Unbecoming

Chapter Six

When the blackness and nausea receded enough for Ron to open his eyes and gingerly glance about, it was to find himself quite confused and lying on his back on the floor. He couldn’t immediately recall what on earth had possessed him to sleep on the floor this way, and the strange, muffled grunting from nearby quickly drew his attention. He propped himself up on his elbows and glanced over.

He blinked; Harry and Malfoy were mashed together, snarling, grunting, and apparently either trying to shag as quickly as humanly possible or choke each other to death.

With a moan, he flopped back and squeezed his eyes shut. There was a sudden silence from Malfoy and Harry, and then cautiously, “Ron? Are you alright?”

There was a thump and a muffled curse and then Malfoy snarled, “Get off me, damn it.” Then suddenly Malfoy was kneeling beside him. Ron opened his eyes and squinted up at him, frowning. Malfoy’s lower lip was swollen and cracked, his hair wild. A second later, Harry popped into his range of vision, looking just as battered. “Alright, Weasley?” Malfoy asked, incredibly gently. “I swear, I won’t let him touch you again.”

Ron blinked in confusion but before he could ask, Harry shoved Malfoy and snapped, “I told you, I didn’t do it!”

“Do what?” Ron asked, his voice rough.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Malfoy came flying down here after you passed out and he saw you there and started shouting about me attacking you or something. Then he attacked me.”

“If you didn’t hit him, why’d he pass out?” Malfoy said, sounding sulky. Ron shook his head a little, wondering if he was stuck in some morbid dream in which Malfoy and Harry had both somehow regressed to being eleven years old again.

“I don’t know!” Harry snapped.

“I… was whacked,” Ron admitted, somewhat sheepishly.

“…Whacked?” Malfoy repeated, a little slowly.

“Oh god,” Harry breathed. “The anti-cheating whacking charm.”

Ron flinched and Malfoy said, “What? What about it?”

“We hadn’t turned it off. Ron… Ron, you lied to me.”

Whimpering, Ron didn’t reply, squeezing his eyes shut. “Lied about what?” Malfoy asked.

“He said… He said that he wouldn’t let you touch him for all the world.”

With another strangled noise, rather like an animal in pain, Ron lurched to his feet and stammered, “I’ve got to go. I’m gonna be sick.” He took off out of the room, tripping on the stairs and practically crawling up, and falling to his knees in the bathroom, trying desperately not to vomit.

“Ron?” Harry called nervously from the hall, and Ron kicked the door shut. He hadn’t turned on the light and was instantly cast into darkness, but he didn’t care. Harry swore quietly and left him alone, and Ron waited until the dizzy feeling had subsided before falling weakly against the wall. Eventually, he got up and locked the door, crawling into the bathtub, still in his clothing and lying curled up at the bottom of it, eyes open and wide. The only sound was his panicky breathing.

It was a lot to process. Malfoy and Harry together, Harry knowing about him and Malfoy, Harry wanting him… Ron’s head was spinning and he was glad it was dark in the bathroom because he was sure the world must be spinning faster than normal as well, to cause this dizzy sensation, and he was glad he didn’t have to see it.

“Breathe,” he reminded himself, wishing forlornly that he’d brought something alcoholic with him.

“Alohamora.”

“Shit.”

The door swung open and Ron could see Harry’s silhouette shadowed by the hallway light. “Ron?”

“In the bath,” Ron said dully.

“Oh.” Harry came in, closing the door behind him, not turning on the light, and for a long while, there was silence. Then, softly, Harry asked, “Are you still in the bath?”

“Yes.”

“Are you wearing any clothes?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” A pause. “There isn’t any water in there, is there?”

“No.”

“Good then.”

Another long pause, and then Ron sighed. “Harry?”

“Did you and Malfoy…” They’d spoken at the same time and there was nervous laughter.

“What?” Ron asked, at the same time that Harry did.

“Did you guys sleep together?” Harry asked very softly.

Ron sat up, peering over the edge of the bath, though it was too dark to see anything. “No,” he replied, honestly.

“Oh. But you…”

“Sort of.”

“Oh.”

It was all incredibly awkward, and Ron buried his face in his arms, folded over the side of the bath. “Harry?” he asked, and it was very muffled. “You and Malfoy fucked, right?”

“Yes.” It was soft and almost gentle, but Ron still flinched.

“And… and… you don’t even like each other?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “It’s complicated.”

“Do you think it’s possible for someone to kiss as if they cared for you when they’re really not attracted to you at all?”

“Ron.”

“No, Harry, seriously. I… I mean, if Malfoy can kiss me and he can do whatever with you, and he can claim to me that it doesn’t mean he’s attracted to me, then that means that I could not be attracted to him, despite everything we did. Right?”

“Ron, you’re not being at all coherent, calm down, it’s alright, we can —”

He’d come closer, following the sound of Ron’s voice, and patted his shoulder awkwardly, trying to comfort him. Ron growled a little, pissed off at Malfoy and Harry and mostly himself, and reached up, twisting his fist in the back of Harry’s shirt and jerking him down, so their lips crashed together painfully. Harry yelped, startled, and Ron opened his mouth, kissing him furiously. With a helpless moan, Harry kissed him back, though without the angry heat.

It was Harry who pulled away first, panting. “Ron?” he whimpered.

“What?” Ron snarled.

“Don’t ever fucking do that to me again.”

