Disclaimer: I don't own Harry potter

Chapter 2: Together

Hermione blinked. Then blinked again. There was something up with Ron. He'd just been… sitting there. Quietly. Well, a small dry cough interrupted him every few minutes, but he wasn't even fidgeting. Just doing his homework. Not a peep of complaint nor a joke to lighten the mood. She hadn't noticed it while she was doing her work, but now that she was finished the quiet bothered her.

The quill found its way to her lips as she stared. Ron was staring at the paper with an oddly blank look on his face. Normally he wore boredom during these hours of forced work, but rather than impatience and irritation there was just complete incomprehension.

"Ron," she called out softly.

He blinked slowly, turning tired eyes towards her, a half lidded, closed off look that made her feel weary. He tilted his head forward, indicating she had his attention.

"You alright?" He blinked harder, straightening up, his eyebrows raising up at her. "I mean…" she stumbled, gesturing to him as if that answered what she meant. She bit her lip. "You've been a bit out of it lately. At 12 Grimmauld Place too. Like you're thinking too hard about something."

Ron put down his own quill, a lopsided grin falling into place.

"'Mione Granger accusing me of thinking too hard?" Ron whistled loudly. She cringed as Madam Pince shushed them. He just grinned at her though, completely disregarding the librarian as if she meant nothing. Hermione huffed before soundlessly closing her books, minding their location in the library, giving Ron a pointed look.

He just winked at her. Pretending to scream and shout before putting his hand to his ear as if listening for Pince. The woman never looked up. Ron gave a roll of his eyes before turning to Hermione to gesture at the oblivious witch. He mimicked the place burning down and the stern-faced woman continuing to put books away as if nothing was wrong. Hermione gave him an unamused look, packing up her books she ignored his eyes as they followed her.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning then," she announced primly.

"Ah… not even a lick o' help for…" Ron looked down at his paper. "Various Varieties of Venom Antidotes?"

"Not even a smidgen."

"'Bet you'd help if I was Harry," he called, earning a smirk from her.

"Of course, he's the chosen one," she mocked.

They both knew the chosen one would be just as screwed as Ron in regards to homework 'help.' Harry should be getting out of Umbridge's soon though. Her footsteps stilled. She looked back to see Ron's face had also fallen. They should probably…

Ron was packing up. Their eyes met and she grimaced. Yeah, they needed to be there when Harry got out. Without a word they moved to go to Gryffindor tower to wait for their missing friend.

Harry jerked awake like clockwork. The face of Cedric Diggory planted itself firmly in his mind. He didn't need to look to know it was nearing two o clock, possibly three. Neither did he want to. He felt sticky as he shoved the covers away. Swiped a wet hair out of his way. The faintest memory of red eyes surging forward to assault his woken state just as it had his sleeping.

He shuddered as he stood, legs melting under him, but managing a steady step after a few choice words were shared between them and himself. His mind already betrayed him on more than one occasion, he did not need his body to follow suite. One of them had to work.

His footsteps were light atop the carpet, but Harry doubted if any of the boys were stir anyways. Neville and Dean had long since learned a charm to clock out noise. Seamus slept like the dead. Ron's snores and Harry's nightmares didn't stand a chance against the young Irish boy when it came to his sleep. Or his bullheadedness.

Passing said boy's bed he felt a little vindicated to see pages upon pages of crossed out sentences for their Dark Arts forty-two inch essay. Defense against the dark arts had never been Seamus best subject. With Umbridge cutting out any form of practical magical application (field work), left a great deal of essay writing and research instead. Much to Umbridge's chagrin, he, Ron and Hermione were some of the few passing without fail, all the assignments. Due mainly to Harry himself.

He wandered down pitch black steps, stumbling only until he remembered his wand in the back pocket of his sweats. Light filtered through the hall, aided by the glow of the fireplace down below. But the comforting fire did not greet him alone.

"Alright, Harry?"

"What are you doing up?" Harry asked, equal parts baffled and relieved. Rather than answer, Ron turned away from him to stare into the fire, one hand gesturing for Harry to join him. The hand migrated to his forehead, rubbing in slow, hard circles.

