Author's Note: Well, this chapter was written rather quickly, wasn't it? I felt a bit guilty after the severe lack of updates last time. Also, two of the characters who appear in here have been borrowed from friends of mine: Cassandra Harvey belongs to Bohemian Storm (she's featured in the amazing Ends of the Earth, which you all must read), and Nikki Mason belongs to PepsiAngel (It's a Hairdresser's Life is the funniest fic. Ever.)

As always, thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed. You know I adore you, dahlings.

Chapter Ten: Desperately Needed Nonchalance

After one day had passed, it was pretty clear that Ron and Hermione's no-arguing pact was going to fail miserably.

After two days had passed, everything the couple said to each other was spoken in an unhealthily strained tone and accompanied by a dangerously forced smile.

After three days had passed, they simply stopped being in the same room at the same time, as it was apparently just too painful to attempt to handle.

By the time December 24th rolled around, the two were incredibly snappish at whoever they could be...besides each other.

Which meant, quite simply, that Harry and Ginny were suffering an excess amount of verbal abuse.

"Harry, do you have to tap your foot like that?" Hermione snapped viciously as she studied herself in the looking glass, attempting to style her hair. "It's incredibly annoying."

"Sorry," Harry muttered, quite bitterly, as he ceased his incredibly annoying foot-tapping. He attempted to smooth his own hair, but without much luck. Why was it that whenever he had to attend a semi-formal occasion, his hair always decided to take on a life of its own?

Oh well. No doubt Mrs. Weasley would fuss over it anyway. The four were on their way to the Ministry's Christmas party, which was being held at the Weasleys' house that year on account of Mr. Weasley's recent promotion to Minister of Magic. Harry had enjoyed the annual party during years past, but somehow he got the vibe that this year the holiday spirit wouldn't be quite...there.

"Ginny!" Ron's voice thundered furiously from down the hall. "Are you trying to bloody kill me?!"

Harry watched as Hermione rolled her eyes and scowled.

Nope. Not exactly Christmas-ly behavior.

At all.

"Well, I'm sorry, Ron!" Ginny cried back indignantly. "I'll never purely accidentally step on your foot again! How dare I do such a thing? God damn me to hell!"

"It's those...shoes!" Ron was proclaiming angrily as their voices grew louder; Harry supposed they were entering the living room. "Who the hell wears torture devices on their feet?"

"They're heels, you idiot."

"They're bloody insane-"

"Shut up!" Harry cut in irritably. He had heard nothing but fighting for the past week, and it was really beginning to grate on his nerves.

He spun around to face Ron and Ginny - and perhaps yell a bit more, as it felt quite good - when his voice died in his throat.

Ginny.

Harry blinked and focused his gaze on her again, just to make sure that he hadn't been seeing some strange sort of ethereal hallucination.

Nope. That was definitely Ginny.

And yet...

There simply weren't words to describe her, or perhaps not any words that Harry could think of at the moment. Her red hair fell in loose, lazy waves to bare shoulders; she was clad in a long black dress that shimmered as though encrusted with a million tiny diamonds. Her pale skin was flawless, almost luminous - her brown eyes seemed even brighter than usual, and her lips were painted a rich crimson.

And then all the words flew back to him.

Stunning. Gorgeous. Ethereal. Surreal. Exquisite. Radiant. Dazzling. Enticing.

Beautiful.

"You look....nice," he choked weakly.

Oh, yes. Great word choice there, Potter. You have all those wonderful adjectives and then you settle with....nice. Very smooth.

Ginny, however, seemed flattered nonetheless. Her gaze flew shyly to the floor for a moment before she looked up again and gave him a tiny smile. "Thanks. So do you."

He grinned weakly. "Not really. My hair's gone insane."

"It's cute," she protested, laughing a little.

Ron groaned. "Oh, bloody hell. Can we go already? You two are..."

He fell silent, however, when Hermione flashed him a death glare that Harry would never in a million years want to be directed at him.

"Let's go, Ron," she said, apparently exasperated as she marched over and took his arm in her own, dragging her fiancee toward the fireplace. He was still glaring in annoyance at Harry and Ginny as Hermione shoved a handful of Floo Powder at him.

"The Burrow," he grumbled, stepping into the emerald flames.

Hermione followed suit, leaving Harry and Ginny standing alone in the living room.

"They're going to lose it at each other," Harry predicted. "There's no way that they can keep this up much longer."

"Let's just hope it's not tonight," Ginny replied. "Mum will kill them if they make a scene at the party."

Harry cringed.

Judging by the way that his best friends had been acting, they had quite the slim chance of making it out of that evening alive.

