The Master Plan

Chapter 9: The Best Friends Are the Ones Who Tell You When to Shut Up and Quit Complaining.

Harry slept so soundly that night he was surprised he ever woke up at all. Unfortunately, he also woke up later than he should have, and was forced to hurry to make it down to the Great Hall in time for breakfast. This time, at least, he was careful to put on his own robes.

"What's the matter, Harry?" Seamus asked him. "Too much of a poof to be brave enough to come right out and admit you're a poof, then?" Harry just made a face, and Seamus laughed.

At breakfast, he suddenly remembered what he'd gotten Snape to agree to, and got Ron and Hermione alone at the first opportunity. "You know how I said I'd make it up to you?" he questioned Ron. "Well, I got Snape to agree to teach me what he knows about Defense Against the Dark Arts, and after some whining and pleading, I got him to cut you in on the deal, too. So you can come with me tonight, and no more detentions with Filch."

Ron did not look appreciative of Harry's achievement. "Bloody *hell,* Harry! That's more of a punishment than before! How does that make anything up to us?" He was squawking and bug-eyed, and Harry had to grab hold of his arm and shake it in order to get him to calm down.

"Don't do that!" he told him in an urgent undertone. "Snape's looking at us right now! We have to convince him that we're mature enough to handle this, or it'll go right back to detention the regular way. Don't you get it?" Harry pleaded. Finally he gave up and led them out into the corridor, which was fairly empty. He looked from one of them to the other. Even Hermione was eying him with some trepidation. They were acting as though Harry'd signed them up for 'Sticking One's Head in a Dragon's Mouth 101' or 'Fire Eating for Fun and Profit.' "Please, you guys! We can't count on being able to teach ourselves everything we might need to know."

"That's true," Hermione acknowledged, getting that bibliophilic glint in her eye. "In fact, we don't even know what it is we don't know, or how to go about finding that out. We don't know what we might need to know, or even how to know if we know it...we don't know--"

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry interrupted, torn between gratitude and exasperation. "I knew I'd be able to count on you. Look, Ron," Harry turned to his first ever close friend, willing him to understand. "I've gotten you guys hurt before. You've been injured because of me. Other people have *died* because of me. I couldn't--I just couldn't live with myself if that happened to one of you." He broke off thickly, turning away. To his surprise, Ron grabbed a hold of his shoulder and jerked him back, so they were facing once again.

"Don't you dare," Ron admonished him, a fierce look in his blue eyes. "Damn it, Harry, it wasn't your fault. You were there, true. You made decisions, yeah. Everyone does. You just made the best choices you could with the options you had at the time. You did your best, mate." He gave Harry's shoulder a squeeze. "I think most anyone would have done the same." He started to look unnerved as Harry's eyes swam with ever greater amounts of liquid. "Now, don't," he advised, looking disconcerted. His eyes darted to Hermione, beseeching her to help. "That's just--don't do that. Worst thing you could do."

"Oh, Ron, don't be such a complete twit," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "That's just exactly what Harry needs right now. Come here, Harry," she said in such a commanding tone that he wasn't very surprised to find himself with his head buried in her hair and on her shoulder, sobbing almost silently. "There, there," she murmured, giving Ron a short glare. "Let it all out."

"Oh, for pity's sake," Ron muttered. "You're spoiling him, you know that, don't you? If we end up with a limp-wristed fairy, it'll be all your fault! What he needs is some fresh air. And some wizarding girly mags. Fred and George have some, no doubt. I'll owl them."

Harry felt himself start to snigger at this, and turned loose of Hermione to quickly wipe his face with his sleeve. "Thanks," he told them both in a low voice. He looked embarrassed, and Ron did, too, but he found that they'd simply been friends for too long to feel terribly awkward. "So you'll come, then?" He tried not to look too imploring, but knew that it was what they saw on his face.

"Of course we'll come, Harry." He'd expected such a strong response from Hermione, who was, after all, naturally much better at dealing with emotions. He was startled to realize that it was, instead, Ron who had spoken them so firmly. He managed a wobbly grin, and Ron shook his head, lips turned in a self-mocking frown. "And DON'T say you owe us. I really don't like the way you go about paying off your debts." Harry managed a bit of a chuckle, thanking the fates (for once) for letting him off so easy. He supposed he shouldn't really be surprised; Ron was a great friend. Their friendship had survived through fights and fears and fame, and trolls and tasks and terror. Now, they might well face the ultimate test. Now they would see if it could endure Severus Snape.