Hermione stepped out of the Room, closing the door behind her, and Ron leaned back in his armchair, his throbbing hand resting in the bowl. It had hurt a bit more than the first day, but it was still pretty bearable. He was glad there were only three more days left. He was beginning to gain a new insight into why Harry's whole arm had seemed so stiff and tender; he was starting to feel the strain after only two days, and didn't want to imagine what the cumulative effects of two weeks running would be like.

The pain in the skin was beginning to fade. He flexed his fingers, feeling the healing spread along the tendons. That Hermione's a genius, he thought, glancing at the Muggle watch she had given him. Just a few more minutes now before he could expect to…

CRASH!

Two diminutive first year Hufflepuffs burst into the Room, panting and laughing with tension and elation. "He's gone!" one panted.

"He is! How did you do that?"

"I didn't!"

"Well, it doesn't make sense! There's no door here!"

"You explain it to me! One minute we're running along, thinking how to get away from Filch, then…"

They turned and hesitated slightly to see Ron. He rose to his full height – he had to admit it was far less impressive now that it was only Harry's full height, but still quite enough to intimidate a couple of titchy first years – and boomed, "OUT!"

They hesitated, and Ron was gripped with panic. They couldn't witness the transformation. It didn't bear thinking about. "I SAID, OUT!"

He raised his wand, and apparently that was all the persuasion they needed. They ran.

Ron flopped back into his seat, plunging his hand into the bowl once more.

He still hadn't changed when, barely five minutes later, the door swung open to reveal five more first years from various Houses. He bolted to his feet again, barely salvaging the Murtlap essence from crashing to the floor. The first years shrank into a protective huddle – had he ever been that tiny, he wondered? And what on earth brought them here anyway? Well, he'd make short work of them! He opened his mouth to roar at them to get out—

A little red-haired Gryffindor, braver than the rest, pushed to the front. "M-Mr. P-Potter," she stammered, and he almost corrected her before realizing that he was still 'Harry', "w-we wanted to thank you f-for saving C-crispin and B-bobby. Mr. Filch was after them, and he said…" Her little face quivered. "…he said he was g-going to whip them!"

Ron shut his trap. The brave little girl reminded him absurdly of Ginny. "That's all right," he said, and was moved to say something more, even as he took a step towards them and made shooing motions with his hands. "Look, I don't mind telling you it's a bl—frightful shame, your first year being spoiled with Umbridge in charge. It's not fair to you lot and it's not fair to the school. She's mental. At Hogwarts we don't beat students, ever. Things will get better. You've got to remember that. It's not always going to be like this, so buck up, all right?"

The first years looked up at him with what could only be termed adoration. "He really is a hero!" someone sighed.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Look, this is all very flattering, but could you please clear OFF? I've got something important to do."

Awed as they were by the mythical "Mr. Potter", they needed very little encouragement to leave. He had barely shooed the last one out of the door when the transformation took him. This time it left him feeling a bit sick, and he flopped into the chair until it passed.

The door creaked open. He leapt to his feet and whirled, wand outstretched. "WHAT!" he bellowed.

Hermione stood there, wide-eyed. "I – er – just wanted to see if you'd changed back yet," she stammered, looking at him as though he was rabid and might bite.

Ron sighed gustily, passed a hand over his face, knocking off the silly glasses in the process, and offered her a chivalrous arm. "I was just leaving," he said.

It was going to be a long week.