(Rated PG-13 for violent and dark images, drinking and implied boy-boy relations)

' Swing, Swing' All American Rejects

Summary: Try as he might, Ron Weasley has found himself ardently in love with one Harry Potter...Still. Ron knew the agreement, he knew the consequences, he knew what was at stake...But he just wasn't ready to accept it. He wasn't ready to let go. Ron's unrequited emotions take him to places he never thought he'd go, and do things he never thought he'd do.


Sitting in the dark tended to bring certain things to light for Ron Weasley. Like take for example the ruddiness of his skin. Now, he usually tended to be a milky white, but since summer vacation, a golden tone to his skin had yet to fade away and Ron was beginning to accept the fact that he just might end up looking like Charlie. His old bright red hair had toned down significantly over the year to a dark cinnamon, streaks of blond and strawberry accentuating his longish locks. If all went according to plan, Ron would be just as good-looking as either of his elder brothers.

So, Ron accepted that his skin was gold, his hair was reddish-brown and his life was crap.

Yes. Ron was finally coming into his attractiveness that was way past due, and his life was crap. He no longer lived at home (home life had turned far too intrusive for one developing so many secrets), instead opting for a room Jimmy offered at Black Manor until he found something more permanent. Jimmy had been gracious when Ron had approached him at work about not having a place to stay. Just straight to the point, 'here's your key, stay as long as you like and don't ever speak to me about Harry again.' It hadn't been a big deal then that Jimmy hadn't spoken to Ron much since the night in the kitchen, which was an astonishing month ago. Truth be told, Ron had been sufficiently sidetracked to notice the boy's distancing. But now?
Hell, Ron felt it now. He didn't have anyone to turn to. His brothers were off on their own ventures, Ginny didn't know and Harry...

Ron grimaced and quickly pushed the name out of his head. No more of that. No more thinking about him. So, Ron pushed back his hair and returned to shoving the new load of Canary Crèmes onto their storage shelves until he got around to restocking the front.

The late July heat was seeping its way into the store and saturating Ron's skin with moisture. His t-shirt wasn't nearly thin enough and his shorts weren't nearly breezy enough. What ever possessed him to do his brothers a favor and watch the shop while they went out and had a splendid lunch with whoever it was? He was too nice for his own good. But with a sigh, Ron shlumped to the front and plopped himself down onto the stool behind the counter. He could see passersby ambling round with armloads of parcels, kids darting between their parents and owls shooting back and forth over everyone's heads.

And here HE was, stuck inside, bored and utterly miserable. Glancing over he caught sight of the twins' calender. For the most part, the entire month was scribbled with odds and ends like shipment dates, meetings and orders. But one date caught his eye. A date at the end of the month, circled in bright green.

Ron cringed. The Potters' birthday. They'd be 18. It was going to be kind of low key just because Harry wasn't one for celebrations, plus the fact that Jimmy was going to Egypt for the Minister (sometimes, Fudge was just a downright prat) that week. So, it was supposed to be the Weasleys, some Order members and a few old friends over at the Potters' new house.

It was sheer luck, really, that just when Ron had moved from home, the Potters had moved into their own home. It seemed like a waste to Ron. They had had a perfectly beautiful house and yet they wanted another. But oh well. Black Manor belonged to Harry and he could do whatever he wanted with it, like turning it into a boarding house apparently. Not only had Ron moved in, but Remus Lupin and Severus Snape as well.

Point 37 in why Ron's life sucked: He lived with 2 of his old Hogwarts professors.

It was just plain weird to wake up (hair every which way, eyes sealed together with cobwebs and boxers slipping down over jutting hipbones), pad down to the kitchen to find either a newspaper-reading Lupin in his shabby pajamas or a rumpled, sneering Snape glowering at Ron over a cup of coffee. Really. It wasn't something one wanted first thing in the morning. And forget trying to bring someone home! Ron didn't even want to consider what kind of mess he'd get into if he brought a boy to his bedroom.

If he ever DID bring a boy to his bedroom. His current troubles pretty much made it certain that never again would Ron have to worry about getting caught snogging a chap. Or anyone else for that matter. Ron was sworn to celibacy, and not by choice. His hopeless romantic heart was berating him endlessly for backing off of Harry earlier that week and letting the guy off easy. He purposely made it so Harry could forget the entire ordeal and never allow for anything like that to happen again.

In other words, Ron screwed himself over. Royally.

"Excuse me-"

Ron jerked out of his agonizing thoughts and was startled to see a young girl pointing to something over his shoulder. "What? Did you want to see something?"

The girl smiled a bit and shook her head, " No. I was just going to say there's an owl waiting with a note just there."

Ron turned and, sure enough, a sleek and impressive eagle owl was poised atop a jar of caramel butterflies, dipping his head down for one of them. With a growl, Ron snatched the envelope from the bird's talons and shooed it away. It nipped at his hair and moved onto a different jar.

