Ginny stared in disbelief at the words she had just written down. She couldn't be completely certain, because the beginning of the sentence was missing, but she was fairly sure that one of the words was "cure". The more she looked at the sentence, the more she was convinced she'd got it right. There simply weren't that many other possibilities. Why did the preceding page, of all pages, have to be the one that was gone?

"Hermione?" Ginny called across the empty library. "Could you come over here for a moment, please?"

Hermione looked up from the loans desk, where she'd been sitting, working out another runic text. The girls could count on working uninterrupted today, since the rest of the school was attending a Quidditch match. "What is it?" she asked, getting to her feet. "Did you find something?"

"I'm not sure. Look." Ginny held up the book so that Hermione could get a look at it. "There's a page missing here."

Hermione bit her lip. "Oh dear," she began as if she didn't want to believe what she was seeing. "That's got to be the page the spell was on. What did you find?"

"Do you know what happened to the page?"

"What did you find?" Hermione insisted, sounding more panicked now.

"Will you just answer me?" Ginny grated.

"Isn't what you've found more important than something we can't do anything about?"

"I wouldn't have any way of knowing since you won't tell me. And what do you mean we can't do anything about it? There's got to be another copy of this book somewhere! There's just got to!"

Hermione had gone pale. "No… No there isn't. It's one-of-a-kind. Madam Pince told me all those runic texts were."

Ginny hissed several choice words she'd learned from her older brothers under her breath, thankful that he mother wasn't anywhere nearby to overhear them. "Just tell me what happened to that page, Hermione," Ginny said, low and threatening.

"Harry tore it out," Hermione said in a small voice.

Ginny shot to her feet. "What? Why would he do something like that?"

"He didn't want to take any chances of you finding out about that spell. It was the night I discovered it. He came down to the common room, and I was still looking for it. And he was there when I found it. Once I'd got the passage translated into English, I showed it to him. I told him we could find another way, but he wouldn't hear it."

Hermione's voice had been rising as she told what had happened, and Ginny noticed she was wringing her hands. There was a faraway look in her eyes. "And then… Then he made me swear not to say a word to anyone, especially not to you or Ron, and I tried to argue with him. I told him you'd want to know the details. That's when he did it. That's when he tore the page out of the book and burned it in the fireplace."

"How?" Ginny asked, horrified. "How could you just let him do it?"

"You weren't there. You didn't see him. He got really scary. How was I going to stop him?"

"I don't know. You should have found a way! You should have said something to us at the time!"

"I just got through telling you," Hermione shot back. "He made me swear not to tell." "What was I supposed to have done? Just break my word?"

"Yes! Yes, you should have, if that's what it took. We could have stopped him!"

"How? How would you have stopped him? He was bound and determined to do it. There wasn't any way anyone could have stopped him."

"Well, you didn't try very hard, did you?"

"Do you have any idea how I even felt?" Hermione shrilled. "Do you have any idea what I went through keeping that from you? Do you? It wasn't easy, you know! And I had to keep it all to myself for two months, not even knowing if one day I'd wake up and find him gone! He said that to me, did you know that? He told me he might sneak off if he got word of where Voldemort was. You have no idea what that's like. And you know what? I'm glad you don't. It was horrible! It would have been better if he'd wiped my memory."

Hermione paused at last for a shaky breath. Ginny barely knew how to reply to this. She wasn't used to seeing Hermione lose her composure. The older girl was now looking at Ginny with narrowed eyes. "What did you find?"

"Only that this book is completely useless!" Ginny picked it up and flung it against the nearest stack, and it fell to the floor with an ominous crack, its spine now broken and several pages fanning helplessly out over the flagstones.

"Ginny!" exclaimed Hermione in horror.

"THAT PAGE HE RIPPED OUT MOST LIKELY HAD THE CURE ON IT!"

"Ginny, no! That can't be right! You must have translated it wrong!"

