Unbecoming

Chapter Four

Forever seemed to pass, filled with hazy dreams intermixed with faint traces of what could only be reality (Ginny sobbing, Malfoy shouting, and more pain), and Ron drifted on the waves of pain-inspired fever.

It was rather what he expected flying too high would be like. Brooms came equipped with a safety feature which did not allow them to be flown too high (though the ‘safety zone’ well exceeded any height Quidditch Balls could reach). If that safety zone were breached, the air would be too thin to breathe, causing the blood to react, massive headaches and such. Rather like a diver who’d been pulled out of the water too fast for his body to adjust. There were rolling waves of pain combined with lancing agony whenever he breathed too deeply. And sometimes the pain would lift him to a crest and for one startling, crystalline moment, he would have a split second of lucidity. The punishment for such seconds was extreme however, and it was not long before his throat was raw from screaming at the waves of sparkling agony.

It was easier, then, to push himself downwards, down, down, down, to where it did not hurt, to where there were no teasing lights of reality to beckon and hurt.

There was something soothing about reality though, something soft and bittersweet that stung with a strange gentleness that called to him, that he craved. Something that felt like feathers brushing over his skin and light fingers running through his hair and something that rang like a strange, almost discordant melody in his ear.

It was, in the end, this strange ethereal something that called to him when reality hurt nearly too much to bear. This elusive sweet bitterness that soothed his ravaged throat and healed his mind enough to bear the pain. It was yearning to know the source of that song echoing in his mind that led Ron to open his eyes.

Harry was sitting in a chair at Ron’s bedside, his solemn green eyes fixed on Ron’s face as if he’d just willed him back from the dead.

“Ron,” he said.

“Go away,” Ron moaned in reply. “Oh god, oh god, please go away.” It all came out quite raspy and quiet, he was barely audible at all, and his throat so rough that each syllable melted into the next, so it was quite understandable when Harry didn’t comprehend a word.

“It’s alright,” he soothed, taking Ron’s hand, stroking his hair off his forehead. His hands were rough and Ron shrank away, closing his eyes and whimpering.

“Oh, oh, oh,” Ginny suddenly chanted from the doorway, sounding like a cracked-up Father Christmas. “Is he awake, Harry? Is he?”

“I’m not sure if the fever’s broken,” Harry told her, not glancing at Ron. “He… he won’t let me touch him.”

“Of course not,” Ginny said, sweeping into the room and pulling Harry out by the arm. “You know what he’s like. Besides, he’s probably terribly frightened.”

She was cooing, stroking Ron’s arm and forehead, peering into his eyes. He was terrified, not of the bandages around his middle, nor the woozy fever, but of Harry. He hadn’t seen Harry in forever, and had never intended to see him again.

“Hush, Ron,” Ginny whispered. “You’re alright. Everything’s fine, we’ve been taking good care of you.” She gave him a sip of water from a goblet, and he heard Harry curse softy and close the door as he left. Relaxing a little, Ron closed his eyes, water dribbling down his chin. “Malfoy said you’d be a bit disoriented, he had to give you a strong potion to make the blood clot faster, it’s taken days…” She bit her lip. “We were so worried. He could heal the wound, but he said you’d lost so much blood that it may be too late.”

He opened his eyes and his lids scraped like sandpaper over them. “What happened?” he whispered.

“You came home bleeding, you’d been stabbed, and Malfoy was the only one who was awake. He carried you into your room and tore off your clothes —” Despite everything, Ron’s body felt infused with heat at that comment. “He gave you the blood clotting potion and while that slowed the bleeding, we cleaned away all the excess blood, and he healed the wound. There was internal damage that the healing spell didn’t touch, because the potion was slowly mending the torn flesh inside and he didn’t want to touch it with magic until that was done. He said… said it was painful, so we’ve been keeping you sedated with other potions till now.”

Licking starched lips, Ron asked, “Where’s Malfoy?”

“He’s gone, called Harry all the way from Spain to protect us while he went to do some business.”

