Unbecoming

It was a dark and stormy night; Ron had always loathed stories that started that way, they never ended well. Still, he could remember many nights at home as a little boy, sitting on the floor by the hearth in the Burrow, Ginny beside him trying to restrain her giggles, Percy standing, more dignified, against the wall, as their father launched into a bedtime story that always began that way.

“It was a dark and stormy night and there didn’t seem to be a single other person alive in the world…”

“It was a dark and stormy night and people everywhere were rushing home to be with their families…”

“It was a dark and stormy night, the kind of night that makes the lonely feel more alone, the cold feel colder…”

All of which were possible beginnings for this story as well.

However, Mr. Weasley rarely finished a story like that, because Mrs. Weasley would overhear and call a halt to it before it got too grisly, and all of a sudden clouds and rainbows would burst out of nowhere and everything would end with a sunny smile and a kiss and a brisk broomstick ride into the rising sun. Well, not directly into it, upwards, at any rate.

It was memories like that which made Ron drain his tumbler of whiskey in one last burning gulp and wish wistfully that his mother were here to snap in that commanding voice of hers, “Stop right there, mister, what do you think you’re doing, telling a story like that? Now make it end happily or else…”

If there was anyone who could command the sun to break through a dark and stormy night, it was his mother.

A crack of thunder interrupted his musings and Ron glanced at the clock; it was only nine.

He slumped in his chair and scowled, watching the flames flickering in the hearth and wondering why nights like this seemed to go on forever. Maybe if he’d started drinking earlier, he’d be wasted by now and the night wouldn’t seem so dark and long and…well, lonely.

There was a knock on the door and he scowled. An ambassador from his family, no doubt, coming to see how he was, if he’d drunk himself into a coma yet. Probably Percy; it was always Percy.

He set his glass aside and made his way to the door, throwing it open and wincing from the sudden onslaught of rain.

It wasn’t Percy; Ginny stood there in a black coat that was too big for her, her hair in soaked tangles, plastered to her head and around her face, her eyes huge and shining in the weak light that filtered onto the front step from the kitchen.

Ron was surprised to see her. It wasn’t that they weren’t close, he was closer to Ginny than any of his other siblings, which was what surprised him. Friday nights were generally reserved for visits from Percy or Charlie, all encouraged by his mother, to impart her gentle guidance. He was sure that his mother reserved Saturday mornings for receiving full reports on his deterioration, but he’d never asked.

He glared at Ginny, bewildered and hurt. “It’s Friday,” he said.

“I’m well aware,” she replied.

“Mum sent you?”

She shrugged delicately. “Percy’s sick. Charlie’s out of town. Bill’s still off in Egypt. Fred and George are hopeless. I was a last resort.”

“So you’re spying for mum now?”

“No,” she snapped. “Now I’m freezing my arse off on your front step. Stop sulking and let me in already, Ron.”

He held the door and stepped aside so she wouldn’t drip on him, and made his way to the kitchen while she took off the huge black jacket, which had been a gift from a past boyfriend. He tossed her a towel to dry her hair with and started the kettle for tea, waiting for her to break the silence because she had broken a sacred rule of their brother/sister relationship by coming to his house on Friday night to spy for his mother.

“It’s murder out there,” she said finally, a great deal more brightly, tossing the towel aside. “Mmm, tea. Got any biscuits?”

He took out a box of them and tossed it to her as she made her way to the living room, and then, still scowling, he followed her, leaving the kettle on the stove to heat up.

Ginny had curled up in the armchair nearest to the fire and was munching biscuits, watching the flames flickering in a hypnotized sort of way. Without pulling her eyes away, she said mechanically, “Mum says to tell you not to drink so much, to get out more, to make friends, and wants me to ask you how Harry’s doing. She also mentioned that you shouldn’t forget that it’s Fred and George’s birthday in a few days and you’ll be expected to go to the big party they’re having, and that I’m to make sure you’ve got something to wear as there shall be plenty of eligible girls there that I’m to introduce you to.” She finally looked at him and grinned, mimicking their mother’s voice nearly perfectly. “He’s getting on in years, darling, it’s high time he stopped being shy and started finding a nice girl to settle down with. You know lots of nice girls, make sure he meets them. And tell him to be charming.”

Ron smirked a little and rolled his eyes. “God, Gin, if you drag me around at that bloody party and make me talk to all your friends, I’ll never speak to you again.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry about it, I respect my friends too much for that.” Her teasing grin faded. “But you will be there, won’t you? You promise?”

“I will, and I have. Once a week, every week, since the damned party was planned.” He shrugged. “I’ll make an appearance.”

“It won’t be so bad,” she said with bright optimism. “And… Ron, I don’t think he’s going to be there.”

Ron’s entire body stiffened and he poured some more whiskey. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She turned towards him, her eyes narrow. “Don’t you dare play dumb with me, Ronald Weasley,” she snapped. “You’re not drunk enough to be that stupid. Besides, you know exactly who I’m talking about. He won’t be there, Ron. Harry won’t be there. He’s still in Spain, last I heard.”

The kettle started whistling and Ron jumped up, glad to have something to distract himself with. He made tea and when he returned, Ginny was staring down at her hands with a vaguely horrified look on her face. It took him a moment to realize what was different.