"I'm damned well sure I didn't translate it wrong. Look!" She held up the parchment she'd been working on. "The top of the page, the one that followed the torn-out page, this is what it said: '…shall be the cure.' Go look for yourself if you don't believe me!" She thrust an angry finger towards the fallen book.

"What about the rest of what we do have? Maybe the actual cure follows those words…" Hermione didn't sound very hopeful, even as she said the words.

"I've done the rest. There's nothing. I'm telling you if it was anywhere, it was on the page Harry tore out."

"NO! No…" Hermione buried her face in her hands. "No, this can't be. This is all my fault. I should have told you what I was doing. I was only trying to spare Ron's feelings, you know. I knew he was going to stuff something up. Well it looks like the joke's on me, isn't it?" She removed her hands from her face and looked starkly at Ginny, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "I stuffed things up even worse. I should have translated both pages before saying anything. I should have shown you." Her hands were shaking now, the tears beginning to leak out. "If only I'd thought about it some more. We could have had the cure ready and everything would be fine now. None of us would have this secret we have to hide, and Harry… Harry would be able to do whatever he wants… He wouldn't feel he has to hide from everyone… We could have all taken our Apparition tests together last summer…"

Hermione continued to rant, pacing about the area between the table and the stacks, and Ginny felt worse and worse for having told her. No one else could ever know of this, most especially not Harry. The knowledge would kill him. Ginny didn't think twice about drawing her wand.

"Obliviate!"

Hermione froze in place, looked dazed for a moment, and then she seemed to shake herself.

"Did you hear what I just said to you?" Ginny asked quickly, her heart beginning to pound at the thought of what she'd just done.

"No…" Hermione looked slightly bemused. "What were we just talking about?"

"Viktor Krum," Ginny supplied, fighting to keep her tone calm. "Have you heard anything further from him?"

Hermione shook her head. The week before, she'd had an owl from him, which had given them reason to believe he might have heard of something that could restore powers to someone who had lost them. But he'd also said he'd have to research it, and there had been no further word.

"Maybe we should write to him again," said Ginny.

"What good would it do? If he finds anything he'll let us know. In the meantime, we'd only be pestering him."

"You did tell him it was important, didn't you?"

"Well, I didn't want to give too much away. If I sounded too desperate to know, it might have led to questions I didn't want to have to answer. The best we can do is keep working with what we've got until we hear otherwise."

Hermione glanced at the table as if she wanted to indicate the book Ginny had been translating. She looked around her, obviously confused at not seeing it where she expected it to be, then she spied it on the floor a few feet away from them. "Ginny, how did that happen? That book is a one-of-a-kind."

"I'm sorry," Ginny replied quickly, inwardly relieved that Hermione seemed to remember nothing of their recent drama or anything connected with it. "I was going to show you something and I dropped it. It's very old… It just broke. Here…" She drew her wand out again, intending to repair it, and Hermione shook her head, as is she was clearing cobwebs out of it.

"Miss Weasley, what are you doing with your wand out in the library?"

Ginny heaved a heavy sigh and turned to face Professor McGonagall, who had just interrupted the girls' conversation. "I was just about to repair that book, Professor," she replied meekly.

"You will leave that to Miss Granger. I'd like to have a word with you."

Ginny had been expecting this eventually, but the knowing didn't make her any more ready to face what promised to be a very unpleasant interview. The fact that the headmistress was missing a Quidditch match to talk to Ginny did nothing to make her feel any more optimistic.

"Is this about the incident in Potions?" Ginny asked resignedly.

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips into a thin line. "That's only the beginning. If you'd come with me, please."

Ginny said a few more choice words to herself. Could this day possibly get any worse? She trudged after the headmistress towards the older woman's office, but she couldn't miss the piercing look Hermione gave her. So far she'd managed to hide the fact that she'd been putting off her school work from the older girl. She knew she wouldn't be able to get away with that any longer.

