Archive of Our Own

Ron swore under his breath as his scissors slipped, ruining the paper snowflake he'd been working on. He pushed the mangled snowflake off the table, watching as it drifted to the floor to join a steadily growing pile of his previous misattempts. It seemed stupid to be cutting paper when he wanted to be doing something - anything - worthwhile. His father in St. Mungo's, Harry locking himself upstairs, Hermione gone... Ginny laughing at him yet again.

"I told you I can't do this, didn't I?" he grumbled.

Ginny grinned. "When you said you couldn't cut paper, I assumed you were joking."

He glowered at her. "I can cut paper."

Casting an amused glance at the pile of disfigured snowflakes at the foot of his chair, Ginny raised her eyebrows, then resumed her cutting in silence. George ambled into the room and ruffled Ginny's hair, laughing as she squirmed under him.

"Keep working with him, Gin. Ronnie can be a little . . . special sometimes."

Again, Ron muttered a few choice words, then pushed paper and scissors away. "Where's Sirius?" he asked. Surely Sirius had something better for him to do. Something that didn't involve paying attention. Something that didn't involve skill.

"Hanging mistletoe around his mum," George said, throwing a Bertie Botts bean into the air and catching it in his mouth. "Listen, you two." He pulled out a chair, turned it backwards, and straddled it, leaning his arms on the back. "Fred and I have decided to give you your presents early this year."

Ginny set down her scissors and spread a perfect, intricate snowflake on her pile. "Why?" she asked, adding suspiciously, "And what's the catch?"

George put on an expression of mock outrage. "What is this world coming to, when a loving elder brother can't give his little sister an early Christmas present without arousing suspicion? How do you know it isn't simply out of the goodness of our hearts?"

"Because your hearts are attached to fake wands and gigantic tongues."

"You wound me, Dear Sister." George reached into his robe and withdrew two large bags of coins, which clunked heavily as he laid them on the table. "Fifty galleons each," he said simply. "Merry Christmas."

Ron stared down at his money bag, eyes widening. With this gift, he could buy himself almost anything he wanted - surely the biggest Christmas present he'd ever received. Looking up at Ginny, he saw that her thoughts matched his exactly.

"George," she breathed, "where did you and Fred... how can you do this?"

"Business has been booming," said George casually. "And if you're wondering why it's early, it's because... well... with Dad in the hospital... we figured you might want some extra money for presents. We could all use a good Christmas this year."

The three of them were silent for a few minutes, then Ginny said softly, "Thanks."

"Yeah, thanks," Ron added. "At least all those first years suffered for a noble cause, right?"

George grinned broadly at him, apparently grateful to him for lightening the mood. He was about to reply when a knock on the door startled them all. The three of them sat quietly, straining their ears as they had done all summer. But in this case, there was no need to strain.

Ron knew he'd recognize that earnest voice anywhere, not only from the familiarity of it, but from the nice way it made his stomach hurt. Especially tonight, when he thought the voice and its owner were hundreds of miles away, participating in some ridiculous Muggle game with wooden sticks strapped to her feet.

"Hermione," he smiled, standing quickly and scattering the paper scraps at his feet.

"That can't be Hermione," said Ginny. "She's--"

"It's Hermione," said Ron.

He shoved the bag of coins into his robe and made for the door, stopping in the hall when he saw her. Her windblown hair was even bigger than usual, and she was dotted with snowflakes. And to think that only minutes before, he had been cursing all snowflakes to inappropriate recesses of Wormtail's body. He didn't know what she was doing there, but she was there. Everything would be alright now. She would bring Harry to his senses. She would help Ginny cut snowflakes. Bugger that, she would come up with some ingenious charm to cut the snowflakes. She would be there. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked exhausted.

"Hermione!" cried Ginny's happy voice behind him, and Ron stood still as Ginny and the twins moved past him and joined Hermione at the door. His mum hurried in from the kitchen, and Sirius came dashing down the stairs. Mrs. Black was screeching at the top of her lungs, though Ron couldn't be sure if it was more because of Hermione or the mistletoe.

Everyone was bombarding her with questions -- "What are you doing here?" "Won't you go upstairs and talk to Harry?" "I thought you were going home for Christmas?"

Sirius shut the door behind Hermione, draped her coat over his arm, and carried her trunks away.