Harry did so, his knees bumping against the longer, lankier frame of his best friend. He glanced sideways at Ron to see sweat sliding down his face, despite how cold the room was, and Harry suspected that maybe Ron had been sitting too close to the fire.

"Can't sleep," Ron finally said after a few minutes.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Can't sleep like I can't sleep or…"

"Just a headache and its hotter than sin lately, feel like my blankets are burning me alive."

Harry hummed, fingerings going up to his own burning scar. The familiar jagged lightning strike scar tissue warm beneath his fingers.

"I can relate."

Ron bumped his shoulder, smiling a little. They sat in comfortable silence for a while longer, eventually pulling out cards, regular muggle ones, as neither felt compelled to worsen the pounding behind their skulls with exploding snaps. They played until the sun came up, guiltily slinking upstairs to bed, not so guiltily ignoring Hermione when she demanded they get their lazy bums up.

Harry's blood is boiling. He wants to turn around, march up the stairs to Umbridge, and punch her in the face. His hand throbs and every fiber in his being wants to rebel against the words she made him write, wants to reach out and ring her stupid, short barely there neck.

Harry almost turns around, but a foot stops him. Specifically, Ron's foot. The ragged shoe and ankle showing giving the other boy away even though most of it is invisible. Harry catches himself and blinks down at the familiar foot for too long.

"Is that my cloak?" Harry asks, his anger is leaking out and he's not sure if he should be annoyed or amused when the body jerks and Ron' head appears.

"Shit, damn it, yes, yes it is, sorry. Fell asleep, I think," Ron's muttering, sitting up and pulling the cloak completely off of him, until only the arms holding the cloak are invisible to the eye. "Hi, Harry."

Harry choses to be amused.

"What are you doing?"

"Waiting up for you, course," Ron slurs, trying to fight a yawn and the sleep still dragging his actions. "Got murtlap." Ron pulled out a bowl, magicked to keep the liquid inside. "Figured we'd go to the kitchens, get you a cup of tea, soak your hand…" Ron shrugged. "Seamus is still up, figured you'd want to avoid him?"

"Yeah, sounds good," Harry agreed.

As they walked, Ron was doing that odd thing again, touching the back of his head. Tracing it in a messaging manner to the front where his fingers reversed the action. It was a new habit. One he'd developed during the summer, apparently, and that had become increasingly prevalent since.

"You doing okay?" Harry asked, feeling worry pricking at the back of his mind.

Ron nodded absently, fingers moving from his head to the pear, tickling it gently until the large painting swung open. Tea appeared practically before the house elves did, though there was no sign of Dobby tonight. Perhaps Dumbledore had the little elf on some mission or he may even have been attending to Winky. He let his hand rest in the murtlap, the cool liquid doing wonders for his throbbing hand, as they drank tea.

"I was thinking," Ron said casually, "I bet if we were to go to Umbridge's office right now, she would already have headed to bed."

Harry eyed him.

"Yeah?"

"We probably can't get into the office, of course, but there's an awful lot of hallway between her sleeping quarters and her office." Ron took a large, obnoxious slurp from his tea, winking at Harry as he did so. "A lot of space that has been prohibited to students from entering less her beauty sleep be interrupted. And, somehow, miraculously, I happen to have a bag full of Fred and George's inventions with me, enchanted with notice-me-not charms."

"It would be a shame to waste those," Harry agreed.

Ron nodded sagely.

"Especially since their set to go off every few hours for the next three days. Terribly inconvenient for them to be put anywhere else."

"Really?" Harry asked, impressed.

"Fred and George were eager to help, they always are, where you're concerned," Ron grinned, shaking the bag beside him. If there was a slightly bitter tone to his voice, Harry ignored it in favor of finishing off his tea and shaking the murtlap from his hand.

By morning the whole of Hogwarts knew the woes of Umbridge.

Decree #27: Any students found outside their dorms after hours will be expelled.

Decree #28: All noise making objects will be turned in post haste to the high inquisitor for disposal upon threat of punishment.

