Long time no see, eh? Finally decided to finish up a draft that I've been sitting on for over a year. It's short but it gets the job done.

Things will get worse before they get better for Ron. There's no bashing (self-depreciation doesn't count), just hurt and petty teenagers. Doing my best to keep everyone in character.

Grammarly Premium and Spellcheck were my betas for this.

Chapter 1

It was all a dream. All just a bloody dream, Ron thought as he left the hospital wing a day later, choosing to aimlessly wander the corridors rather than face any of the 'Ministry Six', as the Prophet dubbed them.

The other members of the Six had told him everything. Harry and Hermione had been lucky enough to get off unscathed. Neville, Ginny and Luna had broken noses, ankles and bruises. He had had the worst injuries of them all.

Like always.

You-Know-Who had revealed himself and Fudge saw everything. Death Eaters, including Lucius Malfoy, had been arrested. And Sirius was dead. Harry was still shaken up about it, from what Ron could see. Of course, Hermione was always right there to keep him company.

Hermione.

When they told him they were dating, he felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Harry and Hermione? They were all good friends, had been since the troll, but Hermione had always gotten on Harry's nerves more than Ron did, and vice versa. There was a reason why Harry spent more time with him.

Or at least, he used to, Ron thought bitterly. They claimed they'd gotten together right after the trip, but Ron had his doubts. 'Course, it's not as if they could have just woken him out of a magical coma to tell him, but something about the timing annoyed him. Was Harry waiting for Ron to off himself?

And Hermione. He knew he'd been a berk last year, with Krum and everything, but he'd still hoped, still dreamed—

Ron took a deep breath. Bloody idiot. Of course she wouldn't look at you that way! He wouldn't. Harry had been a far better friend to her last year. And Hermione had been a far better friend to Harry. Ron knew Harry hadn't entered himself into the Tournament. Harry was powerful, but he was no Dumbledore. All he needed to do was admit he was wrong the morning after and everything would have been fine.

Instead, he'd let his jealousy get the better of him for three weeks. It was only after Harry had faced a bloody dragon of all things that he had the bullocks to apologize, and he couldn't even do that properly.

Then came the Yule Ball. If he had had a lick of sense he would have asked Hermione the moment it was announced, maybe ask someone to help with his robe disaster so that he wouldn't look like a complete fool.

But he didn't. He chose to wait until the last minute. Harry had to find them both dates—which he didn't have to do for him—and ended the night miserable.

And because he was miserable, he chose to make Hermione miserable too.

All he seemed to do perfectly was screw up. He'd finally realised what the strange feelings towards her were, the reason why he confronted his greatest fear in the Forbidden Forest in second year, why he'd been so hurt during the Crookshanks and Scabbers fight in third year, so angry that she'd gone to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum and sending him letters last year, and it now was too late.

Too bloody late.

Always last on the uptake, aren't you Weasley?

He hadn't exactly been a model friend to her, either. First-year there was the Troll incident, second-year was alright, minus the fact that Harry saved the day in the end, third-year was Crookshanks and Scabbers-the-Death-Eater argument, and last year was the infamous Krum fight.

And now...now she'd chosen. And it wasn't him. Through the hurt, anger and disbelief, he could see why. Harry was the hero, the rich and famous Boy-Who-Lived, the Tri-Wizard Champion, the "lone voice of truth". What was he in comparison to that? Just another Weasley. The sixth son, the last son, the one everyone overlooked. The one with third-hand books and too-short trousers that never fit right. The one with the awful maroon jumpers. The butt of everyone's jokes.

He found his way into the Room of Requirement, and sagged against a wall, not even bothering to acknowledge the change in decor. His best friends were probably laughing at him, bloody hell, they all were. The first and only one to get knocked out, attacked by brains of all things.

It's ironic, isn't it, Weasley, that you were attacked by the very thing you lack? A mocking voice jeered, and he closed his eyes.

They probably joked that he needed them. He held his head in his hands, feeling the corners of his eyes prick with tears. What good was he? He couldn't get the marks, couldn't get the fame, couldn't get the money, couldn't be cool, and couldn't get the girl. What could he do that hadn't been done before?

He looked between his shins and the scars that covered his arms. And now to top it all off, he was scarred for life.

Harry seized one of the POTTER REALLY STINKS badges off the table and chucked it, as hard as he could, across the room. It hit him on the forehead and bounced off.

