“Next time there’s a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!”

Ron mouthed soundlessly like a goldfish out of water as Hermione turned on her heel and stormed up the girls’ staircase to bed. Ron looked at Harry.

“Well,” he spluttered, looking completely thunderstruck, “well- that just proves- completely missed the point-“ (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Bloomsbury Edition), p376)

At that, the thunderstruck red-head with the tatty dress robes shook his head at Harry, and noted his expression. Harry’s face was oddly blank as he flicked his eyes from the girls’ staircase to Ron’s scarlet face. Harry was wearing the same expression Hermione wore so often when she was deep in thought. He had grown to rather like that tell-tale knotting of her eyebrows, her lips slightly pursed….

He shook himself back to the matter at hand. What in the name of Merlin’s pants was he doing thinking like that? He’d started doing a lot more of that since he and Harry had their row, and he frankly couldn’t comprehend it. Even more concerning, why did Harry look as if he was seriously weighing up what Hermione had just yelled at him? Surely he wouldn’t agree with her - that was just mental what she’d said.

Sighing, he turned to head up the boys’ staircase, his ears starting to go red. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Seamus and Lavender, sitting on one of the sofas, turning to presumably discuss the row to end all rows he’d just had with Hermione. Thank Merlin Fred and George weren’t here to witness this, he thought, or he’d face another six weeks’ worth of jokes at his expense. Their catcalls from last year when just he and Hermione were heading off to Hogsmeade were bad enough.

He reached his bed, ripped the curtains back with a viciousness that was quite unwarranted, pulled his trunk out, and aggressively rummaged through it for his pyjamas. That slouched-over, hook-nosed git and the ruddy Yule Ball would be the end of him. First, being mocked at over his ancient dress robes. Next, the disaster with Fleur Delacour. Third, Hermione’s bizarre behavior when he’d (rather clumsily, even he had to admit) tried to arrange her to go with either him or Harry. Why on earth hadn’t she let her best friend, himself, know who she was going with? There was quite simply no explanation…

Or was there? A truly terrible thought crossed his mind yet again as he ripped his outer layer off as though it was on fire.

Krum was competing against Harry in the Triwizard Tournament, and had tied first place with him during the First Task. The bird-beaked git was clearly an attention-seeker (why else would he use the Wronski Feint against Aidan Lynch?), and must have been miffed that a fourteen-year old boy had nearly beat him. So, of course, he’d have to gain inside information on Harry’s weaknesses by charming Hermione, and use the ball as a smokescreen for his true purpose: to sabotage Harry. No wonder she didn’t tell them who she was going with. Harry would have hit the roof….

Although, Harry actually hadn’t minded when he found out about the Krum Betrayal. “I haven’t got a problem with Hermione coming with Krum.” That’s what he’d said.

Well, if Harry was too thick to see through Krum’s subterfuge, then at least he always had Ron as a friend. And Hermione too, once she realized the prat’s duplicity. A knot tightened in his stomach. He just hoped she’d come to that realization soon…

He sighed again, and continued undressing, trying not to think of the additional humiliating incidents this evening. This was surely one of the worst Christmas evenings he’d had. Tonight should’ve been just the three of them, sitting down by the Common Room fire. He’d be trying to add to his Chocolate Frog Card collection and eating enough sweets to puke, he and Harry would be laughing at the Twins’ practical jokes, Hermione would be frowning at the Twins’ antics while flicking through her Christmas ‘light reading’ material, and then she’d get into a proper bickering session with him about it. Perfect.

But no, the bloody Yule Ball had to screw up everything.

The dormitory door opened with a creak, and Harry, still dressed in his comparatively immaculate dress robes, poured himself a glass of water, and began preparing himself for bed too. Looking up, Ron made eye-contact with him, and Harry took a breath, clearly about to say something- perhaps trying to reason with him about what had happened downstairs. That was the last thing Ron needed right now. Mercifully, Harry didn’t, but instead shook his head, yawned, and got into his four-poster bed.

Ron finally got into his pyjamas, and got into bed, sighing as he did so. Harry meanwhile had pulled up the Marauders’ Map, and was exhibiting signs of disgust. Clearly he had just found Cho and Cedric, and they quite clearly hadn’t gone to bed yet. Ron’s heart quite sincerely went out to his best mate- he’d have hated being turned down himself in favour of that idiot Hufflepuff. Of course, being turned down by Fleur Delacour didn’t really count anyway- that was always a  long-shot, and he hadn’t even planned it until she walked past and he’d got an overdose of her Veela charm. So why was he feeling so dejected, then?

