ronbigbang

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: Stand by Me
Author:

softobsidian74
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Ron and Draco (friendship) with canon side pairings of Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, Draco/Astoria
Genre general fic, angst
Warnings: DH compliant, language, angst, PTSD, bullying, homophobia, violence, heavy substance abuse, other triggers (suicide attempts, panic attacks, eating disorders, & cutting- not main characters), hurt/comfort, language, het (kissing only)
Word Count: 75,776 words/17 chapters
Summary: The war is over, but at Hogwarts, new battles are being fought. As the school tries to rebuild, Slytherins find themselves at the bottom of a new social order where Gryffindor arrogance and retribution reign. While Ron struggles with loss and guilt, Draco encounters daily threats and social isolation. When an unlikely friendship develops between the two, Ron must find the courage to face the backlash, and something far more terrifying – himself.
Author's Notes: I’d like to thank my very supportive betas

ultrasonicbop &

end1essly for all of their hard work and input. Thanks to

lady_of_clunn for giving me a great justification for using hashish in this story. Thank you to the talented

otterandterrier for her hard work on the photomanipulation. I really love it. And I’d also like to thank my friends

emilywaters1976,

willowfaerie2, &

hollywoodlawn, for all of their input, support, and encouragement during the writing of this fic.

Title: "The Peace Pipe"
Artist:

otterandterrier
Characters: Draco and Ron
Rating: PG
Media: Photomanipulation
Artist Notes:As with my other illustration for the challenge, it was hard to pick only one scene, but this was an interesting moment in a story with an interesting concept. And I had fun building it!

Chapter One
Oh, How the Mighty Fall

“Ron! Wake up!”

Ron squinted against the light hitting his eyes and jerked back. Hermione stood over him with fearful wide eyes while Harry and Ginny peered at him from the other side of his bed. They all looked gravely concerned.

Ron drew the covers closer to his body as the tingle of shivers made him shake. He looked down to see his shirt and the bed beneath him soaked with his own sweat.

“Are you all right, mate?” Harry asked.

Ron tried to find his voice. He could tell he had been screaming; the strain of it still ached in his throat.

“What happened?” he finally managed to say.

Ginny leaned closer to inspect her brother. “You were screaming for help.”

Hermione tenderly placed her hand on Ron’s forehead. "You almost knocked Harry out when he went to wake you up.”

Ron fell back on the mattress, trying to remember. But there were no images, no memories of what had come before waking up, only a slowly dissipating dread he couldn’t describe or place. Something terrifying had held tightly him in his sleep, but it was gone now, and all that remained was soaked sheets and his embarrassment at being discovered in such a state.

“Blimey, I must’ve looked mental. Sorry, mate,” Ron said to Harry.

Harry gave him a small smile. “S’all right. We’re just glad you’re awake now. Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”

Ron shook his head. “No. And from the sounds of it, I don’t think I want to …”

They all gave him small smiles, but their eyes still held concern.

“Is everything all right up there?” Ron's mum bellowed from below.

“Yes, Mum, everything is fine,” Ginny called back.

“Good, then tell Ron it’s time to get his bum out of bed and get washed up for breakfast. You kids are going to be late, and that’s no way to start off a new school year!”

Ron rolled his eyes, “We’re of age now, and she’s calling us ‘kids’?”

“That’s never going to change, Ron. She still fusses at George about combing his hair,” Ginny said with resignation, turning to leave the room.

Hermione smiled down at him and gave him a quick kiss on his forehead. “You better do what she says.”

Harry smirked. “You've got about ten minutes.”

Ron nodded, watching them as they left.

“Bugger,” he grumbled, rising up from his sticky trundle to head off to the shower.

After breakfast, they all Floo’d to Diagon. There weren’t many books to purchase, but they all got new robes, courtesy of the Minister. They each were also rewarded with medals; Ron, Harry, and Hermione got Order of Merlin, First Class, which came with a nice cash reward—five hundred Galleons to be exact. His mother and father had forced Ron to put most of it away in savings, but he got to keep enough to buy himself a new broom for Quidditch, and new books— not the used goods he was accustomed to.

They gathered on Platform 9 ¾ with their peers. They had done this every year except for last year, but this year the Slytherins and their parents were all standing very close to each other. A strange silence hovered over the group as they avoided making eye contact with their classmates, who cast wary looks in their direction. Everyone else seemed to be going about business as usual.

Almost all of Ron’s class, especially those in Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw had returned, even those that had attended Hogwarts the previous year. The curriculum and testing from the former year was deemed invalid, disqualifying anyone who attended last year from passing their N.E.W.T.s While pupils were given the option to make up the work at home, and come in for a sit in exam at the end of the year, it appeared as if most had decided to return.

Ron was happy to see all of old friends: Seamus, Dean, Hannah, Neville, and Luna. They all congregated to greet each other and catch up, while the younger students wandered around reacquainting with old friends.

“I’m so glad you agreed to come back, Ron. For a moment there, I didn’t think you would,” Hermione said with a smile, squeezing his hand as they waited for the conductor to make the formal announcement about loading.

“Eh, yeah,” Ron said with a small smile. It was still surreal that Hermione was his girlfriend and he was returning to Platform 9 ¾ holding her hand. “I wouldn’t miss this year for anything. This is going to be our best year ever.”

“Yeah? And why’s that?” Harry asked.

“Think about it, Harry,” Ron said. “We’re war heroes, we’re of age, the oldest kids in the school. We can do anything we bloody well want. We’ll rule the school.”

Harry shook his head, giving Ron a small smile. “Ron, I wouldn’t get my hopes up. It’s going to be different. And there’s lots of mess to be tidied up.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “Yes, on top of preparing for the N.E.W.T.s, we’re practically rebuilding the castle. I still can’t believe McGonagall appointed me to head up the Restoration project. It’s going to be a lot of work!”

Ron grinned at her. “You didn’t have to accept the position, you know … you could have easily been Head Girl this year.”

Hermione sighed. “I know, but … this seems more important, doesn’t it?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah, it does. And who else would be better for the job?”

Hermione blushed. “Yes, well, it won’t be easy. There’s more than just a castle to mend; there are a lot of memories at Hogwarts … and I’m sure people are still shaken up about everything that occurred there.”

Ginny’s face was grim. “You don’t know the half of it. Last year, Hogwarts was a terrible place to be. I don’t suspect anyone will forget what happened there any time soon.”

Ron felt a flash of annoyance at Ginny’s remark. In fact, the whole conversation was taking a sombre turn that he disliked. All everyone talked about lately was the war and the dead. How was anyone supposed to get over it all when they kept bringing up bad stuff like that? Were they all supposed to remain in a perpetual state of grief? Sure, he and Ginny had both just lost a brother, but life went on! Ron wanted to spend this year trying to have a little fun after the hell they had just been through.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Gin?” he asked with irritation in his voice. "Just because last year was bad doesn’t mean this year will be too.”

Hermione squeezed Ron’s hand. “Ron, Ginny just means that for many, this is going to be a difficult year. It may take some people years to get over what happened.”

“Yeah, well, not me,” Ron insisted. “I’m tired of crying and griping about what happened. Besides, Fred wouldn’t want us to spend the year moping about. He’d tell us get on with life and have some bloody fun!”

Hermione, Ginny and Harry exchanged uncomfortable glances, but Ron wasn’t going to stick around for this pity party. He quickly turned around to step onto the Hogwarts train with the three of them on his heels.

As he walked down the aisles, people greeted him with unusual enthusiasm and admiration. Ron puffed out his chest as he walked on, heading to the front. The way some of the students were staring up at him made him feel like a real leader. When they finally came to an empty car, Ron put his bags over the seat and sat down, joined by, the other three. Soon the rest of the gang arrived to sit in the compartment across the aisle: Luna, Neville, Seamus, and Dean. There was much talking within and across compartments. It felt good to be surrounded by friends who understood everything without having to talk about it. Everyone seemed to be excited about starting a new year and moving forward, and for the first time he could remember, Ron felt genuinely confident and comfortable in his skin.

They ordered loads of candy from the candy cart and drank plenty of pop as they laughed and speculated about who would be teaching Defence of the Dark Arts, Potions, and how their dormitory assignments would be arranged. Stuffed with food, Ron had to excuse himself for relief.

But there was someone in the front car’s toilet. Ron could hardly hold it, so he quickly made his way down to the other end of the train where hardly anyone ever sat.

However, before reaching that car, he had to pass through the Slytherin section. As Ron passed through, he looked around as nonchalantly as he could, but hardly anyone was looking back or talking. In fact, the entire Slytherin car was eerily silent, and there were many more empty seats than usual. Ron scanned the faces and noticed that Blaise Zabini was not present, nor was Pansy Parkinson. He had heard rumours that they may have transferred to other wizarding schools since their families had relocated after the war. Tracey Davis and Millicent Bustrode were sitting together, quiet and subdued, giving Ron cursory glances as he passed.

Finally, he reached the loser car where the usual suspects sat. The creepy Ravenclaw Michael Buckley, who always kept his hands in his pockets like he was secretly wanking or something, Hufflepuff Chris Tellus, who held no shame in picking his boogers and wiping them on the nearest objects, and a small waif of a Gryffindor girl named Priscilla Moxley, who wasn’t particularly strange, just very socially awkward. Ron felt sorry for her; she sort of reminded him of Luna before they had all got to know her. He made brief eye contact with her, giving her a small smile and kept moving towards the back.

His mouth dropped open in surprise as the person in the next booth became apparent. Gregory Goyle’s large frame was slumped against the seat; he looked to be brooding with a frown on his face as he stared out the window. Ron felt a small twinge of irritation that the boy had received a full pardon because of his father’s so-called coercion. It was a pitiful excuse, one that Ron still didn’t think Goyle deserved. Slowly, the other boy's eyes met Ron’s and then returned to staring out the window as if he could care less. Thankful the bigger Slytherin didn’t seem interested in exchanging unpleasantries, Ron kept moving until he reached the last car.

He froze as his eyes laid on white blond hair— no longer slicked back but long, falling to just above the shoulder, some of it covering stone grey eyes. The pale, pointy-faced ferret who, more than anyone else, Ron had wished to be sent to Azkaban, was staring out the train window as well. Malfoy quickly turned to look at Ron, his jaw set and his body stiff as if waiting for insult.

The invitation was so tempting. Ron had so much to say to the Ferret.

‘Hiya Malfoy. Boy aren’t you lucky Azkaban doesn’t have a kiddie detention center?’

Or maybe, 'Who did you come back to kill this year, Malfoy?’

Oh, that was a good one. Ron was about to deliver it with perfect calm coolness when laughter burst through the car door behind him.

“There he is! Told you!”

Ron turned to see Nott and two seventh years he recognised as Edwards and Porter coming up from behind him.

“What are doing in here, Malfoy? Hiding?” Nott asked.

“Can’t really blame you,” Porter chimed in. “We’re surprised you had the nerve to come back.”

Ron walked past Draco’s seat as if moving towards the loo, but moved very slowly so he could hear the exchange. He glanced behind him to see Malfoy slowly turn his face towards his fellow Slytherins. The boy’s face was tight, his lips drawn into a thin line.

“What do you want, Nott? “

“I just came back here to see if it was true … if Draco Malfoy was really sitting in the loser section where he belongs.”

“Piss off, Nott” Malfoy spat. “I’m sitting back here so I don’t have to look at wankers like you.”

Nott withdrew his wand and moved forward. Ron turned around fully to observe.

Malfoy didn’t flinch at the sudden movement; in fact, he sat up straighter, pulling out his own wand and aiming it in front of himself defensively.

But Porter held Nott back, giving Malfoy a nasty smirk. “You’re in for a lonely year. We’ve all been waiting for you to take a fall, and now that you have, don’t expect anyone to help you up,” he said, twiddling his wand through his fingers.

Malfoy slid out of the booth, standing up in front of them. Ron felt glued to what was unfolding in front of him; he was suddenly grateful the other loo had been full. That was, until Malfoy turned around and glared at him.

“What are you looking at, Weasley?” Malfoy spat.

“Not much. Not much at all,” Ron sneered, rolling his eyes and shutting himself in the loo.

His nerves were tense, and he realised he too had physically been prepared for a duel or confrontation of some sort. Why, he didn’t know. Something about seeing Malfoy’s face again, that smug look—of all of his evil shenanigans and cowardice— made Ron want to smack the git. He almost wished Malfoy’s housemates would do it for him.

As he began to do his business, Ron closed his eyes, trying to shake off his annoyance with the Ferret and the past when something slammed into the door, hard. He jumped, finishing up, with his ear pressed against the door.

“Sod off!”

“Your entire family is a disgrace to pure-bloods,” Ron heard Nott say, “with your mother saving Potter’s life, and your father ratting out everyone who remained loyal so he could save his own arse.”

“And don’t forget, Potter testified that Malfoy here lied for him and his friends,” said Edwards.

“Oh yeah, that’s right. You really are a snake,” Nott said. “Aren’t you, Malfoy?”

The door shook again.

“Aren’t you?” Nott demanded.

There was no reply, just tense silence. Ron flinched as something hard struck the door, like someone’s head, and then he heard a pained groaned.

“Your dad is the reason my father received the Kiss, and I’m going to make sure you pay for that. All. Year. Long.”

Ron froze as a missed hex hit the door and then a cling that suggested another one had hit the train window. Ron moved closer to the door to press his ear against it, but jumped back as something slammed against the surface. He stood there in shock as the heavy thud of a body being pushed back against the door repeated again and again. There was a loud smacking sound of skin colliding with skin.

There was laughter and then another loud thump and a pained groan.

“And that’s just the start of things. Better get used to it,” Ron heard Nott say.

“Or you can always just run back home to mummy,” he heard Porter say.

There was more sniggering. Ron listened as their footsteps retreated.

Malfoy groaned again, and there was a creak as the body resting against the door pulled away. Slow shuffling dwindled into silence, leaving Ron staring in disbelief at the bathroom door.

The smug smirk he had always hated so much had finally been removed from the Ferret’s face. Draco Malfoy was no longer anyone of any importance; he was a loser—less than a loser. He’d been beaten up by three members of his own house.

Ron’s heart swelled with vindication, and he couldn’t keep the smile from growing on his face.

~~~*~~~
Chapter Two
Karma or Something

When Ron returned to his seat, he was anxious to share what he had seen and heard, retelling the sordid tale to the whole compartment. Seamus and Dean had a laugh, but Neville looked uncomfortable, and Harry just looked disturbed. Hermione’s brow wrinkled, scowling, apparently upset at Ron for taking so much joy in seeing the suffering of others, even if it was Draco Malfoy.

“Wha, Hermione? He almost killed us, remember?”

“Oh, I remember just fine, Ron! But, he wasn’t the one who started the fire. Crabbe did, and he paid for it with his life. How are we ever going to move on if we keep harping on about things like that?”

Ron stared back at her in shock. Hermione Granger talking about forgiveness and letting go of grudges. At times, she could be the queen of grudges.

“That’s a new one, coming from you,” Ron retorted snidely.

Hermione held her chin up. “I want to be a part of the solution and not the problem.”

Ron rolled his eyes, huffing, and then turned to Harry. “You think it’s funny, right, Harry? What’s it called? Karma or something.”

Harry frowned. “Or something. Let’s talk about something else. I don’t want to waste this year talking about Malfoy or Voldemort, or the war for that matter.”

Luna smiled. “That’s too bad. I was hoping you’d tell us the story about how you broke into Gringotts once more.”

Harry glanced at Hermione and Ron, whose annoyance was quickly dissipating.

“Now that was mental,” Ron said. “I can’t believe we made it out alive. I thought I was going to burn to death.”

Hermione nodded. “It was frightening …”

Seamus looked at Dean and then back at Harry. “Well don’t hold out. Tell us the story.”

Harry gave Ron a small smile. “Ron tells this much better than I do.”

Ron smiled. “All right …”

~~~*~~~

When they finally pulled up to the school, Ron felt even better about his decision to return. They had all laughed at his interpretation of the adventure at Gringotts. While telling it, it occurred to him just how much shit he had been through in the past year.

Hermione grabbed his hand and gave him a swift kiss before rising. Ron smiled proudly. Hermione Granger had just openly kissed him in front of everyone. He glanced around, hoping that someone had seen it, and found Luna and Neville smiling back.

As they left the train, everyone gathered round. The eighth years, along with Ginny and Luna, kept close. The group was still smallish, and very much defined by house, but there was also something new in their midst: a shared sense of understanding that they would be the first, and hopefully last, ‘eighth’ years.

As they approached the carriages, Ron paused, staring.

“What is it?” Hermione asked.

Ron swallowed. He had never seen a thestral before, and in fact, there had been a time when he had thought that Luna and Harry had been making it all up. Luna had a way of infecting Harry with her craziness. But as he stood before them, he could clearly see the wispy black manes framing their skeletal horse-like faces. One of the thestrals was staring right at him, and for a moment, he didn’t see its eyes. Instead, he saw baby blues, shaggy red hair, and the familiar smile of his brother Fred. And then the image was gone.

“I can see them,” Ron whispered.

Hermione drew closer, rubbing his arm soothingly. “So can I.”

As they boarded the carriages, Ron glanced back at the group behind them, his eyes searching for the familiar white-blond patch of hair. Malfoy had hid his face from view before, but now that they were all out in the open, Ron wanted to see just how badly the git had been beaten.

But Malfoy was nowhere in sight.

“Where is he?” he whispered.

“Where is who?” Hermione asked, looking behind Ron.

“Malfoy …”

“Oh, Ron, leave him be. Perhaps he went ahead of us or is waiting until everyone clears out.”

“That’s probably the best thing to do,” Harry said. “From the sounds of it, he may be in for a rough year.”

“Yeah, well, what comes around goes around,” Ron said coldly. Why did Harry and Hermione sound so sympathetic? The Ferret had tormented them for years; he was a bully. He was getting the short end of the stick now, and he deserved it. So what.

Hermione shook her head at him, a concerned look in her eye. “Oh, Ron.”

Ron’s pulsed quickened as he took in her lush and slightly frizzy brown curls, bright brown eyes, and perfect lips. She seemed to become prettier with each passing day. When she smiled up at him, he leaned in and awkwardly put his arm around her. He was still getting used to this girlfriend business. Hermione slid even closer, and Ron frowned. What was he supposed to do now? Just hold her? Or kiss her? Is that what boyfriends did? He didn’t want to smother her, but he didn’t exactly feel compelled to kiss her either. He was still trying to figure her and this boyfriend thing out. The carriage began to move, and after a few moments, Ron’s arm started to cramp. He stretched it out and pulled it back. She gave him a puzzled glance and he returned it with an apologetic smile. He looked up to see Harry staring between them in amusement.

He’d have to work on his moves later. Of course Harry had all the moves; he’d had plenty of practice with his sister.

Tosser.

~~~*~~~

As they entered the castle, Ron was struck by the faint smell of burnt wood. A shiver passed through him as they approached the entrance of the Great Hall. The last time he’d been there, it had been a odd den of celebration as well as a makeshift morgue. No one spoke as they made their way to their tables; reminders of the final battle were everywhere from the hex riddled walls to the cracked stained glass windows. Ron was thankful that at least all of the blood had been cleaned away.

“Bloody hell, they could have at least fixed up the Great Hall,” Ron murmured.

“That’s for us to do, remember?” Hermione reminded.

At dinner, Ron had a clear view of Malfoy. Everyone did. He had a nasty cut over his eye and his left cheek was starting to turn purple. But what really stood out was that he was sitting all by himself with a large space between him and the few other eighth-year Slytherins.

“Look at him; it’s almost sad,” Ron remarked with a bit too much satisfaction, earning him a disgusted eye roll from Hermione.

Before dinner began, McGonagall stood in front of them all. She looked considerably older since the end of last term, and her face appeared even more sombre than usual, which was saying something. She cleared her throat loudly, and the chatter all but ceased.

“Welcome back, everyone. Before we begin the Sorting ceremony, I would like for Miss Hermione Granger to come forward and say a few words about a very special project that all of you will be participating in this year. Miss Granger…”

Hermione looked at Harry and Ron nervously. Harry smiled at her and mouthed the words “You can do it”, while Ron gave her a small nudge and whispered for her to pretend she was speaking as Head Girl. That seemed to help. Hermione promptly rose with her head held high. She walked up the aisle to the front of the Great Hall, exuding an air of authority that silenced the entire dining hall.

Ron’s chest swelled with pride as Hermione stood in front of everyone. The entire dining hall had their eyes focused on her.

“Hello. Many of you already know me. My name is Hermione Granger, and I am an eighth year Gryffindor. I have been appointed a most important task: I will be overseeing the Hogwarts Restoration Project. As you may have already heard, there has been a lot of controversy about the decision to not restore Hogwarts to its previous condition before the start of this new year.

“I assure you this decision was not made lightly. Headmistress McGonagall has requested that we, the pupils of Hogwarts, take charge of this very important task. Many of you may be wondering why—It is because this is our school. Hogwarts would be nothing without its pupils— past, present, and future. This is an opportunity to reflect on everything that has happened here and mark a new chapter in our history.

“You will be receiving your team assignments shortly. Please understand that this will not be a competition. On this project, there will be no Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw. We are all part of a very special family, and Hogwarts is home to all of us. We will honour those who lost their lives here by working together, by overcoming old rivalries and grudges, and most of all, by rebuilding.

"I look forward to working with all of you. Thank you.”

There was a heavy silence so thick that Ron couldn’t find his breath. Hermione looked absolutely terrified by the lack of response, and then Ron stood up and began to clap, not caring who joined him. It was the catalyst for a thunderous applause, and students began to stand up as well, whistling and shouting out the names of their deceased friends and professors whom they wanted to honour.

There was a noticeable lack of enthusiasm from the Slytherin table. Some of them stood up awkwardly and clapped, while others, like Malfoy, Goyle, and Nott and his friends, either remained seated or looked around at their plates. It was no secret that their house had suffered the least losses, mainly because many of them had fled during the final battle, with only a handful returning to help fight.

But whether it was because of Slytherin’s lack of enthusiasm or in spite of it, the standing ovation and rally for the Restoration project continued for another five minutes. By the time it was over, there were plenty of tears and lots of hugging among houses and across houses, except for Slytherin. And that seemed to be just fine to the rest. Ron threw a glare Slytherin's way, but when Hermione came back to the table, he hugged her fiercely, whispering how proud of her he was. She simply smiled and thanked him, taking a seat beside him. The air was full of the same anticipation and excitement that Ron had felt at Platform 9 ¾, and once again, the promise of a new and better year, and life seemed within his grasp.

After the Sorting ceremony, everyone settled down and began to eat. Throughout dinner, several people came up to the Golden Trio to give them thanks and handshakes. Ron got a few condolences for his brother. He had learned how to accept those with a gracious ‘thank you’ and a disarming smile to put others at ease, no matter how uneasy it made him feel.

~~~*~~~

The next day in Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts, Ron sat next to Harry. The room was crowded with the added eighth years, but it was also more exciting. No one knew what to expect from their new professor. Ron noticed Malfoy sitting in the back, an empty seat beside him. The boy looked tense and watchful.

“Sucks to be him,” Ron murmured with a smirk, nudging Harry to look at Malfoy's state of isolation.

Harry glanced back and shook his head. “Give it a rest, Ron. It’s like you're obsessed or something.”

Ron’s brow furrowed. “Right, obsessed over him? I just think it’s funny, is all.”

“Yeah, real funny,” Harry said dryly, turning his eyes back to front of the room.

Harry was called on repeatedly during the lesson. The new D.A.D.A. professor, some daft chap named Phillip Driver, continued to jokingly remark that Harry should be teaching the class instead of himself. Ron tried not to roll his eyes. Perhaps it was funny the first few times, but it soon got quite tiring. Ron glanced over to see Harry grinning and blushing as if embarrassed. Rubbish. Ron knew better, Harry loved the attention. Who wouldn’t?

“Harry, do you mind coming up here for a demonstration?” Professor Driver asked.

Harry glanced at Ron, who shrugged.

“Ah, no, not at all,” Harry answered, rising to walk to the front of the class.

“Now, not many wizards can do a proper Levicorpus, but I’m sure you can, Harry.”

Harry looked back at the new professor in surprise before sputtering, “Ah, sure.”

Ron raised his eyebrows, holding his breath with the rest of the class to see if Harry would live up to the man’s expectations.

Of course he did, which earned Harry another impressed clap on the back. “Now, how about you help me teach the rest of the class that? Everyone stand up. We’re going to form two lines," he said, waving his wand, parting the desks neatly into two rows against the wall.

“Well, go on, line up,” he said.

Harry remained up front with Professor Driver while Hermione took a place beside Ron and across from Padma. Seamus was opposite Ron, who positioned himself next to Dean, who stood next to Malfoy. Ron immediately glanced to his right to see who was standing opposite Malfoy. It was Neville.

“Watch yourself there, Longbottom. Keep your wand at the ready with that one,” said Ernie McMillan, glancing at Malfoy suspiciously.

Malfoy set a death glare on the boy, prompting a round of shushes in the classroom.

Professor Driver glanced nervously between Malfoy and Neville and then over to Goyle, Nott, Edwards, Porter, Daphne Greengrass, and Tracey Davis.

“Well then, how about we split up according to houses? That may make things a bit easier.”

Hermione’s hand shot up in the air, but she spoke immediately, as if she had already been called on. “But Professor, McGonagall specifically said we should try to get away from the old business of house rivalry.”

“Yes, well, with all due respect, Miss Granger, McGonagall is not teaching this class,” Professor Driver said with offense in his voice.

“Slytherins partner up. Everyone else, you’re free to choose,” he continued defiantly.

Everyone glanced around hesitantly before shifting to make the change.

The Slytherins glared at Professor Driver as they moved to the end of the rows to stand across from each other. Ron watched as the boys moved around Malfoy and Goyle like they were invisible, taking their positions across from each other. Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis, however, looked sympathetic, and took respective positions across from the two boys. Goyle gave Tracey a feeble smile and then looked away, while Malfoy didn’t even acknowledge Daphne. His eyes remained focused on the floor right in front of her with a frown of indignation on his face.

Meanwhile, Nott, Edwards, and Porter were glaring menacingly at both Malfoy and Goyle, as if they were to blame for their current alienation.

Ron watched, very interested in the dynamics between the Slytherins, when he felt a hard nudge in his ribs.

“Pay attention,” Hermione scolded.

He gritted his teeth. “Fine.”

~~~*~~~

Dinner was filled with more congratulatory praise and storytelling. Ron was getting quite used to constant pats on the back and smiles, and best of all, Hermione seemed to be always smiling at him.

Afterwards, she pulled his hand and led him into a darkened hallway. He was taken aback and … nervous. What did she want with him? What would he be expected to do? The summer had been spent going to funeral after funeral and then the memorial and commemorations followed by award ceremonies. Ron and Hermione had shared hardly any time alone. And the few moments they did have together were spent holding hands with only an occasional innocent kiss here and there. They had never full on snogged. Would Hermione want him to be knowledgeable and experienced? He’d spent a fair amount of time snogging Lavender, but that wasn’t serious snogging, at least not the kind Ron thought Hermione wanted. Who else had she kissed to compare him to? Krum? Ron grimaced as the thought crossed his mind.

“Finally, we get to be alone,” she said great sigh, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“What—what are you doing, Hermione?” Ron asked.

“I want to be alone with you,” she said, inching closer to press her body against his.

“Yeah? “Ron laughed nervously, pulling back a little. “And why’s that?”

“Ron! You’re so silly. Because it means I can do this,” she said, reaching up all the way on her tiptoes, puckering her lips.

Ron’s mouth went dry, and he could feel his heart in his throat as her hand slid through his hair to pull him down for a kiss.

Ron’s eyes widened. Did she want to put her tongue in his mouth? There had once been a time when he would get aroused just by the thought of kissing Hermione, but now that he was actually here doing it, the pressure was overwhelming, and Ron wasn’t turned on at all. In fact, he felt anxious and uncomfortable. He pulled back.

“Uh, Hermione … not here,” he said, anxiousness creeping into his voice.

Hermione frowned. “Why not?”

Ron glanced around shiftily, pushing out the lie. “Come on, we’re in the middle of a hallway, for Merlin’s sake!”

“Well, it’s not a very heavily trafficked hallway!” Hermione protested.

“I know, but still,” Ron said, forcing himself to lean forward and press his body against hers. He could feel her breasts against his chest, and though he knew it was supposed to make him hard, he felt absolutely nothing.

Maybe he was just nervous.

“Not here, not now. I’ll pick out the perfect spot for us,” he whispered. “Just you wait … it’ll be private, some place just for us. ”

Hermione smiled. “Oh, all right,” she said, planting another large, wet kiss on his cheek.

Ron gave her an agreeable smile. “We better get back. People will be asking where we are.”

Hermione nodded reluctantly, grabbing his hand for the walk back to the common room.

As they began to walk, Ron could hear sounds just beyond the corner, near the stairway leading to the dungeons. There was lots of laughter, clapping and “ooos” and “awws”. Ron and Hermione glanced at each other.

“I wonder what’s going on?” Hermione said.

Ron shrugged. “Let’s have a look.”

As they approached they could see Draco’s distinct silhouette surrounded by the shadows of several other boys.

“Better watch out lads, he’s getting angry now!" There was another smattering of “oooos” and then a “Why don’t you try one of your killer hexes on us, Death Eater!” following by more laughter.

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “I can’t believe they’re picking on him right here, in plain sight. Everyone can hear them … I really should have accepted the Head girl position.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t. Imagine having to run around after that lot all year. They’re not going to stop, and you’d probably only make it worse for him. “

Hermione pursed her lips. “Head Girl or not, this has to end, now. I’m going to get a Prefect and put a stop to it!”

Ron jerked her hand sharply. “Hermione, stay out of it! You think Malfoy would have ever done the same for you? He used to be the bully, remember?”

“Oh, Ron, sometimes, you can be so insensitive. That’s an awful thing to say,” she said before turning quickly to find assistance.

Ron watched her as she left, feeling glued to his vantage point near the stairs where all the commotion was going on. The yelling and jeering was dying down now, and he could see the shadows of the crowd dispersing two by two until there was only one shadow left. It was thin and crouched over; the torchlight of the hallway illuminated the outline of a poor soul kneeling on the floor, his ragged breathing captured along the stone wall.

He swallowed. So what if the Ferret was getting the shit beaten out of him at every turn. He could probably give Malfoy a few kicks himself.

Ron huffed, looking back over towards the hallway and stairs leading to Gryffindor. Hermione had gone to get Malfoy help. Surely that was more than enough assistance; this was none of his concern.

Fuck Draco Malfoy.

And with that thought in mind, Ron turned his back on the wounded shadow of Malfoy and headed back to his common room, where his friends and admirers were waiting for him.

~~~*~~~

Chapter Three
A Different World

Despite his desire to pay the Ferret no mind, over the next few weeks Ron became more aware of Malfoy than he ever had before. Every other day it seemed a new bruise or cut would appear on the boy’s face, neck, and hands. What was worse was that the incident he and Hermione had witnessed seemed to fuel and give license to any and everyone who wanted to treat Draco Malfoy like a piece of shit. This was beyond occasional taunting; students who weren’t even known for bullying were joining in on the harassment, and it all appeared to be led by younger Gryffindors.

The prefects, professors, and Heads of House did what they could when they observed it, but as with most acts of malevolence at Hogwarts, they couldn’t stop what they couldn’t see.

One day at lunch, Hermione leaned over, eyeing Malfoy with a concerned expression. “You’d think McGonagall would do something about it,” she whispered. “It’s just horrible the way he's being treated.”

“What I don’t understand,” Ginny said, “is why they’re all treating Malfoy like that but not Goyle? He’s just as bad.”

“Well, Goyle’s a lot bigger, and he looks murderous,” Harry said. “I bet the lot of them are scared of him. Besides, he keeps to himself. I think Malfoy is making it worse; it’s almost like he’s daring them to push him further or something.”

“It doesn’t help that your testimony publicly identified his family as traitors to Voldemort,” Hermione said. “It certainly hasn’t won him any friends in his House.”

Harry nodded. “True, but he’s not known for being the most charming bloke either. I’m sure his mouth hasn’t helped any.”

“I’m surprised his mummy hasn’t shown up and made a big stink of it,” Ron quipped.

Harry frowned. “Lay off, Ron. You know his mum saved my life.”

Ron held in a sigh. Did he have to be reminded again?

“Besides, I’m not sure the Malfoys have any influence left,” Harry said.

“I don’t see why he doesn’t just give up and go home. He doesn’t even need school,” Ron said.

“Yes, he does!” Hermione protested. “Everyone needs school, Ron.”

Ron rolled his eyes, annoyed that Malfoy was taking up their conversation, annoyed that his friends seemed to care, and most of all, annoyed that it was something that had crossed his mind more times than he could count over the past few weeks.

“Can we talk about something else besides the Ferret?”

Harry smiled. “Yeah, how about all of the time you’ve been spending in the library.”

Ron scoffed. “Do I have to remind you that I’m preparing to take six N.E.W.T.s? Since when is studying a crime?”

“It’s not,” Ginny said. “It’s just … so different for you. Mum will never believe how much you study now.”

“Well, I think it’s a brilliant change. It’s nice to see you applying yourself,” Hermione said, sliding her hand over his thigh to give it a tight squeeze. Ron looked around self-consciously, fighting the urge to push Hermione’s hand off.

“Yeah, well, you’re not the only one who can pick up a book, Hermione,” he said irritably.

Hermione withdrew her hand. “I was trying to give you a compliment, Ron.”

“It sounded more like a backhanded compliment to me,” Ron said.

Hermione huffed.

As soon as Ron said the words, he regretted it, but it was out now. He had always struggled with when to speak his mind and when to hold his tongue with Hermione, and now that they were seeing each other, the choice seemed more difficult than ever.

“Sorry,” he said, quickly, offering a sheepish smile as he stretched his arm over to rub her back. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. Actually, I’m a bit surprised at how much I want to study as well … I suppose the N.E.W.T.s mean more to me than I thought they did.”

Hermione’s face softened, and she gave him a small smile, her hand returning to rest on his thigh. “Well, that just means we’ll get to see each other more. I’ve already made my study schedule; perhaps we can coordinate so we can study together?”

“I’d like that,” Ron said genuinely as his hand covered hers. They gazed at each other for a long moment before the sound of someone coughing interrupted them.

Ron looked over to see Ginny and Harry smirking at them.

“Oi, would you two stop gawking,” Ron said.

~~~*~~~

In his next class, Ron found himself staring across the room at Malfoy, who appeared to be concentrating intently on the professor. He’d never really looked at the boy before, and certainly not the way he saw him now. Despite the scars and bruises, and all the harsh treatment he’d been receiving, Malfoy still held his shoulders back and head up, that little Ferret nose pointed high, always poised.

Ron sat back, almost admiring the grace and inner strength it had to take to carry on like a snooty aristocrat even in the face of the humiliating truth—the Malfoy name was despised now, the customary fear and respect no longer associated with it.

Sudden curiosity bloomed. What exactly was Malfoy’s motivation for coming back to Hogwarts? Why hadn’t he summoned his mother or transferred schools? Was this a test of pride and endurance, or was there some darker purpose for his steadfast resistance to cave in to the onslaught of ridicule?

“Mr Weasley …”

Ron blinked. The entire class was looking back at him, and he was looking at Malfoy, who was sneering in disgust. Ron felt his face burning with embarrassment and he shook his head at Malfoy to appear disturbed by the boy’s presence rather than intrigued.

“Yes?”

The Charms professor sighed in frustration. “I asked you to name the properties shared by each of the five major Healing Charms most commonly used today."

“Uh … right,” Ron stalled, his face burning hotter than ever as he leafed through his book. Merlin, he hated Charms.

~~~*~~~

Quidditch practice was a welcome relief. It was the one thing Ron really enjoyed, and as an eighth year, he was more confident than ever in his abilities to show as a good Keeper.

Try-outs were a breeze. He’d coasted through, making first line Keeper easily.

Once try-outs were over and everyone had been chosen, the new Gryffindor team gathered for their first team meeting, with Ginny and Harry acting as co-captains. It was so cute it almost made Ron sick.

“First off,” Harry said. “each of you should now have the practice schedule. Monday and Wednesday practices at 4:00pm, Friday scrimmages at 4:00pm.”

“Why don’t we get first pick of the pitch?” asked Dean. “It says here that Slytherin has the field first on Monday and Wednesdays …”

“What difference does it make?” asked Harry.

A grumble broke out amongst the gathered team, and sixth year Alex Notley spoke. “Because last year, Slytherins got first pick of everything. In fact, they didn’t even allow us to practice most weeks towards of the end of it.”

Ron looked around. There were lots of nods of agreement and eyes burning with bitter memories of the previous year.

Harry grimaced, a look of worry on his face as he glanced at Ron. “Well, that was last year. Things were different.”

“They sure were,” said Dean angrily.

“We’ve got to put that behind us and move on.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Potter. You weren’t here last year. You don’t know what it was like,” said another sixth year.

Ginny gave Harry a sympathetic, closed-lipped smile. “Guys, what’s important is that we have practices this year, and no one is going to take them away from us. Ever again.”

There was a subdued acceptance of her words as Harry carried on awkwardly.

“Right, and, uh, let’s remember that this year is about having fun,” Harry said.

But there were no smiles given at this statement, the ghost of the past year still lingering, sitting amongst them in grim silence.

Ginny smiled at Harry defiantly, determined to keep up his spirit. “All we can do is our best and not take ourselves too seriously. Congratulations to all of you, first and second string. We’re looking forward to a brilliant year.”

The team gathered their things and began to leave, some grumpily and some with half-hearted smiles.

“Well, that went well,” Harry said sarcastically once they were all gone, leaving him, Ron, and Ginny standing by the bleachers.

“It actually went better than I thought it would,” Ginny said. “I knew there was going to be a problem once I saw the schedule.”

“Why would Hooch give Slytherin the pitch first like that?" Ron asked. "She should have known better.”

“Perhaps she didn’t think it’d be such a big deal,” Harry said.

“Well, she’s wrong! It is a big deal,” Ginny said bitterly.

“Ginny, I thought you said—”

“Oh, forget what I said, Harry. I was just trying to support you. And I know they’re looking to us to be examples, but if you want to know the truth, after what we endured last year, they have every right to be pissed off. As far as I’m concerned, Slytherin should be last for everything; in fact, I’m not sure they deserve to even participate in most school activities.”

Ron and Harry stared back at her, surprised and unsure of what to say. Ginny looked more than a little defensive by their silence.

