He goes to sleep so late that it is a wonder he doesn't snooze in all his classes. It took all of my concentration to keep my eyelids open, waiting, listening for the common room to clear out. At almost midnight, I heard him walking up the stairs with my brother. Half an hour later, I decided it was time.
I hold his present in my hands; it is carefully wrapped in blue foil. Gold stars twinkle on the navy background, and the package is topped with an elegant gold ribbon.
The gift inside is a scarf. Hermione taught me how to knit; although, I wonder if this isn't an instance where the student surpasses the teacher? I hate to say it, but Hermione's elf clothes still hardly resemble clothing, while my scarf... well, you can tell it's a scarf, at least. I giggle at the thought - Hermione taught me the basics of knitting; my mother taught me how to embroider, and I taught myself the rest. My masterpiece is made of scarlet and golden yarn, the finest I could buy, and the colours will never fade. With the utmost care, I embroidered a miniature Gryffindor lion on one end, keeping every detail as true as I could. The time I put into making this - it almost pains me to give it away. But if anyone is deserving of it, he is.
I creep out of the dormitory as silently as I can. If anyone were to hear me, the teasing would never end. Down the stairs - the fire is still barely smoldering in the grate. I wonder what time the house elves arrive? Wishing I had the luxury of an invisibility cloak, I make my way toward the stairs leading to the boy's dormitory room.
When I was younger, much younger, my mum told me that the best gifts always came from the heart. That, she said, is why she knitted sweaters for everyone in the family, every Christmas, without fail. I blushed a bit, thinking of this. Harry's scarf has taken me weeks to knit, but my mother had to knit nine sweaters every Christmas. Mum said she always knitted without magic, at least when time permitted. She said it made the gift more meaningful.
The dormitory door makes the tiniest creak as I open it, and I pause. What if one of the boys is still awake? What if he is still awake? My heart beats wildly.
A loud snore tells me that, at the very least, Neville is fast asleep. I suppress a giggle. I had gone to the Yule Ball with him, after all! Oh, how annoyed I was when my brother suggested I should go with Harry!
I walk past the other beds, trying not to breathe. I am quite small, so I make no noise. I recognize Harry's trunk, and as I step forward to place the parcel on its surface, I can hear him breathing deeply in his sleep.
I turn to leave the dormitory, but curiosity overcomes me. I move toward the bed hangings, and after pausing briefly, pull them aside.
I cannot help but smile as the dim moonlight illuminates his face. He looks more peaceful then I have seen in weeks. It's true; many times he looks troubled, worried, deep in thought. I hope he is having good dreams.
I turn to leave the dormitory; my heart is beating so loudly, I fear it might wake him up. I shut the door behind me and walk back to my room; although, just for one moment, I sneak a look back at him, and I think I might be able to see the starlight reflecting off his open eyes.