I Didn’t Cry

Ron watched as they disappeared into the room.

Click. The door shut gently.

Two different worlds—inside and out.

His heart clenched, as if it had been caught in the door.

He felt left out. Really left out.

Why…? There were three of them. So why was he the one excluded?

Compared to Harry, he knew he wasn't as good. But Hermione—yes, she was brilliant, but her talent was still within the realm of what was normal for their age. Unlike Harry, whose abilities went far beyond "normal" for any student.

Why was she included, but not him?

Hadn't he worked hard, too?

—

The moment the door closed—

"Little Ronnie is going to cry," Harry remarked, his slit-pupiled eyes seeming to pierce through the wooden door.

"Professor, what did you need us for?" Hermione asked, a little nervous. Every student felt anxious when summoned by the headmaster—no matter how well they performed in school.

As she thought about it, her heart skipped a beat. Had she been following the rules? Mostly… at least by Gryffindor standards?

"Relax," Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively. "It's just a small matter."

"Minerva was supposed to ask you, but she's been busy preparing for the new students, so I thought I'd do it myself."

He paused for a moment. "You may already know, or perhaps you haven't thought about it—but the previous Gryffindor prefects are now in their seventh year. We need to select new ones—one boy and one girl."

"You two are the best students in Gryffindor, so naturally, the responsibility should fall to you."

"However, we also recognize that your situations are a bit… unique."

"Harry, of course, doesn't need further explanation."

"As for you, Miss Granger—"

Dumbledore hesitated. His eyes held a mixture of nostalgia, appreciation, and a complex emotion he couldn't quite put into words. "Miss Granger, your situation is also quite special. Poppy has mentioned to me more than once that you frequently visit her for Calming Draughts."

"If she hadn't consulted Severus and checked with St. Mungo's to confirm that Calming Draughts don't have addictive properties, she might have suspected some unknown side effects."

Hermione lowered her head, her face flushing slightly.

"Chasing after someone's footsteps can be a joyful thing," Dumbledore said softly, his voice full of understanding. "But I do hope you remember to take care of yourself."

Hermione scowled at him in embarrassment.

Dumbledore smiled. "Alright, alright, you're a bright young witch. You know what you're doing—I won't nag."

"Minerva and I are both willing to offer you some help, should you need it."

"Hmm…"

He lifted his hand, reached into his robes, and pulled out a tin of cockroach clusters. He popped a few into his mouth, chewing with a loud crunch. "Next term, how about you serve detention with Harry? I think you're ready to start learning some advanced magic."

Hermione's eyes lit up. She nodded enthusiastically, answering before she could even think, "Of course, Professor Dumbledore, I'd love to!"

She had been waiting for this opportunity.

But—

The more she learned, the more she felt the gap between herself and Harry growing.

"Alright, let's return to the main topic," Dumbledore plucked a wandering cockroach candy from his beard. "Given your unique circumstances, I wanted to ask for your thoughts first—do you want to be prefects?"

He looked at Harry.

Harry shook his head without hesitation. "Count me out. I don't have the time."

Prefects had too many responsibilities. They had to manage the house, enforce rules, soothe anxious first-years, check on their sleeping positions, tuck them in—

He wasn't here to be Mum.

Hermione furrowed her brows, hesitating.

Being a prefect was an honor, and she wanted it. But even with the Time-Turner stretching her days into thirty hours, her schedule was already tight. If her body could handle it, she would have turned one day into two.

Taking on even more? With time she was already overusing?

"I'll pass as well," Hermione sighed, shaking her head.

Dumbledore let out a deep sigh. "I thought as much. Alright… If it weren't for Tom, I'd be trying to convince you both."

—

They stepped out of the room.

Ron was still waiting outside, eyes full of anticipation.

Dumbledore greeted him cheerfully before walking away, but Ron wasn't happy.

He felt like an outsider. What was there to be happy about?

He glanced at Harry, hesitating, then looked at Dumbledore's retreating figure.

He had been ready to demand answers, had spent minutes constructing his argument in his head—only for it to crumble before he could speak.

"You're not curious about what Dumbledore said to us?" Harry asked, his voice light.

Ron tilted his head up stubbornly, trying to look indifferent. "No, I'm not curious."

"Really not curious?" Harry pressed.

Ron nodded. "Of course. Whatever he said to you must have been important, something only for you two. It's fine if I don't know." The more he spoke, the more his words dripped with bitterness.

