Tw: self-harm, suicide

"We're going to be late," Ron says as he follows Harry to the second-floor toilets at the end of lunchtime.

"Madam Hooch won't be there yet, she's always a few minutes late," Harry says. He takes a left turn once in the bathroom, going all the way to the end and locking himself the last stall. The bathroom appears abandoned apart from themselves and Harry. Ron strikes a little pose in the mirror as they slowly stroll right.

"If we get into trouble, it's on you," he calls out.

"Stop worrying." They catch the muffled response.

Ron wanders down to the opposite end of the large room. He has no idea what Harry is up to and nor does he want to know.

They spot a pound coin on the floor outside the end cubicle. Ron goes over to pick it up, then suddenly they hear a lock click and a door swing open right beside them. Without warning, Ron finds himself being pulled into a stall by his shoulders.

"Wh-"

Draco's hand covers their mouth to prevent any noise as he kicks the stall door shut.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Ron whispers furiously, slapping Draco's hand off their mouth, their faces barely an inch apart.

"Nice to see you too."

Ron slams his hands into Draco's chest. "I told you to stay away from me," they spit as loud as they dare. Thankfully, the bathroom is so large that Harry wouldn't be able to hear anything as long as they keep their voices down.

Draco instinctively pushes Ron back. All of a sudden, they fall into a tussle, which proves minimal confined in the tiny cubicle. Ron tries to push him away from the door but Draco firmly blocks it with his body. He propels his hands into Ron's shoulders, sending their elbow into the wall at an angle which hits their funnybone. It sends a jolt of pain through Ron's arm, rendering him defenseless for a moment, just enough time for Draco to seize their shoulders.

"Cunt," Ron says, cradling his elbow.

Draco shoves Ron against the cubicle wall and holds them there, their faces inches apart, both panting from the exertion of the struggle. The tension could be cut with a knife, their bodies closer than ever before.

"Get your fucking hands off me," Ron hisses.

"Or what?" Draco smirks.

"Or I'll... I'll punch you."

Draco doesn't release the pressure from Ron's shoulders. He leans in, enunciating each syllable. "Do it."

Ron blinks, the rage melting into panic as he acknowledges the situation, the proximity of their bodies, Draco staring right down at their lips. In a flash of blind desire, they grab his tie and yank it towards him, pushing their faces together. Their lips connect instantly. Ron wraps his hands around Draco's shoulders, letting out a soft gasp as Draco runs his cold hands under his shirt and onto his hips.

Draco finally does what he's been waiting for months to do and thrusts all his weight onto Ron, holding them in place as they breathlessly make out. He wants more, his tongue entering Ron's mouth hungrily. Ideas of a challenge, an experiment, get left to one side as he gets caught in the heat of the moment.

Draco massages the sides of Ron's waist, and as he rubs his lower body against theirs, Ron releases an involuntary gasp of pleasure. They jerk back and clap their hand over their mouth, mortified.

"Fuck," they say, wide-eyed. "I didn't mean-"

"Someone's enjoying it," Draco interrupts, snickering at their stunned face.

"Harry is right there," Ron whispers, annoyed at Draco for creating such a reaction. "He's going to hear us."

"He probably thinks you're wanking off or something," smirks Draco.

"Don't do that again," Ron hisses. "Kissing only."

"Fine," Draco mutters, and clasps around the back of their head, finally bringing their mouths back together. The way Draco runs his hands up from their hips then carefully caresses their neck makes Ron shiver with excitement.

A minute later, Ron pulls away from Draco, gazing at him with all the pent-up feelings that have been building since their first kiss. Draco brushes a rogue strand of Ron's hair off their face. "Skip flying with me?"

"I don't want your tongue down my throat for another hour," says Ron, wiping his mouth with his sleeve demonstratively. He can't get rid of the heat spreading to every hair on his body.

"Who said that's all we'd be up to?"

"Draco," Ron sighs frustratedly.

"Fine, we could just sit here and take in the ambience of the toilets for an hour if you'd prefer." Although Draco is being his usual snarky self, it sounds as if his offer was genuine.

Ron lingers a moment, torn. "Kiss me again," they say, sounding about as forceful as they feel which is verging on zero. "Nicely this time."

Draco's eyebrows shoot up, but he accepts the suggestion and leans in to kiss them, this time gently. Ron relaxes, the softness of their lips resting together making for a much more comforting experience than a moment ago. Draco lays his hands on the back of Ron's head and starts to semi-subconsciously stroke their hair.

"Is that better?" says Draco, a few moments later.

