Unbecoming

Chapter Seven

It was snowing, and Ron had found he liked snowy days. He never used to, as a child, because snow meant cold, and he hated being cold. But now, snow meant quiet, and quiet was something Ron had come to find comfort in.

His boots crunched softly in the snow that covered the sidewalk as he made his way home through the darkened streets. His hands were shoved deeply in his pockets and, every now and again, he could not help but tilt his face up to the falling snow and smile a bit as a flake landed on his lips, nose, or eyelashes.

It wasn’t a long walk from work to his house, which was why he preferred to walk. It gave him time to think and enjoy the quiet.

He pulled his key out of his pocket as he came up to his London townhouse, and shook the snow out of his hair as he climbed the front steps.

He was halfway through fixing himself something to eat when there came a knock on the door, and he jumped, startled. Laughing softly at himself, he hurried to the door.

It was Hermione. She smiled at him as she stepped inside, shaking the snow from her hair. “Hey, Ron,” she said warmly, taking her coat up and hanging it. “Was in the neighbourhood, thought I’d stop by, and —”

“Hermione.”

She blinked and smiled, trying not to look guilty. “Yes?”

“You think I don’t know that since Ginny’s been gone and you’ve gotten engaged to my brother, that my mother has asked you to check on me? It is Friday night.”

She flushed. “She’s just worried, Ron.”

“She needn’t be. I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that.”

“That would be because it’s true.”

She sighed. “Ron, you live all alone, never see your family, is it any wonder she worries?”

“I live alone because it’s less complicated, and I never see my family because I’m too busy working and it’s much easier this way to avoid their attempts to set me up with any boy in the bloody country who has professed even the slightest leanings towards liking other boys.”

“They just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy. Have you heard from Ginny?”

“Yes. She’s still in France with Fleur.” Hermione sighed, walking into the living room and sitting on the couch. “I still think you should at least try to see these guys people’ve been so inclined to introduce you to.”

Ron sat across from her and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. It had been over a year since he’d last seen Ginny, since Harry had taken and hid her from William and the rest of them, and in that year, he felt he’d come very far. He’d moved to London, gotten himself a job that paid rather well, had even, a time or two, allowed his family and friends to fix him up with random boys, if only because they seemed so determined to prove that they supported his ‘choices’. And still, despite all the progress he’d made, his family refused to see him as anything other than a frightened boy who drank too much.

That he hadn’t had a drink in over a year, hardly seemed to matter.

“I’m fine,” he said again. “How’s Percy?” Hopefully this attempt at changing the subject would work better than the last.

“Busy. You know Percy. He knows this guy who I think you’d get along with really well--”

“Hermione. I don’t wish to discuss this.”

She slumped back into her chair and smiled ruefully. “Fine. Tell me about your job then.”

Ron had gotten a job as a sports reporter for The Daily Prophet, mainly covering Quidditch. He talked enthusiastically about his job until late, when Hermione left and he finally finished making something to eat before going upstairs to bed.

It was very quiet, and he told himself firmly that he preferred it that way. He stared emptily at the wall for a good, long time before finally drifting off to sleep, curled up in the very center of his bed.

***

The next day, Ron was to interview Oliver Wood, who was vacationing in the Northern Scotland, on a break from winter training. He was Quidditch Keeper and Captain for Puddlemere, and The Daily Prophet had arranged Portkey transportation to Scotland and given Ron instructions on where to meet Oliver and such.

Ron arrived minutes before the appointed time, at the small pub where Oliver was to meet him. He scanned the patrons of the pub quickly and, when he didn’t see Oliver, he slid up to the bar and ordered a Butterbeer.

He was sipping it thoughtfully, waiting for Oliver, when laughter from the billiard table in the back drew his attention.

He nearly dropped his mug.

Draco Malfoy stood there, head thrown back, silvery hair shining, and he was laughing at something his opponent had said. He had a pool cue in one hand and a mug of ale in the other.