“Listen, it’s like Dean said: you guys wouldn’t understand … you don’t know what it was like here … what happened. We didn’t tell you everything …”

Ron and Harry exchanged a worried look. Ron wasn’t sure if he wanted to know …

“Anyway, best to drop it,” Ginny said, unfolding her arms and gaining her composure. “What’s done is done, right?”

Ron nodded. As much as he wanted to bombard his sister with a million questions he held his tongue instead.

“Let’s have a fly,” Harry suggested quickly. He was becoming very good at the transition-from-awkwardness thing.

Ron and his sister both nodded.

They flew around the pitch, then beyond it and over the lake. It was a gorgeous sight, and all of the tension and concern slipped behind Ron as he followed Harry and Ginny. For a minute, jealousy pricked him. Harry and Ginny were lucky they could share the sky together. It was an experience like no other, and to ride the wind beside someone you loved had to be the most comforting experience in the world. If only Hermione weren’t so afraid of flying, Ron would take her up with him. But he already knew what she’d say if he asked her, and so instead of longing and wishing for what would never happen, Ron took a detour, breaking away from Harry and Ginny to circle back around the lake and up above the castle.

Dark ripples and the breaking white current turned into sand and then green forest as Ron approached the mammoth that was Hogwarts, its turrets stretching far into the sky. The highest point had been flattened. The tower was really more of a platform now, its proud peak a jagged line of rubble. He could see clear down into the seventh and eighth floors, much of it having been blackened by the fire from last year. He stared down at the ruins, only barely aware that he had stopped in mid air. It was a mess, really. The west wing was only partially standing, and most of its stone lay strewn across the lawn. The east wing was just a quarry of rock, the only thing providing shelter from the elements was a shielding ward of some type. As Ron hung in the air gazing down at what used to be Hogwarts, he wondered just where exactly the dead had met their end.

By the time he dismounted his broom, the tension had returned. He was agitated and uneasy. He had foolishly allowed himself to think on the past, to dwell on bad things. It was something he had promised himself he would not do. Quickly, he ran to his dorm room, showered, and returned to the common room, searching for the one thing that could make him forget.

“Hermione!”

Hermione closed her book, a curious smile on her face. “Where have you been?”

“Quidditch try-outs, and then Harry, Ginny and I went for a fly.”

“Where are they?”

Ron shrugged. “Don’t know, but I do know where I want to take you now.”

“Oh?” Hermione said, practically jumping out of her seat.

“Yeah,” he grinned. The agitation, restlessness and unease stirring within him needed to be purged, and if he couldn’t purge it out, he’d drown it out. And Hermione was the perfect well.

They left the common room in haste, and Hermione gasped as Ron pulled her into a darkened corner near the fifth floor greenhouse. No one ever hung out there.

“You sneaky little git,” she whispered. “For a moment there, I thought you didn’t want to snog me.”

Ron drew her tight against his body. “Not want to snog you? That’s all I’ve been dreaming of since fourth year.”

“Fourth year?” she asked sceptically.

Ron grinned. “Well … maybe third.”

Hermione laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck and rose on her toes to meet his lips. “Well, you don’t have to dream any more.”

Her hair, her arms around him, the outline of her breasts mashed against his chest was maddening. Without thinking, his mouth crashed down into hers as he moved them back against the wall. Hermione’s moans were encouraging, and Ron took it as permission to explore. His tongue probed her mouth possessively and his hands wandered daringly from her hair to her back and further down. He cupped her arse with both hands, pressing his hardening erection into her. As Hermione’s moans became louder, the adrenaline he sought to relieve only climbed higher. Kissing Hermione was only a tease; he needed more. He jerked her hips forward as he thrust his own against her again and again in a lewd imitation of what he wanted.

But Hermione was no longer moaning; she was making strange noises and whimpers, and her arms and hands were no longer wrapped around him in warm invitation. They were pushing him away.

“Ron! Stop it!”

Ron froze, the haze of lust and force of adrenaline waning.

Hermione was breathing hard, her eyes bewildered and scared.

“What?” he asked.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, hitting his chest once more.

“Nothing! What--what did I do? I thought you were enjoying it.”

Hermione grimaced, straightening her clothing and her hair. “I was, but then you … well, you lost control. It was like you were someone else. Didn’t you hear me say stop?”

Ron swallowed, embarrassed and confused about what just happened. It felt like he’d been in some sort of trance before and Hermione had given him some Pepper Up potion.

“No, I honestly didn’t. I would have stopped if I had.”

Hermione’s eyes searched his and then softened. “Ron, are you all right?”

Ron nodded mutely, his eyes dropping, unable to meet hers. “Yeah, I suppose. Just a bit tense maybe.”

Hermione’s reached up to gently lift his chin until his eyes met hers. “Want to talk about it?”

Ron shook his head. “Nah, it’s just Quidditch stuff. You know how worked up it gets me. I’m fine … really.”

Hermione studied him, her eyes full of doubt, but thankfully she decided not to press.

“If you say so," she said, stepping back to put a few more inches between them.

Ron dropped his eyes once more in shame.

“Listen, what do you say we go back to the common room and study a little?” she offered.

“All right,” Ron said, forcing himself to look straight at her with a reassuring smile that felt every bit as fake as McGonagall’s inter-house unity plan.

~~~*~~~

As they walked back to the common room, chatter and laughter echoed throughout the castle. Evening at Hogwarts was always much more relaxed than the school day. The prefects were around, but even they wanted to hang out with their friends. And since the Heads of House and professors were usually occupied in their private studies, the general rule was “don’t do anything flagrant and no one will care”.

The corridors were littered with students from Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor from almost every year. The Gryffindors had taken the lion’s share of the hallways, some of them standing on the ledges, pointing at the more awkward or younger students as they walked past.

Hermione stopped in her tracks, scanning the hallway.

“What is it?” Ron asked.

“You don’t notice anything strange?”

Ron looked around and shrugged. “No.”

“This is terrible,” Hermione said in exasperation. “The entire purpose of the Restoration project is to bring the houses together. That’ll never happen if everyone shuns Slytherin.”

“Who says anyone is shunning them? Maybe they don’t want to hang out,” Ron defended. “Maybe they’re ashamed … they have good reason to be.”

“Ron, that’s a terrible thing to say,” Hermione admonished. “Many of them came back to help us.”

Ron snorted. “Yeah, right after all of the major fighting was done … after nearly everyone had died. How many people did they lose? I’d wager it's not even close to the rest of us.”

Hermione looked away, and Ron felt compelled to smooth things over. Especially since he had already made a mess of their snogging session.

“Look, Hermione, McGonagall’s inter-house unity idea is…well, it’s a good idea, but it’s not going to happen overnight, if ever. An idea can’t make everything that happened go away.”

“You’re right, Ron. It’ll never go away if everyone uses Slytherin as a scapegoat for last year. That’s much easier than dealing with what happened.”

An uneasy coil began to tighten in his stomach as he absorbed the accusation and demand in her eyes. Hermione was digging at things that were best left buried, and besides, what good came of stirring old ghosts? She was wrong.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, I think I’m going to hang out here for a bit, if that's all right with you.”

“Fine,” Hermione said, pursing her lips before turning away from him. As he watched her walk away, a strange feeling of loneliness crept over him in the middle of the crowded hallway. He glanced around at the familiar faces staring back at him, but among them there were no real friends. There was a joviality and camaraderie among the students that seemed borne of something foreign and unknown to him.

You guys wouldn’t understand, you don’t know what it was like here … what happened. We didn’t tell you everything

Perhaps he would never know. He thought of going to the library to get away from everything when one of the younger Gryffindors waved him over.

“Hey, Ron, over here!" shouted Scott Anderson, a rather large sixth-year Gryffindor boy with brown eyes and short sandy blond hair.

Ron felt some relief and a measure of pride that he was being asked to be a part of a group. They all watched him as he approached, their chests puffed out and eyes proud like he was the prize Quidditch trophy itself coming home.

The boys on the ledge made a space for him to sit in the middle, high above everyone else.

“There you go, special spot for you, King Weasley …”

Ron felt his face flush as he waved off their compliments with a humble grin. But he took the seat anyway.

They looked up at him and then returned to their conversations, talking around Ron, but not to him. The previous feeling of being out of place returned.

“Oi, would you look at that,” said one of the boys. All eyes turned upward to where he was pointing. Black robes with green and silver accents swished down the hallway, an audible hush passing over the group as two fourth-year Slytherin girls approached. They looked around nervously before finding two fourth year Hufflepuffs who were overly welcoming as if trying to shield them from the hateful glares being thrown their way.

“What do you say, King Weasley?” asked Scott loudly so that the girls could hear. “Shall we banish the Slytherins from the hallway or allow them to stay?”

Ron stared back at the boy, a nervous laugh escaping him until he looked up and saw that everyone was indeed waiting for his decision.

“Uh, they can stay, of course,” he said slowly, still in disbelief that the words needed to be spoken.

“Well, all right, but only because you say so,” said Scott with a glint in his eye that held the promise of something darker.

The chatter in the hallway resumed as if nothing had happened, but as Ron sat back on the ledge watching his schoolmates, he realised this was not the Hogwarts he had defended last year. That in the span of only a few months, everything had changed.

~~~*~~~

Chapter Four
Numb

By the end of the week, things with Hermione had turned awkward. Intent on not repeating his show of unbridled and unwanted advances, Ron had made it a point to avoid any situation or opportunity to be alone with her. In turn, Hermione had become moody and frequently gave him the silent treatment, which only made Ron want to put even more distance between them.

By Friday lunchtime, the tension between them had grown so much that it took its own space at the table.

“All right, enough of this. What’s wrong with you two?” Harry asked bluntly.

“What?” Ron said.

Ginny studied her brother and then looked to Hermione for an explanation.

“Everything is fine. Really,” Hermione said stiffly, offering a small smile.

“Right,” Harry said, giving them both an impatient glance before returning to his soup.

There was a loud chorus of cheers as the owls flew in delivering the post. The flurry from their wings was enough to generate a breeze all on its own.

“What’s going on?” Ron asked. “I’ve never seen so many owls arrive at once.”

Hermione quirked a smile. “You’ll see.”

Ron, Ginny, and Harry stared at her, but she refused to elaborate, instead taking another drink of pumpkin juice. They looked up to the ceiling where the owls hovered over their owners with a curious scroll and a gold key dangling from their legs. There was a great deal of excitement as everyone began to untie the scrolls from the owls’ legs.

“What are you up to?” Ron asked.

Hermione smirked. “Just open it.”

Ron pulled the tie and key off to unfurl the scroll.

“You’re the key to Hogwarts’ future,” he read aloud.

“Read on,” Hermione said excitedly.

Ron scanned the note, and then re-read it again slowly before raising his eyes to glare at Hermione.

“Hermione, are you mental?”

“Pardon?”

“You assigned me to be on the same Restoration team as Draco Malfoy? What were you thinking?”

Hermione raised her chin defiantly. “It’s an excellent way to demonstrate inter-house collaboration. You and Malfoy are both eighth years, and whether you realise it or not, Ronald, people look up to you, and your attitude this year is bordering on—”

“What?”

Hermione pursed her lips. “You have to be mindful that you’re a role model now, and this is a perfect opportunity—”

“For you to punish me!”

“Punish you?”

“I know you’re still mad at me because of what happened the other night, and this is your way of getting back at me!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ron, that’s ridiculous. Malfoy isn’t the only one on your team; there are others too. You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want, but it might help.”

“Besides, Ron,” Harry interjected. “Malfoy has his own problems to worry about, he isn’t going to be bothering you.”

“But why does he have to be on my team?” Ron whined.

“The least you could do is try to support me," Hermione said tersely. "This is a tough enough job as it is without dealing with your complaining.”

“Well, I just found out about it,” Ron said irritably. “What did you expect me to do, jump up and cheer?”

“Ron, I care about you, I really do, but sometimes you make me want to hex your mouth shut.”

“You’d love that wouldn’t you?” Ron shot back. “Then you could talk all you like and I’d just have to sit and listen.”

Hermione gaped back at him, affronted.

“Will you two please stop it?” Ginny said in exasperation. “Can we have one meal where you aren’t bickering? You two fight more than you kiss.”

“Tell me about it,” Hermione murmured. Ron turned his head sharply to stare at her. Hermione appeared to be just as shocked as he was.

“I … I didn’t mean—” she stammered.

“Sure you did,” Ron sneered. “It’s not really my fault, though, since you can’t make up your mind about whether you want to kiss or argue!”

Hermione closed her mouth, her face flushed.

Ginny glanced between the two before filling the awkward silence with questions about the rest of the team assignments. When Harry joined in, everyone seemed to be over the argument, but Ron wasn’t. As hard as he tried to concentrate on the conversation, the thought of what Hermione had done only made him angrier. How dare she be so self-righteous to think that she was teaching him a lesson about being a role model! He knew how a bloody role model behaved, and it didn't include playing nice with former Death Eaters.

“Ron!” Harry said sharply, snapping him out of his brooding.

“What?”

“Have you heard anything I’ve said?”

“Yeah, I heard you. Listen, I’m not hungry anymore, and I need to study.”

His three companions looked at him in confusion, but Ron didn’t stick around to hear if they would ask him where he was going.

~~~*~~~

After lessons ended, Ron stayed to himself upstairs in his dorm, trying to read his Charms book. That was, until Harry found him.

“Ron…”

“Just leave me alone, Harry,” Ron mumbled.

Harry ignored him, taking a seat at the foot of Ron’s bed. “Hermione feels terrible about assigning you to team up with Malfoy.”

“Does she now?”

“Yes. She said she thought she was helping you.”

“How?” Ron asked, turning over on his back to stare up at his friend.

Harry sighed. “Well, she’s right. You are a role model now. We all are. And since we’ve been back, you’ve been acting … strange.”

“Strange?”

“You don’t joke around as much anymore, and you sort of seem on edge. It’s not hard to get you riled up. And at night, you keep the lot of us awake.”

“I do? Don’t tell me I talk in my sleep?”

Harry gave him a pitying look. “More like shout; It’s like you're fighting something.”

Ron blushed, suddenly embarrassed. “Well, if I do, this is the first I’m hearing about it. And it’s not like I can help it. I’m asleep.”

“Yes, I know, but this grudge you have against Malfoy …”

“I don’t have a grudge against Malfoy, Harry. I just can’t forget all the shit he put us through like you and Hermione have.”

“Still,” Harry said, forging on. “You have to get hold of your anger. It’s starting to look bad. People are watching you, especially the younger pupils. Hermione just wants you to put your best foot forward. She loves you.”

Hearing Harry say that Hermione loved him loosened the hardness he had been holding onto since lunch. It had been difficult. Staying mad at Hermione was always difficult, even when he put as much energy as he could into trying.

“But do I really have to work with Malfoy? You remember what happened last year.”

Harry nodded. “A lot happened, Ron. He hasn’t had it easy either. His dad is in Azkaban and—”

“Wait a minute. Are you defending him? I thought you hated him too.”

“Well I don’t like him; he’s a spoiled brat,” Harry said in exasperation. “But he’s having a really rough year, and I hate to see anyone being treated the way he is. Honestly, I’m a little surprised you’re enjoying it so much. It’s a bit scary, really.”

Ron frowned, looking down at the floorboards. It wasn’t like he was taking delight in seeing Malfoy get beaten up. Well, maybe at first, but now…

He groaned. “Fine. I’ll be on the stupid Restoration team with him. But Hermione can’t make me talk to him.”

Harry gave Ron a small smile. “That’s all she’s asking, Ron. Just try and make an effort. You’re a war hero now. It’s not all fun and glory, you know. You have responsibilities.”

Ron threw a pillow at Harry’s face. “I get it.”

Harry chuckled. “All right. Well, she’s waiting for you downstairs.”

Ron stood up slowly and took a deep breath. The things he did for that woman.

~~~*~~~

Over the next few days, Ron made an effort to be more amiable to Hermione. They fell into the habit of taking long walks through the castle and into the grounds, but with each trip a quiet apprehension began to grow. What exactly did Hermione expect of him? It had been a lot easier to talk to her when she was just a friend or someone he secretly wanted but didn’t have the nerve to tell. Now he just listened as she talked. And Hermione talked a lot. It felt like she was demanding more time, more attention, and more conversation. Ron found it all a bit exhausting. Being a boyfriend was hard work! Sometimes she would ask him what he was thinking about, and Ron always felt compelled to lie. What he was thinking about wasn't exactly worth talking about.

Besides, some of his thoughts of late were disturbing and dark. He didn’t even know how to make sense of them, let alone talk about them. Ron preferred to not think on those things, he liked to keep things simple, enjoy life as it came, and it felt like Hermione took joy in complicating everything.

Like kissing. It should have just come naturally; it should have been simple. But now it was a major event. Ron tried to avoid it entirely, but Hermione had become adept at trapping him. That evening, after dinner, was no exception.

Ron could feel a sweat breaking out across his brow as he watched Hermione’s lips approach his as if in slow motion. He tried not to pull back, and when her lips collided with his, he told himself to relax and enjoy it. But when Hermione’s tongue began to probe his mouth—Ron felt numb, disconnected from her—and he couldn’t bear to continue.

“Hermione …”

“What’s wrong now, Ron?”

Ron swallowed. “Listen, I just think … we’re rushing things. Just because we’re seeing each other now doesn’t mean we have to kiss all the time.”

“Yes, but once in a while would nice. We never kiss!”

Ron gulped. He wasn’t sure how to express how weird it felt to kiss her. Even holding her hand sometimes felt like too much now. He needed space. “I just want to take it slow. You know, ease our way into this …”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Is that what you told Lavender when she had her mouth all over you?”

“Hermione, that was years ago!”

Hermione scowled and turned to walk away, leaving Ron feeling confused and guilty.

She had a point. He had no problems snogging Lavender. Then again, that really was years ago, and he had been infatuated with the attention Lavender had given him more than anything else.

So what was different now? It wasn’t like he wasn’t attracted to Hermione. She had been the focus of many wanking sessions over the years. But now it just felt like pressure whenever she was around. He had even stopped wanking to the image of her naked. In fact, he didn’t even wank at all anymore.

Ron frowned, baffled by the revelation that his desire for sex, even self-pleasure, had completely disappeared. But then he was startled out of his thoughts by a loud anguished cry.

Ron whipped his head to the left where the sound had come from and peered down the hallway. He couldn’t see anyone, but he could hear the sound of running footsteps, and they were coming towards him.

He stopped as a group of young Gryffindor boys, mostly sixth and seventh years, walked briskly past him looking anxious and fearful. One of them in particular stood out. Ron recognised him immediately— it was the boy from the hallway the other day, Scott Anderson. He was red-faced with shame, or was it guilt? Ron grabbed the boy’s arm, pulling him back as the rest of his friends ran on.

“I didn’t do anything! I swear it!” Scott said in a hushed, anxious voice.

“Yeah, right! Just what the hell were you guys doing? Who was that screaming?”

Scott swallowed, his eyes darting down the hallway in the direction from which they had emerged. Ron followed his gaze and then turned back, shaking the boy’s arm hard.

“Is someone down there?”

Scott opened his mouth and then closed it, nodding quietly.

Ron narrowed his eyes. “Who?”

“I...I have to go,” the boy stammered, pulling out of Ron’s grip to run down the hallway.

“Yeah, all right,” Ron called after him. “Just remember everything you do affects the whole House!”

Ron stared in the direction he had disappeared, wondering when Gryffindor had become so mean and cowardly. That was Slytherin behaviour. What unfortunate soul had those boys decided to use as a punching bag?

Ron turned to walk down the hallway, determined to show the poor sod that not all Gryffindors were arseholes.

The torchlight gave an eerie sheen to everything it touched, casting odd shadows against the stone wall. As Ron drew closer, he saw the hair first. White blond, shimmering in the orange glow of the torch light. No face though, because Draco Malfoy was balled up in the fetal position, facing the stone wall. There was blood … lots of it. It seemed to be coming from his head, and Ron noticed that Draco was barely moving.

“Malfoy!” he said roughly, hating that he even cared enough to bother.

But Malfoy remained motionless on the floor.

Ron took a deep breath and glanced around. What the hell was he supposed to do?

He inched closer to the still body, bending over to get a better look. The coppery smell of blood wafted up, making him grimace. His stomach began to turn as he eyed the deep gash in Malfoy’s head. He could see the blood there was still running, tainting his hair and collar and gathering into a puddle beneath his head on the floor.

“Oh, no… no…” Ron gasped, backing away. It was dangerous handling someone with a head injury, and he didn’t want to make the situation worse. He pulled out his wand and after a few attempts, finally conjured up his Patronus, sending it to Madam Pomfrey.

Within minutes, Pomfrey was there with Headmistress McGonagall following close behind.

“Oh, my! Get away from him, Mr Weasley! I’ll take it from here,” she said, bending down to look at Malfoy.

Ron watched as she performed several spells and then lifted him with a levitating charm, floating his body down the hallway towards the hospital wing.

“Explain,” McGonagall said, giving Ron the gravest expression.

He gulped. For a brief second, Ron considered telling her the truth, the entire truth: that a group of Gryffindor boys had hexed or beaten Malfoy up. But that could mean expulsion and shame on Gryffindor.

Not for Malfoy. It was good enough that he was discovered in time, but that was all he deserved.

“I came across him, and he was just lying there. I don’t know what happened, but I figured I should call for help,” Ron said without batting an eye.

McGonagall stared at him for a few minutes longer, perhaps trying to discern whether he was lying, and then nodded her head.

“Very well, Mr Weasley. You may go. But if you do find out anything else that could shed light on what happened here, you will report to me immediately. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Professor,” Ron said quickly, nodding and turning to leave.

With every step he took towards the stairs, Ron felt a little better. He was leaving McGonagall behind to sort out the mess. He was leaving behind the guilt he had about not telling her everything he knew. And best of all, he was further away from that moment had felt sympathy for Draco Malfoy.

~~~*~~~

When Ron came back to the common room, he saw the group of boys who had beaten up Malfoy gathered in the corner. He made eye contact with Scott. The boy still looked nervous; his eyes were full of question and fear.

Ron gave him a warning glare, and then glanced around; Hermione was nowhere to be found. He sighed in relief.

He took the stairs, set on having an early bedtime, but when he entered his dormitory, Harry was sitting up in his bed, a book in his hands.

They locked eyes but no words were exchanged, and Ron could tell that Hermione had already spoken to him by the disapproval on his face.

Ron rolled his eyes, turning his back to Harry to undress. As he did, his thoughts wandered back to Malfoy, the way he lay motionless, the gash in his head, the way the boys had just fled thinking nothing of it. Was Malfoy’s life really that worthless? Was anyone’s life ever that worthless?

“Ron!” Harry called.

Ron blinked, turning to look at Harry. “Yeah?”

“Where have you been?”

“I dunno, just around.”

“Hermione is upset. She looked as if she’d been crying. Did you two have a row?”

Ron chewed the inside of his lip. What did Harry really want to hear? Ron knew Hermione had already told him they'd had a row. Guilt began to eat at him as he thought of her crying to Harry about what he had done. But it wasn’t entirely his fault. Why was she so bloody needy all of a sudden? She’d never really needed him before. He liked the old Hermione better.

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean, sort of? You either did or you didn’t.”

“Fine, we had a row.”

“About what?”

Ron threw up his hands. “I’m not sure, really. I mean … I suppose things are just different now.”

“Different? How?” Harry asked, closing his book.

“Well,” Ron said, sitting down. “You remember that year Lavender was all over me?”

Harry gave him a bemused smirk. “Yeah, who can forget that.”

Ron shuddered. “Well, this is going to sound bizarre, but I think maybe Hermione is turning into Lavender …”

“What are you on about? Hermione? Our best friend? The brightest witch of our age?”

“Yes. That one. The one who has been demanding all of my time and gets angry with me because I don’t want to snog all the time!”

Harry levelled a stern look at him. “Ron, if you hurt her …”

“Harry, I’m trying not to!”

“I don’t want to go through this again, with either one of you,” Harry said in frustration. “And I don’t think Hermione wanting to kiss you is strange at all. She’s your girlfriend! You should want to kiss her back.”

“I know that!”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like the idea of kissing her. I never thought I’d see the day that Hermione would want to kiss me,” he said in puzzlement, “but … it’s not exactly turning me on. In fact, I think it’s doing just the opposite.”

“So what are you going to do? You can’t keep pushing her away.”

Ron sighed. “I suppose I could try harder, but the last time I did it was a total disaster. I mean, I went way overboard, and she freaked out.”

“Well then, maybe you should ask her how she’d like to be kissed instead of going to extremes. Stop being such a git and think about someone else’s feelings for a change!”

That hurt. Ron felt slighted by Harry’s words and didn’t know what to say. Not that it mattered; Harry had already turned over and closed his curtains, signalling the end of the conversation.

As Ron lay down, he thought of what Harry said. Comparing Hermione to Lavender had been unfair. She was still brilliant, feisty, and very much her own person. He just didn’t want her running around after him, begging for more snogging sessions.

Because truthfully, Ron didn’t want to snog at all. He frowned. What was wrong with him? He had been dreaming of Hermione for a long time. But now his dreams were shadows that dissipated as soon as he opened his eyes. Whatever his dreams were about, they left behind imprints of horror and fear like mosquito bites. Ron didn’t even want to know what he dreamed of now.

He stared up at the ceiling, thinking of Hermione, of how far they had come and what lay ahead for them next, if they would actually make it or simply drift apart. Would he lose a friend if their relationship didn’t work? That thought bothered him more than anything. It was the reason he had postponed telling her he liked her before. Having Harry and Hermione as friends meant everything. Friends were priceless, and he felt sorry for any lonely sod that didn’t have any.

Suddenly the image of Malfoy lying alone in the infirmary with his head cracked open invaded Ron’s thoughts. He shut his eyes against it, willing himself to clear his mind as he waited for sleep to come.

~~~*~~~

Chapter Five
Not My Enemy’s Keeper

The following afternoon for the first Restoration project meeting, Ron joined a first year and fifth year Gryffindor, a second and eighth year Ravenclaw, a fourth and fifth year Hufflepuff, and a third and sixth year Slytherin at the East wing of Hogwarts. When he arrived, Hermione was giving out instructions to another team, complete with a detailed blueprint, a spell book, and work helmets. They all were smiling enthusiastically and did a weird team clap that made Ron snigger.

Hermione caught him with the corner of her eye, delivering a warning glare so effective that all his happy thoughts immediately vanished. This was going to be a nightmare.

When Hermione was done speaking to the other group, she joined Ron’s team and began a roll call.

“Where’s Malfoy?” she asked when she came to his name.

All of the team members looked at each other quizzically.

“He’s probably hiding,” the fifth year Gryffindor said. “I wouldn’t want to show my face if I were him either.”

The Slytherins in the group dropped their eyes, clearly ashamed that Malfoy was in their house.

Others sniggered and began to make snide comments about Malfoy’s absence, and Ron suddenly found himself speaking. “Actually, I don’t think he’s hiding. I hear he’s in the infirmary.”

Everyone stared at Ron waiting for more information.

He shrugged. “That’s all I know.”

Hermione gave a slight nod before addressing the group. “All right then, we’ll make sure Malfoy gets caught up when he feels better. For now, I was thinking that your team could work on repairing the damage in and around the Room of Requirement.”

There was a sudden vacuum of sound in Ron’s head, like someone had stuffed his ears with cotton, and he could feel his pulse in his temple. Hermione may as well have told him to go to the Forbidden Forest alone at midnight to get reacquainted with the nice spiders that lived there.

“No, absolutely not,” he said.

“Ron,” Hermione said in a pleasant but firm voice. “We need everyone’s full cooperation.”

“Fine, but not there,” Ron insisted.

“Ron—”

“I said no, Hermione!”

Hermione gaped back at him in shock. The confusion and hurt on her face speared him, but how many ways could someone say no before they were heard? Why did she have to make things so difficult?

The other students in his team glanced between Ron and Hermione with curious fascination.

Realising he had just made a scene and that everyone would want an explanation, Ron tried to compose himself, and took a deep breath.

“Uh, sorry… I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It’s just that, well, I was hoping to work on something more substantial,” he said, giving her a pleading stare.

Hermione nodded slowly, her eyes studying him. “I see. All right. Well … we still need a team to do work in this area. It’s going to be a pretty big task. Is anyone here opposed to that?”

Ron looked around, and everyone was looking back at him to see if he disapproved.

Hermione clapped her hands and forced a smile. “Perfect. So let’s get started, shall we?”

After the debriefing, Ron and his team began discussing plans for repairing the wall of the east wing. Most of it lay scattered on the field below. After debating how to return it to its original design, they started lifting several pieces into sorted piles. It was a challenging few hours, but afterwards, Ron felt a sense of accomplishment and hope.

When they had all dispersed, Hermione approached him, looking hesitant.

“Ron …”

Ron cast his eyes to the floor, guilt returning. “Hermione, I’m sorry.”

“No, I am,” she said. “I completely forgot about the Room.”

“How could you forget?” Ron asked. “You were there. You were right there.”

“Yes, Ron, but I was also in the dungeons, on the East Wing, and on the field. Everywhere I look reminds me of that day. It’s all the same,” she said with tears shining in her eyes.

He hated seeing her cry and immediately felt selfish for letting his fears control him.

“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” he admitted.

One tear escaped Hermione’s eye as she embraced him around the waist. “It’s all right. It’s probably because we never discuss it … we never even mention it.”

Ron didn’t know what to say to that, so he remained silent as he held her.

“Perhaps we need to start talking about it,” she suggested.

Ron squeezed her tighter. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“I know, you said that,” she said. “But did you hear what I just said, Ron?”

“Yeah, I did,” Ron said, leaning over to give her a kiss on the forehead. “Are you hungry? It’s almost time for dinner.”

A look of concern darkened Hermione’s features, but it quickly faded as she gave him a bright smile. “Yes, it is. Let’s eat.”

Ron exhaled.

~~~*~~~

When Ron awoke the next day, he felt completely drained. He hadn’t got to sleep until nearly four that morning, and when he awoke, he had the familiar feeling that he’d just narrowly escaped some horrific event.

So he was tired and cranky about being tired. When he rolled over to see if Harry was awake, he saw that the bed was empty and made up. Harry was already dressed and messing with his hair. “You better get up, you’re going to be late.”

Ron groaned. “Just go on without me. I’ll catch up with you guys.”

Harry gave Ron a concerned looked but nodded and left. After several minutes of lying there, Ron finally got up, showered, and came down the stairs. The common room was empty save for Neville, who had a large tome open and a strange plant in his lap. He alternated between inspecting the leaves of the plant and reading, as if trying to solve a puzzle.

“Hiya, Neville, what are you doing here?”

Neville jumped, startled by Ron’s presence. “Oh, hi, Ron. Just studying. I thought everyone was gone. You’re not going to breakfast?”

“Er, nah, I’m not really hungry,” Ron said. “I was going to try and head to the library before first lesson.”

Neville raised his eyebrows in surprise. “The library? Are you all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just got a lot of studying to do as well. Not doing too well in Charms, and I have to get a N.E.W.T. in it if I want to make a try for the Auror trials."

“So you’re really going for it then?”

Right now, nothing seemed certain, but Ron had no intention of telling Neville, of all people, anything like that. Instead, he gave him a half-hearted smile. “Yeah. Why not?”

Neville smiled. “That’s great, Ron. I think I’m going to try and get an apprenticeship here under Sprout.”

“Wow,” Ron said, genuinely surprised. “So, you want to become a professor?”

Neville nodded eagerly. “Yeah. What do you think?”

“I think you can do anything you want, Neville.”

“Yeah? Thanks,” Neville said, clearly flattered. He shut the tome, rising carefully as he tried to balance the plant in one hand. “I suppose I should get a move on. First lesson starts soon. Good luck with your studying. I’ll see you later.”

“Sure,” Ron said.

As he watched Neville exit, a heavy feeling of doubt descended over him. Neville seemed so sure of what he wanted. And right now, Ron couldn’t think about the future because if he didn’t pass Charms, there would be no future.

First class started in just a half an hour, and he really did need to brush up on a few spells. As soon as he stepped out of the Gryffindor Common Room, McGonagall was there to greet him.

“Mr Weasley, I was looking for you at breakfast.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m not really hungry,” Ron said quickly. “Actually, I was headed to the library.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, giving Ron a sceptical look.

“Charms,” Ron explained. “I need to brush up.”

“I see. Well, it’s nice to see you paying extra attention to your studies this year,” McGonagall said.

Ron nodded awkwardly and gave her a small, closed-lipped smile. “I better get going, lessons start soon.”

“Not so fast, Mr Weasley, I need to speak to you about something rather important. Don’t worry, I’ll let him know you were with me. Follow me.”

As Ron fell in behind the new Headmistress, he racked his brain about what in the world this could be about. Was he in trouble? But for what?

As he stepped onto the Phoenix staircase, the question lay on the tip of his tongue, but he figured she would tell him everything he wanted to know soon, so he remained quiet. McGonagall had always given him the chills, so he concentrated on the marble walls as the staircase winded its way upward.

“Have a seat,” she said once they arrived.

Ron looked around the office briefly, his eyes falling upon the portrait where both Snape and Dumbledore were wide-awake and engaged in a game of chess.

The thought of saying ‘hello’ to them crossed his mind, but then he thought better of it and sat down as instructed.

McGonagall took her seat at the large mahogany desk in front of him and clasped her hands before her, peering down at him over her spectacles.

“How have you been, Mr Weasley?”

That was not the question Ron was expecting, but he knew the right answer to say.

“Fine. Just fine.”

“You look tired. Have you been sleeping all right?”

“Er, sure,” he said, widening his eyes to look alert. “Just loads of studying, really.”

“Professor Flitwick said that you appear to be tired and agitated in class.”

Ron wrinkled his brow. It really wasn’t any of that dwarf’s business how he was feeling.

“I don’t know what he means. I don’t really talk much in his class, but I don’t goof off either. Charms is giving me some trouble, but I’m doing my best to keep on top of things.”

McGonagall nodded, her eyes still measuring Ron in a way that made him want to squirm. He fought the urge.

“And your Restoration team?”

Ron smiled. That was something he actually felt good about. “We’re great. We have a name—the East Wing Builders, and everyone is really excited about rebuilding the East wall.”

“Yes, well I heard about your reaction to the original assignment in the Room of Requirement.”

Ron held his breath. Had Hermione gone behind his back and told her that? How could she?

“One of the professors was nearby and saw the confrontation.”

“Yeah, I suppose I sort of freaked out.” His ears were burning. He couldn’t even look at McGonagall. How embarrassing.

“It’s just that … there are certain parts of the castle I’m not quite ready to see again, not just yet.”

McGonagall nodded. "That’s perfectly understandable after what you’ve experienced. Many of your fellow schoolmates are in the same predicament."

Ron nodded, his eyes still focused on the desk instead of the woman before him.

"Unfortunately, Mr Weasley, we don’t have the staff to give students everything they need."

Ron finally found the nerve to lift his eyes and look at her directly, trying to discern where she was going with this.

McGonagall's eyes softened. “We all suffered greatly last year. There were many losses. But, what you, Mr Potter, and Miss Granger endured last year is … beyond what most people ever have to imagine. And for you to lose your brother as well …”

Ron shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable, but he just couldn’t. He forced himself not to look away as the picture of his brother's body in the Great Hall played in his head. Fred had still been smiling …

“I’m fine!” Ron snapped.

McGonagall’s lips tightened and she drew back, appraising him with concerned eyes.

Ron looked down at his lap, realizing he had just yelled at the headmistress because she was concerned about him. He did look mental.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I just meant that no one needs to worry about me. I’m fine. Just as well as everyone else.”

McGonagall nodded sympathetically. “Mr Weasley, the reason why I called you here is because I am also concerned about another student, and I thought you might be of some help.”

Quickly, Ron thought of all of the students at Hogwarts and those who may have been having trouble. His inner circle was fine. At least they appeared to be. Neville seemed to be more confident than ever. Perhaps it was Seamus. Some days he looked a bit down. There were rumours about what the Carrows had done to him and Dean. Although Dean looked like he was fairing all right.

“It is a bit of an unusual request since the student is not in your house, but I am trying to start something new here. I think house divisions may have contributed to last year’s tragedy, and I want to make sure that never happens again.”

Ron clutched chair rail as he stared back at McGonagall. What was she on about? How could he help anyone outside of Gryffindor? Wasn’t that what house prefects were for?

“The other night, you showed particular thoughtfulness and maturity in tending to Mr Malfoy,” she started.

Ron’s mouth went dry and his fingers gripped the sides of his chair. “Well, I—”

“Your regard for him is an exemplary example of everything we are trying to impart in our students this year,” McGonagall explained. “And I must say, I was very surprised. Clearly, whatever loss or grief you are dealing with has affected your attitude.”

Ron didn’t know what to say to that. It was true, but not in the way McGonagall thought. If anything, he felt more angry and resentful towards Slytherins than he ever had before.

“As you have probably already observed, Mr Malfoy is having a rather difficult time here. I have grave concerns about his safety.”

“But what about his house prefect and Head of House?”

McGonagall nodded. “Yes, they have both been alerted, as have all of the other prefects and Heads of House. Everyone will do their very best to keep watch over Mr Malfoy in order to prevent any further harm from coming to him. But you, Mr Weasley, share several classes with him and are sometimes in places where prefects and Heads of House may not be present.”

“What do you want me to do?” Ron asked in exasperation. “Be his bodyguard?”

McGonagall nodded. “Yes, in a manner of speaking. I would like for you to watch over him.”

“You must be barking!”

McGonagall’s eyes grew sharp. “Pardon me?”

“I mean …it’s just that Malfoy doesn’t even like me,” Ron rushed to explain. “He hates me, as a matter of fact. And I don’t much like him either.”

“Yes, well, you don’t have to like him to watch after him.”

“Do I have to do this?” Ron asked.

McGonagall frowned and then sighed. “No, Mr Weasley. Your only obligations as a student here are to go to class and obey school rules.”

“Good,” Ron said in relief, reclining in his chair.

She looked disappointed, and Ron hated that. Who the hell was she anyway? It wasn’t fair for her to even ask him to do such a thing. Looking after Malfoy would be a thankless chore that would alienate him from his friends and bring unwanted complications. Ron may as well just join Slytherin.

“You may find, Mr Weasley, that helping someone else get through this school term may help you as well,” McGonagall said with a meaningful look.

“I don’t need any help,” Ron retorted quickly. “Besides, Malfoy isn’t a first year. He’s an eighth year like me. He can take care of himself.”

McGonagall stood up and gave Ron a small tight-lipped smile. “Very well. I will not hold you up for class any longer. Have a good day, Mr Weasley.”

Ron rose slowly. The look of disappointment in McGonagall’s eyes was maddening.

“Good day,” he mumbled, quickly turning away to head for the stairs.

By the time he made it to Charms class, Ron was furious. How dare McGonagall ask such a thing of him? And then to have the nerve to look disappointed when he refused! Had the old cow gone completely nuts?

He sat down grumpily, noisily dropping his bag and opening his book, which drew curious stares from other students and the professor.

“Mr Weasley, if you’re going to come to class late, at least do it quietly so as not to disturb the rest of us,” said Mr Flitwick.

Ron glanced around the room and found Harry eyeing him strangely before he turned around.

Ron pictured smacking Harry upside the head but quickly shook off the thought, appalled that he had just visualized assaulting his best friend. What was wrong with him?

His eyes were drawn to the empty seat behind Susan Bones. That was where Malfoy would be sitting if he weren’t in the infirmary. Ron cursed silently to himself as he thumbed through his textbook.

He was hardly in the mood for Charms now, and he was already behind. Really, all of this was Malfoy’s bloody fault.

