Disclaimer: So very, very tired of writing these. (Psst – that's a hint for those of you who have NO idea what I'm talking about…go read ch. 4 Disclaimer, ha – that's prolly the last real one I've written.)

x.x.x

Harry was fully aware that if Hermione even returned his new feelings, Ron would be a little upset about it. If Ron had been begrudging about granting Harry permission to date his little sister, Harry could only imagine what he'd say about Harry dating Hermione. Ron and Hermione weren't technically going out – Ron didn't own her, or anything. In the past, he'd fancied her, was all. It was just, Harry and Ron's friendship had lasted over six years. Harry was determined that a girl was not going to get in the way of it.

Even if it was a special girl. Even if it was a wonderful girl. Even if it was the most wonderful girl alive, or at least in Harry's eyes.

Even if it was Hermione.

Harry needed to see how much Ron really cared for Hermione and then go from there. Ron was infamous for wearing his heart on his sleeve, but when it came to Hermione, it was harder for Harry to tell. He knew that Ron loved Hermione at least as a sister, and there had been many times lately when Harry had suspected something much, much more.

So, Harry's first mission was to find out how much Ron cared for Hermione. This stage, he knew, would be painful. Ron would no doubt stick up for Hermione and he might go further than that. Harry knew that whatever the case, he had to act indifferently. He had a plan. I think, thought Harry.

x.x.x

Harry was about to do something he had never ever thought he would do. He was about to make a deal with Pansy Parkinson.

Malfoy would have been ideal for such a task as Harry wanted fulfilled, but he was not available, obviously. Then again, Hermione had always hated Pansy Parkinson just as much as, or possibly more than, Malfoy. Perhaps she was the best candidate after all.

Since Malfoy's disappearance, Pansy had been depressed, almost inconsolable. (Myrtle felt the same way, but as she was habitually depressed and inconsolable, no one really noticed a difference). Harry figured that Pansy might accept his preposition.

And so he found himself waiting outside the Charms classroom where the 7th year Slytherins were having their lesson. When the door opened, a stream of taunts and insults came whistling by him, but Harry was too busy trying to find Pansy to register what they were saying. She came out after everyone else, her head hanging. She barely looked up at Harry, let alone send an insult his way. She must've really liked him, Harry thought, shaking his head. Gathering his wits he reached out a tugged her sleeve. She looked up at him with vacant eyes.

"What?" she snapped, pulling away from him. Harry held fast.

"I need a favour," Harry said, still not letting go of her robes.

The part of Harry that wasn't preoccupied with hope that Pansy Parkinson would say 'yes', wished that he had a camera. The look on her face when he asked her the question was priceless.

"You want me to do you a favour?" she sneered with something that looked like the ghost of a smile. "You have got to be joking." But she didn't move. He'd caught her curiosity – that was a good thing.

"Well," said Harry, feeling a little more hopeful, "I wanted to know if you up for some insulting?"

She looked at him incredulously. "What?"

"Of -" and here, Harry had to stop, forcing his mouth around the word 'mudbloods'. It tasted like chalk in his mouth, making him spit it out, his mouth unused to the bitter word. He swallowed, said a mental apology to Hermione, and continued.

"Er…yeah, so are you up for it?" he said, not wanting to repeat the word – he'd probably strangle himself if he did.

Pansy considered it. "You mustn't be friends with her anymore. And here we were thinking that you loved her."

Harry paled. "Wh – What?"

Pansy looked intently at him. "My, my, my. You love her, don't you? And the Weasley boy is in your way," she said softly.

Harry was starting to panic. "No, no," he said quickly, "I just -"

Pansy stared at him. "Potter, I may not like you – actually, I rather hate you – and I may loathe the mudblood, but I loved Malfoy," and here she started to waver, "so I guess I could help you. The only reason I'm doing this is to insult her, you know that." Harry nodded quickly.

"Fine," she said coolly. "I guess I'll do it."