Chapter 4
Ron stomped around the room in tight, frustrated circles, his arms crossed over his chest as if trying to hold his thoughts in place—with each step was punctuated with muttered curses and impatient sighs, as if the very walls might magically offer a solution if he just paced hard enough.
There was a problem, a ridiculously annoying one that he really shouldn’t have had to deal with, but here he was, stuck in the thick of it anyway.
Honestly, how could he not be frustrated? It had been the entire day, and Harry had been giving him the cold shoulder.
Ron hadn’t heard a word of the reason or anything at all, his best mate had simply strolled past him the next morning, not even bothering to acknowledge him. It was as if he were a piece of furniture—completely ignored and completely unimportant.
“C'mon, mate,” Dean sighed, flopping down cross-legged on the edge of the desk. “You’ve been pacing about like a madman for an hour, it's driving me nuts just watching you.”
Ron turned around to face him, his face reddening with frustration as if steam might actually start coming out of his ears. “Oh, and whose fault do you reckon that is?” he barked.
“Alright, alright, you’ve got me.” Dean rolled his eyes. “But that was my last peck before we put an end to this whole kissing escapade—consider it my swan song to the grand finale of our rather eccentric class on ‘How to Be the Perfect Gay, So Fabulous Even the Boy-Who-Lived Would Be Green With Envy.’”
“What the bloody hell are you on about?” Ron spluttered, choking on his own spit.
“Godric's balls, Ron, are you really this thick?” Dean clicked his tongue disappointedly, as if he were speaking to a particularly dense student. “Why on earth would Harry be all hot and bothered over a relationship? What’s it to him if he’s got the daft idea that I’m going out with you? Why would he suddenly blank you just because we’re having a fucking snog?”
Well, that was precisely what had Ron in the right muddle—he hadn’t got a clue about any of it!
“He's jealous,” Dean went on, “And you’ve got him all in a tizzy, mate. You’d better do something about it before he completely loses his marbles.”
“Excuse me?” Ron said, his eyes nearly popping out of his sockets. “Why on earth would this be my responsibility?”
“Because you’re thick as a brick,” Dean said, shaking his head. “I don’t know, mate. Just sort it out yourself! I’m not going near him—he’s been giving me the stink eye since this morning!”
Ron groaned loudly, he was still at a loss as to why Harry would be so worked up about it. They’d been on perfectly good terms just the day before, and now everything seemed to have gone pear-shaped for no apparent reason. Fine. He decided he'd have a word with his best mate and sort things out, he certainly didn’t fancy getting into another row with him.
He didn’t really want to dredge things up again, but there it was.
Alright, Ron sighed, it was his own fault too. He’d been absent for two days, Saturday and Sunday, which was supposed to be his time hanging out with Harry. But then he got wrapped up in sorting out the mess between Dean and Seamus. He ended up being the sort of mediator, trying to smooth things over between them.
He didn’t realise he had a knack for it, but he just went ahead, gave them a bit of a shove, and tossed out some half-baked encouragement. Whatever they were, it seemed to work, because the last thing Ron saw before he headed back to the castle was the two of them snogging each other.
Ron slung his bag over his shoulder and walked alone down the corridor, which felt strange since he usually took this route with Harry. To make matters worse, it seemed like every time a group of students passed, they were staring at him. Though, he could always give them a glare and deduct points. After all, what was the point of being a Prefect if not to enforce a bit of discipline? He could dock points from anyone, even if it was just to make himself feel better, ha!
Hermione would probably have a go at him for that, he thought.
He was on his way to check the library, fully convinced that Harry had to be with her—and he was right; Ron immediately found them huddled in the farthest corner of the library. They were deep in conversation, their heads close together as they hissed and whispered furiously, their discussion made it clear that whatever they were arguing about was top-secret and probably not the sort of thing you’d want overheard by anyone with ears.
"Hey," Ron greeted, when he walked over to them.
Hermione nearly jumped in surprise, while Harry froze instantly, looking as though he’d just been caught doing something he really shouldn’t be.
