Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter Franchise. This is a work of fandom.
Author's Note: This chapter was a little trickier than I expected. I had everything outlined and I knew where I was going. But the dialogue was harder to nail than I thought it would. Overall, though, this chapter is satisfying for me. We'll finally be getting the stuff I can't wait to write in the next couple of chapters!
There were approximately four hundred seventh years in the Great Hall. Draco was a little surprised. They had made stops to the four common rooms over the past week to pass word of the recruiters meeting tonight. Some students continued what they were doing, ignoring their presence completely. Some eyes were bitter, some were broken. There were only a handful of eyes that listened attentively—eyes that were still fierce with hope. He had expected maybe fifty students, at the most.
Despite the welcome turn out, these were still the same students who eyed them skeptically as if they had stolen all of their candy. The tension in the room was palpable. Everyone was divided into small cliques, huddled around each other in hushed conversation. Every now and then a curious face would turn from the group to either eye Weasley, who was talking quietly with Dumbledore at the podium, or at Draco, who stood in the back of the hall in an attempt at discreetness. The ceiling above them was cloudy and rumbling, though there was no lightning or rain. No doubt, the lightning would come once everyone in the hall decided that he and Weasley were out of their minds and should be cursed into oblivion.
"Nice turn out, isn't it, Mr. Malfoy." He recognized the woman's wry tone and smiled.
"Good evening, Minerva."
She settled at his side against the wall. He took the moment to make note of the cane in her left hand. His heart felt heavy at the realization that the woman next to him was growing frail.
Despite his general animosity towards everything about his childhood, there were a few choice adults that he didn't ever want to lose. Minerva was one of them, Severus another, and if he really let himself dwell on the matter, he supposed that big lug Hagrid as well. The idea of them growing old and weak frightened him, because it meant he wasn't a kid anymore. Even with all he had faced in the last two years, he still didn't accept the responsibility of adulthood without a bit of a stubborn fight.
"Weasley is a bit excited for tonight."
"Well, considering I haven't seen that look on the boy's face since graduation night when honey glazed ham was served for dinner, we'll just take it as a sign of good things to come, shall we?"
He let himself smile at that, still grazing the heads of the students, taking note of the potential prospects. Some looked like no's, some maybe's, and more than a handful of definitely-not's. His eye was scanning Gryffindor's table when he caught a brown-haired boy staring at him curiously, longer than any of the other students did. Before he could determine whether or not the kid might join their forces, the boy realized that he had his attention and quickly looked to the front of the hall.
'He's a possibility.'
The two men up front had finally finished their preparations and Dumbledore took his place at the podium, simply gazing intently to the center of the room, waiting for everyone's attention.
Considering the frantic vibe in the room, it was only a few moments before everyone immediately hushed and looked to the headmaster expectantly.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the student body leaders of this institution, I thank you for taking the time out of your, no doubt, busy friday nights in order to hear from an alumnus who graduated just a few short years ago."
Absolute silence. Dumbledore continued smiling warmly as if he had just invited them to a wonderful feast. Hopefully the students weren't so blind to his true intentions.
"I have worked with Mr. Weasley many a time over these past years in our struggle against the Dark Lord. He is a superb wizard who I would be apprehensive to come across in a duel, and he has been one of the main strategists working for our forces that, if it weren't for his skill, this school may have very well been at the mercy of Voldemort." His smile brightened, considering this very good news, indeed.
Draco rolled his eyes. He was awfully cheery considering the grim subject matter.
"Please, give a warm welcome to Mr. Ronald Weasley!"
Polite applause filled the hall. So far so good, never mind the rain that had begun falling from the ceiling.
"Thank you, Professor… and thank you, students…"
Draco could already tell that whatever Weasley's original intentions, he was no longer certain of the points he wanted to make to the mass of waiting faces before him.
Agonizing, awkward silence.
