“All right then.”  Fred said to George in a low voice, “I think we should cover the classrooms on the second floor of the east wing.”

            “We’ve already DONE those, Fred,”  George replied with amusement, tapping the parchment. “You drew them in yourself!”

            “Oy, you’re right!”  Fred laughed. “We’ve done so many bloody rooms this term, I can’t keep it straight anymore.”

            “Tell me about it,” George agreed. “I’m beginning to think this job’ll NEVER be done!”

            During the previous year, the twins’ seventh and supposedly final year, Dumbledore had announced that, due to the constant interruptions of classes and exams over the last few years (“Mind you, no one is blaming certain individuals who seem to…attract…certain…dangers…” ), any Seventh Year who wished to stay for an extra year and finish up neglected studies might do so. Afterwards, he had approached Fred and George specifically with a particular request…

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Near the end of last year…

            “An extra year!”  George exclaimed as they left dinner along with a crush of other, similarly excited students. “Hogwarts has never done anything like this before!”

            “He’s worried about Voldemort and all that, I’ll bet,” Fred replied thoughtfully, his cheer fading a little and his pace slowing so that other people flowed around them. “He’s giving us some extra time to hide.”

            “Don’t you think I know that?”  George demanded, slowing his own steps to match his twin’s. “But look at it this way, another whole year to plan for Weasleys' Wheezes!”

            “And Mum’ll be thrilled,” Fred brightened up again. “She’ll think we’ve gone academic!”

            “Exactly,” George rubbed his hands together gleefully. “‘Honestly, mother, they didn’t even let PERCY stay an eighth year’…”

            “Am I interrupting?”

            George and Fred looked up, startled to find the corridor had emptied while they were talking, and Dumbledore was standing behind them, eyes twinkling in amusement.

            “Er, no,” Fred said quickly. “We’re just really excited about maybe getting to stay an extra year.”

            “It’s a fantastic opportunity,” George chimed in. Dumbledore’s mouth quirked in bemusement, as if he knew exactly what ‘opportunities’ Fred and George had been talking about.

            “As it happens,” Dumbledore said, “opportunities are exactly what I’d like to talk to you two about. Would you follow me to my office?”

            Dumbledore turned and started down the hall before the twins had a chance to respond. Fred and George exchanged a glance before hurrying after their Headmaster.

            Fawkes gave a short chirp of greeting as they entered the office, and by the time they were seated in armchairs in front of Dumbledore’s desk, the Weasley twins had begun to be a bit nervous.

            “Ah, sir,” George began, “if this is about whoever slipped that fake wand into McGonagall’s desk before Transfiguration…”

            “Although that was a particularly nice bit of sneakery,” Dumbledore interrupted, looking even more entertained, “and a very well-made wand, what I wish to ask of you is related to that only by tangent.”

            Fred and George exchanged another glance as Dumbledore started to explain.

            “You are aware that the last several years of your schooling has been a rather dark time,” Dumbledore’s voice lost its edge of amusement, and Fred noticed he looked a bit older and wearier suddenly, “and there have been times when Hogwarts has not been as safe as I might wish. I am afraid things look to become grimmer before they improve, and I must consider every measure to ensure the safety of those young witches and wizards who are in my care.”

            Fred and George nodded cautiously as Dumbledore paused.

            “In the last seven years, the pair of you has managed to locate every known secret passage in the school, including one or two which even I was not aware of. This, as you may realize, is quite impressive.”

            George and Fred were sporting looks of identical shock. Surely there was nothing about the school that Dumbledore didn’t know?

            Dumbledore seemed to read their expressions perfectly.

            “I assure you,” he smiled, “that it would be impossible for anyone to know EVERYTHING about Hogwarts, myself included. Your brother and young Potter’s adventure in the Chamber of Secrets, for which headmasters had searched for centuries, should have proved that adequately.” The twins looked chagrined as Dumbledore continued. “As I was saying, I believe you two might know more about the physical layout of the school and its ground than even the Marauders themselves did in their time, when they created that marvelous piece of parchment you discovered.” Fred and George looked even more chagrined at the mention of the rather illicit magical map they had used in their first years, then passed on to Ron and Harry when they had learned what they could from it.

             By this time, however, curiosity was  motivating the twins more powerfully than concern over exactly how much Dumbledore knew about their activities during their years at Hogwarts.

            “We do know about at least three passages that aren’t on the map,” Fred spoke up after receiving the nod from George. “We can show you them, if you want.”

            “Thank you for the offer, Fred, but I have something a bit more complex in mind,” Dumbledore seemed ready to come to the point. “I would like to inquire if you and your brother would like to spend next year as my…how do those Muggle movies put it? My secret agents.”

            “You want us to be your spies?” George asked after a moment of surprise. “Wicked!”

            “What do you want us to do?” Fred inquired thoughtfully.

            “Specifically,” Dumbledore answered, “I would like you conduct a thorough search of the castle and find every secret passage and room that you are able. I would also like you to find out who knows about each passage, and who uses them. When you have learned all you think you are able, I would like you to create a new, updated Marauder’s Map.”

            “The whole school?” Even George looked a bit daunted. “In a year? That’d be a huge job…”

            “But what fun!” Fred exclaimed, grinning.

            “There would be some perks, of course,” Dumbledore seemed to share Fred’s enthusiasm. “Your work for me would count as a course, lightening your school work load. You would be exempt from curfew and would have access to every part of the castle. There is, however, one stipulation.”

            The twins, who had been practically drooling at the chance to prowl about the school wherever they liked at all hours of the night, looked at Dumbledore warily.

            “It is imperative,” Dumbledore said seriously when he was sure he had their attention, “that your work for me remain absolutely secret. If you are to find out who uses each passage for what purpose, no one must know they are being monitored.”

            All three participants in the conversation eyed each other with calculating stares.

            “What about Ron, Harry, and Hermione?” Fred finally asked with a tone of measured thought. “They’ve found things we haven’t before, and they might again. Would we be allowed to get their help?”

            “Under the circumstances, I believe that particular trio of students might be quite helpful to you,” Dumbledore answered with a brisk nod. “But they are the only others with whom I would consider a secret of this magnitude safe.”

            Fred and George nodded in return, then exchanged another look and came to a silent agreement.

            “It’s an enormous job,” George spoke up. “D’you think we might have a day to talk it over before we answer?”

            “I would expect nothing less for such a serious decision,” Dumbledore responded gravely. “I would however like to add that I would not have asked such a thing unless I had full confidence in you both.”

            Flushing with pride, the Weasleys stood up and shook Dumbledore’s hand hardily before leaving his office.

            As the twins were going back down the moving spiral staircase, they finally let their excitement show.

            “Spies!” George exclaimed, grinning madly. “We’re going to be spies, Fred!”

            “It’s better than that,” Fred responded with glee. “We’ll be security experts!”

            After a moment of excited silence, Fred asked the really important question:

            “D’you think Angelina’s staying?”

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Fred and George had accepted Dumbledore’s offer, and now snuck off every night to prowl about the castle with no one the wiser. Work on their own Marauder’s Map had gathered plenty of momentum, and was by now about half done.

            While they were deciding what rooms to examine that night, a fight was breaking out on the other side of the common room.

            “I’m not asking you any of that!”

            “It isn’t that simple!”

            George looked up, but Fred didn’t bother.

            “Ron and Hermione at it again?” he asked his twin.

            “They’re worse than Mum and Dad,” George agreed, still watching with interest. “Go on, look, I think this one’s really serious.”

            While the twins watched, Ron said something very deliberate, and too low for them to hear, which upset Hermione greatly. Ron stormed out of the room in a rage, and Hermione fled to the girls dormitories a moment later, in tears. Fred clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth disapprovingly.

            “He’ll be paying for that later,” he said, shaking his head sadly.

            “Just like Mum and Dad,” George repeated.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Harry looked up from his studying when Ron stomped into the room, slamming the door behind him with enough force to make Harry’s quill holder rattle.

            “Er,” Harry looked Ron up and down. “I take it from that entrance that you’d fancy a duel?”

            “Too right,” Ron snarled, snatching up his outdoor cloak and his wand. “Let’s go.”

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            “Want to talk about it?” Harry asked on the way down to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where they usually did their illicit dueling. Few other students, or teachers for that matter, wandered by the Forest by accident, but Harry and Ron knew the Forest with enough intimacy to know that they were safe enough on the fringes. Or perhaps the creatures lurking on the edges of the Forest were more afraid of Harry and Ron’s dueling than in need of a meal.

            “Not really,” Ron replied shortly, keeping his eyes on the ground.

            “Okay,” Harry shrugged.

            They reached the Forest and stopped half a dozen meters past the first fringe of trees. Harry kicked some sticks out of his way while Ron took the requisite number of paces away.

            “Ready?” Harry called after a minute.

            “Do your worst!” Ron shouted back.

            Both Harry and Ron aimed at each other and yelled out a spell at the exact same moment, with the unexpected result that a burst of blue light enveloped them both, and the not-so-unexpected result that both of them flew backwards and landed in identical heaps. After several moments, Harry sat up, looking about dazedly. He looked around for his wand, but could only find Ron’s; he picked it up as he climbed to his feet with some difficulty, nearly tumbling back to the ground once or twice from vertigo.

            “Ron?” he called out. I feel like I’m too tall, he thought to himself. I must still be dizzy.

            “Over here,” Ron called back, something about his voice sounding funny. Harry saw a shape in the nearby darkness roll to his own feet and started towards him. “Lumos!” Harry heard Ron say, and the tip of Harry’s wand, which Ron had evidently found, flared to life. Harry stopped dead in his tracks.

            “Ron!” he gasped, blinking rapidly, trying to convince himself that he was really not seeing what his brain was telling him he was seeing.

            “What?” Ron looked up and froze too, staring at Harry.

            “I’ve…I’ve turned you into me!” Harry exclaimed, looking into Ron’s now bright green eyes and spotting the telltale scar under his fringe.

            “Like fun you have!” Ron-in-Harry cried out. “You’re ME!”

            They stared at each other wordlessly for several moments, and then simultaneously reached out to poke each other in the arm.

            “What did you cast?” Ron-in-Harry asked accusingly.

            “Not this!” Harry-in-Ron shot back. “I cast that curse that’s supposed to switch your wand for mine so that your own spell hits you!” Harry-in-Ron narrowed his eyes. “What did YOU cast?”

            “I was trying to cast that one that makes the other person’s spell blow up in their face,” Ron-in-Harry answered.

            “Volatilay?” Harry-in-Ron asked.

            “That’s the one,” Ron-in-Harry nodded, then furrowed Harry’s brow. “Only I don’t think that’s what I said…”

            “Oh brilliant,” Harry-in-Ron groaned. “We’ve got to get this undone, I’ll just run up and find Hermione…”

            “We’re not telling Hermione,” Ron-in-Harry interrupted flatly.

            “What?” Harry-in-Ron demanded, feeling even more irritated because he felt stupid yelling at himself. “Are you two at it again? This is no time for it, Ron, we’re stuck looking like each other!”

            “Doesn’t matter if Hermione and I are fighting or not,” Ron-in-Harry said stubbornly. “We’ll never live it down if we tell her, not to mention she’ll rip us up one side and down the other for unsupervised dueling again. If she’s in a really foul mood she might even tell McGonagall. She is a prefect after all.”

            “She will NOT,” Harry-in-Ron said in exasperation, trying to push the red hair that kept flopping in his eyes out of his way and wanting to punch himself in the face. “What’s your brilliant plan then, if we’re not to tell anybody?”

            “We can work it out on our own,” Ron-in-Harry replied, jaw set. “We’ll just figure out what we did and…and…undo it.” At that moment, the wand light spluttered a little and looked like it might go out. “What’s wrong with your bloody wand?” Ron-in-Harry demanded.

            “How should I know?” Harry-in-Ron replied testily. “Give it here.” When Ron-in-Harry handed the wand to Harry-in-Ron it brightened up visibly. Harry-in-Ron snorted with irritation and handed it back, but as soon as he let go, it dimmed again.

            “Oh, just take it and give me mine back,” Ron-in-Harry finally said, snatching his own wand out of Harry-in-Ron’s other hand. “We’ll get it all sorted at once, let’s just go up and figure out what I cast and then fix it.”

            “You make it sound so simple,” Harry-in-Ron commented cynically.

            “That’s because it is simple,” Ron-in-Harry replied, ignoring the sarcasm. “We don’t need to go running to bloody Hermione for every piddly thing. Come on.”

            “Looking like this?” Harry-in-Ron demanded.

            “Hobson’s choice,” Ron-in-Harry seized Harry-in-Ron’s arm and began dragging him along back towards the castle. “And I don’t fancy spending a night out here in the Forest.”

