What are you?

Nothing

            Blimey, he thought to himself. His stomach twisted into knots, and, without fully thinking he thrust the letter behind his back. “Hi Harry,” he said, rushing the words out, tripping over his own voice. “What is that?” He said, his tone was accusatory, he was stepping towards Ron, sneaking really. 

   The window was still open, maybe, just maybe, he could throw the letter out and forget about all of it. It would only take a few seconds, milliseconds if he was lucky. “What’s what?” His heart had fallen to the pit of his stomach, beating all through his body, clanging his bones together. And, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Harry could sense it. 

  “You know what,” he said. Ron could tell by the subtle ball of his fists and the way his brows knit together that he was angry. 

  “I-”
     “Why are you lying, Ron?” 
             “It’s Tessi-”
                   “Merlin’s grey beard it's Tessie! You’re lying Ron. Why?” He took a step forward, only a few feet away from Ron. 

   He had no idea what to say, he refused to talk about Draco, yet, it felt like he was caught in a trap. What was there to do? He wished, as he had done so often, that he could ask Hermoine. “It’s nothing, okay? Just random letters,” 
     “So is that the lie you’re telling now?”
           

    “No, Harry . . .”
                   “Let me see it.” He said, holding his hand out, “If it’s random I want to see it,” 
          “No! I can’t,” Ron took a step backwards, his waist hitting the desk. He felt the cold air from the window tickling his neck, wisping his hair about randomly. He was ridiculous, he thought, but he noted, somewhat sadly, that the snow had stopped falling.

    “Just give it,” Harry lunged at him, pouncing like a cat, clawing like a raven. However, before he could, he crumpled the parchment in his hands and threw it out of the window. He watched the wind sweep it away, carrying it's mass. It disappeared amongst the cloud of the white fog outside, growing to be but a distant memory. For some reason, Ron was sad to see it go. 

   “Random huh?” He said, “who in the hell even are you? Because you’re definitely not Ron,” he stomped off towards the door, then, just before he left, he faced him. “Call me when he comes back, will you?” And just like that, Ron was alone, staring at the door with so deep a frown that his muscles felt sore. 

  He paced about a few times, thinking off something to do, of something to say, anything. But what could he do? What would he say? It was impossible, because, the last, very last thing he would tell him was that he was getting sent poems by Draco Malfoy. He just couldn’t, it would ruin everything. 

   Or so he thought. Honestly, he wasn't sure what to think anymore. Up felt like it was down and right felt like it was left. Everything he knew was on its head, his world was shattered. So, he amused himself by crashing in his bed and softly shouting into his pillow. 

                           ___

  Ron trailed behind Harry and Hermione, entirely by himself, staring at the snow-covered trees and small animals scurrying about. Harry refused to talk to him, and because of this, Hermione had as well. So, he was alone. Professor Snape was leading them deep into the woods, taking them to a spot that was safe enough so that they could roam freely. The air was muggy, thick like it was going to rain, and Ron felt utterly terrible. 

  He wasn’t sick, or anything like that, he just wished he could be there with Harry, talking about how “horrible,” his day with Draco would be.