~~~*~~~

That night at dinner, Ron searched out the Slytherin table. Nott appeared unusually subdued, and Goyle looked loopy, his eyes half lidded and his face flushed. Ron wondered if he was sloshed. Malfoy was nowhere to be found. Ron looked down his own table at the group of boys who had been responsible for his injury. They were being loud and rowdy, none of them reflecting any concern about Malfoy being missing or the possibility that they could be in trouble.

Looking past them and back up the table again, Ron noticed for the first time that Gryffindor, as a whole, was an unusually loud and rowdy table. Some were throwing things while others sniggered and pointed at Slytherin table. It was really rather obnoxious. He frowned and turned to look at Harry and his sister, who were staring into each other’s eyes like they were alone.

He cleared his throat until they finally acknowledge his presence.

“What is it, Ron?” Ginny asked irritably.

“What’s got into us?” Ron asked, glancing back down at the table again.

Harry and Ginny followed his gaze.

“I suppose we are a bit loud this year,” Harry said with a smirk.

"More than that," Hermione broke in. Ron looked up at her, startled as she took a seat beside him. “We’re turning bad.”

They all frowned, staring at her.

“What do you mean?” Ginny asked.

“Well, it’s just the beginning of the school year and the prefects have already taken lots of points from Gryffindor. More than any other house,” Hermione explained.

“Oh, and they just had to, right?” Ron asked sarcastically.

“Ron, they’re acting like animals. They think just because Harry's in our house that somehow they're entitled to do whatever they want!”

“Well, I’m sure it’s just a few, ” Ron defended.

“Ron, you just said the house has changed,” Ginny said.

“Yeah, I know but …” Ron glanced down the table again and felt caught between defending his house and admitting something had changed for the worse. "Maybe we should have a talk with everyone tonight. I’d hate to lose the House Cup over a couple of tosspots."

Harry nodded. “Good idea.”

“Great, because I could use some help,” Hermione said. “They’re causing problems in the Restoration groups, and I don’t think I can stand dealing with this all year.”

~~~*~~~

The prefects agreed to let Harry call a Gryffindor House meeting. He, Hermione, Neville, Ron, and Ginny all stood before the crowded common room. There was high anticipation and curiosity about what they were going to say. However, when Hermione started off, noting what she had observed in terms of behaviour and attitude, she received a few aggravated sighs and eye rolls.

Once Harry started speaking, everyone grew quiet, listening intently. There were many shamed faces and averted glances as he reminded them of why Hogwarts was still standing, detailing the bravery of those lost and the responsibility and burden of Gryffindors to uphold that legacy. Raw sadness hit Ron as he recalled his brother, and it quickly turned to anger. He scanned the crowded common room and found the eyes of the boy he’d grabbed the night he’d discovered Malfoy lying on the floor. Ron wanted to shake him and smack him upside of the head for being so reckless and cocky. Who the hell did Scott think he was? He could have killed Malfoy, and that one act alone would have erased everything Fred had died for.

Ron cracked his knuckles, and Scott visibly gulped, looking elsewhere.

When the meeting was over the students scattered, talking in hushed voices.

“How do you think it went?” Ginny asked.

“I think they got the point,” Harry said.

“Thank you for doing that, Harry,” Hermione said before turning to Ron. Her hand snaked along his arm as she slid closer on the couch.

Ron couldn’t help it; his body stiffened at her touch.

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

“Er …” Ron swallowed, glancing around. Harry was staring at him, hard.

He forced a smile. “Sure, why not?”

They walked down the corridors, hand in hand. Ron glanced at students they passed. They were all laughing and talking and having fun. He found himself envious.

Hermione squeezed his hand, bringing his attention back to her. She pulled him along, a mischievous smile on her face as they came upon empty hallway.

“Hermione …”

“It’s all right, no one ever comes down here,” she said.

Ron glanced around nervously. Despite all of the pep talks he had been giving himself, the task of snogging Hermione properly for once suddenly seemed like a test he'd always be ill prepared for.

“Hermione, I’m—”

Hermione dropped his hand. “What is the matter now, Ron? And don’t give me any foolishness about taking it slow. This is just as about as slow as it gets. Ever since we’ve got back, you go from one extreme to the other. But most times you act as if you’re not interested in me at all!”

“That’s not true,” Ron said.

“It is. Even Ginny and Harry have noticed. Ginny even asked me if we were still together. And I can’t blame her. We hardly look like we’re seeing each other. It’s like you can’t stand to touch me. Are you trying to tell me something?”

“No, Hermione. I’m not trying to tell you anything, I—I just don’t know if I’m ready for all of this … I mean, we’ve been friends for so long. Sometimes, it just feels … off. Know what I mean?”

Hermione’s face tightened. “No, I don’t know what you mean, Ron. But you’re right. Something is off, and it’s not me!” She turned on her heel, and walked away.

“Hermione! Come back!”

Ron watched her disappear around the corner with a sinking feeling that he had just run out of chances. Ron lightly knocked his head against the wall. Perhaps it was for the best. He was almost tired of trying. He stood against the stonewall , staring out of the window. But the sun had long since faded in the horizon, and now there was just the blanket of night as dark as Ron’s future. There was a time when Hermione had figured prominently in it, but now, he didn’t know where she fit. He didn’t even know where he belonged.

Going back to Gryffindor common room would mean facing her, Harry and his sister, who were probably both on Hermione’s side.

Feeling confusion and self-pity pulling him into despair, Ron forced himself not to think on it any longer. He could just turn it all off. He didn’t have to think about anything he didn’t want to.

He pushed himself off of the wall and began walking back to Gryffindor, taking the long way, walking down stairways he knew would shift and give him a detour. The longer it took to get back, the better. The urge to go outside and get a breath of fresh air hit him, and so he climbed down to the first floor, making his way towards the front door when he came upon the corridor leading to the hospital wing.

Ron stood staring at the heavy glass doorway at the end of the hallway. Just how bad was Malfoy, anyway? Pomfrey usually didn’t keep anyone this long unless it was serious.

The door to the infirmary opened, and Ron turned around, feeling caught.

“Mr Weasley?” Pomfrey said.

“Yeah?”

“Did you want something?”

Ron quickly shook his head. “No, ah, I’m just on my way outside. Wanted to get a bit of air before they lock the doors for the night.”

Madam Pomfrey narrowed her eyes at Ron. “Is that so? Well…” she paused as if considering a proposal Ron hadn’t made. “It is getting quite late, but I suspect a visit would do Mr Malfoy some good. Come on.”

Ron’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

“Oh don’t play coy with me, young man. I know that’s why you’re really here. And it’s perfectly understandable since you are the one who found him,” Pomfrey said with an expectant stare.

“Uh, perhaps I should come another time,” Ron rushed to explain. “I don’t want to bother him so late in the evening.”

“It’s fine. I’m sure he’ll be grateful to see you. Don’t be shy, come on.”

Ron inwardly groaned as he slowly walked down the hallway. Madam Pomfrey disappeared inside and Ron followed her, letting the door close behind him.

‘In and out. Just say hi and then be on your way,’ Ron muttered to himself.

Madam Pomfrey had one hand on Malfoy’s forehead, while the other held her wand, which was pointed at his wrist. Malfoy looked quite pale, even in the dim light, he was giving off a strange glow, and his head was wrapped in bandage.

Ron squinted as he drew closer. “Shouldn’t he be healed up by now?”

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. “Mr Weasley, head wounds are unique. I can’t just give him some Skele-gro or do a simple healing spell to patch up a concussion. The mind is a funny thing. Extra care must be given whenever someone has an injury of this nature.”

“Well then, shouldn’t he be at St. Mungos?”

“No! I’m one of Britain’s top Healers,” Pomfrey exclaimed, affronted. “He’ll be just fine here. Now, I’ll give you about five minutes to say your hellos and then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“He’s not even awake.”

Pomfrey pushed Malfoy’s hair back from his head. Malfoy stirred, his eyes slowly opening. He looked confused but guarded as he stared up at both of them.

“It’s all right, Mr Malfoy. You’ve been sleeping all day,” she said softly. “It’s time for you to eat and take your potions. And, look, you have a visitor.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Madam Pomfrey, and Ron waited for his grey glare to shift to him. But Malfoy seemed to either be unaware of his presence or was just set on ignoring him.

Ron cleared his throat. “Er, hi, Malfoy.”

Malfoy turned his face away.

Ron looked up at Pomfrey helplessly.

“Mr Malfoy, don’t be rude.”

“How’s the head?” Ron tried again, feeling ridiculous. He didn’t even care … well, not really.

“It’s fine. And I don’t need any visitors,” Malfoy said in a low steely voice.

Ron sighed. “Well you heard him, I guess I’ll be leaving now.”

“Mr Malfoy, that’s no way to treat your guest,” Madam Pomfrey chided. “Mr Weasley practically saved your life. If you had been found a moment later—“

Instead of smoothing things over, her words seemed to enrage Malfoy, who turned his head to glare up at Ron.

“What are you here for, Weasley?" Malfoy snarled. "A thank you?”

Ron opened his mouth, ready to tell Malfoy that he didn’t even want to be here, that he would gladly finish off what his Gryffindor classmates had started, but before he could, Malfoy spoke again.

“Get out.”

Pomfrey shook her head. “I’m sorry, looks like he’s in rather foul mood. Perhaps you should be on your way.”

Ron huffed. “No wonder you got beat up, prat.”

“Mr Weasley!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll see myself out,” Ron said briskly, walking out the door.

He didn’t realise how upset he was until he began walking back up the hallway. His blood was boiling, his nostrils flaring and his teeth clenched.

“Ungrateful git,” he muttered, hastening his walk to the Gryffindor common room.

~~~*~~~

The following day when Ron awoke, Harry didn’t give Ron a second glance or say a word before taking to the stairs. Ron had to talk himself into getting up and taking a shower. It was going to be a long day.

When he came down, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny had already left for breakfast. It was just as well. For the rest of the day he kept his distance from them, which was easy since they were giving him the silent treatment anyway. By dinner though, Hermione seemed to have grown tired of their standoff.

“Hello,” she said stiffly.

“Hi,” Ron said cautiously, noting her guarded expression. Harry and Ginny were both eyeing him closely.

“I forgive you,” she said simply.

Ron tilted his head, staring at her as he tried to remember the reason they had been fighting in the first place. Oh yes, she wanted him to do something he wasn’t comfortable with doing, and when he refused, she had gone stomping off like a petulant child. But he’s the one that needed forgiveness?

“Oh, thank you, great goddess, for showing me mercy,” he said sarcastically.

“You see! I tried, Harry. I really did! He’s hopeless.”

“I’m hopeless? Maybe if you treated me like a person instead of kissing post I could relax.”

“So this is my fault?”

“Ron!” Harry interjected.

“It’s certainly not all of mine.”

“Hermione! Please!”

Hermione had angry tears in her eyes, and Ron felt like punching something. He almost wished she’d go back to not speaking to him again.

“Ron, what’s got into you, mate?” Harry asked gently.

Ron turned to glare at his friend, surprised that Harry was singling him out. “Oh, you’re taking her side, now?”

“No, Ron. We’ve all noticed it,” Ginny said. “You’re … different. Edgy.”

“Angry,” Harry added.

“And distant … all the time,” Hermione said. “You’ve been this way since school started.”

Ron glanced around at all three of them. Hermione was definitely tearing up now, but she also looked concerned. Harry and Ginny were both studying him with concerned looks on their faces.

“I’m fine! I wish everyone would get just off of my back!” Ron snapped.

Ron couldn’t help but notice the sudden hush in the dining hall as many students at his table turned their eyes towards him. He silently cursed, looking around. Another flash of anger surged through him. Harry, Hermione, and Ginny all seemed to be hell-bent on pushing him. No wonder he was “on edge” or whatever they called it. What was everyone’s problem? Were they trying to send him to the loony bin? He grabbed a biscuit and rose from his seat.

“Ron, please sit down,” Ginny urged.

“Just leave me alone, all right, Gin,” he said, walking off and trying to ignore their worried expressions.

He walked right outside where he knew he wouldn’t run into anybody or be asked fifty questions about his feelings or mood swings, and sat on the edge of a wall outside the entrance of the courtyard.

As he stared out at the vast castle grounds and the forest framing it, a vision flashed before his eyes. Ron grimaced, wanting to shut it out, but it was no use.

There was yelling and shouting. Endless shouting and lots of smoke. Flashes of green light and dashes of red lit up the field like fireworks. There were many faces twisted in agony, anger, and fear. Bodies littered the field, some of them looked just like him. Young, too young to be dead.

Hermione was screaming, and Ginny seemed petrified. He looked up and saw Hagrid.

The great half giant was crying and there was a procession behind him, led by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and they were carrying someone who looked dead. Someone who looked familiar. It couldn’t be. No … not him…

Ron scowled. That was old news. It had all been a trick, and a brilliant one at that. Harry was alive and well, and they had won. What the hell was he doing, daydreaming about the past? What was done was done.

The war was over, and everything was fine. He was fine, and he’d just have to try a little harder to make people see that. This was his year to really shine, and he wasn’t going to let it go to shit.

He looked back up at the castle, and his eyes caught on something in one of the first-floor windows — a pale, pointy face staring down at him.

“Prat,” Ron murmured, turning back around to gaze in envy at the fresh green field that bore no signs of the battle or the tragedy that had taken place there.

~~~*~~~

Chapter Six
Reasonable Force

When the East Wing Builders met the following day after lessons, there was a new face present.

Everyone turned curiously to stare at Malfoy as he walked up quietly to stand in the back. Ron surveyed the group to see if there were going to be any troublemakers, but no one said a word to the boy.

The group broke up to go about their tasks, leaving Malfoy standing alone. Ron hastily explained to Malfoy everything they had been working on when it became evident no one else was going to do it. He really disliked having to be the one to inform the boy about the project, but Ron also knew it would really bother him if Malfoy got to sit off to the side brooding like a spoiled prat while everyone else worked their arses off. Malfoy didn’t respond to anything Ron said, but he nodded to show he understood.

“So, is there anything in particular you’d like to work on?” Ron asked. “We still need people to help line up the rocks properly, and to cast the lifting spells, (which can be murder if you have poor concentration) and we also need a few extra wands to help lock them in place once they’re in formation.”

“What’s the wall going to look like once it’s done?” Malfoy asked loudly, prompting everyone around him to pause and turn around.

“Uh, like a wall,” replied Kevin Entwhistle, an eighth year Ravenclaw.

There were sniggers, but Malfoy didn’t look bothered, just unimpressed.

“Just a wall?” he said. “Sounds rather plain if you ask me.”

One of the girls scoffed. “You would say that. I’m sure you consider the entire castle plain compared to your family’s estate.”

The group laughed; Ron watched Malfoy, expecting him to put on his usual sneer and cut the girl down to size.

Instead, Malfoy levelled a cold stare at her. “Pardon me, but I thought this was the Hogwarts’ Restoration Project, where we are supposed to honour the memory of the past and build a new legacy. Those were Granger’s words, I do believe,” he said, glancing at Ron.

Ron’s eyebrows rose, surprised that Malfoy had practically memorised Hermione’s words from the first night.

“He’s right,” said the sixth year Slytherin girl. “We shouldn’t just rebuild the wall. We’re supposed to be adding something new to it. Something that represents us now.”

The cherub-faced fourth year Hufflepuff gasped, practically jumping up and down. “I know! How about we change the colour of the wall from grey to something fun, like orange or pink?”

Most of the younger students smiled at her suggestion, but the older students all groaned.

“That’d be perfect if Hogwarts was a wizarding fashion school,“ Malfoy remarked to several agreeing chuckles. Ron himself couldn’t help but smile.

“I was thinking, we could charm the rocks to grow ivy …” Malfoy suggested.

Everyone in the group looked around at one another, giving head nods in agreement.

“That’s a great idea, Malfoy,” said a skinny third-year Hufflepuff boy. “But how do you charm a rock to grow plants?”

Malfoy smirked. “Potions of course. With the right potion, you can breed life out of anything. I’ll head up that task.”

There was clear excitement as people began to talk about the new suggestion. Malfoy looked content and smug with his contribution, and for once, Ron didn’t begrudge him that.

~~~*~~~

Two weeks later, everything had gone back to normal — or as normal as things could be.

Ron had placed a silencing charm around his bed so as not to disturb his dorm mates on those nights when he’d wake himself up from shouting. Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare he couldn’t remember and simply stare into the darkness. And when the darkness would encroach on his thoughts, poking at his memories, he’d go down to the common room to sit and play wizarding chess against himself.

He and Hermione were on better terms; Ron had made several efforts to arrange walks and opportunities to be alone. They even snogged regularly now. Sometimes Ron even felt something, but most times, the interaction was just wet and he’d count down the moments until it was over. He had decided that whatever problems he and Hermione were having physically could be rectified with more time and effort—she was going to be his wife, he knew it. Not all relationships were perfect. They simply had to work on it a bit more than others.

Sometimes he’d catch Harry watching him, but mostly the two had gone back to their usual rapport: playing chess, teaming up on Quidditch, and chatting during meals.

Even the Malfoy problem seemed to have solved itself. At meals, at least, hardly anyone ever bothered him, not even Nott, which Ron found curious. In fact, Nott appeared to be more withdrawn lately. Ron wondered what had occurred to change his behaviour. He, Malfoy, and Goyle were all like islands unto themselves.

But it was Malfoy Ron paid the most attention to. In class, the boy wouldn’t say much, but when he was called on, he was always prepared and left no room for teasing or mocking. It probably helped that the teaching staff and prefects were all doing a better job of controlling the bullying, at least for a little while.

Everything seemed to be going just fine, until the day Ron decided to take an emergency bathroom break after breakfast. His stomach was worrying him, so instead of using the usual bathroom, he decided to find some privacy and use the bathroom on the fourth floor.

The bathroom was usually empty, so Ron ran in, his eyes focused on one particular stall. He was so relieved to be able to do his business in piece and quiet, he didn’t even notice the soft cursing coming from the far stall at first. When he finally heard it, he leaned over so he could to listen.

The foul words turned incoherent and became less frequent, but they were still unmistakable. Someone was in the bathroom having a fit, angrily cursing to himself like a loon.

Ron rolled his eyes up at the ceiling, wishing that the bloke would get it all out of his system and just leave. He listened for any sign that the person was going to exit, but it was suddenly very quiet except for Ron’s breathing. Was the guy waiting for him to leave? Ron scowled. Why should he have to rush out so someone could have the bathroom to themselves to vent? That wasn’t even the proper use of a bathroom!

He leaned over again, listening. The tension between him and the stranger was palpable as if they were sitting right next to each other. There was some shuffling and then a flush. Ron flushed and waited for the bloke to emerge, but there was only silence.

Slowly, Ron stepped outside of the stall and cast his eyes to the stall at the far end, where two rather large feet stood right near the stall door, as if waiting for Ron to leave.

On the stark white floor there were dark drops of blood trailing from the bathroom door to the person in the stall, some smeared by his own footsteps. Whoever was in there was bleeding, and pretty badly from the looks of it.

Ron sighed and turned to look at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He thought of making a dash for the door and leaving the poor bloke in the stall alone. That’s probably what the guy wanted anyway.

But against his better judgment, Ron called out to the stranger instead. “You OK in there?”

He watched the door of the stall in the mirror, waiting for a reply, but there was none.

“Are you hurt?” Ron pressed.

The feet on the other side of the cubicle remained still, standing close to the door. Ron gazed in the mirror, staring down at the bottom of the door for movement. Ron had a hunch, and decided they had played this game long enough.

“Right,” he said. “I know it’s you, Malfoy. You don’t have to have hide in the cubicle like a big baby.”

A second later, there was a small click of the lock, the door slowly opened and there he stood: Draco Malfoy. A dark crimson stain marred the collar of the shirt he wore under his robes, and he had charmed an absorbent cloth over his bloody nose. Malfoy's grey eyes held a challenge in them, as if waiting for Ron to make a joke about his injury. But Ron had nothing to say.

Malfoy walked forward, taking slow, measured steps towards the sink, his eyes still on Ron. A small sneer began to form but then he lowered his gaze and began to wash his hands. Ron studied him as he methodically built a lather, rinsed and then repeated.

Even as he stood slightly bent over the sink, Malfoy exuded the same cocky disposition he’d always had. Ron would have scoffed if the boy wasn't looking considerably paler and thinner than ever before. He leaned in discreetly to peer at Malfoy’s head. There were no marks or scars where his head had been split open, but there was a small, thin patch in his hair that looked as if he had tried to comb over the wound.

Ron cleared his throat. “How’s your … how’s your head?”

Malfoy shot Ron a contentious glare. “Drop the act, Weasley. Stop acting like you care.”

“I don’t. Just being polite, is all. You might want to try it sometime; it may save you from getting your face smashed,” Ron retorted.

Malfoy violently ripped a napkin out of the tissue dispenser to dry his hands.

“Oh, and you’re welcome,” Ron said pointedly.

Malfoy turned abruptly, walking up to Ron so that they stood almost nose-to-nose.

“Don’t delude yourself, Weasley. You didn’t 'save me! You couldn’t save me if you tried. You just happened to be there. I don’t know what kind of absurd tale you told McGonagall, but I do know it was a Gryffindor that landed me in the infirmary, and I intend to make sure that all of you pay!”

Ron glowered but refused to go for his wand despite the fact that Malfoy was damned near challenging him with his close proximity. He clenched his fists.

“If I were you, Malfoy, I’d spend less time worrying about taking revenge on Gryffindor and more time worrying about your own house. Not even your housemates like you.”

“I don’t need anyone to like me! Especially at this poor excuse for a school.”

“If Hogwarts is so beneath your standards, then why don’t you just go home!”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you, Weasley?” Malfoy sneered.

“I don’t give a rat’s arse what you do, Malfoy.”

“Good, then stay out of my way and stop asking me if I’m all right! I don’t need your brand of politeness!”

Ron scoffed. “More like pity … not that you deserve it, Ferret.”

Malfoy’s hand was quick to reach into his robe. Ron’s eyes widened and he stepped back, drawing out his own wand and waiting for any slight movement. He could see the tendons in Malfoy’s neck as the boy seethed in anger, his wand pointed at Ron.

The silence seemed to stretch out for several minutes, but it may have only been a few moments. Ron was thinking of what spell he would use, while Malfoy stood sneering, his eyes daring Ron to make the first move.

Suddenly Malfoy’s red, pinched face looked familiar. And it wasn’t because Malfoy always looked angry whenever Ron was in close proximity. It was something else. That angry expression mixed with exaggerated bravado nudged a memory, only Ron couldn’t remember what the memory was. Wherever it was, it was buried some place deep, somewhere Ron couldn’t recall but would never completely forget.

As he stood there in a battle stance, ready to duel with Malfoy while trying to remember what he had almost forgotten, Ron’s wand hand became heavy with fatigue.

He lowered it. “I don’t need this shit; I’ve got a lesson to attend.”

Malfoy gave Ron a once over, but lowered his wand as well.

Ron walked forward, and for a moment he thought the boy would block him, but at the last moment, Malfoy simply stood aside, glaring at him.

As he walked out, Ron tried to push away the rising sickness in his stomach. He could have taken Malfoy on. The Ferret probably thought he had won a fight or something. But in that moment, something dreadful had threatened to punch through Ron’s reality. And that, more than anything, had unnerved him.

“Stupid git,” he muttered as he made his way down to the dungeons for Potions.

When Ron walked in the classroom, he immediately noticed that Harry was sitting in the second row and getting to him would mean passing three rows and announcing himself as late. So he took an empty seat on the back row instead, hoping not to be noticed by Slughorn, who had agreed to come back and teach Potions this year.

“Ah, Mr Weasley!” Slughorn said enthusiastically upon spotting Ron.

Ron smiled; hearing Slughorn say his name properly this year never got old.

“So glad you could join us. I do hope you didn’t run into any trouble?”

The class turned and looked at Ron, who could feel his ears burning. He inwardly cursed himself and Malfoy before giving Slughorn a small smile. “No, Sir. Just running a bit late.”

Slughorn gave Ron an understanding nod. “Of course, I suppose even heroes are allowed to be late from time to time. We’re glad you’re here now. Please turn to page forty-five.”

Ron pulled out his book and did as instructed.

“Now, since many of you are planning to take your N.E.W.T. in Potions, you will have to pay particular attention to the following series of lessons, or quite simply, you might as well not take the N.E.W.T. at all.”

As soon as Slughorn finished, the door of the classroom creaked open. The entire class turned to watch Malfoy walk in, his head held high and all evidence of his bloody nose gone. Save for the seat next to Harry, the only other empty seat was the one beside Ron. Malfoy’s eyes scanned the room anxiously for another possible seat.

“Ah, another one. Draco, is it?” Slughorn questioned smartly.

There were several sniggers and Ron smirked up at him, as seeing Malfoy’s ego deflate always brought him a degree of satisfaction.

Malfoy’s upper lip curled as he lifted his chin. “As Head of Slytherin House, surely you know my name.”

Slughorn waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, of course. Well, please hurry and take a seat. You’ve already disrupted class enough with your tardiness.”

Malfoy loudly pulled out the seat beside Ron and folded his arms across his chest. As Slughorn began the lesson, Malfoy’s indignation and aggravation manifested in waves of sharp, prickly magic that tickled Ron’s skin. Ron scooted his chair farther away to get out from under the magic's reach. He glanced at Malfoy and was greeted by the same terse glare given to him in the restroom. Class was already off to a bad start.

“Now, on the N.E.W.T. you’ll be asked about the seven properties of Calming Draught. It is not an easy potion to brew, but it is highly valued and any wizard or witch who can brew it will never want for a job, I can guarantee you that.”

Ron frowned. Seven more things to memorise for the N.E.W.T. He didn’t even like Potions. Once more he asked himself why he was trying so hard to be an Auror.

Because that’s probably the only thing you’ll be good at. That is, if you can manage to pass Charms and Potions, said a small, insecure voice.

But what if he didn’t pass? If he failed Charms and Potions, what could he do then? He’d always wanted to try his hand at working with George at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. But he didn’t think Hermione would be too impressed with that.

For the next hour, Ron tried to focus on the lesson and not on the disgruntled boy beside him. Malfoy’s entire disposition emanated a chilly air, which made concentrating on Slughorn’s annoying voice even harder than usual. Malfoy was infecting Ron with his unhappiness without saying a word.

Just what was Malfoy’s problem? So what—Slughorn had asked him his name even though everyone knew he knew it. That was no reason to act like a prima donna throughout the lesson. Maybe it was good Malfoy finally understood he wasn’t as important as he thought he was. Ron quickly snuck another glance at the boy beside him.

When he did, Malfoy met his eyes right away and sneered. Ron rolled his eyes and turned his eyes back to the front of the room.

Why did Malfoy always have to be such an arsehole? One would think getting beat up and sent to the bottom of the social food chain would have been enough to humble him, but it seemed to have only made him worse.

Ron frowned. Why the hell did he even give a shit? Malfoy wasn’t worth thinking about. Still, Ron found himself wondering who gave the boy the nosebleed today. Was it the same lot that had split his head? Or perhaps this time it was the Slytherins…

He heard shuffling, and beside him a seat was loudly pushed back. Ron looked around. Class was over, and he hadn’t really heard a thing. He blamed Malfoy for that, mostly. Ron turned to give the boy a hateful glare, but Malfoy was already gone.

“What are you doing sitting back here?” Harry was staring down at him with a puzzled expression.

“Well, I didn’t want to make a scene after coming in late and all.”

“Right. Speaking of that, where did you run off to after breakfast?”

Ron stood and began walking out with Harry, contemplating whether he wanted to tell Harry about his interaction with Malfoy in the bathroom. However, that would lead to explaining his previous run-ins with Malfoy as well. Harry would want to know why he hadn’t told him any of this before, and right now, Ron had no idea how to answer that question.

“Got stuck in the loo. Too many crumpets, I think.”

Harry sniggered, making a face but then stopped to stare up ahead. Ron followed his gaze. There was a condensed crowd in the middle of the hallway, and from its ranks there was a growing chant.

“Duel. Duel. Duel.”

Harry and Ron exchanged a quick glance and then rushed to the crowd. They elbowed their way through until they could get a clear view. Malfoy was at the centre, his nose bleeding once more and his wand drawn. He had a snarl on his face that was directed at Scott Anderson, and he looked like he was about to deliver some payback for having his skull cracked open.

“Go on, you imbecile, try that again!” Malfoy growled.

Scott raised his wand.

“Scott, no!” Harry yelled, pushing forward.

Before Harry could reach Scott, Malfoy shouted out, “Tarantallegra!”

Scott began to do a sort of jig, his legs wobbly and his feet shuffling back and forth and to the side in no certain pattern. Laughter broke out among the crowd but was quickly silenced when Malfoy cast his next spell.

“Stupefy!”

Scott’s jig abruptly stopped as he flew back, his body parting the crowd to land on his arse. But Malfoy still wasn’t done. Ron watched with wide eyes as Malfoy raised his wand again, and a fearful hush fell across the crowd.

“Malfoy, stop it!” Harry yelled.

Thankfully, Malfoy lowered his wand. Ron sighed in relief, only to tense once more when Malfoy stepped closer to peer down at Scott, who was groaning and trying to get up.

“And this is for my nose, you pathetic cretin!” he said, lifting his foot. There was a loud crack as he brought his heel down on Scott’s face.

A collective gasp broke at the awful sound, and Ron shuddered. Someone screamed, and Ron looked down at Scott, whose nose was clearly misaligned and spouting blood. There were many shouts of anger and faces turned away, while others stared on in shock.

Ron could only take his eyes off of Scott’s damaged face long enough to get a look at Malfoy. He stood over Scott triumphantly, no remorse or fear on his face. He looked vindicated and stared back at the crowd as if daring someone else to take him on. Harry was enraged; his nostrils flared and his eyes were keenly focused on Malfoy as if contemplating whether to answer the boy’s challenge.

“What’s going on here? Let me through!” came the voice of Professor Slughorn. A pathway cleared for the Potions professor, and when he came to the centre of the circle, his mouth dropped open.

“What have you done, Malfoy? Explain yourself!”

“He attacked me!”

“Liar!” shouted one of the fifth-year Gryffindor boys. Several other students from the other houses quickly supported him.

“I saw the whole thing!” a sixth year Gryffindor girl cried. “Malfoy is a lunatic. He cast two spells back to back and then stomped on Scott’s face. He didn’t even give Scott a chance to stand up and fight back!”

There were several nods in agreement.

Malfoy looked at the crowd in disbelief. “She wasn’t even here when it started! Anderson attacked me first! And it wasn’t the first time!”

“Scott would never attack someone without a reason!” Seamus defended. “You’re the bully, Malfoy. Harry and Ron can vouch for that. You and your friends tried to kill them last year!”

Ron’s mouth went dry as he stared back at Seamus and all the sound around him seemed to go mute.

You and your friends tried to kill them last year.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and every nerve in his body was strung tight like stretched yarn. What was Seamus on about? Why was he bringing up old shit? That thing that happened last year didn’t even seem real anymore. Did that really happen?

Of course it did.

But so what if it did? What was done was done.

Ron’s breath left him as the memory of Fiendfyre chasing him in the Room of Requirement danced before his eyes. Malfoy pinched red face was right behind them, looking just as scared.

I can’t breathe, Harry! What are we going to do? There’s no spell that can make Fiendfyre go away! How are we going to escape? What if this is the way it ends? I don’t want to burn alive. I hope the smoke chokes me before I can feel it …

“He started it!” Malfoy insisted, cutting through Ron’s memory to bring him back to the present.

“Quiet! I’ve heard enough, young man!” Slughorn proclaimed in a rare show of public chastisement. “Now, you’ve already pressed your luck by coming to class late. I’ll have to give you detention for the next month … with me. And if you say another word, you’ll find yourself in the Headmistress's office!”

Malfoy looked visibly upset, his jaw moving back and forth like he was gnashing his teeth.

You couldn’t save me if you tried, Weasley.

But Ron had, hadn’t he? Or had it been just blind luck? The same luck that had helped him, Harry, and Hermione escape the Fiendfyre. The same luck that was with him the moment he found Harry by the lake. Was he really a hero or just a tag along that got lucky every now and then.

“Wait a minute” Ron blurted out. Everyone’s eyes turned on him.

“Yes, Mr Weasley?” Slughorn asked.

Ron gave a shifty glance to Malfoy. Why in the hell was he even doing this? He didn’t really know.

“I, uh … well, I don’t think Malfoy is lying. Scott and his lot have been giving him a rough time this term. I’ve seen it myself. He probably provoked Malfoy.”

There was an audible gasp followed by several murmurs as the Gryffindors shot Ron traitorous glares. He didn’t care, though. Enough was enough. Even he couldn’t tolerate seeing Malfoy getting ganged up on like this.

Slughorn looked confused. He gave Malfoy a sceptical glance and shook his head. “I see. Well…there are still consequences for such behaviour. Two nights detention, and I’m warning you, Mr Malfoy …”

“Two nights? That’s all he gets? Look at Scott’s face!” cried one of Scott’s friends.

“Oh, put a sock in it, Thomas,” Ron snapped. “You and Scott should have been in detention weeks ago, or should I say more?”

All of the Gryffindor boys stared back at Ron in trepidation, waiting for him to rat them out. Ron simply raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, well, that’ll be all,” Slughorn said hastily. “The rest of you can go on to your next lesson. There’s nothing more to see here. And would someone please help that boy to the infirmary.”

Several sixth year Gryffindors leaned down to help Scott up and slowly people began turning away, but not before casting disapproving glances toward Malfoy and Ron.

Ron and Harry stood by as Slughhorn turned to give them both a forced smile, patting Ron on the shoulder before he returned to his classroom.

“Don’t think you did me any favours, Weasley. I can handle myself just fine,” Malfoy said gruffly.

“So I see,” Ron sneered.

Malfoy gave Ron and Harry one more odious glare before turning on his heel and walking away.

“What was that all about?” Harry asked.

Ron was stumped about how to reply.

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

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Ron said in annoyance. He was beginning to really hate that question.

Harry sighed. “Well that was really nice of you, mate. I mean, I know Malfoy is having a bad year, but what he did to Scott was just cruel.”

“Yeah, well, in case you hadn’t noticed, Scott’s not exactly a nice person, Harry.”

As soon as Ron said it, he regretted it. Harry was studying him curiously. “Ron, are you actually saying Malfoy had a right to hurt Scott?”

Ron frowned, thinking. “No, of course not. Malfoy is an arsehole, but Scott and his lot have been bad news since the start of the year. I’m not saying he deserved what he got, but maybe this time he pushed Malfoy too far.”

Harry didn’t respond, but was eyeing Ron as if he didn’t quite recognise him. And Ron understood why, but didn’t want to think on it any more. In fact, he just wanted it all to go away.

“Should we go to the library and study? I need to work on Charms,” he offered.

“First you speak up on behalf of Malfoy, and now you want to go to the library … this year is getting stranger and stranger by the day,” Harry said with a bemused grin.

