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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.

Chapter Text

The two weeks between asking Blaise to the ball and the actual event passed in a blur of anxiety and excitement that Ron couldn't quite separate. He'd told Harry and Hermione the morning after, and their reactions had been... mixed.

Harry had been surprised but supportive, clapping Ron on the shoulder and saying, "Good for you, mate. Zabini seems alright." Which, coming from Harry, was high praise for a Slytherin.

Hermione had been more complicated. She'd gone through shock, concern, excitement, and then launched into a barrage of questions that Ron absolutely did not have answers to. Eventually, she'd settled on being cautiously happy for him, though she'd made him promise to be careful because "Slytherins can be tricky, Ron."

The hardest part had been writing home about the robes. His mum had sent him dress robes weeks ago—the same ghastly maroon ones she'd sent in the original timeline, covered in lace and looking like they belonged to his great-aunt Tessie. Ron had opened the package, taken one look at them, and immediately felt sick.

He couldn't wear those. Not when he was going with Blaise, not when he was already terrified of what people would say. He'd spent three days agonizing over it before finally writing to his mum, explaining as carefully as he could that the robes didn't fit properly (a lie) and asking if there was any way to get different ones.

Her response had been swift and unexpectedly understanding. Apparently, Bill had some dress robes from his Gringotts days that he'd outgrown, and she'd had them altered to fit Ron. When the package arrived, Ron had opened it with trembling hands, terrified of what he'd find.

The robes were beautiful. A deep navy blue that brought out his eyes, with subtle silver threading along the collar and cuffs. They were elegant without being flashy, sophisticated without trying too hard. When Ron tried them on, he actually looked... good. Like someone who belonged at a fancy ball.

He'd stood in front of the mirror for a long time, barely recognizing himself.

"Bloody hell, Ron," Harry had said when he saw them. "Those are actually brilliant."

Even Hermione had approved, which was saying something.

Now, standing in the fourth-year boys' dormitory on the evening of the ball, Ron was trying not to throw up from nerves. His hands shook as he fastened the buttons, and he had to start over twice because he'd gotten them wrong.

"Mate, you're going to be fine," Harry said, adjusting his own dress robes in the mirror. He looked uncomfortable in his traditional black ones, constantly tugging at the collar.

"Zabini would be mad to not appreciate how good you look."

"What if I mess up?" Ron asked, voicing the fear that had been plaguing him all day. "What if I step on his feet, or say something stupid, or—"

"Ron," Harry interrupted firmly. "You're going to be brilliant. And if you do step on his feet, you'll laugh about it and move on. That's what you do."

Ron took a deep breath, trying to calm the static building in his head. Healer Marlowe's voice echoed in his mind: Ground yourself. Name five things you can see.

The four-poster bed. His trunk at the foot of it. Harry's Firebolt propped against the wall. The curtains around Neville's bed. His own reflection in the mirror—navy robes, red hair combed (mostly) into submission, and eyes that looked terrified but also... excited.

"Okay," Ron said, more to himself than Harry. "Okay. I can do this."

They made their way down to the common room, where Hermione was waiting in her periwinkle blue dress robes, looking so elegant that Ron almost didn't recognize her. She was going with Viktor Krum, something that had caused quite a stir when it got out.

"You look wonderful, Ron," she said warmly, then fussed with his collar for a moment. "Are you meeting Blaise at the entrance?"

Ron nodded, his throat suddenly too tight to speak.

The three of them made their way down to the Entrance Hall, which was already crowded with students in their finest robes. Ron's eyes scanned the crowd nervously, looking for dark hair and darker eyes.

Then he saw him.

Blaise was standing near the doors to the Great Hall, wearing robes of deep emerald green that made his dark skin glow. His hair was styled neatly, and he was scanning the crowd with an expression that might have been nervousness, though Blaise hid it well.

When their eyes met, Blaise's face broke into a genuine smile, and Ron felt something warm settle in his chest.

"Go on," Hermione whispered, giving him a small push.

Ron crossed the Entrance Hall on legs that felt like jelly. Students were staring—he could feel their eyes on him, hear the whispers starting—but for once, he didn't care.

"Hi," Ron said when he reached Blaise, eloquent as ever.

"Hi yourself," Blaise replied, his eyes doing a slow sweep from Ron's face down to his robes and back up. "You look... Merlin, Weasley. You clean up well."

