Quick note: when formatting this in AO3 I used ~~ for surrounding words with italics which I fix on this site but if there's any words with ~~ then it signifies italics. Also the big paragraph breaks didn't paste over so I'm sorry about that :)
Tw: Alcohol misuse, suicide ideation.
"Are you going to eat that?" Ron asks, pointing to the untouched slice of cake on Hermione's plate.
"No. You can have it" she says and hands over her plate. "Although I don't know why you'd put your poor body through having that much sugar in your system."
"Because they're delicious," Ron says through mouthfuls.
The owls swoop into the Great Hall as they do at the start of every week and drop down various letters and packages for the students.
"One for both of you," says Hermione, passing Ron and Harry their letters. "It's probably about plans for summer."
"Has my mum invited you round yet?" Ron asks Harry.
"Nope."
"Are you expecting her to?" Hermione says.
"I hope so," says Harry. "I don't really have anywhere else to go."
"Harry, my letter," Ron grumbles as he knocks it, causing it to slide off the table behind him.
They turn round to retrieve it.
"Whose is this?" Draco snarls, snatching Ron's letter off the floor and holding it up with no intention of giving it back. He glances round to only Ron paying him any attention, decides it's not worth it, and tosses the paper back silently.
"Cheers," Ron mutters. Draco turns back around without a second glance.
"We've got Professor Snape first, haven't we?" asks Harry, tearing open his letter.
"Yes," says Hermione. "Who's the letter from?"
"It's from your mum, Ron," Harry grins.
"Of course it is," they say. "Join the bloody family, you might as well at this point."
Harry scans over the letter. "She invited me to stay in the summer," he smiles.
"You're not sharing my room," says Ron.
"I wasn't planning to."
"You did last time."
"Where can I sleep then?" asks Harry.
"I don't know," Ron shrugs. "The shed."
"That'll be comfy."
"We'd better get going," says Hermione, tutting at Ron stuffing down the last of the cake. "Lessons start in ten minutes."
"Ten whole minutes," says Ron. "We've got loads of time."
He sighs as no one pays them any attention and follows Harry and Hermione out of the hall.
The class chats lazily between themselves and McGonagall allows them to. 16:00 rolls round and the class begins to filter out rowdily once the bells goes. Everyone seems more excitable than usual, the long-awaited summer holidays finally in sight.
"What are you doing after school?" says Draco, waiting beside Goyle's desk as he packs up.
"I don't know," Goyle says. "I was going to go to the Common room."
"Ok. I'll meet you up there."
"Hold on, can you wait for me?"
Draco taps his foot on the ground and lets out an unnecessarily loud sigh. "Fine."
Draco and Goyle leave past Ron, who is also still packing away slowly. As he passes, Ron accidentally catches his eye. Draco maintains eye contact for the pure thrill of making them look away, just another thing to rile up the Gryffindors in any way possible. Ron lingers in his gaze a second too long, then stares back at the ground, their cheeks dramatically flushing. Draco narrows his eyes and watches Ron stumble out of the classroom. What an odd reaction.
The Slytherin Common room is packed full by the time Draco and Goyle get there. Crabbe approaches Draco clutching a thick wad of paper.
"Have you looked at this?" he says.
"What is it?" Draco asks, already disinterested.
"It's the potions homework from Professor Slughorn," says Crabbe. "Can we do it now?"
"No," says Draco, starting to walk away. He doesn't have the energy for this. "I'm going up to the dorm."
"But you said you would help."
"Well I've changed my fucking mind, haven't I? Get off my back."
Crabbe watches him storm off upstairs, unphased; a day doesn't go by without Draco shouting at or insulting him, or anyone. He goes to join the others around the tables.
Up in the dormitory, Draco spins around in circles until he feels brilliantly dizzy. The large room is empty and it probably would be for another few hours. Endless time to fill and nothing to fill it with. He has no motivation to find something to fill it with so he spins around and around until he can't take it anymore and staggers to the floor.
