A/N: You know when you have a scene in your head and it just can't get down on paper the way you envision it? That's this one. Between the pair of them, writing Ron is requiring a little more lasoo-ing. Thank you for your patience!

-As always, I am not JKR, and do not own any of these characters.

Over the course of their friendship, Ron had gotten used to being concerned about Hermione. Wanting to make sure she was eating. Wishing he could go see her when she'd been petrified. Hoping that Krum, that mopey git, wouldn't try anything. He was aware that he paid attention to her in ways that Harry did not. Harry hadn't been particularly bothered by Hermione's odd reappearances in classes during their third year. Harry hadn't been the one checking in on Hermione's injuries after the Department of Mysteries. Though to be fair, Sirius had died. But still. Keeping an eye on Hermione felt as much a part of his day as eating. Which is why he'd noticed a shift over the past couple of days.

Despite making it clear that she could come to him with anything, Hermione had remained tight-lipped over the rest of their day together. Periodically he caught her sneaking glances his way, but he was accustomed to hiding how much he stared at her that he didn't think she'd caught him out. Together they'd managed to spend a lovely afternoon, and ate dinner together as though nothing were the matter. Selfishly, he'd been glad that Harry was off with Ginny. He liked having Hermione all to himself, even if her brain was elsewhere. That was part of Hermione's charm, wasn't it? She was always thinking ahead of everybody else. He smiled at the thought.

She'd even looked as though she wanted to kiss him on the cheek before she left for her Prefect Duties. Ron had tried to help her along by tilting his face closer to hers, only to have Harry and Ginny come giggling through the Portrait Hole. With a whip of her curls, she was gone. And Harry seemed in too good of a mood for Ron to want to ruin it by having the big brother discussion he knew he should.

Ron had helped Harry with his Charms essay, using all the helpful tips that Hermione had given him earlier. He'd meant to wait up for Hermione, but had dozed off at some point. By the time he awoke, it was to Dobby's bright eyes as he cleaned the common room.

Nor had he seen her the next morning. As he readied himself for breakfast, Crookshanks stood at the foot of the boys staircase. Yellow eyes bored into his. Today it was a look of disappointment. Ron knew if Crookshanks was down here, Hermione must have already left. She didn't show up at breakfast either. He didn't see her until Potions. Her eyes were redrimmed. It looked like she'd been crying, although she tried to pass it off as allergies.

Allergies she'd never mentioned before.

Her hand shook slightly as she chopped her ingredients. Ron watched her with trepidation, barely registering what his own hands were doing until he'd sliced through his thumb. Warm blood began to ooze out of the wound. He swore loudly. She raised her head at the sound and turned a ghostly shade of white.

'Ron!' Hermione cried, as she leant forward to try and stem the bloodflow with a rag. Harry looked up in surprise from where he'd been trying to read his new edition of Advanced Potion Making.

'It's fine,' he tried to tell Hermione, though he could feel his heartbeat pounding insistently in his finger. She gave him a look that he knew all too well.

'What's going on here, Miss Granger?' Slughorn had waddled over. He took one look at the fabric Hermione was holding, rapidly turning pink. Ron felt his ears go red.

'You'd best be heading up to the Hospital Wing then, Weldee. Pomfrey can fix that in a tick.'

Ron felt his neck flush as well. Apparently not even being poisoned in Slughorn's office could get the Potions Master to remember Ron's name.

'I'll take him, Professor.' Hermione's tone was as firm as the grip she had on his hand. Slughorn looked at her with perplexion in his eyes.

'Miss Granger, I'm sure Westley can-' Slughorn began.

'No students alone in the corridors, right?' Hermione turned her head from Ron's hand to face the professor. Ron was impressed with her ingenuity. Slughorn shrugged.

'So long as Mr. Potter grabs your things after class.'

'Course,' Harry cut in. He frowned at the sight of Hermione clutching Ron's hand.

'Thanks,' Ron said, as Hermione shuffled off her stool and began striding with him towards the dungeon door.

He couldn't pretend that he didn't enjoy Hermione gripping his hand. If only it hadn't been because he'd been a bit of an idiot. They strode in silence. Ron didn't want to break it. Hermione's face had turned even whiter, and her lips were pressed together in a line.