Ron swallows, his knees weak, unable to find the courage to nod and express how much they want him. Draco doesn't bother picking up on the nuances of his look and simply kisses them again. He begins kissing down their neck, and Ron stares up to the tiled ceiling exhaling heavily and wondering how the hell they got to be here, with him.

They hear a far-off shout from Harry.

"Ron? Where are you?"

Ron lightly puts their hands on Draco's shoulders as a signal to stop. When he doesn't respond, they shove him back instead.

"Coming," he calls, elbowing Draco away from the door. "You better not have given me a hickey," they whisper.

"Ron-" Draco starts, but Ron is already out of the cubicle and jogging after Harry.

"What were you doing in there?" asks Harry as they walk outside to the main school block. Wanking, Ron almost says. "I was just talking to myself."

The dizzy blissfulness of kissing Draco collapses instantaneously into debilitating guilt. Neither flying class with Madam Hooch nor transfiguration with McGonagall can take his mind off it. He stares down at the paper, still feeling the warmth where Draco kissed his neck, held his waist, pressed his lips onto theirs. Draco appears halfway through the lesson, to McGonagall's anger, looking immensely pleased with himself.

Ron makes sure not to catch his eye.

The lesson ends. Ron heads away from the Common room and across the school. They have a feeling Draco wants to talk and they can't think of anything they'd rather not do after their encounter earlier. He kicks himself over and over for falling into Draco's trap and kissing him. Again.

"Ron."

Ron holds back a scream of anger as he turns to see the very person he's been avoiding standing behind him with an idiotic smile on his face.

"Why are you following me?" they say, continuing down the corridor and hopefully to a more populated area.

"Wait."

"What do you want, Draco?" they say, spinning around with a look that could kill.

"I want to talk to you," says Draco.

"Listen, I made a mistake," says Ron. "And it was your fault this time because you dragged me into that cubicle. I'm, I was stupid, I don't know why I asked you to kiss me. You got me all worked up. That was a one-off, alright?"

"It doesn't have to be," he says. "You enjoyed it, didn't you? I mean, that was kind of obvious."

"That's not the point," Ron says, his cheeks heating up at Draco's smug smirk. "You bloody forced yourself on me."

"What?" says Draco. His playful grin vanishes. "No, I didn't."

"Fine, but you might as well have," Ron says. "You pulled me into that cubicle without asking, hurt my bloody elbow, touched me without asking, kissed me without asking."

"If I remember correctly, you kissed me first this time," Draco drawls.

"Keep your voice down," says Ron, eyes skirting around the empty corridor. "What part of 'no' you do not understand? You're being really fucking rapey. I'm not your little toy, I have feelings, believe it or not, and I don't want to do this right now. Or ever, actually. My body would've reacted that way no matter who was touching me like that, it doesn't mean my brain wants it. I don't want you to kiss me ever again or talk to me or anything, and that's final."

Draco hesitates, speechless for a second. Yet instead of an apology or an explanation, an offer comes out of his mouth.

"Does this mean you don't want to sneak out on Friday night and come to my bedroom?"

"You're unbelievable," Ron sighs in exasperation. "Did you hear what I just said? We're not speaking to each other again, and we are certainly not shagging."

"Who said anything about that?"

"Why else would we be meeting in your bedroom at night?" Ron points out.

"Shoot me for having higher standards than a one square metre cubicle and the constant smell of shit," Draco says. "Anyway, I'm not a slut, I'd need to get to know you first."

Ron crosses his arms. "We've known each other for five years."

"Yeah, but not properly."

"Draco, it's not happening."

"Why not?"

Ron makes a frustrated noise, thinking up any tangible reasons other than deep-rooted shame and guilt. "Do you want a bloody list of all the reasons this isn't going to work because I'll give you a bloody list."

"Yeah, let's hear it," Draco says, with an amused smile.

"Okay, give me a second," they say, formulating a list in their head.

Draco crosses his arms expectantly.

"Right," Ron says decisively. They present a hand, holding a finger up with every new point. "It's illegal. It's too risky. We get caught once and both are lives are ruined. We are against each other in the war. Our families hate each other. You hate my best friends. You hate me. You're using me. Nothing good would ever come of this. I am betraying everyone I know by getting with you." Ron throws his hand down. "Shit, I could go on but I seem to have run out of fingers," they spit sarcastically. "Is that enough reasons for you?"

Draco rolls his eyes, unbothered by the show. "Yeah, yeah, half those things are situational," he says. "It's going to change in the future, all that stuff about betraying people, no one gives a shit, Ron. We've kissed twice. It's not that serious."

