The world around them swirled a thousand different colours.

Fleur stumbled when her feet found the ground beneath them again. A pair of hands steadied her and she looked up to see Ron's blushing face.

"Merci," she said with a smile. She reached up to straighten his clothes and brush a piece of imaginary dust from his shoulder.

"Hang on," Ron said, looking around. "This isn't Diagon Alley."

"Of course not," Fleur said, slipping her arm into his again. It was difficult to lead someone while making it look as if you were being led, but Fleur thought she was succeeding. "When my mother says 'igh quality', there are only a few places she means. This is Paris."

Ron's eyes stretched wide.

"You mean, we're in France?!"

"Oui, this is where all magical Parisians shop, but we 'ave not enough time to see the sights."

She increased their pace. Ron's head swivelled around, taking in the different buildings and shop displays and people. Fleur breathed in deeply and sighed. The sights, the sounds and even the air seemed different here. It was good to be in her home country again. Thankfully, it was warmer than Scotland, but not so warm that she was overdressed.

"Come," she said. "There are many places to buy dress robes in Paris, but the best is this way."

Ron continued to take in the many novel offerings of the heart of Magical France and Fleur found herself wanting to indulge herself too. They passed the restaurant where she had her first sip of wine from her father's glass. There was the cafe where her grandfather used to teach her chess. Her senses were assaulted by the scent of freshly baked heaven. Her mother swore that the best croissants in the world could be found in that boulangerie.

But time was pressing. If they did not get to Madam Marchant's soon, they might never get finished in time. Marchant's was always busy and even the reputation of her family's name would not help her there.

"'Ere," Fleur said, guiding them off the main business street. And there it was. It was everything she remembered it to be. The displays in the window were simultaneously novel and contemporary, without a single stitch out of place. It was perfect, not just for their needs, but in the absolute sense of the word. It almost brought a tear to her eye.

She was so engrossed that she almost missed the voice in the crowd.

"Delacour."

Surprised, she turned to greet the speaker, but the owner of the voice wasn't looking at her. Instead, they were looking down the road.

Oh no.

Tall as her mother was, it was impossible to miss the sight of her walking towards them. No, towards the shop, Fleur and Ron hadn't been spotted among the small numbers of shoppers walking by.

Fleur pushed Ron up against the glass windows. As high-class an establishment as Marchant's was, they had tall, ornate statues standing out front, which hid them from view, but her mother was getting closer and they couldn't stay hidden for long.

"What…?" Ron began to say, but Fleur didn't let him finish his question.

"The cloak, quickly!"

Thankfully, and a little bizarrely, Ron didn't ask any questions or panic. A second later, the cloak had been removed from his pocket and had been thrown over them both.

Fleur looked around from inside their little invisible pocket of safety. None of the passersby had seemed to either have noticed or cared about the two teenagers disappearing. Her mother stopped in front of the shop, looking up and down the street.

Fleur suddenly noticed how closely she was pressed against Ron, so close that she could feel the heat of his breath in her hair. She turned around so they were facing each other. His eyes were wide and she could feel his heart hammering in his chest. The cloak was big enough for both of them, but only just. The contours of her body pushed against him, her head resting against his chest. If she angled her head just so…

For a moment, after their lips touched, Fleur despaired. Her cousins had spoken of men like this, who became so overwhelmed with the power of the Veela, even diluted by two generations, that they lost the ability to act. She had thought that Ron had been around her for long enough to become inured to her power, but he wasn't kissing her back.

But her panic only lasted for a moment. Ron jolted into action, his hands meeting behind her back, pulling her even more against him. His lips. His tongue. Their kisses the previous day had been introductory… almost polite, but this was far more primal. She began to lose herself, her whole world shrinking down to just her and Ron, their heat and their hearts pounding in unison as one.

"Madam Delacour!"

