Groggy consciousness rushed back in as his head breached the surface, feeling like a sudden wave of queasiness after eating a poorly cooked lunch. Clammy hands gripped his arms, holding him steady while he gasped in large amounts of air and struggled to get his bearings. Why was he in water? The last thing he knew, he'd been… at the – at the shore of the lake, taking the potion to simulate a sort of temporary sleep-death hybrid. His memories thus returned, he stopped flailing, and the hands started pulling him towards the docks.

"Blimey, mate, it's cold," Ron managed to say through chattering teeth as he started to paddle as well, wanting to escape the biting water as soon as possible. His underwater sojourn had felt as brief as Dumbledore had promised it would, but the chill had, despite the warming charms that had been cast so that none of them got hypothermia, spread throughout his body nevertheless. He wasn't sure how long he had been down there, but it had obviously been long enough for the cold to settle in. "Wasn't the best idea for a task, was it? Wonder whose stupid idea this one was. Percy's, probably; the prat." Nobody responded. "Harry, what – "

Turning to face his friend, he instead caught sight of a stranger swimming along beside him. At first, he thought it was just a side effect of whatever Harry had used to enable him to stay underwater for so long. He was swiftly disabused of that notion, however. The figure had pale grey skin and lustrous emerald green hair that, upon meeting the water, spread out like dye. Utterly enchanting sunflower-yellow eyes peered back at him, drawing him in like a lonely traveller looking for a place to stay for the night. It all blended together to create an image of haphazard yet beguiling beauty and charm. Most importantly, however, they weren't male, and they most decidedly weren't Harry.

"You're not Harry," he stated, feeling rather stupid but not knowing what else to say.

"No, I'm not." Her voice was melodic, and he yearned to hear more of it. Part of him knew that this had to be a mermaid, and that this was all part of her dangerous and often deadly allure, but he hardly cared for caution at a time like this. She was beautiful, and he was enthralled. "Only three champions reached the base."

That, while failing to break him free, left cracks in the fabric of her allure. His dazed mind still wasn't fully his again, but his gaze searched the anxious crowd for his best friend. Perhaps Harry hadn't worked out how to breathe underwater after all. It would be an embarrassing shame and would give the Slytherins even more ammunition to needle him with, but it would be better than the alternative. As long as Harry was still alive and somewhat whole, Ron didn't really care. Then again, he didn't really care about anything at the moment, to be honest; he could run away with this enticing mermaid and he'd have no regrets.

Except that wasn't quite true. There were a lot of people and things that he cared about, and a lot of people and things that he would miss. He'd miss Quidditch, and regret not knowing how the Cannons finished on the leader board that year. After supporting them in vain for so many years, he'd hate to miss their eventual – and, in his mind, inevitable – rise to success. He'd miss his family, even when Percy was being a prat or the twins were harassing him. Leaving the overcrowded Burrow and myriad siblings behind might be awfully tempting at times, but it'd never be a real or permanent option for him. He'd even miss Hermione, even though she'd blatantly betrayed him and Harry by going to the ball with Krum. Everybody who repented deserved a second chance, after all, and he was sure she'd realise her error eventually; besides, she really was a good friend when she wasn't letting herself get preoccupied by foreigners. And he'd certainly miss Harry, despite his frustrations at always being the ridiculed sidekick of the famous friend. It might get infuriating sometimes, but it really wasn't Harry's fault that everybody was so fascinated with him; all Harry had ever done was try to stay alive, really.

In fact, there wasn't any real benefit to running away at all, other than the alluring girl, and, now he thought about it, she wasn't actually all that pretty in the first place. She looked rather unusual, really, if you thought about her features individually. However mesmerising she might be, he doubted that anybody could honestly call her pretty. No; it would be much better not to run off with her.