Ron was up and off his stool in an instant, reacting on blind instinct, which was telling him to run before Draco saw him. He put the mug down, a bit too hard, and grabbed his jacket.

“Ron!” Oliver called suddenly from nearby, voice breathless. “Sorry I’m late, glad you’re still here, traffic was murder. I slipped in the ice right outside my house, fell right over. Nasty.” He shook the snow off his jacket, hopped onto a stool, and ordered before Ron could manage to inform him that they’d have to do the interview another time.

“Nasty weather, isn’t it?” Oliver went on, while the bartender fixed his drink.

Running was an incredibly childish thing to do, Ron decided reluctantly, refusing to look at Draco, still laughing over at the pool table. He slipped back onto his barstool and took his coat off, every movement careful and practiced. “It is,” he agreed. “Very cold.”

“Yes. So. Interview, eh? I’ve read your work for The Daily Prophet. Who knew that little Ronald Weasley would go on to be the newspaper’s Quidditch Expert?” He grinned. “Fred and George used to despair that you had no head for Quidditch.”

He smiled distractedly. “Yeah, well… They were wrong…” He was tense, terrified at any moment that Draco would see him.

Fumbling for his notebook, so at least he could get the interview over with, Ron heard more laughter from the back of the pub, and couldn’t help sneaking another look.

Even as he watched, a man came up behind Draco and wrapped an arm around his waist. Draco grinned and turned, kissing the other man hard.

Ron dropped his mug and it shattered. Before the sharp noise had faded, he spun around, face flaming, and tried to become invisible. With every eye in the pub on him, it was quite difficult, especially with his bright red hair.

“Are you alright?” Oliver asked, frowning.

Ron leapt off his stool. “I’ll be right back,” he stammered, grabbing his coat and hurrying towards the door. He felt ill, and no longer cared if running was childish. He did not want to be here, with Draco Malfoy making out with another boy and laughing like Ron had never existed. It didn’t matter if it had been over a year since Draco had left, Ron had survived by forgetting Draco had ever existed at all, and now he couldn’t pretend any longer.

Draco caught him at the door. “Ron? Ron!” he snapped, grabbing Ron’s wrist after Ron pretended not to have heard him.

Slowly, Ron turned around, trying for a polite smile. “Yes? Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

Eyes narrowing, Draco studied his face. He didn’t seem to know what to say. “What are you doing here?” he said finally, after the silence grew even more awkward.

“Meeting someone,” Ron said, glancing over Draco’s shoulder at where the other boy was coming towards them.

“You looked like you were on your way out.”

“Mmm. For a cigarette.”

“You don’t smoke.”

“How the fuck do you know?”

There was another short silence, broken by the other man’s voice. “Draco? What is it?” He was tall, broad shouldered, pretty, if it came to that, though Ron thought his lips too thin and his eyes too close together.

“Nothing, I was just…” Draco shook his head, glancing at Ron again, looking a little confused. Ron felt a bit of smug satisfaction that at least now, Draco was having trouble figuring him out. “Meeting who?”

Ron blinked. “Uhmm,” he said.

And then Oliver was there, holding his coat, and asking politely, “Are we going somewhere else to finish this then, Ron?”

Ron beamed brightly at him and grabbed his hand, ignoring Oliver’s rather owlish blink. “We are,” Ron told him, smiling apologetically at Draco. “You know how it is.”

“Ron, what… I’m not… We’re not… Dude, I like gi—” Oliver began, looking worried, and Ron closed his eyes, braced himself, and shut him up by kissing him on the lips.

When Oliver had been silenced to a startled gurgle, Ron looked over his shoulder at Draco, who was scowling furiously, and the other man, who looked politely confused, and said, “I’ve really gotta go, Draco. See you later?”

He pulled Oliver out the door before the other boy regained his power of speech, and as soon as the door closed behind them, he launched into an elaborate apology, getting more and more hysterical with every word.

