Unbecoming

Chapter Eight

Ron woke first, but did not even bother trying to leave the bed. He could only imagine how Draco would react to that, and instead, lay very, very still, listening to Draco’s breathing, until the sun had risen and the room was bathed in light.

“Draco?” he finally whispered, because he really had to go to the bathroom.

Draco sighed quietly. “Yeah?”

“Hey. How long have you been awake? Damn it!” Ron growled, rolling away and leaping off the bed. He hurried from the room, so desperate to use the bathroom that he forgot about Draco seeing him in his boxers.

When he returned to the bedroom a short while later, Draco was propped up in the bed, leaning against the headboard, his knees pulled up to his chest. He smiled a little ruefully. “I wanted to keep holding your hand,” he offered, by way of explanation.

Ron lost his temper. “Fuck you, Draco Malfoy, you think you can walk out right after we fuck for the first fucking time and not see me or talk to me for an entire fucking year or even longer and then you can just walk back into my life and expect everything to be the same? It’s not the same and I’m not that fucking stupid anymore. If anything, you taught me that.”

Draco glanced away, shrugging and fumbling in his pockets for a crushed pack of cigarettes. “I taught you more than that,” he said in a low, husky tone, and Ron, without pausing to consider, launched across the bed and crashed into Draco, knocking him to the floor.

He slammed his fist into Draco’s chin, and the cigarette package went flying. Desperately trying to defend himself, Draco snarled, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Ron gasped, as he was flipped onto his back and smashed into the floor. “You left. You did teach me more than that, you’re right. You taught me… that it was okay to be this way…” he grunted and slammed his knee into Draco’s stomach. “And that it was even almost normal and that it was okay to… to maybe…” he yelped because Draco had smashed his head into the floor again, and they rolled, Ron pinning Draco… “You also taught me that it might be okay to love another guy,” he said quietly.

“Also taught you how to suck cock,” Draco sneered, and Ron winced.

“You did,” he whispered, swallowing hard. “And you taught me that you get terrified and cruel whenever anyone implies that they could love you. And you taught me how fucking easy it would be. And then you left me. You promised you wouldn’t take it all away…” He shook his head, disgusted, and rolled away. He ached, and his nose was bloody, his head pounding.

They lay on their backs on the floor together in silence for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, not touching, but so close that they could feel each other’s body heat.

Finally, Draco said quietly, “Do you hate me that much then, Ron?”

Swallowing hard and wiping his bloody face with the back of his hand, Ron replied, “Would it make things easier if I did?”

Silence seemed to stretch on forever, and Ron hissed in irritation, getting to his feet. He swayed dizzily.

“I’m gonna go,” Draco said.

Ron spun to stare at him. “You aren’t.”

“You don’t want me here.”

“You promised me two days, Draco, you can’t leave now. Are you in a habit of breaking all your promises, or just the ones you give to me?”

Draco winced. “Fine. Fucking perfect, I’ll stay then!” he snapped. Rage sparked in his eyes and he stalked past Ron, snarling under his breath.

Ron reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt, tugging, and Draco turned around. Before he could guess Ron’s intention, Ron kissed him on the mouth, tracing his lower lip with his tongue. “Thank you,” he said, pulling away.

Looking a little stricken, Draco stammered, “Ron, you can’t make the rules only to break them.”

“But Draco, you taught me that as well.” With a slight smirk, Ron slipped past and left the room.

***

Draco sulked all day, but he didn’t try to leave again, which was really all that mattered. Ron busied himself writing letters, to his editor and his brothers and his mum, and then, in late afternoon, started making dinner nervously. Draco sulked in the living room, and when Ron had finished cooking, he said, “I’m not hungry,” crossing his arms over his chest and glaring.

“What is this, a hunger strike?” Ron asked nervously, his hand shaking while holding the glass of butterbeer he’d brought Draco. “You have to eat.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Draco, you’re acting like a five year old, just eat, alright?”

Stalking across the room, Draco took the glass, downed it, and slammed it on the table. “Not hungry,” he snarled.

Smiling a little, even as he stepped away, Ron said, “Well, that’s fine, as long as the drink’s gone.” He hurried away, guilt nearly making him ill.

He was in the kitchen, nervously picking at his own dinner, when he heard a dull thud and a moan. Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a deep breath, and then hurried into the living room.

Draco was lying on his back on the floor, staring bemusedly up at the ceiling as if wondering how he’d ended up on the floor.

“C’mon,” Ron said very gently. “Get up. Sit on the couch.”

Moaning again, Draco shook his head, even as Ron took his hand and tugged him until he was sitting up. “Dizzy,” Draco croaked.

