Unbecoming

Chapter Two

“Weasley. Weasley.” The words were accompanied by a sharp jab in the ribs, and Ron opened his eyes, moaning weakly. He hadn’t gotten to sleep until dawn.

“What?” His head was pounding — No, that was the door. What time was it?

Malfoy was leaning over him. “Your sister’s sick and there’s someone at the door. Most likely your sodding brothers. Let them in or tell them to piss off, the pounding isn’t making her feel any better. Don’t let them upstairs, the last thing she needs as this wears off is a bunch of panicking brothers, which includes you.”

He nodded, though he hadn’t really paid attention to anything he’d been told, and Malfoy disappeared. Ron would have gone straight back to sleep, but there was still that pounding…

Stumbling to the door, he threw it open and blinked at Charlie. “What?”

Charlie frowned. “You look horrible.”

“So do you. What do you want?”

“To see Ginny.”

Malfoy’s instructions came filtering back, and Ron shook his head. “Malfoy says no.”

“Bugger Malfoy!” Charlie snapped, pushing passed and stomping up the stairs.

“Charlie!” Ron moaned. “You’ll get me in trouble.” He was still half asleep, and trailed along helplessly after his older brother.

The sight in the guest room would have shocked him senseless had lack of sleep not already done so. Ginny, her face gray and pale, was leaning over, vomiting into a bucket, while Malfoy stroked her back and whispered to her gently. Malfoy, being gentle? It was unheard of.

“What have you done to her?” Charlie growled.

“I thought I told you to keep your brothers out!” Malfoy hissed.

“He’s bigger than me!” Ron cried defensively.

“I’m dying.” Ginny flopped against Malfoy’s chest.

“You’re not,” he told her firmly.

Charlie shouted, “Keep us out so you can molest her?”

“Charlie,” Ron sighed. He tugged at his brother. “Malfoy’s taking care of her, c’mon…”

He herded Charlie from the room and slammed the door behind him, before turning back to Malfoy and Ginny. “What’s wrong with her?”

“The potion that the arrow was tipped with has nasty side effects, that’s all. It should be better by this afternoon.” Malfoy glanced up at him, still holding Ginny. “Lock the doors and put a silencing charm on it, would you? Your brothers really are tiresome.”

“I heard that!” Charlie shouted. Ginny moaned and clutched her head and that was all Ron needed. He was out of the room and shoving Charlie down the stairs and out the door a moment later, locking and silencing it. If Charlie banged on the door, it was blissfully silenced. Running about closing all the curtains on all the windows, Ron effectively prevented them from peering in that way as well.

The house was cast into shadow, at least the lower floor, and Ron got a glass of water and brought it upstairs for Ginny.

“Stay with her,” Malfoy ordered. “I’ve got to report all this to my superiors.”

“Shouldn’t you have done that before you went to sleep?” Ron asked doubtfully.

Malfoy grinned. “Probably.”

After he left, Ron held the water to Ginny’s lips and then set the glass aside. She curled up against him, moaning about her head, and fell into a restless sort of sleep. Moments later, Ron had done the same.

***

He woke up alone in the guest room, to the sound of shouting coming from downstairs. Ginny was screaming something, he couldn’t make out the words. Apparently she was feeling better.

A little hesitantly, Ron crept down the stairs. He paused in the doorway to the kitchen, where the yelling was coming from, and sighed. Malfoy and Ginny were fighting again because Ginny wanted to go out.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Your stupid sister thinks she’s going out,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not stupid,” she said sulkily. “Honestly, Ron, you know me. Tell him no one wants to kill me.”

Ron looked at her doubtfully. She had that look of hers that usually meant she was trying to wheedle her way out of some punishment or other. “Just to be safe, Gin, I think you should —”

“Who would want to kill me? Honestly.”

“The incident yesterday would indicate that someone does,” Malfoy drawled.

“That was a fluke! They could have been after Ron!”

“I haven’t done anything!” he snapped, growing annoyed. Really, Ginny was acting like a brat!

“And what have I done?” she asked in reply.

“Broken up with a Death Eater?” Malfoy yawned, looking rather bored.

Ginny’s lower lip trembled and she was quiet for a moment. It was Ron who spoke next, sharply. “A Death Eater?”

“I didn’t know,” she whispered.

“Well you do now,” Malfoy said easily, shrugging.

She swallowed and said carefully, “You’re going to get someone hurt, Malfoy. If you keep on like this, someone’ll be hurt.”

