Harry hesitated, scratching at his forehead. He had felt quite social responding to a few journals, but - that feeling had receded. The chat with McGonagall, the owl from the Ministry - a few whispers from Ravenclaw first years that had set his hair up on his neck. Still, this was Ron, and if anyone made him feel comfortable, it was Ron. Especially Ron with this high of spirits. Stop being a git, Potter, hiding in your bed..
"Sure," Harry nodded, getting off of his bed and grabbing his Potions materials. "And it's nice to feel wanted, though I'm not naffed. If Hermione came in with her big eyes and big brain, I'd be dust," he teased.
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