AN: The plan is coming! Just not today, lol.

News that Harry Potter had nearly killed Draco Malfoy in a blood-soaked duel to avenge Ron Weasley's poisoning was completely unsubstantiated, and could not have spread through Hogwarts any quicker.

Nowhere was speculation on the story more lively than in the sixth year classes, where the absence of the three boys involved served as a constant reminder.

"Potter out for blood in defense of Weasley. Dead romantic, isn't it?" Theo Nott sneered over his table of Slytherins during charms class.

"Shut it, Nott," Pansy said, her tone flat, matter-of-fact. "You know he's not with Potter. Weasley is mine."

The rest of the table hooted but Pansy didn't so much as blush. Nott, on the other hand, had turned quite an angry red. "Come on, Pansy. This has gone far enough. You can't really be with Weasley, that beggar of a blood traitor - "

"You watch your mouth, Nott."

Theo leaned across the table toward her. "Right. So if you're with Weasley, tell me how it is that it's Granger who's tending him in the hospital wing right now, while you're in class with me?"

She sneered back at him. "You should know by now, Theodore Nott, that I never go anywhere with you by choice. But you're always tagging along anyway."

As the table hooted again, she was standing up, packing her bag to leave them to move to a different seat - Ron's seat on the empty bench which neither he nor Harry nor Hermione were filling today.

Nott wasn't finished. "Still haven't explained why Granger is in there mopping his brow right now. Did she just now realize how in love she is with him, once he turned up poisoned? Insufferable Gryffindor soulmates thrown back together by tragedy? The end of Weasley's dalliance with the forbidden Slytherin hot girl?"

Pansy slammed her charms book against the tabletop. Honestly, was there anyone in the universe worse at flirting than Nott? The force of her book slamming had the desired effect of startling Nott into shutting up, but it also drew the attention of everyone else in the class. They were all gawking, listening when Pansy said, "As you well know, Ron is not the only boy in the hospital wing who could use Granger's tending today."

Flitwick had had enough and was calling the class back to order, but a ripple of murmuring voices radiated through the class, the long time suspicions all but confirmed: Hermione Granger was absent from class, caring for her darling Draco Malfoy.

When class ended, Pansy bolted from the room without a word to anyone. She ran to Ron, to his bedside, where he lay exhausted after his long, difficult meeting behind Malfoy's curtains. He was sleeping, his expression not peaceful but tense, as if his body was resting while his mind fought on, frantic inside his head.

She sat down hard on the chair beside him. What had she done? She wasn't supposed to let anyone know Granger was with Draco. It would lead to someone blaming Granger for making that charm the Death Eaters found at Malfoy Manor and then - all the terrible things Ron had been working to protect everyone from all year would come rampaging through his defenses, all because of her outburst.

Why had she come to see him? She wasn't a comfort to him. She was trouble and chaos. She knew it, and it was awful, leaving her sniffing and bowing her head onto his bed, crying softly.

Through his light sleep, Ron heard her, and came crawling back into consciousness to find her. "Pansy, love," he croaked. "What is it? What's happened?"

At the sound of his voice, she sat up, wiping her face, moving her head out of range of his hand just as he was about to thread his fingers into her hair. "I ruined everything, Ron. All your fancy plans and schemes - you never should have let me anywhere near them."

He was too worn out to push himself to sitting, to pull her to him, so Ron simply dropped his hand onto her knee. "What happened, Pansy? I haven't told you much of anything yet. How bad can it be?"

She sniffed. "I was in charms class and Theo Nott - " She swore. "All nasty and jealous, he started taunting me, saying, in front of everyone, that Granger was out of class because she was here falling back in love with you - "

"Aw, Pansy, that's rubbish."

"I know, but I hated it anyway," she said. "And then everyone in class heard me when I got mad and hinted that she was here tending Draco, not you. I didn't come right out and say it, but everyone knew what I meant. And now someone's going to rush off to their vile Death Eater parents and tell them the girl who made the charm they're all mad about was Granger, aren't they." She swore again. "I told you I liked you enough not to tell anyone Granger is with Draco. That was true at the time. But now I like you too much to stop myself from telling people they're together."

