𝐎𝐃𝐃 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐓 harry potter.

20: New Years Eve

Oh you're spinning me around
My feet are off the ground

I don't know where I stand
Do you have to hold my hand?

EVERYONE WOKE UP LATE on Boxing Day, greeted by piles of boxes ranging from small to large beneath their beds. Breakfast was served late, as the Headmaster anticipated no student would wake up early. A light buzz filled the Great Hall, like bees spreading news about who danced with whom and who left the ball together.

"Who?" Ally asked, her voice resembling an owl's hoot.

"Michael. . .Corner. . ." Ginny repeated very slowly, as if the name didn't quite register with her sister.

Ally shook her head, her brows furrowed, clearly deep in thought. "I don't know him."

Ginny huffed in disbelief. "It doesn't matter if you don't know him!"

Ally grinned apologetically, shrugging as she glanced around, mentally guessing which boy entering the Hall might be Michael Corner. "Did you dance with him?" she asked, pointing at a boy who had just entered. "Is that him?"

The boy blushed under their gaze and quickly trotted over to the Ravenclaw table. Ginny harshly pushed down Ally's pointed finger. "Of course, I danced with him!" she exclaimed in an annoyed whisper. "And don't point at people. It's rude."

Ally scowled, staring at her finger. "I picked that up from you."

Pigwidgeon flew past them, dropping a bundle of letters and a carefully wrapped item. "That's nice," Ginny nodded, noticing a woolly knit hat with a large, somewhat brusque letter 'A' in black. The hat itself was a nice shade of red.

Ally read the note from their mum and carefully tucked it away. She didn't know what to say—if she dwelled on it, she'd feel even more miserable. So, she buried it deep among the pleasant memories of summers at the Burrow and holidays before Hogwarts.

Letters from Amelia and Lottie arrived next, their handwriting unruly, as if both had joint thoughts about the late-night kitchen visit she had with Harry after the Yule Ball. They wished they had more sophisticated means of communication, like easy access to a telephone. For wizards, they were unbelievably old-fashioned.

"Urgh," Ginny groaned, exasperated, staring into the void. Michael had, no pun intended, cornered her in a corridor with his Ravenclaw friends, asking her to their very elegant soiree (a word Ally thought not even Blaise Zabini would use) for New Year's Eve. "Why didn't I say no?"

"Because you fancy him," Ally said in a sing-song voice, tickling Ginny's sides before returning to her crossword puzzle in a tiny, battered edition of Witch Weekly. She whispered, "Down— a potion that grants good luck," as the end of her quill tickled her cheeks lightly.

Ginny launched into a lengthy, redundant monologue about how she didn't think Michael Corner was that good-looking, how his Ravenclaw friends could be stuck-up, and other complaints that flew over Ally's head. "I mean," Ginny huffed, "it's not like he flew past a dragon!"

Ally whipped her head toward her twin, Ginny immediately flushing that familiar shade of red that appeared almost daily during their tender years. "What?" Ginny asked quietly, almost embarrassed.

"You don't. . ." Ally began, struggling to find the words, guilt creeping up her throat like bile. "Still fancy Harry, do you?"

Ginny tore her eyes away, cracking her knuckles. "No. . ." she replied half-heartedly. "It was just a terrible comparison."