AN: Hello, and welcome to the final installment of fifth year! I hope you enjoy this last straight stretch before the stomach churning drop-off. I tried to at least give you all a one shot for Ron's birthday, but it somehow morphed into the prologue of my next fic. (which I will NOT be starting before this one is finished.) Someone requested more frick frack. I assure you, there is fricking and fracking in later chapters, my next fic will have more of the aforesaid frick frack, and frick frack is going to be the theme of yet another fic (while still containing a plot, look at me, ma).

Many thanks to my lovely beta, HalfASlug, who has finally gotten her wifi back. Long may her signal remain strong!

Hermione dressed warmly, prepared to spend several hours in the cold due to todays Quidditch match. Her fingers shook slightly as she pinned on her Gryffindor colored rosette, but her nervousness had nothing to do with the actual game. No; as was often the case, her thoughts were on Ron. First of all, she was worried how he was going to do today. He had been so secretive about the whole Quidditch thing, that she hadn't really seen him play before. Why hadn't he told them he was going to try to join the team? Harry would have been thrilled to have him. Both of the boys loved Quidditch about as much as she loved books. Tucking her gloves into her coat pocket as she left her room, she thought of a possible reason Ron might have for not telling her.

Quidditch wasn't really her area of interest. It was exciting to watch, but she could never throw herself into it. She enjoyed watching her friends play, and she supported her House team; she wouldn't be painting her face crimson and gold and waving her scarf over her head anytime soon, but she could yell support with the best of them. But it was highly likely that Ron thought she would disapprove, and try to talk him out of it, which wasn't true. In fact, studies had shown that physical activity could stimulate the brain, and exercise was, of course, good for you. It was only when they let it interfere with their studies that she had a problem; Quidditch was all well and good, but not at the sacrifice of your marks. If he had told her, she was sure she could have worked out a schedule for him so that way his efforts for athletics and academics were both maximized to their potential. Actually, now that her mind was moving in that direction, she probably could have done some research to help him with his training.

Merlin love a duck, Hermione as a Quidditch trainer. The thought both aroused and appalled. Nice to see that she was willing to be supportive, though. Might not hurt to mention later that he was interested in joining the Auror's team, which was a casual affair, but quite fun and had the added benefit of strengthening inter departmental relationships at the Quidditch game that occurred during the yearly picnic for Ministry employees.

But that wasn't important now, as much as she wished he had shared something she knew to be important to him. What was important was today's game, as it was his first. She had a sneaking suspicion that if it was anything like how he was when first learning a spell, there was cause for worry. Years of observing him during lessons told her what was likely to happen; his nerves were going to get the best of him. Everytime he tried new material, he became far too self aware, instead of letting it come naturally. He second guessed himself, as if he felt like everyone was judging him. She had found he improved remarkably once he had had a chance to work at it with no one watching him, but that wasn't going to work in a game. Maybe he had gotten it worked out of his system in practice? Unlikely. There was a lot riding on this game, and Ron knew it; if she knew him, he was already thinking of all the ways he could mess things up.

That was right enough. His stomach had felt like a knot of snakes had been lodged in it, all of them trying to climb up his throat at once. There was the whole rivalry with the Slytherins, of course, but more than that was the sinking feeling that he was going to let everyone down. First, there was his family; three of his brothers had played on the team, and one could have gone pro. He didn't want to be an embarrassment to them. Then there was Harry. At the time, Harry hadn't had many good things going for him outside of the D.A. and Quidditch, and he didn't want to mess that up for him. There was the rest of the team, too. It was the first year without Wood, and a win would go a long way to solidify the team. And then, of course,there was Hermione. He had been so desperate to impress her, and the thought of making a complete arse of himself in front of her was almost more than he could take. And it had been a dead cert that that was going to happen, because he knew just as well as she did what he was like when he tried to pull something off for the first time. And it was a first time, because pick-up games and practice was nothing like a real match. It was Leviosa all over again.

Hermione started to pass through the Common Room on her way to breakfast, but veered to the left when she saw the twins, already in uniform. "Fred? George? Has Ron come down yet?"

They finished lacing up their boots, and glanced at her. "Nope. We haven't made a tour of the toilets to see which one he's being sick in, yet," Fred said cheekily.

Hermione loomed over them, scowling deeply. "Now you two look here! Ron is going to have enough trouble today without having to deal with the likes of you, so If you give him grief, you'll be answering to me!"

Both boys clutched at their headgear as if they were protective amulets, surprised at her outburst. "Don't go pulling out your wand just yet! We were only joking."

"So? Ron feels bad enough, so as his older brothers, if you can't say something supportive, at least keep your mouths shut. I know you don't mean badly by it, but sometimes you go too far, and it hurts his feelings."

The twins exchanged sheepish glances. "Look, in all the times you've ever seen us take the mickey out of someone, have we ever done it about anything that was really wrong with them?"

"Well, no, but-"

"We didn't tease Katie that one year about the trouble she had with spots. We left Seamus alone when his voice was changing, and he was barely speaking to anyone for weeks, remember? And we've never given Lee a hard time about being afraid of swans. We know we get carried away sometimes, Hermione. But we do try never to tease someone when they're genuinely lousy at something and feel bad about it, or for things they can't laugh about themselves."

George nodded, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, and Ron knows that. We did try to ease up on him a few years ago, but when we didn't tease him about stuff, he thought it was because we really thought it was a problem, and he sulked for days before we figured it out. If we don't give him at least a little trouble, he'll believe it's because we think he's absolute shit as a Keeper."

Hermione rubbed the bridge of her nose. Maybe this was one of those strange sibling things that she didn't understand. "Fine, just...try to tone it down a little bit, alright?"

Ron grinned. She hadn't needed to get all protective, but he appreciated the thought behind it. Watching Hermione get all worked up on his behalf always gave him such a rush. But in this case, his brothers had been right. As long as they were clowning around and heckling you, you were fine, but if they were quiet about something, or nice, you knew you well and truly sucked. Besides, being irritated at them was something of a distraction from his problems.

Hoping that she had been able to at least do some good, she made her way to the Great Hall, growing more and more curious at the whispers and snickers that she was hearing. It seemed to be centered around a group of Slytherins, who were all wearing- oh no! If Ron saw those awful badges, he would be too mortified to even get on a broom! She spotted Ginny at the Gryffindor table, waving to her frantically. She stepped around a group of shorter students, and slid into place next to the younger girl.