Ron gave Harry a playful shove. Charms was just the thing he needed to put as much distance as possible between Malfoy and himself. The prat had already taken up too much of his time and thoughts today.

~~~*~~~

Chapter Seven
You've Got Issues, Weasley

After the altercation between Scott and Malfoy, the slow burning tension between Gryffindor and Slytherin bubbled over and seeped throughout the entire school. Many Gryffindors took extra delight in outright belittling and making fun of Slytherin. Whenever a Slytherin would retaliate, it would only bring the condemnation of the other two houses, thereby winning more support for Gryffindor. The message was clear: Slytherins had no power.

In Restoration team meetings, Malfoy started keeping to himself, rarely engaging in conversation with anyone. Ron tried to avoid him. It was simply easier to perfect the art of ignoring Malfoy than it was to actually care about the occasional black eye and cuts that would appear, fade, and then reappear on the boy’s face and hands.

By late fall things had become so bad that all of the prefects seemed to have given up on trying to form some resemblance of inter-house unity, settling instead for minimum confrontation.

But on Halloween night there appeared to be a truce in the war against Slytherins. The castle was filled with laughter and the air was charged with excitement. Besides going to Honeydukes, the annual Halloween feast was the biggest opportunity to have all of the sweets one could eat. Ron made sure his lot didn’t waste any time going down when the Great Hall opened for the feast.

The staff had charmed the ceiling to appear as a thunderstorm, flashes of light and dark foreboding clouds hovering over them while the ghosts of the castle flew to and fro, regaling in their special day. Even Filch was in the holiday spirit and had painted his face white. In Ron’s opinion, he didn’t need a costume to resemble a decrepit skeleton.

Everyone was bursting with excited energy as they speculated about what novel treat and special brew had been chosen for this year’s feast. The Gryffindor table was packed, save four noticeable seats. Those seats belonged to the most troublesome Gryffindors. Ron and Harry exchanged a wary glance.

“What are they up to now?” Ginny asked suspiciously, staring at the empty seats.

Hermione glanced up at the head of the table. “And look, our so-called prefect Anna Hazelwood is chatting it up. She hasn’t even bothered to look around. Not to mention the Head Boy and Girl are both at their respective tables, ready to stuff their gobs. The entire prefect system is a joke this year.”

Ron shrugged. “I suppose that’s good for Gryffindor. The less the prefects care, the less points we lose.”

“That’s the problem, Ron,” Hermione said. “No one cares about House points. It’s as if Gryffindor can do no wrong.”

“And you’re complaining?”

“Ron, there are more important things than winning the House Cup!”

“There they are,” Ginny said, glancing to her left.

Ron looked up to see the trouble making group stroll in with smug smiles on their faces. All of them except Scott, whose face was strained.

“They look entirely too happy,” Hermione murmured. “I hope they haven’t done anything horrible.”

“Whatever they were up to, it’s left one of them limping,” Harry noted. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all leaned over to inspect the boys. Sure enough, Scott's gait had a noticeable limp.

“Oh well, whatever they did, if it’s bad enough it’ll come out sooner or later,” Ron said.

There was loud tapping on a cup and then McGonagall’s distinctive voice rang out over the Great Hall, silencing everyone.

She made an announcement about how proud she was of each and every student for their presence and efforts to help rebuild Hogwarts. There was a moment of silence for Dumbledore, who loved Halloween even more than Christmas, and then the feast commenced.

Halfway through their meal, Hermione leaned over the table and swiped something from Ron’s lip. His mouth was full of chocolate mousse.

“Oh Ron, look at yourself.”

“I can’t,” Ron tried to say with a stuffed mouth.

Hermione rolled her eyes and glanced over at Ginny, who was feeding Harry a piece of pumpkin pie.

“Oh… look,” Hermione said, staring just over Ron’s shoulder.

“What?” Ron asked, not wanting to follow Hermione’s gaze.

“Malfoy’s not here.”

Ron shrugged. “So? He misses meals all the time.”

“Ron, no one misses the big feasts.”

“She’s right, ” Harry said. “Everyone comes. Perhaps we should alert the prefects.”

“Harry, his prefects are sitting a few seats down from where he’d be sitting if he were here,” Ron pointed out. “Obviously they're aware that Malfoy isn’t here and they aren't worried about it, which means we shouldn’t be worried about it either. Now, can we please stop talking about Malfoy?”

The worried threesome all exchanged uneasy glances that annoyed Ron even more than their questions about Malfoy. Ginny began talking about the horror of last year’s Halloween’s feast under the Carrows, but Ron wasn’t really listening.

It was too late. The brief discussion about Malfoy’s absence had already ruined Ron’s appetite and just like that, all of his hard work at putting up a screen between anything related to Malfoy and himself was ripped away.

Where could the wanker be? Surely the prefect had noticed. And what about McGonagall? Or Filch? No one missed the holiday feasts. No one.

A terrific flash of lightning from the ceiling above triggered the memory of his first year. The year Hermione had been missing from the Halloween feast, the year a troll had been set loose in the castle. A sick feeling began to grow in Ron’s stomach as he thought of how close they had come to losing Hermione. If no one had looked for her, she would have been killed for sure.

The nagging voice was back, the one that repeated McGonagall’s request for him to watch over Draco, and why it was the right thing to do. He had managed to dismiss and rationalise it away for the past few weeks.

What if Malfoy was hurt? Or worse?

Ron surveyed his table. The Gryffindors were carrying on very loudly and there was lots of laughter. Students from both ends had risen out of their seats to congregate there. He looked at Scott, who appeared to be the picture of confidence, and his friends, one of whom Ron noticed wore an ugly cut on the side of his face.

“I’ll be back,” Ron said, rising from his seat.

“Where are you going?” Hermione asked.

“Uh, I’ll be right back,” Ron said, walking away before she could ask again.

As he left the Great Hall, Ron looked left and right, trying to think of where they may have jumped him. The bathrooms were all empty, and so were all of the classrooms, or at least the ones he checked. He didn’t dare go to the Room of Requirement, telling himself there was nothing there.

After circling around the castle completely, he decided to check out the dungeons, not expecting to find anything there. He was almost convinced that Malfoy had retreated into his dormitory and was recovering in bed. But the smell of pumpkin pie, treacle tart, and hot chocolate was wafting into his nose, and he was nowhere near the Great Hall.

He stopped— the kitchen was down here. The aroma of fresh baked Halloween goodies was making him salivate.

With stealth, Ron approached the busy kitchen, peeking around the corner. It was full of elves rolling dough, decorating cookies and cakes, and preparing tea and cocoa. If only he could just steal one tart. He quickly vanquished the thought. It wasn’t worth the trouble. Besides, he could just go back to the Great Hall before the feast ended and …

His eyes caught a patch of white blond hair tucked in the corner, the profile nearly obstructed by a large metal cooler. There was an elf tending to Malfoy, wiping his face and fussing, although Ron could barely hear what he was saying over the racket that the rest of the elves in the kitchen were making.

“He can’t be coming down here,” said another elf from behind the one tending Malfoy. “You remember last time; Filch will be coming for all our heads. Send him to Pomfrey.”

“No nos…Pomfreys doesn’t understands. They beats on him. I sees it. He's not safe up there.”

“He’s can't be staying down here.”

“But—”

“No, he’s right. Thank you, Pinky,” Malfoy said, struggling to stand to his feet. Ron had to clamp down on his tongue to keep from gasping. Malfoy’s face was visibly bruised and his bottom lip was swollen.

“Here Master Malfoy. I’s fixed you a plate of all your favourites,” said another female house elf.

The objecting house elf huffed, making a shooing motion with his hand towards the door. Ron pulled back quickly.

“Yes fine, takes it and go. Now!”

“All right! No need to get bossy with me!” Malfoy snipped.

“And stay away from ‘dem boys Master Malfoy. One of dez days theys gonna hurt you real bad!”

“Not if I can hurt them first,” Malfoy said. His voice seemed near, as if he was standing right beside Ron, and for a moment Ron felt as if he had been petrified. He wasn’t sure if he should make a run for it or just wait for Malfoy to pass and hope that he wouldn’t be seen.

Before he could make a decision, Malfoy strutted out, and his eyes immediately caught sight of Ron.

“What are you doing here, Weasley?”

Ron cursed under his breath, as he tried to look surprised. “Oh, hey there, Malfoy, how’s it going? I, uh, well, I was just coming down to see if they had more treacle tart. It’s my favourite and there’s no more left upstairs.”

“No more treacle tart!” an elf cried, coming to the door and looking up at Ron with disbelieving eyes. "That can’t be true! We’s made twice as much as last year. Yous lying.”

“Oh,” Ron said, glancing down at the elf and then back to Malfoy, who looked ready to cast a killing curse.

“Cut the shit, Weasley! What are you really doing down here?”

“Please stop your yelling,” the elf cried. “The both of yous has to get away from here before Filch be coming down. Out! Out!”

Both Ron and Malfoy shuffled out of the doorway and into the open dungeon.

“I thought I told you to leave me alone,” Malfoy whispered fiercely.

“Well, if you didn’t want anyone to come looking for you then maybe you should have showed at dinner! No one misses the Halloween feast!”

Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly with concern. “Is anyone else looking for me?”

“No, but—”

Malfoy scoffed. “Then why were you?”

“I— hell, I don’t know! I thought you might be lying dead somewhere!”

“So what if I were? Why would you even care, Weaselbee?”

Ron opened his mouth, ready to say that he didn’t, but he knew that wouldn’t make any sense. Why would he be here if he didn’t care?

He clenched his teeth. “I don’t know why I care, Malfoy! You should be happy someone even noticed that you were gone since it’s obvious you’re too thick to care for yourself.”

“Well, now you’ve found me, Weasley, and I’m alive! Satisfied? What do you want, a biscuit? A pat on the back?”

Ron scowled, ready to turn, when the faint moonlight illuminated Malfoy’s face. The bruise around his eye was worse than he thought, and his lip wasn’t just swollen, it was split.

“Who did this to you?” Ron asked. “Gryffindors?”

Malfoy sneered. “Does it matter? Gryffindors today, another house tomorrow.”

“I don’t get it. Why don’t you just tell McGonagall?”

Malfoy scowled. “Why don’t you stay out of my affairs! Just because you have a bloody medal doesn’t give you a right to play the hero anytime you see fit!”

“You need a hero; you certainly aren’t doing a good job of protecting yourself!”

“I’m doing just fine! You should have seen the bloke who did this to my lip. He’ll be limping for the rest of the term.”

Ron tried not to smirk. The idea of Malfoy maiming Scott gave Ron a small degree of satisfaction.

“Malfoy, even if you did fend him off this time, you can only fight so many off at once, and it’s always your word against theirs. That puts you at a serious disadvantage.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “What’s your point, Weasley?”

What was Ron’s point? Where was he going with this? There was something on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say it. There was still time to walk away.

Ron braced himself, biting out the words: “Maybe you need some help.”

“What?”

Ron forced the words out. “I said, perhaps you could use some help. You know, keeping these tossers off of you.”

Malfoy chuckled dryly. “And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it?”

“Listen, I don’t like you at all, but I hate to see someone getting attacked this way. It’s pathetic. Just … put aside your pride for once and accept the offer.”

Malfoy drew back. “Offer? Ronald Weasley is offering to help me, eh? I should be so honoured.”

Ron rolled his eyes.

Malfoy eyed him suspiciously. “So what’s in it for you? What do you want? Money? More praise?”

“I don’t want anything, Malfoy, especially from you.”

“Good, because I’m not going to give you anything,” Malfoy said with conviction. “I don’t owe you anything, and I never will.”

Ron raised his eyebrows, ready to remind Malfoy that he actually owed him a life debt, but bit the retort back. Malfoy’s bruised face and warrior stance only incited pity in Ron.

“You’re missing a really good feast,” Ron said awkwardly, trying to change the subject.

Malfoy eyed Ron sceptically. “It can’t be that great—you skipped out of it to come looking for me.”

Ron felt his face flush. Why had he really run out on the feast? He loved Halloween. But this year, nothing could inspire his former excitement. In fact, he almost felt dead inside.

He shrugged. “It’s all right, just not as fun as it used to be.”

“Nothing is,” Malfoy said dryly.

They stared at each other for a moment before Ron looked down at the plate in Malfoy’s hands. “What did they give you?”

“Some of everything …”

Ron licked his lips, his eyes focused on a huge pink frosted cupcake sitting on the edge of Malfoy’s plate.

Malfoy smirked and picked up the cupcake to take a bite. Annoyed, Ron clicked his teeth and began to turn away. “Later, Malfoy.”

“Weasley…”

Ron turned around, ready for another jab, but instead saw that Malfoy had taken a seat on a stone bench near the wall. He was still holding the pink frosted cupcake but hadn’t taken a bite.

“I can’t eat all of this …”

Ron slowly walked over, hesitantly taking a seat next to the boy.

They ate in silence. The cupcake was every bit as delicious as it looked, and Ron was in bliss until Malfoy began to speak.

“Why are you really down here, Weasley? You should be having a ball, showing off your brand new medal to all of your admirers and laughing it up with your new girlfriend.”

Ron looked at him sideways, licking the icing off of a piece of his cupcake. Oddly, the bitterness in Malfoy’s voice didn’t irritate him. He was more annoyed that things weren’t nearly as fun as Malfoy made them sound.

“Not sure,” Ron said. “It’s just … different now. Everything is the same, really, but different too. I can’t really explain it. “

He could feel Malfoy watching him, and for a moment it made him feel self conscious, but as Malfoy continued to eat in silence, Ron began to relax, reclining back against the wall. It was as if someone had offered him a couch and told him he was free to say whatever came to mind.

So he did.

“For instance, the trips to Hogsmeade. I used to really look forward to those. I mean, who didn’t?”

Malfoy didn’t reply. But his silence seemed less like a dismissal and more like permission to continue, so Ron kept talking. “And now I have a free pass to go every weekend, but … it’s just candy, you know? I can’t believe we used to get so excited about candy, and Butterbeer, and … things like that. It’s all rather silly, really. Everything seems sort of pointless that way now … even Quidditch.”

When Ron looked to his side, Malfoy was looking straight ahead, nibbling at a truffle.

“You know what, Weasley?”

“What?”

“I’ve been observing you …”

Ron frowned. Malfoy had been observing him? That was freaky.

“Not like that!” Malfoy said in disgust. “You’re not that interesting. But you are starting to stick out like a sore thumb.”

Ron scowled but didn’t reply; he wanted to hear what Malfoy had to say.

“Your temper tantrums, the way you and Granger go from taking long walks to having loud rows in the hallways. It’s not hard to miss. “

Ron dropped his eyes in embarrassment. He had no idea Malfoy had seen all of that. Had everyone else seen it as well?

“I think you've got issues,” Malfoy said in a clinical voice.

Ron’s eyes quickly turned on Malfoy, his embarrassment turning to anger. “I have issues? Says the junior criminal who’s getting the crap beat out of him everyday.”

Malfoy’s upper lip curled into a snarl and he stood up abruptly. Ron stood as well so he could face him, eye to eye.

“At least I’m not an insecure mental half-wit masquerading as a war hero,” Malfoy sneered.

“Don’t expect me to save your arse next time,” Ron said, turning his back on Malfoy to walk back to the feast.

“No one asked you to!” Malfoy called after him.

“If only you knew,” Ron murmured before taking the last bite of his cupcake.

As he retreated, his footsteps slowed. Just the thought of returning to the Great Hall made Ron weary. It meant putting on another façade. It was hard not to reconsider whether he should have returned to Hogwarts. He could have easily been working alongside George right now, selling gags and having a laugh. A genuine laugh; no fake smiling, no difficult courses for a career he wasn’t even sure he wanted, no complicated girlfriend issues, no Malfoy…

Ron paused in his tracks and turned around. Deciding to skip the rest of the Halloween feast, he made a detour to the common room instead. He passed several students on his way. They all greeted him with a smile and friendly ‘hello’, but Ron had no energy to put on the mask and return their pleasantries.

When he arrived back at the common room, half the House was already there. He cracked his knuckles in frustration to hear all of the laughter and chatter.

As the revelry continued, Ron sat on the couch next to his friends, watching them laugh it up while they played parlour games. They invited him to join in, but he declined, overtaken by a strong urge to excuse himself and shut himself inside his dorm room.

You’re starting to stick out like a sore thumb.

Ron scanned the room to see if anyone was looking at him. Hermione looked back over her shoulder, a warm smile on her face. Ron forced a smile in return, but it made him feel empty and false, like an imposter.

Somehow he managed to make it through the rest of the evening until eventually things died down and everyone started to head off to bed. Relieved, Ron retired as well, unable to shake the lingering worry that perhaps he’d never enjoy anything the way he used to.

~~~*~~~
Chapter Eight
The Malfoy Puzzle

The vision before Ron didn’t appear rational or real. He couldn’t move, startled by the sight of Harry damn near naked and standing on the edge of a lake in the freezing cold.

What is he doing?

Before Ron could call out, his best mate dived into the water.

“No! Harry!”

Ron ran as fast as he could until he reached the frozen lake. Without thinking, he dived into the gaping hole Harry had created. The sensation of ice-cold water hit his body like a thousand knives, stabbing him all over. He could see Harry, but he couldn’t reach him. Ron tried to swim harder, but the water was dense like molasses.

And Harry kept sinking.

‘This is all your fault!’ a voice laden with loathing shouted in his head.

His best mate was drowning because he had deserted them. He hadn’t been where he needed to be in order to prevent this. If he would have just kept his emotions in check and resisted the poison of the locket, none of this would have happened.

Ron summoned all of his strength, pushing forward through the prison of ice water. Harry was so close, but now his eyes were closed.

“Harry!” he cried, water filling his mouth.

He didn’t care; Ron grabbed hold of his best friend, kicking furiously until they reached the surface.

Please don’t be dead, Harry.

Harry’s eyes flew open, and Ron felt overjoyed with relief until the boy in his arms released a gut-wrenching scream.

The ice-cold water of the lake began to bubble up, and when Ron looked down at Harry, he no longer recognised his friend’s face. The skin was running like a wax mask set to extreme heat, melting in great gobs and dripping over Ron’s arms into the boiling lake.

There was a circle of fire around the lake’s edge, trapping them. Some of the flames were as high as Fiendfyre.

Ron had seen flames like that before…

No! he told himself. What’s done is done. Fire can’t follow you. Not here.

Only it was here, in his dreams, and Ron couldn’t wake himself up.

Wake up, you stupid git! It’s not real. It can’t be.

But it was, at least here. Sweat dripped off Ron’s face, and he could feel his body heating up. The fire was closing in, spreading over the water like the lake was made of pure petrol.

A burning sensation spread throughout his body, scorching Ron's skin until there was only pain. But his hands were still intact and they were still holding Harry’s melting body.

“I’m never going to let you go, Harry. I’ll never desert you again, I swear. No matter what.”

He searched Harry’s face for any sign of understanding, of consciousness, but Harry’s eyes were gone. They had burst like overcooked marshmallows, sliding down the cheekbones of his bloody skull.

That’s when Ron woke up screaming.

He heard himself before he saw anything. When his eyes finally came into focus, he saw that they were all surrounding his bed: Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Harry.

“Ron, it’s all right. It’s all right, mate,” Harry was saying, sitting on the bed.

Dean and Seamus were watching at a distance, as if they might be bitten.

When Ron realised he was still screaming, he clamped his mouth shut and fell back, covering his face with his hands. The bed was soaked, and so was he.

“Perhaps I should get a prefect,” he heard Neville’s frightened voice say.

“No!” Ron said. “Don’t … don’t get anyone. I’m fine.”

“Uh, no you’re not,” Dean said.

“Listen, it was just a bad dream,” Ron insisted, dropping his hands and staring up at all of them shamefully.

“I’ll say,” Seamus said. “Must have been bloody awful. It sounded like you were being murdered.”

“And it wasn’t the first time,” Harry said. “You’ve been having a lot of bad dreams lately.”

All of the boys nodded in agreement.

“I’m sort of getting used to it,” Neville said hesitantly. “But sometimes it’s hard to sleep through.”

Ron inwardly cursed his absent-mindedness. He’d become lax with putting up the Silencing Charm before he went to bed. Suddenly he felt exposed, and despite his wet sheets, he pulled the covers up over him.

“Yeah, you moan and whimper like you’re being cornered or someone is hurting you,” Dean said.

Ron shook his head.

“Yes, Ron. It’s true. You also toss and turn,” Harry said in exasperation. “We’ve all seen it.”

“Yeah, well, so what?” Ron said defensively.

“It keep us up, that’s what,” Seamus said.

“Fine. I’ll make sure to put a Silencing Charm around my bed.”

“Ron, this isn’t just about you keeping us awake,” Harry said. “It’s about you not sleeping well.”

“All right, then, I’ll try to control it,” Ron said resolutely.

“And how are you going to do that?” Seamus asked.

“I’ll take some Calming Draught before bed or maybe even ask Pomfrey for some Dreamless Sleep Potion. I’m sure she has plenty.”

Before they could say another word, Ron quickly rose and grabbed some clothing. He locked himself in the bathroom and took a long shower. When he came out, his friends were gone except for Harry, who was sitting on his bed looking concerned.

“Ready for breakfast?”

Harry didn’t reply, but the worry in his eyes said everything.

Ron sighed. “Harry, I know I gave everyone a fright, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

“How can you promise something like that, Ron? You were asleep.”

Ron turned away from him, focusing on his own reflection as he dressed. “I’ll work on it, all right? Just don’t tell Hermione, or Ginny … or anyone.”

“Hermione doesn’t know?” Harry asked in surprise.

“No! Because there’s nothing to know!” Ron snapped, his irritation with Harry’s doting spilling over.

Harry stood up and came over to sit on Ron’s bed.

“Ron, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Sometimes I have nightmares too …”

“Right,” Ron said dismissively.

“I do. I dream about running into Bathilda Bagshot again. Only in my dreams, I don’t escape. Usually, Nagini eats me.”

Ron closed his eyes, willing away the memory of his nightmare and the guilt that came from deserting Harry. He hadn’t been there when the Bathilda incident occurred, and he hated that.

“And I have nightmares about Gringotts too,” Harry continued. “Every time you tell that bloody story, it gives me the creeps.”

Ron chuckled, surprised by his friend’s admission. “Really?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. But Ron, every time I have a really bad nightmare like that, I talk to Ginny about it, and somehow that makes it better.”

Ron quietly grunted. Although it was good to hear that Harry had started opening up to someone for a change, Ron hardly thought talking about his nightmares with Hermione would make him feel better. She’d probably think he was mental or something.

“Last year was … absolutely insane,” Harry continued. “We went through a lot. More than most people do in a lifetime.”

“More than I ever want to see again,” Ron added, slipping on his robes.

“Right, and it’s okay if you still have nightmares, or if there’s still … stuff you need to work out. But you can’t work it out on your own, mate. You have to talk to someone. Me, Hermione, maybe even Ginny.”

“Well isn’t this interesting!” Ron said sarcastically. “As I recall, you used to hate talking about stuff like this…”

“That was before,” Harry said. “and besides, you and Hermione always managed to pull it out of me. Even when I thought I had to do it alone, you two would remind me that I couldn’t.”

Ron gave Harry a dismissive headshake. “I just need to pull myself together, Harry. These dreams … they’ll go away soon enough. This is the first one I actually remembered, really. Maybe that’s a sign that the worst of them is almost over.”

Harry gave him a sceptical look but nodded reluctantly. “Perhaps.”

Ron did one last comb of his hair and clapped his hands. “Come on, enough talk! Let’s eat!”

~~~*~~~

That evening at dinner, there was a noticeable buzz and more chatter than usual. No sooner than they had taken their seats did the Headmistress take the podium.

“Good evening to all of you. We have a very special announcement,” she said, her voice revealing uncharacteristic excitement.

“I am very pleased to inform you that Restoration Team Number Three has completed its assignment. The Astronomy Tower is now fully restored and accessible to advanced students. Eighth years will have unrestricted access within curfew hours, of course. All others must have a note or be attending lessons to visit.”

The members of Restoration Team Number Three from Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor were all cheering, while the rest of the Great Hall congratulated them with loud praise and clapping. It was the first finished Restoration project.

Ron leaned over to make eye contact with Hermione. Her face was radiant with pride. When Ron gave her a congratulatory smile and kiss on the cheek, her smile widened.

He glanced up at the Slytherin table and saw Malfoy watching the celebration. He appeared pensive, and Ron found himself wondering what he thought about the restoration of the Astronomy Tower.

After dinner, the older pupils all went up to have a look at the Tower. There was a sombre silence as they ascended the winding stairway and gathered around the tower’s wall. Ron watched as Harry walked right up to the ledge and peered over, his eyes cast directly below.

Ginny put a hand on his shoulder, and Hermione came round to his other side. Ron followed her.

“I can’t believe so much time has passed,” Harry said softly.

“He’d be proud of you, Harry,” Hermione said.

“I think he’d be proud of all of us,” Harry said, smiling at her and then at Ron. As hard as he tried, Ron just couldn’t return Harry’s smile. The flush of shame was creeping up his neck into his cheeks. All he could think of was how wise and perceptive Dumbledore had been. Wise enough to gift Ron a Deluminator, because somehow Dumbledore had known he’d need it. Somehow he’d known Ron would leave.

As Ron gazed out at the starlit sky and the expansive fields just beyond the courtyard below, the memory of the battles fought and lost became real. Fred’s last expression wormed its way into his thoughts once again. Had he done enough? Could he have done more?

“Ron,” Hermione whispered, slipping her arms around his waist and laying her head on his chest. Her body should have been a comfort, but he felt cold, inside and out. As he tried to mentally erase the image of Fred’s face, a morbid thought slithered into his head: perhaps a piece of him had died with Fred, and life would always be a little duller now.

There was an audible hush among those gathered, and several people turned their heads towards the entrance of the Tower.

Silence ensued as Draco Malfoy walked slowly towards them. He appeared unaffected by the visible sneers and glares as he approached an empty space by the wall.

“You have some nerve coming up here, Malfoy,” said an eighth year Ravenclaw boy.

There were agreeing murmurs, and then Hermione spoke. “Quiet, all of you. This Tower was rebuilt to honour the dead. Don’t shame them with your pettiness.”

Ron watched as people shifted awkwardly. Harry stared at Malfoy for a long moment before turning his attention back to the field over the wall. Quietly, in small groups, people began to leave, until there was only Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Ron, and Malfoy.

They all stayed, listening to the quiet of the night, to the cold November wind whispering remembrances they’d never forget until finally Harry turned his back.

“I think I’m going to turn in,” he said.

Ginny squeezed him round the waist, and they walked out together. Luna and Neville followed shortly after.

Hermione sighed. “It is getting late; come on, Ron.”

“Uh, why don’t you go on. I think I want to stay a little while longer,” he said.

Hermione looked up at him curiously and then over at Malfoy. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah …”

She gave him one last concerned glance and turned to leave.

Once Hermione was gone, Ron turned back to the wall, looking out. It was a beautiful view. It was hard to believe that so much ugliness had consumed it just months before. He glanced to his left, and saw Malfoy leaning over the wall as if straining to see something. When he pulled back, he gave Ron an irritated eye roll.

“If you’re staying because you think I’m going to jump or something, you’re even dimmer than I thought,” Malfoy said.

Ron gave him a puzzled glance and snorted.

“You think that’s funny?”

“Yeah, I think the idea of you taking your own life is pretty far-fetched. You’re way too into yourself.”

Malfoy looked surprised by Ron’s insult but then smirked.

Ron frowned. They were standing on a memorial— Dumbledore’s memorial— and here Malfoy stood, alive and well, looking as if nothing had happened.

Malfoy’s smirk faded as Ron’s lingering resentment and anger charged the air between them like a warming charm.

“I know what you’re thinking, Weasley.”

“Do you now?”

“Yes. You and the others think I have no right to be up here. That this is some sort of sacred place, and my presence defiles it.”

Ron stiffened as the words “you’re damn right” sat heavy on the tip of his tongue.

“But you’re wrong. You’re all wrong.”

“You were going to kill him,” Ron said accusingly.

“But I didn’t.”

“You might as well have,” Ron said, his voice rising. “Either way, it all ended the same, didn’t it? He’s dead.”

“Yes.” Malfoy said quietly. “But not because of me.”

Ron gave Malfoy a disgusted look. “Save your excuses, Malfoy. It’s too late. He’s gone.”

Something that resembled sadness flickered in Malfoy’s eyes before he abruptly turned to leave.

Ron moved quickly to block his path.

“Get out of my way, Weasel,” Malfoy said with a steely, quiet voice. “I don’t have to explain myself to someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” Ron snapped. “And what’s that supposed to mean? Someone you tormented just because my family associated with the “wrong sort”. Or someone who doesn’t have galleons falling out of his arse? Or did you mean someone who fought on the right side while you helped that monster? Innocent people died while you and your lot were trying to save your arses. You’re a coward, Malfoy. And that’s why everyone thinks you don’t deserve to be up here.”

Malfoy’s face tightened as he moved closer to Ron, who stood his ground, his hand reaching into his pocket to wrap around his wand.

“A coward, eh? Then why didn’t I kill him?”

“I just told you … you were too chicken.”

“So if I had killed him, that would have made me brave?” Malfoy questioned, one eyebrow raised.

Ron opened his mouth and then shut it, temporarily baffled by the question. Of course that’s not what he had meant.

“Tell me, Weasley, what exactly were my options? The Dark Lord threatened to kill my entire family if I didn’t kill Dumbledore. A year ago, I was still ashamed I couldn’t go through with it. But now … now, I’m proud I didn’t do it, and if that makes me a coward, then so be it,” Malfoy said, pushing past Ron to walk towards the stairs.

Stubbornness kept Ron in place, while sympathy and confusion compelled him to speak.

“Malfoy!” he called.

Footsteps slowed, but the boy didn’t turn around.

“I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t. You never bothered to ask …” Malfoy said before disappearing down the stairs, leaving Ron feeling like he didn’t really know who Draco Malfoy was at all.

~~~*~~~

Ron awoke the next morning with Malfoy on his mind. It was if someone had given him a new game to learn or puzzle to solve. Ron wondered how much Harry knew about Malfoy’s situation during sixth year. He had never heard Malfoy or anyone mention that Voldemort had blackmailed him to assassinate Dumbledore. During Malfoy’s trial after the war, Snape’s role as a double spy and Lucius Malfoy’s role as a Death Eater figured heavily in Malfoy’s defence. According to the Wizengamot, Malfoy's status as a minor at the time made him susceptible to coercion and bad influence, quickly laying all questions about his part in Dumbledore’s death to rest — at least for the public. For the pupils at Hogwarts, all the evidence in the world couldn't change the fact that Malfoy had tried to kill Dumbledore.

Throughout the day, Ron found himself sneaking glances at the boy while combing through his memories to re-examine their past interactions. Perhaps there had been clues he’d missed. That was how he caught a fifth year Slytherin boy levitating a glass of pumpkin juice over Malfoy’s head at lunch. Ron winced as a vision of Malfoy’s humiliation flashed before his eyes. He couldn’t bloody well pull out his wand and shield Malfoy in front of everyone; it was too obvious. But thankfully, he didn’t need to. Malfoy seemed to sense something foul was afoot, and looked up moments before, withdrawing his wand to send the glass of juice back to it owner, its contents splashing into the boy’s face.

There were shocked gasps and glares thrown Malfoy’s way, but he didn’t seem to notice or care and continued eating as if nothing had happened at all.

Ron chuckled to himself, mildly impressed by the way Malfoy kept his cool despite being the target of endless pranks and bullying.

When grey eyes glanced up to meet his, Ron gave the boy a small congratulatory smile.

Malfoy returned it with a sneer and rose from the table.

Near him, Ron could hear whispering. He looked over and saw that his friends weren’t sitting beside him anymore. Seamus, Dean, Neville, Harry, Ginny, and Hermione were all gathered over something in the center of the table.

“What’s going on?” he asked, squeezing in between Hermione and Harry.

The Daily Prophet was spread out, with moving pictures of McGonagall waving her hand before the cameras as if trying to shoo them away.

“The paper says there’s been a suicide attempt here,” Hermione said. “Some parents are calling for a formal investigation. It says McGonagall has no comment on the matter, and that the Governors have issued a statement that swift attention will be given to the matter.”

“Suicide?” Ron said, flabbergasted. “Who?”

“It doesn’t say,” Hermione said. “They’re protecting the identity of the pupil, but there are already rumours that it’s a Ravenclaw.”

“Who do guys think it is?” Ginny whispered.

“Not sure,” Neville said in a hushed voice. “But I heard it was Mandy...”

“Mandy Stuart?” Ron asked in disbelief.

“Yes, that one. But I heard different. Someone told me it was Padma,” Seamus said.

Dean nodded. “That’s what I heard as well. She does have a history of being really emotional, and you guys remember what Alecto did her last year.”

Ron watched Ginny’s face go pale. He wished he could ask what Alecto Carrow had done to Padma but then again, he really didn’t want to know.

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “She wouldn’t ... she and her sister are too close. Parvati wouldn’t let this sort of thing happen.”

“How do you know for sure, Harry?” Hermione asked. “Parvati can’t be everywhere Padma is; they’re in different Houses.”

“Right,” Dean said. “It could be anyone, really. And they say it’s the second attempt this year.”

Ron scoffed. “Second? That’s rubbish. If someone had tried to kill themselves here, we’d know about it.”

They all looked at each other uneasily.

“What?” Ron asked, looking at his friends in alarm. “Do you guys know something I don’t?”

Ginny bit her lip. “No, Ron. It’s just that … there’ve been all sorts of unexplained absences and loads of people coming in and out of the hospital wing. Who knows what they’re being treated for.”

Ron thought back to when he had visited Malfoy, there had been several curtains drawn, but he hadn’t thought anything of it at the time.

Seamus nodded. “Kenneth said he heard that there’s a cutter in Hufflepuff.”

“A cutter? You mean—”

“Someone who cuts themselves for relief,” Hermione finished.

Ron swallowed. “Who?”

“He won’t say, just that it’s an eighth year.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there was more than one in Hufflepuff,” Dean remarked. “They had it pretty bad last year.”

“All of us did,” Seamus said with a steely voice. His mouth thinned and he turned his eyes away from Ron’s questioning stare.

Ron looked to Harry uneasily. “What do you think is going on?”

Harry sighed. “I think people are having a tough time getting over last year.”

“Last year?” Ginny said. “Try the past four years, Harry. Last year was just the worst of it. I don’t care how many new bricks or decorations we put up. You can’t erase all of the bad that’s happened here.”

“Ginny, we’re doing the best we can,” Hermione said in a delicate voice. “Rebuilding is a good start. All we can do is stay positive and try to make things better.”

“No Hermione, what you, McGonagall, and the Governors want to do is cover up everything and pretend like it never happened. And it’s not working very well, is it? I actually think its making things worse.”

Hermione’s face flushed and Ron could tell she was trying to maintain her composure as she replied to Ginny in a steady voice. “That’s not true. The Restoration teams are designed to increase communication by bringing people together to work towards a common goal. And it’s working; people from different Houses are talking more. How can that be any worse than it already is?”

“Hermione, everyone appreciates what you’re trying to do,” Dean said, “but this is a whole lot bigger than rebuilding the school.”

“So what do you suggest, Dean?” Hermione asked. All eyes were on her, and Ron could see the slight tremor in her hands as she continued to speak. “That we do nothing? Simply let the school drown in misery and bad memories? We don’t have to forget the past, but we have to keep moving forward or we’ll just get stuck.”

“Well, it looks like some of us already are,” Ginny said, glancing over to the Ravenclaws where a round of jeers had just broken out. A crumpet flew from the Ravenclaw table and landed on the plate of a Slytherin girl. Before anyone could react, several more pieces of breakfast food were being thrown towards the Slytherin table.

Several Slytherins threw food back while others used levitation, making targets out of particular Ravenclaws. Luna held a newspaper over her head as several breakfast items flew her way.

The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were all leaning over, watching the food fight, some in amusement, others in shock.

“What the bloody hell?” Ron asked.

Hermione looked outraged. “Oh, this is ridiculous!”

“What are they doing?” Harry asked. “I’ve never seen Ravenclaws act like this.”

Hermione shook her head. “They’re retaliating because they think Slytherins are to blame for what happened to their housemate!”

“That doesn’t make any sense. How could an entire house be responsible for someone trying to take their own life?” Ron asked.

Ginny gave her brother a weary look. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all stared at Ginny, waiting for her explain. Ginny exchanged a quick glance with Neville, Seamus and Dean who seemed to understand.

“The Slytherins had it good last year,” Ginny explained. “Really good. The Carrows, and even Snape, let them do anything they wanted. It wasn’t bad enough that the teachers were torturing some of us, but then we’d get it again from our own classmates. What some of the Slytherins did…” Ginny paused, clearly flustered. “Ron, I can’t even talk about it without getting upset. I’m not sure that can ever be erased.”

Hermione opened her mouth, but Ron put a hand on her arm to deter her. She huffed in frustration and took a seat, clearly irritated. Everyone else remained standing, watching as the food fight escalated. Prefects and professors were running to and fro, confiscating wands and making threats, but it didn’t seem to make much of a difference.

The lack of order, defiance, and anger in the room was suffocating. Ron couldn’t even bring himself to take a seat; he needed to escape.

“I’m getting out here,” he said.

“Ron, we should stay and help the prefects diffuse the situation,” Harry insisted.

“Uh, well, it’s just that I have a few things to tend to before the next lesson. I’ll catch up with you guys later,” Ron said quickly, turning before Harry could question him.

Ron practically ran out of the Great Hall, anxious to find a place where he didn’t feel so trapped by anger, pain, and confusion. But leaving didn’t help. His anxiety remained, hanging on like a bad cold, and when lessons finally resumed, the tension he’d been trying to avoid seemed to close in on him from all sides. The events at breakfast had unleashed the great hippogriff in the room that no one wanted to discuss: the betrayal and pain from last year. There was no way of escaping it. It was in the faces of his peers, the worried expressions of his professors, and it lingered in the strained silence of the hallways as pupils made their way to their next lesson.

Everywhere Ron tried to hide, the tension found him, until finally that night, he found some solace in the Great Hall. Unlocked and dark except for a few torches, it was empty, undisturbed and unfettered by House rivalries. There were bad memories here, yes, but they paled in comparison to the memories that haunted other parts of the castle, and one area in particular. Ron shuddered as he thought of his last dream. He took a seat and conjured up a chessboard.

He played against himself until the elves pushed him out to clean. By the time he left, it was very late. The castle was deadly silent, and Ron figured it had to be past curfew, which was irrelevant— Filch didn’t seem to care what the eighth years did. He always was more focused on terrorizing fresh new faces. The hallways were very dark save the faint light from one lone wand up ahead. Probably the prefects on patrol, Ron thought. He slid into the shadows, waiting for the girls to pass. When the glow cast by the 'Lumos' dimmed, he made his way towards the stairs leading to the Astronomy Tower.

The winding stairway was narrow and he could barely see one foot in front of the other until he reached the middle, where the moonlight began to spill, shedding light. He exhaled as the fresh autumn air kissed his face. When he reached the top of the stairs he stopped, his eyes fixed on a figure leaning over the wall. The boy was slight, tall, with pale blond hair falling over the collar.

Malfoy turned around immediately, as if sensing Ron’s presence. “Oh, great,” he drawled with an eye roll.

“Happy to see you too,” Ron said dryly, walking over to stand a few feet to the left of him.

They stood in silence, the cold air slapping their faces, and all Ron could think was that it was better than fire.

“What are you doing up here, Weasley?”

“Dunno. Can’t sleep … why are you up here?”

Malfoy didn’t answer. Only the wind and forest replied. Ron could hear the distant sounds of creatures in the Forbidden Forest. The open lawn just beyond the courtyard oddly reminded him of the Burrow, and he was struck with sudden sadness, realising just how unhappy he was.

“What a year this is shaping up to be,” he murmured to himself.

“Yeah,” Malfoy replied, his eyes still on the courtyard below.

Ron blinked. For a moment he’d almost forgot that Malfoy was standing beside him. He could feel himself tensing as he became more aware of the boy. They had nothing in common, nothing nice to say to each other, nothing to talk about. But the silence was deafening, so Ron said the first thing that popped in his head to end it.

“Did you hear about Mandy?” he blurted out.

Malfoy turned his head. “What about her?”

Ron swallowed. “Well, I heard she might have tried to kill herself.”

“How do you know it was Mandy?” Malfoy asked. “I heard it was a Hufflepuff.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “Really? Who?”

Malfoy shrugged. “Pick one. Seems like Pomfrey is treating half the house.”

“For trying to kill themselves?”

“For depression, Weasely. Cutting, panic attacks— you name it … that house is full of overly sensitive dimwits.”