"Please don't freeze up now, Weasley." He rubbed at his neck tiredly. Minerva offered him a sympathetic glance before she gave her attention back to the podium.
Weasley was fidgeting slightly with his sleeve, however discreetly.
'Oh God... maybe this was a mistake.'
But then he saw the narrowing of the man's eyes. He stood a little taller. And finally, he spoke.
"Six months ago, I was standing on these very grounds with almost one thousand other people, who, like me, were about to die at the hands of Lord Voldemort and his three thousand man army."
He paused, looking down at the podium and swallowing.
His gaze rose back, more intense.
"We survived that night. We survived because of the sacrifice of a man who was absolutely tired of having his life ruled and controlled by Voldemort's presence."
The students exchanged nervous glances with each other, no doubt, surprised at the mention of what was normally considered a taboo topic of conversation.
"I think you all know whom I refer to. His name… was Harry Potter."
A hum of excited murmurs filled the hallway. Despite his own personal feelings, Draco knew mention of Harry was a good tactic.
Ever the strategist…
"He died that night… so we could live."
He could tell that Weasley was getting emotional, which either would work for them, or against them. But considering Weasley's slightly boozed state, he just prayed he kept enough composure so as not to scare off their audience.
"I remember feeling a lot of things that night—I remember feeling absolutely terrified, that my wife and I would never live to see our daughter grow up. I remember how much it tore at my heart that everything my parents and my friends' parents had dedicated their whole lives to might turn out to be for nothing."
A pause.
"But I also remember the molten fire that tore at my soul—giving me the courage to stare death in the face."
He was growing louder now. The students' eyes were fixed on the figure before them avidly.
"I remember that night I swore I would use every last breath in my body to witness the end of Voldemort's reign! I swore! So that my daughter, and my daughter's children, and every generation of humanity that came after me would be able to live in a world not charred by violence and hate!"
Draco's heart ached. The man's pain was so apparent to him. He wasn't so sure that if their positions were reversed he would be able to keep himself as well controlled.
"That same fire still burns in me to this day! And I'm asking you this night, is there something in each of your own lives so precious as to ignite that same flame in you."
His eyes wandered over the students, noting how each took the man's words. Some were crying—but they were not tears of broken people, they were tears of fury.
He smiled. Maybe there was hope.
He was about to focus his attention back on Weasley's words when he saw him. The same boy was staring at him again. His eye brow rose in question. Having been caught again, the boy started. Much to Draco's offence, the boy's eyes hardened before turning back to the man at the podium.
He leaned to his side, "Minerva, who is the boy sitting at the end of Gryffindor table?"
The woman didn't respond right away, clearly swept up in Weasley's speech. She finally turned a little dazed.
"What did you say, Mr. Malfoy?"
"I said who is the boy sitting at the end of Gryffindor table?"
She took a moment to search through the heads before she landed on the boy he intended.
"Ah, that is Travis DuPont. Smart boy. Bit surprised he isn't in Ravenclaw, to be honest."
"He's been staring at me all night."
She nodded slightly, as if that made sense to her.
"He idolized Harry quite a bit, dear. But not in your typical sense."
Draco waited expectantly, now very curious.
"Well, he's an orphan too, you see. He's had a rough lot at life, that one—and considering Harry's story, that's saying something."
Draco shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Harry's childhood.
"What do you mean?"
She turned back to him, clearly half expecting that had been the end of their conversation.
"Well his parents died when he was very young. A foster family had taken him in, but after a few years, they weren't in the financial position to keep him. So he was stranded again when he was thirteen. He's been living by himself in Diagon Alley ever since."
Draco's eyes narrowed, "I thought there were only shops there."
"Oh yeah, that and apartments above the shops for the shop-owners. The kid works in a bar right outside Nocturne Alley."
"Hmmm.." He digested the news. He supposed it wasn't abnormal for the boy to find comfort in sharing similarities with someone as idolized as Harry.
He gave his attention back to Weasley.