"Hermione, have you seen those badges? If Ron catches sight of those, he'll never make it out onto the pitch without the rest of the team dragging him!"

Hermione nodded as she filled her plate, making sure to get some extra bacon while it was still there to set aside for Ron. "I know. We'll have to make sure to keep him distracted when he comes down. Although I think he'll be so worried about the match that he won't notice unless they actually say something."

Ginny cracked her egg. "I hope you're right. I just wish there was something to distract Ron from remembering that this is his first real game."

To this, Hermione remained silent. There was something that might do just that, if she could keep her nerve worked up to go through with it. She had been thinking about it for days, wondering if it was a good idea. Part of her thought it might give too much away, while another part thought that Ron might need a stronger hint than she had been giving. She had been trying to get his attention in subtle manners, such as placing a hand on his arm when she leaned over to help with an essay, or how she spent a bit more time working with him than she did with Harry. She had even started to put more of a daily effort into her appearance. She had replaced her baggy jumpers with new ones; they weren't tight, but fitted. Her hair was more of a challenge, since she was too practical to waste much time on it, but she did keep it from hanging into her face all the time, tucking it behind her ears, or putting up the sections by her face in a small clasp at the back. She had even given up her ugly wooly tights in favor of kneehighs, which she had scoffed at other girls for doing. Who would risk a cold just to look nice? Then of course, she remembered that all she had to do was cast a Warming Charm on herself. But he still hadn't gotten the hint, and she was getting frustrated.

She called those hints? While he had definitely noticed her wardrobe changes, there was no way for him to know that they were for him. As for revising, how did a little extra nagging show a fifteen year old boy that you were interested? "Specifics, Hermione! A bloke needs specifics!"

The boys tromped over to their table, halting any further conversation on the subject, and Hermione regarded Ron with concern. The pale, fishy green color of his face was clashing horribly with his hair, and there was a visible sheen of sweat on his brow. He looked as if he was facing the executioner's block instead of a game, and for a moment, she thought they were too late in hiding the badges. But as he fell into his seat and stared glassily at the plate in front of him with an air of a man looking for the answers to his problem to be etched in the china, she realized they were still safe. He hadn't even looked over to the Slytherin table, and Harry would have said something by now. Ron hardly said a word, and what was more distressing, he hardly ate anything at all. Usually he would wolf things down with an obscene energy, his long arms stretching over and around you to reach the serving dishes. Now he just sort of raked his eggs up in tiny piles all over his plate, once and awhile venturing an actual mouthful.

Harry seemed to feel that it was useless to stay, and he stood up, Ron mimicking his moves in a zombie-like fashion. Hermione stood nervously as well. She didn't know if this was the best time or not, but it was a chance, and she had to take it. Before she could reason herself out of it, she had stretched up on her tiptoes, and pressed her lips against his cheek. His skin was cooler than normal, almost clammy. But that was mostly covered up by the rough layer of subtle from where he had neglected to shave that morning. Instead of being unpleasant, she found she quite liked the sensation; there was something charmingly masculine about it that made her want to snuggle her cheek against his.

Heart hammering in her chest at her own daring, she turned to wish Harry good luck, watching for Ron's reaction from the corner of her eye. There really wasn't much to go on; there seemed to be more color in his face, and a slight look of wonder, but she could very well be mistaken. It was hard to tell if she was just reading what she wanted to see into the situation, and she sighed at herself in vexation.

"Veeeeery nice! I think you've finally hit on the right method to get through to my dear, oblivious brother." Ginny said smugly, casting a sly expression.

"I had hoped so, but it doesn't look like I got anywhere. I couldn't tell if he noticed or not."

"You mean aside from the fact that he looked like he swallowed a bee? No, couldn't tell at all."

"Oh, shut up. That could have simply been nerves about the game."

"Well, you left yourself a good opening. If they win, you can follow up with a congratulations snog."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, flinching at the roar from Luna's hat from where she had drifted to a group of admiring fourth years. "And if they lose?"

"Then he could always use a little...comfort," she purred.

"And that's why you're my favorite sister!"

"Ginny!"

"Don't sound so scandalized; I just meant a good snogging session would help him feel better. And its not like you actually mind the thought of a little spit swapping yourself."

Ron laughed as Hermione's nose crinkled at the blunt statement. He had always wondered why she had kissed him that day, but there had been too much going on to deal with it at the time. First of all his performance had been a disaster, and then had come the news about Harry and the twins being banned from the team. And while a part of him had hoped that the kiss had meant something, he couldn't shake his doubts. She had kissed Harry the same way at the station, hadn't she? So maybe she was just being friendly to both of them. Or maybe she liked Harry, and just didn't want to hurt his feelings, so she kissed him this time to make up for it. The whole thing had happened so fast, that he decided it would be better to see what she did next. When she did nothing, he had tried not to read too much into it. Now he could see that had been a mistake; he had let an opening get by him, and now she was thinking that he had done so on purpose. But he wasn't the only one who had sent signals, and she had missed a pretty big one on that Christmas.

The Knight Bus, like the Shrieking Shack, left a lot to be desired. Where the Shack had been deadly boring, the Bus was deadly exciting, and Hermione found herself wondering darkly how many fatalities had been covered up over the years. Shakily, she disembarked at the end of the street, taking her trunk from Stan. She waited a few moments, both to give time for her knees to solidify, and to ensure that the occupants of the bus didn't observe which portion of the street she went to stand in front of. Not that they would see the house themselves, or remember anything at all, really, but she didn't want to take any chances. When Professor McGonagall had taken her aside yesterday and told her about Mr. Weasley, Hermione had wanted to come at once. But Umbridge had been watching them closely, already furious that Harry and the Weasleys had managed to escape without her consent. So she had packed her things, sent a letter to her parents telling them she was staying at school for the holidays, and waited.