"Incident in Potions" was rather an understatement. She hadn't been paying much attention to what she was doing and had managed to mis-measure the brimstone mixed with St John's wort she'd been adding to her Alzante Elixir. It had been most unfortunate that Professor Snape had chosen that very moment to check her progress, because when her cauldron erupted in a seething mass of volatile liquid, a good bit of it had jetted into the potions master's face, causing it to break out in some very ugly boils and eating away his robes and hair wherever it touched. Things had only got worse when Professor Snape had decided that Ginny had let her potion explode on purpose and taken fifty points from Gryffindor, proclaiming loudly that he'd be discussing her detention with her head of house.

Nothing had seemed to come of that discussion immediately, but Ginny had known better than to trust her luck and think everything would blow over. Her luck seemed to have deserted her lately, and Snape had had it in for her ever since he, along with everyone else, had learned she'd been behind the Zonko's explosion. He had no solid proof she'd stolen potions ingredients, of course, but he'd rightly deduced what she'd done.

Ginny and Professor McGonagall arrived at the stone gargoyle, which hid the entrance to the headmaster's office. In Dumbledore's day the password had often been some sort of sweet, but when Professor McGonagall gave her password, it was evident that a new regime was in place.

"Nepeta cataria!"

The stone gargoyle leapt aside to reveal the spiral staircase that led to McGonagall's office. Ginny had been in this room on rare occasions during Dumbledore's tenure, and she noted that the office had undergone some changes to reflect its new occupant. Gone were the silver instruments that emitted curious noises and puffs of smoke. The portraits of former headmasters still adorned the walls, and a new one had been added to the collection. Albus Dumbledore himself sat smiling in his ornate gold frame. Unlike the other headmasters he wasn't drowsing. Ginny could see his blue eyes twinkling at her, while in the background of the painting Fawkes preened on his perch. The actual phoenix was nowhere in evidence in the office, and Ginny wondered where he could have got to. He couldn't actually have died, could he?

Professor McGonagall sat behind the claw-footed desk, gesturing for Ginny to take a seat in a shabby-looking tartan wing chair.

"I'm going to get straight to the point, Miss Weasley," Professor McGonagall began. "I need to ask what's troubling you this year."

Ginny blinked. She'd been expecting a lecture. "Troubling me?" she repeated lamely.

"Yes. There is obviously something wrong. I have rarely seen such a model student turn around so fast. You used to maintain some of the highest marks in your year, and this year they've plummeted. I hear you haven't been turning in your assignments. You're distracted in class, when you haven't dropped off entirely. Yet you spend a great deal of time in the library. I found you there today, rather than at the Quidditch match. So I have to ask what's happened. I can't imagine you suddenly find your classes too difficult."

McGonagall stopped and looked at Ginny expectantly. Ginny hardly knew what to reply. She'd been trying desperately to catch up to her classes in recent weeks, but the translation work, which now looked as if it had all been for naught, had been her main priority. This meant she'd been sitting up late every night studying when she could and running on very little sleep. That was what had been at the root of her recent Potions disaster--she'd been half asleep and misread the directions.

"I'm… I'm sorry," she replied at last. "I managed to fall behind at the beginning of the year, and I'm still trying to catch up. I've been staying up late making up the work, and it's made me tired."

Professor McGonagall looked sceptical. "I find that difficult to believe, when you've been spending such inordinate amounts of time in the library since the beginning of the year. Or am I to surmise that you've been working on something that isn't related to school work? You're not planning any more pranks on your brothers, are you?"

Ginny slumped a bit lower in her chair. She might have known it was only a matter of time before that incident was brought up as well.

"I don't know what I can possibly say that will impress upon you the gravity of the situation, Miss Weasley," McGonagall went on. "You've already managed to lose your prefect's badge, and your marks have dropped at an alarming rate. There are those who hold the opinion that you're not taking your school work seriously enough to even remain at Hogwarts. You do realise you'll be taking your NEWTs at the end of the year, and that those marks will determine the sort of job you'll be able to get. Have you given any thought to what you want to do once you've left school?"

