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Chapter 3: "There Isn't Anything . . ."

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Madam Pomfrey's assessment was right: it was nearly a week before Ron did wake up. For the first day or so, Harry kept checking back in the infirmary every few hours. After he'd tried to explain to Professor Dumbledore what had happened, he'd scrambled out of the headmaster's office all the way down there just in case.

The twins were in to see Ron almost every day. They kept reassuring everyone who inquired that there was absolutely nothing wrong with their brother, and that it was merely a ploy for sympathy from pretty girls, but Harry saw that they never laughed very long or very hard after they made the joke. Ginny wouldn't even smile at it.

Harry whiled away the rest of his time trying to play against himself in chess, the way Ron did when he was bored. Somehow it didn't seem to work, and Harry found himself not caring what happened to any of his stupid pieces. One particularly awful game, he swept all of the other pieces off of the board and set the two kings next to each other, just to see what would happen. He hadn't realised, he thought to himself later, that chess pieces could use such colourful language, particularly when referencing the person directing them. 

Hermione took nervous, extra-lengthy notes in every class. She even enchanted a quill to transcribe Divination lessons, because, as she told Harry,

"Worthless, pathetic waste of time or not, he's got to pass exams, and your notes are completely illegible."

"You can read them," Harry protested weakly.

"That," Hermione replied airily, "is because I'm incredibly bright and have had nearly three years of Arithmancy codes to practise breaking." Harry mock-glared at her, but he didn't honestly mind. It wasn't like he used the notes he took in Trelawney's class anyway. The notes were really just an excuse to draw absolutely lovely doodles of himself beating Malfoy at Quidditch.

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Harry was bending over a exceptionally awful brew in Potions when Professor McGonagall opened the dungeon door. Snape did not look happy with the interruption—his naturally sour face took on an even nastier appearance. Professor McGonagall, if she noticed at all, didn't acknowledge the shift in the Potion instructor's demeanour.

"Mr Potter. Miss Granger." She uttered their names in a crisp, business-like tone. Harry and Hermione looked at each other and then stepped forward. "Come with me, please."

"Both Mr Potter and Miss Granger are in the middle of an important Potions lesson, Professor McGonagall. If you need them, perhaps it would be best served that you speak with them during your own lessons."

"That well may be," and here she paused for a moment "Severus. But I have been instructed by Professor Dumbledore to take both Miss Granger and Mr Potter up to visit the newly conscious Mr Weasley. Perhaps you might take your grievance up with the headmaster." Harry could barely keep the grin off of his face, but for the sake of any remaining chance of a less than horrible rest of term in Potions, he did so.

Snape's mouth set in a thin line and he gave a curt nod. Harry snatched up his things and hurried out, with Hermione immediately behind. He didn't fancy attending the next couple of Potions lesson, but at least they got out of this one. And Ron was awake. That was worth more than a few unpleasant sessions with Professor Snape.

Professor McGonagall left them at the door to the infirmary. "You may go in. If you have any other lessons this afternoon, you must attend them. Otherwise, you may spend as much time as Madam Pomfrey will allow you." She turned and walked away, probably back towards the Transfiguration classroom.

They had to walk past a few other students who had ended up in the ward—some had the obvious marks of a Potions class gone horribly wrong (Harry thanked his lucky stars that he'd managed to escape most of the lesson when he saw them), and others whom Harry recognised from the Quidditch field appeared to be nursing some unpleasant Bludger-related injuries.

He sat down next to Ron, who was sitting up and looking quite cheery for being where he was. Hermione seated herself and dropped her book bag on the other side of the bed, while Harry opened his jumbled backpack and took out the envelope he'd been carrying around ever since Ron had been out. His best friend accepted it with a grin. A pile of other cards, accumulated during the week, sat on the table next to Ron's bed, and an already half-eaten box of sweets from the twins and Ginny was open on top of the cards. 

"Ginny and Gred and Forge were in just a bit ago. That's the best part about getting hurt," Ron said cheekily. "Everyone gives you presents and sweets. If only you didn't actually have to get all smashed up first." He opened the envelope. "Harry! It's the limited edition Maimonides! The one where he actually comes out of the back and guilt-trips the other cards! Brilliant! Wow, thanks!" He grinned. "Now all I need is a packet of sugar quills and my day is complete." He looked around forlornly. "Haven't got any of those. But there's hope yet. I've only been up for a couple of hours."