“—I didn’t mean to, I swear, Oliver, only I didn’t know he’d be there, with that guy and I had to do something to make it hurt less and I shouldn’t have and I’m so so sorry and I know it was horrible and you don’t like me like that and I certainly don’t like you like that and—”

Oliver, who was getting over his shock now, interrupted and said, “Ron. Honestly, calm down, you don’t think worse has ever happened in Quidditch changing rooms?”

Ron blinked and flushed a bit, even while quickly wondering if his editors would go for his suggestion of a story on what exactly went on in professional Quidditch changing rooms.

Oliver laughed. “Forget it, mate. I won’t even ask what all that was about. Come to my flat for the interview then, unless you prefer to do it out here in the cold.”

“N-No,” Ron stammered. “Your flat’s good.”

Smiling, Oliver turned to lead the way, and Ron followed, still stunned and suffering wild fantasies of Quidditch changing rooms.

They did the interview in Oliver’s living room, and after they had finished, Oliver leaned back and said, “You know, I know a nice bloke you might like, seeker for my team.”

Ron flinched. “Thanks, but I… I don’t want… I mean, just because… I’m just… not interested.”

“Are you sure?” He grinned devilishly. “He’s quite attractive. In my heterosexual male opinion, of course. I mean, if I was into that sort of thing…” He trailed off suggestively.

Ron groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Oliver,” he pleaded. “Shut up.”

Laughing, Oliver said cheerfully, “Just a suggestion, mate.”

“You know, I almost would have thought that once people knew that I didn’t like girls, all these wild attempts to fix me up with people would stop.”

“It’s not our fault,” Oliver said brightly. “It’s just that so many gay men are such nice blokes, we can’t help but think that they should get together. You know, two gay men are better than one.”

Frowning skeptically, Ron said slowly, “Oliver, are you sure you’re not gay?”

A slow smile spread over Oliver’s lips and he said casually, “I don’t kiss and tell, Ron.”

Ron returned home with the newfound knowledge that Oliver Wood had lost his mind.

***

The next few days were strange for Ron, who was torn between confusion over Oliver Wood’s apparent insanity and Draco’s unexpected and rather sudden appearance, which had torn Ron’s perfectly sterile and structured life upside down. What was it about Draco Malfoy that made the most routine, normal life, a life which had been perfectly satisfying before, seem completely empty and boring?

He wrote up the interview and submitted it to his editors and spent the week in his office, filtering through new assignments and trying not to think about Draco.

It was a thoroughly frustrating week.

Fred and George came to visit on Friday, on his mother’s request, only instead of cornering him at home and forcing him to listen to her lectures, they took him out for a drink. Ron didn’t drink anything stronger than Butterbeer any longer, so they bought him plenty of those, all the while going on and on about his interview with Oliver Wood.

They didn’t bother trying to fix him up with any of their male friends, thankfully, though at the end of the evening, Fred confided rather sheepishly that he and Alicia had decided to get married.

Ron stared at him blankly and then said, rather stupidly, “Alicia the Chaser?”

“The one and only,” George said brightly. “Fred’s moving out, too, thankfully. Still working at the joke shop though.”

“And you?” Ron asked him. “Are you getting married?”

“Hardly. Last thing I need’s a ball and chain.” He grinned affectionately at Fred.

“He’s got a girlfriend though,” Fred said helpfully, shoving George.

“Do you?” Ron squeaked. Fred and George, as far as he knew, had always been too busy causing mischief to have girlfriends. It was all a bit shocking and left Ron feeling more alone than ever.

***

Ron had nearly gotten over seeing Draco again by the end of the next week. It’s not like it had been all that memorable an occasion, really, except that the image of Draco kissing that other boy kept flashing in Ron’s mind over and over again. But still, the sick feeling in his stomach had all but disappeared, and he was able to smile and laugh for nearly hours at a time.

And so Friday came again, and with it, anticipation of another visit from whomever his mother had chosen to send this week. It was snowy and cold, a blizzard had blown up from somewhere, and he could barely see three feet from his windows. He was in the kitchen making hot cocoa and listening to the wind blowing fiercely outside, when the expected knock came on the door.