At the shout, Ron tried to pull away, but Fleur didn't let him. She growled, too softly to reach even her ears, but with their bodies so completely in contact with one another, he could feel the animalistic rumble coming from inside her throat. She pushed against him, forcing him to push back or lose his balance.

"Ah, good morning," her mother replied to the shop attendant who had greeted her.

Fleur moved her hands up to Ron's hair, running her fingers through it and pulling his head further down to meet hers.

"Would you like to come inside? We have some exciting new pieces this week."

Ron pressed down harder. His tongue fighting with hers hungrily, greedily.

"Actually, I was wondering if my daughter was here, perhaps in the company of a young man?"

Fleur felt as if her whole body was on fire. A moan threatened to escape from her, but she fought the impulse with what little concentration she could muster.

"The older Miss Delacour? I'm afraid not, madam. Perhaps you can peruse our new arrivals while you're waiting for her?"

"I don't know…"

Ron, apparently fed up of straining his neck to reach her mouth, leaned backwards, using his hands behind her back to lift her straight off the ground until their faces were level. Fleur almost yelped in surprise, but Ron's increasing enthusiasm banished all concern for personal safety from her mind.

"Are you sure? We have a new collection of hats from our colleagues in Milan."

Fleur was rapidly forgetting why she was trying to be quiet. Very quickly, Ron and his body and his mouth were becoming all that mattered to her. The part of her mind that was screaming at her to be careful was fading away into the distance of her mind.

"Well, maybe a few minutes browsing wouldn't hurt."

The twinkling of the bells above the door broke Fleur's desperate focus on Ron. The roar of the rest of the world returned to her all at once. With an incredible effort of willpower, she pulled herself apart from him, leaning back while still under the cloak, both of them panting for breath quietly. Without a word, she pulled him by his shirt and they left Madam Marchant's and her mother behind them.

They slipped through several dark alleyways under the cloak until Fleur stopped them. Truthfully, it was much further than they needed to go, with Fleur's mother distracted by Milanese headwear as she was, but it took that long for Fleur to summon the willpower to pull off the cloak and move apart from Ron, struggling as she was not to just continue where they left off.

"Well," she said. "Zat was a failure, but there are other tailors in Paris."

Ron returned his borrowed invisibility cloak to his pocket.

"Is there a reason that I shouldn't meet your mother?"

Fleur scoffed.

"She laid a trap and tried to catch us! If she 'ad succeeded, she would 'ave insisted zat she spend the whole day with us. She would have questioned you for 'ours. What do you want to do in the future? Who are your parents? What do your parents do? What do your siblings do? And so on, and so on, and so on! Would you like me to meet your mother on our first proper date?"

Ron's eyes widened.

"Say no more, I understand you completely."

They walked a few more minutes in an amiable silence.

"Do people in France care about blood purity?" Ron asked.

Fleur shrugged.

"Some do, some don't. My mother certainly doesn't. You're an 'alf-blood, no?" Ron looked at her strangely. "Non? Surely you cannot be pure-blood?"

"As pure as they come," Ron said, with a touch of irony.

"But… you are friends with 'Arry Potter, no? I 'ad 'eard zat British pure-bloods cared about zat sort of thing."

"Some do, some don't," Ron smirked.

Fleur grumbled.

"Come on," she said. "It's just this way. This girl graduated a couple of years before me at Beauxbatons. She's good, but she 'asn't made much of an impression in the Paris scene, yet. My mother will never find us 'ere."

Fleur had always had a degree of admiration for Michelle, even though she didn't interact much with the girl a couple of years ahead of her at school. She was full of passion for fashion and had refused a number of offers at prestigious establishments so that she could open her own shop.

It was a small shop and empty of other customers when Fleur and Ron entered.

"Fleur Delacour? I thought you were in England?"

"Good morning, Michelle. Scotland actually, but that's not important. Did you know that there is a Yule Ball during the tournament?"

"Ah, and you need my professional services?"

"Yes, but not for me," Fleur said, pulling Ron forward and presenting him like a trophy.

