A/N: Warning for excessive British music references. I own nothing, except my Ron Weasley talking doll. It's great to have to de-stressify me after a long day with dealing with people ;0)

Thanks to my beta, the ever-awesome stella8h8chang. If you are looking for good stories focused on Dumbledore, click on her link in my profile. She's a brilliant Dumbledore writer! She also runs a fantabulous Dumbledore/Grindelwald archive, HMS The Greater Good.

Rated T for language. I own nothing . . .

Chapter 20: After the Holidays

The three teenagers had finally coaxed Daphne out of the bathroom, and before too long, she had made her way downstairs, wearing her new Weasley jumper. Ron noted with a brief nod to Harry that Daphne had walked over to his mum and, somewhat stiffly but no less meaningfully, gave her a hug. Molly looked surprised at this new display of affection from the Slytherin girl, but only said, "Why, you're welcome, my dear!" and patted Daphne on the back. Fleur smiled herself and walked over to Daphne, giving her a hug as well . . . which Daphne awkwardly returned.

"Who'd've thought that Daphne would be winning the Weasleys over so well, eh?" Ron leaned into Harry.

Harry chuckled. "Who'd've thought you'd've let her?" he said, looking back at Ron, who could only shrug.

The other exchanging of gifts took place that morning. Chocolates, candies and other Quidditch goodies abounded. In the midst of bows, wrapping paper, and hearty portions of eggnog, a very regal-looking owl arrived, with a parchment tied to its leg. Arthur Weasley cautiously unwrapped the letter, and his face registered his shock as he read through its contents.

"Arthur, what is it?" Molly asked him, her face and voice saturated with worry.

"It's a letter from Professor Horace Slughorn. He's wishing the family a Happy Christmas, and — well, isn't that nice — he's inviting you and me to his next party." Arthur smiled at Molly. "Maybe we were wrong about ol' Sluggy, Dear." With that, Arthur kissed his wife on her forehead.

Harry closed his eyes, rolling them behind his lids and Ron groaned, apparently mortified at the idea of his parents attending any school event where he might be present.

To Ron's surprise, Daphne presented his mum with an old copy of a Muggle cookbook she had managed to ask Miss Proctor for help in purchasing.

"Julia Child?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"Well, she's a really famous Muggle chef on the telly—" started Daphne.

"Oh, Merlin! Do you mean the box with the moving pictures?" Ron's father had become very excited with the conversation. For him, Daphne handed him more cassette tapes.

"These play music too, Mr. Weasley. This has some early Beatles stuff, and this has some Eric Clapton, The Who, a little Dusty Springfield, some Van Morrison . . ."

"You mean there's more than just the Beatles?" Arthur looked like he would simply explode with excitement. "I got the 'casey-tape player' to work here too, Daphne." Arthur held up his gift from the Slytherin girl. "We simply must try your 'caseys' out! What do you say, Molly?"

Molly shook her head, but smiled all the same. "Honestly, Arthur. Well, it is Christmas . . ."

Hermione's gifts remained under the tree; she would be arriving the day after Christmas, bearing her own presents for her second favorite family in the whole world. Ron and Harry gave Daphne a bag of chocolate frogs and a book of jinxes and hexes. Daphne gave Ron a league-official Quaffle with the Chudley Cannons logo on it ("Blimey! This is awesome, D'!" Ron exclaimed. "I got it in the discount bin at Quality Quidditch Supplies. Think he'll notice?" Daphne whispered to Harry. "Shut up and he won't," came Harry's reply, whispered out of the side of his mouth.)

For Harry, Daphne gave him a seemingly ordinary Muggle turtleneck jumper in black. The twins, Harry noticed, were trying desperately to contain their laughter.

Which, of course, made Harry instantly suspicious.

"Right, you lot! I'll not be trying anything on that'll make me change shapes, colors, sizes . . ."

"Oh, Harry! So doubting. Just put it on, you twit! It won't bite," came Daphne's sharp reply.

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "Um, isn't that sort of the point of a Weasley Wheeze?"