'Are you breathing alright?' she asked him, as they waited for a staircase to return to them.

'Yeah,' Ron replied. 'It's just a cut.'

She nodded, her plait bobbing as she did so. His words seemed to bring her no comfort.

'Seriously,' he added. 'I'm fine. It's nice of you to come up with me though.'

Her eyes flashed to his. 'You think you're fine, but what if there's residual issues from the poison? I'm fairly certain Madame Pomfrey mentioned something about a blood thinning potion to counteract the effects of the-'

'Hermione, that was months ago,' he pointed out. 'I'm going to be okay.'

'Well…you'd better be.' She pressed deeper into his thumb, drawing her eyes towards the rag.

The staircase arrived and they ascended it together. With the height difference, Ron was having to take much shorter strides to accommodate Hermione's worrying steps. In spite of himself, it felt nice to have her show concern.

'I'm sorry about Slughorn,' she muttered as they finally entered the corridor that led to the Hospital Wing.

'What?'

'It's inexcuseable that he still doesn't know your name,' she clarified.

'Oh, that's okay, I don't really matter-' Ron began to say, his ears growing red. Anytime Hermione mentioned Slughorn he was pulled back to the idea that they were supposed to have gone together to his Christmas party. That maybe if the professor had seen him on Hermione's arm, it might have made a difference in his eyes.

'Yes you do,' Hermione butted in, drawing to halt in the hallway. 'You do matter, Ron. You matter to me.'

Her voice cracked on the last word. Ron couldn't help the warm feeling that spread through his chest at her admission.

'Hermione,' he began, even though he wasn't sure what he was going to say next. Luckily he was saved by a door opening to the left of them.

'Oh hello dears.' Madame Pomfrey was clutching a large mug in her hands. 'What are you…' she trailed off upon seeing the now magenta rag covering Ron's thumb.

'Ron had an accident in Potions,' Hermione said, trying and failing to keep her voice from wobbling.

'Yes, I can see that,' Pomfrey agreed. With a tut, she reached forward and swatted Hermione's hand away. As she lifted up the rag yet more blood began to ooze out.

'Looks nasty,' Pomfrey muttered. She pressed the fabric back into the cut. 'What happened?'

'Wasn't paying attention in Potions,' Ron muttered. He hoped Pomfrey didn't notice that the back of his neck had begun to flush.

She frowned at him. Fixing him with a glare above her spectacles, she motioned to head towards the Hospital Wing.

Hermione stood there, looking confused.

'You can go now, Miss Granger.'

'Are you sure?' Hermione had gone breathless. 'I…I told Professor Slughorn that I would accompany Ron.'

'And so you did. He's in my capable hands now. Please return to class.'

Hermione bit her lip in worry. She pulled the sleeves of her robes down, fiddling with the fabric.

'I'll see you later,' Ron said. She looked up at him with trepidation. He tried to smile, to let her know that everything was fine. She didn't seem to believe him one bit. Pomfrey turned her glare onto Hermione, who got the message. The last he saw of her was her plait swinging down the corridor.

'Now then,' Pomfrey used her other hand to clap Ron on the arm. 'Let's go get you patched up.'

It didn't take long. A simple spell and a blood replenishing potion and Ron was nearly good to go. He said his thanks to the Matron, who fixed him with another look.

'You should be paying more attention to your schoolwork than Miss Granger, Weasley.'

Ron felt his whole face flush.

'Right. Sorry,' he began, before he realized the weight of Pomfrey's words. 'Hang on, I never said I was-'

Pomfrey rolled her eyes. 'You didn't have to. I wasn't born yesterday. But probably best if you were a bit more careful. That poor girl can't take you in much more pain.'

With a wave that he took as a dismissal, Ron walked out of the Hospital Wing with his cut and his pride stinging. How mortifying to be called out by the healer? Did everybody know that he felt strongly about Hermione? Did Hermione know?

