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He glanced over, and saw her, her face almost as red as a cherry, but laughing. Not sure what to do, and still dazed, and force quit Firefox, carefully making sure that it didn't pop up again, and opened Firefox up again.They played some fighting games in near-silence for awhile, both pretending it never happened, She then recommended they play the wii. Not knowing how to say no, he meekly agreed, and so wii tennis was loaded up. They put the straps on wii-motes for a reason, as Ben discovered now. In a vast misjudgment of the amount of room she had, she launched the wiimote at ben and thwacked Ben right in the forehead, knocking him onto his bed, and further, overspinned so she fell on top of him. They stayed like that for a minute without speech, and, with a bravery Ben never knew he possessed, some primal part of his brain took control and he kissed her. Not on the cheek, even, but full on the lips. But, too his surprise, she didn't pull away, but instead wrapped her. ’‘You’re telling me,’ sighed Ron, as both boys lay back on their beds, fantasising about Fleur.*A week had passed and Harry was having a great Christmas break. He and Ginny had managed to squeeze in a few make-out sessions during the moments of privacy they shared. Ron on the other hand, was still searching for a moment alone with Hermione. Ron finally got his wish one snowy Saturday night. Everybody was downstairs, relaxing in their own pursuits. Harry was polishing his broomstick, Mr and Mrs Weasley were listening to the radio whilst the rest were sat around in the lounge, chatting. Ron made his excuses early and left to go to his room, alone. He decided to start on a particularly difficult Potions essay that needed to be done when he got back to Hogwarts. Meanwhile, downstairs Hermione had noticed Ron’s absence. ‘I’ll just go and check on him,’ she whispered to Harry as she got up and left the room.‘Ron......Ron,’ Hermione said as she slowly opened the door to Ron and Harry’s room..
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’‘You wouldn’t be catching much then,’ said Angus.‘Not much,’ said Donald. ‘But it was a fine enough day.’ Sìneadh Macleod pleated her hair, blonde as the sand, the way her mother had always worked it. ‘If you don’t pleat it,’ her mother had said, ‘that fine hair of yours will end up in Canada.’This was only one of her rituals. Though her mother had left her the croft and almost all her father’s insurance money, Sìneadh still worked with undirected busyness in the village post office on Mondays and Tuesdays. She helped Donald fish when he craved company over catch. And at half-past seven every Friday in the church hall she taught Gaelic to incomers.She had three pupils – cosy enough. Tony and Gail were a pillow-faced English couple who were genial, if half-hearted in their learning. Eva was Sìneadh’s age, and had come from somewhere in Europe to clean at the island’s hotel. She was an intense, slight thing. Her eyes were dark and unreadable; it was her long eyebrows, which rose and.

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