"Boy, are you a Gryffindor or not?"

Harry gave her a defiant look and grinned with determination. In a series of quick moves, Harry managed to pull the jumper on as he took the other shirt off ("Whoo-hoo! Shake it, Potter," the twins and Ron catcalled to a blushing and glaring Harry. "Boys! Stop that this instant," Molly fumed.) To his immense relief, Harry noticed nothing happening once he got the shirt on.

"Wait one minute . . ." Daphne said, walking around Harry. "Perfect!" She grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around to face the gleeful house.

"Boo! Boo!"

"That's all wrong!"

"Burn it!"

Harry heard the shouting from behind him, but it was interspersed with guffaws and laughter and Arthur Weasley, slapping his knees mirthfully.

Harry found a mirror and saw a huge version of a green and silver serpentine crest emblazoned on the back on his jumper, and the phrase "I heart Slytherin!" in sparkles that flashed gaudily in Slytherin House's colors. Snakes slithered around its edge while coughing and hacking up flowers and more hearts.

Harry spent the rest of the morning pelting Daphne with pillows and cushions, much to everyone's — as well as his own — amusement.

Fred and George took it upon themselves to present Ron with a joint gift for him and Hermione. Turning a most violent shade of red, Ron soundly refused to open the present in front of his family.

"Oh, go on, Ronnie," said Fred, ruffling Ron's shaggy hair (which had become even shaggier over the term, much to Molly's chagrin). "The knowledge we impart on you here is vital to curb your potentially deviant behavior." Fred winked at him.

"For the last time," said Ron, through dangerously gritted teeth, "Hermione and I fell asleep together! Nothing happened—"

"Ah, the Ickle One doth protest too much," George interrupted, wriggling his finger at his brother.

"Ron-nie-kins," sang out Fred in a low voice, "we just don't want you or precious Hermione to end up as the subject for the latest Afternoon Special Show on the WWN, 'There's Nothing Magical about Teen Pregnancy'." Fred swept his hand across the air in a very dramatic fashion. "We're really doing this for you, our dearest, youngest brother."

Ron groaned into his hand.

"Fred! George! Stop harassing Ron. He's learned his lesson, and I am certain that he will exercise better judgment in the future in regards to how he handles his relationship with Hermione."

"There's got to be something else we can discuss that's not me and Hermione—"

"Ah! Fred and I could talk about our crazy, swinging bachelor ways—"

"Well, go on then! We've got one second! That should be plenty of time."

The room went absolutely still. Ron looked over at the direction the voice came from. Daphne was smiling quite smugly, faltering only slightly when she saw the shocked reactions from everyone's face.

"Er . . ."

"Oh, no! I agree." Ron turned back to face Fred and George, who looked like they had just been smacked upside the head with a Bludger and a Quaffle. "We want to hear all about your exploit!'

Fred and George merely turned and looked at each other. "I'm not sure whether to be impressed or cry, George," Fred spoke up first. "Daphne's teaching Ronniekins the fine art of a good comeback!"

"Gits!" Ron said, smirking.

Later on, upstairs, Ron and Harry cautiously opened Fred and George's present; despite Ron's justifiable hesitation downstairs, the boys were immensely curious as to what this packaged entailed.

Getting the brown wrapping paper off, Ron gawped at the printed label on the box, while Harry fell to the floor, clutching his guts and laughing so hard, he bumped his head several times into Ron's desk without even noticing.

"And I thought Kreacher's maggots was bad enough . . ." Harry managed to gasp out.

"Virgil Insontis' VirtuChaste Knickers for Him and Her? 'Keep her innocence under lock and key and keep his enthusiasm in check as you charm these skivvies to -- oh damn! I can't read anymore of that shite!" Ron threw the box to the floor and flopped face-first onto his bed.

Hermione arrived at the Burrow on time and without incident. Ron ran over, hugging her enthusiastically by lifting her off the ground and twirling her in circles until they both got dizzy.