Her forehead dropped onto the edge of his bed again. "I'm sorry, Ron. Never tell me anything." Her shoulders heaved as she cried into the sheets.

"Come here," Ron said, squeezing her knee. "Come kiss me with your filthy little mouth and let me calm you down."

She stood up, almost bashfully, still blinking through tears, bending to kiss him once, so quickly and lightly that hardly any of her lipstick transferred from her lips to his.

He shook his head. "That's not it. Come lie down then. Talking about this drains the life out of me, and I'm too tired to cast a muffling spell, so you need to come closer or you won't hear me explaining why it's not so bad."

She hesitated.

"Enough, Parkinson. Come here."

She sighed as she eased herself onto the mattress, wriggling into the small space beside him, turned onto her side, head on his shoulder, his arm curved around her, and her arm clamped around his chest to hold herself in place. To neither of their surprise, school sick beds were not made for snuggling.

Ron spoke against her fringe. "You might be more comfortable if you throw your leg over me."

She laughed quietly into his shoulder. "This will do fine."

He settled into her, not too tired to kiss the top of her head. "Suit yourself. Now, listen. This afternoon, Malfoy, Harry, Hermione, and I cleared the air about a lot of things - "

"Don't tell me."

"Hush, Pansy. Listen," he said, "the charm the Death Eaters found isn't some bauble. It's a mark in Draco's flesh, and it's serious. It's an ancient spell from the books of some monks from around the tenth century - some crazy thing Hermione found in the restricted section. Anyways, it's more powerful than either of them knew when she cast it, and it looks like it may be the only chance the Malfoy family has to not get executed by You-know-who at the end of the term."

She jumped against him. "Executed?"

"Yeah, turns out You-know-who still hasn't forgiven them for being the worst Death Eaters ever, and they've got one more chance to redeem themselves before term ends - unless Hermione's charm can protect Draco and his parents, somehow."

Pansy was swearing again.

"So what I'm saying is," Ron went on, "it doesn't matter anymore if You-know-who traces the charm back to Hermione. None of us are allowed to leave the castle until the end of term anyway, and she's safe in here. Don't worry about it. Let your horrible Slytherin mates tattle tale all they want. We're past it now."

She let out a breath, relaxing against him. "Thank the stars."

"Don't mention the charm to anyone, though," Ron added, his voice more urgent. "That part is still secret."

She propped herself up on one elbow, frowning. "But what happens next? How will they find out if the charm can save the Malfoys? And what does that even mean?"

Ron looked at her face, seeing her genuine concern, the sorrow she'd felt at botching the plan turning into a desire to help it along. A pang ran through his heart at not being able to tell her everything, but it was all so dangerous, so delicate. Like so many things, it had to stay between just the three of them - and bloody Malfoy.

He lifted his finger to smooth the frown line between her eyes. "Snape's going to make good with some books Hermione didn't have access to before, and hopefully she can find something in them that gives us a way to use the charm to beat back You-know-who. The tricky part is, some of the monks' most important manuscripts are missing so - we'll just have to wait and see what they come up with."

Pansy's frown deepened. "How can something like a love charm be strong enough to affect the Dark Lord?"

Ron shrugged. "It's complicated and confidential and I don't get it completely myself. But Malfoy and Harry have reasons to reckon that it can make a difference, and we're desperate enough to try. It's all we've got. I mean, Dumbledore is working on a plan of his own, of course, but there's no way it will be ready in time for the Malfoys."

"Dumbledore cares that much about whether the Malfoys live or die?"

Ron sighed. Navigating between what he dared and dared not say to her was more difficult than he'd imagined. But he was sick to death of everyone hiding everything from each other. So far, that had gotten them almost nowhere. "Of course he cares," he said. "But there's more to his concern than just survival. There always is. I'd really better not say any more. Sorry, love."

