Tw: slight violence, torture (not graphic), graphic self-harm, slight mention of non-con towards a minor (in inner dialogue only)
I highly suggest skipping over the self-harm scene in this chapter if you're triggered by that.
[Saturday 11th July]
"Wait," calls Ron, bending down to tie their shoelace. They've been walking through the forest for what seems like hours. Ron has been following the other two, not entirely sure where they're going. Hermione clutches her bag with the sword they found that same morning at the sound of twigs cracking nearby.
"Shush," she says in a low voice. Ron and Harry pause with her, looking in the direction of the cracking twigs. "I swear I heard someone. Ron, get over here."
Just as Ron plods over to where the other two stand, a barrage of cloaks whistle through the trees and land in a circle around the three.
"Harry-" Hermione shrieks, flinging her wand out to cast a spell at him.
"Run!" shouts Ron, making a dash to one side before they are completely encircled. The dark hooded entities surround the group, firing spells left right and centre.
Ron tumbles to the ground, a force knocking them off their feet. Mud smears across their face and he feels a hand on his shoulders, roughly pulling him up.
"Don't speak, don't tell them anything," Hermione screams to the other two as she's also seized.
Ron groans out in pain as whoever's holding him twists their arm behind their back and locks their head in place with an arm around their neck.
He looks across to Harry, whose face is so heavily disfigured that he can hardly tell that it's him. It scares him for a second, then he remembers Hermione throwing a curse at him that must've been a trick to hide his identity.
"Bring them to the Manor," orders a gruff voice from the centre of the group. "They'll love this."
All the attackers are in heavy black clothing and hoods so Ron can't see their identity, however it's indisputable that they must be working for Voldemort. The hand around Ron's neck doesn't loosen as he's shoved forward.
"Move."
They continue to trek further into the woods for another fifteen minutes, the opposite way to which the three came from.
Ron bites his lip to control the anxiety bubbling inside. He has no idea where they're being taken, who their captors are, or if they know they have Harry Potter in their possession. The latter is probably untrue: Harry's face appears so mashed up that even Ron took a few seconds to realise it was him.
They reach a grand set of gates another ten minutes later opening to a considerably sized mansion. The snaking ivy vines only add to the gothic appearance of the mansion: stone gargoyles rest on two pillars outside its gates, deceptively pretty, and black steel railings surround the perimeter.
"Take them in," says the figure leading the pack, ordering them through the gates and into the grounds of the ominous-looking mansion.
"Are you two okay?" Ron calls to Harry and Hermione, his head forced to point in such a way that he hasn't seen the other two for the last ten minutes. Instead of a response, he hears a gruff, "make them shut up."
Ron feels a hand grab a thick fistful of hair and yank their head back. He yelps with pain as his captor punches them across his face.
"Ron, don't talk," Hermione says desperately.
Their arms are held tightly behind their back as Ron is kicked forward into the opening part of the mansion, his head sore and his face stinging.
They're led into a large room with various grave people in dark clothing standing around the sides.
"What's going on?" someone demands. Ron squints to check they're not seeing things- Lucius Malfoy. Was the 'manor' they were referring to Malfoy Manor? Surely this desolate place overrun by Death Eaters can't be Draco's home?
Ron surveys the room and his eyes widen in shock as he sees Draco standing next to his mother to one side of the room, a conformation of his thoughts. Draco stares straight back, trying to communicate a million things with a blink of an eye.
"We found them in the woods ten minutes from the manor," says the leader of the group, pulling his head down to reveal a hagged but unfamiliar face to the trio.
"They're Hogwarts students. I thought you'd be interested in having a few hostages."
Draco glares in horror at his three classmates, particularly at Ron and the blood trickling from his nose, but he has no choice but to stay silent. He barely recognises Harry, the only indicator that it's him being his companions and disgruntled brown hair. He clenches his jaw. Harry fucking Potter. Why the fuck does he have to drag Ron with him on his stupid ventures all the fucking time? And he's practically untouched while Ron is being held up by his hair, his face battered and bloody. All for Harry fucking Potter.
