Chapter 14: A Christmas Miracle

A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! O, hear the angel voices!

"Madeline, can we talk?"

Madeline looked up from a Potions essay to see Cedric standing before her, looking rather more nervous than usual.

Today was Thursday, the last Thursday of the term, and Madeline was nearly finished. Snape had, once again, been the only professor to set homework for the last lesson of the term, so all of his students were furious, especially the seventh years. Madeline hadn't yet been able to complete the essay, what with all of her Head Girl responsibilities, which meant that she was sitting alone in the library on Thursday afternoon trying to finish before dinner.

The last few weeks of term passed in a brilliant array of test-studying fever and essay-writing panic, especially for the fifth and seventh years. She'd hardly had anytime to worry about her love life, especially with gits like Nicolas. Though he'd stopped avoiding her (he desperately needed her help with Transfiguration), his new tack was to pretend he'd never had feelings for her at all. Though strange, Madeline let it play out. She didn't have time to worry about that.

Though she wasn't completely opposed to speaking with Cedric, Madeline was in a bad mood that kept her from being pleased to see anyone, including him.

"Er, sure," was her response, her lips pursed.

She looked back down at her essay and began writing another sentence when Cedric took the seat across from her.

"How are you holding up?" he asked, sounding concerned.

"I'm alive," she murmured, her head down as she wrote.

A lock of wavy hair fell over her left eye. Madeline's reddish-brown hair was up in a messy knot because she didn't feel like dealing with it. Cedric had half a mind to touch her hair, to gently place the lock behind her ear, but he knew better. The scratching of her old quill (she really needed a new set) was all she heard for a few moments. The sound seemed to spur an itch near her chin, and she lifted a hand absentmindedly to scratch. If Cedric was trying to muster up the courage to say something brave to her, she didn't want to ruin it, so she remained quiet. After what felt like several minutes, Madeline stopped writing and looked up. Cedric was staring out of the nearby window, but when he heard her quill stop, he turned his gaze to her.

"We can talk later. I know you're busy," he said.

Madeline's eyebrows flinched upwards.

"I'm going to be busy later as well. I've not yet packed or wrapped any gifts. If you have something to tell me, you might as well do it while you have me alone," she said, hating how curt her voice sounded.

"Oh," he said as though she had asked him to leave. "Er, I just wanted to… to tell you I'm sorry."

"What d'you have to be sorry for?" Madeline asked as she began writing again.

"I've been an idiot, honestly. I shouldn't have walked away from you. I... realise now that was childish. I should have stayed and talked to you. Then, at the Quidditch match, you got injured and… look, I just wanted to apologise."

"If you're referring to what happened in the Transfiguration classroom, your apology is long overdue," Madeline said without looking up.

"I know. I'm sorry; really, Madeline, I am. You have to know how you fluster me. I'm fairly certain my brain shuts off completely when I'm around you."

"Right, and does all your blood flow to one specific area as well?" Madeline asked tartly.

"Look—for what it's worth, I believe we could've been great together," he said, like he had practiced the words many times.

There it is, Madeline thought. She closed her eyes. That's why he's here. Not to apologise, but to say his peace. To make me think about 'us' again. I guess we are going to talk about this.

"You don't know what you're saying," Madeline mumbled as she began scribbling another sentence.

"Don't I?" She could hear a sliver of anger in his voice.

"No," Madeline said, her tone firm.

"Really, Madeline? You can honestly say you never pictured us together?"

Madeline wanted to retort immediately, to cut him off cold like Claire would've, but she couldn't. She dropped her quill, sighed, and rubbed her face with both hands.

"You don't understand," she said, shaking her head. "I couldn't hurt you like I hurt Nick. Physical attraction isn't enough to sustain a relationship. I've learned from experience."

"'Hurt Nick'? Tennant? What're you talking about?"

"He ended it with me, Ced. I know people were saying that I broke things off with him for you, but those were just rumors."

Cedric looked as if he'd been stunned.

"Rumors..."

"Yeah. I should've told you sooner, but I forgot," said Madeline. "So for that, I apologize."

