Harry Potter and the Sect of the Serpent

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Transcendental Transmogrification

Harry felt that he was being terribly calm and reasonable. In fact, considering that he had just learned that the foulest, most loathsome creature to ever walk the face of the earth had attacked his girlfriend, and that she had not seen fit to tell him about it until he -- quite literally -- pried it out of her, he felt as though his prodigious calm and reason deserved some sort of commendation. He had a deep seeded urge to yell at someone and possibly to kick and or punch things. He ignored it. His scar was burning as though someone were stabbing him with white hot needles and it made him want to scream. He ignored that as well. Instead, he walked Gwyn back to her tower, kissed her gently on the forehead, and allowed her to hug him for as long as she needed before seeing her safely into her common room. Totally calm. Totally composed.

The statue guarding the Ravenclaw dormitory had hardly finished sliding back into place before he turned on his heel and strode purposefully for the dungeons. It wasn't even a conscious decision, really. The only thoughts he could identify were muddled with Gwyn's; horrible images of that depraved cur's face plastered against hers, disjointed impressions of fear and pain that were not his own, and the smoldering desire to exact his revenge. He looked up, and was unsurprised to find himself crouched behind a suit of armor, staring at the corridor down which he knew the Slytherin dormitories to lie. It was a bit of knowledge learned in his second year and filed away for just this sort of occasion. Well. Perhaps not exactly this sort of occasion.

Wand clenched in his fist, Harry stood around the corner from the entrance to the Slytherin common room, opposite a large, rather ugly tapestry of a scene that reminded Harry of pictures he'd seen in Muggle museums of the Garden of Eden, full of snakes and vines and apple trees. The thought occurred to him that he was out after hours, and while that alone did not bother him very much, he was also without his usual arsenal of detention avoidance gear, namely, his invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map

His plan, such as it was, was to ambush the next Slytherin that passed and force him or her to let him into the common room at wand point, after which, Harry would find the slimy bastard and do unspeakable things to him. Harry hadn't yet decided which unspeakably terrible things they would be, but he reckoned inspiration would guide him. Perhaps he would start with the same mouth vanishing curse that the tosser had used on Neville -- that would teach him to go around kissing unwilling girls...

Of course, he hadn't reckoned on standing out in the corridor for quite so long, on it being quite so cold in the dungeons, or on his anger slowly cooling with the temperature. As he shivered and blew on his hands quietly, he remembered guiltily that he'd promised Gwyn not to tell anyone about what he'd seen. He'd also promised her that he wouldn't do anything rash like confront Malfoy. She'd gone on and on about fighting her own battles and karma and Merlin knows what else and, as she'd still been terrifyingly close to tears, he had quickly and calmly agreed to all her terms despite his ever growing rage.

The more he thought about it, as a matter of fact, his plan was ill-advised on several counts. First of all, he realized belatedly, there weren't likely to be many Slytherins passing, as it was already well after curfew. He couldn't just stand there all night on the off chance that someone else was out breaking rules.

In addition, this course of action would require him to hold off an entire dormitory of Slytherins by himself. While the idea had seemed possible a little less than an hour ago, when he had been high on adrenaline and rage, it was now teetering dangerously towards the improbable.

Finally -- and this was the most crushing blow of all -- if he attacked that wretched worm in the Slytherin dormitory, there would be no way to avoid severe recriminations, except perhaps by disclosing Gwyn's story. And that would mean breaking her trust.

Harry sighed, deflated.

The walk back up to Gryffindor Tower took far longer than usual as he had to keep dodging behind statues and into empty classrooms whenever he heard a sound that might be Filch, Mrs. Norris, or any one of the other nasty things or people he did not want to meet up with tonight. He whispered the password to the fat lady, who asked loudly for him to repeat himself twice before she would let him in, and strode straight across the common room towards the boys' staircase with only one thought: he had to tell Ron what had happened and enlist his help in plotting the ferret's demise. It was only as he put his foot on the first stair that he remembered Ron wasn't speaking to him.

"Harry James Potter!"