Ron stood, almost shrinking under Michelle's professional haze, totally lost in all the French.

"Hmm," Michelle said. "I think I can work with this."


As much as Fleur didn't like it when Ron acted shy or embarrassed, watching him squirm under Michelle's attention was amusing… and a little exciting.

"I still think the colours could be a little bolder," Michelle said.

"Yes, but these are his first set of dress robes and he is English; we've got to show him a little mercy."

Michelle had been able to assemble something rather quickly. It was conservative by French standards, though perhaps not by British ones, but his height and hair were eye-catching enough.

"If I could just take a few centimetres from his…" Michelle began

"Touch his hair and I will ruin you," Fleur declared.

Michelle pouted, but began gathering up her supplies.

"Fine. I will finish these alterations and send it to you by owl. Am I billing the Delacour family account?"

"And let my mother know where we escaped to? No, I'll pay you now."

It would eat into her personal spending money, but she should be able to get some more from her father. He struggled to ever say no to her.

Fleur concluded their business and she and Ron returned to the streets of Magical Paris.

"Zat wasn't so bad, was it?" Fleur asked.

"I spent an hour standing on a podium being pricked, prodded and gawked at," Ron said. "While you spent the entire time talking in French."

Fleur gave him an unimpressed look.

"It was embarrassing!" Ron protested.

"I know," Fleur's expression morphed into a grin. "It was very cute."

Ron grumbled, but without any heat.

As Fleur led them aimlessly through the area, she considered their options. She had the Portkey to return them to Scotland in the envelope in her pocket, it would activate as soon as two people gripped it, but shopping for dress robes had taken less time than she thought, and they didn't need to be back in Hogwarts until curfew, really. She considered shopping for a few accessories, maybe a piece of jewellery or two, but she had probably put Ron through a little too much already. Well, it's not like they called Paris the most romantic city in the world for nothing.

"Lunch?" she asked.


Fleur had ordered food at a blistering speed, then had sat back and taken in the view from the window.

She had brought them to a small restaurant, far away from the fanciest areas, but it was impossible to get bad food so close to the heart of Magical Paris.

The sun had just passed its zenith in the southern sky and Fleur watched the birds fly above the Paris skyline. They must have had the only table in the entire city, Muggle and Magical alike, that did not have a view of the Muggle's Eiffel Tower.

She hoped Ron was enjoying himself. An international trip was probably a little much this early on in a relationship, but Fleur had enjoyed the opportunity to show off her home country a little.

Ron was examining the silver cutlery apprehensively, then at the room around them.

"I feel a little out of place," he said morosely.

"Why do you do zat?" Fleur asked sharply. Ron blinked at her in confusion. "You keep knocking yourself down. You act as if you 'aven't earned nice things. Whenever you talk about your older brothers or even sometimes when you talk about your friends 'Arry and 'Ermione, you act as if you are merely second-place next to them."

Fleur was starting to get a little heated.

"It's just…" Ron started. "It's just that… Bill and Charlie, Percy too, achieved so much at school and went on to get great jobs. Even Harry and Hermione are impressive in their own ways."

"Do you think zat you are not impressive?"

"Me…? I mean…" Ron paused. "Is that why you wanted to date me? Because you think I'm impressive?"

"Non, non, non. Don't ask yourself why I would want to date you, ask yourself why I wouldn't."

"Eh?"

"Oh, come on! You 'ave good qualities, you know zat. You are allowed to be a little immodest."

Ron looked at her, the gears in his brain finally starting to turn. He kept thinking, even while the waiter came and delivered their lunch. Ron ignored his food and Fleur ignored hers too, instead watching Ron intently.

"I'm tall," he said, eventually.

"I'd like to say zat I'm not zat shallow," responded Fleur. "But zat you're tall does 'elp, I'll admit. Good, keep going."

"I'm good at chess."

Fleur frowned.