“Your ring,” he said, putting the tea things down and suddenly noticing that there was a raw aura of fragility around his sister that he’d been too consumed in self-pity to see. “Where did your ring go?”

Three days ago, when he’d seen her last, Ginny had been wearing a rather large diamond engagement ring, compliments of her boyfriend of three months, William Marique. She’d been rather distractedly proud of the large diamond, had absently said that the wedding would be in three months.

“Did you lose it?” he asked.

She scowled. “No. I… I gave it back.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “Why?”

Looking at him and then looking away quickly, she said delicately, her voice very quiet, “Because it wasn’t what I wanted.”

“Oh, Gin,” he whispered, reaching out and grabbing her hand. “Did you tell mum?”

She scowled. “You think I want to receive weekly visits from Percy on her behalf?” she asked, laughing in a brittle sort of way. “Besides, she’s got enough to worry about, trying to get you married off.”

“Are you alright?”

“I didn’t want that.”

“I know.” He squeezed. “But Ginny, what do you want?”

She studied him in silence for a long while, her eyes welling up with tears. “Something real?” she whispered, before she broke and she was sobbing.

He sighed and tugged her onto the couch, and she cried for all of three minutes before pulling away, smiling ruefully. “Thanks. I’m alright. It wasn’t right for me. William was… well, good looking and rich and charming and very pretty. But he wasn’t real. He just…likes redheads is all. And freckles. God, you’d think that was enough.” She giggled tearfully, and Ron stroked her hair in silence. She leaned her head against his shoulder and they sat like that for a while.

They hadn’t always been this close. At Hogwarts, she’d just been his little sister. He’d protected her, bossed her around, teased her. It wasn’t until after they’d both become somewhat the ‘disappointments’ of the Weasley family that they’d actually become friends.

“What do you want, Ron?” she asked after a long silence.

He shrugged and smiled a little, distantly. “Same as you,” he replied. “Something real.”

After all, that was all anybody really wanted, wasn’t it? The only real thing that determined what they were searching for was that everyone defined real as something different.

***

He dressed in Muggle clothing partially because it was more comfortable and mostly because it would irritate Percy. Ron chose his jeans and a t-shirt with some Muggle band’s name on it that he’d never actually heard before, but whom his mother referred to as ‘That Muggle Stone Group Linkin Pinkin’. (He’d explained to her that ‘stone’ was not the same thing as ‘rock’ in Muggle terms, but she hadn’t understood). He ran his fingers through his hair absently, made sure he had nothing caught in his teeth, and decided that it was as far as he was going towards making himself ‘presentable’. If Ginny’s prissy witchy friends didn’t like him, he really wouldn’t feel any sort of disappointment.

He was nervous, he tried not to go to gatherings like this that often. Someone would always ask about Harry, in that same sweet, pitying voice. “You two used to be such friends, what changed between you?”

Of course, they all thought it was Harry’s fault (Ron was his best friend and loyal sidekick, it had to have been Harry, who had grown more rebellious and moody over the years, who had ended their friendship). Ron had never bothered to correct them, it would have taken too much time, revealed too many shameful secrets.

Ginny was there at precisely eight to ‘escort’ him to the party (more like ensure that he didn’t back out last minute), and they walked through Hogsmeade towards the twin’s house, which was lit up with thousands of fairy lights. The party was already in full swing and Ron hoped that he’d be able to slip in unnoticed, and leave that way as well.

It was not to be. Charlie was there, waiting for him, probably on orders from his mother. He smiled widely, said “Nice shirt, you look like shit, how’ve you been?” and pulled him away from Ginny’s side. It would be the last Ron was to see of her for a while as he mumbled some vague reply to Charlie and tactfully pulled away from his brotherly hug.

It only took about twenty minutes to ditch Charlie and lose himself in the crush of people, most of whom he vaguely recognized as having attended Hogwarts, though very few were from his year. “A bad year,” Fred had once declared. “There must have been a virus or something that year, spoiled all the good stock.”

Ron had never really understood and had left it to Fred and George to snicker over.

Skirting around the edges of the crowds, Ron managed to keep mostly to himself. The trick was not to make eye contact. That way, lots of people noticed he was there, but they thought him too busy to bother and didn’t talk to him. His mother would not be able to say he hadn’t tried, hadn’t showed up at least.

He grabbed a drink from the kitchen and, craving some degree of solitude, made his way out onto the back porch. The music and sound of voices was cut off there, and he sat in a chair in the corner of the veranda, cracking open the can of Firebeer and taking a long swallow.

It was only a few minutes later when the door slammed open again and someone else stepped out onto the porch, kicking the door shut. Ron couldn’t tell who it was in the shadows and he resolved to keep quiet, hoping they’d leave soon enough.

“Fucking waste of time,” the shadow mumbled, fumbling in his pockets.

Surprise made Ron cry, “Draco Malfoy?”

Malfoy turned, the light filtering through the door catching the side of his face, lighting up his familiar features. “Weasley?” he sneered. “I’d heard you’d taken to drinking your sorrows away, but isn’t it a little early for that?”

Ron scowled defensively. “This is my first one.”

“The night’s young.”

“Fuck you.”

And now the pale features were twisted in a strange sort of smirk, though Malfoy didn’t bother to reply. Instead, he pulled a pack of cigarettes out. “You smoke?”

Ron sneered. “It’s a disgusting habit.”

