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If anyone had ever asked him, Ron could have come up with a list as long as his arm full to the brim with people more likely to show up at Grimmauld Place than Malfoy.

Kingsley Shacklebolt. Mad-Eye Moody. Professor Flitwick. Ernie Macmillan. The Patil twins. Professor Trelawney. The Chudley Cannons. Celestina Warbeck. The Minister of Magic. Harry's Muggle relatives. You-Know-Who.

There was a Muggle bloke that Hermione had told him about once called Lennon who was either a musician or a Russian but was dead either way and still managed to be higher on the list than Malfoy.

It wasn't just that Number Twelve was the home of the Order and therefore the very epitome of everything Malfoy wasn't. It also had a lot to do with the fact that Ron, Harry, and Hermione were living there and Malfoy hated them probably only slightly less than they hated him and the last place he'd ever want to be was anywhere near them. Ron had no doubt in his mind about that.

So, it was quite a good thing that no one had ever bothered to ask him for a list, as apparently everything he thought about what was likely or what was unlikely or about the universe being a merciful place was utter shit because right there, at the bottom of the stairs, was the one and -- thank Merlin -- only Draco Malfoy.

Who, it seemed to Ron, was getting choked to death by his best mate.

Ron's, not Malfoy's.

Shit, he thought, and then, everything exciting round here happens when I've got to use the toilet.

Hermione was screaming, Ginny was screaming, his mum was screaming, and Mrs Black's horrible portrait was screaming louder than all three of them combined. But Ron thought it was probably a good thing that it was so loud because it looked like Harry was swearing quite originally there and his mum had always hated it when people swore.

He took the stairs two at a time to the ground floor where his dad and Professor Lupin were tugging on Harry's shoulders, trying to pull him off of Malfoy. Harry didn't appear to be in any mood to let go though. He ignored their hands on him and just kept snarling in Malfoy's face, gripping his throat with both hands and shaking him. Malfoy's pale hands scratched and pulled at Harry's wrists. His feet slid uselessly against the floor and his face was a blotchy red with blood on his mouth that made Ron think that Malfoy must have bitten down on his tongue when Harry'd jumped on him. Each time Professor Lupin and his dad pulled on Harry's shoulders, Harry banged Malfoy's head onto the floor, and Ron thought that it would've probably been at least a little bit funny if it weren't for the fact that he was about to shit himself with terror at any moment.

He grabbed Harry's right shoulder with his dad, both of them pulling at the same time as Lupin, and it took three tugs before they finally got Harry loose. He flailed his arms and kicked wildly, shouting and fighting them, but they managed to pull him back to the stairs where Lupin shoved Harry down hard, pushing until he sat. Ron was a little bit afraid to let go of Harry, afraid he'd just get right back up and fling himself at Malfoy again, because Ron thought that's what he probably would have done if it was him. He held onto Harry's shoulder, both of them panting from effort, as Malfoy gasped for air, blinking up at the candelabra and clutching at his throat.

He wanted to ask a thousand questions -- wanted to ask Harry what the hell he thought he was doing, what the hell was wrong with him, if it'd felt good -- but he couldn't seem to make his mouth work. He was still too stunned by the fact that Malfoy was there and Harry was apparently completely off his trolley.

Never mind that his parents and Professor Lupin were fighting with Sirius' mother's curtains --

"Filth! Scum! You dare to set foot in the house of my fathers! Freaks! Mutants! Monsters!"

-- as Professor McGonagall, who Ron hadn't even realised was there, suddenly appeared in front of Harry. Her tartan cap was askew, Ron could only assume, from getting shoved aside as Harry'd attacked Malfoy and her face was as white as a sheet, her lips pursed so hard they looked as though they'd disappeared inside her mouth. She looked very much like she was dying to take House points but seeing as how Hogwarts was shut up tighter than a drum, he reckoned she must've felt there wouldn't be much point in it.

She shouted something that was, of course, lost under all the noise. She made an irritated sort of expression, throwing her hands in the air, before turning to the portrait and hexing it solidly. A jet of bright blue light flashed, temporarily blinding him but sending the curtains and, rather hilariously, his parents and Professor Lupin slamming together in an instant. The oofs and thunks of the three of them colliding were the only sounds in the entrance hall as the screams finally died down.

No one moved for a moment, the silence blanketing them all and soothing their poor ears after the harshness of the screeches and shouts. Everyone was staring at Harry, though. Well, except for Malfoy who was still staring up at the ceiling and Ron who didn't really want to look at any of them for very long and, if he'd had his way, would have much rather gone back up to the toilet to pretend that people who are unlikely to show up did not actually show up and that his best mate wasn't a nutter.

There was a shift of fabric as Hermione stepped forward and Harry stood suddenly, surprising Ron. His fingers reflexively clenched down on Harry's shoulder, like maybe he'd been preparing himself to reel Harry back if he went to dive for Malfoy or maybe just like he was a bit shocked by the sudden movement -- one of the two. But Harry just shrugged him off and, for a second, he felt a pang of hurt, a sting of rejection, but he pushed it aside in favour of following Harry toward the doorway that lead down into the kitchen.

He looked back as Harry yanked the door open, looked over Hermione and Ginny's heads to where Professor Lupin was trying to help Malfoy up off the floor. Malfoy's voice, usually so annoyingly grating, was rough and choked off as he slapped at Lupin's hands and snarled, "This is what you call protection, is it?"

//

If there was one thing Ron knew about Harry it was that he was a man of many, many talents. He could play Quidditch like a pro, was a genius at Defence Against the Dark Arts, could fill in crap Divination assignments on the spot, and was able to wiggle himself out of just about any situation with little more than a scrape. He was witty and clever and brave and had quite nice penmanship. But, really, the most underrated of all Harry's innate gifts, Ron thought, was his amazing ability to rage on and on without even breaking a sweat.

At first, it had appeared as if Harry were actually trying to listen. He sat quietly, slumped in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest and glaring at the wall, as Professor Lupin explained exactly how it was he'd stumbled over top of Malfoy in an alley behind a bookshop in Muggle Edinburgh. He hadn't said a word as Lupin detailed how Malfoy, upon realising who he was, had very nearly hexed him and only a slightly quicker draw due to the fact that Malfoy had been half-asleep at the time had managed to save him having to explain to a bunch of Muggles why he couldn't stop his legs from dancing. He hadn't even blinked as Professor McGonagall picked up the tale, relaying how Lupin had firecalled her just when she was sitting down to tea, looking as though he'd just walked through a ghost, requesting she come as quickly as possible to his house. And he'd only shifted slightly in his seat as she told them about the Veritaserum and interrogating Malfoy and then, finally, how she'd given him the last piece of parchment Dumbledore'd ever written on, the one with the location of the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix written on it.

It was only as it had become achingly, achingly clear that what they intended was for Malfoy to stay there at Number Twelve with them that Harry jumped up out of his chair and started screaming.

"Harry, he's done nothing wr--" his dad began.

"NOTHING WRONG? NOTHING WRONG! HE'S THE REASON DUMBLEDORE'S DEAD! HE'S THE REASON! HE LET THE DEATH EATERS INTO HOGWARTS! HE PLANNED IT ALL! AND YOU JUST WANT ME TO TRUST HIM? TO LET HIM STAY HERE? HE'S PROBABLY PLOTTING OUR DEATHS AS WE SPEAK!"

"Harry, honestly, if we could only listen to wh--" Hermione started.

"I AM LISTENING! I HAVE LISTENED! IT'S JUST THAT NO ONE IS SAYING ANYTHING WORTH HEARING!"

"Please, Harry, calm d--" Professor Lupin tried to say.

"YOU WANT ME TO CALM DOWN? YOU WANT ME TO CALM DOWN? GET HIM OUT OF MY HOUSE AND WE'LL TALK ABOUT ME CALMING DOWN! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU IDI--"

"ENOUGH!" Professor McGonagall shouted and it seemed as though the entire room winced and then automatically straightened up for fear of being berated for bad posture. "Lower your voice and sit down this instant, Potter."

For a second it looked as though Harry was going to try to argue with her and Ron felt himself tense up, ready to dive off his chair just in case. But apparently Harry had regained at least some amount of sanity and sat down hard in his chair instead, crossing his arms over his chest once again. McGonagall breathed out hard, shaking her head tersely, and then motioned for someone to continue the shit attempt at convincing Harry that Malfoy wasn't going to kill them all in their sleep and should be allowed to stay.

After a long moment, Lupin sighed the sigh of a man used to being stuck with the crap jobs and began quietly. "From your own account, Harry, Draco was going to accept Dumbledore's offer of sanctuary only moments before he died. I think that, in itself, is quite telling and should be enough to at least give you pause."

Apparently it wasn't

"I don't care, I don't want him here," Harry snapped, not looking at anyone but addressing everyone. As if someone could have possibly missed that little titbit of information.

Lupin rubbed his hand over his face and looked over at Ron's dad and, with that look, it struck Ron just how much it was all like a really poorly played game of Quidditch -- Chasers passing off, each trying to get the Quaffle passed the really pissed off Keeper. He couldn't help thinking that Harry was a much better Keeper than he'd ever been.

"None of us are particularly happy about this but..." his dad trailed off, searching for the right words, "well, there's just nothing else to be done, is there? He has nowhere to go, no one to help him, he needs protection."

"Let him get it somewhere else, then." Harry snarled.

"I'm afraid there is nowhere else, Harry." His dad said, and then, "The Ministry would only send him to Azkaban and, as we saw with his father, that means little to You-Know-Who."

Harry made an angry noise and leaned forward, putting both hands on the table in front of him. "How do you even know he wasn't lying about everything? How do you know it's not all just a trap? How do you know he's not really working for Voldemort? He's had Malfoy working from the inside once before already, why not again?"

"Weren't you paying attention at all, boy?" McGonagall said, exasperated. "I questioned him myself -- under Veritaserum, I should like to remind you."

"Was it Snape's? It was probably no good, part of the trap."

Lupin sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Harry, there is no trap."

"How do you know? How--"

"For the love of god, did you even look at him?" Lupin snapped, cutting Harry off. "His parents are dead, Voldemort wants him dead, he's been alone on streets filled with Muggles for months, he--" Lupin stopped, taking a deep breath, obviously trying to compose himself, then shifted forward in his seat and started again imploring Harry with his greying hair and sad eyes, "Harry, please, even if you cannot trust him, even if you cannot believe that he is in danger and in need... at least trust that we would never put you in any questionable situation without being absolutely positive that you're safe."

Ron opened his mouth at that, fully intending to remind him that Harry had trusted them to keep him safe many times before and, each time, had been fucked over magnificently, but Hermione's hand on his arm and then her short, sharp fingernails digging into his wrist stopped him. His clapped his mouth shut, biting his lip, and reached down under the table to try to pull her fingers loose. All those years of extended quill use had apparently given her some bizarre sort of super strength, though, as it was quite like trying to pull a Niffler off a galleon. He finally managed to wrench his arm free -- wincing as he felt some of the skin come loose as well -- just as Harry stood up, his chair scraping across the floor loudly.

"Fine."

"Fine?" His dad asked, his eyes more than a little hopeful.

"Fine," Harry repeated, and then, staring resolutely at the wall over Lupin's head, bit out, "He can stay. I don't care. But he'd better keep out of my way."

"After your little display earlier, Potter, I doubt that will be much of a problem," McGonagall said harshly, rising from her seat and giving Harry her frostiest I'm-very-disappointed-in-you look. "Now, if you wouldn't mind escorting me to the door, I'd like to be on my way. Never did get to have my tea."

Harry seemed to absolutely boil for a moment, his fists clenched at his sides, his breathing rapid and shallow, and, Ron knew, an completely hideous reply just screaming to be let loose. He held it back though -- truly fucking miraculously -- and managed a mumbled, "Yes, Professor," instead.

There was a beat after Professor McGonagall and Harry disappeared up the staircase where no one moved, barely even breathed, just stared after them, and then his dad and Professor Lupin stood up at almost exactly the same moment, apparently thinking that McGonagall was in need of some sort of guard. Or possibly Harry.

"I should be leaving as well," Lupin said, his face just slightly pink.

"And I should see to Molly and the boy," His dad said, nodding quickly, his face a bit red as well.

They hurried up the stairs without a backward glance and Ron waited until the door above shut before twisting around in his chair to face Hermione.

"What?" She asked, blinking innocently at him.

"What?" He sputtered. "What do you mean, what? You digging your bloody talons into my arm is what." He poked his wrist under her nose, pointing at the painful-looking, half-moon-shaped indents in the skin. "Trying to draw blood, were you? A few more seconds and I reckon you would have."

"Oh, be quiet," she said dismissively as she batted his arm away, obviously unconcerned with his grievous fingernail inflicted injury. "I wasn't going to just sit by and let you ruin everything."

"Ruin everything?"

"Yes, ruin everything! You saw how long it took them to convince Harry to allow Malfoy stay here, I wasn't going to let you muck it all up." She crossed her arms over her chest in that irritating, I'm-right-and-you're-wrong way that she had.

"What, by agreeing with him?" Hermione didn't bother to answer, just raised an eyebrow as if to say that was exactly what she meant. Ron sat up a little straighter in his chair, eyeing her. "Well, I do, you know. Completely. I think Harry's right on the mark to be upset. I think this is an absolutely shit situation that is only going to end up horribly. Malfoy's not to be trusted and we all know it."

"Oh, honestly, weren't you listening at all? Professor McGonagall said--"

"Who cares?" He snapped, not wanting to hear it. "This is Malfoy we're talking about! Malfoy, Hermione, remember him? Nasty, pointy git whose only goal in life is to become a Death Eater just like his dear old dad? Likes to call you filthy names, get Harry into trouble, and just generally be an arse every minute of every day?"

Hermione got quiet at that, her crossed arms dropping slightly and her brow furrowing, as though torn between wanting to argue with him in the hallowed name of Professor McGonagall and actually admitting that he was right. For once.

"He has a point, you know. Malfoy hasn't exactly got the greatest record of not being an absolute bastard," Ginny said quietly, speaking for the first time since they'd come downstairs.

Ron started a bit in surprise and looked over at her; she looked washed out, a bit tired, and he felt a rush of guilt just looking at her -- he hadn't even asked her if she was all right after seeing Harry go off the way he did. Hermione looked down at the tabletop and didn't say anything and Ron had the distinct impression that she felt the same way he did.

He opened his mouth to say something, to ask Ginny if she was all right or something equally stupid and useless considering how belated it was, when the door to the upstairs opened and the sound of people coming down interrupted him. He and Hermione both turned just in time for his mum, dad, and Malfoy to enter the kitchen.

Earlier, when Malfoy had been on the floor getting choked by Harry, Ron really hadn't taken much notice to the way he looked. Being focused on trying to keep Harry from killing him and all, but there was nothing to distract him now and, instantly, he could see just what it was Lupin had been talking about when he'd asked Harry if he'd even looked at Malfoy.

Malfoy'd always been slight but now he was so thin it seemed as though the only possible way his clothing could be holding on was by sheer force of will. There were dark circles under his eyes and deep hollows under his cheekbones. His hair, limp and lank, hung about his face like a dirty curtain. His skin was no longer the freakishly pale white Ron had become so accustomed to after six years of school together and more of a sickly grey. His shirt and trousers were filthy beyond anything Ron had ever seen and he would've put money on them being the exact same ones Malfoy'd been wearing when he'd fled Hogwarts almost four months previously.

All in all, Malfoy managed to do the one thing Ron had only ever thought Sirius Black was capable of. He made Professor Lupin look in absolutely fucking fabulous shape by comparison. Ron didn't even try to pretend he wasn't completely bowled over by shock.

His dad cleared his throat after a second, forcing a smile and motioning for Malfoy to take the chair closest to the door. The chair that was, coincidentally, also the one closest to Ron. Malfoy looked from Ron to the chair and back again. And then pulled a face not at all unlike the face one makes when one's just stepped in a big, steaming pile of gnome shit. The fact that Malfoy could look the way he did and still manage to think he was somehow superior to Ron was enough to snap him right out of his shock and stamp down any burgeoning sympathies that he may have had.

Ron narrowed his eyes as Malfoy pulled out the chair and sat down just as primly as he always had, his left arm pulled up on his lap as though he was afraid Ron was going to touch him or something equally as likely to happen as hell freezing over or a Blast-Ended Skrewt taking flight. Malfoy ignored him -- ignored everyone, in fact -- turning his face toward the wall instead of having to be forced into something so horrible as looking at them. Ron had to bite down on the inside of his cheek in order to resist the urge to punch the stupid prick in the back of the head.

"Well then, who's hungry?" His mum asked with forced cheerfulness, clapping her hands together and looking at them all.

"No, thank you, Mum," He bit out, and then, as he stood and strode over to the foot of the stairs, said, "The smell's made me lose my appetite."

His mum and Hermione both gasped his name but he ignored them in favour of marching up the stairs to the entrance hall and slamming the door behind him. He was in no mood to listen to anyone telling him all the reasons he should play nice with such an utter twat. It was no small feat, the marching, as his arse had fallen asleep some time roughly around Harry's sixth bellowing outburst but he felt that it was worth it. He wobbled some trying to walk up the stairs but made it to the room he shared with Harry without falling down which was, he thought, quite good of him.

Harry was bundled up and facing away, but Ron could tell that he was awake. He wasn't making any of his usual little snuffling snore noises and even in the almost-darkness Ron could see that his shoulders were tensed. Ron couldn't be arsed to say anything to him though, he was still too ticked off at Malfoy for existing and at his parents and Lupin and McGonagall for forcing them all into this situation to even consider starting up a marathon row with Harry. He stripped off his clothes and pulled on his pyjamas without a word. He crawled into his bed and pulled the duvet up over himself, trying the entire time to convince himself that everything would be better in the morning.

"It couldn't possibly get any worse," He muttered to the canopy.

//

Harry still had that dark look in his eyes the next morning but it appeared as though he were trying to act as if nothing was wrong. There was a vague sort of tenseness between them as they got dressed and went down for breakfast but Ron was more than happy to ignore it, glad that Harry was at least pretending to be in better spirits. Hermione was a bit harder to ignore, of course.

The minute he stepped into the kitchen, she made a face and gathered up her parchment and quill and huffed out of the room, all bushy hair and nose in the air.

"She's not speaking to you," Ginny informed him, smirking.

"Oh, really? And what was your first clue?" He mumbled, pulling out a chair and sitting down, glaring darkly at the tabletop.

"Well, I'd have to say it was earlier this morning when she called you an obnoxious idiot and said that she wasn't going to speak to you until you'd matured to at least the level of a five-year-old," She said, smiling hugely when he looked up at her, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

He stared at her and, for the five millionth time since her birth, told himself that one day he was definitely going to hex her mouth right off her face. She only used it for evil anyway, what did she need it for?

Harry snickered beside him and Ginny smiled even more broadly and Ron rolled his eyes and looked away as he had no real desire to watch them make cow eyes at each other.

And that's when he saw the box.

The box that his mum had shoved halfway under the table, obviously in the hopes that he wouldn't notice it. The box that looked small and entirely innocent from the outside but was so clearly anything but on the inside. The box that, upon opening, caused him to make a sound so high-pitched and girlish that, had it been at any other time, he would have been so embarrassed that only changing his name and fleeing the country would have seemed a suitable option.

She must have gone mad at some point during the night, that was the only explanation for it. She had lost her bloody mind.

"Mum, you can't give him my clothes!"

