He was dead. He was my brother, and he died, because I wasn't strong or powerful enough to save him. I'd never had anyone in my family die before, just my uncle Bilius. But that was different, he wasn't the red headed friend I saw in front of me, lying there, his mouth never to open in a smile, his hands to never again seek mischief around the house. Harry is touching my shoulder, maybe even shouting for me to go up to bed, to say that all is done, he is gone, the one that caused this wreck of a battle is gone. But he doesn't understand.
He never really has, has he? His parents died when he was a year old. It is doubtful that he even remembers them, although I know he desires to be with them. He gets everything he wants, girls, money, teachers pride... I mean, granted, I have Hermione now, but I don't know what to even do with that. I suppose I'm not really being fair to Harry. He is my best friend, and he never asked for any of this. Hell, I know that he'd prefer that none of this ever happened. And yes, his parents are dead, not one of five brothers, not just another redhead. But I don't feel any of that as I push his hand off my shoulder, signaling that I need to be alone.
"You all right, mate?" He shifts from side to side awkwardly. This is not something we do. We leer at girls together, talk Quidditch together, and in a pinch, fight for each other, but even a hug sets us off course and it takes weeks before we can look each other in the eyes again. We are not ones to cry for each other, and that's fine. Growing up with five brothers has taught me that. Well. Four. I nod my head. It could be a shake, but he doesn't bloody care, does he? He just needs to ask the obligotory questions before he goes upstairs and snogs my sister out of her misery.
"I just. I just need. Something, I don't... yeah. You, " I make a feeble gesture to make him bloody leave me alone. "You can go." Grateful for his release, he places his hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off. I don't need physical contact right now. I just need to go inside, to see someone other than Harry or my still shaking mother, broken because her child is gone, but full because she has done what she has only seen males do, because she is powerful. I get up, leaving Fred alone for a few minutes. He'll be okay. I'm quite sure he doesn't really care where I am.
I walk through the great hall, my identity taking on a whole new meaning. Now I am no longer Ronald Weasley, boyfriend of Hermione Granger, ex of Lavender Brown, friend of Harry Potter, one of the trio, the goofy one, a redhead, a freckly and gangly youth, a seventeen year old, a man, someone of age.
I am the boy whose brother died.
And christ, I don't like it one bit. I see everyone, all my friends, people I know. Luna Lovegood says a prayer and sprinkles what looks like a purple pixie stick over the head of Lupin, another casulty. Padma Patil, a yule ball companion, has fallen asleep on the table, and Cormac McLaggen is kissing her sleeping head, over and over, thankful that she is alive. Hermione, Hermione Granger is also kissing. Kissing... Neville. Well. The hormones that acted up over basilisk teeth are gone, aren't they, Hermione. I'm not angry, I think. They are in a way, perfect for each other. She balances out his clumsy nature. She never was one to go for the perfect boys, the muscle heads. Congratulations, Hermione, you've found him and you don't really need me. I see these friends, and I think to myself that they can just go home that night, not face a family of seven grieving people, not think about their loved ones.
And then I see Draco Malfoy, sitting alone, drinking and drunk, drowning his sorrow, or rather, everything. I pull up a chair. He and I are the only ones at the Slytherin table. "Hey," He slurs, sloshing his drink into my lap. "Ish Weazelbee! Oi, Weazlebee. Y'wanna know shomefing?" My eyes dart to his face, red with drink. "Draco, I'm not in the mood." I mutter, casting my eyes upon the floor. He ignores me and continues talking. "You," He points the tankard he's drinking from at me, casting even more drink into my lap. "You, are a git. Imean, shou and youw friend Harry Posher dent give a damn abosh me. You shtill dunt. Jush because I wore the Shltherin robes you dent like me. Jush because of a piece of closh, I wash worthless to your plansh." He peers at my face, seeing if his words are getting to me. "Eh, Weazlebee? Wash wrong?"
And suddenly, I can't hold it in anymore and I just fall apart and burst into tears. I sob, and I bang the table with two clenched fists, beating hard enough to make the whole thing bounce up and down and I wail, and I want someone to just pick me up out of this fucking mess and hold me. And then, finally, somebody does. I feel a small, cold hand against the back of my neck, and I know it's him. "Sorry," I hiccup, trying to stop. "I'm sorry, Draco." I can feel him against me, his chest on my back, and I know he's standing, and I know he doesn't care who sees us, two people lonely together in a boat in this sea of despair. No sunny islands for us.
It sobers him, I think, to feel me under him, because when he speaks, or rather whispers, in my ear, his voice is no longer slurred. "Weasley. There's something I want to show you." I knew Draco Malfoy, this is not him. This is not him. But it is him, isn't it? The blonde hair, the smirk on his face as I trip down the entrance hall and climb the moving staircases, the fact that he only calls me Weasley and lets me walk on my own, ignoring the fact that I am still sort of crying, my face stained. We are the only people not in the hall, where I can hear McGonagall making a speech, and people congratulating her on becoming headmaster. She's always been a good teacher, I suppose. I never really got along with her, since I was always the class clown. Of course, she just loved both Harry and Hermione. Why am I always the odd one out? They should have gotten together. But of course, it'd just hurt me more for Harry to go out with my sister and Hermione to go out with my second best friend. Jesus christ, nobody likes Ron.
