Neville was at the train station with his grandmother, her holding her handbag, him leaning on a cane and looking very rugged. A pretty Hufflepuff hung off either arm.
"Er, hi," said Harry, when he Apparated in with the other students living at the Black Hole, plus most of the adults. Tonks was as Rosie, as usual for the train.
Dame Longbottom locked eyes with him, strode up, and hit him in the face with her bag. He was expecting this and rolled with it, unhurt.
"The next time you are foolish enough to walk into the jaws of death, you will kindly leave my grandson out of it," she said, "and the time after, you will not leave him."
"Er," said Harry, "of – of course, Ma'am. I promise."
She glared for a moment. "Goodbye, Neville. Susan. Hannah. Behave." And she Disapparated.
Rosie made a whiplash sound. Harry made an impolite gesture back.
"I'm really, really sorry about that, Neville," he said. "I did try, I swear, but we got separated … by about a hundred tonnes of falling stone."
"If I didn't accept an apology like that, I wouldn't accept anything," said Neville; he extracted his hand from Hannah's to offer it to Harry. They shook.
"So, what happened to you?" Harry asked, indicating the cane.
"Crushing damage," he said. "They put me on some really foul potions to regenerate everything; there's been some muscle loss, but I should get it back within a few weeks." He stuck his leg forward, out of the envelope of his robes; it was a little hard to make out through his trousers, but it looked a bit thinner than it had. "What happened after I left?"
"Battle royale," said Harry, "between the Death Eaters and Ministry security, until the Marionette Man showed up. Ron and I barely got out alive by Apparition."
"Neville said you had some sort of a psychic dream about You-Know-Who," said Susan.
"That's right," said Harry.
"And that proves that he really is back," Susan said. "I mean, you couldn't have found them without the dream and you couldn't have had the dream unless he was alive and planning it, right?"
"Hey, yeah," said Ron. "Harry, this is perfect. You can prove it to Fudge now. Write him a letter."
"Do you think that'll work?" Hermione asked sceptically. "He thought Dumbledore was just stirring up trouble; if you say it too, he might say you had organised the raid."
"Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, join the Death Eaters?" Susan said.
"Yeah," Ron said. "The Quibbler might believe it, but no-one else would, ever. Even Fudge couldn't be that thick."
"Telling him would have the cost that I'd to make it public that I was there," Harry said, thinking aloud, looking for an excuse not to do it, "which I'd prefer to avoid. I hate to think what the press would do with it. And they might revoke my Apparition licence."
"You don't seriously think that's more important than warning the world about him?" Ron asked.
"Well, I just think it'd be nice if I could get the message out in a way which isn't self-incriminating."
"Er," said Neville, "how exactly did you expect that to remain secret? I wound up in hospital; what did you think I'd say when they asked me how I got there?"
"Er," said Harry.
"I was surrounded by reporters almost as soon as I regained consciousness," said Neville.
"I can't think why it's not in the papers," Hannah said. Susan pulled out a copy of the Prophet; the lead stories were about the New Year's fireworks display, a rise in the price of Lacewings, and speculation about whether the Chudley Cannons were finally going to just give up and resign from the League.
"I'll bet Fudge is leaning on the papers," Ron said. "If it got out that he's been telling everyone that You-Know-Who was dead, letting him build strength all this time, he'd be ruined."
[Voldemort, are you suppressing Neville's story?]
[No. This is all Fudge. Fool.]
[You don't think he can pull it off?]
[With Neville and Ron telling everyone in Hogwarts? I know when I have a losing hand. My cover's blown. Keep yours; tell everyone who'll listen that I'm alive. Mind Hermione does too.]
"So, will you back us up?" Ron asked Harry.
"Of course," Harry said. "You're right; warning the world matters most. I was just trying to think things through before I did anything dumb. I'm told I don't do enough of that."
"Really," said Rosie.
She led them onto the train. Harry waved goodbye to the Order and followed her on board and into an empty compartment. It technically wasn't quite large enough for seven, but Hannah solved the problem by sitting on Neville's lap, much to Susan's displeasure. Neville turned scarlet. Harry and Ron looked away awkwardly; Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek.
"Do you get the feeling we're forgetting something?" she asked. The train's whistle blew; it rolled off.
"Every minute of every day," said Neville. Hannah and Susan laughed.
"Ginny," said Harry. "Wasn't she with us just a moment ago?"
"Yes," said Rosie, her wand appearing in her hand. "I'm going to look for her."
