Ron sank into the easy chair with a grimace, and moaned with relief when the cooling liquid touched his burning hand. He settled his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. Hermione had had a swot session with some Ravenclaws tonight, and without her to nag him about going to the Room early, he'd put off the trip to detention until almost eight o'clock, just to enjoy his reward: the sight of Harry's face as he went off to a normal detention unplagued by cutting quills and disfiguring punishments. He'd sprinted to the Room, downed a bit more of the potion than usual, waited on tenterhooks for it to work, and dashed to the office, but had still managed to be a quarter of an hour late for Umbridge. And she'd made him pay for it: instead of ten o'clock, she'd made him stay till ten-thirty, until his hand was bleeding and he could barely write.

But it had been worth it to see the fruition of his plan: for the first time in a while, he'd seen Harry slip off the couch and say casually, "Better get to detention. See you later." His jaw hadn't tightened in that heart-wrenching way, he hadn't steeled himself for suffering – he had just held the normal disgruntlement of a fellow going off to detention when he'd rather be doing something else. He's not going off for someone to hurt him, Ron had thought. The satisfaction of that knowledge had buoyed him up through the worst of the detention.

Only two more days now, he thought, feeling the cuts begin to close up, the burning begin to recede. Just two more—

Luna Lovegood walked in with an armful of books. "Hello, Harry," she said, as though completely unsurprised to see him here. "Do you mind if I study in here for a while? A few of the girls have been dancing around me in circles and singing "Loony Loony Loon, Howling at the Moon" in the common room all evening, and I don't mind that it's so loud, but I can't concentrate because they're so frightfully out of tune."

The sense of unreality that always accompanied Luna began to overwhelm him, but he collected his wits. "I'm frightfully sorry, Luna, but I've got a–" He cast about for an excuse before remembering: This is Luna! "-a secret I want to hide, and I want you to go away before you can find out about it." Before the unreality sucked him under completely, he said as though telling her when to pick up a birth certificate, "Come back on Sunday, OK?"

"All right then," Luna agreed serenely, not looking in the least put out. "By the way, be careful, Harry. I saw you not a minute ago walking outside in the corridor. You know what that means, don't you?"

I know what it means, all right, it means that that stupid git Harry is taking the long way round to the Gryffindor Common Room. Ron flapped his jaw, but couldn't seem to get any words out.

"It means you're probably suffering from Evemphkarnall's Echo. It sometimes causes you to leave traces of yourself in places where you've been."

"Is that bad?" Ron blurted, unable to resist.

"Oh no," said Luna opening the door, staring earnestly at him with her protuberant eyes, "it's quite easily cured with a dose of wum-wum juice.. That's best taken in the bath, though…"

And she was gone.

He let his head fall back against the headrest, smiling in spite of himself. He wondered why he had ever thought Luna unpleasant. The way things are going, he thought, we'd all be a lot better off if there were a few more people like Luna at Hog—

The door opens, and Lee Jordan and Susan burst in, laughing. Lee lands a kiss on Susan's lips before he notices that the Room has another occupant. "Oh, hi, Harry," he says, and Ron almost corrects him. "Listen," he goes on, giving Ron a conspiratorial you're-a-boy-so-you'll-understand-me look, "Would you mind, erm, leaving us alone for a bit?" His wink encompasses Susan, the room and his rather obvious plans.

But Ron has plans of his own, and they're drawing nearer by the second. "Sorry, but no," he says in a tone that brooks no argument. "I'm expecting someone myself."

"Oh," says Lee, disappointed, but to Ron's immense relief, seems to accept it. "Well, I suppose you did get here first. I don't suppose you'd consider waiting outside until she gets here?"

"'Fraid not," he says, and miracle of miracles, they are gone again, and the door swings shut behind them.

Thank goodness! Ron thinks. Surely that's enough people for one nigh—

Bang! The door bursts open, and Zacharias Smith and a Slytherin girl he doesn't know lurch in, holding on to each other and to the doorframe for support. His hand is up her robes.

"Naffing hell!" Ron roars. "What's going on? Is there a sign on the door, "Trysting Place – Enquire Within?"

The girl looks up wide-eyed and removes Zacharias' hand. Zacharias gives Ron an unfriendly glare, and Ron finds that he has pulled his wand out and trained it on Zacharias without conscious thought.

"Potter—" Smith begins.

"Eff off."

"We've got just as much right to be here as you—"

Ron snorts. "Look, Smith. I've neither the time nor the patience for this. If you're not out of this room by the time I count to three, I will hex you."

"Potter!" Now Smith has his wand out. But Ron knows – hopes – it's a bluff.

"One."

The girl tugs at Zacharias' robes. "Oh, come on, let's just go…"

"Two."

"Want it to come to a duel, Potter?"

She tugs again, insistently. "Let's just find somewhere else, Zackie-poo."

"What!" Ron bursts out in a snort of laughter. Zacharias turns beet red and glares daggers at him, then lowers his wand. He's beaten and he knows it.

Trying to salvage what's left of his dignity, he emits a menacing growl. "If you breathe a word of this, Potter, I swear I'll have your head."

"If you leave right now, my lips are sealed." Ron stares at him flintily until the door closes behind him and the girl.