"It's not zat you are good at chess, though, of course, you are, it's the way you play. It's exciting and daring. You choose the dangerous, but spectacular path over the safe and easy. It's… incredible… watching you play."

Ron blushed.

"And then you start talking about 'Arry or 'Ermione and all that confidence disappears. 'oh, she is so clever, 'Arry is such a good flyer'. You are great too, Ron."

"Fleur, I…"

"Are you failing in your lessons?"

"No," Ron said slowly.

"See?" she said. "And the 'Ogwarts' curriculum is quite advanced."

"It is?" Ron asked in surprise.

"Oh, yes." Fleur said. "Obviously Beauxbatons is the greatest school in the world, but 'Ogwarts is well-known for its academic demands."

"Huh, I never knew that."

"Well, now you do. For the record," Fleur continued. "Your good qualities also include your sense of 'umour, your smile…" she paused. "And your 'air," she sighed.

Ron touched his hair self-consciously.

"Now eat up," Fleur demanded. "After this we will go to one of the chess clubs. If thrashing a dozen snooty French players doesn't 'elp your self-confidence, I don't know what will."


As was often the case, there was quite a reaction when Fleur entered the smokey main room of the chess club. The initial interest and excitement of the various members, however, turned to disappointment when they discovered that Ron was to be their opponent. This, in turn, became disdain when they discovered he was English, outrage when they discovered he was young and anger when he started beating them all. Eventually, one of the younger members, though still older than Ron and Fleur, was sent to collect one of the masters associated with the club, who was definitely unamused to be summoned away from whatever business he had been attending to. He easily beat Ron in their first game, barely managed to eke out a victory in an endgame with two pawns and a bishop against Ron's one pawn and a knight in their second, and in their final game, Ron forced him into a draw by repetition. The master begrudgingly shook Ron's hand and congratulated him on some very well played chess. Ron didn't seem to take two losses and a draw as disheartening, though and later confided in Fleur that it was the strongest opponent he had ever faced and had forced him to play the best chess he ever had. Indeed, he was eager to improve and face the man again. Fleur lavished praise upon him, not just for the well-played chess, but also for staying confident in the face of a challenging opponent and refusing to back down.

After that, she took him to eat fluffy croissants on the street outside a busy bakery and then to drink coffee at a table outside a tiny cafe. Ron admitted that he hadn't had coffee before and, after politely finishing his cup, said that he would stick to tea, causing Fleur to laugh. He bought her a tiny glass figurine of a bird, even though the shop owner overcharged him for using British coins. She accepted it politely, though she didn't think much of it until he explained that the way the light shone through the bird's wings reminded him of her hair and the specks of blue in the glass were the same colour as her eyes.

At one point, when aimlessly walking through the streets, Fleur spotted her mother again and they escaped into Muggle Paris, both of them laughing at the childishness of it.

Neither of them really knew how to navigate a Muggle city, but they managed to find a park to walk through and somehow, at one point, ended up walking alongside La Seine for a while. Fleur had forgotten how noisy and busy Muggle cities could be and had to be pulled off the road by Ron, when she tried to cross it when a car was approaching. She thanked him with a kiss for saving her and he blushed and told her a story of when he drove a car across Britain.

"And I take it zat Muggle cars do not ordinarily fly?" Fleur asked.

"I don't think so," Ron said.

"Uh huh, and why did this 'ouse elf seal the barrier in the first place?"

"Well, it had learned that its owner was plotting to release the monster from the Chamber of Secrets and was convinced that Harry shouldn't be allowed to go to school and be put in danger."

"Monster?" Fleur asked.

Ron looked around to check that none of the Muggles were listening to them.

"A basilisk," he said.

Fleur nodded in understanding.

"Ah, I 'eard about zat from some of the 'Ogwarts students." She shook her head. "'Onestly, the things zat children will believe."

Ron looked at her in surprise.

"Non," Fleur said, pausing mid-step. "You cannot be serious."

