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He was surprised when she asked him. Or rather, he was surprised that it was Granger that asked him, because of course there wouldn’t be a shortage of witches who wanted to be his date. Tall, good looking blokes who were top at Quidditch would always be in high demand at Hogwarts, to say nothing of his impressive connections. Honestly, if he hadn’t said yes to her, there would’ve been more girls angling for a date with him than he could shake his wand at. After all, old Sluggy’s Christmas party was the talk of Hogwarts, and those who weren’t one of the select few to get an invitation would do anything to get one.
It happened while he was minding his own in his favorite velvet armchair in the common room, his long legs propped on a faded gold tufted ottoman as he discussed the Puddlemere game with his fellow seventh year, David Graves.
“Of course Williams missed the snitch– I told you, he’s losing his touch. But if Wood didn’t miss that easy save right after he came off the bench, Puddlemere would’ve still managed to win by ten.”
“Come off it, Cormac. It wasn’t an easy save, it was a penalty shot,” said David.
He scoffed. “Please. Wood fell for the obvious feint to the left. I would’ve saved it easily. But then, I’ve got nearly six inches on him in height- Wood’s at a disadvantage for a keeper because he’s shorter. Honestly, I’m surprised he was even scouted.”
“He’s in line for reserve player of the year!”
“Well, that just shows you what a shortage of good keepers there are in the league right now. Really, it’s like I always say-“
Before he could finish, he was interrupted by Lavender Brown’s shrill giggle as she tugged Ron Weasley across the common room, Weasley following behind her like a dog. When they neared the portrait hole, Weasley stumbled over his own feet in the process, and nearly fell over the step.
Cormac snorted with laughter. Merlin, Weasley was as clumsy on his feet as he was in the air.
The portrait slammed shut behind the pair. Before he could continue the conversation where he’d left off, he heard the snap of a book closing. He looked in the direction of the sound and saw Hermione Granger striding purposefully toward him from her table on the opposite side of the room, her jaw set and her frizzy brown hair bouncing with each step.
“Hi Cormac,” she greeted him, a determined glint in her eye.
“Hello Hermione.” He was confused as to why she came over to speak to him, since they rarely interacted outside of the Slug Club dinners.
“Do you have a date to Professor Slughorn’s Christmas party?” she asked, not bothering with any small talk, her tone direct and business-like.
Ah, so that’s how it was then. He grinned at her and his eyes raked up her body. True, Granger wasn’t the best looking girl in their house, but when she did herself up for Sluggy’s dinners and tamed her hair, she was pretty enough.
“I hadn’t gotten around to asking anyone yet,” he replied, careful to keep his tone casual.
Her eyes gleamed in the firelight. “Perfect- because I was wondering if you’d like to go to the party together?”
Granger wouldn’t necessarily be his first choice for a date, but his good looks, social status, and natural athletic abilities made it hard to find a worthy partner at Hogwarts. Certainly, there was no denying she seemed keen, and in his experience, an eager girl was always promising for his prospects for getting off at the end of the night.
“Alright then. Meet you here in the common room at eight on Friday then?” he replied, with a wink.
He couldn’t quite read her expression- her eyes narrowed for a moment, almost in a vengeful way, but then shifted to a look of… triumph? He never could make much sense of academic types like her.
“Brilliant.” And with that, she turned on her heel, and walked to the staircase to the girls’ dormitories.
She probably can’t wait to brag to the other girls that she’s landed a date with me, he thought. In fact, he’d bet several galleons that she’d asked him directly because other girls were dropping hints they wanted to go with him. A smart witch like Granger would take matters into her own hands.
“Well now,” David said, jolting him from his thoughts. “That was interesting.”
He grinned. “She seemed quite keen didn’t she?”
“She did,” David agreed. “Never really pictured Hermione Granger as your type, though. She’s a bit uptight.”
True, Granger was the typical straight-laced prefect, but unlike David, Cormac knew enough about witches to know that her type offered great potential.
“Trust me, mate. Those types are always looking to blow off steam. My Uncle Tiberius still goes on about the time he shagged the Head Girl in the Prefect’s bathroom his seventh year. It’s like he always says, ‘The tightest coiled spring gives the biggest bounce.’” Cormac waggled his eyebrows.
David laughed. “You really think Hermione Granger’s going to shag you at the end of the night?”