Ron felt his face heat up. "So do you. I mean, you always look good, but tonight you look really good, and I'm going to stop talking now."

Blaise laughed, the sound warm and fond. "Please don't. Your rambling is endearing." He held out his arm. "Shall we?"

Ron linked his arm with Blaise's, hyper-aware of every point of contact, every whisper and stare around them. He could see Malfoy across the hall, his expression caught between shock and something that might have been betrayal. Pansy Parkinson's mouth was literally hanging open. Even some of the Gryffindors were staring.

"Ignore them," Blaise murmured, leaning in close enough that Ron could smell his cologne—something woodsy and expensive. "They're just jealous that I have the best-looking date here."

"That's definitely not true," Ron muttered, but he was smiling.

The Great Hall had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Ice sculptures lined the walls, enchanted snow fell from the ceiling without actually getting anyone wet, and the usual house tables had been replaced with smaller, more intimate ones clustered around a large dance floor. The Weird Sisters were setting up on a stage at the front, and everything sparkled with frost and fairy lights.

The champions and their dates were supposed to lead the first dance, which meant Harry and Parvati, Cedric and Cho, Fleur and Roger Davies, and Krum and Hermione would be on display. Ron was grateful he didn't have to do that part, at least.

He and Blaise found a table toward the edge of the hall, and Ron tried not to notice how many people were still staring at them. McGonagall looked surprised but not disapproving. Snape's expression was carefully blank, which probably meant he was furious. And Dumbledore—Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling in that way that suggested he knew something everyone else didn't.

"You're doing the thing again," Blaise said softly.

"What thing?"

"The thing where you disappear into your head and spiral." Blaise reached across the table and gently tapped Ron's hand. "Stay with me."

Ron took a breath and focused on Blaise's face, on the warmth of his fingers still resting against Ron's hand. "Sorry. There's just a lot of people."

"There are," Blaise agreed. "But they don't matter. The only person whose opinion matters tonight is yours. Are you having a good time?"

Ron considered this. Was he? His heart was racing and his palms were sweaty and he was definitely going to stumble over his own feet when they danced. But Blaise was here, looking at him like he was something precious, and despite everything, Ron felt... happy.

"Yeah," he said, surprised by how true it was. "Yeah, I am."

The champions took to the floor for the opening dance, and Ron watched Harry awkwardly navigate a waltz with Parvati. Hermione and Krum looked elegant together, and Ron felt a pang of something—not jealousy exactly, but a wistfulness for how simple things used to be.

"Your friend Granger looks happy," Blaise observed.

"She does," Ron agreed. "She deserves it. She works so hard all the time."

"So do you," Blaise said. "In different ways."

Ron looked at him questioningly.

"You work hard at taking care of everyone else," Blaise elaborated. "At being there for your friends, at trying to be better even when it's difficult. That's its own kind of hard work."

Ron didn't know what to say to that, so he just squeezed Blaise's hand.

After the opening dance, more couples flooded onto the floor as the Weird Sisters launched into their first proper song. It was something loud and energetic, and students began dancing with varying degrees of skill and enthusiasm.

"Should we?" Blaise asked, gesturing to the dance floor with a grin that was equal parts nervous and excited.

"I told you I can't dance," Ron warned.

"And I told you neither can I. Come on, Weasley. Let's make fools of ourselves together."

They made their way onto the dance floor, and Ron immediately felt self-conscious. He had no idea what to do with his hands, his feet, his entire body. But then Blaise took his hand and put his other hand on Ron's waist, and suddenly it didn't matter that Ron didn't know the steps.

They moved together clumsily, definitely not in time with the music, and Ron did step on Blaise's feet at least three times. But Blaise just laughed and pulled him closer, and eventually Ron stopped worrying about doing it right and just focused on being there, in that moment, with this person who made the static in his head go quiet.

"See?" Blaise said, his breath warm against Ron's ear. "Not so terrible."

"I've stepped on your feet multiple times."

"And I've survived. My feet are very resilient."

Ron laughed, actually laughed, and it felt wonderful. Around them, he could see people still staring, still whispering. He saw Malfoy storming out of the hall with a face like thunder. He saw some of the older Slytherins looking disapproving. But he also saw Harry grinning at him from across the dance floor, giving him a thumbs up. He saw Hermione beaming. He saw Fred and George—when had they arrived?—wolf-whistling obnoxiously in their direction.