Willing himself not to look back into those eyes to test whether he could withstand their subtle assault, he climbed up the ladder that was suddenly in front of him, only sparing an appreciative nod – his eyes focused elsewhere – to his erstwhile companion before focusing his attention on finding Harry and Hermione in the crowd. If Harry had been the only one not to reach the pier, then Krum had to have found and retrieved Hermione. For the first time since recognising her at the ball, he thought about the pair without being overcome with jealousy; if Krum had indeed rescued Hermione, Ron was grateful to him. He knew that it was irrational; all four hostages had been safe the whole time, so it wasn't as if he had really rescued her. Regardless, he appreciated the action.

He didn't have to search for long. Only a few mere seconds later, he saw Harry and Hermione fighting their way through the crowd, his family close behind them like an army charging to destroy its enemy or to recover a captured comrade. They surrounded him in a mass of hugs, blankets, and pats on the back, and he let himself be lost in them.

This, he thought as he was encased in warmth and love, is much better than being lost in a mermaid's eyes.

-m-d-

It wasn't until the scores were announced that he fully comprehended what had happened. Things had been moving so fast that he just hadn't had the time to think, let alone to entice Harry or Hermione to discuss their experiences in any real depth. He had known they were both being uncharacteristically antsy and distant, but he'd attributed that to the crowd around them and anticipation over the upcoming results. It wasn't until Bagman mentioned the 'little mix up' that he understood exactly why neither of his friends seemed to be able to look him in the eye or talk to him for long.

At first, it felt like a sham. Surely it was a dream; surely it couldn't be real. As time wore on like water beating against the rocks of his comforting delusion, however, he came to realise that it was painfully genuine. That was his world now; he'd somehow gone from a world in which he was Harry's best friend to a world in which Hermione was Harry's favourite whatever without even realising it.

He felt hurt and utterly betrayed; it had been painstakingly obvious whom Harry was supposed to retrieve, yet he'd left Ron down there anyway. He'd done it knowingly, not caring that everyone would know and take note. As soon as the announcement was made, every single person in the crowd turned to look at their huddle before breaking out in whispers. Ron could feel his face heat up as he flushed in mortification. Unable to concentrate on Bagman's words any longer, he fixed his gaze on the silhouette of the Whomping Willow just visible in the distance and tried to ignore everything that was going on around him. Even the announcements of the rankings failed to reclaim his attention; he wasn't willing to let it worsen his already filthy mood and didn't know which results he wanted in that moment anyway. Part of him wanted Harry to go well, but another part wanted him to be penalised for leaving him behind; while the self-righteous plea for vindication was certainly louder than the support for his friend, he didn't know which part was bigger.

And he'd thought this would be better than basking in a mermaid's allure.

As soon as Bagman finished speaking, Ron made a half-hearted excuse about ducking down to the kitchens for an early lunch. "No," he said when Harry offered to come with him, "you should stay and celebrate. I'll meet up with you later."

Harry – the Boy Who Lived, the youngest Seeker in a century, the second Hogwarts champion, his supposed best friend, the boy who'd left him behind – glanced at Hermione before, eyebrows furrowed, opening his mouth in order to say what Ron presumed would be a plea for forgiveness. But Ron never got to find out what he was planning to say; Fred bounded over to them and, with a boisterous cheer, stole his attention before he could verbalise his thoughts. Torn between being thankful for the interruption and disappointed that Harry hadn't had the chance to convince him to stay, Ron made his way back to the castle alone.

That, unfortunately, meant making his way through the throng of people lingering at the water's edge in case anything else of note transpired. The task itself was quite easy; his height and hair both tended to stand out in a crowd, and the other audience members all appeared to be intrigued by his progress, so it was easy to get people to shuffle over. However, his movements were apparently deemed a thing of note; infuriating silences cropped up whenever he came into view, and he frequently overheard endless whispers and snide comments be exchanged in his wake.

Finally, he thought as he broke free of the crowd's stifling confines.