*

"Ron! Ginny! Hermione! Harry, dear!"

Harry found himself being pulled into a hug by Mrs. Weasley the second he stepped from the fireplace. She smiled warmly at him and studied him for a moment after pulling away, then, as expected, began to smooth his hair.

After this was done, she turned to Ron and Ginny and greeted them both warmly, then gave Hermione a quick hug as well.

Harry surveyed the room - it was already filled with people, even though they'd arrived five minutes early. He spotted many familiar Ministry members, as well as Weasley family members who were easily spotted due to their flaming red hair.

"Your brothers are all here already," Mrs. Weasley informed Ron and Ginny. "Bill brought a new girlfriend with him...a French girl, very pretty. I believe she was in the Triwizard Tournament with you, Harry dear."

Ron's ears immediately went crimson, and Hermione fixed him with a very pointed Look.

"Fleur Delacour?" Ron croaked.

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Weasley said with a nod, apparently oblivious. "That's her name. She seems a bit...confident, doesn't she?"

"Just a bit," Hermione agreed, smirking. Ron looked most agonized. "But I suppose that doesn't really matter, does it, Ron?"

"Shut up, Hermione," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Mrs. Weasley studied the not-so-happy couple in confusion. "Is something wrong?"

"Not at all, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione with her most charming smile. Ron scowled.

"So you're still getting married?" Mrs. Weasley asked, glancing rather nervously back and forth at her son and future daughter-in-law.

"Yeah," Ron said darkly.

"Good, good," Mrs. Weasley said, looking vastly relieved. "It's just...we all know how you two can...get sometimes."

"What?" Ron snapped irritably.

Sensing an oncoming argument that he didn't particularly want to witness, Harry left his best friends and Mrs. Weasley behind and began to walk slowly around the Weasley house. He spotted Remus Lupin in the corner, his arm wrapped around his fiancee Cassandra Harvey's waist as he conversed with Mr. Weasley.

Harry waved before continuing to study the inhabitants of the Weasley household. Everyone looked vaguely familiar until his gaze landed upon a curvy blonde with a wad of gum in her mouth and a very bored expression on her face.

Wondering if she was perhaps a new addition to the Ministry - though she didn't look anything like the other workers - he walked over and greeted her, a bit awkwardly. "Hullo."

She looked up at him with rather expressionless eyes. "Hi."

Friendly.

"I'm Harry Potter," he offered hopefully.

"Nicole Mason," she replied tonelessly.

Well, this was a smashing success of a conversation.

"D'you work at the Ministry?" Harry asked, trying again.

She shook her head. "I'm here with my boyfriend. You see, I'm a...what do you call them?"

"Muggle?" Harry supplied.

She nodded. "Yeah, that. He's a...wizard." She smirked. "Or so he claims."

Harry blinked. "You don't believe in magic?"

Well, this was odd.

"Oh, no, I can't exactly argue with that-" she nodded toward the red-and-gold fairies that flew around the house, very much enjoying their roles as decorations, "-but, well...he's a bit...shall I say..."

"Could it be...Harry Potter?"

Oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

Harry looked up, dread surging through him, and was nearly blinded by sparkling white teeth.

Oh yes. It was (unfortunately) the one, the only, the magical, the utterly unbearable...

Gilderoy Lockhart.

Beaming widely, Mr. Magical Me turned to the blonde woman and said, "Darling, do come and socialize with me. It's tedious work, but it has to be done!" He chortled winningly. "And besides, I think everyone knows who the life of the party is!"

"He's your boyfriend?" Harry asked incredulously.

Who was this woman, exactly? She had seemed semi-normal, but it was now quite clear that she was absolutely mental. Perhaps the pair had met at St. Mungo's.

"Don't ask," she replied, wrinkling her nose. "Love works in strange, mysterious, and utterly sick ways."

Harry nodded weakly.

"Come along now, Nikki!" Lockhart said, an eerily perfect smile still fixed on his eerily perfect face. "If I'm not mistaken, Severus Snape just walked in with that Sinistra woman! I know, I know, he's usually a rather unpleasant fellow, but I'm sure that a conversation with me will bring a smile to his face!"

Nikki snorted, and Lockhart studied her in confusion for a moment before she rose and followed him over toward Snape and Sinistra.

Well, well, well.

Harry couldn't help but wonder if Fred and George Weasley had been in charge of the invitations, as only they could find such horrendous guests even the slightest bit amusing. The unpleasant situation, however, was improved a bit by the expression of sheer revolt on Snape's face as Lockhart made his way over, smiling broadly.