"I'd better be patrolling anyway," said Hermione.
"Should I?" Neville suggested.
"No," said Hannah.
"You know, why don't we take care of that for you," Harry said, and he and Ron hastily left, drawing down the blind before so doing.
"That was freaky," Ron said. "They were all over him like a rash."
"Well, to be fair," Rosie said, "he does have this thing."
"A thing?" Ron asked.
"You know. A thing. He's interesting, now he's fought the forces of evil, and has the scars to prove it. I prefer older men, of course, but, you know, aside from that, I see the appeal."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Hermione said, nodding.
"I'd probably keep on flirting with him," Rosie went on, "but it'd just be cruel to screw with him now, when he actually has a chance with some girls."
"Surely you'd prefer a bloke who didn't get himself hurt," Ron said.
"Yes," said Hermione, "if you had got out by some expedient other than skilfully running away, I imagine girls would like that too. If you'd at least taken one of them down first, maybe."
"Hey, at least I got a warning off, unlike Harry," said Ron.
"Woe to the coward, that ever he was born," Hermione said with the air of one reciting a long-memorised poem, "who did not draw the sword before he blew the horn."
"Where does that leave me?" Harry asked. "I didn't draw my sword or blow my horn."
"Can we please focus?" Rosie asked. "Mrs Weasley will AK me if she hears I lost her youngest child before we even left the station."
"Unless You-Know-Who or the Marionette Man is on the train, she probably went to the bathroom and didn't say anything," Ron pointed out.
"I'm not willing to gamble my life on your mother listening to that," said Rosie, "but if you'd prefer, my money is that Susan's about to be free and fired up. The first girl always wins."
Ron considered this. "We should split up. Harry and me one way, girls the other?"
"It'd make more sense to put one girl in each group," said Rosie. "We can check the bathrooms that way."
Hermione was by Harry's side before Rosie finished speaking.
"So," Harry said as soon as they were out of earshot, "do you fancy Neville, then?"
"Me?" Hermione smiled. "No. I'm already spoken for."
"You are? By who?"
"That would be telling," Hermione said, with her best Mona Lisa smile.
Harry thought back to one long letter he'd seen her write a while earlier. "Krum?"
Hermione laughed at that. "No, we're just platonic pen-pals. I think he had a crush on me for a while, but I was a little young at the time."
"Er," said Harry. "Didn't you say that you and Su and …"
"She had graphs," Hermione said, turning pink.
They looked through windows into each compartment as they passed. It was actually quite interesting, seeing which people were with who; Gryffindors with Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws with Slytherins or in aloof eyries of their own; divisions mostly by year, but with siblings and couples and Quidditch teams and other clubs breaking things up; heavy gender segregation in the lower years, almost none for the seventh-years.
Dean and Seamus sat with a bunch of Hufflepuff sixth-years; close by, Lavender and Parvati were with some younger Slytherin girls. The Ravenclaws of their year were crowded into two carriages. The Hufflepuffs were spread out with friends from other years. In one compartment, Pansy Parkinson was alternately snogging Crabbe and Goyle.
"Eye bleach time," said Harry, turning away.
"I hate prefect duty sometimes," Hermione confessed. She wrenched the door open, yanked the blind down, and slammed the door shut.
"I thought she was Malfoy's girlfriend, anyway," Harry said.
"Was," Hermione said. "Didn't you notice her fuming at him during the Potions midyear?"
"I was a little busy with the exam. And the Occlumency/Legilimency duel."
"You do have peripheral vision, you know," Hermione chided. "In Arithmancy, one of the Ravenclaws told me they'd had some big fight. She accused him of cheating on her."
"Wouldn't put it past him," Harry said, "if only there were another girl alive whose stomach he didn't turn."
"She must be trying to make Malfoy jealous," Hermione said. "Honestly, some girls have no shame."
"Or sense," said Harry. "The least – and most – you can say for Malfoy is that he does have at least some taste, and anyone who'd touch either of those trolls, let alone both, most definitely does not. I wonder why they're putting up with having to – ew – share her?"
"Because there's no chance of any other girl letting either of them touch her, ever," Hermione said. "Where do you suppose Malfoy is, anyway? I've never seen him without those two."
They passed a compartment, empty except for Daphne, who was reading, her feet up on the seat opposite. She glanced up, caught Harry's eye, and curled a finger. He opened the door.