"I think your brothers are trying to embarrass you," Blaise observed.

"They're always trying to embarrass me. It's their life's mission."

"Should I be worried about meeting them properly?"

Ron looked at Blaise, at the genuine concern in his eyes despite the lightness of his tone. "You want to meet my family?"

"Eventually. If this—" Blaise gestured between them, "—goes well. Which I think it is."

"It is," Ron agreed quietly. "Really well, actually."
They danced through several more songs, getting progressively less terrible at it. At some point, the music slowed, and Blaise pulled Ron closer, until they were swaying more than dancing, Ron's head resting against Blaise's shoulder.

"Thank you," Ron murmured.

"For what?"

"For asking me. Wait, no. For making me ask you. For being here. For being you." Ron knew he wasn't making much sense, but Blaise seemed to understand anyway.

"Thank you for taking a chance on a Slytherin with questionable taste in friends," Blaise replied.

"Your taste in dates is pretty good though," Ron said, then immediately wanted to die. "Did I really just say that?"

Blaise laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest. "You did. And you're right. My taste is impeccable."

They stayed on the dance floor until Ron's feet hurt and his face hurt from smiling. Eventually, they retreated to their table, where butterbeers and fancy desserts had appeared.

Ron actually managed to eat a decent amount—the anxiety that usually killed his appetite was nowhere to be found.

As the night wore on and more students left to either continue the party elsewhere or head to bed, Ron and Blaise remained at their table, talking about everything and nothing.

About Blaise's mother and her many marriages. About Ron's enormous family and the pressure of being the sixth son. About their fears and hopes and the small, quiet things that made them who they were.

"I should probably get back to the dungeons soon," Blaise said eventually, though he made no move to leave. "Draco is probably having a meltdown, and someone needs to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"And I should check on Harry," Ron said. "Make sure he survived the evening."

They stood, and there was a moment of awkwardness as they hovered in the entrance hall, not quite ready to say goodbye.

"I had a really good time tonight," Ron said. "Better than I thought I would."

"Me too." Blaise stepped closer, and Ron's heart started racing again. "Can I see you? Tomorrow, I mean. In the library."

"It's Saturday," Ron pointed out stupidly.

"I know. But I don't want to wait until Friday to see you again."

Ron felt like his entire body was glowing. "Yeah. Yes. I'd like that."

Blaise smiled, then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Ron's cheek. "Goodnight, Ron."

"Night," Ron managed, his face burning.

He watched Blaise walk away toward the dungeons, then turned and practically floated up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. His feet hurt, his face hurt from smiling, and he was exhausted, but he felt better than he had in months.

When he got back to the dormitory, Harry was already there, looking relieved to be out of his dress robes.

"So?" Harry asked immediately. "How was it?"

Ron sank onto his bed with a grin. "It was perfect, mate. Absolutely perfect."

And for once, Ron didn't feel like he was just Ron, the spare, the sidekick. He felt like someone who deserved good things. Someone who could be happy.

He was still working on getting better. Still had sessions with Healer Marlowe. Still had days where the static got loud and the hollow ache returned. But tonight, he'd danced with a boy who made him laugh, who saw him for who he was, and who wanted to see him again tomorrow.

That felt like more than enough.

Ron woke up the next morning with a smile already on his face, which was unusual enough that it took him a moment to remember why. Then it all came flooding back—the ball, the dancing, Blaise's kiss on his cheek—and the smile grew wider.

"You're in a good mood," Harry observed from his own bed, sounding amused. "I don't think I've ever seen you this happy after a late night."

Ron stretched, feeling the pleasant ache in his feet from all the dancing. "Yeah, well. Last night was pretty great."

"I could tell. You two looked good together." Harry paused, then added carefully, "I'm happy for you, mate. Really."

"Thanks, Harry." Ron sat up, running a hand through his hair. "How was your night? I saw you dancing with Parvati."

Harry groaned. "Awkward. So awkward. She spent half the night annoyed with me because I kept worrying about the egg and the second task instead of paying attention to her. I'm rubbish at this whole dating thing."

"Join the club," Ron said with a laugh. "I stepped on Blaise's feet at least five times."

"But he didn't seem to mind."

"No," Ron agreed softly. "He didn't."

They got ready for the day slowly, neither of them in any rush. It was Saturday, which meant no classes and a rare chance to actually relax. Most students would probably sleep
in after the ball, leaving the castle quieter than usual.

