Chapter Twelve
An Unexpected Gift

Holiday at the Burrow turned out to be much better than Ron had feared, and although there were sombre moments over the break, there was plenty of laughter as well. The only problem was that Ron didn’t feel quite sincere whenever he joined in. But Harry and Ginny were there, and so were Bill, Fleur, Charlie, and Percy. Moments like this were few and far between, and it’d be a long time before they’d all be in one place again, so he tried to laugh, hoping that somewhere along the way, it’d actually feel genuine.

The holiday also helped ease some of the unresolved resentment and suspicion that sat between him and his friends, but Ron could still feel lying under the surface, waiting to erupt.

Sleep was easier, though; not because he didn’t have nightmares, but because by the time all of the talking and laughter was done, he was completely knackered. But he’d always wake with a faint feeling like he’d been running again.

On Christmas day, the smell of the feast to come drifted upstairs, rousing Ron from sleep. Childlike excitement sparked by nostalgia caused him to bolt into a sitting position and spring out of bed, elbowing Harry in the process.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry, Harry. Wake up. It’s Christmas!” Ron exclaimed as he searched for some sweats.

Harry turned over and yawned. “Ron, we’re not kids anymore.”

“Well we’re still in school, aren’t we? That has to count for something.”

Harry chuckled and reached over to the nightstand to retrieve his glasses. When he sat up, Ron clapped his hands.

“Come on, don’t dally about. Let’s get downstairs.”

Ron quickly washed up and dressed. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, the assault of smells from the Christmas feast his mum was preparing had him absolutely giddy with excitement. It was almost as if nothing had changed.

Almost.

Before darker thoughts threatened to dim his mood, a clap on his back sent him stumbling forward.

“What the—”

George was standing behind him with a cheeky grin. “Just had to be the first one down, didn’t you?”

Ron smiled. “You know it.”

Soon, everyone else joined them. Everyone except for Hermione. Ron groaned, remembering that she’d promised to join them after she exchanged gifts and shared a special Christmas brunch with her parents.

But Percy was already eyeing the gifts under the tree. When he bent over to pick up a medium blue box with a blue speckled bow, Mum promptly smacked it from his hand. “Just a minute, Percy! Aren’t we missing someone?”

“Yeah…Hermione,” Ron said with sigh. “She said she’d come as soon as she exchanged gifts with her parents.”

“Well, we’ll just wait until she arrives,” Mum said. “In the meantime, you can all help me tidy the place up a bit.”

There was much grumbling, but everyone did as they were told. One hour turned into two, and then three. With the chores done, everyone was getting restless until at last, Hermione Apparated into their living room. They all dropped what they were doing to greet her and gather around the tree once more. Ron gave Hermione a long embrace, and a chaste kiss on the cheek, aware that his family was watching. His mum was the last to join the clan in the living room, wiping her hands on her apron as she emerged from the kitchen. She gave Hermione a firm hug and asked her how she was doing. When they were done exchanging pleasantries, she turned to see everyone looking on in barely constrained anticipation.

Mum laughed at their impatience and extended her hands. "Oh, all right, now we can exchange gifts!"

There was a collective “Yes” and a few excited claps as the circle closed in around the tree.

Dad gave a small smile, but his eyes were quite serious. “Wait. Before we start, let’s have a moment for Fred.”

Ron's smile fell and he looked around, suddenly feeling bad for feeling so good. As they stood in silence, memories of Fred from Christmases past turned in his head like pages from a wizarding scrapbook. Fred playing pranks, Fred laughing, Fred making weird faces.

Since Fred’s death, Ron had managed not to think about his brother for too long at any one time. A few minutes here and by accident there. But here, in the midst of his family, in the blank void of deafening silence that allowed no other distractions, Ron could feel his throat constricting. It was hard to breathe; something terrific and frightening was welling inside of him, and he wasn’t sure if he had the reserve to hold it in. So he closed his eyes, trying to force it back down into the numb void where it usually resided. A hand fell on his shoulder and he looked up to see George staring down at him, the sadness in his eyes at odds with his small comforting smile.

“I’d say that’s enough silence. Fred would have been on his second gift by now.”

They all smiled, and the atmosphere in the room shifted as the temporary moratorium on frivolity was lifted. George had given them permission to move on, and although Ron couldn’t quite push the sadness aside, his guilt subsided.

He bent down to pick up a shiny red box. It was addressed to Percy, so he handed it to him while George picked up a gift and handed it off to Ginny. As they all chose and passed on gifts to their appropriate recipients, Ron was pleased to find he was accumulating an impressive collection this year. Then again, last year he hadn’t been home for Christmas.

He hadn’t even been with Harry and Hermione.

That lonely Christmas day spent at Shell’s Cottage with Bill and Fleur seemed like light-years away from this Christmas, and a wave of gratitude swelled within Ron as he looked to find Hermione and Harry both engaged in gift swaps with content smiles on their faces.

Once the gifts were sorted, they all sat down and tore into them. Ron was pleased with everything he received: a book on Quidditch full of collector’s cards from Harry, a Keeper’s glove from Ginny, a Muggle CD player from his Dad, a new but very familiar-looking handmade sweater from his Mum, and a rather expensive-looking marble chess set that all his brothers had pitched in to buy.

The only thing left was Hermione’s gift. He gasped when he opened it.

The entire family leaned in with wide eyes, looking between Hermione and him.

“Oh, Ron, that’s gorgeous,” Ginny said.

Ron was speechless as he reached into the rectangular box and picked up the white gold chain with a pendant hanging from it. There was a dazzling raised engraved symbol of an animal carved on it; the head, wings and talons looked to be that of an eagle, but the lower half and tail were that of a lion.

Hermione piped up. "It’s Celtic, the griffin symbol. It represents courage and strength. I thought it fit you perfectly."

Ron couldn’t stop staring at it, his eyes suddenly feeling sensitive to the light and dust in the room- or at least that’s what he told himself.

"Do you like it?" Hermione asked anxiously.

At a loss for words, Ron put down the box and went to her, hugging her fiercely.

“I suppose that’s a yes, then?” she laughed.

“Yes, thank you,” he said, blushing as he looked down at the gift he’d given her.

“What is it?” she asked, looking up at him expectantly. Ron shrugged, trying to hold in his smile as Hermione ripped open the box.

She squeaked and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him unabashedly.

“Let’s see it,” his mum said.

Hermione held the box out, showing them around so everyone could see. “They’re diamond earrings.”

“Whoa, not quite,” Ron said quickly.

“They’re not?” Hermione asked.

“Nope, they’re petrified dragon tears, not quite as fancy as diamonds, but harder to get your hands on,” Ron said proudly.

“Dragon tears? Ron, how did you—”

Ron glanced to Charlie, who nodded.

"I may have assisted him in acquiring those…" Charlie said.

“I hope you didn’t use all of your Order of Merlin money on these, Ron. It’s very sweet but—”

“Hermione, please … just accept them, and leave it be,” Ron said firmly, hoping she’d back down for once.

She stared down at the earrings once more and looked up with an appreciative smile. “Thank you,” she said, kissing him once more on the cheek.

They sat on the couch together watching everyone else open their gifts, until finally there were no more gifts left save for a small silver box with a green bow sitting under the tree.

“Whose gift is that?” asked Percy.

“Not sure. It didn’t have a name on it,” George said.

“It came early this morning by special owl,” Ron’s mum said. “Right fancy owl, too.”

Harry, Hermione, and Ginny all turned to Ron. There was a hush around the room as he stood to retrieve it.

The box was small, able to sit comfortably in his right hand. He studied the fancy silver wrapping and silken green bow.

“Well, open it, already,” George said.

Ron ripped into the package and lifted the hood of the box, nearly uttering an “oh shit” when he laid eyes on the miniature red and gold hookah inside. There lay a note underneath.

Something to get you through the hols. Dinner will be served at 2pm and the Apparition coordinates are enclosed. I don’t expect you to actually drop by, but to be honest, I’m terribly bored, and I thought you might like an opportunity to get away. If you show, fine. If you don’t, that’s fine as well. Either way, have a happy one.

-D.M.

Bugger, Draco! How dare he!

Ron knew his face reflected shock and anger, but there was no graceful way to cover it up now.

“Well, what is it, dear?” his Mum asked, making her way over to him.

Ron gnawed at his lip as everyone threw curious glances between him and the box.

“Uh, nothing. Some sort of prank.“ Ron said, pulling the gift away from his Mum’s probing eyes.

“A prank? Well, let’s have a look,” George said, moving in. Ron clutched the box tighter to him, trying to control the scowl on his face. Leave it to Malfoy to ruin the one good day he was actually enjoying.

“Who’s it from, Ron?” Hermione asked.

Ron opened his mouth and then reconsidered. It would only invite more questions and curious stares. Instead, he headed towards the staircase.

“Ron, what is in that box?” his mum demanded.

“Nothing, Mum. Listen, there’s something I have to do,” Ron said, bracing himself for a row, but his mum only stared back at him with concern in her eyes.

It made him feel guilty for not being honest. “Uh … I have to run an errand.”

“An errand?” his father said. “Ron, it’s Christmas!”

“I know. I’ll be back soon,” he said as he began to walk up the stairs.

“Ron?” Hermione said, her eyes begging for an explanation.

“I’ll be right back, Hermione. Promise,” he said, giving her an apologetic smile.

There were many exclamations and questions, mostly from his mother, but Ron didn’t hear any of them as he bolted upstairs to escape them so he could Apparate properly. He had a Malfoy to straighten out.

~~~*~~~

By the time Ron Apparated outside of the gates of Malfoy Manor, he was livid. How dare Draco send him a druggie gift in front of his family and friends! How dare he presume that Ron wanted or needed such a gift! What they did on the Tower every night was a casual habit; it wasn’t a need. He didn’t need to smoke to get through the hols. In fact, he didn’t need anything or anybody.

Ron closed his eyes, cognisant that he did need his family and friends. But he didn’t count Malfoy or his drug habit among that group.

When he opened his eyes, he was staring at cast iron bars with a moulded Olde English ‘M’ insignia over the faded Malfoy family crest. The bars were shut and locked, but he could see the Manor through them. Like lightning, a jarring memory straight out of his nightmares flashed before his eyes. He grimaced, his anger reinforced. He rapped his knuckles dead center on the ‘M’, and the gates opened immediately.

The walk up the path to the front door seemed unusually long. By the time Ron reached the door and knocked, he’d worked himself into a state of outrage. The door creaked open, and a house elf peeked out.

“Yes?”

“Hi, I’d like to speak to Malfoy. Uh, Draco Malfoy, please,” Ron said, trying to affect authority in his tone.

The elf stared up at him as if he had just spoken another language and then a woman’s voice drifted to Ron's ears.

“Who is it, Minnie?”

“I donts know.”

Ron tensed as soft footsteps approached. The door opened wider, revealing Draco’s mother. For a moment, Ron was at a loss for words. It was as if Narcissa Malfoy had aged several years since the last time he had seen her. There were new worry lines etched into her brow, she was much paler, and her blue eyes were harder than he remembered. But her beauty remained. Her long blonde locks were swept back, except for a few tendrils, showcasing her high cheek bones and distinguished nose. Even in her casual dark blue house robes, she exuded elegance and grace. Ron coughed, suddenly aware he was gawking at Draco’s mother.

She gave Ron a strange, puzzled look. “Yes?”

“Hello, Mrs Malfoy, you may remember me. I’m Ron … Ron Weasley.”

“Yes, I remember you,” she said stiffly, a chill in her words. “How may I help you?”

Ron swallowed. “I need to speak with your son.”

Her eyes canvassed Ron from head to toe suspiciously, and then she glanced over her shoulder before looking back at him.

“Minnie, please tell Draco he has a guest,” she ordered.

“Yes, Missus.”

As Ron stepped inside, his anger dissipated into doubt. Draco’s mother looked cautious and distrustful, and the idea of actually confronting Draco in front of her suddenly seemed irrational and boorish. Perhaps speaking with Draco in private would be better.

Waiting in the foyer with Mrs Malfoy was awkward to say the least, and Ron debated about whether he should attempt polite conversation or keep his mouth shut. He chose the latter, trying to remain still under her appraising gaze until he heard footsteps.

“A guest?” Ron heard Draco say as he approached. “Mother, who—”

Draco stopped at the entrance of the foyer, clearly stunned by Ron’s appearance. His eyes darted to his mother. “Ron- uh, Weasley...”

Ron could feel perspiration breaking on his forehead as he tried to muster up the same nerve that had brought him.

“I need to talk to you.”

Saying the words out loud sounded even more ridiculous than it had in his head, and he held his breath as Draco’s eyes shifted to his mother uncomfortably. Mrs Malfoy was watching her son as if waiting for an explanation.

“About what?”

Ron’s eyes darted from Mrs Malfoy to Draco. “It’s private.”

“Whatever you have to say to my son, you can say it right here, Mr Weasley.”

“Mrs Malfoy—“

She held up her hand to silence him. “Mr Weasley, if you think you can come into my home, and talk to my son in any way you like, you are sorely mistaken. I’m not ignorant of what has been going on. I know how you and your friends are treating Draco.”

Ron held his breath, caught between denying her claim and defending himself.

“You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I do. And we do not appreciate your unannounced visit.”

“Mother, please,” Draco said, stepping closer to her. “I invited him.”

“Draco …?” Mrs Malfoy said softly in disbelief.

“That’s why you came, isn’t it, Ron?” Draco asked, with imploring eyes that begged for Ron to cooperate.

Ron nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s right. Draco sent me an invitation, said you were having dinner at 2, so I thought I’d take him up on it. I just wanted to speak to him in private to make sure I wouldn’t be intruding.”

“Is that so…” Mrs Malfoy said slowly.

“I know what you’re thinking, Mrs Malfoy, but it’s not like that at all. At least, not between him and me. Draco and I actually hang out at school now. Quite a bit, really,” Ron said, struck by just how truthful his words were.

“I see,” Mrs. Malfoy said, clearly taken aback. She looked between her son and Ron before offering a small head bow. “Well, please accept my apologies, Mr Weasley. I didn’t mean to be so brusque.”

Ron gave her a small forgiving smile. “It’s all right. I’m still getting used to the idea of being friends with Draco myself.”

An unexpected smile from Mrs Malfoy had Ron sighing silently in relief.

“Well, I suppose we can have an early dinner. There’s plenty of food, so I hope you came with a full appetite.”

Ron smiled. Eating actually sounded good right about now. “I sure did.”

Dinner was surreal. Ron found his emotions vacillating from curiosity to awe to unease. He tried to remember everything Hermione had attempted to impart to him about table manners, but he still had the feeling he was terribly unprepared for such a fancy dinner. He mimicked everything Draco did instead. There were five courses, and each one seemed fancier than the last.

Narcissa asked Ron about his family and their traditions, and that seemed to ease the last bit of lingering tension. They laughed as Ron recounted how much of an event it was to get the tree up, and some of the rows George and Percy had got into over the years.

After a while, Mrs Malfoy’s demeanour changed considerably, and she smiled freely, sharing a few of her own memories about Draco and Christmases past. This seemed to please Draco, as Ron observed him looking at his mum with a satisfied smile several times during dinner.

“Would you like some wine, Mr Weasley?” she asked as the house elf poured her another glass.

Ron nodded eagerly. “Uh, sure. Thanks.”

He took his time sipping his wine, relishing the grown-up feeling of drinking fine wine at the Malfoy dining room table. Who would have ever thought he’d be here a year ago?

After dessert, Mrs Malfoy excused herself, giving Ron a kind smile. “Well, as lovely as this has been, I’m quite full and would like to take a nap. Mr Weasley, it’s been a pleasure.”

Ron rose awkwardly with her, unsure if that was the right thing to do. “Yes it has, Mrs Malfoy. Thank you for inviting me to dinner. It was really great.”

“Well, I do hope it won’t be the last time you join us,” she said, giving Draco a meaningful look before disappearing.

Draco summoned the elf for more wine, but instead of letting the elf pour, he grabbed the entire bottle from the creature and motioned Ron away from the table.

“Let’s go up to my room.”

Ron paused for a moment. His family was probably waiting for him to return. But he was in no rush to field the litany of questions they probably had. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt. He nodded, unable to deny his increasing curiosity about what other things there were to discover during his visit.

As he and Draco made their way back to the grand staircase, Ron couldn’t help but look around the parlour. An unexpected shudder passed through him as his eyes fell onto the stairway leading down to the Malfoy basement, so he kept his eyes on Draco as he climbed up.

They walked a good ways before reaching a doorway. Draco opened it, and Ron entered a black-and-silver decorated bedroom large enough to hold two of his parents’ master bedrooms.

“Whoa, your room is huge!”

Draco shrugged. “If you say so.”

Ron plopped onto Draco’s grand king size canopy bed without thinking twice to ask his permission. When he realised what he had done, he sat up quickly.

“It’s all right, Ron, you can relax.”

But suddenly it didn’t seem okay at all. Ron remained sitting upright, staring at Draco’s back as he went to his desk.

“You know you nearly bolloxed up Christmas for me,” he said.

Draco turned, eyebrow raised. “How's that?”

“By sending a special owl on Christmas day to deliver a hookah to my house! You may as well have sent a howler announcing to everyone I smoke grass!”

Draco laughed.

Ron scowled. “It’s not funny, Draco. What in the world made you think that was all right?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Is this your way of thanking me? It’s not very gracious, but then again, that’s no surprise coming from you.”

“No, I’m not thanking you at all. Actually, that’s why I came over — to give it back. I don’t need it,” Ron said with a conviction he no longer felt.

“Fine,” Draco said with a challenge. “Hand it over, then.”

Ron pulled the hookah out of his pocket, giving it one final look. It really was a nice piece— the gold appeared to be of high quality and the red coils wrapped around it looked and felt like genuine soft leather.

“How much did it cost?”

Draco huffed. “Does it matter?”

“Yeah, it does. This may be a surprise to you, Draco, but blokes don’t go around buying fancy gifts for other blokes they’re not related to. I mean, we’re not even—” Ron paused, glancing up. Draco was watching him closely, his whole body rigid as if waiting for rejection.

Ron ate his words, shaking his head instead. “I didn’t even get you anything.”

Draco’s face softened as he sat down at his desk. “So? It’s Christmas— good will, charity and all that.”

Ron narrowed his eyes. “I don’t need charity from you.”

Draco groaned. “Please, keep it. If anyone needs a smoke, it’s you. You’re so damned sensitive. If it’s really bothering you, you can pay me back later.”

“Oh? And how exactly would you like me to pay you back?”

Draco smirked. “By keeping your oafish housemates off my arse. You know, be my bodyguard.”

Ron chuckled. “I’ve been doing that. And I suppose it’s about time I got proper payment for it.”

Draco snorted and Ron smiled for a moment before remembering something Mrs Malfoy had said.

"And while we're on the subject...what did your mum mean when she said she knew how people have been treating you?"

Draco shook his head. "She only knows what I tell her. She thinks I'm being teased. She has no idea what's really going on. If she did, she'd pull me out of school, and I won't let that happen."

Ron stared back at Draco with a mixture of pity and admiration. A blush crept on Draco's face, and he turned his back to Ron, fiddling with something on his desk.

Ron sighed, and reclined back on the large bed. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of lushness surrounding him. It was the softest firm mattress he’d ever felt. Just sitting on it made Ron want to sleep.

“You sure do have it good here. If I had this much money, I’d quit school.”

“Money isn’t everything…”

“Sure it is,” Ron said. “I mean that’s why we’re in school, isn’t it? So we can get decent jobs and earn money to live.”

“No, that’s not why I’m in school.”

Ron turned his head to look at Draco, but the other boy was staring down some sort of photograph in his hand.

Draco remained silent, wiping the surface of the frame with his hand before putting it back on his desk. Ron strained to get a good look at it. It was a photograph of Lucius Malfoy with Draco at some sort of high profile event. Lucius was smiling; it was a strange sight to see. Two Malfoys smiling—genuinely, without malice or smugness, simply a father and son enjoying the event and each other.

Draco must have noticed Ron’s bemusement because his tone became defensive. “I know what you think of him, but he’s really not a bad person.”

Ron met his eyes and saw fire there and something else. Pain.

Ron sat up. “Have you had a chance to visit him yet?”

Draco’s eyes dropped and he shook his head. “They don’t allow it.”

“Are you serious?”

Draco’s eyes sharpened. “Yes. Why are you surprised? You’ve seen what your lot can do when they set themselves up as judge and jury.”

Ron bit back a retort, cognisant that Draco was clearly angry and upset about being kept from his father.

“Mother petitions for it every week. And every week they reject her request.”

Sympathy punched Ron in the heart, and he tried to punch back with rationalisations: Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. Lucius Malfoy tried to kill his friends. Lucius Malfoy was a bad man … but none of those explanations held up against the sadness in Draco’s eyes. Ron didn’t know how to reconcile it, but he knew better than to say anything that would add insult to injury.

“I’m sorry,” was the only thing that seemed appropriate.

Draco raised his head, his mask of neutrality returning. “It’s not your fault, is it?”

Ron didn’t know how to respond to that. As the weight of Draco’s melancholy began to suffocate him, he looked around the room in desperation, trying to something else to talk about, a distraction.

“Do you have any games?”

“Games?” Draco asked.

“Yeah, you prat,” Ron said, affecting a light-hearted tone he didn’t feel. “Like exploding snaps or magical darts?”

Draco grinned. “You should see our game room.”

“Game room?” Ron exclaimed, sitting up abruptly. “No way! Show me!”

~~~*~~~

When Ron finally returned to the Burrow, it was nearly dusk. His mum greeted him at the door, her face reflecting worry and relief.

“Oh, Ron! Ron, my sweet boy,” she cried when he entered the door. Ron was immediately smothered in a firm hug as the rest of the family gathered around. “Where in world have you been?”

Finally her death grip loosened, and Ron had to suck in air as she pushed him back and held him firmly by both arms. “We were worried sick! Don’t you ever leave like that again without telling us where you’re going!”

Ron glanced at the Mortality Clock in exasperation. “I don’t know why you're so upset. The clock says I’m perfectly fine!”

“Oh!” his mum said in frustration as his Dad gave him a concerned look.

“Son, where did you go?”

“There was something I had to do, Dad. What matters is I’m back, I’m safe, and just in time for dinner.”

“Just barely,” Mum grumbled, finally letting him go. “Everyone wash up and take your seats.”

“We were just about to start without you,” Bill said, giving his brother a wink.

“We should have. Would have served you right,” said George, giving Ron a not-so-playful push on the arm.

As the rest of his family cleared out, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny remained, their eyes demanding a better story than the one Ron had fed his parents.

“Ron—” Hermione started.

“Not now, guys, all right? Let’s just eat. We can talk about this later.”

But Harry stepped in front of him, blocking Ron’s path. “Did you go and see Malfoy?”

Suddenly the room felt much smaller as the three closed in on him.

“And what if I did? Is being friends with Malfoy a crime now?” Ron asked defensively.

“You tell us!” Ginny said, her arms folded across her chest. “If there’s nothing to be ashamed of, then why do you have to sneak around to hang out with him?”

“Because of questions like this! You guys act like he’s You-Know-Who. You don’t even know him!”

“That’s right, and I’d like to keep it that way,” Ginny said with a fierce whisper. “I can’t believe you, Ron. Running out of the family to see that pompous git!”

Ron clenched his fist, trying to keep from snapping at his sister. Did they actually attend the same school? The pompous had been kicked out of Draco a long time ago.

“Have you seen Draco lately? He’s far from pompous. He’s... listen, you just need to relax. It’s nothing.”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to lean in. “Ron, it’s not nothing! He sends you a gift that you don’t show anyone, and then you run out without telling us where you’re going so that you can meet up with him. Something is going on and you’re not telling us anything. It’s rude, and inconsiderate, and… and I won’t tolerate it anymore!”

“Hermione, please, let’s not do this. It’s Christmas.”

Hermione was fuming, her chest was rising and falling rapidly and her fists were balled at her sides. “I don’t care, Ron. This stops now. Either you come out and tell us what’s going on, or I’ll ask Malfoy myself!”

“Hermione, I’m not doing anything wrong!”

“How can we possibly know that when you’re not telling us anything. What are we supposed to think?”

“You’re supposed to trust me,” he said through gritted teeth, pushing past Harry to head to the kitchen.

As everyone gathered around the table, Ron could feel Hermione, Harry, and Ginny watching him. Their scathing glares were hard to ignore, but Ron did his best, trying to engage the rest of his brothers in playful banter.

After a few minutes it seemed to do the trick, and the tension began to slowly diffuse. Somewhere between eating, listening to George’s tales of magical gadgets gone wrong, and Charlie’s dragon stories, the wariness was replaced by genuine laughter and teasing. Ron was relieved and pleased to see that the previous questions about where he had gone didn’t matter. At least for the moment, everyone seemed content to enjoy the gift of family and friends gathered around the feast Mum had prepared.

~~~*~~~

Chapter Thirteen
I’m Just Fine, Thank You Very Much


The cheer and familial bliss of Christmas lasted only a little longer than the day itself. Hermione left two days later on a rather bad note. She had already planned to leave the Burrow to spend the rest of her holiday with her parents, but the night before her departure, another awkward moment presented itself, widening the burgeoning gulf between her and Ron.

Hermione had been waiting on the porch when Ron had come in from a long walk with his hookah in his pocket. A bit loopy from the drug, Ron’s guard had been down when they embraced. He had nibbled on her neck while she giggled and buried her face into his chest. It was only then that Ron had remembered he’d forgotten to cast Draco’s smell-extinguishing charm.

“Ron, what’s that smell?”

He had pulled back and stumbled away from her, his eyes falling to the porch’s floorboards. “What smell?”

“Ron Weasley, look at me!”

Slowly Ron raised his eyes to meet hers, his entire face burning.

Hermione had stepped closer, her eyes wide and full of horror. “Are you doing drugs?”

Ron had simply shaken his head and scoffed as if Hermione was the loopy one.

“What are you on about?”

“Oh, Ron,” she whispered in shock.

“Leave off, Hermione. It’s nothing, all right?” he’d said hastily, turning his back on her to go inside and run up the stairs.

He had closed himself off in his room, waiting for her to follow him, but no knock came. Holding his head in his hands, shame and guilt had overtaken Ron, and kept him prisoner in his room for the remainder of the evening. The charade was up. Hermione was smart, and Ron knew she had already figured out that whenever he said, “I’m fine” or “it’s nothing”, he was lying. Over the past few months, every ‘nothing’ wound up being something Ron either wanted to bury or forget. Only, no one around him would allow it.

The next day, Hermione had left without even kissing him goodbye, offering only a small forced smile and wave after embracing everyone else but him.

In the days after, Ron had tried to drown out the nagging self-loathing and insecure whispers in his head by catching up with his brothers. Their teasing and laughter were effective in silencing the voices telling him he wasn’t good enough for Hermione, that he was really about to lose her. But mostly, he had spent a lot of time learning and appreciating his new gift.

In the evenings after supper, he’d wander away from the house, turning the hookah in his hand every which way to see how quickly it would heat up. There was barely enough grass in there to get him through the rest of the hols, so he smoked sparingly, out in the fields surrounding the Burrow. He could practically feel Harry and Ginny watching him from the house, but it no longer mattered. They had each other, and Hermione was gone, so how could they begrudge him the simple comfort of solitude? Although, if Ron were to admit it to himself, the solitude he sought was anything but simple. He rarely reflected on anything too long, because his mind was constantly looking for a way to keep from dwelling on anything at all. But no matter how long he tried to avoid thinking of uncomfortable things, they always managed to worm their way into his thoughts. Fred, dead students strewn across the lawn, Remus, Hermione’s torture, Fred, being chased by Fiendfyre, Tonks, the fight with Harry, being splinched, Dobby, the moment he’d left Harry and Hermione and the despair he felt when wasn’t able to find them right away, Fred…

As he sniffed the remaining contents of the hookah, he tried to recall the feeling it gave him. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to suck on it so much if he could just recreate the same experience of relaxation that came over him when he inhaled it. The difference it made between a restful night and a hellish one was remarkable, even if it did come with a side order of self-loathing and guilt. But sniffing it wasn’t really working. He turned it twice in his hand until it warmed and a small stream of smoke drifted from its lid. One tiny little puff before bed wouldn’t hurt. In fact, Ron it was positive it would do him some good.

~~~*~~~

After the holiday break on the day they were set to return, the Weasley family and Harry Floo’ed to Diagon Alley to pick up a few minor things before making their way onto Platform 9 ¾. Hermione was already there, waiting with her parents. She waved when she saw them, and they began to walk over. Ron mentally swore; things were beyond tense between them now. Deciding to get it over with, he met them halfway.

“Mum, Dad, you know Ron,” Hermione said with a stiff smile.

Ron shook their hands and told them how nice it was to see them again, despite feeling the opposite.

Mrs Granger had a pleasant smile on her face, but her eyes were measuring. Mr Granger, however, looked as jolly as father could be.

“Yes. It’s nice to see you again, Ron. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Mr Granger said.

Ron smiled. “Yes, it has.”

“Although now we’re meeting again under entirely different circumstances,” Mrs Granger said with knowing smile. “You’re obviously making quite an impression on our daughter. She always includes something about you in her correspondence.”

Ron looked at Hermione in surprise. Hermione’s face flushed as she gave her mum a weary look. “Mum…”

“Oh dear, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I think it’s very sweet.”

“How are you enjoying your final year, Ron?” Mr Granger asked.

“It’s great. We’re actually having a pretty good year. Hermione here has really whipped the school into shape with the Restoration project,” he said, giving her an appeasing smile.

The Grangers beamed at their daughter proudly as Hermione gave Ron a grateful smile.

“And are you still playing Quidditch?” Mr Granger asked. Ron gave the man a small sympathetic smile, knowing he had never even seen a Quidditch match.

“Yes, I’m a Keeper.”

“And is that what you plan to do after school?” Mrs Granger asked, her eyes probing again.

Ron licked his lips as doubts about his future bubbled like curdled milk in his stomach. He tried to exude self-assurance in his reply, but it came out just as shoddy as he felt about the subject.

“Uh, no, I uh … well, I think I’m going to be an Auror.”

“Auror?” Mrs Granger repeated.

“Wizarding police, Mum,” Hermione said quickly.

“Ah!” both Mrs. and Mr Granger said in unison, giving him approving smiles.

Hermione turned to look at Ron. The unease in which they had parted at the Burrow was transparent through her smile. Ron tried to maintain a cheery, bright expression anyway, although at the moment, it felt plastered to his face like it’d be hexed there with a sticking charm.

Hermione motioned with her head towards Ron’s family. “Mum, Dad, we haven’t said hello to the Weasleys and Harry yet.”

“Oh, right,” Mr Granger said. “Well it was nice seeing you again, Ron.”

“Yes, Mr Granger, same here. Nice seeing you as well, Mrs Granger.”

“It’s always a pleasure, Ron,” she said as Hermione pulled them over to where the rest of Ron’s family stood.

Ron stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling like an outsider looking in as the Grangers mingled with his family and Harry. It was evident that Hermione didn’t want to interact with him right now, and Ron never was one to be where he wasn’t wanted. His eyes scanned the platform, pausing when he noticed a distinguished-looking woman in a fancy petticoat and gloves. Her blond hair was pulled up beneath a rather expensive looking hat. Ron removed his hands from his pockets and began to make his way over to her.

“Uh, Mrs. Malfoy?”

She appeared distracted and turned around abruptly, as if she’d been expecting an attack. When she saw that it was Ron, her face relaxed and she put her hand over her chest. “Oh, Mr Weasley, hello.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Ron said.

She shook her head and offered a small smile. “It’s quite all right. I seem to startle easily these days.”

Ron frowned, remembering what Nott had said about the Malfoys being regarded as traitors.

“Are you looking for Draco?” she asked.

Ron nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well, he should be along any minute now. He said that he had to tend to some last minute shopping and didn’t need me tagging along. I suppose he’s old enough to do that sort of thing alone now,” she said in a whimsical tone that was betrayed by the sadness in her eyes.

Ron smiled. “He’s lucky you let him go alone. My mum still won’t let me out of her sight for five minutes.”

Mrs Malfoy chuckled, which made Ron feel useful. She seemed to need cheer right now.

“Well, I certainly understand. You boys grow up so very fast. It can be difficult for a mother to accept.”

Ron nodded in understanding and fought the urge to fidget. As surprisingly nice as Mrs Malfoy was, it was still weird to be in her company alone.

He looked around and spied Draco’s white blonde crown.

“Ron?” There was a slight note of surprise in Draco’s voice as he approached.

“Hi, Draco,” Ron said, offering a small smile even though he felt a little creepy. He hoped Draco didn’t think he had been waiting for him or something.

“Oh, Draco, I was beginning to worry,” Mrs. Malfoy said, turning towards him to check his coat.

Draco grimaced as his mother inspected him. “Mother, I was only gone for fifteen minutes at the most. I can shop alone, you know. I’m not a child. “

“Yes, so you’ve told me again and again,” she said, brushing his hair away from his face with a gloved hand.

Ron watched on in amusement as Draco stiffened and tried to endure the public grooming. But soon his icy grey stare turned onto Ron, as if he was the only safe place to retaliate.

“What are you doing over here? Shouldn’t you be taking part in the Weasley Platform love fest?”

“Draco! That’s very rude,” Mrs. Malfoy admonished.

“He’s just joking, Mrs Malfoy,” Ron said with a wry smile. “It took awhile, but I’m starting to get his sense of humour. If you want to call it that.”

Draco began to sneer, and then stopped when he realised his mother was watching him in disapproval.

“Ron!” Ginny called from where she was standing with the others.

Ron looked back to see his entire family, Harry and Hermione included, staring at him, and the Malfoys like Aurors suspecting foul play. Why, he couldn’t tell. Perhaps they wanted to know why he was standing with Draco and his mother, or why Draco and his mother would even want to be in Ron’s company. Either way, it was borderline offensive.

“They’re boarding!” his mum called with a strange, strained smile. Even from this distance, Ron could see her sizing up Mrs Malfoy and Draco.

Ron nodded and turned back around. “I suppose that means we should get going.”

Draco nodded. “Goodbye, Mother.”

“Goodbye, darling,” Mrs Malfoy said, embracing her son tightly. “Please take care of yourself, and write me as soon as you get there. And remember if there are any problems, I want you to owl me immediately.”

“I will,” Draco said.

“I mean it, Draco, ” she said sternly.

“I know,” Draco sighed.

“Mr Weasley,” she said, turning towards Ron. “I trust I can count on you to look after my son. That’s what friends do, correct?” she said. But it sounded more like an order.

Ron gulped.

“Mum, I don’t need anyone to look after me,” Draco said forcibly.

“Yes, of course, darling,” Mrs Malfoy said in a patronising tone before levelling a meaningful stare at Ron.

“Come on, Ron,” Draco said, already walking away, his face flushed with embarrassment.

Ron nodded, understanding that Mrs Malfoy needed his reassurance, no matter how bizarre it felt to give it to her.

“Take care, Mrs Malfoy,” he said as began to retreat.

“You as well, Mr Weasley.”

As they approached Ron’s family and friends, he cast a sidelong glance to Draco, whose walk had turned into a quick stride. The boy’s nose seemed to lift higher with each step he took.

“I’ll see you back at school,” Draco muttered as he broke from Ron to avoid the Weasley clan.

“All right,” Ron said under his breath before joining his own family. He was grateful that no one asked any questions; instead, they were all looking at him as if trying to decide if he’d been Imperio’d.

After giving everyone farewell hugs, the four of them boarded. As they chose their car, Ron found himself wondering if Draco was still sitting in the back or if he had ventured to sit among his own house.

Not that Draco would have had any trouble finding a seat, Ron noticed. There were many unoccupied cars, much more than at the beginning of the school year.

“Where’s everyone?” Ron asked, looking out of the car into the aisle.

Harry shrugged.

“Must have something to do with all of the bad press Hogwarts is getting,” Ginny said.

“It most certainly is,” Hermione said. “Parvati told me before break that her parents were considering a transfer for her and her sister to Beaubaxtons.”

“Cowards,” Ron muttered.

He turned away from Hermione’s disapproving glare to talk to Harry, who was busy nuzzling Ginny’s ear. Ron rolled his eyes, irritated. It seemed Harry and Ginny were always under each other, kissing, touching, and exchanging sweet talk. They made it look so easy.

He glanced back at Hermione. She looked at Harry and Ginny and then at Ron, who could only offer her an awkward smile. It felt quite false. Hermione must have thought so as well because she didn’t even bother to try and return it. Instead, she simply sighed, and reached into her bag, pulling out a book to read.

Suddenly the car felt very crowded, and Ron wished he could just get up and sit by himself somewhere, maybe even with Draco in the loser’s section. At least there, he knew he wouldn’t feel so alone.

~~~*~~~

Throughout the train ride and opening feast, Ron noticed a dramatic drop in the temperature —Hermione’s icy silent treatment grew more amplified as the day wore on. She hadn’t even tried to hold his hand, and he certainly wasn’t going to try to hold hers, not after she had made a point of talking to everyone around him, ignoring him completely.

Ron couldn’t figure whether she was still mad about him running out on Christmas, or if it was the suspicion of drug use, or if it was Ron’s new friendship with Malfoy. Perhaps it was all three, not that she’d ever tell him. Hermione was rarely forthright about her anger. As Ron thought on their relationship, heavy weariness set in.

When they finally arrived at Hogwarts, everyone scattered to their respective dorms, unpacked, and then filled the Great Hall to wait for McGonagall’s welcome-back speech. Ron looked over to the Slytherin table and three things stood out right away. Goyle looked absolutely soused; his eyes were droopy, his cheeks were red, and his tie wasn’t even close to his collar. Several seats away, Draco appeared quite uncomfortable, running his hand through his hair and constantly looking to his left. Ron eyes followed the line of sight to where Draco kept looking. Astoria Greengrass had moved her seat. She was now sitting four seats to his left, instead of eight, and her stare was anything but coy or discreet. In fact, she looked as if she was trying to get Draco’s attention. Several seats down, her sister Daphne looked on in disapproval.

Ron smirked and filed the interaction away as something to poke Draco with later just as McGonagall stepped up to the podium. A hush fell over the Great Hall.

“Welcome back, everyone. We are very happy to see all of you. As you may have noticed, a few of your classmates have chosen not to return this term. We know it has been a difficult year for many of you, and we would like all of you to know that we are doing our best to support each and every student in every way we can. In an effort to do a better job of this, St Mungo’s and the Ministry have coordinated efforts to provide several Mind Healers for our students and staff. Starting tomorrow, each and every student and staff member will be required to meet with a Mind Healer for a mental health screening.”

There was a loud collective groan and many complaints, but McGonagall waited it out as the prefects silenced their housemates.

“You will be evaluated for depression, anxiety, and general stress related to the events that took place here last year in order to determine if you need on-going support. Let us embrace this as an opportunity, not a sanction. The first step in healing is recognising that there is a problem. I have the highest hopes that all of you can and will do well this year, and we as staff will do everything in our power to support you in that effort. If you have any questions or concerns about this matter, please see your prefect or Head of House. Now, without further ado, dinner is served.”

Ron barely noticed the food that appeared on the table in front of him. McGonagall’s speech had his head buzzing with warning bells, and he looked all around him to see if everyone else was as equally disturbed by her announcement. But everyone was busy eating or catching up about their break. Ron leaned over to get Harry’s attention.

“Harry… Harry...”

Harry paused from his conversation with Ginny to look at him. “What?”

“Can you believe McGonagall?”

Harry looked perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“It’s ridiculous! She’s actually making us get our heads examined!” Ron said with a dry chuckle. It sounded rather forced, even to his own ears, but the idea of seeing a Mind Healer really was funny. A genuine laugh spilled out, and he made no effort to conceal it.

Harry, Ginny and Hermione all paused, looking at him strangely, and for the umpteenth time that day, Ron felt completely disconnected from all of them.

“Ah, come on, it is a little funny. I mean, I understand she’s under a lot of pressure, but Mind Healers? It’s a bit much, don’t you think? I thought this was a school, not the Janus Thickey Ward.”

“Ron, that’s not funny,” Hermione said with disapproval. “It think it might do you some good, actually.”

Ron’s smile turned into a sneer. “I don’t need any Mind Healer telling me which way is up. I’m fine. All of us are. This is just McGonagall’s way of making nice with the press and nosy parents.”

“That may be,” Harry said, “but it can’t hurt, mate. I’m sure they’re a lot of people here who want to talk someone.”

“Yeah, well, not me,” Ron said, picking up a roll and taking an angry bite. He hated the way they were looking at him as if they all knew something he didn’t. It took all of his self-control not to just stand up and leave.

After dinner as they were all walking back, Ron decided to take another route. He didn’t even bother making an excuse for catching up with them later. Hermione’s frustration was clear; she paused, as if she was about to say something, but Ron didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t have the energy for another row. They could argue later, so he gave her swift kiss on the cheek to placate her, which garnered a weary sigh. As she turned away, Harry and Ginny continued to watch him.

“See you later, guys,” he said casually as if he didn’t notice their disapproving stares.

It didn’t matter. His craving for his former nightly ritual was overwhelming and beckoned him to walk swiftly towards the Tower. His heartbeat quickened as he got closer; he could practically smell the scent of the herb above.

Fingering the hookah in his robes, he ran up the stairs, expecting to see Draco, but no one was there. So he conjured a chair for himself and removed the hookah from his pocket. There was no more herb left, but the odour of it was strong. He put it to his nose, closed his eyes, and breathed it in.

It was all mental, really. Sniffing an empty hookah, on top of the Tower like a drug fiend. He didn’t really need to, he rationalised. But it was a good way to unwind as any. And Merlin, did he need to unwind with all the flack he was catching from his friends and now this business with Mind Healers invading Hogwarts!

Besides, it was legal, and it made sleeping easier. Ron was absolutely certain no Mind Healer could do that.

“I can’t believe you actually beat me up here,” Draco said, startling Ron.

Ron looked up and smirked. “For a minute there, I thought you might not show.”

Draco chuckled, “I have nowhere else to be.”

“Thanks, I enjoy your company as well,” Ron said smartly.

Draco rolled his eyes. “There you go, being sensitive again ... maybe this will make you feel a little better,” he said, pulling out a satchel of herb and throwing it at Ron’s chest before conjuring up a chair to sit across from him.

Ron licked his lips. “You know me so well.”

They laughed as they loaded and turned their hookahs to light them.

“Can you believe McGonagall?” Ron said between inhaling and exhaling. “Setting up us up with Mind Healers like we’re all bunch of nutters …”

Draco took a long drag and sat back. “Actually, I don’t think it’s a bad idea. It’s obvious some people are having a really hard time this year. Perhaps it will help.”

“Now you sound like Hermione and Harry,” Ron said, shaking his head before taking another hit. Maybe if he sucked hard enough, everyone’s rationalisations about why Mind Healers were a good thing would start to sound funny. Everything always sounded a bit funnier when he smoked.

“Great Salazar, you mean I actually agree with something Granger and Potter said?” Draco asked in mock horror. “I may have to change my opinion on sheer principle.”

Ron chuckled. “Yeah, Hermione is really on this whole mental health kick. She always wants me to talk about my feelings. It’s annoying as hell.”

For a moment, Draco said nothing, and his eyes were cast down when he finally spoke. “Maybe she’s just worried about you,” he said softly.

Ron scoffed. “For what? I’m doing better than most here. I’m not trying to top myself, I’m not constantly hitting the bottle like Goyle, or cutting my skin. I mean, what kind of sick fuck does that? Hell, I don’t even have nightmares or flashbacks anymore.”

“You had flashbacks?” Draco asked, sitting up. “You never told me that.”

Ron swore under his breath, hating that he had let that slip. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have them anymore. Not really.”

“Because of this?” Draco said, raising his hookah.

Ron put his hookah down on his lap. “No, not because of this. I really don’t need this stuff. I only smoke it because it’s relaxing. I was fine before I tried it, and I’d be fine without it.”

Draco gave him a sceptical once over. “Right, you’re perfectly fine.”

“That’s right, I am,” Ron snapped at the sarcasm in Draco’s words.

Draco looked out over the wall as Ron tried to calm down. His whole body was charged like he was gearing up for a fight, which was so ridiculous that it only made him angrier.

Draco didn’t speak for several minutes, but when he did, Ron was blindsided by his question.

“So how are you two doing?”

“Who?”

“You and Granger, genius.”

Ron put on his standard blasé mask. “We’re fine.”

Draco tilted his head. “Is that your answer to everything?”

Ron closed his eyes and exhaled smoke directly into Draco’s face. It was satisfying, at least for a moment. But when the smoke cleared, Draco’s stare was still boring into him, causing Ron to shift in his seat.

“What? What do you want to hear?”

“How about the truth … for once,” Draco replied.

Ron clicked his teeth. The truth. Everyone wanted it, but no one cared how hard it was to tell.

“All right, you want the truth? The bloody truth is … it’s just not working. Me and Hermione are too different. She’s … I don’t know … really into books and … feelings, and I’m not. She’s organised and I’m messy. She knows what she wants to do after school. I don’t. She has buckets of hope for the future of Hogwarts, and I have none. And she takes everything so damned seriously, and I refuse to.”

By the time Ron had finished he was nearly breathless and surprised by his words. They had just rolled off of his tongue so easily. But what wasn’t easy was hearing every thing he’d been thinking about his relationship with Hermione out loud. The truth of it hurt.

“Yeah, but it was working before, right?” Draco probed. “So what changed?”

Ron looked out over the wall. That was the big question. What had changed, or had it always been this way between them, and they chose to simply ignore it?

“Nothing really. I’m not sure if it was ever really working. We actually haven’t been seeing each other that long; we were just friends before. Well, perhaps more than that, but nothing serious like this. This is different. I mean, we’ve always had our differences, but we’ve always been there for each other too. Mostly.”

Ron realised he was rambling and not really answering Draco’s question. He looked back expecting to see confusion, but Draco was listening intently and there was no judgment on his face. It helped, but it didn’t take away the fact that it felt bizarre talking to Draco about this.

“So, what brought you two together?” Draco asked.

“I dunno,” Ron said slowly as he thought on it. “We’ve always had this attraction. Last year … really brought us a lot closer together. To be honest … I actually like that she’s different from me. She’s really smart, and caring, and … she’s good for me. And I think she likes that I’m different from her as well. But, I’m not sure if I’m good for her.”

“Or good enough?”

Malfoy’s words was grating, rousing an old insecurity about being worthy of Hermione. An insecurity Ron thought he had laid to rest.

Ron scowled. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Malfoy!”

Draco held up his hands in peace. “I’m just asking questions.”

“No, what you’re doing is playing Mind Healer on me. Is that your new career goal? Because you’re not very good at it.”

Draco sneered but held his peace, and Ron considered ending the conversation. But getting it all out had felt good, and he was mildly curious about what Draco had to say on the matter.

“Anyway, I think Hermione deserves a good boyfriend. And right now I’m not sure I can be one. I’m not even sure I really know what being her boyfriend means. If it means constantly talking about my feelings and worrying about how what I say and do affects her, then that’s a lot of work. More than it should be, I think.”

“It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

Ron bit his lip. Had he? He and Hermione always seemed to miss each other when it came to communication, not that they connected in any other way right now. He had ceased thinking about her sexually, and as their arguments grew more frequent, touching her in an intimate way seemed more and more taboo. Worse still, Ron really had no desire to touch anyone. He didn’t even wank anymore. Sometimes he thought he’d be doing Hermione a favour if he just ended it. It would hurt at first, but the arguments would cease, and so would the pressure.

But the real question was: Was he really ready to completely give up on the idea of being with her?

When a powerful ache pulled at his heart, Ron knew the answer.

He shook his head. “No. I haven’t made up my mind about anything. But I do think she may be getting tired of me.”

In fact, Ron was more sure of it with each passing day. Long before their Christmas row, Hermione’s requests for walks and snogging had all but ceased. What exactly were they still doing together? It made Ron wonder why they had invested so much in their Christmas gifts in the first place. Perhaps they were both hoping that expensive gifts would somehow mend what had been broken.

He glanced up to see Draco studying him, and Ron realised with dawning unease that Draco knew much more about him than Ron knew about Draco.

“And what about you?”

Draco’s eyebrows rose. “What about me?”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

Draco gave Ron an absurd look. “If I were, I certainly wouldn’t be up here with you every night.”

“Well, do you fancy anyone?”

Draco scoffed. “At this school? Please. The girls here are so uncultured … no one is really up to my standards.”

Ron gave Draco a sceptical once-over. “You’re such a liar, Draco. I’ve heard rumours about you. And I know for a fact you used to mess around with Parkinson.”

“That was before … Pansy isn’t here now, and the whole school has gone to shit.”

Ron thought to say that it wasn’t just the school that had gone to shit but also Draco’s reputation. But he was wise enough to bite his tongue before that crack could leave his mouth. He smirked as the perfect opportunity presented itself.

“And what about Greengrass? I’ve seen you looking at her.”

“Daphne? She’s my potions partner, I have to look at her, idiot.”

“No, not Daphne,” Ron said, pointedly.

Draco looked away, taking a long drag before exhaling slowly. “It doesn’t matter. She’s a little girl, that one. Besides, her sister doesn’t approve of me.”

Ron gave Draco a bemused smile. “Since when do you need someone’s approval? If you’re interested, just talk to her.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Is Ron Weasley trying to give me advice about how to talk to girls? I’d laugh if I wasn’t sure I'd lose my dinner.”

“I’ll have you know that I know a thing or two about girls.”

“Clearly,” Draco said, with snigger, and Ron couldn’t help but do the same. He really was clueless about girls, but it made him feel much better to know that someone like Draco didn’t seem to have many answers in that department either.

~~~*~~~

When they finally retired from the Tower, it was quite late, and everyone was asleep, except for Harry. Ron didn’t have to see his best mate clearly to feel Harry’s stare as it followed him through the darkness.

When Ron managed to climb into bed, Harry’s voice was low but firm.

“Where were you?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know.”

“I was up on the Tower. Happy?” Ron asked, not even bothering to mask his annoyance with Harry’s prying.

“With Malfoy?”

“What’s with the nosy questions?”

“Ron, is there something you want to tell me?”

Ron sat up, “No. Is there something you want to ask?”

There was a moment of silence, and Ron hoped Harry had thought better of saying anything else, but he wrong.

“Hermione’s been crying again.”

Ron fell back on the bed, exhaling loudly.

