"Check this out," Draco said, plopping at a library table beside Ron. The blond set his schoolbag on the table and smirked, gesturing the colorful badge pinned to the front of his robes.

Ron squinted to read the neon yellow text.

Support Cedric Diggory
The REAL
Hogwarts Champion!

Ron frowned and placed his quill in its inkwell. "I thought we were supporting Krum."

He decided not to tell Draco that he was still wrestling with himself on who he really wanted to win. Krum was a force to be reckoned with, but perhaps if he cheered for Fleur she would show some interest in him.

Though, maybe if she lost, she wouldn't be entirely out of his league. He chalked up another tally for Krum.

"We are, but if Hogwarts is going to win, we want it to be Diggory, right?" Draco raised his eyebrows, almost as though he were questioning Ron's commitment to disliking Potter.

There was nothing to question, though. Ron detested Potter and everything the prat stood for.

So he nodded slowly and said, "I s'pose so, yeah."

"That's what I thought. Want to see what else it does?"

"The badge?"

"Obviously." Draco puffed out his chest, the bright black-and-yellow badge glinting under the soft candlelight of the library. "Press it."

Ron's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"The badge, you dolt. Press it."

Brow furrowed, Ron reached forward and did as he was told. To his amazement, the badge transformed, this time, flashing new text that looked like vibrant green clouds.

POTTER STINKS!

He burst into laughter. Draco must have spent ages creating the badge, all just to insult The-Boy-Who-Was-Endlessly-Annoying.

Ron clutched his cramping stomach.

"Th-that's brilliant!" he wheezed, wiping away his tears of laughter. "So if a prefect tries to take them away —"

" — it'll tell them Potter stinks," Draco finished for him. He grinned. "And if they have their doubts, they'll find out just how bad he stinks when it comes time for the First Task."

The telltale clack of Madam Pince's boots sounded in the next aisle over, so Ron hurriedly buried his face in his book. But he was wearing a wide smile the whole time.

Potter was going to lose, and they were going to mock him until it was final.


Draco made enough badges for all of the Slytherins.

Naturally, they wore them to Double Potions with the Gryffindorks, so Potter was forced to look at them for the entire period. There was little chance they would get in trouble in Snape's class, and if Ron's suspicions were correct, Snape even thought they were a bit funny.

Just as expected, the Scarhead's face was priceless.

"I stink, do I?" he shouted, aiming his wand at Draco. "Last I checked, I'm not the one that bathes in that nasty cologne. You smell like someone put leather in a wood-chipper!"

"What the hell is a wood-chipper?" Ron asked.

"Probably some stupid Muggle thing," Draco sneered, glaring at the tip of Potter's wand. "Always forget Potter was raised by idiot Muggles because his parents are dead."

"You slimy git!" Potter shouted. "Don't you dare talk about my parents!"

"Why not? Everyone else does," Draco shot back. "Even the papers have been on about poor little victim Potter, the misguided Triwizard Orphan, but you know the truth, don't you?" A devilish grin adorned his lips. "You were just the Boy-That-Couldn't-Save-Them."

"Stop talking, Malfoy," Potter warned, his knuckles white as he gripped his wand with force.

"Put your wand down, then," Ron said.

"He's talking about my parents!" Potter exclaimed, almost as though he expected Ron to be on his side.

Draco scoffed. "No self-control with these Gryffindors. No wonder his parents died."

Without comeback, Potter spun his wand in the air, pointed it back at Draco, and yelled, " Locomotor — !"

But the swot grabbed his arm and shook her head.

"He's not worth it," she said. Then, she gave Draco a glare. "He's just a spoiled little bully."

Fuming, Potter dropped his wand and looked at Snape. The professor quirked a dark brow.

"Miss Granger may have stopped you from making a grievous mistake today, Mr. Potter, but your intentions were clear. Fifteen points from Gryffindor — and detention for a week. For your . . . disturbing temper."

"Damn it," Potter cursed.

He stomped towards his usual table, the swot hot on his heels.

She glanced behind her and hissed, "You let them get to you too much, Harry. You need to learn to ignore them."

Ron and Draco shared private grins.

Not only had they mocked him, but Potter even had points docked, earned himself detention, and got in trouble with his little girlfriend. In fact, after watching Potter grit his teeth for the next three hours, Ron was actually considering supporting Diggory over Krum. It certainly would bother Potter more.


In coming days, Ron learned something nobody else in Slytherin knew.

Something important. Something everyone had been dying to find out.

The First Task — or a component of it, at least.

It was not often that he knew things before the rest of his house, so he was basking in the glory of having inside information. That morning over breakfast, he decided to tell them all what he had learned.

"Dragons," he stated heavily, his mouth full of black pudding. "Got the letter from my brother this morning. He's meant to arrive tomorrow to drop them off in the Forbidden Forest."

"Dragons?" Crabbe asked, agog. "You're serious?"

"As spattergroit," Ron replied, cutting into a tomato. "My brother Charlie is probably the only cool Gryffindor there ever was. Trains dragons, he does. All the way in Romania. That's why he got roped into helping."

"You're sure it's dragons?" Theodore Nott said skeptically. "The Triwizard Tournament has had some difficult challenges throughout history, but I'm quite certain they've never imported actual dragons."

"He's right about the dragons," Blaise quipped. He dabbed his napkin to his mouth. "I heard the oaf yammering on about it with that giant woman from Beauxbatons. Seemed to be some kind of foreplay for them."

"Gross, some of us are trying to eat here!" Ron exclaimed, pushing his plate away.

He was also a bit put out that Blaise knew about the dragons, but he was too disturbed by the thought of the oaf doing . . . that , to care too much.

"Filthy half-breeds," Draco muttered. He shook his head. "Dragons, though. That's interesting."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, shaking off thoughts of Hagrid and the French headmistress. "My brother had to take all kinds of special training — years of it. Can't imagine everyone'll live to the end of the First Task, let alone the second and third . . ."

Draco nodded. "We'll need to think about how to help Krum after this one, then. Potter won't be much of a competitor since he'll be burnt to a crisp within the first five minutes."

"Hate to agree with you, Draco, but you're probably right. Can't think of any fourteen-year-old that faced a full-grown dragon and lived to tell the tale," Nott drawled. "Though, the species will matter, I suppose. He might be able to outrun something slow like an Ukrainian Ironbelly."