Moaning in sudden disgust, Ron flinched away and buried his face in his arms again, every heavy breath sounding like a rough sob in his throat. “Oh god, Harry, I’m such an idiot, I don’t know what I’m doing,” he wailed. “It was so much easier when all that mattered was drinking so much alcohol that I couldn’t remember kissing you and couldn’t think these stupid thoughts and then Malfoy had to move into my sodding house and ruin everything and it’s like I can’t even think anymore.”

Harry took a deep breath and his hand came down on top of Ron’s head, whether aiming for his shoulder or hand or something, Ron didn’t know. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Fat lot of good that does me,” Ron grumbled.

Harry laughed a bit, stroking Ron’s hair, which was, Ron decided, incredibly weird.

After a short pause, Ron sighed and said, “He is really…hot though, isn’t he?” It was said hesitantly, experimentally. He added quickly, “Malfoy, I mean.”

Harry snickered. “Well, yeah. I shagged him, didn’t I? I do have rather good taste, I like to think.” His fingers ran through Ron’s hair and it was thoroughly the weirdest thing Ron had ever experienced. It was Harry. With his fingers in Ron’s hair.

“Weird,” he whispered.

Harry let his hand drop, and Ron had a vague stirring of guilt. “Sorry,” Harry said quietly, pulling away. Ron wished he could take it back, say he was sorry, reach out and touch Harry, but he couldn’t. Maybe Malfoy could kiss thousands of people and not be attracted to any of them, but Ron couldn’t and he wasn’t. Maybe he used to be attracted to Harry, but he had the presence of mind now to admit that if he ever had been, it was an attraction borne of familiarity. Harry seemed a safe enough person to be infatuated with.

There was a rustling noise as Harry got to his feet, and a squeedging noise as Ron slid a little in the bath. “Ron… Just, for the record? Draco’s never willingly engaged in a fistfight in which both his hair and the alignment of his face were in jeopardy for anyone he wasn’t attracted to.”

Another squeedging noise as Ron shrunk away a bit, ducking his head because he had suddenly started blushing and didn’t want Harry to see, even though it was pitch black in the bathroom. “Oh,” he said faintly, and Harry snorted affectionately before letting himself out of the bathroom.

It didn’t take that long for Ron to gather his courage and leave the bathroom. The house was strangely silent, Ginny’s bedroom door wide open. She wasn’t in there and he wondered vaguely where she’d gone, but made his way down the hall to Draco’s room, which was partially ajar.

Draco was sitting on the bed, polishing his wand. Ron watched him for a long moment before clearing his throat.

He’d healed his split lip and tidied his hair, but Draco’s eyes still bore traces of the incident downstairs. They were dark with a deadly rage. “Oh, Weasley,” he sneered. “Finished with Potter already?”

“Draco,” Ron said cautiously.

Draco’s eyes narrowed warily. “Ron?” he mocked.

“I… Harry told me that you guys… Told me how you’d screwed up on that assignment.”

Draco tilted his head, studying Ron in silence. Finally, he said “Was that before or after you lied and got whacked?”

“Just before.”

“Oh.”

“Does that make a difference?”

“Sorta depends. On if you only said that because of the fact that Potter’d just told you that.”

Ron shrugged, edging into the room and closing the door behind him. “I’m not sure. I suppose I was a little angry.”

Draco smiled. “Jealous, you mean?”

Snorting, Ron said, “And you weren’t jealous that Harry and I were in the bathroom together so long?”

Instantly, Draco’s eyes were shuttered. “Get out. Get out of my fucking room, Weasley.”

Ron was stung, hurt. “Draco —”

“Don’t call me that.”

“But I —”

“Get out! Go back to Saint Fucking Potter if that’s what you want, just get out, I don’t want—I never wanted…just… God, if you don’t get out of here Right Now, I swear, I’ll —”

Ron took a deep breath and wished he were anywhere but here and knew at the same time that there was no where he’d rather be. He was trembling badly but decided to ignore that for the moment, reaching forward and grabbing Draco by the neck of his shirt and pulling him forward, sliding out of the way and slamming Draco against the door. Draco blinked and Ron smiled rather nervously, and when Draco opened his mouth to speak, Ron slammed his mouth over top, cutting off any words.

It was searing and furious and hot and Ron sincerely hoped Draco didn’t mind.

“You’ll what?” Ron gulped, pulling away.

“What?” Draco asked, still looking rather stunned.

“You were threatening me,” Ron prompted. “If I didn’t get out of your room, you were going to —”

“Shut up,” Draco growled, and then he was kissing Ron, that same searing heat, and somehow Ron forgot whatever it was he’d been in the middle of saying. It didn’t matter, really, because they stumbled away from the door and Draco was ripping at his clothing and somehow Draco’s shirt was undone to the waist.

Breathing heavily, Ron panted as Draco leaned down to bite his shoulder. “Draco?” he asked.

“Hmm?” Draco replied, even as they tumbled onto the bed, tangled in each other and unable to tell who was on top.

“I kissed Harry in the bathroom.”

Draco was somehow on top now, snarling and grinding down with his hips. “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” he chanted.

Arching against him and biting off a rather startled moan, Ron, breathing heavily, said, “No, I mean… I… didn’t… Fuck, Draco, stop it for one fucking second, I’m trying to say something here!”

Draco propped himself up on his elbows and glared down at Ron, who looked properly sheepish after his outburst. “What?” Draco snapped.

“I… Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Leave me there. With Harry, after the card game. You just left.”

Draco shrugged. “You wanted him.”

“Where the hell did you get that idea?”