Smiling ruefully, he left the cocoa (he’d made an extra mug for whomever the visitor was) and marshmallows on the table in the living room and opened the door.

At first he couldn’t tell who it was who stood on his doorstep, wrapped in a heavy cloak with the hood up. He frowned and opened the door wider, so light from the hallway bathed the doorstep, and then he yelped. It was Draco, face paler than normal, eyes bright. He smiled a little.

“Fucking cold out here, Weasley, let me in.”

Ron instinctively moved to slam the door in his face and Draco’s foot slid forward to block it. “Please, Weasley?” he asked, softer now.

Eyes very narrow, Ron spat, “Why should I?”

“You shouldn’t. But I would very much appreciate it if you did.”

“I don’t want to see you.”

“Weasley. Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I had any choice.”

That just made Ron want to slam the door even more. “Fuck off,” he snapped, and pushed hard on the door, nearly crushing Draco’s foot.

“I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

Ron slowly closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I don’t care,” he said carefully. “Where’s your boyfriend?” he sneered.

Draco tilted his head a bit, knocking the hood off his head. There was dried blood on the left side of it, trailing from a nasty wound on his left temple. “He’s dead,” he said quietly. “So is my father.”

Wincing, Ron took an instinctive step forward, mentally crying Oh poor Draco, come in, come in, are you okay, oh, don’t cry, it’s alright, you’re safe now, poor darling Draco and taking Draco into his arms. Outwardly, he just stood there and watched the other boy, swallowing heavily and forcing himself not to move. He didn’t know what Draco wanted from him, but Draco had never wanted clingy arms, hugs, or comfort.

Besides, saying any of that would immediately give Draco the impression that Ron cared.

Draco just waited, staring at him with empty eyes, yet somehow looking expectant all the same. He shivered a bit, and Ron sighed, turning and walking away, leaving the door open in silent invitation.

He went into the living room and sprinkled marshmallows into both his and the other mug of cocoa while Draco took his cloak off and hung it in the closet. When Draco had taken the seat opposite, accepted the mug of cocoa thankfully, and took a cautious sip, Ron asked, “So what happened?”

Draco set the mug down and leaned back, looking weak and exhausted. “I guess they found me,” he said, shrugging. “My father and all the rest. Doesn’t matter.”

“Found you? Wasn’t so hard, I managed to do it.”

“It wasn’t in Scotland that they found me. That night that you and Wood ran into us, we left. Went to China,” he said.

“Because two pretty white boys wouldn’t stick out in China,” Ron said sarcastically.

Draco didn’t comment. “Then we went to Africa, and then Italy. Moving around a lot is essential. Then, even if they do find me, I’m gone before they catch up. But they did, in Italy. I came in after they’d killed him, my father was waiting. I killed him, and escaped before his men could catch me.”

Ron shifted a little, watching Draco carefully for any hint of the hysteria that had to be lurking there. He seemed so calm though, and Ron didn’t know how to proceed. “What was his name?” he asked finally, carefully.

“Lucius.”

Ron twitched. “Not him, Draco.”

Draco smiled a bit, though he didn’t look all that amused. “I know. His name was Sean.”

There was another silence, this one more contemplative, and Ron finally got to his feet and went into the kitchen. He fetched some warm water and a cloth, before returning to the living room and sitting beside Draco. “I’ll clean the blood up and then get you a pillow and blanket. You can sleep on the couch.”

“Mmm,” Draco said wordlessly, smiling a tiny bit and tilting his head to give Ron better access.

There was dried blood all the way down the side of his head and neck, and Ron gently started sponging it off. “How did this happen?” he asked carefully, to distract himself from studying the curve of Draco’s neck.

“I killed my father,” Draco said, sounding rather dazed and sleepy. Ron’s touch was putting him to sleep. “I killed him and his body was on the ground and the others came. Father had shouted just before he died and they heard and came running. The Killing Curse, that’s how I did it.”

