July

"Malfoy?"

Apart from hearing a soft voice and feeling a firm shake, the first thing Draco saw when he opened his eyes were terrified blue ones, belonging to Ron Weasley. His whole face looked worried, in fact, and Draco groaned.

His head hurt. What the hell had happened?

"You, uh, sort of fainted," Ron explained, blushing slightly. "Thought you went into a state of shock or something. You breathed so fast, I suppose you didn't get enough air and… Are you alright? Do you need to go to the hospital? There's a Muggle one not far from here, but I could take you to St Mungo's too if you want. You might want someone to check on you. You've hit your head, and that's—"

Weasley kept droning on, talking fast about how Draco needed somebody to check up on him. He tried to check if Draco had any injuries, but Draco swatted his hand impatiently away as soon as Weasley had helped him up to a sitting position. No, Draco did absolutely not want to go to the hospital. He didn't need to end this day in the emergency room explaining to a Mediwitch that he fainted outside of Ronald Weasley's apartment because he couldn't handle seeing Granger. Granger. Just the thought made his head hurt—more than it already did.

The world spun around him; he felt a bit nauseous if he was completely honest. Except for that and a throbbing head, he seemed unscathed. He didn't bleed anywhere—at least not from what he could see or feel, as he gently touched the back of his head. There was no blood on his fingers.

Thank Salazar for that.

"You shouldn't move so fast," Ron's voice again; grabbing Draco's shoulders in an attempt to hold him still. Weasley was down on his knees in front of Draco on the pavement, not caring that people shot them odd looks, wondering what they were doing. "Are you okay? Want me to take you to St Mungos? Actually, maybe I should—" Weasley sounded so stressed, and it baffled Draco how much he seemed to...care.

Wasn't caring a stretch? No, Weasley didn't care, did he? Draco's head hurt too much for him to think about something like this now.

"I'm fine, Weasley, there's no need," Draco said, dismissively waving his hand. Why the hell couldn't Weasley understand what he said-was he really that daft? He wished Weasley would take his heavy hands off of him, which he thankfully did a moment later.

"Sure about that? You look rather pale," Weasley said, eyes flickering all over Draco's face. His eyes were huge; Draco began thinking that it was almost endearing how worried the redhead was. No, not endearing, he corrected himself; it was strange.

Or pathetic.

"Yes, like I said, I'm fine," Draco repeated impatiently, irritably, gritting his teeth at the pain.

"Maybe you shouldn't sit up though, now that I think about it," Ron continued. "Really should take you to the hospital. You might have a concussion—"

"No!" Draco objected, wishing the Weasel would stop nagging."Like I've already said a number of times now, I don't need any medical attention except for a potion to remove the pain from my head. Which I will make sure to take when I get home after I'm done with what I came here for."

"Don't be a git. Okay, fine, no hospital. But can't I take you home? You don't look so good, to be honest."

Draco stared blankly at him, letting the words sink in. Weasley in his apartment? His whole inside screamed no! He didn't want Weasley in his apartment; it was private. No gingers, especially, allowed. But his head did throb, he couldn't Disapparate anywhere in this state, and Weasley kept staring at him all wide-eyed and didn't seem like he was going to stop that anytime soon. Draco suddenly felt very, very tired, like he could just fall asleep where he was.

"Fine," he eventually said a moment later, glaring at Ron. "I wouldn't do this under any normal circumstances, but whatever that helps you to stop staring at me, I suppose."

"No, of course, you wouldn't." Ron snorted. He got to his feet and offered a hand to help Draco up. For the second time, Draco swatted Ron's hand away.

The world tilted a bit when he, bent double, tried standing up on wobbly legs. Ron grabbed his arm to steady him, but Draco pushed him away with all the strength he could muster, hissing a don't touch me! the giant ginger tosser's way.

"You can't Apparate in this state," Weasley said once they both got Draco back on his feet. "You'd throw up. If you want me to take you home, I reckon we better take the train or something. It's a Muggle area; we can't exactly—"

Draco threw Weasley such a dangerous look he half-hoped it would kill him in the process. Much to his disappointment though, the redhead still stood before him, looking as stupid as ever.