Ron gave her his present — a delicate-looking gold chain necklace that contained a single charm, a golden, winged shoe. The tiny white wings fluttered gently against her hand as she held it up to get a better look.

"It's the symbol for the Greek god, Hermes, which is where your name comes from," Ron began in a low voice. "Fred and George helped me find a Diagon Alley jewelry store, and they found this necklace. The bloke who runs the place says that Hermes was the Messenger of the Gods, providing the gods with all the information that they needed, which is pretty appropriate, since Harry and I would fail everything if you didn't give us important info—"

Ron had no other opportunity to talk, as Hermione threw her arms around him and kissed him firmly on the lips.

"Well, I s'pose that's a good sign," Daphne deadpanned to a very agreeable Harry. Hermione had given Daphne a book filled with Muggle comfort food recipes and Harry a Defensive spells book. For Ron, she saved the best for last.

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed breathlessly, "these are new Keeper gloves! They-they're too much . . ." Ron was shaking his head in utter disbelief. "I-I can't take these—"

Hermione shook her head. "I want you to have a Happy Christmas, Ron. I just wish I could've given them to you yesterday."

Harry and Daphne left the room, allowing Ron and Hermione a rare, spare moment to themselves.

Over the next few days, the Burrow was filled with laughter and music (courtesy of Mr. Weasley's new "casey-tape" player), and the Twin's constant barrage of off-color comments. Mrs. Weasley even found herself bopping along in the kitchen to the blaring sounds of "I Wanna Hold Your Hand", and "She Loves You", ("Oh, play that one again, Arthur!") and her husband came up to her several times, dancing with her as Hermione sighed, Harry chuckled, and Ron blushed in embarrassment.

"I wanted to bring my copies of 'The Dark Side of the Moon' and 'The Wall', but try explaining Pink Floyd to this lot," Daphne gestured to the very funny scene of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley enjoying each other's company.

"Too right," Harry agreed.

However, not all was fun and games, as Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour paid the Burrow a Christmas visit, towing along the estranged Weasley son, Percy. Percy was colder and more distant than ever, causing Molly to cry for several hours on Christmas Day. All Minister Scrimgeour wanted was the appearance of support for the Ministry from Harry Potter.

"So, I just told the furry-maned bastard that I'm sticking by Dumbledore, plain and simple." Harry said to the other teenagers.

"Things must not be going well for the Ministry, if they're begging for your presence." Ron said.

"Well, Dad said that much of the Minister's actions have been more for show than actually getting closer to catching You-Know-Who," Ginny offered. "They're not really able to stop the more violent werewolf attacks, and the giants are still out there . . ."

The presence of Professor Remus Lupin should have been comforting; Harry somehow managed to make things rather awkward.

First, Daphne was quite hesitant to come nearer to Lupin ("He's a bloody werewolf!" she exclaimed, to which Ron replied, "What's all that about overcoming your prejudices, eh?").

"Goodness, Miss Greengrass, I don't bite! Yet," Lupin winked at the teenagers. "The full moon's not for a couple of weeks." Lupin chuckled.

Harry snorted. "We're teaching Daphne a certain level of tolerance that seems to be missing from Slytherin."

"Oh, Harry, I don't know if you knew this, but a fair number of parents of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw children also asked for my termination." Lupin pointed and wriggled a finger at him. "There were a few Gryffindor families in there as well--" He stopped talking for a moment. Cocking his head toward the music playing in the background, Lupin turned to Molly Weasley. "Molly, is this . . . The Who?"

"I honestly don't know. Daphne gave Arthur some Muggle music for Christmas. The children and he seem to like it." Molly said as she chopped away at some vegetables, foot tapping to the beat of "My Generation".

Lupin turned back, smiling at Daphne. "Miss Greengrass, you've got some great taste in music!"

"You like The Who, Lup-. . . er, Professor?"

"First," Lupin held up a finger, "call me Remus, or Lupin, whichever you are most comfortable with. I'm no longer a teacher at Hogwarts. Second, I adore Muggle music, especially the older stuff. This is from my generation, Daphne . . . no pun intended."