He rummaged through the old tee shirts and worn jeans, tatty jumpers and faded trousers, completely and utterly horrified with each new item he unearthed. Yeah, they'd been Bill's or Charlie's or Percy's or Fred and George's first. Yeah, he hadn't actually been able to wear any of them for at least a year and a half. Yeah, they were just clothes. But, no! No, that was not the point! That was nothing like the point! The point was very clearly that she was giving his clothes -- his clothes, things he had worn on his actual, personal body -- to Malfoy. Stupid, snotty, slimy Malfoy. It had to be a crime. There must have been a law against this sort of thing. He would go to the Ministry if he had to, he just couldn't allo--

Oh, no.

Oh, god, no.

"My Cannons shirt, Mum?" He wailed, pulling it out of the box and waving it at her. "You're giving him my Cannons shirt?"

"Oh, honestly," She said, rolling her eyes and snatching it out of his hand, "It's just a tee shirt."

He gasped, pulling back and clutching at his chest, staring in horror as she lovingly folded his shirt and dropped it back into the box. Yes, she clearly had gone mad. "Just a tee shirt? Just a... it's the Cannons!"

"Yes, well," She sniffed as she turned to the rather dodgy-looking cooker his dad had transfigured for her out a dresser, checking the progress of the sausages, "it doesn't fit you and he can't be expected to go on wearing those filthy rags."

"I don't see why not," he muttered, eyeing her back as he quickly reached into the box and snatched his beloved shirt from the depths of its box-like clutches.

"The outside finally reflects the wretchedness within," Harry said, grinning as Ron looked about for a good hiding spot.

"Yeah, exactly!" He said, pointing to Harry with one hand and stuffing the shirt under his arse with the other. "They suit him, Mum. Really."

His mum ignored them, wiping her hands on her apron as she turned back to smiled sweetly to Ginny. "Be a dear and take these upstairs to Draco, let him know breakfast will be ready soon."

Ginny made a face that said, quite clearly, that she'd rather eat a Flobberworm but sighed and stood up. "Yes, Mum."

There was a tugging match when she walked around the table and reached for the box because he wasn't about to just sit by and watch her tote his things away. She managed to wrench it free, though, by leaning over and biting at his hand, her sharp, vicious, little teeth making it more than obvious, once again, that she really must be removed of her mouth one of these days.

She picked up the box, glaring at him, and then, as Harry patted him on the shoulder, awkwardly lugged it up the stairs and out of sight.

Gone.

He sighed to himself and scratched at the table with a fingernail when a thought struck him. "What happened to his own stuff? The clothes and things he had at Hogwarts?"

"What was that, dear?" His mum hummed, looking at him over her shoulder, as she used her wand to direct the wooden spoon stirring the porridge.

"Malfoy's clothes, Mrs Weasley, what happened to the ones he had at Hogwarts?" Harry filled in, obviously interested in getting an answer as well.

"Oh, well, it seems a few of his housemates were none too pleased with him over something," She said, smiling sadly.

"What'd they do?" Ron snickered, looking over at Harry who grinned back, "Set them on fire or something?"

His mum made a strangled sort of coughing sound and turned back to the cooker. "After several shredding charms, yes."

Harry's mouth fell open and his eyebrows shot up, disappearing even further under his fringe, and Ron had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud. They both doubled over onto themselves, trying to keep their laughter stifled so as not to attract Ron's mum's attention. Harry rocked back and forth in his chair, shaking his head and covering his mouth with his fist, trying to keep his mouth shut as he shook with silent laughter. Ron couldn't even breathe, couldn't even control his limbs -- he slipped off the side of his chair, his face pressed against Harry's arm for support and his arms wrapped round his stomach, fucking tears running down his cheeks it was so hilarious.

However unlikely it was, however far-fetched, the mental image of those idiots, Crabbe and Goyle, staging a coup and destroying all of Malfoy's precious, poncy clothes after hearing that he was nothing but a lousy traitor filled him with such an unholy joy it felt as though his chest was going to burst.

"It's even better than the ferret thing," He whispered to Harry, gasping.

They laughed and laughed and laughed as quietly as they possibly could, feeling superior and revelling in Malfoy's misfortune, and they'd only just managed to get themselves under control when Ginny and Hermione came down the stairs.

They were having some sort of conversation but Ron only caught "...have to consider the situation..." before Hermione looked over, saw him and narrowed her eyes, cutting off whatever it was she was going to say. Ron didn't really mind, of course, as he had no doubt it was probably about Malfoy and he didn't particularly want to hear that sort of talk anyway.

Hermione sat down across from Harry, pointedly ignoring Ron who ignored her right back, as Ginny flopped down hard in her chair, scowling and muttering under her breath, "Stupid prat."

"What'd he do?" Harry asked quickly, his voice low and dangerous.

Ginny breathed out hard, shaking her head, and giving Harry a look that said she'd not quite managed to stop thinking about the way he'd acted the night before. "He didn't do anything. He wouldn't even open the door."

"Perhaps he's left, then?" Ron asked hopefully. "You know, slinked off in the night or something."

"Oh, honestly," Hermione snapped rudely, disgusted, "and where do you expect he would go?"

"As if I care! I'd just be happy to see him gone." He shot back just as rudely. "And I thought you weren't going to talk to such an... what was it, "obnoxious idiot"?"

Hermione sat up straighter in her chair and glared at him, lips pursed into a thin line. She opened her mouth like she was going to retort but apparently reconsidered and just made a sniff noise instead, turning away and crossing her arms, nose firmly in the air again.

Malfoy hadn't gone, of course, because Ron could never possibly be that lucky and when he flounced down for breakfast a bit later, Ron tried not to swear too loudly.

He looked to be cleaner -- obviously having taken to heart Ron's comment from the night before -- but was still wearing his filthy Hogwarts uniform shirt and trousers. Ron's mum took one look at him, made a horrified gasping noise, and very nearly upended a bowl of porridge she was levitating over to the table onto Hermione's head.

"Ginny Weasley, if you think you're funny, you're most certainly not! I asked you to take Draco those clothes!"

Ginny, eyes wide and mouth full of toast, swallowed hard before saying, "But I did, Mum! I swear!"

"Well what, may I ask, is that?" She said, pointing to Malfoy and his filthy clothes.

Malfoy laughed nastily. "You're out of your mind if you think I'm wearing any of that stuff."

Ron jerked his head up, a piece of bacon dangling from the side of his mouth, and looked over to Ginny. Her eyes had gone all huge and round and Ron had no doubt that he had an almost identical expression on his own face.

No one ever talked to their mum that way.

Ever.

Malfoy obviously had no clue just what he was dealing with.

His mum turned her head slowly, eyes narrowed dangerously on Malfoy and her teeth gritted together. "Pardon me?"

Malfoy's vicious little smirk wavered for a moment and then disappeared all together, his eyes bugging out a bit as he took half a step back, staring at her, clearly seeing the error in his thinking that all mums were like his own. "I... I'd rather just wear my own clothes if that's all right."

"No, it's not all right," Mum said, her voice barely even a whisper and practically dripping with rage. "You get upstairs and you change into something clean right this minute or I will drag you up there and dress you myself."

Malfoy's mouth worked silently for a moment, opening and closing like a fish, and then he nodded quickly, turned on his heel and raced back up to the ground floor.

His mum watched after Malfoy, positively seething, and then turned back to finish levitating the last of the breakfast food over onto the table. The dishes clacked together over their heads she was moving them with such force, but she didn't notice as she was too distracted muttering to herself the whole time ("...never in my life...thinks he's too good...no respect whatsoever...take him over my knee..."), and Ron thought that, had Malfoy been anyone else, he might have felt a bit badly for him.

They'd just finished eating and were heading upstairs when he came back down a short time later. He scowled and avoided eye contact, as Hermione and Ginny stepped by him, neither of them even able to pretend they weren't staring. And for good reason, Ron thought, as Malfoy had probably never looked more ridiculous and completely unlike himself in his entire life. He'd chosen one of Ron's old long-sleeved tee shirts -- so faded it was more pink than red and doing absolutely nothing for his sickly complexion -- and a pair of worn jeans that seemed to just showcase the scuffed toes of his once freakishly shiny shoes.

"There now, isn't that better, dear?" His mum said with faux cheerfulness, patting Malfoy's shoulder probably a bit harder than she needed to as she guided him around Harry and Ron and over to the table.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ron mumbled to Harry, his stomach churning at the thought of Malfoy's skin against the same fabric his own had once been.

"Not until we get upstairs," Harry snorted, pushing him over to the stairs and reaching around to shove a bundle of cloth into his hands. "And here, you almost forgot your shirt."

//

It went on like that for weeks -- Malfoy coming down late for meals, pouting and parading about with more of Ron's clothes on his miserable body -- and then going right back to his room when he'd finished. Ron didn't much mind Malfoy not hanging about and he didn't think anyone else did either, least of all Harry who Ron'd caught quite a few times glaring at Malfoy so viciously Ron couldn't help but be amazed that Harry hadn't accidentally set the prat on fire or something.

The fact that Malfoy stayed out of the way most of the time made it much easier to pretend he wasn't even there. In fact, other than at meals, that's exactly what the four of them did. They would play cards or chess in the drawing room on the second floor or sometimes, if she could manage it, his mum would rope them into doing cleaning in some of the still disused rooms of the house. Mostly, though, they did exactly what they'd planned on doing when they'd first broached the subject of moving to Number Twelve to his parents; they researched in the rather small but still quite extensive library for ways to help Harry get rid of You-Know-Who.

It had been Hermione's idea, naturally. Harry'd wanted to set out directly after Bill and Fleur's wedding, which Ron thought was, frankly, a really fucking stupid idea but, since he hadn't had a better one, he'd just kept that to himself. Hermione, though, she wasn't so keen on the idea of roaming the Earth with no idea at what to look for.

"Research," she'd said, "would be the best idea, Harry. There's nothing that can stop the well-informed!" And they'd argued about it for days, the two of them, but Harry'd eventually caved in and agreed that, yes, fine, all right, they would do Hermione's research.

Ron had known that Hermione would win Harry over from the start, because he knew Harry had no idea what to do, just that he wanted to do something and was terrified out of his mind even if he was far too stubborn to ever admit it. It had surprised him a bit that his parents had agreed, though. It wasn't as though they had much choice in the matter, of course, because he and Harry and Hermione were all seventeen, officially adults, and could do as they liked. But still, he'd felt that they could have at least tried to talk them out of it. And he'd said as much to Ginny as he was helping her lug her trunk down the stairs of The Burrow on moving day to which she'd just laughed and said, "Oh, Ron, they're just happy you're not all running off to get yourselves killed."

Which, really, once he'd thought about it, made quite a bit of sense and was almost exactly the same as the way he felt himself.

It was still awful work though; sometimes the books would snap at them, sometimes they'd ruffle their pages so as to send as much dust in your face as possible, and once Hermione had found one that not only made every single hair on her great bushy head stand on end but also sent her flying across the room, coughing smoke and looking supremely unhappy to boot. It was awful work, crap work, but he wouldn't allow himself to complain. Because... well, it was important. Extremely important. And there were no other options; it wasn't as if You-Know-Who was going to just stop being an insane bastard or anything. It wasn't as if he was going to set up a shop and start selling puppies and flowers to Muggles. Not unless the puppies spit fire and the flowers were the kind that ate people, anyway.

So he did it -- every bloody day he picked up another book, reading until his eyes felt dry and tired and he couldn't see straight, until what little daylight that managed to make it through the grimy windows had long since disappeared and the gas lamps flickered to life, casting their eerie orange glow on the pages before him. He did it because he had to and because Harry needed him to and because there was absolutely nothing else to do. And he would tell himself the whole while to just grin and bear it, to keep it together, to be a man, that if he just kept looking, one of these books was bound to open a portal to hell and he could finally make his escape.

Somehow, though, between doing it because he had to and doing it because he had nothing else to do, he ended up almost... liking it. (Not that he would ever actually admit it to anyone, least of all Hermione, who would, he knew, have some sort of attack and then not shut up about it. Ever again.) It wasn't ever going to be his favourite thing to do, of course, but he'd found that it actually wasn't quite as bad as he'd always made it out to be. Maybe it was because he wasn't going to have to write any essays or maybe it was because the books at Grimmauld Place were creepy and tonnes more interesting than the ones he'd had to read at Hogwarts or maybe it was some odd combination of the two but there it was nonetheless.

So when he found himself unable to sleep one night, instead of lying there, tossing and turning until the sun came up, he rolled out of bed, pulled on his clothes, and tip-toed down to the library. It seemed the better solution and, well, if he could get one more page read, the answers to all their problems could be solved.

And that's exactly where he was when a scuff of shoe against the floor startled him and he jerked his head up, gasping loudly in fright, fully expecting to see any range of horrible things. But not Malfoy. And certainly not Malfoy looking just as startled as Ron felt.

"What do you want?" He said after he managed to get his heart to stop jumping in his chest, his top lip curling up, not even trying to disguise his disgust.

Malfoy made a face like he'd just taken a bite out of a lemon. "Nothing."

"Well, piss off, then, I'm busy." He snapped, looking back down at his book and grinding his teeth, irritated that Malfoy even dared to leave his bedroom.

Malfoy didn't leave, of course. Because he was an annoying little shit and Ron was still not lucky enough for that. He only made a pfft noise and began wandering around the room behind Ron. Ron was hyperaware of Malfoy's movements; every scuff of his shoe on the floor, every tap of his fingers over the spines of the books, every hollow slide as he took book after book off the shelves -- he was sure that he could even hear him breathing. He was tense all over, unable to concentrate on the words in front of him, only able to think that Malfoy was in the same room with him.

Just ignore it, he thought, and then, just ignore him and he'll go away.

"What are you doing?" A voice right beside his ear said.

He yelped in surprise, working so hard on ignoring Malfoy that he hadn't noticed him step up behind him. He hunched down over his book, pulling it up against his chest, and looked over his shoulder at Malfoy. "None of your business."

Malfoy leaned over his shoulder, obviously unconcerned that Ron clearly did not want him to see his book. "Is it to do with The Dar-- with You-Know-Who?"

"Yeah," He bit out, and then, because he couldn't resist, "Stopping him, that is, nothing you'd be interested in."

Malfoy didn't take the bait though, having turned his interest to the other books that littered the table. "What are you looking for?"

Malfoy reached forward for one, but Ron reached out and slapped at the back of his hand before he could touch it and then twisted around in his chair to glare at him. "Why do you even care?"

"I don't. I was only asking," Malfoy muttered, holding his hand to his chest and scowling at him, stepping away. "When did you become such a fucking girl, Weasley? Slapping people's hands? My god."

"You shouldn't be touching things you've no business with!" Ron hissed, sounding far too much like his mum for his comfort.

Malfoy wandered round the room a bit more but finally, a few moments later, stopped on the other side of the table, pulled out the chair across from Ron and sat down, staring at him. "Is it some sort of spell?"

Ron ground his teeth and closed the book hard -- probably a bit harder than technically necessary, actually, as the noise reverberated through the room, loud and out of place in the calm silence of night, making him wince. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Malfoy looked pained for a moment, as if having some internal battle, and then he sighed loudly, looking up at the ceiling in either some form of silent prayer or to avoid looking at Ron. "I'm bored, all right? There's nothing to do in this disgusting old house and I'm bored. I want something to do."

"Well, find something else to do because you can't do this," Ron said shortly, sliding the closed book away and pulling another one off the nearest stack.

"Why not?" Malfoy whinged. "I can read, you know."

"Really?" Ron asked, smirking to himself, "I always assumed you just paid people to do it for you."

"At least I can--" Malfoy snapped quickly but cut himself off before he could finish.

"What? At least you can what?" He looked up at Malfoy, faking innocence, silently begging him to finish it, begging him to give Ron an excuse to hex him.

Malfoy glowered at him. "Look, just give me a damn book, would you?"

"Fine. Here." He picked up a book that he knew Ginny'd already been through to no result, a safe choice, and slid it hard across the table, laughing when the edge of it rammed into Malfoy's chest.

"Fuck, Weasley, you could have just handed it to me," Malfoy hissed, rubbing his chest and eyeing him.

"Yeah," he said, smiling happily and flipping open his book, "But I didn't."

"What--"

"A locating spell for undefined enchanted objects using only individual magical signature." Ron said, cutting him off, already knowing what he was going to say and not wanting to hear his stupid voice for longer than he absolutely had to.

Malfoy stared at him a moment, and then smirked. "Granger had to write all that out for you, didn't she?"

//

All the way through breakfast the next morning, Ron couldn't tear his eyes off the stairway. He bounced his knee and tapped his fingers, eating his breakfast automatically and not even tasting a bite. He watched the bottom stair and ignored all attempts to pull him into conversation. And waited.

It had been stupid to sit there with Malfoy but it wasn't until he was changing his clothes that morning in an attempt to look as though he hadn't stayed up all night when it truly struck him just how horrible it could end up being. His mind had filled with images of Malfoy traipsing in -- wearing Ron's clothes and that disgusting smirk -- and acting as though he and Ron were the best of friends, telling everyone how'd they'd stayed up all night, bonding over books. He'd pictured Harry's outraged face and Ginny's disgusted expression and Hermione's heartbroken tears at the thought that Malfoy had got Ron to read when she never could.

By the time Malfoy finally came down, Ron was ready to leap out of his skin, ready to deny everything the moment his foot touched the kitchen floor. Malfoy didn't act any differently than he normally did, though. He didn't acknowledge Ron in the slightest, just went about his breakfast like he always did. No, good time in the library last night, mate's or see you tonight, friend's or hope we can do it again some time, pal-o-mine's or any of the other horrible, smirking things Ron had imagined. Nothing.

For once Ron was actually thankful Malfoy was such an insufferable, self-absorbed bastard.

//

It seemed as though they'd been through every single book in the library at least a million times by the time Hallowe'en came round. They hadn't of course; there were still a load of books to look over, but it seemed like it. Harry's frustration was palpable, a living thing that followed him everywhere, breathing down the necks of anyone who sat too closely or spoke too loudly. Ron didn't really blame him though, he was going a bit mad from the constant nothing as well.

"Today's the day," Ginny said bracingly as they walked into the library. "Something's going to happen today, I can feel it."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "Something good, you think? Or is this a death-and-destruction feeling that you've got?"

"Something good, obviously," Ginny said, throwing her hair over her shoulder as she sat down in her usual chair. "I've not dressed for death-and-destruction."

"Yes, Ron, carnage calls for an open-toed shoe, didn't you know?" Hermione smirked as she slid into the chair beside his.

"One must always dress with optimal drainage in mind when bloodshed is to be involved." Ginny smirked back, and they both dissolved into giggles. He stared at them a moment, trying not to smile but losing fabulously, struck a little by how lucky he was to have them both in his life. As fucking bizarre as they were.

"You're both barking mad, did you know?" he said. "You really are."

Harry came in a moment later, glowering darkly as was his way of late, and the girls stifled themselves quickly. Ron sighed and shook his head, sitting down and opening the book in front of him without a thought.

He should have perhaps noticed that it wasn't at all the same book he'd been reading through the day before before he saw the note.

He yelped, closing the book with a slam and blushing right to the roots of his hair immediately. He stared down at the worn cover, breathing hard, his mind racing. What was Malfoy playing at, leaving him notes? Didn't the prat realise that Ron didn't want anyone to know that they... tolerated each other? Ron'd only come down a few times after that first time, each time late at night when he couldn't sleep, each time to find Malfoy already there, hunched over old books, reading and chewing on his fingernails. It wasn't as though he'd--

"Ron, are you all right?"

