Unbecoming

Unbecoming
By Cinnamon
Chapter Three

In later days, Ron would always wonder how on earth he found his way home. Not only because he was so drunk that he could barely remember his own name, but because he didn't know where the other boy had lived. He didn't even know the other boy's name. But he had found his way home, had forgotten his key and his wand wouldn't open the door because of Malfoy's security charms.

Ron hadn't cried since leaving the other boy's flat, and even then, those cries had been muffled and more of pain than this weak, lost sort of crying. He pounded his fist on the door and then fell against it, sobbing and burying his face in his fists.

When Malfoy opened the door, Ron stumbled, falling against him, and somehow the other boy managed to catch him and keep him upright.

"Shit," he mumbled, studying Ron's face critically. "How much did you drink?"

"Too much," Ron mourned, pushing away. "Door was locked." He made his way into the living room and sat carefully on the couch, rubbing his face on the back of his hand.

Malfoy was studying him from the doorway, and had Ron looked, he would have seen that Malfoy's initial distain had changed to concern. "What happened?"

"Nothing. You can leave now." Every word was terribly slurred, but Ron didn't notice.

"Fuck that, what happened?"

Ron's eyes narrowed into slits and he got to his feet, swaying terribly. "You said it wasn't scary."

"I didn't," Malfoy replied. "Of course it's scary. I just pointed out that you were scared."

Considering this for a moment, Ron said, "Well, you said it like you thought I shouldn't be scared!"

"You shouldn't be."

"Fucking hell I shouldn't be!" Ron snarled, clenching his hands into fists.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Ron lied.

Grabbing him by the arms, Malfoy shook him a bit, and spat, "What the fuck happened, Weasley?"

"Nothing happened! Nothing you should care about anyway! You were wrong, I wasn't scared, I wasn't! But… but fuck it if…if…" His face cracked and he started to cry. "Let me go," he whimpered. "I don't… I don't like to be touched."

Malfoy let him go and it was a good thing he did, because Ron fell to his hands and knees and vomited on the floor.

"Fuck," Malfoy mumbled, kneeling beside him, resting one hand on his back. He rolled his eyes a little and waited until Ron had finished.

"I puked," Ron said, sounded stunned.

"I'll clean it up."

He turned his head, eyes narrowed. "You'd clean up my puke?"

Malfoy's lips tightened and he said, "Forget it, someone has to. C'mon, let's get you to bed." He pulled Ron up by his arm and steadied him, leading him to the couch and helping him sit down. He sat beside him, still holding his arm. "Now tell me what happened, Weasley."

Ron looked at him for a long moment and then turned his gaze to the floor, sniffling a bit. "Well," he said, and left it at that.

Nudging him a bit, Malfoy prompted him, "Well?"

"I got drunk."

"Obviously."

"There was this guy…" He licked his lips and whimpered a bit, shaking his head.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "A guy," he said.

"I wasn't scared," Ron told him quickly. "I wasn't scared."

"It's alright," Malfoy replied firmly. Ron thought that was strange. Most people said it like they were trying to convince you that it was, alright. Malfoy said it like you had no choice, it would be alright simply because he had decided it would be. "Did he…"

"Did he what?"

"Rape you?"

And that was the worst part, sort of. He hadn't. Ron whimpered, low in his throat, and, desperate for some sort of comfort, buried his face in Malfoy's chest. "No," he moaned. "He didn't."

"Okay… What happened then?"

"It hurt."

"Ah." A hand touched his shoulder, lightly. "Was he drunk then?"

Ron lifted his head, frowning, his eyes shining with tears. "It only hurts when they're drunk?"

"No," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "It only hurts when they're not careful, which comes from drunkenness."

"…Oh." Ron considered this for a moment, resting his head on Malfoy's shoulder (only because it was there and he was feeling rather sleepy, not because he wanted to). "I cried," he admitted. "I didn't mean to."

The hand on his shoulder moved a little, and Malfoy asked, in a deliberately calm tone, "Did he stop?"

"He didn't notice."

"Oh."

Ron's eyes fluttered a bit. "I wasn't scared though," he whispered. "You were wrong. I wasn't scared."

"I was wrong," Malfoy said agreeably, and probably only because (as with most of his actions that night), he knew that Ron wouldn't remember most of this come morning.