Heaving an aggravated sigh and swearing that he'd give whoever the sender was a good thrashing, Ron opened his letter. Surprise washed over his face as he immediately recognized the neat, delicate scrawl penned in a deep deep green.

"Greetings and Salutations Weaselbee,

I'm writing to you in light of some very interesting knowledge that has passed my way. You see, I'm currently taking up a frequent correspondence with one, Ginerva Weasley (Don't make that face, Weasley, it makes you look like a clabbert). Anyway, I'll have you know, the young Ms. Weasley has let me know of a certain, how do I say, liaison between you and a famous Scarhead during your holiday at the New Guinean coast. Let me say first of all, fabulous choice of destination. New Guinea is by far my favorite place to vacation, right below Venice. Now, onto the more prudent point of my letter.
I must say, Weasel, I'm a good deal concerned for you. Taking on the Boy Wonder? What ever were you thinking you arrogant fool! As are all well aware, Harry Potter isn't exactly the shiniest gem in the bunch in terms of intelligence. But not only that, he's an atrocious dresser, which is by far the greatest of the Deadly Sins. Now that that's all off my chest, I come to my real point. Ginerva let me know of the results of your matter and I must admit, I'm shocked. Potter was a bloody tosser and you deserve better. So, here's what I propose: You take a few days, weeks, or months off for yourself to fully collect you and yours, then start on a whole new path.
You need a change of lifestyle, Weasel. Along with a change of heart
.

Let me know if I can aid in anyway. I'm more than happy to fund your new ventures in ways to either outshine or Obliviate Potty from your life.

Your dearest and favorite Slytherin,

Draconus Lucius Malfoy "

Ron blinked, then blinked again. "What the bloody hell was that!"

But the annoying git DID make an excellent point, though. Ron really needed to forget about Harry and move on. And staying the same old Ron wasn't a good way to do it. He COULDN'T do it. Ron Weasley loved Harry Potter. He practically grew up with the brunette, dismissing any possibility of being able to free himself of Harry's influence.
But Malfoy was right. Ron desperately needed to change himself. Everything. Inside as well as out. Hell, his body was already changing, why not the rest of him?

As the sight of Jimmy and Harry Potter passing by the window front on their way to the Ministry occurred, Ron realized exactly the lengths he would need in order to exorcise the Boy-Who-Lived from his system. And he knew exactly who could help him.

So with a determined frown on his countenance, Ron grabbed fresh parchment, dipped his quill into some ink and set about writing two letters that would set his affairs in order.

O-O-

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Jimmy asked, picking up Ron's jacket uneasily.

"More than anything." Ron replied and hoisted his suitcase off the bed and started for the front door of Black Manor. He could hear Jimmy following, his heavy boots clunking loudly on the way down the stairs.

"How long should I expect you gone?"

Ron smiled inwardly at that. He said 'I', not 'we' or 'your family' or 'the Spanish Armada'. "I'm not sure yet."

He set down the suitcase at the door and turned round in time to see Jimmy stand with his jacket clutched in his hand as if Ron would never dream of leaving with it still gripped in the brunette's fists. "Can I have my jacket?"

Jimmy frowned then outright scowled, "How can you just leave like this? Not even telling your FAMILY!"

Ron sighed and rolled his eyes, listening for the approaching footsteps that would mean the end of this conversation. It wasn't that he disliked Jimmy, quite the opposite. But Jimmy looked WAY too much like Harry, and being reminded of what he was trying to forget was destroying Ron's sanity. "I moved out. They don't need to know every single aspect of my life."

"But you're leaving for BULGARIA. For who KNOWS how long! Don't you think they're gonna notice if you don't show up for Order meetings every week?"

"Bugger them and bugger the Order. It's MY life and I can do whatever the bloody hell I want with it, " Ron barked." And if it makes you feel better, I'm going to Romania as well. There, happy?" Jimmy blinked and took a step back. Instantly Ron felt horrible. It wasn't Jimmy's fault he looked exactly like Harry, sans long hair and glasses. But the boy's appearance was just grating Ron's nerves in all the wrong ways and he really needed to get out of like a godsend, footsteps approached the door and a welcomed knock resounded through the foyer.

Ron threw open the door and all but gave a startled Draco Malfoy a heart attack.

"What the bloody hell, Weasel! You scared the shit out of me!" Malfoy snapped, cradling his undoubtedly fast heartbeat. Looking over, his manor changed back into that of a cool, collected aristocrat. "Potter."

"Well, hello to you too," Jimmy said, walking over to grip the doorknob.

"Ministry life treating you well, I take it." Draco went on, giving Jimmy a calculated once over.

Jimmy shrugged, his face an utter blank, "S'pose."

Ron was bewildered to say the least. Last time he checked, the two were on friendly talking terms. Well, if the drunken madness during their Graduation party was anything to go on. But then again, Ron never heard Jimmy mention anything about Malfoy since he left for Bulgaria. The boy even tactfully avoided the topic now that Ron thought about it. "Well! How 'bout we get going, Malfoy?"

