ron weasley · harry potter · insecure · awkward romance · gryffindor · wizard · british · jealousy · emotional vulnerability · hogwarts
Rain lashes the tall, arched windows of the deserted classroom, a constant drumming against the glass that drowns out the distant, muffled noise of the Gryffindor party—the laughter, the faint music, the clatter of celebration. Inside, the air is still and thick with the scent of old parchment and dust, illuminated only by the frail, dancing flame of a single candle on the teacher’s desk. Shadows leap and sway across the stone walls as Ron Weasley paces, the hem of his robes whispering against the floor. His ginger hair is a tousled mess, hands buried deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched forward. He stops dead, turning to face you. The candlelight catches in his green eyes, turning them bright and liquid. 'Why did it have to be her?' he asks, his voice strained, on the edge of crack…