Chapter 5: Making the Grades

Ron was the last of his school mates to leave the building that day for their free period. He stepped out into the sunshine, holding up his hand to cover his eyes from the glare of the sun. He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the light and when they cleared he scanned the school yard. He instantly spotted Lottie, Nessy and Logan, who were sitting at the base of the hedge surrounding the school, their faces shaded by the tall shrub.

Ron felt a swell of annoyance and regret when he spotted Lottie. She had been avoiding him all day. This morning he had called her name while getting off the tube but she had quickened her step and disappeared in the mass of students moving along the platform before he could catch up to her. She had also made it a point to sit as far away from him as she could manage during lessons and to pick up and leave at the end before he had a chance to talk to her.

Sighing heavily, he turned away from the small group and caught sight of Nigel and his cronies on the same bench as the day before. Not wishing to participate in another unpleasant scene, Ron turned in the other direction and made his way for the same circle of benches as yesterday. It looked as if he had found his place in this school, alone and segregated from the others.

He walked with his head down, his eyes watching the ground in front of his toes. Once he reached the benches he dropped his rucksack and dug out his Statistics text. This morning had been a horrible eye opener. Never having taken a mathematics course in his life, Ron was completely lost in nearly every aspect of the subject. When Ms Nunn, the Statistics teacher, started to explain how to find the area under the standard normal curve and wrote things like µ and σ on the board he was completely lost. And he never could figure out what made certain numbers mean. What exactly was mean about them? Were they harder then the other numbers to figure out or was there something particularly nasty about them? He didn't know. And when he lifted his hand to ask the teacher to explain, Ms Nunn told him that she didn't have time to go back over the material so he was going to have to do it on his own. Ron had lowered his hand and sunk low in his seat, his heart settling heavily in the pit of his stomach. If he wanted to keep his spot on the football team he was going to have to catch up to his classmates and right quick, too, or that was the end of it.

So here he was during his one free period of the day, flipping open his book to the first chapter, an ironic quirk on his lips. If only Hermione could see him now. She would be so proud of him. She, like everyone else back home, would never believe he was deliberately doing his schoolwork without any coaxing.

"What the hell is this?" Ron didn't bother looking up when Logan took the seat next to him. "You're doing assignments in your free time? Are you mental?"

"Probably," Ron muttered.

"Couldn't that wait 'til after school?"

Ron shook his head. "I don't have time after school. I need to catch up to the rest of you." He tried to read a few more lines then groaned with frustration. "Merlin, this is useless. Why?" He looked up at Logan, "Why am I complete rubbish at everything I do?"

"That's an easy one to answer." An internal groan followed the sinking feeling in Ron's stomach. Nigel Kelly swaggered boldly toward them, flanked by his three companions. "It only takes one look to know that you're complete rubbish through and through so it only stands to reason that everything you do would be complete rubbish too."

Ron slowly pointed his chin toward Nigel Kelly, his face a mask of annoyance. "I knew I smelled something foul." He turned his nose up at the boy. "Don't you have anything better to do then try and insult me?"

"Is it technically an insult when it's the truth?"

Ron's knuckles turned white as his fingers dug into the cover of his book.

"Ignore him, Ron." Logan narrowed his dark eyes at Kelly. "He's just jealous."

"Me, jealous? Of him? Why? Because his parents didn't care about him enough to keep him around or because he's lucky enough to live with Beaver and her family?"

"No." Logan crossed his arms smugly over his chest. "Because, unlike you Ron wasn't laughed off the field at his football trials."

Kelly's hands curled into tight fists as the superior smile on his lips twisted into a sneer. "You shut your mouth, Grayson or I'll make you shut it."

"More like you'll find someone to do it for you." Ron said flatly. "Isn't that how it works? Someone says something you don't like and you send your mindless thugs after them? Do you even know how to fight your own battles?"

"Why fight them when I can have someone else do it for me?" He nodded his head and his three friends took a menacing step forward.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Why is it that you Nancy boys all hide behind idiots who don't realise you're using them?"

Before Ron had a chance to react Kelly had lunged forward and latched onto Ron's collar, hauling him to his feet. He pressed his face in close to Ron's so that the very bridge of their noses touched. "What was that, Weasley?" He snarled through his clenched teeth.

"Come on, guys," Logan was instantly on his feet and trying to wedge his arms through the two boys in an attempt to pry them apart. "You don't want to get in trouble with the teachers two days in a row."

"Did you just call me a Nancy?" Nigel pushed Logan out of the way, ignoring his attempt to separate them.

"So what if I did?" Ron smirked. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I said stop it." Somehow Logan managed to force himself between Ron and Nigel, finding enough leverage to thrust them from each other.

"Get out of the way, Grayson." Nigel shoved at him, doubled fisted, on the chest. "This doesn't concern you. It's between me and Weasley." He glanced over Logan's shoulder, gave his head the slightest nod and suddenly big beefy hands circled Logan's arms, pulling them up tight against his back.