“So’s drinking.” Malfoy tossed him a cigarette and then lit up one for himself, passing him the lighter. He took a long drag while Ron stared at him, bewildered.

Finally, more out of curiosity than anything, Ron put the cigarette between his lips the way he’d seen Malfoy do and lit it, drawing on it experimentally. It burned and he was aware of Malfoy’s laughter while he coughed violently, his eyes watering.

“That’s nasty,” he gasped finally.

Malfoy shrugged. “Yeah. Take it slow, it’s not so bad.”

Hesitantly doing as he was told, Ron still winced as he let the burning smoke out of his mouth. It tasted like ashes. “What are you doing here?” he asked abruptly.

Malfoy shot him an amused glance and took another drag of his cigarette, the end of it glowing in the dark. “None of your fucking business, Weasley.”

“I’d say it is. You crashed my brothers’ birthday party.”

“Which,” Malfoy drawled, mockingly serious, “is a crime in at least eleven countries. Besides, I didn’t crash, I was invited.”

“By who?”

Malfoy frowned, tilting his head thoughtfully. “One of your brothers,” he said, sneering. “You’ve got so many, it’s hard to tell the difference.”

“Oh fuck you. My brothers wouldn’t have invited you here for anything.”

“Oh trust me,” Malfoy spat, tossing the end of his cigarette away. “Were it up to me, I would have declined. However.”

Ron frowned, thoroughly confused. “However what?”

“However, I wasn’t given a choice,” Malfoy snapped.

He could have asked why, and Ron probably would have, if he really cared. He didn’t, however, so he let a strange silence fall over them, sucking on his cigarette thoughtfully and enjoying the way it made his muscles relax. Malfoy leaned against the railing and stared out into the darkness, a hard look on his face, lost in thought, and Ron studied him for a long moment.

The strips of light spilling through the doorway hit Malfoy like a dozen blades of different swords and daggers, and Ron found his eyes tracing the beam of light that fell across his face, down one cheekbone and across his lips. It looked like a scar, except the effect wasn’t to detract from his appearance. Rather, that sharp band of light spilled across his features and somehow made them more… startling beautiful, though certainly less approachable.

Ron’s eyes flew wide and he tore them away, his breath catching in his throat in a painful prelude to what was shaping up to be a massive panic attack. Malfoy was hardly approachable even on the sunniest day in the middle of summer, he was sure! And he shouldn’t study him like that, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t normal.

He was breathing heavily, his eyes squeezed shut, the cigarette clenched between his fingers.

Malfoy took it with an easy motion, his fingertips brushing Ron’s knuckles in a half a second that burned itself into Ron’s consciousness. “Breathe,” Malfoy said easily, tossing the cigarette over the railing. “And try not to let the cigarette burn down while you’re holding it. It’ll set fire to your clothes and, judging by the way you’re dressed, Weasley, I’d say that your wardrobe has to be lacking if you let yourself be seen in public dressed like that.” He smirked again and sauntered back into the house, leaving Ron to let his head fall weakly into his hands, his chest still shuttering with his panicked breathing.

There was something wrong with him. Something terribly, terribly wrong…

Because just staring at the way daggers of light hit Draco Malfoy had been enough to turn Ron on and… and it just wasn’t normal.

***

The party had broken up and Ron was quite drunk by now, sprawled in one of the large armchairs in the family room. Fred and George had opened their joke shop like they’d planned to and even made quite a bit of money at it, buying their own house in town, a small, rather old and yet still cozy, cottage.

Ginny had gone home earlier, and Charlie was now sitting across from him, inspecting Ron’s flushed face with something like pity in his eyes.

“So,” Ron sneered, his bitterness only fueled by the alcohol he’d consumed. “Did you invite Malfoy here?”

Charlie frowned. “Shut it, little brother, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know that someone ruined a perfectly good party by inviting that sod,” Ron slurred, gesturing wildly with an almost-empty can of Firebeer.

“You don’t know anything and you’re so bloody wasted that you don’t even know it.” Charlie pulled the can from his hand, and Ron glared at him. “Besides,” Charlie finished brightly. “You hate parties, so you would have been miserable with or without Malfoy’s presence”

“But it was Malfoy,” Ron said plaintively.

“He was here for a reason and you should be grateful for it.”

“What reason?” Ron asked in a snotty tone. He mumbled something after that which Charlie, thankfully, didn’t catch, as it had something to do with seducing innocents on the back porch.

“Ginny.”

Ron’s eyes flew wide. “You’re not trying to fix her up with him.” It was definitely not a question.

“Don’t be stupid!” Charlie snapped. “He was protecting her.”

“Protecting her. Of course. From who?” Ron snickered.

“Her fiancé, William, is apparently very possessive, and she dropped him with no real reason for it. He’s quite upset, he’s got a lot of money and influence, Percy was worried so he spoke to the Minister who in turn spoke to the head of the Department of Mysteries, and Draco was assigned to protect her at the party, and maybe longer. They’ve been after William for a long time, apparently, which was why Percy threw such a fit when she announced she was seeing him. They’ve been unable to get evidence on him but suspect he’s in some rather dangerous business ventures and such. Anyway, until this blows over, Ginny needs to be protected and Malfoy is being paid to do it.”

“Malfoy,” Ron sneered. “She’s probably in more danger from him than William.”

“Malfoy wouldn’t hurt her.”