"No, it's Apparition or nothing. I cannot perform a Disapparation myself right now, which is why I would allow you to do this as a one-time-only offer. If you're not willing to take me home this way or decide to take me to the bloody hospital just because you can't let things go, then I'll get myself home without your help."

And we could just forget about this whole fucking thing.

Deflated and annoyed, Draco proceeded to push past Ron. It was a very feeble protest-Ron only had to hold out his arm to stop him, which he did. Apparently, the wizard had an interest in driving people crazy, and not in the good kind of way.

"Nope; you're not going anywhere now. You were the one who showed up at my doorstep and went all barmy. So… what are you doing here?" Ron asked, letting go of him before Draco could protest. Draco took a few steps backwards, putting distance between them.

He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. "N-need to talk," he said, muscles tensing. Dammit, this wasn't how he wanted things to go, and the more he stood there, the more he wished he could undo everything. Turn back time.

"Really?" Ron said in a voice full of surprise. Draco didn't need to look, he could practically hear Ron raising his eyebrows at that. "I can tell, the way you've been ignoring me for two weeks—"

"Shut up!" Draco hissed, the urge to slap Ron bubbling up in him. He flew forward, raising his right arm and waved it around—almost falling to the ground again with how dizzy he was. For the third time that day, Ron caught him. Not only that, Ron caught him with both arms; Draco landed face-first into Ron's shirt. His nose and mouth came in contact with the dark, soft material Ron's shirt was made of; he stopped breathing immediately to avoid smelling anything from the taller man.

"You've got to stop being so damn aggressive," Ron said, looking down at Draco, a hint of amusement in his voice. Their eyes met; Draco's lips parted; his hands were on Ron's shoulders, and suddenly he got the intense feeling, the intense longing that he wanted to—

In Draco's mind, his lips were on Ron's; his fingers were in Ron's fiery hair while Ron's hands grabbed his arms, the sides of his body, anything he could reach. He wondered how it would feel to just kiss and kiss and kiss and tear every piece of clothing Ron had on his body off of him, feel the warm skin. His palms felt sweaty, wrists tingling—why did his wrists always tingle when he was nervous?!

Where the hell did this come from?! Bloody Kathrine Bouvier getting to his head. The vineyard situation was getting to his head as well as the stress.

There's no such thing as a spark.

Draco tore himself away from Ron, quickly, snapping out of it. "I'm not aggressive!" he snapped, cheeks flushing hotly. "In any case, forget it. I'll just go home. I'll—" he gestured feebly to the air, "figure something out."

"Rubbish, I'll take you home," Ron insisted, half reaching for Draco again but this time he was out of his grasp. "Apparition like you wanted. But it's not my fault if you throw up. And don't do it on me."

"Wow, this place is huge."

Weasley let out a low whistle in admiration as he took in the view of Draco's dark sitting room.

Draco barely detached himself from holding onto Weasley during the Apparition before he slumped down onto his sofa with a groan. He rubbed his temples, shutting his eyes. Draco had forgotten that to Apparate with the redhead, he needed to hold him. And holding Ron seemed to be dangerous, clearly. He needed to remember to avoid that at all costs.

It was only a couple of seconds. And Ron wasn't at all warm.

Also, this fucking headache, he thought bitterly as Weasley admired everything from the portraits on the walls to bookcases to the bar, paying Draco no attention at all. He was incredibly dizzy, but thankfully, it didn't seem like he was going to puke. At least not yet, despite the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. If he could work up the energy, he would find the bloody potion for his head.

Get rid of the stupid pain. Then tell Weasley what he needed from him so the idiot could go home to Granger until they were forced to see each other again. Also, he needed to owl Astoria. Draco made a mental note of that.

"Yes, and I live alone unlike you," Draco said when Ron stopped walking about his sitting-room; he couldn't stop himself from insulting the redhead just a little. It had always been so easy and then watching smugly how his mood changed; that hadn't changed just because he had to pretend to date him in order to stop a wedding.

A wedding that got closer and closer every day.

"Oh, yeah, about that…" Ron began, a bit tentatively. "How'd you find out where I live? That's supposed to be—"

"Yes, I know all about the matchmaking service's policy," Draco said, but it came out as a groan as the contents of his stomach threatened to reappear with the increasing pain in his head. "I have my ways. I'm a Malfoy; I'll get what I want if I want it." He gritted his teeth, proceeding to sit up properly. Ron rushed to him then, demanding to know where he kept his potions.

