I went home for the Christmas holidays, just like I always did. My mother was having her usual Christmas party and Julian and I naturally were required to be there for it. But I actually didn't mind considering all my friends were going home as well. There'd be no point in staying at school.

I found out the day before break started that Oliver's parents had a Christmas party every year as well and he hated going to his just as much as I hated going to mine. But, like me, he was expected to go to his and at least look like he was enjoying himself, so I really understood how he felt. It usually wasn't a fun experience.

So on Christmas Eve, I found myself all dressed up and standing in the living room talking to Mr. Hamilton, my mother's boss.

"Do you get good marks in school?" he asked, smiling down at me.

"Yeah for the most part," I answered. "I work hard, that's for sure."

"And what about you, son?" he continued, turning to Julian, who I could tell came quite close to making a face at being called 'son'.

"Yeah, I do all right," he shrugged.

"Oh, Julian, don't be silly!" My mother seemed to appear out of nowhere, all smiles, and placed a hand on Julian's shoulder. "Julian does extremely well in school! He's got some of the highest marks in his year! In fact, the one person who seems to get better grades than he does is one of his friends! What did you say her name was, dear? Hannah? Harriet?"

"Hermione," Julian muttered.

"Right," Mum said with a wave of her hand, "well, anyway, this girl is a Muggleborn. I found it surprising at first, because she didn't grow up knowing about any of this. I hate to say it, but I've occasionally wondered if she's been cheating."

I couldn't believe she said that, especially in front of her boss. But a moment later, I understood why she did say it. He didn't even care. He smiled sympathetically and said, "It has been known to happen, even with students who aren't Muggleborn."

"Hermione studies really hard, Mum," Julian chimed in. "And she's naturally really smart. She doesn't cheat."

My mother ignored him. "My main concern is her cheating off of Julian," she said.

Julian and I shared a look of irritation, but knew better than to try to interrupt. It would get us nowhere and Mum would probably just get angry.

"Julian still does extremely well in school and I couldn't be prouder," she continued now. "He gets wonderful marks in every class."

"That's great," Mr. Hamilton said with a grin.

"And he likes to play chess," Mum bragged. "He's gotten quite good at it. He has an interest in Quidditch as well, but there aren't any spots open on the team for him to try out for until next year."

I rolled my eyes. Julian liked chess, sure, but he only practiced a lot because he could be competitive and he wanted to beat Ron in at least one game. And he didn't just have an interest in Quidditch—he loved it. Mum had never really approved, however. She was only bringing it up now because she was trying to make Julian seem well-rounded. Which, of course, he was. She just didn't like what he was interested in.

"And what about Lilah?" Mr. Hamilton asked, smiling at me.

"Well," my mother said slowly as if she were trying to stall and think of something. "She likes to read. And she writes very good essays for school."

I fought back a sigh. That sounded so silly compared to everything she had just said about Julian. I wasn't like him. My interests did include reading and writing and I was terrible at anything involving math. But still, I only got to read for fun over the summers and I only wrote essays for school. I was boring. Plain and simple.

Mr. Hamilton still smiled, though. "If you keep that up, you'll be publishing a book with our company in no time."

I smiled for real. "That would be cool," I said.

"But of course you should always have another plan," Mum said. "I mean, book publishing is very competitive. And if you keep getting rejected without anything else to fall back on…." She smiled and shook her head. "I've just seen so many books get rejected time and time again. Even books that are well written, but just aren't what we're looking for or what we think will sell."

Mr. Hamilton nodded. "Your mother has a point. It's a tough business out there."

I forced a smile of my own before excusing myself to get another drink. I was still stuck drinking water at my mother's parties because she wouldn't let me drink anything with alcohol in it until I was seventeen. It was ridiculous. It seemed like everyone else's parents let their kids ease into having a butterbeer here and there. Usually not firewhiskey because it was so strong, but butterbeer was okay. There was hardly any alcohol in it. Even the Three Broomsticks had been okay with giving us butterbeer for a while now. But my mother wouldn't let me touch the champagne at her parties. Maybe I would look a bit silly with it, but I felt even sillier carrying a glass of water around while everyone except Julian, Tess and I drank champagne.