"Hey, Daphne," Harry said. "I don't suppose your investigators got anywhere with the Marionette Man, did they?"
"I think 'Greengrass' will do," she said, "and maybe. I'm not sure I believe their conclusions."
"Well, what is it?" Harry asked.
Daphne looked at Hermione, who shrugged.
"I'd better check the toilets anyway," she said, and left. Daphne motioned Harry to close the door and blind and sit.
"So?" Harry prompted.
"We finally got some information on him," Daphne said. "In the fight in the Department of Mysteries, the surviving security guards reported that he blasted prophecies around, stored in glass balls. Obviously, this meant there was broken glass everywhere. Investigators reconstructed the scene and, in roughly the right place, found a shard with his blood on it."
"So what can you do with that?" Harry asked. "I suppose you could put it in Polyjuice and get a look at his entire body, look for scars or something …"
"They did," said Daphne, "along with a battery of other tests. The Polyjuice drinker screamed for the entire hour and didn't remember it afterwards."
"What on earth does that imply?" asked Harry.
"The pain could mean anything. Not remembering it means that that body's brain is … wrong."
"He's crazy? I could have told you that."
Daphne shook her head. "As in, physically wrong. They didn't dissect the man to check, but the best guess is that his brain is malformed. Either something that shouldn't be there but is or should be but isn't."
"As in, a birth defect?" Harry asked.
"You said he was abnormally tall and thin, and he moved oddly," Daphne said. "They supposed that that may have been down to a genetic disorder; it most closely matches the Marfanoid habitus."
Harry stared at her. "Did you already know that term, or did you look it up specifically because the investigators mentioned it?"
She glared. "Namely, the Marfanoid habitus as caused by Lujan-Fryns syndrome, which, it so happens, can also cause insanity. Mostly it just causes stupidity, though, and our man isn't stupid."
"But Dumbledore's brilliant," said Harry, "so those could cancel out."
"Maybe," said Daphne. "But it's caused by a dominant gene, and Dumbledore clearly doesn't have it, so our PIs speculate that our man was Dumbledore's nephew, rather than son. His sister, Ariana, disappeared from the public eye at age 14, years and years ago. Their proposed timeline is that she became pregnant by an unknown father, and they decided to pretend she'd died to avoid a scandal. Lujan-Fryns is caused by an X-linked gene, so she must have had it; all accounts have her as being thin and gawky and rather" she tapped her temple "special. She passed the gene along to their son. Being illegitimate, and, by your account, a freak, they raised him in secret."
"Don't say that word," said Harry, who had bad experiences of it.
Daphne shrugged, indifferent. "He looked unusual enough that a merciful mother would have drowned him at birth, then. I thought the other way was more concise."
"So why would you not believe that?" Harry asked. "It seems to fit pretty well."
Daphne gave him a patronising look. "Because Lujan-Fryns is absurdly rare; it was only named less than ten years ago, by Muggles. They found no history of Marfanoid in Dumbledore's line, so it would imply the incredibly rare mutation was in the last generation."
"Or there was some other illegitimacy in his family tree," Harry said, "which didn't get out. I thought the old families lied about affairs all the time. Ariana could easily be only a half-sister."
"True," Daphne granted. "But it's still rare, and it still doesn't explain why – oh. I see. Number eleven Grimmauld Place is one of Dumbledore's properties."
"What?" Harry asked.
"Cut the coy act. Gryffindors can't lie. You think you can, but you really, really can't."
"How on Earth did you deduce that?" Harry asked, deciding not to correct her error.
"You reacted when I said he Apparated there and disappeared, after the Hogsmeade Fire," Daphne said. "Therefore, the location meant something to you. It's apparently also under some kind of warding, even though our PIs never found any, meaning it's under subtle, well-done ones. The only person you know who could do that who might tell you is Dumbledore. More importantly, you believe he's his son, so you must have evidence I don't. If he disappeared into Dumbledore's well-hidden, well-defended property, that makes the theory much more believable." Her eyes narrowed. "But then you're also on Dumbledore's side … but you didn't know about his nephew, unless you were playing dumb for my benefit … which Gryffindors aren't cunning enough to do."
"Er?" Harry said.
"It means I don't have to kill you," Daphne said, with a rare smile. "Yet."
"… Is Slytherin like this all the time?" Harry asked.
"Not really," she said. "The only person in my year smart enough to challenge me is Davis, and she's not interested in playing the game. She spends all her time with her Ravenclaw friends; she's not particularly welcome in Slytherin."