"I told my parents I wanted to study for the exams," she said, unwrapping her scarf and shaking her hair out slightly. Small flecks of snow still clung to her. Ron took a few steps nearer. "Oh," she sighed, looking around at them all, "you have no idea how desperately I've wanted to get away from school and join you all! How is Mr. Weasley? How's Harry?"

"Arthur is making a splendid recovery," Mrs. Weasley assured her. "And Harry..." Her bottom lip trembled.

"Harry's being a git," said Ginny frankly. "Ever since we returned from the hospital, he's been hiding upstairs. Won't even answer Mum."

Hermione craned her neck and looked around the others. "Ron?" she said, finally seeing him. She walked past the others and approached him. "Have you talked to Harry?"

"I've tried, but he won't talk to anyone."

"I'll go upstairs," she said wearily. "Maybe... maybe if you and Ginny would meet us in your room? Then we can all have a talk."

"Alright," he nodded. She was just turning when he added, "I'm glad you're here."

She looked back at him and smiled.

"I'll light a fire and make some sandwiches," said Mrs. Weasley from the hall.

"Oh, thank you, Mrs. Weasley, that would be so nice. I'm starving." Hermione started up the stairs, Mrs. Weasley returned to the kitchen, and Ginny joined Ron.

"Well," she said as they climbed the stairs slowly, "this should be interesting."

"Yeah," he replied absently.

"If anyone can talk Harry out of hiding, it's Hermione, right?"

"Yeah."

Ginny regarded him for a minute. "Have you decided what you're going to get Hermione for Christmas?"

"There's a book she's been talking about. New Theory of Numerology." He shrugged. "I'll probably get her that."

They reached his and Harry's room, and Ron sat on his bed, followed by Ginny. "Have you considered... maybe... not getting her a book?" asked Ginny easily.

"But that's what Hermione likes," he replied, looking at her in bewilderment.

"It isn't the only thing she likes. Girls do enjoy getting other things. Even girls like Hermione."

Just because it's taken you three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one else has spotted I'm a girl!

"What else would I get her?" he asked, staring at the wall as if he'd never seen one quite like it.

"Let's go to Diagon Alley tomorrow," she suggested excitedly. "I love shopping for presents, and we both have money to spend. And then I can show you some other places you might look. Okay?"

This idea sounded about as attractive as an afternoon tea party with Snape and Umbridge. "Er... okay, sure."

"I hear them coming," she whispered. "Good. I have several things I want to say to Harry, whether he thinks our opinions are worthless or not. Tomorrow then?"

"Yeah."

Hermione squinted into the darkness as she stepped quietly down the stairs, holding her robe closed with one hand, smoothing her hair as much as possible with the other. Everyone in the house was asleep, but she herself had found it impossible to drift off, even after spending a few hours staring up at the ceiling. There was simply too much to think about, and lying in the dark only made it worse. She craved a glass of warm milk, not to mention the escape that awaited her in the book under her arm.

She saw light shining from the kitchen and wondered if Kreacher was awake as well. Approaching silently and peering around the corner, however, she felt her insides soften when she saw Ron. He was hunched over the table and seemed to be cutting paper. Hermione smiled. Somehow the sight of him, so quiet and unaware of being observed, brought about the same effect as reading and warm milk.

He had evidently attempted sleep as well. His hair was sticking up in all directions. He wore blue striped pajamas that he had outgrown ages ago; they came a few inches above his ankles when he sat. His shirt... Hermione felt a flush creep into her cheeks as she realized. His shirt was partially unbuttoned. She squinted her eyes again, trying to figure out what he was cutting. Then he set down the scissors and unfolded the paper, and her eyes widened as a new smile spread over her face. Ron was cutting snowflakes. She had no idea why, but she did know that he had done a beautiful job. The one he held up was cut in hundreds of intricate little shapes and patterns, so delicate that Hermione wondered how he could have done it with scissors and his large, awkward hands.

"Hi," she said softly, slipping into the doorway.

Ron quickly put the snowflake down and looked up. His ears were pink. "Hi." He watched her in silence as she sat across from him. "What are you doing here?"

"Same thing you're doing," she replied, setting her book to the side. She reached across the table and carefully took the snowflake, holding it up between them and watching him through the cut-out shapes. "Couldn't sleep?"

"No. You?"