“Yes, c’mon, on the couch.” Ron pulled him to his feet and helped him stagger over to the couch, sitting him down carefully. “Don’t move, I’ll be back in a minute.”

He started to move away, but Draco grabbed his hand. “What… what did you give me?” he said, every word terribly slurred. It was the last bit of anything resembling coherency that he could manage.

Stroking his face and smoothing his hair, Ron whispered, “You’ll be fine, it’ll wear off come morning. You didn’t think I’d let you leave me again, did you? Just stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Draco looked as though he wanted to argue, but it was too much, and with a soft whimper, he fell over and lay dazed on the couch.

Hurrying upstairs, Ron threw a bunch of clothes and toothbrushes and such into a bag, and then came back down, where Draco was still sprawled on the couch. He helped him up, grabbed their cloaks, and led Draco to the door, locking it behind him.

It was dark outside, and they staggered to the nearest Muggle bus stop. Ron talked the whole way, though Draco didn’t understand a thing he was saying.

“They won’t expect us to take the Muggle bus,” Ron said to Draco, who was leaning heavily on his shoulder. “They won’t be able to trace us this way.”

The bus came, and Ron helped Draco, who was staggering badly, up the steps, nervously counting out Muggle coins and pushing them into the coin slot. He’d taken the bus a few times on his own, to get to the Ministry or various places to meet people for his interviews and such, so he knew what he was doing, vaguely.

“He’s not going to puke on the bus, is he?” the driver asked, looking skeptically at Draco, who did look rather drunk.

“He’ll be fine,” Ron said quietly, before helping Draco to a seat at the back of the bus.

It was late, and the bus was practically empty, except for the odd unsavory person who got on, fell asleep in their seat, and got off near some dark alley. Knowing that they were in for quite a long ride, Ron rolled up his cloak and made a pillow for Draco, nudging him until he was lying down.

He studied him for a little while, chewing his lower lip and worried that he’d brewed the Disorientation Potion too strongly. Draco seemed only barely conscious.

“Hey.”

Ron jumped, turning towards the man that had spoken. “Yes?” he asked nervously. He didn’t make a habit of speaking to men like that, men who seemed held together by rags and filth, and who smelled strongly of alcohol and dark alleys.

“Who’s that?” The man jerked his head towards Draco.

“He’s my… my friend,” Ron stammered, sliding protectively closer to Draco.

“He’s drunk.”

Ron didn’t reply. He glanced at Draco and then back at the filthy man, and waited for him to speak again.

“Must be a pain in the arse, having to baby-sit him.”

“What are you implying?” Ron asked cautiously. Draco moaned beside him.

“Just that maybe you and I can work something out.” The man lurched from his seat and sat beside Ron, who recoiled from his filth and his smell. “He never has to know.”

Ron’s eyes widened, and he said shakily, “I’m not gonna s-suck… I’m not giving you… a… a blow….”

The man blinked and then laughed. “Not you,” he snickered, breath hissing sickly between teeth that were barely there. “Him. He’s so out of it, he’ll never know, and I’ve got… got money. And other stuff…” He held up a grimy bag, filled with white powder, and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Ron stared at him and then spun towards Draco, horrified. “I’m not selling him to you, if that’s what you mean!” he cried. “Piss off! That’s disgusting. Besides, if I wanted sugar, I’d have brought some from home. Do you Muggles honestly value sugar over your own friends’ lives? That’s disgusting! Get away from me!”

The man scowled. “It’s not sugar,” he said defensively, hiding the bag away. “And I wouldn’t have him for too long.”

“I don’t care what it is, get away, you’re not going to get even a second with him! Bugger off!”

“Jealous I didn’t want you?”

Ron’s wand was out of his pocket and pressed against the man’s throat in a heartbeat. “If I kill you,” he snarled, between gritted teeth. “No one would miss you or care.”

“You’re going to kill me with a wee little stick, are you?”

“Muggles are disgusting,” Ron growled, before casting a full-body bind. At the next stop, he tossed the man out the door of the bus, feeling immensely satisfied at the dull thump of the body hitting the pavement.

Crawling back onto his seat next to Draco, Ron sighed, feeling immensely dirty. “I expect a full thank you for that,” he grumbled, curling up next to Draco. “You’re so fucking pretty, you bring this on yourself, you know.”

After that, whenever anyone else got on the bus, Ron would straighten up and do his best to look threatening. No one bothered them again.