Ginny had to shake her head no, while a cold sort of weight settled in the pit of her stomach. Her future career had been the last thing on her mind. How was she supposed to know at seventeen what she wanted to do for the rest of her life, anyway? She remembered having a similar conversation with Harry last year, and at the time he'd not had much of an idea what he wanted to do with his life, either.

"I'd give the matter some thought if I were you. Unfortunately, if you keep on this road you've started down, you won't be qualified to take tickets at a league Quidditch match."

The headmistress paused at this point, clearly expecting a reply, but Ginny continued to stare stonily ahead, determined not to allow Professor McGonagall see how shaken she was by this pronouncement. She definitely wanted more out of life than a job like that, but she'd wasted the past few months on an entirely fruitless endeavour. There was no way she was ever going to get that time back.

"All right, we'll begin with the matter at hand then. What happened in Potions class?"

"It… it was a mistake," replied Ginny, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I don't know what Professor Snape told you, but I didn't make that potion explode on purpose. I was tired, and I didn't pay close enough attention to the directions. It was all an accident."

"I see. I suppose this brings us to the matter of how you managed to get behind in your classes in the first place, since you've already told me that's the ultimate reason behind your fatigue."

Ginny looked about her wondering what she should say in reply. She couldn't very well tell Professor McGonagall the truth of the matter. Her eye fell on the portrait of Professor Dumbledore. She had a shock when he winked at her. Then she remembered the story that the twins had fed her mother to cover the real reason why she had avenged herself on them. "It's all my brothers' fault," she blurted.

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows. In the background Ginny could see Professor Dumbledore's portrait self nodding at her approvingly, a sly smile creeping over his features. "You're blaming your poor performance on your brothers? Don't you think you're a bit old to be trying that sort of trick?"

"It's true. Fred and George kept sending me things like self-igniting parchment, which meant I had to keep redoing my homework. That's how I got behind. And I got fed up with them, so I had to plan my revenge, and working out how to do that took a lot of time."

"Yes, well you could have chosen another means of dealing with them, couldn't you?" Ginny tried her best to look contrite, not really sure that she succeeded since she didn't really regret what she'd done very much. "In any case, we've been over that. However, I find it difficult to believe that someone of your talent let something like that set you back to this extent. Are you certain there isn't anything else going on?"

There was plenty going on; Ginny just couldn't tell her what. "I suppose I'm worried about my father," she hedged. "He was involved in an accident at work at the end of the summer, and he hasn't been the same since. He's still recovering…"

That seemed to be working. Professor McGonagall's expression softened a touch. Ginny wanted to squirm in her seat with guilt. While she was legitimately worried about her dad, it wasn't to the point of getting in the way of her studies, and she didn't like making the situation more than it was.

"Well, we've all been through a lot over the summer, haven't we? You wouldn't be having nightmares of any sort, would you?"

"Nightmares?"

"Well, you did take part in the battle last June. I should have considered it sooner…"

"I haven't been having nightmares," Ginny protested. Lately she'd been too tired to remember her dreams at all.

"It's all right to admit it, dear. You'll have seen some things that no one ought to see."

"I'm not having any nightmares," Ginny insisted, while she kicked herself mentally for not taking the way out that Professor McGonagall had so conveniently offered her. She was tired of keeping so many of her feelings to herself, tried of the lies and cover-ups. She took a shaky breath, struggling to maintain her composure, and knowing that the effort was probably futile.

The headmistress was watching her closely, and Ginny felt as if all the stress she'd been feeling was plain to see on her face. "There's got to be something else, I'm sure of it. Sometimes it helps to unburden…"

"THERE ISN'T ANYTHING ELSE!"

"Miss Weasley!"

"I'm sorry… I don't know what's wrong with me these days. It's everything…" The tears were beginning to leak out now. She swiped at them and looked down into her lap, angry with herself for not being able to hold them back. "It's all just seemed to pile up and fall on me today."

"What has?" asked Professor McGonagall quietly.

Ginny looked up sharply. "I can't tell you. It's personal."