"Harry fought it."

Fleur boggled at him. She refused to believe him, but she had learned his sense of humour pretty well recently and there was no hint of playfulness or deception on his face.

"Tell me everything," she demanded.


Ron's story turned out to be quite involved, so they sat down on a bench as the day grew old and Fleur cast a warming charm over the both of them to fight off the December chill.

As Ron's explanations expanded to include stories of his first and third years, Fleur's disbelief was replaced by a growing awe. She had joked with her cousins who shared her Veela ancestry that men were very simple creatures, but Ron, and naturally Harry too, continued to amaze her.

"Okay, I believe you," she said. "But what I don't understand is why you ever feel inadequate."

"What?"

"Ron, you decided to go and fight a basilisk, when you were only thirteen, with only a fellow second year, an incompetent adult and a defective wand."

"But I didn't actually fight the basilisk," Ron protested.

"But you were prepared to, non? Not to mention that you stood up against a crazed murderer with a broken leg."

"Sirius wasn't actually going to hurt us," he said.

"But you didn't know zat! Plus the whole business with the Philosopher's Stone. You 'ave done more in the last three years than most wizards do in a lifetime. But when you 'ave to ask a pretty girl to the ball…?"

"Hey, I'm sure Harry would agree with me that girls are scarier."

Fleur rolled her eyes and stood.

"Alright, zat is enough revelations for one day. We should 'ead back to Scotland soon, anyway."

She led him down a narrow alleyway between a bookshop and a Muggle shop she didn't understand the purpose of. She fished the Portkey out and, when he gripped it, they disappeared into a swirl of colour again.

They would be re-entering Hogwarts by different paths, so they said their goodbyes after they found their feet back on Scottish soil. She thought she would have to initiate a goodbye kiss herself, but she was pleased when he, rather nervously, leaned down and pecked her quickly on the lips. She smiled warmly at him and promised to meet up with him soon. With a wink, she added that she would have to make sure his new robes fitted him properly when they arrived. She smiled when he blushed, then turned and made her way back to the castle, before she lost control and started kissing him like she had before.


Ron peeked out from the entrance of the hidden passageway and, when he saw the hallway was empty, he slipped out and closed it behind him.

He had almost made it to the end of the corridor when he was intercepted.

"Enjoying an evening stroll, Weasley?"

Ron swore internally. Of all of the teachers to run into…

"Uhh, that's right, Professor Snape."

"And is curfew not a concern for you, or is your mere proximity to the Gryffindor… champion... excuse enough to warrant being out of bounds out of hours?"

Ron's apology was on the tip of his tongue when he stopped and turned to look at a clock on a nearby wall.

"It's only 7:58, actually," he said and then hastily added, "professor."

Snape's dark eyes bored into his.

"And you were going to climb all the way to the Gryffindor Common Room in two minutes?"

"Well, not now that I'm stuck here answering questions."

"A point from Gryffindor for your cheek!"

"Yes, professor. Sorry, professor."

Snape slid his gaze from Ron to the corridor behind him.

"Where have you been today, Weasley?"

"Gryffindor Tower," Ron lied.

"And would your fellow Gryffindors collaborate your claims?" Snape asked.

"Yes," Ron said immediately. It was even true; Gryffindors would lie to Snape just on general principle.

Snape scowled, his eyes once again staring straight at Ron's.

"You haven't left the school grounds?"

A dozen images flashed in Ron's mind's eye. The Paris skyline. A dress robe. Steam rising from a freshly baked croissant. A critical moment in his final game against the French master. A pair of lips on his. A tongue exploring…

"N… no." Ron was sure that his slight hesitation had got him caught, but rather than triumphant, Snape looked shocked.

"Turn out your pockets," Snape demanded, his expression transforming from shocked to angry.

Ron quickly reviewed his time in Paris. In the second he had, he didn't think he had brought anything incriminating back with him.

