Chapter Text
When Ron met Harry on the train he was honestly just happy to have a friend. Then when Hermione joined them he finally felt like he had something of his own. Not a hand-me down, but something new.
That was until Ron messed everything up in 4th year. He knows Harry didn’t put his name in the goblet, so why did he act like he did? Ron doesn’t know why he’s feeling so jealous, or maybe he does. It doesn’t matter he’ll just have to find a way out of this hole he dug.
Ron thought he was gonna apologize in the dorm, but he just ended up lashing out again. He doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe he’s just broken and won’t ever do anything right.
When Ron woke up the next morning he knew it wasn't gonna be a good day. He had double potions in the morning then DADA, and then care. All of those he has with Harry. He just wants his best friend, but he messed it up. So he’ll just avoid him.
He got up from his bed and threw on his uniform after brushing his teeth. He then heads down to breakfast. Ron decides to sit with Hermione because he doesn’t want to ruin things further. After all, he was just being dramatic.
He could barely eat anything at breakfast, so he decided to go to potions. Where he sits next to Harry, or so he thought. When Ron walked into class he saw Harry sitting with Dean and an open spot next to Seamus. Ron doesn’t know why that hurts so bad. He heads to the spot and takes a seat next to Seamus.
“Ya know you better fix this problem,” Seamus says to Ron. “I wanna be next to Dean.”
“Just piss off Seamus,” Ron says, rather rudely too. He doesn’t understand why nothing ever comes out right.
The rest of the potions class was fine, and it was now a free period for Ron. It was for Harry too. Ron decided he should talk to Harry and apologise. He spots Harry and the corridor and speeds up to catch him.
“Hey Harry,” Ron says, his voice a little more vulnerable then he would want. Harry turns and faces him. “Could we talk please?” It took a second before Harry responded.
“Fine,” he says. Ron then leads them to a more private part of the corridor.
“I just wanna say I'm sorry.” He pauses before continuing. “I was being shitty and I know you didn’t put your name in. I don’t know why I was such a dick and I’m so sorry.” Ron rambles out quickly. Harry just stares at him for a while. “Harry?” Ron wonders if he said something wrong again, was the apology that bad? What if their friendshi–. Before Ron can finish that thought, Harry hugs him.
“I forgive you.” That’s all he says. Ron relaxes and hugs back. “I’m glad you’re aware you were being a dick.” Ron lets out a small laugh.
“Yeah, well there's a first time for everything,” Ron says which makes Harry laugh as he pulls back from the hug. He then looks at Ron like something is wrong and he makes a face. “What?” Ron asks.
“Are you ok?” Harry asks with concern in his voice. Ron is confused as to why Harry is asking. Of course he’s ok why wouldn’t he be.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Do you wanna go to the library? Maybe Hermione is there.” Ron asks, trying to change the subject. But if he’s ok then why does he want to change the subject so bad? Harry luckily, even after another concerned look agrees.
When they get to the library of course Hermione is already there. She looks up and is surprised to see them together. Ron thinks it’s because whenever he is fighting with someone it takes him a long time to apologise.
“Oh, I see you two made up.” She says.
“Yeah, this git realised he was wrong rather quickly.” Harry says in a humorous tone. Which makes both Ron and Hermione chuckle a bit. They quickly get going on their usual routine in the library.
By the time it’s dinner Ron realises he hasn’t eaten much all day, and he still isn’t hungry. He notices Harry and Hermione shooting him with worried looks, but pretends not to notice. He’s fine, just not hungry. But his friends don’t think so.
“Ronald, are you sure you’re feeling alright? You’ve hardly eaten all day.” Hermione asks him. She looks very worried. Ron doesn’t understand it.
“Yeah, I’m fine, don't worry. My stomach must just be a bit off today.” Ron says. Hermione thinks about that response for a bit then reluctantly accepts it. The rest of dinner and the day in general is nothing special.
As the trio is walking back to the common room they run into Malfoy and his friends. His aren’t Crabbe and Goyle instead there’s Parkinson and a tall, dark skinned handsome boy. Handsome? No, Ron doesn’t think that, it's a slytherin, a slytherin who’s friends with Malfoy. But he knows who that is, why can’t he remember the name, whatever doesn't matter. Ron really doesn’t want to deal with this he thinks as Harry and Malfoy start their routine. He looks over and notices that the boy is staring at him, and for some weird reason he stares back. What is his name?
