Author's note: look, a new chapter! like, a real new chapter, not a continuation of an old one. -grins- unfortunately, i'm not sure i like this one very much. -sigh- after you've read this section and the next one, let me know what you think?
Disclaimer: If anyone can give me the rights to harry potter, i'll give them coffee. actually, on second thought, i don't want them. all i want is the talent to write my own multi-million dollar series. -grins-
--kyra
Extra note: Actually, it's me who wants to write the multi-million dollar series, not her!
--Tamara
6: secrets
Harry looked in surprise at the owl in front of Hermione's plate. She never received any mail except for the Prophet, and that owl had already been and gone. With a frown, she detached the letter from the owl's foot. After helping itself to a bite of Ron's sausage, the owl sprang into the air and took off through the Great Hall, making for the open windows. Harry leaned over to glance at the envelope. It was unsigned, and there was no hint as to whom it was from. The two looked at each other in puzzlement, then Hermione carefully slit the letter open with a clean butter knife. She read the letter, blinked, swore under her breath, and shoved it into her pocket.
Ron, who'd managed to hear the swear word, pushed back his untouched sausage and demanded, "Who's it from, Hermione?"
She frowned, as though trying to make up her mind. Harry watched her carefully, alert for clues. Finally, she blurted out, "Victor."
Ron blanched, and glared darkly at her pocket. "What's he doing, writing to you?"
"We're still friends, Ron," Hermione retorted, picking up a piece of toast in an effort to stop her hands from shaking. "I'm allowed to be friends with boys other than you, you know."
Ron blushed beet red, but didn't back down. "But why do you have to be friends with him?"
Hermione stood, pushing her chair away from the table sharply. "I can be friends with whomever I want, Ronald," she said, obviously doing her best to moderate her volume. "You don't tell me what to do!"
She stalked out of the room, leaving a baffled Ron. He looked at Harry. "What did I say?" he asked.
Harry shrugged, not really paying attention. He didn't think he was wrong about the signature of the letter, and he knew that Hermione was definitely not writing to Victor Krum.
He excused himself as soon as was possible, and tore through the castle, looking for Hermione. He finally found her leaning against the entrance to the Arithmancy classroom, absorbed in the letter. She saw him coming, and stuffed it away hurriedly.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"What do you think I'm doing? I want to know why in the name of God Draco's writing to you!"
She shrugged. "I have no idea, Harry."
"You always were a terrible liar, Hermione," he said flatly.
"Well, this time it's the truth!" she said, her voice rising shrilly. "I really don't know, and if you hadn't interrupted me, I might!"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine then. Read the letter and tell me!"
"Why do I have to tell you?!" she demanded furiously. "As I told Ron, who I write to and who writes to me is none of his concern, and it's none of yours either! Just go away and leave me in peace for once, will you?"
He felt himself getting angry, and fought to keep his temper. "Ron would blow up completely if he knew. I won't."
"And that means that I should just give you the key to my diary and tell you to read all about my life?" she yelled. "You're living in a dream world, Harry Potter, and I intend to wake you up!" She reached over and slapped him hard on the face. Then she wheeled, and stomped down the hallway. The painting of an elderly, white-haired matron looked at Harry sternly. Harry ignored her, and walked slowly down the hallway and out into the open air.
Hermione pointedly ignored the two boys for the rest of the morning. Ron and Harry stayed silent, hoping that this penance would be enough to restore her good graces, but there was no such luck. She swept past them into the Transfiguration classroom, and refused to say a word, or even look in their direction for the rest of the class. As a result, neither of their desks were adorned with the flowers that they were supposed to be conjuring, and McGonagall assigned them both extra homework. Hermione allowed herself a smug smile.
As the class trickled out, Harry was left alone with Draco. Since coming back from Grimmauld Place, the other boy had been strangely quiet, spending lots of their time in detention absorbed in a book, or even just in contemplation of the view from the window. Harry found the sessions strangely lonely, and he wondered just what he'd done to deserve such treatment.
Even so, today Harry was determined not to allow Draco to lapse into his own world. As soon as McGonagall had closed the door and left them, he asked, "Why did you write to Hermione?"
Draco looked up at him. "I have a right to write to people, do I not?"
"But why her?"
"We are working together. I merely had a few questions concerning the project."
