Summary: Professor Slughorn's Christmas Party is approaching, and Harry can't avoid it. All he wants is a peaceful Christmas...

This starts with an excerpted and cited bit of Half-Blood Prince, and any other bits you recognise are all JK Rowling too.

HBP ch 14:

"Anyway," said Hermione, continuing their interrupted conversation as though a lump of wood had not just attacked them, "Slughorn's going to have a Christmas Party, Harry, and there's no way you'll be able to wriggle out of this one because he actually asked me to check your free evenings, so he could be sure to have it on a night you can come."

Harry groaned. Meanwhile, Ron, who was attempting to burst the pod in the bowl by putting both hands on it, standing up, and squashing it as hard as he could, said angrily, "And this is another party just for Slughorn's favourites, is it?"

"Just for the Slug Club, yes," said Hermione.

The pod flew out from under Ron's fingers and hit the greenhouse glass, rebounding onto the back of Professor Sprout's head and knocking off her old patched hat. Harry went to retrieve the pod; when he got back, Hermione was saying, "Look, I didn't make up the name Slug Club…"

" 'Slug Club'…" repeated Ron, with a sneer worthy of Malfoy. "It's pathetic. Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don't you try hooking up with McLaggen, then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug…"

"We're allowed to bring guests," said Hermione, who for some reason had turned a bright boiling scarlet, "and I was going to ask you to come, but if you think it's so stupid then I won't bother!"

[….]

"You were going to ask me?" asked Ron, in a completely different voice.

"Yes," said Hermione furiously. "But obviously, if you'd rather I hooked up with McLaggen…"

"No, I wouldn't," said Ron, in a very quiet voice…

All I Want For Christmas

"Good!" Hermione snapped, "Because I'd rather hook up with Harry!"

Harry's jaw dropped in shock and the pod he had been rather vigorously trying to open by whacking it on the table shot out of his hand and sailed across the greenhouse, knocking Professor Sprout's hat from her head again. Then he felt a fuzzy warm glow in his middle.

But wait, he liked Ginny, didn't he?

Unbidden, images from fifth year flickered so briefly in his frontal lobes that Harry barely registered them: Hermione—so excited at the idea of being a prefect with him and so disappointed when he wasn't—her pink cheeks and bushy hair dusted with snowflakes at Christmas. And she had put up with him every step of the way, despite all of his angry outbursts, and even when he had led them into that disaster at the Ministry. He never would have made it through fifth year if it hadn't been for Hermione, but somehow she still liked him even after all that.

But what about Ginny?

Another brief image—this one of Ron chasing him with a Beater's Bat—flashed on the television screen in his head. And then another image popped up—this one of Ginny snogging Dean...

His daydreams of Ginny evaporated like a puddle on a hot day; going to Slughorn's party with Hermione was beginning to sound like a really good idea.

Harry wasn't the only one gaping at Hermione. Ron was staring at her too, his mouth wide open—then his ears reddened and his cheeks flushed, looking like they might burst into flame. His eyes darted towards Harry and back to Hermione again. Ron snatched up his Snargaluff pods, gave Harry and Hermione one last glare, and stormed off to the table where Neville was working with Hannah.

"Sorry to barge in, Nev," Ron said loudly enough for Harry to hear, "Hope you don't mind—seems like Harry and Hermione are getting on just fine without me."

"Oh—er…" Neville shot Harry a bewildered look. Harry shrugged, feeling just as puzzled. "Yeah, all right," Neville told Ron, "No problem. You don't mind, do you Hannah?"

"Of course not," she said, looking slightly put-out.

Harry glanced at Hermione then quickly averted his eyes, focusing on Ron again and feeling very perplexed as everything started to tumble into place in his cerebral cortex.

Of course!

It was all starting to make sense—sort of. He was beginning to piece together the meaning behind Hermione's glowingly appreciative expressions and compliments, and the reasons for Ron's rather disgruntled looks every time Hermione had ignored him to flatter Harry instead.

That first potions lesson: he could still see her beaming radiantly at him and hear her breathily saying, "Oh Harry"—merely because he had told Slughorn how brilliant she was—and he could still see Ron looking thoroughly annoyed. The entire incident had puzzled Harry, only to be forgotten with the discovery of the notes in the Prince's book.

Harry was briefly distracted by the flowery smell of the Amortentia in his memory. There it was again, the delicate aroma. He snatched another look at Hermione who was now attempting to open her pod and studiously avoiding his gaze.

Harry dropped his head and frowned, wondering what that meant. He tried to shake off that feeling and returned to working out what Ron's problem was. Ron had been even more irritable when Hermione had gushed at Harry about how fanciable he was. ... And then there was the withering look Hermione had shot Ron in response when he had interrupted and tried to get her attention.