Ron narrowed his eyes, angered by Malfoy’s insult of Hufflepuff. “Seen a few of your lot coming out of Pomfrey's as well.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Just a few, I’m sure. And probably for good reason. It's not easy being the pariahs of the school. Oh, I forgot who I was talking to, Mr Popular.”

“I’ve had some experience with not being popular,” Ron said defensively. “It hasn’t been easy being Harry’s best mate.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, you never had to walk down the hallway and wonder if someone was going to hex you, did you?”

Ron remained silent as uncomfortable sympathy took root.

Malfoy gave Ron an irritated glance and turned to look out at past the courtyard to the field once again.

Ron stared at the side of the boy’s head where he could see a bruise fading. For some maddening reason he felt partially responsible. He wanted to apologise on behalf of his house, but pride kept him from going that far.

“Sounds like you guys are having a rough time of it,” Ron offered instead.

“As if you didn’t know! Your house is to blame. They’ve set the entire school against us,” Malfoy said bitterly.

Old pride and annoyance surfaced as Ron sneered. “Yeah, well, you know what they say: what comes around goes around.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, Weasley? You think it’s right or fair that the Gryffindors get to terrorize the school?”

“They’re just doing what you did last year, or so I heard,” Ron retorted.

“I wasn’t even here for most of the year, you twat,” Malfoy replied.

“I’m talking about your house, Ferret. Your lot had it easy, from what I hear,” Ron said.

Malfoy scoffed. “I hardly think last year was easy for anyone.”

Ron was determined not to feel any contrition for Malfoy or Slytherin. He was certain that at least some of the treatment they were receiving was justified.

“Well, they certainly had it better than the rest.”

“So now it’s time to take it out on us, is that it?” Malfoy asked, standing up straight, his eyes challenging. “You Gryffindors really are a piece of work. Hypocrites, the whole lot of you. You talk about honour and courage and then turn around and try to justify taking revenge.”

“I didn’t say it was justified, Malfoy.”

“You might as well have.”

The silence between them was taut with old grudges and memories Ron wanted to forget. This wasn’t the escape he’d been seeking. Constant stress seemed to follow him everywhere like a curse, and Ron was too tired to run away from it anymore.

“Bloody hell. I don’t even really care about any this shit. I don’t even really know what it’s all about. I wasn’t here either. I’m just sick of it.” Ron put his head in his hand and leaned against the wall.

Malfoy didn’t reply, and somehow that was the perfect response. Ron exhaled and closed his eyes. “I wish I had never came back.”

He waited for a taunt, but instead he heard a soft sigh. Ron peered through his hand to gaze at Malfoy.

Malfoy turned to look at him. “What?”

“Why did you come back? You had to know it wouldn’t be easy.”

“You wouldn’t understand, Weasley,” Malfoy said flatly.

“Try me.”

Malfoy took a visible breath, looking out to the field. “Sometimes you just have to do the opposite of what people think you’ll do.”

“So you’re here to prove a point or something?”

Malfoy huffed. “I’m here because I was invited back, just like you. I want to finish school. And no one is going to tell me I can’t!”

Taken aback by Malfoy’s spirited response, Ron didn’t reply. The determination and fire in those grey eyes cooled as Malfoy took a breath.

“What about you, Weasley? Why did you come back?” he asked almost casually.

Ron shrugged. “I suppose because everyone expected me to. And Hermione and Harry are here … it would have been weird not seeing them the entire year. Although, I probably could have just waited until the holidays to see them. I’m sure I could have kept myself busy in the meantime.”

“Doing what?” Malfoy asked.

Ron thought of his brother, George, who seemed a million miles away right now. As he thought of the joke shop George and Fred had prided themselves on, nostalgia for happier times swept over him. “Dunno. Probably help George run the shop ... if you weren’t here, what would you be doing?”

“I’m not sure,” Malfoy replied softly.

“You don’t really ever have to work, do you?” Ron asked.

The reproach in Malfoy’s glare was scathing. “I’m not some lazy sod who wants to sit on my arse, living off my parents. I would find something to do.”

Ron’s eyebrows rose. Who would have known Malfoy had ambitions other than being rich?

“Right,” Ron said uneasily as he realised any further conversation would be venturing into uncharted territory. And he had no intention of doing that with Malfoy. “Well, uh, it’s getting late. I probably should be turning in.”

Malfoy didn’t reply, his eyes were still set on the fields.

“I’ll see you in the Restoration group, yeah?” Ron said awkwardly.

Malfoy grunted, but didn’t respond or turn around. Ron stared at him for a moment, another question on the tip of his tongue before he decided he’d spent entirely too much time with Draco Malfoy for one night and turned to leave.

But even though Ron had made the excuse to turn in for bed, it was a few hours before he managed to get any sleep.

~~~*~~~

Chapter Nine
Sleeping Aid

The following morning at breakfast, Ron and Malfoy exchanged a brief glance before Malfoy returned to his usual 'ignore the world' routine. Ron tried to do the same until Hermione gave him a wet kiss on his cheek. Temporarily startled, Ron turned to stare at her.

“What?” she asked. “Am I not allowed to give my boyfriend a kiss now?”

“Sure, you can give me as many kisses as you like,” Ron said with a grin. “As long as I get to kiss you as well.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, beaming.

Ron felt a measure of accomplishment. For the first time in several weeks, he hadn’t totally mucked up a romantic interaction with her.

When their kiss broke, Hermione nuzzled up to his ear. “A few of the eighth years are heading over to Hogsmeade on Sunday. You want to come?”

Ron sighed. “Well …”

Hermione pulled back, her smile fading. “It’s Hogsmeade, Ron. You love Hogsmeade.”

“I know, it’s just that I have a lot of studying to do. Charms is really giving me a rough time,” he said, giving her a troubled look.

Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile as she lifted her hand to his cheek. “I never thought I’d see the day you’d skip Hogsmeade to study.”

“Yeah. Crazy, eh?”

She laughed, running a hand over his head. “As long as you’re studying, I won’t bother you about it.”

Ron smiled to see her so happy, wishing he felt the same.

~~~*~~~

Sunday morning arrived, and all of the eighth years were preparing to leave for Hogsmeade, all of them except for Ron, Malfoy, and Goyle. Everyone watched as a prefect argued with Goyle about the thermos in his hand. Goyle insisted that it only contained water, but the prefect wanted to take a whiff. Ron could tell that it was going to end badly. Ever since they had returned, Goyle had become a shadow of his former self, always lurking about with a cup or thermos in his hand. The prefect’s voice was loud now, and he looked irate. But Goyle’s voice hadn’t risen at all, and he looked rather dead around the eyes, like he had already had a few too many. Finally, the prefect grabbed Goyle by the arm, pulling him back into castle.

There was some murmuring about the scene, but it soon gave way to excited chatter about the trip. As the eighth years gathered, Harry asked Ron if he would re-consider joining them. Ron declined and sent Hermione off with a firm hug and a request to bring him back some chocolate before watching them disappear along the path to Hogsmeade.

The rest of the pupils were scattered throughout the castle, some hanging out in their common room while others lounged about in their dormitory or lingered in the Great Hall.

Ron didn’t want to be in any of those places, and the thought of doing Charms homework made him feel nauseous. The last place he had found some measure of solace, the library—was occupied by pupils, so he wandered to the second best place— hoping he’d find himself alone.

But when he reached the top stair of the Tower, Malfoy was sitting in a chair by the wall with his legs crossed, holding something in his hand.

Their eyes locked. Reluctant to be chased off by Malfoy’s presence, Ron asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Why do you always ask me that?” Malfoy asked in annoyance. “Same reason you’re here. It’s the only place to find a bit of peace, isn’t it?”

Ron scowled in frustration. There was no solitude to be found here.

Malfoy sniggered.

“What?” Ron asked defensively.

“You really are wound up this year, Weasley. You just got up here, and you’re already set to have a row with me.”

Ron clenched his teeth. “I just want to find a place where I can be alone, is all.”

“Well I won’t talk, if you won’t.” Malfoy offered. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Ron eyed him strangely. Did Malfoy just invite him to sit with him?

Before Ron could think on it further, Malfoy brought the thing in his hand to his mouth. Ron cautiously walked closer, peering at the object. It was a very small, silver vase-looking thing with a thin metal pipe sticking out of it. Malfoy put the tip of the pipe between his lips and inhaled deeply.

Ron watched in fascination as Malfoy’s eyes drooped halfway closed. He seemed to be holding his breath, and then he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

When Malfoy opened his eyes to look up at him, Ron felt his face flush. It felt like he had intruded on something dirty and private.

“Oh, relax, and have a seat,” Malfoy said.

Ron looked around but there were no extra chairs. Malfoy gave him a pitying headshake. “Honestly Weaslebee, you’re an eighth year. You should be able to conjure up a chair by now.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to talk?” Ron grumbled before conjuring a chair from the dining hall.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, taking another puff of the small pipe thing.

Ron waved his hand in front of his face. The smoke didn’t even smell like the regular pipes Dumbledore used to smoke. Whatever Malfoy was smoking was distinctly more pungent, rank even.

“What are you staring at?” Malfoy asked with annoyance.

Ron grimaced. “You. What are you smoking?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Draco replied smartly.

“Well if it’s not tobacco, it must be grass…I can’t believe you’re smoking that stuff. It’s rather … Muggleish, isn’t it?”

Malfoy gave him an once-over, the look reminiscent of their first encounter when he had cut Ron down to size for his second-hand robes. “It’s a shame—your family is so enamoured with the Muggle world that you can’t even distinguish between a wizarding practice and Muggle one.”

Ron tightened his fist as he glared back at Malfoy.

“There’s nothing Muggle about hashish, Weasley. Although I hear Muggles have stolen the practice and claimed it as their own,” Malfoy said with disdain. “It’s been around for centuries, long before your precious Muggles ever discovered it.”

“I don’t care what you call it; you’re doing drugs,” Ron accused.

Malfoy held up his chin, looking at Ron defiantly. “It's legal in the wizarding world and a perfectly acceptable form of relaxation for wizards. In fact, it’s practiced by some of the most powerful wizards all over the world.”

Ron frowned. “Oh yeah? Then how come I don’t know anyone who does it?”

“Perhaps because you don’t know anyone who can afford to do it,” Malfoy quipped.

Ron scoffed. “I’m sure Harry could afford it if he wanted to. But who wants to go around smelling like that?”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “The smell isn’t that bad. Besides, there are spells for distinguishing the odour.”

“Whatever you say,” Ron said. “It smells bloody disgusting … never would have figured you for the type.”

Malfoy lips thinned for a second, but then a smile broke. He shook his head at Ron, took another drag, and then sat back as if he was resigned to not argue.

Ron sat stiff, watching the boy closely as he exhaled.

“Weasley, you have no idea. I’m full of surprises.”

A strange discomfort hit Ron as he realised he was gawking at Malfoy like the blond was the new kid in school or something. But he couldn’t help it; for some reason, Ron’s curiosity was piqued. What other surprises did Malfoy have to reveal?

“You know, even if it is legal, it’s not allowed up here or even in the castle, really,” Ron remarked.

“Yeah, well, neither is casting hexes in the hallways or beating the crap out of people, but that still goes on, doesn’t it?” Malfoy retorted.

Ron forced out a question he expected wouldn’t be answered. “Is that why you didn’t go to Hogsmeade?”

Malfoy’s face became tight as he tried to veil his anger.

“Having a Butterbeer while people whisper about me or throw things at my back isn’t my idea of fun. Besides, the Butterbeer isn’t that great.”

“It’s really good,” Ron argued.

Malfoy looked away. “Not when you’re drinking it alone. Anyway, what’s your excuse? Don’t you have a girlfriend you should be tending to?”

Ron began to gnaw at the inside of his lip. “She’ll be all right without me. Harry and the rest are with her. I wasn’t really in the mood to go.”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. Ron dropped his eyes, hating the self-loathing thoughts whispering in his head.

“You better be careful, Weasley. She just might get used to not having you around.”

“Mind your own business, Malfoy,” Ron snapped.

Malfoy looked smug, evidently pleased he’d pushed a button.

Ron assessed him more closely under the guise of contempt.

There were bags under the boy’s eyes, and another fresh bruise was beginning to darken right beneath his jaw line.

“Stop staring at me!” Malfoy said sharply.

But Ron couldn't stop looking at the boy's injuries. “They’re really laying into you, aren’t they? Don’t you have any friends in your House?”

“I don’t need friends, Weasley,” Malfoy said hauntingly. “What I need is for self-righteous Gryffindors like you to stay the fuck out of my business.”

“Fine,” Ron said tersely.

“And for your information,” Malfoy added quickly. “I do have friends. Maybe not as many as an Order of Merlin, First Class can buy, but at least I know they’re genuine.”

Ron rolled his eyes, but his mind was quickly trying to figure out who in the world Malfoy could be referring to. It couldn’t be Goyle; he never saw them occupy the same space for more than five minutes unless they were forced to, and Ron hadn’t seen Malfoy talking or eating with anyone since the school year started. Still, he did notice that Nott and his friends had mellowed out considerably. Had some sort of truce been struck?

He wanted to ask, but he figured he was already over the limit as far as questions were concerned. What exactly he and Malfoy could talk about, Ron didn’t know.

Malfoy leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out and crossing them. With his eyes half drawn and his head tilted back, he exhaled, making funny shapes with his smoke. For someone so bruised and friendless, he looked perfectly content and relaxed.

In that moment, Ron envied him.

Malfoy opened his eyes a little wider, peering at Ron from his reclined position. “You want some, don’t you?”

“No thanks. I bet it gives you bad breath,” Ron said.

“Suit yourself.”

The smell alone disgusted Ron, but as he watched Malfoy pull another long drag and exhale slowly as if he was expelling everything bad inside of him, Ron desired that feeling too.

“Well, maybe just one puff,” Ron said with an unsure voice.

Malfoy smirked and sat up, looking at the pipe and then Ron as if contemplating something. “You’ve never done this before, Weasley, so just do what I say.”

Ron waived his hand impatiently. “Whatever, just hand it over. It can’t be very complicated.”

Malfoy gave him an amused smile, holding it out. Ron took it and Malfoy leaned in.

Ron studied it. The vase part of the pipe looked like black marble, but the top was definitely silver, with tiny thin serpents lining the edges. Ron narrowed his eyes, suddenly sceptical.

“Well, put in your mouth,” Malfoy chastised.

“Right,” Ron said, slowly bringing the pipe of the strange smelling object to his lips. He looked down his nose at the circular opening at the top.

“You have to inhale first, Weasley,” Malfoy said with amusement in his voice.

Ron froze momentarily, frowning. “I know that,” he said irritably.

There was a moment of brief panic in Ron’s chest, but he quickly decided that if Malfoy could do it, so could he. He took a deep breath, sucking on the tip. A cloud of smoke filled his mouth, spilling into his lungs. The loss of air was startling, and immediately Ron began to cough, bowling over as he tried to find air again.

Above him, Malfoy chuckled, and the thought of coming up with an upper left cut briefly crossed Ron’s mind. But he was in no shape to fight or talk. He continued coughing until his lungs felt raw and then swallowed several times, trying to make the feeling go away.

When Ron finally looked back up, Malfoy was watching him with that infuriating smirk on his face.

“You all right there, Weasley?”

Ron nodded, clearing his throat once more.

“You inhaled entirely too hard.”

Ron grunted, but it lacked any bite. He could feel his head becoming woozy, and whatever anger he would have normally felt towards Malfoy was slipping from him like water through fingers.

Ron took a breath, coughed a little and breathed out, relaxing in the chair as he looked out across the wall.

For once he could see the field just beyond the courtyard for what it was. There were no war-torn images flashing before his eyes. In fact, the only thing Ron could think of was how beautiful the sky was, and how much, in that moment, he wanted to fly.

~~~*~~~

Ron and Malfoy didn’t leave the Tower until dinner, returning to their tables as if they didn’t know each other at all. The Great Hall was filled with lots of chatter, and everyone in his house was already there. Ron’s eyes immediately found Hermione’s when she flashed a brilliant smile.

Ron ran a hand over his face to check if Malfoy’s odour disintegration spell had actually done its job. Satisfied, he walked over to join his cohorts.

Hermione stood up to greet him. “Ron! Where have you been? We came back almost two hours ago.”

“Oh, really?” Ron said, genuinely surprised. “Uh, I got through with studying earlier than I thought and decided to walk around a bit.”

Hermione gave him a curious look that made Ron feel self-conscious. What if she could tell? But then she turned around and reached down to grab something from her seat.

“Your favourite,” she beamed, handing him a bag of gummy flobberworms.

“Oh, Hermione,” Ron gushed, pulling her in for an unabashed kiss on the lips.

There was a wave of ‘oooos’ and whistles from the Gryffindor table, and Ron smiled against her lips as she giggled against his.

“So, this is what I have to do to get you to snog me?” she asked.

Ron's grip behind her back tightened. The relaxed feeling he’d felt on the Tower was quickly dissipating.

His eyes darted to his side, and he saw Harry and Ginny smiling up at them. He let Hermione go and took a seat, Hermione watching him closely as she took hers beside him.

Ron listened in dazed silence as his friends and housemates talked about the Hogsmeade trip and the upcoming Quidditch match. Hermione's hand brushed against his and she smiled at him in an effort to engage him in the conversation, but all Ron could do was give her a half-hearted smile in return. And he was sure it was delayed because she was staring at him like he looked ill or something. He didn’t feel ill, just disconnected and slightly loopy. Actually, it was all rather funny; everyone carrying on about HoneyDukes and the Three Broomsticks like they had never been before. It was all Ron could do not to laugh at them.

He glanced past his sister to find Malfoy. The boy looked the way Ron felt, and they exchanged an amused smile. Soon Ron’s smiling broke into sniggers. His friends all turned to look at him.

“What’s so funny, Ron?”

“What? Ah, nothing,” Ron said, grinning hard. He tried to wipe the smile off his face, but it seemed permanently frozen there.

When dinner was finally over and everyone had returned to the common room, Hermione took his hand into hers and pulled him aside before they reached the stairs.

“All right, out with it,” she demanded. “What’s wrong with you, Ron?”

Ron tried to feign a bemused smile. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve been acting really strange. First you back out of Hogsmeade, and then all through dinner you don’t say anything, all the while sitting there looking … dazed like you’re daydreaming or something, and then you start laughing for no apparent reason. Are you feeling all right?” Hermione asked, her brow knitted in concern.

“I’m fine. Better than fine, really,” he lied with forced enthusiasm.

“You keep saying that, Ron but I’m not so sure anymore. You used to enjoy hanging out with me and Harry. You used to make jokes. And the Ron I know would never skip a Hogsmeade trip. You didn’t even touch your gummy worms.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Hermione. Is that what this is about? I’ve offended you because I didn’t eat my sweets?”

“No, Ron, that’s not what I’m saying at all,” Hermione said in frustration.

“Then what are you saying? That I need to hang around and make you laugh more? Well, sometimes I don’t feel like joking around. Is that all right with you?”

“You don’t joke around at all anymore.”

Ron ran his hand through his hair, his mind working furiously on what would be the best possible response to end this conversation. Hermione’s eyes and words felt too prying and he wished he could turn away. There were questions that he didn’t want to think about, assumptions and speculations that made him feel transparent and vulnerable.

“I’ll work on it, OK?” he said finally.

“Ron—”

“That’s all I can do, Hermione! I’ll try harder to be happy!” He knew he sounded frantic, but the look on Hermione’s face was slowly undoing him.

“Ron, please, you’re not listening to me. I don’t want you to put on an act. If you’re not happy, that’s fine. Just don’t shut me out.”

She pulled on his robes, drawing him closer. “Remember last year?”

Ron groaned. That was the last thing he wanted to think about right now.

“Not the bad stuff. The day after it was all over …”

Ron stared down at her as the memory of those first few hours of being with Hermione as more than a friend resurfaced. It had been exciting and confusing. Ron could remember feeling overjoyed that they were finally together, but also feeling devastated by his brother’s death.

“We said we’d always be truthful with each other. No more secrets, no more guessing. Just the truth.”

As Ron looked into Hermione’s eyes, his heart began to melt, and his shoulders slumped in guilt as he thought about how much he had been keeping to himself.

He gave her a small guilty smile. “I remember.”

“That’s all I want, Ron. The truth. You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”

Ron gripped her tight around the waist, pulling her close as he let his head fall onto her shoulder. Hermione wrapped her arms around him and Ron closed his eyes, hoping the storm in his heart would pass.

When it didn’t, he straightened up. “I’m fine, Hermione. It’s just that … coming back here ... it’s been a little harder than I thought it would be.”

Hermione gave him a understanding smile. “Yes, for me as well. But we have each other. If you need to talk to someone, I’m always here for you.”

Ron nodded. “I know.”

She smiled, taking his hand and squeezing it tight. “We got through last year, we’ll get through this. It may take some time, but you’ll see, sooner or later, everything will return to normal.”

As she stared into his eyes with silent reassurance, for one fleeting moment, Ron almost believed her.

~~~*~~~

Later that night, when Ron awoke drenched in sweat, he could still hear the echoes of Hermione’s screams. No matter how many times he dreamed about Malfoy Manor, the dream never changed. In the dream, he could never will himself to intervene sooner, and so he never made it in time to stop Bellatrix from torturing her. The conclusion was always the same.

As he stared into the dark, listening to his breath return to normal, he could see the faint outlines of his sleeping friends. Even awake, the weak and inept feeling of not being able to help the girl he loved remained. He flung the covers off and tiptoed to the bathroom, where he gave himself a good wipe down before coming out and changing into warm clothing.

His eyes swept the room one last time before sneaking out.

As Ron strode out into the hallway, the feeling of ineptness gave way to a heavy sadness. On any other night, the chilly dark hallways of Hogwarts would have sent him running back to the safety of his bed. But his bed wasn’t a safe haven anymore. Anywhere that would take him away from his dreams would be better.

The snoring of the portraits seemed to mock his inability to sleep, and he wandered deeper into the castle, waiting for drowsiness to sneak up on him. But the more Ron walked, the more he began to despair. Even after endless walking, sleep was nowhere to be found. Only a muted, anxious feeling remained that he couldn’t quite describe or name.

What the hell was he doing?

His eyes barely adjusted in the dark, Ron stopped as his toe stubbed against something.

“Lumos,” he said, lighting the tip of his wand.

It was a statue, the one that stood at the foot of the Tower staircase. How Ron had wandered back to the place he’d spent most of his day, he wasn’t sure.

He jumped as a low groan echoed in the dark. There was a faint clanking noise, like chains being dropped on the stairway. Ron gulped, torn between investigating and running back to his room, when he remembered something Nearly Headless Nick had told him.

“Baron?” Ron croaked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.

The clanking and groaning stopped. Ron heard a soft grunt, and then the clanking continued, growing louder as the Bloody Baron’s silvery white form emerged from the shadows of the doorway.

He gave Ron a disgruntled look before moving on, resuming his groan as the chains around his body clanked behind him.

Ron sighed in relief and turned to take the stairs up to the Tower. The higher he climbed, the colder it became, but the growing brightness of the moonlight hitting the steps encouraged him to continue.

When Ron reached the top, he almost choked as he spied a familiar silhouette.

“Christ, Malfoy, do you live up here, now?” he asked in annoyance.

Malfoy's head was set back as if he had been staring up at the stars, his longish white blond hair falling over his thick black winter cloak. There was a cloud of newly expelled smoke over his head.

He laughed. “No, but that’s not a bad idea, Weasley. I wonder if McGonagall could have them build an outcast wing for me.”

Ron scrunched up his face, surprisingly disturbed to hear Malfoy refer to himself in such a way.

Malfoy snorted in amusement at his own joke, and then took a long pull of his pipe before exhaling. “It’s nearly 2am. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Can’t sleep,” Ron mumbled, pulling the arms of his jumper down over his hands. It was quite chilly, but oddly, he found it more comforting than inconvenient. At least the cold air felt real.

Malfoy opened his eyes, and lowered his head to level Ron a stare. “Bollocks isn’t it?”

The knowing in Malfoy’s eyes was unnerving. He seemed to understand something that Hermione and Harry couldn’t. Not that Ron could ever explain it to either one of them what exactly that was.

Ron withdrew his wand, conjuring up a chair from the Great Hall and taking a seat.

Malfoy took another puff and then extended his hand, offering Ron a smoke.

Ron stared at it, remembering the free feeling it had given him.

“Come on, Weasley, take it,” he said, waving it in front of Ron.

Ron reached over, snatching the pipe from Malfoy’s hand.

“You know, I’m still surprised you’d share anything with me. Thought you’d be afraid of getting ‘Weasley germs’ or something.”

Malfoy laughed. It was hearty and loud, and Ron stared at the boy in shock momentarily before remembering why Malfoy was laughing so freely. Ron drew the pipe to his mouth and inhaled carefully.

The smoke filled his mouth and burned his throat. Ron coughed, trying to adjust to it. It only took a few seconds for the burning sensation to subside, and Ron’s anxiety died with it.

Malfoy was holding out his hand insistently, an impatient look crinkling his features. Ron smirked, his former self-doubt fading. He took another puff, this one much longer.

“Weasley, that’s rude! Hand it back over!”

Ron coughed as laughter bubbled up from his belly.

Malfoy snatched the pipe from him, and Ron sniggered as the last bits of nerves disappeared completely, replaced by a heavy feeling of serenity. He plopped back against the chair, his eyes settling on Malfoy’s crown.

“Whatever this stuff is, it’s brilliant. I feel like I could close my eyes right here and go to sleep,” Ron said in contentment.

Malfoy nodded. “Why do you think I smoke it?”

Ron laughed. “Honestly? I thought you were doing it just because we’re not supposed to. Seems like the sort of thing you’d do.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “You’re not the only one who can’t sleep, Weasley.”

Ron watched as Malfoy shifted in his chair, averting his eyes as if suddenly abashed.

When the uneasy tension threatened to poke through Ron’s high, he held out his hand with a silent request.

Malfoy’s eyes slowly returned to Ron. He leaned in to pass the pipe to him once more. Ron took another deep drag, handing it back over immediately so as not to make the same mistake twice.

Malfoy took it, but his eyes remained fixed on Ron’s.

“What?”

“Do you ever … have dreams about it?” Malfoy asked, so softly it was almost a whisper. “Last year, I mean.”

Ron gripped the edge of his chair, the hard wood of the armrests offering relief from the mounting pressure building in every nerve of his body.

“Yeah,” he admitted finally, staring at Malfoy plainly. “Sometimes. Do you?”

Malfoy simply nodded.

The silence that followed was filled to the brim with more questions that would never be asked and answers that couldn’t be given. Ron wanted to reach out and ask for another go with the pipe, but the price seemed too high. He wasn’t ready to confess what he’d be dreaming about. Especially to Malfoy.

“I hate fire,” Malfoy said, his eyes sharp with contempt. As soon as he said it, images from daydreams and nightmares flooded Ron’s vision, making him shiver.

Malfoy took another puff and extended his hand.

Ron gave the boy a nod as he accepted. “Yeah. Me too.”

“I thought I’d never get out alive,” Malfoy said, looking up at the sky again.

Ron swallowed the smoke in one gulp, holding it for as long as he could stand in hopes it would be just enough to knock him out completely for the rest of the night.

“Sometimes, I don’t even have to dream,” Malfoy continued. “Sometimes, it just pops in my head. Like in the middle of a lesson or something.”

Finally, Ron exhaled.

“Yeah,” was all he could say, as the welcomed daze of the herb began to take hold.

“And this,” Malfoy said, holding up the pipe. “Is the only thing that seems to make it disappear. It takes the edge off, helps me sleep better.”

“Yeah? So why are you up here at 2 am, then?” Ron sniggered. It wasn’t even funny, but suddenly everything seemed much more amusing.

Malfoy sniggered as well. “Thought I could get through one bloody night without it. Turns out, I was absolutely wrong.”

Ron laughed.

Malfoy laughed with him.

Ron had no idea what they were laughing about, but it felt good.

“So you have regular nightmares too?” Ron asked, when their laughter had settled.

Malfoy nodded. “You?”

“Not really. I mean, once in a while. But it’s really not a big deal,” Ron said.

“You’re lying.”

“Just shut up and pass me that pipe thing. What’s it called?” Ron said, extending his hand.

“A hookah, Weasley,” Draco said, passing it to him once again. “A very rare and expensive hookah. That’s antique silver you’re holding. It’s probably worth more than all of the silverware in the Great Hall.”

Ron grimaced. “Is that supposed to impress me or something?”

“I’m not bragging. You asked me what it was, and I was simply telling you.”

“You’re hopeless,” Ron said with disappointment.

Malfoy’s mouth tightened and the fire in his eyes returned. “You think I’m some rich brat don’t you?”

“I think you’re a prat.”

“You’re not exactly Mr Charming, Weasley. But if you’re nice, I do believe I could educate you in that particular area. ”

Ron stared at Malfoy, dumbfounded. “You? Teach me how to be charming?”

“That’s right,” Draco said proudly.

Ron tried to scowl, but it quickly broke as the absurdity of Malfoy giving him lessons on how to be charming. Laughter tore from somewhere deep inside his chest.

Malfoy attempted a frown, but it soon disintegrated into a smile, and then he too began to laugh. They laughed and laughed for several minutes for no apparent reason until they were both drained of it.

And when they said their goodnights moments later and parted ways to return to their dormitories, Ron continued to smile to himself. Yes, Draco Malfoy was an arrogant prat. And yes, Ron had just done drugs twice in one day. But as far as Ron was concerned, a little time spent with a spoiled brat smoking weed seemed like a fair price for a laugh and a good night’s sleep.

~~~*~~~

Chapter Ten
Do You Know How Fucked Up You Really Are?

Ron awoke the following morning feeling refreshed and relaxed, like he’d taken a dose of Calming Draught. There were no memories and lingering echoes haunting his thoughts. It was enough to make a bloke want to sing or whistle, and that’s exactly what he did all the way to the shower and back.

“You sure are in a good mood,” Harry remarked with a curious smile on his face.

“I had a good night’s sleep,” Ron replied.

“That’s great, Ron! So you’re finally getting back to yourself, then?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Ron said, trying to ignore the flash of irritation at Harry’s comment. How could he be anyone else but himself? Just because Harry didn’t like his new temperament didn’t make it any less genuine.

He pushed his choler aside and followed his best mate downstairs to meet the others for breakfast. Hermione and Ginny were by the couches waiting. Hermione stood up and threw her arms around his neck, giving him a tight hug. He embraced her back enthusiastically, feeling strangely liberated enough to express the affection that he’d been withholding. Feeling her body pressing against his nudged at a less innocent thought he’d been devoid of since coming back. As he felt himself harden, Hermione pulled away, blushing, her smile indicating her awareness of his arousal. Ron cleared his throat and held out a hand. Hermione took it, and they held hands as they walked behind Harry and Ginny to breakfast.

At breakfast, the conversation flowed without any misunderstandings or tension. Everyone appeared to be in good spirits for once, and Ron had to wonder if it had anything to do with his own mood. Sometimes he thought he had a way of infecting those around him more than he liked.

His eyes scanned the Slytherin table. Malfoy was sitting alone, Goyle was absent, and Nott was engaged in conversation, paying Malfoy no mind; however, there was someone paying attention to Malfoy. Eight chairs away, a young blonde girl was staring rather intensely in his direction. Reaching for another piece of toast, Ron racked his brains, trying to remember the girl’s name, when her sister, Daphne Greengrass, came up from behind. The younger girl’s name instantly came to him. Astoria. Ron watched as Daphne whispered something quite fiercely in her sister’s ear, as if scolding her. Astoria’s face turned pink, and as soon as Daphne sat down, she refrained from looking at Malfoy again, keeping her gaze on her plate.

The rest of the day was rather ordinary without any problems, and by the time Restoration Group met, Ron was actually excited to see Malfoy and the rest of the group. Their team was more cohesive now, and everyone were really working together and talking, even to Malfoy. When he spoke, people actually stopped to listen, and that gave Ron a sense of hope for the future for Hogwarts.

Finally, the group dispersed, and Malfoy turned to walk towards the stairs.

“Malfoy!” Ron called, walking briskly to catch up to him.

Guarded grey eyes turned with a question in their stare.

“Uh, where you going?”

Malfoy frowned. “That’s none of your business, Weasley.”

“I was just asking because I wanted to see if … well, you know.” Ron’s widened his eyes meaningfully, hoping Malfoy would catch his drift.

Malfoy’s eyebrows rose, as a smirk grew on his face. “No, I don’t know. What?”

A group of curious Hufflepuffs passed between them, and Ron gave them a fake smile, hoping they’d mind their business.

“I wanted to see if you wanted to, uh, take a break, with me,” Ron tried to say as discreetly as possible.

Despite his efforts, he heard whispering to his left. He turned to see two Gryffindor sixth years averting their eyes as they talked in hushed voices, presumably about him and Malfoy talking openly in the hallway.

“Never mind,” Ron murmured, turning away. He could feel his ears burning.

“Weasley!” Malfoy called.

Ron stopped and looked back.

“Maybe later, all right?”

Ron gave Malfoy a quick nod. There were people openly staring at them now, and suddenly Ron felt on display, as if a spotlight had been cast directly onto him.

“Sure,” Ron mumbled, unsure of why he was suddenly ashamed to be seen talking to Malfoy.

Maybe it was the way those Gryffindor boys had avoided his eyes and whispered, as if Ron had made some egregious error in judgment. Or was it because Malfoy was an outcast? Ron didn’t want to think about why hanging around Malfoy was much easier when no one knew about it, but it certainly was. And for the time being, he planned on keeping it that way.

~~~*~~~

After dinner, Ron and Hermione went for a walk. The night wind was especially strong, chilling the air to considerably, but it was the perfect excuse to snuggle against each other on the more remote side of the castle. She always kissed first now, and Ron simply followed, allowing her full control to prevent any misunderstandings. As her tongue delicately slipped inside his mouth, a nostalgic spark of passion spread through his lower body, and he instinctively pulled her closer to him. The feeling of her body against his made his nature rise, but this time there was no shame; he’d been waiting to feel something for so long, and now that he could, he wanted Hermione to know how she was affecting him.

She sighed contently against his lips, so Ron took a chance and put one hand in her hair, pulling her head back ever so slightly to take control over the kiss. Using his tongue, he tried to communicate everything he couldn’t say. Hermione moaned and Ron had to restrain him not to push her against the wall and ravish her right there. When the kiss broke, they stared into each other’s eyes, and Ron didn’t have to wonder what to do next. He knew.

He opened his mouth, ready to suggest that they get inside and find some place private, but Hermione beat him to it and spoke first.

“Ron, I love you.”

Time stood still.

Those three little words had the power of a stunning spell. Ron couldn’t move; his whole body was useless, and the erection in his trousers withered. Hermione drew back, surprise and fear etched upon every feature of her face.

Ron tried to talk but his mouth had gone completely dry. He licked his lips, and tried again. “Uh …”

Hermione shook her head, her cheeks turning bright red. “I—I shouldn’t have said that.”

All Ron could do was stare down at her in complete and utter shock.

Hermione drew further away, wrapping her arms around her body. She looked like she wished she could be anywhere else. “It’s getting cold. Let’s get back inside.”

Ron nodded, his heart clenching at the look of hurt in her eyes.

Hermione turned away, leading them back into the castle. Once inside the common room, she said a quick goodnight and ran up the stairs, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the room. Ron glanced around and saw people laughing and chatting. His sister and Harry were nuzzling against each other on the couch by the fire, oblivious to the world.

Seeing them so happy together hurt like a punch to the gut, and a self-inflicted one at that. He’d had his chance with Hermione, but when it counted, he froze, again. Frustration and longing topped with a heavy helping of guilt sent Ron right back out into the hallway.

There was nowhere to go but the Tower. But when he arrived, the only thing that greeted him was the cold wind and silence. He waited. At first, he tried to delude himself about what he was waiting for. He told himself he needed to think, to clear his head, to get a grip on what had just occurred between him and Hermione. But as the minutes went by, and then a full hour, Ron stopped lying to himself, and turned to check the door, again, and again. He was waiting for Malfoy. But after an hour and a half, his hope that the boy would show faded, and he gave up and left to go to turn in for the night.

As he descended the stairs, the faint sounds of voices echoed just beyond the corridor. But rounding the corner, Ron saw nothing. Still, the voices grew louder, so he walked with great care through the next corridor and stopped when he saw a faint glow of light near the ceiling. He studied the strange position of the light. Torchlight didn’t glow like that, but the muted glow of a Lumos spell did.

Why would someone’s wand be on the ceiling?

Ron snuck to the edge of the corner and saw four shadows outlined in the soft light emanating from the ceiling.

He dared to peek around the edge and was surprised to see Malfoy standing in the midst of three Gryffindor boys. One of them was Scott, and the other two were his cronies, Clive Davies, and Richard Nutley. They had blocked Malfoy into a loose circle, and he was actively looking about at all of them, waiting for their attack. But none of them had a wand except for Malfoy. Ron looked up and gasped silently. All three of the Gryffindors’ wands were stuck to the ceiling, and one of them was lit.

‘Good one, Malfoy,’ Ron thought.

“I’m ready when you guys are,” Malfoy challenged.

“You really are a thick one, Malfoy; your little wand trick may have just cost you more than a few hexes. This calls for major payback,” said Scott.

Malfoy's laugh startled Ron.

“Is that supposed to scare me, Anderson? You’re always running off at the mouth about what you’re going to do to me, but so far, by my count, I’m winning. If you were any good at this, you wouldn’t have to keep doing it. You’re pathetic.”

“I’m so sick of that gob of yours,” Scott growled, moving in with his fists clenched.

Malfoy cast a Stunning spell that sent the boy flying backwards, and he fell like a board. But Malfoy was so focused on disabling Scott that he neglected to keep an eye on Scott’s taller friend, Clive. The lean brown haired boy tackled Malfoy around the waist, sending him to the floor, struggling in his grip. Clive proved to be stronger and wrestled Malfoy’s wand from his hand, throwing it to Richard, who ended the Stunning spell on Scott. Clive started decking Malfoy on the side of the head, landing a few blows as Scott rose to his feet. To Ron’s shock and disgust, Malfoy wasn’t given a moment's reprieve before Scott and the other boy rushed over to join in the beating.

Ron’s own stomach tightened. The entire scene was like something out of his bad dreams. He half expected one of the boys to morph into a Death Eater. To see a Gryffindor acting so cruelly was just wrong. Surely the Sorting Hat must have made a mistake.

“That’s enough!” Ron said, stepping from around the corner, his wand drawn.