“That wasn’t the danger I was talking about,” Ron snickered.

Charlie scowled. “He wouldn’t dare touch her.”

“He’s Malfoy. He could charm the robes of McGonagall.”

“A mental picture I did not need,” Charlie said gravely. “But point taken. I will look into it and precautionary measures will be taken.”

But Ron was no longer listening. He too had suffered mental pictures involving Malfoy and their old Transfiguration professor. However, his besotted mind had soon blotted out the aging professor and focused solely on Malfoy, who was doing a very fine job of seducing her. If he just took the professor out and inserted himself into the fantasy…

Because fantasies like this were only frightening in the daytime and when he was sober.

He passed out with a small smile on his lips.

***

Late the next afternoon, Ron was sitting on the floor in his living room sorting through a box of old things he’d found in a closet, when, without a knock, the door flew open and Ginny swept in, her face set in lines Ron immediately recognized as indicating her fury.

She smiled in a sharp sort of way and said, “Do be a dear and take this, Ron?” She chucked a suitcase at him.

“What’s going on, Ginny?” he asked her warily.

“Oh, just bringing some of my things over,” she said brightly, her voice vibrating with the strength of her fury.

“…Why?”

“Oh, because some darling brother of mine had decided that I was in danger of being seduced by some bodyguard another brother of mine had decided I needed,” she told him in a sunny tone. “Apparently, as this bodyguard is to watch over me constantly until the ministry can determined that William isn’t going to have me killed, he is to live here also. So I really must thank you, Ron, darling, for without you, I wouldn’t be forced to live here to be protected from the one supposed to be protecting me.”

“Wait.” Ron’s mind had frozen up a few sentences back. “Wait. Your bodyguard—You mean… Malfoy is going to be staying here?”

“Yes. Yes, he is.”

“Oh no. No way. Uh uh. Ginny, sorry. I love you and everything, but you can’t stay here.”

“I wouldn’t be here,” she snapped. “If you hadn’t told Charlie I was going to fall for Malfoy!”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You were probably drunk when you said it! You usually are when you say stuff like that!”

It hurt to here her say it but he didn’t bother to defend himself as it was most likely true. “Stay with Charlie or Fred and George or Percy then,” he pleaded.

“Charlie’s leaving later to go back to Sweden, Fred and George are useless, and Percy’s never home long enough to see to guarding my ‘virtue’. Which, I must say, Ron, is pretty much non-existent. I lost it when I was—”

He looked pained. “Too much information, Gin. Honestly.”

“Well, the fact of the matter remains that I would never, ever fall for Malfoy and you’ve got nothing to be concerned about, but you know that Charlie’ll tell mum if I don’t go along with this! So there you are. I’m being forced to live with you and Malfoy has to come with me too. And trust me, he’s not impressed. I get the guest room, by the way. You get the pleasure of telling Malfoy he’s gotta sleep on your couch.” She smiled again, very sweetly. “Do bring my suitcase up, will you? My hands are full.”

She was carrying a book and a ratty old teddy bear, but Ron was too shocked to complain. He watched her go in silence and then turned back to close the door she hadn’t shut behind her.

Malfoy, scowling furiously, was coming up the front steps.

“Malfoy!” Ron stammered. “You can’t stay here.”

He stopped, eyes narrowing. “You think I want to?”

“Well then, go on! Leave! I won’t tell,” Ron said desperately.

“You’d risk your sister that way?” Malfoy drawled, rolling his eyes.

Ron paused. “Take her with you then.”

“Oh shove off and get out of my way.”

He could only watch helplessly as Malfoy made his way into the living room and dropped a suitcase there, inspecting the room with a dissatisfied look on his aristocratic face. “You actually live here?”

Ron didn’t bother to reply, only glanced down the street and longed to be anywhere else but here, and then sadly closed the door, making his way to the kitchen. “Can’t you get reassigned?” he asked morosely.

Malfoy laughed coldly. “I tried, trust me, I did. Babysitting your sister is hardly my idea of a thrill.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

Shrugging, Malfoy sprawled on the couch. “Punishment,” he said blandly. “Apparently my superiors felt that I was due a reminder of the sort of negative results of blatantly breaking rules as I did on my last assignment.” The way he sneered at the word ‘superiors’ made it sound something like ‘disgusting peasants’.

Ron opened the cupboard and pulled out some scotch. Wandering into the kitchen, Malfoy saw it and pulled it out of his hands. “Too early for that,” he said absently, putting it away. Ron stared at him, his mouth hanging open.

“You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do in my own house,” he snapped.

Malfoy just smirked and then said, “Where’s your sister?”

“Upstairs in the guest room.”

“I assume then, by the way you say the guest room, that you’ve only got one in this rather paltry excuse for a house. Well then, I suppose I’ll take your room.”

“You won’t!” Ron cried, though his mind was instantly filled with a rather vivid picture of Malfoy in his bed, sheets tangled around him, asleep, and he stepped back warily, eyes widening because his breathing was becoming a little heavy.

Malfoy smirked almost as if he could tell. “For safety measures, of course,” he said smoothly. “Unless you’d prefer I sleep with your sister—”

“N-no!”

“Then I assume the closest room is yours. I’m sure the couch will be fine for you, Weasley.” He smiled in a rather commanding sort of way and swept into the living room, making his way up the stairs. “Oh, my suitcase is rather heavy, you’ll find it difficult to manage on the stairs unless you use a lightening charm on it,” he called back.