“Someone like your brother?” he replied.

“What do you mean?” she whispered.

“He nearly died last night because of you.” Malfoy’s voice was not deliberately cruel.

“No. No, you told me I was the only one hit.”

“There was another arrow, meant to kill. It narrowly missed him.” His eyes were sharp, trained on Ginny’s face, though his body still looked relaxed and calm.

Her eyes filled with tears and her lip was trembling again, only this time, she looked beseechingly at Ron. “Make him stop,” she begged. “I didn’t know, I swear, I didn’t know…”

“Oh, shove off with this whole victim shit,” Malfoy snapped.

“Malfoy,” Ron said quietly. “Stop it. Ginny, calm down. Tell us what happened, we’re trying to help. If you know why they wanted you, tell us.”

She seemed ready to bolt, but after a moment, warily, she sank down onto the couch. “I didn’t know, when he first started courting me, what he was. I thought he was handsome and rich and thought maybe it was real, like a fairy tale. Then he started asking me things.” She darted a quick glance at Ron and then looked at the floor. “About the Chamber of Secrets. And T-Tom. Tom Riddle. It was strange, I don’t like talking about it, you know that, Ron. But I thought maybe he cared, so I answered, as best I could, but he wouldn’t stop asking. It scared me, he was sort of obsessed and I told him that I didn’t want to talk about it one night, and he was drunk, and he got angry. I guess I sort of figured out what he was, a Death Eater, after that. I mean, it was kinda obvious, I’d just been blind. So I left him.”

“What sort of questions did he ask?” Malfoy said quietly, eyes narrowed in thought.

“What Tom had said and… and what he’d done and all that. You know. If I had nightmares. If I’d l-liked it. If I had ever wondered why I’d been chosen and given the diary…” she cleared her throat and laughed nervously. “Because your father…” she glanced at Malfoy and then away quickly. “Because he thought it would be funny?” It didn’t come out as she’d intended, flippant and cool. Instead, it sounded hopeful and far too optimistic to be true. Malfoy didn’t bother to reply.

“And then you left him and somehow your brother Percy heard rumors that he was after you and sought to have you protected. I wonder if he knows more than he told us. Which was bloody stupid, honestly, how am I to protect you if I don’t know the whole story?” Malfoy’s voice was soft, almost as if he had forgotten they were in the room and was talking to himself. Finally, his eyes focused on Ginny’s face and he cleared his throat. “That’s everything? You don’t know anymore?”

“That’s everything. But if I remember anything else…”

Malfoy nodded. “Let me know. In the mean time, I’ll be in contact with the Ministry, giving them this new information, and setting up a little meeting with that brother of yours.” Malfoy looked satisfied, and Ron finally got up the nerve to speak.

“Guys? What about… well, what do we do now?”

Malfoy looked at him blankly. “What do you mean?”

“Well, someone’s trying to take Ginny and we don’t know why but it’s got something to do with Tom Riddle and Voldemort and someone nearly killed me… Don’t… don’t you think we need a bit more help than just one bodyguard sent from the ministry? Maybe we should call… H-Harry.” It hurt to speak the name. Burned like he’d tried coughing up smoldering coal.

Both Ginny and Malfoy looked incredulous, and for different reasons. Ginny, because Ron hadn’t mentioned Harry in over a year, and Malfoy because Ron had dared question his ability to do his job.

“The whole world does not go crawling to Harry Potter the first time something goes wrong,” Malfoy said stiffly. “Besides, has it ever occurred to you that perhaps he’s not that good at doing good, he’s just awfully good at attracting bad situations and surviving them through sheer luck? Honestly, luck is not what we need right now. We need careful planning and calm, rational thinking, not crass bravery and boldness.”

Feeling slightly chastised and somehow vindicated (Ron hadn’t really wanted to call Harry, after all. It wasn’t that he wanted Malfoy to stick around, it was that he didn’t want Harry… Just because he was slightly coming to terms with Malfoy’s presence, that didn’t mean a sodding thing!), Ron nodded and smiled a bit. “Right then. So we go to the ministry? Go into hiding? Owl Dumbledore?”

Malfoy looked troubled. “No, Weasley. We stay here. It’s as safe here as anywhere. Besides, how are we going to discover their plan if we run?”

“Discover their plan? What more is there to discover? They want to hurt Ginny! We’ve got to run!” Ron cried.

“Malfoy’s right,” Ginny said grudgingly. “We can’t stop them if we run.”