"Any reason?" Harry asked.
"The rest of us picked on her for our first few years," Daphne said candidly, "until she snapped and … got creative. After Perks got out of the hospital wing, we decided to call truce."
"And since when do purebloods know about genetics, anyway?" Harry asked. "I thought the old families just blindly went for purity, and so you got inbred idiots like … well."
She gave him a frosty look.
"Not you!" he said. "I meant Malfoy, obviously, and Crabbe and Goyle."
"Obviously," she said. "And the other old families do. But Greengrass farms, and you can't farm without actually understanding something of genetics. We have a family rule, that the firstborn cannot marry without a four-generation family tree from their spouse, with no blood overlap. We never bother to correct the other families' … misapprehensions because we'd rather compete with, as you put it, inbred idiots like Malfoy."
"So why is blood purity an issue?" Harry asked.
"Because we understand genetics," said Daphne, "but we understand artificial selection better. Magical ability is a dominant trait; Muggle-borns are genetic mutants."
"That's rubbish," said Harry. "What about Hermione? She's the best witch in our year, and a Muggle-born, no matter what Malfoy says."
"Yes, but that's probably down to other factors than her breeding," said Daphne. "Because she was raised with a good work ethic, because she had a good diet, who knows. Assuming that it's possible to select for magical ability at all, it's very unlikely that a first-generation mutant would have better genes than someone with a long pedigree."
"Do you have to use that word?" Harry said. "It sounds insulting."
"It's precise. And it's a legitimate concern. She might be strong herself but produce magically weak children, and with no magical family tree, we have no way to discount that possibility. With a pureblood, we can."
"That sounds like a clever rationalisation of eugenics," Harry said.
Daphne shrugged. "I suppose you'd prefer to marry a pretty woman, who is strong and smart and brave, and who will pass those traits on to your children?"
"That's completely different."
"Yes," said Daphne, "in that you haven't thought it through, and it'll be less effective."
There came a knock at the door; Harry opened it to admit Hermione.
"You've been talking for ages," she said, "did you really find out that much?"
"No, we'd just progressed onto comparing philosophies again," said Daphne. "His are interesting. It's refreshing having someone try to honestly defend the underdog, rather than kicking it in the ribs, as most Slytherins do."
"My pleasure," said Harry, and left with Hermione. "So, no Ginny?"
"No, but you would not believe how many people are snogging," she said. "It must be the aftereffects of mistletoe. That, and none of the prefects outside of Hufflepuff are doing anything to stop it."
"I thought the Ravenclaws were sticklers for rules," he said.
"They're pretty insular," she said. "They only really care about rules if breaking them would hurt a Ravenclaw; Anthony told me he's caught his House mates with dozens of Filch's banned items and hasn't reported any of them."
"I wish Percy had been like that," said Harry.
"So," she said, "have you thought more about Legilimency? I'd understand if you wanted to work out an Animagus form with Ron instead … honestly, I thought you'd flock to that."
"Er," said Harry.
"If you haven't seen Legilimency successfully used before, you might think it a bit woolly," she said. "Oh, listen to me, bleating about that."
"… How on Earth did you know? I didn't tell anyone."
Hermione grinned.
"You don't already know Legilimency, do you?" he asked.
"No. And it wouldn't work even if I did, because we both keep our shields up around the clock."
He thought. "You expected us to fail with the revelation magic, so you read up on it so you could help us when we asked. Then you cast the revelation charm on me without me noticing."
"It wasn't that subtle, actually," she said. "Remember that time I told you I wanted you to be my guinea pig so I could test out a diagnostic charm on someone? Technically I wasn't lying; it is diagnostic."
"Why didn't you tell me at the time?" Harry asked.
"Because it felt like a spoiler," she said. "Ron would have yelled at me for being a know-it-all again, you might have thought the same thing. And honestly, I didn't want to be the bearer of bad news. Besides, you never seemed at all enthusiastic about being an Animagus."
"That's not true," Harry said. "It would've been fun."
Hermione ignored this. "It felt like … it was something you wanted to want, but which you didn't actually want, if you follow."
"Perfectly," said Harry.
"Like you thought it would somehow bring you closer to Sirius and your father," she went on, "following in their footsteps … but it's not really you, is it? You're not the reincarnation of your father. By all accounts, you have completely different personalities."