After he was gone, Ron slumped against the cupboard and groaned softly. “This is a nightmare,” he whimpered.

***

The couch was not the most comfortable couch in the world, and Ron had a very sleepless night. He preferred to think that this sleepless night was due to the spring digging into his back as opposed to, say, the idea that there was a boy in his bed. It was a strange and alien idea. Or should have been. He whimpered softly and buried his face in his sleeping bag and consequently did not sleep at all that night.

When he finally gave up and went into the kitchen, turning on the kettle for tea and digging through the fridge, it was in an extremely bad temper. He had just pulled out a jar of raspberry jam and turned to put it on the counter when he saw Malfoy in the doorway and yelped.

“Jumpy in the morning, aren’t you?” Malfoy sneered, rolling his eyes. He was leaning lazily against the doorframe, watching Ron with an air of detached boredom. And, Ron noticed sourly, he was already dressed, his hair combed perfectly, had he looked like he’d had the best sleep of his life.

“Where’s Ginny?” Ron said after a long pause in which he did not look at Malfoy. At all. Not even when the other boy turned to the fridge and wasn’t looking, at which time Ron could not help but notice the curve of his back when he bent to peer at the food inside. Oh god. He didn’t.

“Sleeping, that sister of yours sleeps like the dead,” Malfoy replied. “I checked on her early this morning.” He glanced at Ron with a hard look in his eyes. “I do intend to do my job, you know, Weasley. Whether I think she’s in danger or not is hardly the issue here, because I will protect her. I’ll be warding the house later today and locking the windows and such with security hexes. Only family members of yours and I will be able to use it unless other people are invited in.”

“Like vampires,” Ron said blankly.

“Precisely.”

This business-like Malfoy was something new to Ron, and he didn’t know quite how to react to it. “Right. Well. Just warn me so I don’t… walk into any hexes or anything.”

Malfoy smiled slowly, grabbing an apple from the fridge. “Why Weasley, spoiling my fun,” he said, and it almost sounded like he was teasing him.

Ron felt his face slowly heating up in response and he knew Malfoy saw it too, because his eyes widened just the tiniest bit and his smile turned predatory, a strange sort of awareness dawning in his gray eyes. “I-I’ve got to go,” Ron stammered, stepping back and turning away quickly.

“Coward,” Malfoy called after him, his voice low and casual, as if he really couldn’t care less.

Ron fled.

Malfoy smirked and bit in the apple he held, chewing it thoughtfully.

***

“Ron….Ron! What on earth are you doing in there?”

Ron’s eyes flew open and he sucked in a startled breath as Ginny pounded on the door again. “N-Nothing!” he called. Water drummed into his skin and ran down his body, cool water. Okay, cold water. Ron had been standing under a cold shower for about an hour now.

“Well hurry up! There are other people who need to use the bathroom too, you know!”

He shut the shower off and wrapped a towel around his waist, flinging the door open and scowling. “It’s my bloody bathroom,” he snapped. “I’ll use it all day if I want to!”

“It’s not yours anymore,” she said sweetly. “Since you informed Charlie that I’m going to be flinging my virtue at the feet of Mr-I’m-so-sexy-Malfoy and he decided that I had to live with you so you may protect my not-quite-existent-virtue, you’ve got to share. So move it, I’m filthy, Malfoy had me casting security hexes all bloody day.”

Ron scooped up his clothes and stalked down the hall towards his bedroom, only to remember, as Draco came out of it, that it was technically no longer his. He squeaked and grabbed his towel tighter and dashed into the guest room that Ginny was staying in, panting loudly in panic.

This was getting ridiculous! Getting kicked out of his own bedroom, sleeping on his own couch, being yelled at for using his own shower, running into Malfoy in his hallway…

It was only as he dried himself off and got dressed into his pajamas that Ron realized he’d been so distracted trying to avoid Malfoy and Ginny all day that he hadn’t had the time or inclination to have a single drink.

***

Ron heard the fighting before he actually got into the house. Malfoy and Ginny had lived in his house for barely forty-eight hours and they’d already driven him from it. And now, from the sounds of it, they were trying to destroy it.

“You’re not going!” Malfoy snapped as Ron stepped warily through the front door.

“I promised them I’d be there and you can’t stop me!” Ginny shouted in return. Ron paused nervously in the doorway, scanning them both for signs of injury.

“You won’t. It’s stupid, you’ve yet to comprehend, Weasley, your life’s in danger and I am not letting you prance off to some high society tea party.”

“Ooh, the Fifth Order Society Tea?” Ron asked before he could stop himself.

“Yes!” Ginny cried.

“She’s not going,” Malfoy countered.

“I go every week!”

“She does,” Ron had to agree.

“Not this week.”

“Listen, no one is going to attack me while I’m drinking tea with my friends.”

“That’s the perfect opportunity!” Malfoy snapped

Ginny’s hands flew to her hips and her lower lip stuck out in that way that Ron knew meant that she was about to become as stubborn as anyone in the world possibly could. “I’m going.”

“You’re not,” Malfoy replied, his voice implying that the topic was closed.

Her eyebrow arched. “Aren’t I?” Ron’s eyes widened because nobody fucked with Ginny when she used that tone.

His arms crossed over his chest and Malfoy smirked, his eyes reflecting the same cold challenge as Ginny’s.