Ron threw up his hands and let out an exasperated cry. “You’re both mad, I swear! What good will it do anyone if you’re killed, Gin?”

“She won’t be. They won’t get that close again. Will they?” It sounded like a threat, and Malfoy turned a stern gaze on Ginny.

“No,” she whispered, looking pale and shaken. “I… I’m sorry, Malfoy, I should have listened to you.”

“No!” Ron cried, only because he felt it important that Malfoy not get the impression that he was the one calling the shots here. Even if Ron had the sinking suspicion that he was.

Ginny and Malfoy ignored him. Now they were discussing defense techniques and Ron felt thoroughly unneeded. He stalked from the room, hoping someone would notice his petulant departure, but no one did. He was in the kitchen a few minutes later when Ginny came looking for him.

“You alright?” she asked.

He glared at her. “Don’t I look it?”

“You look tired,” she admitted.

Ron sighed; he never could stay angry with her for long. “I hardly slept last night,” he admitted, face flushing a little. Oh, he longed to say. And I forgot to mention. I think Malfoy kissed me.

“Go sleep then,” she said, smiling a bit. “Upstairs, you can sleep in my room.”

“I refuse to sleep in the guest room of my own house,” he snapped.

She rolled her eyes. “Then sleep in your own bed, I don’t care. Malfoy won’t be using it, he said he’s going to be writing owls to the ministry all day or something.”

Ron wanted to argue. He wanted to object. He opened his mouth to do just that, but the indignant cry didn’t come. Instead, he said in a cowed tone, “Alright.” Before he could think, he was up the stairs and in his room, stripping to his knickers and sliding into the sheets on his bed.

They smelled of Malfoy and it was strangely calming and relaxing, yet completely alien. Sleeping in a bed that smelled of anyone but him, and Malfoy especially. But it made him feel safe and he burrowed beneath the sheets until they were up to his nose, and fell into an almost contented sleep.

***

Ron was more exhausted even than he had realized, because he slept all day and woke up the next morning, still in his bed that had been hi-jacked by Malfoy. For a long moment, it was like every morning he’d known since moving into this house the year before. A vague sense of disorientation, a queasy feeling in his stomach, and a long moment of panic as he struggled to place where he was. Usually, that strangeness was caused by all the alcohol he’d drank the night before. This morning, it was a strange feeling of I’m not supposed to be here. It took him a long moment to remember why.

This was Malfoy’s bed now.

He sat up with a yelp, almost as if he expected the other boy to have slipped into bed next to him. Malfoy hadn’t, of course. Ron was alone in his bedroom and the strange feeling of almost disappointment that hit him made him wince and panicky leap from the bed.

The shower was running, so he went downstairs, finding Ginny in the kitchen.

“Ron,” she said, smiling sleepily. “I was getting worried.”

“Where’s Malfoy?” he asked.

“Showering.” She gave him a strange look. “He’s in a bad mood too. From sleeping on the couch.”

“He… he slept on the couch? Did he try to wake me? I was pretty tired, I probably didn’t wake up.”

Again, that strange look. “No. I was going to wake you, but he wouldn’t let me. Said you hadn’t slept much the night before, went all cryptic and wouldn’t tell me how he knew that or why you hadn’t.” She looked at him again, obviously awaiting an explanation.

Ron’s face slowly heated up. “He didn’t want to wake me even though it meant sleeping on the couch?”

She shrugged. “Apparently.”

It was disconcerting and, to be honest, a bit annoying, that he should feel grateful because Malfoy let him sleep in his own bed.

When Malfoy came downstairs, it was with a scowl already fixed on his face, an expression which Ron matched. If he had thought about it, he would have found it odd (but rather fitting) that the first sign of any sort of… less than hostile interaction between them… was met with more hostility on both sides. Malfoy for being inconvenienced and waking up with cramps in his muscles, and Ron for having to feel thankful for it.

“Your shower sucks,” Malfoy informed him.

“So do you,” Ron replied quickly.

Malfoy just smirked and rolled his eyes, opening the fridge. “Living with you two is worse than a whole house full of bickering brothers,” Ginny mumbled.

Ron stuck his tongue out at her and then glanced sideways at Malfoy sheepishly, hoping he hadn’t noticed; Malfoy had, of course. He burst out laughing, his scowl gone, the foul mood obliterated. “Honestly, Weasley, keep your tongue in your mouth unless you intend to use it,” he teased, peering into the fridge.