Harry froze. There was a terrible half second in which he thought his Aunt Petunia had inexplicably turned up in the Gryffindor common room; she was the only person who had ever addressed him using his middle name in that tone of voice before.

"Where on earth have you been? I've been worried sick! Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Harry turned very slowly to see Hermione marching across the room towards him in her dressing gown and slippers. Her hair was plaited neatly in two pigtails on either side of her head, like Heidi, Harry thought. But her expression was hardly that of a good-natured goat girl.

"Er..." he said, unnerved by the ferocity of her glare.

"Where were you?" she demanded, hands on her hips and looking far more threatening than anyone of her size had any right to.

"I was with Gwyn," Harry said quickly, heading for a chair into which he could collapse. "You knew that. We were studying in the library."

Hermione followed him, still looking every bit like an enraged lion -- in pigtails. "Harry, the library closed two hours ago."

"Really?" He hadn't realized he'd been standing in the corridor for so long.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows at him. "Have you and Gwyn been--"

"I beg you not to finish that sentence," Harry implored quickly, his mind reeling at the very idea of discussing anything of that sort with Hermione. "Gwyn and I were doing some homework, and then I walked her back to her room."

"Don't be a prat," Hermione retorted as she flopped into another armchair. "It doesn't take two hours to get to the Ravenclaw dormitories. Honestly Harry..." She shook her head and folded her hands in her lap.

"I thought..." she began softly. "I thought someone might have attacked you, and I didn't know what to do! Ron was acting like it didn't matter if anything happened to you and went to bed early, and I didn't know whether I ought to go looking for you or--"

Harry could see that she was biting her lip, and it made his insides twist guiltily. He put a hand out onto her knee and she looked up at him. "I'm fine," he said, a bit bewildered by her sudden emotional shifts. "Why would you think anything bad had happened?"

Hermione gave him an incredulous look. "Harry. You've been attacked twice! And nobody knows who it was or why and I just thought..." She took a deep breath and seemed to steady herself. "Honestly. If I didn't know better, I'd think you didn't care. If you weren't with Gwyn, then where have you been all this time? And don't bother lying to me. I always know."

Harry sighed deeply. As Ron couldn't seem to be bothered about whether or not he was even alive, he began telling Hermione what had happened. Once he started, he found he couldn't stop, and the story spilled out faster and faster. Hermione's anger morphed into wide-eyed shock as Harry told her what he had seen in Gwyn's memory. By the time he was finished, her eyes were huge and horrified, and she had both of her hands pressed over her mouth.

"After I walked her to her room I went down to the dungeons," Harry finished.

"To do what?" Hermione asked in a tiny voice, barely above a whisper. Harry shrugged, defeated.

"Nothing. I had a really terrible plan that involved hiding behind a suit of armor for two hours and having a blazing good row with him in my head several times. And then I came back here."

Hermione stared at him for a few moments and then abruptly leapt to her feet.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked wearily.

"To tell McGonagall," she replied simply. Harry launched himself after her and barely reached her before she got to the door.

"You can't!" he exclaimed, catching her around the shoulders. "You can't even let on that you know. I promised her that I wouldn't tell anyone." Harry fought the urge to punch something or, alternatively, to break down and cry. "But I had to tell somebody what that scum did to her..." His scar was burning again, and this time he didn't have the white hot searing rage to distract from it. He swallowed hard.

Hermione seemed to recognize his dilemma. She put her hands up onto his arms and, abruptly, the pain was gone.

"It's okay, Harry," she said softly. "I understand. But somebody needs to be told. You're just going to have to try to convince Gwyn to... What?"

"How do you do that?" Harry asked breathlessly.

Hermione shook her head at him. "Do what?"

"That's the second time," he went on quickly. "My scar starts hurting and then somehow you just make it go away and..." Hermione was staring at him as though he'd gone completely off his rocker. "Just now!" he exclaimed. "It was hurting just now, and you put your hands on my arms and it went away."

