He never told Harry.
He never told Harry because Harry had all the appropriate reactions.
He wrinkled his nose at the smell of Crabbe’s feet as he tugged off his
shoes. Took a deep breath and steeled himself before leaning in to pull
a hair from Crabbe’s head. It was clear that he was doing his duty, odious
though it was. Harry was like that, dutiful.
Ron expected to be like that too. The thought of having to reach out
and touch Goyle and then somehow drag that enormous body all the way to
the closet … well, it was not a pleasant thought.
The first thing he didn’t tell Harry was that Goyle wasn’t all that
heavy. Harry seemed to be having a much harder time with Crabbe. The next
thing was that where he expected to feel soft, abundant flesh, he instead
felt layers of sinuous muscle. Goyle felt strong, dry and warm. His feet
didn’t smell like Crabbe’s. When Ron leaned over to gingerly tug out a
single hair, he was surprised again that it was soft, smooth and smelled
like apples. But Ron didn’t say any of that.
Instead, when Harry looked at him, Ron sneered a little. He made sure
Harry saw just how unpleasant this task was for him.
Ron never told Harry just how strange it had been to see him in Goyle’s
body. How strange it was to really listen to Goyle’s voice for the first
time, to watch Goyle’s face for reactions and instructions. He never told
Harry that when they changed back, Harry seemed smaller, skinnier. Weaker.
Ron knows more now. More that he won’t tell Harry. He hasn’t been able
to stop watching Goyle since he started. He knows now that Goyle isn’t
as dumb as everyone thinks. Goyle isn’t always tagging along behind Malfoy.
He doesn’t always wait for Malfoy to tell him what to do. It was Goyle
who noticed Ron watching, Goyle who caught him in the stairway, Goyle who
is strong enough and smart enough to keep Ron wandering the dark hallways
at night waiting in empty rooms.
Ron won’t tell Harry the other things he has learned about Goyle either.
That he likes things quiet, very quiet. But that the speed of his breathing
tells you all you need to know. And that he doesn’t mind when Ron bites
the fingers clamped over his mouth to keep him silent.
Ron looks at Harry’s fingers as they sit across from each other at dinner.
The nails are too short where he’s been chewing them, but they are otherwise
smooth and white. Free of marks. Ron imagines biting those fingers. Harry
would shout with surprise, pull his hand away. A movement over Harry’s
shoulder catches Ron’s eyes. Goyle is getting up from the Slytherin table,
heading toward the door of the hall.
Harry sees Ron looking and asks, “What?”
Ron blinks at him, “Nothing.”