"That's not true," Harry said, starting to get annoyed. "People who knew him say we have plenty in common. What are you trying to say?"
"That you shouldn't try to be like him," she said. They stopped in the middle of the corridor. "In all the ways that count, you already are, and he wouldn't want you to change the others. You're already good and brave and ha–" She checked herself. "And that's good, but you're also different in others. You fly a different position, you're not a practical joker, you're not obsessed with girls, and there's no reason you should change any of those just to be more like him, is there? Those parts of your personality wouldn't be better if you changed them, just different.
"And in the same way, if you tailored your education to shadow his, well, would that make you any better than if you studied what you liked and were good at? I don't think so. I think if you follow him, you'll just be stuck in his shadow your entire life. Much better to strike out and do whatever you think you could succeed and be happy doing, because you're not living for him, you're living for you."
"Er. Hermione …"
She blushed. "Sorry. I worry about you a lot."
"I see," said Harry, not really seeing. "So why do you think this means I want to learn Legilimency?"
"Because your father was clever and hard-working," Hermione said, "and those are traits you should try to emulate. He and his friends worked out the very difficult Animagus transformations at your age with no help. You shouldn't try to do the exact same thing as him, but you should try to be the best you can be, and he's a good yardstick."
"I meant, why Legilimency in particular."
"For the same reason I want to," Hermione said, "it sounds very useful in our … line of work. And, not to be critical, but in regular coursework, you don't push yourself very hard, and you often get stuck."
"When you say not critical …" Harry said.
"So the fact that you'll have a partner who will push you and, again not trying to sound arrogant, but who can usually help you when you do get stuck, would make it much easier," Hermione said.
"Isn't the idea not to do what's easy?" Harry asked.
"It's not about how much effort you put in, but what you achieve," Hermione said. "Obviously you can't achieve much without putting in the work, but that doesn't mean that you shouldn't take what help you can get when it's offered."
"Hm. Do you have a study plan in mind?" Harry asked. They began walking and checking through compartment windows again.
"It'll be sort of like Occlumency was," Hermione said. "I skimmed a chapter or two" meaning read cover to cover "of that book I gave you before I bought it; it looks harder, I'm not sure we'll get it by the end of the year, but it's just a matter of dedication, really."
"Sounds alright," Harry said. "So I suppose you want to stop the Occlumency dancing?"
Hermione blushed. "Actually … well, it is good exercise, and I've lost weight and gained muscle tone, and I know it's vain of me but it is really nice knowing I have better calves than Pansy."
"You think it's fun?" Harry asked.
"Yeah," said Hermione. "But if you don't want to, I guess I could …"
"No, I need the exercise too," Harry said with a touch of bitterness, "now I don't have Quidditch, and it beats jogging. Just, no more Wagner or Benny Goodman."
They had come to the end of the carriage; there was one more past it.
"Should we turn back?" Hermione asked. "I don't think Ginny would have wandered out of the compartment without telling us, and if the others haven't found her, we should meet up with them to decide what to do."
"Yeah, okay," said Harry, "just let me take a look down the corridor." He opened the first connecting door, and Ginny and Malfoy fell toward him; he dodged backward. Malfoy landed on top and looked up. Both his and Ginny's lips were visibly bruised.
"Good god," Hermione said.
"Do you mind?" Malfoy asked. "We were a little busy."
"Get off me, you git," Ginny said, and shoved him off; he gracelessly rolled to his feet.
"What the," Harry said, his mind refusing to connect the dots.
"What were you even doing out there?" Hermione asked. "It's freezing, it's unstable between two carriages, and that has to be literally the most uncomfortable place to lean in the train."
"The compartments were all full, and we wanted some privacy," Draco said. He shut the door behind him. "Thanks for killing the mood."
"Oh, shut up, you windbag," said Ginny.
"What," said Harry.
"You're even more eloquent than usual," Malfoy said. "Cat got your tongue?"
"Will you get lost?" said Ginny.
"You weren't," Hermione said, looking at Ginny, "you know, it was consensual, wasn't it?"
"Oh, certainly," said Malfoy, with a touch of braggadocio. "What sort of question is that? I have enough girls throwing themselves at me; I don't need to force one to kiss me. It wasn't so consensual for me, though; she can be pushy after a week or two's deprivation."
"What," said Harry.
"Sod off, Malfoy," said Ginny, so red her freckles were getting hard to make out. "Both of you – please – don't tell Ron. You know what he'd be like."
