A/N: Thank you so much to my reviewers and readers. Keep the hits coming! Once again: I own nothing. I just wanted to play with these characters a little bit. Thanks to my beta, Tincat, for looking over major grammatical errors. If y'all catch something, let me know too. And thanks to Solstice Muse for helping me with my beta search and pointers for editing. Also, you might notice some minor chapter-by-chapter inconsistencies with little bits of punctuation, formatting . . . that's me, going over the work . . . again. I apologize, and I hope to get this straightened out over the next couple of weeks.

This chapter contains strong language.


Chapter 1: The Snake and the Lion

A Slytherin never admits a mistake. Never apologizes. Never grovels.

So why the hell was she here?

Daphne Greengrass was dead certain that one Mr. Ronald Weasley, friend of Harry Potter, lover of Muggles and Muggle-borns, and hater of all Slytherins, would throw a fit upon discovering he was sharing the Burrow with her.

Although she was the sole Slytherin who deigned to participate in Dumbledore's Army . . .

(Well, a girl must know how to protect herself!)

Even though she wasn't the one who had "SNEAK" written in great purple blotches across her face . . .

(A Ravenclaw! Really!)

And didn't she volunteer to go with them to the Department of Mysteries?

(Well, punched Pott-. . . I mean, Harry and Weasley, more like.)

Now, two or so weeks later, she approached his room at the Burrow with great trepidation. If she hoped to survive this Dumbledore-imposed exile at the Burrow and have a chance to get into Potter's hot little heroic pants (err . . . scratch that!) Daphne knew she had to get Potter (I mean, Harry!) . . .

She would have to get Harry, Ron and Hermione to like her.

Ew.

She'd stand a better chance of making Malfoy lick Harry's boots than getting Ron Weasley — hell, any Weasley — on her side.

But, Daphne reasoned, since she had fought alongside a certain stubborn, foolish, clumsy redhead, maybe the idiot might give her a chance.

Not bloody likely.

Harry was a bit different, though. He'd been furious, positively livid, when she had approached him just after their first potions lesson. That was nerve-wracking enough.

(All that blasted yelling!)

Plus, she had to deal with keeping her little tête-a-tête away from prying Slytherin eyes.

Their second potions class came, and Daphne had once again screwed up her resolve to get Harry to understand her. She had told him to meet near the half-giant groundskeeper's cabin. Shakily, nervously, she had jumped in, with no planned speech, or even idea, of what she was going to say to him.

When she had told him a little more about her past, he had at least stopped looking at her like she had a Venomous Tentacula sprouting from her face.

All it took, she had reckoned, was a little push from Hermione Granger, and voila — the Hog's Head and Dumbledore's Army were suddenly within her reach!

She and Hermione weren't best friends or any such nonsense like that. Back in third year, Daphne had noticed Hermione's sudden batty attitude and watched as Harry and Ron had ignored her. The Mudblood had alternated between falling asleep on top of her Ancient Runes text and yelling at every passing student who dared enter her personal space. Daphne had seen the pathetic creature snoring quietly into her parchment. Sneaking away so as not to wake her (I mean, the girl might actually fail a bloody class!), Daphne had backtracked suddenly, seized by . . . an odd compulsion.

Maybe it was the memory of Hermione crying by herself in the dark corner of the library a couple of days ago. Maybe it was remembering she was one of the petrified students from last year. Daphne didn't know. But she'd woken the thing up and tossed her some notes from their shared classes that Hermione had missed.

It was a month into their fourth year that Hermione had walked up to Daphne while in the library and suggested studying together. Thus, they'd struck up a mutually beneficial studying aquaintance-ship.

Daphne thought back to the beginning of their fifth year, as she slowly climbed up the first set of steps at the Burrow. She remembered the compassion in Hermione's eyes when she had opened up to the Gryffindor prefect about Cedric's death at the beginning of last year. Hermione was only the second other person — of any house — with whom she'd discussed those feelings.

And she was fairly sure Hermione Granger was the reason Ron shut his big mouth about her participating in Harry's little covert "study group".

(Judgmental prat!)

She would have to send her a thank-you note. Or something.

(Not bloody likely!)

Of course, joining the DA meant that Ron Weasley had felt the need to watch her like a bloody hawk. And he had demanded to be paired with her every class! And he had managed to hex the living hell out of her every single blasted time!