"Well, isn't this interesting?"

Harry turned to see Ginny standing behind him, smirking in Lockhart's direction.

"Very," Harry replied, grinning. He tried to ignore the fact that she really looked gorgeous to the point where his heart raced a bit when he saw her, and instead focused on forming a coherent sentence. "Who, exactly, was responsible for the invitations?"

"Mum," Ginny replied. "But I think Fred and George threw a few extras in without her knowing."

"Somehow I suspected that."

Ginny laughed lightly; she had a very pretty laugh. It reminded him of silk and music and rose petals, softly beautiful.

. . . And it also sent his mind into a frenzy of nauseating poetic thoughts.

Which simply had to stop.

It was hazardous to his own brain.

"Harry?"

He shook his head dumbly, pulling himself from his reverie.

Ginny was staring at him curiously, and he felt his cheeks flush.

Great. He was blushing.

Go ahead. Just call me Harry Potter, ladies man.

"Sorry, sorry," he said sheepishly. "I was just thinking, and...you look really beautiful."

Where had that come from?

It apparently hadn't been a bad thing to say, however - a light blush rose over Ginny's face, and she smiled at him. "Thanks. Again."

He shrugged, struggling to attain desperately-needed nonchalance. "You...yeah."

"Me...yeah?" she repeated, giving him an amused smile that made him feel incredibly stupid.

"Sorry," he said weakly. "I'm not too coherent tonight."

"It's all right," Ginny said, still smiling, but more kindly now.

Harry wondered vaguely why it suddenly felt so strange to be around her. It wasn't a bad sort of strange, just something completely different. And yet...it was unsettling, really, how utterly stupid this made him feel. He felt as though something pitifully obvious had been hovering around in his mind for ages, taunting him mercilessly, and he was just now realizing it.

Well, this was humiliating.

But on the other hand, if he ignored his severely wounded pride, it was nice, knowing. What he knew now had yet to process in his mind, but it was something, and the sense of awareness was...comforting. Reassuring.

Nice.

It was pathetic, really, that the entirety of what he was feeling could be summed up into a basic four letter word that was right up there with 'mummy' and 'daddy' on the complexity scale. And yet it was true; there was nothing flamboyant about this, nothing flashy or spectacular.

It was warm, and subtle, and comfortable, and...right.

And it, he realized with a start, was Ginny.

He, Harry Potter, was absolutely head-over-heels for Ginny Weasley. He fancied her, to put it quite plainly. And yet that seemed too insignificant for what he was feeling now. Perhaps, it was more than just fancying her. Perhaps...

Perhaps he lov-
"Ron!"

Harry jumped, startled, and his gaze (along with everyone else's in the room) flew over to where Ron and Hermione were standing.

"You!" Hermione shrieked. (Harry cringed.) "You have been driving me absolutely insane for the past week! Insane! What with your...your stupid comments and your constant swearing and the fact that you are the most annoying person I've ever met! I don't know how I went so long without arguing with you, but I will never, ever do it again, for fear of losing my own sanity!"

Silence.

Hermione looked up then, her face flushed with anger as her brown eyes sparkled dangerously; her cheeks grew even redder as she realized how many people had witnessed her little outburst.

Someone coughed. Harry thought he heard Snape snicker, only to be shushed by Sinistra.

"What are you looking at?" Hermione demanded irritably of the audience she'd collected.

Harry saw at once that she'd set herself up, but fury seemed to have clouded her judgment.

"What the bloody hell do you think they're looking at?!" Ron exploded; his ears had gone entirely red. A bad sign. A very bad sign. "For someone who's apparently so damn smart, you haven't got very good observation skills!"

"You are the most incorrigible-"

"There you go, throwing thirteen syllable words into everyday conversation-"

"Infuriating-"

"Oh, yes, Hermione, it's all my fault-"

"Obnoxious-"

"Because of course nothing is the glowing, perfect Saint Hermione's fault-"

"Insufferable-"

"And so I suppose if we go through with this bloody ridiculous marriage, everything will be my fault-"

"Agonizing-"

"And I'm not sure if I like that idea, Hermione!"

"Well, then I think we both know what the solution is, don't we?" Hermione shouted.

Harry cringed. Ginny cringed. Mrs. Weasley cringed. The fifty-or-so other assorted guests cringed. (Except Snape, who smirked and was rewarded by Sinistra's elbow jabbing into his stomach rather violently.)

"Yes," Ron said; his voice was quiet now. "I suppose we do."

And with that, he turned and disappeared from the room. A nervous chatter immediately filled the air, and Hermione stood, frozen, and blinked a few times.

