Friends Forever

Chapter Three - Et Tu?

Shock wasn't even enough to describe the expression on Hermione's already tense face.

Don't be stupid, she reprimanded herself, trying to cover her alarm with a smile that could not have fooled anybody, much less Ron. Instead, she watched him warily as he opened his mouth to speak, seemingly trying to muster enough courage to even look at her, which left Hermione exceedingly uncomfortable.

Incoming, hissed the small voice in her head.

Before she could shake it out of her mind, Hermione got the immediate impression of a winged Cupid aiming its unerring arrow with an impish look on its smirking face.

Shooting it a psychic glare that could have sent it screaming bloody murder, Hermione raised one eyebrow in a weak attempt to look nonchalant. "Yes?" she prompted him.

Whatever it was that he had to say escaped his mouth in a sigh. "Ahh, no, nothing," Ron said hastily. He grabbed his tankard of butterbeer and downed the remaining liquid in one gulp, but Hermione could clearly see that his face had gone into the same crimson as his hair. She decided not to push the issue any further. She couldn't think of a worse topic other than what Ron was about to tell her, if it was what she was already suspecting.

"All right - we came here to talk," he said, quickly changing the subject. "What was going on a while ago?"

Hermione bit her lip. Now she could think of a worse topic - her very un-Hermione-like disposition in the library. She knew that there was really no apparent reason to hide it from Ron; it wasn't about him, after all. But she also knew - and for the life of her didn't know how she did - that there wasn't a good reason why he should know either.

I just won't tell him the whole truth, she decided evasively.

"It's about our meeting - Harry and I - with Dumbledore and McGonagall," she began, hiding her hands beneath the table so Ron wouldn't see how pale her knuckles had turned to. "An Auror's coming to visit next month, right?"

Ron nodded.

"Well, Dumbledore's leaving next Monday to accompany him and he won't be back until Friday. McGonagall will then be taking his place, and Harry and I will be - sort of - taking over McGonagall's duties 'til Dumbledore's back." Her voice wavered slightly as the phrase "Harry and I", hoping that she only imagined the look of discomfort in Ron's face.

"Hey, don't tell me you can't do it," Ron interrupted. "You lasted a year with that hourglass thing driving you nuts - five days is zilch, nada."

Hermione made a face at the memory. "Don't be an idiot - of course I didn't refuse it. I'd even take it without Harry helping." She sighed, trying not to let how upset she was over McGonagall's disapproving words enter her voice. "McGonagall's the one who didn't think so."

"McGonagall?" Ron repeated incredulously. "The same McGonagall who practically killed to have you as Head Girl? The same McGonagall who said you had what it takes to become the next Minister of Magic? That McGonagall?"

"That's the one."

"Oh." For a while, he looked ready to choke the life out of the deputy headmistress, to which Hermione would have gladly given her approval. But then he smiled at her. "Anyway, forget about it, she must have been high on something when she said that."

Hermione returned the smile, inwardly relieved that the conversation - hopefully - was almost over. She checked her watch. It was half past five, and she needed to eat an early dinner to earn her plenty of time for her work tonight. The potion ingredients she'd managed to get ahold of needed preparation - the essence of moonstone in particular had to stand outside under moonlight for a couple of hours. She grabbed her unfinished bottle of butterbeer and made to stand when Ron stopped her.

He seemed to be doing some thinking, his brow furrowing slightly. "I have just one last question," he finally said.

Please, please, please don't ask about the Arithmancy class, begged Hermione silently. If he did ask, she would have no choice to tell him about the dream... which would lead to Harry... which would lead to things she'd rather not discuss.

"What exactly happened during Arithmancy, Herms?"

Bingo, a voice resonated somewhere in her conscious - the part which hadn't already totally gone blank anyway.

"Oh - that?" she managed to croak out before regaining her composure. "I was just - a little overworked, that's all."

