A/n: As my sister and David Spade put it best: This is my birthday gift to me! I'm so happy!

This was meant to be included in another story of mine, The Tales of Weasley the Father, but alas, it turned out to be way too long. So I ran with it as a side project, and here we are!

Disclaimer: Even the absolute perfection of my best-laid planning wouldn't be enough to have me create a universe as awesome as JK Rowling's.

Setting: HBP, after Harry's first failed attempt to get Slughorn's Horcruxy memory, before Ron's 17th birthday. That falls into the late January and early- to mid-February time frame during sixth year.

Rating: PG, for the occasional explosion (of both the verbal and physical variety), minor swearing, and sixth year Lavender Brown.

Dedication: To me. HA.

Summary: You know what they say about the best laid plans. Too bad Harry and Ron don't. Their friendship is tested when an attempt to retrieve Slughorn's memory fails miserably. Missing HBP Moment, Canon Compliant

Gang Aft Agley
By dieselwriter

Chapter One: The Best Laid Plans

"I've an idea."

Harry raised his eyebrows at his best mate as the two headed down to the dungeons for their Potions class.

"Really? Well let me grab a camera…you alert the Prophet."

"Very funny," Ron muttered as they climbed down more stairs. "If you figure out a way to talk to Slughorn about his memory without having him shout at you or slam doors in your face, you will let me know, won't you?"

"You have an idea?" Harry asked, immediately intrigued.

"Well, I did, but I'm not so sure I should tell you now, seeing how rude you were to me earlier," Ron grinned mischievously as Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Harry emphasized dramatically as they entered the classroom and sat down next to Hermione, who ignored the two whole-heartedly and continued her conversation with Ernie. "I suppose you getting an idea isn't that odd of an occurrence."

"Well, thank you," Ron said, supplying the same theatrical tone his bespectacled friend had used. "Here's the plan."

The two bent heads together, so Slughorn, who had just bustled into the room, could not overhear.

"I'll do really crummy in class today," Ron muttered conspiratorially. "Play the troubled delinquent student to make you look even more of a Potions prodigy by comparison. At the end of class I'll cause some sort of mess, and then you stay behind after class to patch things up, get all nice and chummy with him, and then get his memory."

"The troubled delinquent student? Doesn't Malfoy already have that covered?"

"I suppose this is true," Ron said with a snicker and a quick glance over at the aforementioned Slytherin, who looked just as tired and vacant as usual these days. "But compared to me I'll make Malfoy look a saint."

"Couldn't hurt to try," Harry said with a shrug, as Slughorn waved his wand at the board. Words appeared and he turned back to the class with his customary congenial smile.

"Settle down, please, class! We've a lot to get through this afternoon, and I've not helped matters in arriving a few minutes late! But it couldn't be helped; just in today…."

Here he pulled from his pocket a small phial, and all eyes had to squint momentarily to take in the brilliant silvery liquid contained inside.

"Can anyone tell me what this—of course, Miss Granger?"

"Potior Memoria," Hermione said, staring at the substance in the phial which Harry at first assumed to be nothing more than luminescent water.

"Exactly!" Slughorn smiled widely, shaking the phial a bit. The contents didn't quite slosh like water, or any other kind of liquid for that matter, but didn't quite behave like a gas should either. "Five points for Gryffindor! Potior Memoria. Memory holder. This," again, he shook the phial, "is what makes a Pensieve work. And this, of course," Slughorn sidestepped to reveal a shallow stone basin with intricate detail around the rim, "is a Pensieve."

Harry immediately smiled, recognizing the Pensieve as Dumbledore's, having seen it multiple times this year. Slughorn uncorked the phial and slowly dumped its contents into the basin, the Potior Memoria resembling both liquid and gas as the large professor held up the bowl and swirled the contents around for the class to see.

"The Pensieve is used to examine memories. The Potior Memoria holds memories and projects them unto anyone who looks into the bowl.

"As you can probably imagine, the Potior Memoria is quite a tricky potion to come up with, given that it is in between the state of gas and liquid. We won't be trying anything so complex today, but we will be working on a similar idea."