"No." Hermione laid the snowflake on the table and met his eyes. "I'm sorry about your dad," she said. He said nothing, and she hadn't expected him too. Ron wasn't exactly one to state certain feelings. "It's scary, though, about Harry, isn't it?"

"Yeah." He stood up, and for a moment, she thought he was leaving. She opened her mouth in protest, then realized that he was taking two mugs from the cupboard. The world suddenly seemed peaceful, and her eyes followed Ron as he poured milk into the mugs, drew out his wand, and murmured a simple heating charm. Turning, he set the mug in front of her, and Hermione took it gratefully.

"Thanks," she said, taking a slow sip.

Ron raked his long fingers through his already messy hair and studied her over the edge of his mug. "I'm tired."

"Me too." She sighed and took another sip. "When's your dad coming home?"

"Soon, I hope. Or else he might be in St. Mungo's for Christmas."

They fell into easy silence, both thoughtful, drinking their milk and staring at the snowflake between them. "What's that for?" Hermione asked finally.

"Just bored, I guess. Ginny was making them earlier, before you got here."

"It's really pretty." She glanced up and noted the flush that slipped under his freckles. "You know, there's a charm to--" He suddenly met her eyes with a big grin, and Hermione stopped. "What?"

He shook his head and glanced away. "Nothing.... Well...." He looked at her again. "Just that I know you too well for my own good."

Hermione took a moment to wonder what that meant. "I'm not entirely ignorant on the subject of Ron Weasley, either," she replied, smiling.

Ron grinned. "Are you ignorant of any subject?" He paused. "Besides Quidditch?" Hermione felt the familiar sensation of her heart beating a little faster, but said nothing. He was making fun of her, as usual, but she recognized his compliment and took it for what it was. Ron reached to his left and slid a piece of paper towards her. "Show me."

"What, the charm?"

"Yeah."

Hermione finished her milk and looked away. "I don't know it."

There was a brief silence, then Ron said, "Say that again?"

She smiled in spite of herself and met his eyes this time. "I don't know it."

He laughed. "Wait till I tell Harry..."

At the mention of Harry's name, Hermione sighed and stared down into her empty mug. She and Ron had spent half a year trying to get closer to him, but he only seemed to push them away more. But she didn't want this to be yet another long, serious discussion about Harry. They had been through quite enough of those over the past months. This was a chance to relax with each other - to try not to think of Harry, homework, exams, Prefect duties, Umbridge, and a million other things that always seemed to preoccupy them. The things that kept them awake at night.

"What do you want for Christmas?"

The question was so sudden and unexpected that Hermione had no idea what to say. "What do I want?" she repeated stupidly. Neither Ron nor Harry had ever asked her that before, and she had always assumed that the answer was obvious to them. She loved books. "Well, I... you've always gotten me a book, haven't you?"

Ron shrugged, running his forefinger around and around the edge of his mug. "Just thought you might want something different, I dunno."

"I guess I never really thought about it," she said. "Why do you ask?"

"Ginny and I are going to Diagon Alley in the morning," he replied. "I thought maybe there was something you really wanted."

There was something she really wanted, but she wouldn't dream of telling him. She wanted him to stop being so blind and stupid... to say what they both knew he'd been wanting to say since last year.

"I want things to go back to normal," she said instead. "I miss having fun with you and Harry. I miss Hogwarts."

He said nothing, and they stared down once more at the snowflake. Finally, he said lightly, "I don't think they sell that at Flourish and Blotts."

"No," she replied absently, "I don't think they do."

"Well, I'll think of something," he said.

Hermione reached over and picked up the scissors, looping her fingers through them and twisting them around. "What about you? What do you want?" A long time passed with no answer, and Hermione studied his face. "Ron?"

"I want the same thing you do." She felt shallow and silly for wishing that he referred to what she had left unsaid. And she felt even shallower when he continued, "You know, it's like he hates us sometimes."

They'd had this discussion. More than once. It almost made her feel angry. Would Harry always be the center of everything? He was their friend, and he needed them. But what about them? Couldn't she talk to Ron about something else? Couldn't she drink warm milk and relax with him? Sometimes she felt that she and Ron orbited around Harry, and she wanted to break away. Then orbits made her think of Astronomy, and that made her think of exams...

"I don't know what I would have done this year without you."