The blond snapped out of his reverie and nodded, " Of course. I'm quite hungry and don't want to miss the master chef's lunch on account of Potter here wanting a good gander at me."

Jimmy rolled his eyes and turned his head away.

"I know you're losing another one of your favorite toys, but DO try to contain yourself. I'm sure Weasley here doesn't want you making a scene." Draco added on, his trademark smirk in place.

Jimmy glared hot daggers at the former Slytherin, " Oh fuck off you fairy."

Ron edged his way out the door, making sure not to upset either of them as he saw sparks coming out of slate and emerald eyes.

"I'M the fairy, huh? If I do recall, it was a certain spiky-haired Gryffindor who came onto me at the Graduation party and proceeded in getting me off in the boys' bathrooms."

Ron started and almost fell over his feet. Wha-what-WHAT!?

"Why you fucking dirty SNAKE!" Jimmy roared, his posture no longer docile.

"Who was the sober one here?" Draco countered coolly.

Jimmy stammered for a bit, then shot on again, " That's not the point!"

"Then what's the point?" Draco asked, sliding his hands calmly into his pockets.

Jimmy stumbled with his words for a bit before a dangerous shimmer came into his eyes. His eyebrows knit together and his jaw clenched. And before any of them were prepared for it, a tear escaped Jimmy's stony resolve. Even Malfoy seemed surprised.

"You just left...You didn't even-"

"I left a letter." Draco interrupted.

Anger once again set into the younger Potter's face." A letter! A FUCKING LETTER! That stupid thing was supposed to explain everything! Explain why the next morning you were gone and nowhere to be found! Explain why you let me do all those things to you that night! Explain why you never wrote to me over the entire summer! Explain why I lost my best friend!"

Ron was starting to feel as if they REALLY should've stayed inside. People were starting to stare.

"Something like that."

Ron darted forward and forcefully dragged Malfoy down the walkway, away from the violent Potter. Once rounding the sixth block from Grimmauld Place, Ron slowed down and released the blonde's hand, to which the boy promptly cuffed him on the back of the head with.

"What the hell was that for? I was handling it, " Malfoy snapped, adjusting his askew folds of cloak.

"Yeah, and he would've handled you right into the pavement." Ron retorted sharply back, a good deal troubled over what he just heard.

Malfoy looked over, his glower sliding away to display simply a frown. "You're probably wondering what all that was about in any case. Am I right?"

Ron sighed and nodded.

Malfoy looked straight ahead. "It's exactly how it sounds. He got wasted, came onto me and sucked me off in the bathroom."

"Crude enough, Malfoy?" Ron growled.

The boy sighed tiredly and smoothed back his lengthy locks." Sorry, I know you two are close. "

Ron didn't bother to correct him with 'were'. "So, why the hostility? Why didn't you speak to him properly about it all after?" He inquired as they approached the International Floo Network branch located in an old delicatessen, stepping in behind the Slytherin.

"We both know why, Weasley. I'm not the only one who knows the consequences of getting involved with a Potter." He answered simply, then stepped up to the fireplace, throwing in a handful of powder.

Ron frowned, dragging over his suitcase. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, " Malfoy said irritably," That Potters are trouble. You can't do ANYTHING with them without it being front page news, or the very least, dinner gossip."

"But what happened between me and Harry's a secret. He's keen on his privacy. Almost anal, really."

Malfoy shook his head at the redhead, his gray eyes softening at the edges. " Do you really think he'd want something like that spread all over the papers? Something like that tarnishing his good name? Potter's not as saintly as you make him out to be."

Ron shivered at the thought. "You're wrong. Harry's not like that, he doesn't care about his image."

"We'll see, " Malfoy said simply before gripping Ron's wrist and dragging him into the bright green flames.

Green flames that engulfed him like Harry's eyes did every time they lay upon him. Green flames that consumed him so wholly, so utterly, it rendered him boneless. And green flames that he was now using to escape.

"Bran Castle!"

O-O-

"You missed a good month of the program, but it was just boring lectures anyways. I can give you my notes for all that rubbish, " Malfoy said as he climbed the last stretch of the castle's main pathway and led the way through the high gate and into the courtyard.

"Isn't this place haunted?" Ron asked warily, eyeing the ominous castle and its dark gloom. Even in daylight the place was eerie.

"Haunted? Depends on how you define haunted." Malfoy replied and entered the tall front doors.

"Haunted as in eyes always watching you, something always trying to maim you, loud bangs in the night, disembodied voices speaking to you when you're walking and figures hovering above your bed."

"Oh, well, in that case, yes. But I wouldn't worry too much about the figures hovering above your bed, Weasley. I'm sure there's no one here that figures you their type."