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows. "How personal? Should I send you to talk to Madam Pomfrey?"

"No… What does Madam Pomfrey have to… NO! It's not anything like that at all."

"I think you need to talk about it to somebody. And since it's affecting your schoolwork, it concerns me as well."

"I'm sorry. I can't tell you. It's a secret. I'm trying to make up the missed work. Honestly, I am. I suppose I'll just have to work harder at it. And I'll work harder next term. I know I need good NEWT results…"

Professor McGonagall was looking hard at her. "You most certainly will be working harder. From now until the end of term, you will be serving detention with me. When you are not at class, at meals or sleeping, you will be making up your work here in this office. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"And if your work is not made up to my satisfaction, you will not be attending the ball on the winter solstice."

"Yes, Professor."

"That will be all, then. And if I don't see an immediate improvement, I shall be forced to notify your parents."

"You won't have to," Ginny assured her.

"You may go and get your school things, and then I will expect you back here to begin your detention. I shall be waiting for you in the corridor."

Ginny dragged her feet on her way back to Gryffindor Tower to get her school bag. She had briefly considered going to the library first to inform Hermione that she would no longer be helping her with the translation and to get the parchment, quills and ink she had left on the table but decided against it. She couldn't face looking at that library for another instant. There was no hope left in that route. It was time for her to buckle down and concentrate on her studies, and she had from now until Christmas to make up for lost time.

*

Harry activated his Portkey and disappeared from the Ministry of Magic's Apparition point to reappear seconds later in the Burrow's cosy kitchen, which was filled with the scents of holiday baking. The rich aromas of yeast and cinnamon caused Harry's stomach to rumble in anticipation of a freshly cooked, hot meal. He'd been subsisting on reheated leftovers for a week now, and he was quite looking forward to a relaxing family supper. He'd be paying for the time off later this evening, as he'd brought work home with him.

"Evening, Harry," greeted Mrs Weasley. Her apron was covered in flour. "Supper will be ready in just a few minutes."

Harry smiled at her, as he laid aside a large package and an armful of parchment, before removing his cloak and tossing it carelessly over the back of a chair. He normally didn't wear it to work, since he didn't even have to step outside to travel, but he'd managed to take the time on his lunch hour to get some Christmas shopping done, and he'd needed it to venture out into Diagon Alley. Early December had brought frost and chill winds with it.

"Has there been any post?" he asked hopefully.

"You've had an owl, but it doesn't look like it's from Ginny," Mrs Weasley commented, nodding towards his place at the table.

Harry picked up the envelope and recognised his godfather's writing. "It's from Sirius," he said, slitting the parchment and taking a seat, as Mr Weasley hobbled in from the living room.

Harry suddenly became engrossed in the letter and was grateful when Mr Weasley made no comment to him. He'd managed to avoid having any sort of conversation, other than small talk, with Mr Weasley for over a month now, and he wasn't about to break that perfect record.

Sirius' letter seemed to be mainly a tirade against Remus, who refused to accept any sort of rent payments. Since Halloween, the Order's forces had been officially disbanded. Bill had returned to Egypt, hoping his job at Gringott's was still available, while Remus had gone to live on the property he'd inherited from his parents when they'd died. According to Sirius, who had gone to stay with his long-time friend, the small house wasn't in very good condition, and Remus didn't have much money to make the necessary repairs. Sirius complained in his letter that he was willing to pay rent out of his indemnity, and that might pay for repairs, but Remus wouldn't hear of it. "He's being a hard-headed git about it," Sirius railed.

Just as Harry finished reading that sentence, Ron Apparated into the kitchen. Harry couldn't resist a laugh. "Perfect timing."

Ron looked askance at him. "What are you on about?"

"Oh, nothing really. Just that you're right on time for supper."

