Then we Apparated into Hogsmeade, and suddenly we're doing something that looks an awful lot like Christmas shopping!"

"We are Christmas shopping, Ron." She stopped and turned around, looking at Ron.

"Harry made it perfectly clear that we will not celebrate Christmas this year, Hermione. Not when we are . . . you know . . . busy with other stuff," he said quietly. He swallowed a bit and felt the present he had just secretly bought for Hermione burning a hole in his pocket.

"Yeah, well, I've had it with Mister Sad and Depressing. We are going to celebrate, whether he likes it or not. I've already owled Ginny to meet me in the Three Broomsticks this evening. Then we'll take her to our place, so she can spend the holidays with us." She turned around and started walking again.

"What! Ginny is supposed to stay at school! Why did you owl her?"

"Ron, she's also my friend! Ginny has been miserable ever since we left, and anyway, it's vacation, so she's allowed to spent some time away from Hogwarts."

"That's not what I meant! The teachers will let her leave, but not my mum . . . not . . ."

Their eyes met, and they both knew that he was going to say 'Harry,' but he didn't finish the sentence. She stopped again, brushing some snow of her clothes. It was no use, however; the snow fell harder and harder.

"Ron, I need this Christmas," she said suddenly, very quiet. "We've been through an awful lot since last June, and I will go crazy if I don't celebrate something happy. Harry might not like it, but well, that's Harry. He hasn't liked anything since last June. There is something called taking life seriously, and I was always a great member of that club, and forced you in school to do the same. Well, now it seems that one of the students is beating the master, and call it whatever you want, but I don't like it."

The snow was whirling around them.

"Yeah . . ." Ron said. "Yeah, I suppose you're right." Ron paused for a moment, then continued, "So what do we need? We already got the book about Quidditch and a Headless Hat for Harry and I suppose the earrings you bought were for Ginny?" Hermione nodded. "That only leaves us with a gift for my sister from me," he said.

"What?" The snow blew harder around their heads and they had to scream to make themselves audible to one another.

"We need another gift for Ginny!" Ron shouted, pointing at a shop nearby.

They wound their scarves tighter around their necks and tried to walk to the shop and not lose each other at the same time. The wind now turned into a snowstorm, and when they got to the shop, they could barely see the name of the place as they entered it.

If we had just looked at the name! Ron thought, when he realized which shop they had stumbled into. Hermione came in after him, and could only stare at the place in amazement. Ron cursed into his scarf, panicking. Madame Puddifoot's! We are in Madame Puddifoot's! Even the voice he heard in his head sounded higher than usual. The last place he wanted to take Hermione . . . not that there was anything between them of course, but he had heard from Harry what the place was like, and saw that Harry hadn't exaggerated. Outside everyone was in the Christmas spirit, but it seemed as though Madame Puddifoot had skipped that one in favour of Ron's least favourite holiday: Valentine's.

There was pink everywhere, in the most horrible shades, and little cupids were throwing confetti and waving their little bows and arrows. Hogwarts couples were sitting too close to each other, and Ron heard from a table behind him the telltale sounds of a snogging twosome. He didn't know what he feared more at the moment: looking at the table behind him, or at Hermione. Both options would make his ears even redder than they had already been from the cold.

"Well, the storm isn't stopping any time soon. Looks like we'll be here for a while," Hermione said, breaking their silence. Ron nodded. What else could he do? He wished that one could Apparate in a public place like this, but thanks to the Death Eaters, there were Anti-Disapparition spells put on all Hogsmeade's shops. Or at least, that is what the signs in the corners of the store windows said.

"So . . . ehm . . . shall we sit down?" he asked uncertainly.

Hermione nodded and walked towards one of the empty tables, far in the back. It was one of the tables with the worst shade of pink one could possibly imagine; awkwardly, and feeling that this place had a way-to-high level of oestrogen, Ron sat down.

A rather uncomfortable silence had come up between them just as Madame Puddifoot bustled up to take their orders – a cappuccino and a black coffee. She came back with two steaming purple mugs, which made the pink tablecloth look even uglier, if that were possible.

Hermione took a sip. Just as Ron was about to take a large gulp of his coffee, an idea struck him: the longer he took to drink his coffee, the longer he could avoid one of those nasty uncomfortable silences.

Taking the back table had the advantage of not being visible to all the other couples –no, we're not like those couples, Ron corrected – but at the same time, Hermione had forgotten that it wasn't really possible for them to see the street through the windows. One of the couples who seemed to be most into their snogging session was sitting before the window – the only thing Ron could see was how they were drooling over each other, and that was something he just didn't want to see.