"Look who we have here," Bellatrix smiles with a sickly sweet voice. She and Draco's parents recognise Ron and Hermione immediately, but Harry not so much. They mutter to each other in heated tones, just out of hearing range of Ron. The arm around his neck doesn't loosen.
A minute later, Lucius brings Draco over to Harry, who's been forced to his knees after refusing to identify himself.
"Is that him, son? Is that Potter?" Lucius asks.
Draco takes a long look at him. His anger for the boy on his knees in front of him subsides and he realises that he can't afford to make a rash decision here. Yes, Harry is nothing but a nuisance, and yes, he repeatedly puts Ron in unnecessary danger, but what would giving him in achieve? He'd single-handedly be condemning him to humiliation, torture, then death. Once Voldemort arrives, Draco doubts ve will have mercy on Ron or Hermione either.
"I can't be sure," says Draco. He glances over at Ron, then back at Harry. They both look terrified.
"Come closer," Bellatrix says, coaxing him forward until he's staring right into Harry's eyes.
"If you do this, if you identify him, all will be forgiven," Lucius whispers into Draco's ear. "You can do it, son."
Draco looks at Harry, his face unrecognisable to the passer-by. Harry stares back, the silent pleading of his eyes persuading Draco in an instant. He can't tell them. He can't give him in.
"It's not him," Draco says quietly.
Narcissa beckons him back as the others make a variation of frustrated noises.
"What's that?" Bellatrix suddenly shrieks, lunging towards the sword one of the people who captured the three holds.
"Where did you get this?" she demands, snatching it back. "Tell me, where?"
"Off the girl," it grunts.
Bellatrix releases a snarl of a spell at it, making it drop to the floor writhing in pain.
"I think it's time we have a chat," Bellatrix says, striding over to Hermione who shrinks back. "Girl to girl." She grins, baring her pointed teeth. "Put the boys in the cellar."
Draco watches one of the guards grab Harry and Ron and drag them down towards their cellar, and he gives it a minute before following them.
Draco descends into the depths of the manor, down a narrow staircase and into the basement, feeling the coldness cling to his skin as he gets further and further beneath the ground. He reaches the barred entrance and sees Harry and Ron collapsed near the door. Harry nudges Ron when he catches sight of Draco at the door.
"Come to gloat?" Harry says, a distinct lack of the usual bitterness in his voice, knowing that he currently owes Draco a lot more than he cares to admit.
"Shut it, Potter," Draco snaps. "Did they hurt you?" he asks, staring at Ron's bloody nose and tousled clothing.
"We're fine," Ron says, giving Draco his best reassuring smile.
Harry glares at Draco accusingly, too distracted to wonder why the question was directed to only Ron, and to why he even cares about Ron in the first place.
"Where's Hermione?" he demands.
"She's still up there. What the hell are you doing here?" Draco says furiously, glaring at them both through the bars. "Are you trying to get yourselves killed? Potter, I don't know what the fuck you think-"
Suddenly, a high-pitched scream pierces the air.
"Hermione?" Ron shouts, scrambling to the door. The anguished screaming of unmistakable pain continues: Hermione's screams.
"Hermione? Hermione!" Ron yells. "Let me out, Draco. Get me the fuck out right now. Can't you hear her?"
Draco anxiously runs a hand through his hair on hearing the tortured cries from upstairs. It must be Bellatrix's doing.
"What's happening?" says Harry, fear dilating his pupils.
"Go and stop them," Ron pleads. "If you won't let me out, go and stop them, can't you hear? What are they doing to her?" He starts shouting again until his voice goes hoarse. "Hermione!"
Draco goes back up the stairs to please Ron, but he knows he won't be able to stop Bellatrix's wrath.
Once he gets back to the main room, he sees Hermione on the floor under Bellatrix as she points her wand into Hermione's arm, yelling unanswerable questions. Blood soaks into the carpet underneath her as her shrill screams for help fall on deaf ears.
"Draco, you don't want to see this sweetheart," Narcissa says, ushering him away. She's right- Hermione could be insufferable, but to see her tortured?
He sits in the next room along and listens to the pained shrieks of his classmate fill the empty air. It goes on for far too long and the screams only stop once Hermione drops unconscious. Draco watches a guard drag her down to the cellar where the other two remain, and he slips down after them.