But Harry gave Ron a side glance and grinned; the mention of the Pensieve would give him an easy venue to discuss the memory. Now all Ron needed to do was follow through with the plan.

Slughorn had already pulled out another phial with a scarlet substance inside that was similar in liquidy-gas nature to the Potior Memoria, and Hermione had already received five more points to Gryffindor for correctly naming the new substance as Potior Morbus.

"This potion has properties similar to its brother Potior Memoria, but is quite easier to concoct. Instead of holding memories, our Potior Morbus is actually ingested and helps to keep dangerous diseases at bay for a few hours while Healers can get to work at curing the ailment.

"This is what we'll get started on today," Slughorn said jovially. "This potion needs a few days to sit after the first few instructions, so let's not waste any more time! Page 236 in your textbooks, if you please, and you'll need your protective glo—"

"Ouch!"

Michael Corner, one of the Ravenclaws sitting on the other side of the classroom, glared over at their table, rubbing the back of his head. Harry tried looking innocent, knowing full well who had caused the slight disturbance.

"Your protective gloves, then," Slughorn said, clearly uncertain as to what had just happened.

"You carry those around with you?" Harry asked Ron while everyone else was busy setting up equipment for the ensuing class work.

"Never know when you'll need them these days," Ron replied, casting Harry a furtive glance before taking careful aim to launch another Weasley's Wizarding Wheeze's invention at the back of a new target, Blaise Zabini. Ron's aim was off but it did not matter; the beetle-like projectile came to life when it hit the dungeon floor and scurried over to the Slytherin and disappeared under his pants leg. Zabini did not say a word as the beetle's pincers grabbed hold of his leg but he did look highly affronted as he glared at Harry's side of the table. Harry shook his head and set to work, letting Ron do his part and he in turn keeping his end of the bargain.

Zabini got another three Beetle Biters, one even landing in the collar of his robe and nabbing his neck, but he remained resilient (or thick-headed, Harry wasn't sure—he did hang around Malfoy). Ron either gave it up as a bad job or ran out of merchandise as he finally went about setting up his cauldron. Harry felt a slight pang of guilt as he stirred his already bubbling concoction, knowing Ron's grade would not fair too well this class if he kept at it. But Ron didn't seem to mind as he glanced at the instructions in his textbook and smiled wide.

"What're you planning?" Harry whispered when Slughorn wasn't paying attention.

Ron merely pointed to the first line of text under the ingredients list on page 236 and set to work.

Over low heat, combine a pint of rat's blood with three newts, stirring once clockwise every minute for eight minutes.

The Prince's notes had called for an extra newt tail, which Harry had obediently added, and he was one stir away from proceeding to the next step. With a minute to wait, Harry took another glance at Ron's work and couldn't hold his grin.

The fire under Ron's cauldron burned bright and emitted such a heat that Harry was surprised he hadn't noticed the sweat rolling down his own face before.

"Mr. Wesley," Slughorn came forward, but shielded his face as the flames seemed to overwhelm the entire cauldron. "The instructions clearly said low heat!"

"Did they now?" Ron asked nonchalantly as purple sparks flew from the cauldron. Hermione shrieked in irritation as one landed on her pristine notes and began to smoke.

"And you were only supposed to add three newts!" Slughorn exclaimed and drew his wand, but Harry watched as Ron decisively threw in another newt to the cauldron while the portly Potions professor was distracted with the fire currently consuming Hermione's notes and part of the desk beneath them.

The effect was instantaneous: a large plume of smoke erupted and bright purple sparks flew even more erratically from his cauldron in all directions, as if he had threw in a Weasleys' Wild-Fire Whiz-Bang instead (although Harry wouldn't have put it past him to do so at this point). Ernie Macmillan dove over his cauldron in an attempt to shield its contents from the potion that was beginning to boil over.

But Harry suddenly had his own problems to deal with as a shower of sparks landed on the open Prince's book. He grabbed a fistful of robes and desperately tried to smother the flames.