With that terrifying thought, he took a moment to sit on a window ledge and look at his newly healed cut. Pomfrey said it might leave a little scar. He decided he'd be better off keeping it from Hermione. She did seem more upset than necessary about his minor injury. He'd have to get to the bottom of what was bothering her.

…

For the next couple of days Ron did his best to hide his hand from Hermione. She'd checked him once he met up with her and Harry in Transfiguration, but hadn't asked to see much past that. He'd been hoping for a moment alone with her, but no such luck. She seemed to be taking it as a personal affront that Harry was not paying as much attention to his schoolwork as he should be. Now she was on him, nagging to try and get him to focus a little bit more. If she wasn't nagging Harry, she was decamped in the library. Ron had made an effort to follow her the previous day, but she had stopped him. Apparently she was working on Prince stuff and didn't want Ron to be in the middle of it. He appreciated her thoughtfulness, but would rather have been in the library with her. Otherwise he was stuck with Harry and Ginny, usually curled together in one chair, working on their separate schoolwork.

Worst part was, not only was Harry looking cheerful and happy, now Ginny was constantly sprouting a grin from ear to ear. He'd gone so long without having a talk with Harry he figured the time had come and gone. Anything that kept the pair of them happy was bound to be a good thing, even if he didn't really like the outcome.

Come Wednesday evening, Hermione was sitting alone in the common room when Ron returned from dinner with Seamus and Dean. This was unusual in and of itself, but what worried Ron was the open chart in front of her. Other that a few quill markings near the top, it was oddly blank. Rather than working, she was staring into space and absentmindedly stroking Crookshanks. She didn't even notice when a third year around the corner reached into their robes and pulled out a Decoy Detonator to show their friends. Swallowing hard, he came and took a seat beside her.

'Hermione?' he asked. She startled beside him. With a slow turn, she looked at him and gave a small smile.

'Are you okay?' he asked.

'Oh yes, I'm fine.' Her voice squeaked. He knew it wasn't fine.

'Are you sure? Because you sound…' he trailed off, unsure with how to finish the sentence.

Hermione rubbed her face with one hand. 'Too many late nights I think.'

Ron frowned. She had been coming back to the Common Room later than usual each night. He was used to her coming back from the library a little before closing time. Now it seemed she was eager to pull every available moment with her books.

'Why don't you get some rest?' Ron asked. 'We have that quiz tomorrow in Transfiguration. You don't want to be tired.'

Hermione looked at him, her shoulders slumped. 'Yes I remember. Hopefully Harry does. He seemed confused when I mentioned Hieronymus Dalrymple in Charms yesterday.'

Tendrils of unease worked their way into Ron's centre. She had mentioned that in class…she'd also brought it up to him when he was working on his Herbology essay a couple of nights ago. If he could only remember why that name was important.

'Right, the bloke who argued for more Animagus regulations.' Sending up a prayer that he had guessed the name correctly, Ron was rewarded by a genuine smile.

'Good to see you were paying attention!' She beamed and it made its way directly into Ron's chest.

'No need to worry about me then,' Ron continued, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through him. 'So go get some sleep.'

'I can't,' she protested. Once more she bit her lip in worry. Ron didn't like that this was happening with alarming frequency these days.

'Why not? You're spending so much time in the library; you must be at least a week ahead in every class.'

A pink flush burned against her cheeks.

'It's not homework, I have Prefect Duties.'

Right. Those stupid things. Ron didn't like them at the best of times. The only times they had been marginally entertaining had been when they were doing them together. Especially the one they'd had after he'd agreed to go to Slughorn's with her. How his hand managed to dance just a little closer to hers as they marched. Her smile as they tried to imagine which Ministry official Harry might go off on after a couple glasses of Butterbeer.

After Lavender, he'd been working with Padma. Part of him suspected that Hermione had requested the transfer to Antony solely to put Ron back with his Yule Ball partner. Two years had done nothing to diminish the hatred Padma sent his way. He would have much preferred being with Hannah, but given Hermione would have had to patrol with Ernie, it did make sense that she would have gone to the Ravenclaws.

With a jolt, he remembered promising to himself that he would ask to be put back on rotation with Hermione. At least now was as good a time as any to test the waters.