They got off the bus at the train station and took a train out of London, heading north. Ron spent all the rest of his savings getting them a private car with a bed, and Draco passed out sometime near dawn, sleeping off the last remains of the potion. They got off the train in the middle of nowhere, at a station that consisted of a single platform and a small shack, and Ron cast a lightening charm on Draco’s sleeping body and carried him, and the bag of clothes, out of the station and down the road. Any civilization quickly disappeared, and as the sun rose weakly, Ron stumbled nearly blindly through the forest surrounding the tiny town where they’d gotten off the train. He knew where he was going, of course, it was just… he hadn’t been there in a very long time. He had to cross a frozen lake, which creaked softly under his feet and made him incredibly nervous.

Finally, he found the small house he’d been looking for, and cast the secret unlocking charm on the door, letting himself in. It was dusty and dirty and smelled quite musty, but it was better than being set upon by Death Eaters. Dropping the bag by the door and hurriedly putting Draco in the linen closet and locking it shut, Ron spent the early morning hours cleaning up dust and dirt and levitating spiders out of the small house.

He didn’t want to admit to himself that he was terrified of the moment when Draco finally woke up and was trying to make the house look at least a little decent in hopes of softening the blow.

After he’d tidied all he could, Ron slipped back to the linen closet, sitting on the floor and leaning against it so that he would be there when Draco woke up. After everything Draco had said their last night in London, Ron didn’t want him to be scared when he woke up alone and in the dark.

When he heard Draco moan faintly, Ron called, “Draco? Draco, are you awake? It’s me, everything’s alright.”

There was silence for a long, long moment, and then Draco asked, “I’m in a closet, aren’t I?”

“Well, yes.”

Swearing savagely, Draco spat, “You are so dead, Weasley.”

Ron flinched. “I know,” he said soothingly. “But just listen for a minute, will you?”

“I can just Apparate right out of here.”

“You can’t. The Potion has a few lingering effects and that’s one of them. I also took and hid your wand. Just, listen, alright?”

“Then hurry up and fucking start talking, because I’m in a fucking closet, Weasley!”

“Everything’s alright! It’ll be fine, they’ll never find you here. No one knows about this place except my family, it’s incredibly isolated.”

Draco considered this for half a second and then snapped, “I’m still in the closet.”

“I realize that. I just wanted to make sure you listened to me before you killed me. I couldn’t let you go, Draco, don’t you see that? I couldn’t let you leave me again.”

“You hate me! Why do you care if I’m gone? Why the fuck do you care if I’m killed? I seem to recall that you can’t stand to have me touch you, look at you, even fucking speak to you, so why do you care?”

“I don’t hate you,” Ron said, sighing and leaning his head back against the door. “I just don’t love you. We’re friends, aren’t we, Draco? I couldn’t just let… let you go.”

There was another pause, and then, hesitantly, “You don’t love me?”

“No. But I did stop some dirty old man from shagging you on the bus,” Ron said helpfully, because mixing a bit of truth with the lie made it somehow easier to say.

“… Thank you. Will you let me out of the closet now?”

“Are you still planning on killing me?”

“Yes.”

“You’d kill someone who just claimed to be your friend?”

“I killed my own father, didn’t I?”

Ron winced and didn’t reply.

There was silence, and then Draco snapped, “Fine, leave me in here forever, I don’t care. It’s rather nice in here.”

Letting out a frustrated breath, Ron ran a hand through his hair. “Draco… I’m not going to let you out if you just plan on killing me. Despite everything you think about me, I’m not an idiot, and I’m not suicidal.”

Draco didn’t reply.

“Are you sulking now? Because that’s pretty childish.”

“For your information I am constructing a noose out of bed sheets with the intention of hanging myself before I have to spend forever locked in your fucking linen closet and forced to listen to you prattle on this way.”

Ron paused for a moment to consider if Draco was serious, and decided, rather hopefully, that he wasn’t. “I don’t believe you.”

“That’s your choice, Weasley.” There were a few muffled thumps.

“… Draco? What are you doing?”

There was no reply, and after glancing about hopefully for a weapon, Ron edged closer. He unlocked the door and threw it open, and for one, startled moment, Draco’s eyes flew to his and widened in surprise. Ron glanced about quickly, didn’t see a noose anywhere or anywhere to hang one from, for that matter, and then, just as Draco howled and lunged at him, Ron slammed the door shut again and locked it, breathing hard.

There was a loud crash as Draco slammed against the door, and then silence. “Let me out, this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of, no one locks a Malfoy in a fucking closet, Weasley, it isn’t done!” He pounded on the door.

“The door’s not gonna break, Draco, I should know, Fred and George locked me in there enough times when I was little.” There was a sharp crack and the door broke in half. Draco came spilling out, slamming into Ron and knocking him to the floor. Falling with a yelp, Ron smashed his head on the corner of the brick fireplace and lost consciousness.

