A/N – Everyone's so apprehensive about Malfoy. I love it. *grins wickedly* It's excellent to hear all your thoughts, thank you so much for reviewing. Please continue in your excellence, hehe … ~let's hear it~ Shez

~

Things were so busy at Hogwarts that it was two weeks before the tutoring concept came up again. Harry was training his team so hard that most nights Ron fell into bed with aching muscles, slept like a log, and occasionally dreamt of quidditch. Snape was setting them essay after essay, and even Lupin was urging them to, in his words, 'apply themselves' – they were learning about underwater defence, and Harry (after his second task in fourth year) already had a significant advantage over them.

D.A. meetings were still up and running, numbers slightly swollen with new arrivals. Harry had to handle about thirty recruits and, with Ron and Hermione's help, was trying to work on some more difficult jinxes. The room of requirement provided cool drinks (and sometimes, when Ron was feeling particularly frustrated, soothing music), but the hours they spent there were still among the most stressful of his week. Ron didn't think he was cut out to be a teacher – he didn't know what he was cut out for, but he was fairly sure education wasn't it.

Anyway, he'd been so wrapped up in all of this activity that he was relatively surprised when Hermione tapped him on the shoulder at breakfast on Monday morning, saying: "Free tonight?"

"Er –" he said wildly, mouth full of bacon, wondering what in Merlin's name she was talking about (and hoping it was nothing important).

"You know, for tutoring," she said impatiently, tucking a loose bit of hair behind her ear. "Remember?"

He looked at her blankly, and then did remember.

"Oh, right!" he said.

She gave him a look. "You forgot?"

"Course not," he protested. He hadn't really – it had just slipped round to the back of his mind.

Now it was directly front and centre.

"Don't you have patrol or something?" he went on.

Hermione started on her toast. "Draco said he'd do it alone."

Brief silence as Ron digested this (the fact that she'd organised time to be with him – he didn't think that had ever happened before). Then something clicked.

"What did you call him?"

"Draco," she repeated, flushing – but she didn't sound contrite. "He's a human being. How would you like it if I called you Weasley?"

"Malfoy calls me Weasley," he pointed out.

"But you're boys. Boys call each other by their last names. It's affectionate."

He looked at her incredulously. "Affectionate? Me and Malfoy?"

"Alright," she said, half-smiling, half-frowning, and quickly changing the subject. "Where's Harry?"

"He said something about working on his game plans. You know what he's like these days – always hard at it."

They ate quietly for a little while longer, Ron avoiding even a glance at the Slytherin table and its famous 'Draco', and then Hermione spoke again.

"So you're up for it then?"

"Tutoring?"

"No," she said, rolling her eyes. "A trip to Hogsmeade."

"Lay off. Yeah, I'm up for it."
She stood, a half-eaten bit of toast in one hand. "Right," she said, pushing her hair back again, and getting crumbs in it. "McGonagall gave me permission to use the transfiguration classroom, so I'll see you there, 7 o'clock."

"Not the library?"

"We're doing practical work," she said, already walking away. "I'm going to Runes. Bye."

"Bye," he called, taken aback. Hemione, not wanting to learn from books? Only in D.A. meetings, or a world gone mad.

Ginny threw herself down beside him, into Hermione's just-vacated seat.

"Morning," she said breathlessly. "God, those stairs are a nightmare."

"Foot still sore?"

"Just a twinge at times – like when I'm going downstairs. Pomfrey said it would sting for a while." She grabbed a couple of pancakes, and slapped them onto her plate. "What's wrong with you, anyway?"

"What?"

"You just look weird."

"I don't know. Nothing. Just thinking about – you know, how busy I am."

She nodded, and glanced about casually. "Where's Harry?"

"Doing quidditch stuff."

"Right."

Ron looked sidelong at her. Her eyes were fixed on her plate, and she seemed perfectly normal. Maybe she didn't like Harry at all, and he and Hermione were just reading more into the situation than they should.

Then again, as Hermione would have pointed out, he was a boy, and not very good at this intuitive stuff.

He pictured Harry and his sister together. The thought was a little odd – but actually kind of nice. Yeah. Nice. It'd be nice for Harry to have someone – someone decent like Ginny, anyway. He was pretty sure, if they did end up together, he'd be able to handle it.

And, unable to suppress the urge, he pictured himself and Hermione together.