Harry knew as well as Draco did that this wasn't the entire story. "You could have asked her in person," he pressed. "Why the trouble of a letter?"
Draco put his book down and looked up at Harry. "Harry, I can write to whomever I damn well choose to write to," he snapped. "Since when do you dictate my life?"
Harry reeled. To be told that once in a day was a slap in the face. To be told twice was a veritable bucket of icy water. "I was just curious," he said stiffly.
"Well don't be," Draco told him sharply. "What I do with my life is my own problem, not yours."
"Fine," Harry said angrily. "Fine. And when the next catastrophe comes, I'll remember that, shall I?"
"Do," Draco agreed. "I don't need you, Harry. You don't always have to try to protect me."
Harry turned sharply away and strode furiously over to the window-seat. He dumped his books onto the ground with a resounding thump and clambered onto the seat with the second of the Earth's Children books. He tried to drown himself in the world of Ms. Auel and convince his emotions that his feelings were not hurt at all. He almost succeeded.
Hermione was surprised that Malfoy had written to her, but under the weight of both boys' accusations, she was more determined than ever to write back. After all, who were they to tell her what to do? She was her own witch, a legal adult, and they couldn't control her! She used the time that she had before class to read his letter more thoroughly, trying to decide how and when to answer.
Granger.
You might wonder why I'm writing to you, and to be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if you just burned this. On second thought, no. You wouldn't burn paper; you're far too environmentally conscious for that. But enough small talk. The nub of the matter is this: I have a question for you that can't be spoken out loud. At least, it can't be spoken between two people like us.
Here's my question. What do you intend to do about the current situation? You know the one I mean. Actually, what I really want to know is what Harry's going to do. As I'm sure you figured out, he's become one of my very good friends, and I don't like not knowing what he's planning. Of course, you might not know either, but if you do, I would appreciate it if you'd at least give me a hint.
D. Malfoy
She read it a second time, then carefully transfigured the parchment into a piece of blank paper. It wouldn't do to be seen with a letter from Malfoy, no matter what he'd been asking. The actual text of the letter made it even more crucial to keep it hidden. As she considered how to answer, Professor Vector walked into the classroom. She nodded to Hermione, who nodded back, then placed her things on the desk and sat down. They didn't speak, and the rest of the class arrived soon after. Hermione temporarily forgot Malfoy's letter as she entered into an hour's rapt contemplation of Merlin's Table of Mystic Numbers.
The letter couldn't be ignored forever, though, and she eventually had to compose an answer. She chose to skip lunch, deciding that she'd rather go hungry than have to face Harry's and Ron's glares, and closeted herself in the library. She piled books around her piece of parchment as a defense against prying eyes and closed her eyes for a moment as she considered what to write. Finally, she uncorked her inkbottle and dipped her quill, carefully wiping it off before setting it to the parchment and beginning to write.
Malfoy.
You're right, I wouldn't burn paper. It's a waste of good resources, and we have more than enough fuel already. Besides, Harry and Ron got quite annoying about wanting to know what you had to say, and I got stubborn and decided to answer you properly. So, I suppose you have Ron to thank for my answer. Ironic, isn't it?
Moving on to your actual question, I'm afraid I have no idea. I'll try to talk with Harry, but I'm still quite angry with him at the moment, so it might be a few days. I'll write you again when I've found anything out.
However, if I'm going to keep writing to you, you'd better think of a proper story. I'd rather my name not come into it, if at all possible. Gossip runs like anything here, as you well know, and I've got enough enemies already. I'd rather not turn my potential allies against me. No offence intended to you, of course, but I'm sure you understand. Ron and Harry believe that you are Victor Krum, or at least Ron does. Harry saw your signature, but I think I've told him firmly enough that it's none of his business. I'd suggest you do the same. He can be annoyingly persistent, as I'm sure you've noticed.
H. Granger
She reread the note, adding words in here and there as they were required, and thanking God for her quill: it was self-correcting, and she could slip words in without needing to worry about making room. Finally, when she was sure she had everything the way she wanted, she gathered her things together and left the library. She climbed the stairs to the owlrey, wishing that wizards would find a magical equivalent to elevators. They made life so much easier, especially for students who didn't get quite as much exercise as they should.
Hermione didn't own an owl of her own, and anyway, for something like this, it was easier to just use a generic brown one. She chose a calm-looking barn owl and fed it a treat from the bin outside the door. As it digested, watching her with suspicious yellow eyes, she tied the note onto its leg.