Ron tried to act casual as he dressed, but his stomach was full of butterflies. He was meeting Blaise in the library. On a Saturday. Which wasn't their usual Friday routine, which meant... what? Was this a date? Were they dating now? What did last night mean?

"You're overthinking again," Harry said, pulling on a jumper. "I can literally see the gears turning in your head."

"I'm not—" Ron started, then stopped. "Okay, yeah, I am. I don't know what I'm doing, Harry. What if I mess this up?"

Harry came over and sat on the edge of Ron's bed. "Mate, you're not going to mess it up. Just be yourself. That's who Zabini likes, right? The real you."

Ron thought about all their Friday evenings in the library, how he'd slowly learned to be honest with Blaise about his feelings and his struggles. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

"Then stop worrying. Go meet him, have a good time, and stop trying to predict every possible way things could go wrong."

Ron nodded, taking a deep breath. Harry was right. He'd been working on this with Healer Marlowe—trying to stay present instead of spiraling into worst-case scenarios. "Okay. I can do this."

"Of course you can. Now go on, before you talk yourself out of it."

Ron made his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast, where he managed to eat a decent amount despite the nervous energy thrumming through him. Hermione was already there, looking tired but happy.

"Good morning," she said warmly when Ron sat down across from her. "Did you sleep well?"

"Better than I have in ages," Ron admitted, loading his plate with eggs and toast. "What about you? Big night with Krum?"

Hermione blushed slightly. "It was lovely. He's actually very sweet, despite what everyone says." She paused, studying Ron's face. "And what about you? You and Blaise seemed to be having a wonderful time."

"We were." Ron couldn't keep the smile off his face. "It was really good, Hermione. Better than I expected."

"I'm glad." She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "You deserve to be happy, Ron. And I'm sorry if I seemed worried before. I just want you to be careful with your heart."

"I know. And I am being careful. But I also think... I think Blaise is a good person. Better than most people give him credit for."

"He did look at you like you hung the moon last night," Hermione said with a knowing smile. "It was rather sweet, actually."

Ron felt his face heat up. "Did he really?"

"Oh, absolutely. Even Viktor noticed. He said Zabini looked 'completely smitten,' which I thought was rather accurate."

Ron had to duck his head to hide his pleased grin. "I'm meeting him in the library a bit."

"On a Saturday? Ron Weasley, voluntarily going to the library on a weekend?" Hermione's eyes sparkled with amusement. "You really do like him."

"Shut up," Ron muttered, but there was no heat in it.

After breakfast, Ron made his way to the library, his heart beating faster with each step. The castle was indeed quieter than usual, with most students still recovering from the late night. Madam Pince was at her desk when Ron entered, and she gave him a surprised look—he wasn't usually a Saturday library visitor.

Ron headed to their usual spot, the corner near the Restricted Section with the window seat. Blaise wasn't there yet, and Ron felt a moment of panic. What if he'd changed his mind? What if last night had been too much, too public, and now Blaise regretted everything?

But then he heard footsteps, and Blaise appeared around the bookshelf, carrying two steaming mugs. His face lit up when he saw Ron.

"Good morning," Blaise said, handing one of the mugs to Ron. "I stopped by the kitchens. Hot chocolate. I remembered you mentioning once that you preferred it to tea."

Ron took the mug, touched that Blaise had remembered such a small detail. "Thanks. This is... you didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to." Blaise settled onto the window seat, leaving less space between them than usual. "How are you feeling? After last night?"

"Good," Ron said honestly. "Really good, actually. A bit overwhelmed when I think about how many people were staring, but good."

"They were staring," Blaise acknowledged. "Quite a lot, actually. I heard Draco ranting about it this morning before I left the common room. Something about betrayal and house loyalty." He rolled his eyes. "He'll get over it eventually. Or he won't. Either way, I don't particularly care."

"Is he very angry?" Ron asked, concerned despite himself.

"Furious. But that's Draco's problem, not mine." Blaise took a sip of his hot chocolate. "I'm more interested in how you're handling it. I know you were anxious about people talking."

Ron thought about it, taking a moment to really check in with himself the way Healer Marlowe had taught him. "I mean, yeah, people are definitely going to talk. I saw some of the looks we got, and I'm sure the gossip is spreading like wildfire." He paused. "But honestly? I don't care as much as I thought I would. Last night was too good to regret just because other people have opinions."

