Hogwarts, December 1995 (5th Year)
Ron Weasley trudged through the frigid corridors of Hogwarts alone. The echoes of laughter and excited chatter from his fellow prefects faded into a distant hum as they rushed towards the warmth of their dormitories, leaving him behind. He was often the first to escape Professor McGonagall's office following their weekly prefect meetings. Today, however, he hung back, rooted in place by the weight of what had just occurred.
The end of term was looming, and despite Dolores Umbridge's best efforts, the atmosphere around the school buzzed with the promise of the impending Christmas holidays. Yet, for Ron, the festive cheer had suddenly lost its allure. Instead, a singular, unnerving certainty now consumed his thoughts—he had somehow, once again, pissed off Hermione Granger.
Following the meeting, his usually steadfast companion had left him behind without a word of warning, her retreating figure a silent testament to the chasm that had opened between them. As it typically did during times of hardship, his mind raced with speculation and scenarios, each more bewildering than the last.
Had he unwittingly missed a significant moment?
Perhaps he had made an unintentional comment that had upset her?
Or maybe there was an insensitive joke he had made?
Despite freezing December temperatures, beads of sweat formed across his face as his brow furrowed in perplexity. Wrestling against every growing and outlandish possibility, Ron made up his mind, determined to get to the bottom of this situation.
There was no use in loitering outside McGonagall's office. He wouldn't find any answers here. The only way Ron would get the truth was straight from the witch's mouth. Picking up the pace, he made the solitary journey back to Gryffindor Tower, his heavy footsteps echoing off the castle's stone walls.
As he climbed the staircase to the seventh floor, he caught a glimpse out the window. The sun sat low in the sky, casting a warm hue over the majestic school and grounds, yet Ron didn't bother to stop and admire its wintery beauty. By the time he had reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, a familiar unease had started to bubble up in his stomach that he couldn't quite explain.
The day had begun like any other—breakfast had been a delight, with the tantalising aroma of perfectly cooked eggs and sausages served up by the house-elves. His classes passed by effortlessly. With the professors seemingly caught up in the holiday spirit, their lessons were more relaxed and less focused than their usual rigorous curriculum. It wasn't until the prefect meeting that everything went awry.
The memory of what had occurred lingered like a shadow, clouding Ron's thoughts. He had arrived at the office, slightly late as usual, brimming with enthusiasm, only to find Hermione's demeanour frosty and distant. Try as he might, any attempt to engage her in a conversation was met with icy indifference.
During the meeting, Professor McGonagall commended the new cohort of prefects for settling into their roles and outlined her agenda for the remainder of the school year. She provided feedback on their performances and even paused to single out a few individuals.
It did, however, come as a shock when she called his name, "Mr Weasley," her brusque tone cutting across the room.
"Y—yes, Professor?" he stammered, afraid he was about to be told off.
"You've been a positive influence this term. It's clear your fellow students respect you, keep it up."
The recognition flustered him. Being singled out in a room full of older and more experienced prefects was surreal and humbling. What perplexed him more was the sight of Professor McGonagall's characteristically stern expression softening into a rare smile—an image he was unlikely to ever witness again.
"Thanks, Professor," he replied, returning her smile.
His chest swelled with pride as her words continued to echo throughout his mind. The unexpected praise had lit a spark of joy within him, validating his efforts to be a good prefect, just like his brothers before him. Buoyed by the commendation, he turned towards his best friend, eager to share the moment with her.
Instead, his heart plummeted, washing away his brief moment of joy as he met Hermione's gaze. Her brown eyes, usually warm and understanding, now held an inscrutable glint that sent a pang of uncertainty through him. It was a look he couldn't quite decipher, a subtle shift in her demeanour that hinted at something he hadn't expected or foreseen.
There was no look of prideful joy or positive words of affirmation. Her typically composed façade betrayed a tinge of something unfamiliar, something so unlike her that he wondered if he had misinterpreted her response.
