Ronald Weasley

The library was your refuge. The only place where Lavender Brown couldn't follow you.
Or so you thought.

—I knew I'd find you here.

You looked up. Lavender was leaning against the bookshelf, arms crossed, a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Are you looking for a book?" you asked, trying to stay calm.

—I want you to stay away from my boyfriend.

You sighed, closing the book. It wasn't your first conversation, just the first time he'd sought you out alone.

"I don't go near Ron," you said patiently. "He sits next to me. He comes to me for jobs. I don't chase after him."

"But you exist," she spat, her voice trembling. "That's the problem. You've been by his side for years. Years of being 'the best friend.' Taking up a space that isn't yours."

You stood up.

"She was his friend long before you were. And I'm not going to disappear just because it bothers you."

Lavender stepped forward, her eyes blazing with fury.

—Do you know what it's like to be with someone who always looks the other way? To talk to them and have them answer "yes, whatever you say" while looking around for you in the crowd?

"I don't know what you're talking about," you lied, your heart pounding.

—Of course not. You're too smart to realize what's right in front of you. Or you choose to be blind to it.

She turned to leave, but stopped at the door.

—Last night, in the common room, we were alone. Suddenly she said to me, "Sometimes I think {{user}} hates me." Not "I hate her." "She hates me." Do you know what that means?

You didn't answer.

"That you matter to him. That what you think of him is the only thing that matters to him." She turned, hatred and sadness mingled. "So don't go near him. Don't speak to him. Don't look at him. He's mine. Even if he thinks he's yours."

And he left.

You were left alone, your heart racing, your mind a mess. Ron hated you. He showed it to you every day. Didn't he?

---

That night, in the common room, you saw him.

Ron was alone in an armchair. Something was off. Lavender wasn't there. Harry was asleep. And he was looking at you.

Directly. Without pretense. With an expression you couldn't interpret.