"I'll handle Ron," Ginny murmured to him. "You talk to Hermione."

"Okay," Harry agreed weakly. Really, he wasn't sure which of them had it worse - both Ron and Hermione were quite hazardous to deal with after a row. But Harry supposed that if worst came to worst, it would hurt less to be punched by Hermione than Ron.

Then again, Hermione probably had a much more extensive knowledge of torture spells.

But Ginny had already left the room in pursuit of Ron, so Harry reluctantly made his way over to Hermione, who was still staring blankly at the door where Ron had left.

"Come on," he said, very tentatively wrapping an arm around her waist. To his surprise, she didn't lash out at him with the unadulterated fury of a thousand premenstrual Medusas. Instead, she didn't resist as he led her up the stairs. They stopped in the tiny sliver of a hall, and silence surrounded them.

"Are you okay?" he finally asked.

She was blinking rapidly.

"I hate him sometimes," she muttered, impatiently wiping her eyes.

Harry blinked. It was obvious that for the time being, it was up to he and Ginny to save his best friends' engagement.

. . .

No pressure or anything.

"Hermione, it can't just...end."

"Why?" she snapped.

"It just..." Er, "...can't."

Well, that was brilliant reasoning. No doubt she'd go running back into Ron's arms after hearing that life-changing statement.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," she scolded irritably. "There's no way we could get married."

"Why not?" he asked intelligently.

"Well...I...just..." she sputtered incredulously. "Harry, look at us! We'd be constantly fighting! We'd be divorced in a month!"

"You don't know that," Harry protested. "And you guys have had tons of huge arguments before, and yet you're still best friends." He paused. "Or...whatever you are."

"What if we're nothing?" Hermione mumbled, gaze falling to the floor.

All right. This was getting to be too much.

"Hermione, of course you're something!" he said impatiently. "You two have the most passionate relationship of anyone I know!"

Hermione looked up and raised an eyebrow at him quizzically.

Ouch. Word choice.

"Not...passionate like..." He felt himself blushing. Oh, his articulacy was downright stunning tonight. "Like...that. Just..."

She was looking at him; her expression was almost hopeful. He could tell that she was desperate for a reason as to why she and Ron were meant to be. Which, he had thought for quite sometime, was too obvious to even deserve a reason, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"You both feel so much for each other," he said weakly. "And for...I don't know, for everything."

"What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously.

"Oh, you know," Harry said. "Like Spew in fourth year, and-"

"S.P.E.W," Hermione corrected at once. "Honestly, will you ever stop that-"

"Fine, S.P.E.W.," Harry said impatiently. "The point is, you two always...feel things completely. You're never mildly interested in something, or vaguely angry, or anything like that." He paused. "And...I don't know. You two have always felt completely for each other."

Hermione seemed to be seriously considering his words, and for good measure he added in conclusion, "And I think you'd both, you know, feel completely miserable if you weren't together."

She smiled weakly at him. "We would be, wouldn't we?"

Harry nodded, feeling relieved. It seemed as though he'd calmed Hermione down successfully. He only hoped that Ginny was having as much luck with Ron.

"...But do I have to apologize?" Hermione asked after a moment of silence. "He did start the argument; he should be mature enough to know that he owes me an apology-"

"Hermione!" Harry cut in, frustrated. "You are going to go out there, and..."

* * *

"You are going to apologize!" Ginny said firmly, glaring at Ron. "Now."

"Fine, fine," he grumbled, rising from the bench where they'd made themselves semi-comfortable in the front yard. "But you realize that you're completely destroying any bit of pride that I have-"

"Oh, shut up," Ginny ordered, smiling at him. "You'd better get in there before Hermione sees Lockhart and forgets about you completely."

"Funny," Ron said dryly, but Ginny didn't fail to notice how his pace quickened a little as he made his way inside the house.

Sighing to herself, she stared up at the velvety black sky and watched with a childish wonder as snowflakes fell from it. It had been, all in all, a suitable evening so far. Ron and Hermione's engagement seemed as though it could be repaired ( it was obvious that the two couldn't live without each other...fifty percent of the time, they couldn't live with each other either, but that was just tough luck).

And Harry...

She smiled a bit. His behavior that night had been...different. He seemed almost interested in her, something that she'd practically decided would never happen. But for once, he had been the one to lose all articulacy whatsoever in her presence. She wondered vaguely how he would behave around butter dishes.

Perhaps something could change. Perhaps, after all these years, it would. It was almost scary to think about; she'd grown so completely accustomed to unrequited love that the possibility of his liking her in return was incredibly foreign.

