A/N: Sorry, I know it has been ages since I updated. But with the holidays in the way, there's hardly time. Hope you enjoy this chapter. Please remember to review!

Test Results and Revelations

Hermione entered Professor Vector's classroom just in time to see Harry turning in his examination papers. Without a word, he left the classroom, quickly stealing a glance as he passed her. With a sigh, Hermione crossed over to the window. Already, she could see her fellow housemates gathering down below, some had been waiting since morning. Everyone was waiting eagerly for the test results of their Quidditch saviour.

Professor Vector was sitting at her desk, holding up Harry's test paper, "Well, do you want to correct it?" she asked Hermione.

Hermione, still gazing out the window, "Oh, he passed all right," she replied, her voice sounding defeated, "It's almost silly to look."

"Well, we'll see," said Vector sternly. Putting on her glasses, she started to check Harry's answers. She stopped after reading the first line. "What is this?" she asked, with a high pitch tone, "Some kind of a joke?"

Hermione turned around, "What?"

"Listen to this," Professor Vector began reading the paper aloud, "Question, 'Name the French verbs that take etre'. Answer: 'Hit her over the head with a beater bat.'"

"What?" Hermione repeated, now heading towards the desk.

Vector read on, "Question: 'Give the French word for ten objects in the room' Answer: 'The best things in life are free.'"

Hermione leaned into the desk, "Go on," she said.

The teacher continued, "Question: 'Write a short composition in French describing your home.' He answered in English. 'My home is a vine-covered flat with people on the balcony and twelve children.'"

A smile grew on Hermione's face, "Oh, that's wonderful!" she exclaimed as she reached over the desk and grabbed the exam.

"Wonderful?" said Vector, now looking more perplexed than ever.

Hermione was practically beaming, "Professor, do you know what this means?"

"I certainly do not," she replied firmly.

Hermione glanced over at the window, "It means he loves me."

"What?"

"He loves me," she repeated.

"What are you talking about?" a vexed Professor Vector asked.

"Oh, he knows his French," Hermione explained excitedly, "He could've passed, but he wanted to flunk, so he did it on purpose! Don't you see?"

"No, I don't see," Vector responded slowly.

Realizing the Hogwarts' faculty wouldn't exactly be up to par on current gossip of the student body, she elaborated further, "He didn't want to pass because he didn't want to play, because he didn't want to be engaged to Cho!"

"You mean, he loves you so much he'd even lose the Quidditch cup?" asked the Professor.

"Yes!" Hermione exclaimed. Without thinking, she blurted out, "And I love him too."

"Just a minute, Ms. Granger," Vector rose from her desk and starting pacing about the room, "You tell me this boy really knows his French?"

"He knows it cold," she answered confidently.

The teacher appeared to be deep in thought, "I've got to admire him. It's a big sacrifice. Giving up something like that must mean a great deal to him, winning that match tomorrow. It means a great deal to the school too."

"Well, yes, I know—" Hermione began.

"As you are aware," Professor Vector interjected, "I'm not the school's greatest Quidditch enthusiast….but under the circumstances…I think I ought to pass him."

"Pass him?"

"Now, you'd feel guilty if he didn't play in the match, wouldn't you?" Vector posed.

"But if he wins, then Cho's got him!" she told her with a worried look on her face.

Professor Vector made her way back towards the desk, "Ms. Granger, you'll have to work out your personal problems without involving the whole school."

"But you---" Hermione started to protest.

"I'm afraid you'll have to find some other way," she replied definitively.

Hermione sighed, looking down at Harry's exam. "Well, I hate to say it, but I guess you're right."

Vector's expression softened as she took notice of the crestfallen Hermione. Nodding her head, she said, "Well, I'll leave it up to you. Shall I pass him?"

The room went quiet as Hermione contemplated in her head. Meanwhile, the students below were getting quite anxious. Their cries broke the silence in the room.

"Hey, Hermione!"

"Did he pass?"

"Come on!"

"Let us know!"

"Come on, we have to practice the match!

"Let us know!"

After a few moments of trying to gather up her nerves, Hermione appeared by the window, ready to address the crowd.

As soon as she opened the window, the students promptly stopped their chattering and stood up, giving their fully undivided attention. Harry stood quietly amongst them.

Hermione raised her wand to her throat and cast the Sonorous Charm.

"After carefully considering Mr. Potter's unusual examination paper," she announced to the crowd very slowly, as if she was stalling to buy some time to think, "…and being somewhat surprised at the…rather remarkable answers to some of the questions…Professor Vector has decided that…Well, she's interested…and though…umm…she doesn't approve of some of the phrasing used…she feels that Mr. Potter has demonstrated…umm…a real feeling….for the language."

"Well what is it?" Oliver called out impatiently.

Hermione paused for a brief moment, looking off to the side. Her expression was quite neutral as she uttered, "He passed."

