Chapter 8: The Genius of Ronald Weasley

Hello, dear readers. Apologies for the longer wait for this chapter, uni has been non-stop, and I sadly suffered a disappointment this week when my novel was rejected by an agent, so I've been a little demotivated. But I'm back! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Now, when I first started reading fanfiction, I came across a lot of Ron-bashing in H/Hr fics. As I love Ron and find him one of the most relatable characters, this didn't sit well with me. Hope some fellow Ron-lovers out there will appreciate this story. Enough talk... on to the chapter!

Harry was not having nightmares anymore. Dreams of Voldemort and Cedric seemed no match for the positive deluge of images of Hermione that flooded his mind.

He had just awoken from a particularly pleasant dream on Tuesday morning, although he'd have sooner stuck his head in a toilet than reveal it to anyone. In the dream, he had been lying on the grass with Hermione's head on his chest. She traced circles around the buttons on his shirt, murmuring soft words to his heart.

He allowed himself a minute to wonder if these dreams and thoughts about his best friend were getting out of hand. But the Hermione-like voice inside his head that so often warned him against this was drowned out by the Sirius-Harry, who was whooping for joy.

Every new day, there was something to look forward to. Just knowing he would see Hermione regardless of anything that happened was enough to get him through anything, even the worst of Snape's lessons.

It was colder today than it had been for a while; Autumn was settling fast and the trees in the ground were shedding orange leaves.

With a vacant grin that seemed permanently affixed to his face for now, Harry got dressed, pulling on a Hermione for Minister T-shirt—the twins had been selling them for two sickles, although they didn't seem to be taking off the way they'd hoped; so far, Harry had bought one for himself and Ron, while Neville had declined, muttering something about how Hermione would probably kill them, and he, Neville, would attend their funerals but stand quietly in the back, making sure to keep out of sight of a remorseless Hermione...

The shirt was a very snug fit, and he looked down at himself to see Hermione's upside-down face glaring back at him.

With a carefree smirk, he buttoned his school shirt over Hermione's face—the world (and McGonagall) may not have been ready for him to wear that shirt to class—and pulled on his robes.

He met Hermione in the Common Room and went down to breakfast—Ron had decided to go back to sleep—talking happily about the books Hermione had been reading. With a pleasurable squirm in his stomach, Harry noticed she was wearing her watch. Oh, how he hoped she'd get asked about it, and hoped she'd respond by saying something like, oh, Harry Potter gave it to me for my birthday. He organised my birthday party, you know, Harry did. Oh yes, he's so thoughtful and kind… yes, we're dating, did you know? I, Hermione Granger, am Harry Potter's proud girlfriend…

He watched Hermione as she ate her pre-packaged breakfast, licking that damned-lucky fork clean… oh, how he wished he was that fork right now…

Hermione saw him watching her and looked very self-conscious. He averted his gaze hurriedly. As a result, he completely missed the coy smile she threw his way.

When he turned back to her, she had put the fork down and was drinking from her goblet, saying hello to Ron, who had just arrived. As such she missed the adoring look her gave her.

And so began a series of near-misses.

For every look one gave the other, the other missed it.

Harry and Hermione were like trains on parallel tracks with a large cloud of fog moving along between them. If only they both looked at each other in the intervals when the fog cleared…

Ron watched with careful incredulity. The proof was incontrovertible. His two best friends were completely and hopelessly in love with each other, but neither seemed likely to make a move on the other anytime soon.

That wouldn't do. If there was one thing Ron prized above his love of food and the Chudley Cannons, it was his two best friends. And with their happiness in his best interests, it was his solemn duty to ensure they ended up happily married, preferably before Ron was six feet below ground from the anticipation of it all.

Ron first brought up the topic with Harry in Divination. Professor Trelawney—or as Ron preferred to call her, Eyeballs—was now rhapsodizing to the class about how Harry would fall in love just before his untimely death, thus cutting short what should have been a long and happy relationship. The old fraud had been mixing up the usual death predictions with a bit of the old romance, and thankfully, Harry seemed mostly oblivious as to why.

As Trelawney moved over to consult with Lavender and Parvati, Ron leaned over the table to Harry.

"She might have a point, you know," he said in a low voice.

"About me dying? Thanks, Ron," said Harry, miffed.

"No," said Ron. "Well, that too, I suppose. But about you falling in love."

Harry looked quite startled. "What on Earth are you talking about?"

Ron raised an eyebrow in what he hoped was a knowing, conspiratorial manner. "Hermione."

A flurry of expressions passed across Harry's face and Ron had to hold his breath to keep from bursting out laughing.

Finally, Harry settled on repeating his last sentence, but louder: "What on Earth are you talking about?!"

"You know," said Ron knowingly. "Hermione."