"RON!"

Hermione looked positively outraged as yet another page of her notes was set aflame…really, she'd be lucky to salvage any of them. Harry had been fortunate enough to put out the fire on his own book; it was now pressed into his chest protectively.

"EVACUATE THE ROOM!" Slughorn shouted out, abandoning Hermione's notes in favor of counteracting the source of the distress.

Hermione collected her things rapidly, salvaging her notes giving her the motivation to purposefully abandon a class. She was so fast that only Draco Malfoy beat her to the door. Ernie gave his cauldron a depressed look, as if he were upset at leaving it behind, before rushing out of the room after the rest of the students.

Harry was now alone with Slughorn, Ron, and his catastrophe of a potion.

"We should put out the fire!" Slughorn called out, coming to stand beside Harry.

"I'll do it," Ron said, seeming to realize that perhaps he had taken his act a little too far and should attempt to rectify it. "Aguamen—"

"NO!"

"—ti!"

Slughorn's warning came too late; Ron had cast the spell, no doubt an attempt to put out the raging fire, but the result was a blinding light and a loud explosion. Harry grabbed onto Slughorn's arm and yanked him down a split second before it happened, protected from the blast by the desk.

"Ron? You okay?" Harry asked, resurfacing.

A dark, thick smoke smelling strongly of rotten eggs surrounded the desk, but Ron appeared like a figure out of mist, coughing and stumbling away with a face covered in soot.

"Yeah, 'm okay," he forced out, attempting to use his sleeve to rub his eyes. "God, it reeks….What the hell was that?"

"Combining water with rat's blood over heat causes a combustible and highly unstable reaction," Slughorn replied, his sweating, shining face emerging over the desk. "It is commonly used in magical fireworks, actually."

"Oh, er, right," Ron said, sounding embarrassed. Harry wouldn't have been surprised to see his ears pink if they weren't blackened by soot. "My fault entirely."

"That's quite all right, Ryan, quite all right," Slughorn bustled about, sweeping his wand and instantly vanishing the charred remains of the potion. "Perhaps you should concentrate a little harder next time, though."

"Right, sir."

"No lasting damage done, son," he said in a grandfatherly fashion as he went to a nearby cabinet and attempted to reach a small box just out of his reach on the very top shelf. "Would you mind bringing your classmates back inside so we may resume the lesson?"

Slughorn's short and round stature was preventing him from reaching the box and Harry started forward, eager to help and impress, but was quite surprised as Ron cut him off and reached for the top shelf, a put-out look in his eye.

"Sir? Aren't you going to, um," he stumbled over his words, his height making it easy to reach the top shelf and feel around for the elusive box. Finding it, he pulled it down and tried again: "I mean, didn't I just—"

"Don't be hard on yourself," Slughorn said in a consoling manner, not looking him in the eye as he took the box from the much taller boy. "I'm sure you did the best you could. Next time will work out better."

Harry watched the conversation between the two in silent anger, wondering why Ron only just now decided to deviate from the plan. Neither Slughorn nor Ron paid him any heed, though; the Potions professor opened the box and pulled out a pouch while Ron just stared at him, dumbstruck.

"I—I guess I'll fetch the class…" Harry muttered, still unsure of what was happening exactly but bitter about the whole preceding. Ron interrupted as he stalked past him.

"Don't bother, I'll do it."

Harry felt his irritation peak—really, what was the point of this plan if Ron was going to play all the parts?—as his best friend stormed off, although the affect was lost as he accidentally bumped into a desk and his shaking hands fumbled opening the door to the dungeon classroom. He walked off without a word to his classmates just outside the door, who stared at his sooty appearance and assumed him to be heading to the hospital wing.

"Professor," Harry said, deciding to try to salvage what was left of the plan despite this unexpected turn of events, "would you like some help?"