Hermione's breath caught, and all the negative emotions coursing through her suddenly turned pleasant. She knew she needed to respond, but felt that if she did, it would shatter whatever wonderful spell had made Ron speak so openly. Fortunately, Ron didn't seem to be waiting for a reply, and actually went on.

"You were the only thing that stayed the same. Harry's changed, Hogwarts has changed, even Dumbledore's changed. Everything is strange and wrong somehow. But you stayed the same."

She bit her lip. Ron had never given her a better compliment. And if she thought about it, she knew that she could honestly say the same thing to him. "So did you."

He turned red to the tips of his ears, and Hermione smiled. She often thought to herself in exasperation that Ron would never change. And tonight, the idea made her happy.

"You are not going to Diagon Alley!"

"But Mum!"

"NO! And that's final! After what happened to your father, do you expect me to let you two run off by yourselves, Ginny Weasley? Certainly not!"

Ron rested his chin in his hand and stirred his breakfast disinterestedly. Ginny should know better than to argue with their mother; it did about as much good as a ghost playing Keeper. Or he himself playing Keeper, he thought wryly. He didn't want to go to Diagon Alley anyway.

"How are we supposed to buy Christmas presents?" Ginny persisted.

"Send the owls if you must. But you are absolutely not going to Diagon Alley." Mrs. Weasley turned to the sink, and the plates began washing themselves with particular ferocity. Ginny crossed her arms, staring darkly down at the table. Ron buttered another piece of toast.

There was quiet shuffling in the doorway, and Ron looked up to see Lupin joining them. His robes were more ragged than ever, his hair quite dishevelled from sleep. "I would be happy to take them, Molly," he said mildly, sitting next to Ginny. "I need to go to the shops for a set of books anyway."

Mrs. Weasley still faced the sink. "Well . . ." she said doubtfully.

"Please, Mum," Ginny begged. "We want to buy presents, and nothing would happen to us if Professor Lupin is with us."

"Ohhhh little town of Hooogsmeade!" boomed a voice from the hall. Ron grinned and shook his head as the enthusiastic singing was soon accompanied by Mrs. Black's screaming. "Siiiiilent night!" sang Sirius' voice, louder still. Lupin smiled, and Ginny giggled.

"He'll wake Harry," Mrs. Weasley sighed. "And Hermione, too, poor dear. . ."

"Can we go with Professor Lupin?" Ginny pressed.

"Oh, I suppose. Finish your breakfast, Ginny, it's getting cold."

So much for getting out of a shopping excursion. Ignoring Ginny's happy glances at him, Ron stirred his food a bit more. At least he had fifty galleons in his pocket, and his mind reeled at the images of things he could finally afford to buy for himself. Perhaps a broomstick servicing kit like the one Hermione had given Harry. Or perhaps a new copy of this year's Standard Book of Spells, since Charlie's copy was missing a cover and quite a number of pages. Then he realized with horror that he was thinking like Hermione. A broomstick servicing kit and a few dungbombs would be ideal.

Diagon Alley was as crowded as he had expected. He and Ginny pushed through the crowds, Lupin following closely behind them. Ron knew he was having a much easier time of it than Ginny, thanks to his height, and the thought gave him no small amount of satisfaction. They recognized and greeted several friends along the way before Ron spotted Flourish and Blotts.

"Oh, good," Ron said, stepping ahead of Ginny and reaching for the door. "We can buy all our presents here, then go home."

Ginny hesitated. "There are much better places to buy presents, Ron."

He stood there dumbly, staring at her, hardly noticing as people jostled between and around them.. "But--"

"We'll save Flourish and Blotts for last," Lupin suggested. "Books will be the heaviest things we buy, so we don't want to carry them around to the rest of the shops, do we?"

This idea won a grateful look from Ginny, but Ron scowled. "We aren't visiting that many shops, are we?" he asked warily.

"Why don't we begin with the Witches' Way?" Ginny said eagerly, ignoring Ron's question.

Ron frowned even more. "What in bloody hell is that?"

Ginny grinned. "The best row of shops for buying Christmas presents. Honestly, Ron, no wonder you never gave Mum a decent present."

"What! I--" Ron protested. "Professor, can't we--" Surely Lupin would come to his defense. Witches' Way did not sound promising, and the idea of trudging around to a million women's shops made him want to run to Grimmauld Place without looking back.

