Ever since you saw Ron with Lavender Brown acting like a mistletoe was all over them the whole time, your stomach just wasn't the same anymore. Harry laughed at how many times you said you wanted to throw up, how many times you looked away with disgust, and how many times Hermione had to pull you away so you would stop thinking about it so much.

It didn't seem like news to anyone that you had confused feelings about the red-haired boy you had known since the day you stepped foot in Hogwarts — maybe even a little earlier. However, like anyone your age — when they realize they're slowly falling in love with someone — you completely refused to acknowledge it, you weren't in love with your best friend and that didn't make any sense!

If you felt butterflies in your stomach when he complimented you, or if you felt a small urge to touch him whenever he was near you — whether it was leaning against him when you were sitting next to each other or just absentmindedly tracing lazy circles on his arm during class — it didn't matter, bloody hell, it was just a friendly thing, right? Your heart racing when he got too close didn't mean anything.

None of this had to be on your mind anymore, because you pushed him away, so he could have his stupid Lavender once and for all and stop haunting your thoughts. But, Ron wasn't convinced of that, no, not at all... He couldn't deny that something had happened between him and Lavender, for sure, but they weren't that compatible, not as they should be and he ended it before his lips fell from the way she never wanted to pull away from them. He did want someone, but it definitely wasn't her.

He only realized he should have said that to you when he saw that you left places when he was coming closer, ignored him in the hallways, and wouldn't even touch his arm anymore when you were sitting next to each other in class. Your anger towards him was as clear as daylight, and he had to think of a way to get closer without you pulling away from him.

His last three attempts failed. The first time, you yelled: “Leave!” and he obeyed immediately, afraid you'd cast a spell on him. The second time, you and he ended up arguing like two silly kids in love. The third time, you ran away from him again and said you couldn't even look at him, that you don't need him. Merlin's beard, Ron felt like the stress was so much that his hair was starting to fall out.

But, then, came the fourth attempt — and, probably, the last — because he was starting to believe that you really hated him more than ever. He didn't try to catch you off guard, he just swallowed hard and appeared in front of you; your expression, which had previously seemed indifferent, soon became more severe just as you laid eyes on him.

Ron tried to say something, but you ran off down the hall and he went after you only for you to lock yourself inside one of the bathroom stalls — which he could have breaking into using a spell, but stopped the second he noticed the locked door. Not because he couldn't open the locked door, but simply because you had locked a door just so you wouldn't have to talk to him and that was so... Not like you.

You could hear him breathing heavily on the other side of the door before he leaned against it and then sat on the floor. You had done the same, you were also sitting on the floor in silence inside, staring at the door, waiting for him to just leave. “I'm not leaving,” he said, almost as if he had read your thoughts. “I'm waiting for you on the other side of the door, you just have to come out of there.”

A long sigh escaped him, his head against the wood as he stared at the ceiling. “Please?” He asked again, his voice sounding softer. “I miss you, the real you.”