A small chattering outside the door, and Neville entered, looking surprisingly handsome in his new dress robes. It was a miracle that he hadn’t spilt something on them, knowing Neville. Dean Thomas followed, yawning and settling down on his bed too.

Neville turned to Harry and Ron, looking unexpectedly happy.

“Fantastic night, wasn’t it? Once Seamus,” he grinned in a mischievous way that was rather unusual for him- “…says goodnight to Lavender and gets himself up here, why don’t we have a little chat? I know I’m not going to sleep immediately, and we’ve now got memories to last a lifetime, all right.”

Harry smiled feebly, his eyes still on the map, and Ron groaned internally. Great. A conversation about a big bloody fiasco. Sounds like fun to me. His downright foul mood was worsened somewhat when he remembered that Neville had asked Ginny to the ball.

His sister.

So that was his gnawing feeling about the Hermione-Krum nonsense. His big-brother instinct, which had served his sister so well, had instinctively popped up tonight. It was only natural that his sub consciousness would extend this state of overprotectiveness to his only proper female friend.

That, and the fact that Viktor Krum was the biggest git in the world, surpassing even Percy in presumption and self-importance.

Because, of course, the other possibility….was impossible. Absolutely impossible.

Harry sighed, wiping the map while Neville wasn’t looking.

“I think I’ll be going to sleep now,” he muttered awkwardly, taking off his glasses and closing his eyes within seconds. If only Ron could follow him so easily….

Just then, there were loud thumps outside the dormitory door, and Seamus walked in, looking a little too merry for his own good.

“Hey man,” Dean mumbled as he pulled off his dress robes. “You look like you’ve just had about a hundred Butterbeers.”

Before Seamus could respond, there was an interjection.

“What do you expect Dean? He’s from Armargh County,” Neville chuckled as he got into his pyjamas. “Folk over there drink a flagon of Firewhisky for breakfast.”

Ron’s heart sank even further as he tried to feverishly block out the conversation with his pillow. What had the world come to? Hermione was now forgetting about books, doing weird stuff with her hair, and dancing with a complete prat. Neville was getting into suits, dancing with his sister (Ron here felt a surge of bad will towards Neville, only to immediately feel guilty), plus cracking jokes, something that was Ron’s specialty. And he, Ron, had moldy dress robes with lace. Even worse, he was feeling too bloody miserable to even join in the banter- something that never happened.

Seamus grinned, and waved half-heartedly as he removed his bowtie. “Damn thing would’ve cramped me style,” he muttered. “If I did that Nev, I’d be tripping over me own feet. Just like you and Ginny. And Crabbe with Goyle,” he added as an afterthought, causing an eruption of laughter from Dean.

Ron finally plucked up the courage to even open his mouth.

“So, anyone here…actually had a good time?” he asked frostily, wishing he could simply sink out of sight into his bed.

Neville’s smile grew. “Oh yes, it was fantastic Ron! Loved the look of the Great Hall, the food, the socializing, everything! What say you Seamus?”

Since when did Neville enjoy socializing? Ron thought. This night was getting weirder by the minute.

“Oh, yeah,” Seamus replied nonchalantly, now getting into bed himself. “I liked it I s’ppose. Then again, me dancing technique wasn’t as exciting as yours, Neville.”

Neville flushed angrily. “Hey!” he cried indignantly. “I only stood on her toes three times! And that’s rich coming from the bloke who just about twisted Lavender’s arm off!”

Dean roared with laughter yet again as Seamus’ face took on a colour resembling Neville’s. “Oh yes,” he chortled. “Wasn’t it when the Weird Sisters played ‘Do the Hippogriff’? That’s Top of the Pops material, so I don’t blame you.” He finished with a sly wink in Seamus’ direction. Seamus merely bowed his head with a grin.

Dean turned to find Neville and Ron staring at him, a question in their eyes. “Never mind,” he muttered. “Muggle music show. At least we can all say we were better than Harry,” he added, raising his volume so that Harry, still feigning sleep, could hear it. Harry rolled over to face them, a shy smile on his face. “Agreed,” he grinned. “My only dancing practice was leaping left or right to dodge my cousin’s punches.”

Ron knew at least some of the abuse that Harry had suffered growing up with the Dursleys, but that, he suspected, was just the tip of the iceberg. However, the other boys didn’t and they laughed, while he scowled.

“Ah,” Dean said. “So that’s why you couldn’t dance to save your life. Also, if the Boy Who Survived a Horntail Attack can’t keep his date…” he turned to the rest of the dormitory, “…we’re all stuffed, boys.”

Everyone except Ron laughed at that.

“Believe me,” Harry sighed, now sitting up in his bed and deciding to forego sleep for now. “I’d rather take a second round with the Horntail.”