I cut through the foyer to get to the kitchen and that's when I heard a knock on the door. Or at least I could have sworn I did. It was pretty noisy in my house. I glanced around. There were only a few people in the foyer, but over the noise of the party, they didn't seem to have noticed the sound. But then it came again and I was almost positive this time that I heard it.

I set my empty glass down on a table containing a vase of flowers and went to open the door. My mouth dropped open when I saw Oliver standing there holding a small potted poinsettia plant.

"Oliver?" I asked, gaping at him.

"Hi," he said quietly, looking at the ground as if he were reconsidering his decision to come here. Then, he looked up and held out the plant. "This is for you. Well, your family, I guess."

"Uh, thanks," I said slowly. I took the plant from him. "It's beautiful, Oliver, really. But…what are you doing here? How did you know where I live?"

A horrified expression crossed Oliver's face. "Oh, Merlin, I look like such a creep. I worried about that, but then decided-" He shook his head. "Never mind. This was a very bad idea." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and half turned away. "I'm going to go. I—this was stupid. I'm sorry. I—"

"No, wait," I said quickly. "You don't have to go. I'm just a little surprised."

"Yeah, um," Oliver turned back to me and stuck his hands in his pockets. He let out a puff of air though his mouth before swallowing. "I found out where you lived from Tess. I just asked her and she told me."

"Ah," I replied with a smile. I hadn't actually admitted anything to Tess, but she knew I was spending a lot of time with Oliver and she had probably come to a conclusion that was along the same lines as the one the twins seemed to have come to.

"I guess truthfully I wanted to come liven up your party experience a bit and it gave me an excuse to leave my own party, so…." Oliver trailed off and looked at me. "Here I am," he shrugged.

"Do you want to come in?" I asked, tilting my head towards the party going on behind me. "I mean, we have plenty of food and my mother hired some guy to play the piano this year so there's live music…." I trailed off as I tried not to cringe. Here I was inviting Oliver Wood into my house. I was inviting him right into the part of my life that made me the most nervous, the part that I hated to let anyone see. I knew that people made judgements when they saw a house like mine. I don't like to admit it, but it's true. I didn't want anyone to assume I was spoiled or a brat or that I got everything I ever wanted. And I also knew how my mother could be and I didn't want to subject people to her criticism who didn't need to be subjected to it.

Maybe that's why I was so hesitant to let Fred and George really meet my mother. I knew for sure she had some criticism to dole out for them and I didn't want things to turn ugly. And as for Oliver…well, I had only really started talking to him two months ago. And while in those two months I had certainly grown fairly close to him, I definitely wasn't planning on bringing him into my home life so soon. But here he was, standing on my doorstep. And he had brought a plant. I couldn't turn him away.

"Sure, if you don't mind, that is," Oliver said, stepping into the foyer. I shut the door behind him before looking down at the plant.

"Thanks for bringing the poinsettia. My mother already has a centerpiece on the dining room table, but maybe this one can go on the kitchen table. I mean, none of the party guests will really see it because the kitchen is where all the caterers are, but I'll see it when I eat breakfast tomorrow morning. And every morning for the rest of the holiday, in fact. They're my second favorite flowers, actually..."

Oliver chuckled and I blushed as I realized I was rambling. "Second favorite?" he asked.

I blushed a bit more. "Second to daisies."

There was a pause as Oliver just looked at me, an amused smile on his face. "So...kitchen table?" I asked.

"Okay," he said quietly. "Lead the way."

I quickly headed for the kitchen, dodging the caterers when I got there, who were all too busy to notice me and Oliver as we crossed to the kitchen table and I arranged the plant in the middle.