Blaise's expression softened. "That's very mature of you."

"Don't sound so surprised," Ron said with a slight smile. "I'm working on it. The whole... not letting other people's opinions control how I feel about myself thing."

"How's that going? The work with the healer, I mean."

Ron appreciated that Blaise always asked directly, never dancing around the subject of Ron's mental health. "Better. Some days are harder than others, but I'm learning. Learning to recognize when I'm spiraling, learning to ask for help, learning that having bad days doesn't mean I'm broken."

"You're not broken," Blaise said firmly. "You never were."

"I know. Or at least, I'm starting to believe it." Ron set down his mug and turned to face Blaise more fully. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Last night... what does it mean? For us, I mean. Are we... are we together now? Or was it just a one-time thing? Because I'd like it to be more than that, but I don't want to assume, and I'm not really sure how this works—"

"Ron," Blaise interrupted gently, reaching out to take his hand. "You're spiraling."

Ron stopped, took a breath, and squeezed Blaise's hand. "Sorry. I just need to know where we stand."

"I'd like us to be together," Blaise said clearly. "Properly together. If that's what you want too."

"It is," Ron said immediately, relief flooding through him. "Definitely. I just wasn't sure if you—"

"I do," Blaise assured him. "I have for weeks now, if I'm being honest. I just wasn't sure you felt the same way until you asked me to the ball."

Ron laughed. "I'm apparently very oblivious. According to you and Hermione and probably everyone else."

"It's part of your charm," Blaise said, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of Ron's hand. "Though I have to admit, watching you slowly realize I was interested in you was somewhat entertaining."

"Glad I could amuse you," Ron said dryly, but he was smiling.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, hands linked, watching the snow fall outside the window. It was peaceful in a way that made Ron's chest feel warm and settled.

"So what now?" Ron asked eventually. "I've never actually done this before. The whole relationship thing."

"Neither have I," Blaise admitted. "Not really. I've had a few casual things, but nothing serious. Nothing that mattered."

"And this matters?"

Blaise met his eyes steadily. "Yes. You matter."

Ron felt his face heat up, but he didn't look away. "You matter to me too. A lot, actually."

"Good. Then we'll figure it out as we go." Blaise paused, then added, "Though I should probably warn you that dating me comes with some complications. My mother is... a lot. And her current husband is husband number seven, I think. I've lost count. She's going to have opinions about me dating a Weasley."

"And my family is going to have opinions about me dating a Slytherin," Ron countered. "My mum will probably be fine with it, but she'll worry. And my brothers... well, Fred and George will make fun of me endlessly, Percy will give me a lecture about propriety, Charlie won't care, and Bill will probably want to meet you and make sure your intentions are honorable."

"Are my intentions honorable?" Blaise asked with a slight smirk.

"I certainly hope not," Ron said, then immediately turned red. "I mean—that came out wrong—I just meant—"

Blaise was laughing, and Ron realized he was being teased. "You're too easy, Weasley."

"You're going to be insufferable, aren't you?"

"Probably. Think you can handle it?"

Ron thought about it, looking at Blaise's warm smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, the gentle way he held Ron's hand. "Yeah," he said softly. "I think I can."

"What about Potter and Granger? How do you think they'll really react? I know they were supportive last night, but..."

"Harry's genuinely fine with it," Ron assured him. "He just wants me to be happy. And Hermione... she'll worry because that's what she does. She'll probably interrogate you at some point to make sure you're not going to hurt me. But she wants me to be happy too."

"I have no intention of hurting you," Blaise said seriously. "For the record."

"I know. And I don't want to hurt you either." Ron paused. "But I'm still figuring things out. The mental health stuff, I mean. I'm going to have bad days. Days where I can't eat or I can't get out of my head or I just feel... heavy."

"I know," Blaise said simply. "And on those days, you tell me. You don't have to pretend to be okay when you're not. That's part of this, part of us. The real stuff, not just the good parts."

Ron felt something tight in his chest loosen. "You mean that?"

"Of course I mean that. Ron, I didn't fall for the version of you that has it all together. I fell for the real you. The one who struggles sometimes, who overthinks everything, who gets lost in his own head. That's who I want to be with."

"You fell for me?" Ron's voice came out slightly strangled.