Ten minutes later, Ginny had been tossed over Malfoy’s shoulder (Ron was not jealous), carried upstairs, flung onto her bed (Ron was not jealous), and tied to the bedposts. And Ron was not jealous.

He was, however, quite impressed, though he knew it was never going to work. After Malfoy had locked the door and started back downstairs with a satisfied sort of smirk on his face, Ron, who had watched the entire thing from the doorway, followed him. “Malfoy?” he called, trailing him down the stairs.

“Yeah?”

“That’s not going to work.”

He paused, rolling his eyes. “Why not —”

He hadn’t even finished the question when Ginny started shrieking at the top of her lungs. Ron winced. “She won’t stop till you let her go,” he said. “It’s not even about the tea party anymore, it’s about beating you, and she will.”

“She won’t,” Malfoy snapped, going back up the stairs and casting a silencing charm on the room. The screams were abruptly cut off and he nodded to himself and went downstairs.

Ron darted one swift glance at Ginny’s door and then sighed, following Malfoy into the kitchen. He leaned on the doorway and watched him rummage through the cupboard.

“You should do some grocery shopping,” Malfoy said over his shoulder, scowling. “You’ve got nothing to eat.”

“There’s plenty to eat,” Ron snapped.

“Not all of us are so plebian as to exist on a diet of macaroni and cheese, Weasley,” he replied in a distant sort of way.

“What do you want? Caviar and…and…” Sadly, it was the only expensive food Ron could come up with.

“Caviar and escargot?” Malfoy suggested dryly. “Honestly, Weasley, I find it rather sad that you don’t even know what rich people eat. It would make it that much easier for you to mock me about having money if you knew what having money was like.”

“Oh, shut up,” Ron said with a scowl, though his tone wasn’t as heated as it usually was. He was watching the way the sunlight spilled through the window and flickered every time Malfoy lifted his arm to poke at something in the cupboard.

Glancing over his shoulder, Malfoy smirked but didn’t reply, having found a can of ravioli. “What is this?” he cried, shaking the can doubtfully.

“Muggle food, surely you’ve heard of it?” Ron sneered.

“Of course I’d heard of it, I’ve even eaten it from time to time. Caviar is a Muggle delicacy, you know, as is escargot. However, generally I avoid anything that looks like it was vomited up before it had enough time to get even halfway digested!”

Ron laughed, and Malfoy’s eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in irritation. He slammed the can on the counter and leaned indolently against it, waiting patiently for Ron to stop laughing. When Ron finally gasped, “God, Malfoy, your such a prancy little rich boy!”

“…Excuse me?”

Rolling his eyes and still smirking a little, Ron pulled a can opener out of the drawer and opened the can.

“Magic would really hurry that along,” Malfoy drawled.

“Bite me,” Ron replied almost amicably.

Malfoy stepped closer. “Alright,” he breathed, his breath brushing the side of Ron’s neck, making goose bumps rise all over his arms. Ron reacted like he’d been stung and jerked away, eyes widening. Laughing, Malfoy stepped back, shaking his head slowly. “You make it so easy, Weasley.” He was smirking, his eyes beaming with some sort of knowledge Ron wasn’t quite ready to face just yet.

“Umm, what?” he stammered, running a hand through his hair. “Never mind. Here.” He dumped the ravioli in a bowl and pulled out his wand, heating it quickly and then pressing it into Malfoy’s hands, carefully not to touch him. “I’m… going to check on Ginny. Bring her some water. She probably doesn’t know about the silencing charm, we were never allowed to use that on her at home, mum said that if we had to tie her down, we had to suffer along with her and just let her scream.”

“No wonder she’s such a spoiled little girl,” Malfoy said, smirking at Ron’s obvious discomfort.

“Umm… shut up, Malfoy.” Ron fled, and Malfoy opened random drawers until he found a fork.

He ate a ravioli, grimacing and swallowing fast because it tasted like something slimy had crawled into his mouth and died.

A second later, Ron came skidding back into the kitchen, his eyes wide. “She’s gone,” he gasped. “She got out of the ropes and flew my broom out the window!”

Malfoy was glad, if only for the excuse to stop eating the nasty ravioli. “Right!” he said brightly. “We’d best go find her. Hopefully she’s not dead before I get the chance to kill her.”

Ron blinked and Malfoy rolled his eyes. “C’mon, you must know where this Eight Order of Tea or whatever is!”

“Fifth Order Tea Society,” Ron replied blankly.

“Whatever, that’s where she’s gone, c’mon.”

***

Ronald Weasley did not like girls. Oh, he was not so terrified of his sexuality that he could not admit that. Especially when he was trapped in a tiny parlour that was heavy with the scent of baby powder, clutching a tiny, delicate teacup in one hand and holding a crumpet in the other.

He wasn’t even sure how it had happened.

Alright, who was he kidding? He knew exactly how it had happened. He and Malfoy had arrived at Cora Whittley’s house. Cora, the Matron of the Society, had opened the door, taken one look at Malfoy’s smoky gray eyes, had proclaimed them both Honorary Guests, and ushered them inside.

Ron had almost been afraid that Malfoy was going to tackle Ginny and start beating her for daring to escape, but with one hot, furious glare in her direction, he had then gone on to pretend she didn’t exist. But that didn’t mean he ignored the other ladies in the room. Hardly.