(Closet sadist!)

She pushed the last thought aside as she found herself facing Ron's bedroom door. Balling up her fist, she paused before knocking, harsh gulps drying her mouth.

(Just do it, you bloody coward!)

She knocked, rather weakly.

"Who's it?" The male voice was soft and muffled.

"It's Greengrass, Weasley."

"Um." A pause. "Okay." She rolled her eyes and turned the doorknob.

Ron Weasley had always been a tall kid. Lean, but tending towards the gawky side. He had this laid-back oafishness about him that some found charming.

(Granger, I suppose!)

Others found his physical appearance wholly awkward and unattractive.

(Yours truly!)

Now, lying on his bed, on his stomach, thumbing through what Daphne supposed was the latest issue of Quidditch Quarterly, Daphne thought Weasley looked rather like a lion in his den. He eyed her with an intriguing mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

"So," he began, tossing the magazine onto his desk, "why're you here? In my house? In my room?"

"What? You scared that I might try to corrupt you?"

Ron shivered with disgust. Daphne rolled her eyes.

She did so much of that lately.

"Really, Weasley, am I that repulsive? There are a few boys at school that might disagree with you on that account."

Ron held up his hand, wincing in exaggerated disgust.

"Godric! Stop, for the love of Merlin, before you say anything more!"

Daphne smirked, and sat down in the chair nearest Ron's bed. He sat up, crossed his legs, and leaned back on his arms. Daphne couldn't help but note the long, sinewy scars that climbed along his limbs. When she realized she was staring, Daphne immediately shifted her eyes upward.

"Well, Weasley, returning to your original question," Daphne spoke as she lifted her hand. "Dumbledore said, one," she held up a finger, "that he's concerned about my well-being, when left to my own devices, and probably thinks your Gryffidor goodness will rub off on me or something. Two," she said, her next finger shooting up, "I was an active and known participant in the Department of Mysteries, which, as with your family, puts me dead in the sights of my more devious, Dark Arts-loving classmates and their kin—"

"Slytherin is pretty much Death Eater Central," he said dryly.

"And three," she pressed on, ignoring him, "Miss Proctor's a squib and there are two other girls in her home that don't do magic, like at all, and, as much as that old cow resents me, I don't really fancy a Death Eater attack on them. I'd prefer as little attention drawn to them as possible."

Not that she'd admit that she actually enjoyed being around his family.

Since she did not.

"So, you've slithered your way into the Burrow then, eh?" She narrowed her eyes.

(And he's supposed to be the funny one?)

"Look, I can tell you that I don't want to be here as much as you don't want me to be here."

"Great! We agree on something!"

"For the love of—" Daphne drew herself back, and shut her eyes. She spoke in a low tone that she hoped emphasized her frustration with the git.

"I don't want to fight you." He cocked an eyebrow skeptically. She smirked. "I need an opponent that doesn't look like he'd blow over if a flobberworm farted in his direction."

"Hey!"

"I said no fighting." She held her palms up facing him. "Anyways," Daphne cleared her throat, "I did want to say something to you."

"Well, go on then. Or has a snake got your tongue?" The corner of Ron's stupid mouth turned upward.

Glaring at him and questioning exactly why she was doing this, Daphne cleared her throat again. "I came up here to tell you, erm . . ." she paused, rolling her eyes. "ImsorryandthatIwaswrongaboutyou."

She cringed as her tongue turned into pebbles in her mouth.

"Ex-excuse me?" he said, with mock stuttering innocence, "I didn't quite catch that. Into my good ear now." Ron leaned forward, feigning impairment, and pushed his left ear forward with his finger. Daphne gritted her teeth.

"I said I'm sorry and that I was wrong about you, dammit!"

"Bloody hell, where's a parade when you need one? A Slytherin apologizes! Raise the banner—"

"Merlin's balls, you're an insufferable git, y'know that?!" Daphne was storming toward the door, until she heard Ron chuckle. She paused, hand resting on the knob.

"Okay, okay! I'll stop, okay." He held up his hands in surrender. "Uncle. Sit down. Go on and tell me what do you mean you were wrong, though? I am a bit curious about this you 'being wrong about me' business."

Daphne sighed, and sat back down in the chair. She cleared her throat.