He was rambling a bit, and Ron was a little relieved at the first sign that Draco wasn’t handling this coolly. It had been unnerving, to be honest. “And they tried to catch me and one of them had caught the hem of my robes. I fell and smashed my head and before they could fall on me and pin me, I cast a fire charm and set the room on fire. I Apparated away before they had time to stop me.”

“Mmm, then you came here?”

“No,” he said quietly, closing his eyes. The blood was mostly gone, but Ron kept stroking. “I went to Hogsmeade. You didn’t live there anymore.”

“I moved to London.”

“That’s what Harry said.”

Ron’s hand slowed. “You went to Harry?”

He shrugged. “You weren’t in Hogsmeade and Harry was. I was bleeding and it was cold… He told me where to find you.”

“Why didn’t you stay there? With Harry?” Ron bit his lip and gently washed the jagged gash on Draco’s temple again.

“I wanted to be with you,” Draco said quietly.

Ron closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before standing up. “I’ll get a blanket,” he said.

“It might not be safe, having me here. I don’t know who all survived the fire, but they’ll be after me.”

Ron looked at him in silence for a long moment, and then said, “Some people are worth risking everything for, Draco. If you had have asked me over a year ago, I would have said the same.”

He left before Draco could reply, fetching him a pillow and blanket.

He watched while Draco curled up on the couch, looking tired and worn, and then said, “Are you alright? Do you need help sleeping? If you tell me how to make a sleeping potion, I’ll make one for you. I hear you’re quite good at them.” Bitterness dripped from his voice.

Draco flinched. “Ron, I —”

“You’re alright, then? See you in the morning.” He turned and left without another word.

It was a long time before he got to sleep, though. Curled up in the center of his bed and staring blindly at the window, he was aware of every sound downstairs, though there weren’t that many. And even as he listened with every fiber of his being, his mind was whirling with memories he’d been trying to forget for over a year.

It was impossible, and he whimpered despairingly and buried his face in his pillow, covers up over his head, before he finally fell asleep.

***

Ron woke up and decided that Draco had probably slipped away in the middle of the night. He lay in bed silently for a long time, listening for any indication that he was wrong, and then got up. He pulled on some trousers (he’d given up on practical cotton pajamas a long while ago), and ran a hand through his hair, going downstairs quietly, just in case.

He peeked into the living room and stared. Draco was still there.

Shaking his head in a confused sort of way, he went into the kitchen, poured himself some orange juice, and sat at the table, staring out the window. It was early, and thankfully, he didn’t have to work.

He was watching the pulp swirl in his orange juice when he heard a soft moan from the living room. He approached the doorway cautiously. Moaning again, Draco turned restlessly on the couch, still sleeping. He was having a nightmare.

Setting his juice aside. Ron hurried to his side. “Draco?” he called. “Draco, wake up, wake up, it’s just a nightmare.”

Draco woke up so suddenly that Ron yelped. The other boy’s face was pale, eyes wide and wild. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” he groaned, sitting up quickly.

Grabbing his hand, Ron hurriedly pulled him into the bathroom, slipping out and closing the door after Draco started vomiting. When he had stopped, Ron glanced inside nervously. “Are you alright?”

Draco was leaning against the wall, breathing heavily, still looking wild. “I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I think you’re going into shock,” Ron said soothingly, coming inside and sitting beside him.

“Malfoys don’t go into shock,” Draco told him.

“It’s alright,” Ron whispered, because Draco was nearly hyperventilating. “It was just a bad dream.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and nodded wildly. “I kept killing him,” he said, voice husky. “In the dream. Only he wouldn’t die.”

“Shh, it’s alright,” Ron said softly, not even sure Draco was listening. He slid closer, shaking fingers threading through Draco’s messy hair. “It’s over, you’re safe now.”

Draco’s eyes flew open and he swallowed hard. “I know. I’m alright.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m not! I’m fine, I’m fucking fine, I just…” he trailed off, and he was nearly panting now, trying to breathe.