"Don't do that," Ron says, pointing accusingly at him. "Don't make me sound like the insane one when you're all up on me like a bloody stalker."

"Is it a crime to want to kiss someone pretty?"

Ron grinds his teeth together, Draco's words holding no weight delivered with an insincerely sweet smile.

"I know you don't care about me," says Ron. "I know that, okay? And that's fine, you want someone to kiss, nothing more, I get it. But if you actually bother to ask what I wanted for once, then I'd tell you that I'm not looking for that."

"What are you looking for then?"

Ron pauses, the seemingly genuine question catching him off-guard. "Not this," they say eventually. "Not you."

The words send a twinge in Draco's chest, but he shrugs it off. "That's not what you were saying earlier."

"Draco!" Ron exclaims explosively. "Just because you've found a boy to kiss it doesn't mean I automatically want you back, I have fucking standards."

"Oh, so I'm not good enough for you?"

"No, you're not," says Ron. "I'm going to my Common room now. You have so many people who'd get with you in the blink of an eye, why the hell are you standing here talking to me? Why don't you find someone else to stalk who you actually have a chance with?"

"Any suggestions?"

Ron gives him an icy glare.

"Consider my offer, though," Draco says. "I'll be waiting on Friday."

"Were you listening to anything I just said?" Ron says, getting no satisfaction from denying him. "I've just given you an extensive list of all the reasons this isn't going to work out, and to be honest I don't know why I have to give you an explanation in the first place. I'm not coming, Draco." They start to walk away. "And don't even think about following me again."

Draco watches them go. He can tell from the flushed cheeks and nervous tremor of their hands that Ron is going to at least think about it. How could they not?

He knows this is his last chance. Either Ron comes on Friday, or he doesn't. If he doesn't come? Draco doesn't want to consider it. This whole farce with Ron would have to stop. His life would fall back to its normal pace.

Then it would all be over because Draco knows he can't handle that. It seems as if this really is it.

At lunchtime, Ron locks himself in the last cubicle of the third-floor bathrooms. They take a shaky breath and hold their head in their hands. Shouting at Draco did nothing to hinder him from what they can tell- he held the same stubborn smile throughout the argument, not that it mattered. All day the memory relentlessly replays of Draco kissing them, them kissing him back, and their bodies pressed together in that tiny bathroom cubicle.

They want it again, so badly it hurts. The way Draco held his gaze, the way his strands of blond hair fell across his face as he breathlessly smiled, the way he softly held the back of their head, the way he stroked their cheek. Even the way he made jokes at their expense, the snarky smile that spread across his face.

He was so adamant about meeting again and it hurt Ron to look him in the eyes and say no. It would've hurt more to say yes. Probably.

They need something to divert the aching pain, something worse, but better. The self-hatred only multiplies as he pulls the blade out of his pocket. It's humiliating how it has come to this.

They pull up their jumper sleeve and rest the blade against his skin. The clarity is desperately brilliant. He wants to stay in this moment forever.

But the feeling fades and all they're left with is themselves sitting on the lid of a toilet in a school bathroom, drowning in self-loathing and shame, alone.

He slashes the blade across their skin, and itching pain makes him clench his jaw. A flash of white. No blood appears for a second.

Thinking they've cut even smaller than last time, Ron does the same again. He needs a result.

They start shaking in shock as a searing pain shoots up their arm. This time, the damage is evident, blood pulsating out in time with their heartbeat. He can't stop the tremoring of his hands as he tears off some toilet paper to staunch the bleeding.

The pain is irresistibly good.

He rests his head against the cubicle door. Closing their eyes, imagining Draco has him pushed up against it, his hand sliding over their lower stomach, replaying the gasp they let out. It only gives Ron another reason to hate himself.

They have a feeling that the bleeding cut on his arm is only the beginning, and it terrifies them. The image of the white opening jumps nauseatingly around his head. The dull throbbing in his arm doesn't stop, not during lunchtime, not during afternoon lessons, not as they curl up to sleep.

It's the worst, yet the best, they've felt all week.

Draco opens his eyes and checks the clock. It's already half eight, breakfast time. It's a big day, and, depending on how things turn out, his last day. Dramatic again, but his fate lies in Ron's hands. This could be the last morning he wakes up, the last time he pulls on his school jumper, the last time the weak morning sun hits his face.

As Draco ties his tie, he stares at himself in the mirror. It's another win-win situation. He has become rather skilled at creating them, he has to admit. This time, either he spends the evening with Ron or he spends the evening hanging from his bedpost. It's Ron's decision and he's made peace with both options. Still, the niggling voice in his head knows which one he'd prefer, and hates himself for it.