Draco interupts my musings. "Weasley, if you don't mind, tonight?" He's holding a door open, and I realize he has been doing so for quite some time. "Sorry," I mutter, stepping through the heavy wooden frame and accidently stepping on his foot in the process. All at once, I realize what the room is. It is the room of requirments, made to give you whatever you need. And jesus, I have no idea what it is, but it is wonderful to have found it. The room is odd now, not quite my idea of my deepest needs. It is a small room, wooden floor, four poster bed.... windows, leaking gentle midday sunlight into the room even though I know it is far after midnight. Cherry blossom trees float against the bluebird sky, shedding their labour and preparing for another years work.
Draco walks into the room, and it doesn't change at all. "Nice, isn't it?" He asks, running his hands over a rusty mirror in the corner. "I made it. I would always imagine it, when my parent's would fight, or my father would be away for months on end, or when he wanted me to do... nevermind. But I know, it's what you need now more than anything. Call it whatever you want, but I'll call it a reminder. That's what it served as for me. A reminder, that someday you can get out of what holds you and find this place for real."
I look around, then lie on the bed, burying my head into the soft white covers. I want to sleep, to forget this. But I know Draco won't let me. He climbs on the bed beside me, and by the feeling I get up and down my spine, he is facing me, warm breath on my shoulder where my robes have fallen down, and I face him, if only to see what he needs. "Ron?" He whispers, hand reaching up to touch my face, if only to see if I can still sense him. And ohgod ohgod ohgod I can. "You- said my name." I'm shocked. Malfoy has never called anyone by their names, using the simplest of terms so he would not get close to anyone. But here he is, ohso close to me and he's everything that I ever wanted, someone to wax poetry about, someone to capture and compress the moon for, someone to... someone to kiss, here and now because there is no better time then now.
So I do, I do. I jump into the pools of emerald green eyes and thin blonde hair and long lanky frame and I kiss Draco Malfoy. And jesus christ, what a kiss it is. Tongues here, hands there, legs there.... and now I now why he put a bed in the room, because when we roll so enthusiasticly we roll over onto the floor, two minutes of making out is unbearably painful. "Wait," I say, holding up my hand and panting. "Wait, I need to think." He smirks, playing with a strand of my hair. "Ron, you are not one to think. You are one to jump right in."
The last time I heard someone tell me I didn't think... was Fred. We were having a typical brother debate, a you-suck, no-you-suck sort of thing when suddenly-
"ARGH! Ron, your problem is you just don't think! You just don't bloody think before you act! Because you're a bloody fool! You know that? You know..."
"Goddamnit!" I bury my head in my hands, sober of the drug that Draco is morphine dripping me on. "Draco, no! I can't, I need to... I need... fuck, I don't know!" I can feel him still, next to me, his presence, and then his arms around me, warmth into my cold bones.
We don't need smut, or whatever that was. Hormones or whatever caused what we just did, they're gone and it doesn't matter, because Draco Malfoy is holding me, and I am holding him, and he is my lifeline and I am his, and we are one, but we are separate and we might just be in love or just two lonely people together but what does it matter, we are different and we are the same, and we are kissing again, and I love it and it is the addiction that I've been searching for, not quite a drug, not quite a obsession, just Draco, and blonde hair on my neck, and the smell of cucumber for no apparent reason, and the mirror in the corner, and the unmoving sun, and Draco, Draco Malfoy, goddamit, kissing his enemies best friend.
And then we are done, because I can't breathe anymore, and so we just lie there until Draco gets up and walks across the room to the mirror. He looks into it, for hours, it seems like, until he finally says: "It's the mirror of Erised, Ron."
I shakily get of the bed, still shell shocked from the kissing, and I'm scared.
I'm scared of what I want. "Draco?" I whisper.
"Yes, Ron?"
"What do you see?"
He smiles, tracing the edges. "Nothing."
I'm surprised, stepping towards him. "Really?"
"Yeah," He turns to me, kissing me on the cheek. "Everything and everyone I want is right here."
I'm crying again. Damn, what does he DO to me. I feel his small, slight, hand slip into mine. "Please, Ron. Look, I promise you, I'll still be here."
So I do, and what I see makes me cry even harder. It's my brother, my whole family, in fact, and Draco, too. All crammed in this tiny room, and he's on his knee, and he's giving me a ring, and my mum is crying harder than me, and my dad is cheering, and George... looks happy for once, and Fred. He's there too.
Draco smiles. "What? What do you see?"
I wipe the tears from my eyes. "I see myself holding a new pair of socks, Draco."
And then I grab his hand again, and look him in the eyes, our energy's meeting.
"Thank you," I whisper. "For everything you've showed me today."
He shrugged. "I should leave now. My father, he gets angry if I hang around the castle. I hate it when he's angry, so..."
He opens the door, and it all starts to disappear. "Draco?"
"Yes, Ron?"
"I'm still here."
He looks at me and grabs my hand, sending a bolt of lightning through my arm.
"Let's go, Ron. Anywhere, anywhere you want, anything."
He drags me away from the room, and it dissepears completly.
"But what if we want to go back?"
He kisses me on the side of the mouth.
"Those who need it can always find it."
Silence. Darkness. Cold. Stone. Hall.
"Draco?"
"Yes, Ron?"
"I'm still here."
Pause.
"I think I love you."
"Me too, Weazlebee."
Me too.
And we were the only broken ones, two halves. But when together
we are full.