The Love Hexagon

"I can't believe this is happening..." Hermione groaned and tossed a list to Harry. "It's unbelievable! Gossip column? Honestly!"

Harry had been at Hogwarts for only two weeks and already felt as though he had never left the school after his fifth year for the summer. Those weeks, however, had been one of the most dreadful ever for Gryffindor students. First, due to what Ron called “a minor accident of mine in Herbology class,” the greenhouse where they were studying exploded. The result had been a 100-point deduction from Gryffindor's points, which they did not even have yet. Then there was the gossip accident in which Parvati and her sister Padma engaged in a duel after both heard that their sisters had spread ugly stories about themselves. Five spells later, they were both in Dumbledore's office and Gryffindor lost 50 more points… and they already had negative 50 points. Meanwhile, Snape was sure to award everyday many points for his own house, and everyday Hermione struggled to gain all the points she could to get caught up with their rival house, and she did so by raising her hand even more times than usual to answer questions, which meant at every second, every minute of the day, in every class. Still, they now had minus 40 points, while Slytherins boasted their 60 points.

Shuddering with the memories, Harry straightened the tossed paper over their table and started to read it as they ate their breakfast in the Great Hall. “I don't… get it. What is this supposed to mean?” He asked, confused when he examined a list of names from Gryffindor students next to a list of activities.

“Hey there Harry, Hermione,” Ron greeted sitting down beside his female best friend. “How's the day so far, eh, Hermione? Get updates on the latest dirt?” The red-haired boy inquired, snickering and not at all trying to hide it.

“Ron, I have a mug in my hand. When its holder is angry, a mug can become quite a weapon,” Hermione drawled, turning to face him with a menacing look on her face. “Utter another word about this and I'll put this innocent-looking mug to good use. On you.”

That only made Ron laugh more. Frustrated, Hermione turned her attention to a newly arrived letter beside her plate. She immediately blushed and hid it in her backpack, Harry observed. She then picked up her Daily Prophet and was instantly immersed in her reading.

“Um… Hermione, what is this all about?” Harry asked again, noticing now that the Gryffindor table was dominated by a buzz that was almost deafening.

“That list.” Was all she answered him with.

“What about it?”

“Oh, you wouldn't know about it…” she muttered distractedly, still concentrated on her newspaper while Ron chatted excitedly with Seamus about the latest Chudley Cannons game.

“I'd like to know about it…” he murmured, a hint of anger in his voice. She closed her newspaper and looked directly at him.

“Harry, have you noticed that we're more than 100 points behind Slytherin in the House Cup competition and it's only our third week back?” He nodded, now even more irritated.

“Hermione, please explain to me the reason for this list!” Harry's exclamation caught Ron's ear.

“I know what you must be thinking… that I'm changing the subject. But I'm not. We devised a great plan to gain 100 points—“

“By `we' she means her brain and herself,” Ron added.

“—so we can have a chance at winning, which is by getting extra-points. Thanks for the unnecessary comment, Ron.”

“Whenever you need it.”

“What does that have to do with this list?” Harry insisted.

“Extra-curricular activities. It's for Gryffindor students, for five months. And unfortunately only necessary for those that aren't already in an activity, like Quidditch or Head Girl or Boy or prefecting,” she answered it, taking the list from him abruptly and examining it once again. With a heavy sigh she dropped the list and her head onto the table. “I was hoping maybe I had read it wrong or something,” she muttered, her voice coming muffled to Harry.

“Well, no such luck.” Ron stated simply, then, taking a bite of his recently sent biscuits, he added happily, “we're out of it, Harry. But she's in it.”

“Not voluntarily, might I add,” she murmured dryly, still resting her head on the table.

“The activities available were sorted, and she got—“ Ron was interrupted by Hermione, who raised her head up with a grimace, interrupting him.

“There were so many activities available! We were sorted twice, Harry, twice! And I got the worst activities possible. Both times!”

“She's going to be part of a gossip column!” Ron stated with glee.

“What do you mean? We don't have that!” Harry stated firmly. He was mal-informed, but not that mal-informed.

“We now do. During the meeting Parvati got carried away and had the brilliant idea of creating a Hogwarts newspaper. And it's going to have a gossip column. Hermione was sorted into it in the first sorting.” Ron explained, picking up his mug and drinking his pumpkin juice in great gulps. Hermione raised her head slightly and looked at him with vague disgust, her eyes following a thin trail of juice that was sliding across Ron's chin.

