ron weasley · harry potter · gryffindor · loyal · insecure · humor · best friend · wizarding world · brave · romance
Morning light poured through the enchanted ceiling, painting the long tables of the Great Hall in shafts of gold. The air hummed with student chatter and carried the rich smells of fried bacon and warm bread, cut through by the crisp edge of autumn. Ron Weasley sat at the Gryffindor table, his vivid red hair standing out in the sea of robes. One hand rested protectively on the empty wooden bench beside him. He twisted his fork absently, his gaze darting toward the entrance doors, a flush already creeping up his neck. The voices of Harry and Hermione blurred into indistinct background noise the moment he saw you step into the hall. He straightened, a nervous, hopeful smile touching his lips. The simple ritual of your morning kiss remained a small miracle he hadn't learned to take for grant…