The Weasleys stayed out until noon before heading back up to the castle for lunch, and afterwards they whiled away the remaining hours in the common room by going through each other's presents. Ron kept flaunting the small book filled with autographs from all the members of the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team that Hermione had managed to acquire for him. As he leafed eagerly through it, he wondered aloud how she could have obtained such a thing, and his feelings toward it took a nasty turn when Harry commented that she had probably gotten it through Viktor.

When the sun began to set and the common room was bathed in gold light, a slow trickle of Gryffindors filed excitedly past them in groups and out of the portrait hole. It seemed that everybody wanted to be at the Great Hall early. Soon Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys were the only ones left in the Tower, and through the windows they watched the surrounding mountains swallow up the last rays of the sun. When the moon had risen, they made their way downstairs too.

The long-awaited Christmas Feast had arrived.

Once they had reached the bottom of the marble staircase, Hermione, who felt as though there were a lot of butterflies fighting to get out of her stomach, separated herself from Harry and Ron by pretending to see someone she needed to talk to in the throng of people crowded around the doors of the Great Hall. She then met Fred and George in an empty chamber off the hall, where they had hidden the fireworks in a shadowy corner, ready to be used later. They went over the plan one last time, and after they had made sure that their final preparations were complete, they wished each other good luck and snuck out again to join the rest of the school. Fred brushed past Hermione at the door without so much as looking at her. George, however, hung back to give her a quick one-armed hug, as if to reassure her that everything would be all right.

She very much hoped that it would. It had been difficult enough trying to hide the lumpy package in her robes from them, and she didn't think what she was planning to do with it later was going to go as smoothly, either.

Hermione went over to Harry and Ron while the twins went off to find Lee Jordan. They melded themselves into the group of chattering Gryffindors, and after a few tense minutes, the doors were thrown open and everyone began to pour into the Great Hall, buzzing with excitement. They gasped collectively at the sight that greeted them: clear glass balls that seemed to be emitting a faint, golden glow were floating along with the usual candles overhead, just beneath the enchanted ceiling, which was scattered with twinkling stars. The four long tables had been draped with tablecloths in their respective House colours, and they sparkled in the candlelight — it looked as if the house-elves had laid out some of Hogwarts' best cutlery. A few balconies had been constructed above, with narrow winding staircases leading up to them. They must have been for the play.

The teachers were sitting at the staff table, and they were wearing their best clothes. Hagrid, who was twice as tall as a normal man and had once again donned his quite horrible hairy brown suit, was easily the most noticeable of them all, and he beamed as the students entered. Professor Snape, however, was looking particularly vindictive, his lower lip curling with distaste. His idea of his "best clothes" seemed to be robes that were, if possible, an even darker shade of black than those he usually wore. The ghosts were shimmering here and there in a silvery haze; the Fat Friar waved merrily at them as them came in, and the Grey Lady, who was usually very detached, curtsied. Even the Bloody Baron looked less gaunt and surly, though he skulked in a corner of the room. Nearly-Headless Nick, on the other hand, was looking very festive indeed in a new plumed hat, which he swept off his wobbly head as the Gryffindors sat down.

Professor Dumbledore too was at the High Table, standing before the Headmaster's chair, resplendent in rich purple robes. He waited until everybody had seated themselves. They were all so excited that an unnatural hush fell over them at once; no one even seemed to be breathing.

"Good evening to you all," Professor Dumbledore said, smiling broadly, his voice echoing in the silence. "And a very Merry Christmas!"

The students applauded him, and several said "Merry Christmas!" in return. Dumbledore held up his hands, and the hall quieted again.

"I am sure you are all looking forward to tonight's entertainment," he said, surveying the bright, eager faces that looked up at him from each House table. "But before any of that, let us sink our teeth into our sumptuous feast!"

He clapped once, and the most mouth-watering array of dishes materialized onto the glittering platters. They all dug in immediately; it was without a doubt the best feast Hogwarts had thrown in living memory. Nearly-Headless Nick watched morosely as Ron scarfed down his food, but Hermione hardly touched her dinner at all, even after Ron had piled heaps of roast beef onto her plate and urged her to help herself.