“What about the second?” Inquired Harry, realizing how lucky he was that he didn't have to participate.

“Cheerleading,” Hermione spit out the word as if it was venom. “Cheerleading for Quidditch.” Ron started to laugh out loud again.

“We don't have cheerleading either,” Harry contested, confused now.

“Parvati again,” Ron said, scanning Hermione's face as though looking for something to make fun of. But then, he saw the tiniest flicker of something else, which he couldn't identify. Hermione, however, was looking at Harry with a miserable expression.

“I didn't go to the meeting. I was informed later of the sorting… if I had been there, I would've done something to stop her from having that idiotic idea.” She turned to Ron with a mischievous smile. “I think I'm going to thank her for having the idea later.”

“Can I make a suggestion? Take the mug with you,” Ron answered.

“Don't give me ideas,” she answered, looking at her watch with concern then surprise. “Oh. It's almost time for class and I haven't eaten anything yet…”

“Me neither,” Harry noticed, taking a piece of cake and taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. “What's our schedule for today, Hermione?”

“Charms, History of Magic, and double potions,” Hermione informed cheerfully. “And you, Ron have History of Magic with us, then you have Care of Magical creatures and Charms.”

“Oh, joy,” Ron said sarcastically. “Better go get a pillow for history.”

“And a shield for Potions,” Harry complemented, his mind wandering to Snape's various verbal attacks.

“No, more like an umbrella. You know how we lose most of our water?” Hermione inquired, drinking her juice and folding her newspaper.

“By peeing?” Ron guessed, with a sheepish smile.

“No, idiot. By talking. Lots of air vapor gets out of our body by talking. More than peeing. And the way Snape talks incessantly and spits at us every time he talks, you'd think he'd be dehydrated by now,” she said, seeming in deep thought while Ron chuckled. “Wonder who's going to be Snape's assistant, though.”

“What do you mean?” Asked Harry.

“Well, the teachers volunteered to help us by agreeing to have assistants. It's now one of the activities. I wonder who's Snape's.”

“Yeah, poor soul,” Ron lamented, scanning the list. “Can't find it.”

“Have you looked at all the names?” Hermione questioned with doubt.

“No… but then again, who cares? We'll know later. If someone starts dripping grease, we'll know he has been in contact with Snape for extended periods of time,” Ron explained.

“Ron, when is practice scheduled?” He asked, watching Hermione, who shaking her head and picking up a loaf of bread from her plate.

“This afternoon… I think,” Ron responded with his mouth full.

“You're the captain and you don't know your own training schedule?!” Hermione exclaimed, appalled, letting her bread slip from her hand back onto her plate.

“I do know it ... I just can't remember it right now,” Ron blushed as he replied.

“Nice to see you're in your sixth year and have become loads more responsible over the years,” she said acidly.

“Well, I think it's my problem if I have become more responsible or not,” he retorted in kind.

“Sorry for worrying about your well-being,” she muttered, picking up her bread again and biting it angrily, under Ron's furious glare. Meanwhile, Harry felt lost. Every time they started to bicker he'd try to remain neutral, but he always ended up feeling utterly useless, for not being able to contain them from arguing. “Next time you have mood swings or whatever it is you call the male version of PMS, tell me so I don't have to waste my breath or time with you,” she added, after swallowing.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ron protested, his mouth full. Hermione didn't say anything for a minute, taking her time to examine his face, which had its cheeks round, filled with the food in his mouth. Ron stopped chewing and blushed furiously. She raised an eyebrow, her eyes sparkling with anger, and he became even redder.

“Um, I really think we should get to class,” Harry muttered, glancing from one of his friends to the other, intimidated. He felt an urgency invade him, an urgency to stop this fight before it got too serious.

“You're right, Harry. I'm going to class early.” Then, turning to Ron, she added, “it means, Ron, that you're not worth it, not worth any effort I put into our friendship,” she said, picking up her numerous books and leaving the table with a huff.

“Nice going, Ron,” said Seamus, who was sitting nearby.

“I'll ask for you opinion when I want it, Seamus,” Harry's friend replied coldly.