If Harry didn't know better, Hermione fancied him, and Ron was apparently jealous.

But if Hermione fancied Harry, then why had she been going to invite Ron to Slughorn's party instead? What if she had just been trying to make Ron jealous when she was being all flirty with Harry?

It didn't make much sense to him. Hermione would never do something like that, would she? It would be most unlike her—she had never acted that way before.

But it seemed most unlike Hermione to fancy Ron too though; he could not imagine it after all their fights. Indeed, for that matter, if Harry was being completely honest with himself, she had always seemed to like him a bit more than she liked Ron.

But she had been about to invite Ron to Slughorn's party.

Obviously Harry was reading too much into things. Hermione was one of his best friends. Of course she was going to butter him up when he was feeling down or aggravated about something. … It was Ron she fancied.

But what about last year? Again Harry recalled how Hermione had been so thrilled when she thought he was going to be a prefect with her—and shocked when it turned out to be Ron instead.

Nah… She hadn't been shocked exactly, he tried to convince himself, just a bit surprised. Why wouldn't she be surprised? Everyone had been surprised. It didn't mean anything...

Did it?

None of it made any sense at all. Harry swallowed anxiously. The only way to know what was going on would be to ask her. He took a deep breath, not looking at Hermione while pretending to work on his pod too, and trying to work up the nerve. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

"Erm… Hermione?" he began, his head still down but his eyes sliding up to cautiously peek at her from under his eyelids.

She wouldn't look at him either, and Harry started to feel like an idiot. He couldn't do it.

"Yes, Harry?" she said after a whole minute had gone by, neither of them looking at the other.

"Er… What?" Harry was startled, having hoped that maybe she hadn't heard him.

"You were going to ask me something, weren't you?" she asked, sounding thoroughly exasperated.

"Oh. Er… Yeah, I suppose."

"Well?"

Bollocks! He tried to think of a lie, then, before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "Did you really mean it? … Slughorn's party I mean—did you really mean it when you said you'd rather go with me? … Or… Erm, were you just having a go at Ron?"

There. He had said it. He inwardly cringed when Hermione didn't answer straight away. Fuck! Now he really felt stupid and wished he could take it back.

"Yes," she said in such a small voice that he wondered if he had heard her right.

He took another deep breath and tried to smash his pod with his fist.

"Er… Sorry, erm… I'm not sure I...er…heard what you said properly."

"Yes," she squeaked a bit more loudly, and what he could see of her cheeks took on a rosy hue. "I mean, yes to your first question, not your second," she added, her voice quavering.

Harry's eyes widened and he felt that fuzzy warm glow ballooning inside him again, and his face grew hot.

"Really?"

"Really!"

"Oh!"

There was another pause and he thought he caught a glimpse of her eyes glistening wetly behind her cast down eyelashes.

"Erm..." she said, her voice small again after the pause, "You—you don't have to go with me if you don't want too. I… I'm sorry, Harry. I shouldn't have said that to—"

"Wait," he said quickly, feeling horrible when he realised that saying "Oh!" and then saying nothing else had upset her, "...Yes! I'd like to go to Slughorn's party with you," he said, his voice firmer.

"You—you really mean it? … You're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?"

"No!" he said, feeling much bolder. "I really mean it, Hermione. I'd really like to go with you."

"You're not more interested in Ginny then?"

"What?" Harry's jaw dropped. How did she know that he had inexplicably been thinking about Ginny in a bit more than a brotherly way this year.

"No!" he said resolutely, and he knew it wasn't a lie as he said it. "I mean—I might have been interested in Ginny a bit, I suppose, but I'm more interested in you, actually. I just wasn't sure if you meant it when you said that I was fanciable."

His ears caught a little sigh of relief, and the shape of her pink cheeks seemed to suggest that she was smiling. Then he heard her take a deep breath as if she was steeling herself. They both lifted their heads at the same time. She was beaming radiantly, as she had during potions, and he couldn't help giving her what he knew must look like a really stupid grin.

"I'm really sorry to put you through that," said Hermione, sounding much more like her normal self. "Yes, Harry, I meant it when I said you were fanciable. … And I was feeling a bit cross as well, to be honest, because you didn't seem to notice that I fancied you."

"Well," Harry sighed, "If it makes you feel any better, I did notice something—sort of. I've been wondering if something was going on since… er… since fifth year actually. Every so often you'd say something which made me think you might like me a bit. And then—this year—well, it sort of seemed like you still liked me even after… you know—"

He felt a sharp pain in his chest and he tried to squash it. He didn't want to remember that.