"Guess we'll find out." Draco buttered a piece of toast and raised his eyebrows. "Your brother didn't happen to say what types of dragons will be there, did he?"

Ron shook his head. "He didn't."

As much as he hated Potter, the talk about being burnt to a crisp made him squirm. Some part of him was hoping for an Ukrainian Ironbelly; he couldn't imagine watching someone be burned alive, after all.

"I'm hoping for something vicious," Draco went on. "Like a Hungarian Horntail. Or an Antipodean Opaleye."

Forcing a smile, Ron replied, "Me too."


"Krum!" Ron exclaimed, chasing the Quidditch player down the hallway. "Wait up!"

The Durmstrang Champion turned around and gave Ron a gleaming smile. Something inside Ron's stomach seemed to flutter, but he could not figure out what it was.

"Ron Veasley," the older boy said. "How are you, good friend?"

Ron almost choked on his heartbeat. Viktor Krum considered him a good friend ?

"I'm okay, thanks," Ron said, breathless and trying to sound casual despite the strange feeling in his belly. "But I do have to tell you something. Not sure you're going to like it."

Krum raised an eyebrow. "Yes, vot is it?"

Ron looked around the corridor to ensure they were alone. A first-year jogged by, seeming rather frazzled — likely late for class. Ron waited awkwardly for him to be out of earshot.

Once he was, Ron leaned in and whispered, "I found out what the First Task'll be."

Krum tipped his head in question. "How? That information is not public."

"My brother told me . . . Sent me a letter, actually. He's meant to help with it — the task, I mean. And Hagrid, the gamekeeper, he — he was talking about it too. So I know my brother wasn't just messing with me."

"I am unsure you should tell me all this," Krum said, rubbing his chin. "Is it — eh — vot's the vord? Vhen something is not fair — a — a cheat?"

"No, it's not cheating," Ron said quickly, shaking his head. "Hagrid's already told Potter for sure, and the giant oaf was telling Madame Maxime so she's probably told Fleur . . . I wouldn't be surprised if Diggory's found out along the grapevine because of Potter, so . . . It's really only fair that you know."

Krum still did not look so sure, but after a moment, he said, "Okay. Then I vill listen."

Ron didn't know when his heart had clenched, but he felt it relax at those words. Perhaps it was natural to worry about a new friend — especially when he needed that new friend for the next professional Quidditch season.

As he prepared to tell Krum about the task, he imagined rubbing Fred and George's noses in Bulgaria winning the World Cup.

"Well, you see," Ron started, realizing there was no easy way to say it. He thought of the World Cup again. "It's — it's dragons. There'll be dragons."

"Dragons?" Krum repeated.

"Yes. They're — they're supposed to be the First Task. Something with dragons. That's all I know."

Krum seemed to be mulling over this information. Eventually, he inhaled and nodded. "Very vell, then. Thank you, Ron Veasley."

Ron felt his face grow hot.

"Yeah," he said, nervously. "Any time, mate."


For the days that led up to the First Task, Ron considered making sure Fleur Delacour knew what she would be facing. After all, there was a chance that Madame Maxime didn't tell her anything about the dragons, a chance that the large woman wanted her school to win the tournament fair and square.

In fact, he was considering it so much that he even walked up to Fleur once, only to stumble on his words when she smiled at him.

He never had been any good with girls.

Anxious, he pretended he heard someone calling for him and darted off.

"She's just too pretty," Ron said, shaking his head. He and Draco were studying in the common room, something they used to do often that Ron found they didn't have much time for this year — or perhaps Ron was just too worried about other things to study. "No one has any business being that pretty."

"She's just a girl," Draco retorted, glancing over at his Transfiguration book. He scribbled down some more notes.

" Just a girl? Have you seen her? That's like saying Krum is just a Quidditch player!" Ron exclaimed. He sighed. "You think she'd go to Hogsmeade with me if I asked her? My brothers said there's some secret passageway they'd show me . . ."

Ron decided against telling Draco they'd only show him the secret passageway if he agreed to test some bizarre potion they were working on. Fred referred to it as "Bogey Juice."

A date with Fleur seemed worth it, though.

"You could ask her, but I would refrain from telling her about your financial situation," Draco muttered.

Ron chewed on his lip. "Somewhere like Madam Puddifoots? Think she'd like that?"

Draco smacked his quill down and looked up to glare at Ron. "Can you ask Pansy about all this? Sorry, but I'm not exactly an expert on what girls like to do on dates."

Ron frowned. "Sorry, I just figured — since you and Pansy —"

"Well, you figured wrong," Draco growled. "Now, I'd like to actually pass McGonagall's class if you don't mind."

Confused, Ron watched as his friend looked back down at his book.


The castle was abuzz with excitement for the First Task. Draco had made more Potter Stinks badges, mostly for Durmstrang, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw, but even some Gryffindors wanted to know where they could get one.

He happily made copies for anyone that asked, making sure to inform Ron each time they had a new proud member of the Potter Stinks Club.

When the First Task began, the Scarhead would face a crowd of proud Potter-haters.

Ron grinned at the thought during his hike towards the arena. Ignoring Draco and Pansy bickering behind him, he passed by a tent with flashing cameras and a handful of Ministry workers swarming around it. One of the Ministry witches was comforting the swot. She appeared to be sobbing, but it was hard to tell around all that bushy hair.

Ron snorted and continued up the hill, stopping only when he noticed his twin brothers.

"Place your bets, place your bets!" George shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth.

"Double your gold on a winner! Triple it if you're lucky!" Fred added, waving a clipboard in the air.

Ron narrowed his eyes and started towards them, only to be cut off by a rather lanky boy from Hufflepuff. The boy quickly muttered something to Fred and George and started digging in his pockets.

"Betting on Potter, are you?" Ron heard Fred ask the older boy. "Bit of an underdog, you'll get a good return on that if he manages not to die."

"Yeah, well Ced's been pacing around the common room all week," the boy said. "Not sure he's slept a wink."

"Good to know, good to know," Fred replied, collecting the Galleons from the boy. He tucked them in his pocket and scribbled something down on his clipboard.

Ron approached them. Draco and Pansy were still arguing behind him, and for once, talking to his brothers was preferable to dealing with the not-so-happy couple.

"Oi! You're taking bets ?" Ron asked, incredulous.