'You don't seem as excited as usual about them,' Ron noted.

'No, no, it's fine.' Bingo. Hermione was lying again. That same squeaky tone was back.

'Is Antony bothering you?' Honestly, given that he couldn't well punch Harry for dating his sister, he might as well slug Antony for trying anything with Hermione.

She gave him a withering look. 'No. Antony is perfectly lovely.'

'Then what's wrong with duties?'

'Nothing,' she repeated, less squeaky and more insistent this time. Her eyes were bright. Crookshanks lifted his head to stare at Ron. That fluffy furball was always on the lookout for something, Ron knew it. Hermione noticed her cat and began scratching behind his ears once more.

'I miss doing them with you.' Though the words were directed towards Crookshanks' fur, Ron realized they were meant for him.

'Yeah, me too,' he agreed quickly.

'I wish I hadn't switched,' she continued. 'It was childish and silly and,'

'Hey, it's alright.' Ron put his hands up towards her. Concern was growing in him, matched with the rapid strokes to Crookshanks fur. He figured a joke might diffuse the tension. 'I'm just glad I didn't get more birds sicced on me.'

Her fingers stopped. Maybe jokes were not the best way to diffuse the tension.

'I am sorry about that.'

'It's okay.' Ron absentmindedly felt the small scars on his right hand.

'It's not okay,' she countered. 'I hurt you! That's never okay. Maybe that's part of the reason that now I'm-'

'That you're what?'

'Never mind. I'm just sorry that's all.'

'And I'm telling you, it's okay.'

She hung her head.

'Do you want me to take over your rounds tonight?' Ron asked. She definitely didn't look okay. He figured this was the least he could do.

Her head snapped up so fast, Crookshanks yelped and flew off her lap.

'No!' she cried.

Ron looked at her, bewildered. 'What the-' he began to ask.

'Antony's picky about rules and I'm sure you have some more studying to do for Transfiguration.'

Ron did, but that was besides the point. Also, he was fairly certain Antony cared more about Nicola than he did about rules.

'Hermione,' Ron tried again but she shook her head, cutting him off.

'Thank you for the offer. I appreciate it. But I'll go do my duties tonight. See you later.'

Before he could say another word, she sped off down the centre of the room and out the Portrait hole. Leaving in such haste as she did, her bag was still beside the couch. Ron frowned at the sight of it, before carefully re-rolling her Arithmancy parchment and placing it safely back inside. Crookshanks' beady eyes stared at him the whole while. It took a great deal of self-control not to flip the cat the bird.

Now certain that something was up with Hermione, Ron realized he had but one course of action to take. Talk to Fletcher. Martin Fletcher had a streak of Percy in him, stickler for the rules and stick up his arse. He knew he was already on thin ice with the Head Boy. Fletcher loved Hermione of course, but had never warmed up to Ron. The frostiness had only deepened after Hermione requested a touring switch. And while everybody at Hogwarts knew that Hermione Granger had practically been born to be Head Girl, nobody seemed chomping at the bit to give Ron the other title.

Although, he thought to himself as he settled into the couch, determined to show off his prowess in Transfiguration tomorrow and win Hermione's affection, Head Boy didn't sound so bad if he got to do with Hermione.

Pleased with his resolution, Ron promptly got to work, determined to wait for Hermione to return.

Once more, Hermione thwarted him. He woke up to Dobby again, who frowned at him and told him he really should get up to bed. Before he could even ask the Elf if he'd seen Hermione, he'd been shooed up to his dormitory. It wasn't until the early morning light reached him through the curtains that he realized he still had a hold on Hermione's bag. The thought made him spring out of his sheets with more haste than usual.

He raced into his robes and sprinted into the common room. Nobody was there except a few lone cats, curled into armchairs.

'Are you alright?' Ginny asked, meeting him at the bottom of the girls stairs.

'Hermione left her bag down here last night,' Ron informed her. 'Has she been asking for it?'

Ginny shrugged. 'Haven't seen her.'

Ron felt his chest turn to ice.

'I'm sure she's fine,' Ginny continued. 'It's not like she ran off somewhere.'