"Looks like you've got an impressive turnout here," Oliver said as I adjusted some of the leaves on the plant absentmindedly.

I nodded. "All of my mother's work friends come every year. Plus their spouses and sometimes their children...but they've always usually been way older than Julian and I so it's not like we've ever had anyone else our own age to hang out with during these parties. Except Tess usually comes with her dad. She's around here somewhere, actually."

"Ah," Oliver said.

We fell into silence just then and I looked anywhere but at Oliver as the caterers bustled around us and I struggled to think of something, anything, to say that wasn't ridiculous and would fill the silence gap. I could feel Oliver staring at me and the pressure to say something was just getting intense.

"You hungry?" I finally asked, looking up at him. "We have tons of food."

Oliver nodded. "Yeah, I didn't really eat much at my own house before I left."

"How did you manage to leave your own house anyway?" I asked as we began to cut through the living room and paused in the corner between the door and the piano, where the man my mother had hired was playing a quiet tune. "Your parents just let you leave in the middle of their party?"

"I didn't exactly ask my parents," Oliver said, grabbing a drink off the tray of a passing caterer.

"You just left?" I asked, smiling in amusement.

Oliver nodded. "And I took a plant with me." He tilted his head back towards the kitchen. "It seemed rude to show up empty handed and my mother has plenty of those lying around. She goes overboard with the decorations. She loves Christmas. I think it's mostly being together as a family that she loves, but…." He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

I giggled and looked away as I took in the crowded room. I actually really loved our living room. It was a large room with high ceilings. A fireplace was on one end of the room and usually there was a couch and chairs arranged in front of it, but for the Christmas party, my mother usually moved the furniture to the outskirts of the room to open up more space. In the corner of the other side of the room from the fireplace was the piano and across from that was a corner with a few bookshelves and another armchair. Along one wall was a set of French doors that opened up to a deck.

"You have a lovely house," Oliver said, taking a sip of his drink.

"Thanks," I said, blushing and looking away. "My mother would love to hear you say that."

"Where is your mother?" Oliver asked.

"Mingling," I answered.

"And your dad?" he prodded.

"They're divorced, remember?"

Oliver blushed. "I know, but I—I'm sorry. I just didn't know if they still—"

"If they were still close? Or at least friends?" I asked with a half-laugh. "No. In fact, they barely speak."

"Sorry," Oliver muttered, blushing an even deeper shade of red and looking away as he took a large gulp of his drink.

I fought back a laugh at how nervous he seemed. "Don't worry about it," I told him. There was a pause. "Actually, Oliver," I sighed, "if you're going to meet my mother tonight, you should know…she's intense. She likes everything to be a certain way and she expects a lot from me and Julian. I…." I trailed off and blew a puff of air out of my mouth as I struggled to figure out how to continue. How could I explain everything I felt to him here in the middle of a Christmas party of my mother's friends? Besides, there was so much to explain.

"I can tell, actually," he said. "You told me that you've never felt the need to be treated like an adult as you were growing up. You never wanted to be treated like you were older because you were already treated that way, weren't you?"

"Still am," I sighed, looking away. "There's a lot of pressure with my mother. Lots of expectations." I shrugged.

Oliver studied my face for a moment before speaking. "My parents—my mother particularly—is on almost the other end of the spectrum. I love her and we're fairly close, but lately…we've been clashing. I mean, I'm turning eighteen in May. I'm graduating Hogwarts, I'm ready to move on and be an adult, but my mother still insists on treating me like I'm eight."

"How so?" I asked quietly.

Oliver let out a puff of air through his mouth and looked up at the ceiling. "Well, for one, she hates my love of Quidditch."

"That's not babying, Oliver, that's just common sense because it's actually straddling the line between love and obsession," I snorted.

Oliver smiled. "Shut it," he teased. "No, but my mother hates it because she's afraid I'll wind up killed."

"Have you ever gotten hurt in a match before?" I asked.

