Disclaimer: They're not mine; they're Ms. Rowling's. They just jumped into my head one day and started thrashing around. I had to let them out somehow! I can't lay claim to the idea either. I have no clue where it came from or where it's heading. I just hope it doesn't leave anytime soon.

Any similarity between this and other fics is entirely coincidental. If you see something you recognize, please let me know. I don't want to step on anyone's toes!

Extra thanks to my beta, She Who Must Not Be Named, and my Brit-picker, Laucia. Any mistakes you find are entirely my fault!

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A/N: Thanks to the wonderful any for the use of Varlerta and "music as magic." Run, don't walk, to read her stories at FictionAlley.org!! (Titles are Subplot and Unplottable) She is doing wonderful things with character development and changing perspective. And you need to be reading it, NOW!

The Latin in this bit translates as follows: Emodulari (to put to music, to sing/celebrate) Munitus (fortified). Oh, and does anyone out there know how to conjugate Latin? I suck at it.

Last note, I promise! This is very much a raw piece. I don't know if it'll lead to anything more (I *hope* it will) but I would greatly appreciate any feedback you'd like to give!

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"You complete prat!" Ron shoved his fingers through his hair, further dishevelling the ginger mop.

"How... why? What were you thinking?"

Harry dropped his eyes to the floor, unable to meet Ron's inquiring gaze. "I don't know. It just, you know, happened. It isn't as though I planned it or anything."

His voice trailed off into the empty dormitory. The silence between the two friends stretched on. Harry was suddenly struck by the thought that their words were floating over their heads, dark clouds which could rain down on them at any moment. He could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment and shame. He stared at Ron's battered brown lace-ups as if there were an explanation written across the toes. Of course, there was nothing there but a faded stain from the infamous Pumpkin Pie Incident at the Halloween Feast.

Harry felt a corner of his mouth quirk upward for a moment while he remembered: Hermione with a clump of pastry sliding out of her hair, an outraged expression in her eyes; Neville and Seamus, hiding their giggles behind massive napkins; Ron, shrieking and ducking as Hermione lobbed a whole pie at his head in retaliation. Unfortunately, as he ducked, Ginny had turned round to speak to someone. If he lived to be a thousand years old, Harry didn't think he'd ever forget the look on her face as the pie made contact and splattered on everyone within three yards.

The smile trembled on his lips for another instant then fell away as he remembered his present conversation. Hesitantly, he raised his eyes to Ron's face. He waited for a violent outburst, either verbal or physical. Ron could hardly be praised for his reticence under any circumstances. Harry's eyes widened when he saw Ron cover his face with his freckled hands, his shoulders quivering slightly. He opened his mouth to speak but could not force the words to form. It was as though they were being dragged from his mind into the swirling cloud overhead. As though the ceiling had suddenly become a verbal Pensieve, draining the apologies and self-recriminations while still half-formed.

Ron huffed lightly through his hands. When he spoke, the words were muffled and shaky. "Yer a buddy gee-nuss, 'arry!"

"Wha- What?" Harry stared, uncomfortably aware that his mouth was flapping open. His lips and tongue moved but could only shape one word. "Y - What?!"

Ron suddenly clutched his belly and toppled backwards onto his bed. He was making a strange noise; one so bizarre Harry couldn't immediately identify it. It was a cross between a grunt and a hoot and Ron just lay there, repeating it again and again, getting progressively louder with each repetition. He sounded, oddly enough, like Pigwidgeon with a cold.

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few more times. The words would still not come. He collapsed heavily onto his bed and stared at Ron in shock. He's laughing?! What is he laughing about? He should be chucking things at my head! This is ... well, mental.

"Oh ho! Oh, the look on his face! That was bloody brilliant, Harry! Ah ha ha! He won't be talking out of turn anytime soon, I reckon." Ron rolled to his side, still clutching his belly and gasping slightly. The few sentences he had uttered seemed to have spent all his breath. He focused his eyes on Harry's face and promptly burst into helpless laughter again.