“That’s what all this is about! You wanted him, he turned you down, you hid here and moped for months, and now the object of your affections has come crawling back, why the fuck shouldn’t I have left you alone with him?” Draco looked sulky. “Besides, you obviously enjoyed it.”

“Obviously?” Ron snorted. “So much that I came running to you right after?”

Draco scowled. “Sarcasm isn’t meant to be used like that.”

“Like what? Against you?”

“No… well, yes. Shut up!” He was breathing heavily and obviously trying to hide how distressed he was. He started to climb off of Ron and, panicking, Ron rolled quickly, pinning Draco beneath him.

“Don’t… don’t go,” Ron stammered.

Draco frowned. “Right, Weasley, you’re going to have to back up a bit and tell me just what the hell is wrong with you. You and Potter, obviously, and —”

“You and Harry, too.”

“That was nothing!” Draco shouted, losing his temper. “It was so bloody, fucking nothing, alright?”

“Then this is something.” His voice was very soft.

Draco slowly shook his head. “No,” he said.

Ron smiled sadly and sat up, nodding. “Right. It’s not. I forgot. Just because you kissed me doesn’t mean you’re attracted to me.” He watched as Draco sat up, his eyes dark and shuttered. “You know, I’m not the only one with issues here, Malfoy.”

“What?” Draco didn’t meet his eyes.

“You heard me. I mean, sure, I’m terrified of all of this and practically anything, but… but I don’t shag anything that stands still long enough and then claim none of it matters.”

“You’ve stood still long enough and I’ve never shagged you,” Draco spat.

Ron flinched. He made an incoherent sort of hiccupping sound and hurriedly leapt off the bed. “But then, why would you?” he whimpered, sounding stung. He stumbled backwards towards the door, and it took an extreme force of will power to tear his eyes away from Draco.

He was still fumbling with the doorknob when Draco called his name, his voice cracking a little. Ron froze and then slowly turned back. “Ron,” Draco said again, sounding rather lost. “Don’t— I didn’t mean… I mean… Stay. Don’t… Don’t go.”

Ron swallowed hard and nodded slowly but didn’t come any closer and Draco closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“It’s sort of funny,” Ron said after the silence grew so tense that he couldn’t stand it.

“What is?” Draco asked wearily.

“That I was the one terrified to turn this into something physical and you’re the one terrified to turn it into something emotional.”

Draco opened his eyes and his lip curled in a faint sneer, but he didn’t say anything. Sighing, Ron finally gave in and sat beside him on the bed, though they didn’t touch. He said, “I kissed Harry that time because I was drunk and it seemed safe, somehow. And maybe I liked him, I don’t know. But that was before…” He trailed off, clearing his throat.

“Before?”

“Well, yeah. Before all of this with you.”

“Weasley, you’ve got the wrong idea.” Draco sounded exhausted. “This isn’t like that.”

“Like what?”

“It isn’t a relationship, it isn’t a friendship, it’s nothing like that. I just… felt bad. About shouting at you that night, when you went out to prove you weren’t scared of things like this.”

“You felt guilty.” Ron’s voice was toneless, empty. “It was because you felt guilty. Pity.”

“Weasley. Don’t do this. It wasn’t like that either. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

“You’re lying. You’re lying!” The first was said softly, and the second was loud and harsh. Ron got up off the bed, furious. “You’re even more fucking messed up than I am. You didn’t want me but you’d fuck me out of guilt? That’s disgusting!”

“Ron…” Draco reached out to touch him and Ron flinched away.

“Don’t… just don’t. How could I have been so fucking stupid? How could Draco Malfoy, the fucking king of the fucking world ever actually want to be with me as more than some fucking cheap diversion while waiting for better things to come along? You never wanted me, were never attracted to me, never needed me, could never fucking love me, and I was a fucking idiot for thinking any different.”

He’d worked himself into a fury, breathing so heavily that he was nearly hyperventilating, and was completely unprepared when Draco was suddenly standing before him, hands bracingly on Ron’s shoulders. “Listen, okay?” Draco said, very gently. “Just because I don’t love you, it doesn’t mean that I was never attracted to you. And just because I don’t need you, it doesn’t mean I never wanted you.”

“And that’s supposed to make this better?” Ron said in a voice that cracked.

Draco looked honestly confused. “This was never about that, Ron.”

“Oh, of course not, it was about you feeling guilty.”

“Ron.”

“Don’t fucking bother. Get out of my room.” His eyes flashed and he crossed his arms over his chest and dared Draco to try claiming that it was no longer his.

Draco didn’t. He leaned forward and brushed his lips over Ron’s very lightly before stepping back and saying quietly, “It’s not your fault that I could never love you.”

“Whose is it then?” Ron spat sarcastically.

Draco shrugged. “Mine. I don’t know how.”

“Of course you don’t,” Ron hissed. “It’s got nothing to do with feeling for you, it’s all about getting off with as many people as you can. It’s disgusting. Get out.”

“Ron,” Draco said in a low tone, heavy with warning. “You’re trying my patience here.”

“Fine.” He shoved Draco out of the way and threw the door open, growling as he stepped into the hall.

“Fine,” Draco snarled. “If you want to throw a fit, Weasley, be my fucking guest. Come back when you’ve grown up a bit and we can have an intelligent conversation.”

Ron froze and turned around, incredulous, but before he could speak, Draco had slammed the door in his face. “That’s it,” he hissed. “That’s fucking it, I’m out of here.”

Ginny had taken refuge in her room when the shouting started and Ron didn’t care. He’d abandon his house to the whole lot of them. He’d be happy if he never had to see them, ever fucking again.