That was exactly what Ron feared. That somehow a Death Eater had gotten through the castle's defences and had grabbed her. He gulped at the thought.

'Okay, let's reign in the anxiety a little here, Ron.' Ginny was clearly fighting a laugh.

'It's not funny. You'll feel really bad if something's happened to her.'

With a roll of her eyes, she took Hermione's bag from him.

'What are you doing?'

'Shut up.' She informed him.

Rifling through, she took out a spare bit of parchment along with Hermione's favourite raven pen (she swore it allowed for more precise rune scratchings.) Before he could tell Ginny not to mess with it, she'd already penned a quick note.

'There. I'll slide it under the door so she knows not to panic and to come find us at breakfast. Happy?'

'No.' Ron grumbled at her, folding his arms.

'Don't care.'

She sauntered back up the stairs, as Ron cursed for the umpteenth time that he wasn't able to get up to Hermione himself. By the time she came back down, Harry was coming down the boys staircase.

'Perfect timing!' Harry smiled at Ginny who grinned back.

Ron rolled his eyes and went off in the direction of the Great Hall. The walk felt longer than usual, and Ron cursed Hermione's need to carry such a heavy bag. How many books did she really need to carry? Why hadn't she put some sort of enchantment on it to make it less cumbersome? Now that he was carrying it down to breakfast, he wasn't certain he had her correct books for the day. Though if this meant they'd have to crowd together over one…

With that pleasant thought, he strode into the Great Hall. Fletcher was already seated at the Ravenclaw table, and Ron excused himself from Harry and Ginny to talk to him. Not that Harry and Ginny even noticed. A bowl of porridge sat nearly untouched beside Fletcher, treacle slowly congealing in the centre of the porcelain. The Head Boy seemed more engrossed in the book he was reading that eating. Ron recognized the same look in Hermione on many an occasion. Ron coughed by way of greeting. Brown eyes narrowed, Fletcher looked up from his book and fixed Ron with a frown.

'What do you want Weasley?'

'I er…want to request a touring switch.'

Fletcher rolled his eyes. 'What is with you Gryffindors and this constant switching? Who do you want now? Hannah? Pansy? Or one of the blokes? Why do you think-'

'No, I want to go back to the original. I think we should..er…preserve house unity.' Well he'd pulled that out of his arse, but he could only hope it would work. Fletcher's frown deepened. Seeming to be more interested, he placed a shard of parchment between the pages he'd been reading.

'You want to switch back to Hermione?'

Ron nodded.

'Did you talk to her about this?'

'Of course,' Ron lied. 'She's wants to switch too. Just er…she's tied up with some extra credit work at the moment.'

This seemed to appease Fletcher. He drummed his fingers on the table.

'It would make scheduling much easier if I could keep it in house…' Ron brightened at the thought. Plenty of time to talk with Hermione alone. 'I'll just double check with McGonagall.'

'Why do you need to check with McGonagall?' Ron asked in disbelief.

'As your Head of House, she needs to sign off on the return, given Hermione already requested not to work with you. It shouldn't take long. I have her first thing this morning.'

Ron did some quick mental math. If he could make it to the Transfiguration room before Hermione this afternoon, he'd be able to surprise her with their triumphant Prefect Return.

'Yeah, okay.'

'Brilliant. You can go now.' Barely pausing to look at Ron once more, Fletcher re-opened his book. Ron went back to the Gryffindor table. For the first time, he felt excited about heading to Transfiguration.

He'd barely started on his bacon when Hermione dashed into the Great Hall. The flaming red of his and Ginny's hair seemed to act as a beacon, for she booked it towards them. Arms outstretched, for a mad moment Ron thought she was coming to embrace him. Reaching his own out in anticipation, he was mortified to see her latch on to her bag beside him.

'Thank you,' she breathed. Taking a seat, she clutched the leather to her chest. 'I can't believe I was so silly to leave this behind. I was in such a state this morning trying to find it in the Common Room, and-'

Ginny peeked around Ron, one eyebrow raised. 'You didn't see my note?'

Hermione shook her head. 'What note?'

'I left one under your door to let you know that we had it!'