"Of course, little brother," said George, grinning. "Couldn't pass up an opportunity like this. Could multiply our earnings, we could!"

"Your earnings? What earnings?"

George pulled a handful of gold from his pocket and held it out for Ron to see.

"Where'd you even get all this?" Ron inquired, drawing his brows together. As he drew nearer, his eyes widened. "Is this — is this leprechaun gold ? You're ripping people off —"

Suddenly, Fred's hand was over his mouth. Ron struggled to get away.

With an awkward chuckle, he beamed at a passing group of Ravenclaw girls. "He's only joking. Little brothers. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em."

"Getoffme!" Ron groused, before finally wriggling free.

Draco and Pansy were catching up, their voices growing louder and more vicious.

". . . and I saw the way you were looking at that Beauxbatons girl! Trust me when I say my father will be hearing about this, Draco. If you keep it up, there will be renegotiations made in our arrangement!"

Draco scoffed. Ron couldn't blame him. Though, he did wonder who Pansy was talking about.

"Don't you make that noise at me!" Pansy exclaimed. As Draco drew closer to Ron, she seized him by the shoulder. "Draco Lucius Malfoy, you listen to me right now !"

"Ready to watch Potter die?" Draco said to Ron, smirking. He was ignoring Pansy entirely, not even bothering to turn around or shrug off her grip.

Pansy let her hand drop to her side and scowled behind him.

Still, he ignored her. Ron almost felt bad for the girl.

Almost .

"You willing to put some Galleons on that prediction, Malfoy?" Fred asked.

"People with gold don't gamble , Weasley."

"Well if you're so sure he's gonna die, you'd end up with more gold, right?" George asked. "Seems a bit silly to throw away Galleons, whether you've got them to spare or not."

"Draco will not be gambling," Pansy intervened, cutting between Draco and the twins. "He has a fortune to manage, and he's not going to flush it down the toilet by handing it off to you two idiots."

"Need your girlfriend to fight your battles, do you, Malfoy?" Fred laughed.

"I'm not just his girlfriend, I'm his future wife," Pansy scowled.

George raised his eyebrows. "Is that so? Nice little marriage contract between the two of you, then? Pretty archaic, if you ask me. A girl should be old enough to know if a bloke's got a working package —"

"George, come on," Ron pleaded. "Don't be a git."

"Ought to tell your friend that. Last I checked he's the biggest git in the school," Fred said. "Making those stupid badges but is still too much of a chicken to put up a few Galleons."

"Yep, pretty gittish behavior, if you ask me, Fred," George agreed.

"Real gittish," Fred confirmed with a nod.

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but a group of Beauxbatons girls started to crowd the twins. Their presence silenced him.

"Zis is where we make zee bets?" one girl asked.

"I would like to bet on Fleur winning, please," another quipped.

"I like Fleur but she will not win. Please put my bet on Viktor Krum," a third girl said.

"Sorry little brother and little brother's mates, we've got actual business to attend to," Fred said to Ron, Draco, and Pansy. He turned to the second girl. "How much on Fleur?"

Draco scoffed. "C'mon, Ron. We wouldn't want your imbecilic brothers to cost us the good seats, anyway. I'd like a good view when Potter ends up like burnt toast."

Ron followed Draco, but not before shooting the twins a final glare.

Pansy, still looking rather annoyed, hitched her arm in Draco's and hiked up the hill with him, almost as though they had not been arguing just moments before.

"You shouldn't have even bothered with those blood traitors," she sneered.

Draco ignored her as they made their way to the arena. The three of them climbed the stairs in search of open seats; unsurprisingly, the place was packed with parents, students, the Ministry, the press, and obviously, the overseeing faculty.

After several minutes of looking for a spot, they settled on sitting alongside a number of students from Durmstrang.

One boy from the group laughed and pointed at Draco, elbowing his friends.

"This is the man!" the boy exclaimed, his accent thick. Flashing his Potter Stinks badge, he continued to laugh and added, "Potter stinks! Potter stinks!"

Ron noticed that they had further charmed the badges. No longer did they say "Cedric Diggory is the REAL Hogwarts Champion." Instead, they read, "GO KRUM!"

Draco smirked. "Well, it wasn't exactly fair the way he got in, was it? Nobody's ever heard of four champions before."

The boy and his friends all nodded in agreement, but before they could say anything else, they were then interrupted by Ludo Bagman.

The First Task was about to begin.


The Slytherin dormitory was full of complaints that night.

"Can't believe the stupid git brought in his broom ," Draco groused. "He clearly had the swot's help. He's not smart enough to think of that on his own."

"Wouldn't be shocked if she summoned it for him," Ron muttered.

"She probably did," Goyle added in between deep, snotty breaths. The moron had gotten sick staying out all night looking for worms to feed the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Apparently, he signed up for the extra credit when Ron didn't show. He wiped his nose with his sleeve. "Always hated that Mudblood."

"Me too. She's why he doesn't fail classes, y'know," Ron pointed out. "Seen him downright cheat off her during exams and McGonagall didn't do a bloody thing. Can't be without her golden Quidditch player and all."

Draco scoffed.

"We'll see if he gets so lucky with the Second Task," he jeered. "If the First Task was dragons, just imagine what the next will be."

"They did at least get the hint," Goyle pointed out. "That's what Bagman said was in those gold eggs. A hint." He wiped his nose with his sleeve again. "'Member?"

"Yes, I do remember, Goyle. I'm not an idiot. I've been thinking about how we can help Krum solve his egg's puzzle or spell or . . . whatever it is." Draco rolled over in his bed to lay on his back, his hands interlaced behind his head. "Maybe Diggory too, but he might get all Hufflepuff and go tell Potter."

Ron could not imagine anything worse than dragons, but he had to admit, he was curious to see what was going to happen — and he was even more curious about the golden eggs.

He looked forward to helping Krum.


Ron was bored, waiting for Professor McGonagall to enter the Transfiguration Room. It was unlike her to be late, but as he checked the grandfather clock behind her desk, he confirmed it: She was, in fact, late.

"Should give her bloody detention," he muttered.

"According to some Ravenclaw bints, she was in charge of arranging the Yule Ball. Had her in quite a tizzy during their hour." Draco shook his head. "Can't imagine that old bat trying to plan something like a ball. They ought to hire my mother instead. At least then it'd be a tolerable event."

