Ron had trouble waking up. His mind seemed reluctant to let him out of the particularly pleasant dream he was having about a certain, curly-haired girl. Ron closed his eyes. His dream slowly ebbed from his mind until nothing remained but its memory. The dream was pleasant. She was wearing a pretty, blue-and-white cloak, and she had kissed him passionately on his mouth. Since he began dating Lavender, Ron noticed that his dreams about Hermione had intensified. Whether it was his growing experience in kissing, or his growing desire to kiss her, Ron couldn't seem to pass one night without dreaming of snogging her.
Today was Saturday, about the only day Ron had a chance to sleep in late. Ron slid out of bed around eleven o'clock and decided to put on his favourite socks. Hermione had done more than a great job on them. They were warm and soft, and fit his feet perfectly. Apart from being very red (Ron never had liked that colour much), there was nothing wrong with them.
The common room was packed when he entered it. Most fifth years were revising their homework, as he had been doing each Saturday one year ago too. Ginny greeted him quickly and subsequently delved back behind her books. Harry, Hermione, and Ron normally had their own corner in the common room. It was close to the fireplace and somehow felt secluded from the rest of the room. It was generally accepted as theirs, so when Ron walked into its direction, he noticed that two third-years immediately left 'his' chair.
Good, they're starting to learn who's in control around here.
"WON-WON!"
Lavender had noticed him and had started calling him over. When she realized he wasn't coming, she decided to move to him.
"Why don't you want to sit with my friends and I, Ronny?", she asked.
"Harry and Hermione might be coming down in a minute or so. I'd already told them I'd sit with them." A slight lie, as usual. He had not spoken to either Harry or Hermione, but Harry normally got up around eleven too. Ron felt it had technically not been a lie. When Harry came down, he'd expect Ron to have reserved him a seat.
Apart from that, Ron also just wanted some peace. He needed to think about everything that was going on in his life. His doubts about being a prefect had grown considerably since last week. While Hermione's words had boosted his confidence for a while, they were now making him afraid to let her down. This feeling had begun when he gave a seventh year Ravenclaw boy a reprimand. He had been cursing a Hufflepuf second year with the leg-locker curse. Ron moved in and told him off immediately. The Ravenclaw didn't respond and merely laughed it off.
Ron noticed Lavender had not yet left. Lavender was rather annoyed by his rejection. She seemed to be looking at his shoes. As usual, Ron's jeans had been rather short, seeing as he had grown another four inches since they were bought. From under them, two flaming socks were visible.
"Who bought you those socks, Won-Won?" Lavender asked curiously.
Ron shrugged. "I dunno, I've had these for ages, I've just never worn them before."
'They look new. That sort of red never stays bright after a few washes.' Lavender looked at Ron in an oddly inquiring way. Ron should have know she'd see through a clothing-related lie. He was about to tell her he hadn't washed them before when Harry entered, giving Ron a perfect opportunity to change the subject.
Breakfast was Ron's favourite moment of the day. Still hungry from sleeping, he would quench his hunger with the great assortment of foods available at Hogwarts. Apart from the usual English breakfast, bacon, eggs, sausages and tomato's, there would also be twenty types of cereal, dozens of juices, ranging from orange and pumpkin juice to strange brown liquids, that smelled good, but tasted horribly. Hermione had told him it was a popular muggle drink that made you more awake.
Today, breakfast was different. When Ron and Harry entered the great hall, they immediately walked over to Hermione (much to lavender's chagrin) and sat down next to her. She certainly seemed to be in a cheerful mood. Her face bore that bemused expression she always had when she had given a correct answer in class, or had hatched some elaborated scheme. She greeted them enthusiastically.
"Is it me, Crabbe," said a familiar, lanky voice, "or is her hair growing bushier by the minute?"
Malfoy sneered at Harry and Ron, but most of all, at Hermione. Ron was about to make a retort, when Hermione shot something back first.
"Hair does that, Malfoy. It grows..."
Ron chuckled. He loved how Hermione always seemed to be able to keep herself calm in these sorts of situations.