Hermione released him and stepped quickly out of his grasp. "But I didn't... I mean, I didn't even know it was hurting, Harry. How could I have-- Ron!" Harry whirled around and saw the back of Ron's head as he ran up the stairs.

"Bollocks," Harry said with feeling.

Hermione spent all day Monday with Harry, verbally poking and prodding him towards convincing Gwyn to report Malfoy. Whenever Gwyn was around, Hermione ended up looking sympathetic and sad until Harry elbowed her or trod on her foot to remind her that she didn't know.

Unfortunately, Hermione's unflagging campaign to convince Harry to go to the authorities meant that Ron was left alone to sulk and brood in all their classes. The change was not for the better, and Harry lay awake long into the night listening to Ron's ragged breathing and wondering if he were planning what hexes to use as soon as Harry fell asleep.

The next morning, Hermione came into the Great Hall a few minutes after Harry looking no better than he felt. "Have you spoken to Gwyn yet?" she asked, taking the seat next to him.

"She's not here," Harry replied dully. "And regardless of what you think, or how often you tell me what you think, talking to her isn't going to help. Perhaps you hadn't noticed, but she's an incredibly willful person."

Hermione huffed and seemed about to comment on that, when Ron and Ginny walked into the hall. Ron saw the two of them sitting together, physically halted in his tracks, grabbed Ginny by the arm, and quickly turned for the exit. Hermione sighed unhappily.

"I suppose it would be too much to ask if you'd talked to him?" she said wearily. "How long do you think you two are going to keep this up? It's exhausting being the middle man in this friendship." Harry thought very seriously about mentioning exactly how many times he'd played the go-between when she and Ron were fighting, but managed to hold his tongue.

Ginny appeared again at the entrance to the Great Hall, looking cross, and headed directly for them, quickly sliding into the seat opposite Harry. "Morning," she said grumpily as she reached for a piece of toast. "Harry, could I have a word?"

What a git, he thought vehemently, sending his sister to talk to me instead of talking to me himself... Harry tried not to look surly as he stared down at his porridge and shrugged.

"Er, well, could we talk in private?" she said glancing momentarily at Hermione, who looked mildly scandalized at not being included. "Only it's sort of personal..."

"Whatever he told you to tell me, you can say it in front of Hermione," Harry snapped.

Ginny frowned at him. "He who?" she asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't play stupid, Ginny. It doesn't suit you. Whatever Ron wants you to tell me--"

"Oh I see," Ginny interrupted testily. "That's the only reason I could possibly want to talk to you, because Ron sent me, is that it? The two of you are so wrapped up in yourselves that you probably wouldn't even notice if the school burned down!" She stood up abruptly. "I have about had it up to here with the both of you! If you don't pull your head out of your arse pretty quick, Harry Potter, you're going to lose more than one friend!" With a swirl of robes, Ginny turned and stomped away.

Hermione shook her head in pity, and Harry scowled. They finished their breakfasts in pensive silence before gathering their things and walking to Professor Lindell's classroom. As they entered, Harry saw that Ron was already sitting on the far side of the room between Seamus and Dean giving Harry a narrow eyed stare.

"This has got to stop..." Hermione muttered as she and Harry took their usual seats.

Professor Lindell entered the room from her office and began at once with the notes on the blackboard. Harry had long resigned himself to the fact that Lindell only seemed interested in teaching them defense theory rather than practice, and while the theory she was teaching was occasionally interesting, it still wasn't the same as raising a wand to practice.

Harry glanced up at the blackboard where Lindell was instructing the chalk in which notes to copy, and he noticed that the heading was "Dueling: Rules of Engagement in Theory and Practice."

"Are we going to start dueling, Professor?" Harry asked eagerly.

Lindell turned a sharp eye on him and raised an eyebrow. "Why, Mr. Potter? Do you feel some desperate need to be hexed? If so, I could accommodate you, I'm sure." A soft chorus of laughter rippled through the room, broken by Ron's loud, obnoxious guffaws.