Ron tried to stretch his neck just a little bit further, when Hermione suddenly placed her mug on the table with a slight bang. He looked at her; to his surprise, she was laughing silently. He took a sip of his coffee (okay, actually a gulp, but he really needed the caffeine to calm his nerves,) and looked at her again.

"Isn't this the most awkward situation we've ever been in?" she asked, with a huge smile on her face. There were little sparks in her eyes, although they might have come from the fact that the tablecloth was ugly enough to make her eyes water.

Ron choked into his coffee, and Hermione started to laugh even more. When he managed to start breathing again, he said, with the same laugh:

"Well, I don't know. We have been in way too many embarrassing situations the past few years. I mean, my first Quidditch season wasn't exactly fun. And when we were in first year . . ."

"When you start your first year at Hogwarts, it's supposed to be awkward," Hermione interrupted him.
"So every first year has a fight with a troll in the girls' bathroom? And then has to explain it in front of the whole teaching staff? And then suddenly come to the realisation that the girl who didn't do anything at all is taking the blame?"

She laughed louder and shook her head a little.

"And speaking of bathrooms, is every second year supposed to make an illegal potion in there, while the ghost that haunts the place is trying to hit on your best friend?"

"Well, that wasn't exactly awkward. It would be weirder if Harry had flirted back." They both laughed so loudly that one or two of the couples nearby looked annoyed, as if the laughing would make them unable to snog.

"And you're only talking about the first two year!. I almost died when Snape caught Harry reading that stupid article in our fourth year," Hermione said.

Ron stopped laughing.

"Wait, which article?"

"You know, the one that Rita wrote. About me, brewing secretly love potions to make Harry and Victor love me."

It seemed as if the latter name had been a huge mood killer. Suddenly, they both fell silent and looked the other way. Ron was craning his neck again, trying to look outside the window, and trying even harder to suppress the nauseating, cold feeling he always got when Hermione talked about Victor. Unfortunately, both his missions failed; the couple had moved a bit to the right and was now blocking his view of the window completely, and the feeling about Victor and Hermione only seemed to get worse. He glanced at Hermione, who was plucking at the tablecloth, while staring at one of the cupids.

"I found the whole fight after the Yule Ball pretty awkward, too," Ron suddenly blurted out. He regretted saying it immediately.

"Yeah, well, that whole ball was awkward," she answered quietly. Their eyes met, and Ron saw that Hermione's smile had completely gone.

"You seemed to have a good time, that night though," he said, trying with all his might not to sound accusing. "You weren't in the garden, while hearing Hagrid confess that he was a giant. Talking about awkward.."

Hermione looked up. For the first time, Ron had brought up the Yule Ball without sounding angry about it.

"Yeah . . . I think I did," she heard herself say uncertainly.

"You think? What . . . do you mean you're not sure? You were smiling the whole night, how can you not be sure about it?"

Yes, how could that be? She thought. I laughed, I danced, and still . . .

"Well?" Ron was expecting an answer. But how could she, when she didn't know it herself?

"I don't know. I guess the evening didn't end too well . . ."

She was talking about how Victor had been pulled away by Karkaroff, but immediately realised that Ron must be thinking of the fight afterwards . . . but hadn't that also been a reason why she hadn't had fun? She was confused and the colour of the tablecloth was giving her a headache.

"Well, I'm sorry about that. I guess I was just worried for you," he said in a hoarse tone.

"Yeah . . . worried . . ." she repeated lamely. Just as worried as I was about Lavender, perhaps . . .

"You know what else was embarrassing?"

Hermione looked up.

"When I walked into that classroom and you conjured up those birds . . ." She smiled, but it was a bit forced.

"And it was painful when you gave them the order to peck me," he added.

"Yeah, well, I guessed I was also worried about you and . . . her." She said the last word a bit harshly.

"You had every right to," he said honestly. She looked up again. "I mean," Ron added, "I think everyone got a bit sick of me and . . . her." He said the word 'everyone' in such a way that he seemed to be including himself.

"Yeah, well . . ." she hesitated. Could she say this to him? ". . . I think that a true friend would've supported you." She spoke the word friend in a bitter tone, because that's what they were: just friends.

"No," said Ron quickly and he shook his head. "A true friend would've given me a good kick up my arse," he laughed. "And you did that . . . in a sort of mental way."

They both smiled again.

"So what was your most awkward year?" he suddenly asked her. She barely hesitated before answering.

