a/n: i didn't edit this because i think it came from the heart and sometimes it's nice to have unedited work. sorry if it's a bit shoddy though.

***

Sometimes, quiet nights are the most cold.

Not literally, because there was a fire under the mantlepiece and it was warming Ron's skin with a touch more gentle than anything he was really used to.

His mind was filled with pale blue silk and a bright, familiar smile, and hair that was twisted so perfectly into a knot. So very un-Hermione, and yet so very like her.

He supposed that was one of the reasons he loved her. She didn't push herself into one box, but instead wrapped herself around all the boxes she wanted to fill. Hell yeah, she was a scruffy nerd, and definitely not in the mood to truly date anybody, but you can bet your arse she was going to out-dress everyone at the ball on the arm of possibly the greatest Quidditch player of all time.

He loved that it wasn't to impress anyone. He loved that even with all her nagging insecurities, sometimes she just said 'fuck it' and let her be herself. He loved the way her hair curled around her face.

And then naturally he had to go and fucking ruin it, because that was his bloody talent.

God, why the fuck was he in Gryffindor? He didn't even have the guts to tell Hermione 'hey, I've been in love with you for ages and it would be bloody great if you went out with me thanks.'

Nah, he was stuck here, swallowing his words, deeply set in his belief that he didn't deserve anything she would never give him, because that was generally who he was destined to be.

In the most pathetic, and most straightforward way, he was used to feeling least wanted. From favourite child, to best friend, to best student, to love interest... if you looked for his name, it probably would be an afterthought, scribbled at the bottom of a long list of worthier choices.

His head was brimming with self doubt and spirals of thought, and terror that eventually people he loved and cared about would realise he wasn't worth their time and move onto the better option.

Maybe that was why he loved Hermione. There was no doubting his place with her. Yes, they argued a lot, but more often than not it came from a place of love. He knew that she cared about him, because she was honest about her emotions, and vocal about them, too.

In fact, she didn't even need to say anything. Hermione's eyes were filled with a billion words that Ron never had time to read in their entirety.

It was sort of the same with Harry, actually. Maybe Harry wasn't quite as verbal with his feelings, but the way he smiled when he saw Ron after summer at the Dursley's always seemed to be filled with love and relief, and there was something very genuine about Harry that Ron would never voice but would always keep tucked away in his head.

Ron was grateful to have them as friends. When his family (nice though they were) had too many expectations, when school was too much pressure, when his head went round in circles and loops and spirals, there was a warm safety within his friends that he treasured close to his heart.

But yes, going back to the topic at hand. Tonight was cold.

Tonight was cold, because though Ron usually knew where he stood with Hermione, today he had lost his footing.

And suddenly, he was back to wondering whether he really, truly did matter as much as he thought he did. He was back on the vindictive ferris wheel that never stopped and never slowed.

Curled up there, in front of the fire, listening to the silence that creeps in and settles down late at night, the sound of his thoughts seemed louder than usual.

He felt sick, he felt twisted and caught up in his own head, clawing for an escape. He tried rationality, he tried to feel embarrassment, he tried to breathe slowly through it and remember that Hermione was his friend and that he did matter to her.

God, he wished they hadn't argued. He wished he had asked her to go to the ball with him instead of lashing out at her for doing the right thing and going with someone else.

She even wanted him to ask her. He clung onto that, this final sliver of hope in the darkness.

Ron was a tall guy, but suddenly, in the common room, sitting on the floor before a dying fire, he felt very, very small.

And dear God, was it cold.