"He ended things..." said Cedric again, his face blank and voice dull. He looked as though he was thinking really hard, puzzling something through. Madeline went back to looking over her essay until he spoke again.

"Madeline," he said, his voice gentle, "I do have feelings for you, but I understand—"

"Cedric, I really don't—"

"Would you let me finish?" he asked, interrupting her. "I understand, now, why Tennant ended your relationship. I should've known. I think part of me always knew. But you're wrong about us. We're more compatible than you think. It wouldn't just be... physical stuff," said Cedric.

Madeline stared, still shocked and confused, and rubbed her face again. He wanted her to reconsider, just as she'd tried to change Nicolas' mind.

She gave it a moment of thought, and then she had an idea. It was pretty audacious, at least by her standards, and she just hoped they wouldn't get caught. She stood, reached out her hand, and waited to Cedric to realise what was happening. He stood and took her hand, and she led him to an empty row of books.

After ensuring no one was around, she turned to Cedric, held her arms out as if shrugging, and said, "Kiss me."

Cedric didn't hesitate. He tried to duplicate the malleable feeling he'd inspired in the unused classroom, but Madeline wasn't as vulnerable this time. He persevered, though, and Madeline felt a brief thrill when his lips met hers.

Madeline realised, in that moment, how much power she had in affecting her own physical reactions. She could have easily engaged—pulled him closer, tousled his hair, bit his bottom lip, whatever—but she found it surprisingly easy to resist. Her mind even began wandering as he continued to kiss her. She thought about finishing her Potions essay (she needed only another few inches) and about whether Oliver's parents would let them have some mulled wine at Christmas. She was really looking forward to being back home for the holidays.

When Cedric broke the kiss, he looked embarrassed and confused. It hadn't been anything like their first snog.

"It wasn't the same," he said dully.

"Ced," said Madeline gently. "You deserve someone who wants this as much as you do. I... I can't reciprocate, so I won't reconsider again."

He let her words sink in for a moment and then nodded with resolve.

"Right. Well... thank you. For..."

He leaned in, held her shoulder, and kissed Madeline's cheek.

"For your honesty."

Madeline nodded as Cedric turned and began walking away. He stopped, though, and turned back to face her.

"He loves you," he said, his expression serious. There was a bitterness in Cedric's voice that Madeline didn't understand, but before she could process his words or question him about them, he turned and strode away.

As Madeline packed her books into her bag, the sun was sinking behind the distant and jagged horizon. It had snowed a great deal the day before, and the sun was reflecting almost painfully off the glossy white of the grounds. She was lethargically trying to fit the last book in her bag when Claire found her. Madeline hadn't been avoiding her friends, but she hadn't exactly been trying to spend time with them either. None of them really understood her anxiety: Claire would try to help but only make it worse, Nicolas would poke fun at her, and Richard and Oliver would start talking to her like she would hex them all at any moment. Madeline therefore felt more comfortable being alone when stressed.

"There you are. You sort of disappeared on us," Claire said as a greeting.

"You knew where I'd be," Madeline replied, shrugging.

"You're right. We wanted to give you some space if that's what you needed."

"I don't feel good," said Madeline as she lifted her bag up on the table, where it landed with a dull thud.

"I'd say. You look like rubbish, as well," said Claire. Madeline scoffed.

"Some friend you are."

"Don't you dare call me a rotten friend—I know you'd rather me be honest than tell you even the smallest white lie."

"Yeah," Madeline said with a sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm just in a mood. Cedric cornered me."

"Did he? Christ, I thought he'd be over it by now. I've heard rumor that he's already started snogging Cho Chang."

Madeline sighed, her head lolling onto her shoulders in a sort of meladramatic weariness, and Claire smiled.

"Don't you fret over Diggory. He's not worth it."

"What's happened to the whole 'he's so perfect, Maddie, he's so wonderful' argument?"

"He's sweet, no doubting that, but I should've seen he's just a 15-year-old boy looking for a good snog," said Claire. "Dating Nick made other lads realise how attractive you are, I'm sure. It was an optimistic mistake on my part."