All four boys paused to look back. Ron could feel his pulse thrumming at his temple as he tried to ignore the looks of betrayal and shock from his Gryffindor housemates.

“Hey, Ron, how’s it going?” Scott asked in an almost casual voice as he straightened up.

“Not so good,” Ron said with a deadpan stare.

Scott chuckled, and threw an easy smile to his friends. “It’s not what you think, is it, guys? We were just having a walk, see, and—”

“Yeah,” Clive jumped in, “and then Malfoy here decides he wants to try to get a little revenge, so he attacks us.”

“Is that right?” Ron asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“That’s right,” Scott said quickly.

“You know what I think, Scott? I think you’re lying, and I think I’m going to tell our prefects and McGonagall about it. This has gone on long enough.”

“Are you mental?” Clive exclaimed. “If you rat us out, Gryffindor might lose the House Cup!”

“Just chill out, Ron. Malfoy’s not worth bringing shame to our House,” Scott said.

Ron didn’t even think about what he was doing. The entitled and condescending tone in their voices was like pin puncturing a balloon. Ron’s patience snapped, and in the next minute he was at Scott’s throat, pushing him against the wall.

“Weasley, what the hell are you doing?” one of Scott’s friends cried. Ron didn’t even know who said it, and it didn’t matter. He wasn’t letting go. The little prat had to be taught a lesson.

He felt the sting of his flesh being clawed at while Scott tried to grab at his face and shoulders, but that didn’t distract Ron from pressing into the boy’s jugular.

“Listen to me, you little shit! I will never bring shame to Gryffindor. I was out there fighting! Where were you? Huh? I bet you were hiding somewhere waiting for it to end! I don’t remember seeing you out on the field. And now you come back acting like the whole school should kiss your scrawny little arse! You’re the one bringing shame to Gryffindor! You and your entire lot. But you’re not so tough now, are you?”

“Get off of him!”

“Weasley— Ron!” Malfoy’s voice cut through the red haze of Ron’s rage. He blinked, looking down at Scott with new eyes and a growing horror that the boy’s face was reddish purple. Ron immediately loosened his hold on Scott’s throat and the boy slid down the wall onto the floor, gasping for breath.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You almost killed him!” Clive shouted, rushing to his friend.

Footsteps could be heard in the distance, and the small shadow of a feline sprinted forward.

“Oh no, it’s Mrs. Norris! Filch is coming!” Richard said.

Unfazed by the warning, Ron stared down at his bare hands; they were shaking. The rage was slowly seeping away, leaving the dull ache of confusion and regret about what he had almost done in its wake.

“This isn’t over, Malfoy,” Clive said with a snarl, holding Scott up. “Give us back our wands.”

Malfoy held his head up defiantly. “No. I don’t feel comfortable doing that.”

Clive started and then Ron spoke. “I’ll have them back to you by morning. Get out of here.”

Scott gave Ron a traitorous look. “You’re no hero, Weasley! You’re a nutter!” he said with a hoarse voice. “I’ll make sure you pay for this. Both of you!”

Ron rolled his eyes dismissively, but inside, anxious and uncertainty about the rest of the school year was already blossoming.

“Come on, guys,” Richard said. “Let’s go!”

The boys all ran off, leaving Ron with Malfoy, standing in the hallway.

“We better get moving,” Malfoy said, rubbing his offended cheek. “The last person I want to see right now is Filch.”

Ron tilted his head back and pointed to the ceiling.

Malfoy sighed and waved his wand. The wands fell to the floor noisily.

Ron gathered them quickly, while Malfoy walked past him up the corridor. Ron followed. They didn’t speak as they turned one corner and then another to stand in the shadows. Mrs. Norris ran right past them, and then Filch walked by with his lantern, not even looking to his right where they stood.

Ron let out a sigh of relief. “Close one.”

“Not really,” replied an unfamiliar voice from the darkness. Ron withdrew his wand and stepped forward while Malfoy froze beside him.

“Who said that?” Ron whispered fiercely.

There was a low chuckle and then a very large, stout figure holding a silver flask emerged from the darkness.

“Greg?” Malfoy asked.

Goyle took a swig from his flask and gave both Malfoy and Ron a lopsided grin.

“Cheers,” he said, holding up the flask. “Looks like you boys are getting the hang of sneaking about. Not that it’s very hard to do now. Old Filch is slipping. I haven’t been caught yet.”

Ron took a good long look at Goyle for the first time since the Hogsmeade incident with the prefect. Besides his slurred speech, Goyle’s eyes were bloodshot and there were heavy bags underneath them.

“I see you found yourself a new friend, Draco,” Goyle said with a sad smile. “Good for you.”

“You’re drunk, Greg. Go to bed,” Malfoy said with disgust, moving past Ron and walking on.

Ron gave Goyle a pitiful glance before sprinting to catch up with Malfoy. They walked around another floor until they had almost made a complete circle, arriving at the bottom of the Tower stairs. If Malfoy’s angry stomps up the narrow staircase were anything to go by, he was upset.

“You didn’t have to follow me up here, Weasley. You’re not my bloody keeper,” Malfoy grumbled without turning around.

Ron looked down, wondering why exactly he had followed Malfoy around the castle and up the stairs, and then he remembered.

“I wanted to make sure you were all right. That they weren’t waiting around to jump you or anything.”

Malfoy snorted. “Playing hero again?”

“I don’t care what you say, Malfoy, I couldn’t walk away and not do anything. They had you outnumbered. It wasn’t a fair fight.”

“Fights aren’t supposed to be,” Malfoy said.

“Well, they should be,” Ron said, walking slowly over to the wall to stand beside Malfoy.

“Look, I’m- I’m sorry about my housemates,” Ron said, meaning every word of it.

Malfoy turned to look at Ron with cold, sceptical eyes. “Are you?”

“Yeah … Hey, how did you do that anyway? I mean, that trick with their wands?” Ron asked.

“What’s with you, Weasley?” Malfoy asked, ignoring Ron’s question.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s the real reason you follow me around?”

“I told you, Malfoy; I was trying to save your arse. A simple thank you would do,” Ron said irritably.

“Right, I should thank you for almost killing someone? You’re no bodyguard. You’re a glory seeker with a nasty temper. Your so-called ‘protection’ is just an excuse to let off some steam. Anderson was right— you really are a nutter.”

Ron scowled, set to curse Malfoy and just leave, when the boy withdrew his wand and conjured up two chairs.

Ron stared down at them, still fuming about Malfoy’s hurtful words. The wind howled as a gust pushed past them. It was getting colder, and Ron could feel himself shivering.

Malfoy conjured two cloaks as well, throwing one at Ron’s chest.

“Sit down,” he said.

Ron looked down at the cloak in his hand. It was the thickest, softest material he'd ever felt, and on the collar there were two silver clasps: one a dragons head, and the other the tail.

“Just put it on, you daft git. Staring at it isn’t going to keep you warm.”

Ron scowled at the insult but reluctantly wrapped the cloak around his shoulders, enjoying the feeling of the heavy material draping him. Slowly he took a seat, still feeling out of sorts until Malfoy withdrew the familiar hookah from his pocket. All was forgotten as a familiar anticipation began to rise.

Ron watched in rapt attention as Malfoy lit the hookah and took a long drag. He instinctively licked his lips. The aroma alone was intoxicating, and it promised the type of relaxation he’d been longing for all day.

By the time Malfoy finally passed it to him, Ron was nearly drooling. “Thanks.”

He sucked in deeply, taking in as much as he could until he began to cough. When he opened his eyes, Malfoy was staring at him again, his cool grey eyes assessing Ron as if waiting for something.

Ron thought about how to answer Malfoy’s question. Why did he follow the prat around and defend him? Truthfully, Ron wanted to sort it out for himself as well, but before he could reflect on it any further, another drag was needed.

He inhaled excessively until he was choking again. Once he was able to breathe properly, a welcome easiness returned, relaxing his nerves. He sat back, mimicking Malfoy’s stare.

The staring war continued until finally the effect of the drug took over, loosening Ron’s tongue.

“All right. You want to know why I follow you around and defend your sorry arse?”

A small smirk crept onto Malfoy’s lips as he reclined back. “Do tell…”

Ron took another puff. This time the smoke went down smoother, sliding down his throat, and he felt a calm rippling through him, making his speech lethargic as he spoke.

“Because I hate sitting by and doing nothing. I hate watching someone get hurt. I may as well be the bully if I just allow it to go on.”

Malfoy’s stare was piercing and it threatened to ruin Ron’s high. The Ferret had a way of making him feel cornered like a bug about to be squashed.

“Then why aren’t you running behind all of the other Slytherins?” Malfoy asked smartly. “I’m not the only one getting harassed. The whole lot of us are targets now.”

Ron took a deep breath. “But you’re getting the worst of it, and … I’m not sure you deserve it.”

“Not all of it, eh? Just some of it, right?” Malfoy asked with a sneer.

Ron smirked. “Maybe, just a little.”

Malfoy moved in quickly to snatch the pipe out of Ron’s hand. “You owe me, Weasley.”

Ron drew back, genuinely confused. “How’s that?”

“I saved you and your friends’ arses last year, or did you forget already?”

“What do you mean, you saved our arses?” Ron asked angrily. “You nearly got us killed, you and your stupid friends! Besides, we saved your arse twice. I know you haven’t forgotten that!”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “I remember just fine. That fire was Vincent’s doing, not mine,” Malfoy said, his voice deflating on the last note. Malfoy looked away, and for a moment, Ron thought the boy was going to cry.

Ron held his breath. Watching Malfoy cry would definitely ruin his high.

But Malfoy pulled it together, setting his eyes back on Ron’s with strong conviction.

“Remember this, Weasley: you would have never lived to save my arse if I hadn’t saved yours first.”

Ron stared at Malfoy but no longer saw him. Instead, the memory of Malfoy Manor’s dungeon surrounded him, and the sound of Hermione’s screams filled his ears.

“That’s why you do it, isn’t it?” Malfoy asked, jarring Ron from the flashback.

Ron blinked. “Do what?”

Malfoy handed him the hookah again. “Why you come running whenever those goons try to attack me. You want to prove yourself … prove you can save someone, because you couldn’t before.”

Ron’s jaw tightened, his buzz rapidly evaporating.

Malfoy smirked. “You’re so transparent. Tell me, why do you need to prove anything? You’ve have a bloody Order of Merlin, First Class…”

Ron looked down at his hands. He felt exposed, like his very soul was on display for Malfoy to mock.

“Well?” Malfoy pressed.

Finally, Ron forced himself to look at Malfoy’s expectant face. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Perhaps, or perhaps you’re just too afraid to talk about it,” Malfoy said knowingly.

“I don’t have talk about anything with you, Malfoy. You’re not a Mind Healer, or even my friend,” Ron spat, unsure of why he was so agitated.

Malfoy’s eyes went sharp in the moonlight as he leaned in. “And it wouldn’t matter if I were either. I mean, really, Weasley, do you even realise how fucked up you are?”

Ron could feel practically hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He was about two seconds from lunging at Malfoy.

“I remember that night as well,” Malfoy said with heavy regret in his voice. “I still think about it, you know.”

Ron gripped the hookah tightly, picturing it as Malfoy’s head.

“How is Granger doing, by the way? Is she sleeping all right? Better than you, I hope.”

“Like you care,” Ron said bitterly.

“You think I had any say in what happened? It was bloody awful, having to listen to that,” Malfoy said, his eyes falling on the object in Ron’s hand.

“Well, if you’re not going to smoke it, hand it over. I’ll put it to proper use,” Malfoy said.

Ron practically threw the hookah at Malfoy, who caught it with the swiftness of a Seeker.

As Malfoy took another drag, Ron found himself growing angrier. Angry at Malfoy for bringing up that horrible night at Malfoy Manor, angry he hadn’t been able to do anything to prevent it, angry it still haunted him.

Ron sneered as his anger boiled to the surface. “Just where do you get off, acting all sympathetic and guilt free. If you’d really wanted to help us that night, you could have stopped it, or at least tried. It’s easy for you to say it was out of your control now. But I’m not buying it, Malfoy. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“You'll want to watch it there, Weasley,” Malfoy said in a steel tone. “Say what you like about me, but don’t you dare talk about my family.”

Ron straightened in his chair. “Fine, let’s talk about you, then. Look at you: you’re addicted to grass, you're getting your arse kicked daily, you don’t have any friends, and you just blew off the one person who actually gave a shit about you. And you call me fucked up?”

Malfoy glared back at Ron for a moment before speaking. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Weasel.”

“Yeah? I think I know enough. I know you and Goyle used to be friends, and you’re not now. And I know the way you just dismissed him was really messed up.”

Malfoy exhaled a cloud of smoke in Ron’s face, causing him to cough a little.

“I think I’ve had enough for tonight. I’m tired,” he said, standing up.

Ron looked away. “Yeah, fine. I’m tired too.”

~~~*~~~

Chapter Eleven
Friends But Not Really

After that night, things changed.

Former lines in the sand washed away, and although boundaries certainly still existed, Ron wasn’t sure exactly where they began and ended. He and Malfoy continued to meet most evenings on the Tower, usually right after dinner. For the most part, Filch and the prefects didn’t even bother to check the space because it should have been too cold for anyone to hang out there. But for Ron and Malfoy, the Tower became a refuge. Sometimes they’d talk, usually about the present, and primarily about superficial things. On rare occasions the past would creep into their conversation. But mostly they’d sit in silence, taking turns with the hookah. And even though Ron had no plans to bare his soul to Malfoy, he knew the boy understood him— probably better than even his best friend and girlfriend did at the moment.

But with the new comfort of Malfoy’s companionship and well-rested nights from drug-induced sleep, new discomforts emerged. Like a fragile old sweater weathered by constant wear, Ron’s relationship with Hermione began to tear at the seams. At first their fights were about him pulling away, but of late, Hermione had begun questioning Ron about his evening disappearances. Ron had little patience for her inquiries. He couldn’t hear anything from her but ‘need more time with you’ and ‘we need to talk’. And the more Hermione insisted Ron talk, the more he wanted to run away. Instead of answering truthfully, he resorted to making empty promises and lying about studying or practicing for Quidditch, which only made Hermione even more suspicious. Clearly vexed about their relationship, she’d confide in Ginny, who would then confide in Harry. Then the three of them would punish Ron with their accusatory glares and silent treatments. That only made distancing himself from them much easier. With Malfoy, Ron didn’t have to deal with questions and nagging. And any guilt he felt was quickly assuaged by the drag of the pipe.

“Ron, we need to talk,” Hermione said one afternoon, right after lunch.

“What is it, Hermione? I need to study.”

“You’re not fooling me, Ron. I don’t even study as much as you do now. Why are you avoiding me?”

“For the last time, Hermione, I’m not avoiding you. Some of us just have to work harder than you to get good marks.”

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. “Ron Weasley, you look me in the eye right now, and if you can tell me that every time you disappear you’re studying, I’ll leave you alone.”

Ron looked everywhere but at Hermione, searching for a good excuse. It had to be something that wouldn’t hurt her feelings or drag out the conversation.

Finally, his eyes returned to hers. “All right, you got me. I’m not always studying. Or playing Quidditch. This may come as a shock to you, but sometimes, I just need to be by myself. I just need … to be alone.”

The anger in Hermione’s face quickly turned to worry as she drew closer to him. “Is it something I said?”

Her eyes were fearful, and for a moment Ron saw her face as it had been several nights before, the night she had uttered those three little words. Three little words he wanted more than anything to say to her but couldn’t. They were tucked away safely in a box of other feelings he’d successfully boarded up.

Ron moved in quickly and pulled her close, giving Hermione a firm embrace in hopes of reassuring her.

“No, Hermione. It’s not about you,” he whispered.

She held onto him for a few moments before pulling back. “Well, what’s it about then?”

Ron gritted his teeth. Why did she always have to press so hard?

“Is it about … Fred?” she asked hesitantly.

She may as well have shaken Ron like a snow globe. Just the mention of his brother’s name stirred a flurry of emotions that left him feeling off-kilter.

“I dunno, maybe,” he mumbled. It was closer to the truth than anything else he’d told her recently.

“Ron, I know what you’re going through,” she said, giving him a supportive squeeze.

‘No you don’t!' a voice in his head screamed.

“But this isn’t helping.”

“Are you sure about that?” Ron asked with a challenge. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been in a better mood lately.”

“I’ve noticed a lot of things,” Hermione said, pausing as if contemplating whether to say more.

“Like?” Ron asked.

“Well, like you’re never around, for starters. You don’t hang out with me, or Harry, or anyone, except for …”

Ron’s eyes went wide, and Hermione bit her lip, looking up at him anxiously.

“Ron, there’s something I need to ask you,” she said as she let go to take a step back from him.

“What?” Ron asked guardedly.

“A few weeks ago, Scott Anderson and Clive Davies said they saw you and Malfoy going up to the Tower. They said they’ve seen you two disappear up there more than once. And that when you go up, you stay for hours.”

Ron could feel his ears heating up as he tried to keep from sounding defensive. “Hermione, Scott Anderson is a bloody wanker. He’s just mad that I told a prefect about him and his friends bullying Malfoy.”

Hermione sighed. “Yes, I know, that’s probably true. But Ron, you do disappear a lot, and so does Malfoy. We all notice it. Are you two friends now?”

Ron looked away, unsure of how to answer that. He and Malfoy did hang out a lot, and he had obviously shown some concern for the boy’s well being… But for some reason, it was hard to say the "f-word" when it came to Malfoy.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” was all Ron could manage.

“Then what would you call it? You obviously spend time with him,” she said, her voice unsteady with resentment. “I mean, what do you guys do up there anyway?”

“Nothing, Hermione … we don’t do anything.”

“So it's true, then. You do go up there with him every night?”

“Hermione!” Ron snapped.

Hermione flinched and that made Ron feel even worse. He pulled her close, resting his head on hers.

“Listen, it’s nothing. All right. Malfoy just needs a shoulder to cry on right now.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows, disbelief written all over her face. “Malfoy? Crying to you? You can’t be serious…”

Ron shook his head. “No, not really crying…what I meant was that he just needs someone to talk to. We’re not mates or anything like that, and he knows it, but I feel sorry for the bloke. He’s getting the shit beat out of him, and he doesn’t have any friends of his own. “

Hermione stared back at Ron, her expression changing from doubt to wonder. She wrapped her arms around his waist again, giving him a firm squeeze.

“Oh, Ron, I’m so sorry. I just assumed...I don’t know what I was thinking really. But that’s really sweet of you. I would have never guessed you’d do something like that for Malfoy.”

Ron shrugged, giving Hermione an awkward smile. “He’s not so bad really…once you get past his bullshit.”

Hermione laughed, tilting her head back to gaze up at Ron with a proud smile. “This is exactly the sort of thing I was hoping to accomplish with the Restoration Project! It’s really working, isn’t it?”

Ron nodded, trying to quell the fraudulent feeling twisting his insides. He didn’t even know why he had just lied about not being Malfoy’s friend, or Malfoy crying on his shoulder, but it was too late to take it back now.

“Do you think he’ll need your company tonight? It’d be great if the rest of us could get a little time with you too,” she said jokingly, but there was a serious undertone to her words.

“Yeah, sure,” Ron said, inwardly groaning.

~~~*~~~

That evening Ron tried to laugh it up with the gang as they played Exploding Snap and wizarding board games, but it was more difficult than he had thought. He kept licking his lips, the phantom taste of Malfoy’s special herb haunting his tongue. Ron knew that the stuff wasn’t physically addictive, but it seemed to have a hold on his mind. Smoking had become a comfortable habit, and he had no clue just how comfortable until he couldn’t have it.

“Ron? Are you listening?” Ginny asked.

“Huh?”

“It’s your turn!”

All eyes were on him, and for the twentieth time in an hour, Ron tried not to think of where he’d rather be.

That night he tossed and turned and awoke sweating, with the distinct feeling he’d been running very hard. From what, he couldn’t remember. As he listened to the snores of his dorm mates, the thought of sneaking out to see if Malfoy was on the Tower crossed his mind. But when Ron sat up, he saw movement behind the thin veil of Harry’s curtain.

“You all right, Ron?” Harry whispered.

Ron closed his eyes, disappointed. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“More bad dreams?”

“Nah, just feeling a little sick, is all.”

“Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine, Harry.”

“Right. Well, good night.”

“Good night,” Ron said, lying back down again and pulling his pillow over his face.

~~~*~~~

The next week crept by painfully like a detention with Umbridge. Under Hermione, Harry, and Ginny’s watchful eyes, Ron avoided the Tower and Malfoy. In Restoration group, Malfoy gave him curious looks but never approached or asked Ron any questions. It was just as well; Ron had no idea how to explain his recent absence. But he did think about the Tower often. In fact, since he’d stopped smoking with Malfoy, there was little else he could think about. His nightmares returned with a vengeance, and he’d wake up more irritable than ever. Worse still, his frayed nerves were ruining his timing in Quidditch.

On Friday during practice, Ron missed several saves. Finally, Harry had to call him out of the game and put in the second string Keeper. He watched on as Harry, Ginny, and the rest of the team played several drills. In the locker room, after practice, Harry was cautious but concerned in his approach.

“How’s it going, Ron?”

Ron shot Harry a ‘don’t patronise me’ glare. Harry took a deep breath.

“Mate, I know it hasn’t been easy for you since you got back, and if there’s something bothering you…”

“For God's sake, Harry, am I not allowed a few bad practices?” Ron asked.

Harry looked uncomfortable as he forced a small smile. “Sure, Ron, everyone has off weeks, but I’ve noticed you’ve gone back to having trouble sleeping as well … and you and Hermione have been having more rows lately.”

Ron shook his head. “That’s got nothing to do with my game. Hermione and I always have rows; that’s just how we are. It’s always been that way.”

“Ron, it’s more than that, and you know it! At first I was worried. We all were, but then you turned around. You were getting better, but it didn’t last long. Now things are back to the way they were before.”

Ron tried to hold his tongue and listen as Harry talked on, but the more his friend spoke, the louder his thoughts became.

What the fuck do you know? You seem to be doing just fine. But I suppose burying your tongue in my sister’s throat is a good way to forget about everything.

Ron barely heard Harry’s next words, but he did pick up the last bit.

“You’re always agitated and sometimes it feels like we have to walk on eggshells around you. We don’t know what will set you off.”

When Harry’s mouth stopped moving, Ron tried to hold himself together, not wanting to prove Harry’s words true. He closed his locker and Harry flinched.

Ron looked back at him in disbelief. “Why ‘cha flinch like that? What do you think I’m going to do? Hit you?”

“Honestly, Ron? The way you’ve been acting … sometimes, I don’t know. I’m worried about you. All of us are.”

“Well, I don’t need you guys worrying about me. What do you do? Sit around and talk about how poor old Ron is turning barmy?”

“No, it’s not like that.”

“Yeah? Tell me what’s it’s like, then?”

Harry shook his head. “You’re taking this all wrong.”

“No, I think I got it right. Just leave me alone, Harry,” Ron said, moving past his mate. “You don’t have to worry about me screwing up the match. The next time I play, I’ll make every save.”

~~~*~~~

After his encounter with Harry, the last place Ron wanted to be was at the Gryffindor table sitting amongst everyone while they made polite conversation and snuck speculative glances.

So Ron headed straight to the kitchens.

“Yous not allowed down here,” said one of the elves.

“I just want a plate. You could put anything you want on it.”

The elf shook his head. “No. Wes can’t. No more favours. Tinky got caught feeding the Malfoy boy and now Filch is trying get her punished.”

“Malfoy is still getting food from the kitchens?”

“No more! Filch forbids it! Now go before he be coming along. Go!”

Ron cursed under his breath and headed back to the Gryffindor dorms. If he couldn’t eat in peace, he could at least get some sleep.

Only sleep didn’t come easy at all. He had only been asleep for a few hours before he heard the heavy footsteps of his dorm mates barrelling up the steps.

Laughter and light-hearted insults reached his ears and tore at his heart as Dean and Seamus traded words. Neville and Harry were laughing at their jabs, encouraging them.

“Take that back! I did not say that!” Dean cried.

“You right well did! I was there, remember? You said these exact words: 'Luna is definitely shaggable; she’s actually pretty hot.'”

“No, I did not!” he heard Dean whisper fiercely.

“Just because you were too pissed to remember doesn’t mean you didn’t say it!”

“Sod off, Seamus.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you talk out of your arse whenever you drink.”

“You’re one to talk, Finnegan. You’re probably the only Irish bloke I know who turns into a blabbering idiot after two drinks.”

“That’s because I’m the only Irish bloke you know!”

Harry and Neville laughed loudly at that last statement, and then Ron heard the bed creak and moan. Seamus and Dean were probably wrestling.

“I put my money on Dean,” Neville said.

“No, he’s gone and made Seamus angry — he’s in for it now,” Harry said with laughter.

Ron squeezed his eyes shut, hoping he could sink back into the abyss of sleep. But the more he tried to block out their laughter and playful grunts, the more aware of them he became. Seamus growled and then there was a thump of someone diving on the bed. It was followed by more laughter, this time Dean's, and then Neville and Harry’s laughter followed. With each passing minute, Ron grew more agitated and annoyed. Why was Harry laughing? What could possibly be so damned funny?

The voice inside of his head hurled a dozen curses and Ron balled up tighter, trying to curl into himself.

A careful ‘shhh’ was ordered, and the laughter quickly subsided.

“Guys, I think Ron is trying to sleep,” he heard Harry say softly.

“Oops,” Seamus said, to Dean and Neville’s giggles.

“Seriously … we should be quiet. He needs to sleep,” Harry said.

There was silence, and then the sound of whispering. Ron listened closely, but he could barely make out the words. But he did manage to pick up “I don’t know” “edgy” “practice” “sensitive” “Hermione” and “Malfoy”.

At hearing Malfoy’s name, Ron opened his eyes and sat up to glare at them.

“If you’re going to talk about me, at least do it outside. I’m trying to sleep!” he growled, rising from his bed and taking his covers with him. Dean, Seamus, Harry, and Neville all looked stunned.

“And stop looking at me like that!” he snapped before turning to the door to take to stairs.

He plopped down into the plush armchair in the corner of the common room, hoping the peaceful darkness it offered would lull him into much-needed sleep. But as soon as he drew the covers over his body, he heard the door to his dorm room open, and light footsteps descending the stairs. Ron peeked over the cover he’d pulled up to his eyes and saw Harry standing before him with the same worried expression he’d worn in the locker room.

“You want to talk?’

“No, Harry, really, I’m fine. I just … I can’t sleep around all of that racket.”

“We weren’t saying anything bad about you.”

“Right. Just that I’m barking and I’ll probably lose my girlfriend and spot on the team.”

Harry sighed. “No one thinks you’re barking. I told you, we’re just concerned. And Hermione isn’t going anywhere. She cares about you.”

“And what about my spot on the team?”

Harry shrugged.

Ron gasped.

Harry sniggered. “Relax, mate. You’re still the best Keeper we have. You just had a rough week at practice.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, although he had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t be his last bad practice.

Harry remained, standing awkwardly until Ron sighed.

“You really should go back up. I’m just going to stay down here.”

“You can’t sleep down here,” Harry said.

“That’s the problem, Harry. I can’t sleep anywhere. But at least down here there’s peace and quiet. Maybe I’ll manage a bit of rest.”

Harry gave Ron a sad smile and nodded before returning to their dorm.

Long after Harry left, Ron’s eyes remained on the spot where he had stood. He shifted in the seat, trying to get comfortable, but it was no use. A chair was no bed. Ron slowly got up and spread himself out on the couch, which gave him a direct view of the common room’s hearth. His eyes were drawn to the fire burning low there. Patches of dark red and orange wood fading into black bathed the common room in its eerie glow; the fire would be out soon. Supposedly. But minutes went by, and the last burning embers persisted, even under the weight of blackened dead wood that threatened to suffocate the flames. Ron swallowed. How long had the fire been burning? All day?

And it still lived.

His eyes remained fixed on the hearth, even as he tried to stretch out and get comfortable. The warmth from the heat was soothing, even if the vision of the flames inspired a disquieting fear he couldn’t name.

You really are going barmy … scared of a little fire. Grow a pair, why don’t you? scolded the voice he had come to rely on over the past few months. It was a voice of reason, a voice of courage. It didn’t tolerate sissy crying spells and things like nightmares.

What’s done is done. Go to sleep, you worthless ninny.

But Ron couldn’t, so he arose from the couch, taking the duvet with him as slipped out of the common room.

By the time he arrived at the top of the Tower, a wild and desperate hope had bloomed.

He couldn’t help but sigh in relief when he found what he had been hoping for. Malfoy was sitting in his usual chair, his cloak covering him as he smoked his hookah.

He didn’t look up once as Ron approached, even though Ron was certain he’d made quite a bit of noise coming through the door.

He watched Malfoy take another drag and exhale until finally grey eyes lifted to meet Ron’s gaze.

“I knew you’d be back,” was all Malfoy said as he extended the hookah.

Ron licked his lips, excitement building for the familiar taste. He conjured a chair and accepted the offer reverently, as if the hookah were holy. The pipe was warm, and the scent of it made his eyes flutter. He lifted it to his mouth, pausing only for a moment to glance at Malfoy.

“Thanks,” he said before sucking in the longest stream of smoke he’d ever attempted. It was too much, and his whole chest heaved trying to expel it. He coughed and coughed as the smoke burned his throat. But it was a good burn, and hearing Malfoy’s chuckles only reminded him of how much he had missed this.

“You’re welcome, Weasley … now pass the bloody thing back.”

~~~*~~~

It was only supposed to be a one-time thing, a brief return to a crutch he’d sworn he didn’t need. But once became twice, and twice soon multiplied into weeks. In the month since Ron had resumed his nightly smoking habit with Malfoy, his Quidditch game improved greatly, but his relationship with both Hermione and Harry continued to deteriorate. No one spoke of the Malfoy issue, but whenever Ron sat down to eat with his old mates, Malfoy might as well have been sitting at the table with them. Ron didn’t miss the suspicious glares Hermione and Harry cast in Malfoy’s direction, but he didn’t dare address them either. That would open up a discussion he wasn’t even prepared to have with himself, let alone with his friends.

But discussion wasn’t necessary- the unspoken accusations and resentment were deafening, silencing all of Ron’s lame excuses for his absences. They didn’t believe him anyway, so he just stopped trying to make up new excuses. Still, even though he had alienated himself from everyone he cared about, there was a strange comfort in the separation. He didn’t have to talk about things he didn’t want to. It was lonely sometimes, yes, but loneliness was only a dull ache compared to the sharp prick of remembering. He resolved he could endure the pain, especially with a little help from Malfoy and his hookah.

On the eve of the last day at Hogwarts before the Christmas holidays, Ron went up to the Tower and found Draco with not only the hookah on his lap, but also holding a flask that looked suspiciously like Goyle’s.

“Are you mad? If McGonagall catches you, you’ll be expelled!”

“Cool your pants, Weasley. She hasn’t bothered us yet. Besides, she’s got enough problems … the Ministry and Governors are on her arse; she doesn’t want any attention for another 'troubled' student. Anyway, Greg’s been caught plenty and he’s never been sent home.”

Ron sat down slowly, his eyes fixed on the silver flask in Draco’s hand.

Draco.

When had he started thinking of Malfoy as Draco? He couldn’t even recall.

“Did you get that from Goyle?”

Draco snorted. “No. He wouldn’t let me borrow his even if I asked. Besides, he’s probably off somewhere getting pissed all by himself right now. I reckon’ he’s going to spend the entire month like that, there’s nothing else to do here.”

“He’s staying here?”

Draco nodded. “Probably. I mean, what’s he got to go home to? He doesn’t even really have a home now. His mum has a new family in another country, his father is in Azkaban, and he doesn’t have any friends to stay with.”

“Not even you?” Ron asked cautiously.

Draco glanced down at his lap and raised the flask to his lips, taking a sip.

Ron sensed he’d stumbled upon one of those invisible boundaries that had been redrawn and hidden, but he pressed on, testing it to be sure. “What happened to you two?”

Draco’s eyes didn’t meet Ron’s, but rather looked past him when he replied, “I don’t know.”

Ron put his hand to his lips, mildly surprised that Draco had even replied in a reasonable fashion. He chose his next words carefully. “Does it have anything to do with … Crabbe? I mean, people usually get closer after a friend dies.”

“Really?” Draco said, his eyes returning to Ron’s, his mouth twitching with the start of a sneer. “Is that how it works? That must explain why you and your friends are so chummy right now.”

That hurt, but there was truth in it. Ron sighed. “Fair enough. But you said you had friends in your House…who?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t call them friends… but there are a few tolerable people there. Daphne Greengrass doesn’t really like me, but she’s polite enough. And her sister, Astoria…well, she’s really a nice girl.”

Ron nodded, tempted to ask more about Astoria, but he also sensed that his time for asking Draco personal questions was quickly coming to an end. So he ventured to ask about something that had been bugging him since the school year began.

“So what’s the deal with you and Nott? He seemed really set on making your life miserable this year, but now—”

“Now that git is on the receiving end,” Draco finished. “He’s taken his fair share of threats and hexes this term as well. I suppose that took all the charm out of fucking with me.”

He held out the flask like it was a peace offering. “Want a swig?”

Ron shook his head. “Nah…”

“Ah, I know what you want, Ron,” Draco said, picking up the hookah and turning it twice in his hand until it began to leak smoke.

“Give it here,” Ron said, grinning as he took the beloved object. Whether he was smiling because the hookah was in his possession once more or Draco had referred to him by his first name, he didn’t know. Perhaps it was both.

Draco took another drink as Ron tried to reconcile the burn in his throat with the dizzying feeling taking hold, making his head feel light.

“I bet hols is some event at your house,” Draco said.

Ron nodded. “Yeah, it’s a big deal. Everyone comes over.”

Draco chuckled. “I’ve always wondered how you fit so many Weasleys into such a small house.”

“What makes you think it’s small, prat?” Ron said defensively. “You’ve never even seen it. It’s actually rather large. I mean, it’s not a mansion or manor, but it’s big enough.”

“Calm down, Ron. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Right, you never do,” Ron muttered.

Draco’s face grew sombre. He took another drink as he stared out over the wall.

“You’re lucky, you know… all of those brothers, and a sister, mum and dad. This year, it’ll just be me and my mum.”

Ron swallowed, strangely touched and uncomfortable that Draco would share such a thing. He didn’t know what to do with the information, though, so he consumed another large quantity of smoke before daring to respond.

“I dunno about that. It’s going to be weird this time, with…” Ron paused. He hadn’t said his brother’s name in nearly four months. He hadn’t spoken about him, he hadn’t even thought about him in the past few weeks. Guilt rose within him, dampening his high.

“With what?” Draco asked.

“With Fred gone,” Ron whispered.

Draco shifted, looking at his feet. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

Ron quickly did his standard dismissive shake of the head. “It’s all water under the bridge now, isn’t it? Life goes on…”

Draco gave him a look of incredulity. “You’re worse off than I thought; you can’t even talk about him, can you?”

“Whatever, Malfoy. I can, I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“I noticed.”

Ron was suddenly reminded of Hermione and her incessant nagging. Had she Polyjuiced herself into Draco tonight?

He huffed. “Ah, come on, don’t pull this Mind Healer shit on me tonight. If I knew you were going to be such a downer, I wouldn’t have come.”

“So why did you?” Draco asked. “Is it because you enjoy my charming company? Or did you come for that?” He nudged his head to indicate the hookah.

Ron’s jaw tightened; he wasn’t even going to attempt an answer.

Draco smirked, raising the flask high. “To Fred and Vincent.”

Ron tried to ignore the tremor in his hand as he raised the hookah in hand. “To Fred,” he said pointedly, taking a long drag.

Draco’s face grew stony as he stared back at Ron.

“What?”

Draco gave Ron a contemptuous once-over and shook his head. “Nothing,” he said as he took a large swallow.

Ron exhaled and then glanced back at the door. Suddenly, his brother’s face was as clear as the day he died. The smile, the ever-present mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Thinking about Fred made Ron think of George; George, who was working his arse off, running the shop by himself. George, who hadn’t wallowed in grief the way everyone thought he would. He had returned to the joke shop, doing what he did before, and the way he did it spoke volumes. It was as if returning to normal was his way of honouring Fred.

Ron’s eyes fell to the metal crutch in his hand. How was he honouring Fred’s memory? What kind of brother was he being to his sister? What kind of friend? Hermione and Harry’s faces flashed before him, and thoughts of what Fred would have said about his behaviour poked through his drug-induced haze to pierce his conscience.

“I better get back. I’ve got to pack and say goodbye everyone,” he said, handing the hookah back to Draco.

Draco nodded with understanding, but his eyes reflected sadness. “Right.”

Ron stood up, casting one last look at the boy. Half-sloshed, sitting in a huge chair that engulfed his thin frame, Draco looked more fragile than usual, and the sombreness in his face culled sympathy in Ron.

“Have a good one, Draco.”

Draco gave Ron a small smile. “You as well, Ron.”

~~~*~~~

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Title: The One Who Loves You The Most
Author:

eruditefics
Pairing: Genfic about Ron and Rose with a side of Ron/Hermione and Rose/OMC (sort of)
Rating: R
Genre: Genfic
Warnings: Possible triggers, some violence, also some serious sap
Word Count: 17550
Summary: Ron struggles with fatherhood and raising a daughter while Rose struggles with demons no young woman should have to face in this chronicle of Ron and Rose’s relationship.
Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! This is the first and only genfic I have ever written, and I hope it is up to par. I think we can all understand what Rose is going through in this story, if not to that extreme, at least in spirit. Thank you to A for the beta, and to OtterandTerrier for the lovely piece of artwork. Lyrics by Brett Dennen

Title: "You Were Made To Shine On"
Artist:

otterandterrier
Characters: Ron and Rose
Rating: G
Media: Photomanipulation

The One Who Loves You The Most:

When the sky is falling from above you
And the wind is raging from the coast
And you want someone who truly loves you
I will be the one who loves you the most

They say the moment you first hold your child in your arms, your life changes. Not true. For Ron Weasley, life changed the second Hermione got a positive pregnancy test and he found out he was going to be a father. Everything he had ever said and done took on a whole new meaning, and every plan…every endeavor became infinitely more important. After all, he was going to be somebody’s parent.

Ron spent ten months (he was shocked to find out it wasn’t really nine) trying to prepare for the arrival of his first child. He went with Hermione to all of her unsettling and graphic healer appointments, he learned construction spells and enlisted the help of every wizard he knew to build a perfect nursery, and he even mastered the art of warming up a bottle using boiling water instead of magic, which could scald the baby.