Dean and Seamus laughed, at that, but Neville had just noticed Ron’s stony expression.

“Ron?” he asked tentatively. “What on earth is wrong with you? You’re acting as though you’re at your own funeral.” Ron could see Neville had now put on a regretful face. “Is it because I asked….”

“Don’t be silly,” Ron sighed. “It’s nothing personal. If someone asks my sister out, I have to hate them. On principle.” With much effort, he even managed to produce a tiny wry smile in Neville’s direction, who appeared to get the message, and slumped back gratefully.

Dean was now looking concerned too as he stared at Ron.

“Neville’s right. What’s gotten into you? You barely touched the chicken at dinner, you didn’t dance with your date at all, and you’ve stopped cracking jokes. Not to mention there was that quarrel I could hear outside the Portrait Hole. I’ve never heard you argue like that with….”

At that, Harry stared at Dean knowingly and mutely shook his head. The message was clear: don’t even think of going there.

Ron was grateful to Harry for that. But unfortunately, it didn’t stop Seamus from continuing down the topic he least wanted to hear about.

“Man, Hermione surprised me tonight. Going with Krum.”

Oh, bloody hell, no.

“Yeah,” Neville added. “I never thought she’d be going with Krum. Well after I tried asking her….oh shut up,” he added as Seamus immaturely sniggered into his pillow- “I thought it must have been you Ron. You two are so close after all.”

“Don’t forget Harry as well,” Dean said, nodding at him.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, yawning. Clearly looking like he didn’t want to participate in the conversation that was now heading into dangerous territory, he elaborated, “Sorry. It’s been a long day. ‘Night.” At that, he rolled over and his breathing became low and even.

Ron was trying very hard not to blush as three pairs of eyes stared at him, waiting for a reaction. “I…I didn’t know either,” he stuttered; why was he sounding like this?

“Really?” Dean asked. “Since when has she not told you stuff?”

“Since this whole thing started,” Ron mumbled. He didn’t like seeing the way Seamus’ cogs appeared to be whirling behind his eyes as he too leaned forwards.

“So that’s the backstory,” he grinned. “You, Ron Weasley, got beaten to it by Viktor Krum! Your own idol!”

Dean paused, looking thoughtful. “Well, I suppose I’ve heard Ron and Hermione quarrel lots, but none like this.”

“Really?” Neville chimed in, staring at Dean. “It’s not that different from their usual routine. You two will never shut up,” he added, turning to address Ron.

“Oh for goodness sake, Neville,” Dean muttered exasperatedly. “I think Seamus has got the point between his teeth.”

“It’s obvious isn’t it?” Seamus called out to the dormitory in a stage-whisper. “Weasley and his girlfriend just had a lovers’ quarrel.”

The resulting gales of laughter were surely enough to wake everyone asleep in Gryffindor Tower. Further increasing Ron’s sour mood, he heard the supposedly-asleep Harry let out a loud snort.

“Get bent, Seamus,” Ron growled as his ears began to burn and his insides turned to ice. “You know how it really is between Hermione and myself. We argue over everything. Especially over her pest of a cat, and homework habits.”

“So that’s what was it then? A tiff over homework? A tiff over homework where Viktor Krum asked her for some help on his homework and you were annoyed he’d asked for help first?” Seamus smirked, barely containing his own laughter as Neville grinned cheekily at him and Dean rolled on top of his bed crying with mirth. But Seamus wasn’t finished, looking as though we was about to checkmate Ron at chess.

“Now I’ve seen you quarrel many times, but not like this one. Why would you need to pluck up the courage to ask her ‘before someone else does’ for homework help?”

More gales of laughter, including more poorly suppressed snorts from Harry, still feigning sleep. Ron mentally reminded himself he’d thump his git of a best friend at breakfast the next day, all previous gratitude forgotten. He reached out and snatched the figurine of Krum that lay on his bedside table with a surge of anger. Thankfully, Dean, Seamus and Neville didn’t notice; they were still recovering from their bouts of laughter.

“Well,” Dean chortled, wiping his eyes. “What do you say to that, Ron?”

Ron quickly hid the figurine under his sheets as he turned, scowling, to face his three dorm mates.

“Are you mad?” he spluttered indignantly. “You do remember who I actually tried to go with? Trust my sister to spread that failure around.”

“Ah, yes,” Seamus responded. “The charming Fleur Delacour, if I remember correctly.” Dean, Ron noted with a surge of horror, looked like he was still determined to get the truth out of him.

Get the truth out of him….

Well, the truth that he, Ron, considered Viktor Krum a complete scumbag. Yeah. That truth. Not the ridiculous fantasies they had about him wanting to ask Hermione first….