"I do miss snogging," said Madeline, her shoulders drooping. She shook her head. "Never thought I'd say that. Nick spoiled me, I suppose."

They began walking toward the Great Hall, weaving through the numerous shelves and aisles of the library to do so.

"Don't let him hear you say that," said Claire.

"I don't plan to. That was said in your confidence. I don't even want Richard to know."

"Why not?"

"It's none of his business whether I miss snogging Nick, is it? No, he doesn't need to know. Just you."

"You don't think he'd say anything, do you?"

"I dunno, Claire, but I don't want to have to worry about it. If you can't keep my secrets from your boyfriend, I'm going to have to find a new best friend," said Madeline with a laugh.

"I won't tell anyone," said Claire pseudo-grudginly.

"Better not."

"I'll bet you haven't eaten today, have you?" Claire asked, placing a hand on Madeline's shoulder. "C'mon O' Weary One."

Once in the Great Hall, which was packed with students buzzing about the Hogsmeade trip coming up, Claire and Madeline sat with Richard and Oliver at the end of the Gryffindor table. Nicolas was flirting rather obviously with Margaret over at the Ravenclaw table, and Davies was looking on angrily but doing nothing. This had been the topic of discussion when Madeline and Claire took their seats.

"Is she not still with Davies?" asked Madeline.

"Definitely not," said Claire. "They've been paying more attention to each other than usual, those two have."

Claire nodded towards Nicolas and Margaret, and Madeline huffed.

"I never know anything. Why is it I never know anything?"

"Because your nose is damn near always shut in a book," said Oliver lightly. "I don't expect that flirtation to last long."

"He could do better," she said as she scooped some potatoes onto her plate.

Madeline looked up to see Oliver smiling wryly at her.

"What're you saying?"

Madeline felt a smile spread across her face.

"I think he should find someone a tad more worth his time," she said.

"Sounding a bit smug, you are," Oliver replied laughingly.

"Am I? I never said that I was worth his time."

"You don't think she was worth my time, do you?" Oliver asked, his tone still wry.

"Oliver Wood, no girl here is worth your time. Don't forget—your supposed to meet a ginger Quidditch princess," Madeline said, pointing her fork at him.

"Did someone say ginger Quidditch princess?" asked George Weasley, turning to them from a few seats down.

Many of the students around them chuckled.

"Yes," said Madeline, who leaned forward to see George and Fred. "I did! I was referring to Oliver's dream girl! You see, she has to be a fantastic Quidditch player and must be ginger. Congrats! You lot are halfway there!"

"You're quite right, Palmer," said Fred, who stood and bowed a bit. "You see, everyone, George and I have a little secret…. We're actually women!"

Most of the Gryffindor table erupted into laughter, and Madeline didn't feel irritable for the first time all day. The twins approached Oliver, playfully touched his hair and neck, and each draped an arm across Oliver's shoulders. After receiving more laughs, they returned to their seats.

"Oi! Wood!" said George. "You'd better stay away from our sister!" After another round of laughter, to which the small, second-year Ginny Weasley turned beet red, Madeline heard George say, "I'm serious! She's quite the Chaser!"

The last Hogsmeade weekend of the year passed slowly, at least for Madeline, who was quite ready to be in the comfort of her parents' home. She and her friends drank a few butterbeers, bought some Christmas presents, and went back to the castle. There were plenty of students trying to have snowball fights, but Madeline did not join them. Rather than seeing her friends or packing her belongings, Madeline spent her last hours at Hogwarts trying to check out as many books as possible. She found Hermione Granger checking out books as well, but they did not speak to one another—Madeline knew what stress looked like, and even though she was hiding it well, Hermione Granger was definitely looking forward to the break just as much as Madeline.

Soon, though, Madeline joined what seemed to be the entire school on the train platform in Hogsmeade. Madeline wasn't one hundred percent sure, but it seemed like literally every student opted to leave Hogwarts for the break; considering Sirius Black's apparent interest in the castle, she wasn't much surprised.

