What if

Later that evening, as Ron walked through the now deserted corridors, he heard two voices coming from a dark corner. Instinctively, he approached, curious, but stopped when he recognized who was speaking.
Harry and Draco.
'I don’t see why you have to make it sound so complicated,' Malfoy was saying in his usual annoyed tone.
'It’s not complicated,' Harry replied. 'It’s just... new. And I don’t want to draw too much attention.'
Ron couldn’t believe his ears; his best friend and the so-called worst enemy were whispering about who knows what in a dark corner of the castle.
He withdrew, careful not to be seen. He was about to turn back when he heard another voice, a female one, coming from the opposite direction.
It was Hermione. And beside her was Pansy Parkinson. They were walking towards him, so Ron quickly hid in an empty classroom, ears wide open.
'Are you sure it’s a good idea? I mean, being seen together. After all, Gryffindors and Slytherins have been at war for years; I’m not sure how they’d take our friendship,' Hermione was asking, lowering her gaze, as if she wanted to say something else but held back.
'You’ve never been so uncertain, Granger,' Pansy replied with an amused smile. 'It’s almost unbearable.'
Ron felt his stomach knot up. Something strange was going on, something he couldn’t understand. But one thing was certain: he wouldn’t trust either the Slytherins or his friends until he figured out what the hell was happening.

He decided to take a walk; he was too tired to deal with it all.

When Ron returned, the Gryffindor Common Room was unusually quiet. With the celebrations over, most of the students had gone up to their rooms, leaving the trio of old friends sitting around the fireplace. But calling them a 'trio' now seemed like a stretch.

Ron sat down in an armchair, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the fire. Hermione was flipping through a book—more to avoid looking at him than out of real interest—while Harry kept glancing at his friends, visibly uncomfortable.

"We need to talk," Harry suddenly said, breaking the silence.
"There's nothing to talk about," Ron huffed. He didn’t want to start this conversation, and he definitely didn’t want to do it now.
Hermione finally lifted her eyes from the book. "Don’t be childish, Ron. Harry’s right, we need to talk."
"Okay so about what we need to talk Harry, exactly? About your new best friends among the Slytherins? I saw you with Malfoy earlier, you know. Or maybe about how Hermione dumped me without a reason and now walks around with Parkinson?"

Hermione pressed her lips together but didn’t respond. Harry sighed. "About everything, including that. We can’t go on like this, Ron. We’re a team, we’ve always been everything to each other."
"We were," Ron repeated bitterly. "Now it seems like you two have other priorities."
His gaze turned to Hermione. "Since when are you friends with Parkinson, by the way?" His tone was clearly judgmental.
Hermione slammed the book shut and stood up. "Stop it, Ron. I don’t need to justify my personal choices to you."
Ron turned fully towards her, his eyes blazing with anger, now standing as well. "Yes, you do, Hermione. You owe me an explanation. How the hell did you think that leaving me without any reason wouldn’t destroy us, wouldn’t ruin everything!"
Harry leaned forward, raising a hand to try to calm them. "Ron, now’s not the time to..."
"Not the time?!" Ron exploded, raising his voice. "No, Harry, the timing is perfect! You’re the ones who wanted this! Your brilliant idea of making peace with the Slytherins is just the cherry on top. Draco Malfoy, really? And then Zabini talking to me as if we were old friends! I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but I’m not buying it."
"Ron, you’re overreacting," Hermione interjected, trying to keep a calmer tone than before. "Not all Slytherins are as you think. Some of them... suffered just as much as we did during the war."
"Oh, sure, poor Slytherins!" Ron scoffed bitterly. "We should pity them because they chose the wrong side? Let’s not kid ourselves, Hermione. You know exactly who they are and where they stood."
"People change," Harry said, clenching his fists to hold back his frustration.
"Right, because Draco Malfoy is a model of redemption!" Ron turned to him, his eyes full of accusation. "What’s this, Harry? Do you like playing the savior with him now too?"
Harry stiffened but didn’t respond. Hermione, however, snapped. "Enough, Ron! You can’t keep living in the past. If you want to stay trapped in your anger, go ahead, but don’t expect everyone else to do the same."
Ron stared at her for a moment, his face red with anger. Then, without a word, he grabbed his wand and headed for the exit.
"Where are you going?" Harry asked, but Ron didn’t stop.
"Away from you two," he replied sharply. "Enjoy your new normal without me."

The Common Room door closed with a thud, leaving Harry and Hermione in silence.
Ron wandered the corridors, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. Each step seemed to fuel his anger, but beneath that anger was something deeper: disappointment. He was disappointed in Hermione, in Harry, but perhaps most of all, in himself.
He didn’t know where he was going until he found himself outside, in the moonlit garden. He sat on a bench, his face buried in his hands, trying to sort out his thoughts.

It wasn’t long before a familiar voice reached him.
"Saw you storm out like a fury. Someone steal your butterbeer?"
Ron looked up and saw Blaise Zabini standing in front of him, his hands tucked into the pockets of his cloak. The usual enigmatic smile was on his face, but he didn’t seem amused, and Ron felt his blood boil again.
"Not in the mood, Zabini," he growled.
"It never seems to be your mood," Blaise replied, approaching nonchalantly. "But I suppose that’s normal, considering all the venom you’re holding in."
"What the hell do you want?" Ron asked, glaring at him.
"Nothing special," Blaise replied, sitting next to him. "Just a reminder that staying angry forever doesn’t change things. And frankly, you already look exhausted."
Ron stared at him for a long moment, the words ready to explode, but something in Blaise’s tone stopped him. It was irritating, sure, but there was a sincerity hidden beneath that mask of indifference.
"You don’t understand anything about me," Ron finally said, crossing his arms.
"Maybe not," Blaise admitted. "But I understand enough to know you don’t really want to be here alone."

Ron watched him for a few moments, torn. In the end, he simply shook his head, letting the silence fill the space between them.
As strange as it was, Blaise’s company was less unbearable than he had imagined, though it was probably just because of his exhaustion.