Blaise blinked, seeming to realize what he'd said. "I... yes. I suppose I did. Is that too much? Too fast?"

"No," Ron said quickly. "No, it's not too much. It's just... I didn't think..." He trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

"Didn't think what?"

"Didn't think anyone would fall for me. The real me, with all the messy parts."

Blaise reached up with his free hand and gently touched Ron's face, making him meet his eyes. "Then you weren't thinking clearly. Because you're easy to fall for, Ron Weasley. Easier than you know."

Ron felt his eyes sting slightly, but in a good way. "I think I'm falling for you too. If I'm being honest."

"Then be honest," Blaise said softly. "Always. That's all I ask."

"I can do that," Ron promised. "I'm working on it. On being honest about how I feel instead of just saying I'm fine all the time."

"Good." Blaise pulled his hand back and picked up his hot chocolate again. "Now, since we've established that we're disgustingly smitten with each other, should we discuss the practical aspects of this relationship?"

Ron laughed at the sudden shift to practicality. "Such as?"

"Such as the fact that we're in different houses, which means we can't exactly spend all our time together without people noticing. Not that I particularly care about people noticing, but it does limit our options for privacy."

"We have here," Ron pointed out, gesturing to their corner of the library. "And Hogsmeade weekends. And we could probably find other places if we look."

"The Room of Requirement," Blaise suggested. "Have you heard of it? It's on the seventh floor. Room that becomes whatever you need."

"Harry mentioned it once. You think it's real?"

"I've heard enough people talk about it to think it's worth investigating." Blaise smiled. "Could be useful for when we want to spend time together away from prying eyes."

They spent the next hour talking through the logistics of their relationship, which felt both absurdly practical and incredibly romantic. They decided to keep Friday evenings as their standing library date, to sit together at meals sometimes but not always (to avoid making their friends feel abandoned), and to be open about their relationship without making a spectacle of it.

"I don't want to hide," Ron said firmly. "I did enough hiding when I was struggling. I don't want to hide this too."

"Agreed," Blaise said. "Let people talk. We'll be too busy being happy to care."

Eventually, other students started trickling into the library, breaking the peaceful quiet of their morning. Ron glanced at the clock and realized they'd been talking for nearly three hours.

"I should probably go find Harry," Ron said reluctantly. "Make sure he's not spiraling about the second task. He's got that egg to figure out."

"And I should check that Draco hasn't done anything dramatically stupid in my absence." Blaise stood, pulling Ron up with him. "Same time next Friday?"

"Or before, if we can manage it," Ron said. "I'm going to want to see you before then."

Blaise smiled, that slow, warm smile that made Ron's stomach flip. "I was hoping you'd say that." He glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Ron's lips. It was soft and brief, but it sent sparks through Ron's entire body.

"You can't just do that and then leave," Ron protested weakly.

"Watch me," Blaise said with a grin. "Consider it a motivation to find time to see me before Friday."

He walked away, leaving Ron standing there slightly dazed and definitely smiling like an idiot.

When Ron finally made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, he found Harry and Hermione in the common room, bent over the golden egg from the first task. They both looked up when he entered.

"There you are," Hermione said. "We were beginning to wonder if you'd moved into the library permanently."

"Just lost track of time," Ron said, unable to keep the goofy grin off his face.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Lost track of time, or lost track of time with Zabini?"

"Both," Ron admitted, flopping into a chair near them. "We were just talking. About... us. About making this work."

"And?" Hermione prompted gently.

"And it's good. Really good. We're going to figure it out as we go." Ron looked at his two best friends, the people who'd stood by him through everything. "Thanks, by the way. For being okay with this. I know it's probably weird."

"It's not weird," Harry said firmly. "You're happy. That's what matters."

"And Blaise seems like a good person," Hermione added. "Despite being a Slytherin." She smiled. "I reserve the right to hex him if he hurts you though."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Ron said with a laugh.

He spent the rest of the afternoon helping Harry try to figure out the egg's clue, though his mind kept drifting back to the library, to Blaise's hand in his, to the promise of Friday and all the days after that.

The following Friday, Ron found himself more nervous than usual as he headed to the library. He and Blaise had seen each other in passing throughout the week, stolen a few moments to talk between classes, but this was their first proper time alone since they'd officially become a couple.

Blaise was already there when Ron arrived, sitting on the window seat with a book in his lap. He looked up when Ron approached, and his whole face softened into a smile.