Flurries of snow were falling as Madeline boarded the Hogwarts Express with Claire and Richard, flakes settling on their hair and jumpers and scarves. Nicolas and Oliver were having a conversation with Lee Jordan and Alicia Spinnet. Claire, who preferred seats near the front, found an empty compartment just in time for the train to take off.

Madeline, who was relieved to be rid of her Head Girl duties and homework for a while, curled up in an extra large jumper and began reading her old, tattered copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. She always skipped over the part about the Snidgets, though, because it made her sad. Though she was also looking forward to being able to sleep whenever and as often as she wished, Madeline figured that could wait until she arrived at home.

After perhaps twenty minutes, Oliver joined their compartment, sitting next to Madeline.

"Nick's a git," he mumbled tersely.

Richard raised his eyebrows, and Madeline snorted.

"Some way to talk about your best mate," she said, turning the page of her book.

"You're my best mate," he said gruffly in response.

Madeline's hazel eyes, which looked grey in the dimly lit compartment, turned to meet his brown ones. The look she saw there made her skin prickle and her heart thump madly, so she looked away.

"He's your other best mate," she replied, smothering her smile poorly, and Oliver shrugged.

"Means I can call him a git when he acts like one."

"What did he do?" asked Claire.

"He and Margaret are apparently an item now," said Madeline before Oliver could respond. Her eyes were still glued to her book, and her tone was light and casual. At least, she hoped she didn't sound resentful. "An 'official' item. He told me yesterday."

"He told you?" Oliver asked, his tone full of concern.

"Of course he told me. We're still friends."

"Well he's still being a git. He tried telling me that I 'didn't know what I was missing'," said Oliver. Claire laughed.

"I think you know what you're not missing," said Claire with a grin.

"Margaret has good traits and bad traits, just like all of us," said Richard. "She has a good sense of humor, and she's bright, too."

"She's also a bitch," said Claire.

"Claire!" said Madeline, but she was smiling.

"I live with her! I can say whatever I want, alright? She doesn't wake you up in the morning with her stupid beauty routines, and she doesn't keep you up at night coming in and out of our dormitory like it's a tavern. She has no consideration for Penny and I at all."

"I happen to think they're perfect for each other," said Richard, and everyone's eyebrows shot up in shock. "Think about it: Margaret Bradbury and Nicolas Tennant. Just... think about it."

For a few moments they did as Richard asked and thought about it. Madeline agreed, but only a little. Nicolas was in need of a girlfriend who would dote on him at all hours of the day, and Margaret was in need of a similar boyfriend.

"They both are pretty needy," said Claire, shrugging. "I guess it could work."

"What d'you lot know? You thought Cedric and I would work," said Madeline.

"Diggory is absolutely adorable and perfect, so excuse me for wanting you to be with someone like that," Claire said, crossing her arms and huffing.

"Diggory's not perfect, Claire. I tried telling you," said Richard.

"He's perfect for Madeline, just like you think Nick and Margaret are perfect for each other," Claire replied.

"Cedric has some growing up to do," said Madeline. "So drop it."

Madeline opened Quidditch Through the Ages and began reading again, and Oliver smiled at her book choice.

"How many times have you read that?" he asked.

"Fewer times than you," she replied with a smirk.

"Oi, watch the cheek." She could hear the grin in his voice.

"Oliver, how many times have you read Quidditch Through the Ages?" asked Claire.

"Well, that depends. D'you mean this year?"

Peals of laughter could be heard in the surrounding compartments, but that didn't keep Richard, Claire, and Madeline from learning that Oliver had, in fact, read Quidditch Through the Ages at least twelve times since sixth year.

In no time at all, Madeline was at home with her mother and father. Their home was small, as she was an only child, but it was comfortable. Her favourite spot was the armchair by the fire, and she was often caught reading there late at night when she couldn't sleep. When she arrived, their home was covered with snow, leading Madeline to hope it might snow on Christmas Eve, by far one of her favourite days of the year. Augustus had travelled home with her, as she was hoping to use him to send a few Christmas presents, but he took flight as soon as they reached her room.

