There is a notice on the door, when they go down to dinner. It announces another Yule Ball, to be held on the twenty-first – the Solstice. Unfortunately, Ron isn’t fast enough to stop his first reaction spilling into the air: “Not another stupid ball!” Hermione stares at him in disbelief before stalking ahead and sitting in Harry’s usual seat. Ginny sits next to her with a pointed glare at Ron, and directs Harry into the seat opposite Hermione with a brief nod. Bemused, Ron sits next to his best friend and whispers a question: the reply to which is yet another silent look. The group all eat quickly and in total silence. Three of them rise and go, leaving Ron sitting at the table, alone and still confused.
Later, they all meet in the common room. Ron, being the fairly intelligent boy he is, has, after observing the glowing faces of several girls on being asked to go to the Ball, worked out what his mistake was. He has a plan. He has not confided this in anybody else.
The meeting has been scheduled for three days, as they rarely meet outside classes and meals. They all have their own agendas, though Ron’s seems to be less packed than that of the others, and he feels slightly inadequate because of this. But due to the awkwardness of arranging it, none of them feel able to avoid it because of the new tension in the group. The other three are ranged along a couch as Ron approaches, and he sets himself on the floor at their feet. He looks at each of them, then drops his eyes. “So?” he says.
“I’ve been doing a little more research,” Hermione tentatively offers, and Ron heroically restrains a snort at her understatement. “I’m still concentrating on the diary thing, but it looks like it was his own twisted brand of Dark magic – I can’t figure it out. The only other thing I’ve managed to make any progress on is the lists of known collaborators last time around; and it’s not like Dumbledore won’t already have a much more up-to-date version. Sorry.” Ron reaches forward to place a reassuring hand on her knee, but pulls back. Ginny takes up the slack with a quick lean against her friend, and then gives her report. “Not much here, either. Half the Slytherins are being arses, as usual, and everybody suspects Snape, as usual. Ron?”
He leans back on his hands and shakes his head ruefully. “The last attack confirmed the pattern we worked out. They’re cycling between Muggles, Squibs, people in the fight and Muggle-borns. Using each Unforgivable in turn. Sometimes killing, sometimes not – doesn’t seem to be a pattern there, which makes sense if you think about the increased fear from the unpredictability. Moving south fairly quickly – London by Christmas, I’d say.”
“London at Christmas,” Harry picks up, “or maybe New Year. Next big attack. That’s what they’re predicting.” At this statement, Ron looks up with an expression of disbelief. “And how long have they been predicting this?” he says with more than a touch of anger. Harry looks sheepish. “Um… a while? I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.” Now the group is aligned against him instead of against Ron – this kind of secrecy is worse than mere male stupidity, and has more consequences. “So,” Ron challenges, “while I was working on that and, God help me, researching it – you already knew what the answers were?” Harry’s dropped head does away with the need for words. Ron stands, and walks away to cool off.
When he returns, the three of them are chatting fairly comfortably, and he feels a brief flash of resentment at the way they tense up when he joins them. He doesn’t want to cause trouble. He doesn’t want to be yet another reason for their anxiety. He doesn’t want to miss the obvious things and feel completely stupid. He flops back down on the floor, and looks at them inquisitively.
“Harry’s not going to keep secrets any more,” his sister tells him. The boy in question nods in affirmation, and Hermione avoids his gaze. “All right then,” Ron says. “Anything else I should know? And what the hell am I supposed to work on now?” Blank faces abound, but Hermione’s quickly clears. “Weren’t you working on… that thing?” she says, inclining her head slightly. Ron nods in confirmation as the others look on, waiting for clarification that is not forthcoming.
After a few moments, Harry speaks up: “What thing?” Encountering averted gazes, he tells them that if he isn’t allowed secrets, they aren’t either. Ron shrugs, acknowledging the point, and tells them he’s been looking at specific threats to Harry. “It’s been on the back burner a while,” he says, “since I’ve been analysing the attacks. The more recent ones are easier, though, since at least they’re admitting it’s Voldemort these days: so I’ll keep a chart going just for us. Anyone got anything to add?” They all shake their heads, and the ‘official’ part of the meeting draws to a close.
Normally they would now start chatting about the events of the previous few days; classes, classmates and things of little consequence. Harry makes a gallant effort, but Ginny is unusually quiet and the other pair are studiously avoiding any kind of contact. They are sitting in awkward silence when Colin leans over the back of the couch. “Hey, Ginny,” he says, “haven’t seen much of you lately. You don’t look too good.” She turns and raises an eyebrow at him, and he backtracks. “Not that you don’t look nice, you’ve just… looked healthier.” She laughs a little, and asks him: “Who hasn’t, these days?” He nods wearily, and glances around the room. They exchange a few more sentences before Colin leaves to sit and study with a couple of his classmates. “I’m so glad he stopped following me around,” Harry says, which statement is received by a derogatory snort from both of the Weasleys. “He’s right, you know,” he continues, “you do look tired.” He coughs nervously. “Not that I’m one to talk, I know.” Ginny stands quickly, telling them she’s fine, and leaves for her room. Hermione follows without a word. Ron shrugs at his remaining friend, and heads off; leaving Harry sitting alone and slightly chagrined.