“Didn’t I tell you she was staring at me the whole time at Quidditch trials?” He still recalled her gaze boring into him from the stands. “She’s intense.”
“I’ll give you that, but it doesn’t mean you’ll get in her knickers at the end of the night.”
“Don’t care as much if I get in her knickers, as long as she gets in mine.”
Yes, Cormac thought, as David’s laughter rang out around him, Sluggy’s party was sure to be a good time.
The day of the party dawned with swirls of snow flurries. Hogwarts was decked in Christmas regalia, from the large Christmas trees in the Great Hall to the bunches of mistletoe that abounded in the corridors (with groups of desperate girls congregating underneath). On his way from Transfiguration to Charms, he was certain that he heard groans as he walked past a group of hopeful girls clustered under the mistletoe without sparing them a glance.
He looked for the nearest bloke in the corridor to exchange a laugh, and he realized, with a start, upon seeing a shock of messy black hair, that it was none other than Harry Potter, who had just emerged from behind a tapestry a few paces ahead. When he saw the gaggle of girls, Potter looked annoyed, his face taking on an even more pinched expression than usual. Harry Potter always looked a bit harried and stressed these days, most likely because he was in way over his head as Quidditch captain.
“Potter,” said Cormac, “are you going to Slughorn’s party tonight? We still need to talk Quidditch strategy. The Slytherin game was a bit of a disaster, notwithstanding the score, but I’ve got several ideas to turn it around-“
“I’ll be there,” Potter interrupted, his tone short and curt. “But, erm, I’ve got to run. I’m late for Transfiguration.” He hitched his bag over his shoulder and hurried off down the corridor, his shoulders hunched and head down.
“Right– well, we’ll talk then!” Cormac shouted after him.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully, aside from the gossip that Potter asked Loony Lovegood to Slughorn’s party, which was currently all Hogwarts could talk about. He had no idea what Potter was thinking– Potter may not have been as tall or as good-looking as Cormac, but he certainly could’ve pulled a much better partner than Lovegood. If anything, it showed how terrible Potter’s decision-making was, which Cormac already knew, given Potter’s poor judgment when it came to Quidditch.
At five til eight, Cormac, in his smartest black velvet dress robes, lounged in the common room with David waiting for Hermione to come downstairs. Across the room, Seamus Finnegan moved a table to the corner with his wand and then began to fill a large punch bowl for all the poor sods who hadn’t been able to manage an invitation to the main event, while Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, whispering to one another as always, conjured decorations.
“Should be a good time tonight. I’ve got a couple bottles of Ogden’s and Finnegan’s going to spike the punch, good lad,” said David. “It’ll be a knees-up when you get back.”
“I’m sure I won’t be back until very late,” Cormac replied confidently, already thinking of which empty classroom would be the best one to go to with Hermione after the party.
He heard a door open and glanced across the room toward the girls’ staircase to look for Hermione, but it was Ginny Weasley who descended the staircase towards Dean Thomas. Her long copper-colored hair was swept to one side, and she wore dark green dress robes with a deep plunge in the front. Despite his personal dislike for her, he appreciated the view those robes provided.
Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, Weasley rose on her tiptoes and gave Thomas, who looked pathetically lovesick, a swift kiss on the cheek. The pair walked through the common room toward the portrait hole. Thomas, being a gentleman, held out his arm and tried to help her through, but Weasley gathered up her robes and marched through without sparing him a glance. Typical Ginny Weasley.
“You know,” Cormac said in an undertone to David, “I’ve no idea why Slughorn asked Ginny Weasley to be in the club. She’s not top of her year like Granger and she’s got no connections.”
“Sluggy may be old, but he’s still got eyes hasn’t he? She’s fit. And she’s aces at Quidditch. Scored double the amount of goals than any of the other chasers in the last match.”
“Half of those goals were just scored because Slytherin’s keeper is even worse than her brother.”
In truth, Cormac couldn’t deny that Ginny Weasley was fit. She had a nice set of tits on her small frame, and she had a pretty face, he had to admit. But he had never been interested in her in the least because of her personality. Ginny Weasley thought a lot of herself. She was brash and overconfident, which was not an attractive quality in a girl, in his opinion. He appreciated that Granger, despite being top of her year, never walked around with her nose in the air acting like she’d breeze right through her exams– she had proper humility. Not to mention that Weasley had a reputation for getting around with the lads of Hogwarts, which he supposed was part of her allure, but he didn’t like the idea of getting some other bloke’s sloppy seconds. And plus, she insulted him when he asked her out last year, which just proved his point.