Ron's clothes were always an inch or two too short, too wide, too thin, clothes stretching across a frame or hanging on one, but never fitting right. When Ron dressed, Harry avoided looking at him, because it embarrassed Ron. The redhead hated it when anyone in the room looked at him when he struggled with one article or another, trying to get broken buttons to work or pants one size too small to fit somewhat right. There were shirts that sometimes left his mid-rift showing and Ron would fumble to throw his robes on over them.

It was just one of those things they didn't mention because once upon a time they had.

Sometime before they learned it was a taboo subject with the Weasley siblings, they'd each offered a shirt or an item of clothing to Ron, who'd turned a brilliant shade of red and refused. At first politely, but then harshly with each person. Until poor Neville nearly had his head snapped off and no one had offered again.

Still, it bothered Harry that he hadn't noticed the purple before. Where Ron's socks were a little too tight, there were purple bruises. Where the cuffs cut a little, there was a darkening of his skin that was unnatural. The place where pants met hips was overrun with small bruises. Ron's shoulders too, had smatterings of little discolorations.

It alarmed him to the point that he dropped his broom. The clatter causing Dean and Seamus to look over, their eyes falling first on Harry's gob smacked expression before following it to Ron.

"Shite! What is that?" Seamus blanched.

Ron jerked his shirt over his head, glaring at Seamus as he shuffled to pull his robes on as well, hiding the last of the bruises from view.

"Fall down the stairs or something?" Dean asked casually, shooting Seamus a look.

"Fall down a dozen stairs, you mean," Seamus muttered.

Harry was still stuck there, stumbling to pick his broom up while not looking at Ron. Ron who was shrugging and grabbing his stuff, ignoring them with all the force of a pissed off hippogriff.

"Leave it."

"You got yourself a bully or something? Malfoy and his goons gang up on you?" Seamus snapped, working himself into a fury. "Who the hell did that?"

"No one!" Ron snapped. "Nobody's done anything."

"That skin color don't come naturally, no matter where you're from," Seamus pointed out with a snort. At Ron's continued scowl, Seamus waved his hand in annoyance. "Whatever, I ain't your soddin' mum. You need help, you ask for it."

With that Seamus was out of the room. Dean followed Seamus with his eyes, frowning before picking up his textbooks for the study of Magical Creatures with Hagrid. Dean hesitated a moment longer before turning to Ron.

"Same here, you know. All you have to do is talk to us and we'll be there for you."

Then Dean followed after his best friend. Once alone, Harry moved across the room, grabbing Ron's shoulder and forcing him to look him in the eye.

"Nobody did it, did they?" Harry asked.

Ron glanced at Harry, deflating in anger, feet shuffling around.

"No."

Harry shifted from foot to foot as well, feeling the anxious energy radiating off of his friend.

"I know you don't want me to," Harry said slowly, knowing he was crossing a line, "but please let me buy you some clothes."

An awkward, tense silence followed.

"It's fine," Ron eventually said. "It's not that bad."

He willed down the urge to shake his friend.

"A few shirts, a few pants, nothing more," Harry bargained, knowing he was on dangerous grounds here and beyond the point of caring. It was no coincidence that the bruises were along the tightest part of Ron's clothes. "Let me help you."

Ron tore his arm away. The redhead shook his head, his mouth opening and closing shut, no words emitting from him. Then, tugging in frustration at the too short sleeve, he marched out of the room, following Seamus and Dean out of the dorms. Harry glared at the room around him as if it would magic up the solution. When it did no such thing, Harry sighed, stared at Ron's open drawer, half empty, half full of hand me downs, he grabbed his bag and left himself.

They were all staring at Harry. Which wasn't entirely new, not by a long shot. The edge of weariness, of looks cold and uncomprehending, tended to fall upon him every other year. This time though, it was tinged with pity so thick Harry thought he'd choke on it before the year was up. If the disbelief and disgust of Daily Prophet readers didn't do him in first.

"Mate, you gotta eat something," Ron's voice poked through.

Harry Potter glanced in Ron's direction, eyes casting downwards to his barely touched food. He pushed it away before standing up. Immediately to shadows following. Harry sighed. Stopped. Glanced back. Ron and Hermione had left their own food to stand beside him, eyes boring into him with such concern it both warmed and annoyed him.