Hermione peered at him sadly.

"—Anyway, there was a lot of rubbish last year, so I never really had a chance to think about it. And then this year—I didn't want to say anything in case I was wrong," Harry concluded.

"And I was too scared to come right out and say it," Hermione admitted with a shake of her head and a rueful little laugh. "Some Gryffindor, I am," she sighed.

Then, on cue, as if they had planned it, they both turned their heads at the same time and groaned.

"Ron!"

"Maybe… maybe I—" Hermione began.

"No," Harry shook his head and sighed. "You already told him. If anyone should say anything to Ron—I reckon it's my turn."

~o0o~

But Harry never did really get a chance to properly talk to Ron about whatever was going on with him later. He was quite certain now that it was jealousy, but Ron had clammed up and changed the subject any time it veered close to Hermione after that first day. Harry too was avoiding the topic of Slughorn's party altogether

"So, er… is it true, then?" Ron had asked the moment he and Harry were alone, attempting to sound nonchalant, and failing miserably. "She was just joking, right? I mean, she's obviously just trying to make me jealous."

"Er..." said Harry, now wishing he had let Hermione be the one to sort Ron out. "I don't think so. … She seemed really sure that she wanted to go with me—I even asked her if she was just angry with you—you know…?"

Harry trailed off, half hoping that Ron would take it as if he were being dragged into it, but he knew that would probably just make things worse. He braced himself for a potential outburst and opened his mouth.

"So, you turned Hermione down, right?" Ron interjected before Harry got a single word out.

"Er..." said Harry, beginning to panic and now wishing even more than ever that he had let Hermione take the job, "...no. I said yes, actually—sorry Ron—and, er...and I think I do fancy Hermione a bit—maybe—to tell you the truth."

Ron stared at Harry and began to laugh uproariously. Harry was stunned—this certainly wasn't the reaction he had been expecting.

"Hahahahaha!" Ron continued laughing. "Good one, Harry! You almost had me fooled. … It's all right mate—I know you've got to keep it up until Hermione gives it up and stops trying to make me jealous. She'll have to try a lot harder than that—"

Ron was wheezing with laughter now, holding his sides. "It's not like anyone else here at Hogwarts would go with her—I'd see right through it."

Harry was quite sure that if Hermione had said she was going with Krum that he would have got quite a different reaction from Ron. This wasn't ideal by any means, but for the moment, Harry decided that he was going to give it a rest and try again in a few days to impress upon Ron that it was a very real date, and that Hermione wasn't at all interested in making him jealous.

It was nearly the weekend before Harry reckoned he ought to try again with Ron, but the prospect of facing yet another team practice without Katie Bell—especially with the match against Slytherin only a few weeks away—gave him another excuse to put it off. Harry needed a new Chaser as soon as possible.

"Hang on a minute," he told Ron after Transfiguration, "I need to talk to Dean."

Ron waited, and a few minutes later Harry rejoined him, relieved that Dean had been thrilled to fill in as Chaser. And then it was Saturday.

Quidditch practice was a disaster—not because of Dean, who fortunately turned out to be a halfway decent (hopefully temporary) replacement for Katie Bell—nor because of any other team members.

The problem was Ron.

He was quite a good goalkeeper on the days he was on his game—this was not one of those days. The upcoming Slytherin match, now only three weeks away, had sapped his confidence, which was shaky at the best of times.

After practice Harry sighed, hid his desperation, and did his best to reassure Ron that he would be brilliant.

"Buck up, Ron. You're the best Keeper I know," he lied. "Remember last year? You kicked arse against Slytherin when I was still banned from Quidditch."

"Yeah! I suppose," said Ron, looking a bit more cheerful at the pleasant memory as they entered the "secret" passage behind a tapestry which they often used as a shortcut.

Then he spotted Ginny and Dean just up ahead; they were snogging feverishly. Harry shook his head and smirked, only mildly surprised to find that the idea of Ginny and Dean snogging was no longer bothersome. Then a loud angry voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"OI!" yelled Ron.

"What?" Ginny snapped.

Harry groaned.

"What do you think you're doing?" said Ron, glowering at Dean who gave him a sheepish grin.

"Snogging my boyfriend," said Ginny frostily. "Now if you don't mind moving on, I'd like to get back to it."

"But... but—" Ron sputtered. "You… That's not on!"

Ginny glanced at her boyfriend. "Dean, it looks like I've got something to sort out with my brother."

"Oh! Er… right!" And then Dean was gone, having fled the scene so fast that he appeared to have vanished by magic.

"Okay!" said Ginny, her eyes narrowing at Ron. "What's your problem?"

