A/N: Menyl asked in her review how many chapters this was going to have. It's going to have about seven or eight chapters, and then an epilogue… And cass asked if Hermione was ever going to tell Ron that she knew about him and Lavender... Well, not really. But the "Lavender Issue", as I like to call it, will be dealt with soon enough, don't worry. =0)
I would like to dedicate the Torpidspek Potion to Courtney, who loved the name "Torpidspek" for some reason. =)
Oh, and I was going through my reviews to see the questions and copy the e-mail addresses of the people who wanted me to warn them about updates, when it hit me how wonderful you all are. Really, I should have done that a long time ago, but thank you SO much to all you reviewers for being so great, especially since I always make you wait so long... You are all "bloody brilliant"! =0)
*
Ron didn't know what to think.
He had come back from the Transfiguration classroom a very long time ago (or at least it seemed like a long time), and the more he tried to understand what had happened, the more his head hurt.
Sufficient to say, he had a pretty bad headache.
"Ron?"
For a brief moment he thought it was Hermione, and jumped in his seat. He really didn't want to deal with her. But that wasn't her voice. Thankfully. He turned around.
"You've been there staring at the ceiling ever since I came back from Hogsmeade. What's wrong?" Oh, Ginny. Almost as bad as Hermione, she was.
"Well, I-" Ron stopped himself. He had been about to tell his sister that Madam Pomfrey had thrown him out of the hospital wing, and that Hermione had got angry at him for some reason that he still didn't understand. That Hermione had let him kiss her, even though she said she wouldn't. That she had agreed not to make a big deal out of everything, even though she had seemed disgusted at the idea at first. That she had kissed him out of nowhere, even though she had agreed to be friends. And that then she had decided it would be fun to throw him out, just to mess up with his mind a little more.
He couldn't tell Ginny that.
"Let's just say I've got thrown out of a room twice today."
"Why were you thrown out?" asked Ginny in her usual 'I'm a nosy sister, I have to know everything' way and sitting down across from him.
"Because females are very weird creatures, that's why," said Ron. There was nothing wrong with being vague to get some time. And it wasn't as if he was lying.
"Oh," said Ginny, obviously failing to understand her brother's logic. "I see. What did you do to be thrown out?"
Nosy, nosy, nosy. "Please go take care of your life, Ginny."
"Oh, Ron, come on, you know I won't make fun of you," said Ginny, as if that was the problem.
"God, Ginny, you're not going to give up, are you?"
Ginny grinned. She really did enjoy being annoying, didn't she? "No. I'll stay here until the end of time if necessary, but you're going to tell me."
"And I thought the day couldn't get any worse," he muttered under his breath.
But Ginny wasn't paying attention. She was looking at something over his shoulder.
"What?" He started to turn to see what it was.
"Ron!" said Ginny abruptly.
He looked back at her, a little startled, and gave her a quizzical look.
"Er- You don't need to look, it was nothing," said Ginny quickly.
"Nothing?" asked Ron, turning around again. That time Ginny let him.
There was nothing. He turned back to Ginny.
"See?" she said in a weird voice. "Nothing."
"Um... OK," said Ron.
"So, you don't want to tell me, huh? That's too bad," said Ginny lightly, and didn't even wait for his answer before standing up. "Anyway, I have to go."
"What happened to 'I'll stay here until the end of time if necessary'?" asked Ron, and then realized how stupid it was to remind her of that.
"Oh, yeah, well, I've changed my mind," Ginny said curtly. She went up the stairs and disappeared from view.
Ron watched after her and shook his head. "Right, it's official. I'll never understand women."
*
Hermione rushed into her dormitory and threw herself heavily on her bed.
Her heart was still pounding. How was she supposed to know he would be there? It had been a very long time since he had left the classroom - well, it seemed like a long time... He shouldn't still be in the common room.
But he was. Hermione had come back and he had been there, talking to Ginny. She had gestured to Ginny to keep quiet and had almost run to her room. There was a chance Ron hadn't seen her. Yes, he hadn't seen her. He couldn't have.
She groaned and looked up at the ceiling, trying hard not to think about Ron. Or rather, trying hard not to think, period. She had already thought too much in that Transfiguration classroom after Ron's departure. It had left her drained and annoyed, and she wasn't sure if thinking was really worth it.
"Hermione?"
"Ginny, hi," she said, sitting up on the four-poster.
"You know, Hermione," said Ginny softly, sitting down next to her. "If anything's bothering you, if you need to get anything off your chest... I'm here for you. You do know that, right?"
Hermione smiled weakly at her. "I know."
"OK," Ginny said and then added quietly, "You don't want to talk to me about it, do you?"
"No, I don't," agreed Hermione, as much as she felt terrible about it. "I'm sorry, Ginny."
"No, no, don't be. It's ok. You have every right to keep whatever it is that's bugging you to yourself."