"Well," Harry said, trying to ignore Ron, "not particularly, but I'm sure we could all do with a bit of practice." A murmur of approval followed his statement. Professor Lindell released the chalk to do its work at the blackboard and turned to face them, dusting her hands together daintily.

"What, precisely, do you imagine we've been doing for the past nine weeks, Mr. Potter?" she asked coolly.

Harry frowned at her. "We've been taking notes," he replied defiantly.

Lindell raised her eyebrow at him again. "One could hope that you've also been learning a few things about spell theory, Mr. Potter. Now why, do you suppose, I would spend so much of our precious time together teaching you spell theory? Anyone?"

Hermione raised her hand. "To provide us with a base of knowledge for when we have to perform the spells."

"Yes and no," Lindell answered. She took a deep breath and sighed. "To understand a thing, you must get at the root of it. If I wanted to teach someone to read, I wouldn't begin by handing him Shakespeare's collected works; I would start by teaching him the individual letters, phonetic combinations, and so on. If one wants to learn to play an instrument, one doesn't begin with Bach. Every discipline has its building blocks, and your basic knowledge of defensive theory has been sorely lacking.

"Now, Miss Granger postulated that my intention was merely to hand you these building blocks so that you could understand the spells you already know. While learning the theory behind the casting will undoubtedly help you to perform those spells more proficiently, the real aim of these exercises is to hand you the blocks that you might build something of your own." She paused, gazing out at them over the tops of her oval lenses.

"You mean," Hermione said hesitantly, an eager gleam shining in her eyes, "you want to teach us to make up our own spells?"

Lindell nodded. "Precisely." She opened her leather dossier and began shuffling her notes, preparing for her lecture. "I estimate that the majority of you will be ready to begin practical spellcasting a few weeks into the next term. Now, if you would please copy down the following terms..."

Hermione would not stop talking about the prospect of writing their own spells all through their break and Care of Magical Creatures class. Hagrid had, once again, built a huge bonfire and filled it with brightly colored salamanders as a treat for them before the holidays, and the class spent a pleasant hour or so huddled around the roaring blaze, watching the little lizards darting happily around the coals. Gwyn joined Harry and Hermione near the edge of the fire and seemed content to listen as Hermione talked endlessly about Scriptionists and spellcasting. Wordlessly, she squeezed Harry's hand.

"How are you feeling today?" Harry asked her quietly as they left the Great Hall after lunch.

"Fine!" she said briskly. "How are you?"

"You know what I mean," he prodded.

Gwyn sighed. "Harry, you promised me you would let it go."

"Only because you threatened never to speak to me again!" Harry protested.

"And don't think I won't make good on that," Gwyn said seriously. Then she relaxed and smiled again. "It's over. It's in the past, and even the great Harry Potter can't change the past -- can you?" She raised her eyebrows at him and he stared at her silently. She grinned. "Good. Then just let it go. Malfoy will get what's coming to him. It's called karma."

"I could help karma along a bit," Harry suggested. "It's called hexing."

As they rounded the corner nearest the Transfiguration classroom, Harry stopped short. Ron was standing near the door, obviously waiting for him. Gwyn glanced up at him, and Harry nodded for her to go on.

"Play nicely, boys," she cautioned, "class is about to start."

Ron stared at Harry, furrowing his brow.

"Well?" Harry said after a few moments. "Did you want something, or are we just going to have a staring contest?"

"You can be angry with me all you want," Ron growled menacingly, "but don't take it out on my sister!"

Harry blinked. "Don't be daft. I just told her that--"

"You almost made her cry!"

"Ginny? I find that hard to believe..."

"If you think that you can have a go at me by yelling at her--"
"Why would I bother having a go at you? You seem to be doing a pretty good job of making yourself miserable without my help."

Ron stared at him. "Everything's about you, isn't it? You're so wrapped up in yourself that you can't even see past those stupid glasses!"

Harry felt his blood beginning to boil. "Well, at least I don't try to live my life through somebody else!" he shouted.

Ron went suddenly pale. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"You know exactly what it means!" Harry shouted back. "Trying to take over the Quidditch team with all your diagrams and strategies. Face it Ron, I made team captain and you didn't!"

