Ronald Weasley and the Philosopher's Stone

Chapter Eleven:

Solving the Mystery

"Erm...Ron?"

"Yes?"

"I was just wondering...er...how do I put this?" Ron looked up from his Astronomy homework and frowned at Hermione. They had been back to school for two weeks now, and even though their classes weren't particularly difficult, for some reason their professors thought they needed a lot of homework. Ron knew that Hermione really wanted to be working on Transfiguration, Potions, and Charms homework, but for some reason she was choosing to interrupt hers and his studies. This was entirely unprecedented. Hermione only had two modes: Studying and nagging. Something about her voice told him that she was in neither mode right now. As if to prove this thought, Hermione shut her Transfiguration book and bit her lip thoughtfully. "Well...Harry said that Dumbledore said the mirror could drive people mad. Harry seems a bit off, but you don't. I know you looked in the mirror, Ron. Harry said he took you there. What did you see?"

Ron's stomach positively writhed in apprehension. He had waited for this question during their first week back when all Hermione could talk about was either the Mirror of Erised (which was what Harry said Dumbledore called it) or their laziness and utter failure at finding anything out about Nicolas Flamel. He had expected some sort of curiosity, but it never came. So, naturally, he had assumed that either she didn't care or that Harry had told her what Ron had said he had seen. He had hoped for the latter. It would have hurt knowing that Hermione wasn't really concerned with what he'd experienced but cared about Harry's ordeals with the mirror. He didn't know why, but Ron rather felt closer to Hermione than Harry was, and if she'd not shown any interest in him, it would have proven the opposite. If Harry would have told her, though, it would have saved him the pain of this moment. Ron didn't know why, but facing telling Hermione either the truth or telling her the lie that he'd given Harry were both equally daunting.

Gulping, Ron said, "It's stupid. You don't want to know."

"Yes I do!" Hermione insisted. "I asked Harry, but he said since it was personal, he wasn't going to tell me." Another emotion hit Ron at this: Guilt. He had so readily shared with Bill about what Harry had seen in the mirror, and here Harry had kept his vision a secret. The bad thing was that what Ron had told Harry hadn't even been the entire truth!

"Well, it is," Ron mumbled. "It's nothing like what Harry saw. Pathetic, really."

"It doesn't matter if it's like what Harry saw," Hermione said gently, leaning forward to whisper to him encouragingly. "I can't help but worry that maybe you're secretly brooding over what you saw too."

"I'm not," Ron lied. The truth was, Ron was constantly thinking about the mirror. He felt that there had to be a deeper meaning than Harry and he had come up with. After he met with Dumbledore, though, Harry seemed to stop speculating about what the mirror revealed, which lead Ron to believe that Dumbledore had to have told him. Why wouldn't he tell Ron then? Was it because he was embarrassed by what it meant? Part of Ron wanted to confront him about it, but another, stronger part held him back. What if he didn't want to know? After all, what he had seen had been infinitely confusing. What if the truth behind seeing himself holding hands with Hermione only made him more bewildered?

"Please, Ron. If it's not a big deal, then why aren't you telling me?"

"Because it's embarrassing, Hermione!" he whined. And that was true. All of what was in that mirror was embarrassing, from the Head Boy badge to the clasped hands. It seemed so stupid, because most of it were silly dreams of his. The last part was the only thing that he wasn't sure about, and it was the most mortifying, especially since it involved the girl in front of him.

"You know I won't judge you, Ron. You're my best friend." That did it. Ron couldn't say no to a statement like that. He had never heard Hermione ever say that before, and now his heart positively soared at the compliment. So what if she knew about what he'd seen in the mirror? Well, okay...maybe she shouldn't know about them holding hands. But she wasn't going to think he was ridiculous by the rest of it. She was, after all, one of the best friends and certainly the best girl he'd ever met.

"Alright, fine," he relented. A wide, triumphant grin graced her face, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes before launching into his description. "I was older...a seventh year. I had a Head Boy badge and was holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup, which means I was the Quidditch Captain, too. Oh, and I was really good looking."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, as though deep in thought. Finally, her eyebrows raised, and she quirked her head to the side as if to ask a question silently. However, Ron had no idea just what she wanted from him, so he remained silent and just stared back at her. "That's it?" she finally asked.

"Yeah, pretty much," Ron lied.

"You thought that was embarrassing? Seriously?"

"Well, yeah!" Ron replied. "I'll never be good enough at school to be Head Boy! And you know Harry will probably end up being Quidditch Captain. It's just silly."

"No it's not, Ron!" Hermione said with a frown. "You're very smart! I've watched you put a lot of effort into your homework, and when you genuinely try, you do a great job!"

"I only do a good job, because you help me." It was true. Ron didn't know how he had ever gotten through school without her, to be honest. He felt completely and utterly dependent on Hermione now for the completion of school work. Sure, she wouldn't do the work for him, but the way she scanned his answers, fixed his spelling and grammar, and double checked the facts for him made it seem as if she had completed it for him.

"No, you do a great job, because you're a brilliant student, Ron," Hermione said, her eyes shining in that passionate way that they did whenever they began to row. Ron sat up straighter in his chair, preparing for the fight that they both knew was about to ensue. "You always do this, you know! It's like you have no self-confidence or something. You can't just let yourself be good at something. It's always because I helped you or Harry helped you. Why?"

"It's none of your business, Hermione," Ron said fervently. She was hitting awfully close to the truth, and it was making him uncomfortable. People in the common room began to turn their way, but neither of them gave them the satisfaction of their attention. They were officially past the point of caring if people heard them fighting. It was pretty much a daily occurrence anyway.

"It is, Ron, because you're my friend, and I want to help you! I want you to see that you're special the way you are and that you are perfectly capable of accomplishing things like you saw in the mirror!" Ron looked down at this, his heart soaring again at more compliments, but his mind unwilling to accept them so readily. He wished he could just tell Hermione why he felt so far beneath everyone else, but he just couldn't say the words. As if she read his mind, Hermione suddenly whispered, "Does this have to do with your family?"

Ron snapped. He didn't know why his anger just burst from him like it did, but it was unavoidable. "Yes, alright!" he exclaimed. Some sixth years nearby shushed him, but he paid them no heed. Instead, he fastened his blue eyes (which were positively blazing with the years of pent up frustration at being the forgotten brother) onto Hermione's golden brown ones. "It's because I'm surrounded by perfect people, alright! All of my brothers, my sister, and my best friends are all far better than me at everything, and I'm nothing but a normal kid who can't do anything right!" Hermione's eyes flashed downward in shame, and suddenly, all the hurt feelings at being the worst Weasley disappeared. It was as though by expressing them out loud (screaming, really), he was actually able to momentarily purge himself of them.

Still, it didn't stop him from feeling bad. Hermione seemed unable to say anything to him now. She was lost in thought or something, completely unable to respond to Ron's outburst. "I'm sorry," he said with a sigh. "I just...don't ever feel worthy of you all, you know?" Hermione's eyes darted up to his again, and he saw with dismay that they were filling with tears. Had what he said really hurt her feelings? He hadn't meant it to. After all, his words were really more self-deprecating than anything else. "Don't cry...I-I didn't mean to yell at you. Please don't be mad at me."