At dinner her first night back home, Madeline spent most of the meal telling her parents all about her stressful semester. Her parents had been alarmed to hear of Sirius Black's entrance into the castle but hadn't dwelt on it. Madeline's parents were up to the challenge of helping (and sometimes forcing) her daughter to relax while at home, which included suggesting reading for pleasure rather than schoolwork and playing friendly games of Quidditch with children from the town nearby. Madeline considered taking walks, but the thick layers of snow and icy wind were a bit discouraging.

After two days of sleeping in, reading for pleasure, and only thinking about playing Quidditch, Madeline was happily surprised to be visited by Oliver. They sat in the kitchen drinking hot cider and talking about their coursework.

"Snape's been more vindictive than ever this term," Madeline said.

"It's been pretty bad, all things considered," agreed Oliver.

"I just hope it gets better soon, you know? I hate fretting over his stupid N.E.W.T. assignments while trying to actually study for the N.E.W.T.s."

Oliver groaned. "We're on holiday. Let's talk about something else," he said.

"What d'you want to talk about?" she asked, sipping her cider. Oliver shrugged and drank his cider as well. "I hope it snows on Christmas Eve."

"You always hope it snows on Christmas Eve," said Oliver with a smile. "Think of a new hope, will you?"

"A new hope?"

"Yes."

"You mean like my hope that you'll have ginger children?"

"Is that why you think I should marry a ginger? You know, you could just marry Fred or George and have yourself some ginger kids."

"I suppose I could, but I don't want redheaded children," said Madeline.

"What makes you think I want ginger kids?"

"Oh, fine, fine. I guess I will have to think of two new hopes since you don't want ginger children. I mean, there's always the hope that you'll get in with Puddlemere, but that's more like a certainty, isn't it?"

At this, Oliver gave Madeline a look that made her feel warm all over.

"What?" she asked.

"What if I don't get in?"

"What if you do?"

"I'll be a happy man," he said, looking at his mug.

"If you don't get in, and that is a massive if, then we'll deal with it accordingly. You'll be fine though, whatever happens."

"Will I?"

"Won't you?"

At this, there was a pause that reminded Madeline that she had Cauldron Cakes in the oven. After removing the almost-burned cakes from the oven, she rejoined Oliver at kitchen table.

"I don't want to work at the Ministry," said Oliver in a small voice.

Madeline had suspected this for a long time but had never heard him say it aloud. She reached across the table and waited for his hand. Once his hand found hers, she squeezed it.

"I know," she said. "There's more out there than that, especially for you. I promise."

"You can't know that," Oliver replied. He pulled his hand away.

"I can, actually. You're not meant to be some Ministry bloke who wastes his life away in an office, just like I know I'm meant to help people."

Many moments passed in silence; Madeline was thinking of where Augustus might be when Oliver finally found his words.

"Would you like to go for a walk?"

"In this weather? You mad?"

"Please? I need to be moving. I can't sit still any longer, and it'd be worse to fly."

"Oh, alright. Let me go change into thicker clothes. Grab the big cloaks, will you?"

It took Oliver mere moments to pull the heavy cloaks out of the hallway wardrobe, but Madeline spent at least five minutes donning another jumper, trousers, woolen socks, and boots. Once she felt sufficiently protected from the cold, Madeline joined Oliver in the hallway. He wrapped the smaller cloak around her and threw the larger on himself.

The snow was falling still quite heavily; thick snowflakes landed on their hair and shoulders as they left the house. They trudged through the layers of snow, leaving prints of their boots in their wake, and were walking more slowly than the falling flakes. Though Madeline had always thought of herself as sure-footed, the pathway to town (which was about a twenty-minute walk) was frozen underneath the snow, and at one point, Madeline slipped and collapsed awkwardly to her left. Oliver, who hadn't noticed her falling in time to catch her, could only help her stand again. After checking on her well-being, Oliver placed his gloved hand in hers, hoping to steady her feet in the event they encountered more ice.

