Fishing through his pockets for one of many clean handkerchiefs that Ron’s mother had made for and given him over the years, he unfolded it and handed it Malfoy’s way. He barely knew how to behave when someone he loved was in tears, when he had to support his friends and family through grief, upset or misery. He most certainly did not know how to behave when it was someone he couldn’t stand. It was all Ron could do to just hand the crying blond something to compose himself with. “It‘s clean,” he insisted, as though it were important.
As they moved off the pavement and down the side of the tattoo parlour, Ron found himself standing awkwardly, hoping that the tears would subside at some point.
“Look, there’s no point getting in a state,” he tried. Malfoy probably didn’t even want to make things better. The chances were that hiding like a coward suited him very well.