When he woke up, he was lying on the couch, a wet cloth on the bruise forming on his forehead, and Draco was across the small room in an armchair, brooding.

“You could have died,” he snapped.

“I think I did,” Ron moaned, his head throbbing.

“I’d charm your headache better, but I couldn’t find my fucking wand.”

Ron had taken it and hidden it. He winced. “Ooh,” he whimpered, sitting up.

Narrowing his eyes, Draco watched him carefully, looking concerned but unwilling to voice it out loud. “And, for the record, I intend to get out of here as soon as you tell me where the hell we are.”

The closet door was lying in pieces all over the floor. “You broke my door,” Ron said, stunned.

“Yeah, well, I’m a lot stronger than you were last time you were locked in there, obviously. I would have fixed the door but, again, I seem to not be in possession of a wand at the moment.” He shot Ron a hard glare.

“I think I have a concussion,” Ron moaned, trying to distract him.

“What the hell makes you think you’ve got the right to fucking take me prisoner?” Draco snarled suddenly.

“I have every right,” Ron said simply. “We’re friends.”

“Malfoys and Weasleys do not become friends.”

“And Malfoys are never locked in closets, nor do they shag Weasleys. We’ve already broken the rules, why should we start pretending now?”

Draco glared at him and Ron tried not to look nervous. He cleared his throat.

“Why did you even bother?” Draco snapped finally. “I mean, why do you care if I’m captured and killed? You don’t love me.”

“You’re really developing a fixation on that,” Ron said, watching his face carefully, but certainly not hopefully. He wasn’t a masochist.

“It’s because I’m so fucking goddamn lovable, obviously.” He ran a hand through his hair and scowled. “I just don’t understand why you’re doing this. You don’t understand. The longer I stay near you, the more danger you’re in and I will not be held responsible for your death, Weasley.”

“No one will find us here,” Ron promised softly.

Glancing around almost desperately, Draco spat, “I don’t even know where here is!”

Ron looked around, trying to see it from Draco’s perspective. There were only four rooms: a living room, a kitchen, and two bedrooms, one master bedroom for the parents and one for the children. The floors had random rugs tossed on them, woven from colourful Weasley rags, and the windows were small and covered in mismatched drapes. The walls were covered in faded wallpaper that had grapevines painted on them, and there was a brick fireplace that nearly dominated the far wall, decorated with pictures of grinning and waving Weasleys. There was a Weasley family tree painted onto the brick surface, with every stone bearing the proud name of a Weasley. Ron’s name was next to Fred’s and Ginny’s near the bottom.

Clearing his throat, he said delicately, “This is Weasley Manor. My ancestral home. My great great grandparents built the Burrow, but before that, my relatives lived here. Now we mainly use it as a cottage, for vacations in the summer, though we haven’t since I was little.” He stood up, chewing his lower lip and then saying, “It’s on a small island accessible only by water. It’s ice now, but thin in places where the water is deepest. I carried you over the thickest ice so we didn’t fall through, but no one else would know the way.”

“But why did you bring me here?” Draco asked quietly, cocking his head to the side and studying Ron thoughtfully. “You don’t love me. Don’t particularly like me.”

“You need me.”

Draco snorted.

“And I… I need you too.” Ron glanced away. “I couldn’t let you leave me again, I was scared this time you’d never come back.”

“And you’re just going to keep me here forever, is that it? Holding my wand hostage?”

“If I have to.”

“I don’t want to be here with you,” Draco said, emphasizing each of the words carefully.

“You don’t seem to have much of a choice.”

They glared at each other, and Draco was the first to look away. “Fuck you,” he mumbled, sprawling in a chair by the fireplace. He then proceeded to pretend Ron didn’t exist.

Ron charmed his headache better with his wand, which he’d hidden in the kitchen, and then sat in a rocking chair by a window, staring out at the snowy trees around the cottage.

The silence was broken by the crackling fire and it seemed to stretch forever. Draco slumped in his chair and growled under his breath, and every time he moved, Ron glanced at him hopefully and then sighed in disappointment when Draco did not acknowledge his existence.

Finally, Ron couldn’t take it any longer. “Draco?”

“What?”

“Want to play chess or something? I’m bored out of my mind.” Draco looked as though he was about to refuse, and Ron said quickly, “You can still be mad at me, it’s just, if we’re going to be stuck here forever, we may as well amuse ourselves, right? I’ll even let you win a few times.”

“Let me win?” Draco growled, and Ron restrained a grin. Sometimes Malfoys could be so predictable.

They played chess for hours.