"Oi," Ginny said, startling him.

"What? What do you want?"

"Nothing," she said, frowning. "I just asked you to pass the butter. Three times. What is wrong with you?"

He passed it, and wolfed down the rest of his food, concentrating fiercely. If he thought any more, he'd go crazy.

~

Ron went to the classroom after dinner. It had been a long, boring day, followed by an intense round of quidditch, in which Harry had shouted himself hoarse. Ginny ended up storming off the pitch, Harry had followed, and the rest of them immediately took the opportunity to abandon practice and escape back to the school.

So he wasn't exactly in the mood to be tutored. He felt tired and sore and still a bit hungry. In fact, he was considering how he might frame his apology and run for bed as he opened the door.

Hermione was standing with her back to him, nudging at a pile of heavy, red cushions with one foot. She turned when she heard him enter, and her face brightened.

"Hi," she said.

He abandoned all thought of leaving. She'd gone to so much trouble. And she was happy to see him.

"Hey," he said, coming all the way in. "You have cushions."

"They're from the common room," she said, and he suddenly recognised them.

"Right." He paused. "What are we going to do with them?"

"Not what you're thinking," she said archly.

He frowned at her, and then twigged. "I wasn't!" he protested. 

She laughed a little, and kicked a cushion corner into place. "I know. It's OK. They're for the jinxes we're going to practice."

"What jinxes?" he asked suspiciously, putting his quidditch bag on a desk (he'd taken it with him, straight from practice to dinner). He surveyed her from where he stood, and she looked innocently at him.

"Just a couple," she said. "For defence."

"Defence? Don't we get enough defence?"

"You can never have enough these days."

"And I'm alright at defence, too."

"I thought we'd start with something you might actually enjoy," she said dryly. "If you're confident in this, then you might feel better when we do, say, Potions."

Potions. Great.

"Where'd you find the jinxes?" he asked.

"Book."

"Of course," he muttered, and she looked sharply at him.

"What?"

"Nothing. I said 'of course'."

"I don't only know things from books," she said after a moment, a little stiffly. "Do you want me to tutor you or not?"

"I do," he said hastily. "I'm sorry. I'm just – worn out. Sorry. Look, I'm paying attention."

He sat on the nearest chair, pulling his wand out of his back pocket. Her stern expression faded somewhat.

"No," she said. She came forward and took hold of his arm, pulling him up. He allowed himself to be led over to the pile of cushions, so that his back was to them. Hermione faced him, and absently dusted something from his shoulder. "This is one to make your opponent fall."

"What's it called?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "The Falling Jinx."

"Ah," he said, feeling ridiculous. "And you're going to do it to me?"
She smiled a bit. "Just so you can see how it feels before you give it a go. I want to try it, anyway."

"Sure," he said dryly, steeling himself. "Well, fire away."

Hermione directed her wand at him, and spoke steadily: "Accido."

Ron's legs seemed to lose all feeling, and his balance upside-down-ed itself. He crumpled and fell, most of his body landing on the cushions. Hermione dropped on her knees beside him.

"Ron!" she said wildly. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he choked, sitting upright. His head spun, and he lay back down again. "Ow."

"Sorry." She bit her lip. "It worked, though."

"It definitely worked."

She helped him up, and rubbed his arm. "Come on," she said briskly. "You're fine. Don't be a baby."

He straightened immediately. "I'm not a baby. Let's see how you feel."

"Ah – we should practice the wand movements and everything first," she said quickly.    

She was probably right, so he practiced the movements, trying to copy her. It was harder than he'd imagined. She was more graceful than him, for a start. He flicked, she floated. There was no way he could imitate that. He went on trying for quite some time, but eventually had to give up.

"I can't do it like you," he said.

"That doesn't matter. You don't have to do it like me, you have to do it like you. You want to try the real thing?"

"What, on you?" he asked nervously, and she laughed.

"Of course. Who else?"

"I don't know. I don't want to hurt you."
She moved to stand with her back to the cushion pile, her smile fading into a certain seriousness. "Ron," she said firmly, "I trust you."

He looked at his feet. It was a strange thing to hear someone say that, and he felt the unfamiliar weight of responsibility settle onto his shoulders.

She trusted him. He had to do it properly. That was all that mattered.