That was one of the best things about Ginny: she never pressed Hermione to tell her anything.
"You remember I told you about that girl Viktor broke up with me for?" said Hermione after a while, feeling the need to at least tell Ginny something.
"Ingrid Plonktoplov? Of course."
"You remember her surname?"
"No." Ginny grinned. "But I knew you wouldn't notice the difference. All those Durmstrang surnames sound alike." She caught Hermione's look. "Oh, admit it, Splingtolov sounds cool."
Hermione couldn't help smiling back at her. "You said Plonktoplov before, not Splingtolov."
"It's still cool," said Ginny, shrugging. "But anyway, what about her?"
"I found out that Viktor... Viktor kissed her. That's why I was crying on Thursday, I had a serious self-esteem crisis... I still feel stupid about it, but..." She trailed off.
"Oh, Hermione, that's not stupid!" said Ginny immediately.
"It's totally stupid, Ginny. Don't try to make me feel better."
"I'm not. I really don't think-"
"I'd appreciate it if we could drop the subject," snapped Hermione, and immediately felt bad for taking her frustration out on Ginny.
There was silence for a while, until Ginny fidgeted a little, making the mattress squeak. "Er- so, how was- how was Harry?" she asked, visibly trying to seem like she didn't care, which only made it even more obvious how much she actually cared.
"Why didn't you ask Ron?" asked Hermione, and wanted to hit herself upon noticing how much her tone sounded like Ginny's.
"He didn't seem to be in the mood to talk to me."
"Well, Ginny, if you want to know how Harry is, why don't you go see by yourself?" Good. A change of subject. Anything was better than talking about Ron.
"You know what?" Ginny answered shakily after a while. "Maybe I will."
"I think you should," said Hermione, taking Ginny's hand in hers and squeezing it reassuringly.
Ginny smiled at her, cheeks slightly red.
Ginny's blush reminded Hermione of Ron, and she felt like hitting herself again. Great, she had been able to spend a whole of three seconds without thinking about him.
"Er- Ginny," she said, startling herself. "I know we never talk about it, but... Tell me if I'm crossing a line here."
"OK," said Ginny, looking up at her, obviously wondering what could be so important.
Hermione let go of her hand gently and took a deep breath. "Being in love. What does it feel like? I mean, specifically."
Ginny looked taken by surprise. "What being in love feels like?" she repeated, apparently slightly embarrassed that Hermione had, even indirectly, brought her feelings for Harry up. "Well... It's just... hard."
Hermione nodded, wondering if she had gone too far. They talked about boys occasionally, but never about feelings. Their conversations about Viktor had been short and to the point, and Harry was rarely mentioned, they didn't talk about him. They never talked about Harry.
"But you want specifics?" continued Ginny. "Well, I... I reckon that when you're in love with a boy, he's always on your mind. The most unlikely and stupid things remind you of him." Ginny pulled her legs up and hugged her knees. "And when you're around him, you just lose it. Your intelligence, your sense of decency and pretty much your mind in general, I mean. It's very, very hard to think straight. It can be done, with lots of practice, but it took me years... Oh." She blushed a bright red when she realized that she had just outright admitted the way she felt, but Hermione just smiled.
"It's ok," she whispered. "I know."
"Yeah, well... I know you know, I just... didn't mean to actually say it..." said Ginny nervously, burying her face in her knees. "But maybe it's better this way," she said. Or at least that's what Hermione thought she said. Her voice was muffled. Ginny looked up. "Anyway, er, what was I talking about again?"
"About how you can't think straight around the boy you're in love with," said Hermione, wondering if Ginny could hear her breathing, so loud it was.
"Oh, right. Er... And everything he says means a lot more than anyone else's words. I mean, a half-compliment, coming from him, means the world to you. If you believe it, of course. And a comment about you that could be taken in a bad way hurts more than if anyone else insulted your mother."
Hermione bit her lip.
"And whenever you're in a room with him, you're always following him with your eyes, consciously or not. And when he's not in the room-"
"-you turn around upon every little noise, hoping he'll come in," Hermione filled in quietly.
"Exactly." Ginny turned to look at Hermione and smiled slightly.
Hermione groaned and fell back on her bed. "This can't be happening."
"I'm not even going to ask what you mean by that," said Ginny without looking at her.
"Sorry, Ginny, I just feel uncomfortable talking about it with you."
"Uncomfortable, why?" asked Ginny, and Hermione could actually hear the cheeky grin in her voice. "Only because I'm his sister?"
Hermione sat back up, feeling her eyes widening. "Um..." she was able to mutter finally. "Well... I... I mean... yes, actually."
"Oh," said Ginny, her grin widening. Hermione had a feeling she was kind of relieved that she and Harry weren't the subject anymore. "You're right about keeping it from me, then. It would be too weird, you know. I think you really shouldn't say a word."