"Let me go!" Logan kicked back at the legs of the two boys pinning him. "Son of a bitch. Alfred! Leroy!" He roared. "Let go."

Ron took a cautionary step closer to the shorter boy. "Don't make me fight you, Kelly."

"Is that a threat?"

"No." Ron shook his head. "It's a warning. You have no idea what you're dealing with."

"Then why don't you show me?" Nigel shoved against his chest, knocking him back a step or two.

"Don't." Ron said in a low warning tone.

"Why don't you fight back?" Nigel shoved him again. "Too scared?"

"I said don't push me."

"Come on, Weasley. Fight back." Nigel made to push him again but Ron's arm came up lightening quick and blocked his advance. With a precise twist Ron had the other boys arm pinned painfully behind him. "Listen and listen well. I don't have the time or the patience to deal with you or any of this. I don't want to hurt you… so back off." He snarled.

"Ron, stop." A small hand fell on his shoulder. "Let him go." He turned his head slightly and found Lottie looking up at him, Nessy standing a few paces behind her. "Please. Don't get yourself in anymore trouble because of him. It's not worth it."

Ron stood frozen in indecision for a moment. He hadn't known the boy for a full two days and already he was ready to pummel him into the ground. Even Draco Malfoy hadn't been able to get a rise like that out of him so quickly. Feeling a swell of disgust mount inside him, he released Nigel's arm and stepped back. "I don't want to fight you, Kelly." He shook his head. "So just leave me alone. Just leave me the hell alone." He turned slowly around, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his trousers, and hurried away, his shoulders hunched around his ears, his eyes on the ground.

"That's right, Weasley," Nigel yelled after him, rubbing his sore elbow, "walk away. You wouldn't want to get yourself hurt."

Lottie rounded on Nigel, her eyes roaring with fury. "Didn't you hear what he just said? Leave him alone."

Nigel chuckled snidely. "Why should I? It's so much fun to get a rise out of him. And so easy, too."

Lottie shook her head slowly with disgust. "You should be ashamed of yourself. Your mother is one of the kindest people I have ever met. How is it that she raised such a bastard for a son?"

A muscle twitched in Nigel's cheek. "What's this? Weasley needs a girl to defend him now?"

"Didn't we go through this yesterday?" Lottie rolled her eyes with annoyance. "Ron Weasley doesn't need anyone to defend him." She stepped back. "And just so you know, I wasn't stopping you from hurting him, I was stopping him from hurting you."

Lottie turned to walk away. "What do you see in him anyway?" She stopped and slowly turned. "He's a poor sixth son with no prospect and a family that unloaded him on someone else. Hardly someone to bring home to mother."

"What I see in Ron Weasley is none of your business. And it won't ever be. So will you please just let off and leave me alone?"

Nigel moved close so that his body was a breath away from hers, his mouth close enough to her ear that she felt every word graze past the lobe. "I want you, Lottie. I've wanted you for a long time. And I always- get what I want."

Lottie shuddered with disgust as she pushed Nigel forcefully away from her. "Someday you're going to have to realise that your father's money doesn't buy you everything. Now have your friends release Logan or I scream bloody murder and have a teacher come running. Your choice."

Nigel stood rooted, eyes narrowed staring at her a full minute before he gave the nod that freed Logan of his muscle prison. The dark-haired boy winced as he lowered his arms, his muscles tightening painfully from being held in an awkward position for so long.

"We'll finish discussing this another time."

"I hope not." Lottie turned her back on Kelly and went to Logan, making sure that he was all right.

Nigel glared at them a moment before he turned and walked away, his three friends rushing clumsily to keep up. Nessy waited until the four boys were a good distance away before she rushed forward and crouched down to pick up Ron's book, stuffing it in his bag. "I really hate that guy."

"Yeah," Logan muttered rubbing his shoulder, "you and everyone else." He rotated his neck three times. "Thanks, Lottie, for stepping in when you did."

"You don't have to thank me."

"Yes I do. There could have been real trouble if you hadn't shown up. I seriously thought Ron was going to hit him."

"Yeah," Nessy giggled, "so did Kelly. Did you see his face before Lottie stopped Ron?" She gasped and contorted her features into a look of terror. "Classic."

"Yes, well," Lottie stifled her own chuckle, "as satisfying as it would have been to see someone finally slug Nigel Kelly, Ron needs to stay out of trouble right now."

Nessy's eyes widened with interest. "And why do you care whether Ron gets in trouble or not? I thought you were angry with him."

Lottie's face sharpened with surprise. "I'm not angry with Ron."

"Really?" Nessy arched her brow as she straightened to her full height, crossing her arms in front of her chest in a defiant pose. "Then explain to me again, why aren't you talking to him?"

"And avoiding him?" Logan piped in.

"To prove a point."

Nessy and Logan's eyes caught before rolling with exasperation. "I hate it when you have a point to prove," Nessy groaned as she bent over to take up Ron's bag. "It always lasts entirely too long and the recipient usually doesn't don't know what point you're trying to make."

