*A/N: Sorry it's taken me this long! It's been a wild weekend, and we're moving house too, so all is frantic here. My computer's on the floor (desk already packed), and I am typing in the most awkward positions imaginable … And, ahem –  *blushes furiously* Good spotting zealousgirl, thank you very much. Yes, they did win quidditch in fifth year (what can I say, my HP books are packed too!), and Harry's dialogue will be changed accordingly. On with the show. ~nm3x5s~ Shez

~

Ron went up to visit Ginny after dinner, and found Hermione already by her bed.

"Didn't you eat?" Ron asked guiltily.

"No. I didn't want Ginny to be all by herself."

"All on my one-sie," Ginny mumbled. Ron raised his eyebrows, and Hermione shrugged helplessly.

"Painkillers," she said, in a low voice. "Her ankle's bad apparently. Madame Pomfrey thinks it'll be right in the morning, but for now – I suppose she's a little out of it."

"Right," said Ron. He took a seat opposite Hermione, on the other side of the bed. He felt awkward, reached for Ginny's hand, decided against it, and settled uncomfortably in his chair. He looked up. Hermione was looking at him. Her eyes flicked away when he met them, and then Harry walked in.

"Bloody hell," he said, throwing himself into the last chair in the room, near the foot of Gin's bed. He ran two hands through his hair.

"Bloody hell what?" Ron asked warily.

"Bloody hell, McGonagall nearly threatened to shut down the team, that's what," Harry said sharply. "Said I had to be more careful."

"It wasn't your fault," Hermione protested, but Harry cut her off.

"I know it wasn't," he snapped, "but a captain has to take responsibility. She said it was negligence."

"Negligence?" Ginny said weakly. Harry stood and came a bit closer.

"Hey," he said, his voice gentling, "are you alright?"

"She's a little tired," Hermione began, but Ginny spoke over her.

"It wasn't your fault," she said, "and I'll go tell her that if you need me to."

Funny, Ron thought, she seems rather more together now.

"No, no," Harry said firmly. "Don't be stupid. It's all sorted. And the Creeveys," he added darkly, "are both off the team."

"Oh Harry," Hermione worried, "do you think you ought to?"

"Ginny could have died!" he retorted forcefully. "They're idiots. I don't know why I even put them in."

"There was nobody better," Ron pointed out.

"Yeah. I know. Still, I feel – a bit to blame. Sorry Gin." And he patted her hand, a little clumsily.

Quite unexpectedly, she turned her palm so that it lay against his.

"It wasn't your fault," she repeated.

Harry stared at her for a long moment, and then took his hand away. Ron and Hermione met one another's gazes over the bed, Hermione biting her lip. The tension in the room was palpable.

"I'm going to sleep," Ginny said eventually, sounding quite woozy again.

There was a flurry of activity around the bed as Hermione leaned over to tuck her covers in more carefully, and Ron pushed his chair back with loud farewells, and Harry moved to the door. They said goodnight, and quickly departed

"Well," Hermione said, in the corridor outside the sickroom. "What was that?"

"What was what?" said Harry shortly.

"That," said Ron. "In there."

He didn't feel angry about it. He didn't even feel concerned. He felt – well, weirded out, really.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry muttered. "I have to go finish my Potions essay."

"What, now?" Ron objected, and was rewarded with a dig in the ribs from Hermione.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Night."

"Night."

He strode off, and Hermione slapped Ron on the arm.

"Ow! What?"

"Don't go pushing for answers. You know what Harry's like."

"Apparently not," he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Apparently I'm the only one who doesn't know what Harry's thinking at any given moment. Besides, you asked him first."

"I asked to see what he was going to do. He closed down, and I backed off. It's not hard, Ron."

He didn't reply, and they began to walk again, his mind already wandering back to his little sister in the hospital.

"What do you think of it, then?" he said eventually.

"Of Ginny – and Harry?"

"Yeah."

She paused, and then smiled a small smile. "I don't know. I think – it's kind of cute."

"Cute?"

"It's sweet. The hand thing – that was sweet."

"I thought it was weird."

"You would."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," she laughed. "I'm just teasing. Anyway, I think it's been coming on for a while. And Ginny's always sort of loved him, hasn't she?"

Ron started. "You think she loves him?"

"Oh I don't know," Hermione sighed. "You never can tell with Ginny. Or Harry, for that matter." Quite unconsciously, she leant against him as they walked. "Merlin, I'm tired."

His throat sort of dried out.

"Mm," was all he managed. He became suddenly aware of how close she was, how warm and sleepy, and it made him feel light-headed. They went on in a comfortable silence – at least, she was comfortable. He was desperately searching for things to say and not having much luck.

"Er – d'you want me to walk you to your room?" he asked, as they reached the corridor where they would have to part ways.

"No," she said, moving away from him. He felt that sensation of loss again, of wanting her back beside him.

"Have to get ready for patrol anyway," she continued, making a face, and his stomach curled over itself unpleasantly. Why did she have to say that?

"Right," he said, looking at his feet. "Good luck with that."

"Good luck?" she repeated, puzzled.

"Er – night, then."

He raised a hand goodbye, and then hurried away in the direction of the common room, blushing outwardly, cursing inwardly. Why was it that whenever she came close like that, he turned into a complete and utter prat?

~

"Right," Ron said, throwing down his quill. "I'm hopeless. I can't do it."

"Yes you can," Harry said patiently, not taking his eyes off his work. They were sitting in the common room that Sunday night, attempting to catch up on a week's homework. Ron had barely got through his Divination, and was at a total roadblock with Potions.

"I'm an idiot," Ron said miserably. "I don't know why I bother."

"'Cos your mum would kill you if you didn't," Harry replied promptly.

"I could go work in the joke shop with the twins."

