Chapter Four: The Simple Story of Ron Weasley

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Notes: I love Ron. My second favorite to write. Hopefully this follows all continuality ... and here is where the softer side of a bad boy Draco Malfoy rears its adorable little head, which means that this part is for le-blanc-jasmin.

Also for Saralyn, with its high 'yumminess' factor.

Um ... I don't think I can pin anything on Rowling this time around, unless I mention that just because Lucius Malfoy is an evil Death Eater does not make Malfoy evil as well. Therefore, I say thanks to JK for giving us the epitome of being biased against a family name.

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Lunch consisted of quiche and a plethora of different sorts of sandwiches. The dining room was silent as a tomb save for the echoing of silverware hitting delicate china dishes, and even the house-elves seemed to be acutely aware of the awkwardness of it all. Malfoy's silver gaze remained fixed on his food, while Hermione's eyes flickered from Ron to Potter and back again. Ron cleared his throat at intervals, and Potter ate very little but stirred his food with his fork with an absent interest.

Finally, Malfoy looked up long enough to see that the others had finished eating, and he slipped from his chair and onto his feet. Still avoiding eye contact, he waved a hand, indicating that the rest should follow, and left the room.

Instead of retiring to the study with its massive fireplace and elegantly carved chairs, Malfoy brought them into the sweeping lounge in which they had all met upon arriving. Hermione took the large armchair she had taken before and pulled her feet up, reclining somewhat in the oversized seat. Ron sunk into a nearby davenport, Potter also sat close. Malfoy, however, chose to sit in a dark loveseat on the opposite line of settees, glowering into the overstuffed pillows around him.

"Ron," Hermione said brightly, "would you like to tell your story now?" The redhead smiled somewhat grimly, glancing at Malfoy, and nodded to Hermione. She very nearly grinned, which made the blond man scowl even further.

"I'd like to tell you all that I have some sort of fantastic way of beginning this," Ron said, the solemn smile returning to his features, "but I don't." Malfoy smirked, and Ron blushed slightly, the smile fading. "So I'll just tell you what happened."

*

I don't think that I've ever been the center of attention -- not until the Cannons, I mean, and even then I wasn't technically a part of the team. At home I was always overshadowed by my brothers with their brilliantly good grades and prefect badges and statuses as head boy. I was even overshadowed by Ginny, who was pretty and popular. I've never been popular, and I wouldn't necessarily say I'm all that pretty. My grades were okay, and I was friends -- best friends -- with Harry Potter. But I was dwarfed by his achievements, as well, so that really wouldn't count as a spotlight for me, either.

One of the only things I can remember being the center of attention for -- well, two things, really -- were Wizard Chess and Draco Malfoy. Chess is an obvious; I've always been better than any of my brothers or Ginny or my parents, and I'd always been able to beat most of the Gryffindor house if they challenged me. Malfoy showered me with attention in the form of his taunting and teasing, which on occasion lead to physical fights, like at Quidditch matches during first year. But arguing was not one of my strong points because I wasn't exactly the most brilliant kid at Hogwarts, and it was difficult for me to come up with clever lines in the heat of an exchange.

And I never really thought much of finding a relationship at school, either. I guess I just expected to one day find a nice girl who was pretty and an avid fan of the Cannons and we'd end up married with kids. The Yule Ball fourth year was a nightmare, because I didn't take any of it seriously. Harry had to set me up with one of the Patil twins, and I was miserable all night because she actually wanted to dance and socialize and be seen as a part of a couple. I hope she was happy with those boys from Beauxbatons.

I suppose that even after that it never fully clicked in my mind that I held no real interest in girls. Not until -- Well, not until after those very few girls approached me first, and I just went along with it all because I was expected to. And after those relationships fell apart I was miserable, not because I was without a girlfriend, but because it never occurred to me that I could be happier with a boyfriend. So it never really clicked in my mind until I was approached, not by any girl, but by Malfoy.

The summer holidays before sixth year were dull for me, as my older three brothers were working and the twins spent much of their time out in the garden and woods. Hermione and Ginny spent much of their time together, or so I thought -- I found later that Hermione had been out with the twins while Ginny covered for her -- but I was alone in my room, rereading Flying With the Cannons and watching my posters. It was the first summer in which Harry did not come to visit. Not that I minded, however, seeing how Harry really didn't want to be hanging about with just another Weasley, let alone the whole lot of us.

Quite to my surprise, I received an owl in the middle of August from Malfoy. Of course I didn't tell any of my brothers or father, who were thoroughly obsessed with the idea that all Malfoys were involved with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or my mum or Ginny, who would go mental at the concept of my being utterly disinterested with girls even at sixteen. So after reading his owl, I replied after thinking it over.