"What are you implying?" asked Harry cautiously.

"I've seen the way you look at her, you idiot," said Ron affectionately. "You're head over skinny butt for her!"

"That is so far off from being true… She's my friend, Ron. Just like you. Or do you think I'm head-over-butt for you, too?"

Ron smirked. "You wish."

"You are barking," said Harry, peering at him as though he might be a werewolf who hadn't quite realised it yet.

"Come on, Harry," said Ron, giving up the playfulness; it clearly wasn't working. "She's been making eyes at you for over a year, and you're telling me you've never noticed?"

"Come off it," said Harry. "Over a year? She was with Krum not three months ago! And she doesn't 'make eyes at me'. She's never seen me that way, still doesn't, in fact. She sees me like you. Like that annoying best friend."

"No," said Ron, "trust me, I'm the annoying best friend, and you're the best friend she wants to snog, and definitely a lot more. You saw how worried about you she was last year, like she'd keel over if you so much as got a papercut in the Tournament. When you got back from the graveyard, I thought she'd combust, she was so stressed. And don't think I didn't see that kiss on the cheek she gave you… Ever see her pass those around to anyone else? It's a prelude to a snog, Harry, you daft idiot!"

Harry stared at him, though Ron noticed he was breathing a little harder than his current circumstances demanded. "No offense, Ron, but you're hardly the most perceptive of wizards. I really doubt you're right."

Ron felt a little hurt, but had to admit that Harry was right… Therefore, a second (or third, or hundredth) opinion was needed. And he knew just who to ask for one…

"Susan!" he called out, once classes had run out for the day.

The tall, shapely blonde girl turned around in the corridor he had been chasing her down. When she saw Ron, she smiled. "Ron! How are you?"

"Good, good, you?"

"Great!"

"Excellent," said Ron. "Where're you headed to?"

"Common Room," said Susan, jerking a thumb.

"Oh, good!" said Ron. "I was just on my way to the kitchens. I'll walk with you til there, if you want?"

"Oh, yes," said Susan. "I've always heard about that secret entrance… Mind showing me?"

Trying to refrain from whooping for joy, Ron nodded eagerly. "'Course! It's just behind this painting of fruit… anyway, I wanted to ask you something."

"Oh?" said Susan, looking interested, as they walked down the corridor.

"Yeah, it's about, well, about Harry."

"Oh."

"And Hermione. You know Hermione well, don't you?"

Susan frowned. "I wouldn't say well, but we've always been friendly. Though we Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors don't often spend much time together… there was that nasty bit of bullying quite a bit of our House put poor Harry through last year just because his name came out of the Goblet after Cedric's…"

At the mention of Cedric's name, Susan's face fell. Trying to revive the mood, Ron said, "Well, let's hope to change that this year. After all, we're all friends now, thanks to the Quidditch Club!"

"That's true!" said Susan. "Anyway, what were you saying?"

"Right. In no more than one word, do you think Harry and Hermione like each other?"

"Yes," said Susan without hesitation.

Ron let out a short laugh. "Hah! Knew I was right. 'Imperceptive', my foot. I'll show you imperceptive, Harry…"

"Well, it's kind of obvious," said Susan. "So obvious, in fact, that obviously, everyone thinks the same thing. You know what I'm talking about..."

"'Course I do," said Ron. "Just wanted to hear it from someone, er, someone like you."

"Like me?" said Susan curiously.

Ron shrugged awkwardly. "Like, someone who knows what's—what's going on, you know. Oh, here's the painting." He tickled the pear, and the frame swung open to reveal the kitchens.

"Oh, wow," said Susan, looking around in awe. "So this is how all the food ends up on the tables."

"It's great down here," said Ron happily. "The house-elves'll give you anything you want, they're jumping to give away food. Er, don't tell Hermione I said that. She doesn't approve."

Susan laughed. "So, this is where you three go when you disappear from the Great Hall at mealtimes?"

"Yeah—" Ron looked at her. "Hang on, how come you noticed we're not there?"

Susan blinked. "Oh! Just… I don't know, you three have such a presence, you know, and when you're not there, that presence is, well, not there…"

Ron smiled slowly. "Right. We're something of a legend at Hogwarts, am I right?"

"Well," said Susan, "to be frank, yes. The things you three have done these four years are the talk around town, you should know."

Feeling quite flattered—he had only been joking about them being legends—Ron gestured to the pantry. "Hungry?"

Susan hesitated a moment, then nodded. "I could eat."

"Well, then, Ms Bones," said Ron enthusiastically. "The kitchen is your oyster!"

Grinning, the two of them went on to pillage the pantry for everything it was worth, Ron doing his best to flirt all the way through their meal—though he knew less about flirting than he did Ancient Runes—delighted with himself for what he considered a stroke of genius for approaching Susan, in a year beginning to prove itself as a year full of strokes of genius for Ron.

