Song: "It's My Party"
Artist: Lesley Gore
And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her.
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Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Hermione felt as if her gleeful shriek would explode from her mouth if she ceased to contain it with her beaming grin. She had known it was coming, but could there have been a more perfect moment? She supposed that if Harry had won the game and kissed her in front of the whole school on the Quidditch pitch... but as it was, it was still the most romantic thing she had ever seen in person. And there was a certain feminist justice to the fact that Harry had made his move during a celebration of Ginny's success.
At least one of them has half a clue about girls, Hermione thought.
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All Ron could hear was a faint buzzing noise in his ears. His mouth gaped open slightly, giving him the appearance of a dazed fish. The glittering Quidditch Cup that he held suddenly dimmed in his eyes as he focused on the bizarre sight before him.
His best friend... and his sister... Ron's brain struggled to understand this strange new reality. His frazzled through process went something like this:
GET YOUR SLIMY LIPS OFF MY SIS—Wait, this could be all right... not a prat like Corner... know better than Dean... deserves to be happy, I suppose... at least it's not Cho again... but seriously, now, he can stop any time... she must get his point by now... honestly... may have to punch him anyway...
Harry finally pulled away and met Ron's eyes. In a stunning example of the instant communication perfected by true best mates, the boys carried out a complete conversation in a fraction of a second. Harry pleaded, Ron regarded him with proper brotherly suspicion, Harry defended his trustworthiness, Ron 'grudgingly' permitted with the slightest nod.
Though Harry had never confessed his feelings for Ginny to Ron, Ron could see sincerity in Harry's earnest face, and it hit him as a major revelation that what he was seeing was worlds away from anything he had with Lavender. He glanced at her a few feet away and felt an extraordinary degree of apathy.
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Lavender Brown felt a feminine thrill of romance and an equally feminine pang of jealousy as she watched Ginny and Harry. How she wished she could be swept off her feet with such a dramatic display of affection... but she supposed Ron was not suited to romantic demonstrations. While their displays were usually quite public, they were not often terribly affectionate—more sticky, really. Of course, Ron was new to real dating, as, admittedly, was Lavender, but she knew he was truly dashing on the inside; he had only to let it out. Perhaps he would be inspired by Harry. Yes, Won-Won surely wouldn't let Harry out-do him; he had probably already begun to plot his own amorous gesture. Maybe it would happen tomorrow morning during breakfast. All the girls would talk about it, but she would just smile demurely and refuse to give details... only for a few minutes of course...
Shelving her daydream for later, Lavender found Parvati and shot her the mischievous smile of a gossip over the head of Dennis Creevey. There was much to be discussed.
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"Wow," murmured Colin and Dennis Creevey in awed unison.
"Good looks, advanced powers, Quidditch skills, and a way with the ladies," Colin muttered admiringly to his younger brother as nervous giggles erupted from the crowd. "He does have it all."
The brothers continued to gape as Harry and Ginny exited through the portrait hole. The onlookers began to disperse, and in unison once again, the boys sighed, "That was so cool."
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Dean remained frozen even as the rest of the party-goers began to chatter—some enthralled with speculation and gossip, others returning to discussion of the match, still others just full of the thrill of the whole occasion bursting out in excited squeals and hoops and hollers. He was mildly aware of the fact that he had broken his glass, a feat on which he would later look back as rather impressive, through the power of sheer, quiet rage. He set the shattered remnants down on the nearest table as people milled around him, seemingly at double speed.
How could Harry have done this to him? The deserting Captain hadn't been out there. He hadn't scored 70 of Gryffindor's 450 points! Most importantly of all, he hadn't been on the pitch when Ginny caught the Snitch, hadn't been the first to hug her, hadn't seen the clear look of meaning that Ginny had given Dean, a soft look in the midst of the mad riot that indicated forgiveness, warmth, and a possible celebratory rendezvous...
For the harshest moment of his young life, through a haze of jealousy and shock and betrayal, Dean loathed Harry—then loathed himself for being so small by comparison. Of course Ginny would rather be with the noble, heroic, tragic, and dangerous Harry. But why had Harry taken her now, in one of Dean's few shining hours of glory? Hot tears burned behind Dean's eyes, and he stormed unnoticed up the stairs to the dormitory. It was his party, the team's party—not Harry's—and he would cry if he wanted to.