With a groan, Ron drops to his hands and knees on the floor. And not a moment too soon, as he feels his body changing. "Hogwarts indeed!" he groans aggrievedly as his legs grow longer and his hands change their dimensions before his eyes. "They should rename it St. Mungo's Mental Ward. It's a bloody madhouse, I swear!"

He would not have been particularly relieved to know that his sentiments were shared by Harry.

Harry was jolted awake by the sound of the clock striking eleven, to find himself sitting on the bathroom floor with a stiff neck and a frozen bum.

"Wha—oh."

He'd fallen asleep over his History of Magic homework. After the first night he had taken to bringing his homework down with him – it felt silly just to sit there in the girls' toilets, especially as they got cleaned in the first ten minutes, leaving him to sit twiddling his thumbs until ten o'clock. When he first went to detention, he'd had the awful fear that Umbridge might have arranged something like the Augean Stables, but the work itself was easy and the bathroom stayed clean and sparkling; it turned out that the worst thing about it was Moaning Myrtle and her endless stream of grievances. So intent was he on avoiding Myrtle's chatter that he was studying more diligently than ever before. Well, at least something useful was coming out of his detentions.

Rubbing his eyes, he set off for Gryffindor Tower, using the long way around so as not to run into too many people. But no sooner had he walked out of the toilet than he was mobbed by a horde of first years.

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Potter!"

"They told us—"

"You're a real hero!"

"You saved us!"

A miniature Ginny Weasley piped up, "We don't care what the rest of the school says, Mr. Potter! We think you're noble and brave and kind and chivalrous and—"

Harry couldn't make head or tail of what they were talking about, but he was starting to turn scarlet. "Um, thanks awfully," he said, and extricated himself from them, breaking into a trot as he escaped down the corridor.

As he turned the corner, he blundered into Lee Jordan and Susan, walking with their arms around each other. "Sorry," he apologized, but Lee gave him a knowing wink.

"I know who she is, you lucky dog, you." Susan looked put out, and Lee hastily continued, "'Course, she's got nothing on Susan, here, but she's a bit of all right just the same."

Harry stared, wondering if he was in danger of catching Lee's affliction. Luckily, Lee didn't seem to need an interlocutor. "Just wanted to tell you, we found an empty classroom, so everything worked out all right for us as well."

Harry managed to emit a sort of strangled gurgle as the happy couple flounced past him and disappeared into the gloom. Shaking his head to clear it, he walked on.

Nearing the portrait hole, he found Zacharias Smith walking towards him. Harry's attempt at a friendly smile wilted under Smith's withering glare. "Not a word, Potter," Smith growled as they passed each other.

Harry had had enough. He stopped and turned to face the other boy. "Not a word about what?" he demanded aggressively.

To his immense astonishment, this seemed to please Zacharias no end. "Oh, that's perfect," he beamed. "You're a brick, Potter. Sorry I misjudged you." He clapped Harry heartily on the shoulder and walked off, whistling.

Harry watched him until he was out of sight, and clambered through the portrait hole in a daze. Apparently, the mysterious affliction was catching.

"Have you noticed anyone acting strangely lately?" Harry asks, sitting on the other side of Ron from me at breakfast.

"Whole school's gone barmy, if you ask me," Ron says thickly through his eggs, and I shoot him a warning glance. "Wandering about at all hours of the night, barging in where they're not wanted—"

I manage to kick him under the table and he finally shuts up, but now Harry's taken up the tale. "You said it!" he says with feeling. "Shouting at you one minute, grinning like idiots the next – you never know what they're on about—"

At that moment, Luna Lovegood passes the Gryffindor table. "Morning, Harry," she says shyly. "Remember what I told you about Evemphkarnall's Echo?" Harry stares mutely as she goes on: "Well, I just remembered, it can also be cured with half a cup of powdered quinquilly leaves stirred into a little lemon juice, but they have to be gathered at the full moon." And with that, she glides out of the dining hall.

"It's even affected the Ravenclaws," I jump into the void. Harry is looking after her as though unsure whether to have himself or her admitted to the Emergency Mental Unit. "I think it's Umbridge being here, she's making everyone nervous. No-one's themselves these days. Don't you agree, Ron?" I prod him, acquainting him again with my foot.

"Oh… yeah." He's red to the tips of his ears. "That's got to be it. I'm not myself myself. Umbridge, yeah, what else could it be, really?"

"How's your hand, Harry?" I babble on, desperate for a change of subject. Reaching across Ron, I grab Harry's right hand as it moves towards the toast. He seems embarrassed, but I keep hold of it.

"All right, thanks," he says sheepishly, then he smiles. "Better, actually."

Crisis averted. But as I look at his hand, I realize it is better. The awful purple rawness has subsided to a dark pink. The cuts are nearly healed, and while the flesh is still puffy and the fingers are still thick and swollen, it's nowhere near as bad as it was a couple of days ago.

But then I see Ron looking at Harry's hand, and catch my breath at what I see on his face – profound satisfaction, pride and affection all rolled into one. But the one emotion that makes me want to give him a big hug in the middle of the Great Hall is the gratitude I see in his eyes. He's grateful that he's taking this for Harry.

I fumble beneath the tablecloth for Ron's hand – a bit pink, but nowhere near as bad as Harry's – and gently squeeze it under the table.