As she dragged her trunk up the front steps, she became hesitant. The news about Ron's dad had been horrifying in and of itself, and she had been afraid he might not make it. She had grown to like him very much over the years; he reminded her of one of her parents' friends, an anthropology professor, with the way he was always so excited to learn about Muggle culture and inventions. And Ron had to be completely torn up, although he probably wasn't showing it. She wanted to be there to support him and his family, and of course, Harry, but...was she intruding on the family's grief? They were going through a hard time, and it was the holidays...maybe she was just going to be in the way. No sooner had she considered finding a payphone and arranging to go home when the front door was flung open, and she was pulled into the tight embrace of Mrs. Weasley.

"Hermione, dear! So glad you made it safely."

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley. I was so sorry to hear what happened. Is there any word yet? I wanted to come as soon as I heard, but I don't want to impose..."

"Impose? Nonsense! Arthur is out of danger and should be out of hospital in a few days; Harry has been acting odd, and maybe he'll respond to you. I know Ron and Ginny will be happy to have you, and I certainly have never thought of you as an imposition! Have you eaten yet? Here, leave your trunk there; Ron can carry it up later."

The warmth of the welcome put her more at ease, and she shrugged off her coat and hung it from the coat rack.

"Hermione! Did you just get here?" Ginny asked, giving her a quick hug.

"Yes, I came as soon as I could. What have I missed?"

"Ginny, could you help me in the kitchen? I'm sorry to take you away, but some things just don't seem to work without my own oven, so I'm not able to get things ready quite as fast as normal. I swear that elf moves things around when I'm not looking."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Coming, Mum. Hermione, Ron's up in the second floor lounge. He seems a bit down, so try to cheer him up? And help us think of something to get Harry out of his room. He's past the limit of healthy moping."

"Oh dear...I'll go see Ron first, then check on Harry. See you later!"

The stairs squeaked under her weight, and she half expected Ron to hear her coming. Poking her head in the door, she saw that his mind was too far away to hear anything. His lanky body was draped over a short sofa, his legs dangling over one end, with his arms folded behind his head. He was staring into space, and she could tell he was biting the inside of his cheek, which always meant he was in deep thought.

"Ron?"

He nearly fell off the sofa, his limbs tangling and sorting themselves out as he got to his feet.

"Hermione! You came?"

The way in which he said her name made her smile. He sounded genuinely pleased to see her, and the wide smile he wore set of the now familiar thudding sensation in her heart. She met him in the middle of the room, her hand reaching out of it's own accord to pat him on the arm, lingering for longer than necessary. His jumper was green, and she caught herself dreamily thinking that he should wear the color more often, because it made him look even more fit than usual.

Green. Check. If that was all it took, he would go full out leprechaun.

"Of course I did! You know you're more important than a silly ski trip. I just got here. Have you gotten to see your dad yet? I was told he was fine now, but...and how are you holding up?"

His smile stiffened, and there was a flash of fear in his eyes that made her think of a younger boy.

"Ah. Well. You know Dad. He'll be back out in his shed in no time, driving Mum mental with all his gadgets. And I'm fine, why wouldn't I be? I mean, yeah, it was bad at first, but nothing really happened, so-"

He was floundering around, putting on a brave front. But it was poorly done, and she could easily see that, no matter how much he might claim otherwise, he had been well and truly frightened of losing his father. Unable to contain herself, she wrapped her arms around his middle, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Don't give me that, Ron. Of course you've been upset; it's your dad!"

The material of the jumper was itchy on her face, but it was more than worth it when she felt his arms flop around her shoulders, as if he wasn't quite sure where to place them. His head bumped against hers as he quickly returned the hug, and she wished that this was something that happened more often, and under less dire circumstances.

Ron slowly pulled away, running a shaky hand through his hair. "Alright, to be honest, I was pretty freaked for awhile. I mean, it's Dad, you know? He has one of the least dangerous jobs in the Ministry! He spends his free time mucking about with broken Muggle things! He's hardly the sort of person you'd expect to...well..."

"What? Be a knight? Be willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good? Hmmm, no. Doesn't sound like anyone I know at all; I'm completely shocked."

He looked at her sharply, before his eyes dropped to the floor, the tips of his ears going from a light pink to a dusky red. "That was different. Just did what had to be done, didn't I?" he muttered to the carpet.

"It takes an incredibly brave person to do the things that need to be done, Ron. You and your father have that in common."

Her comment appeared to disconcert him, because he changed the subject abruptly.

"Well, it looks like it's your turn to do what needs to be done. Harry's been avoiding everyone since we got back from hospital. He wouldn't come out of his room yesterday at all, and we ended up going to the shops to help Mum with stocking up for Christmas without him. I think he's in with Buckbeak right now, but he won't talk to us. Think you could give it a go? Fair warning; he's more irritable than Crookshanks the time he got a melted Cockroach Cluster stuck to his tail. He may bite your head off."

"Oh dear. I had hoped things were starting to get a little better for him, and that the break from Umbridge would do him good. I'll go and try to talk some sense into him."

"If it gets too rough, give a yell."

"Why, will you come to my rescue?"

He gave her an impish grin. "Hermione, I may be a knight, but that doesn't mean I'm a complete loony. I'll send Ginny up first."

With a shake of her head, she left to confront her stubborn friend. Her stubborn friend with glasses, not to be confused with her stubborn ginger friend. Honestly, she didn't think she could have ended up with less tractable people if she had tried!

"Love, you're not exactly shortchanged in the stubbornness department either. Sometimes ours was just defence against yours!" Sometimes it was amusing to see the traits they shared in spite of being so different. He had been so happy that she had come that Christmas; The attack on his dad had scared him more than he had been able to say, and he had felt very helpless about the whole situation. He couldn't talk about it with Harry, because Harry had closed himself off, and acted almost like he thought it was somehow his fault. He had needed some comfort, and Hermione had come through, saying the things she had. Sometimes she could be a bit stiff and thoughtless, but she was there when it mattered, and it was moments like these that showed him that while she had her share of faults, she was a warm and caring person. The fact that she had given up her vacation because he (and Harry) needed her had meant a lot to him.