There was a long pause, before Ron said quietly, "I am now, though. I think I'm scared. I don't want that. Not again."

Malfoy sighed and stroked his shoulder a bit. "Sure, love," he said. "Never again."

"Never," Ron echoed, and it was the last thing he said before he passed out, head pillowed on Malfoy's shoulder.

***

If garden gnomes had hammers instead of feet and lived inside Ron's head, that's what it would feel like. He woke up that morning with a herd of hammer-footed garden gnomes running in mad circles inside his skull, there was no other explanation. Except that maybe he'd drunk a bit too much.

Which made more sense, really.

Ron moaned and cracked his eyes opened, squinting at the ceiling. He was asleep, on the couch, and appeared to have survived more or less intact. What the hell had happened?

And then he remembered. Well, bits and pieces, really. Going back to that guy's flat, letting him kiss him and touch him and… and later, turning his head and crying into the pillow because it hurt but he wasn't scared and didn't want the other boy to know that he was scared and hurt and then sneaking away and coming home and… and Malfoy…

He frowned, trying to piece together what had actually happened and what had obviously been a hallucination. The rest of it was clear, why did it all get fuzzy?

Because Malfoy couldn't have taken care of him or soothed him or let him cry all over him, of course. Obviously Ron had been dreaming. That was, sadly, a far less disturbing idea than thinking that Malfoy had done those things.

"Alright, Ron?" He jerked at the sudden voice, and then winced. Ginny had come into the room, looking worried. She pressed a glass into his hand. "I was worried you'd gotten alcohol poisoning or something."

"I'm alright," he moaned. "What is this?" he held up the glass skeptically.

"Hangover potion Malfoy made for you."

"Where… where is he?"

"Kitchen," she said. "Percy came over again, they're discussing what's going on, with William and all that."

Ron drained the potion and instantly felt better. Well, comparatively speaking. He sat up and swung his feet to the floor, grimacing. "Ah. So what's the plan?"

"Plan?"

"You know. For catching William."

"Oh." She sat beside him and looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure. When I left the kitchen, they were still talking about just keeping me safe." She was quiet for a moment and then said, "You know, Ron, I'm really sorry. I never meant to get you involved in this."

He looked at her and smiled a bit and said, "That's what brothers are for. We'll make sure they don't get to touch you."

"Oh, you're awake," Percy said from the doorway, frowning in a disapproving sort of way. "Mum's not going to be happy when she hears about how drunk you got."

"She wouldn't have to hear about it if you weren't such a snitch," Ginny snapped with a scowl, and Malfoy, strangely, grinned at her over Percy's shoulder.

Ron swallowed, unnerved by the grin. "Umm, yeah, sorry I slept so long. Did you want something?"

"To tell you about the new security measures we're putting in place," Malfoy said, sitting beside Ron so that he was on one side and Ginny on the other, leaving Percy to sit alone across from them.

"We're giving Ginny a pendant that'll transport her directly back here, so even if they do get her, she'll just have to touch that and she'll be alright. Also, we've cast a locater spell on her so we can always find her," Percy told him.

Ginny rolled her eyes but didn't object, and Ron nodded. "Right. Sounds safe. She should be alright. When is all this going to be over?"

"Well, after we ensure that Ginny's safe, we'll start working on just why they want her, and trying to stop them. I'm not sure," Percy admitted. "But with the Ministry's backing, it shouldn't be too long. Especially since You-Know-Who —"

"Voldemort," Malfoy corrected easily, which made Ron somewhat uneasy.

"Precisely," Percy said stiffly, before continuing, "Since Harry killed him back in his seventh year. The leadership of the Death Eaters, understandably, has been disorganized since then. Unless a new leader…" he trailed off, looking at Malfoy nervously, and then finishing, "Unless someone new has begun leading them…?"

Ron frowned and would have said something snappy and defensive on Malfoy's behalf (though he wasn't sure what he meant to say), but Malfoy just smiled in a cold way and said, "You want to know if my father's become their leader? I really wouldn't know."

"Right. Right." Percy said it twice, as if repeating it would make him believe it. Then he shook his head a bit, as if clearing it, and said, "Anyway, this is their first move since Voldemort's fall. We're being understandably cautious until we judge how coordinated a move it is and just what Ginny has to do with anything, but still, it shouldn't take that long."