"Don't worry." Lottie frowned. "Ron knows exactly what point I'm trying to make."

He moved slowly, taking care to test the uneven and jagged ground before placing full weight on his foot. It was slow moving here with no light to guide his way. His eyes were open wide, searching desperately for a glimpse of anything that might tell him where he was and what he had passed. But there was nothing, just a sea of inky black.

His toe caught on a particularly jagged stone and he fell forward, catching himself with his hands and splitting them open on the sharp edges. Cursing loudly, he pushed to his feet and rubbed his bloodied hands on his robe. This was ridiculous. Certainly a simple charm like Lumos would set off no alarms.

He had already thrust his hand into the pocket of his robes, his fingers curled around the shaft of wood when he stopped and shook his head. No, it wasn't safe. The Dark Lord was a clever wizard, he knew perfectly well that a Muggle would never attempt to burrow into the many shafts and tunnels beneath this ancient keep. The only person who could possibly reach this point was a witch or wizard. And if one did manage to make it this far the Dark Lord would want to greet that person himself before he killed them. He shuddered as a breath of cold air traveled down his spine. He knew if he was caught death would be welcome after the torture he would be put through.

He released his wand and slowly withdrew his hand from his pocket. Squaring his shoulders until his back was ramrod straight, he continued forward, or what he assumed must be forward. He still had no idea, really, where he was or what he had passed, and so it was impossible to tell if he was going in circles or a straight line.

A cold quiver crept up his back a moment before he collided with a powerful barrier that left a smarting pain in his nose. This was it. He lifted his hand and placed it obsequiously against the solid mass. He closed his eyes and let his senses take over where his eyes had failed. Excellent, his eyes sprung open, Dark Magic had been done here. He could feel it in his bones. He ran his fingers over the strange surface, his head tipping with curiosity. He had never encountered anything like this before. The surface of the barrier was neither smooth nor rough, but felt both silken and brittle to the touch.

He ran his hands along the expanse of it until he found a place where the wall seemed to bend in. When he tried to force his forefinger through, he heard an angered hissing from above. He jumped back, extracting his finger and hiding it within his robes. There was no point in him staying. He desperately needed light to proceed. He would come again, when it was safe, and he was ready, for now he needed to return before he was missed.

Ron threaded his fingers through his hair and tugged tight. This was utterly impossible. How on earth was he supposed to understand something as infuriatingly impossible as Statistics? He was completely lost after only one page of reading. At least the art text he had spent the past three hours studying had words he understood or could look up if he didn't, and the concepts weren't completely foreign to him. He had looked at enough paintings in Hogwarts' many corridors to understand the ideas the book was trying to get across. But this? He had no basis for understanding any of it.

"All right," he murmured under his breath. "Let's try this again. If the x-distribution is normal, then the sampling distribution of x is normal. What the hell does that mean?" He flipped back a few pages in his book, scanned the contents three times, before flipping back to the problem, staring at it blankly for two minutes, then slamming the book shut. What was the point? He was never going to learn to do all this shite, his grades were going to slip and the Grangers were going to take him off the football team, then… what was he going to do with himself? Lottie's words came back mockingly clear. Sit around the Grangers' house all day, eat crisps and watch TV?

He moaned with misery as he let his head fall with a thud on the desk surface. What he really needed right now was Hermione. At least if she were here he would have a chance of making it, but what was the point of making useless wishes? Hermione and Harry were probably off at this very moment on some grand adventure, looking for one of the Horcruxes without him.

A wave of despair washed over him at the thought of his two best friends. He hadn't heard from either Harry or Hermione since Hedwig had arrived that first day bearing Hermione's letter. Never before had he felt so desolate and alone. He hadn't gone without hearing or seeing from one of his friends for this long since he was a first-year. Logically he understood that Harry and Hermione couldn't possibly send him a letter everyday. It would be time-consuming, pointless and dangerous not only for him but for Harry. It was just like the summer before fifth year when he and Hermione had been unable to write real letters to Harry. Now he knew how Harry had felt. He was edgy, frustrated and ready to lash out at the least provocation.

Take in point the row between him and Kelly today during their free time. Ron's stomach tightened at the memory. Kelly had got to him, not because anything he had said was any worse then the things Ron had heard before, but because in a way they were true. His parents hadn't even tried to convince him to come home and stay with them. They had practically packed his trunk and pushed him out the door when the Grangers had offered to take him in. And as much as he thought he was okay with it, he knew now that a part of him wasn't.

Ron rotated his hands in a circular pattern over his eyes, trying to relieve the tension that was starting to mount there. Enough of this. He lifted his head. He would have to deal with those issues later. Right now he needed to concentrate on the crisis at hand: his inability to complete the most basic statistical equation. He was in desperate need of help and for the first time in his life completely without anyone to help him.

