Chapter Text
Daphne Greengrass stood before the mirror in her bathroom, her heart heavy with thoughts she couldn’t shake. The reflection that looked back at her was breathtaking, adorned in a gown that felt like a dream—deep emerald with delicate silver accents that shimmered as she moved. The color complimented her pale skin and highlighted her hazel eyes, now framed by the soft curls of her blonde hair falling gracefully down her back. She had wanted to look perfect for tonight. Not for herself, and not for the boy who would be escorting her to the Yule Ball. But because tonight felt like the closing of one chapter, and she needed to feel strong.
Robert Stump, her first boyfriend, her first everything, had been the center of her world for the better part of the year. A Hufflepuff, and a year older than her, Robert was well-mannered, charming, and from a respected old pureblood family—with roots that could be traced back centuries. His family’s portraits hung all over Hogwarts. Their relationship had started sweetly in the summer, full of laughter, late-night conversations, and stolen kisses by the lake. They’d been the kind of couple people admired, or at least, that’s what it seemed.
But somewhere along the way, things had shifted. The smiles they exchanged had grown strained, the conversations shorter, and the silences more unbearable. It wasn’t that they fought—there were no dramatic rows or tearful confrontations. It was subtler than that. The love they once shared seemed to dissipate, like smoke slipping through their fingers. They both knew it was fading, and even though they tried to hold on, it wasn’t enough. Two days ago, they’d finally spoken the words aloud—they weren’t working.
They had agreed to go to the Yule Ball together, not wanting to attract attention by showing up separately so soon after their quiet breakup. It would give them time to process, to figure out how to explain to their friends what had happened. They would wait a week before telling anyone. Robert had been kind, understanding. He always was. But it didn’t stop the dull ache in Daphne’s chest. He had been her first in so many ways. Her first kiss, her first love, her first heartbreak.
And tonight, as she walked into the Hall, arm in arm with him, it would be the last time she allowed herself to pretend things were still the way they used to be.
There was a knock on the door.
“Daphne, are you ready?” It was Pansy Parkinson’s voice, muffled through the heavy wood. Daphne smoothed the fabric of her dress one last time, taking a deep breath to steady herself before opening the door.
Pansy, dressed in pale pink, smiled approvingly. “You look stunning. Robert won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”
Daphne forced a smile. “Thanks.”
The walk to the Hall felt longer than usual. Daphne kept her head high, knowing that she couldn’t let anyone see the turmoil inside her. By the time they reached the entrance, Robert was waiting for her, standing among a group of Hufflepuffs, looking as composed and gentlemanly as ever. He smiled when he saw her, and for a brief moment, Daphne felt that familiar flutter in her chest, the one she used to feel every time he looked at her like that. But it was fleeting.
“You look amazing,” Robert said, offering his arm.
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” Daphne replied, her voice even, hiding the sadness that gnawed at her insides.
As they entered, the festive atmosphere enveloped them. The enchanted ceiling twinkled with stars, and students were already spinning in circles, laughing and enjoying the night. Everything looked perfect. It was supposed to be perfect. But the weight in Daphne’s chest didn’t lift.
They found their way to a table, where their friends were gathered—Pansy, Draco, Blaise, and the rest of them. Everyone was in high spirits, excited for the night ahead. For a while, Daphne played along, chatting, smiling, laughing at the right moments. But her mind kept wandering back to the conversation she and Robert had had just two days before.
She then felt Robert’s hand brush hers under the table. It was a familiar gesture, but now it felt awkward, like they were playing roles in a play they no longer wanted to be part of. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t move closer either.
As the music swelled and couples began to dance, Robert stood and extended his hand toward her. “Shall we?”
Daphne hesitated for only a second before accepting. They moved onto the dance floor, finding a spot among the other students. Robert’s hand rested lightly on her waist as they began to sway to the slow, melodic tune. For a moment, it almost felt like old times—the warmth of his touch, the comfort of his presence. But as they spun slowly in circles, Daphne couldn’t shake the feeling that this was their last dance.
“Are you okay?” Robert asked quietly, his voice barely audible over the music.
