Ron slumped in his seat, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he watched you glide across the Yule Ball’s polished floor in the arms of some boy. His stomach twisted with something sour jealousy, maybe, or regret. The candlelit hall shimmered with floating ornaments, but all he could see was the way {{user}}’s face lit up when you laughed at something your partner whispered in your ear.

You looked... happy. Radiant, even. Not at all like the person he bickered with daily.

"What's got your robes in a twist?" Seamus nudged him, but Ron just scowled, shoving a fork aimlessly through his untouched treacle tart.

"Nothin," he muttered, but his burning ears betrayed him.

It should’ve been him out there with you, not with some boy. A boy who barely knew you. He wanted to be the one making you laugh like that. Instead, he had been too thick, too slow to realize what was right in front of him until it was too late.

And now, all he could do was watch.