I'm better at Quidditch, said the voice. But I'm not better at anything else.

I'm better at Quidditch, said the voice. But I'm not better at anything else.

That was definitely true, Harry thought; he was no better than Ron in lessons. But what about outside lessons? What about those adventures he, Ron, and Hermione had had together since starting at Hogwarts, often risking much worse than expulsion?

Well, Ron and Hermione were with me most of the time, said the voice in Harry's head.

Not all the time, though, Harry argued with himself. They didn't fight Quirrell with me. They didn't take on Riddle and the Basilisk. They didn't get rid of all those dementors the night Sirius escaped. They weren't in that graveyard with me, the night Voldemort returned....

And the same feeling of ill-usage that had overwhelmed him on the night he had arrived rose again. I've definitely done more, Harry thought indignantly. I've done more than either of them!

But maybe, said the small voice fairly, maybe Dumbledore doesn't choose prefects because they've got themselves into a load of dangerous situations.... Maybe he chooses them for other reasons.... Ron must have something you don't....

Harry opened his eyes and stared through his fingers at the wardrobe's clawed feet, remembering what Fred had said.

‘No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect....’

Harry gave a small snort of laughter. A second later he felt sickened with himself.

Ron had not asked Dumbledore to give him the prefect badge. This was not Ron's fault. Was he, Harry, Ron's best friend in the world, going to sulk because he didn't have a badge, laugh with the twins behind Ron's back, ruin this for Ron when, for the first time, he had beaten Harry at something?

At this point Harry heard Ron's footsteps on the stairs again. He stood up, straightened his glasses, and hitched a grin on to his face as Ron bounded back through the door.

‘Just caught her!’ he said happily. ‘She says she'll get the Cleansweep if she can.’

‘Cool,’ Harry said, and he was relieved to hear that his voice had stopped sounding hearty. ‘Listen—Ron—well done, mate.’

The smile faded off Ron's face.

‘I never thought it would be me!’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I thought it would be you!’

‘Nah, I've caused too much trouble,’ Harry said, echoing Fred.

‘Yeah,’ said Ron, ‘yeah, I suppose.... Well, we'd better get our trunks packed, hadn't we?’

It was odd how widely their possessions seemed to have scattered themselves since they had arrived. It took them most of the afternoon to retrieve their books and belongings from all over the house and stow them back inside their school trunks. Marry noticed that Ron kept moving his prefect's badge around, first placing it on his bedside table, then putting it into his jeans pocket, then taking it out and lying it on his folded robes, as though to see the effect of the red on the black. Only when Fred and George dropped in and offered to attach it to his forehead with a Permanent Sticking Charm did he wrap it tenderly in his maroon socks and lock it in his trunk.

Mrs. Weasley returned from Diagon Alley around six o'clock, laden with books and carrying a long package wrapped in thick brown paper that Ron took from her with a moan of longing.

‘Never mind unwrapping it now, people are arriving for dinner, I want you all downstairs,’ she said, but the moment she was out of sight Ron ripped off the paper in a frenzy and examined every inch of his new broom, an ecstatic expression on his face.

Down in the basement Mrs. Weasley had hung a scarlet banner over the heavily laden dinner table, which read CONGRATULATIONS RON AND HERMIONE—NEW PREFECTS. She looked in a better mood than Harry had seen her all holiday.

‘I thought we'd have a little party not a sit-down dinner,’ she told Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny as they entered the room. ‘Your father and Bill are on their way, Ron. I've sent them both owls and they're thrilled,’ she added, beaming.