“I will be,” she replied, her throat tightening as the words left her. It wasn’t a lie. She wasn’t okay now, but she knew she would be, eventually. Time would heal the cracks in her heart. But for tonight, she allowed herself to grieve for what they had lost.
When the song ended, they returned to their table, where Pansy and Blaise were already deep in conversation. Daphne sat down, her fingers toying with the edge of her napkin, trying to keep her emotions in check. Robert excused himself to speak with a friend across the hall, leaving Daphne alone for a moment, surrounded by the sounds of laughter and music.
She scanned the room, watching as her classmates danced and talked, caught up in the excitement of the night. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this would be a memory she’d look back on with bittersweetness. The night she let go of her first love. The night she realized that sometimes, even when two people care for each other, it’s not enough.
And across the room, her eyes fell on a familiar face—Ron Weasley.
Her gaze lingered on Ron Weasley from across the hall. He sat with Harry Potter, but something about him seemed off. His usual freckled face was drawn, his smile forced as he tried to engage with his friend. Daphne’s hazel eyes narrowed slightly. He wasn’t wearing that crooked grin he so often had in class. No, tonight Ron Weasley looked as miserable as she felt.
His dress robes weren’t doing him any favors either—an awkward fit, a shade too dark, and the fabric looked itchy, if she were being honest. But it wasn’t the clothes that struck her. It was the way he seemed to shrink into himself, his shoulders slumped, hands fidgeting on the table as Harry said something to him.
Daphne knew that feeling all too well. The feeling of being in a room full of people, but your mind was a thousand miles away, caught in some web of emotion that weighed you down like lead. She didn’t know what was eating at him, but in that brief moment, she felt an odd sense of kinship with him—Ron Weasley, of all people.
“Daphne?” Pansy’s voice broke through her thoughts.
Daphne blinked, tearing her gaze away from him, and looked at her friend. Pansy had her head cocked to the side, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve barely said a word.”
“I’m fine,” Daphne replied quickly, her voice clipped. It was the same answer she’d been giving everyone for the past few days. Fine. Okay. Good enough.
Pansy’s dark eyes narrowed. She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “No, you’re not. You’ve been acting weird since you got here. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Daphne said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just drop it.”
But Pansy wasn’t the type to let things go easily. “I know you, Daphne. You’ve been quiet all night, and that’s not like you. What is it?”
Daphne felt the lump in her throat swell, and the mask she’d been wearing started to crack. She glanced over at Robert, who was still chatting with his friends across the hall, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside her. She felt a sudden rush of anger—anger that he could stand there, looking so composed, so unaffected, while she was falling apart on the inside.
“I said drop it, Pansy,” Daphne repeated, more forcefully this time. She pushed her chair back and stood up abruptly, the legs scraping against the floor with a harsh screech. “I’m going to the loo.”
Pansy stood too, grabbing her arm before she could take a step. “Daphne, wait. What’s going on?”
It all came rushing out before Daphne could stop herself. “Robert and I aren’t together anymore,” she blurted, her voice trembling with the weight of the admission. “We broke up two days ago. We’re just pretending tonight because we didn’t want everyone to know yet. But it’s over.”
Pansy blinked, stunned into silence for a moment. “What? But you two—”
“We tried,” Daphne cut in, her voice thick with emotion. “We tried, but it wasn’t working. It hasn’t been working for a while now, and we finally ended it. But I have to sit here and pretend like everything’s fine, like nothing’s wrong, and it’s—" Her voice broke, and she had to take a shaky breath to steady herself. “It’s exhausting.”
Pansy’s face softened, and she released Daphne’s arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Daphne swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t want to admit it out loud. It feels… real now, you know?”
Pansy nodded. “I get it. That sounds awful. I’m sorry, Daph. I didn’t know.”
“It’s fine,” Daphne said, though the word felt hollow as it left her lips. She pressed a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes for a moment. “I just need a minute. I’m going to the bathroom.”
Pansy hesitated, clearly torn between giving her space and wanting to be there for her. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“No.” Daphne shook her head quickly. “No, I just need to be alone for a bit. I’ll be fine.”