It seemed so utterly magical - a fairytale of sorts. For years and years, the young maid watched the prince, loving him from afar, and then one day he realized that he loved her as well...

And they lived happily ever after.

Surreal. Perfect.

And yet...too simple.

For the first time, there were no complications, nothing attempting to stop this.

Except...

Draco.

Yes.

Draco.

How was it that she'd entirely forgotten about him tonight? She felt guilty at once for doing so: after all, it seemed as though he was interested in her, something that she was quite unaccustomed to, and now she was simply ignoring him for Harry.

But really, she couldn't let herself overreact. Draco Malfoy was not at all the type to fall head-over-heels in love with anyone after two dates - hell, he wasn't the type to fall head-over-heels in love in general. And if the rare occurrence should happen in which he did, it wouldn't be with someone like her. It would be with someone like that Cryssa woman, who was flawlessly beautiful and rich and cold and sarcastic and quite possibly evil.

Draco didn't need her, she was certain of that. He wouldn't mind if something were to happen between her and Harry; he'd make fun of her for it, of course, and throw a few sneers and biting comments her way, but that was it.

She sighed again, closing her eyes and allowing tiny snowflakes to cover her face and hair. The warm, sparkling feeling that always came along with Christmas had hit her full-force that evening, and she delighted in it.

"Ginny?"

It was Harry.

She opened her eyes to find him mere inches away from her, and she shrieked in surprise. He laughed, and she fixed him with a glare that was completely insincere.

"Don't scare me like that," she scolded lightly. "You'll give me a heart attack."

"Sorry," he apologized, sinking down onto the bench next to her. His hand brushed against hers, and a spark of electricity seemed to run through her fingers.

"So," Ginny said, "Have the star-crossed lovers made up yet?"

Harry nodded. "Hermione did the 'Oh, Ron!'-and-then-burst-into-tears act."

Ginny grinned. "That one always seems to work."

"Tried 'n true since 1993," Harry added, smiling back.

A comfortable silence fell upon them as both watched the falling snow. She wondered vaguely what it would be like to dance with him, to kiss him, to hear him confess that he cared about her.

...And yet, she found that she didn't need any of that. Just sitting next to him in this warm silence was enough.

It was strange. She'd never truly felt anything considering Harry to be enough before.

Suddenly it was, and there was a subtle beauty about it. Her heart felt at peace, cliché as it sounded.

"Ginny."

His voice broke the silence, very softly.

"Yes?" she asked.

He took a deep breath. "Ginny, I-"

"There you are!"

The pair turned simultaneously to see Sirius and Hadia standing in the threshold, smiling knowingly at them.

Ginny immediately felt her cheeks flush, and cringed. Honestly, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's not as though they've caught you snogging senselessly.

"They're going to make a toast to Ron and Hermione in a minute," Sirius said. "You may want to come inside." His dark eyes were sparkling. "Unless, of course, you'd rather stay out here, in which case I'm sorry to interrupt."

"Sirius!" Hadia scolded gently, but her eyes were dancing mischievously as well.

Quite the match made in heaven.

"No, it's all right," Harry said, glaring at Sirius. "We'll come inside."

"Okay then," Sirius grinned, then glanced upward. He whispered something to Hadia that Ginny couldn't hear, then pecked her on the lips quickly before glancing back at them. Ginny smiled weakly, and the pair waved back before disappearing into the house.

"I suppose we should go inside then," Harry said, standing up. Ginny nodded, and felt her cheeks flush for what seemed the millionth time that night when he offered his hand. She took it, then let go quite reluctantly once he'd helped her up.

They walked silently to the door, and remembering Sirius and Hadia's odd exchange earlier, Ginny looked up to see what they could have been whispering about.

Hanging very innocently at the top of the door frame was a twig of mistletoe.

Her heartbeat immediately doubled.

Perhaps Harry wouldn't notice. Perhaps they'd just walk right along through the door, and that would be that.

Unfortunately, Harry did notice, and his gaze followed hers.

Her cheeks positively scarlet now, she alternated staring at him, the conveniently placed mistletoe, and the floor. The little rotation had stopped on him when he ran a hand through his hair nervously and said, "Well..."

"Well..." she repeated weakly, nervous laughter spilling from her lips.

He shrugged helplessly. "I suppose it is tradition, right?"

She nodded, suddenly feeling a bit dizzy. But a nice sort of dizzy; the sort of dizzy one felt after having a glass of champagne. Not downright senselessly drunk, just...giddy.

He smiled at her.

She smiled back.

And slowly, he leaned down to kiss her.