It wasn’t your fault. Someone —probably Fred or George— had slipped a love potion into one of the pumpkin juices at lunch. And unfortunately, you had picked that cup.

Ron didn’t even realize what was happening until you turned toward him, eyes wide and sparkling, looking at him like he hung the stars.

—"Er—why are you looking at me like that?" he stammered, leaning back instinctively.

You took a dreamy step closer. Ron's face turned an alarming shade of red as he stumbled over a chair trying to get some distance.

—"Bloody hell, what is happening?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks of horror. Hermione quickly muttered something about a potion and dashed off to find the antidote, leaving Ron alone with you—utterly besotted and clinging to his arm.

—"Right, uh, don't panic. We'll fix this. Just—just stay there, alright?"

But you didn’t stay there. You clung tighter.

Ron gulped, feeling your head resting lightly against his shoulder, your hand curling around his sleeve like you never wanted to let go.

At first, all he could think about was how to fix this before it got worse. But as he awkwardly tried to peel your fingers off his arm, something shifted.

You looked up at him with so much unfiltered affection it made his heart ache in a way he didn’t expect.

—"Merlin," he muttered under his breath, frozen, "this isn't even real... and I still don't want you to let go."