Katie Bell returned to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. That earlier injury had kept her out of training for quite some time.
Which also meant that Ron was going to be replaced.
When Ron heard the news, he felt a bit down.
"It's my birthday," Ron said.
A birthday he'd been looking forward to, only to be met with not-so-great news.
Harry tried to comfort him. "It's alright, Ron. We can go to Hogsmeade for your birthday."
"Bad luck," Seamus shook his head. "Hogsmeade's been canceled."
"No way—Merlin's beard!" Ron wailed.
He'd lost his position, and now he couldn't even go to Hogsmeade.
This really was a terrible birthday.
Even worse was the mind-numbingly boring Apparition class. Almost no one succeeded, and some students ended up splinching, screaming in terror.
The three D's felt like Twycross was trying to drill them straight into their skulls, and resentment spread among the students.
When March arrived, Harry wished Ron, "Happy birthday, Ron. I've got you a present."
Ron was still half-asleep, responding hazily from his dreams.
There was already a small pile of parcels on Ron's bed, likely delivered by house-elves during the night.
Ron got up to open his presents, his mood still low.
But he soon let out a shout when he was drawn to the large gold watch from his parents.
"This year's a bumper harvest!" He suddenly felt that birthdays were wonderful, and that next year he'd like to come of age all over again.
Mr. Weasley had been promoted, so there was no way he'd give his son a shabby coming-of-age gift.
Even if the watch wasn't solid gold, it was still extremely valuable.
Starting off with such a lucky draw made Ron even more eager for the remaining gifts.
He tore open one package after another, and before he realized it, they were all opened.
Seeing a box of Chocolate Cauldrons still on the floor, he assumed he'd dropped it himself and picked it up to open it.
He popped a Chocolate Cauldron into his mouth and, seeing Harry looking troubled about something, asked indistinctly, "What're you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking about the task Dumbledore gave me," Harry said regretfully. "After Snape came back, I haven't had any real chance to see Slughorn."
"Rubbish," Ron said gloomily as he ate a second Chocolate Cauldron. "Can't you just go to that Slug Club thing?"
"Yeah, but I don't really like it…" Harry muttered.
Speaking of the Slug Club, it had met twice more after Christmas.
But Harry hadn't gone to any of them. He was a bit afraid Slughorn might suddenly question him, only for him to be unable to answer.
Just like that gathering on the train at the start of term—he didn't want to become fodder for Malfoy and the others' jokes.
Especially when he saw Blaise fawning over Ginny at those gatherings. It made him want to hex Blaise on the spot.
Sitting on his bed, he picked up the Marauder's Map and took a look. Slughorn was often in his office.
This time was no exception.
Even if Harry wanted to go, he had no excuse.
It was almost time for Apparition class. Harry got out of bed, put on his clothes, then turned back to Ron and asked, "Ready?"
Harry didn't notice that the Chocolate Cauldron Ron had eaten wasn't actually part of his birthday gifts.
When Harry reached the dormitory door and saw Ron still hadn't followed, he turned around in confusion.
Ron was leaning against the bedpost, staring out at the rain-washed window.
There was a strange, lost look on his face, like a lamb that had wandered off its path.
If one looked closely, there was something hidden beneath that artsy, melancholy gaze.
"Ron, it's time for breakfast," Harry reminded him that they were running late.
"I'm not hungry."
Harry found the answer extremely strange.
Getting full after just one box of Chocolate Cauldrons didn't fit the image of Gryffindor's legendary eating machine, Ron Weasley.
Harry stared at him. "You're full?"
"Sigh, fine, I'll go down with you," Ron said with a resentful sigh, as if Harry had interrupted something important. "But I don't want to eat."
The lovesick, melodramatic tone sent goosebumps crawling up Harry's arms. He hesitated, then looked at Ron and noticed the half-empty box of Chocolate Cauldrons on the bed.
"You ate half a box of Chocolate Cauldrons, didn't you?"
"That's not it," Ron sighed again, to the point where Harry was starting to get irritated. Ron said sorrowfully, "You… you just don't understand."
Don't understand what exactly? Don't understand the sheer value of Gryffindor's eating champion?
Harry didn't want to play riddles with him anymore and turned to open the door.
"Harry!"
"What?"
Ron suddenly shouted, making Harry jump.
Ron looked like someone in one of those films who'd taken too much of something questionable. With a pained expression, he cried out, "Harry, I can't take it anymore!"