            Harry-in-Ron grumbled, but trailed along behind.

            “Besides,” Ron-in-Harry added, “we’ve been best mates for six years, how hard can it be to pretend to be each other for half an hour? It’s not brain surgery.”

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            “Remember,” Ron-in-Harry warned Harry-in-Ron as they reached the secret entrance into Gryffindor Tower, “I’m Harry and you’re Ron.”

            “I KNOW,” Harry-in-Ron snapped, having heard this about twenty times on the way back into the castle.

            “Password?” the Fat Lady inquired.

            “Snape’s a twit,” Harry-in-Ron answered, deriving more joy out that password every time he said it; he’d be sorry to see that one go. The Fat Lady swung aside to reveal the portrait hole, and Harry-in-Ron slipped inside, with Ron-in-Harry following immediately behind.

            Hermione, who’d obviously been prowling about the entrance waiting for them, pounced on them as soon as they came through.

            “Where have you been!” she demanded, each outburst an exclamation rather than a question. “You’ve been dueling again, haven’t you! Who’s hurt the worst! And why are you holding each other’s wands!”

            “Hello, Hermione,” Harry-in-Ron cut her off, quickly changing wands with Ron-in-Harry, and glaring at him for letting them make such a stupid mistake already. Ron-in-Harry didn’t notice, however, because he was busy shooting angry looks at Hermione from underneath Harry’s fringe.

            “Don’t you ‘hello Hermione’ me!” she snapped back. Harry-in-Ron snapped his head back to her in surprise, then remembered that he was outwardly Ron and they were fighting.  “You just think you can stroll right back in here and act like nothing happened?! After all those things you said to me?!”

            Harry opened his mouth to placate her, then remembered he was angry at Ron as well and at the last second decided to take his revenge in the method readily available.

            “And I meant every last bloody word!” Harry-in-Ron shouted back, scrunching up his face in what he hoped looked rather like Ron’s childish ‘I’m Having a Wobbly’ expression. “And just where do you get off starting in on us like you’re my mum! You’re my girlfriend, not my bleeding nanny! What were you doing skulking about here anyway, just waiting for us to come back so you could tattle to McGonagall? Why don’t you just go…go…READ SOMETHING!”

            Harry-in-Ron had a moment to appreciate Ron-in-Harry’s look of utter horror as all the color drained from Hermione’s face and her eyes glittered with fury. Belatedly he had a sudden epiphany that the reason Ron hadn’t said anything like that to Hermione since Fourth Year was because she had learned quite a few curses in the meantime that didn’t kill you, but might make you wish she had. She looked ready to cast one of those curses at any moment.

            Right as Hermione was opening her mouth, Seamus Finnegan popped his head around the corner from the boy’s dormitories.

            “‘Ey!” he shouted at them. “Some o’ us are tryin’ tae study, so take yer wobblies outside and don’ let the Fat Lady hit yer arse on the way oot!”

            Hermione whirled to face Seamus, and Harry-in-Ron took the opportunity to shove Ron-in-Harry back out the portrait hole.

            “Get out while we still have a chance!” he hissed, letting the Fat Lady swing closed behind him.

            “What’d you do that for?!” Ron-in-Harry yelled, giving Harry-in-Ron a shove that nearly knocked him down. Harry noticed but was past caring about the look of actual anger on Ron’s face that he had only seen directed at him half a dozen times in as many years, and was barely even weirded out by the fact that the look was actually on HIS face. “Now Hermione’s FURIOUS with me!”

            “Serves you right for starting some stupid fight with her in the first place,” Harry-in-Ron shot back peevishly. “What childish and completely insensitive thing did you do this time?”

            “INSENSITIVE?!” Ron-in-Harry roared so loudly that Harry-in-Ron took a step back. “YOU have no BLEEDING IDEA what you’re TALKING about, and now YOU’VE probably FUCKED it ALL TO HELL! Do you even KNOW…”

            Ron-in-Harry cut off abruptly and just stood there, chest heaving and shaking wordlessly, Harry’s glasses perched ridiculously on the very tip of his nose, having slid down to their precarious position while Ron-in-Harry was shouting. Harry-in-Ron just waited for Ron to explain what he was on about, starting to feel slightly guilty for his actions.

            Well, I had no idea he’d take it like this, Harry thought to himself. Whatever he and Hermione were fighting about must have been really serious.

            “Let’s just go to the library,” Ron-in-Harry finally said slowly, having managed to get himself somewhat under control. “Let’s get this sorted and then I can try to salvage my relationship with Hermione, and then maybe things will go back to the way they were before it all went pear-shaped.”

            Harry-in-Ron exchanged a glance with the Fat Lady, who shrugged, then he followed Ron-in-Harry in silence to the library.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Neither of them spoke a word as they reached the library, and Ron-in-Harry retrieved a book called “Ye Olde Tome of Alphybetical Curses for Inepte Wizzards” . This particular copy was beginning to show the wear of having been checked out rather often of late, and the dog-eared look of the book didn’t improve Ron’s disposition any. He plunked the book down on the table in front of Harry-in-Ron with a scowl.

            “What was the name of the curse I was trying to cast?” he asked sourly.

            “Volatilay,” Harry-in-Ron answered, opening the book to the V’s. and beginning to skim down the list.

            The book contained nothing more than all the curses in alphabetical order with brief descriptions, so that mispronounced spells could be identified rapidly by searching the area where the actual spell was. Having worked this procedure down to a science in the years of miscast duel curses, Harry-in-Ron simply began reading down the list, knowing Ron would stop him when he hit the right one.

            “Volatilay,” Harry-in-Ron started, moving his finger down to the next one. “Voluptas Multas?”

            “No.”

            “Voltus Maximus?”

            “No.”

            “Voltaire?”

            “No.” Ron-in-Harry paused. “Hang on, what’s that one do?”

            “Er,” Harry-in-Ron scanned the description. “You spout long stories in ridiculously effusive prose that go nowhere but involve lots of reincarnations.”

            “Thought so,” Ron-in-Harry said grimly. “George cast that one on Percy once. Took Mum a week to notice, the only difference was him constantly mentioning that Muggle fellow with the long hair and the cross. Keep going.”

            Harry-in-Ron read a while further down the list, until they were convinced it wasn’t there.

            “You’re sure it was ‘vol-‘ something?” he asked, running Ron’s finger down the column again.

            “Positive,” Ron-in-Harry said stubbornly.

            “Then it’s not here,” Harry-in-Ron sighed, letting the book fall shut on the table.

            “But it HAS to be!” Ron-in-Harry exclaimed in frustration. “If it wasn’t a spell, nothing would have happened at all!”

            “It doesn’t mean it’s not a spell,” Harry-in-Ron went to rub the spot on his nose under his glasses, only to realize he wasn’t wearing glasses. “It just means it’s not a curse. Can you remember exactly what you said?”

            “It don’t see what good it’ll do if it’s not in the ruddy book,” Ron-in-Harry grumbled but thought hard. “Er, voli…vola…volut…volume…hang on, that’s it, Volumay!” Ron-in-Harry suddenly exclaimed, causing several nearby people to shush him angrily.

            “Quiet, you’re getting me in trouble,” Harry-in-Ron hissed.

            “I don’t even want to HEAR it from you,” Ron-in-Harry replied icily. “If it isn’t a curse, what is it?”

            “Volumay,” Harry-in-Ron said to himself. “I know I’ve heard that before…” He reached up to push his glasses up on his nose and poked himself in the face. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! Wait here.”

            Ron-in-Harry watched Harry-in-Ron slide out of his chair and head to the stacks. He glanced around idly and noticed a mousy-looking Fourth Year Hufflepuff girl going by. On a spur of the moment, he decided to have a little fun with Harry’s body.

            “Psst!” he whispered at the Hufflepuff girl, whose name he sort of vaguely recalled was Ellen. She looked around startledly, then caught sight of Ron and made a ‘Who, me?’ hand motion. Ron waved her over, noting with glee that the girl was blushing furiously merely from being motioned at by Harry Potter.

            “You’re Ellen, aren’t you?” Ron-in-Harry asked. The girl nodded furiously, clutching her books to her chest like they were her life vest in the final moments of the Lusitania. “Do you know that Hufflepuff Fifth Year, the really persistent one, named Jessi something or other?” Another furious nod. “Good. Can you tell her that I think she’s really cute? Thanks.”

            As the Hufflepuff girl hurried away, still stealing glances back at him, Ron-in-Harry grinned furiously. Jessi had been driving Harry to distraction all year with her less-than-subtle seduction attempts, and Harry, obviously pining for Ginny, had zero interest. After he had ignored her for months on end, Jessi had seemed to finally get the hint. Ron had nearly added ‘it really turns me on when girls are violently aggressive’ to the message, but had decided that he didn’t want Harry to be killed, just frustrated and humiliated.

            Being Harry Potter was heady stuff.

            Ron-in-Harry tried to stifle his grin when Harry-in-Ron returned, bearing a book called Cosmetic Charms for the Intermediate Witch. The grin died on its own.

            “What’s that for, then?” Ron-in-Harry demanded. “I hate to tell you, but I don’t think even advanced level makeovers are going to help us.”

            “It’s the book I found the spell in,” Harry-in-Ron informed him coldly, flipping open the book to a page he already had marked with his hand. “I once overheard Hermione talking to Ginny about using this charm, that’s why it sounded familiar. Here it is: ‘Volumay’.”

            “‘A beauty charm for the addition of extra body to limp hair’,” Ron-in-Harry read aloud. “But I don’t get it, if you were switching our wands and I was, er, adding body then what…” Ron-in-Harry stopped speaking as he suddenly understood. “We don’t just look like each other…we’ve switched bodies!”

            “It seems like it,” Harry-in-Ron agreed flatly, reaching over to push his glasses back up on Ron’s nose right before they slipped off his face completely. “That explains why we were having the problem with the wands; the magic comes from inside us, so the wands respond to who we are, not which body we’re in.”

            “How did we do this?” Ron-in-Harry demanded.

            “We must have cast our spells at exactly the same time,” Harry-in-Ron said thoughtfully.

            “But we must have done that LOADS of times before and nothing like this has ever happened!” Ron-in-Harry pointed out. Harry-in-Ron drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully for a moment.

            “I’ve got something that might help us figure it out in my trunk,” he finally said, standing up. “Come on.”

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            They didn’t run into anyone else this time, and soon Harry-in-Ron was kneeling before his trunk.

            “Alohomora,” he said. Nothing happened. “Oh, damn, I forgot I enchanted it to only open to my voice. Do you mind?”

            “Alohomora,” Ron-in-Harry said, not looking overtly amused. Harry-in-Ron, using one hand in a futile attempt to hold Ron’s hair out of his eyes, began rummaging through his stuff one-handedly and came up with a book that looked brand new. He glanced at it, then up at Ron-in-Harry.

            “Say you won’t be angry,” Harry-in-Ron said.

            “What?” Ron-in-Harry tried to smother his irritation. “Oh, all right, I won’t.”

            “Here,” Harry-in-Ron handed it to Ron-in-Harry, “see what that says.”

            “‘When Wizarding Duels Go Horribly Awry’?” Ron-in-Harry read the title and felt himself get very irritated despite his promise. “Why haven’t I ever seen this before?! Where did you get this?!”

            “Hermione gave it to me for my birthday,” Harry-in-Ron shifted uncomfortably. “She said I had better keep you from killing yourself dueling, now that she’s gone and fallen in love with you. That’s a direct quote.”

            “You’ve had it since your birthday?!” Ron-in-Harry exclaimed, not at all sidetracked by mention of Hermione. “Why in blazes haven’t you ever told me about it before?! We could’ve bloody well used it a dozen times or more this term!”

            “We haven’t needed it till now,” Harry-in-Ron pointed out. “We’ve done all right on our own fixing our spells.”

            “What about that time I turned my hair green for a week and I had to tell people it was all the rage in London!” Ron-in-Harry yelled. “Why didn’t you pull out your ruddy book then?!”

            “I thought it was funny,” Harry-in-Ron admitted sheepishly.

            Swearing under his breath, Ron-in-Harry flipped open the book to a chapter called ‘In the Event of Accidental Curse Mixing’.

            “Oh, this is bleeding fantastic,” Ron-in-Harry muttered.

            “What’s it say?” Harry-in-Ron asked.

            “‘In the rare instance where two curses are cast at the exact same moment’,” Ron-in-Harry read out loud, “‘the curses generally deflect each other, in effect negating each other. However, mixing curses with other sorts of spells produces all kinds of unpredictable problems, often a mixture of the effect of each single spell’.”

