He slammed the shot glass down, interrupting her gasp with, "What? I've just had a big shock."

At Hermione's thunderous look, he faltered a bit, letting the Quidditch Cup he was holding dangle at his knees.

"I'm of age — it's not illegal!"

"It's against the rules to drink in the common room!" she hissed. "And you are a prefect . You're meant to be setting an example." She gestured to a group of rosy-cheeked little first-years, clad in gold and scarlet, pumping their arms to a chant of " GRYFF-IN-DOR! GRYFF-IN-DOR! "

Ron sighed, watching as they ended their chant with a round of high-fives and collapsed with laughter into a pile of cushions.

"Okay, I won't let them see me drink anything — but since when does anyone follow that rule for Quidditch parties? Charlie told me when he won the Cup, he drank so much firewhisky he woke up on one of the settees with nothing on, just the Cup covering his—" he gave a small shudder with the realization he was holding said cup, and quickly unloaded it on a passing Jimmy Peakes.

"If things get too wild tonight, it's our responsibility to rein things in. As prefects ." Hermione said, stressing the word again. "Just… try to keep your wits about you."

"My wits," he replied, recalling what had happened only minutes ago, "just walked out the portrait hole along with my little sister and my best mate."

He hoped she would commiserate with him, sharing his total and utter shock over what had transpired. But Hermione didn't seem very surprised. On the contrary—

"Finally, right?" She was beaming. "Harry's fancied her for ages. I thought that as soon as Ginny and Dean broke up he'd swoop in — I thought I would have to step in myself, I was starting to think he'd never make a move."

Ron gaped at her.

"Finally? "

"Yes, finally ."

"For ages?"

"For ages."

He sank down on a nearby sofa as he absorbed this information. The blushing seventh-year couple that occupied it were forced to squeeze even closer together. Hermione pulled over a low velvet footstool and sat down on it to face him.

"You really had no idea?"

Of course he had known Ginny had a crush on Harry. Had. So why would Harry suddenly decide to return the feelings now, after all these years? He supposed it made sense that Harry didn't say anything to him. He usually kept to himself about these sorts of things. Hermione, on the other hand…

"All those times when Harry was off in Dumbledore's office, when we were on prefect rounds… And you never once told me you knew that my best mate fancies my sister…"

"No one should have had to tell you, you could have seen for yourself!" She threw her hands up, startling one of the first years from earlier who was walking by. "It was so obvious! You mean to tell me you haven't noticed — in the Great Hall — that Harry almost always stops to chat with Ginny before he sits down to eat?"

"So they're friends," said Ron, taking a Butterbeer from a tray someone had charmed to float around the common room. "And Quidditch teammates. Big game coming up and all, there's lots to talk about…"

"Speaking of Quidditch! Everytime I watched you all practice, Harry nearly fell off his broom staring at her — oh, be patient ." She reached for a bottle of Butterbeer off the tray, which had started to shake with agitation. It zoomed away once she took one.

"He's the Captain, he needs to see how everyone's playing!"

"Ron," Hermione said patiently, looking up at him and placing her hand on his thigh, just above his kneecap. He could feel his ears getting hot. "I don't know why I'm trying to convince you. They just kissed. They're off somewhere in the castle kissing right now."

There was no arguing with this. Ron took a shaky gulp of Butterbeer.

"My sister… with my best mate…"

"Harry's never been one to ask for permission, has he?" Hermione smiled. "Promise you won't make him beg for forgiveness? I think he really likes Ginny, and I know she really likes him. Don't make him think he needs to punish himself over it."

The sounds of the party raged around them: shouts; chants; raucous music booming from the wireless. The couple next to Ron on the sofa had started loudly kissing. Hermione didn't move her hand.

"I won't," said Ron, the slightest crack in his voice. "Don't worry." Her brown eyes were so wide, looking up at him like this. So bright. Beseeching.

Suddenly they narrowed and her face tilted up, looking somewhere over the sofa, past Ron's right shoulder. Her expression turned furious; she tightened her grip on Ron's knee for a moment before releasing it.

"Dingle! " Hermione hissed, standing up abruptly, knocking over the stool she was sitting on and causing the couple next to Ron to yelp and spring apart.