He was almost at the door when Harry grabbed his arm. Reacting on instinct, Ron whirled around and shoved him.

“Hey!” Harry snapped. “Calm down! It’s just me.”

Ron stared at him for a long moment, the fury slowly cooling to a lost sort of indignation. “I hate him,” he said, his voice cracking a bit.

“Draco?”

“I fucking hate him.” Now, he just sounded hurt and very, very young.

“Oh, fuck, Ron,” Harry said with a wince, which shouldn’t have made Ron feel any better but it did.

“I really do hate him,” he lied, and then he sobbed once.

“Aww, fuck,” Harry sighed, before pulling Ron into an awkward sort of hug that wasn’t really a hug. More like Harry was holding Ron up because Ron’s legs had given out. Ron wasn’t crying, but he was making hurt, whimpering sounds, and Harry led him into the main room and nudged him until he was sitting on the couch. “Just breathe, Ron, everything’s fine.”

“So many people think I need reminders to fucking breathe,” Ron snarled, leaning back and closing his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“What happened?”

“Draco Malfoy happened, that’s what. Everything was fine before he showed up. He’s… he’s…” he was getting choked up again and hyperventilating and Harry sighed.

“Let me get you a drink.”

He came back a moment later with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey, and handed a glass to Ron, who took it gratefully.

***

A few hours later, Ron was feeling soft, fuzzy around the edges, and very relaxed. “Alcohol makes things better,” he said to Harry, who wasn’t quite so drunk as he was.

Harry smiled and rolled his eyes a little. “You’ve had enough, Ron,” he said, prying the bottle from Ron’s hand and setting it aside. Ron just smiled agreeably.

“Draco Malfoy’s an asshole,” he chirped.

“Mmhmm,” Harry agreed, leaning back against the couch beside Ron and closing his eyes sleepily. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Ron didn’t reply. It was probably a side effect of the alcohol, but the lighting seemed dimmer, softer, and made Harry look… different. Ron’s eyes narrowed a bit as he studied the other boy’s face, and Harry opened his eyes and caught him looking. He was startled.

“What?” he asked.

“You look —” Ron began, but he didn’t finish. It seemed far easier and far more enjoyable to let himself fall forward, crashing into Harry and awkwardly trying to ensure his mouth landed at least near Harry’s. It worked, and with a muffled grunt from Harry, they were suddenly kissing, a sloppy, messy kiss that ended only when Harry managed to get a hold of Ron’s shoulders and pushed him away.

“Ron,” he panted, still looking startled.

“Don’t you want me?” Ron whimpered, eyes wide and shining.

“Aw, fuck,” Harry mumbled, and then he kissed Ron, harder and a great deal more carefully than Ron had kissed him.

“S’good,” Ron sighed into the kiss, melting against Harry and closing his eyes, content now because if Malfoy didn’t want him, at least someone did. Even if only Harry.

What had seemed strange in the bathroom made perfect sense now, with the softness of the alcohol and the strange lighting and the buzzing in Ron’s ears. What did it matter, in the grand scheme of things? Someone wanted him and Ron wanted someone and if that someone wasn’t Draco Malfoy because Draco Malfoy didn’t want him… what did it matter, who did? He was empty and lonely and hurting and if someone wanted to make that go away, who was he to say no?

“Harry?” he whispered, his eyes stinging with sudden tears.

“Mmm?” Harry breathed, because he was kissing Ron’s neck and didn’t seem to be paying attention.

“Draco’s an asshole.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

He let Harry nudge him then, until he was on his back, and Harry crouching over him, muttering things under his breath and taking Ron’s shirt off. His hot tongue was licking strange patterns on Ron’s chest, which was rather nice, and Ron closed his eyes, shifting and arching a bit to make it easier.

It made sense. It was easy. It was something, which was more than Draco was willing to give him.

But somehow, it wasn’t the same.

“It could be,” Ron hissed, and Harry sat up, looking confused.

“What?”

Growling, Ron tangled his fist in Harry’s shirt and tugged him down on top of him hard, so that their lips slammed together. Kissing him furiously, a small voice in Ron’s mind was whispering that he was probably bruising Harry’s mouth, but he didn’t care. He wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist to pull him closer, and Harry moaned into his mouth, startled and sounding a little panicky.

“Ron, Ron, wait,” he whispered, but Ron didn’t want to wait.

He snarled and glared up at Harry. “You want me,” he said. It sounded like an accusation.

“Ron…”

“You said you did!”

“I do!”

“Prove it.”

He kissed him again, just as hot and searing, and Harry moaned in what must have been surrender as he kissed him back, his hands sliding over Ron’s chest and fumbling with the front of his trousers.

“Holy fucking shit, what the fuck are you doing?”

It took a moment to process the words, Ron had been so intent on the way Harry was kissing him that everything else seemed to fade into the background. Then, Harry yelped and leapt off the couch and Ron blinked slowly at Draco, who was standing in the doorway, looking shocked and… and almost hurt.

“You’re an asshole,” Ron told him woefully.

Draco was looking very much like a cat with its guard up, bristling and hissing and so indignant that he couldn’t think up a single thing to say. For his part, Harry was stuttering all sorts of flat excuses and looking quite sheepish. Ron rolled off the couch, only staggering a little bit as he got to his feet. Draco saw the stagger, and his eyes suddenly fell on the nearly empty whiskey bottle.

“You…you got him drunk.” He looked furious now, and the full force of that fury was directed at Harry. “You fucking got him drunk!” he shouted. Ron winced at the volume.