The smile she plastered over her face didn't fool him one bit. "Oh, come on, Herms, I know you better than that," he said impatiently. "You were pale and shaking and everything - thought you had some sort of fit - "

"It was stress," she quipped helplessly. Inside, her mental voice was sneering at her. That was so, so lame...

" - you were screaming like you were set on fire or something - and the way you were looking at Harry - almost like you saw the Bloody Baron - if that was stress, then that's the worst case of it I've ever seen. Not even Percy can beat that - and that's saying something. Come on, Herms, talk to me. You need to fix this up to convince McGonagall you can do it."

That did it - she knew there was no way out. Of all her friends, Ron was the hardest to argue with. Once an idea entered his head, it stayed there! Trapped, Hermione sank back down in her seat, took a deep breath, and recounted the events since Wednesday - Harry's confession, the promised meeting tomorrow, her dream, and her talk with Dumbledore. Ten minutes later, she stopped and watched Ron warily, gauging his reaction. He wasn't squirming in his seat like she half-expected, but all the friendly and encouraging support seemed to have drained out of him.

"It's so difficult for me to work with him now - alone," she admitted, trying to buy him extra time to think of something to say. "I hate it... not knowing what's going to happen between us... it's so complicated these days, not like before..."

"Why?" Ron said abruptly.

"Why?" she echoed blankly, before she composed herself once more. "I - I don't really know, if it's what he said, or if it's because it's Harry..." She sipped at her butterbeer thoughtfully. It was a fair question - why was she being so paranoid?

She didn't like this one bit... after all, she did have her pride and it always gave the answers all by itself. She hated having to learn about her downsides and weaknesses from others, arrogant as it may seem.

Ron chuckled. "Oh? And what if it were me?"

The question came by surprise, and, as Hermione was forced to admit, it had a more sincere ring of truth to it that it should have had. It was obviously a light-hearted joke, by the look on his face, but...

He doesn't mean it... right? she implored to the voice in her head, which was virtually bouncing off the walls in excitement.

A cackle of laughter came as a response.

Just play along. Trying to hide her uneasiness, Hermione snorted. "Look, you're my friend, and I love you for that, but if any of that should change, nothing will be the same again, right? It's the same with Harry."

A definite change came over Ron when she said that. He stiffened visibly on his chair, his hold on his empty bottle of butterbeer tightened, and Hermione could have sworn that he was trembling slightly. Hermione suppressed a frown. What had she said wrong now?

Ron remained silent. Fine. If he wasn't going to budge, then it was up to Hermione to get things up and running again, wasn't it? She ignored his sudden apprehension by waving her hand dismissively. "Fine, fine, enough about me, you were saying something earlier - what was it?" she ventured.

For the first time in her life, Hermione saw Ron fidgeting nervously with his fingers. "Er - no - it doesn't matter - really - not anymore," he faltered, his eyes downcast.

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. Typical bloody men - and they say that women were the fickle ones! "Yeah, and Lockhart is the best DADA teacher we've had," she said sarcastically. "And I'm not blind; when Ronald Weasley treats someone to a drink, hey, gods know the heavens must be on fire or something."

That got a feeble laugh out of Ron. "Years ago, I would've paid anything to hear you say that about Lockhart," he bantered weakly.

Oh, well, it's a start, she thought grudgingly. At least he was regaining a little of his humor. She grinned flippantly. "Oh? Why can't you pay me now?"

"Because - " Ron looked straight into her eyes for the first time in minutes, all traces of humor gone. It was like staring into a mirror - Hermione could almost see herself reflected in his somber eyes. As though hypnotized, Hermione spoke in a flat monotone. "Because of what?" she whispered, almost afraid to hear his answer.

"Because even if I give you all the gold in Gringotts, you'll always be worth more - more than I could ever imagine."

Zing! In her mind's eye, Hermione saw her mental Cupid's arrow flying painfully accurately to its target - a bull's eye replaced with a heart.

At that, the silence hanging by their table was more deafening than the one that usually drifts around during Potions class.