"Good idea, Ginny," said Lupin, and Ron didn't even bother to close his gaping mouth. "Then we can try Quality Quidditch Supplies," he added quickly, apparently noticing that Ron had turned several shades of red.

Ginny beamed and walked ahead, and Ron trudged behind her, muttering choice words under his breath.

"Ron," said Lupin in a low voice, "I should warn you that you're about to see a lot of... pink."

Looking up, Ron was surprised to see that Lupin was giving him an understanding sort of smile. "Do I have to..." He gulped. "Actually go into the shops?"

"I don't plan to," Lupin chuckled. "But then, I'm not shopping for a mother, a sister, and a girlfriend."

"Hermione is not my--"

"In the sense that she is a girl and your friend, she is your girlfriend. And what do you plan to buy for her?"

Ron looked away to hide the warmth in his face at the idea of Hermione being his girlfriend. "I was going to buy her a book she's been wanting," he said. "But Ginny wants me to buy something else."

"Hmm," said Lupin thoughtfully.

Ginny gave a small sound of delight and turned a corner. Ron had no time to brace himself before he followed her, and his senses were suddenly bombarded with sweet smells, lace, cooing girls and women, and... pink. Lots of it. Somehow his legs forgot how to move, and somewhere far away, he heard the sound of Lupin's laughter and felt a hand on his back, urging him forward.

"Come now, Ron, you're a Gryffindor," Lupin grinned.

"Why bother sending chaps to Azkaban?" Ron asked in disbelief. "A few minutes in this place would do the trick."

"Oh, please," said Ginny. "This is where women shop for hair potions, fancy dress robes, perfume..." She trailed off, wandering over to a shop window and gazing longingly through the glass.

"I'm sure Umbridge is a regular customer," said Ron. "What are you looking at?" he asked impatiently, joining Ginny at the window.

She pointed out a hair potion and began telling him about it, but Ron's eyes had fallen on a small blue bottle just in front of him. "Madame Wumblydown's Smoothing Potion - Guaranteed to Work Magic with Your Frizzy Hair!" In spite of himself, Ron smiled and fingered the galleons in his pocket. Hermione would kill him, and she would find some way to do it painfully. Better not risk it.

"I'm going to step in for a minute," said Ginny, "if you two don't mind."

"Not at all, we're having a lovely time," Ron replied.

Lupin flashed him a warning look. "Take your time, Ginny."

Ginny evidently decided to take Lupin at his word. Just when Ron considered making a dash for it, she finally emerged from the shop with a small pink bag dangling from her wrist. "For Mum," she said happily. "She's been wanting it for ages. Your turn, Ron."

"My turn for what?"

"To pick a shop."

"Oh!" Ron smiled, realizing that his time in Witches' Way had ended unexpectedly quickly. "Quality Quidditch Supplies," he said without hesitation.

"Ron," Ginny sighed. "Don't you want to find something for Mum? Or Hermione?"

"Why don't I help Ron a bit?" interrupted Lupin. "Ginny, if you don't mind staying in this area, I'll take Ron to a few more shops. I doubt," he continued, the corners of his mouth twitching, "that any dark wizards are lurking on Witches' Way."

Ginny agreed to this readily and slipped back into the hair potion shop.

"Now, Ron," said Lupin. "I'm going to help you if you're willing to cooperate."

Ron made a strangled noise and hoped it was a good response.

"Can you think of something that other girls have, that Hermione doesn't?"

"Dragon dung for brains?" Lupin gave him a sharp look, and he sighed resignedly. "I don't know, Professor. Look, I know what Hermione wants. There's this book about Arithmancy, and--"

"And Hermione has hundreds of books," Lupin finished. "Try thinking of her as a girl."

"She isn't like other girls," Ron argued. "I mean... she's the same... but different. That's what I like about her!" He immediately bit his tongue.

Lupin, however, acted as though he hadn't heard. "Buying her a girl's present doesn't mean you have to buy her something silly."

"I don't know anything about this stuff," said Ron miserably. "And I don't see why I can't get her the book she wants."

Lupin looked at him with something like sympathy. "Alright, Ron. If you walk around here for an hour and come back with nothing, we'll leave Witches' Way with no further discussion about it. Agreed?"