Daphne found herself giggling. "They let you listen to this music during that time?"

"Oh, Godric!" Lupin spoke breathlessly. "Sirius drove his mother crazy listening to Muggle bands. He just had to take Muggle Studies as soon as he could. The teacher back then, Professor April Trippy, was fanatical about music. She loved everything about the Muggle British bands. Plus . . . she was very beautiful, and, of course, Sirius wanted to impress her." Lupin laughed again, and his eyes glazed over with the expression that showed he was lost in a very pleasant memory.

"Sirius set forth to find every recording he could of The Beatles, The Stones, Led Zepplin, Clapton, The Who, in order to show Professor Trippy that they had so much in common," Lupin said and laughed and rolled his eyes. "He also found a spell to transfer the sounds from the vinyl records to our Magical Gramophones. We joked that Sirius putting on 'The Dark Side of the Moon' and 'Revolution, Number 9' on the Gramophone nonstop drove his mother, Walburga, absolutely, stark-raving insane!" he barked out. "It might've had some effect on Walburga. She eventually kicked Sirius out and he went to live with James and his family," Lupin explained to Daphne, who nodded with understanding.

Lupin turned back to Harry. "James, being James, loved teasing Lily by singing 'Pictures of Lily' by The Who to her." Lupin rolled his head on the back of his chair, moving it left to right, and smiling at his recollections. "It positively annoyed Lily whenever he serenaded her in the halls at Hogwarts, singing at the top of his lungs and completely off-key. One time, he charmed the suits of armor in the hallway just outside of Defense Class to sing to her with his utterly awful voice. Never have I seen such a blush on her!" Lupin said, his eyes twinkling at the memories.

Harry let out a loud belly laugh.

"Who're James and Lily?" asked Daphne.

"Harry's parents, Daphne. Also, two of my closest friends," Lupin responded, still continuing to grin.

"Oh, right. I guess I forgot," Daphne said sheepishly.

Lupin shook his head. "Never a problem, Daphne. I do love reminiscing about those days, so long as you would like to keep hearing about them." Lupin gestured to Harry.

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, absolutely, Remus."

They talked for a few moments more about the Marauder days and Harry asked Lupin about his work with the Order, or whatever Lupin could actually discuss with the teens. Then, Harry made the mistake of bringing up Tonks again—

"Do you really think she was in love with Sirius, Harry?" asked Hermione. "It would explain so much, you know, about how she's been all summer long, her difficulty with her metamorphosing."

Harry shrugged, "Dunno. I mean, her Patronus looked like a great big dog . . . er, Professor?"

Lupin had jumped out of his seat, and was looking at the teens with a confused, hurried expression. "I've . . . I should be getting back." Lupin made a show of looking at his watch.

"Oh, Remus. You should sit and eat with us . . ."

"No, no, Molly," Lupin said, palms waving at her. "I've only just realized I have to be somewhere, er, soon." He turned to each of the other people at the table. "My best to you all. Mind yourselves this year." Lupin quickly winked at them and departed through the front door.

After having said their good-byes to both Molly and Fleur ("Bye-bye! Daphne. Do not forget to write!") the teenagers stumbled out of the fireplace in McGonagall's office, one after the other.

"Evening all. Potter, Professor Dumbledore asked me to give you this, and please mind the carpet." McGonagall spoke brusquely.

"Thanks." Harry nodded as he took the parchment from McGonagall. Once outside her office, he unrolled the parchment and grinned.

"Excellent. My next lesson with Dumbledore is tomorrow night. I'll fill him in on the stuff with Malfoy and Snape, and he's seen the receipt, so something's got to be done, right?"

"You've been having classes with Dumbledore?" Daphne asked. Harry, Ron and Hermione all stopped walking and looked at each other. In his excitement of returning to Hogwarts and enjoying the holiday with his friends, Harry had completely lost his head and forgotten that Daphne had no knowledge about the lessons with Dumbledore. Hermione gave him a warning look and Ron shrugged and winced at the same time. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, counted silently to three, and started speaking.