After a second he looks back at Harry and asks “Can we just go mate? I don’t want to deal with this right now.” Hermione gives Ron a weird look. Normally Ron would love the chance to take a stab at Malfoy or a slytherin is general. He looks at Harry and he has the same look on his face. For some weird reason so does Malfoy.
“See Potter, even the weasel doesn’t want to deal with you.” Malfoy says to Harry.
“I'm fine dealing with Harry, Malfoy.” Ron says, “It’s you who’s the nuisance. So why don’t you just leave.” Ron doesn’t think he’s ever had that tone before. He’s never sounded so snappy. Malfoy and his friends just stand there for a moment. Ron looks over at the boy, Zabini. That’s his name. He looks shocked and as he looks at everyone he realises they're all staring at him like he's crazy. Eventually the slytherins leave, but for some reason Zabini winks, winks at Ron. Then Ron blushes just a bit, then Zabini just smirks at him before leaving with Malfoy and Parkinson.
Ron turns to his friends before he is bombarded with questions from them. For a second Ron thought they were mad, but there worried he supposes he has been off all day, he doesn’t know why.
“Ron, are you sure you're ok? You've never been like this before. Do you need to see Pomfrey?” Hermione asks him, but Ron doesn’t need to see Pomfrey. He’ll be fine in the morning, right? Yeah in the morning everything will be normal. He doesn’t realise he’s been in his head until Hermione grabs his wrist and starts dragging him the direction of the hospital wing.
“Wait, Hemione, Harry, I’m ok. I think today is just an off day. I’ll be good tomorrow.” Ron says hoping they’ll buy it. He honestly hopes he’ll buy it too.
“No mate, something's wrong. I agree with Hermione, let's go see Pomfrey.” Harry says. Now Ron has no choice with his two friends both practically dragging him to the wing. He really thinks he’s ok. Maybe he hasn't been eating today, or all week. But maybe he’s just getting sick, or it’s all gonna be ok with a good night's rest. Before he can say that they're already at the hospital wing.
Harry and Hermione explain what's wrong to Pomfrey. The list actually seems quite long. Ron didn't think he was acting that differently. Before he can think about it he’s drawn back to reality.
“See just like that, he just disappears into his head,” Hermione says. “He’s hardly eating, Harry says he isn’t sleeping. He isn’t himself and his energy is different.” Madam Pomfrey looks at Ron for a moment before ushering him to a bed. She does a couple diagnoses spells before rushing off to grab some potions. Ron looks over at Harry and Hermione who look very worried.
“Why are you guys so worried?” Did he miss something, it looks like something is seriously wrong.
“Ron, mate, you're not yourself. You're normally energetic and smiley. You have the appetite of a troll. But for the past couple of weeks you’ve just shut off. You’re always in your head, you hardly eat, and for some reason you're actually studying.” Harry says. But that can't be true, weeks? No it’s just been today right? “See! You’re doing it right now. You’re not ok Ron. Stop acting like you are.”
Before Ron can respond Pomfrey comes back with a potion. “Mr. Weasley, when is the last time you ate a full meal? Or slept through the night?” Ron couldn’t answer because he didn’t know. He didn’t know. How could this have happened? “Do you not know?” Madam Pomfrey asks. Ron just nods. “I see, well take this potion you’ll be sleeping here tonight. It’s just a potion that will make you sleepy.” She says
Ron reluctantly takes the potion. It didn't taste so bad, just a bit bitter. He soon found himself drifting into a peaceful deep sleep.
When Ron woke, the morning light was filtering through the hospital wing windows in a way that felt both foreign and familiar. For the first time in what must have been weeks, he felt rested. The fog that had been clouding his mind seemed thinner, though not entirely gone.
Madam Pomfrey appeared at his bedside almost immediately, as if she'd been watching for signs of consciousness. "Good morning, Mr. Weasley. How are you feeling?"
Ron opened his mouth to say "fine" out of habit, but stopped himself. How was he feeling? The question seemed more complicated than it should be. "I don't know," he admitted quietly. "Better than yesterday, I think."
She nodded, seeming satisfied with his honesty. "You've been dealing with quite a bit of stress, Mr. Weasley. More than your body could handle, it seems. The mind and body are connected in ways most young wizards don't understand." She handed him a small vial of pale blue liquid. "This is a calming draught. It won't solve everything, but it should help level you out while we work on getting you properly nourished and rested again."