Ron nodded and squirmed a bit. Malfoy's thigh was somehow pressed against his now, and he was feeling crowded, though the other boy didn't seem to have noticed a thing. "Umm," he said, and all eyes were suddenly on him. "Is that all? Because I feel gross. I mean, I… I need to shower." He swallowed and his face flushed a bit.

Percy's lips tightened. "By all means," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Will you still be here when I get out?" Ron asked, in an effort of politeness, even as he stood up and felt that the corner of his blanket was stuck in the back of his trousers. Before he could react, Malfoy had reached up and tugged the blanket out. That wasn't the troubling part. The troubling part was that his fingers had seemingly touched his… well, surely it was an accident! Surely. Ron shot Malfoy a startled glance and the other boy wasn't even paying attention, so it must have been an accident.

Percy was talking to him and Ron had to force thoughts of Malfoy out of his mind to focus on what he was saying. "—Hermione's coming by later and I promised to meet her."

He blinked. "What?"

For the first time, Percy looked nervous. "I didn't mean to offend when I invited her, Ron, I swear! I just told her that I was coming by today and she asked if I thought it would be alright if she met me here later. She just wanted an excuse to come by, she said you'd never answered her owls asking if she could."

"There was a reason for that," Ron replied stiffly.

Ginny sighed. "Ron, maybe Percy's right. You can't avoid Hermione and Harry forever. Surely whatever happened couldn't have been that bad."

"You're allowed to think that," Ron snapped. "You don't know what happened, and I don't intend for you ever to know what happened, so just forget it. And if I take an extra long shower, you'll know why." He directed his furious gaze at Percy.

"Will it be cold?" Malfoy asked innocently from the couch. Ron's fury faltered a bit and he turned to look at him.

"What?"

"The shower. Will it be cold?"

Exasperated, Ron shrugged. "If the hot water runs out, it very well might be. Why?"

A slow smirk twisted Malfoy's lips, and he shrugged nonchalantly. "Because whenever you get out of the shower, you press the shower off before you turn off the faucet so whenever I go to shower and try turning it on, the shower comes on automatically and I couldn't help but notice that it's always turned all the way cold. Just wondered if you preferred cold showers is all."

Ron blinked, confused. "You frustrate me, Malfoy," he said, almost absently. He'd nearly forgotten that Ginny and Percy were even there, which was quite an accomplishment, considering how furious he was.

"Obviously," Malfoy replied blandly, but his smirk had stretched into a cheeky sort of grin.

"I'm…going to go shower now," Ron said, backing slowly out of the room and still looking confused.

"What's with him?" Percy asked Ginny, but Ron didn't wait to hear his Ginny's reply.

Ron remembered his rage in the shower. How dare Percy tell Hermione she could come over here? He had worked hard, isolating himself from everyone, and in the last week, it had all fallen apart. First Ginny and Malfoy, and then all his brother barging in, and now Hermione? He couldn't stand it. There were reasons he had pulled away from all of them, damned important ones. Just because they didn't know the reasons (and that was how he intended it to stay), didn't mean that they could blatantly make choices that affected him as if his own free will didn't matter anymore.

He didn't want to see Hermione! He had intended never to see her again. What must she think of him now? If Harry had told her…

Ron moaned and turned off the shower, carefully moving the dial to warm, and wrapping himself in a towel.

Of course, she couldn't be too horrified, given the amount of times she'd owled begging him to see her, reply to her owl, talk to her. But she probably wanted to wait until she saw him in person before showing her disgust. He was even surprised she didn't immediately stop seeing Percy. They'd only been dating a year, after all. And who would want to marry into a family that included someone like Ron? It was for her own good that he had pulled away. So she could forget he existed. He didn't want to break up Percy and Hermione.

But she was coming over. Possibly here already. And Ron couldn't stay in the bathroom forever.

That thought was made all the more obvious when there came a knock on the door. "Ron? It's Ginny. Hermione's here, she's waiting downstairs with Percy. She says she's not leaving until you come and see her. You know how stubborn she can be."

He did, he remembered. Ron sighed. "I can't," he said quietly. Ginny mumbled something and walked away.