The prospect of spending another hour drowning in pink was horrible to contemplate, but it certainly seemed better than his alternatives. He started to ask Lupin if he had to actually enter any of the shops, but wisely decided against it. Without another word, he nodded and turned away quickly before he changed his mind. Lupin and Ginny were behind him now, and a frightening world of lacy unfamiliarity lay before him.

He looked up and read the signs ahead of him, wincing at each one more than the last. "Make Bath Time a Magical Time!" "Lady Medusa's Hair Parlor - We'll Put More Life into Your Hair, or Your Money Back!" Then his eyes fell on one sign in particular, probably because it was the only sign on Witches' Way that wasn't pink. About a block away, red letters on antique wood read, "Scents and Sensibility." Ron took a deep breath and headed for it.

He pushed open the door of the shop. His first thought was one of gratitude at having taken that last breath, for as soon as he stepped through the door, he found himself almost incapable of drawing another. The air was thick and heavy, laden with too much sweetness, too much fruit, too many flowers, too much of everything. He shut the door behind him and took a tentative step forward, looking around at a room full of bubbling cauldrons, flowers hanging upside-down from tiny hooks on the ceiling, dozens of jars full of bees and butterflies, and curtains drawn around small, square areas. Some of these areas were open, their curtains drawn aside, and Ron could see that each one contained a table with a chair on either side. On the far side of the large room, Ron read a sign with much the same design as the one outside: "Scents and Sensibility ~ Proudly Serving You Since 1811."

A hand suddenly drew back the curtain from one of the small areas on his left, and an old witch stepped out, followed by a young wizard who looked just as lost as Ron felt. The wizard pressed a few coins into the witch's hand, and she gave him a red box with a white bow.

"Thanks," he mumbled, shuffling quickly past Ron.

Ron heard the soft tinkling of bells as the man shut the door behind him, and he felt even more helpless than before. What had possessed him to come into a perfume shop? He knew nothing - absolutely nothing - about perfume, nor could he imagine what Hermione would think if he gave her such an odd gift.

"May I help you?" The old woman was petite, her white hair pulled into a loose bun on the nape of her neck, though thin, silvery wisps had escaped to frame her pleasant face.

Ron looked down at her as she motioned for him to join her at the table she'd just left. "Er..."

She smiled slightly. "Is this your first visit, love?"

Realizing that his throat had shut down all functions that allowed him to breathe or speak, Ron nodded.

Her smile widened, then transformed into a look of kindness. "Well, come on, then. Don't be shy." She motioned to him again, and this time he felt his feet moving to the table. He sat down and heard the soft clatter of rings on metal as she drew the curtains shut around them. "There now," she said, sitting across the table and folding her hands in front of her. "I am Madam Dashwood, and I'll help you find something perfect. You are looking for perfume for...?"

"Er."

"Your mother, perhaps?" she prompted.

Ron shook his head.

Madam Dashwood removed her small, round spectacles and tilted her head a little to the side. "What's your name, dear?" she asked gently.

"Ron," he replied. "Ron Weasley."

"And which would you prefer - Ron or Mr. Weasley?"

"Ron."

She smiled. "Very well, Ron. Why don't you relax? I know it isn't fun for a young man to visit Witches Way. I assume some female friend or relative is the reason for your presence here?"

"Yeah," Ron mumbled. "But... but that isn't to say... I mean... I think your shop is very nice."

"Apart from the fact that you can't breathe, yes?"

Ron was surprised to find himself laughing, even sitting back comfortably in his chair. "I'm getting used to it."

"I'll try to make this quick and painless for you, Ron, don't worry." She winked and replaced her spectacles. "Now - in order to make the perfect perfume, I just need a little information from you. Easy enough, yes?"

He nodded. "Okay. I'm buying it for a friend. A girl friend. That is, a friend who is a girl. But she's rather more than a friend. Not a girlfriend, but a girl who's been a very good friend. More than a friend."

If Madam Dashwood was baffled or amused, she gave no sign of it. "This friend of yours must be very special, if you're here talking to me. Tell me a little more about her."

"Well... er... her name's Hermione Granger. She's Muggle-born, and a bit younger than me, and... er... bossy. Smart..." Ron trailed off. "Er... do you want me to keep going?"

Madam Dashwood wore a small smile. "Yes, I will need a little more."