Some amount of time later, Draco has lost track as he lies awake in bed, the door clicks open and Blaise walks in.
"Hello."
Draco heaves himself up and smoothes back his hair. Finally, a friendly face. Crabbe and Goyle and Pike are fine, they're just incredibly dull and unintelligent at times. At times being most of the time. Most of the time being all of the time, come to think of it.
"Hi Blaise," he says. "What are you doing up here?"
"My nose hurts," they say, going over to their bedside table. "I came to take out my septum piercing, I think it's infected."
"Let's see."
Blaise shows Draco the inflamed bit of skin between her two nostrils.
"Yeah, that doesn't look good," Draco says. "You're not supposed to take it out if it's infected, though."
Blaise pauses before removing the small ring of metal. "What am meant to do?"
"You have to wash around it a few times a day with it in, like just with water, then it should go away in a week or so."
"All right," Blaise nods. "I'll do that. Thanks."
Draco listens to the tap running in the bathroom connected to the dormitory as Blaise presumably washes around his piercing.
"Someone has a crush on me," Draco says, loud enough for Blaise to hear but lazily enough to sound like he couldn't care less.
He hears a funny noise from Blaise. "Have I been teleported back to first year?" they say, turning off the tap and returning to the dormitory.
"What?" Draco asks, crossing his arms.
"'Someone has a crush on me'?" Blaise echos.
"How would you word it then?"
"I believe that someone is romantically interested in me," Blaise suggests.
"It's not that serious," says Draco. "I'm only going off a few glances."
Blaise gives him a sceptical look. "So this is purely speculative?"
"Yeah but I'm definitely right," says Draco just as the dinner bell rings. "And I don't know what to do about it."
"I don't see why you would do anything," says Blaise. "Wait for her to make a move. Or him, I guess. Who is this about again?"
Draco shakes his head, too tired to go on a homophobic rampage and vehemently deny that a boy could possibly like him. He usually doesn't bother with that around Blaise anyway.
"My lips are sealed," Draco smiles dryly.
"I thought so," sniffs Blaise. "Well, tell me if anything happens with them. Love aside, we still have to eat to function, so are you coming down for tea?"
"Yeah, okay."
The two make their way down to the dining hall for the penultimate Friday of fifth year.
The warmth of the mid-summer sun doesn't seem to reach the graveyard. Remus Lupin strolls along the decrepit path clutching a bunch of yellow tulips.
Dejectedly, he stops under the weeping willow tree to face the grassy mound. He replaces the wilting roses with the fresh set of flowers and brushes the dust off the slab of stone, scanning over the engraved writing.
Sirius Black
1959 - 1996
Beloved Friend & Godfather
Thursday the 18th of July: exactly a month since he looked into Sirius' eyes and watched him die. He doesn't stay for long. It will be the last time he replaces the flowers and it will be the last time he visits this grave. Each visit sends a deeper burning in his heart. It's becoming unbearable knowing that Sirius' body isn't lying under the headstone: it's just for show. His body is permanently trapped in another plane of reality, impossible for him to ever be near Remus again.
"Goodbye, Pads," he mutters to the headstone. If only Sirius could somehow hear him, the things he would say. But he can't, so he settles for a forlorn: "I'm sorry I didn't believe you."
He takes another swig from his bottle of whiskey supplemented with the strongest vodka he could find and stumbles out of the graveyard and back to Hogwarts. He's got a class of third years to be teaching in twenty-five minutes. It's a surprise how he's managed to get this far without being fired. Maybe none of the students care that he turns up to half of the lessons tipsy.
Lessons pass, a painful repetition of every single twenty-four hours for the last thirty days. After school, Remus sits in his bedroom alone, just like every other day for the last month. No one has offered their condolences, no one has come to check he's all right. Harry Potter's loss of his godfather has overshadowed his loss of the most important person in his life.