The Yule Ball.

Ron had nearly forgotten this was part of the Triwizard Tournament's tradition. All the confusion surrounding Potter and the age limit had put a damper on his focus, so much so that his grades had been slipping. He paled at the thought of dancing with someone. If it went as poorly as his most recent Herbology essay, he'd be featured in the Daily Prophet as the world's worst waltzer.

He could picture it: Ronald Weasley Flattens Date's Feet — Will She Ever Walk Again?

"The Yule — Merlin, I haven't even thought about a date."

"Besides Delacour," Draco muttered, opening his Transfiguration book. "She'll say no, by the way, so I don't recommend asking her."

"She might say yes!" Ron argued lowly.

He knew, though, that Draco was probably right. It did not seem likely that she would say yes.

Before his friend could retort, McGonagall swept into the room, appearing rather frazzled.

"Good afternoon, Slytherins!" she said, sounding just as stressed as she looked. "As I'm sure some of you heard from other houses, today we will be discussing the Yule Ball! Briefly, of course, so none of you are off the hook on reading the chapter."

Several groans were heard around the room. At the mention of the Yule Ball, Pansy quickly turned around and gave Draco a pointed look.

"The Triwizard Champions will open up the dance. That will be important for anyone here to know if they attend the ball with any one of the four: Fleur Delacour, Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, or Harry Potter."

A handful of the class responded to Potter's name with disapproving howls.

"Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle, Miss Bulstrode! Any more out of you and you'll be in detention after class. And five points from Slytherin, for your collective disrespect." She cleared her throat, ignoring the trio's groans. "Now, as I was saying . . ."

Ron usually would have been angry with McGonagall over the lost points, but he could hardly bring himself to care that time. He was more worried about who he was going to ask to the Yule Ball — and how he was going to ask them.

Especially if it was Fleur Delacour.


Every girl seemed like poison over the following weeks.

They were interesting to look at, most certainly fascinating to think about, but far too dangerous to get close to — so Ron kept his distance, admiring them from afar.

"Look at them! How could anyone even begin to ask them?" he inquired, staring at the Beauxbatons girls as they gathered in the courtyard. "They're perfect ."

"They're fine, I guess," Draco uttered.

"Fine, you guess," Ron repeated. "They're artwork! Goddesses, really. No idea how a bloke like me's supposed to approach one. Seems impossible."

"I personally think Pansy is more attractive," Draco said automatically. He hadn't even looked up from his Potions book.

"Of course you do. She'd have your bollocks in a Cruciatus if you didn't say that."

"Yeah well, at least I'll be married once I'm out of school," Draco sneered. He then glanced up at the group of girls. Still, he seemed unmoved by them. "So are you actually going to go talk to one of them?"

"Talk to them? They'll think I'm a joke!"

Draco shrugged. "Suit yourself, but make up your mind soon. I can't get you a date if you wait too long."

Ron quickly turned to his friend, eyebrows raised. "You can get me a date?"

"Sure. Pansy has friends."

Ron's stomach sank. Pansy's pool of friends was limited, and he suspected Daphne and Tracey had already been asked.

"I'm not going out with Millicent. No offense to her, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't even like blokes. It'd just be weird for the both of us."

"Millicent's going with Crabbe, anyway," Draco said matter-of-factly.

"You mean to tell me Crabbe has a date already?" Ron scowled. He couldn't believe Crabbe had beaten him to the punch, even if it was with Millicent. "Fine, yeah, talk to Pansy. Set me up with someone. Someone pretty, though! Or — well — at least not someone bad . I don't want you sticking me with Eloise Midgen."

Ron nearly shuddered at the thought. He had once witnessed one of her zits explode in Double Potions and he did not want to be within inches of her projectile pus.

Draco smirked. "What about Susan Bones? Rumor has it you have some rather interesting dreams about her ."

Ron's face drained of all color. "Who told you that?"

"I share a dorm with you, Weasley. Why do you think I barely slept all of last year?"

"I don't — I don't like her. It was just a — never mind. No, not Susan Bones. Well, I guess she'd be okay, but as a last resort, y'know?"

"A last resort, right," Draco said doubtfully. He looked back down at his textbook. "I'll talk to Pansy. Her and Bones don't get on much anyway, so I doubt it'd be her. If you have a choice, who do you want?"

"What do you mean who do I want ?" Ron furrowed his brow. "There aren't many left to pick from, are there?"

"Fine, top three. Who would you want?"

Ron thought about it for a moment before deciding on, "Er — Tracey, Daphne, and maybe . . . well, Lisa Turpin isn't so bad, is she? I imagine Tracey and Daph are taken but . . . I suppose Lisa might not be? And any of the Beauxbatons girls would be great, really, except that one . . . You know the one with the weird nose . . ."

Draco nodded. "I'll see what I can do."


The robes were itchy — beyond itchy, actually.

If Ron hadn't known better, he would have thought he was hit with a rather nastily modified Tickling Charm. Worse yet, he looked like his Auntie Muriel.

Inwardly, he cursed his mother for sending him the hideous getup.

"I can't go to the ball," he said firmly. His reflection stared back at him, a mess of frills. "Tell Daphne I'm sorry. There's no way I'm showing up like this."

"You do look pretty terrible," Pansy agreed, looking him up and down. "But you promised Daphne you'd go and I promised you'd be taking her. You can't stand her up now."

"You really think she'd rather I show up like this than not at all? She'll think I'm taking the piss!"

"No, she'll think you're poor," Draco quipped. "Which you are."

Ron scowled. "Lots of people here are poor! My brothers and sister didn't get stuck with robes like this! Why me ?"

"Because you're the Slytherin in the family," Draco said simply.

Sadly, he was probably right.

"Draco, we have to get going," Pansy said, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Come on, Ronald. You promised my friend you'd go with her and you are going. She'll be heartbroken if you don't show."

"Heartbroken?" Ron asked, raising his brows. "Does that mean she actually likes me?"

"I doubt it," Pansy said derisively. "Besides, she's betrothed, so no funny business."

"Her family went through with that?" Ron frowned. "What's she going with me for then?"

"He's home-schooled and she'll look like an idiot if she shows up alone. But you're still lucky she agreed to go with you, so get over your delicate sensibilities and come along."

Nervous, Ron did as he was told.