Ron's expression was unreadable, but after a moment, Hermione could pick up twinges of regret... of embarrassment. However, what was done was done - both of them knew that there was no hope of ever reclaiming those words back. The first emotion that overcame Hermione was anger, but it faded away quickly. At least Ron was looking properly rueful.

Well, he should be! she thought indignantly. I told him about Harry, how it's causing so much confusion, and he just has to make it worse!

"Ron," she said at last, finding nothing else to say. "Are you saying - what I think you're saying?"

Her hand went rigid as he took it in his. "If you're thinking that I'm telling you that I love you," he said softly. "Then - you're right."

Time seemed to lurch to a sickening stop. Hermione shrank back in her seat, her heart pounding so furiously that she was sure Ron could hear it.

He - loves me?

"That - can't be," she choked out, shaking her head vehemently. She didn't know why it was so wrong - well, it just was! "You can't... didn't you listen to me... the one about Harry?"

Bowing his head remorsefully, Ron nodded mutely. "I did, and that's why it was so hard - to tell this to you."

Hermione's mind was whirring uncontrollably. That's it, I've heard everything...

A strong feeling of deja vu struck her as Ron continued. "Hermione, I know we agreed to keep this around friendly terms, but if there's still a chance for us..."

Then I'm all for taking it, finished Hermione grimly in her mind. That was exactly what Harry had said.

"... then I'm all for taking it."

Hermione released all of the breath she'd been holding. Would the dream - the nightmare - that she had during Arithmancy really come true? Her choice was reeling over the edge now, and both sides were calling at her, asking for her decision. It was making her feel strangely eerie - like she was reliving her dreams right in reality. She was half-expecting to see Harry zoom overhead with his Firebolt, pleading her to come up with him instead.

The anger she'd kept tightly in check threatened to boil over again. She was sick of everything, sick of having her judgment sorely challenged day after day. And this was the last straw.

"You know, you and Harry are more alike than I thought," she observed dryly, trying as hard as possible to postpone the huge confrontation she was about to make. "Do you know that that was the exact thing he told me?"

"It was?" Ron said faintly. "Hermione... both of us..."

Do you always have to repeat everything I say? she thought hotly. Hands balled into fists, she rose from her seat and stared down at him icily. "That's right - both of you," she said, livid with rage. The usual cool and composed mask was long gone. "Do you actually expect me to choose between you two?"

The regret in his eyes was replaced by a certain fear at seeing the side of Hermione he'd hardly witnessed before. He was only managing to hold himself. "Herms... it's not for us - you have the only choice - "

"Don't give that kind of morality," she spat out, fighting to keep her voice only within Ron's earshot. It wouldn't do to have their little argument spreading around the Three Broomsticks with the likes of Rita Skeeter and her pompous quill around. "I don't have 'only choices', you hear me? There never is an 'only choice'. Well, Ron, suppose I do choose one of you," she glared at him with a mixture of anger, hurt, and - to Ron's surprise - there were tears brimming in her eyes. "Can I trust your friendship to hold out if I make that choice?"

"Hermione, this choice isn't for us... it's for you. And for your happiness."

Tears were now flowing freely down Hermione's cheeks for the ninth time that week, but she made no move to wipe them away. Her hands had been stained with tears - with her frustrations - one too many times for her to bear any more.

How dare he throw that choice at me again? Why is it always me, me, me?

For the second time, Dumbledore's words echoed in her mind. Love is a double-edged sword... He was right, and Hermione thought her situation right now unfairly one-sided. Well, she wasn't going to stand around and take it.

"No, this is for all three of us," she countered. "Ron, can you look at me right now and promise me that nothing - absolutely nothing - is going to happen between you and Harry if I choose you? Or if I choose him?"

There came no reply except a quiet "Why?"

That clinches it then. Hermione gave him a look of sheer betrayal through her watery eyes. "Just as I thought," she said sadly, turning away. "If you still have to ask... then how should I expect you to understand? This is also your trial - not only mine."

Her question was left unanswered as she left the table, but she said over her shoulder. "Thanks for the butterbeer, by the way," she added quietly, before walking past the entrance. But instead of running off, she leaned heavily against the outside wall of the Three Broomsticks to console herself in her misery.