Pansy looked uncertain but eventually nodded. “Alright. But if you need me, I’m here, okay?”
Daphne forced a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Pansy.”
She turned and walked away, weaving through the crowd of students as the music played on, drowning out the chatter and laughter around her. As she moved through the throngs of her classmates, she felt a strange sense of detachment, like she was watching everything from a distance, as though she wasn’t really part of the celebration at all.
The hallways outside the Great Hall were quiet. Daphne’s heels clicked softly on the stone floor as she made her way to the nearest loo. The silence was comforting, a welcome reprieve from the chaos inside her head. When she finally reached the loo, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, leaning heavily against the sink as she stared at her reflection.
Her makeup was still flawless, her dress still perfect, but the girl in the mirror didn’t look like the Daphne Greengrass she knew. She looked lost, fragile, and heartbroken.
Daphne turned on the tap, letting the cold water run over her hands. The coolness grounded her, gave her something to focus on. She splashed some water on her face, careful not to smudge her makeup, and took a deep breath. She had no choice but to keep going, to keep pretending for just a little longer. One week. That’s all she had to get through, and then she could let go. Let everyone know the truth.
But as she dried her hands and looked back into the mirror, the ache in her chest didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened, pulling her down like a weight she couldn’t shake.
And she realized the only person she could rely on was herself.
Daphne took one final glance at her reflection before stepping out. Her composure was back in place, though her heart still felt heavy. She had smoothed down her dress and made sure her makeup was untouched. With a deep breath, she straightened her posture and exited, her heels clicking softly against the stone floor.
To her surprise, Robert was leaning against the wall just outside the door, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked up when she appeared, his expression a mix of concern and something else—guilt, maybe.
Daphne froze for a second, surprised to see him there. She hadn’t expected him to come looking for her. “Robert?” Her voice was carefully neutral, though the tension between them was palpable. “What are you doing here?”
He pushed off the wall and took a step closer. “Pansy told me you were upset,” he said quietly. “She said she knew… about us.”
Daphne’s stomach tightened. Of course, Pansy had gone to him. She didn’t blame her; Pansy had always been a bit of a fixer, but now she felt exposed, her pain laid bare before the one person she was trying to keep it from. “Great,” Daphne muttered, crossing her arms defensively. “So now everyone knows.”
“Not everyone,” Robert corrected softly, his brow furrowing as he took another step toward her. “Just Pansy. She would never tell someone else without your permission, you know that. I think she’s worried about you.”
“She doesn’t need to be,” Daphne said, her voice sharper than she intended. She hadn’t wanted this, hadn’t wanted him to come chasing after her, especially now when everything felt so raw. She glanced down the hall, trying to find an excuse to leave, but there was nowhere else to go.
They stood in silence for a moment, an uncomfortable tension hanging between them. The quiet was deafening, and yet neither of them moved to break it. They just stood there, two people who had once meant everything to each other, now reduced to this awkward, painful distance.
Eventually, it was Robert who spoke first. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice full of sincerity. “I didn’t mean for things to get so… complicated.”
Daphne looked up at him, her hazel eyes searching his face for something—anything—that would make this hurt less. But all she saw was the same calm, composed expression he always wore, and it frustrated her to no end. “You’re not grieving,” she blurted, the words spilling out before she could stop them.
Robert’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”
“You’re not grieving us,” Daphne repeated, her voice trembling with the weight of her emotions. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. “You’re standing here, and you’re fine. You’re fine, and I’m…” She shook her head, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “I’m not. I’m not fine, Robert. I’m hurt. I’m angry. I’m… I’m sad. And you don’t seem to feel any of it.”
Robert’s mouth parted, as though he wanted to argue, but he closed it again. He glanced away, running a hand through his hair in that familiar way that used to make Daphne smile. But now, it only reminded her of everything they’d lost.
“You think I don’t feel it?” he said quietly, his voice low, almost a whisper. He looked back at her, and for the first time that night, Daphne saw something break in his expression. “You think this doesn’t hurt me too?”
She stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. “It doesn’t look like it. You’ve been… normal. You’ve been talking to your friends, laughing with them. It’s like nothing’s changed for you.”
Robert’s jaw tightened, and he let out a slow breath, as though he was trying to keep his own emotions in check. “I’m trying to act normal,” he admitted. “Because that’s all I can do. I don’t know how to deal with this, Daphne. I don’t know how to sit in it the way you do. It hurts me too. Just because I’m not showing it the way you are doesn’t mean I’m not feeling it.”
Daphne bit her lip, her eyes stinging with the beginnings of unshed tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of him. She didn’t want him to see how much this was breaking her. But hearing him say those words—that he was hurting too—felt like both a relief and a fresh wound all at once.
“I don’t know what to do with this,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I thought I could handle it. I thought pretending for one night would be easy, but it’s not. I keep looking at you and remembering how we used to be, and it’s… it’s killing me.”
Robert’s face softened, and for a brief moment, Daphne saw the boy she had fallen for last summer, the boy who used to make her laugh with his terrible jokes and who always knew how to make her feel special. He took a hesitant step closer, but he didn’t reach out to touch her.
“I know,” he said softly. “I feel the same way. I miss it too, Daph. I miss us. But we both knew it wasn’t working anymore.”
Daphne blinked back her tears, nodding even though it hurt to admit it. “I know,” she whispered. “I just… I didn’t think it would be this hard.”
They stood there in silence again. It wasn’t just the end of their relationship that hurt—it was the end of what they had been to each other, the end of first love, first everything. And no matter how amicably they had tried to end things, it didn’t erase the fact that it still hurt like hell.
“We did try, though,” Robert said after a long pause. “We really did.”
Daphne nodded again, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Yeah. We did.”
For a moment, it felt like they were back in the summer, before things had gotten complicated. Before the quiet arguments, the distance that had grown between them, the realization that their love wasn’t enough to keep them together. But that moment was fleeting, and they both knew it.
“It’s over, isn’t it?” Daphne asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Robert hesitated, but then he nodded slowly. “Yeah. It’s over.”
The finality of the words hit her like a punch to the gut. It didn’t matter that they had already broken up; hearing it spoken aloud made it real in a way that nothing else had. She wanted to say something, to protest, to cling to whatever fragments were left of their relationship, but she knew there was no point. They had reached the end.
“I still care about you,” Robert said quietly. “You know that, right?”
“I care about you too,” Daphne replied. “But it’s not enough, is it?”
“No,” Robert admitted, his shoulders slumping slightly. “It’s not.”
They stood there, neither of them knowing what to say next. There was nothing left to argue about, nothing left to fix. They had cared for each other, and they still did in their own way, but love wasn’t enough to bridge the gap that had grown between them.
Finally, Robert let out a slow breath and took a step back. “I should let you go. I don’t want to make this any harder than it already is.”
Daphne nodded, grateful that he wasn’t going to drag this out any longer. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. “Okay.”
Robert gave her one last, lingering look, his eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored her own. “Goodbye, Daphne.”
“Goodbye, Robert,” she whispered.
He turned and walked away, his figure disappearing down the hallway, leaving Daphne standing there alone. The echo of his footsteps faded into the distance, and the emptiness that followed felt like a void opening up inside her chest.
It was really over.
Daphne took a shaky breath, wiping away the tear that had slipped down her cheek. She had known this was coming, had known it was inevitable. But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.
She stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the empty hallway where Robert had disappeared. She should’ve gone back to the Slytherin common room, but the thought of facing Pansy made her stomach churn. She couldn’t bear her questions or, worse, her pitying looks. The Yule Ball had long since wound down, the music and laughter fading into silence.
The last thing she wanted was to return to her dormitory. So, instead of turning toward the dungeons, Daphne decided to walk. She had always found some comfort in wandering the castle, especially at night when everything was still and quiet. There was a sense of peace in the empty corridors, a solitude that helped her think.