Ron hesitated on the threshold but entered nonetheless. The castle WAS a grand and glorious thing to see. Perched high among the mountains of Transylvania, it was isolated entirely from the tiny villages hours away. The castle had no less than seven looming towers, and foreboding windows in each, which Ron knew were probably torture chambers. There was a long, narrow, stone bridge connecting the main castle to its tiny counterpart over a fathomless drop to the icy river below. But Ron decided not to linger too much on the fact that if he fell, his screams would echo throughout most of the mountains. So he hurried inside after Malfoy, taking in a sharp breath as he gazed up at the castle as it encircled him. What with the sheer terror of it, it was enough to jog your memory that this was indeed a magnificent and ancient dwelling. But the cold chill that rushed up Ron's bare neck caused him to remember that the castle wasn't all THAT wonderful.

"So am I rooming alone?"

"Naturally. Your room is down the hall from mine, though. In the Children's' Wing. It's part of the training; to get used to no human contact."

Ron chewed on his lip as he followed Malfoy up a narrow staircase that ran alongside the wall. The whole experience was brash and sudden, much like the decision to even do this. But Ron knew he needed this. Whatever 'this' ended up becoming. He needed to get away and, hell, he might as well do something worthwhile with his time. But becoming an Unspeakable? Never in a million years had Ron thought this was possible.
"Why do you suppose the Heads let me into this program to begin with?"

Malfoy pondered him for a spare moment before replying as-a-matter-of-factly, " You're Pureblood, of course. Do you honestly think they'd deny us ANYTHING?"

Ron blinked, almost running into a mainstay and knocking over a rather dusty looking vase, "What's that? You think that's the only reason?"

Malfoy sighed heavily and looked at him as if he were speaking to a child, " Weasley, sometimes I wonder whether Scarhead really did make you stupider. Of COURSE that's not the only reason, but it's sure good enough reason for anything. There's not many of us left, as you well know. Fudge and every other knowledged wizard knows what will happen if the Ministry isn't influenced with proper wizarding blood."

Ron swallowed roughly, tightening his grip on his bag. He knew as well, it was just common knowledge among purebloods. "The Ministry would fall."

Malfoy gave a grim nod and stopped at the head of a long, rather unpleasant looking hallway," Now, we both know some lovely chaps that just happen to be Muggle-borns, it's not their fault, naturally. But if the wizarding world were ever to lose the undiluted essence of Pureblood magic, well, not even half-bloods could save them from the apocalypse that would occur."

Ron looked to the side and felt sick in his stomach. " I'd never heard the myth be told in such a blatant fashion before."

Malfoy rolled his eyes and rummaged in his pockets for something, "That's simply because your father is a fool who thinks Mudbloods are the next best thing to levitation and convinces you carrot-tops that the world is all sunshine and rainbows with them." Emerging from his palm was a long, black metal key, which he handed over to the indignant redhead. "Here's your key. And there's no need to be in such a state, Weasley. I only utter the truth."

Ron walked off to the room at the end of the hall in a huff, hearing Malfoy titter in his wake. Kicking open the door once he was in, the boy tipped his things onto his bed and proceeded in murmuring a series of curses under his breath at the blond.
Once that was all done with, Ron sorted his stuff into the provided wardrobe and dresser, then rationalized he'd better explore his chambers. No need to bump into anything at night during his flights of terror.

He had two rooms to himself, one the bedroom, the other a sitting room. The bedroom had quite an enormous canopy bed and Ron couldn't seem to think of any reasons to have such a big bed for only one person. The dresser was on one side of the bed, a nightstand on the other. Besides the nightstand, and currently where Ron stood, was the tall wardrobe. Ron decided he didn't like the fact that the door was directly opposite the bed, nor that the room was so dark. Walking past the wardrobe, Ron entered the adjacent room.
First thing he noticed was the sitting room had an absolutely lovely view of the high, black mountains, dappled with enormous fir and pine trees. Far below, he could see the Far East wall that surrounded this end of the castle and the traces of a path that ran straight through the thick forest. In the room there was a small table at which only one chair was placed. It seemed the staff, wherever they were, placed lunch out for Ron. Walking over, the redhead deposited himself on the lone chair and nibbled on a watercress sandwich. Letting his eyes roam over the rest of the room, he noted a rather large, fluffy armchair positioned in front of an impressive fireplace, the tall window had horridly dreary curtains and there was a desk on the left wall. Getting up, Ron ambled over to the desk and found it to be quite beautiful. All dark mahogany and intricately detailed, he felt it didn't quite belong in such a place devoid of any real beauty. Poking through the roll top, he discovered a series of books dealing with Unspeakables already purchased on his account, and many more not even having to do with the Ministry department. Picking up one of these dusty tomes, Ron angled it towards the midday light from the window and squinted at its fading gold letters.
"Entries Into EdenWorlde."

"I hear that's a particularly fascinating volume from a series by Erick Liptstein."

Ron whirled round to find Draco leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and looking far too comfortable in these gloomy surroundings.

Pursing his lips, Ron scanned the pages, " He sounds familiar. Wasn't he a nutter from the 16th century who believed there were ways back to Eden?"

Malfoy smiled appreciatively and walked further into the room. " The Weasel reads, how surprising."

