Chapter 6
Ron darted his eyes around the library, as if he were about to pull off a heist rather than sit down. Once he was certain no prying eyes—or worse, Madam Pince—were on him, he sighed with relief. Well, no one except Hermione, who was already giving him that firm, unimpressed look she usually reserved for his most ridiculous moments. Feeling about as graceful as a Blast-Ended Skrewt, he awkwardly slid into the chair across from her, fidgeting like he’d just sat in something unpleasant.
He grabbed the nearest stack of books Hermione had gathered and built a makeshift wall in front of him.
“Oi,” He lowered his voice to a whisper, leaning in conspiratorially. "Have you seen Harry around?" He peered nervously over the top of his book fort, as if half-expecting the raven-head to burst through the library doors any second.
"Yes, I am," Hermione snapped, she didn’t even bother to look up from her work, clearly irritated. "He was here about an hour ago looking for you, but you were off Merlin knows where! I’ve already wasted too much time in conversation with him, so unless this is an emergency—I suggest you find Harry yourself and—”
"Bloody hell, calm down, will you?" Ron said, startled. “Just—don’t tell him I’ve been here, yeah? I’ll find him later, no rush. Just...keep it under wraps.”
Since their conversation in the Hospital Wing, he had been a nervous wreck whenever the raven-head was around. No matter how hard he tried to push it out of his mind, the memory of their exchange kept surfacing—and, every time Harry showed up, Ron's stomach would tie itself in knots, and he'd then suddenly become obsessed with the most inconsequential of things—like obsessively complaining about Snape or examining the patterns on the Common Room carpet.
Dean had told him, together with Seamus, that Harry was in love, but had found it ridiculous, something that seemed far too outlandish to be taken seriously.
“He’s not queer,” Ron said, dismissively. “Or like me. He’s just doing all this because he thinks he needs to.”
“So, out of pity then, because you’re different?” Seamus asked, sprawled out on Dean’s bed like an eagle, looking thoroughly relaxed.
"I don’t know," Ron replied wearily, glancing at Dean as if hoping for some clarity.
"I seriously think he was in love with you, mate.” Dean shrugged.
Still, Ron refused to think about it. The idea that Harry might actually be in love with him was just too much for him to process. It wasn’t that he thought it was bad; it was just…he didn’t know how to handle it.
"But then you told us that he kissed you back when he thought you were under a love potion?" Dean continued, clearly finding the situation quite amusing.
“Maybe because he thought he had no choice?” Ron suggested, trying to downplay the whole thing.
“Mate, if he had no choice, he’d probably call it an assault,” Seamus said, shaking his head as if it were Ron’s fault. “But it sounds like Harry actually enjoyed it. He only stopped when you called him ‘Romilda’—which, honestly, was a bit of a mess-up. Imagine snogging someone and calling them the wrong name."
“It wasn’t my fault, alright?” Ron said, glaring at them. “Alright, maybe I did eat those chocolate cauldrons, but I don’t want him to like me. Like, why would he? I’m not exactly the most likeable bloke, am I? I mean, just look at me—why would anyone, let alone Harry, fancy someone like me?”
Dean and Seamus glanced at each other, as if they had the answer but weren’t quite sure how to say it.
Ron excused himself, grumbling that the couple seemed more interested in each other than in listening to his bloody moaning about why he wasn’t likeable. He decided it was best to leave them be and get away from his own self-pity.
So here he was with Hermione, battling to get his homework done. He was rushing through it, practically breaking the quill in his hurry, as if Harry's return was a looming storm cloud that’d burst if he didn't finish in time.
"Shite!" he exclaimed frantically when he spotted a familiar figure strolling into the library. Ron hastily shoved the parchment into his bag, before disappearing through the shelves.
So, it turned out that his grand plan to avoid Harry wasn't quite as clever as he’d thought. It was practically impossible, especially with Hermione around. They seemed to be stuck like glue these days, always ending up in the same places at the same times. It was as if the universe had decided that sticking together was the rule of the day.