"Hi, Ron," Hermione said, not quite meeting his gaze.
Ron frowned at the pair. "Would you mind excusing Harry? I need to have a word with him.”
"Why don’t you just say it here?" Harry turned his head in the opposite direction, as if he was trying to avoid the conversation altogether.
"Well, it wasn’t Hermione who was bloody ignoring me, was it?"
"Would you two just take the conversation outside?" Hermione hissed at them through gritted teeth.
"No," Ron and Harry muttered in unison, eyes still locked in a battle of wills.
Neither of them made a move, though. Clearly, the standoff was far more important than Hermione’s plea for some common sense. "Fine," she snapped, gathering her things. "Just don't make a scene," she added, shooting them a stern look before hurrying off.
"I’m not ignoring you," Harry sighed. "I just don’t see why I should be dragged into your problems,”
"Problems?" Ron’s eyes widened with indignation. "Is that what you think this is, Harry? I’ve been trying to talk to you, but you’ve been acting like I’ve got a plague!”
"Maybe if you weren’t so wrapped up in whatever’s going on with Dean, you’d actually notice," Harry retorted. "I’m not interested in being your emotional punching bag."
Ron’s face flushed. "So it’s Dean now, is it? You think you know everything, but you’ve barely said a word to me. Maybe I’ve been dealing with my own stuff, too!”
"Well, it’s hard to be sympathetic when you’re so self-absorbed," Harry said coldly. "If you can’t handle a bit of distance, maybe you should take a good look at how you’re treating your friends."
"You're right," Ron fumed, "Maybe I just wanted to get to know myself better, that’s why I’ve been distant! I thought maybe if I figured some things out for myself, we’d be alright. But it feels like you’ve just been shutting me out, and I don’t know why."
"Because you’ve been shutting me out first! You act like you’re the only one going through something, it’s like you don’t care anymore, Ron!"
"That’s not true! I do care, but every time I try to talk to you, Harry, it's like you’ve already made up your mind about me, and you won’t even let me explain—"
"Explain what?" Harry snapped, eyes blazing. "That you’ve spent more time with Dean than with me? That you’d rather hang out with him than talk to your supposed best friend?"
"It’s not about Dean!" Ron shouted, "It’s about me not knowing who I am, alright? I needed space, but I didn’t think you’d take it like this! I didn’t think I’d lose you over it."
Harry faltered, caught off guard by Ron’s outburst. For a moment, the anger drained from his face, replaced by confusion. "Lose me? You think you’re losing me?"
"What in the world is happening here!?” Madam Pince suddenly appeared, her eyes wide with fury as she stopped dead in her tracks, looking aghast between Harry and Ron.
Ron quickly wiped his eyes, his voice cracking. "We were just talking—”
"Talking?" she repeated, eyes narrowing. "It sounded more like you were about to knock the bookshelves over! This is a library, not your personal dueling ground! Out with you, both of you!" She waved her hands towards the door, as though swatting at a couple of flies.
He didn’t bother waiting for Harry to grab his things—why would he? As far as he was concerned, he’d said his bit, and that was that. Harry had said it himself—Ron was self-absorbed. Of course he was! That’s what happens when you’ve spent so much time being pushed to the sidelines. At some point, you’ve got to take your moment, right? Be a bit selfish, just this once. Besides, if no one else was going to look out for him, he might as well do it himself.
Ron hadn’t made it far from the library when someone grabbed his arm and turned him around.
"Come with me to the Slughorn's party tomorrow," Harry demanded, conveying a seriousness that brooked no argument.
“What—”
"Ron." Harry said, his eyes locked on Ron with a steely determination that he hadn’t seen since they’d decided to save Sirius from the Department of Mysteries.
"I can’t,” Ron said, shaking his head in frustration. "You’re not supposed to be with me. I’m not the sort of person you should be, I'm—"
"I don’t care—”
"But—" Ron started, his voice wavering.
"No," Harry interrupted, stepping closer. "You’ve got to trust me on this. I’m going to show you that you’re not losing me, so I need you to stop right there—and just be with me for once."