“She thinks you’re hiding something from her.”

“For God’s sake, Harry. I’m not hiding anything. Hermione’s reading into things and overreacting.”

“So what do you and Malfoy do on the Tower every night then?”

“Nothing …”

“That’s not what she thinks.”

“Of course not. She’s probably already come up with a dozen theories about what we do. You know how she gets.”

“Why can’t you just answer the question, Ron?”

Ron sat back up, his annoyance with Harry quickly turning into anger. He had to ball the covers in his hand as he tried to keep his voice lowered. “Because I don’t have to answer anything. You’re not my bloody father.”

“Ron—”

“Save it, Harry. What does it matter to you, anyway? You should be happy I’m out of your hair. You get to snog my sister all you like now without worrying about me.”

“Is that what you think? That I’m glad you’re not around so I can snog Ginny? Because you’re wrong. I miss you. Hermione does too.”

I miss you too, prick. I miss a lot of things, like how the three of us used to do everything together, the way we used to laugh and have fun. But none of that changes the way things are now, does it?

“Harry, it’s late, and I don’t have the energy to talk about this right now.”

“But what about Hermione? I mean, doesn’t it bother you that she’s so upset?”

“Of course it does,” Ron whispered fiercely. “I just … I can’t explain it. You just wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“Listen, I still care about Hermione, all right? I just feel … detached, and not just from her, from everything, really.”

“Well, let us help you then.”

“You can’t!” Ron said, his whisper breaking into his regular speaking voice.

“Shhh,” came a voice from the darkness. It sounded like Dean. “Guys, can you lower your voices?”

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled.

“Sorry …”

Ron could see Harry watching him, waiting for whatever came next. It was Ron’s move, and he planned to nip this in the bud right here and now.

“Listen, Harry, I appreciate your concern. But I don’t ask about what you do with my sister when you two disappear after practices, so I expect the same courtesy. Goodnight.”

Ron didn’t wait for a reply. He lay down and drew the covers over his head, trying to push away the self-loathing voice whispering what a great friend he was proving to be once again.

~~~*~~~

Chapter Fourteen
You Win Some, You Lose Some

When Monday arrived and they began pulling students out of lessons for their initial Mind Healer session, Ron was quite anxious about whether he would pass the assessment.

Slughorn’s class was boring as usual. The man droned on about all of his most prized Potions students and some of the discoveries they had made until one of the assistants from Pomfrey’s infirmary arrived and handed him a list.

He nodded and read it over. The entire class watched in anticipation.

“All right then, the following people should excuse themselves from class immediately for their mental health assessment: Amanda Dickerson, Hermione Granger, Gregory Goyle, and Ron Weasley,” Slughorn called.

Ron cursed under his breath and glanced back at Draco, who gave him a sympathetic, closed-lip smile. When Ron looked at Hermione, both she and Harry were staring between him and Draco with disdain. Hermione stood up and walked towards the door, and slowly, one by one, those who had been called followed her.

Ron kept his eyes on the back of Hermione’s head, wondering when she was going to turn around and demand for him to walk with her. But she never did. As they approached Pomfrey’s infirmary, a nervous twitch and perspiration began to worry Ron's hands. He stopped as the rest walked on, turning around.

“Ron, where are you going?” Hermione called. “You can't skip out on this; it’s mandatory!”

“I know. I’ll be right back,” Ron called back, running down to the lavatories just to the side of the main hall.

He locked himself in a stall and rummaged through his bag until he found it. Turning the hookah in his hand until it heated up, Ron took several quick puffs until a familiar peace began working its way through his entire body. With his nervous twitch dulled along with his senses, he pulled out his wand and cast the smell-extinguishing charm, checked himself in the mirror, and ran back to the infirmary.

Running while high was a strange experience. Ron’s limbs felt out of sync with his body, and he had the strongest urge to simply take a seat in the hallway and tell Pomfrey just what she could do with her Mind Healers. The picture of Pomfrey’s face at being told off made him giggle, and he laughed all the way to the doors of the infirmary before stopping to collect himself. He was winded, like he had just climbed a hill. When he finally caught his breath, he opened the door.

As he entered, Pomfrey throw him a stern look. “Mr Weasley, you’re late. Where have you been?”

“Sorry, had to run to the loo.”

“I see, well, you’ll be meeting with Healer Gordon,” Pomfrey said, gesturing with her hand to a man behind her. “He’s one of Britain’s top Mind Healers. He’s also a former apprentice of mine, and a Gryffindor,” she added.

Ron eyed the Mind Healer with lethargic appreciation. He was rather tall, and had dark wavy hair and striking blue eyes, the latter of which were not unlike Ron’s. In fact, Ron couldn’t help but think that if he were a girl, he’d probably be squealing for being paired off with such a good-looking bloke. He offered the man a lazy smile. The Healer wasn’t so scary at all, especially with the effect of the herb dimming Ron's anxiety and fears at having his mind probed.

Mr Gordon extended his hand. “Hello, you must be Mr Ron Weasley?”

“Yup,” Ron said, giving the man a firm handshake. That was supposed to communicate confidence, or so he had read somewhere. As much as he tried, though, Ron was unable to control the goofy smile taking over his face. There was nothing funny, but then again, nothing ever needed to be when he was high.

Mr Gordon’s smile remained, but Ron could see him inspecting him, his eyes questioning, perhaps wondering why Ron was so damned happy. That was Ron’s cue to take it down a notch. He immediately stopped smiling.

“Let’s go somewhere a little more private, shall we?” Mr Gordon said.

Ron nodded and followed the man to the far corner of the infirmary where wooden partitions had been set up to create long booths.

As he followed Mr Gordon inside of one, and took a seat across from him, paranoia began to creep in. He quickly raised his arm to wipe his nose, discreetly smelling himself for any lingering odour from the herb. To his relief, there was none.

“So, let’s get right into it. This won’t hurt a bit, I promise,” Mr Gordon said with an easygoing smile.

“Okay,” Ron said, smoothing his hands over his thighs as he prepared himself.

“How are you doing these days, Ron?”

“I’m doing all right.”

“Just all right?” Mr Gordon asked with unassuming eyes.

Ron bit his tongue, taking a moment to think on what approach to take. Although Mr Gordon had a laid-back demeanour, Ron knew the man was studying his every move, from the blink of Ron’s eyes to the placement of his hands. What was Mr Gordon really looking for? Probably someone who was healthy, but not too healthy- that probably would come across as rehearsed. Ron figured he had to appear disturbed by last year’s events, but not too disturbed. He wanted to make sure he would not have to return.

He looked up at the ceiling, and took a deep breath. It was time to play chess.

“Well, honestly, it’s been a pretty rough year,” he said.

“Oh? Tell me more about that.”

“It’s just … hard, coming back. So much happened last year and this year, and a lot of people are really having a rough time of it.”

“Yes, I can imagine it would be difficult. Are you having, as you say, ‘a rough time of it’ as well?”

Ron shrugged. “Not really. I’ve been doing what I can to help everyone else. But all you can do is listen. I wish I could do more. “

“Hmm, it sounds like you’re doing your best to stay strong for others.”

Ron nodded. “Yeah, I suppose I am. Makes me feel useful.”

“And that’s commendable, Ron. But staying strong for others takes a lot of energy. How do you feel about what happened here last year?”

Ron swallowed. This was it. It was time to put on his best show ever, or else he’d wind up here every week like the rest of the weaklings who couldn’t cut it.

He dropped his eyes and began to twiddle his thumbs together. “Well, I have a lot of different feelings about it all. I uh...well, I lost my brother, Fred, in the Battle of Hogwarts.”

Just uttering his brother’s name stirred something deep within Ron that threatened to choke off the rest of his speech. He closed his eyes, caught off-guard by the genuine sadness that swept through him.

“It’s all right, do you need a moment?”

Ron took another breath and forced his eyes open, shaking his head slowly. “No, I’ll be fine. It’s just hard to talk about. “

“I understand. And I’m very sorry for your loss. That must have been very difficult for you.”

Ron nodded. “Yeah.”

“So, how have you been coping with the loss of your brother?”

Ron sighed. “It’s been hard. It was a rough summer, but … I think I’m finally coming to terms with it all.”

“You know, Ron, the grieving process can be quite long and there are different stages, and not everyone experiences them the same way. So tell me, have you noticed any dramatic changes in your mood? Are you experiencing sadness, anger, numbness, sometimes all in the same day?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Ron said. “But whenever I start feeling like that, I think, what did Fred die for? He would have wanted me to go on living, and be happy. It’s hard to do, but thinking about him keeps me going. It makes me want live a better life.”

The healer’s eyes were glassy, as if he had been deeply affected by what Ron said, and it took everything Ron had not to smirk back. It wasn’t as if he was totally lying, but these people were too easy.

“It sounds as if you’re very determined to stay positive.”

Ron gave him a small smile. “It helps.”

Mr Gordon wrote something else down. “Ron, I know you said you want to be strong for your friends, but have you noticed any changes in your relationships with them?”

“Like what?” Ron threw back at him.

“Well, sometimes when people go through something difficult, especially something as traumatic as a war or losing a loved one, they may withdraw or find themselves lashing out at others. Would you say you’ve maintained the same level of engagement with the people closest to you? Or have you noticed yourself taking a step back and spending more time alone?”

Ron looked at the Mind Healer in confusion. “No way. I need my friends, now more than ever. If anything, I’d say we’ve grown closer.”

Mr Gordon nodded, scribbling once more. “That sounds great, Ron. Now, what about your studies here? Have you noticed any change in your focus or level of concentration? Do you ever find yourself daydreaming, or tuning out?”

“Sometimes, but I did that before …”

Mr Gordon chuckled. “Fair enough. What about your daily habits, such as sleeping and eating? Have you been getting enough rest? Are you eating properly?”

“Yeah, I love meals; those are my favourite times of the day. And as far as sleep … I mean, sometimes I have a nightmare or two, but not often.”

“And when you have these nightmares, what are they about?”

Ron shrugged. “I can never remember.”

“Have you ever had a nightmare or sudden vision of something unpleasant while you were awake?”

“Huh?”

“They’re called flashbacks. It’s a common occurrence in veterans of war.”

“Oh. No, nothing like that has ever happened to me. I hope it never does. I think I’d freak out.”

“Well, there’s no rule of thumb for survivors of war. You may go the rest of your life without experiencing one, but if you do happen to have one, you should know that it’s perfectly normal. Now Ron, I need to ask you something very important. I don’t want to alarm you, but we’re here because there have been some concerns for the safety of the students. Have you ever thought about hurting yourself or someone else?”

Ron shook his head. “Nah. Well, maybe if you count that murdering bastard Rookwood who killed my brother. But he’s at large, isn’t he? So I can’t bloody well get my hands on him at the moment.”

The Healer smiled a little and nodded. “That’s very true. It sounds like you’re dealing with things the best way you can, and that you’re a great support for others as well.”

“I do what I can,” Ron said trying his best to sound earnest and not arrogant.

“It seems like you have a good head on your shoulders, young man.”

“Thank you, I really appreciate you and the others coming down to look after us. I’ve been worried about my classmates.”

“Anyone in particular?”

Ron looked up at the ceiling, feigning contemplation. “No, no one specifically, but it’s just a general mood. Like there’s this heavy cloud hanging over the school. It’s hard to tell how people are really taking things, you know?”

“Yes, we do. That’s why we’re here.”

Ron nodded, giving him an approving smile. Relieved that the assessment seemed to be at an end, he clapped his hands and began to rise.

“Ah, just one more question, Ron.”

“Yeah?” Ron asked, slowly taking his seat again.

“We’re finding that many students here are attempting to self -medicate. That is to say, they are trying to treat symptoms of nightmares, flashbacks, depression and anxiety by themselves. Have you ever used alcohol, drugs, potions, or other substances to make yourself feel better or as a sleeping aid?”

Ron laughed. He hoped it didn’t sound as nervous to Mr Gordon as it did to his own ears. “No. I don’t even know where I would get my hands on stuff like that. I mean I’ve had a drink or two. But that was just during hols. Oh, and one time last term when someone spiked the punch after a game.”

“And no other substances?”

Ron shook his head.

“Very well, well thank you for coming in, Ron. We’ll be in contact if necessary. And you’re always welcome to drop by, should you need to talk.”

“Sure,” Ron said.

Mr Gordon took his hand once more and shook it, rising with Ron. The man’s smile was kind enough, but his eyes were still measuring, searching in a way that made Ron feel self-conscious. He gave the man one last quick smile and headed out of the booth.

The door to the infirmary may as well have been at the first goal post of the Quidditch pitch, it seemed so far away. As Ron walked away from Mr Gordon, he couldn’t escape the feeling that the man had seen through his act and was scribbling down prescriptive notes suggesting he be transferred to a real loony bin. The thought of waiting for Hermione to get out of her assessment briefly crossed Ron's mind, but as his paranoia grew, staying around the infirmary seemed more and more like a bad idea. Just making it to the door without speaking to anyone else or having anyone stop him was much more important right now.

When he finally broke through the door, it was all Ron could do not to run. He considered going back to class, but on his way, many classroom doors flew open as students spilled out into the hallways. Ron slowed down his pace, happy to see the people around him engaged in their conversations and moving about without giving him a second glance. With any hope at all, he could get through the rest of the school year in the same way.

~~~*~~~

Only a few bricks remained unsettled on the East Wing, and the ivy Draco had imbued there had begun to take root in the newly-mortared cracks, its young vines hanging in fragile tendrils against the stone. These days, the group spent more time chatting and marvelling at their creation than actually working. They were nearly done, but no one was in a rush to finish. For Ron, time spent in the group was very much like the time he spent atop the Tower with Draco. There was no pressure, no bad vibes-- it had become an escape, one that offered rare moments of hope and familiarity of what Hogwarts could be and what it once was.

As they all sat near the edge of the wall, sprawled out and talking amongst themselves, Ron leaned back on his hands and looked around. A Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were sitting across from two Slytherins, all laughing over some inside joke. Behind them a Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were engaged in a serious but courteous debate about the new Ministry and post-war politics surrounding the use of Dementors, while a Gryffindor and Hufflepuff watched on. And then there was Ron and Draco. They sat slightly apart from the group on the fringes. Every once in a while someone would pull them into the conversation, but mostly the duo was left alone to sit in comfortable silence, watching, listening, and occasionally working.

Suddenly there was a bustle of movement, and Ron was jarred out of his quiet observations. The group scrambled to their feet, many extending their wands to face the wall like they were busy working. Ron looked up to see Hermione approaching, her eyebrows drawn together in discontent.

“What’s going on over here?”

Several of the students looked at each other as if they had no idea of what Hermione was talking about.

“We’re working,” replied one Ravenclaw.

“Now you’re working. Just a second ago, I observed all of you lounging about. And some of you still are," she said, looking down at both Ron and Draco, who exchanged an amused smile and then struggled to their feet.

“Sorry, Hermione, we were just taking a break,” Ron explained.

“I see,” she said, looking between him and Draco. “I suppose this means your group is close to finishing its task?”

“Actually, yes, that’s exactly what it means, Granger,” Draco said.

Hermione looked genuinely surprised. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, take a look for yourself,” Draco said, motioning his head towards the wall.

Hermione gave Draco an once over, glanced at Ron and she pushed between them to walk towards the wall.

The students parted to give her room, watching in thick silence as she conducted a thorough inspection.

“The colouring, it’s different. It doesn’t match the rest of the castle,” Hermione said with disapproval.

“Yes, it’s much brighter,” said one of the Hufflepuff girls. “We decided to go with a lighter grey that compliments the old stones of the castle, but stands out as distinctly new. It’s really lovely when the sun hits it.”

“Hmm, all right,” Hermione said sceptically. She turned around and leaned over the wall. They all heard her gasp in surprise, and Ron tensed as he waited for her to turn around.

Please let her like the ivy. Please let her like the ivy.

He glanced sidelong at Draco and saw that the boy was the very picture of cool, save for his tightened jaw.

Hermione turned around. “Whose idea was it to cover the bricks with ivy?”

All eyes turned to Draco, and Ron watched as Hermione's face transformed from one of authority to surprise. “I see. Well, Malfoy… I must say, ivy on the stones was a rather brilliant idea. It looks wonderful.”

“Thank you,” Draco said as his eyes swept the entire group. Ron smirked. He could tell that Draco was enjoying this small moment, and Ron himself felt a measure of pride on behalf of his friend.

“And when do you think the wall will be ready for viewing?” Hermione asked.

The group looked around, giving scattered shrugs. They hadn’t even discussed a final date.

“I’d say we’ll be finished by the end of next week,” Draco said with confidence.

They all looked back at Draco in surprise, and then slowly, everyone in the group nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, next Friday sounds good,” said one of the Gryffindor boys.

“Who made you team captain?” Ron asked, giving Draco a playful smirk.

Draco scrunched his face up at Ron. “Jealous, Weasley? Don’t hate me because I have the bollocks to take initiative.”

“Bollocks? Is that what you call it? And here I was thinking it was your deluded ego at work.”

Draco’s lips curled into a snarl and Ron delivered a playful punch to the boy’s arm, prompting Draco to punch Ron back in the chest. Ron snorted.

Hermione was staring between him and Draco so contemptuously that it put Ron to shame. For what, he wasn’t sure, but there was no mistaking the accusation in her glare.

Draco looked away awkwardly, and Hermione forced a smile as she looked at other members of the group.

“Congratulations, everyone. It’s obvious that you all have been working very hard. I applaud you for your teamwork and contribution to this project,” Hermione said with a pleased smile. However, it quickly faded at she made her way back towards Ron and Draco.

Ron put on a cheerful face. “So you really like it, then?”

“It’s great,” she said dryly, shooting Draco a suspicious glance. She turned her eyes back to Ron. “May I have a word?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Ron said, glancing back at Draco before following Hermione around the corner.

As they walked to an adjacent corridor in awkward silence, Ron tried to peek at Hermione from out of the corner of his eyes, gauging what kind of mood she was in. When she was in a bad mood, he found it best to just nod and agree to everything rather than prolong an argument.

But Hermione appeared pensive and sad this time, not angry.

Finally, she stopped in the middle of the hallway; it was completely deserted.

“What is it, Hermione?” Ron asked anxiously. She had him all alone—getting out of this, whatever it was, wouldn’t be easy.

“How have you been, Ron?”

Ron stared at her in dumbfounded confusion. “Uh, I’m fine … how are you?”

Hermione sighed. “Not so good. I was up half the night … thinking …”

“Oh? What about?”

“Us …”

Ron swallowed.

“Ron, is there something you want to tell me?” Hermione asked.

“Huh?”

Hermione folded her arms over her chest as one eyebrow rose in silent demand.

Ron glanced around. “You’re going to have to clue me in this time, Hermione, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked past Ron’s shoulder. “Is Malfoy the reason why you’ve been pushing me away?”

Ron sighed. “Hermione, I’m not pushing you away.”

“Right. You’re just always picking fights with me and disappearing most evenings. Haven’t you heard the rumours? Or do you even care?”

A slowly rising dread was snaking its way through Ron’s belly, making his mouth go dry. He coughed, “What rumours?”

“Oh Ron, sometimes you’re so oblivious. Everyone is talking. And you and Malfoy aren’t exactly making it hard to believe.”

“Everyone is talking about what, Hermione?” Ron demanded.

Hermione huffed. “You and Malfoy! The way you two sneak off in the evenings, how you’re always sticking up for him. The way you stare at him, and —“

“What? I don’t stare at him.”

“You don’t even realise how much you watch him, do you? I’ve caught you myself! It’s like you’re infatuated or something.”

“Hermione!”

“What? I’m not the only one who’s noticed. In fact, I’ve had to defend you twice now.”

“To who? Who’s saying all of this rubbish?”

“Ron, it doesn’t matter. Enough people believe it.”

“Hermione,” he chuckled, trying to demonstrate just how ridiculous the rumour sounded, even though it was anything but funny. “Come on, you can’t be serious? Me and Malfoy? I’m not even gay! And I’m not pushing you away either, we’re just having a few problems. We’ll work it out.”

“And how are we supposed to do that, Ron? You can’t even stand being around me for more than ten minutes.“

“That’s not true.”

“Actions speak louder than words. Even if you don’t fancy Malfoy, it’s just as well. You spend more time with him than you do with me, your girlfriend, and that doesn’t bode well for us.”

When her eyes dropped and she began to bite her lip, Ron’s throat constricted, and his entire body went as rigid as drum. For the first time in a long time, he noticed how delicate and smooth Hermione's skin was, her long lashes, and the way her soft curls perfectly framed her face. She was beautiful, and he was … screwed in the head to have messed this up. Inside his head, a voice screamed for him to say or do something before Hermione could speak another word. Ron already knew what was on her mind; he could feel it in the pit of his stomach.

“Things are so different now. I mean … before, we used to argue a lot, but it was more … fun, you know? I mean, you’ve always been able to say or do things that infuriate me and annoy me to no end,” she said with a sad smile.

“Gee, thanks,” Ron said in a lame effort to inject sarcastic humour.

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. “That’s not what I meant. Before, it was just childish. I actually enjoyed some of it. I liked the way you challenged me, and our fights were just … silly really. More of a game.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, trying not to wince as he waited for her next words.

“But now … it’s like you’re a different person. We don’t bicker; we really argue, if we talk at all. I hardly ever see you now. And when I do, we don’t really talk.”

“I don’t know what to say. I don’t really have anything to talk about,” Ron said, shuffling his feet.

“How about what’s bothering you? What keeps you awake at night? Why smoking marijuana makes you feel better? How you’re feeling … that would be a good start.”

Ron stood looking at her in surprise. She had actually said the word ‘marijuana’ out loud. He felt dirty and small and it was a struggle to maintain eye contact with her. But Hermione’s eyes were imploring, pleading, and he could see a glassy sheen that told him this was it—if he wanted to save whatever hope they had for a relationship, he had to lay it out on the line right here. But how could he when he spent so much time trying to block out the very things she wanted to know?

He opened his mouth, hoping the words would just pour out, but nothing came. Suddenly the hallway felt too open, and he could practically feel every portrait on every wall staring down at them, waiting for him to bear his heart and soul so that they could laugh and call him a coward.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Hermione, listen, we’re both kind of wound up right now. Let’s take some time to cool down and talk about this a little later?”

“No, Ron. Later is now. This is exactly what I’m talking about. You never want to talk to me. You don’t want to do anything with me.”

“Hermione, just calm down, all right? I’m still the same bloke. I’m sorry I can’t be such a Romeo like Harry … I’m just me …”

“That’s just it, Ron—you’re not the same boy I fell in love with. I don’t know you anymore. And I certainly don’t understand why you’re always so angry, and what Malfoy is giving you that I can’t.”

“So that’s what this is about, then? You're jealous of Draco.”

“No, Ron! This is about us … about the way you speak to me, or don’t speak to me, actually. It's about the way you act as if it’s a chore to hold my hand or kiss me. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

Ron looked down at his shoes, unable to hold Hermione’s tearful gaze. If only he could tell her he didn’t want it to be a chore, that something inside of him was broken … but the only thing that came out was a feeble ‘sorry.’

“I am too,” she said. “I think …”

Closing his eyes, Ron braced himself for her to finish.

“I think we need some space. Perhaps we should … break up and think things over a bit more.”

Ron forced himself to look at her. There was a tear sliding down her left cheek, and he wanted to reach out and wipe it away, but he didn’t feel he had the right to even touch her right now.

“If that’s what you want,” he said softly.

“I think that’s what’s best,” Hermione said, her voice choking on tears. The urge to reach out and pull her close was strong, but Ron’s nerve wasn’t. He stood there, petrified by shock and sadness until finally Hermione tore her eyes away from his and turned to walk down the hall, taking all of Ron’s air with her.
~~~*~~~

Chapter Fifteen
Alone

The evening of the breakup Ron skipped dinner as well as his nightly meeting with Draco, opting to stay within the temporary shelter of his bed instead. For a few hours he found reprieve from the questions, whispers, and stares he knew would be waiting for him in the Common Room.

I have to pull it together, he kept telling himself. But every moment spent under the covers was a painful reminder that he was, in fact, falling apart.

Alone, he was left to replay how he had mucked things up with the only girl he’d ever loved and his best friend.

Ron curled into himself, half wishing the duvet would smother him, or at least make him pass out. But without the benefit of the herb to dull his senses, the darkness and silence courted every disturbing feeling he’d been trying to block out.

You’re not the same boy I fell in love with … I don’t know you anymore.

He hadn’t seen Hermione cry like that since the funerals.

Everyone had cried at the funerals, especially Fred’s. Everyone but Ron. Even then, he’d suspected something was wrong with him. That maybe whatever innate lever that made people cry was broken inside him. Perhaps he had even been unknowingly cursed …or damned.

Shutting his eyes tight, Ron tried to silence the voice of self-loathing whispering to him and invoking memories of inhaling a steady stream. He always knew when the herb’s magic was taking hold, because in those moments, Ron always felt a little more normal. And then there was the laughter. The hearty, liberating, soul-healing laughter that always came after exhaling. It felt so good and authentic that sometimes he wondered whether if it was drug induced at all, or merely some side effect from being in Draco’s company.

Just thinking of Draco ushered in a fresh tide of guilt mingled with sadness. He would be waiting on top of the Tower tonight, wondering if and when Ron would show up. And Ron didn’t have the heart to tell him ‘never’. Nor did he have the courage to tell Draco why.

It wasn’t that Ron was ashamed of being labelled ‘gay’; at least, that’s what he told himself. But if people actually believed him to be gay, then that would make Ron look like a liar, and Hermione a fool.

Ron shook his head as he thought of the poor bastard. With the rumour mill going, Draco was in for a new wave of taunts and bullying, perhaps worse than before. And as much as Ron wanted to shield the boy from the coming tide of derision, he wasn’t sure he could be strong for anyone right now.

Besides, Draco wasn’t really a friend. They didn’t share any deep dark secrets, and they hadn’t endured any real trials together. He was just a boy Ron smoked grass with. They were associates, at best. Besides, would Draco stand by Ron if the situation were reversed? Probably not.

That’s what Ron kept telling himself over and over again as he lay awake, trying to will himself into his first night of sober sleep.

~~~*~~~

The next morning, Ron woke up tangled in his sheets, soaking wet, with half of his body hanging off of the bed and through his curtain. When he tried to untwist himself from the knot, he landed on the floor with a huge thump.

His dorm mates gathered around, looking down at him with concern.

“Ron, are you all right?” Neville asked.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” Ron said as he hoisted himself back on the bed.

“What are you doing twisted out of your bed like that?” Seamus asked.

Wet, sore, and confused, Ron shut his eyes and sighed. “I don’t know. Slept wrong … I suppose.”

Harry gave him a small, pitying headshake and turned away, and Ron was grateful that the others followed suit. He quickly untangled himself, climbed out of bed, straightened and folded the wet sheets, and then crawled right back into bed and drew his curtain. Feigning sleep, he waited for Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Harry to finish dressing and leave.

Only Harry didn’t. Ron grimaced as he peeked out to see his best mate fumbling with his clothing. He was taking forever to get sorted out. As Ron lay there, trying to wait Harry out, he contemplated skipping breakfast all together, but his stomach wasn’t having it. Pangs of hunger rippled inside his belly.

Looking over once more, Ron saw Harry smoothing out the corners of his bed. Harry never made his bed. That’s when Ron knew his best mate had no intention of leaving the room without him.

But Ron couldn’t move. As he lay there in bed, staring at the back of Harry’s tousled head, he couldn’t fathom how he was going to get through the day. How could he ever face Hermione again?

Finally, Harry turned around.

“Ron, you can’t hide up here forever. You have to eat.”

Ron’s stomach loudly concurred, forcing him to move. With the effort of one pushing a large stone, he put one leg on the floor and then the other.

All the while Harry watched him. “Don’t worry, I’ll wait.”

Gratitude and guilt swelled so full within Ron, his chest began to ache. Harry was still here, even after Ron had pushed him away, even after he’d told his friend where to stick his advice.

“Harry … I—”

“I know,” Harry said with a slight smirk. “Just hurry up, all right? I’m starving.”

Ron nodded quickly, trying to blink away the sudden flurry of dust irritating his eyes, making them water.

When they entered the Great Hall, it was like a wireless radio going dead. The volume decreased sharply, and the chatter became hushed whispers as eyes followed Ron to his seat. As always, Harry took his seat beside Ginny. Ron paused when he came upon the empty chair that had come to be his own. It was directly across from Harry and right beside Hermione.

“Good morning, Harry,” Hermione said in a more formal tone than usual.

“Good morning, Hermione,” Harry said, glancing up at Ron before motioning for his friend to take his seat.

But Ron couldn’t move. He swallowed as his eyes rested on Hermione’s head until finally she looked up at him, offering a small, pained smile. “Good morning, Ron.”

Ron glanced up at Harry and Ginny, the latter watching him stiffly with a thin frown on her face.

“Good morning, Hermione,” Ron said slowly as he took his seat.

“Hi, Ron,” Ginny said with a stiff smile.

“Hi, Gin,” Ron said, glancing to his side at Hermione, who was watching him out of the corner of her eyes.

“So, er, Ginny, how’s Runes coming?” she said in an unsteady voice.

Ginny sighed. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. I’m pants when it comes to the Thurisaz variations.”

“Which ones?”

“Well …”

Ginny’s voice faded, playing like background music to a scene out of one of those Muggle picture shows Hermione used to take him to see— with Ron in the starring role. Only he wasn’t prepared. He didn’t know his lines or what came next. For a moment, Ron just stared at his plate. But the camera was still rolling, and he knew there were people watching. So he picked up his fork and began going through the motions of eating, even though his appetite had completely vanished. He began to notice ridiculous things like the consistency of his food and how long it took for the minute hand to move on the great clock on the wall, which was a lot longer than he remembered. Trying to eat as if everything was normal while he sat next to his ex-girlfriend was hard, so Ron was grateful when Harry tried to engage him in safe conversation about Quidditch.

He glanced up briefly to look past Harry and find Draco, only the boy’s seat was unoccupied. It was probably for the best. Ron didn’t need to see another person he had let down.

A few chairs away, Goyle sat with his face laying down on the table, like he was in deep slumber. A few younger Slytherins sniggered and pointed as some older Slytherins artfully decorated his head with fruit until finally the prefect came along, sending them all scattering. The prefect jostled Goyle awake, ordering him to rise and come with him. Ron shook his head in pity and then noticed a pair of eyes on him.

Astoria Greengrass was staring right at him.

Do you know where Draco is?

At least that’s what Ron imagined her eyes were asking. Perhaps she wanted to know something else, like whether Draco was really gay or not. It didn’t matter what the question was. Ron couldn’t help her, so he quickly returned his gaze to his plate where it was safe.

~~~*~~~

The following week was more bizarre than any drug haze Ron had ever experienced. Withdrawals from his nightly smokes with Draco had made his nightmares more memorable than they had ever been. Now, Ron not only remembered his dreams, but they were lucid, haunting him with such vivid and horrid detail that it often left him lying in bed, afraid to close his eyes. When the morning came, he’d awake in a frazzled state, having hardly slept.

Meals were the worst. Formerly his favourite time of the day, now Ron’s stomach knotted every time he had to take a seat beside Hermione. He kept quiet mostly, giving a polite but quick hello. Harry and Ginny tried to make things more normal by keeping the mindless chatter going, but if anything, it only emphasised just how abnormal things had become.

Most of the time, Ron tried to keep his eyes on Harry or his plate. But sometimes he’d catch Draco staring at him, and guilt would wash over him like a hot shower, leaving him flushed with shame.

Ron quickly learned to inhale his food. Afterward he’d make an excuse to leave, getting as far away from Hermione and Draco as possible.

But some things were unavoidable. On top of the rumours about his illicit affair with Draco, the news that Hermione had broken things off had added gasoline to fire. The ridicule and public suspicion he’d endured alongside Harry in second and fifth year paled in comparison. Back then, the focus had been on Harry, but this time, Ron was at the centre. Wherever he went, every sidelong glance was like a pointed finger, and the whispers followed until they became a constant buzz in his ear. It seemed like the entire castle was talking about him. He’d gone from a war-hero to a freak in a matter of a few days.

And if there was any doubt, Scott and his cronies stamped it out any time Ron was within earshot and without Harry by his side.

‘Hey, Weasley, where’s your boyfriend?’

‘Are you two meeting on the tower of love tonight?’

‘I wonder who the taker is … Weasley or Malfoy?’

‘Malfoy!’ they’d say with a resounding confidence before breaking into laughter.

Ron tried to ignore it, realising his temper had been partially to blame for this mess. Still, the taunts and knowing smiles made his blood boil, and it took every bit of willpower not to hex the offending troublemakers.

By Friday, he was so on edge that he could hardly concentrate on his reading, so when a gentle hand fell on his shoulder, he jumped and drew out his wand.

Harry’s eyes went wide as he held up his hands in surrender. “Whoa, I come in peace, I swear.”

Ron relaxed a little as Harry took a seat across from him in the library.

“How are you doing?”

Ron gave Harry an energetic ‘I’m fine’, but Harry’s eyes were sceptical.

Ron sighed in defeat. “All right, I feel like troll dung. I’m sure you’ve heard the things people have been saying …”

Harry nodded as he threaded his fingers together. “I’ve given a fair share of them a piece of my mind about that. I don’t think Scott and his friends will be bothering you again. “

Ron sat back, giving his friend a small appreciative smile. But Harry wasn’t smiling.

“Ron, I don’t know what was going on between you and Malfoy, but … I do know that whatever it was, it seemed to make you happy. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about being around him. I was just concerned.”

Ron shook his head. “I know. But you and Hermione were right—I was acting like a git. It was all rather shady, really. Sneaking off all the time like that, not telling anyone anything … that’s not how you treat your friends. I would have thought the same if I were in your shoes. I mean, it is Draco Malfoy.”

Harry chuckled and Ron tried to smile, despite the pang in his heart from his tongue’s betrayal. There was so much more to Draco than what Harry knew.

Harry’s smile faded quickly as he leaned in with a grave expression. “Were you really doing drugs?”

Ron narrowed his eyes, and looked around self-consciously, his paranoia flaring once more. “What? Who told you that?”

Harry raised his eyebrow in reply.

Exposed, Ron’s eyes dropped to the table, only now noticing the ‘Slytherins Stink’ carved in the wood.

“Ron?”

Ron put his head in his hands.

“Yes,” he reluctantly admitted. “But it’s not like the stuff is illegal. It's just grass. And Draco said that in wizarding high society, it’s a perfectly legitimate way to relax.”

Harry stared back at Ron in disbelief. “Malfoy said that, did he? If it’s so legitimate, why did you two have to sneak about to do it?”

Ron ground his teeth, knowing there was no justified reply.

“Hermione thinks you were hooked on it … that you probably still are.”

“Well, she’s wrong,” Ron whispered fiercely. “I haven’t had any all week. And anyway, what if I had? It helped me sleep. I didn’t hear any complaints from you or the rest when I was doing it. I’m not saying it’s all right to do all the time, but it’s not as bad as Hermione thinks. She just wouldn’t understand.”

Harry shifted in his seat, an awkward look of contrition crossing his face. “I’m sorry about you and Hermione.”

“Don’t be. It’s my fault, isn’t it? I mean, there’s no way around it. I really messed up this time. She deserves better,” Ron said with weariness.

Harry studied him for a moment. “Ron, I know you’re blaming yourself, but I think this is bigger than you. Other people are having problems too. You don’t even know the half of it.”

His curiosity piqued, Ron raised an eyebrow. “I don’t?”

Harry looked around and his voice dropped a level as he spoke. “You remember that cutter they were talking about in Hufflepuff?”

Ron nodded.

“It’s Hannah.”

“No … no way!”

“It’s true. Neville found her nearly passed out by the lake. She'd almost cut an artery. Apparently she’s been doing it since the end of last year.”

“Merlin,” Ron said.

“And that’s not all. Hermione says she knows for a fact that there have been three suicide attempts this year, not two like they’re reporting. She also said she overhead McGonagall talking to the Heads of House about someone having a fit a few weeks ago.”

“A fit?”

“Panic attack or something. She didn’t hear a name, but she said that they were discussing a girl who’d been discovered one night running around the castle completely starkers, screaming about one of the Carrows coming to get her.”

Ron covered his mouth in shock.

“And Ginny said that she knows at least three girls in our house who are either starving themselves or eating and vomiting it back up.”

Ron grimaced. “What the hell is going on?”

Harry sighed. “I’m not sure, but it seems everyone is struggling to deal with what happened last year in their own way… even Ginny…”

Ron froze, panic rising. “What about Ginny?”

Harry bit his lip. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this.”

"Harry, she’s my sister."

“You have to promise not to say anything.”

Ron steeled himself for whatever Harry had to reveal. “All right.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at his hands. “Well, she’s been having a hard time… coping with Fred’s death. She has these crying spells and trouble sleeping.”

Ron wrinkled his face. “Funny, she never told me that. How is it that you more about my sister than I do?” he asked bitterly.

“Well it’s not like you’d ever given her a chance to tell you. You change the subject anytime something like that comes up. “

“Maybe because talking 'bout stuff like that doesn’t make anyone feel better,” Ron said snippily.

“Neither does trying to ignore it,” Harry replied.

“Oh yeah? Seems to be working for you. You look like you’re having a bloody great time this year,” Ron said, hating the accusatory tone in his voice.

A dark shadow crossed Harry’s face, immediately making Ron regret his words.

“You have no idea what I’m going through. And do you know why? Because you’re never around. You don’t even ask.”

A lump formed in Ron’s throat, rendering him completely mute as Harry continued.

“You want to know my secret? Why I look so damned happy all the time? Huh? Because I don’t have a choice! Everyone is watching me. If I even so much as frown for more than five minutes, it’s news. People see me as some sort of beacon of hope. When they look at me, they want reassurance that it’s really over, that they can go back to being normal. Whatever the hell that means! I don’t even think I’ve ever known what normal is. All I know is that I don’t get to wallow in self-pity now, at least not in front of anyone. Because if I don’t have hope, then what’s that say about what we fought for?”

Harry’s words hit Ron like a ton of bricks. The weight of his friend’s burden made his own struggle seem minuscule.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” he said. “I had no idea you’ve been feeling like this… It doesn’t seem fair. You shouldn’t have to be a beacon of hope or whatever.”

“Life isn’t fair, Ron. But that’s beside the point. I want you to know that just because I look fine, doesn’t mean I am. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about someone we lost. Sometimes the only thing that gets me through the day is Ginny.” Harry paused, a curious smile appearing on his face. “Come to think of it, maybe she’s my drug. I just hope she doesn’t get sick of me.”

A small snort escaped Ron. “I doubt that’ll ever happen. She loves you.”

The ache of regret and sadness returned as Ron realised what Harry and Ginny had and what he had let slip away.

“She’ll come back, Ron,” Harry said softly.

“I doubt it,” Ron said.

“Well, that all depends on you, mate,” Harry said. “She really does love you, but … she loves herself too.”

Ron nodded. “I know.”

“If you really want her back, you have to show her you’re serious.”

“And how do you propose I do that?” Ron asked before rolling his eyes. “Hold on, I know—I bet you want me walk myself down to the infirmary and make an appointment with one of those Mind Healers?”

Harry threw up his hands. “Yeah, why not? That’s what they’re here for. And if you don’t want to do that, then you have us. But you’re going to have to talk to someone eventually because you can’t just keep it all bottled up inside.”

Ron looked away; he was getting tired of this song and dance, but he couldn't think of anything that would dissuade Harry.

“Ron, I understand what you’re going through.”

Ron’s head snapped back, and he couldn’t help but glare. “No, you don’t, Harry. You said it yourself, you have Ginny. I don’t have anyone. Even when I had Hermione, I couldn’t talk to her. Not about this.”

“How about me?”

Ron shook his head, hating the invisible wall sitting between him and his best friend. But it was still all he had. If Harry managed to break through it, Ron didn’t know what else would crumble, and he couldn’t risk it.

“No offence, Harry, but … I can’t.”

Harry sighed in resignation. “I don’t know what else to do, then.”

“There’s nothing to do, Harry. It’s just something I have to sort out on my own,” Ron said wearily as he reclined, staring back at his friend. There was no more to be said on the topic. They had reached a stalemate.

“Well I’ll be here if you want some help,” Harry said. “And … well, I can’t really speak for Hermione, I know things with her are complicated right now, but I think she feels the same.”

“Thanks, good to know,” Ron said stiffly.

Harry’s face lifted a little as he forced a small smile. “So, what are you doing after this? I was thinking we could have a fly.”

“I have Restoration group,” Ron replied.

Harry nodded, rapping his fist on the table as he stood up. “Right. Well, perhaps later, then?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ron tried to say casually. When Harry left, Ron kept his eyes glued to his book while his mind replayed Harry’s words again.

~~~*~~~

Ron took his time walking to Restoration group. He was in no rush to see Draco or face the others. Undoubtedly, the rumours had already infected the group, and every little interaction would be scrutinised for clues that could confirm that he and Draco were lovers.

As he walked, his thoughts wandered once more from the rumours to what Harry had told him. Was everyone really trapped in their own private hell? If so, then why were some people able to hide it so much better than others? Did that make them stronger?

He stopped as he neared the opening of the hallway leading to the infirmary. The white double doors with the clouded glass showed nothing.

‘Go on’, a voice whispered. It wasn’t the self-loathing one he had grown used to—this one was different; it was tired and fatigued from pretending to be strong.

‘Because you’re not strong. You’re weak and pathetic. Go on, and get your head examined, you little freak,’ said the voice of self-loathing.

Ron closed his eyes. “I’m really losing my mind.”

When he opened them again, he had stepped a little closer to the infirmary, but then he stopped once more.

What would Healer Gordon say? Would he have a knowing smile, having already seen through Ron’s charade? Or would he be shocked and disappointed that Ron had played him for a fool?

Suddenly, the doors opened and a waifish-looking brunette Slytherin girl came out. Her eyes were puffy and red, and as she approached Ron, her head bowed slightly in deference. It made his stomach turn.

Through the swinging doors, he caught a glimpse of Healer Gordon. He hoped the man hadn’t seen him. Ron turned around quickly and began walking.

“Ron?”

Shit!

Ron slowly turned around. Healer Gordon was standing just outside the doors of the infirmary, a small smile on his handsome face.

“Oh, hi there, Healer Gordon. How’s it going?”

“Pretty good. Were you coming in?”

Ron shook his head vigorously. “Oh, no. I ... uh ... I have Restoration group to get to.”

“I see,” Healer Gordon said, sounding a little disappointed. “Well, do drop by sometime. We could even have a tea in the Great Hall if you like.”

“A tea?” Ron asked, bewildered.

Healer Gordon chuckled. “Yes. Just a chat. It doesn’t have to be anything heavy. Just a check in, to see how things are going.”

Ron stared back at him, his self-consciousness returning. Had Hermione, Harry, or Ginny said something about him in their assessment? Because he was certain Gordon knew something. He had to.

“Listen, I’m not suggesting you need a chat,” Mr Gordon said quickly. “It’s just that I have a lot of free time on my hands, and I enjoyed talking to you the other day.”

“Right, well, maybe I will … drop by sometime.”

“Great. I look forward to it,” Healer Gordon said cheerily before disappearing behind the doors once more.

Ron exhaled, wondering if he would ever take the man up on the offer.

~~~*~~~

In Restoration group, things weren’t quite as bad as Ron had imagined. People were still goofing off, chatting, and working at their leisure, paying little regard to him or Draco. However, Ron noticed that Draco was much more subdued. He only spoke when spoken to, and Ron tried to stay out of his way. But that wasn’t hard since Draco kept a fair amount of distance between himself and everyone else. Still, Ron couldn’t help sneaking glances, but Draco seemed intent not to look at him, busying himself with various tasks.

But just when Ron had resigned not to look at Draco anymore, concentrating on the wall in front of him, he felt Draco’s eyes on him. He whirled back around, trying to catch the boy in the act. Draco made no effort to hide his gaze. His haughty grey glare barely masked the strain of stress and sadness. There were bags under his eyes, just as dark as before they started smoking together, and Ron could see the end of a long scratch peeking out just above his collar. Ron realised he’d been staring too long when he heard whispering around him.

He looked around, and sure enough, eyes darted and the whispering ceased as the other Restoration group members tried to appear as if they hadn’t just been gawking at him and Draco.

When Ron looked back, Draco's back was already turned, busying himself with the final touches on the ivy.

Ron tried his best not to look at Draco again, but there was so much he wanted to say—but he wasn’t sure how, or even what he’d actually say if he had the chance.

I’m sorry for ditching you.

I’m not mad at you, or anything … I actually think you’re pretty cool.

Draco, I just want you to know that I’m not avoiding you.

Only that would have been a lie.

Ron stood there, thinking of what he should say, if anything at all, when the sound of shuffling feet pulled him from his thoughts.

He blinked and saw no one looking back at him. Everyone was leaving, and Draco was gone. Ron began to run, searching for the familiar crown of pale blond hair.

“Draco,” he tried to call without shouting too loudly.

Draco continued to walk down the hall without missing a beat in his pace until Ron finally caught up with him.

He pressed his luck, reaching out to grab the boy’s sleeve. Draco yanked his arm back, his eyes full of contempt.

“Don’t. Touch. Me,” he said in a steely voice.

Ron was taken aback by the pure hatred and anger he saw in Draco’s face.

“I just wanted to —”

“What? Make some pathetic excuse for why you no longer come around? Save it, Weasley, I already know why.”

Ron shook his head. “No, you don’t. It’s … complicated.”

“No, Weasley, actually, it’s really quite simple. You’re a coward. And all the medals in the world won’t change that. It’s no wonder you can’t sleep at night. If I were you, I wouldn’t be able to sleep with myself either.”

Ron clamped down on his anger as he gritted out his next words. “Oh yeah? Well, if I’m such a coward, then why did I spend most of the year sticking up for you then?”

Draco’s dry, humourless laugh told Ron that he’d given the boy another opportunity to cut him down.

“Don’t act as if you did me any favours,” Draco said. “You did that for yourself. You’re still trying to prove you’re really a hero, only no one believes it. Least of all, you. Just stay away from me, Weasley. I’d rather get my head kicked in again than get help from you.”

Draco’s words struck Ron like a Stinging hex. The sheer brutality of the truth rendered him speechless, and before he could even think of a response, Draco turned on his heel and walked away.
~~~*~~~


Chapter Sixteen
When The Dam Breaks

Looking back, Ron should have known Saturday was going to be a bad day. Of course, it was always easier to look back and see the telltale signs of an approaching disaster. But if he were to be honest with himself, the signs had been there all along in bold, flashing, fluorescent lights. A dark cloud was hovering over Hogwarts, its unstable and combustible energy slowly infecting everyone inside of it.

But as Ron recalled the days leading up to the day everything changed, he realised he had been too consumed by his own pain and suffering to see anyone else’s.

And apparently, he hadn’t been the only one.

After Friday’s confrontation with Draco, Ron was given the fun task of explaining to Hermione why their Restoration project had to be delayed another week. The truth was no one on his team really wanted the project to end. Restoration group filled a need they hadn’t realised they’d been craving — peace. It was a safe space where House loyalties and the past didn’t really mean much. All that mattered was rebuilding the wall, and the camaraderie they shared while working (and not working) on it.

But that was hardly a proper excuse, so they had sent Ron to deliver Hermione a better one.

“Hey, Hermione, the group wanted to know if we could get a week’s extension. There was an unexpected snag in weather proofing the magical binding. We want to make sure the wall is properly secured from top to bottom,” he said.

“Sure, Ron, another week is fine,” Hermione replied. “In fact, tell them to take two or three if they need it.”

Ron’s eyes popped in response to her cavalier reply. Hermione laughed at his reaction. It was so light and genuine that it made him ache not to be able to wrap his arms around her and laugh with her in that moment. He stuffed his hands in his pockets instead, giving her a grateful smile.

“Thanks.”

“Your group really impressed me the other day,” Hermione said. “They’re so far ahead of everyone else, except for the Tower group, of course. But that group didn’t have nearly as much work as the rest.”

Ron nodded and began to fidget. Simple polite conversation and exits were never easy with Hermione these days.

Hermione’s relaxed demeanour quickly changed to discomfort. Her eyes began to wander as she chewed on her bottom lip. “So…how have you been?”

“I’m fine,” Ron said quickly.

“Right,” she said with disappointment in her eyes.

Ron mentally kicked himself. ‘I’m fine’ was a dead giveaway that he was anything but fine, and nothing had changed.

“Well, good luck in tomorrow’s game,” she offered.

“Thanks.”

“I, uh, I have to go and check on the other groups,” she said hurriedly.

“OK, well, talk to you later, then.”

She nodded and quickly moved on, leaving Ron standing alone, cursing himself.

The night before a Quidditch match was always a bit rowdy, but that evening at dinner, the energy at the Gryffindor table was downright explosive.

They were chanting, and singing songs of victory as if they had already won the upcoming match against Slytherin while the rest of the house tables watched on.

The prefects and Heads of Houses monitored the Gryffindor table and the rest of the Great Hall with silent trepidation. The energy in the room was charged, and it felt like anything had the potential to happen, especially since some of the Gryffindors seemed hell-bent on shaking the Slytherins’ morale.

“Oi, incoming!” shouted a fifth year Gryffindor as a line of rolls levitated and propelled forward towards the Slytherins.

A collective gasp broke when the rolls were deflected and ricocheted off of the invisible ward surrounding the Slytherin table, landing right back on top of the heads and shoulders of the Gryffindors who had thrown them.

Several Slytherins smiled, looking elated with their brief victory, but they were quickly silenced when the offending Gryffindors rose from their seats, wands drawn.

“Hold on! There’ll be no duels in the Great Hall,” shouted one of the prefects. “Save it for the field tomorrow.”

Ron glanced at the Slytherin table, and saw several smug smirks. Inwardly, Ron felt like smirking with them. Perhaps things were finally turning around.

He was wrong.

The following morning at breakfast the Gryffindor team sat together, going over team plays before heading out to the pitch to warm up. Once again, the Great Hall was alive with anticipation and energy of team rivalry.

Scott and his friends seemed to be at the heart of it all. Ron rolled his eyes at their show of bravado, and then froze when Scott stood up on his seat and let out a loud roar. The eighth years at the table all turned their heads in surprise when most of the Gryffindors at the table roared back.

Ron and Harry exchanged a bewildered look.

“What the hell was that?” Ron asked.