That stung, that acknowledgement that Malfoy hadn’t cared enough to stick around, and Ron’s bitterness must have shown on his face. Ginny quickly took his hand and leaned close. “He was here every night until he was sure you were mending, that you’d be alright,” she whispered. “He spoke to you all through the night, bathing your face and holding your hand. It was the strangest thing, Ron. I told him you don’t like to be touched, I told him, but he just told me that I didn’t understand.”

“You don’t.” It was hollow, stunned, but still, Ginny caught it.

“What?”

“I don’t want Harry in here.”

“But Ron —”

“I can’t.” His voice cracked. “Don’t let anyone in. I don’t want to see anyone. Just you, okay? Promise me.”

“I promise.” She kissed his cheek and stroked his forehead until he fell back to sleep.

***

He supposed it was rather naïve of him to believe that Ginny would be able to keep Malfoy out if the other boy decided that he wanted to see Ron, but he’d honestly not thought that Malfoy would want to see him. When he was woken up in the middle of the night because he felt someone watching him, Ron thought it was his imagination. The fever was still affecting him, and he whimpered a bit, shifting against the burning sensation under his skin.

“Are you alright?” It hardly even sounded like Malfoy, that harsh, rough whisper, and Ron stiffened.

“Malfoy?” he asked shakily.

Malfoy was there suddenly, beside his bed. “Yeah. I was sitting by the window, I didn’t know you were awake.”

“I w-wasn’t.”

“Does it hurt?” As he spoke, Malfoy’s hands were pulling Ron’s blanket back and pushing his shirt up. Hands suddenly on his bare stomach stole Ron’s breath and he couldn’t form coherent thoughts, let alone sentences. The curtain was open a crack and moonlight fell across the bed, making his skin seem paler even than normal, and Malfoy’s hands almost glowed. He pulled the bandages away and Ron sucked in a startled breath, trying to flinch away from his hands, nervously sitting up and trying to shift out of reach. Malfoy grabbed his wrist and looked up at him briefly. “Stop it. Hold still.”

There was a faint scar on his stomach where the knife had punctured his skin, and Malfoy traced it lightly, frowning. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Because I was trying so hard to stop the bleeding, I didn’t heal the wound in time to prevent scarring…”

“It’s-It’s alright.”

Malfoy leaned back, his hands slipping away, and Ron sighed. “Do you remember what happened?” Malfoy asked him.

“I wasn’t drunk,” Ron quickly reassured him. “I wasn’t.”

“It’s alright.” Ron nearly jumped out of his skin when Malfoy took his hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb. “Tell me what happened.”

He told Malfoy about the girl and everything that had happened, wishing desperately that he could see Malfoy’s face as he spoke. After he finished, there was a long moment of silence and then Malfoy said, “I know her. She works for my father.”

Growing sleepy again, Ron turned onto his side, laced his fingers with Malfoy’s. and slipped one arm under his head. “Your father?” he asked, frowning. “Why would she have come after me?”

“Probably wanted in,” was Malfoy’s short reply. Then he grinned, Ron could hear it in his voice. “Father probably thought he could send her to seduce her way in. If he ever paid attention, he’d have known to send a boy.”

Ron sat up so fast that his head swam. “What?”

“Shh, calm down,” Malfoy soothed, stroking his arm and nudging him until Ron was lying back again, though stiffly. “I was teasing. You’re as straight and heterosexual as can be, Weasley.”

“Damn right I am,” Ron grumbled, shivering at Malfoy’s touch. He relaxed as Malfoy kept touching his arm, his eyelids fluttering sleepily.

“Or at least, as straight as I am,” Malfoy said, after a moment.

Ron turned his head and squinted suspiciously at him in the darkness. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, though his voice was hazy with sleep and the words came out slurred.

“Nothing,” Malfoy reassured him, and he was smiling.

Impulsively, warmed by that smile and confident in his sleepiness, Ron leaned forward into the shadows and kissed Malfoy on the lips. It was awkward and brief and he’d never have done it had he been coherent, but he had a brief moment of satisfaction at the surprised way Malfoy's breath seemed to catch in his throat before he let himself drift back to sleep.

***

When Ron woke up the next morning, he was feeling a good deal better, and got out of bed. Sunlight spilled into his bedroom when he opened the curtains and he hummed softly as he rummaged through his wardrobe for something to wear. Something nice. Why how he looked mattered, he didn’t know. But he was happily going through all his robes when the door opened and Harry peered in nervously.