Ron snarled at him and gently put back the antique book, " Found a copy at my Grandma's house when I stayed there during one summer. In fact, most of these books I've seen once or twice either at my house or one of my relatives'."

"Well, they generally circulate only among Purebloods. If Potty ever tried reading them, I'm sure he'd pitch a fiercesome fit."

"I don't see why, he's one of the most powerful wizards alive. Besides that, he's more than a half-blood," Ron replied, returning to his sandwiches and soup.

Malfoy seated himself on the armchair, crossing his legs and peering over folded hands at Ron. "True, but he's also self-righteous and chivalrous. He'd probably make like Granger and demand a revolution of the Muggle-borns."

Ron had to smile at the thought. It really DID seem the sort of thing Harry would do. Gather together Muggle-borns and insist that they be treated just as Purebloods. Then the smile faded and Ron remembered why he was here to begin with. Stupid Malfoy. Must he keep mentioning Harry?

"Don't do it to yourself, Weasley. It's not worth it."

Ron looked over at Malfoy's stern face and shrugged his gaze off, stuffing the last sandwich into his mouth.

"Your table manners are appalling." Malfoy said with a curl to his lip.

"Good thing I don't care, " Ron replied before he slurped up his minestrone soup unnecessarily loud.

The blond tossed his eyes to the side and crossed his arms, " Well, once your done slopping your lunch all over that poor ancient table, I must show you the grounds properly. Though I have half a mind to just let you get lost going to all your classes."

Ron sneered at him and finished his meal with a deliciously rich glass of merlot before setting off with the Slytherin prince. "So, what classes are there exactly?"

"Well, they're not so much classes, as intense lectures, " The blond responded, tucking his hands into his cloak pockets and leading the way down a large hallway. " We've just had a month of orientation over in Bulgaria, simple stuff about getting to know ourselves and our profession and entrance exams, of which I hear you passed with startlingly high marks, and now we will be beginning the hard lectures."

"Of what?" Ron asked, slightly miffed that he'd missed a month already, but satisfied that his scores were something Malfoy was pleased with. Ron never showed it, but he did very much miss being apart of the pureblood social circle. There was just something different in the way the redhead approached conversation and competition with Malfoy as opposed to everyone else.

"Well, let's see, " And he pulled a parchment from his pocket, unrolling it." On Mondays, it's 'Speech and Etiquette', along with 'Socialization'. On Tuesdays it's 'Unlocking Inner Psyches' all day, then 'Astronomy and Astrology' at midnight. Wednesdays are 'Ancient Magical History', 'Muggle-Wizard Theory', and 'Rune Protection'. Thursdays it's 'Magical Law' and Fridays it's 'Dark Arts'."

Ron blinked.

"Don't do that, you look like an owl." Malfoy said curtly, tucking the parchment away.

Ron resisted the urge to pinch him in favor of something more productive, " I have all those as well?"

"Well, of course, you dimwit. There's only about five of us after all."

"FIVE?"

Malfoy shot him a scowl, looked round to see if they'd disturbed anything other than piles of dust or crabby spiders. " Yes, five, that's what I said. The two of us from Britain, one girl from Bulgaria, one from Italy and one from Canada. It's not as if everyone wants to be an Unspeakable, you know. It's a horrible life."

Ron frowned, " But my Great Uncle Morel was an Unspeakable and he was as happy a chap as anyone."

"Well, everyone from your side of the family is a loon, Weasel. Nothing to be proud of." Ron would've retorted had it not been the sudden look of sadness that crossed the blonde's face. " Only a person wishing to escape humanity would want to become one. For it's a long, sad and lonely life. Full of secrets you can never tell and things you wish you'd never seen."

Ron paused at the bottom of a staircase he never remembered going down, " Sort of sounds like your life already, Malfoy."

The boy stood for several silent moments three steps above Ron, eyes unseeing and lips unmoving. If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, Ron would think Draco had been Stupefied.

"Malfoy?"

Blinking back into reality, the boy peered at Ron in an odd sort of way. "Funny you should notice a thing like that, Weasley, and not the fact that Potter was never an option for you."

Ron had a very difficult time debating whether he should break down and cry that very moment or knock Malfoy's head from his shoulders or admit begrudgingly that he was right. But apparently the blond was in an abnormal mood, for he ushered Ron across the courtyard and through a set of wide double doors. And here Ron was stumped for words. Again.

The room was not only large, but tall as well. Narrow, gaunt pillars of nearly black stone shot up from all along the walls, connecting in a sharp arch at the high ceiling, if one squinted that is. In between each of these pillars stood a huge bowl of fire, held up in the air by a levitation spell. Malfoy stopped halfway through the room and waited until Ron caught up.

"This is where we meet for almost everything. Meetings, lectures, and what have you. What we're standing in is the Great Hall of Vlad Tepes, The Impaler. You know of him, am I right?"

Ron shifted his gaze from the ceiling beams to glare at Draco, " Even I'M not that stupid. He was the Prince of Wallachia. A bloody psycho was what he was, torturing everyone who didn't do things his way. "

Draco smiled a dark smile, " He's also simply known as Dracula."