“C’mere,” Ron sighed, pulling him closer. Draco fell against him, his head landing on Ron’s shoulder, eyes squeezing shut. Stroking his back, Ron smoothed his hair and closed his own eyes and leaned back against the wall, letting out a careful breath as Draco slowly relaxed against him.

“I’m dizzy,” Draco mumbled plaintively.

“It’ll pass.”

“I really am okay.”

“I know.” Ron didn’t let go and Draco didn’t try to pull away, all the same. A little while longer passed, and Ron asked, “Are you cold? You’re shaking.”

“Mmm,” Draco mumbled, shaking his head and letting out a careful breath. “Warm,” he whispered, after a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? Shut up, it’s fine.”

They sat that way for a long while, until Draco finally pulled away, reluctantly. “It’s not safe. I should leave.”

Ron flinched. “You’re not going,” he told Draco, shaking his head furiously. “I won’t let you go.”

“It’s dangerous for me to be here.”

“I don’t care.”

Draco shot him a furious glare. “Don’t you get it? It could have been you.”

“What?”

“Dead. Sitting there, dead, when I got home. If I hadn’t left you, Ron, it would have been you.”

Ron shivered and said stubbornly, “It wasn’t. You need me.”

“Ron…”

“You can’t go! You’re a mess! You’re shaking and weak and—”

“I’m not. I have to go…”

“You leave me again, and I’ll go after those Death Eaters myself. I don’t care if it kills me, I can’t just let you go. You’ll be killed.”

Draco buried his face in his hands, taking a deep breath. “I won’t put you in danger.”

Ron reached out, hand trembling, and ran his fingers through Draco’s hair. “Stay. At least for a little while. I’d worry if you left like this.”

“When I got here, you weren’t even going to let me in,” Draco said quietly. “Now you won’t let me go?”

“Please.”

“I’m not fragile.”

“I know.”

“No, listen to me. I’m not falling apart. I don’t need you. This… this was just a momentary lapse, it won’t happen again.”

“It’s alright. Just let me make sure you’re okay this time before you leave.”

Draco studied him for a long moment, before he nodded once, though he was scowling. “For a day or so. I can’t stay longer. I… don’t want them to hurt you.”

Ron got to his feet and pulled Draco up as well. “No one knows you’re here, except Harry, and he won’t tell. You’ll be alright here…”

Without bothering to reply, Draco turned the tap on and splashed water on his face. Ron left him to it, going into his bedroom. He was shaking and didn’t know why.

Draco hadn’t arrived with anything else to wear, so Ron rummaged through his things and came up with some trousers he’d outgrown and a t-shirt that had always been too tight on him. He went back into the bedroom.

“You can wear these,” he said. “They’re too small for me, so they might fit.” He stood awkwardly in the doorway while Draco stared at his clothes in shock and waited for the other boy to say something derogatory about them.

He didn’t. “Thank you,” he said, taking them.

Ron nodded. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

When Draco arrived in the kitchen a short while later, wearing Ron’s clothes, the change was drastic. He looked like a little boy, in the faded jeans and old shirt, not at all the man he always appeared to be, wearing his own tailored clothing. He shifted uncomfortably when he caught Ron staring.

“Where’s Oliver?” he asked.

Ron blinked, mind going completely blank. “Who?”

“Wood. Oliver Wood.”

“I don’t— why should I…Oh. Oh! Oliver.” He flushed a little. “Umm. He’s in Scotland, actually.” Draco just looked at him expectantly, and Ron sighed. “Right. He’s in Scotland. Until that night, I hadn’t seen him since he left Hogwarts. I was interviewing him for The Daily Prophet.”

Draco smiled a little, slipping into a chair at the table. “Ha,” he said mildly. “You were trying to make me jealous.”

Flushing a bit, Ron said, “I wasn’t. It was self-preservation. It… had taken months to stop waiting for you to come back, looking for you every time I left my house, and then suddenly you were there and you were…kissing someone else.” He sat across from Draco, tracing veins in the wooden tabletop and swallowing hard.