"I'm not angry, you prat!" she said with a small laugh as one tear fell from her left eye. Reaching up to wipe it away, Hermione said, "I'm crying, because you shouldn't have to feel that way. No one wants you to, you know."

"I know. It's my own fault that I do. It's like everything is a competition. I want to be better than them. I want to show my parents that I'm special, because I really don't feel like I am. I suppose that's one reason why the mirror embarrasses me...because it showed me something that I feel will never happen. It's like it was saying, 'This is what you'd look like if you were the best.'"

"Wait a minute, Ron!" Hermione said, sitting up higher. Her tears had stopped flowing, and suddenly she looked like the gears were turning in her brain. Ron gave her a quizzical look, hoping that she'd explain just why she had jumped in like that, but she remained silent for a long moment, before finally saying, "You know...maybe that's what the mirror does..."

"What? Makes the person who looks in it feel very small and worthless?" Ron wondered.

"Well...yes and no. Maybe it shows what could be."

"What do you mean?"

"You know...It shows Harry his parents as a way to show what it might have been like if they would have survived. I wonder if he saw them young or old?" Hermione mumbled the last part, and Ron instantly started thinking hard. That could be it!

"But what about me? My vision happens in the future. I'm obviously too young to be Head Boy and Quidditch Captain."

"What if it showed you what you could be like if you work harder and tried to fix your self-esteem?" Hermione suggested. Now Ron cared about who overheard. It was bad enough that he had shouted at her that he felt inadequate compared to his family and friends. He didn't need Hermione repeating stuff about his damaged confidence all the time. Glancing around, Ron saw no one looking their way and breathed a small sigh of relief.

"I don't know...it seems a little far-fetched to me," he said with a frown.

"How so?"

"Well...Harry's vision isn't possible. Mine, I guess...is." He really didn't want to admit it. Especially since there was something very terrifying about that vision, involving him and Hermione holding hands and looking at each other like his parents did. His skin crawled with goosebumps at the memory of it. He never wanted to see himself look at Hermione like that ever again.

"Well, good...I'm glad to hear that you at least admit that it's possible," Hermione said smugly. Ron held back a retort, but only because he didn't want to accidentally let slip his secret. "Who said, 'what ifs' only apply to the past, Ron?"

Ron couldn't help but sigh. He hated to admit it, but Hermione was right. There was no avoiding it. Everything he saw in the Mirror of Erised involved what could be, even if he wanted to forget one part of the image. "Well, I wrote to my brother Bill about it," Ron said. "If anyone will know, it'll be him. We can't tell Harry that we're thinking about this."

"Why not?"

"Because I think he already knows what it means, but he's too scared or embarrassed to tell us." Hermione frowned again and looked close to tears again, and Ron instantly knew that it was out of sadness from Harry's lost childhood with his parents. He couldn't imagine not having his family around for him.

"If we do find out what it's about," Hermione asked in a shaky voice. "Do you reckon we should tell him?"

"I dunno...maybe..." Ron said with a shrug. He was about to say something else, when someone plopped down onto the chair beside him, and he instantly recognized the smell of fresh air that always accompanied Harry back up to the common room after Quidditch practice.

"Hey, guys," he said cheerfully. Looking up, Ron saw that there were bags under his eyes, clearly indicating that he hadn't been sleeping well. Probably thinking about that mirror, Ron imagined. "What are we talking about?"

"Quidditch," Ron invented. "Hermione still doesn't understand the purpose of the Bludgers and Beaters." It was partially true. They had exhausted this conversation earlier after Harry left for practice, but now he was about to open it back up again, to cover up their true conversation.

"Well, it's totally barbaric!" Hermione protested. Harry grinned, and a fresh row began between the tall, red-headed and the bushy-haired, buck toothed first years.

* * *

Nicolas Flamel...Nicolas Flamel...Nicolas Flamel. The words repeated themselves over and over again in a rhythmic sort of mantra as he searched the positively ancient stack of old academic papers. They had never thought to look over here, but now that they finally knew who the man was and just what he was famous for, it made sense. Nicolas Flamel discovered the use of the Philosopher's Stone over six hundred years ago, so chances were, any paper he had written about it would be within these piles of parchment.

Not that Ron particularly cared. He and Harry were perfectly fine with knowing what he was famous for. If the matter was strictly between Dumbledore and Flamel, that had to mean that Dumbledore was hiding the Philosopher's Stone (which had the ability to turn any material or substance into gold and to make the consumer immortal). It would make sense for Snape to go after it too. A stone that could give him eternal life and riches? Snape couldn't even afford to bathe! He needed this stone!

But it wasn't good enough for Hermione. She wanted to learn more. Harry had refused to help her search the academic essays, simply because he had perused the library enough to last him a lifetime. Ron, unfortunately, couldn't say no. Well, yes he could, but when he did, she threw a fit and carried on about how unhelpful he was. It was quite annoying, and although he had a million other things he could be doing (homework, playing chess, trading Chocolate Frog cards, and plotting ways to get Malfoy in trouble were at the top of his list), he couldn't concentrate with her incessant sighs and the frustrated clicking of her tongue. Eventually he gave in and begrudgingly followed her to the stacks at the back of the large room, near the Restricted Section, Harry's light chuckling ringing in his ears as he left his friend at the table.

They'd been looking for what felt like hours now and had come up with nothing. Ron breathed out loudly and ran a hand through his hair, hoping that his body signals would be enough to trigger a dismissal from Hermione. She didn't seem to notice. Instead, she was positively engrossed in an old looking scroll, which was stretched out carefully in front of her so that she could read its contents. "Find something?" he asked.

"Yes..." she replied distractedly.

"Good! I'll just be going back to the table, then," Ron quickly replied, beginning to pick up the stacks of parchment he'd already looked through.

"Oh, no," Hermione quickly said. "It's not something from Flamel. It's just a really interesting paper about werewolves."

"Werewolves?!" Ron asked. "Seriously, Hermione, for someone who hangs on every word of even Professor Binns, you get easily sidetracked." Hermione's cheeks turned pink at his words, but Ron didn't care. Sometimes it was really fun to pick on her like that. She kind of asked for it. Rarely would Hermione allow for Harry and Ron to get distracted, but it seemed perfectly fine that she did so.

"Sorry," she said, rolling up the scroll carefully. "It's just that it's four hundred and twelve years old. I just was kind of interested in what they thought about werewolves back then."

"And?"

"Let's just say wizards haven't changed their opinions very much since then. Though at least now we don't cut out their hearts and put their heads on pikes."

"Ew..." Ron said, turning back to his stack. He didn't particularly care about werewolves, but he had to admit that the thought of brutally tearing a person apart was disgusting. Even if they did kill people during the full moon, no one deserved such a horrendous death. It wasn't as though werewolves could help their condition. As far as Ron knew, the problem was practically untreatable.