"He'd tell you to find someone who wasn't a blood supremacist, or a git, or an idiot," Hermione said, accurately, "and then demand to know why you chose to pick all three."
"She likes my body," Malfoy said in a stage whisper; Ginny drew her wand on him. "Also, I think she likes the thrill of secretly dating a boy she knows her brothers would sooner curse than look at. Do me a favour and don't tell them, will you, Dolohov, Pothead? Be a damn shame if they started keeping a closer eye on her."
"This is," Harry said, "I don't even, he's not blackmailing you or anything? Why are you with him? You're not acting like you like even him."
"No," said Ginny, "I don't. He's like potato chips: a fat lump of nothing and you'd be happier if they'd never existed, but pathologically addictive."
"I'm right here, you know," said Malfoy.
"Yes, I do know," Ginny agreed. "So no, he's not blackmailing me, and we'll definitely break up pretty soon anyway – we have like ten times already, we just need to make it stick – so please, please don't tell Ron or any of the rest of my family, or they'll go crazy for nothing."
"I, er," said Harry, still not quite sure what to make of this, "how did you even start?"
"She looked like she needed cheering up after she lost at Quidditch," said Malfoy.
"You call that cheering?" Ginny asked.
"Well, you weren't complaining about losing afterwards," Malfoy said, eyes sparkling.
Harry stared. His choices were to ask questions he didn't want answered or surrender. "I don't mind who you're with. Although I really think you could do better."
"Oh, thank you," said Ginny. "And I think so too. Hermione?"
Hermione sighed. "I really, really hate having to do this sort of thing, but, clearly, Ron will miss the point entirely, and Harry doesn't have the spine to tell his best mate's little sister off, so it looks like I'm the one who has to take the pound of flesh for this. Ginny, six months ago, I told you in confidence that I spent one night with a friend. You broke that confidence, told everyone, have been talking down to me ever since, and even incited your family to do the same. This has strained and almost broken one of my two best friendships, ever. For you to do that and then turn around and go with Draco Malfoy of all people, and then demand that I keep your secret for you, is beyond the height of hypocrisy."
"No it's not," Ginny said. "I've never slept with him."
"Yet," said Malfoy.
"Shut up, Malfoy," all three Gryffindors said in unison. Hermione continued. "The point is that you broke my trust, and worse, you did it in a way that you knew would hurt me, for no good reason, because of something which was never any of your business in the first place. You don't have the right to tell me what I do with my own body in my own time with other fully consenting people when we don't hurt anyone else."
"Oh, this is rich," Ginny replied, her voice rising. "You're saying all this, and then you're going to turn around and tell everyone about me!"
"I won't," Hermione said. "Because whatever you may or may not do with Malfoy or whoever else is none of my business, nor is it Ron's nor the rest of the school's. I always try to be a good person, so I will respect that, whether or not you would. I'm telling you this, because you've been poisoning my friendships out of gossipy spite, you've been lying to your own friends, and Harry told me you even hexed him once because you couldn't control your nosiness, even when he obviously had a good reason for hiding something. Since Malfoy was there at the time, so Harry said, presumably it was at least partly to impress him. You haven't been acting like a friend should."
Ginny's hackles had been rising visibly throughout this until the last sentence, which hit home. She stepped back a pace.
"Ooh, burn," said Malfoy.
"And you, Malfoy," Hermione said, rounding on him, "are a git. You may think you're funny, but the fact is, the only people who laugh at what you think pass for jokes are bottom-feeding sycophants who want your money far, far more than they want your company. You have the most repellent entitlement complex I have ever seen, made all the worse by the fact that you're basically incompetent at everything, and for the record? Girls don't throw themselves at you. Pansy has low standards because frankly there's no-one else who'd have her who isn't at least a quarter troll, because she's just as unlikeable as you and doesn't even have money, which puts her somewhere around the level of a courtesan, and not even a talented one. And if Ginny's only with you to annoy her overprotective brothers, that isn't actually a compliment. Even so, treat her well, because it's the nearest thing to a legitimate romance you'll ever have."
They all stared at her as she stopped for breath, and Ginny's and Malfoy's eyes rose over her shoulder. Ron and Rosie were approaching.
"What's going on?" Ron asked. "What's Malfoy doing here?"
"And as for you," Hermione went on, getting her second wind, "you spend half your life complaining about being poor, and the other half shirking your homework. If you want a better life for yourself and your one-day children, you're going to need to grow up. And even if you don't, I do, so I'll thank you not to put my efforts down."