“Uh, Ron?” Harry called in a low voice.

“Harry, I'm right here close to you and I'm not deaf. You can just speak,” Ron snapped.

“You're lashing out at me, now?” Harry protested. “Ron, I think you've taken this too far…”

“What are you talking about?”

“This anger at Hermione. You're taking it out on everybody. And I can tell she doesn't like it.”

“Neither do I,” Seamus added.

Scanning his surroundings, Ron scooted farther from Seamus and in so doing sat right in front of Harry. Leaning in, he whispered harshly, “she's nuts, Harry! On whose side are you on?!”

“I really think she's worried about you.”

“You're getting worse grades than I am and she doesn't fuss all over you, does she?”

“Well, no. And we get pretty much the same grades,” affirmed Harry feeling injusticed. His eyes wandered to Cho, who was chatting loudly to her friends about a date she had had with an Irish Quidditch player. He sighed, slightly disappointed. He had ceased to be infatuated with her, but he couldn't help remembering why they had broken up in the first place and how upsetting it had been.

“She's lost her marbles, Harry! And she's driving me crazy!” Ron exclaimed, bringing Harry back to the conversation.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, remember that day when I got a cut from a beater's bat during practice?”

“Uh… yeah. That was last week, wasn't it?” Harry dimly recalled it.

“I think so. But anyway, she said she had a pain reliever potion and that she could bandage me without me having to go to Madam Pomfrey,” Ron proceeded his account.

“She didn't want you to go to the infirmary?” Harry was incredulous.

“I know… odd, isn't it? She wanted to practice a spell on me, for healing. And the potion, too.”

“Healing. I don't think that's what we're studying,” Harry said.

“We're not studying it, Harry… that's 7th year stuff. Anyway, she did the spell and bandaged me all right, and then she gave me the supposed pain-reliever, which really worked!” Ron whispered with surprise, his eyes large and his face pale.

“And? Doesn't it always do?”

“Yeah, I know potions don't go wrong when she makes it, but she must've added something wrong to it. I'm glad it worked, but now every time I see her, I feel strange.”

“How strange?”

“I can't explain it to you. I feel irritated, I think…. and something else, I think it's like anger. ”

“Anger? At Hermione?”

“I don't know what it is. I just know it gives me this weird feeling in my stomach every time I see her, like I have to prove something to her,” Ron continued explaining, almost panicked.

“How is this driving you crazy?” asked Harry, not knowing what to say to his friend.

“I don't know. We're friends, and all I think about now is her. And how irritating she is,” he added in an after-thought.

“I think we should talk to her, then. Ask her about it.”

“Harry, have you gone mad? When Hermione admits she's wrong about something, Malfoy will become a muggle-born lover.”

“It won't do any harm to ask her, you know.”

“She'll go berserk if we even hint at the possibility that she made a mistake,” Ron replied with resolve.

“I still think we should trust her, and should go to her and ask her about it.”

“Harry! What if she kills us?! Or worse! What if she—“

“Ron, let's just go to her, all right!” Harry exclaimed, a little louder than he had meant to. Ron immediately backed down. “We'll talk to her at lunch.”

+++++++++++++++++======+++++++++++++++++++======+++++++++++++++

“Mr. Potter, let us see if you remember anything from last year, which I highly doubt, given no one here believes in instant cure for hopeless cases such as yourself.” Snape paused and glared at Harry. “Which ingredient is most essential in the making of the Draft of Peace?”

Harry sighed heavily, his mind already tired after the two lessons of Charms and History of Magic. His 5th year had been a blur, as blurry as everything he saw though his glasses during his summer, when he'd cry as he remembered how his foolishness had killed Sirius. He felt someone watching him and when Snape turned towards his desk with a grin curving his lips, Harry glanced quickly to his right. Hermione has been apparently staring at him for quite some time, and she finally got his attention, she threw him a piece a paper. Reading it quickly, he called out to Snape, “professor, is it essence of hellebore?”

“How do you make it, Mr. Potter?” He drawled, a menacing look in his eyes. Harry struggled to respond.

“I'm sorry if I'm mistaken, but you asked what ingredient that potion is made of.”

“I am a higher authority than you are, Mr. Potter, and I will not tolerate a defiance in my class. “ He stepped closer towards Harry's desk and bent to look deep inside his eyes with a sneer. “Ten points from Gryffindor.”