He hates that the only thing to make him feel something is this boy.

Ron traipses across the school. It's ten past nine, fifty minutes before evening curfew, and they don't even know if Draco will be in his room or still in Slytherin Common room. He tells himself that if he's not there, it's a sign from the universe to drop this once and for all.

They can't decide if it was the easiest or the hardest decision of their life to meet Draco tonight. As soon as Draco suggested it, it stuck in their head day and night, constantly for the three days since then. It's been keeping him up at night, every night, and they ended up thinking: maybe meeting him one last time wouldn't be too disastrous after all?

Their furious words were purely performative, but it frustrated them that Draco also saw that. Everything they said about betrayal was true, though, but what they said about not wanting Draco? Maybe not so much.

They arrive at the door to Draco's bedroom, slightly out of breath from going up the winding staircase. His is the only door at the top of the staircase, and there's not much corridor before it- nowhere to hide. A force of anxiety washes over him again as he knocks on the door, trying to steady their trembling knees.

It opens mere seconds later.

"You came," says Draco, accepting his fate in a heartbeat.

Ron stares at him for a long moment. The boy who has been nothing but horrible to everyone he knows for years. The boy who has tormented his best friends because of their bloodline since they arrived at this school. The boy whose father has more blood on his hands than years on this earth. And all this for what? Another kiss?

A good friend wouldn't be here. A good friend wouldn't even have considered it in the first place.

"I don't know why I came," they say, regret seeping through every pore in their body. They should've stayed out of trouble in the Gryffindor Common room with Harry and Hermione.

"I'd say it's fairly self-explanatory," says Draco. "Come in."

"No," Ron says, his voice wavering. "I came here to say I don't want anything to do with this anymore. I want you to leave me alone."

Draco sighs as if the proposition was unreasonable. "You keep saying that yet you keep coming running back to me. It's quite clear what you want."

"This time I'm not coming back."

"But I know you want to," Draco says, smoothing his hair back like he hadn't a care in the world.

"No, Draco," Ron sighs. "This isn't- this can't work out. Imagine what my friends or family would think of me if they found out. I'd be cast out as a traitor, instantly."

"No one's going to find out about this," says Draco. "You need to do something for yourself for once. Stop letting Potter control you."

"I'm not letting him control me, I'm trying to be a good friend."

"Why bother?" Draco snaps. "It's not like he's ever done anything for you."

"You don't know shit about our friendship. I'm not risking losing everyone close to me just because you're fucking horny. Go and find someone else to mess around."

"I don't want anyone else."

"You don't have anyone else," snarls Ron. "That's your problem, Draco. I'm your only option."

Draco inwardly recoils, the words, the truth, slapping him in the face.

"That was fucking unnecessary."

"Yeah, because you're not listening to me," Ron says, throwing down their arms. "We can't bloody do this. And even if we could, I wouldn't want to. You're a fucking dickhead, you're selfish, and you're a bully."

"Yeah, alright, I get it," Draco rolls his eyes. "You know what, Ron? I'd respect your decision if you had valid reasons but you're talking absolute shite."

"What do you mean 'valid reasons'? I'd say not wanting to betray all my friends is a pretty valid reason."

"That's bullshit," Draco says. "You know you want this and you're letting other people tell you otherwise."

"I'm not abandoning everyone for you."

"I'm not asking you to abandon everyone, God, you're so fucking dramatic."

"You don't even have feelings for me," Ron says, red anger colouring his cheeks.

"Oh, get over yourself," Draco drawls. "We don't have to be head over heels falling in love to have a bit of casual fun. I assumed that's what this was, but pardon me for not realising we have to have to be 'in love' to neck on."

"I wouldn't call this fun," Ron says tightly.

"And whose fault is that?"

"Maybe you could convince me if you weren't such a prick all the time," Ron shouts. "I'm not your fucking social experiment, Draco."

"I didn't ask you to be," Draco yells back. "Stop making such a big deal out of everything, kissing me isn't going to fucking win Voldemort the war, is it?"

"We could be locked up in prison, or is that not enough of a big deal for you?" Ron retorts, voice still raised.

"Marry a fucking woman then and be miserable for the rest of your life, see what I care."

"I'll do just that."

With that, Ron marches back down the stairs, not sparing Draco a single look back.

Draco storms back into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He doesn't bother locking it as he staggers to the bed, hastily undoing his belt and tying it around the upper bed frame.

"You tricked me," he mutters, tears forming in his eyes. "Why did you trick me? I thought I was going to live. You made me believe I was going to live, why would you do that?"