A sharp elbow from David altered him to Hermione’s arrival. He hastily stood and walked over to the staircase to meet her. He was pleased to see that she’d done something with her hair, which had been tamed from its usual wild, frizzy state to smooth and sleek waves that fell below her shoulders. The effect made her much better looking than usual, and when coupled with her burgundy robes, which complimented her complexion, she was a witch up to his standards.
“All set?” he asked, as she stepped from the staircase into the common room. “You look lovely, by the way.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Thank you. You look, erm, rather smart yourself.”
He smiled widely at her praise, looking forward to what it meant for later. “Let’s go then, shall we?”
He held out his arm to her. She paused for a moment, as if unsure of whether to take it, but then, her eyes focused on something across the room, she set her jaw, and grasped his arm tightly.
Cormac looked over to see what caught her eye. That part of the room was empty, save for Ron Weasley, who sat alone in an armchair in the corner, his elbows resting on his knees, staring directly at them and scowling. Of course, it was no secret that Weasley disliked him. Everyone knew that Cormac was the superior keeper and Weasley only made the team because he was best mates with Potter. Weasley had gotten lucky in the Slytherin game, but if rumors of practice had been true, his keeping skills were as spotty as ever, and his dislike of Cormac only seemed to grow stronger. Weasley could probably sense that it would only be a matter of time before Potter begged Cormac to replace him. And unlike Cormac, who had his connections and family money to fall back on, Weasley was a nobody save for his patchy performances on the pitch.
With a smug smile at Weasley, he exited the common room with Hermione, Weasley continuing to glower at them until the portrait swung shut.
The conversation flowed easily on their walk to Slughorn’s office. He made sure to mention all of his most impressive Quidditch saves, for what girl wouldn’t want to get off later with someone as talented on the pitch as him? Hermione tried to comment in response a few times, and it didn’t matter to him that she knew nothing about Quidditch, for he was more than happy to explain it all to her.
Sluggy had outdone himself for the party, a lavish affair with plenty of good booze. As soon as they entered, he took two goblets of mead from a tray and handed one to Hermione.
“Cheers,” he said, raising his glass before taking a healthy sip and launching into an excellent story about the time he beat his mates in a two on one Quidditch game in his garden.
Hermione, he was pleased to note, was gulping her mead down quickly as he regaled her with all of his exploits on the pitch. She clearly wanted to have a good time tonight, and the ambiance in the room was excellent. The Christmas-colored hangings on the walls and ceiling glowed from all the fairies flitting about, and the rumble of conversation and laughter filled the air.
As Hermione started to chatter on about house elves or something, he scouted out a dimly-lit corner and moved towards it, noting a large bunch of mistletoe floating in the area. Perfect, he thought, turning back to Hermione, who was still talking.
“It’s absolutely abhorrent that an institution like Hogwarts doesn’t pay house elves for their labor,” she said, her tone fervent. “And so I started S.P.E.W. to try to bring awareness, not just to the students, but to the elves themselves–“
“Would you care for another drink?” he interrupted, because he’d no interest in the topic– elves were perfectly happy to work for free, so why would anyone pay them?
“I’m fine thank you,” she replied stiffly.
“Oh, look.” He motioned to the ceiling, casually, as if he’d just seen it. “Mistletoe.” He leaned closer to Hermione, her back now resting against the hangings on the wall, but before he could kiss her, she moved abruptly to his other side.
“Erm, sorry, need the loo,” she said, rushing past him toward the door to Slughorn’s office. “Be back shortly.”
Bad timing, he thought. Deciding that another drink was in order, he scanned the room, looking for the elf with the tray of mead. After taking his second goblet, he ran into a friend of his Uncle Tiberius, and had a pleasant conversation discussing hunting Nogtails and the Quidditch league standings. After the conversation ended, he realized that it had been some time since Hermione left for the loo, yet oddly, she hadn’t returned.
He set off to look for her, swapping his empty goblet of mead for another full one. The room had grown even more crowded, and despite the advantage that his height afforded him, it was difficult to find her in the crush of people.