Still wrapped in his towel, Ron let himself out of the bathroom and went into his bedroom. Most of his clothes were still there, and he needed something clean.

Malfoy was there, sprawled on his bed, and Ron stumbled to a stop in the doorway with a squeak.

"What are you doing?"

Shrugging, Malfoy replied, "No offence, but I wasn't that keen on staying down there with your brother and Granger holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes."

"Ah. Umm. I'm not dressed."

"I noticed."

He waited for Malfoy to move, close his eyes, leave, anything. Malfoy didn't, and Ron cleared his throat. "Right then, I'll just get my clothes…"

When Malfoy didn't reply, Ron took that for permission to enter the room, though why he required permission to enter his own room, he still didn't know. He dug through the closet, clinging to his towel, and pulled out a jumper and a pair of jeans. He got some knickers from the dresser, and then glanced at Malfoy. Gray eyes were trained on him, and Malfoy looked rather distantly interested.

Clearing his throat, Ron said, "Close your eyes or get out, Malfoy, I'm not a floor show." Despite the bold words, his pitch rose at the last word and made it sound like a nervous question. Malfoy smirked and obligingly closed his eyes.

Dressing faster than he ever had, Ron tossed his towel aside and jerked his clothes on. When he was fully clothed, he sat on the edge of his bed. "I'm decent," he said.

"That's questionable," Malfoy replied, opening his eyes. "What the hell are you still doing in here?"

"It's my bedroom."

"That, too, is questionable, given that I'm staying here."

"I wanted to talk…"

"About what?"

"Last night."

Now Malfoy looked stern, and he sat up. "That was an incredibly stupid thing you did, Weasley."

Shifting embarrassedly, Ron shrugged. "Yeah. I know that now."

"I don't think you know how stupid. It's not safe, you know, picking up random guys at pubs and shagging them, not even if you're trying to prove a point to me."

Feeling a bit stung, Ron replied, "I didn't just… not to prove a point to you…"

"Then why?"

"I don't know, to prove a point to myself."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Whatever you think it was, Weasley, it was still stupid. Anything could have happened. You could have been hurt or caught something or any number of things."

Ron's cheeks were turning pink and he didn't remind Malfoy that it had hurt. It didn't seem worth bringing up. "Yeah, well, don't worry. It'll never happen again."

"And that's supposed to make it better? The fact that you're not ever…" He trailed off, looking frustrated. "And I wasn't worrying! I don't worry. Not over the likes of you. It was just stupid. Just to prove you weren't afraid. Well, if you weren't before, you certainly are now, and I will not be held responsible for that!"

"Malfoy, what are you going on about?" Ron asked, rolling his eyes. "I swear, sometimes you go all cryptic just to drive me mad."

"Never fucking mind. Just forget it."

"But —"

"Why have you been avoiding Granger?" It was asked challengingly and Ron knew it was a warning of sorts. Malfoy didn't want to answer Ron's question and was reciprocating by asking one he knew Ron didn't want to answer either.

"Because I don't want to talk to her," Ron said stiffly.

"Why?"

"None of your business, really."

Malfoy shrugged lazily and closed his eyes. "Doesn't matter to me, Weasley."

Annoyed and not sure why, Ron stood up. "Fine. I don't care."

"Good."

"Good."

They nodded at each other, looking stubborn and a little perplexed as to what exactly they were being stubborn about.

To make his point, though he wasn't sure what that was, Ron nodded again and swept out the door, closing it behind him with a soft snap.

Hermione was standing at the end of the hall and Ron panicked, twisting the knob and turning to dash back in.

"Ron," she said severely, walking forward and snatching his arm, tugging him firmly away from the door. "Don't run from me again."

Her tone only served to solidify the fear that Harry had told her what had happened and that she loathed him. "Let me go," he cried stubbornly.

"Ron. Ron, stop it." She sounded different now, like she was on the verge of tears, and that made him pause and dart a swift, nervous glance at her. She was about to cry. "Please, Ron, just talk to me? I don't understand why you don't want to be my friend anymore."

Striving to be honest and yet not say anything to incriminate himself, Ron said desperately, "It's not that. I didn't think you wanted to be my friend, Hermione."

She laughed tearfully. "That's why I owled so many times, right? Because I didn't want to be your friend?"

