[summary] Ron&Draco [The Fox and the Hound] Not all friendships are built to last, some are broken by time or people, but others pull through.
A/N — Written for round 9 of QL, where I had to write something inspired by The Fox and the Hound. I had the optional prompts [song] Fireflies by Owl City and [quote] 'The circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant. It's what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are.' — Mewtwo.
Thank you to Firefly, Rose and Dina for beta'ing, and to Liza for the help getting started.
[1567]
I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep
'Cause everything is never as it seems (when I fall asleep)
.oOo.
Ron is sitting on the long hard bench, right where his dad left him. He had to behave and stay where he was, or they wouldn't get to go to the park after his dad had finished working. And it would be even better without his brothers there to hog the swings or the slide.
He watches as a tall man walks past; there's a small boy trailing after him, and he looks to be about Ron's age.
'Maybe they could be friends?' Ron wonders. He doesn't look like he'd hog the slide, and there's enough swings that they could both take one. The boy's father gestures for him to take a seat and walks away without a word.
"Hi," Ron says, smiling at the boy.
"My father says I'm not s'pposed to talk to strangers," the boy says.
"Oh." Ron's smile drops, and he thinks for a moment, before: "I'm Ron. I'm six. Now you know me." He grins, looking immensely pleased with himself. The boy takes a moment longer to think this through, but then he is giving Ron a hesitant smile.
"Hello," he says. "My name's Draco. It's my birthday soon."
(Draco can't come to the park, but they promise to send each other letters.)
.oOo.
"Is that another letter from Draco?" his mum asks; she doesn't look overly pleased, but she's come to accept her son's friendship over the past few years.
"Yeah, Mum," Ron says, nodding vigorously. "Are we going to Diagon Alley today?" he asks. "I wanna tell Draco about it."
"I'm sure he's already been," his mum says, but she hands him a cookie so he doesn't mind.
"But are we going?" Ron asks, mouth full.
"Don't talk with your mouth full," his mum chastises. "But yes, we need to get Bill some new books."
"How come no one else gets new books?" Ron asks; he's not overly interested in books, but Bill always gets nice shoes that are ruined by the time they're passed down to him. His mum opens her mouth to answer, but Ron abruptly changes topic: "Draco says he's sometimes allowed to use his father's wand, Mum."
"Well, what Draco's parents allow him to do is their business," his mum snaps. "And doesn't change the fact that you are not allowed to touch any wands until you are eleven years old."
(Ron's mum doesn't change her mind, but Draco sends Ron some new shoes for his birthday which he wears every day for the six months they still fit.)
.oOo.
"Mum," Ron whispers, sitting at the kitchen table and holding a letter in shaking hands.
"Is that another letter from Draco, dear?" she asks, turning to face him.
"Mum, he says we can't talk anymore," Ron says; his lip quivers, and he can feel tears building. He sniffs loudly.
"What did he say?" his mum asks, setting her teacup to the side and halting her preparations of breakfast as she sits beside her youngest son. "Can I see it?" she says softly. He sniffs again, handing over the sheet of parchment.
Draco's handwriting has improved a lot over the years. Ron's has too, but he can't match Draco's elegant cursive.
Ron, it begins.
My father has told me about your family, and that I am not to speak with you at Hogwarts. He says we are to end this acquaintanceship immediately.
Draco.
She sets the letter to the side and watches Ron for a moment; her eyes are sad, and Ron doesn't like her looking at him like that. It's too similar to when Grandma died.
"Mum, what's a-cquain-tanceship?" he asks, sounding out the word so he knows he's saying it right.
"I think it's something his father taught him," she says. "It's like a friendship."
"He doesn't want to be friends, either?" Ron asks; he can't hold his tears back anymore, and they begin falling freely down his cheeks. His mum pulls him into a hug, whispering in his ear, but Ron focusses more on the soothing sounds than the words themselves.
(Ron replies to Draco's letter straight away but never receives a reply, and things between them are completely different when they begin Hogwarts just a few weeks later.)