“You said we had to make sure he didn’t notice when we —” Harry began.

“Shut the fuck up, right fucking now, I can’t believe…” Draco trailed off, shaking his head in absolute disgust.

“It wasn’t… I was just… I thought if he drank enough, he’d be… You know… then we wouldn’t have to use the potion… and… I never meant for this to happen, I —” Had Ron been sober, he would have wondered what the hell Harry was talking about.

As it was, he grimaced. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” he moaned.

“Aww, fuck,” Draco spat. “Do try to restrain yourself, Weasley. I’ll begin to think it’s got something to do with me, if you vomit twice in my presence.”

Harry was beside him suddenly, taking his arm. “Shit, Ron, I’m sorry, I’ll take care of it —”

“He got himself this way, he can take care of himself,” Draco scoffed.

Ron’s eyes narrowed. “I hate you,” he hissed. “I hate you, I hate you, I fucking hate you!” Draco looked bitterly amused at his outburst but Ron didn’t care, because he was launching himself at Draco, knocking into him and sending both of them tumbling to the floor. Ron kept chanting, every breath nearly a broken sob, as he pounded his fists into Draco’s chest and stomach. “Hate you,” he moaned, hitting him again, gasping for breath. “Fucking hate you… don’t… don’t, please, please, don’t…”

Draco wasn’t amused any longer. For a long moment, he stared up at Ron in absolute shock, and then, when tears started running furiously down Ron’s face as he pounded him, begging him not to do something that Draco didn’t even know he had done, Draco flinched. “Shh,” he said, but Ron was too hysterical to hear. “Ron, Ron, just… calm down, stop it… Shh. Please.”

It was that last word that made Ron freeze, stinging eyes flying to Draco’s and holding for a long moment. Then Ron smoothed Draco’s shirt over his chest almost gently, as if trying to smooth over any damage he had caused. “Please don’t,” he whispered again, voice trembling.

“I don’t know what I’ve done,” Draco said softly, voice sounding sharp, about to break.

“I don’t know what I’m doing and you made it all make sense and just when I thought everything made sense, you took it all away,” Ron whimpered, and he lay his head down on Draco’s shoulder, twisting his hand in the other boy’s shirt, and closing his eyes wearily.

“Guys?” Harry called quietly, and no one cared. “I’m gonna go find Ginny…” He left, and again, no one noticed.

Draco carefully, hesitantly, brought his hands up to Ron’s shaking back. “Okay,” he said soothingly. “It’s okay.”

Ron, feeling much more sober now, lifted his head, drying his tears on the back of his wrist. He swallowed heavily and said, “I don’t think I could bear it if you did.”

“I won’t,” Draco swore. “I won’t.”

Ron searched his eyes for a long moment and then nodded slowly. He wasn’t feeling half as drunk now, and he’d run out of things to say. His eyelashes were still heavy with tears, and his lips trembling. Draco was pinned beneath him, hands on Ron’s back, and it was so, so easy to lean down and kiss him, very, very gently, and then Ron pulled away, voice shaking. “Swear you won’t take this away,” he said.

Licking his lips and looking terrified, Draco whispered, “I swear. Just… just don’t do that anymore. I shouldn’t… it’s not… we weren’t…”

He never got any further, because Ron kissed him again, swallowing the words because he didn’t want to hear them. If Draco couldn’t love him then he didn’t care whatever he had to say, as long as Draco promised not to take away the only thing that was making sense to Ron, and that this was alright. He kissed with an angry sort of determination, arms braced on Draco’s chest, lifting himself up a bit so there was space between them and they barely touched, except for the bruising and punishing kiss.

He was forcing his tongue into Draco’s mouth, roughly tracing his lips and teeth, biting and breathing so heavily that he felt like something was spilling out of his mouth and into Draco’s, and maybe it was. His anger or fear or hurt or something more, he was too incoherent to tell. But Draco didn’t mind. He moaned and let his head fall back and kissed with just as much desperation and seemed to need this as much as Ron needed to give it.

The alcohol, though most of its effects had softened now, created a pulsing, buzzing sort of feeling in Ron’s veins, or maybe that was Draco, beneath him and panting almost as wildly as Ron himself was. Ron tore his mouth away and, breathing so heavily that his arms gave out and he fell on top of Draco, he slid lower, licking and biting and sucking the hollow of Draco’s throat, and somehow, without his conscious thought, his hips were grinding down into the heat of Draco’s. Draco whimpered, startled, eyes flying wide.

“Weasley… Ron. What…” he stammered, obviously not used to being the one being touched.

“Shut up,” Ron whispered. “Just, please, Draco, don’t…”

Draco obeyed, which was just one of many miracles that night.

Instead of saying another word, he arched up against Ron and Ron tore his lips away from Draco’s throat and gasped. He couldn’t catch his breath and his vision was blurring and there was something deliciously sensual about the heavy way Draco’s eyes were looking up at him. He kissed Draco again, not angrily this time, but slowly, driving his hips down and smiling in satisfaction at every breathless sound Draco made.

“Wait…” Draco stammered, a moment later as Ron started fumbling with his trousers. Ron growled and ignored him and Draco pushed at his chest. “No, no, wait,” he said again. Relenting, Ron met his eyes impatiently. “We can’t,” Draco said.

“You want me,” Ron breathed against his lips. “I can feel it.” His hand slipped inside Draco’s trousers, and Draco’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Can’t,” he panted. “Can’t… if they come in… we’re on the floor…”

Ron relaxed a little, and licked Draco’s throat almost affectionately. “Oh,” he said. “Somewhere else then?” And Draco nodded quickly.