"Keep looking," Hermione said, now carefully setting aside the paper she had been reading. Ron rolled his eyes in annoyance at her hypocrisy. Only moments before, she had forgotten the task at hand and had spent several minutes completely engrossed in something else while he had been diligently looking for whatever it was that Nicolas Flamel might have written six hundred years ago about the Philosopher's Stone. It was all very frustrating, but Ron knew nothing could be done about it. Hermione was determined to find his research, determined to learn more. And, to be truthful, Ron didn't expect much else from her. Once she found out just what Flamel had done, Hermione's typical insatiable desire to learn kicked in, and she had instantly wanted to search the library. It was just the way she was, and no amount of teasing or outright complaining could change her.

Instead of pointing out that he had, in fact, been searching nonstop, he just went back to his stack. He was looking at a very old pile of papers that were actually handwritten, rather than printed as books and essays were nowadays. Every now and then, he would cross an article that was illegible and he'd set it aside for later. If anyone could make out what it said, Hermione would be able to. Sometimes the titles were very strange and took him completely by surprise. As if to remind Ron of this fact, he pulled out a paper at that moment called, "The Kneazelworts Effectes on Fungal Groweths in Toe Nailes." Ron stared at it for a moment, quite transfixed by both the spelling mistakes and with curiosity. He had no idea what a kneazelwort was, but part of him wanted to find out. Reminding himself that he was not Hermione, Ron easily put the paper down with a sigh and continued searching.

It felt like they were there for hours. Eventually Harry came back to check on them, and seeing that they were making no progress, he announced that he would be going back to the common room.

"Oh, please don't, Harry!" Hermione begged. "Help us out."

"Why do you want to know about this so much?" Harry bluntly asked. Ron sighed and rifled through his pile quickly, hoping to avoid both of their eyes. Harry had mentioned yesterday that he was worried about Hermione for wanting to know about this subject. He was actually starting to wonder if Hermione wasn't planning on making a stone for herself. Of course, Ron knew that this was a ridiculous assumption. Hermione was a wonderful, innocent person. She wasn't about to get mixed up in greed and the desire to live for forever. She was too smart for that, wasn't she?

"Because it might be important in keeping it safe from Snape," Hermione answered with a shrug. Ron heard Harry's body shuffle, but he didn't dare look up. He imagined his best friend now crossing his arms disbelievingly, staring Hermione down. Part of him wanted to snap at Harry for being ridiculous, but another part was too afraid to say anything. Unfortunately, he listened to his terrified self and remained quiet.

"Are you sure?" Harry said suspiciously.

"Of course I am!" Hermione said. There was a sound of papers shuffling as they were dropped onto the table that Hermione was stacking up the essays she'd gone over. "What do you think, Harry? That I'm after the stone too? Do you think I'm working with Snape or something?" The accusatory tone in her voice cut through the uncomfortable tension like a sharp knife cutting through butter. Ron's stomach clenched nervously. Was he going to have to stop a fight between them? He hated being the mediator. He wasn't good at it! He was better off being one of the people fighting, a position that he had long since mastered. Shakily he moved on to the next paper, and stared down at an essay called, "The Moste Perfect Magick."

"Well, I don't know, Hermione. We already know who is working with Dumbledore and what Fluffy is guarding. Why do you need to know more?"

"Because I'm curious! It's not like I'm going to find a recipe for it or something. I just want to read what Flamel wrote about it! Is that such a crime?"

"It just seems odd to me."

"Odd?! You don't know me at all, do you?"

"Hermione-"

"Guys! Shut up!" Ron finally snapped. He was still staring at the same essay, but his eyes had roamed over it unseeingly. As they argued, Ron got angrier and angrier. Harry and Hermione weren't supposed to fight! He and Hermione could, but not Harry. It just didn't work that way. Hermione could handle hers and Ron's petty disagreements, but Ron feared that if Harry said the wrong thing, Hermione would start treating Harry the way she had treated Ron at the beginning of the year. This was not the time to be falling apart. One of their professors was a greedy lunatic and they had to keep him from becoming immortal and insanely wealthy!

Harry and Hermione instantly stopped squabbling, and looked at Ron fearfully. He finally glanced up from the paper to look them both in the eyes alternately. Hermione looked hurt and confused, while Harry's eyes shone apologetically and defiantly. Hardening his own features, Ron breathed out in a huff and continued.

"Look," he said, "we can't be doing this. We need to trust each other. We're best friends, guys. And best friends do not accuse each other of wanting to steal things or going behind each other's backs. Got it?" His voice came out so authoritatively that everyone seemed taken aback collectively. Harry's eyes widened and instantly took on a glassy shine of shame and regret. Hermione cast her own downwards, as though embarrassed that she had let herself get out of control. As for Ron, he felt triumphant. Sometimes it was hard for him to express just how he felt about his friends at Hogwarts, but now he had been able to do it perfectly. Merlin, I'm good, he thought, perhaps a little too cockily. It was hard to avoid though. When Ron succeeded, it was always cause for celebration.

"Yes," Harry and Hermione answered as one. Ron watched as they looked up at each other and gave one another awkward smiles that he knew to be apologetic.

"Good," he said. "We need to work together to stop Snape. That's what's important. Harry, Hermione's just being herself. And Hermione...well, I reckon Harry's just nervous about all of this. Aren't you, Harry?"

"A little," Harry replied sheepishly. "I just feel that Fluffy isn't enough protection for it and...I took it out on you, Hermione. I'm sorry."

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione said in much the same way as she always exclaimed Ron's name when she was frustrated with him. "I understand, you big prat." Harry laughed and rolled his eyes at this, and Ron suddenly began to wonder if he wasn't a natural-born negotiator or something. This was twice that he'd been able to successfully talk out his friend's problems with each other.

"Well...now that that's done," Ron said, "we can go back to looking for the-" but he couldn't get anymore out. While talking, Ron's eyes had drifted downward to the essay he had been looking at while Harry and Hermione fought, and a pair of words jumped out at him, clear as day. He hadn't noticed before, because he had been nearly blinded with rage over his friends' fighting, but now the cursive writing was his sole focus, and he saw the very name he had been looking for for over an hour.

Nicolas Flamel

"What is it?" Hermione asked while practically hurtling over her stack of papers.

"I think I found it," Ron said, his mouth wide open with astonishment. How had he not noticed it before?

"Let me see!" Hermione said eagerly. Without thinking too much, Ron rather roughly picked up the paper and flung it at his friend. "Oh, Ron! Be careful!" she said, snatching it out of midair and quickly turning it over, assessing it for any damage. "This document is over six hundred years old! You can't handle it like you would just any piece of parchment. It's fragile."

"Alright, alright!" Ron snapped, coming back to his senses. "Just look at it, will you? Stop lecturing me for two seconds!" Harry sniggered, but didn't add anything for Ron's defense. Instead, he glanced over Hermione's shoulder as she gently laid the essay down on a podium that was used for viewing old papers such as Flamel's. Ron didn't move from his spot. Though he would have loved to have read it by himself, his eyes hurt from scanning countless articles before this one, all of which were written in either rounded, flowing cursive, or small, cramped print. Also, he figured Hermione would end up reading it aloud anyway. That was a rather useful, yet annoying little habit of hers. Sometimes it was nice, because he found that he could more easily focus on her voice reading such mundane things as A History of Magic than try to read it himself. But at other times, like when he was working on a different subject or just didn't care, she would read aloud and it would be beyond infuriating.