Once down in the cellar, the guard stops Draco.
"Let me talk to them," Draco orders the guard. "I need to try and identify them."
The guard nods grudgingly and unlocks the gate.
"What do you need?" he says quietly once in the furthest corner where the three stand. Ron holds Hermione, who's sprawled half-conscious in their arms, terrified and tear-stained.
Harry is the only one paying attention to Draco's offer. "Distract them for long enough that we can make a temporary portal," says Harry. "Can you get our wands?"
"No, Bellatrix has them," Draco says. He looks over his three desperate classmates, one sobbing hysterically, one barely conscious, and the other staring at Draco knowing he's their last hope.
"The spell's going to run out soon," Harry says, pointing to his face. "Then I'm dead."
"What spell was it?" Draco asks desperately, pulling his wand out.
"I don't fucking know, do I?"
"Tell me who did it then," Draco retorts, biting back the urge to abandon Harry all together.
"It was Hermione."
The two look over at Hermione, whose eyes are flickering open and shut, unresponsive to Ron's pleading sobs. Draco can tell that they won't get any sense out of her, not in time.
Then, if things couldn't get any worse, Draco hears the door at the top of the basement swing open and footsteps start to approach. He has to make a decision, and with the boy he loves in front of him in hysterics, the answer is evident.
"Take my wand," he says, handing it to Harry through the bars. "Someone's coming, you better make that portal fast."
Harry takes it in disbelief. He starts on the spell, and the fact that Draco is staring at Ron with deep concern goes unnoticed.
"Draco, are you down there, darling?" Bellatrix's sickly sweet voice echos off the walls.
Draco freezes. He knows how this will look when she rounds the corner.
"Potter, stun me," he whispers urgently.
Harry glances up. "What?"
"Stun me you fucking idiot, now, or we're all getting killed."
Harry takes the unspoken fear in his eyes as command enough and casts a stunning spell on Draco without another word, making him fall unconscious to the floor.
He wakes up to Bellatrix screaming curses at the guards and an empty cell. Relief courses through his body: they escaped. Ron is safe.
[Monday 13th July, two days later]
At lunchtime, after the first lesson Draco can muster up the courage to go to, Harry, Hermione, and Ron approach him in a corridor near the courtyard.
Harry holds out Draco's wand. Draco takes it, the tension as they stare at each other almost tangible.
"Why did you help us?" asks Harry.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco says harshly. He turns around and starts walking out to the courtyard. Harry and Hermione stare after him somewhat confused. Ron feels very little, and certainly no sense of victory. All they can hear are Hermione's tortured cries and all they feel is the cold cellar door as they bang on it again and again, helpless.
Draco rethinks his decision again. He could've won them the war. He could've saved his father for good. This all could've been over by now. All he needed to do was say 'yes'.
But he couldn't endanger Ron, he couldn't let them kill him as an accessory. But was it something more? Was he truly prepared to look in the eyes of this boy he's known since he was eleven and condemn him to a fate worse than death?
Semantics, Draco thinks as he walks over to his friends. All that matters is that Ron is safe and there is no blood on his hands.
He reaches the other Slytherins at the furthest corner of the courtyard and puts Harry to the back of his mind. He'll have plenty of time to regret his decision later. Blaise, Pike, Pansy, Daphne, and Goyle are gathered in the corner chatting loudly amongst themselves.
"Hiya Draco," says Pansy.
"Draco, look at wer," Pike says in his thick northern accent, standing next to Blaise. "Who's taller? It's me, right?"
Blaise doesn't move and looks extremely disinterested by the ongoing argument. "We're the same height."
"What is it with boys' obsession with their height?" Daphne says, rolling her eyes.
"You're just salty because you're five foot two," says Pansy with a grin.
Daphne shoots her look. "I am not five foot two, I'm five five."
"Yeah, you're the same height," Draco says, eyeing the difference in height between Blaise and Pike. Blaise is marginally taller but he can tell zey aren't fussed about it and Pike wouldn't take it well.
"Bro," Pike exclaims. "Youse need your eyes tested, I swear."
