Disclaimer: They're not mine; they're Ms. Rowling's. They just jumped into my head one day and started thrashing around. I had to let them out somehow! I can't lay claim to the idea either. I have no clue where it came from or where it's heading. I just hope it doesn't leave anytime soon.

Any similarity between this and other fics is entirely coincidental. If you see something you recognize, please let me know. I don't want to step on anyone's toes!

Thanks to my beta, She Who Must Not Be Named, who has to deal with my irrational fear of the semi-colon. Have fun with the kiddies!

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Just after moonrise, the Gryffindor Common Room was a cosy haven of quiet. A fire crackled in the large hearth near the entrance, casting flickering light over the abandoned chairs. The tables under the high casement windows were littered with discarded parchments and wrappers from Honeydukes's. A solitary quill danced in a draught sweeping down from the dormitory stairs. It fluttered and twirled across the floor, lightly brushing across the heavy carpet as though wielded by an uncommonly graceful house elf.

After sailing past a plush armchair, the quill hovered for a moment, trembling. Quickly, it changed direction as it caught another eddy, this time from one of the windows. Rather more frantically, it danced to an alcove tucked into one of the room's many corners. It finally rested against a leg sprawled across the floor. The leg's owner lay still as the quill nuzzled against the black fabric of a school robe.

Harry was curled on top of his Charms text, a messy parchment under one hand. He had moved down to the Common Room shortly after Ron and Hermione had made their dramatic exit from the dormitory. At first, he had lain face down on his bed, listening to Neville bustle about the room and chatter to Trevor. He had been in no mood to chat despite Neville's continued attempts to draw him out.

~

After the eighth time Neville clucked at him ("Surely it can't be that bad, whatever you did! You haven't got a single boil!"), Harry rolled off his bed and began gathering his parchments and inks. Muttering an excuse to Neville, he fled for the relative safety of the Common Room. It was an unspoken rule in Gryffindor Tower that, during the week, socialising was restricted to the dormitories after the evening meal. The Common Room, thanks to the efforts of Hermione and a third-year named Constance, was considered an unofficial study room and was only slightly less restricted than the Library. A blistering row between Hermione and an unrepentant George Weasley shortly before the O.W.L.s had demonstrated the need for bowing to Hermione's wishes regarding quiet study time. (George still tried to shield himself behind his nearest sibling whenever Hermione visited the Burrow, lest she decide to restore his antennae.)

Halfway down the stairs, Harry hesitated. He desperately needed to work on his essay for Charms. Forty-five inches on the historical restrictions of Glamours in Europe was a daunting task; research had never been his strong suit. However, by leaving the sanctuary of the sixth year's dormitory, Harry was courting the monumental risk of seeing the two people he'd really rather not. Hermione had said that Colin had fled before she stormed their room, but Ginny was in the Tower. It was highly unlikely she had not yet heard the story. And Colin would have to return at some point, unless he decided to take his chances against the nightly patrols in the castle.

"Ah, bugger it," Harry grumbled before continuing down the stairs. There was really no question. If he went back to his room, Neville would hound him about the scene he had witnessed. Or bore him silly with anecdotes from his Herbology studies. Plus, Ron had threatened a Conversation when he returned from the Library. Harry would much rather that it take place away from the prying eyes and ears of his roommates. Preferably within crawling, hopping or limping distance of the Infirmary, but he'd settle for the relative privacy of a tapestry covered nook in the Tower.

On entering the Common Room, Harry realised that all eyes were on him. Apparently, Kieran had been relating the confrontation to the Gryffindors sprawled around the room. He felt the blood rush to his face and stalked towards the portrait hole, pointedly ignoring the curious looks and whispered conversations. The room seemed to have been magically expanded, leaving him a clear path through the normally cluttered room. At the same time, it felt as though everyone was crowded around him, pressing in on him from all sides. The weight of their questioning stares prickled against his skin as he passed.

I will not make eye contact. I will not make eye contact....

With relief, Harry spotted an empty alcove half-hidden by a section of tapestry. It was halfway along the wall between the stairs and the entrance, a little space fashioned by a random corner of the room. He was in luck, for a change.

This particular corner was truly random. It appeared and disappeared according to an unknown schedule. In fact, it was one of several such corners in the Tower, none of which should exist owing to the fact that the actual structure of the Gryffindor wing was round. The alcove for which Harry was aiming had been discovered by Seamus sometime during their first month at Hogwarts. He had accidentally left his Potions homework in it one night, only to find that it had disappeared the next morning. That time, it had been gone for well over a fortnight.

After what seemed an eternity, Harry reached the alcove. Ignoring the sudden explosion of whispering in the room beyond, he transfigured a few of his extra quills into cushions and sprawled on the floor. He opened his Charms text, nibbled on a quill momentarily and began scribbling furiously on his parchment.

Eventually the room emptied as students drifted up to their dormitories for the night. Some two hours after Harry had hidden himself away, he was the only person still working. Harry looked up as the last of his fellow Gryffindors made his way out of the room.

"Night, Harry. Don't stay up too late! You'll need your beauty sleep for tomorrow." Seamus stood on the bottom step, grinning like a madman and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. He ducked as Harry growled and sent a crumpled piece of parchment careening toward his head. Laughing, Seamus made his way upstairs, whistling as he went.