--for those of you who decide to attend boot camp, you will be put through excruciating physical training, and you will truly come into your magical potential."
Weasley was smiling proudly now, confident that he had struck a chord with his audience.
"After that, if you decide to join our forces, you will then be trained in military strategy."
"And what exactly is your strategy?"
It was the boy from before. Draco hadn't expected him to be one of the cynics.
Ron hesitated only a moment, not really expecting anyone to ask questions.
"Well, there are different groups that we would train—some would be trained to go on solo missions in an attempt to capture known Death Eaters. Some would be trained in defensive strategy—that would include learning defensive spells for our side, but also having extensive knowledge in how to break and undo curses cast by the enemy."
He pulled at his collar, an obvious show of his nervousness.
"Then there is the offensive, which works in group attack formation as well as solo. In solo, that would mainly be expert mastery of dueling. Depending on your rank, you would be assigned to take on the ranking officers of Voldemort's army—
"I guess my real question is—can we defeat Voldemort?"
Much to Weasley's credit, his eyes grew just as hard as the boy's sitting below him.
"I believe we can, with every fiber of my being."
At that, the boy quieted, though Draco could see the boy wasn't convinced by Weasley's sincerity.
"Now I know that we have much to be scared of—that there is so much to lose in going to war."
Ron's tones were hushed now; he was staring down at his hands before him.
"But we have much to lose no matter what we do."
Finally his eyes rose, angry wetness rimming his eyes.
"Will you not fight… for what you love?"
Silence…
"Will you not fight?"
Weasley's shoulders relaxed slightly. It seemed that he was done. There was a fleeting pause before the entire hall erupted into applause. Weasley's eyes widened in shock, surprised that he was such a success. He smiled slightly and bowed before taking his descent from the podium to allow way for Dumbledore.
"Thank you! Thank you, Mr. Weasley, for that honest and heartfelt speech."
"Now I know all of you have your nights to be getting on with, so I won't keep you much longer. I only ask that if you are interested in what Mr. Weasley offers that you put a check next to the list of names we have assembled on the faculty table so we can get a general idea of what numbers from Hogwarts are interested in attending the boot camp."
In an eruption of noise, the students immediately rose from there seats, conversing loudly with whoever was right next to them.
"Just one more moment, seventh years!"
A hush fell again.
"For those interested, the details regarding your training will be sent to you at a later date by means which I can't disclose for security purposes, of course."
The old man regarded them one more moment with fond, twinkling eyes.
"And now I wish you a fond farewell, and a good night!"
In the most inefficient way possible, the students lined up at the faculty table to check their names off of the list.
"Seems Mr. Weasley is quite the motivational speaker, isn't he, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco fixed the woman with a shrewd smile.
"You seem amused, Minerva." Her hazel eyes brightened considerably.
"Just remembering the days when he couldn't put together a fierce sentence without a bit of foul language."
Draco laughed. Weasley certainly had become more articulate in recent memory.
"I'll take my leave now, Mr. Malfoy. Hopefully I'll be seeing you more often from now on."
"Good night, Minerva"
He watched the frail woman take her leave into the hallway, mostly out of fondness, slightly out of protectiveness.
"Will you look at 'em, Malfoy! There got to be three hundred, at least!" He looked in front of him at the stupid grin staring him in the face.
"Stop it, Weasley. They aren't cattle that we're herding."
He felt that in some ways, they were. So stating otherwise made him feel a little better in what they were participating in. Weasley, nevertheless, was hardly paying him any attention.
"Imagine the numbers we could get at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang! Those schools are twice the size of Hogwarts!"
Draco rolled his eyes, happy despite how tired he felt. It had been a long week, to say the least. Now that Hogwarts was done with, before moving onto their next conquests, he hoped to crash for a month…or a year.
"Aw, c'mon Draco! This is good what we're doin' here!"