Ron thought for a moment. What could he say about Hermione? "Well, she's so smart she scares me sometimes, really. But also so smart that she's annoying, because she usually wins whatever fights we have. She completely loses her head in a crisis, and she always nags us - that's me and my best mate, Harry - about doing homework and taking notes. But then she always helps us, too. And she has a monster of a cat. She's off her rocker when it comes to house-elves. She wants to free them all, and she won't listen to reason when we try to tell her that they don't want to be freed. So she knits these hats - at least, she says they're hats - I really can't tell. And she leaves them around under rubbish, trying to trick them into picking one up. She has bushy hair. It could probably knock something off your shelves, if you want to know. And she's lousy at chess. I like when she laughs, though. She doesn't giggle like most girls do... she laughs, and you can tell by her face that she really thinks it's funny. As for Quidditch, I think my mum knows and cares more about it than Hermione does. I don't think she'd care about Quidditch even if it was a school subject, and that's really saying something, I can tell you. The only subject she refused to study was Divination, not that I blame her. Our teacher is a right old fraud. But back to Quidditch. She doesn't like it, which makes me wonder why she'd want to go to the ball with Krum. Ugly, stupid oaf, if you ask me. But that was nice, what she did with her hair. It was all straight and different. She got petrified our second year, and that's the only reason I went into the forest after those giant spiders. I loved when she slapped Draco Malfoy - you don't know him, but I can tell you, he's a slimy git. I saved her life once... saved her from a troll. That was in first year. And that's when we became friends. We're both Prefects this year, even though she couldn't believe at first that I got it." Ron paused. "Er... was that enough?"

Madam Dashwood blinked, her mouth slightly open. "Yes... yes, dear, I think that was... more than sufficient." She pulled her wand from her robes and tapped the table smartly. As if it grew up from the wood, a small glass bottle rose between them. Ron stared at the dark liquid inside.

"Is that it?" he asked skeptically. "Is it supposed to be black?" He had seen perfume, but none of it looked like this.

"Ron, you see..." She sighed, then rested her chin in her small hand, looking at him sympathetically. "The perfume is mixed based on what you tell me, and... How shall I say this? Dear, you gave me a cauldron where most give a teaspoon."

Ron stared at her blankly. He didn't quite understand what she was telling him, but he did get the impression that he had done this wrong. That was no surprise. "A cauldron of what?"

"Thoughts," she replied, waving her hand. "Emotions."

In spite of himself, Ron suddenly grinned and reached over to take the bottle. "So..." he said slowly, turning it in his hands, "what you mean is... most people get a perfume with - with the emotional range of a teaspoon - and I had a cauldron?"

"I'm afraid so, dear. It doesn't often turn out this way, and if you want to mix another bottle, that's quite understandable."

Ron looked down at the delicate bottle in his hands and read the label. "__________ ~ To Miss Hermione Granger ~ Specially Prepared for You by Mr. Ron Weasley and Your Friends at Scents and Sensibility ~ No House-Elves Were Tested or Enslaved in the Making of This Product."

"Ron?" said Madam Dashwood gently. "Shall we try again?"

He looked up, met her eyes, and grinned. "No, I want to give her the cauldron."

"Are you sure? It - it will smell... rather unusual."

"I want it to smell unusual!" he exclaimed, ignoring the small voice in his head that reminded him that he was getting excited over perfume. "What's this blank on the label, here at the top?"

"That's where you name the scent," she explained.

Ron grinned again. "I want to name it 'spew.' That is... S.P.E.W."

Madam Dashwood raised an eyebrow. "Spe - S.P.E.W.? Are you quite sure?"

"Positive," said Ron, trying very hard not to laugh when the four letters appeared in an elegant script on the bottle's label. "How much do I owe you?" he asked, reaching into his pocket.

Madam Dashwood gave one last look at the bottle, then sighed, "Forty-five galleons."

"Forty.... forty-five galleons?!" he spluttered. "For this?" That would leave him with practically nothing!

"It has a lot of ingredients," Madam Dashwood explained calmly. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you used almost every ingredient in the shop. But we can make you a new bottle, yes?"

Ron stared down at the bottle in silence, his brain comprehending nothing on the label but "Miss Hermione Granger." He felt the wonderful weight of the galleons in his pocket, then looked up at Madam Dashwood again. "Okay," he mumbled.

