~Chapter 7- Holiday in Hogsmeade~

It was the morning of the first Triwizard task. I was at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, obviously eating breakfast. Almost everyone in the Hall was talking excitedly about the task and making predictions on what it would be. I could have cared less, honestly.

Instead of talking to anyone, I was reading the Daily Prophet. More specifically, I was searching the newspaper for any sign of mysterious happenings. This was one of my habits to the point it was obsessive. Ever since the previous year when Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban, I always had a feeling of dread alongside dark hopefulness that my parents would escape too. I knew they were in high-security cells, but I couldn't help but cling to the possibility that they had the skill and talent to escape. After all, Sirius Black had been my mother's cousin, so maybe she could have picked up some of his technique.

But there was never anything in the Prophet. After awhile I had given up and simply skimmed it, reading the news headlines. At least, until recently. Ever since the World Cup, I had been on guard. My addiction to searching the news for even a tiny sign had returned.

I folded the newspaper over and pushed it aside. Once I had read three articles that meant nothing to me (‘Rumored Lethifold sighting turns out to be scam,' ‘Muggle technology becoming more popular among wizard teens,' and ‘Chudley Cannons win first match of the season') I had no purpose to continue.

Maybe I was overreacting, after all. Around me, everything seemed normal. At least, it did at the time.

It was later that night in the common room. I was busily scribbling on my Transfiguration essay, caring less about the celebration going on around me. I felt like I was hidden in a bubble, oblivious to the joyful party - and perfectly fine with it.

Clearly, they were all celebrating because of Harry's triumph over the dragon. He, of course, had received the most ferocious dragon of them all, the Hungarian Horntail. He, of course, had flown on his top-model Firebolt to reach the goal of collecting the golden egg. He, of course, had tied for first with Quidditch player Viktor Krum, who hadn't even thought of flying. And now everyone was celebrating for him in the common room. While I saw reason behind this, it was giving me a headache and I decided it was time to retire to the dormitories to finish my homework and go to bed.

Once I completed my essay (being somewhat sloppy with it in my rush to finish), I pulled out my journal so I could give Dora the run-down of the task, though I knew she'd be reading about it in the Prophet the next day (I laughed as I wrote, thinking it would be better for her to hear from me - someone who had actually witnessed the task - than from one of Rita Skeeter's twisted stories).

I gave her all the details: how Cedric Diggory had wound up in several tight spots with the Swedish Short-Snout and had managed to burn his face (maybe Hufflepuff wouldn't be receiving that glory of winning the Triwizard cup); how Fleur Delacour had fought a Common Welsh Green by trying to daze it with a charm, which worked until her skirt caught fire (her not-so-stunningly beautiful performance made me think she wasn't meant for this competition once again); and how Viktor Krum had cast a spell at his Chinese Fireball and hit it in the eye, causing the dragon to stomp around in pain and consequently squashing several of the real eggs it guarded (maybe he was an International Quidditch Player, but the fact that he hadn't even thought of flying told a lot). And of course I told her about Harry's performance and how the judges had scored the champions.

After a long two hours of explanations, which involved me writing so furiously I'd torn the paper and cramped my wrist, I closed the journal and went to bed. My wrist was hurting again, but not like it had at the before. I knew it hurt now from writing so much. It was a much different pain, one that I'd felt before.

But since the World Cup, I'd felt a few twitches in my wrist, and they were a much different pain.

I carefully lifted the Messaging Journal again and wrote Dora a quick note.

If you're still there, I just want you to know that my wrist is hurting again. There haven't been any more signs, have there? Is everything all right at the Ministry? I know I'm being paranoid about this, but I can't get any answers. Do you think the Death Eaters could be up to something?

However, when I woke up in the morning, the only thing written beneath my message was this:

Forget about it. You'll soon have more important things to be concerned about. Remember those dress robes we bought you?

Dora's message finally made sense after a Transfiguration lesson one day. Professor McGonagall had a message for us: the Yule Ball was approaching.

That was the occasion Dora wouldn't tell me about. The Yule Ball!

When the bell rang we all rushed out of class. Immediately I began to think about the ball. The obvious question was: who was I going to ask? Nerves clutched my stomach as I thought of this. Nobody would ask me; I usually appeared to be more or less a brick wall to the rest of the school. I would have to ask somebody and do it quickly before all the boys at Hogwarts were taken. But who? If I didn't ask anyone, I'd be going to the ball by myself. I would look like an idiot if I was alone. No, I wouldn't be able to go at all. Maybe I'd skip the ball and go home for Christmas. I could spend it with my family instead.