“I suppose it’s the new Gryffindor call,” Demelza Robins said with a shrug.

“It’s rather loud isn’t it?” Ron asked.

“Just like everything we do this year,“ Harry said wearily.

After the roar, several Gryffindors stood on their seats like Scott, while others perched themselves on the table to sit facing the Slytherin table.

Many of the students at the other house tables appeared taken aback by the Gryffindors' aggressive show of prowess. Some appeared to be intimidated by their presence, while the rest looked rather annoyed, but too hesitant to say anything.

“Are people afraid of us?” Harry asked in concern.

“Why would they be afraid of us?” Alicia Spinnet asked. “We’re a pretty harmless bunch.”

Some of us are.

Ron held back the retort as he glanced back at Scott once more.

A whisper spread along the Slytherin table. Soon several Slytherins were either sitting up rigid and glaring back at the Gryffindors, or they had risen and taken the same position as the Gryffindors, standing on their chairs or perched on the table, their faces defiant, determined not to cower.

Wands were drawn on both sides, in preparation for a full-on fight, while the rest of the Great Hall looked on.

Ron noticed that Draco was one of the few that seemed unaffected by the rising tide of Slytherin defiance and solidarity. He actually looked rather bored. Astoria had moved three seats closer to sit near him, and was now openly staring. Draco returned her gaze a few times, but without a smile or flirty eyes. That didn’t seem to deter her though, and Ron found himself admiring her boldness and persistence.

Goyle was absent. Ron didn’t know why he noticed Goyle’s absence, but he did, and he couldn't help but wonder if the bloke was passed out somewhere. For all of the interference from Mind Healers and prefects, no one seemed to really care whether Goyle was there or not.

Looking around, Ron was struck at how contentious the Great Hall had become. Never before had the tension that pervaded the castle throughout the year been so close to the surface, threatening to erupt and unleash all of the anger and resentment that had been festering for far too long.

Suddenly McGonagall’s voice rang out, enhanced by a Sonorous spell. “Everyone will take their seats and put away their wands, immediately. If you do not comply, you will not be able to attend today’s Quidditch match, and you will face more severe consequences.”

The Gryffindors and Slytherins slowly put away their wands and returned to their seats, while maintaining hateful glares at one another.

“I never thought it could get this bad,” Ron murmured.

“Me either,” Harry replied.

The prefects and Head of Houses converged in the middle aisle separating Gryffindor and Slytherin, pacing as they watched the students with a warning in their eyes.

And that was just the start of the day…

~~~*~~~

The game was just what Ron needed, without the benefit of the herb to dull his senses, he felt more charged than ever and he channelled all of his frustration into beating back Quaffles. But with adrenaline running high and the crowd going mad beneath him, the players became increasingly aggressive and at times, combative. The Gryffindors were using every opportunity they could to assault and intimidate the Slytherins, while the Slytherins seemed determined to fight back, getting in as many licks as they could in retaliation for all of the crap they had been dealt throughout the year. Ron himself got an elbow to the nose and a Bludger to the arm, and had to restrain himself from rushing to the aid of Ginny and Harry who were taking a fair amount of hits.

“You’re attacking the wrong ones, arseholes,” Ron grumbled, wishing his more troublesome housemates were up here taking the brunt.

A Chaser flew past his peripheral vision and threw the Quaffle with such surprising speed that it made Ron tilt sideways in anticipation. He quickly got over his momentary awe, and flew just enough to the right to knock it right back at the Chaser, sending her backwards.

The crowd beneath him went wild, and Ron pumped his fist in the air, enjoying the triumphant feeling rushing through him. Harry nodded in approval. Consumed by the glory of his moment, it wasn’t until moments later that Ron noticed the cheering had died, and the crowd in the stands had gathered around someone below.

All of the players flew down to the field and dismounted. Ron followed, trying to edge his way through, to see what was going on.

There was a lot of chatter and, if Ron wasn’t mistaken, some crying.

A woman’s voice, someone with authority that Ron couldn’t see, ordered everyone to return to their seats until further notice, and slowly, they all did.

But the look on several peoples' faces told Ron that something terrible had occurred. He searched among his teammates to find the answer.

“What happened?” he asked Harry, who looked dumbfounded.

“Not really sure, but Ginny said she heard someone say Goyle tried to off himself.”

“Goyle?” Ron repeated.

“Yeah,” Harry replied.

Ron immediately scanned the stands, looking for Draco, but he was nowhere to be found. He glanced up at the hills, and sure enough, a lone tall gangly figure with pale hair was making his way up to the castle.

A brief consideration about what people would say if he went chasing after Draco held Ron in place, but then he thought of Draco and what he must be going through. As much as Draco claimed to not need people, there weren’t many people at Hogwarts that really knew him, and Goyle had been among that few—even if they no longer hung out.

A small voice whispered for Ron to catch up to Draco, and sod anyone who had anything to say about it.

“Ron, where are you going?” yelled Ginny.

Ron didn’t even reply as he quickly made his way off the pitch and up the hill. When he finally caught up, Draco’s face was a stone mask and he didn’t acknowledge Ron’s presence. Still, Ron fell in line with his steps, staying silent as they made their way up towards the entranceway.

There was a flurry of activity above, the bustling of Pomfrey’s assistants, Head of houses, and Mind Healers from what Ron could tell. Ron’s eyes followed the movement and anxiety began to rise as he realised all of the traffic was occurring on the seventh floor, where the Room of Requirement was located. Draco turned right to take the stairs, and Ron followed him, waiting for the boy to turn around at any minute to tell him to get lost.

But that moment never came; in fact, Draco seemed to appreciate Ron’s presence, glancing back a few times as if to make sure he was still there. Relief and consternation warred within Ron as the stairs shifted from the fourth floor to the seventh floor. He was glad Draco didn’t mind him following, but he was scared to see what exactly had happened to Goyle. What if the boy had succeeded in killing himself, what then? Why was this even allowed to happen? Goyle should have been sent home a long time ago. Everyone knew he had a problem.

As they neared the top of the stairs, a sweat broke on Ron’s brow. They got off on the seventh floor and followed the movement, passing Gryffindor’s common room door and rounding the corner to enter the hallway that led to the Room of Requirement. Two Mind Healers ran past them, and then Ron stopped, immobilised as he stood staring at the gaping hole in the wall where the Room of Requirement’s hidden door should have been. Someone had blasted it open.

One of Pomfrey’s assistants came out of the hole, shouting orders to two girls coming up from behind Ron and Draco. Ron tried to breath regularly as the anxiety that had gripped him before became full-blown panic. He could feel his lungs struggling to move air, and his whole body shivered as sweat began to wet his underclothing.

He stared at Draco’s back as the boy continued to walk on. But Ron was rooted to the floor, his eyes fixed on that gaping hole. The smell of burning things began to fill his nose and mouth, making it even harder to breathe, and then it happened.

The Fiendfyre he’d been running from in his dreams since last year was waiting right there, in front of him. Ron shook his head in denial and then shut his eyes, but when he opened them again, the vision was closer. Whether it was waking nightmare or real didn’t matter because it was as high as the ceiling and ten times hotter than the sun on the pitch.

Run, dumbarse!

Only his feet wouldn’t move, and the Fiendfyre was sliding towards him like a fiery serpent ready to strike, its flames consuming the walls around it. Heavy smoke began to smother Ron, blinding his vision and making his eyes water.

He coughed, choking on the fumes.

“Ron!”

Someone was calling his name, but he couldn’t identify the voice. The smoke muted everything, making it difficult to distinguish a male’s voice from a female’s. It didn’t matter, Ron was certain that either Harry or Hermione had somehow followed him and were trapped up here with him. Only this time, he had no broom, there was nowhere to run, and his legs were useless.

“Ron!”

He couldn’t help them, he couldn’t even help himself - the fire was too big.

“I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do,” Ron began to repeat over and over.

“How about just putting one foot in front of the other? Don’t get cold feet on me now.”

That voice didn’t belong to Harry or Hermione. The smoke began to dissipate as the vision of Fiendfyre slid back and dimmed. In its midst stood a familiar figure with pale blond hair.

Draco’s face was pinched and frightened, his grey eyes desperate. “Are you coming or not?”

Clutching his hand into a fist, Ron watches as the Fiendfyre moved further behind Draco, fading slowly into nothing. The smoke thinned even more, until it vanished completely. But the charred smell remained.

Ron took a big gulp and did just as Draco said—he put one foot in front of the other, and began to walk forward.

Draco waited until Ron reached him to give him a curt nod. They walked shoulder to shoulder towards the gaping hole in the wall.

The burning smell grew stronger, and through the hole, Ron could see people gathered around in a tight huddle around someone. There were legs and feet splayed on the floor, and then Ron heard Draco say, “Oh no. No, no, no.”

Draco rushed forward, breaking into the circle.

“Get him out of here!” shouted one of the assistants.

Ron looked around for Healer Gordon, but he wasn’t there.

“Malfoy, I’m sorry, you’re going to have to leave,” said Professor Flitwick.

“Greg!” Draco shouted as he wrestled with one of the assistants.

“Mr Weasley, please take Mr Malfoy, and leave,” begged Pomfrey from her position on the floor.

Ron tried to grab Draco by the arm, but was rebuffed as Draco pushed off the assistant to kneel beside next to Goyle.

Ron flinched as Draco let out a loud sob that reverberated throughout the room. Time came to a standstill as they all listened to his anguished cries.

“Greg, what did you do? What did you do to yourself?” Draco cried.

Ron clenched his teeth and pushed himself to lean forward and take a look. He wasn’t prepared for what he saw. Goyle was laid out on the floor with a strange protective translucent cloud of magic covering his head. The entire left side of his face was unrecognisable: his left eye appeared glued shut, and the skin around it was charred black in places, in other places the remaining flesh was raised in grotesque flesh bubbles, and where there wasn’t any skin, the blood vessels and jawbone were exposed. Goyle’s right eye, his one good eye, was wide open and looking up at Draco as drool slid from the unscarred left corner of his mouth.

“What did you do?” Draco repeated.

Ron jumped when an arm fell on his shoulder. He looked back to see McGonagall staring up with an uncharacteristically troubled expression. “Mr Weasley, please,” she whispered.

Still in shock, Ron nodded and turned back to look down at Draco as he bent over to nudge him to stand.

Draco shook his head, and took Goyle’s right hand into his and began to sob freely.

It was too much— the sound of the carefully composed and aloof Draco Malfoy openly crying in front of everyone, Goyle’s exposed scalp, disfigured face, singed clothing, and that one perfectly intact eye staring up at them. Ron’s masks of apathy and strength seemed inadequate against the rising tide of despair welling up within him, and he could feel the last vestiges of his resilience giving way. Something huge was stirring inside of him, something he had been holding down ever since the war had ended, and whatever it was, he was sure it was big enough to destroy him from the inside out. He couldn’t let it out.

So he ran.

~~~*~~~


When everyone came back from the pitch, Ron was held up in his dorm room, the cover drawn over him. Harry cautiously walked over to his bedside and reached inside the curtain, pulling the duvet back.

“Ron?”

Ron stared up at his friend, unable to speak.

“What happened? Did you find out what happened to Goyle?”

Ron nodded mutely.

“Is he… dead?”

Ron shook his head, hoping Harry wouldn’t press for any more.

Harry opened his mouth, but then looked back at Ron’s face and closed it.

They watched as the rest of their dorm mates cleared out, throwing curious glances their way.

When everyone were gone, Harry turned back to face Ron. “Everyone’s going down for dinner. Care to join us?”

Ron grimaced, hating the thought of having to be near anyone right now, knowing what he knew. The weight of all that he had seen and heard was still pressing down on him, threatening to crush him. He felt like he could break any minute now, but he also knew that staying in his room meant drawing more attention to himself, more questions, and whispers.

“Okay,” he croaked, slowly rising.

When they arrived in the Great Hall, Ron’s eyes immediately searched out the Slytherin table. Draco was absent, but so was Astoria. He raised his eyebrows at that, and followed Harry to their seats. There were many whispers as his classmates boldly stared up in his face.

Ron gave away nothing, keeping his eyes on Harry’s back as they moved.

He took a seat beside Hermione, who looked at him with a worried expression.

“Ron, are you all right?”

His defences weakened, Ron didn’t have the strength to lie. “No. No, I’m not. I feel rather shitty, actually.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide with surprise, and she immediately covered his hand with her own.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Ron tried to offer her a small smile, grateful that she still cared. “Not right now. Maybe later…”

Hermione nodded, her eyes, becoming glassy with tears. “All right. Just let me know when.”

I need you now.

Ron nodded and quickly looked away, willing the voice to be quiet.

Both Harry and Ginny were watching him closely with worried expressions.

“I just need to eat, guys, really,” he reassured. They all nodded and began to dig in.

As he ate, Ron looked around the Great Hall. There was a heavy sombre mood at every table, especially at Slytherin, where virtually no conversation was taking place.

So when the sound of sniggering and jeers erupted at Gryffindor table, it stood out like laughter at a funeral.

Ron turned his head to glare at the middle of the table, where several Gryffindors were chuckling and slapping hands.

“What’s so damn funny?” Ron asked loudly.

“Something stupid, I’m sure,” Harry said, glancing at the offending jesters sternly.

Ron couldn’t take his eyes off of them; even if they weren’t laughing about anything of consequence, it seemed very disrespectful in light of what had just occurred.

“Ron, just ignore them,” Hermione urged, returning her hand to his. “They’re just being immature gits.”

Ron shook his head. “This is has to stop.”

Harry sighed. “There’s no talking to them. We tried. If we give them any more attention, they’ll just get louder.”

But then Scott began to speak, and the centre of the table drew in closer to listen. A chorus of low ‘oooo’s’ and laughter followed, spreading from the middle to the end of the table. Ron didn’t hear the joke, but he did hear people repeating snippets: ‘Goyle’, ‘lard’, and ‘grease fire’.

The stirring of emotions that had begun in the Room of Requirement was back, only stronger. Ron could feel a gathering storm brewing inside of him, a growing funnel of anger and frustration. He stood up and walked towards the centre of the Gryffindor table, disregarding the calls from his friends for him to come back.

He stopped right at Scott’s seat, staring down at the boy’s head. The laughter slowly subsided as everyone around Scott stared up at Ron in silent apprehension.

Scott slowly turned around, his eyes hard and daring.

“Excuse me, Scott, what did you just say?” Ron asked.

“Inside joke, Weasley, you wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me,” Ron said through gritted teeth.

Scott slowly stood up, and Ron saw the Gryffindor prefect rise with him from the left. She was watching them closely.

“I don’t have to repeat it.”

“Maybe you’re just too scared to repeat it,” Ron challenged. “Because you know it was wrong to say in the first place.”

Scott’s eyes shifted to the prefect and then around to his friends before he looked back at Ron with a determined look in his eyes.

“I’m not scared. You want me to repeat it? Fine. I was trying to spare the feelings of some people in the room, but since you want to make a scene, I’ll repeat it. I said, ‘Goyle must really be stupid to have tried to kill himself by fire. Everyone knows that when you set a tub of lard to flame, it takes forever to burn.’”

The vision of Scott’s bloodied face flashed before Ron’s eyes. He could use a nose breaking hex or a simple punch in the mouth, but what would that prove, and what would it lead to? It had to end here.

Ron took a step back, and Scott smirked in victory.

“Do you think that’s funny?”

“Yeah, and so do a lot of other people here,” Scott said.

Ron looked around at the Gryffindor table.

“You think that’s funny, Natalie?”

The sixth year brunette girl blushed and looked down at her plate in disgrace.

“The thought of Goyle burning himself alive make you laugh, Andrew?” Ron asked a fresh-faced fourth year. The boy looked to his side, his cheeks flushed.

“And how about you, Dennis? Since when do you think death is funny? Your brother died here.”

“That’s right, he did,” Dennis Creavey said angrily. “Because of scum like Goyle. If he’s not dead already, I hope he dies.”

There were several gasps among the Slytherins, and an overwhelming sadness filled Ron as he looked at Dennis. Pain and bitterness stared back at him.

“So Slytherin is to blame for Colin’s death, then?”

“No, but—”

“What about everyone who died last year?” Ron interrupted, looking around the Great Hall. “Is anyone in this room responsible for killing them?”

“Nice try, Weasley,” Scott said. “but everyone knows that last year wouldn’t have happened at all if Slytherin had never existed. You name any dark wizard, and nine times out of ten, they came from Slytherin, including the Dark Lord himself.”

“Not only that, but you weren’t here last year, Ron,” said Amanda, a fifth year Gryffindor. “Slytherins didn’t treat us any better than they’re being treated this year.”

“There you go,” Scott said to a group of agreeing voices.

“So that makes it right?” Ron asked.

“It makes it fair,” Dennis said. “What comes around goes around.”

There were a handful of affirming murmurs and head nods.

“And what about next year?” Ron asked. “Whose turn will it be then?”

The students stared up at him, but no one answered.

“When will you be even? Do you think Goyle dying will make up for your brother’s death?” he asked Dennis. “Hmm? You think it’s going to bring back mine?”

Dennis seemed to be battling about how to respond, his eyes focused on the table before him.

“It won’t, I promise you that,” Ron said to Scott. “You want to put Slytherin in their place, make them pay for last year, but when does it end?”

Scott looked around, his face tight with frustration, but he didn’t reply.

“Right. That’s what I thought,” Ron said. “It’ll never end, because if it’s not us attacking them, then they’ll be attacking us for what we did this year. It’ll just keep going on and on.”

Ron glanced up front, where the staff table was located. McGonagall was standing, her eyes focused on him. Ron looked back at his friends and sister, who seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for him to finish.

Every student and staff member was watching him with rapt attention, and for the once in his life, Ron didn’t feel self-conscious. He had something to say, and he had to get it off his chest.

“Listen, what happened here last year happened because one group of people decided that another group was inferior. They said, ‘we’re better than them, and if you don’t agree with us, then you’re scum just like they are’. You tell me how this is any different. No one here is superior. We’re not better than Slytherin, we’re not even better than an Death Eater if we think someone’s life isn’t worth anything just because of what House they belong to. That’s not what we fought for, that’s not what my brother died for, it’s not who we are.”

He swallowed and considered sitting down, but then more words began pushing their way over his tongue.

"And another thing: Draco Malfoy is my friend. Sure, he’s made a lot of mistakes, but so have some of you. But he’s not a bad bloke, and he doesn’t deserve getting the shit kicked out of him.”

Someone from the professors’ table loudly cleared their throat.

"Sorry, I meant, he doesn’t deserve getting attacked. Perhaps if everyone took more time to get to know someone before judging them, we’d find we have a lot more in common than we thought. Try it, you might be surprised. Oh yeah, and before you start another nasty rumour, let’s get something else straight. Just because Draco and I hang out, doesn’t make him my secret lover. I may have messed things up with Hermione, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still in love with her."

By the time he was finished, Ron could barely catch his breath. The words seemed to have come out of nowhere, but he knew better. As he stood there, looking at the shamed and confused faces of his classmates, he could feel the funnel inside of him spinning out of control, threatening to tear away the fragile wall holding him together.

He turned to exit before any more cracks could form, but not before catching Hermione’s tear-filled eyes.

~~~*~~~

Outside the Great Hall, Ron walked with determination, only he had nowhere to go, and he hoped to Merlin no one followed him. He couldn’t talk anymore, he could barely think. He went to the only place he knew he’d find solace. As he took the winding narrow staircase of the Tower, the nostalgia of smoking told hold of him, so that once he reached the top, he was licking his dry mouth, wishing he could.

He stopped abruptly as Draco’s back came into view. There was a petite blond girl standing next to him. She turned around, locking eyes with Ron, and then whispered something to Draco.

Draco nodded, and she rubbed his arm and raised herself on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek before turning to leave.

As Astoria approached, she gave Ron a small smile.

He tried to smile back, but it felt more like a grimace. He listened as she descended the stairs, his eyes on Draco’s back.

Guilt and shame for running away earlier kept him from saying anything or moving for several minutes.

“Are you just going to stand there like a statue all night?” Draco asked.

Slowly, Ron walked over to the ledge where Draco had both of his arms extended, leaning over.

Ron looked down at the depth of the fall below, and then glanced back at Draco.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to jump or anything like that.”

A snort escaped Ron. “I never thought that for one second, you’re too full of yourself.”

Draco turned to him, his face streaked like it had been recently washed, and his grey eyes, blood shot as one who had been crying.

Ron’s smile disappeared, and he had to brace himself not to look away. “I’m sorry I deserted you… again.”

“It’s all right. I understand why you left,” Draco said. “Besides, I didn’t even notice you were gone until they dragged me away.”

“They dragged you away?” Ron asked.

Draco nodded, a small embarrassed smile on his face.

Ron took a deep breath. “What then?”

Draco sighed. “Then they gave me some Calming Draught, and kept me under observation for over an hour.”

Ron gripped the ledge, trying to find the right words to ask his next question. “So how’s… how’s Goyle?”

Draco took a ragged breath, his eyes focused on the field. “He really messed himself up. They said he cast an ‘Incendio’ on himself, only he didn’t point it straight at his heart like he was supposed to. The tip of his wand must have been off, that’s why only his left side was so badly burnt. That probably saved his life. That, and his screaming. They said one of the Heads of Houses was doing a final sweep of the castle when he saw Greg fall out of the door of the Room of Requirement. He was screaming and on fire. When he disappeared back inside, they had to blast through the door to put him out.”

“Bloody hell…”

Draco closed his eyes. Ron watched him, waiting for him to break down again. But he didn’t. When he opened his eyes again, one tear escaped, sliding down his cheek.

“He can’t talk. He’s barely conscious, and they don’t know if he’ll make it. They sedated him and transferred him to St. Mungo’s."

“He’ll get the best care there,” Ron said reassuringly. It felt lame, but it was all he could offer.

“You know what the really fucked up part of it is?” Draco asked.

Ron shook his head.

“I understand why he did it. I bet he was tired. Tired of the nightmares, tired of the shame, tired of being less than nobody. He probably wanted to put an end to it all so he could join Vincent. And do you know why I know that?”

Ron held his breath.

“Because sometimes, I wish you hadn’t saved me that day. Sometimes I think everything would be much easier if I had just died. I wouldn’t have to deal with my mum being lonely, or my dad being in prison. I wouldn’t have to remember, or… feel…"

Ron swallowed, trying to hold it together as Draco's words seeped in, widening the cracks in the wall that was barely holding the avalanche of feelings raging inside of him.

Draco turned to face Ron. “I should have been there for Greg. He didn’t have anyone, and I… I abandoned him. I was wrong to call you a coward the other day, Ron. I was being a hypocrite. I was really talking about myself, about the way I treated Greg. I couldn’t even look at him. Every time I saw him, I thought of Vincent, and the fire, and everything I’ve ever done that I can’t take back.”

Ron closed his eyes against the well of sadness and regret spilling over, pushing tears into his eyes. He couldn’t…not here, not now, not in front of Draco.

“I know how hard it was for you to go in that room today.”

Ron furrowed his brow, his sadness giving way to anger. Was Draco trying to make him cry? Push him into some sort of confessional?

Stepping to the left, Ron put more distance between them.

“Ron—”

“No, stop. Stop it. I know what you’re trying to do,” Ron said angrily.

“I’m not trying to do anything other than to tell you how brave I thought you were for coming with me today.”

Ron kept his eyes on the field below, trying to focus on his anger, hoping it would reinforce the crumbling wall and keep the other emotions at bay.

“Right. You’re just trying to get me to pour my heart out. You’re probably embarrassed that I saw you crying, and you think that if you get me to talk about it, I’ll start crying too, and then I can’t hold it against you.”

Draco didn’t reply, and Ron found the silence even more troubling than his question. He looked up to see Draco watching him.

“Isn’t that right?” Ron demanded.

Draco shook his head slowly. “No, that never crossed my mind. Why would you hold that against me?”

Ron narrowed his eyes. “You know why! Because crying is…something that weak people do!”

“Is that what you think I am?” Draco asked, his eyes reflecting apprehension.

Ron paused, momentarily confused by Draco’s response and question. “No, I’m just saying….crying is…well it’s seen as weak, by some people.”

Draco stepped closer as Ron watched him warily, his body tense.

“Is that why you can’t talk about it?” Draco asked. “Because you’re scared? You think— no, you know that talking about it is going to make you cry, don’t you?”

Ron shook his head in denial as the dam began to crack a little more.

Draco gave Ron the tiniest of smiles. “You know, I used to think that crying was something weak people did too. Until two years ago, when the Dark Lord threatened to kill my entire family if I didn’t kill Dumbledore. I didn’t know how I was going to do it, and I really didn’t want to. I didn’t have anyone to talk to, except for Moaning Myrtle. She cries all the time. It’s rather annoying really, but now I understand why she does it… It feels good. Especially when you can’t talk, when you want to rip everything inside of you out, and tell someone what you’re going through, but you can’t put it into words. Or you’re not allowed to… Crying is the easy part, Ron. It doesn’t make you weak, sometimes, it can even make you feel stronger."

Ron tightened his face, holding himself rigid as Draco stepped closer.

“Don’t,” he warned.

When Draco stepped even closer, almost touching him, Ron pushed back at his chest, hard. “I said stop it! You can’t make me,” his voice giving out on the last syllable, cracking just like the wall inside.

“It’s all right, Ron,” Draco pressed, moving forward again. “You were almost killed, probably a countless number of times. You lost friends. You lost your brother. You’re allowed to cry.”

The heavy feeling of loss and sadness was rushing back and forth like a gigantic wave, rearing up to crash over and through the dam. It wasn’t just about what Ron had lost, or almost lost. It was all of the things he had never told Fred, like how much he loved him, or just how funny he thought his brother was. If only he could apologise for taking him for granted, for not spending more time with him when he could.

A low and steady drum hummed in Ron’s ears. It could have been his heartbeat, but it sounded more like a breaking levee. He curled his fingers into a fist, trying to hold steady as the storm broke through the wall and his remaining strength gave way. Everything inside him shook and his knees went weak, but someone was there to catch him—Draco’s arms were wrapped around him. Ron held on as the dam completely caved in. And for the next half hour, Ron Weasley did something he hadn’t done in nearly two years—he cried.

~~~*~~~

Chapter Seventeen
After the Storm

Ron didn’t know exactly how long he’d spent crying in Draco’s arms, but by the end, after the tears were gone and there was nothing left but dry sobs, he felt loads better, and a little silly as well. In fact, Ron found it hard separating from Draco, not because he enjoyed being held by the boy, but because he really didn’t want to deal with the awkwardness that was sure to follow. While he knew Draco wouldn’t cut him down, Ron also knew that things would be different now, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

When he finally pulled back, Draco’s arm and shoulder were soaked, and his hard grey eyes were soft with understanding.

“You all right?”

Ron nodded, feeling his ears beginning to burn.

Draco looked at his wet shoulder and shook his head. “When I said it was all right to cry, I had no idea you were going to cry a river and leave me drenched.”

Ron blanched, taken aback. Draco smirked.

Sniggering in spite of himself, Ron wiped his cheeks, gaining his composure. “I didn’t know I was going to cry like that. But I suppose I needed that though.”

Draco simply nodded.

Ron looked around, taking a big whiff of the crisp spring night air before tilting his head back to stare up at the clear sky. The stars looked a little brighter than they did before, and the moon seemed more luminous than ever.

“What now?” Ron asked, still gazing up.

“I’m not sure. I suppose that’s up to you,” Draco replied.

Ron lowered his head, giving Draco a curious look. “And what about you?”

Draco raised one eyebrow. “What about me?”

“Are you going to be okay?”

Draco shrugged. “Yeah, I just hope Greg pulls through.”

Ron nodded. “Well, you’re not alone. You have me and... your girlfriend.”

Draco scoffed, trying to hide an embarrassed smile even though Ron could already see his face turning red. “Girlfriend? Get your mind out of the gutter, Weasley. Astoria is just a really nice person. She’s hardly my girlfriend.”

“You might want to tell her that,” Ron said with a smirk.

Draco scrunched up his face. “So do you really think…no,” he said, shaking his head. “It would never work; she’s too young.”

“Oh come off of it, Draco. She’s only two years younger than you are.”

Draco sighed, “We’ll see…and what about you? Think you’ll be able to patch things up with Granger?”

Ron felt utterly helpless on that point. “That’s up to her,” he said.

“And you. Don’t be such a wuss. If you can return to the Room of Requirement, you can win Granger back, “Draco insisted.

Ron looked towards the door of the Tower. “Maybe. I suppose there are a few more people I need to talk to.”

Draco nodded in agreement.

They stood before each other, in awkward silence. Ron didn’t know where his relationship with Draco would go from here—they had build a friendship around smoking grass, well… perhaps a bit more than that. But Ron knew for certain that he couldn’t fall back on that anymore.

Draco reached into his pocket, pulling out the hookah. “For old times' sake?”

Ron licked his lips, the craving hitting him like a blow to the body. “We really should stop. It may be legal, but it can’t be healthy to smoke as much as we do.”

Draco shrugged. “Well, no one’s perfect.”

“Draco, I’m serious…”

“I know,” Draco singed. “But, I have all of this.” He pulled out a substantial velvet satchel and proceeded to wave it in front of Ron seductively. “And I simply can’t let it go to waste. I suppose I’ll just have to smoke it all by myself.”

Ron stared at the pouch, his willpower battling with his craving. Finally, he groaned in defeat. “It’ll take forever for you to smoke all of that. I’ll help you get rid of it, but only because I want you to be done with it. This ends tonight. We’ll finish it off together.”

Draco appeared amused. “And then what?”

“And then we both get some help… there’s this Mind Healer. His name is Gordon, he seems like a pretty decent bloke.”

“Oh that tosser? He’s been trying to get me to have a tea with him,” Draco said wearily.

Ron chuckled. “You too?”

Draco nodded gravely.

Ron stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Tea isn’t so bad. It may even be good.”

Draco looked sceptical. “Perhaps… All right, since you’re set on it, we’ll make this the last one, at least for a little while.”

“This is last one for me, period,” Ron said resolutely before conjuring a chair.

“We’ll see, Weasley…we’ll see.”

Ron smiled confidently as he waited for Draco to light the hookah, since he’d left his own in his room. He felt like a man at the entrance of a newly discovered footpath. He didn’t know where it would lead, but he knew where he’d come from, and it could only get better from here.

~~~*~~~

When Ron crept back into the common room it was dark as always, but the fire was a crackling, highlighting three familiar silhouettes on the couches.

Shit!

Harry, Hermione, and Ginny turned to look at him.

Ron froze, suspecting that they were going to scold him for sneaking about late at night again with Draco. Or perhaps they’d fuss at him for publicly claiming Draco as a friend and humiliating Gryffindor in front of everyone…

“It’s about time you got back,” Ginny said in exasperation. “I really didn’t want to spend the night on the couch.”

Ron looked to Hermione. There was a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She scooted over, patting the space beside her in invitation.

“Come sit, Ron.”

Ron walked over awkwardly, wondering what exactly they were up to. Was this going to be some sort of intervention? He’d heard about those. They didn’t sound fun.

He took his seat slowly, his stomach tightening in anticipation for a row.

Harry and Ginny exchanged a glance, and then so did Harry and Hermione. When Ron looked at Hermione, she forced a smile.

“What?”

“That was some speech you gave today,” Harry said.

Ron adjusted his seat, looking at all of them. “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from, but, if I said anything that offended you, I apologize.”

“Offended? Ron, it was brilliant,” Hermione said.

Ron turned his head in surprise to look at her plainly. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling.

“Ron, Fred would have really enjoyed seeing you put Scott in his place,” Ginny added. “Well, you really gave us all a reality check. I’ve never been so proud of you.”

Ron giggled, and Ginny frowned.

“I’m serious, you dimwit!”

“I know, that’s what makes it so damn funny,” Ron said, unable to control his giggling. It soon turned into outright laughter, and when he was done, they were all staring at him rather strangely.

“Ron…are you high?” Hermione asked, biting her lip.

Ron looked down at his clothing, smoothing out the wrinkles of his robes. He sniffed himself, but smelt nothing. When he looked up, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny looked disturbed, and Ron could feel heat creeping into his cheeks.

“Yeah, I am,” he admitted.

Their proud smiles turned into frowns and looks of concern.

“But, honestly, this was the last time,” Ron said quickly. “I didn’t think you’d be up to see me like this.”

Harry sighed. “Your last time, Ron?”

“Yeah, I swear. I was going to stop after tonight, and tomorrow, I had planned to uh…go in and talk to someone.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, sitting up.

Ron nodded. “Yeah… Hermione, I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting. I didn’t know… what to say really, or how to say it.”

“And now?” Hermione asked hesitantly.

“Well now I’m ready to talk, but… it’s too late, really, and I wouldn’t want to keep you guys up.”

There was instant protest: “No, it isn’t!” and “It’s fine!” and “We’re already up.”

Ron laughed to see them so eager, and then he laughed again when it hit him how much they cared for him. He really was lucky.

“Do you always laugh like this when you’re high?” Hermione asked with a troubled expression.

“Yeah,” Ron said, smiling hard, it was no use to even try to control it.

Ginny shook her head, looking at her brother in bemusement. “Well, although I don’t approve, it is good to see you smile again.”

Harry reclined back in his seat, setting his feet up on the table. “So…”

“Sooo…” Ron repeated.

“So, what’s been going on, Ron?” Ginny pressed.

“Well, it’s a long story, really…”

“That’s fine, because we’ve got all night,” Harry said.

Ron took a deep breath, summoning the same strength he found when facing the imaginary Fiendfyre in the hall.

“Right. Well, I suppose it all started the day Fred died, the day you beat You-Know- Who, Harry. That night, I had a wicked nightmare. I couldn’t remember what it was, but I remember waking up thinking I’d just escaped something terrible. It was scary, but, I didn’t think it would happen again. But it did, every night… And then I started having them while I was wide-awake too. That’s when I knew something was wrong…”

~~~*~~~

The day after the world changed, Ron awoke feeling utterly drained and groggy, having spent nearly the entire night up talking. They talked about everything… Ron’s nightmares, his flashbacks, what had been happening with Draco, his new friendship with the boy, and Goyle. They even talked about his drug habit a little. He was surprised at how open and supportive his friends were. They seemed just grateful that he was talking at all. Ron also listened a lot as well. He found out Ginny’s crying spells were more like crying episodes that would last for up to an hour or more, several times a day, and they seemed to come out of nowhere. Ron also found out that as in control as Hermione seemed, she had been burying herself into the Restoration project and schoolwork, sometimes avoiding sleep all together. When she did sleep, she often awake in the middle of the night with no recollection of what she dreamed, but was too scared to scream or speak.

As Ron lay there in bed, trying to will himself to rise for the day, he wondered why it had taken something so drastic as what happened the previous day for them to all open up to each other.

“Hey, you two sleepy heads,” Neville called, “it’s time to get up! You’re going to miss breakfast.”

Ron heard Harry groan, and he cracked his eyes open to watch his best friend throw the covers over his head in protest. He sniggered and stretched before finally sitting up.

“Come on, Harry.”

Harry grunted. “Let’s just skip breakfast, I’m completely knackered from last night.”

“No way, you know how I get when I don’t eat,” Ron said, pushing himself up with a much effort. “I’m not missing another meal this term. Besides, I’m starving…”

“That wouldn’t have anything to do with you getting the munchies from smoking that crap, would it?”

“I told you I’m quitting,” Ron said irritably. He hoped Harry wasn’t going to ride his arse about the smoking thing.

“Do want me to go with you when you see Gordon?”

“No, I want go alone,” Ron said, feeling slightly guilty for shutting Harry out of something else.

Harry finally rose, and gave Ron an sympathetic nod. “I understand…”

When they came downstairs, Harry and Ginny embraced each other, exchanging a lazy morning kiss, while Ron and Hermione watched them, sneaking not-so-covert glances at each other.

“So, er, Hermione, how did you sleep?” Ron asked.

“I didn’t really, but it still was a good night,” she said, with a small smile.

“Yeah,” he said as a nervous flutter bothered his stomach.

She smiled again and then looked elsewhere, and all Ron could do was stare at her long lashes and perfect lips. He tore his eyes away, trying to squelch the hope for a second chance growing inside of him.

When they entered the Great Hall several people looked up, some giving him small smiles, others watching Ron with trepidation. He was eager to let everyone know that he had no plans to be the moral police or go off again, so he tried to offer smiles where he could, and head nods of greeting.

“I hope they all don’t hate me,” Ron whispered.

“I doubt that, mate,” Harry said. “It needed to be said. I bet a lot of them were probably relieved that someone said it. Uh…” Harry paused, looking up over Ron’s head. Ron frowned, and slowly turned around to see Dennis Creevey standing behind him.

“Hi, Ron,” Dennis said.

“Hi, Dennis.”

Dennis bit his bottom lip as his eyes nervously darted to Harry, and then back to Ron. “Look, what you said yesterday, well… it made a lot of sense. I just… I needed someone to be angry with, and Slytherin was easy enough.”

Ron nodded. “I know.”

“Anyway, thanks. I’m glad you spoke up,” he said, turning away before Ron could respond.

Ron turned back around, his eyes wide as Harry and Ginny gave him “told you” smiles.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione beaming at him, but when he turned to face her, she turned her head quickly and began talking to Ginny as if she hadn’t noticed anything at all.

Ron smiled to himself, as hope bloomed once more. Perhaps he had a chance to win back Hermione’s heart after all.

~~~*~~~

After second lesson dismissed and the students entered the hallways to congregate during free period, Ron stood at the crossroads. Really, it was just the entrance of the hallway leading to the infirmary, but it was also a choice between change and the familiar, however dysfunctional it was. The hallway seemed much longer than he remembered, and as he began to walk down it, he could imagine dozens of scenarios: Gordon recommending him to the Janus Thickey Ward; Gordon scolding him for lying before; Gordon telling him how disappointed he was that a war hero would engage in smoking grass... The list went on, but when Ron reached the door, his fear began talking to him.

You’ve already cried like a baby in front of Draco and babbled to your friends. What do you need a Mind Healer for? Man up, for Merlin’s sake!

Before Ron could turn around, the door opened, smacking him in the forehead.

“Owww!”

“Oops,” Draco said, not looking the least bit apologetic.

Ron stood with his mouth hanging open, staring past Draco to where Healer Gordon was standing, making notations.

“Close your mouth, Ron.”

“What? Oh, what are you—”

“I told you I’d come, and I did.”

Ron looked at Draco, still surprised.

Draco held his head up higher, looking every bit the arrogant Ferret he used to be. “It was…mildly interesting. Although, the wanker lied. We didn’t even have tea.”

Ron chuckled nervously. “Uh, maybe I’ll do this tomorrow.”

“Oh no you don’t…oh Healer Gordon,” Draco called.

Ron snarled at Draco and then quickly stopped, forcing a smile as Healer Gordon approached.

“Ron! What a pleasant surprise!”

“Oh, hi, Healer Gordon,” Ron said, suddenly feeling self-conscious again.

“Gordon, Ron here is a little nervous about coming in to see you. I told him you’re perfectly harmless.”

Ron’s eyes widened as he gaped back at Draco. The nerve of the prat—going to the Mind Healer had been his idea, not Draco’s!

“Ah well, you can tell him to relax, I don’t bite.”

“You certainly don’t,” Draco said, with a charming smile.

Ron fought the urge to roll his eyes as Draco gave him that infuriating smirk.

“Have fun,” Draco said.

“Gee, thanks,” Ron murmured as Draco brushed past him.

Healer Gordon waved Ron inside, and once the doors closed behind him, the man held out his hand. Ron took it, shaking it firmly once again.

“Good to see you, Ron. You have good taste in friends.”

“Huh?”

“M. Malfoy… he spoke very highly of you.”

“He did?” Ron asked, dumbfounded, wondering what exactly Draco had said about him.

“Yes. Are you surprised? He is your friend, isn’t he?”

Ron stared back at Healer Gordon. “Yeah. Yes, he is.”

Healer Gordon smiled, and led Ron back to his booth, where they both took a seat.

“So, Ron, what would you like to talk about today?”

Ron drew a blank. What exactly had he planned to tell this man?

“Uh, I don’t really know where to begin.”

“How about starting with yesterday…”

Ron blew his breath out hard, and sat back. “Yesterday was… bizarre.”

“Yes. As you already know, one of your classmates tried to commit suicide…”

“Yeah, I was sorta there.”

“So I heard. Tell me more about that…”

Ron closed his eyes, a cacophony of emotions sweeping through him. Finally, he opened his eyes.

“Uh… well, I’ve never seen anything like that before. I never thought someone could do that to themselves—on purpose, I mean. I wish I could just forget what I saw. I wish I could forget everything that’s ever happened in that room.”

“What do you mean, Ron?”

Ron took a deep breath. “It all goes back to last year…”

~~~*~~~

Two Months Later…

The late spring air was warm, so Ron loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt before leaning back over to study the chessboard.

“So… are ready for your NEWTs?” Draco asked.

Ron scowled at him, knowing all too well Draco was trying to distract him. “Sure, I only have four to take.”

“Four? You need at least six to be an Auror.”

“Well, I don’t want to be an Auror,” Ron said resolutely.

Draco gasped in exaggeration. “Say it isn’t so! What does the saviour of the wizarding world think of this shocking bit of news?”

“Leave off, Draco. Harry would support me no matter what career I choose. He doesn’t care if I’m an Auror, in fact, no one does really. I just thought they did.”

“So, what do you plan to do then?”

Ron took his eyes off of the board for a moment, thinking. “I’m not sure. I want to explore my options. I might work with my brother George for a little while, until I sort it all out.”

Draco nodded, his eyes turning pensive.

“What are you going to do?” Ron asked.

“That depends. Once I pass my NEWTs, I might elect to study under… Slughorn.”

Ron nearly choked. “Slughorn? Are you serious? You hate him.”

“He’s an pompous arse, but an apprenticeship in Potions will put me where I want to be in five years.”

“Which is?”

“Owning my own Apothecary.”

Ron raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. “Nice.”

Draco cleared his throat, casting his eyes back to the board. “Are you going to stare at me all night, or are you going to make your move?”

Ron scowled. “If you’d stop talking my head off, perhaps I could concentrate.”

“What’s the matter, Ron? Do you have trouble thinking and talking at the same time?”

Ron narrowed his eyes and considered the board again. He smirked. “Queen to Ee4.”

The queen rose and walked gracefully over to Malfoy’s Knight, proceeding to remove a small dagger from her robes and stab the knight in the neck.

Draco grimaced. “If you’re going to play, at least play like a gentleman.”

“Is this wizarding chess or cricket?”

Draco gave Ron a fake smile and sighed as he considered his options.

Ron leaned back, studying his advantage and his opponent. In just a few weeks the school term would end. Sometimes Ron still had trouble believing where they had ended up, especially in light of where they had started.

Draco brought his arm up, checking his watch. “Ah, look at the time. It’s getting late, Astoria will not be pleased if I stand her up.”

“Then don’t. Just make your move, and we’ll be done,” Ron insisted.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? But I’m afraid I’m going to have to put this game on pause,” Draco said, sitting back with a challenge in his eye.

“How convenient…” Ron said sarcastically.

“Pardon me, but aren’t you and Granger trying to spend more quality time together now? I hardly think your girlfriend would appreciate you disregarding your new vows in favour of playing chess, with me.”

Ron sighed loudly, conceding. The git really was persuasive.

“All right, we’ll freeze the game here,” Ron said, casting an ‘Immobulus’ and leaving it out.

They both sat in silence for a moment, the sounds of the forest in the distance nudging at Ron’s memories—some good, some bad.

“How are you sleeping?” Ron blurted out.

“Some nights are better than others. You?”

Ron shrugged. “Same, I suppose.”

“Do you miss smoking?” Draco asked tentatively, a nervous look in his eye.

Ron nodded, feeling guilty for the craving that still rose within him from time to time, especially late at night. “Yeah.”

“You know… it’s a rather nice night. Perfect for a smoke,” Draco said with a suggestive smirk.

Ron chuckled and shook his head, reaching inside his robe pockets. Draco smiled and leaned in eagerly. When Ron brought his hand out, Draco’s face fell, and he clicked his teeth.

“Gum?” Ron opened a small tin of gum he frequently carried around these days.

Draco sighed, retrieving a stick. “Gordon’s really got you under his thumb.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “You’re still seeing him as well, I believe.”

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean I do everything he suggests. He’s not all wise and knowing. Having a smoke once in a while won’t kill us.”

Ron shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m getting used to the gum.”

Draco shook his head. “You’re such a goody-goody, Weasley.”

“Well, one of us has to be,” Ron said with a smile. “Come on, our girls are waiting…”

Draco rose, heading for the door, and Ron standing to follow him. But then he turned to steal one last look out over the edge of the Tower, where a gentle breeze was blowing, caressing his hair and cooling his skin. It carried the scent of flowers in bloom. Ron inhaled, taking in the fresh air, and held it in his lungs for a moment. He exhaled slowly, savouring the calmness he felt.

Although scattered storms still raged inside of him, he no longer needed a dam to contain them. He trusted himself enough to weather it out. And if ever the storm proved to be too much, Ron now knew, without a shadow of a doubt that his friends—Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and Draco—would be there to shelter him and lead him through.


The End




Thank you for reading! We encourage you to share your thoughts about this piece with the author and artist. You can show your appreciation by leaving reviews here.

Title: When Shall We Three Meet Again?
Author: Brumeux (brumeux77)
Pairing: Bill/Charlie/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Genre: PWP
Warnings: Incestuous threesome
Word Count: 3,927; but there are 309 words of quotation, making my contribution 3,618 words.
Summary: Scotland. A desert heath. Fog and filthy air. Three wizards meet. But instead of prophecies about the future of the Scottish monarchy, there’s Weasleycest.
Author’s Note: I’ve quoted a paragraph each from three fics. For the purposes of my story, yes; but also as a lure for you to go read the excellent pieces they come from. There are links at the end of this piece, the better for you to find them. Many, many thanks to my beta, M, who found (amid other things) an enormous plot hole almost before the story began; and to E, who filled it in.


Title: "Three Freckled Redheads"
Artist: foryourstereo
Pairing: Ron/Bill/Charlie
Rating: PG
Media: Digital
Artist's Notes: There are more written, but basically the illustration revolves around this scene.

---

When Shall We Three Meet Again?

Curse breaker, Auror, dragon wrangler. One on medical leave for injuries, one on leave because stress was making a breakdown imminent, one simply on holiday from a physically exhausting job. It doesn’t really matter which was which. What mattered was that we three met in a little cabin on a desert heath in Scotland—and very glad to have just made it in time to shelter from the thunder, lightning, and rain of a chilly summer storm.

Bill and Charlie were still admiring the elements when I came back from a quick look around the cabin. “Uh, guys—didn’t the landlord say there were three beds?”

Bill had made the arrangements. He answered, “Of course. I wouldn’t have taken the place otherwise. Two bedrooms, three beds.”

I grimaced. “Then he lied. The bigger bedroom only has one big bed, not two singles.”

“We’ll manage,” Charlie said. “It’s all family.”

“Yeah, well, it’ll take a bit of managing,” I went on. “The bed in the other room is under a window that was left open. There’s a year’s healthy crop of mould growing on and in the mattress.”

“What?” cried Bill, rushing in to see it with his own eyes.

“It’s fairly foul,” I muttered to Charlie. “Good thing I’ve got a strong stomach, eh?” I laughed.

Bill returned fuming. “I’m going to call that Paddock bastard and get our money back.”

I looked at the bare mantel. “Unless you brought your own supply of Floo powder, mate, you’re not calling anyone.”

“Even better. In person I can get our money back and then strangle him. I’ll just Appa…”

Charlie grimaced. “Except the Apparition wards to keep previous guests from returning uninvited keep us from leaving, too. In this muck you’ll never find the ward boundaries, let alone your way back.”

Bill’s curses were lengthy and inventive.

---

We had known we’d be responsible for our own food, so we’d brought plenty along. On the other hand, we hadn’t expected to find that every pot and pan in the tiny kitchen area would be crusted in the residue of meals past. Lucky we were wizards—and had had Mum for a mum—so we knew spells to clean those up, unlike the mouldy bed. We’d be just as likely to set the thing on fire as dispel the mould.

Finally, tired from our travels and full of our supper we were ready for bed. It was the work of a moment to Transfigure the bed into one of a larger size, but there was still the matter of getting into it. Easy for Charlie to say it was all family, but as far as I could remember none of us brothers had shared a room, let alone a bed—always excepting Fred and George. And then there were pyjamas. Or rather, there weren’t. I hadn’t brought any and Bill was apparently used to sleeping in the raw, since he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants; but he’d only moved them about half an inch before he caught our eyes. He had a sort of “I’m not going to be the first” look and snapped them back into place. Charlie? Charlie, for all I know, might have been accustomed to wear a clinging silky negligee—because by that time my attention was already caught up in a different question: with three people, one of them had to be in the middle. Squished by the others, with no room to spread out. (And I’m definitely a stretcher.) Stymied if you needed the loo in the middle of the night. And who would it be?

It wasn’t even open to a vote. Bill and Charlie pulled rank as older and therefore the middle spot was mine. We all climbed in in our underwear and settled down to sleep.

Exhaustion caught up with me, I guess. I just know I was out as soon as I climbed into bed and stayed out until morning. Maybe I was unable to stretch out, maybe I was haplessly squished, but if so I was happily unaware of it.

---

We didn’t pay much attention to the weather the next day. We had plenty to catch up on, as it had been I don’t know how long since we’d all been together. New and ever more complex and devilish—and fascinating—curses devised by the ancient Egyptians. The observation of the bizarre courtship rituals of a species of dragon that had never before bred in captivity. My own tales of the continued deviousness and deviance of Dark wizards. And of course gossip. Mostly my gossip, since Bill and Charlie knew most of the people I had to talk about.

---

That night of course, just as I had dreaded, I woke up needing the loo. I found Charlie snuggling his head on my shoulder with his hand wrapped around my forearm. I detached him as gently as I could, then turned to attempt crossing Bill without waking him. Only to find that even asleep he had his hand shoved into his pants working on an impressive erection (not that one would expect anything less than impressive from a Weasley). I managed to get over without significant contact, and by the time I got back Bill’s hand was resting on his chest and Charlie was facing in the opposite direction. The rest of the night was uneventful.