Hermione sat on her bed, sorting out the gifts she had brought for everyone. Mrs. Weasley had told her to set them out and she would make sure they made it to everyone's pile in the morning, and she wanted to make sure none of the wrapping had been torn. Harry seemed to be doing better thanks to Ginny, and she thought he would be pleased with the Seeker's goggles she had found for him. Not only would they keep him from having to squint against the wind, but they would also adjust themselves to his prescription, and for any changes in light. But what she was most excited about was the gift for Ron. Two gifts, really. He was always complaining about the jumpers his mum made for him and how he hated the color, and the itchiness. So when she had been shopping with her mum and had spotted the display of men's jumpers, she had wandered over to look more closely. They were made of very nice, soft material, and they were quite smart. Ron didn't have things that were that dressy, and she thought the deep blue would look lovely on him. She made sure to get a size that was a bit long, so he could get plenty of wear out of it; by the time he got his brothers' castoffs, they were almost too small for him.

To go with it, she had found a pair of black dress shoes, in a simple style of polished leather. Again, she had gone with a slightly larger size, knowing his feet would be due for another growth spurt. She was so excited; She had wanted to get him something more personal than usual, and she couldn't wait to see what he looked like in them! They were probably nicer than-

She dropped the package as if it had bit her, staring at it in growing horror. She had almost made a terrible mistake. What had she been thinking! Obviously, she hadn't! Quickly, she got up, taking his presents and shoving them into a drawer. It was scary enough to risk giving him something that intimate, but she had gone too far. While not insanely expensive, they were still nicer than anything Ron had, and it would most likely embarrass him. What if he thought it was an act of charity? He would hate that. Plus, he would be upset, knowing that he couldn't afford to get her something of equal value. Merlin, she had almost walked right into a disaster! But what could she do now? She had to get him something. She went to her trunk and began to root through it, almost despairing when she came to the bottom. But a lump under a pair of jeans caught her eye, and she pulled it out. It was a stack of school planners that she had gotten for herself. Well, she had gotten one for herself, but there had been a sale, so she ended up with three, thinking she could use them later. Now, however, they would make do as a last ditch resort to save her skin. She pulled one out, then paused. She couldn't give this to Ron, and give Harry such a nice present at the same time. That really would send the wrong message. She grabbed the other planner as well.

"Sorry Harry, but you'll have to take one for the team."

Ron had to laugh. Poor Harry, cheated out of top-notch Quidditch equipment! Those had been the worst presents she had ever given them, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. He was used to sweets, and a halfway interesting book; the planner had felt like a step back. But at least Harry had been in the same boat, because he really would have read the wrong message into it. Her first choice had been wicked; and while he liked to think he would have been nothing but pleased, he was honest enough to admit that he might have reacted the way she worried he would. Because the fact was, he couldn't afford something just as nice, and he had already been nervous enough about what to get her that year as it was. If she had given him the jumper and shoes, he would have focused on how cheap his present was in comparison.

The next morning, Hermione was woken by a sharp finger in her ribs. "Get up; It's time to go through our loot!"

Hermione rolled away, cracking one eye open to peer through a tangle of hair. "Ginny, please give me one good reason why I shouldn't Hex you bald for waking me up at this ungodly hour?"

From her bed, Ginny gave her an unrepentant grin. "Well, aside from this supposedly being the season of peace and goodwill towards man, you're not allowed to use magic."

She heaved herself into a sitting position with a grunt. "Too bad you're not a man. And I could still find Fred and George and ask for something that would work just as well."

Her friend's reply was muffled as she tugged on her new jumper. "Actually, it's their fault you're up this early. In the Weasley household, It isn't safe to sleep in on Christmas. The twins feel festive, and I could tell you stories about Jinxed mistletoe and small, disgusting animals and things that would make your skin crawl."

"I'll pass on that," Hermione murmured absently as she began to unwrap her own presents, making a note that she would be extra careful the next time she spent the holidays around the twins.

Ron winced. Sixth year had been a bloody mess, and they hadn't been on speaking terms that Christmas. The next year was even worse than that, while they were on the run, and after that...well, they weren't really 'the twins' anymore after that, were they? The thought made him sad. He would gladly kiss a million garden gnomes if it would bring Fred back. With tongue, even. Or maybe not; surely that once was enough, and Fred wouldn't ask that much of him...

She had saved Ron's present for last. It was small, a narrow rectangular box, and her curiosity was killing her. Her fingers found the edge of the tape and she began to tear, more quickly than she had with her previous gifts. Once the paper was off, she was met with a plain wooden box. This didn't look anything like the usual sweets. Unaware that Ginny had stopped to watch her with a smug smile of anticipation, she lifted the lid, and carefully took out the round, purple tinted glass bottle. A giddy feeling shot through her. Perfume! What had possessed him to buy perfume? Her brain ached to explore all the possibilities. Carefully, she unstopped it and held it under her nose, the scent curling up into the air.

Strange, she couldn't describe it. It wasn't flowery, like other perfumes, nor was it fruity or musky. It was light, with notes of what smelled almost like grass, and something that made her think of starry summer nights. She had never smelled anything like it, and she knew she was going to go mad trying to place it.

"Well? Say something!"

Hermione realized, with a start, that she wasn't alone. "What do you want me to say?" she stalled.

Ginny pushed her lips out grumpily, and Hermione suddenly knew exactly what Ron would look like if he had been a girl.

"The perfume! He dithered about it for ages, so what do you think?"

"You knew he got this for me? Why? What did he say?!"

"It was so funny, you should've seen his face! You know that desperate look he gets when he tries really hard? The one that kicks you right in the maternal instincts? Well, he wanted to know what to get you, since you're a girl. Apparently, he's trying to make up for not noticing that last year and upsetting you."

"...Oh. I...had hoped that it had meant something...you know. He didn't have to go through all the trouble out of guilt." she said sadly. She had thought, for a brief moment, that this was some sort of sign; and while she still deeply appreciated the gesture, she didn't want to read too much into it. If he just felt bad...

"Oh come on, Hermione! It isn't as if I could just pop up with a ring or something just yet, you know! And I wasn't bloody sensitive enough to try to make up for something that had happened a year earlier! Use that ginormous brain of yours to read between the lines!"

"Oh come on, Hermione! What did you want, a ring? And I love Ron, he has a good heart, but he's not sensitive enough to try to make up for something that happened a year ago!"

"Yes! Vindication! Thank you, Gin!"

"I wasn't expecting a ring! And I'll try to figure out what he actually meant when I thank him for it, if I can in front of Harry. I'll just have to...be casual. If he doesn't say anything, I won't push him. It's a lovely gift, and it's a step in the right direction."