And, again. Ron was hardly jealous. He just hated girls. The way they giggled and acted coy and petted and fawned and touched Malfoy…

Ron was on his feet and nearly shattering the delicate teacup in his hand ages before his mind had caught up with his body. Any part of his body, in fact. Particularly above the knee and below the waist.

The girls were all blinking up at him, startled, Ginny was smirking, and Malfoy looked politely inquiring. “I need air,” he said in a sort of wounded animal whimper. He gently set the cup down next to his abandoned crumpet and hurried out of the tea parlor.

The air outside was no better than the air inside except that it was less filled with pastry and baby powder scents and more filled with the lingering scent of grass and some sort of weed.

“Sodding tea parties.” He scowled, glancing around the high-class neighborhood, idly wondering if assassins were lurking.

There was a flicker of movement across the street, but before he had time to seek out the source, the door opened and Ginny slipped out. “Ron, are you alright?” she asked.

He turned and scowled. “Malfoy’s gonna kill you when you get home.”

“Sod Malfoy,” she said easily. It was very nearly the last thing she ever got to say.

Things could have gone much worse than they did. Had Malfoy not chosen that moment to open the door and had the door not hit Ron’s shoulder and caused him to stumble a bit and yelp, which caused Ginny to turn towards him… things could have gone much worse.

As it was, it happened so fast that it wasn’t until seconds afterwards that Ron managed to process everything. An arrow barely skimmed his shoulder and slammed into the wall of the house. While he stared at that one, he heard a low cry and Ginny fell to the porch beside him. Then, before he could react, Malfoy was cursing and bending over Ginny, an arrow lying beside her.

It was the look of panicked surprise on Ginny’s face that finally evoked a reaction. Her skin was pale and her eyes wide, and her lips trembled a little. “Ginny?” he whispered, only just noticing that Malfoy was shielding her body with his, and talking to her sternly.

“Does it hurt? Tell me if it hurts. You’re alright, tell me if it hurts. Don’t you dare close your eyes, Ginny. Alright, alright… Tell me… tell me all about this tea society of yours. All of it. C’mon now.” He talked to her even as he gently rolled her onto her side and tore her shirt off, inspecting the wound on her shoulder.

“Hey,” Ron said faintly. “You can’t take her shirt off.”

Malfoy glanced over his shoulder and up at Ron, fury making his eyes black. “Shut up, Weasley. Pick up the arrows, go inside, tell them we’re going home.”

He glanced across the road at where the arrows had come from. “But —”

“They’re gone, just go,” Malfoy snapped.

Ron did as he’d been commanded, and when he came back out onto the porch, Malfoy and Ginny were gone. He started running home, terrified that his sister would die before he got there.

Charlie was coming out of a store when Ron dashed by, running right into him. “What on earth are you doing, running with arrows like that in the middle of the day? You could kill someone!”

Ron mumbled, “Ginny’s dead,” and kept running.

Perhaps it was not the smartest thing to have said, but Ron was hysterical and not quite thinking right.

Malfoy and Ginny were upstairs. Ron tossed the arrows to the floor and dashed up into the guest room where he could hear Malfoy talking.

Ginny was lying on the bed, pale and still, her eyes closed, even as Malfoy, who’d rolled her onto her back, gently tended to the wound and spoke to her.

“She’s dead,” Ron moaned.

“She’s not. She’s unconscious. She’ll be alright. Get me some water, I need to clean up the blood.”

That’s when all hell broke loose and Charlie, Fred, George, and Percy burst through the front door, shouting for Malfoy’s death. Apparently all four of them had been there when Ron had told Charlie that Ginny was dead, and they blamed Malfoy.

Before Ron could do anything, all four of his older brothers stormed into the room.

“What happened?”

“What did you do?”

“Is she alright?”

“I’m gonna kill you!” They spoke all at once, and the loud noise was enough to make Ginny moan incoherently and Ron flinch.

“Get your brothers out of here,” Malfoy said in a cold voice, not looking up from the shallow wound in her shoulder.

They howled and cursed and threatened, but Ron managed to herd them out of the guest room and downstairs, explaining to them what had happened, as best he could recall. It all sort of felt like he’d been distanced from the situation and remembering it all in pictures. The arrows, the sounds, the shock.

Malfoy, of course, was not to blame, and after Ron reassured them that he had said that Ginny would be alright, they calmed down significantly. Percy still looked like he was going to cry, Fred looked incredibly jumpy, George was crimson with rage, and Charlie wanted to pound someone, but at least, Ron decided miserably, that fury was no longer directed at Malfoy. Not that he cared if Malfoy was harmed, of course. But it had been Ginny’s own fault she had put herself in harm’s way.

A few long hours passed, and his brothers, convinced by Malfoy that the arrow had just grazed Ginny, left, promising to check in later.

Exhausted, confused, and aching, Ron flopped on his couch and stared longingly at the flask of whiskey that he’d left across the room and was too lazy to get up and fetch.

Malfoy, carrying the two arrows, sat in the armchair across from him.

Ron cleared his throat. He had been so startled by Malfoy’s sudden appearance in his home that he had never even really given much thought to the threat on Ginny’s life. “Tell me what’s going on,” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know for sure,” Malfoy admitted, glancing up coolly and then studying the arrows some more.

“Someone’s after Ginny?”

