The waitress appeared then with their coffee, balancing the tray with mugs, coffee pot, milk and sugar with more skill than most spells had, actually. Ron thanked her profusely as she went and wondered, briefly, if he just had a thing for blonde women who served drinks. It would certainly explain the crush he’d had on Madam Rosmerta all these years.
Muggle drugs. Ron’s brows shot up as he listened to Malfoy talking. Cigarettes were one thing. Ron, who had been driven loopy enough once on something that had felt like being drugged, according to what Hermione had said of his description of it, at least, would never be one to look purposefully for such a thing. Not when he had scars to prove it.
“That doesn’t sound easy, but I don’t know about that, really,” he said. “I think it’s important to be sad when you’re feeling sad, or you’re just pretending and then it will only get worse. People pretending they’re happy wont actually make them happy.”