Ron went cold. He’d forgotten all about Harry’s presence.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, startling Harry, who hadn’t seen him there.

“Oh, Ron, you’re awake.” He smiled in relief.

“No, really. You should go. I’m… I’m not dressed.” Ron was decently clothed in cotton pajamas and Harry had seen him thousands of times in his pajamas, but Ron didn’t care.

“Ron, we need to talk.”

Slamming the door to his wardrobe shut, Ron snapped, “I do not want to talk, I’ve got nothing to say, especially not to you, now bugger off!” Harry looked hurt and Ron swallowed down the lump that rose to his throat. “Please,” he whispered. “Harry, I can’t…”

“Alright. Not now, then. But soon. We’ve got to talk.” Before Ron could protest, Harry continued quickly, “Draco wanted me to tell you that you’re not to leave the house and if you try, I’m to brain you with a rock.”

Ron blinked, the words scarcely registering. “Draco?” he repeated, like the name was alien to him.

“Yeah. You know. Draco. Malfoy.”

“Malfoy. Right… Brain me with a rock?” He started getting indignant.

Harry grinned. “Irritating, isn’t he? Those were his exact words, too.”

“A sodding rock.” He scowled.

“He said you’d get sulky too, it was strange. Because you did. And he knows you well enough to tell that.” Harry was frowning thoughtfully and Ron didn’t know what to say.

“I…I’m not dressed.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Harry smiled apologetically. “We’ll talk. When you’re decent.” Then he left, closing the door behind him.

Ron stared at it for a long moment and then flopped back on his bed, scowling. “That sounds like a threat,” he mumbled, turning to stare longingly out the window, fanciful thoughts of climbing out it and escaping flitting through his mind. He sighed and went back to the wardrobe to find something nice to wear, deciding that risking being brained by a rock just wasn’t worth it.

***

“So…” Ginny said, glancing from Harry to Ron and back again. The tension was so thick that even she could feel it. “Is anybody hungry? I’ll go make sandwiches. Yes. Umm. Excuse me.” She hurried from the room and Ron looked over his shoulder at Harry and then back out the window. He was tense and nervous and wanted to be anywhere but there.

“Ron.”

He jumped when Harry spoke, and spun around. “When’s Malfoy getting back?” he asked, nervous chatter falling erratically from his lips. “Soon, I hope. I mean, then you can leave, right?”

“He said he’d be back later tonight,” Harry said, frowning. “Are you and he…” he trailed off delicately.

Ron cocked his head and bit his lip. “Are we what?” he asked.

“Lovers.”

“What? No! God no! He’s just… we’re just… he only… protects Ginny and… and… What sort of question is that to ask me?” he crossed his arms over his chest, face flaming, and wished the floor would open up and swallow him.

“Sorry!” Harry cried, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t mean to offend you, I was just… you’re always asking about him, and he was so protective of you, and —”

“He- he was protective of me?”

Harry smirked. “I swear, Ron, it was the saddest thing, I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“You’ve seen…him? I mean…” Flustered, Ron shook his head. “Since Hogwarts?”

“Well, yeah, we were partners. We worked together on assignments and stuff.”

Feeling inexplicably jealous, Ron scowled. “Oh. Well, we’re not. Not that it’s any of your business. Where do you get off, asking me something like that, anyway? It’s not like I’m… I’m gay or anything.”

“Ron. How stupid do you think I am?”

“Very.”

He scowled. “Shut up. You think I don’t remember?”

Ron leapt to his feet, backing towards the door and stammering, “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You honestly don’t remember?” Harry frowned, getting to his feet. Ron backed up even more, putting a large distance between them. “You were really drunk…” He still looked uncertain.

“I don’t remember a thing!” Ron cried wildly. “Nothing! Blank slate and all that… Erm…”

“Ron.”

“Shut up shut up shut up!”

“What the sodding hell are you doing out of bed?” Malfoy was there suddenly, growling, and Ron glanced from him (his face flushed when he remembered kissing Malfoy the night before) to Harry and back again, breathing heavily in a mad panic.