---

I was up first in the morning. Bleary-eyed, scratching his belly and rubbing his hair, Charlie joined me, yawning, “Where’d you get to, young Ron?” Then he saw I was munching granola bars. “Ooh: gimme,” he said and reached for one.

“Geroff, arse!” I pulled them into my lap to keep them from him.

“I’ll do you later,” he griped; and poked around for his own breakfast.

I finished my bars and was soon drumming my fingers on the table. “Why did we come up here again? I’m bored already.”

Just then Bill wandered in.

“Oh look.” Charlie bowed in his direction. “His lordship deigns to join us.”

Bill gave us an annoyed look. “I feel like I haven’t slept in a week.”

Really he did look a bit like death warmed up. But that was no reason to let him off lightly. I snickered. “Well, if you will spend half the night wanking…”

“I wasn’t wanking!”

“What would you like me to call it when you’ve got your fist shoved down your pants to pull on your hard-on? That’s the lovely sight I had to deal with when I woke up in the night.”

Bill’s response was a two-fingered salute.

He started rifling the pantry while Charlie and I laughed.

---

The fog had thickened overnight so that a person standing at one corner of the cabin wouldn’t be able to see the next corner, and it only worsened throughout the day. There was no question of going out: you’d be disoriented and lost in thirty steps. And like I said, we hadn’t thought to bring Floo powder.

We hadn’t really realised how much we’d been expecting long walks in the summer sunshine to get us energised and ready to get back to life. The weather had left us almost completely unprepared. Exploding Snap can only keep you entertained for so long. Gobstones likewise. Not surprisingly, neither of them would play chess with me, but they tried each other for a while.

“Three to you and three to me,” said Charlie after a while.

“And three to me just on principle,” I added, an edge to my voice because of boredom.

“Calm down,” said Bill. “Didn’t Harry give you some Muggle games?”

I’d forgotten the sack Harry had Reducio’d for us. I had good hopes, seeing as he’d spoken well of them; but it seemed he hadn’t really thought about there just being the three of us. He’d put in things with names like “Cluedo” and “Apples to Apples” that we found needed more than three players to be enjoyed properly. And he’d put far fewer things in that sack than I’d thought.

In the rota we’d set up for fixing meals lunch was my job. I stretched out making sandwiches as much as was humanly possible just because it was something to do. And we ate slowly, and I did the washing up slowly. But despite my efforts to shorten the coming afternoon, it promised to be a repeat of the morning. Everyone’s nerves began to fray.

When time came for dinner it was Charlie’s turn. He started on stew, but at Bill’s comment that it smelled like it was made with frog toes and lizard legs Charlie threw a spoon at him and walked off, leaving Bill to finish.

The day was not a success. And even though it looked fair to be a dismal night too, we turned in early.

---

I kept waking up from Charlie’s nudging, but I’d just dislodge his hand or give him a little shove and he’d move off. The last time, though, he had his arm clear across my chest, and his leg was slung over mine with the knee pulled so far up it was pressing against my dick. His cheek was rubbing gently against my shoulder and he was murmuring something I couldn’t catch; and his hard cock was rubbing not so gently against my hip. In the meantime on my other side, Bill had his pants shoved down to his thighs and was bashing the bishop and moaning while his head moved from side to side. There was an occasional “yes” mixed in with the moans.

Rampant hard-ons and sleeping sex to my left and to my right, and pressure on my prick—well, you’d get hard too, wouldn’t you? But I put my brothers out of my head. Instead I put Hannah Abbot on my right and Terry Boot on my left; both, as I knew from experience, attentive and flexible lovers—although I’d never been with both at the same time. So I imagined Terry’s tongue in my mouth while Hannah stroked my cock; alternating with Hannah’s tongue and Terry’s hand—and all the time Charlie’s knee providing real stimulation in lieu of their hands—it wasn’t long before I shot. And before I could get to my wand under my pillow, Charlie’s frotting had got him off too. So I cleaned my own spunk off me, and Charlie’s off him, his pants, the sheets, and me. And I should have known better than to bother putting my wand away because I had to take care of Bill’s mess as soon as I had.

How I was going to get through the week with orgasms surrounding me I had no idea.

---

Staying in bed—alone—the whole next day was unfortunately not a realistic option, so thank goodness Bill had an inspiration before we could start hating each other. He conjured up a book. It seemed so obvious once he’d done it and Charlie and I immediately followed suit. I had a couple of books on Quidditch and Quidditch players waiting for me on the table next to my bed at home, but somehow Harry and I had found ourselves promising Hermione that—as a birthday present to her—we’d read Hogwarts: A History before September so we could talk about it with her. As I reluctantly pulled up a copy of it I just hoped I could stay awake. Harry and I love her dearly, but there are times when having an obsessive bookworm for a best friend has its drawbacks. I expected it would be just as boring as the day before had been (after all, whether in Hermione’s favourite book or in Professor Binns’s class, goblin wars are goblin wars), but it would be a completely different kind of boring. I wouldn’t be getting on my brothers’ nerves nor they on mine.

Bill fetched a book he said was hilarious: supposedly about wizards (although no wizards anyone would have thought imaginable) at an Unseen University. Like Hogwarts? I wondered; that Muggles can’t see? Charlie said he taken something at random. It turned out to be something like a collection of short stories about King Arthur—“except,” he said, “in some lunatic world where Uther is still alive, and Arthur is living with him, and—” he nearly choked laughing “—and Merlin—Merlin is Arthur’s servant!” It did sound like Charlie got the best deal.

---

The way things had been going, that night I was half expecting a big purple dildo being wielded on one side of me and some auto-fellatio on the other side. But Bill’s dreams were apparently peaceful and innocent; and while Charlie did cuddle up to me, he was turned on his other side—I got his back and his bum pressed against me, but no nuzzling or rutting. But the expectations had me unable to close my eyes, sure that things would start happening the moment I did so; and they also had me half-hard. I did not have a restful night.

---

Still, the next day was better. Bill started reading some of the funnier bits from his book, and Charlie finally shared with us the fact that his book was pure pornography. It turned out that Merlin was not only Arthur’s servant, but his lover; and they were having sex nearly non-stop.

“Listen to this,” he said.


His prince—no, his Arthur—is seated on his bed, completely naked and stroking his cock. There are many words he can use to describe his Arthur: intelligent, arrogant, assholely, commanding, self-destructive. But the only word that comes to mind in this moment is beautiful. Arthur is a study in contrasts: flat planes and gently sculpted muscles, bare matte skin and dense blond hair, wildly passionate and fiercely focused. Watching Arthur work his gorgeous cock in the early morning light makes the heaviness of the past eighteen hours in a very busy castle dissipate like clouds.


Prince. Naked. Wanking. Yeah, that gave me a tingle where it counts. Fortunately there was the rebuilding of the Astronomy Tower to convince myself I was not really turned on—I mean listening. But then:

“Oh, this one’s even hotter. They’re actually fucking.”


Feet pulled up, Arthur dug his heels in, feet slipping on the sleek wood of the floor as he thrust up into Merlin. Merlin moaned, pushing down hard, driving Arthur deep inside, fingers digging into Arthur’s shoulders and there was nothing better than seeing Merlin lose control, to see him desperate and needy, his skin shiny with sweat, shirt hanging off his shoulders, his hard cock jutting forward. Arthur slid his hands over Merlin’s lean thighs, fingers gliding over slick skin and then he took hold of Merlin’s cock.


This was not good. Topping from the bottom is a special turn-on for me. I hadn’t had a lot of chance to do it—Terry really preferred bottoming from the bottom. Still… There was more than a tingle this time. I crossed my legs hoping Bill and Charlie wouldn’t notice I was hard.

But Charlie was quiet. Bill had finished his book and had conjured another by the same author. “Hey! You won’t believe this: Death is a major character. He walks around talking. Not that anyone can see him. He…”

Charlie broke in. “A virgin! Arthur’s a virgin! Merlin hasn’t shagged him yet but…”


Merlin looks at the blond head bent over his cock and wonders dazedly if it’s the feel of Arthur’s mouth, uncertain but growing more sure, or the sight of him bent over and taking Merlin’s cock that makes him shudder. Curling a leg over Arthur’s, Merlin holds as still as he can, petting Arthur as he opens his mouth, the head sliding over his tongue, and it’s unbelievably good. Running his heel down Arthur’s calf, Merlin whispers, “God, yes, that’s good, Arthur, take more, you can do it,” and losing his breath when Arthur does. Stroking shaking fingers over Arthur’s cheek, Merlin fights the urge to close his eyes, wanting to see Arthur do this, the first time anyone’s ever breached that perfect mouth.


That was it. I couldn’t take any more. I took the long way around their chairs to hide my straining cock from them as much as possible and zipped into the loo as quickly as I could. In a shake I had my jeans and my briefs down around my ankles and in half a shake more my hand was flying up and down my prick. The first time anyone’s ever breached that perfect mouth. I thought of perfect mouths that no one—at least not me—had ever breached. (Plenty of leeway there—I had the whole population of the world for my fantasies, barring Hannah and Terry, with whom there’d been plenty of breaching.) Lavender: I’d had my hopes there but she hadn’t shared them. Fleur and a few dozen other Beauxbatons girls I’d never even spoken to. Susan. Dean, Seamus, Neville; umm: Neville. And Harry. How had I missed a moment with Harry? I knew he wasn’t into blokes, but I’ll bet I could have convinced him to give me a go anyway. Oh, Harry… Harry… Breaching Harry’s perfect mouth… My cock’s head sliding over his tongue… Unbelievably good… Yes; Harry… Suck it… Harry, Harry, Harry…

The orgasm was fantastic. I cleaned up, straightened my clothes, and went back out to the living room. If Charlie gave Bill a strange look I was careful not to notice—I was too busy being nonchalant.

Hogwarts: A History had actually managed to get interesting. Stories of trees being blown down in the Forbidden Forest, not too bad. The time the whole castle threatened to topple on the headmaster’s head, kind of intriguing. But Hermione had never told us about the sections on the sex lives of the various headmasters and headmistresses. Details about the chap who admired the “power” of men and wanted none of women, and how his “heart” throbbed. This was almost as good as Charlie’s book. The headmistress who had a “special tutorial” for some of the best (however that might be construed) seventh-year boys. All at once.

I don’t even remember dinner. And suddenly it was time for bed.

---

Once again I woke up in the middle of the night. And once again Charlie had his hard-on pressed against my hip. And once again Bill was stroking an impressive Weasley erection. Except this time Charlie was whispering “Ron” in my ear when he wasn’t licking the shell or nibbling on the lobe. And the erection in Bill’s hand was mine.

“We agreed,” said Charlie’s warm throaty voice in my ear, “that your attention perked up when I read about the prince wanking.”

“And we agreed,” Bill was now working on my other ear, “that more than your attention perked up when the prince was ploughing the wizard.”

“And when that delicate virgin mouth—”

“—was sliding down that thick wizarding prick—”

“—and the tongue was swirling around—”

“—and orgasm was imminent—”

“—and you rushed into the loo—”

“—with your boner almost tearing through your jeans—”

“—we agreed that maybe the thought of men with men wasn’t repellent to you—”

“—and that maybe we should help you take care of that.”

My hands were directed to the hard-ons on each side of me; Charlie began caressing my nuts and titillating the skin behind them; and the lips and tongues that had lately been teasing my ears began to explore my jaw, my eyebrows, my eyelids, my cheeks, the bridge of my nose… And finally, my mouth.

Under the onslaught of two gorgeous men (who just happened to love me besides) I was already gasping; so Charlie’s tongue had no barrier as it slid between my lips and teeth to stroke against my own. Bill took the opportunity to lick and nibble at my Adam’s apple while sliding a thumb along the line of my collarbone.

Charlie slowly teased my tongue out of my mouth as his retreated, and suddenly Bill’s face was pressed between ours, and somehow his tongue joined the dance, and someone’s hand (I’d lost track) stroked my prick a time too many, and my bum convulsed, and my spine convulsed, and my cock convulsed, and my spunk sprayed us all.

“Don’t worry, little brother,” someone sighed. “We’re just beginning.”

Charlie moved over me, rubbing his prick in my spendings as he nibbled on my jaw and throat. Bill took some too and spread it on his cock that he was rocking through my fist until I came to and took over the wanking myself. And Charlie came, and Bill came, and there was cum everywhere, especially on me. I was exhausted, and all three dicks were limp as a limp thing. I figured that was it. But I figured without the Egyptians.

Bill took his wand and tapped each of our used-up bits as he said,


“.yllis uoy kcuf nac I os em kcuS”


Of course that’s not what he said, and I have no reason to expect those squiggles are even words; in fact I strongly suspect that they’re unpronounceable. I just copied random bits out of one of Bill’s books to be impressive. But the thing is that my dick turned steel-hard again, and I was energised and ready for another round.

Bill straddled me. “You like hearing about Merlin riding Arthur, didn’t you?” he said, positioning me at his entrance. “Sliding down the princely prick?” He kept being Merlin to my Arthur as he spoke. “Up and down until they were both losing control?”

I couldn’t answer Bill because just at that moment Charlie’s hard-on slid across my mouth; and he shut Bill up at the same time by snogging him thoroughly. I opened my mouth and tried to wrap my tongue around that lovely flesh as it moved back and forth. Charlie eventually moved far enough that I was able to catch his tip in my mouth and start sucking him properly. While their tongues struggled together, each had one hand teasing one of my nipples and the other pulling each other’s cocks. My hands were gliding up Bill’s thighs, my thumbs pressing the flesh behind his ballsack. I began losing track of whose parts were whose—I definitely couldn’t tell you who orgasmed first or last.

Bill told us it was dangerous to use his Arabic spell again too soon, so we drifted off in a tangle of limbs.

---

We didn’t spend all of our time in bed. There were meals, there was more sharing of amusing stories (including some of the choicer bits of Hogwarts: A History), there were even more games of Exploding Snap and Gobstones. And still neither of them would play chess with me.

But we were never bored again. By the end of our stay there had been more wanking and sucking and frotting than any of us had ever had squeezed into such a short period, and each of us had fucked both the others several times over. If there was any experiment with double penetration, I for one plan to remain silent on the name of the intrepid shagee.

We never did notice when the weather improved to the point where Apparition was a viable choice—but then, who cared? What mattered was that we’d come for relaxation and relief and found it; that we’d spent time with people who were important to us and got really close to them.

And that there wasn’t enough cum left in the three of us combined to drown a gnat.

---

We’ve already booked the cabin for next summer.



Charlie’s readings came from these stories, all of which I highly recommend…

His Jim, by abigail89. It’s a Star Trek story, where for my purposes I’ve substituted Merlin for McCoy and Arthur for Kirk.

Respite, by thegrrrl2002. Supernatural, with Castiel becoming Merlin here, and Dean Arthur.

Truth Is a Whisper, by seperis. This truly began life as Merlin/Arthur.



Thank you for reading! We encourage you to share your thoughts about this piece with the author and artist. You can show your appreciation by leaving reviews here

Title: The Resolution of All the Fruitless Searches
Author: slantedknitting
Pairing: Ron/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Genre: angst and romance, minimal action, maximal drama
Warnings: mentions of Harry/Ginny, past Ron/Hermione, Lee/Angelina, Ron/OMCs, and past Dean/OMC; consumption of tobacco (via cigarettes) and marijuana (via brownies), angst angst and more angst; spoiler warnings: explicit past Ron/Harry, non-explicit George/Lee
Word Count: 50,300
Summary: Dean has finally returned to England after spending the post-war years at an art school in America. Harry and Ron are currently Aurors, but have a complicated history with each other that is brought to the forefront of Ron's mind as his friendship with Dean is rebuilt, things go wrong at work, and George becomes a dramatic hypocrite.
Author’s Note: Endless thanks to my wonderful betas, eruditefics and triomakesmehot. They've looked over more than 110,000 words for me this year and I could not be more grateful. Also, the title is taken from Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes."


Titles: "Untitled" & "Untitled#2"
Artist: Beanyneko (prince_ozora)
Pairing: Ron/Dean
Rating: all ages
Media: watercolors
Artist’s Notes: n/a


Ron inched opened the door to his and Harry's flat and stuck his head inside before pulling it all the way open. He gestured for another man to go in before him, then followed and closed the door behind them, muttering a spell as the other man looked around the dark flat.

"Your flatmate home?" the other man asked, pressing Ron against the door and reaching for Ron's belt.

"Yes," Ron said firmly, grabbing the man's hand and winking. "We just have to go to my room."

"But I like your sofa," the man said, grabbing Ron's hips and pulling him further into the room. "And I like being heard."

Ron stumbled and tried to guide his guest in the direction of his bedroom. "That's hot, but it's a bit rude to him, don't you think?" he asked, starting to unbutton the other man's shirt.

"No, I don't." The man grinned wickedly and shoved Ron down onto the sofa before sitting on top of him. "You're the perfect kind of ginger, did you know that?"

Ron gaped up at the man as he quickly undid Ron's trousers. "What?"

"You're so fucking tall," the man said roughly as he began stroking Ron's stiffening cock. "And fit as hell. Not fat and sweaty like most gingers." He leaned down to lick across Ron's bottom lip. "Does your flatmate like listening to you shag?"

Ron blinked, his mind a bit hazy from the desire and the alcohol coursing through him. "Er – no. No, he really doesn't. He's straight. Listen–"

"Straight, huh? I bet a night of listening to two men shag each other senseless on his sofa would set him right."

Ron shifted and tried to sit up, but the other man had him pinned down. "Look, my room's right there – er – fuck, what's your name, again?"

The other man's face went blank as he sat back on his heels, hovering over Ron. "Excuse me?"

"What? Your name, I forgot... Jim, was it?" Ron watched in confusion as the man stood and began to button his shirt. "Jim?"

"My name isn't Jim, you drunken idiot. It's Tom, and fuck you." Tom gestured rudely at Ron and headed back toward the door.

"Tom," Ron called after him, sitting up. "Tom, sorry, it was – it was loud in the – the place–"

Ron sighed as Tom slammed the door behind him. Cursing himself and his bad luck, Ron lay back down and looked at his half-hard cock.

"Bollocks."





Ron woke up the next day when he heard a loud bang. He sat up quickly and looked around in a panic, only to see Harry setting down heavy bags of groceries on the kitchen table.

"Sorry," Harry said, seeing Ron staring at him over the back of the sofa. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"It's fine," Ron grumbled, rubbing his hands over his face. "What time is it?"

"Just after noon. Did you have a good sleep?"

"I guess." Ron watched Harry unpacking groceries for a few seconds, then frowned. "Why am I sleeping out here?"

Harry glanced up. "What, don't you remember?"

"Er." Ron thought back to the previous night and his head gave an unpleasant throb. "Not really. I remember coming back... with someone. Blimey, he isn't still here, is he?"

Harry bit back a smile. "No. He, er... he left last night."

Ron stared hard at the back of Harry's head as he put food away in the cupboards. "Did I do something stupid last night?"

Harry contemplated a box of noodles and spoke without looking up. "Well, you forgot his name and... er, he was a bit put out."

"Oh, right," Ron muttered, blushing and looking down at his lap. "Bugger – what the – Harry!"

Harry looked over in surprise. "What? That can't be the first time you've forgotten a bloke's name."

"No," Ron growled, quickly putting himself back in his trousers and zipping them back up. "You could have mentioned my bits have been hanging out all morning."

Harry laughed and went back to putting away the groceries. "I thought you might have noticed when you first woke up. It's a bit chilly in here."

"Oh, fuck off." Ron stood and stretched. "Well, sorry you had to hear all that, anyway."

Harry shrugged and pretended to be reading the label on a can of soup. "Can I ask you something sort of personal?"

"About last night?" Ron asked, moving over to the table to see what food Harry had bought.

"No. Well, sort of..."

"Just ask it," Ron said, eying a box of biscuits.

Harry turned back toward the cupboards and Ron saw the tips of his ears glowing red. "Do you... when was the last time you were tested?"

Ron picked up the biscuits. "What, like an exam?"

"No," Harry said quietly, turning back around to face Ron. "Like for STIs."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "You mean STDs?"

"Infections," Harry mumbled. "Sexually transmitted infections..."

"Are – are those different from the diseases?"

"No, that's just... what they're called now, I think."

"Oh." Ron looked carefully at Harry, trying hard not to laugh. "Are you worried I've got herpes, Harry?"

Harry scowled and grabbed the biscuits to put them away. "No. I'm just trying to be a good friend. You – you bring home a lot of blokes, Ron, and I just – I want to make sure you're not doing anything stupid or – or putting yourself at risk for... you know. AIDS and... well, herpes, too."

Ron sniggered. "I get tested, mate. And I use Muggle condoms and everything."

Harry blushed again. "Well – well, good."

"At least I know you care about me," Ron teased, pulling the biscuits back out and eating one. "How was your night, then?"

"The usual." Harry shrugged and took a biscuits for himself. "Dean's back, though."

Ron coughed, his eyes wide, and struggled to swallow. "What?"

"Yeah. I ran into him in a Muggle shop this morning. Seamus didn't say anything about it last night, though."

Ron frowned and sat down at the table as Harry cleared the empty bags off of it. "That's odd. Maybe Seamus doesn't know Dean's back?"

Harry snorted and filled a kettle with water. He tapped it with his wand and then sat down with Ron to wait for it to boil. "There's no way Dean would come back without telling Seamus."

"That's probably true. Well, did you ask Dean about it? About Seamus, I mean?"

Harry shook his head. "I figured if Seamus didn't say anything, then something must be wrong between them. Maybe they had a falling out. Who knows? Seamus hardly ever talks about Dean anymore, anyway. Maybe they just... grew apart after all these years."

"Five years isn't that long," Ron reasoned. "And Seamus went to visit him in America, didn't he?"

"Thought so. A couple of times, at least." Harry shrugged again. "Anyway, Dean says hello. I said we'd owl him about meeting up for lunch or something next weekend."

Ron nodded. "Speaking of owls–"

"It's on my bed. You can grab it if you want," Harry said as he stood to make the tea.

Ron watched Harry for a moment, then went to get the newspaper from Harry's room.





A few hours later, Ron was at the kitchen table again, this time joined by George and Lee.

"It's a bit disgusting, don't you think?" George asked, nodding toward Harry's bedroom door.

Ron blinked across the table at his brother. "What, the fact that Harry isn't here?"

"No, the fact that he's out with Gin."

Ron snorted and finished off his second beer of the evening, setting it down loudly. "I think it's bit late to take issue with their relationship."

"I'm not taking issue with it. I just think it's disgusting how they're together all the time. Literally, all the time. I'm surprised either of them ever makes it to work. It's disgusting."

Ron rolled his eyes and opened another beer bottle. "He wasn't with her last night or this morning."

George shrugged. "How many beers are you going to have?"

"However many it takes."

"What the hell does that mean?" Lee asked. Both Weasleys glared at him.

"You're not allowed to talk yet," George reminded him darkly.

"You're being childish," Lee said plainly.

"And you're being a wanker." George turned his attention back to Ron. "The wanker's got a point, though. It's barely dinner time. How many are you going to have?"

"I told you, as many as it takes." Ron winked and took a large gulp of beer.

"Are you still doing that, then?"

"What, drinking beer?"

"No. Getting pissed before you go out to pull."

Ron rolled his eyes again. "So what if I am?"

"It's not exactly healthy, is it? You've been doing this for over four years. Don't you ever go out sober?"

"Don't you ever mind your own business?"

"No," George and Lee said together. George glared at his friend again.

"I'm talking whether you like it or not," Lee said, reaching across the table to take his second beer. "Angie is allowed to date whomever she wants."

"As long as it's not you," George said.

Lee ignored this and resumed drinking.

"Out of curiosity," Ron began carefully, "how did you end up scoring a date with her, anyway?"

"I asked her out," Lee said, shrugging.

George pushed his chair back with a loud scrape. "You bastard," he said lowly, staring disbelievingly at Lee.

"George," Lee warned, "you're drunk. Calm down."

"I'm not drunk, I've only had one beer. You asked out Angelina!"

"I've fancied her for over a decade, George," Lee said through clenched teeth. "It's my turn."

"She's. Fred's," George practically growled.

Ron cleared his throat in a halfhearted attempt to get their attentions.

"It's been over five years, George. I am sick of having this conversation with you. I swear, if you bothered to get your own girlfriend, my love life wouldn't interest you half as much."

"Fuck you," George spat, standing and storming out of the flat before either Ron or Lee could stop him.

"He took the news quite well, I think," Lee said dully, turning back to Ron.

Ron stared at the door George had slammed, a sinking feeling washing over him. "I don't think that last bit's true."

"I was being sarcastic."

"I meant the bit about your love life. I think he'd care, anyway."

Lee shrugged and looked sadly into his beer bottle. "That's his problem."

"If you say so," Ron muttered.

"I should get home," Lee said, standing up awkwardly.

"You might want to give him a few minutes to cool off," Ron suggested, looking up at Lee's wary expression.

"It's my flat, too. If I avoided it every time George was in a bad mood, I'd be sleeping on the streets." He set his bottle down on the table and eyed Ron carefully. "You really should think about going out when you're sober. You might even find something lasting."

"What if that's not what I'm looking for?" Ron asked, one eyebrow raised.

"That's a fair point. Anyway, I'll see you."

Ron watched as Lee followed after George, wondering how long it would take George to warm up to the idea of Fred's ex-girlfriend dating his best friend and flatmate. Deciding not to dwell on it, Ron turned back to his beer.





Ron was uninspired by that night's turn out at the club. There weren't many new faces and he had no desire to shag any of the men he had already been with. He spent most of the night getting progressively drunker and dancing with some Muggle men that he knew and might, on a lonely day, consider to be friends.

Finally deciding that he could go for one Saturday night without having sex, Ron left the club and started walking down the street to find somewhere to Disapparate. He got distracted near the corner by an extremely fit-looking bloke who was smoking outside a cafe. The man's jeans were tight and fitted, almost ridiculously so; his bottom and thighs were outlined in detail. Slowing down, Ron approached the cafe cautiously, staring at the man's arse and silently willing him to turn around so Ron could see his face.

The man turned to toss the cigarette butt into the street and Ron stopped in his tracks. The man looked up, paused, and then waved, frowning in a confused sort of way.

"Ron."

"Dean," Ron choked out, forcing himself to move again and walk toward his old friend. "How – what are you doing here?"

Dean shook Ron's hand and offered him a cigarette. Ron took one and borrowed Dean's lighter. When Ron couldn't get it to light, Dean stepped forward and wrapped his hand around Ron's, pressed down on the thumb wheel, and lit Ron's cigarette.




"Didn't Harry tell you I saw him this morning? He said he would." Still holding Ron's hand, and thus the lighter, with one of his hands, Dean pulled out another cigarette with his other hand, set it between his lips, and lit it before finally letting go of Ron's hand.

Ron handed the lighter back, momentarily speechless. Dean raised his eyebrows and Ron took a long drag off his cigarette.

"He told me. I meant, what are you doing here on this corner? It's almost 2 in the morning."

Dean checked his watched and shrugged. "I went to that club down the street earlier and was on my way home. I got distracted." He gestured at the cafe window and Ron glanced inside the dark room to see two very naked people having sex on the floor near the salad bar.

"Wow. So... you stopped to watch them play hide the wand and stayed long enough to smoke an entire fag?"

"I wanted to see how long it would take them to notice me," Dean explained, looking a bit bored with the situation. "They still haven't yet."

Ron frowned slightly. "Wait, did you say were at the club down the street?"

Dean nodded and continued smoking in silence.

Ron glanced a few times between Dean and the gay club, his cigarette wobbling loosely between his lips. "Are you gay, now?" he finally asked, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and pointing to the club with it. "Because I'm gay, now, too."

Dean raised his eyebrows again. "How pissed are you?"

"Quite pissed. Were you at that club?" Ron persisted.

"I was."

"But I didn't see you there!" Ron protested.

"I didn't see you there, either," Dean said cooly.

"But... you dated Ginny!"

"And you dated Hermione, did you not? And Lavender?"

"Oh, right." Ron looked back at the club once more before turning to focus on Dean. "How long have you been back?"

"A few weeks."

Ron's mouth dropped open. "What? Where have you been, why haven't you said anything to anyone?"

Dean shrugged and finished his cigarette before answering. "I've been around. I unpacked my last box this morning, so I thought I'd go out and see if there was anyone I fancied inviting back, but..." He tossed this butt into the street and scratched the back of his neck. "I've been living almost entirely in the Muggle world for the past five years. It didn't really occur to me to do anything differently now that I'm back in London. I had no idea you and Harry lived here."

"What about Seamus? You've seen him, haven't you?"

Dean made an ambiguous motion with his head. "We're not as close as we used to be."

"Not because you're gay?" Ron asked quickly. "He's never had a problem with me."

Dean shook his head. "No. No, not because I'm gay. Not entirely, anyway. It's not really important. Anyway, I should get home..."

"We should go out for dinner," Ron said quickly, putting his cigarette out on the side of the cafe before dropping it onto the pavement. "Don't be such a stranger. It's good to have you back."

Dean's lips flickered for a moment, as though he were going to smile, before settling back into their natural pout. "Thank you. It – it's good to be back, I think. Dinner would be lovely. I gave Harry my address and he said he'd owl about meeting up this week. You're welcome to come, of course."

"Brilliant." Ron glanced behind him at the club, then stepped around Dean to turn the corner. "Would you mind keeping a lookout while I Disapparate?"

"What, here? Should you really do that when you're this drunk?"

Ron waved off the question. "I've done it a million times, no problem. I'm too tired to walk home."

"Shouldn't that mean you're too tired to Disapparate?"

"Nope," Ron said, pulling out his wand. "All clear?"

"Isn't this illegal?" Dean asked.

Ron held a finger up to his lips. "Shush. I won't tell if you won't. See you soon. Thanks for the fag." He took a deep, steadying breath, thought longingly of his bedroom, and spun.





The next morning, when Ron finally emerged from his bedroom, he was greeted by the sight of Harry snogging his sister quite enthusiastically on the sofa. Ron cleared his throat and they broke apart guiltily, Harry tugging slightly on the bottom of his shirt. Ron glared pointedly at them before heading for the kitchen to make himself an omelette. He heard Harry and Ginny retreating into Harry's bedroom as he pulled out ingredients and he tried not to think about the flush on his sister's face or the obvious bulge in Harry's jeans. He didn't like to think about either of them being aroused, Ginny because she was his sibling, and Harry because it was better to just not think about Harry in any sexual context. Ron only managed to survive living with Harry by pretending Harry was a eunuch most of the time. Any time spent thinking about Harry's cock or Harry having sex with anyone was dangerous.

They had been down that road once before and Ron was determined to keep it from happening again at all costs. The problem wasn't Harry being openly sexual in their flat. The problem was Ron's complete inability to dismiss it, as he would have been able to do with any other straight man and even some gay men if he wasn't interested in them. But Ron was very interested in Harry. He always had been and his greatest fear was that he always would be.

Ron switched on the Wireless in an effort not to continue thinking about Harry and his erection, and to block out the noises that would soon be coming from Harry's room.

He began chopping up a green pepper as the news came on.





"It's not as if he hasn't been talking about asking her out since you were eleven years old."

"Talking is one thing. Actually doing is another."

Ron rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had been trying to have a rational conversation about Lee and Angelina with his brother for the past hour, but George was being extremely stubborn.

"Fred's not here to date her," he said a bit rudely. "She was bound to move on at some point. I don't see why it's a problem that she's decided to move on with Lee."

"You wouldn't."

"Actually, if anything," Ron continued, ignoring George's muttering, "you should be happy for them. They're your friends and they make each other happy. Frankly, you're being selfish."

"Get out," George said tiredly. "Go home. Don't you have better things to do than pester me about Lee?"

"Not really."

"Maybe you should get a girlfriend."

"Because that would make a lot of sense." Ron rolled his eyes and got up from the sofa.

George lifted his legs onto Ron's vacated cushion and spread out lazily. "Are you leaving yet?"

"Yeah, I'm sick of talking to you." There was no trace of a joke in Ron's voice. He glanced down at his brother, frowning slightly. "Are you just going to lie there until Lee comes back from the date?"

George shrugged. "It's possible."

"You really need to get a new hobby."

"Waiting around for Lee isn't my hobby," George said bitterly.

"Are you sure?"

The brothers glared at each for a long minute until Ron cleared his throat and turned toward the door. "I'll see you around."

"I hope not," George called after him as he left.





Ron went into work the next morning feeling especially moody. Harry and Ginny had kept him up far too late the night before with their disgusting sounds and he didn't have anywhere near the amount of energy he usually wanted in order to work on his incredibly boring case. This was his first year as a fully qualified Auror, and as such, had so far been assigned to doing a lot of office paperwork for more important Aurors. The case he had been working on since September, about some Welsh wizards trying to seduce the giants of Europe to do their evil deeds, had been stalled for two weeks. No new information was coming in from the experienced Aurors who were out trying to track down the wizards or the giants. He felt utterly worthless at the Ministry, and a night of listening to his best mate and his sister go at it for hours didn't make the morning any more enjoyable.

When he reached his cubicle, Ron sat down heavily and stared at the note sitting on his desk.

Case ID: 94582543
Aurors Stefan Kelley and Michael J. Edwards found and dueled with Welsh wizards Bryce Davies and Andrew Griffiths. Davies and Griffiths died of injuries received during the duel. Giants founds nearby. Giants had no interest and little memory of Davies and Griffiths.
Dictated to Overnight/Weekend Emergency Auror Secretary, Julian Freeman
Read by turkey Patronus of Auror Stefan Kelley

Ron's mouth hung open slightly as he read through the note again. When he was done, he lifted the note off his desk and found another, sloppily handwritten one underneath it.

Please write final case report.

"You've got to be kidding me," Ron muttered, glancing back at the first note. There wasn't nearly enough information to write a final case report. Why hadn't Kelley and Edwards returned to work if they'd closed their case? Why had they sent the news via Patronus? (Why was Kelley's Patronus a turkey, of all animals?) Why had they dueled with the Welsh wizards? Who had started the duel? Had Kelley and Edwards been injured as well? How had they found the giants? How did they know that the giants had no memory of the Welsh wizards? Had the giants been properly interrogated? Had the Welsh wizards been asked any questions before they died? When the hell were Kelley and Edwards coming back?

Ron felt overwhelmed and under-prepared. What sort of Aurors would send such a flimsy report? Were they just doing it to make Ron look bad?

Grabbing the two notes, Ron stood and walked over to Robard's office.

"Weasley," Robards grunted when Ron reached the open door. "Did you get my note?"

"Yes, sir," Ron said, holding it up. "Only... did you see the report they sent?"

"Yes," Robards said shortly, returning his attention to the papers on his desk.

"Um." Ron shifted uncertainly. "Sir, it's not... it's not enough information to close the case. Should I wait until they return or at least until they send more than a few lines of news?"

Robards looked up and Ron smiled uneasily. He really disliked Robards.

"No. Just do what you can. If the case is closed, it really doesn't matter. Just write something. Anything."

Ron nodded his thanks and went back to his cubicle without saying anything. Robards was a terrible boss; he was inconsistent, far too aggressive, and usually downright unfriendly.

Deciding he was too lazy and apathetic to do anything else, Ron copied down the Patronus' words onto an official case report and stuffed it, along with the original notes, into the case file.

When he was done, he went in search of Harry and some coffee.





"Robards is a cocksucker," Harry said seriously when Ron had finished telling him about the morning's notes. "He's the laziest Head in the Ministry. I wish he'd just retire, already."

Ron grunted and took another bite of his sandwich. They were sitting in Arthur Weasley's office, their usual lunch spot. Arthur was at his daily meeting with the Head of his own department.

"I just don't understand why they sent that Patronus in the first place."

Harry nodded vaguely and yawned. "I'm exhausted today for some reason."

"For some reason?" Ron stared incredulously across the small room at his friend. "You know exactly why you're exhausted. So do I, and so do half the people in our building, I suspect, and anyone who happened under the window last night."

Harry chuckled. "Sorry about that. It got–"

Ron held up a hand. "Please do not explain why it was so loud last night. I really don't care to know."

Harry winked jovially and continued eating his lunch.

Ron finished off his sandwich and checked his watch, wishing time would go slower. He really didn't want to go back to organizing the massively untidy filing cabinets that lined the walls of the Auror Headquarters. Even with magic, the task was a pain.

"Here's a weird question. Did Dean smile when you ran into him?"

Harry looked as though Ron had just spoken to him in a foreign language. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

"I said it was a weird one. He didn't smile once the entire time I talked to him on Saturday."

"Wait, what?"

Ron blinked. "What?"

"You saw Dean on Saturday?"

"What, didn't I tell you?"

"No!"

Ron paused and tried to think over what he'd done during the past two days. "Huh. I guess I didn't. I saw him on Saturday, on my way home."

"Where?" Harry asked, sounding very suspicious.

"A few streets away from the club. He... he said he'd been there."

"Been where?"

"The club."

"The gay club?" Harry asked, barely suppressing a laugh.

"The gay club," Ron confirmed. "He's gay now, too... apparently."

"Huh." Harry thought this over while he finished his sandwich. "Interesting."

"I guess. Anyway, like I said, he didn't smile once. He just stood there pouting with his big pouty lips. Did he–"

"I'm sorry," Harry interrupted, choking slightly on his last bite as he laughed hysterically. "What did you just say?"

"What?" Ron asked, annoyed that Harry was taking so long to answer his simple question.

"'His big pouty lips,'" Harry repeated, still laughing. "Merlin's beard!"

Ron glared at Harry as he calmed himself down.

"What's so funny about that?" Ron finally asked when Harry was silently wiping tears out of his eyes.

"That might be the gayest thing I've ever heard you say."

Ron pulled a face. "What, do you keep a list in your head of all the gay things I've said?"

Harry nodded, grinning. "Until now, my favorite was, 'his danglers were the size of my feet.' But I think, 'his big pouty lips,' is the new winner."

"I – wow." Ron goggled at Harry. "You really need to find something better to do with your spare time. And please never speak of that man's hideous balls ever again. I only just managed to get that image out of my head and now it's back in there again."

"Always glad to help," Harry said proudly.

"How is the thing about Dean's lips gayer than the thing about that bloke's danglers? That doesn't make any sense."

"Sure it does. I could see some random man's tackle and talk about it if it was that crazy or gross. But I would never, ever talk about another man's lips. I wouldn't ever even notice another man's lips. That was gay as hell, Ron. Do you fancy him?"

"I – Dean?"

"Yeah!"

"No! I just... noticed he never smiled. Merlin. Remind me never to talk to you about this again."

"Please don't deprive me of that," Harry said as he stood up. "I have to get back to work, but if you think of anything else really gay that you want to share, you know where to find me."

"Fuck off," Ron called out as Harry left and closed the door. He sat back in his father's chair and sighed heavily. He loved his lunches with Harry; they were always so good-natured and amusing. They had easy, comfortable conversations, even when bantering with each other. However, he was always conflicted when the banter revolved around his sexuality. He liked to hear Harry talk openly about him being gay; it made him feel completely accepted, even embraced. Harry's jokes were assurance that he had no problem with his best mate and flat mate being an openly gay man. On the other hand, it still felt awkward to talk about Ron being gay without mentioning that Harry, too, had once tried to sleep with a man. Ron knew, somewhere inside of him, he knew Harry had moved on from that incident. They had both. (Hadn't they?) But it was weird to hear Harry harp on Ron for being gay when he never talked about what they had once done. It was almost like a tease... like foreplay. He always kept Ron's sexual orientation at the forefront of their friendship, forcing Ron to think about it and admit to it every day. Yet, he never talked about his own orientation. And Ron couldn't hear Harry talk about him being gay without remembering that Harry had tried to be gay, to be gay with him, once upon a time. It seemed to Ron that Harry was always thinking about it, too; otherwise, he wouldn't comment on Ron's gayness nearly as much as he did.

"You're still here," Arthur said, opening the door and startling Ron out of his thoughts.

"Yeah," Ron said vaguely, standing up and letting his father sit. "I lost track of time."

"How's your day going?"

"It's pretty boring. My case was closed and now I'm just filing."

"Hm." Arthur frowned. "Robards doesn't have anything else for you to do?"

"You know he doesn't."

Arthur nodded. "Well... just, you know, keep working on it. We all have to pay our dues."

Ron shrugged. "I guess. Anyway, I have to get back to it." He waved and left his father's office without another word.





"You were right," Ron said when he entered his flat that night and found Harry on the sofa, holding a beer.

"I'm always right."

Ron ignored this and took off his work robes, leaving on his trousers and a white tee-shirt. He pulled a beer out of the six-pack on the kitchen table and sat down next to Harry with a sigh.

"What was I right about?" Harry prompted.

"About Robards being a cocksucker. Do you know what he had me doing after lunch?"

"More filing?"

Ron opened the beer and took a long, refreshing gulp. "He had me design a new template for case reports. I mean, Merlin's nuts, I am not his bloody secretary! I am an Auror!"

Harry shook his head. "He really is a cocksucker."

"Did he have you doing this shit last year?"

"Well – no, but I think... I mean, you know how pigheaded he is."

"Harry Potter doesn't file," Ron muttered before taking another sip of his beer. "Cocksucker."

"Do you... I can try to see if I can get you transferred to the case I'm working on, if you want."

Ron paused to think about this as he continued drinking. "I wouldn't risk it. It's not worth it."

Harry shrugged. He would have loved to work with Ron, but Robards had been clear from the beginning that they were to remain separate at work. They were never assigned to the same case, never partnered in Ministry trainings or meetings, never consulted together. Robards viewed their friendship as a weak point for both of them, for reasons best known only to himself. Harry and Ron had learned to deal with it, Harry grumpily and Ron slightly less so; he was secretly glad for Robards' intervention. While it would be fun to work with Harry on occasion, Ron definitely didn't want it to become common place. They lived together, after all. Some space was needed for both their sanities.

"I'm sorry I can't help more, then."

"It's not your fault," Ron said tiredly. "Robards is just a cocksucker. And I still don't understand why the hell Kelley and Edwards aren't back, or why they sent their report through a fucking turkey."

Harry snorted. "Some of these Aurors..." He paused to finish off his beer. "They're quite lazy."

"That's the understatement of my life."





"Seamus. Seamus, Seamus, Seamus."

"Dildo."

Ron stopped in his tracks and did his best to ignore the disgusted looks of the shocked passers-by. "Did... did you just call me–"

"A dildo. Don't say my name like that."

"Like what?" Ron gestured for Seamus to keep walking. He followed closely, not wanting to lose his friend on the crowded pavement.

"Like I'm five years old. How was work?"

"Stupid," Ron said. He had spent another day filing and writing templates while waiting for a new case assignment. Robards wanted to keep him working with Kelley and Edwards, but they still hadn't returned yet. "How was yours?"

"Stupid." Seamus worked for the Daily Prophet and generally hated the job. Ron had run into Seamus leaving the Prophet headquarters on his way home from work.

"I have a question for you," he said a bit menacingly.

"Come and have a drink." Seamus stopped abruptly and turned into a pub without waiting for Ron's response.

Ron followed Seamus inside and only ordered a beer, though Seamus ordered nearly half the food on the menu and a large mug of ale.

"I ran into someone the other day," Ron said casually, tracing the rim of his beer glass with a fingertip.

"Fascinating, really."

"An old friend of ours."

"Sounds dangerous," Seamus said in a bored voice. Ron could see straight through the unaffected facade; Seamus knew what was coming.

"Why didn't you tell us Dean was back?"

Seamus paused for a moment, then heaved a great sigh. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "It didn't occur to me."

"Bullshit. He's been your best mate since you were eleven. You knew he was back and you kept it a secret."

Seamus shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with Ron's line of questioning. "I don't know," he said again. "Things are different now. We're different now... he's different now. People change, Ron... it's been more than five years since he left. He's not... he's not the same. He doesn't do magic, he doesn't – he's just different."

"So you keep saying," Ron said, watching Seamus squirm with curiosity. "I know he's gay, if that's what you're referring to."

Seamus shrugged again. "Not really. It's not like I – look, what was I supposed to say? 'Hey, guys, Dean is back, but he's not interested in us or magic anymore, so let's invite him out for a drink.' Honestly."

Ron frowned. "Are you really – you really don't talk to him at all?"

"We talk. I guess. Not often."

"Have you seen him since he got back?"

Seamus gave a short nod. "Once, yeah. Only briefly, though. You know, it's really not that big of a deal. People change, they grow apart. It's what happens when we grow up. There's no mystery here, Weasley. It's a simple story."

Ron shook his head. "You went to visit him in America. More than once. That's not something you do with casual friends you grow apart from as soon as they're on the same continent as you."

"I'm done talking about this," Seamus said suddenly. His food arrived and he stopped for a moment, suddenly conscious of the waiter and all the other people who could hear him. "I told you, there's no mystery, there's no story. So he's back, so what? If you want to see him, see him. This conversation's over."

Ron drank his beer in silence as Seamus ate dinner, and then excused himself to go back home.





The next night, Ron sent an owl to Dean asking him to dinner that weekend. Harry had already made plans with Ginny, but Ron didn't care. He wanted more time with Dean; he wanted to crack the mystery of Dean and Seamus' broken friendship.

Pig came back an hour later with a short note. Ron read it several times, trying to name the emotion he felt at seeing Dean's handwriting for the first time in so many years. He wasn't generally a nostalgic person, but that feeling in his stomach, or was it in his spine, was so odd, and so strong.

Ron,
Dinner on Friday would be great. Let me know when and where you want to meet.
Can't wait to see you again,
Dean

Ron put the note on his nightstand and sat down on his bed. He had too much nervous energy, he decided; he needed to get laid. In two nights, he would be having dinner with Dean, the boy who dated his sister, the boy who almost died in hiding during the war, the boy who fought like crazy to help defeat Voldemort, the boy who shipped off to America as soon as the war was over, the boy who became a gay man and moved back home with his big pouty lips.

Harry opened Ron's bedroom door. "Have you eaten dinner?"

Ron looked up blankly. "What?"

"Have you eaten dinner?"

"Oh. What? No." Ron stood up and closed his window. "Not yet. What do we have?"





"My, my, my. Don't we look nice."

Ron turned to find George standing behind him in his room. He had been looking at himself in the mirror for several minutes, trying to figure out if he was overdressed for his dinner with Dean.

"Do you think it's too much?" he asked.

"Too much for what?"

"For dinner."

George lay down on Ron's bed. "Is it a dinner date?"

"No. It's just dinner." Ron sighed and pulled off the argyle jumper he was wearing. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see your transformation myself."

"Transformation?" Ron asked distractedly as he went back to his closet for the twentieth time that evening. He pulled out a solid blue jumper and considered it for a moment.

"Your transformation into a woman."

Ron looked up, saw the smirk on George's face, and tossed the blue jumper at his brother. "You're such a prick."

"And you're such a poofter. You're debating what to wear. And it's not even a date."

"Shut up," Ron growled, grabbing the blue jumper out of George's hands before he could do any damage to it. "It's a – a difficult time of year to dress for. The weather and all." He could feel himself blushing at this horribly lame excuse, so he turned away and pulled the jumper over his head. "Anyway, you have to go. I'm leaving in five minutes."

"Who's your date with?"

"It's not a date," Ron said firmly, checking his messy hair in the mirror. "Get out of my flat."

"Who's your not-a-date with?"

"Get out and find your own damn date."

"So it is a date!"

Ron ignored this and did his best to tame his shaggy mane. There was no luck to be had.

"Seriously." George stood up and followed Ron out of the bedroom. "Who're you going out with?"

"Angelina," Ron said flatly.

George hit Ron hard in the chest. "It's not fucking funny."

"Shit, George!" Ron held a hand up to his aching chest, panting slightly. "What the hell was that for?"

"I told you, it's not fucking funny."

Ron shoved George roughly, angry with his brother for always ruining his good moods. "If you're in love with her – or him – just admit it, George. Moping is getting you nowhere and I'm tired of dealing with it. Just grow a pair and bloody talk to them about it, all right?"

George shook his head, apparently too furious for words. He glared mutinously at Ron, then left without another word.

"Good riddance," Ron muttered, grabbing his coat and his wallet before following his brother out.

Outside, he saw George one street away, heading in the direction of Diagon Alley. He watched his brother's retreating back for a moment before turning and walking in the opposite direction. He was meeting Dean for Indian food a few streets away, and he didn't want to be late. As far as Ron was concerned, George had moped enough in the last five years to last a life time, and for all Ron cared in that moment, he could keep on moping for the rest of his life.

Years ago, when Ron had been living with George and helping out with the shop, George had been the one who helped Ron realize who he was and what he wanted. George had been the one who confronted Ron about his intimate friendship with Harry, the one who supported Ron in his decision to visit gay bars and leave Hermione, the one who accepted a gay brother with open arms and no questions.

However, ever since Ron had moved out for more privacy for sex with men, ever since Lee had moved into the empty room in George's apartment to keep him company, ever since Ron had applied to the Auror department and left George to work in the shop by himself, George had been moping. Of course, he had moped before then, too; he had moped about Fred for years and would continue to do so for the rest of his life. No one was going to begrudge him that. This type of moping, though, this moping about Lee and Angelina, was superfluous. Ron wanted nothing to do with it, especially if George had the gall to advise his brothers on matters of the heart without taking his own advice.





By the time he got to the Indian restaurant, Ron was ready for a drink, preferably wine. George's problems always put him in the mood for alcohol.

Dean was already inside, loitering awkwardly by the front door, when Ron arrived. He was wearing tight jeans that showed off his arse in a way Ron was not prepared for.

"Find the place okay?" Ron asked, shedding his coat.

Dean nodded. "Your directions were good. Very detailed."

Ron detected a trace of humour in Dean's tone, though there was no smile on his face. "It's a bad habit, I know. I write directions that could get an illiterate five-year-old from France to China and back again."

"It was a two page note," Dean said, frowning slightly as the host walked up to them. "You know I've lived in a city before, don't you? I'm not completely hopeless when it comes to getting myself from one place to another."

Ron smiled apologetically as they were led to a table and seated with some menus. "I told you, it's a bad habit. It turns out that Ginny is actually completely hopeless when it comes to getting herself from one place to another. Sometimes I forget that not everyone is as incompetent as she is."

Dean glanced up from the menu he had started inspecting. "Is she really that bad?"

Ron nodded. "I know you wouldn't think so, but she is. She can't tell a street corner from the Burrow's garden. Honestly, she's a smart girl, but blimey does she manage to get herself lost."

"Hm."

Ron wondered if that was as close as Dean got to laughing. They ordered, Ron getting his usual Chicken tikka masala and Dean asking for a mixed vegetable curry.