Clutching the bottle like it were his child. Knocking his knuckles into the serrated bottle cap to feel something. He drains the last drops of drink and places it down on the floor beside his bed. Another day without Sirius over. He leans back his head and goes to sleep.
Draco buckles up his suitcase. Tomorrow he will take the train back to Malfoy Manor for the summer. He can't see himself returning for his second to last year at Hogwarts, in fact, he can barely see himself on the train tomorrow. His future is non-existent, and even an optimist would be reaching to say that Ron is able to create a future for him.
Sure, Ron has been keeping him ticking over day by day for now, for the sole purpose of seeing where this all leads, but it won't last.
Nothing good ever lasts.
He rolls his eyes at his inner dialogue, dramatic as always, and turns his back to the bathroom mirror. Today, he just stares at the black belt looped over the shower rail. This is surely the only notable thing that has happened in his life for months and months. Years, probably.
It's evident Ron has some sort of feelings for him, most likely a stupid crush, yet Draco doesn't disregard it. After all, all knowledge is power, so he turns over in his mind what he could do with this information.
He's thought about blackmail, threats, taunting him with it, good old-fashioned bullying, spreading rumours, and even considered simply outing him in front of the class for the hell of it. Those victories would be short-lived, though. He needs something solid, something sustainable, something to see him through the holidays. Because at this rate, he thinks, staring at the noose he has created, he's not making it to the end of next week.
The loop slackens as Draco takes his hand off it, a thought hitting him- he could confront Ron about it. Or even better, Draco smirks, he could do something more drastic. He could push their body up against the wall, run his hands through their hair, thrust their hips together, make their jaw drop.
He could kiss them.
It's a win-win: Ron tells everyone, and Draco is undoubtedly disowned, probably kicked out of school, and finally has the chance to kill himself with no one caring. At that point, he'd be doing everyone a favour. Or, if Ron keeps it to himself, he might dredge up some reason to end the day without his neck in leather.
He undoes the belt.
If Ron exposes the truth, tomorrow will be his last day alive. It's the first peace of mind he has had in a long, long time.
When Draco lies in bed listening to the heavy breathing of his classmates well into the night, all he can think about is Ron. More specifically, the idea of kissing Ron. Not out of lust or romance, although he wouldn't be opposed to it, but as an experiment.
As a challenge.
Ron Weasely is his challenge.
The last week of school approaches. All you have to do is get through this week, Ron reminds themselves every morning. The constant pressure of school and the stress of socialising isn't helped by Draco giving them looks of acknowledgment every time they're close. His usual sharp edge of hostility seems to have eased and it's making Ron nervous.
They ignore it as much as possible, and the rush of the last few days occupies him enough to stop the anxiety strangling him to death.
On the last day of the school year, Ron, along with every other student, is caught up in the preparations to leave Hogwarts for the summer. The carriages to the train will be here in fifteen minutes and they still haven't finished packing. Organisation isn't exactly their strong suit, Ron thinks as he piles their trousers into their case.
"Harry, that's my toothbrush you've got there," Seamus calls from the other side of the Gryffindor dormitory. He holds up a green toothbrush. "This one isn't mine."
"No, I've definitely got mine," says Harry, standing calmly with his suitcase all fastened up and watching the others scurry around.
"Well, who has mine?" Seamus says. "Dean?"
"Nope," Dean shrugs. "Sorry."
Ron throws the last of their clothes into his suitcase. "Oh, shit. Seamus, I might have your toothbrush," they say.
"Give it here then," he says.
"Yeah, slight problem." Ron rubs his temples. "I've packed it at the bottom."
Seamus gives him a long look. "Fuck's sake, Ron. Get it out, then. If we're late I'm blaming you."
"Ok, alright." Ron starts hurriedly unpacking all their clothes again.