When he found out that they were expecting a girl, Ron was excited and scared. Girls were barmy creatures, full of tears, wonder, and likely wild hair. When he asked his father and Doctor Granger what he could expect, they both just shook their heads and laughed.

“Having a daughter will make you forget everything about yourself. Your world will revolve around her and her smile before you even know what hit you,” Dr. Granger said, upon seeing the ultrasound that showed the gender of their little bun.

Ron steeled himself against the additional warnings from Bill and George about temper tantrums and tea parties, and prepared to welcome his own flesh and blood into the world. When Hermione woke up in a puddle of something Ron didn’t want to examine more closely, he was ready for whatever the world wanted to throw at him. They rushed to St. Mungo’s in an air of excitement and panic.

Rose, they named her Rose, and she was perfect in every way. When he and Hermione brought her home, they just sat on their small sofa in their modest living room and stared at her with smiles on their faces. Hermione fed her and put her to bed, barely making it to their room herself before she collapsed in exhaustion.

The first time Rose woke up crying in the middle of the night; Ron leapt from his bed and ran to her. He knew that she was going to be doing this a lot, but the sound of her pained wails coming down the hall had him rushing to scoop her up before Hermione could even stir in bed. He took her up from the tiny cot they had put in her perfect little room and pressed her to his chest.

“It’s going to be alright, love, you’ve got me. Everything will be okay because I’ll always be here,” Ron whispered, pressing his cheek to her perfect, hairless head. She quieted for a few moments and Ron’s large hands held her close and warm against him. After a while, she stirred and fussed again, and Ron went down the hall to wake Hermione for Rose’s 2 am feeding.

His whole life changed when he found out he was going to be a father. But he lost a humungous chunk of his heart the first time her big blue eyes looked up at him, and the cries quieted in her throat. Ron knew that he would never stop protecting her, and he’d do everything in his power to make sure she cried as little as possible.

***************

“What’s Alpaca?” Ron asked, thoroughly confused.

“An Alpaca is a llama-like creature raised for the wool its fur produces. Alopecia is what our daughter has,” Hermione said, sadly. “I’ve tried every healer and every doctor, but they can’t grow her hair back. We’re going to have to talk to her, and look into getting her a wig.”

There was silence in Harry and Ginny’s sunny, well-appointed living room as Ron felt his stomach fall into his feet. What she had sounded like a real disease, something muggles like Hermione’s grandfather died of, not his magical little girl. He looked over to Harry pleadingly, but he just put his head in his hands.

“But she’s got ginger eyebrows and hair on her arms and legs!” Ron said, still confused how his daughter could have a hairless disease and still have hair.

“It’s specifically called Alopecia Totalis, and it’s the loss of all head hair. Some think it’s an auto-immune disease, but the cause is still relatively unknown,” Hermione explained, looking sadly out the window.

“Auto-immune? Is she sick?” Ginny spoke up, her eyes wide with worry. Ron’s throat clenched at the prospect.

“No, the cause is thought to be that the immune system, usually designed to go after foreign invaders and harmful bacteria, actually attacks hair follicles,” Hermione said, thumbing through one of the three books she had already bought on the subject.

“So will it ever grow in?” Harry asked, taking Ginny’s hand.

Hermione shook her head sadly, and Ron’s shoulders slumped. He imagined all the ways in which she could be teased, made to feel like an outcast and resent herself, and he wished mightily that he could take her place. He’d gladly go bald if it meant his little girl wouldn’t have to go through an ounce of pain or uncertainty.

A whimpering cry echoed from the second story of Harry and Ginny’s country home, and Hermione jumped up to fetch Hugo from his nap. The silence left in Hermione’s wake was deafening. Harry and Ginny looked about to speak at various turns, but Ron just turned away from them and watched the kids play out the window. He smiled sullenly as Rose ran from James, who was making a strange face and shouting in a made up language.

“She’ll be okay, Ron. She’ll just be a bit different,” Harry said, moving to sit next to him on the arm of the chair.

“Yeah! We can get her some wigs, make sure they stay on with some clever charms, and no one will know,” Ginny said, sitting on his other side.

“But she’ll know, won’t she?” Ron answered, anger and bitterness tingeing his voice. He didn’t want to imagine his children feeling different, feeling out of place in their own skin, and always questioning their own worth. The thought broke his heart. He stormed out of the house, slamming the back door and breaking the glass in his wake. He didn’t stop to repair it.

Ron heard his daughter’s pained cries from the copse of trees off of the yard. He found her sitting below a large oak tree, branches tangled in her clothes and sticking out of her shoes. She was curled in a ball and crying as quietly as she could.

“Rosie?” Ron said, kneeling down in the dirt next to her. “Are you hurt? Where?”

She rolled over, her large straw hat falling off of her head, and revealed a giant gash across her knee. She had angry tears streaming down her cheek and her fists were clenched. Ron summoned the dittany from Harry and Ginny’s downstairs bathroom.

“You have to be quiet, Daddy! They’ll find me,” Rose whispered urgently.

“Oh, were you playing hide and seek?” Ron said, cleaning the wound with a spell that made her cry out. He kissed her little knee gently, and she wiped her tears away.

“No, I was running away. But if you make too much noise, everyone will know!” She said, looking panicked.

“Doesn’t it defeat the purpose if your dad knows you’re running away?”

“No! You can come with me! I just don’t want Roxy and Vicky and them to find me out,” She said, playing with the hem of her shirt and beginning to cry again.

“Did they say something mean?” Ron asked, rubbing the dittany gently over her sore leg. She sighed a little in relief.

“No,” she mumbled.

“Did they chase you?”

“No.”

“Well then why would you want to run away from your cousins?” Ron said, pulling her onto his lap in the grass.

“They are too pretty. Vicky has all of this long, pretty hairs. I don’t have nothing!” Rose said miserably.

“Even Hugo has hair, Daddy. He has pretty curly hair like Mum. Vicky has yellowy hair, Roxy has curly black hair…everyone has hair but me. I just think running away would be a good idea,” She crossed her arms and looked away from him.

Ron’s heart shattered into a million pieces, and he had to swallow back a lump in his throat. He pulled Rose against his chest, like he used to when she was a baby, and pressed his cheek to her warm, bald head. He ran his fingers down the back of her head and over her neck, patting her gently on the back.

“Rosie! You’re very pretty. You are a special little girl. You’re smart, you’re funny, and you shine like the sun,” Ron said, at a complete loss for how to comfort her the right way. How do you tell a child that the reason she cries will never go away?

“The sun?” Rose said, squinting at the sky.

“Oh yes! The first time you smiled, I almost went blind!” Ron said, smiling down at her.

“What about my head?”

“I’ll buy you whatever hair you want, as long as you promise to always shine.”

“I will,” she said, standing up and twirling in a beam of sunlight coming through the trees.

**********

Though this potion is said to work wonders for temporary hair growth related to costuming, it like all other potions and tonics, will not replicate the lustre and color of natural hair…

The spell is only temporary, and no wizards or witches yet have been able to take off the time limit on this particularly conjuring of hair…

Despite theorizing and researching, top wizarding minds are still far away from growing and replicating human hair in any quick, permanent fashion hair. The advances in orangutan hair on the other hand…

Ron threw the overbearing textbook against the wall of Hermione’s study with alarming force.

A few days ago, he and Hermione sat Rose down and offered her any wig she wants, anything she chose to take the place of her own absent hair. Rose’s face lit up brightly, turned to Ron, and smiled and excited, hopeful smile.

“I want hair just like Daddy’s.”

Since then, Ron had been finding a way to grow his own hair, to make the perfect replica for his daughter to wear…to feel less out of place in the world. He was hitting dead end after dead end. Nowhere in any of Hermione’s vast expanses of useless facts, or her collection of books, or even his mother’s knowledge of home remedies did they find a solution for permanent and good quality hair growth. Rose would either end up having to drink a potion every day, or he would have to cast a spell on her smooth little head.

Ron sighed and slammed his head against the thick wooden desk.

“You know, you’ll still be her hero, no matter what you do,” Hermione said with mirth in her voice, tip toeing around the tossed book to set a steaming mug of cocoa down in front of him. Chocolate, in this case, was more appropriate than tea.

“Maybe now, but what happens when someone makes fun of her? What happens when they stare too long at her and she realizes how different she really is?” Ron said, thinking of all the ways his daughter could be hurt by the world.

“We’ll never let her feel that way, Ron,” Hermione said, her dark eyes so steeled with determination that Ron felt instantly more hopeful than he did a few moments ago. He kissed her soundly, lingering long enough to taste the whipped cream on her lips.

He knew what he had to do.

***************

“I can’t take much more of this! Every time I go to cast a spell, it gets caught. I swear I’m going to catch fire one of these days and George will laugh his arse off!” Ron said, braiding his waist-length hair.

“Oh stop whining. It’s a good thing you’re doing,” Ginny said, taking over his ministrations with deft fingers.

“I know, but do you think it’s enough? I just feel like this is a poor replacement for her.” Ron said, scratching his head and watching his daughter run and play out the window.

“Ron, even when she’s older, and she feels like it’s all hopeless, I’m sure she’ll remember what her father did for her and understand that there’s always someone out there,” Ginny said, staring fondly at her hands, as if lost in a memory.

“You know, Dad came to Hogwarts once, that year you were gone,” She started, sitting down at Ron and Hermione’s light oak kitchen table by the window.

“No, I didn’t. The Ministry let him in there?”

“No,” she smiled. “He was supposed to be patrolling Hogsmeade for Muggleborns, but he snuck up to the castle. McGonagall let him in by the greenhouses. He had to walk the whole way to the school in the cold, wet snow we got that November.”

“Bloody hell! He could have been killed!” Ron said, shocked by this new information. “Were you in some kind of trouble?” Ginny shook her head.

“He got to Gryffindor tower, and collapsed at my feet in front of the fire, shaking and cold. When I managed to cast a drying spell and warm him up he just grabbed me and held me for what felt like ages.” Ginny murmured, had her arms wrapped around herself and was smiling slightly.

“Why was he there, though?”

“That’s just it, Ron. He didn’t really have a reason. When he was getting ready to leave, he pulled away from me, healed a bruise the Carrows had given me on my cheek, and brushed some hair behind my ear. I couldn’t talk. I wanted to beg him to stay, but I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t brave.”

Ron put a hand on Ginny’s shoulder, his own throat growing tight. “He said ‘I just needed to see you. I needed to look at you for a moment, Ginevra. It’s all…it’s becoming too much.’ And then he just walked away, a slight hopeful grin on his face.”

“Ginny…I…”

“Neville, Luna, and I tried to steal the sword that night. I just had to do something,” She said, clenching her fists. There was a hot streak of tears running down the side of her face.

That evening, Ron went over to Luna’s house and had her cut his hair. She shaped it into a wig fit for his Rosie.

***************

By the time Rose Weasley was 11, she had five different wigs. She kept them all on stands complete with random doodles and oddly contorted features that she and Hugo would often paint when they were feeling particularly creative and fun. They lined her mother’s study like an odd array of modern art in her stately, wood-trimmed library. It didn’t matter how out of place she felt, Rose loved her hair.

She had a wig from her Aunt Luna. It had shoulder length, wavy blonde hair that shimmered almost unnaturally on a cloudy day, as opposed to shimmering on a sunny one. She said it was to “add some brightness to the gloomiest days”. Grandma Weasley got her the most perfect, curly black wig, found at a special shop while she and Grandpa Weasley were on holiday. It was long, shiny, and very curly like her mum’s. Her dad said she looked like a black haired version of Hermione Granger in that wig. Her cousins all chipped in and got her a Mohawk complete with green tipped spikes last year for her birthday, along with a written promise from each of them that they would keep her secret at Hogwarts. And Teddy had given her a cropped, bluish green wig that he took from shaving his own head.

But her favorite was the one her father had made her, the first wig she ever got, the first time she felt like a normal, pretty little girl. When she spun around, and that long red hair flowed around her, Rose finally knew what it was like to shine. Her mother had found a way to make her hair look so real, and to stay so well, that Rose immediately went and played with her cousins, reveling in the glory of her ginger locks.

Facing the first day at Hogwarts tomorrow, Rose knew which hair would become her permanent look for her educational career. The decision didn’t even take much thought. She felt like her ginger wig was the only real piece of her, partially because it was also a piece of her father.

“Have you packed your trunk for tomorrow, love?” her mother said, making Rose jump.

“Only like five times, mum!”

“Just making sure. You should get to bed; you’ve got a big day.”

Rose nodded, and before she could tell herself she was too old, she followed her mother out of the study and wrapped her arms around her. Rose was already taller than her mum, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t scared, that she didn’t need a little reassurance from her parents right now. To her credit, her mother didn’t make a big deal out of the rare display of affection, and Rose went up the stairs grinning.

She doubled checked her trunk, taking out every piece of clothing, books, and supplies and putting them back in; first by alphabetical order and then by function. When she was convinced she had her things in the best possible way, she finally changed into her pajamas and crawled in between the covers. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, but she had to keep up the façade.

After she watched the lights fade across the hall, signaling Hugo was fast asleep; Rose turned her eyes up to the moon. She wondered if it looked bigger in the Scottish Highlands, if being higher up in the mountains would make her closer to the sky. The concept gave her comfort, and calmed the niggling fears that were hiding below her excitement.

Rose started when she heard the soft creak of her bedroom door. She looked up to see her father squinting at her through the shadows. She lifted her hand and waved shyly at him, hoping he wouldn’t reprimand her for being up too late.

“I knew you’d still be up,” Ron said, pulling up the chair from her desk and sitting beside her bed. “Are you nervous?”

“So much!” Rose exclaimed, breathing a sigh of relief that she didn’t have to put on such a brave front.

“I’m not going to give you all that talk about doing your best, never giving up, and knowing you’re special no matter what. You know all of that. Just remember to trust yourself. That was always my biggest problem in school. I never thought I was good enough,” Rose couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as though her father looked a little stormy there in the darkness.

“I’ll try, Daddy,” she whispered.

“Do you think you’re too old for a story?” He asked, his eyes sparkling as he grinned at her.

“Well it depends on the story. I don’t think I need to hear Babbity Rabbity again.”

“Fair enough, how about I tell you about Hagrid and Norbert?”

“Oh I love the Hagrid stories!”

Rose sat in rapt attention, laughing hysterically at the thought of that big old giant’s partially singed beard. When the story ended, and Norbert had to leave Hogwarts, Rose couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the Professor, and vowed to visit him as soon as she got to school. She hoped he had a secret pet for her to meet as well.

“And I’ll make a deal with you. If you can come home with good marks, I’ll be sure to take you to Uncle Charlie’s to visit Norbert. Or should I say Norberta?” Her father winked, kissed her forehead, and shuffled out of the room comically, making her throw her hand over her mouth to keep from giggling.

Rose knew this was going to be her best year yet.

***************

Rose couldn’t believe that someone as old as Professor Slughorn was still able to get up the energy to teach, but there he was, yammering on about something she couldn’t even begin to understand. She was beginning to feel overwhelmed, and suspected that she’d flunk out of Hogwarts before her first year was done. She bit her lip and tried to pay attention when suddenly a piece of paper obscured her own.

It’s alright, my brother told me this stuff gets much less confusing after the first week.

Rose looked up to see her dorm mate, Imelda Hall, smiling at her. She winked when Rose smiled back in relief and they both went back to taking notes. When it came time to create their first ever potion, a simple giggling draught, Imelda proved to be quite adept and helped Rose along in the process. Their potion was perfect by the time Professor Slughorn came around to inspect it.

“This is perfect, just perfect. But I wouldn’t expect anything less from the daughter of two war heroes!” The professor smiled. Rose shook her head.

“Imelda did a lot of the work, she had to help me,” Rose said, blushing. She hated having so much attention drawn to her.

“Nonsense. I knew your mother. You’re bound to be brilliant. Ten Points to Gryffindor!” Slughorn proclaimed.

Rose looked desperately over at Imelda, but the other girl was looking away from her. When class was dismissed, she followed Imelda into the Great Hall and sat next with her at lunch. She wanted to make amends. She didn’t want to lose any new friends on her first day of class.

“Listen, I’m very sorry about that. I promise, I wasn’t trying to steal credit,” she said to the other girl. Imelda looked up at her, anger still in her eyes, but Rose pressed on. “I’ve got some pumpkin pasties left over from the train. Did you want to meet in the common room tonight for a snack?”

“That would be great!” Imelda said. “You can call me Melly. All of my friends do.” She stuck out her hand and Rose took it hungrily.

Rose knew that her life was finally changing. She could be Just Rose, without the specter of her unique disease hanging behind everyone’s eyes. She finally had a real friend, one who wasn’t a cousin, and she knew that if she tried hard enough, other people could like her for who she was as well. She gathered her things and walked down to Professor Longbottom’s class with excitement.

When the masquerade and burlesque balls
Become too ordinary to boast
You complain about the parade and curtain calls
I will be the one who loves you the most
Yeah, I will be the one who loves you the most

“Okay, what does it mean when that symbol comes up in your runes?” Rose asked briskly.

“That it will be a…um…triangularly squiggly day?” Hector answered, smirking at her. Rose couldn’t help but giggle.

Hector Marks was a hopeless case, but Rose felt sorry for him, so when he walked over to the Gryffindor table and asked her to help him with his Runes homework, she said yes. The rest of the third year girls had been glaring at her all day. Hector may have been slow, but his sandy hair, tanned skin, and green eyes made many girls even in hears above him blush and swoon. She was uninterested, so she didn’t see the harm in some tutoring.

“I think you’re going to fail runes, Marks.” Rose said, smirking and gathering up her books.

“Oh come on, Rosie Shmosie, at least I’m trying!” Hector whined, stuffing his books in his bag before looking back at Rose and grinning.

“Oh….so it’s Rosie now, is it?”

Imelda sauntered out from in between the stacks of books in front of them with an odd and angry look on her face. Rose shuddered, knowing that look, and fearing it. Imelda had been her best friend since their first day at Hogwarts, when they got beds right next to each other. Imelda was everything Rose was not: Pretty, perky, popular, and a variety of other P words that Rose could probably come up with if she had the time.

“Melly, I don’t know what you mean,” she chuckled nervously as Hector walked away. She was definitely not into Hector, or any of the boys knew for that matter. It wasn’t that she didn’t like boys, she dreamed about the new drummer for Amorous Arachnids sometimes, she just didn’t really feel like getting caught up in that awful mess of school relationships.

“You know exactly what I mean, Rose! You know I like him and you are fucking stealing him from under my nose!”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Rose said, rolling her eyes. She was hoping she could just laugh off Melly’s anger.

“I’m being ridiculous? You’re the one throwing yourself at him when you don’t have anything worth throwing, Rose. Who are you kidding?” Melly said, following Rose out of the library.

“Melly, really. I’m not interested in Hector. He’s all yours.”

“Oh sweet Rose! How generous of you to just give him to me! Who would have thought that your nonexistent curves and knobby knees would make you queen of all? I’m ever so grateful that you could just give him to me!” Melly fake swooned and then stormed away down the hall, her heels clicking on the stone floor.

Rose’s own soft, sensible shoed steps slowed down to almost a standstill. She was at risk of losing her best friend, and she didn’t really understand why at all. Melly did have one thing right though: Rose was not a pretty girl, and she had nothing to offer the other boys even if she did like them. She paused in front of a mirror, viewing her too tall form; excessively thin legs, and flat chest with harsh scrutiny.

She didn’t even hear the heavy footfalls approach.

“That mirror will talk back if you spend too long in front of it,” Andon Krum said over Rose’s shoulder.

“Oh, were you primping, and it yelled at you?”

“Kind of. I was trying to get rid of these bushy eyebrows, and when I felt a cool breeze on my forehead, I had realized the spell backfired. The mirror mocked me awfully,” He said, smiling.

Andon Krum was the famous Viktor Krum’s son, and one of Hogwart’s most famous students. He was quiet, with dark hair, smooth tawny skin, and unfortunately pronounced eyebrows. He was her cousin Al’s best friend, so they often said ‘hi’ to each other in the hallways. Rose mused this may have been the most Andon had ever spoken to her or anyone else. When she looked up to catch his eyes in the mirror, however, he was gone.

The next few days were odd for Rose. She usually spent her free hours and the study time after dinner next to Melly, helping her with her homework and talking about the latest gossip. She had just seen Emily Harris and Rodd Flagg having a huge fight complete with drawn wands behind greenhouse 3, and she couldn’t wait to tell Melly. However, today, her best friend ignored her, didn’t sit next to her, and even went right up stairs when Rose set about to study.

Rose was writing a potions essay on Draught of Living Death when Melly came down. Rose tried to catch her eye, but she sat at a table across the room and focused on her work. After some time, Melly let out a frustrated growl and slammed her books on the thick wooden table.

“I can help you with that, you know,” Rose said as gently as possible.

“I don’t need help from the famous Rose Weasley! Besides, if it weren’t for me, you’d be failing potions. Of course, ickle Rosie can do no wrong. No one would even believe me if I told them!” Melly said, stuffing her books back in her bags. “I guess I won’t be doing any homework tonight, something smells awful in the common room.”

Rose waited until it was curfew, not wanting to face Melly’s wrath, before she went back to Gryffindor Tower. When she went up to bed, she was relieved to find everyone asleep, and got ready for bed in peace. She slid between the covers and sighed contently.

“You are such a slag, Rose,” Melly whispered. Rose’s heart clenched in her chest but she said nothing.

“Yeah. It’s bad enough you’re the daughter of famous war heroes, now you have to have all the guys too?” Christy Lane spoke from the bed closest to the wall. Rose sat up abruptly, shocked to hear her amiable roommate saying that to her.

“Christy, I swear, I’m not interested…”

“Oh don’t give me that tripe! You’re playing hard to get and its working! What happens when they get you, huh? You gonna give it up?” Christy answered back, rolling over.

“I still can’t believe anyone would want you, Rose Weasley. You’re gawky, you look like a boy, and you have all of that hideous ginger hair!” The last roommate, Jenny Riley, spoke up from next to Christy. Rose was without an ally at all.

Rose closed the curtains around her bed, cast the silencing spell her mother taught her, and stroked the soft hair of her favorite wig. She wished she could just write her mum and dad and tell them everything, but she was a woman now. As an alternative, she put her hands over her face and cried herself to sleep.

Hogwarts was never the same after that awful night. None of her roommates spoke to her except to deride her. In Herbology, all the girls threw things when Professor Longbottom wasn’t looking. She would have to pick seeds and pods and pus out of her hair every other day. She ate lunch alone, or next to Al, quietly eating and avoiding making eye contact with anyone, lest they say something awful to her.

Months after ‘The Incident With Hector’ Rose noticed more people than normal pointing at her and laughing. She figured Melly and her band of merry bitches just made up another rumor about her, like the one they started that she was having an affair with a house elf since no real people would want to snog her, until Al met her eyes and swiftly looked away.

“Al, what’s going on?” Rose asked anxiously. Al just shook his head, blushing, and signaling for Roxy and Victoire to come over to the lunch table.

Rose was happy to see her two older cousins, whom she rarely saw since it was their seventh year and they had N.E.W.T.S to study for. She smiled at them, but they had red, angry looks on their faces. Rose looked around the Great Hall to see that everyone was bent over their lunches, papers in their hands.

“Rose, I think you need to get out of here,” Roxy said, taking her elbow and leading her out to the lake. It was a warm April day, but there was a gray mist falling from the sky. Slowly, and cringing as she did so, Victoire handed Rose a piece of paper.

“Top Five True Facts About Rose Weasley
5. She picks her nose and wipes it on her nightstand.
4. She wears ratty white pants with holes in them.
3. She only showers once a week.
2. She’s a lesbian…
1. And she fucks herself with her wand every night.

At the end of the flier was a hand drawn picture of Rose, her finger in her nose, in holey underwear, stink lines coming off of her, a picture of Celestina Warbeck on the nightstand, and her wand animated to disappear between her legs.

Rose vomited in between her wracking sobs.

After that, her cousins and even her brother formed a tight circle of protection around her to make sure that no one ever did something so cruel to her again. Melly suspiciously came down with exploding boils on her face, and no one so much as looked at her sideways. In fact, no one but her family looked at her at all. And while she appreciated the help, she had never felt more alone. She couldn’t remember a night she didn’t cry herself to sleep to the whispered threats of her roommates.

“In two years, James, Roxanne, Victoire and Fred are going to be gone. We’ll be able to get to you then.”

Even writing her parents was an awful experience. She didn’t want them to worry, so she would write sugary sweet letters filled with lies. She hoped she wouldn’t be found out. When she was little, she promised her dad she would always shine like the sun. She was scared to death he’d discover how dull and miserable she really was.

Rose didn’t think she could handle seeing her father disappointed in her.

***************

Dear Ron and Hermione,

I know we just saw each other at dinner a few weeks ago, but I’ve been trying to find a way to put my thoughts in to words on this for a while now. So I’ll just come right out and say it:

I’m very worried about Rose.

I don’t want you both to come rushing down here like I know you were planning to do as soon as you read that sentence, but I am very concerned. While she’s never alone, always with one cousin or the other, she seems so lonely. She never speaks anymore, it looks as though her grades are slipping despite spending all of her free time in the library, and she seems to have gotten even thinner. It looks to me like she’s under a large amount of stress, and for a while I couldn’t figure out why that was.

I finally managed to get Albus to sit down and talk to me. I pause in telling you this because it’s Rose’s business, but worrying has gotten the best of me. He says she’s being bullied, mercilessly, by the other girls in her dorm. He’s not sure how it started, but the stuff they’ve been doing to her makes Malfoy look like a peach (well…maybe this is an exaggeration).

I’m going to do my best to keep an eye on her, and to try to put a stop to anything I see. Her cousins and Hugo are doing well to form a tight circle of protection around her, but that doesn’t lessen the sharp words. I hope that this can be worked out over the summer.

Hannah says that she went through something similar, and it takes a lot to recover from it. The bullying stopped for her when her mum died, and then we had that awful year and Death Eaters to contend with, so she never really had to face how cruel some of those Hufflepuffs were. But she says it was a horrible thing to deal with, and if Rose is suffering, I hope there is something you can do to help her.

I’ll do what I can.

Always with love,

Neville

“Are you sure we can’t go there and get her right now?” Ron said, pacing anxiously across the kitchen, Neville’s letter clutched in his fist.

“Yes, Ron. Unfortunately, it would likely just exacerbate things,” Hermione said. Ron looked over at her to see tears rolling down her cheeks. “What are they doing to her that could make her act this way?”

“And why didn’t she say so in her letters home?” He asked, walked up behind Hermione and putting his hands on her shoulders. “Is that why she didn’t come home for Easter hols?”

“She’s probably scared of what we’ll think,” Hermione whispered.

“How can she…”

“Shhhhhhh, she’ll be home soon, Ron. All we can do now is wait for her and trust that Neville will make sure she doesn’t get hurt.”

“Yeah…yeah.”

Ron leaned over and kissed Hermione on the cheek before resting his head on her shoulder and holding her tightly. He let his hands splay over her stomach and found comfort in how warm she always felt against him. They would get through this with Rose, they had to.

***************

When Rose got off the train for summer holidays, Ron’s heart shattered. Her bright long hair framed a sunken, gaunt, and pale appearance. She had a frown etched on her face and she looked like she had been through hell. Ron ran to her, heedless of Hermione’s warnings not to make her feel overly self conscious and giving away the fact that they knew what had been going on, and pulled her close to his chest. She let out a small, hollow chuckle.

“Dad, what’s gotten into you?”

“Just happy to see you,” he smiled, trying not to give himself away.

Rose tilted her head and gave him an odd, calculating look, the exact same look Hermione got when she was figuring something out. Ron shrank away. He saw Hugo’s curly head bobbing in the crowd and ran toward him, hugging him fiercely and messing up his hair. When he turned around, Rose had her face in her mother’s hair, and Ron could see tears going down her cheek. Hugo bit his lip and Ron tried not to stare. Obviously Rose didn’t want him to see her cry, though he didn’t quite understand why.

After their things were unpacked, they all sat down to a lovely supper of roast chicken and mashed potatoes, Ron’s specialty. Rose smiled at him as he handed her a plate, but the smile never reached her eyes and he could see the hard mask over her features. He tried to smile back in a way that said “Don’t worry about it, love,” But nothing changed about her expression. The conversation at the table was light. Rose and Hugo asked him about some of his Auror missions, and he tried to describe the funnier ones with a storytelling flare that was sure to light up her face, like it did when she was little. However, her eyes remained passive and resigned. Finally, after some time with Hugo at the chessboard and Rose and Hermione in books, the kids were sent up to bed.

Ron didn’t sleep that night. He tossed and turned, kicking himself for not seeing the trouble his daughter was having when she came home for Christmas. The fact that she didn’t want to talk to him about it just clarified his belief that he had failed her. Ron resolved he would spend the entire summer making things right, making sure Rose went back to school without the specter of cruelty chasing her everywhere.

Ron’s resolve was quickly dashed over the next week, when he would wake to Rose missing from her bed and outside wandering their lawn sadly, turning away from any attempt at conversation. She spent her time drinking tea with her mother, and cried herself to sleep at night. She barely looked at Ron, barely acknowledged him beyond a fake smile at his failed attempts to cheer her, and his countenance was getting weaker every day.

His daughter was slipping away, she was in pain, and there was nothing he could do to make it better. This wasn’t a cut on the knee, or a cousin picking on her, this was a painful betrayal by her peers. Ron was completely lost, and after a few weeks of trying to break through to her, gave up and turned his back on his oldest daughter.

Ron spent the rest of the summer teaching Hugo the finer points of chess, and trying to get him onto a broom. Hugo had an unshakable fear of flying just like his mother, and Ron found this fact hilarious. His son was much happier indoors, studying chess, and to Ron’s horror, History of Magic. But he had to admit, his son was developing a wit and a sense of humor that would rival Fred and George at that age.

Rose went flying, but she never asked for his company. She no longer played quidditch like she used to, even when her cousins were all gathered for a pickup game. She just drew lazy circles in the sky with her broom, consumed more tea with her mother, and slept more than was normal for a teenage girl. Ron longed to jump on his broom and chase her through the sky like they used to, dipping in and out of each other’s paths and laughing loudly and wildly until the sun set. He swallowed back the urge to fly, keeping his feet on the ground and giving Rose her space.

When it came time to say goodbye for another year at Hogwarts, Ron found he couldn’t maintain his self control. He held Rose tightly again, stroking her back and refusing to let go. She clung to him, her hands clenched in the back of his robes, and Ron felt the urge to cry rising up from his throat. He didn’t want to send his daughter back into the wolves, and he hated himself for not being there for her like he should have. Rose pulled away with misty eyes and got on the train. She doesn’t turn around to wave at her parents.

***************

When the women with their stolen graces
Don’t invite you to play host
To their daughters with fake faces
I will be the one who loves you the most

“I guess I’ve gotten a reputation for tutoring,” Rose says quietly, pulling out her book and taking up a seat next to Andon. “I didn’t even know you needed help.”

“Oh yes. I hear you’ve got this new potions material down. Al won’t stop talking about how brilliant you are in that class, so I figured you’d be the best to help me,” Andon said, getting his own books and notes out. He smiled shyly at Rose, and she was shocked to feel a blush creeping to her face.

Andon was a Hufflepuff, so he had a different potion’s class than she did. Hufflepuffs took potions with the Slytherins for fourth year, and they were only a chapter behind the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw class. This made it very easy for Rose to explain the lessons to him, and they ended up meeting every Friday in the library to go over what she learned last week, and he was learning this week.

More than just lessons, Andon and Rose became very good friends. Eating lunch with Al didn’t feel so much like a pitiful excuse to not be alone, and felt more like a warm group of friends. She, Al, and Andon would joke and laugh like the world wasn’t against her, and when she was with Al and Andon, it wasn’t. The whispers and taunts in the hall seemed less important, and no one had done anything particularly awful to her. By the Christmas hols, things were looking up.

Rose suspected that Professor Longbottom had done something; there were rumors he had called Melly into his office and she had come out in tears. At first Rose was embarrassed, but now that she finally had a friend, Professor Longbottom’s interference was feeling like a relief. She got off of the train for Christmas and waved vigorously at Andon, who pulled a ridiculous face before running off with his mother.

When Rose saw her father waiting to pick them up at King’s Cross, she gave him a broad grin. He echoed her gesture, his face lighting up as he saw her. Christmas was looking promising, and she longed to jump on her broom and race her dad like they used to.

***************

“He’s way too good for you, you know,” whispered Christy.

“Yeah, Rosie, he’ll never want you in that way. He just feels sorry for you,” Jenny said menacingly. Rose knew they were talking about Andon. She knew she could never win no matter how hard she tried.

“Yeah I heard Al paid him a lot of money to be your friend,” Melly seethed next to her. “Think about it, you know Al’s family has a lot of gold. Did you really think Andon just suddenly wanted to be your friend this year, especially with how pathetic you are? I have it on good authority Al Potter paid him.”

Rose didn’t want to believe them, but they were right. Al did have a lot of money, and Rose was pathetic. The next day, she ate alone and canceled all of her tutoring sessions with Andon.

“Why don’t you want to hang out anymore, Rose?” Andon found her tucked away in a corner of the library.

“I just…I’m really busy. I have to focus on my studies.”

“You’re brilliant!” Andon whispered loudly, earning him an admonishment from the ancient Madame Pince. “You don’t need to study that much that you can hang out with me and Al. Come on, we were going to go camping this summer!”

Andon put a hand on her arm and Rose flinched away. She knew then it had to be some sort of scheme. Why would anyone want to touch her? Even without knowing she had no hair, she was still all long limbs and freckled skin. She dropped her books and stormed out of the library.

Rose found herself lost in an unfamiliar corridor as she ran away from Andon. She was happy to be lost, and hoped the castle would just swallow her whole. She crouched down in front of an ornate tapestry and began to cry. She didn’t know how long she was there, but when she looked up at the window some time later, it was dark.

“What’s the matter, Weasley, wig not on straight?” Melly’s voice echoed in the hallway. All of the blood drained from Rose’s face. Melly just smiled fiendishly.

“A little birdie had some very interesting things to say about that awful ginger hair, though why you’d choose to be ginger is beyond me.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. “

“Admit it!” Melly shouted, her screams bouncing off of the walls. “Admit that you’re an even bigger freak that we thought you were! You would keep a secret from your own roommate.” Her voice took on a falsely sweet tone toward the end.

Rose just shook her head, and when she looked up, Melly was gone.

The next morning couldn’t come soon enough; she was going home for the summer and didn’t have to face Andon, or Melly, or any of her tormentors for three whole months. She snuck back into Gryffindor Tower as quietly as she could, and slip between her sheets for one more sleepless night.

Rose had slept in that night. She woke up to the light far too brightly streaming through her window. She glanced over at her clock and saw she had missed breakfast and only had 15 minutes to pack up her things and get down to the carriages. She sat up only to feel something like spiders crawling down her bare shoulders. She looked down and saw clumps of red hair gathering around her pillow.

She didn’t even have time to mourn or cry the cruel act that had befallen her. She only had moments to rush down to the carriages. She pulled an old wool cap out of her trunk and stuffed it over her head. She cast ‘locomotor’ on her trunk, shoved in the rest of her belongings, and rushed out of the tower.

She had no doubt all three of the girls in her room were in on the plot against her, that much became clear as they looked at her with taunting sneers and threw their heads back in laughter. “Nice Hat!” they shouted in unison as she took a carriage with a few second years she didn’t know. She allowed herself to cry, telling the kids that she just had a headache.

When she got off the train and saw her parents smiling at her, she broke down, sobbing into her father’s shoulder and refusing to tell them what was wrong. She’d have to tell them soon enough.

***************

“Why won’t she just tell us what happened?” Ron said, pouring himself two fingers of Ogden’s and plopping down at the kitchen table. Rose and Hugo were asleep, and he needed something stronger after such a trying day than tea.

“We can guess ourselves who’s responsible. It’s those same girls Neville mentions in his letter. Who else could have gotten into their room?” Hermione said. To Ron’s shock, she fixed herself a neat glass of whiskey herself.

Ron opted to pour another shot of whiskey, hoping he’d be tired enough to get some sleep with enough alcohol in his system. They had a long day tomorrow. They had to go out and find a similarly colored wig for Rose to wear so that her secret wasn’t revealed.

Ron and Hermione moved to their living room, sat in front of the fire, and immersed themselves in the silence of their own thoughts.

The summer progressed on with a return of the Rose they saw last summer. The happy, hopeful girl they had seen over Christmas was replaced with a sullen, undetermined young woman who looked up at her parents with lifeless, dull eyes. Ron tried hard to engage her, making funny faces, bringing her sweets, and tempting her with a new broom, but she preferred to sit in her room, reading her textbooks and napping.

Hermione had managed to get Rose out every once in a while, and they went to various tea shops to talk. Hermione said that Rose was opening up about her year, but whenever Ron tried to talk to her, she turned away from him. He was hurt and worried, wondering if he’d ever have his little girl back again. He doubted she even wanted him around.

When it came time for the planned trip to the seashore, Ron wasn’t surprised to find out that Rose didn’t want to go. Hugo’s spirits sank, saying he was really looking forward to the museums and the fresh air. Not wanting to let another one of his children be disappointed, he agreed to go with Hugo while Hermione stayed home and tried to crack Rose’s rough shell.

The seashore was perfect, and he and Hugo had the time of their lives. Ron couldn’t help but laugh as Hugo ogled the various Muggle women that sauntered by them in bathing suits, and the week was spent with good natured ribbing and rousing games of chess in the sand. Ron headed back home sporting even more freckles than before, and Hugo had a deep tan that reminded Ron of Hermione when she came back from Australia.

While waiting for the Portkey to take them back to London, Ron looked over at Hugo. His son looked happy and contented, and on the verge of becoming a fine man. Ron felt a stab in his chest when he thought about Rose, and while he was thrilled Hugo was doing so well, he didn’t feel like he’d be able to rest again until he got through to Rose. He resolved to take Rose on a little adventure when he got home.

***************

“Get up, we’re going out,” Rose’s father said, far too loudly.

Rose rubbed her eyes and tried to focus on the dim light in her room. There was light coming from her father’s wand, but other than that, the room was pitch black. Rose thought her father must have gone mad while he was at the beach.

“Dad, it has to be the middle of the night, what is going on?”

“We’re going camping.”

