For QLFC S7R2, written as a reserve keeper for the Appleby Arrows
Prompt: Write about a character(s) who thrives in luxury and decadence having to live a minimalist life OR write about a high-strung character(s) learning to relax and just be.
Ron hears the shouting before he even glimpses him.
"My father will hear about this!" the voice says, thin and slightly nasally and unfortunately familiar.
Ron heaves a sighs and makes a face at his new friend Harry, who gives him a puzzled look in exchange. As they round the corner of the hallway and into the reception area of their residence, they instantly spot the source of the commotion.
Mrs. Agnes Coreen, fondly known as the fat lady, looms over the blonde headed prat Draco Malfoy with a rather unimpressed stare. "Whine to your father all you want, but this late in the semester there isn't much we can do about it."
Draco is fuming. "I was supposed to be in Sheridan!"
Sheridan is one of the nicer dorm buildings, expensive and new and perfect for spoiled little brats like Malfoy. It's the complete opposite of their residence, Hagsworth, which is old, run-down, and cheap. The furniture is nicked and beaten and the windows creak when they're opened too quickly. It was the only residence Ron could afford to get into.
The fat lady simply shrugs her shoulders, wholly unfazed. "Well, Sheridan is full. You can either live here or find some other place off campus. It's your choice."
Ron has never loved her more than in this moment. Malfoy scowls, face contorted in fury, and whirls towards the exit. He glowers at the two of them as he storms past, knocking into their shoulders with too much force to be an accident ("Hey—" Harry protests belatedly), and slams the door shut behind him.
They head over to the counter that Malfoy had occupied just seconds prior.
"What happened?" Ron asks the fat lady, attempting to peer over her shoulder at the computer screen. She harrumphs and pushes his head away.
"Some administrative mess up. Some idiot let in more students in Sheridan than they had capacity for, so the leftover students were transferred to other residential buildings that had room," the fat lady explains. "Now shoo! I've got to figure out how to rearrange the rooms."
Harry tugs on his arm and pulls him away. "Let's go. The dining hall is closing soon and I'd rather not have to wait till lunch for food."
Ron acquiesces easily, perking up at the thought of food, and follows along behind him.
"So who was that then?" Harry asks after they start down the long, paved pathway leading towards the centre of their college. "Do you know him?"
"Yeah, unfortunately," Ron says, scowling. "His name is Draco Malfoy. We went to high school together, but he's the most insufferable person you'll ever meet. His dad's in the government and he's rich as well, so he thinks he can get away with anything."
Harry hums sympathetically. "Yeah, he seems like a nasty guy. It's just our luck that he got placed in our residence."
"Right? I feel bad for whoever gets stuck with that poor bastard," Ron says. "They're in for a long semester."
…
Later, Ron drags himself back to his dorm room after parting ways with Harry on the third floor. He pushes the door open, and it takes him a moment in his tired state to notice that the lights are on. He stares into the room, puzzled. Had the room always been this messy? It also seemed far more crowded than he had left it.
There's movement in his peripheral vision and he turns to see none other than Draco Malfoy standing stiffly in the corner of the room surrounded by a pile of boxes and not quite meeting his eyes.
Ron's jaw works as he tries to get the proper words out. Instead, what comes out is, "What the fuck."
Malfoy sneers at him. "I see your manners are as atrocious as ever, Weasley."
Ron scowls back at him, not moving from where he stands in the doorway. "Cut the bullshit, Malfoy. What are you doing in my room?"
A flicker of surprise runs across Malfoy's face for just a moment but it's gone just as quickly. Malfoy turns his back to him and starts pulling his clothes out of a suitcase. "Haven't you heard? I'm your new roommate."
"This has to be a mistake," Ron says, horrified. His own words from earlier echo in his mind like some awful playback. Whoever gets stuck with that bastard is in for a long semester.
"As I recall from what Mrs. Coreen told me earlier," Malfoy says coolly, "you were the only person in Hagsworth who signed up for a roommate and didn't get one due to there being an uneven amount of people."
What had seemed like a blessing at the beginning of the semester now seemed like some awful curse. Ron's fingers tighten on the doorframe as he glances at the name plate at the side of the door. There's no doubt about it. Underneath his name are the words 'Draco Malfoy'. Just a few days ago—no, just that morning—there had only been one.
Ron is stunned. He's furious. He doesn't know how he's going to survive in close proximity to someone who used to be his greatest enemy in high school. But it's also late and he'd rather just take a shower and collapse into bed.
Ron steps into the room and shuts the door firmly behind him. He eyes Malfoy warily, wondering if he'll say anything snippy, but the other boy simply turns towards his bed and starts unpacking again without another argument. For once in their lives, they seem to have come to an understanding, even if what they're agreeing on is that they don't want to be roommates.
Ron goes through his night ritual quickly and efficiently, dashing out of the room to the bathroom with toiletries in hand. When he comes back, Malfoy has just finished putting away the rest of his clothes and is glaring balefully at the mountain of empty boxes now shoved in the corner. He seems to have just realized how very little room he has to move around.
"Bathroom's empty," Ron says, and Malfoy's gaze snaps to him. He gestures at the door. "Now would be a good time to go."
Malfoy, if anything, looks even more scandalized than he's been all evening. "Bathrooms that aren't even connected to the room. That's just ridiculous."
Ron shrugs. That's Malfoy's issue, not his. In fact, his only goal right now is to dive into his inviting looking bed and sleeping the next day away, which he does promptly.
...
Ron prides himself on being a deep sleeper, but when he next opens his eyes, it's still pitch black outside. He lays motionless in bed for a few moments, wondering what had woken him up. There's the sound of a door opening and closing, the creak of the door hinges loud in the silence of night. There's footsteps, there's rustling, there's an impatient sigh.
