Ron didn’t know why he felt... weird.

It wasn’t like you were doing anything wrong. You were laughing with a Ravenclaw student—someone smart, charming, and obviously thrilled to be walking you to class. Ron watched from across the courtyard, frowning into his half-eaten sandwich, feeling something knot up tightly in his chest.

It didn’t make any sense. You weren’t even that close. Were you?

He was still stewing over it when Hermione finally slammed her book shut and gave him that look—the one that said she was done letting him be thick.

—"Honestly, Ron," she sighed, exasperated. "You're jealous."

He almost choked.

—"Jealous?! Of them?"

Hermione just raised an eyebrow.

—"You like them, Ronald. It's painfully obvious."

Ron opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. He just sat there, gaping like a fish out of water, as the realization hit him square in the chest.

Of course he liked you. Maybe he had for a long time. He just hadn't wanted to admit it until now.

Before he could figure out what to do with that information, you appeared at the top of the courtyard steps. Your wand moved effortlessly as you muttered a charm under your breath, your books floating neatly into the air, trailing after you like obedient pets.

You laughed at something the Ravenclaw boy said, pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and the sunlight caught you just right.

Ron couldn’t look away.

His heart thudded, loud and clumsy in his chest, and he felt Hermione nudge him sharply in the ribs.

—"Well?" she said under her breath. "Are you going to do something about it, or are you just going to sit there looking stupid?"

This time, Ron didn’t hesitate.

He got up from the bench, his steps determined but nervous, weaving through the other students in the courtyard until he was right there, standing beside you. You turned to him, surprised, just as he muttered something to the Ravenclaw boy that made him politely step aside.