"We should go to transfig now," says Blaise, looking at the large clock tower.
"Bagsie not working with Crabbe or Goyle," Daphne says.
Goyle frowns. "Huh?"
"We're doing that group project task this lesson," she explains. "And as much as I love you, I'm not doing graded classwork with you."
"She's working with me and Millicent," Pansy tells him pointedly. "So go and find someone else."
"Do you want to work with me and Draco?" Blaise asks Pike as the group begins walking to the hall. They've been on increasingly good terms after their clash a few months ago, and Pike hasn't commented on Blaise's tics since.
"Yeah, alright."
"What did Harry want with you?" Blaise asks a fraction too loudly as they line up outside the hall for transfiguration. Draco gives her a 'not now' look.
"Potter was talking to you?" Pike says, staring over at him, Ron, and Hermione stood innocently at the front of the line.
"It was nothing," Draco says.
"Group of fuckin' twats," spits Pike. "You know last week Weasely fucking tripped me over? The balls he had to act like it wasn't on purpose."
Draco smirks covertly as he stares over at Ron. "What a bloody wanker," he murmurs, imagining running his hands through their hair, pushing them onto his sofa, and fervidly making out.
"Yeah, isn't he?" Pike says. "I told him to do one, the little cunt."
Ron feels someone's eyes on them and turns around to catch Draco looking at them as if there were no one else in the world. They bite back a smile and hold up a middle finger much to Draco's amusement, who mouthes 'fuck off' back.
"In you come," McGonagall eventually calls. "We've got lots to be getting through today."
The class starts to file into the hall.
On the last weekend of sixth year, Ron, Hermione, and Harry stay put at Hogwarts.
The blood-red scar stretching from Hermione's wrist to elbow has been mostly out of sight, but Ron has caught the occasional glimpse. It's been a week since they were captured and brought to Malfoy Manor. Every night he hears the screams of Hermione and the deranged laughs of Bellatrix, trapped helpless in a dark room underneath them.
First Harry mourning the death of Dumbledore, now Hermione recovering from the horrors Bellatrix put her through. Neither of them are their usual selves. Ron sits with them at lunch and break and in lessons and in the evenings and guilt stabs them every second they spend with them that he isn't suffering equally. He was beaten around a bit, but nothing serious, nothing permanently damaging. It never is.
"I'm going to the loo," says Ron.
Harry and Hermione sit with him on their usual Common room sofa beside the fireplace.
"Ok," says Hermione.
Harry points to the paper they've been studying together. "Should we finish this without you?"
"Yeah, go ahead, I won't be long."
"All right."
Ron takes a short detour to the dormitory on the way to the bathrooms. They want to be completely alone, and the small toilet attached to the sixth year's dormitory is too in the way.
It's been since the end of April. Three whole months. Ron's sense of inadequacy multiples as they rummage around in their suitcase for the scalpel. It was inevitable. Why does he think he held onto the blade all this time? They knew they weren't strong enough to continue the clean streak forever.
The scalpel rubs against Ron's leg through the trouser fabric with every step they make towards the isolated third-floor bathrooms. No one will be there. They lock themselves in the end cubicle. Harry and Hermione won't be holding their breath for his return, Ron decides. The evening is his to do whatever he pleases with.
Ron groans with frustration. It's been ten minutes and the cut in his calf isn't getting any wider no matter how many times he runs the blade against it. It's painful, too. It really hurts. Ron doesn't want pain; he wants visual results. He wants to look as damaged as they feel.
They consider that their pain tolerance has decreased since April, the last time they did this, or it might just be the area of skin they've picked.
There's barely any emotion involved as Ron slaps two plasters over the calf wound, rolls their trouser leg down, then takes off their jumper.
It's nothing like last September: he doesn't feel motivated by guilt, or by dysphoria, or by self-hatred, or by any strong surge of emotions. Everything feels flat and dead, and something needs to give before it all explodes.
Ron drives the blade across the flesh of their upper arm with the same force as on their calf with a sharp intake of breath. This time: a result. They bring it back again and a third time until there's a gaping wound displaying the yellow bubbles that he was desperate to see hanging out. Blood drips onto the floor, but they don't care- they'll clean it after.