Blood was rushing into Ron's pale face. "You bloody egotistical bastard!" he roared. "All the time I spent trying to help you out, and this is how you thank me?"

"No one asked for your help!"

"Well maybe they should have!"

"Why, so you could just panic and let everybody down again?" Harry regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, but he didn't dare show it. He kept his expression hard as he watched the shock register across Ron's face. Half of him wanted to put a hand out to steady Ron and to apologize profusely. The other half wanted to laugh at Ron's stupid expression.

"What is going on out here?" McGonagall demanded suddenly from her doorway. Ron whirled around and the two of them stared at her guiltily. "The lesson has already begun," she snapped. "If the two of you are quite finished?"

Anger still coursing through him in an unhealthy rush, Harry followed Ron into the classroom, staring holes into the back of his red head. He turned to his regular table, but he saw that Padma was already sitting with Gwyn. He glanced around for Hermione, but she was sitting with Neville. In fact, there was only one table left, and only two chairs.

"Do you need an invitation, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall demanded. Angrily, Harry slumped down into his seat next to Ron, crossing his arms and hunching down in his chair. They stared resolutely forward.

"As I was saying," Professor McGonagall began, still looking daggers at Harry and Ron, "today we will be starting human transfigurations. Human transfigurations are much more complex and dangerous than any other spells we have attempted in this class, and so I must ask for your complete attention and your best efforts. Anyone who decides to abuse this practice time may find themselves facing extra homework. We will start by practicing the charms on our partners, and next term you will learn how to cast the spells on yourselves."

Harry barely heard what Professor McGonagall was saying as she continued to lecture, and he barely even blinked when she demonstrated one of the spells by turning her own hair a violent shade of fuchsia. He was too busy fuming internally at Ron and carefully avoiding looking in his direction. He could feel Ron's glare on him, however, as he opened his textbook to the page McGonagall indicated. There was a table written out with the incantations for different human transfigurations with a description of the effects next to it. Color changing, enlarging, reducing, lengthening, shortening...

"Exaggero nez!" Ron said suddenly, before Harry even had a chance to finish reading the incantations. Harry felt a strange tingling sensation in his face and fought the urge to sneeze as his glasses moved and resettled in front of his eyes. He looked up at Ron who was smirking unkindly at him before he grabbed for the hand mirror that McGonagall had placed on each of the tables. His nose had grown to roughly four times its normal size and now rivaled even Snape's in crookedness and dimension. Harry glared up at Ron angrily.

"A bit overenthusiastic, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall said as she passed, "but not bad for a first try." Ron cocked an eyebrow at Harry as though daring him to say something.

Harry chose his next words very carefully, working very hard to pronounce them clearly despite the size of his new nose. "Exaggero auris!" he said and watched, with more than a little vindictive amusement as Ron's ears began to grow. Harry didn't stop until they were roughly the size of saucers. Ron's eyes went wide with discomfort at the odd growing sensation as he grabbed for the mirror. Behind them, someone began to snigger.

"Isn't the spell supposed to do something, Harry?" Seamus asked innocently. His eyes were a disturbing amethyst color.

"Yeah, I don't think it worked..." joked Dean, whose hair had gone completely white, and although Harry could tell that their comments were good natured, Ron didn't seem to feel the same. When he set down the mirror, his face was red and his expression hateful.

"Pilo!" he shouted. Harry gasped slightly as he suddenly felt very cold. He put a hand up to his head and when he felt nothing but smooth skin, he realized with horror that Ron had made him completely bald.

"Pilosus!" he shouted back. "Flammeus capillatus!" Ron's hair began to grow at an alarming rate and, as it cascaded over his shoulders, the color began to change, starting at the roots and continuing down to the very tips until it looked as though someone had doused him with bright red paint. It spilled down his head and around his face, interrupted only by his enormous ears, which parted the hair like giant boulders in a river of red.