She pursed her lips. "Well, is there anything I can do to help with the charm? I'm not much for book research, but I'll help however I can."

Ron tightened his arm around her. "That is lovely of you. But there's really nothing anyone else can offer - unless you know a medieval monk from, say, around the tenth century who we could question about all this."

Pansy sat up. "Of course I know one."

Ron was furrowing his brow now. "You do?"

"Yes, we all do."

He shook his head. "What're you on about, Parkinson?"

She batted lightly at his chest. "For one second, Weasley, set your raging Gryffindor aside and think like a Hufflepuff."

"Hufflepuff?" he repeated. Then his eyes grew large. "The Hufflepuff ghost, the Fat Friar - he's a monk."

She was nodding. "Yes, exactly. From the early days of Hogwarts, so he would have been here around the tenth century."

Ron sat up in bed, suddenly strong again, bracing Pansy's face between both his hands, kissing her firmly and squarely on the mouth. He was shouting. "Yes, you brilliant, brilliant girl."

"Well, my mother was in Hufflepuff."

He laughed. "Of course she was."

She hushed him, poking his ribs with her finger. "Don't you dare tell anyone."

He threw his arms around her again, collapsing onto her, knackered but still laughing in relief, and in delight at what he'd discovered in her. "Perfect Pansy," he said. "Leave the books to Hermione and Malfoy. As soon as I'm up, come with me to visit that monk."

Ginny Weasley spent the morning she was excused from classes to be by her brother's sickbed running around the grounds and through the castle looking for Harry Potter instead. All the while, Harry himself had been either trapped in his agonizing conference with Snape or else in a stupor in the long, hot shower where he'd cleansed himself from the aftermath of the duel. It meant Ginny didn't find Harry until the noon hour, and by then Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had come, making for a boisterous and very welcome show of affection all around Ron's bedside, but offering Ginny no chance to speak privately enough to get Harry to confide in her about what had happened to him that morning, and what might happen next.

She returned to class in the afternoon, Harry had his epic meeting with Malfoy, and Ginny didn't find him again until nearly suppertime.

"Come along, Potter," she said, tossing a quaffle at him in the Entrance Hall as he made his way to the marble staircase after leaving the hospital wing. "Let's go for a fly."

Harry glanced at the castle doors. "Thanks, Ginny," he sputtered. "The trouble is, see, I'm completely knackered. And it must be freezing outside." But even as he said it, he had begun to toss the quaffle lightly from hand to hand.

"That's why I've brought your cloak," she said, draping it over his shoulders. The sweeping, enfolding motion of it felt almost like an embrace. Energy surged into Harry from some deep, dark reserve.

He swallowed, forcing himself to ask, "Will Dean be coming?"

Ginny wrinkled her freckled nose. "No. Wherever Dean Thomas comes or goes, it has nothing to do with me." With both of her hands gripping the edges of Harry's cloak, she tugged him slightly in the direction of the doors, walking backwards, looking into his face. By the time she turned around to lead him outdoors by the cuff of his sleeve, he would have followed her anywhere.

Still so close to mid-winter, it was nearly dark by the time they reached the field house where their brooms were stored. Ginny mounted hers and kicked off the quidditch pitch first, wheeling around to make a test toss of the quaffle. "Can you still see to catch?" she called down to him.

Harry was a seeker with a good sense for moving objects and quick hand-eye coordination, but he barely managed to reach the quaffle in time.

Ginny hummed disapprovingly and flew down to where he stood on the turf, hovering in front of him. "Well, that's not going to work, is it. But I still say you need to blow off some steam, Harry. So hop on."

Harry laughed, a little nervously.

"I'm serious," Ginny said. "It's too dark for us to fly together on separate brooms without losing sight of each other and having an accident. And frankly, Harry, you're not that big and we'll both fit on mine nicely. Set your broom aside and come here."

In the twilight, she couldn't see him blush - or so he hoped.