She smiled at him and reached to take the bottle from his hands. With a soft tap of her wand, she wrapped the bottle in a white box like the one Ron had seen her give the wizard before him. Ron counted out all but five of his galleons and paid her, then rose from his seat hurriedly, not wanting to think about what he'd just done.

"Merry Christmas, Ron," said Madam Dashwood, rising as well and drawing aside the curtain.

"Thanks," he replied, not looking back as he made desperately for the door.

Ron felt his face burning and couldn't decide if it was from humiliation, the slow suffocation of his senses by perfumes, or the fact that he had almost no money left. A nagging voice in his head suggested that it was because he had just bought something so personal - something so expensive - for Hermione. But he quickly decided that perfumes and humiliation caused his present discomfort. At least now he was back in the fresh air, and he felt even more relieved to find Lupin waiting for him at the corner.

"You came out alive, I see," Lupin said with a gentle smile.

"Just barely," Ron muttered, stuffing the white box into his robes. "Can we get out of here now?"

Lupin laughed. "Certainly. We should meet Ginny on the way out." He paused, then asked carefully, "What did you buy?"

"Perfume," Ron mumbled. He knew he had given a stupid answer, since Lupin had plainly seen him leaving a perfume shop.

"What are you going to buy in Quality Quidditch Supplies?" asked Lupin, and Ron felt a rush of gratitude toward him. But just as quickly, he remembered that he no longer had anything to spend there.

"I don't really want to go," he said lightly.

He heard Ginny's voice a little way ahead of them, but hardly noticed. Lupin had stopped walking and was looking at him with an odd expression, as if trying to read something in his face. He turned away, not wanting to give anything away. It didn't matter that he had spent everything. It didn't matter that he had never spent so much money in one place. It didn't matter that he would have to buy candy for everyone else. Blokes like Harry and Sirius could throw away galleons wherever they pleased; what did it matter if he had a chance to do the same? But then the thought occurred to him that if anyone understood what it was like to be poor, it was Lupin. Lupin wouldn't make fun or give him disapproving looks.

"Of course, your broom must still be like new," said Lupin mildly. Ron glanced up, jarred from his thoughts and ready to tell Lupin everything, but he had lost his chance.

Ginny had joined them, and she stopped in front of them, adjusting the bags on her arms. "What did you buy, Ron?" she asked eagerly. "If you haven't got anything yet, I saw the perfect -"

"Ron went to Scents and Sensibility," said Lupin.

Ginny's eyes widened, and Ron flushed once more and looked away, desperately wishing that the ground would swallow him. "That place is really expensive, Ron," she breathed. "Isn't it one of those shops where you mix your own -"

"Did you find presents for everyone?" Lupin asked Ginny. He began to walk again, leading them out towards the main street of Diagon Alley, and Ginny seemed successfully distracted. She chatted eagerly with Lupin about shops and gifts, though Ron barely listened. He was content to follow quietly, taking in what he hoped would be his last sights of Witches Way.

"Ugh! What's that black stuff?"

Hermione held the bottle in both hands and brought it closer to her chest. "It's perfume," she replied, not looking up at Ginny. She smiled in spite of herself. "Ron gave me spew for Christmas." Then she found herself unable to contain a laugh. It wasn't a mocking laugh at Ron and his utter stupidity and his hopeless inability to buy perfume. It was because he was Ron, and he was utterly clever, and hopelessly unable to do anything without teasing her.

Hermione reached into her lap and reread the small white card that had fallen out of the box. "It smells bad because he gave me a cauldron instead of a teaspoon. Keep him. - M. Dashwood."

Holding the bottle and the card to her, Hermione smiled down at her feet.

"Hermione?" said Ginny. "Please tell me that isn't the perfume Ron had mixed for you?"

"It is," she smiled, finally looking up at Ginny. "It's wonderful."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "It looks awful."

"Looks awful? You should smell it," Hermione laughed fondly.

"Ron is hopeless," Ginny sighed. "I can't believe he spent all his mo -" She broke off and raised a hand to her mouth.

Hermione's heart flew to her throat. "All his money?" she finished softly.

"Oh, please don't tell him," said Ginny. "He didn't want you to know."

"I won't tell him," Hermione assured her. She slipped the bottle and the card back into their box and closed it, hardly caring what any of her other gifts contained. Only one idea was very clear in her mind: Keep him.