Ron took it without argument, which surprised even himself. The potion tasted like peppermint and settled warmly in his chest.
"Your friends are outside," Madam Pomfrey said, a hint of fondness in her usually stern voice. "They've been here since dawn. Shall I let them in?"
Ron nodded, and moments later Harry and Hermione burst through the doors. Hermione's eyes were red-rimmed, and Harry looked like he hadn't slept at all despite not being the one in the hospital bed.
"Ron!" Hermione rushed to his side, then seemed to catch herself, hovering uncertainly. "How are you feeling? Are you alright? Madam Pomfrey said you needed rest and that you've been—"
"Hermione," Harry cut in gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Let him breathe."
Ron felt something crack open in his chest. These were his friends. His best friends. And he'd been so lost in his own head that he hadn't even noticed how much he was worrying them.
"I'm sorry," Ron said, his voice rougher than he expected. "I didn't realize. I didn't know it had been that bad."
Harry sat down on the edge of the bed. "Mate, you scared us. When's the last time you remember eating properly?"
Ron tried to think back. The memories felt slippery, like trying to hold water in his hands. "I remember breakfast yesterday morning. Sort of. But before that..." He trailed off, genuinely uncertain.
"Ron, you've barely touched your food in two weeks," Hermione said softly, sitting on his other side. "And you've been so quiet. You just sort of... disappeared."
The Tournament. The argument. The jealousy that had eaten at him like acid. Ron had been so consumed by his own inadequacy, his own feelings of being overlooked and undervalued, that he'd stopped taking care of himself entirely. He'd been so focused on what he wasn't—not brave like Harry, not smart like Hermione, not special or chosen or anything—that he'd forgotten to just be Ron.
"I was jealous," he admitted, staring at his hands. "Of Harry and the Tournament. But it wasn't really about that, was it? It's never really been about that."
Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. "What do you mean?" Harry asked carefully.
"I'm always going to be just Ron, aren't I?" The words tumbled out before he could stop them. "I've got five brothers who've all done something brilliant, and a little sister who's braver than all of us. My best friend is literally the most famous wizard in the world, and my other best friend is the smartest witch of our age. And I'm just... Ron. The spare. The sidekick. The one who's always there but never really matters."
"That's not true," Hermione said fiercely, grabbing his hand. "Ron, that's not true at all."
"You matter," Harry said, his voice thick with emotion. "Mate, you matter so much. You're the one who kept me sane when I was stuck with the Dursleys every summer. You're the one who made me feel like I had a family. You taught me how to play chess, how to laugh at myself, how to be a normal teenager instead of just 'the Boy Who Lived.' Without you, I'd have gone mad years ago."
"And you're the one who makes me remember that there's more to life than books and studying," Hermione added. "You helped me make friends, Ron. Real friends. You see people—really see them—in a way most people don't. You're loyal and funny and brave, even when you don't think you are."
Ron felt his eyes burning. He wanted to argue, to point out all the ways they were wrong, but Madam Pomfrey's calming draught was making it harder to spiral into those dark thoughts. Instead, he just sat there, letting their words wash over him.
"I think," he said slowly, "I think I need help. Real help. Not just potions."
Hermione squeezed his hand. "That's very mature of you, Ron. And brave."
"Professor Dumbledore has a mind healer who consults with the school," Harry offered. "Maybe Madam Pomfrey could arrange something?"
The thought of talking to someone about his feelings made Ron want to crawl under the hospital bed, but he forced himself to nod. "Yeah. Okay."
They sat in silence for a moment, the three of them together like they always were. Ron felt the tightness in his chest begin to ease, just slightly.
"So," he said, trying for a lighter tone, "did I miss anything important yesterday?"
Harry and Hermione both laughed, the sound breaking the tension. "Well," Hermione said, "you did tell off Malfoy in a way I've never heard before. It was quite impressive, actually."
Ron felt his face heat up, remembering the encounter. And remembering the way Zabini had looked at him. Had winked at him. The blush that had crept up his neck.
"Yeah, well, someone had to," Ron muttered, but he couldn't quite meet their eyes.
Harry raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. "Is that why you were blushing?"
"I wasn't blushing!"
"You definitely were," Hermione said, her own smile emerging. "When Zabini winked at you."
Ron groaned and pulled the hospital blanket over his head. "Can we not?"