            “Does it say what we should do?” Harry-in-Ron asked.

            “‘Since the result is a mixture of two spells’,” Ron-in-Harry continued, “‘effectively creating a whole new spell, the counterspell for either of the two spells in question will not undo the damage. WARNING: under no circumstances should a wizard or witch attempt to mix the counterspells to solve the already mixed spells’ damage. Combining spells is VERY DANGEROUS, and you should have already learned your lesson if you are referring to this chapter’.” Ron-in-Harry paused and glared at Harry-in-Ron. “Not a very helpful book is it? Maybe we should just try to do the spells at the exact same moment again. Maybe it will finish up the half-done spells into something we can fix.”

            “I doubt we could perfect the timing to end the spells at exactly the same time,” Harry-in-Ron shook his head. “They’re different lengths, and there’s no guarantee it will work. It might make things worse.”

            “Have you got a better idea?” Ron-in-Harry demanded. Harry-in-Ron thought for a few seconds, but then shrugged Ron’s shoulders reluctantly. “I say we give it a try, what have got to lose?”

            Harry and Ron switched back wands and went at it. They soon discovered that not only was it hard to end the spells at exactly the same time, it was nearly impossible to do so on purpose. Harry-in-Ron invariably finished his shorter spell before Ron-in-Harry and ended up holding Ron’s wand right as Ron-in-Harry’s spell was casting, so that after two dozen tries the only noticeable effect was Ron-in-Harry having such big hair that it was standing straight on end.

            “This isn’t helping,” Harry-in-Ron finally put a stop to it. “That book must say something useful. Give it here.”

            After leafing through several sections which looked likely but proved unhelpful, Harry-in-Ron was left finally staring at the last chapter, which was called ‘Last Resorts for the Hopelessly Pear-Shaped” .

            “Hmm,” he said, “I think I’ve got something.”

            “You don’t sound happy about it,” Ron-in-Harry said suspiciously.

            “There’s a spell here that will cancel out anything…” Harry-in-Ron explained hesitantly.

            “Perfect!” Ron-in-Harry exclaimed.

            “…along with any other spell you’ve cast in the last twenty-four hours,” Harry-in-Ron finished.

            “So what?” Ron demanded. “So some minor charms disappear, where’s the bad?”

            “You’re forgetting we had a Transfiguration test this afternoon,” Harry reminded him gloomily.  Ron-in-Harry swore. “If we cancel out everything magical we’ve done for the last twenty-four hours, we’ll both fail. Not to mention, I can’t remember every spell I’ve cast all day, can you?” Ron-in-Harry started to protest, then stopped. He shook Harry’s head, scowling.

            “No,” he grumbled. “And any one of them could’ve been something important. Damn! What do we do then?”

            “Simple,” Harry-in-Ron shrugged. “We don’t cast any spells until this time tomorrow. Then we can switch ourselves back.”

            “No magic for a whole day?!” Ron-in-Harry exclaimed, aghast. “It can’t be done!”

            “Don’t be stupid,” Harry-in-Ron snapped, “of course it can. We go all summer without it, don’t we?”

            “Maybe you do,” Ron-in-Harry replied, “but I’ve got news for you, Weasleys cheat like mad! There’s so many of us, they’ve stopped trying to guess who’s used what magic when and they just leave us alone. I haven’t gone a day without magic since I could talk!”

            “No doubt your first words were ‘Accio, Chocolate Frog’,” Harry-in-Ron commented dryly.

            “That’s ridiculous,” Ron-in-Harry sneered. “Although I did have an uncle who used to sneak up on us and yell ‘Accio, Your Conker!’ and scare the daylights out of us…”

            “Your loony relatives notwithstanding,” Harry-in-Ron interrupted, “it looks like this is our only option.”

            “What about classes?” Ron-in-Harry pointed out.

            “It won’t be that hard,” Harry-in-Ron said thoughtfully. “Tomorrow’s Friday, we’ve only got Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, neither one of those takes any spell casting usually. And Potions, that’s fine too.”

            “The hell it is!” Ron-in-Harry exclaimed. “There’s no way I’m going to let you go into Potions as me! You’ll get me failed!”

            “How much damage could I do in one class?” Harry-in-Ron asked. “Besides, Snape will think you’re me, you’ll be taking all the heat.”

            “That’s just what you say,” Ron-in-Harry waved him off. “Snape only hangs over your shoulder because you’re bad at potions.”

            “I’m bad at potions because he hangs over my shoulder all the time!” Harry-in-Ron shot back. “Don’t take my word for it, you’ll see tomorrow. And stop scowling, isn’t this what you always wanted?”

            “To be trapped in your body while you make Hermione hate me?” Ron-in-Harry demanded. “It’s a bloody dream come true!”

            “Er, about that,” Harry-in-Ron shuffled his feet, “sorry. I’ll take care of that, I promise. What I meant was, now you’ll get to see what it’s really like to be me. In all my glory.”

            Ron-in-Harry thought about mentioning that he had already been having a little fun with Harry’s body, then cringed as he remembered he’d have to fend off Jessi’s overbearing affections. Still, though, a whole day as Harry? Being the fantastic Mr. Potter must have some perks.

            “I expect it’ll be loads of fun,” Ron-in-Harry said out loud with confidence. “I can’t wait.”

            “Oh, me either,” Harry-in-Ron said cryptically.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Harry and Ron spent the rest of the night holed up in the library, honing their plan. They had discussed the wand problem first, and had come up with what they thought was a plausible solution. Ron-in-Harry was darkening his wand with ink so that it would look like Harry’s if not scrutinized too closely. Harry-in-Ron was wrapping a bit of cello tape around his wand a few inches from the top. His plan was to tell people that Ron’s wand had developed a crack, and he was using his old wand until he could owl his to Olivander’s for repairs. He doubted many people remembered what Ron’s old wand had looked like, and this also meant that few people would ask Harry-in-Ron to do any magic, or at least they wouldn’t if they remembered the havoc that the taped wand had wreaked when they were Second Years.

            While this was going on, they discussed the Hermione problem.

            “I’ll apologize to her tomorrow,” Harry-in-Ron said.

            “Too right you will,” Ron-in-Harry agreed sharply. “And you’d better make it good too. But you’re not to kiss her under any circumstances.”

            “What if she wants to kiss me? Er, you?” Harry-in-Ron asked, half teasing and half irritated. “I should think if I made up with Hermione and then told her she wasn’t to kiss me, being my girlfriend and all, you’d be in twice the trouble you were before.”

            “She’s MY girlfriend,” Ron-in-Harry answered peevishly, “and you’re not to kiss her! And you can’t tell her it’s you as an excuse either.” Harry-in-Ron made a noise of frustration and ripped off a piece of cellotape savagely.

            “It’s not like it would be cheating,” Harry-in-Ron continued, more to bait Ron than anything else. “I mean, it’s your body. It’s hardly cheating if a girl gets rather intimate with her boyfriend’s body.”

            “You listen to me,” Ron-in-Harry pointed his still-drippy wand at Harry-in-Ron, his grip so tight his knuckles were white. “You are going to made everything go back to normal tomorrow without telling anybody about our little problem, and I don’t care how you do it. And if I find out you snogged my Hermione, I will shove your wand in your ear up to the hilt!”

            “I don’t want to snog your bloody Hermione,” Harry-in-Ron groused. “I’m just pointing out that it might be a necessary hazard of your brilliant plan. And these are your ears, by the way, so be my guest and shove anything in them you please.”

            “There, it’s nearly dry,” Ron-in-Harry tapped a finger against his colored wand experimentally, ignoring Harry’s last remark. “Just a bit tacky, but it should hold up.”

            “We should get back to the tower anyway,” Harry-in-Ron said, looking at Ron’s watch. It’s late enough that we can just go to bed and keep from screwing up too badly.”

            Their plan to crawl immediately and secretly into bed presaged yet another snafu. Harry-in-Ron, brain occupied with thoughts of how he was Ron and NOT Harry, crawled into his own bed without thinking. Seamus and Dean cracked up.

            “Cor, Weasley,” Dean howled, “you’re supposed to wait until AFTER we turn the lights out to climb into Potter’s bed!”

            Even Neville laughed at that. Face flaming, Harry-in-Ron climbed back out of his bed and slunk into Ron’s. Ron-in-Harry jerked back his comforter, glaring at Harry-in-Ron.

            “If it isn’t warm enough, Potter,” Seamus snickered nastily, “we could always give you two a moment to yerselves!”

            “Look at Harry’s hair!” Dean added, pointing at Ron-in-Harry’s still-huge hair from trying to fix the spells earlier. “It looks like they already have!”

            “Sod off,” Harry-in-Ron said nastily, drawing the hangings around Ron’s bed sharply closed. There was a moment of snickering before Seamus’ parting shot:

            “Sod off he says! He knows I hate sloppy seconds!”

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            “Oy, George and Fred! Guess whose bed we found your brother in last night!”

            “You are going to pay for this,” Ron-in-Harry hissed at Harry-in-Ron as they stared at the breakfast table, trying to ignore Fred and George, and most of Gryffindor, as they clutched their sides with laughter at Dean and Seamus’ loud announcements. Hermione, who was sitting as far away from them as possible, seemed to be about as amused as Harry and Ron.

            “I’m you, isn’t that punishment enough?” Harry-in-Ron shot back nastily.

            “Hey, Hermione! Having boy trouble again? Because Ron sure is!”

            Ron-in-Harry tensed to leap across the table and strangle Dean, but Harry-in-Ron grabbed his robes and jerked him back down onto the bench.

            “I’m Ron, remember?” he whispered. “He’s all mine. Hey Dean!”

            As Dean turned to look, Harry-in-Ron brought his fist down sharply on the very edge of his plate, flipping his breakfast through the air to land on Dean’s head. Dean’s mouth, wide open in surprise, caught a sausage.

            “Just can’t keep those sausages out of your mouth, eh Dean? Won’t Seamus be jealous?” Harry-in-Ron commented dryly in the convenient silence his shout had created. There was another moment of silence before all the Gryffindors, and most of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws seated nearby, erupted into roaring laughter while Dean and Seamus slunk back down in their seats, red-faced. Fred and George laughed hardest, Fred going purple and pounding on the tabletop, and George toppling off the bench under the table, from where his laughter echoed in a sinister manner. Even Hermione was covering a small smile with her hand, and Neville, a victim of many previous breakfast humiliations by Seamus and Dean, got the whole table shouting “Weasley! Weasley!”

            Harry was so elated by the freedom of being Ron, he barely even noticed that they weren’t shouting his name. Or the five points Snape took from him for wasting food. What pleased him most of all, however, was the twins, still gasping and wiping tears of mirth from their eyes, slapping him on the back as they went by on their way to classes.

            “We knew you’d do something marvelous one day,” Fred exclaimed.

            “You make us proud to be your brothers,” George agreed heartily. Harry-in-Ron grinned so hard he felt like Ron’s face might fall off.

            Ron-in-Harry looked rather sulky.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Herbology had gone rather uneventfully, as it was a bit early in the morning, so nobody noticed if Ron and Harry seemed a bit subdued; not to mention Hufflepuffs, loyal though they are, aren’t the most observant students at Hogwarts. Both houses were kept busy trying to pick slugs off some rather belligerent plants, from among thorns dripping a suspicious sort of purple slime, using the infamous flesh-eating slug repellent. No one had yet explained whether the slugs or the repellent possessed the flesh-eating quality, and neither the Gryffindors nor Hufflepuffs were too keen to find out anytime soon.

            It was on the way to Potions that separation first tested Ron and Harry’s ability to imitate each other.

            “Harry, can you come over here a moment?”

            Harry-in-Ron and Ron-in-Harry both looked to see Pansy Parkinson standing in a knot of Slytherin girls smiling in a manner she obviously thought was beguiling and waving him over. Ron-in-Harry glanced at Harry-in-Ron questioningly. Harry-in-Ron shrugged, and Ron-in-Harry stepped over to the girls warily.

            Ron-in-Harry’s place by Harry-in-Ron’s side was immediately filled by a Seventh Year Ravenclaw whom Harry barely knew.

            “Hello, Ron,” she purred, staring up at him from under dark lashes.

            “Er, hi,” he replied, wondering where this was going and trying to flip Ron’s hair out of his way so he could see clearly.

            “I’ve just heard a rumor that you and that Granger girl have broken up for good,” she leaned closer, brushing Harry-in-Ron’s arm. “Is it true?”

            Harry-in-Ron looked down in surprise. The girl must have taken his stare for interest, because with a practiced little shrug of her shoulders, she managed to slide her robe almost off one shoulder, revealing her not-very-buttoned shirt beneath. Harry-in-Ron gulped, suddenly having new insight into the reason why, when anyone asked the twins why Weasleys were so tall, they always responded ‘because the view is better’.