Frustrated, Ron scrabbled with his suddenly cumbersome hair. It had grown so long that it completely obscured his face. "Dentio croci," he called, his voice muffled by the long locks, but his aim was bad. Harry ducked out of the way, and the spell flew over his shoulder hitting Hermione in the back of the head.

"Hey!" she yelled angrily, turning in her seat. Harry started when he saw that her teeth had turned bright yellow.

"What is going on over here?" McGonagall demanded, striding across the room purposefully. Ron, still struggling with his Samsonite tresses, did not seem to hear.

"Cutis aureus!" he shouted, unwilling to be outdone by Harry. The spell hit him dead on and made him tingle all over. Harry raised his wand hand and stared at it for a split second, stunned that it was a funny gold color.

"Livoris ocullo!" he shouted angrily. Ron, who was finally parting his hair away from his face, glared at him with brilliantly kelly-green eyes. He raised his wand threateningly.

"Immobulus!" Professor McGonagall shouted angrily. Harry felt as though the air around him had begun to thicken and harden like glue until he couldn't move at all. Ron, too, seemed frozen mid scowl, one hand gripping his wand, the other pushing the hair up off of his forehead.

Harry could barely move his eyes, but even though they were trained on Ron's clenched teeth, he could feel McGonagall's angry stare. She didn't say a word to them. "Back to work please!" she told the rest of the class.

By the time class was over, Harry's neck was stiff and his eyes were itching something terrible. He wondered if Ron was feeling the same. It was a little hard to tell since his expression was frozen halfway between angry retribution and utter shock.

McGonagall took her time helping students reverse transfigurations that had been carried too far, then tidied up the classroom as the rest of the students left before striding over to Harry and Ron; her Immobulus charm was potent, and Harry could still barely move his eyes to follow her deliberate movements.

"My classroom is not the place to act out your private squabbles," she said sternly, folding her arms over her chest as she stood over them. "I am thoroughly disappointed in both of you, that you were not able to find a more reasonable way of working out your differences. You, Mr. Weasley, are a prefect. I expect more of those chosen to lead the student body."

Harry saw Ron's eyes turn laboriously away from McGonagall. "And you, Mr. Potter," she continued, turning her thin lipped expression on him. "I would certainly have expected you to value non-violent ways of resolving conflicts."

Harry found that he, too, had to avert his eyes from Professor McGonagall's stare.

"Finite incantatum," she said at last, and Harry collapsed forward onto the desk. He rolled his head from one side to the other, tentatively unkinking the muscles of his neck.

"I suggest," Professor McGonagall said curtly, "that the two of you find a way to resolve this conflict before you return to my classroom." She looked from one to the other of them pointedly. "Next time, I will not be so understanding."

Attempting to hide his scowl, Harry stood quickly and scooped up his things, and stormed off towards the door. He paused when he heard Ron speak.

"Er, Professor?" Ron said, tripping over his own hair as he made to stand up. McGonagall turned to study him through narrowed eyes. Ron took a fistful of hair in each hand and parted it from his face as though it were a theater curtain. "I don't suppose you could, er..."

"Mr. Weasley," she said very dryly, "I have not yet taken any points from you or Mr. Potter for fighting during my lesson. Don't push your luck." Ron sighed.

"Besides," she added, "working together, the two of you ought to be able to put yourselves right -- eventually..."

Trying not to think about how he must look, torchlight reflecting off of his bald, golden head, Harry made his way out the classroom door and heard a gasp. Whirling around, he found Hermione and Gwyn waiting for him. Hermione seemed to be very determined to keep a straight face. Her teeth were their normal color, but her hair was much longer than usual and board straight. It made her look chic and sophisticated and not at all like herself. Gwyn walked towards him and started to laugh hysterically. Her hair was a dark auburn color. It seemed the two of them had elected to keep certain of their transfigurations.

Gwyn, grinning madly, put her hand up and started rubbing the top of his head. "You look," she said around gasps and giggles, "like a very ugly Buddha statue. If I rub your head, is it good luck?"

"Not. Funny," Harry growled.