When the meeting eventually adjourned, Ron had hoped to gain some clarity about Hermione's reaction. If he could speak to her, she'd be able to explain and set him straight. Yet, to his dismay, she immediately departed without a word, her bushy hair disappearing behind the door, leaving him alone in the emptying office.
He ought to have rushed after her, caught up and demanded she explain herself. But her actions weighed heavily on him, leaving him disappointed, hurt, and unable to give chase.
Gryffindor Tower was packed to the rafters when Ron eventually climbed in through the portrait of the Fat Lady. There was a great deal of activity within Gryffindor House as the countdown to Christmas had finally commenced, with the common room undergoing a drastic transformation into a festive wonderland. Students milled around, counting the minutes until dinner was served in the Great Hall, excitedly taking in the recent additions to the room.
The crackling fireplace cast a warm, flickering glow across the walls adorned with festive decorations. Ornaments of scarlet and gold, matching their house colours, hung from the ceiling, enchanting the room with a magical ambience. A magnificent Christmas tree stood tall in one corner, decked with colourful baubles, shimmering stars, and strands of tinsel that caught the light.
The air was alive with the refreshing scent of evergreens, apples, and cinnamon, a comforting embrace welcoming all who entered. A buzz of sound filled the space as his fellow Gryffindors engaged in lively conversations, exchanged gift ideas, and discussed their holiday plans for the upcoming break.
Choosing to ignore the surrounding festivities, Ron scanned the room before settling on a familiar figure tucked away in her favourite corner. Hermione sat nestled in a cosy nook, a halo of soft light from the nearby lamps illuminating her features. She was engrossed in a book, her brow furrowed in concentration, lost in the world woven by the pages before her.
He watched as the firelight danced across her curls, casting playful shadows across her face as she turned a page with delicate precision. Her eyes darted back and forth, absorbing every bit of the story she read. Ron couldn't help but smile at the sight—Hermione, ever the bookworm, finding solace in the magic of literature even amidst the joyous revelry.
It should have been easy for him to let his current predicament go. To park the issue aside and allow Hermione the time and space to reconcile her thoughts and feelings before they inevitably hashed out their quarrels in private, as the pair often did. It would have been better for the both of them, their friendship, and everyone else in the room to avoid a public spectacle.
But try as he might, Ron couldn't shake the memory of that look in her eyes when his brief moment of glory was cruelly smothered out.
Making up his mind, he stormed through the sea of students, shoving aside a small second-year who tumbled to the floor. Ignoring the jeers and angry complaints from those nearby, he made a beeline towards Hermione, who hadn't noticed him coming.
"What's your problem, Hermione?" Ron's voice sliced through the room, demanding her attention.
Hermione looked up, attempting to mask her surprise. "Problem? I don't know what you're talking about," she replied, feigning innocence.
So this was her approach? Lying and pretending that she had done nothing wrong?
Ron's frustration flared into anger, "Cut the act!" His raised voice continued to attract further attention from nearby students. "You've been cold and distant all day!"
"Ron, Hermione, what's the matter?" came the voice of their best friend, Harry, who rushed over to investigate the sudden commotion.
"Nothing—"
"Stay out of this, Harry—" Ron barked, cutting across her reply as he waved Harry away.
As Harry sunk back into the crowd, a dull ache started to form in the pit of Ron's stomach. But the pieces were now coming together, and the fog of uncertainty was beginning to lift. Hermione's resentment and contempt were palpable, and that's when it finally clicked for him.
How had he not recognised it before?
"You were jealous, weren't you?" he asked in a low voice, rounding back on her. "That's why you couldn't be happy for me. You were hacked off when I arrived at that meeting, and you couldn't wait to get out of there when it ended."
There was no mistaking Hermione's expression this time. As his accusation hit home, her composure started to slip. There was a shift in her posture, a subtle clenching of her fists, and a mix of envy and defiance was now visible on her face. Eventually, however, she squirmed with unease in her seat, her eyes revealing a hint of insecurity and shame.
