Ficlet!
"Cor, Harry." Ron said in greeting. "Where are you going?"
"Quidditch pitch." Harry mumbled, averting his gaze.
Ron knew this was a lie at once; Harry was wearing his cloak, a red Gryffindor scarf hastily draped acros his shoulders, and his
Firebolt was nowhere in sight. His normally unkempt black hair was more disheveled than ever, and his emerald eyes were anxiously
scanning the Great Hall. He was obviously waiting for someone.
"You're not going with Malfoy again, are you?" Ron frowned, crossing his arms over his chest so that his Head Boy badge was concealed,
a silver glint of reflected metal being the only indicator that it was there.
"So what if I am?" Harry asked defensively, his voice sharper than he meant it to be. "What's it to you?"
"Nothing." Ron said slowly. "Only I thought we were friends."
~Fin.