Madeline realised, as Oliver took her hand, that she was blushing furiously. Oliver, too, seemed more pink-cheeked than usual, but their noses were both so pink that their cheeks looked normal. Madeline wiped the snowflakes from her face with her other hand, and Oliver seemed to be expertly ignoring those attached to his own eyelashes. After about fifteen minutes of walking in silence, the small town came into view. On this grey December day, the stores were alight with Christmas fairy lights and decorations.

"I'd forgotten how much I love this town at Christmas," Madeline said, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

"I thought as much," said Oliver, his voice low.

"It's beautiful, honestly. Thank you."

"All you needed was someone to walk with," he replied with a smile.

"Someone brave enough to leave the house, you mean," Madeline said.

"Merlin, you're not on about that again, are you?"

"Well, I've been too afraid to leave—"

"I hate having this conversation with you," said Oliver, interrupting her. "Because you never seem to understand—I wasn't 'brave enough to leave the house.' I simply wanted to take a walk with you, and I didn't think a little snow should stop us. That's not bravery. Doing what's right, even if it hurts—that's real courage. You taught me that, in the park right over there, many years ago. So stop with this 'brave' rubbish, alright? I'm sick of it."

Madeline stopped walking, her mind's eye conjuring an image of a nine year-old Oliver being beaten up by a few Muggle boys, simply because she had insulted one of them. She had confronted them because they had been bullying another boy, and it ended in a fist fight.

Oliver only noticed when her hand slipped away from his, at which point he thought she might have been stuck.

"Alright?"

"You think I'm brave?" she asked, her voice tight.

I will not cry. I will not cry.

"What? Of course I do. I always have. Haven't I told you?"

Madeline shook her head, her lips pursed and her eyes stinging.

At this, Oliver closed the distance between them, the snow crunching loudly, and placed his gloved hand on her cheek. She met his gaze and felt the same heat that had been accompanying his touch for the past few weeks. His maple brown eyes seemed to be melting her insides.

"You've more courage than I'll ever have, Madeline. You're so…"

"So what?" she asked, her voice thick again.

"Wonderful. You're wonderful. Don't let anyone ever make you feel like you're not," he said, shaking her a little.

"Oliver…"

"Yes?"

"I—"

"Oi! You two going to stand around all day?" The innkeeper's wife, a woman named Alma, had spotted them from a window of the inn. "We've hot cocoa!"

The next day, Madeline decided to return the favour and visited Oliver at his home. She spent a great deal of time speaking with Oliver's mother, Gwendolyn, who was unfailingly kind and hilarious. Madeline had often wondered why she hadn't been a Hufflepuff, but she was resigned to the idea that she would never understand the Sorting Hat's decisions.

The days leading up to Christmas, spent mostly in the company of Oliver, passed rather more quickly than Madeline had anticipated. Soon it was the morning of Christmas Eve, and Madeline was distraught to see that it wasn't snowing. With a sigh and a frown, Madeline climbed out of bed and raced downstairs in her pajamas.

Her parents were sitting at the kitchen table with Oliver, and Madeline's eyebrows furrowed.

"Erm, hullo."

"You're awake!" said Olivia. "I was about to come wake you."

"It's not snowing," she replied. "Wait—what time is it?"

"Nearly noon," Henry replied.

"Noon?! You mean… half of my Christmas Eve is wasted? Why didn't you wake me?! And why are you here?"

"Happy Christmas Eve to you, too," said Oliver, trying to repress a smile and failing. "I was just inviting you and your parents to our house for dinner tonight."

"That sounds wonderful, Oliver. Tell them we'll be there. What time?" Olivia asked.

"Is seven alright?"

"Perfect," said Henry.

"I'll see you this evening, then," said Oliver. He smiled and disapparated.

After a day spent merrily chatting, wrapping presents, baking cookies, eating, and reading with her parents, Madeline found herself apparating to Oliver's house alone. She popped right by their front door, knocked briefly, and let herself enter. Before she could close the door behind her, Oliver was walking to her with a glass of mulled wine. They both grinned. Her parents were already sitting at the table with Oliver's parents, but the food hadn't yet been touched. Hugs were given and Happy Christmases were exchanged, and dinner was altogether a lovely affair. The food was delicious, and Madeline couldn't remember ever being so content, though she was sure the glass of mulled wine was helping.