'That I had it,' Ron insisted. Ginny rolled her eyes. Releasing her hold on the bag, Hermione set it gently between her legs.

'I didn't see anything like that. I wouldn't have panicked quite so much if I'd known.'

She reached for the toast, and began putting some jam onto it. Ron didn't know why Hermione hadn't gotten the note.

'How were duties?' he asked her in an undertone, once he was sure Ginny was back her conversation with Harry. Hermione froze, her knife shaking a little as it smeared the blackberries.

'Fine.' It wasn't squeaky. If anything her voice was tight and clipped. This made Ron even more concerned. He wanted to make sure that she was safe. Her eyes darted towards the Ravenclaw table, and Ron felt anger rise in his chest. He looked back up, fully ready to give Antony a good old staredown.

Only Antony wasn't there. Or at least not where Hermione had been looking. Instead, he saw a mop of curls and a flash of white teeth. Terry Boot was holding court with some older Ravenclaws, laughing as though he hadn't a care in the world. This puzzled Ron. Why was Hermione concerned with Boot all of a sudden?

'Do you feel ready for the quiz?' Hermione seemed to have noticed where Ron was looking and wanted to distract him back. Ron knew her games. This made him even more suspicious. He frowned at her.

'I guess. Hermione, what's going on with-'

'Oh by the way,' Ginny cut in, swallowing the last of a piece of sausage. 'I received full marks on my Care of Magical Creatures assignment, so you can stop pestering me about it.'

Hermione shook her head and leaned over Ron to speak with Ginny. This gave him a whiff of her shampoo, a combination of smells that made him think of the woods that surrounded the Burrow. If he didn't think she'd find it odd, he wanted to ask her what she used. The intoxicating aroma made him forget that he was meant to be asking Hermione about what was the matter. By the time he'd realized it, she was shoving a last piece of toast on her way to Arithmancy. Whatever was bothering her might have to wait until after Transfiguration.

Though he tried to study during his free period, very little got done. Between concern for Hermione and concern that McGonagall might try to get to Hermione before Ron, a bouquet of anxiety bloomed in his chest. Harry seemed to notice none of this; Ron could barely see the top of Harry's messy hair as he pressed his face close to the textbook. Loyal to Harry, Ron wouldn't mention to Hermione that he'd kept his studying so late. Last thing he wanted was to get into another Quidditch row.

After a spot of lunch, Ron fobbed Harry off with an excuse of needing the loo so he could dash up to the Transfiguration classroom early. To his surprise, McGonagall was nowhere to be seen. Her office was tightly shut, and Ron made his way towards the door. Rapping softly on the wood, he strained to hear footsteps within. No such luck. Frowning, he made his way back towards his usual desk.

'-and I'm telling you, I don't think it's possible for any of the students to be trying to transform. As if I've learned nothing from Sirius.' McGonagall's voice drifted in from the corridor. Ron stayed stock still.

'Nothing suspicious then?' Tonks voice wafted in. Ron was surprised. Harry had mentioned that Tonks was stationed in Hogwarts a few times, but Ron had yet to see her. He liked the spunky little witch.

'No. But I swear on the Quidditch Cup to tell you if I see anything.'

'Thank you Minerva.'

'Take care of yourself Nymphadora.'

Ron could practically see Tonks wiggling her nose in discontent. McGonagall strode into the room, shaking her head a little. She didn't notice Ron until she was nearly on top of him.

With a gasp, she clutched her heart.

'Merlin's Beard, Mr. Weasley. What are you doing here? Other than trying to frighten me to death?'

Ron felt chastened. His ears turned red.

'Sorry,' he mumbled. He cleared his throat. 'I was wondering if Fletcher spoke with you? About the-'

'Yes, the tours,' McGonagall finished. Dropping her hand, she fixed Ron with a stern frown. 'We will chat about that after class.'

Ron felt his heart sink.

'But couldn't we-'

'Afterwards, Mr. Weasley. I still have your test to prepare for.'

She marched up towards her office with a swish of her olive-green robes. Ron resisted the urge to swear. Now he'd have to wait until after class to get a proper answer, which reduced his chances of being able to surprise Hermione.