Harry tried to ignore the storm he knew was about to break. But he snapped out of it when Ron snarled, "D'you think I want people going around saying my sister's a sl—"

"Blimey, Ron!" Harry cut him off, horrified. "Don't talk to her like that! She's your sister!"

"That's my bloody point!" Ron snapped. "Stay out of this, Harry."

"Yes, stay out of it! I can take care of this myself, Harry," said Ginny, with a hint of a smile, as if she at least appreciated the gesture.

"Right," Harry palmed his face and sighed, "I'll leave you both to it then."

"Good! … Now let's get this straight, Ron, you don't own me! I'm not your bloody slave! You can't tell me what to do!"

Harry tried his hardest not to listen as the Weasley fight turned into a blazing inferno. And then Ron's wand was in his hand, bringing Harry back to earth.

"Don't be an idiot!" he said, shoving Ron against the wall as some sort of orange hex shot under his arm from Ron's wand.

Ginny's furious features flickered; Harry saw her eyes glistening with tears.

"Jealous, are you?" she shouted. "Sorry, Ron! But I'm already taken. Maybe you should look for someone else to snog instead of me!"

Ginny quickly spun around before anyone could see her crying and stormed off.

Ron's face fell and Harry let him go.

"But—I didn't—that's not what I meant! You know I didn't mean it that way, don't you, Harry?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at him, then shook his head.

"Of course I do, Ron! Now stop being a prat, and let's go get cleaned up—"

"Yeah! You're right," Ron grunted as the scowl returned to his features.

As they made their way back to Gryffindor, Harry heard him muttering something which sounded suspiciously like "...snogged Krum..." under his breath.

Things didn't improve over the next few weeks as Ron yelled at anyone who dared to look at him "the wrong way." More than once he tried to start fights with Ginny and Hermione. It took Harry's every effort to try and keep them all apart. And, like Ginny, Hermione told him to keep out of it every time he tried to intervene.

If Harry didn't know better, he might have thought that Snape had polyjuiced himself to look like Ron. That horrid thought crossed his mind again during the last Quidditch practice before the match against Slytherin. Maybe Snape was trying to sabotage the Gryffindor team. Harry banged his fist against the side of his own head, trying to knock some sense into himself.

"Go on, then," he said quietly to Demelza Robbins, who was still crying after Ron had yelled at her for the umpteenth time, "Go get cleaned up, okay. I'll talk to him. … Let's just try and get through the match tomorrow—I'll work something out after that."

Demelza nodded and wiped away some tears on her sleeve.

Harry waited till everyone had gone, then he whirled around angrily to face Ron.

"Right, Ron!" he snarled. "I've had enough of this—either pull yourself together and stop treating everyone like crap, or that's it—you're done—you're off the team! Got it?"

Ron glared at Harry, his fists tightening, then he deflated miserably.

"Got it!" he nodded. "Probably for the best anyway! I'm complete rubbish! You might as well put McLaggen on the team—"

"That git? Not bloody likely," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "Look, Ron, when we win tomorrow—"

"We won't—"

"—you'll feel loads better, and everything will go back to normal, right?" Harry continued, ignoring Ron's comment.

~o0o~

Harry hardly got any sleep that night, tossing and turning worriedly. Ron seemed to have calmed down a bit, but the game was going to be a dead loss given the state he was in. And it was clear that Ron was still angry with Hermione and Ginny.

"What on earth is wrong with him?" Hermione had huffed, hot, angry tears running down her scarlet cheeks after Harry had separated them again earlier that evening.

"Erm… Nerves! The Quidditch match tomorrow!" Harry lied, thinking that it would be better if she didn't know that Ron was jealous of her snogging Krum during the Yule Ball. Especially as Harry was now worried what would happen after Slughorn's party.

If Ron was this angry about Hermione and Krum two years after the fact, how would he feel about Harry possibly snogging her (assuming that she was serious about fancying him)? Harry wasn't entirely sure that their friendship would survive.

"Everything'll go back to normal after the match tomorrow," he said more confidently than he felt. "You'll see."

"Hmm!" said Hermione, looking skeptical as she wiped away the tears from her cheeks, which looked a lot less red now. "I hope so."

Then, to his surprise, she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Whatever happens, you'll still have me," she said perceptively. "Good night, Harry."

As he lay in bed, tossing and turning and fretting about Ron, at least he had Hermione's declaration and kiss to keep himself from utter despair.

Harry woke the next morning feeling much better, despite only having a few hours sleep. He had an idea, and he was sure he somehow had Hermione to thank for that. He pulled her aside at the first opportunity and told her his plan.

"...So what d'you think?" he asked her hopefully.