"What?" He asked, startled, and looked up to see Hermione, Harry, and Ginny all eyeing him strangely. "Oh. Yeah. Just... you know, just felt like slamming something."

They looked at each other, and then back to him.

"Right. Well... er, all right, then," Ginny said.

He waited until they'd looked back down at their books before very carefully opening the book just a hair, snaking his fingers in, and pulling the note out and down into his lap. He glanced at it quickly for the page number and thought, quite bitterly, that it hadn't really been necessary for Malfoy to sign it as well. Wanker.

He opened his book and tried to, as casually as possible, flip to the page Malfoy had indicated. Sure enough, he had marked it; a tidy little arrow on the side of the page pointed to the beginning of the relevant passage and then another arrow a few pages later at the end of it. He began to read through it quickly just to be sure Malfoy wasn't just trying to set him up to look like an idiot and, with each word, it was like the clouds of depressing nothingness parted a bit further to let the beautiful light of discovery shine through.

It was perfect. Absolutely bloody perfect.

Or, at least, he thought it was.

He looked over at Hermione carefully, biting his lip for a second and then taking a deep breath. "I think... er, I think I might have found something."

Her head snapped up so quickly he was sure she must have pulled something. Her eyes were big and round, disbelieving, as she looked at him. "Really?"

He coughed lightly, feeling his cheeks burn. "Yeah. Well, I don't know, you'll have to look it over."

She motioned excitedly and he handed it over, hoping rather desperately that she wouldn't notice the markings.

"Here, by this arrow?"

Piss.

"Yeah," he mumbled.

He cautioned a glance at Harry and Ginny when she set in to read, her bushy hair obscuring his view when she bent her head. Harry was watching Hermione like a hawk, his chest moving quickly and his fingertips white with the sheer amount of pressure he was pressing his hands against the table with. Ginny grinned at him and mouthed "well done!" when she caught his eye.

His stomach clenched again and he shifted nervously in his chair, reaching down to shove Malfoy's note into his pocket before he forgot about it. He looked back over to Hermione, terrified and excited all at once. What if it was the one? What if this was it? What if they were just one step closer to getting rid of You-Know-Who forever?

"Balls," Hermione muttered, making a face and turning to next page.

Ron felt his cheeks flush at hearing Hermione say such a word while not referencing Quidditch. He looked across the table to Harry who was scratching the back of his neck, just as flushed and sporting an uncomfortable look on his face. The only person who didn't look at all surprised by Hermione's creative swearing was Ginny and Ron couldn't help wondering just what sort of things they talked about. Well, other than what sort of shoes were appropriate for bloodshed.

Hermione nodded to herself a few times, flipping back to the first page and tracing her fingers over something, and then, finally, she sat back, looking at them all. "Well, this is an incantation for locating undefined objects and the theory behind it. It's really quite remarkable, the spellwords are so archaic and the phras--" she cut herself off, shaking her head as if to free whatever she was trying to say from her inherent need to explain things no one else understood. "But... well, it's not quite what we need as it seems to be more for finding lost objects than unknown objects."

"Well, the Horcruxes are lost in a way, aren't they? We can't find them, I mean." Ginny offered.

"Yes, but... well, we haven't actually lost them -- we just don't know where they are," Hermione sighed, biting her lip and looking over at Harry. "This spell is only intended for the person who cast the enchantment, not for just anyone who wants to find them."

Harry's fingertips were back to their normal colour and he'd closed eyes at some point. Ron's stomach sank at the sight. Harry sighed heavily, opening his eyes and looking directly at Hermione. "It's something though, isn't it? It gives us something, doesn't it?"

Hermione's face lit up. "Yes, Harry, it does. I think, if I can figure out which variable is incorrect and replace it with one that is more suited to our needs -- which we would have to find first, of course -- then we could definitely have what we're looking for."

Harry sat for a second, sucked in a breath, and then smiled.

Ginny let loose a squeal and leaned over, wrapping her arms around Harry's shoulders and burying her face in his neck, knocking his glasses askew as she jostled him. Harry's hand slid up her arm to her back and he buried his fingers in her hair, smiling and smiling and smiling like he hadn't in months.

"This is a start! This is something!" Hermione breathed, beaming and positively vibrating with excitement. Even her hair seemed excited, bouncing all around. She turned to Ron then, and his chest seized up at the sight of her complete joy that he had absolutely nothing to do with. "See, I've always told you books aren't your enemy but you've never believed me!"

He forced a smile, feeling nauseous, and looked over to Harry and Ginny, they were both smiling at him as well.

"Really excellent, mate," Harry said, a vicious sort of pride in his voice. "Well done."

Guilt clawed at his stomach, raging and twisting inside him. Massive, massive amounts of guilt -- guilt the size of Hagrid. It was stupid, he told himself, what did it matter who found the spell? His self answered back quite clearly that it mattered who found the spell when it was him taking credit for work he didn't do. He groaned inwardly, wanting to slide under the table and just die.

Fucking Gryffindor nobleness, fucking fair play.

"I didn't..." He trailed off, irritated, he couldn't believe he was doing this, he looked up at the ceiling and mentally shot Malfoy the two-fingered salute. "I didn't actually find it."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowing.

"I... well..." He rolled his eyes and rubbed at his face, and mumbled, "Malfoy found it."

No one said anything for a minute and, as each second ticked by, Ron felt more and more like he was going to explode.

"Malfoy," Harry said flatly.

"Yeah," he muttered, disgusted with himself, and then took a deep breath before soldiering on. "We've... well, not we so much as, you know, me. And him. Me and him. We... no, not... well... yeah. We've been reading together -- I mean, at the same time! Not together together or anything. Just at the same time. I didn't ask him to or anything, he just invited himself, you know how he is. You know. How he is."

"When... is this happening exactly?" Hermione ventured after a moment.

"At night," he said. "I've been having trouble sleeping some nights. So I thought, you know, why not get some extra reading in? He just showed up one night and wanted a book so I gave him one. Well, I sort of hit him with it, actually."

"So Malfoy's... what, having trouble sleeping as well?" Harry asked.

"Well, I don't know, do I? It's not as though we chat or anything, is it?" He spat, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice -- he really hated Malfoy now. "He could be a vampire for all I know."

"This is..." Hermione started, her voice awed. "How long has this been going on?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "About a month, I suppose."

"A MONTH?" Harry shouted, his eyes bugging out behind his glasses.

"A fortnight? I don't know!" He shot back, shifting in his seat and trying not to look at him. "I haven't exactly been marking them down on a calendar, have I?"

"But why?" Hermione whispered from beside him.

He looked over at her, aghast. "What do you mean why? Because it's just... we're just reading in the same room, Hermione! It's not especially noteworthy, you know."

She blinked at him, shaking her head free of whatever enormous thing she'd been thinking while her mouth was working of its own volition. "No, I meant why is he helping us?"

"I don't know, he said he was bored," he muttered dismissively, shrugging slightly with one shoulder.

"I think perhaps he's lonely," Ginny said quietly. And then, when they all looked at her as if she'd just declared that the Minister of Magic was made entirely of jelly, she went on. "A few days ago -- when I'd left my jumper in the kitchen, remember? -- when I stepped out, he was standing at the foot of the stairs; just standing there, looking over at the doorway. He went upstairs directly when he saw me, of course, but, for that second that we looked at each other, he looked so... well, lonely is the only word for it, really."

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Harry asked. "He could have been eavesdropping on us, Ginny!"

"I didn't tell you because I knew you'd say something like that," she said, tilting her head to look at him, smiling with just the left side of her mouth. "He looked lonely, Harry -- not murderous."

They all fell quiet at that, contemplating the idea of Malfoy being lonely. It seemed likely, in a way -- he was always striving to be the centre of attention when they were at school, glaring when anyone got more notice than he did. But at the same time, it just seemed utterly barking. Because for Malfoy to be lonely he would have to have emotions and be... human. And Ron couldn't quite seem to wrap his head around the idea of Malfoy actually being human.

"Revenge," Harry said after a while, startling them.

"What?" Ginny asked, confused.

"Malfoy wants revenge," Harry clarified, looking at them all, a strange sort of glint in his eyes. "Voldemort killed his parents, wants to kill him -- basically ruined his entire pathetic life, yeah? He wants revenge. He figures that by helping us, he'll be closer to getting what he wants: Voldemort dead and gone and him having his life back."

Ron thought that sounded a load more like Malfoy than Ginny's "oh, he's lonely" rubbish.

"I still don't trust him," Harry continued. "But if he wants to make himself useful, I suppose... I suppose it can't hurt. Another set of eyes or something, he's already proved to be somewhat decent at it."

"Oh, Harry, that's so mature of you!" Hermione cried, clapping her hands together.

A while later, as Harry and Ginny left for the kitchen to see if his mum had lunch ready -- and also possibly to snog a bit beside the staircase though Ron was decidedly not thinking about that -- Hermione studied him.

"I think you were very mature as well today, you know. By not taking credit for something you didn't do and all."

"Well, you know, Mum would've killed me if she'd ever found out," He said, shrugging and trying not to blush. He still felt like an absolute arse.

"Malfoy's also been quite mature to help us and not keep up with petty, schoolboy rivalries," she said, completely ignoring that whole messy You-Know-Who issue, and then, bit her bottom lip for a moment. "And I think... I think perhaps you ought to thank him."

//

Why'd she have to say that? He thought bitterly as he crept down the stairs later that night. What's so good about being mature anyway?

The orange light from the gas lamps pooled out through the open door and he paused in the doorway, feeling stupid and sleepy and more than a bit angry at Hermione for making him do this. Malfoy was hunched over the table like always but instead of his usual disgusting habit of biting at his fingernails, he was chewing absent-mindedly on one of the bat-shaped biscuits with orange and black icing that Ron's mum had baked as a Halloween treat. He had a whole plate of them along with a positively massive glass of pumpkin juice on the table beside him.

"Don't let Hermione see you with that stuff near the books, she'll go spare," Ron said even though he rather wished Hermione would catch Malfoy just so he could watch her hex the git.

Malfoy choked on his biscuit, coughing and looking up at him, wild-eyed and surprised, in a way that quite reminded Ron of the first night Malfoy'd shown up to read with him.

"Shit, Weasley, put a bell on, would you?" Malfoy gasped after taking a drink of his pumpkin juice to wash down the biscuit stuck in his throat.

"Sorry," he said, mostly out of habit, not because he actually was. He walked over to the table, unsure as to how he was meant to go about thanking someone he couldn't stand. Distractedly, he tapped his fingers on a book. It made a low, rumbling growling noise in reply. "I... er, I got your note."

Malfoy, who'd gone back to reading his book, jerked his head up quickly, his face betraying an eagerness that Ron had never really imagined lazy, drawling Malfoy had in him. "Did you show it to Granger? What'd she say?"

"It's good," he said. Malfoy's lips twitched into an almost-smile, there was a smear of orange icing on the side of his mouth and it reminded Ron suddenly of the Cannons shirt he had hidden safely under his mattress. "But... er, yeah, not quite right. Apparently that one's only really good for if you've lost something or something like that."

"Oh," Malfoy said, his face falling for a second before he recovered, pasting the usual expression of relaxed rudeness back in place. "Someone ought to owl Longbottom, then, doubtless he'd have use of it."

"Oi! Neville's a good bloke," Ron said sharply, automatically defending Neville even though... well, he probably could get quite a lot of use out of the spell. "He knows a lot about plants, you know."

"Well, if I ever need a gardener, I'll be sure to drop him an owl," Malfoy sneered. He stood there a moment longer, staring at the orange icing on the side of Malfoy's mouth, unable to look away from it for very long for some odd reason. He stepped back after a minute, shaking his head and turning toward the door. Forget thanking Malfoy, he thought, he just wanted to go to sleep. He'd have to think of another way to get it over with in the morning.

"You're going, then?" Malfoy asked, his voice pitching up strangely, like he was anxious or annoyed or something.

"Yeah. I'm well knackered," he said, turning back and shrugging, "er... so, yeah, goodnight."

Malfoy sort of half-shrugged and waved him off, looking back down at his book. Ron stopped in the doorway, his back to Malfoy and his fingers sliding over the cool, solid wood.

Oh, fucking hell.

"And, you know... thanks. You know, for finding the spell."

//

Hermione wrote him a million little notes the next morning, sliding them across the table silently when Harry and Ginny weren't looking, driving him mad without even opening her mouth, until he finally broke and hissed that, yes, he did bloody well do exactly what she told him to do and to please stop nagging him. She sat back with satisfied look on her face, ignoring Harry and Ginny's questioning looks, and Ron had to actually bite his tongue to keep from telling her off. He should have been used to her pushing and prodding him to be "more mature" and "act like an adult" and not just as if he were an "abnormally tall little boy".

Should have been, but he wasn't.

He didn't know that he'd ever get used to it, really, and found it incredibly unfair that she didn't treat Harry the same way when they both knew full well that Harry could be just as immature and idiotic as him sometimes.

Case in point: Trying to strangle Malfoy with his bare hands.

He wouldn't dare say anything like that to her, though. Firstly, he had no real desire to be lectured in all the ways Harry was so vastly more mature than he was. Secondly, he knew that, with his luck, Harry would overhear the conversation and then be all brooding and ticked off that Ron thought he was immature and it wouldn't matter how many times he tried to explain that he thought immaturity was a good thing -- at least most of the time -- as Harry could be stubborn as an old broom when he wanted to be.

After lunch he had high hopes that the rest of the day would be better; Hermione was happy, Harry and Ginny weren't asking questions, his mum had made some brilliant sandwiches for lunch, and Malfoy hadn't even attempted to rub Ron's thanks in his face. He should have known, of course, that it was only a matter of time.

He looked up when Ginny let out a squeak, and, really, were it not for the fact that his voice was considerably deeper than hers, it could have been said that he squeaked himself.

He whipped around and stared at Hermione as if to say, "look what you've done" but she only made a face at him for a moment before looking back to Malfoy. He was standing in the doorway, biting at the inside of his lip and trying to look surly but failing quite miserably as, in Ron's opinion, it looked more like he was going to throw up more than anything else.

"W-- well done with that spell," Hermione ventured, her voice a bit breathless and anxious sounding. When she spoke it shocked absolutely no one except perhaps Malfoy whose eyes had flicked to Ron as if he'd been thinking Ron would be the one to speak to him first. Not bloody likely.

"It wasn't the right one," Malfoy said after a moment, a petulant quality to his voice.

"Well, no," Hermione admitted, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. "But it's a... a really good start."

"A start," Malfoy said flatly.

Hermione nodded quickly, trying to smile but her lips wavering, and Ron had a vague urge to bang his own head on the table repeatedly until he passed out. "Yes, a really good one."

Malfoy cut his eyes away at that, scowling and looking over at the door as if it were the most interesting thing he'd ever seen in his life. And then, quite suddenly, he turned and strode over to the table, pulling out the chair next to Ron's and sitting down without looking at any of them. He took a book off of Ron's stack, flipped it open, and began reading as if they weren't even there. Or, Ron was sure, that's Malfoy was trying to look like, but Ron could see that Malfoy's jaw was clenching and unclenching rhythmically and that the hand in his lap was balled into a tight, white-knuckled fist.

For a few minutes they just stared at Malfoy, unsure and waiting for something to happen -- for him to make some nasty remark or something like that -- but he just continued to clench his jaw and to pretend that he was pretending he didn't know they were there. And, eventually, it was almost as if they each had a private moment of "well, if it's not going to do anything interesting..." and went back to their reading.

Ron snuck a look at Malfoy out of the corner of his eye, taking in the bent head, too-long hair, and tense jaw, and he couldn't help wondering just how long Malfoy'd had to stand outside the door before he'd managed to work up the nerve to step inside.

//

The attic of Grimmauld Place was, Ron decided, definitely his least favourite room of the house. Before, it had always been Mrs Black's old bedroom that gave Ron the shivers because it still reeked of hippogriff shit and Sirius' utter despair but, upon setting one foot in the truly fucking terrifying attic, he'd known it was definitely the room he'd be having nightmares about from now on.

It was just as dark and dusty as the rest of the house but with no heating charms to keep out the frostiness of winter. Odd shadows played along the walls that looked like nothing when you looked straight at them but, out of the corner of your eye, seemed to take life and the form of people or beasts. A malevolent feeling of being watched hung in the cold air, stifling any cheerful feelings like a heavy blanket and Ron was almost positive that someone -- something -- was whispering but whenever he tried to concentrate on the sound, the words, it died out. As if it knew he was listening.

He didn't care if his mum and dad and fucking Mad-Eye had all said that the attic was no more dangerous than the rest of the house and ready to be gone through, there was something up here, something bad. He just knew it. And it was, he thought, incredibly unfair and quite telling that his mum hadn't sent Hermione and Ginny up here as well. Oh, yes, she said it was because there'd be heavy things that needed lifting but it wasn't as though Hermione couldn't do a bloody levitation charm ("...Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long.") or that Ginny were some frail little flower and Ron knew it was really because she didn't think it'd be safe for them. Ron wished he was a bloody girl.

He'd only just begun to relax when, out of nowhere, Malfoy yelped and then cursed loudly, scaring the absolute fuck out of Ron.

"What? What?" Ron spun around, his heart pounding as he pulled his wand out of his back pocket, just positive that Malfoy'd found some horrible, cursed fuzzy toy and now they were all going to die.

Malfoy was staring down at his hand and biting his lip. "I got a sliver."

If Ron'd been close enough, he would have hit him. "You scared the shit out of me because you got a sliver?"

"Well, it hurt," Malfoy whinged. "Still does, in fact."

Ron looked down to Harry who was sitting on the floor beside him, rolling his eyes and making a disgusted face. It was a bit like being back at school, Ron thought.

"Stop whimpering and heal yourself," Harry said, turning back to the trunk full of ancient junk he was trying half-heartedly to organise.

"I can't," Malfoy said after a moment, voice flat, as he stared at the back of Harry's head.

"Come off it, Malfoy," Harry spat, sounding irritated by Malfoy's very presence in the universe, "any first year can do a simple healing spell."

"What, did you run to the hospital wing every time you scraped your ickle knee?" Ron sneered, grinning when Harry snorted.

"No," Malfoy snapped, his cheeks gone a bit pink, "I just haven't got my wand."

"Lose it in some rubbish pile while you were digging for your lunch, did you?" Harry said, looking over his shoulder and smiling nastily. And Ron snickered but couldn't help feeling a bit stupid for not noticing even once that Malfoy'd been without his wand the entire time he'd been there. He'd just assumed...

Malfoy shot Harry a dirty look, but bit back whatever rude thing he was going to reply with, looking up at the rafters before grinding out. "No, Potter, McGonagall took it."

"Professor McGonagall?" Ron said, his eyebrows shooting up.

"No, the other McGonagall-- yes, Professor McGonagall, you idiot," Malfoy sneered. "She said she didn't trust me. Whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean."

"Well, Malfoy, it means you're a horrible little shit. It's not a difficult concept to grasp, really," Harry said as held up, by two fingers, something that looked almost as though it had, at some point, been a sock but was so mouldy and moth-bitten it could have been anything, eyed it for a moment and then flung it over into the corner.

"She's a smart woman, McGonagall. I've always liked her," Ron said, snickering.

"Oh, yes, and if she were just a thousand years younger, you'd fucking kiss her," Malfoy spat before turning away and stomping over to the stairwell that led down to the door on the fourth floor landing.