How could she have sorely miscalculated everything? She expected a nice, relaxed talk over butterbeer, but she'd fled in tears less than half and hour after entering. Not only had she screwed up herself, she had jeopardized her friendship with Ron. All she wanted to do was to curl up in her bed, bury herself under the covers, and never come out. It wasn't like anyone would want to see their good ol' respectable Head Girl in this condition.

She wanted to rush back into Three Broomsticks and set everything straight again, but it would simply replay the whole scene all over again. Dammit, why did Ron have to be so pressing? He practically threw all the responsibilities to her! He and McGonagall were so alike - they might as well be married.

Somewhere, though, a little spot in her heart was fluttering over Ron's feelings. Another was bearing the heavy burden of the choice she would soon have to make.

And the rest was urging her to put the whole thing aside and go for dinner. But her legs wouldn't obey any commands - despite the severe bashing her ego had taken these days, she still had the airs not to enter Hogwarts crying like a baby. Gods know what the students' reaction would be, much less the teachers.

So, summing up whatever dignity she had left, she murmured something and her body shimmered away - and in her place was a white dove, its tail streaked with brown the same color as her hair. The bird soared up until the Gryffindor Tower of Hogwarts was in view, dipped a wing, and finally took flight.

***

The morning of Friday the Thirteenth found Harry waking up to the first few rays of the rising sun. A quick glance at his watch lying on the bedside table told him that it was promptly six o' clock - he had to get moving if he wanted to get the moonstone he'd left soaking overnight ready for his first class, Potions. Throwing off the covers, he slipped into his dressing gown and slippers and headed for the window, which had been bathed in the light of the full moon.

The reddish chip of rock that he'd sealed in a clear glass container had vaporized under the moonlight, filling the glass vial with a smoky red gas. After hours of research in the library of the exact night when the amount of light from the moon would be perfect to prepare his ingredient, his work had finally paid off. The essence of moonstone was drifting around in swirly clouds of smoke... just the way Snape had indicated it should. Forgetting that most of his housemates were still snoozing, he let out a crow of delight.

Most of them shot him sleepy, irritated glares then buried themselves under their pillows, but Ron sat up wearily, his eyes edged with eyebags the size of his trunk - no, scratch that, Harry thought, studying his friend's puffy eyes as he set down his precious bottle. The size of Malfoy's ego was more like it.

Ron, who was staring fixatedly at some unknown spot in the wall, had to be prodded and yelled at in the ear "HEY THE CHUDLEY CANNONS ARE RIGHT BEHIND YOU!" by Harry to snap out of it. When he finally acknowledged Harry's presence, Ron's eyes were exceptionally gloomy in a way that Harry thought had little to do with lack of sleep. Harry frowned slightly. He hadn't seen Ron since their last class the previous day until he came trudging back to the common room way after suppertime. Harry hadn't bothered to ask what was wrong, since each person who already did received an icy glower that could have frozen a dragon's breath, but Ron didn't look particularly homicidal that morning.

"Hey, what's up?" he asked in as friendly a voice as anyone could muster at six in the morning.

The redhead's only reply was a grunt.

Definitely not a morning person, Ron, Harry thought, stifling the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he shifted on the bed so that he could see his friend's bleary face clearly. "Come on, out with it. I was supposed to ask you last night, but you looked ready to kill someone. I'd never seen Neville look so terrified since he'd knocked over McGonagall's fluffy pink slippers into his Shrinking Potion."

"Nothing... just a little overworked," said Ron bluntly. "Spent the whole afternoon in the library yesterday."

Though Harry still had his doubts, he simply patted Ron's shoulder and walked off to get dressed. A new thought had replaced his worry about his best friend - his rendezvous with his other best friend. Unconsciously, he started sifting through his set of black Hogwarts robes for his cleanest one.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ron stumbling out of bed to check on his own moonstone, which had shriveled to the size of a prune. Uttering a groan of defeat, he chucked the glass container out of the open window, muttering an incoherent string of not-so-pleasant phrases under his breath.