"I'm not sure, Harry—"

"It's not like I would really be cheating."

"That's true," she agreed reluctantly. "And I suppose it could work. Placebos can be very effective sometimes, if a person really believes they've taken the real thing."

During breakfast, Harry pretended to secretly pour a bit of Felix Felicis into Ron's pumpkin juice and made sure to "accidentally" let Ron and Hermione see him doing it. Hermione played her part well, huffing at Harry and accusing him of cheating, making it all the more believable to Ron.

Harry was quite sure that after Gryffindor won the match a cheerful Ron would be back to normal and be a bit nicer to everyone—especially to Hermione.

Ron wasn't. After the match (which they had indeed won) Ron was downright unpleasant to Hermione, accusing her of thinking he was a loser, and then stalking up to the common room.

"Bloody hell!" Harry fumed. "I was so sure that would settle him down. I swear, I'm going to have some words with him after the celebration and kick him off the team!"

"Just leave it alone, Harry," said Hermione firmly. "There's no point just for my sake!"

"But—"

"If Ron's going to be an idiot, that's up to him," Hermione sniffed haughtily. "There isn't any point kicking Ron off the team, unless you'd rather have McLaggen."

Harry grit his teeth.

"Fine!" he growled, "But I swear, if he steps out of line again—"

"You'll keep it to yourself! I can take care of myself! … If he gives me a hard time I'll hex him—maybe conjure up some vultures and set them on him." She looked thoughtful for a moment and then added, "But if he makes Demelza cry again, feel free to give him the boot. You can always have new tryouts, and if you want, I'll confund McLaggen again."

"You'd really do that for me?" asked Harry, surprised. "I mean, you're a prefect, and I know you did that more for Ron's sake than mine."

"No I didn't!" Hermione asserted.

"Oh! Er… really?"

"Really."

Harry felt a swell of happiness which momentarily overwhelmed his anger at Ron. If things kept going this well he reckoned he should ask Hermione if she'd like to be his girlfriend—maybe at Slughorn's party.

"Anyway," Hermione went on, "we might as well go up to the common room. Ron isn't very likely to try and pick a fight while there's a party going on."

"Yeah—all right," said Harry absently, still lost in the pleasant thought of kissing Hermione properly. There was sure to be some mistletoe somewhere at Slughorn's party, which would be the perfect opportunity to snog her and spring the question.

Hermione rolled her eyes at his no doubt goofy expression and took his hand, leading him up the marble staircase to Gryffindor Tower. The Fat Lady lifted her painted eyebrows and peered at them both keenly.

"Hmm..." she said, "Apparently a celebration is in order."

"Er… Yes! We won the Quidditch match," said Harry, feeling a bit puzzled. "Didn't the others tell you?"

"Oh, indeed they did," she replied with an inscrutable little smile; she briefly reminded Harry of that picture—the Moaner something or other.

The Mona Lisa, the little voice in his head which sounded like Hermione reminded him, jogging a memory from his fourth year at primary school. Harry thought that perhaps he should start reading up on Muggle stuff too if he was going to be Hermione's boyfriend. He wasn't quite sure how she managed to keep up with Muggle schoolwork as well as her wizarding classes, but he reckoned he might as well give it a go.

He clambered through the portal into the common room, followed by Hermione. Harry winced as the cacophony of the partying Gryffindors hit his and Hermione's ears.

"There he is," Fred called out gleefully, thrusting butterbeers into their hands, "The man of the hour—"

"—and his partner in crime," said George; he glanced at Hermione and winked at Harry.

"Er," said Harry, the heat rising to his cheeks. "I suppose so," he added, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

George couldn't possibly know. Obviously he meant that Hermione was his other partner in crime, given all of the trouble that he, Hermione, and Ron had got into over the years. It didn't register to Harry that Hermione had slipped her arm around his waist until she rolled her eyes at George.

Then he saw Seamus grinning and pushing his way through the throng.

"You look like you need this, Harry!" said Seamus, thrusting a little glass of dark brown liquid into his free hand.

"Er," said Harry, peering at it and sniffing it cautiously.

"Firewhiskey," said Seamus giddily, "What about you, Hermione?" he asked, waving a large half-full flask of Ogden's Old in front of her face.

She backed up a bit and wrinkled her nose at the stink of alcohol on Seamus's breath.

"Oh, I'm fine, really," said Hermione; she managed to perform a reasonably good impression of gratitude. "This is more than enough for me," she added, lifting her butterbeer.

"Suit yourself," said Seamus, still grinning. "More for me." And then he was lost in the crowd again.

A group of giggling girls approached, Romilda Vane at the forefront. She batted her eyelashes at Harry.