"Well well," said Malfoy, "Don't they look pretty. Weasel King and his Mudblood Queen."
In retrospect, Malfoy probably shouldn't have said that, and he definitely shouldn't have put such emphasis on the second-to-last word. Ron stood up, towering over Malfoy and his cronies Crabbe and Goyle (he was nearing 6' 4" after all) and pushed him away. Malfoy tripped over his robes and fell over into the Hufflepuf table. When he tried to get back up, Ron was already standing over him, pointing his wand at Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to hesitate, as their leader had suddenly lost the upper hand.
"Care to take that last bit back, Malfoy?"
"Enough of this", spoke a wise voice from a distance. "Both of you will come with me to my office."
Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with that blue sheen that betrayed his true age. While his appearance had been that of a slightly old man, perhaps only sixty years old, Dumbledore had seen and done much more. He has over a hundred and fifty years old, wizened and sharpened in his face by many conversations and spells. His eyes, like those of everyone, betrayed his age best. They were set, shiny and mysterious. The lamps in his office reflected in them as tiny balls of light, making his eyes even more mysterious.
"Would you care to tell me what happened at the dinner table, mister Weasley?"
Ron told Dumbledore how Malfoy had insulted him and Hermione. For some reason, Malfoy seemed to be rather quiet. He sat there, gazing at Dumbledore silently during Ron's speech, not even taking his eyes of Dumbledore once.
"Mister Malfoy, you will not utter such foul words in my school as long as I'm headmaster. You will write three feet of parchment to professor Snape about the origin of non-verbal spells due tomorrow. Mister Weasley. I do not tolerate your behavior on my school either. You will be writing an essay of seven feet to professor Slughorn about the side effects of an overdose of veritaserum."
Ron walked to the library fuming with rage. How on earth could Malfoy be punished less than him? He had used one of the foulest words imaginable to Hermione. Ron merely pushed him away. It wasn't really what a prefect would do, but it was at the very least understandable. He sat down and opened his potions book.
Uhgg, now I'll have to spend my free afternoon on an essay, Ron thought bitterly. I'd much rather have spent it with Hermione.
Ron had progressed about a foot over the next two hours. Without Hermione's help, it would have amounted in nothing, but fortunately she showed up quite soon afterwards.
"How was your talk with Dumbledore? Did Malfoy get what he deserved?" she asked tentatively.
"Actually, Malfoy got less than me. I guess Malfoy got lucky this time," Ron admitted.
Hermione sat down next to him. Ron noticed she crept up to him to read his essay.
"He gave you an assignment?" she asked.
"No, I've just developed a keen interest in Vertaserum." Ron joked. "Could you help me with this? You're so much better at potions than me."
She moved her chair closer to him. Normally, she would just have asked him to give him his essay, but she seemed to want to sit closely to him. Her right leg brushed up to his, and Ron immediately felt a warm glow (which was very pleasant) against his. Every time she read a bit of the essay, she would lean forward, giving him some time to smell her hair. It smelled lovely, like maple syrup. Ron flushed scarlet immediately and focused on something else.
They spent several hours working on the essay, until around five o'clock.
"You're only one inch short. I doubt professor Slughorn will notice," Hermione said.
"Thanks a million, Hermione. I wouldn't have made it this fast without you."
Hermione turned a right shade of pink in her cheeks and smiled broadly. She kissed him on his forehead and left the library. Some fourth year Gryffindor's started giggling madly at this, but Ron couldn't really care. When he packed his belongings and wanted to leave the library, he noticed a small pice of parchment between a pair of pages in his potions book. He picked it up, noticing it had something written on it in very delicate handwriting.
"Dear Ron,
Playing by your strengths, will help you understand.
If logic is your game, then you'll get to the end.
ifapwgwbwtsoaeaeahmrsssssrotstnpoesatyoonetnretkeiitotteowminion
- Hermione"
Ron spent his entire evening in the dormitory. He kept re-reading the parchment, trying to figure out its exact meaning. Hermione had given this riddle on purpose, probably leaving the note when she kissed his forehead. Ron thought about wat it might be about, and how he should solve the puzzle. He suspected it to be about his socks. She had obviously wanted to say something with them. Perhaps the riddle would solve it.