"I want to be alone for a bit," Harry muttered.

"Really, Harry, really?" Hermione tutted, her tone conveying her disapproval far beyond her words. The bushy haired Gryffindor grabbed her bag, shoveling two large books into the seemingly tiny compartment, before definitively zipping it shut. Ron said nothing, grabbing three apples, biting into one, and pocketing the other two, before joining them.

He felt his mouth twitch, but it refused to move upwards into a full-blown smile. He could still hear the mutterings after all. Still see the pictures in the Daily Prophet proclaiming his 'lies' to the world.

They marched out of the Great Hall and headed up to the tower, but when Ron entered through the portrait of the fat lady first he suddenly turned and closed it shut again.

"Er…" Ron muttered, glancing back at a miffed, large woman glaring at him from her portrait. "Sorry, we're actually going…" Ron's eyes went blank, the blue orbs glancing pleadingly at Hermione for help.

"To Hagrid's," Hermione finished.

Ron nodded, looking entirely too grateful. Harry just shrugged, not wanting to know what had caused Ron to change their course so suddenly. He just appreciated that whatever it was, Ron had stopped him from seeing it. He moped behind the two, dragging his feet. They didn't seem to notice.

For the first time in forever he felt as if his year at Hogwarts would be just as bad as living with the Dursley's. He couldn't sleep, couldn't think, without Cedric's dead eyes boring into his nightmares.

Something soft touched his hand. He blinked, looking down to find two large hands pushing apples into his own smaller ones. Harry met Ron's eyes, the redhead shrugged, pleading with him.

"Throat hurts for some reason, can't eat them, be a shame to waste perfectly good food, mate," Ron winked. Harry took them, throwing Ron an exasperated look. "Plus when Hagrid offers his cakes you can just pull those out and claim you've got enough."

That… was a very good point.

When they made it to the hut though, no answer came.

"It looks like he's still not back," Hermione mumbled. The windows were still locked up tight. The door far more foreboding than any other gathering here they'd ever experienced.

Harry felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. One he was sure both Ron and Hermione shared. This year… was not going to be kind to them.

"Why don't we head over to the lake?" Ron prompted.

Hermione nodded. Steering them away from the lonely hut to Hogwart's expansive grounds. She walked beside Harry, head pointedly staring away from a large group of Hufflepuff's shuffling by. Ron's lanky frame covertly stayed positioned between himself and them. Warmth bubbled up once more.

But at least he had them.

Weary and guarded, she and Ron sat down in the most unprofessional and tacky office Hermione had ever bore witness too. She shared a glance with Ron whose eyebrows had disappeared behind his bangs, an incredulous look about his person as he stared at the cat infested walls.

"As High Inquisitor I am reviewing the choices made by Headmaster Dumbledore of Prefects for the school year in order to better evaluate the education system," Umbridge said softly. "I expect your full cooperation in this matter."

Hermione resisted the urge to glance at Ron.

"What would you like to know?" she asked, keeping her voice carefully blank.

Umbridge grinned at them, giving the impression of a giant toad in the midst of croaking, throat bulging out in excitement.

"Oh, just a few questions, I assure you." The High Inquisitor flipped open a set of files, clearing her throat in that unnecessarily loud manner of hers. "Why do you believe you were given the honor of Prefect?"

She shared a look with Ron, feeling as if this was a trap, she opened her mouth to answer when Ron beat her to it.

"Hermione is the brightest witch of her age," Ron told Umbridge in a sharp tone. "She knows every rule by heart and genuinely wants to help people. She does all of her homework and every assignment well before its due and more than what the Professors ask of her. There's no one who deserves it more than Hermione Granger."

She sat stunned in her seat for a moment. She rarely blushed but now it felt as if her face was on fire. She could not look at Ron.

"I believe that I asked you why you believe you made Prefect, Mr. Weasley, not why she did," Umbridge simpered.

"It's quite obvious, isn't it?" Hermione demanded before she could stop herself. "Ronald exemplifies our houses core values; courage, chivalry, and determination. He never hesitates to defend those who cannot defend themselves and always stands up for what he believes is right."