Now, secure with the knowledge that he was, in fact, right about Harry and Hermione, Ron was determined to keep a close eye on the smitten pair, and maybe, just maybe, give them a nudge in the right direction should they need it.

Things were going quite well for Ron so far this year. His parents were extraordinarily pleased that he was Prefect, the twins weren't making fun of him as much now he'd showed them he was good at Quidditch, he was mostly staying above dangerous waters in school thanks to Hermione's study guide, and even Percy seemed chummy with him, from the few letters they'd exchanged.

Now, Ron saw a golden opportunity to get Harry and Hermione together. And if he, Ron, managed to successfully asked Susan out, all the better for him. All the better for everyone. Yes, sir, things were looking up indeed…

He just hoped that things wouldn't go disastrously wrong, as they so often did.

Harry felt as though he was carrying around a secret talisman in his chest through the rest of the week, keeping him functioning and keeping his thoughts happy and blissful. Hermione had never been more affectionate to him and he had never found her more beautiful.

He had begun to have hope that she really did like him in the same way he liked her. For starters, she went out of her way to walk with him at least part of the way to his next class, even when she had class in the opposite direction. Hermione Granger potentially arriving late to a lesson was a sure sign that something was out of the ordinary.

Secondly, she allowed him to copy her essays without her usual reprimands at him for leaving the work to the last minute, and she didn't even make any comments about him skiving off her meticulously crafted study plan to play Exploding Snap with Ron. He was quite sure she was actually watching the game with amusement, although when he looked up at her she quickly returned her attention to her book.

Lastly, and most pleasingly, he overheard her talking to Susan Bones as they left the girls bathroom—not that Harry was waiting outside for Hermione, or anything, that would be creepy, no, he had just been standing around, examining a very good portrait of a witch who left her frame when he had stared at her for over two minutes straight—saying that yes, Harry had given her the most beautiful watch she had ever seen, and yes, she wore it to sleep.

Struggling to keep the grin off his face, he innocently said hello, gave a polite nod to a smirking Susan, and promptly escorted Hermione to her Arithmancy class.

Harry was not the only one obsessing over what may or may not be blossoming between them. There was a curious—and slightly alarming—amount of student interest in Harry and Hermione's relationship. More than once, he heard some students in lower years refer to Hermione as 'Potter's girlfriend'. Even Malfoy had begun taunting them—"You're actually dating a Mudblood, Potter? Like father, like son, eh?" he said with a smirk outside Potions one day, and most unfortunately, Snape overheard and gave an infuriating smirk of his own. Luckily, Hermione was there to calm Harry down—the anger he had felt every now and then since Voldemort's return threatened to rise up and smite down Malfoy and Snape, and he had actually plunged his hand into his robes to grab his wand before Hermione grabbed his arm and he was distracted from his violent intentions.

"Ignore them, Harry," she whispered. "They're just sore, as usual. We're so much better than them." Harry couldn't help but notice, however, that she never went out of her way to correct anyone who assumed they were dating. So, neither did he.

The next Quidditch night was much more successful than the last; nobody fell off their broom and almost died. Helpfully, Fred and George had somehow procured a magical safety net that they placed in the centre of the pitch; in an emergency, they could whip out their wands and move it to wherever someone happened to fall. The reassurance must have helped the nervous fliers, because nobody did fall. He knew from experience that half the problems that nervous fliers faced was worrying about falling. So, with that fear taken care of, the only thing left to do was, well, fly.

The club had welcomed five more members since last week, three third-years and two excited first years who were someone's relatives, Harry didn't quite know whose. In truth, he was terrible with names, and had to rely on Hermione's helpful book with its list of members to call upon people. Fred and George, however, excelled in this, and through a combination of gentle teasing and friendly camaraderie, made their new members feel very much at ease.

For the first time, the team Harry was playing on lost the overall game. Dean blamed it on the awful music Fred and George had chosen: some apparently 'god-awful' band called 'the Bee-Gees'. Harry voiced his agreement, but found himself swaying in time to the beat, cocking his head to the falsetto lyrics, and flying the school broom in a more dance-like manner than usual. He did, however, stop this when Fred made a remark uncannily like Malfoy's, when he asked if Harry hoped to become a ballet dancer.

Ron had improved his Keeping form spectacularly, so barely any of Katie's usually difficult-to-block goals made it through. Also helping the Fleabag's efforts were the spectacular goals made by Susan and Dennis Creevey.

Fred and George continued to play on opposite teams; everyone agreed that they were the best Beaters in the school and it would hardly be fair on the other team if both played as teammates.