            “No,” Harry-in-Ron finally managed to squeak out. He cleared Ron’s throat and tried again in a stronger voice. “No, it isn’t true. We’re just having a little lover’s quarrel.”

            “Oh, pity,” the Ravenclaw girl looked thoroughly disappointed. She shrugged her robe back up onto her shoulder and drifted away.

            That was strange, he thought to himself. He shook it off as he arrived at Potions, remembering to sit at Ron’s stool instead of his own. Ron-in-Harry wasn’t there yet, and Harry hoped he wouldn’t be late. Snape didn’t need any excuse to start in on him.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Ron-in-Harry glanced back over his shoulder as he headed towards the Slytherins and saw the Ravenclaw girl pressing herself against Harry-in-Ron.

            “Not Cecilia AGAIN,” he muttered to himself. “Hope Harry gives her a good kick.”

            “Do you want something?” he asked Pansy.

            “Actually, I do, Harry darling,” Pansy’s smile was a bit oily and Ron didn’t really care for it. “Could you do me an eensy favor and stand right here for a moment?” Pansy indicated a spot against the wall right next to herself.

            Ron-in-Harry, suspicious but not really seeing how this could possibly cause trouble, moved closer, and a Slytherin girl he didn’t really know slid out of his way to leave a space.

            That seemed to be, in fact, all the favor consisted of. Ron-in-Harry stood silently next to Pansy, feeling a bit stupid, as she picked up her conversation with the other girls.

            “…did you see her hair?…”

            “…not her color at all…”

            “…did she put that on in the dark?…”

            “…looks like she let the Whomping Willow do her makeup…”

            “I think it looks rather nice,” Ron-in-Harry dared to interject. The eyes of the girls all swiveled towards him in haughty disapproval.

            “Harry, dear,” Pansy said after a moment. “You don’t really have to speak, if you could just stand there quietly and look desirable? Thanks so much.”

            Ron-in-Harry stared at her in shock, while the girls went back to gossiping. Rolling his eyes, he went back to slouching on the wall, glancing at Harry’s watch every now and then.

            “Um, excuse me,” he finally interrupted after several minutes. “Is this the whole favor? Because we’re going to be late for Potions.”

            Pansy opened her mouth to reply, looking rather irritated, when suddenly, spotting something over Ron-in-Harry’s shoulder, her whole demeanor changed. Her expression softened, she pouted her lips and smoothed her hair. The whole effect made Ron rather queasy.

            “Hello, Draco!” she purred in a carrying voice. “Harry and I were just stopping for a chat.”

            Ron-in-Harry turned, startled, to find Malfoy glancing at them, clearly unsurprised by the whole tableau. Realization dawned on Ron that Pansy was trying to make Malfoy jealous.

            That’s a laugh, he thought to himself. She’s missing some of the necessary equipment to play on Malfoy’s team.

            Malfoy seemed to share in Ron-in-Harry’s obvious amusement.

            “Can’t say I blame you, Pansy,” he replied coolly. He looked straight at Ron-in-Harry with a smirk, winked, then continued down the corridor.

            Ron felt a bit numb. Had Malfoy just hit on him? There had definitely been a wink.

            Pansy looked rather put out, and her large scowl cheered Ron slightly. Figuring his work here was done, Ron-in-Harry slipped away back into the groups of passing students and continued down the hall to class.

            “There you are,” Harry-in-Ron said quietly as Ron-in-Harry slipped into Harry’s usual seat. “I thought you were going to be late.”

            “Something you’ve not told me?” Ron-in-Harry asked with narrowed eyes, giving a small head jerk in Malfoy’s direction.

            “What?”

            Ron-in-Harry opened his mouth to reply, but just then Snape strode into class, cutting off their conversation.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            By the end of Potions, Ron was too angry to remember anything as insignificant as a wink from Malfoy.

            “What’s going on in that cauldron, Potter!” Ron-in-Harry sneered loudly as they left the classroom. “Those slugs aren’t diced as precisely as Malfoy’s! Ten points from Gryffindor! Crabbe’s dropped his newts while kissing my ass! Ten points from Gryffindor! I’ve got a wand up my ass the size of a thousand year old sequoia! Ten points from Gryffindor!”

            “Wow, Harry,” Neville said as several other nearby Gryffindors were chortling at his Snape impression, “I haven’t seen you this worked up since we were First Years! I thought you were used to Snape picking on you by now.”

            “Today was particularly unfair, Neville,” Ron-in-Harry snarled while grinding Harry’s molars. “At least it took the attention away from you for once.”

            “It’s about time,” Neville agreed. He stopped suddenly in the hallway at the mention of time and looked at his wrist. “Oh no! I’ve left my watch behind!”

            “Honestly, Neville,” Lavender Brown sighed behind them, “can’t you go five minutes without losing something?”

            “I took it off when I was washing my cauldron so it wouldn’t get wet,” Neville patted down his pockets to make sure he hadn’t hid it somewhere in his robes. “I must have left it by the sinks. Gran’s going to kill me, she just sent it to me after I lost my last one! It’s the fourth one this year.”

            “Just go back quick and get it,” Harry-in-Ron encouraged. “We’ll wait for you.”

            Neville was just turning around when Draco strode up the hall, followed closely by Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise.

            “Did I show you my new watch?” Draco asked the other Slytherins loudly so the Gryffindors would be sure to hear. He pushed up his robe sleeve to show Neville’s watch.

            “G-give it back!” Neville stuttered hotly, stepping towards Malfoy.

            “Hand it over, Malfoy,” Harry-in-Ron moved to stand behind Neville, taking up Ron’s traditional role as thug.

            “Back off, Weasley,” Draco eyed him coolly. “You can’t prove I didn’t buy this myself.”

            “I was there when he did,” Blaise added haughtily.

            “What’s he, then?” Ron-in-Harry moved to Neville’s other side. “Your poof of purchase? You two are awfully chummy all of the sudden, did your Daddy get tired of buggering him, or did he just buy him off like all your other friends? He looks like he’s worth every knut.” Blaise snarled at them as the Gryffindors snickered at the double-entendre, but Draco’s only response was to raise an eyebrow.

            “Think you’re clever, Potter?” he asked as though he were bored. “Doesn’t matter, No one will really believe this is Longbottom’s. Looks a bit too expensive, doesn’t it?”

            “I c-can too p-prove it!” Neville interrupted them triumphantly. “I c-carved my name on the back, in c-case I lost it!”

            All eyes in the hallway swiveled towards Draco.

            “Well, then, Malfoy,” Harry-in-Ron grinned ferally, “go on, let’s see it.”

            Draco pressed his lips together so tightly they were nearly invisible.

            “Looks like it’s Muggle-made anyway,” he sneered, unclasping the watch and tossing it at Neville’s feet. The Slytherins strode by as the Gryffindors hooted and cheered. Neville bent quickly to scoop up his watch.

            “Thanks, Harry,” he said gratefully, grinning at Ron-in-Harry. “I don’t care what Snape says, I think you’re brilliant.”

            Ron-in-Harry felt good as he and Harry-in-Ron left the others behind. He looked at Harry-in-Ron, who was smirking.

            “What?” he asked.

            “Poof of purchase!” Harry-in-Ron laughed out loud. “Honestly! I’m embarrassed those words came out of my mouth!”

            “It’s not half as embarrassing as what comes out of Malfoy’s,” Ron-in-Harry snickered. “Particularly when it’s Blaise.”

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            “Have you noticed anything odd about Harry and Ron today?” Ginny asked Hermione during Care of Magical Creatures, looking over to where Harry and Ron were standing a bit away from the others as class was beginning, whispering to each other secretively. So many Slytherins had dropped Hagrid’s class in favor of other courses that it had been made a double class of Fifth and Sixth Year Gryffindors rather than Gryffindors and Slytherins.

            “Is there anything about Ron that ISN’T odd?” Hermione snarled.

            “Oh, Hermione, not again,” Ginny said sympathetically. “What’s he done now?”

            “I don’t want to talk about it,” Hermione said shortly.

            “I heard you were fighting,” Ginny admitted. Hermione grunted. “He’s done something really awful this time, hasn’t he?”

            “No, Ginny,” Hermione sighed. “I think I have, actually. And yes, they’re acting strangely. Ron came through the portrait hole first last night.”

            Ginny stared at her, shocked. She took another look at Ron and Harry, looking concerned.

            “Are you sure?” she asked.

            “Of course I’m sure,” Hermione said crossly. “I was waiting for them to come back.”

            “Hmm,” Ginny shrugged off her look of worry after another moment’s consideration. “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s really nothing. After all, how many times have they gone through that portrait hole? Harry must go through second SOME of the time.”

            “You’re right,” Hermione deflated slightly. “Sorry I snapped at you. Ron’s got me all worked up still.”

            “Forget it,” Ginny patted her shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, looks like Ron and Harry are having a quarrel as well.”

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            “They’re still looking at us,” Harry-in-Ron nudged Ron-in-Harry.

            “Most likely because you keep looking back at them and then elbowing me!” Ron-in-Harry snapped. “Just ignore them, can’t you?”

            “Ron, Harry, there a problem back there?” Hagrid called from up front.

            “Er, no,” Ron-in-Harry replied quickly, cursing internally as every pair of eyes on the field swiveled towards them.

            “Fine, then, care to come up here and show us a stun charm for these Hinkeypunks, Ron? Ron does a mean stunner, he does,” Hagrid informed the class proudly.

            “Actually, Hagrid,” Harry-in-Ron held up his cellotaped wand. “I’ve had an accident with my wand, and it’s at Olivander’s for repairs. I’ve got my old one in the meantime…but if you want…”

            “Better not have you then,” Hagrid interrupted hurriedly. “Half the class’d be belching slugs in no time, wouldn’t they?”

            The Gryffindors all snickered at the reminder of Ron’s miscast curse from his back-firing wand four years ago. Harry-in-Ron did his best to blush embarrassedly like he was sure Ron would have.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *        

            At the end of class, Ron and Harry were hoping to slip out quickly, but Colin popped up beside them.

            “Hello, Ron, Harry!” he chirruped.

            “Er, sorry, Colin,” Ron-in-Harry tried to head him off before he said anything else, “but I can’t hang around and chat, I’ve really got to be going…”

            “Oh, that’s all right, Harry,” Colin grinned. “It’s Ron I want to talk to anyway!”

            I don’t believe this, Harry groaned internally. Even when Ron’s got my body Colin STILL is bothering me! It’s like he’s got Harry Potter radar!

            “It’s okay, Harry,” Harry-in-Ron said out loud. “I’ll catch up to you then, all right?”

            “Fine by me,” Ron-in-Harry responded, escaping Colin while he could.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Ron hadn’t even made it back to the tower when Harry-in-Ron came pelting down the hall, gangly limbs flailing wildly and calling his name.

            “HARRY!” Harry-in-Ron shouted, attempting to screech to a halt next to Ron-in-Harry and nearly crashing headlong into him.

            “What’s the matter now?” Ron-in-Harry demanded. Harry-in-Ron lowered his voice, still totally out of breath.

            “We’re in serious trouble,” Harry-in-Ron wheezed. “I think I’ve just accidentally called a Quidditch practice!”

            “Accidentally!” Ron-in-Harry screeched. Harry-in-Ron shushed him, looking around quickly to make sure no one was listening. Ron-in-Harry lowered his voice. “How can you accidentally call a practice?!” he whispered angrily.

            “Well,” Harry-in-Ron began guiltily, “I was talking to Colin in the hallway…”

            “There was your first mistake,” Ron-in-Harry groaned.

            “And then he said he was a little concerned about the match that’s coming up…”

            “He would be,” Ron-in-Harry commented cynically. “He makes all his pocket money selling pictures of us to the alumni newsletter! Him and his bloody camera…”

            “And anyway,” Harry-in-Ron interrupted Ron’s complaint, “he said he thought we could just smash Ravenclaw if we just practiced a bit more, and I agreed, and then he said ‘Brilliant! I’ll go tell the others!’ and ran down the hall before I could stop him.”

            Ron-in-Harry had no response for several seconds, he just stared at Harry-in-Ron in mute horror.

            “Well…well…we CAN’T!” Ron-in-Harry finally spluttered. “I mean…we just can’t! I can’t pretend to be a Seeker! And you’re a rotten Keeper! We’ve got to call it off!”

            “Hey, Ron, Harry!” Parvati Patil, one of their Chasers, stopped to chat for a second on her way by. “Colin just told me about the extra practice tonight, I think it’s absolutely brilliant, Ron. It’s just what we need! That’s why you’re our team captain.”