Glad at least that his immaturity had cheered Malfoy up somewhat (because of course Ron would rather be stuck in a house with a Malfoy who wasn’t intent on driving him mad purely out of spite and moodiness. It had nothing to do with liking Malfoy’s smile— Which he didn’t. At all.), Ron allowed his own testiness at having to be grateful at being allowed to make use of his own bed fade a bit.

“I’m making coffee and toast,” Ginny announced. “And Charlie owled. He and Percy are coming by later today to discuss the umm incident the other day.”

Malfoy nodded, turning serious now. “Good then. I need to speak to Percy. I’m sure he knows more than he’s telling.”

“He probably just didn’t want to worry me,” Ginny said.

“Well, better have you worried than dead.” Malfoy came to the table, spun a chair around, and straddled it, cocking his head to the side and turning his gray eyes on Ron, who, having felt pretty much left out of that short exchange, had unknowingly begun staring at the other boy. He noticed now, however, once the stare had been returned, and his face turned crimson. Malfoy grinned.

Ron shook himself a bit and turned to Ginny, hoping Malfoy didn’t think he was attempting to provoke some sort of staring contest or something. Maybe Malfoys were like dogs, who went mad when you stared at them. Or something. It made him nervous anyway, being looked at like that. Like a bone or something that a dog would kill to eat. He licked his lips and told himself firmly that the only reason he rather liked that imagery was because it was so early in the morning and he had not yet had his morning coffee. Not to mention that Malfoy was fresh from the shower and looked rather, erm, cute with his hair matted to his forehead with water.

Ah, Ron wailed silently. I’ve lost my mind.

“You alright, Ron?” Ginny asked suddenly, frowning. “You’re staring at me. Have I got something in my teeth?”

“I need to get some groceries,” Ron mumbled, bolting from the room and out of the house, ignoring Ginny’s startled questions and Malfoy’s snicker.

Malfoy couldn’t have known what was going on in Ron’s head, of course. Because it wasn’t natural and it wasn’t right and no one in the world would look at Ron the same again if they knew how mad he was. How absolutely crazy he was. So of course it was only his imagination that Malfoy’s smirk seemed somehow knowing and his eyes had lingered on Ron’s lips in a purposeful way, as if he were purposely attempting to remind Ron of that weird not-quite-a-kiss of the other night. Which had, after all, just been a Malfoyesque way of trying to drive Ron further into madness, he was sure. It was all his imagination.

Which, after all was said and done, left Ron feeling rather lonely, all of a sudden.

***

They were sitting in the living room of Ron’s small home, and Charlie was lividly berating Percy for daring keep his top-secret ministry information a secret. Apparently, he claimed, ‘top-secret’ did not apply to family. Percy had protested, though weakly. He had known that William was a Death Eater, he had known that they wanted Ginny for something, but the Ministry didn’t yet know what. So he had arranged protection for her and there was nothing much else he could do.

While Charlie berated Percy and Ginny tried to defend him, Ron stared morosely at a potted plant in the corner, for the most part, forgotten. It had always been this way in his family. Bill was the easy-going, cool one, Charlie was the hot-headed one who’d inherited his mum’s temper, Percy was intelligent, the twins were tricksters, and then you skipped right over Ron’s head and landed at Ginny, who was the flirty little sister. Ron was… Ron was nothing. Harry Potter’s ex-best friend. Side-kick to the Brilliant Hermione Granger. Youngest son of a too-large family with no skills or talents, nothing.

It was rather depressing, but he didn’t like to think about it. So his mind was drifting far away as he stared at that potted plant that Hermione had bought him when he first moved in here as a housewarming gift. It needed to be watered, he realized.

“Weasley.” The word was accompanied by a jab, and Ron yelped, causing Charlie’s rant to be interrupted. After he had seen that it was only Ron, he returned to shouting, and Ron was able to glare at Malfoy, who had poked him.

“What?”

“How long is your brother going to shout?”

Ron cocked his head and considered. “Depends how long it takes till Ginny gets fed up with it and starts to cry.”

When Charlie paused for a breath, it gave Percy a chance to defend himself, and he snapped, “Nothing would have happened the other day if Malfoy hadn’t let her leave! She’s perfectly safe here, it isn’t my fault they nearly took her!”