"R-Ron," she said shakily. Ron's eyes bulged. That was the first time she had used his proper name. She pushed her hands down in the air, steeling herself for the nonsense she was about to admit. "Ron. I was wrong about you . . . being a coward. And stupid."

She let out a breath.

He crossed his arms.

"Anyone ever tell you you've got a way with words?" he said, sarcasm dripping from his sneering grin. Daphne inhaled as she thought about how she could start again.

"You were different than I thought you'd be during the DA."

"What d'you mean?" Ron asked. He raised an eyebrow. Daphne rubbed her eyes with the pads of her thumbs.

"Well, Ron, you insisted, from that first blasted class that you would pair up with me."

"Right."

"Because you didn't trust me."

"Yeah."

"And you'd rather deal with me yourself than have me hex somebody else."

"Of course! You're - a - bloody - Slytherin!" Ron exclaimed. He bobbed his head at each word to emphasize his point.

Daphne's patience with the boy was wearing thin. Her voice started growing higher.

"And," she emphasized, "you wanted to throw absolutely everything at me that was at your disposal. I mean, you hit me with some powerful spells at times, Weasley. You were sneaky, conniving, and tricky." Daphne folded her arms together in smug contemplation of the redhead sitting before her. "Never knew you had it in you."

"So? What are you getting at?"

"You were testing me."

"Maybe."

"Why, though? What was the point? If I got pissed off enough, I could have run back to my housemates, or Umbridge, and told them everything."

Ron looked down at his bedspread. Daphne noted the fading Chudley Cannons pattern, the threads sticking out haphazardly around the hem and the players as they zoomed around the sky on the blanket.

"Guess I didn't really think of it like that," he mumbled, his eyes still focused on his blanket. "I needed to watch you, since I thought that you were there as a spy for them already. 'S'not like I'd actually thought you'd be there on your own."

Daphne narrowed her eyes, nodding slowly, considering Ron's statement.

"You changed your mind about me, then?"

He shrugged. "Well, since that damn Ravenclaw friend of Cho's ended up with 'SNEAK' written across her face, then, er . . . sure."

"You still don't trust me do you?" Daphne said, shaking her head. Ron brow dropped and he seemed troubled.

"Maybe — er — just, well . . ." he stammered. "Okay, so I don't. Not yet, at least." his face softened. "I'm better about you than at the start of fifth year, that's for sure."

Daphne crinkled her face, annoyed.

"That's like the lowest possible bar, Weasley!"

"Hey, what do you expect? It's a start."

Daphne threw her head back on the edge of the chair.

"Maybe," she said, bringing the back of her hand to her eyes and rubbing them. "That's where we need to be, I guess."

(All that work, and it's still not enough for this moron!)

She shut her eyes and took a couple of breaths to calm the tremors rumbling just below her surface.

(I'll never be able to convince him . . .)

Without warning, Daphne felt her frustration at the idiot breaking through the barrier of cynical disinterest that she had employed for many years in dealing with her fellow housemates. Pounding her fisted hands on her knees, Daphne thrust her head forward and looked directly into the idiot's stubborn, freckly face, feeling her blood reddening her cheeks. "What more can I do!" She threw her hands up in the air. "What the bloody hell can I do to get you to see that I'm not lying?" She spread her arms out and turned her head back and forth, looking wildly about her.

She wasn't getting anywhere with this boy.

"Hey, it hasn't been a walk on the Quidditch pitch for me either. Trusting someone like you is like asking me to believe Hermione's skived off class, snogged Malfoy in a broom closet, and is planning to try out for Chaser."

"In other words, bloody impossible."

"Yeah! You've got the measure of that pretty quick for a little snake!"

Daphne was now completely discouraged with the entire situation. She felt angry that her little plan of coming up here to get into Harry's best friend's good graces was falling apart, and trying to talk to this stupid, poor, stupid, arrogant . . . stupid. . . .

"AARRGH!" She threw her hands up in the air, and stomped away from the bed. "Why the hell did I even think, for one second I'd be able to get along with you!" Daphne grabbed the back of the chair she had been sitting in, very nearly tossing it toward the boy's head.