Dora would kill me. If I turned down this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and wasted the money spent on my dress robes, I would never hear the end of it.

Right. I'd go to the ball. I'd ask someone to go with me. I'd stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. This was something I'd never get to do again, so I had to go for it.

During the next few days, all anyone talked about was the ball. I kept thinking about who to ask. There wasn't anyone in particular that I wanted to go with. Actually, I supposed there was. But Cedric Diggory was a Hogwarts champion and an excellent Quidditch player, so he was bound to be asked by some other girl who was probably older and way prettier than me, anyway, like one of those Beauxbatons girls, so I quickly gave up on that.

One day during Charms Lavender Brown excitedly announced that the Weird Sisters were supposed to be at the ball. I'd grown up listening to the Weird Sisters on the Wizarding Wireless Network (mostly hearing the music blaring from Dora's room) and wondered how Dora would take it once she found out they were playing live at Hogwarts.

The castle was also being decorated with for Christmas, more elaborately than last year because of the foreign guests. Icicles and beautiful Christmas trees were everywhere, as well as the suits of armor that sang Christmas carols when you passed in the halls (unless it happened to be Peeves inhabiting the armor and making up his own rude lyrics).

One day after Potions, I saw Neville approach Hermione and ask her to the ball, saying she'd always been nice to him by helping him with his classes. But Hermione gently turned him down, saying she already had someone else. At that moment, a thought struck me.

Neville probably wouldn't be able to find anyone else. I had hardly any chance now that almost everyone had a partner (well, I could ask Harry or Ron because I knew they were both looking for partners, but I knew they weren't into the dance at all and well ... I wanted to have fun and not go with someone who just wanted the night to be over). I could ask Neville to the ball and we'd both have partners. Maybe he wasn't Cedric Diggory (who, by the way, was going with Cho Chang, a pretty, popular Ravenclaw Quidditch player. I knew I didn't have a chance), but it could work. He looked pretty miserable after being rejected, anyway. I couldn't blame him.

After Herbology that day, I approached Neville. I noticed he looked disappointed even though Professor Sprout had just given him top marks on potting his plant.

"Hey, um ... Neville?"

He turned around. "Oh, hi, Lindsey. Do you need something?"

"I was just wondering if - well, I need a date for the ball and - do you think - ?"

Okay, so I wasn't Dora. She could easily go up to someone and ask them out in a flirty manner (with her hair changed to their preferred color and style), but I wasn't so smooth. Neville caught on, however, and said, "Oh! You want to go to the ball with me?" rather loudly.

Looking somewhat embarrassed, I said, "Er ... yeah. If you'd like that."

"Sure! Yes, that would be great! See you around!" And he ran off. More like skipped off. I sighed; t least that was done. It was only for one night, and I wouldn't look stupid for not having a date. But then again, he was Neville Longbottom. Oh, Merlin. The taunts from the Draco Malfoy and his followers would never end.

It was later that evening in the common room. I sat doing my homework when Ron came in, looking more downshifted than I'd probably ever seen him. Ginny walked him in and sat him down in the corner, talking to him soothingly, but he was unresponsive.

I watched, but when Ginny looked over at me, catching my staring eye, I hastily looked down at my Charms essay and tried not to blush. Yet, Ginny called me over.

"Lindsey, could you come here for a second?"

I got up and went over to them. "Yes?"

"Do you know anyone who needs a date for the ball?" Ginny asked.

"Er ... no."

"Okay, then. Ron still needs someone, so I'm trying to help ... "

"What happened? Is he okay? He looks ... "

"He asked Fleur Delacour to the dance and she turned him down. Not surprising."

"Oh ... " I said. "Well, er ... "

"Do you have a date?" Ron blurted.

"I, um - yes."

Now I felt my face going red. Maybe asking Neville to the ball wasn't such a good move. I looked away and stood up to leave, just in case they asked who it was. I headed for the dormitory. By the time I reached the top stair, I looked down to see Ginny climbing up after me. She looked sulky.

I walked down to her. "Hey, Ginny ... is something wrong?"

"No. Yes. Neville told me he was going to ask me to the ball when Hermione rejected him, but he said you asked him instead. I wish he hadn't told me, because then I wouldn't have known I was this close to getting to go to the ball. I'm only in third year, so I can't go unless someone from fourth year or above asks me. Anyway, I'll see you around."

"No, wait! Hey, maybe you still have a chance."

"No, I don't. Even if I did, I don't have any dress robes."

