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To those who reviewed the prologue: Thankies! I'm so happy to be writing for all of you. :D Have fun, folks. This is …

FIZZ

"Love is blind; friendship closes its eyes." – Anon.

CHAPTER ONE: Odd

October had arrived, and at nine o'clock on a crisp Saturday morning, Ron Weasley was the last place anyone expected him to be. He was not out practicing on the Quidditch pitch. He was not hanging around in the common room. He was instead hidden behind his bed curtains, buried under the covers of his four-poster, and bawling his eyes out. This was highly unusual of Ron, but he was enormously depressed at the moment and didn't care who knew.

"'You're not suitable,' she says. Hmph! Not suitable? How! … I'm attractive, right? … Yes! Yes, I am! It can't be me! It must be her!" he muttered to himself, sniffling and wiping his eyes.

There was suddenly a very loud, weary sigh and the bed curtains were unceremoniously ripped open. Bright sunshine streamed in, half-blinding Ron and revealing Harry, who was standing there with crossed arms and a slight smile on his face. He was dressed for Quidditch practice, pads tied loosely and hanging off his old stained workout clothes.

"Ron, stop moping. It doesn't suit you."

This earned Harry a squint and an ugly frown. Ron turned his back on him and sniffed again. Harry rolled his eyes.

"All right, so Parvati said she wouldn't go to the dance with you! It's not like there aren't any other girls at Hogwarts. Plenty of fish in the sea, I say," he said cheerfully, clambering up onto Ron's mattress and clapping his friend on the back.

"Shut up, Harry."

Harry put his hands on his hips. This was getting ridiculous. Yesterday evening at Hogsmeade, Ron had asked Parvati Patil to the upcoming Hallowe'en Dance, and she'd given him the old head shake. But she was arguably one of the shallowest birds to ever grace Gryffindor tower, and Ron had made a stinking mess of asking her out.

Besides, Gryffindor had an upcoming match against Slytherin, and the team had to train. There was no time for melodrama.

"I will not shut up, and you will not stay in bed all day!" Harry said firmly. "Come on, get your arse moving and throw on some clothes. You know you'll feel better if you practice, you always do."

"No!" Ron growled.

"Yes!" Harry insisted. He grabbed hold of Ron's top cover and yanked.

"No!" Ron yanked back.

A brief struggle ensued and Harry, being smaller than Ron, finally lost; a firm shove sent him straight to the floor, bum first. Ron pulled the blankets right up over his head and sniffed.

Quite annoyed, Harry shook off his fall and stood up. If Ron was just going to lie about and mope, then that was his call. Harry had more important things to do than cater to a cranky roommate – like lead a practice. He dusted himself off and grabbed his broom.

Turning back to the bed he asked, rather sarcastically, "Is there anything I can do?"

"No!" Ron wailed dramatically, muffled by the covers. "Just go away! Leave me alone with my pain!"

Harry stood and watched this pitiful spectacle for a moment. "Fine," he said simply, and made for the door. "I'm going to take the team out and do drills. I'll see you in a bit."

Ron ripped the blankets off his head in shock. "You're just LEAVING me here?" he yelled out, very unhappy.

"I believe that's what you asked me to do," Harry said, as calmly as he could.

He stalked off, feeling Ron's angry blue eyes boring into his shoulders, and shrugged off the stare, slipping through the door and shutting it behind him. It closed with a very final click.

Harry, however, did not set off immediately. He leaned against the door, the back of his head bumping the sign that read "Sixth Years." Then he took several deep breaths, trying to control himself. It was no good. He was still feeling angry with Ron, and he couldn't face the rest of the team like this, it wasn't fair.

Nothing for it, then.

A furtive glance right and left told him no one was around. With a practiced motion, he whipped the hip flask out of his back pocket, took a quick sip, and put it back.

Almost immediately he felt the tension between his eyebrows dissipate. His annoyance was gone. He was calm as a cucumber … happy, even. He whistled as he jogged down the stairs into the common room and hailed the rest of the team. It was time for practice.

By Sunday morning, Ron was over Parvati's rejection … mostly. But he was still really irked with Harry (he really hadn't spoken to him since their altercation on Saturday). Besides, he had some homework to do and Harry, who'd woken up late, was taking breakfast in the Great Hall. This was odd; Harry was usually an early riser. Ron wasn't concerned about this, though. He figured he should leave Harry to eat by himself.