Their laughter was warm and familiar, and for the first time in weeks, Ron felt like maybe—just maybe—everything was going to be okay. He still had a long way to go, but at least he wouldn't be walking that path alone.
Three days had passed since Ron's stay in the hospital wing, and while he felt physically better—Madam Pomfrey had made sure of that with her regiment of nutritional potions and enforced meal schedules—the mental fog hadn't entirely lifted. It was like wading through water; everything took more effort than it should.
He'd started seeing the mind healer, a kind witch named Healer Marlowe who visited Hogwarts twice a week. She asked him questions that made him uncomfortable, made him think about things he'd rather shove down and ignore. But she also didn't push when he couldn't find the words, which Ron appreciated more than he could say.
The problem was, he still couldn't really talk about how he felt. Not properly. Every time he tried to explain the hollow ache in his chest or the way his thoughts sometimes spiraled into dark places, the words got stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth. It was easier to just say "I'm fine" or "getting better," even when it wasn't entirely true.
Harry and Hermione were being patient with him, but Ron could see the worry in their eyes every time he went quiet or pushed food around his plate without eating. They were trying so hard to help, and he loved them for it, but sometimes their concern felt suffocating.
That's why Ron found himself wandering the castle alone after dinner on Friday evening. He'd told Harry and Hermione he needed to grab a book from the library, which was only half a lie. Mostly, he just needed space to breathe without feeling like someone was watching to make sure he didn't break.
The library was nearly empty at this hour, most students either at dinner or already back in their common rooms. Ron walked aimlessly through the stacks, not really looking for anything in particular. His fingers trailed along the spines of books, the familiar smell of parchment and dust oddly comforting.
He ended up in a corner near the Restricted Section, tucked away behind several tall shelves. There was a window seat there that most people didn't know about, and Ron sank into it gratefully, staring out at the darkening grounds.
"Hiding, Weasley?"
Ron's head snapped up, his hand instinctively reaching for his wand before he recognized the voice. Blaise Zabini stood a few feet away, leaning against a bookshelf with an unreadable expression on his face.
"I'm not hiding," Ron said defensively, then immediately felt stupid. He was absolutely hiding.
Zabini's lips quirked into a small smile. "Right. And I'm not avoiding Draco's incessant complaining about the Tournament." He moved closer, gesturing to the other end of the window seat. "May I?"
Ron should have said no. Should have made some excuse and left. But there was something about the way Zabini asked—polite but not pitying—that made Ron nod instead.
Zabini sat down, leaving a respectable distance between them. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. It should have been awkward, sitting in silence with a Slytherin, but somehow it wasn't.
"I heard you were in the hospital wing," Zabini said eventually, his voice quiet. "Potter and Granger looked rather worried."
Ron tensed. "Yeah, well. I'm fine now."
"Are you?"
The question was so direct, so devoid of the usual Slytherin cunning or mockery, that Ron found himself actually considering it instead of automatically deflecting.
"I don't know," he admitted quietly, surprising himself. "I'm supposed to be getting better. Everyone keeps asking if I'm okay, and I keep saying yes because that's what they want to hear. But I don't really know how to tell if I'm okay or not anymore."
Zabini was quiet for a moment, his dark eyes studying Ron's face. "That's honest, at least."
"Yeah, well. Don't expect it to become a habit." Ron tried for humor but it fell flat.
"You know," Zabini said slowly, "everyone thinks Slytherins have it easy. That we're all confident and cunning and always know what we're doing." He paused, looking out the window. "But sometimes I think we're just better at pretending. Wearing masks until we forget what's underneath them."
Ron glanced at him, surprised. "Why are you telling me this?"
Zabini shrugged, a gesture that was almost vulnerable. "Because you looked like you could use some honesty. And because..." He hesitated, then met Ron's eyes directly. "Because I know what it's like to feel like you're drowning while everyone else is breathing just fine."
There was something in Zabini's expression that made Ron's chest tight. Not in the bad way, like the anxiety that had been plaguing him, but in a different way. A way that made him suddenly very aware of how close they were sitting, of the way the fading light caught in Zabini's dark eyes.
"I don't know how to talk about it," Ron found himself saying. "How I feel, I mean. The healer keeps asking me to put words to it, but it's like... it's like trying to describe a color that doesn't exist. I know it's there, I can feel it, but I don't have the language for it."