Her heels clicked softly against the stone floors as she moved, careful to avoid Filch or any prefects on patrol. She was skilled at slipping through the shadows—something she’d learned well during her years at Hogwarts. Her wand was tucked into the folds of her dress, just in case she needed it, though she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
The longer she walked, the more distant the night’s events became. The memory of Robert’s face, the heaviness of their conversation, the quiet acceptance that it was over—each step helped push it all back, even if just a little. She wandered for what felt like hours, her thoughts swirling, until she found herself in front of the staircase that led to the Astronomy Tower.
Without thinking, she started climbing.
The air grew cooler as she ascended, the chill of winter seeping through the castle walls. By the time she reached the top, her breath was visible in small puffs, and she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. The Astronomy Tower was deserted, just as she expected, its wide, open space offering a perfect view of the night sky. The stars glittered above her, cold and distant, like silent observers to her turmoil.
Daphne walked toward the edge of the tower and leaned against the stone railing, her arms still crossed tightly against her chest. She stared out at the sky, but her mind wasn’t on the stars. She was thinking about Robert. About how they had danced just a few hours ago, pretending everything was fine. About how they had laughed and smiled for the sake of appearances, even though they both knew the truth.
It had all felt so pointless.
A heavy sigh escaped her, and she closed her eyes, letting the cool wind brush against her skin. This wasn’t how the Yule Ball was supposed to end. She’d imagined it differently—happier, simpler. But now, standing alone in the dark, she felt more lost than ever.
Suddenly, a noise from behind her made her freeze. The soft creak of a door and followed by footsteps. Startled, Daphne spun around, her heart racing, her hand instinctively reaching for her wand.
Her eyes widened in surprise as they landed on the red-haired figure stepping into view.
“Ron Weasley?”
Ron stopped in his tracks, looking just as surprised to see her. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his dress robes, and his tie was loosened, as if he had been trying to escape the stuffiness of the ball as well. He blinked, clearly not expecting to find anyone else here.
“Oh. Um… hey,” Ron said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as his gaze flickered from her to the floor and back again.
Daphne lowered her hand from her wand, exhaling slowly to calm herself. “What are you doing up here?” she asked, her tone more neutral than accusatory. She wasn’t sure if she should feel annoyed or relieved that he had interrupted her solitude.
Ron shrugged, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Needed some air,” he mumbled. “Didn’t think anyone else would be up here.”
Daphne nodded, understanding that feeling all too well. The Astronomy Tower was one of the few places in the castle where you could escape everything. “Yeah. Same here.”
They stood there in silence for a few moments, both of them unsure what to say. It was strange, seeing Ron outside of the usual context of classes or passing in the hallways. She’d never really spoken to him before, aside from the occasional glance in the Great Hall or a fleeting moment in Potions. He was a Weasley, after all, and they ran in very different circles.
But here they were, alone in the tower, both of them clearly trying to escape something.
Daphne shifted awkwardly, glancing over at Ron. He looked… miserable, honestly. His usually bright eyes were dull, and his expression seemed heavier than she was used to seeing. She didn’t know why, but seeing him like that made her chest tighten a little. It wasn’t like she cared about Ron Weasley, but there was something oddly comforting about knowing she wasn’t the only one feeling out of place tonight.
“You… you look like you’ve had a rough night,” she said, breaking the silence.
Ron let out a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, you could say that,” he muttered. “You too, huh?”
Daphne snorted softly, shaking her head. “You have no idea.”
There was another awkward pause, but this time it didn’t feel quite as tense. They were two people, standing on the edges of their worlds, each nursing their own private pain. Maybe that was enough to make this less uncomfortable than it should’ve been.
She glanced over at him. “Who did you go to the Yule Ball with?”
Ron sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “Went with Padma Patil. It… didn’t go great.”
Daphne raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”
He let out a humorless laugh. “Honestly…I wasn’t a good date to begin with. I don’t think she really wanted to be there with me. I don’t blame her…I was watching…some things I didn’t like seeing.”
“Sounds like we both had a fantastic time,” she said dryly, a touch of sarcasm in her voice.
Ron chuckled, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Yeah. Fantastic.”