Harry briefly considered moving to one of the tables near the fire. The stone he was lying on was uncomfortable at best and his stomach had grown numb with cold. As he reached out to cover his inkpot, his eye fell on a passage in his text and he reluctantly turned back to his parchment before he lost his train of thought.

In France, Glamoury has long been considered one of the most attractive forms of magic, he wrote. While other countries were actively seeking to limit its use, the French magical government was funding several Wizards in their research of Indistinguishable Glamours. However, the French were convinced of the need to outlaw Glamoury after an aspiring Dark Wizard successfully impersonated the Muggle Cardinal Richelieu for a period of several weeks in 1637....

Engrossed in his essay, Harry didn't notice the portrait swing open. Colin Creevey crawled in through the hole and looked anxiously around the room before entering. When he spied Harry tucked behind the tapestry, he whitened visibly and scurried to the stairs.

Harry didn't look up from his work until the portrait snapped shut. Shrugging at seeing no one else in the room, he continued writing. Before long, his eyes drooped and his quill-hand slowed. In mid-sentence, his head dropped onto his textbook, his glasses pressed tightly against his face.

~

With a start, Harry realised two things. The first was that passed out face down on flagstones was not the best way to spend the night. His glasses pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, his stomach ached with the cold and his legs had long since lost all feeling. Bending his legs, Harry idly kicked at the wall behind him, hoping to shock his blood back into circulation.

His second realisation was that he was no longer alone in the Common Room. The hearth was still flickering gently but had died down enough that it no longer illuminated the entire room. Squinting, Harry could just make out two dark figures at a table in the corner furthest from his hiding spot. Their low murmurs just barely brushed his ears. He used his tingling feet to push off the wall behind him as he strained to make out the conversation.

"Look, this really isn't that difficult! We've been doing this since second year!"

Hermione. And judging from the exasperation in her voice, Ron was with her. Harry glanced at his watch, startled to see it was nearly midnight. He capped his inkpot and stuffed his parchment into his book. Groaning, he rose to his feet as he waved his wand at the cushions and transformed them back into quills. Gathering his things, he made his way to where his friends were still arguing.

"Hermione, I. Don't. Get. It!" Ron bit out. "I'm hopeless at these bloody theories." He slammed his book shut, making Hermione jump, and rubbed a hand over his face.

Hermione reached out a hand to wrap around his arm. Softly, she said, "Don't worry about it, Ron. You're just exhausted. We'll work on it more this weekend."

"Work on what?" Harry asked as he plopped into a chair across from his friends.

Hermione coloured slightly and snatched her hand away from Ron. "Human Transfiguration theory. Ron's still a bit fuzzy on the details," she replied primly.

Ron leaned his head over the back of his chair and snorted.

Hermione glared at him. "Well, you will understand it if I have anything to say about it. Honestly, it's not all that different than what we've done so far. You just have to remember that mfffggghh -"

Ron had clamped his hand over Hermione's mouth. Harry stifled a chuckle as he watched the two of them. Hermione's eyes were glinting dangerously over Ron's hand. Ron was shaking his head at her, clicking his tongue and scolding her. While he was teasing her over her remarkable McGonagall impression, Hermione narrowed her eyes. She met Harry's amused gaze and raised one eyebrow as if to say Watch this!

Harry almost choked when Ron suddenly recoiled from Hermione as though he had been burned. Ron's eyes widened and his ears started to glow. Hermione merely looked at him smugly before neatly arranging her books into a pile and shoving them into her bag. Ron slumped in his chair, his hand cradled against his chest as though holding something infinitely precious.

"Close your mouth, Ron. I'm off to bed," Hermione declared. "I'll see the two of you at breakfast." With a flourish worthy of a queen, she rose from her chair and quickly disappeared up the staircase.

Harry waited until she was out of sight before letting loose a bark of laughter. Ron was still slumped in his chair, staring blankly in the direction of the stairs. His jaw worked furiously and his ears flushed a darker red. Harry swallowed the rest of his laughter and sat back, waiting for his friend to compose himself.

"I don't - She, uh.... W-wow," Ron stammered, his face slowly flushing to match his ears and hair. He shook his head quickly then turned to Harry. "What was that?"

"Do you need a minute?" Harry tried to keep his face as solemn as possible. It was rather difficult: he could feel his eye twitch with suppressed laughter.

Ron growled in response then busied himself with stacking his books, refusing to meet Harry's eyes again.

Harry coughed. The look on Ron's face, confusion combined with something darker, kept him from teasing further. One thing he'd learned in the last few years was that there were times it was downright dangerous to prod Ron. This, apparently, was one of them. He stared down at his hands until Ron cleared his throat.

"Harry, you know you're my best friend," Ron began. "But if you say one word, I'll hex you into next week!"

Harry threw his arms up in surrender and nodded agreement. He vaguely hoped that Hermione's somewhat scandalous behaviour would throw Ron off enough that he'd forget about the Conversation he had threatened.

Ron cleared his throat a few more times, absently fiddling with a quill on the table. Finally, he looked at Harry again. His eyes narrowed slightly.

Apparently not, Harry groaned silently.

"So, what exactly are your intentions toward my baby sister?"

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A/N: Ah, the old palm-lick trick. Works like a charm! I have a feeling Ron won't try to shut her up again any time soon. Well, not until his ears fade anyway.

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