Oliver nodded. "My very first match at Hogwarts, I took a Bludger to the head two minutes in and woke up in the hospital wing a week later."

My mouth fell open. "Oliver!" I exclaimed playfully. "Well, there you go! That's why she's scared."

"Yeah, but every time she sees me, she just dotes on me, checking me for injuries and inquiring about any bruises or scrapes she sees. I mean, I guess it could be worse, but she's always been like that. And she doesn't want me to move out just yet. She always argues that there's plenty of comfortable space in our house so it doesn't make sense for me to go move into some cramped dingy flat. She also thinks I'll be starving if I move out because she never thinks I'm eating enough. Whenever I'm home she practically dumps the contents of our pantry down my throat."

"See, my mother was never like that," I whispered, smiling at him. "Honestly? She's almost cold. We're not warm and fuzzy towards each other. I can't remember the last time I even hugged her." I felt a lump starting to form in my throat. "She's just not like that. I think she used to be but my memories of that time are just growing fainter and fainter."

Oliver reached out and squeezed my hand. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I must sound like such an idiot complaining the way I am."

I shook my head. "No, I get it. I can see how you would clash. I know you want to spread your wings and I think that's good. But I also know that you shouldn't push your mother away completely. You are her child…and her only one at that."

"Maybe you're right," Oliver said after a moment.

Before I could answer, Tess seemed to pop up out of nowhere. "Hi, Lilah, great party," she said breathlessly before turning to Oliver. "Hi Oliver. How are you?"

"Fine, thanks. How are you?"

"I'm great!" Tess said with a grin before turning to me. "Enjoying yourself?" she asked, widening her eyes and tilting her head towards Oliver.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" I asked, playing dumb. "You're a guest at my house, you know." I smiled cheekily at her.

"I'm having a wonderful time," Tess said, "but you know what I think this party's missing? Some dancing."

"Dancing?" I asked dubiously, raising an eyebrow. No one had ever really danced at my mother's parties before. There was certainly room to, and there was certainly music playing for it, but no one had ever done it before. I had never noticed any need for dancing, either, but that could've been because there had never been anyone here I'd be remotely interested in dancing with. Until now, which, as I glanced at Oliver, was probably Tess' plan all along.

"Only if you're planning on dancing too," I shot back, giving Tess an amused look.

"Okay," she replied, searching the room.

"You could dance with Mr. Hamilton, my mother's boss," I giggled, pointing across the room.

Tess wrinkled her nose. "Or," she said, reaching out and pulling my brother seemingly out of nowhere, "I could dance with Julian."

I laughed as my brother gave Tess a look as if she had ten heads as he stuffed another cheese-covered cracker into his already full mouth.

"What?" he asked, the single word coming out muffled due to the food as he looked at Tess in disbelief.

"There's music being played and nobody is dancing," Tess said, latching onto his arm. "Come on, Juju," she pleaded.

"You used to call me Juju when I was, what, five?" he asked in disgust. "I'm thirteen now, you know."

"Ha, now who's babying you?" I asked.

"Come on," Tess insisted, dragging Julian away before he had time to protest any more.

"Have you been drinking?" I heard him ask her.

Her response was lost in both the noise of the crowd and my snort of laughter.

"Well, she was obvious," Oliver said with a smile, looking over at me.

"Just a bit," I answered with a shake of my head. "We don't have to listen to her, you know. She just wants to play matchmaker."

Oliver turned and set his empty drink glass on a table before turning back to me and holding out his hand. "I don't mind listening to her," he said with a smile—a very charming one, too, I might add.

I blinked at him for a second before looking down at his outstretched hand. Finally, I carefully placed my own hand in his and let him lead me towards the middle of the room. I felt myself turn red at the awareness that everyone's eyes were on us as Oliver slid his free hand around my waist and gently pulled me closer. I looked down as I rested my free hand on his shoulder.