Charlie turned to Malfoy now, and began thoroughly berating him. Malfoy just smirked silently and waited for Charlie to pause so that he could speak and Ginny had lapsed into sheepish silence, so Ron figured it was his job to defend him. “Hey,” he said, but no one listened. “Hey!” he repeated, a bit louder. Still, Charlie kept shouting. Ron started screaming, “Hey! Malfoy told her not to go, he tied her up, he locked her up, it’s her own damned fault she was in danger and she knows it, so just leave Malfoy alone!”

His throat was raw when he was finished, and everyone was staring. Ron hadn’t had the incentive or energy to scream in months. “Erm,” he said, clearing his throat, his face turning a bit pink. “I’m done now.”

Before anyone could say anything about his outburst (and a little worried that the one thing that had inspired him to shriek like a banshee was Malfoy), Ron fled.

He went up the stairs and then stood in the hallway, blinking. After all, his options were limited. He used to think that this house was too big, when it was just him. Now, however, with two extra ‘guests’, it seemed remarkably small.

He was about to go into the bathroom to hide when Malfoy touched his shoulder from behind. He had probably tried calling Ron’s name, but Ron had been so embarrassed and distracted from everything downstairs that he hadn’t noticed. Anyway, Malfoy touched him, and Ron reacted with a startled yelp.

“Don’t touch me!” he snapped.

Malfoy blinked and, as much as Malfoyly possible, looked startled. “Calm down, Weasley, honestly.”

Shaking his head and scowling a bit, Ron mumbled, “Sorry. You startled me. I don’t like being touched is all.”

“Obviously,” Malfoy drawled, rolling his eyes. “I just wanted to know what that was about down there.” He gestured vaguely to the stairs.

“What what was about?” Ron asked, letting his eyes widen in an attempt to look as dumb as a post.

Malfoy sighed, grabbed his arm (deliberately forgetting that Ron didn’t like to be touched), and tugged him into his — Ron’s — bedroom. “Right,” he said, after kicking the door shut. “Now explain.”

“I don’t owe you any explanations, Malfoy. And besides, I don’t know what you want explained!” Ron could feel his face turning red, whether from embarrassment, frustration, or how oddly thrilling it was to be alone with Malfoy in his bedroom, he couldn’t tell.

Malfoy was smirking, leaning back against the doorjamb, (blocking the exit, which, Ron reminded himself, if he weren’t, Ron would have escaped long ago). He said in a bored sort of tone, “You really think this is making everything easier on yourself?”

Blinking, Ron stepped back warily. “What? Malfoy, you’re not making any sense.”

“Right then,” Malfoy said. “Back on topic then. Why do you run every time anyone notices you?”

Ron frowned. “W-what?”

“No, really. Like down there. You speak up for the first time since I’ve been living here —”

“Which really hasn’t been that long. And besides, you’re not actually living here, just staying, temporarily, until other accommodations can be arranged.”

Malfoy lifted one eyebrow and Ron fell silent, feeling, somehow, rather sheepish for having dared interrupt. Malfoy continued as if he hadn’t. “You hide from people at parties, you live alone, drink far too much —”

“You can never drink too much, that’s my motto.”

“Exactly. And it’s shit. You can and you do, and I know why.” He smirked a little, and Ron took a cautious step back.

“Know why what?”

“Why you’re so terrified.”

“I’m not terrified.”

He snorted. “You’re afraid of your own shadow, Weasley.”

Ron swallowed, and took another step back. Now the back of his legs had hit the side of Malfoy’s — his—bed. “I’m not,” he lied. It sounded weak, even to his own ears.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

“I’ve never looked at you!” To prove it, he squeezed his eyes shut.

That was why he was completely unprepared when Malfoy spoke again, and he was so close that his breath brushed Ron’s lips. “I saw it, Weasley.” It was a husky whisper, and Ron panicked.

“Saw what?” he squealed, slipping away and backing towards the door. “Just because you’re at-attracted to me, doesn’t mean —”

“Attracted to you?” Malfoy sounded honestly puzzled. “What on earth gave you that idea?”

Ron blinked and felt like the ground had shifted, just a bit. “Well… well, you kissed me.”

“I did,” Malfoy said, frowning thoughtfully. “If you call that a kiss, anyway.”

“It…wasn’t?”

He sighed. “Weasley. Kissing doesn’t mean I’m attracted to you. I mean, with all due respect, you’re a Weasley.”

“So… so why did you kiss me then?”

“Because I’ve only been in your house for a few days and already you’re driving me fucking nuts!”

He blinked, startled. “What do you mean?”