Sure enough, her voice began to smoothly read Flamel's scratchy handwriting with ease within seconds of laying the paper down. "It has been my life's ambition to discover that magnificent substance most desired throughout the world and which has been that of only legend. I have, after forty years of work, accomplished my goal. I deem my work the Pierre de Philosophale, or in English, the Philosopher's Stone. I will never reveal the steps I took in order to finally achieve this goal, for I think in the wrong hands, the Stone could wreak havoc most devastating. Rather I intend to chronicle the development of the research throughout my career and describe how my life has changed since my discovery." At this, Hermione let out a sigh of relief, and a huge smile graced her face. "Thank God...well, that clears that up, doesn't it?"

"Sorry," Harry said, "but I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't you see? Flamel has never revealed how he made the Stone! That means that Snape's only hope is to steal it! He won't be able to find the recipe in the library!"

"You just discovered this?" Ron questioned condescendingly. It seemed pretty stupid to him that Hermione hadn't come to this conclusion as soon as they discovered that the hidden object was the Philosopher's Stone. Why else would they need to hide and guard it?

Hermione fixed him with an annoyed glare and said, "No, I figured the recipe wasn't common knowledge. Otherwise everyone would have a Stone. I just needed to make sure that there wasn't some ancient paper that existed that described its formation."

"I'm pretty sure that if there was, Dumbledore would have known about it," Harry replied. "He and Flamel are friends, aren't they? He would have known all about it and gotten rid of it. Not to mention that he's the Headmaster and has to know about all the books and articles in the library."

"Well, like I said, I had to be sure. They could have overlooked it, and then what would have happened? Snape would have been able to cook one up in the dungeons while we were making Hair Growth Potion or something."

"Yeah, because that's the best time to make a Philosopher's Stone; in the middle of the day in front of all your students," Ron said cheekily. Hermione blushed in frustration and began tapping her foot irritably.

"Well, forgive me for caring," she snapped. Ron gave her a lopsided sort of smile to show her that he was just teasing her, and he was happy to see some of the tension leave her shoulders. Instead of continuing her defense, she sighed and began cleaning up the piles of parchment they had littered around the area. "Well, boys, you can go back to studying now. You're done here."

"What'll you do?" Harry asked, his eyes following her movements.

"I'm curious about Flamel's emotional journey while making the Stone. It sounds fascinating to me, but I'm sure you'd be bored with it. Unless you want me to read that to you too?" Hermione spoke the question quickly and eagerly, and Ron would have felt sorry for her had he not been desperate to get away from the smelly old essays and go back to slacking in his own, amusing sort of way.

"No thanks," he said politely. "But you enjoy yourself." Hermione sighed in disappointment but shrugged her shoulders as Harry and Ron quickly escaped her presence and began to head back up to the front of the library.

"Is she always like this?" Harry asked, his expression bewildered and a tad frightened.

"Of course," Ron said. "You should know that by now."

"I guess I've just practiced Quidditch so much that I've never seen Hermione at her craziest."

"At her craziest?!" Ron exclaimed. "This is sane Hermione! You haven't seen crazy Hermione yet."

Harry groaned.

* * *

February was quickly approaching, and with it came Gryffindor's second match of the season. Ron spent the majority of every school day giving Harry words of encouragement and explaining to his friend that it didn't matter if Snape was serving as the referee. There would be other teachers there to make sure that Harry was safe, so nothing could possibly hurt him. However, most of his advice fell on deaf ears. Harry was determined to believe that the first day of February would be the date of his untimely demise. And truthfully, Ron didn't believe himself either. Harry was doomed.

It was the week before the match when Ron decided to go and watch Harry practice again. Hermione refused to go, mainly because her and Ron had been fighting all day about the fact that Ron refused to work on their group project in Herbology until after Harry got back from the pitch (it didn't make sense to him to do it without Harry, since they were divided into groups of three). So, he had trudged down from the tower alone, making sure to stick his nose in the air childishly when he passed Hermione as she worked by herself on their project. He was halfway to the pitch when he heard someone shouting his name.

"Oi! Ron! Over 'ere!" Ron stopped dead in his tracks and was only slightly surprised to see Hagrid running over from the forest, one of his large arms waving enthusiastically above his head as he tried to attract his young friend's attention. Ron waved back, feeling a tad odd about the experience. It wasn't often that Hagrid sought him out alone. Truthfully, Ron figured that if Harry hadn't have been friends with Hagrid to begin with and if Hagrid wouldn't have respected Charlie so much, he and the large man probably wouldn't even know each other existed (well...he would know of Hagrid, but Hagrid wouldn't know of him).

Despite this, he had come to like the man a lot. The Friday afternoons that they spent in his hut drinking tea and discussing classes had been some of the best days he'd ever had. Ron quickly changed his direction and began trotting quickly toward Hagrid over near the forest. Sure, he still wanted to see Harry play, but it would be rude of him to ignore his other friend. And besides, maybe Ron could learn a little more about the Philosopher's Stone if he was smart enough about it.

"Hey, Hagrid!" Ron greeted when he finally came within hearing distance of his friend. Panting slightly, Ron leaned forward to briefly put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Fang rushed forward at this, thinking that Ron wanted to play, and barreled him over, licking his face furiously and leaving Ron soaked.

"No, Fang! Bad dog!" Hagrid shouted. Ron, however, couldn't stop himself from laughing. He had never had a dog before, and had long since fallen in love with Hagrid's great boarhound.

"It's....hahahaha!" Fang began slobbering and nibbling Ron's hair, tickling his scalp and causing him to burst into laughter. "No...no! It's okay, Hagrid...Alright...good Fang...hahahaha!" The dog was now positively laying on him, causing him to fall over flat on his back. Eventually, Ron managed to at least sit up so that the dog was simply lying on his lap, on the ground.

"Aren't ya cold down there?" Hagrid asked.

"A tad, but it's worth it," Ron answered while rubbing Fang's face rather roughly. The dog didn't seem to mind. Instead of growling or groaning, it wagged its tail appreciatively, thumping it loudly on the ground at Ron's side. Hagrid's eyes twinkled appreciatively at his small friend on the ground, and Ron knew that he respected him for his love of animals. Ron, of course, had never been as fond of them as Charlie, but most animals were likeable enough. Especially Fang.

"Sorry he's like tha'. He really likes yeh three firs' years a lot. He frightened poor Harry ter death the other day by tryin' to jump up on 'is shoulders. I think he's afraid of dogs."

Ron pulled himself up to his feet and nodded gravely. "Yeah, I think Harry mentioned something once about an aunt who has dogs that attack him all the time. It wouldn't surprise me. He was afraid of Fluffy when we first saw him, too. But then, who wouldn't be afraid of a three-headed dog?"