Getting to his feet, Ron found himself disoriented, a different sort of fuzziness than from alcohol, and Draco had to catch him, steady him. They kissed, mouths crashing together, and Draco whispered, “Upstairs.”

They went up the stairs and into the bedroom, and Draco kicked the door shut. Before Ron had time to catch his breath, he was falling backwards and landing on his back on the bed and Draco was on top of him. The only sound was their ragged breathing as Draco kissed him hard, tearing his shirt with the force of his desperation, buttons flying and hands smoothing quickly over exposed skin, without even breaking the kiss.

It was hardly graceful and Ron was surprised; he’d assumed everything about Draco would be graceful, but this was wild and fast and some sort of promise and punishment all in one, and he’d forgotten who was being punished.

Draco pulled away to tear Ron’s shirt the rest of the way off and toss it aside, and Ron sat up, leaning against the headboard and watching as Draco tore his own up over his head and dropped it to the floor. There was a look in Draco’s eyes that Ron had never seen before, a dark and unfocused, wild look, and he felt a vague sense of accomplishment for breaking down Draco’s barriers of distance and reducing him to this. He didn’t mind that somewhere between the living room and the bedroom, Draco had taken what had started as Ron’s and made it his own, because Draco was kneeling there, between Ron’s legs, and kissing him hungrily, and sliding down, over his neck and collarbone and lower, to his chest. Ron had only to melt into him, lean his head back, close his eyes, and breathe, and with every breath, his skin got tighter, his blood burned hotter.

“God,” he moaned, as Draco kissed him hard, his hands on Ron’s bare stomach.

“You’re not afraid?” Draco asked, breathlessly, as he licked the outer shell of Ron’s ear.

Ron shook his head slowly and Draco breathed, “Oh thank god,” before kissing him again and kicking his own trousers off and tugging Ron’s ankles until he was flat on his back and his trousers were off and there was nothing between them. Draco came down on top of Ron, and Ron’s eyes flew wide at the sudden heat of it. He shivered and his eyelids fluttered shut and he was completely lost in the feel of Draco’s body pressed to his.

Grazing Ron’s stomach with his teeth, Draco moaned a little against his skin, sending shivers through him, distracting him, as he slid lower. And then Ron was in Draco’s mouth and Draco’s tongue was dancing over his hot skin, sucking and licking and sliding wetly and Ron was pushing up into his mouth, gasping and tangling his hands in the sheets. Holding his hips firmly, enough to leave fingerprint bruises, Draco took him as far as he could into his mouth without gagging, and Ron let out a low, frustrated breath as Draco pulled away, falling on top of him and kissing him wildly.

He could taste himself on Draco’s tongue.

Ron was whimpering, writhing, trying to crawl out of his skin and into Draco’s, and Draco laughed softly and seemed to understand.

“Just keep breathing,” he whispered, against Ron’s sweaty temple, and he was gone for a moment and Ron didn’t understand why. Then Draco was there again, kissing his lips and his ears and his eyelids, and Ron whimpered and shifted impatiently underneath him.

He wondered if he should be scared, but couldn't seem to find the strength for that. This was nothing like anything else he had ever experienced, certainly not at all like that night with that other boy, with the awkward fumbling and bumping, which, he decided feverishly, meant that the end result would probably be different as well. Besides, he trusted... trusted that Draco wouldn't hurt him...

And so he closed his eyes and tried to stop shaking, stop worrying, and keep breathing, while Draco kissed him and whispered coaxing encouragements against his temple.

Draco kissed him on the mouth again, slowly and deeply and carefully, so carefully that Ron almost didn't notice what Draco was doing. He tensed, however, because things were going a bit too far and Draco was touching him in a different sort of way and he was quite sure he wasn't ready for that. Draco kissed him again and whispered, “Shh, relax, everything’s alright,” and the voice made him shiver and melt all at once.

Letting out a shaky breath and forcing himself to relax, Ron leaned forward and licked Draco’s lips .

“Alright?” Draco whispered, and he was shaking just as badly.

“More,” Ron nearly growled.

“Mmm.” He kissed Ron’s throat, sucking lightly and leaving a mark and the pressure was stronger and so was the urge to panic, but Ron kept focusing on Draco’s breath, feathering against his throat, and the careful strokes of his tongue over the line of Ron’s pulse.

It was a strange mixture of pleasure that made him want to shatter, and pain that made him want to cry, and Ron held his breath and closed his eyes and focused on his heartbeat and Draco’s tongue and the strange feeling of falling apart and the pain of having all his pieces jammed back together again.

“Breathe,” Draco said again, and Ron opened his eyes and stared, because Draco was leaning over him and his eyes had never been so dark and his smile never so strained. There was something more than want in his eyes, something that nearly bordered on need, and Ron reached up and touched his face, pushing sweaty strands of hair out of Draco’s eyes.

“You want me?” Ron asked, shivering.

Whimpering, Draco nodded wildly, and Ron felt the coldness inside he’d been hiding behind melt a bit. If it had been pity before, it certainly wasn’t now.

“I want—” Ron whispered, and he didn’t have to finish it, because Draco let out a long breath that brushed Ron’s throat, and then his hands slipped to Ron’s hips and he was pushing inside of him.