"You look . . . dashing."

Daphne Greengrass stared up at him, her emerald eyes wide. She was a vision, much more beautiful than anyone he suspected he would've attended the ball with, and certainly much better-looking than he was. He made a mental note to thank Pansy again.

"Yeah, sorry for the er — the robes," he muttered. "My mum, she —"

"You don't have much gold, I know." Daphne gave him an awkward smile. "That's okay."

Ron let out a sigh of relief, because if it had come from Pansy's mouth, or Draco's, or anyone else's, he probably wouldn't have believed them, but for some reason, he believed her . She didn't mind that he was poor. In the grand scheme of things, it mattered, yet for that evening, it didn't — not to her anyway.

It wasn't like she had to marry him, after all.

"Thanks, Daph," he said.

"Anytime, Ron," she said back to him.

They waited on the sidelines as the Four Champions and their partners glided onto the floor: first, Cedric with Cho Chang from Ravenclaw, then Potter with the swot, then Fleur Delacour with Roger Davies (much to Ron's confusion), and finally, Viktor Krum with the crooked-nose girl from Beauxbatons.

Ron felt a surge of envy.

Roger Davies was certainly no prize. Maybe if Ron had asked Fleur first, he would have had a chance.

And then there was the Beauxbatons girl escorted by Krum.

She had to be the only girl in that entire school that was not all that pretty. Ron wasn't sure why this bothered him, it shouldn't have, but it did. Krum was the finest Quidditch player in the league, and one of the best to come round in ages. The Seeker had broken records that had stood for centuries, after all.

What was he doing with such an average-looking girl?

"Ron!"

Daphne's raised voice jolted him back into reality. Carrying a new heat in his cheeks, he looked down at her and offered a sheepish smile.

"Sorry about that. I was just — well, it's the Weird Sisters, innit?"

In truth, he had just then noticed the Weird Sisters stepping onto the makeshift stage in the background. He inwardly thanked Merlin for them as they swung their guitars around, shouting over the classical symphony that had been playing for what only felt like a few minutes.

"Yes, I suppose it is," Daphne said, turning to look at the two bands. She cleared her throat and nodded at the dancefloor. "We're allowed to join now, I think, if you — if you want to dance?"

Ron stared at her for a moment before nodding far too quickly. Sweat was pouring down his face.

"Dance with — with you? Erm — yeah — yeah, that'd be good. Dancing is good."

Daphne gave an awkward nod in response. "All right."

They didn't move.

"You er — you're supposed to take me by the hand to lead me out."

If Ron was red before, he surely looked like a tomato now.

"Yeah — yeah, all right. By the hand, right. Of course."

He was sweating even more profusely, shaking even. Anxious, he reached out and took her by the fingertips. Daphne seemed frustrated as she clasped his hand firmly.

Ron led her towards the dancefloor.

"See, it's not so bad," Daphne said as they found their spot near Ginny and Longbottom. "Now take me by the waist . . . Oh, don't give me that look, it's just as friends, of course."

Ron was still bothered his sister was with Longbottom of all people, but he had heard about the date in advance, so he had time to wrap his mind around it. He tried to push off the feeling and took Daphne by the waist, just as she instructed.

That part went much more smoothly than what followed.

He could have sworn he had two left feet. He stomped on her toes. He bumped into her. He even somehow accidentally touched her bottom, to his absolute horror. Ron had no idea what he was doing, and it showed.

Nervously, he looked at the rest of the crowd. He was afraid he was the only one that couldn't dance.

But to his glee, he was far from the only one. Potter nearly elbowed Granger as he tried to spin her. Some bloke from Durmstrang had caught the fur he wore in his date's earring. Longbottom was doing surprisingly well, but just past him, Finnigan was apologizing for twisting Hannah Abbott's wrist.

That was when Ron saw through the crowd.

Draco was dancing with Pansy, and something sour filled his stomach as he saw his friend touch her.

Then he noticed the details — the little things that he hadn't seen with anyone else there.

Pansy's face was pinched, strained, like something was wrong. Draco was scowling. Ron felt a bit better seeing that they were unhappy, yet he could not pinpoint why.

Perhaps he just wanted better for his friend. If they were close to breaking up, Draco would be happier. He was clearly miserable with her.

Yes, that was it.

He wanted better for Draco — someone that suited him more, someone didn't shout at him so much.

There wasn't anything else it could be, after all.

He spun Daphne, a small smile on his lips.


The events of the Yule Ball seemed to bleed into the days that followed.

New couples held hands and snogged in the corridors. Old couples reminisced over photographs and gushed about the Christmas gifts they exchanged. Wallflowers seemed more melancholy than usual.

Then, there were Draco and Pansy.

During meals, Pansy would scoff at his mere presence, making a show of sitting as far away from him as possible. In the common room, she would scowl and go straight to the girls' dormitory. In class, she would pass notes to Tracey, making faces at Draco to make it quite clear the contents were about him.

Ron smirked to himself as Pansy stormed to the end of the table to sit with the first-years.

"There she goes again," Draco muttered, stabbing a sausage with the serving fork. "Can't believe she's still on about this."

"What exactly is she on about?" Ron dared to ask.

The two of them had been arguing all year, of course, yet there was something different about this fight. It was more than a lovers' quarrel, and he wanted to know why.

"It's absolutely ridiculous," Draco growled.

"It's Pansy. Of course it's ridiculous."

Draco snorted, but shook his head. "No, this is in a different realm of ridiculousness, even for her."

Ron raised an inquisitive brow.

"C'mon mate, you can't tell us all that and then not say what she's on about," said Nott.

Ron did not always like Theodore Nott, but right then, he could have kissed him. He'd been brave enough to say what Ron couldn't.

Draco sighed and carded his fingers through his hair.

"She thinks I fancy the swot."

Ron coughed. Blaise's eyebrows shot into his hairline. Crabbe's pumpkin juice came out his nose.

"She's delusional, of course!" Draco added. "I hate that bushy-headed chit."

"Sounds like a man in denial," Nott mocked. He sipped his tea. "If you'd like, I can talk with her and see if she'd entertain a date with you. I bet that hair would look just glorious at Puddifoots with all the steam and what-have-you."

"I don't fancy her!" Draco scowled, throwing up his hands. "Pansy is just making things up in her head."