***

Though the isolation meant that they had to rely on each other for conversation or risk insanity brought on by loneliness, the tension in the cottage did not ease for the next three days. Though they played chess together and had conversations, they did not interact in anything even resembling a friendly manner. They never met each other’s eyes except to glare hatefully, and every bit of conversation was stilted and formal. Draco would coldly request that Ron turn over his wand so he could leave, and Ron would coldly inform Draco that he may as well get used to being there, because Ron was never letting him go. And so a stalemate had been declared, and Ron went to sleep each night despairing that nothing would ever happen to break it, that he and Draco would be stuck like this forever. He didn’t know what he could possibly do to make it better, because falling to his knees and confessing undying love for Draco (which, he reassured himself, wouldn’t even closely resemble the truth of his feelings) while begging him not to run off and get killed, would only serve to make Draco run faster. Shagging him would serve a distraction, of course, but not nearly the kind Ron found himself wanting, and besides, it would probably just increase tensions. It had been Ron’s experience that, while the actual act of shagging was pleasant enough, the aftermath was rather messy and fraught with emotional peril.

He couldn’t let Draco go, of course. He had to make sure Draco was safe. There was also the strange feeling of being home when Draco was near. In the months that Draco had been gone, Ron had never subconsciously stopped looking for him, in crowded places and at Quidditch games, never stopped scanning the newspaper for mention of his name. And now that Draco was here (albeit furious and sulky and silent most of the time), Ron found himself able to relax more than ever. Even the tension of living with a furious Draco who hated him was easier than living with the terror that he was going to hear that Draco was dead sometime in the near future.

And so, while not altogether happy with the situation, Ron was satisfied, at least. It was an improvement.

But he did wish he could do something to make Draco understand how important this was to him. How important Draco not being dead had become.

It was three days after they’d first arrived at Weasley Manor, when things finally came to a head. They’d been playing chess and Ron had just slid his bishop into a checkmate position, glancing up hesitantly to see Draco’s reaction. Draco was scowling, and Ron frowned.

“Sorry,” he said, disappointment at the continued hostilities making him sullen. “I wouldn’t have done that if you had any skill at this game.”

Cold silver eyes flew up to his and Draco laughed scornfully. “Go ahead, insult my chess skills all you like, Weasley. I hardly care.”

Their eyes met and held for a long, tense moment, and a muscle twitched in Ron’s jaw as he repressed the sudden and rather uncalled for urge to punch Draco in the face.

It was Draco who looked away first, blinking and then glancing down, scowl softening into a frown, and Ron sighed softly. At the sound, Draco lifted his head again, eyes narrow, and he’d just opened his mouth to speak when there came a knock at the door.

Draco swore under his breath and turned away, and Ron automatically got up to open the door. It was Ginny.

“Hi,” she said brightly. “ Malfoy here?”

Ron blinked. And started to smile. He hadn’t seen Ginny in over a year, after all, and she’d brought groceries. Draco popped up beside him and snorted. “No one will know we’re here, eh?” he sneered.

Frowning, Ron said, “That’s right! Ginny! How did you —”

“I’m not a complete moron, Ron. Percy wrote me in a panic saying you’d disappeared and, probably in his hysteria, mentioned that Draco was missing as well, and something about Lucius Malfoy… it was very messy. Anyway, he asked if I’d seen you, and I said no, and then owled Harry, who said the last he’d seen of Draco was when Draco came to Hogsmeade looking for you, Ron, and I, of course, knew that you’d moved to London. Percy told me. Anyway, so I went to London, you weren’t there. So I figured, if there was one place Ron would think was safer than anywhere else, where would it be? A tiny cottage on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere? Hey wait, that sounds like Weasley Manor!’ So here I am. I brought crisps.”

Draco snatched up the crisps with a whispered, “Thank you, god,” and went into the cottage, flopping on the couch and ripping a bag open.

“Does anyone else know we’re here?” Ron hissed.

“No. Percy and the others probably have forgotten all about it, it was only me and you that ever came here with Mum and Dad, everyone else made excuses. They hated it, remember? They wouldn’t think anyone would willingly come here. As for everyone after Draco, they don’t know that Draco has a relationship at all with you, and as far as they know, I’m still running scared and not in England. Which is why I can’t stay too long. I just wanted to come up and make sure—” she glanced over his shoulder at Draco, who was eating the crisps with immense satisfaction— “he’s alright.”

“He’s perfectly miserable to live with,” Ron said bitterly. “All we do is glare at each other.”

“I didn’t mean how good a housemate is he,” she said impatiently. “I meant after that whole thing with his father.”

“You knew about that?”

“Front page of The Daily Prophet, Ron. Don’t you work for that newspaper?” She shoved him teasingly.