Hagrid shuffled his feet, and Ron knew that he had brought up the subject of the dog in the third floor corridor too blatantly. Subtlety was not Ron's strong suit as Hermione constantly reminded him. He definitely needed to practice it more often, but it was just so hard to skirt around an issue for him. Ron would rather just openly say things, whether they be blunt or not. Hagrid, however, wasn't the type of person to be blunt with. He was sweet and kind, but wasn't to be underestimated, even though he had given up information in the past. No...Ron, Hermione, and Harry were going to have to be cautious when talking about this kind of stuff around him, especially since he knew they had looked up Nicolas Flamel.

Ron decided to change the subject quickly in order to steer Hagrid away from darting off too quickly (as he was prone to do when he felt uncomfortable). "I was just on my way to watch Harry practice, actually," Ron said. "He's really nervous about Saturday's match. I thought it might help if his friend was in the audience cheering him on, you know?"

"Oh really?" Hagrid asked, seeming to come back to himself a little. "Tha's really sweet of yeh, Ron. I probably shouldn' bother yeh then."

"You weren't bothering me," Ron quickly said. "I can make time for all of my friends." It was until moments like these that Ron was very unaware of the power of his own words. Now he was reminded of it, because all at once, Hagrid's eyes began shining fondly, and his great beard twitched as his lips turned upward in a kind sort of smile.

"Aw, thanks Ron," Hagrid said, his cheeks shining a rosy sort of pink. Ron grinned at the sight of it. Never before had he given Hagrid such a compliment, but now that it was done, he felt really good. No wonder Harry had easily fell into a friendship with this guy. He was good natured and good hearted, and his warm feelings and attitudes were positively infectious. "Wanna go back to me hut for a cuppa?"

"Yeah, sure!" Ron agreed. They called Fang to follow them, and waded through the snow (well, for Hagrid it really wasn't wading...more like striding easily) up to the front door of Hagrid's cabin. Inside it felt nice and toasty, and Ron instantly knew he'd made the right decision in coming here. He longed to see Harry play again, of course, but he also didn't want to freeze. While he did have his cloak this time and the scarf Hermione's mum had knitted for him, he still was positive that he would have found himself shivering up in the stands in the stadium. He hoped it wouldn't be too cold on game day.

"Where's Hermione, then?" Hagrid asked as he handed over a bucket-sized mug of tea for Ron to consume.

"Inside working on Herbology," Ron answered, hoping that Hagrid would just leave the conversation at that. He hated thinking about their fights, especially when they were unresolved, like this one.

"Oh, righ'...never lets up, does she?"

"Nope...never," Ron said with a small laugh. It was weird, but as much as Hermione's studying had annoyed him earlier in the year, he now found it rather endearing. When he thought of books and essays, he no longer felt nervous or bored, but actually caught himself smiling, because they reminded him of her. Only after he would envision her sitting in her chair in the Gryffindor common room working on homework, her dark eyes scanning the pages of books and her quill scribbling quickly across parchment, would he feel any anticipation for unfinished assignments.

"How's school?" Hagrid asked conversationally. Ron thought hard, but only because he knew that Hagrid was still writing to his mother about how Ron was doing.

"It's alright, I guess. A little boring, to be honest. I got a nine out of ten on my Astronomy quiz this week." He wished he could say something exciting, like he'd been able to successfully do a De-Wrinkling Charm on the first try (Hermione had, actually; it had taken Ron seven tries) or that his Milky Nortus plants were the healthiest in class (Neville had, amazingly enough, the most healthy patch of the useful herbs), but he couldn't. As far as academia was concerned, there just wasn't anything special about him.

"Tha's great!" Hagrid said enthusiastically, reaching for a piece of paper to write that bit of information down. Ron smiled to himself as Hagrid struggled to spell "astronomy" but remained patient with the man. "Anythin' else?"

"I had the best accuracy in our Flying Lesson last week," Ron answered. "Harry finished the course first, but he missed a couple of flags that he was supposed to grab. I got them all." He couldn't believe he had forgotten to share that much with Hagrid. To be truthful, Flying was actually Ron's best class. He had really excelled in it. Although Harry was really good with speed, and was, without a doubt, a better Seeker than he, Ron was able to fly with better quality. Rarely would his broom lurch awkwardly, which was something the school brooms were actually prone to. Rarely would he miss any of the flags on the obstacle courses that Madam Hooch made them go through. At the end of each class, she would praise him and tell him what a great Chaser he'd be one day (which was only slightly a shame; he may wish to be a Keeper, but knowing that he could keep his options open was nice). And, after lessons were over, Ron had the satisfaction of watching Draco Malfoy rush into the school angrily, as though embarrassed to be in Ron's glory. Yes, he was a genius in that class.

"Wow," Hagrid replied, writing down the information Ron had given him. "Maybe you oughta try out fer the team next year?"

"Nah, they won't need any new players. I'm sure Oliver, Fred, George, Katie, Alicia, Angelina, and Harry will all want to stay on the team."

"Oh, tha's right. I keep forgettin' how young all the players are." Hagrid slapped one of his massive hands to his forehead as if to knock sense back into it, and the sound of the smack reverberated in the tiny hut. Ron grimaced at the noise, but Hagrid didn't seem to notice how hard he hit himself. Of course, he probably didn't feel it as bad as someone much smaller than him (Ron, for instance) would have. To him, it would have felt like nothing. Ron was quite sure that if Hagrid were to hit him as hard as he'd just done himself, it would have at least knocked him out.

They talked for a very long time. Ron and Hagrid discussed the Forbidden Forest and what creatures lived within, Quidditch, Ron's pet rat (Hagrid was absolutely fascinated that Ron would have a different animal than most other students), and the many different pets Hagrid had had in his time as Hogwarts groundskeeper.

"I would love ter have a dragon, though," Hagrid said for what seemed like the millionth time since Ron had met him. Ron, who was tying his scarf around his neck in preparation of facing the howling wind, gave Hagrid a sympathetic frown.

"Maybe you should volunteer at a conservation center over the summer or something, Hagrid? Then you could be near dragons without having to actually own one." Hagrid seemed to think this over very carefully. Ron could almost see the cogs turning round and round in his head, as slowly a plan of sorts formed.

"Yeah, alrigh'," Hagrid responded. "Tha' sounds perfect, actually." Ron was glad he could help. He understood Hagrid's desperate love for dragons. His own brother Charlie had longed to be near them his entire childhood, and that love had not waned or died in his time at Hogwarts. Eventually, he had gotten to a point where he needed to get a job with them. He just couldn't take being separate from dragons any longer. Ron supposed that Hagrid had the same sort of love of them. "Do yeh think..." Hagrid suddenly said, "...maybe...I could borrow tha' book I got yeh fer Christmas? If I'm going ter be helpin' dragons, I should read up on them more."

At first, Ron was perplexed. Didn't Hagrid already know all about dragons? He had seemed pretty knowledgeable about them in the past. And that book was just a book about the different breeds of dragons. It wouldn't tell him anything like upkeep and care. But, he supposed that Hagrid didn't know everything. Maybe there were a couple of dragons that he saw in Ron's book before wrapping it that he didn't know anything about? "Erm...yeah, alright," Ron said. "I'll bring it Friday."

A sigh of relief escaped Hagrid and his face split into a toothy grin. Ron felt put off by it, almost as if Hagrid had just played a joke on him or something. "Right. Thanks Ron. See yeh then!" He ushered Ron outside, waved him goodbye one more time and shut the cabin door behind him.