Indeed, Mrs Weasley was setting food on the table, and the family was soon tucking into a hearty shepherd's pie, salad and freshly baked rolls. Harry scanned the rest of the letter quickly, noticing in passing that Sirius had invited him to visit whenever he wanted, but that posed a problem. If he was going to visit Sirius, he'd need another Portkey, and he'd have to ask Mr Weasley to make one for him. And he didn't really want to give Mr Weasley an opening for any embarrassing sort of talk. On the other hand, if he asked now, Mr Weasley was hardly going to launch into a lecture about why Harry should keep his hands to himself and not on Ginny at the supper table.

"Mr Weasley, Sirius says he'd like me to come for a visit sometime. Do you think you can make me another Portkey?"

"You sure you don't want one that goes anywhere else while we're at it?" asked Ron, laughing.

"No, of course not."

"Are you completely sure? I hear Hogsmeade is lovely this time of year." Harry kicked Ron under the table, but he didn't miss the look that passed between the elder Weasleys. Mr Weasley looked amused for a moment, until Mrs Weasley pressed her lips into a thin line. Mr Weasley's eyes became a bit less twinkly after that.

"You make sure you tell Sirius and Remus they're invited to come to Christmas dinner when you write back to him, Harry," said Mrs Weasley. Harry nodded and she continued, "And Hermione, Ron. Does she have any plans that you know of?"

"Erm," began Ron, his mouth full of roll, "I think she mentioned something about being invited to her aunt's on Christmas Day. They're expecting me to go along, as well."

Mrs Weasley looked disappointed. "But I wanted the whole family together…"

Ron swallowed. "I'm sure we can work something out. Maybe we can have lunch here, and supper there. Or something…" Harry couldn't help thinking they sounded like old married couple, they way they had to juggle family commitments so that no one would be disappointed.

"Anything new come up in that Quidditch match investigation?" Harry asked Ron, as they continued to eat. "You're allowed to talk about it, aren't you?" Although Ron had moved back home now that he'd completed his Auror training and they were sharing a room, they'd barely seen each other since the game in Falmouth. They'd both been working odd hours.

"There's nothing much I can tell you, actually. Not because I'm not allowed to discuss it, but because there's nothing to say, really. All they've worked out is that Parkin bloke didn't do anything to hex the Falmouth Seeker's broom."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he was too busy sending the referee off. Do you know where he turned up? In the middle of Diagon Alley!"

"How'd Parkin manage something like that?"

"Some Dark Arts spell apparently. I don't remember what he used. But he's going to have a bit of trouble now. I imagine you'll find him coming through your office at some point or other."

"Just what we need. More work."

"Well, this was a fairly minor infraction, since the referee wasn't hurt--he was just confused as anything--so I don't think you'd see his case come up till after Christmas. They've released Parkin on his own recognisance, but he's not allowed to attend any more Quidditch matches."

"So what about the Seeker's broom? Do they still think it was hexed?"

"They're still stripping it down. From what I've heard, they haven't found anything so far."

"I'm not so sure it was cursed myself."

"What makes you say that? From where I was sitting it looked to me like back in first year."

"I'd have no idea what that looked like from the ground, but I've just got a feeling… It didn't look like a curse on the broom. It just looked like he lost control…"

"Well, we won't know for a while yet. Remember when Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick stripped down your Firebolt?"

"That took ages!"

"We ought to know before Christmas, I'd think. They've got a few people working on it whenever there's time."

"Did you ever get to see what make of broom it was?"

"Oh, just a Nimbus 2001. Nothing special, really. Why are you so interested?"

Harry shrugged. He couldn't really put a finger on it, but there'd been something strange about that broom. If he listened to his instincts, he'd say that the broom had been charmed to go that fast on purpose, and the reason it had crashed was that its rider had been unable to control the speed.

When the meal was over, Harry picked up the parchment he'd left on the counter earlier and took it into the living room, where he sat down at the table in the corner, intending on writing up the case summaries Hill had asked him to do. He had just pulled out a quill and some ink and begun to write, when Ron joined him at the table, carrying his own supply of parchment.

"What's that?" Harry asked, looking up. "You didn't bring work home as well, did you?"