Ron panicked and bucked against him, and Draco kissed his temple again and again, whispering between each kiss, “I need… I want… please…”

It was the last that was more calming than anything, that one word that he had once never thought to hear from Draco’s lips, and never in such a husky, desperate voice. So Ron relaxed as best he could and Draco stroked his face and his arms and his chest as he moved inside him, stretching and stinging and Ron wondered wildly if he was being torn in half.

He strangled a whimper by biting Draco’s shoulder, and Draco froze, and then stroked his back carefully, and then his hair. “Shh,” he whispered. “Ron, are you…”

Ron just kept breathing, and Draco kept stroking his hair and holding him, until the pain faded just a little, and Ron moved experimentally against him.

Draco’s entire body tensed and he let out a trembling breath. “Is it alright?” he asked, and Ron’s eyelids fluttered, feeling heavy.

“Please,” he whimpered, and Draco’s eyes searched his carefully and then he pressed a small kiss to each of Ron’s eyelids and closed his own eyes.

“Yes,” Draco breathed, answering Ron’s weak plea.

It was hard, after that, to be afraid, or to be anything at all, really, because with each passing second, Draco was touching and shaping him, changing him into something else and Ron wasn't sure he was ready for but would not have stopped for all the world. So he lay beneath Draco and tried not to fall apart, because he felt that would be most unbecoming... Draco seemed to want it, however, and Ron moaned in distress, because Draco seemed most intent on making Ron fall apart in his arms... So he kept moving and kissing, stroking, touching, whispering, while Ron's heartbeat came faster and faster and his breathing became light, harsh gasps and he wasn't capable of anything except holding on and whimpering, and then everything was breaking, shattering, and raining down all around him and Draco was still whispering, holding him, and trembling.

Ron’s eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily through his nose, his body trembling, holding tightly to Draco’s forearms. Draco’s mouth was pressed to Ron’s throat, his arms on the pillow on either side of Ron’s head, still inside him, and everything around them seemed frozen and flat, if only when compared to the vivid heat still lazily spiraling deep inside the both.

Finally, he let out a low breath and opened his eyes, staring up at the roof. His hands of their own accord let go of Draco and started running through his hair, damp and stringy with sweat. His body ached and stung and his heartbeat was slowly, very slowly, returning to normal, but there was a cloud in his mind that made thinking or speaking or anything other than shuddering impossible.

He blinked slowly and Draco’s mouth moved against his throat as the other boy swallowed, and lifted his head. His face was flushed, his eyes dark and glazed, and he smiled vaguely down at Ron and kissed him on the mouth, just briefly, before he was pulling away. Whimpering in protest at the sudden cold, Ron was only slightly mollified when Draco only moved so that he was beside Ron and not on top of him.

They were both still panting, and Ron closed his eyes and slid closer to Draco, resting his head on the other boy’s arm and placing a small kiss on his collar bone. “Draco?” he said, sighing sweetly.

“Mmm?” Draco replied, stroking his hair.

“I don’t… I don’t really hate you.”

The hand in his hair slowed, and then kept stroking. “Shh. Just go to sleep, Weasley.”

Ron smiled a little, sleepily, and the last thing he was aware of before he drifted off to sleep, was Draco sighing and resting his chin on the top of Ron’s head.

***

It wasn’t morning. It wasn’t morning and Ron’s body ached and stung and it was cold and something was wrong and he refused to wake up, because he’d been having the warmest dream he’d ever remembered, and Draco… Draco… Oh god, Draco. His eyes flew open and Draco wasn’t there.

“Draco —” he cried, sitting up so fast that blood rushed from his head and he got dizzy. Draco was there, across the room, and he hurried to the side of the bed.

“Hush,” he said, stroking Ron’s hair. “Go back to sleep, Weasley.”

“Draco, what…” Ron mumbled, squinting sleepily and trying figure out what was going on.

“Shh. Just…” Draco fumbled for something on the bedside table and then he was holding a glass to Ron’s lips. “Drink this.”

“I… don’t drink anymore…” Ron frowned, shaking his head and spilling some of the liquid down his naked chest.

“Just drink it, love,” Draco murmured, stroking his hair again. “For me.”

Ron’s eyes met his, still sleepy and dark and confused, but he drank, draining the glass and grimacing. “Okay,” he said.

Draco smiled. “Good boy,” he said, kissing Ron’s lips lightly. “Now go back to sleep.”

“But what’s going on? Are you… I don’t want to…to sleep, I…” It was getting hard to form complete sentences, and Ron’s mind was getting fuzzier and fuzzier, the strange taste of the liquid burning in his throat; he panicked. “Draco, something’s… something’s wrong,” he whimpered, reaching forward and trying to grab onto something, anything, but everything was spinning.

Draco held both of his hands. “Hush, it’s fine,” he whispered. “Everything’s fine, I swear it.”

And Ron stared at him for a long moment and then, with a faint moan, he turned his head to the side and his eyes grew heavy and slid shut.

***

“Ron? Ron, please, wake up.”

He didn’t want to.

“C’mon, please, please, just… open your eyes. Please?” This time, the voice was accompanied by shaking, and Ron moaned, his eyes fluttering a bit.

“Ginny?” he asked, voice thick, rough.

“Oh, Ron,” she whimpered, and he finally opened his eyes. Her face was pale, eyes red and teary, and he frowned.

“Thirsty,” he whispered, wondering why his throat was so raw.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Draco said to have water ready…”

“Draco?” he struggled to sit up. “Where… where is he?”

“Shh. Drink this.”