"Well." He shifted uncomfortably. "You stopped owling. Harry must have told you and you stopped."

She looked confused. "I stopped because you never replied. Even I can see a lost cause when it's staring me in the face, Ron. What must Harry've told me? I haven't seen him since before the last time I saw you. We've owled, of course, but he's been away so often with Ministry business…"

Ron was blinking back tears. That was why she still wanted to see him then. Harry hadn't told her what had happened. He crushed her into a sudden hug and whispered into her hair, "Nothing, forget it, it doesn't matter."

"What… what…" she pushed away, smiling in a concerned sort of way. "What doesn't matter? Why are you crying, Ron?"

"I'm not," he said, grinning at her. He had missed her. And maybe, if Harry hadn't told her yet, he didn't plan to. Maybe it was all alright. "I missed you."

She sighed and smiled at him, letting all her questions go for the moment and falling back into his hug, resting her head on his shoulder. "I've missed you too, Ron. We both have, Harry and I."

He didn't reply. He didn't want to talk of Harry just yet, and probably not ever. But he hadn't lost Hermione, and that's all he wanted to think of just now.

Popping her head up the stairs, Ginny grinned. "Brilliant!" she cried. "It got so quiet, Percy and I had figured you had either killed each other, or were shagging somewhere."

Ron was blushing a fiery red and Hermione shot Ginny an exasperated look.

***

"It just feels like we should be doing something," Ron said.

Hermione had left with Percy earlier, and Ron, Malfoy, and Ginny were sitting together in the kitchen.

Malfoy glanced up from the piece of toast he'd been shredding. "It's not our job to do anything. It's my job to keep your sister safe, her job to obey me, and your job to go about life as normal."

Rolling his eyes, Ron replied, "Oh yes, because this is so normal. Sitting around in my kitchen with Draco Malfoy and my baby sister."

"Well, what's normal then?" Malfoy asked, shrugging.

"Getting sotted and lazing about?" Ginny asked sweetly, and Ron shot her a hard glare.

"Shut up, Gin," he growled, though he didn't bother to deny it. He didn't have a job. In fact, before Ginny and Malfoy moved in, it was quite normal for him not to see another living person, except one day a week, when his mum sent someone to check on him. There was no normal for Ron, not now that Ginny and Malfoy had destroyed it.

"Well, I don't suggest doing that," Malfoy snorted. "It's far too early in the afternoon for alcohol. You should go out for a bit. Run some errands." He perked up at that thought. "Oh, I know! I've got a few things you could do for me, while you're out!"

Ron hadn't said he was going out, but that didn't seem to matter. Twenty minutes later, he was pushed out the door, holding two lists of errands (one from Malfoy and one from Ginny). Still a little startled at being ejected so suddenly from his house, he stood on his front step a moment and blinked.

"Right," he said, though no one was there to hear. "I'll just… be back later, yeah?"

But Malfoy had already closed the door.

***

The next few days fell into a rather anticlimactic routine at Ron's house. Since neither Malfoy nor Ginny could safely leave the house, they kept giving Ron lists of errands and such to get him out of the house. He rather nervously worried that it was just a cheap excuse to get him out of the way so they could shag, and had to keep telling himself that he didn't care, even if they did. Not that they had shown any indications of attraction for one another. But with Malfoy, you never could tell.

He didn't mind the errands. It was an excuse to get out, whereas before he had had so many to stay in. By the time three days had passed, however, he looked forward to the lists and directions on what to do, where to go. It was almost like having a life again, only it was all prearranged. Pick up these food products. Drop this off at the cleaners. Take this much out of my Gringotts account. Send this letter to Mum.

It was a safety net, those lists of directions. He never had to think ‘what should I do now', he just had to check the lists, follow them, cross them off when he was done, and then return home.

There were no attacks on his home, no more mysterious arrows, and his brothers only dropped by every few days to check on them. He was growing rather used to Ginny and Malfoy sharing his home, having people to talk to (even if it was only to bicker and fight).

Still, Ron wasn't quite comfortable with being out in town, always afraid of who he'd run into and that they'd take one look at him and somehow know what he'd done the other night, with that boy. Or that he'd even bump into him or something, which was more horrible a thought than he could bear.