            “Heh,” Harry-in-Ron shrugged sheepishly, as Ron-in-Harry glared at him blackly. “Thanks.”

            “We’ve got to pull it together, or my sister will never let me live it down! Ooh, gotta run,” Parvati grinned at them. “See you tonight!”

            “You like being team captain, hmm?” Ron-in-Harry sneered. “Then YOU can figure out how we’re getting out of this!”

            “Ron, don’t,” Harry-in-Ron pleaded. “You know I’m having every bit as bad a day as you! YOU’RE the captain, and you’ve got to pull us through this!”

            “All right, all right,” Ron-in-Harry looked slightly placated, but still grim. “I’m thinking. It’s no picnic being you either, I might add. Oh, I’ve just remembered, I’m supposed to stop by Ginny’s room after classes to pick up a Quidditch book. You’ll have to go get it.”

            “What?” Harry-in-Ron looked panicky. “You mean from Ginny’s room? In the girls’ dormitories?”

            “Yes, don’t be daft,” Ron snapped. “I’ve been there loads of times, no one will look at you twice. Besides, you’re the one who got us into this Quidditch mess, and that book might have something that will get us out of it.” Ron-in-Harry gave Harry-in-Ron a sharp shove in the direction of the tower.

            “Wait, where’re you going?” Harry-in-Ron demanded.

            “I’m going to the library to do your homework,” Ron-in-Harry replied, the irony in his voice rather thick. “You’d better get started on mine soon as well. Leave Ginny’s book on my bed, I’ll come back and get it before practice, and don’t forget to apologize to Hermione.”

            “But…” Harry-in-Ron protested. Ron-in-Harry waved him off without turning around and disappeared around the corner.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            With serious misgivings about this whole situation, Harry-in-Ron glanced around nervously as he entered the girls’ side of the tower. He forced himself to look nonchalant as he read the door signs on the way by. He finally stopped in front of “Fifth Years” and knocked hesitantly.

            “Come in!” Ginny called from inside, and Harry-in-Ron swallowed hard before opening the door.

            “Hi, Ron!” Ginny exclaimed getting up from her bed, where she’d been working on a homework essay. “What’s up?”

            “Er, I’ve come for the book,” he said, slipping inside and closing the door behind him.

            “Oh right,” Ginny nodded. She looked around the room quickly and gave a little shrug. “It’s here somewhere. Hang on, I’ll find it.”    

            Looking around as Ginny rummaged through her things, Harry realized that he had never seen Ginny’s room before. Having no sisters himself, and really no idea what a girl’s room looked like, he had always harbored some stereotypical notion of a room swathed in pink frills and tiny pillows. Instead, it was rather like his own room, up to and including the Quidditch poster above her desk. Her bureau was strewn with a few lipsticks and several pictures, of her family, her and Ron, a cluster of various Gryffindors…including one of Harry.

            Harry-in-Ron picked up the picture idly. It was an action shot, and a good one, of Harry catching the Golden Snitch in one of Gryffindor’s matches last season. The Hufflepuff Seeker was nowhere in sight, it was nothing but Harry and the golden blur, surrounded by an endless blue sky. Harry vaguely remembered Colin making a nice profit selling this particular picture to the Gryffindor alumni newsletter as a freelance photographer; he supposed Colin had given Ginny the original. He watched himself make the winning catch several times before setting the picture back down. He accidentally knocked one of the lipsticks off the dresser and it rolled under the piece of furniture.

Harry-in-Ron got down on his hands and knees with a sigh and felt around underneath the dresser. He didn’t feel the lipstick, but his fingers brushed something else. He pulled it out to discover it was a book called There Are Several I’s in Quidditch Team, covered in a thin layer of dust. Harry-in-Ron sneezed, sending dust in all directions.

            “Oh, you’ve found it!” Ginny got up from where she’d been searching under her bed and helped Ron-in-Harry to his feet. “There’s some good stuff in there, and we sure need it.”

            Harry-in-Ron nodded mutely, still not really over the fact that he was standing in Ginny’s room, alone with Ginny. He’d never even been in Hermione’s room before!

            “You’re awfully quiet,” Ginny commented. “Hermione told me you were fighting, but she wouldn’t tell me about what. Is it something really important?”

            “Important enough, I suppose,” Harry-in-Ron shrugged, more curious than ever to know what it was that neither Ron nor Hermione would talk about.

            “Well, don’t worry about it,” Ginny said with a reassuring smile. “If I know you two, it’ll work itself out soon enough.”

            Ginny hugged Harry-in-Ron impulsively, and Harry-in-Ron froze for a moment before hugging her back tightly.

            What the hell, he thought to himself. She doesn’t know it’s me, I might as well enjoy myself.

            “Ginny, there’s something I want to ask you.”

            “What’s that?” Ginny pulled away to look Harry-in-Ron in the eye. Harry took a second or two to enjoy that; he didn’t receive many direct stares from Ginny when he was looking more like himself.

            “Would you cut my hair for me?” Harry-in-Ron pleaded. “I can’t see a thing!”

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Ron-in-Harry was lost in thought as he left the library, where he’d been working on his homework. He’d been thinking about his run-in with Pansy, as well as several similar instances that had happened through out the day.

            In the five seconds intervening between when he discovered he liked girls and when he realized he was in love with Hermione, Ron had been rather jealous of all the attention Harry seemed to attract from the opposite sex. What Ron hadn’t fully realized was that they were much more interested in what Harry represented rather than who he was.

            It was rather depressing being Harry, really. The only person who seemed to half any interest in Harry personally was…

            “Hello, Potter,” Malfoy interrupted Ron’s thoughts, stepping out from beside the staircase.

            “Hello, Malfoy,” Ron-in-Harry said warily, glancing around. Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere to be seen, which was a little odd. Usually he didn’t go anywhere without an entourage of Slytherins. “What do you want?”

            “Just passing through, don’t worry,” Malfoy flashed a tooth-filled smile. “That was rather amusing this morning with Pansy, don’t you think?”

            “Given your preferences, quite,” Ron-in-Harry agreed, rolling his eyes.

            “I find it absolutely hilarious,” Draco continued, “that Pansy thinks she’s going to make me jealous by being seen with you, of all people. If she only knew about our little interlude…”

            Interlude? Ron thought, fighting to keep his expression neutral. What’s Malfoy on about now? Perhaps the hair gel has begun to eat through to his brain…

            “Don’t play dumb with me,” Malfoy gave a short laugh. “I’ve no doubt you remember our last encounter on these stairs quite clearly. I’ll wager you haven’t kissed anybody else since either, have you?”

            Ron, stared at Malfoy, speechless. I wonder, he thought suddenly, if Harry would mind if I ripped his lips off to sterilize them.

            “I hadn’t thought so,” Draco clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth disapprovingly, mistaking Ron-in-Harry’s silence for a reluctant lack of denial. “You realize that you’re at your sexual peak right now, hmm, Potter? It’s all downhill from here, and you’re wasting your youth waiting for some girl. No chance you’ll be switching teams any time soon, is there?” Draco raised an eyebrow expectantly.

            Draco’s look of cool interest prompted Ron-in-Harry to shake himself out of it finally.

            “‘Fraid not, Malfoy,” Ron-in-Harry found his voice at last. “Angelina’s the only mid-season trade Hogwarts’ll see this year.”

            “Too bad, Potter,” Malfoy brushed by him on the way down the hall. He paused to give Ron-in-Harry a last glance, looking him up and down slowly with a smirk. “If you do decide to Seek for the other team, I’ve got a broom you can ride.”

            Ron-in-Harry was paralyzed for a full minute, until Draco was long gone and he was totally alone. He then voiced his feelings about the entire encounter:

            “AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!”

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            All right, Harry thought to himself as he entered the library and spotted Hermione sitting alone at a corner table, isolated from the rest of the study spots. One girl down, one to go.

            Harry-in-Ron pulled out the chair next to Hermione and sat down gingerly.

            “Go away!” Hermione hissed without looking up from her book. “I’m not speaking to you.”

            “Please, Hermione,” Harry-in-Ron whispered back pleadingly. “I really need to talk to you.” Hermione lowered her book slightly and glared at him icily.

            “You’ve got one minute before I tell Pince you’re bothering me.”

            Having debated his options while en route to the library, Harry had realized he had not heard Ron apologize to Hermione in quite some time, not because they didn’t fight, but because the making up had gotten a bit intimate of late. He had eventually decided that a standard Fourth Year apology would do as well as anything.

            “Look, Hermione,” Harry-in-Ron began, trying to look as miserable as possible, “What I said to you was really horrible, and this is all my fault. I didn’t mean to upset you, I just got a little carried away in the heat of the moment. I’ll take all the blame, just please forgive me.”

            Hermione eyed Harry-in-Ron steadily, and he began to have the sinking feeling that he wasn’t going to be able to get Ron out of this without actually knowing what the fight was about.

            “I know you’re Harry,” Hermione finally said, still looking angry, “and that generic apology Ron used to use with me isn’t going to get you out this. Dueling accident again, was it?”

            “Er, yes,” Harry-in-Ron was unable to decide whether he was relieved he could give up the act or horrified that Hermione knew it had been him saying those things last night. “Hermione, I really didn’t mean anything I said, Ron and I had a row…”

            “I know all that, I figured it out all on my own,” Hermione cut him off, snorting derisively at Harry-in-Ron’s look of surprise. “Think you’re both so clever, hmm? Thought I wouldn’t figure you out? I’ll deal with you later, Harry. Tell Ron to meet me after curfew tonight, he’ll know where. You will be back to normal by then?” Harry-in-Ron nodded, feeling overwhelmed. “Fine. Now leave me alone.”

            “You’re not even going to tell me what you two are fighting about?” Harry-in-Ron wheedled. Hermione slammed her book down with a thump.

            “If you must know,” she hissed angrily, “he asked me to marry him last night, right in the common room, like he was asking if I wanted toast for breakfast! Satisfied?”

            “What?” Harry-in-Ron’s mouth dropped in shock. “He did what? Why didn’t he tell me? What did you say?”

            “I don’t want to talk about it,” Hermione said sourly, picking up another book and beginning to turn pages savagely. “Go ask Ron if you’re so keen to know.”

            “You can’t just tell me Ron asked you to marry him and then not give me any details!” Harry-in-Ron exclaimed.

            “Get LOST, Harry.”

            “Is there a problem, Mr. Weasley?” Madam Pince interrupted from right behind Harry-in-Ron.

            “Er, no,” Harry-in-Ron felt his face flush as he looked up guiltily at the librarian’s piercing gaze.

            “Ron was just leaving,” Hermione said smoothly, not bothering to look up again.

            “I’m sure he was,” Pince glared at Harry-in-Ron. “Five points from Gryffindor for disturbing studying students. Now out!”

            Harry crept out of the library and went to deliver Hermione’s message to Ron, feeling more confused than ever and dreading Quidditch practice more than anything.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Ron-in-Harry arrived at the Fat Lady, and opened his mouth to say the password.

            “Hi, Harry!”

            Jessi’s voice behind him nearly made Ron jump out of Harry’s skin. She’d obviously been waiting for him, figuring he’d have to come through here sooner or later. Hufflepuffs could be tenacious like that.

            “Er, hello, Jessi,” Ron answered quickly, trying furiously to think of a way to nip this encounter in the bud with a minimum of either crying or being beaten up by a girl. “Listen, Jessi…I didn’t happen to say anything strange to you yesterday, did I?”

            Jessi, who had been about to say something, closed her mouth, looking less sure of herself.

            “Because,” Ron-in-Harry blathered on before she had a chance to respond, “I’ve just found out that Malfoy was having a bit of fun with…with a Polyjuice potion. He was…taking my body out for a spin, if you know what I mean. Loads of people have been angry with me all day, took me forever to work it out, he was causing all sorts of trouble. So whatever he said to you yesterday, I’m really sorry.”

            Please work, he thought desperately to himself. Please please please…

            “Oh,” Jessi said softly, looking rather crushed. “Don’t worry about it then.”

            As she was turning to go, Ron felt absolutely terrible about toying with her, and had no idea what to do about it. Just then, the portrait hole opened and Neville slipped out, tripping a little on the frame. Ron had another brilliant idea.

            “Jessi, have you met Neville?”

            Neville and Jessi both turned to look at Ron-in-Harry with a bit of confusion.

            “Neville, this is Jessi, she’s a Hufflepuff,” Ron-in-Harry filled in the silence quickly, crossing his fingers. “If you need to know anything about Herbology, Neville’s your man.”

            Neville flushed a little, but Jessi perked up noticeably.

