The first day of school, Harry always sleeps with the windows shut.

Everyone says I'm stupid behind my back, (Malfoy even says it to my front) I know, but I'm really not. I'm just bad at classwork. Hermione's the brain, with Harry close behind. It may never really seem like Harry's all that smart, but he really is.

I mean, he's the son of James and Lily Potter, the smartest boy and girl in their year, graduated top of their class, Head Boy and Girl, set a few international records for the N.E.W.T. scores.

It's a genetic impossibility that Harry's any less than a genius.

But anyway, back to Why Ron's So Bad at School. With two genius best friends, even if me mate Harry doesn't apply himself, just absorbs things all sponge-like, any intelligence I might've had has sunk below the teacher's radar. I know the important things. I've known the currencies of Wizarding America and England since I was five, and their Muggle counterparts by seven, exchange rates included. I can de-gnome a garden, get rid of infestations of several types of magical pests, have memorized the life of Merlin just as any school-age wizard has, and I'm perfectly capable at broom-flight.

The trouble with me and school is I'm bloody lazy. So I have trouble getting work done, my grades suffer, and people call me an idiot.

But I'm really not. Maybe I'm not book-smart, but there are skills I have Hermione couldn't possibly possess. I have intuition, coupled with a form of observation that must be singular to me. I know things, and notice things, without realizing that I do, much less how. To explain my revelations to a logical mind like my dear schoolboy crush Miss Granger would be folly, I couldn't possibly make myself comprehensible. See, that's like four big words. I don't know how I know them well enough to use them properly in context, but obviously I must.

Again I'm babbling. I do this often.

So I notice things, things like Harry sleeping with the bed curtains closed. But that's not all. He has his clothes in there, he never reveals even a half-naked body to just us Gryffindor sixth years.

But he's also by no means shy, usually by November the curtains are thrown wide and he sleeps naked as the day he was born. I probably shouldn't have said that, now all the girls will be drooling.

So my dear friend Harry, he does these strange things. Not just the bed-curtains, first few days back there isn't a stray inch of skin to be found on him. At my house, he sleeps in p.j.s, long armed and legged no matter the awful heat of August.

Ronald Weasley wasn't raised an idiot. Mum taught me one thing – people ashamed of their skin usually have somethin' they're hiding. In this case, I know what I'll find if I fling back those curtains in the middle of the night.

Like I said, I wasn't raised an idiot. Even Neville's noticed something – well, that's no accomplishment. Neville notices, he just doesn't do or think of. Even SEAMUS has noticed something's wrong, and that's saying quite a lot. Poor fool of a boy can't even change water to rum, that's covered in Alchemy 101.

More to the point, how could I not know Harry Potter was being smacked around at home?