'Whether or not it is or not,' Hermione added silently, amused.

"I believe I can see the defiance so heavily ingrained in your friend, Mr. Potter, spreading like a filthy disease into the entire house," Umbridge announced, looking just about ready to devour them whole. Hermione didn't dare glance at Ron. She knew him well enough to know he would be seething at the slight at Harry. She could only hope Ron kept his temper at bay for this meeting.

Umbridge continued.

"I am here because the teachers and Headmaster of this school have failed to operate in a safe and efficient manner in concerns to the education of the children of Britain. As representatives of your classmates I would like to know what your observations of these events has been."

"Can you be a little more specific?" Ron asked.

Hermione nudged him in the ribs; 'don't go too far, Ron.'

Umbridge wrote a note on her papers, a set of dimples revealing themselves as she seemed to settle in. Ron looked unrepentant, but didn't say anything else.

"How do you feel about the lack of stability in your defense against the dark arts class?"

"Our education in DADA has been scattered," Hermione relented, because truly, there was no means to defend the continued changes in the position. "And I'm sure that you've encountered students demonstrating a wide variety of levels in the art. However, the circumstances of these changes are hardly the fault of Dumbledore or the teachers at this school. Every other position has been successfully filled by teachers who are experts in their field and to point fingers at the single position as an example for the failings of a whole school is not only ludicrous, but unreasonable."

"It has not just been the DADA position though, has it?" Umbridge laughed and the sound came out high pitched, as if echoing down an expansive empty hall. "There has been considerable trouble with the Care of Magical Creatures class, hasn't there? Students injured or traumatized. I fully plan on investigating each and every class."

"No one has ever been traumatized in Care of Magical Creatures," Ron lied smoothly. "And the only injury sustained in that class was from a student blatantly disregarding the multiple warnings from the Professor."

"Is that so? The information I attained was from a Prefect from another house coming from a very respectable family. Fully backed, I might add, from a number of trustworthy students."

Hermione gestured for Ron to keep his mouth shut, but Ron was on a row, leaning forward with an almost predatory edge to him, not in the least intimidated by the pink toad in front of them.

"I suppose that our definitions on what is respectable and trustworthy must differ then, because in order to have those qualities, you first have to have a spine."

"Twenty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley, for terrible manners and insulting fellow students."

"If you wanted us to lie for your questions all you had to do was ask, Professor," Ron ground out through grit teeth, his voice taking on a high pitch imitation of Umbridge herself. "The Malfoys are wonderful people who are not at all secret Death Eaters waiting to slaughter Muggleborns on a moments notice."

"Enough! Twenty points from Gryffindor and detention with me this weekend, Mr. Weasley!"

There was a tense moment where Hermione was worried Ron was going to throw himself over the desk and try to fit his hands around the nearly none existent neck, but he settled in his chair, eyes glittering with rage. She clutched at his hand, urging him to keep his mouth shut.

For the remainder of the questions, Hermione took control. Answering all the questions in as diplomatic of a manner as possible while still defending Hogwarts. They would not make Gryffindor lose all chances of the house cup right at the start of the year. When it seemed that Umbridge had exhausted all of the questions she wanted to ask, her attention turned once more to the more personal items on her list.

"At the start of this, I asked you why you had been chosen to watch over your fellow housemates, revealing your thoughts on the position and your place in it." Umbridge gestured to the files on her desk. "Each Prefect is chosen by the Headmaster and the Head of House and the notes are considered classified, but as I am the Head Inquisitor, I have every right to peruse the documents along with your personal files."

She flipped open the pages and from Hermione's spot she could see a picture of Ron from last year in his school robes. He had one hand in his pocket, though Hermione knew that both hands were expected to be held in front of a person for school pictures. His other hand lay casually at his side and there was a half-smile on his face, teeth showing as he looked in the direction of Colin's camera. His tie was slightly loose and his coat was unbuttoned, but Ron didn't seem bothered at all by the lack of proper uniform protocol.