"This goes to the Slytherin common room," she told it.
It nodded once, swallowed, and took off. She watched it go, then glanced at her watch. There were three more minutes of lunch, and her next class was on the other end of the castle. She set off, hoping that she wouldn't be late.
She didn't have a chance to talk to Harry for the next several days. Finally, she cornered him coming out of the dormitory and demanded to talk to him. He looked at her in suspicion, and she supposed that he assumed she was trying to yell at him again. Sure enough, his first words were, "Whatever Ron's said, I don't care who you write to."
"You'd better not," Hermione agreed. "But that's not what I want to know."
"Then what is it?" he asked, dropping into a seat next to her.
She took a deep breath, composing herself. She'd spent the last few days trying to think of a way to ask her question without revealing Malfoy, and she hoped that she'd succeeded.
"I've been wondering, what are you doing next year?"
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Well, now that… he's back, what will you do?"
Harry shrugged. "I haven't really thought about it," he admitted. "I guess I always assumed that I'd finish school and then tackle it. Why?"
"Because I want to go with you, of course," Hermione said indignantly. That wasn't even a lie, she thought.
He sighed. "Are you sure?" he asked her wearily. "You know that you might die, right?"
She shrugged. "What's life without a little risk?" she asked, repeating one of her sister's favorite quotes. Actually, it had never really occurred to her that she might die. But she'd already said that she was going, and she was far too proud to back down now.
"This would be a lot of risk," he warned. "You could get killed. Or worse, expelled."
She looked at him in disbelief. "You need to get your priorities right, apparently," she muttered.
He shrugged. "I'm only trying to see it from your point of view," he explained.
"You think I think like that?" she demanded. "Actually, don't answer that. I don't think I want to know what you think."
"Fine," he said. "So does that answer your question?"
"It does," she said. "Thank you very much."
He nodded to her, then stood up. He gathered up his things and left. She waited until he'd passed through the portrait hole, then pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and began to write.
Parvati was amazed at how easy it was to get the permission from Ginny. The way the younger redhead looked at her, Parvati suspected that Ginny knew that something was going on, but she didn't say anything. She only shrugged, and went off to talk to Harry. And that left Parvati waiting for Valentine's Day with an eagerness that amazed her. She knew perfectly well that Harry was taken, and it didn't matter in the slightest that she'd liked him forever. He didn't like her back. End of story. But it was harder to forget than she'd imagined.
She was sitting in the common room just before Christmas of her fourth year, thinking about nothing much at all. A book was open in front of her, but she couldn't focus on any of the words. Idly, she watched the fire sputter in the grate, noting that it wasn't really red. There were the expected oranges and yellows, but she could see greens and blues snuggled in between those more usual colors. She wondered why no one had ever told her that fires could be blue and green. Surely Professor Flitwick could have mentioned it!
She was startled out of her half-hypnotized state by the sound of people coming in through the portrait hole. She looked up in irritation, only to see his green eyes looking down at her. She felt her breath catch in her throat. Why hadn't she noticed his eyes before? They caught her own gold ones and held them, entrancing her as thoroughly as the fire had. She knew before he even asked what he was going to say, and she knew what her answer would be. Of course she would go to the ball with him. The only surprise was that he asked about Ron as well. She didn't even stop to think about it, only blurted out that she would get her sister to go. Padma had complained, of course, but Parvati's powers of persuasion were considerable, and she managed to convince her sister to go.
The dance itself had been awful. He had basically ignored her, and she hadn't enjoyed herself at all. But she couldn't take her eyes off him. He held her attention and wouldn't let it go, and she had to wonder if he'd learned more in Divinations than she'd thought. But no. He seemed to have no idea of his power over her. In fact, he seemed to be bored out of his mind. So what was wrong with her? She shifted slightly, trying to get away from the power of his gaze. Her eyes caught one of the cuter French boys, gazing at her with the same star-struck expression that they all did. She hesitated, then nodded to him. Anything to get away from Harry. She stood, dragged her sister away from Ron, and went off to dance with the French boy. He was charming and polite, and an excellent dancer, but she couldn't get her mind off Harry. As the night drew to a close, she kissed her French boy gently, winked, and sauntered off. She couldn't even remember his name.