"C'mon, eat up," he said thickly, his cheeks bulging with casserole.

"I'm not hungry," squeaked Hermione; eating would only force the butterflies out quicker, and watching Ron devour half a ham had already made her feel a little queasy.

"Are you all right?" asked Harry, concerned. "Look, I don't really mind that you don't want to tell us what you've been up to, but I've got a feeling this has got something to do with whatever that is. Just give us some sort of clue about why you haven't been yourself lately."

"I'm perfectly fine," Hermione said quickly, even though this was a complete lie. Harry didn't look convinced, either. He never was very sensitive, but he understood her more than Ron did most of the time.

"Well, you've got to eat something," said Harry, pushing her plate towards her. "It's really good."

"It's amazing," said Ron, a dreamy look coming over his face. "Try these rolls, go on —"

"Or this cottage pie —"

"At least have a bit of onion soup —"

"No, thank you," said Hermione, as politely as she could. "I'm really not — not hungry."

Ron shrugged. "Suit yourself. But I'm telling you, you're missing out." And he bit a great chunk off a chicken drumstick.

"There's still the play," said Harry, who seemed to be trying to cheer her up as best he could.

Hermione tried to smile. She was sure the play was going to be fantastic.

It was just a shame she wouldn't be around to see it.

After the main course, they moved on to dessert (which included an assortment of sweets, cakes, differently-flavoured blocks of ice cream, and flaming Christmas puddings). But eventually, every last morsel melted away, leaving the plates as spotless as before. By then, Harry and Ron looked quite bloated; it was unsurprising, seeing as they had shovelled down second helpings of everything. The play would begin in a few short moments, and the students were beginning to talk among themselves again. Hermione glanced anxiously at Ron's watch; they were very close now….

The Headmaster got to his feet, effectively silencing the crowd once more. The other teachers rose from their seats as well and hurried away; a few students (including Dean Thomas from Gryffindor, who was very tall) climbed onto the wooden benches to peek through the small gap in the curtains through which the teachers were passing. Snape was last to disappear behind it, his black cloak billowing behind him as he strode off after his colleagues, giving the audience one last malevolent look.

"Now that we have feasted," said Professor Dumbledore, opening his arms wide, "at last we have come to our final Christmas treat!"

It was finally time. They wouldn't find a better opening. Hermione instinctively looked at Fred, but he was facing away from her, whether he meant to or not. Instead she locked eyes with George, who nodded firmly.

"If you will kindly move to the back of the hall...," said Dumbledore.

The students did as they were told and shuffled towards the back wall, Hermione keeping a close eye on Fred and George so that she wouldn't lose them in the bustling crowd. Professor Dumbledore made a long, sweeping motion with his wand, and the House tables vanished, to be replaced by comfy-looking chairs. The balconies above were filled with yet more chairs. Dumbledore gestured for them all to sit back down again, and in the midst of the scramble to get good seats, Hermione managed to catch hold of George's robes, and she, Fred, and George slipped through the doors unnoticed.

"This is it," said George after they had shut the door of the chamber off the hall, breathless with excitement. He and Fred were holding their brooms.

"You all right with waiting in the courtyard, Hermione?" asked George.

"Y-yes." The butterflies had multiplied now.

"D'you have the stuff, Fred?"

"Right here."

"Good. Let's go!"

They walked across the flagged stone floor of the empty entrance hall and stepped through the front doors, into the frigid night air. The sky had darkened to a deep, velvety blue, and wispy clouds drifted slowly across it. The moon was beautiful. Fred and George stepped to one side and spoke to each other in hushed voices while Hermione stood awkwardly apart. After a minute or two Fred moved away, and George walked over to her and whispered, "Don't worry about him, all right?"

"I'll take off first, then," he said, loud enough for Fred to hear as well, strapping one of their many briefcases to his broom. He mounted it and kicked off from the ground. He soared upward through the snow, did a few loops, and flew to the windows of the Great Hall, hovering just out of sight. Fred stood back, watching him.

