A/N: Sorry, am sick right now, and my writing-brain wouldn't work last night. I think I overdosed it with Soothers cough drops. Must stop eating them before I actually turn into a blackberry. Here we go. ~longlive83~ Shez … PS – First day of summer/winter! Hello, new world!

~

"I hate playing Ravenclaws," Ron mumbled. "Have you seen my scarf?"

"Why do you hate playing them?" Hermione asked, lifting it from the back of her desk-chair and slinging it over one of his shoulders.

"Because. They're so bloody – smug."

"Right."

It was the middle of March, a month since Hagrid's return, and Ron had come to Hermione's room to escort her down to the quidditch pitch. So far Gryffindor had won against Slytherin and Hufflepuff. Slytherin had beaten Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Gryffindor were now playing Ravenclaw. According to Harry, if they won this game, they took out the Quidditch Cup right away. If they lost, Slytherin and Gryffindor would play in a grand final.

Ron never really understood the progression of quidditch from quarters to semis to finals, and so on. He let Harry do the work.

And Harry was doing the work. He'd thrown himself back into quidditch with a passion that was almost frightening. He seemed to be flying every day, practice or no, and at odd hours. When Ron asked him why, he said he was just keeping in shape. He and Ginny had a massive row one night because he'd gone flying in heavy rain, without telling anybody where he'd disappeared.

Sometimes, Ron would look at him, and the expression in his eyes was both hard and desperate. The weight of responsibility lay heavy on his shoulders. He was frequently depressed and snappy.

Ginny did her best, but Ron knew she was worried about Harry too. She didn't seem to be sleeping very well, and Hermione told him that she'd burst into tears one night and sobbed her heart out for half an hour before assuring Hermione that absolutely nothing was wrong.

Ron hated that lie. Something was definitely fucking wrong here. It was changing everything, and its name was Voldemort.

"You ready?" Hermione asked, standing on tiptoes to plant a kiss on his forehead.

"Yeah. Crappy – er, not very nice weather for it."

Hermione ignored his slip and glanced out the window, nodding. It was gloomily overcast. At least the snow was gone.

"What can you do?" she said, and Ron shrugged.

They made their way downstairs in the direction of the Great Hall. Hermione was rather quiet, and Ron was just about to ask her if anything was the matter when she turned and asked: "Have you noticed something different about Malfoy lately?"

He physically paused, but recovered quickly enough to keep in step with her.

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "I know you're not exactly best friends …"

Ron snorted, and she ignored this too.

"But you always seem to be in one another's paths," she continued. "So maybe you know something. I just – I don't know. He's very withdrawn. He's always showing up late for patrol and saying he forgot. He won't look me in the eye when he speaks to me, either. It's just – strange, is all."

Ron chewed his lip. Maybe Malfoy, for once in his nasty life, had actually followed through on his promise. He'd backed off Hermione, and to tell the truth, he'd backed off Ron and Harry as well. He was withdrawn – and it was fantastic.

"I don't know," Ron said vaguely. "I haven't been paying much attention."
At that moment, they came out into the sunlight, and Ron saw the crowds streaming down to the pitch.

"I think I'm late. Got to go, love." He kissed her swiftly, and then strode down to the pitch and the change-rooms on long legs. Harry was already in his robes and tapping one foot with almost comical impatience.

"Sorry," Ron said breathlessly, and Harry spun about.

"You're late."

"I know. I said sorry."

"Get changed, we've got ten minutes."

Ron made the fastest change of his life, and when he was done found the entire team huddled around Harry for the pre-game pep talk. Ron joined the circle, not wanting to miss out, and discovered that Harry wasn't saying anything. He was just standing there, silent.

"Harry …" Ginny began uncertainly, and then Harry stepped back.

"I don't want to speak this morning," he said abruptly. "Just play hard, and stay focussed. Come on, let's go."
He moved out into the corridor, Ginny at his side, Ron close behind. Ginny was murmuring to Harry, and though he felt somewhat awkward, Ron couldn't avoid overhearing.

"Are you OK?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"I'm fine."

"Harry, why won't you talk to me?"

