Hermione smiled wanly. "Itś just that — well — heś Harry."

"I know," said Ginny, "and heś the hero of the wizarding world, and heś your best friend, and blah blah, but heś also a boy, and I think he´d like it if you wore this," and she pulled something out of Hermioneś top drawer and tossed it to her.

Hermione nearly fell off the bed. "I am not wearing that!"

"He´d probably like that even better."

"Itś a nightgown!"

"Oh. I thought it was a dress."

"Ginny! Be helpful!"

"Okay, okay."

Ginny eventually found a low-necked black sweater and a black pencil skirt in Hermioneś trunk that passed her inspection, especially after she´d used several Shortening Charms on the skirt.

"I feel silly," said Hermione gloomily, surveying her outfit. "This so isn´t me."

"You look adorable." Ginny got up off the bed and gave Hermione a quick hug. Outside the window, snow had begun to fall in thick white flakes.

"Everything will be fine. Harry loves you."

"I know," said Hermione. Her voice was quiet. "But lately it seems like heś gone away somewhere and I can´t follow him. He can be very…remote sometimes."

Ginny said nothing. She knew what Hermione meant. Sometimes Harry was just Harry, and then sometimes he seemed like something else again, something distant and powerful and frightening. She remembered waking up in the Chamber of Secrets to see Harry standing over her, drenched in blood, holding the ruby-studded silver sword in his right hand, scarlet to the hilt. And he had only been twelve then. Of course Harry was a hero, and heroes weren´t like everyone else.

"Ginny," Hermione said softly. She was leaning against the wall next to the window; now she turned her head to look through the glass, and the gray winter light caught the edges of her hair. Without looking at Ginny, she said, "Did you… love Draco?"