“For what!” Harry exclaimed, indignant.

“For defiance on a student's part, yours.”

Harry sat on his table for an instant, not quite making out why he was so calm, instead of being as furious as in his mind he thought would be appropriate for him to be. He glanced to his right, to Hermione and saw her give him a small, private smile, which he returned with reluctance, he didn't know what there was to smile about. He knew, that for the rest of the lesson, as well as the next one, Snape would watch him closely, hoping to find a fault in anything he did.

Harry was partnered with Dean Thomas for the second Potions lesson, in which they learned to make the Esteem Draught.

“Can anyone tell me what are the effects of this potions on the applier and on the one to which it is applied?” Snape raised the question as he paced the classroom. Hermione immediately raised her hand. He pretended, as always, not to see. Harry, who was lodged next to Dean Thomas, felt slightly indignant at Snape's action but buried the thought when Snape spoke up.

“Seeing as no one has studied the chapter,” he paused when he saw Hermione's raised hand. “I'll continue. The Esteem Draught is a heeling paste that produces effects on both the one who applies it and to the one who receives it. For the applier, the effects are,” Snape explained, while all the students struggled to keep up their note-taking, “the paste becomes the color of one's esteem for the person one applies the paste to. For the person to whom the paste is applied, the paste heals the most profound of injuries, such as sword wounds.”

The class then was instructed to produce the paste with their partners, and for homework they were assigned to write 2 feet of parchment on the meaning of each color the paste could turn into.

On his way out, someone chained arms with him, and turning, his eyes settled on Hermione's huge grin. “Hello,” he greeted, wondering on what the reason might be for her glee.

“Hello yourself… I'm very proud of you.”

“I haven't really done anything.”

“Yes, you have. You didn't argue with Snape which means we only lost 10 points, not our usual 20 per Potions lesson,” then she stopped him in the middle of the hall and, pulling her arm from his and stepping a few feet away from him, looked down at the floor and seemed to examine it with interest. “I have to talk to you about Ron.”

“Oh…” Harry felt immensely uncomfortable suddenly. “Really?”

“Yes. He's been acting strangely all morning. He apologized to me during Charms, but he kept saying … strange things,” Hermione looked up and their gazes locked as she added, as though not sure that was the right word.

“Well, he's been strange all morning. Must be a bad day,” Harry quickly dismissed, feeling the lump in his throat grow.

“That must be it. But I'm still worried. He was so bent on not letting me practice the charm that he tried to do it all by himself and ended up turning his parchment into water.”

“Oh. Impressive,” Harry muttered, his mind racing about what to say to Hermione about Ron. He himself had no idea why Ron was feeling what he was feeling. Anger, an urge to impress—it all confused Harry. What could all that mean? “We have to talk to you later, though, me and Ron.”

“What's it about?” Hermione inquired, her gaze very intense, which made Harry even more uneasy.

“Well, nothing too important. You know, just talking,” Harry responded, swallowing hard. He suddenly wished she didn't pay so much attention to him when he talked. She never did that with Ron.

“Okay, but after homework. We have 2 feet of parchment to write for Potions, and also that essay for History of Magic.” And with that, she hurried off leaving Harry standing in front of Snape's class, breathless and worried.

+++++++++++++++++++===============================+++++++++++++

“We need to talk to you,” Ron said to Hermione, who was sitting on the floor of the Gryffindor Common Room reading a large Potions-related book she had borrowed earlier that day from the library.

“If you need homework done, forget it. If you need help on your homework, forget that also because help to you means the same as doing it for you. If you need anything from me at all that will deconcentrate me from studying---“

“Yeah, yeah, I should forget that too. We really need to talk,” Ron stated, interrupting her.

“Fine.” She replied simply, snapping her enormous book shut and sending dust everywhere. “Talk.”

Ron started to cough, and Harry decided to bring the issue to Hermione himself. “Remember when you were practicing healing on Ron?”

“I wasn't practicing. I knew exactly what I was doing,” Hermione protested.

“Whatever you say. Remember the pain-reliever soup you gave me?” Ron asked.

“Perfectly well.”

“Did you put anything in it that you were not supposed to?” Harry asked, as gently as possible, fearing Hermione's reaction. Ron was already cowering into a corner of the couch.