Harry gave a firm nod. "Alright, then I won't tell you."

Ron froze.

Harry's face was serious, his tone sincere. "It wasn't anything major. It was just something personal to the two of us, so Professor Dumbledore spoke to us privately. If you want to know, I'd tell you."

"But since you don't want to know…"

Something clicked in Ron's head—like he'd just been smacked in the skull.

So… he wasn't being excluded? It was just a matter of privacy—Dumbledore had waited to get their permission before telling a third—oh, wait, a fourth person?

"Actually, I do want to know," Ron admitted awkwardly. Now that he was sure he hadn't been left out, he had no problem changing his mind.

Harry looked at him with mock surprise. "But you just said you weren't curious."

"You heard wrong, Harry!" Ron declared, utterly shameless. "I never said I wasn't curious—I said I was curious!"

Harry lifted his wand. "Then I suppose I'll have to ask Professor Dumbledore for a Pensieve to confirm."

Ron turned slightly green.

Wasn't that a bit extreme for such a trivial matter?

Hermione, exasperated, gave Harry a light shove and grabbed his arm. "Alright, Harry, stop teasing him. Little Ronnie's really about to cry."

"I'm not crying!" Ron shouted indignantly.

Harry shook his head. "I heard you sniffle when we went inside."

"I did not!" Ron insisted, raising his voice. "I was just—just, uh… The doxie repellent was too strong! It made me cough!"

"Mmm, sure, sure," Harry nodded indulgently.

Ron leaned in closer, voice back to normal. "So what did Dumbledore say?"

"You're going to be very busy once term starts," Harry said, patting his shoulder.

Ron frowned. "Obviously. OWLs are this year, plus Voldemort—I already know this year will be hectic."

He could say Voldemort's name now without flinching—though, occasionally, he still had nightmares of the noseless man in gaudy outfits trying to seduce him.

"No, no," Hermione corrected, shaking her head. "Harry means you might want to consult Charlie, Bill, and Percy."

"Of course! Especially Bill and Percy—both got twelve OWLs. I already asked Bill for his notes—" Ron paused, still focused on the exams.

"Not about studying," Hermione sighed. "Your grades are good enough. Even if you don't get all 'O's, you'll at least pass with 'E's."

"It's about something else," Harry clarified. "Like being prefect."

Ron froze.

Harry and Hermione headed for the stairs, ready to resume cleaning.

It wasn't until they were already on the second floor that Ron finally caught on.

He stomped up the steps, making the floorboards thud beneath him. "Wait—are you saying I'm the new prefect?"

Harry nodded.

Ron looked stunned. "But—but you're better than me!"

"You're great too," Harry shrugged, waving his wand to set the broom and mop moving. "You know I'm too busy."

"Besides," he added, "Dumbledore didn't say outright, but you are the best in Gryffindor's fifth year."

Ron hesitated, then corrected, "Best besides you."

Then he turned to Hermione. "So, we're going to be—"

"No, you are," Hermione cut in. "Like Harry, I'm too busy."

"Then who's the girl prefect?" Ron frowned, trying to remember his classmates. "Lavender Brown?"

"No," Harry answered. "Most likely, Parvati Patil."

"Patil?" Ron frowned, the name sounding both familiar and distant. After a moment, he clapped his hands. "Ah-ha! That witch!"

"Dean once said she's the most beautiful girl at Hogwarts—besides Hermione, Fleur, and Ginny."

Harry's expression remained blank. "He said that?"

Hermione's face twitched slightly. "That's quite a lot of exceptions."

"You always study late into the night," Ron said, shrugging. "You miss a lot of interesting conversations."

"Like gossip?" Harry glanced at Ron's animated expression, a thought forming in his mind.

Ron nodded eagerly.

Harry and Hermione exchanged unimpressed looks, clearly uninterested in such things. Ron sighed dramatically, lamenting how some people had no appreciation for good gossip.

—

That year, Hogwarts' acceptance letters arrived unusually early.

Before July had even ended, owls arrived carrying the letters.

Getting into the Order's headquarters had been quite a challenge for them—Grimmauld Place was enchanted with owl-repelling wards. Harry and Dumbledore had spent considerable effort tracking down the spell's magical signature and removing it.

Ron eagerly tore open his envelope.

Inside, along with his booklist, was a gleaming badge.

Molly, who had seen this three times before, immediately recognized it. "Ronnie, you took Harry's letter by mistake."

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Powerstones?

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