.oOo.
"What are you doing here, Weasley?" Draco snaps, glaring at Ron across the empty corridor.
"What are you doing here?" Ron retorts, flushing a bright red.
"I don't need to tell you that!"
"Well, I don't need to tell you!"
"Well, you both need to tell me," a voice says; they both spin around, and are confronted with Professor Lupin, standing with his arms folded across his chest and looking down at them both waiting for an answer.
"Uh …" Ron says eloquently, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. "I was just — I — I needed the toilet!"
"There's one in the dorms, you moron," Draco mutters.
"What the hell are you doing?" Ron hisses, hoping that his voice is low enough that Professor Lupin won't hear, but (if the amused glint in Professor Lupin's eye is any indication) he is unsuccessful.
"We can't both be going to the toilet," Draco whispers.
"Then think of your own excuse!"
"No. If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me."
(They manage to avoid a detention, largely because Professor Lupin seems to find the entire situation rather amusing, but they are paired together in the next Defence Against the Dark Arts class, which Ron thinks is infinitely worse.)
.oOo.
"Are you okay?" Ron asks, unable to stop himself. There are prominent dark circles under Draco's eyes, and his hair hangs limply around his face. His shirt is creased, and if that isn't an indication that something is wrong, Ron doesn't know what is.
"What do you care?" Draco mutters, glaring at Ron. "Shut up, Weasley," he snaps, and now Ron is angry too. He was only trying to be nice — admittedly, it had been more of a reflex, but it's the thought that counts.
"I don't care," Ron says, scowling. "You're just in my way." Draco scoffs, but he steps aside.
"Wouldn't want to get too close to you anyway," he says. "Might catch something." Ron thinks that was entirely unnecessary, but he can't not retaliate.
"You're the one that looks contagious," he snaps, storming past Draco. He hears a door being pushed open — and the only door that could have been was the one to the girls' bathroom — but Ron ignores it.
(When Ron hears Draco is in the Hospital Wing, he writes out a card, but it remains unsent in the draw of his bedside table.)
.oOo.
What is left of the corridor is in complete chaos; people remain fighting even while the castle falls down around them. Spells are being thrown from both sides, but Ron can't tell where they're being aimed — he's not sure the casters can, either. Bricks and rubble fall around him, and it's all he can do to keep his footing as he runs for the stairs.
A spell barrels into him, sending him crashing into a remaining chunk of wall. He turns, wand aimed in the direction he thinks it's come from, and sees that the stairs had moved while he was focusing on the battle.
"Yeah, you're welcome," Draco says, towering over him as Ron is still lying sprawled on the floor. "Moron," Draco mutters, holding what must be a stolen wand. "Trust you to nearly die falling down the stairs instead of getting hit in the head with a spell like a normal person."
(Ron doesn't see Draco again until after the battle, and it's a relief to know that he's still alive — that they made it — but Ron doesn't try to talk to him.)
.oOo.
Ron literally runs into Draco at Gringotts; neither are paying much attention, and they're both in a rush.
"Oi, watch where you're —" Ron starts, holding his coffee at arms length to avoid spilling the hot liquid all over himself, at the same time Draco says:
"What do you think you're —"
"Oh," they both say, staring at each other in shock for a moment.
"Hi," Ron says, going for civil but he thinks it comes across more strained.
"Hello," Draco says with a nod. "Sorry, I need to —" He gestures to the door, and Ron nods quickly.
"Yeah, 'course. Me, too."
(It's not much, but it's the most civil they've been in years; it's a start.)
.oOo.
Ron holds his daughter in his arms; he's never been responsible for something so fragile before.
He doesn't really know what to do with her, so he settles for staring, memorising her features. People say she looks like her mother, and of course Ron can see it, but he can also see himself in this little girl.
He hopes she makes better choices than he did.
(Draco sends Rose a gift, her first teddy bear, and things may not be as they once were, but Ron knows they are stuck with each other until the bitter end.)
.oOo.
The circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant.
It's what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are.