“Sure,” I said, managing to sound entirely natural and comfortable despite my inner uneasiness.

For a moment, Harry did not speak. When he spoke, his tones were clearly calculated: airy, casual, and extremely normal. “What were you and Ron doing in the greenhouse, today?” he asked with a shrug of sorts.

Needless to say, my mouth dropped open.

How could he - how could he think that?

And for once, I did not shy away from his gaze. I looked up at him, straight in the eye, because I knew he would not believe me if I did not. “Talking,” I said bluntly. “He was worried I was angry over what he said to me earlier.”

Harry’s face relaxed immediately, and I knew he believed me. It would have been best to shut up, best to shut up and go back to my work, but I could not. The words escaped my mouth before I could hold them back.

“You don’t have to be suspicious, Harry,” I said coolly. “Ron and I don’t have anything between us except friendship. Just like you and me.”

It was like air escaping from a tire: Harry’s face slackened, his cheeks flushed red.

Then he said, his tones cold, “You should know I didn’t mean it that way. I would love to know if you and Ron developed a – a relationship. And, as your supposed best friend, I think I’m allowed to ask you a question.”

For the umpteenth time that day, I felt my insides shrivel up in embarrassment. What had I been thinking? It was wrong of me, very wrong of me, to think Harry could suspect us – me, Ron, his best mates – in that way. - I had known him for years, and he was not that type of person in the least.

“I’m sorry,” I said, a little awkwardly. “I – I guess I shouldn’t have said that.”

He stood up, shrugging. “It’s okay,” he said, as I stood up, too. “Let’s go down and find Ron. He should be in the grounds. And the weather is great, too – In all of its entirety and majesty, as some would say,” he added, laughingly.

I coloured instantaneously, but could not resist the urge to laugh alongside him. We left the common room together, to find Ron, who Harry was sure in the grounds – where, according to Harry, he had last left him.

The weather was indeed lovely and, though we could not find Ron, we certainly had a fantastic time together, Harry half pushing me into the lake as, sitting by its edge, my feet hanging down, I gaily sprayed him with water.

It was only the next morning that I met Ron, and he told me he had been in detention with Professor McGonagall for most of the day, on skipping her class on purpose – and that Harry had known this, and known this well and clear.