Meanwhile, Hermione seemed to have claimed the Pigfarts' Keeper spot. While she was nowhere near as good as Ron, she definitely was much more comfortable in that position, and even blocked a hard shot from Angelina that very nearly unseated her; Harry was already halfway to her position before she thankfully managed to regain her balance.

Ginny continued to excel; tonight she played as Seeker against Harry, and won, catching the Snitch three times as opposed to Harry's two.

He congratulated her and smiled indulgently at her post-match celebrations—"In your face, Potter! What's that, Fred? I couldn't hear you over my pure skill! High-five, Ronniekins! You're moving up in the list of my favourite brothers, but don't get ahead of yourself."

What Harry didn't tell a euphoric Ginny was that he could easily have caught the Snitch the third time, but he had been rather busy by the goalposts showing Hermione how to perform a handbrake on the Firebolt. He got a thrill out of placing his hands just above hers on the shaft and helping her to twist the broom to one side while he hovered closely beside her.

Things with Hermione were going very well, indeed. Harry even privately thought he might just work up the courage to damn it all and ask Hermione out the next weekend.

Unfortunately, as things were so often wont to do, they started going downhill.

Sunday night, Harry, Ron and Hermione were feverishly studying—Snape had promised a quiz on a surprise topic that Monday afternoon, and they spent most of the night theorising on what that topic would be, and what horribly obscure questions he would be asking.

It was around nine that Harry realised Hermione wasn't working along the same lines he and Ron were. While they were consulting their Potions books and Hermione's lengthy class notes, she was writing a long letter, the scroll of parchment rolling up over the table as she worked her way steadily down to the bottom. It appeared to be double-sided, too.

"Who're you writing the essay for?" asked Harry curiously, shoving his textbook to one side with disgusted finality.

Hermione started and moved the parchment to hide the name at the top. "Um… parents."

Harry looked at her suspiciously as she bent over the table. He got the feeling she was not being entirely truthful… but he let it slide. It might have been something embarrassing. But Hermione should know, it was him. She was allowed to be embarrassed around him. Just as he was allowed to be embarrassed around her. That was practically the natural order of things. People got embarrassed. Embarrassment was just a part of… What had Harry been thinking about…?

He massaged his temples. His scar had begun to prickle unpleasantly and he looked around for something to occupy himself with, to distract him from the uncomfortable sensation.

Luckily, Ron had also given up trying to figure out what Snape would test them on—"The git's just going to give us all zeroes anyway," he said—and they spent a happy hour playing chess, after which Harry lost spectacularly.

Not at all surprised, but still nursing his injured pride—he had put up a rather good fight, he thought he might have been able to win had he only managed to hold a straight face as Ron observed the state of play—Harry quickly excused himself; Ron had noticed Harry glance just a little too long at a focussed Hermione and was now waggling his eyebrows at him suggestively. Harry feared that his usually-so-ignorant friend was becoming too observant for his own good.

Sitting alone up in the dorm, Harry pondered his dilemma. It should be a simple thing, to ask someone out. But Harry, in truth, had never done anything of the sort before, and never found himself in a situation where he truly wanted to. True, he had asked Cho to the Ball last year, but that hardly counted. Thinking of this rather miserable failure, however, certainly didn't instil great amounts of confidence in himself that Hermione would return his feelings. And this was a very different matter. He had had, at most, a strong crush on Cho. But Hermione… he didn't know what to call what it was he felt for her. It was definitely not a crush. No… this felt distinctly different to what Cho had ignited within him. This seemed to be consuming him, mind, body and soul… But how could he even act on whatever it was?

For starters, Harry and Hermione had known each other for five years. Spent almost every day out of ten months of every year together, studying, talking, relaxing, adventuring, almost dying... To out of the blue turn that friendship into something romantic would take nothing short of a miracle. How many people successfully dated their best friend? It simply didn't happen, and if it did, it wouldn't work, would it?

He tried to picture the two of them dating, holding hands in the corridors, kissing in broom cupboards, strolling through Hogsmeade arm in arm… To both his pleasure and dismay, such fanciful images came far too easily.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry managed to ignore the twinging of his scar again—he had more important things than Voldemort to concern himself with…

That Tuesday, Hermione received a long letter at breakfast, presumably in reply to the one she had written on Sunday night. She spent so long poring over it that Harry was the first to notice that if they didn't leave for Transfiguration soon, McGonagall would be quite livid.

"Hermione, shouldn't we be going?"

"Hm? Oh!" She hurriedly wolfed down the rest of her breakfast and slung her bag over her shoulder. As she stuffed the letter in her pocket, Harry caught a glimpse of the name signed at the bottom in an ugly scrawl.

"Krum?!" he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Ron froze and looked at the two of them.

"I mean," said Harry, "you're still writing to Krum?"