Thirty seconds later he was back, thrusting a small bottle of a pain easing potion into Draco's hand. The redhead waited, still standing up as if he didn't dare to sit down and muttering something about that he should have taken Draco to St Mungos after all. Draco chose to ignore him.

"Your ways, huh?" He heard Ron say, as he watched him down the whole bottle and gave it back to Ron empty. Weasley grimaced as he took it and put it down on Draco's coffee table. The redhead then took a seat on the sofa too, on the opposite end.

Draco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The pain heightened momentarily—he closed his eyes to brace himself— then Draco felt it vanish by the second, leaving him with a glorious feeling of being fuzzy and warm and amazing. He longed for a nap; that seemed like a good idea. "Yes, Weasley, my ways."

"So is a two week's silent treatment a part of your ways too, then?" Ron asked, dropping his gaze to his knees, playing with a hole he had in his trousers just above the right knee. His brows were furrowed as he silently picked at the fraying fabric.

"Not exactly, no. That was an unfortunate sidetracking, I'm afraid."

Ron turned his head to look at him now, his eyes narrowing. "Sidetracking? And you couldn't have let me get a heads up about that so I could, I dunno, move on?"

"I wasn't aware you needed my permission to do anything, Weasley," Draco replied tersely. His previously relaxing muscles started to tense again.

"Right. But you had me waiting in some sort of lost-and-found until you decided that you need me again. Was pretty stressed when that matchmaking-lady wanted to know how things went between us, because I don't know what's going on, truth be told." Weasley shook his head, going back to picking at the hole in his trousers. Draco could tell he was moody and he wasn't in the mood for the redhead's possible tantrums at all.

"Lost-and-found, what are you talking about?" Draco asked, half-turned in his seat so he could take a proper look at Ron, the stupid hole in his trousers and the fingers on his right hand; Ron's hand was rather large and his fingers long and… No, he could absolutely not look at that. Draco turned his gaze away.

He could practically hear Ron roll his eyes. "You kept me waiting for two fucking weeks, Malfoy. Nothing from you at all, no owl or anything; you didn't even bother to tell the matchmaking lady what you were up to. Didn't know what was expected of me or what you wanted to do so I've just been waiting around when I've actually could have used that time to find somebody decent and go on a real date!" His nostrils flared with the sudden burst of anger. "For once," he added in a low voice, probably thinking that Draco wouldn't hear him.

"We had an arrangement, Weasley, in which we agreed to pretend to date each other, and I never stopped you from going on a real date with anybody else!" Draco snapped back. "I've needed your help, Weasley, that's true but never did I forbid you from dating other people. You could have asked that Bouvier woman to set you up with another one to date simultaneously. And frankly, I wasn't even aware that you might need to date anyone at all, because obviously-as I discovered today- you still live with Granger, and that's a bit sad if you ask me."

"Sad?!" Ron raised his voice, not entirely aware that he had done so. He rose from the sofa, glaring at Draco. "What the hell do you mean by that?!" Draco glared back and got a strange deja vu feeling back to when they were schoolboys.

"It's not sad to live with your best friend," Ron said before Draco got the chance to say anything.

"It is if it's an ex. Or is it, really? Perhaps you're only looking for a side piece to spice up your boring relationship, what do I know?" Draco couldn't help the malice in his voice, couldn't help that he wanted to push buttons just a little. Ron was angry, and his anger did things to Draco that he didn't quite like. So buttons he pushed, and he would keep pushing if Ron was going to continue to be like this.

Ron rolled his eyes, and to Draco's disappointment, he didn't rise to the bait. The redhead sighed and ran a hand through his hair."What do you want from me, Malfoy? Why did you show up at my doorstep today?"

" Because I..." Draco opened and closed his mouth, now unsure of how to begin. Especially when Ron gave him that look; the look that said that he absolutely hated him. Draco didn't have time for that look. He only had time for plans. "You do realise I still need your help, don't you, Weasley?"Draco dropped his gaze, unable to keep looking into those blue eyes that were so incredibly intense it was hard to handle. Hard to gaze into for a longer amount of time.