"Nervous?" Oliver asked quietly as we slowly danced to the soft music coming from the piano in the corner.

"Why do you ask?" I whispered.

"You're beet red and stiff as a board," Oliver chuckled. "Relax a little."

"Never knew you were such a comfortable dancer," I commented. "And in front of a bunch of people at a party you were never invited to."

"No one has to know I wasn't invited," he shrugged. "And as for me being so comfortable….There's dancing at my parents' Christmas parties," Oliver said. "I've done this many times. Although never with a girl this pretty before."

I looked up and met his eyes in surprise. "When did you get so confident?" I asked with a laugh.

"It's not really confidence so much as pure honesty," Oliver said with a smile. "If it were confidence, I wouldn't be so nervous on the inside about your reaction."

I smiled and shook my head as I looked away again. He pulled me even closer and I felt my stomach jump. Even still, I slid my hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck as I pressed my chin to the spot on his shoulder where my hand had just been.

"You really think I look pretty?" I asked quietly.

"Not just tonight," Oliver whispered against my ear. "All the time."

I blushed. I was wearing a flowy red dress that came down to my knees and had a thin white ribbon around the waistline. I had curled my hair and pinned half of it up in the back with a glittering silver clip. I had been satisfied, but it hadn't seemed like my mother had been when she saw me.

"When I saw my mother earlier," I began in a whisper, just loud enough for Oliver to hear me, "she looked me over and wrinkled her nose a bit. When I asked her if I looked alright, she shrugged and said 'I suppose,' before walking away."

Oliver didn't respond and I pulled back slightly to try and gauge his reaction. Maybe I had said too much. When I met his eyes, he was looking at me with a mix of compassion and concern.

"You weren't kidding about her being cold, were you?" he asked. "In fact, I get the sense that you may have even watered it down."

I half-smiled. "She's difficult," I whispered.

"I think you look beautiful," Oliver answered, his eyes roaming over my face. We were so close and even though his hands were only touching one of my hands and my waist, I felt like I could feel electricity running through my entire body.

Oliver leaned closer and I started to slide my eyes closed, but then my mother herself appeared at my elbow, her eyebrows raised, her hand on her hip and a surprised but polite smile on her face.

"Who's this?" she asked as Oliver and I sprung apart.

"I, um—this is—he's a—this is Oliver," I sputtered, tucking a loose piece of hair behind my ear. "He's a friend from school. Oliver, this is my mother."

"I wasn't aware that any of your friends from school were coming tonight besides Tess," my mother said quietly, giving me a pointed look. The smile was still on her face, but that was only because Oliver was standing right there.

"That was my fault, Mrs. Fitzgerald," Oliver said, smiling and holding out his hand. "I wanted to see Lilah so I stopped by on short notice."

"Ah, I see," my mother said as she gave him a once over. Finally, she took his outstretched hand and shook it, still carefully assessing him. "And it's Ms. Matthews now. I go by my maiden name now. My husband and I are divorced."

"That's right…Lilah mentioned that, but I didn't know if—I just didn't think….I apologize," Oliver stuttered.

My mother continued to stare at him and I wished Oliver and I could disappear. I knew what was coming. She was about to interrogate him.

"Tell me, Oliver," she said, taking a sip of her drink, "what would you like to do once you're through with school? That is, of course, if you're still in school."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. She was simultaneously trying to figure out what his life goals were while also figuring out if he was either a dropout or too old for me.

"I am still in school," Oliver answered. "I'm in my last year. And I'd like to go into professional Quidditch if things go well. I've played Quidditch for the past five and a half years and I love it, so—"

"A professional Quidditch player," my mother said, raising her eyebrows. I actually couldn't decipher her expression, though. I couldn't tell if she was a bad surprised or a good surprised. I supposed that all depended on whether or not Oliver ended up famous. If her daughter was dating a famous Quidditch player, it would make us look good. But if he was lousy, it wouldn't and she'd hate it.