He jumped a bit when Draco’s finger hesitantly stroked the top of his hand. “Ron,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t come back.”

Nodding and pulling his hand away, Ron shrugged and then asked softly, “Did you love him?”

Draco laughed harshly. “You of all people should know the answer to that.”

“I should?”

Turning away, Draco rolled his eyes. “If I couldn’t even fall for you, how’m I supposed to fall for anyone else?”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Ron didn’t want this, didn’t want words that could tell him how stupid he’d been before, how naïve. He didn’t want to wish things had turned out differently. “I thought it was because of me,” he said jerkily, getting out of his chair. “We… we slept together and then you poisoned me and left and I never saw you again.”

Draco looked a little stricken. “That wasn’t it!” he whispered.

“Well forgive me for assuming it was,” Ron growled, shaking his head furiously and stalking from the room.

“Ron. Ron, wait!” Draco called, but Ron didn’t bother. He slammed out the front door and walked for three blocks before his fury and frustration wore off.

He didn’t know if he could do this, could stand seeing Draco’s face and hearing his voice and why, why, why did it have to remind him of that night he’d tried so fucking hard to forget? But he couldn’t let Draco go. Maybe Draco didn’t know it, but he needed someone. Ron just didn’t know if he was strong enough to be who Draco needed.

But then, maybe Draco would solve his problem by leaving while Ron was gone?

That thought did not offer the comfort he was looking for, and before he knew it, Ron was hurrying home.

Draco hadn’t left, he was sitting on the couch, knees pulled up and head leaning back, eyes closed. He didn’t move when he heard Ron come in, and for a long moment, Ron just stared at him. Then he cleared his throat.

“Draco?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you alright?”

Draco’s eyes opened and he turned his head, rolling his eyes. “I’m not breakable, Weasley.”

“I know.” He came in and sat nervously beside Draco. “I was worried you’d leave while I was gone.”

“Couldn’t.”

Ron studied him for a moment and then said, “Why not?”

“Because if I had, it really would have been because of you this time, and if thinking I’d left last time because of you has made you this bitter, if I did it again, you’d be unrecognizable by the time I saw you again.”

“You’ve changed,” Ron said quietly, and Draco smiled wryly.

“So have you.”

“That night…” Ron flushed a bit, clearing his throat.

“Yes, Weasley?” Draco drawled, smirking.

“The night that we… we had sex…” He looked away. “I meant to ask you something…” He trailed off and then, voice husky and nervous, he said, “I…I didn’t know what I was doing, and I was worried that I… It wasn’t… good and —”

“Weasley.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

Ron obediently snapped his mouth shut, strangely reassured by Draco’s reply. He smiled a little and looked away, relaxing against the back of the couch before darting another quick glance at Draco. “So you’ll stay?” he asked.

There was a long pause, and then Draco said quietly, “For two days. I’ll stay for two days. That’s long enough for you to reassure yourself that I’m going to be alright. I can’t stay here any longer, London’s too obvious.”

“Alright,” Ron agreed softly, because two days was more than Draco had been willing to give him the last time he left. “Does anyone other than Harry know you’re here? Will he tell the Ministry, do you think?”

“I told him not to. I don’t want anyone to know where I am. The less people that know, the better. Sean was… a mistake.” Draco scowled furiously. “It was my fault, I grew comfortable. It had been a year without any hint that they were still after me, I grew careless and he died for it. I didn’t even tell him they were looking for me…” He shook his head. “It won’t happen again.”

“Why? I don’t understand why they care so much if you want nothing to do with them!”

Draco glanced at him and sighed. “I betrayed them,” he said.

He wouldn’t say anything more, and Ron reluctantly let the subject drop.

It was late afternoon when Ron grabbed his cloak and said, “I’m going to Diagon Alley to get some things, stay here, alright?”

Draco, who was sprawled on his back on the couch with a huge bowl of popcorn, grunted wordlessly.

“I’ll be back soon. An hour at most, I think. Will you be alright?”

Snorting, Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said.