They stop a few minutes later, hands trembling as they look at the damage. Extensive, to say the least. Blissfully so.
He appears to have nicked a vein on one of the four wounds, dark red blood pulsating out. They try to find the capacity to feel bad about it, without success. The plasters barely cover the wounds, so he improvises by pressing them on several at different angles.
They would be lying if he told himself this didn't make them feel any better. Because it does. Enormously.
For a minute or two, before the regret seeps back in, he feels on top of the world.
They wipe up the blood with toilet paper, bins the blood-soaked paper, flushes the toilet, pulls his jumper back on, and opens the cubicle door.
It stops feeling so great when Ron is walking back up to the dormitory, having broken their three-month clean streak, aching arm and stinging leg, blood starting to ooze through the plaster, the self-hatred hitting him, the knowledge that these sized wounds wouldn't heal over for weeks, and would never heal properly back. What a stupid thing to do.
Ron clenches their jaw. Why are they like this? Nothing bad has happened, nothing at all, yet here they are hurting themselves in an empty bathroom at eight pm on a Sunday to get a release. He scoffs at himself. Pathetic.
They throw the blade in the bottom of their suitcase. No more of this. They've told themselves this before, but now it's for good. No more. Now is the one, the time he stops for good.
Something has to give. But not this, surely not this.
"You were a while," says Harry as Ron sits back down, having plastered up their arms a second time.
"Yeah, I got distracted," Ron says. "So what have you done?"
"Absolutely nothing," says Hermione, her quill lying untouched on the table. She leans back in the chair, staring dead into the fire.
"Oh," Ron says. "I guess we could leave it to later. It's not due for another week."
"Good idea," mutters Hermione, closing her eyes and folding her arms.
Harry shrugs as Ron looks to him for guidance. "I'm off to bed," he says, getting up.
Ron is once again left sitting on the side-lines watching his two best friends deteriorate while the only bad thing happening to him is himself.
[Thursday 24th July, four days later]
"Hey," Ron says, catapulting into Draco's arms. The sun still hasn't set, the strong mid-summer rays sweeping through Draco's bedroom.
"Hi," grins Draco, spinning them around in his arms. "How are you?"
"I'm really good, what about you?"
"I'm alright," says Draco. "But I'm kind of sad that this is the last time we'll get to do this for six weeks."
"Fuck's sake," Ron says, squeezing him tighter. "I wasn't going to bring it up."
They pretend not to see the suitcase sitting wide open on Draco's bed, an unwelcome reminder that tomorrow is their last day of school before the summer holidays.
"I love what you've done with your hair." Draco pulls them over to the sofa admiring the two plaits of ginger hair almost reaching their shoulders.
"Really? I felt like such an idiot plaiting it like I'm a ten year old girl."
"No, it looks great."
Ron beams and wraps their arms around Draco's shoulders. "Thanks."
"You've been playing chess again I see," says Ron, glancing at the chessboard set out mid-game, half of white's pieces lying to the side.
"Yep," Draco says, resting his head against Ron's shoulder. "I'm so fucking sick of school, I'm ready for a break."
"Will you be at your parents' house for the whole summer?"
"Yeah, that's the plan. I don't have any plans to meet with anyone either, I'll just be cooped up there with my mother, and my father who still isn't talking to me."
"Why not?" frowns Ron.
"I'm still pissed off about the Death Eater thing and he says I have an attitude and that he'll only talk to me once I've stopped being childish."
"What the hell?" Ron exclaims.
"Yeah, well. It's fine." Draco shrugs as if it's neither here nor there. "What are you doing over the summer?"
"I'm staying home too," says Ron. "I've got a lot on, but it should be fun."
"Don't get yourself killed," Draco says, nudging his knee into theirs. "You better not be doing any more stupid shit with Harry and Hermione."
"Harry's staying at ours," says Ron. "And my mum isn't going to let him get himself too involved in everything."
"Good."
"I made a bracelet," says Ron, pulling up their sleeve to reveal three threads: yellow, red and green entwined in a plaited pattern.
"That's cute," Draco says, running his fingers over it. "Goes with your eyes."
