Prefect rounds always seemed pretty pointless to Ron.

Everyone else's adventures in the castle seemed to pale in comparison to the ones he'd had with Harry and Hermione over the years. In all his years at Hogwarts, he'd never encountered any students who were running into three-headed dogs, or tumbling down secret chambers, or brewing Polyjuice Potion. Everyone was just snogging in classrooms.

He chanced a sidelong glance at Hermione, who was walking alongside him. In the moonlight through the castle windows, it seemed like she was also lost in her thoughts.

"D'you fancy cutting this one short tonight?" he asked.

She gave him a disapproving look. "We're meant to patrol the fifth through seventh floors."

"I know what we're meant to do, but I don't think there'll be that many murders if we skive off a bit early. Maybe just one or two. And maybe it'll be someone we hate," he said hopefully, "like Umbridge."

"Why?" Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Where are you going to sneak off to this time?"

Ron felt his ears grow hot. "Where else? To bed. I'm knackered."

"Why are you so tired all the time? What have you been doing?"

"An absolute mountain of homework, same as you."

"Except you've not been doing homework. You've not started on Snape's or Binns' essays yet, and you're almost certainly behind —"

"I have started those essays."

"Really?" she said, utterly unconvinced. "So you've finally learnt to use your textbooks, and not me, as your primary reference?"

"As a matter of fact, I have," Ron said, annoyed. "You've always been asleep every time I've started working. It's a bloody headache."

"What is, actually doing the reading for once?"

"No, working by myself. I can't focus without you there."

Was Ron imagining the slight pink tinge that crept into Hermione's cheeks? It was hard to tell in the dim light. "Well," she said in a softer voice, "if you'd only start earlier, then we could actually work together. I don't love working alone either, you know. Half the time, Harry's in detention with Umbridge."

"You probably get more work done without us there, though," Ron said with a grin.

She sniffed. "That's certainly true."

Ron yawned and rubbed his face. "I could use your help on Snape's moonstone essay. If you want to meet up in the library after dinner tomorrow, I'll be there."

He was surprised to see that Hermione looked rather hurt. "So, you're really not going to tell me where you've been going?"

Ron looked down at her disappointed face, feeling torn. "Hermione," he said, "I… " He cut himself off with a sigh.

"Is it the Prefects' bathroom you're heading down to?" she asked. "Because I don't know why you're being so secretive about it — it's an amenity we're allowed to use!"

Ron blinked, and an absurd smile spread across his face until he burst out laughing, while she frowned, disgruntled. "Hermione, what — that's your best guess? You think I'm being mysterious, and that's the theory you've come up with? Secret baths?"

"Well I don't know, Ron!" she said indignantly.

"All this O.W.L.s work is really getting to you, Hermione!" He doubled over, still laughing, and leaned one hand on her shoulder for support. "Remember when you figured out there was a Basilisk in the school? Or that our teacher was a werewolf? I think your detective skills are slipping."

"Then what are you doing?" She was certainly blushing now. "I'm sick of my two best friends keeping secrets from me!"

His laughter slowed. "Alright," he said, "look, I'll tell you. But you can't tell Harry, OK?"

"Fine! What is it?"

He sighed. He couldn't believe she'd gotten it out of him. "I'm… I've been practicing."

"Practicing? Practicing what?"

"I want to try out for Gryffindor Keeper, alright? Are you happy? I'm training on the pitch, after people have gone to bed."

Hermione shook her head. "What in the world —? Keeping that a secret is more moronic than my Prefects' bathroom theory! Why don't you want to tell Harry?"

He sighed again. "He'll laugh."

"He would never laugh!"

"Then Fred and George certainly will."

"You all play Quidditch together at the Burrow all the time."

"Not the same," he muttered.

They continued down the corridor, walking in silence. They made it up a staircase and to the sixth floor before Hermione spoke again.

"I won't lie," she said, "I am a little disappointed to hear that you'll be trying out."

"Oh." Ron glanced at her. "If I get on the team, you won't have anyone to watch the matches with anymore, will you? I'd not even thought about that."

"Hm. I'll probably just sit with Neville, or Ginny."

He frowned. "Then why are you disappointed?"

"Well, what I meant is that — well — there's no way now that you'll have time to help me plan the scavenger hunt, if you're on the Quidditch team. You'll be too busy."

Ron groaned. "Not this again, Hermione. We're weeks into term now, there's no reason to host orientation activities for the First Years!"

"It's a real benefit that the Prefects could provide for the First Years, Ron! We ought to help students get acclimated, we have a responsibility to help make them feel at home."