"That's not a problem. Listen, Ginny. If you can find a date, we can go to Hogsmeade together to buy a dress for you." I wasn't exactly sure why I was saying this. Ever since asking Neville, I'd been filled with a previously unknown confidence. I felt the antisocial barrier around me breaking slightly when I told Ginny she could join me in Hogsmeade.

"Well, that sounds okay, but it's ... not like I have the money for a dress," Ginny said awkwardly.

"You could get one secondhand and ... decorate it, or something. My older sister taught me some spells that make clothes look better-you can put glitter and designs on them-it might be worth a try."

She shrugged. "Sure. Well, thanks."

"You're welcome. You deserve a chance to go to the ball, especially since all of us will never have another chance."

I was definitely feeling more confident than I ever had.

The next Hogsmeade trip was the next weekend. Ginny told me excitedly the next day that she'd successfully asked the fourth year Hufflepuff Justin Finch-Fletchley and he'd accepted. So on Sunday, everyone bundled up in their winter clothes and met in the entrance hall where Filch led us to the snow-covered grounds and around the corner to Hogsmeade village. As usual, the tiny shops and houses were covered in snow and were decorated for the coming holidays.

I met up with Ginny and traipsed down the High Street to the Three Broomsticks. It felt really odd hanging out with her (or anyone for that matter) as I usually went to Hogsmeade alone.

We went into the Three Broomsticks pub, ordered a butterbeer, and sat down to drink them at a small table by the window. We sat there silently, watching people stroll down the snowy street.

"So, er ... " I said. "How's everything going?"

"Not bad," she said, taking a sip of butterbeer. "Hey, um ... I really appreciate you helping me."

"It's no problem, really," I said. "You're welcome."

"So what kinds of spells did your sister teach you? How do they work?"

"I can't remember the incantations exactly," I told her. "But I have them written down somewhere. She learned them from some of her friends at the Auror office."

"Wasn't your sister with you at the World Cup?" Ginny asked. "Isn't she one of those shape-shifting people? I can't remember what they're called."

"A Metamorphmagus. Yes, she's one. I wish I could be too."

"Me too. Think about it: you wouldn't have to worry about brushing your hair or getting zits. And if you had a scar, you could hide it," Ginny said.

"Yes. And if you looked like someone and people always accused you for it, you could change your appearance so you wouldn't look like them," I said somewhat aggressively.

"What are you talking about?" She was puzzled.

"Er ... nothing," I said quickly. "You know, just ... some people look a lot like their parents."

"Is that a bad thing?" Ginny asked. "I guess I could understand that if I didn't like my parents for one reason or another. Do you dislike your parents?"

"No!" I said quickly. "It's not that. I - just forget everything I said. I wasn't thinking."

I'd almost done it again. This is why I tried to stay away from people. Sure, I wanted friends, but I couldn't get too close. This would be my last Hogsmeade trip with anybody besides myself.

Ginny gave me a slightly confused look, but shrugged and drank the last of her butterbeer. I finished mine within the next minute and we decided to leave the crowded pub.

It was freezing outside, so we hurried to the secondhand clothing store as quick as we could. Inside we were greeted by the storekeeper and he led us to the dress robe section. We began to search. Most of the robes were horrible: they were extremely old and lacy and some even had mold and stains.

"This is so ugly," Ginny said, holding up a dark blue dress with a lacy collar covered in blotchy marks. "Maybe this was a bad idea. There's nothing here."

"We can keep searching," I said. "Check down there. Those look more modern and less ... traditional."

"Traditional, ha!" Ginny said. "Have you seen my brother's robes? My mum bought Ron the most atrocious robes ever: they're maroon and have lace and mold like all of these. I can't wait to see him at the ball; it'll be a good laugh."

"Speaking of Ron, does he have a date yet?"

"Who knows?" Ginny said. "He probably doesn't have a chance anymore; everyone's practically taken. Last time I heard him talking, he was actually thinking about asking Moaning Myrtle."

I laughed. "You mean ghost in the bathroom on the second floor? How will he dance with a ghost?"

She shrugged. "He won't dance, he's Ron, remember?"

"Right. Oh, hey!"

I pulled out a dress from the rack. It was as plain as could be - off-white in color and straight up and down - but it wasn't moldy or stained.

"We could decorate this, Ginny," I said.

"Hmmm. That could work." She checked the price tag. "Okay. I'll buy this one."

She purchased her robes and we left the store. After shopping at Honeydukes for awhile (I needed to buy some Christmas presents for my family, and I was dying for more sugar quills), we left with the rest of the students.

Later that night I gave Ginny the list of incantations from Dora. When I left for bed, I couldn't help but think, was that what having a friend was like?