He was vaguely aware of being intercepted by Rita Skeeter, but, still feeling like he was in a haze, he swiftly brushed her off. However frustrated and in need of someone to rant to he might be, he knew better than to let her take that role. He had seen her drivel concerning Hermione already; he didn't want to give her the chance to write for the heartbroken tirade he knew she would turn even a throwaway comment from him into.

The sight of the castle doors was a welcome one, and he felt some of the weight lift off his shoulders as he entered the building. Most of the students were still mulling about outside, so the school was unnaturally empty and quiet. It was a nice reprieve from the activity and judgement of the outside world. Ron hastened to the kitchens, not wanting to be in the corridors when the peace eventually broke.

Alas, even the kitchens themselves felt like a return to reality. Dobby was eager to know how Harry had gone, leaving Ron with little choice but to awkwardly relive the events as he tried to tell the house-elf enough to satisfy him. Other house-elves tottered around making and fetching enough food to last him through both lunch and dinner, but Dobby – despite their insistence that he was dishonouring himself and, indeed, them all by not working – refused to go until he had heard everything. Ron rather suspected that the house-elf would have been content to listen to Ron's recount until Harry himself showed up to take over had Ron not eventually excused himself. All in all, he didn't stay in the kitchens for long.

Not wanting to be found near the dungeons, he hastened back to Gryffindor Tower.

To his relief, a glance out of a fourth floor window revealed that the majority of the crowd still lingered around the lake. He still passed enough people to be treated to the silences and whispers and barbed comments, but it was nowhere near as bad as it would have been had the castle been fully occupied again.

"I hardly expected you to be the first back. How did it go, then?" the Fat Lady asked when he finally reached her portrait.

"Glory," he muttered.

"Well, yes, that is the idea of it all, isn't it? But what about our Harry; how did – " Her portrait swung open before she could finish her question, and Ron slipped inside without another word.

Fortunately for him, none of the other Gryffindors were back yet, supposedly all still revelling in Harry's success. A part of him still felt abandoned, however, as he made his way through the empty, too-quiet common room and up the stairs to his dormitory. Once the door was closed behind him, blocking out the rest of the world, he flopped down on his bed and dug into his food.

Many hours later, he was staring listlessly at the ceiling, wallowing in his aloneness, when the first sound of activity drifted up to him. With the speed of the twins running from a prank gone wrong, he slipped underneath his covers, cast a spell to close his curtains, and closed his eyes. Sure enough, the door creaked open a little while later and he heard Harry quietly ask whether he could talk to him before, realising that no response was forthcoming, returning downstairs to what sounded like the start of a party.

Ron desperately wanted to be downstairs with them. He really was happy that Harry had succeeded, and he didn't want this to cause another rift between them; not when they'd only just rebuilt their friendship after their last spat. What was stopping him, however, was the fact that he simply didn't know how to celebrate such a thing. How do you revel in a friend's success when everyone knows it came, directly and unnecessarily, at your expense?

Instead, he let himself drift off into a state of half-sleep, half-sorrow as the cheering and music and laughter raged on.

-m-d-

The sound of approaching loud chatter and footsteps roused him from his slumber. Apparently, he had eventually fallen asleep through sheer exhaustion. A glance at his watch showed that it was almost two in the morning.

"Really great job, Harry," Dean, who sounded more than a little tipsy, was slurring out, loud enough that he could be easily heard through the closed door. Ron wondered how he'd gotten to the alcohol. Fred and George usually nicked some – from what they'd previously told him, they took the firewhiskey and left enough money to cover it in its place – when they went to get supplies, but the prefects were usually diligent about ensuring that none of the younger students drank any. Apparently his housemates had let the rules slide in his absence; how thoughtful of them. "If you keep smashing it like this, you'll be the victor for sure."

"I don't care about winning," Harry replied. Ron noted that he too was slurring; knowing Harry, he wouldn't have "I just want everyone to stop treating me like some sort of pariah."

"Ignore them," Neville replied. "They're either jealous that you took the limelight from Cedric or envious that you're a champion and they're not. It's just because you're doing so well."