His letter was very clear in its meaning, and I'm sure was meant to be so very blunt in his intentions. He told me that he had noticed since fourth year at the Yule Ball how very much I had ignored the entire gender of girls without so much as a second glance. He told me that he had been noticing since then how much I argued with Hermione especially and followed those few girls who had invited me into relationships with little enthusiasm. He saw that I was alone, and he wanted to do something about it. I was to reply within the week or forget it was ever brought up, and so I replied the very next night.

I had nearly forgotten I had sent that letter back until that impressive eagle-owl came swooping back through my window one evening as I admired my Cannons posters for yet another lonely afternoon. He seemed elated to know that I would accept his offer, and I was delighted to have found company in someone who, like me, was misunderstood, even if on a completely different level. We continually exchanged letters, in which he learned of my family and my own aspirations and I discovered the good in him, despite his tainted family name. As the first of September loomed closer, I began to worry that perhaps the school year would bring about the old side of Malfoy I was so very used to before this summer.

I found Malfoy on the train right away, and it was as though we had always been friends -- or more, as we shared our first kiss before I spotted Harry coming onto the platform. We promised a meeting after supper in a corridor which was nearly always deserted. I suppose that I was so wrapped up in finally being happy in a relationship that I did not even notice the way Harry glanced past my shoulder at Draco continually throughout the meal in a very puzzled and forlorn sort of way. Hindsight now nips at my heels, obviously, now that I've heard why.

But after those first two days back at school, we managed to slip through the halls to find one another in a most cathartic way, in that I felt my old worries slipping away as they were replaced with a most euphoric state of bliss most of the time. I began to block out the negative aspects of life: Hermione's nagging (which soon was replaced with severe withdrawal), Harry's perfection in being himself, Snape's preference of the Slytherins and apparent loathing for all students from Gryffindor.

When Lucius Malfoy was found guilty of being a loyal Death Eater, he was sent to Azkaban, and Draco was without a father. Not much changed at his house, because his dad wasn't around much anyway, but his mum was distraught. She took over Lucius' job at the Ministry, leaving Draco alone even more than ever during holidays. At Christmas and Easter and the like, he stayed at school, but over the summer he was made to go home. That final summer holiday was torture without him. We sent owls, but it wasn't the same.

One day, early in the holiday, I was clearing the garden of gnomes with the twins. I turned back to find another gnome, and I saw a beautiful, sleek black cat sitting on the wall. Once the garden was gnome-free, the twins made a hasty exit, and I approached the cat. It sat quite still, watching me with pale blue eyes as its tail flickered slightly.

"Who are you?" I asked it, lowering myself to my knees to see it eye to eye. It continued to watch me, its expression unchanging. I stroked its ears. This cat was much different than Crookshanks, the striped wretch Hermione was so fond of, in that it had short fur and was quite well-tempered. "Are you hungry, cat?"

It gave a 'mowr' which I took to mean yes, and I gathered it into my arms and brought it inside for a plate of something. My mum had a fit.

"Ron! Get that thing out," she yelped when she saw it. "Out! We can't keep it, not with Crookshanks already in the house, and the owls -- "

"Mum, I'm just feeding it. And it can stay in my room, away from Crookshanks," I protested. The cat purred in my arms as I scratched behind its ears. The food was forgotten in the argument at large. "And I haven't had a proper pet since Scabbers, and you see what happened to him -- "

"You've got Pigwidgeon!"

"What, that great prat? He's mental, that one is, and he can barely hold half the letters I send with him! What's the point of him, then?"

At this my mum looked for a long while at the marvelously black cat in my arms and the both of us gave her pleading looks. She caved with a defeated sigh.

"Fine," she said, "keep it." I whooped and set off for my room. "But I don't want to see it lurking about in the living room!"

Once in my bedroom, the cat perched at the foot of my bed as I sprawled out beside it. I was thinking of a name when Ginny called me out to the staircase, and after apologizing to the animal on my bed I went out to the landing.

When I came back into the room the cat was no longer on the bed. In its place sat a very pleased looking Draco Malfoy.

"But how did you -- What have you -- " I began to stutter, while a grin spread over his face.

"You aren't glad to see me?" he said, putting on a pout. Now I grinned, and he chuckled to himself.

"No," I said, "Yes, I mean -- Oi." I leaned close and kissed him. "I've missed you."