"Fine, fine. Be subtle. Keep racing along at your daring slug pace. But what do you actually think of it?" Ginny burst out impatiently.

Hermione stroked the bottle fondly, a small, hopeful smile tugging at her lips. "It's...unusual. It's not the boring, everyday scent that you find just anywhere, the kind you get sick of getting year after year. It's interesting and enticing and hard to figure out. I could try all day, but I don't think I'll be able to place it. I could wear this for years and not get bored with it. It's unusual, which is perfect, because I like unusual things."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that out when you started fancying Ron. Just don't go around sniffing him, and we'll be fine."

Hermione stuck her tongue out at Ginny, carefully placing the perfume back in the box and setting it on her nightstand. She would have to be careful and not wear it too often until she could research a way to duplicate the contents to keep it from running out. Now, all she needed to do was try to see if Ron would make any leading remarks.

Flirting and dropping hints had never been his strong suit, and having Harry there Quaffle-blocking things hadn't helped. He had been hoping to get a hint from her reaction, and to him, 'unusual' was closer to a polite 'thanks for the crappy gift' than it was to 'you may now kiss me before we hold hands and go skipping off into the sunset.

Her definition of unusual was a lot more sexy than he had initially thought. But he had been too afraid to press her for her meaning, and had played the casual card himself. They kept sending messages, but the owls never seemed to stay on course. The rest of the year had been a struggle, things at school becoming increasingly darker, and their worry for Harry continued to grow. Things had come to a head at the Ministry, and, looking back, Ron wondered how they had managed to survive at all.

Hermione's eyes shot open, and she swallowed the scream right before it could become audible. She sat up, her body trembling not just from the pain, but from the nightmares.

It was always the nightmares. No one was sure exactly what spell she had been hit with, but Hermione strongly suspected that had he been able to invoke the spell, she would be dead. She had major internal bruising, and it was difficult to take full breaths. There was still a mark on her chest, though that was fading quickly under Madam Pomfrey's care; otherwise, even if she had lived through a full attack, she most likely would have had permanent scarring. As it was, what she would be left with now might only be visible up close and in very strong light. She knew she had gotten off easy, and she was thankful. Except...the nightmares. The effects of the spell hadn't been only physical, but mental as well. Of course, it would have been perfectly understandable to have nightmares after their experience. But these were different, somehow; more intense. The scariest part was that she couldn't fully remember them, aside from quick flashes of things she'd rather not think about, almost like a Boggart living in her head. Such as a ginger figure sprawled on the floor, and the growing horror at the realization that the color surrounding his head wasn't from hair alone...

That was new. She had told him about the nightmares, but she had lied and told him that she couldn't remember anything about them. That information might have hurt him at one point, but not after feeling her thought process firsthand. Words made things more real, gave them power. That was why it hurt so much when people you care about cut you down. It was why people were so afraid to say 'I love you.' Quite frankly, Hermione couldn't bring herself to speak those words out loud, to make his death more of a possibility. As it was, she was doing her best to not even think them.

And the sense of it being her fault, the weight of guilt crushing her as she ran on and on through some formless, bleak space, the feeling of her sanity slipping, slowly slipping...

"Hermione? You awake?"

Ron's voice came from his bed, opposite her own. She leaned forward to see in the dim light placed at the far end of the ward, hissing at the pain that shot through her. It was late, sometime after two. But Ron sounded wide awake, and she wondered if he had ever slept at all tonight. With jerky, shuffling movements, she stood and crossed the short distance between them, and when he saw her coming, he scooted over, propping up his pillow so they could both lean on it.

"It's late, Ron. Haven't you slept yet?"

Her answer was a shrug, as he scratched a patch of new skin on his forearm. The welts had been angry and red at first, swollen with pus that smelled almost as bad as the medicinal goop that had been spread on them. But the bandages had been taken off yesterday, and the skin was being allowed to get some air. She glanced sadly at his arms, mourning the freckles she would never have a chance to count. The brains had left swirling scars, twisting lines of pure white amongst the rest of his heavily freckled skin.

"How are your arms?"

"...They're fine. I'm starting to get some feeling back in them, at least. Madam Pomfrey says they may go numb from time to time, though."

He was so quiet, and he wouldn't look at her. When she rested her fingers on the back of his hand, he jumped, and she sighed.

"What's wrong? You've been acting funny since dinner. Are you sure you're feeling well?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She had no idea what he was talking about. "Tell you what? You aren't making any sense!"

With a sudden movement, he twisted to the side, grunting as her fingernail scraped against his arm before she could pull away. The force of it caused her to start to slip off the edge of the mattress, but Ron's hand shot out to grab her arm.

"I heard McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey talking when I went to the loo earlier. Why the blazing fuck didn't you tell me that you nearly died?"

A snappy comeback was already forming on her lips, but the trembling of his fingers, which were still wrapped around her arm, gave her pause. It was long enough, her eyes having adjusted to the light, to get a good look at his face. While his features were set in lines of barely controlled anger, which she was familiar with, his eyes were full of fear. She had seen him afraid before, of course, but there was something slightly different about it this time that she couldn't put her finger on.

He hadn't been afraid; he had been terrified and ashamed. He had gotten so used to Hermione always coming through somehow, that he had forgotten how he had felt in second year. Then, he had been able to tell himself that it was alright, nothing bad would have really happened; Dumbledore would have figured something out. But now, there was no hiding from it any more; Death wasn't just something that happened to people in other Houses; it was a reality, and it was coming closer and closer to the people he cared about.

"I haven't told anybody, Ron. I didn't know how to bring it up! It's not exactly dinner table conversation, is it?"

He let go of her arm, flopping onto his back. "Dunno if you noticed, but there isn't anything even remotely resembling a dinner table in here. And we've talked about my...problem. So why not come out and say it? I wasn't in any shape to know what was going on for about two days, you know."

Her hands clutched convulsively, fisting up handfuls of the rough wool coverlet. She had regained consciousness much sooner, and watching Ron had been terrifying. It wasn't just his arms, either. Blood had been bubbling from the corners of his mouth, and he floated in and out of consciousness, giggling and gibbering nonsense. The part that had given her chills, however, were his eyes. Bright and glazed, it was almost as if he didn't fully recognize her, or care if he did. From what Ginny had said, he had at least known who they were while at the Ministry, but after the brain attacked him, it seemed to make the effect of the spell he was under worse. They had smeared his arms with the foul smelling medicine, and poured potions down his throat. Hermione had watched from her bed, Her pain ignored as she waited impatiently to see if he would be alright. After nearly twenty minutes, he fell asleep, and they were both left to get some much needed rest. She had watched the rise and fall of his chest, each breath reassuring her that he was alive.