Back in the dormitory, Lavender grinned at her. "So it's finally happened," she remarked.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Parvati told her friend stiffly.
"Of course you don't," Lavender agreed. "Good luck, though."
Parvati sniffed, and drew the curtains around her bed. She knew perfectly well what Lavender meant, and she was already scheming to get him for herself.
It hadn't worked, of course, but that didn't matter. Now he'd finally agreed to go out with her, all be it two years late, and she would show him just how much fun she could be.
When Valentine's Day finally rolled around, she spent an hour and a half just staring at her closet, wondering what was the matter with her. For the first time in longer than she could remember, Parvati was nervous about going out with a boy. She couldn't decide what to wear, how to do her hair, whether to wear heavy makeup or not… she was a total wreck. Lavender watched her try to get ready with a barely concealed grin. Finally, Parvati threw down her fifteenth potential outfit and demanded, "What?"
"Will you let me give you a tip?" Lavender asked.
"Anything!"
"Then relax. If you want him to like you, then just calm down. I will make you irresistible."
Parvati took a deep breath, then nodded. Lavender grinned brightly and got to work.
True to her word, when Lavender was done, Parvati had to admit that she looked good. She was wearing a two-piece skirt and blouse combination that was tasteful yet flattering. Her long straight black hair had been brushed till it shone and left loose. Lavender had done her makeup so well that Parvati had to remember every single stroke to note where it all was. She wore small silver hoops and a delicately ornate unicorn pendant. Her wrists were bare, but she wore a single silver charm anklet. Her feet were shod with a pair of sandals borrowed from Lavender.
"See?" Lavender asked, putting down the hairbrush and grinning. "It wasn't that hard, was it?"
"Thank you so much!" Parvati enthused, hugging her friend gratefully. "I don't know what's wrong with me today!"
"You want this too badly," Lavender said seriously. "You want him, and you're not used to it."
Parvati frowned. "What do you mean?"
"How long's it been since you went out with a boy because you were madly in love with him, not the other way around?"
Parvati frowned, then admitted, "A long time."
"So you're just not used to it anymore." Lavender gave her a confidant grin. "Don't worry. You'll be fabulous, just like you always are."
"Thanks," Parvati said gratefully. She took one last look at herself in the mirror, took a deep breath, rearranged her hair infinitesimally, and walked out and down the stairs to the common room.
Harry was waiting for her, and he smiled as he saw her. "You look gorgeous, Parvati," he told her. "Shall we go?"
"Thank you," Parvati told him, fighting to keep her composure. What was wrong with her? She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and pictured the rippling meadow that was her mind. She slowly sank into it, and little by little regained her center. When she opened her eyes again, she was collected and calm once more. She smiled coquettishly at him. "After you."
They walked out of the common room together and down to the group of milling students. Filch crossed them off grouchily, and they walked out of the castle along with the rest of the students. The carriages were waiting, and Harry opened the door for Parvati. She climbed daintily in and he clambered after her. The carriage had no other occupants, and when they set off for Hogsmeade, she smiled at him. "You do realize that I intend for you to spend the entire day with me, don't you?"
Harry nodded, smiling back. "I promise that I won't go off on any interviews this time."
"Good. I don't think I could bear to share you with that awful Skeeter woman."
He frowned. "Parvati, let me make one… no, two things clear. The first is this: I'm going with you as a friend only. I have a girlfriend, and we're happy together. I think that you are a wonderful person, but I'm not interested like that."
She nodded, trying to contain her disappointment. "I understand. And the other?"
"I absolutely refuse to set foot in Madam Puddyfoot's."
Parvati burst out laughing. "That makes two of us then," she told him. He looked immensely relieved.
To Parvati's surprise, she actually had fun. She'd asked him out mainly because it was something Lavender had dared her to do years before. Sure, she had a crush on him, but that didn't matter in the scheme of things. She'd had her shot at romance when they were fourteen, and it had failed utterly. Now, she had basically given up of Harry Potter as her boyfriend. But she hadn't expected him to be her friend.
He was charming and attentive, and he was well enough informed to be able to answer most of her comments. He wasn't too proud to admit when something passed over his head, and he kept her laughing over a mid-morning Butterbeer pause. Hogsmeade took on a new look through his eyes, she realized, as she listened him tell stories about his various adventures there. She would never, for instance, look at Malfoy in the same way after hearing the story about how Harry had thrown snowballs at him from under the invisibility cloak that he had apparently received his first Christmas at Hogwarts.