Suddenly, Tracey Davis appeared and sat down.

"What's Pansy making up? Is this about you fancying Granger?"

"I don't fancy her!"

"Sounds like you might though, mate," Blaise said. "You're awfully defensive about it."

Tracey laughed, a tinkling sound that Ron knew to fill the dreams of many Slytherin boys.

"If you all heard what he said about her, you'd understand why Pansy's come to the conclusion that she has." Tracey reached for a scone. "It sure sounded like something you'd say about someone you fancy."

"What did he say?" Crabbe asked. "Don't tell me you actually think Granger's fit, Malfoy!"

"Of course I don't!"

"But you did say she actually looked 'acceptable for once,'" said Tracey. "And according to Pansy, it seemed like you wanted to say a whole lot more but didn't. What was she supposed to think?"

Draco groaned.

"You really said that?" Ron asked, feeling a bit annoyed. "Why?"

"Her dress was well-constructed," Draco muttered. "That's all I meant."

Tracey rolled her eyes and gave Crabbe a look that said I-told-you-so .

As much as Ron hoped Tracey and Pansy had been wrong, he wasn't so sure he could believe Draco. What kind of boy cared about a well-constructed dress?

That sour feeling was in his stomach again.


A few days later, Granger was making quite a scene in the Great Hall. She summoned and burned every single copy of Witch Weekly that she saw anyone reading, spouting complaints of the magazine peddling lies and sensationalism.

Ron never thought he would want to read Witch Weekly , but that day, he was quite happy to score a copy.

On the front, there was a picture of Granger hopping on one foot, scowling at Potter who appeared to be apologizing. Ron snorted at the headline, thinking back to the time he feared he himself may be in the paper for something similar.

YOUNGEST TRIWIZARD CHAMPION CAN WALTZ WITH DRAGONS —
BUT NOT HIS YULE BALL DATE! CAN HE TANGO WITH THE SECOND TASK?

"You see this?" Ron asked, flashing the tabloid at Draco. "Skeeter made Potter look like an absolute bell-end."

"He made himself look like an absolute bell-end," Draco replied derisively. "Did you see the way he was stomping on her feet at the ball? He's a bloody buffoon."

"Looking at Granger's feet now, are you?" Pansy hissed from down the table. "Can't say I'm shocked."

Draco scowled.


"She's talking about negotiating the dowry," Draco said as they headed towards the greenhouses. "Do you have any idea how serious that is?"

"It's been mentioned before," Ron muttered, finding himself tired of his friend's complaining.

"I'm just waiting for my mother to start sending me letters harping on all of this. She's big on manners, you know. When she hears that Pansy thinks I fancy a Mudblood —"

"Oi! Draco, Ron!"

Ron turned around, thankful for the sound of Gregory Goyle's voice, and that was rare.

"What?" Draco growled. He was clearly annoyed that he was interrupted.

"I found out what the Second Task is," Goyle said. He grinned. "Let's just say Potter won't stand a chance."


Everyone was gathered around the Black Lake.

As Krum, Fleur, Cedric, and Potter lined up, Ron felt his heart thumping in his chest. Staying alive underwater was no easy feat — and the four of them had to do it for an hour.

What happened if Krum died?

He wouldn't be too pleased if Cedric died either, and he didn't exactly want to witness Potter die, but he couldn't help but think of what would come of the Bulgarian Quidditch Team if it were Krum.

He didn't even want to entertain the idea of Fleur; the thought made him queasy. How could he go on after watching her lifeless body float to the surface of the lake? How would he cope?

The whistle sounded.

Krum, Fleur, and Diggory dove into the water, then surfaced briefly, brandishing their wands. Fleur and Diggory uttered the same spell — a spell that created a bubble around their heads — but Krum opted for something else. His head started to change shape, and as soon as he sprouted gills, he disappeared into the water once more, Fleur and Diggory just behind him.

Potter, however, didn't use his wand at all. Instead, he shoved something into his mouth, grimaced, and then followed the other three. He was well behind the pack.

Ron frowned, wondering what it was that he ate.

After that, there was nothing to do but wait.

Everyone in attendance watched the surface of the lake, for there was nothing else to watch, really; it was calm, undisturbed, giving no suggestion at all that anything interesting was happening beneath it.

Ron looked around the noisy crowd, Draco at his side.

The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were cheering Cedric on, their faces streaked with yellow and black, Potter Stinks badges pinned to their robes. The Slytherins were an even split between Cedric and Krum. Then, when Ron turned to the Gryffindors, he realized someone was missing. Someone he expected to be there, sporting her large hair, shrill voice, and red-and-gold scarf.

Ron elbowed Draco.

"The swot's missing."

"What do you mean she's missing ?"

"I mean she's not here."

Draco cocked an eyebrow, then peeked at the line of other Slytherins. Pansy was standing a few paces away, Tracey latched to her side. Sneers were on both of their faces when they met his gaze.

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't much care what Granger is doing," Draco said loudly, loud enough that Pansy could hear. It was all rather dramatic. "She can drown with Potter for all I care."

Pansy rolled her eyes and stormed away to join the Ravenclaws, Tracey in tow.

Ron snorted. "Smooth, mate."

Draco groaned.

Then, time passed — a lot of time.

The roars of the crowd dwindled as the clock ticked on. Heads began to turn to watch the minute hand move. Cheers were replaced by whispers.

Everyone simply wanted someone to come to the surface.

It had been nearly thirty minutes after all, and half an hour was a long time to spend underwater.

Still, nothing happened.

There were no ripples in the water. No sign of movement beneath the surface. It was almost as though nothing lived beneath there at all — not the giant squid, not the Grindylows, not even the merpeople.

It had been forty-one minutes when flickers of red light glittered against the current.

The light was rising, rising quickly, all the way to the surface, and then —

"Sparks!" Ludo Bagman shouted. "We have sparks!"

Mad-Eye Moody jumped into action, waddling towards the edge of the dock and growling out a spell that Ron didn't fully hear.

Whatever it was, it worked.

Fleur darted to the surface. Seaweed hung from her hair and bathing suit, but she ignored it, screaming and sobbing something about water demons. Madame Maxime scurried towards her, ready with a towel and soft coos.

Settling down, if only slightly, Fleur took in the people surrounding her. She furrowed her brow and looked up at Madame Maxime.