"Come on, Harry. You've flown tandem before, haven't you?"

"Well, yes but - "

Still hovering, she let go of her broom, sitting up tall, her balance perfect, her hair floating on the cold but gentle wind as she gathered the strands to tie it up. "Don't you trust me? You know there's no one else at this school who flies as well as I do."

It was amazing when she'd talk this way. "I do know that. I'd tell anyone that," he said.

She grinned at him. "Then what are you stood there for?"

He stepped up to her as she landed to let him get on the broom. They tried it with Ginny sitting in the back but, no matter how Harry compared to other boys his age, he was still too big for Ginny to see over to steer.

"Fine, you can sit in the back," she said, "but I'm still the pilot."

"Right," he nodded, straddling the broom and settling his hands on her waist, not quite ready when she kicked off again. Thrown off balance, his polite hold on her waist with his palms and fingertips became a desperate, full-armed snatching.

He made a small cry of protest which trailed into a laugh. "You did that on purpose."

She was laughing too, as she steered them into the deep blue evening sky. "I did. But you're so much more comfortable now, aren't you?"

Harry let himself slump against her back, speaking into her ear. "Yes." He didn't realize until he felt it, that breathing an "s" into her ear would make her shiver between his arms.

"Hey, no speaking Parseltongue to me while I'm flying," she said.

Harry smirked as he answered, "S-s-ure."

"That's it, Harry Potter. You asked for it." She drove the broom to a ridiculous speed - as fast as Harry had ever flown on a broom, if not faster. The darkness around them made it dangerous enough that it should have been terrifying. But Harry felt safer than he had all day. He held her closer, letting his chin sink into her shoulder, his cheek pressed against hers, his heart thudding against her spine.

The loneliness - the sad, solitary feeling he'd had when he walked in on Hermione and Malfoy's embrace that afternoon - it dropped away beneath him. As they flew over the lights of the castle, the Great Hall fully illuminated for supper hour, he saw Ginny's face in the golden glow, and he turned to kiss her cheek.

For the first time in their flight, the course of Ginny's broom wobbled, just a little. She was didn't go much further before she was looping around, losing altitude as she returned them to the field house. Maybe he should have been worried about kissing her, even just on the cheek, without asking permission. But there was no fear in him as their feet touched the ground, and she dropped the broom and turned to face him, his arms still around her waist.

No one was watching. It happened on account of nothing but their feelings for each other. What was most important was that it did happen. Ginny lifted Harry's glasses from his face, closed her eyes, and Harry kissed her again, properly, the way he'd been dying to all year. In contrast to their cold faces, their mouths were warm, irresistibly inviting, making their first kiss long, intense, consuming.

Ginny broke away first, breathless, smiling and staying close. "Better now?" she asked.

Harry hummed, nodding so his nose brushed hers. "So much for this being the worst day of the year for me."

"It was Ron who said," she began, "that Dumbledore told you the source of your power over You-know-who is love. That you have an uncommon, unshakable gift to give love and to get it. And I want to be sure you are always at your most powerful." She kissed him again, her cold hands pressed to his warm neck, slipping into his wind-blown hair.

It might not have been very romantic - maybe not the kind of thing that slinky Malfoy would have said to a girl, but Harry had to say it to Ginny anyway. He held her to him as tightly as he could without hurting her, and told her, "Thank you."

After a moment, she pulled her face out of the crook of his neck, leaned back, and set Harry's glasses on his face. "Now talk to me, Harry. Tell me what happened today. Are you in trouble? Did you cry? Was it the tiniest bit exhilarating? Tell me however you like, without worrying what I'll have to say about it."

And he did. They returned their brooms to the fieldhouse, lit a fire in its small stove, and sat on a bench warming each other's hands as he told her everything about the fight with Malfoy in the bathroom. She didn't try to make him feel bad about jeopardizing the rest of the quidditch season, and she even defended his decisions when he hadn't dared defend them himself.