Ron closes their eyes suddenly. "What colour are my eyes?"
Draco snorts at Ron sitting there with his eyes closed. "Do you know how fucking stupid-"
"Draco," Ron interrupts. "Just guess what colour my eyes are."
"I don't have to guess, I already know."
"Fine then, say."
"Brown."
Ron opens their eyes to Draco staring across at them with a massive smile on his face. "Correct."
"Guess what colour my eyes are," Draco mimics, closing his eyes. "Green, black, purple, orange, what could they possibly be?"
Ron jabs his stomach and Draco reopens his eyes, sniggering to himself.
"Prick."
"This is our last night together in sixth year and you're sitting there not kissing me?" Draco says, feigning indignancy. They've been sitting apart on the sofa chatting on and off for a good twenty minutes now.
"Why am I not kissing you?" says Ron in surprise. "I was waiting for you to make a move."
"Why do I have to do all the work around here?" Draco smiles, fully reclined on the sofa and making no indication of movement.
"Sit up then," says Ron.
"Come and kiss me."
"I'm not leaning on top of you."
"Why not?" Draco smirks, putting his hands behind his head.
Ron falters for words, unable to conjure up a good enough reason. "Cos," he says, leaning over Draco slightly. "I'm heavier than you. I'll squish you by accident."
Draco grabs Ron by their jumper collar and pulls them down on top of him, their lips an inch apart.
"You're not squishing me," he mutters. "So what do you say?"
Ron repositions their knees to hug the hides of Draco's waist, then leans down and kisses him. Draco hugs him closer, pulling their chest right down onto his.
"You okay?" Draco says, guiding Ron's hands onto his shoulders.
Ron is even more flustered than usual, awkwardly perched on top of Draco.
"I feel like I'm flattening you," they whisper. "All of your weight isn't on me when you do this. I'm doing something wrong, aren't I?
Draco strokes the back of their head. "No, you're not doing anything wrong. This is incredibly sexy actually."
"Sure it is."
"We can switch back if you like?" Draco says, taking the hint from their hesitant body language.
"Yeah," says Ron. "I don't know what to do with myself here."
"You should practice once we come back in September," Draco says, sitting up with Ron.
"Yeah, okay," they say. "Practice how not to flatten you."
"You weren't flattening me, you piece of shit."
Ron huffs in vague disagreement.
Draco places his hands on Ron's waist and gently pushes him down. "I'll do all the work then, shall I?"
"Shut up."
Ron pulls Draco into him, their lips connecting once again, this time with more confidence, more familiarity.
"I'm gonna miss you," Draco murmurs, brushing his fingers through Ron's hair.
"Stop," sighs Ron. "You're going to make me sad that I have to be alone all summer."
"You won't be alone; you'll have Potter and all your family."
"Yeah, but you know what I mean," says Ron. "Do you think it'll be safe to write letters to each other?"
"I don't think so. My parents have started looking through all my letters," Draco says. "Sorry."
"When will we meet once we're back?"
"First day back, right?" says Draco. "We meet on the Sunday evening, then school starts on the Monday."
"Okay, but I'll be really tired after travelling all day."
"You're always tired."
"Yeah, because we meet at bloody midnight."
Draco caresses the back of their neck. "Would you rather meet another time?"
"No, no," Ron quickly assures him. "I'm just warning you that I'll be sleepy."
"I don't mind a sleepy Ron."
Ron gives a small giggle. "Okay then. Sleepy Ron it shall be."
They bump their head against Draco's chest several minutes later. "I should've gone half an hour ago," they say. "I've been putting it off."
"Do you have to go?" Draco says, looking genuinely put out.
"Don't look at me like that," Ron says sadly. "You'll make me feel bad."
"Fine, up you get." Draco pulls them off the sofa and along to the door. "If you've got yourself killed by the end of the holidays, I'll dig your body out of your grave and kill you again," he warns.
"I'll come back and haunt you," says Ron.
"Great," Draco grins, stroking the sides of their face. "I've always wanted to be haunted."
"Your hands are fucking freezing," says Ron, wrapping his arms around Draco's waist.
"Are you leaving or are you just going to stand there and complain?"