Ron sat up straighter and turned his head to follow her gaze to the bottom of the boys' dormitory staircase behind him. A tall boy with impeccably coiffed dark hair was holding court for a group of rapturous fifth-years. He was reaching deep into his robe's pockets to show them something…

"I can't believe he's trying this again, after everything we confiscated from him last year!" Hermione fumed. "I'm taking whatever it is he's got. He thinks he can use the cover of a big party to peddle his wares right under our noses… You see?"

She looked at Ron again; now he had to tilt his head up to meet her eyes.

"This is what I mean, as prefects we need to have our wits about us!"

"My poor wits again..." said Ron, slinking back into his seat, staring into his Butterbeer bottle. He picked at the label as Hermione stormed off to confront Harold Dingle over whatever counterfeit study aid he was trying to hawk this year. The couple next to him on the sofa had picked up where they left off.

If Hermione was perceptive enough to know that Harry fancied Ginny just by looking at him, Ron wondered, surely she knew what it did to him when she did things like grab his leg like that? He could still feel his ears burning. They'd probably went bright red. His throat had gone dry, his heart felt like it was going to pound right out of his chest.

He should be used to it by now. She was always grabbing his wrist to correct his wand movement in class, squeezing his shoulder when she left lunch early to visit the library…

Ever since he came to in the hospital wing late at night on his birthday to find Hermione — Hermione , who he hadn't spoken to in months — sitting alone in a chair next to his bed. She'd gasped once she noticed he was awake, grabbing his hands and staring at him with those big brown eyes. It had looked, for a moment, like she was about to say something. Instead, she dropped his hands and ran off to find Harry and Ginny.

He didn't know what he had expected. Tearful apologies, a bracing hug, a vow to never let themselves become so estranged again? There was none of that. She behaved as though they had never stopped being friends at all, and he followed suit. The more time they spent together, the less tempting it was to muck it up again by trying to acknowledge what had happened between them.

He felt the sofa cushions shift a little. The couple next to him had apparently decided to find somewhere more private (just as Harry and Ginny had done) and set off through the portrait hole. He sat there alone for a while, feeling, not for the first time, some shame around his behaviour this year as the full realisation of what he had done continued to creep in…

"Ahem! "

Standing in front of him, all blonde-haired and fuzzy-jumpered and hands-on-hips next to Hermione's upturned stool was his ex-girlfriend, Lavender Brown. Ron gulped. The past few times he'd had a conversation with Lavender were very one-sided, and usually involved her yelling at him and crying.

"...Yes?" he asked, tentatively.

"Just because you've moved on ," she hissed. "Doesn't mean you need to make a display like that right in front of me." Her voice wavered a little, but to her credit, she seemed to be keeping it together for longer than usual.

"M'not sure what you mean," said Ron, though he had an idea.

"Please . It hasn't even been three weeks since we broke up and she's all over you. I should have known… at a Quidditch victory party too! You're so predictable!"

He opened his mouth to respond (hoping some placating, yet not too comforting words would suddenly come to him as he did) but he was interrupted when a small paper bag dropped into his lap. Hermione threw herself on to the sofa next to him in a huff.

"He's just beyond! He's trying to pass off whatever's in there as sphinx whiskers… sphinx! Although, I suppose anyone coming to Harold Dingle for help with their OWLs hasn't paid enough attention in Care of Magical Creatures or History of Magic or Defence Against the Dark Arts or even Divination to know that sphinx don't even have whisk— oh."

Hermione had just noticed Lavender, who was staring at her furiously, fists forming at her sides. She turned quickly on her heel and took off, a weak sob sounding in her wake.

Hermione's excitement over a successful confiscation seemed to fade as she watched Lavender disappear into the thick of the party.

"What did she want?" she asked in a bit of a strained voice. She wasn't looking Ron in the eye.

"Nothing, really… bit cut up about the breakup, I think." Ron's heart was starting to pound again. Lavender was a subject he would rather leave in the past and not discuss with Hermione.

"Oh…" she said softly, then turned to face him. "You're not though, right?"

Not even a little bit. He barely thought about Lavender, unless it was paired with the regret of getting together with her at all.

"Nah." He leaned down to set his empty Butterbeer bottle on the floor and unfolded the top of the paper bag she'd thrown at him. Inside it was a tangled mass of hair: dark; wirey; curly…

"Hermione…" he said sagely, refolding the top of the bag and holding it between two fingers as far away from his body as he could. She was looking at him with a puzzled expression.

"What?"

"Never throw a bag full of Howard Dingle's pubes at me ever again."