Ron was pleased for a moment, glad to see Malfoy go and glad to get to spend some time with Harry, just the two of them, but then it hit him -- if Malfoy's hand did hurt, he could very well go hunt down Ron's mum to fix it. And if Malfoy did that, Ron's mum would know, whether Malfoy actually told her or not, that Ron hadn't helped him. And if Ron's mum knew that Ron hadn't helped Malfoy, even if technically Malfoy hadn't asked him to, Ron's mum would be none too pleased with him.

"Oi! Where're you going? Come here, let me see it," Ron said, stepping quickly around the old trunks and boxes and piles of junk.

"No! Are you mad?" Malfoy said, holding his hand to his chest and eyeing Ron as he stepped up to him. "You'll turn my hand into a hoof or something equally ridiculous."

"Just shut up and let me heal it for you," Ron said, motioning for Malfoy to hold out his hand. Malfoy looked at him for a moment, obviously suspicious of Ron's motives as if he'd forgotten who Ron's mum was, and then, slowly, held out his palm. The sliver did look quite painful -- long and thin and black, embedded underneath the skin of the fatty bit of flesh at the heel of his hand, the skin around it already beginning to look a bit red and inflamed. Ron had really expected more of a tiny little bit of nothing, just Malfoy acting the spoilt child again, not something that might actually cause him actual pain.

"Christ, what'd you do?" Ron asked, wincing as he took ahold of Malfoy's wrist and pointed his wand at the sliver.

"Well, I di-- ah!" Malfoy cut off, gasping as the sliver wormed its way backward out of his skin, the hole healing as it went. "I didn't mean to, I just put my hand on the wall for support is all -- I wasn't feeling it up or anything."

Ron picked up the piece of wood with two fingers, dropped it down onto the floor, and rubbed his fingers over the newly healed skin. Were even the walls of this house evil?

Malfoy's hand was almost as big as Ron's, long fingers and broad palm, and it struck Ron as odd for a moment. Malfoy always acted so snotty and prim, as though he were too good to do anything, and the idea that his hands weren't tiny and girlish was a bit startling.

Malfoy had pushed the sleeve of his jumper up when he was examining his hand and, right at the edge of it, a peek of blackness etched in his skin caught Ron's eye. He pushed the sleeve up to Malfoy's elbow without even thinking about it, without thinking about how rude it was, and stared in utter shock at the skull and snake tattooed on Malfoy's pale skin. He really had done it, he'd actually taken The Dark Mark and become a Death Eater.

Malfoy jerked his arm free of Ron's hold, pulling his sleeve down quickly and looking away, high spots of colour on his cheeks. Ron stepped back, staring, completely gobsmacked.

Malfoy stood there a moment and then muttered something that Ron didn't understand as he turned away, hurrying down the stairs and out of the attic.

Ron stared after him for a moment, unable to really believe what he'd seen. Harry'd said a million times that he thought Malfoy had taken The Mark but... Ron just hadn't believed it. Because Malfoy, for all that he'd done, wasn't Snape. Nor was he, no matter how much he may have looked like him, actually his father. He was the same age as them, for fuck's sake -- seventeen-year-olds weren't meant to be Death Eaters, they hadn't even finished school. He shook his head, confused and feeling ill, and walked back over to where Harry was wearing a manky three-pointed hat and flipping through an old robe catalogue, yawning massively, completely oblivious.

//

Two weeks later, Ron still hadn't managed to tell anyone about Malfoy's arm. He'd tried to several times -- he'd opened his mouth to tell Harry, Hermione, and Ginny, and he'd even tried to talk to his parents once after dinner -- but he just couldn't seem to get the words out. He had a sinking suspicion that his inability to speak had a lot to do with the fact that somehow, without even realising it, he'd managed to get used to Malfoy.

He'd got used to him eating with them instead of after. He'd got used to Malfoy sitting beside him in the library and making disgusting noises as he bit at his fingers. He'd got used to Malfoy wandering around the drawing room looking bored as Harry and Ron played Exploding Snap and Hermione and Ginny talked about whatever it was they talked about. He'd got used to the way, when his mum smiled at Malfoy and called him "dear", she actually meant it. He'd just got used to Malfoy being there. All the bloody time.

He tried to remind himself that Malfoy was an awful prat but since he wasn't actually doing anything awful anymore in was a bit hard to keep the thought in his mind. It was a good trick, that.

Ron just couldn't... He knew how everyone would react if they knew about The Mark. He knew it would make everyone act differently toward Malfoy and he didn't blame them, he just... knew. And for whatever stupid reason, he didn't want to be the reason it happened, he didn't want to be the one who started it. He wished Malfoy would wear a fucking short-sleeved shirt for once.

He sighed and closed his book, rolling his shoulders to try to rid himself of some of the tenseness that had seemed to settle on him approximately two seconds after Malfoy'd left the attic, and let his eyes flick over to Malfoy for at least the nine-thousandth time in the last hour.

Just then, out of nowhere, a ginger-coloured blur leapt up onto the table right across from Malfoy.

"FUCK!" Malfoy shouted, scrambling back in his chair. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?"

"Oh, calm down, it's just my cat," Hermione said.

"That's a cat?" Malfoy said, his voice cracking on the last word. "Are you sure?"

"Of course," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Crookshanks, off the table, please."

Crookshanks didn't get off the table, though. In fact, he didn't even acknowledge that Hermione had spoken at all, just stepped forward, his yellow eyes fixed on Malfoy and his tail twitching. Malfoy shrank back even further into his chair, eyes wide and terrified.

"It's going to maul me," He breathed.

Ron knew that Crookshanks had a knack for telling when something was off about people but he hadn't come anywhere near Malfoy the entire time he'd been there so Ron had assumed that there wasn't anything really wrong with Malfoy. Or nothing of interest anyway. Crookshanks had gone after Scabbers immediately and trusted Padfoot right off, after all. He wasn't one to wait around, that Crookshanks.

But, he thought, what if he'd just not felt like it at the time? What if he'd just... waited? What if this was when he was going to pass judgement on Malfoy? What if...

Ron's eyes flicked down to Malfoy's forearm and he wondered wildly for a moment if Crookshanks was capable of gnawing off a man's entire arm.

"Crookshanks! Get down!" Hermione said firmly. Crookshanks ignored her and as his tail stopped twitching and his ears flattened out on his head, Hermione made an irritated noise and stood up, reaching for him. Just as Crookshanks pounced.

There was a loud gasp from Ginny and Malfoy twisted his face away, eyes squeezed shut. Ron had to close his eyes, unable to watch.

After a moment, during which no pained screams issued from Malfoy's chair, the low sound of purring filled Ron's ears. He opened one eye, and then the other. And felt his mouth fall open.

"I think he likes you, Malfoy," Ginny said, her voice utterly confused as Crookshanks rubbed his squashed face against Malfoy's chest, purring pleasantly, his tail flicking back and forth happily. Malfoy stared down at his lap for a moment, blinking in a startled sort of way, and then looked up, his eyes wide as he looked at them, obviously wanting someone to explain.

No one had an explanation though. Certainly not Ron who'd been expecting be splattered with Malfoy's blood by then and, when he looked around, he decided that certainly not anyone else either. Ginny looked just as confused as she'd sounded and Harry looked dead horrified. When he looked up at Hermione -- still standing next to him, her hands held out in front of her, one eyebrow cocked up and her mouth dropped open -- the only word he could think of was dumbstruck.

When Malfoy patted Crookshanks awkwardly, Crookshanks only purred louder.

//

Lupin came for dinner the last week of November, shaking snow out of his hair and looking as shabby as ever. He'd been sacked from another job, apparently, but Ron had a feeling that he'd have shown up to check on the Harry-not-killing-Malfoy issue eventually even if he hadn't been in desperate need of feeding up on Ron's mum's stew.

Over pudding, Hermione managed to pull him into a conversation about House-Elf rights which then lead to a discussion on Werewolf rights which somehow made the leap to Muggle Studies lessons. Ron wasn't entirely sure how she managed that one because, no matter how hard he tried to pay attention, he'd always had the rather annoying habit of going a bit glassy-eyed whenever Hermione started using long words.

When she'd got to the part about why she felt Muggle Studies should be a mandatory course, Lupin looked supremely uncomfortable, cutting his eyes over to Malfoy every few seconds, obviously expecting that Hermione's views on the importance of knowing how Muggles truly are would spark up Malfoy's infamous Pureblood Superiority rubbish.

Lupin cleared his throat lightly when Hermione finally took a breath. "I think perhaps the reason Muggle Studies is not considered the most important of courses is at least somewhat due to the fact that there are so few wizards who actually have contact with Muggles on a daily basis."

"But that's exactly why it is important, don't you see?" Hermione said, her face flushed and fire in her eyes. "Because they'll never learn on their own that Muggles aren't really so bad; they'll just continue thinking Muggles are below them and things will never change."

Lupin was quiet at that and Ron thought that he probably would have been as well. There wasn't much of a way to argue with reasoning like that. Of course, the fact that he'd not have to take any of the lessons didn't exactly hurt.

"You know," Malfoy said suddenly, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of bread and pointing to Hermione, "I think Granger's got the right idea. It would have been rather helpful to know that Muggles weren't really like Martin Miggs. You know that I didn't see one of those silly little hats even once?"

"I believe they're called 'berets', dear," Ron's mum said after a bit, while everyone else was still too stunned to move. "More stew?"

//

"Do you come down here every night?" He asked as he sat down across from Malfoy, taking Ginny's chair as it seemed a bit weird to sit next to him if he didn't actually have to.

"Well, obviously not," Malfoy scoffed, rolling his eyes like it was the stupidest question he'd ever heard. "I do have to sleep sometimes. I'm not a fucking vampire, you know."

Ron was startled by the snort of laughter that forced out of him, remembering the comment he'd snapped to Harry when he'd been confessing that Malfoy helped them. Malfoy shot him a look like he thought Ron was mad, his top lip pulling up and his eyebrows furrowing in the middle. Ron cleared his throat, trying not smile, and just shook his head and pulled a book toward him. It wasn't as though he could have actually explained it without just making it worse.

He settled in to read. And settled. And settled.

He couldn't seem to get comfortable, he shifted every few minutes -- a few times his chair squeaking especially loud and making Malfoy look up at him, the "are you mad?" expression a little worse each time -- but it was no good, he just couldn't find a position he liked. He tried both feet on the floor, he tried one leg extended, he tried crossing his ankles, putting his elbows on the table, putting one elbow on the table, leaning back in his chair -- nothing.

He was bloody restless, he realised, that was the problem. He couldn't relax to sleep, he couldn't concentrate to read, he didn't want to just sit or lie -- he wanted to talk with someone, to move, to just do something. But it wasn't exactly as though there was anyone to talk with or anything to do at half two when everybody, including the portraits, were fast asleep.

Everybody except Malfoy anyway.

Ron looked up from his book slowly. Malfoy was reading unsuspectingly, head bowed, shoulders slouched, letting his pale hair hang in his face and chewing the nail on his index finger to the quick.

Was he actually desperate enough to try to talk with Malfoy?

He looked down at his book, his fingers twitched against the cover.

"So... er, you've read Martin Miggs, then?" He said, his mouth filling in the first possibly topic his brain could produce.

"What?" Malfoy said, looking up and -- again -- looking at him like he was mad. He felt his ears flush a bit and then Malfoy's eyes widened. "Oh, you mean... yeah, definitely, didn't everyone?"

Relieved that Malfoy'd got it without having to have it explained, he breathed a sigh and nodded. "Yeah, me as well. I had loads of them."

Malfoy's face fell. "Oh. Well, I never had any of my own. I borrowed them. At school, you know. I never owned any, no."

"Hold on... you never owned something?" He asked, incredulously. "Pull the other one, it's got bells on it."

"My father..." Malfoy trailed off, and then, starting again, an air of dismissiveness to his voice, said, "He thought they were stupid; he didn't think they'd be good for me."

"What?" He laughed, leaning forward. "There's nothing wrong with Martin Miggs, your dad's mental."

"Yeah, well, he's not much of anything now, is he? Seeing how he's dead and all," Malfoy snapped, glaring at Ron for a moment and then running his fingers through his hair and looking down.

It felt like the bottom had dropped out of his stomach.

He'd completely forgotten.

"Shit. I'm sorry," he said quickly, feeling so sick with himself he could hardly stand it. "I mean... I mean, I'm sorry about your parents. I don't know, if my mum and dad... I don't know what I'd do."

Malfoy looked up at him, a look on his face that Ron had never seen before, and Ron swallowed hard. He didn't even know if he really was sorry because they'd been truly fucking awful people and it wasn't as though he actually gave two shits about Malfoy either but he felt that it needed to be said either way. Because Malfoy hadn't been rude to him and it was, he thought, probably quite rude for one to make jokes about a person's dead parents even if one was too thick to remember that they were dead. It'd been callous and stupid and he wasn't... well, yeah, he could be a fair bit of both most of the time but he didn't mean to. He hadn't meant to.

He looked down at his book, mentally kicking himself in the arse for being such an... arse. He shook his head at his own fabulous idiocy and pulled his book down into his lap, trying to make his long, gangling form as small as he possibly could -- as small as he felt, even.

Well done with the conversation, you utter twat, he thought sourly.

The air was thick with awkward tenseness and Ron only wanted to sink further into his chair the longer he sat there. He was just beginning to think he should really be getting to bed when Malfoy's voice made him look up. Malfoy had his elbows up on the table, his hands held together in front of his chin, and a faraway look in his eyes as though he wasn't even speaking to Ron, just... saying to say it. As though he'd forgotten Ron was even there or perhaps just didn't care at the moment.

"I didn't even know he was dead until McGonagall told me. I assumed Mother was but I didn't think... I didn't think he was as well. Dumbledore said he'd be safe in Azkaban, you know? I don't know why I believed him, he always lied about everything else, the fucking fraud."

Ron opened his mouth to defend Dumbledore -- you shouldn't speak ill of the dead unless you wanted them to come back and kick you in the bum, his mum had always told him -- but Malfoy started again before he could.

"I just kept telling myself that he was alive, you know? That I'd get to see him again one day. I hadn't... he refused to let Mother bring me to see him, he said he didn't want me to see him that way. I didn't fucking care -- I just wanted to see him, I didn't care where he was or what he looked like. But he would never listen. He never listened, he always knew what was best for everyone." Malfoy smiled wryly, rubbing his fingers over his mouth, staring at the wall or something else that only he could see. "Last time I saw him was the morning before I came back to Hogwarts after hols fifth year. We took our brooms out, we always did that last day of hols but he had business so we had to do it early. Or... something, I don't even remember why. But I remember that it'd snowed during the night and there was this fresh, untouched snow everywhere, this... blinding white everywhere. It'd hurt my eyes to look at it."

Ron couldn't even breathe, completely waylaid by Malfoy's words. His face was hot and he felt ill, like he was going to throw up or faint or something, he wasn't sure. Hearing all of it, hearing the emptiness in Malfoy's voice when he spoke -- it was unreal. It was horribly, horribly unreal. Malfoy's feelings, his grief, just laid out before Ron like free samples at Fortescue's and he couldn't even move to make it stop.

He'd never imagined that Malfoy felt anything at all, much less something like love. He'd never imagined that Malfoy's parents -- his awful father -- were actually part of his life, actually spent time with him beyond teaching him new and interesting Dark curses. He'd never imagined they did anything as ordinary as take their brooms out for a fly on Christmas morning. He'd never imagined because it wasn't ever for him to know. Because they hated each other and that's the way it always was and always would be. That was just... the way it was meant to be.

I shouldn't be here, he thought wildly, his stomach twisting and twisting. I shouldn't be listening to this, it's too private, it's too much. I should leave. This is wrong.

"We talked about my marks and how I needed to spend more time revising for my fucking O.W.L.S. 'I only want what's best for you, Draco,' he'd said. 'My only wish is for you to do as well as I know you can.'" Malfoy mimicked his father's deeper voice, and then laughed -- rough and low, broken-sounding -- like Ron had never heard him laugh before, it made him wince like a knife across his skin. "Oh, if he could see me now."

Malfoy sat there for a long time, staring at nothing with an odd expression on his face, Ron shifted uncomfortably in his chair, unsure if he should... say something or just leave. He didn't know how to comfort people and he definitely didn't know how he'd even begin to go about comforting Malfoy. Or even if he was supposed to. He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, trying to look anywhere but at Malfoy when Malfoy seemed to break out of whatever trance he was in and looked over at Ron, his oddly-coloured eyes completely empty of any emotion whatsoever.

"You know," he said, tilting his head to the side, "you're the only person who's said you were sorry my parents are dead."

Ron's cheeks burned and he looked down, embarrassed and a bit shocked. No one else had said anything? No one? But they hadn't seen Malfoy this way, had they? They didn't know how he felt -- what he felt. They all assumed, just as Ron had, that he didn't care. But he did.

Malfoy stood then and, without another word, walked out of the library and up the stairs, back to his bedroom.

Ron stared down at the tabletop for a long time after he'd gone.

//

"Perhaps it's some form of Stockholm Syndrome?" Hermione whispered to Harry, as she directed her wand to artfully arrange another bunch of tinsel on the tree.

"Hermione! He's not a hostage!" Harry hissed, his glasses slipping down his nose as he directed his tinsel distractedly, landing it in a lump on the tip of one branch which drooped pathetically under the weight. "We're helping the idiot!"

"I know that!" Hermione hissed back, cheeks flushed, as she tried to sort out Harry's sad lump of tinsel. "I just I can't think of any other explanation as to why he's... well, he's been so different since he's been here."

"Yeah," Harry muttered, glaring across the room.

He hadn't been able to take his eyes off of Ginny and Malfoy since the moment Ginny'd dragged Malfoy off with her to set out Ron's mum's holiday trinkets around the drawing room -- as if Ginny had eyes for anyone but Harry and Malfoy would ever stoop to fancying a Weasley. "The Woefully Wandless" she called the two of them as Mum still refused to let her do underage magic even if Hogwarts was shut up and McGonagall still had Malfoy's wand. Malfoy'd looked a bit frightened as Ginny'd had an enormous bow stuck to the top of her head and a maniacal glint in her eye when she'd grabbed ahold of him but he seemed to be almost enjoying himself now as they argued over where to place what.

Ron had no idea what that syndrome thing Hermione been talking about was but he reckoned he knew why Malfoy'd been acting the way he had. He reckoned that he hadn't been able to stop thinking about listening to Malfoy's quiet despair pour out like a broken tap for more than a few minutes at a time.

It wouldn't have been so bad, he thought, if Malfoy didn't act as though nothing had ever happened -- if he acted sadder or... something. Malfoy didn't though, if it hadn't been for the morning directly after Ron could have just told himself that it had all been a really awful dream.

Malfoy'd skived off breakfast and only shown up in the library right before lunch, he'd looked as though he hadn't slept at all -- not as though he'd been crying, just as though he'd lain awake all night remembering. Which was somehow even more horrible than the idea that perhaps he had cried. It wasn't normal, really, for someone not to cry about things like that. He'd seen or at least heard Harry cry about his parents and Sirius and... well, Harry hadn't even known his parents, had he? And he'd really only known Sirius for a bit. Malfoy, apparently, had known his parents quite well though.

When Ron's mum had come in to announce that lunch was waiting for them -- roast chicken from the night before on bread, he remembered -- Malfoy'd grabbed his arm, holding him back. He'd been staring resolutely at the hole in the shoulder of Ron's jumper as he mumbled, "Look, Weasley, if you'd not..."

