A/N: Again another delay in updates: Apologies, but here it is the chapter, the longest one yet!

The same night – Gryffindor Common Room

Ron was not doing himself any favours. Or Hermione. Or Hermione's unfinished Herbology questions. The incessant foot tapping initially was like a hollow drum beat echoing inside Hermione's skull. However she found over the course of an hour, the tapping noise reverberating inside her head had the drilling intensity to cause cerebral damage. Tap...thud...tap...thud...Toe then Heel. Toe then Heel. Her frayed nerve endings were beyond repair, wedged between splintered skull bones, skewered soft tissue and battered continually by the resonance of a thousand cross-cutting echoes. She clenched the quill tighter, ground her teeth together and tried to pick up her train of thought from where it had been derailed. Herbology homework and the extraction process of the digitalis compound from foxgloves. Of the what?

Ron sighed. Oh...and what a sigh it was. Hermione lifted her eyes off the page for the fourth time that minute to glare pointedly at Harry, also sprawled on one of the sofas of the Gryffindor common room. Do something. She mouthed.

He shrugged. "Like what?"

Anything.

He got the message.

"Ron. Are you alright, mate?" He leaned forwards in the armchair facing his friend.

Ron closed his book in his lap. "Yeah. Yeah. It's all good." His quavering voice held as much conviction as a rabbit caught in headlights.

Harry said awkwardly. "Oh...okay. Well that's good." He paused unsure of what to do next and then resumed his work.

Hermione could have hit someone. Anyone. Harry. She gestured animatedly at him to try again. She leaned back on the sofa she was sharing with Ron. Big bold hand gestures similar to wings flapping were made behind Ron's hunched over head, in exasperation.

"What?" There was a puzzled expression on Harry's face.

She tried again. Talk to him. Ask him what's wrong.

You try. Harry mouthed.

Hermione's mouth screwed up in irritation. "You are not getting out of this Harry Potter."

"Harry can you help me carry some books up the stair case." She said in a sing-song voice. It was unbelievable how none of them had yet to master subtlety. She pulled him into a corner out of earshot. "We both know what is wrong with him and it has to do with you."

"Not my fault, he's buckling under pressure."

"Just calm him down."

"Hermione, you're the woman here. You're much better at than I am.

"Don't you dare start comparing me to his mother. He needs to hear about his quidditch skills and you're best person to tell him he will be fine."

"He will be fine." Harry affirmed.

"Yes, he will...eventually."

"Of course."

She stilled, realising his current tactic. "You are still going to talk to him Harry, regardless of whether or not he will be fine."

"I don't know what more I can say."

"Mione." Ron bleated. It was amazing how the tremble of his voice made a three syllable name sound like it was made of seven. "What neutralises ..."

She interrupted. "Black Calaber beans." She had finished the same question five minutes ago.

"Thank you." He said and silently continued. The only sound to break was scratching of his goose quill on parchment.

Both Hermione and Harry flinched as if hit by a lightning bolt. That was it? They looked at each other. Harry was now fully grasping the gravity of the current situation. Hermione was first to ask. "Ron, are you stuck on anything else? Is there anything else in your homework you want to ask me?" Because in normal circumstances, 'thank you' was omitted and replaced with a second or third question, depending on how many there was to the end of the page.

He puckered his brow. "No, why?"

Hermione gulped. "No, it's nothing, nothing at all." She looked away towards a rain splattered window; avoiding Harry's equally shocked expression and tried to calm her heart.

Harry scratched his head wondering his previous effort at counselling had been adequate at all. "This isn't about tomorrow's game is it?"

"No, of course not. It's all cool."

"Yeah...yeah." harry cleared his throat. "Then," He said studiously avoiding Hermione's burning death glare. "Then...we are all good." He sat back down in the sofa and took his shoes off.

Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. Hermione cupped a hand over her open mouth. She was about to question him once more when the girl's dormitory door opened, and Katie Bell appeared in a loosely tied nightgown. "Hermione, can you come upstairs?"

"What's happened?" She asked.

"Alicia has just slipped on the tiles in the bathroom. I think she's sprained her wrist."

Harry sat up bolt upright. "Sprained her wrist?"

Ron stuttered. "But what about the g...game tomorrow with slytherin?

Katie shrugged. "I don't think she can play."

"Are we still 'all good', Harry?" Hermione kinked her brow, unable to resist having the last dig at him.