"Percy never organized anything like that. And he's Percy."

"That's because Percy just cared about the title of Prefect, he didn't actually care about taking care of the students. Remember that First Year who's in our House, Lola Dorian? She's terribly shy. She'd forgot her toothpaste the first day, and she looked completely terrified when she asked me where she could find some. Students like her could really use something like this."

"Hermione, telling her to go search for Sir Cadogan won't help her come out of her shell. I'll never understand why you always insist on making things harder on yourself than they need to be! This year's going to be tough enough for us without all this —" He stopped. "Do you hear that?"

Hermione went for her wand, wide-eyed. "What is it? Should we find help?"

"No, no, no, it's nothing like that." Ron put his hand on her raised wand arm, still looking around. "Someone's crying."

"Oh. You're right." Hermione relaxed under his touch and looked in the direction of the noise. "I think it's coming from the boy's toilet…"

"It definitely sounds like someone young," Ron said, as they made their way toward the door.

"Should I wait here?" she said uncertainly.

This whole Prefect thing was still very new to Ron, and he wasn't completely sure what his role was here. "Er," he said, "I guess so… I'll play it by ear, figure out if something really bad happened, or if we just need to send him to bed."

"Well, and talk to him, too!"

"Er — right," Ron said, opening the door. The room looked empty, but he could hear sniffles from one of the stalls, and he approached it tentatively. "Erm... everything all right in here? It's past curfew you know, you ought to be in your dormitory." Whoever was inside went quiet. "Do you need some help? I'm a Prefect, and — er — I can take you to Madam Pomfrey, if you're ill."

"I want to go home," said a very small voice behind the door. "I don't like it here."

"Oh," Ron said, unsure how to respond. "D'you mean Hogwarts?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Well, er… it's usually a bit better here. That Umbridge cow's really put a damper on things. Technically I suppose she's better than our last Defense professor, but, well, that's a rather low bar, if you knew the whole —"

"I don't have any friends," the boy said. "All the boys in my year make fun of me. I don't want to be around them, I don't want to go back to my dormitory."

"Ah." Ron paused. "Right. What year are you, mate? First Year?"

"Yeah," he said shakily.

"And you're in Slytherin?"

"No." He sniffled. "Gryffindor."

"Oh." Ron blinked, surprised. "And your housemates are being twa—, er, mean to you?"

"Yeah."

"Well… I'm sorry to hear that." Ron crossed his arms, glancing at the door that led back to the corridor. "But you've got to sleep. You can't stay in here all night."

The boy mumbled something.

"Sorry?" Ron said.

"I don't want to go back."

Ron glanced at the door again. Hermione would be much better at this. "Look, mate. My friend's outside, she's in Gryffindor too. Let us walk you back. We can talk on the way."

The boy was quiet except for some light shuffling on the other side of the stall. Ron looked around, unsure what to do. He moved to step away, when something occurred to him.

"Do you like Fizzing Whizzbees?" Ron asked.

"Huh?"

The sweets package crinkled as Ron pulled it out of his pocket. "I'll share what I've got left with you, if you come out."

There was a pause. "How many do you have left?" the voice said tentatively.

Ron snorted. "Four."

A few moments passed until the latch clicked, and a small boy with red-rimmed eyes behind oversized glasses poked his head out of the stall.

Ron held up the sweets. "They're all yours, mate, if you come back out into the corridor with us."

The boy eyed the package and stepped forward, then held out his hand.

"You're welcome," Ron said dryly as he handed them off. "Right. Let's all three of us head to bed, shall we?"

"I'm sorry to hear you've been having a bad term, so far," Hermione said to the boy, as they made their way back to the Common Room. "I had a hard time making friends myself, when I first came to Hogwarts."

The boy, to Ron's amusement, was hovering a few inches off the ground alongside them, an effect of enjoying a Fizzing Whizzbee. Hermione had to walk rather quickly to keep up.

"The Prefects are actually planning a scavenger hunt," Hermione said, striding along cheerily. "That would be a really good way for you to get to know your housemates."

Ron stifled a sigh. He knew that not a single other Prefect had a shred of interest in such a plan.

"I don't think they'd want me on their team," the boy mumbled around the sherbet sweet in his mouth. "They'd probably just run away from me. Or lock me in one of Filch's cupboards, like they did last week."

"Authority figures can't force friendships, Hermione," Ron said sagely. "It never works."

She glanced at Ron, with an expression that was somehow different than her normal scolding frowns. Sadder. "You're right. Children can be quite cruel sometimes," she said. "I would know."