"I…" she started, her voice trailing off, unable to deny the truth.
At that moment, Ron understood the turmoil brewing beneath her surface. He knew it all too well because he had carried it with him for weeks when Harry's name had come out of the Goblet of Fire a year ago. Back then, without Hermione's intervention and level-headedness, his jealousy would have cost him his friendship and brotherhood with Harry. Ron, therefore, knew he owed it to her to return the favour.
"You're jealous, Hermione. Admit it," he pressed, his tone firm yet tinged with empathy.
She, meanwhile, refused to look at him as an uncomfortable silence filled the room, despite what appeared to be the entirety of Gryffindor House now tuning into their dispute. Just as he was about to lash out at the crowd and tell them to bugger off, two familiar voices yelled out, attempting to divert the crowd's attention.
"Alright, listen up, you little shits!"
"The two new prefects are having a bit of a domestic problem. So, as the adults of the House, we're stepping in and taking charge."
Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers, stood atop a nearby sofa and chair, peering down at the mass of students.
"Trust me when I say it's never worth listening to these two bickering. It's enough to make your ears bleed," Fred continued.
"He's right! You won't need Nosebleed Nougat to get out of lessons anymore. Five minutes with these two will be enough to land you in the hospital wing permanently," added George.
Despite the twins' attempted distractions, Ron noticed that many onlookers were still focused on himself and Hermione. George appeared to have realised this as he prepared to speak again.
Taking a dramatically over-the-top glance at his non-existent wristwatch, he shouted, "Oh, would you look at the time! It's finally five."
"Let's grab dinner before old Dolores decides we need another Educational Decree limiting meals in this place," Fred suggested, displaying an uncharacteristic level of seriousness.
Hopping off the sofa and motioning for people to follow him, Fred led the way to the exit via the Fat Lady. It was a testament to the Gryffindors' collective dislike of Umbridge and her authoritarian policies that almost everyone rushed to join him.
George, meanwhile, hopped off the chair and grabbed a few remaining first-year stragglers by the scruff of their necks before directing them towards the exit.
"Trust me, kids. If you're truly desperate to see what happens next, there'll be plenty more of this to come over the years."
It took several minutes for the mass exodus from the common room to complete, with only Harry remaining behind. Truth be told, Ron would have preferred to do this next part alone. Having company didn't feel like the right approach, especially with how defensive Hermione could get.
He turned to Harry, struggling to find the words to convey this, but he needn't have bothered. A brief moment of eye contact between them was all Harry seemingly required before comprehension dawned on his face. He took one last fleeting look at the pair before nodding and turning to leave.
Hermione, meanwhile, had remained still and hunched over, apparently engrossed in her book, her gaze fixed on the pages before her. Yet, Ron could sense something was amiss, and it was clear that she wasn't reading. Recognising her fragile demeanour, he approached her with caution and determination. He needed to handle her with care rather than charging in with his usual crass directness.
"Hermione," he called softly, trying to breach the silence, "This is clearly bothering you. You don't have to pretend it's not."
Her defiance remained resolute as she refused to meet his gaze. "I'm not jealous. Stop trying to make it into something it's not."
Kneeling before her, Ron persisted. "You don't have to hide it from me. I'm here for you, even when it's difficult to admit. Just like you were, for me."
Together, they let out heavy sighs, releasing their pent-up emotions as the weight of his declaration washed over them both. His words of sincerity, matched by Hermione's unspoken turmoil, had resonated, breaking through the barriers she had put up. Her eyes flickered upward, tears glistening at their corners, eventually tracing a path down her cheek.
Her voice tinged with vulnerability when she finally spoke, "I'm not jealous. I don't like feeling second best or that my ideas aren't working."
"You're not—"
"But I am! I am second best, Ron," she cut across him. "Professor McGonagall told me as such."