"I've got something for you, too," Hermione rummaged around in her bookbag. Ron grinned expectantly. She pulled out a large binder and plopped it down in front of him. He opened it and began to read the first page

" 'Transfiguration; Lecture da'—you brought me notes?" Ron looked incredulous. "NOTES?"

"Well, yes." Hermione said defensively. "You've got to catch up on your work. Snape isn't going to let you get out of the quizzes coming up, is he?"

"I suppose not," Ron said ruefully. He accepted the huge binder and set it on his lap. Harry just stared. That was a lot of reading. How Hermione kept from having a stroke amazed him. Ron looked at the papers he was holding "Um, thank you."

Hermione started to pull even more out of her backpack. "And I've got thi—"

Before she got it all the way out, Ron held up his hand. "Hermione, I've already got these. I can't do it all now."

"But—"

"I'll read them later. I promise. Promise. No more for now."

"Ron, it's no—"

"Later."

"Fine. If that's what you want." Hermione sighed, resigned, and closed her bag. "Later, then." She stood up and looked at her watch. "Potions is over. That's it for me, then. I'm going back to Gryffindor. There's an exam coming up in Arithmancy, and I have to get on it."

"You don't have to go yet," Ron protested. "You and Harry need to stay here and keep me from the clutches of Gred and Forge—I bet they're just searching for ways to do something to me while I'm up here. Lucky about the sweets there. I almost wouldn't eat them until I saw Ginny was in on it, too. She wouldn't try anything. At least—not right now. Anyway, the twins won't try anything if you two are around. Something about 'best behaviour' and Mum threatening them after what they did to Harry this summer."

Harry winced. That had not been particularly fun. No matter what the twins might have thought, it was not funny to land in the fireplace of the "All Nude Witches/All the Time" theatre, at the edge of where Knockturn Alley met Diagon Alley. For one thing, all of the paying clientele were quite surprised when he, a fifteen-year-old, completely dressed boy, managed to stumble out of the hearth onto the enchanted, undulating dance stage. And then after he'd dizzily climbed off, trying not to knock over any of the leggy glamoured-up women dancing, nor to stare very hard at their obvious lack of apparel, he'd staggered, head spinning from the rotating stage, out of the theatre to find the Weasleys standing there.

He hadn't imagined it had looked very good to anyone. Mrs. Weasley especially did not appear impressed. However, she immediately seemed to sense who was responsible and Fred and George had spent the rest of the day on a rather short leash. Literally.

That day Harry had made a note to himself—never anger a woman who is more than competent with a wand.

On the plus side, though, he had ended up with a couple extra packets of Floo Powder ("in case of 'emergency'," Mr Weasley had said, winking), which he supposed were still somewhere in one of his robes' pockets.

He shook his head and tuned back into the conversation before him.

Hermione was still trying to leave, saying "Ron, do you want me to fail?"

"You won't fail!" Ron insisted, but it was too late. Hermione was gone. He sighed and leaned back against the headboard. He stared at the pile of paperwork on his lap. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "How can anyone get this much out of Binns' lectures?"

"Look," Harry said, "If you want, I can sneak those back to the dorm and stow them under your bed. You can just tell Hermione you've read them, and she won't have to know."

"Yes, but that wouldn't be nice, would it?" Ron said softly. "She did go to all the trouble of making them. I might as well at least get through this, eh? Since I'm not going to be allowed out of here for another couple of days and all. And I do have to catch up. I don't think I could handle that other stack, too, but I'll read these."

"What'll you do with the other notes?" Harry asked.

"I'm hoping she forgets about giving them to me." Ron grimaced. "There's only so far I'll go for make-up work." Harry gave him a sceptical look. "What?"

"You think Hermione will forget about the other notes she has?"

"I could get lucky," Ron said hopefully.

"Right," Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course you will."

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Ron was back in class the next day, miserable.  

"Pomfrey kicked me out," he moaned as they walked down the hall towards Professor McGonagall's class.  "Said I was too cheerful about being there. Well, I'm not cheerful now. I hate this," he complained. "Can't they let off a bit after you get knocked on your skull?"