His eye was drawn to the shimmer of spangled silver robes, which stuck out like a sore thumb among the sea of dark colored dress robes most of the guests wore. When he got closer, squeezing his large frame through two witches shrieking with laughter, he saw that the wearer was none other than Loony Lovegood. Of course Lovegood would wear something stupid, he laughed to himself. She was engaged in conversation with Professor Trelawney, and next to her, not speaking to anyone and brooding, stood Harry Potter.
He clearly regrets taking Lovegood, Cormac thought.
“Seen Hermione?” he asked Potter.
“No, sorry,” Potter replied, quickly turning back to Lovegood and joining her conversation.
Cormac kept moving through the crowd, searching for Hermione, for he was not at all interested in speaking to Trelawney or Lovegood (in a contest of who was more batty, each gave the other a run for their galleons).
He was jostled to the right by an older wizard wearing a top hat, and ended up directly next to Ginny Weasley and Dean Thomas, who were engaged in conversation near a group of warlocks playing mandolins, the music so loud they shouted over it.
“Dean, it’s alright, really. Go back to the common room,” Weasley was saying. “As soon as Slughorn introduces me to Gwenog Jones, I’ll head back and meet you there.”
“I’m not ditching you! Plus, you shouldn’t walk back alone this late–“ Thomas began before stopping and wincing in pain, his hands going to his back.
“You can hardly stand! And I’m perfectly capable of walking by myself, I’m not a first year,” Weasley replied, her eyes narrowed.
“I know you are, I just–“ Thomas winced again.
Weasley placed her hand on his arm. “It’s normal to be sore like this. I’m telling you, go back and take a pain potion, it’ll help.”
“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Same as you.”
“You aren’t used to the training schedule yet, and it was a tough practice. It’s hard on your back, being bent low over the broom for sprint drills,” Weasley replied, but Cormac noted that despite her sympathetic words, she didn’t look any worse for the wear.
He couldn’t imagine how embarrassing it would be to be outflown by your own girlfriend. Thankfully, he’d never have to worry about that, given his skills were far superior to any witch.
“All right then,” Thomas said, his expression pained. “I’ll head back. Seamus’ll be happy at least.”
Before Weasley could reply, Professor Slughorn appeared at her side, his velvet cap askew and his cheeks red. “Come, Ginny!” he said loudly, completely ignoring Thomas, “I’ve found Gwenog, and I simply must introduce her to Gryffindor’s best chaser!”
“Only Gryffindor’s best?” Weasley teased, with a sparkle in her eye. “I seem to remember that I scored more goals in the last match than all three of Slytherin’s chasers put together.”
Rather than look put off by Weasley’s cheek, old Sluggy laughed heartily.
“Oho! She’s a cheeky one, isn’t she Cormac?” Slughorn said, elbowing him in the side with a wink. “And she’s even wearing Harpies’ green; Gwenog’ll be pleased. Let’s not keep her waiting, then.”
With a glance over her shoulder and a wave at Thomas, Weasley followed Slughorn into the crowd. Thomas, with a feeble nod at Cormac, limped off towards the exit.
With still no sign of Hermione among the throng of people, he decided another mead was in order. He ran into Blaise Zabini on the way, who introduced him to one of the Weird Sisters. Comac couldn’t wait to tell David later– he’d be seething with jealousy– but, of course, not everyone could be invited to swanky parties like this full of famous, important people, or they wouldn’t be exclusive.
After a lengthy conversation with Zabini, he scanned the room again for Hermione. He didn’t see her, but caught sight of Potter in conversation with Weasley, his dark hair even more disastrous than it had been earlier, as if he’d been rolling around under a bedsheet. Though it wasn’t just Potter’s hair that looked different, because instead of his usual brooding expression, he was smiling broadly, his cheeks flushed pink. Potter was obviously enjoying the mead, Cormac thought.
“You don’t look nearly as disgruntled as I’d expected. You’re holding up quite well,” said Weasley to Potter, her lips curving upward into a smirk.
“Well, Luna’s been fantastic entertainment. And I’ve only had one offer to write my biography so far, so I’m counting that as a win.” Potter grinned.
Since Hermione was nowhere to be found, he decided to join their conversation. Perhaps Weasley would know where Hermione went off to.