"No, Harry, m'boy; Ryan gave me all the help I need," Slughorn said, putting the final nail in the coffin of their now completely botched plan. He avoided his eye too, no doubt still remembering their last encounter which had ended in an equally doomed attempt at retrieving the memory. He pulled out a fine, white powder from the pouch and sprinkled it in the air. The rotten smell vanished immediately, and if Harry weren't so incredibly annoyed with Ron now he would have been immensely grateful. "Certainly bungled that one up, though, didn't he?"

Harry ground his teeth in further aggravation even as an odd sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach made itself present.

"And mine was going so well, too," he attempted a wistful tone, still trying to at least play the part, but to his ears he just sounded resentful. Glancing at his own abandoned cauldron he continued, "I was certain to get to the critical simmering stage if I hadn't been interrupted—"

"Is it safe to come in now?" Malfoy drawled from the hallway, and Harry cursed at the untimely disruption.

If Slughorn's earlier dismissal of his help was the final nail in the proverbial coffin, Malfoy's emergence was certainly the first fistful of dirt, effectively beginning the burial process.

"Yes, yes," Slughorn said, his job now finished as everything looked as it had before the class started. "Please, come back inside. We'll have to scrap today's attempts, I'm afraid, but considering the circumstances….I will make preparations so we will be back on track next lesson.

"Don't fret, Ms. Granger," he chortled, catching Hermione's anxious eye, "I won't be grading today's attempts. But be prepared to pick up from where we should have left off from today's lesson. And please!" he shouted, for the class had begun to rummage around to collect their things as they realized the lesson was over early. "A three foot essay on what we should have covered in class today."

Everyone paused, waiting for him to continue, but Slughorn merely smiled at the finally attentive class.

"Now you are free to leave."

Harry couldn't let so much as a peep out before Slughorn had collected his materials and scurried out of the classroom at Firebolt speed. Now the grieving process could fully begin for his completely deceased and buried plan.

Grousing, he opened up the Prince's book to assess the damage their stunt had caused.

"Damn."

The entirety of page 236, giving the full list of instructions on concocting the Potior Morbus potion, had been charred to nothing but ashes, completely unreadable, meaning that next class he would have massive problems coming up with a potion to impress Slughorn.

"Fan-bloody-tastic," he complained some more, collecting up his own books. Seeing that Ron had left his behind, he began picking up his things too.

"I can't believe you two."

Harry looked up from his task to find Hermione standing by him, her lips pressed into a thin line that Professor McGonagall would have been proud to see. She was busy shuffling through her notes, picking out ones still somewhat legible and tossing aside those indecipherable from the blaze.

"What? It all ended up fine for you; we didn't get graded, did we?"

"You wasted a perfectly good class period!" she trilled, forcing the notes that passed her screening into her bag. "And for what? What did Ron nearly blowing up the classroom achieve?"

"Well," Harry grit his teeth in annoyance again; the only thing it had achieved was a guaranteed failing grade for his potion next class. There had been a small possibility it would have worked if Ron hadn't stabbed the already feeble plan in the back. "It was just an idea to get Slughorn to tell us about that memory—"

"By killing him?"

"Yes, that's exactly it Hermione," he said sarcastically. "Way to figure it out."

"Well I can't fathom any reason why you'd actually think causing such a dangerous distraction in class would be a good idea."

"Look, it was stupid, I admit, all right?" Harry asked, straightening up after he had managed to balance his and Ron's bags on his shoulder. "I'm sorry your time was wasted."

When Hermione continued looking cross, he rolled his eyes and added: "And sorry your notes were incinerated. You can copy mine if you want."

The corner of Hermione's mouth twitched as she abandoned said incinerated notes on the desk and fell in step next to him, exiting the classroom together.

"I don't believe you."

"Really, I am sorry—"

"No, I mean, I don't believe you took notes."

Hermione smiled teasingly as Harry hmpfed.

"True, they were destroyed, too. I didn't think you'd even consider copying them anyway."

"Your notes were combusted as well? The Prince's notes?"

Harry easily identified the smug expression that fleetingly stole across her face and he frowned again.

"No need to get too excited, it was only one page," he said, any trace of humor gone in an instant. "You can still borrow the other pages, if you'd like."