"Yeah, you're right." He tried to ignore the fact that it was the first time the other man had ever called him by his first name. Just by the very laws of tradition, it felt innately wrong out of the other man's mouth, but it still felt good to be regarded closely by another person. It suddenly hit him again how incredibly alone he was.
"Hey mate, what's wrong?" He was quiet for another moment before he shook his head at the floor.
"It's nothing… it's just, you called me Draco."
The other man tensed, clearly taking it to mean he had offended him.
"No, it's good… great, actually. It just surprised me." He continued smiling at the floor in order to hide the hurt that had come out of nowhere while the other looked down at him in bemusement.
"Hey Draco, you wanna hit the pub?"
Draco sneered slightly, looking up, "Weasley, you hardly need anymore alcohol—though it did give the ferocity to your speech that it needed."
At that, the other man laughed. First time Draco had heard that in a while.
"Yeah, you could be right. But on the other hand, I have legitimate reasons to celebrate tonight."
Damn this man and his infectious nature. Draco's lips quirked against his will.
"Alright, let go."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Alright!" The man roughly grabbed him around the shoulder to disapparate.
"Where to?"
Draco firmly removed the hand from his shoulder.
"We can't disapparate on school grounds, Weasley. We can use the floo in Dumbledore's office. There's a good place right by my apartment in London."
They knocked at the headmaster's door, having spent a good ten minutes guessing the password. As it turned out, the password had been Fuddwink, a candy that the Weasley twins had just introduced to the world.
"Come in."
Draco tentatively pushed the doors open, the headmaster was at his desk intensely studying a bunch of papers strewn out haphazardly across his desk. After a few more moments, his head rose to greet his guests. He seemed tired.
"Ah! Well done, you two! Well done, indeed!" He rose quickly and made his way to them, clasping each of their hands firmly.
"I can't begin to tell you how helpful your efforts are to our cause. Truly!"
"Really, Albus, Weasley here deserves most of the credit. It was quite the speech."
Weasley turned a blotchy red.
"It was at that, Mr. Weasley. I was most impressed."
Weasley shook his head, chuckling a tad manically.
"I was scared shitless, if I'm to be frank, Albus."
The old man's smile widened.
"And you still persevered, Mr. Weasley. Quite a gift."
"It is a talent that I, myself, am not quite master of."
Draco had a hard time believing the old man was ever scared of anything. His sharp nature most likely allowed him to get out of any unwelcome situation he found himself in.
"So what can I do for the two of you, hmm?"
"Actually, we just need to use your fireplace to floo out of here. We were going to get a drink."
"And what a night it is for a bit of celebration." He lead them over to the fireplace. Weasley promptly stepped in, calling out rather idiotically, "Draco Malfoy's apartment." Draco was about to step in when the hand on his shoulder tightened. He looked over his shoulder at the old man.
"I just thought I would let you know, Mr. Malfoy. The aurors have closed the investigation on Harry's death. They are going to start rebuilding the location to its original state within the next week."
"Oh…" Draco carefully arranged his face into mild surprise as not to let on to the old man.
"I just thought you should know Mr. Malfoy. It might be a good chance for you to make a new start."
Draco's face flushed at that. "What makes you think I haven't made a new start, Albus?"
The old man sighed tiredly. "Things are ever changing in our lives, Draco. It's best not to miss the experiences presented to you while you still have the chance."
Draco's lips tightened. "Well, thank you, Albus. I'll certainly remember that."
The old man smiled gently before releasing his shoulder. He stepped into the fire, his destination in mind.
He stumbled into his own apartment, covered in soot. He hadn't made the most graceful transition through the floo network, the old man's words still ringing in his mind. He walked the short way into his bedroom, surprised to see Weasley looking about curiously.
"Excuse me, Weasley. But bedrooms are generally considered a personal space."
The other man ignored him, still circling around the room with a mild smile on his face.
"This is quite the place, Draco. I'm surprised you're able to afford it with the payroll you get from that newspaper you're working for.