“I haven’t been reading it lately,” he said, shrugging.

“But how is he?” She turned serious, watching Draco over Ron’s shoulder.

“He’s alright, I think. Different. He’s… more careful and protective.”

Her eyes widened. “But he wouldn’t even let you leave the house before!”

“Well, not protective towards me,” Ron grimaced. “At least, not anymore. He’s rather angry with me.”

She shot him a hard look, as if instinctively blaming him for whatever had happened, and brushed by him, into the cottage.

Ginny and Draco soon fell into easy conversation, and, as the night passed, Ron began feeling more and more left out and finally, leaving the room with a huff, he went into the bedroom he’d claimed as his own to sulk. Curling up under the blankets, he fell asleep quickly.

***

Ron woke up just before dawn, when Ginny hopped on his bed and poked him in the shoulder. “Ron,” she hissed. “Ron, wake up.”

“What?” he mumbled sleepily, opening his eyes and squinting up at her.

“I need to talk to you. About Malfoy.”

That woke Ron up faster than anything would have. “Is he alright?”

She sat down on the end of her bed and stared at him reproachfully. “You hurt his feelings.”

“Did he tell you that?” Ron asked with a scowl.

“Not in so many words. He doesn’t understand why you’re keeping him here against his will when you obviously want nothing to do with him.”

“I never said I wanted nothing to do with him!”

“Well then? What do you want with him? I’m about as confused as he is.”

Ron sat up and rubbed his eyes, mumbling, “I thought he and I were friends.”

“Oh, come on, Ron! You guys can shag each other from now until the end of the world and you’ll never be friends. It’s never been about friendship for the two of you. Friendship implies you get along and like each other.”

Stung, Ron frowned. “We do get along! Some of the time. And I… I don’t… I mean, like might be the wrong word for it, but —”

“It is. You want him, and maybe you even love him, at least a little, but like him? He’s Draco Malfoy and you’re Ronald Weasley. There’s not much to like there.”

His eyes were stinging with tears, and Ron was glad Ginny couldn’t see it in the darkness. “I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” he said quietly, fiddling with the blanket.

She touched the side of his face gently. “Ron. Listen. Maybe there isn’t the right sort of thing to be friends between you, maybe he’ll never be your best friend who you can whisper about cute boys with in the middle of the night while doing each other’s hair and stuff, and maybe you’ll never get along well enough to have a political debate without wanting to kill each other. That doesn’t mean there’s nothing between you. Just that it isn’t as simple and well-defined as friendship.”

“Well, what is it then?” he whispered.

She grinned; he could see it in the dark. “You wanna shag him, don’t you? I bet you shagged him before he had to leave, when we were all living together, didn’t you?”

“Ginny!” His face was turning bright red and Ron was horrified at his pure, innocent little sister saying such a thing. Despite her efforts to convince him of the contrary, he was still very intent on believing her very virginal and pure.

“You did!” she squealed, giggling. “So? So! C’mon, details. Was it good? Was he good? I bet he would be. I mean, he is Draco Malfoy…”

“Ginny… Ginny, stop.” He made a pained effort to stop her from flailing about gushing on about the virtues of Draco’s sexual prowess, but she avoided him. “It was a mistake.”

She froze at that, and cocked her head, studying him in the darkness. “How could it be a mistake?” she asked, sounding awestricken at the very possibility. “He’s practically dizzy for you, even now.”

“He left me.” Ron swallowed hard.

“He had to.”

“Without a word to me? Right after… he… he gave me a potion and then left. Without a word. Right after the only time we…”

“Well. Okay, that was a bit thoughtless. But he probably didn’t know what to say. You know Malfoy. He’s emotionally constipated.”

Ron flinched. “That’s… that’s a lovely way to put it, Gin.”

“Well, it’s true. So, tell me. Is this whole ‘let’s just be friends’ shit all a direct result of something that Malfoy did over a year ago that made you completely forget everything good that came before that one mistake? Or do you honestly not want anything else from him?”

“It’s difficult!” Ron snapped.

“And you think any of it was easy for him?”

“He made it perfectly clear that what was easy for him was no longer my concern when he poisoned me and left me.”

“Ron. He had to leave. Maybe that wasn’t the best way to leave you, and probably not the best time, but he had to, and he did it in the way that was easiest for him. He doesn’t know how to think about what’s easiest for someone else, but he’s trying. Even I can see that.”

“How the hell has be been trying?” he snarled, growing frustrated.

“He’s still here, isn’t he? You don’t think he couldn’t get another wand if he wanted to? But he stayed. Because of you. Because he didn’t want to leave you and you gave him the perfect opportunity to stay and make it seem like you forced him.”