He liked being at home, when things were quiet. Which was mainly when Ginny was sleeping and Malfoy was showering, or something like that. Then he could relax and daydream or have a drink alone, like he used to. Even if that had lost some of its appeal, oddly.

It was a week after Ron's first errand trip about Hogsmeade when things started getting weird again. Not that they had ever really gotten normal again, since Malfoy and Ginny moved in. But he had grown accustomed and redefined his view of normal. Normal was fighting Ginny for the shower, listening to Malfoy berate his stock of food, and sleeping on the couch. Or at least, for a relatively peaceful week, it was. He had adapted, with as much grace as he could muster.

Then, things shifted even from that strange routine, and started getting stranger.

It started with a note at the bottom of Malfoy's list of errands, a note that read ‘pick up book Dead and Beyond; Necromancer's Guide To The Galaxy from my flat'. Mildly disgruntled at having his errands suddenly extended to personal runs to Malfoy's flat, Ron nonetheless faithfully followed the directions Malfoy had included on the list. The flat was across town from his own, and the book was right where the note had described. The weirdness grew even weirder when he was leaving the flat, however, and was attacked by three men wearing black hoods and enamel masks. Death Eaters, his mind reminded him numbly, even as all motor functions shut down as he stared in terror at them. They threatened but he didn't understand a word they said (his mind was operating on the ‘Fight or Flight' level, but given that he remembered only how to mentally chant Run! and forgot how to work his legs, that wasn't working out too well for him). The consequences were rather dire, but swift, and the next thing he knew, Ron was flat on his back, stunned, as they tore the book from his hand and Apparated.

They left his stunned body in the back garden, and the last thing Ron was aware of before he lost consciousness was the wetness from the ground soaking through the back of his shirt.

It was Malfoy who came looking for him, breaking the curse and waking him up. "Weasley," he called. "What happened?"

"Mmmh?" Ron replied, blinking sleepily.

Impatiently, Malfoy snapped, "Are you hurt? What happened? Where's the book?"

"Book? What book? Oh. Oh that book."

Malfoy helped him sit up, looking irritated and worried. "Yes, that book. Where is it?"

Ron was hardly up to answering, however, he could barely even remember his own name, let alone what had happened. A sudden thought made him panic, however, and he said, "If you're here, who's guarding Ginny?"

"When you didn't return, we grew worried and I came looking for you. She should be alright, I haven't been gone long, but we should get back. Where's the book?"

Annoyed that Malfoy was far more interested in the stupid book than Ron's welfare, he snapped, "Oh, I don't know. I was too busy being cursed to pay much attention to your stupid book."

Malfoy swore grimly and then shook his head. "Never mind," he said. "We'd best get back."

***

Ginny cooed over Ron after hearing of the attack, fixing him tea and fussing over him which, if Ron were being honest with himself, he rather liked. He hadn't had anyone to fuss over him in quite some time. While he was being cared for, he could hear Malfoy from the next room having an animated (loud) conversation with a ministry head in the fireplace. He couldn't make out the words, but it sounded quite violent, and if floating heads in the fireplace could feel pain and bleed, he would have been quite put out worrying about bloodstains in his carpet.

As it was, the tea had long since turned cold and Ginny long since determined that Ron's life had never been in danger by the time Malfoy came out of the other room, looking flushed and furious. It made his eyes sparkle, Ron decided, but it was only due to the strange and floaty haze still affecting him from being stunned.

"What was that all about?" Ginny asked, nervously.

"Nothing. Just business," Malfoy replied, too quickly. There was a strange glance passed between them, and Ron squirmed a bit, suddenly uncomfortable.

"What?" he said, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Malfoy glanced at him and then Ginny and back again. He shrugged and said, "Just trying to figure out why the Ministry didn't see fit to inform me that my flat was being watched."

"By the men who attacked me," Ron realized.

"Yes."

"But Malfoy, why would anyone be watching out for you?" Ron said with a puzzled frown. "I thought they were after Ginny."

The reply came too slowly for Ron's piece of mind. "Well, I suspect because they know I'm watching out for her," Malfoy explained. "And I wanted that book because I think I know what they want your sister for and that book would have explained it more fully. They were aware that I had it, as I stole it from my father, and they probably didn't want me to get it."

