Things settle back into a state of normality after the Yule Ball, thank feck.

Ron and I never mention the date ever again, and Dean seems to show no further interest in Padma, wanting to just hang out and play chess with me instead.

I keep the strange moment I had with Draco to myself. But I cannot stop playing it over and over in my head, my heart racing each time I recall the things he said to me.

I get the occasional glare from Pansy in the corridor, but I guess by the way she clutches Draco close to her side, he has managed to convince her nothing untoward had happened that night in the Entrance Hall.

Which it hadn't. Had it?

I would make your heart race, Irish.

"Earth to Shae, anyone home?"

I blink, realising Dean is talking to me. I also realise I have been staring at the Slytherin table.

"Sorry," I say, quickly reaching over to refill my glass, even though I'm not thirsty. "What were you saying, again?"

"Dad says that West Ham should have won at the Coventry game last Saturday, that it was a travesty that Dicks didn't score. He reckons he should be stripped of his captaincy..."

Luckily, Dean doesn't seem to pick up on the fact that I was gazing at a certain white-blond haired Slytherin, and continues to bore me with the latest on West Ham's recent performance, as detailed in his letter from his step father.

"So, are you seeing Padma again?" I interrupt when he is mid-way telling me about some penalty which shouldn't have happened.

He looks at me, his toast hovering at his lips. "What do you mean - seeing her?"

"Since the ball, I mean? You both seemed to be having a good time. I wondered if you were going to continue to meet up?"

"Nah, she's fit and all, but we don't have much in common. She hates sports. Even Quidditch."

I don't miss the way his eyes flick over to Ginny. My stomach stirs unpleasantly.

I like Quidditch. Does he not think I'm 'fit'? It is rather insulting. I steal a quick glance back up at the Slytherin table and find my heart instantly quickening as I catch sight of Draco Malfoy slowly biting into an apple.

As I said before, it is nice to feel wanted.

"You never said what happened to you that night," Dean says, putting his toast down to reach for his coffee, "you just disappeared. Ron had a few choice names for you."

"He was a fecking dreadful date," I snarl, glad to see he is absent this breakfast. "I couldn't stand seeing everyone else having a good night when I was having such a crap one."

Dean's face falls. "Shit, sorry, Shae. I had no idea you weren't enjoying it. You should have said something, I would have danced with you. I'm sure Padma wouldn't have minded."

I blink. "Oh. Really? I- um- I didn't think."

"Thinking about it, maybe we should have just gone together." Dean says, giving a nonchalant shrug. "It would have been a laugh."

Too little too late Dean Thomas.

"Doesn't matter anymore," I sigh miserably, ripping up my discarded toast crusts. "Lesson learned for me: dating sucks."

"Don't say that, Shae. One day you'll meet someone who makes you feel like I feel about Ginny. I'd treat her like a queen if I ever got lucky enough to date her."

Lucky bitch.

"Why don't you just ask her out then?" I snap a little too hard.

"I've already been turned down once. Not going to put myself out there again so soon."

"Do you reckon she and Neville kissed?"

Dean visibly shudders. "Don't put images in my head, Shae. Look, I haven't told you about my dad's prediction at West Ham's game against Chelsea tomorrow..."

I zone out as he waffles on, my gaze flicking back up to the Slytherin table. I almost have a heart attack when I see a pair of icy grey eyes staring right at me. My face goes instantly hot and I quickly drop my gaze.

I can't believe he was staring at me, and with seemingly no shame, too. Somewhere low in my stomach is a not unpleasant burn.

"Come on," Dean says, scraping back his chair, "let's go watch Potter do his thing. Rumour has it, he's got to save something from the bottom of the lake. Can't imagine what."

"Well, what's the point in us watching that?!" I sigh heavily, rather wishing I could go back to bed instead of freezing my arse off staring at a lake.

Dean chuckles as he pulls me to my feet. "Because you know some way or another, our Harry will make it more dramatic than it needs to be."

He wasn't wrong. We all rolled our eyes when Fleur dramatically wailed that her sister had drowned, only for Harry to pop up with not just Ron, but a part-Veela too, winning him extra hero points with the judges.

I cannot wait to see what sort of dramatic end will come to the third and final task.

*****

"Feck me, I think Cedric's dead."

"Nah," Dean says, squinting down at the Quidditch pitch where Harry and Cedric have just appeared with the trophy. "He's probably just having a lie down. They must be pretty exhausted after going through that maze. I'm exhausted just looking at it."

"Why is Harry crying then?"

Dean shrugs. "Footballers cry all the time. Power of the game. He's won now, I guess. Or Cedric has? I can't quite tell. Was it a draw?"

"No, listen," I insist, "people down there are screaming. He's definitely dead."

"Stop being so dramatic, Shae." Dean chuckles, playfully shoving my shoulder. "Dumbledore wouldn't let anything like that happen."

"Then why is Cedric's dad running across the pitch screaming 'My boy! My boy!', eh?"

"He's congratulating him. Proud Dad moment I should imagine."

But, as we watch Cedric being zipped up in a black bag, Dean has to grudgingly admit that maybe I'm right after all.

******

"Well, that was quite a year, huh?"

Dean and I are on platform nine and three quarters, saying our goodbyes before we part for the summer.

"You can say that again," I mutter, thinking about Harry's claim that Voldemort is back. "I still think Harry's gone mad though."

Dean gives me a steady look. "I reckon he's telling the truth. How else did Cedric die? And Dumbledore says it's true."

I shrug, not wanting to believe that the entirety of the last year was all some crazed plot to bring an evil dark wizard back from the dead.

"I don't know," I admit, "it just seems a bit farfetched. Still, I guess we will learn the truth when the news inevitably hits the papers."

And I don't want to say it out loud, but I'm scared. Scared because if what Harry is saying is true, then Dean could be in a whole world of danger.

"It'll all be okay, I promise, Shae," Dean assures me, pulling me to him for a hug.

We don't normally hug, so this is surprising, yet ever so nice. I squeeze him tight, not wanting to let him go, burying my face in his neck and inhaling his scent.

"Promise you'll write," I say, my voice muffled against him.

His strokes my back, chuckling softly. "I promise, Shae. I'll write everyday if you want."

I lift my head, smiling at him. "I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

"You're my best friend," Dean says, reaching up to lightly touch his fingers to my face, "I hope you always will be."

Before we can say anything further, me mam interrupts us to take me home.

"Don't tell me he's still friendzoning you?" Mam mutters as we watch Dean walk through the wall to go and greet his Muggle family. "The fecking idiot."

*******