AN: Hi again! I am still working on this story slowly but surely. This is one of the few times you will see multiple chapters from the same school year. Welcome to the third year, enjoy it!

Disclaimer:Again. Not mine. Totally JKR's.

Dear Diary,

Julian was sorted in September; I just didn't have the heart to tell you. I watched him climb those steps that I climbed just two years ago and put on that hat. I watched with baited breath as it talked to him. I waited for it to yell loudly to the heavens GRYFFINDOR so loud that I would hear it about the roaring of my housemates.

But it didn't.

Julian is a Slytherin, just like daddy. He said that the sorting hat had told him that he was more "his father's son" than he was a Weasley. Why is that fair? Abbie says that families are not necessarily sorted into the same houses, but Julian and I belong together.

How will I protect him now?

Marcy slammed down her pen angrily, not caring if one of her few remaining muggle possessions broke. Her brother was gone. Well, not literally, if she truly thought it over. He was just in some other portion of the castle, far away from her careful gaze. True, he had spent most of their childhood holding her back from the next fist fight, but she had always valued her ability to watch over him and make sure he was not being made fun of. He might have been a Malfoy, but he was still young in her eyes.

She grumbled loudly and threw her diary to the foot of her bed where it landed with a loud thump against the cherry wood. Abbie Lawson, her roommate and quite arguably one of her best friends, snored quietly from her place in the next bed over. Her other roommates, two no-name chatterboxes who cared very little about the happenings of a Malfoy, were no where to be found, most likely off rolling around with another no-name Gryffindor boy. Marcy prided herself on not being a boy-roller. She cared more about her brother and her family, or what she thought was one.

Her mother had left the following summer, filing for an official wizarding parting from her father. Those types of ceremonies were, as Marcy had been told, very rare in the wizarding world. It had cost a fortune just to find an official who would perform the ritual, let alone a group that would stand as favorable witnesses. But it had become official, almost two months ago and Marcy, for the most part, had finally adjusted. She had chosen to continue living with Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron while Julian and her father found solace not far from Diagon Alley. Her family had fallen apart and picked itself back up again; a fact Marcy was not so sure she was comfortable with yet.

Having had enough, Marcy slipped quietly out of bed and into her dressing gown. Her pajamas, which were new and made of silk (a gift from Aunt Hermione) barely glimpsed out from the bottom hem as she tugged on slipper socks and headed for the door. She had a feeling the fire in the common room would be more comforting than the chilly late November air that filtered around her tower bedroom.

The sight that greeted her was surprising for there, in the middle of one of the largest couches, was Andrew Potter fast asleep. The boy was sprawled out with a set of books across his lap, his hair now drooping in his face from a lack of recent haircuts. His father had always worn his longer, Andrew had mentioned over break, and it had a trend of being handsome on Potter men. Marcy, even from up on the stairs, had to agree.

She moved quickly and quietly into one of the rattiest armchairs closest to the fire and curled her legs up underneath herself. The bulletin board, filled will all the most recent news flyers, was just to her left against a wall of Gryffindor house plaques. The biggest of the Gryffindor bookshelves, nestled against a curtain of red and gold, sat directly behind her while a plate of armor from Sir Nicholas lined the other side of the chair. The fire, which was crackling bright for midnight, illuminated the common room in a soft glow. Marcy smiled. The trip had been a good idea.

Marcy turned and grabbed a few of the flyers from the bulletin board, studying them curiously in the firelight. There was one for a 10 discount at Zonko's and one advertising the newest type of fabric sold at Madame Malkins. Someone had restarted the Gobstones Collectors Club while someone else was busy looking for a Herbology tutor. Marcy grimaced. Most of the news was relatively boring. However, it was the very last flyer, printed on elegant royal blue Hogwarts letterhead that caught her eye.

COME ONE AND ALL

TO THE FINEST WIZARDING BALL!

The HOGWARTS Yule Ball will occur Christmas Eve in the Great Hall. 3rd year students and above are welcome to attend. Proper dress attire is required.

"The one last year was pretty good," a voice mumbled out across the common room, making Marcy nearly jump out of the armchair and onto the floor. Andrew, who only moments ago had been fast asleep, was now sitting upright, straightening out his rumpled clothes and pushing his forgotten books to the floor. He smiled lopsidedly at her and pointed to the flyer in her hand, "I enjoyed it a lot, relatively good music too if you like the Weird Sisters."

"Who?" she asked curiously.