Next morning

All was not well with the Golden Trio. Not well at all. Potions with Slughorn was the first lesson of the morning and surprisingly enough potions was not responsible for the distinctively foul mood that followed Ron, Harry and Hermione the way to the Dungeons. Harry walked in the middle and slightly ahead of the other two. His glasses sat askew on the bridge of his nose, his hair a frizzy tangle. He was on autopilot, his body pre-programmed to arrive at his designated destination, though in mind and spirit he was miles away. He moistened his lips, and then continued mouthing the internal dialogue he was having with his Higher Self: who would replace an injured Alicia Spinnet from his non-existent pool of substitutions?

The Quidditch match with Slytherin was a short few hours away, and being his third game as Captain, he was feeling reeling from previous harrowing defeat at the hands of Ravenclaw. Gryffindor had to win. As captain, Harry had to win. He was also a little concerned about his recently selected Keeper and that keeper was...

Ron. Ron who walked like the living dead. He had chewed his fingernails to the point his fingers looked too short to be able to grip the broomstick. His breathing was shallow and laboured to the point every step was a sheer exertion of will.

Hermione who was also lost in thought was on a different topic entirely. However it was a topic very dear to her. Instead of carrying her school bag, she carried a stack of textbooks that included late returns to the library. Heaven forbid. Her eyes darted to either side of the corridor focusing on various members of her year. She then muttered furiously to herself like a mad woman.

The silence was broken eventually.

"Slughorn can only make three recommendations."

Harry jolted back into real-time. "What?" He snapped.

"Huh?" came a pathetic whimper from Ron.

Hermione let out a long ragged breath, "For choosing prefects. Only three recommendations allowed per teacher."

Harry scowled at the rude interruption of his thoughts. He had to stay focused on the task in hand. Constant vigilance!

Ron scratched his head, not fully understanding what Hermione was taking about and gave up trying to follow her line of thought.

Hermione said resigned. "He's going to give it to Malfoy."

Ron jumped, startled. "No, I won't." He said defensively. He looked at his own trembling hands, and prayed they would hold onto the quaffle tight.

Hermione continued, obliviously. "Yes, definitely Malfoy. Probably Nott and maybe Goldstein."

Harry ground his teeth in spiking annoyance. "Goldstein is not on the team. It's Montague and Pucey we've got to watch out for."

She sighed. "But Blaise Zabini's got a good chance too."

Harry muttered, more as a reassurance to himself. "He's been dropped. Too lazy. He never made it to practice on time." His voice trailed off, his attention turning to another high priority quidditch matter. "Half our team is not on form. After this game, I want to schedule another practice every Wednesday night."

Ron nodded absently. "Yeah I can make it."

Hermione's voice rose to a shrill squeak. "There's only three recommendations given per class, we won't all make it. Snape is definitely going to be biased to Slytherin, even though DDA is Harry's best subject. Dumbledore won't vote. McGonagall wouldn't recommend three Gryffindors – that's favouritism! Parvati, Lavender and Daphne Greengrass are definitely going to get Trelawney's vote. Professor Sprout is going to recommend Neville, Millicent Bulstrode and Eloise Midgeon. You two never paid any attention in professor Binn's lessons or in arithmancy and ancient runes...which is why we need to impress Slughorn!" She ended rather hysterically. "Well, at least we've got Hagrid's vote."

"HIGGS!" Harry stopped dead in the corridor. He covered his mouth in shock. "Oh my God – I completely forgot about Higgs!"

Hermione readjusted her hold on near toppling stack of books. "Of course, Hagrid gets to vote! He still teaches here!" She leapt up in the air as Harry's own school bag came crashing down. He kneeled on the floor, frantically tearing the flaps open, and pulled out a heavily crumpled, dog-eared set of parchment sheets. Some sheets even had coffee stains on. "Damn!" He cursed. "I haven't included him in any of the plans."

"What plans, Harry?" Ron asked.

"You know - strategies and flying formations for the chasers. Why didn't Angelina even mention him to me? He's a chaser right? No?" He scratched his head. "Oh my God, I remember now! He's the tall one with the blonde spiky hair - that tank on a broom!"

"Tank?" Ron gulped.

That was when Hermione was shaken out of her reverie. "Harry, is that your potions homework?" She gestured despairingly to the crumpled pile Harry held fisted in one hand. We are never going to get recommendations if you hand that in! I thought I told you about taking extra care with homework and class work."

Harry was pointedly ignoring her, as he laid out each sheet on the floor before trying to remember the order they went in. He searched frantically for Higg's name. "I didn't include Higgs anywhere. I can't even remember how he flies. Ron, are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah, sure." Ron chirped. "I just missed what you said."