"Their chicken's really good," Ron said as the waiter took the menus away and they were left to wait for their food in peace. It was a large restaurant and the only other patrons were on the other side of the room. "You should try it next time."

"Oh, I don't eat meat anymore," Dean explained, unrolling his silverware from his napkin. "I'm a vegetarian." He placed the white cloth napkin in his lap and looked up at Ron's surprised face. "How is Ginny, by the way? Other than perpetually lost?"

Ron remembered suddenly that Dean had dated Ginny. He wondered why this was a fact so easily forgotten. "She's good. She and Harry are together at the moment, so she's pretty content."

"At the moment?"

Ron shrugged and fingered his own napkin nervously, feeling for the silverware tucked inside it. "Maybe I shouldn't have said that. They've been together for about a year this time, I think. Well, really, they've been more or less together the entire time. It's just that they... take a lot of breaks, and... break up pretty frequently. Or, I guess they used to. Like I said, it's been about a year this time, so maybe it'll last. They seem a lot calmer now, so..."

"Why'd they break up so often? They seemed like a perfect match at school, as much as I hated to admit it back then."

Ron unrolled his napkin and put it in his lap as the waiter came by to give them water. "There were a lot of reasons," he explained. "Harry was really stressed out for a few years after the war. And he, I mean, don't spread this around, not that it isn't obvious, but still. He's got a lot of, you know, emotional baggage. I mean, he's a really put-together bloke, considering everything he's been through. But when it comes to being that close and intimate with someone... well, it's difficult for everyone, but especially for him. He tries, though. Godric knows, he does try. They longest they were ever broken up was barely two months. They... I mean, they love each other. I think they'll probably get married, but don't mention that to either of them. It stresses them out."

Dean nodded. "I'll try to remember that."

Ron bit back a smile. "So... you don't eat meat? Is that a new thing?"

"Fairly new," Dean admitted. "I've only been doing it for the past two years."

"What made you decide to do it? I mean... that seems pretty drastic."

"It's not, really. It's simple as long as you know what you're doing. I had this friend, in school, and he was a vegetarian. He was always trying to persuade me to do it and I always refused. Then he graduated, he's a year older than me, and for some reason I decided to try it out. Maybe I missed him, I don't know. But then I did some research and it just seemed like something that was worth sticking with."

Ron contemplated this as their food and wine arrived.

"That's kind of weird, isn't it?" he asked after taking a long sip of his drink. "Not eating meat? I mean, you love eating meat."

Dean cleared his throat as he mixed together some vegetable curry and rice.

"You don't laugh a lot, do you?" Ron asked, deciding that, after his terrible joke, there was no way around the obvious question.

"Um... no." Dean furrowed his brow slightly as he stared down at his food.

"Is there any reason, or..." Ron trailed off as he realized that he had no right to be asking such a question. He and Dean had never been that close; he shouldn't be prying. If Dean didn't want to smile, then he didn't have to smile. It was that simple. Ron was about to apologize for sticking his nose where it didn't belong when Dean finally responded.

"Just, you know... emotional baggage."

Ron's eyes widened in surprise at Dean's answer. He looked closely at the man across the table, at Dean's sad and almost shameful eyes, at his big pouty lips, at his serious and concerned-looking brow. This was not the Dean he went to school with. This was not the Dean he had fought with against Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He didn't know this man at all. Seamus was right; Dean had changed.

"Yeah," he said quietly, glancing down at his own food and thinking of Harry's emotional baggage, and of his own. "I do know."

Dean cleared his throat again and started eating. "I'm curious," he said after a few minutes of thick silence. "If I may ask, when did you... I thought, at the end of the war, that you had just started dating Hermione."

Ron took another long sip of his wine, wondering how much information he wanted to, or should, reveal. "Yeah, we... we didn't last that long. About a year, I guess. I didn't really realize... um, anything, really. Not until George pointed it out to me. And, actually, I guess it's sort of funny. I went to visit Hermione at Hogwarts after the winter holiday, during a Hogsmeade weekend. You know, we met up in the village and walked around and had tea and everything. And there was this couple, this gay couple, that we kept seeing." He paused for another drink.

"What, students?" Dean asked, looking dumbfounded.

Ron nodded. "Yeah. I was surprised, too. I'd never heard, you know, about anyone being gay at Hogwarts. Hermione hadn't either. She said they were the first openly gay couple she'd ever known about at the school, or that anyone else had ever known about at the school. It was..." Ron shook his head. "It was distracting and a bit alarming. By that point, I was already really confused. George had said all these weird things to me about my friendship with Harry and my relationship with Hermione and I really just felt like I had no idea who I was at all, you know?"

"I do know," Dean affirmed with a meaningful look.

"Yeah. Well. So, there was that. Then... I guess I came back to London and tried going out to a few gay bars. I was basically trying to convince myself that I wasn't gay, but obviously all I did was the exact opposite. So, when Hermione finished school and came back for the summer, I broke up with her. It was bloody awful. Everyone was upset and I didn't want to come out or anything, but I pretty much had to at that point. It was either that or be fed to the wolves."

"Wolves," Dean repeated quietly. "I guess people didn't respond too well to your coming out."

"Some people did. George, obviously, and Harry. A lot of other people just needed more time. There aren't many gay wizards, as you probably know. I mean, most witches and wizards don't even know what homosexuality is. At least, they didn't then. It's been about four years and things have changed a bit... probably because I've been so rude about it the whole time. But, you know, someone has to do it."

"Someone has to do what? Be rude?"

"No, fight to be accepted. Professionally, personally... I did a lot of stupid things, but if the next gay wizard who comes along doesn't have to go through the same bullshit I did with his family or the Ministry, then it was worth it, you know? No one at the Ministry knows what they're doing when it comes to this stuff. They're all a bunch of ignorant tossers and I had to teach them that I'm fucking normal and still deserve to be treated like a human being. I mean, it was ridiculous, but someone had to do it."

Dean was staring hard at Ron, taking in every word. "Wow," he said after a long moment. "That's a lot more than what I had to do."

"What did you have to do?" Ron prompted, pushing food around on his plate with his fork. He wasn't hungry anymore. He didn't like to think about the earlier days of his budding and open sexuality. George had been a different person back then; he had been kind and supportive. He and Ron had been best friends for a while, most especially when Ron had been having difficulties with the rest of the family, or the Ministry, or Harry.

"All I had to do was tell a few friends at uni and suddenly everyone knew. My school was a bit of a rumour mill, I guess. And I had to tell my sister, but she didn't really care at all. She wasn't even surprised. I sort of was, but she keeps saying that she's known since we were young."

"I've heard that a few times, too," Ron said, thinking of Bill and his infuriating insinuations. "But what else are siblings for, if not driving us mad? George was above and beyond supportive when everything started happening, and now he acts like I'm a bad person when I go out to a club. He's the worst kind of hypocrite, too."

"How's that?"

"He's–" Ron stopped himself, knowing he shouldn't voice his suspicions, especially to someone he barely knew anymore, without at least talking to George first. "Just, you know, emotional baggage. Anyway, at least your sister took it well. What about your mum? Mine went a bit ballistic at first. Said she hadn't done right by me and all sorts of rubbish like that. She's fine with it now, but it definitely took her a while to really come around to it."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Mums are like that."

"Was yours?"

Dean shook his head, staring at his full glass of wine. "My mum passed away before I could tell her. Before I knew, really. The summer after the war, just before I went off to school," he added, seeing Ron's questioning face.

"I'm sorry," Ron said quietly. "I had no idea."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah. Thanks." He paused, staring at Ron's shoulder, and then continued, unconvincingly, "I'm sure she would have been fine with it, though. She had a few gay friends I met when I was younger."

Ron nodded, unsure what else to say.

Dean checked his watch. "I want to thank you for asking me out to dinner," he said in a tone that struck Ron as far too businesslike. "I haven't been that social with anyone except my sister and her kids since I moved back here. It's nice to see someone I actually know, instead of just random strangers. And you... you're a lot easier to talk to than I remember. I mean, I didn't hate you or anything, but even when we were living together at Bill's, we weren't that close, were we?"

"Well, no," Ron admitted awkwardly. "But, circumstances... we couldn't risk you and Luna..."

"I know," Dean said quickly and apologetically. "I know. I wasn't trying to say anything mean. All I meant was, we were never that close. But it doesn't feel that way now. This was a really nice dinner. We should do it again soon, and try to get Harry to come along next time."

Ron nodded, realizing that Dean was ending the night and getting ready to leave. He still hadn't quite figured out what had happened with Dean and Seamus, though.

"Yeah, definitely. You know, most Fridays, Harry goes out drinking with Seamus and Neville. I don't usually go, but we should definitely have a Gryffindor Tower reunion. What do you say? We could set it up for next week."

Dean shook his head. "No," he said quickly, not quite meeting Ron's gaze. "I'd rather just go out to dinner with you and Harry. I'll see the others at some point, I'm sure. You know... small steps."

Ron smiled sympathetically and watched as Dean called and paid for the check.

"Wait," he said, realizing too late what was going on. "I can pay for my own dinner."

"It's on me," Dean insisted, handing off the money to the waiter before Ron could protest. "It's my treat. I haven't seen you in five years. It's a welcome back present."

"To yourself?" Ron asked. "If it's a welcome back present, technically, I should have paid."

"Details." Dean waved his hand to dismiss the topic. "Anyway, I'd love to do this again next week, if you and Harry have time."

"I'll tell him tomorrow," Ron said, standing and putting on his coat. "I'll make sure he has time."

"Great. Sounds like a plan, then." Dean followed Ron out into the cold November night. "I'll see you next week," he said, holding out his right hand while reaching into his pockets for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter with his left hand.

Ron shook Dean's hand and said goodbye before walking off, checking over his shoulder a few times to watch Dean go off in the opposite direction, the trail marked by puffs of smoke.





Ron decided to end his Friday night with a blowjob. He didn't need sex and he didn't particularly want to give anyone else a blowjob, but it had been an abnormally long time since someone else had gotten him off, and an evening of sitting across from the beautifully sad Dean had pushed him over the edge. He needed a blowjob.

"What are you drinking?" the first man to approach him at the gay bar asked.

Ron sized up the man quickly; he had tuggable blond hair and rather plump lips. "I'm not drinking anything," Ron answered, smiling. He was still lightheaded from the wine he'd had at the Indian restaurant. "But if you want," he lowered his voice slightly and the blond man leaned closer, smirking, "you could meet me in the loo in two minutes."

Without waiting for a response, Ron got up from the bar and went to go relieve himself. Twenty minutes later, he was on his way back to his flat, feeling extremely satisfied. The blond man's lips had felt just as amazing on his cock as he had hoped, Harry was spending the night at Ginny's, George's problems could wait until the next day, Dean had been lovely at dinner, and Ron was ready for sleep.





"What did you say to him?" Lee asked, opening the door to his and George's flat and staring at Ron.

Ron stared back. "What?"

"What did you say to him?" Lee repeated. "He didn't come home until four in the morning. I haven't seen him that shitfaced in years, Ron. Years. What. Did. You. Say."

Ron sighed and pushed his way past Lee and into the flat. "I didn't say anything," he lied. "He's just being dramatic. Where is he?"

"In his room."

Ron looked out the open door of the flat, considering the option of leaving and coming back in a few days. Then Lee closed the door.

"How're things with Angie?" he asked, wanting to avoid going into George's room as long as he could.

Lee shrugged. "Things would be better if our best mate didn't hate us."

"He doesn't hate you," Ron reassured him. "He just... needs some time to get used to it."

"Really?" Lee asked pointedly. "You think time is going to fix this?"

"I don't know what I think," Ron admitted. "I'm an Auror, not a matchmaker."

"What the hell does that mean?" Lee asked, staring confusedly as Ron headed toward the door to George's room.

Ron said nothing and entered George's room without knocking. George was lying on his bed and reading. He looked pale and tired.

"I heard you had a fun night," Ron tried, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it.

George grunted. "I had hot sex in a stranger's bedroom. How was your date?"

"It wasn't a date. I went to dinner with Dean."

George looked up from his book. "Dean's back?"

Ron nodded. "Dean's back. We had Indian food. Where did you go?"

"A club."

"Which club?"

"It doesn't matter," George said, looking back down at his book. "I had sex, you had Indian, Lee had Angelina. Sounds like a pretty good Friday night to me."

"George," Ron said, making up his mind on how to deal with the situation. "You need to talk to Lee. You're not being fair to him. He has no idea what's going on."

"I have no idea what's going on," George said wildly, putting his book down and sitting up slightly. "My best mate is dating my dead brother's girlfriend. They've both moved on. They're normal, healthy, happy people. And now I'm this sad, sick fuck with obvious problems. They didn't used to be obvious! We used to suffer together! Now they're together and I'm over here and I'm fucking alone and miserable and all they want me to do is accept their relationship. I'm not bloody accepting it! They're fucking traitors and they're completely blind to it."

Ron slid down the door and sat heavily on the floor, trying to comprehend this. "You're upset because you think they've moved on?" he asked.

"I'm upset because they shouldn't be together," George said stubbornly.

"But they are together. If you had someone, someone who made you look and feel like less of an outsider, would you be any less upset?"

"I don't know how to answer that question," George practically shouted, surprising Ron. "I mean, who is this person? No, why the fuck are you here, Ron?"

"I'm here because you're my brother. You helped me through all my personal crises and now I'm here to help you. This person is Angelina. If Angelina was with you instead of Lee, would that be better?"

"Don't even joke," George said darkly, glaring across the room at Ron. "I could never – she dated Fred, Ron. Even if she wanted to be with me... I mean, how sick would that be? We look the same. That would... Merlin, that wouldn't be healthy at all. For anyone. Ever." George looked down at his lap and shook his head. "Being with Angelina wouldn't solve anything. I don't even fancy her. What's the point of this conversation?"

"What if the person was Lee?" Ron asked quietly.

George stopped shaking his head, but did not lift his gaze from his lap. "What?"

"What if the person was Lee? What if you were with Lee? What if Lee was with you instead of Angelina? Would that make it better? If Angie was dating someone else, anyone else, and you were dating Lee, would you still feel this way?"

"Get out," George said suddenly, looking fiercely up at Ron.

"I'm not moving," Ron said calmly. "You can't just tell me it's okay to be this way and then refuse to acknowledge who you are. What am I supposed to do with that? Is everything you said to me a lie? Were you just humouring me? Or did you believe it and you're really just that big of a coward?"

"Get out," George repeated, standing and moving over to the door. "Get out of my room," he growled down at Ron. "Get out of my flat. Get out! Get. Out."

Ron stood up very slowly. "It's painfully obvious, George," he said softly, opening the door and stepping out of the room. "All you have to do is tell him. You never know... things might work out in your favor."

George closed the door in his face.

"Any luck?" Lee asked from the kitchen.

Ron shrugged and headed to the front door again. "He needs some more time." With his hand on the doorknob, Ron paused and looked back at George's room. He glanced at Lee, who was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the newspaper. "Lee?" he asked, unsure if he should really go through with this.

"Yeah."

"You know that... that George is gay, don't you?"

Lee looked up from the paper and stared at Ron for a long, tense moment. "Yeah," he finally said, lowering his gaze back to the paper. "Yeah, I know."

Ron nodded and let himself out of the flat without saying goodbye.





"Fancy meeting you here."

Ron turned to see if the voice was addressing him and found himself staring at Dean.

"Oh," he said stupidly. "I thought – uh, you'd be at the club, so I..."

"So you came here to avoid me?" Dean asked. "I'm not sure if I should be offended or worried about you."

Ron flushed and turned back to the bar to take a drink of his beer. Dean sat on the stool next to him and ordered a martini. When it was placed in front of him, he grabbed the toothpick out of the glass and ate the two olives.

"Did you really come here to avoid seeing me at that club?" he asked, swirling the toothpick idly in the martini.

Ron drummed his fingers on the side of his beer. "Uh. Not... not exactly. I just thought it would be awkward if I saw you there. You know, because... because I saw you last night and when we said goodbye, it sounded like we weren't planning on seeing each other again until next weekend..."

Dean snorted and started drinking his martini. "You thought way too much into that," he said flatly.

"I do that sometimes," Ron admitted. "So, are you more of a gay bar sort of bloke," he asked, gesturing around the establishment they were sitting in, "or a gay club sort of bloke?"

"I'm not really any sort of bloke," Dean said, shrugging. "I don't go to gay bars that often. I don't go to gay clubs that often. I've just been... a bit lonely, I guess, since I've moved here. So I tell myself that I should go out and flirt and maybe go home with someone, but I always lose my nerve once I'm actually out here, you know?"

"No. How could you lose your nerve to flirt with men? You're gorgeous, I bet you had blokes in America lining up for miles to be with you."

To Ron's surprise, Dean blushed. "I'm not... there really weren't that many blokes in America who wanted to be with me," he mumbled. "Or maybe I just didn't want to be with any of them. Either way, I'm... I'm really out of practice when it comes to flirting."

"That's a bit sad," Ron said after finishing his beer and asking the bartender for a refill. "I'm sure it wouldn't take that much effort for you to pull."

Dean turned to eye Ron carefully. "You're quite drunk, aren't you?"

Ron nodded. "I am." He leaned down to sip at the head of his fresh beer. "It doesn't take a lot of effort for me to pull, either, but I like to be good and smashed for it."

"Um. Why?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. That's just what I do. None of these blokes actually matter, do they? I'm just out here for a shag, same as you."

"I'm... not out here for a shag," Dean said softly, then turned back to the bar and drank the rest of his martini.

"You're trying to find a boyfriend, then?" Ron asked, surprised.

Dean shook his head. "I don't know what I'm out here for. Like I said, I always lose my nerve, so... it really doesn't matter what I'm here for because it never happens."

"What?" Ron asked, unable to follow Dean's logic in his state of drunkenness.

"It doesn't matter." Dean checked his watch. "I think I'm ready to leave."

"You've only been here ten minutes!"

"I know, but..." Dean glanced around at the other men in the bar. "There's nothing here I want to do... except maybe sit and talk to you, but you're drunk and trying to pull, so I should just get home."

"Do you live around here?" Ron asked curiously.

Dean shrugged. "Not really. All the more reason for me to leave now."

"No," Ron said firmly, standing up and grabbing his beer. "You're lonely and you should be social. I'll introduce you to people. You don't have to sleep with them," he added quickly, seeing Dean about to protest. "Just talk with them. They're nice."

He grabbed Dean's arm with his free hand and led Dean over to a table where three good-looking Muggle men sat with a pretty Muggle woman.

"Ron," a blond man said, looking up as they reached the table. "It's not like you to introduce us to your dates," he teased. His tone was lighthearted, but his eyes were cold and unwelcoming as they looked over Dean.

Ron let go of Dean's arm. "He's not my date, he's an old friend of mine from school. He's just moved to London, so he doesn't know anyone yet. Dean, this is Robert, Sean, that's William in the corner, and Mary, Sean's sister."

Dean nodded rather solemnly at the small crowd. "Hello."

"He's quite fit," William said, leering up at Dean with a mischievous smile.

"Ignore him," Ron said firmly as he pulled two chairs over from another table. "He's going to try to sleep with you, but I'd just say no if I were you."

"Hey!" William pouted, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms. "So rude, Ronnie."

Ron sat down in the chair next to Robert and motioned Dean to sit down in between him and Mary. "Go on, they won't bite."

"Speak for yourself," William snapped. "Ronnie has a way of scaring off all my catches," he told Dean bitterly.

"You mean stealing," Ron said helpfully. "He means stealing," he said to Dean. "I steal all his 'catches' because I don't threaten to bite them."

William bared his teeth at Ron, showing off their rather sharp and pointed tips. "The boys love it when I bite."

"So, what do you do?" Sean asked Dean in an attempt to end the banter between Ron and William.

"Graphic design, mostly," Dean explained, grateful for the change in subject. "Usually I'm freelance, but I just got a part-time job with a small publishing house, so we'll see how that goes."

"I didn't know you did all that," Ron said blankly, staring at Dean as though he'd never seen the man before.

"Some old friend you are," William said.

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but paused when he felt two hands grab his thighs to stop him speaking. He gulped nervously and then tried to glance subtly under the table. Robert had put a hand on his left leg, and Dean a hand on his right. Not knowing what to do, he took a long drink of his beer.

When Mary began asking Dean more about his job, he took his hand off Ron's thigh, apparently satisfied that Ron wouldn't be making a rude comment to William. Robert, however, kept his hand on Ron's thigh and squeezed it slightly when Ron finally put his beer down. Ron leaned back in his chair and sighed in hopes of releasing some of the awkward tension that had just consumed him.

He continued drinking his beer, feeling himself slip farther and farther into the realm of drunkenness as Dean made polite conversation with his friends. Robert kept a firm yet playful grip on Ron's thigh, occasionally rubbing his thumb along the seam of Ron's jeans or sliding his pinky teasingly up the inside of Ron's thigh, always stopping just short of Ron's crotch before sliding back down.

Ron was half-hard and not listening to a word of what Dean was saying, even though he felt bad that he knew nothing about Dean's life now. He knew he should be listening, should be learning about the man he had called an old friend, but he was so warm and so drunk and Robert's hand felt so good.

"Ron. Ron."

Robert's hand gave his leg a hard squeeze and he looked up to see Dean staring at him.

"I'm going to head out," he said, looking slightly concerned at Ron's bleary expression. "Are you okay to get home? Do you want to come with me?"

"I'll get him home safely," Robert said, grinning. "It's a short walk."

Dean looked between Robert and Ron a few times before rising to leave. "It was nice meeting you all. See you next weekend," he added, not quite looking Ron in the eye.

"You're such a prick," Sean said, rolling his eyes at Robert.

Robert winked and turned to watch Dean leave the bar. "He seems nice," he said pointedly.

"He's bloody perfect," William whined longingly. "Tall, dark, handsome, smart, brooding... what more could you ask for?"

"What about me, then?" Sean asked, gesturing at himself. "I'm tall, dark, and handsome."

"Yes, dear, but you're also my best friend. I need new meat."

"You're both hopeless," Mary said.

Ron hiccoughed lazily and found himself being pulled up by Robert. "Come on, Mr. Tall, Pale, and Handsome. I'm taking you home."

Ron waved vaguely at the table of his friends as Robert escorted him out of the bar and began walking him home.





Ron woke up the next morning to the sound of heavy knocking on his door. He let out a low groan and flung an arm over his eyes, willing it to stop. His head was pounding and his stomach felt extremely uneasy.

When the insistent knocking didn't stop, Ron flung the sheets back and got out of his bed. To his surprise, he was naked. He looked back down at his bed and his heart sank.

"Coming!" he said, pulling on a fresh pair of pants and hoping all the noise wouldn't wake Robert. He went over to his door and opened it just enough for him to sneak out of it. Harry was standing outside his room, looking exhausted and apologetic.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I would have just come in to wake you up, but..."

Ron glanced out into the living room and saw his and Robert's clothes lining a trail from the front door to his bedroom. He smiled uneasily. "Er. Yeah."

"You've had an owl." Harry handed Ron a black envelop.

Ron cursed and opened it quickly, knowing it was an emergency message from the Ministry.

Auror Weasley,
Problems with your case.
Report to Auror Department by 9am.
Auror Robards

Ron looked up at Harry. "What time is it?"

"Eight forty-five."

"Shite." Ron ran a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes hard. "Do we have any hangover potion?"

"I'll go get you some. You should..." he looked at Ron's door.

Ron nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll... we'll be out in a minute." He opened his door enough to get back inside, then closed it behind him. Robert was sitting up against the pillows, staring over at him. "There's an emergency at work," Ron explained quickly. "I have to be there at nine."

Robert checked his watch. "I don't think you're going to make it."

"I have to make it," Ron said. "And you have to go. I have to go." Without waiting for a response, Ron began getting ready. He pulled on Muggle clothes and began stuffing his Ministry robes into a backpack, hoping Robert wasn't paying attention. He shoved his wand into his sock and covered it with the leg of his trousers.

Robert dressed as much as he could with the clothes that were in Ron's room, but had no luck in finding his jeans. "Have you seen the rest of my things?" he asked, ruffling through the sheets.

"Out in the living room. I'll go get them for you." Ron dodged out of the room, almost walked right into Harry, grabbed the hangover potion out of his hands, and downed it in one gulp. "Disgusting," he rasped. "Give him his jeans, will you?" he asked as he reached down to pull his wand out of his sock. Before Harry could say anything, Ron spun and Disapparated.





Ron reached Robards' office at 9:01am, his robes barely on straight and his head still aching from the previous night's drinking. He knocked on the door and heard a loud, unintelligible bark from Robards. Deciding not to risk the assumption he was supposed to enter at that noise, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, willing his headache to go away.

Three minutes later, the door opened and Ron straightened up again, feeling slightly more human thanks to Harry's hangover potion.

"Weasley," Robards said, frowning severely at him.

"Yes, sir."

Robards thrust a folder into his hands. "Go over all these case reports."

Ron looked down at the folder, dumbfounded. "Sir?"

"Go over the case reports," Robards repeated, his voice low and rough, "and figure out where the hell Kelley and Edwards are."

Ron opened the folder and was met with a stack of case reports he had written himself. What was he supposed to find there that would answer any questions? How did this assignment qualify as an emergency?

"I... I take it this means they're still not back?" he asked.

Robards glared menacingly at Ron and Ron found himself taking a step back. "Find. Them," he growled.

"Yes, sir," Ron said quickly. He gave a short wave goodbye and then retreated to his cubicle as fast as he could.





"Robards is sending me out to die," Ron said as soon as he walked back into his flat that afternoon.

"He's not out to kill you," Harry said dully from the sofa, "though I might be."

Ron threw off his Ministry robes. "Why?"

"Robert, Ron?" Harry practically shouted, turning to stare incredulously at Ron. "Robert? Again?"

"I – hey! I was drunk and it's none of your business, anyway!"

"It's my business when you make bad decisions that affect your friendships and hurt people we both care about."

Ron's mouth dropped open. "Why on earth would you care about Robert?"

"Because he's a nice person, Ron," Harry exclaimed, standing up and turning to face his flatmate. "He's nice to you, he's nice to me, and you've done nothing but lead him on for years!"

"I don't lead him on," Ron tried to defend himself. "I just... just..."

"Just sleep with him every few months for fun? You know he's in love with you!"

Ron rolled his eyes to dismiss this idea, though his insides were squirming with uneasiness and he could feel himself going red. "He's not in love with me. We're just friends... and he knows that. He knows we're just friends and he... he's perfectly capable of... it's not like I'm forcing him to sleep with me!"

"You swore last time you weren't going to do it again."

"I was drunk!" Ron shouted, throwing up his arms. "I don't even remember leaving the bar last night. I have no idea how I got home, I have no idea what happened with Robert, I'm not even sure we did have sex. Maybe we just got naked and fell asleep, how the fuck should I know?"

"And that doesn't sound like a problem to you? Jesus, Ron." Harry ran a hand through his messy hair and sighed loudly. "You need to stop drinking so much."

"Fuck off," Ron muttered, storming into his bedroom and slamming the door behind him. He felt bad enough about spending the night with Robert; he didn't need shit about it from Harry. So he'd made a mistake. So what? He'd made worse mistakes in the past. Yes, sometimes the lines of his friendship with Robert were a little blurry, and yes, sometimes they slept together and Ron felt guilty afterwards because it always seemed like Robert wanted more than that. But, honestly, Ron could take care of himself and his relationships on his own; he didn't need Harry pouncing on him every time he made a bad move with Robert.

Ron sat down on his bed and covered his face with his hands. He liked Robert a lot. Robert was fun to be around, fun to go drinking and dancing with. Robert was gorgeous and had really beautiful green eyes and high cheekbones and the perfect jawline. But that was all it was to Ron. Robert was a good-looking friend and that was all Ron wanted. Occasionally, when drunk, he let his lust and playful affection for Robert get out of hand and mistakes were made. But it took two people to make those mistakes and Robert had never complained or acted much differently after sex.

And Ron was one hundred percent sure that Robert was not in love with him. (Even though sometimes Robert was a bit rude to other men that Ron flirted with. And sometimes, if Ron was sleeping regularly with one person, Robert would stop talking to both of them until the affair ended. And last night, at the bar, his hand on Ron's thigh had been so possessive, as if he were exerting his claim on Ron in front of Ron's old friend.)

"Bugger," Ron sighed into his palms.





Ron did not know what to do. The last twelve hours had been a frenzied, panicked, emotional blur and now, rather suddenly, he was in the Swiss Alps. The self-heating charm he had cast as soon as his Portkey had landed was taking far too long to warm up, his winter robes were bulky and awkward to climb around in, and he had no real directions in mind.

It was his job to find Kelley and Edwards. They were two of Robards' favourite Aurors, and as far as Robards was concerned, it was Ron's fault they were lost somewhere in mainland Europe. Ron had made a hasty Floo call to Hagrid that morning to see if he had any insights about hunting down giants, but he hadn't been in his hut. The only thing Ron knew to do was go to the last location Kelley and Edwards had specified – the Bernese Highlands in Switzerland.

He knew there were villages somewhat nearby to where he had arrived, but he did not want to involve himself with either the locals or the tourists. He didn't know any of the languages spoken in this country, and had neither passport nor much money. Robards hadn't given him anything to help him on his search – no money for food or shelter, no maps, no extra protection for warmth, no hints about useful spells, and, most preposterously, no partner. Ron felt utterly helpless all the way out here by himself; he felt as though Robards had completely and purposely abandoned him and sent him out to die as punishment for not doing more to help investigate the case sooner.

Ron attempted to take a deep, steadying breath as he felt his heart racing toward a panic attack. He sat on the ground and covered his face with his hands, closing his eyes and trying to convince himself he was all right. He would come up with a plan. He had to; there was no other choice.

Standing, still feeling panicky and not at all calm, he surveyed his surroundings carefully. The view was beautiful, breathtaking even, but he couldn't focus on that. He needed to find his Aurors, or the Welsh wizards, or the giants. He needed to find something, anything related to his case.

He decided to head for higher ground to get a better look at the landscape. Not wanting to risk getting splinched because of his distracted and distraught state, and to give himself time to calm down and think, Ron set off on foot.





Three days later, Ron had no idea where he was or where he was going. There were no signs of his Aurors, no signs of the Welsh wizards, no signs of the giants, no signs of anything. He was pretty certain no human (or half-human, or anything even vaguely humanoid) had ever set foot on this particular mountain before. He was starving, freezing, and extremely sleep deprived. It was hard to camp on this mountain when there was nothing he could do to keep himself warm at night. As soon as he stopped moving to lie down for sleep, he started shivering so hard he thought he might induce a seizure, or at least break a few teeth. He also found it difficult to fall asleep on an empty stomach. He hadn't had much success cooking so far; it was too windy, even inside his tent. The crackers he had packed only did so much to sustain him. All in all, he was quite sure he would die in a few days, and he was even surer that it would be extremely painful.

What scared him most was the fact that these thoughts were only somewhat playful.

He knew he should just go home. There was no sense in staying out here and slowly dying if he was getting nothing accomplished.

As far as Ron was concerned, though, returning to Robards empty-handed was not an option. If he went back with no information, Robards would not only fire him, but would likely take him to court for Kelley's and Edwards' deaths. That was no life for an Auror, a war hero, a Weasley.

So, he would keep at it. He would continue to trek along the mountain, performing useless spells and working himself half to death.





On his fifth day in Switzerland, Ron stopped eating. There were no more crackers, he couldn't stop shaking long enough to try cooking, and he was pretty sure his stomach was somewhere else entirely, anyway.

He couldn't remember ever having been filled with this much hatred. His only options were to die or go home disgraced. He knew he needed to go home; he would refuse to die this way. But he needed a plan, some story to tell the Ministry and some other job to fall back on. He could always go back to working with George, but that wasn't his passion. This wasn't his passion anymore, either.

Ron stumbled as he tried to climb over a boulder. He slipped down several feet, landed on his knees, and retched painfully.

He wasn't convinced he would even survive the journey home.





That night, Ron lay in his tent, all his heating charms failing, and all his blankets doing almost nothing to protect him from the extreme cold.

He thought he might have a fever, but he wasn't really sure his body was capable of reaching a normal temperature, let alone a higher one. His insides were trembling painfully; his stomach was aching and his lungs felt as though they might have been put through a shredder.

By this point, he didn't even want to fall asleep. He was too afraid he would die in the night.

The sound of snow being crunched hit his numb ears. He closed his eyes and gulped, praying that whatever animal it was would pass by his tent.

After a few seconds of silence, Ron felt a shiver run through his whole body. He sat up, suddenly alert. That had not been a shiver from the cold; it was magic. He untangled himself from the blankets and gripped his wand nervously. He didn't even have the strength to stand up.

The flaps of his tent opened and Ron's mouth dropped open.

"You utter FUCKING WANKER!" Harry shouted, slamming his backpack on the tent floor.

"What?" Ron croaked out.

Harry ignored Ron's protest and knelt down to rummage in his bag. He pulled out a tiny and empty glass box, tapped it with his wand several times, then set it on the floor. He flicked his wand twice more and suddenly Ron was staring at a huge flame-filled tank.

The fire in the enlarged glass case was multicoloured and the heat it emitted filled the tent immediately.

Shuddering from the sudden temperature change, Ron scooted awkwardly toward the tank and sat himself directly in front of it, convulsing slightly as his body slowly warmed.

Harry said nothing. He continued sitting by the mouth of the tent, watching Ron with an intense gaze that Ron was steadfastly avoiding.

Ron wasn't sure how much time went by before Harry finally spoke, but he had all but completely stopped shaking when Harry opened his mouth.

"Have you eaten yet?"

Ron was pretty sure Harry was asking about dinner, but he hadn't eaten any proper meal in almost a week. He shook his head and Harry immediately went about trying to make some soup on the stove. When the draught prevented him, he pulled out his wand again and the canvas tent went still. As an extra precaution, Harry made another contained fire in the bottom of the oven and boiled the soup over that.

When he was done, they ate their soup in silence, Ron managing to scarf down an entire bowl, despite having not eaten more than a few bites in days.

"So," Harry said once Ron was done eating and leaning sleepily against the glass tank.

Ron glanced sideways at Harry. "So," he said quietly. "You just saved my life."

"Ron–"

"I'm not exaggerating. Thank you."

Harry shook his head, his jaw clenched. "I'm going to personally murder Robards."

"I'm okay with that."

"I'm filing a report when we get back."

Ron nodded.

"And I'm taking it straight to Kingsley."

"As you should."

"And Ron?"

"Yeah."

"Next time, don't be so fucking stupid."

Ron nodded again. He really had been phenomenally dim-witted for the past few days.

Another few minutes of silence passed and Ron felt himself slipping into sleep for the first time in days.





Ron woke up to the sound of an electric heater humming somewhere nearby. He rolled over in his bed and put the pillow over his face in an attempt to block out the noise.

A second later, he sat up with a jolt and looked around, panicked. He was most definitely in a hotel room.

"Morning, sunshine."

Ron turned to see Harry stepping out of the bathroom, a white towel wrapped around his waist and his wet hair plastered to his forehead.

"Where the fuck are we?"

"In the warmth," Harry answered, rubbing his hair with a towel so that it stuck up in all directions.

Ron sighed and ran a hand over his face. His skin, he noticed, was extremely dry. "How did you get me here?"

"Apparation. I booked the room and then went back for you. You were out cold."

"Thanks," Ron muttered, pushing the covers off and sitting up on the edge of the bed. He faced away from Harry, frustrated that, even in his state of recovery from near-death, the sight of Harry half-naked and wet could turn him on so much.

He took a much needed shower and then joined Harry in the hotel restaurant for several helpings of breakfast.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry asked rather suddenly as Ron ate yet another pancake.

Ron swallowed his large bite with difficulty and washed it down with orange juice. "Do you remember what happened just before I left?"

"You slept with Robert."

"I slept with Robert and you shouted at me for it," Ron corrected. "I came home from my 'emergency meeting' with Robards and tried to tell you, but you just argued with me about what I'd done with Robert. I wasn't exactly keen to tell you where I was going." He glanced down at the scrambled eggs still left on his plate. "Actually, how did you find out where I was?"

"It wasn't hard," Harry explained. "All I had to do was look through your files. You're very thorough with your reports, by the way."

"I – thank you?" Ron said, flustered.

"It's good," Harry reassured him. "It's quite useful. If you weren't, I doubt I would have been able to find you as easily as I did."

"Yeah, but how exactly did you?" Ron persisted. "I was nowhere near where I started by the time you found me."

Harry shrugged awkwardly. "I used some... some magic I picked up."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "What kind of magic? Where'd you pick it up?"

"I... I went to visit Bill," Harry admitted. "Just before I came here. He gave me some... some spells and some tips. You know."

Ron frowned across the table. "You've been using illegal magic from my brother."

"It's not illegal!" Harry insisted. "We're not in Britain. It's not illegal here."

"Okay, first off, it's still illegal for us to use that magic because we're still British, even if we're not in Britain. Second, don't act like you know Switzerland's magic laws."

"How do you know I didn't do my research?" Harry asked defensively.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Because you never do your research. I know how thorough you aren't with your reports, Harry. I know how short they are, and it's not because you're lazy. It's because you don't plan ahead and you don't reflect afterwards. You have no idea which spells are legal here and which aren't. Don't pretend otherwise."

Harry blinked. "Having a bad day, Ron?" he asked with mock sympathy.

Ron sighed and finished off his eggs without responding.





"So... I couldn't help but notice... there's only one bed in this room," Ron said as he sat on the floor, rearranging the items in his backpack.

"I told you," Harry said from where he lay on the bed, flipping through a tourist pamphlet, "I booked the room by myself. It would have been weird if I'd asked for two beds."

"It's not that I don't appreciate it," Ron explained, staring down at a pile of mismatched socks. "It's just that... you know, I don't know what your plans are exactly, but if you want to stay here again, we should get a different room."

"Like that wouldn't be awkward."

"It wouldn't," Ron insisted. "We could be friends meeting up. You just came a day early. Now we need a different room."

He set about rolling up pairs of socks that vaguely looked alike, doing his best to ignore the strained silence.

"Ron," Harry began slowly, quietly. "Is it really... after all these years, you honestly... can't even sleep in the same bed with me?"

Against his better judgement, Ron glanced up at Harry. Harry's expression was sad, almost hurt, and Ron quickly looked away. He could feel his ears burning through the long and painful pause.

"Fine," Harry said bitterly, tossing the pamphlet onto the bed and standing up. "We'll get a different room."

Harry walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and Ron cursed loudly. He'd let his guard down for one pathetic moment and given himself away. He was supposed to be over all that by now, and he wasn't sure Harry would forgive him for not being so, and worse, for lying about it.





~Flashback~

"I don't know," Harry muttered, rubbing his tired face with his hands. "I think... I think it might be for good this time."

"You've said that before, though," Ron pointed out. "It's only been three weeks. You've been broken up longer than that before."

"True." Harry shrugged. "This time just feels different. I can't explain it. I'm just... I've gotten used to her not being around as much. And – and now you're around instead. And that feels... it just sort of feels normal. I still love her, but... but maybe this is just it."

"Maybe. It does seem kind of unlikely, from an outsider's perspective, just based on how many times you two have managed to get back together in the past, but..."

Harry shrugged again and shifted a little on the sofa to face Ron more easily. "Is it any easier for you? Dating blokes, I mean?"

Ron flushed slightly. "Well, I don't... I don't really date them. But... I don't imagine it would be any easier. I suppose it could be, but... but blokes are complicated, too. They're a lot less likely to know what they want."

"Do you know what you want?" Harry asked quietly.

Ron looked at Harry and opened his mouth, but found there was no answer. Harry was staring at him with those piercing green eyes and Ron was lost in them and their vulnerability, completely unable to lie.

Before he could recover from his loss of concentration, Ron found himself being kissed.

"Harry," he said quickly, pulling back so roughly he almost fell off the sofa. "What..."

Harry blushed magnificently and licked his lips. "Um."

"That's not what I meant!" Ron exclaimed in a panic. "That's not what I meant at all! I don't – I don't want you! I don't want anybody! That's – that's why I don't date. I don't want any of them."

Harry stared disbelievingly at Ron. "Oh. I thought..."

"Maybe I do," Ron continued on, breathlessly. "Maybe you're right. But that – that doesn't mean you should kiss me!"

"Why not?" Harry asked quietly.

"Because you're straight! And you shouldn't – and I can't..." Ron took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself and stop rambling. He looked imploringly across the sofa at Harry, silently begging his best friend both to stop this right now and to be with him forever. "I can't just be some mistake you make when you're all heartbroken about Ginny," he said, his voice practically a whisper.

"I'm not – you're not a mistake, Ron. You could never be a mistake."

Ron shook his head. "You're straight, Harry."

"Am I?" Harry asked, his voice a high-pitched squeak. "I've been thinking about this since you first came out."

"Thinking about what?" Ron asked cautiously.

"About kissing you," Harry said, staring blatantly at Ron's lips. "All the ways I... all the places... it's not a mistake to kiss the person you're closest to. Even if – even if no other men appeal to me, you do, and it's not... I'm sure I could be with you. If... if you wanted it, that is."

"You have no idea," Ron breathed, staring at Harry and trying to take in his words.

"Show me," Harry whispered, moving closer. "Teach me."

Ron nodded and accepted Harry's lips this time. He was instantly and breathlessly consumed by an urgent need. He'd wanted Harry for so long, so long, and now Harry was kissing him, and it was all Ron could do to keep from stripping Harry naked and devouring him right then and there.

Harry moaned, just barely, somewhere deep inside his throat, but Ron heard it and lost what little self-control he had left. He grabbed at Harry's waist, digging his fingers into the skin there. He maneuvered them on the sofa so Harry was lying beneath him, flush against him, panting slightly as their kiss broke.

Ron ignored the panic in Harry's eyes; he was too far gone to stop now. He'd wanted this for far too long, and every ounce of desire and lust and love he'd ever felt for Harry had come brimming to the surface and there was nothing Ron could do to hold it back.

Harry's hands were lying awkwardly on Ron's back, an unsure, dead weight. Ron moved one of his own hands to Harry's jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them with a practiced ease. Harry's fingers clenched around Ron's shirt as Ron slid his hand into Harry's pants and gripped Harry's soft cock.

Ron tried not to focus on how hard he was and how soft Harry was. It's his first time, he told himself, he's just nervous. He pulled his hand out of Harry's pants, licked across it, and replaced it quickly, determined to do everything as fast as possible so Harry had no time for second thoughts. As he went about stroking Harry's cock, he focused his lips on Harry's exposed neck. Harry's skin was damp; he was sweating already and Ron pretended that it was because the heat in George's flat was too high and that it wasn't related to the fact that Harry's hands were suddenly shaking slightly against his back.

"Budge up," Ron muttered, lifting his weight for a moment so Harry could scoot back on the sofa. Harry complied, sitting up slightly against the armrest. He looked down at Ron and Ron was surprised to see trust, rather than hatred or confusion, in his eyes. Harry trusted him, and what was Ron doing with that trust?

Ron sat back slightly and pulled Harry's jeans and pants down on his thighs. He was half-hard by then and Ron took in the sight of the short, black, curly hairs nestling at the base of his shy, hesitant cock.

"Ron?" Harry whispered, shifting his hips slightly as Ron continued staring down at him.

Ron dragged his eyes back up to Harry's and gulped. "Are you sure you want this?" he asked against his will.

Harry nodded and swallowed hard, apparently steeling himself for what Ron was about to do.

Ron leaned down, his back an exaggerated arch, and licked from the base of Harry's cock all the way to the tip. To his relief, Harry's cock twitched at this new stimulation, so he repeated the long, slow lick over and over until Harry's cock was straining against his tongue and Harry was breathing heavily above him.

"It's not so bad, right?" Ron asked, teasing slightly as he looked back up at Harry for the first time in minutes. Harry's head had fallen back, unsupported, and his mouth was hanging open. Ron lifted his own head slightly to get a better view of Harry's face as he wrapped a hand back around Harry's cock. He gave it a squeeze and Harry gasped slightly, his eyes clenched tightly. Ron told himself it wasn't because Harry can't look at him. Besides, he thought, unable to stop himself, he could always just pretend I'm Ginny.

Suddenly determined to make sure Harry knew he was definitely not Ginny, Ron surged up on the sofa and kissed Harry hard on the lips.

"I'm so hard for you," he whispered against Harry's cheek, his tongue darting out to dip in Harry's ear.

To his surprise, Harry reached out blindly and found his hard cock, still hidden inside his own uncomfortably tight jeans. Ron groaned uncontrollably as Harry timidly rubbed the bulge, his fingertips dragging along the throbbing underside of Ron's cock.

"Stop," Ron gasped when Harry's hand became more sure, his grip more firm. He didn't want to come in his jeans from light fondling, but he was so turned on by it that he wasn't sure he would be able to stop himself. "Fuck, you're hot," he muttered, staring down at Harry's flushed face.

Harry winked and Ron grinned, relieved. Harry didn't hate him for pushing this so far so fast; Harry was even enjoying himself. Ron returned his attention to Harry's cock, stroking it swiftly and firmly. Harry squirmed and bit his lower lip roughly, a humming noise trapped in his throat. Ron bowed his head down to kiss Harry's vibrating Adam's apple, then bit down on the side of Harry's neck and sucked roughly on the hot skin. He wanted to mark Harry as his own, to show the world (and himself) tangible evidence that they were finally together.

Harry moaned loudly as Ron's fingers tightened around his cock. He thrust his hips up into Ron's hand, silently urging Ron to move faster. Ron broke away from Harry's neck and slid further down, wishing he had time to explore every inch of Harry, but they were both still fully clothed and Ron wanted to get to the point of all this.

And the point of all this was Harry's long, glorious cock pulsing in his mouth as his tongue mercilessly tickled its sensitive head. Harry came almost as soon as Ron's mouth had settled back around him; his back arched off the couch with a shout and he grabbed roughly at Ron's hair as Ron swallowed the head of his cock.

"Ginny – Ginny," Harry gasped shakily as he held on to the redhead between his legs. "Oh – oohh – fucking – AH! – oh God, oh – oh God, Ron, Ron, oh God, fuck!" He babbled senselessly as Ron extended his orgasm to an almost painful ecstasy.

Finally, breaking away just before the point of choking, Ron pulled back and sat up to swallow the last of Harry's come. He chanced a glance at Harry and found the other man all but unconscious from the intense climax. Harry looked extremely sated; his face was relaxed, his eyes were closed peacefully, and there was a hint of a smile on his wet, swollen lips.

Ron took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. Maybe he didn't mean to say it. Maybe he wasn't thinking about her. Maybe it was just out of habit. He had a hard time convincing himself Harry's slip up was completely coincidental.

"Are you still hard for me?" Harry's husky voice broke Ron out of his thoughts.

"Yeah," Ron whispered, trying to figure out if Harry was pretending he didn't remember saying Ginny's name or if he actually didn't remember saying Ginny's name.

"Well..." Harry trailed off uncertainly, staring up at Ron's blank face.

"You don't have to," Ron said quietly. "That was a lot, I think. And you're new at this. You don't have to do anything. We could just stop."

To Ron's disappointment, Harry looked tempted by this offer. Ron started to get up from the sofa but found himself being pulled back down after a second. Harry pushed him against the opposite armrest and started unfastening his jeans.

"Harry," Ron whimpered as Harry pulled down his clothes and exposed his already-leaking cock. "I said you didn't have to. We don't have to do this anymore." It killed him a little on the inside to say this, to admit that it wasn't going to work out despite Harry's reassurances, to admit that he knew it wouldn't work out from the very beginning and yet had gone along with it anyway. His face was burning with self-loathing and the last thing in the world he wanted was a pity blowjob from his best friend.

"I want to," Harry said quietly, wrapping a hand around Ron's cock and pulling on it.

Ron knew it was a lie, but he didn't know what else to do but sit back and let it happen. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend this wasn't the worst mistake he'd ever made.

Harry's hand was warm and soft around his cock; it was exactly how he'd always imagined it would feel, and that fact alone drove him toward the orgasm the rest of him was dreading. Harry kissed him forcefully, apparently determined to prove something to Ron with sheer intensity. When Ron pulled back for air, Harry dropped down and sucked the head of Ron's cock into his mouth. Ron covered his eyes with both hands, unable to stand the sight of all that black hair bobbing along his aching cock. Harry's mouth was wet and wonderful, but his speed was awkward, his hands were limp on Ron's hips, and his intent was obvious: he wanted to get Ron off as quickly as possible so this whole mess could come to an end.

Ron groaned pathetically, grabbed Harry's hair with one hand, and guided the tempo until it was fast enough and sure enough to bring him over the edge. Still keeping his eyes firmly covered with his other hand, Ron let himself picture the start of all his favorite fantasies: Harry spread out on a bed, his limbs flung to the side, maybe even tied down, and his cock standing to attention.

Harry hummed around Ron's cock and Ron jerked painfully as the burning coil of need in his balls finally sprang free and he started coming into Harry's mouth.

Coughing slightly, Harry held Ron's cock against his stomach and continued licking the underside of his head as he finished coming all over his shirt. Harry pressed his tongue to the base of Ron's cock as it pulsed with aftershocks of pleasure that had Ron huffing desperately.

Ron couldn't quite bring himself to uncover his eyes to look at Harry yet, so he spent time catching his breath and waiting for his heart rate to slow down instead. He listened to the sound of Harry rustling on the couch, sitting up and moving away from Ron, and wondered if Harry was just going to leave without saying anything. He knew it was a mistake. And now he knew that Harry had finally admitted it, too. Otherwise, Harry would have be kissing him; otherwise, they would have be nuzzled together on the couch, falling asleep in each other's arms.

"For someone who's never done that before," he said, unable to take another second of silence, "you were pretty decent at it."

Harry waited for Ron to finally reveal his eyes before speaking. "I was just doing what I like," he admitted, staring dazedly at Ron.

"It was good," Ron assured him pointlessly. There was a long pause and Ron could almost feel the regret emanating from Harry.

"Ron–"

"Don't apologize," Ron whispered quickly, closing his eyes again. He couldn't stand to look at Harry; he couldn't even stand to look at himself or the mess he had just made on his shirt. All he wanted to do was sink into the couch and disappear forever.