"Take what?" Harry said blankly.
"I can't stop thinking about her!" Ron said in a hoarse voice.
"Her?" Harry was dumbfounded. Who was this "her"?
Weren't you single? Since when did there suddenly exist a her?
There was only one thought in Harry's head: can we please just go to the Great Hall and eat like normal people?
"I think she doesn't even know I exist," Ron launched into his own one-man drama, leaving Harry holding out a helpless, Ercang-style hand, unable to get a word in.
"Who is she?" Harry was on the verge of collapse. What was wrong with Ron today?
In a voice so soft it was nauseating, dripping with affection, Ron said, "Romilda Vane."
When he said the name, it was as if a beam of pure sunlight had pierced straight through him, making him look utterly lovestruck.
Harry stared at Ron for nearly a full minute, repeatedly confirming that the name Ron had said wasn't anyone he was familiar with.
It felt like he'd just been force-fed a mouthful of dog food. Uncertainly, he said, "Are you joking with me?"
"I think I love her." Same tone. Had one Chocolate Cauldron really turned Ron into a romantic poet?
Harry took a deep breath. He felt like Ron was deliberately messing with him.
"Alright, alright. Say it again—seriously."
Harry swore that if Ron said anything about love again, he was absolutely walking out.
However, Ron showed not the slightest hint of embarrassment. Holding his breath, he said passionately, "I love her. Have you seen her hair? Black and shiny…"
Harry did exactly what he said he would. He sneered. "Hilarious. That's the best joke I've heard. Alright, enough messing around."
He turned to leave, only to get punched in the ear.
Harry's temper flared. He spun around, pulled out his wand, and cast Levicorpus.
The nonverbal spell he'd learned this year finally came in handy. Ron was hoisted straight into the air.
Harry shouted with a how dare you hit me expression on his face, "Why?"
"You insulted her! You said this was a joke!" Ron protested even while hanging upside down.
Harry finally realized something was wrong. He snapped his gaze toward the Chocolate Cauldron, the more he looked at it, the more familiar it seemed.
Then it hit him. Wasn't this the Chocolate Cauldron Romilda Vane had given him before Christmas?
When he'd been looking for the Marauder's Map earlier, he must have tossed it out without thinking. Harry hadn't eaten it because Hermione had warned him it might be laced with a love potion.
Seeing Ron like this sent a chill down Harry's spine. If Ginny ever saw him in a state like that, he'd rather die.
Ignoring Ron, who was still shouting Romilda's name, Harry rubbed his temples. "Alright, who do I need to find to fix you…"
Harry froze.
He remembered the four cauldrons from the first Potions class. Slughorn would definitely have a solution.
With no time to waste, Harry hauled Ron—still yelling Romilda's name—toward the Headmaster's office.
…
The Hogsmeade trip had been canceled, but that didn't stop John from leaving the school on his own.
Rules had never bound him.
He sat in the Hog's Head, leaving the innkeeper, Aberforth, looking a little dazed.
If Aberforth remembered correctly, this kid definitely wasn't supposed to be here today.
Skipping class openly was one thing, but openly leaving the school as well?
And without the slightest attempt to hide it.
Considering he was, at the very least, an informant for the former Headmaster, this kid really wasn't afraid of being reported at all.
John shot Aberforth a glance. Why was this old man having so much inner monologue?
After waiting a while, he saw a graceful figure in a silk-white robe approach.
The newcomer wore a white mask, her cloak wrapped tightly around her.
John looked at Fleur as she came over and said helplessly, "You didn't suddenly decide to dress like this on a whim, did you?"
"Of course," Fleur said, removing the mask and blinking. "It's fun, isn't it?"
"Fair enough," John shrugged. Tommy had dressed like this before too.
Seeing Aberforth come over with a mug, John raised a hand to stop him. "No need. Your cups are too dirty."
Aberforth's eyes widened. You're sitting in my pub and not ordering anything?
Chased off, Aberforth huffed and glared, bristling with indignation.
Fleur took out the Heart of Silence, forming a soundproof magical field.
Her caution made John turn serious as well.
"Sybill Trelawney made a prophecy."
Fleur produced a crystal ball wrapped tightly in cloth. "She frightened Yennefer badly, but seems to have no memory of it herself."
Fortunately, John had always been forward-thinking. As prophecies ran through the entire Harry Potter saga, he had never treated them lightly.
Taking the crystal ball, John gave it a brief glance and nodded to Fleur.
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