"And you," she said, turning to Ron, "look like Cousin It, in technicolor."

Hermione seemed to have overcome her own attack of amusement and sniffed disdainfully. "You two are impossible. What were you thinking?"

"He started it!" Ron shouted, still holding his hair away from his face in both hands.

"What?" Harry demanded. "You started it! You transfigured me first."

"Shut up."

"Good comeback."

"Oh, will both of you just shut up?" Gwyn yelled. Ron turned to snap at her, but she hit him with such a challenging look that he just stuck his bottom lip out in an angry pout.

"I've had enough of this," Hermione said suddenly. "Come with me."

"I'm going to--" Harry started.

"No," Hermione said forcefully. "You are coming with me. Now." Gwyn smirked at Harry and patted him on the head.

"Don't leave me!" he pleaded under his breath.

"Good luck!" she whispered heading down the corridor.

"Hermione," Ron was saying, "I am not going to--"

"You are going to do exactly what I say," Hermione said calmly as she lead them quickly back towards Gryffindor Tower. "Unless, of course, you think you can put your hair back to normal by yourself?" She shot a derisive glance over her shoulder when Ron didn't answer. "I thought not."

As they walked, Harry saw more than a few students, even teachers, shooting amused and disbelieving glances at them. Harry was used to more than his fair share of negative attention, but Ron seemed to be taking it personally. Before they reached the portrait of the fat lady, he was audibly growling at anyone who so much as looked at them, and tightly gripping his wand.

"Oh give me that!" Hermione snapped, snatching the wand out of his fist as he threatened a horrified looking second year Hufflepuff. Ron was too surprised to argue. "And you," she said, wiping the smirk off of Harry's face as she yanked his wand out of his back pocket.

"Hey!"

"Now," Hermione said, her tone still icy as she helped Ron through the portrait hole by holding up his hair for him, "I have had enough of the two of you acting like asses to one another." She pointed at two facing armchairs in the empty common room. "Sit!" Sullenly, the two of them sank down into the chairs and glared at each other.

"Talk!" Hermione commanded. Harry and Ron stared at one another, Ron's eyes just visible beyond the curtain of bright red hair. Hermione crossed her arms and tapped her foot. The boys continued to stare.

"He started it!" Ron bellowed, ears flapping.

"What did I start?" Harry demanded.

"Picking on Ginny! Telling Gwyn about the room! Bloody Quidditch! And Neville! And Slytherins..." He gave Harry an eerie death glare with his disturbingly green eyes. "Having LUNCH!"

Harry stared at him, dumbfounded. "You've gone completely mental."

"Have I?" Ron demanded. "HAVE I?"

"Yes!"

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. "We need details. Verbs even! You're going to have to be more specific."

"You said you didn't need me," Ron growled, ignoring Hermione.

Harry shook his head at him, angrily bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

"At Quidditch practice," Ron huffed.

"I didn't say anything to you at our last Quidditch practice," Harry retorted. "You weren't speaking to me, remember?"

Ron turned away suddenly, apparently unwilling to look Harry in the eye. "Forget it."

"No," Harry said, a bit more calmly. "I want to know what the hell is going on with you." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "If I've ballsed up one of the only good things in my life somehow, I'd like to know about it."

Ron looked up at him, the anger quickly draining from his expression and leaving something else that Harry couldn't quite identify.

"We were having a row," Ron began slowly, "at Quidditch practice, and I said I was just trying to help, and you said you didn't need me."

Harry frowned, trying to remember. "I said I didn't need your help, Ron. Right then, not ever. There's a big difference." Harry shrugged. "Plus, you were being cheeky as hell and I was getting right annoyed. I didn't really mean it."

Ron ducked his head again. "And then, you started hanging around with all your potions friends," he continued, "and you didn't ever want to hang out with me any more..."

"Because you were never around!" Harry countered. "You've been spending your free time doing Merlin knows what, since the start of term!" He stopped short and took a thoughtful breath. "What have you been doing?"

Ron shrugged. "Selling stuff for Fred and George."