He'd trailed off, and then scowled and looked Ron right in the face. "If you haven't already, I'd rather you didn't tell anyone about last night, all right?"

Ron had only been able to nod stupidly, his stomach churning, as he'd tried avoid looking at Malfoy's face or feel the soft pressure of Malfoy's fingers on his arm. At the time, he'd not even been able to imagine telling someone all that he'd heard -- not without vomiting, he'd been sure. It was just too much and he'd tried to bury it deep inside himself, not think of it, but almost every time he looked at Malfoy -- which was becoming more and more often, much to his chagrin -- he would get a flash of it, fresh and stinging, in his mind.

He almost wished now that he hadn't said he wouldn't tell anyone. And he wished even moreso that he could've actually been able to form the words to tell the story even if he hadn't said that he wouldn't. He wouldn't've told Harry obviously but perhaps Hermione...

He shook his head, sighing and propping his elbow on his knee and chin in his hand, as he flicked the last bits of tinsel at the tree.

He looked at all their handiwork for a moment and smiled without even realising it. His dad had transfigured the tree out of a coat rack just like he did every year only this one year it was a strange, old, snake-looking one from the attic instead of their beaten up one at The Burrow. It was very fine tree though, as always -- tall with full, green branches, very majestic and stately. And leaning to the left.

"Oh, Arthur, it's wonderful!" Mum had cried upon seeing it for the first time, and then, after second, tilted to her head to the side. "Oh, but it's leaning again."

"Still can't quite manage to get the hang of trees," his dad had said wryly, winking at Ron and Ginny conspiratorially when their mum wasn't looking. Ginny'd giggled and Ron'd tried not to giggle as that was entirely embarrassing seeing as how he was a man and all. They laughed because they knew very well that their dad could transfigure a perfect fir tree, they'd watched him do it every year before they'd gone to school and then last year as well. And then, right after he was content with the size and shape of it, they watched as he closed one eye, squinted the other, and very carefully charmed it to lean just slightly to the left. It was a secret that the three of them shared.

"Oh, well, it's wonderful leaning or no," his mum had said, waving her hands and smiling beautifully at his dad. She'd turned to the two of them then, and with an arch of eyebrow and a rub of her hands, said, "Now, for the decorations."

And decorate they did.

He and his dad had gone to The Burrow to get all his mum's boxes of baubles, bows, ribbons, and trinkets. Ginny made the paper chains as she always had when they were children and Hermione did a clever bit of spellwork that made them flick and blink, changing to all manner of merry colours. He and Harry had made a sort-of-angel by sticking the wings of a broken Snitch they'd found right over the Black family crest of a goblet that Mundungus had somehow managed to miss when he was nicking things.

Even Malfoy'd contributed something to the decorations -- a set of four crystal and silver ornaments he'd found up in the attic.

"My mother has a set just like these," he'd said as he'd pulled off the top of the black velvet box and held it out to Ron's mum, his face hopeful and a bit flushed from running all the way up the stairs and back again. "I thought perhaps we could hang them as well."

His mum had looked down at them, distaste flickering over her face for just a second and then she looked back to Malfoy and smiled. "Of course, dear, that's a lovely idea."

Malfoy'd taken ages to hang them, painstakingly examining the tree and then placing and replacing them until he was happy that they were exactly as they should be. Ron'd waited until no one was looking to sneak a look at one of them and he'd known instantly why his mum hadn't really wanted them on there -- they were finer than any of the shabby Weasley ornaments, shining and brilliant, heavy and round, a crystal ring around the outside and a silver inlay bearing a coiled snake right in the centre, a thin black silk ribbon to hang them on through a hole in the top. They were beautiful, breathtaking, but very... Slytherin as well.

His heart had clenched oddly in his chest as he run his fingers over it and he'd tried not to think of the way Malfoy'd said his mum had a set just like them.

"Ron!" Ginny's voice called, pulling him out of his thoughts. He flushed when he realised that he'd been sitting there in front of the tree for Merlin only knew how long. "Dinner's ready, would you come on?"

"Yeah, I'm coming," he muttered, glancing back at the tree one last time, a glint of silver catching the firelight and his eye as he turned away.

//

He awoke Christmas morning to the feeling that something was off but it took him a moment to sit up, scrub the sleep out of his eyes, and yawn hugely before realising exactly what it was; his stocking was on the pillow next to him but there were no presents on the foot of his bed. He gasped loudly, kicking off the duvet, and crawled to the foot of the bed, peeking over the side in the hopes they were just on the floor.

They weren't.

He stared down at the floor, horrified. Where were all his presents? Where... where were all his wonderful presents?

"Oh, now here's a lovely way to wake up Christmas morning," Harry's sleep-roughened voice said. "Get your arse out of the air before I go blind."

"You're already blind, mate," Ron laughed, looking over his shoulder at Harry's sleepy, myopic smile, and then turning around to pull his stocking over into his lap. "My arse could only make your vision better."

"Probably," Harry snorted as he sat up, ruffling his hair and stretching before reaching over to the bedside table for his glasses. He blinked a few times and then looked over at Ron. "Er..."

"I know!" Ron said, knowing exactly what Harry was thinking, and waving his hand around. "Weird, isn't it? I've no idea where they are!"

"Perhaps they're under the tree downstairs?" Harry said after a minute of thought, shrugging slightly when Ron made a face. "I don't know, that's what the Dursleys always did for Ickle Diddykins. I always reckoned it was that the weight of his huge load of presents plus his fat arse would've broken the bed more than anything else but... yeah."

"Well, I hope you're right," Ron said, opening his stocking and sighing rather dramatically. "It just wouldn't be Christmas without my hideous maroon jumper."

Harry snickered as he pulled his own stocking off his pillow and opened it as well.

Ron was a bit surprised by the amount but he chalked it up to the fact she had several less stockings to worry about this year -- just himself, Harry, Ginny, and Hermione. A new toothbrush, a new comb, and a really nice quill. A rolled up Quidditch magazine, a few new pairs each of socks and pants -- the pants at which Harry'd laughed quite heartily until he realised he had the same. The usual tin of lip balm that he never used and small bottle of lotion that he did use but, he thought, definitely not the way his mum intended. A small bag of gold wrapped chocolate galleons, a satsuma, a few brazil nuts, and a single shining knut in the toe.

They'd both just ripped into their chocolate galleons when the door burst open and Ginny came bounding in, dressing gown streaming behind her like some sort of cape. Hermione walked in moment later, rolling her eyes at Ginny's energy as she sat down on the end of Harry's bed.

"Are you two awake?" Ginny asked, after she'd jumped on Ron's bed, the bouncing nearly upending him onto the floor.

"No," Harry said around a mouthful of chocolate, smirking. "No, we're definitely still asleep."

"Don't be cheeky, you, or there'll be no mistletoe in your future."

Ron and Hermione coughed at that. Well, Ron choked, really, and then coughed -- Hermione just coughed. Harry turned a bit pink around the ears and Ginny'd cheeks flushed a brilliant red but didn't stop smiling.

Ron scratched the back of his ear, trying to come up with something at least slightly less disgusting to think about. "Er... Oh! Did you two have presents? We didn't have any presents!"

Ginny looked over at Hermione who smiled sheepishly. "Oh, I think that might be because of me. I was talking to Ginny about the sorts of things my parents did as Christmas traditions -- you know, because I... I decided not to go home this year. And, well, I think your mother might've overheard and switched things about to try to make me feel more at home here."

Ron knew how Hermione had been a bit torn and upset about whether to go home for Christmas or not but he couldn't quite imagine his mum changing any of her traditions just because of one person. She'd not really had much of a chance though, he knew -- she'd always just accepted Harry as a Weasley and treated him like she treated all the rest of them -- but still. "But that doesn't sound like Mum at all!"

"I don't know, Ron, she's been really... accommodating this year," Ginny said, leaning back on her arms to look at Ron. "I mean, she let Draco put those horrid ornaments on the tree and everything."

Ron blinked at her a moment -- and not only because she'd called Malfoy by his given name. "You think they're horrid?"

"What, with that great ugly snake on them?" She asked, her face screwed up in distaste as she twisted around to look at him fully. Hermione and Harry seemed to agree with her as they both had quite similar expressions.

"Well, yeah, but..." Ron trailed off, feeling a bit silly for saying anything now, "they're so shiny."

Ginny rolled her eyes and reached for one of his chocolate galleons.

"Oi!" He said, grabbing it up out of her reach and eyeing her. "And just what do you think you're doing?"

"It's Christmas, Ronnie," she said, pouting and using their mum's nickname for him that she knew he hated. "Where's your holiday spirit?"

"In my trousers." He sneered in her face as he grabbed up the rest of the chocolate pieces before she could worm her hand onto one.

"Oh, ew!" She shouted, pulling away and making a face. "You're really disgusting sometimes, did you know?"

Then she looked over at Harry who had been trying to eat a chocolate galleon when he started laughing helplessly and had spitty, melted chocolate dribbling down his chin, and glared. "And you! Wipe your mouth, you look like an arsehole!"

Ron snorted but managed to hold it together for a whole half a second before blurting out, "Literally!"

Which only proved to make Harry laugh even harder and that only made Ron start laughing and that only made Ginny roll her eyes. A smile played at her lips though and he thought that was good enough.

"You're both utterly hopeless," Hermione said, laughing and doing a quick spell over Harry's face to clean up his mess as he was still laughing too hard to bother with it.

"Come on, I think Mum and Dad are already awake," Ginny said, standing up, after they'd managed to calm down a bit, "I swear I smelled her cooking something when we were on our way up here."

"Ah," Harry sighed, pulling off his glasses and wiping his eyes, "now, that... was a lovely way to wake up."

Ron pulled on his tatty dressing gown and smiled, nodding, as they followed Hermione and Ginny down to the kitchen where, sure enough, his mum was already cooking up breakfast. It took ages to finally convince his parents they didn't want breakfast first, they wanted presents first, but they'd finally caved in and they'd all gone back up to the drawing room.

He got his jumper in all its maroon glory, of course, and a mess of new parchment from his parents. Hagrid sent over some of his inedible rock cakes and notes to each of them wishing them a happy Christmas from him and Grawp. Bill and Fleur, who were spending their first Christmas as a married couple with her family (much to Mum's chagrin), sent some delicious chocolates and little picture books of various French sights to both him and Ginny. They also, as some sort of peace offering Ron reckoned, sent their mum a silk scarf which she, quite grudgingly, admitted was gorgeous.

Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and he had all agreed not to worry with gifts for each other since they couldn't exactly do any shopping seeing as how anything but the most vital shops on Diagon Alley had been shut up but he and Ginny had still managed to work up some presents for their parents. They weren't grand gifts or anything but their parents seemed to like them if the way they beamed at him and Ginny was any judge.

For their dad, Harry'd lent him a few galleons so he could pay Hermione back for sending off some of the Muggle money she'd had left over from her birthday to her parents and asking them to go buy a whole load of weird Muggle things his dad could tinker with. And, for their mum, he and Ginny had managed to transfigure one of Ginny's old, empty ink wells into a reasonable-looking glass orchid and with a bit of help from Hermione had managed to spell it to actually smell like one.

Hermione's parents sent her a load of things -- all sorts of clothes including a lovely cream-coloured coat that she and Ginny cooed over for ages, about a million books, a whole range of weird girl things that smelled like flowers and fruit, and then this little box of something called "stationery" that just looked like a bunch of pieces of blue paper with her name printed on them to Ron. Harry didn't get a gift from his relatives which he didn't seem to upset about. He did, however, get another present from Kreacher but wisely chose to just bin it without opening this year.

The only gift that really shocked him was the one from Charlie as Charlie almost always forgot Christmas since he was so busy with his dragons and never even got around to sending their parents' Christmas gifts until after New Years.

He rolled his eyes at the last bit, smiling, though, because he knew Charlie understood; he always got yellow ones, after all. He handed the note off to Ginny as soon as he finished reading it and rummaged through the little bits of shredded paper until his fingers bumped against something smooth.

They all looked the same except for colouring -- flat, smooth discs of stone with a small hole carved into the middle and a thin leather cord pulled through so you could wear it round your neck. Hermione said they were made of jade, some really important stone in China -- Ron just thought they looked quite cool.

"These are loads better than that awful thing Lavender sent you last year," Harry laughed as Ginny, looking a bit forlorn that she couldn't put her own on, tied his for him.

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me, almost had that blocked from my mind," Ron said, glaring at him and feeling his cheeks go hot just at the thought -- my sweetheart, indeed.

It seemed a bit silly to him to wear a necklace -- he wasn't a girl, after all -- but he let Hermione charm it tied for him anyway. He figured he could wear it for a day at least, it being Christmas and all. The stone came just below the dip of his collarbone, cool and smooth against his skin -- everyone said it looked good but he still felt a bit of an arse and couldn't help blushing. He didn't feel so bad though as Harry was just as pink.

A necklace, honestly, he thought as he tugged on it. It better bring good luck or Charlie's getting a bloody skirt next year.

They were just picking up the last bits of wrapping off the floor when Malfoy came sauntering in. He was wearing a brown jumper that Mum had made for Bill about a million years before and a pair of jeans, a sleepily amused expression of his face, and his hair was mussed like he'd not bothered to do more than run his fingers through it before coming downstairs.

"I was beginning to suspect you'd planned to sleep the whole day away," Ron's mum said, and then motioned Malfoy over as she elbowed his dad in the side at the same time. "Now, hurry and open your present so we can go have breakfast."

Ron wasn't sure who was more shocked, him or Malfoy. Ron hadn't even given a thought to his parents giving Malfoy anything for Christmas and by the way his eyebrows shot up under his shaggy fringe, nor had Malfoy.

His mum was practically bouncing with excitement as she handed over an odd-shaped bundle that Ron recognised immediately; a Weasley jumper. She'd made Malfoy a jumper. Was she mad? People like Malfoy didn't wear hand-knit jumpers unless they came from France and cost a thousand galleons. An arm. Malfoy was going to laugh, or worse, make one of those horrible, twisted up faces. His mum was going to be crushed, his dad was going to be angry, Ginny was going to bash Malfoy's head in, and Harry was going to throw him out on his arse.

He watched in horror as Malfoy pulled the ribbon off and pulled the paper away and it was like the world had slowed down just so he could enjoy every truly terrible moment. The paper fell to the floor as Malfoy grabbed the side of the dark green jumper, picking it up and shaking it out, holding it out in front of himself. From where Ron sat, he couldn't see Malfoy's face but he didn't really want to. He rubbed his hand over his jaw and looked around the room to where everyone was staring at Malfoy expectantly, waiting for his reaction.

"It's a jumper, dear," his mum said when Malfoy just kept standing there. As if he could have possibly confused it with something else. Like, perhaps, a plate of biscuits or a pony.

Malfoy lowered the jumper, smiling brilliantly, as though he'd just won an award. Ron gaped.

"It's wonderful. Really soft," Malfoy said, excited and practically petting one of the sleeves. "Really green."

His mum looked fit to bursting with Malfoy's reaction. "I thought you might like to have something of your own to wear for once."

"Thank you, really," Malfoy said, quietly, still staring at his jumper.

"Well, get it on, then, let's see it," his mum said, waving her hands at him impatiently.

Malfoy grinned and whipped the old brown jumper off so quickly that the shirt he was wearing underneath it pulled up a bit over his stomach as it went, a flash of the white skin making Ron blink rapidly, shocked. He felt flushed suddenly and vaguely like something was twisting inside his stomach and he couldn't help wondering if his chocolate galleons had been off.

When Malfoy pulled his jumper down over his head his cheeks were tinged pink, his hair even more mussed, sticking out at odd angles on his head and, if it was even possible, his smile even larger. He ran his hands over his chest and then, at Ron's mum's request, held his arms out and did a turn. Hermione snorted loudly, covering her mouth and leaning against Ron's shoulder when Ginny whistled shrilly and demanded another turn and Harry whipped his head around to look at her so quickly that Ron was amazed it didn't just pop right off his neck.

"Oh!" His mum cried, clapping her hands together. "Yes, you see, you have such lovely colouring, dear, I just knew that shade would compliment you perfectly."

Ron had just assumed it was because Malfoy had been in Slytherin that his mum had chosen the green but, really, now that she mentioned it -- now that he could see it for himself -- the colour really did suit Malfoy. There was a bit of a bluish tint that made it seem cooler somehow and it was so dark and rich it made his pale skin seem luminous instead of just bloodless. He wished she'd come up with some complimentary colours for him for once and stop making all his jumpers bloody maroon.

"Something caught your eye, Weasley?" Malfoy asked, smirking and raising an eyebrow at him when he caught Ron looking at him on the way down to the kitchen for breakfast. He felt his cheeks heat and his stomach twisted strangely again but he ignored it. He obviously just needed some real food.

"I was just trying to figure out what sort of animal's been nesting in your hair is all," he shot back.

Malfoy made a face and lifted his hand as though he were going to brush at his hair as Ron smirked and moved to step around him. But before he could even get a step -- before he could even register the movement, really -- Malfoy's hand whipped out and grabbed his shoulder, stopping him.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Malfoy sneered, tugging lightly at the necklace that Ron had completely forgotten about in all the weirdness with the jumper. "Pressie from Potty?"

"No!" He snapped, flushing, and then, rolling his eyes, "It's from my brother."

"Your brother sends you jewellery?" Malfoy laughed, making a face.

"It's not jewellery!" He sputtered, and then, in a slightly more sniffy manner, said, "It's for good luck."

"Good luck?" Malfoy said, looking down at it for a second longer and then dropping it back against Ron's chest. "And he only sent you one?"

//

Fred and George came round a few hours before Christmas lunch. They seemed in the usual good spirits but a bit tired as the Ministry had recently ordered even more of their anti-Dark Arts product line. They perked up the second they laid eyes on Malfoy, though.

"A Weasley jumper, Mum?" George'd cried, pointing and looking horrified.

"How could you?" Fred had said, shaking his head slowly, clearly traumatised by the very idea.

They'd all got a good laugh out of it. Well, everyone but his mum and Malfoy, who'd looked a bit uncomfortable as he eyed them carefully. He, apparently, knew what was coming.

All through lunch they charmed his food to race around his plate or fall off his fork and, once, for his drink to splash out of glass and down his front. He ground his teeth through it all, apparently refusing to make a scene in front of Ron's mum. Ron watched, feeling a bit sick but not really knowing what else to do. He wasn't about to defend Malfoy in front of everyone; Malfoy'd probably get all prissy about it anyway. He didn't feel quite as badly about it though because Professor Lupin, who'd come for lunch as well, was also watching them and, other than a few rather loud clearings of his throat, he didn't do anything either.

But, when he found the two of them cornering Malfoy outside the toilet on the third floor, he didn't really see any other options. Something had to be done. They'd hexed Malfoy's hair bright blue and his bottom lip was split -- Ron could only hope it was from one of the Trip Jinxes they'd been throwing at him every time he stood up and not from actually hitting him. His face was red with rage, blood dripping down his chin, and he had his fists clenched so tightly at his sides it looked as though his fingers were going to break.

"If I had my wand, you'd be sorry. I'd... I'd--" Malfoy sputtered.

"What, you'd Avada Kedavra us?" George said, nonchalantly twirling his wand between his fingers.

"Oh, come now. This here is The Littlest Death Eater himself, he wouldn't let Blood Traitors like us off so easy. It'd have to be the Cruciatus Curse at least for a bit," Fred said, eyeing Malfoy for a moment and then laughing nastily. "I'll bet he gets a stiffy just thinking about how he could torture us."