"That was a brilliant catch, Harry," she said breathily.

"Yes, it was," said Hermione, her voice frosty as she narrowed her eyes at Romilda.

"Oh! Er… yes, yes it was," said Romilda as her eyes caught Hermione's arm around Harry's waist. Her cheeks reddened. "Well, er, enjoy the party you two."

Then she and her friends melted back into the mob, the lot of them looking disappointed. The next person they encountered was Parvati, who looked rather put out. Oddly, it was Ginny who was accompanying her instead of Lavender. Ginny's smirk broadened into a grin when she spotted Harry and Hermione.

"Have you seen them yet?" she asked.

"Who?" asked Harry and Hermione at the same time.

"Ron and Lavender," Parvati said glumly.

"Ron's making up for lost time," Ginny chortled, and she pointed across the common room at a couple engaged in a very public display of affection.

Harry gaped in astonishment at the pair. Sure enough, Ron's and Lavender's arms were wrapped tightly around each other, their hands roaming across regions of their anatomy more appropriate for a private setting. They looked like two octopuses merging into one.

Hermione clapped her hand to her mouth in disbelief and amusement, and began laughing her head off.

"I wonder how far his tongue is down Lavender's throat," said Ginny breezily.

"I really don't want to know," Harry groaned, palming his face and absentmindedly rubbing at his scar.

"You know he's just having a go at you and me, don't you?" Ginny added, ignoring Harry and grinning at Hermione who couldn't stop laughing.

"What?" Hermione managed to gasp in between giggles. "Why?"

"Well, he's scoring a notch on his belt too, I suppose," said Ginny; her grin gave way to an apologetic little smile. "But I sort of let the cat out of the bag a few weeks ago about you snogging Krum at the Yule Ball. Sorry Hermione. It slipped out when Ron and I—er..."

Harry sighed and decided to save Ginny the embarrassment of saying it herself.

"They got in a fight. Ron more or less called Ginny a slut after we found her and Dean snogging..."

Hermione gasped, looking appalled.

"He didn't!"

"He did!" said Ginny. "I should have told you—I think he was horrible to us this last few weeks because he was jealous of you snogging Krum and me snogging Dean."

"I'm sorry too, Hermione," said Harry, his cheeks burning. "I wanted to tell you, but—"

"—You couldn't think how to tell me that Ron was jealous of something which happened two years ago." Hermione rolled her eyes for the twentieth time that day, which might have been her all-time record. "It's all right Harry—I understand completely. … You too, Ginny—I probably would have done the same thing under those circumstances."

Then a wicked gleam sparked in her eyes, and she glanced at Harry. The naughty look softened, and she blushed, biting her lip shyly.

Harry gulped; the heat rose to his cheeks and his heart began to race. That was the look she had given him when she had admitted in the greenhouse that she really did fancy him.

"Come on, Harry," said Hermione suddenly, and she grabbed his hand.

"Wait—what?" Harry was horrified when she began to drag him through the crowd towards Ron and Lavender.

"It's okay, Harry—We might as well kill two birds with one stone."

"Er..." He glanced back at Ginny and Parvati who were trailing behind.

Ginny shrugged, but a slight smirk crossed her lips, as if she had some vague idea of what Hermione was up to. Parvati had perked up too, and was looking very interested. The crowd parted like the Red Sea and people cheerily and noisily congratulated Harry on a well played match as he passed through the channel they had created.

As he and Hermione drew nearer to the intertwined couple, Harry noticed what he hadn't before: Ron's eyes furtively darting around the common room every so often, despite his lips being glued to Lavender's, as if he was seeking out someone in particular.

Then Ron seemed to find who he was looking for, and for a moment, Harry thought Ron was looking at him. Then he realised that Ron was looking at the bushy-haired girl beside him. Ron snogged Lavender even more vigorously at the sight of Hermione, and one of his hands slid down Lavender's back until it was resting on her bum.

Ron looked a bit puzzled when Hermione smiled brightly at him and waved. His eyes followed her as she led Harry towards an unoccupied well-cushioned armchair in a dimly lit, more tranquil corner of the common room.

"Why don't we sit here, Harry?" she said casually, as if she weren't being intensely scrutinised by Ron.

"Oh, er—there doesn't look like enough room, Hermione."

"Don't be silly. There's plenty of room. You sit down first."

Harry sat and Hermione plonked herself on his lap. He was glad now for the shot of firewhiskey that Seamus had given him. He was sure that he might have had a heart attack otherwise. Then he noticed Ron's eyes widening; Lavender seemed oblivious, focused more on tickling his tonsils with her tongue as she was.

"Hmm..." said Hermione, glancing up at a chandelier and smiling, "Look Harry, mistletoe."