(Godric . . . I really hope I don't regret this!)

"Daphne, I've been having lessons with Dumbledore since the beginning of the year."

Daphne whistled. "Wow! That's wicked, Harry. So, is he like teaching you spells and stuff to fight Voldemort—"

"THSST!" Ron hissed. Hermione slapped his chest.

"Ron, seriously, stop that!"

"—Er, no, Daphne," Harry responded. "He's actually not teaching me spells. It's more of a . . . historical approach, I guess. I'm actually not sure what we're going to talk about tomorrow. Daphne, I just want to make clear to you, though. Dumbledore only wanted me to keep this information between myself and Ron and Hermione. If it gets out to too many people, it could be—"

"Disastrous? Dangerous?"

"Er, well—"

"Potentially hazardous to all of our healths? We'd all come down with an acute case of Death-Eater-itis?"

"Sure, yeah."

Daphne smiled. "It's okay, Harry. If there's one thing I know it's how mental our Headmaster can be about things."

"Really?" Harry didn't doubt Daphne had some idea about how Dumbledore's mind worked. But, as for her knowing full well how the Headmaster thought through certain circumstances . . .

(If only she knew what Dumbledore had been thinking when he decided to help her.)

"I won't say anything," Daphne said in turn to each of them. Smiling slightly and waving her goodbye, she departed for the Slytherin common room, her trunk in tow.

Harry turned to look at his two best friends.

"I know what you're thinking, and I probably won't say anything beyond what I told her today, okay? Everything else," Harry made a swirling motion between the three of them, "stays between us."

"Harry, I hope you know what you're doing — it was a pretty big thing to include her in, you know?"

Ron gave a thoughtful nod. "But, it might be good, just to sort of let her in a bit, right? Not too much, but maybe just to show we can trust her. I mean, she's been doing what she can with the Malfoy stuff, y'know? Anytime she sticks her nose into something in her house, she could get into trouble. She needs reassurance that she's got people that do trust her."

Hermione looked at Ron. "You've really come a long way about this, Ron." She paused briefly, before talking again. "It's admirable, Ron, definitely admirable," Hermione said, smiling at him.

"C'mon," Harry beckoned, "let's go put our things away and grab something to eat."

"Apparition lessons! Blimey . . . we're really of age now, aren't we?" Ron said breathlessly. He stared at the notice on the bulletin board of the Gryffindor common room. He elbowed Harry, who was staring right along with him. "At least you already know this stuff."

"Harry already knows how to apparate?" Dean Thomas asked. His arm was draped over Ginny Weasley's shoulder.

(Stupid, possessive, artistic prat!)

"Yeah. Harry Side-Along Apparated with Du — er, someone already. At the beginning of summer," Ginny gave Harry a heart-searing wink and smile.

(Yeah, that's right, DEAN! Suck on that, DEAN!)

(Potter, you can get real nasty when you're jealous.)

(Oi! Shut it!)

"Merlin, Harry. You seem to know everything, already." Neville Longbottom piped in. Harry felt a bit uncomfortable with that observation, and could only awkwardly smile.

"Dunno nearly as much as you though in Herbology. I didn't even continue on with it." Harry conveniently left off the fact that he could've with his "E". "Really, I reckon no one knows as much about magical plants and botany as you do, Nev."

Harry smiled as Neville shrugged and grinned.

The rest of the day passed without much excitement, and before Harry realized, it was time again for his third session with Professor Dumbledore.

Harry arrived at Dumbledore's office and the first topic of conversation was the Minister's visit at the Burrow. Harry had just managed to admit to Dumbledore that Scrimgeour had thrown his loyalty to Dumbledore in his face . . . but Harry hadn't backed away from his allegiance.

Harry could only admit, proudly, that he was, and would always be, "Dumbledore's man, through and through . . ." He noted the momentary pause as the Headmaster appeared to collect himself, and Fawkes sang a simple and pure call that sounded like a glorious song.