They lapsed into silence again, but this time, it wasn’t as awkward. It was as if they both understood that there were no right words to fix what had gone wrong tonight. They were just two people, sharing a quiet, lonely moment in the middle of a night that hadn’t turned out how they’d imagined.
For a moment, Daphne thought about how odd this was—her, a Slytherin, standing here with Ron Weasley of all people. But at the same time, it felt strangely right. They were both lost in their own way.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, noticing the way he was staring out at the stars, his expression thoughtful, almost sad. He really did look miserable.
“Do you… want to talk about it?” Daphne asked, surprising herself with the offer. She wasn’t sure why she’d said it, but part of her wanted to know what had made him look so defeated.
Ron glanced at her, clearly taken aback by the question. For a moment, he looked like he was going to refuse, but then he shrugged. “I don’t know. Not much to say, really.”
Daphne nodded, not pushing him any further. She understood that feeling too. Sometimes, the pain was too much to put into words.
Ron shifted beside her, clearing his throat awkwardly. “You know,” he began, hesitating for a moment as if unsure whether to continue. “I didn’t really think you knew my name.”
Daphne turned to him, surprised. Her brows furrowed as she gave him a confused look. “What?” she asked, incredulously. “Of course I know your name, you’re Ron Weasley. Why wouldn’t I?”
Ron’s expression was a mix of amusement and something else she couldn’t quite place. He gave a little shrug, his shoulders tense. “I dunno. You always seemed like you didn’t, like… you just didn’t care to know.”
Daphne blinked, taken aback. She hadn’t expected him to say that. “I know everyone’s names,” she said defensively, her tone sharp but not unkind. “Why would I pretend not to know yours?”
Ron chuckled, though it was more of a dry, hollow sound than anything genuinely funny. “Well,” he started, glancing over at her before looking back out at the night sky, “there was that one time in Potions…”
Daphne’s confusion deepened. She tilted her head, trying to recall what he was talking about. “Potions? What about it?”
Ron’s lips tugged into a slight, almost nostalgic smile, though there was a hint of something bittersweet in it. “We got paired up once, ages ago,” he said. “Snape forced us to work together. I remember thinking it was a miracle you even acknowledged me at all.”
Daphne frowned, still not understanding where he was going with this. “Okay… and?”
“And,” Ron continued, his eyes glinting with a faint spark of humor, “you called me ‘Ray.’”
“What?” Daphne stared at him, blinking in confusion. “I called you what?”
“Ray,” Ron repeated, this time with more conviction, though his smile remained. “You called me Ray for the entire class. I kept correcting you, but you just kept doing it. Thought maybe you were messing with me.”
Daphne felt her face grow warm as she stared at him, trying—and failing—to remember this incident. “I… I called you Ray?”
“Yup,” Ron said, leaning back against the stone railing with a smirk that was both amused and a little weary. “For the whole bloody hour.”
Daphne’s mouth opened in disbelief, a mix of embarrassment and surprise flooding her chest. “No, I didn’t,” she said, shaking her head in denial. “I wouldn’t have done that.”
Ron raised an eyebrow, looking at her with a teasing sort of skepticism. “Yeah, you did. Trust me, I remember. I thought you were taking the piss, honestly.”
Daphne blinked again, her mind racing as she tried to conjure the memory. It wasn’t like her to forget something so… well, ridiculous. But the more she searched her memory, the more she came up blank. “I don’t… I don’t remember that at all,” she admitted, her voice trailing off.
“Didn’t think you would,” Ron muttered, his tone light but laced with a small hint of resignation, like he had already expected this.
Daphne winced slightly, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over her. “Merlin,” she muttered under her breath, rubbing her temples. “I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t mean to do that.”
Ron shrugged again, clearly not as bothered by it as she seemed to be. “It’s fine. Didn’t really expect you to remember. It was ages ago, anyway.”
But Daphne shook her head, her cheeks still slightly flushed from embarrassment. “No, really. I wouldn’t do that on purpose. I wasn’t trying to make fun of you or anything, I swear.” She sighed, her voice softening with genuine regret. “I’m sorry, Ron.”