"Aren't… aren't you going with him?" Hermione asked Fred.

"I think I'll stay here for a bit," he replied, turning to sit on a low wall between two pillars. He deposited the briefcases at his feet, leaned his broomstick against his leg, and stared up at the stars.

Hermione hesitated, but she took a careful step towards him.

"Do you mind?"

"Go ahead."

She sat down on the other side of the pillar. A cold wind blew through the courtyard; in the distance, Hermione could hear the branches in the Forbidden Forest creaking. She shivered involuntarily and rubbed her arms.

"Erm — are we on speaking terms again?" she said.

"I s'pose. I actually wanted to talk to you tonight." Fred suddenly sounded formal.

"Did — did you?" said Hermione. Her stomach seemed to have been replaced with lead.

"Yeah," said Fred. "George would have a field day if he heard any of this. I had to make sure we were alone first. Sorry for making you think that I was ignoring you."

"N-no, it's perfectly understandable."

Hermione waited for him to speak again, wringing her hands in her lap, and in the silence, they heard the students in the Great Hall laugh. Hermione wondered what could have been going on in the play; maybe Harry and Ron would tell her all about it later.

"You have got to see this!" called George gleefully from somewhere above. "Snape in that cape!"

Fred smiled, but he didn't say anything for a long while. Maybe he was anxious, too.

Hermione bit her lip, not wanting to be the one who brought it all up again. So instead she said, "H-how are you feeling? Nervous?"

"You'd think I would be, but I'm fine. Now that we're finally here, all that's left to do is put on the best show this school has ever seen, really. And we've pretty much got our act down pat."

"Lucky you, then. I feel dreadful."

"It'll all be over soon. The feast would've made you feel better."

"I didn't have much of an appetite," Hermione mumbled.

"I know," said Fred unabashedly. "You should have at least had some of the rhubarb pie. I'll get you some later — party's still on, you know." He paused. "By the way, what were you and George talking about this morning? After he sent me into the snowball fight?"

"Y-you saw?"

"Yeah."

Hermione flushed and said quietly, "He… talked to me about you."

Fred sighed.

"Figured he would. Did he tell you that I bawled my eyes out into my pillow? Because if he did, I swear, I'm going to take a pasty and stick it down his —"

"H-he didn't say anything like that at all," said Hermione, though George had expressed his annoyance with Fred's moping and tactlessness. "He thought that his pranks on us had gone a bit too far and wanted to apologize for it. He also, er, gave me some advice. I changed my mind about wanting to watch the fireworks, you see, and he convinced me to come. He was very stubborn about it, actually."

"You didn't want to watch the fireworks anymore because of me, right?" said Fred softly.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I'm here right now, aren't I?"

"And it's a good thing you are," said Fred. "I wouldn't want you to miss this for the world."

The students in the Great Hall clapped just then, their applause ringing through the courtyard.

"But did… did that mean no?" said Fred, after the noise had died away. "Back then, when you said never mind, did that you don't —"

"No!" Hermione said, half-shouting. Surprised at having raised her voice so suddenly, she flushed and said, in normal tones, "No. It didn't."

"Oh." Fred cleared his throat awkwardly. "To be honest, this scenario is completely different from how I imagined it. You know, I've been thinking about you a lot since last night. Got on George's nerves, too."

Hermione smiled, remembering George's exasperation.

"He guessed what happened and wouldn't stop poking fun at me for not accepting that he — that he was right," said Fred. "And I'm really sorry for throwing something like that at you out of the blue. It must've come as a bit of a shock."

Hermione shook her head before remembering that Fred couldn't see her.

"It wasn't that," she said. "You just made me nervous."

"I did?" Fred chuckled softly. "I don't think I've ever made a girl nervous before."

There was another cold gust of wind, and Hermione stuffed her hands into her pockets to keep them warm — but to her surprise, she found that there was already something inside one of them. Feeling around, she realized that it was the package she'd been hiding. She'd nearly forgotten it. She drew it out with shaking hands and stared at it. Either she gave it to him now or not at all.