“Potter, Weasley,” he said with a nod to them both, “Haven’t seen the two of you at the Slug Club dinners lately.”
“Erm, yeah. Conflict with Quidditch practice so…” Potter shrugged.
“Funny how it keeps happening like that isn’t it? Three times in a row now,” said Weasley, her smirk growing wider.
“It’s too bad,“ Cormac replied, and he would’ve continued on, but a strange look passed between the pair.
Weasley bit her lip, almost as if she was trying not to laugh. Potter ducked his head, shifting closer towards her. He snorted before replying, “It’s unfortunate, really.”
“Now that should be the title of your biography: It’s Unfortunate, Really.” Weasley said, giving Potter’s arm a light tap.
Cormac stiffened. How awkward could Weasley be? Everyone knew all the horrible things that had happened to Harry Potter. Even for a good-natured bloke like Cormac, it wasn’t a laughing matter.
He expected Potter to give his usual cold glare in response, but instead, to his amazement, Potter laughed– full on, head thrown back, wild laughter, which was soon joined by Weasley’s giggle.
“‘The Life and Times of Harry Potter: It’s Unfortunate, Really,’” Potter managed, through choked laughter. “That’s brilliant. Are you going to write it then, or should I go over and take Worple up on his offer?”
“Of course I am. What kind of a friend would I be if I let some hack butcher your story?” Weasley replied.
“You’re a good friend, then.”
“Just good? I’m offended.”
“Alright, an excellent friend.” Potter was now smiling so widely that he was almost unrecognizable.
“You forgot– and Gryffindor’s best chaser.”
“Didn’t think I needed to state the obvious.”
Weasley beamed up at Potter in response, her cheeks reddening.
Wait a moment, thought Cormac, were the pair of them flirting? They’d moved even closer together during their banter, so close that they were almost touching. And with the way that each of them was looking at the other, they might as well go shut themselves in a broom closet. Cormac wasn’t surprised that Weasley was flirting with another bloke, despite having a boyfriend– everyone knew she was a bit of a tart, but Potter was playing with fire, considering he and Thomas were dorm mates.
“Have you lost your date, McLaggen?” asked Weasley, catching him staring. Her brow was arched, and he could hear the smugness dripping from her tone.
“She’s tough to keep track of at parties, that one, always wandering off on her own,” he replied, trying to keep his tone airy and unbothered, though by this point, he was quite annoyed.
“I haven’t seen Hermione since I was telling her about the Rotfang conspiracy earlier. She seemed rather angry when I told her about it,” said Loony Lovegood, appearing suddenly at Cormac’s left, her tone so serene that it was off-putting. “Though of course, I think a government conspiracy of that sort would always be upsetting.”
He didn’t know what the hell this Rotfang conspiracy was, and he certainly didn’t want to keep talking to someone as weird as Lovegood to find out. “Well, I’ll just take a turn about the room to look for her, I suppose,” he said, trying to extract himself in a dignified manner.
“Though,” continued Lovegood, as if he hadn’t spoken at all, her stupid spangled robes casting kaleidoscopes of color as they reflected the lamp light, “it’s more likely that Hermione was upset because she asked Ron Weasley to be her date to the party, and he’s with Lavender Brown.”
At that, Potter made a choked sound and then began to cough loudly, causing Weasley to pat him on the back, her lips pressed tightly in suppressed laughter.
A wave of anger coursed through him. Hermione asked him after she’d gotten turned down by Ron Weasley? Who in their right mind would want to be Weasley’s date over his? Weasley, who was a clumsy, freckle-faced nobody? The vein in his temple began to throb. He refused to believe it was possible.
“Are you alright, Harry?” Lovegood asked calmly, as Potter continued to cough. “It must have been a Nargle, what with all the mistletoe. I thought I saw one earlier when I was talking to Professor Trelawney.”
Comac rolled his eyes at her ridiculous remark and began to calm down. Loony Lovegood was full of nonsense, everyone knew that. Like usual, she had no idea of what she was talking about.
Potter smiled at Lovegood once his coughing fit ended. His cheeks were very pink, the blush now creeping down toward his neck, and Ginny Weasley’s hand still rested on his back.
“No, erm, the mead just went down the wrong pipe.” He turned his head to look down at Weasley, where she stood by his side. “Thanks, Ginny.”