Harry stopped walking and faced her. "Don't hassle me," he said loudly. "I hate it. I don't want to talk to you. Just leave me alone."

He went on out to the pitch, the rest of the team trailing uncomfortably behind, while Ginny remained where she was, eyes on the ground. Ron stayed with her until he heard McGonagall's voice echoing out over the stands, announcing the game's beginning.

"Hey, Gin," he said softly. "We've really got to go."

"I know." She looked up, and there were tears at the corner of her eyes, but also a grim determination. "Sorry. Come on."

She made for the field at a half-run, and Ron had to wonder, as he followed her, just how long Ginny would be able to stand Harry's uncommunicative bad temper.

~

The game was going well, for the most part. Alice was a little off-form, and Harry nearly got into a fight with a Ravenclaw beater when Ginny took a blow to the head, but apart from that, things were great.

In fact, Ron was just beginning to get comfortable when he suddenly saw the Snitch. It was hovering just by the right goalpost, practically begging to be caught. He knew it wouldn't stick there for long, and immediately glanced around for Harry, hoping that he was nearby. He was in luck – Harry was floating to his left.

"Pst! Oi!" Ron hissed.

Harry made no reaction, and the Snitch fled. Ron sighed.

"Hey, Harry," he said, and still, no reaction. Odd. Usually Harry's senses were completely attuned to every movement and sound during quidditch.

Ron flew closer, hoping the Ravenclaw's weren't heading his way, and frowned at his friend. Harry's face was blank – his eyes looked almost glazed over. He was motionless too, only his broom bobbing slightly in the updraught.

Ron, worried now, moved near enough to poke Harry in the leg, even as a bludger went flying past the both of them.

Harry 'woke' immediately. He seemed startled and disoriented for a few seconds, and then swore and was himself, spinning away from Ron and out over the pitch.

It was only a few moments of distraction, but it was enough. Ravenclaw caught the Snitch twenty seconds later.

~

"It doesn't matter, mate," Ron said.

Someone had organised an After Quidditch Party (in anticipation of their win, Ron thought, but they obviously hadn't wanted to cancel the food), and they were sitting in the common room with glasses of Butterbeer. Hermione and Ginny were nowhere in sight.

"Yes it does," Harry muttered.

"It doesn't."

"It does."

"We're still in the final."

"We should have won today."

"But we didn't, tough shit."

"It's my fault."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Harry," Ron snapped. He couldn't stand it when Harry did this. "What's wrong with you?"

Harry was silent for a moment.

"Nothing," he muttered eventually, and took a long swig of beer.

"Nothing? Right. Nothing is what's making you so hard to live with. This is like being back in fifth year."

"Sorry, I was a little preoccupied in fifth year, what with people dying and all," Harry said angrily, but Ron cut him off.

"Don't give me that," he said. "We all had stuff happening then. What about us with Percy? It's bullshit. You're scared now, and that's OK, but don't take it out on your friends, or yourself, and especially not on Ginny."

"I'm not –" Harry began, but again Ron wouldn't let him finish.

"You know she was crying her eyes out the other night?"

Harry looked away for a while, and then back at Ron. "Was she?" he asked hoarsely, and Ron nodded. He felt almost exhausted with these revelations. Harry was frowning and shaking his head slightly.

"I just don't want to talk about it," he said. "And she doesn't understand."

"It's not like you explain," Ron pointed out.

They sat in silence for some time, and then Harry abruptly stood and walked off. Ron presumed (well, hoped) that he was going to look for Ginny and apologise, and settled back in his chair just as Hermione threw herself down beside him. He jumped and nearly spilt his beer.

"Sorry," she said absently, taking it out of his hand and putting it on the floor. "Did I see you speaking to Harry?"

"Yeah. I gave him what-for."

"You did?"

"Well, kinda. I mentioned Ginny crying."

"Ron!" she said, and slapped him.

"Ow, what?"

"That's private!"

"Well, he got up nearly right away to find her."

"Oh. Did he?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Good, then." She paused, and pushed hair out of her face. "What happened today?"

"With Harry?"

"I don't know. You two were just strange all afternoon."