"I've got something for you," she said abruptly, going red. She threw it around the pillar before he could ask any questions and heard him catch it. "It's a Christmas present." She listened as Fred unwrapped it, and for some reason she wished that she could just melt into nothingness. "I didn't give it to you sooner because I thought you were angry with me."

"I was never angry," said Fred. The wrapping paper fell away and Hermione saw it drift to the ground. It had begun to snow again.

"I-I've improved my knitting," said Hermione, feeling extremely embarrassed now. "You know, because of all the hats and things I made for the house-elves last year. I've been doing a lot of practice at home. And I thought — well — it would be really nice to make you something for Christmas, after everything you've done —"

"You made this for me?" murmured Fred. His voice sounded odd. His broom clattered to the floor as he stood up, and he stepped into view: he was holding the orange scarf she had spent weeks working on, looking at it as if he had never seen such a thing before.

"I expect your mum's made you loads of them before," Hermione said in a rush, "and I'm not as good at it as she is, and I did it by hand, so I'm sorry if it's a bit funny —"

Fred slowly wrapped it around his neck, then he looked at her. Laughter drifted out of the Great Hall once more.

"Are you joking?" he said croakily. "It's great!"

"Oh, thank goodness," said Hermione. She was just so relieved at the news that he wasn't angry with her that she kind of felt like crying.

"I was supposed to give you something, too," said Fred, "but I thought you wouldn't take it after… after what happened. And I didn't think you would like it."

"I didn't think you would get me anything at all," said Hermione, bowing her head and dabbing her eyes with her collar on the pretence of doing up her coat buttons.

"Why wouldn't I?" said Fred with a hint of incredulity. "For the brightest witch of your age, you can be pretty slow sometimes."

"W-what do you mean?"

"Do I really need to spell it out?"

Hermione looked up so fast she cricked her neck — she hardly dared to believe it. Her vision had gone blurry with tears and her heart felt as though it had swelled to twice its normal size. She thought that this whole time Fred had been trying to tell her that he had realized that they would never work out. She thought that he had been trying to tell her that he was sorry, that it was all over, and to ask if they could forget everything and go back to how they were. Since the previous night she had been too afraid to hope that he wanted to be anything more than friends ever again.

But his words sounded so painfully real that she wished with every fibre of her being that he did.

Fred laughed, sounding exactly like his old self again.

"I'm in love with you, you idiot."

For one glorious, shining moment, time seemed to stop — the snow hung in the air around them, completely still, as though the whole world had frozen just for them. The smile on Fred's face was indescribable. Hermione didn't know how long she sat there, staring at him, the butterflies dancing madly in her stomach — but then the Great Hall erupted into cheers and she was jerked back to reality. Dimly, she could hear someone shouting at them, but she couldn't understand what he was saying — was it George?

"Fred! Fred! Time to go, come on!"

It took Fred a few more moments to collect himself, but he finally wrenched his eyes away from hers, strapped the rest of the suitcases onto his fallen broom, and flew off, Hermione staring after him.

She peered into the sky….

There they were — George was opening one of the cases — both of them were tossing something into the air — she could hear gasps and screams and the frantic scraping of chairs from within the Great Hall —

And after another frozen second, the sky was ripped by a flash of colour. It was the most breathtaking thing Hermione had ever seen — millions of red and blue sparks danced against the black curtain of twinkling stars, which seemed to wink in and out of existence; sparklers rained gold and silver down on the castle like glittering coins; firecrackers whizzed through the air and cut across the sky like brilliant comets; there were giant rockets that shot straight up and burst into numerous smaller, whirling pinwheels that threw showers of pink and purple through the snow; and a great dragon of green swam gracefully through the air, baring its golden teeth and flicking its forked, fiery red tongue. From the dragon's wide mouth poured dancing balls of fire.