With a nasty pang of guilt, Ron looked down at the floor. This seemed a bit unfair, coming from the girl who'd hexed Neville Longbottom at the end of her First Year. Even still, an image of a First Year Hermione Granger, scurrying to the girls' toilet in tears, flickered across his mind.

"What do you like to do for fun, Clarence?" Hermione continued. "Perhaps we could introduce you to students who have similar interests?"

"I like history," the boy said slowly, "especially goblin history. My dad always reads me books about goblin wars before bed, at home. But I don't know anyone who really cares about that stuff."

"Hm," Hermione said, "yes, unfortunately Professor Binns isn't the best at bringing history to, er, life in his class. Maybe I could pair you up with some Ravenclaws during the scavenger hunt… I'm sure a few of the students there would be interested in discussing history with you."

Ron chewed the inside of his mouth.

"I'll chat with Professor Flitwick tomorrow," Hermione continued. "He knows the younger Ravenclaws better than I do, he might know some students I could pair you up with."

Ron cleared his throat. "It's fine to look for people who have the same hobbies as you," he said tentatively, "but… well… does the name Lola Dorian sound familiar to you?"

The boy was drifting closer to the ground, and he stumbled a bit as he touched down, finishing off the Fizzing Whizzbee. He seemed to be thinking hard, as they approached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "The girl with the head cold?"

Hermione shot Ron a sympathetic look. "She does always seem to be ill, doesn't she?"

"You should try talking to her, mate."

The boy looked panicked by the mere suggestion.

"I know it sounds mad, talking to a girl." Ron grinned. "But I reckon she'd be a lot friendlier than any of the blokes you're in class with. You might be surprised."

"I don't have anything to say to her." The boy frowned. "Do you think she knows anything about goblins?"

"Er, maybe," Ron said.

"You should ask her what she likes to talk about," Hermione said pointedly. "Ask her where she's from. Or what her favorite class is. Or whether she has any siblings."

"Or," Ron said, "you could just talk about what a git Snape is." He shrugged. "That's always been one of our favorite topics of conversation, with my two best friends."

"That's… well... " Hermione said, looking pained. "That's rather good advice."

"Featherbrain," Ron said.

"Excuse me?"

"The password," Ron said, as the portrait swung open. He and Hermione helped Clarence clamber through the portrait hole before following him. As they walked inside, Clarence cast an uncertain glance up the stairs. "Y'know," Ron said, "my brothers have been working with some First Years, to test out some of their new products. I'll tell them to focus on the boys in your year for some of their, er, less reliable items."

Hermione shot Ron a reproachful look. He was happy to see that it was her normal, reproving frown again.

"But, piece of advice," he added with a grin, "I'm probably the only Weasley you should accept sweets from this year."

The boy gave a bewildered nod, and popped another Fizzing Whizzbee into his mouth. He bid them a mumbled goodnight, before gliding up and away.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at Ron. "So authority figures can't force friendships, hm?"

"We'll see," he said dubiously. "He's probably just going to bang on about goblins for two hours the first time he talks to her."

"Well," she said with a laugh, "at least he'll have someone to talk to, finally. And so will she."

Ron rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, well. If you — if you want to talk about ideas for the scavenger hunt at breakfast tomorrow, I'll be happy to talk to you about it."

Hermione looked up at him, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah. Maybe there's a way I can incorporate Quidditch into it. I'll see if I can hide some things under the stands or something, the next time I'm on the pitch."

She smiled. "OK. Well, try to make time for a break, too, if you can."

"Yeah, I've got to check out that Prefects' bathroom eventually. How is it, anyway? Does it live up to the hype?"

"It really does," she said. "I've popped round a few times. Fluffy towels, perfumed taps… But you can never quite relax in the bath, though, it's nearly as deep as a swimming pool. Not exactly ideal for soaping up. But it's nice to have the room to yourself and soak for as long as you like."

The sudden, unexpected image of Hermione taking a soapy, perfumed bubble bath flooded his mind like warm water, catching him off guard. He made an effort not to think about what she'd look like, disrobing and slipping into the pool… or emerging from it…

Hermione yawned. Ron moved across the room suddenly, kneeling down to shift some logs in the dying embers of the fireplace.

"Are you going to bed soon?" she asked.

"Yep," he said to the fire. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Alright," she said. "Good luck, Ron."

He gave a half-glance over his shoulder. "With what?'

"With Keeper tryouts," she said. "I will miss you in the stands, once you get the spot."

He smiled at the fireplace as she left, watching tendrils of smoke curl into the air.