"I just wish we could have seen how well," Dean butted back in. "An underwater task, honestly."

The door creaked open, and their happy chatter ceased. A few more whispered words were exchanged, then he heard the creaking of floorboards and beds. It sounded as if one person hovered outside Ron's drawn curtains for a few moments before moving on, but that could have just been wishful thinking.

-m-d-

The next morning, he resolved to act normal. He would have already drawn enough attention to himself by not attending the party the night before; seeing as everyone was so obviously on Harry and Hermione's side, he didn't want to risk inciting their disdain or pity. Empathy would be fantastic; pity would just make him feel pathetic. His time of self-confinement ultimately worked in his favour, however; he woke up much earlier than he usually did, and, knowing that he'd be unable to get back to sleep, was able to slip down to the Great Hall for breakfast before any of them stirred.

Breakfast was spent alternating between brushing off attempts at consolation and ignoring snorts and remarks laced with derision. Every single person in the school knew what had happened, and they were already weaving their own tales, making the goings-on sound even more scandalous and noteworthy than they actually were. It was like in the aftermath of their third floor adventure in their first year; Ron hadn't been able to keep himself from telling Dean and Seamus about their heroics, and then stories had spread through the student body like Chinese whispers set aflame. Then, at least, it had been about something positive, something that all three friends were – while, in Harry and Hermione's case, embarrassed at the attention – fine with being known for.

The slander and infamy embroiled in this task made it a completely different experience.

Eventually, he gave in and, after swiping the Marauders' Map so that Harry wouldn't be able to track him down, found an abandoned classroom to waste time in. After barricading the door and setting up the map so that he could keep an eye on any dots wandering around nearby, he threw himself into his schoolwork with the kind of vigour he had never before even contemplated affording to it. There was no guarantee that things would be alright with Hermione in time to get her help on his essays, and the boredom was starting to overwhelm him.

It was almost lunchtime before either of the dots representing his friends strayed from the common room.

-m-d-

Throughout lunch, he forced himself not to look at them. Their constant glances and stares prickled at his skin like little pins trying to find a pincushion to rest in until he was certain that they'd spend more time looking at him than at their food. Instead of succumbing to the temptation of peeking over at them in return, he threw himself into a conversation with the twins and Lee. He was gnawing into a piece of chicken as he was regaled with the tale of his brothers' first prank at Hogwarts when he noticed Harry and Hermione pass the table near him. His eyes met Harry's imploring green ones, but Ron quickly diverted his gaze back to Fred's wildly gesturing hands as the older Gryffindor tried to encapsulate the magnitude of the story.

"And that," Fred finished with a flourish towards his friend, "also happens to be how we befriended Lee here."

"Detentions are an excellent way of making new friends," George advise him seriously.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Did you read the Daily Prophet this morning?" Lee asked casually.

Silence fell in their immediate vicinity. Ron glanced at Lee curiously, only to find that the older wizard was watching him. It took Ron a moment to realise that the question must have been directed at him. "Nah. I don't subscribe to it. It's usually utter rubbish, anyway."

"It might be a good idea if – "

" – if we head back to the common room to finish planning that new prank?" George asked, cutting in entirely too fast and looking entirely too inconspicuous not to be hiding something. Ron narrowed his eyes at his brother; something was amiss, and it somehow concerned him and, presumably, that day's edition of the Daily Prophet. Past experience with trying to get George to talk, however, had convinced Ron that nothing short of truth serum would be able to coax answers from him. Both of the twins had always been exceptionally good at keeping secrets.

"Excellent idea," Fred added. "We'd better get cracking if we want it to be ready for tomorrow."

"You coming, Ron?"

"Er, sure."

George's hand slipped into his pocket. Ron expected him to pull something out of it, but he merely let it linger there.

It wasn't until a classmate made a not-so-veiled sly comment and was rewarded with a quick Stinging Jinx that it clicked that that was the pocket where George kept his wand.