"I'd rather figure it out for myself, thanks," she too adopted her icy attitude again as they rounded a corner.

Ron was waiting for them, still covered in soot, leaning against the dungeon wall with his arms crossed. Hermione ignored him completely and continued walking, leaving the two boys behind.

"You left in an awful hurry," Harry's eyes narrowed, still in a foul mood as he held up Ron's bag for him to take.

Ron snatched for it and missed; he blinked in surprise before trying again and succeeding.

"Yeah, well, thanks," Ron said, adjusting the bag strap to fit his lankier frame before starting to walk down the hall.

Harry fell into step alongside him, waiting for Ron to say something, to admit to his wrongdoing or else apologize. After a minute of silence, though, he couldn't contain his consternation any longer.

"Why'd you have to go and ruin it?!" he demanded.

"Ruin what?"

The confusion on his face only infuriated Harry even more.

"You shoved me out of the way! I was right about to get that box down and start up a chat—but then you came in and took the glory!"

"The glory?" Ron laughed, but it sounded a little forced. "Retrieving stuff out of other people's reach is glorious now, then, eh? Why wasn't I informed sooner?"

The fact that Ron was laughing all of this off as a joke, that he wasn't taking any of this seriously when so much had gone wrong…any future discussions with Slughorn would be destroyed, thanks to his lack of Potions expertise next class and consequential failing grade…Dumbledore would see him as a failure…as a useless child….

It made him lash out.

"You're just jealous."

The odd feeling he felt back in the Potions classroom earlier returned to his stomach when Ron abruptly stopped beside him, his blue eyes hardened.

"What?"

But Harry didn't care anymore.

"You. You're jealous."

They stood in a pregnant silence as Ron appraised him, his blue eyes swirling dangerously. But Harry returned the stare fiercely, unwilling to back down, and after a moment Ron continued on walking, shaking his head.

"Drop it, Harry, you don't understand."

"Understand what?" Harry muttered darkly. "You trying to slip into Slughorn's good books?"

"Harry, you don't get it," Ron said, voice low. "Drop it."

"That's it, isn't it? Lie and get me to think you're trying to help me out, but really just trying to suck up—"

"You don't know what you're talking abou—"

"—Because you want into his Slug Club, because you are still jealous—"

Ron snapped; before Harry could react, he shoved him, looking positively furious. Harry stumbled into the stone wall, his hand scraping it painfully as he caught himself. He glared back up, noticing out of the corner of his eye a flurry of brown hair around the corner—apparently, someone had realized their scuffle and decided to either rat them out or find an alternate route to their destination.

"I don't give a damn about your precious Slug Club!" Ron shouted, oblivious to their momentary eavesdropper. "I told you—you don't get it!"

"What's to get, Ron?" Harry threw back, also ignoring the fact that they could get caught at any time and standing back up to go yell in his face. "Any time Slughorn even talks to me or Hermione or Ginny you get all bent out of shape. Sort of speaks for itself, don't you think?"

Ron looked murderous but before he could retaliate, verbally or otherwise, Ginny rounded the corner and stopped, eyeing the two with a shrewd look.

"You guys are out of class early…" When neither said anything, she continued: "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," Ron said shortly, pushing past his sister before either she or Harry could say anything.

"What's wrong with him?" Ginny asked, watching her brother vanish around the corner she had just appeared from.

"How should I know?"

But Harry felt deflated now that Ron was gone and he was left alone in the hallway with Ginny. The monster that had been residing in his chest for the better part of five months purred delightedly at this unexpected turn of events.

"And what did you do to your hand?" Ginny tittered, pulling out a handkerchief from her pocket and wrapping Harry's raw and lightly bleeding hand in it. "You should be more careful, Harry."

"Yeah, well, that'd be easier if Death Eaters didn't keep coming after me."

"Oh, so you're blaming the Death Eaters for a fight between my dear brother and yourself?"

The monster grumbled unpleasantly at the loss of contact when Ginny backed off, her hands behind her back as if to hide something.