'You're here early.' A suave voice said from behind him. Ron turned to see Terry Boot smirking at him, arms crossed.

'Wanted to speak with McGonagall,' Ron snapped. 'Didn't know it was a crime.'

'Didn't say it was.' Terry moved around him and settled into a seat near the blackboard. 'No need to be so tetchy.'

Ron scowled at the back of Boot's stupid head and threw his bag down at his spot in the middle of the room. He liked this desk. Harry sat on his right, Hermione sat on his left. They walked in together, Hermione seeming to impart some last-minute knowledge into Harry's brain. At least that's what Ron assumed she was doing, given the rapid rate of her words. Harry looked a little bewildered.

Ron wasn't the only one to look up at the sound of Hermione's voice. He noticed Terry lift his head at the noise, fixing Hermione with a stare Ron could only describe as hungry. She didn't catch on, slamming her bag down close to Ron's and speaking over him at Harry. Terry's eyes didn't waver.

She blew out her cheeks and fixed Ron with a look. 'And how are you feeling for the test?'

'Fine,' Ron replied, using her words against her. 'Not much more I can do at this point.'

Hermione acquiesced with a nod. Reaching into her bag, she grabbed her Raven quill. Terry had turned back to his own parchment, but Ron was willing to bet the few galleons he had that Terry was listening intently to Hermione.

'Why is Boot keen on you all of a sudden?' Ron asked without thinking.

A clatter from beside him made him tear his gaze away from the Ravenclaw. Hermione had smashed the inkpot she'd just taken out from her bag. Pink patches flushed on her cheeks.

'So clumsy,' she said as she whipped out her wand to repair the pieces.

With his own wand, Ron lifted the puddle of ink off the ground and swirled it back into the restored piece.

Terry was halfway out of his seat. Ron felt a rush of selfish pleasure that he'd been the one to help Hermione.

He'd let the matter drop. For now.

Still, Ron kept part of his gaze firmly on Boot. Just to make sure nothing funny was happening. Hermione didn't seem to notice as she poured over her notes. Harry had abandoned all hope of studying and was now chatting with Justin about which animagus would be most useful in a Quidditch match. Ron didn't say another word, but waited for the test to begin.

As McGonagall gave the standard instructions (no special quills, no peeking at others parchment, no notes spellotaped under the desk,) Ron half listened. The scrolls flew to each desk and McGonagall pointed at a large timer on her desk. With a tap, the timer beeped and the examination began.

Hermione unfurled her parchment and dipped her quill into the ink before Ron had even had a chance to think about doing either. He scrambled to catch up.

As he unfurled his own, he caught sight of the first question of the test.

1.Which Wizard argued for stricter regulations towards Animagi in 1927?

With a smile, Ron confidently wrote down the answer. Bless Hermione for making him listen sometimes. He chanced a glance over to his left. Her quill was nearly flying over the parchment, as she formed the tiny, tight letters she used for important paperwork. It was a miracle her hand didn't cramp up more often.

Whatever impatience she'd had before the test had vanished. Hermione was in her element. She barely paused to read the questions, simply starting a new phrase as though it were a blip. Her cheeks now flushed with knowledge. Her brow furrowed in concentration. Ron's stomach did somersaults. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on the next question rather than the girl he was mad for right beside him.

And he was mad for her. Between questions, between phrases, he was drawn to her. She'd been so stressed as of late that seeing her succeed brought some measure of comfort. Watching her bite her lip in thought made his toes curl tighter than normal in his too-small shoes. It was the same look he thought of often on his own, late at night.

Shaking his head and trying to dislodge the thoughts, he turned his attention back to the parchment in front of him, though it held little appeal.

By the end of the test, Ron felt he'd done reasonably well. There were a couple of answers he was unsure of, but for the most part, the studying had paid dividends. The parchments rushed back to McGonagall as the students began to chat amongst themselves.

'I wasn't entirely sure about 13,' Hermione said, breathlessly. 'If you took it one way, the answer could have been Mongolian, but then if you read it another way, it clearly could have been sub-Saharan, and I'm not sure which answer she would have wanted-'

'And I'm sure you put both down didn't you?' Harry interrupted Hermione's anxious monologue with a grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

'Well of course. I didn't want to be incorrect.'