Ron decided that the best course of action was to simply ignore Harry when he was around. He threw himself into his homework with an almost inconceivable focus, pretending to be completely absorbed, giving himself the space he needed to think things through without having to confront the issue directly.
Honestly, could they ever stay away from each other? It seemed utterly impossible. Every time they had to meet Hermione for class or pair up for anything, it was always him and Harry, without fail. Almost as if the universe had conspired to keep them together. Not that Ron minded, of course. In fact, if he were completely truthful, he didn’t fancy pairing with anyone else.
He’d tried it once, with Neville. Yeah, that was a mistake, he mused, grimacing at the memory. Actually, the bloke wasn’t that same coward eleven-year-old anymore, was he? Ro had to admit, he could see the bravery in Neville now. How couldn’t he, really? After all, Neville had joined them when they went to save Sirius, hadn’t he? Showed real guts, that one.
As for Dean and Seamus? Absolutely not. Ron couldn't ever imagine teaming up with them. There was something about the way those two were always so...well, close.He never quite knew how to handle them when they were together, all their private jokes and whispered conversations.
No, it was far simpler sticking with Harry, even if they weren't exactly on speaking terms. At least with Harry, Ron knew what he was in for. Better the devil you know, as the saying goes. Even when things were tense between them—with the raven-head, everything felt a bit more predictable, less...whatever it was Dean and Seamus had going on.
There was just something about Harry that set him apart. Maybe it was because they’d been through so much together, or maybe it was just the way Harry handled things—like he always knew exactly what to do, even when he didn’t.
The only real difference was that—the git seemed to get a bit sloppy whenever Ron was around. It was as if, suddenly, all of Harry’s focus was on him—undeterred and unwavering, like he was the only person in the room, and didn’t care one bit if Hermione was still nattering on in the background.
He could feel the weight of it, like Harry was listening to every word he said, even when he wasn’t saying much at all. It was a bit...unnerving. Not bad, just different. As if, for those moments, nothing else mattered to Harry. And Ron, well, he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about being the centre of that much attention.
"Don’t look at me," Ron muttered, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. He knew he was blushing—brilliant. The last thing he wanted was anyone looking at him like that, especially not Harry. It made his stomach do a strange sort of flip, one he wasn’t too fond of.
Harry frowned, "I’m not looking at you," he said, though his gaze didn’t exactly move away.
Ron’s blush deepened. “I’m going to the bathroom,” He couldn’t bear sitting there any longer with Harry staring at him like that, even if the raven-head claimed he wasn’t.
Hermione, who had been in the middle of an argument with Harry about the Half-Blood Prince, didn’t even bother to look up. She merely crossed her arms, clearly annoyed, and muttered something under her breath. Ron figured she hadn’t noticed a thing—or maybe she just didn’t care. Either way, it was as good a time as any to make his exit.
“I’m coming with you,” Harry blurted out.
“No!” Ron said, panicking a bit more than he intended. “You've got to stay!”
“Why?”
“Dean,” Ron replied, and Harry’s face fell on. “Sorry—”
So that was when it all began, when he started using Dean as an excuse. Of course, he had a backup plan. If the bloke wasn’t available to use at that moment, he’d have to go with someone else. Neville was a decent choice—reliable enough, even if he wasn’t the first pick. Ron had even considered Zacharias Smith as a last resort, though he wasn’t too keen on the idea. It was all about finding a way out of the situation, and he was ready to grab at any option that came his way.
Unfortunately, Harry—he had figured that Ron was about to pull the same stunt again, so the very next day, the raven-head cornered him in the hallway just as he was about to head to their next class.
“Stop it,”
“What do you mean?” Ron asked, trying to sound casual but not quite managing it.
“Don’t try and dodge it,” Harry said annoyingly. “You’re avoiding me, aren’t you? What’s going on?”
“I’m not avoiding you.” Ron grumbled. “I’ve just been busy with stuff.”
“Busy with what? You’ve been disappearing like you’re deliberately trying to stay out of my way.”