After Hermione, Lottie would have been his first choice as tutor, but seeing as she refused to talk to him, he was quite certain she would turn him down without listening to his proposition - and that was if he could manage to get close enough to ask. He could ask Logan or Nessy for help, but quickly discarded the idea. He didn't know how he would explain to them his minimal education in mathematics. There was really only one other option left. He would have to throw his dignity aside, muscle up every last recourse of courage he had, and ask Mr Granger to help him.

His Statistics work in hand, Ron made his way down the stairs toward the Grangers study. His long feet came to a stop just outside the heavy panelled door. He lifted his fist to rap on the dark panel but his fingers stopped just short of connecting. He didn't know if he could do it. Asking Hermione for answers was one thing; asking her father to help an idiot like him with his Statistics work was another. He looked down at the book in his hand and his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. He knocked hesitantly on the door and waited for Mel's call to come in.

Ron's first glimpse of Melvin Granger's study had him nodding with appreciation. The room was warm, strong, and completely masculine. The walls were mostly covered with built-in bookcases complete with simple glass doors that protected the books inside. What little wall that was left bare was painted a warm hunter green. On the far wall across from the door there was a family portrait of the Grangers that couldn't be more than two years old. The Hermione sitting demurely in the picture had the perfected smile she'd obtained through Madam Pomfrey's Shrinking Charm in fourth year. In the middle of the room was a massive mahogany desk with a place on both sides for an individual to work. In one corner there were two high-back chairs upholstered in dark brown leather, with a small side table set between.

Mel was seated in one of the two leather chairs, a new paperback book in hand. "Hello, Ron. Come in, take a seat. Let me just finish this paragraph." He placed a sweet wrapper between the open pages as his eyes scanned the last few lines before he snapped it closed. "Sorry about that." He set the book on the table while Ron took the seat next to him. "I hate to stop in the middle of a paragraph. Now, what can I do for you?"

Feeling that familiar swell of insignificance and humility at being dense and slow, Ron turned his face and focused on the portrait he had noticed earlier, a pang shooting through his heart at seeing Hermione's face smiling back at him.

When Ron didn't immediately respond Mel leaned back in his seat, steepled his fingers and looked at him intently. He spotted the book in the boy's hand and his eyes widened with understanding. "Do you need help with your school work, Ron?"

"No." Ron's pride ordered him to respond immediately. Mel watched as the boy tried to hide his book behind his thigh.

"Oh, all right. I just thought that since you took the time to bring your…" Mel leaned forward until he could see the title printed across the cover, "Statistics book all the way down here, you might need help with it. But seeing as I was wrong, I reckon I'll just return to my novel."

"No." Ron reached out to stop Mel when he made to open his book. Slowly he pulled his textbook out into the open and laid it across his lap. "Mr Granger, I need your help. I don't understand this."

Mel set his book aside once more before moving forward in his chair, reaching out his hand. "May I?" He asked, nodding at the text.

Ron flipped open to the problem he was working on, handed it to Mel and pointed to the question. Melvin settled back in his chair, crossed his right ankle over his left knee and propped the book against his thigh. He sighed heavily as he settled in, his lips pursed to the right as his eyes scanned over the page. After several minutes of quiet reading he flipped forward, read another three pages, then turned back to the page Ron had marked.

"How much of this do you understand?"

"None of it."

"Have you asked your teacher for help?"

"Yes. Ms Nunn told me in class that she didn't have time to go back and re-teach the material. She said it was up to me to learn it on my own. She said it wasn't her fault that my other teachers had failed to teach me the basics."

"I see." Mel narrowed his eyes with displeasure. "And when are these problems due?"

"Thursday."

"You're working on them already?" Mel nodded appreciatively. "Good for you."

Ron shrugged. "You and Mrs Granger said that I have to keep my marks up if I want to stay on the football team, and I really do. I had so much fun at practice today. We had a scrimmage and my team slaughtered the other team." Ron's smile faded. "I don't want to have to leave if I can help it."

Melvin closed the book around his finger before pushing up from his seat and walking across the room to set the book on the desk. "Take a seat Ron." He pulled back the chair before moving around the side of the desk to retrieve the other. "Are you having trouble in any of your other classes?"

"Not yet. Well, sometimes I have a little trouble following what the teacher's saying, but I understand most of it pretty well."

"Good, then we can focus on this until you have it and address other problems as they crop up. How does that sound?"

"All right." He shrugged.

Mel set his chair next to Ron's and sat down. "Let's start at the beginning." He flipped the pages back to the first chapter. "The maddening thing about Statistics is that you have to start at the beginning and understand it thoroughly before you move onto the next step. You can't just jump in whenever."

Ron's eyes bulged. "You mean I have to go through all these pages before I can do my homework?" he thumbed through the stack that separated the beginning of the book from the page with his assigned problems.