Despite the fact that he was facing a long day, Harry was feeling unusually refreshed, unlike the others, as he dusted off his robes and pinned on his Head Boy badge. Although he was still a bit worried about Ron, his mind was filled with thoughts of Hermione. All of a sudden, he felt like he was the luckiest guy in the school... working as Head Boy alongside her...

He was sitting on his bed examining his perfect essence of moonstone with admiration when Ron ambled over, ready to leave for breakfast. After Harry cheerily slipped the little vial in his pocket (Ron was wrinkling his nose irritably), the duo left the boy's dormitory to meet up with Hermione in the common room before they all went to the Great Hall.

Minutes later, Harry looked up to see Hermione hurrying out of the girls' dormitory, her sleek brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. It was a style Harry wasn't used to seeing daily, but it called more emphasis to her face, and Harry couldn't refuse that, could he?

He was ready to give her a warm morning greeting when he noticed that her eyes were just as puffy as Ron's, a bit red and swollen as though she had been crying the night out. The greeting died down his throat, and all he could say was a hesitant "Good... morning?"

"Morning," Ron followed suit, but definitely with less backbone.

Her and Ron's eyes met for a fraction of a second before they forcefully looked away. "Good morning, Harry - Ron," Hermione replied, and Harry could have sworn that her voice broke slightly over Ron's name. Frowning again, he looked from Hermione to Ron, who were both deliberately trying to avoid each other's eyes.

Was he missing something here?

Breakfast was oddly quiet as well. There was but a few exchange of words between Ron and Hermione, which were only an occasional "Pass the juice, please" or "Can you hand over that dish?". Finally, Harry broke in. Playing mediator after their countless fights could be pretty tiresome.

"Bloody hell, what is up with you two?"

Ron and Hermione jumped about a foot into the air at his sudden outburst before guiltily poking on their food. Harry drummed at the table impatiently. "Well?"

"Er - nothing."

"Just tired."

Dissatisfied, Harry was about to persist when a bell sounded, signalling the start of class. A relieved saved-by-the-bell look crossed both of their faces as they mumbled a short "See you around" and scurried away to Potions, keeping at least a meter between themselves, obviously desperate for an excuse to leave the table.

Harry sighed and followed in the direction Ron had taken to the dungeons. Something was definitely up, but he knew better than to make himself late for Potions thinking about it.

***

Hermione hurried to Transfigurations after a particularly grueling day. Ironically, she and Ron had been paired up during Potions to learn the rudiments of the Wolfsbane Potion, and every word he said seemed to be pushing her buttons. They managed to reduce their conversation to mere please and thank you's. While they were able to create the first part of the potion perfectly, Snape still managed to find error in it and stomped her already withering ego to the floor. She was fighting not repeat history during Arithmancy, DADA was boring, and an obviously inexperienced ghost had substituted for Flitwick at Charms. Hermione, unflustered as she always was despite Snape's cynical remarks, was ready for quits, even if it meant practicing Animagus transformations for the third week with McGonagall. It was their second to the last class of the week, anyway.

This time around, she was paired with Harry. Not the most suitable alternative to her previous situation, but he was a welcome distraction from McGonagall, who still looked a little uncomfortable from their past confrontation.

While their Transfiguration professor strolled around the room, supervising and correcting mistakes, Hermione took a deep breath and shut her eyes tightly. Harry was watching her, wand ready, in case something went wrong.

Seconds later, a white dove was perched on the back of Hermione's seat. It flew a few circles around the room before returning and changing back to human form.

Applause filled the room.

"Well done!" McGonagall exclaimed a little too cheerfully. Her effort to patch things up didn't go unnoticed, but Hermione was unruffled by the cheers of her other classmates and the fifteen points awarded to Gryffindor. She simply nodded and took her seat to watch Harry take his turn.

You're mean, deprecated her mental voice. Hermione shot it a glare that effectively shut it up.

