His hand's still bleeding, but the pain is gone, and for that Ron breathes a sigh of relief. He wishes Hermione were back from her latest swot session so that they could celebrate a job well done. He closes his eyes and leans back, relishing his reward: seeing Harry at breakfast, using his hand enthusiastically to serve them both kidneys, the swelling almost entirely gone down. It was so great to see him obviously not in pain despite the ugly, raised purple scar puckering the back of his hand.

He pulls his own hand, still in the shape of Harry's, from the Murtlap solution, and looks at the back; as soon as it's taken out of the cooling liquid, it hurts like a bugger, but Hermione's studying some charms that, if they're used right away, will stop it from scarring. Dipping it back into the bowl, he sighs with relief. He can't help feeling a bit annoyed that Harry spent ages in detention without telling them, without Murtlap essence; even with the healing potion, Ron's more than ready to pack it in after just five days. The pain today made him sick. And thinking of Harry spending weeks in this sort of pain, all alone – it makes him angry just thinking about it. We're bloody well there for him! Why does he always feel he has to put up with things alone? Why doesn't he ever ask us for help? Probably the way he grew up with those miserable relations of his. Locking him in his room indeed. That's something I wouldn't wish on Malfoy, let alone—

"Harry!"

The door swings open to reveal Marietta Edgecombe.

"Oh, Merlin," Ron buries his face in his good hand, the glasses bumping his palm awkwardly.

"Harry," she says in a funny tone, "See, I did know where to find you."

Ron rolls his eyes. "Seeing as this seems to be the meeting point for the whole of Hogwarts, yeah, I s'pose you did."

"Harry, I know."

He stares at his blood mingling with the Murtlap essence, and finds that he doesn't have the time or the inclination to be polite. "Marietta, could you just shove off?"

"You don't have to hide it anymore, Harry."

His head whips round at that. Can she be saying she knows about…? Calm, Weasley, calm. "Hide what, exactly, Marietta?"

"You know, silly! I can tell!"

Give me strength! "Tell what?"

"Why you split up with Cho!"

"Oh!" He heaves a sigh of immense relief. "And why might that be?" Girl talk. It's always girl talk. Nothing but—

"Because you fancy me, silly!"

His mouth drops open and he rises, perhaps in the theory that it's more dignified to die on your feet, only to find himself with an armful of Marietta. "Oh, Harry!" she's babbling. "She was never your type, and I couldn't say anything because she's my best friend, but now you've split up, I can finally…"

"Gerroff!" Her arms are everywhere. She's like one of those statues he saw once of an Indian witch with six arms, or a particularly persistent gnome he once encountered in the garden, who was intent on plucking his eyes out. Any moment now, he's going to turn back into Ron, and…

"Kiss me, Harry!"

"Get OFF!" That Indian statue-witch has nothing on this mad female. Does she have twenty hands? How can they be in so many places at once? How will he get her out of here before he changes back?

"I know you're shy, Harry! Cho told me everything!"

"GERROFFOFME!" If she were a boy, he would have long since poked her one in the eye. As it is, he can't hit a girl. He sends up a frantic plea for help to any deity, wizard or Muggle, who may be listening. Anything would be better than this, he prays frantically, anything, even Luna's looniness…

Looniness.

"GAHAARGH!" he yowls, and to his satisfaction, she takes a step back. "Ha! I finally have you alone!" he snarls, advancing upon her.

"Eek! H-Harry, what are you—"

Foaming at the mouth would come in really handy right now, but he settles for drooling a bit, and she skitters backwards, nervously. "I AM THE HEIR OF SLYTHERIN! I AM THE NASTY NASTY!" Oh, great vocabulary, Weasley, really nice going.

But it's working. She has turned pale and is backpedalling like it's an Olympic sport. "Help!"

Keep going, Weasley. "Um. I AM YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE! I WILL REND YOU LIMB FROM LIMB!" He flaps his armsabout a bit.

She lets out a shriek and runs for the door.

"If I ever – um, IF I EVER SEE YOU OUTSIDE THE DEFENSE ASSOCIATION AGAIN, I WILL EAT YOU ALIVE!"

The door slams behind her.

Ron collapses into the armchair, his heart hammering. Please let this be the last mad girl to barge in here. Please let this be the last mad girl to barge in here.

He doesn't know it, but he's about to get his wish.

Harry opens the door to the boys' toilets a crack. He peers around, and, finding the corridor empty, slips out. He's quickly found out that Myrtle isn't confined to the girls' bathroom, and with Peeves in there as well, let's just say he's quite prepared to take his chances with the living, thank you very much.

Quickly and quietly, he pads up the stairs, taking the long way round to Gryffindor tower. It's a bit of a detour, he acknowledges as he huffs upstairs laden with the heavy Charms volumes, but at least I won't run into…

"Marietta!" he gasps as she staggers backwards out of solid wall – no, out of the Room of Requirement – and bumps straight into him.

She turns and sees his face. She couldn't have looked more terrified if she were staring down the business end of a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

"AIEEEE!" she screams and makes a mad dash down the corridor, her robes flapping behind her.

Harry stares after her for a moment.

Reflectively, he puts the heavy books down against the wall. Mad girls or no mad girls, this is getting to be a bit thick. More to the point, he wouldn't put it past Peeves to have given him devil's horns or something even worse; his appearance mustbeterrifying, given Marietta's reaction. He looks down at himself, but it's just too dark in here, even by wandlight, and he couldn't see his face without a mirror, anyway.

He sighs. No point terrorizing the rest of Gryffindor Tower. It won't take a minute to have aglance at himself in a looking-glass.

He walks up and down, thinking: I need to look at myself in the mirror… I need to look at myself in the mirror…

And it appears, a door in the solid stone. Harry pushes it open and steps in, finding a mirror…

…and two armchairs…

and himself, seated in one of them.