"Yeah. Or you could go strangle yourself. You'll get the same result, either way."

"Bloody Mum." He stretched his fingers, picked up his quill again, and stared at the paper, with all the force he could.

Come on, urged his brain. Write something. 

He groaned and dropped the quill once more. Definitely hopeless.

Hermione chose that moment to come in through the portrait hole, bearing a heavy load of books and a contented expression.

"What's got you so smug?" Ron called loudly. She saw them and came over.

"Nothing."

"What have you been doing?"

"Patrol," she replied, after a momentary pause. "And then I ducked into the library – and look what I found!"

She managed somehow to display the book on the top of her pile: Hogwarts, A History – The New Edition.

"New edition?" Ron asked incredulously, managing not to think about her walk through the castle with Malfoy. Harry had stopped work too now, and taken the book from her.

"Isn't it great?" Hermione said, so happily that he had to smile. "With new pictures and things, and inclusions of what's happened these past years."

"You'll be in there a few times, then," Ron commented, nudging Harry, who frowned in an embarrassed way.

"He is," Hermione agreed, and then, when Harry looked at her, went on hastily: "But only a few. And Umbridge is as well, with her reign of terror."

This pleased Ron immensely. "They called it that?"

"They did. What are you up to?"

She put down her pile with a loud exhale, and sat in the empty chair.

"What am I not doing, more like," said Ron glumly, rolling his quill between his fingers. "I can't dothis."

"Why, what is it?"

"Potions. But everything. It's too much, too quick. And everyone's talking about N.E.W.T.s as though I'll barely be able to pick up garbage after school without them."

"If you'd quit complaining," Harry said, eyes on his work, "then maybe you'd get something done."

"I'm not complaining."

"Right."

"You're the one who was quoting quidditch scores at me."

"But I'm working now, aren't I?"

Hermione had been looking from one to the other, and cut in at this point.

"It's no wonder you don't get your work done," she said sagely. "You just distract each other."

Ron glanced at Harry, who was glancing at him. They grinned simultaneously.

"Nah," Ron said. "That's not it."

"I think it is," Hermione insisted, quite serious now. "And Ron, you know it's important, the work this year."

"It's first weekend back, 'Mione!"

"And how many more are there to go?" she retorted. "Harry's alright – Harry does well in most things anyway. But you have to work at it. Don't look at me like that, it's true."

He tried to stop glowering, but couldn't really help himself. It was true, and that stung more than the comment itself – Harry had natural talent, he had hard work and luck.

"Well," Hermione went on, a little more gently, "maybe I should help you."

"You help me anyway," Ron muttered, and she tapped his hand with her fingertips. His skin tingled briefly.

"Don't be cross."

He looked up. He couldn't be cross with her, not really, and she knew it.

"I'll help you," she said. She floundered for a suitable promise, and then her eyes lit up. "I'll tutor you."

"Tutor me?"

"Yeah," Hermione continued, clearly warming up to the idea. "I'll tutor you in whatever lessons you're having trouble with, when I'm not working myself. That way I'll be there if you need help, but I'll be able to – you know, supervise."

"Supervise?" he repeated, still unsure about what all this meant. "And Harry?"

"I'm fine," Harry said quickly, scratching away at his paper. "No offence, 'Mione, but I don't think I'd much like being tutored."

"Oh, don't worry," Hermione agreed breezily. "I wasn't thinking of you. Ron won't be distracted if it's only me around."

A sudden bright memory of her long, bare legs spun into his mind, and he shook it away uneasily.

"Are you serious?"

"Of course."

"Er – alright," he said, after a silence. "If you're sure you have time?"

"There's time. I'm not having any trouble with lessons."

"You don't have a lot on your plate – with Head Girl duties and all?"

He knew it was a loaded question, and was weirdly satisfied when she flushed and said uncomfortably: "It's fine. There's not too much so far."

Ron thought he might be happy because she didn't sound so happy (about what, exactly? Talking about the Head Girl position?) and that made him feel terrible. He shifted in his seat.

"Right."

"OK," she said eventually, standing with her books. "I was just coming to say goodnight."

"Night," said Harry, still writing furiously.

"Night 'Mione," said Ron, not quite meeting her eye. "Thanks for the offer."

"We'll start soon," she replied, trying to balance her pile. He stole a glance at her – she was tipping slightly to the left, then to the right, and her face was a picture of concentration. It was so … endearing, that he smiled again and she looked at him.

"What?"

"Nothing. You want help?"

"I'm fine. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

She departed, and Harry put down his pen.

"Well," he said.

"Well what?"

"Tutoring, hey?"

"I need it," Ron said defensively.

"Nice of Hermione to offer."

"Yeah. It was."

"You'd think all her time would be taken up with Draco."

Ron shot a hard look at him, and Harry grinned. "Sorry. Had to. You're a easy target."

"Oh, really?" Ron said challengingly. "Why's that?"

Harry sighed, stood, and began to pick up his things. Ron waited for an answer, and when he didn't get one, repeated his question.

"Merlin, Ron," Harry said, almost impatiently. "Why don't you just ask the girl out?"

Ron was struck dumb. He stared at Harry, who was still gathering his texts and stationery, and only moved when his friend started towards the dorms.

"Hey," he said, running after him. "What the hell is that?"

"What's what?" asked Harry, walking upstairs.

"What you said," Ron insisted, following. His pulse was throbbing loudly, and he was sure if he looked in a mirror his face would be red.

Harry stopped on the stairs and turned to face him. Neither of them said anything for a moment, and then Harry turned back and went on.

"Forget it," he said. "I was kidding."

He went up into the dorm, and Ron stayed where he was for a minute. He didn't know what to think about Harry – but the thought of being tutored by Hermione left him with the strangest feeling of anticipation and apprehension, all mixed up.