Is he aware of that? Does everyone have this problem, or is it just me?

Ron sniffed. "What makes you think I still wanna help you after you ditched me for so long? I don't care what problems you have Malfoy, they are yours, not mine. You ran away from me last time in the park and then didn't speak to me for fourteen days."

"For Salazar's sake Weasley…" Draco scowled if Weasley wanted to get in touch with him so bad he could have just owled a bloody message! But pointing this out to the dense redhead would only fuel his moodiness, which would most likely make Draco's headache return.

"Besides, you can't be all that desperate, can you, if you've had time to not talk to me for so long," Ron eventually pointed out after a moment of silence. Draco thought that he sounded like a Wireless somebody had tampered with, repeating the same things over and over.

"I wish I wasn't," Draco said through gritted teeth, getting up from the sofa too. The redhead backed away, giving him some room. "But as much as it pains me to say, I am. And we have a problem. Yes, we, Weasley, don't give me that look," Draco added as Ron made a face in reply. His eyes fell on the large, expensive rug, soft under his feet as he walked on it. "If you're willing to listen, I can tell you that I've just been down at the Matchmaking agency on a meeting with Bouvier. And frankly, this affects both of us."

"Okay," Ron said, biting his lip. "Tell me then."

Draco sighed and gestured to the sofa. "Perhaps we can sit down again, Weasley and talk like the adults we are. Or supposed to be. I could even be so kind as to offer you a drink."

Ron shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

Draco waited for the redhead to flop down on the sofa, it creaked a little beneath his weight and Draco winced. It was an old sofa, and Weasley wasn't careful. Such an awkward giant he was, body clumsy and too long. Draco poured them two glasses of red wine from the bar, another bottle Antonio had gifted him a while back. He smirked to himself, wondering what Weasley would say about the taste. He hadn't been particularly fond of it when they were at the vineyard.

Much to Draco's glee, Ron grimaced badly when he took a sip from the glass he had been offered. He didn't need to say anything; it was clear that he didn't enjoy it.

Draco took a gulp from his glass before putting it down on the coffee table next to Ron's. He then joined Weasley on the sofa; on the opposite end of it like before. Weasley raised an eyebrow in question. "You sure you can drink while on a painkilling potion? Isn't that dangerous?"

Draco glared at him. "Yes, Weasley, I am sure."

He didn't waste any time, giving Weasley a recap of everything that had been going on, choosing every word carefully. Draco tried to not sound too desperate either and too stressed. For once, Weasley remained silent, listening to what he had to say. Ron shook his head in disbelief at the article that was getting published in the Daily Prophet. Draco also told him a little about what Bouvier had said, but decided to leave out the other thing; the one about the...spark. It was all lies anyway; they didn't have anything going on; there was no such thing as a spark between them. They had only been on three dates; two of them had been terrible mistakes. They didn't even know they were supposed to meet each other in the first place in the coffee shop and the latest one was ruined by Pansy Parkinson. He was glad Weasley hadn't brought that up.

"Blimey," Weasley said once Draco was done. "You really are in trouble, aren't you?"

"Yes, Weasley, if that wasn't obvious before," Draco said impatiently. "And if you could be so kind as to ignore the last two weeks, I'd still like your help so I could convince my parents that I cannot marry Astoria Greengrass. The wedding is in six weeks; the wedding invitations have been sent out, and I am out of options. Then there's the article too that I've already mentioned. My proposition is that we continue the dating process and then tell Bouvier—and my parents—that we are a couple and then perhaps in September we can have a dramatic break up and go our separate ways. Of course, we only have to spend time with each other when we are out on our 'dates' and in-between we are free to do whatever we like with the rest of our time. Including dating other people," he added, throwing Ron a pointed look. "I'm sure you can tell Bouvier you'd want that; I am out of options, not you. As long as you play happy couples with me for a while in front of her. And I can pay you if you like; just tell me how much you want. When we're free from each other, you can continue to date anyone you like. And I can date anyone I want too. It's just until the beginning of September, then I can tell my parents that you broke up with me in the most terrible way—"