Hermione turned pink and hid the letter properly. "We're pen pals. You know, it's nice to hear what's going on up in Bulgaria. He's very interested to hear about what's going on at Hogwarts, too…"

"Right," said Harry distractedly. "Right…" But he felt as if something very dear had been ripped from him. Of course, he thought angrily as they got up and walked quickly out of the Hall. She still liked Krum, of course she did. He had seen her at the Ball with him, seen how smitten she was. Krum was a world-famous Seeker who was also the first boy who had asked Hermione out, it only made sense…

Harry spent a tumultuous hour in Transfiguration thinking angrily of Krum and his ugly squashed face and his brutish, dull manner, picturing scenarios in which he, Harry, beat Krum thoroughly in a game of Quidditch. Harry was surely the better Seeker, Krum was nothing but an overrated star who had somehow fumbled his way into the top tiers of the game… He was a predator! Harry realised. He was eighteen by now, way too old for Hermione. But maybe that was Hermione's type; older guys who said the right things, made the right moves, had the confidence that Harry never had. Harry was only fifteen, he was probably like a little brother to Hermione…

He was so angry and bitter that he snapped at Hermione when she asked him to pass him his ink in class—"Don't you have your own?" he said, before slamming the ink down in front of her. Barely noticing her shocked, hurt expression, when the bell went, he left the classroom grumpily without realising he had left his wand on his desk.

Krum hadn't organised any sort of party for Hermione. He hadn't given her any silver watches. Who had done that? It was him—Harry! All Krum had done was take advantage of her and take her to that stupid bloody Ball, when Harry had been sitting on the side-lines, moping over Cho, eavesdropping on a smitten Hagrid with Ron beside him in the bushes like a pair of creepers, worrying about what Snape and Karkaroff were up to, when really he should have been inside, pushing aside Krum and sweeping Hermione off her feet, swaying with her in time to the music, letting the world fade out around them, then leaning in slowly, and snogging the living daylights out of her…

Now, it was too late.

"Harry!"

Harry kept walking, shouldering his bag and speeding up on his way to Lupin's class.

"Harry, wait!"

It was Ron. He caught up with Harry at the door to the classroom.

"What the hell, mate?" said Ron.

"Hell is right," said Harry gloomily.

"What's wrong with you?" said Ron crossly. "You've never been so rude to Hermione! What gives?"

"Nothing gives, Ron," said Harry as he took his seat at the back of the room.

"Well, I'll give you a piece of my mind," said Ron, "and you'll let me if you want your wand back."

Harry felt inside his pockets; sure enough, his wand wasn't there, but in Ron's hand, held out of reach.

"Give me my wand, Ron," said Harry, teeth gritted.

"No. You need to apologise to Hermione."

"Not now," said Harry, in the middle of picturing himself punching Krum in the face. What if he used the Gryffindor fireplace to Floo himself over to Bulgaria to give Krum a thorough beating? He'd Petrify him in place and then punch him in the jaw, the stomach, the balls… serve him right, the ruddy pumpkin-head…

"Harry, you are being so… like me," said Ron.

Confused, Harry forgot to be angry, the image of Krum's bloody face flitting from his mind. "How do you mean?"

"Grumpy about Krum, that's what I mean. Get over it!"

"No," lied Harry. "That's not it. My scar hurts, that's all." This last part was, at least, true. It had begun throbbing slowly, building up a headache that was more annoying than painful.

"Don't play the damn scar card again," whispered Ron—Lupin had walked in. "You're jealous."

"Why the hell would I be jealous?" said Harry mulishly.

"Because you think Hermione still likes Krum! She doesn't!"

"How would you know?"

"I just do!"

"You know," said Harry savagely, "coming from you, that means absolutely nothing."

Ron stared at him for a long moment, then threw Harry's wand at him. It hit Harry in the head before he managed to catch it with his supposedly legendary Seeker reflexes. Ron stood and moved himself to the front of the class, where Hermione had just walked in. She didn't look at Harry, but slumped down in her seat, resting her chin on her arms on her desk.

With two best friends now upset with him, Harry felt the first twinges of guilt. But, he thought, why shouldn't I be angry? They both lied to me… nothing but liars, the pair of them… and I thought Ron would be on my side! He wouldn't stop ranting about Krum's advances on Hermione all last year! What happened?

Lupin looked so concerned to see Harry separated so far from Ron and Hermione that he began the lesson quite distractedly, forgetting Seamus' name and misquoting a spell incantation that resulted in Neville casting a long-nose hex instead of a Stunning Spell.