“Yeah, maybe I am, but so what?” Ron crossed his arms defensively. “I’ve got my reasons, alright?”
“Is this about what happened back then?” Harry asked, searching for his expression “If that’s the case, then I’m still standing by the fact that I like you.”
“Oh, come on!” Ron’s face went pink. “It was just a heat-of-the-moment thing, Harry! Nothing that serious! And besides, you’re not even gay!”
“Ron—”
“No,” Ron responded flatly, not missing a beat, his expression deadpan.
“Alright then,” Harry said, narrowing his eyes. “What makes someone gay, if it’s not just about saying you fancy someone?” His gaze was intense, searching, as if he were telling Ron to explain how he could possibly understand something so deeply personal without truly experiencing it himself.
Ron’s face scrunched up as he wracked his brain, trying to dredge up anything Dean had ever rambled on regarding this sort of thing. But no, the bloody git only ever seemed interested in talking about one thing—eurgh—sex. Not exactly the kind of wisdom he needed right now. Romance? Feelings? Yeah, not a single useful nugget to be found in all of Dean’s countless rants.
“Just don't even think about saying that you fancy me in that way, alright?” Ron said, weakly.
Harry took a measured step back, his face taut with barely concealed hurt. “So, that’s it then, is it?” he asked, “The reason why you’re behaving like this?”
Ron’s eyes widened, “What? No, Harry, that’s not—”
“You don’t like me,” Harry said, almost as if he’d already come to terms with it before the conversation even started. “Is that what this is all about?”
“I didn’t say anything about not liking you—”
“You just bloody did, Ron,” Harry said, eyes flashing with hurt. “You’ve made it clear.”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“Yes, it is!” Harry interrupted, his voice climbing with frustration. “It’s always about how you see things, isn't it?
Ron flinched, his face paling as if he’d been slapped. “That’s not fair, Harry. I’m just—”
“Not fair?” Harry cut him off sharply, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, trembling with anger. "Not fair? I’m here, trying to be honest, trying to open up, and what do I get in return? This! I’m standing here, Ron, practically tearing my heart out, and you’re so wrapped up in your own fucking issues that you can’t even see what this is doing to me!"
They stared at each other, both of them were breathless and faces flushed with a storm of conflicting emotions, “I just don’t want to—to hurt you, Harry." Ron admitted, shamely.
“Ron, you’re not—”
“I'm sorry," Ron brushed past Harry and giving his shoulder a brief, almost regretful touch. Before the raven-head could even call his name, he had already disappeared down the corridor.
The two of them didn’t exchange a single word the next day, nor the day after that—and before Ron even realised what was happening, a whole week had already crept by. It felt like the longer the silence stretched, the bigger the gap between them grew. It was as though he was waiting for Harry to make the first move, but deep down, he knew it had to be him. Yet, every time the chance came, his throat tightened, and the words just wouldn’t come.
Ron didn’t want Harry—or anyone, for that matter—to like him. He felt different enough as it was, and the thought of others discovering how he felt made him shudder. He imagined them laughing at him, mocking him for his vulnerability, and the very idea of it made him cringe.
His mum would probably be furious if she knew, possibly even disowning him. The fear of that reaction, of being cast out from the family he cared so deeply about, made his heart race with anxiety. He was already struggling with his own sense of self; the last thing he needed was to add to that burden with more ridicule or rejection.
He felt so wrong.
Ron lay there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling as though it might suddenly offer some sort of answer to why he couldn’t sleep. The dormitory was cloaked in near silence, broken only by the soft rustling coming from Neville’s bed, sheets shifting every now and then. Aside from that, there was nothing—just a stillness that seemed to press in from all sides. He huffed quietly, pulling his blanket higher, feeling slightly irritated by it all. His mind wouldn't stop racing, bouncing from one thought to the next, none of them particularly helpful.
Maybe he should talk to someone about this. The thought flickered in his mind, though he quickly dismissed the idea of going to Dean or Seamus. They weren’t exactly the types for heart-to-hearts, were they? Dean would probably just shrug it off, and Seamus—well, Seamus would probably make some joke about needing a good night’s sleep, which wouldn’t help at all.