"Hi," Blaise said, setting the book aside.

"Hi yourself." Ron sat down, leaving less space between them than he used to. "Good week?"

"Tedious. Draco's still sulking about the ball, Pansy won't stop asking invasive questions, and Snape assigned enough homework to keep us busy until graduation." Blaise shifted closer. "But it's better now. How was the conversation with your family?"

Ron had sent Blaise a brief note earlier in the week saying the talk had gone well, but he hadn't gone into detail. Now, he found himself telling Blaise everything—his brothers' support, his mother's tears, even Ginny calling him her hero.

"They really said all that?" Blaise asked, something wistful in his voice.

"Yeah. I was so scared they'd be disappointed, but they weren't. They just... loved me anyway." Ron paused. "I'm sorry your mum was awful about us."

Blaise shrugged, but Ron could see the hurt beneath the casual gesture. "Her opinion doesn't matter. Though I'll admit, it would be nice to have a family that actually cared about my happiness rather than just who I'm associated with."

"You can share mine, if you want," Ron offered impulsively. "Fair warning though—there's a lot of us, and the twins will definitely try to prank you at some point."

Blaise's expression turned soft and vulnerable. "You mean that?"

"Course I do. My mum would probably love to feed you. She's always worried people aren't eating enough." Ron smiled. "And Bill said he wants to meet you. To make sure your intentions are honorable."

"How terrifying," Blaise said, but he was smiling too. "Should I be prepared for an interrogation?"

"Probably. But he'll like you. They all will, once they get to know you."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and then Blaise said, "There's a Hogsmeade weekend tomorrow." Blaise looked almost nervous. "I thought we could have a proper date. Away from the castle and all the staring."

Ron felt his heart skip. "A date. In Hogsmeade."

"If you want to. We could go to the Three Broomsticks, walk around the village, maybe check out Honeydukes. Or we could do something else entirely. Whatever you're comfortable with."

"I want to," Ron said quickly. "Definitely. I've been wanting to spend more time with you outside of the library."

"Then it's a date." Blaise smiled. "Tomorrow at ten? We can meet in the Entrance Hall."

The rest of their evening was spent in quiet conversation and comfortable silences, Blaise's hand finding Ron's at some point and not letting go. When they finally had to part ways, Blaise pulled Ron into a quick hug.

"See you tomorrow," Blaise murmured against Ron's ear.

"Tomorrow," Ron agreed, not wanting to let go but knowing he had to.

Saturday morning found Ron standing in front of the mirror in the fourth-year boys' dormitory, changing his shirt for the third time.

"Mate, you look fine," Harry said from his bed, where he was attempting to work on the golden egg clue. "Actually, you look the same as you did in the last two shirts."

"But do I look date-appropriate?" Ron asked, pulling on a dark green jumper his mother had sent him for Christmas. "Is this too casual? Should I wear something nicer?"

"It's Hogsmeade, not a formal dinner," Hermione said from the doorway, where she'd appeared to help Harry with the egg. "You look perfect, Ron. Very handsome."

Ron felt his face heat up. "You think so?"

"I know so. Now stop fussing and go meet your boyfriend before you talk yourself into a panic attack."

The word "boyfriend" still sent a little thrill through Ron. He had a boyfriend. Blaise Zabini was his boyfriend. Even after a week, it still felt surreal.

Ron made his way down to the Entrance Hall, where Blaise was already waiting. He was wearing a thick black coat over a deep blue jumper, and Ron's breath caught a little at the sight of him.

"Ready?" Blaise asked, holding out his hand.

Ron took it without hesitation. "Ready."

They walked down to Hogsmeade together, hands linked, and if people stared, Ron found he didn't care. The morning was cold but clear, and the village was bustling with students enjoying their freedom from the castle.

"Where do you want to go first?" Blaise asked.

"Honeydukes?" Ron suggested. "I need to stock up on Chocolate Frogs anyway."

They spent a pleasant half hour in the candy shop, Blaise buying an absurd amount of expensive chocolates while Ron loaded up on his favorites. The shopkeeper gave them an approving smile as they left, commenting on what a nice couple they made, which made Ron blush down to his toes.

Next, they wandered through the village, looking in shop windows and talking about everything and nothing. Blaise told Ron about his childhood in Italy, about learning to speak English from his mother's various husbands. Ron told Blaise about summers at the Burrow, about de-gnoming the garden and flying with his brothers.