And then the screaming had started.

It started out as small whimpers at first, growing into loud sobbing, and them full-throated screams, as he thrashed around, tears streaming down his cheeks. Madam Pomfrey had rushed in, and for a few moments, Hermione thought he was going to have to go to St. Mungo's. Madam Pomfrey was able to calm him down, but it was something that soon began to happen on a regular basis. For nearly two full days his waking moments had been a sort of drugged stupor, while nightmares plagued his sleep. When he had finally started coming around, they were usually surrounded by visitors, and he acted perfectly normal. It had only been one night when she had tried to stop him from clawing himself in his sleep that he had woken up and finally told her what was going on.

"I know that. I just...it turned out alright, so there's no sense in dwelling on it."

"Not the attitude you had when it was me."

"That-that was different!"

"How so?"

His eyes were wide and curious, his fringe flopping over them to give him a slightly shaggy appearance.

"It just is!"

"Fine, so you're not gonna tell me. Then will you at least tell me what that was all about earlier? You've been waking up before me so I wouldn't know, but you look like it's something that's been going on awhile."

He had moved back to stretch out next to her, and their positions had their legs pressed tightly from hip to knee. She tried not to think of it too much, but the warmth of his skin was bleeding through their thin pajamas.

"I think it's an effect of the spell that hit me. Every time I try to sleep, I have these sort of... nightmares. It's like someone is sitting on my chest, and the most awful thing is I can never remember what they were about. It feels as if someone is going into my mind and rearranging it like furniture, and I hate it!"

"Wait, does Madam Pomfrey know? Because it could be really seri-"

"Yes, I already told her about it. She says she's heard of cases like mine before, and they usually fade with time. If nothing changes in about a month, I should get a check-up to be sure. But Ron, don't tell Harry, alright? He's doing badly enough as it is."

"I know; S'why I haven't told him everything about the brains. He's fucked up enough as it is. Just promise me you'll do something if this keeps up, yeah?"

Hermione glanced to the farthest corner of the ward, where a screen had been placed around the large figure in bed against the wall. "I will, but...maybe I deserve them, just a little."

Ron saw where she was looking, and jackknifed into an upright position. "What the buggering fuck? Don't tell me you regret that, Hermione. I know you're a bleeding heart but that's taking it too far. Besides, you weren't the only one to have it in for her; Fred and George-"

"Fred and George harassed her and drove her to distraction, they didn't lead her into something they knew full well could get her killed!" She hissed angrily.

"You did what you had to do; you were doing it for the right reasons!"

"She thought she was doing what she did for the right reasons!"

Ron looked at her with such shock that she had to restrain herself from checking to see if she had regrown a tail.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? They're not the same at all!"

She turned her head fro him. "Don't you think I'm rather like her in some ways? You've said yourself that I'm obsessed with rules and authority. I raise a fuss when other people don't follow them. I'm just afraid that someday, I'll end up like..." she trailed off, unable to finish. She loathed Umbridge with a passion, all the more so because she could see similarities between them, the harsh, unyielding dedication to authority they both shared. She didn't want to be anything like the monster that had tormented one of her best friends, but a part of her was afraid that Umbridge, as vile as she was, may have started out as a rigid, unyielding girl such as herself, taking comfort in rules and authority.

"Now you listen to me."

Ron's words startled her out of her dark thoughts, his voice a low rumble, the serious tone he used compelling her to listen, even as it gave her a tingling sensation along her spine.

"You're not like her. She doesn't care about what's right; she just cares about power and having people lick her arse. She tortured a fifteen year old for fucks sake! Ok, sometimes you can be overbearing and pushy, and sometimes you get so caught up with being right that you ignore people's feelings-"

She opened her mouth indignantly, prepared to argue, but he kept right on, with a knowing look.

"Come on, remember in third year when Lavender's whatsit died, and all you could do was go on and on about how stupid Divination was, and didn't even take the time to tell her you were sorry? And we won't even start on the house elves and how uncomfortable you make them."

Hermione sagged, and the pain in her chest had nothing to do with her wound. She knew he was right; while Ron was often accused of being insensitive, she could be just as bad. It wasn't that she wanted to be that way, or that she refused to see her own flaws; sometimes it was just hard for her to realize what she was doing until it was too late. On one level, she knew this didn't make her a bad person; everyone had faults, and mature and responsible as she could be, it was foolish to think that she had all the answers or would always make the right choices at her age. She had to grow just like anyone else, and sometimes the process was unpleasant for all involved. But she did care how it affected the way Ron viewed her, not because of her feelings for him, but because he was one of a handful of people whose opinion mattered to her.

Ron was pleasantly surprised and flattered by this. Because it wasn't about her trying to impress him as a love interest, or even really about impressing him at all. While she might not show it all the time, and though they could disagree, she respected his judgement. While he felt strongly about both the people he despised and loved, he usually gave people a fair chance before he made up his mind. Once they were in his bad books he could be unreasonable, but she knew it usually took a fair bit to get there, excluding (or so she thought) Viktor Krum. He didn't think it was fair to count that; any hormonal fourteen year old would have felt the same if they were honest. And even at that age, he could tell his blunt assessment had stung, and had gone about trying to fix it as best he could.

"Hey, that doesn't mean you're on the same level as Froggy over there! You just...need to learn to give the other person their say, and not to shove your opinion down their throat. Even when you're right, it doesn't make it any easier to take. Hell, especially when you're right. Your heart's in the right place, you just need to work on your methods."

She nodded, and they both laid back against the pillow. She could tell that being so open about that had made him a little uncomfortable, so she stayed quiet for a few minutes. One of the most amazing things about Ron was that while they might not always be on the same page, he was the one that understood her best. She would try harder in the future, and though she knew she would still make mistakes, it gave her comfort to know that Ron was there, helping her to be the best she could be. She might be snappish and overbearing, but she refused to end up like the woman in the other bed. And she knew that if she ever started to slide in that direction, even though it would be totally inadvertently, Ron would be there to call her on it. She needed that bluntness from him; someone with a more passive nature would be too easy to ignore. No, this was just more proof that Ron was a good match. Bicker and fuss as they would, at the end of the day, they made each other better. And really, wasn't that part of what a relationship was all about?