Draco waits in the bustling courtyard until he sees Harry and Hermione walk out, thankfully with no sign of Ron accompanying them. He was counting on them being out later than the others and his gamble paid off because, as usual, Ron is lagging a few minutes behind. He takes his chance and goes up to the Gryffindor dormitory.
As Ron re-stuffs the last of their clothes into their suitcase, he hears a knock at the door behind him.
"Give us a minute," he calls. "We're almost ready."
"What the hell do you want, Malfoy?" says Seamus.
Ron glances up like a deer in headlights to see Draco standing in the doorway.
"To speak to Weasely," he says, crossing his arms in his usual display of unwavering confidence. If Ron rats him out, then so be it. Nothing means anything to a dead man walking.
Seamus looks to Ron.
"You go," Ron finds himself saying.
"What? And leave you with him?"
Ron gives a small shrug as if it were no big deal.
"You sure?" Seamus says.
"Yeah."
Seamus hauls his suitcase up and past Draco with one last glare.
"Hello," says Draco, the door closing behind Seamus leaving the two standing alone.
"Uh, hi," says Ron, feeling his face heating up. Why on earth was Draco here?
"Hi," says Draco. Ron wrings their hands behind his back, their eyes darting around Draco's face to avoid making direct eye contact.
"Why are you here?" Ron says. "Because Harry isn't here if you were after him. It's just me, well, you can see that, um. Yeah." Ron's heart races, convincing himself he's about to be beaten up or interrogated in some way. Why else would Draco be talking to him?
"I wasn't looking for Potter." Draco strolls forward, smiling wider. "I was looking for you."
This reception is far better than Draco imagined it would be. Ron isn't defensive or angry or hostile- if anything, he seems shy or even flustered.
It's now or never: he walks right up to Ron and rests his hands on their waist. Ron, too taken by surprise to move, freezes, listening to the heartbeat pumping in his ears. They stare into each other's eyes for a second, Ron's stomach twisting in disbelieving loops. He feels like he's watching the scene in the third person. This can't be real.
Draco, satisfied with Ron's response, leans in and softly presses his lips onto theirs. Ron jolts away as a reflex.
"Draco," they whisper accusingly. They can see him staring right at their lips. Not a second later, Ron, finds himself doing the last thing he expected: he kisses Draco back.
It's the first time he's kissed someone, and the sensation is odd to Ron, but not at all bad. Draco tastes sharp like sherbet, his tongue sliding gently through their teeth. A flutter of panic overcomes them as Draco's hands grip their waist and bring Ron's body closer towards his, his tongue venturing further into their mouth. Ron pulls away before they go any further.
Ron breathes in a contented breath, giving the redness in their face a chance to ease. No more than a second later, they feel a stabbing panic hit their gut as they realise what they've just done and who they've done it with.
"Oh, fuck." They slap their hands to their cheeks, turning away, mortified. "I've been set up, haven't I? This is a prank or something. Someone put you up to this, didn't they?"
Draco, secretly thrilled his bet paid off, rolls his eyes. "You think I'd kiss you as a setup?" he scoffs.
Ron paces to their bed, dragging fingers through their tangled hair. When they turn back to Draco, he sees him simply standing there, perfectly calm.
"Um. Okay. Well-" they say. "Why did you-? Ok, never mind, it doesn't matter. Just don't tell anyone, okay? This would ruin my bloody life. This is- this is illegal, and um, well, we could be kicked out of school. I don't like you, at all, um, actually. You are a... cunt. And I hate you." Ron nods in agreement with himself. "Yeah. You're an arse."
Draco crosses his arms, holding painstaking eye contact with Ron, making their insides wobble.
"I see," he says. "So you wouldn't be slightly turned on if I kissed you again?"
Ron struggles for words. "No," he eventually says. His mouth has never felt this dry before, his head buzzing with confused frustration.
Draco holds up his hands. "I won't tell if you don't."
Ron glares at him, the tension forcing their eyes to the floor.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Draco asks, slightly amused.
"Like what?"