He looked at her for a long moment, as if weighing her words. Then, with a small, slightly sheepish grin, he shrugged again. “It’s okay. You’ve got my name right now, so… no harm done.”
Daphne let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I did that,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “Ray. Of all things…”
Ron chuckled along with her, the tension between them easing ever so slightly. “Yeah, well, I’ve been called worse,” he said, his tone light but with an undercurrent of truth that made her pause. It was as though there was more behind that statement than he was letting on, but he quickly moved on before she could dwell on it.
Daphne studied him for a moment. She had never really thought about Ron Weasley beyond the usual stereotypes—he was a Gryffindor, a Weasley, a blood traitor in the eyes of some of her housemates. But here, she was starting to see him differently.
But then, her thoughts wander back to the kinds of things she’d overheard Draco and the others say about him and his family. There had always been snide remarks, cruel jokes about the Weasley wealth—or lack thereof. Draco was the worst, of course, always quick to point out how Ron’s robes were a little too worn, how his shoes were a little too scuffed. The Malfoy heir never missed an opportunity to humiliate someone, and Ron had often been his favorite target.
Daphne had never laughed at those jokes, but she hadn’t stopped them either. She could still hear Draco’s mocking voice in her head, laughing about how Ron’s family could barely afford anything beyond hand-me-downs. The memory made her stomach twist with guilt.
Her fingers tightened around her arms, the chill in the air not as biting as the sudden discomfort she felt. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice quiet and sincere.
Ron blinked, looking at her in surprise. “For what?”
“For… them,” she clarified, gesturing vaguely as if the words were hard to summon. “Draco and the rest of them. I know they’ve called you worse things, and I just… I’m sorry.”
Ron’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize for them. It’s not your fault. The ones who should apologize are them, not you.”
“I know,” Daphne murmured, her eyes dropping to the stone floor of the tower. “But I’m still sorry. I just… I didn’t stop them. I didn’t laugh, but I didn’t stop them either. I could’ve said something, done something.” She bit her lip, her hazel eyes glinting with a blend of regret and frustration. “It’s not fair.”
Ron sighed, glancing down at the ground as well. His voice was a little more resigned when he spoke. “It’s always been like that. People like Malfoy… they’ll always have something to say.” He glanced back up at her, his gaze softening a little. “You don’t need to apologize for them, though. It’s not on you.”
Daphne remained quiet for a moment, still feeling the weight of it all. “I know,” she repeated. “But I’m sorry anyway.”
Ron’s eyes flicked back to hers, and he studied her face for a moment before speaking again. “You know, you shouldn’t be friends with people like that,” he said, his voice blunt but not unkind. “They’re… they’re cruel. You don’t have to be like them.”
Daphne blinked, startled by his directness. “I’m not like them,” she said quickly, a bit defensive. “Just because I’m friends with them doesn’t mean I agree with everything they do or say. I don’t… I don’t think like they do.”
Ron raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but not pressing the point too hard. “Still,” he muttered, “it’d be better if you didn’t stick around people who talk like that.”
Daphne’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t like being judged for her friendships, even if, deep down, she understood what he was getting at. “It’s not that simple,” she said after a moment, her voice quiet but firm. “I’ve known them for years. Pansy, Draco, all of them. They’re not always bad. I mean, yes, Draco can be…” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Intense. But they’re not just one thing. People are complicated.”
Ron didn’t say anything right away, but his silence spoke volumes. The awkwardness between them returned, hanging in the air like a thick fog, both of them unsure of what to say next. Daphne could feel the tension rising, and she hated it.
She decided to switch the topic, her voice lightening in an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence. “You didn’t look too bad tonight, by the way,” she said, glancing at Ron’s dress robes with a small smile tugging at her lips. “I mean, sure, I would’ve made a few different touches, but it wasn’t terrible.”
Ron let out a surprised laugh, the tension between them easing just a little. “Don’t lie,” he said, shaking his head, though there was a smile on his face now. “These robes are ancient.”
Daphne chuckled softly, her amusement genuine now. “Okay, fine. They could use a little updating,” she admitted, her tone teasing. “But still, you pulled it off.”
