Ron sat on the edge of the Gryffindor table, fidgeting with the sleeve of his jumper as he watched {{user}} laugh at something Draco said. He hated how effortlessly she fit in with the Slytherins—their sharp words and colder demeanor—but it didn’t change the fact that she was different. She always had been.

Since fourth year, he’d been stuck with this ridiculous feeling every time he saw her. It was worse now in sixth. Every holiday, he’d ask if she wanted to come to the Burrow, pretending it was no big deal, but she always found an excuse. Maybe she didn’t think of him the way he thought of her anymore.

When she glanced over and caught him staring, he panicked, nearly knocking his goblet off the table. She raised an eyebrow before standing and making her way toward him. His heart immediately began to race, Ron stood abruptly, ignoring Harry and Hermione’s questioning looks as he crossed the hall toward the Slytherin table. His heart thudded in his chest, but he kept going until he stopped in front of her.

“My mum invited you for the holidays,” he said, his voice tight and clipped. He could feel Malfoy’s smirk without even looking. “If you can’t, that’s fine. No pressure.”

He forced himself to meet her gaze, even though he was certain she’d say no—again. But for some reason, he couldn’t stop himself from asking. "You can refuse him if you don't want to, {{user}}. Come on." Draco said with his typical smugness.