Instead, Daphne violently threw the chair back under the desk. She stopped and looked at him. "Fine, Weasley. You're right! I'm a slag, a no-good sneaky cow, a . . . a stupid, greasy-haired evil witch that means to kill all of you and your friends despite the fact that I can barely produce a Patronus!" She pointed at him, her little, dark eyes wild with fury. "And I needed your help to get my ox to even look like a bloody ox! And you laughed at my prank on Umbridge's brown-nosing little tossers! And you kept telling me what I had to do right so I could fight with you stupid, arrogant kitty-cats so your best friend could rescue a serial killer for no good reason that I can think of!" Daphne panted hard, anger pouring out of her, unleashed by this . . . this prat who'd never see her as anything but Slytherin trash.

(Don't you bloody lose it, Greengrass! Keep it together!)

Ron stood up quickly off his bed. He walked closer to Daphne, standing straight up, attempting the most intimidating pose he could muster.

"What do you expect from me, Greengrass? A reward for all your hard work and good efforts? A bloody merit badge?" He snorted derisively. "You'd better realize that it'll take a helluva lot more than what you've done this past year!"

"You . . . you . . . UGH!" Daphne walked over to his door, punching it once with a balled fist as hard as she could.

"Hey! What the bloody hell?"

"I was willing to fucking die at the Ministry, Ron!" Daphne shouted at him. "I was willing to die because I believed that what Harry said was right! Voldemort is back! And he's bad! Voldemort killed Cedric, and he's the most vile, evil monster that ever existed and he should die!

"The fucking second I chose to go with you, hell, let me go all the way back to the beginning of last year! From the moment I opened my mouth to Harry and told him I believed him, I turned my back on the most powerful and the most dangerous students in my house. The ones who have mummies and daddies who report back to Voldemort himself!"

Daphne paced around the room; she was a stick of dynamite, and Ron had lit her fuse good and proper. Hell or high water, he was going to be present now that she'd fully exploded.

"And all I wanted to say to you, Weasley, is that I was wrong about you! All my ruddy housemates were wrong about you," she said, arms spread as far as they could reach. "You may not have a Knut to your name, or decent clothes, and you might be a tall, grotty-looking arse, but damn, I've never seen anyone as loyal and foolishly brave as you and Granger and Harry. Or your little brat of a sister, or Loony, or Longbottom even! But you . . ." Daphne furiously pointed at him. "No one has ever helped me feel I succeeded at something like you did when you taught me how to do a Patronus!" Daphne breathed faster than normal, but she inhaled and exhaled in deep, quick breaths. "And now, I hate that I have to work so hard for your approval, when you already have mine!"

Daphne couldn't believe she said it. It was certainly true, yes. But she felt . . . weaker.

She felt suddenly very naked standing in front of Ron.

She really didn't like exposing her soft, white underbelly like this.

Ron had stopped upon hearing her last sentence. His right hand was in his hair, pulling it backwards. His left was balled up on his hip, but there was no aggression in his stance.

He seemed to be considering something.

"I have your approval?"

Eyes planted on the floor, Daphne shook her head in small, swift motions.

(Really! You're truly an idiot, Greengrass!)

She looked at him . . . and nodded reluctantly, pursing her lips and crossing arms.

She still wanted to smack him.

Rubbing the corners of his mouth, Ron walked to his right, then left, pacing slowly in front of her.

"This is what you wanted to tell me earlier?" Daphne looked at her feet.

"Not in so many words," she said, mumbling.

He nodded with a serious expression coming over him Suddenly, a sort of flash moved across his face.

Ron's eyes went round and he stuck out bottom lip as he shrugged.

"Maybe I've been a bit harsh. . . ." His nose crinkled up as he spoke.

Daphne, bent over in disbelief, gaped at him.

"YOU THINK? Un-fucking-believable!" She spun around, throwing her head and hands up in the air.

"Look," Ron held up his hands, palms facing Daphne. "We're not perfect, okay?" Ron wriggled his finger between them. "But, y'know, given everything over the past year, and I s'pose you're going to be staying here for a while, we might manage or something, yeah?"

"So? What do you suggest we do now? Do we dare shake hands and watch existence as we know it implode?"

Ron chuckled. Much to her dismay, Daphne found herself joining him.

She was surprised, as evidently he was, that their animosity could somehow rearrange itself into such a mirthful response.