"I won't," said Hermione, wavering between being amused, being embarrassed, or both. "I wouldn't want you to know about it."
"Good thing I don't," said Ginny.
Hermione didn't answer.
"Hermione?" came Ginny's tearful voice, after a few seconds that seemed like an eternity.
"Yes?"
"I want you to keep in mind," said Ginny, her voice cracking. "That if I did know about it, I'd be very happy. I'd tell you that I couldn't think of anyone better for my brother than you, and I'd hug you and tell you that you're amazing."
"And I'd tell you that you're completely out of your mind," said Hermione softly, nevertheless touched.
They didn't say anything for quite a while, until Ginny, quite unexpectedly, threw her arms around Hermione. Hermione hugged her back, a little surprised, noticing that Ginny's eyes were bright with tears.
"Don't cry, Ginny," she said, patting her back.
"Oh, Hermione," Ginny sniffed, "I mean it, you're amazing."
She then stood up and dashed out of the dormitory.
"Well, you're not the only one out of your mind, Ginny," Hermione muttered to herself after the door closed.
Well, at least it didn't slam, like when Ron-She stopped that thought. What was it that Ginny had said again? Oh, yes: "The most unlikely and stupid things remind you of him."
Hermione sighed. She was in trouble.
She was most definitely in trouble.
*
Ron threw his quill on top of the parchment and buried his face in his arms in frustration.
Potions was already hard on its own. Now, when he couldn't concentrate, it was simply impossible. What's the right coloration of the Torpidspek Potion so it will corrode exactly two and a half inches of oak wood? Really, what kind of question was that? And why would he want to corrode exactly two and a half inches of oak wood, anyway? He needed help with the stupid paper and he needed it fast.
He missed the time when he could just go over to Hermione and copy her homework. She had been avoiding him for a week now. Of course, he hadn't been jumping at the opportunity to talk to her either, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Hermione was completely out of her mind.
No, wait, that wasn't it...
Well... that was a pretty big part of the point, anyway. Of course, he couldn't remember what the point was, or if there was even a point to start with... He started drawing little circles around the words in his assignment. The point didn't matter, really, now that he thought about it. In fact, how can something have a point, if it doesn't even make any sense?
He had made a resolution to never be around Hermione anymore while she was crying. It was just... he couldn't stand to watch it; he felt uncomfortable and helpless and somehow responsible for it, even if he wasn't. It was almost pathetic, really, how he'd do anything for her to stop. And clearly, kissing her was not the best way to go about it. Although it did get her to quit the crying, he noted not without some amusement.
But Hermione didn't matter. What had made his thoughts go in that direction, anyway?
Oh, yes, homework. About the Torpidspek Potion. He needed help with it and he needed it fast.
*
"Er- Hermione?" said someone behind her chair in the common room.
"Yes?" she said automatically, and then squeezed her eyes shut as it dawned on her who the owner of the voice was. She had missed Ron. A lot. Maybe more than would be considered healthy, and she hated that. Their talks in the hospital wing had consisted purely of "Hi"s, "See you"s and "Seems like Harry's getting better"s lately. They hadn't addressed each other directly during that time, and the eye contact had been practically nonexistent. Each waiting for the other to take the first step, which no one ever did.
Well, apparently Ron was doing it now... What could he possibly want?
"Well, um... You know how the O.W.L.s are coming up..."
Homework. Hermione's eyes snapped open in irritation. Always homework. Of course, why would Ron start a conversation with her otherwise?
"Nice of you to worry about it now," she said flatly, putting her quill down and turning around on her chair to look up at him.
"I really need help with Potions. This assignment's impossible, really, what was Snape thinking?! I can't for the life of me figure out this one question, it's so absurdly-"
"About the coloration of the Torpidspek Potion?" said Hermione. Ron had been rambling. He did it when he was nervous. And when he was talking about Snape. When he was both... She couldn't imagine for how long he'd keep talking if she hadn't interrupted.
"Yeah, that one," said Ron, letting his hands drop (he had been gesturing wildly during his indignant rant).
"Oh, I know, I had to search almost the entire library for the answer..." She pulled The Great Book of Potion Experiences: Everything You Have Never Wanted (and Will Never Need) to Know Regarding Three Thousands of Potions Which You Have Most Certainly Never Heard Of - Vol. VII out of her bag and handed it to Ron. "Here."
"This book must have about 2000 pages," he said matter-of-factly, taking it from her.
"1873, in fact. Is that a problem?" asked Hermione, knowing full well that, to Ron, it certainly was.
"I'll have to read a 1873-page book to find a lousy answer?" he said, leafing through it. "This thing is so old that it doesn't even have an index."
"Well, if you want to do well on your O.W.L.s, you have to learn how to do research."
"I can do research," said Ron defensively.