“Nothing…nothing…” he chanted, backing down the hall. “Nothing. Shut up. Oh fuck.” And then, because he was feeling suddenly weak and dizzy and expected the floor to open up and swallow him at any moment, Ron wailed once in distress and then bolted up the stairs.

“What did you do to him?” he heard both Malfoy and Harry hiss at the same time.

He fled into his bedroom, which Malfoy had once again given up for him, and leapt onto the bed, burrowing under the covers and burying his head in his pillow, shaking like a leaf. It was just too much, dealing with Malfoy and Harry at the same time.

Not to mention that he was completely mortified by the way he’d just run like a little girl from them both.

He wondered if anyone had invented a charm to make the floor open up and randomly swallow people. He’d have to owl Hermione about that one, that was for sure.

Whimpering a little, he didn’t hear the door open and close quietly, and he was completely startled when Malfoy called his name.

“Go away,” he moaned, voice muffled by the pillow.

“I can’t,” Malfoy replied. “Your sister is beside herself thinking you lost your mind because of that fever of yours, and I’m beginning to think the same. What the hell was that about?”

“You shouldn’t have let him in here,” Ron mumbled.

“Potter?”

“Who else?”

There was a pause, and then the bed dipped a little as Malfoy sat on the edge. “Ahh. Well, someone had to guard Ginny while I was off trying to figure out what the hell had happened to you.”

Ron shifted and squirmed until his head popped out of the blankets, and he squinted at Malfoy. “That was completely embarrassing, for the record. I nearly fainted down there. Bloody mortifying.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and patted Ron’s knee. “Are you always this high-strung?” he asked, smirking. “Because honestly, if you are, it’s a miracle you’ve survived this long without having a heart attack or something.”

“Not always,” Ron said stiffly. “Only since you moved in.”

“Well, you should relax more. What happened down there, anyway?”

“Harry was…” Ron let his head sink back onto the pillow. “Just talking.”

“About what?” As he spoke, Malfoy’s hand slip up higher, and Ron lifted his head and shot him a suspicious look.

“Your hand is on my arse, Malfoy. You sure you don’t already know?”

Blinking, Malfoy laughed and then let his hand drop away. “I see,” he said, still snickering. “And what does he know about it?”

Ron’s mouth twitched a little and then he moaned, burying his head under the blanket again. He didn’t reply, and after a moment, Malfoy poked him.

“Hey. Answer me, damn it.”

Grunting, Ron shrugged and then said in a low, bitter voice, “I was drunk and I was so scared and nervous and confused because Harry was… my friend and I… was drunk…”

“That’s not all that coherent, try again.”

Ron sat up suddenly, glaring at Malfoy hatefully. “I can’t help it! I tried, I fucking tried, but it won’t go away and it’s not right and I was drunk and I… I… think I….liked Harry. I mean, I wanted to… well, I just…wanted… I don’t know. I was drunk and he was drunk and I thought it would be okay and I… kissed him.” Ron cleared his throat and felt his eyes stinging with tears. He shot Malfoy a pleading look and asked, “Is that… is that okay?”

Malfoy studied his face for a long moment, and Ron wondered almost distantly how the other boy had gotten so close. “It’s fine,” Malfoy said soothingly, and he reached out and touched Ron’s face, thumb brushing the tears that had gathered on Ron’s lower eyelashes. “It’s alright, Weasley,” he said again.

“What… what are you doing?” Ron whispered, shaking and longing to pull away or lean closer but unable to decide what was right.

“You think too much,” Malfoy chided, and then he brushed his lips over Ron’s lightly.

It was rather like getting an electric shock, Ron decided rather bemusedly, his eyes still closed after Malfoy pulled away, his breath still held in his throat. Rather sudden and stinging and a little painful and—

Before he could finish that thought, Malfoy kissed him again, a different sort of kiss. His lips were parted slightly and his tongue brushed Ron’s lower lip, just lightly, almost teasingly. Ron pulled back with a whimper, his eyes flying open.

“M-Malfoy,” he stammered. “What the hell are you doing?”

