Hogsmeade was blanketed in a soft layer of snow, the kind that crunched underfoot and made everything feel just a little more magical. You walked beside Harry, Ron, and Hermione, cheeks pink from the cold, laughter clouding in the air as you chatted about Zonko’s and Honeydukes. It was one of those rare weekends where everything felt normal. Peaceful.

The Three Broomsticks glowed invitingly up ahead, golden light spilling from the windows, and someone—probably Ron—suggested a butterbeer to warm up. You nodded, eager for the familiar comfort of the place.

The bell above the door chimed as you stepped inside, shaking snow from your cloak. The warmth hit you instantly, along with the familiar buzz of students packed into every corner. You smiled—until you saw them.

Dean.

And Ginny.

At a small table near the back, heads tilted close together, his arm resting on the booth behind her. You barely had time to register what you were seeing before Ginny laughed at something he whispered. Then, he leaned in and kissed her. Not just a peck. A proper snog.

You froze. Your eyes locked onto the scene, unable to look away even though it made your stomach twist. You’d fancied Dean for ages. You never told anyone—not even Hermione—but he had this way of making you laugh in Charms, of holding doors open with that lopsided grin. And now, there he was. Kissing someone else. Kissing Ginny.

Harry seemed to notice too and quickly turned his gaze, shifting awkwardly. Ron, however, made a sound like he was choking on his own breath.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he groaned, his face contorting. “Is that—is that Dean? With Ginny?”

Hermione glanced over and grimaced. “Ron, don’t—”

But it was too late. Ron’s ears turned red.

“She’s snogging him! That’s my sister!”

Your throat felt tight. You barely managed to murmur, “Yeah. I noticed.”

Ron turned to you, clearly seeking backup. “Can we please go somewhere else? I can’t watch this.”

You nodded quickly, thankful for an excuse. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Harry opened the door and stepped out into the cold, Hermione right behind him, tugging Ron along by the arm as he continued to mutter angrily. You trailed behind them, the sting of that kiss still playing over and over in your head.

You weren’t sure what hurt more—the fact that he hadn’t noticed how you felt, or the fact that it was Ginny he noticed instead.

But just as the door swung shut behind you, you caught something. A flicker of Dean’s eyes—watching you. Not Ginny. You could’ve sworn there was guilt there, and something else… something unsure. Longing, maybe.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was that he had noticed. He always had. The way you smiled when you thought no one was looking, the way you laughed at his dumb jokes in Charms, the way you always sat just a little closer than you needed to. He’d tried to give you signs, subtle ones, hoping you’d say something. Do something.

But you never did.

So now he was trying something else—hoping that maybe, just maybe, if you were jealous enough, you’d finally do something. Finally make a move.

And maybe you would have.

But you were too hurt in that moment to notice. Too angry. Too jealous to see the truth behind his eyes.

So you looked away, wrapped your cloak tighter, and followed your friends back into the falling snow.