Hermione started giving him a skeptical look, but stopped herself as memories of their third year came flooding to her. Ron had spent several hours in the library, searching for ways to prove Buckbeak's innocence in a trial. And he had found them. Of course, it hadn't made the slightest difference, after all, since Lucius Malfoy had influenced the jury, but that didn't matter. Ron did know how to do research – and quite well at that. Before she could say anything, though, Ron continued talking.
"But there's no way I'm going to look for anything in this book. It's just... It's... Listen." He opened it at a random page and started reading in a posh voice. "In the year 302, Orlean Iswepwold, disregarding his previous frustrated attempt of creating a - too lazy to figure out how to pronounce that – Potion, decided he had finally discovered a method of making it work and brewed a mixture of – blah blah blah, three lines with the ingredients that I'm going to skip... – However, it did not work. In 303, Spenk Spoterson endeavored to prepare it correctly, by way of a mixture of – another three lines –, but it did not work either. Also in 303, Liam Alfanger brewed a mixture of – five lines this time -, which nearly worked, but did not. He attempted yet again a month later, brewing a mixture of… And it just goes on and on! I mean, who'd have the patience to read this?"
"I did," said Hermione curtly.
He raised an eyebrow at her and turned some pages. "In 397, Harlem Kerpson brewed a mixture… blah blah blah... Oh, look, surprise! It didn't work." He closed the book hard, making dust fly everywhere. "I don't think I've ever seen so much useless information at once. I can't believe you've read that."
"It's not that useless..." said Hermione, waving her hand in the air to try to clear the dust. "You see, in 623, Althaam Gilgwood brews a mixture that actually works."
"Oh, really? And it took the author what, only 50 pages to get there?"
"All right, so it's a dull book," she granted. "But it's the only way of finding the answer."
"Unless you tell me what the answer is."
"Oh, no, Ron. I'm sorry, I can't give you the answers to your homework."
"Hermione..." he whined. "I'm never going to be able to read the whole book on time. In fact, I'm never going to be able to read the whole book, period. And Snape hates me; you know he'll give me extra homework because I couldn't do that one little question... Please?"
Honestly. Ron probably did this on purpose. She couldn't give him the answer, and he kept giving her those puppy dog eyes. Hermione wished she could stop thinking it was extremely cute, but alas, she had learnt the hard way that such thoughts could not be controlled.
Hermione sighed. "Fine." She took the book from him and turned it to the part about the potion.
"You've memorized the page?" said Ron, sitting down on a chair next to her.
She gave him a scathing look and snapped "Shut up", internally grateful that he felt sufficiently at ease around her to make such a comment, and probably even more so that she was comfortable enough to tell him off.
And then Ron pulled his chair closer, and Hermione tensed immediately.
He wants to see the book. Calm down. Stop being stupid. He's just doing it so he can see the book....
The ease had been good while it lasted.
"Look," she said, pushing the book in front of him and dragging her chair away. "You can have it. I already know what it says."
Well, that had been obvious.
Ron looked up from the book at her a moment later and smirked. "Well, well, will you look at that." His eyes moved back to the page. "In the year 718, Jostein Keekerspelt, wishing to create a Torpidspek Potion, brewed a mixture of-"
"All right, all right, I know," interrupted Hermione, placing a hand on his arm to stop him.
His smirk faded, and she could swear that his eyes flickered almost imperceptibly to where her hand was. Hermione let go of his arm as soon as she realized what she was doing.
"I know," she repeated softly, doing her best to pretend nothing happened. "You don't have to rub it in."
"Just thought it was interesting," he said, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
He was playing along. Hermione held the urge to sigh in relief.
"Right, the Torpidspek Potion is an acid; it has lot of uses that aren't important right now, along with being able to corrode any kind of wood. The darker it is, the bigger the hole it creates."
"And what's the right coloration of it so it'll corrode two and a half inches of oak wood?" asked Ron, taking a quill and a piece of parchment out of his bag.
"Bright red, like... Like your hair," she said, starting to reach for it. She soon realized what kind of trouble that action would probably cause, though, and stopped in mid-movement, putting her hand back down and crossing her arms tightly.
"My hair's orange," said Ron, apparently oblivious to Hermione's inner struggle.
"No, it's not. It's a very bright red."
"I know my hair, Hermione," he said, running a hand through it.
Hermione bit her lip. No one knows your hair better than I do, Ron.
She shook her head and decided to change the subject. If she didn't, she would probably end up communicating that thought aloud to Ron, or doing something equally stupid. She had been doing a lot of stupid things around him lately. "Right, um, anyway, you have to be careful so you won't make it darker than it's supposed to be and corrode the wood too much."
"How do I know if it's too dark?"
"You don't. I suppose that experienced Potion masters, like Professor Snape, probably know from experience, but amateurs like us... Well, we just have to cross our fingers and hope for the best."