"Er… really?" Harry squeaked; his face felt like it was going to light on fire.

"Really," said Hermione.

Harry looked up and saw that she was right—his heart was throbbing loudly in his ears now.

"Oh!"

Hermione's face drew closer to his own.

"You don't mind, do you?"

Harry shook his head, unable to speak. The next thing he knew, Hermione's soft lips were pressed against his own, and she was cradling his tousled head between her hands. Harry responded, his hands instinctively encircling her waist.

The kiss wasn't frenzied and sloppy, unlike the one being performed by the pair of eels on display under the spotlight closer to the cheering and hooting horde of Gryffindors; it was gentle and demure, and yet somehow intense and passionate at the same time. The glowing ember deep inside Harry took flame, the warmth filling him from head to toe. It wasn't a long kiss, but the moment seemed to last a lifetime.

Not many were paying attention to the darker recesses of the room. They were too busy being entertained by the show that Ron and Lavender were putting on.

Harry's and Hermione's lips parted, and they both blushed when they heard Ginny and Parvati roaring with laughter. But it wasn't them that Ginny and Parvati were laughing at.

Ron had come up for air for a better look and had hot-pink lipstick smeared across his dumbfounded features. Lavender was too engrossed nuzzling Ron's neck and giving him hickeys to notice him staring at Harry and Hermione in shock.

Hermione's wicked gleam was back and she giggled at Ron's expression. Even dazed as he was, Harry grinned at the look on Ron's face. Now Harry understood what Hermione had meant about killing two birds with one stone, and he rather thought that Ron had it coming after what he'd put her through the last few weeks.

After Hermione's kiss had made Harry's brain go all fuzzy and melted his insides, he had no doubt that "fancying" him was an understatement. But if he had had any doubts whatsoever, her whispered query into his ear would have put them to rest…

~o0o~

Billowing clouds of hot vapour poured across Platform 9 and ¾ as the gleaming red steam engine finally pulled into King's Cross, brakes shrieking. Molly Weasley kept an eagle eye out for her children as students spilled onto the platform. Arthur was working late again, as he often was these days—if not for the Ministry, then on some sort of job for the Order.

Molly's face lit up when she spotted Ron and Ginny amongst the mob, and she heaved a sigh of relief to see that they had both arrived, safe and sound. She waved to get their attention.

"Over here," she shouted. Molly flung her arms around her two remaining Hogwarts age children and squeezed them both tightly when they finally managed to break free of the crowd.

"Urgh! Mum... Let a man breathe!" Ron gasped. Molly released Ron and Ginny, beaming at them both before glaring at her son.

"Right then, so what's all this I hear from Professor McGonagall about your marks slipping?" she demanded, her eyes drilling into Ron.

"Er..." he squeaked, his ears turning red.

"I see," said Molly, sighing and shaking her head. "We'll leave that till before you go back to Hogwarts, then—there's no point in spoiling Christmas—"

Ron's all too apparent relief at her proclamation evaporated when she finished her sentence."Where's Harry?" she asked. "I thought he'd be with you two."

"With Hermione," Ron muttered irritably. "He's staying with her for Christmas instead... Ow! Stop doing that!" Ron snapped at Ginny when she swatted him on the shoulder.

"Then bloody grow up!" Ginny shot back. "You've already got a girlfriend. Hermione is Harry's girlfriend—why can't you get that through your thick head?"

~o0o~

Harry stepped onto platform 9 and ¾ with Hermione. They were among the last off the train. He couldn't be happier that they had settled their differences regarding the Prince's potions book, though Hermione continued to maintain that there was a possibility that the previous owner had been a girl—which was fine with Harry. He could live with that.

Also, happily, Hermione had come around regarding Draco being a Death Eater and being responsible for Katie Bell's near murder. And she had readily agreed that there was something highly suspicious about Snape offering to help Draco with his secret mission. Likewise, she had managed to convince Harry to keep an open mind about the possibility that Snape was simply offering to help Draco in order to discover what his secret mission was.

Harry could live with that too.

He and Hermione were more or less on the same page now, after having been at odds for a few months regarding those particular topics, and that was good enough for him. Her agreement to follow Draco and Snape with him during Slughorn's Christmas party had been a godsend, settling most of their remaining disagreements once and for all.

Now the worst he had to face was meeting Hermione's parents.

He swallowed anxiously when he spotted them standing near the barrier which separated Platform 9 and ¾ from the Muggle world. Mr Granger was peering directly at him, his eyes narrowing. He was apparently taking note of Harry's arm around his daughter's waist. Harry dropped his arm immediately.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry and grabbed his hand.