Coincidentally, Harry could also assume the form of a bird, a peregrine falcon to be exact, that could blend almost entirely in the wild had it not been for the miniaturized trademark of the Boy Who Lived imprinted under a tuft of feathers on his forehead. It didn't take long for his body to disappear and have a graceful falcon to materialise in his place, its body a beautiful shade of red the same as Dumbledore's phoenix, its long, sweeping tail sporting a pretty pattern of gold and brown.

Needless to say, Harry's transfiguration received the same kudos.

After their success, both of them were allowed to sit out the rest of the period, eyeing the other students like hawks. Neville's transformation had ridiculously backfired, shrinking himself into the size of a cricket, and he was squeaking helplessly around on his table while McGonagall uttered a spell to reverse it.

The whole class burst into amused laughter, and Hermione couldn't help chuckling at the hilarity of it all. Apparently, age contributed nothing to Neville's habitual knack for forgetfulness and failure.

Vaguely, she glanced at Harry, who had a thoughtful look in his expressive green eyes, set apart from the light-hearted atmosphere of the class.

He's probably thinking of what you'll tell him tonight, put in the echo in her mind idly. Evidently, criticizing her 24/7 still wasn't enough for its shrewd character.

"Hermione," Harry's voice disrupted her thoughts.

"Hmmm?"

"Where were you and Ron yesterday after class? Flitwick sent me to look for you."

"Me - and Ron?" Hermione echoed in an unnecessarily high-pitched voice. Don't panic... take it easy... she coaxed herself vainly. The voice in her head was practically dancing in neurotic delight now. "Um - I was in the library - then Ron - "

Harry continued speaking in a light, casual tone, but Hermione could very well see the aggravating suspicion behind it. Three seats in front of her, Ron was apprehensive at their serious conversation that he accidentally dropped his wand on the little hamster-like furball that was his partner, Seamus Finnigan.

"The library?" Harry repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I went there at around five - Madame Pince said you'd already left."

"Five?" she squeaked, plastering on her face what she hoped looked like a puzzled smile. "Er - no - I mean - yes, I already left the library - and we - no, I - "

Harry put up one hand to stop her flow of words before she stuttered off unintelligibly. "Herms - hey - get ahold of yourself," he said, shaking her gently. "You're not making any sense. I just told Flitwick that you might be busy working somewhere - you don't have to get nervous about it."

I am nervous, she answered him silently. Only - not because of the reasons you think.

He waited until the pink was back in Hermione's sickly pale skin before he said, "All right. Just tell me where you were so that I can make up something for Flitwick later."

Feeling as though she was headed for the guillotine, Hermione responded bleakly, "Ron and I were at the Three Broomsticks," before she could clamp her mouth shut. She looked Harry edgily, watching for his reaction.

"Oh," was all he could say vacantly. "Why didn't you guys call me?"

Hermione's heart sank. Nothing had seemed wrong when she and Ron entered the pub minus Harry, but now that he mentioned it - it almost like they didn't want Harry to be there, and it was obviously what Harry suspected. The early stages of a chain reaction was beginning to form - Harry would know what had upset Hermione so much... then he would find out what Ron told her...

"Well - we - I was still a bit upset about what McGonagall had said," fibbed Hermione, making sure to lower her voice. "And - well - Ron showed up and asked if I'd like a drink and talk about it so we went ahead - I'm so sorry, Harry - I guess I was too wound up over McGonagall - but we didn't - we just talked it over butterbeer, that's all."

The last part came out hastily, but, nevertheless, it was the truth. Not the whole truth, but all the same, still the truth. Hermione tilted her head so that her long ponytail dangled over her face, partially obscuring the deep blush covering her cheeks.

Her little white lie didn't escape Harry's notice, to her dismay. He was fiddling with something in his pocket as he spoke. "I don't know, Herms - you just make it sound so secret - as though you had something to hide," he said a bit testily.