No, talking to them wouldn't do much good. Still, the nagging feeling wouldn’t leave him alone. He needed to talk to someone.
He then sat up, careful not to make too much noise, reaching quietly for his trunk at the foot of his bed. There was a strange restlessness stirring inside him—not quite unwell, but certainly unsettled. His hand fumbled about until it found a small, worn piece of parchment, the corners creased from countless nights like this.
Ron began rummaging for his ink and quill, his fingers brushing past old textbooks and forgotten Chocolate Frog wrappers. It wasn’t that he had anything particularly urgent to write, but doing something—anything—felt better than just lying there, staring into the darkness.
What about Bill? Ron’s thoughts shifted. Bill would always listen, wouldn’t he? He wasn’t like the twins, always quick with a joke or prank. No, Bill had a way of taking him seriously, of giving proper advice when it was needed. His brother never made him feel small or silly for having a problem, and he certainly wouldn’t laugh at him for something like this.
He leaned back slightly, thinking it over. Bill had always been the one he could turn to when things felt off. The idea of writing to him now felt...comforting. He might not have the answers, but at least he wouldn’t make Ron feel like a right idiot for asking.
He began writing, careful to choose his words in a way that wouldn’t, of course, reveal the real reason for his unease. There was no way he was about to tell Bill he was gay, or that he fancied blokes. Not yet, at least. That conversation felt miles away, something he wasn’t ready to put into words—not even on parchment.
Instead, he started with something vague, keeping it light, as if he was just feeling a bit off lately. “Hey, Bill,” he scribbled, “been a bit restless these days. Dunno why, but I’ve been having trouble sleeping.” He paused, tapping the quill against his chin. That sounded normal enough, didn’t it? A safe way to reach out without saying too much.
Ron sighed, continuing the letter, hoping Bill would catch on, even if he wasn’t saying the whole truth.
He waited for a reply the next day, his nerves on edge, though he tried not to show it. Of course, he wasn’t sitting with Harry and Hermione at breakfast—not today. He didn’t feel like being dragged into their usual chatter, especially when they seemed so wrapped up in their own conversation. They barely even noticed his absence. Even at lunch, the two of them were lost in some intense discussion, heads close together, completely oblivious to the world around them.
Ron poked at his food absentmindedly, his mind drifting back to the letter. Would Bill write back quickly? What would he say?
The letter didn’t show up until after two days, and Ron was practically hovering by the courtyard's arched alcove, when Pigwidgeon finally arrived. The little owl fluttered in with its usual cheer, chirping away as if it had just brought the most exciting news. Regardless of the bird’s unrelenting enthusiasm, which might have been irritating under different circumstances, he found it oddly reassuring. It was a bit embarrassing, really, how much he relied on that tiny owl to brighten his day.
Ron hurriedly tore open the letter, his fingers almost fumbling with the parchment as he unfolded it.
Dear Ron,
I’m sorry if I didn’t get back to you earlier this morning. I’m really glad you wrote to me. I hope everything’s going well at Hogwarts. Do let me know how things are going when you have a chance.
I also noticed you mentioned you’ve been having trouble sleeping. That sounds rough. If there’s anything specific troubling you, don’t hesitate to share. Sometimes just talking it out can make a difference. If you’re comfortable, let me know what’s been on your mind. It’s perfectly alright to reach out when you’re feeling a bit off.
Looking forward to hearing from you soon.
Best wishes,
Bill
He then sighed in relief, feeling the weight lift from his shoulders. Just as he’d hoped, the letter was exactly what he needed to hear.
"Hello,"
Ron nearly jumped at the sound of the voice. He quickly stuffed the letter back into his robes and spun around to find Loony—Luna Lovegood standing there.
“Merlin,” Ron said, scowling at her. “Has anyone ever told you not to sneak up on people like that?”
