It was Ron who broke the silence.

“Let’s get a carriage.”

We made our way across the familiar, dew-sprinkled grass, my Prefect badge gleaming on my chest. I thought of the scent of new books and new robes and new shoes as I walked on, eager and enthusiastic for a new year of magic and beauty at my favourite school. The nearest carriage was empty.

“Get in,” Harry said, beckoning to me.

I nodded, stepping inside. Harry was about to climb after me, when his foot slipped. He lost his balance, and fell backwards. A let out a sudden, little yelp of fright but, fortunately, Ron caught him and no real damage was done.

“Stand here, I’ll help you once I get in,” Ron said firmly, quickly getting in and sitting next to me before Harry could protest. Then he leaned forward, holding out a hand for Harry. There was something strange about the look on Harry’s face, and I noticed his eyes linger on Ron – on Ron who was seated next to me – before he took Ron’s hand and hauled himself in. The carriage set off, at a trot, and all was quiet. It was a strange, uneasy sort of silence.

“I don’t get how I fell backwards,” Harry said, his tones odd.

“Your foot slipped, Harry,” I said, a little uncertainly.

“Slip, did it?” Harry asked, and his voice was uncharacteristically angry. Angry in a hidden sort of way. He looked at Ron, who looked back at him, and I noticed Ron’s ears turn a well-known, beetroot red. I opened my mouth to speak and then closed it. Finally, I could bear it no longer.

“I – I’m really looking forward to this year,” I said, trying to break the silence. “And – um – Quidditch season, too.”

That did the trick. Harry and Ron fell into light-hearted, easy conversation, and the eerie quiet was broken. But I fell silent, delving in thoughts of my own: I was sure I had seen Ron whip out his wand and point it at Harry’s foot when Harry had been climbing in. And then Harry had slipped, and Ron had gotten in instead – gotten in, and sat down with me, by my side.

Could Ron have been the reason Harry had slipped? But why would Ron –? A vague idea, a vague and disturbing idea, took root in my mind, but I immediately shook it away. I felt Ron’s hand on my shoulder, and looked up. Our eyes locked, and he smiled.

With an effort, I smiled back.