"I'm afraid so. But don't worry; you have me to work with. You came to the right person, Ron. I've always been somewhat of a master when it comes to numbers. Now, Statistics. Statistics is the study of how to collect, organise, and interpret numerical information from data…"

"Ron." Jane stood at the bottom of the stairs and called to the floor above. "Ron, come down and help with dinner please." When Ron's response didn't come immediately like it normally did, she began to climb the stairs to the second storey. "Ronald, did you hear me?" She reached the landing and walked down the hall toward his bedroom. When she arrived she found the door open and the room empty. "Ron?" She turned back around and looked down the hall with confusion. Where was the boy? He was suppose to be working on his schoolwork. "Ron!" she called again as she descended back down the stairs, stopping to check the sitting room and the dining room as she went. When he proved to be in neither, Jane sought out her husband, whom she knew was in his study. Perhaps he had some clue as to where Ron had gone.

The door to Mel's study was open a crack when she arrived. She peeked through the gap and saw Mel and Ron crowded around one end of the mammoth desk Mel had insisted he needed, their heads bent over the same book and bit of parchment. "Very good, very good," she heard Mel's soft voice mutter. "That's right, now convert that to it's z-value." A few more scribbles on the page and Mel was clapping Ron on the shoulder with his large hand. "Excellent. That's exactly right."

"You mean I did it?"

"Yep."

"And it's right?" There was a note of surprise in Ron's voice.

"Precisely."

Ron sat gap mouthed with astonishment. He flipped to the next page of his book. "Can I do another one while you watch to see if I got it down?"

"Of course you can," Jane said brightly as she pushed the door the rest of the way open. "But why don't we save that until after you've helped me finish dinner?"

The two men turned in their seats to look at Jane standing in the doorway with an almost contented smile on her lips.

"Excellent suggestion." Mel rose to his feet. "I think Ron and I could both use a little break. What do you say we return to this after dinner?"

"Yeah, sure." Ron nodded as he set his pencil down and followed Mel to his feet, rolling his neck to relieve it of the kinks from being bent forward so long.

"Have you got all your other work done?"

"For the most part. I still have to read the first two chapters of Paradise Lost, but other than that I am done for tomorrow."

"Good man." Mel rumpled Ron's hair as he stepped past. "What are we having tonight Jane?"

"Lasagna."

Mel smacked his lips with anticipation. "Ahh, my favourite."

"Mr…Me…Mr Granger."

The older man stopped in the door way. "Yes, Ron?" He looked back at the red-head.

"Have you ever read a book called…The Lord of the Rings? Is that right? The Lord of the Rings?"

"Yes, yes of course I have." He leaned his body against the doorpost, crossed his arms over his chest and his right ankle over his left. "The Lord of the Rings, written by J. R. R. Tolkien. Wonderful story. Why do you ask?"

"Because Lottie told me she thought I should read it. And I was wondering if you knew where I might find a copy?"

"I might." Mel used his shoulder to shove away from the post. "Can I trust you to be very careful with one of my books?"

Ron cast an uncertain look around the room. It was very apparent from whom Hermione had inherited her obsessive compulsive tendencies towards books. "I think so." His voice quivered with uncertainty. Mel's brow arched high. "I promise I won't take it out of this house and I will keep it away from all food and beverages and…" Ron racked his brain trying to remember all Hermione's pet peeves and rules regarding books. "Oh," his voice rose with excitement, "and I will never fold or tear a page."

"I see Hermione's taught you well," Mel chortled.

"Only where her books are concerned. I tried folding down a corner once and she nearly tore my head off."

Mel chuckled with amusement. "I don't imaging you tried that again."

"No, sir." Ron shook his head. "Never."

"Then I suppose it's safe to let you borrow my copy." The older man moved along the bookcase-lined wall and stopped five cases from the door where he lifted the protective glass door. His fingers lightly skimmed along the spine of several books before he stopped and pulled out a thick volume. "Here we are." He handed the book to Ron whose eyes bulged at the sight of it. "This might take you a while to read. There are three books in this one, and the first is a little hard to get into but I promise that if you stick with it you'll find it rewarding."

Ron stared at the book gap mouthed. He had got to be kidding. He had never seen a book this thick in his entire life.

"What's the matter Ron?"

"I don't know if I can read this. I've never read a book this big before."

Mel laughed again. "Well, now's as good a time as any to change that. Come on," he turned Ron by the shoulder, "let's go help Jane with dinner before she comes looking for us again."

Harry looked down at the list of names Professor Straub, this year's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and his newly instituted Head of House, had given him of the students who had come forward interested in the newly vacant Keeper position. Most of the names he was almost certain he could cross off the list without ever seeing them on a broom, but for the sake of being fair he would wait and see them fly.

Heaving a great, disgruntled sigh, Harry pushed the scrap of parchment aside. He didn't want to deal with this right now. Not on top of Prefect duties, Quidditch practice, Horcrux research and finding. He didn't want to replace his best friend on top of all of that. But he knew he had to. He had put it off long enough and his teammates were getting anxious. They needed time to learn how to fly with their new teammate before their next game or it could be a disaster.

"Hi, Harry."

The green-eyed boy looked up at the sound of his other best friend's voice.

"'Lo, Hermione." He watched as she set her bag down before taking the seat next to his.