In her turn, and with his prompting, she told him stories about her own childhood. She recounted the numerous scrapes she'd convinced Padma to get into with her, and told about growing up as an Indian witch in Britain. He seemed genuinely interested, and he knew how to ask intelligent questions. Over lunch, which she allowed him to buy her, they talked about Quidditch, which Parvati knew quite a bit about, and Ron, who Parvati suspected Lavender of having a crush on. As they strolled through some of the less frequented streets after their meal, she asked, "Harry?"
"Mm?" he answered, turning to look at him.
"Do you realize how much you've changed since last time I was with you?"
He grimaced slightly. "About that. Parvati, I'm really sorry about the way I treated you. I was a complete and utter prat, and I'm sorry."
Parvati shrugged, grinning. "We were all much younger then," she told him, quoting one of her mother's favorite sayings. "You're forgiven. But answer my question."
He sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. "People tell me that I've changed, and I don't notice. It's driving my mad!"
"Well, take it from me, you have. You know how to talk to people now, and you're not boring anymore."
"Thank you – I think," he said. "I'm going to assume that that was a compliment, not an obscure female insult."
She grinned. "It's a compliment," she assured him. "Girls hate boring men."
"Then it's a relief to know that I'm not one."
They continued walking for a while longer, both thinking their own thoughts. Parvati was wrestling with her inner romantic, assuring herself that this was just a date as friends, and that he most assuredly Was Not Interested. He'd told her, for Shiva's sake! But she couldn't help hoping.
"Parvati?" he asked suddenly, bringing her out of her thoughts with a start.
"Yes Harry?"
He was blushing, she realized with a start. Was he…?
"You're… good with relationships, right?"
She tilted her head. "My own, or other people's?"
"Other people's."
"I can be. Why?"
"Can I trust you to keep silent?"
She grinned. "Absolutely," she promised. "Spill."
He sighed. "Let's find a place to sit first. This may take some time, and my feet are getting tired."
Parvati considered making some sort of crack about Quidditch players spending all their time in the clouds, but refrained heroically. They walked the streets until they found a promising looking café, and he gestured for her to go first.
The first burst of warmth shocked Parvati to the core. She hadn't realized until then just how cold she was. Lavender's outfit was stunning, but it wasn't particularly warm. She wondered suddenly at her friend's motives, then dismissed them as unimportant. Lavender was even more of a romantic than Parvati herself. Completely illogically, Parvati began to shiver as she advanced farther into the warm room. Harry must have seen it, because he led her to a table by the fire and made her sit. He sat down opposite her, and a moment later, a waitress sidled up to them.
"Can I get you anything?" she asked, taking them in with a single glance. Harry had turned his head slightly so that his scar wasn't visible, and the ease with which he did this made Parvati think that he'd had many long years of practice.
"Hot cocoa," Parvati told the waitress, glancing at Harry. He shrugged. "Two, please. With cinnamon and mint on the side."
The waitress nodded, grinned at them, and promptly vanished.
Harry looked at Parvati. "Cinnamon and mint?"
She shrugged. "They make a decent combination. Padma hates it, but then, she won't put anything at all in her drinks." Parvati made a face. "She has no sense of adventure whatsoever."
The waitress popped back over to their table and handed out the drinks. She lingered, but when it was obvious that the two of them wouldn't talk while she was there, she pouted slightly, and slid away to eavesdrop on the next table. Harry glanced at her, then subtly removed his wand from his pocket and cast silencing wards around the table. They sipped their drinks for a moment, Parvati adding spices as she saw fit, and Harry toying with his spoon more than actually drinking. Finally, Parvati asked, "So? What's up?"
He sighed, and began to study the swirls that his spoon made in the cocoa with intense concentration. "It's… it's about Ginny."
Harry had thought long and hard about whether to tell anyone about what he was feeling. After all, it had been totally engrained into his psyche not to tell anyone anything. It had kept him mostly unhurt through most of his years at Privet Drive, and it protected him and his friends from Voldemort. After all, what they didn't know couldn't hurt them. Right? But now he was confused, and he thought that, if he could only say his thoughts out loud, then they might make more sense. The problem had been finding who to talk to. Ron was out, as were both Ginny and Draco. None of them would really understand, and he would just end up hurting them. Hermione, completely oblivious, apparently, to Ron's interest in her, was out as well. He doubted that she would have had anything useful to say. And so there really hadn't been anyone to talk to.