"I'm paid by the word, actually."
The redhead looked up, mild astonishment across his face.
"I've been doing freelance for several papers, so they have to pay me by the word."
Weasley nodded his head, impressed.
"Well, even so, it's a lot of space for one person."
"Well I guess it was for two people at one point, wasn't it, Weasley.""
The other man's cheer lessened somewhat.
"Oh yeah… that would make sense, I suppose."
The night was quickly turning to shit ever since that bastard rubbed it in his face that Harry was dead. He wanted to forget that and just focus on their victory tonight.
"C'mon, let's go. The bar is just a couple blocks away."
He closed the door behind Weasley on his very empty but nice apartment.
"Wow muggle London is a lot different than I expected."
They had just passed a club with a line down half the block. The strobe lights on the sidewalk had fascinated Weasley.
"Honestly, Weasley." The man was just staring down at the flashing ground in front of him in awe. He grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away.
"Try to blend in a little, will you?"
"Sorry."
Draco stopped the other man short in front of a quiet looking tavern. The double doors and trim around the large window were painted green, but it was wearing in certain places, revealing the warm maple wood beneath it. Across the window read "Oakland Tavern" in rusty, gold trim paint.
"Hey!"
Draco turned to the man on his left with a start. He seemed surprised.
"What?"
"This is the place that I always used to meet Harry at after work, I didn't realize it was here."
Draco's eyebrow rose, "You guys used to meet here?"
"Yeah… I knew it was called the Maplewood or Oak Mills or something, but I couldn't remember where it was."
"Mmmm…"
He opened the door for the man expectantly in an attempt to break him out of his reverie. Weasley ignored him, still in slight awe. He saw it in the tightness of his stance, the way he curled and uncurled his fists a few times… the hardness of his eyes. He recognized the signs because it was the same appearance that he took on when a memory of Harry invaded his mind so forcefully without him expecting it.
"Let's just get some ale, alright Weasley?"
"Yeah, sure."
Upon entering, Draco was surprised at how empty the place had grown over the last couple of months. Usually there were at least a couple of tables occupied by drunken guys from the local university. Now only an elderly couple sat a table in hushed conversation, while a tired middle-aged man in a suit sat at the bar with a scotch.
"Wow… this place has gone down hill lately."
"You aren't kidding… jeez."
Draco flushed at being associated with this demographic.
"Hey, it serves alcohol, alright. Let just grab a couple of stools."
The barkeeper took immediate notice of the two men sitting down, particularly of the blonde. He smiled, having not seen him in a good two months.
"Well, Draco! I thought you died or something!"
Draco started at the enthusiastic greeting, looking for the source of the greeting before settling on the man at the end of the bar. He returned the smile warmly. If he let himself think about it, he couldn't deny that Ralph was one of the few muggles who actually knew Draco to some extent. Draco didn't dwell on the fact that it was because of how often he stopped at this bar.
"Hey Ralph, how've you been?"
"Pretty good. Actually really great! I guess you don't know because I haven't seen you, but I'm opening up my own place."
Draco grinned, "Wow, really? That's great!"
While the two were catching up, Ron took it as an opportunity to study the other man. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and dark skin. Certainly attractive, and most certainly interested in Draco. Ron grinned, he was flirting just as obviously as the barkeeper was. This would be interesting.
"So what can I get you two?" Ralph's eyes were on Ron.
"Oh, me? Uh… I guess I'll just have a beer. How 'bout you Draco?"
Draco was looking back at him with a peculiar look. He looked happy for sure, or something… he couldn't put a finger on it.
"How bout we do some shots?" Draco hoped that the answer would be yes. Talking to Ralph had been a first good step towards erasing the old man's words from his memory, hopefully a little alcohol would do the rest of the trick.
The aurors have closed the investigation on Harry's death…
He's dead, Mr. Majfoy…
He'll never come back…
"Uh, sure you up for that, Draco? What kind of shots you have in mind?"