Hermione's eyes caught on the abandoned piece of paper as she lowered herself into the seat. "Are these potential Keepers?" she asked, taking the list up.

"Yeah," Harry groaned. "That's it. That's all I have to choose from."

"Romilda Vane?" Hermione chuckled when her eyes landed on the girl's name. "What do you think she's more interested in, the Keeper position, or you?"

"Ha, ha." Harry snatched the page back. "Very funny."

"You know, Harry, more people might show up for the actual trials," she offered optimistically.

"I hope so. Because if this list is all I have to choose from, we're doomed. Hopefully there's some fresh talent amongst the first-years."

"Don't worry, Harry." She patted his arm comfortingly. "I'm sure everything will work out just fine."

A shrug of the shoulders was all the more response Hermione got and it made her heart clench that much tighter in her chest. She hated seeing Harry like this. Never would she have dreamed that Quidditch would lose its sparkle and wonder for her friend. Normally when Harry talked about the game it was with excitement and enthusiasm. She knew perfectly well that Quidditch was one of his favourite things in the world. But his love of the game had quickly dwindled and started to die when Ron was forced to leave. Harry didn't have to say it, she knew that in the wake of everything that had happened he just didn't feel that Quidditch was that important any more, and the knowledge was killing her.

Why was it that everything Harry cared for got taken away from him? His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Ginny, Ron, and now even Quidditch had lost its appeal. It just wasn't fair. Was her friend allowed nothing that would make his life more carefree and enjoyable?

Curling her fingers under the seat of the chair, she moved it closer to Harry so that she could lean close under the pretence of looking at what book he was reading. "Has Tonks responded yet?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed turning his book so that Hermione could better see it. "She'll stop by Friday after Keeper tryouts. We're to meet her in the Room of Requirement."

"What did you tell her?"

"Nothing much. I couldn't risk Hedwig getting intercepted."

"You think the Ministry is reading her mail."

Harry glared at her with annoyed disbelief. "Of course it is. Scrimgeour knows that Tonks knows something. She was here the night the school was attacked. She wouldn't have been if she hadn't been in contact with Dumbledore."

"Do you think…" Hermione looked suspiciously around the room. "Do you think," she lowered her voice to a whisper, "that he's having us watched?"

Harry nodded. "Ron too."

"Ron? But what can he do from my parents' house?"

Harry shrugged. "How does the Ministry know it wasn't a ploy that we made up to cause a diversion, get them off our scent, or more pointedly, his scent? Not to sound smug, but we're clever kids, and he knows that. He also knows that I was working with Dumbledore on something secret. I bet he would give anything to know what that was."

"The Minister has more important things to worry about than conspiracy theories."

"Yes he does, but he isn't. He wants to know what you, Ron, and I are doing."

Hermione shook her head sadly. "You really have no faith in the Ministry, do you?"

"No." Harry shook his head taking his book back. "I don't. And considering everything they've put us through, you shouldn't either. The Ministry has messed up to many times. There've been too many officials in Death Eater pockets, too many false arrests, School Board decrees and lying." Harry absently rubbed the back of his hand where the raised white scars from fifth year still showed with predominance. "I'll deal with my Ministry issues when all of this is over."

Hermione watched sadly as Harry unrolled a scroll of parchment and was almost surprised to see that he was nearly finished with his Potions assignment. She didn't know why it still came as a shock to her. Harry had been so focused and motivated this school term, especially since Ron had been forced to leave. She knew that he blamed himself for what had happened. She also knew that he was bound and determined to take care of this Horcrux business so that he could focus on helping Ron. To that end he needed to maintain passing grades so that he could stay at the school and he needed to get his revision done so that he could have time to focus on research in other areas. Add that to his Head Boy and Quidditch duties, and Harry was running himself ragged.

Hermione had tried everything she could think of to get him to slow down a pace or two - he was no help to any of them if he was dead - but Harry's consistent response was that there would be time to relax later; right now he needed to work.

In the end Hermione had given up on trying to convince him to slow down because she knew it was hypocritical of her when she was running herself just as thin and ragged as he.

Hermione reached inside the deep recesses of her pocket and ran her fingers along the worn spine of a leather bound volume. Tonight, like every night, when she was finished with all her work and duties, she would retreat into the safety and solitude that was her room, and work on the mystery that was in her pocket. She knew that the answer to one of her problems lay hidden and yet in plain sight in the pages of this book. She only had to find it. Which of course was proving harder then she had first imagined.

"Hermione!" Harry stiffened and Hermione pulled her hand out of her pocket at the sound of Ginny Weasley's voice coming around the bend in the girl's dormitory stair.

She appeared around the curve in the wall and paused momentarily at the sight of Harry. "Oh." She awkwardly tucked a strand of her long copper hair behind her ear as she ducked her head, hiding her eyes from sight. "Hello, Harry. I didn't…I…I didn't realise you were down here, too."