"Oi!" Ron said, his heart pounding, feeling sweaty. They both turned to look at him, looking a bit surprised to see him there. "Right, th-- that's enough, I think."

"Pardon? You're not honestly telling us to leave him alone, are you?" Fred asked after a minute, one eyebrow raised.

"After all he's done to you?" George filled in, tilting his head to look at Ron. Ron felt stupid -- so stupid -- standing there defending Malfoy, they were probably going to turn on him next.

"Yeah, I am actually," he managed after a second, swallowing hard. They exchanged a look.

"Has someone done a switching spell on your brain?"

"Perhaps with a potato?"

His cheeks flushed and felt his fingers twitching to draw his wand. "Come on and just leave him alone, all right? He's not done anything recently, has he?"

"Yeah, recently," George said, as if that was obvious. "That's not the point though, is it?"

"Yeah, well..." He trailed off, and then, taking a breath to steel himself, said, "You two have done loads to me and I'm not hexing you when you haven't got your wands, am I?"

"We've never done anything to you that you didn't deserve," Fred said quickly, laughing.

"And he--" George cut his thumb over his shoulder to Malfoy "--deserves much worse than few Trip Jinxes and a pretty new hairstyle."

Ron didn't say anything to that, too confused by what he was doing and too... torn. Because he knew all the things Malfoy had done and he knew that he'd probably have been right there with them if this were only a year previously. But it wasn't.

"But if you're certain."

"We'll leave him to you."

They bowed dramatically at him and he had to look away, running his tongue over his teeth and staring resolutely at the wall wishing they'd just leave already.

After they'd gone, shaking their heads and muttering to each other, Ron looked over to Malfoy. He'd wiped the blood of his mouth and was glaring at Ron. Ron just rolled his eyes and walked over to him.

"I didn't need your help, I was doing fine on my own," Malfoy spat, his swollen lip and brightly-coloured hair mucking up whatever viciousness he was going for.

"Oh, yeah, as your blue hair can attest," Ron said, pursing his lips and shaking his head. "You could just say thanks, you know. I'm sure it wouldn't actually kill you."

Malfoy stared at him a moment, as if actually considering it and then looked away. "Fix my lip."

He sighed, rolling his eyes as he pulled his wand from of his back pocket and pointed it at Malfoy's lip. Malfoy's lips were parted just a bit and Ron could see just the edges of his straight, white top teeth and, to his utter astonishment, also his slightly crooked bottom teeth. Draco Malfoy had crooked teeth, who would have guessed? Malfoy made a small sound as his lip mended, a flash of pink tongue flicking out. Ron blinked and looked away.

"They're gits," He said by way of apologising for his brothers.

"Really? I'd have never guessed on my own," Malfoy sneered. "I can't believe you've lived with them."

"Well, you get sort of used to it after a while, I suppose."

"I wouldn't. I'd never get used to it," Malfoy muttered vehemently after a moment and Ron just shrugged. He thought that Malfoy probably would get used to it. If he could used to living on Muggle streets and living in the same house as Harry, Ron reckoned he could get used to just about anything.

"I... er, I'm not really sure how to put your hair back."

"I can do it; give me your wand," Malfoy said, holding out his hand. Ron stared at him a minute, unsure if he should, but, finally, handed it over, followed as Malfoy headed back into the toilet.

Malfoy made a disgusted noise when he saw his hair in the mirror and looked over to where Ron was leaning against the doorjamb. "They said it was to match my jumper; clearly they're both colour-blind."

Ron smiled slightly and watched as he fixed his hair. He didn't even utter a word -- apparently having mastered non-verbal magic while Ron could barely tie his shoe without muttering -- just pointed Ron's wand at various spots, the colour seeming to run off his hair like ink on a piece of parchment that's had water dumped across it. From where he was standing, with the light in Malfoy's face and the fact that he was too busy concentrating on his spellwork to pull some nasty face, Ron noticed for the first time how much healthier he looked than when he'd first arrived. He was still pointy -- his sharp features would never be really good-looking -- but he'd gained at least most of his weight back and his skin was back to its natural colour and not that sickly grey. His hair wasn't lank and limp anymore but shiny and somehow soft-looking in a way that made Ron's fingers ache to just touch. Malfoy looked much better, yeah. He looked, well... Nice.

"Have I got it all?" Malfoy said distractedly once he'd finished, tilting his head this way and that, trying to see as much of his hair as he could.

Ron pushed himself off the jamb and stepped closer, looking over Malfoy's handiwork. He lifted his hand to touch but realised just what he was doing and put it down quickly, clearing his throat and meeting Malfoy's eyes in the mirror. "Yeah, I think so."

They looked at each other in the mirror for a long moment and Ron couldn't help noticing how Malfoy was only a few inches shorter than him and he couldn't remember when that had happened. In his mind, Malfoy had always been this spoilt, evil, midget bastard with a nasty mouth and superiority issues -- like he'd never really changed from that first time they'd met their first day of Hogwarts. But he had changed, hadn't he? He must have because there it was.

Malfoy turned quickly, his shoulder bumping into Ron's chest as he pushed by him and into the corridor. He turned around as Ron stepped out behind him, holding Ron's wand out to him stiffly and looking expectant, like he had other things to do and Ron was just eating up every second of his precious time. Ron took his wand back with a raised eyebrow and Malfoy sniffed and turned on his heel, marching just as straight-backed over to the stairway that led up to the fourth floor.

"Where're you going?" Ron said, walking after him, irritated for some reason he couldn't quite figure out.

Malfoy turned, two steps up the stairs, and crossed his arms over his chest. "To my room, obviously. There's no way I'm going anywhere near those two again."

"Ah, but it's Christmas," Ron said, waggling his finger, "You've got to."

Malfoy snorted. "Perhaps you do but, no, I don't."

"Look, I rescued you, didn't I? So--"

"You did not rescue me!" Malfoy hissed, looking around as if he was expecting someone to leap out and have a go at him. "You merely... helped me out of a nasty situation."

"See, you admit that I've helped you, so now you do something for me and come downstairs," he said, motioning toward the other staircase and trying to look as friendly as he could. Malfoy didn't move though and he let his hand fall to his side and stood up straighter, eyeing him. "I can probably do your hair blue again if I try hard enough."

Malfoy swore and then stepped down, marching past him. "Fine."

"Excellent," Ron said, almost clapping Malfoy on the back when he caught up but catching himself in time. "Mum's just turned Celestina Warbeck on."

Malfoy looked over at him, aghast. "Oh, god, you should've just let your brothers kill me."

//

"It seems weird to call you... you know, Draco," Ron said, lazily flicking his wand back and forth as he directed it to dust the dining room candelabra. "I can't even think of you that way, you've always just been Malfoy."

"Oh, thank god," Malfoy breathed, relieved. "I thought it was just me. I've been dreading the moment someone expected me to call you Ron."

Ron laughed, looking across the table at Malfoy who was using his wand to direct the mop and looking just as enraptured by using it as he had since the moment Harry'd shoved it at him a few days after New Years. Ron knew that the only reason Harry'd owled McGonagall about getting Malfoy his wand was so he'd have one less reason to worry about Ginny hanging about with him. It hadn't exactly worked though because, when Ginny saw him with it, she'd squealed and thrown her arms round his neck, practically rubbing her entire body against his as she hopped up and down. Even Ron'd been a little uncomfortable watching that little scene.

"Ron -- Ronald," Malfoy drawled, making a face. "I can't believe your mother named you Ronald. What sort of name is that even?"

"Because Draco is so much better," Ron said, rolling his eyes.

"It's a family name!" Malfoy cried indignantly.

"Nice family," Ron snickered as Malfoy scowled. "So... what's your middle name, then?"

"Are you mad? I'm not telling you." Malfoy said, eyeing him like he'd just asked him to give up a leg or something, and, after a second, tilted his head to the side. "What's yours?"

"No, you first -- I asked." Ron said, to which Malfoy only smirked and raised an eyebrow. He sighed. "Fine, it's... god, it's Bilius, all right? Now you."

Malfoy snickered, shaking his head. "Ohho, no. Not on your life--"

"Ah, you fucking wanker!"

"--It's worse than yours though, trust me on that."

And Ron did trust him -- his first name was Draco, after all. But, even more than the obvious truth behind what he'd said, Ron just... well, he trusted him.

Odd how that'd happened.

They weren't best mates or anything -- Harry'd always be his best mate, until his last breath and probably even after -- and perhaps they couldn't really be called friends because there was far too much between them to put aside just yet -- too many slights and too many fights -- but they were... something. Something rather decent, he thought. Something quite decent.

They talked loads but never about Quidditch (Malfoy supported the Arrows) or most of the awful things from Before (which, perhaps, wasn't the healthiest way to get beyond them but it was all they could manage). They took the piss out of each other constantly. Of course, because that was the only way they seemed to be able to speak to each other. It drove Hermione up the wall no matter how many times he tried to explain that it was all in good fun and they didn't really mean any of the things they smirked at each other anymore. They played noughts and crosses in the library instead of reading when no one was paying attention -- sliding the piece of parchment silently across the table to each other -- and they'd even played chess in the drawing room one night but Malfoy, who wouldn't know strategy if he leaped up and bit him on the arse, had sworn that Ron had been cheating when he lost and vowed never to play him again. They still read together whenever they happened to find each other wake in the middle of the night, only the silence was comfortable and pattered with bickering comments instead of just a tense awkwardness.

They just, in general, were a bit all right with each other..

"That 'R' on your jumper stands for 'Ron', did you know?" He said after awhile of watching Malfoy wave his wand, smiling slightly as he sent the mop leisurely sliding back and forth over the floor. "You've practically got my name on your chest."

"Really?" Malfoy said, pulling the hem out to get a better look at it. "I thought perhaps it stood for 'repulsive' considering the colour and all."

"What?" He sputtered.

"Were you aware that at least half of your shirts are this same disgusting shade of red?"

"It's called 'maroon'," He spat, and then, before he could even process the idiocy that was about to come out of his mouth, "And I happen to like it."

Malfoy smirked and leaned forward. "Well, yes, but you would, wouldn't you?"

Ron gaped at that, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, to which only Malfoy burst out laughing. It wasn't one of his fake laughs either, it was a real one. Ron could tell because, as he laughed, he actually showed his teeth -- even his just-a-bit crooked bottom ones that, Ron'd noticed, Malfoy had obviously taken great pains to train himself to keep out of view. Ron's stomach did a bizarre fluttery thing as he watched and, for some reason completely beyond him, was suddenly unable to keep himself from giggling as well.

They finally calmed themselves enough to breathe, Malfoy was taking in great gasping breaths and wiping at his eyes. His smile still firm on his face as he planted his elbow up on the table and slid down in his chair, laying his head over on his arm, rubbing at his temple with the heel of his hand as he looked over at Ron and sighed in a worn out sort of way.

"You know, you don't smile very much," Ron said, smiling and rubbing at the back of his neck. "Never have now that I think about it."

Malfoy sat up at that, looking at him strangely, his smile sliding off and his usual smirk taking its place. "What are you talking about? I've smiled loads of times -- every time you and Potter got detention, for instance."

"No, I mean a real smile, arse. Not one of those nasty smirks," he huffed, pointing. "It's not so bad, you know, your smile. You ought to do it more often."

"I'll get wrinkles," Malfoy muttered, his cheeks going pink.

"Ah, so what? Everyone gets wrinkles eventually."

"Malfoys don't."

"Perhaps you should be the first then?" Ron offered as he leaned back in his chair and looked up to where his forgotten dust cloth was rubbing frantically at just one spot of the candelabra as charmed cleaning supplies were wont to do when left without wand direction. "Break from tradition or something. It's not as though we've time to really worry about getting old and wrinkled, you know? It's not as though we've time to not do absolutely everything we want. We've got to just let go and be free and not worry because there's just no fucking time for that anymore. The time is now, mate. Now. We could be dead tomorrow so we've got to just... just got to live today." He sat forward with that, feeling bloody amazing for actually managing to say something that he felt just as strongly as he felt it, looking right at Malfoy, and said, "You know what I'm saying?"

"No," Malfoy said incredulously, laughing slightly. "I think you've finally gone round the bend, Weasley. Someone ought to alert the authorities, you're a menace to society."

Ron huffed and rolled his eyes, and then, in a spark of Fred-and-George like brilliance, said, "Oh, I'll show you a menace."

Malfoy had just enough time to say no very loudly before Ron's dust cloth smacked him right on top of the head and proceeded to attack him most viciously.

//

The thing that he thought was his absolute favourite about Malfoy was that, no matter what was going on, he never really did anything to surprise Ron. He was a creature of habit, Malfoy. Set in his ways and with a strict line drawn for himself about what he would and wouldn't or could and couldn't do that it was... quite comforting. Malfoy was just... well, he was reliable in that sense. He'd always been that way, really, but Ron had just never truly appreciated it until one of the things on Malfoy's list wasn't "torture the Weasel".

In a time when an utter madman wanted to murder his best mate and probably wouldn't mind offing him as well, it was nice to have a little reliability. A little stability. One constant beyond the fact that things hardly ever went his way. And Malfoy provided it amazingly whether he knew it or not. He snickered when he was meant to and raised his eyebrow when it was time and always made a smirking remark exactly on cue.

His first clue, then, should have been when Malfoy was already sitting at the kitchen table when he, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny came down for breakfast one morning about a fortnight later.

"You're up early today." Hermione'd said pleasantly, sitting down and smiling at Malfoy across the table.

"Time wasted is time lost, Granger." Was all Malfoy'd said, his eyes shifting over to Ron as he sat down, smiling a tight-lipped smile when Ron nodded sleepily at him.

By way of a second clue, it should have been quite clear when Malfoy barely even touched his food, choosing to chug something like five litres of water instead, that something was seriously off. Because Malfoy ate like a hippogriff, at least in volume if not in table manners.

And if the first two hadn't sealed the feeling of impending doom, the third definitely should have. Because Malfoy couldn't manage to sit still for a more than a few minutes at a time the entire morning and, while everyone had moments of restlessness, Malfoy tended to keep his under fairly tight control. No bouncing knees or tapping fingers or anxious glances for him, he had a reputation as a lazy, drawling git to uphold, after all.

Ron didn't register any of the first three signs though. Not consciously, anyway. And when clue number four came up -- Malfoy grabbing him by the sleeve before he could leave the library for lunch -- he was truly unprepared.

"What are we doing?" Ron asked as Malfoy dragged him over to the farthest corner of the small library.

"Nothing." Malfoy answered, eyeing the door carefully.

"Yeah, I can see that much." Ron said, making a face. "Why aren't we eating, though? I'm dead starved."

"Just a minute." Malfoy mumbled, still staring at the door for... whatever it was he was waiting for. Ron looked around and began to feel uncomfortable quite suddenly, the realisation that his reliability was acting like a nutter having finally sunk in. He chose not to speak though in the hopes that perhaps if he just pretended not to notice it would just pass.

It didn't.

"I've been thinking about something you said awhile ago." Malfoy said, finally looking away from the door, apparently content with... whatever it was. "The thing about us doing what we want today because we might be dead tomorrow, you know?"

"You mean the thing that you said made me sound as though I'd gone off my trolley?" Ron smirked half-heartedly.

"Right. That one." Malfoy nodded, waving his finger distractedly for a second and then, seeming to realise that he was doing it, put his hand down at his side and cleared his throat, looking Ron in the face. "Only... I've thought about it and I think you're, you know... I think you've got the right idea. We should do what we want today because we might not get a chance to do it otherwise."

"Oh. Well, good." Ron said, feeling his stomach twisting, the urge to run building in his legs. "That's really... really good, mate."

Malfoy looked back over to the door one last time and then back to Ron, licking his bottom lip quickly before mumbling, "So I think I should do this."

And leaning in.

And kissing him.

Right on the mouth.

It only lasted a second, just a soft press of lips against lips, but it shot through him like a bolt of lightning, ratcheting from his mouth to the top of his head and then all the way down to his toes. When Malfoy stepped back, his eyes huge and his chest moving quickly, apprehension practically pouring off him, Ron could still feel the tingles in his toes.

He took a step back -- stumbled back, really -- completely shocked and unable to do anything but stare, his mouth hanging open a bit. "Di-did you just... kiss me?"

Malfoy shook his head just barely, his lips moving slightly like he was trying to find something to say but all the words were dying on his tongue, and he kept blinking, over and over, his eyebrows furrowed. He stepped back, once, twice, three times, his back hitting the bookcase behind him and, in the second it took him to look over his shoulder to when he looked back to Ron, his face finally made up its mind.

"God, Weasel, are you really so fucking thick you can't tell when someone's kissed you? Do you need help dressing yourself in the morning as well?" He sneered, his top lip curled up and his eyes narrowed. Ron blinked. Malfoy looked down his body quickly, and the sneer was even nastier as he laughed. "What am I saying, the way you dress you obviously do it on your own, there's no way any other person could possibly be dim enough to think you look even somewhat decent."

Ron wondered wildly if perhaps, when he'd stepped backward, he'd fallen and hit his head without realising it. "Wha-- hold on, you just--"

"Just forget it, Weasley." Malfoy snapped, his hands pressed into tight fists at his sides. "Obviously some of your stupidity has rubbed off on me, I don't know what I was thinking kissing the likes of you."

Ron could only sputter stupidly as Malfoy pushed past him, knocking him roughly with his shoulder as he went. He managed to whip around just quick enough to see the heel on Malfoy's shoe disappear through the doorway, and he stood there gaping and listened to his feet pound up the stairs.

It was easy to lie to everyone and say that Malfoy'd been feeling a bit ill and gone to lie down for the afternoon because, it seemed, they'd all noticed how oddly he was acting when Ron had not. And, even when Malfoy didn't come down for dinner, they just went along when he said "really, really ill -- you know" and flushed.

The next morning when Malfoy came down late, looking and acting exactly as he had his very first morning at Grimmauld Place was a bit harder to just shrug about. Especially considering that, the moment Malfoy stepped into the kitchen, Ron had frozen still, his forkful of fried eggs just centimetres from his open mouth, and Malfoy... well, Malfoy had sneered at him.

Everyone blamed him but he couldn't explain it -- he couldn't tell them -- as long as Malfoy didn't say a word about it then nor would he. It would be their own private secret. Their own secret that seemed to be dragging the entire house down into a deep pit of miserable anxiousness. Malfoy only came down for meals, he only ever spoke when he absolutely had to and, other than that first sneer, he avoiding looking at Ron as easily as if he were just a dirty spot on the rug.

After six days of it, Ron knew there was only one thing to do. He had to have a bath.

Ever since he was a child, sitting in a hot bath had made sorting out any problem ten million times easier. He had no idea why, that was just the way it worked for him. Perhaps it was the relaxation or maybe the warm steam -- it could have just been that he needed to get wrinkle-toed to be able to think -- whatever it was though, that was the only option left open to him.

So, late that night, once he was sure everyone was asleep, he pulled himself out of bed and crept down the corridor to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door tight behind him as he turned on the taps and undressed. He looked at himself in the rapidly fogging mirror, trying to see if perhaps Malfoy's kiss had left him some sort of mark, but all he saw was the usual. The shock of red hair, the funny-looking necklace that he couldn't untie thanks to Hermione's permanent tying charm and was too lazy to charm off, and the freckled chest.