Malfoy was grinning at him, hand still cupping his cheek. He slid it back a bit, around so that his fingers were buried in Ron’s hair, and he pulled Ron forward, causing their lips crashed together. Before Ron could pull away, Malfoy had shifted closer, and his tongue was there again, gently touching Ron’s lips.

Moaning softly, either from fear or disgust (but probably not), Ron let his mouth open the tiniest bit and Malfoy smiled and bit his lower lip approvingly.

Ron was melting, and it was a terribly frightening thing, melting into Draco Malfoy of all people. Malfoy didn’t seem to mind when Ron had to practically crawl into his lap to keep from losing all control and falling off the bed. In fact, Malfoy seemed to rather like it.

And he would, Ron thought rather sulkily, who was trembling worse than ever and closer now to hyperventilating than before. It wasn’t his fault, his tongue wasn’t in Malfoy’s mouth. In fact, if he did hyperventilate and pass out mid-kiss, it would be completely Malfoy’s fault. Because Malfoy was doing incredibly indecent things with his tongue and his lips and Ron certainly wasn’t anything more than the panicky bystander in all of this and—

Oh… He moaned weakly because somehow his own tongue had just followed Malfoy’s back into the other boy’s mouth and that was certainly not Malfoy’s fault. No, no, not Malfoy’s at all. Oh bollocks.

But then, Malfoy didn’t seem to mind. In fact, if that strange purring noise was any indication…

Ron shifted (to pull away, he was sure, though by some accident of physics, he ended up sliding even further onto Malfoy’s lap, until he was nearly straddling him) and his hands nervously flew to Malfoy’s chest (to aid in pushing him away, though how they ended up twisting in Malfoy’s robes, Ron would never be able to remember). But then, dizzy and panting and not all that graceful at the best of times, Ron’s knee slipped off the edge of the bed and he yelped as he followed it, crashing to the floor.

“Oh my god,” Ron moaned, after a long, stunned moment in which he actually believed the floor had opened up and swallowed him. He was tangled in his blankets and they had fallen over his head. Malfoy’s stunned silence was making him nervous and he began fighting furiously to get untangled, ranting to himself as he did.

“Stupid goddamned blanket, oh my god, I’m so clumsy, fucking blanket, get off, god, oh my god…I think I broke something, shit!” Finally he just howled in frustration and gave up, slumping back to the floor, face burning. Maybe he’d suffocate and die and be spared the humiliation of having to look Malfoy in the eye…

No such luck. After he gave up trying to untangle himself, there was another short silence, and then Malfoy was laughing so hard that Ron was sure he was going to roll of the bed and join Ron on the floor (probably landing on his leg or something in the process, the bastard).

He didn’t, however, and Ron gathered the courage to carefully poke his head out of the mound of blankets and peek nervously up at the bed where Malfoy was still laughing helplessly.

“Malfoy?” he asked quietly, biting his lip.

Still giggling, Malfoy crawled to the edge of the bed and looked down. “Yes?”

“Umm, could I get some help here? I’m sorta stuck. And I think I bruised my knee.” He pouted petulantly when Malfoy just started laughing even harder. “Honestly,” he snapped, sitting up and wiggling his way out of the cocoon of blankets. Finally jerking free, he stomped towards the door. “This has been the worst day of my life, just for the record,” he ranted. “I’ve never been this humiliated — you can stop laughing any time, Malfoy! Not all of us are born with your grace and sophistication, you bastard.” He reached for the doorknob and was about to slam out of the room, when Malfoy grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, pressing him back against the door.

“That was so sexy,” Malfoy snickered sarcastically. He kissed him again, hard, Ron’s head smacked against the door, but Ron didn’t mind.

Moments later, when Malfoy pulled away, still laughing, Ron smiled shyly, his face still flushed. “You mean that?” he asked.

Rolling his eyes and smirking, Malfoy said, “Sexy? You fell off the bed, Weasley.” That was as far as he got before the helpless laughter came back, and Ron threw the door open and stomped away, furious and burning with humiliation.

He went downstairs, and Harry and Ginny were both in the kitchen, talking worriedly. If Ron had thought about it, he would have been amused, considering that Ginny already thought he’d gone mad and there he was, his clothing all askew, his hair wild, face burning, eyes glittery…

And then, when they both stared at him, he snapped, “What are you looking at?” and then, before they could reply, he stormed out of the house.

