Chapter Ten

With Christmas approaching fast, Harry could think of nothing else but the Formal Ball. Just after they returned, he would face Cho again, to discover her exact feelings. Ever since the argument last year at the Hog's Head, she'd been rather quiet and uninterested. He often noted her sneaking glances at him and questioning his Quidditch friends; but he, too, had taken a vow of silence. She faded in and out of his mind, floating through his memories like an apparition. He thought of her as he thought of his parents- a flowing shape of light, and smoke. He remembered her like a victim from Voldemort's wand. The kiss, his first, had been memorable, but truly, he had no care for love at the moment. He thought of Tamora now, and Malfoy, and just how miserable she could be.

Mrs. Weasley sat down on a chair by the window. Ron was very obviously bothered that his mother had joined their conversation, even if it was simply sitting down in the same area. Harry hoped that Ron wasn't still upset about Madam Malkin's when Draco threatened them. His mother had only done what she thought was best... But somehow, he knew Ron was still angry about that, too. But again Harry thought about the dreaded Christmas, and how he wished for Tamora to stay with them in the Burrow... All sadness combined made his own Christmas seem rather bleak, and he sighed sadly.

"Don't worry Harry- cheer up! She's fine." Hermione tried her best to comfort Harry, but it was hopeless. "You remember what she did to Draco's nose? She can take care of herself."

"Not around that fool. He'll kill her. He's a Death Eater."

"What?" Harry said, looking up suddenly.

"He's a Death Eater. My Dad told me."

Mrs. Weasley cut in (rather loudly). "Ronald Weasley! Didn't your father just tell you not to spread these rumors!"

"Well you wouldn't be angry if they were ru–"

"—Not another word! That's strictly Ministry business. If they decide to tell any of these things to the wizarding world, let them tell everyone!"

Hermione attempted to cut in, "But, Mrs. Weasley–"

"Hermione," she said, struggling to be calm.

"Children," said Mr. Weasley authoritatively. "Let's just say these rumors are true. Not that they are... But... If they were. One person tells another, tells another, etcetera and so on... If this gets back to the Minister's ears, they'll put Draco Malfoy in a prison for minors- and eventually, Azkaban..."

"–that was the idea..." Ron started with a grin. Harry could tell he was imagining Malfoy locked in Azkaban, surrounded by Dementors. It was quite a pleasant thought, though Harry admitted to himself that no one deserved such horror. Well, almost no one... The amazing bouncing ferret might've already earned his place.

"...Ron," Mr. Weasley continued (though Harry could tell that Mr. Weasley thought it a good idea too), "if Draco's placed in some prison, his father will come looking for him- with all the Death Eaters, maybe even with... You-Know-Who."

"Wait," said Harry, mulling this over. If Fudge didn't know... "Why would the Minister lock Malfoy away?"

"The Minister's not a brave one, is he, Dad?" George broke in.

Fred answered, too. "Kind of a ninny. Fears for his own life, I'll bet."

"With good reason!" Mrs. Weasley said. "Don't know what they were thinking... Putting Tamora Black in the home of a Malfoy!" Mrs. Weasley stood opposite her husband, eyeing them all. "That poor girl will be killed if she's found out. If Lucius Malfoy ever finds her in his home..."

"...He won't." Harry was resolute. He would do something he never thought possible. "Mr. Weasley, couldn't Dumbledore hide Tamora away, and have me be her secret keeper?"

Among the stunned faces, there was a moment of silence to consider... then... A sudden outburst of noise assaulted Harry's eardrums. Everyone but Ron and Fred seemed to think this was an absolutely terrible idea. The clamor increased by the second, Ron and George argued, then Fred and George, then George and his mother, then Ron and his mother and father, until the arguments seemed to mesh into an symphony of annoyance.

"WAIT!" Hermione yelled. "Let's get this in order. Please!" She parted Fred and George, hoping Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would follow the example. And so they did. Mrs. Weasley held up her hand and muttered to Hermione to continue. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. Now," she began. "Though I would never have dreamed this... Please, let's hear what everyone has to say."

"Really, Mum," Fred bickered, "I don't see what good this will do. Harry's still going to decide for himself, now, isn't he?"

"But he just...can't! Honestly, Harry... Please don't. It's not practical!" Mrs. Weasley's sudden loss of authority in the situation startled her. She looked desperate to change his mind.