Ron shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. It's like he stopped paying attention to the game, at one point, and when he started again, it was too late and they had the Snitch."

"Harry?" she said disbelievingly. "Not paying attention in quidditch?"

"Seems so. I think he's really screwed up about this whole Voldemort coming back thing."

"Oh, you think?" she said sarcastically, and he pointed a finger at her.

"Be nice."

Hermione sighed. "There's something behind it all, though," she said quietly. "There's something he's not telling us."

Ron watched her. He loved it when she got all serious and thoughtful. She didn't even notice his eyes on her, but went on staring at the carpet. Sometimes he'd see her like this, and all he'd want to do was kiss her – kiss her, and then maybe take her clothes off, and carry her all the way to her room –

He stopped himself quickly. It was best not to go there, especially in a public place.

"I think you're right," he said, clearing his throat.

Hermione took a sip of his Butterbeer, and then put the glass back on the ground.

"Want to go to my room?" she asked, and he raised his eyebrows, recalling his mild fantasy of a few moments before. She flushed briefly. "Not for that. I want to show you my letter to your mother."

Ron practically fell off his seat. "My – my mother?"

She nodded innocently. "Yes. What's the problem?"

"You're writing to my mother?"

"Just this one letter."
He narrowed his eyes. "It's not about me, is it?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Yes, Ron, I'm reporting you to your parents."

"Don't joke about that!" he said, alarmed. "What's this letter for?"

"She wrote to ask if I wanted to come on holidays with all of you in the summer, to stay at the Burrow and then go on to Bristol, maybe."

"Really?"

"I'm replying now."

"Are you – accepting?"

"If that's alright with you."

He broke into a slow grin. "'Mione, having you along would be the best part of the holiday."

"Right," she said, breathing out. She seemed relieved. "I wondered how to bring it up."

"What, you really thought I wouldn't want you there?"

"No. I don't know. I don't know – what you're family would think – of you and me –" She trailed off uncertainly, and Ron blinked at her.

"My family loves you," he said confusedly. "What are you talking about?"

"OK, OK." She hesitated. "And I feel a bit strange too, organising anything – when we don't even know if we'll be able to follow through with all our plans."

"Because of Voldemort?" She nodded, and he nudged her. "Remember what I said about not letting him ruin our lives?"
Hermione nodded again, and rubbed her nose a little before standing up.

Well, come on, you have to read my reply and see if it's alright."

"It'll be alright."

"Ron. Humour me, and read it anyway."
~

In the hall, they bumped into Lupin. He seemed very flustered. His hair was sticking up from running his hands through it.

"Oh, Hermione. And Ron. Hello."

"Hello, Professor," they said, in near unison, but Lupin didn't appear to be listening.

"Yes, have you seen Harry?"

"Harry?" Hermione looked at Ron, who looked at Lupin.

"I spoke to him a little while ago, sir," he said. "I don't know where he's got to. Why?"

"He was supposed to see Dumbledore and I tonight," Lupin said vaguely. "Very important meeting."

"Defence-related?" Hermione asked, and now Lupin glanced at her, quite sharply.

"Yes, actually. Defence-related." He clenched his jaw. "I can't believe he's forgotten. If you see him, will you send him to Dumbledore's office please?"

"Of course."

Lupin walked briskly away, and Ron and Hermione met eyes.

Neither of them imagined that Harry had forgotten. He just didn't want to think about Voldemort.

~

Later that night, returning from Hermione's room and some extended snogging, Ron – in a bit of a post-make-out daze – got turned around somehow, and ended up passing the Room of Requirement. He would have gone on but he could hear something happening inside, and stopped to make sure it was nothing untoward, his Prefect conscience rising up unexpectedly.

Thank Merlin he didn't go in. Within about two seconds, he'd identified the voices as Harry's and Ginny's, and the sounds as being the sounds of – well –

He hurried on back to the dorm. Harry and Ginny may have patched things up, but he was pretty sure they wouldn't appreciate his lurking about in the corridor. He'd ask Harry about his missed appointment with Lupin and Dumbledore in the morning … and let him enjoy life for a while tonight.

--