Ron couldn't help the shiver that coursed up his spine, " Yeah, he's that, too. He...um...he doesn't still live here, does he?"

"Not sure. Some say he went back to his residential castle over on the Arges River. Still others believe he was killed when Voldemort sieged the castle back when he was in full power."

"What do YOU think?" Ron asked, crossing his arms and wishing he'd brought his cloak with him.

"Me? Well, I don't believe any of the rumors for one, bunch of ruddy hogwash if you ask me." Malfoy replied, turning to gaze at something behind them. "But what I do know is that Vlad still lives. And he's more than happy to make like his younger days and impale us for trespassing into his castle."

Ron turned and almost choked on his tongue at the sight he saw. For on the wall was a large portrait of the Impaler himself, his eyes flickering with the madness within and something that looked eerily like blood seeping through the paint from his rendered lips.

Draco smirked again, "It looks as if he's just fed. I guess that makes four of us then."

Ron didn't remember much about the rest of that day, only that he commandeered Malfoy's bed and refused to leave for the rest of the weekend.

O-O-

The light of dawn wasn't something Ron was all that against. He sure as much enjoyed a good sunrise, but not when it was the sort of sunrise that gave way to a bleak, rainy gray day. Especially if the night before was something akin to pure torture. Apparently, Malfoy was correct in his assumption that Vlad Tepes was alive and well, and that he just killed one of their classmates. For when Ron met with the Head of Programs, Eustace Punickle, and the rest of the trainees that Monday morning after a very long weekend, it was to his horror that he discovered Sonya Wallace from Canada was found hanging from the rafters in the Torture Chamber.

And it was when he trudged out into the courtyard behind Malfoy that he started to think that maybe his decision to become an Unspeakable was a bad one.

"Ears, please! Thank you, "Mr. Punickle quipped. He turned round with a flurry of his robes and stared at the group with stony brown eyes. " I shall inform you now that classes will progress as if nothing has happened. If this matter, however, has put a strain on your heart far greater than you can bear, I suggest you deal with it. An Unspeakable's life will be full of horrors, all of which you will be expected to endure and maintain a bleak face through. Now, I will leave you to your first lesson. Good day."

At this the old man walked away, to be replaced by a younger man, though just as dark, with slicked back muddy brown hair and a creepy smile. He was one of the four wizards teaching them. He was called Lysander Olaf. " I'm sure the weekend's events have made you all very much eager to learn. Well then, I won't disappoint you. For the remainder of the year, I will be teaching you the ways and manners of the Unspeakable. Our form and conduct much differ from all around us, its what sets us apart but allows us to blend right in...Why aren't you writing this down?"

Ron blinked, fumbled for his notebook and a quill, and tried to eloquently balance writing while walking. And so, his training began.

O-O-

Four weeks later, Ron found the time to lean back in his chair after a grueling day of homework and stretch his aching muscles. Etiquette demanded that he not make the grunting noises, but habit sometimes was a hard thing to break. He did, however, learn quickly that one who gobbled up food, no matter how ravenous they were, were sure to get their knuckles smacked until they were bloody. And Ron's knuckles were currently covered in bandages since Instructor Olaf said the sight of any abnormalities should either be hidden, forgotten or Glamoured. With a husky sigh he didn't realize he was capable of, Ron pushed himself from his desk and walked over to his solitary table he was becoming to grow quite fond of, to tuck into a supper of roasted duck, spiced potatoes and a bottle of pinot noir. He ate slow, he ate careful, he ate as if this were his last meal. A big part of him still wanted to put away the bird as if it were a bread roll though, but he resisted.
Around 9 O'clock, Malfoy strutted in and deposited himself in Ron's armchair as he'd grown accustomed to doing the past month. But tonight seemed a bit different. He seemed a bit...off.

"Something the matter, Malfoy?" Ron inquired after setting his fork and knife down in an 'X' across his plate.

"Have you noticed the date?"

Ron frowned and glanced over at the calendar he tacked up on the wall above his desk, " August 30th. What of it?"

"It's been a month since you've been here."

Ron continued to stare blankly at his companion, " I fail to see your point."

" In only a month, the Instructors have managed to hammer out all the uneducated mannerisms that family of yours have brought you up with and turned you into something remarkably similar to a human being." Malfoy responded, leg crossed, faint arrogant smile in place.

"Shall I throw a party then, Draco?"

The boys regarded each other for a moment before the both of them burst out laughing.

"You almost had me going there, Weaselbee, " Draco chortled.

"Well, you deserve more for that human being remark. Now what's all this about the date?" Ron said, picking up his dessert (a cream cheese Danish).

Malfoy sighed and straightened a bit, " What happened at the end of July?"

Ron thought for awhile, racking his considerable intellect for the answer. " The slaughter of Moonsborough in 1412?"

Draco looked as if he were close to slapping him, but held back. "Anything else?"