If Ron had been thinking straight, he likely would have laughed the whole thing off. That was his usual style—make a joke, lighten the mood, and pretend like everything was just a bit of a laugh. But this time, he was far too stunned for any of that.
"F-fine," he spluttered instead, he could feel the heat creeping down his neck and spreading like wildfire through his whole body. Harry's hand slipped away from his arm, somehow the brief contact had been oddly comforting, like a reassurance. Now, with the warmth gone, it felt like something was missing, though he wouldn’t admit it aloud.
“Sorry,” Harry muttered, letting out a heavy sigh as he ran his hand through his already unruly hair, making it stick out even more in wild tufts. “I didn’t mean to avoid you...it was just... confusing—I don’t even know why.”
Ron gave a small shrug, though the awkwardness in the air was impossible to miss. He scratched his arm, not quite sure what to do with his hands or his words. “It’s alright,” he mumbled, eyes flickering to the ground. “I’m sorry too...for not telling you anything.”
It wasn’t the grandest of apologies, but then again, they weren’t the type to dwell on long emotional speeches. The space between them felt a bit less heavy, though, and that was enough for now.
Harry took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “Right,” he said, trying to sound more composed, “how about we just put the whole argument behind us, yeah? I’ll be in the common room tomorrow at eight, does that sound alright to you?”
“Yeah,” Ron said, nodding. “Yeah, sure.”
But there was a problem.
Far worse than anything else going on at the moment.
Ron sat on the edge of his bed, looking utterly miserable as he stared at the crumpled robes lying before him. How had he not thought of this before agreeing to go with Harry to Slughorn's party? What on earth was he going to wear? The robes he had were...well, to call them shabby would be kind! He hadn’t considered the whole dress code part, and now, everyone would be dressed to impress, and here he was, stuck with robes that were barely fit for a garden gnome.
What had he been thinking!
Ron groaned, burying his face in his hands. Agreeing to go to a party without even a second thought about what he’d wear—classic Ron, really. He was all for a bit of fun, but now it was dawning on him that he'd be the laughingstock of the entire evening if he showed up in his tatty old robes. He could practically feel the embarrassment already, his cheeks burning at the mere thought.
Ron rummaged through, and pulled out a fishline sweater he hardly ever wore, along with a pair of plain trousers. It was just a party, after all—nothing as posh as a ball, just some food and a bit of mingling.
Ron squared his shoulders and peered into the bathroom mirror, combing his hair. He tried to style it, but soon realized he hadn’t the faintest idea how to get it right. After a few attempts that only made his hair look more bedraggled, he resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t exactly a hairdressing expert.
He headed downstairs just in time and spotted Harry patiently waiting for him, looking rather smartly dressed. Ron almost considered backing out entirely. His own outfit suddenly felt rather shabby by comparison, and he had to give himself a mental pep talk to keep going.
“Don’t laugh,” Ron said, his face flushing bright. “I didn’t really put much thought into what I should wear. I mean, I’ve just sort of cobbled something together, and I haven’t got an idea if my outfit is appropriate, or if I look—”
“Ron, it’s alright,” Harry interrupted, looking a bit surprised. “You’re perfectly fine—I mean, good, perfectly good, you know—”
“Rather stunning, if you ask me.” Dean sauntered in through the portrait hole, a smug grin plastering across his face as Seamus followed closely behind. “You two off somewhere then?”
"Slughorn's party," Ron answered.
Seamus's eyes lit with interest. "Oooh, so you two are an item now?" he asked.
“No!” Harry and Ron blurted out together, their faces heating up.
Dean snorted, “We’re exactly like the two of you were before, but you’ll get there eventually—”
“Look at the time!” Ron cut in sharply, giving the couple a pointed glare. “We’ll be late for the party, we’d better hurry up before we miss the fun.”
Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Ron had already tugged him out of the common room. He was keen to avoid any more trouble from Dean and was determined not to let things devolve into another bloody argument.