Something inside Hermione snapped. It was bad enough that Harry was being so self-righteous, but he also had to make it sound that way! "Who are you, my counselor?" she snapped, turning so sharply that her ponytail grazed Harry's face.

"I'm not being self-righteous, if that's what you think I am," said Harry defensively, as though he'd read her mind. "I'm telling it as it is - you do sound so awkward as if - "

"Then maybe if you'd stop acting like a drill sergeant, I might stop sounding 'so awkward'," Hermione retorted, her voice oozing sarcasm that could have equaled a Slytherin's.

"I'm not acting like a drill sergeant and you know it. Is there something wrong with telling the truth?"

Somewhere in her mind registered her mental voice rooting up and down and waving flags, one marked with "Hermione" and the other "Harry" before launching itself into a series of acrobatics Hermione herself couldn't have done in real life.

Rot in hell, she spat at it. Then she looked Harry straight in the eye. "There is if you're not even certain that it is the truth," she hissed, totally beside herself. Was this the same Harry whom she was already considering into giving the benefit of a doubt?

Harry opened his mouth to say something back, but decided against it. "All right, all right, maybe I was overreacting. But I wouldn't if you'd just tell me."

Wordless, Hermione leaned back on her chair and folded her arms, meeting his eyes briefly to establish a stony truce. It was all she could do not to burst into tears of defeat - the fateful name of Friday the Thirteenth was certainly taking its toll.

The bell sounded a minute later, indicating the end of class. Automatically, Hermione sat up and stalked away, with Harry and Ron following morosely behind her. Worse became worst when they saw that the Slytherins were already gathered outside to have their Transfiguration class next, and, most unluckily, Draco Malfoy was leaning lazily against the doorway, Crabbe and Goyle attached to him like a barnacle (as always).

"Hey, Potter, what did you do to your girlfriend?" he asked in a sickeningly saccharine tone that was a trademark of all the Slytherins, feigning a look of sympathy as Hermione stomped past him, sniffling back tears.

Harry looked at him crossly. Ever since Harry had been made prefect in his fifth year, he had rarely crossed paths with Draco Malfoy. He hadn't exactly earned that much respect from the Slytherin, yet he had to admit that Malfoy had changed considerably over the past years. Sure, he still had was his dry, caustic self who, like a more solid version of Peeves, delighted in the misfortunes of the other three houses, but there were fewer and fewer traces of his father in his angular face. Although difficult for him acknowledge, there was little to hate in Draco Malfoy anymore. He and Harry even managed to exchange a few hello's along the hallways, to which Ron was strongly inclined to throw up.

But this day was definitely not one of Harry's best.

"Get lost, Malfoy," Harry shot back.

"Professor McGonagall won't be too happy if I did, Potter," replied Malfoy smoothly as though talking to an exceptionally stupid three-year-old. "I'm here to take my Transfiguration class - unlike you both, who obviously prefer standing in the doorway blocking other people's way."

Ron glared at him and grabbed Harry's arm. "Let's go, Harry, and let this git take his classes. He needs it loads more than we do." With that, he dragged his friend away, who was looking dearly ready land a slap on Malfoy's smug face.

The Slytherins were sniggering behind them, Malfoy imitating Ron's irate face petulantly like a child who had lost his trick-or-treat bag. "He needs it loads more than you do," he mimicked in a ridiculously high falsetto.

McGonagall tapped her wand sharply against her desk, beckoning the Slytherins to enter.

Malfoy was the last to take his seat, which, ironically, had been Harry's seat. Under the table was an innocuous paper ball. Malfoy bent over to pick it up and idly smoothened it on his desk.

The scrap of parchment was scrawled with words - actually, all the same word. Hermione. In print, in cursive... there it was, covering both sides of the paper... Hermione...

Although the name was scribbled in about fifty different styles, the handwriting was unmistakable. After all, it was Potter who wrote the notices which were daily posted on the school bulletin board. A smile crept to Malfoy's lips as he recognized the writer, the first stages of a plan forming in his Slytherin mind.

Let the games begin...