"The Weird Sisters. They are a wizarding rock band." Andrew yawned and stretched, showing off a small span of toned stomach that made a sudden rush of blood swarm into Marcy's head. She could have sworn she was blushing and looked away furiously, hiding her face behind the flyer for the Yule Ball.

"So a ball. Does that mean dancing? I don't know how to dance," she muttered.

"Neither do I," he shrugged, "You don't have to though. Just wear some dress robes and some comfortable shoes…"

"Dress robes? What are dress robes? Merlin I am a terrible witch," Marcy muttered pointedly, annoyed at her own misinformation. Why had Aunt Hermione never explained dress robes to her? She would look like a fool if she walked into a dance without the proper attire. Her roommates would belittle her. It would be Highland Developing all over again…

"Mar relax. You are a great witch." He smiled at her and moved to sit in the armchair next to her, relaxing into its large back, "I'm sure Abbie can help you with the dress robe thing. If not, Aunt Hermione can order you some from Hogsmeade. You'd look pretty in blue. It would match your eyes," he replied, reaching over and brushing a piece of her hair out of the way.

Marcy smiled then, for some reason pleased that Andrew had noticed the color of her eyes and had complimented her. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that their friendship was much more complicated than it seemed to the normal outsider. He was legendary in Hogwarts, constantly being followed by torrents of giggling girls with only a few things on their minds. His father was famous for brilliant reasons. She was a tradition breaker and a Malfoy. Her father was famous for reasons that caused whispers and pointedly mean stares. By all means they should never have spoken, let alone become friends. She was a 3rd year. He was a 6th year. They belonged more apart than anyone else. And yet, she could not help the butterflies that formed in her stomach whenever he smiled at her or called her by his pet name. They were growing into a stronger friendship than she had ever known possible, one that questioned and bordered on what was allowed and what was forbidden.

"Andrew, wait, do I need a date?" she asked out of the blue. He nodded through another yawn, stretching even more and rubbing his sleep ridden eyes. She groaned and he laughed, causing her to flip a more than inappropriate gesture at him.

The next thing Marcy knew she was lying on her back on the ground; the air pushed forcefully out of her lungs as the heavy body of Andrew Potter landed on top of her and started tickling her sides. She laughed through the pain and tried to push him off but he held on tightly to her wrists, curling his fingers into her waist and pushing on the spots that he knew were the most sensitive to tickling. Marcy muttered curse words at him as she finally gained the upper hand and flipped them over, landing on top of his waist with a thud. He looked at her curiously from the ground and she felt the blush return as she realized the compromising position she had put them in. She was not a boy-roller.

She moved quickly off of Andrew and fixed her dressing gown and pajamas, which had ridden up on her thighs from their tickle fight. He was staring at her intently, a light rose color settling across the apples of his cheeks and she turned away, not quite sure what to say.

Really Marcy. Good show. Really making things less awkward.

"Andrew I…"

"Marcy I have a question for you. About the ball…"

Whatever was about to come out of his mouth was halted by the appearance of Charlie Lawson on the steps. He was covered with a large blanket that he had dragged down from his dormitory and sported a sleepy grin across his face. His cornstalk hair was sticking straight up as the sight of Marcy and Andrew seemed to wake him up a bit and his sleepy grin grew into a wide smile. His eyes caught sight of the flyer on the forgotten armchair and in a very scratchy voice said, "Hey, Marcy. Glad I saw you. Wanted to talk to you before anyone else did, funny you two are up so late. I just forgot something. But, right, that dance thing. I was thinking, since we're friends and we're gunna be around each other all night, we should go together. Abbie already thinks it's a great idea. She has a green set of dress robes that would match your eyes you could wear; you guys are close in size. The three musketeers all night right?"

Marcy looked back at Andrew, who had busied himself with collecting his things, hoping for some sort of cue on his behalf. However his face, which had moments before been bright and awake, was empty of emotion and care. It seemed as if he had purposely ignored Charlie's request. Turning back to her best friend on the steps, Marcy breathed heavily and muttered a shaky 'of course' before gathering herself up, replacing the flyers, and heading to give Charlie a hug. She started to head up in the opposite direction (as Charlie had retrieved whatever it was he had left downstairs) and cast one final look at Andrew before retreating into the girl's dormitory.

Dear Diary,

I told Charlie I would go with him to the Yule Ball I only just heard about. Abbie will loan me dress robes that match my eyes.

He does not realize what color they really are.

I think I just made a terrible mistake.