"What did she say?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.
"The students don't take me seriously as a prefect," she confessed, her words becoming more frantic, "They never stop running or loitering in the corridors when I tell them not to. They're always sneaking food out of the Great Hall on my watch. And everything I tell them falls on deaf ears!"
Ron pondered her admission. She had finally laid it out for him, and judging by the look of abject defeat upon her teary face, it had cost her everything.
So that's what it boiled down to? Her constant need and drive for perfection—to be the best at everything. She was terrified at the prospect of failure, not meeting expectations, and disappointing authority figures like Professor McGonagall.
Mulling over the gravity of her words, he tried to offer a comforting response, "It takes time to earn respect. You're doing your best."
Although Hermione gave no reply, a glimmer of warmth seemed to have returned to her eyes as her icy glare softened. Ron knew he was close to making another breakthrough. He just needed to make a tactical adjustment.
Rising from the floor, he surveyed the room, his eyes landing on an abandoned chessboard, a remnant of some forgotten game left behind by a fellow Gryffindor. Snatching up the pieces and setting up the board opposite Hermione, he swiftly made the first move before asking her to play.
"Fancy a game? It might help take our minds off things."
"Why?" She scoffed, "You'll just beat me like you do every other time."
"Who knows," Ron chuckled before adding, "Maybe we've switched? What if I'm now the goody-two-shoes, and you're the chess Grandmaster?"
He watched as Hermione hesitated, her eyes flickering between the chessboard and himself. After a brief pause, she nodded in reluctant agreement before making her first move.
"I don't know why anyone bothers to play you," she enquired. "We never win. I honestly believe Harry somehow enjoys losing to you, seeing how willing he is to play you."
"Ah, my naive little moonchild," he proclaimed. "Everyone has a chance in chess. But you'll never know unless you play the game."
Ron waved his fingers haphazardly over the board, imitating Sybill Trelawney, his former Divination professor. Looking up, hoping to catch Hermione's reaction, he was surprised to see her eyeing him with a mixed look of curiosity and affection.
"You called me a little moonchild," she whispered. "My dad used to call me that when I was younger."
"Yeah, why's that?" he asked.
"When I got my books for Hogwarts, I made sure to try and memorise them all before term started—"
Ron grinned as he recalled their first encounter on the Hogwarts Express. What sort of nutter memorised every book they would need for school? Thankfully, she had been the only one, with no such requirement for anyone else to do so.
If he was being honest with himself, there was something quite endearing about her need to prove herself. Maybe her Muggle-born background, making her feel like an outsider in the magical world, had amplified her desire to succeed and make a name for herself.
"—I would stay up all night reading in bed with my lights on," she continued. "My parents forbade me from doing so, even going so far as to take my bedside lamp away. But that didn't stop me, and I would push my desk up against the window, cover it with my pillows and duvet, and read via the moonlight shining through into my room."
Ron looked away as she paused to discreetly wipe away tears from her cheeks using the sleeve of her jumper before resuming the story.
"One night, a few weeks before I was due to start at Hogwarts, I was reading by the window when my dad went to throw out the bins. He spotted me and rushed back inside to catch me in the act. I thought he would be angry, but instead, he promised not to tell my mum that I was secretly a 'little moonchild'. Since then, it's been our little inside joke and his nickname for me."
"Little moonchild. That's really sweet," Ron chuckled. "I'm glad you shared that with me."
The pair exchanged brief smiles before returning to their match, which progressed at a steady but silent pace, the tension between them slowly dissipating as they went on. It wasn't until Hermione had captured one of his pawns that she spoke again.
"I'm not a goody-two-shoes, by the way," she huffed. "I've broken my fair share of rules, too."
She had taken the bait, and Ron was ready with his witty retort. "That's true. Why don't you tell me about this illegal Defence club you've formed?"
He looked on with satisfaction as she turned a violent shade of red and started to splutter in indignation.
