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“So Muggles use these things, called pens?” Ron asked Hermione, still staring at the shiny little object in her hand.
“Yes, Ronald. That is what I was using in the library a few minutes ago,” Hermione replied sharply, her patience already fraying.
“Why not just use a quill? It’s easy, you just dip it in the-”
“I know how to use a quill, alright?” Hermione snapped, cutting him off mid sentence. “Honestly, do you ever listen? I’m done with this conversation. Go ask Harry or something!”
Ron blinked at her, heat creeping up his neck. “Blimey, Hermione… what’s your problem?”
Hermione huffed. “Honestly, Ronald, it’s not about you. I’m trying to focus for once. Just leave me alone!”
Ron opened his mouth, then closed it. He knew better than to argue further. *Arsehole,* he muttered under his breath, though it was partly aimed at himself for being so wound up.
He turned down the corridor toward the dungeons. Potions next. Not the subject he hated, but Snape always made his stomach twist into knots. Something about the man’s cold, appraising gaze felt like it could pierce straight through him. God, he creeps me out Ron thought grimly.
Then his stomach sank. Books. Oh Merlin! I left them in my locker. Idiotic mistake but the less time he spent near Snape, the better.
He jogged back, yanking at the locker handle only for it to be shoved closed the next second.
Ron looked up already knowing who it was but praying for him to be wrong... his always wrong rig-
Malfoy.
“What do you want? I’m gonna be late, you git.” Ron snapped.
Malfoy’s grin spread slowly, feeding on his irritation. “Just saying hello. Funny seeing you with a locker, wasn’t sure your family could even afford one. Maybe your mum had to cut down on meals to get her paycheck back, and that’s why you-”
“Shut your damn mouth,” Ron barked.
Malfoy’s grin widened. “Touchy, aren’t we? Easy when you’ve got nothing of your own. No money, no brains, no girlfriend what else dont you have you poor soul?”
Ron’s anger erupted. He slammed the locker open, snatched out his books, and hissed. “At least people actually want to be around me. All those friends you have? They’re your minions, always grovelling at your feet.”
Malfoy’s smirk twitched, his eyes narrowing, but before either could escalate further
“Weasley! Malfoy!”
Snape’s voice cut the corridor in half.
Ron’s stomach lurched. Malfoy’s expression smoothed instantly, false innocence back in place. “Nothing, Professor. Weasley was just… struggling again.”
Snape’s eyes locked on Ron, icy and cutting. “Detention, Weasley. Tonight. Try to control your temper.”
Malfoy’s chuckle grated against Ron’s nerves. He clenched his books, jaw tight, trying not to conjure a hex right then and there.
As they walked toward the dungeon for detention, Hermione caught up with him. “Ron! I told you to leave me alone for a few minutes and you get a detention?”
“Yeah, well, you might’ve been a little… rude,” Ron muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“I wasn’t rude!” Hermione shot back, arms crossed. “I’m just tired of explaining everything to you. You’ve got your head stuck in some weird Muggle obsession, and honestly, it’s exhausting!”
Ron frowned. “Exhausting? Try having to deal with Malfoy, Snape, and my own idiot self all in one day!”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You think that’s hard? Maybe if you listened instead of whining, things wouldn’t be so… dramatic all the time.”
Ron blinked. “Whining? Me? I’m not whining!”
“Oh, please,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “You’re always whining about something. Your hair, Your grades even the pens! Honestly, Ronald, do you ever stop?”
Ron opened his mouth, then shut it. He knew Hermione was right, he was always letting things get to him but she didn’t need to say it so… loudly. Infront of Malfoy too!
“Whatever.” he muttered, turning away. I’m not whining. I just… deal with more crap than anyone deserves.
The dungeon was colder than usual. Shadows clung to the stone walls, Ron shivered at the thought that there might be a spider somewhere. The smell of damp cauldrons thick in the air. Ron sat at a long table, hands clasped around a cauldron, trying not to think about the events of the day.
And then he heard it.
“So… still playing the hero, Weasley? We already have Potter for that.”
Ron glanced up. Draco was leaning against the wall, smirking, wand idly twirling between his fingers.
“Don’t even start, Malfoy.” Ron muttered, tightening his grip on the cauldron.
Malfoy’s eyes glinted. “Oh, come now. I wouldn’t start anything. I’m just curious… You always act so… sure of yourself. But really, aren’t you just… confused?”
Ron’s stomach dropped. The words hit him harder than any insult could. Not the usual jabs about his family, or his clumsiness, or being a Weasley.
He clenched his fists under the table. Confused? That’s putting it mildly.
Malfoy leaned closer, whispering, “You’ll never be… who you want to be. Not really.”
Ron’s chest tightened. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, his stomach twisting. "Shut up. Just shut up."
Before he could respond to Dracos sharp grin, Snape’s sharp voice echoed through the dungeon.
“And what, pray tell, are you two whispering about?”
Malfoy straightened immediately, smirk gone. “Nothing, Professor.”
Snape’s gaze swept over them like a predator. “I will not tolerate insolence in my classroom or my detentions. Both of you will complete your tasks, or I will ensure your punishments are far less… pleasant.”
Malfoy muttered something under his breath, but he stopped as Snape’s eyes pinned him like a dagger.
Ron let out a shaky breath once Snape’s attention was elsewhere. The words Malfoy had said echoed in his head: You’ll never be… who you want to be.
For a long moment, Ron sat there, staring into the dark liquid swirling in the cauldron, fighting the storm inside him. He thought about the mirror at the Burrow, about the name he longed to be called, the chest that never felt right, the boy he had always known himself to be.
I am him. I am him. I will always be him.
But the fear, the shame pressed down so hard he could barely breathe. What if no one else will ever see me? What if I’m stuck… forever pretending? There were many things Ron was afraid of like spiders, death and even his mothers temper. What scared him the most was not something else. It wasnt him. It was her.
The dungeon was quiet except for the occasional bubbling of potions. Snape’s presence loomed, and Malfoy’s smirk, even from across the table, lingered like a phantom.
Ron’s hands shook slightly as he picked up his wand, setting it down again. He couldn’t fight Malfoy. Not here. Not now.
So he fought himself instead.