"Sir, I don't mean keep bringing this up, but Snape and Malfoy—"

"Professor Snape, Harry, and I do not wish to remind you again that he is a teacher of this school and, therefore, deserves your respect." Dumbledore's gaze grew serious and stern; Harry, however, persisted in recounting his observations from Slughorn's Christmas Party.

"Harry, regarding the incident in Hogsmeade and with Miss Katie Bell, we have taken extra precautions that can ensure that no other students will sustain such life-threatening injuries."

"Sir," said Harry, perched excitedly on his chair, "does that mean Malfoy's been caught—"

"Harry, you would do well to focus less on Mr. Malfoy and redirect this intense energy to the matters at hand, namely the contents of the two memories that we will be investigating today."

"But, sir . . ."

"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore spoke clearly and directly to Harry; he could not remember the last time the Headmaster had used such a tone with him. "The time has come for you to put aside personal vendettas and childhood prejudices." Harry watched as Dumbledore's body and face slowly relaxed. "It is vital, in the midst of war, that one knows which battles to fight, Harry. To choose the path with the most probable chance for permanent, everlasting victory. Do you understand?" Dumbledore's voice was soft, but his expression brokered no chance for debate.

Harry felt himself nod, even though he knew he was onto something in regards to Malfoy. He wanted to keep going, and, worse, he wanted to pester, and yell, and scream at Dumbledore until the Headmaster relented and gave Harry what he wanted — Malfoy's ferrety head on a platter.

(A bit bloodthirsty, aren't we, Potter?)

(Only for a little dickhead like Malfoy, the Rat-Prat . . .)

"I do hope that we have settled matters, Harry. Even if we didn't, though, we must begin the lesson now — we have quite a bit of area to cover tonight. And I ask you to pay close attention to the second memory, in particular, for that is the most important one of all."

"Horcruxes?" Hermione breathlessly whispered. "I've never heard of such a thing."

"Really?" Harry looked at her with disbelief. "You're sure about that?"

Hemione nodded. Harry frowned. He, Hermione and Ron were sitting, once again, at a table in the farthest corner of the Gryffindor common room. The other Gryffindor students were enjoying the last couple of hours of socializing, playing magical games and listening to the WWN's Top 100 wizarding songs of 1996. Absentmindedly tapping his heels to The Weird Sisters' "All the Magic in the World", Ron pulled at his lower lip in concentration. Harry had just told him and Hermione about the two memories that he saw this evening: a memory about Morfin Gaunt telling Tom Riddle about his family, and a bizarrely altered memory involving Slughorn, Riddle, and Horcruxes. Ron looked over at Harry, now pissed off and annoyed that he was stuck with the unfortunate task of wrangling the original memory out of Slughorn—

"Why the hell would Dumbledore give me this job? How in the world could I possibly convince Slughorn to give up that memory, especially when the idiot went through all the trouble of editing it?"

"Harry why don't you ask him about Horcruxes? I mean, he loves you. . . . he'd do anything you wanted. I reckon ol' Sluggy would probably be your house-elf for a day if you just asked him to," Ron suggested. When Hermione huffed, Ron looked at her, a small smirk played on his mouth. "What? It's true, innit?"

"There are better ways of saying that than reinforcing archaic wizarding stereotypes, Ron," said Hermione, without looking up from her book.

Ron looked over at Harry and winked at him. "So, I guess I could say old Slughorn would make a good, obedient housewife for Harry if he asked him to." Harry bit his lip, watching Ron attempting to contain his own laughter. Hermione looked positively livid.

"Your mum is a housewife, Ron! The woman you spend ninety-percent of your life scared of, or did you forget that?"

"Well, you've got to admit, she does a bang-up job of chores and cooking. Exactly the way I like 'em . . ." Ron said dreamily, leaning back in his chair. "The world would be such a great place if my woman would have my meals and my laundry ready for me after a long day . . ."

A book slammed shut on the table. Harry and Ron snapped forward, looking the pictures of wide-eyed innocence to an irate Hermione. Her brown eyes positively sparked at Ron.