The crowd erupted into cheers at the sound of those two words. Ron and Oliver proudly patted Harry on the back. Everyone was too busy congratulating him to notice the flabbergasted look on Harry's face as he stared into the window where the announcement was just made. Before he could react, his teammates had hoisted him up on their shoulders, carrying him off like a conquering hero. Harry turned his head back around just in time to see Hermione close the window.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The match against Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup was already in full swing by Sunday afternoon. Either the Slytherin team had considerably improved this time around or the Gryffindor team had considerably grown worse. The score is now tied again, 70-70. In order for the Gryffindor team to win the cup, Slytherin must not have the lead before the snitch is caught.

Harry just barely caught himself from a nose drive in pursuit of the snitch. He cursed to himself as he flew back up again. This was his third attempt to snatch the golden menace since the scores tied.

Ginny and Hermione watched nervously from the stands.

"What does Harry think he's doing?" Ginny cried after seeing the last attempt, "Playing exploding snap?"

"He sure isn't trying very hard to win," Hermione remarked sadly.

"Trying to win?" Ginny replied with a grimace, " Right now he's the best man Slytherin has!" She scanned the seats around her, "Isn't his little woman here to spur him on to glory?"

"No, Cho's at the house fixing her dress robe for the dance tonight," Hermione told her, "I suppose she figures the game is in the bag."

Suddenly, the whistle blew. Ginny, Hermione and everyone around them stood up, trying to get a better look at what just happened. A crowd of players were huddled around something lying on the floor. The crowd disbanded as Madame Hooch made her way in.

The audience managed to get a glimpse of Ronald Weasley, lying on the floor, clutching painfully on his side. A bludger had apparently knocked the keeper off of his broom.

"Are you alright, Mr. Weasley?" Madame Hooch asked.

Ron responded with cry of pain. Oliver quickly ran off to find Madame Pomfrey while the referee reached for her wand and levitated Ron's body into the locker room.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Take a deep breath," Madame Pomfrey instructed as she examined the patient. The whole Gryffindor team gathered inside the locker room. A bare-chested Ron was sitting uncomfortably on one of the benches. She gently applied pressure on his injured side. "Does this hurt?"

"A little," Ron replied.

"How bad is it Poppy?" Oliver asked.

"I'm not sure," the school nurse said, "I'll need to run more tests. When you finish dressing, come over to the infirmary."

"But I need to----" Ron started to say.

"Take it easy," Oliver interjected, looking annoyed. "Save your strength. We may need you for the Maypole dance next spring." He turned to the rest of his team, "You're all invited," he gestured his hand in a sarcastic manner.

The players snickered at the remark. But this just made Oliver even more annoyed.

"That's right, laugh. Enjoy yourselves. Butterbeer for everyone! Alright!" yelled the coach. He crossed his arms and scowled, "You thought I'd come in here and bawl the living daylights out of you! Shriek. Rant! Lose my mind!" Oliver practically screamed the last part. He took a deep breath, "But…nothing like that is going to happen. I'm perfectly calm," He said, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself, "I'm not going to let a little Quidditch match upset me!"

He examined each of the players, "I could tell you what you've done wrong, but you know what you did! Robin, what kind of a shot was that? Kirke! Where were you when the Slytherin team was lined up to score the last goal? And Johnson! You know, there isn't a speed limit for flying in Quidditch right?"

Wood sighed again, "Okay, what's the use?" He flew up his hands, "Of course, I know the one thing that's really wrong!" He turned his attention to his star player, who had been leaning against his locker, staring off with a solemn look on his face. "Potter! You're not playing at all! If you'd get in there and play, they'd all play with you! What's eating you, Harry?"

Harry shook his head unconvincingly, "Nothing, I'm all right."

"All right?" Oliver repeated, livid, "You're so all right, you'll spend the rest of the match on the bench!"

"But----" Harry protested.

"That's final!" Oliver told him, "All right! If you're all right, then I'm crazy. I'll prove it to you." He scanned around the room, "McClaggen, you go in for Potter! And Thomas! Where are you?"

"Here I am!" Dean called out and made his way over from the other side of the room.

"Our two best players are out of the match," Oliver explained in an almost nonchalant way, "So I thought it'd be an interesting form of suicide to put you in!"

"That's great Oliver! Thank you!" Dean exclaimed, his chance finally coming through, "I'll kill them! I'll kill them! For Gryffindor! I'll do or die!" With that, he marched to his locker and prepared for battle.

"What spirit!" Oliver declared, "Look at that! There's inspiration for you! New blood in the game! That good old school spirit! And no one can beat it! You're not going to let your fellow housemates down! I mean---"

The whistle blew again.

"That's it!" Oliver yelled out, "Everyone! Get up off your benches and get in there and fight!" One by one, the players marched back to the Quidditch pitch, leaving Ron and Harry behind.

"I wish I had a broken rib," Harry muttered as he helped Ron with his jacket.

"You shouldn't say that," Ron replied, "You still have a chance to win."

Harry said in an indifferent tone, "Win what? The match?"

"And Cho too," Ron added, "Don't you want to announce your engagement to her?"

Harry lowered his eyes, "Not when I'm in love with Hermione." He didn't even realise what he said until after he said it. It just came so naturally to him. With that, he turned and left, leaving Ron alone to process what he had said.

A/N: I'll try and crank out the next chapter sooner! Please review!