"No, but I've got to write to Hermione. You don't mind do you?"

Harry shrugged. "I do have to get this done tonight, but I don't suppose you'll bother me."

Ron lowered his voice. "I reckon we've got some plans to make, as well, and I have no idea when we'll get a chance to discuss it."

Harry set down his quill. "What plans?" he asked quietly.

"Well, there's this ball thing at Hogwarts in a couple of weeks, and we're both planning on going, aren't we?" Harry nodded. "So did you ever give any thought to where you'd be spending the night?"

Harry reddened. He had a good idea where Ron planned to spend the night, but he hadn't given any thought to his own situation. He knew where he'd like to be spending the night, but he also knew wasn't going to be feasible. "I thought I'd use my Portkey to come back here after the ball," he said.

Ron looked sceptical. "You're joking, right?"

"No, why would I be joking? It'll be easy enough for you to spend the night with Hermione. She's got her own room. But what good is it going to do me to stay anywhere but here? I can hardly stay in Ginny's dormitory."

"Well, you can't come back here, because then Mum is going to wonder about it if I don't come home."

"What am I supposed to do then? Get a room at The Three Broomsticks?"

A grin began to spread over Ron's face. "Now there's an idea."

Harry stared at Ron in disbelief. "Let me get this straight. You're suggesting we get a room at The Three Broomsticks, one you're not going to be sleeping in, meaning I've got the room to myself… And you're okay with this?"

"Yeah, that's about the long and the short of it."

"But that means I can br-"

Ron cut him off. "Just spare me the details, all right? As long as you don't say it out loud in front of me, I can pretend I don't know what's really going on."

"What's going on?" A new voice made Harry jump. He saw that Mrs Weasley had joined them in the living room.

"Nothing," Harry said too quickly, reddening in spite of himself. Ron kicked him under the table.

"Are you sure, dear?" asked Mrs Weasley, peering at him more closely.

"Yes," said Harry.

"Let me handle this," Ron said under his breath. "Mum, you know there's going to be this party up at Hogwarts in a few weeks, don't you? Well, Harry and I were thinking, we should get a room at The Three Broomsticks. It'll probably be late, and all… And I'll be too tired to Apparate. The seventh years are going to be allowed to stay out later than the younger students, so who knows when we'd get home."

"Why, I think that's an excellent idea," replied Mrs Weasley to Harry's shock. He'd been certain she'd see right through this plan. "Why don't you let me make the reservations for you?"

Ron, who had been looking hopeful in light of his mother's favourable reaction, stopped smiling. "I don't think that's going to be necessary, Mum. We can take care of it."

"Nonsense, dear. You've both been working so hard lately. When would you have the time? Please, let me do this for you. It'll be one less thing for you to worry about."

It was going to be impossible for Ron to reply to this without giving anything away, so he thankfully kept his mouth shut. Mrs Weasley smiled at them both and went off towards the stairs.

"Nice going," Harry grumbled. "I can just imagine it now. Two very narrow single beds. Probably the lumpiest they've got."

"Just shut it, will you? It was worth a try. You'll work something out. After all, I won't be there."

Harry glared at Ron for a moment and turned back to his work, while Ron pulled a piece of parchment out of his pocket. It wasn't long before Harry heard him muttering under his breath. He sighed and set down his quill once more.

"Do you mind? I've got to get this finished tonight, and I'd like to get to bed at a decent hour."

"Sorry. It's just Hermione… Why does she insist on mentioning Viktor Krum in every single letter? Ginny doesn't do anything like that, does she?"

"What, talk about Krum? Of course she doesn't. As far as I know she only got that one letter from him last summer."

"That's not what I meant. I just meant that it's like Hermione does it on purpose. She brings him up because she knows it'll irritate me."

"Looks like it worked, too."

"Well, does Ginny pull anything like that on you?"

Harry pretended to think about it. "No, I can't say that she does. Not that I'm going to tell you what she does say in her letters… But really, how do you know Hermione is even corresponding with Krum? Maybe she's just having you on."