He smiled. "Yeah, I've always thought that was the best way to go about stuff. It's not always effective, but at least you're being honest about it. After all, isn't everything in life an uncertainty?"
Hermione blinked.
"What?" questioned Ron, giving her a weird look.
"It's just... Well, it's not like you to say something like that. I mean, it's great, and deep, and poetic, and... and so very not you. I mean-"
"Er... Actually, William Sommers said that," interrupted Ron, his ears turning pink. "I just thought it was cool."
Hermione felt a wave of pride that she knew Ron so well. He hadn't said that, after all. It had been a man called William Sommers. William Sommers, the one who... Wait a second. "William Sommers?"
"Cannons Keeper."
"Oh." Of course.
And then there was silence. Hermione had grown used to the silences; they had been quite frequent between the two of them lately. She was surprised that they hadn't died of boredom during their visits to the hospital wing: they would hardly talk to each other, and, well... it was very difficult to maintain a conversation with Harry.
Ron looked up at her, having finished writing his answer. "Er... So, have you finished reading this?" he asked, closing the book and holding it up.
"Yes, why? Piqued your interest, did it?"
"What? No!" he said quickly, looking affronted that she could even suggest that. "I was just thinking that having to carry this incredibly heavy thing around all the time... It can't be good for your health."
That was Ron, apologizing. Never in her life had Hermione heard a proper apology from Ron: he expressed regret by showing her, in one little way or another, that he cared about her. It was great to know she hadn't lost him. She smiled.
"So, I probably should return it as soon as possible, then."
"I'm no Madam Pomfrey, but I reckon your back would be grateful," he said, shrugging.
And suddenly a thought occurred to her out of nowhere. "Are you going away tomorrow for Christmas break?"
How could she not know that? Awkwardness or no awkwardness, he was her friend. It was terrible that they had let things get to that point.
"No, are you?" said Ron, looking like he was thinking something along the same lines.
"My parents wanted me to spend Christmas at home, but I wrote a letter to Mum explaining Harry's condition. She got a bit shocked that my friend had been turned into a giant canary-"
Ron snickered.
"-but she let me stay here to keep him company. It must be horrible to spend Christmas in the hospital wing, mustn't it?"
"Well, we'll soon find out."
"True," said Hermione, standing up and putting her things in her bag. "Well, then. I'll stop by the library now and then I can meet you in the-"
"The hospital wing, yeah," Ron filled in. "We don't seem to do anything else."
"I know, but Harry-"
"It was just a comment, Hermione. You know I know that Harry needs us there."
Hermione nodded. "Right, so I'll see you there, ok?" She threw her bag over her shoulder and picked up the book.
"Er- Hermione?" said Ron as soon as she turned to leave. "I'll go with you. I mean, it's not as if I have anything better to do, anyway."
Hermione froze at that prospect. Being around Ron was very stressful, having to watch herself constantly. She wasn't sure if it was worth it.
Oh, who was she kidding? Of course it was worth it.
She grinned. "You can come if you carry the book."
Ron's eyebrows shot up. "That monster?" He stood up and snatched the book from her, muttering, "I swear, if I weren't so bored..."
"Just don't drop it," she said, starting to put Ron's things in his bag. He had a tendency to leave everything lying around.
"Oh, you found out about my evil plan," he said, watching her and not making the slightest motion to help.
Hermione ignored him and handed him his bag.
Ron murmured something that sounded awfully like "thanks". It was enough to make her smile.
*
So, Christmas was here.
Ron tossed Harry's present from one hand to the other and looked over at Hermione, who was walking down the corridor next to him.
As much as he hated to admit it, it was good to have her back. Things weren't exactly the same between them, but really, it had only been three days since they had stopped avoiding each other. All considered, things were much better than Ron could have ever hoped for.
And he knew that, as long as they never mentioned the… the stuff they shouldn't mention, soon it would be as if nothing had happened. Harry would be back, and it would be as though Bloody Krum's sister had never sent that ruddy letter. It would be as though he had never followed Hermione to that bathroom, and as though he had never kissed her. Although it had felt quite nice- argh!
Ron clutched the package hard in his hand and glanced over at Hermione, irrationally worried that she might have somehow heard his thoughts. She hadn't. Or at least, if she had, she was doing a wicked good job at hiding it.
Usually, when that particular thought came to him, he just scoffed at it and forced himself to think about something safe, like Quidditch. Today, however, for some reason... He gave Hermione one last glance, to make sure she was still distracted, and allowed himself to contemplate it for the first time.
It had felt nice to kiss Hermione. It had. He tightened his grip on the package and quickened his pace to get some distance, suddenly aware of how close she was.
Hell, kissing her always felt great, until the little voice inside his head started screaming: That's Hermione you're kissing! You're kissing Hermione!
That little voice always knocked some reason into him. And then he would wonder how come Hermione had caused him to lose his reason in the first place.