Ron rolled his eyes and swallowed the last bit of his wine, " Malfoy, I hate history, it's one of my worst subjects, just tell me what you're going on about."

" July 31st, " Draco said simply and let Ron ponder it himself. But at the blank expression on his face, the blond was becoming alarmed. " July 31st, Weasley. Who do we know that came into our lives on July 31st?"

Ron just couldn't seem to put a finger on it. School didn't start at the end of July and neither of them had any new relatives that decided to show up and their friends-

"Oh."

"Yes, 'OH'. Merlin's beard, Weasley, " Malfoy sighed. Shaking his head he was amazed to find Ron acting as if the topic were closed. " You missed their birthday, Ron. You didn't even send them a card."

The redhead twitched, unnerved that his friend found this situation dire enough to call him by his first name. But what he said was only half true. Ron remembered, he just decided not to do anything about it. A card seemed too impersonal, a present TOO personal and a letter just all wrong since he wouldn't have known what to say. So, he just let the day pass by and ignored the gnawing sensation growing in his gut.
Reaching over, Ron poured himself another glass of wine. Nursing it, he chanced a glance at Malfoy.

"I got a letter from Potter, you know. Rather short, but it said what it needed to say. Perhaps I should leave it with you, " And with that, Draco stood, pulling a folded piece of parchment from his cloak, and left it on the table before leaving.

Ron eyed the paper warily. What did Harry say to Malfoy that Ron would need to see? Did he really WANT to see? " Oh, bugger."

With a huge gulp of wine, Ron picked up the letter and smoothed it open. Soon after, he wished he hadn't.

"Dear Draco,

Thanks for the food basket and money. Though you really didn't have to, Jimmy and me sure appreciate it. Money's rather tight lately.
Anyways, I hope training is going well for you. Don't change too much, now. We all want our snarky bastard to come back to us intact. I was wondering how Ron's been doing. I noticed we didn't hear from him on our birthday...It's not as if I were expecting anything from him, its just sad knowing he forgot. It's depressing over here without him, in all honesty.
Well, take care of Ron, all right? Don't let him become a stranger. Ron needs to be Ron, no matter how much he desperately wants otherwise. I'll cut this short now. Have a nice winter and I hope to hear from you soon.

Sincerely,
Harry

Ron tucked the letter into one of his books and proceeded in emptying his bottle of pinot noir.

O-O-

"And to the right of that, you should be looking at a bright "W" formation. This is what, Ms. Baskoff?"

"Cassiopeia, sir."

"And its stars are, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Shedir, Caph, Ruchbah, Segin, Archid, and Marfak, sir."

"And its position is, Mr. Weasley?"

"Right ascension: 1 hour, declination: 60 degrees, visible between latitudes 90 and -20 degrees. Best seen in November at 9:00 PM, sir"

"And its translation is, Ms. Baskoff?"

"Queen of Ethiopia or Andromeda's mother, sir"

Instructor Fleetwood nodded appreciatively, never taking his eye away from the telescope, " And the next constellation besides that is-"

"My sirs, must come quick, yous must! The young man flies, he does."

Ron turned away from his telescope to see a tiny little house elf hopping all over the place at the top of the staircase. Fleetwood seemed less than amused.

"What's this all about? Did you say FLYING?" The man asked doubtfully.

The elf bobbed his head eagerly, his big blue eyes that much bigger, " In the air, he does. Must come quick! Must come!"

Well, that was it for the lesson. The entire group stampeded down the tower staircase and scurried after Instructor Fleetwood who looked nothing if not extremely put out that his lesson was interrupted so rudely.
No one said anything during the mad rush to keep up with the teacher, saving their breath for the thrill that was sure to come. As they finally started to slow down, Ron noticed they were in the Great Hall. With a frown, he walked beside Malfoy seeing Head Punickle, Mr. Olaf, Mr. Craft and Ms. Ewers circled in front of something on the other side of the pillar.

The teachers turned once Fleetwood and the students caught up, the house elf trembling with fright behind Punickle's legs.

"Seems it's happened again, " Craft said solemnly to Fleetwood as they approached.

Ron looked over to see what he meant and his stomach instantly turned sour. Clapping a hand to his mouth, he fought back a whimper and stared on in utter horror. Floating almost halfway up the wall, looking for the world like a sleeping angel, was his classmate Anton Spinelli. Well, he'd look like an angel if angels had half their faces missing, their chests ripped open and a constant stream of crimson blood plip-plopping to the ground. Ron could feel himself growing queasy and was starting to debate whether having that second helping of rhubarb pie was such a smart idea.

"Well then, "Fleetwood said, eyeing the scene with an uneasy look.

Pivoting sharply, Punickle addressed the class sharply, " Who can tell me what death classification this is?"

Ron blinked, staring at him as if he'd turned pink.

"Class E, subtext H; Unknown murder for unknown cause with unknown means." Jules Baskoff replied.

"And what are the characteristics that must be noted?" He asked again.

"Severe corpse lacerations, fifty percent cranial loss, and gaping chest cavity, " Malfoy replied.