"There you go," Harry said. "… You might even have a scar now, if you're lucky. That's what you want, isn't it?"

Pathetic.

He sat there for what felt like hours, his mind running through his entire Hogwarts experience until the bell rang, signalling it was time for lunch.

He sighed as he rose. Ron knew he couldn't stay in the room forever, but the idea of going into the Great Hall sickened him. He could imagine the eyes roaming over him, people asking if he was alright, of Harry and Hermione holding hands and doing other things.

His stomach lurched painfully at the thought.

But where else could he go? Thanks to Dobby, the kitchens were right out, and it wouldn't be long before someone found him on the Quidditch pitch or the Common room.

He had no choice.

Leaving the Room, Ron made his way through the crowd of students leaving class and making their way through the corridors. It wasn't long before he arrived at the Gryffindor table. The mood in the Great Hall was quite cheerful. Throngs of students came in from the Entrance Hall sun-tanned and happy, putting away their sweets and picking up ladles of food, chatting aimlessly with their friends.

Among them were Harry and Hermione, hands clasped as they sat across from him. Ron tried to ignore the smiles on their faces and the wilted Scot's bluebells in Hermione's braided bushy brown hair.

Not so depressed now, are you? He thought peevishly towards Harry, who appeared to have caught some sun. Hermione lovingly filled his plate with more veg than meat before filling her own. It was only then that they addressed him.

"Feeling better Ron?" asked Harry as he started eating, spearing broccoli onto his fork.

Ron gave him an annoyed look. How could he act like everything was fine between them? "Just bloody peachy."

"Language," said Hermione idly, as she usually did.

Unfortunately for her, Ron was not in the mood for her comments. "Oh shut up, nobody was talking to you."

"Ron!" said Harry, now annoyed. "What's gotten into you?"

Choosing not to respond, Ron took another piece of chicken and began to chew furiously. If he could keep himself occupied, he might be able keep his mouth shut.

Harry broke the tense silence. "Hermione," he began hesitantly, "I think I need to talk to you about something."

Of course. Even Ron's thoughts were dripping with sarcasm. Because you two always have so much to talk about.

Hermione, her expression marked by curiosity and concern, nodded. "Of course, Harry. What's on your mind?"

Ron's jealousy flared. He clenched his fists beneath the table, feeling the familiar pang of inadequacy.

Harry took a deep breath. "It's about Sirius," he admitted, his voice tinged with sadness. "I blew up at Dumbledore after his death. I couldn't help it, Hermione. I was so angry, so hurt that he never told me the truth."

Hermione's eyes softened with understanding as she reached out to place her hand on Harry's. "Harry, I know you loved Sirius. And I understand why you're upset. But Dumbledore had his reasons for not telling you everything. He was trying to protect you."

Ron's frustration boiled over. He couldn't stand the way Hermione always seemed to be there for Harry, offering her support and comfort. He muttered under his breath, loud enough for them to hear, "Always defending him, aren't you? Always taking his side."

Hermione turned to Ron, her expression shifting from sympathy to annoyance. "Ron, what's gotten into you?"

Harry, too, looked puzzled by Ron's outburst. "Ron, we're just talking about Sirius. It's not about taking sides."

Ron's face flushed angrily as he pushed his plate away, the food suddenly unappetising. "No, it's always about taking his side. You two have your little secrets and I'm just left out of it all, aren't I?"

Hermione huffed. "Ron, this isn't the time or place for this."

Ron couldn't contain his bitterness any longer. "Then when is? When I've just woken up from a coma?"

That drew the attention of more than a few people. Hermione flushed hotly, but Harry spoke before she could. "Ron, that's not fair. We can't always include you in every conversation or decision we make. It's not a personal attack."

"Did Hermione tell you to say that?" snapped Ron before he turned to an angry Hermione. "You and Harry really make a great pair. Both of you are always so righteous, so perfect. No wonder you ended up together."

"We didn't plan for it to happen, Ronald, it just did!" said Hermione, her voice a mix of hurt and frustration.

"Of course you didn't plan it. You just let it happen. The Brightest Witch and the Boy Who Lived. Always one step ahead."

The hurt and anger in Harry and Hermione's eyes deepened, but before they could respond, Ron pushed away from the table and stormed out of the Great Hall.