"Then don't use words," Zabini suggested. "Not at first, anyway. What does it feel like? Not what it is, but what does it feel like?"
Ron considered this, staring down at his hands. "Heavy," he said eventually. "Like I'm carrying something I can't put down. And sometimes... sometimes it feels like static. Like there's noise in my head that won't stop, and I can't hear myself think over it."
Zabini nodded slowly. "And right now? What does it feel like right now?"
Ron thought about it. The hollow ache was still there, the exhaustion that seemed to live in his bones now. But there was something else too. Something quieter. "Less loud," he admitted. "The static's not as bad."
"Good," Zabini said simply. He didn't elaborate, didn't try to fix it or offer platitudes. Just... accepted it.
They sat in silence again, but this time Ron didn't feel the need to fill it with words. Outside, the sun had fully set, and the stars were beginning to appear in the darkening sky.
"Why did you wink at me?" Ron asked suddenly, the question escaping before he could stop it. He felt his face heat up immediately. "The other day. In the corridor."
Zabini's smile was slow and genuine. "Because you looked like you needed reminding that you're more interesting than you think you are. And because you were blushing, which was rather endearing."
Ron's blush deepened. "I wasn't—I didn't—"
"You were," Zabini said, but there was no mockery in his tone. "It's alright, Weasley. I don't bite. Well," he added thoughtfully, "not unless asked."
Ron made a strangled noise that might have been a laugh or might have been mortification. "You can't just say things like that."
"Why not? Life's too short to not say what you mean." Zabini stood up then, brushing off his robes. "I should go before Draco sends a search party. He's been particularly insufferable lately."
Ron stood too, awkwardly. "Yeah. I should probably get back before Harry and Hermione think I've disappeared again."
Zabini paused, then reached out and squeezed Ron's shoulder briefly. The touch was warm and grounding. "You're doing better than you think, Weasley. Give yourself some credit." He started to walk away, then turned back. "And Ron? If you ever need to escape the noise again, I'm usually in the library on Friday evenings. Just... so you know."
Then he was gone, leaving Ron standing alone in the growing darkness, his shoulder still warm where Zabini had touched it.
Ron stood there for a long moment, trying to process what had just happened. He'd had an actual conversation with Blaise Zabini. A vulnerable, honest conversation. And somehow, it had been easier than talking to Harry and Hermione, because Zabini didn't look at him like he might break at any moment.
He also couldn't ignore the flutter in his stomach when Zabini had smiled at him, or the way his heart had sped up when those dark eyes had met his. That was... new. And confusing. And something Ron definitely wasn't ready to examine too closely.
But as he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, Ron realized something: the static in his head really was quieter. And for the first time in weeks, that hollow ache in his chest felt just a little bit lighter.
Maybe he wasn't okay yet. Maybe he wouldn't be for a while. But maybe, just maybe, he was starting to find his way back to himself. And maybe that was enough for now.
The First Task had been absolutely terrifying. Watching Harry face that Hungarian Horntail had nearly sent Ron into a full panic attack, and it had taken everything in him to stay calm in the stands. Hermione had gripped his hand so tightly he'd lost feeling in his fingers, but he hadn't complained. They'd both been too focused on making sure Harry survived.
Harry had survived, of course. He always did. And now, weeks later, the castle had moved on to something Ron found infinitely more terrifying than dragons: the Yule Ball.
It was all anyone could talk about. The common room was constantly filled with giggles and whispers about who was asking who, what robes to wear, and how to style hair for the occasion. Even Harry was stressed about it, though for different reasons—he needed a date as a champion, and the pressure was getting to him.
Ron had been doing better, mostly. He was eating regularly again, sleeping most nights, and the sessions with Healer Marlowe were actually helping him understand why his thoughts sometimes spiraled the way they did. But the chaos surrounding the ball was making the static in his head creep back, just a little.
"Ron, you need to ask someone soon," Hermione said one evening in the common room, looking up from her Arithmancy homework. "The ball is in two weeks."
"I know," Ron muttered, not looking up from his chess game with Harry. He moved his knight, capturing one of Harry's pawns.
"So who are you going to ask?" she pressed.
Ron shrugged. "Dunno. Haven't really thought about it."
That was a lie. He had thought about it. Too much. Every time someone brought up the ball, his mind went to dark places—who would want to go with him? He was just Ron. Not a champion, not anyone special. Why would anyone say yes?
