There was silence in the boys' dormitory, but for soft snores from
Neville's bed, the thick drapes surrounding the beds muting the sound,
which all the other occupants were immensely grateful for.
Only one of the beds was not occupied.
The drapes surrounding it gaped open on the empty mattress, moonlight highlighting the tangled white sheets and deep red and gold blankets where someone had clearly been tossing and turning.
It's owner was sitting on the window-seat, staring out across the wide grounds of the castle, his hands resting in the lap of his too-short, Paisley pajamas. The half-moon outside peered from behind a cloud, casting a pale blue wash over his freckled face.
His dark eyes were troubled, his brow furrowed with thoughts that he didn't really want to be having, but that were keeping him awake nonetheless.
Raising a hand, he placed it against the cool glass, watching with absent interest as a misty outline appeared on the night-chilled pane.
Withdrawing his hand, he watched the misty imprint linger and slowly fade.
He did the same again, smiling faintly as the same thing occurred.
Even the simple things posed as a good distraction, especially now.
His sleepless gaze swept across the silent room to the other curtained- off beds, to one of them in particular. The one that had â€" until this evening â€" contained the best friend that he had ever had.
Harry Potter.
The famous Harry Potter.
Everyone had heard of him, of course.
The Boy Who Lived, the sole vanquisher of You-Know-Who, the saviour of the Philosopher's Stone, the Slayer of the Monster of Slytherin, the brave, muggle-tormented orphan, the loyal friend, the good wizard.
And now...now, Tri-Wizard Champion.
Ron turned his face sharply away from the curtained-off bed, gritting his teeth, seized by the temptation to hurl something breakable against the wall or out of the window to watch it plummet to the rocky ground below.
It just wasn't fair!
Bunching his hands into fists in the fabric of his pajamas, he forced back tears of frustration, wishing that he could explain to his...yes, his friend, why he had reacted like he had. Why he had acted like everybody else had.
It was simple.
It was envy.
Yes, Harry was his friend, his best friend and the one person who would give his life for outside his family, but it didn't mean you couldn't be jealous of them when they get to do everything and have everything and you...well...don't.
He wanted to explain everything, but it was impossible.
Harry couldn't understand.
He had always been on his own, no competition from anyone, no standard to live up to and no one to outdo.
He didn't have five elder brothers, all of whom were better than him at everything. Bill and Percy, both head boys and incredibly smart. Charlie, Fred and George, the family Quidditch players. What had he done that was worth anything at school?
Nothing.
Well, one measly chess game, which had helped to save the Philospher's Stone from Voldemort, but who got all the credit for that? Who, despite the fact that they had all got points for the house cup, was still credited as the one who saved the stone?
Only the Boy-Who-Lived.
He hadn't done it on purpose, of course he hadn't, but it was the fame that came with the name of Harry Potter.
Sitting back against the cold wall of the window seat, Ron pressed his brow against the chilly glass, his eyes closed.
Harry had somehow managed to get his name in the Tri-Wizard tournament.
He wouldn't have done it without telling him â€" Ron â€" how...would he?
The shock on his dark-haired friend's face when his name had been called said that he would never have put his name in, but there he was again, entered in the most famous wizarding tournament and more famous than anybody else in it already.
Sighing, Ron swung off the window seat and padded back across the wooden floor towards his bed, a muffled hoot surprising him as he opened the thick, red drapes to climb back into the four poster.
"Pig?"
The ruffled little owl fluttered out of a tangle of folds in the curtains and fell into Ron's open hand with a feeble hoot, his legs in the air.
Apparently he had been stuck there since Ron had first got up to sit by the window. The redhaired boy could remember hearing a muffled squawk when he had got up, but it hadn't registered as important.
For the first time since the Goblet of Fire had gone out, Ron felt a genuine smile cross his face. Carefully cradling his little owl in his left hand, he carried it over to the water basin and helped the tiny bird to drink from a small handful of water scooped in his right palm.
Hooting happily, apparently recovered from his spell in his curtain- prison, Pig took off, fluttering up towards the rafters in the roof that he had made his home in, because he was too small for the Owlery.
Ron had to smile again.
Despite the fact that Pigwidgeon looked utterly ridiculous and seemed totally useless, Ron knew he would hate to ever get rid of the miniscule owl, because he could always count on him for comfort and friendship.
"Its like me and Harry." He murmured to himself as he crawled into his bed, pulling the drapes closed so that no chink of moonlight could even cut in. "I'm like Harry's version of Pig...useless and ridiculous and..." He yawned, punching his pillows. "And stupid..."
He was asleep before he realised that he had just given the reason why he still was friends with Harry.
While he might not be at all good at Quidditch like Harry or his brothers, or be Head Boy like Percy and Bill, or be very smart like Hermione, he was the one that provided the very thing Harry longed for most: comfort, companionship and friendship.