His much larger hand brushed against hers, and her heart went into overdrive. She turned her head hopefully, but he was asleep. Slowly, so as not to wake him, she turned her hand to squeeze his fingers. She knew he was exhausted, but he had stayed up worrying about her. He had been honest about her faults, but he had also acknowledged her both had growing to do, but to her, Ron Weasley was growing into a fine man, and she was proud to be his friend.

Hopefully, someday she would be able to say she was proud to be more.

Ron gave an affectionate snort. As if she could ever be like that hag! There was a difference in having human faults and choosing to go down the path of darkness; Just the fact that she even worried about it was a good sign that she wasn't headed in that direction. More likely, she would be marching down the straight and narrow, dragging him and Harry along behind her. And she had made progress; she was still bossy, but he could tell she made an effort. She didn't always succeed, but the same could be said for him when it came to the areas he was lacking. People made mistakes, but that wasn't the end of the world.

Most of the rest of the year was spent in the hospital ward, and the time after they were released passed quickly. Harry was in an almost permanent state of depression, with sporadic bursts of being normal enough that they would hope he was feeling better, only to have him sink back down into sadness. They couldn't blame him, but they were deeply worried. And when Hermione worried about you, she wouldn't let it go. Like a dog with a rat, she just couldn't leave it alone, and it was up to him to keep her distracted from pestering Harry beyond the breaking point.

Hermione slipped away from the breakfast table once she was sure Ron was safely tucking into his eggs. She knew he was supposed to be distracting her from bothering Harry, but breakfast could always be counted on to keep his attention long enough for her to make her escape. She wouldn't have long, but she was determined to try to talk to Harry. Both boys seemed to think she was smothering him, and it might be true, to an extent. But it just didn't feel right for Harry to bottle everything up after all that he had been through, and she knew he wouldn't get any help when he was back at his uncle's.

The Common Room was silent, everyone down making most of their time before they had to say their goodbyes. She trotted up the stairs to the boys' dorm, stepping around scattered trunks until she came to the room belonging to the fifth years. Her foot caught on a stray trainer next to the door, but she caught herself before she could fall on her face. The room was a mess, bedding falling into a rumpled heap on the floor, and someone had spilled some sort of sweets over in one corner. Surprisingly, it looked like Ron had finished packing on time, though she suspected by the way an arm of a jumper dangled out one side that he had just shoved things in until he could get the lid closed. Glancing over at Harry's bed, she found it to be the only one in the room with bed curtains tightly drawn, and she crossed the room to push them open.

Empty.

And she might have been fooled, had she not noticed the dip in the mattress. With a quick twist of her wrist, she pulled the Cloak from Harry, who looked up at her with the expression of an exasperated Basset hound.

"I knew I should have hid in the toilet."

"Wouldn't have done you any good; it was going to be my next stop."

"I find it disturbing that I have no trouble believing that...look, Hermione, I appreciate your concern, I really do, but can we just...not do this? I don't want to talk about it, and I'm too tired to fight."

For her answer, Hermione plunked down on the bed, swinging her legs up so she could face him. Silently, she kept eye contact, waiting for him to break.

"Seriously! I know what you're going to say; that I need to talk about it, that it does no good to bottle things up. But that's my way of coping, it's how I've always done it-"

"Yes, and just look at how wonderfully emotionally stable you are. Harry, I'm not expecting you to fall weeping on my shoulder, but it's okay to let yourself feel."

He scrubbed at his hair with both hands, increasing his resemblance to a fuzzy porcupine. "Feel? You want to hear how I feel? Fine. I'm so fucking done with this! With Voldemort, with being the bloody 'Boy Who Lived', of having something good happen only to have it taken away. I'm sick of feeling, Hermione!"

"People that don't feel turn out like Voldemort, Harry."

He jerked back at her words, a look of fear flitting across his expression, before his shoulders slumped forward.

"I know. It's just...so hard. I mean, I didn't get a chance to really know Sirius like I should've, what with him being on the run, then stuck at Grimmauld Place while I was here. I had hoped that maybe I'd get to live with him like he said back in third year; that this summer, I'd be going there instead of back to my own personal little slice of hell. But now he's dead and it's my fault and I don't know how to deal with this. Each year it just gets worse, and I keep dragging people into it with me. You should know, you were at the Ministry. Ron got completely scrambled, he's scarred permanently, and you...when I first saw you, I thought you were dead. I don't know what he hit you with, but things could have ended even worse than they did."

Hermione forced herself to maintain eye contact, repressing the flinch that his words sent through her. Harry didn't know how close it really was, or that she sometimes still felt an icy hand squeezing around her lungs, and that the nightmares, though fading, hadn't fully stopped. He had enough to deal with, which he wasn't doing very well at the moment, and she saw no need to add to it. But it was alright, because she had Ron. He knew what was going on, and she could talk to him about it when she needed to, just as he came to her to talk out the nightmares that the brains had left with him. She felt bad for hiding things from Harry, but Ron's support had really helped. He listened to her, and knew when to take her mind off things with a joke, and when to flat out tell her she was being stupid. She was the kind of person who needed both those things in her life, and she was lucky to have found a person that possessed both qualities.

He had always loved to make her laugh. Hermione wasn't a sour person, but it took a little more effort into coaxing her to relax than it did most people. And it was nice to confirm that while she appreciated his humorous side, she didn't think that was all there was to him, or that he was some sort of buffoon. She liked his sharp wit and sarcastic comments; he was funny without being over the top about it. But she also knew that that was just one side of him, and she admired his other qualities just as much.

"But it didn't. Harry, Ron and I know we can't fix this, but we do want to help you. When you push us away, it just...makes us feel really useless," she sighed, standing up. You could only push Harry so far, and she didn't want to upset him too much before they had to leave.

Leaning down to where he still sat on the bed, she hugged him tightly around the shoulders, surprised when he returned it less hesitantly than usual.