Harry was really only half-listening as Ron went on about laughter clearly not being the best medicine in the school nurse's opinion. He was trying to listen to Hermione correct his homework as they continued down the corridor.

She was leaning over the notebook in his hand as they continued down the hall. "Look, Harry, what you have to do is you need to change this part of the incantation. You've got it all perfectly right up until there—but that little error is throwing the whole thing of—" Hermione was suddenly interrupted by someone speaking loudly behind them.

"It's so conscientious that Potter and Granger have condescended to join the rest of the school in class when they could be on another one of their little romantic sessions trying to bring more disgusting half-bloods into the world." The sickeningly sweet voice caught Harry's attention and he whirled around. Hermione's eyes narrowed and Ron looked fit to kill.

"How very adorable." Pansy Parkinson was smiling a gooey, fake smile. "Although I really don't know what the two of you are going to do with that loser Weasley there after the wedding. Maybe he can sleep at the foot of your—" Before Harry could pull out his wand and give Pansy a nasty and hopefully painful hexing, he heard Hermione cut the other girl off mid-sentence.

"Oh, honestly!" She had lost her temper and any semblance of Prefect composure. "Yes. Yes, Pansy, you—you of the remedial Transfiguration classes—have figured out the torrid secret that we have tried to hide in Gryffindor. Harry Potter and I are desperately in love and have been having a secret affair for years." She rested the back of her hand against her forehead. "My heart doth belong to Harry. I but swoon at the thought of him."

A very startled Harry found himself holding Hermione, who had dramatically propelled herself backwards into his arms and across his notebook. As suddenly as she had draped herself over him, she righted herself and continued loudly on her tirade.

"Because, as you well know, it is impossible for two people to be friends without them desperately needing to snog each other. Might want to let Malfoy in on that, Pansy. I'm sure that he's unaware of that rule."

The Slytherin paled considerably.

"Or I could be wrong." Hermione looked up at Harry and Ron. "Do you two find yourselves making out when I'm not around?"

They managed to shake their heads. Ron was gaping at her. "Oh. Well. Then it is possible to be friends without all of that. Huh. Poor Pansy. And here I thought she might actually have had a clue. Shame."

She swept into the classroom. The boys followed, leaving a speechless Pansy behind.

They walked around the other students, some of whom were staring at Hermione with almost as much shock as Pansy had, and took their seats.

"Wow, Hermione. That was something else." Harry was in awe of his friend, who was currently rifling through her bag for a notebook. She shrugged, still engrossed in the contents of her book bag.

"Shouldn't have lost my temper. Really, I should just have ignored her. I should have remembered to be the bigger person and not let her get to me." At this point, Ron seemed to find his voice.

"Be the bigger person? Hermione, she and the other Slytherins say cutting things to you every day. You ignore them and ignore them and they don't stop. You lose your temper twice in five years and you think you're the one who's got a problem?" He made a face. "I thought what you did was great." Hermione's mouth quirked up a little as she pulled out her book.

"Yes, well. It was satisfying. But don't expect to see me doing that again soon."

"Of course not, oh Prefect Hermione." Ron rolled his eyes. "Anyway, do either of you have an extra quill?" He looked sheepish.

"You forgot again?" Harry rummaged around in his bag, found a slightly battered quill and handed it to his friend.

"No, I just had one, but I sort of—broke mine. Stupid fragile things. They ought to make them sturdier." Ron regarded his ink-stained fingers and the fresh smudges on his textbook from carrying it. "Doesn't matter, I'll get a new one later. Thanks, Harry."

"You really should be more careful," Hermione said absently, flipping through the pages of her Transfiguration homework.  Ron ignored her. 

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They left Transfiguration and Harry frowned, continuing on with the train of thought he'd abandoned partway through class in favour of catching the escaping half-mouse/half ice-cream cone that had taken off from his desk, leaving a drippy mess. What was this whole thing about anyway? He hadn't had any more dreams, and the masked wizards hadn't put in any more appearances that he knew of. Dumbledore hadn't really given him any answers about what any of it meant

"They wanted something." Hermione said, as if reading his mind. "They were looking for something."

"Well, yeah." Ron raised an eyebrow at her, cottoning on to what she was talking about. "Kind of obvious there. Not what I'd expect out of a Prefect." Hermione pointedly did not respond to him.