(Damn! She is gorgeous when she's on fire . . .)

"You'd do very well to remember, Ronald Bilius Weasley, that I know hexes and jinxes that could give you the most uncomfortable exploding blisters all along your unmentionable areas."

"See," Ron said, turning to Harry, gesturing to Hermione, "this is what happens when you let birds think for themselves!"

"Ron!" Hermione huffed at him, hitting him over and over on his arms while he and Harry dissolved into fits of laughter. After a few slaps, he grabbed Hermione's hands and looked her squarely in the eyes, smiling the whole while.

"I. Was. Kidding. You know that, right? I love you just the way you are, you daft cow!"

"Oh, you big, stinky . . ." Hermione froze mid-insult. "You 'what' me just the way I am?"

Ron just shook his head, grinning like a complete fool. "I said I love . . . oh, bugger! Bugger!"

(The fuck did you just do, you idiot?)

(Calm down, calm down . . . it's okay . . .)

(It's OKAY? She bloody heard you, you dumb-arse!)

Ron looked over at Harry, eyes wide and bulging out of his head. Harry, his own eyes just as wide and shocked-looking, merely shrugged, as if he didn't know what to do.

"I — er, well, um . . . er . . ." Ron stuttered. It was so much easier when it rolled of his tongue, and he didn't think about it. Giving the feeling conscious thought made his brain work overtime. It was the type of sentiment overly-sensitive blokes said in gloopy, saccharine-sweet poetry. It was something really horny guys said to pull a bird. It was something husbands said to wives after years of companionship. . . .

They were both still in school, both just teenagers. However, they were also in the middle of a war against a maniac out to kill their best friend, and each year, the three of them seemed to be confronted by circumstances some adults would find harrowing.

If they, as teens, could fight off Death Eaters, surely whatever emotions Ron felt for Hermione could be love. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility.

Ron remembered that he and Hermione had started out as enemies, then friends and sparring partners. There had always been that kinetic spark of energy between him and her that he had to keep going.

Because it was in those moments that he could see her passion, even if no one else could.

Because it was in those moments that they were completely engrossed in each other.

Because it was in those moments that Hermione could be Hermione, with all the fire, passion, and brilliance that Ron . . .

(Loves.)

(Crap!)

Her spark simply ignited him, and it was in that moment that Ron knew this feeling, even if his tongue couldn't say it, was no less real for him.

Somehow, he knew he was in love with Hermione.

"I love you." Ron could hear himself breathing. He could feel the rise and fall of his chest. "I really do love you, Hermione." He didn't care if his best friend was sitting, frozen in his chair, listening to every word, or if all eyes in the Gryffindor common room were focused solely on him and Hermione. Ron still had both of her hands in his, and he just continued to watch her face.

He knew his words had reached to her ears, the way her face, tense and concentrated in her righteous fury, suddenly stopped. All her muscles seemed to relax, and the corners of her mouth slowly moved upward, visibly responding, for the first time, to Ron's admission.

"You-you really love me? Ron?" Hermione could only whisper, but her eyes were filled with so much happiness as well as tears.

"I'll say it just one more time for now, okay? I, Ron Weasley, really do love you, Hermione Granger . . . OOOF!"

And, it was a good thing that was all Ron needed to say, because Hermione jumped and flung herself at him. Ron, already leaning back in the chair, toppled to the floor, underneath a mass of chestnut-brown hair, tears, and laughter.

"I love you too, Ron!" Hermione said, her voice muffled in the side of Ron's neck. Ron chuckled, spitting out strands of Hermione's hair that had gotten caught in his mouth. He looked up and over and saw Harry, shaking his head in utter disbelief.

"Nutters . . . completely nutters, Harry. OW!" And Ron flinched and grinned as Hermione swatted at his head, her arms still wrapped tightly around his neck.

"Excuse me. Are you Ivy Wellington?" Daphne Greengrass had spied the rather tall, skinny, black-haired Slytherin girl sitting in the Great Hall between meals. Ivy was apparently working on writing a letter to some unknown correspondent when Daphne approached her to talk about Harry Potter.