"I'm so sorry," Harry said anyway. "I didn't know – I thought I could. I thought I wanted to. I was so fucking sure I wanted you." He sounded as though he hated himself almost as much as Ron hated them both. "I'm so sorry, Ron. I – I'm so–"

"Stop apologizing," Ron said, opening his eyes. He turned on the couch and put his feet back on the floor, wanting desperately to clean himself off and change his shirt, but wanting just as much to never move again.

"I don't know what else to say," Harry admitted. "This... I mean, I shouldn't have – we shouldn't–"

"Stop talking," Ron interrupted, staring down at the floor. "Stop talking before I hit you." He ran a hand over his face. I can't believe I just ruined our entire friendship for a blowjob, he thought, feeling more shame and remorse than he had ever thought possible. "Maybe you should leave."

Harry said nothing and Ron knew it was because he agreed. The best thing to do now was probably to pretend the whole incident didn't mean anything and had never happened. Ron wasn't sure he'd ever recover, but he had no other choice.

"Will... are we going to be okay?" Harry asked.

Ron's heart broke just a little bit more and he felt his throat swelling and his eyes stinging with tears he had no intent of shedding in front of Harry. "We'll be fine," he said shortly. "Please, just go."

Harry stood, tucked himself back into his jeans, and left without saying goodbye.

~End Flashback~





"It's not like you ever said anything," Harry said bitterly, gripping his beer bottle tightly.

Ron looked up from where he lay on his bed. Harry was sitting on his own bed in their new room, stuck in a game of Solitaire.

"What?"

"It's not like you ever said anything," Harry repeated. "You just expected me to know."

Ron put down the atlas he had been inspecting and sat up, turning and dropping his legs over the side of the bed. "I didn't expect you to know," he said gently. "I didn't even want you to know."

"What happened to full disclosure, Ron?" Harry snapped, tossing down a card and glaring across the room at Ron. "What happened to honesty and vulnerability and trust? What happened to rebuilding our friendship from the ground up? What happened to leaving that all behind and moving on?"

"Stop it," Ron demanded. "Stop it. You have no idea what I – you don't think I've been trying to move on? You think I want to still feel this way? Well, guess what, I don't. It just – it is what it is, okay? That's just how... that's just who you are to me, okay? There's nothing else I can do about it."

Harry scoffed.

"There's not," Ron insisted. "I ignore it all the time. I sleep with other men, I support your relationship with Ginny, I pretend like there's nothing else going on. Because there's not, okay? It doesn't matter. It's not something I'm pursuing, it's not something I sit around thinking about all day, and it's not something I like about myself. I ignore it, okay? Why don't you just... do the same and drop it."

Harry exhaled angrily and turned back to his card game. He took a long swig of his beer and Ron stood up, not wanting to be around him when he was this upset.

"I'm going for a walk," Ron muttered before grabbing his coat and heading out of the hotel.

It really wasn't his fault he still had feelings for Harry. He had been trying for years to move on past that stage of their friendship. It's just that Harry was so Harry... and he was so sexy and so perfect all the bloody time. Ron couldn't change that, and even if he could, he wouldn't want to.

Ron cast the modified self-heating charm that Harry had learned from Bill as he started off around the small town. He wanted to go back home. He didn't know what help Harry would be in the case; the missing Aurors simply had not been here. There would be traces, magical or otherwise, if they had been. There was nothing left to do but return to Robards and tell him Kelley and Edwards were likely dead somewhere, and Davies and Griffiths were likely still in contact with the giants. That was the only conclusion Ron could come to: the Welshmen had kidnapped the Aurors, forced them to send back false information, and then killed them.

And, to top it all off, maybe Robards was right; maybe Ron was to blame. Ron had known the final update had been off. There wasn't enough information, it had been sent in a bizarre way, and the Aurors had never shown up to confirm it all. Ron should have known straight away that something was wrong, that someone should investigate farther. Sure, Robards had seen the same update and given him the okay to file it away and close the case, but Ron should have listened to his instincts. It was his case, not Robards', and he had failed.

Now, Kelley and Edwards were likely dead, Harry was angry with him for having feelings that he couldn't control, and he would most likely have to go back to work for George.

"Bad day doesn't even begin to cover it."





When Ron woke up the next morning, Harry was on his bed, lying on his stomach, and staring down at Ron's atlas. Ron pushed himself up into a sitting position and rubbed his face tiredly. He had come back to the hotel so late the night before that Harry had already been asleep.

"Morning," Ron croaked as he stood up and started to stretch. "Are you working out how to get back?"

Without looking up from the atlas, Harry motioned for Ron to come over and look at the atlas. Ron walked around to Harry's bed, leaned down, and stared at the spot Harry was pointing to.

"What?" he asked after inspecting the map for several seconds and not seeing anything special.

"Look how low this valley is," Harry said. "Compared to these mountains..."

"Lauterbrunnental," Ron tried to pronounce the name on the atlas.

"I was reading about it earlier," Harry explained, reaching under the atlas and producing the tourism pamphlet he had been looking at the previous day. "Most of it's not even very wide and there are all these steep cliffs... it's the lowest point around."

Ron stared down at Harry. "You... you want to go there?"

"Don't you?" Harry asked, sitting up.

"I – I guess, if you... are you really sure you want to help me with this? We could just go home."

"No," Harry said firmly. "We're proving Robards wrong. You're an excellent Auror, Ron. Or, at least you would be if he gave you half a chance. Maybe this is your chance. We can't just go back empty-handed and totally defeated. That's what he wants."

Ron sat down on the edge of his bed and frowned at Harry. "Does he know you're here?"

"Well, yes. I had to ask him... if he knew where you were, because I had no idea. You should've seen his face... he knows we live together and the fact that you didn't tell me... anyway, it doesn't matter. He said he'd sent you out to look for Kelley and Edwards. I volunteered to help and he tried to stop me, but I wouldn't let him."

"Why not?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Maybe because I didn't want you to die. Would you like me to go back without you so you can continue freezing and starving to death?"

Ron glared at Harry. "No. I'd rather try going to... to Lautybrauty."

Harry snorted. "Lauterbrunnental?"

"Yeah, whatever. When do you want to go?"

"Right now," Harry said, standing. "We should go during the day to get a good look around. You're all packed, right?"

"Um." Ron glanced over at his stuffed bag. "Yeah."

"All right. Let's go check out."





"This can't be right," Ron muttered, staring down at the villages from where he and Harry stood on the top of an impossibly steep cliff.

Harry said nothing and kept his eyes firmly on the valley below.

"There's roads," Ron continued. "There's houses, Harry. People live here – Muggles live here! There can't be any giants."

Harry pursed his lips.

"Damn," Ron sighed. "I'd really hoped this whole thing would be over by now."

Harry grabbed Ron's arm and spun quickly.

Ron landed on his arse when they Apparated to Harry's destination.

"Little bit of a warning next time?" he asked, getting to his feet and rubbing his sore backside. "Where are we?"

"A bit farther west," Harry explained, looking around. "Just above that lake we saw."

"We saw two lakes," Ron muttered. He watched tiredly as Harry stalked around between the trees. It was obvious that Harry had gone into tracker mode; he wasn't going to stop until he found at least one of the things they were looking for. Ron was a tracking specialist as well, but he had no idea what to do here, and as Harry wasn't sharing any information, all he could do was stand there stupidly until Harry clued him in.

After a few minutes, Harry signaled for Ron to follow him. They headed off together, Harry on a silent mission and Ron trailing behind, wondering just how well their stealth and tracking training would serve them in the Alps.





By sunset, Ron was exhausted. He and Harry had been hiking through snow for hours and had yet to find anything promising. He'd stopped asking questions a while ago; Harry didn't seem to have any answers, only instincts. Ron hated Harry's strategies (or lack thereof), but had no room to complain at the moment, seeing as how Harry had just saved his life two days before.

"I meant to tell you," Harry said suddenly, slowing down to walk beside Ron. "Dean sent an owl on Thursday asking to make plans with us for this weekend."

Ron blinked. "What?"

"Dean," Harry repeated. "Sent an owl. Tried to make plans."

"Oh," Ron said stupidly. "I... did you write him back?"

"I told him you were gone for a work emergency. I don't know if he responded after that."

"Right."

"And Lee stopped by on Wednesday."

"For what?"

"I'm not sure," Harry said, shrugging. "He said something about George being a prude. I don't really know what he meant by that, but I assume he came over for advice."

Ron snorted. "That's a laugh."

"Why? You're close with George."

"I used to be," Ron said bitterly. "He's a complete dolt, lately."

"Well... if Lee and Angie are really together..."

"They are."

"That can't be easy to watch," Harry said sympathetically. "I mean, think about all that history. It's got to be a big adjustment."

"Sure, if that's actually the problem."

"What do you mean?"

Ron slid slightly on a patch of ice and Harry grabbed him around the waist to steady him.

"You all right?" Harry asked, his voice soft in Ron's ear.

"Fine," Ron choked out. He righted himself and squirmed out of Harry's grip. "I'm fine." He walked forward quickly, forcing Harry to jog after him.

"What were you saying about George?" Harry asked when he'd caught up with Ron.

"It's nothing," Ron said quickly. "Nothing more than a guess, really. I shouldn't gossip about it."

"You're not usually one to have deep insights about other people," Harry said slowly. "But when you do, they're usually right."

Ron sighed; this was true. It also wasn't a guess; Lee knew that George was gay, too. But Ron wasn't particularly keen on discussing George's unrequited love for Lee with Harry, not when their recent argument about Ron's own similar feelings was so fresh in their memories.

"It's nothing important," Ron lied. "He just needs more time to get used to it. Like you said, it's a big adjust – oof!"

Ron, who hadn't been looking where he was going, walked straight into Harry. He lost his balance and fell sideways onto the snow.

"What the hell, Harry?" he asked indignantly, trying to stand back up.

"Shush," Harry whispered urgently. He walked up to a large tree and peered cautiously around it.

Curious and excited, Ron scrambled awkwardly to his feet and went over to the tree, looking over Harry's shoulder.

"Holy fuck," he breathed, in awe of the scene below them.

No less than ten giants were dozing in the tiny valley at the bottom of the cliff Harry and Ron were standing on. Some were huddled in pairs for warmth, others were curled up against the mountains. At a somewhat safe distance from the band of giants, a small tent was set up. It was glowing and flickering slightly; there was a fire burning on the inside.

"Holy fuck," Ron repeated, his hand gripping Harry's shoulder tightly. "You fucking found them."

Harry grinned back over his shoulder. "We found them," he corrected. "And now we're going to find out who's in that tent."

"What, now?" Ron asked incredulously as Harry walked around the tree and knelt down near the edge of the cliff.

"Better while they're sleeping," he said, indicating the giants. "If we can do everything without ever having to deal with giants... well, it'd just be easier, wouldn't it?"

"Quite," Ron agreed. "Please don't tell me you want to climb down that," he said hopefully.

"No, that'd be a bit suicidal." Harry stood back up and looked at Ron. "Would you care to do the honors?"

Ron grinned, grabbed hold of Harry's arm, and spun.





"There's four of them," Ron whispered, studying the shadowy figures inside the tent. "Two of them aren't moving."

"Probably Kelley and Edwards, do you think?"

"Probably," Ron agreed. "How should we do this?"

Harry rubbed his cheek with a gloved hand, thinking. "Honestly," he said, "our best bet is probably just to go in there. Wands out, ready to attack. There's not much else to do. There's nowhere to hide, there's no point in disguising ourselves. Best to just... go right for it."

Ron nodded, steeling himself for the chance that a battle between Aurors and Dark Welsh wizards might wake the giants.

"Ready?" Harry asked, and Ron was relieved to hear a hint of nervousness in his voice. It was somehow reassuring that Harry also realized the danger of their mission.

"Ready."

They set off for the tent, breaking into a run after a few seconds and charging in without warning.

Kelley and Edwards were tied back-to-back in some chairs. They looked half-dead, as though they hadn't eaten or slept properly in weeks. Davies and Griffiths were hovering over a table, looking at the mess of papers spread out there. They turned around at the sound of Harry and Ron entering their tent at full speed, but before they could reach for their wands, Ron had stunned them both.

"Good," Harry said, then went to look out the mouth of the tent to make sure the giant's hadn't woken up.

Ron rushed over to Kelley and Edwards and began untying them.

"How did you find us?" Kelley croaked.

"Long story," Ron muttered as he fumbled with the knots. He pulled out his wand and tried a few spells, but nothing worked. "Harry," he whispered sharply.

Harry strapped the unconscious Welsh wizards to each other, then rushed over to help Ron.

"The papers," Edwards said weakly, nodding at the table. "We need them."

Ron left Harry to deal with the ropes and went to gather up what was on the table. He stacked everything in a messy pile and grabbed the four wands that had been under all the papers.

"You Harry Potter?" Kelley asked, slumping to the floor when Harry finally managed to break the charm on the ropes and untie him.

"Yes," Harry said shortly. "Are you two okay to head back now?"

"How're we traveling?" Edwards asked as Harry helped pull him to his feet.

"Portkey," Harry answered, nodding at Ron.

Ron opened his bag, stuffed the papers and the wands inside it, and pulled out Harry's tourist pamphlet. He set it on one of the chairs, tapped it with his own wand, whispered, "Portus," and watched as the pages glowed blue for a moment. "All set."

Suddenly, the ground shook beneath them. Ron glanced at Kelley and Edwards, who had gone white with fear.

"Time to go," he said quickly. "Hurry!" He knelt down by the Welshmen and grabbed the ropes Harry had used to tie them together.

"Our wands," Edwards whispered, looking wildly around the tent.

"They're in the bag," Harry practically shouted as he grabbed hold of Ron's backpack. "Let's go!"

Kelley and Edwards bent down, and, on Ron's count of three, they all placed a finger to the pamphlet.





When they reached the Apparition portal in the Ministry Atrium, Ron and Harry had to drag Kelley, Edwards, and the Welshmen over to a fireplace so they could Floo to Robards' office.

"What the – Weasley! Pot... Potter? Kelley, Edwards... what in the world..." Robards' flustered voice came from a distance after they all fell out of his fireplace. Ron's head was buried beneath the stunned Welsh wizards. He grunted and pushed them away, managing to sit up.

Robards was standing over the pile of people in his office, staring blankly down at them all.

Harry got to his feet first. "These are for you," he said rudely, pulling the stack of papers out of Ron's bag and shoving it at Robards. "Davies and Griffiths are stunned. Do with them what you will. Ron and I are taking Kelley and Edwards to St. Mungo's."

"Not so fast," Robards said as Harry began helping Kelley and Edwards untangle themselves from the heap. "They all need to be questioned! This is highly unusual. Aurors bursting into my office on a Sunday night... how did you even get here? You can't Apparate or Floo from that distance... you didn't use an illegal Portkey, did you?"

"Does it look like we care?" Harry practically shouted at his boss. Ron bit back a grin as he got up off the floor. "If you want Kelley and Edwards to die, by all means, keep them here for questioning. Personally, I'd rather they live, but as you're in charge..." Harry let go of Kelley, who slumped back to the floor, unable to muster enough strength to stand on his own.

Robards looked down at Kelley and gulped. "Perhaps – St. Mungo's is in order," he said, sounding terrified.

"Wise decision," Harry said mockingly as he helped Kelley back up. "Ron?"

"Portus," Ron said again, aiming his wand at the pamphlet. It glowed blue for the second time that night and he looked back up at Harry. "All set."

He steadied Edwards, who was leaning heavily on him, grabbed Edwards' hand and bent down to touch the pamphlet, Harry doing the same with Kelley.

"Another illegal Portkey!" Robards shouted furiously, taking a step toward them. Ron and Harry were too fast for him, however, and a second later they were spinning through space, headed for the hospital.





Kelley and Edwards collapsed as soon as they reached St. Mungo's lobby.

Ron sighed down at them. "Was Portkey really any better than Apparition at that point?" he asked Harry. "I mean... look at them."

"Portkey's always safest," Harry muttered, glancing around. "Where're the bloody Healers?"

"Right behind you," a cool voice said.

Ron spun around to see a short blond woman in green Healers robes.

"Thank Godric," Harry said. "These three men need help."

Ron gaped at Harry. "What – three?"

"You almost died, Ron," Harry snapped, helping pull a half-conscious Kelley to his feet. "You need to examined."

The Healer conjured three stretchers and, after Harry threatened to hex Ron's penis if he didn't get on his, led her new patients upstairs, followed by Harry.

"What's happened to them?" she asked once Kelley, Edwards, and Ron were all situated in some hospital beds.

"We're not sure," Harry explained. "We just got back from an Auror mission. They were being held captive by some Welsh wizards... and there were giants, though I'm not really sure if they had anything to do with it. They might just be exhausted and hungry, I don't know."

"I see," the Healer eyed Kelley and Edwards with interest. "Well, if you'd go back downstairs and fill out some paperwork for them, I'll get started on the examination." She pulled out her wand and stepped up to Kelley's bed.

"Can I go, too?" Ron asked hopefully, sitting up.

"You'll stay where you are," the Healer snapped.

Ron glared menacingly at Harry as he left the room, waving cheerily.





By the time Harry came back, Kelley and Edwards had been sedated and the Healer had given Ron permission to leave.

"Come on," Ron said, stopping Harry before he could even enter the room. "Let's get out of here before she changes her mind."

Harry peered over Ron's shoulder at the Healer, who was waving her wand over Edwards' body. "Are they going to be all right?"

"Of course," she said curtly. "They just need time to rest."

"Oh. Well, good. Thank you very much."

When she said nothing in response, Harry shrugged and turned around, leading the way back downstairs.

"I need to go home," Ron said as soon as they were in the lobby. "I need sleep."

"We've still got their wands," Harry said suddenly, shrugging off Ron's bag, which he had been carrying since they'd left Robards' office.

"We can always bring them back in the morning," Ron managed to say before he yawned.

"I think..." Harry sighed. "I think I should go back to the Ministry. Someone needs to talk to Robards before he sacks us both."

"He has no right to sack us after what we just did."

"I know," Harry agreed. "But he's an idiot, so there's no telling what he thinks he has the right to do. It's no problem." He pulled the four wands out and then handed the bag over to Ron. "You go back and get some rest. I'll go deal with Robards."

"Are you sure?" Ron asked warily. "I don't want you to get in trouble."

"I really don't care," Harry said. "I'd love to see him try to get me in trouble."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Just don't push your luck, all right?"

"No promises," Harry said, winking. "I'll see you at home." He grabbed some Floo powder from a hovering pot near a line of fireplaces, picked a grate, threw in the powder, and was gone in an instant.

Ron took a deep breath, thought longingly of his bed, and spun.





Ron was woken up unreasonably early the next morning by an owl pecking insistently at his window. He checked his watch, saw that it was only six o'clock, and pulled a pillow over his head. When he could still hear the owl, he flung the sheets off his bed, stormed over to the window, and opened it roughly.

"It's too bloody early," he grumbled at the owl as he untied a note from its leg. "I've only been asleep for three hours. How do you feel about that?"

The owl hooted soothingly at Ron, rubbed his beak on the back of Ron's hand, and then took off out the window. Ron rolled his eyes and closed the window before reading the note.

Thank you for finding Kelley and Edwards.
You may have the day off to recover and re-acclimate.
Be in my office at 9am tomorrow.
Robards

Ron sighed heavily and dropped the note to the floor. "Wake me up early to tell me I can sleep in," he muttered, climbing back into his bed and pulling the sheets back over him. "Arse."

When he woke up six more hours later, Ron was surprised by how hungry he felt. Grumbling and wishing he could sleep for even longer, but knowing it would be ridiculous if he slept past noon, he got himself out of bed and went to the kitchen. To his surprise, Harry was there, slumped over the table and snoring loudly.

"Er... mate?" Ron tapped Harry on the shoulder. "Mate."

Harry snorted and sat up quickly, looking around in a confused sort of way. "What?" he asked, staring blearily up at Ron.

Ron bit back a smile. "You fell asleep at the table."

Harry groaned and took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Noon."

Harry groaned again, replaced his glasses, and stood up. "I'm supposed to meet Ginny for lunch."

"You should get some sleep," Ron said. "Were you with Robards all night?"

Harry nodded and stifled a yawn. "I need to go meet Ginny," he insisted. "She's worried sick about us."

"Well... send her my love."

Harry nodded vaguely, grabbed his wand off the table, and spun with a crack.

Ron's gaze lingered for a moment on the spot where Harry had just been standing. Harry was so clearly in love with Ginny. It was sickening sometimes, and not just because of how Ron felt about Harry. Sometimes he worried he would never find anything like that; sometimes he worried his one and only chance at such a romance had already come and gone and he had missed it because Harry was straight.

He blinked and those thoughts faded away as he turned toward the counter and started pulling out ingredients to make himself a giant omelette.





As the afternoon wore on, Ron grew more and more restless. He'd taken a shower, unpacked his bag, tidied up his room, listened to the Wireless, written his mother a long letter about Switzerland, and completed a detailed report about the mission for the Ministry.

He was bored.

Feeling only slightly guilty, he decided to poke around in Harry's room for something to do. Maybe Harry had a set of Muggle cards or something else Ron could use to entertain himself.

Harry's room was messy: the bed was unmade, there were Muggle clothes and Ministry robes on the floor, all the dresser drawers were open with clothes hanging out of them, the closet floor was covered in unsorted folders and books. And his desk, Ron decided, was disgusting. There were three mugs of cold tea, two plates covered with crumbs, and an open bottle of beer. Ron picked it up and sniffed at it, wondering how long it had been there and why Harry hadn't thrown it out; it was long past flat.

Ron was about to put the bottle back on the desk, as he had no intention of cleaning up Harry's obscene mess, when he saw what had been underneath it. He grabbed the slip of paper, set the bottle back down, and left Harry's room with a hastily formed plan already in his head.





Less than an hour later, Ron found himself standing on a tree-lined street filled with terraces and blocks of flats, some nicer-looking than others. He walked up the street for a few minutes, noting all the weird lamps and statues people had placed in their windows, until he reached the address on the scrap of paper he had stolen from Harry's room.

When he found the right building, he stared up at it for a moment, wondering exactly what he was doing. No one had asked him to come here... what if he was unwelcome?

Deciding he might as well do what he came to do, Ron approached the front door of a house on the end of a terrace, then took a sharp right and headed down the stairs that led to the flat on the lower ground floor. There were several potted plants at the bottom of the stairs, and Ron stopped to admire them for a moment, stalling and trying to collect his thoughts.

When he finally felt too awkward to lurk on the patio any longer, he rang the doorbell and waited. Not thirty seconds went by before the door opened and Ron found himself staring at a paint-covered Dean.

"Ron," Dean said, looking utterly bewildered. It was quite an endearing expression on him, Ron though, especially because of the blue and green paint smeared across his cheeks and forehead.

"Dean," Ron said, unsure how to explain his presence. "I, um... I just got back from Switzerland and I... Harry said you sent an owl."

"I did..."

"I suppose I could have just... sent one back." Ron smiled uncertainly. "But then I found your address and I thought... thought I'd come by and apologize in person."

"Apologize for what?" Dean asked, frowning.

"For not being able to see you over the weekend," Ron explained lamely. "Especially after I promised to make sure Harry and I were both free for dinner..."

Dean shrugged and stepped aside so Ron could come into his flat. "It's no problem," he said. "Harry said you had a work emergency. Did you say you were in Switzerland?"

"Yeah," Ron said vaguely, looking around the tiny hallway they were in. "It's a long story."

Dean opened another door and led Ron into the living room. "Well," he said, sounding slightly nervous for some reason, "this is where I live."

The living room had a white, modern-looking sofa in the corner facing the door they had just walked through. In front of the sofa sat a long, fat coffee table covered in books and magazines. Other than that, there was no furniture. The rest of the room was dedicated to Dean's artwork. Several large canvases, each looking more unfinished than the next, were propped up on easels around the room. Most of the floor was covered with a clear tarp decorated with copious paint stains. There was a small side table in front of all the easels where Dean kept all his paint.

"I thought you did graphic design?" Ron said after a long moment.

"Oh. Um, I do," Dean said, scratching his face and getting more paint on it in the process. "I've a computer through there," he said, nodding toward the dining room that was partially visible in the opposite corner. "I just, um... paint sometimes."

Ron glanced at Dean, who was staring at the floor, clearly uncomfortable with Ron seeing him, his flat, and his art in such a messy state.

"It's brilliant," Ron said encouragingly. "I like... the... colours," he said, staring hard at the painting that was the most finished. As far as Ron could tell, it depicted a naked man sitting on some vaguely defined object and smoking a cigarette. There was a small photograph taped to the top of the easel and Ron squinted to see it better; it was the same scene Dean was painting just below it.

"Thanks," Dean muttered. "Do you want to take your coat off? Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, you don't have to," Ron said politely. "I don't have to stay... I see you're in the middle of working. I just came by to apologize, like I said..."

"It's no problem," Dean said quickly. "Please, you can stay. You came all the way out here..."

"It's not that far," Ron said, shrugging. "Only five minutes on the Underground. This is a really nice flat, by the way."

"I can't afford it," Dean admitted. "I'm renting it from the family upstairs. They're old friends of my mum, otherwise... well, they give me quite a discount, but I'm not sure how much longer they'll be willing to do it. It wasn't supposed to be a permanent thing."

"But you haven't been here that long," Ron reasoned.

"I know. I just feel guilty. It's such a nice place..."

"Do you want to show me the rest?" Ron suggested, shrugging off his coat.

"It's not that big," Dean said, taking Ron's coat and tossing it on the sofa. He led Ron across the room. "Here's the dining room, and the kitchen's just off there. My bedroom..."

Ron walked past the dining room table and the computer desk and followed Dean into the bedroom.

"The loo's just there," Dean said, pointing to a door on the right side of the room.

Ron was still impressed; the flat might not have been that big, but it was clean and looked very modern. There was minimal furniture, but all of it was nice. Dean's bed was low to the ground and huge; it took up a good portion of the bedroom. Ron had to resist the urge to plop down on it because the duvet looked enticingly soft and fluffy.

"It's brilliant," Ron said for the second time. "I, uh... I like the way you've decorated it."

"It's not even my furniture," Dean explained. "It's theirs, what they were willing to spare, anyway. Except the desk out there, that's mine. But the rest of it..."

"It's still a nice place," Ron said, smiling. "Can I take you up on that drink?"

"Of course," Dean said, taking Ron back through the dining room to the kitchen. "What would you like? I've got some beer, some juice if you want... tea, coffee... water?"

"Do you want tea?" Ron asked, looking at the drawings on the refrigerator.

"Yeah, I could do with some," Dean said, filling up a teapot with water from the sink and setting it on the stovetop. "Oh, those are just... from some friends. Back in the States."

"I like this one," Ron said, pointing to a caricature of Dean. The exaggerated version of Dean was impossibly buff and toned, frowning ridiculously, and covered head-to-toe in paint of every colour. He was holding a laptop in one hand, and there was a mini-Dean, also covered in paint, doing some sort of jig over the keyboard. In his other hand, there were four paintbrushes, each one tucked at the base between two fingers. Above each paintbrush, as though they had just been painted in the air, were four different coloured penises.

"Yeah, I keep meaning to frame that one," Dean said. "I'm worried it'll get ruined if I just leave it on the fridge like that."

"What's with the rainbow dicks?"

"I sort of paint a lot of naked men," Dean explained hastily. "Christ, look at me, I'm a mess right now. Sorry." He turned back to the sink and began washing the paint off his hands.

"I don't mind," Ron said, grinning at Dean's embarrassment. "I was just thinking, after we have some tea, would you want to go out for dinner? It's almost that time..."

Dean dried his hands on a towel and checked his watch. "That could be nice. Do you want to go back closer to you, or..."

"No, let's stay out here," Ron said, still smiling. "Show me around Camden. I haven't been out here much."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "What, don't you ever leave Soho?"

"Don't really have to," Ron said, shrugging. "The Ministry's right there, isnt it? Half the time, I walk to work. Plus, the Leaky's there... Diagon Alley..."

"Must be nice."

"Not to mention the gay bars," Ron added. "Like I said, I never really have to leave the neighborhood. But, yeah, that's boring, you should show me around here. I'm sure it's all sorts of ridiculous."

Dean snorted and pulled out two mugs and two teabags. "Black tea all right?" he asked as he poured the boiling water into the mugs. "That's all I've got at the moment."

"Black's just fine," Ron said, taking the mug and using it to warm him hands. "Thanks."





After they'd had their tea, and after Dean had taken a quick shower to get the rest of the paint off him, they headed out to an Italian restaurant that Dean favored. Once they were seated and had ordered pasta, Dean's with chickpeas and Ron's with sausage, Ron decided to try his luck at getting Dean to open up.

"So, really, what's with all the naked men you say you paint?"

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. "Um, it's, you know, it's just my... my subject matter."

"Well, obviously. But why? I'm interested."

"It's... just what I like to paint," Dean said slowly. "I like drawing the human form, and... what better way to do that than with nudes? Sometimes I do them clothed, but I think it's more interesting to have them naked... especially if I can paint them in a normal setting, in a setting where it wouldn't necessarily make sense for them to be naked."

Ron paused to think about this. "The one in your living room, with the bloke sitting down and smoking? What's the setting there?"

"Oh." Dean reached for his glass of water and paused as their waitress brought the wine they had ordered. She filled their glasses, left the bottle for them, and then walked away.

"What were you going to say?" Ron prompted.

"It's... it's a man sitting on some boxes. With – with the rest of the room filled with boxes, too. Like, the room's all packed and he's just... there. Smoking."

"Naked."

"Yes."

"I was looking at the photograph you're using, while you were in the shower," Ron admitted. "Did you take it, or..."

Dean stared moodily into his wine glass. "No, I took it. I set up the scene and everything. It was, um, it was at my old flat in New York, just before I moved back here."

"Did you know that bloke, then?"

Dean shrugged and took a long sip of his wine. "Yeah, we sort of dated a bit."

"Good for you," Ron said seriously. "He looked quite fit."

Dean nodded. "He was. Complete idiot, but definitely nice to look at."

Ron smiled. "So, tell me about America. What you were doing there and all. I mean, I know you were in school for a bit, right?"

"Yeah, for four years," Dean said. "I was in Philadelphia, at an art school. I majored in graphic design, but I took most of my other classes in painting and photography. I sort of... decided a bit too late that I was in the wrong major, but I like graphic design, and it's easier to get a job with that, so whatever."

"Was it weird?" Ron asked. "You know, going from... from Hogwarts to being in hiding to... being an art student at a Muggle university in America?"

"Probably not as weird as it should have been," Dean said quietly. I was pretty desperate to get out of the Wizarding world by that point... and to really do that, I felt like I pretty much had to get out of England. I just dove right into the whole art student thing. It probably wasn't the healthiest way to cope with my mum's death, but it's what I did, so there you have it."

Ron nodded and watched as the waitress came back with their food.

"Can I ask how she passed away?" Ron asked, pushing the food on his plate around with a fork and watching the steam rise.

"She had breast cancer," Dean said, sounding somewhat bitter. "She didn't know for a really long time and then... it was just really bad by the time she found out. I wanted..." Dean sighed and shrugged, leaning back in his chair and staring at his plate with disgust. "I wanted to stay with her, take care of her, you know? Spend time with her before... before it was too late, but she knew I was in trouble and she didn't want anything to happen to me. So, she made me go into hiding. I mean, I probably would have done it eventually, but... and she... she was just dying and I couldn't contact her at all. And she finished all my art school applications for me. I was already hoping to get out of England by that point, and she knew it and she wanted me to go and become some sort of famous artist she could admire. I told her it doesn't work that way anymore, but she wouldn't listen. I thought maybe I should go to New York, but she enrolled me at the school in Philly... it turned out to be fine, I quite liked it there."

"You said... she died right before you left for school?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. She wasn't supposed to have lived that long. The doctors said six months and she managed twelve, but... they weren't very good months. After the war, when I was finally back home... she was really sick and there wasn't anything I could do, there wasn't anything my sister could do. It was just depressing all the time." Dean sighed and sat up straight again, reaching for his fork. "Then she died and I went off to America and refused to think about it or deal with it in any way for about two years. Like I said, it wasn't really healthy."

"I'm sorry all that happened," Ron said after a moment. "Seems quite unfair."

"There's nothing fair about death."

"This is true." Ron took a few bites of his dinner and thought over Dean's story in his head. "You said you went to school in Philadelphia?" Dean nodded, his mouth too full to respond. "But you said you took the photo of that naked bloke in New York?"

Dean swallowed and took a sip of wine. "Yeah, I moved there for a year after I graduated. I tried to get a job doing graphic design or something, but it didn't really work out. I had a stupid job at a coffee shop that I hated, instead. Eventually, I managed to find some design work here and there, but it was never anything lasting. It never would have paid the bills. Not that I can pay them now, but still."

"What made you move back?"

Dean took another drink of wine before responding. "There just wasn't anything keeping me in the States. I was done with school, I didn't have a job, I didn't have many local friends... the only person I ever cared about there was on the other side of the country by that point. It just didn't make sense anymore... plus, I wanted to be closer to my sister and her kids."

Ron swallowed a mouthful of food a bit too quickly and nearly choked. "You've got nieces and nephews?" he rasped, reaching for his glass of water.

"One of each," Dean said, nodding. "We're pretty close and I came back a few summers to visit with them. Like I said, it just didn't make sense for me to be away anymore."

"And the only person you ever cared about there?" Ron asked, finally able to breathe again. "I take it wasn't the fit-looking idiot bloke from the photo?"

Dean frowned. "No. No, it... it's a long story."

"Fair enough," Ron said, feeling that he had finally crossed a line, but surprised it hadn't happened sooner in the conversation. He smiled at Dean. "Well, I'm glad you're back."

"Thanks," Dean said. "I'm pretty glad to be back as well. My sister's certainly glad for it. She asks me to babysit for her all the time, now."

"Does she live in London, too?"

"She does now, yeah. Just a bit farther north, in Tufnell Park. She lived in our mum's old house for a while, in Cambridge, but she got bored there and decided to move the kids down here." He shrugged and ate a quick bite of his dinner. "They're good kids. Tiring, but good."

"How old are they?"

"Lottie's seven now, and Danny just turned four last month."

"Sounds like a handful," Ron said appreciatively, thinking of his brothers' children. "Is their dad around?"

"No, the women in my family aren't the best at picking men who stick around for very long. Kendra's actually my half-sister, and I've had a fair amount of step-siblings over the years... Mum was married four times."

Ron let out a low whistle. "That's a lot."

"Yeah... hopefully my sister doesn't make the same mistake... at least, not that many times."

Ron smiled. "Do you have any better luck with men?"

Dean shrugged. "I think it's a bit different... I'm not popping out kids that demand a lifelong commitment, but... I've only had one serious relationship and it didn't end with him deciding he preferred someone else, so I guess I've had better luck so far. What about you?"

Ron pulled a face. "I've had no serious relationships and I'm not out looking for any."

"You're not dating that bloke, then?" Dean asked, avoiding meeting Ron's eyes by focusing on his half-empty plate.

"What bloke?" Ron asked blankly.

"Robert."

"Oh, fuck," Ron said, suddenly remembering that he had slept with Robert right before leaving for Switzerland.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "What, is it supposed to be a secret?"

"What, no, it's not – there's nothing to keep secret," Ron said quickly. "We're not dating. He's just a friend. They're all, those three blokes you met, they're all just friends of mine. I drink with them a bit and... maybe we flirt sometimes, but it's nothing serious."

Dean nodded. "It just seemed like... he wanted me to know that you were his."

Ron sighed heavily. "Yeah, he... we've a bit of a history and he can get quite jealous, but... like I said, it's nothing serious. Not on my end, anyway," he added, muttering.

"Does he know that?" Dean asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Ron shrugged. "I don't know, probably not. It's... it's definitely something we have to work on. Anyway, I'm sorry if he was unfriendly to you at the pub that time. He can be really rude when he wants to be."

"It's fine, I wasn't bothered by it. I was too distracted by the other two to pay him much attention, anyway."

Ron snorted into his wine glass. "Yeah, Sean and William... they're an odd pair. William definitely fancies you, though."

"Yeah, I noticed."

Ron emptied the rest of the bottle into his glass. "What about it, then? Did you fancy him?"

Dean wrinkled his nose slightly. "I hadn't really thought about it," he said. "He... well, he's certainly fit, but he's a bit mad, isn't he?"

"Quite more than a bit mad," Ron agreed, smiling. "And how about Sean?"

Dean finished off his dinner before answering. "He was most definitely attractive. As was his sister."

Ron smiled knowingly. "Poor girl could probably get herself married in a heartbeat if she stopped hanging around gay blokes for a half a minute. But, yes, Sean is gorgeous. Obscenely so."

Dean nodded. "Have you ever..."

"No. Well, we've snogged a few times, but it's always been interrupted by William. He'd never let us shag, if only out of pure spite. You'd probably have a good chance of it, though."

"Why's that?"

"You're not me," Ron said, shrugging. "I don't think William cares who Sean sleeps with, as long as it's not me."

"And, er... how did Robert feel about you kissing Sean?"

Ron smiled guiltily. "He never saw any of that. And we thought it best not to tell him... lest he try to murder Sean in the middle of the night."

"That would be unfortunate."

"Yeah, because then you'd never be able to have a go at him. Do yo want me to put in a good word for you?"

"Er, no," Dean said quickly. "I don't really... do that."

"What, sleep with blokes?" Ron teased.

Dean shrugged. "Not as... um, often, maybe, as you all probably do..."

"Are you calling me a slut?" Ron asked in mock offense.

"No, I just meant–"

"I know what you meant," Ron assured him. "And Sean's definitely not a slut. It takes quite a lot to get into his pants... and I'd bet you're the same way."

Dean pursed his lips for a moment, then said, "Well, thanks for the offer, anyway, but I don't really think I'm ready for any of that."

"For any of what?" Ron asked, confused.

"Just, you know, dating, relationships... all that."

"But... but you've been out to gay clubs since you moved here, haven't you? And you said you were looking for someone to invite home with you, didn't you? And you went to the gay bar..."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, I say and do these things, but I don't really ever mean them," he explained, avoiding Ron's gaze again. "I guess I'm a bit of a prude, but I try my best to act like I'm not."

"I'm pretty sure a prude wouldn't constantly paint naked blokes," Ron pointed out.

"Good point," Dean admitted. "I don't really know how to explain it. I just have these urges to go out and meet people, but as soon as I do, I regret it. I'm sort of a guilty hermit..."

Ron chuckled. "You're weird, Dean."

"Yeah, I know. It comes with the territory."

"What territory?"

"The penis-painting artist territory."

Ron laughed and finished off his wine. "All right," he said, checking his watch. "I'd better get home and into bed soon. I have to meet with my boss in the morning. Blech."

Dean stopped a passing waiter to ask for the check, and their waitress turned up a minute later to give it to them.

"I'm paying this time," Ron said, grabbing the check book before Dean could touch it.

"You don't have to," Dean said quickly. "Really, we can split it."

"Nonsense. You paid last time, I'll pay this time. We can split it next time."

"The wine was expensive," Dean protested.

"Yeah, and I drank most of it, so I'm paying for it." Ron reached for his wallet, pulled out his Muggle credit card, and slipped it into the check book.

"You've got a credit card?" Dean asked quietly as the waitress walked back over to take it away. "Do most wizards?"

"Probably not. I only got one to stop awkward questions about why I always paid in cash. I'm usually only ever involved with Muggle men, and I just thought it made sense to get one. I don't have one of those mobile telephones, though, and that usually confuses them. Most of them probably think I'm lying and trying to avoid getting in contact with them again... which, you know, is partially true, or would be if I had a phone, but I don't."

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone to show Ron. "They're quite handy, but I suppose if you're not trying to contact Muggles you've got no use for one."

"Exactly," Ron said as the waitress came back again. He took his credit card and the receipt and slid them back into his wallet. "Shall we go?"

"Thanks for paying," Dean said as they slipped their coats back on and headed outside. "It was really nice of you."

"And it was nice of you to pay last time," Ron countered. "We're such nice blokes."

Once they were out in the cold night air, Dean pulled out cigarettes and a lighter. "Do you want one?" he asked, offering the pack to Ron.

"Do you mind?" Ron asked.

"No, of course not. Here, I'll light it for you." Dean took out a cigarette, slipped it between his lips, and lit it with the plastic lighter. "There you are," he said, taking it out of his mouth and handing it to Ron. "I promise I'm not sick or anything."

Ron laughed and slipped the cigarette between his own lips. "Thanks. I never did get the hang of those weird Muggle lighters. I prefer matches."

Dean shrugged and lit a cigarette for himself as they headed back toward the Underground station Ron needed to get back home. "It's sort of adorable that you can't work a lighter properly."

Ron snorted, hoping Dean couldn't see him blush in the dark. "Thanks, I guess. How long have you been a smoker?"

"About two years. I should probably quit..."

"Probably," Ron said, shrugging. "Did you start smoking the same time you became a vegetarian?"

"Um, yeah, about that time."

"Was it because of the same person?" Ron asked, only half joking.

Dean took a long drag and exhaled loudly. "You could say that. It's wasn't really because of the same reason, but... the same person sort of influenced both, yeah."

"Am I allowed to ask his name?"

"What makes you think it's a he?"

"You would have said so if it wasn't," Ron reasoned. "And it's probably the same person you said you cared most about over there, right? And, by that logic, probably the same person you had your one serious relationship with."

Dean coughed slightly. "Are you drunk?"

Ron pondered this question as he tapped the ash of the end of his cigarette. "I guess I'm a bit tipsy," he said. "I don't generally talk like this when I'm sober."

"I kind of like it when you're drunk," Dean said. "You're so frank and honest."

"You're avoiding my question."

"Maybe I don't want to tell you his name."

"And why wouldn't you want to do that?"

"Maybe I don't like talking about him. Maybe I don't like thinking about him."

"Merlin, did he break your heart or something?"

"I just told you," Dean said sternly, tossing his cigarette butt into the street, "I don't like talking about it."

"All right," Ron said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'll stop being a jerk."

"Good luck with that."

Ron grinned and stabbed out his cigarette butt on a lamp post. "I like it when you're punchy."

"Christ, how much wine did you drink?" Dean asked, staring at Ron with wide eyes.

"Not enough," Ron said sadly. "I am not looking forward to tomorrow."

"Because you have to meet with your boss?"

"Because I have to meet with my boss," Ron confirmed. "And then I have to go find my stupid older brother and yell at him for being so goddamn stupid."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Sounds like fun."

"Blech."

"Right. Well, on that note, the station's right there." He pointed across the street. "Thanks for stopping by. It was nice to have company over for once."

"Thanks for not kicking me out," Ron said, grinning. "You have my address, right?"

"Yeah, Harry gave it to me."

"Good. Well, you're welcome anytime. You don't have to send an owl or anything, the door's always open for you."

"Thanks," Dean said. "Maybe I'll take you up on that sometime."

"You absolutely should." Ron held out his hand and Dean shook it tightly. "I'll send you an owl about plans for this weekend, yeah?"

"That'd be great." Dean dropped Ron's hand and waved as Ron started to cross the street. "Thanks again for dinner," he called out after Ron. Ron reached the other corner, turned around, and gave Dean a salute before disappearing into the Underground station.





"You're not out," Ron said stupidly when he stepped into his flat that night.

Harry looked up from where he was lounging on the sofa. "Am I supposed to be?" he asked.

"I thought you'd still be with Gin," Ron explained as he dropped his coat to the floor. He walked over to the sofa, shoved Harry's legs off, and sat down.

"Rude," Harry complained, readjusting himself into a sitting position. "And where've you been?"

"I just had dinner with Dean, up near his flat. Did you know he paints naked blokes for fun?"

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, laughing.

"You know he's an artist, don't you?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, that's what he does! He paints naked blokes."

"I see."

Ron glared over at Harry. "You're a tosser."

"You're clearly drunk," Harry teased.

"I'm not drunk," Ron protested. "I had... most of a bottle of wine..."

"You know what wine does to you."

"Shut up," Ron said, pouting.

"Fine, but just for that, I'll not be helping in the morning."

"I don't need your help."

"You say that now."

Ron stuck his tongue out at Harry, who laughed.

"So, how is Ginny?" Ron asked in an attempt at normal conversation.

"She's good. I was just too tired to do anything other than sit on my arse. How's Dean? Besides the... naked bloke painting thing."

Ron shrugged. "I think he's a bit lonely. And I still haven't seen him smile."

Harry paused before asking, "You do fancy him, don't you?"

"Godric, it's hard not to," Ron whined, tossing his head back on the sofa cushions. "He's bloody perfect, isn't he? All gorgeous and sad and some sort of secret brilliant kinky artist."

Harry chuckled. "Why's he sad?"

"His mum died," Ron explained, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Just after the war. Apparently he didn't grieve for two years and I bet it was epic when he did. Shit, why am I so attracted to damaged men?"

"Um."

"I'm not even talking about you. Hell, maybe I am. I don't even know. I'm drunk. I'm drunk and I'm horny and Dean's arse keeps wiggling about in my head!"

Harry laughed again. "You should go to bed, mate," he suggested. "You've got to be up for work tomorrow and we both know that's not going to be a pretty sight."

"Bugger." Ron sighed and turned to look at Harry. "How's Robards?"

"Probably about to be put on suspension," Harry said, biting back a smile. "Don't tell him I said that, though."

Ron's mouth fell open. "How'd you manage that?"

"I had a chat with Kingsley," Harry said simply. "Told him Robards sent you out on a mission alone and without any provisions. Plus, there was that whole bit where you asked him if you should close the case even though there wasn't enough information from whatever their faces are, and he said yes. The whole thing was his fault to begin with. Kingsley's going to have a chat with them, with, uh..."

"Kelley and Edwards?"

"Yeah, them. Kingsley's going to have a chat with them tomorrow at St. Mungo's and see what happened. He already took all the case reports and all those papers from the Welshman. Robards is probably scared out of his wits he's about to get fired."

"Is it bad that I hope he does get fired?" Ron asked.

"Of course not," Harry reassured him. "Especially not after what he just did to you."

"And the Welsh idiots?"

"They're being held at the Ministry until they can be questioned probably by Kingsley. I think it's unusual for the Minster to get so involved with an Auror case, but..."

"But since when has Kingsley been a usual Minster?"

"Exactly."

Ron nodded and closed his eyes, dreading his meeting with Robards in the morning.

"Why don't you just go on to bed," Harry suggested after a few minutes.

"I can't," Ron moaned. "I'm just going to have some stupid sexy dream about Dean and I don't want to deal with that."

Harry snorted and Ron opened one eye to glare at him. "Is there a reason you've resigned yourself to having dreams about him?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked, closing his eye again.

"Why haven't you just... you know, told him you fancy him? Or whatever it is you do to pull blokes."

"I can't just tell him," Ron protested. "He's already told me he's not interested in a relationship right now. He's not even interested in a shag right now. Apparently he doesn't sleep around. He's all... noble and innocent."

"Hm, you're right." Ron opened his eyes at the amusement in Harry's voice. "You definitely don't do noble and innocent. He's all wrong for you."

"Shut up," Ron demanded, smacking Harry across the chest with his arm. "I'm going to bed," he said spitefully, standing up.

"Mind your dreams," Harry called after him as he headed for his bedroom.

Ron made a rude hand gesture at his flatmate before going into his room and collapsing on the bed without removing his clothes.





Ron woke up in the morning with the distinct impression that someone was knocking bricks together behind his eyes. He groaned croakily and tried to fall back asleep, wondering why he'd been so stupid the previous night and hoping he could just die already and get it over with.

"Morning, sunshine."

Ron groaned again and rolled over, much to the dismay of his stomach.

"I brought you something to ease the pain."

Ron opened his eyes and immediately regretted it; the room was far too bright for his poor eyes.

"Stop being so pathetic and sit up a bit."

Ron grumbled as warm hands helped lift him into a sitting position. A vial was placed into one of his hands and he drank it warily, hoping it would stay down long enough to be effective.

"Better?"

Ron opened one eye and looked up to see Harry smiling at him.

"A bit," he managed, still feeling quite queasy even though the pounding in his head was subsiding. "Thanks." He lay back down and rubbed his eyes, wishing he could stay in bed for the rest of the day.

"Next time, don't drink wine on a weeknight," Harry suggested cheerfully before leaving Ron's room.

Ron sighed and stayed in his bed for a few more minutes before forcing himself to get up and get dressed.

By the time he reached the Ministry, he was feeling more or less normal, though he was still unenthusiastic about his meeting with Robards.

"Weasley," Robards barked as Ron approached his office.

Ron gulped and entered the office. "Good morning, sir."

"Sit down." Robards indicated a seat opposite his desk and Ron sat obediently. "You are in good health?"

"Um, yeah," Ron answered, somewhat surprised by the question.

"Good, good," Robards said vaguely. "Now, if you would, I'd like to hear from you exactly what happened while you were in Switzerland."

Ron thought about the case report he had in his bag, but decided not to say anything about it; he wanted to give it directly to Kingsley. "Didn't Harry tell you about it already?"

Robards narrowed his eyes. "Potter told me his side of things, yes. I want to hear from you."

"I'm sure whatever he said was correct," Ron said, holding Robards' angry stare. "Nothing much happened before he showed up, anyway. I was just blindly hunting for a few days."

"Weasley," Robards said slowly, and Ron could hear nervousness mixing with the anger in his voice. "I am your boss. I am asking you what you did on the mission I sent you on, and all you have to say for yourself is that you were 'blindly hunting' until Potter showed up?"

"Yes, sir," Ron said, a bit defiantly. "That's exactly what happened. Not because I'm not a good Auror," he added, thinking he might as well say what he really wanted, "but because you didn't prepare me well enough for it."

Robards' lips thinned dangerously. "For a new Auror, you're not showing much promise in the area of respect."

"For Head of the Auror Department, you've done very little to earn my respect."

Robards' eyes flashed menacingly, but Ron refused to break eye contact, even though his heart was racing with anxiety and he could feel his face burning with nervousness.

"You may go," Robards said suddenly.

Ron blinked. "Sorry?" he asked, too surprised to remember to stay stern.

"Go!" Robards barked.

Ron jolted in his seat, then stood and left quickly before he got into real trouble.

He went by Kingsley's office, found it empty, and left his case report in Kingsley's in-box. With no assignment and no desire to ask Robards or anyone else in the department for one, Ron spent the rest of the day hiding in Hermione's office in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He gave her a long, detailed account of his time in Switzerland, minus the argument with Harry over his lingering romantic feelings, and she scolded him heavily for his stupidity and stubbornness. Harry joined them for lunch and even though Hermione begged him to take Ron away, Ron stayed with her for the afternoon, distracting her from working and generally being a pain.