"W—we came up with that idea together. Don't try to pass it all off on me!"
Putting his hands up in mock surrender, Ron waited briefly before continuing the game. With each subsequent move, an unspoken understanding formed between them, a silent conversation carried out through the movement of pawns and knights.
It didn't take long for Ron to open up an advantage in the game. Deciding it would be best to delay his victory, he attempted to strike up another topic of conversation by pointing at her discarded book.
"How's that story you've been reading? Is it any good?"
"Huh? Oh, this?" she replied with a chuckle, holding it up. "It's actually not a book. I've charmed a copy of Witch Weekly to look like one so I can read it in the common room."
"Since when did you read Witch Weekly?"
"I don't. Lavender just lent me a copy of the Christmas edition. It has a list of 'Top 10 Gifts for Teenage Witches' inside," she explained. "Spoiler alert, perfume is number one."
Without waiting for a response, she moved one of her bishops across the board before returning to silence. Ron, meanwhile, replayed her comments over in his head.
Christmas. Gifts for Teenage Witches. Perfume—was she perhaps hinting at something?
Rather than enquiring further, Ron made a mental note to reevaluate his Christmas gift for Hermione. Given everything that was going on, it felt like an important milestone in their friendship for him to give her something besides the usual assortment of chocolates.
The next few minutes of their game passed, with Ron making defensive moves to draw out the match length. Only when she had managed to capture seven of his opposing pieces did he feel confident enough to broach the subject of Hermione's feelings once more.
"Hey, so about earlier," he ventured, "What else did McGonagall say?"
Her focus wavered as she contemplated the question before breaking into a humourless laugh.
"She told me I need to be more like you, Mr 'Positive Influence'. Because, apparently, that's the benchmark for a prefect's conduct these days."
Ron blinked, staring open-mouthed at her unexpected and frankly poor imitation of Professor McGonagall.
"H—hold on," he choked out, caught completely off guard. "Did you just mock a teacher? Professor McGonagall, no less."
She shot him a look of outright contempt as she replied, "No, I'm just pointing out how ridiculous it is that your approach to prefect duties is somehow something worth commending!"
"It's just a bit of feedback, Hermione! You're taking it to heart a bit much, don't you think?" He pleaded, "We've only been in the role for a single term."
"It's not feedback if I have to change my whole approach," she huffed, ignoring his plea.
"But surely—"
"No. I just want to be recognised for my approach because it's right," Hermione explained, her voice full of conviction. "The same approach Percy and Penelope Clearwater took when they were prefects."
"Then I'll help—"
Cutting across him, she continued, "Even though you don't care about being a prefect, everyone loves you."
"That's not true—"
"Of course it is! How could they not? You're relaxed, laid back, and extremely likeable. Even the Slytherins cut you some slack!"
Ron couldn't get a word in, and by this point, she was practically shouting over him as she gesticulated wildly. Knowing he would need to step in and stop her tirade, he placed his hands over hers, stilling them before bringing them to rest beside the chessboard. There seemed to be a heat radiating off her delicate skin, filling him with a comfortable warmth.
"I meant it's not true that I don't care," he said, his voice softer and calmer than he had expected. "I do care. My brothers were prefects. They each left a legacy at Hogwarts, and now it's my turn. Bill, Charlie, and even that twat Percy did their jobs well. I intend to do the same."
Hermione looked like she wanted to argue, but Ron barrelled on, desperate to finish his point and make her see sense.
"That doesn't mean I have to change who I am or try to be some disciplinarian or sadist who stops kids from being kids. I just have to be me, plain old Ron Weasley."
"But no one likes plain old Hermione Granger," she argued, attempting to pull her hands free.
"I do. Harry, too. So does Ginny and a bunch of other people," Ron let out a defeated sigh before continuing, "Look, Hermione, you know how much of a nightmare I thought you were when we first met. But it all changed when I saw the real you. You found a balance between being an annoying know-it-all and a friend, willing to risk it all to help Harry and me."