"He's very good," I said. "He's captain and well on the way to leading the Gryffindor team to a victory this year."

"Really?" My mother gave Oliver an impressed look. "Well, I certainly hope you succeed."

"I do too," Oliver said, smiling politely.

"What about your parents?" Mum asked. "Are they supportive of you playing Quidditch?"

Oliver shrugged. "My mother I think would prefer it if I picked another profession, but ultimately, I know that if I'm happy, she's happy. And my dad's thrilled. He loves Quidditch and always says at least someone in our family has to make a living where we get to breathe fresh air regularly."

"What do they do? Your parents?" My mother asked curiously, peering at Oliver over the top of her drink.

"They're both Healers," Oliver answered.

"Ah, wonderful," my mother said. This answer clearly impressed her the most. I could see she was thrilled that I was associating myself with someone whose parents both worked in a job that made plenty of money and that didn't knit them lumpy, hideous sweaters every Christmas.

"I think Oliver mentioned he was hungry, so we're going to go get something to eat." I jumped in before my mother could ask any more questions. The last thing I wanted was to stand here all night while my mother analyzed Oliver.

"Yes, yes of course. Go, help yourself." My mother smiled and shooed us away.

I grabbed Oliver's hand and dragged him towards the food that was laid out in the dining room. "Sorry, I know we had started heading for the food earlier, but we ended up taking a couple detours."

"Neither of which I minded," Oliver said as we both picked up plates and put some food on them.

"Really? You didn't mind my mother asking you all those questions?" I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

Oliver shook his head. "They were normal questions, I thought." He shrugged. "Conversational."

"She was analyzing you. You know that, right?" I asked. "She was trying to figure out if you were good enough. But luckily, you handled it well and I'm pretty sure she approved of your answers. I'm not so sure how she feels about you playing professional Quidditch one day, though."

Oliver chuckled. "Well, with all due respect, I don't really need her approval, do I?" he asked.

"If you ever want to see me again, you do," I snorted.

Oliver blinked. "She'd do that? Forbid you from seeing me because she doesn't like my job?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. You started getting a sense of her from what I told you earlier, but she's very particular. But I'm not sure what she'll try once I'm of age and can make my own decisions no matter what. I mean, I am at liberty to befriend whoever I'd like as it is, but I don't know if she'd try to intervene or persuade me otherwise. She still tries to convince me to drop the Weasleys sometimes."

"Really?" Oliver asked as we wandered back to the front foyer with our plates of food. It was the least crowded room, so we could talk in quieter voices and still hear each other.

I nodded and took a seat on the bottom step of the staircase as Oliver took a seat a few steps up. "Maybe she doesn't try to convince me...well, actually she does, but she disguises it as advising me not to stay friends with them. Or she'll just throw out comments about them. Like she'll comment on the Christmas sweater that Mrs. Weasley knits for me every year. Or she'll wrinkle her nose if I say I'm writing to them or going to their house." I shrugged.

"That's terrible," Oliver said sympathetically. "I'm sure my mother would do the same thing, though, if she didn't like who I was hanging out with. Not that I've ever had that problem, though."

"Because you don't have any friends?" I teased, mock-sympathetically. I reached out and patted his knee. "I'm sorry, Ollie. That must be tough."

"Don't call me Ollie," Oliver joked. "My mother calls me Ollie. She's called me that since I was little, which just proves my point about her even more. I wouldn't mind so much if it didn't sound like a nickname a child would have." He paused. "And I do have friends, but my mother just hasn't had a problem with them."

"My mother shouldn't have a problem with the Weasleys, though," I answered.

Oliver nodded. "True."

"Did you want another drink, by the way?" I asked, realizing that Oliver had put his down in the living room.

He shook his head. "I'm fine. You can go get one if you want, though. I'll wait here."

I shook my head. "I'm only allowed to drink water at my mother's parties until I'm seventeen and I'm kind of sick of feeling like I'm five."

