Harry and Ron arrived, panting at their History of Magic class, completely undetected by Professor Binns, who was now in full-drone. Indeed, only two or three members of the class noted their arrival, the rest either gazing desperately out the window, writing notes to one another, or napping behind their books. Seeing as Binns used the same notes every year, Seamus had just asked Katie to borrow her notes from last year. A few quick Copyquills later, and none of the Gryffindors in lower-level History of Magic had to take notes for the rest of the year. Hermione had chewed their ears off when she found out, but when they had argued that Binns was essentially employing the Umbridge school of lecturing, and that none of it stuck anyway, she simply sighed, and let them get away with it.

Normally, this would allow for Ron and Harry to sit cheerfully in the back and write notes to one another. Today, however, they weren't quite sure what to do. They sat down, took out their notebooks (for show) and Ron began fussing with his quill, stripping away the stray bits of feather from the bottom.

Harry pushed his notebook over, and began scratching out a note:

"I know Hermione said to do it tonight, but want to start hammering out Quidditch details?"

For a while Harry thought that Ron was purposefully ignoring his note. He read it out of the corner of his eye, and continued to preen his quill. Harry was about to slide his notebook back over and scowl for the rest of the lesson, but Ron reached over.

"If you want."

That wasn't exactly the enthusiastic response he'd been hoping for. Harry was beginning to wonder exactly what it would take to get Ron to open up to him again.

"When?" Harry scribbled.

"Dunno," Ron wrote back, "Before Slytherin match?"

Harry nodded. An All-Star game was not going to be much fun, if three of the four houses had just lost the Quidditch Cup, and Slytherin was strutting about smirking.

"Only if they win!" Harry rebuked himself mentally, but he had to admit, he was already feeling doubtful. He'd been a somewhat lousy captain this year, to tell the truth, and with half the team in the D.A. and doing side work for the Order, nobody in Gryffindor seemed to be placing too high a priority on Quidditch.

Ron nudged the notebook into Harry's arm, and he realized he'd been lost in thought. He looked down, and read:

"Not your fault. We'll see what happens."

Harry nodded vaguely. It was nice of Ron to say, but he could sense the disappointment behind his scrawly block print.

"Hogsmeade's cancelled," Harry scratched out, "How about Saturday?"

The Gryffindor team had been planning a practice for that Saturday, so at least they knew they had the pitch booked…Maybe they could still meet a bit before hand, do some drills…

"Good," Ron replied, "How about teams?"

"Volunteer," Harry wrote, "First ones to sign up in each position."

"We can post it in the Great Hall," Ron scratched back, "I'll pass a note to Dean, ask him to draw up a flier and a sign-up sheet." Harry was relieved to see that Ron looked a bit more relaxed, and seemed to actually be getting into the idea.

"Good idea," Harry scribbled, smiling. After a brief pause, he risked, "Chess tonight?"

Ron hesitated for a moment, and then scratched out a hasty, "Sure."

Harry smiled. The hesitation had hurt a bit, but it was a start. He wished things could just get back to normal between them, but maybe they never would – at the very least, this was a marked improvement over mutually ignoring one another.

Ron hastily scribbled a note to Dean with the details, and after folding it into a tight little wad, did a hasty bit of transfiguration on it, so that it sprouted six legs and scuttled off the desk, landing with a bump on its back. Ron nudged it right side up with his toe, and it scuttled off towards Dean's chair. After reading it, Dean flashed them a thumbs-up, and immediately took out a fresh sheet of parchment and began sketching.

"We can post it between classes," Harry muttered, and Ron nodded.

As usual in History of Magic, the end of class was forever in coming, and it seemed like hours before Seamus abruptly closed his notebook, and the class galvanized. Professor Binns continued to drone, even as students stood and made for the door, only stopping when he finally reached the end of his notes.

"Finally!" Ron grunted, stretching his arms above his head.

"Oi! You two!" Dean said, taking a few running steps to catch up with them, "I didn't have time to do any color, but I did some cross-hatching. Is this alright?"

"Wow!" Harry said involuntarily.

Dean had done quite an intricate job – A Ravenclaw Beater aimed a Bludger at a Gryffindor Chaser, while a Hufflepuff and Slytherin Seeker vied for the Snitch. They were all shaded to look three-dimensional, and they darted excitedly about the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch, smiling broadly at one another (although the Slytherin, to be fair, had his back turned most of the time.)

"You're really talented, mate," Ron said.

"Did you do that, Dean?" Hermione said, walking up to the group of them and peering over Ron's shoulder.

Dean stammered, and rubbed a spot on his neck shyly, "The proportions all wrong on that Beater…and his head's at a funny angle. Plus, I still can't get them to turn properly, I'm not so good at getting them to move yet…"

"It's brilliant," Harry said, beaming. Dean made it look like so much fun – they'd have no trouble getting people to sign up.

"Hang on," Hermione said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, "That means that you lot were working on Quidditch when you were supposed to be –"

"It's for the Order! Besides, we always use your notes anyway," Ron said, and then added hastily, with feigned concern, "We'd better go hang this up quick, or we'll be late for Potions."

Hermione's eyes narrowed even further, but as Ron had calculated, her urge to be prompt overrode her urge to scold them, and the three of them set off for the Great Hall, thanking Dean again for the art.