Ron snorted. "Just a few things. One: I can't date someone else while I'm pretending to date you; you do realise that, don't you? It won't be convincing if I do and you don't. Two: I still don't want your money, Malfoy. And three: You're willing to tell your parents that I am your boyfriend? Yeah, because that'll work well I'm sure. Your father hates my family and me. And four: We hate each other too, you and I," he said, gesturing loosely between them, "and I don't reckon my reputation will be any good when I date someone for real after all this, with you being an ex Death Eater and all… Might have to go Muggle in the future." He frowned. "But an arranged marriage is bloody mental if you ask me so yeah, I'll still help you. Even though I'd like to give you another punch in the face. Don't just leave me in the dark for two weeks any more and I'll do whatever you want me to." Ron let out a humourless little laugh, shaking his head. "Don't know what my life has become if I'm honest. Wasn't expecting this when Hermione—I mean when I—decided to sign up for this dating thing."

"What did you expect then?" Draco said, shifting in his seat.

"Dunno," Ron said, shrugging. "To meet someone nice, I suppose."

"What about Granger?" Draco asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"If Hermione and I were a thing, would I need a dating-service?"

"Perhaps; Granger's not exactly—"

"Would you shut up about her?!" Ron said in a hot, warning voice. "I might change my mind if you don't."

Draco pressed his lips together. "Fine." He didn't know what Weasley's deal was, but he still found it hard to believe he was playing the same Quidditch team. For all Draco knew, Ronald Weasley was the straightest man in the entire wizarding world.

'Can't give you a straight answer to that one.' That had been what he said when Draco had asked.

He's here willing to help me. I don't really have to know much more than that.

"Anyhow…" Draco continued, "Perhaps we can discuss how to move forward from here over dinner. We could say to Bouvier I'm taking you out to a romantic restaurant, while in reality we go somewhere and plot this horrible thing so we can move on with our lives. Sounds like a plan?"

"Make it a fancy one," Ron said with a wink. "May not want money, but if I'm putting up with your shit then at least you can take me someplace nice."

Draco gaped at him. Had Ron any shame at all? "Excuse me, I've done nothing else than treating you to fancy things since we met, Weasley, how dare you. While you, on the other hand, took me to see the bloody Chudley Cannons Quidditch pitch!" He shuddered at the memory, still clear as day in his mind. That whole day at the park, Draco wished he could Obliviate it away.

"Yeah," Ron remembered, laughing, "That was great. You deserved that."

"You deserve a good punch in the face."

"Thought I was gonna give you that."

Draco reached for his wine glass, pressing the rim of it to his lips, slowly taking another sip. He ignored the redhead, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. "So, are you free for dinner tomorrow night? I'd like to do this immediately if you don't mind."

Weasley didn't answer right away, and it was taking too goddamn long. Draco put down the glass on the table again, trying to ignore the nervous feeling in his stomach.

"Yeah sure," Ron said after a moment, his eyes meeting Draco's, "that's no problem. And since I'm doing this for you, maybe you can do something for me too."

Draco sighed. Of course. "What?"

"I'll tell you at dinner tomorrow," Ron said, "because you ignored me for two weeks so you can bloody well wait." He winked slyly at him, and Draco scowled. "I'm not in the mood for your games, Weasley."

"It's not a game," Ron said quickly. "It's me asking for a favour since I'm doing way more than I should for you. Way more than anybody would do for you, honestly, considering everything we went through and who you were before. But yeah, you'll find out tomorrow. Promise." He stood up. "Anyway, you seem to be alright now. If you can drink wine, then I suppose your head's fine. Owl me or something tomorrow about the restaurant. Or maybe," he added, thinking, "come get me; you know where I live now anyway. Don't worry; Hermione won't be home." Ron stretched out his long body, arms above his head.

"Fantastic," Draco answered dryly, averting his gaze, so he didn't accidentally catch a glimpse of something he didn't want to see. Like how the shirt revealed a bit of Weasley's pale skin. "Seven pm Weasley; you better be home then and not at work."

"Course," Ron said with a small shrug. "Wouldn't have suggested it if I wasn't going to be."

Draco sat in the sitting room in silence long after Weasley had gone home, long after the door closed behind the redhead with a loud bang. After staring into space for a while, Draco summoned a piece of parchment and a quill with his wand. He needed to owl Astoria about the article. Let her know what was going on.