“It’s so obvious! Maybe not to you, because you’ve been lying to yourself for so bloody long, and maybe not to your family, because they’re, as far as I can tell, bloody useless, but it’s obvious to me.”

“What… What’s obvious?” He was sure he didn’t want to know. He felt rather shaky and nauseous at the very idea of knowing.

“Weasley. Honestly, don’t know already know?”

Ron had never noticed how huge and, well, pretty Malfoy’s eyes could be. Then again, Malfoy had never before looked at him with a gently exasperated, mildly amused sort of pleading in his eyes.

Something inside Ron, something that was located somewhere below his heart and above his stomach, crumbled, and it felt rather like a stone tower or a wall of some sort. His eyes stung with tears and he shook his head slowly. “I don’t,” he lied desperately. “I don’t.”

Malfoy blinked and the strange light in his eyes was gone. He looked annoyed and somehow smug now. “You’re just scared.

That stung. “I’m not!”

“Then admit it.”

Ron swallowed and bit his lip, a sound of denial coming from the back of his throat as he shook his head and stepped away, so that his back was pressed against the door.

“Prove to me that you’re not scared,” Malfoy said in a low tone, looking determined. “Either prove that to me, or prove that it’s not true. That I’m wrong. Either way, Weasley, prove something, because living with you this long while you’re in this fucking denial is enough to give me a headache. I can only imagine what it’s doing to you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ron said desperately.

Malfoy stepped closer, so that if Ron only took a deep breath, his chest would graze the other boy’s. “Don’t you?” Malfoy whispered, and Ron’s eyes automatically flickered down to his lips. They twitched with a sort of smug smile and then Malfoy’s tongue slipped out, tracing his lower lip slowly, as if he was aware of the way Ron couldn’t look away.

And of course, he was.

Panicking again, Ron shoved him away as hard as he could, threw the door open, and ran.

***

There was a fine line between being drunk enough to forget everything that worried you, and being so drunk that you did things that would worry you come morning. Usually, Ron was pretty good at getting drunk enough to forget and not so drunk that he did anything he’d regret. That night, however, the lines got a little fuzzy, and before he knew it, he was so drunk that nothing mattered anymore. It was the angry sort of drunkenness as well, the kind that brings with it false courage.

He was at a pub, which was another thing that Ron was not used to. Usually, he drank alone. But he couldn’t be alone at home anymore, not with Ginny and Malfoy there! So he was alone here, in public, with three waiting shots of whiskey in front of him and anger making him stupid.

He took another shot, growling under his breath. Scared? Not bloody likely. There was nothing to be afraid of, because there was nothing wrong with him!

Whiskey burned in his stomach and his veins and he slammed the glass on the bar, glaring at the rings of moisture there.

Scared. Of what? Malfoy was wrong. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t.

And yet the words still seemed hollow, so he took another shot and repeated them. There, that sounded better. He could put more faith in them now. But still, just to be safe, he took another.

He wasn’t scared, though. Really. What was there to be afraid of? He was Ronald Weasley. Normal as anyone could possibly be. Well, as normal as possible considering that he was a wizard who had a fondness for dreaming about/fantasizing about/staring at other wizards…

Lies! He didn’t. He really, really didn’t.

He took another drink.

So what if he did, really? Who cared? Malfoy didn’t care. Malfoy seemed to think it didn’t matter, one way or the other. The only thing Malfoy cared about was that he had a headache from living with Ron. A headache. Poor stupid sod had a headache.

Like Ron cared.

He took the last shot and motioned for some more, before glancing about, rather pleasantly intoxicated. Well, shit-faced, really.

There was a guy sitting at the other end of the bar and Ron had been sneaking tiny glances at him all night. Now, emboldened by the alcohol, he turned his head all the way to look at him.

To his shock, the boy was looking back. Nearly giving himself whiplash, Ron turned back around, his face turning pink, nearly falling out of his barstool. He took another drink and then glanced over again. The boy was still looking. He seemed rather drunk as well. He smiled at Ron and Ron snapped around again, taking another drink.

Then, the next time he looked back, it was to smile in what he hoped was a sexy sort of way.

Because Ronald Weasley wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t. There was nothing to be afraid of, really. Nothing.

The boy came over and touched his hip, leaning over to ask if he could join him. Ron motioned for another drink before nodding, and the boy slid a stool closer so that their knees were touching, and sat beside him, smiling again. Ron smiled back.

Because he wasn’t afraid. Of anything.