“No! I'm offended now. Making potions the wrong way? Adding wrong ingredients? Are you mistaking me for Ron?” Hermione asked indignantly.

“What?!” Ron emerged from his cowering position.

“You were the one who turned parchment into water this morning.”

“That was my intention!” Ron exclaimed, non-convincingly.

“Of course it was.” Hermione opened her book again and started to turn the pages when Ron slammed it shut. Against his own fingers.

“Ouch…” Pulling his fingers from the closed book, he massaged them while cursing under his breath. He whined examining his throbbing fingers, then composing himself, added, “something went wrong with that soup of yours, okay? That potion did something it wasn't supposed to.”

“I wish I had added something wrong to it. Like perhaps a liquid combination of flitterbloom and dittany,” she said, huffing. Harry had no idea what those two were or did if mixed.

“Huh?” Harry and Ron said in unison, looking dumbfounded.

“It's believed to bring good manners to the drinker,” Hermione explained with a smile, her anger put away for a moment.

“Oh,” mumbled Ron, looking as though he was making a mental note. “But did you add anything?”

“No, I didn't!” She cried out, indignant once again.

“You must've! I'm feeling strange since that night!” Ron finally confessed in a defeated exclamation, lowering his head as though ashamed.

Surprised, Hermione slid from the couch to the floor, sitting in front of him and, placing her hands on Ron's cheeks, raised his face. “Are you okay? Do you feel any pain? How do you feel?” She interrogated, worried, turning his head to examine it.

“Just strange, that's all. Every time I see you,” Ron muttered, lowering his head again. Harry felt uncomfortable suddenly, watching them being so close. They were all best friends, but they were never the touchy type.

“That's odd. How exactly do you feel?” Hermione questioned, confused.

“I think it's anger. Or rage. And something else, too,” Ron explained.

“Hello you guys,” Ginny Weasley greeted, entering the room. She examined the scene and raised an eyebrow at Hermione, who quickly removed her hands from Ron's face.

“Well, uh… perhaps you could help us, Ginny,” Hermione invited, nervous, while Ron threw a hopeful glance at his sister.

“Whatever you need, my friends.”

After explaining the situation, Ron went on to say that the odd feelings inside him were growing each day, and he hated it. Harry, scanning Hermione's face, could see she was feeling terrible.

“I was so sure I had made everything right, but now, I'm not so sure. It's not supposed to produce feelings in the user, especially anger. If anything, it's supposed to soothe,” Hermione said. “What if I added a dangerous ingredient?!” Ron gulped at her question.

“Okay… Ron, that feeling you get at the pit of your stomach, describe it. Hermione, go get an advanced healing book in the library,” Ginny ordered.

Ron watched Hermione hurry to the library before turning to his sister.

“It's the same feeling as when you fall from your broom,” Ron blurted out.

“I can't remember ever falling from a broom,” Ginny declared, slightly smug.

“Okay, it's like falling from stairs, or from a chair, or from anywhere.”

“Falling?” Ginny asked, disbelief invading her features.

“Um… yes?” Ron answered, taken aback when Ginny started to laugh out loud. It took a few long minutes to calm her down, during which time Ron stared at his sister, appalled at her reaction. Finally, she stopped laughing, and Ron immediately took the chance to speak to her.

“Do you know what it is? What my disease is?”

“Disease? Oh, sure. Would you describe the `falling' feeling as butterflies in your stomach?”

“Well, no. How do butterflies get in your stomach?” Ron inquired, disgusted.

“Forget it. I can tell you have it very, very bad.” At that moment, Harry knew what she was talking about. And once again, he felt increasingly uneasy.

“Have what? Is it serious?” Ron started getting panicked.

“It's serious, yes. You…fancy …Hermione, slunkhead,” Ginny whispered, clearly enjoying herself. Harry watched Ron's eyes widen and his mouth open and close, without any words coming out. Harry himself was taken aback. He felt his heart slow down its beating, and he felt weak suddenly.

“Are you mad?! Fancy Hermione?! Me?!” Ron whispered harshly, looking around to make sure no Gryffindor was hearing what was being said.

“No, I'm not mad. You are, though. For her,” Ginny said, snickering. “But don't worry. She's as clueless about feelings as you and Harry are. She'll never find out about it unless you tell her with very clear words. And even then, I think she won't believe it.”