-m-d-

Ron spent most of his afternoon talking to Fred and George, but couldn't remain hidden inside his cocoon of denial forever. The older boys eventually went off to put their prank into action, leaving him alone in the corner of the common room, looking out over his housemates as they milled about in obvious contentment. Dean and Seamus were trying to write the Charms essay Ron had finished that morning, and Parvati and Lavender appeared to be giggling over some Divination predictions, so he was at a loss for what to do.

He was contemplating the merits of borrowing one of the school brooms when the sound of painfully familiar voices drew his attention. The cheers of admiration and support that reverberated through the room in response to their presence quickly drowned out their voices. Ron scoffed to himself as he heard Harry catch the crowd's attention and, after a reluctant thank you, diffuse their attention.

After surveying the room, the pair headed towards him. He slouched down in the armchair, hoping that they wouldn't see him.

Fortunately for him, they didn't seem to. Instead, they headed over to a nearby pair of available chairs and, with tired sighs, sat down in them.

"We need to find him," Hermione insisted. "Have you looked for the map again?"

"Yeah, but I still can't find it. I think Ron must've – "

"You should have chosen him, Harry. I know what Dumbledore said about relationships being complicated, but you had to have known that you were meant to bring Ron back."

"I know. I did know. I – "

"Things were just starting to get back to normal with Ron. It's not that I don't appreciate the gesture – I did and I do – but why didn't you just bring him up with you?"

"Because I've been a crappy friend. Ron and I have had our issues, and you and Ron have had yours, but you've never left my side. I realised that when I was down there and found out that I could only bring one of you back up with me. It was an overreaction – it would have been easier to wait until I'd resurfaced – but I had to do something about it before I forgot why I needed to do anything in the first place."

Ron felt floored and devastated. Part of him wanted to go over to give Harry the chance to make his awkward apologies and then to respond in kind. It begged him to give them the chance to be best friends again and, even more, to be better friends. The other part of him, however, was terrified at the prospect of opening up that can of worms and exposing himself to their slimy, repellent flesh. That way lay change and confusion and honesty and the potential for pain and sadness.

He wished that he could return to that moment on the jetty, where he'd stood with his friends and family around him and felt only relief and comfort. Not even the sound of Ludo Bagman and Madam Pomfrey bickering as they approached had been able to take that away from him.

Steeling himself, he pivoted the heavy armchair with the gracelessness of a giraffe trying to do a traditional Irish dance. When he was facing his erstwhile and perhaps once-again friends, he took a deep breath and said resolutely, "We need to talk."

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has followed, favourited or reviewed this, and to my lovely brother for being a full-time employee by day yet a beta reader by whenever-schedules-align.

I won't be uploading the next chapter next weekend. I was going to warn you that it was unlikely that I'd get it done by then but promise to try my best, but I can't keep the possibility open like that. The next fortnight is going to be hectic, and having even the slightest commitment to getting it done by Sunday would probably mean that I'd finish it to the detriment of my studies.

To adenoide: One person taking the wrong hostage tends to have a way of doing that to the remaining champions :). Perhaps it isn't fair for Harry, but it's not about fairness; it's about how he presents to other people. The visitors can hardly be expected to know what Harry's really like when everything they come across implies the opposite. And the idea of Harry's classmates judging him isn't something I introduced; canon!Harry notices them judge him at least three times (the duelling club incident, the Cedric badges, the smear campaign between fourth and fifth years). To be fair to Dumbledore, there was little he could have done about that article; unless Harry himself said something about it, he'd have had no idea how accurate or inaccurate Rita had been. I'm more surprised that no one stepped in when she launched a smear campaign against Hermione, to be honest, as that was openly inflammatory.

To the guest reviewer: Thanks! She was so much fun to write; it genuinely felt like it was writing itself at times. I can't help but wonder whether that's just because of how big a personality she has or whether it says something about me.