Feeling exasperated, there was a part of her that preferred Ron's disorganized apparel. It fit his personality. Everything was there, in its proper place, but with a touch of disorder and chaos. He wore his tie, his coat, his white colored shirt tucked in, yet it was all wrong. He was walking the line between rule breaker and rule follower. Constantly straying from one side to the other carelessly and with an ease that Hermione sometimes envied. Ron wasn't trying to be a good student or a bad student, just himself.

"Now, it does come to my attention that Mr. Weasley's scores are only marginally better than his dorm mates Mr. Finnigan, Mr. Thomas, and Mr. Longbottom and though Mr. Potter's scores are slightly better, it seems that Mr. Weasley has been in less trouble than Mr. Potter," Umbridge said casually, flipping through Ron's pages as if they were truly fascinating. "So it seems to me that you were chosen simply because you were not as dismal as your male counterparts."

Hermione bristled as Ron's face burned scarlet and the tall red head slumped into his seat. Umbridge beamed at them, as if she hadn't just insulted the entirety of the fifth year male Gryffindors. She tapped the paper in front of her.

"There's also a note here written by Professor McGonagall about balance. She seems to be under the impression that Miss. Granger here wouldn't be able to control herself in erecting a tyranny of strict rule," here Umbridge's lips quirked in amusement. Hermione felt the pit of her stomach drop out at the suggestion that her hero thought of her as a tyrant.

"McGonagall would never write that," Ron snapped, "and if you think either of us would believe such bull…"

Hermione stamped down on Ron's foot. He yelped, sending a vexed look her way, but remaining silent. Glowering in his seat like an encroaching storm.

"I can only assume that you have both been negatively affected by the violent nature of your peer, Mr. Potter," Umbridge noted, her voice laced with disappointment. "I am rectifying that, of course, with detentions for him, but I think the solution for you two isn't quite so simple."

"Solution?" Hermione felt herself shaking in rage, reigning in her fury to a clipped coldness.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley's outburst only proves that you both are not up to par with the Prefects from the other houses, as High Inquisitor it is my job, my responsibility, to ensure that this is seen to."

"How noble of you," Ron spat.

"Quite," Umbridge said sweetly. She pulled out two books, both with the same title scrawled in immaculate gold across the blue cover; 'Ministry of Magic Code of Morals and Management.' "Each Weekend you will be assigned a paper to write on a topic I have chosen for you. Two feet each, due by Sunday Evening on my desk, failure to meet these requirements will end in a fifty-point reduction for your house."

"That's absurd!" Ron roared, getting to his feet.

Hermione grasped at his arm, tugging at him to sit down, though her own mind had blanked in her own anger. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but found her throat clamping up in sheer shock of what was happening.

"And for you, Mr. Weasley, I think three feet would be appropriate."

Umbridge was watching them, brimming with satisfaction. Hermione could feel shaking under her fingers, but whether it was Ron or herself or both she couldn't be sure. This was their O.W.L.S year and another paper on top of all the other work they were dealing with would bury them. Ron especially.

"Six inches of room should be maintained between male and female students," Umbridge stated primly, eyeing the way Hermione clutched Ron's arm in distaste. She broke away from Ron, giving the Professor a stern look herself.

"Ronald and I are best friends," she said sharply. "Are you suggesting something more illicit, Professor?"

"I am stating the inappropriateness of physical contact between students, Miss. Granger, and it is becoming apparent what sort of lack of control you yourself possess. I think you too would benefit from three feet. The themes this week are temper and tyranny. I don't have to tell you who is who, do I?"

Hermione's mouth clamped up.

After being dismissed, both she and Ron left the office in a hurry before coming to a halt several corridors down in shock. She watched Ron pace up and down the length of their chosen reprieve, cursing and gesturing like a wild animal before finally coming to a stop, leaning against the wall as if it was all the support he had in the world. Feeling spiteful and rebellious and for once feeling every foul word Ron spoke was well deserved, she leaned against him, their arms touching as they stood side by side.

Ron's fingers clamped around her wrist, squeezing gently. When she looked up she saw all the rage and stubborn defiance inside of her reflected in his eyes. And a clear decision that they would face this together.

"We can't tell Harry," Ron whispered, "it would… he's already so upset."

It would mean lying to him… again.

She gave a sharp nod in agreement before she could talk herself out of it.