"She doesn't let you drink?" Oliver asked in surprise.

I shook my head. "Not even butterbeer."

"Wow," Oliver said with a smile. "You must've gone wild your first Hogsmeade visit. They're pretty lenient there."

"Not lenient enough to let me get drunk," I snorted as Oliver laughed. When he went back to eating the food on his plate, I watched him for a moment before smiling softly and going back to my own dinner. I couldn't stop thinking about how he had almost kissed me. And I also couldn't stop thinking about how every piece of me had desperately wanted him to. It was kind of scary, to be honest. I was sixteen. This was all uncharted territory. I had never had a boyfriend, kissed a boy or, before tonight, even danced with a boy (besides my dad, of course, who didn't really count because he was my dad). What if I messed something up?

I suppose if I was laying it all out on the table, I was falling for Oliver Wood and I was completely terrified.

Oliver stayed until the party ended and then insisted on helping to clean up. I had told him that usually at the end of the parties, my mother went upstairs to get ready for bed and that the caterers took care of the cleaning, but Julian and I always liked to help them. Not helping them would nag at the back of my mind for months if I didn't do it. It just didn't seem right. So, when every last guest was gone and my mother had said goodnight and headed upstairs, Oliver and I headed for the kitchen.

Julian was already there, standing at the sink and helping to dry some of the dishes. Oliver immediately grabbed a trash bag and headed back into the dining room to start getting rid of any trash left lying around. I followed him and started clearing a few leftover things off the table. The caterers had gotten all of the big dishes, but some napkins, plates and glasses remained.

"Did you have fun?" I asked Oliver, as he collected the crumpled up napkins and tossed them into the bag.

He nodded. "I mean, we spent the majority of the time sitting on your staircase talking and stuffing our faces, but I did have fun doing it."

"I love that staircase," I admitted with a smile as I picked up the stack of plates I had collected them and balanced them against my hip. "It makes me feel like royalty whenever I'm on it."

Oliver looked up at me and smiled deviously as if he wanted to ask me something, but wouldn't sure if he should.

"What?" I giggled.

"It's just…have you ever fallen down those stairs? They are beautiful, you're right, and I just feel like falling down them is kind of comical and a little ironic. You know? Falling down something that looks so graceful."

I laughed. "Don't worry, I've fallen down them. They may make me feel like royalty, but they don't make me graceful." I hesitated. "When I was younger and my dad still lived with us, he'd do the cleaning once a week since my mother always works. Julian and I would help and Dad would put on music….He'd blast it full volume and we'd dance around the house while we cleaned. Julian and I would roll our eyes at first and insist he was being so weird, but then he'd rope us into it and we'd all end up laughing and enjoying ourselves…." I smiled as I trailed off.

"Sounds like fun," Oliver said, returning the smile as he hesitated in picking up trash and stared at me.

"I'm not finished," I grinned. "My point of that story was that one day he hopped up on the banister and slid all the way down it. I don't know how he did it without falling off. Maybe he used a little bit of magic, but he did it. And then, of course, Julian and I were anxious to try and he just told us to go ahead. Merlin, my mother would have killed us all if she knew. But Julian and I did it anyway. We wanted to just slide down on our stomachs, gripping the banister like a sloth grips a tree branch, but Dad said he'd help us out if we did it upright. I can remember him twirling his wand around and smirking as he said that it was more fun to sit up and actually enjoy the ride instead of having to stare at the banister the whole time."

Oliver chuckled. "I'm guessing you haven't slid down the banister since the divorce?"

"No, it's not the same. Plus, I'd need my dad's help. I probably couldn't do it without the magic he used to help us."

"Probably a balancing spell," Oliver said.

I shrugged. "Probably." There was a pause. "I'm going to bring these back to the kitchen," I said, tilting my head towards the plates. When Oliver nodded, I went back to the kitchen and dumped the stack of plates on the counter beside the sink. The caterer washing the dishes smiled at me and I returned it before moving to stand beside Julian.