Soon, their chuckling gave way to great belly laughs. Daphne couldn't stop her eyes from watering, and she brought the heel of her hand up to wipe away at her face.

"Oh, Godric!" Ron exclaimed. "I'm laughing with a Slytherin!"

"Is it official? Has the world ended?"

Ron looked at his watch.

"Yup! Nine past seven. The moment when hell froze!"

"And kneazles flew out of our arses!"

"Or Crumple-Horned Snorkacks." Ron and Daphne looked at each other with shockingly surprised expressions smacking them on the faces.

They were ribbing each other.

They shook their heads.

Daphne thought that this was the time. This was her moment, her opportunity.

She held out her hand.

Weasley just looked at her.

"Oh go on!" Daphne nudged her hand closer to Ron. "I don't shake so hard I'll break your fragile bones." Ron seemed to regard her hand with a worried, almost anxious expression.

"N-no," he started shakily. "S'not that. Not that at all."

"What do you mean?" Ron looked past Daphne's shoulder and kept shaking his head.

"Ju-just, I'm fine, 'k?" Ron held up his hands, pushing on the air between him and Daphne as he made for his bed. "I'm — we're okay, okay?"

Daphne's brow creased. She put her hand down. She didn't want to pressure him if he wasn't ready to touch her.

(Man enough to go to battle, but scared of shaking a girl's hand? Pathetic tosser!)

Suddenly, something very improper popped into her head. And Daphne, being someone lacking any impulse control, blurted it out.

"I guess it'd be different if I were Granger."

Never had she seen ears turn red so rapidly as Ron's did at that moment.

Fleetingly, she wondered what it would take to make his head explode.

Ron just spluttered. "Y-you'd better watch what you say, Greengrass. S'not like that."

Daphne winced internally. Of course, she'd gone and mucked up whatever had just been made right. She needed to backtrack, so she made an effort to soften her own voice.

But what came out of her was absolutely not what she'd intended.

"You should screw up your Gryffindor courage up, man, and tell her how you feel."

Ron looked outraged.

"Just because we've agreed not to kill each other doesn't bloody mean we're swapping stories about girls or whatever. We're not talking about this, and that's that!"

Daphne was a smart girl, despite what Ron might've thought about her. So she was perfectly capable of taking a hint and dropping whatever touchy subject of conversation was currently taking place.

Except for today.

"I only say you should tell her, Ron, because I'm ninety-percent positive she feels the exact, and I bloody mean exact, same way for you."

(Only Salazar knows why!)

Ron looked torn between wanting to continue ranting at Daphne and wanting to ask her how she knew.

"What makes you say that?"

Apparently the latter won out.

"She looks at you different than with Harry. She's smiles differently when you're in the room. And when you two row, it's all about you. She ignores everyone. Including Mr. Boy-Who-Lived himself."

He seemed to contemplate this.

"Okay. So, answer my question now. How long have you fancied Harry?"

The question took Daphne's breath away, and not in the good sense.

"What?"

Ron rolled his eyes and smirked.

"How long," he pointed to his watch, "have you," he pointed at her, "fancied," he drew a heart on his chest with his fingers, "Harry?" He sat back with a triumphant grin and folded his arms.

"What in the name of Godric's bum warts makes you think I fancy Harry?" Daphne's voice sounded unconvincingly shrill in her own head.

"I don't think, I know, Greengrass," Ron said, pointing to his head. "I've thought you did for a while now. It's got to be part of the reason you started talking to him this year, and why you joined up with the DA, and why you absolutely had to come with us to the Ministry. I'm right, aren't I?"

(The smug git!)

Daphne's pointed her dark eyes at the Gryffindor.

(Why not just give him the truth instead of making up some lame bullshit excuse he's not gonna believe anyway?)

Daphne sighed.

"Fine. Yes, all right? I've fancied Harry for ages. Satisfied?"

"So, all of this was just to get into his pants?" Daphne fumed at Ron. Sure, he guessed her motivations for most of her actions last year — well the ones that focused solely on Potter.

But, standing and shouting at Ron seemed to have shaken the Slytherin to her very core. Namely, why had she insisted so vehemently to go with the other six to the Ministry?

Was it just a continuation in her quest to make Harry finally notice her? Or, was there — even in the smallest degree — something a bit more going on in her head?

Certainly, there were those feelings she had had when Cedric was killed. A boy that she never knew, killed so young. . . .

