A Horcrux's Fate

Chapter 18

"Hey, Ron."

Ron Weasley let out a sigh of annoyance as he felt someone shaking him awake, persistently calling out his name, disrupting his peaceful sleep. Reluctantly, he forced himself to fully awaken from his slumber.

"Come on, wake up, sleepyhead!"

As Ron slowly opened his eyes, he squinted in the gentle glow of the morning light that seeped in through the windows of his dormitory, blinding him momentarily. Rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, he sat up, contemplating the day ahead. Despite the temptation to burrow back under the covers, he knew he had a long list of tasks to accomplish.

"What time is it?" Ron slurred as he reluctantly threw off the covers, letting his feet hit the softly carpeted floor. He trudged to the bathroom to change, grumbling softly under his breath with each step. After a brief moment of getting dressed, he returned to find his dorm room empty. Another yawn escaped as he shuffled through the arched entrance to the common room.

The Hufflepuff common room embodied comfort—a place where the worries of the outside world seemed to melt away. The gentle hum of animated plants and the flickering glow of the fireplace created an inviting ambiance as sunlight filtered through the Gothic-style windows, illuminating dandelion fields stretching endlessly beyond. Ron stepped in, feeling the warmth envelop him like a well-loved blanket. Today, however, even this comforting cocoon couldn't chase away the shadows lurking in his mind.

"Hey there, Ron!" a cheerful voice broke through his thoughts. Cedric Diggory lounged comfortably by the fireplace, dark hair tousled and bright grey eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

Ron forced a smile and settled into the chair across from him, resting his head against the plush cushion. A yawn escaped him, betraying the late hours of worry that had taken their toll.

"Rough night?" Cedric asked.

"I guess you could say that," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He could practically feel the scowl on his face deepening as Cedric studied him.

"What's bothering you? Still preoccupied with how to win in the Triwizard Tournament?" Cedric's tone was laced with genuine concern.

When Ron didn't answer, Cedric continued, "You realise why Dumbledore selected you, right? You're the top Hufflepuff student. All you need to do is outwit the other champions and win to claim the title of Triwizard Champion. The selection process must have been the same for the representatives of the other schools."

The question hung in the air, dense with expectation and pressure. Ron turned his gaze away, the warm flicker of the flames drawing his eyes. He could hear the certainty in Cedric's voice, but self-doubt clawed at him. "It sounds too simple when you put it that way," he replied, bitterness creeping into his tone.

Cedric raised an eyebrow, trying to lighten the mood. "That's because it is! You're the top Hufflepuff student. Just outsmart the others and claim your title!"

The truth in Cedric's words felt like a stone in Ron's gut. Yes, he was chosen, but the reality was far more daunting. As the only Weasley sorted into Hufflepuff—a choice he had once thought noble—he felt the sting of isolation with every passing moment. His family, a tapestry of Gryffindor pride, had subtly unravelled their relationships since his sorting. They loved him, of that much he was sure, but something precious had been lost, and he yearned to reclaim it.

"If I win," Ron murmured, "maybe they'll finally see my worth. Maybe they'll accept that I belong here." His voice trailed off, infused with hope mingled with despair. The thought of his family's reaction should he emerge victorious glimmered briefly before it dimmed under the weight of competition.