By the time Ron and Hermione met up with Harry in the Atrium that evening, Harry had received only one small update from Kinsgley about Ron's case. The note read: Kelley and Edwards are being given the rest of the week off. Court date for Davies and Griffiths set for next week.

Ron wasn't sure what to make of such news. Had Kingsley been able to find out anything useful from either the Aurors or the Welshmen? He supposed Kingsley must have done, otherwise there would be no need for a court date.

"Try not to worry about it, mate," Harry said reassuringly as they headed out of the Ministry after saying goodbye to Hermione. "You'll find out the whole story eventually."

"What am I supposed to do until then?" Ron asked. "I've got nothing else to work on and I certainly can't go ask Robards for another assignment any time soon."

Harry shrugged. "Just hang out with me tomorrow. I'm sure we'll be able to come up with something for you to do. Fuck Robards, he's a cocksucker, remember?"

"Bollocks," Ron said, stopping short on the pavement. "I forgot, I've got to go talk to George."

"See you at home, then?" Harry called over his shoulder, barely slowing down.

"See you," Ron shouted, then turned and headed for the Leaky Cauldron.





Ron knocked on the door to George and Lee's flat, but then tried the doorknob before waiting for a response. He found it unlocked and let himself in. Lee and Angelina were at the kitchen table playing a Muggle card game and listening to music on the wireless.

"Where's George?" Ron asked, not bothering to say hello.

"Hiding in his room," Lee said dully. "As per usual."

Ron nodded and headed for George's room, which he entered without knocking.

"You're going to listen to what I have say whether you like it or not," he said once the door was closed securely behind him. George didn't move from where he was lying on the bed, flipping through a Muggle comic book. "If you're in love with Lee, you need to tell him. You can't just wait around for him to make the first move. He's not going to do it. Not because he's straight, but because you've not given him a reason to do it."

George opened his mouth to speak, but Ron shot him a deadly look. "And, you need to stop pretending you're so bloody straight! If you're gay, just fucking admit it. What am I supposed to think if you spent all that effort trying to make me come out, telling me it was normal and how much happier I'd be if I wasn't keeping it a secret, and then having my back when Mum went ballistic – what am I supposed to think of all that if you can't even admit it yourself? Was all that just bullshit to make me feel better about myself? Or are you really that much of a hypocrite?"

George looked up at Ron for a long moment, then casually turned his attention back to his comic. "Get out."

"Gladly," Ron said, leaving the room with a dramatic flair he usually saved only for annoying George, and slamming the door behind him.

He waved goodbye to Lee and Angelina, ignoring the inquiring looks they were giving him, and headed straight for his and Harry's flat, hoping he could persuade Harry to cook him a decent dinner. When he arrived home, however, Harry was nowhere to be found.

Ron flopped down on the sofa and considered his options. He knew there wasn't much food in their flat; he desperately needed to go shopping but was far too lazy to actually do it, especially when he could just go out for dinner instead. He ran a tired hand from his face down to his thighs, pressing his palm hard against his cock and trying to count the days since he'd (probably) had sex with Robert.

Ron got up from the sofa with a grunt and went into his room to change clothes. He was going to treat himself to dinner, then find a sexy bloke to bring home and shag.





"So," Harry said as he Ron sat in a small cafe the next afternoon, "did you enjoy yourself last night?"

Ron tore his gaze from the suspect they were tracking and turned to Harry. "What?"

"Last night," Harry repeated. "Did you enjoy yourself? Because it sounded like you did."

Ron rolled his eyes and looked back toward their suspect. "Is there a reason you're trying to bring up my sex life? We're supposed to be working."

"Come off it. You know just as well as I do that man's not a dark wizard."

"Then why are we here?" Ron asked, exasperated. He was incredibly bored of sitting in this cafe with nothing more to do than avoid discussing the hot sex he'd had the previous night.

"Because I don't fancy going back to the Ministry empty-handed just yet," Harry answered. "And because you still haven't answered my question."

"Yes, I enjoyed myself," Ron said flatly. "Satisfied?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really. I was hoping for more details, but I suppose that'll have to do."

Ron sighed and traced the rim of his teacup with a fingertip. "How much more time until our meeting with Kingsley?"

Harry checked his watch. "Another hour."

"Oh, good." Ron watched as their suspect got up and left the cafe. "Should we follow him?"

"No point, is there?" Harry asked as he leaned back in his chair. "He's as innocent as Neville."

Ron snorted and drank the rest of his room temperature tea. "I'm bored, Harry."

"I can see that."

Ron propped his elbow on the table and rested his forehead in the palm of his hand, deciding to take a nap until it was time to meet with Kingsley.





"How much do you already know?" Kingsley asked as Harry and Ron settled themselves into chairs in his office.

"The bare minimum," Harry said. "Though, it wasn't my case."

"I can't say I know that much either," Ron added.

Kingsley nodded and tapped the desk with his fingers for a few moments. "Well, it seems Davies and Griffiths, the two Welsh wizards, were trying to teach the giants magic."

Ron's mouth dropped open. "What?"

Kingsley nodded gravely. "Yes. Magic. They were even trying to fashion some wands for the giants. Thank Merlin they never succeeded. Can you imagine? Anyway, Aurors Kelley and Edwards found the giants and the Welshmen about a week before you got that last update from them, Ron. They spent that week trying to wipe the giants' memories of all the dark magic they'd been trying to learn."

"Can you wipe a giant's memory?" Harry asked, sounding awestruck.

"Not very easily," Kingsley admitted. "It took a lot out of them, but they finally managed it. Unfortunately, Davies and Griffiths caught them at it. They were forced to send that update back to you, and then they were tied to some chairs and left to die, basically."

"Left to die?" Ron asked, his insides squirming. "But they were inside the tent! Davies and Griffiths were right there! They weren't just going to watch them die, were they?"

Kingsley cleared his throat. "You two got my note about the court date?"

"When is it, exactly?" Harry asked.

"Next Monday, actually. Ron, you should spend tomorrow and Friday compiling all the evidence against them, all right? They're still being held here, but hopefully they'll be off to Azkaban next week. We've plenty to accuse them of, and there's no excuse for anything they've done."

Ron nodded, glad to finally have something useful to do. "Yes, sir."

"Oh, also, Robards is on suspension as of today. I'm having some personnel start an investigation of his work and all his records. Don't spread any rumours about it, though. We don't want there to be any more attention drawn to him, or to you two, than strictly necessary. If anyone asks, you don't know why he's been put on suspension, all right? John Dawlish is taking over the department until the investigation is over. I trust you two won't give him any trouble."

Harry grinned. "Brilliant! Will he take over permanently if Robards get sacked?"

Kingsley cleared his throat again. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now, I'm afraid I don't have much longer. I've a meeting in five minutes. Do you have any questions about the case?"

"I do," Ron said quickly. "Is anyone else going to go out and make sure the giants aren't doing anything... you know, Dark or magical? I know you said their memories were wiped, but Davies and Griffiths probably had time to re-teach them a few things after that, didn't they?"

Kingsley gave Ron a small smile. "Very good, Weasley. We are going to look into doing that. In fact, you should talk to Dawlish about it. He'll be the one organizing the mission. You two would be perfect for it, seeing as you already know where the giants are."

"Thank you, sir," Ron said appreciatively. It wasn't very often he felt valued at work.

Kingsley checked his watch. "Anything else?"

"No," Harry said, standing up. "Thanks for the update, Kingsley. We'll see you in court on Monday?"

"Of course." Kingsley stood to shake their hands. "I'll see you then."





Can I come over? – Ron

Of course. – Dean





Ron rang the doorbell to Dean's flat and waited impatiently, his face stinging from the cold. He wasn't entirely sure what had made him owl Dean to begin with; all he knew was that he was in a terrible mood thanks to his annoying flatmate. Harry had spent the rest of the afternoon pestering him about the sex he'd had the night before, and it had taken all of Ron's self-control not to strangle Harry for it. He didn't like discussing his sex life with Harry to begin with, but now that Harry knew how Ron still felt, it made him even more uncomfortable; he didn't understand why Harry couldn't take the hint and drop it for good.

Dean opened the door and gave Ron a dopey sort of grin. "Halloo."

Ron quickly burned the image of Dean smiling into his brain. He had somehow forgotten what Dean's smile had looked like in the five years that had passed since they'd last seen each other, so he was surprised to see Dean's dimples and perfectly white teeth. Most of all, Ron was surprised to see how much more evident Dean's cheekbones were when he was smiling; they were already unusually high and prominent, but when he smiled, they were even more striking.

Not wanting to stare, Ron tore his eyes away from Dean's cheeks and looked up at Dean's heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes.

"Hello," he said awkwardly, completely taken aback by Dean's appearance and attitude. Ron saw now that Dean was wearing nothing but loose cotton pants with a drawstring waist and a thin white tee-shirt. He also looked as though he hadn't shaved since Ron last saw him.

"Come in," Dean said, stepping back so Ron could get past him. He closed the door and led Ron through to the living room. "How are you?"

"Good," Ron said distractedly, his bad mood suddenly forgotten as he saw the progress Dean had made on the painting of the naked man. The packed boxes had been filled into the background and partially colored in, and the man himself had much more realistic shading and muscle definition. The look on the man's face was breathtakingly sad, and Ron was struck with a deep sense of loss and regret. "Wow," he muttered. "That's... coming along nicely," he finished lamely, feeling Dean's eyes on him.

"I was working on it earlier," Dean explained, walking around Ron and moving toward the dining room and kitchen. "Do you want some tea?"

"Sure," Ron said, following him. Something was off with the way Dean was acting, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. "How's your day been?"

"Really good," Dean said, shooting Ron another smile over his shoulder as he filled a kettle with water. "I've been getting a lot of good work done this week. How's Harry?"

"Oh, he's good." Ron said, suddenly remembering his bad mood. "I've spent a bit too much time with him today, though."

"What?" Dean turned around and gave Ron an unfocused look. "Sorry, I'm a bit stoned. I made brownies earlier. They've got weed in them."

Ron grinned. "That would explain it."

"Is it really obvious?" Dean asked, crinkling his nose.

"Just a bit," Ron teased. "This is the first time I've seen you smile since you moved back."

"It's hard not to," Dean said, smiling yet again. "I'm just feeling very happy. I've been watching one of my favorite films on my computer."

"Oh yeah?" Ron glanced out at the computer in the dining room. "What's it like, having a computer?" he asked curiously.

Dean snorted with laughter. "What a weird question."

"Hey, I'm a wizard," Ron defended himself, going out to sit in front of the computer. "Wizards don't generally own computers. How do I use this thing?"

Dean came into the dining room, grabbed Ron's hand, and put it on the mouse. "You use this to click on things," he explained, keeping his hand on Ron's and guiding the cursor around the screen. He leaned down and put his chin on Ron's shoulder as he opened up an internet browser and clicked on a few links to demonstrate.

Ron stared ahead at the computer, not really taking in what Dean was trying to show him, as he was too distracted by Dean's warm hand on his and Dean's face so close to his. He could smell the chocolate on Dean's breath and all he wanted to do was turn and give Dean a kiss.

The kettle started whistling and Dean stood up again. "Just type something in there," he said, pointing to the address bar at the top of the browser. "Anything, really, and it'll search for websites about it."

Ron tried to think of something he needed or wanted to search for as Dean went into the kitchen to make their tea. He ran his fingers over the keyboard and searched for letters, trying to figure out the pattern of the layout. When he finally found all the keys, he started typing.

"G... a... y..." Ron looked up from the keyboard to make sure the letters were being typed into the address bar. They were, and a menu had dropped down below them, offering not only search suggestions, but some of Dean's saved websites as well.

"Oh, God, don't click on those," Dean said as he set down two steaming mugs on the computer desk.

Ron smirked and clicked on the first website listed in the menu. When it finished loading a few seconds later, Ron found himself staring at picture after picture of ridiculously buff naked Muggle men touching their cocks, balls, and arses in a wide array of lewd positions.

"I told you not to click on it," Dean mumbled, sounding both amused and embarrassed.

"This is brilliant," Ron said, clicking on a picture of a particularly gorgeous blond bloke. He grinned when the website reloaded to show him a larger version of the photo. "Is there a lot of Muggle porn on the internet?"

"That's all there is on the internet," Dean said. "That's all the internet's for, really. Just porn... lots and lots of porn."

"Brilliant," Ron said again. "Too bad the pictures don't move, though."

"That's what the videos are for."

"Videos?" Ron asked, his eyes wide. "Shit. How come no one ever told me about this?"

Dean chuckled. "Are you lacking porn in your life?"

"No," Ron said firmly. "Though wizarding porn is quite different... it's all magazines and stuff. But the pictures move and sometimes you can even tell the blokes what to do, if they feel like listening."

"I might have to get my hands on some of that," Dean said. "Oh, do you want a brownie with that?" he asked as Ron reached for a mug.

Ron considered the offer, wondering if it was smart to get high on a weeknight. It'd been years since he'd done any drugs, and he didn't trust his body not to overreact in the morning. "I'd better not," he said apologetically. "I've got work tomorrow."

"Fair enough." Dean pulled a chair away from the dining room table and sat himself next to Ron. "I can save some for the weekend if you're interested."

"That'd be brilliant," Ron said, grinning. "If you don't mind."

"Not at all." Dean reached for the computer mouse and closed out of the porn website. "Anything else you want to look up?" he asked teasingly.

"Not really. Do you want to finish watching your film?"

"Sure," Dean agreed. Ron watched as he moved the cursor around and clicked the mouse a few times until the entire screen was filled with a shot from the movie. "Do you want me to explain the plot?"

"Nah, don't bother. I'm sure I'll figure it out." He pulled out his wand and used it to turn out the lights as Dean started playing the movie.





By Friday afternoon, Ron was very much looking forward to spending that night getting stoned with Dean. He'd spent the past two days working his way through the large stack of papers he and Harry had nicked from the Welsh wizards. The papers included step-by-step plans for how the Welshmen were going to train the giants, as well as more detailed reports about the case written by Kelley and Edwards. Ron had spent endless hours in his cubicle sorting the evidence and trying to decide which papers would be most advantageous in an attempt to put Davies and Griffiths into Azkaban; he was pretty sure he was killing more brain cells by staring at endless rolls of parchment about giants than he would by eating a weed brownie.

When Dean let him into the basement flat that evening, he was slightly disappointed to find that a sober Dean was still an unsmiling one. However, he did enjoy seeing that the stubble on Dean's cheeks from two days ago had grown out even further, the promise of an attractive beard not far behind.

"How've you been since Wednesday?" Dean asked, taking a seat on the living room sofa and indicating that Ron should do the same.

"Bored as hell," Ron answered, plopping down next to Dean. "Only good thing that's happened is I might get to go back to Switzerland next week or the week after, but only if my boss gets sacked and the temp they've got in now stays on for the job."

"What's in Switzerland?"

"Giants," Ron said, not at all wanting to discuss the case he had been buried in for the last thirty hours. "There were some Welsh idiots trying to teach them magic... someone's got to go make sure their memories are wiped. The temp wants me to go, but my actual boss hates me, so... we'll see how it goes, I guess."

"Wow," Dean said slowly. "I do not miss that sort of drama."

Ron laughed. "Yeah, I suppose painting naked blokes is a lot less stressful."

"Truer words you've never said." Dean suddenly reached his arms above his head to stretch, moaning appreciatively. "Do you want to do anything else before we eat the brownies? Or do you just want to dive right in?"

"Let's dive right in," Ron said decisively. "Though, I will have some tea, if you don't mind."

"Excellent." Dean stood and headed for the kitchen with Ron trailing behind him.

"I haven't done this in years," Ron warned, eying the plate of brownies on Dean's counter.

"Don't worry, they're pretty mild," Dean assured him, setting a kettle on the stove. "It'll be about an hour after you eat them before anything happens, anyway. We could watch another movie if you like, or put on music or something."

"A movie would be good," Ron said distractedly as Dean bit into a brownie. Dean handed him one and he took it, sniffed it, and then nibbled off a piece. "It tastes like chocolate," he said stupidly.

"It wouldn't be very good if it tasted like weed," Dean reasoned.

"That's very true," Ron said before taking a larger bite. He saw that Dean had put his brownie down on a napkin to finish later, and Ron did the same, wondering what would happen if he ate the whole thing right then.





Less than two hours later, Dean was turning off the movie before it was finished. He was having trouble concentrating on it, and Ron was having trouble doing anything other than giggling madly at everything the characters did.

"Are you always like this when you're high?" Dean asked, standing to switch on the light.

"I don't even remember," Ron admitted as he got to his feet. He stretched and then laughed at how good stretching felt. "I feel ridiculous."

"As you should," Dean teased, smiling coyly. "Do you want anything to eat?"

"Everything," Ron said quickly. "Do you have a chess set?"

"To eat?" Dean asked, looking confused.

Ron laughed loudly. "To play! I'd be so damn good at chess right now."

Dean snorted and went into the kitchen to find food. "I don't have a chess set," he said when he came back out a minute later, holding a large bag. "But I do have crisps."

"Glorious." Ron followed Dean into the living room and sat next to him on the sofa, waiting impatiently for him to rip open the bag.

"Oh, my God," Dean moaned, tossing his head back and slumping against the cushions.

"What?" Ron asked, reaching for the bag and opening it himself. He reached in for some crisps and shoved them into his mouth, relishing in the salt.

"I just had the best idea for a painting," Dean said, staring up at the ceiling.

"What's that?" Ron asked through a mouthful of crisps.

"You, naked, eating crisps."

Ron coughed as he tried to swallow. "What?" he choked out.

"You, naked, eating crisps!" Dean repeated.

Ron gave Dean an incredulous look, then broke into a fit of laughter. "You're insane," he gasped.

"Am not," Dean said vaguely. "It'd be a fabulous painting. You're just jealous you didn't think of it first."

"You're right," Ron said, handing off the bag to Dean. "I'd love to paint myself naked and eating crisps."

Dean giggled and grabbed one crisp out the bag. He popped it into his mouth and smiled at the satisfying crunch it made as he bit into it.

"Would you let me?" he asked a moment later.

"Hm?"

"Would you let me paint you naked sometime?"

Ron laughed again as he considered the idea. "What, seriously?"

"Yeah." Dean suddenly ran his hands from his knees, up his thighs, over his crotch, and onto his stomach. Ron watched the trail of his hands, mesmerized.

"Um."

"Please?"

"That's not weird?" Ron asked, unsure what else to say. The idea of Dean painting him naked was intriguing, though mostly because it involved nudity. Even in his altered state, Ron could tell that such an event could cause problems. For example, if he got naked and let Dean stare at him for hours on end, chances are he would get aroused. He liked it when blokes admired his body; the only thing he liked more was admiring their bodies.

"It's not weird," Dean confirmed. "I've painted tons of my friends nude before. Here, let me show you."

Ron watched as Dean got up and opened the door to the front hall. Directly across the small foyer was another door Ron had assumed led to a coat closet. Dean opened it now and Ron saw that it, in fact, led to a sizable storage space. Canvases of all sizes were stacked against the walls and Dean ruffled through them carelessly. He grabbed a few of the larger ones and brought them out to show Ron.

"This was my best mate in New York, Matthew," he said, propping one canvas up on the coffee table so Ron could see it. "I painted him at least half a dozen times."

Ron leaned forward slightly to look at the painting better. Matthew was sitting at a table and eating a slice of pizza, but Dean had painted the scene from a low angle so that the view could see Matthew's cock, nestled gently between his legs underneath the table.

"Oh," Ron said when he realized Dean was waiting for a response. "Um. I like it."

"See, it's not weird," Dean said again, propping another canvas up in front of the first one.

This one depicted a naked man standing at a kitchen sink and washing the dishes. Ron was immediately impressed, and a little turned on, by the detail Dean had given the man's back and arse muscles. He was clearly a very fit bloke, and Ron wished to see the front side of him as well.

"I don't look nearly that good with my clothes off," Ron said modestly.

"I'm sure that's not true," Dean said quietly. Ron looked up and saw that Dean was staring wistfully down at his own painting.

"Who's that, then?" Ron prompted. "Another friend?"

"Ex-boyfriend," Dean said without taking his eyes off the canvas. "Allen."

"He's gorgeous," Ron said, still watching Dean's face. "Did you ever paint his front?"

"Um..." Dean glanced at the paintings still in his other hand. "No. Anyway, you get the idea." He picked up the canvases from the table and put them, along with the ones he hadn't shown Ron, back into the storage room. When he came back out, he had what Ron thought was a rather fake smile on his face. "So, will you let me?"

"Let you do what?" Ron asked as Dean sat back down next to him.

"Paint you starkers. Will you let me?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sure." Ron smiled weakly, hoping the weed would make Dean forget that he'd agreed to it.





Ron woke up the next morning with a terrible taste in his mouth and a terrible pain in his neck. He shifted uncomfortably and grunted in annoyance when he couldn't find a better position to lie in. Heaving a great sigh, Ron opened his eyes and sat up.

He blinked and looked around, confused that he didn't immediately recognize where he was.

"Morning."

Ron glanced around to see Dean leaning against the doorway to the dining room.

"Morning," he croaked, frowning slightly as memories from the night before came back to him. "Um..."

"I'm making tea if you want," Dean offered. "And I can try to scrounge up some breakfast."

Ron nodded vaguely and stood up to stretch, trying to wake himself up. His head felt extremely groggy and he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't still a bit stoned. When he finally made his way into the kitchen, Dean was standing in front of the fridge with the door open, frowning.

"I don't have much," he said, looking up as Ron came into the room. "I could try to make omelettes, though I should warn you that last time I tried, I failed miserably."

"How do you fail at making on omelette?" Ron asked.

"It completely fell apart," Dean explained. "It was sort of like scrambled eggs, but... more burnt than usual."

Ron chuckled and crouched down to inspect the contents of Dean's fridge. "Well, I could make omelettes," he offered, seeing that Dean not only had plenty of eggs and cheese, but a crisper drawer completely stocked with vegetables. "I don't mean to brag, but I'm a pretty good omelette chef." He pulled out the carton of eggs and stood up again.

"What's an omelette chef?"

"It means I'm excellent at making omelettes and complete crap at making anything else," Ron explained, smiling. "Chop some vegetables and I'll teach you."

Dean began unloading his crisper drawer as Ron found a cutting board and some suitable knives.

"Sorry about the sofa," Dean said as he placed red and green peppers on the cutting board. "I know it's not the most comfortable."

"It's no problem," Ron said, running the peppers under some tap water. "Thanks for letting me stay the night. I was in no shape to go home."

"I noticed," Dean said, his tone amused. Ron looked out of the corner of his eye to see if Dean was smiling, but was disappointed yet again.

They chopped peppers, onions, tomatoes, and spinach before Ron declared the mix good enough to be an omelette filling. He whisked some eggs together and set about making the omelettes as Dean started putting slices of bread in his toaster.

"This is the fanciest breakfast I've ever had in this flat," Dean said appreciatively as Ron slid an omelette out of the frying pan and onto a plate. "Usually, I just go for cereal. Maybe oatmeal if I'm feeling especially hungry."

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Ron said as he poured more eggs into the pan for a second omelette. "I eat omelettes every chance I get."

"It's good protein," Dean said, watching over Ron's shoulder.

Ron shrugged and dumped the chopped vegetables into the pan. "It's delicious, is what it is."

He finished up the omelette, slid it onto a plate, and went to sit at the dining room table, where Dean had placed mugs of tea, glasses of orange juice, and a stack of buttered toast.

"Fit for a king," Ron said, raising his glass in Dean's direction before sipping it.

"You are a king, are you not?" Dean teased, cutting off a piece of his omelette with his fork. He ate the bite and hummed in appreciation. "This is delicious. Thank you."

"It's no problem," Ron said, grinning as Dean enjoyed his food. "I could make an omelette in my sleep."

Dean's mobile phone rang from the bedroom and he frowned mopily. "That'll be my sister," he said, getting up from the table.

Ron began eating a slice of toast as Dean went to his room to retrieve his phone.

"Hello?" he answered, sounding bored. "I'm doing all right, how're you? ... Yeah, I figured. ... No, no, it's fine, it's fine. ... Yeah, as long as you don't mind I've got a friend over. ... Ron, from Hogwarts. ... No. I mean, yeah, he was here, but he slept on the couch. ... Shut up. ... Yeah, that's fine. I'll see you then. ... All right, good bye."

Dean reemerged from his room and sat moodily in his chair.

"Was it your sister?" Ron prompted.

"Yeah, she's dropping the kids off in half an hour," Dean said, cutting off a few more pieces of his omelette. "Emergency babysitting, you know."

Ron nodded and finished off his toast. "You sound thrilled."

"I was looking forward to relaxing," Dean explained. "Not that I haven't been relaxing... last night was relaxing... I just don't have the energy to deal with them just now."

"I could stay if you like," Ron offered, hoping it wasn't inappropriate. "I like kids. I could help."

"You can stay as long as you like. I've already told her you're here, so it doesn't matter to me. Don't stay out of obligation, but if you really want to do it..."

"I want to," Ron said firmly. "It's no trouble. I've done plenty of babysitting for my own nieces."

"How many have you got?"

Ron paused to count in his head. "Three at the moment, two more on the way."

"Whose are they?" Dean asked. "Not Ginny or George's, I take it?"

"No, not either of theirs, thank Merlin. Bill's got two kids and Percy's got one. Both their wives are pregnant again, though."

"Do you think either of them will have as many kids as your mum did?"

Ron snorted. "I should hope not. I could never remember that many names."

Dean rolled his eyes and went back to eating his omelette. Ron ate in silence for a few minutes, then decided to bring up something he'd been thinking about before Dean's sister's kids arrived.

"So, do you only smile when you're stoned?"

Dean swallowed a large chunk of omelette and wiped his mouth with his hand. "Um."

"I ask because that's the only time I've seen you do it. You don't smile when you're sober, you don't smile when you're drunk–"

"You've never seen me drunk," Dean corrected.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Oh... well, do you smile when you're drunk?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, probably. I just... you know, I smile a lot when I'm not in a normal state. I get sort of goofy and... sometimes smiling happens."

"And you never do it when you're sober?"

Dean shrugged again. "This is a weird conversation. I smile when I'm sober, I just haven't done it in front of you, yet. It's not that I'm a sad person or anything, it just takes a bit to really make me smile. I'm sure it'll happen someday."

"I look forward to it," Ron said, winking.

Dean finished off his omelette and then went to tidy up the flat and put away his unfinished paintings while Ron kept eating.

"Do your sister's kids know you're gay?" Ron asked when he finally got up from the table to help Dean do the dishes.

"Sort of," Dean explained, turning on the hot water in the sink and pouring dish soap on a sponge. "She's explained it a few times, but I'm not really sure they understand. I don't think they'd care if they did understand, but I think they're too young to know it's... you know, not the usual way."

"And do they... know you can do magic?"

"Ah, no." Dean scrubbed the frying pan thoughtfully. "We're not really sure how to tell them that one... it's a bit more out of the ordinary."

Ron laughed and grabbed the plates Dean had finished washing to dry them off. "That's one way to put it."

"So, yeah, you can be as camp as you want, but no magic allowed."

"I think I can handle that."

Ron dried off the rest of the dishes as Dean went to change into clean clothes. He looked down at himself and his wrinkled outfit, thinking it was stupid of him to have slept that way.

Loud, insistent knocking broke the silence and Ron looked up in time to see Dean running full speed to the front door. He dried his hands and timidly made his way through the living room and toward the tiny entrance hall.

Kendra looked remarkably like Dean, considering they had different fathers. She had the same high cheekbones, though her face was a bit rounder, so they weren't nearly as pronounced. They also had the same narrow nose and, Ron realized as he watched her hug her brother, the same wide smile.

"This is Ron," Dean said once his sister had let go of him. "Ron, this is my sister, Kendra, and her kids. There's... where's Danny?"

"Hiding behind me," Kendra explained, shaking Ron's hand. "He's shy," she whispered.

Ron grinned and peered over Kendra's shoulder to see a small, very dark-skinned boy with his arms wrapped around one of his mother's legs.

"I'm Charlotte!"

Ron looked around to see that Dean's niece had already gone into the flat and was standing behind him.

"I'm Ron," he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. "Very nice to meet you."

She curtsied clumsily. "Are you Uncle Dean's new boyfriend?"

Ron tried not to laugh. "I'm afraid not," he said, glancing at Dean, who was avoiding Kendra's inquisitive gaze. "We're just friends."

"That's too bad," the young girl said innocently. "You're cute!"

This time, Ron did laugh.

"All right, that's enough," Dean said, reaching around Kendra and forcing Danny to let go of her. "Let her go, Danny, she'll be back in a few hours."

Danny looked nervously up at Ron and Ron smiled warmly down at him.

"You'll behave, Lottie?" Kendra asked, giving her daughter a stern look.

"I'll try," Lottie said mischievously.

Kendra rolled her eyes and turned back to Dean. "Thanks so much for doing this."

"It's no problem," Dean insisted, pushing her out the door. "See you later."

"Nice meeting you, Ron," Kendra called just before Dean shut the door in her face.

"Do you want to see a magic trick?" Lottie asked excitedly.

Ron chuckled and let her guide him over to the couch, where he sat down. "I'd love to see a magic trick," he said, his eyes not on her, but on Dean, who had just picked up Danny and was whispering soothingly into the distraught boy's ear.

"Give me a penny," Lottie demanded.

Ron frowned slightly and turned his attention back to her. "Well, what if I don't have a penny?"

"Then I can't show you my magic trick!" Lottie crossed her arms and pouted dramatically.

"I've got pennies," Dean said, putting Danny back on the floor. "I'll be right back," he said to his nephew before walking away.

Danny put his hands in his pockets as Ron got up and went over to him.

"I'm Ron," he said, kneeling down to Danny's level. "I'm your uncle's friend. And you're Danny, right?"

Danny nodded but didn't say anything.

"Do you want to come watch your sister do a magic trick me with?"

Danny pursed his lips, clearly considering Ron's offer with all the effort he could muster. Finally, he nodded his head solemnly. Ron held out his hand, which Danny took, stood back up, and walked over to the couch, Danny trailing behind him. When he had sat back down, Ron reached out, grabbed Danny under the arms, and picked the boy up. He set Danny on his lap and was pleasantly surprised when Danny scooted farther back on his legs in order to lean into Ron's torso.

Dean returned from his room and gave Ron an appraising look when he saw where Danny was sitting. He handed Lottie the coin and then took a seat next on the sofa next to Ron.

"Are you good with Ron or do you want to sit with me?"

Danny shook his head, his eyes focused intently on his older sister. Dean winked at Ron and then turned to focus on Lottie as well.

"I'm making the penny disappear by rubbing it on my elbow, okay?" She held up the penny with her right hand, stuck it on her left elbow, and rubbed vigorously. "It's not working!" she announced, dropping the penny on the coffee table and giving her uncle a fake frown. "This isn't a very good coin. I guess I can try it on my other elbow." She picked the penny back up with her right hand, transferred it to her left hand, and then stuck her left hand on her right elbow. She rubbed her elbow a few times, then pulled her hand away to show that it was empty. "Ta-da!"

Ron, Dean, and Danny all clapped enthusiastically.

"That's amazing," Dean said, pretending to be awestruck. "How did you do it?"

Lottie opened her right hand to reveal the penny. "Magic!"

Ron laughed heartily, Danny bouncing slightly in his lap as his body shook. "Brilliant!" he assured her when she gave him a threatening look. "You really had me going."

Lottie beamed proudly and handed Dean back his penny.





Ron and Dean had fed the kids both lunch and dinner by the time Kendra came back. They had played computer games, card games, board games, and make believe games. They had suffered through several more of Lottie's magic tricks, none of which were as convincing or funny as her first. They had teased and tickled Danny so hard that he almost wet himself.

"Oh, my God," Kendra slumped down onto Dean's couch after he let her in. "That was the longest day I've ever worked."

"Let me get you some tea," Dean offered.

Kendra watch him leave for the kitchen, then turned to Ron, who was sitting on the floor with Danny, trying to help him untie his shoelaces.

"You're still here," she said, sounding surprised.

Ron smiled sheepishly. "Yeah... I've had fun, though."

"Are you going to be here every time Uncle Dean babysits us?" Lottie asked, throwing herself on Ron's back and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I don't know," Ron said, reaching up to loosen her grip on his throat. "Probably not, but maybe sometimes, yeah."

"What happened to Danny's shoelaces?"

Ron raised his eyebrows and pulled out of Lottie's grip so he could turn around to glare at her. "You tied them together!" he exclaimed, holding up the giant knot she had made. "Or do you not remember?"

Lottie shrugged innocently, so Ron reached out a hand to threaten to tickle her. She shrieked and jumped away, letting him get back to untying her knot. Danny climbed into Ron's lap and placed his warm hands on Ron's knees, watching the knot grow slowly smaller.

"Did you apologise?" Kendra asked Lottie.

"Apologise for what?"

"Apologise for doing that knot and then making Ron undo that knot for you."

"Sorry, Ron," Lottie said in a quiet, sing-song way.

"You should be," Ron said, feigning sternness.

"Here you are," Dean announced, returning from the kitchen with a mug of hot tea. He handed it to his sister and sat down next to her on the sofa. "Did you eat dinner?"

"Yeah, I ate," Kendra said quietly. "Look at Danny."

Ron kept his eyes fixed on the knot, pretending he couldn't overhear Dean and Kendra's whispered conversation.

"I know," Dean said. "It's a miracle. I've never seen him take to anyone so quickly."

"He must be good with children," Kendra reasoned.

"He's got nieces and nephews of his own," Dean explained. "I guess he's just used to it."

"It's lovely to watch."

"Oh, shut up."

"What? He's gorgeous, Dean. You can't tell me you haven't thought about it."

"Shut up," Dean hissed insistently.

Kendra sniggered and started sipping her tea just as Ron finally managed to untangle the last few knots.

"Done!" he announced, placing the shoes on the floor and admiring his work. "Let's get them on your feet, now, shall we?"

Danny nodded, so Ron set about slipping the shoes onto Danny's tiny feet and then tying them up again. Once his shoes were secure, Danny pushed himself out of Ron's lap and ran over to the sofa to finally greet his mother.

Ron remained on the floor as Kendra drank her tea and questioned her children about what they had done that day. He watched as Lottie told her excitedly about the games she had played and the food she had eaten, Danny occasionally offering a quiet, yet excited, "yeah, yeah" to back up her story.

Eventually, when her mug was empty and Danny was half-asleep on the floor, Kendra stood and worked quickly to get herself and Lottie ready to leave.

"Thanks again for taking them at such short notice," she said as she pushed her children toward the door. "I really appreciate it."

"It's no problem, really," Dean said. "You know I'm willing any time."

Ron got tiredly to his feet and followed Dean and his family to the door to say goodbye.

"And thank you, Ron," Kendra said, shaking Ron's hand enthusiastically. "It was wonderful of you to stay and help. I'll see you around, sometime?"

"Yeah, definitely." Ron grinned as Danny hugged his legs in farewell. He patted Danny's head gently, then waved as Danny, Lottie, and Kendra went outside and started up the steps to the street.

"Goodnight!" Dean called up to them before closing the door. He paused for a moment, apparently contemplating the doorknob, then turned to face Ron. "You're fucking brilliant with Danny."

Ron tried to shrug off the compliment. "It's pretty easy... he's a cute kid."

"No, you don't understand. He's horrified of strangers. Kendra can't even hire a proper babysitter because it upsets him too much to be looked after by anyone other than me."

Ron's eyes widened slightly. "Oh, I... that sounds a bit extreme for a four-year-old."

Dean shrugged one shoulder and led Ron back through to the living room. "It probably has a lot to do with his dad, but... it's not worth talking about now. It was just surprising to see him warm up to you so fast. You must send out trustworthy vibes or something."

Ron smirked. "Yeah, that's me. Mr. Wholesome and Trustworthy."

"Thrustworthy, maybe."

Ron raised his eyebrows, momentarily speechless. Dean cleared his throat and turned away, his cheeks distinctly pink underneath their dark tone.

"I don't know where that came from," he admitted, sounding surprised at himself.

"Well, I certainly don't know where it came from," Ron teased.

"Let's pretend it didn't happen."

Ron smirked again, but nodded his agreement. "So... should I head off, then? Let you get some rest after a long day?"

Dean's lips twisted with indecision. "I was thinking about getting a drink, actually. After I take a shower, I mean... maybe shave..."

"Don't shave," Ron said firmly. "Don't even think about it."

Dean blushed again. "What, you like the half-arsed beard?"

"I do," Ron said, feeling his own face heating up quickly. "Anyway, I'd love a drink. And a shower, actually. Do you want to meet up in, say... an hour?"

"Sounds perfect. Same bar I saw you at that one time?"

Ron laughed and grabbed his coat from the back of a dining room chair. "Yeah, that place. I'll see you in an hour, then?"

"An hour," Dean confirmed, following Ron to the door. "And thanks again for staying and helping with Lottie and Danny... you really didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," Ron insisted. "I enjoyed myself, I promise. I'm not just saying that. I'll see you in a bit." He shook Dean's hand and let himself out into the cold November night.





"Oh, shite," Ron mumbled, reaching up to scratch his head and effectively blocking his face from view of the bar door.

Dean turned around stupidly and Ron frowned, missing the warmth and pressure Dean's arm had made against his own. "What?"

"It's fucking Saturday. Don't look, don't look!"

Dean turned back to Ron, his eyebrows raised. "What's wrong with Saturday?"

"Robert," Ron grumbled. "He just walked in with the rest."

Dean turned around again and found himself face-to-face with William. "Oh."

"Hello, again," William said, grinning.

"Hello," Dean said, reaching out to shake William's hand.

Ron cleared his throat awkwardly as he turned around. "Hey, friends."

Sean laughed and stepped around William to speak with Ron. Robert hovered behind him, staring intently at Ron.

"You weren't here last week," Sean pointed out. "We missed you."

"Yeah, I was away on business," Ron explained. "Sort of a last-minute trip."

"I see." Sean leaned closer to Ron under pretense of inspecting the label on his beer. "Tread lightly. Robert's inches from slicing your head off."

Ron gulped as Sean backed away and went to find a table with his sister. Ron glanced over at Dean, whose personal space was still being invaded by an insistent William. After watching for a few seconds, he forced himself to make eye contact with Robert.

"Hey," he offered.

Robert's eyes narrowed. "Can I have a word?"

"Um."

"I'll be quick."

"All right, then," Ron found himself saying. He downed the rest of his beer, slipped on his coat, and followed Robert outside. He glanced over his shoulder as they reached the door to give Dean a pleading look, but saw that Dean and William had joined Sean and Mary at a table.

"Come on, then," Robert said, holding the door for Ron.

Ron left the gay bar and stood awkwardly by one of the windows, waiting for Robert to say whatever it was he had to say.

"What do you want from me?"

Ron blinked drunkenly at the other man. "What?"

"What do you want from me?" Robert repeated. "I'm sick of playing this stupid game with you and I want you to tell me what you want from me."

Ron sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. "I don't... I don't want anything from you," he said, trying not to sound as mean as he felt.

A strained silence fell between them. When Robert finally spoke, his voice was loud and harsh against Ron's cold ears.

"Just sex, then?" he asked bitterly.

"I – I guess. Not even that, really. Look, what happened the other week... it was probably a mistake. I was drunk. I was dead fucking drunk, I don't even remember... it doesn't matter. I'm sorry. I apologize. I'm sorry if I've hurt you, I'm sorry if I've been leading you on, but I'm just not... I'm not interested... in that... with you."

Robert laughed, a sharp and angry bark. "That's abundantly clear. We had sex and you disappeared for two weeks. Two weeks, Ron. You've got no mobile, I don't know your email, I don't even know if you have an email, and I didn't want to show up at your flat and scare Harry... I've got no way of getting in contact with you! You're just this fucking enigma who shows up whenever he feels like and fucks whomever he pleases and damns the consequences. It's not fair, Ron. I've done everything but shout the words and you're still completely oblivious as to how I feel about you."

Ron lowered his gaze to the pavement, unable to stand the pathetically heartbroken look on Robert's face.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, feeling worse than he had in a long time. "I know I've made all the wrong decisions when it comes to us, and I know this doesn't mean anything, but I really didn't want to hurt you. I just... you know full-well how stupid I can be when it comes to romance. That's why I never have relationships."

"You could try," Robert suggested, his voice slightly hopeful.

Ron shifted uncomfortably. Until recently, he had had no desire to be in any sort of relationship with anyone. Now, suddenly, he found himself secretly pining for Dean even though Dean also claimed to not be interested in relationships. And here was Robert, practically begging for Ron to consider him, and all Ron could think about was getting back inside to Dean.

"Listen, Robert–"

Robert pushed Ron up against the window with a hard kiss, his hands desperately gripping the back of Ron's head.

Ron pushed Robert away as best he could. "Robert, please–"

Robert stepped back and pushed Ron again, this time out of anger. "It's him, isn't it?"

"What's who?" Ron asked, wincing at the pain in his back from where the windowsill had hit his shoulder blades.

"You're friend, Dean," Robert hissed, practically spitting. "You're fucking him, aren't you?"

"No," Ron said quickly. "I'm not. I'm not fucking anyone, Robert. I'm just not interested. You're... look, you're gorgeous and loads of fun to be around, and I know I should be interested, and maybe... maybe some days I have been interested, but I'm just... you deserve someone who cares instead of someone who's just an arse."

Robert shook his head, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed mutinously. He opened his mouth to speak, but then shoved Ron back into the windowsill again instead.

"Robert, come on," Ron shouted after him as he stormed off down the pavement. "Robert!"

Ron watched as Robert slowly disappeared into the night, wondering if he had lost a friend forever, and not at all wanting to know how William or Sean would take the news of their fight. He glanced around at the other pedestrians on the pavement, all of whom quickly looked away and pretended they hadn't been watching the scene. Rolling his eyes, Ron went back inside.

He found Dean and the others at their table and put his hands on the back of one of the two empty chairs they had left for him and Robert.

"He's not coming back," Ron said awkwardly when they all stared expectantly up at him.

Sean sighed. "I hope you at least let him down easy."

"I tried," Ron muttered, taking off his coat again and hanging it off the back of the chair. "I'm getting a drink, I'll be right back."

He went to the bar and ordered two glasses of the strongest beer they had. When he sat back at the table, he slid one across to Dean, who was looking distinctly frazzled and uncomfortable sitting between William and Sean.

"Cheers," Dean said gratefully, moving the beer closer and leaning down to sip at the nearly overflowing head.

"What happened?" William prompted. "Ow!"

Sean rolled his eyes. "Is this really an appropriate time to ask that?" Evidently, Sean had stepped on William's foot under the table.

"Of course not, but when would be an appropriate time?"

"How about never?"

Ron glanced across the table at Dean, who was biting his lower lip. It looked as though he were attempting to hold back a smile. Ron took a large drink of beer and silently willed Dean to do the same; he wanted to see Dean drunk.

"Honestly, though," William continued, ignoring the look Sean was giving him. "What happened?"

Ron shrugged, not especially keen to talk about it. "He..." Ron trailed off and Mary smiled sympathetically at him. He cleared his throat and tried again. "He said he'd done everything but shout the words at me, and said I was still oblivious as to how he felt about me. I mean... it's sort of a fair point. I wasn't that oblivious to it, I did – I do know how he feels, but..."

"But you chose to ignore it," Sean offered. Ron was grateful for his non-judgmental tone.

"But I chose to ignore it," Ron confirmed, nodding. "Because I'm really that much of a bastard, apparently."

"We've known that for years, mate," William teased.

Ron sighed and smiled weakly at Mary when she patted him gently on the arm.

"Try not to worry about it," William said, uncharacteristically serious. "He'll forgive you eventually."

"He's got no reason to," Ron muttered before taking another drink. He glanced across the table again and Dean gave him a small, sad sort of smile.





"Holy. Shit." Dean stumbled into his flat after wrestling with the lock. "What the fuck kind of beer was that?"

"I don't remember," Ron said, only just remembering to close the door behind him as he pushed his way past Dean and into the living room. "You should know, you had at least three!"

"Oh, God, was it that many?" Dean struggled to get off his coat. "Why didn't you stop me?"

"I wanted to see you drunk," Ron said as though this should have been obvious.

"I'm going to make tea," Dean decided, walking quickly into the kitchen.

Ron went through Dean's room to find the loo, suddenly painfully aware of his full bladder. He had had another glass of the strong beer as well as another bottle of the first beer he had been drinking before he and Dean decided it was time for them to leave the gay bar. William was having trouble keeping his hands to himself and Ron was seriously considering the idea of snogging Sean before Dean announced that he wanted to go home.

When Ron came back into the dining room, Dean was sitting at the table with two mugs of tea. Ron sat next to him and grabbed the second mug.

"Your friends are ridiculous," Dean commented, staring at the label on the end of his tea bag.

"My friends are fucking cocksuckers," Ron corrected.

"Well... obviously."

Ron frowned for a second, unsure where the obviousness of his statement was. He broke into laughter as it slowly dawned on him. Dean followed suit, and soon they were drunkenly guffawing, Ron slapping his thighs and Dean rocking back and forth, dangerously close to slipping off his chair.

"You're going to fall," Ron gasped, clutching his aching stomach as he continued to laugh.

Dean slid off his chair on purpose, landing on the floor with a thud and laughing even harder as he sat under the table.

Ron crawled after him. "You're on the floor," he pointed out.

Dean snorted with giggles and leaned forward to run his hand through Ron's hair. Ron's eyes widened.

"You really like my beard?" Dean asked after hiccoughing.

Ron swallowed heavily, trying to figure out where this was going. Dean's fingers were rubbing his scalp gently, though, and it felt good enough to prevent him from being able to think about much of anything.

"Yeah, it's – it's sexy."

"Touch it," Dean whispered, moving even closer to Ron.

Ron bit back a whimper and reached out to touch Dean's cheek. He watched dazedly as his pale fingers ran over the short, black hairs along Dean's jaw. He slid his hand down Dean's neck and rested it on Dean's shoulder.

He swallowed again, trying to wrap his intoxicated mind around the thick tension between them. Dean was breathing heavily, his fingers still laced in Ron's hair, and his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded as he stared at Ron.

Ron became overwhelmed with a need to say something of importance, something to explain how he felt about Dean. "I don't like the way Sean looks at you."

Dean's fingers loosened their grip slightly and Ron panicked, thinking his chance was over. He leaned forward and kissed Dean full on the lips, his hands moving to cup Dean's cheeks. Dean hummed appreciatively against Ron's lips, his hand grabbing Ron's hair with a renewed passion.

"That was a pleasant surprise," Dean said when Ron finally let him pull away.

Ron flushed. "Was it okay?" he asked, his fingers brushing against Dean's beard again.

"Yeah."

"Okay," Ron whispered, moving in for another kiss.

They moved slowly, drunkenly, sleepily together; Ron clutched tightly to Dean, relishing the long-awaited moment, and Dean lowered Ron to the floor and moved on top of him. Ron moaned as Dean's lips moved to his neck. He closed his eyes and clutched Dean's shirt, trying not to pass out as his blood started rushing to his cock.

"Ron," Dean said sharply. "Ron."

Ron opened his eyes. "Hm?"

"Wake up."

Ron propped himself up on his elbows and looked over at where Dean was sitting next to him, still under the dining room table. "What?"

"You fell asleep," Dean said quietly, looking embarrassed. "Come on, you can spend the night here."

Ron crawled out from under the table and followed Dean to his room.

"You don't want me to sleep on the sofa?" Ron asked as Dean pulled back the sheets.

Dean shook his head and started undressing. Ron did the same and got into the bed wearing his boxers and tee-shirt. He lay there and watched Dean getting ready, trying to figure out if he had really fallen asleep while they were kissing, and why Dean was suddenly acting strange and distant.

"Goodnight," Dean said shortly, getting into his bed, pulling up the sheets, and rolling onto his side. He faced away from Ron, turned off the light, and settled into silence.





Ron woke up the next morning with a stabbing headache. He moaned pathetically and pressed his face into the warm pillow, wanting nothing more than to die.

When it became clear that his stomach was not going to allow him to get away with that, he forced himself to open his eyes and sit up.

"...the fuck?" he grumbled, not immediately recognizing his surroundings.

He rubbed his eyes and looked around, slowly realizing that he was not only in Dean's flat, but in Dean's bed as well. His stomach lurched in warning as a sinking feeling came over him that had nothing to do with his nausea.

Groaning weakly, Ron pushed himself out of bed and headed for the toilet.

When he emerged a few minutes later, he found Dean sitting on the edge of the bed with a glass of water. Dean offered the glass to Ron, who took it gratefully and sat down next to him.

"Sorry," Ron croaked.

"It's no problem," Dean said quietly. "I wasn't exactly feeling my best when I woke up, either."

Ron nodded and sipped at the water. "Did, um... did we..."

"No," Dean said quickly. "No, you just – we just went to sleep."

Ron nodded again, feeling exceptionally embarrassed. "I should really stop drinking so much."

Dean shrugged. "It was fun, though, right? I had a good night, anyway..."

"It was fun," Ron agreed. "At least, I think it was."

"You don't remember?" Dean asked cautiously.

Ron closed his eyes and tried to run through the events of the previous night. "I remember what happened with Robert, and... and I remember coming back here and drinking tea. I sort of feel like I may have been underneath the dining room table at one point, but I can't imagine what I was doing under there."

"Just laughing," Dean said quickly. "We were pretty drunk."

Ron snorted in agreement. "If... if I did anything stupid last night..."

"You didn't," Dean said quietly. "Mostly we just laughed and went to bed."

Ron drank the rest of his water, hoping with everything he had that Dean wasn't lying to him. "I guess I should go," he said awkwardly. "Harry probably thinks I'm dead by now."

"You didn't see him last night?" Dean asked as Ron stood up to get dressed. "When you went home to shower?"

"No, he was probably off with Ginny," Ron explained as he pulled on his jeans. "They can't get enough of each other."

Dean stood and hovered uncertainly in the doorway between his bedroom and the dining room. "If you want to stay," he began softly, "we could try to make breakfast again. Maybe... maybe I could paint some..."

"You don't still want to paint me starkers and eating crisps, do you?" Ron asked, managing a smile.

"No, I – I had a different idea. You can say no, though. I'm sure you're sick of me by now."