Harry let Ron and Hermione leave before him, and walked alone to the courtyard for break. Sitting on a bench, he pulled out one of his textbooks and pretended to study. He was now fully regretting what he had said to both his friends. Just then, a sharp stabbing pain in his scar caused him to gasp and reach up to touch his forehead, as if he could somehow soothe it. As quickly as it had come, it began to disappear, though the slow, dull throbbing remained.

As the worst of the pain receded he looked up in surprise as Susan Bones sat beside him.

"Hello, Harry," she said pleasantly.

"Hi," he said shortly.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Um," said Susan, taken aback by his cold manner. "I just wanted to check with you about adding a friend of mine to the MQC."

"Sounds great," said Harry unenthusiastically.

"Are you sure you're alright, Harry? You look a little ill."

"Yes, fine, thanks."

But Susan moved closer. "Is it about Hermione?"

"Of course not," said Harry defensively. "Why would you think that?"

"No reason," said Susan quickly.

They sat in silence for a minute, before Harry's common sense won out. He had already upset two friends in a very short time, he couldn't afford another. Particularly one who hadn't done anything to him at all.

"Sorry, Susan," he said. "Rough morning, I think."

"That's quite alright," she said, quite dignified.

"How're your classes?" Harry asked in an attempt to be more friendly.

"Not bad," said Susan, "Defence is probably best, though most of my class still thinks Lupin is going to transform mid-class and eat us all."

Harry frowned. "Full moon passed last week. He's completely harmless, besides, with the Wolfsbane Potion. Couldn't and wouldn't hurt a fly."

"That's what I've told them," said Susan sadly. "But some prejudices run too deep."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. Something needed to be done, he thought, to get the rest of the school on Lupin's side. Harry owed the man that much, at least.

"So," said Susan, in a manner that often precluded gossip. "I heard what Ron said in class the other week. You know, about wanting to snog me."

Harry grunted in what was almost laughter. Almost, but not quite. "Funny guy, Ron."

"You think he meant what he said?" asked Susan idly, picking at her robes.

Harry, knowing full well that Ron had been under the influence of Veritaserum when he had professed the desire, lied and said, "I don't know, maybe."

"Oh. He—he took me to the kitchens the other day."

Harry snorted. "Well, Ron sees food as the great romance of life. Take from that what you will."

Susan smiled with amusement and hmm-ed lightly.

The bell signalled the next class, and Harry and Susan stood up.

"You know, Harry," she said, "we really don't hang out enough. I always thought, I mean, when we arrived at Hogwarts, and I saw you, you were so friendly, so unlike the image I had built up of you in my head, I dunno, I kind of pictured us becoming friends. But then we got sorted to different houses, and funnily enough, hardly anyone in this school is friends with people from other houses. Hermione was one of the few Gryffindors I really spent any time with."

Harry found himself agreeing. "I thought the same. I guess that's one good thing about the MQC."

"Yeah," said Susan enthusiastically. "It'd be cool if it was an official Hogwarts club. We don't really have anything like that."

Harry laughed. "I don't think even Dumbledore would give the go-ahead for this."

Susan shrugged. "Just a thought. Nice talking to you, Harry, see you later, maybe…"

Harry and Susan parted ways and he made his way to Herbology. He, too, would like to be good friends with Susan… He remembered hearing somewhere that she was, like him, an orphan, and lived with her aunt, who was a high-ranking employee at the Ministry...

To no surprise at all, both Ron and Hermione were ignoring him resolutely in Herbology. Without their usual help, Harry received a dozen cuts from the living nightmares that Professor Sprout liked to call plants, and Neville liked to call pets. He thought he saw Hermione give him a sympathetic look, but he was a little preoccupied with getting to the Hospital Wing before he died of tetanus.

The rest of the day saw Harry's scar continue to throb and his misery continue to plunge him into a dark depression. This couldn't go on, he realised. He remembered what Dumbledore had told him in his office… Lean on your friends, he had said… Miss Granger, in particular, seems very fond of you…

It was the memory of these words that forced Harry at last to make an effort to talk to Hermione alone that night.

"Er, Hermione," he said awkwardly, making her look away from her conversation with Lavender, "could I have a word?"

She looked surprised. "Alright."

She followed him to a secluded corner of the Common Room where they sat tentatively. Harry was vaguely aware of Lavender and Parvati putting their heads together to whisper conspicuously.

"I'm very sorry," he said shortly, "for being so rude earlier today. I was upset and that was no reason to take it out on you. And Ron," he added.

"Oh!" said Hermione. "That's—that's quite all right, Harry."

"I just want to know one thing," Harry went on.

"Anything," said Hermione, though warily.

"Why did you lie to me?"

"Lie?"

"You told me on Sunday you were writing to your parents! When really it was bloody Krum! Don't deny it," he added quickly, when she drew breath to speak.