“I told you they were.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t believe you. Who would want to hurt her? I guess we’re lucky the arrow just grazed her.”

Malfoy glanced up again and then smirked coldly. “No, Weasley, the only luck we had today was that you weren’t killed. They were aiming to kill you and missed. The arrow meant for Ginny did exactly as it was meant to.”

“What do you mean?”

Draco held up one arrow, with black feathers on the end. He held it up as if it were strung on a bow, and then said, “This one was aimed at Ginny. See how the arrowhead lies vertically if it were strung in a bow? It isn’t meant to go very deep, just puncture the skin and fall out. The tip was coated with a potion meant to knock her out but not kill her. This other one,” he picked up the other arrow, which was tipped with red feathers. Stringing that one up, the arrowhead lay horizontally. There was a tiny hook on the very tip. “It’s meant to slip between a human’s ribs and then the feathers cause it to twist a little once it’s past them, so that the hook digs in and if you pull it out, it tears the flesh. It’s meant to kill. It was meant for you. They wanted to kill you and knock her out so they could take her. It means they’re not trying to kill her at all, they want her for something.”

Feeling quite ill, Ron whispered, “But what?”

“I suspect she’ll be able to tell us more about that when she wakes up. In the mean time, you look like shit.”

Snorting, Ron said, “Oh, thank you. Like I care. Not all of us can come out of situations like these looking like sodding sex gods, Malfoy.”

Before his words even registered in his own ears, Ron was aware that he’d said something wrong, because Malfoy was grinning in a frighteningly cocky manner. “Sex god?” he said. Well, purred would be a more appropriate word, but Ron firmly told himself that he did not care whether Malfoy said it or purred or bloody well shouted it from a rooftop. He did not get goose bumps just because of the way Malfoy’s voice sounded when he said that! He didn’t! “I’m flattered, Weasley,” Malfoy finished in that same drawling sort of silky voice, and this time Ron did get goose bumps, and shivers too.

“Shut up,” he said weakly.

Malfoy just laughed, and when Ron got up and made to leave the room, he laughed even harder. Ron fled up the stairs and into the bathroom, where he stayed in the shower for the better part of an hour.

***

It was dark and he was supposed to be sleeping. Malfoy had told him he was supposed to sleep, actually, which didn’t, of course, mean he had to listen. But the fact of the matter was, Ron was still awake, and it was not because he didn’t want to sleep just because Malfoy had told him to. Quite honestly, he wouldn’t mind sleeping. It was just… well… It was bloody dark in his living room! He’d never noticed before!

It was probably the fact that an arrow with a hook on the end had attempted to murder him that afternoon.

He tossed again, couch squeaking beneath him, and Ron nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a hiss from the top of the stairs.

“Weasley!”

“…Malfoy?”

“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep, I can hear you from up here!”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Why the sodding hell not?”

“… It’s so dark down here.”

There was a pause and then a muffled curse and Malfoy stalked into the living room and flipped on the light.

Oh holy mother of…

Ron’s eyes were going to fall out of his head. He was going to swallow his tongue. Oh god oh god. “Malfoy,” he squeaked. “You’re… you’re not dressed.”

Malfoy, wearing a pair of boxers that seemed tight in all the wrong places and made out of some flimsy, clingy, shiny material, scowled. “I was attempting to sleep.”

Ron, who was decently clothed in cotton pajamas, said faintly, “Naked?”

“Honestly, Weasley, if I was naked, you’d know it.” Malfoy flopped down in the armchair and Ron sat up, deliberately ignoring the other boy’s state of undress.

“Is Ginny alright?”

“She’ll be fine, probably wake up soon.”

Ron glanced at his hands, biting his lip. It was hard to admit this, to Malfoy. “I’m scared for her,” he said. “I mean, I never even thought about it before, but she could die.”

Malfoy cocked his head, scratched his chest, ran a hand lazily through his hair, and said, “They won’t get close enough to touch her again. Leave her to me, she’ll be fine. You just keep those bloody brothers of yours in line.”

“Easier said than done. They’ll be here tomorrow to check on her.”

“Keep them away from her. She won’t be feeling well when she does wake up, certainly won’t be up to a bunch of overprotective brothers smothering her.”

“You promise she’ll be alright?” he asked quietly, worry about his sister even distracting him from Malfoy’s nearly naked body.

Malfoy snorted. “She’s fine, Weasley.”

“I nearly died,” Ron said shakily.

Gray eyes studied his face silently for a long moment, and then Malfoy drawled, “That’s why you can’t sleep?”

“I keep thinking about it over and over and over and…” he trailed off, swallowing thickly.

He was sitting with his back against the couch, leaning against the arm with his blanket tangled around his hips, so even had Ron had the presence of mind to run, he never would have gotten all that far. As it was, he could scarcely breathe or think, and when Malfoy got up from his chair in one fluid motion and suddenly leaned forward, one knee on the edge of the couch, Ron could only blink stupidly up at him.

Malfoy’s lips were dry, warm, and a little rough. He brushed them over Ron’s lightly, and straightened up, walking out of the room.

“Wha —” Ron stammered.

“Something else to think about,” Malfoy called over his shoulder, his voice more silky than ever.

“Oh…” Ron said blankly, staring at Malfoy’s back (back, not anything concealed — barely — by his boxers) as he disappeared up the stairs.