“What? What about mum and Hugo?”

“Hugo had his trip. Your mum knows we’re going, don’t worry. Do you honestly think I would just take off at 4 in the morning without clearing it with her?” Her father asked, summoning a suitcase from another room. When she sat up and looked out the door, she saw her grandfather’s old tent and a sack full of supplies already piled in the hallway.

“Sweet Merlin, you’re serious.”

“Course I am, Rose,” he said, sitting on the end of her bed. “I know you’re having a rough time. I’m not going to pretend I know what you’re going through…but…well that’s just the thing! You won’t talk to me, you won’t look at me! I just…” He paused, running his hands through his hair. Rose had never seen him look so frustrated. “Try avoiding me when we’re alone in the woods.”

With that, he left the room, and Rose reluctantly got out of her bed. She knew better than to question her dad further. When he got an idea in his head, there was no stopping him. There was evidence of that all over the house, from the Quidditch Pitch in the backyard, too small to actually have a real game, to the microwave in the kitchen that could work instantly with one spell. If she were being honest with herself, Rose had to admit, she was a little excited at the prospect of an adventure with her dad. She couldn’t remember the last time she was excited for anything.

When Rose followed Ron out into the garage, she let out a small yelp. Parked where her parent’s cars usually were was a shiny, old looking motorcycle with a round sidecar attached. The bike looked like it was in perfect condition, despite also appearing as though it was made in the forties. She could feel the magic buzzing all around the motorcycle, and couldn’t help but put her hand out and run her fingers over the rounded fenders above the wheels.

“Fancy, isn’t it? It’s Harry’s. Well it was Sirius Black’s, Then Hagrid’s, then my dad got a hold of it and tweaked it a bit, then it was Hagrid’s again…and now it’s Harry’s. I’m sure James already has his eye on it, but I asked Harry to borrow it for now. Thought we could travel in style!” Ron said, smiling brightly. He shrunk down their things and put it in the small case behind the seat.

Now, Rose was smiling for real. The prospect of taking a motorcycle out in the early morning with her dad was such a delicious escape that she could feel the weight already lifting from her. She just hoped he didn’t make her talk too much about what’s been happening at school. She couldn’t face disappointing him any further than her sullen attitude already was.

They took off from their quiet suburban street and headed toward the countryside. The moment they were out of the city, her father looked over at her, grinned, and pulled a lever. Rose shouldn’t have been surprised that the bike could fly, but she found herself trying to catch her breath as they soared through the sky. She wanted to laugh and scream and cry all at once against the maddening rush of cool, cloudy air. She felt free and a little more fearless in this circular sidecar next to her dad.

The landed an hour later in a dense forest. She could not see a single light or house anywhere, and the prospect of seclusion seemed brilliant to her. She was suddenly mournful that she hadn’t thought to pack her broom. Rose hadn’t ridden her broom in ages, but out in the forest, the thought was creeping up on her and seeming appealing again.

After her father set up the tent and lit the fire, they went about getting dinner together. He was very excited to be using the hot dog roasting sticks that he had bought at a Muggle camping store, and Rose had to laugh as he explained to her how a toasty worked. His excitement over it all was charming and put her at ease.

While she was munching on her hot dog, doused with mustard the way she liked it, she caught her dad looking at a rock in their clearing with a haunted expression on his face. It wasn’t a remarkable stone, but it bore burn marks as though some sort of magical battle was fought there. Her curiosity piqued.

“Dad? Where are we at exactly?”

Ron cleared his throat and took a second before answering. “We’re in the forest of Dean, love.”

“Have you been here before?”

“Yeah…yeah. I was here once,” he shook his head and shed the dark look from his face. “Hey! Let’s go on a hike. There’s a pond just over head, and I’m curious to see if it’s more beautiful when it’s not frozen over.”

After a relaxing swim and a nap on the shore, her dad made them a dinner of toasted cheese sandwiches and crisps. He also reluctantly ate some carrots and asked her to do the same. She had a feeling her mum may have made him to that, but she found herself smiling as he took each bite with a sour look on his face.

“I left your mother once,” he said suddenly, throwing the carrots off to the side. His blue eyes were sharp as he looked at her, and Rose found herself speechless.

“But you and mum said that once you finally got around to it, you were inseparable.”

“This was before we got our act together, while we were fighting the war with Uncle Harry. Harry and I got into a big fight, Hermione stepped in, and I walked away from them and from the mission. I left them in the woods while I skulked away with my tail between my legs.”

Rose was speechless; she had no idea how to respond to her father’s confession. She had heard many tales about the war, from the hunt for the horcruxes to the story of Teddy’s parents, but she had never heard about this. Her father’s shame was etched across his face.

“You remember us telling you about the horcruxes?”

“Yeah, dad, don’t remind me.”

“Well, there was one. The first one we had to destroy. It was a locket, and while we were in hiding we all took turns wearing it. When I wore it, it would make all of the awful thoughts in my head come to the surface, all of my fears would magnify. I was convinced your mother would never love me and that she would choose Uncle Harry because…” He paused long enough for Rose to interrupt.

“Uncle Harry? What?”

“I was being poisoned by my own thoughts. What I did, leaving them, it still haunts me. I can still hear Hermione screaming for me to come back.”

Her father got up and walked over to the charred up rock, running his hands over it lightly. He clenched his fists and turned his back from her for a moment. Rose got up from her spot by the fire and reached out for her dad, trying to figure out a way to comfort something she didn’t really understand.

“But you did come back. I remember that much about the stories to know you were there at the end.”

“Yes, I came back. I followed them in the forest until finally Harry broke away from the concealing spells. I’ll tell you how I found them, but that’s a story for another day. Suffice it to say, I came back and faced all those weeks of dark thoughts in one terrifying moment.” He turned back to the rock, seeming to play out something in his mind.

“What did you do?”

“I took a sword and I fucking destroyed that locket! Even as it was mocking me, putting all of my thoughts out there for Harry to hear, I destroyed it. Nothing felt better, nothing felt more right than piercing the center of that thing and letting the evil drain from it.”

“But how? How could you stand something like that, playing with your head and eating away at your soul? How did you manage to destroy it?” Rose said, finding herself shaking.

“I just did. I thought of your mum, and of Harry, and I realized there were bigger things than me. If I was ever going to survive, Rose, I had to have faith in myself,” Her father turned to her, a soft look on his face.

Rose began earnestly sobbing. Her father saw right through her, like he knew all of her secrets, and the fear that he would hate her if he knew how much of a failure she was overwhelmed her. When she looked up, her dad was kneeling in front of her.

“You’re just like me. I can see it. You doubt yourself all of the time. But you have to understand, you’re amazing. And the more faith you have in yourself, the better things will be. I promise you that.” He said, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping the tears from her face.

“They cut my hair, dad! Someone told them, and they came at me at night and when I woke up it was gone! It’s been like this since third year. Something about me…they hate me!” She cried out, trying to push her dad away.

“Why didn’t you tell us? We could have helped you through this.”

“Because I promised you when I was little that I would always shine. How would you feel to know that I’m a freak at school? That I’m spit at and whispered about? You should see the things they write about me! You’d hate me,” she said desperately.

Seeing her dad look at her with watery eyes, hearing her fears exposed, Rose could see the error. Her parents loved her, her family cared, and she had turned away from everyone in fear. The thought added another layer to her own self-loathing.

“Look at me, Rosie,” Her dad whispered. She reluctantly lifted her head.

“You’ll always shine to me. You’re funny, you’re a damn good flier, and you have a heart that could rival your grandmother’s with its capacity to love. You never have to hide from me or your mum,” he said, pulling her close to him.

For the first time in ages, Rose felt safe.

***************

When all the debutantes desert you
And all the doorways are all closed
And all the harlequins have hurt you
I will be the one who loves you the most
I will be the one who loves you the most

Rose, Al, Andon and Trudy were gathered by the lake on a rare sunny April day when Headmistress McGonagall approached them. All four immediately stood up and brushed themselves off; worried they were getting in trouble (though for what was unclear). She cleared her throat, looking grave, and asked Al and Rose to join her in her office. Rose's heart pounded in her chest as Al's hand grabbed hers tightly.

When they arrived at the office, Rose saw Hugo and immediately ran to him. Lily was standing there, looking lost and afraid and Al walked over to her to wrap an arm around her shoulders. The Headmistress signaled for them to sit, expanding the chairs into one long sofa for the family to sit upon. Hugo cleared his throat.

"It's our dads isn’t' it?"

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Weasley. There was an incident while they were on an Auror mission. They are both in critical condition at St. Mungos." Rose thought that McGonagall had never looked nearly so emotional before.

"Please say that we can go and see them!" Lily piped up, clutching at her brother's side.

"That is my intention, yes. I'm just opening up a secure floo connection now," The Headmistress said, gesturing toward her fireplace.

The children took the floo one at a time and found all of their grandparents waiting for them at the other end. Even Rose's mother's parents were there, wringing their hands anxiously and looking a little out of place and lost among the sparking evidences of every day magic. Rose fell into Grandpa Granger's arms easily, holding tightly to something solid through her fear.

Grandma Weasley told them that their dads had gotten badly injured in a potions raid, and were both currently unconscious. Uncle Harry had suffered a head injury while her father was dealing with a curse that sliced across his spinal column. The outlook was good, as long as both men could wake up and their healing monitored. Rose felt only a slight relief at that news. She wanted to see her father, but the vast collection of teenagers and children in the waiting room were told to do just that…wait.

Rose sat in between Hugo and Al, resting her head on her brother's shoulder. While she was still taller than the thirteen year old boy, he had very broad shoulders and his biceps were already thickening. He looked like Uncle George but with their mother's hair. He was warm, and shaking with grief and Rose found a good spot to lay her head while they waited.

Sometime later, it could have been hours or minutes, her mother and Aunt Ginny came out looking tired and careworn.

"They are going to be okay. Ron's awake and Harry is starting to regain consciousness! You all will be able to see them soon," Aunt Ginny said, a smile cracking her exhausted features. Her mother came over to her and Hugo and pulled them into a tight hug. She was now smaller than both of them. She murmured words of comfort to them and smoothed over Rose's hair until the healers called her back into the room. Rose sat back down next to her Grandma Weasley.

"Hang in there, love," Grandma Weasley said, patting her lightly on the knee. "Your father is a strong man; he'll back to normal before you know it."

Rose didn't answer. It was hard to take comfort when she hadn't seen her father yet. She just nodded slightly and looked forward, grabbing her grandmother's hand.

"We need a distraction! Tell me all about boys you like," Her grandmother smiled and whispered in her ear conspiratorially. "And there's got to be at least one."

Rose blushed. She didn't want to divulge any information, but she was as grateful for the distraction it provided as she was nervous over spilling all of her hard kept secrets. Her grandmother seemed like the least likely person to torture her about her feelings.

"Okay well there is this one boy. He's Al's best friend, and I feel like he's my best friend too. I don't want to ruin our friendship, but he just…I don't know," she tried to find a poetic and mature way to finish her sentence, but she just ended up blushing even harder. Her grandmother smiled knowingly.

"I don't think I have to tell you that your parents were best friends before they got together, but in hindsight, one wonders if they'd ever been friends at all, or if they were always in love," she said happily.

"Don't get me started! I've heard the story enough times, Grandma."

"Well, I bet you didn't know that your grandfather and I were also best friends," Rose shook her head and she could have sworn her grandmother was blushing worse than she was. "Yep. We used to play pranks on each other all of the time. The day after a Hogsmeade visit was the worst, because we'd both fill our arms with stuff from Zonkos, and I'd wake up with exploding wands in my bed (though how he got them there I'll never know. And of course I would cover him in super sticky slime in retaliation. It was a great game, and always good for a laugh. But whatever you do, don't tell Uncle George we were such tricksters. We'd never hear the end of it!"

"Ha! I promise, Grandma. But what changed?"

"Well I had been feeling pretty differently about Arthur during our fifth year, and wanted to write him a letter telling him how I felt. I was never one to shy away from a challenge, I tell you what! So I mustered up the courage, and went to find my owl, when I saw that she already had a letter for me. It didn’t' look like Arthur's hand, but I held out hope," she took a breath and a sip of her tea before continuing.

"Well, it was a love letter from the Game Keeper, Ogg. I was scared, frightened, and refused to go out onto the grounds even to watch the Quidditch match. Imagine! Thinking that great old oaf was in love with me! Finally, headmaster Dipped called me into his office and told me that one of my roommates had found my letter. He called Ogg in there too!" Rose gasped, imagining the awful humiliation.

"Ogg was beside himself, swearing he didn't write it and begging to keep his job. I couldn’t' do anything but cry until suddenly someone was pounding madly on the Headmaster's door."

"I think I can see where this is going," Rose said, imagining her grandfather's face as he realized his prank had backfired.

"Well you're cleverer than me in that respect. Arthur came barging in and confessed to the whole great mess. Ogg sighed in relief, the headmaster laughed and gave Arthur two night's detention, and I was left crying outside of his office door."

"Oh grandma, I'm so sorry!"

"It was a might big heartbreak. I had hoped Arthur and I had turned a corner. He came over to comfort me, but I was having none of it. I spent five minutes telling him how much of an insensitive jerk he was treating a girl who loved him like that…"

Rose actually laughed despite their grave circumstances.

"Well, I won't tell you the rest. But you can understand how it all turned out."

"I don’t' know if I have the guts you have, Grandma."

"Sure you do! You're just like your father. You fear your ability to do something until you do it," She said matter of factly. "So when you finally bring your young man home, and I do mean when, go easy on your father's temperament. You have the same."

With those final and cryptic words, Molly Weasley rose to meet Rose's mother and aunt, and she was finally able to go in and see your father.

The tall and imposing figure Ron Weasley always cast was not diminished as he lay in bed like Rose feared it would. His long legs took up so much space that he still looked large even when lying down. He was shockingly motionless, but when her blue eyes met his, she saw all the life that bubbled in her father. As her and Hugo fell over his chest, she knew that things were going to be alright. As long as her family was together, the larger problems of her world seemed less significant.

***************

Rose Weasley was only a few months into her sixth year, and already her days were filled with promise. She had her small group of friends, including Andon, and even though she was nowhere near mustering up the courage to tell him how she felt, things were looking up. Rose Weasley, as it turned out, was a prodigy with potions.

Her Potions professor told her that she could do a summer internship in between this and her final year, and she was currently looking over the pamphlets. The prospect of being away from home for 4 weeks made her nervous, but the idea of her own little adventure trumped any nerves she had. She was excited to find something she loved as much as quidditch.

Rose felt like her and Andon were growing closer, and taking to heart what her grandmother told her last year, she was finally plucking up the courage to tell him how she felt. By the way he was around her, she was starting to hold out hope that he felt the same way. One night, at dinner she resolved to make her move.

"Andon, can I talk to you?" Rose asked, trying to keep her blush at bay.

"Sure, yeah. I needed to talk to you as well." She said, guiding her over to a darkened corner outside of the Great Hall, she shuddered at the feeling of his hand on the small of her back.

"You first." They had spoken simultaneously.

"I have a girlfriend," he smiled. Rose felt dizzy, but she tried to swallow it down.

"That's great, Andon!"

"It's Imelda Hall," he said, looking nervous. Rose began to speak up, but he cut her off. "Now she's really changed! She's grown up, and she's sorry for everything she did to you! Just give her a chance, will you?"

Rose had no choice. She realized he would never love her, so why would she care who he was with? Melly hadn't said a word to her this year, so Rose thought that maybe Andon could be right. She half-heartedly congratulated him before sulking off down the hall. She was glad she had homework to do, that way she could avoid seeing Melly's perfect hair, her perfect body, and her perfect face. She just didn't think she could handle knowing she'd never be good enough.

***************

After four weeks of Melly’s cooing and pawing at Andon, Rose didn’t even eat lunch in the Great Hall anymore. She couldn’t stomach the sight. Trudy joined her in the library most days, but she had her own boyfriend to spend time with. Al stuck by Andon like glue, and Rose suspected that he was trying to pick up tips.

Things only got worse when it was announced that there would be a Christmas Ball to commemorate Headmistress McGonagall’s retirement. Apparently, she had a passion for dancing, and the other professors thought this would be a fitting send off for her. Christmas was the perfect time because it didn’t interfere with OWLS and NEWTS.

Rose didn’t even want a dress. She didn’t want to go. She wanted to go home and sit by the fireplace, drink her father’s way- too- much –chocolate- that- it’s- no- longer- liquid cocoa, and waste away her holiday in peace in obscurity. It came as no surprise that irony decided to torture her, and her parents were invited to attend.

The ball seemed to whip everyone into a frenzy, even the first three years who weren’t allowed to attend were holding hands and giggling furtively at each other. Rose had just about enough, and withdrew even further from her classmates than she had in recent weeks. The abandoned classroom next to the Potion’s room was the perfect spot to prepare for her internship.

As Rose was walking out of the dungeons and making the long trip back to Gryffindor Tower, she heard a grunt and an angry ‘smack’ against the cold brick wall. She knew that sound well enough, her brother and father made it enough times during chess and while listening to the wireless. Someone was angry. Rose decided to go the other way.

“No, Imelda!” It was Andon, and he sounded somewhere near anguished.

“Just give me another chance!” Melly’s voice was sickly sweet, and it sounded grating against Rose’s ears.

“You were snogging Marks! I knew you hadn’t changed. I should have listened to Rose,” Andon said, but Rose felt no victory. He sounded so hurt that she just wanted to comfort her best friend. She had accepted that Andon could never love her, but in this moment Rose felt like a terrible friend for not standing by him anyway.

“That freak? I bet she snogs a picture of you every night!” Melly shouted. Rose slunk away; there was nothing she could do for Andon now.

When your suitors sneering swank beside you
And leave you hollow like a ghost
And you just want somebody to confide to
I will be the one who loves you the most
I will be the one who loves you the most

"Why in the world is there a bloody ball?" Ron said, tossing the invitations onto the table. He and Hermione had received beautiful pieces of parchment with their names inscribed on it that requested their attendance at a ball. Hogwarts was going to see Headmistress McGonagall off with a bang, and he remembered how fondly she smiled when she spoke of the Yule Ball.

"I expect because it hasn’t been done in a while, Ron," Hermione answered, not looking up from the letter she was writing.

"Well the last one was such a disaster, why would they want to do it again?"

"It was only a disaster for you and Harry. I, for one, had a lovely time," Hermione answered haughtily, calling pigwidgeon over to deliver a letter she had just sealed.

"Of course you did," Ron said, feigning grumpiness. Hermione looked up at him ready to argue, but she must have seen the smirk on his face, because she smiled in answer. "All that fun with Vicky…I'm sure you and Vicky still chat on a regular basis about how wonderful that ball was."

Ron prowled toward her side of the kitchen table. He grabbed Hermione and she squealed as he picked her up from her chair. Instead of fighting his show of force, she wrapped her legs around his waist, throwing her head back and laughing. He bit at her neck lightly before carrying her over into the living room and throwing her down on the couch.

Sometime later, lying on an old quilt in the sun of their picture window, Pig came back, so excited by a job well done that he was unaffected by his owner's naked state. He dropped a letter right on Hermione's chest and nestled himself on their window sill to watch her read it. Ron recognized Hugo's handwriting and tried to read over her shoulder.

"What is he doing up this early on a Saturday?" Ron asked. "And how did he write back so fast?"

"Hugo is nothing if not prompt, a trait he doesn’t get from his father."

"Duly noted…What does he say?"

"Well, he is already very excited for the dance. Apparently he wants to wear a suit from George's shop. I swear, he is asking for trouble," Hermione said, scanning the letter. Ron was excited about the idea of picking a modified suit from George and even adding a few more things to entertain dance goers. He was suddenly happier about attending the ball.

"Is Rosie as excited? I don't know if I am going to be able to tolerate a bunch of randy little tossers pawing at my daughter," Ron said, horrified.

"Hugo says she's not going…" Hermione sighed. "I thought things were better."

"I thought so too."

Ron's relief about Rose not going to the ball was overshadowed by his worry behind the reasons. He was certain that life had improved for her, and his stomach sank at the notion that she may have been hiding her hurt from him again. He resolved to spend his evening with her while they were at Hogwarts. He wanted to get to the bottom of why she wasn't going to the party, but there was an added bonus of not having to make an arse of himself on the dance floor.

Later that day, Hermione had Hugo's measurements and they were on their way to Diagon Alley to pick up supplies for the ball, which was only two weeks away. Ron wasn't looking forward to a fitting of formal dress robes at Madame Malkin's, but Hermione insisted. She was right, his old robes were very out of style and ragged looking, but that didn’t make the task any less boring.
Hermione sent him over to Weasley Wizard Wheezes while she was fitted, saying hers was going to take a bit longer anyway. She needed to find the perfect fabric to offset her hair or some barmy nonsense.

Roxanne was working behind the counter, learning the tricks of the trade to one day take over the Hogsmeade shop for her father. She looked up at Ron and smiled, fishing the suit they had set aside for Hugo from a rack behind her. The vibrant purple hurt his eyes and made him grin.

"Uncle Ron, this is the most incredible suit Dad has made, I swear it! I wish I could go to the ball just to see Hugo in it!" Roxanne said, draping the purple concoction across the sales counter. She quickly pointed out the spinning tie, complete with the Non Burning Weasley Wizard Wheezes Whiz-bang Wonders that shot of from the knot, the animated sign on the back that would read things like "Back off She's Mine," with the flick of a wand, and finally the automatic awesome dancer shoes which would give the wearer "moves like you would only find with the world's premier rug-cutters." Ron was absolutely thrilled he'd be able to watch Hugo in action in this perfect suit.

"Roxy, your dad's outdone himself again. Where is he?" Ron asked as she took Hugo's measurements and made the necessary adjustments.

"He's in the potion room. He says you can't go in there, and I wouldn't if I were you. There have been weird smells and loud noises coming from that room all morning," She said, looking warily at the door. Ron just nodded. After working with George for two years when he was younger, he understood all too well never to interrupt the evil genius in that state.

"Is Rose going to the ball?" Roxanne asked casually.

"No, she reckons she's just going to stick it out in her dorm. She doesn't fancy dancing," Ron made up a lie, because he didn't have a very clear reason why Rose wasn't going in the first place. Roxanne looked troubled at the news.

"I thought…oh…um…never mind."

"Would this have more to do with her tormenters than she is letting on?" Ron asked, worried about the answer.

"I don’t know. She hasn't written me in ages. Her last letter seemed happy enough, but she did mention that Andon was dating Melanie," Rose said, attempting to look busy all of a sudden.

"Andon is one of her best friends, but who's Imelda?"

"Well, she's one of the Gryffindor roommates."

"The one that has been torturing my daughter for most of her educational life?" Ron said, leaning against the counter to try to get Roxanne to make eye contact.

"The very same," she finally answered sadly.

Ron's heart broke a little for Rose. He couldn’t imagine if one of his best friends would have suddenly begun dating Malfoy or something. To top it off, What Rose had endured for years was worse than any school yard bullying Ron suffered at the hands of that blonde ponce. He hoped she was okay, and made a point to make her evening perfect even if she wasn’t going to the ball. Ron thanked Roxanne, kissed her lightly on the cheek, and made his way back to Madame Malkins.

When he walked into the robe store, he saw no sign of Hermione. He went to turn around and walk right back out, purposely forgetting his dress robes, when he was struck by something golden yellow in the window. There was a set of dress robes on a stand in the side window of the shop that caught the light of the sun so perfectly that it seemed to shine. He immediately thought of Rose, and reached out to run his fingers over the fabric.

It was a long set of dress robes, and the material was some sort of see through shimmery yellow that was layered to cancel out the opaqueness. The layers on the bottom made it flow, and look like waves. The fabric was spelled to flutter around the bottom of the stand, and Ron thought about the light, quick way his tall and lanky daughter moved. He pictured her feet dancing across the Great Hall, peeking out from beneath these yellow robes, and he couldn't help but smile.

The top of the robes had straps that Ron immediately thought were far too thin, but knew that most girls wore things like that. There was a strip of sheer red and orange around the middle that wound down into the skirt part piece like a flame. The flower on the right strap looked more like a fire than a plant. Ron thought of their camping trip, and then of his little girl twirling in the sun, and he couldn't help himself. This dress was Rose's dress, and even if she refused to take her broken heart to the ball, someday she would wear the dress and know how perfect she really was.

Ron jingled the gold in his pocket, thought of the deposit he was about to make at Gringott's, and knew he could afford it. He asked the sales clerk to get the dress robes down for him, and reluctantly also gave his name to pick up his own robes. When the pieces were in a safe container, he paid. He turned to find his wife staring at him with misty eyes.

"It's beautiful. It's perfect for her," She whispered. She had on a pair of flawless blue robes stuck with pins as Madame Malkin herself fussed with Hermione in the middle of the sales floor.

"Just in case, y'know?" Ron said, blushing slightly under her gaze.

"I know. I brought her measurements with me," Hermione said, holding out a small bit of parchment. He kissed her on the forehead and exited the store before she decided he needed a second set of robes or something.

Hermione had the perfect pair of shoes, something vintage by someone whose name Ron couldn't pronounce. She magically altered them. Then, she shrunk down Rose's dress and Hugo's suit, putting them in miniature boxes that could be carried by Pig. Ron felt the dress needed an explanation, so he spent the rest of that Saturday afternoon in his study, trying to figure out what to say to Rose. By dinner time, he had a version that was passable, and tucked it inside the tiny box.

Rose,
I know you're not going to the ball, but on the off chance you may change your mind, here is something to get you there. Listen, I know that the world is against you, and I understand that your school years have been painful…trust me, I do. But I also know who you are. You glow. You're so driven and clever, and you are kind to a point that is almost unimaginable. I told you to hold your head up high, and if that means not going to the dance, then you'll just have to let me beat you at chess in the common room.
But…well…I think that you would look amazing dancing in this, and that is the best revenge: proving to them that nothing they can do will affect you.
Save me a dance, or save me a game. I'll see you in a week.
Dad

With that, Ron sent off the packages with Pig and hoped that he wasn't pressuring Rose, but that she might feel like the choice was hers instead of out of her control.

***************

Rose sat on her bed, alone in Gryffindor Tower, and pulled a long box out of her trunk. She disguised it as a broom box, just in case her roommates would see what she had and do something vicious to her. She pulled out the long, fiery dress robes and laid them on her bed, setting the shoes next to it. She sat in a chair and gazed at the dress robes, tears falling down her face. She was so uncertain and frustrated that she was actually weeping.

Her parents had come up and said that they had arrived. Her dad said they had to go down and grease a few palms, but he would escape as soon as he could and play chess all night. She tried to read his face for disappointment, waited for any mention of the dress robes, but he just smiled at her warmly and led her mother and a glowing, flashing Hugo out of the common room.

Now Rose sat, having a nearly literal fight with the beautiful piece of clothing and hating her own cowardice. If she were honest with herself, she longed to go to the dance. She wanted to twirl and spin in front of everyone and show them just how unbruised she was. She wanted to feel powerful and beautiful. She could have a perfect night; she knew she had it in her.

Rushing over to her bureau, she pulled out a shining amber jeweled hair clip. She spelled her wig into an elegant twist, the way her mother had shown her for special occasions, and curled little ringlets to fall. She powdered her face to take away some of the nervous shine, but left her freckles there for everyone to see. If she was going down, she was going down as Rose Weasley…not one of Them. Finally, when she had put on her favorite bra and panty set, she walked over to the mirror. She ran her hands over her flat stomach, around her only slightly rounded hips, and up her long arms. She was still skinny, but she was looking at a woman, and she tried to embrace that notion as much as she could.

She slipped on the dress over her head, snapped the shoes in place, and deliberately ignored the mirror as she made her way out of her dorm. She wanted to enter the arena with her head high, and fight off the lions with everything she had. A mirror would only make her doubt her own bravado, and she needed all of it just to make it down the steps.

Rose paused at the entrance of The Great Hall and gasped. The entire room had been changed to not only reflect the ancient beauty of the Scottish castle, but was also covered in thistle, heather and lavender floral arrangements. There were tartan cloths over the tables, and natural candles hung from the ceiling. Everything gave off a natural, ancient air. It looked like the medieval castle that Hogwarts had once been, and it was gorgeous. Professor McGonagall was being honored in the exact way that would suit her, and Rose couldn't help but smile.

She didn't realize she walked into the room until she caught a few curious if slightly gawking glances her way. Her heart began to race, but she just smiled and looked around for someone familiar. She saw her parents deep in conversation with Professor Longbottom. Her mother lifted her head and caught Rose's gaze. There was such a warm, inviting answering expression on her face that Rose rushed over to hug her mother. She didn't realize how much she missed her mother when she was at school.

As he made her way over to her parents, her father turned around, beamed at her, and swept her up in a quick hug. "I wouldn't want to embarrass you, Rosie, having your old fart father taking up all of your attention."

"Oh Viktor! I didn’t know you were going to be here!" Her mother exclaimed. Rose perked her head up to see Andon and his father standing next to Professor Longbottom.

"Hello Hermione. I believe you are familiar with my son, Andon? Are our children not friends?" Mr. Krum said, gesturing toward Andon.

Andon didn’t acknowledge the introduction, and the chattering words slowly faded into the background as she locked eyes with her long time friend. His dark gaze penetrated her, and Rose felt chills go down to the soles of her feet. He offered his hand wordlessly, and she took it as if it was the only possible thing she could have done, above thinking and breathing.

"Andon Krum?" She heard her father say, confused as she floated with Andon into the center of the dance floor.

Before she knew it, Andon's large hand was on the small of her back, and the other one was wrapped around her long, pale fingers. She finally took a deep breath just as he swung her around another dramatic curve. The music was undetectable as her heart pounded in her ears. All that time of quiet longing and resignation seemed to burst out of her, and she pressed her body closer to his. Andon breathed in and pulled her tighter.

"You look astounding," he whispered in her ear. "I've wanted to hold you like this for months."

"Months?" Was all Rose's dry mouth could manage. He delicately kissed her cheek and spun her around again.

The crowd wasn't there. The music wasn't playing. They weren't in the Great Hall. She was in a universe that consisted only of her and Andon. She knew him, she knew his heart, and it wasn't this dress that was pulling him toward her. He wanted her; she could feel his affection in every bend of his hand and breathe from his lips. She hoped give her the first kiss that she never thought would happen.

Suddenly, there was a loud scream and a bang. Rose looked up to see Melly, her hair coming undone, and her new dress robes disheveled. Her wand was pointed at Rose. Andon pulled her in more tightly.

"You bald lying backstabbing nasty little cunt!" She shouted. With a flick of her wand, every single stitch of Rose's clothing flew off of her. The breeze on her head indicated she was completely uncovered. Before anyone could so much as move, Rose flew out of the room, grabbing a tartan tablecloth, heedless of the breaking glass she left behind. All she heard was cackling laughter.

She ran with the tartan cloth wrapped around her until the cold of the stone floor had made her bare feet sting. She collapsed into the first empty classroom she could find, holding her herself and sobbing on the floor near an unused fireplace. She wanted to die, and couldn't imagine how her soul could recover from the blow.

She was embarrassed about being nude in front of the whole school, certainly, but what really terrified her was that everyone knew her secret. Sure, she was done with school for her sixth year, but what would happen when she came back for seventh year? Rose tried to imagine getting a private tutor and taking her N.E.W.T.S early, but she was worried about how her career prospects would measure up if she left Hogwarts.

Her head spun with visions of Andon. She didn't see his face when she was cursed, but she didn’t have to. Even someone as kind and good as him could never be attracted to a woman with no hair. She clawed at her skull until she actually hurt herself and broke the skin. Then, she fell to the floor and cried.

She felt the cooling of a healing charm on her head and looked up to see her father standing over her, holding the dress he had bought her and looking so concerned that she couldn’t help but cry harder. He knelt down to her and took her into his arms like she wasn't nearly six feet tall, but the little girl he had grown his hair out for. She clung on to his robes like she would drown without him.

"In front of everyone, dad. .They all know!" She managed through the tightness in her throat.

"So what if they do?" He said, sounding harsh and determined. "Are you any different? Are you any less a person?"

"No. I know I'm not."

"Then what are you worried about. You can handle anything that comes your way. You're a Weasley," he smiled, brushing her tears from her face.

"I can't…I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize to me, Rose Weasley! It's my job to always care about you no matter what. You couldn't do anything that would make me love you less. I am your father; I'm supposed to protect you. I'm supposed to make you feel safe," He said, clenching his fists.

"And you do, but they are just so cruel. I can't handle it anymore. I tried so hard after that camping trip, but this…how is he going to love me now?" Rose asked, not even caring if her father knew the details of her absent romantic life at this point.

She looked up to see comprehension dawn on him. "You continue being who you are, and he will. I saw the way he was looking at you…trust me, it made me want to hide you back in the tower."

"But he knows now," she said, the sad thought notwithstanding, she finally felt good enough to rise up. She took her wand and fashioned her tablecloth into a robe.

"No, Rosie. Put the dress back on. We'll go home now, start vacation early. But you're going to walk out with your head held high. I know you have it in you," he said, thrusting the yellow robes back into her hands.

"What about mum?"

"Oh, your mother is raining vengeance down on that crazy little bint. She'll be occupied with motherly rage and that temper of hers for hours," Her father smiled as he stepped out of the room and shut the door.

The thought of her mother, hands on her hips and hair wild in all directions, bringing down her wrath on Melly was enough to cause Rose to get up and put her dress on. She walked over to the dusty mirror in the corner of the classroom and spelled away the grime. She forced herself to face her reflection, and what she found there was unexpected.

She saw a beautiful, glowing woman, standing tall and narrow, with shining blue eyes and pale skin. She saw her bald head, but didn't hate it. She saw her bony frame, but embraced it. Rose looked at herself and saw the Real Rose. It wasn’t a reality based upon viewing her bare scalp. This Real Rose was looking back at her because she knew herself. For years she had been lost in this fog of uncertainty, barely gaining moments of clarity. But as she addressed her form in its rawness, she was aware that however painful things had gotten, she survived and thrived.

She stepped out the door and took her father’s arm. They walked in front of the double doors of the Great Hall, smirking slightly at the sound of her mother's yelling echoing from the headmistress' office. Her father opened the door for her, and she stepped out onto the grounds. She spread her arms out, faced the setting sun, and breathed in.

Rose and her father shared two fingers of firewhiskey and a chicken sandwich before her mother and Hugo showed up in their kitchen, red faced and accomplished.

"She is not being expelled, because I just can't…but since she is of age, I have brought about formal charges. I'll be handling this vile little girl's case in The Ministry," Her mother said, sitting down and taking a shot her father had offered without being asked. "How are you?"

"I'm honestly okay, mum. I will be…" She said, taking her mother's hand for a moment.

"Oh man, Rose. You should have seen Andon. The moment someone started laughing he threatened them…with his fists! I have never seen him lose his cool like that!" Hugo said, reaching for the firewhiskey. Ron took it away before he could get a good grip, and he pouted in mock indignation.

"He what?" Rose said, shocked that Andon wasn't hiding in embarrassment for being seen with her.

"Yeah. He went with Al to look for you, but Dad found you first. Don’t know where he got to after that," Hugo said, winking at her and spinning his tie. Tiny sparks fell around her in vibrant colors, and Rose smiled. "Nice look by the way."

The whiskey had made Rose feel tired, not to mention the serious amount of crying she had done that night. She got up, bowed to Hugo, and then floated up to her room like a haughty princess, the laughter of her family echoing behind her. She slept that night more soundly than she had in ages, not caring about the horrors of tomorrow. None of it seemed so horrible any more.

When Rose woke up the next morning and went down for breakfast still in her pajamas, the house seemed empty. It was a Saturday morning, so she assumed everyone was still sleeping. An explosion and raucous laughter suddenly erupted from Hugo's room, and she knew that Fred was already over and working on singlehandedly destroying everything they owned. She summoned the short, colored wig that Teddy had made her and settled it on her head before fixing some tea and toast and going onto the front porch.

"I like it. The color goes well with your eyes," Andon said, causing Rose to jump and drop her teacup. He immediately waved his wand to repair the broken china.

"Yeah…um…thanks," Was all she could manage to murmur as she avoided his gaze.

"Rose, I-"

"What are you doing here?"

She couldn't help but wait for the other shoe to fall. Even if she had a new perspective, she was still wounded and heartbroken. She didn't know what another break would do. There was a long and awkward silence.

"I wanted to continue our dance," He finally whispered. He stood up and took the cup from her hand, setting it down. This time, he wrapped both of arms around her waist and pulled her tightly against his chest. "I'm so sorry."

"What for?"

"For being with her…for not paying more attention to what she could do…for not telling you how I felt years ago." He said, his eyes never leaving hers even as his face got red.

"Years?" Rose had to bit her lips to keep from pulling his against her.

"Can I see you?" He asked shyly.

"Yes," she said, finding it an odd question. Of course they could date.

"No, I mean," he traced his fingers along the hairline of her wig and Rose shuddered. She panicked. She didn't want to scare him off. She didn't want him to see her up close in such a vulnerable way. She clenched her fists and breathed deeply. She didn’t want to hide, didn’t want to be scared any longer.

She cast the spell to loosen her wig and slid it off of her head.

See, when you forgive your imperfections
And you’ve auctioned all your clothes
And look to see your true reflection
You will be the one who loves you the most

Ron threw the last gnome out of the garden and walked toward the front of the house. He didn’t want Hermione to throw a fit about him tracking mud, so he opted to leave his boots on the front porch. He needed a day off in the sun, and having his kids back home proved to be the perfect excuse. As he rounded the corner he heard his daughter's delicate sniffles and his heart sank.

He looked up on the porch to see her friend Andon holding her closely as her shoulders shook. The young wizard was kissing long the crown of Rose's exposed head; her wig lay forgotten on the wooden floor. He whispered 'You're beautiful' in her ear and continued to press his lips to her pale skin. Ron bit his lip and moved to back away. The movement caused Andon to look up, but Ron pressed his fingers to his lips and backed away.

He wanted to run back out there and tell them to separate or feel his wrath, but Ron just trudged to the back of the house. He put his boots in the grass, took off his shoes and socks, and felt the grass against his feet. In a few years, his house would be empty, devoid of the noise of his wild and brilliant children. He decided that the snogging on the front porch and the odd explosions from upstairs were just fine with him. He leaned against the house and tried to get in a nap before Hugo and Fred burned the place down.

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.

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Stand by Me (Part II) by SoftObsidian74

Stand by Me (Part I) by SoftObsidian74

The One Who Loves You The Most by EruditeFics

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