Ron had been thinking about the note for hours. He had tried re-ordering the letters, trying to find some words in it. That turned out to be impossible though. There had to be hundreds or thousands of combinations. The best he could come up with was: "Finnigan is on my stoop, start to kiss some asses", and half the letters had not yet been used... After the clock chimed two 'o clock, and the last of the fifth years went to bed, Ron decided to go to bed. He was unable to put the riddle out of his head, though. He kept glancing at it, trying to make some sense out of it.
I'm horrible at this. Puzzles and Riddles are something Hermione likes, not me.
After a couple of hours of non-stop thinking, Ron decided to get out of bed. He took the parchment with him and went down to the common room. It was deserted, as it should be around 4 o'clock in the morning. He sat down in 'his' chair and pored over the note.
Why is it so damn difficult? Riddles aren't my game! he thought, looking at the line above the letters.
Wait a minute. Blimey Hermione, you're leaving me hints there. Playing by your strengths, if logic is your game, you're talking about Wizard's chess!
Ron fetched the common room's wizards chessboard. It was a large board, very dark brown, with small figures around the sides. It had been frequently used, and was subsequently rather damaged. There were small cuts in the board where towers had crumbled and queens had been taken.
Now what do I do? I don't think playing a game would make the riddle more sensible. Perhaps there is another link...
Ron started counting the letters. There were sixty-four letters in the sentence.
'Ah, sixty-four, that's 8x8, the dimensions of the board. If I put one letter on each square, I'd be able to fill it out exactly.'
Ron wrote the letters down onto the board. He had hoped they would make sense now, but all he saw was:
ifapwgwb
wtsoaeae
ahmrssss
srotstnp
oesatyoo
netnretk
eiitotte
owminion
'Great, more nonsense.' Ron started looking for words on the board. He had hardly noticed the first word, when he saw the solution.
Reading downwards makes sentances. I should write them down.
'iwasoneofthreeiwasmostimportantiwasstrongestyetuwasnottobespoken'
All that's left to do is to add spaces and align the sentence a little better. Ron started to feel euphoric. He added some spaces and held in his hands the solution to the riddle.
"I was one of three.
I was most important
I was strongest,
yet I was not to be spoken."
"Another Riddle!" he exclaimed just a bit too loud. "But this one will have to wait."
He wrote down the answer on a piece of paper and cleared the board of letters. After making sure nothing was left in the common room, Ron walked to the boys' dormitory and got back in bed. He was asleep before his eyes closed.
Next morning meant Quidditch practice. He was horrible, having slept for only four hours before being woken by Harry. Hermione's second riddle, the solution to the first riddle, was also starting to gnaw on his mind. Ron's lack of concentration gradually became worse. He had nearly fallen from his broom during one of Harry's longer speeches about the importance of scoring from behind the field.
Hermione had decided to watch them train. It was something she often did. He waved at her from the goalposts, while the quaffle zoomed passed his ear into the middle hoop.
"Ron!" Harry bellowed, "If you're not going to even try today, why don't you just hit the showers immediately?"
Ron flushed bright red and attempted another save. He nearly caught it this time, if only he hadn't shifted his weight too far to the right and toppled of his broom...
Ron trudged back to the showers at the end of the practice. Hermione had been the witness of several unfortunate accidents involving Ron, ranging from falling off his broom to falling asleep in front of his hoops. She patted him on the back, telling him "it wasn't that bad." He simply trudged on, tired, sleepy and hungry. He had slipped Hermione the answer while she was patting his back.
Next time, he thought, try to make them a little bit more challenging..
o0o
Hermione stood still on the quidditch field. The Gryffindor team had gone into the changing room and she would have to wait for Ron and Harry to come out again. She fondled the small piece of parchment in her hands with her fingers.
Well, Mister Weasley. Just you wait. You'd better not think you're done. I've got loads more where that came from. And this one was the easiest...