After killing a few hours wandering around the castle and chatting with the occasional portrait, he remembered the looming stack of homework on his bed. Then he forgot about it again and decided to go bother Hermione in the library. For some reason, even after five years of friendship with the bushy-haired girl, it was still fun to see how fast he could successfully interrupt her work. His personal best so far was two minutes.

He picked up an old Quidditch magazine near the entrance and quickly located her at the back. She was camped out next to the Potions section and had taken over two tables with her books. Her hair was bushing out even more than usual, and she didn't even look up at him as he plopped down across from her. Instead, she dutifully continued to take notes from an enormous tome at her left.

Her eyes looked tired, her skin looked pale, and whatever research she was doing, it looked absurdly boring. She needed a break, Ron could tell. But after a few minutes of sitting in silence and skimming his magazine, while sneaking glances at her working diligently, he knew he'd have to say something really juicy to get her to talk to him.

"Parvati" was the first idea that struck. But then he realized that asking Hermione about his Parvati problem was probably not very smart. She'd undoubtedly just insult him for getting rejected. He really didn't need that, not after Harry had been such a prat yesterday morning, stomping away and leaving him all alone.

And then it hit him: Harry. Harry was his way in. Anything concerning their mutual bespectacled friend seemed to be a hot topic with Hermione these days, and this little spat of theirs was certain to pique her interest. Then he could very easily segue from their fight … to his plight. Genius!

"Hey, 'Mione?" he asked.

"Mm?" she replied, jotting something down.

"I think Harry's through being my friend."

His sentence worked so well it was a little scary. Hermione's attention was immediately diverted from her work. She looked up and stared at Ron for a moment.

"Pardon?"

"I said, I think Harry's done being my friend."

Hermione, much to Ron's dismay, looked very cross instead of sympathetic.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, what the hell did you do?" she hissed.

"I didn't do anything!" Ron hissed back, slightly affronted, and went on to tell her the whole story of their argument, the shoving match, and Harry's departure.

Hermione snorted when he finished. "For heavens' sake!" she said. "You were all broken up about Parvati rejecting you?"

Ron nodded. Hermione made a huffy noise in her throat.

"Oh, of all the…" She rubbed her eyes and started again. "Ron, you purposely got mud on her, tried to scour it off, and messed up the charm so badly it obliterated most of her clothes … in the middle of High Street, of all places! And then, instead of apologizing like a normal person, you asked her out."

"But Hermione –"

Hermione held up a hand in irritation and Ron wisely shut up.

"I had to take her home. I had to put her to bed. And I had to listen to her sob for an hour over her stupid Burberry coat! Now, I know Parvati isn't the deepest puddle in the marsh, but what you did was horrible, Ron! Honestly, what did you expect her to say?"

Ron scowled. He was now irritated with two people: Harry for having only the barest required amount of sympathy and then just walking out on him, and Hermione for not having any sympathy at all.

Hermione didn't seem to care that she was being harsh. She was leaning back in her chair, her arms crossed, and staring at him pointedly with one eyebrow raised. It was her classic "You know I'm right, so don't even bother arguing with me!" face.

Defeated, Ron slumped in his seat. "All right, point taken."

"Thank you," Hermione said. She uncrossed her arms and picked up her quill again. "Now can I please go back to my work?"

"You can … in a minute," said Ron. "I want to ask you one question before you do, though."

"I don't care if you're getting an 'early start' on asking girls this year. I won't go to the Hallowe'en Dance with you."

Ron snorted. "Like I was going to ask."

"Oh no?" Hermione said, without any trace of disappointment. "What is it, then?"

Ron shifted in his seat. The thought had occurred to him in the middle of Hermione's lecture (which he'd tuned out), and the idea was too important to ignore.

Unfortunately, he didn't know exactly how to phrase the question. He'd never felt comfortable with this sort of thing, really. It implied he was looking at his male best friend rather more deeply than blokes were supposed to look at each other. The very thought gave him the squiggly-wigglies.

"Have you noticed …?" Ron trailed off.

"Have I noticed what?" Hermione cut in sharply, and leaned in. The light caught the bags under her eyes.

"Have you seen Harry lately? Because, well, he's been acting a little … odd," he finished lamely.

It was like someone had flicked a switch.

Hermione went from haggard and annoyed to alert and concerned in half a second. She put down her quill, closed her book with a neat snap, laced her fingers in front of her on the table, and focused all her attention on Ron. Her brown eyes were pinned on him and she looked very serious.

"I was wondering when you were going to say something," she said.

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