But now, here was Parvati. She was the universally acknowledged Matchmaking Queen of the school, and she knew about complicated things like feelings and betrayal. He knew very well that the younger girls came to her for counseling about their love lives, and she seemed capable of giving reasonable advice. Besides, she was here, and there was a silence barrier around them, and she'd promised to listen.
She was looking at him with concern now, and he heard her ask, "Is there a problem with Ginny?"
He sighed. This would be where it got hard. "I'm not sure."
"I might be able to help you if you would tell me the entire story," she said patiently. "As it is, I have no idea what you're talking about."
He hung his head. "Couldn't you… you know… just ask me questions? I don't know how to tell the story."
She rolled her eyes, but nodded. "Fine. First question. Is there a problem between the two of you? Does she seem to want to leave, for instance?"
He shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Do you want to leave?"
"I don't know! That's just my problem, Parvati!"
"Calm down," she ordered. She picked up his cup of cocoa and sprinkled some mint into it, stirring until it had all dissolved. "Drink."
He dutifully put the cup to his lips, noting how the mint had changed the taste very slightly. It was still good, but he thought that he preferred it without the added seasoning. It seemed to have the desired effect, though, because Parvati leaned back in her chair again. "Do you feel like you still love her?"
He frowned, considering the question carefully. If asked spontaneously, he would have said, yes, of course he loved her. But did he? All of a sudden he wasn't sure, and it frightened him. "I asked her to the ball," he said carefully.
Parvati rolled her eyes elegantly again. "Harry, Michael Corner asked me to that ball. It doesn't mean that he's in love with me."
"He is, though," Harry told her.
Parvati sighed. "No, he's infatuated. Do you know the difference between the two?"
"Of course!"
"What is it?"
He started to answer, then closed his mouth in puzzlement.
She nodded. "I thought so. Only about one in about fifty males and one in twenty girls know the difference between the two words."
"And it is?" Harry prompted when she seemed reluctant to give out the information. He was suddenly deeply interested in this. Why it should matter so much, he didn't know, but he had to know the true meaning of both words.
"Infatuation is a short-lived thing, usually only a few months. The person that you're interested in seems to be covered in a halo of light, and they can do no wrong in your eyes. If you're lucky, then it'll pass and no harm will be done, apart from you losing rather a lot of sleep and weight, and paying no attention whatsoever in classes. If you're unlucky, then someone notices, or the person returns the feeling and is braver than you are. Infatuations result in more broken hearts than any other kind of affair, you know."
"And love?"
"Love is more subtle. Most of the time, you don't realize that you're in love until it's too late. There isn't a definite starting point of love, and it never ends. If you're truly in love with someone, then it's for life. You want to be with them through everything, and nothing can drive you apart. You have your fights and your quarrels, and you can try to hate each other bitterly for years at a time, but if you're truly in love, then you'll always come back."
"Sounds like predestination," Harry muttered.
She blinked, then shrugged. "It's slightly the same," she admitted. "Though in love you don't always follow your true path. In predestination, you have no choice. Rebirth is so much nicer."
He started. "You're Hindu?"
She nodded. "What did you expect? My family's Indian, after all. But back to the subject at hand. Are you in love with Ginny?"
He sighed heavily. "I don't know. I want to be. I mean, she's nice and all, but…"
"There's someone else?" Parvati suggested delicately.
"I don't know!" Harry burst out again. "You're supposed to be telling me this!"
"Harry, I can't dictate your love life for you. Suffering Shiva, I can hardly dictate my own! I can advise and suggest, but that's about all."
"So what do you suggest?"
"Give me facts."
"Ginny is my girlfriend. I loved her in August. I asked her to the ball with me. I might very possibly have slight feelings other than friendship for someone else, but I don't know if they return it, and I don't want to ditch Ginny to find out. Enough for you?"
Parvati sighed herself. "No names?"
Harry shook his head vigorously.
"It might help, you know."
"No names," he said firmly.
"Fine. Well, from what you've told me, then I would advise you to stay with Ginny. I've watched her long enough to know that she truly does care for you, and if you don't know if the other person returns your feelings… well, why jeopardize a perfectly good relationship for someone you don't know about?"