“Why did we trust her to help us, Harry?” Ron, now desperate, turned to Harry, who was feeling strange himself. He knew it was true. Ron fancied Hermione, and had done so for years. But it still surprised him, and he felt a slight headache invading him.

“Why didn't I see this before?” Ginny asked herself, smiling.

“You fancy Hermione, Ron?” Harry questioned solemnly, needing to hear it from Ron himself.

“I—I—what do you mean by that?” Ron cried out, frustrated.

“I mean do you fancy her, Ron? Do you?” Harry asked, moving closer to Ron as he felt irritation surge in him.

“Fancy her? I—I just—how am I supposed—Harry…” he drifted off his utter when he saw Hermione approaching.

“Fancy who?” Hermione asked, sitting down on the couch and placing the very heavy book she had come in carrying, on her lap. “Of whom are you talking about?”

“Some girl… we know this girl, and we think Ron likes her,” Ginny answered.

“That's good, Ron. It's very optimistic of you. Does she like you back?” Hermione smiled at Ron, which made him become the color of his hair.

“We're not sure, actually. But I'm sure you could help us,” Ginny said, trying to contain her giggles.

“Ginny!” Ron reprehended angrily. “No, Hermione, you cannot help us. Not with this. Right Harry?”

“Uh… sure,” Harry assured, and even to himself he sounded less than sure.

“Do I know her at least?” Asked Hermione, clearly curious. Ginny burst out laughing.

“Yep. A lot.” She said, making Ron squirm and Harry swallow hard.

“Ginny!” Ron exclaimed again.

“You're all hiding something.” Hermione accused them, not angrily, but confused. Sitting down in front of Ron, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “You can tell me. What is it?”

“N—nothing. Nothing is going on. It's your impression. Right, Ginny?” Ron said, between gritted teeth.

“Whatever…” she muttered. Ron gave her a harsh look, to which she quickly responded, “yep. Nothing at all is going on, Hermione. Nothing.”

“Did you get the book?” Harry inquired, trying desperately to change the subject. Hermione removed her hand from Ron, which made Harry sigh loudly in relief. As Hermione moved to grab the book, Ginny leaned towards him and asked, suspicious:

“What was that?” She whispered.

Remembering his sigh, Harry asked himself why he had felt such powerful relief when she had removed her hand. Feeling guilty suddenly, he tried to avoid Ginny's gaze. “He could have a disease,” he started to explain the reason for his relief.

“What are you talking about? I asked what was she doing touching his shoulder.” Ginny stated, her attention caught when Hermione laid the book on the floor in front of them.

“What's the ailment?” Hermione interrogated seriously while turning pages.

“The what?” Ron asked Ginny.

“The disease.” Ginny informed. “I don't—I haven't—“

“You haven't identified it yet?” Said Hermione, a hint of frustration in her voice.

“I have. But it won't be there. It's not… how shall I put this… it's just not physical. Though it shows some physical signs, he's not physically ill,” Ginny said solemnly.

“Oh. He said he feels hatred sometimes towards me. Do you know why?” Hermione looked worried and melancholic.

“We don't know. I think you may have done something to provoke it,” Ginny explained, glancing at Ron as he shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, while I was in the library, I checked the healing book I used to make the soup. And now I'm absolutely certain I didn't put anything wrong in the potion.”

“So if it's not the potion, maybe you put something in the bandages you used on the cuts,” Ron suggested hopeful.

“Bandages? But that's not…” Hermione started to say, but then was submerged into deep thought. “Bandages… potion… cure… cut… care…” She paused and looked at her three friends grinning triumphantly. “I know it now.”

“You do?” Ron whispered, panicked.

“You know everything?” Harry asked, fearing the worst already, that his friends would once again bicker, and this time he would certainly have to side with one of them.

“Yes… can't you see what all this points to?” Hermione inquired of them gleefully.

“Um… no.” Ginny answered for the three of them, who were giving her blank stares.

“You don't like being taken care of, Ron!”

“What?” All three of them exclaimed, dumbfounded.

“Yes! Ron, you started to have all those horrible feelings towards me because I took care of you that day. I remember that I cleaned your wounds, bandaged them, made that soup to make you feel better… you hated me because you didn't like me doing all that for you!” she proclaimed brightly. Ginny started to giggle.