Harry and Ron both laughed at her. Ron began to swing his bag back on to his shoulder when McGonagall coughed from the front of the chamber.

'Mr. Weasley? A word?'

Hermione frowned at Ron.

'What does she want?'

Ron knew exactly what she wanted. He hoped it was a switch. Maybe by this time tomorrow, he'd be gearing up to do Rounds with Hermione. He'd find time to get her to open up, to let him know what was bothering her.

'Dunno,' he shrugged. 'I'm sure it's nothing.'

Harry was frowning as well.

'Right, well we'll meet you in Defense.'

'Don't let Snape bug you too much,' Ron told Harry with a wink. Harry and Hermione strode out of the classroom. Ron deliberately bumped shoulders with Boot as he passed him, happy to at least have the size to best him in one situation. Boot glared at him as he left, and Ron grinned as he made his way to McGonagall.

'So, Rounds?' he asked the older witch.

'Sit.' It wasn't a request. Ron did. McGonagall tented her fingers. She exhaled.

'Mr. Weasley, I will give you the opportunity to answer me truthfully.'

Ron looked at her with bemusement.

'Okay…'

Fixing him with narrow eyes, McGonagall continued.

'Were you cheating on this test?'

Ron laughed, thinking this was some sort of dumb joke. She didn't join him. Just continued to give him that stern look she did so well.

'Of course not,' Ron answered. 'I don't cheat.'

McGonagall didn't move a muscle. Ron began to feel nervous.

'I don't!' he repeated, voice growing in volume. 'Come on, Hermione would hex me to Norway if she thought I was cheating.'

'Yes, she would,' McGonagall conceded.

'And the last thing I want is another Howler from Mum.'

McGonagall nodded. Her fingers were still tented, and her face relaxed by a slim margin. Enough to give him hope.

'Then I'm going to need a reason that you were staring at Miss Granger for most of the examination.'

Hope shriveled and died. Ice cascaded from his head down to his stomach. He felt his mouth go dry.

'I…er…' he tried to say. He willed his ears not to redden, but they didn't comply. It didn't help to have McGonagall unmoving, still fixing him with the stare.

'Either you were cheating, or as I suspect, you were admiring Miss Granger.' Ron wished that a tunnel would open under his feet. Spending the rest of his days in the Chamber of Secrets seemed a small price to pay to never have to finish this conversation. 'Neither speaks highly to your character. Whatever the case, there needs to be a reprimand. So, which is it?' The stare became leaden with expectation.

'Admiring.' Ron admitted. It was barely more than a whisper.

'I see.'

Ron had times in his life where he felt quite low. Being teased by the twins, playing abysmally at his first Quidditch Match, getting wrapped up in brains and not protecting his sister and Hermione at the Department of Mysteries. Nothing compared to this.

A sudden horrible thought bubbled to the surface of his nausea.

'Please don't tell her,' he nearly begged.

'I have no intention of getting involved in this any more than I have to,' McGonagall assured him.

A trickle of relief came down his back.

'However, if you cannot be trusted to keep your mind on your duties, I'm afraid I will have to deny your request to switch touring partners.'

The implications swirled in his brain, ringing alarm bells.

'No, professor, please, I-'

'No buts. You're lucky I'm not giving you a zero, Mr. Weasley. If it were anyone but you or Mr. Potter, I would have with no hesitation. You are a Gryffindor Prefect, and I expect your behaviour to match your title.'

'Yes, Professor.'Was it possible to die from embarrassment? If yes, Ron might do that right then and there.

'Thank you. You can go now.'

With the curt dismissal, Ron shuffled his way out of the classroom. What a right cock-up this had turned out to be. At the very least, he could be grateful that Hermione had no idea about any of this. The idea of sitting there as McGonagall informed her that Ron had been paying more attention to Hermione than to his test made him feel violently ill.

Now he just had to figure out how to avoid Hermione ever knowing he tried to switch back to her. And he really hated having to keep things from Hermione.