"Don't be silly, Harry. Dad is going to love you!"

"If you say so," Harry muttered as his heart began thudding hard against the wall of his chest.

He wished he'd thought to dress in something a bit spiffier than a woolly jumper and jeans with threadbare knees. Mr Granger looked immaculate and intimidating in his suit and tie and perfectly combed dark hair. Mrs Granger looked puzzled, but warmer and more inviting. She had a full head of tawny-brown hair much like her daughter's, but which had clearly been subjected to some attempts at taming.

"Mum, Dad—" Hermione shouted, beaming and ignoring her father's expression. She broke free from Harry and threw herself upon them both.

"Oof!" said Mr Granger with a grin, temporarily distracted from Harry. "That's the hug I've been waiting ages for."

"Hello dear! I've missed you too!" Mrs Granger laughed at her daughter's exuberant embrace. "And it's nice to meet you properly, Harry. Hermione's written rather a lot about you in her letters over the years."

At that, Mr Granger turned his cooling gaze back on Harry.

"Will your friend be joining us for dinner?" Mr Granger asked pointedly.

"My boyfriend," Hermione corrected her father, "Harry and I are together now."

"I see," said Mr Granger stiffly, "As I recall, you're the one who posed for pictures with that buffoon in the bookshop?"

Mr Granger's tone was mildly disparaging. Hermione's mother gave her husband a sharp look of disapproval.

"Er... y-yes sir! Th-that's me." Harry stammered, shaking Mr Granger's hand, trying not to sound put out at the notion that he had deliberately posed with Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Anyway," Mrs Granger interjected, apparently to forestall any further interrogation by Hermione's father, "what happened with your friend Ron? We said hello to the Weasleys a few minutes ago. They all looked a bit out of sorts."

"Just a bit of a mix up," Hermione said airily. "They thought Harry would be staying with them for Christmas."

"Oh? So where is Harry staying for Christmas then? With that rude looking Uncle of his?" asked Mrs Granger. "Er... sorry Harry!" she quickly added, suddenly thinking better of her bluntness.

"No! Quite all right!" said Harry, grinning. He was starting to like Mrs Granger already. "He's horrible actually."

"And I was hoping that Harry could stay with us for Christmas!" said Hermione, fixing her mother and father with a hard stare.

"Oh!" Mrs Granger glanced at her husband worriedly. "Well... I, er, suppose. We've certainly got plenty of room."

"Yes—plenty of room!" Mr Granger managed a stiff smile which appeared to be hiding gritted teeth. "Well, we'd best be getting on then. It's getting a bit late. Maybe we should just grab a bite to eat on the way home."

Mrs Granger smiled and relaxed when it appeared that her husband was going to accept the situation to the best of his ability and behave in a civilised manner, and they made their way to the carpark.

Her smile vanished moments later when Mr Granger whispered loudly enough for Harry and Hermione to hear, "Well, I suppose it could be worse, Jean. At least the boy looks reasonably intelligent, unlike her gormless ginger friend."

"Richard!" gasped Mrs Granger. "Don't be so rude."

Hermione tried to hide a snort of laughter and she nudged Harry in the ribs.

"See?" she said quietly. "I told you he'd love you."

"Mm," said Harry noncommittally, still feeling rather dubious.

A few days later, sitting on the floor next to the Christmas tree with Hermione, Christmas music playing quietly in the background, Harry was feeling more relaxed and quite pleased with himself for a change. Hermione's father had warmed up to Harry much faster than he had thought he would. Mr Granger was peering with great interest at the book which Harry had given the Grangers for Christmas.

"My word!" said Mr Granger, as he adjusted his reading glasses. "Potioneer Extraordinaire: A Biography of Hector Dagworth-Granger..." he murmured to himself. "I'll have to do a bit of research into the family tree..."

Hermione beamed and gave Harry a peck on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Harry."

Harry grinned back at her.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione."

He felt better than he could remember feeling since the beginning of fourth year, before his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire.

Hermione was now his girlfriend, and he reckoned that after a few more weeks Ron would be reasonably cheerful, having settled into his relationship with Lavender enough to forget about Hermione. Ron was certainly enjoying all the affection that Lavender was lavishing upon him despite his continued annoyance.

All in all, it had to be the best Christmas that Harry could remember since his first happy Christmas with Ron, and Harry felt ready to face whatever horrible things the future had in store at him with Hermione at his side...

AN: If I missed personally responding to any of your reviews, my apologies. I'll try to get to everyone this time. Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays for those who celebrate something other at this time of year.

Some of you might recognise a paragraph or two from one of my other stories, which have been revised for this story (they were fitting for the way I wanted this story to go).