He ran his free hand through his hair and shoved it into his pocket. Damn, now he remembered why he usually blocked these thoughts out. He couldn't start thinking these things. He'd have to spend the whole day right next to her in the hospital wing, because of Harry. It was Christmas, after all.
Hermione caught up with him and said, startling Ron slightly, "So, Christmas is here, huh?"
"Yeah, I..." He cleared his throat and avoided her eyes. "I was just thinking about Christmas."
She simply said, "Oh," although her look lingered on him a little longer than it would have if she thought he was acting normally.
Couldn't she keep talking just a little bit longer? At least if she kept talking he could distract himself a little from... well, her. Kind of weird, but at least he could think about what she was saying, whatever it was, and not about her and about how she-
He stopped that thought right there.
So, the Cannons, huh? They had lost a game by only thirty points that week, hadn't they? They were seventh in the league now. They might have a shot at winning the championship, if the Falmouth Falcons lost to the Tutshill Tornados by... two thousand points, and then the Tornados lost to the Cannons by a thousand and fifty points. It wasn't that impossible.
They entered the hospital wing.
"... and then Cho did this... this dive thing, it was amazing. I don't think they have a name for what she did, it was-"
Ron turned his gaze to Harry's bed. Fred and George were sitting beside it, apparently telling Harry about the Ravenclaw-Slytherin match before the break.
"Oh, please, George, it wasn't that great, she just-"
"Were we watching the same game, Fred? It was amazing, Harry, I'm telling you."
"I thought it was wicked cool, myself," piped in Ron. He had considered informing the twins that he had already told Harry all about that game, but he was too happy that he wouldn't have to be practically alone with Hermione to care about that. So what if they wanted to tell it again? Harry loved Quidditch (and Cho) too much to mind listening to it twice, anyway.
Both his brothers looked up at him.
"Thank you, Ron," said George.
"No one asked your opinion, Ron," said Fred.
"We were wondering when you two would come," said George.
Ron pulled over a chair and sat down next to George. Hermione sat on a chair next to him.
"Happy Christmas," she said.
"Yeah, Happy Christmas," repeated Ron.
"Oh, I hope you two are having a smashing Christmas, because George and I certainly are," said Fred, voice heavy with sarcasm.
"What's got into him?" asked Hermione.
George snickered and said, "He had a-"
"George..." interrupted Fred.
"Oh, I promised not to tell," said George immediately. He made sure Fred wasn't looking before mouthing, "Angelina."
"Ah," mouthed Ron and Hermione.
"I know you're talking about me," said Fred in a singsong voice, still not looking at them.
"Aren't we self-centered?" said George, winking at Ron and Hermione.
"So," asked Hermione to the twins. "Are you going to stay here the whole day?"
George opened his mouth to reply but Fred beat him to it, giving his twin a look. "Yeah, nothing better to do."
George looked amused.
Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, but she broke eye contact almost immediately and turned to Fred.
"But loads of people are staying in Hogwarts for Christmas break," she said, and then added pointedly, "Including Angelina."
Fred frowned.
"We wanted to organize a big Christmas party with everyone for Harry, but then Katie pointed out that Madam Pomfrey would probably kick all of us out," said George. "We thought she had a point, so..."
"It was going to be one hell of a party," said Fred. "Even Seamus said he'd come."
Ron sat up straight on his chair. "Seamus? But doesn't he...?"
"Wish he could stick your head into a cauldron full of dung and hold it there until you suffocate and die a very disgusting death? Yeah, absolutely," said George, a little amused. "Said so himself."
"But you know, it's Christmas and all," said Fred. "Time to be all sappy and sweet."
"Ah," said Ron curtly, wishing they would drop the subject. Obviously, they didn't.
"I don't understand why he's never punched you," mused Fred.
"Yeah, it must be hard to sleep in the same dormitory as you without killing you in the dead of night, since he hates your guts so much," said George.
"Yeah," said Ron, now feeling extremely annoyed.
Fred picked up on his tone of voice and asked innocently, "What, Ron? Don't like to talk about that?"
Ron raised his eyebrows at him and said sarcastically, "Why wouldn't I like to talk about how I'm going to be murdered in my sleep?"
"Should have thought of that before you went off dating Lavender, little brother," said George.
"Right," said Ron, looking down. He hated that whole Lavender business. It was over and done with, couldn't people just let it go?
"Could we please talk about something else?" said Hermione's voice, sounding exasperated.
Ron looked up at her and couldn't help smiling gratefully. She gave him a tight-lipped (and very forced-looking) smile and turned back to Harry.
"She's right, it's Christmas," said Fred.
"Yeah, and look how irritated Harry looks," said George.
"Harry's always looking irritated those days. And they say lilac's a soothing color," said Fred, tutting.
"I reckon that that rule doesn't quite work when you're the lilac one, huh?" said George.
