Real or Not Real {Harry Potter}

Fifty One

-Peace-

-all these people think love's for show-

-but i would die for you in secret-

Snow was swirling against the icy windows once more; Christmas was approaching fast. Hagrid had already single-handedly delivered the usual twelve Christmas trees for the Great Hall; garlands of holly and tinsel had been twisted around the banisters of the stairs; everlasting candles glowed from inside the helmets of suits of armor and great bunches of mistletoe had been hung at intervals along the corridors.

Bria welcomed the cold weather easily; she always appreciated the biting cold compared to the sweltering heat. Growing up in the bakery, it made the hot ovens much more bearable, and the wind chill of the night was a pleasant feeling when she went to bed at night.

She has gotten quite used to hanging out with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and all of the drama that entails it. Her and Harry have figured out a great system, splitting their times evenly between Hermione and Ron, who were still on the outs.

Bria has to be honest, she's not quite sure which one is more pleasant to be around. Sure, Ron was in a much better mood nowadays, laughing and smiling as opposed to his natural moody and grumpy mood he had been sporting for quite some time now.

But being around Ron meant being around Lavender, who seemed to regard any moment that she was not kissing Ron as a moment wasted.

Hermione did not have a man that was sucking her face all day, a nice break from Ron and his constant show of public affection. But that means that all Hermione does all day is complain about Ron, and what him and Lavender could be doing, and why she doesn't care even though it's obvious to everyone that she cares very much.

Although, Ron wasn't doing much better, whose hands and forearms still bore scratches and cuts from Hermione's bird attack, began taking a defensive and resentful tone.

"She can't complain," he says to Bria and Harry. "She snogged Krum. So she's found out someone wants to snog me, too. Well, it's a free country. I haven't done anything wrong."

Harry nor Bria answered him, figuring out the best way to manage the peace with everyone was to simply not speak at all.

"I never promised Hermione anything," Ron mumbles. "I mean, all right, I was going to go to Slughorn's Christmas party with her, but she never said ... just as friends ... I'm a free agent ..."

Harry turns a page of Quintessence while Bria pretends to be reading over his shoulder, aware that Ron was watching them. Ron's voice tailed away in mutters, barely audible over the loud crackling of the fire, though Bria thinks she caught the words 'Krum' and 'can't complain' again.

Hermione's timetable was so full that Bria and Harry could only talk to her properly in the evenings, when Ron was in any case so tightly wrapped around Lavender that he did not notice what Harry was doing.

Hermione refuses to sit in the common room while Ron is there, so Harry and Bria generally join her in the library, which meant that their conversations were held in whispers.

"He's at perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes," Hermione says, while the librarian, Madam Pince, prowls the shelves behind them. "I really couldn't care less."

She raises her quill and dots an 'i' so ferociously that she punctures a hole in her parchment.

Bria sketches an outline of Harry absentmindedly, watching as he bends a little lower over Advanced Potion-Making and continues to make notes on Everlasting Elixirs, occasionally pausing to decipher the Prince's useful additions to Libatius Borage's text.