Hermione looked embarrassed. "Okay, fine, I lied! But I didn't want you to get all 'big-brother' on me like Ron did last year. I know you both hate him."

"That's not true," said Harry flatly, although it was. "And I don't get all big-brother on you. When have I ever? Besides, we're both younger than you." Please don't say you think of me like a brother, please don't say you think of me like a brother…

"Okay, maybe it isn't true," Hermione admitted.

Thank the lords! Okay, good.

"But you are acting a bit like Ron, even you have to admit."

Harry frowned. Not so good. "How?"

"Well, just—assuming the worst, that's all! Viktor is a perfect gentleman, and he was always very nice to me."

"Yeah," said Harry, "because he was in love with you, wasn't he!"

"That's not true, Harry, and stop putting words where they have no place."

"Well, it's partly true," he muttered.

"Why does it matter to you so much, Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice softening a little. Was that a hopeful expression on her face?

"It doesn't," Harry lied flatly. "I just… I don't want to see you hurt. Krum was never, I mean, sure, he said nice things to me, too, but you know, he's not exactly the kind of guy that, well…" Harry lost his point somewhere, and gestured with his hands in the hope that they would find it and present it for him.

"Okay, Harry," said Hermione presently. "I'm going to be honest with you. Cards on the table. Yes, Viktor and I went to the Ball, together. Yes, I enjoyed it, simply because he was the first male to really notice that I was a member of the opposite sex, and to be attracted to me that way. I was young and inexperienced and had no idea what I was doing, only that I felt better about myself than I ever had. And yes, we—we kissed. Once."

"Once?" said Harry incredulously, his stomach now writhing with anger as he pictured an unrelenting Krum pinning Hermione in place and smothering her with his tongue. "You were spending an awful lot of time together in the library, don't tell me that you—"

"That is what I'm telling you, and it's the truth!" said Hermione, now getting angry for the first time. "After it happened, I realised that I just didn't see anything happening with him. I apologised, and told him that, he was very understanding, and we decided to remain friends. That's what we are now. Friends."

Harry looked at her a long while. Slowly, his anger receded. His scar, which had started aching again, returned to its usual state of simply disfiguring his forehead.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. I'm sorry, Hermione. It's been a rough day. I shouldn't have—"

"It's quite okay," said Hermione, quite pleasantly. "I suppose it's partly my fault, for not telling you more when it happened. After all, you are my best friend… but I just thought you'd laugh at me. Or Ron would. Or you both would."

"I don't think that we would," said Harry.

"No," said Hermione softly. "No, I don't either."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment; he felt quite tired. When he opened them, Hermione was looking at him. Unlike the other times, however, she didn't look away.

"There's something else, isn't there, Harry?" asked Hermione. "You seemed awful down today, and I don't see how me writing to Krum would have you so upset. What is it?"

Harry scrambled to think of an excuse; it wouldn't do for Hermione to find out that the sole reason he had been angry and depressed all day was, in fact, due to finding out that she was still writing Krum.

"Oh, I was just, er, you know, I was just thinking about my parents, you know, and how they died. I have dead parents, Hermione. Well, I don't anymore, because they're dead," Harry said lamely, inwardly begging said parents' forgiveness for using them as an excuse for his rampant acts of seething jealously. Surely, Dad, you understand… Sorry, Mum.

But Hermione seemed disarmed. She placed a hand on his and looked at him carefully. "Harry," she said worriedly, "I don't know how you'll take this, but well, have you ever considered therapy?"

Harry stared at her blankly.

"Not that I think you need it!" she added hurriedly. "But if you maybe wanted to talk to someone about what has happened to you, and how you're feeling, you know, someone professional, someone not me…"

Harry gave her a lopsided smile. "Hermione, you're all the therapy I need."

She blushed. "Stop it, Harry, I'm serious."

He nudged her lightly. "So am I."

Hermione finally smiled, and looked down at their hands. "Well, it is my sincere pleasure to be the personal therapist to Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lives."

Harry cocked his head. "It's 'The Boy Who Lived.'"

Hermione leaned back in the sofa. "'Lives' sounds so much more positive, doesn't it? It's in the present, because after all, you are alive, Harry."

Harry had to agree; sitting there with Hermione so close to him, their arms sharing each other's hands, he felt very much alive.

To his dismay, Hermione cut their hand-holding short.

"I'm going to catch some shut-eye," she said tiredly. "Been a long day."

"Right," said Harry, extracting his hand from under his. "I probably will, too, soon enough."

"Good," said Hermione vaguely, looking at him inscrutably. After a pause, she leaned forward slowly and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, Harry," she said, as she withdrew.

"'Night, Hermione," murmured Harry, watching her go up the stairs to the girl's dorm.