Muggles going door to door and singing Christmas carols showed up a few hours later, much to Madeline's pleasure. She loved Christmas songs and adored hearing them sung by children. Many of them were donning scarves and thick woolen hats, and while they were singing O Holy Night, small fluttering snowflakes began drifting down from the black night sky. Without reservation, Madeline smiled and felt, quite completely, that all was right with the world.

When Madeline's parents left and Oliver's parents went to sleep, and they were left quite alone drinking the last of the wine in the kitchen, Madeline felt her contentment a touch more fiercely. She wasn't stressed about her N.E.W.T.s, or her Head Girl duties, or anything, and she could simply sit and wonder about the world. Her gaze was glued to the kitchen window, and she was so captivated by the falling bits of frozen water that she forgot Oliver was sitting a few feet away from her; she forgot, of course, until he stood to rinse his glass and sat back down.

She turned to meet his gaze, and he didn't look away.

"I'm glad it snowed," he said.

"I am too," she replied, a smile creasing her face. She glanced at the window and then back at Oliver.

"I knew it's all you wanted for Christmas."

Madeline nodded and finished her glass.

"I hope you like your other presents anyway."

"I'm sure I will. All I needed was a few new quills."

"And all I need is for Harry Potter to buy a new broom," said Oliver, his eyes narrowed at the window.

"Aren't we practical," Madeline said with a chuckle.

"He won't be able to beat Cho Chang on a school broom."

"Cho Chang isn't that good, though, is she?"

"She outflew Diggory," said Oliver.

"He was also out of sorts and probably too much of a gentleman to knock her out of the way," said Madeline.

"Well, I'll tell Harry to be no such gentleman."

"Oh, Oliver," said Madeline, a smile returning to her face. "If Gryffindor doesn't win the House Cup, I will personally attack Marcus Flint."

"Oh, stop."

"Stop what? Having faith in you? Never."

"You're impossible," he said, shaking his head.

"Me? Impossible? I'd never dream of being such a thing."

"You are impossible. Are you cold?"

"Do you mean in addition to being impossible? Perhaps," Madeline said, nodding.

"Let's go sit by the fireplace."

"Oh, that does sound lovely."

She yawned as she stood and followed Oliver into the sitting room they had all been in earlier. The room wasn't much warmer than the kitchen, and the fireplace held nothing but ashes. Madeline placed two logs in the fireplace and tried to conjure a fire nonverbally; after two attempts, she was successful. She turned to see Oliver standing near the sofa, staring at the kindled fire.

"Alright?" she asked, moving towards him.

His eyes met hers, and he smiled. Madeline's feet stopped walking as though his smile had glued them down.

"Yeah. Better than alright, actually."

"Better than alright?" Madeline asked, surprised.

Never, in all her years, had she heard that response from him. "Alright" and a response of "alright" was their usual dialogue. When she neither moved nor spoke again, Oliver closed the distance between them. Madeline heard a clock chime midnight off in another room, as if from a dream. She closed her eyes but felt impelled to open them at his touch.

"Happy Christmas, Maddie," he said, his voice full of emotion.

His hand met her cheek, and Madeline's eyes seemed to be lost in his, those magnificent brown eyes burning something within her. Hearing him use her nickname nearly made her knees buckle, but something stopped her from melting and brought her to her senses.

"Oliver?"

"Mmm?"

"You're standing on my foot."

"Oh, sorry," he said, and took a step back away from her.

"It's alright," she said with a small, nervous laugh.

Madeline sat on the nearby sofa and felt another yawn pull her lips apart.

"You should probably get to sleep," he said, his voice lined with a distant disappointment.

"Do you want me to leave?" Madeline asked.

"No, I really don't. Not even a little bit."

Chapter 15: Those Three Words

"What's there to be scared of? If you care about me, that's all I need to know."