Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy, and all these other people are characters belonging to J.K. Rowling. I claim no rights to them, their surroundings, or their situations. Much to my sorrow.

--- 14 Ron: I Bet I Could Be Political Too

"Yww ral thk 'ey cu pu i' orf?" The rare art of talking around a large mouthful of Yorkshire pudding was highly venerated in the Weasley household, and Ron's skill at it was exceeded only by that of the twins (who prided themselves on holding entire conversations without once fully emptying their mouths.)

Unfortunately, the art of understanding someone talking that way was likewise rare outside the Weasley household.

"Sorry, what?" Harry looked up from the plate balanced on his knees, a forkful of vegetables suspended inches from his mouth.

Ron swallowed his mouthful and repeated, "You really think they can pull it off?"

"Building a new school, you mean? I don't see why not." Harry shrugged and went on eating.

The rumor had spread like wildfire through the building, and both staff and students could talk of nothing else.

After a few more mouthfuls, he added thoughtfully, "It may not be Hogwarts, but I'd like to see Voldemort and his lot break into a building designed by the likes of Moody, Lupin and Snape."

Ron grinned. "Don't forget Filch--you know they'll want his input. Place'll be bloody well impenetrable. Feel a bit sorry for the next crop of First Years...they shan't have any fun at all."

Harry nodded. "But they'll be safe," he said decisively. "That's what's most important."

"Too right..." Ron went back to his meal, recalling their second year at the school and the terrifying events surrounding the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. His own sister's abduction was by far the worst memory from that time, and the most personally horrifying for him to date; even though Ginny was all right now, he was happy to think that no future class need ever fear such a horror.

Once finished with their meals, the two friends went to the kitchen to put away their plates. Tonks and Ginny were overseeing the cleaning of the vast stacks of dishes (with help from several fifth-year girls and the enthusiastic assistance of Dobby,) and Ron and Harry walked in on a lively debate between the young women.

"...think it's a perfectly brilliant idea," Ginny was saying firmly. "Nothing but trouble comes out of the house of Slytherin, and there's practically none of them left anyway. Who says we need four Houses?"

Tonks shrugged. "I don't know that we do. Just seems a bit out of order to try and pull a bloke's House out from under him while he's in hospital, that's all." She set a clean place on top of a rather unsteady stack, where it balanced rather precariously. "Wotcher Ron, Harry!"

"Harry Potter!" Dobby squealed, bowing low, delighted as always that his great hero had come to visit. "And Mister Wheezy, sir!" Ron rated a bow too, which pleased him no end. Then Tonks' stack of plates started to topple over, and the House-Elf casually waved a hand and started them floating in a graceful curving line toward another cupboard, where they stacked themselves neat as a pin.

"'Lo, Dobby." Ron grinned. He couldn't help but like the little fellow, who seemed to have nearly as rotten a lot in life as himself, but had this almost supernatural ability to make the best of it. And a trunk full of hand-me-downs and hand-knitted initial sweaters seemed downright luxurious, compared to the strange collection of mismatched oddments Dobby habitually wore.

Ginny made a face, levitating a pile of clean plates toward a cupboard. "I suppose it is, but then the Slytherins practically invented underhanded. About time someone turned the tables on them--wouldn't you say, Ron?"

He set his plate down in one of the stacks to be washed, completely in agreement with his little sister for once. "You'll get no argument from me. If there'd been no Slytherin, there'd be no Chamber of Bloody Secrets, no Death Eaters...no You-Know-Who."

"We don't know that." Tonks shook her head. "So what if he'd got sorted into another House? He'd still have been the same person. The Sorting Hat doesn't change who we are, it only tells us where we'll fit in best."

"Well maybe if there'd been no Slytherin, it would have just told Tom Riddle to sod off. There'd have been no place for him then," Ginny retorted. She was still sore about the whole topic even five years later--not that Ron blamed her.

He glanced at Harry, wondering what his friend made of all this. The Boy-Who-Lived said nothing, only looked very thoughtful.

"Well, it's not up to us anyway. Professor Dumbledore and the staff will have to sort it all out. Maybe Snape will make it back in time to state his case," Ron said, more to mollify Tonks than anything else.

She raised her eyebrows. "The Slytherins had better hope he does. I dunno who else would be willing to speak up for them."

"Malfoy," Harry said immediately. "He's the top seventh-year student who's left. The others would back him, I'm certain."

Ginny snickered. "Well! Then I hope Snape doesn't make it back. Draco Malfoy couldn't talk a boggart into a broom closet at noon. If it falls on him, Slytherin's finished for sure."

Ron started to agree with her, but then recalled the curiously subdued Malfoy he and Harry had spoken with earlier. Not only had Draco kept a civil tongue in his head, but he'd actually come close to thanking Harry for saving his life.

Maybe he's turned over a new leaf, the optimistic, good-natured part of him proposed.

Yeah, and maybe Voldemort's going to give up the Evil Overlord business and go to beauty school instead, countered his resentful, hot-headed other side.

As he and Harry exited the kitchen, behind them, Ginny let out a squeal of alarm. "Oh, Tonks, be--"

"Sorry..."

Harry snickered, but Ron only sighed. Malfoy was the least of his concerns, really. He still couldn't put Hermione's earlier behavior out of his mind.

All right, he conceded grudgingly, so the greasy old git was in a pretty bad spot, and it did seem a bit cold to send him packing off to St. Mungo's all alone, not knowing whether he'd be coming back or not. Hermione was a crusader; it was just like her, really, to set off on an impromptu mission of mercy, without bothering to think that Snape was as likely to strike twenty points from Gryffindor for her interference as to say "thank you."

Maybe Harry was right; probably he was just overreacting. And honestly, it was none of his business what Hermione did. She wasn't his girlfriend, after all.

He resolutely ignored the sinking feeling that thought evoked, and went round to ask the twins whether they'd brought along any sweets whose side effects weren't too bleedin' annoying.

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