"M-my sister, Gabrielle . . . Where is she?"

Ron turned towards Draco, who looked equally confused. The swot wasn't the only person missing, then.

The headmistress cleared her throat.

"Madame Maxime?" Fleur pressed, her tone urgent. "Where is Gabrielle?"

Madame Maxime didn't answer her question.

Fleur's screams cut through the air. She begged someone to tell her where Gabrielle was — anyone. She looked all around her, her face so screwed up she almost managed to look ugly, merely wanting to know what had become of her small sister.

Ludo Bagman tugged at the collar of his robes.

But still, nobody told her.

It went on like that, Fleur's wracking sobs and loud cries carried by the crisp breeze. She pushed away the other girls from Beauxbatons that tried to comfort her. They clearly did not know where Gabrielle was, but there were others that did. Organizers. Faculty.

None of them answered her. Not Madame Maxime, not Karkaroff, not Dumbledore or Bagman.

They all left her in the dark.

Her sobs were the only sound until the clock hit the fifty-three minute mark.

Then, a flurry of cheers exploded from the docks.

Ron looked back out at the lake, eager to see who had made it through the challenge. But when he did, there was a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Cedric had surfaced, which was good to see, but the full scene only confirmed Ron's suspicions — and Fleur's.

Along with the Hufflepuff was Cho Chang, coughing on water as she greedily sucked in the atmosphere. Cedric dragged her towards the docks, his smile thin as they announced that he was in first place.

Fleur was screaming the entire time.

She tried to dive back into the water, shoving away anyone that told her not to. At some point, she even managed to get in, but Madame Maxime uttered something in French and Fleur was pulled back onto the docks.

She tried to dive in again, crying out, "But my sister! Gabrielle is in there! I know she is!"

It was of no use.

Madam Maxime was holding her with the strength of a giantess, whispering French words in a hushed tone.

Ron had a feeling it meant something like, "You can't go back in."

He nearly emptied his stomach onto his shoes.

Fleur wheezed in panicked breaths even when Krum emerged, his unattractive girl from Beauxbatons along with him. The girl planted a kiss on his mouth and swam behind him to the safety of the docks, waving to the excited Bulgarians.

There were two minutes left.

They were still waiting for Potter.

"If he dies in there, Granger'll die too, I reckon," Ron heard Seamus Finnigan say. "Right shame."

Draco snorted at that. The Gryffindors, on the other hand, did not find it so funny.

"He won't die!" Lavender Brown hissed.

"He might," Zacharias Smith replied from across the docks. "Would be awful, of course, but statistically speaking —"

Then it happened.

Potter rose to the surface, and along with him was not one, but two girls. One was Granger, and the other was a mere child.

She looked a lot like a much younger version of Fleur.

"GABRIELLE!"

Fleur squealed in delight as Potter pulled the small girl and Granger towards the docks, whinging on as his gills disappeared into his neck.

For once, Ron was glad Harry Potter was alive.

He never thought he'd see the day.


In the following weeks, the Scarhead was getting even more attention than usual. Ron couldn't say he didn't deserve it, but by the time spring arrived, he wasn't really sure why Potter was still the face of every magical publication in Britain.

The Daily Prophet. Witch Weekly. Even The Quibbler had a story about him.

And somehow, the Quibbler 's tale of Potter heading a herd of Dutch-speaking Erumpents still seemed more believable than Rita Skeeter's most recent claim.

According to her article in Witch Weekly , Potter was the victim of Granger spiking him with a love potion, an act she had apparently been doing since their second year. Pansy seemed to enjoy this take, but Ron couldn't be bothered to think much of it.

Strangely, he was too busy dreading the Third Task.

Each day that he saw another magazine with Potter's face splashed across it, he was reminded of the looming event, and each day, his anxiety grew worse.

While Granger was sorting through hate mail from Potter's amassed fanbase, Ron was attempting to focus on passing his classes — most especially Care of Magical Creatures, which he admittedly was doing poorly in — yet it seemed like a near-impossible feat.

How was he supposed to think about school after what he had seen?

How could he possibly spend another minute caring about his coursework when neither the Ministry nor school officials bothered to step in and save Gabrielle Delacour?

Of course, that begged the question: What would they have done if Potter didn't come to her rescue? Would they have left her down there in the depths of the frigid lake? Would they have let her die?

Ron stared at his niffler, a small, thieving creature he might have considered cute, had he been able to think about anything other than Fleur's screams. He was supposed to be doing something with it — feeding it, he thought — but he was too dredged in his ponderings.

The Second Task was cruel, and the Third Task was approaching swiftly.

He wished attendance wasn't mandatory.


Ron, once again, was attempting to study. It was not going well, to say the least, and when he saw Theodore Nott approaching he and Draco's library table, he slammed his book shut, resigned to the fact he would just have to live with something below an "Exceeds Expectations" in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

When he saw the look on Nott's face, he frowned. The boy never seemed to be bothered by anything, yet there was something in his eyes — something dark and fearful.

He was not bringing happy news.

Without so much as asking, he sat down across from them.

"Crouch is dead."

The words came from his mouth easily, smoothly, as though he were delivering them the local weather.

Draco and Ron exchanged confused glances.

"What?" Ron asked, in full disbelief. "Crouch as in . . . Barty Crouch?"

"That's the one," Nott confirmed. "They found him by the forest."

"You've got to be joking. My brother works for him! Er — or did, anyway . . ." Ron frowned. "What happened to him?"

"Probably an animal," Draco decided. "There are some nasty creatures in the forest. Vampires and Acromantulas and the like. Could've been a bear or something."

Nott shook his head. "I don't know the details. I just caught Moody talking to Dumbledore about it in the corridor. There were mentions of canceling the Third Task."

Ron perked up at that, though not much, since a man had died and all.

"And are they?"

Nott shook his head. "Moody said they can't. That was the last thing I heard before he told me to get my 'eavesdropping arse' to class."

Ron couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Somebody had died .

And if the Third Task wasn't going to be canceled, there would likely be more deaths to follow.

"D'you reckon they were onto something, though? Thinking of canceling it?" he asked, quietly thinking to himself that Draco's father may be able to put a stop to things. "If people are already dying before it even happens . . ."

"Of course they shouldn't cancel it," Draco spat. "It's tradition. Besides, if anyone actually dies, it'll be Potter."