“Can’t have our Captain choke on a bit of mead. What would the Quidditch team do then?”
“I think you’d manage the team just fine without me,” replied Potter, with a wry smile.
“Of course I would– but I’d lose the satisfaction of beating you in sprint drills then.”
“That was once,” Potter retorted, still smiling. “And only because I was distracted.”
Merlin, could Potter and Weasley be any more obvious? Flirting behind Thomas’ back was one thing, but to be all over each other in front of Potter’s date was truly bad form. But his thoughts on the pair were interrupted by Hermione emerging from the crowd.
“Sorry it took me so long to find you,” she said, though she didn’t sound apologetic at all. “It was quite difficult with the crowd.”
“That’s alright,” he replied, pretending as if it hadn’t bothered him. “I’m just sorry you missed it when I met Kirley Duke of the Weird Sisters earlier.”
Hermione gave a half-hearted smile. “Listen Cormac, my feet are killing me in these shoes. Would you mind if we called it a night?”
He raised a brow and grinned at her. She couldn’t even wait for the end of the party. “Not at all.”
“Are you ready to head out as well?” Potter said to Lovegood. “I’ll walk you back to Ravenclaw Tower.”
“Ginny, you can walk back with us to Gryffindor if you like.” Hermione stared intensely at Weasley as if trying to have a silent conversation.
His annoyance came rushing back. What was she playing at, asking Weasley to walk back with them? How were they meant to snog with a third wheel?
Weasley gave a pointed look back to Hermione. “Thanks, but I’ll walk Luna back with Harry so we can chat.” She linked her arm through Lovegood’s and waved as the three exited the room and headed toward Ravenclaw tower.
“Shall we?” he said to Hermione, who was still glaring in Weasley’s direction, and they began the walk back to Gryffindor tower.
When they reached the fifth floor, he asked if she’d like to go up to the Astronomy Tower to “stargaze,” figuring it would be a good opportunity for him to make his move.
“Oh, erm.” Her eyes widened, and she walked faster, her robes swishing with each step. “No, I’m sorry, I’m quite tired.”
“Of course,” he replied. “We’ll just go back then.” Despite being thoroughly annoyed, he was a true noble Gryffindor who would never press his luck.
He followed her as they continued toward the common room at a breakneck pace. He couldn’t understand how the night had turned out like this, given how eager she seemed when she’d asked him to go to the party together. Unless… maybe it was her time of the month? That had to be it, because there was no other explanation for why a girl like Hermione wouldn’t be throwing herself at a bloke like him, who was so far out of her league.
While the knowledge that this was just bad timing soothed his ego, it did nothing to help his mood, which grew increasingly sour in direct proportion to his diminishing chances of getting off tonight. Their footsteps echoed through the corridors, the clacking of Hermione’s heels ringing out with each rapid step, until they finally reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.
Hermione stopped several feet in front of him and took a deep breath. “Well, it’s been… quite an evening. Thank you for coming with me, and happy Christmas.” She made no move towards him, nor any indication that she intended to give him even so much as a peck on the cheek.
He grimaced. “Happy Christmas to you as well.”
“Baubles,” she said to the Fat Lady, and the portrait swung open. Hermione rushed through it without even a glance back at Cormac, who stood motionless in the corridor for a moment before proceeding through.
The party in the common room raged around him; the fourth through seventh years who hadn’t gotten invited to Slughorn’s had gone all out and were clearly enjoying themselves. A cheer went up from the opposite side of the room, where Parvati Patil and Dean Thomas (who now looked perfectly fine) had just beaten Seamus Finnegan and Lavender Brown in some sort of drinking game.
He loosened the knot of his tie, figuring he’d get himself a drink and get properly pissed given the disappointing end to the night. Hermione walked rapidly towards the girls’ staircase ahead of him, her burgundy robes swishing with each step.
“Enjoy yourself tonight?” a voice called out to Hermione as she passed. It was Ron Weasley, who sat alone in an armchair near the stairs, his expression sullen.
Hermione stopped and stiffened at his words, her back rigid and chin high. “Yes, I had a very nice time,” she replied, her tone brittle.
Weasley snorted. “Yeah, you look like you had loads of fun,” he said, the sarcasm apparent, “Just radiating cheer, you are.”
