Ron had to admit to himself that the day had not entirely gone to plan.
Of course, he wasn't about to admit as much to anyone else, and certainly not to Hermione. All things considered, it didn't look like he'd be in a position to admit anything to Hermione any time soon, but that was beside the point.
The plan had seemed quite straightforward when it had begun to take shape in his mind that morning. The moment he thought Harry had spiked his pumpkin juice with Felix Felicis, he knew that it would be a waste to spend it only on winning a quidditch game. Of course, quidditch was important, but it wasn't quite as important as Hermione.
Hermione, who seemed unlikely ever to speak to him again.
He knew that things hadn't been quite right between them for some days and he'd reckoned it was high time to put that right. He'd figured that they'd win the match – so much seemed obvious with Felix on his side – and then it would be time for the next stage of the plan. The stage where things went back to normal with Hermione, or maybe even something better than normal.
He'd reckoned that the party would be a big one, that the firewhiskey would be flowing. A couple of drinks in each of them, and they'd set about airing all their differences. She'd yell at him that she was sick of him at the minute, and that she didn't know what she was supposed to have done. And he'd make some tasteless jibe about Vicky, and how she reckoned she was too good for everyone at Hogwarts, and went about snogging international quidditch stars instead. And then she'd vehemently deny everything, with her hair flying and her voice growing flustered and her face glowing, and tell him he was worth ten of Viktor. And then he'd probably be the one to crack first, to tell her how sorry he was, that he missed hanging out with her, and pull her in for a hug.
And because he believed Harry had given him the Felix Felicis, the plan ended with a kiss. Even under the mistaken influence of hypothetical lucky potion, he hadn't dared to plan further than that. Hadn't dared plan a relationship and a future and a happily-ever-after.
Of course, the day had ended with a kiss. More than one, in fact. Several. And a pretty girl hanging off his arm and his every word.
But it had also ended with Hermione sobbing and then pretending she wasn't, and with Harry looking at him like he was a bloody idiot, and with, of all things, a flock of magical birds attacking him. He was pretty sure that incident was going to leave scars. Good. He deserved them.
He wasn't sure when the plan had started unraveling so disastrously. Maybe it was when he realised Harry hadn't really given him the Felix Felicis. Of course, his friend hadn't realised he was doing any damage – the match had already been won. He didn't know there were more important things for Felix to accomplish. He'd thought he was doing a great thing and helping Ron to gain confidence in his own abilities and other stupid sentimental rubbish.
Ron didn't want confidence, he wanted to make things right with Hermione.
How the hell was he going to do that?
She really seemed angry with him – in his original version of the plan she wasn't supposed to say stuff that actually hurt about how he saved everything because of the help of the lucky potion. I mean, sure, he was pretty sure she'd be thinking it either way, he knew she probably thought he was pretty useless, but she didn't normally say it. She didn't make a habit out of saying things that were genuinely upsetting when they were arguing. Because before all else, they were friends, right? But friends don't make each other cry. And friends certainly don't set manic flocks of birds on each other.
He'd left Lavender to her own devices shortly after they'd come across Harry and Hermione. He couldn't believe he'd gone along with it even that long. Bloody idiot, he thought sourly to himself. But he'd just known, as soon as Harry had told him he was out of luck and Hermione had said he needed luck to succeed, that the plan had hit a dead end. So when Lavender had been so keen he'd thought screw it and decided he deserved to catch a break.
How wrong he'd been.
Having made it to his dorm by now, he decided to take his anger out on his trunk and aimed a sharp kick at one corner of the offending luggage. His toe smarted. Good, he thought. Let it. Hermione would probably tell him to go get it checked with Madame Pomfrey. But Hermione wasn't going to be telling him anything in the immediate future.
He'd kicked the trunk harder than he intended, and it tumbled over, revealing a great number of socks and a flash of navy blue. He felt his eyes smart.
He was not crying. He absolutely was not going to cry. But tumbled over the edge of the trunk were the new dress robes that Fred and George had given him. He remembered a conversation the three of them had shared, when he'd caught them in their room to say thanks. There had been much nudging and winking and many raised eyebrows as Fred had told him that they thought he might be needing them, and George had said that they didn't want Hermione to be embarrassed by his wardrobe when he finally got around to asking her to the next dance that came their way. Of course, as it happened, she had been the one asking him to the Slug Club Christmas do, but he reckoned it still counted. He'd been so excited about that. Well, then, there was another thing he'd screwed up.
With a shaky breath, he lifted the robes and refolded them carefully. Maybe, if he managed to sort this mess out, he'd have another chance to wear them one day. Sighing, he picked up the book that he revealed in the process. He gently ran his finger over the cover, contemplating what on earth he was going to do with it now. He didn't think he had much use for a signed first edition of Hogwarts: A History if he and Hermione were no longer on Christmas-gift-exchanging terms.
Perhaps, he considered, it was time to come up with a new plan.