How 'bout that? he thought happily. She had kissed him on the cheek again. For the, let's see here, for the fifth time, not that he was keeping track or anything. But then again, it was always a good idea to keep count of the number of times ones best friend has kissed them in that area, so close to the lips and yet so far away… And, he realised with even more happiness, she wasn't angry with him for being mad at her for no good reason, they were back to normal, weren't they? If normal was a thing that applied to them…

"Oi, Harry!"

"Ron," said Harry guiltily, snapping around to see Ron standing next to him. "Hey. Listen, I'm sorry about today—"

"Never mind that," said Ron, sitting quickly next to Harry. "So, you and Hermione seem good again."

"Yeah," said Harry, relieved. "But, we are too, aren't we, Ron?"

"'Course," said Ron, and Harry felt a surge of affection for his friend. For him to so easily forgive Harry was a very pleasant thing to see. "But, Harry, you've got to be careful. You rack up too many pity points with Hermione and, in love with you as she may be, you may well end up in the friendzone."

"What are you talking about?" said Harry, suddenly getting annoyed again. "What pity points? And she's not in love with me, don't bring that up again!"

Ron laughed. "I heard you! You were playing the dead parents card again, so Hermione'd feel sorry for you!"

"Shut up, Ron," said Harry brashly.

"Oho! Not denying it, I see!"

"Shove off!"

"Really, Harry, I'm very sorry about your parents, and all, but talking about them all the time isn't going to make Hermione desperate to shag you."

"Ron," said Harry coldly, although his mind was now filled with deranged images of what Ron had just said, "you are making absolutely no sense. I'm going to bed, before you say anything that might result in a lot of pain for you."

But Ron laughed again. "See? You're even starting to sound like Hermione! Couples that spend too much time together, and all…"

"Goodnight, Ron," Harry said firmly, and he stood and walked away.

Stop thinking about it! he told himself angrily. Stop thinking about her like that! Agh! Think clean thoughts. Soap, and showers, and Hermione in the shower, with you… No! No, think of Snape, and his ugly face… yes, that's better…

Unfortunately, though, picturing the Potions Master so vividly and thoroughly made Harry angry again, and he went to sleep with his scar aching yet again.

The nightmares returned that night.

However, amidst all the screaming and murder, and another terrifying appearance from Lord Voldemort, there was a nicer dream, buried somewhere in the noise… a dream in which Harry and Hermione were unrestrainedly snogging on the couch in the Common Room, Hermione's ministrative hands wandering under Harry's robes, and then his trousers, and his hands unbuttoning her shirt and reaching within, spurred on by her moans and whispers of encouragement…

But then the dreams of Voldemort returned and Harry woke in a cold sweat in the early hours of the morning, scar throbbing with pain, yet somehow, disturbingly aroused, and wondering, not for the first time—not by a long way—why things could not be simple, why one thing must always come with another, worse thing.

But things could not be simple. Not for Harry Potter… not in this lifetime, at least.

Well, that was another long chapter. Here're some notes if you're interested.

- We see here the rise of the infamous Angry-Harry. In canon this was due to Voldemort being in his head. Here, however, Harry has his affection for Hermione to hold that anger at bay, so Voldemort is having a harder time gaining control of him. I like to think that Voldemort is getting a glimpse into Harry's thoughts about Hermione and is completely revolted... let's hope Snape doesn't pick up on them with his Occlumency...

- We also see the rise of Jealous-Harry, which we saw a lot of in HBP. I do apologise if Jealous-Harry was a rude little sh*t, but I do think he would be quite upset to think that Hermione still liked Krum, don't you? These jealous and angry thoughts coincide with his scar hurting a lot more in this chapter.

- Yes, I know I had Hermione admit to herself last chapter she was in love with Harry. If you were expecting to see Harry reach a similar conclusion here, well... Quite frankly, Harry is a bit of an idiot when it comes to things like this. He is in fact on the way to being in love with—if not already in love with—Hermione. But this is such an unfamiliar emotion for the poor boy that he really doesn't realise it. He definitely needs a bucketload of therapy.

- Susan Bones was a character I would have liked to see more in the books. She has a lot in common with Harry and Neville: families torn apart by Death Eaters, and the eventual murder of her Aunt, Amelia Bones, by Voldemort. I feel like if Harry had been more friendly and open to new relationships, instead of constantly worrying about everyone hating and gossiping about him, he and Susan would be quite good friends.

- Finally, this was my first time writing Ron's POV, which I found hardest of the trio. I don't think I quite did him justice. Let me know if you liked or disliked it; I could live with simply focussing on H/Hr if that's what you want. I do wish to work on Ron more though, if not in this fic, then another.

Thank you for reading and following, and I very much hope you're enjoying the fic so far. And now, goodnight (or good morning, or day, or afternoon, wherever all of you lovely people are).