"And they didn't just go into your flat and take it?" Ron's eyes were very narrow and he was trying to translate the furtive looks Ginny was tossing at Malfoy into something he could understand, but it wasn't working out too well.

"Because it's charmed so only people with permission can enter, of course," Malfoy scoffed. "Honestly, Weasley."

"So they took the book that would tell you why they wanted Ginny and now we still don't know what they need her for and how to save her? That's why you were shouting, right?"

Ginny shot another look at Malfoy. Ron's eyes narrowed further. Malfoy smiled in a grim sort of way. "I could find that information out through other means, the Ministry is not without its own library of books like that. No, Weasley, I was shouting because they didn't tell me and you could have been killed."

There was a pause, and then, quietly, "Oh."

Ginny's face was slowly turning pink and she looked like she was about to burst. "Sod it, Malfoy!" she cried finally. And then, without another word, she stomped from the room.

Ron blinked at Malfoy and then frowned at Ginny's back. It was all getting far too complicated for him, and he felt a migraine coming on. Excusing himself weakly, he hurried up the stairs to hide in the dark bathroom and to escape the mind-numbing complications that had entered his life with Malfoy and Ginny. He knew when his sister was lying to him, and this was one of those times. She had always been far too transparent, and he didn't even want to hazard a guess as to what she knew but was keeping from him.

***

A few days passed, during which time Ron made many trips to the public library on a quest to locate various books for Malfoy. Ginny spent most of her time in the guest room, hiding, from Ron or Malfoy, Ron didn't know, and Malfoy sat for hours at a time at the kitchen table, leafing his way through piles and piles of books. From time to time, Ron attempted to make conversation, but neither were feeling very conversational, and most of the time, when Ron wasn't out on errands, he sat alone in the main room and stared blankly out the window, wishing that his stash of firewhiskey hadn't mysteriously gone missing a few days before (he would have confronted Malfoy or Ginny about this but felt it would require too much energy, considering both were snappy and irritable). In fact, except for the missing alcohol, things had pretty much reverted to exactly the way they had been before Malfoy and Ginny had moved in. It should please him, this peace and quiet, but it did anything but. Instead, he was constantly on edge, nervous, and lonelier than ever.

Finally, unable to stand anymore of the forced silences or stilted conversations, Ron grabbed his cloak one night and announced tersely, "I'm going out."

Malfoy glanced up from his books. "Oh?" he said. "Where?" He looked suspicious.

"I don't know. Out."

It was a misty, overcast night, and his hair was soaked and plastered to his scalp by the time he found somewhere to go, which ended up being a strange, jazzy club halfway across town. It was just as he was about to go inside that he noticed someone hurrying down the road in the direction he had come, and he turned. It was a woman, a perfect woman: tall, slender, long blonde hair, blue eyes, short skirt, tight top, high, lace-up boots. All of which Ron's mind mentally took in and shelved away in some recess of his mind that really didn't give a damn.

"Hi," she said breathlessly, smiling. His knees should have gone weak at such a perfect smile, but he was still standing and unmoved. Quite frankly, that pissed him off. If he was normal, he'd be swooning at her perfect feet in her perfect boots.

He smiled back. "Hello."

He held the door open and she swept by and left a soft cloud of some floral scene behind her. Ron scowled and followed her in.

Sultry jazz music washed over him, along with clouds of smoke and darkness. The woman he'd followed in smiled at him over her shoulder. "Are you meeting someone?"

"No," he said.

"Me either."

There was a long pause, and it took a minute for Ron to realize she was waiting for him to offer to buy her a drink. She shifted awkwardly on the balls of her feet and he blinked. "Oh, umm, can I get you something?"

It was easy after that, to find himself somehow herded into sitting with her, drinking with her (though he didn't have very much. He was feeling extremely uncomfortable and kept forgetting to take sips of his own drink. Girls had that affect on him. No wonder he didn't like them.).

Hours passed, she talked and talked and her voice was rich like warm honey and, despite himself, Ron felt himself relaxing into the soft timbre of it, though for the life of him, he'd never remember what she had talked about all night.

She had said her name was Irelynn, that much he remembered, and when she stood up suddenly and picked up her coat, he'd gotten to his feet because it was the gentlemanly thing to do.