            “Really?” she asked. “I’m completely lost this term! Do you think you could help me?”

            “S-sure!” Neville stuttered, utterly surprised.

            “Snape’s a twit,” Ron-in-Harry whispered to the Fat Lady, who moved aside obligingly. He slipped through the portrait hole as Neville and Jessi continued talking, so wrapped up in their conversation that they barely even noticed he had left.

            Ron wondered what on earth had possessed him to ever feel sorry for Jessi, and finally concluded that the vestiges of Harry’s continual guilt complexes must still be residing in Harry’s body.

            “I hope I don’t take them with me back to my own body,” he muttered to himself. “Bloody irritating, that is…”

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Harry-in-Ron found Ron-in-Harry, already in his Quidditch robes, sitting on his bed with the Quidditch book open on his lap, but he didn’t seem to be reading it.

            “You proposed to Hermione?!” Harry-in-Ron exclaimed without preamble.

            “You kissed Malfoy?!!” Ron-in-Harry responded, sounding slightly hysterical.

            “I asked you first!” Harry-in-Ron shouted back.

            “You kissed MALFOY!” Ron-in-Harry roared.

            “All right, you win,” Harry-in-Ron grumbled.

            “Why didn’t you tell me?” Ron-in-Harry demanded.

            “It was during Christmas holidays, on the stairs…”

            “AAAGH!” Ron-in-Harry interrupted. “I don’t want to know!”

            “Do you want to hear this or not!” Harry-in-Ron snapped.

            There was a longish silence, in which Harry-in-Ron unearthed Ron’s Quidditch robes from a pile of laundry. They smelled as if they hadn’t been completely dry before being thrown in the heap and he attempted to shake them out a bit.

            “Fine,” Ron-in-Harry finally said, sounding as if he was bracing himself for something horrible. “Go on and tell me. But don’t go into any lurid detail.”

            “Okay, I was heading back from lunch…”

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *        

            During the winter holidays, near the main staircase…

            Harry was halfway towards the main staircase when he caught sight of Draco Malfoy lounging on the  bottom few stairs.

            I wasn’t aware people with a wand that far up their arse could slouch, Harry thought to himself. Not really feeling up to a Malfoy run-in, he started to turn around, hoping to escape before Malfoy saw him.

            “Lost, Potter?” Malfoy sneered lazily. Harry stopped mid-turn and caught Malfoy’s cold stare with his own.

            It occurred to Harry that Malfoy had never stayed at Hogwarts over holiday break before, year six seemed a funny time to start doing it.

            “I am actually,” Harry replied coolly. “I thought I was in the ‘No Ferrets’ section.”

            “Change of plans, Potter,” Draco broke the gaze first and looked away. “Turns out Malfoy Manor is the ‘No Ferrets’ section this holiday.”

            Harry felt that this whole exchange was slightly off-kilter, and Draco seemed to be not really on his game. Before he realized what he was doing, Harry had taken a few steps closer.

            “That’s the first time in six years we’ve had something in common,” Harry had no idea why the words were coming out of his mouth, but he couldn’t seem to stop them. “The Dursley house is a Potter-Free Zone nine months out of every year, and proud of it.”

            “Your uncle hardly compares to my father,” Draco replied hollowly. Harry took a few more steps closer.

            “I know,” he said. He paused, then continued in a hushed voice. “He tried to kill me once, you know. Started casting Avada Kedavra right in the corridor outside Dumbledore’s office. Dobby stopped him.”

            “That’s two things in common in six years then.” Draco’s flat tone sent chills through Harry. Had Lucius Malfoy actually used one of the three unforgivable curses on his own son? Staring down at Draco, Harry suddenly had no trouble believing that he would. The thought made his blood run cold.

            “Happened last summer,” Draco continued, either unaware of or apathetic to Harry’s internal consternation. “Told him I was queer. Didn’t take it too well.”

            Harry couldn’t possibly imagine why Draco would be telling him this.

            Hold on a tick, one of Harry’s few remaining rational thoughts exclaimed. Draco’s GAY?

            Of course Malfoy’s gay, he told the voice severely. Just look at him.

            “It can’t have been that great a shock,” Harry commented out loud. Malfoy continued as though he hadn’t heard.

            “He went all white in the face, then whipped out his wand. I just stood there like a moron, and I was thinking, ‘you know, when Blaise said ‘what’s the worst thing that could happen?’ I really hadn’t planned on this.’ He was halfway through the first word when my mother came into the room accidentally. She shattered a fifty thousand galleon vase over his head, knocked him out cold.”

            Harry forced his face to remain immobile rather than show either how hilarious or how satisfying he imagined the sight of Narcissa Malfoy crashing down some obscenely ugly and expensive vase on Lucius Malfoy’s head would be.

            “Mother packed me off to some doddering old relative before my father even came to. That’s why I’m here, you know. Mother’s afraid if she leaves Father and me in the same room for half a second, he’ll finish the job properly.”

And then the unthinkable happened: Harry started feeling some emotion other than hate towards Draco. It wasn’t exactly pity, it was more like grudging respect. Like maybe he wasn’t the only one who had grown up surrounded by impossible expectations and a rotten home life.

            Don’t be stupid, he scolded himself mentally. This is MALFOY, he’s made your life miserable for six whole years, any minute now he’s going to hop up and sneer at you and shout “Potter, you’re such a bloody, gullible idiot!”

            Draco didn’t look much like he was going to hop up and do anything anytime soon.

            “Draco…” Harry started, the sound of Malfoy’s first name coming out of his mouth sounding odd to him, and he realized he had never called him Draco before, not once in the six years he had known him.

            “Oh, spare me, Potter,” Draco interrupted before he could say anything else, snapping his head up suddenly to glare directly at Harry again. “The one thing I can count on in my life is that you hate me. Seems a shame to ruin the tradition with you giving me some pithy sympathy speech about how I don’t deserve what my father does to me, and then I suppose you’ll try to turn me Gryffindor next, hmm? Sod off.”

            “All right then,” Harry snapped back, feeling more relaxed now that he was back on familiar territory. “D’you know what I think? I think you’re really a spineless weasel, and the fact that you stood up to your father must have been some momentary suicidal impulse, probably inspired by looking in a mirror immediately beforehand! You, Malfoy, have single-handedly solved the mystery of ‘Nature Vs. Nurture’, because we seem to have had a nearly identically awful childhood, and I’m the Gryffindor poster boy, and you couldn’t be a more obvious Slytherin if you wore robes with ‘Property of Severus Snape’ written on them in blood! What’s worse is you can’t even be evil properly! You’re a failure of a Malfoy; Voldemort would be better off equipping his dark forces with Weasley Wheezes than making you a Death Eater!”

            Harry stopped abruptly, having run out of thing to say, and hoping Malfoy would realize that buried in his customary abuse was actually something rather resembling compliments, or at least an acknowledgement that he empathized with Malfoy’s position.

            After all, nobody knew better than Harry did that being the sole heir of a rich, powerful wizarding family whose parents had played key roles in life-altering events sucked mightily.

            Malfoy’s sneer didn’t dim so much as tweak to the side, and Harry knew Draco understood what he’d been trying to say.

            “It’s all going to hell, Potter,” Draco said cryptically, the sneer turning into a darker expression that Harry couldn’t read. Malfoy stood up and took a step towards Harry, so that they were standing only inches apart. “One day soon it’ll just come down to you and me. Then we’ll see if you’re right.”

            Harry had no idea what Malfoy was talking about, other than something obviously bad, but some strange internal voice said Nod, he’s right, so Harry did. They stood there, just staring at each other, invading each other’s personal space for several moments too long, and just as Harry was about to step back, Malfoy did the most bizarre thing yet.

            He leaned forward and kissed Harry. Hard.

            The kiss was brief enough that before Harry could react at all, it was over. Even as Draco stepped back with an unreadable expression, Harry could still feel his mouth tingling.

            “You can tell that fit Weasley bird that I said you snog well enough,” Malfoy smirked, then turned and headed off, leaving Harry still standing near the stairs.

            As most of his brain was occupied processing the deeper meaning of all this, one rebellious faction of neurons concentrated on whether he could be irritated with Malfoy for hitting on Ginny after he had told Harry he was gay.

            Possibly you could, some other neurons argued, if he hadn’t kissed you.

            “Cor!” Ron said loudly, coming up behind him and making him jump. “There you are, Harry! I just ran into Malfoy, he nearly took my eyebrows off, he went by so fast! How’d you make out with him?”

            Harry choked, before realizing what Ron was really asking. For a split second, he considered revealing what had just happened to Ron, but the strange feeling of sympathy/respect for Draco reared its ugly head again, and he decided impulsively that he didn’t want to reveal Malfoy’s secrets to even Ron.

            “Er, fine,” he finally said. “Just the usual insults, battle of tongues…er, words! I meant words.”

            Harry followed Ron back to the tower, but couldn’t help glance over his shoulder a last time in the direction Malfoy had gone.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *        

            Ron-in-Harry stared at Harry-in-Ron, dumbfounded.

            “Go on, say something,” Harry-in-Ron said uncomfortably.

            “If I would have come round that corner ten seconds earlier,” Ron-in-Harry finally said slowly. “I would have SEEN it! You, kissing Malfoy! I’d have gone blind! I’d have dropped dead on the spot, with that image burned into my brain!”

            “Thanks, I’d nearly forgotten why I hadn’t told you,” Harry-in-Ron said sourly.

            “I think I’m going to have nightmares about it!” Ron-in-Harry continued.

            “It’s nearly time for that practice,” Harry-in-Ron interrupted before he could really get going. “So have you thought of something or not?”

            “Actually yes,” Ron-in-Harry shut the book and sat it on the bed before standing up. “I’ve come up with something rather good, and it might actually help us as a team, as well as get the two of us out of trouble.”

            “Fantastic, then you can tell me what on earth you and Hermione are fighting about on the way down to the field,” Harry-in-Ron said, pulling Ron-in-Harry after him as he strode purposefully from the room.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            “So you were sitting in the common room and you just proposed?” Harry-in-Ron demanded as they stepped out onto the courtyard. “Right there? God, you didn’t go at it in my chair, did you? It’s bad enough your dad did…”

            “I did NOT propose!” Ron-in-Harry exclaimed. “I’ve told her over and over that’s not what I was asking!”

            “Ron,” Harry-in-Ron eyed him critically, “what could you have possibly said other than ‘will you marry me’ to make Hermione think that?”

            “It went rather like this,” Ron-in-Harry started to explain.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Two nights ago, in the Gryffindor common room…

            “Would you want to marry me?”

            Hermione peered over her book at Ron.

            “What?”

            “Would you want to marry me? “Ron repeated.

            Hermione lowered her book slowly, staring at Ron, trying to gauge whether or not he was serious. He stared back at her steadily.

            “I’m sorry,” she finally said, “did you just ask me to marry you?”

            “No,” Ron replied, “I asked if you would want to marry me.”

            “That’s the same thing!” Hermione exclaimed.

            “It is not,” Ron answered, still calm. “It’s a rather simple question, would you or wouldn’t you?”

            “It’s the least simple question of them all!” Hermione retorted.

            “I don’t see what’s so difficult about it, it’s a yes or no question,” Ron said, starting to sound a bit nettled.

            “Ron, there’s LOADS of things you have to think about to answer that!” Hermione said in exasperation. “You have to talk about jobs, and universities, and whether you want to have Christmas or Hanukkah…”

            “Neither one of us is Jewish!” Ron cut in angrily.

            “And where you want to live and whether you want children…”

            “I’m not asking you any of that!” Ron shouted, cutting her off. “I’m merely asking if you want to marry me! DO you, or do you NOT want to marry me?!”

            “It isn’t that simple,” Hermione cried, looking as though she were on the verge of tears.

            “Well perhaps,” Ron’s voice dropped to being very quiet and very deliberate, “it would be that simple if you really did love me the way you’ve been saying you do all this time.”

            Hermione’s mouth dropped open wordlessly as her eyes filled with tears, but Ron didn’t even look back as he stormed out of the common room.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            “…and then I came up to the room and we went dueling,” Ron-in-Harry finished his story.

            “You just left after you said THAT to Hermione?” Harry-in-Ron asked incredulously.

            “Don’t you even start with me,” Ron-in-Harry grumbled. “I feel bad enough as it is. She just made me so angry, coming up with all those reasons why she shouldn’t marry me, and I wasn’t even honestly asking! It’s nearly as bad as that time Percy went in the Three Broomsticks and some girl at the bar turned around and said ‘I just thought I’d save you the trouble of asking and tell you that I won’t go out with you’!”

            “Why do you keep saying you didn’t ask her?” Harry-in-Ron demanded. “You did, in fact, ask her to marry you.”