Luna smiled with a serene expression. “Oh, sorry,” she said, while looking around thoughtfully “I was looking for Ginny. She mentioned something quite fascinating she wanted to show me, but it seems I’ve missed her somehow. I do hope she’s not been caught up with the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks again.”
Ron snorted, “Well, my sister would probably manage it on her own,”
“Don’t say that,” Luna replied earnestly. “They’re quite friendly and wouldn’t harm anyone! They just wanted some company, and I hope Ginny doesn’t scare them away.”
“Right,” Ron said awkwardly. “D’you, erm, want me to find her?”
“Oh, no need,” Luna said. “I think she’s probably forgotten about it anyway.”
“Sure,” Ron was already starting to back away. “Err, good conversation, Luna. I think I’ve got to go—”
“Oh, are we heading in the same direction?” Luna asked, her tone as airy as ever. “If so, could we go together?”
Ron found himself walking alongside Luna, and he struggled to come to terms with the fact that he was indeed in her company, anyone who saw them together would probably have a good laugh.
“You know,” Luna said after a moment of silence, “I think it was rather nice.”
“What?” Ron asked, not bothering to look at her. He quickened his pace slightly, hoping that anyone passing by wouldn’t think he was with her.
“We’re both quite different, aren’t we?” Luna said, “It’s not always easy being seen as odd, but sometimes it helps to know someone else is feeling a bit out of place too.”
Ron stopped in his tracks and turned to scowl at her. “Are you saying I’m weird, then?”
“Oh, no!” Luna said, her eyes widening with genuine surprise. “I wasn’t saying that at all. I think you’re quite wonderful, actually. I just meant that we’re both a bit different from everyone else, and sometimes that makes us feel like we don’t quite fit in.”
Ron stared at Luna before shaking his head. “You’d probably just see me as another one of those oddballs who hang around you. It’s like everyone who’s with you ends up looking a bit strange in other people’s eyes.”
“Ginny’s not an oddball,” Luna said, her brow furrowing slightly. “She’s always been very kind to me.”
“Fine,” Ron said with a huff, clearly irritated. “Think what you want, but everyone thinks you’re weird, and so do I. That’s all there is to it.” Just as he was about to walk away, he heard footsteps approaching from behind and felt a sudden jolt of panic.
Ron was already pulling Luna down the corridor, and they ended up at the far end of the hall, where he finally slowed down, panting heavily from the rush.
“I don’t understand why we ran,” Luna said, looking genuinely puzzled.
“Because I don’t want anyone seeing me with you!” Ron exclaimed, his face turning a deep shade of red. “It’s just...it’s a bit embarrassing, alright? I didn’t want anyone thinking I’m, you know, hanging around with you for some reason.”
“But we're friends—”
“No, we're not.”
“Oh,” Luna said, her voice dropping sadly. “Why?”
Ron immediately felt guilty. “N-no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he mumbled, feeling a bit ashamed. “I just—well, you know how it is, sometimes it’s hard when people start talking!”
“Harry didn’t seem to think it was wrong to spend time with me,” Luna said softly.
“Because he’s Harry Potter!” Ron said, his frustration growing. “It’s not the same with him as it is with me. He’s got a reputation, and people see things differently with him.”
“But you’re still here with me,” Luna said, “That counts as you spending time with me, doesn’t it? It’s a bit like when people see the beauty in the peculiar, just like Ginny did with me.”
“Why do you keep mentioning my sister?” Ron groaned. “Do you like her that much?”
“I like her. She’s very kind and interesting! I couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful it would be if we could live together. It’s such a comforting thought, really.”
“Excuse me, what?” Ron asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “You want to live with her?”
“Yes,” Luna replied, “Can’t we live together?”
“Well,” Ron said, wiping his brow, “I suppose you can, of course. I mean, it’s just—” He fumbled with his words, trying to make sense of the situation and find a way to address it without seeming too uncomfortable. “It’s just a bit… unexpected, that’s all.”
“I also want to have children with her—”
Ron choked, doubling over and pounding his chest as he tried to catch his breath. “You what—”