"You're one to talk about put-downs," Ron said. "Newsflash, Hermione: most people aren't as smart as you and don't have your concentration. You can't expect to hold everyone else to your standard, and the fact that we don't achieve it doesn't make us idiots, because the world isn't divided into geniuses like you and idiots like him." He indicated Malfoy.
"I know I'm not perfect," Hermione said, "but I try. I've been trying since first year to be less bossy, and I think I've improved some, but changing fundamental parts of one's personality is hard."
"Well, you're telling me to change my personality, too," Ron pointed out.
"As I have since first year, and yet you still copy my homework in every subject."
"Well, you still have only two friends," Ron said.
This touched a nerve. "Haven't I shown, every Defence class this year, that I have friends other than you and Harry?" she hissed.
"Ones you slept with, yeah."
The others sucked in breath and stepped back. Hermione looked furious enough to hit or curse Ron.
"I need to patrol the train," she said at last, and turned on her heel and went into the next carriage, slamming the door behind her.
Malfoy, seeing that the voice of reason had just disappeared and everyone remaining would happily curse him once they snapped out of it, slipped around behind Ron's back and scampered off.
"Yeesh," said Rosie. "What just happened?"
"I," said Ginny, "Harry? I'm really, really sorry about that time I hexed you. I – I wasn't thinking, I just – well, I don't want to make excuses. I shouldn't have done it, and I'm sorry."
"That's okay," said Harry. "I know Fred and George; if I couldn't take the odd hex, I'd have worse problems. But I'm not the ones you should be apologising to."
Ginny sighed. "I know. Ron? The time when you and Neville fused yourselves, and I let Malfoy in? I'm sorry about that."
"I'm not sorry I got revenge by putting boogers in your dinner the next night," Ron said.
"You did what?" Ginny said, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
"Uh, you should also say that to Neville," Harry put in hastily. "Not now, he's busy. How about Hermione? Someone should calm her down, and after that two friends line, probably not me or Ron."
Ginny bit her lip. "She'll calm down by herself eventually. Maybe I should wait for that. She looked pretty mad."
"And is that how a friend should act?" Harry asked.
Ginny sighed again and went after Hermione.
"So …" Rosie said.
"You know Hermione," Harry said. "Pushes herself to the limit, stresses out, snaps, cries on someone's shoulder, and is fine. Rinse and repeat. Although, Ron … I'm not taking her side, but she is under a lot of stress. Can't you give her a break?"
"Why should I be the one to apologise?" he said, folding his arms. "She attacked me, if you didn't notice, and I didn't say anything she didn't know was true."
"Because she's more stressed out than you, and there's not the slightest chance she'll apologise first?" Harry said.
"Also," said Rosie, "since when are you a moral crusader? I've heard stories about Bill, and Sirius, and Harry's father, and what they did with girls when they was your age, and I thought you liked them all."
"Well," Ron began.
"Just warning you in advance," Rosie added, "if your answer sounds sexist, I'll probably hex you."
Ron thought for a minute.
"If it had been me," said Harry, "would you have stopped talking to me, or would we still be high-fiving about it?"
Ron thought for a moment more. "Nuts," he said.
"So," Rosie said. "Are you going to apologise to her?"
Ron glanced at the shut connecting door. "Well, maybe I should give Ginny time to get hers out. She'll probably dither for a while. And they'll need time to talk and smooth things over themselves."
"Dithering, like you are?" Harry asked.
"I thought you said you weren't taking sides," Ron said.
"I'm not," Harry said, "but she told me a home truth, too. I'm spineless."
Ron stared. "You, spineless?"
"Yeah. Me. Ever since the last time we fought, and you weren't talking to me, I've been too scared to tell either you or Hermione off when you've been out of line. I couldn't take losing either of you again. Well, she's right, but I'm a Gryffindor, and I'm not about to be outdone by Neville as he was in first year. I'm not going to shy away from doing the right thing because I'm scared, even of being alone. And right now, the right thing is telling you to go in there and mend your friendship."
Ron opened his mouth and shut it again.
"Right," he said, and set off after Ginny and Hermione.
Harry and Rosie looked at each other.
"You do realise we've got ourselves separated again," she said.
"Come on," Harry said, "they'll be back in a few minutes. Let's find another compartment. This has been much more interesting than sitting, though; I can see why Malfoy always walks around on the train."