Shrugging as nonchalantly as possible, Ron did as he was told. His wand, a scrap of parchment and a coin purse were revealed. Ron patted down his pockets and froze. The cloak.

Snape's eyes narrowed and Ron knew that he wouldn't be able to hide it. Reluctantly, he brought out the silvery material.

"Ah!" Snape's voice sounded victorious. "And what have we here?" Snape snatched the cloak from Ron's hands and inspected it, his nose mere inches from the material.

"It's an invisibility cloak," Ron said dejectedly.

"Yes, I know very well what it is," Snape snapped. "I thought that Lupin took it with him, but… unless it is a different one? But such a rare and… expensive item is surely far beyond the meagre means of a member of the Weasley family."

Ron bristled at the insult and Snape grinned maliciously.

"Stolen, perhaps, from another student, one of more… respectable means?"

"I'm borrowing it from Harry," Ron said hotly.

"Ah!" Snape said viciously. "So Mr. Potter is party to this bit of rule breaking, too?"

Ron tutted quietly, ashamed that he had let Snape goad him into revealing that the cloak was Harry's property. That they'd both receive detentions and that the cloak was being confiscated seemed inevitable. Harry had trusted him with the cloak and he had lost it. After the horrible way that Ron had treated Harry after Halloween, losing Harry's father's cloak would make Ron the worst friend Harry could possibly have. The worst part was that Harry would totally understand, because Snape always had it out for them and Harry in particular. He could even hear Harry's voice telling him that it was alright, and that they'd serve their detentions together and get the cloak back somehow. Ron was already feeling all of two inches tall.

But, for just a moment, he heard another voice too. It was Fleur, praising him for how he had acted during his adventures with Harry and Hermione and berating him for being so unconfident and, to his own surprise, Ron's spine stiffened.

"I think two weeks of detention… each," Snape was saying. "This cloak, of course, cannot be in a student's possession, especially one of such a dubious moral character. Goodness knows the girls of Gryffindor would be pleased to know that it is out of the hands of two teenage boys."

"Well, I don't know about that, sir," Ron said. "But perhaps you could bring it up with Professor Dumbledore."

"What?" Snape said.

"You know, the headmaster? Your boss."

"I know very well who he is," Snape said dangerously, a tiny bit of colour coming to his pale face. "What does he have to do with this?"

"Well, he gave the cloak to Harry, see? Probably because there's a bunch of… shady… characters out for the Boy Who Lived."

A malicious aura seemed to be flowing out of Snape, who didn't like students disagreeing with him at the best of times, but, for the first time, Ron noticed that he was taller than Snape and that helped him keep his cool.

"In that case," Snape said slowly. "Why do you have it?"

"I was visiting my girlfriend."

"A girlfriend?"

"When a boy and a girl like each other…"

"Silence!" Snape was getting angrier and angrier, but Ron was feeling less and less affected. "And just who is this supposed girlfriend of yours?"

"Fleur Delacour."

Ron was answering questions on instinct, like he was in a difficult endgame with a one second increment. He had no time to consider his responses, he was operating on pure intuition.

Snape's eyes narrowed even further.

"Another week's detention for lying."

"It's not a lie," Ron said calmly. "You can ask her yourself."

The furious energy flowing out of Snape was becoming erratic, but he continued to stare Ron in the eyes.

"Then why the need for an invisibility cloak? Surely you're not embarrassed about dating her?"

"Teenagers like their secrets, professor," Ron said. "Surely you remember what it was like when you were dating girls at school."

Again, Ron's mouth was acting of its own accord, so it was something of a surprise when Snape plunged his hand into his robe and started bringing his wand to bear on Ron. By pure instinct, Ron brought his wand, that was already in his hand from when he emptied his pockets, up against Snape's chest. They stood perfectly still for a moment, both of them suddenly realising that they were holding their wands against someone that they probably shouldn't be, Ron against a teacher and Snape against a student.

