seating arrangement
By the time he finally arrives in Potions class, he has no one to partner up with.
Hermione doesn’t spare him a glance, too engrossed in her book. Next to her, taking up his spot, is Neville.
”Wow,” he says bitterly, frowning as he walks towards them. “Isn’t this a surprise?”
Neville stares, nervously glancing between the two of them in confusion. “Sorry, Ron,” he stammers out, fumbling with his bag. “I should’ve realized-“
”Why do you have to get up?” Hermione interjects, finally looking up from her book. She shoots him an unimpressed glare, eyes narrowing. “It’s his fault for showing up late.”
Ron raises an eyebrow at that, clenching his jaw. ”It’s not your fault, Nev,” he ends up snapping, crossing his arms. His bag shifts at the movement and he quickly readjusts the strap to stop it from falling off. “You’re not the one who didn’t save his friend a seat.”
“At least I didn’t lie to my friend,” Hermione mutters. There’s a blot of ink staining the words and she frowns, eyebrows furrowing as she viciously stabs at the paper with her quill.
Neville shifts uncomfortably, stuck between the two of them. “It’s really okay, Ron,” he says weakly, moving to grab his belongings. “I can find another seat.”
“No need,” the redhead says, waving him off. He tugs at his hair, patience wearing thin when he notices Hermione looking back down at her book. “You’re already here, anyways.”
He ignores Nevilles protests, and throwing them one last glance, turns around. His eyes flit over the tables and he groans internally, watching as the other Slytherin students stare at him mockingly, until he finally spots an empty seat. Just my luck, he thinks, walking over.
“Let me sit here,” he demands, staring down at Malfoy. “I’d rather sit with you than Potter.”
Malfoy gapes at him. “Granger finally dumped you, huh?” He sneers, words lacking the usual venom. Crabbe and Goyle laugh uproariously and the blonde coughs, trying to regain his composure. “Besides, if you haven’t already noticed, Weasley , these seats are already occupied.”
“Make them move elsewhere, then,” Ron says, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like Crabbe and Goyle help you make the potions, anyways.”
The blonde pauses, considering his words. “Well…it’s not like you’re wrong but-“
”But what, Draco?” A voice says from behind them and Malfoy’s face goes pale.
The redhead presses his lips into a straight line, shoulders tensing. He takes in a shaky breath, refusing to turn around. “I’m better at Potions than either Crabbe and Goyle and you know it,” he says, praying his voice doesn’t waver. “And it’s better for you, anyways.”
“If you’re that worried, you can just sit with me,” Potter murmurs softly, an amused chuckle escaping his lips. “What better partner than the Boy Who Lived, right?”
Ron feels a shiver run down his spine, ears burning. “You don’t really want to sit with me, do you?” He finally says, turning around. He looks up, brushing his hair out of his face.
”I’d rather not sit with Crabbe or Goyle,” the Slytherin replies, shrugging. “And besides, I’m more afraid that Draco might poison you if you guys team up. ”
Before Ron can respond, a nearby cough makes them jump apart. “I see our resident Gryffindor has decided to disrupt my class again ,” Snape drawls out. He eyes the two of them with barely hidden disdain, and Ron lets out a barely suppressed sigh of relief when Potter steps away.
“Ten points from Gryffindor, then, for your inability to follow simple instructions,” he continued, muffled groans echoing from the right side of the classroom. “Well? Are you going to stand there all day?”
“Of course, Professor,” Ron replies through gritted teeth, reluctantly taking the seat next to Potter. He bites his cheek, trying to control his temper.
”You should’ve just sat here from the beginning,” he whispers when Snape turns around, lips tugging up into a smirk. “But you just had to go make a fuss to Malfoy, didn’t you?”
“Shut up,” Ron hisses, elbowing the black haired boy. “If you hadn’t shown up then-“
He trails off when Potter catches his arm, the touch causing him to momentarily stumble over his words.
“Then what?” Potter encourages, fingers interlocking with his. Ron shivers at the contact. “What would have happened, Ron?”
The redhead scowls at the mention of his name and shoves him away, glaring fiercely.
“Don’t make me regret this,” he threatens weakly, ignoring the way his cheeks flush at the lingering warmth.
The Slytherin lets him go, a playful glint in his eyes. “Of course. Just put your trust in me.”
Ron hopes he doesn’t regret this.