Turning the taps off and slipping into the water seemed to unwind him immediately. The bathtubs of Grimmauld Place were amazing, Ron thought. Unlike the one at The Burrow which he had to sit awkwardly in, his knees sticking up out of the water and his shoulders frozen, these were spelled to reshape to accommodate the bather. They'd probably not fit, say, Hagrid, but they worked just fine for him and he stretched out a bit, putting his elbows up on the rim and laying his head back. He sat there like that for a bit, just soaking and staring up at the ceiling, trying to think of where to start working out his problem.

He was hurt and confused, he knew. Hurt by the way Malfoy'd spoken to him like he was dirt and the way he'd been acting like Ron wasn't even alive. Confused as to why it had even happened, what had ever possessed Malfoy to kiss him in the first place. But, really, more than anything else he was just fucking ticked off. Ticked off at Malfoy for presuming and bloody kissing him without so much as a by-your-leave and ruining everything they'd had going. It was just like him, Ron thought, to take the first thing like real friendship he'd probably ever had -- the first person who'd probably ever actually really liked him in spite of what a stupid arse he could be -- and fuck it all up.

But then, some horrible part of his brain that sounded just like Hermione supplied, isn't that exactly what you did with Lavender? The first person who showed any interest in you at all and you leapt at her face -- didn't even try to really get to know her, just stuck your tongue down her throat. What makes Malfoy so different than you? Barring the fact that you actually like him as a person and rather enjoy his company, of course.

But no, he told the voice, no, that was all wrong. Because Lavender had been attracted to him in a sexual way, had fancied him, and he had no such feelings for Malfoy. He wasn't attracted to Malfoy in the slightest and he definitely didn't fancy him.

No, he thought firmly, no, most definitely not anything like that going on here. He's a stupid, pointy git, I definitely don't fancy him.

And even if did -- which he did not -- look how well the Lavender thing'd turned out? Horribly! Absolutely awfully. It was doomed from the start and anything with Malfoy, just going on the fact that he was Malfoy, was bound to be even worse. Worse than doomed, that was Malfoy by bloody definition.

He made an frustrated noise and then took a huge breath, sliding down until his head was under the water and all he could hear was the odd thundering in his ears. He scrubbed at his hair roughly and blinked his eyes open, the water stinging them. He let some of the air out of his lungs, watching as the bubbles floated up to the top and burst, disappearing. He wished he could fucking disappear.

He sat up when his chest started burning with the need to breathe, gasping and shaking his head, flinging water all over. He ran his fingers though his hair, pushing it back off his forehead, scrubbing at his still-stinging eyes and then staring at the peek of yellowed plaster where two pieces of deep green wallpaper had peeled apart.

It wasn't that Malfoy was a bloke, it was just that he was Malfoy. That was it. Because Ron had liked other blokes before and, while he wasn't exactly going to get it tattooed on his forehead for all the world to see, he was somewhat comfortable with it. It'd never been so close before though, so real.

Viktor Krum and Oliver Wood -- both of them much older and bloody professional Quidditch players so clearly out of his league he could hardly ever come up with a convincing fantasy about either of them that didn't involve autographs or working for The Prophet. Terry Boot for a while after watching him climb out of the Prefect's Bath, completely naked and utterly shameless, dripping water all over the floor -- but that had been entirely based on how gorgeous his arse was and the fact that he was the only naked boy that Ron'd ever actually really let himself look at in person. And then, when he wanked sometimes, there was a whole range of fantasies about other, nameless, faceless, but entirely male bodies that were fantastic but just fantasies.

He'd never... it wasn't like he went around making eyes at every boy he saw or anything. And it wasn't like any boy had made advances at him. Ever. In fact, he'd always rather suspected that he was the sort of bloke that other blokes never approached... that way. He just didn't look... well, he wasn't exactly the prettiest girl in the pub, was he? Not especially. He had his good points but he was still far too rough around the edges.

Malfoy seemed to like him, though. Enough to kiss him anyway. But Malfoy wasn't very pretty either -- but then Krum looked like some sort of great, ugly bird and Wood only had the one large eyebrow and that chipped front tooth and Terry wore glasses, had a gap between his teeth, and was rather prone to spots so it wasn't as if Ron really had a history of fancying "pretty young things" or whathaveyou. There were pretty bits to Malfoy, though, Ron reckoned, as there were to almost everyone but, really, he was just... Malfoy. Just Malfoy.

Malfoy. Malfoy.

The image came to mind far too quickly for Ron not to be a bit startled at how clear it was. White blond hair, pale skin, weird grey eyes, his crooked bottom teeth and pale pink lips. Oddly large hands and thin wrists, that great ugly snake on his forearm but... no. The way he looked when he smirked, arching his eyebrow and tilting his head to the side. The way his hideous blue hair had clashed with his red face and the way he'd looked at Ron in the mirror over the sink once he'd turned it back to normal. His white stomach and the back of his neck that Ron had only seen maybe a handful of times because his hair covered it most of the time. The way he'd bitten his lip when he had the sliver in the attic and how his hand had fit so perfectly with Ron's. The way he smiled when he was really smiling. The way his eyes lit up with when he laughed. The way his cheeks flushed and he bit at the inside of his bottom lip when he was nervous. The way he bit at his fingers which was disgusting but somehow... idiotically charming at the same time. The way Ron constantly wanted to touch his hair just to see if it was really as soft as it looked. The way he'd looked at Ron right before he'd kissed him... the way his mouth had felt and the smell of his skin. The way his hands felt when he touched Ron even in the most ordinary way. The way he pushed his hair out of his eyes and looked up, eyes wide, whenever Ron said his name. The way his mouth moved when he spoke and his hands sort of flew around of their own accord when he got really excited about something. The way he... he...

Fuck, he fucking did fancy him, didn't he?

His chest felt tight suddenly, and he couldn't breathe, only gasp. His stomach twisted up and his head felt light as his heart pounded in his chest. His fingers twitched to wrap around his half-hard cock and bring himself off. He was getting hard thinking about the way he moved his hands? Oh, Merlin fucking help him, he absolutely fancied the pants off the stupid git. His head reeled at the thought. When the hell had it happened? Better still, why had it happened? He didn't remember signing up for anything like this. He didn't remember asking for this. He didn't remember...

Oh, how could he have been so bloody stupid? Malfoy apparently hated him now and was being an utter prat again and he had no idea how to go about fixing it and... oh, he'd mucked everything up.

He groaned, sitting back hard, the cool porcelain of the tub soothing against his warm back as he slid his hand down his chest shakily, biting his lip at the first touch of fingers on his cock and closing his eyes. He pictured all of it again -- eyes, hands, stomach, smile, lips, teeth, throat, everything -- stroking himself smoothly, his breathing quickening almost immediately. Beyond his control. He was the one who was worse than doomed. No wonder Malfoy thought he was a fucking idiot.

What if Malfoy came in right then? Well, undoubtedly, Ron knew that he would let loose some sort of girlish scream at being caught in the middle of the night having a fucking wank in the bath but after that what would happen? Or, really, completely forget the girlish scream bit -- that was embarrassing and Malfoy would positively howl with laughter, naked Ron or no -- and say he didn't scream, say he... something. He did something extremely casual instead. With his fucking willy in his hand.

Forget about that, forget it, he thought wildly, squeezing his eyes closed tighter and moving his hand quicker, already in the bathroom and we've got beyond the awkward greeting. Beyond.

Malfoy would look at him, that odd predatory look he had where his eyelids looked heavy and his lips were just barely parted. Running his tongue over his lovely, imperfect bottom teeth as he pulled his shirt -- no, his jumper, the green one -- up over his head and dropped it down onto the floor. His chest would be smooth and pale like that flash of skin Ron'd seen at Christmas, so pale, lovely, his nipples the same soft pink as his mouth. He'd step forward... he'd have to be barefoot -- he'd be barefoot and he'd step forward, his jeans a bit too loose still and slipping down his hips, showing off his navel, his hipbones.

The water wouldn't even phase him, he'd just stare down at Ron as he stepped into the tub, a foot on either side of Ron's legs and lowered himself down, his hands holding onto either side of the bath, his arms shaking slightly as he shivered -- the water would make him shiver -- and looked right into Ron's eyes, never breaking eye contact, his oddly-coloured eyes heavy-lidded, lustful, wanting. Fuck. They'd kiss then, soft like when he'd kissed Ron, just lips against lips, but his hands would slide over Ron's shoulders and then to the back of his neck, his fingers in Ron's hair as his pink tongue slipped out to flick over Ron's bottom lip.

That would be it with softness though. Then it would be rougher, almost brutal, full of pent up frustration and desire. Biting at lips and teeth clacking, tongues pushing and sliding together over those crooked teeth. He'd pull at Ron's hair, pushing against him, shifting until they were chest-to-chest, and Ron's hands would slide up his legs through the water, wet denim under his fingertips, around Malfoy's hips and over the small of his back, down into the back of his jeans. Ron's hands on his arse pulling him up tight against his body. They'd rub together, pushing at each other roughly, practically fighting, pushingrubbingslidinggrabbing, water sloshing out of the tub and onto the floor, making a mess. Such a fucking mess.

Malfoy would wrench his mouth away, gasping and throwing his head back, their hips moving faster, water sloshing louder, the sounds of them filling the bathroom, reverberating off the walls and back, like only they existed in the entire world. Ron would have to put his mouth to Malfoy's neck, to muffle himself and suck at the sensitive skin there. His teeth would drag over skin and Malfoy would moan desperately, his hands pulling hard in Ron's hair and he'd come just like that, he'd come so hard, gasping and jerking, and it would be so much, too much. Too much. Too fucking much.

His head fell back against side of the tub with a thump and a gasp as he came, absolutely soaking with bath water but trying to keep himself from slipping down into it and drowning. His left hand clenched on the edge of the bath, his hips lifting up hard as his right hand gripped his cock, water sloshing over the edges of the bath and unto the floor just like he'd imagined.

He lied there for a minute after, eyes closed, feeling flushed and fucked and fucking grand, breathing hard. The hard rim of the tub pushing into the back of his head in a way that told him if he didn't move soon he was going to have the headache from hell but he couldn't be arsed. And then, slowly, he opened his eyes and stared up at the cracked ceiling.

"Right," He mumbled, his voice rough from gasping. "So that went a fair bit better than expected."

//

It took him three days to get up the nerve to sneak up to the fourth floor and it took him three seconds to remember that he had no idea which bedroom was Malfoy's. He'd never been there and, really, had never even cared before right then, but now... well, he needed to know. Or everything was going to be fucked forever.

All right, he thought bracingly, Fred and George stayed in that one, that door leads to the attic, that one was Mrs Black's room, that one is the toilet, which leaves... three.

He'd just have to try them all, then.

The first door was the linen cupboard; it smelled strongly of onions and death and Ron really didn't want to know why or how that came to be and shut it quickly, making a face and shuddering. The second was locked and only opened when he cast Alohomora. He felt disgustingly like some sort of thief or something but, when he pushed it open, wincing slightly and flushing terribly as it creaked, he saw the curtains open, moonlight filtering through the grimy window and onto a familiar pale hand hanging off the edge of the bed, and he didn't feel quite so badly anymore.

He took a deep breath to steel himself, repeating in his head that it was for everyone's own good that they get this sorted out before another minute went by, and padded in, closing the door as softly as he could behind him and, upon a minute of deliberation, locking it.

Malfoy was asleep on his stomach, one arm thrown over the side of the bed and the other shoved underneath the pillows. His mouth was open, he was snoring slightly and possibly drooling as well, his hair mussed to an absolutely insane degree and Ron had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud. It was so ridiculous and he wondered how someone who acted so above everything could look so incredibly stupid when he slept.

It didn't help matters, of course, that he was wearing Ron's old pyjamas -- the light blue and orange striped ones his legs had grown too long for almost the moment he got them. Ron had always suspected they'd probably been dark blue and red striped at some point but, as with everything in the Weasley household except for their freckles and their hair, they had faded over the years.

Ron cleared his throat slightly, trying not to smirk, and whispered Malfoy's name. Malfoy didn't even flinch. He scratched at the back of his neck for a second and then reached out, tapping Malfoy's shoulder lightly and whispering again. Still nothing.

Lovely.

"Malfoy." He said in a normal voice, pushing his shoulder a little harder, to which Malfoy merely rubbed his face into the pillow, grumbling quietly in his sleep, and shifted around a bit. Ron rolled his eyes. No wonder Lupin had been able to out-draw him; he slept like the bloody dead. He exhaled, blowing air out the side of his mouth, and kneed the mattress hard. "Oi!"

That did it.

Ron had to clap his hand over his mouth to keep from howling with laughter as Malfoy flailed against the bed, shouting and clumsily pushing himself up on his elbows, looking around wildly, his hair sticking up all over his head and only one eye actually fully opened. "Fuck! What? What's happened?"

"Shh!" He hissed, biting his lip and waving his hands. "Shut up! Nothing's wrong! Are you trying to wake the whole house?"

It took a second for Malfoy to wake up enough to register who exactly it was standing at his bedside, but the second he did he whipped around, sitting up and pulling the duvet up to his chest like some sort of maiden from one of those books Ginny didn't want their mum to know she read. "What the fuck are you doing in my room, Weasley? What time is it?"

"I don't know." He shrugged, lying, his face flushing.

Malfoy eyed him. "You don't know what time it is or you don't know what you're doing in my room?"

"I don't know what time it is." He said, rolling his eyes and trying to avoid looking at Malfoy.

"Oh." Malfoy said after a minute, and then snapped, "Well, what the fuck are you doing here, then?"

"All right," He sighed heavily after a minute of thought, rubbing his hand over his face. "I'm not really sure about that bit either."

"How lovely for you," Malfoy sneered. "Fuck off, then. I'm trying to sleep."

Malfoy rolled over onto his side with a huff, clearly intending to have the last word and, had it been anything else, perhaps Ron would have actually let him. But it was this and it was important and he wasn't giving up that easily. He shoved Malfoy's feet out of the way and sat down hard on the bed.

"Not on your life, wanker. We've got some things to sort out, you and I," He said simply (more simply than he felt as his insides were twisting like snakes) when Malfoy scrambled back into a sitting position to glare at him. "You won't talk to me, you won't even look at me, you're acting like a spoilt fucking prick again and I don't like it."

"I hardly care what you do or don't like, Weasel," Malfoy sneered, crossing his arms and pulling his legs up as close to him as he could in an effort to avoid touching Ron. "Get off of my bed before you fucking contaminate it."

He sat there a moment, considering his options, and finally decided on the wisest and most mature course of action. "Make me."

Malfoy made a face at him and uncrossed his arms. "I will if you don't fuck off!"

"Do it, then." Ron said, using every drop of Gryffindor courage to shift closer, "Come on and make me. You're not afraid, are you?"

"Oh, please, Weasley, in your pathetic dreams." Malfoy said, sliding back slightly and eyeing him like he was one of Hagrid's experimental animals.

"Let's see it." He said, moving closer again. "Do something."

"I will." Malfoy said, his voice pitching up, his chest moving faster as Ron moved closer. "I will. I swear to god, I will."

His hands were shaking but he balled them up in the duvet, he could feel the flush creeping up his neck but he soldiered on, sliding his leg underneath him and twisting up onto his knees, looking Malfoy right in the eyes. "Do it."

"Shut up." Malfoy snapped, his eyes huge and his back against the headboard, his legs out in front of him like they were meant to be some sort of last guard.

"Make me." He whispered, smirking and leaning into Malfoy's space, letting his hand stay on Malfoy's knee instead of pulling it away quickly and flushing like he'd wanted when he realised he was actually touching him -- through the duvet but still. His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure that Malfoy was going to hear it and realise that he had no idea what he was doing and laugh at him or, worse, turn the tables on him. He didn't think he'd be able to hold out as long as Malfoy.

"Fuck, Weasley." Malfoy murmured, his eyes straying down to Ron's mouth and then back up to his eyes, his pupils dilated and his breathing harsh.

"Come on," he breathed, feeling light-headed and more than a little terrified.

"I thought..." Malfoy muttered, trailing off, his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip.

"Yeah, I'm a bit thick sometimes," Ron mumbled, swallowing hard and sliding his hand up over Malfoy's knee to his thigh, his heart beating so hard he was sure it was going to explode. He breathed out, his hand squeezing Malfoy's thigh, as he edged forward, his bottom lip just barely touching Malfoy's top, and then, hardly even a whisper, "You know that."

Malfoy made a low noise and leaned in, his mouth sliding against Ron's, wet and warm, and his tongue slipping passed Ron's lips. The feeling of Malfoy's slick tongue moving with his made Ron groan in the back of his throat without even meaning to. Malfoy's hands slid up Ron's shaking arms, gripping his shoulders tight, his hands twisting in the fabric of Ron's tee shirt, like he was afraid Ron was going to pull away and was planning to fight it. Ron had no intention of pulling away though. Possibly ever.

Malfoy tilted his head more, deepening the kiss, and their teeth clacked, the memory of his ridiculous fantasy came rushing back to his mind, and the reality of kissing Malfoy coming together so perfectly with what he'd imagined made him unable to not kiss back just as hard and just as desperately. He groped his way up to the edge of the duvet, pulling it down roughly, trying to get closer, wanting to feel more now. Malfoy, getting the idea fairly quickly, kicked and pushed until his legs were loose. It was awkward and clumsy as they shifted, both of them all elbows and knees, but Ron managed to get situated between Malfoy's thighs without either of them losing an eye which he thought was really quite well done of them.

He wrenched his mouth away, gasping stupidly, as the first shock of friction and the unbelievable feel of Malfoy's cock rubbing against his own through the thin cotton of their pyjama bottoms shot through him. For a wild second he was completely sure that he was going to come just from that but somehow (though he'd be fucked if he knew how) he managed to hold back. Malfoy's mouth moved over his cheek, jaw, and down to his throat. He sucked lightly at the soft spot where neck met shoulder as Ron reached down, clumsily pulling Malfoy's long legs up, one of them wrapping round his hip and the other round his thigh, the heel of Malfoy's foot pushing against his arse every time Malfoy arched up underneath him.

"Been having much good luck recently, Weasley?" Malfoy breathed hotly against his neck, tugging lightly at the necklace that Ron was so used to wearing he forgot he even had it on most of the time.

"A bit," Ron laughed shakily as he tilted his head, trying to get Malfoy's mouth on him again, moaning as Malfoy's teeth grazed across sensitive skin and then, just as quickly, licked a hot stripe, soothing the sting away. He shivered, pushing his hips down to meet Malfoy's, rubbing against him probably more frantically than he would have liked. When Malfoy's teeth caught his ear, his breath and teeth and tongue made Ron's eyes roll back in his head as his hips jerked involuntarily and his hands slipped down the backs of Malfoy's thighs to his arse, squeezing perhaps a bit too roughly and wishing there wasn't fabric in the way. Even worn-thin pyjama bottoms felt like a bloody suit of armour to him.

He held his breath as he pushed his hands up to the waistband of Malfoy's pyjama bottoms, hooking his fingers over it and pulling it down over his arse, his hands shaking when he slid them back over nothing but skin. Malfoy made a soft noise at the contact, his fingers still wrapped round Ron's stupid fucking necklace pulling hard, the leather cord digging into the back of Ron's neck as he pulled Malfoy up against him, his warm, sweaty palms rubbing over Malfoy's naked arse as he rocked his hips down.