For a long time, Ron couldn't move from his spot, staring up at Hagrid's small home. What was he up to? It was weird, but something told him that Hagrid was up to no good. It was just the way in which he'd asked for Ron's Christmas present back and the reaction he'd given when Ron had agreed to drop it off at the hut. It almost seemed as though he was desperate for the book, which just didn't make sense to him. Hagrid didn't particularly like reading. He had told them once, when Hermione had brought five books to Hagrid's on one Friday so that she could study and also talk (she had been unsuccessful, because Fang kept hiding her books from her and Hagrid, Harry, and Ron were talking too loud for her to concentrate). He couldn't be that passionate about dragons.

Maybe he's planning on getting a dragon for himself, a small voice whispered in his mind.

But no...that would be ridiculous, wouldn't it? Owning a dragon was illegal in the United Kingdom! There would be no way he could even get one into the country, let alone hide it from the proper authorities and Dumbledore!

Deciding that his notion was completely stupid, Ron turned toward the pitch in time to see the Gryffindor team marching up from it. As he approached Harry, he felt a gnawing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. What if he was wrong? What if Hagrid was intending on getting a dragon? How could they possibly keep him out of trouble?

* * *

"Why do you have your wand, Ron?" Neville asked as Ron carefully pulled the old stick from his pocket and twirled it nervously through his fingers. Hermione, who was squeezing in next to Ron on the bench, gave Ron a look that clearly said, "Put that away before Neville learns too much." Ron obliged.

"No reason. Just plan on practicing some...er...charms after the match with Harry and Hermione," Ron lied. Neville eyed the two friends suspiciously, and then shrugged, as though this made perfect sense. Well...it's a good thing Neville isn't the quickest broom in the shed, he thought.

"Oh, I do hope Harry's alright," Hermione said anxiously. The field before them was empty of all people except for Professor Snape. Their dreaded teacher was pacing the pitch, his broom in hand and his face indifferent. From this angle, Ron was pretty sure that Snape's broom was a Nimbus 1099, a model released only two years ago that was almost identical to the Nimbus 2000. The only difference was that the Nimbus 2000 rode smoother, and was, therefore, quicker. Still, Ron knew that Snape had to be more experienced at flying than Harry was, which would give the older man an advantage, should he decide to chase their friend.

"I do too," Ron said, glancing up to look at the half-filled stands. The teacher section was only partially full, with Professors Quirrell, Flitwick, Sprout, Sinistra, a strict wizard Ron had only ever really seen at dinner (he was pretty sure the guy taught Arithmancy), and Madam Pomfrey settling into their seats. Come on McGonagall, Ron thought. If there was one professor that Ron had faith in to stop any harm against Harry, it was his Transfiguration teacher and Head of House. Ever since he had first started taking classes with her, Ron had learned that even though she was strict, she genuinely did care about the students. And, obviously, there was a rivalry between her and Snape. How many times had he heard her mention how she couldn't have Professor Snape gloating over her about Quidditch again? Ron was positive that if she could find a reason to take out Snape, the woman would take it.

"Why are you worried about Harry?" Neville questioned worryingly. Ron didn't answer him. He was too busy trying to make out the crowd heading toward the pitch to really care about the boy next to him.

"We're just...er...hoping he catches the Snitch before Snape can do too much damage to Gryffindor," Hermione replied. The response was much more believable than Ron's earlier answer, and he couldn't help but turn and flash her and impressed smile. Her cheeks turned pink, but otherwise, she kept her worried eyes trained on Neville. Ron's stomach flipped at the small patch of blushing skin as he was reminded once again of the Mirror of Erised. Although he'd done his best to forget what he had seen, every now and then, he'd lose himself in thought over it. Sometimes it made sense to him. What if it meant that he and Hermione were going to become the best of friends? But most of the time, he found himself just as confused and lost as ever.

"Oh," Neville said. "I'd be scared for him, because Snape's just...terrifying."

"Well, that too," Ron quickly said. Perhaps Neville wasn't as dumb as everyone thought? Maybe he sensed Snape's evilness? Or maybe he knows about the Philosopher's Stone? But no...that would be ridiculous. Neville was a sweet guy and all, but there was no way he'd be able to figure it all out by himself. He didn't have the clues from Hagrid, and Ron seriously doubted that Neville even knew that Gringotts was broken into, let alone that it was probably the same vault that Harry visited. Deciding that it was probably best to not be suspicious of him (it was, after all, Neville Longbottom), Ron joked, "I for one hope Harry hexes him."

"Ron!" Hermione protested, clearly scandalized. Neville grinned at the idea, but when Ron turned to look at his other friend, he saw that her mouth was gaping open in shock. "Hexing a teacher is against the rules!"

"I'm sure no one would mind," Ron said with a grin. Then he added in a small voice that only Hermione could hear, "It's not against the rules when the teacher is trying to murder you." Hermione folded her arms in annoyance and chose to not even look at Ron anymore. Clearly she didn't like to be outsmarted, which was what Ron was pretty sure he'd just done. For some reason, it made him feel amazing. Even though Hermione was one of his best friends, he often felt she needed to be brought down a peg or two. To add insult to injury, he leaned over toward her and whispered in her ear, "I'm also pretty sure it's against the rules to set fire to a professor's robes."

The effect was instantaneous. Hermione's entire face turned bright pink and she looked anywhere but at him. Ron simply smiled happily. That had certainly done the trick. Hopefully she knew that he was just teasing her. He considered apologizing, but was cut off when Hermione suddenly exclaimed with a gasp, "Is that Professor Dumbledore?!"

Ron turned his attention over toward the teacher's stands. They were so far away that it was hard to make anything out. Yet the telltale long, silver beard and hair was unmistakable. Professor Dumbledore had come to watch the match. He was, even now, sitting himself next to Professor Flitwick. Professor McGonagall was filing in behind him, and Ron felt a wave of relief hit him. The two most responsible adults were in attendance today. "Well...that means Harry's safe," Ron said a little too loudly.

"You don't really think Snape would hurt Harry, do you?" Neville asked weakly.

"Of course not...it's a figure of speech," Ron replied.

"No it's not," Hermione mumbled with a satisfied smirk. Ron childishly stuck his tongue out at her, and much to his surprise, she started giggling. Everything felt much less scary now that they knew Harry would be alright. They could go back to enjoying themselves. Ron actually now felt foolish that he'd even thought to bring his wand with him. Of course Dumbledore would show up! Harry's broom was jinxed last time, and he was determined make sure that that wouldn't happen again.

All around them the stadium filled as the three friends fell into happy, carefree conversation. Neville described to them how his grandmother (who served as Neville's guardian; Ron felt only a small amount of curiosity at this. Maybe Neville just had bad parents or something?) had tried to get him interested in Quidditch and bought him a small broom when he was younger. "It was horrible," he described. "I crashed into a Muggle neighbor's car. The Ministry had to come out and modify their memory and everything." Ron laughed at the story (it was kind of hard not to, seeing as it was so easy to imagine Neville in that situation), but Hermione fixed sympathetic eyes on him.