***

Hours later, when the sun was just starting to set, after wandering around fruitlessly, Ron returned to find Malfoy on the front step, leaning against the side of the house and holding a rock. He was furious.

“This, Weasley, is a rock,” he said.

Unnerved by the black rage in Malfoy’s eyes, Ron stumbled to a stop and said, “Erm, yes, it is.”

“I told Potter to tell you if you left, you’d be brained with a rock.”

Ron blinked. “I forgot.”

“Forgot? Forgot? You’ve been attacked twice now, twice, and you just conveniently forget?”

“I was…distraught.”

“I don’t fucking care if you were bleeding to death and needed to go to the sodding hospital, Weasley! I told you not to leave the fucking house!”

“See? I told you, Ron. Very protective.” Harry came walking up to the house, smirking, and Ron scowled.

“How come he got to leave and you didn’t threaten to brain him with the rock?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Just get in the fucking house.”

“It’s my house! You aren’t my bodyguard, I can go wherever the hell I want!” Ron snapped.

“I was just looking for you, Ron, Draco sent me. He can’t brain me if he’s the one who made me go,” Harry explained, slipping past Malfoy into the house. “Besides, I can take care of myself.”

“So can I!” Ron growled.

“Obviously.” Malfoy tossed the rock aside and then rolled his eyes, sounding exhausted. “Just come inside, Weasley,” he said, holding the door opened. “I won’t brain you with the rock, I swear.”

Glaring at him but unable to come up with a snappy retort, Ron stomped inside, ignoring Ginny’s sympathetic smile and making his way upstairs, deciding that it was the perfect time for a long, cold shower.

***

It was quickly nearing bedtime and Ron stood uncertainly in the doorway to his own bedroom, cotton pajamas in hand, chewing his lip. Harry was camped out on the couch below, already sleeping for all Ron knew (or cared). Ginny and Malfoy had been closed off in the kitchen for hours pouring over the library books Ron had procured. And Ron had no idea where he was supposed to sleep.

“First come, first serve,” he mumbled to himself, though the words lacked confidence. He carefully closed the door and changed, before slipping between the sheets of his own bed, which no longer felt like his.

He lay there for a while and couldn’t sleep. Staring at the ceiling and listening to his own breathing, he jumped at every sound. Hours passed before Malfoy made his way upstairs.

The instant he opened the door, Ron was up and out of the bed, stammering nervously, “I didn’t know where I was supposed to — Sorry, sorry, I’ll go…sleep on the, erm, floor, or something.”

Malfoy stepped into the room and Ron quickly sidestepped until he was about to slip out the door. Reaching out and grabbing Ron by the wrist, Malfoy shook his head, looking irritated. “You might as well stay.”

“Stay?” Ron squeaked.

“Where else are you going to sleep?”

“Floor. Bath. Kitchen sink?”

“Shut up. Calm down. I didn’t mean with me. I just meant… here.”

Ron’s eyes were narrowed suspiciously and he ignored the flutter of disappointment. “On the floor?”

Glancing from Ron to the bed and back again, Malfoy scowled. “I assure you, I can be a perfect gentleman.”

Ron spun towards the door. “Floor’s fine,” he yelped, trying to slip away. Malfoy grabbed him by the back of his pajamas, jerked him back, kicked the door shut, and rolled his eyes.

“Stop it! Besides.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny little bed, setting it on the floor and casting an engorgement charm. Moments later, a small cot was sitting near Ron’s old bed, already made and everything. Shrugging, he said, “When you were ill, I certainly wasn’t going to sleep on the sodding couch. Get on the bed. I won’t touch you. Just… You’re giving me a headache.”

“Ah,” Ron whispered, swallowing nervously. “S-sorry.”

Sitting carefully on the smaller bed Malfoy had just pulled from his pocket, Ron tried desperately not to watch as Malfoy stripped off his shirt and his trousers and slipped under the covers of the larger bed wearing only his boxers.