****

Harry disappeared off to the library right after their last class - History of Magic - leaving Ron by himself. Finding nothing else to do, he sought out the Gryffindor common room. A few minutes alone was just what he needed to sort out his thoughts.

The common room was usually empty after class - most of the Gryffindors would either be in the library, in Hogsmeade, or in some other classroom serving detention. Ron mumbled the password to the vivacious portrait of Lord Chandonier, which had replaced the Fat Lady after she moved upstairs with another one of her two-dimensional friends. Ron thought he'd seen the worst with Sir Cadogan, but Lord Chandonier made him look like a Hufflepuff. Perched on his white stallion, Lord Chandonier was a more colorful, more loquacious, and more manic version of his second cousin.

Cussing Lord Chandonier, Ron headed over to the nearest couch, only to find someone already sitting on it. The long brown hair and the Head Girl badge was unmistakable - it was Hermione.

That was odd. Hermione usually stayed in the library until dinner time. Ron squinted at her, trying to make sure if she was real. She was shaking violently and had almost gone through a whole box of Kleenex. Obviously she was very real - and in distress.

"Herms... hey, it's me..." He perched himself on the arm of the couch. Hermione, too inarticulate to explain, buried her head in his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

Eyes widening slightly, Ron hesitated for a moment before holding her back. Part of him was overcome with guilt - if Harry walked in and saw this - Ron gulped - it wouldn't be a very pretty sight. But the latter part was shrieking at him You moron, you've been waiting your whole life for this! Don't screw it up!

"Ron," Hermione choked out, her hands still tightly fisting his robes. "Everything's gone wrong - McGonagall - she - " Fresh tears welled up in her eyes and she reached for the last tissue paper in her box.

Ron would have dearly loved to strangle McGonagall until she turned blue, but he stroked Hermione's hair gently. "What did she say?"

"Snape - he told McGonagall that I was really distracted today," Hermione began. "It was enough for her to - to - " She broke off again, fingering her Head Girl badge with trembling hands.

"Should have known Snape was involved," Ron muttered under his breath. "So what did McGonagall say?"

"Please - don't tell this to Harry," Hermione begged, staring up at him through her tears. "I can't - I don't know what his reaction will be - "

"I won't tell him."

"Swear it with your life," Hermione insisted.

Ron had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation. "All right, I swear not to tell him," he said, putting one hand up for added measure.

"Hermione - "

"Come on, Ron - promise."

"Bloody hell, Herms, I wouldn't tell Harry even if Fluffy asked me three times with each of its heads!" Ron practically yelled. "Fine, fine, I swear with my life - I promise - I - won't - tell - Harry!"

"You don't have to get hysterical," grumbled Hermione.

"I was not," protested Ron. Honestly, reasonable and logical as Hermione usually was, when she cracked up, she really cracked up. Seven years with her and he still wasn't accustomed to it.

"All right, all right, you don't need to have a cow." Hermione blinked back the remnants of her tears, obviously trying hard not to cry. "She said that if I don't shape up soon, I might lose my badge."

"Is she mad?" Ron exclaimed incredulously.

Ron's reaction brought her to tears again. "She's not - she wasn't - oh, Ron - she was serious - I know she was. I can't believe it - I wanted to have this badge ever since I came here - and now - I can't - "

Ron tilted her chin up to stare at her eyes directly. The vulnerability present there made her even more beautiful - and it tugged at his heart. Right then and there, he vowed to do anything within his power to make her happy - she deserved nothing less. "Herms - look at me. Everything's all right, I promise. And even if McGonagall doesn't believe you can do it anymore... hey, I still will."

Slowly, tenderly, he lowered his face to meet hers. He heard her take a sharp gasp of breath, but to his surprise, he felt no resistance, just a soft sigh of contentment, as though everything was all right.

There were just some wounds that couldn't be healed by mere words, and this was one of them. And when he felt the sweet touch of her lips against his, he knew, that even if the whole school were there, he wouldn't have stopped himself, even if he had wanted to.