"Whatever it is," Harry said grimly, "it's got to do with that paper. We need to get it."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other and then at Harry, their faces set in agreement. 

"We'll do it," Hermione said quietly.

"Of course we'll do it." Ron stated, as though there was no other way for it to be. "All we've got to do is figure out what the paper is and get it before any of those Death-Eaters do. It's just like the Philosopher's Stone first year. Easy."

Hermione was raising her hand as if she was already in their next class. Harry and Ron exchanged a look. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Hermione?" he said.

"Erm—not to put a damper on this, but what if they do find it first?" Her voice was small. "How will we get it then?"

"We take it." Ron shrugged. "We'll figure that out if it happens and we have to."

Harry felt a bit uneasy about having that as the plan. He had thought that they might do some actual preparation before they leaped into this. Even just an hour of thinking would come up with something a touch more specific than what Ron suggested. He was about to open his mouth and say so, when Hermione beat him to the punch

"We can't just go in with that as our back-up plan," she complained. "That's not a plan. That's not even an idea. What if someone gets hurt?" Her eyes were worried. Ron raised an eyebrow.

"Well," he joked, running his hand through his hair, "it wouldn't be the first time. I'm sure it won't be the last, either. Should get our pyjamas ready for the upcoming stay in the infirmary. Or figure out appropriate epitaphs. Leave notes for the next-of-kin." Hermione whipped around.

Harry hadn't realised how very strong his other friend was. She was maybe only three or so inches shorter than his five feet ten, but he was used to thinking of her as "the girl," and hadn't anticipated that she'd have any real physical power. So when Hermione pinned Ron back against the corridor wall by his shoulders, Harry was more than a little surprised. Ron looked shocked as Harry and he didn't even appear to resist. 

"That's not happening." She glared at the tall boy. "It's not. That's not even funny. Not at all. Don't you ever joke about that. There isn't anything that could make that funny. Do you understand me?" She was looking at him with that strange, determined expression that she got sometimes. "I'm not going to lose you." She turned to Harry. "Either of you." She let go of Ron and fled. Harry saw tears in her eyes as she stormed off, probably towards the girls' dormitory.

Ron, still looking stunned, stared after her. "What the hell was that?" he demanded.

Harry shook his head slowly, gaping. "I have no idea. I don't think I want to know."

Ron shrugged nervously. They stood there a minute, silently, until Ron said, "Harry, you know I don't mean it, don't you? I don't really think we'll get killed. We can't." He grinned, still a bit uncomfortably, "After all, you're the hero and we're your trusty sidekicks. Ruins the show if anything happens to us. Ratings would drop." 

Harry looked back. "You're not a sidekick, Ron. You're a lot better than that. You shouldn't think that about yourself." Ron's smile faded, but the expression in his eyes was in some way better than a smile. Harry went on quickly, as this was becoming a bit weird. Some things people should just know and save you the trouble of having to say them.

He tried to lighten the mood. "I'm not much of a hero anyway." Ron seemed puzzled. "Heroes have beautiful women falling all over them. Show me a long queue of them after me and then we'll talk he—" Harry's sentence was interrupted by Ron cuffing him on the back of the head.

"Beautiful women? You want BEAUTIFUL women? Are you saying my sister's ugly? She was mad about you!" He snorted. "Probably still is. Not the point, though."

"I'm not saying anything about your sister. Nothing. I'll just get myself in trouble." Harry held his hands up defensively.

"Oh, I see. So there's something for you to get in trouble about. What have you been doing to my baby sister?" Ron advanced on Harry, a bit menacingly. "What were you doing while I was unconscious?"

"Nothing! I swear! Nothing! Remember? I like Cho! CHO!" Harry turned bright red as he realised how very loudly he'd said that.

 "So you haven't done anything with Ginny?"

"NO! Of course not."

" 'Of course not?' Is there something wrong with her? She's smart, funny—and I've heard the fourth-years in our dormitory raving about her looks. Before they know I'm liste—" Ron suddenly mouthed silently like a fish out of water and clutched his throat. He turned an angry shade of scarlet and glared at Harry.

Harry put his wand back in his pocket and fled.

That had been a particularly effective Muting Charm.   

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