Daphne was slowly getting more comfortable with meeting the younger Slytherins and finding out which side they supported, if any side at all. The vast majority seemed to prefer to just stay out of battle, and the profiles she had drawn up seemed to have worked well in helping her keeping her away from Death Eaters: The Next Generation.

Some of the other Slytherins had approached her during the DC meetings, although it seemed to be mostly girls at this point. There was Willa, the prim blonde fifth-year, and her friend, Marian, who had accompanied her to the class. Daphne had managed to find one Slytherin fifth-year boy, the unfortunately-named Gregorias Capulet, a kid totally engrossed in Quidditch (but only the Tutshill Tornadoes, because, "They at least win everything!") and who just about dismissed Daphne outright because of her friendship with that "idiot who likes the Cannons." After engaging Gregorias in conversation, and finding out he actually was pretty impressed with Harry as a Seeker, Daphne silently thanked Ron and Harry for force-feeding her information about Quidditch through the summer so she could at least act like she knew what she was talking about.

Snapping her attention back to the Slytherin in her immediate sphere, Daphne watched as Ivy jumped a bit at being interrupted in mid-sentence. The girl looked up at her. "Oh, um . . . yes, actually. Oh." Ivy said in surprised breathlessness, "You're Daphne Greengrass, aren't you?"

"I am," although Daphne reckoned that it sounded less a statement and more a question.

"Well, I see you all the time at DC, and you're friends with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger."

Daphne nodded. "Uh, yes. Yes, I am a friend of theirs."

"And, if I'm not mistaken, you're dating Michael Corner, right?"

"Er," was all Daphne could manage. She fancied her blush gave away her answer. "You seem to have your finger on the pulse of things."

"Well, I enjoy gossip and people-watching. And considering you were the only person from our House that got tangled up with Potter's defensive class and you fought with him at the Ministry, and I saw the show you and Draco Malfoy put on in the beginning of the term in September, you've been a rather interesting person to watch."

Daphne squirmed uncomfortably. "Scary how much you know and remember . . ."

"Your antics were a popular topic of conversation last year," Ivy spoke in a hushed tone. "And people were positively buzzing when you and Malfoy had it out. Then, that fight in the girls' dormitory, and Pansy Parkinson—"

"You're like a bloody shadow, you are!" Daphne breathed out. "You could be a spy or something."

Ivy shrugged. "You don't really seem to get just how much your latest adventure gets talked about, dissected, analyzed."

"Analyzed? Really?"

Ivy nodded. "There're a couple of girls that also support Potter that I talk to on a regular basis. They don't really want to say too much — their families have business interests with both Diagon and Knockturn Alley merchants."

"So why the hell would they support Harry?"

Ivy considered this. "Well, it's not so much the families really, as it is the girls themselves. They keep it to themselves until we can get together and talk about things in our dormitory." The girl smiled at Daphne. "I can get you their names also. So you can talk to them if you want."

"Um, sure." Daphne didn't really know what to say to this enthusiastic, but rather omniscient girl.

"Harry and you should know it's not just you among the Slytherins that support him."

"You, er, just seem to know a lot about things."

"Like I said, I'm observant."

"Right, well, I'll just be on my way."

"Oh, and Daphne?" Ivy called back to her.

"Yeah?"

"Just for the record," Ivy said, "I want to make sure you know that I support Harry, and I think you have done well in making your own mark in Slytherin." With a nod, Ivy set back to her parchment, and Daphne realized that, once again, she had done very little talking and hadn't even needed to convince Ivy Wellington to consider Harry Potter's side in the upcoming war.

A/N: "Dumbledore's man, through and through," from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, pg. 357 (U.S. Version, 2005).

Thank you to all my reviewers and readers and alerters! Really, your attention to this story is very much appreciated. If you haven't yet, I do have my outtake from November, called "Our Bodies are Magic!" And it's about Ron's most awkward moment ever! Well . . . in the "From Hell" universe, at least ;0)