            “I did NOT!” Ron-in-Harry yelled in frustration. “I was just sitting there, thinking that I someday it might be quite nice if we would get married, and I wanted to know if she thought that might be nice as well! Why is that such a hard question?! If I’d have asked her if she wanted to marry Gilderoy Lockhart she’d have said yes straightaway!”

            “Perhaps girls are just a bit sensitive about that sort of thing,” Harry-in-Ron suggested, trying to placate Ron. “They seem to think about it a bit more than us.”

            “Maybe,” Ron-in-Harry still looked rather ruffled. “Stupid girls. You’re right to stay away from them. They’re mad.”

            They had reached the field by then, where Ginny, Parvati, Seamus, Dean, and Angelina were waiting for them. Angelina, much to Fred’s delight, had opted to stay for the extra year as well. When one of Gryffindor’s Chasers, a seventh year, had been forced to quit the team because of poor marks, Dumbledore had given them special permission to have Angelina back rather than train a new Chaser mid-season, which would have likely cost them the season.

            Ron-in-Harry glanced at the stands out of habit, but of course Hermione wasn’t there, watching as she usual did. Fred and George were there, looking at something and gesturing, and looking up every once in while to catcall Angelina or Ginny. Spirits sinking lower, Ron-in-Harry gave Harry-in-Ron a poke with his elbow to remind him that he was technically the captain.

            “Right,” Harry-in-Ron cleared his throat nervously. His team stared at him expectantly, and he realized that Ron faced a very different sort of pressure as captain than he did as Seeker, and he didn’t care for it one bit. He cleared his throat again and tried to sound confident. “I know we haven’t quite found our edge this season…”

            “Found our edge?” Seamus interrupted with a snort. “We nearly lost to Hufflepuff! That hasn’t happened since we were Third Years!”

            “Yes, well,” Harry-in-Ron seized back control of the conversation quickly. “I’ve been thinking about that, and Harry’s got an idea I think might help. Harry?”

            All six pairs of eyes swiveled towards Ron-in-Harry, who took control immediately and easily, leaving Harry feeling extremely relieved.

            “Ron and I have been talking,” he nodded towards Harry-in-Ron, “and we think our real problem is we don’t think like a team. We’ve got a lot of new players this year, and we don’t have the advantage of a team that’s as used to each other like the team Wood had. Angelina’s mid-season replacement hasn’t done us any good in that department either. No offense, Angelina.”

            “None taken, Harry,” Angelina nodded briskly. “You’re absolutely right.”

            “So I got to thinking about it, and I remembered something Wood and I talked about once,” Ron-in-Harry continued. “He never did it while I was on the team, but Angelina might remember it. I think it’s just what we need.”

            Ron-in-Harry explained his idea, and Angelina lit up.

            “I’d forgotten all about that!” she exclaimed. “It’s exactly something Wood would have done! You’re brilliant, Harry!”

            Harry’s name at the end of Angelina’s exclamation took the edge off her praise, but Ron-in-Harry shook it off.

            “Right then,” he nodded sharply. “I think we should start out like this…”

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            “What are they doing?” George asked, elbowing Fred, who was bent over their map, redrawing a third floor broom closet where they had found a false wall. Fred looked up and wrinkled his brow.

            “I dunno,” he shook his head. “They’re all in the wrong positions…”

            Fred and George watched in confusion as the team ran some plays, but in a very mixed-up manner. Harry, Seamus, and Dean were the Chasers,  Ron and Angelina were the Beaters, Parvati was the Keeper, and Ginny was playing Seeker. The play looked awful the first time, but as they ran several more, things began to improve. George snapped his fingers suddenly.

            “I know what that is!” he exclaimed. “Wood did that to us once our first year on the team, d’you remember?”

            “Of course!” Fred laughed, slapping a hand to his forehead. “He’s teaching them what the other positions do during their plays! It worked wonders for us, before that practice I was constantly hitting Bludgers at our own Chasers.”

            “I’ll bet it does the same thing for them, and just in time,” George nodded. “Wood must’ve mentioned it to Ron or Harry before he graduated. They might salvage this season yet!”

            “Bravo, Ron!” Fred cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled out to the field.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Ron-in-Harry, acting as a Beater, slowed to a halt mid-air to take a breather, watching Harry-in-Ron, Seamus, and Dean run through a Chaser drill they were getting much better at. Angelina, the other erstwhile Beater, pulled up beside him after a moment.

            “Whew!” she whistled, sounding out of breath. “I’ve forgotten how physical being a Beater is! The twins used to make it look so easy!” She flashed a grin towards the stands and received another few whistles in return.

            “You can say that again,” Ron-in-Harry agreed heartily. Angelina watched the others a few seconds more before speaking again.

            “You know, Harry,” she said thoughtfully, “it’s absolutely marvelous the way Ron let you tell us your idea yourself rather than doing it for you.”

            “What’s so marvelous about that?” Ron-in-Harry asked, puzzled.

            “Most captains would have presented the idea themselves,” Angelina shrugged. “And I don’t think it’s just because you two are best friends either, I think he’d do the same for any of us.”

            “But,” Ron-in-Harry looked even more perplexed, “why not let me explain, if it’s my idea? Wouldn’t the person whose plan it is explain it best?”

            “Exactly!” Angelina nodded briskly. “But a lot of captains at this level aren’t mature enough to see it that way. They’re afraid to give up any control, in practices or in matches, because they’re afraid they won’t be able to take control back when they need to. Ron’s showing a lot of maturity for a first-time Quidditch captain, that’s why we’re going to beat those other teams.”

            “Do you think we have a chance at the cup?” Ron-in-Harry asked honestly, something he couldn’t do as Ron the Quidditch Captain, who needed to be strong and confident for his team at all times.

            “Absolutely,” Angelina grinned. “Ron’s going to take us straight to the top, I’m sure of it. I know he never played for Wood, but I’d bet you my right shin-guard that Wood’d be proud as anything of Ron right now.”

            “Oy! Quit chatting up my girl and get back to work, Potter! You’ve got a match to win!”

            Ron-in-Harry laughed at his older brother’s distant outburst from the stands as Angelina cheerfully hailed him in return with the universal ‘you’re a wanker’ hand gesture.

            “Yeah, that’s right, I mean you,” Angelina said to Fred in the tone one uses when talking to other drivers who clearly can’t hear. “C’mon, Harry, let’s show them how real Beaters do it.”

            Angelina zipped off back into the midst of the practice and Ron-in-Harry followed, feeling better than he had all day, and realizing that he had just been on the receiving end of a valuable lesson at the hands of Angelina.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            The Gryffindor Quidditch team returned to the tower in high spirits, shoving each other and horsing around like First Years. The practice had gone spectacularly; Ron, in guise of Harry, had kept his team switching between positions until everyone had a chance to learn something about every job. After finding out what each of their teammates did by experience, every play they ran in their regular positions worked like…well, like magic. And if ‘Harry’ had only caught a few Snitches and ‘Ron’ didn’t block that many Quaffles, after the workout they’d had, the others chalked it up only to exhaustion and the gathering dusk.

            Ron-in-Harry and Harry-in-Ron hung back as the others slipped through the portrait hole (“Snape’s a twit” “I swear she’s repeating herself” ), letting it swing shut before speaking.

            “That really was a fantastic idea,” Harry-in-Ron grinned.

            “It went much better than I planned,” Ron-in-Harry replied with obvious relief. “It really was just what we needed, wasn’t it? And to think, if it hadn’t been for that stupid hair charm…”

            Ron-in-Harry trailed off as he remembered they weren’t quite finished for the night.

            “Oh bollocks,” he said heavily. “Do we really have to go the whole way back to the Forest?”

            “I think it’s best,” Harry-in-Ron replied, sounding equally thrilled. “Who knows what’ll happen or how many tries it will take us? What if blow up our clothes or something? If Dean and Seamus find us naked and holding each other’s wands, we’ll never live it down.” Harry-in-Ron paused for a moment. “That sounded rather better in my head…er, your head…”

            “I just want to be back in my own body again,” Ron-in-Harry sounded long-suffering. “I just want this all to be over.”

            “Well, you know what they say,” Harry-in-Ron sighed glumly. He and Ron-in-Harry looked up at the Fat Lady pleadingly.

            “Sorry, dears,” the Fat Lady shrugged. “I’m not very musical.”

            Shoulders drooping with exhaustion, Ron-in-Harry followed Harry-in-Ron through the portrait hole.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Showered and in clean robes, Harry and Ron felt almost ready to try the spell that would hopefully get them back to normal. They snuck back out of the castle and trotted silently to the edge of the Forrest, both anxious to just get the spell over and done with, the book thumping against Harry-in-Ron’s side in his schoolbag.

            “All right,” Harry-in-Ron pulled out the book and dropped his bag on the ground. “The words are ‘Omnia Hodie Negate’, do you think you can remember that?”

            “Of course I can,” Ron-in-Harry said confidently.  Harry-in-Ron glared at him. “Fine, if you want to go over them a few times, we can…”

            Harry-in-Ron forced Ron-in-Harry to repeat the words over half a dozen times, until he was positive neither of them would drop a syllable at the critical moment. Then they moved to their traditional duel positions and got ready.

            “We should have much less of a problem finishing the same spell at the same time,” Harry-in-Ron said, sounding not at all sure, “so I’ll count to three and then we’ll go. Ready?”

            “Ready,” Ron-in-Harry nodded determinedly.

            “One…” Harry-in-Ron swallowed his nervousness and counted down. “Two…”

            “Hang on, what were those words again?”

            “RON!”

            “Heh heh, just kidding,” Ron-in-Harry grinned apologetically at Harry-in-Ron, who looked ready to cast Avada Kedavra at this point. “I’m really ready this time.”

            “You had better be,” Harry-in-Ron growled. “One…two…three!”

            “Omnia Hodie Negate!”

            For a moment, Harry was positive that nothing had happened. Then the world seemed to spin crazily, and he collapsed to the ground as his legs gave out.

            He lay on the ground peering up into the dark, barely able to make out the branches of the trees above him. When he was sure he wouldn’t be seeing the return of his dinner, Harry sat up. He groped around on the ground for a moment, searching for his wand. His hand closed on it, and he held it up close to his face, trying to make out whether it was his or Ron’s.

            The wand looked like dark wood, and Harry’s heart sank. Then, he noticed there was no cellotape on the top.

            “Ron!” Harry leapt to his feet with excitement. “Ron, I think it worked!”

            “It must’ve!” Harry heard Ron exclaim. “I’ve got your wand!”

            Harry and Ron rushed towards each other and scrutinized each other’s faces. After a second, Ron let out a whoop.

            “You’re you!” he crowed, doing some wild dance that Harry vaguely recognized as Fred and George’s ‘Quaffle Waffle’. “Hey,” he stopped suddenly, feeling his forehead. “What’d you do to my hair?!”

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *        

            “Harry,” Ron asked as they crept back into the castle, “d’you mind if I borrow your cloak for a bit when we get back?”

            “No problem,” Harry nodded. “Going to have your talk with Hermione?”

            “Yeah,” Ron sounded as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to go or not.

            “Don’t worry about it,” Harry reassured him. “She loves you, Ron. Besides, it’s me she’s really angry with right now.”

            “You know, this used to be much easier,” Ron complained. “Hermione’d get mad, we’d yell a bit, then we’d both give her a couple Sickles for a S.P.E.W. badge, and everything’d go back to normal.”

            “That’s true,” Harry laughed. “But you two didn’t make out much in those days, as you recall.”

            “Well, nothing’s perfect,” Ron replied.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Ron moved noiselessly down the hall under the protection of Harry’s invisibility cloak towards the third floor corridor where Fluffy had been kept during their first year at Hogwarts. Even after all this time, the room still smelled faintly of very large, three-headed dog, making it fairly safe from Mrs. Norris if they weren’t too loud. Hermione, who was bent over fussing with her shoelace, didn’t see Ron slip in and close the door softly behind him.

            Ron slipped off Harry’s cloak and leaned close to Hermione’s ear right as she straightened up.

            “Oh my, we are in trouble, aren’t we,” he said in a gravelly whisper.

            Hermione gasped and whirled around, whipping Ron’s face rather painfully with some of her hair, then scowled when she saw it was him.

            “That’s not funny!” she hissed, punching him in the arm. “I thought you really were Filtch!”

            “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Ron remembered, “how DO you get out here to meet me without anyone seeing you? I have to use Harry’s cloak every time, and I’ve still had lots of close calls. I swear, you’re Apparating, aren’t you?”

“Ron, I’ve told you over and over, you can’t Apparate in Hogwarts,” Hermione looked rather exasperated. “Haven’t you read Hogwarts, a History YET?”