"OK," he said, breathing out, and aiming his wand at her. She closed her eyes.

Graceful float, he thought fiercely, and then, with a wave, pronounced a clear: "Accido!"

She fell backwards onto her pillows, and he stepped forward uncertainly.

"'Mione?"

She moved – thank God she moved – and then forced herself into a sitting position.

"That does hurt," she grimaced. "Sorry."

"Well – at leat it works," he pointed out again. She smiled, and winced.

"You're right," she agreed. "And you did it. I knew you would if you put your mind to it. Help me up?"

Hermione held out a hand, and he took hold of it to pull her upwards. She was light, and her hands were much smaller than his, her fingers more slender. He'd never noticed that before. When she was standing, he found himself holding their still-joined hands up to look at them.

"Jeez," he said wonderingly. "You're tiny."

"No," she said. "You're just bigger than me."

He looked down at her, and she was looking up at him. He was bigger. Again, not something he'd really noticed. Hermione was Hermione, and those girly things about her – her small size, her legs, the gentle swing of her wand – had always slipped by him before.

"I guess I am," he agreed softly.

She frowned, just slightly, and it made a little furrow between her brows. They were still holding hands, and he didn't know why, or how he was going to stop.

But then a bell rang in his head – the bell that said what are you doing, don't embarrass yourself – and he quickly disentangled their fingers. Her arm dropped back to her side, and he moved away a few steps.

"Got anything else?" he asked, clearing his throat. "Any more spells?"

There was a brief silence. He looked at her from the corner of his eye – she was running a hand along her ponytail, like she always did when she was thinking.

"We've only really got decent time for one more tonight," she said. "If you want to. I thought it would be good for the underwater stuff we're doing."

Ron still couldn't look at her properly. He felt too tense. He hated feeling like this around her. He didn't understand it – he didn't understand himself.

"What is it?" he said, and she busied herself with a nearby book, reading from the description.

"A spell for the loss of breath, Examino will cause an opponent – even one operating an underwater air charm – to lose oxygen until they fall unconscious, or the counter-spell is performed. It can also be useful in acclimatising a person to underwater conditions, in which oxygen is not readily available."

"Sounds a bit dangerous," he said apprehensively.

"But useful."

Ron looked at her now, and couldn't fathom her expression.

"I want to," she said firmly. "We've got the counter-spell here. 

"Hermione …"

"Afraid?" she challenged.

"No," he said, "just worried. What if something happens and I can't get air back to you?"

"You will. Like I said, I trust you. And what's the worst that can happen? I fall unconscious." She paused. "Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I can't do dangerous things."

"I know!" He was exasperated now, the tension of a few short minutes ago fading a little. "I'm not saying you can't. I'm just saying –"

Hermione put her hands on her hips. He wouldn't have been surprised if she started tapping her foot.

"Fine," he sighed. "We'll do it. Show me."

She smiled, and demonstrated the correct pronunciation and wand positions. He felt much worse than before – that was falling over, and he'd experienced it himself. This was not being able to breathe, and he had no idea what the spell would feel like. 

Hermione had been right. He was afraid.

They practiced for almost twenty minutes before Hermione stopped him.

"That's good," she said. "Let's try it."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure," she said impatiently.

"OK." He hesitated. "You want to sit down?"

"Alright."
She took a seat in McGonagall's high-backed chair, and he came around the desk to face her. She was calm and composed. He felt like a nervous bloody wreck. He got down on his knees so that their faces were level – he didn't like standing over Hermione as though he was about to blast her.

"Right," he muttered, raising his wand and pointing it at her neck. His hand was shaking, and she saw.

"It's alright," she murmured. "Just focus. That's all this is about. Focus. OK?"

"OK," he said under his breath. He cleared his throat again, and then tried to clear his mind too. Finally, when he thought he was ready (as ready as he'd ever be), he spoke:

"Examino."

Light shot out of his wand and struck her. To his horror, he realised he'd closed his eyes as he spoke, and he opened them now. Hermione still looked calm, if a little strained.

"You alright?" he asked anxiously, and then wanted to kick himself, because she certainly couldn't have talked.

She nodded once, and bit her lip, clearly concentrating on the lack of air. He felt lost, and could only watch. Her face began to redden and she was frowning again, but heavily now, furiously. It was like watching a weight-lifter.

He didn't like it one bit.