"Fuck." Malfoy moaned against his ear, his hips jerking and the heel of his foot pressing hard against Ron's arse, pulling him down and urging him on. Ron could hardly breathe, he was so hard that it hurt to move and his pyjamas bottoms rubbing against his cock felt like they were made of fucking sandpaper. He wanted to get them off; he wanted to get all his clothes off and Malfoy's as well, but he didn't want to have to move to do it, the idea of not touching Malfoy for the half a minute it would take to get undressed seemed like absolute madness.

Malfoy apparently wasn't of the same opinion, though, and after a bit, he made a choked off, frustrated noise and pushed at Ron's shoulders until Ron sat back on his knees, every inch of his body wanting nothing but to cover Malfoy again. Malfoy pushed himself up to sitting, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt like he'd never undone a button in his life. His hair was even more of a mess than before and Ron felt a hysterical little giggle building in his throat as he reached down for the hem of his own shirt, pulling it up over his head and tossing it somewhere in the general vicinity of away.

Malfoy looked up at him, his eyes raking over Ron's naked chest, breathing quickly through parted lips, as his hands fumbled quicker at the buttons of his shirt. He got the last one finally and shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, shaking his arms out of it, the right sleeve catching on his wrist and making him flail a bit, swearing, before it came loose.

He looked nothing really like what Ron had imagined in the bath. He was pale, of course, and the moonlight that had managed to make through the grimy windows made it seem like, if Ron titled just the right way, he'd be able to see right through him. His chest was thin, his nipples that same pale pink as his lips, but his collarbone stuck out more than Ron had pictured and his shoulders were sharper and more dangerous-looking as well. He was all edges and angles, dips and hollows. A bit like Ron himself, really. No wonder they fit so well together.

Ron's heart pounded in his chest as his gaze trailed down to Malfoy's lap. His pyjama bottoms strained awkwardly over his hard cock and most of the skin of his skinny hips exposed from where Ron had pulled his waistband down over his arse. He felt more than heard himself swear as he shifted forward, catching Malfoy's mouth in a kiss. He ran his hands over Malfoy's chest, shoulders, and arms as he pushed his tongue into Malfoy's mouth, the feel of slightly crooked bottom teeth against his tongue making him groan desperately in the back of his throat before he even realised it.

Malfoy tilted his face up, kissing back, and lifted his hands to Ron's shoulders, sliding over the back of his neck and through his hair, then down along his collarbone, fingertips almost tickling in their lightness one second and then pressing firm the next. A sharp jolt of lust rocketed though him when Malfoy's fingers twisted, tugging gently, at his nipple and he made a low sound in the back of his throat. He put his hands on Malfoy's shoulders, breaking the kiss and breathing hard as he pushed him back onto the bed. Malfoy blinked up at him, looking slightly confused and more than a bit irritated, but Ron couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound completely idiotic. So he didn't say anything, just licked at his bottom lip as he shifted a bit and leaned down over him, pressing his mouth to Malfoy's shoulder.

He knew what he was doing in theory but knowing in theory was, he thought, just about as good as not knowing anything at all. Because theories could be wrong and the only way to figure out if they were was to fuck up utterly. And, really, he'd rather not fuck up at all, much less utterly.

He let his mouth trail over Malfoy's shoulder to his throat, kissing and licking, using the hard edge of his teeth to make Malfoy gasp. Malfoy was breathing shallowly and biting his lip, his eyes half-closed as he tilted his head to the side, offering up the long, pale line of his neck to Ron's mouth. He smelled so good, like soap and the minty-scented hair potion in the stupid tree-shaped bottle that Ginny'd got for Christmas, and Ron felt light-headed from it. He licked and sucked at the pulse point, the rapid beat under his tongue making him feel braver and oddly powerful.

Malfoy looked up at him when Ron pulled back slightly. His lips were slick and shining from where he'd been biting and licking at them and his eyes were almost entirely black, just a thin ring of silvery grey was left around the outside of his pupil. His brow furrowed, questioning, and he looked like he was about to say something but Ron couldn't let him because he didn't think he'd be able to reply, to form actual words. His chest was too tight and his heart was pounding and he just wanted Malfoy understand.

He couldn't say that he was sorry for being such an idiot and he couldn't say that he felt... something between them as well and he couldn't say that he was so fucking glad it wasn't too late because it just wasn't possible yet. It just wasn't the way they worked.

He could show him, though, he thought, and hope that it was enough.

He could do that much.

He brushed his lips over Malfoy's lightly, without pressure or intent, and Malfoy blinked up at him, licking his bottom lip and swallowing, looking strangely younger somehow, and Ron couldn't help wondering if Malfoy saw a similar look on his own face.

He pressed his mouth to Malfoy's collarbone, letting his tongue trace over the hard edge of it, and then moved down further, over his rapidly moving chest. His face felt flush as he let his lips slid down to one of Malfoy's small, pink nipples, letting his bottom lip catch and drag wetly over the tiny, taut peak, his tongue slipping out to swirl over it as his other hand slid up over Malfoy's bony ribcage, his fingertips rubbing and then twisting gently as Malfoy had done to him.

Malfoy's breathing hitched and he made a small, awed-sounding noise, his hand trembling slightly as he lifted it to Ron's back, his palm sweaty as it drifted over the sharp edge of Ron's shoulder blade. Ron laid his hand flat on Malfoy's chest, right over his heart, marvelling at the way it pounded and not really being able to believe that he was the cause. His fingers slid over, connecting with a small raised line right in the middle of Malfoy's chest and it took Ron a minute to realise what it was. Lifting his head, he watched as his fingertips rubbed over the silvery Sectumsempra scar that ran all the way down Malfoy's chest to his navel, it was almost invisible against his pale skin, probably would have been even harder to see if Malfoy's chest wasn't lightly flushed with want. It was hard for him to believe that Harry could have been responsible for something like that. Harder still to believe that Malfoy hadn't died from it.

Malfoy inhaled sharply when Ron licked a wet line down the scar and he wondered if the skin of the scar itself had any sensation or if it was just the feel of his tongue on either side that Malfoy liked. His navel was oddly-shaped, the scar giving a twisted peak to what once must have been a perfect oval indention, and Ron swirled his tongue around it, his heart thumping hard in his chest when Malfoy made a desperate, choked off sort of noise as Ron's tongue ran over the thin line of hair that disappeared under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

Ron sat back on his heels, feeling suddenly shy but more turned on than he ever even imagined he could be. Lust hit him like a Bludger to the stomach; his blood was humming and he could hear nothing but the rushing in his ears and he wanted. He knew Malfoy wanted it too because he fucking smelled it on him, musky and hot, damp and bitter.

He only meant to glance but the sight of the mess of Malfoy's white-blond pubic hair interrupted only by the twisted, awkward line of his barely hanging on pyjama bottoms and the dark, wet spot where the head of his cock was pressing against the fabric and fucking leaking precome...

He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, biting his lip to keep from moaning outright as the incredibly hot scent of Malfoy's arousal hit him again.

When he finally felt that he was going to be able to continue without his heart exploding in his chest, he opened his eyes, looking up at Malfoy who was pushed up on his elbows and staring at him, biting at the inside of his bottom lip and twisting the fingers of his left hand anxiously in the sheet underneath him, and doing his absolute best to look just as nervous-but-randy as Ron felt.

Ron swallowed hard and watched Malfoy's face as he lifted his hands to Malfoy's naked hips, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs for a moment before slowly sliding his hands down to the waistband. He looked down at his hands then, watching with held breath as his fingertips slipped underneath the elastic easily, lifting it up and then pulling it downward. His stomach lurched and he heard himself gasp distantly as the waistband caught and then dragged over the length of Malfoy's cock, dark pink and stiff, a bit thinner than Ron's own but a bit longer as well, bobbing upward ridiculously as the fabric slipped all the way off.

Ron pulled the rather wrecked pyjama bottoms down Malfoy's thighs and over his knees, the backs of his fingers tickled by the fuzzy hair on Malfoy's legs that he knew, if he could have managed to stop staring at Malfoy's cock, would be just as light as all the rest of his hair. Malfoy lifted his feet for Ron, his chest positively heaving as Ron pulled the pyjamas over his toes and then, after a second of distant, distracted thought, tossed them over the side of the bed and onto the floor.

There was a moment where they stayed like that, both of them staring at Malfoy's cock, but then, without even realising it, Ron was sliding his hand up the inside of Malfoy's thigh and shifting closer.

It was a bit strange, he thought, to be so nervous and so excited at the same time. The only other time he could remember being as nervous was his first time playing Keeper for Gryffindor in an actual game. But he'd not been excited then, really; he'd just wanted to throw up. He really didn't want to throw up now.

Malfoy sucked in a breath at the first touch of fingers and Ron licked at his bottom lip nervously, swallowing hard and trying to work out how he was meant to go about doing... what he was going to do. He'd never had a blowjob before, he'd never had anything before, actually. Lavender had snogged him and let him touch her tits through her top a bit but never anything further than that. He knew what to do, of course, but only in bloody theory.

Ron took a deep breath, steeling himself, and slid his hand around Malfoy's cock, giving it a few awkward strokes to get a feel for it -- for the hot, hard weight of it against his palm and the way just touching it made his own cock practically throb with lust -- and then adjusted his grip and pulled down slowly, sliding the foreskin down.

Malfoy made a soft sound as the cool air touched the bare head of his cock and Ron peeked up through his lashes to look at him. He was still up on his elbows, his lips parted and his eyes heavy-lidded as he stared. Ron's stomach twisted at the thought that Malfoy was going to watch while Ron sucked him off and he bit back a moan, licking at his lips and leaning in instead.

Malfoy let out a shaky gasp at the first swipe of Ron's tongue and a moan at the second, his fingers twisting in the sheets and his hips twitching up. It wasn't exactly Honeydukes' finest but it wasn't bad either, bitter and a bit salty, hot and slick with precome. It made his gut hot just doing it, though. Just feeling the spongy texture under his tongue made him want to moan and he thought that even if it had been really awful he'd have probably done it anyway just because of that.

He slipped his tongue all round the head, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to remember the way all the witches in the skin mags did their mouths, pulling his lips in over his teeth and then slowly beginning to slide his mouth down and then back up again. It was a bit clumsy at first, he hit the roof of his mouth and the inside of his cheek a few times as he tried to get the proper angle but he didn't think that Malfoy minded too much. Not if the way he was gasping and ohing the entire time was any judge.

He pulled off after a bit, licking down the side of Malfoy's cock where his lip kept getting stuck and then slowly licking back up the underside, along the ridge that always made his eyes roll back in his head when he slid his fingers over it as he wanked. Malfoy moaned incredulously and Ron couldn't help smiling a bit stupidly, it was nice to know the basic mechanics were essentially the same across the board.

Malfoy's knees were bent, his heels pressing hard into the bed and thigh muscles tensed, and he lifted his hips a bit when Ron's mouth slid back over his cock. Ron looked up at him as he slipped his tongue round the tip inside his mouth, Malfoy was rubbing the side of his flushed face against his shoulder, his mouth open and his eyes half-closed as his arms shook with the effort of holding himself up. He made a soft, affirmative sort of noise when their eyes met as if he was giving Ron instruction to keep going or something. Ron thought that was a bit rude of him, raised an eyebrow to imply so, and then sucked. Malfoy's eyes rolled back in his head as his arms gave out and he fell back onto the mattress with a startled-sounding moan.

It was a bit like their entire relationship, he realised suddenly, each of them trying to out do the other, trying to be just a bit better. The only thing that was really different was that, for once, Ron had the undeniable upper-hand.

Shit, he thought, and then, That's it, then. I'm sucking him off every day from now on.

He worked out a rhythm quickly, sliding his mouth down wetly, tight and quick, and then sucking as he pulled back, slowing down as Malfoy's breathing got quicker, trying to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. He couldn't take all of it in his mouth at once -- he gagged when he brushed his teeth, for Merlin's sake -- but he used his hand to cover up for it, twisting and pumping his fist around the base. His face felt hot and he could feel sweat sliding down his spine and pooling up at the backs of his knees as the slurping, sucking noises from his mouth and Malfoy's desperate little moans filled the room. He knew they should be quieter but he couldn't be arsed to care, his whole body was humming and his head was spinning and he felt amazing. He was extremely glad that no one else slept on the fourth floor.

He pulled back after a bit, his jaw aching as he licked at his lips and slid his fist over Malfoy's cock loosely, watching in a half-shocked, half-amazed sort of way as Malfoy's foreskin slipped up and down over the tip easier than his own ever did. He breathed hard -- panted, really -- as he pulled his fist up to just under the head of Malfoy's cock and leaned in, slipping his tongue underneath the foreskin and swirling it round and round the head as Malfoy groaned heatedly above him.

It was absolutely mad how easy it was to get Malfoy to make noises.

Weasley is your king, a rather smug, fifteen-year-old-sounding voice far in the back of his mind provided as he slipped his fist down, covering his teeth with his lips and letting Malfoy's cock slide back into his mouth as it went.

His back was killing him from leaning over at such an odd angle so he shifted a bit until he was propped up on his elbows and lying mostly on his stomach. His legs from the knee down hung off the edge of the bed and it probably looked a bit stupid but, really, it wasn't as though Malfoy was paying attention. And even if he had been, he probably would have thought it was brilliant because, from that position, Ron realised, he could use his left hand as well.

Malfoy moaned wildly when Ron's fingers tugged gently at his balls and Ron had to squeeze his eyes shut at the hoarse sound of Malfoy's voice, pressing his hips against the mattress before he could stop himself. He rolled Malfoy's balls with fingers, teasing and fondling, pulling down lightly and then pushing his palm back up and rubbing hotly. It was all a bit backward but basically the same things he did to himself because he didn't really know what else to do. Malfoy seemed to like it all, though, which made him feel braver, so he let himself go even further, letting his fingertips stray down to the sensitive skin beneath Malfoy's balls and then back up again quickly. He peeked up through his lashes as he did it, hoping that Malfoy wasn't going to... be offended or something.

He had no idea if other blokes even did... that to themselves. He'd always liked it -- always liked the feel of his own lotion-slick fingers pushing into his arse, always liked how tight it was and how, when he came, it was almost fucking blinding it felt so good -- but... well, he might have always just been a bit weird and not known it.

He rolled his eyes when his fifth tentative touch seemed to go unnoticed and pulled his mouth off of Malfoy's cock enough to get his fingers inside, rolling his tongue wetly over them until they were dripping with the mixture of spit and precome, then, sliding his lips back over the head of Malfoy's cock, just went for it.

Apparently, though, if he was a bit weird then so was Malfoy because, at the first press of fingers against his arsehole, he didn't freeze up or try to scoot away, he shuddered hard and pressed down against them, fucking moaning. "God, yes, do it."

Had Malfoy been unfamiliar with the feeling, he probably would have tried to be a bit more careful, to let him adjust slowly and get used to it. But seeing as how Malfoy fucking whimpered as Ron's fingers made the first long, slow slide into him, arching his back and rocking his hips down, Ron didn't see much point in it. He hooked his fingers into Malfoy's tight arse over and over, pushing as deep as he could until he found that spot that made Malfoy keen and pull at the sheets roughly.

He was so hot and tight inside and it was clear he fucking wanted it so badly that Ron couldn't even help groaning low in the back of his throat, the sound muffled and strange-sounding with Malfoy's cock in his mouth, the vibrations over his tongue making Malfoy moan desperately. His cock ached as he tried to imagine what the tight heat would feel like around it, trying to imagine what Malfoy's trembling body would feel like under his as he slowly pushed in. It was just too fucking much to handle. He was a virgin, for Merlin's sake.

The tides had shifted, he realised. He'd somehow managed to lose control and he'd not even seen it coming. He felt hot and desperate and like something was twistingtwisting at the base of his spine and he suddenly needed to come just as badly as Malfoy did, if not more. It hit him hard and seemingly out of nowhere, as though there had been some wall in his mind that kept back the heavy, hot feeling of his cock until just when he needed to not think about it most.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate as he slid his mouth back down over Malfoy's cock, tried to focus on sucking him off to the same rhythm as he fucked him with his fingers. It was too difficult to do both at once, though. He was too excited or too desperate or not nearly co-ordinated enough and, after a minute, he had to slide his mouth off Malfoy's cock. There was a wet popping sound as he came loose and he gave it one last firm stroke before he mouthed a wet trail over one pale, shaking thigh.

He pushed his fingers up into Malfoy repeatedly, up to the knuckles each time, twisting and crooking them as Malfoy writhed on the bed, gasping and mumbling broken-sounding half-words that made no sense in Ron's overheated mind. He sucked at Malfoy's thigh, rubbing his teeth over the sensitive skin and licking obscenely, breathing hard through his nose and not even able to care that he was getting spit all over his face.

Something bumped the side of his head and Ron looked over just in time to see Malfoy's shaking hand wrap around his cock. They moaned at the same time; Malfoy from the feel of it and Ron from the sight. He watched Malfoy stroke himself and it made his head spin. He pulled his fingers out as Malfoy slid his hand down, and then pushed them back in as Malfoy pulled his fist up. Over and over again. Unable to tear his eyes away, unable to do anything but stare.

He was panting, he knew, hot and wet and open-mouthed against the skin of Malfoy's thigh, but he couldn't help himself. He was too afraid to close his mouth, afraid that, if he tried to just breathe out of his nose, he'd suffocate or explode. He just panted, stared at Malfoy's hand stripping his cock, and fucked Malfoy with his fingers, faster and faster, almost without even realising that he was doing it.

Malfoy's hips were twitching jerkily, like he wanted to thrust up into his fist or push down on Ron's fingers, but couldn't decide which sensation he wanted more of first. He was panting as well, harsh and desperate, his hand speeding up with each stroke, and it was obvious to Ron that he wanted to come so badly he couldn't even stand it anymore.

Ron pushed his fingers in, rubbing his fingertips over and over and over that spot inside until Malfoy was moaning out on every hitching breath he took in and his hand on his cock was nothing but a blur. Ron licked a wet stripe up all the way up the inside of Malfoy's thigh to the soft spot where leg met torso and, turning his head slightly, mouthed wetly at his tightly drawn up balls. Malfoy made a sharp sound almost like a sob, his back arching as his whole body tensed, and he seemed quake as he lost it, moaning and moaning and moaning as he shot sticky strings of come all over his chest and stomach, his arse clenching tight on Ron's fingers with each pulse.

He waited until Malfoy's thigh stopped twitching with aftershocks to slowly pull his fingers out, Malfoy made a soft sound and then, after a moment, laughed shakily. "God, Weasley."

Ron couldn't even manage to smile at that, too busy pushing himself up on shaking arms and reaching down to edge his pyjamas over his achingly hard cock. It only took a few hard strokes before he was biting his lip and groaning, swaying forward as pleasure rocketed down his spine and he came all over the sheet and Malfoy's thigh.

He managed to not fall down on top of Malfoy which, he thought, was a fucking miracle, but crawled over Malfoy's leg and fell down beside him, wincing and rolling onto his back when his sensitive and utterly spent cock touched the sheet. He twisted his pyjama bottoms down his thighs and kicked them off his feet, and then relaxed into the mattress, closing his eyes and just trying to get his chest to stop heaving, smiling exhaustedly when Malfoy shifted closer and pressed the backs of their hands together.

"Y'know," Ron mumbled a while later, half-asleep but suddenly needing to speak, the words dragging together lazily, "I'm glad it was you that night and not some Russian musician."

There was a long moment where nothing happened, and he thought that perhaps Malfoy was already asleep, but then the unmistakable feeling of Malfoy shaking with laughter.

"Weasley," Malfoy managed to gasp finally, "what in the fuck are you talking about?"