Harry shook his head, hoping the movement would realign his brain enough to allow coherent speech. "You - you're not angry? After what I said out there? About me and, and ... Ginny?" His voice cracked slightly on the last word. He fervently prayed Ron hadn't noticed, although the way he was laughing, it wasn't likely he'd heard any of it.

Ron wheezed as his laughter finally subsided. He looked at Harry again and visibly struggled to keep the hilarity at bay. It took some doing; he wasn't very good at controlling his outbursts. After a few moments of contorted expressions and the occasional grunty hoot, he seemed to have regained his composure enough to speak.

"Harry, the look on his face was priceless. Why would I be pissed off? It's not like you meant it or any-" He trailed off as Harry's expression finally registered. "Bloody hell," he breathed. "You did mean it, didn't you?"

Harry squeaked in distress. How was he going to explain this to Ron? He didn't even understand it himself! Until the words had left his mouth in the corridor, he hadn't realized how he felt. It had been as much of a shock for him as it had been for Colin.

Although, you have been spending a lot of time watching her lately, a voice in his head accused.

Shut up!! I have not! And if I have, it's just because I'm worried about her. It doesn't mean anything. Shut UP!

He screwed his eyes up, fists clenching against his thighs. The voice in his head sounded dangerously like himself as a six-year-old, whinging and wholly unconvincing. And he couldn't fight that first voice, not if he wanted to defend himself against Ron.

He opened his eyes to find Ron advancing on him across the room. He squeaked again, then decided that he really ought to start talking. Especially if he didn't want to die in the next few minutes or, more likely, spend the next several hours belching slugs all over himself.

"I didn't mean it! I mean, I meant it, but not like it sounded! When Colin - I - he said that about Ginny and I couldn't just stand there. You were going to hex him! Or something. So I said something. Granted it was stupid, but I wasn't thinking! It just came out!"

Oh great, that was brilliant. Smooth as silk. He'll back right down now. Good going, Harry. Blather on!

Harry sucked in a deep breath in preparation for launching another verbal defence. Before he could start, though, Ron was on him, knocking him to his back on the bed. His ginger hair stuck out in wild disarray, his eyes were red-rimmed and full of some emotion Harry didn't recognize. In the back of his mind, Harry briefly wondered if he was going to find out what it felt like to be drawn and quartered.

"You. Fancy. Ginny!" Ron roared. "You -" He stopped abruptly and stared down at Harry, who was visibly trembling in the face of this tower of Weasley righteousness, steeling himself for whatever punishment Ron might deal out.

Ron held out a hand, thankfully wand-free, and swung it down toward Harry's body. Harry just lay there, blinking, as the hand stopped in front of his face. It was spread out, not fisted, and hovered there.

"C'mon Harry, sit up. It took you long enough anyway. Hermione's been on for ages about you and Ginny. Rather thick of you, that she noticed before you did. I didn't believe her. Guess this means I owe her a Galleon after all." He looked down at Harry. "Well? Aren't you going to get up?"

Harry reached out for his hand and pulled himself up, still in shock. He shook his head a few times, desperately trying to clear his brain. He couldn't think, couldn't even react. He just sat there dumbly, staring at Ron as though he had suddenly grown eyestalks or declared his affection for Ferret Boy. It felt as though his head were filled with thick custard.

"You're not going to kill me?" he asked Ron. "No debilitating curses or anything?"

Ron laughed. "Not right now, at any rate. Thought maybe I should let you get comfortable before I come after you. More effective that way."

"Oh, God!" Harry covered his face with his hands as the tension rushed away. Ron started laughing again, not the hooting grunts of earlier, but a low chuckle this time.

"Look, it's hardly worth it to punish you right now. You're doing a much better job of it than I could! But where the hell did that come from?"

"I don't know! I just wanted to say something to get Colin to shut up and keep you from hexing him at the same time. I didn't know I was going to say that!"

"Well," Ron said, "I'm pretty sure you shut him up. Poor kid won't even be able to speak around you for a few weeks, I'd bet. Although, I should probably say something to him. It is my sister, after all. Can't let anybody walk around talking about her like that."