"Hi, Ginny." Hermione could hear the timbre of sadness in Harry's voice. "How are…"

"I came down to ask Hermione with help on this Arithmancy problem," she said in a crisp clear voice, cutting him off. "But if you're too busy working on things that I can't be partial too then I'll go find someone else to help me."

Hermione's heart went out for the wealth of pain and longing she saw behind the firm chin and glossy shine in Ginny's eyes. The redhead forced her chin up defiantly another notch before turning to march her way back up the stairs.

"No," Hermione called after her, stopping her mid-step. "Please." She got to her feet and took a few steps to go after the other girl. "I just sat down. Now's the perfect time. I'd love to help."

"Are you sure?" Ginny looked uncertainly at Harry, who was holding a piece of parchment up so that it covered his face. "If you and Harry are working on whatever it is you work…"

"We're not." Harry lowered the paper so he could meet her eyes. "It's all right. You can be here. I'm just going over possible candidates for Keeper."

Ginny's eyes darkened with a sudden flare of anger. "Oh, that's right." She slammed her book down on the table. "You have to replace my brother because he got hurt doing something I'm too young and innocent to know about. Or is it that you think I'm too stupid? No," she held up a hand, "I got it. You won't tell me because you think I can't be trusted. I bet that's it, isn't it. I bet you think I can't be trusted because I wasn't able to stop that diary from taking me over."

Harry sighed heavily. "That has nothing to do with it, and you know it."

"Do I? I don't understand any of this. Why won't you tell me what happened to Ron? Harry…please, I need to know what happened to my brother."

"Ginny," Hermione put a soothing hand on the girl's shoulder when Harry turned his face away. "We can't tell you what happened to Ron. We can't," she repeated when Ginny glared at her in disbelief, "because we don't know what happened to him. Harry and I know just as much as you do."

"Right." Ginny rolled her eyes as she shook Hermione's hand off her shoulder. "Do you really expect me to believe that? I'm not stupid, you know. I know you three share everything with each other."

"It's the truth." Hermione insisted. "Ron never…

"Don't bother arguing with her, Hermione. She's got the very worst of the Weasley stubborn streak."

Ginny rounded on Harry, her hands making their way to her hips, her eyes flaring with anger. "So what if I have?"

"I didn't say it was a bad thing, did I?"

"You didn't have to. Your voice said it all."

"You see," Harry looked past her to Hermione, "there's no reasoning with her when she's like this."

"Will you two stop it?!" Hermione pounded her fists against the table causing both Harry and Ginny to jump at the sudden sound. "I don't need this right now. You don't need this right now, neither of you. We have to stay friends." She said slowly. "Don't you understand that? We have to stay friends. We can't keep rowing like this, it's tearing us apart. This is exactly what Voldemort wants." She took the strap of her book bag and flung it over her head. "When you two stop acting like four-year–olds, come and find me. 'Til then I'll be studying in my room. Harry, I'll see you for rounds."

Harry and Ginny both watched in stunned silence as Hermione marched her way up the stairs. As soon as she was out of sight Ginny rounded on Harry, stomping her foot impatiently. "Now look what you did! I really needed her to help me with this problem."

"Ginny," Harry pressed his weary eyes into his fists. "I'm sorry, I just…I can't handle this right now. You have no idea what kind of pressure I'm under."

"I would if you told me."

"No." Harry's hands dropped to the table. "Out of the question." He rose to his feet, making a slashing motion with his hand. "I'm not dragging you into this as well."

Ginny clenched her fingers at him in frustration. "You are so infuriating. Don't you get it? You can't drag me into this! You can't because I'm all ready in it! Whether you like it or not I would be involved even if I had never met you. I'm a Weasley, damn it!" She finished as if her name were explanation enough.

"You're right." He stepped around the side of his chair. "You would be involved. But I'm not going to put you in any more danger then you're already in."

"Shouldn't I have a say in that? You didn't argue with Hermione and Ron about it. You let them go with you. Why won't you let me help? You said you had to do this alone. And I understood that, because I know you. I know how you're brain works. But I never realised alone meant you, Ron and Hermione."

"Gin," Harry reached for her.

"No," she sidestepped him. "You're not going to pat me on the head and send me along like a good little child. I won't let you do that to me again."

Harry shook his head. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Because I'm not a child any more." She wiped at her eye where a tear had snuck out. "I hate you, Harry Potter. Do you know that? I really, really hate you."

"Yeah," He reached for her again. "I know that." This time Ginny let him wrap her in his arms, pulling her tight to his chest.

Her fingers curled into his shirt. "I really do hate you."

He grasped her chin lightly between his fingers and eased her chin up until she met his eyes. "I don't blame you." He pressed his brow to hers. "I would hate me too."

"Harry, I…" Her words were cut off by his lips capturing hers, kissing her like he had longed to every day since he had broke things off. He half expected her to pull away and slap him any moment. He had no right to be kissing her like this, no matter how wonderful it felt to have her in his arms. When she eased into his body and wound her arms around his neck he thought his heart might explode in his chest. They clung to each other and for a moment it was like no time had passed.