Running out of words to make his point, he gave her hands one final squeeze before letting go and whispering, "I promise you'll win the students over. Just don't overthink it by trying to be someone you're not."
Blinking back tears he didn't know had formed, Ron missed Hermione climbing out of the nook and approaching his side. It wasn't until he felt her arms wrapping tightly around his midriff that he noticed her sobbing into his side. Unsure of what to do, he gave her head a few clumsy pats, trying to console her.
"I—I've been such an awful friend," came her muffled cry. "I am proud of you, Ron. So proud of everything Professor McGonagall said about you. But you were right. I was jealous, and I took it out on you."
Wasn't this what he had wanted all along? For her to admit she was jealous and taking out her frustrations on him? If so, then why did it make him feel so much worse?
Ron knew he needed to draw a line under it here. To close this messy chapter in their friendship and work with Hermione to move on to something better. With how quickly Harry had forgiven him for his jealousy, Ron needed to do the same for her.
"I meant every word, Hermione. We're a team, you and I, and I know you'll be an amazing prefect and even better head girl one day."
Pulling away from his side, Hermione looked at him through her blotchy and reddened eyes. For what felt like an eternity to Ron, she stared deep into his blue eyes as if searching for the truth. She needed that final confirmation. To know that this ordeal was now behind them and that Ron harboured no further resentment towards her for her jealousy.
"Thank you, Ron," she whispered before returning to her seat.
Despite all this, it still took several minutes of constant apologies and compliments from Hermione before they eventually resumed their match. Only when a handful of timid Gryffindors started to return to the Tower did Ron realise he no longer needed to drag the game out and promptly checkmated her King to secure the victory.
"I don't know how you do it!" She exclaimed. "No one's that good at chess."
"I am!"
"Are not!"
"Well, it sounds like you're jealous of my chess prowess," Ron shot back, a mischievous edge creeping into his voice.
"I am not!" She fired back.
"Are too!"
Arguing with Hermione Granger was a maddening affair. Most people would likely prefer taking repeated Bludger shots to the head. But for Ron, there was something oddly satisfying about watching her get riled up. Her fiery passion and stubbornness were matched only by his own, their back-and-forth exchanges playing out like a chess match of arguments.
"That's literally the definition of the word jealous! Admit it, you're jealous of me again. Come on, I'll say it with you." Ron instructed before putting on a drawn-out voice, "I'm. Jealous. Of. Ron. Weasley."
Hermione let out a huff of frustration before shaking her head, refusing to give in to his silly game.
"If there was a book with definitions of different words, it would have a picture of you beside it with the word jealous—bushy hair and all!" he declared, barely containing his laughter.
Rather than ridiculing his awful attempt at a joke, Hermione let out a series of giggles that eventually formed into laughter. Once it had started, she seemingly couldn't stop.
"There is such a book!" She gasped, clutching her stomach and trying to regain her composure. "Muggles have a book called a dictionary. It has words and their definitions underneath."
"Muggles," Ron awed with fondness.
"Besides," she added, "If we look up the word 'Git', your face would appear. Although, most dictionaries don't have pictures in them."
"Nah," he countered with a shake of his head. "When you head home this Christmas, look me up. You'll find me under 'Handsome'." He shot her an exaggerated wink, causing her to double over in laughter.
With the events of earlier that day beginning to melt away from the forefront of his brain, Ron finally allowed himself a chance to revel in his accomplishments.
This prefecting lark wasn't so bad, especially when he gets to do it alongside his best friend. Ultimately, he had a duty to Hogwarts, Gryffindor House, and Hermione to see this through.
Doubly proud of his ability to make her laugh and having reconciled with her, Ron glanced at his watch before asking, "Ready to head down for dinner?"
Releasing a contented sigh, Hermione reached out and reset the chessboard with a smile before replying, "One more game."