Cormac laughed to himself. To think that he’d almost believed the nonsense Lovegood was spouting earlier about Hermione and Ron Weasley, when it was obvious that the two loathed each other.
Hermione grit her teeth. “My feet just hurt. I’m not used to wearing heels.” She kicked off each shoe angrily, bent down to pick them up, then stood barefoot, holding her shoes in one hand.
A crease appeared in between Weasley’s brows. He pulled out his wand from his pocket and waved it wordlessly over her feet.
A tiny sigh escaped Hermione’s lips, and her posture relaxed instantly, her shoulders dropping. “Was that a cooling charm?”
“Yeah. Mum always uses it after a long day on her feet. Helps, doesn’t it?” Weasley’s tone was different; the sarcasm was gone, replaced by something almost like tenderness.
“Yes, that’s loads better.” Her expression softened and she paused for a moment. “Thank you, Ron.”
“It’s nothing. Didn’t want your feet to hurt is all,” Weasley replied, so quietly that Cormac had to strain to hear. “Listen, Hermione, about earlier in Transfiguration– I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made fun of you like that… I was an arse and–“
“Won-Won!” Lavender Brown squealed, as she ran over from across the common room and jumped onto his lap, throwing her arms around his neck. “Come on, we’re going to play Gobstones.”
In an instant, Weasley’s earnest expression darkened and his face fell. Cormac couldn’t understand it, for if he had a tipsy girl wiggling about in his lap, he wouldn’t look so miserable.
With a scathing glance at Weasley, Hermione turned on her heel and rushed up the staircase. A moment later, the slam of a door echoed.
“Come on Won-Won!” Brown ruffled her hand through Weasley’s horrible ginger hair. “We need another person to start the game.” Weasley stood abruptly, causing Lavender to slide off his lap, but he followed her over to the table to start the game.
Cormac summoned a glass of the punch, and took a large gulp. He began wandering around the common room to look for David and his mates. As he walked closer to the portrait hole, it opened.
Ginny Weasley climbed through first, with Harry Potter following closely behind. They both stopped as soon as they entered and turned to each other.
“Looks like they’ve been having a nice quiet evening,” Potter quipped, gesturing at the party going on around them.
“Don’t worry, I’ll liven things up. It’s tough to be the life of the party, but someone has to.” Weasley grinned. She paused for a moment before continuing in a more serious tone. “Harry, I meant what I said earlier about taking Luna. It was really kind of you to ask her.”
Potter blushed and looked down for a moment. “It was nothing, really,” he said, leaning closer to Weasley. “I ran into her earlier after Transfiguration and she mentioned that she’d been a bit lonely– I think it’s been hard for her, without the D.A. this year– and so I just… I just wanted to make sure she knew that she had friends, you know?”
“I do.” Weasley looked up at Potter, a fierce, blazing look in her eye. “I could tell she had a fantastic time tonight though, and that’s thanks to you.”
They drew even closer together and stared at each other, something unspoken hanging in the air between them. For a moment, Cormac thought they might even kiss.
“Ginny! Come and play Gobstones with us!” Dean Thomas shouted from across the room.
Potter jolted back a step, his head snapping up.
“Do you want to come?” Weasley asked.
“Oh, erm no,” Potter replied, running a hand through his hair nervously. “I think I’ll just turn in. I’m pretty tired.”
“Well sweet dreams, then.” Weasley replied, her lips curving up into a smile before she walked off towards Thomas.
Potter’s face turned scarlet. And with a fleeting look in her direction, he hurried towards the boys dormitories, probably for a cold shower.
Cormac performed a refilling charm on his punch and slumped onto the sofa next to a girl with dark hair and a large chin. He recognized her as the fourth year that was always chattering and never shut up. What was her name– Rosinda? No, Romilda. That was it.
Romilda stared in the direction Potter just left, looking rather put out. She wasn’t the best looking girl, but on the whole, she wasn’t bad.
“Romilda, right?” he said, striking up a conversation. “You were at Quidditch trials, weren’t you?”
She nodded. “You were playing keeper, yeah?”
He gave her his most winning smile in return and moved closer to her on the sofa.
“So you saw that save when I caught the Quaffle with one hand? Let me tell you about how I learned that one,” he said, and launched into a detailed account of his Quidditch skills.
Maybe the night wouldn’t be a complete waste after all.