"What?" Hermione asked.

Harry and Ron both looked up, having forgotten she was there. Ron nodded.

"They've been sending me boxes of stuff they're having trouble moving at the store, and I've been selling it to the sprogs around here at half price. How did you think I could afford to buy all that chocolate and butterbeer and stuff in Hogsmeade?"

"Those little sneaks!" Hermione said darkly. "I knew there was something going on after I took down all their order forms and still kept finding Snackboxes!" Ron glanced at Harry and gave him a small smile.

"Hermione," Harry said quickly, hoping to distract her, "are you going to leave us looking like this forever?" The novelty of watching Ron's gargantuan ears flap with every movement of his head and of listening to his own voice echoing horrifically in his cavernous nose had begun to wear thin.

"Oh!" With a few quick incantations and flicks of her wand, Harry's skin faded to its normal, non-metallic color, his nose shrunk to its regular size and shape, and -- mercifully -- his hair grew back as thick and unruly as ever. Harry watched in fascination as Ron's hair receded swiftly back into his head and slowly returned to its normal ginger shade; his eyes lost their alarming green sheen and his ears returned to their normal size -- perhaps even one smaller.

Harry found it much easier to look Ron in the face, now that he no longer had to look at evidence of their fight. "So, what was that bit about Neville, then?" he asked, hoping that now that Ron was calmer (and entirely less elephantine), he would make a bit more sense.

Ron sighed deeply. "It's nothing," he said sheepishly. "I just... It started with Neville. You put him in charge of the DA sprogs instead of me."

"I tried to put you in charge," Harry argued. "You were too busy selling Canary Creams to be interested!"

Ron shrugged. "And then you started hanging around with Padma and Justin and them lot, and you're always doing something with Gwyn, and I guess..." His voice trailed off.

"What was that?" Harry prodded.

"I said," Ron muttered, taking a deep breath. "I guess I reckoned you really didn't need me. At all."

Harry was silent for a long moment, staring at the top of Ron's head as Ron was bent forward studying his feet.

"You are a moron sometimes," he said at last.

Hermione glanced at him sharply and Ron looked up, angry.

"A complete and utter berk," Harry continued. "How on earth could you even think that I don't need you?" He didn't wait for Ron's reply. "Do you not remember the Tri-Wizard cup? They took the thing I'd miss most. Was it Hermione? Or Neville? Or Sirius or Remus? No! It was you!"

Ron made a very non-committal noise.

"And who made sure I got rescued from the Durselys all those times? Who went into the forest with me after all those spiders -- which you hate?"

"Bloody gigantic spiders..." Ron said with a weak grin.

"And who..." Harry took a deep breath. "Who sat with me on the train that very first day?"

Ron looked up at last and met Harry's eyes.

Harry felt a surge of emotion deep in his chest and fought to keep his voice from breaking. "Do you know, when I came in last night, I needed to talk to someone, and my very first thought was to go upstairs and tell you all about it -- even though we were fighting. So, if you think that I'm ever going to stop needing you to be my best mate," he finished at last, "then you are much bigger idiot than I gave you credit for, and I might have to give some serious thought to being friends with someone quite that stupid."

Ron almost laughed, but seemed to choke on the sound at the last moment. Suddenly, Hermione gave a very loud sniff. Harry glanced over and noticed that her cheeks were wet.

"Oh, I hate you," she said, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Both of you. Getting me all worked up like this over nothing. You're both idiots! Don't ever do this to me again -- I can't take it!" Standing up she rushed over and gave them each a hug in quick succession before dashing off towards the dormitory. Harry watched her go.

"About last night," Ron said softly, staring at the stairs that led to the girls' rooms. "I saw you and Hermione... Well, I saw you, and I thought that you and she..."

Harry shook his head. "Hermione and I are just friends," he said sincerely. "You know that."

"Right," Ron said firmly. "Right."

Hermione reappeared in the common room, blowing her nose quietly in a handkerchief. Ron was staring at her as though he was seeing her for the first time.

"What on earth did you do to your hair?"