The moment stretched, but the tension was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. Dropping the cloak on the floor, Snape broke his eye contact with Ron, lowered his wand and slipped away in the opposite direction. Ron took several deep, calming breaths and then quickly stuffed his wand and the cloak into his pockets.

The footsteps resolved into the person of Professor McGonagall, accompanied by Hermione.

"Thank you for helping me, professor," Hermione was saying. "I just couldn't finish my charms homework without... Oh, hello, Ron."

"Hermione? What are you doing here?"

"Professor McGonagall is helping me find my Charms notes on the Summoning Charm. Silly me, I actually made them immune to the Summoning Charm themselves as an experiment."

She said this very naturally, but on the side of her face that Professor McGonagall couldn't see, she was winking maniacally.

"Your Charms notes?" Ron said, his brain struggling to keep up with the rapid fire problems he was facing. "Didn't you give them to Neville?"

"Oh, right," Hermione slapped her hand to her forehead. "I'm so sorry, professor. I remember now. I gave them to Neville so he could write his own essay. Now I've made you come all this way…"

Professor McGonagall sighed.

"Apology accepted, Ms. Granger, but you have wasted my time. A point from Gryffindor."

Hermione looked genuinely upset at that.

"What are you doing here, Mr. Weasley?" McGonagall asked.

"Going back to the Common Room. It's after curfew, you know?"

McGonagall sighed again.

"Just… can you both get back to the Tower without my help?"

"Yes, professor," they both said.

"Then go," she said, rubbing her temples and heading in the direction of the staff room.

When she had turned the corner, Ron and Hermione started towards Gryffindor Tower.

"Nicely done," Hermione said. "Saying that I left my notes with Neville."

"Thanks. What were you doing here anyway?" Ron asked

"Rescuing you, of course," she replied. "Harry and I saw on the Map that Snape had caught you and we thought you might need help. We were worried that you might have had something from the village on you, so I went to McGonagall."

"Uhh, no, I didn't bring anything from outside, but I did have the cloak."

"Oh, right. That can't have been good. Wait, you still have it right?"

"Yeah, Snape left when he heard you coming."

"Oh, good," Hermione said, then frowned. "Uhh, why did he leave? What was he afraid of?"

Ron rubbed the back of his head.

"I may have pushed him a little too much."

"What did you do?" Hermione said, with the air of a long suffering parent.

"I may have made some comments about his lovelife."

"Ron!" Hermione cried, stopping in the middle of the corridor. "What a stupid thing to… I'm surprised he didn't curse your head off."

"Well, maybe he would have, but he left when he heard you coming, yeah?"

"Wait," Hermione said, holding her hands up. "He was about to curse you?"

"Maybe," Ron shrugged. "He had his wand out."

"Pointed at you?!"

"Yeah."

Hermione's eyes were wide in disbelief.

"We've got to go to McGonagall, or… or Dumbledore!"

"Hermione, it's fine…"

"No, it is not!"

"I goaded him pretty badly, plus I had my wand pointed at him too."

"Ron!"

"Look Hermione, I made him lose his composure, he won't want to admit that. He'll be twice the prat as usual for a few weeks, but he won't do anything worse than that."

Hermione rubbed at her temples in a passable impression of McGonagall.

"I think that he's been more irritable than usual this year, but… maybe you're right. Fine, we won't go to Dumbledore." She kept walking for another few paces. "Was your shopping trip a success at least?"

Ron nodded.

"The finished robes will be sent by owl."

"That can't have taken all day," Hermione said, then she grinned at him. "Oh, I see."

Ron rolled his eyes.

"If you must know, we also went for a walk, saw some of the sights. She found the most amazing croissants."

"Saw the sights?" Hermione said in confusion. "Wait, the bakery in Hogsmeade doesn't sell croissants."

"Uhh…"

"What did she side-along apparate you somewhere?" Hermione asked. "There's a wizarding shopping district in Glasgow, right?"

"Uhh…"

"What?"