There's a low mutter: "I hate this fucking place."
Ron lets out a groan. "For god's sake Malfoy, would you just settle down?"
Silence at last. Then Malfoy speaks up. "My apologies. I didn't mean to wake you. I just don't understand how you're able to sleep on this rock of a bed."
If Ron had the energy to roll his eyes, he would. His "rock" of a bed is feeling more and more comfortable by the second. It begins to lull him to sleep again.
"Whatever," he mumbles instead of snapping back, burying his face into the pillow. "Just stop moving around or…"
He never finishes the sentence, having slipped into dreamland once more. When he wakes up again in the morning, he's greeted by the sight of Malfoy's dark purple eyebags and a mouth that looks even more pinched than he's ever seen it.
"Weasley," Malfoy greets coldly. "I see you've slept well."
"Jesus," Ron mutters. "Did you sleep at all?"
"I slept a couple hours," Malfoy says after a moment.
There's an awkward silence. "That's good."
Ron rolls out of bed and escapes out the door with a muttered "Bathroom". As he hurries down the hall, Ron reflects that this is probably one of the oddest conversations he's had with Malfoy over their short-lived, mostly antagonistic relationship. There's none of their typical barbs, even if Malfoy still sounds constipated when he speaks.
When he returns to the room again, Malfoy has disappeared. Ron isn't sure whether to be relieved or not. He was half sure he'd been about to ask Malfoy something stupid like if he wanted to grab breakfast with him and Harry.
…
"So? How's it going with your roommate of yours?"
They're studying in the library. Actually, they're covertly whispering in the library while pretending to study, but who cares? Everyone knew that the only time you had to slack off in university was at the beginning of the semester. Although, Ron reconsiders as he eyes a girl next to them almost buried under her books, maybe it isn't common knowledge after all.
"It's... surprisingly peaceful?" Ron says, his tone tilting the statement into a question. "I kind of think he's depressed to be honest."
Harry's eyebrows raise. "Depressed?"
"Okay, maybe not depressed." Ron scowls. "He's like, frustrated, I think. I don't think he's ever lived in a space this small. He keeps trying to bring in stuff when I keep telling him it won't fit. He tried to bring in a bookcase the other day. A bookcase!"
Harry huffs out a laugh. "Rich kids."
"Rich kids," Ron agrees. "And he won't stop complaining about the facilities too. You'd think he's never had to share a bathroom in his life." Ron, who's had to fight over usage of the bathroom with six other siblings every morning, thinks the idea is rather ridiculous.
"He probably hasn't," Harry offers, "especially if he's as wealthy as you said."
"But other than that, I guess he's been okay," Ron says. "He's settled in a bit at least, even if he bashes his knees against the desk every other day."
"I guess we thought it'd be worse than it is," Harry says. "Do you want to invite him to come to the residence event this week? I feel like it's something he wouldn't go to himself, and it might be a good chance for him to socialize."
"Maybe," Ron says absently. The idea takes root in his head.
...
Later in his room, Ron clears his throat noisily. Draco looks up, annoyed, from the book he had buried himself instead. It wasn't even a textbook; what a nerd.
"What?" he asks archly. "If you're going to tease me about reading again—"
"No, it's not that," Ron says, interrupting. He scratches his head. "There's that big residence event going on this Friday."
There's a pause. "And?" Draco asks.
"Me and Harry are planning on going."
"Good for you."
This is definitely not going how he had planned. Not that he had a plan in the first place since he tended to speak first and worry about the consequences later.
"You should come," Ron blurts out awkwardly.
Draco finally looks up from his book. For a moment, the two of them stare at each other across the room. It occurs to Ron suddenly that Draco looks comfortable in their ratty old dorm room now—if not fully comfortable, then at least more so than he had at the beginning of the semester. He's lounging about it sweatpants on the bed, of which he can now get a full eight hours sleep without so much of a toss or turn. It's a stark difference from the stiff-shouldered, perfect posture he had adopted just a month ago.
"Maybe," Draco says, and turns back to his book.
…
The event is a belated ice-breaker of sorts. There's the typical name-year-major-hobbies information exchange, the typical party games, and some cheap pizza and snacks scattered over the tables. The music and loud and the chatter is even louder.
Ron is glad to be able to put some names to faces that he's seen wandering around the hallways. The people in his residence seem pretty chill. There's Harry, of course, who he'd met when they'd both gotten lost trying to find the dorms in the first place. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas are both biology majors and currently trying to cajole a giggling Lavender Brown into playing strip poker. Neville Longbottom is hovering nervously at the corners of the the room, roped into conversation with Luna Lovegood.
Draco hasn't come after all. Ron pushes the thought uncomfortably to the back of his mind, where it'll inevitably pop up again later. For now, he cradles his bottle of pop and observed the intense game of Mafia going on by the couches. He'd died early but he's not terribly angry about it. It's almost more fun to stay on the sidelines and watch people try to lie their way out of certain death while being interrogated.
It's because of this that he doesn't notice when the door opens and a slight figure slips through though. It isn't until there's a quiet cough beside him that he notices anything at all.
Ron turns, his eyebrows flying up. "Draco!" he says.
"Ron," Draco says. He gingerly takes a seat next to him and turns his gaze back to the gaze, where Parvati the villager had just gotten lynched, giving the mafia the win of the game. The mafia jump up and cheer over the groans of everyone else and it's loud and boisterous and probably not what stuffy Sheridan would have had for a icebreaker.
But Draco's shoulders have relaxed and there's a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.
"Hagsworth isn't so bad, is it?" Ron says, grinning, and nudges him in the side.
He counts it as a victory when Draco hums an agreement, before leaning forward and asking to join the next game.