Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it's not mine.

AN: Thankyou to reviewers, as always! Elizabeth Turner, you definitely guessed it – Ginbug, that's insanely cute. Thanks to faer for complimenting my little soundtrack! If anyone else has any songs that remind them of any of my fics, I'd love to hear from you.

A Scarlet Study.

"It was the war, wasn't it," Ron said dully.

"Shh."

"What was the war?" Hermione asked.

"Shh."

She turned a page of 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi.

"Ginny. It was . . . you know, what happened. In the war."

"Shh!"

They moved their books to an empty table, leaving the frustrated Hufflepuff girl behind. Ron slumped in his seat, strewing his books any old way on the table in front of him.

Hermione sighed. "She's being difficult, I know, but I don't think the war's the reason she's . . . dating . . . Malfoy."

"Dating, right, very nice." Ron said sourly. "Let's just call it dating, when everyone knows they're euphemisming all over the school."

Hermione laughed soundlessly, finding Ron's scowl even funnier.

"It's not funny."

"Yes it is."

"No it's not," he said, "It's not. Look at poor old Harry, would you."

She didn't know what she was starting to say, but he cut in. "But you can't, can you? Who knows where he even is?" He looked disgusted. "She fought right beside him in the war. Didn't matter what we said, wherever you saw Harry, there she was. Right beside him."

"I know," Hermione said. "We were there too, remember?" This was Ron, so of course he was only just realising these things. Still, she could barely believe how obtuse he was at times.

"Poor bloody Harry," Ron said, shaking his head. "How could she do this?" he asked, asking Hermione directly. It wasn't a rhetorical question. He looked so bewildered; she didn't want to laugh at all anymore.

She frowned thoughtfully, looking down at her book. "I don't know," she said. "But . . . I don't know. This whole thing is just so bizarre. I mean, Ginny. And Malfoy."

"You're telling me," Ron replied, tracing his die Malfoy die motif into the corners of his Transfiguration textbook. "Our families make Romeo and Juliet's parents look like they just had a tiff over whose turn it was to trim the boundary hedge."

"Does your mum know?" she asked quietly. He shrugged.

"There haven't been any Howlers, letters, nothing. Either she doesn't know or they've had to check her into St. Mungo's." Ron underlined the words, his eyes fixed on the book in front of him. "People do weird things because of wars, that's all I'm saying."

Hermione flushed. She knew she shouldn't say anything, but damn it she couldn't stand his sidelong little allusions. "If you're referring to what happened between me and George, you can just come out and say it," she said heatedly.

He didn't say anything, and she looked away.

Livia and Blaise Zabini were sitting close together in the stacks, whispering. She stared for a long moment at them, black curls and black curls. She shouldn't have said anything about George, really she shouldn't have, but she was tired of Ron making her feel so damn guilty about it all the time.

Livia was shaking her head. Whispers carried better than low voices, and the barest murmur was reaching Hermione. I still think she's a slut, the sixth-year said.

Fool, - Blaise's contempt obvious on her pale face – say that to anyone but me and it's your head.

What?

She didn't realise she'd said it aloud until Ron looked up at her. She shook her head minutely, making a small sign for him to let her listen.

. . . yours if you want him, after.

Livia's perfect eyes narrowed. Fucking Gryffindor whore – but the rest was too soft for Hermione to hear, and though she thought she could make out a name in that sibilance she must have been mistaken. Surely Livia Zabini hadn't said Lucius.

Hermione let out the breath she'd been holding as quietly as she could.

Ron raised his eyebrows, but she shook her head again. She didn't think the girls had realised she could hear them, but in any case it would be better to discuss this far from the library. They scooped up their books in armfuls and headed out into the corridor.

"DA room?" Ron asked quietly.

"Your room's safer," she replied, and that was all they said until they reached Gryffindor Tower.

Seamus winked at her in the corridor outside the boys' single rooms. "I thought the Head Girl had her own room," he teased, dodging a good-natured dead arm from Ron.

Hermione shut the door firmly behind them. Maybe, she thought, there was something to be said for Slytherin – after all, she doubted Slytherins were anywhere near as straightforward as Gryffindors in these delicate little misdemeanours.

"What happened?" Ron asked, without preamble. He folded his arms, leaning against the bedpost. "What did you hear?"

 "I don't really know," she confessed, shaking her head slowly. "Maybe nothing, but . . ."

In a few brief words she let him know what she thought she'd overheard, watching the coolness in his eyes change slowly to a thoughtful glint.

"Zabini senior was Malfoy's girlfriend last year, and Zabini junior was trying for the title until Ginny came along. Right?"

She nodded, relieved. Not only had he let the George thing go, he was for once in possession of the relevant background information.

"Right," she said, instead of hugging him for proving how smart he could be.

He frowned. Shifted. "Looks pretty obvious they were talking about Ginny, but who'd have Zabini's head for slagging her off? Not Malfoy; not literally anyway."

"I know," Hermione said. "And it really sounded as though she meant it literally."

"Something's really not right about this," Ron replied, looking out of the window. "It's not just me. You said it before – something wasn't right about Harry."

Things were starting to feel wrong, the way they had before.

He looked back at her, and she looked back for a long moment.

"I think," she said, "we should have a chat with Harry."