"I'm so sorry, Neville. That must have hurt," Hermione said, elbowing Ron in the ribs for being rude.

"Yes, but I'm glad it happened. I'd hate to have to face Snape on the Quidditch field."

"It's a good thing that this is a onetime deal," Ron said nodding. "I've never seen Snape look so mean,"

"Probably because he knows he won't be able to try anything," Hermione commented. The three pairs of eyes travelled down toward their professor as he positively prowled around the two teams that were now positioned on the field. Ron thought he rather looked like a cat stalking its prey, circling the Gryffindors especially and eyeing them hungrily. Despite the comfort that Dumbledore's presence afforded, Ron still felt a bit queasy at the maniacal, power-hungry shine in Snape's eyes. It was moments like these that reminded Ron of exactly why Snape would want the Philosopher's Stone. He was a greedy little git.

"Look, they're off!" Ron said. Fifteen people rose up high into the sky: The two teams and Professor Snape. Ron was just about to comment on Snape's bad gripping technique, when suddenly something jabbed the back of his head hard. "Ouch!"

"What?" Hermione asked at the pained sound. Ron reached back to touch a spot on his head that was now sore from where he'd just been poked. Someone's finger jabbed him hard in the back of the head again. Half-expecting to see his twin brothers behind him (but knowing, of course, that they were currently playing Quidditch), Ron was only mildly surprised when he turned and saw Draco Malfoy and his two brainless cronies.

"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there," he lied. Ron scowled and turned back to the game. He was going to adopt a new strategy today, one in which Hermione had begged him to exercise for some time now. Just ignore him...just ignore him, Hermione's voice said inside his head. As if to repeat the request nonverbally, Hermione reached down to where his hand was sitting on the bench between them and gently laid her own on top of it. Ron instantly felt the normal wave of calm that flooded through him when Hermione did this, and he was, for the millionth time, grateful to have Hermione as a friend.

"Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want to bet? What about you, Weasley?" Draco said jovially. Ron gritted his teeth and focused solely on Hermione's hand. Though Draco had actually used subtlety for once, Ron knew what the statement implied. Well, of course Weasley's a gambler! Otherwise he wouldn't be able to afford to eat.

Hermione nervously pulled her hand off of his, as Snape gave Hufflepuff a penalty. Ron was barely paying attention. His hand felt naked without hers, and he had to fight to keep the rage from building up within him. He wished he could just focus on the match like she was doing. After all, of the two of them, he was certainly the bigger Quidditch fan. Yet there was something about Malfoy that made it impossible for him to keep his temper in check, which meant that he was watching the game, but not really seeing it all.

"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" Malfoy said loudly to Crabbe and Goyle. Really, the comment was directed toward the three people in front of him. Ron gripped the bench angrily, just waiting on the next insult. "It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money - you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."

Ron could feel his ears burning hot at the gall of Malfoy. Poor Neville. Sure, he wasn't the smartest student at Hogwarts, but he wasn't bad enough to have remarks like that thrown at him. Especially not by some good-for-nothing Slytherin prat who only excelled at brown nosing. Ron chanced a look in Neville's direction and was quite alarmed to find that Neville's face was just as red as Ron's ears felt. He had an angry look in his eyes that Ron had never seen in him before. In fact, he looked downright defiant. For the first time, Ron was convinced that Neville really was put in the right house. Gryffindors, Ron had discovered, were quick to jump to anger when insulted. Neville was fitting the bill perfectly.

"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," Neville mumbled poisonously. Well, really it was as malicious as Neville could put it. To Draco's ears, it probably sounded a bit feeble and ridiculous, but to Ron's and Hermione's, Neville's delivery was actually quite frightening. Never before had they heard him get so worked up, and they'd seen him constantly be the butt of everyone's jokes, be they Gryffindors or Slytherins.

Of course, it didn't escape Ron's notice that Neville had used the exact words that Harry had said to console Neville only a few days ago. Malfoy had used a Leg-Locker Curse on poor, unfortunate Neville, and he had come into the common room feeling like the most worthless student at Hogwarts. Now the phrase "I'm worth twelve Malfoys" seemed to be Neville's mantra. Turning his gaze upward at Harry, who was darting around quickly, his eyes focused only on potential haunts of the Snitch, Ron couldn't help but say happily, "You tell him, Neville!" as Malfoy and his gang laughed at the Gryffindor in front of them.

"Longbottom, if brains were gold, you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something," Malfoy quipped.

Ron's momentary focus on the game evaporated, as he felt his blood pressure rise and his ears burn furiously. Hermione tried, once again, to use contact as a means of calming him down, and it only marginally worked. "I'm warning you, Malfoy - one more word-"

"Ron!" Hermione said, excitedly, pulling her hand off of Ron's and pointed skyward, her index finger following a swiftly moving blur that was zooming downward. "Harry!"

"What? Where?" Ron asked, even though it was a stupid question. He could see Harry diving, could see him speeding toward something sparkling near the ground. Ron was just about to stand up in anticipation, preparing himself for giving a celebratory cheer, when...

"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" It was all he could take. Ron jumped to his feet, swiftly turned around, and pounced before Hermione could stop him. It was easy enough to tackle Malfoy, and the first punch Ron got in felt like pure glory. It was sensational, feeling his fist pound against Malfoy's too-soft face. He was punching him repeatedly in the jaw, when he suddenly heard a scuffle and realized that Neville had come to join him.

"Thanks mate!" Ron laughed, before a fist suddenly pounded down hard on his skull. Dazed, he blacked out for only a moment, but it was long enough for Malfoy to get a good punch to the mouth in. Now he not only felt dizzy, but could taste blood coming from his lip.

Neville still was untouched. He was pounding Draco in the stomach now. The latter was coughing and...could it be true? Was Neville Longbottom making Draco Malfoy cry?! "You lousy, good for nothing, piece of dragon dung!" Neville was screaming. Crabbe, who was closest to Neville, seemed completely unaware of what to do. Actually, more than anything, he looked quite frightened.

Ron laughed hysterically, even though he now had a headache and his jaw hurt. "'Atta boy, Neville!" he said through his mirth. Then, without further ado, he joined in again. Crabbe and Goyle tried hard to pull the two Gryffindors off of their friend. Crabbe punched Neville in the eye, but he barely seemed to feel it. He suddenly stood up and beckoned for Crabbe and Goyle to try to touch him. Most unfortunately, Neville was unconscious within seconds. Oh well, Ron thought, you can't win all of 'em.

Someone's elbow bashed hard into Ron's nose. They kept fighting, punches flying through the air, fingernails clawing, and feet kicking. It was only when Hermione finally realized that a brawl had broken out between her friends and the hated Slytherins that the fight finally ceased.

"Ron! Ron! Where are you?" she called. Ron shifted upward from his position on top of the nearly unconscious Slytherin and looked over toward her. Unfortunately her voice distracted him far too much and he got kicked in the stomach. He fell back down into his seat, leaving the Slytherins behind to try to pull themselves back together. "The game's over! Harry's won! Gryffindor won! Gryffindor's in the lead!" she squealed with delight, not even registering that Ron was now covered in his own blood. "Come on, you two!" Hermione requested, grabbing Ron's hand and rushing down the stands before everyone else could crowd it.