Draco ignored him, turning to Ralph, "How bout a round of tequila shots for me and Mr. Weasley here."
"Wow, you've had a change of heart have you?" Weasley smirked.
"It wouldn't happen to be because of the man who's been fawning over you since you walked in the door, would it?"
Draco turned scarlet, not having expected that from Weasley. He was just thankful the man in front of them hadn't overheard them.
"What exactly are you implying, Weasley."
Weasley's smirk widened into a goofy grin.
"Only that you guys were practically slobbering over each other the moment we walked in here!"
Ralph interrupted them, a tray of tequila shots set before them.
"Here you go, fellas."
"Just shup up and drink, Weasley." He took two shots from the tray in front of them, adding a dash of salt to each. They clinked glasses before downing them.
Draco sighed as the burning sensation worked down his throat, erasing the hurt that had attached itself, leaving behind a warm glow.
"Wait, we didn't drink to anything, Malfoy!"
Draco took two more shots, handing one to Weasley.
"What do you want to drink to?"
"I don't know… to the fact that we're still alive… that my family's still alive."
Damn it. Weasley was getting sentimental, that was not what tonight was supposed to be about. Never mind the fact that he didn't have any remaining family to drink to.
"To your family, Weasley." He downed the second shot, feeling the its slow warmth crawl into his face.
Weasley took the initiative to go for the third shot. As Draco's head began to swim, he decided to sit a couple out.
"I have a lot to be thankful for, don't I…"
Draco knew what he spoke of—his wife and child.
"Yeah… you do."
He downed the shot before reaching for another, not bothering with the salt.
"I should be a happy man, right? Considering everything, my life isn't so bad…"
Draco gave in and reached for another shot, "What are you getting at, Weasley?"
His head was swimming now. Shit. He was done for the night. He almost laughed outloud as he recalled the time his low tolerance made itself know to Harry. He had never lived it down.
The man abruptly burped before reaching for another shot, "don't know what I'm getting at…"
"Wow, easy Weasley. You just did five shots in about three minutes."
"We made a fresh start in our marriage…"
Draco stayed silent, still unsure of what the man was getting at.
"Told her… going to rededicate myself to her and Madelyn… help her raise our daughter, like… supposed to…"
Draco could see the alcohol was having the intended effect. He suddenly regretted his rash decision. Weasley made for a lousy, contemplative drunk.
"Of course you are. You're her father. I'd think less of you if you didn't."
"What if… what if I told you I did something that Hermione might not be able to forgive… that you might not be able to forgive…"
Draco turned to the man fully now. Tension suddenly wracking his frame.
"What are you saying?"
The man's drunken eyes widened in horror, realizing what he was about to reveal. He cursed the drink for making it so hard to keep it in any longer.
"What if I told you that I was in love with Harry and that I had kissed him the night you two had dueled."
Ice ran through Draco's veins at the other man's words. He had kissed Harry? Had Harry responded? Was it something on both their ends? He swallowed the bile that threatened to come up his throat.
"… So that night when you had come to me, talking about how Harry didn't want to fight anymore… was that you trying to break us up?"
Tears were leaking out the other man's eyes now.
"No… it was the truth. He was scared… I don't know what of. But he had just said that he'd be more harm than help in the war…"
Draco was barely listening to the other's slurred speech. He still couldn't get the visual out of his mind—of Harry giving into this man's kiss… into his touch. He couldn't even process the idea of Harry giving himself to another person. Harry was supposed to have been completely his. And he was supposed to belong completely to Harry!
Ron finally looked up at the man next to him. What he was about say tore at his very being, but he had to say it for the other man's sake.
"He chose you, Draco." He laughed hopelessly.
"He was utterly in love with you until the very last moment."
Draco took comfort in the words… but he still couldn't understand what point Weasley was trying to make. Did he just want him to know he tried to steal his man?
"Why are you telling me this?"