Ron snorted, looking at her with raised eyebrows. “Pulled it off? Yeah, right. You’re just being nice now.”
“I’m serious!” Daphne protested, though there was a playful glint in her eyes. “I mean, the color doesn’t really do you any favors, and the cut is a bit… old-fashioned. But with the right changes, you’d look pretty decent.”
Ron rolled his eyes, though there was an unmistakable warmth in his voice as he responded. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”
Daphne shrugged, her smile widening just a little. “I’m not lying,” she insisted, her tone teasing. “I just have an eye for these things.”
They shared a brief, amused silence before Ron’s voice softened again. “You, uh… you looked really nice tonight. I mean, you still look—" He stumbled over his words for a moment, clearly flustered, before he finally managed to say, “You look pretty.”
Daphne felt a strange warmth bloom in her chest at his words, something she hadn’t expected. She wasn’t sure why it meant something to her, but it did. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
Ron cleared his throat, clearly feeling a bit out of his depth. “Yeah, well… I figured I should at least tell you.”
Ron shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You know,” he began hesitantly, “I saw you and Robert arrive together. How long have you two been tog—”
Daphne’s heart sank a little at the mention of Robert’s name, and she felt a pang of vulnerability she hadn’t expected. “We’re not together anymore,” she admitted, her voice softer than before. “We broke up a few days ago.”
Ron’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But you both went to the ball together. I thought—”
“I know,” Daphne cut him off gently. “We’re still going to pretend for a little while. It’s… complicated. We didn’t want to make a scene, and it seemed easier to keep up appearances for now. But we’re not together anymore. It’s been rough.”
She didn’t know why she was spilling all of this to him, why she felt compelled to explain herself. It wasn’t like she knew Ron very well, and she didn’t particularly enjoy discussing her personal issues with anyone outside her closest circle of friends. But there was something about this night, about the way things had unfolded, that made her feel like she could be honest with him.
Ron looked at her. “I, uh… I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, stumbling over his words a bit. “Breakups are never easy. Especially when… well, when you’re trying to keep up appearances like that.”
Daphne couldn’t help but chuckle softly at his awkward attempt at comfort. It was clear he wasn’t entirely sure how to handle the situation, but there was sincerity in his voice that she appreciated. “Thanks,” she said, her smile more genuine now. “It’s just… not as simple as it might seem.”
Ron shifted his gaze to the stars above. “You know, I don’t really know what it’s like, but I can imagine it’s tough,” he said awkwardly. “I mean, I’ve had my share of bad days, and sometimes they just—”
“Don’t go the way you want them to,” Daphne finished for him, her smile widening a bit. “I get it. It’s been one of those nights, honestly. But… It's nice to hear you say that. Even if it’s a bit awkward.”
Ron managed a small, relieved smile. “I guess it is a bit awkward. But, well, it’s genuine.”
Daphne laughed softly. “Yes, it’s genuinely awkward. But it’s appreciated.” She glanced at him, noticing how the moonlight cast a soft glow on his face, making him look more approachable and kind than she’d ever given him credit for. “Thanks for listening, Ron. And for… being kind about it.”
Ron nodded, a little shy but with a hint of a smile. “No problem.”
As they both looked out over the grounds, the tension between them had eased, replaced by an unexpected sense of camaraderie. For the first time that night, Daphne felt a glimmer of something she hadn’t felt for a while—relief, perhaps, or even hope. It was strange how a night that had begun with such formality and distance could end with something so genuine and reassuring.
“Well,” Daphne said after a while, glancing back at Ron with a thoughtful smile, “I guess it’s time for me to head back to the common room. I shouldn’t be out this late, and I’ve got a feeling that the night won’t get any easier if I stay out here.”
Ron nodded, a small smile still lingering on his lips. “Yeah, I should probably head back too. But… It was nice talking to you, Daphne.”
“It was,” she agreed, feeling a bit lighter than she had before. “Maybe we’ll have another chance to talk sometime. If you’re up for it.”
Ron’s eyes brightened a little. “I’d like that.”