And then, more confusing and more frequent lately, his thoughts would drift to a certain Slytherin in the library. To dark eyes and a slow smile. To Friday evenings spent in comfortable silence or quiet conversation, when Ron could just be himself without feeling like he was being watched for signs of breaking.
He'd been meeting Blaise in the library most Friday nights since that first conversation. They never planned it explicitly, but somehow they both always ended up in that same corner near the Restricted Section. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they just sat in companionable silence while doing homework. Blaise never pushed him to talk about his feelings, but somehow Ron found himself opening up anyway, in small ways. It was easier with Blaise, maybe because there was no history there, no expectations.
"Well, you should think about it," Hermione said, her tone suggesting she thought he was being deliberately difficult. "Half the girls in our year are already taken."
Ron moved his bishop, trying to focus on the game. "Then I guess I'll go alone. It's not a big deal."
"It is a big deal!" Hermione huffed. "It's the Yule Ball, Ron. It's supposed to be special."
"Check," Harry said quietly, moving his queen. Then he glanced at Ron with concern. "Mate, are you alright? You seem..."
"I'm fine," Ron said automatically, even though his chest was starting to feel tight. "Just tired of everyone making such a fuss about the stupid ball."
The common room erupted in another round of giggles as a group of third-years discussed dress robes, and Ron felt the walls closing in. The noise was too much, the pressure was too much, everything was too much.
"I need to go to the library," he said abruptly, standing up and abandoning the chess game. "I forgot I have that Potions essay due."
"Ron, that's not due until next week—" Hermione started, but Ron was already heading for the portrait hole.
"I'll finish it early for once!" he called back, not stopping.
He practically ran through the corridors, his breath coming faster than it should. This was stupid. It was just a dance. Why was he freaking out over a dance? But it wasn't really about the dance, was it? It was about feeling inadequate again, about being reminded that he was just an ordinary Ron who no one would want to spend a special evening with.
By the time Ron reached the library, his hands were shaking slightly. He made his way automatically to the corner near the Restricted Section, to the window seat that had become his sanctuary. It was Friday evening, which meant—
"Running away from something, Weasley?"
Ron's heart did something complicated in his chest as Blaise Zabini appeared from behind a bookshelf, carrying what looked like a Transfiguration text. He was already settling into his usual spot at the other end of the window seat before Ron could respond.
"How do you always know I'm here?" Ron asked, sinking down onto the cushions.
"I don't," Blaise said simply. "I just come here every Friday and hope you'll show up. So far, you have." He paused, studying Ron's face. "Bad day?"
Ron let out a long breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Just... everyone won't shut up about the Yule Ball. It's driving me mad."
"Ah," Blaise said, a knowing look in his eyes. "The great social event of the season. Everyone is desperately trying to figure out who to ask and what to wear and how to dance without looking like a flobberworm."
Despite himself, Ron laughed. "Exactly. And Hermione keeps going on about how I need to ask someone, but..." He trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence.
"But you don't want to?" Blaise supplied.
"It's not that. I just..." Ron struggled for the words. "I don't know. The whole thing makes me feel weird. Anxious. Like everyone's going to be watching and judging, and I'm going to mess it up somehow."
Blaise was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "You know you don't have to go, right? If it's going to make you miserable."
"Harry needs me there," Ron said immediately. "He's a champion, and he's already stressed about the whole thing. I can't just not show up."
"So you'll make yourself uncomfortable for your friend's sake," Blaise observed. "That's remarkably Gryffindor of you."
"Is that a compliment or an insult?"
"Both," Blaise said with a small smile. "You're loyal to a fault, Weasley. It's admirable and frustrating in equal measure."
Ron felt his face warm slightly at the compliment, hidden though it was. "Well, someone has to be there to keep Harry from spiraling."
"And who keeps you from spiraling?" Blaise asked softly.
The question hit Ron harder than it should have. "I... I'm working on it. The healer says I'm making progress."
"That's not what I asked."
Ron looked at Blaise then, really looked at him. The other boy was watching him with an intensity that made Ron's stomach flip. They'd been meeting like this for weeks now, and somewhere along the way, Blaise had become... important. A friend, maybe. Or something else that Ron wasn't ready to name.
"You do," Ron said quietly, before he could lose his nerve. "Sometimes. When I come here and you're here, and we just... exist. Without all the pressure and expectations. It helps."
