Chapter 78: 3-3

"I didn't put my name in."

Harry pleaded in a voice so frail and weak I thought he might be freezing. This was right after we had retreated to our dormitory, leaving behind a Common Room that was in an absolute uproar, completely indifferent to Harry's feelings.

"You believe me, right, Maria?"

"Of course I do."

Sitting side-by-side on Harry’s bed, I gently pulled him into a hug. Compared to the other boys in our year, Harry was small, a lingering effect of chronic malnutrition. Yet, next to me—where the skeletal differences between boys and girls were obvious—he was very much a growing boy. And still, he was only a fourteen-year-old child. How could anyone think he could stand alongside seventeen-year-old men to face life-threatening trials? And willingly, no less?

In my "previous" life, I never asked for such agony either. I never wanted to be a heroes and saviors.

"Cedric believed me."

"Cedric did...?"

I was somewhat surprised, left completely dumbfounded. After all, during "my" time, he hadn't believed me. Was this the difference between having interacted with him previously or not?

"But the others... What does everyone else think I am?"

The one who answered his bitterly spat question was the boy in the next bed.

"But they're cheering for you. Isn't that enough?"

"—Ron."

Looking far more bitter than Harry ever could, Ron was lying on his bed, sulking heavily.

"So? How did you do it, Harry? You could at least tell your best friend, couldn't you?"

"I didn't do it!"

"Ron, if you had been listening to us at all, you'd know. Harry didn't put his name in the Goblet."

"Oh, right. Maria is totally on Harry's side. If Harry said it was red, you’d agree it was red even if it was blue or yellow. What a beautiful sibling bond. Even our Fred and George aren't like this."

His tone was so undeniably thorny that even I furrowed my brow.

"...What are you trying to say, Ron?"

"What? What, you ask? Don't play dumb. You're thinking it too, aren't you? Even if Harry didn't actually put it in—it's Harry again. It's always Harry. Do you have any idea what everyone is saying about you? You're a sycophant. Harry Potter's little sidekick and chaperone, Maria Potter!"

"Ron!"

"You're frustrated, aren't you? Obviously! You're siblings, yet one of you is 'The Boy Who Lived', and Maria Potter is just an afterthought. That's just—"

"Not at all."

"See, look—wait, what?"

Ron's tongue, which always moved faster when he was agitated, stopped in sheer confusion. I repeated myself, clearly this time.

"Not at all—I don't feel frustrated in the slightest. Harry's afterthought? That's plenty for me. I don't wish for anything more than that. —I am not a hero."

Ron looked bewildered, his mouth moving silently as if trying to calculate the most unpleasant way to respond.

"...Hmph, is that so. Well, good for you. Because Maria can actually use magic properly and gets along perfectly with Hermione. You're clever. That's right, brainy people don't do stupid things like going out of their way to stand out. So? Are you mocking us from behind that smug face of yours?"

"Ron, that's enough..."

"It's fine, Harry. I'm the one he's picking a fight with right now. —You're exactly right, it is stupid. It's childish and I'm sick of it. Too bad I'm not the 'fellow supporting character' you wanted me to be."

When I pulled out his own words from the past to hit him with that sarcasm, Ron's face flushed bright red and he snatched up his pillow. Harry forcefully pulled me into his arms.

"Ron—listen here, if you throw that at Maria, I will never forgive you."

"The same goes for you, Harry. I won't forgive you either."

"You guys are weird. Just because you're siblings... you're way too clingy. —It's gross."

Ron slammed the pillow back onto his bed, pulled the blankets up over his head, and completely shut us out. Harry, too, turned his back on Ron, taking a stance of absolute defiance.

Sensing an atmosphere even more exhausting than "last time," I was overwhelmed by the familiar, impending ache of a headache and a sour stomach.

"—And so, that's what happened."

"Why are you the one making things more complicated?"

"Fair point."

Near our usual spot by the Black Lake, Draco was expressing his exasperation with his entire body. He really did suit that deadpan glare. Absolute perfection.

...I mean, I couldn't help it. My boiling point has always been on the low side.

"Well, it's not like I don't understand that redhead's feelings."

"Huh?"

"Last time, the object of his jealousy was just Harry. This time, there are two of you, with Maria here. He's reached his breaking point. He's the most childish out of the three of you, so of course he's going to sulk if you don't coddle him."

"First of all, don't refer to Ron as 'that' like he's a thing."

I gave the young Master Malfoy—who was as harsh on the Weasleys as ever—a smack on his eminently smackable forehead. He was miles better than last time, though. At the very least, he no longer snapped at Hermione. After all, she was the brilliant witch who had eventually risen all the way to Minister for Magic.

"Anyway, I guess we'll just have to wait and see... If I meddle, it'll probably just get more tangled."

"Without a doubt."

"Ugh, I'm sorry for being such an unreliable older sister, Harry."

At my exaggerated fake-crying, Draco snorted and called it ridiculous, but he patted my head anyway. For all his posturing, he actually knew how to play along.

"...Gross, huh."

He wasn't "my" best friend, but remembering the best friend's impulsive words made me sigh.

Gross... Had he always thought that? I knew he wasn't the exact Ron that "I" had walked alongside, but still, knowing that Ron viewed me that way... it was depressing.

"Hey, Draco. Is my relationship with Harry... gross?"

I asked this in a gloomy voice to Draco, who I thought was just patting my head but had actually started braiding my hair to keep his hands busy. Without stopping his handiwork, Draco answered with such lightness that our conversation felt like an afterthought.

"For a brother and sister, you do seem a bit too close. To be frank, there are more than a few people making scandalous assumptions."

"Scandalous assumptions?"

"If you don't get it, don't worry about it."

"Don't move," he ordered, holding my neck in place so I couldn't even turn around. I wondered what kind of hairstyle I was going to end up with this time. I swear his technique improves every time he messes with my hair. Was he planning to show this off to Astoria one day?

"But—if you two are satisfied with it, then the voices of the peanut gallery shouldn't matter, should they? At the very least, I'd like to think I understand you two. ...Far better than the Weasley and Granger of this world do, anyway."

I couldn't turn around. Because of that, I couldn't tell for sure—but somehow, I felt like Draco was smiling.

Well... of course he was. We had spent so long being hyper-aware of each other, not from the distance of friends, but from the distance of enemies. Naturally, the ones who knew "me" best were "my" Ron and Hermione, but as long as they weren't here, my greatest confidant in this world was Draco. He was much closer to me than those two, who were currently just Harry's best friends.

"You have me here. That's enough, isn't it?"

"Draco, you have a really smug look on your face right now, don’t you? A total ‘I-told-you-so’ face."

"Heh, the former Hero is quite sharp. When did you get your hands on Mad-Eye’s eye?"

"Unfortunately for you, I've just gotten so used to knowing exactly how infuriating your face looks solely from the tone of your voice. After all, you know, we've known each other for quite a long time."

"Well, well... I consider that the utmost honor."

"Do you only know how to navigate life through sarcasm?"

Just like that, my gloomy mood vanished. Or rather, it just retreated to the back of my mind.

But it was enough. —It was just the right amount to help me get back on my feet.

"Do your best, amateur sibling."

Tapping my shoulder to signal he was finished, Draco dropped a light kiss on the crown of my head, careful not to ruin the hair he had spent so long styling. ...That flashy, dramatic attitude of yours is exactly why Ron can't stand you. Damn Malfoy.