"That's it," he said after a little while, standing up. "I'm doing the counter-curse."

She made no physical reply, and he assumed she was refusing him.

Fine, let her be stubborn, was his first thought, and he did nothing for half a minute, his whole body tense.

He waited for some kind of response, and still received none.

"Hermione," he said loudly, bending to see her face – and swore when he saw that her eyes were teary.

"What's wrong with you? You want to pass out?" he demanded, and she made a choking noise. "'Mione?"

Ron dropped back to his knees, and her face was desperate.

He understood.

She wanted air – she just couldn't tell him.

He felt like the worst man in the world.

"Fuck," he said, feeling himself go cold, and fumbled for the counter-spell, respiratio. It worked on his second attempt, and he felt such relief when the breath flooded into her that he nearly passed out himself.

Hermione took one long, slow breath, and then fell forward onto him, her arms around his neck. She was crying. In automatic response, he put his arms around her too, and held her hard.

"I'm so sorry," he said, close to her ear. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," she gasped. "I wanted you – to do the spell. I just – I couldn't breathe – and it was alright at first – and then it wasn't – and I wanted to tell you – but I couldn't – because I didn't have any air – Ron –"

And she sobbed into his shoulder. He'd never, ever seen Hermione cry like that, and it was horrible. He didn't know what to say to make her feel better, to reassure her, and so made pitiful, meaningless noises that he hoped helped a little. He'd never held a girl like this either, and didn't know the etiquette of it. Touch her hair? Her neck? He did his best, but was pretty sure his best wasn't enough.

The guilt was overpowering, too. He wished he was dead – more than that, he wished that whoever had invented that stupid spell was dead – or never been born – so he could never have invented it –

"Bloody hell," he said unsteadily, and then realised that she wasn't crying anymore. She was just leaning against his shoulder.

"Are you OK?" he said.

She nodded, pulling back, and wiped her face self-consciously. "Sorry. It's stupid to cry. I panicked."

"Shut up. It's all my fault."

"You shut up," she retorted hoarsely. "It's all mine. I was too ambitious – I'm always too ambitious." She trailed off, and looked miserable.

"You're the smartest witch in the world," Ron said, "so I don't know what you're talking about. But Merlin, you scared me."

Hermione looked at him, and her face was streaked with tears, and still a little red from lack of air.

"Thanks," she said quietly. "For doing the counter-spell."

"You're welcome."

There was a pregnant silence, and then he stood, lifting her to her feet as he did so.

"Are you OK?" he said again.

"Fine," she replied, smiling shakily. "Don't be stupid, I'm fine now. Honestly."

Ginny chose that moment to walk in.

"Oh," she said, seeing Hermione's wet face and Ron's hand on her shoulder, and making as though to leave. "Excuse me."

"No, no," Hermione and Ron said quickly, almost in unison.

Ginny turned back. "What?"

"We're done," said Hermione.

"Er – yes," agreed Ron. "Done."

"Right," Ginny said shrewdly, looking from one to the other. "OK. I thought I'd see if you fancied a chat, 'Mione."

"Come up to my room," she said, walking over to her. Ron picked up his quidditch bag and followed, feeling somehow as though he'd been caught misbehaving.

Which he hadn't been. Because nothing had happened.

Out in the corridor, Hermione turned to Ron. "Me and Ginny are going this way. That was a good session. You should show Lupin tomorrow. Or we'll do it at the D.A."

"Hermione – are you sure –" he began uncertainly, but found he couldn't voice his thoughts in front of Ginny.

"I'm fine," Hermione said briskly. "And I'll see you tomorrow. Let's – do this again, OK?"

"Right. Just not examino."

"Right," she said, laughing a little forcedly. "Night."

"Night."

She and Ginny disappeared round the corner, and he made his way back to the common room alone. He didn't mention what had happened to Harry, and soon went to bed. He felt tired, even more so than usual, but sleep was surprisingly elusive.

It was in this half-awake state that he realised something else.

He'd liked holding Hermione like that. He'd like being able to touch her, and having her close.

He liked having her close in general.

What did it mean?

He went to sleep with visions of tear-struck faces, bare legs, and a head on his shoulder.

~

Latin Translations

Accido – to fall

Exanimo – to take away the breath of; to wind, stun, weaken.

Respiratio – taking breath