"RON!" Harry and Hermione screamed.

Hermione glanced briefly to the end of the corridor, noting the time from the hourglass present. "Oh my goodness, we are so late!" She stifled a cry at the watch and at Harry's position on the floor where he was calmly and nonchalantly examining a number of scrap sheets. "Harry, we are late!"

"I know." He growled.

"We need to get a move on!"

"Then move on." Harry deadpanned.

She snapped back. "Why can't you just put the sheets in the bag and let's go to class."

He replied smoothly. "Why don't you just go to class yourself?"

She always had an answer. "Because we are already late! It is better to go in a group and put up a united front than go as rag-tag individuals. Slughorn will be angrier at having three interruptions in his lesson than just having the one!"

"Shut up Hermione!" Harry growled. "Wish I hadn't asked." He muttered in a furious undertone.

"Ask what, Harry: Why I am even bothered about whether you two become prefects, when neither of you are the least bit concerned?" She spat furiously.

"It's not that important right now." Harry said weakly, not wanting to fight her.

"Not important?" Hermione's eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline. "That's not what you told me three days ago!"

Ron clutched his sides and groaned. Hermione and Harry halted in their tracks. "I feel sick." He mumbled.

All hell broke loose.

They were fifteen minutes late by the time they. Slughorn tutted disapprovingly before writing their names down in his register. Hermione apologised profusely while Harry and Ron dashed quickly to the seats hoping they had not been seen. The class were divided into groups of threes and had already started work on the experiment. Harry and Ron joined Neville, and Hermione partnered with Lavender and Parvati.

"The professor said some of the ingredients are really volatile. They don't mix well all." Neville said.

Hermione's head appeared from over Neville's shoulder. She chirped. "Try not to move any glass flasks unless absolutely necessary. Some of the fluids tend to evaporate with smallest amount of disruption. And for God sakes, don't tip the main cauldron." The last phrase was directed at Ron. "One more thing, at the end of the experiment you have to put your 5 glass tube containing samples of the final product over on the shelves in that glass cabinet. Don't even think of carrying them in your hands." She gave them both a tube rack and then a tray. "That's what these are for."

"Yes mother. "Ron grumbled.

She huffed. "Honestly you two are so ungrateful. Not even one word of thanks." She stalked off to her seat, rejoining Parvati and Lavender.

Harry turned to Ron almost immediately and asked. "She missed the fifteen minutes of the lesson, and how is it she is the one telling us what to do?"

Ron shrugged. "She is a woman. They all share the opinion that blokes need spoon feeding."

Harry opened his mouth to counter that when Slughorn stood up and waved his arms, wanting the whole classes' attention.

"Just a reminder to the latecomers; over the next few lessons we will be brewing a series of complex potions. You are working in groups of your own choice today, but in the following lessons, I will be assigning groups to you." He paused for a minute as loud groans erupted from both Slytherin and Gryffindor students. "My advice to you is to read the instructions carefully. I cannot stress that enough. Work safely and watch the clock. As you are aware recommendations for prefect ship depend very much on the outcome of these experiments." He left off. The hint was hardly subtle.

Harry turned around and glanced over at Hermione. Her jaw was set in a grim determined line, her lips were pursed. She held in small dainty hands a quill poised over her battered notebook, like a falcon hovering above a cliff-face. Hermione would kill on request if it meant she could wear a prefect badge.

"Why were you so late, Mione?" Lavender asked, as she crushed willow leaves with the pestle and mortar.

"Don't ask." She threw a dark look at the three boys working haphazardly on their potion a few benches behind them.

Parvati laughed in understanding. "Was it because of Ron or Harry?"

"Both." She said.

Lavender giggled. "We thought you were sick or something. It would have been a terrible time to fall sick."

Hermione cocked a brow, failing to understand.

Parvati nudged her elbow, "Look at the table next to us. There are at least two smoking hot Slytherins presenting their chiselled god-like profiles to us for inspection. Now, I would not want to miss this, any day, in sickness or in health."

"You guys are drooling over Malfoy?" Hermione asked incredulously, wiping her fringe out of her eyes with the back of her hand. The platinum blonde lifted his head almost immediately and glared at her.

Parvati hissed. "Keep your voice down!"

Hermione failed to suppress a giggle. She teased. "I can't believe you Parvati. I thought you had standards. The guy's a total jerk."

"Well they all are, if they've been sorted into Slytherin." Parvati pouted. "But why did all the good looking ones end up in slytherin?"