"How'd you—"

"Know? Please, Harry, getting into arguments with Ron is one of my favorite pastimes. I need to know when others are stepping into my territory."

Harry wiped the blood off his hand with Ginny's handkerchief, avoiding her eyes.

"I'll have to wash this before I give it back," he finally said after a brief silence, holding up said bloodied handkerchief.

"Don't bother, just keep it. Mum's given me a set. Apparently a proper lady," she said, mimicking a refined and sophisticated accent that didn't suit her as she gave him a small curtsy, "needs these sorts of things to hand out to her suitors. So consider yourself lucky, Mr. Potter."

The creature in his chest roared again in contentment as Ginny bounded down the hall, leaving her flowery scent in her wake. She stopped at the end, calling back out to him:

"I've got to see Slughorn right now, but we can talk later if you want?"

"That'd be nice, yeah," Harry replied, not sure he recognized his voice as it sounded a bit high-pitched.

Ginny flashed a wicked grin and disappeared around the corner without another word. Harry found himself staring after her for quite a while, relishing the scent that was slowly dissipating and basking in the glow of her last smile. The monster nestled back into its hiding spot, sighing blissfully at the conversation it had eavesdropped on and waiting impatiently for their next interaction.

Harry was forced to leave, though, when a troupe of fourth years stampeded down the hall a few minutes later, heading to a Gobstones Club meeting. He parted the crowd and retreated up the stairs and into the Great Hall. He plopped down next to Hermione, who was eating alone, and pulled the closest thing to him.

"You look happy," was the first thing she said, sounding suspicious.

"Well sure, just because Potions was a bust doesn't mean I shouldn't be happy, right?"

"I suppose," Hermione watched him cautiously as he piled more food onto his plate. "Where did Ron run off to?"

"He's not here?" Harry glanced up and down the table, but no Weasley was in sight.

"No…" Hermione said, sounding even more suspicious, almost accusatory. When Harry made no further comment, she added: "Wasn't he with you?"

"Yeah, well…" Harry shoved a roasted potato in his mouth, "now he's not."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm sitting here with you, aren't I? Can't be with both of you at the same time anymore, can I?"

His elation at having a private conversation with Ginny was apparently short-lived as Hermione brought him back to the reality where he would soon be disappointing Slughorn and Dumbledore.

Hermione's nostrils flared but she said nothing more concerning Ron. The rest of their conversation was rather tense, however, and he wasn't too sore when, ten minutes later, she decided to leave him to his dessert and head to the library to begin work on Slughorn's assignment.

He had just made the agonizing decision of which delectable-looking tart to try first when the sound of hissing reached his ears. He glanced over at the doorway, expecting to find Crookshanks making enemies, but was pleasantly surprised to find Ginny at the entrance to the Great Hall, having what looked to be a private and rather heated conversation with Hermione. Hermione kept jabbing her finger angrily in his direction while Ginny placed her hands on her hips and scowled.

Both girls glared at him before leaving the Great Hall for good, making the treacle tart he had wanted to eat look quite unappetizing.

A/n: Well, that's it for now. I'm planning the next chapter out sometime next week, hopefully Wednesday. This story has four planned chapters (most of them written out already), so get ready for the ride!

Hope it hasn't gone too fast for any of you; I was planning on ending this chapter sooner, but it didn't really flow the way I wanted it to, so I lengthened it a bit.

As always, reviews would be most appreciated. I've gotten so used to writing epiloguey HP characters that getting back into Hogwarts with their teenagery selves has been a bit of a trip! And now I've learned why JK wrote about Harry's chest-monster; it's an absolute blast! I recommend any and all writers to try it out for yourself to see what I mean.

Expect the next chapter to contain the following: angry Ginny, angry Harry, angry Lavender, and relatively complacent Neville. Should be fun!

~dieselwriter

P.S.: Rewatching HP 1 and 2 on da Disney channel. I've forgotten how funny chibi-Potter is. "I'll be waiting to open the door." = loltastic