"Sick of you?" Ron asked incredulously. "Aren't you the one who should be sick of me?"

"I'm not sick of you," Dean said, not entirely meeting Ron's gaze. "You can stay as long as you like."

Ron considered this as he put on his shirt. He really didn't want to go back to his flat; it was boring there and Harry would surely spend the day pestering him about his friendship with Dean. The thought of spending yet another day with Dean was tempting; even though he fancied Dean a lot, he never felt the need to be fake or impressive around Dean. He liked feeling comfortable and able to be himself around Dean. It was a nice change from the few Muggles he had ever been interested in.

"I suppose I could stay for some tea," Ron said, trying to sound casual. "I'm not sure if my stomach's up for an actual breakfast."

"I'll go make some, then," Dean said, disappearing quickly.

Ron stared after him, trying to figure out what felt different about today. Dean was acting odd, as though they had slept together, but Ron didn't think Dean would be the sort to lie about something like that. Maybe he just felt awkward that Ron had slept in his bed.





"I got an owl from Seamus the other day," Dean said quietly as he set up a fresh canvas in his living room.

Ron shifted slightly on the stool he was sitting on. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Ron watched as Dean spent an unnecessarily long time centering the canvas on his easel.

"Well... what did he say?"

"Said he wanted to get lunch some time," Dean explained, stepping back to examine the easel. "Try and work things out."

"Well, that's good." When Dean said nothing, Ron asked, "Isn't it?"

Dean shrugged and finally looked over at him. "Is it?"

"Isn't he your best mate?"

"He used to be," Dean said sadly. "I sort of fucked that up, though."

"What–" Ron cut himself off, not wanting to ask yet again what had happened between Dean and Seamus.

"Can I take some pictures?" Dean asked suddenly, picking up one of the cameras he had set out on the coffee table.

"Oh, um, all right." Ron bit his lower lip and watched as Dean played around with the camera for a few seconds before raising it to his eyes.

"Think about Robert." Ron rolled his eyes and Dean snapped a photo. "Just kidding."

"Ha, ha," Ron said flatly. Dean took another picture. "Am I supposed to be doing something?"

"No, just keep talking to me," Dean said, stepping closer, keeping the camera in front of his face. "What did you do at work last week?"

"Well, I – do you want me to look into the camera?"

"Yes. Keep talking." Dean pressed down on the trigger again.

"This makes me uncomfortable," he admitted.

"Just go with it," Dean prompted. "You don't have to pretend to feel anything other than what you do feel. If you feel uncomfortable, show me."

Ron cleared his throat as Dean took yet another photo.

"What did you do at work last week?" Dean asked again.

"Um. I... compiled some case reports against the Welsh wizards who were trying to teach magic to the giants."

"Mhm," Dean said absently, taking one last photo and then going back to the coffee table to get a different camera.

"So, you're painting my face?" Ron asked as Dean moved even closer to him to take another picture. "Instead of my naked arse?"

"Yeah, that'd be why your clothes are still on," Dean said, reaching around the front of the camera to twist the lens. "Tell me about Harry."

Ron paused and Dean snapped a photo. "What do you mean?"

"Tell me about Harry," Dean prompted again. He reached out to fix Ron's fringe, then pulled his hand away and took a few more pictures of Ron's frozen expression.

"Harry's my flatmate," Ron said, trying to think straight as Dean touched his hair again. "And my best mate. And..."

"And he's dating your sister," Dean said, stepping back slightly to take another photo.

"He's dating my sister," Ron confirmed. He didn't want to talk about Harry. Dean took a few pictures in rapid succession, then set his camera down.

"All right, hang on a second." He took his cameras into the dining room and sat down at his computer. Ron followed and watched as Dean plugged the cameras into the computer. The pictures Dean had just taken opened on the screen and Ron was surprised to see that they were mainly of his eyes.

"Where'd you get the idea for this painting?" Ron asked as Dean browsed through the photos, tracing the outline of Ron's eyes with his fingers and smudging the computer screen.

"Last night," Dean said. He reached under the computer desk, hit a button on a machine, and then sat back in his chair, apparently waiting for something.

"Did you spend a particularly long time looking into my eyes last night?" Ron asked, staring under the desk and watching as copies of the photos started coming out of the machine.

Dean said nothing in response. He simply waited for his photos to finish printing, then grabbed the stack of papers and returned to the living room. Ron followed and sat down next to him on the couch, watching as Dean spread the photos out on the coffee table. He looked over the pictures, unable to see much difference between most of them. His eyes looked tired and surprisingly old in most of them.

"Didn't get you smiling," Dean muttered, picking up one photo and examining it closer.

"Were you trying to?"

"No."

"Oh." Ron sat in silence and watched as Dean pored painstakingly over the pictures. It was mesmerizing to see Dean so involved in his work; his concentration was evident on his face, and he kept absentmindedly licking his lips.

"Okay," Dean finally said, grabbing a few of the photos he had printed out. He taped them to the sides of the large canvas he had set up, then stepped back to evaluate.

"Do you need me here if you're just painting from a picture?" Ron asked curiously.

"Yes. Get back on your stool."

Ron smiled and sat on the stool again, brushing the hair out of his eyes and watching as Dean drew a grid over the canvas with pencil. Dean then drew similar grids on all the photos taped onto the canvas.





"Are you going to paint me any time soon?" Ron asked teasingly.

Dean looked up from what he was doing. "Sorry. I... get a bit lost sometimes."

Ron raised his eyebrows, unsure what that actually meant. Dean dropped to his knees by the coffee table and dug around on the bottom shelf until he found a much smaller canvas.

"Okay, so, sit up straight," he instructed as he stood and disappeared into the storage room. He came out a few seconds later with another stool, which he set directly in front of Ron. He dragged the side table with his paints on it over next to the stool, then sat on it. "Ready?"

"Um," Ron said, confused. "I don't know. What are you doing?"

"Smaller practice run," Dean explained, sketching a grid onto the canvas he had propped up on his left arm. "You should start talking again."

"I don't have anything to talk about," Ron said stupidly as Dean gave him a long, hard stare. "Can't you talk?"

"I can try," Dean said quietly, glancing down at his canvas. He grabbed a small paintbrush, dipped it into a paint daub on his palette, and then began sketching the outline of Ron's eyes and eyebrows. "Eyes up here," he said when he looked back up and found Ron watching his hands.

Ron lifted his gaze to Dean's face. "Sorry."

"What would you like me to talk about?"

"Anything," Ron whispered, trying not to watch as Dean began sketching again. He had never seen anyone paint before and found it fascinating, even the way Dean was holding the paintbrush.

"I could tell you about Seamus," Dean offered, looking up at Ron again. "You have to promise to tell me one of your secrets, though."

"Deal," Ron said without thinking, excited to finally hear the truth.

"Okay." Dean put more paint on the brush. "So, the last time he came to visit me, it was... let's see, just after I'd graduated. So, last summer. Well, no, two summers ago. The summer before last."

"Right."

"And I'd just moved to New York," Dean continued, studying Ron's face. "My flat wasn't very big and I didn't have a sofa. I barely had a bed, it was just a mattress, really. And, um..." he trailed off, concentrating on getting the bags under Ron's eyes just right.

"Is it distracting to talk?" Ron asked.

"No," Dean said quickly, looking back up to compare his sketch with Ron's face. "I told you, I just get lost sometimes. Where was I?"

"You didn't have a sofa."

"Right. I didn't have a sofa. So, Seamus came to visit for a week and we slept on my mattress. It wasn't the world's smallest mattress, so it wasn't too bad. Better than sleeping on the floor, at any rate." He wiped his brush in a different color and started making some of his lines darker. "I was sort of heartbroken at the time. Allen had just told me he'd started dating someone else, and I hadn't managed to have any sort of even vaguely successful romance my senior year. Seamus had come to sort of comfort me, but..."

Ron blinked as Dean reached up to brush the hair out of his eyes. "Thanks." Dean gave a small, closed-mouth smile before returning his gaze to the canvas. Ron gulped and tried to ignore the hair that was standing up on the back of his neck, both from Dean's touch on his forehead and from the first sober smile Dean had allowed him to see.

"One night," Dean continued, hunching slightly to look more closely at his canvas as he painted, "we got really drunk. I mean, that's basically what we did every night, but on this particular night, I had a bunch of tequila and... well, tequila makes me go a bit crazy, sometimes." He glanced back at Ron, his paintbrush still. "So, I was drunk and he was – well, he was drunk, but not nearly as drunk as me. This incident almost put me off drinking for life." He turned back to his painting. "To make a long story short, I kissed him."

Ron's eyes widened and Dean looked up at him again. "You can't change your expression like that," he said, pouting slightly.

Ron cleared his throat and tried to control his face. "Sorry. I was just surprised."

"Yeah. Well... he was, too. That's probably obvious." Dean picked up a different paintbrush, dipped it in some very pale paint, and started to fill in Ron's skin color. "Nothing really happened. He went along with it for a bit, then got all upset and ended up sleeping in the bath. He was furious the next morning."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Dean mumbled. "He kept saying he felt betrayed. Like I had... purposely set out to ruin our friendship. He said he didn't trust me anymore, said he couldn't believe I would risk so many years of friendship for a kiss when I knew he was straight. He was overreacting quite a bit, but he's always been slightly homophobic." Dean added some pink to his paintbrush. "Personally, I think he probably is attracted to blokes, at least a little, but doesn't want to admit it, or doesn't know how to. I really don't even care because I'm not interested in him in the slightest. I've never wanted to shag him. I was just drunk... and upset and probably confused." He sighed and looked back up at Ron's eyes. "Anyway, he cut the trip short and left early because he couldn't stand to be around me anymore."

"I'm sorry," Ron said quietly, trying not to change his expression. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Dean shrugged and continued painting. Ron chanced a glance down to see that Dean was working on shading his skin properly.

"Well, that's the story. I haven't heard much from him since, so... I'm not really sure what to expect from this lunch he wants to set up."

"You should go for it," Ron said encouragingly. "It's worth a shot, at least. You two were so close for so long."

Dean nodded, but said nothing as he concentrated on the canvas.

"Do you want to hear my secret?" Ron asked, suddenly wanting to tell Dean how he had had a somewhat similar experience with Harry.

"Later," Dean whispered, squinting at his work.

Ron nodded and continued to sit in silence for what seemed like well over an hour as Dean put more and more details into the painting.

"Mmmmm," Dean groaned, sounding frustrated as he went over one of Ron's eyebrows one last time. "All right, I'm done," he said, handing the canvas carelessly to Ron. "I'm sick of staring at it."

"You're sick of staring at my face?" Ron asked, looking at the painting and frowning at the odd feeling he had of looking into a mirror. Dean's details were amazing; the lines around his eyes, the placement of his freckles, the precise color of his irises – it was all perfect.

"No, I'm sick of staring at that shoddy painting of your face." Dean stood and stretched dramatically, flinging his arms out in all directions and arching his back. "Do you want lunch?"

"It's not shoddy," Ron insisted, setting the canvas down gently on Dean's stool and following him into the kitchen. "It's bloody good."

"Thanks," Dean muttered, opening his fridge. "I really need to go shopping."

"We could go out for lunch," Ron suggested. "My treat."

"All right," Dean agreed quickly, closing the fridge. "It's not your treat, though. We're splitting the bill this time, remember?"

"Yes," Ron said, smiling. "That sounds fair."





"I could just move in here and sleep on your couch forever," Ron teased as he and Dean entered the basement flat again after their lunch.

"That probably wouldn't be the worst thing that's ever happened."

Ron grinned, then startled when a loud bang came from Dean's room. Dean shot Ron a confused look, then went to investigate, Ron right behind him. The source of the noise was obvious when they came into Dean's room; Harry's owl was beating its wings insistently on the panes of the small window above the bed. Dean had to stand on the bed and stretch to get the window open, as it was almost at the ceiling.

The owl flew straight at Ron and began beating him round the head with its wings, clearly angry at being left outside for so long.

Dean scrambled down from the bed and snatched the owl out of the air, holding it still so Ron could pull the scroll off its foot.

"Bloody menace," Ron mumbled, watching as the owl flew back out of the flat as soon as Dean released it.

"What's it say?" Dean asked, nodding at the note.

Ron unrolled it and read through it quickly.

Ron,
Where the hell are you? Are you dead somewhere? Or are you shacking up with Dean?
Harry
P.S. Tell him how you feel.

Ron could feel himself going red. He tried to roll the note back up, but Dean snatched it out of his hands before he had the chance. Ron watched helplessly as Dean read over Harry's note, damning Harry for writing such a postscript on something that Dean could have read so easily.

"You should write back," Dean said, handing Ron the note and not quite making eye contact. "Tell him you're not dead."

"The owl left," Ron said stupidly, crumpling up the note and shoving it in his pocket. "Wait, how did you send me an owl that time I was in Switzerland?"

"Diagon Alley," Dean explained quietly.

"Oh, right."

"Well... if you can't send an owl, do you want to go home, then?"

Ron shrugged awkwardly. "He knows I'm not actually dead."

"Do you... want to keep painting?"

"Sure," Ron said, relieved there was something to do, but not entirely grateful it involved Dean staring into his eyes for hours on end.

"You can make yourself comfortable," Dean said, gesturing back toward the living room. "I'm going to the loo."

Ron went back to the living room and sat on his stool. He drummed his fingers nervously on his knees, not sure if he should bring up Harry's note or not. He thought it was probably pretty obvious what he felt toward Dean, but he couldn't read how Dean felt about him. Dean hadn't seemed upset by Harry's postscript, but he also hadn't asked about it. Maybe he's shy, Ron rationalized. Or maybe he's not interested. He knew there would be no point in bringing it up if Dean was just going to reject him. Though, he supposed it might be nice to have a bit of closure.

When Dean came out from the loo, he immediately began setting up his side table of paint, ignoring Ron. Dean started sketching on the large canvas without telling Ron, and Ron watched, not caring if his head was tilted the wrong way or if he had the wrong expression on his face. He couldn't decipher Dean's mood at all, but before long, he stopped caring. Dean was beautiful when he was working; his eyes were intense and focused, his long, thin fingers were poised perfectly around the tiny pencil he was using, and his mouth was hanging open slightly, his tongue darting out occasionally to moisten his lips.

Ron wasn't sure how much time had passed before Dean finally stepped away from the canvas to examine his sketch.

"I need to look at your eyes," Dean finally said, sounding guilty.

"All right..."

Dean sighed and sat on the second stool that was still in front of Ron. He leaned forward slightly and stared directly into Ron's eyes, his own expression completely blank.

Ron gulped and tried not to blink. He wished Dean would give him some sort of sign.

"I need you to talk," Dean said suddenly, startling Ron out of his thoughts. "Tell me your secret from earlier."

"Oh, that..." Ron sighed and licked his lips, wanting to look away from Dean's intense stare but knowing he couldn't. "It, um... I used to have a – a thing for Harry. I was... pretty much head over heels madly in love with him."

Dean snatched one of the pictures he had taped to the canvas, turned it over in his lap, and began sketching wildly as Ron talked.

"I wasn't ever going to tell him," Ron continued, trying to remember a time he had ever felt less self-conscious. "But one night it sort of... came out. How I felt about him, I mean. And he – I thought he would be angry, but instead, he... he kissed me."

One of Dean's eyebrows arched and Ron looked down to see what he was working on. There were at least six separate drawings of his eyes on the sheet of paper, each one only slightly different from the last.

"What happened?" Dean prompted, looking up and seeing that Ron was staring down at his sketches. "Eyes up here."

"Right." Ron looked up again and forced himself to make eye contact with Dean. "So, he kissed me and... and said all this stuff about how he wanted me and wanted us to be together. He and Ginny were broken up at the time, so I thought... I don't know what I thought, actually. I thought it was stupid and I thought it would never work out and I thought it would just be a huge mistake. But, I went along with it anyway, and ended up... ended up giving him a blowjob."

Dean set the sketches aside and turned his gaze back on Ron, who blushed.

"You gave Harry a blowjob," Dean said blankly, as if the words had only just hit him.

Ron nodded. "And he gave me a handjob. It was... it was probably the worst mistake I've ever made."

"How's that?" Dean asked, leaning forward again to get a better look at Ron's eyes. Ron fought to stop himself from kissing Dean.

"It was instantly clear we shouldn't have done it," he explained quietly. "It took us a long time to recover from it. Friendship-wise, I mean. We would have stupid fights and we didn't trust each other and we couldn't tell each other anything. It was awful. We were both to blame, but... I kept thinking that if I hadn't fancied him so much, I would have been able to stop it from happening."

"But you're flatmates, now."

"We are, yes. We did get over it, eventually. Sort of. Well... he got over it. I've... spent a long time trying to ignore my feelings for him. That's the other reason it was a mistake. I feel like it would have been a lot easier to get over him if we'd never done anything. Instead, I – I had this idea in my head, this very concrete idea, of what it would be like to be with him. It's been... very difficult to put that behind me and try to find someone else. It's one of the reasons I never date. Partially because I'm still slightly hung up on Harry and partially because I'm terrified to put myself out there again and... partially because I'm totally incapable of acting like a normal human being in front of anyone besides Harry or George... or you, but you're new, so I'm... not quite used to it yet."

Dean looked away, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and got off the stool.

"Are you ready?" he asked, picking up his palette and a paintbrush.

Ron nodded. "If you're ready."

"I'm ready," Dean said, dabbing his brush in paint and making the first mark on the canvas. "It's wonderful that you're still able to be friends with him," he said quietly.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "I couldn't ever live without Harry, even if he's only my best friend for the rest of my life. He's too important to me. That's why I think you should make a go of it with Seamus. It's at least worth trying, you know? Worst case scenario, you guys stay the way you are now and know you did your best to fix things. Best case scenario, you get your best mate back."

"You're right," Dean said quietly.

Ron nodded again and sat in silence for a few minutes, letting Dean concentrate on his painting.

"Do you want to tell me about Allen, while we're spilling all our secrets?" Ron asked when Dean took a break to step back and look and what he'd done so far.

"Maybe," Dean said, scratching his nose and smearing paint on his cheek. "Tell me about your history with Robert first."

Ron rolled his eyes. "It's a short, uncomplicated history. We fuck a couple times a year and both pretend it never happeneds. He harbours a secret love for me and I ignore the shit out of him. He finally confronts me about it and I confirm his worst nightmares, telling him I'm not interested and that, yes, I have knowingly been a complete bastard to him for years."

"Hm." Dean stepped back to the canvas and began painting again. "Why?"

Ron sighed, trying to keep his frustration under control so it wouldn't show on his face. "Because I'm an idiot, I guess. The whole thing with Harry really... I have no idea how to interact with blokes in a normal way."

"I think you're underestimating yourself, mate."

"It's probable. Anyway, your turn."

"My turn," Dean agreed, bringing his face closer to the canvas as he painted the shadows under Ron's eyes. "Allen was my boyfriend for two years, my sophomore and junior years. He... well he was just completely perfect in every way, or so I was convinced at the time. I'm still partial to the idea, but... yeah. I couldn't get enough of him. I was a fucking mess on the inside because of my mum and all, and he was the first person I ever really talked about it with. He was also the only person in America I ever told about, you know, magic and whatnot. I shared my entire soul with him, but he was a year older than me, so he graduated at the end of my junior year and went back home to California, which is all the way on the other side of the States from Pennsylvania."

"Did you break up?" Ron asked quietly, taken aback by the raw emotion in Dean's voice.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I already knew by then I wouldn't be living in the States permanently. And he knew he wanted to live in San Francisco, so... he left and I stayed and finished school. I was fucking miserable, but I didn't really have any choice. He was... he was my best friend and my lover and all I ever cared about in that country. I wanted to just... leave, but I knew I couldn't waste my education like that, so I stayed. I stayed and became a vegetarian because he'd been one and I missed him. I started smoking because I was so stressed out all the time without him around to talk with. I... it was bad, I was completely addicted to him."

"Maybe he was good for you though," Ron suggested. "If he got you to talk about your mum and everything."

Dean nodded and studied one of the quick sketches he had made while Ron had talked about Harry. "He was very good for me. I was basically a shell of a human until we started dating. I was pretty dramatic at times, but... I don't know. I loved him."

"He sounds lovely."

Dean put the sketches down and looked over at Ron. "I don't have any more secrets."

Ron opened his mouth to say, "me neither," but found himself saying something else instead.

"I do."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "You do?"

Ron nodded, feeling totally out of control of his actions. He didn't know why he was doing this. This is not the time, he tried to tell himself.

"Something you want to share?" Dean asked, confused when Ron didn't offer up the secret right away.

"It's nothing," Ron said quickly before anything else popped out of his mouth. "It's not a secret, it's just..."

"Just...?"

"Just, um..." Ron trailed off stupidly and blushed, feeling ridiculous. Why couldn't he ever keep his stupid mouth shut?

"Oh," Dean said slowly, sounding as if he was suddenly realizing something. "Does this... this non-secret... is it something to do with Harry's note?"

"Um," Ron said nervously, trying to read Dean's cautious expression.

"I have a secret, too, then," Dean said suddenly, sitting himself back down on the stool across from Ron and looking determined. "I lied about last night."

Ron blinked. "What?"

"Last night... when I said nothing happened between us."

Ron's eyes widened. "We didn't sleep together," he pleaded.

"No, we – we didn't sleep together. But we kissed... under the table."

Ron sagged on the stool, both relieved and embarrassed. "Oh."

"It was good," Dean assured him gently. "I – I quite liked it, but you... fell asleep."

"Oh, Godric," Ron muttered, covering his face with his hands as the missing memories suddenly fell into place. Hazy images of his hand on Dean's beard flooded his mind and he could feel himself blushing even harder. "I'm so sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Dean asked harshly, pulling Ron's hands away from his face. "I'm trying to tell you it's okay. I – I feel the same as you do, I think... maybe..." He trailed off uncertainly, giving Ron a pleading sort of look.

"Maybe?" Ron squeaked, not sure how he was supposed to be consoled by that.

"Well, I thought I did," Dean explained, his grip on Ron's wrists tightening slightly. "Now, I'm not... I can't tell how you feel. This isn't the reaction I was expecting."

Ron pulled his hands out of Dean's grasp and sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm – this isn't – I'm not good with this sort of thing. I fancy you like hell, but I've never actually dated a bloke before and you've already said you're not interested in dating right now, so–"

Dean cut him off with a kiss. Ron froze, too startled to react.

"Shut up," Dean whispered against his lips. "I want you. I thought you were the one against dating."

"Usually I am," Ron said quietly, nervously moving his hands to Dean's shoulders. Dean grabbed Ron's waist, then got off his stool and closed the small space separating them. He stood between Ron's thighs and leaned down for another kiss.

Ron looped his arms around Dean's middle, holding the other man closer to him. Dean's lips were hot and wet and perfect against his own, and one of Dean's hands moved to his hair, tipping his head back.

"This is how I got the idea for the painting," Dean whispered, pulling away. Ron slipped his hands into the back pockets of Dean's jeans and squeezed Dean's perfectly round arse. "Last night," Dean continued, smiling broadly. "Under the table, when you were stroking my beard."

Ron nuzzled Dean's beard with his own clean-shaven cheeks, his cock jerking at the delicious feeling of course hair against his smooth skin.

"Am I finally good enough for your sober smiles?" he asked.

Dean snorted and pulled Ron up off the stool. "You've always been good enough. It just took me a while to warm up to the idea."

"I'm glad you did," Ron said, moving in for another kiss. "You're gorgeous when you smile."

Dean pressed his lips to Ron's cheek and sighed. "So... you're not against dating?"

"No, as long as you realize I'll probably be pants at it. You're not against dating?"

"No," Dean echoed, "as long as you're willing to take it slow."

"Slow how?" Ron asked, renewing his grip on Dean's bottom. "Emotionally or physically?"

"Both," Dean whispered, pressing his hands to Ron's chest. "If that's..."

"That's fine," Ron reassured him. "Probably for the best."

They stood there, holding each other close and pressing their noses together, for as long as they dared.

"This is a weirdly sappy moment," Dean finally said, moving his hands around to the small of Ron's back. "We went from sexy snogging to this and now I don't know where else we should be going."

"We could go back to painting," Ron suggested, pulling his hands out of Dean's pockets.

"I'm sick of painting," Dean said. "I'd rather go back to sexy snogging."

"That works, too," Ron said, laughing.

Dean grinned and grabbed the back of Ron's head, pulling him in for a rough kiss.





Ron returned home that evening with a raging erection he'd had a hard time concealing on the Underground. He desperately wanted to lock himself in his room and spend the night wanking, but Harry caught him before he'd even gotten his coat off.

"Hello, lover boy," Harry said, emerging from his own room to greet his flatmate.

Ron rolled his eyes and tossed his coat onto Harry's head.

"That's no way to treat a long lost friend!"

"I don't even know what you're talking about," Ron said, trying to sound innocent. "Can I get by, please? I need sleep before the trial."

"No, I want details," Harry said, blocking Ron's path. "You've got a hard-on and I want to know why."

Ron gaped at his friend. "That might be the creepiest thing you've ever said."

Harry laughed. "Might be. Come on, Ron. You've been out of the flat for two days! Something worth talking about must have happened."

Ron sighed and glared at Harry. "I had a chat with Robert," he said flatly. "He might never speak to me again, but there's zero chance of us ever sleeping together from now on, so that should please you."

Harry frowned. "That is not even what I was talking about, and you know it. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you sorted things out with Robert, but you know damn well I was asking about Dean."

"Dean might be my boyfriend," Ron said casually, wanting to get it over with quickly. "Or he might become my boyfriend. I'm not really sure. We didn't discuss details."

Harry beamed like a schoolgirl. "Too busy shagging?"

Ron rolled his eyes again. "Would I have a hard-on if I'd shagged him?"

"Good point. Too busy snogging?"

Ron winked and stepped around Harry. "Am I free to leave?"

"Yeah," Harry said, chuckling. "Go and get some 'sleep' before the trial."

Ron made a rude hand gesture at Harry before going into his room. He locked the door by hand and by magic, wanting to make absolutely sure Harry couldn't burst in and interrupt him.

Once he was satisfied with his security measures, Ron wasted no time in undressing and sprawling out on his bed. He grabbed his needy cock and stroked it firmly, remembering how Dean's own erection had felt against his thigh as they'd kissed on Dean's sofa earlier that evening. He recalled Dean's hands wandering under his shirt and up his chest, and Dean's long, rough fingers brushing against his nipples. He imagined what it would have been like if he'd gotten Dean naked and been able to explore that body as much as he wanted to; Dean's arse was plump yet firm, his arms strong and muscular, his abs hard and defined, his cock, as far as Ron had been able to tell, deliciously long and thick. He thought about Dean's beautifully pouty lips, how wet and plump they were against his own, and how they would feel elsewhere on his body.

It didn't take very long before Ron was coming all over his flushed and heaving chest.





"What do you say to celebratory drinks?" Ron asked as he and Harry left the Ministry the next evening. "We've had a lot of excellent news today."

"Can I meet you somewhere?" Harry asked, checking his watch. "I promised I'd tell Ginny how the trial went."

"She can come, too," Ron suggested. "I'll invite Dean as well. "We can go where ever it is you go with Neville and Seamus all the time."

Harry gave Ron hasty directions, then went off toward Ginny's flat. Ron went back to their own and scribbled a quick note to Dean.

Dean,
We won the trial and my boss got sacked. Harry and I are getting celebratory drinks with Ginny in an hour. You're invited. Meet me at the Leaky in 45 minutes and we can walk to the pub together.
Ron

Once he had sent Pig out with the note, Ron took a shower, then dressed in Muggle clothes and headed out to meet Dean even though Pig hadn't yet come back.

"Hello," Ron said, smiling warmly when he approached the Leaky and saw Dean loitering just outside the door.

Dean gave a quick, lopsided smile. "Hello."

Ron held back from giving Dean a hello kiss, not sure how Dean felt about public displays of affection. He nodded in the direction of the pub and started to lead the way.

"How was your day, then?" he prompted when several minutes of silence passed.

"Unproductive," Dean said sadly. "I tried to finish that one painting with all the boxes, but... it wasn't working out. Then, I tried to do some graphic design stuff for my actual job, but I was just... really uninspired. So, I went grocery shopping instead."

"Well, that's somewhat productive. You did need more food."

"This is true," Dean conceded. "I take it your day went a lot better?"

"It was wonderful," Ron said, grinning. "The trial was a cinch. We got the Aurors from the case to testify, Harry and I testified... the case was perfect. Those idiots are in Azkaban, now, anyway, so I'm happy."

"Congratulations."

Ron winked. "Here we are," he said, opening the door to the pub and letting Dean inside. "They're over there."

He led Dean over to the table where Harry and Ginny were already sitting with four bottles of beer.

"Welcome," Harry said, reaching out to shake Dean's hand as he and Ron sat down. "Good to see you, again."

"Thanks," Dean said, reaching for the drink closest to him. "Hey, Gin."

Ginny beamed across the table. "Hey. Welcome back. I'm so glad you're here."

Dean smiled nervously and Ron took a sip of his beer to hide his own grin.

"Harry was just telling me Robards got sacked," Ginny explained. "You must be chuffed."

"You've no idea," Ron said. "Dawlish is a fucking genius compared to that old idiot."

Harry and Ron spent the next hour thoroughly bashing Robards as they drank more and more beer.

"Long story short," Ron concluded, finally sensing Dean and Ginny's weariness of the topic, "Robards is a cocksucker we'll never have to deal with again."

"Cheers," Harry said, finishing off another beer. He suddenly looked sharply at Ginny, whose hand, Ron now noticed, was beneath the table. "You want to go?" he asked, laughing.

Ginny raised her eyebrows and Harry squirmed dramatically, squeaking.

"We're leaving," he announced, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair and shrugging it on quickly.

Ron rolled his eyes and waved half-heartedly as Harry and Ginny left the pub holding hands.

"They're disgusting," Ron said apologetically to Dean.

Dean shrugged and slipped one of his own hands under the table. He slid it slowly from Ron's knee to Ron's fly. "They might be on to something, though."

Ron cleared his throat and gripped his empty beer bottle tightly. "That's... not going very slowly," he warned, not sure how much teasing he would be able to handle.

Dean slid his hand back to Ron's knee. "I mean, if you don't want to come back to my flat so I can give you a handjob..."

Ron gulped. "What?"

Dean smiled and moved his hand up a few inches to squeeze Ron's thigh. "This 'slow' thing... it doesn't have to be so bad. We can move in stages, see? First, there's the handjob stage, then there's the blowjob stage... then the fingering stage..."

Ron shifted as his cock jerked with interest at the thought of fingering Dean's arse. "Are you sure?" he asked, not wanting to be disappointed if Dean somehow ended up changing his mind.

Dean answered by putting his hand back over Ron's cock and giving it a firm squeeze.

"All right, then," Ron said, standing quickly and grabbing his coat. "Back to your flat, it is!"





"It's been a week, George! You can't honestly be that angry, can you?" Ron pounded on the door to George and Lee's flat, his knuckles rapping against the painted wood as well as the window panels. "Let me in!"

"You are so impatient!" George shouted when he finally flung the door open a minute later. "Did you think I couldn't hear you knocking? The whole Alley heard you, Ron. Get the fuck inside. What do you want?"

Ron stepped inside and looked around, confused by the pile of clothes on the floor by the sofa, the only blemish in the otherwise tidy living room. "What, can't I stop by to chat with my favourite older brother without wanting something?"

"No. What do you want?"

Ron shrugged. "I just wanted to chat... see how you're doing."

"I'm doing fine," George said shortly, his face going inexplicably red.

"Right," Ron said suspiciously. "Where's Lee?"

"Napping. Where's... Harry?"

"Out with Ginny," Ron said, frowning. "Where else would he be? Why're you acting so weird?"

"I'm not," George said quickly. "I just don't want you here."

Ron rolled his eyes and moved toward the sofa. "What's with the laundry pile? Did you lose your hamper?"

"No, it's... mind your own, Ron."

Ron raised his eyebrows, then looked more closely at the pile. "That's Lee's favourite shirt," he said, toeing the cloth. "And those are definitely your pants."

"Did you really come over to inspect my dirty clothes?" George asked, sounding exasperated.

Ron shrugged and turned back to his brother. "Not really. I told you, I came by to chat. I haven't seen you in a week. How're you doing?"

"I'm fine," George insisted. "Business is booming. Sales are up. It's a pretty standard pre-Christmas season. You're not interested in this at all, why are you asking? How're you, what have you been doing?"

Ron bit back a smile, amused by George's nervousness. "I've been busy at work," he explained. "Robards got sacked, which is pretty fantastic news. Dawlish is the new Head, and he's letting me and Harry go back to Switzerland to close up the case in a few weeks."

George nodded, pretending to be interested. "That's great."

"Okay, I give up. What is going on here?"

"There's nothing," George said quickly.

Ron rolled his eyes again. "When did you become such a terrible liar? You're acting like you've got some dirty little secret!"

George's face went red more quickly than Ron had ever seen before. "It's not a secret," he said defensively. "It's just none of your business."

Ron frowned slightly, then glanced back at the pile of clothes near the couch. "No," he said softly, unwilling to believe what all the evidence was suggesting. "You didn't actually..."

"Didn't actually what?" George snapped defensively.

"You told him, didn't you?" Ron asked in awe. "You told Lee! And he – and you – and you shagged him on the sofa!"

George's neck and one ear went red as well. "We didn't shag on the sofa," he muttered, not meeting Ron's accusatory glare.

"But you told him!"

George nodded, smiling slightly. "Yeah, I told him."

"And?" Ron demanded, waiting impatiently. He didn't understand why George was being so secretive about the whole thing.

"And... you interrupted a – a moment."

Ron paused to decipher George's words, then sniggered. "No! Were you starkers with him on the sofa when I first knocked?"

"No," George muttered.

"Rotten liar," Ron said, grinning. "Did you only tell him just now?"

"Over the weekend," George said, his voice still low and embarrassed. "Angelina cursed his lips together when he broke up with her..."

"Ouch," Ron said sympathetically. "I hope you've been giving them plenty of rest time."

To Ron's amusement, George blushed again. "Shut up."

"No can do," Ron said, clapping George on the back. "This has been a long time coming. I'm going to milk it for all it's worth."

"Would you get out, already?" George pleaded. "Did you not hear when I said you'd interrupted something?"

"Oh, right," Ron said, laughing and heading back toward the door. "We'll talk later, then," he said seriously, pointing a stern finger at George. "And I'll tell you all about my own romantic adventures."

"I don't need to hear how many arses you've been inside this month, thanks," George said, pulling a face.

Ron stuck his tongue out. "Not what I was referring to, but thanks." He opened the door and started to leave.

"Wait," George said suddenly. "What were you referring to?"

Ron glanced over his shoulder, then turned around and leaned against the door frame to study George's curious expression. "Dean," he said vaguely.

George waited for more and frowned when Ron remained silent. "What, that's all I get? No explanation, no details?"

Ron shrugged innocently and began going down the stairs. "Get back to your man."

George made an obscene gesture at his brother before closing the door.





~Three Weeks Later~

"Are you completely sure about this?" Dean asked for the hundredth time. "It feels very weird. The last time I saw your parents–"

"Shut up," Ron commanded as they took the last few steps to reach the Burrow. "Mum invited you, it's fine."

"And it won't be awkward?"

"It won't be awkward."

"Christ, I need a fag."

"You had three on your way here," Ron said calmly. "You'll be fine. There is no need at all to be so nervous. You've met all these people before."

Dean grumbled something in response. Ron grinned, kissed his boyfriend briefly on the lips, then knocked on the door. It opened immediately, leading Ron to suspect that his mother had been eavesdropping from the other side.

"Welcome, welcome," she said merrily, letting them in the house. "Happy Christmas Eve, happy Christmas Eve!" She hugged Ron tightly, then turned to Dean and ignored the hand he was holding out for her to shake. She embraced him warmly, as if he were a long lost son. Dean returned the hug awkwardly, looking over her shoulder at Ron, who was laughing silently.

"I'm so glad you could join us, dear," she said when she finally released Dean from her grip. "You've no idea how thrilled we are that Ron finally has someone to bring home for the holidays."

"Mum!" Ron complained, rolling his eyes.

"Well, it's true. Go on and make yourself at home." She gestured toward the living room before turning back to her cooking. "Dinner should be ready soon."

"Thanks, Mum," Ron said, pulling Dean along with him as he went out of the kitchen.

In the living room, he found Ginny, Harry, George, Charlie, and his father.

"I don't know if you've met Charlie," Ron said, gesturing to his older brother. "Charlie, this is Dean."

Charlie stood up from the sofa and came to shake Dean's hand. "Nice to meet you." He turned to his brother and winked. "Well done."

Ron groaned and kicked the back of Charlie's legs as he retreated to the sofa. "Where're the rest, then?"

"Respective mother-in-law's houses," George explained as he started setting up a chess board. "They'll be coming tomorrow, kids and pregnant wives and all."

Ron chuckled at the thought of how crowded the Burrow would be with the addition of Bill's and Percy's families the next day.

"Come and have a game," George said.

Ron went to sit with George and watched gratefully as Harry and Ginny beckoned Dean over to them. He hoped Dean would loosen up soon; he really saw no reason for Dean to be so nervous in the first place.

"Where's Lee?" Ron asked in a low voice as he watched George make the first move.

"Home with his family," George responded casually.

"I take it you didn't tell Mum, then."

George said nothing, his eyes on Ron's hands as the second move was made.

"You should, you know," Ron suggested, his eyes scanning the board.

"Baby steps, little brother," George said, moving another piece. "Baby steps."

Ron snorted and made his move quickly, now forcibly reminded how terrible George was at chess.

"Is Angelina talking to you yet?" he asked a few minutes later.

"That'd be a no," George answered, taking one of Ron's pieces.

"She'll get over it," Ron said bracingly, taking one of George's pieces in response. "Hermione did just fine."

"We'll see. Blimey, I forgot how bad I am at this game." George moved another piece and then frowned at his choice. "How was Switzerland, by the way? I heard you almost didn't get back in time for Christmas."

Ron rolled his eyes and made another move. "Yeah, that would be Harry's fault. He went above and beyond, as per usual... tried to convince the team we should stay to teach the giants that 'light' magic is better than Dark magic. Personally, I think Hermione got in his ear about some sort of political fairness bullshit, you know how she does, but he won't admit to it."

George snorted and moved another one of his pieces. "Well, at least the case is finally closed, yeah?"

"Yeah, definitely." Ron glanced down at the board, laughed, and made one last move. "Checkmate."





"Ouch," Ron said dully when he lost his balance and fell onto Dean's living room floor.

"Sorry," Dean said, helping him up. "I'm still really out of practice with Apparating."

"Not your fault," Ron said, dusting off the seat of his jeans. "I'm a bit tipsy as well. I'm sure that didn't help the matter."

Dean laughed and reached out to brush the hair out of Ron's eyes. "Thanks for taking me to your parents'," he said quietly, rubbing this thumb over Ron's lips. "It was really lovely."

"Thanks for coming with me," Ron countered, wrapping his arms around Dean's middle and pulling the other man against him. "I hope it wasn't too dreadful."

"It wasn't." Dean slid his cold hands under Ron's shirt and Ron shivered. "How come Lee wasn't there with George?"

Ron moved his own hands to Dean's arse. "George still isn't out, yet. He needs some more time, I think. He'll come around, though."

Dean leaned down slightly to nuzzle Ron's neck. "Do all the gay boys in your family fancy black men?"

Ron stifled a laugh and grabbed Dean's head, pulling him up for a kiss. "I think it's only me and George," he whispered against Dean's lips. "Maybe it's just a coincidence."

"I thought I saw Charlie checking me out a few times," Dean said teasingly.

"He's just a flirt," Ron said. "Though... I can't pretend that wouldn't explain a few things about Charlie... anyway, who could blame him for checking you out? You're gorgeous."

"Am I?" Dean asked, one eyebrow raised. "I'd no idea. You've never said."

Ron snorted and pressed his lips to Dean's Adam's apple. "You're silly when you've had champagne."

"So're you," Dean pointed out.

"Come on," Ron whispered, moving his mouth to Dean's ear. "Let's go celebrate Christmas."

He stepped away to head for Dean's bedroom, but Dean reached out and pulled him back, capturing his lips in a reckless kiss. Ron let himself melt into the kiss, his hands clutching to Dean's face and neck.

"Okay," Dean said breathlessly when Ron began kissing his neck. "Bedroom."

Ron followed him, both undressing along the way. When they reached Dean's room, Ron kicked the door closed behind him, then pushed Dean onto the bed and crawled on top.

"Happy Christmas," Ron said, grinning, as he wrapped his hand around Dean's cock.

Dean sniggered and pulled Ron's head down for another kiss.

"Oh, God," Dean groaned a few minutes later when Ron slithered down his body to suck on his cock instead. He spread his legs wider as Ron settled between them, bending his knees slightly to expose his arse as well.

Ron moved his mouth to nip gently at Dean's thighs as his fingers lightly teased Dean's hole. Dean sighed appreciatively and bent his knees further as Ron lapped at his balls.

"Mmph!" Dean let out a muffled squeak as Ron pressed the tip of one finger into him.

"Lube?" Ron asked, sitting up suddenly and drawing his hand away from Dean's arse.

Dean nodded at the bedside table, breathing heavily. Ron grinned and leaned down to bite Dean's lower lip before scrambling off the bed to get the lube. Dean readjusted himself toward the top of the bed, resting against the pillows. When Ron returned, he kissed Dean briefly, then licked slowly all the way from Dean's neck to Dean's twitching cock as he spread lube on his fingers.

As he pressed his finger back against Dean's arse, Ron moved up again to tease Dean's ear with his tongue. Dean arched against him as he slipped his finger inside.

"You're awfully randy tonight," Ron said, amused, when Dean began begging for more of his fingers.

"It's the champagne," Dean said breathlessly when Ron added a second finger. He rocked his hips back and forth, fucking himself on Ron's long fingers. "God, I want you to fuck me."

Ron gulped and pushed a third finger into Dean's arse, trying to ignore the lewd images that had just popped into his head. "But we're still on the fingering stage," he reminded Dean. "We've only just started it, really."

"I don't care," Dean breathed, reaching for Ron's cock and stroking it quickly. "It's Christmas. I want you to fuck me."

"I'm... not so sure what Christmas has to do with fucking," Ron choked out as Dean squeezed his balls, trying to stay sensible when all he really wanted to do was exactly what Dean was suggesting.

"Do you want to fuck me or not?" Dean asked, leaning up to lick Ron's neck.

"Well... yeah, obviously." Ron sat up and pulled his fingers out of Dean, who pouted. "Look, we're a bit on the drunk side. We shouldn't do this now."

"I don't see why not," Dean said, sitting up to kiss Ron. "I've been planning this for days."

Ron gulped again and concentrated on not coming right then and there as Dean's hand twisted around the head of his cock. "Days?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

Dean nodded, grinning. "Please?"

Ron moaned and kissed Dean roughly, unable and unwilling to control the mad desire that was quickly consuming him. Though he had enjoyed every second of naked time with Dean so far, and though going slow was both incredibly sexy and incredibly worthwhile, it was the world's biggest tease to constantly be in bed with Dean and yet be unable to have sex with him.

"D'you have a condom?" Ron asked, breaking the kiss and dragging his lips across Dean's still-bearded cheek.

"With the lube," Dean whispered, thrusting his cock against Ron's.

Ron swallowed a moan and scooted across the bed to the side table again. When he turned back, condom in hand, he found that Dean was on all fours, facing the wall, and touching himself. Ron growled at the sight and sheathed his cock quickly, wanting to get inside Dean as soon as possible. He moved behind Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean's middle and pulling the other man up to a kneeling position before pressing a kiss to the back of Dean's neck.

Dean leaned his head back on Ron's shoulder. "It was worth the wait, right?" he asked, sounding drunk and paranoid.

Ron chuckled and grabbed his cock, aligning it between Dean's round cheeks. "Definitely."

"Good," Dean said, a bit breathless as Ron pushed forward. "I thought about waiting until you were begging for it, but–" he inhaled sharply as the head of Ron's cock slipped inside him.

"But what?" Ron asked soothingly, reaching around to stroke Dean's cock, as Dean's hands had moved to Ron's hips.

"But I couldn't wait any longer. Shit." Dean let out a low groan as Ron settled himself completely inside Dean. "It's been too long," he said, sounding almost apologetic.

Ron took a few deep breaths and pressed his forehead to the back of Dean's neck, trying to keep his grip on reality. He had been inside plenty of arses before, but Dean's was so tight, and so... so Dean's. He was overwhelmed and his head was spinning with champagne and lust and lack of blood. He was sure his cock had never been harder and Dean's arse was squeezing it wonderfully, perfectly.

"Move, already," Dean complained, wriggling in a way that had Ron grinding his teeth to keep from groaning.

Ron breathed in deeply as he pulled his hips back, then exhaled sharply as he thrust forward again. Dean moaned and tossed his head back farther, his hair brushing against Ron's cheeks. He pushed Ron's hand off his cock and began pulling on it in time with Ron's slow rhythm.

Ron was gripping Dean's hips tightly, trying to hold on to something tangible as he began falling apart, the strange mixture of physical and emotional passion for Dean quickly pushing him toward the edge.

"Oh, fuck, fuck," Dean babbled when Ron shifted his hips and lifted his head to press a kiss to Dean's neck.

Ron continued rocking against Dean at this new angle, delighting in the way Dean was now moaning uncontrollably as Ron hit his prostate over and over again. Focusing on Dean's pleasure was enough to keep Ron's own in check, even though Ron wasn't sure he had ever seen anything sexier than Dean wanking in his arms as he pounded into Dean's arse.

"Ah – ah!" Dean's free hand flew to Ron's hip and gripped it roughly, his fingernails digging into Ron's skin. Ron pressed a kiss to the smooth, hairless skin just behind Dean's ear.

Suddenly, Dean's grip tightened painfully and he was gasping wildly as his body jolted. Ron groaned against Dean's neck as he watched Dean come onto the wall and the pillows, feeling himself moving ever closer to his own orgasm. After a few seconds, Dean sagged in Ron's arms, still clinging to Ron's hip.

Ron stilled his hips to give Dean a chance to recover, but before Dean had even caught his breath, he had his hand back on his still-hard cock.

"Are you going to come again?" Ron asked in awe, watching as Dean resumed stroking himself at full speed.

Dean nodded and let go of Ron's hip only to reach behind his head to grab at Ron's hair. "Soon," he choked out. "Keep going."

Ron moaned and snapped his hips roughly, his hands moving to Dean's chest. "You're so fucking sexy," he growled, picking up speed.

"You're fucking inside me," Dean whispered, "and I can't stop coming."

Ron closed his eyes and cried out as his climax broke over him. He jerked violently, moaning and gasping for breath at each wave of pleasure. Dean clenched impossibly tighter around Ron's cock as he came again, whimpering in ecstasy.

Ron pulled out and sat back on his heels, panting heavily and watching as Dean slumped over to lie across the bed sideways.

Dean covered his eyes with one hand and sighed. "That was ridiculous," he said, sounding thoroughly out of breath.

Ron pulled the condom off carefully and tossed it in the trash bin next to the bed before collapsing next to Dean. "Ridiculous," he repeated, his heart still beating rapidly in his chest.

"I think you killed me."

"I think you killed me," Ron muttered, wiping the sweat off his brow.

Dean rolled over on top of him and kissed him sweetly. "It was good," he whispered.

"It was more than good," Ron corrected. "It was bloody fucking amazing."

Dean smiled sleepily and kissed Ron again. "Would you mind cleaning up? I've never been very good with those spells..."

Ron nipped at Dean's nose before getting up and figuring out where he had discarded his jeans. He found them in the dining room and extracted his wand from a pocket before returning to Dean's room to Scourgify Dean's pillows and the wall behind the bed.

"I wish I could spend Christmas with you," Dean said as he and Ron crawled under his covers, still naked. "Lottie and Danny are going be absolutely hell all day."

Ron snorted in agreement as he pulled the duvet up to his chin, then rolled onto his side to wrap an arm around Dean's waist. He pulled Dean's back against his chest and pressed his nose to Dean's neck, breathing in deeply. "At least you've only got two," he said somewhat bitterly. "I'll be dealing with three. Plus two pregnant women. Plus my mum. Plus all my brothers. Plus Ginny and Harry."

Dean put his hand over Ron's and laced their fingers together. "I like your family."

"I like my family, too," Ron admitted begrudgingly. "They're just a lot to deal with sometimes."

"Understandable," Dean whispered before yawning.

Ron scooted closer to Dean, nuzzling his warm neck. "I'll see you on Boxing Day, though. Did you and Seamus ever pick out a restaurant for us?"

"Yeah, we've got reservations."

"Good."

"Good," Dean repeated, squeezing Ron's hand. "I can't wait to give you your present."

"Why couldn't you have given it to me today?" Ron asked, pouting.

"Because I didn't want to," Dean answered simply.

"Well, go on, then. What is it?"

"It's a surprise."

"I'll tell you what I got for you," Ron offered.

"I already know what you got for me," Dean said.

"How's that?"

"You asked me what I wanted," Dean reminded him, chuckling quietly. "I assume that's what you bought?"

"Well... that's not fair! If you know what you're getting, why can't I know what I'm getting?"

Dean rolled over onto his other side to face Ron. "You really want to know?"

"Yes," Ron said excitedly.

"Even though it'll ruin the surprise?"

"Yes, I don't care."

Dean bit back a smile. "All right. I finished your painting."

Ron's eyes widened. "No! You said you'd given up on it."

"I had done, until last week when you fingered me for the first time. You did the whole thing with your face two inches from mine and your eyes... well, they inspired me."

Ron could feel himself blushing and was grateful for the dark room. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Your present is completely lame in comparison, but I can't wait to see it."

Dean brushed his lips lightly across Ron's. "If I didn't want the charcoal set, I wouldn't have asked for it. I'm sure it's perfect. Maybe I'll even draw you naked with them."

Ron grinned. "I'd be offended if you didn't."

Dean snorted and kissed Ron again. "I'm turning back over now," he warned before doing so.

Ron wrapped his arm back around Dean's waist and snuggled up closely, resting his chin on Dean's shoulder.

"Goodnight," he whispered. "And thanks for the sex."

Dean laughed loudly. "You're ridiculous. Go to sleep."

Ron pressed a kiss to the side of Dean's neck and then closed his eyes, sleep falling upon him quickly.






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