"Like I've just murdered your owl and ate it in front of you."
"Are you serious, Draco?" Ron snaps. "You've been bullying me and my best friends for the last five years, you hate anyone who isn't pureblood, you treat women like shit, our families have been at war for bloody ever and you thought you'd come in here and kiss me and that would all disappear?"
"Alright, fucking hell," Draco says. "I get it. You hate me. Tell me something I don't know."
"Why are you still here if you know I hate you? I'm trying to pack. The carriages are gonna be here, like, now."
"Fine, I'll go," says Draco. "I only wanted to see if you'd kiss me back."
"Don't twist this," Ron says in his strongest intimidating tone, which comes out as a half-squeak. "You kissed me first. You caught me off guard, I didn't know how to react. I did not kiss you back."
Draco shrugs. He doesn't think winning an argument has ever been this easy before. "There's nothing wrong with seeing an attractive man and wanting a bit of it for yourself," he smirks, gesturing to himself.
"Fuck off, Draco," says Ron, his rosy complexion betraying him. "I'm not gay."
Draco snorts. "Whatever you say, Weasely. But bloody hell, you're a good actor. The way your tongue was diving down my fucking throat like it w-"
"Shut. Up," Ron exclaims, perhaps the most embarrassed they've felt in their life. They want to lie down, merge into the floor, and die. "Forget all of this, okay? Nothing happened. If you ever mention this to another soul, I'm going to personally..." He hesitates to try and think of a decent enough threat.
This only adds to the hilarity of the situation for Draco who has to channel all his energy into not laughing in their face.
"Don't worry," he grins infuriatingly. "I won't tell a soul about our extraordinarily hot, steamy, mind-crushingly sexual and homoerotic make-out session."
"Draco, I swear to God," Ron groans in mortified exasperation. "It wasn't like that, you kissed me and it lasted like one second, alright? Just get out, I don't want to talk about it. Ever. This never happened."
"Oh, come on, it was more than that," Draco smirks, turning to the door. "You taste fucking delicious, I must say."
Ron is somewhat alarmed by Draco starting to walk out. "Don't say anything," they say. It comes out as a plea rather than a command.
"It can be our little secret," Draco calls over his shoulder as he walks out triumphantly.
He feels instant liberation at the ease of it all: Ron won't tell anyone, that much is obvious. For the first time in a long while, he feels a small spark of something instead of the endless numbness dragging him down.
The feeling lingers. It almost inspires him to want to wake up the next day.
Ron watches him stroll out. He shoves the rest of their clothes in the trunk and slams it shut. They can't get rid of the butterflies as he recalls Draco's hands edging under his jumper, pushing their hips together, their lips connected.
Then the image of him calling Hermione slurs, laughing at Neville breaking his arm, insulting his own friends, constantly belittling everyone in his path. It's all wrong; Draco is not a good person to be mixing with at all, and definitely not like this, not like whatever the hell just happened between them.
Frustratingly, they know they won't be able to think about anything else during the holidays.
On the first day back home for the summer holidays, Ron sits on his bed opening the small pile of mail which has been collecting throughout the half-term. Mainly letters from distant aunts and family friends well-wishing.
The last letter on the pile is a small square envelope with a subtle green border. Ron doesn't recognise the writing, so he opens it carefully.
I will be waiting at the staircase next to Professor Lupin's classroom on the first Tuesday back at 23:00.
Your choice.
X
It only takes them a second to realise who it's from. He crumples up the paper in his hand. The cheek of it. They still ask themselves how the hell Draco managed to deduce anything from a few sporadic glances in lessons.
Your choice.
They know exactly what he means- the choice between loyalty or love. Considering his feelings for Draco were fleeting at best, now poisoned with outrage, the answer is obvious to Ron. In what world would he throw away everything he has for one self-entitled, vindictive, heartless brat of a boy?
He throws the paper into the bin and prepares for the summer ahead.