"Walk me home?" she'd asked, and Ron had agreed, because it was late and dark and certainly no place for a lady alone.

It was only a while later, when she slipped her hand into his and turned to say something, her chest brushing his arm, that Ron began to forget the warm, whiskey-like comfort he'd found in her voice. Uncomfortable, he'd stammered, "Um, what?"

"I said," she repeated, leaning forward, lips brushing his ear. "I had a lovely time."

"Oh."

She giggled and the next thing he knew, her tongue was tracing the curves and hollows of his ear and he shivered. "Umm, wait," he whimpered, his hands sliding up to her arms, trying to push her away, but it was like trying to push a wave of water off, and his hands slipped and were unable to find a handhold.

She moaned and pulled away, the moan whispering against his lips, and grabbed his hand, tugging him down the street a block and up a few steps, before spinning him and slamming him against a door.

His door. He blinked as she plastered herself against him (lips on his, legs between his, hands everywhere) and wondered frantically how he came to be pinned against his own door with a woman all over him. Not just any woman, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen who, though he couldn't care one way or the other, would usually never give him the time of day.

He kept trying to talk, to get his breath, to stop this, but he could barely breathe, barely think, and his hand wrapped around the doorknob, his doorknob, and he desperately tried to figure out how she'd known which house was his.

Her hand pressed over his, turned it, the door opened a crack. "Invite me in," she whispered.

Ron's eyes flew open and Malfoy's security charms were suddenly so prevalent in his mind that it was as if the boy were standing right there on the porch, smirking as he tried fighting off the advances of a gorgeous woman.

Perfect excuse, that. "I'm sorry," he said breathlessly. "I can't…"

There was a hand fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers now, and she pressed her chest against his. "Please, Ron? I need you."

He frowned, trying to gently push her back. "I can't. Isn't safe. Malfoy would —"

"Fuck Malfoy!" she snarled, and Ron felt grudgingly offended.

"You don't even know him," he said. She was biting his neck rather hard. "Hey. Hey, stop. Get off."

"Invite me in."

She was being insistent and Ron was getting more and more nervous. "No."

Pulling back, Irelynn pouted. "No?"

"I can't."

"Well then, fuck you too."

What happened next seemed all at once too fast to register and agonizingly slow. There was a knife in her fist and her eyes were staring into his coldly. With one snake-like movement, she shoved the blade into his stomach up to the hilt and then pulled it out, wiping the blade on her trousers and then hissing, "Tell Malfoy his father says hello."

With that, she released the doorknob and shoved him into the house.

He was clutching his stomach, bent over, and gasping like a fish out of water, still trying to understand what had happened. The pain was a distant thing, extreme but seemingly removed from him. Warm blood was soaking through his clothing, coating his hands, and he could barely breathe.

His thought process was slowing down as he grew dizzy from blood loss, and he stumbled a few steps, into the living room. Malfoy was sitting there on the couch with a book (one of the ones Ron had taken out of the library for him); he'd waited up for him.

"Weasley," he sneered. "You reek, and that's strange, it's female perfume. Maybe I was wrong about you."

Ron staggered a bit and moaned. "Malfoy," he whimpered, swaying dizzily.

"Oh, come on, Weasley, don't lets make this vomiting thing a regular habit. How much did you drink?" Malfoy was on his feet now, sneering scornfully at Ron, who was trying to remember what it is he was supposed to be saying.

"Your father —" he said through gritted teeth. He licked his lips that were suddenly dry and burning.

"What?" Malfoy's eyes were sharper now, but it didn't matter, Ron was losing blood fast and he could no longer remember how to form complete sentences. With a weak, pained moan, he let his hands fall away from his bleeding stomach and reached one towards Malfoy, grabbing his hand. His grip slipped, however. All the blood made it hard to hold on to anything, and he whimpered as he fell to his knees, the bleeding like a red tide now that could not be restrained.

"Weasley? Weasley! Oh fuck, Ron, what the fuck —" Malfoy was kneeling beside him, pale, panicked, and Ron smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way before he let his eyes close, confident that Malfoy would save him. And if he couldn't, at least Ron would get to die in someone's arms, if only Malfoy. Maybe especially Malfoy. He couldn't remember anymore.