Ron reached for another shot, swigging it back quickly. His face scrunched up, rather because of the alcohol or because of his newly falling tears.
"How am I supposed to make a marriage work, when I'm still so completely in love with the man!?"
The man finally collapsed into a convulsing heap on the counter.
"Alright, Weasley. I think you've had just about enough." He hauled him to his feet. A rather difficult task considering the sobbing mess wasn't putting any weight on his feet, whatsoever.
He reached into his pocket, hoping he had enough money on him.
"Don't worry Draco, consider it a welcome back gift." Ralph smiled sympathetically at his predicament.
"Thanks Ralph, I owe you one."
He dragged the man by his shoulder outside to the sidewalk. The cool air of the evening was refreshing to his warm and spinning brain.
"I should go, Malfoy…" the head beneath him slurred.
"Oh yeah? And I'm to let you drunkenly splinch yourself while you try to dissaparate home?"
Weasley barely grunted a murmured agreement.
"Where are you living these days, Weasley?"
No response. Shit. He passed out. He was mildly disappointed at the other man's tolerance. For an alcoholic, six shots should have been nothing. He wondered if the man was still living at Grimmauld Place. But he knew there was no chance of finding it without a secret keeper present.
"I guess you're coming home with me then."
With a crack, they reappeared in Draco's unlit apartment. He somewhat clumsily reached for his wand in his back pocket while trying to keep the man he was holding up from falling to the ground in a drunken, unmovable heap. He finally got a grip on it and flicked it at the light switch, lighting the room.
"Why didn't he love me…"
Bloody hell. Hopefully he wouldn't talk in his sleep all night.
He dumped him somewhat gracelessly on the couch. Covering him with the thin, worn out blanket that he kept in the living room…
…Harry's blanket.
He went to the refrigerator to grab himself a bottle of water. He had only done—well, he couldn't remember how many shot he had done. But he certainly did less that Weasley. And no matter how pathetic an amount he had done, he still didn't want a hangover in the morning. He smiled slightly as he recalled again how Harry would harass him endlessly for drinking hangover water when he wasn't even that drunk.
All in all, the night hadn't been a complete disaster. Actually, no—finding out that your lover's best friend was actually in love with him was pretty horrendous, to say the least. But he really couldn't bring himself to be truly outraged at the situation. Harry was dead, so why would he waste his time being mad over the fact. Harry had loved him. Weasley said so, himself.
He quickly splashed water on his face before crossing the doorway to his much missed bed. Maybe he could hibernate for a year before traveling anywhere else to recruit. The Dark Lord was busy in Russia recruiting God-knew-what, so he should have some time to crash.
He almost laughed at the cavalier way in which he spoke of the war. He knew people were dying in the most heinous way possible. But he figured the sacrifice he had made exempted him from having to feel anything ever again. He sighed as the pillow beneath his cheek grew warm under his body heat.
…Hopefully Weasley wouldn't be obnoxious in his hangover the next morning…
---
---
At first, it had started as a soft thudding—a gentle drum playing a lullaby in the crook of his ear. But then, ever so persistently, a pulsing pain pressed on his head, his temples, his eyes, his neck… everywhere.
He opened his eyes, his vision still swimming lightly from the drink. He looked over into the kitchen, looking for a clock.
Shit. It was 3:30 in the morning.
He got up from the couch gingerly, careful not to make any noise. He didn't want to wake Malfoy up. The idea of facing the other man now was absolutely humiliating. He checked his pants pocket—wallet, keys, and wand. Good, he hadn't lost anything.
He quietly slipped into the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards. He desperately wanted a drink of water before he left. He settled on a coffee mug and turned on the faucet. He flinched, nearly dropping the cup. The faucet was painfully loud. He turned it down to a drip, filling his cup.
He let the water wash out the taste of tequila and the rest of the horror that this night had turned out to be. He couldn't believe how much he had said… to Draco of all people! He placed the cup on the counter, wishing to leave the apartment as soon as possible. He reached for his wand to disapparate, hesitating only for a moment.