"The two of you aren't useless. Without you...well, I doubt I'd've made it this far. I'll try, but I still need some time."

She knew that that was as much as Harry was capable of when it came to reaching out, so she gave him a smile and a nod as she stepped away, knowing he would need some time to compose himself. Before she could turn to leave, the door swung open, and she looked over her shoulder to see a bemused Ron stroll into the room and over to Harry's bed. Giving them a falsely cheerful smile, he took Hermione by the shoulders and began to steer her away.

"There you are, you bad girl!" He glanced over at Harry, "Terribly sorry, she has a habit of wandering off the moment you're not looking. She's perfectly harmless unless she sees an unfinished essay or repressed emotion lying about."

Hermione switched her glare from Ron to Harry, who was snorting with laughter.

"No bother, mate. You might consider tying her to you with a bit of string, though."

"You both act as if I'm mental, or-or some dog on a lead!" she spluttered.

Ron patted her soothingly on the shoulder, crooning, "Of course you're not. Now, let's go for walkies down by the lake. You do love your walkies, don't you? And perhaps a biscuit-"

"Ron, if you keep going along those lines, I'm going to Curse your hair off and ensure that it sprouts back in highly uncomfortable places," she warned.

The grin never left his face. "Show a little imagination, Hermione; the twins managed that one as second years."

Their light bickering had gotten them across the room and into the hall, and Harry gave them a wave as Ron shut the door.

"So, was that enough time to get anything out of him? I figured it had been long enough for him to either crack, or strangle you with the curtain cord."

Hermione forgot her mostly feigned irritation and stood staring, mouth agape. "You knew? But you were...I thought..."

Ron leaned against the wall, rolling his eyes. "The food here is good, but no that good. Did you really think I didn't notice you tiptoeing like a constipated goose across the Great Hall? I figured it was the last chance to get it out of your system, and it might've done Harry some good."

Curse him; why was he so observant at all the wrong times? Ron may miss cues of a romantic nature, but that didn't make him stupid. He was the one to notice that something was off with her in third year while she was using the Time-Turner, after all. As he had let her get away without trying to stop her, she would let the goose comment pass.

"He didn't say a lot, but that's not unusual. I think I was able to get through to him a bit, though, enough to let him see how hard it is on us when he won't let us even try to help. I suppose it's enough that he seems to come out of the depression every once and awhile; it's better than he was at first."

He nodded sagely. "Like a garden gnome; you have to let them poke their heads out of their holes a few time before you snatch them out."

Her eyebrows rose incredulously. "Are you suggesting we lure our friend into a false sense of security and then-what, sling him over a wall?"

"I'm game, if you reckon it'd work. You're the one who knows how to handle things like this; I think it calls for something slightly bigger than a teaspoon."

"Ron! Even thinking about throwing him over a wall like a garden pest is wrong!" her scolding was rendered completely ineffective by the giggles that kept leaking out at the mental image of Ron swinging Harry around in circles and launching him into a field. "You're wicked!"

The crooked grin only grew wider. "That's what all the gnomes say. Besides, Harry isn't much bigger than they are; can't weigh more than three at the most."

Slowly, their laughter subsided, and Ron grew serious. "You think he'll be alright? Over the holiday, I mean. I asked Mum if we could come stay with us, but she said he had to spend at least a little time with his family."

The news that Ron had asked for Harry to stay over didn't really surprise her, but she was pleased about it. Some people might have looked at a break from Harry as a relief; as much as you loved him, and understood where his pain was coming from, dealing with his constant mood swings could be exhausting, and it was highly frustrating to be shut out and have no idea how to help. It was one of the things she liked best about Ron; he may grumble and complain, but he always had your back. Helping Harry in whatever way he could just seemed to come so naturally that she didn't even think he noticed it.

He hadn't, really. That was just...what you did, wasn't it? When your friends were going through shit you did your best to help them, even when you didn't know what the hell you were doing.

"Well, it isn't the sort of thing you ever get over, I'd imagine. But I think he'll be able to manage better the more time passes."

"I guess. I'll try again in a week or two to get him out to the Burrow. I'll see about having you over too, if you'd like."

Her heart fluttered, thinking about the week they had spent last summer. "I'd love to. As long as your Mum doesn't mind, that is."

"Nah, Mum loves it. Hey, let's not stand around here; I promised Harry I'd take you for a walk, remember?"

Without giving her time to answer, he took her wrist, and began to pull her down the hall. He wasn't hurting her, but she was surprised by how quickly he was moving. Then again, he was always a little faster when leaving the school. So she said nothing, only turning her hand so that her fingers were placed over his. She wished she could see his face, but it was impossible at that angle. As they reached the stairs, she gave a final glance back to Harry's room. She felt bad that he hadn't opened up more; but Harry wouldn't let them in, and didn't even seem to realize that they were having a hard time too, though it was in a different way. At times like these, you needed people close to you for support, people you could trust and rely on.

She was awfully glad she had Ron.

One of the strangest things he was finding out about Hermione was her reasons for loving him. She loved him for the simplest of of things, things he had never given much thought to. Most of his life, he had been focused on his flaws. It wasn't until the mess with the locket that things had changed. His own weakness had been used against him, and he had nearly lost everything he cared about. It had taken work, and he knew he still had a ways to go in some areas, but he had become better about recognizing his good traits. And once they had gotten together, Hermione had started mentioning them more, and that had helped. But this was different than just hearing the words; actually feeling how she felt about him was so much more. Hermione had always been brilliant, and in some ways he had felt like an ignorant clod in comparison. But as different as they were, Hermione saw them as equals. She liked the fact that they were different. She found having an alternate viewpoint challenging, and his was different enough to make her think without being quite as odd as some of the things Luna came out with.

And he had sort of known that for the last few years, but he hadn't fully realized how the little everyday things had added up. He couldn't stop grinning at the giddy sensation he was getting from her, until he realized what was coming next. Sixth year, and all the hell and heartbreak that came with it. Hadn't it been bad enough he had to live through that once? A stomach twisting realization hit him; he wouldn't be reliving it. He would be seeing, and feeling everything from Hermione's perspective. Memories of some of his less than stellar past actions came to mind, and his stomach, already knotting, gave a heave.

"Sick bags. This whole thing should have come with a supply of sick bags."