For Harry everything else melted away, all the stress and loss in his life disappeared until all that was left was Ginny and the taste of her lips. He clung to her like a desperate man needing the comfort of her arms more than he needed to breathe. He could have stood there like that forever but when she whimpered softly the sound wrenched him back to himself. He savoured her a moment longer before forcing himself to pull away. Ginny reached for him again but Harry took her hands gently and forced them down to her side. "Ginny, we have to stop."

"Wha-but I thought…"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let that happen."

"I wanted it to happen."

Harry smiled sadly as he toyed with a strand of her hair. "So did I, but I still shouldn't have let it. It's just going to be harder the next time I leave."

Ginny nodded slowly. "Without me."

"Ginny…"

"No, no. I get it." Her brown eyes began to glisten with tears. "Once again I'm being left behind."

"Ginny, I…"

"All I want to do is help, Harry. No one lets me help. Not you, not my parents, not my brothers. I'm not a child any more. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can."

"Then why won't you let me help you?"

"Ginny," he took her hands in his, "the best way you can help me is to stay here where I know you'll be safe." He released one hand so that he could push a strand of her coppery hair out of her eyes before cupping her cheek tenderly. "I know I'm being a selfish bastard in asking you to wait for me, but I'm going to do it anyway. I need to know that when all of this is over I'm going to have you to come back to."

Ginny pressed her cheek into his hand and set her fingers lightly on his wrist. "But what about me, Harry?" A tear trickled from her eye and slid down the length of his finger into his palm. "Don't you think I was going mad all those times you, Ron and Hermione disappeared without an explanation of where you were going or where you had been? Do you think I'm able to concentrate on anything until you get back? What about me, Harry? What if one of these times you don't come back? What am I going to do?"

"Ginny," His arms dropped to circle around her slight body, hugging her tight to his chest. He set his chin on the crown of her head and inhaled the sweet flower sent that was distinctly her. "I can't promise I'll come back. And I won't insult you by trying." Her arms tightened around him. "But I can't not go." He pulled away from her enough so that he could reach between them and tilt her head up to meet his gaze. "I trust you." He pressed a chase kiss to her brow. "More than most. Ginny," he waited until he knew he had her full attention, "the thing is…I am the Chosen One." He said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"What?" she gasped, her body stiffening in his arms before pulling violently away. "Don't tell me you buy into all that Daily Prophet rubbish."

"Ginny, please." Harry took a step toward her, his hand held out beseechingly. "You know me better then that. When have you ever known me to buy into anything the Daily Prophet has written?"

"But," her eyes widened with fear, "how? I-I don't…"

Harry took hold of her arm and drew her toward the corner of the room where he knew no one could overhear them without his knowing it. "Ginny listen, I can't give you all the details. Not here, not now. I can only tell you the basics. Do you remember that night at the Ministry and the prophecy, the one Neville smashed," Ginny nodded that she remembered, "that wasn't the only copy. Dumbledore heard the prophecy. He told me what it said, all of it. I'm it, Ginny. I'm the one that has to stop Voldemort. I'm the only one that can."

Ginny's hands came up and her fingers dug into his cloak at the elbows. "But…but…but…you're only seventeen. What…? You can't…if Dumbledore couldn't, how can you?"

"I don't know. That's what Ron and Hermione are trying to help me figure out. Ginny," he used his fingers to once again force her eyes to meet his, "you have to swear to me that you won't tell anyone what I just told you. Not even your mum and dad. No one. Do you understand?"

Ginny stared at him a moment open mouthed, lips quivering. "I…I…"

"He knows, Gin, not all of it, but he knows enough to realise I'm a threat but not enough to know I'm his only threat. If he ever finds out he will come at me in any way he can and one of the quickest ways to me is through you." Her head snapped up in surprise. "Please, Gin. Do you swear it?"

Her mouth gapped open a minute, moving soundlessly as she tried to form words. "Yes," she finally said, nodding her head vigorously. "Yes, of course. I swear it."

His hand once again came up to lovingly caress her cheek. "Do you understand now why I can't be with you? The risk would be too great. I don't know what I would do if I lost you, too."

"All right, Harry." She lowered her head to his chest, tears streaming down her cheeks in great torrents. "I'll leave you alone… I promise." She stood there a moment, holding him, letting her tears soak into his chest. "I don't really hate you," she whispered.

Harry stroked her hair tenderly. "You should."

Ginny pulled away slightly so that she could look up at him. She toyed with the fringe of black that he always wore over his brow. "No, it's too late for that."

Smiling sadly, she lifted her face and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek before breaking free of his arms and rushing up the steps to the girl's dormitory, desperately needing the solitude of her bed.

Harry slowly wandered back to the table and picked up his potions book. He stared angrily at the cover for a moment and with a great bellow of frustration, hurled it against the wall. "Damn it!" He fell into his chair and buried his face in the crook of his folded arms. "God damn it."