Nodding, Ron hurried out the door, determined to finish his errands quickly and return.

When he got back, Draco was sleeping on the couch, popcorn forgotten on the floor.

Rolling his eyes and smiling a bit, Ron picked up the bowl and brought it to the kitchen, before quietly working at the table, writing up an article due the following day. After he finished it, the sun had just set, and he sent it off with Pig to his editor before going into the kitchen. He worked until it was very late, brewing up complicated potions as quietly as he could, listening intently to make sure Draco did not wake up. When he was done, he charmed the cauldrons clean and sneaked upstairs to bed.

Draco slept like the dead.

***

A few hours passed, and Ron was lost in some dream he would never remember, when the door flew open and light spilled in from the hall.

“Ron? Ron! Are you in there?” Draco called, voice strange and wild.

Grunting and moaning in protest, Ron flinched away from the light. “No,” he groaned.

“You’re awake?”

“No,” Ron said again, disgruntled. He sat up and squinted at Draco. “What the hell—” Then he noticed how heavily Draco was breathing, and that he was shaking. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Draco said distractedly. “I just…” He ran a hand through his already wild hair. “Wanted to make sure you were here. I didn’t see you come in. I was…” He trailed off.

“Worried?”

“Scared.” Draco looked uncomfortable at the very idea. “It’s stupid. But ever since my father, and Sean, I… wake up thinking that everything that means anything is going to go away, and that it’ll be my fault, and that I shouldn’t sleep because if you don’t go to sleep, no one can take the things that matter most because they only do it when you’re not there to see. You know?”

Ron didn’t, but he nodded anyway. “Calm down,” he whispered. He would have gotten up, gone to Draco, but he had long ago given up on decent cotton pajamas and was wearing nothing but his boxers and did not want Draco to see.

“And so when I’m asleep, I get scared, and when I’m scared, I start to remember, and I don’t much like remembering, to be honest, because… I didn’t love him, but I didn’t want him to die.”

“Sean?”

“My father.”

“Oh.”

Draco sucked in a ragged breath. “He died, though. They both died. Because of me. And I don’t want anyone else to die because of me, especially you.”

Ron blinked and tried to process the meaning of that, but his mind was still fuzzy from sleep.

“And then I woke up and it was dark and you weren’t there and I hadn’t seen you come in and I was scared you wouldn’t be here and if you weren’t, it would be my fault, for falling asleep and letting you go, and I couldn’t… couldn’t…”

“Draco… Draco, breathe. It’s alright, I’m fine, really.”

“But I’m not,” Draco whispered. “I think I’m broken, and I fucking hate it. I don’t… like being scared.”

“No one likes being scared. But it’s okay. Come here.” Though it made him nervous, and though he had decided that he wasn’t going to let Draco near him again, Ron held out a shaky hand to him, and Draco, after a moment’s hesitation, came forward to take it. The hall light cast him in shadow, and his hand was warm and soft in Ron’s. “Come here,” Ron said again, shifting over and tugging Draco onto the bed. “Lie here, with me. That way, you’ll know even when you’re asleep that no one’s come for me, because you’ll feel me.” He took a deep breath. “Just don’t… don’t touch me, you know? I don’t want… I can’t… not with you. Not ever again.”

Draco let Ron pull him into the bed, and then whispered softly, “Ron? Can I kiss you? Just once?”

Closing his eyes and letting out the breath he’d been holding as Draco’s weight settled beside his, Ron said, “Just once,” almost in a whimper.

The kiss was just barely a kiss. The softest brush of lips and the whisper of eyelashes against Ron’s cheekbones, and then Draco turned away, stretching out beside him. “Thank you,” he said very quietly.

Ron didn’t reply, and he held his breath for a long, long time, lying very stiffly as far from Draco as he could get. And then, gradually, he crept closer, unable to really help himself, until he was curled up against Draco’s back. One arm slipped around Draco’s waist and Draco’s hand instinctively took his, fingers entwining, and Ron fell asleep with his face buried in Draco’s silky hair.