“Oh. Really…” Ron whispered faintly. “I see.”

“Oh, my… you're pale now.” She moved closer to him, and examined his face. Ginny stopped giggling. Harry found himself uncomfortable once again and turned to Ginny, who was watching the proximity between her brother and his female friend with fascination. “Are you alright?”

“Uh-huh.” Ron's answer sounded a lot like a squeak to Harry, who felt his mouth go dry when she moved even closer.

“Are you sure you're okay?” She touched his cheek as though checking for a fever.

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay. I promise to never take care of you again. Or be nice to you, for that matter,” Hemione added as an afterthought. She started to stand up when Ron grabbed her hand and pulled her back down.

“No! Don't. Please don't stop being nice to me. The hatred has gone away,” Ron assured her desperately.

“Do you really mean that?” Hermione asked suspiciously.

“Yes. It's completely gone. I feel fine.” Ron stated, smiling widely. Hermione smiled a bit, too, and Harry saw Ginny watch them with apprehension.

“I'm going to bed,” Harry said, clearing his throat.

“Right. I'm going, too,” Ginny quickly said.

“Well, I finished all my homework so I guess I'll be going to sleep, too.” Hermione said brightly.

“Okay. I better get some shuteye too,” said Ron, who was looking as though his birthday had come early.

+++++++++++++++++++=========================+++++++++++++++++++

“Um… this is interesting, Harry…” Hermione muttered at their breakfast table the next day, while reading her Daily Prophet. When she gasped, Harry and Ron immediately leaned in to read whatever it was that had surprised her. “Oh, my… this is not good. Harry, there are reports that giants are joining Voldemort.”

“Giants? All of them?” Ron inquired, panicked.

“No… not all of them, but the ones featured here in this story are residents of the mountains in the Yorkshire Dales region.”

“Never heard of it.” Ron said simply.

“It's south of here,” Hermione started to explain, but then paused and her eyes widened when she read the next page. “I… have to go to… the library now. See the two of you later.”

“Let me have the sports section then,” Ron asked, and was surprised when Hermione became very red.

“No, Ron. Not today,” Hermione said nervously.

“But… you never read it,” Ron continued to plead. Hermione became redder.

“I said no, Ron. No, okay?”

“Fine. I'll get Dean's copy,” muttered Ron, dissatisfied.

“No!” Hermione was quick to exclaim very loudly. Everyone nearby heard it and turned to look at them. “Ron, if you came with me to the library, it might be fun for you, too.” She said, lowering her tone. She seemed very nervous, fidgeting every second.

“Hermione, you have just committed a capital felony to English language. Library and fun should never be in the same sentence. It's against the rules,” Ron corrected seriously.

“Oh, I see. I read about that rule in the `Ron Weasley Guide to English Language,'” said Hermione, becoming irritated.

“And here I was thinking you only read books that never come in handy.”

“Ron… I really wish you didn't read the sports section today,” Hermione started to plead, becoming paler and paler now. She really looked as though she was about to cry.

“Why?” Ron asked, his tone becoming more calm.

“Because. It—It contains nothing that will interest you.”

“It talks about Quidditch. What interests you doesn't always interest me, Hermione. I love Quidditch. Now give me that paper.” And before she could react, he had snatched the newspaper from her. Because they were standing up and seemingly having a hearty fight, everyone surrounding them was watching. Harry, also being stared at, started to sink lower into his seat. Ron yanked the newspaper open and started to sit down when he stopped midway. His eyes scanned the open pages and his eyes seemed to widen.

“'Quidditch Star Victor Krum Will Visit Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'…” he whispered, reading what sounded to Harry like the headline. “He's coming here. He's coming here to visit.” He stated, unbelieving. When he looked up at her, Harry's eyes shifted to Hermione, who seemed horrified and at the same time, there was unnatural courage in her eyes. “Vicki is coming here? He's coming to you?!”

A/N: Sorry if some of the character's actions are uncharacteristic. I tried to make everything said and done as close to Rowling's books as possible. And if the story comes out strangely composed, it may be because this is my first story here and I'm really clueless as to how to place the paragraphs and other components of the story in order for everything to be perfect on the website. If you can help me, please do. Put your tips on a review, pretty please.