But would that have been such a bad thing?

Ron pulled himself away from images of himself dancing with Hermione instead to face Dean’s next hit.

“Maybe you’re right,” Dean replied; Ron internally heaved a sigh of relief- “…but we all know you simply got blasted by that Veela charm of hers- even Seamus had a go asking her…”

Now it was Seamus’ turn to blush and stare indignantly at Dean. “I thought I told you not to mention that,” he muttered. But Dean wasn’t listening.

“Anyway, I saw you tonight Ron. You were just staring into space. At first I thought you were staring at Fleur and Davies, but they weren’t anywhere near where your table was. Indeed, I now strongly suspect you were staring at another couple altogether.”

Bloody hell.

Had he really been staring at them the whole time? He honestly couldn’t remember- it was as if his mind was determined to wipe those images from his head before they could drive him any crazier.

Neville, perhaps sensing the air freezing between Dean and Ron with every second, cleared his throat nervously.

“Perhaps it’s time for lights out,” he suggested; Dean, taking the hint, sighed and leaned back on his bed, extinguishing his lamp. Seamus did so likewise. Neville turned towards Ron, who had hastily put on a facial expression resembling nonchalance- at least he hoped that’s what it was. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Sometimes they don’t know when to stop.”

But Ron waved an arm airily, dismissing Neville’s concern, as he rolled over onto his pillow.

“Don’t be silly. They were having a little laugh. I mean, me and her-as if!” He chuckled. “’Night, Neville.”

“Goodnight Ron. Nox.”

But inside, he was trying to win a battle; he knew that what Seamus and Dean were saying was absolute nonsense, so why was there a nagging part of his brain suggesting they were right?

He sighed, and yet again, pushed that annoying voice out of his head. He was such an idiot…why hadn’t he seen it before?

Why hadn’t he seen what a sleazy idiot Krum was? All this time, he’d been mobbed by air-headed fan girls, while being thick enough to get hit on the nose by a Bludger when playing against Ireland. What sort of professional Quidditch Player allowed that to happen? Probably because he was too busy doing the Wronski Feint, he thought savagely.

 Ron unexpectedly found himself half-wishing that the Bludger had knocked him clean off his Firebolt. Then he wouldn’t appear so attractive and suave in front of his fan club, would he?

Then again, come to think of it, he wasn’t all that suave to begin with. He was surly, ungainly and duck-footed when off his broomstick. How on earth girls still found him attractive with a swaggering gait like that, Ron couldn’t understand, as he absent-mindedly twisted the figurine. To think that he once regarded him as an artist of the skies…

There was a snap as the Krum figurine’s neck broke, its surly face glowering at him almost indignantly. Ron tossed the figurine aside.

He knew that somewhere along the line that he screwed up. It had something to do with Hermione, and this silly ball. He just somehow couldn’t put his finger on it, but the blazing fury with which she yelled at him had indicated he’d long since crossed a dangerous line. He was simply thankful that he was ten feet away from her in the Common Room, remembering what had happened to Malfoy the previous spring. Somehow, he’d need to make amends, but how, he had no idea. After all, he was only looking out for a friend, making sure she didn’t get used inappropriately…

It was all Vicky’s stupid fault, anyway, he thought, grabbing the Krum figurine by its broken neck again as though throttling it. His thoughts flew back to the dance; Krum, leading Hermione on. Then again, she would be smart enough to see what he was really doing in the end- blatantly using her to scrape a win over Harry. Ron’s fist clenched in anger…

Snap.

The figurine’s right arm broke clean off, and Ron stared at it, smirking. Well, the moron wouldn’t be able to lead anyone else astray if he couldn’t even do proper ballroom dancing, he thought, before seizing the severed arm and pitching it into the dark of the dormitory.

There was a grunt from Harry’s bed as he reacted to the loud thump from under his bed.

“What was that?” he muttered, his eyes still closed. Not hearing anything more, he rolled over once again, snores filling the dormitory once more.

Ron thought it a best idea to feign sleep at that point- no, even better- get to sleep. But sleep wouldn’t come for many more hours yet as thoughts flew of betrayal, periwinkle-blue robes, the argument, the entire effing Yule Ball, and most of all, Viktor Krum staring ravenously at Hermione like he were a bird of prey.

He’d have looked much better if the Bludger had knocked a few of his teeth out.

Ron said nothing. He hadn’t mentioned Viktor Krum since the ball, but Harry had found a miniature arm under his bed on Boxing Day, which had looked very much as though it had been snapped off a small model figure wearing Bulgaria Quidditch robes.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Bloomsbury edition), p386.