Chapter Text
Contrary to popular belief, Ron is not dense when it comes to romantic feelings. Well, aside from his own, but he got there eventually, so stop laughing Mione! Point is, he knows how to spot the look of a lovesick puppy. He saw it with Ginny pining after Luna, and he can definitely see it with Harry.
Seriously, he loves his best mate, but Merlin, writing 'I have a big, fat crush on Malfoy' in neon letters on his forehead would've been more subtle than... whatever this is. Good thing Malfoy seems to have the emotional awareness of Ron's chewed up trainers.
Bad thing, it's Malfoy.
Ron still remembers the first day of eight year. Sitting at the Gryffindor table, sneaking bites of Yorkshire pudding while waiting for McGonagall's welcoming speech to end, Hermione for once not busying herself with a book... And then Harry dropped his fork. At first, Ron paid him no mind (sneaking food under the table is a very consuming task, after all), until Harry stabbed mashed potatoes into his cheek instead of mouth. And then came the next day, and he almost collided with a wall on their way to class. And then, during Potions on Wednesday, his eyes kept drifting to the front of the class, and Ron may not be a potions master, but he's pretty sure Wolfsbane isn't supposed to catch on fire, so he followed his mates' gaze and-
"Oh, bloody hell." If there wasn't a boiling cauldron on their table, Ron would've slammed his head into it right then and there.
It only got worse from there.
"Do you think his hair is as fluffy as it looks? I bet it feels like a cloud."
"Mione, what's it called when someone has two-coloured eyes?"
"He has a white patch like me, do you think it's a sign?"
That one caused Hermione to launch into a lecture on something called 'poliosis', and no, Harry it's probably genetic, and yours is a side effect of magic, just like your scar, but Harry stopped listening fifteen minutes ago, and while Ron loves when his girlfriend gets to be a walking encyclopedia, does it have to involve Malfoy?
So what if he (apparently) looks different? If Ron's being honest, he wouldn't have noticed the change if Harry didn't insist on pointing it out every five minutes. His eyes are two-coloured - and? Ron wouldn't care if he had horns and a cow tail. Actually, that's a lie. He'd laugh for a solid twenty minutes, and then he would ignore it.
Harry, though... Godric's arse. Ron gets the appeal of blokes, he really does (Viktor Krum, anyone? Zabini, if he wasn't a part of Malfoys gang?), but... Ferret? Seriously, mate?
So what if his hair 'glistens like liquid honey in the sunlight' (Harry's words, not his), or that his two-coloured eyes reflect the two Houses he descends from, and isn't that so poetic (it really isn't), or that he has freckles scattered like a tiny constellation on his nose (Ron has those too, also, eugh).
And, fine, Malfoy apologised, and Ron supposes the letters he sent seemed to be genuine, and Hermione forgave him, and they even became somewhat friendly, bonding over their shared love of Arithamancy (both are still a mystery to Ron, but well, whatevers makes Mione happy), but come on. That's still Ferret they're talking about. The slimy, pointy git they're supposed to hate, not make heart eyes at, Harry.
In the second week of September, Seamus and Dean open their 'When will Harry confess his undying love for Malfoy?' betting pool. By the end of the month, even McGonagall has joined in (15 gallons on before Christmas - bold choice, but then again, Harry is so obvious it's a wonder his eyes don't turn into hearts whenever he looks at Malfoy).
In October Parkinson comes over begging them to 'do something about their lovesick puppy, because a half-burnt piece of coal has more emotional awareness than Draco, and the moron is convinced that Harry suspects him of doing something evil again'. (Ron snorts at that one, so hard he chokes on his pumpkin juice, until he remembers the lovesick puppy in question is Harry. Getting water boarded with a bucket of ice water would've been less jarring.)
In November, Ron's had enough. It's lunchtime in the Great Hall, and instead of enjoying his stew, he's forced to endure Harry's miserable attempts at getting potatoes onto his fork, while staring at Malfoy like he's the brightest star in the sky. (Oh, wait. Didn't Harry call him just that last week? Eugh, the situation is so dire that the lyricism is starting to rub off on Ron.)
At least the Ferret looks just as miserable as Ron - slumped on Parkinson like she's his portable fainting couch, pushing food around his plate and pointedly not looking at Harry. Under any other circumstances, his obliviousness would've been hilarious. This is the second best student at Hogwarts? If so, then Ron must be Nicholas Flammel.
But then Harry lets out a hopeless sigh, and Ron explodes. "MERLIN, HARRY, JUST KISS HIM ALREADY!"
The room falls quieter than a silencing charm, everyone waiting with a baited breath for what'll happen next. Everyone except Malfoy, of course. The emotionally dense rock. Ron decides to picture him as a piece of coal, so that he doesn't vomit onto his plate when Harry pulls Malfoy by the tie, and- No. Ron is not thinking about the rest. He's traumatised enough as is, thank you very much.
The silence explodes into cheers and whistles and groans. Seamus and Dean scream the loudest, and Ron can't even blame them - this must be the easiest fortune of their life.
"Couldn't you wait until December? I just lost a tenner," Ginny grumbles, and Merlin help him, Ron has never come closer to commiting sororicide.
"Suffer through one hour of Harry's pining and then we'll talk," Ron hisses through his teeth, and Hermione gives him a pat on his back, never once lifting her gaze from the tome in front of her. Why didn't Ron take example from her and start reading during meals too? A distraction like that certainly would've saved him from the horrors
"Well, congratulations to you," Seamus comes over, grinning as he hands Ron his freshly earned fiver.
"Thanks," Ron mutters, nowhere near as enthusiastic about his gains as the brunet. At least he got something out of this torturous fate.
But then, Seamus drops a crisp fifty into Hermione's extended palm. And Ron finally - finally slams his head into the table.
Compared to the torture of having to bear three month of Harry's miserable pining, the pain almost feels like a warm hug.