"Put like that," Harry murmured, turning the facts over in his mind. What she said made sense, after all. What was the saying? Better a less-than-ideal girlfriend than none at all? Something like that.
She nodded. "Unless you give me details, I'm afraid I can't be of more help than that."
He shrugged. "You've helped anyway. Thanks a lot." His hot cocoa suddenly seemed much more appealing, and he swallowed what remained in a single gulp. "Are you ready to go?"
She nodded again. "I'll pay this time." Before he could protest, she'd pulled out a subtly concealed purse and deposited several sickles onto the table. Harry removed the ward from the table, and they braced themselves to go back out into the cold of the outside air.
"Ginny!" The shout made her stop and turn back. Harry was running to catch up to her. He stopped, panting slightly in an effort to catch his breath.
"Yes?"
"Will you go to the ball with me?"
"What ball?"
He looked at her in surprise. "Weren't you listening to Dumbledore at lunch?"
"Obviously not." Ginny hadn't even attended lunch. Emily's mother had written to say that her dog had died, and Ginny had stayed in the dormitory with her friend. She wondered why Harry hadn't remembered. "What did I miss?"
"Dumbledore's said that there's going to be yet another ball. This one just happens to be on Valentines Day, and everyone third year and above is welcome, no, encouraged to attend."
"And you have to have a partner, do you?"
He shrugged. "It would be nice, yes. If you don't want to go with me, I'm sure that Luna would be happy to."
Ginny made a face. "You'd replace me with Luna? I don't think so!"
"So you'll go with me?"
"If only to save you from Luna. Of course I'll go with you Harry!"
He grinned. "I am looking forward to it immensely."
She spent the next week wondering what on Earth she was going to wear. There was no way that she could ask her mum to buy her dress robes, and no one she knew had any to lend. She realized with a slight sigh that she was going to have to transfigure something.
The day of the ball, Flitwick secured his reputation as her favorite teacher of all time by letting his last hour Charms class out early. Ginny sprinted to the dormitory, and pulled open her section of the wardrobe. There was nothing even remotely possible in there, and she frowned, trying to think of what she wanted. Something tasteful, definitely. Green, perhaps. She'd always loved green, and it would bring out Harry's eyes. She would just have to deal with the whole Slytherin connotations. It wasn't like she was going to let House rivalries spoil her favorite color for her.
She grabbed a set of practical black robes at random and laid them out on her bed. She closed her eyes and carefully began to change them, beginning with the color and ending with a subtle lowering of the neckline and tightening of the waist. When she'd finished, she surveyed the results critically. It wouldn't pass any design contests, but as homemade robes went, it was passable. She set it carefully aside and drew a chair over to her mirror, carefully parting her long red hair down the middle. With long, languid brush strokes she combed all the tangles out, allowing its full glory to shine through. The gold highlights caught the late afternoon sun and reflected back. She frowned, then shrugged and carefully opened the tin of hair straightening potion that she'd bought last time she was in Hogsmeade. Switching from the brush to a sturdy comb, she began to comb the substance through her hair. It took a long time, and by the time it was all evenly coated, Emily and Mira had returned. They were talking in eager voices, and Ginny turned to join in.
"What have you done?" Emily squealed, catching sight of Ginny's flame-colored locks.
Ginny grinned and held out the jar of potion. "Instant hair-straightener," she said proudly. She shook her head slightly, allowing her now uncurled hair to swing enticingly. "It works until you wash your hair."
Emily grinned. "It suits you," she commented. "You should do it more often."
Ginny grimaced. "No thank you! It takes ages to do all the way through, and I don't have time every morning. Doing it this time was hard enough!"
"I want exactly the opposite," Mira said dejectedly, looking at her own pencil-straight brown hair. "It won't hold curls at all!"
"Sorry," Ginny said apologetically. "I've only got one kind."
"Don't worry about it," Mira said. "I'll live."
Ginny turned back to the mirror, scooting over slightly to allow Emily to apply her makeup. Ginny wore no makeup as a rule, but she wondered if she should make an exception for tonight. Emily, seeing her interest, grinned. "You like?" she asked, motioning to the range of cosmetics that she kept on her bedside table.
Ginny shrugged. "Can you make it as painless as possible?"
Emily nodded. "Leave it to me."