The oak front doors opened with an almighty bang and the rest of the school spilled out into the courtyard, gaping up at the lights. They oohed and ahhed every time Fred and George launched another enchanted firework. The Gryffindors were shouting themselves silly; Ron and Harry were among those who clapped the hardest and shouted the loudest; and Lee Jordan punched the air repeatedly. Even a few of the Slytherins had joined in, though Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were glowering — it was clear that the incident in the corridor all those nights ago was still fresh in their minds. Meanwhile, the teachers' expressions ranged from mesmerized to utterly bewildered to frighteningly furious. Professor Snape, who was wearing a ridiculous red cape and pointed, high-heeled boots, and Argus Filch were beside themselves with anger, the latter's jowls aquiver. Mrs. Norris swiped the air with her paws, longing to bring the fireworks down. The ghosts were floating by the windows of the Great Hall and gazing, open-mouthed, at the sky, and Hermione thought she even saw the Bloody Baron smile. But Professor Flitwick, as Fred and George had predicted, was easily the most enthralled of them all — he had climbed onto a stool to get a better look and was hopping up and down in delight. In fact, he was so enthusiastic that he toppled off the stool and had to be helped up again by Professor McGonagall, who seemed to be trying hard to keep her face straight. Then there was Hagrid, whose shaggy head and broad shoulders towered above the rest, clapping furiously and hooting — and Professor Dumbledore, who had remained on the front steps and was looking up too; he was smiling.

Hermione gazed up at Fred as he laughed over the sea of spectators, zigzagging in and out of the snaking sparklers in a red and orange blur, his new scarf trailing behind him. He was in his element up there, and she felt so very proud of him. She felt proud of the person she had discovered him to be. And more importantly, she felt proud of the person she had watched him develop into. Why it had taken her so long to see how amazing he truly was, she didn't know. But there were tears in her eyes as she clapped with the rest.

At last Fred and George threw up the firework they had been saving especially for their finale, and Hermione watched her creation come to life. Her jaw dropped — what looked like an orange bud zoomed up and up and up until it looked as though it would fly straight into the moon — and then without warning, it erupted and bloomed into an enormous orange flower. Its petals waved and danced, then folded one by one before the whole thing exploded spectacularly; each of the petals spiralled down to the earth, scattering more sparks, and the center of the flower burst into a huge, golden "W".

"We introduce to you," roared Fred and George triumphantly over the din, "Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs, brought to you by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes! We've got trick wands, trick sweets, and of course, our fantastic fireworks!"

"Come down this instant!" growled Snape, whipping out his wand. But the rest of the staff made no moves to imitate him.

"Approach Fred Weasley —"

"— or George Weasley —"

"— for full details!"

"Weasley — Weasley — get off those brooms!"

"And make sure to stop by number ninety-three, Diagon Alley this summer!"

"We'll be waiting for you!"

"In the meantime —"

"— a very Merry Christmas to you —"

"— and a happy New Year!"

Fred and George high-fived each other and threw one last firework over their shoulders; before Snape could say anything else, they sped away on their brooms, through a shower of scarlet and gold sparks and into the night, to tumultuous applause that drowned out the rest of Snape's threats. The cheers and whoops and claps lasted a good five minutes before Professor Dumbledore sent red sparks from the tip of his wand and, smiling more widely than before, wished them all good night and ushered them back inside.

"Ah, the spirit of Christmas," he said good-naturedly. "But it's getting late! Off to bed with you now! Chop-chop!"

Hermione remained in the shadows of the pillars and watched as Snape, seething, tore off his cape and threw it to the ground. He then turned on his heel and stomped through the castle doors without another word, a look of pure rage on his sallow face. The students, who were all still marvelling at the twins' show (quite a few were singing carols at the top of their lungs and waving strings of tinsel over their heads like banners), followed in a disorganized group and trampled all over Snape's cape, shepherded by the other teachers. After the last of the stragglers had disappeared, only Dumbledore was left. He was standing in the center of the courtyard, chuckling softly to himself. He took one last look at the inky-black sky, winked at the spot where Hermione stood, hidden, and swept away towards the castle.

As promised, today will be the last update. I'll put up the next chapter right after this one. Gosh, I feel so emotional now dhgjfkdsghfdjslhgfks