The leather fits perfectly around his neck and he tightens it until he feels all the blood drain from his head and a high-pitched buzz in his ears.

"Why did you give me any fucking hope?" he shouts. "You know it never works, you fucking dumbass, why did you let me believe I was going to be okay? You should've killed yourself months ago and saved yourself all this trouble, no one fucking wants you here anyway." He yells until furious tears roll down his cheeks.

"I know some ghosts or other shit are watching me right now, so I'd like to say that this is all Ron's fault. Ronald Weasely, that is. Curse him or something, I don't know what ghosts do. Bloody hell," he exclaims. "I don't fucking know what I'm doing. I actually should've just killed myself last spring and saved myself the trouble of all this shit. Why am I even fucking here right now? Ron doesn't want me, no one fucking wants me, I'd be better off dead."

Maybe this is what losing your mind feels like, Draco thinks, bouncing his neck up and down in the noose.

"Oh my fucking God, shut the fuck up," he spits. "You dramatic attention-seeking self-centred prick, just kill yourself already. You've waited long enough."

He tails off with a few breaths and reminds himself that talking to yourself is not a sign of madness. Neither is hanging yourself on a Friday night after being rejected by someone you barely know.

He pauses before taking all the weight off his legs and stares up at the clock in anticipation.

"So, this is it?" he says as if he's addressing a stadium packed with a roaring crowd. The reply is eerie silence. There is no one here. He is completely and utterly alone.

The clock ticks by, second by second, passing the tiny marked three.

"I guess so," he mutters, closing his eyes. "Finally I can get some bloody peace. Fuck you, Ron."

He takes the weight off his legs, the only feeling being a distant throbbing in his heart as the blood drains from his head.

By the time the second hand ticks around to the twelve, Draco's body swings gently back and forth, a foot above the floor, unconscious.

Ron storms back to the Gryffindor Common room, steaming at the audacity of Draco. His dismissive shouts replay in their head.

I'd respect your decision if you had valid reasons.

Get over yourself, we don't have to be head over heels falling in love.

It hurts.

They enter the Common room, the warm laughter and bright lights relaxing their racing heart. He's done it, he's ended things with Draco once and for all. It's more anti-climactic than they expected: there's no surge of relief or elation, just a distant unease settling in the depth of their stomach.

Maybe they're still processing it; the happiness will come, he's sure of it, in a day or two.

Draco blinks open his eyes. He's lying on his bedroom floor and everything hurts. The belt which was cutting off his bloodstream is now on the floor under him, half of it still around his neck.

There's a pounding pain in his head. The belt must've come undone, Draco concludes as he drags himself up and onto the bed. The clock reads 21:25. He doesn't know how long he's been lying there but his back is stiff, and his cheeks are deathly cold.

Only when the pain from Ron's rejection starts to seep back in does Draco realise that he's not dead.

It didn't work.

There's not one hint of his erratic state from earlier present. His body is very much alive but the noose must've killed off his heart in the process; he feels absolutely nothing.

He pulls the covers over his head and cries until his bedsheets are soaked and all his tears are used up.

Ron sits in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom at 9:36 am, staring at the question paper Professor Snape handed out. The bell went six minutes ago and there's still no sign of Draco.

They haven't seen him all weekend: not at mealtimes in the hall or around his usual spot outside with Blaise and Crabbe and Goyle. They hope his absence is unrelated to Friday's rejection. However upset Draco has been, Ron tells themselves to stand by their decision, and that Draco must accept it. Nothing good would've come from it, even as 'casual fun', not in a million years.

To their relief, Draco walks in, alone, a minute later. Snape starts explaining the instructions, ignoring his tardiness.

Ron watches him slump in his seat, his face only in view for a second, just long enough to catch his defined eye bags and dead eyes. There's no hint of his usual daring flirtiness through glances at Ron or his regular insults to anyone near him. There's no spark of anything. He doesn't speak the whole lesson, he doesn't turn his head, and although Ron never catches a glimpse of his hagged face, they can tell that he's far from his usual self.

They push the stab of guilt away. There's no winning: either upset Draco or sabotage their life. The choice seems effortlessly obvious, so why do they long for just one more glance from him?

"Weasely, get on with your work," orders Professor Snape as he passes their desk and sees the empty page. "It might help if you picked up your quill."

Ron stares down at the questions, not able to get a single word to stick into his brain.

Draco is no longer a part of their life, just as they wanted and have wanted for the last two months. They should be happy. Ron gazes at the back of Draco's head for the last time before picking up their quill and willing their unease away, forcing himself to concentrate on the lesson.

They will be happy. Give it a day or two.