"Well, Hedwig seemed to like it," said Fred, grinning.
"She did, didn't she?" replied George, an identical grin on his face.
"Er- what?" asked Ron.
"Oh, we brought Hedwig here to wish Harry a Happy Christmas," said Fred.
"Yeah, Madam Pomfrey had a fit when she found an owl in here," said George.
"But before being kicked out, Hedwig definitely didn't seem to mind that Harry now looks more like a bizarre humanoid feathery thing than a canary... Totally coming on to him, she was," said Fred.
Harry made a strange sound. Ron didn't know birds could blush. He laughed. Even Hermione cracked a smile.
"Say, do you know why all these people are spending Christmas break in school? I mean, there isn't a ball or anything," asked Ron suddenly.
George shrugged. "I reckon that's because Hogwarts is the safest place in the world."
"Yeah, and now that You-Know—" started Fred, and then trailed off. "You know."
The air changed. Ron could feel it. It suddenly felt hard to breathe. Damn, he had forgotten about You-Know-Who in those last two weeks without Harry. Harry was the one who thought that it was ridiculous to pretend the Dark Lord hadn't come back, and that everyone should just face the problem and learn to deal with it. But Harry wasn't able to talk anymore, and all the students who were entirely human seemed to disagree with him. No one mentioned You-Know-Who, Dark Wizards, Dark Marks or anything of the sort. Ever. Ron personally thought it was a pretty good tactic to not talk about those things. Ignoring a problem might not be the best way to solve it, but it sure saved a lot of stress, and you could just forget about it most of the time.
Well, maybe not in all cases.
He looked over at Hermione. She was looking at him, but as their eyes met she quickly diverted her attention to Harry again.
"Oh," said Hermione, breaking the silence (who'd have thought that Fred and George could keep quiet?), and placing her present at the foot of Harry's bed. "Here, Harry, Happy Christmas."
Ron remembered he too had a present, and followed suit. "Mum made you a Weasley jumper, too, but I'll give it to you when you're in - er, shape to wear it."
"Oh, presents! Can we open them?" asked George. He and Fred seemed to be absolutely cheerful again. Although Fred's joyfulness didn't quite reach his eyes.
"No, Harry has to open his presents," said Hermione, in her best bossy voice.
"But he doesn't have hands," whined George.
"Well," said Fred, examining the end of Harry's wing, "his hands are growing back." He moved some feathers back and pointed. "Look, can you see the half-fingers?"
Ron, Hermione and George leaned in closer to look and said, "Ewww," in almost perfect synchrony.
Fred grinned. "It is kind of gross, isn't it?"
Harry was glaring at them.
Fred patted Harry's head, and then seemed to remember something. "Oh, he can already talk, did you know?"
"Oh, right, we got him to say 'I'm Harry'! Show them, Harry," said George.
Harry rolled his eyes. "I... I..." he looked like he was making a huge effort to get this single syllable out. "I... I'm – chirp."
"Oh, close," said Fred.
"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY! Haven't I told you not to force Mr. Potter to speak?" said Madam Pomfrey in an almost-yell. She walked over to them, holding a fuming goblet. "His vocal chords are still fragile and roughly half of them are human! He might never be able to talk again if they are strained!"
"Happy Christmas to you too," said George, pretending to be deeply hurt.
Madam Pomfrey held the goblet in front of Harry. "Here, Mr. Potter, drink this," she said, still glaring at the twins. She waited until Harry was finished and left without another word.
"Did anyone else think she was totally overreacting?" said Fred, as soon as she was gone.
Ron happened to think Madam Pomfrey was overreacting, but he wouldn't risk making Harry into a mute forever. And he wouldn't want to agree with Fred out loud now, especially considering Hermione's "How can she be overreacting, you prat?? She's a professional!" look. He didn't want to get into an argument with her.
"I mean," continued Fred. "We just wanted him to talk, he's quite boring like that... And she yells at us because there's a tiny chance his vocal chords might split in two?"
"Fred!" said a voice at the doorway.
Fred froze. And then, seeming almost afraid, he looked up to face the owner of the voice. "Angelina."
Angelina looked livid. "You're making Harry split his vocal chords in two?? You're... after all that I've –" She suddenly cut herself short, shook her head slightly and said, her voice surprisingly gentle, "You know what? I'm not going to yell at you again. I come in peace."
Fred looked surprised. "So you mean...?"
"I still think you should spend the whole day here, but-" She grinned. "I can stay with you, if you want."
Fred's grin almost split his face in two (ironically enough, considering the conversation about Harry's vocal chords). "Angelina, the day I don't want you to stay with me you can send me straight to St. Mungo's, because I'll have lost my mind."
George made a loud retching noise. Angelina slapped him across the head.
"Ouch," said George, rubbing the place her hand had hit.
Angelina smiled coyly, "Oops, sorry, George, my hand slipped."