Blaise's expression softened in a way Ron had never seen before. "Good," he said simply. Then, after a pause, "I haven't asked anyone for the ball either."
Ron's heart stuttered. "No?"
"No. Pansy assumed I'd go with her as friends, but I told her I wasn't sure I was going at all." Blaise picked at a thread on his robes. "Draco thinks I'm mad. Says it's the social event of the year and only a fool would miss it."
"Are you? Going to miss it, I mean."
Blaise looked at him then, and there was something vulnerable in his expression that made Ron's breath catch. "I don't know. Depends."
"On what?"
"On whether I can think of a reason to go that doesn't involve suffering through Draco's complaining or Pansy's matchmaking attempts." Blaise paused, then added quietly, "I'd need a pretty compelling reason to brave all that."
Ron's mouth was dry. Was Blaise saying what Ron thought he was saying? Or was he reading too much into it? He'd been working with Healer Marlowe on recognizing his thoughts versus reality, but this felt impossible to parse.
"What if..." Ron started, then stopped. His hands were shaking again, but for a different reason now. "What if someone asked you? Would you go then?"
"Depends on who's asking," Blaise said, his dark eyes never leaving Ron's face.
Ron's heart was hammering so hard he was sure Blaise could hear it. This was insane. He couldn't be considering this. But the words were already forming, pushing past his fear
and anxiety and all the reasons this was a terrible idea.
"Would you want to go with me?" Ron asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "To the ball. I mean, we could just go as friends if you want, no pressure, but I just thought—"
"Ron," Blaise interrupted gently. "Breathe."
Ron sucked in a breath, realizing he'd been rambling.
"Yes," Blaise said simply. "I'd like to go with you. Not as friends."
The world seemed to tilt slightly. "Not as friends," Ron repeated stupidly.
"No. Unless that's all you want, in which case we can pretend I never said that and—"
"No!" Ron said quickly. "I mean, no, I don't want to pretend. I just... I didn't think you'd... I mean, I'm just—"
"If you say you're 'just Ron' I'm going to hex you," Blaise said, but there was warmth in his voice. "You're not 'just' anything, Weasley. You're observant and loyal and funny when you let yourself be. You're honest in a way most people aren't brave enough to be. And you've been meeting me here every Friday for weeks, which suggests you might feel the same way I do."
Ron felt like his brain was short-circuiting. "How do you feel?"
Blaise smiled, slow and genuine. "Like Friday evenings are the best part of my week. Like I look for red hair in the corridors more than I should. Like maybe I've been waiting for you to figure out that I've been flirting with you since that night I winked at you in the corridor."
"That was flirting?" Ron asked weakly.
"You really are oblivious, aren't you?" But Blaise's tone was fond rather than critical.
Ron laughed, the sound surprising him. The anxiety in his chest had transformed into something else entirely—butterflies, maybe, or nervous excitement. "So we're going to the Yule Ball. Together."
"If you haven't changed your mind in the last thirty seconds."
"I haven't." Ron surprised himself with how certain he sounded. "I just... people are going to talk. Slytherin and Gryffindor. Two blokes. And my brothers are going to have opinions, and Harry and Hermione are going to ask a million questions, and—"
"And none of that matters," Blaise said firmly. "Let them talk. Let them have opinions. We'll be too busy dancing to care."
"I can't dance," Ron admitted.
"Neither can I," Blaise confessed. "We'll figure it out together. Or we'll just stand in the corner and make fun of everyone else's robes."
Ron grinned, feeling lighter than he had in days. "That actually sounds perfect."
They sat there in the darkening library, the comfortable silence between them now charged with something new and terrifying and wonderful. Ron still didn't have all the words for how he felt—that was still a work in progress—but he knew one thing with certainty: coming to the library tonight had been exactly what he needed.
"So," Blaise said eventually, "are you going to tell Potter and Granger, or should we let them figure it out when we show up together?"
Ron groaned. "Hermione is going to have so many questions."
"Is that a yes to letting them figure it out?"
"Absolutely not. She'll kill me if I don't tell her." Ron paused. "Though maybe I'll wait until after she's had her morning coffee. She's less scary then."
Blaise laughed, and the sound did something warm and settled in Ron's chest. Maybe the Yule Ball wouldn't be so terrible after all. Maybe, with Blaise, it might even be good.
And maybe—just maybe—Ron was starting to learn that he deserved good things too.