He was still trying to sit up when she tilted the glass at his lips and he started to choke, his eyes stinging and watering. Finally managing to swallow some of the cool water, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “What happened? Last night, I remember… I…” He trailed off, heat slowly rising to his cheeks.

Ginny stroked his arm. “It wasn’t last night,” she told him softly. “It’s Tuesday. You’ve been sleeping for three days.”

Ron opened his eyes and frowned. “I haven’t. Where’s Draco?”

“He gave you a potion,” she continued, voice cracking. “To make you sleep. I wanted to tell you, Ron, I swear, but they wouldn’t let me. Draco and Harry didn’t want you to know.”

“Tell me what?”

“It was the diary. Tom Riddle’s diary. Back in the Chamber of Secrets, Tom bound me to it and him as well, so that if he was destroyed, the diary could be used to resurrect him.”

Ron shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“We went after it that night, the night that Draco gave you the potion. To Malfoy Manor. Draco figured that if we got the diary and destroyed it, then Voldemort’s last chance to rise again would be…be destroyed and everything would be better.” Ginny sucked in a ragged breath.

“We? You three? And no one told me?” Ron whispered.

“I wanted to, but Draco didn’t want you involved,” she said in a strangled tone.

“Why? Why the fuck not? If you were involved, why couldn’t I be?” He was shouting, eyes welling up with tears.

Ginny started crying softly. “They were working together to get the diary back,” she told him. “Draco had figured out about the diary and then after you were stabbed, he called Harry here to protect me while he went and found out where the diary was. At Malfoy Manor. He also found out about the girl who had stabbed you, and I think he killed her. And then he and Harry made the plan to infiltrate the manor, and they used me to distract William and the Death Eaters while they searched for it. I… pretended I’d gone back to him, that I was sorry. It was dangerous. They didn’t want you to know that they were using me, they didn’t want you to try to stop them.”

Ron was breathing heavily, trying to understand it. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling weak. “Where’s Draco now? And Harry?”

She stroked his face. “We got the diary and Harry took it to the Ministry. Draco… Ron, there’s something you don’t know. Another reason why he was here. It wasn’t just to protect me, it was for his own protection. Low profile, and all that. He was hiding from his father, because his father has been hunting him since he betrayed them and helped Harry kill Voldemort.”

“You didn’t answer. Where’s Draco now?”

She let her hand fall away from his face. “He’s gone, Ron. For his own protection. Harry’s sorting out some details at the Ministry, then they’re moving me for my own protection, just in case. Someplace to hide until all this blows over.”

He grabbed her hand and squeezed, just a little too hard. “Draco. Where is he?”

“I don’t know and neither does Harry. He’s hiding, Ron. He left as soon as we got back from the manor, took all his things.”

Ron flinched, even as he wondered why he cared. In a matter of hours, things were going to go back to normal. He was going to have his house to himself again, his life was going back to the way it had been, before Draco and Ginny had come and turned everything upside down. Even so, he wanted to curl up under his blanket and cry.

“He said…” she bit her lip. “He told me that the potion would make you really thirsty and that you’d sleep for a few days, told me to watch over you…” she swallowed and smiled shakily. “And that before I let Harry take me somewhere safe, I was supposed to find all the alcohol you’ve got stashed around here and dump it and make you swear on our mother’s life that you’ll never drink again.”

Ron hardly heard a word she’d said. He felt numb and empty. He should be furious, should be screaming that he hated Draco Malfoy to anyone who would listen, for giving him that potion, for everything that had happened the night before Draco had left, for thinking that him leaving would be enough to drive Ron back to drinking… but all he wanted to do was cry.

He let out a shaky breath. “I don’t care,” he whispered.

“And he kissed you good-bye.”

He flinched. “Don’t, Ginny.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t lie to me. I don’t care what he did or where he’s gone.”

“He did. Kiss you good-bye, I mean. We got back just before dawn and Harry went straightaway to the Ministry and Draco told me he was leaving and he came in here and told me about the potion and the water and everything, then he looked at you and said something I didn’t hear to you, but you were sleeping. Then he kissed you and left without another word.”

She fell silent, waiting for some sort of response, and Ron just closed his eyes and repeated over and over to himself that he didn’t care. “I’m tired,” he told her finally.

“I’ll leave then, and let you sleep.”

“Good.”

She walked to the door and then, over her shoulder, said, “I’m sorry, Ron, I wanted to tell you before.”

He didn’t reply and, with a sigh, she left.

***

Ginny left the next day, and Harry couldn’t meet Ron’s eyes when he came to take her away. She hugged Ron and cried a little and promised to write as soon as it was safe, and then, when he couldn’t think of anything to say except “Okay,” she left quietly.

“I’ll stop by in a few days,” Harry told him, shifting uncomfortably. “To see how you are and everything.”

“Mmm.” Ron didn’t bother looking at him. “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright.”

There was silence, and then Ron cleared his throat. “Do you… do you know where he is?”

“Ron.”

“Shut up, Harry,” he snarled. “I just wanted to know if you knew where he is.”

“I don’t.”

Ron nodded. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care.”

He sighed. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll be fine.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something and then, shaking his head, just turned and walked away.

After Ginny and Harry had gone, Ron stood in the middle of his empty and silent living room for a long moment, staring blankly at the window. Finally, shaking his head a bit, he went into the kitchen, fetching a glass and automatically filling it with whiskey. It was only after he’d done that that he remembered what Ginny had told him Draco had said and, shaking, he threw the glass in the sink so hard that it shattered, sunk to the floor and, leaning against the cabinet, buried his face in his hands and cried.

The End of Part One