Harry groaned. "No, Ron, leave him. He's probably just got carried away. You know how it gets, nothing to do in winter but lie to impress your mates. No doubt Colin's sorry enough that we overheard him. He's not a bad sort, just ... I don't know, a bit desperate."

Shaking his head, Ron sighed heavily. "Yeah, I know. Poor guy. He never has quite lived down his first year, when he followed you around all the time. But if I ever hear him talk about Ginny that way again, I'll murder him. Or, I'll set the twins on him! That'll fix him.

"Did I tell you they've developed another new product? It's called Tweedle Tarts. They tested it on Percy when he brought Penelope over for dinner a few weeks back. Threw a right fit, he did. Said they made him look like a fool in front of his girl. Not like it's the first time." Ron's face split in a wide smile as he sat back down on his unmade bed.

"Or the last." Harry grinned back at Ron. "So, what do these Tweedle Tarts do? Give you ears like a house elf? Rear end like a Skrewt? Make you sing nothing but show tunes for hours on end?"

"Even better! They turn you into -" here Ron started to wheeze again "- a character from Alice in Wonderland. Percy turned into the Walrus! Even after Mum made 'em give up the antidote, ol' Perce still had tusks for a week!"

Harry too collapsed in laughter on his bed. The image of Percy showing up at the Ministry of Magic for work with tusks hanging down to his chest was too much. The two friends laughed helplessly for long minutes, one occasionally calming down only to be set off again by the other.

When his giggles finally subsided, Harry lay exhausted across his bed. His mind was still whirling, trying to make sense out of the last hour or so. It was difficult to believe that he was still breathing, let alone sharing a laugh with Ron. No matter, he was determined to steer the conversation away from such dangerous topics as Ginny and fancying.

"So, does it turn everyone into the Walrus? And how do they know Lewis Carroll anyway? Wasn't he a Muggle?" Even after his years at Hogwarts, Harry was still amazed by how many "Muggle" things were really Wizarding in origin. It seemed some Witches and Wizards were as fascinated by the outside world as Arthur Weasley and several could, and did, thrive in the Muggle world. Hermione was forever unearthing the Wizarding basis for things they remembered from childhood.

Ron wiped the moisture from his eyes before replying. "Fred came up with some sort of spell that determines which character the victim is most like. I have no idea how it works, maybe it's like the Sorting Hat or something." He looked thoughtful for a moment then continued, "I think Lewis Carroll was a Muggle. Dad used to read his books to us when we were little. I don't remember the pictures ever moving so I just assumed he was. Who knows? Maybe he met somebody like Hagrid who told him all about some magical creatures over a pint. We should ask Hermione, she'd know for sure."

Harry groaned and dropped his head backwards onto his pillow. "No way! I learned my lesson after we heard that Beatles song on the Wizarding Wireless last term."

Ron snickered. "Harry! I can't believe you didn't know that!" He had pitched his voice an octave higher and continued in a mocking tone. "George Harrison is one of the greatest magi-musicians of the twentieth century! In 1966, he helped to rescue an Occamy colony in Jaipur, India, and began work on a new form of musical protection spells...."

"Incorporating the wisdom of Indian mystics and Wizards. And his Emodulari Munitus was the basis for much of the theoretical work of Varlerta, who was instrumental in the defeat of the American Dark Wizard, Alexander Groban." A new voice, in the same pitch but lacking the mocking tone, finished Ron's commentary.

Both boys jumped to their feet at the voice ringing forth from the doorway. Harry's mouth dropped open, once again making him appear to be doing his best flobberworm impression. For his part, Ron suddenly resembled a very ripe tomato. He, too, opened his mouth but his vocal cords did not appear to be paralysed. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for his brain.

"Oh, shit."

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One last A/N: George Harrison, may he rest in peace, was not a Wizard as far as I know. :) But in my opinion, anyone who could make a guitar sing that way must have had a little magic in his blood.

Please, please, PLEASE review! This is my very first story, so don't be shy: I can take it!