Ron stared at her blankly. “I did force him.”

“God, Ron! One thing I will never understand about how one boy could somehow find himself in love with another boy is how the hell they manage to get into a relationship without a woman to point out exactly how! Men are all so dense.”

Offended, Ron stiffened and scowled. “I object on the grounds that you just insulted my entire sex and me.”

“You deserved it. Now try listening to me while I explain this to you.” She was speaking very slowly and clearly. “Malfoy wanted to stay with you. He obviously wanted to be with you, given that after things went to hell for him with his father, he came to you. No one else, just you. He obviously wants to be with you, given that he’s here isn’t he? Are you going to just keep ignoring all of this because he hasn’t come right out and said it out loud to you?”

“I never said I wanted to be with him,” he whispered.

She was quiet for a moment, and then she sighed. “I know, Ron, and so does he. Have you told him you don’t want to be with him?”

“Yes.”

“No bloody wonder all you guys do is glare at each other. I swear, Ron, if all the women were wiped off the face of the earth and men were expected to understand these things without us to hold their hands, there would be chaos. Absolute chaos.” She patted his hand. “Anyway. I just wanted to ask. I talked to Malfoy all night, and…” she laughed lightly. “I wanted to know your intentions towards him.”

“Who’s side are you on, anyway?” he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Ginny didn’t bother to reply.

***

Ron woke up late the next morning and stared blankly at the ceiling. It was very quiet, and bright sunlight was spilling through the windows, irritating him. Then, a burst of laughter echoed from the living room, and he sat up, startled.

“Oh,” he said a moment later. “Just Ginny.”

He dressed quickly and opened the door a crack, peeking out hesitantly. Draco was sprawled on the couch and Ginny sitting on the floor, leaning against it, and she seemed to be trying to throw kernels of popcorn into Draco’s mouth. Ron blinked and smiled a little and then hurried to the bathroom.

He showered and brushed his teeth, cleaned his face, checked his appearance three times, ran wet fingers through his hair to stand it up and make it look sexily messy (didn’t work, but it’s the effort that counts), and then peered nervously out into the living room again. They hadn’t noticed him yet, but he was glad that Draco seemed in a better mood today than he had since Ron had first kidnapped him.

Taking a deep breath, Ron opened the door and stepped into the room, just as a piece of popcorn hit Draco’s lower lip and bounced off.

“Ron! Thought you were going to sleep forever,” Ginny chirped, hopping to her feet. “I made breakfast, let me go and get you some.” She left the room, and Ron swallowed the lump in his throat, refusing to meet Draco’s eyes, and wondering why there were a thousand butterflies in his throat.

Draco didn’t say anything, and neither did Ron, who walked closer, and started shaking a little. It was ridiculous, really. Draco swung his legs down so Ron could sit beside him, and Ron turned towards him, and still couldn’t think of anything to say. Everything Ginny had said the night before was swirling in his mind, and he couldn’t think, couldn’t process any of it. Could only stare at Draco rather blankly.

Draco shifted uncomfortably, aware of his stare, and he finally turned to snap something, but Ron didn’t let him. He reached forward, slipped one hand behind Draco’s neck, and tugged him forward, so their lips met in a sudden, bruising kiss. Making a brief sound of protest in the back of his throat, Draco fought for balance, pulling back a little. Feeling rejected, Ron whimpered and turned away, biting his lower lip and squeezing his eyes shut.

But before he could run back to his bedroom, Draco was on his knees and sliding closer, both hands braced on Ron’s shoulders. “No, wait,” he said breathlessly, and Ron turned back to face him. Slipping his hands up to cradle Ron’s face, either to prevent him from running scared or something else, Ron couldn’t tell, Draco kissed him hungrily, sliding even closer, so that when Ron melted into him, he landed pressed against Draco’s chest.

Whimpering again, though this time for much different reasons, Ron pressed closer, meeting Draco’s tongue with his own and tangling his fingers in Draco’s hair, jerking him closer.

Ron couldn’t hear anything except his own heavy breathing and beating heart, forgot anything else existed except for Draco’s hands and his mouth and everything else about him.

He’d just moaned into Draco’s mouth when Ginny walked in and stumbled to a stop. “Ohmygod,” she said in a tone that meant she was about to start babbling in a soppily female manner.

Without breaking the kiss, Draco grabbed the bowl of popcorn and threw it in her general direction, so that popcorn rained all over her and the floor. Laughing, she said, “Okay, okay, I get the hint.” She left again, still giggling, but Ron was too distracted to care.