Ron whispered the charm to turn out the light and lay in tense silence for about ten minutes. He could hear Malfoy’s breathing well enough to tell that the other boy wasn’t asleep yet either, and there was a strange sort of tension vibrating in the air.

“Malfoy?” Ron called softly, when he couldn’t stand the silence anymore. He was trembling a little bit and quite startled at his own daring, but impressed all at the same time.

“Yeah?”

“Remember before, the very first time you ever kissed me?” His voice shook and cracked a bit.

“Mmm.”

“And…and then later, you said that….” He trailed off, biting his lip, and he heard Malfoy sit up on the larger bed. That just made him more nervous.

“I said what?”

“That…that just because you kissed me, doesn’t mean you’re attracted to me?” It was said in a breathless rush, and Ron flinched as soon as he was done.

There was a long silence from the other bed, and Ron was gradually letting out his pent up breath when Malfoy said, “Weasley?”

“Yes?”

“Remember when I told you that you think too much?”

“Oh. Yeah. That was just today.”

“Yeah. Well, I was right. Shut up and go to sleep.”

There was a short silence and, satisfied, Malfoy burrowed under the covers again. A few seconds later, Ron sat up, chewing his lip worriedly. “Malfoy?” he whispered.

“What?” Malfoy moaned.

“You know how you said that you wouldn’t… wouldn’t touch me?”

“Yes.”

“Was that a promise?”

“…Yes.”

“And do you always…keep your promises?”

“I try.”

There was another short pause, and then, very slowly and carefully, Ron said, “Would… would it be breaking your promise if I touched you first?” Oh god, oh god, he was going to be sick… he was going to faint or puke or hyperventilate or die before Malfoy ever got the chance to answer.

He didn’t, though Malfoy seemed to consider his question for the longest time, before finally saying solemnly, “By accident, or on purpose?”

Squeezing his eyes shut and blushing furiously because Malfoy was either the stupidest person he’d ever met or deliberately misunderstanding because this was all some stupid joke, Ron slumped back onto his bed and whispered weakly, “Never mind.”

“Just… go to sleep, Weasley,” Malfoy sighed, and Ron obediently closed his eyes, though it was more to prevent the sudden rush of tears than anything.

He rolled onto his side and pressed one hand to his mouth to stop from making a sound, though his breathing had turned shaky and it echoed loudly in the silent room.

Malfoy was quiet for a long moment and Ron figured he’d fallen asleep, so he sighed softly to himself and rolled over to face the other bed, blinking away the tears that still stung his eyes. His throat felt tight and he was shaking. It was quite mortifying, really. There was a reason he never let himself walk into situations where rejection was a potential outcome, after all.

His eyelids fluttered sleepily and he whimpered a little, burying his face in his pillow. He had only just fallen asleep when Malfoy growled softly, rolled out of bed, and fell to his knees beside the small cot.

“Weasley,” he snapped.

Blinking and disoriented, Ron sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Wha?” he asked.

“Just… just… Shut up.” He was scowling, Ron could tell even though it was dark because a second later, Malfoy had jerked him forward and kissed him, and Ron could feel the scowl pressed against his own sleepy frown. “Come on,” Malfoy said, taking Ron’s hand and tugging it until Ron had stumbled from his bed, across the room, and into Malfoy’s.

“Why?” Ron asked, still not comprehending.

Malfoy got in behind him, grumbling softly under his breath even as he slipped one arm around Ron’s waist, pulling him back against him. “Just… don’t move, don’t speak, nothing. No fidgeting either, just lay still. Sodding hell, don’t move till morning.” When he spoke, his breath tickled Ron’s ear, and Ron snickered sleepily.

It felt incredibly safe, Malfoy’s arms around him, and Ron relaxed against the other boy, his eyes slowly slipping shut. A few seconds later, after a weary sigh, Malfoy used the corner of the blanket to dry the sticky traces of Ron’s tears.

“Malfoy?” Ron whispered quietly.

“Mmm?”

“I’m not gay.” Even as he said it, Ron was snuggling back into Malfoy’s arms, and Malfoy smiled a little.

“I know, love,” he said, kissing the back of Ron’s neck. “Go to sleep.”

Smiling in a satisfied sort of way, Ron made an approving noise in the back of his throat and obeyed.