"I'll bring it up with Dumbledore, then decide." Harry could feel the tension in the room ease as he brought up Dumbledore. Hermione especially favored his decision– she'd suggested going to the Headmaster about any and all of Harry's troubles since their first year at Hogwarts.

Mrs. Weasley changed the subject quickly. "So– let's decorate the tree- I've got some new things this year. Come with me, won't you, Hermione?" She took Hermione upstairs to the attic to get decorations while Fred and George resumed bickering.

"Harry should be secret keeper—"

"—You git- Voldemort will beat it out of him. Then I'd never be able to date Tamora!"

"You! Not if I get to see her first!"

Taking into account the fact that neither Fred nor George had ever seen her before, Harry was quite amused. Hermione and Mrs. Weasley reentered with spray cans of some sort, ornaments, candles, and garland.

"Well you won't like her," Ron lied to the twins. "She's ugly— must weigh at least four hundred kilos. Smells a lot. Not nice at all..."

"Like we'd ever believe you, little brother," Fred laughed. "I bet she's gorgeous..."

Hermione scoffed, but only Harry and Ron had heard. Ron, basing his life on irritating her (mutual irritation, actually), spoke up. "What's wrong, Hermione?" He paused until she was listening. "Something's wrong. Oh wait- are you jealous?"

Now the scoff was almost a laugh. "Of what? That thing that chases after Draco?"

"She does not!" Ron defended, angry at the very thought. The nostrils at the end of his long nose flared, and he stepped in front of her. "He's the one running after her and you know it."

"Do I really?" Hermione said, testing his patience. "Why do you think she agreed to go to Malfoy's mansion this Christmas?"

"She had no choice," said Harry. He soon regretted this, because now her fury was upon him. He had officially chosen his side in the argument...

"Oh?" said Hermione, her face reddening a bit. "Really? Not quite what I saw in Divination this year. Walking into class late together, covering eachother's stories, making alibis. She's not exactly resisting him, is she? Soon she'll think we're all total scum. Start calling Ron Weasel and you Saint Potter. And me- ha! She won't even remember who we are after she falls in love with that clot. You'll see. She'll—"

"STOP IT. Just stop it, Hermione! Stop ruining Christmas by saying terrible things about Tamora. You're jealous and that's that. Just STOP."

"Ron, don't talk to Hermione like this. She's your friend!" Mrs. Weasley was increasingly agitated by Ron. Ron, standing with his jaw nearly falling from his face, was full nearly to the boiling point. "Now if you don't apologize you'll have to miss out on decorating the tree this year."

"GOOD! Rather miss out than spend another minute near her! AND I WON'T APOLOGIZE. It's her fault. Tell that jealous wench to apologize, why don't you?" He stomped up the stairs quickly, leaving outrage in his wake. Then, something miraculous happened. Hermione dashed into the kitchen, hiding her eyes. She was... crying. Harry could hear the faint sobbing, and knew they both needed to be left well enough alone.

"RONALD WEASLEY! GET BACK HERE!"

"–Mrs. Weasley..." Harry intervened. "...Just let him go, please."

So, Harry and Mrs. Weasley were left to hang obscure little ornaments on the lopsided tree, and a very lonely afternoon followed. Near the end of decorating the tree, Mrs. Wealsey pulled her wand from her pocket, enchanting little candles to hover above some of the tree branches. Then, Harry noted the spray cans. He picked one up, reading the label.

Geri Garlen's Famous Fantastic Flawless Flames– never ignite your Christmas tree again! Non-flammable flames burn bright without setting your tree (or your forelimbs) on fire. WARNING: Do not ingest, spray in eyes, or do anything else ridiculous with this product. You will obtain injuries. Just... don't... do it. You'll thank us later.

Harry stared at the product as Mrs. Weasley absentmindedly put the spraying side of the container in the direction of her eyes. It was so dark in her corner of the room that he just barely saw it himself. "Mrs. Weasley!" He pulled the container from her hands. "...I'll do it. Erm... Take this one. Point it that way."

It would be a very quiet evening, and a disheartened Christmas. He almost wished to be with the Malfoys and Tamora than be caught in the middle of this...

A/N: Want to thank everybody who sent the new reviews! YOU GUYS ROCK!