Ron looked over at him, revolted. How could they be so damn nonchalant about this? Anton was hanging in the air! DEAD! By who KNOWS what! How could they-

"Mr. Weasley, I asked you a question, " Punickle snapped.

"W-what...sir?" Ron croaked through his nausea.

"Given the state of the corpse, the location and relative information about prior murders, what conclusion can you surmise?"

Ron glanced at Malfoy, who looked paler than usual, then at Jules who stared back blankly. A look round at all his teachers told him that they were very much serious and if he was going to prove himself, it was going to be now. " I deduce that one, Anton Spinelli, was murdered at around 10 o'clock this evening on his way to Astronomy. He was strangled in mid-air and was half alive when whoever it was began to disembowel him. The scratch marks on the painting are proof of that. In addition, from the amount of the substance on the floor and the color of his skin, it was not the splitting of Spinelli's chest that killed him, it was blood loss."

The Head gave him a most startling smile and nodded his consent, " Well done, Mr. Weasley. I do believe you will make a fine addition to this department."

Ron nodded his thanks and tried not to look so green as blood pooled at the toe of his shoe.

Later that night, in Ron's room, Malfoy sighed exasperatedly. Honestly, he would too, if he were Draco. But right now, he didn't care. All that mattered was getting plastered and forgetting about the gruesome sight of a splayed open Anton Spinelli. But more than that, the indifference people seemed to display at having the mangled body hovering above them for what felt like hours. If life was going to be examining dreadful sight after ghastly sight, Ron wanted to have more than half his brain cells dead by then.

"Weasley, REALLY. Your method of avoidance is juvenile, not to mention destructive, "Malfoy harassed from his unusual spot at the foot of Ron's bed.

Ron blew his burp in Draco's direction, making the blonde reel back in revulsion

"For Merlin's sake, Weasley! Eat mints!"

Ron gave a grunt then collapsed onto his back, steadily gulping back his...er...fifth bottle? Sixth? No, fifth. Wait. Tenth.

"I swear, I should've just left you up that tree during Rune Protection. You're a complete waste of time, Weasel. You hear me?" At this, Malfoy scowled. " Are you even listening?"

Ron tossed the empty bottle onto the floor with the others and beckoned the house elf on stand by for another. Taking a sip, Ron purred. Sherry. His favorite.

"WEASLEY!"

"Christ's sake, Malfoy, shut the bloody hell up. You sound like a girl."

Malfoy bristled, his pale cheeks flushing. Marching up he took a mighty swing and slapped Ron right upside his head, upsetting the bottle he was using as a pillow. Ron whined.

"I'll have you know many women, as well as men, think my voice is the essence of sexy. I've had more than one lover fall to their knees with helpless desire at the sound of my voice."

"Are you sure they didn't pass out from the sheer terror of it?" Ron asked innocently.

Malfoy smacked him again and this time Ron's bottle went flying.

"What the hell, Malfoy!" Ron barked, scrambling over to salvage what was left of the broken bottle.

"It's only what you deserve for belching on me. Yuck. I'm never going to get that smell out of my clothes, " Draco said, removing his outer robes and sniffing his fine linen shirt and vest.

"I'll tell you what I deserve. I deserve to be hung and mounted on a plaque and put on display in Harry's house. That's what I deserve, " Ron reached over and took the merlot the house elf offered him. "I deserve to never be any closer to him for what I've become already. What a horrible thing I'll become."

"What horrible thing?" Draco asked, staying a good ways from the crouched redhead.

"THIS! Whatever you call Punickle. I'll become just like him, we both will. Then nobody will want us," Ron mumbled before taking a mighty swig of warm, comforting red wine.

"I suppose you're right, "Malfoy said indifferently.

"So, who is it that you'll never be wanted by?" Ron asked, flipping over onto his bum.

"No one," The blond replied curtly.

"Bull. I know your in love with someone, it's only obvious. You said it yourself, Malfoy. Only a person escaping humanity would want to become an Unspeakable. So, who're you trying to escape?"

The boy regarded him sternly, seeming to have a rather heated argument within himself. But it seemed he came to a decision as he walked over, kneeled beside Ron and snatched the bottle out of his hand. Emptying half the contents into his stomach, Malfoy exhaled loudly and smacked his lips.

"Let's just say you and me, we're more alike than you think. Unrequited love is hell in itself, but knowing you could have something but too chicken shit to take a chance for it is quite another purgatory. " Draco seemed suddenly sad, his silver eyes misting over and his rosebud lips turning down at the corners. " I live in my own hell, which I've cultivated to consume me entirely. For if he knew..."

Ron looked over at him, frowning. The haze of alcohol hindered his thought process, but not enough to make him miss a big revelation. "He?"

Draco raised his eyes, fear shining through his icy layers. He was cracking and Ron was here to see it. But just as quickly as it came, the look left and Malfoy was shoving another bottle into Ron's hand.

"To escaping love and all its agony."

Ron had to drink to that.