"God, alright, I'm going, keep your hair on."
Draco kisses them softly.
"Don't let any of them cut your hair," he says. "It's fucking cute, and I know you want to keep it long."
"I won't, don't worry."
Ron detaches themselves from him. "Night, Draco. See you in a few weeks."
"Goodnight, Ron. Have a good holiday."
The door shuts behind him with a soft click.
The next morning arrives. Draco skips breakfast to finish packing. Various students and professors scurry around the corridors as he makes his way down to the entrance of the school where the coaches would be waiting.
It was a mistake, in hindsight, to pass by Slughorn's classroom on the way down, but Draco assumed he wouldn't be there. He was wrong, of course he was wrong: Slughorn is lingering outside his classroom door. His eyes light up once he sees Draco, and he beckons him inside. Draco glances around. No one pays him or Slughorn any attention, and anxiety lurches in his stomach as he drags his feet into the potion's classroom.
"You all packed up?" Slughorn asks, smiling pleasantly.
"Yes." Draco doesn't put his two heavy suitcases down on the floor.
"I'm heading off in a minute too," says Slughorn. "So I can't talk, but can I get a goodbye kiss?"
"No."
Draco tenses up, expecting Slughorn's face to bend with fury and lunge forward and grab his jaw and press their lips together, or kick him to the floor until he's coughing up blood and begging for him to stop.
But Slughorn doesn't move.
"Ok," he says, his expression not changing from the amicable smile. "Have a nice holiday, Draco."
Draco takes this as dismission. He doesn't wait another second before turning on his heel and walking out.
"Bonjour," Remus says, bursting into Snape's room with a cheery smile.
"Don't bother knocking," says Snape, spinning around from his desk. Collecting everything up for the holidays has been proving a harder task than he imagined.
"You alright?" says Remus, looking around at the abnormal untidiness.
"Yes, just trying to finish packing."
"The coach is leaving in twenty minutes."
"I'm not getting the coach," says Snape. "I'm going to apparate."
"Where to?"
"My house."
"I didn't know you had a house," says Remus. "Who lives there?"
"Just me," Snape says.
"Don't tell me you'll be staying alone for six weeks," Remus says, folding his arms.
Snape continues stacking up all his spell books and notebooks into his suitcase. "Yes, I will be," he says.
"For God's sake, Severus," Remus sighs.
"You'll be going back to you and Nymphadora's house, I expect?" Snape says.
"Yes," says Remus, his smile returning.
"Have you got a date for the wedding yet?"
"The thirty-first of July."
"That soon?" Snape says in surprise.
"Yeah."
"Are you getting cold feet?"
Remus shoots him a look. "No, I'm excited for it. Everything's been planned, and we haven't made it a big event. It's just close family and friends."
"Where will it be?"
"It's going to be by a river where Nymph grew up. There's this lovely glade with willow trees and it honestly looks beautiful at this time of year with the sun shining through the trees. I'm really looking forward to it."
"It sounds lovely."
"I should get off," Remus says. "I was only going to drop by to wish you a good holidays, the coach will be here soon."
"All right," Snape says, clicking his suitcase shut.
"I would invite you over to the house," Remus says. "But Nymph wouldn't be happy, what with the Albus thing."
"No, I understand. Thank you, though."
"Please for the love of God interact with other humans during the holidays," Remus says sternly. "I don't want you sitting alone in your house for six weeks, you'll end up going insane."
"I'll be fine," says Snape. "I need a good rest."
Remus holds open his arms. Snape stares at him, unmoving.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Remus asks.
"What are you doing?"
Remus drops his arms. "I was going to give you a farewell hug. You know, a hug? That thing when humans express liking for each other through physical contact?"
Snape's set expression doesn't budge. "I don't do hugs."
Remus laughs him off. "I forgot you were a miserable sod," he says. "I'll see you in September, alright Severus?"
"Yes," says Snape. He watches Remus pick up his suitcases and head to the door. "Write to me and tell me how the wedding goes."
"Will do," Remus calls. "I'll see you soon."
"Bye, Remus. Take care."
He gives a little wave over his shoulder. "Bye-bye."