Ron’s stomach growled a little while later, and Draco pulled away, snickering. “Hungry?” he asked, smirking.

Licking his lips and squirming, Ron said, “Well. Umm. Actually, yes.” He was blushing and he ducked his head, leaping off the couch and slipping into the kitchen. Ginny was sitting at the table, eating dry cereal from a box.

She lifted her eyebrows when he came in. “Finished already?” she asked, her lip curled in a faint and very amused sneer.

“Umm, yes,” he squeaked, blushing even more. Clearing his throat, he snatched the box out of her hands, grabbing a handful of cereal. “This is your idea of making breakfast?” he asked, eating the cereal.

“Yeah.” She grinned. “Never claimed to be a chef.”

Draco came in then, sauntering lazily and smirking widely. It was disgusting, Ron thought, even as he shivered a bit and squirmed at the effect it was having on him. Draco saw it and laughed, and Ron tried to scowl and concentrated on the cereal.

Ginny was watching them both with wide eyes that glittered in far too satisfied a fashion, and Ron kicked her under the table. “Everyone just shut up,” he said.

Spinning the chair beside him around, Draco straddled it and stole the box of cereal.

It was all very awkward. Ron didn’t know what to say, was thinking that it probably would have been a lot simpler had he just not stopped kissing Draco, because now everyone seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

But he didn’t know what he was supposed to be saying.

He was staring so intently at the cereal in his hand that Ron didn’t hear Ginny call his name. Draco touched his shoulder, not looking cocky any longer, but more concerned.

“Weasley? Hey, you alright?”

He jumped and yelped a little, eyes widening. “Umm. Oh. Sure. What?”

Ginny was frowning, and she mouthed, “What’s wrong?”, as if Draco wouldn’t see her do it, and Ron moaned softly.

“Look, I’m gonna go for a walk, okay? Everything’s fine, I just… I’ll be back in a bit.”

He hurried from the room, aware that the box of cereal had just dropped from Draco’s fingers and spilled all over the table, and that Ginny was staring at him in complete confusion. He just didn’t want to discuss it at all. How was he supposed to say, “Draco, I know you don’t love me but I’m completely in love with you”, without looking like a complete and utter sod with no sense of self-worth? And so he had to get away until the urge to confess all those soppy feelings was gone.

He grabbed a cloak and ducked out of the cottage, into the frigid cold.

His breath hissed in front of him, his skin felt tight and icy cold, and it was all a very good distraction from the disgusting fluffiness that was building up inside.

He walked for a long while, and the only sound was the brittle cracking of snow beneath his boots. Finally, when he’d gotten his soppy thoughts under control, he made his way back to the cottage.

Draco was sitting on the front steps, wrapped in his cloak, and smoking. He watched Ron as he made his way out of the trees and into the shadow of the cottage, and then he took the cigarette from his lips.

“If I did something to scare you, I didn’t mean to,” Draco said, and Ron cocked his head and wondered if this was an example of how Draco was trying to do what was easiest for someone else and not himself, and all of the soppy feelings he’d just walked off came back all over again.

“It’s just I think I kinda love you,” Ron said. And then he winced. “I’m such a fucking idiot!” he spat. “Bloody fucking hell, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean… I mean, I’m so dense sometimes, I shouldn’t have said that, I know you don’t…can’t…won’t…” He trailed off, breathing heavily and shooting a quick glance at Draco, which was not all that reassuring. Draco was staring blankly at him, as if he didn’t even recognize him anymore. Ron licked his lips and waited for something to happen. The ground to open up and swallow him, something like that. “Any chance we can forget I said that?” he whispered.

Draco blinked. “Umm,” he said, looking nervous.

Ron felt a stirring of irritation at that and he chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. “I could… I could teach you how.”

“What?” Draco asked faintly.

“Teach you. You said you didn’t know how. To love someone. I could teach you. If you wanted, I mean.”

Draco was still pale and looked rather stunned. The cigarette was burning down in his hand. “I don’t need to know. I don’t want to know.” He ran a hand through his hair and Ron could see it was trembling. He let out a short breath through his nose and turned away.

“I’m sorry. If it helps, I really am.”

“I think I —” Draco started saying, very slowly, and the door opened and Ginny was there suddenly.

“Malfoy was going a bit crazy, Ron,” she scolded. “You were gone for so long, we were worried.”

Ron remembered Draco’s protectiveness and how quick he was to worry, ever since everything had happened with Sean and his father. He glanced back at Draco and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

Draco just stared at him blankly, tossed his cigarette aside, and disappeared into the cottage.

“What did you do?” Ginny whispered, eyes wide.

Ron collapsed onto the front step and started to cry.