George glared at her.
Fred laughed. "That's my girl."
George glared at Fred.
"Hi Ron, Hermione, Happy Christmas," said Angelina, walking over to Fred. "How's our favorite Seeker doing?"
"He's all right, I think," said Hermione.
Ron nodded. "Yeah, we can't know for sure, he-"
"Are you all right, Harry?" asked George.
"Chirp," said Harry.
"He's all right, Angelina," said George, and then added, noticing everyone's looks, "One for yes and two for no."
"Why didn't we think of that?" said Hermione in her Oh-my-God-I-hate-it-when-I'm-not-perfect voice, turning to Ron.
Ron shrugged.
Angelina pouted. "Oh, look, Fred, the chairs are so far away..."
Fred pulled Angelina into his lap. "God, you're heavy, woman," he said, pretending to have trouble breathing.
Angelina looked at him over her shoulder. "Well, it isn't that far, I can always..."
"Oh, don't you dare stand up, missy," growled Fred, putting his arm around her.
She giggled and kissed his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere," she said softly, putting her arms around his neck.
Ron exchanged a look with George, suddenly understanding his brother's urge to be sick. Even Harry looked uneasy.
"When's Harry coming out of here?" asked Angelina.
"I'm not sure. Apparently it's harder to fix than Madam Pomfrey originally thought," said Hermione.
"You two must miss him," said Angelina.
"Oh, I don't think they mind the alone time," said George to Angelina in a very suggestive voice, while Fred made kissy noises in her ear. Angelina looked amused.
"Shut up," mumbled Ron, his heart accelerating. Oh God. Was there any chance Hermione hadn't heard that? He certainly wasn't going to look at her to check, he knew he would only get even redder than he already was.
Fred opened his mouth, probably to tease him further, when Ron's eyes spotted a flash of red hair at the doorway.
"Ginny!"
Ginny jumped. Ron was relieved all of a sudden, and quite happy to see his sister (which was a rare occurrence nowadays). How long had she been standing there?
"Hi everyone," said Ginny, very pink.
"Oh, hi, Ginny. Glad you could come," said Hermione's voice beside Ron. She sounded like she was smiling. He wasn't sure of that, since confirming it would involve his looking at her, which he didn't plan to do anytime soon.
"Ginny!" said George delightedly. "What are you doing here?" he asked innocently.
Fred whispered something in Angelina's ear. She looked at Ginny and back at Fred, and then hit Fred over the head.
"Hey!" he said indignantly.
"Oh, I thought you liked my violent streak," she purred.
"Not when it's directed at me!"
"Stop being gross or get used to it."
"You're so dominating. I like that. In fact..." He whispered something into her ear.
"Fred!" she said, giggling and hitting him again.
"Ouch! That hurts!" he complained and then grinned. "It was totally worth it, though."
Angelina rolled her eyes and mumbled, "You're impossible."
Fred grinned even more. "So, Ginny, I second George's question. What are you doing here?"
"Please tell me it had nothing to do with your brother's sick suggestion," said Angelina.
"I don't know what my brother's sick suggestion was," said Ginny, completely red now.
"I was just telling her that you-" started Fred, and was promptly stopped by Angelina's hand clamped over his mouth. "Mmmphh."
"Believe me, Ginny, you don't want to know," said Angelina, as Fred released himself.
"I want to know," said George.
Angelina glared at him. Fred mouthed, "Later," over her shoulder.
Then Hermione's voice came from behind Ron. "I'm sure she's just here to spend Christmas with her family."
Yeah, right.
"Wouldn't want to be the only Weasley out there, would I?" said Ginny, making sure to show everyone exactly how bad a liar she was.
"Of course not," said George seriously. "Wouldn't want to be alone and vulnerable in this cold, cruel world." He could only keep his face straight for a few seconds (Ron was impressed) and then he started laughing uncontrollably.
Fred joined him and Angelina snickered. Ron snorted.
Harry seemed quite embarrassed. Ginny took one look at him and smiled amusedly, looking away and sitting down.
"He looked less pathetic when he was entirely a bird," said Ron, noticing his sister's amusement.
"Yeah, too bad you didn't come sooner, you would have caught him in a much better form," said George.
"Yeah," said Ginny, a vague wistfulness in her voice, as she examined Harry's bed sheets. "Too bad."
"Ginny, if you keep up this tone of voice, no one's going to believe you came here to see your 'family'," said Fred.
"You know," said George distractedly. "I expect all the seven of us will be family quite soon."
Ron froze. And he definitely wasn't the only one. Everyone looked a little taken aback.
He couldn't help looking at Hermione. She was looking back at him, and, for the first time that afternoon, held his gaze. He looked away this time, feeling his darkening blush.
George felt the commotion he had caused and looked around at them. "What? What did I say?"
Angelina slapped him across the head.