Ron seemed to consider this. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I should call her on it. See what she says."

"Yeah, you do that." Harry couldn't stop himself from smiling. He reckoned Hermione's next letter to Ron wasn't going to be very pleasant, but it served Ron right if he got into trouble with his girlfriend after what had just happened with his mother.

Ron must have caught onto Harry's game. "So have you had any good talks with Dad lately?"

"You know very well that I haven't."

"You should just get it over with, you know. Then you can stop walking on eggshells around him."

"You know, it's really weird, but I get the impression your dad would rather not have this talk with me, either. It's not like he's been searching me out or anything."

"Probably Mum wants him to do it, and he'd rather not…"

"Probably… Listen, I've got to get this work done, all right? I don't want to go to bed too late."

Ron was looking at Harry as if he wanted to say something, but wasn't quite sure how to begin. "Have you been sleeping all right lately?" he asked at last.

"No worse than usual," Harry lied.

"Come on, I've been sleeping in the same room with you since I got home. I've heard you thrashing around at night. Now what's up?"

"I'm not sure. I've been having these dreams…"

Ron held up a hand. "Stop right there. I don't want to hear it if my sister is involved."

"Not like that… I don't remember them. That's the thing. I keep waking up, and I know I've had a nightmare, but I can never recall what it's about. I'm sorry if I've been keeping you awake."

"That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. You see, I've been thinking about getting my own flat. Nothing big, but… Well, it would make things easier if I wanted to have any visitors. I wouldn't have to worry about Mum wanting to tell me off about anything."

"You've got a job now, and you're of age. Why wouldn't you move out if you're ready?"

"Exactly. What I wanted to know was, do you want to go in on it with me? We could get a nice place with two of us to pay the rent."

Harry sat and thought. Was he ready to leave the relative safety of the Burrow? If he was living on his own, he'd have to look after himself. And he hadn't learned to do a lot of what that would require by Muggle means. The Burrow had become like a haven to him. He was extremely grateful to Mrs Weasley for being willing to do his laundry and cook for him, but would he be able to do all that for himself? He knew he'd have to leave eventually, but he wasn't sure he was ready to do that just yet.

"I don't know, Ron… How am I supposed to manage with no magic?"

"It would be easier than being on your own, wouldn't it? And who cares if the place is spotless?"

"We'll have to eat at some point…"

Ron merely shrugged at this, and Harry didn't feel like explaining that he just didn't think he was ready to take such a big step.

"And I don't know how comfortable I'd feel if you had Hermione over all the time," he added, but Ron didn't react very much to this pronouncement. "And what if I decided to invite Ginny over…"

"Okay, you're right," Ron said quickly, giving Harry an funny look. "Perhaps it wasn't such a great idea after all. But I'm still thinking of moving out."

"Just what is that look for, anyway?"

"What look?"

"That look you're giving me. Like you're a bit shocked and disgusted. Just what do you think I'm going to do with your sister?"

"It had better not be anything bad, I can tell you that," said Ron sounding annoyed.

"And just what do you know about it? You must have a very vivid imagination or have tried out some rather interesting things with Hermione if you're looking at me like that."

Ron stared at Harry for a moment, his mouth working soundlessly, while the tips of his ears turned red.

"What do you expect, Ron, when I mention dreams and you automatically assume they're those types of dreams?"

"Well," Ron said, once he'd got his voice working, "I certainly don't have to sit here and take this."

He picked up his parchment and left in a huff, leaving Harry to think that he'd sounded exactly like Hermione just now. "Who would ever have thought that she'd actually wear off on him?" he said to himself, chuckling and remembering the beginning of their first year, when Ron had called her a nightmare. "At least I can get my work done in peace now."

To Be Continued…

A/N: This chapter wasn't particularly kind to me. I had to re-write some things several times. Thanks especially to Marian for talking me through it, because I hate to rewrite. Please let me know what you think. And if anyone knows what nepeta cataria is, you might get a laugh…