They managed to slip into the party just in the nick of time, though they had to push through a sea of curious glances and raised eyebrows—when they walked in, it felt like everyone’s eyes were glued to them. It was as if their entrance had turned them into the main attraction, and they had to do their best to ignore the confused and inquisitive looks as they made their way through the throng.
They immediately spotted Hermione engaged in a lively conversation with someone. Ron was momentarily speechless when he recognized who she was talking with, and before he could say anything meaningful, Harry was abruptly pulled away by Slughorn.
“Loony Lovegood?” Ron exclaimed indignantly. “Really, Hermione?”
“Hi,” Luna greeted cheerfully, her smile as calm as ever.
Hermione cast a glance at him, her eyebrow arching, “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, so I’m not permitted to be here now, am I?” Ron retorted, rolling his eyes in a show of feigned indignation.
“Well,” Hermione said, shaking her head slightly, “I’d rather invite someone I know well than a complete stranger, wouldn’t you agree? Luna seemed like a good choice—she’s genuinely interested.”
“Yes,” Luna said dreamily “It’s actually my first time being invited to something like this. It’s rather exciting to be part of such a gathering.”
Ron gave Hermione a questioning look, but she appeared entirely untroubled by the situation, so he decided it was best to drop the matter.
“Harry and I were on good terms now,” Ron said, fidgeting with the cuff of his sweater. “Though, given the circumstances, I’m sure you’re already well aware of that.”
“Oh, I was hardly in the dark,” Hermione said wryly, “I was still in the library, only about ten feet away. Your little argument was quite audible—quite an entertaining backdrop to my reading, I might add.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Ron scoffed.
“Well, I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” Hermione sighed.
Harry arrived quite late, his face flushed and a sheen of sweat visible on his brow. The raven-head seemed preoccupied, subtly shifting something into his pocket as he approached—but Ron was too distracted to notice much of anything else, having reached his third drink and now lounging in an empty chair. He stared absently at the swarms around him, who were engaged in lively conversations.
Ron had to admit he was sort of enjoying the evening, despite it being rather dull. Most of the guests were either well-known or of a higher social standing, or simply people Slughorn was acquainted with through family connections.
“Where are Hermione and, er, Luna?” Harry asked, surveying the room.
“They’ve gone to fetch some drinks,” Ron replied, still looking slightly incredulous. “How was your conversation with Slughorn?”
“It was worse than I’d hoped,” Harry replied bitterly.
“I should have gone to get some drinks for you,” Ron said, glancing around. “Do you want anything?”
“I’m coming with you,” Harry decided, pushing himself off the wall.
Luna was at the table, seemingly at ease, and for whatever reason, Hermione had already disappeared. But the Ravenclaw seemed perfectly content, happily mingling and enjoying herself, chatting away with the guests as if she'd been there all along.
“Hello, Harry,” Luna said. “You’ve got a heart-shaped Wrackspurt in your head.”
“What?” Harry asked, disconcertedly.
“D’you know where Hermione disappeared to?” Ron asked, passing Harry the drink.
“Oh, she excused herself for a bit. But don’t worry, she’ll be returning shortly.” Luna replied, her eyes still fixed on Harry’s head with a peculiar intensity. “My father used to tell me that when you’re in the company of someone you truly like, you tend to emit a special sort of aura. It’s quite fascinating, really.”
Harry choked on his own drink, his face turning an alarming shade of red.
“Err,” Ron muttered, looking embarrassed as well.
What was it with everyone assuming they were dating or something? Harry shuffled uncomfortably next to him, both of them studiously avoiding eye contact.
“You know,” Ron croaked, “I still haven’t thanked you for inviting me.”
Harry tapped his drink. “No need, really,” he said hastily. “I thought it’d be nice for you to enjoy yourself before Christmas. It’s not every day you get to have the opportunity.”
Ron looked around, as if searching for something else to say. “Yeah, well, it’s definitely been...an evening.”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, but the silence soon fell over them again.
Ron shifted, trying to break it. “What about we, er, head back?”
“Sure,” Harry replied, downing the last of his drink in one go. “Let’s get out of here.”