Ron regretted saying anything. He should have known his friend would want the tournament to continue.

"Could be anyone, really," Nott pointed out. "But yeah, it is tradition and all. No reason to end it now, especially since no one's actually died during a task yet. That's definitely a record."

Ron paled.

"Anyway, figured I'd tell you two the news. Better you heard it from me than the old codger in the announcements later. Speaking of which, I'm bloody starving. What time is it?"

Nott peered over at Ron's watch, which Ron held out halfheartedly. He had no idea how the other boy could think of food after what he had heard.

Once in awhile, something new would remind Ron that he wasn't like his housemates at all. It was certainly one of those times.


It was the day Ron had been dreading.

The student body had been led out to the Quidditch pitch, but where there was usually an empty field, there was a large maze sculpted from hedges and flowers. Confused, Ron looked for any dangerous plants he might have recognized from Herbology class.

He only saw gardenias.

"They just have to make it through that ?" Draco scoffed as they settled into their seats. "The courtyard at the Manor is more complicated than this joke of a maze."

Draco was right. So far, the Third Task seemed tame compared to the First and Second. In fact, it didn't seem difficult at all.

"Could be some pretty nasty things around that maze," Blaise pointed out.

"Like what? Bumblebees? Songbirds? All I see are bushes and flowers."

The band played as the Triwizard Champions lined up at the edge of the maze, Ludo Bagman pacing before them and several professors standing nearby. All four of the champions looked more nervous than ever, and while Ron couldn't blame them, he also wasn't sure why. After all they had been through, a maze would be simple.

They should have been ecstatic. He knew he sure was.

"We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze," McGonagall said. "If you get into difficulty and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air and one of us will come and get you. Do you understand?"

The champions must have understood, as Bagman waved McGonagall away and began announcing the standings.

Potter and Diggory were tied for first, Krum was in second, and Fleur, having left the Second Task incomplete, was in last place. Ron thought that a bit unfair.

"On my whistle, Harry and Cedric! Three — two — one —"

Bagman's whistle sounded, and the two Hogwarts boys entered the maze.

"You'll be next, Viktor," Bagman said cheerily.

A moment later, the whistle sounded again and Krum entered the maze too.

Fleur was last, though she looked as though she didn't want to go in at all. In his mind, Ron cursed Bagman for not seeing it. She should have been excused from the tournament after what happened with Gabrielle.

Alas, she was not, and she entered the maze, the same as the other three.

Like before, it was then a waiting game.

From where they sat, there was not much to be seen. The hedges were too tall, tall enough that the roar of the crowd echoed around the Quidditch field in a strange new way. Ron did not join them in cheering. Draco, on the other hand, had started a small chant of "Potter stinks!" with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

Eventually, red sparks shot through the air.

The crowd gasped in unison.

A pair of Aurors that Ron didn't recognize bolted into the maze, returning with Fleur moments later. Dark circles were beneath her eyes, and she looked like she was muttering to herself.

Ron wasn't surprised she didn't make it.

How could she be expected to be at her best after what happened at the Black Lake?

Fortunately, the Beauxbatons students seemed to think similarly to him, as they all crowded her and told her how proud they were. Madame Maxime, on the other hand, seemed less than pleased about it.

Time then carried on — and on. And on.

After a very long while, more sparks shot up. The Aurors returned with Krum.

He was trembling, shouting at anyone that came within a few feet of him after he sat down. Blaise had been right.

The maze was dangerous.

It seemed like hours passed by the time Potter finally appeared, the Triwizard Cup in his hands. Ron scoffed as the hired band began to play the victory song.

If one of the Hogwarts champions was going to win the Cup, it should have been Diggory. Ron was so annoyed he considered leaving early, consequences be damned.

But then, the crowd came to a crescendo.

Everyone was babbling to each other, gasping, crying, shouting, whispering. Something had gone wrong, but Ron could not see what it was.

He wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Can you see what's happening?" Draco asked him.

Ron shook his head. All he could see were fingers being pointed at Potter — no, beside Potter — and the crowd starting to go into a frenzy.

Granger was being held back by McGonagall.

Cho was screaming.

Fleur joined her.

Potter then collapsed to his knees.

Dumbledore was racing to him, Moody and the mysterious Aurors in tow.

Ron still had no idea what was happening, so he turned to Draco, his brows pulled together, wondering if he could finally see what it was. Draco shrugged, still just as confused as Ron was.

Suddenly, Amos Diggory was yelling, pushing his way through the crowd.

"That's my boy!" he howled. "THAT'S MY BOY!"

Ron's face drained of all color.

As the crowd broke apart to let Amos through, he could see it. The scene that had caused the sudden stir.

Cedric Diggory was on the ground.

And he was covered in blood.

A lot of blood.


The rest of the year was grim.

Ron found solace in the fact he made friends with Krum, who agreed to stay in touch after the Farewell Feast. But it was the only solace he found in much of anything.

Potter was claiming He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back, causing all kinds of commotion not just among the student body, but throughout the entire Wizarding World. The headlines were spinning up theories about Potter being bonkers, and for once, Ron felt a bit bad for him.

Ron wasn't sure he believed the Scarhead, as even the Ministry was denying the claim, but he certainly didn't envy him either. After all, with questions still hanging in the air, the most popular theory about Diggory's death was that Potter killed him. To Ron, it wasn't very plausible.

Even Draco doubted it.

"He couldn't kill anyone," Draco spat, packing his trunk. "Everyone always thinks he's so powerful, but there's no way he could murder somebody."

"Yeah, I don't think think he did either," Nott replied.

"Me either," Ron agreed. He then sighed. "Some year, huh?"

Blaise nodded. "Some year."

Those were the last words spoken between them in the castle. They made their way to the Hogwarts Express, Draco complaining about having to lug his trunk and Theodore muttering a snarky comment along the lines of, "Master Draco missing his house-elves?"

Ron had never been happier that a year at Hogwarts was over.

They found their compartment as they always did, chattering on about their summer plans and discussing their fifth year. Ron was mostly looking forward to summer at the Burrow, actually. Nobody died at the Burrow, after all.

"I'm going to be a prefect," Draco said. "It's inevitable really, with me being almost the top of our year and having my dad on the Board of Governors."

It was at the tail end of this declaration that the train jerked to a start.

Pansy wasn't sitting with them.