Only one of the beds was not occupied.
The drapes surrounding it gaped open on the empty mattress, moonlight highlighting the tangled white sheets and deep red and gold blankets where someone had clearly been tossing and turning.
It's owner was sitting on the window-seat, staring out across the wide grounds of the castle, his hands resting in the lap of his too-short, Paisley pajamas. The half-moon outside peered from behind a cloud, casting a pale blue wash over his freckled face.
His dark eyes were troubled, his brow furrowed with thoughts that he didn't really want to be having, but that were keeping him awake nonetheless.
Raising a hand, he placed it against the cool glass, watching with absent interest as a misty outline appeared on the night-chilled pane.
Withdrawing his hand, he watched the misty imprint linger and slowly fade.
He did the same again, smiling faintly as the same thing occurred.
Even the simple things posed as a good distraction, especially now.
His sleepless gaze swept across the silent room to the other curtained- off beds, to one of them in particular. The one that had â€" until this evening â€" contained the best friend that he had ever had.
Harry Potter.
The famous Harry Potter.
Everyone had heard of him, of course.
The Boy Who Lived, the sole vanquisher of You-Know-Who, the saviour of the Philosopher's Stone, the Slayer of the Monster of Slytherin, the brave, muggle-tormented orphan, the loyal friend, the good wizard.
And now...now, Tri-Wizard Champion.
Ron turned his face sharply away from the curtained-off bed, gritting his teeth, seized by the temptation to hurl something breakable against the wall or out of the window to watch it plummet to the rocky ground below.
It just wasn't fair!
Bunching his hands into fists in the fabric of his pajamas, he forced back tears of frustration, wishing that he could explain to his...yes, his friend, why he had reacted like he had. Why he had acted like everybody else had.
It was simple.
It was envy.
Yes, Harry was his friend, his best friend and the one person who would give his life for outside his family, but it didn't mean you couldn't be jealous of them when they get to do everything and have everything and you...well...don't.
He wanted to explain everything, but it was impossible.
Harry couldn't understand.
He had always been on his own, no competition from anyone, no standard to live up to and no one to outdo.
He didn't have five elder brothers, all of whom were better than him at everything. Bill and Percy, both head boys and incredibly smart. Charlie, Fred and George, the family Quidditch players. What had he done that was worth anything at school?
Nothing.
Well, one measly chess game, which had helped to save the Philospher's Stone from Voldemort, but who got all the credit for that? Who, despite the fact that they had all got points for the house cup, was still credited as the one who saved the stone?
Only the Boy-Who-Lived.
He hadn't done it on purpose, of course he hadn't, but it was the fame that came with the name of Harry Potter.
Sitting back against the cold wall of the window seat, Ron pressed his brow against the chilly glass, his eyes closed.
Harry had somehow managed to get his name in the Tri-Wizard tournament.
He wouldn't have done it without telling him â€" Ron â€" how...would he?
The shock on his dark-haired friend's face when his name had been called said that he would never have put his name in, but there he was again, entered in the most famous wizarding tournament and more famous than anybody else in it already.
Sighing, Ron swung off the window seat and padded back across the wooden floor towards his bed, a muffled hoot surprising him as he opened the thick, red drapes to climb back into the four poster.
"Pig?"
The ruffled little owl fluttered out of a tangle of folds in the curtains and fell into Ron's open hand with a feeble hoot, his legs in the air.
Apparently he had been stuck there since Ron had first got up to sit by the window. The redhaired boy could remember hearing a muffled squawk when he had got up, but it hadn't registered as important.
For the first time since the Goblet of Fire had gone out, Ron felt a genuine smile cross his face. Carefully cradling his little owl in his left hand, he carried it over to the water basin and helped the tiny bird to drink from a small handful of water scooped in his right palm.
Hooting happily, apparently recovered from his spell in his curtain- prison, Pig took off, fluttering up towards the rafters in the roof that he had made his home in, because he was too small for the Owlery.
Ron had to smile again.
Despite the fact that Pigwidgeon looked utterly ridiculous and seemed totally useless, Ron knew he would hate to ever get rid of the miniscule owl, because he could always count on him for comfort and friendship.
"Its like me and Harry." He murmured to himself as he crawled into his bed, pulling the drapes closed so that no chink of moonlight could even cut in. "I'm like Harry's version of Pig...useless and ridiculous and..." He yawned, punching his pillows. "And stupid..."
He was asleep before he realised that he had just given the reason why he still was friends with Harry.
While he might not be at all good at Quidditch like Harry or his brothers, or be Head Boy like Percy and Bill, or be very smart like Hermione, he was the one that provided the very thing Harry longed for most: comfort, companionship and friendship.