Ron sits in a corner of the Owlery, composing a message and putting more effort into it than he has into some of his essays. “Dear Hermione,” it reads. “I’m really sorry about earlier – I didn’t think before I spoke. I feel like a total idiot. I didn’t mean to upset you. I never do, but I always seem to manage it, being as I’m a bit of an insensitive prat. The reason I wasn’t happy about the Ball was that last year’s was a bit of a low point for me, mostly because we fought, and you went with Krum. I just couldn’t admit that it upset me because I hadn’t admitted to myself that I liked you. In fact, I think I can now admit to a definite more-than-like. So… I would like to go with the Ball with you. I’ll even wear those awful dress robes of mine for you, and I don’t see what more you could ask. (I’m joking, by the way. I’ll do whatever you want.) Please. I’m sorry. Ron.” He isn’t quite happy with it, but it is urgent, so he ties it to Hedwig’s leg and urges her to carry it to the girl’s dorm window. She gives him a scornful look, but eventually consents to carry it in return for a couple of treats. He watches her fly off, and waits until she returns before he leaves, hoping for the success of his plan.
He returns to the Tower and his dorm room. Unusually enough, Harry is also there, reading one of the advanced texts he has been handed in order to further his magical education. He looks up when Ron enters, adding to the suspicion that he has been waiting for his friend. Said friend does not explain his absence or even greet Harry. He simply flops down on his bed and stares at the ceiling.
"You're going to have to sort it out," Harry offers some minutes later. "We can't afford to be fighting among ourselves." He doesn't look up from his book at all, and so he misses the look Ron gives him - a mix of comprehension and ironic acceptance. "It's sorted," Ron says, "or I hope it is. And you're one to nag, with your secrets and all." At this, Harry does look over at the redhead, whose eyes are once more turned concentratedly upwards. "I already apologised for that," the darker boy says warily. "Not to me," comes the reply. Harry nods. "Then I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Ron. I'm sorry I put you to extra work."
"It's not the work that's the problem, so much," Ron tells him, gaze contemplative on the ceiling. "It's more that I could have been doing other things that might actually have helped." The "you" on the end is left unsaid, but both of them know it is there. "I didn't keep it from you because... I mean..." Harry struggles for words, but Ron does not attempt to fill them in for him - does not even look at him, because sometimes it's easier to talk that way. He eventually settles on: "I didn't want to upset the girls." Ron sniggers slightly, glances over at his friend and looks away again before he starts laughing hysterically. "They're tougher than we are, mate," he says once he has himself under control again. "Honestly, Harry. If you can cope with it, they can."
He sobers completely when Harry doesn't reply, and looks over to find that he has stolen the trick of looking fixedly away. Ron waits. At length, Harry says, in a shamed voice, "I'm not sure I can." Ron takes his time, considering his response thoroughly before settling on, "Well maybe if you shared the load," in a not-entirely-serious tone. This time, their laughter is not repressed, and it rings around the dorm and out onto the stairs.
The next morning, Ron is disappointed to see that both the girls are missing from the breakfast table, and though he feels one absence more keenly than the other, he worries about his sister as well. He has never entirely forgiven himself for not taking better care of her when she was new to the school, and for ignoring her all too often in the years since. When the owls come, an unfamiliar one drops a letter at his place, and he feels an instant of panic before he recognises the handwriting on the front. It is Hermione's, and his heart sinks as he prepares to open the note. Harry notices his friend's preoccupation, and neatly steals the envelope away from him, opening it and pulling out the contents in one smooth move. He glances at the page, and tosses it in front of Ron.
Ron looks at it, bracing himself for the bad news, to find only a few words. "Apology accepted. You're not all that bad. Good morning." He reads it twice, then looks blankly into space. "Good morning?" he queries the air. "Good morning," replies Hermione as she sits down next to him. He smiles at her, and gently knocks his foot against hers - one of the items on her list of physical contacts acceptable in totally public situations such as this. She smiles back, and leans against him for a moment - unacceptable behaviour, but so brief it barely counts. They relax and eat breakfast.
Later, when he is attempting to construct a chart and she is occupied again with her increasingly esoteric research, the worries begin to creep back into Ron's mind. It occurs to him that, while they have publicly announced their relationship and spent a large amount of time together, this will be their first official date. He thinks there should be flowers. And possibly new robes. He decides that he should ask Harry's advice, though how that will help when they are, to all intents and purposes, equally clueless about such things, he doesn't quite know.
Harry wanders in at two o'clock in the morning, and lazily begins to strip off. Ron whistles under his breath, and gets a dirty look and an emphatic swear for his trouble. Harry settles down in bed, turning to face the other boy. "Can I ask... um... never mind," he mutters. "What?" Ron challenges in a whisper. "Just... since you and Hermione are going together, wouldn't it make sense for me to ask Ginny, so we could stay together?" Harry suggests. Ron thinks about it for a second, then easily accepts the idea. "Make sure though," he warns, "she knows it's just a friends thing. I mean, it's not like she still fancies you, but..." Harry keeps his opinion of this statement to himself, and merely nods knowingly.
"Actually wanted to ask you something," Ron continues. "Don't know what I'm supposed to do for a date." Harry gapes in disbelief, snickers twice, then composes himself enough to reply, "And you think I do?" This time, they manage to hold back from another laughing fit out of consideration for their sleeping dorm-mates. It occurs to both of them that they haven't laughed this much in a while. It also occurs that the laughter has been self-mocking, hysterical and most likely due to the excessive stress they are under.
Neither of them speaks up, or follows the train of thought any further. They're laughing and they're safe and they're happy for tonight. And that's enough.