Throughout the summer Draco continued to visit me under the guise of the magnificent black cat. He had a portkey in a rusting tin can down the road a bit, and during the daytime he left the emptiness of his house and we spent the day together. His father having been who he was, Draco had learned how to become an animagi with little trouble. He was, of course, unregistered, but there were a great many illegitimate animagus in the world of Wizarding, including names nearly everyone trusted (Rita Skeeter, Snape, Ludo Bagman ... a formidable list), so one boy would hardly stand out to the Ministry. Nevertheless, we were very careful. We kept our voices down while inside the Burrow, and I treated him as a normal cat while around the rest of the family. Crookshanks even took a bit of a liking to him -- he didn't attack or go mental when the two of them were in the same room.

Early seventh year, Ginny discovered that there was more than an unlikely friendship between Draco and I, and she approached me first on the subject. Apparently she had thought something was up, but she had to feel around for it for a while before discovering the truth.

"Ron," she said, "if you were to have a girlfriend, you'd tell us all, wouldn't you?" I could feel the tips of my ears grow pink, but I nodded. Since I wasn't going to be having a girlfriend any time soon, I wouldn't be telling anyone because it wouldn't exist. It was all very logical in my mind.

"Well," she went on, determined to find a fully honest answer from me, "if you had a boyfriend, then?"

I choked, avoided eye contact, but was forced to answer in an undertone, "Draco Malfoy." Her eyes went wide, as she was obviously not expecting his to be the name I uttered.

"A simple yes would have sufficed," she murmured, several shocked moments later. Her curiosity was now piqued. "So you and Draco ... like each other, then?" I nodded happily, and the subject became very easy for me to talk about with her.

"Very much." She grew eager to learn about it all.

"For how long?"

"Middle of the summer," I said. Her eyes went wide again, and she leaned closer.

"You mean -- " She stopped, covering her mouth with her hands a moment as her mind reeled. "You mean to say that all the while when you -- " She stopped again, but quickly fixed the thought into words and said, "That cat was an excuse to visit Malfoy in the garden?"

"No," I answered slowly, and continued pointedly, "Draco ... is the cat." She squealed and covered her mouth with her hands again, her eyes as round as saucers.

"He's an animagi?" I nodded. "Wicked! Does anyone else know?" I shook my head, and she composed herself suddenly. "Well, I won't be the one to tell."

And she didn't tell, because no one else found out. Which was exactly what Draco and I wanted.

I was so happy throughout seventh year, while Harry grew increasingly distant and unhappy and Hermione was even more so than Harry. My grades even improved, with Draco there to help me with assignments. At Hogwarts he often used the disguise of his black cat to come into my dormitory because I was expected to have a cat. When he wasn't around, I claimed to have allowed him out on the grounds, that he was an outdoors type of cat, and people seemed satisfied with this.

At the end of my seventh and final year at Hogwarts, it became very clear that Draco and I would be pursuing two very different lives. It had to end sometime. I told him this, and he seemed saddened but understanding. We agreed that after the Leaving Feast, we would say goodbye and not look back.

Draco's mother had secured him a job at the Ministry, and I had managed to meet the owner of the Chudley Cannons through my dad. Apparently I was well liked by the team and owner, because I was invited to join them as a publicity manager, in charge of keeping stories of Rita Skeeter's persuasion from appearing about the team. Eventually, I was the co-owner, and then full owner of the team. When I found a publicity manager as enthralled by the team as I had been, I left it all to him, and in return he has been taking care of me financially ever since, despite the money I made while full owner of it.

I took on a job at the Ministry when my mum fell ill, in the Department of Magical Sports & Games. I've never had so much fun.

And after Draco, I never thought to pursue another serious relationship.

*

"So that's what you and Ginny talked about at our table," said Potter after a moment of silence. Draco Malfoy nodded solemnly, avoiding all eye contact. Hermione, Ron, and Harry said nothing when a great fat tear rolled down the blond man's fair skin and dripped onto his robes; he seemed not to notice.

"Well," said Hermione in an attempt to resurrect the situation. "I think that perhaps we should take a bit of a break for supper." No one objected. "Then, perhaps, we could get to bed early to get a head start tomorrow morning when we all leave -- "

"We're not all done here, Hermione," Ron said softly, his grey eyes fixed on Malfoy.

"What? Of course we're all done here, we've told our stories," she said, ignoring Potter's pointed nod toward the blond man. "It's done, we understand all that's happened while we weren't looking. That's why we're here, isn't it? I know that I feel closer to you again."

"Hermione, it isn't as simple as -- "

"So we exchange addresses and arrive by Floo Powder," she continued. "We send owls every week." Potter sighed, shrugging to Ron, who shook his head slowly. Hermione got to her feet, straightening out her robes.

"Miss Granger," an oddly detached and silver voice stopped her from leaving the elegant lounge. "We are most definitely not finished here." She sat back down in surprise. "The house-elves will bring supper to us, I think, this evening.

"And no one," he said sharply, "leaves."

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