"Definitely second year. First I change into a cat, while being laughed at by a ghost who has had the most miserable life ever, and then, when I finally got the answer to our problems I get attacked by the problem itself, and end up lying in the Hospital Wing for the rest of the year like some kind of boulder. I mean, everybody was whispering around me, like I was dying."

Ron laughed so loudly that more couples looked at them, annoyed. Madame Puddifoot came by with more coffee.

Once their mugs had been refilled, Hermione took a sip, smiled contentedly and asked:

"And you?"

"I don't know. I mean, third year was hard, seeing as I was hardly on speaking-terms with you, and then found out at the end of the year that my pet was actually a traitor and had tried and was trying to kill my mate. Oh, and worst of all, you were right in the end: Crookshanks was a better pet than Scabbers."

"So? Was there another year that was worse?"

"Well, four and five weren't exactly great either. Fourth year, I get so jealous of my friend that I wouldn't speak with him, and when I made it up, we got in a fight about the guy who has been my idol for several years. And then in fifth year, we got that horrible . . . let's say woman . . . as a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Then, my father got bitten by a snake my mate saw in a vision. And I got booed by the whole school in my quidditch-performances. The end was pretty cool, though . . . We did win the last match."

"You know, if some normal person heard about this," Hermione said wisely, "people who aren't Harry's friends, I mean, they would force us to go into therapy."

She noticed that Ron didn't get the joke, which actually made her laugh harder.

"Therapy is when you go to a Muggle doctor to tell them all your problems," she explained.

"Why? Isn't that why you have family?" Hermione started to laugh even harder and couldn't stop. "I mean, that's also the reason why Harry is mental. He refuses to talk. And that's why it's probably one of your best ideas ever to take Ginny with us when we get back," he said, suddenly serious. "My stubborn sister seems to be the only one who can hammer some sense into him."

"You know what, Ron?" He looked up and Hermione suddenly noticed that his hair clashed horribly with almost every piece of furniture Madame Puddifoot's had.

"I like this."

Ron felt himself nod.

"Yeah. Me too."

There was some silence, between them, as Hermione was now anxiously looking at one of the cupids. It flew awfully close, ginning broadly, which only made it look ugly.

"We should do this more often," he heard himself say.

Immediately, he got as red as a tomato. Where had those words come from? Had he really said that?

But when after barely a second, Hermione's smile got broader and she nodded, he didn't regret his statement at all.

"But not in this place. It clashes with your hair so much that it almost hurt my eyes, and that cupid is really making me scared."

"No, this isn't my favourite place either. Harry told me about this one."

"Yes, I know, I was with you guys, remember?"

"No, that was the short version. He also told me about the place when he was with Ginny, and I when I wasn't okay with that. He promised to never take her here, and now I've seen it, I am glad he didn't. Ginny would dump him immediately. There is just too much . . ." He wanted to say "pink," but somehow found the word "pressure" worked just as well. He said neither of them, however, and Hermione just nodded, apparently knowing what he was thinking. That didn't scare him like it usually did.

They kept talking.

About their families: how Hermione had difficulties with them, because they didn't understand half of what she was doing. How Ron's family seemed to be everywhere, and how it got on his nerves.

About Harry. How they both were worried about their friend.

About the time they had showed their magical abilities: Hermione had thrown a tantrum when she was about 8 and set her plate of unwanted cauliflower on fire, and how Ron had been so angry at Fred and George for pulling him into the lake that he had turned their hair purple.

They didn't notice that half of the couples had already left. They didn't notice the tablecloth and the cupids and the pink things anymore. They hadn't even noticed that they now had a full, clear view out of the windows, and that it had stopped snowing half an hour ago.

Ron was just in the middle of an anecdote about Ginny hexing the twins when Madame Puddifoot came gliding towards their table.

"I'm sorry my dears, but it's six o'clock. My tearoom is closing. Maybe you can entertain yourselves elsewhere?"

"Six o'clock?" Hermione cursed softly and Ron looked surprised at her. Madame Puddifoot looked even scandalized.

"I was supposed to meet Ginny at five! Thanks for the coffee, ma'am! Hurry up, Ron!"

She threw some galleons on the table, took Ron's hand, and dragged them out of the shop.

Madame Puddifoot looked at them through the window. They were still holding hands, but not to drag one another towards the pub. The couple was walking next to each other, and held each other tightly.

Madame Puddifoot smiled. Sometimes, on rare occasions, it took ugly cupids and an awful tablecloth to bring a perfect couple together.