"Malfoy cast the first hex?" she raved. "Well no wonder you panicked. Especially since the last time the two of you fought he broke your nose while you were defenseless. Of course you reacted as violently as you did. Who wouldn't? And with the echoing acoustics in that bathroom, there's no way you would have been able to hear what he was cursing you with. He could have been casting anything - even an unforgivable. No, Harry, I'm glad you had something good up your sleeve."

"Well, I don't know that I'd call sectumsempra 'good' - "

"Fine, then. Something effective," she conceded. "I'm just - so glad you're okay." She cradled his face with her hand, trying to look into his eyes but seeing nothing but the firelight reflecting in his lenses. Harry was glad for it, secretly afraid that she was there with him, holding his hands and comforting him thanks to the effect of some spell, and if she truly saw him, that spell might break.

The fire burned out and they walked back to the castle, to the kitchen to find something to eat before the elves retired for the night.

Afterward, at the bottom of the marble staircase, Ginny turned when Harry didn't follow her up.

He gestured toward the hospital corridor. "You go on. I'm heading over to check on Ron one more time before I go to bed. The lads in our room will be wanting to know the latest on how he's getting on."

"Right," she said. "Oh, but Harry, maybe - maybe don't tell Ron - about - what we - you know…"

Harry's heart sank. No, of course it had to be like this. How could he have stupid enough to mistake this one perfect night with Ginny as something he could ever repeat? This had been a one-off - a show of concern and mercy from an old friend, a special benefit at the end of day so terrible it was hardly to be believed. And now that he was laughing and himself again, her job was done, and it was all over.

"He's been through a lot today, and I'm not sure how he'll take the news, so…" she let the words drift away.

Harry could only nod at his feet.

"So I'll explain it all to him in the morning," Ginny finished.

He had to be sure what she meant. "Explain - how? What?"

From the step above him, she linked her arms around his neck and let herself fall into his arms, forcing him to hold her weight. She kissed him sweetly on the mouth. "Explain to him that I'm your girlfriend from now on, that's what."

Harry pressed his face into her neck, breaking into an almost giddy laugh against her skin. He held her tightly and spun the both of them around in a circle at the foot of the stairs.

"Miss Granger, until you are formally made Madam Malfoy, you may not sleep the night in the same bed and Mr. Malfoy."

Hermione jerked awake, nearly throwing herself out of Draco's hospital bed when Madam Pomfrey came in to give him his final painkilling draught of the night. As the evening had worn on and the castle grew cooler, he had persuaded her to join him under the covers, and they were sleeping fully entwined by the time Madam Pomfrey arrived at nine o'clock.

Hermione stumbled out of the bed and onto the floor, blushing and apologizing, yet strangely gratified by the sound of the words "Madam Malfoy."

Still groggy, Draco drank the draught, and groaned as he felt after Hermione and discovered the emptiness of his hospital bed.

"Oh, you'll live without her for a few hours, Mr. Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey said as she pushed through the curtains, bustling off to send Pansy and Harry away so Ron could sleep.

When she was gone, Hermione straightened her clothes, smoothed her hair, and stooped to kiss Draco's cheek. It was hard to believe this was the same face that had been slashed open earlier in the day. His chest was still ghastly to look at, but his face was nearly recovered. She whispered goodnight against his ear.

"You'll be back in the morning?" he said.

"Eventually, yes. I'm going to get up early and get to work in Snape's study, on the research."

Draco sighed. "Yes, I suppose you must. I'll be leaving here tomorrow, no matter how I'm feeling. All they're doing for me here is letting me sleep, and I can do that just as well in the dungeons. But Hermione," he said, snagging her hand as she turned to leave, "after today, it's got to be obvious to the whole school that we're a couple. And that means - "

"You-know-who will know who made the charm. Yes, I'd thought of it too." She hung her head.

He pressed her hand to his lips. "It's alright now. We should be safe in the school, but be careful. Stay close to Potter and the Weasleys. Let them help."

She squeezed his hand between both of hers. "Yes. Same to you."