            “Of course not, and I’ve decided I’m never going to,” Ron replied cheerfully. “My day isn’t complete unless you’ve said that at least once, I’d hate to deprive you of it.”

            Hermione rolled her eyes.

            “Actually,” she answered Ron’s question, “I spent quite a lot of time charting Filch and Mrs. Norris’s rounds at night, and I’ve discovered they’re really rather regular unless something funny happens. I’ve timed them and made charts and things.”

            “Trust you to make being a spy sound like Arithmancy homework,” Ron groaned. “I’m turning you over to Fred and George, we’ll make you into a proper Marauder yet!”

            “I’m willing to bet your brothers would love to know my results,” Hermione retorted with a raised eyebrow. “What’re you offering me for them?”

            “A lifetime of corruption and sensual pleasure.”

            “Hmm,” Hermione pretended to think this over. “Perhaps I had better see what the twins are offering…”

Ron grinned with a shrug, then let the grin slide away. “So I guess we should talk or something.”

            “Guess so,” Hermione sighed, her smile fading away.

            “Look,” Ron started, “I’m sorry I yelled at you like that and then stomped off before we could talk about it.”

            “No, I’m sorry,” Hermione shook her head. “I wasn’t really even angry at you, I was just so worried about that Transfiguration test, and we’ve got exams coming up in a couple of months, and then you caught me so off-guard…I just lashed out. I was the one who started all the yelling.”

            “Hermione Granger,” Ron rolled his eyes, “in the six years I’ve known you, you’ve never got anything less than highest marks in every class you’ve taken, Transfiguration included. Why do you still worry about that rubbish?”

            “I spent all week practicing with that parrot,” Hermione looked pained. “I hate parrots! And then during the test, my teapot still had a feather pattern etched on it!”

            “That’s nothing,” Ron scoffed. “My dad says some Muggles pay good money getting their teapots etched. You’re miles better off than me, when I turned in mine, it was still whistling ‘Polly wants a cracker’!”

            Hermione giggled softly. “So, you forgive me?”

            “We’re even,” Ron agreed, relieved the fight was officially over. He leered happily at Hermione. “Time for the post-match snog.”

            “But, Ron,” Hermione looked confused. “We’ve already done that. In the library this afternoon, don’t you remember?” Ron opened his mouth in surprise, then his eyes narrowed.

            “I’ll kill him!” he snarled.        

            “Ah HA!” Hermione pounced. “It WAS Harry this afternoon!”

            “I…how’d you know?” Ron asked, caught utterly off-guard.

            “Well,” Hermione adopted the Let Me Tell You What I Know voice that Ron alternatively loved and despised, “I knew something was wrong when you were holding each others’ wands yesterday. And the big clue was that for the last twenty-four hours, Harry kept trying to push imaginary glasses up on his nose, like it was something he’d done thousands of times every day. You’ve never worn glasses.”

            “Guess we weren’t as clever as we though,” Ron admitted sheepishly.

            “Honestly,” Hermione continued, “I’ve been friends with you two for six years, you don’t think I can’t tell you apart without looking at you, do you?”

            “I did think we’d be able to manage for just one day,” Ron felt a little offended.

            “You did do each other pretty accurately,” Hermione reassured him. “But there was one habit Harry wasn’t able to break himself of. I knew immediately it wasn’t you when you came through the portrait yesterday.”

            “What?” Ron stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

            “Well, the person who looked like you came in first and then the one who looked like Harry followed,” Hermione said as though it explained everything. “So I knew it couldn’t be you.”

            “Hermione, I have no idea what you’re on about.”

            Hermione looked critically at Ron for a moment, then her eyes widened slightly.

            “You really DON’T know,” she concluded.

            “That’s what I’ve been saying all along,” Ron answered peevishly.

            “Ron, haven’t you noticed?” Hermione asked. “Harry never lets anyone go through a doorway before him. He’s been doing it for two years now, ever since…ever since Cedric. It’s like he thinks every room might be booby trapped and he’s determined to be the human shield.”

            Ron opened his mouth to protest, then thought carefully. He had to admit, he couldn’t come up with a single time in memory where he had gone through a door before Harry.

            “Blimey,” he said quietly. “You’re right.”

            “It’s rather disturbing once you notice it,” Hermione said quietly.

            “Hold on,” Ron interrupted. “I still haven’t got the answer to my original question: would you, or would you not like to marry me?”

            “Oh,” Hermione feigned confusion. “You know, what with you being you and then not being you, and then being you again, I’ve forgotten.”

            “That’s not funny, Hermione,” Ron said darkly.

            “Neither is you proposing like it isn’t any big deal,” Hermione replied stiffly.

            “I WASN’T proposing,” Ron said tightly, holding on to his temper with both hands. “I was asking if you thought you might, someday, want to marry me.”

            “That’s proposing!” Hermione exclaimed.

            “It wasn’t proposing when Ginny asked you, was it?” Ron snapped.

            “I…what?” Hermione blinked. “What are you talking about?”

            “I overheard you,” Ron said disgruntledly. “On the way to Hagrid’s for class…”

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Several days before, on the way to Care of Magical Creatures…

            “Don’t say you haven’t thought about it,” Hermione ribbed Ginny.

            “Of course I have,” Ginny replied, blushing a little. Ron, who was following behind and  catching snatches of their conversation, quickened his pace slightly to eavesdrop.

            “Well?” Hermione pressed.

            “Well what?”

            “Would you want to marry Harry? If he asked?”

            “Hermione, I don’t know,” Ginny waffled.

            “Oh, you do so,” Hermione leaned closer conspiratorily as they stepped off the path towards Hagrid’s hut. There were more people about closer to class, and Ron found it easier to slip closer without being noticed. “Come on, out with it, I’ll tell if you will.”

            The temptation to find out what Hermione had planned for Ron was evidently too much for Ginny.

            “All right,” she gave in, lowering her voice so that Ron had to strain to hear. “If Harry asked, which he never will at this rate…I’d marry him in a hot second.”

            Ron grinned and shook his head at Hermione’s stereotypical girly squeal and giggles.

            “Go on, then, your turn,” Ginny asked, giggling a little herself. “Do you want to marry Ron?”

            Ron was leaning closer, holding his breath so he would be sure to catch the answer.

            “Let’s get started then, shall we!” Hagrid brought the class to order, cutting off Hermione and Ginny’s conversation abruptly. Cursing under his breath, Ron left his eavesdropping post and went to stand beside his sister and girlfriend.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            “I hadn’t realized you were listening,” Hermione said, going a bit pink.

            “Every word,” Ron admitted. “I kept thinking about it for days afterward, and finally I just had to know what you were going to say.”

            “Only you, Ronald Weasley,” Hermione rolled her eyes, “could ask a girl to marry you and not really mean anything by it.”

            “Look, I’m not saying it again,” Ron said in exasperation, “I wasn’t asking you to marry me, I was asking if you WANTED to marry me! And I’m STILL waiting for the answer!”

            “Well,” Hermione squirmed a little, looking at her feet, “I suppose some day, when we’ve graduated…and have careers…and have talked about important things like children and religions and things…I might want to marry you very much.”

            “Finally!” Ron exclaimed. “That’s all I wanted to know. Right then, I’m off to bed.”

“What do you mean, you’re off to bed?” Hermione demanded. “I’ve just told you I want to marry you, you don’t have anything better to say than that?!”

            “Nothing that doesn’t start with ‘Let’s’ and end with ‘right now’ and will get me in trouble again,” Ron answered. “but I will say this.”

            He leaned over and kissed Hermione soundly.

            “You can say that again,” Hermione giggled when they came up for air, leaning over to kiss him again.

            “When Flitwick wants to know why I’m sleeping in his class again, I’m telling him you kept me up all night.”

            “Oh, all right,” Hermione sighed, pulling away. “Let’s go then. Since when did you get to be the responsible one?”

            “One of us has to be,” Ron replied, pulling her along by the hand. “And I’ve heard a nasty rumor that I’m corrupting you horribly. And I also happen to know that Harry’s favorite chair is currently vacant…”

            “Ooh,” Hermione grinned wickedly, “our favorite spot…”

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            Harry was still awake when Ron crept back into their room sometime later. He sat up and pulled his bed hangings open to see Ron folding up the Invisibility Cloak.

            “Thanks,” he said, handing it back to Harry.

            “Forget it,” Harry shrugged. “Everything back to normal with you and Hermione?”

            “As normal as it gets,” Ron grinned. “We hung about in our favorite spot for a bit.”

            “Why won’t you tell me where that is?” Harry asked with a look of slight irritation.

            “Oh, you don’t want to know,” Ron stifled a chuckle as he picked up his pajamas from the crumpled heap they’d been lying in on the floor. “Trust me. What are you still doing up anyway? Nothing’s wrong, is it?”

            “No,” Harry shook his head. “I was just thinking about today.”

            “I’ve been thinking about it too,” Ron answered, voice slightly muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head. “You know it’s funny, all this time I’ve wanted to be you.”

“And I wanted to be you,” Harry agreed. “And today we got just what we wanted.” He and Ron exchanged a glance.

            “And I HATED it!” they said in unison, laughing. Ron sat down on Harry’s bed and pulled the hangings shut so they could go on talking without waking up the others.

            “It’s really hard being you,” Ron admitted. “I thought loads of girls liked you, but it turns out they just want you to stand next to them silently so other people will see them with you!”

            “I’ve always been jealous of all your brothers,” Harry nodded furiously, “but do you know how many times today I heard ‘why can’t you be more like Percy’ or ‘Bill would have never done that’? I thought I’d go mad!”

            “And Snape really does hate you,” Ron added. “I didn’t do a thing different than normal, and he breathed down my neck all class! Malfoy burned a hole in his cauldron and he gave Slytherin five points for weeding out inferior school supplies!”

            “All day long, people kept asking if you and Hermione had broken up for good,” Harry looked pained. “They were like vultures! What’s that all about, anyhow?”

            “Another legacy from my brothers, I’m afraid,” Ron replied, going a bit pink.

            “What?” Harry asked. “What do you mean?”

            “Well, if you must know,” Ron explained hurriedly, turning even pinker, “when Bill was at school, apparently he had a very talkative girlfriend. A very PLEASED, talkative girlfriend. And then Charlie got some good press somehow, and this rumor started that Weasleys are fantastic lovers, a rumor fed by the fact that there’s loads of us. It’s only gotten worse since even Percy managed to keep that girlfriend of his all through school. Now the whole thing’s a bit out of hand.”

“Aha,” Harry said, “That explains what that Hufflepuff girl meant by asking why I waste my talents on a girl like Hermione.”

            “I get that all the time,” Ron looked rather angry. “One of these days I’ll just forget that I don’t hit girls.”

            “Er,” Harry turned a bit red. “It probably didn’t help things that my response to her was ‘hidden talents’.”

            “Thanks loads, Harry. Too bad she’ll never find out the talents are Hermione’s and not mine.” Ron was silent for a moment before speaking again. “I was thinking about what you told me about Malfoy as well.”

            “Oh?” Harry asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

            “Yeah,” Ron plucked an imaginary bit of lint of Harry’s comforter. “I was a bit of a jerk when you told me.” Harry nodded, waiting for Ron to go on. “That’s really horrible about his father. It gives me the chills. And I suppose I’d be a fantastic ass if my father was Lucius Malfoy as well.”

            “I think anybody would,” Harry agreed.

            “So, even though it’s Malfoy,” Ron looked as if the words were unpleasant to say, “I understand why you didn’t tell me what he said. And I’m not going to tell anyone either.”

            “I know you won’t,” Harry answered. “I really just didn’t want to tell you that I’d kissed Malfoy.” He and Ron exchanged glances.

            “Poof of purchase!” they both laughed at the same time.

            “Oy! Are you two at it again?” a sleepy voice called from one of the other beds in the room.

            “Shut up, Dean,” Harry responded, rolling his eyes. “Go back to sleep.”

            “I’d love to, if you two nancies are through and would go to sleep in your own beds!”

            “Oh, that’s it,” Ron snarled, slipping out through Harry’s bed hangings. Harry laughed quietly as he heard Dean’s hangings being yanked back and then some muffled cries and several thuds.

            “And if I hear one word tomorrow at breakfast,” Harry heard Ron threaten Dean, “it’ll be my fist in your mouth instead of sausages!”

            Harry heard Ron flop into his own bed and the rustling of blankets and hangings.

            “Ron?” he asked a little while later, when he was nearly asleep.

            “Yeah?” came the drowsy reply.

            “I’m glad you’re you again.”

            “I’m glad I’m me as well, Harry.”