"But...wait!" Ron desperately begged. "What about Neville?!"

"What about-" Hermione began. However, she took one look at Ron's face and her jaw dropped. "Oh my God! What happened to you?!"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?!" Ron snapped. "Merlin, woman, do you ever pay attention?!"

"Where's Neville?!"

"Unconscious!" Ron replied. "We need to get Madam Pomfrey."

"Ugh...Ron, why did you have to fight them?" Hermione asked as she turned to walk back up to where the Slytherins were quickly trying to make a getaway. "You know Neville would have never done it if you wouldn't have."

"And it was great fun. You should have seen his face, Hermione. He was absolutely terrifying." Ron said with a nostalgic sort of laugh. Truthfully, he wished the game wouldn't have ended so soon. He would have loved to get a couple of more punches in. "I think I gave him a black eye."

"Yes, well...let's hope you don't get detention," Hermione said disapprovingly, leaning down to examine Neville. He was out cold.

"Or worse...expelled," Ron said mockingly. His impression of Hermione was frighteningly good. So good, in fact, that she turned her eyes up at him in shock.

"Well...at least being expelled is worse this time around," she said. Ron admired her ability to look back and realize that that night, she had been stupid. After all, they'd just been nearly killed by Fluffy, and her response was that it would have been worse to be expelled than die? It was enough to make Harry and Ron completely ignore her for an extra month (when really, they should have been banding together to discuss what the dog was hiding. They could have probably figured it out sooner if they hadn't been so stubborn). "Well...I'm going to go get Madam Pomfrey. You stay here with Neville," she ordered.

"Right," Ron said, smiling at her retreating back.

* * *

"I can't believe you beat Draco Malfoy up without me," Harry commented, half-awestruck, half-annoyed. Ron couldn't blame him. He would have felt cheated if he had missed the opportunity to punch Malfoy's face in.

"Sorry, I couldn't help it," Ron said, rubbing the aching lump on the top of his head. Madam Pomfrey hadn't healed it so that he'd learn a lesson and control his temper. He had found that he was actually more irritable with it. "He had it coming, you know."

"Pssh," Harry breathed. "He's had it coming all year. I'm surprised you held back this long." Ron was surprised too. All year, Draco Malfoy had been trying his hardest to insult either him, Harry, or Hermione. Anytime it would work, Ron would vow to make Malfoy pay. However, he'd always been stopped; either by Hermione's restraining hand or the appearance of a teacher. Today, he had really gotten lucky.

"Alright, drink this," Hermione said, coming up from behind Harry and Ron and passing a very small glass of blue liquid to the latter. Ron stared at it uncertainly. The potion his mother had made for Hermione had been meant for migraines, not headaches caused by getting your skull pounded in by ugly Slytherins. Still, Hermione insisted that it would help, and he trusted her better judgment. It had certainly helped her mood ever since Christmas. Ron hadn't seen any of the telltale signs of a headache in months. Instead, she was happy (for the most part), studious, and, well...Hermione. She was more able to be herself now, and Ron was grateful that, for once in his life, he'd done something right.

He gulped it down in one go, and was instantly grateful that he hadn't dawdled in taking it. It was a bit like he'd imagine candle wax to taste like. Thick, viscous liquid crept down his throat, and Ron had to fight to keep from gagging and vomiting. "Oh my God," he gasped, staring into the now empty cup. "You take this all the time? It's disgusting!"

"Well, I figure it's either take the potion or suffer," Hermione said.

"How did you find out about the potion?" Harry asked innocently. Ron had never told him about what he had gotten Hermione for Christmas. Part of the reason was that Harry had never seemed to realize or care about Hermione's ailment. He would ask if she was alright occasionally, but beyond that, he never offered to help. Another reason was that Ron didn't want to make Harry feel like he was a bad friend in not thinking of it himself. Even now, part of him wanted Hermione to lie about how she had come across the solution. However, he knew she wouldn't.

"Oh...Ron didn't tell you? He wrote to his mum and asked her to make me some of her Headache Solution. It was a really good Christmas present." Hermione bestowed a fond sort of smile on Ron, and for some reason, it set into motion the most hyperactive butterflies in his stomach. He could feel the headache caused by the fight melting away, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the potion or because Hermione really appreciated him.

"No, he didn't," Harry said, giving Ron a most curious quirk of an eyebrow. "That was really thoughtful."

"Yeah, well...I didn't want her complaining about her headaches anymore," Ron said quickly. He wasn't sure why he said it so callously. In all honesty, he rather liked being the person who helped her out. Still, the way Harry looked at him made him feel like he was being accused of something wrong. He probably thinks I like her or something, Ron thought.

"But I never complained about them," Hermione said with a frown. One look at her proved to Ron that he had hurt her feelings again. He seemed to be an expert at that. Hermione was either too sensitive or he was too insensitive. Or maybe it was a combination of both? Whatever it was, he was always saying something wrong, and she was always sad or hurt.

"Well...it looked like it hurt and...I just...wanted it to not hurt." Ron really wished he didn't have to blush while saying it. A big stupid grin on Harry's face kept getting wider and wider as Ron's ears turned more and more red. Even more embarrassing was the fact that Hermione went from looking positively hurt to looking pleasantly surprised. It was almost as if she approved of his discomposure. Thankfully, there were other things to discuss tonight other than his clever present. "So...what are we going to do about Professor Quirrell?" Ron said quickly, his words slurring slightly as he hastened to say them.

"We just have to make sure that Snape doesn't wear him down. I think we should encourage him," Harry said easily. The first thing Harry had done after learning about the fight with Malfoy was fill them in on a confrontation he had overheard between Professors Snape and Quirrell. Apparently, it sounded as if Snape didn't know how to get past whatever defense Quirrell had put up to guard the Stone. It made sense, of course, to use more than Fluffy to guard the Stone. As Hermione put it, they wouldn't just rely on an animal that can be easily killed to protect it. There would be enchantments and barriers to protect it as well. And Snape was only one step away from getting in. It all came down to their stuttering, weak professor to defend it.

"What if Snape does figure it out?" Hermione asked nervously.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Ron answered, once again adopting his impression of Hermione. "We tell either McGonagall or Dumbledore."

"Oh," Harry said as he put his head down in what looked like shame. "That's way better than what I was going to suggest."

"What?" Ron and Hermione asked as one.

"That we go after the Philosopher's Stone ourselves."

"Harry," Ron began, "the day I go back into that corridor will be the day that I confess my undying love for..." Ron scanned the room for a face and said, "Lavender Brown!" Harry shrugged as if this wasn't such a far-fetched possibility, but Ron noticed Hermione's nose scrunch up distastefully. At least she understood what he meant. Such a thing was not a possibility for him.

"Well, it's a good thing we have a better plan now, isn't it?" Harry said, noticing Hermione's face and doing that infuriating thing with his eyebrows again.

"Let's just hope it doesn't come to it," Hermione replied, her nose still scrunched, and her eyes drifting over to where Lavender and Parvati were gossiping loudly.