They reached the heavy oak doors to the Great Hall, and Ron held the poster up.

"Bit to the left," Hermione said, "Higher. Higher up, Ron!"

He turned his head and scowled at her silently, one eyebrow arched.

"There. That's fine," she said, blushing slightly, "Affixo!"

When Ron took his hands away, the poster stuck of its own accord.

"No magic in the hallways, Mudblood," drawled a familiar voice, "I think I might have to report you to McGonagall. Won't she be disappointed?"

"She's always disappointed when she's forced to listen to you whine," Harry retorted, hotly.

"Hello, Draco," Hermione said coolly, darting a warning glare at Harry that was all-too-easy to read: Stay calm. Don't rise to his bait. Normally Harry would bristle under her mothering, but he remembered all too vividly that night in the infirmary, the night he'd seen his wand glow green…that sobering through brought his temper abruptly to a halt.

"Hello yourself, Granger," Malfoy hissed, leaning on one of the oak doors with his arms crossed, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him, as usual, "Will you be attending the game? Don't often see you around the Quidditch Pitch, anymore. Why is that, I wonder?"

"I'll be there," Hermione said, through clenched teeth.

"I'm looking forward to it," Draco replied with a smirk.

"If you even come near her," Ron whispered, his ears glaring red, "I'll –"

"Temper, Weaselby," Malfoy replied, "How could I do anything if I'm playing?"

"You?" Harry said, with a disbelieving snort, "Since when do you care about inter-house unity?"

"I don't," Draco sneered, "Just put me down as the other Seeker."

Harry's stomach sank, and he felt a burst of annoyance towards Draco Malfoy in addition to his own personal distaste – now the entire Goodwill Game was going to be reduced to yet another petty grudge-match between the two of them, and most likely, between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Harry knew when they put up the list that there were going to have to be some Slytherins for the event to mean anything – but Draco Malfoy would not be his first choice to participate.

"Come to think of it," he continued to drawl, lazily, sensing he had the upper hand, "Why don't you sign Crabbe and Goyle up, while you're at it?"

"Fine," Hermione said, coolly, surprising all present by writing their names in neatly, "What positions would you like to play?"

"Uhhh," Goyle said, nonplussed.

"Beaters, of course," Draco said, trying to regain the upper hand, despite his surprise.

"Good. See you Saturday," Hermione said, crisply, standing her ground.

"Fine," Draco retorted, overcompensating a bit with his sneering, "See you on the pitch, Potter."

"Yes, that is where one generally plays Quidditch," Harry said, wearily. Ron snorted with suppressed laughter, and Harry's heart jumped happily in his chest – he'd made Ron laugh! Maybe they would be friends again…

Draco stalked off, and Harry turned sadly to the poster, whose two columns now read:

Hogwarts HinkypunksHogwarts Hippogriffs

Draco Malfoy, Seeker

Vincent Crabbe, Beater

Gregory Goyle, Beater

"Great," Harry muttered, "How much do you want to bet Malfoy runs and fetches the rest of the Slytherin team?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Hermione said, raising her hand to the poster, "You two are just going to have to play on his team."

"What?!" Ron sputtered.

"Do you care about Hogwarts all?" Hermione shouted, wheeling on them suddenly.

"Well, yeah, but –"

"Was this whole idea just some excuse to go out and play Quidditch, or were you really trying to help?"

"Hermione, I was really –"

"Look, we all know Malfoy is an insufferable piece of…work," Hermione said, restraining herself, carefully, "And probably dangerous to boot. But if we're meant to bring this school together, we're just going to have to lead by example."

"Easy for you to say," Ron muttered, "It's not you up there having to deal with him."

"No, its me under the bleachers," Hermione hissed quietly.

There was a pregnant pause where Ron turned very red.

"I have just as much of a reason to hate him as either of you two," Hermione said, a bit more gently, "But if the situation was reversed, and I was one of the school's Quidditch darlings, I would do the right thing."

After a pause, Ron sighed wearily.

"'Course you would," he muttered, "You always do the right thing. Here, give me the ruddy quill."

He took the quill from Hermione's hand, and wrote "Ron Weasley, Keeper," underneath Goyle's name.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, passing it to Harry, "Here goes nothing, eh?"

Harry nodded, and grimly wrote his name underneath Ron's.

"Hang on," he said, interrupting himself, and making a slight blot on the parchment, "We've already got a Seeker – what am I supposed to do?"

"You'll have to be a Chaser," Hermione said, pensievely, "All the other positions are taken."

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered, echoing Ron's earlier sentiment. He'd never even had a go at the hoops before. What if he made himself look like an idiot? On the plus side, he supposed Draco would hate him for sabotaging their team, but that wasn't really the goal of the event either…

"It'll be fine," Hermione said to them both, soothingly, "He said he wanted to play Seeker, didn't he? If he's doing his job, he'll have no reason to interact with either of you."

"He'll find a reason," Ron muttered, as they turned their feet towards Potions. His expression suddenly cleared a bit, and he bumped Hermione's shoulder accidentally on purpose, with a nervous grin at Harry.

"You think we're 'Quidditch darlings?'"

Hermione flushed bright red, and refused to comment.