Hermione countered. "Well, not all the good looking ones. Think about Marcus Flint."

"What rubbish are you talking, Hermione?" Lavender jested. "Flint puts the 'fizz' back into physical! Those teeth are a knockout!"

The girls burst into peals of laughter.

That's when Hermione noticed the other two; Zabini and Nott. Zabini was carefully measuring out 50 millilitres of synovial fluid, and the sight of Nott made her lungs seize ever so slightly. She dropped her head, pretending to read the instructions, aware of how much devastation his presenting side profile caused on her peace of mind. Right now, she did not need distractions, seeing as they were both competing for recommendations from Slughorn. Her gaze lifted from the print on the parchment and onto the male lounging in his seat like a panther less than seven paces away. Once again, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows; he was recording measurements on his sheet of parchment with unbreakable focus. She wondered how it would feel to have such focused attention directed on her. She would combust instantly. A blush had escaped onto her cheeks and was now running rampant over her face. How old was she? Twelve?

"Having a hot flush?" It was Parvati's turn to do the teasing.

"Shut up."

Hermione was served a hard nudge in the ribs as retaliation.

Parvati cackled silently. "I didn't know you had a thing for Zabini."

"I don't." She stated, as she started powdering egg shells, taking over the pestle and mortar duties from Lavender.

Parvati warned. "Zabini is a jerk - a hot jerk but still a jerk. He is totally messed up in the head."

"I've heard."

Lavender added. "Apparently he has a thing for Ravenclaws. He likes them feisty and mouthy." Was there a twinge of regret in Lavender's voice that Hermione could detect?

Parvati put down the glass flask she was holding and motioned the others to come closer. All three leaned in over the table. "There was a slytherin party last week and rumours have been going round he screwed both Greengrass sisters the same night."

Lavender's mouth fell open. "You mean both Astoria and Daphne?"

"Well, who else besides?" Hermione snorted.

"I bet Daphne tried clawing his eyes out when she found about him and Astoria. I've heard she's quite protective." Parvati mused.

"And possessive of her guys." Lavender said.

Hermione pondered. "That's probably why he's been keeping a very low profile this week. Normally he gives the teachers hell in every lesson."

Lavender pursed her lips thoughtfully. "But I saw him this morning talking to Daphne and they seemed friendly enough."

"I don't know." Said Hermione half wondering how it took six years for Parvati and Lavender to convert the bookworm into a voracious gossip-mongerer.

Parvati jaw dropped in shock. "You don't think, instead of screwing the Greengrass sisters separately, that all three of them...you know." Her voice trailed off.

"That is..."

"So messed up." Lavender finished.

All three spontaneously snuck a sideways glance at Zabini who was stirring his cauldron's contents, totally oblivious. That was what they thought.

Theo looked up from his parchment, and was surprised at the sudden change of mood evident in Blaise' face. "What's happened? Did you add the wrong ingredient?"

"No."

"What is the matter with you?"

"Nothing's wrong." Zabini spat.

"Alright," came Theo's terse reply. He assumed it had something to do with the quidditch match that Zabini would now not be playing. "Did Captain Malfoy mention something about the game to you?" And about your lack of involvement? Is that what this outburst is? Theo often forgot how much more emotionally lebile Blaise was than he was himself.

"No," came the customary snarl.

Theo's gaze took in the prominent muscle ticking in his jaw, the white knuckled grip Blaise had on his wand. "You look like you want to hit someone."

The glint of fury was evident in Blaise's eyes when he said. "You can't hit girls."

But Blaise looked like he was to going to do the next best thing. Afterall, he was no Muggle.

Preview for next chapter:

"A detention! He gave me a detention! As if I was some sort of pureblood-posse illiterate!" Hermione wailed.

Harry braced himself for an unstoppable torrent of words mixed in with tears. Hermione flailed her arms around, half sobbing.

"Is this your first detention, Hermione?" Fred asked sympathetically. "Here, let me see the slip." He took the pink detention slip from her and skim read it. He stilled. "You..." He looked up at her. "Did you really...oh my God." Words were failing him.

"What's this?" George snatched the paper from him. He gaped. "Holy..."

Harry glanced left at Hermione who was looking more distressed by the minute. Her reputations as she put it was in tatters. She sniffled. In a few short hours, she would be the talk of the entire school. He stroked her upper arm as if to comfort her. "It's okay. Don't worry about it. It wasn't that huge a deal."

Ron guffawed. "But Fred, you should have been there in potions. It was classic!"