"Hey," I said quietly. "How was it tonight?"

"It was all right," Julian shrugged. He looked at me. "You had fun, though. You and Wood?" He raised his eyebrows.

I leaned backwards against the counter and crossed my arms. "I like him, Jules," I whispered. "I really do."

He nodded and glanced up at me. "I do too, so you have my approval if you want to date him."

"I don't know if that'll end up happening," I said, "but thanks for approving."

"He's going to ask you out," Julian said, looking at me knowingly. "He wouldn't have figured out where we lived and just shown up if he didn't like you."

I smiled, but didn't get the chance to say anything else because Oliver returned with the trash just then and started helping with putting all the dishes away. Once we were done cleaning and the caterers had left, Julian said goodnight and headed up to bed, leaving me and Oliver alone in the kitchen. The house was eerily silent in the aftermath of the party and I felt myself not knowing what to say for nearly the first time all night.

"Well, I'd better get going," Oliver asked. "I don't think I can delay the inevitable any more. I'm going to get an earful from my mother when I get home considering I just left without a word."

I smiled. "Yeah, maybe leave a note or something next time."

Oliver nodded. "But oddly, this is the most rebellious I've ever been and I kind of like the adrenaline rush."

"I'm sure you do," I giggled.

I walked him to the door and leaned against it as he walked out onto the front steps. He turned to face me and his expression said he had something on his mind. "Are you doing anything on New Year's Eve?" he asked curiously and I could tell that he had been nervous about asking and was doing it now before he lost the courage and missed his chance.

I shook my head. "No. My mother usually goes to a party for that holiday. She used to go with Dad, but now that they're not together, she either leaves Julian and me with him or leaves us home alone. But then our dad usually comes over anyway and spends the night with us."

"Oh, so you do have plans, then?" Oliver asked, looking dejected.

I hesitated. "No. I'm sure Dad and Julian won't mind if I spend one New Years apart from them."

Oliver scrunched his face up in thought. "You know what? Invite them."

"Invite them where?" I asked with a smile. "You haven't even invited me anywhere yet."

Oliver blushed. "I was going to invite you to my house on New Year's Eve. It's only fair, isn't it? But I'd still like to meet your dad and I know my mother will want to meet you once she calms down after my return tonight. So…you're all invited over on New Year's Eve. Just the six of us. We'll have dinner and just hang out."

I smiled. "You're not going to consult with your mother about your plans first?"

"She'll say yes," he answered confidently. "Like I said, she'll be dying to meet the girl I snuck out to see and spent the whole night with."

I smiled wider. "Okay. I'll talk to Julian and my Dad, but I'm sure they'd want to come."

"What about you?" Oliver asked with a shy smile. "Do you want to come?"

I shrugged. "Not really, but you're really twisting my arm about it, so I guess I have no choice."

Oliver laughed and looked down as he dug the toe of his shoe into the ground. Finally, he looked back up at me. "Well, write me once you know for sure."

I nodded. "Okay."

Oliver smiled and turned to walk down the front steps. When he reached the walkway, he turned back around and walked backwards. "It seemed rude to Apparate right on your front steps, and Tess also warned me that Muggles live around here, so…." He sighed dramatically. "I'm going to have to walk to a dark, secluded area just to go home."

I smiled sympathetically. "Sorry."

"You'd better be," he teased.

"Goodnight." I wiggled my fingers at him and started to shut the door, letting out a quiet laugh as I saw Oliver smile and turn to walk away. Once the door was shut, I closed my eyes and leaned against it, letting out a sigh as I slid down to the ground.

I spent Christmas Eve with Oliver and now I was going to spend New Year's Eve with him, too. And I honestly enjoyed spending time with him. He was very easy to talk to once you got past the Quidditch obsession barrier. And he was kind of adorable. And I genuinely liked him. Oh, Merlin, my friends were going to have a field day when they found out.