Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and her publishers. Please don't sue me.
Ron watched as Harry walked onto the stage, looking calm. Utterly confident.
Probably, Ron was the only one who knew how nervous Harry was. How Harry's stomach was twisting and writhing inside his stomach. How the outside cool was a fake. They had been friends for so long... Ron knew how to read Harry's expressions. Easily. So easily.
Ron noticed that his fists had inadvertently balled up. His knuckles were white. With anger? With fear? With shame?
He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling weary. It wasn't Harry's fault for being... lucky. Or was it?
Of course not.
Of course Harry was telling the truth.
I've just disbelieved him out of spite, a small voice whispered from the back of his head. Because I was jealous that he was the one to get all the attention... again.
Ron clenched his fists again, tense. He wanted to kick himself. What was wrong with him? What kind of a friend was he? Weren't friends supposed to believe each other? Weren't friends supposed to be supportive?
Just because I couldn't get over myself that he's better than me.
But he's not better than me.
Maybe... just luckier.
Either way, it's no reason to get all jealous.
It's no reason to ruin our friendship.
Hermione was sitting beside him, watching the game. Her fingernails were digging into her skin where she clutched her face.
She was squealing... Harry had just gotten the golden egg.
Ron stared at the floor, feeling guilty.
How would he apologize?
Ron watched as Harry walked onto the stage, looking calm. Utterly confident.
Probably, Ron was the only one who knew how nervous Harry was. How Harry's stomach was twisting and writhing inside his stomach. How the outside cool was a fake. They had been friends for so long... Ron knew how to read Harry's expressions. Easily. So easily.
Ron noticed that his fists had inadvertently balled up. His knuckles were white. With anger? With fear? With shame?
He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling weary. It wasn't Harry's fault for being... lucky. Or was it?
Of course not.
Of course Harry was telling the truth.
I've just disbelieved him out of spite, a small voice whispered from the back of his head. Because I was jealous that he was the one to get all the attention... again.
Ron clenched his fists again, tense. He wanted to kick himself. What was wrong with him? What kind of a friend was he? Weren't friends supposed to believe each other? Weren't friends supposed to be supportive?
Just because I couldn't get over myself that he's better than me.
But he's not better than me.
Maybe... just luckier.
Either way, it's no reason to get all jealous.
It's no reason to ruin our friendship.
Hermione was sitting beside him, watching the game. Her fingernails were digging into her skin where she clutched her face.
She was squealing... Harry had just gotten the golden egg.
Ron stared at the floor, feeling guilty.
How would he apologize?