They ended up at the Three Broomsticks for lunch, snagging a corner table that offered a bit of privacy. Madam Rosmerta brought them butterbeers and stew, giving them a knowing wink that made both of them laugh.

"This is nice," Ron said, warming his hands on his butterbeer. "Just being able to exist without everyone watching."

"There are still people watching," Blaise pointed out, nodding toward a group of Hufflepuff girls who were definitely sneaking glances at them. "But I know what you mean. It feels different here. Less pressure."

"Do you think it'll always be like this?" Ron asked. "People staring and whispering?"

Blaise considered this. "Probably for a while. We're somewhat notorious now—the Gryffindor and Slytherin who dared to cross house lines. But eventually, people will get bored and move on to the next scandal. And even if they don't..." He reached across the table and took Ron's hand. "I don't care. Let them stare."

Ron squeezed his hand, feeling brave. "Yeah. Let them stare."

After lunch, they walked to the edge of the village, where the crowds thinned out. There was a small park area with benches overlooking the countryside, and they sat down together, close enough that their shoulders touched.

"Can I ask you something?" Ron said after a moment.

"Always."

"Why me? I mean, you could probably have anyone you wanted. You're smart and good-looking and you come from this fancy pureblood family. Why would you want to be with me?"

Blaise was quiet for a moment, and Ron worried he'd asked the wrong thing. But then Blaise turned to face him fully.

"Do you remember the first time we really talked? In the library, after the ball was announced?"
Ron nodded.

"You were so honest," Blaise said softly. "About struggling, about not knowing how to put words to what you were feeling. Most people would have hidden that, and would have pretended everything was fine. But you didn't. You were just... real. And I'd spent so much of my life around people who only show you what they want you to see. My mother, her husbands, and even my housemates. Everyone's always performing, always playing a role."

He reached up and gently touched Ron's face. "But you don't do that. You're just yourself, even when it's hard, even when you're struggling. And that's rare, Ron. That kind of

honesty, that kind of courage to be vulnerable. It's extraordinary."

"I'm not extraordinary," Ron protested weakly.

"You are to me." Blaise smiled. "Plus, you're kind and loyal and you have this way of seeing the good in people that I've never had. You make me want to be better. And yes, you're also attractive, which doesn't hurt."

Ron felt his face burning. "I'm really not—"

"You are," Blaise said firmly. "And I'm going to keep telling you until you believe it."

They sat there for a long moment, looking at each other, and then Blaise leaned in slowly, giving Ron plenty of time to pull away. But Ron didn't pull away. Instead, he closed the distance between them and kissed Blaise properly for the first time.

It was soft and sweet and tasted like butterbeer and chocolate. Ron's hand came up to cup Blaise's face, and Blaise's hands came to rest on Ron’s waist, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappeared entirely.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing hard and smiling like idiots.

"Wow," Ron said eloquently.

"Yeah," Blaise agreed. "Wow."

They spent the rest of the afternoon in Hogsmeade, holding hands and stealing kisses when they thought no one was looking. They bought more candy at Honeydukes, browsed the joke shop (where Ron picked up some things for Fred and George), and generally just enjoyed being together without the weight of the castle watching them.

As the sun started to set and they headed back up to Hogwarts, Ron felt happier than he could remember being in a long time. He still had hard days ahead—he knew that. His mental health was a work in progress, and there would be times when the static got loud again and the hollow ache returned. But he also had this. He had Blaise, and Harry, and Hermione, and a family that loved him. He had people who saw him, really saw him, and cared about him anyway.

"Thank you," Ron said as they approached the castle gates. "For today. For all of this."

"Thank you for taking a chance on me," Blaise replied, squeezing his hand. "For letting me be part of your life."

"Always," Ron promised. And he meant it.

They parted ways at the Entrance Hall with one last quick kiss, and Ron practically floated up to Gryffindor Tower. Harry and Hermione were waiting in the common room, and they both looked up when he entered.

"Good date?" Harry asked with a knowing grin.

Ron's smile said everything. "The best."

And as he settled into his favorite chair and told his friends about his day, Ron realized something important: he was happy. Genuinely, truly happy. Not because all his problems were solved or because he'd suddenly become someone special. But because he'd learned to accept himself, struggles and all, and he'd found people who accepted him too.

That was enough. That was everything.