Daphne kicked at the floorboards in Weasley's bedroom, brow furrowed and mouth frowning. Her foot had found a plank that made a squeaky sound every time she touched it.

Daphne shrugged. "That was the initial plan I had, okay? Joining the DA and all, playing that prank on Malfoy and the others . . . I can admit to that, at least." Daphne's head bowed low, but she lifted her eyes to Ron. "But, I . . . dunno. Harry—" Daphne coughed. Using Harry's name, as if they had been friends for ages, could be somehow jarring for her at times. "I liked talking to him too, all right?" Daphne brought her eyes to the floor. "I just — it was nice talking to someone who didn't have parents either."

She saw Ron nod slowly. She shrugged again, apparently at a loss of what to say.

"I'm not sure what got me so angry with you three right before we flew to the Ministry. I—" Daphne stopped, words at the tip of her tongue.

(Should we really go into this now?)

Hanging her head in resignation, Daphne grimaced. She then exhaled and continued talking.

"I really hated that, in that moment, you, Harry and Granger didn't want me — specifically me — to go with you because you still didn't trust me. I hated that feeling. It made me furious. And I wanted to punch Harry and you both. Hard." Daphne looked at him, shrugging again. "I sort of had this really stupid idea that somehow, you lot would've seen that I actually meant to join the DA and I wanted to learn to fight, and I was against Voldemort and everything he stands for." Daphne stared at Ron, her own expression absent of any anger or annoyance.

He looked at her, curiously waiting for what she was going to say.

Daphne continued.

"It made me feel good that Harry said that the four of us weren't coming at all to the Ministry. And it really made me feel good when you started nagging me about my shitty defensive spell work. I actually thought that you finally accepted me. Which," she gestured towards him, "I now know that was wrong."

Ron swallowed, his Adam's Apple bobbing vigorously. He crinkled his brow and wrinkled up his nose; he looked like he was debating what to say.

After some time, Ron blinked and let out a breath.

"I'm sorry." Ron looked up at Daphne.

"You're sorry?" Daphne asked slowly.

"Yeah, okay? I, well, for today. For not believing you and everything. For last year, all right?" Ron had his hands behind his back. Daphne, for once, didn't push her luck with the Gryffindor.

Daphne knew that this was about as good as it got with Ron.

Particularly for her, a slimy, rather shady Slytherin girl.

"And I know we're not perfect—"

"Not saying we are or anything."

"But we're going to have to find some way to hang around each other—"

"Without strangling ourselves in the process," Daphne finished, her hands in the air.

Ron and her looked at each other, and nodded; some tacit agreement between the two of them had been sealed.

"When's Harry coming up here?" Daphne asked. Ron rolled his eyes, but not before she noticed a sly little grin spreading across his face.

"I think Mum said next week. We should be expecting Hermione in a couple of days."

Daphne nodded. "Well, that should be fun."

"Don't you dare, you sneak!"

Daphne threw her hands up. She couldn't stop the giggling-like sound from coming out of her mouth.

"Don't worry, Weasley." She ran her index finger and thumb across her mouth in a zipping motion. "Secret's safe with me. I promise." She mimed throwing something over her shoulder.

Ron's mouth twitched.

"Dunno if I'll promise the same with yours." He smirked at Daphne's reddening, puffed-out face. "I'm his best mate. Can't let him run around without warning him trouble's ahead!"

Daphne was about to show him how right he was about her being 'trouble' when she stopped and regarded his glinting eyes. They weren't hard or suspicious, in fact, Daphne reckoned . . .

He was teasing her. Albeit not really in an amusing way or anything.

But he was actually teasing her.

Daphne reached over to his bed and found a pillow. Quickly taking it into her hand, she walloped him on the side of the head. Static from the pillow caught on Ron's red hairs, making them stand straight up, crackling with small bursts of energy.

"Oi!"

Laughing hard, Daphne socked him again.

"Is that's how it's gonna be, Greengrass?"

"That's exactly how it's gonna be!" She turned and ran out of the doorframe, turning back around to see Ron grabbing a couple more pillows for ammunition.

"PHHHLBT!" Daphne stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry at him.

When he looked up at the sound, Ron caught sight of Daphne's two-finger salute and her back as she ran downstairs.