Revelations of Love - Moment by Moment Book #3 (Harry Potter, Drarry)

Making Enemies and Influencing People

He'd been too shocked by the Welshman's behaviour to be angry at first, but as he left the room, Harry felt it grow. He just about managed a please to the Map after a rebuke about manners, and therefore got his directions to Ron's room, but he was going to have to apologise later if he wanted any more directions, since he had omitted the thank you after receiving them. He was still fuming defensively over the antagonist's meanness when he reached the door marked '23' in the married quarters. The panel was slightly open, and he could hear movement inside, but Harry paused on the threshold, as his temper suddenly mutated into nerves. Everything he had thought of to say evaporated, and his heart entered his throat as he lifted his hand to knock. He felt like turning and running as his rap received a welcome call. Yet he stamped on the urge, and feeling foolish and unprepared, he pushed open the door.

Harry was not greeted by his friend's face, in fact he could barely see Ron at all; the youngest son of the Weasley clan was mainly obscured by the double bed which was sat in one corner of the homely little room. Only his backside and feet were visible as he scrabbled underneath for something.

"Won't be a minute," Ron told his unknown visitor easily, "I dropped my wand and it rolled all the way to the back."

"Hope you didn't break it, _again_," Harry ragged, leaning on the door post.

If Ron had broken his wand, it would be the fourth time. As well as the incident in the second year, his best friend had managed to snap his wand in the jubilation after finishing his final N.E.W.T., and also during a battle in the early days of the war.

There was a start from the part of body Harry could see, a loud thud, and a groan as Ron hit his head. Immediately, Harry dashed over to help his friend. He knelt and initially reached to help, but Ron started again when he touched his arm, so Harry drew back and just watched as Ron worked his way into the open. Ron glanced at Harry from under his arm as he appeared, and he smiled, but the disquiet that was mixed in with the expression made Harry squirm.

"Are you alright, Ron?" he tried to cover his discomfort at the reaction.

Harry kept his hands by his sides, and couldn't help feeling dirty when his best friend failed to make eye-contact, and looked like he was searching for something to say.

"Fine," Ron eventually replied, his tone far too bright and his grin too wide.

He rubbed his head in an equally overt gesture, and started climbing to his feet. Harry followed back to his full height, and found himself looking for another opening line. It felt strange not just launching into what he had to say, but the pretence in Ron made Harry self-conscious about the difficult subject he wanted to raise. He glanced around the room, trying to ignore the fact that his companion still hadn't looked at him directly.

"Nice place," he commented, setting his teeth on edge with his own false front, "and private too."

"Well, couples don't have to share," Ron answered with a nod, and then his eyes widened and he went as red as his hair.

Harry smiled and pretended not to notice the connection that Ron's thoughts had just made, but his heart sank with the thought that if the simple mention of couples sent Ron beetroot, then what he had to say might send him running for the hills. He turned and examined a picture that was hung on the wall. It was a framed picture drawn by a very young artist, and Harry recognised the hand.

"Aithne," he commented, walking away from his awkward companion in favour of the connection he could make easily, "I have loads of her pictures on my wall back in the States, and Imogen's too."

"Can't stop them drawing," Ron took the olive branch, and, pride in his eyes, joined Harry in front of the drawing. "On paper, on the wall, on the table." Harry laughed.