He had told Hermione that he would be home late. She probably went to bed around eleven.
He went outside the apartment to the hallway, hoping not to wake Draco by disapparating. With a crack, the man disappeared.
He reappeared in front of 12 Grimmauld Place.
The kitchen light was on.
He swallowed the lump building in his throat and quickly made his entrance into the front hallway of the apartment. He startled visibly at the welcome he received from Mrs. Black. Apparently, she got her voice back in the evenings.
"HOW DARE YOU ASSOCIATE WITH THE LIKES OF THOSE DISGUSTING HALFBLOODS! I SWEAR, BY THE NAME OF MY ANCESTORS THAT I WILL SEE YOU BLOOD TRAITORS ROT!"
Ron assumed that his wife was now aware of his presence. He appeared in the doorframe to the kitchen. She was in her nightgown, sipping at a glass of water while staring at the table. He didn't know if he should wait for her to acknowledge his presence or simply act like nothing was wrong.
"I'm glad to see you're alive, Ron." She finally looked up at him with a blank expression. She looked as if she had been crying. But tears no longer fell down her face.
She was all out of tears.
"Of course I'm alive, Hermione. Draco and I had just gone out to get a drink to celebrate tonight."
"You mean this morning."
Ron scratched at his head absently.
"Well… yeah, I guess. We were just having a bit of a good time. See, we got at least three hundred students to sign up for the boot camp at Hogwarts and---
"So you thought it was more important to go out and get drunk instead of returning home to your wife and child?"
He didn't have an answer for that.
"What was I supposed to think, Ron? Was I supposed to think that you had been killed on your way home from work?"
He didn't know what to expect. Normally, this would be where she would grow angry, and start shouting at him all the different disappointments he had been to her or Madelyn. But now… her face just seemed exhausted.
"c'mon Hermio---
"Look, Ron. I don't want to get into this with you."
She rose from the table to empty out her glass in the sink, pausing momentarily to stare out the window at the street below them.
"You really had me convinced the other morning."
"Hermione, I meant what I said."
She turned to him, smiling sadly.
"You probably did, Ron." Her composure was cracking, he could tell. Her eyes were wild and hurt. But her voice was so soft.
"But that doesn't change the fact that you're still letting me down, Ron. And I really can't afford to waste all my energy trying to convince you that we're worth the effort—not when I have Madelyn to raise."
Her face was carefully controlled.
"What are you saying, Hermione?"
"…I'm leaving you, Ron." The crack in her voice revealed how much it hurt for her to say what she was saying.
It felt as if a bucket of cold water had just washed through his insides.
"You—what?"
"I'm taking Madelyn and I'm leaving, Ron. I'm moving in with my parents." She was already making her way for the exit before he could even register what she had said.
He blocked her path. Her blank composure finally broke, fuming eyes turning to his in accusation.
"You're not stopping me, Ron!"
"Y-you can't leave, Hermione! You can't take Madelyn from me!"
Her eyes grew wide and feral, she slapped him across the face with a shriek. Before he could even recover from it, another slap found his other cheek.
"I am not going to stay here one more second, Ron! I am not going to stay another second and try to convince you that you're still in love with me!"
He sank to his knees, defeated. He rubbed his cheek, hurting for reasons far greater than the sting she had caused. It had been six months worth of frustration in that slap. And to his utter anguish, he realized how much of a failure he was for Hermione and their daughter.
"I loved Harry too, Ron. But he would have been ashamed of the man you had turned into. He would have been ashamed that you carelessly threw away what he so desperately longed for his entire life!"
Those were the last words she spoke to him. He didn't bother turning to see her flee up the flight of stairs. He could hear the cries of Madelyn as she was wakened by her mother, the rumble of luggage being moved around on the second floor, and then the crack of a woman and child who had disappeared out of his life altogether.
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