Ronarry One Shots

Infatuation

Summary: Harry jokingly asks Ron to be his date to the Yule Ball, since he can't think of anyone else to go with, and Ron, surprisingly, accepts

Ships: RonWeasleyxHarryPotter

All credit goes to bonnyta2 on Ao3

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Well, that was that. The infamous Harry Potter, the boy who lived, had failed to find a date. Well, not failed per say, he'd be able to find one with ease. He'd just failed in getting the only date he actually wanted, Cho Chang, who was already going with Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff prefect and Quidditch team captain. Aka, a lot of things Harry wasn't . After that stinging rejection, Harry decided he'd just go alone, but when he told Hermione this, she scolded him for forgetting one of his duties as a Champion; opening up the Yule Ball with a dance, a dance with a partner .

Harry, of course, hadn't really thought about that, especially since the Yule Ball was the last thing on his mind if he wasn't going with Cho. Still, Hermione insisted Harry at least try getting a date, considering how many girls were betting on who he would ask out.

Harry sat on one of the plush seats facing the fire in the empty Gryiffindor common room with Ron, as they usually did to avoid the girls (trying to) sneakily crowd around him, just waiting for him to ask one of them out. Ron stayed with him, despite the bit of adversity between them. Harry especially needed to put this adversity to the side, because he had one more idea before he decided to drop off the face of the earth to avoid going to the Yule Ball.

"Hey Ron," Harry started, breaking the comfortable silence the two boys had been in since everyone else left for dinner.

"Yeah?" Ron answered from another chair, not looking up from the chess board he'd been focused on since class ended. He was always focused on that thing if he wasn't practicing for Quidditch or pestering Hermione for Transfiguration notes.

"Have you found a date for the ball yet?" Harry asked, sitting up slightly in his seat. He didn't really expect Ron to say yes, but it'd be rude to just assume he didn't.

Hesitation. "Yule? Nope." Ron seemed the slightest bit embarrassed, but Harry knew he wouldn't dare admit it.

Silence.

Harry spoke after a short moment. "Wanna go with me then?"

Ron looked up from his game for the first time that evening and looked straight at Harry, his face twisted in confusion.

"Is that even allowed?" Ron thought aloud, resting his chin on his hand.

"I wasn't serious," Harry said quickly, surprised by the way his heart had started beating out of his chest moments after he asked. Seriously, how dramatic could he be?

"What, you don't want to get matching pocket squares with me?" Ron hummed, putting his focus back on that damned chess board. "I don't think my robes even have pockets, bloody women's clothes," He mumbled to himself.

"What, were you going to accept?" Harry perked up, and then immediately regretted it, sitting himself right back down in his seat.

"Have you really not gotten a date?" Ron asked, sounding slightly surprised. " The infamous Harry Potter?"

"Well, no..." Harry paused, his cheeks flushing a faint shade of pink. "But there's no one else I really want to go with,"

"Apart from me, apparently," Ron added, putting his chess to the side again and going to sit on the armrest of the chair Harry was sitting on. "What, do you fancy me or something?" He asked, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of his sleeve.

"No, but Fred already got himself a date." Harry joked.

"Didn't go for George?"

"Not really my type,"

Ron laughed, a laugh that lit up something in Harry that he just couldn't pinpoint. "Guess I'm your date then."

—

Time flies when you're having fun, and it goes even faster when you're dreading something. The day of the Yule Ball, Ron and Harry, all dressed up in their best (if you could call Ron's frills and bows his 'best'), complete with matching flowers tucked into their robes, entered the Great Hall, greeted by comforting blue mood lighting and grand tables set with countless plates and food.

Even with the beautiful sight of the Hall and the hours and hours of practice Harry had spent with Ron and the other champions practicing the Champions' dance, his stomach twisted and turned as Ron looped his arm in Harry's.

The meal before the real event began felt fleeting, so fleeting that it felt that as soon as he entered the Hall, Harry was on the dancefloor, arm-in-arm with Ron behind the other champions and their dates.

Ron, ever so positive leant in and whispered;

"I don't remember half of the steps,"

"You what? " Harry hissed back, eyes not meeting Ron's. Just looking into those eyes, shiny and cloudy blue, had Harry weak in his knees and queasy in his stomach, and now was not the time for either of those things.

"I mean, I can always follow along," Ron added, adjusting his grip on Harry's forearm.

"That was my plan," Harry croaked, adjusting the tie around his collar that was suddenly way too tight. He sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Good luck to us then,"

"Good luck to us." Ron nodded, his throat dry.

—

Yeah, they danced fine, and miraculously, Harry even remembered the steps just before they stepped onto the dance floor, so it went mostly without a hitch, if you ignored the occasional shoe stepping and hands not being where they needed to be in the moment.

As the two sat at their seats near the head of the massive tables, plates of food appeared in front of them and Ron took no time digging in, ignoring the way others were eating a bit more... politely, around him.

See, that really did it for Harry. Not the monstrous eating, no, but just, well, Ron. He thought about when they were rehearsing for the Champions' dance for hours every weekend, strictly directed by McGonagall until they got it absolutely right. He thought about how odd it was that Ron was so ready to accept Harry's invitation, how excited Ron was to get to the ball once they were all dressed and ready. How Ron was too busy talking to Harry to even notice how gorgeous Hermione looked in her gown, periwinkle blue, shiny, shimmery, silky.

God he was helpless.