Ron groaned as the sunlight shone through his thin eyelids. He couldn't remember the last time he was woken up by sunlight, his room at the inn faced west…oh. Ron sunk back into a bed nicer than any that he had ever been in before (Hogwarts beds were a huge step up from the one in his room at his parents house, but still- they were school issued) and pulled white linen over his eyes. He couldn't deal with this. He needed to focus on something less…painful. Something technical.

Ron's thoughts drifted back to last night, of which he could only remember a few moments without tears. An ally way, a man, a confession…Ron groaned again. Things could not get worse.

Looking down, Ron saw he still had his bartender's uniform on, a simple white shirt and slacks. "At least the guy didn't rape me," he thought grimly, before chastising himself for thinking badly about the only person who was nice enough to give a shit about him in almost a year. Maybe forever. Ron drifted to thinking about the people who he used to think mattered, should he write his parents and family to tell them he lost his job? No, they didn't seem to give a shit about him before, why would they now? But what about Harry, Hermione?

"Its not like they knew what was going on before, why let them in now?"

It didn't seem right that while he was thinking of all these depressing matters, he was the most comfortable he had been in a very, very long time.

Letting his muscles sink into the mattress, Ron refused to think more. He was simply going to let his body feel before it was too late and this wonderful bed was gone forever.

Drifting into a light sleep for a few more hours, Ron completely forgot to thank the man that had saved him. But it was all right. Erin knew that he would have a lot more time with Ron.

Getting up from the chair where he had been watching Ron since earlier that morning, Erin took the note he had written even earlier and placed it on the table next to the sleeping body and left the room, closing the door silently. Leaning against the heavy wood, he let his fingers play in the minute crevices and grooves of the old oak. He loved this door. He loved his bed. And now he was sharing it with someone he thought he might just be able to love as well.

Humming, Erin strolled into the kitchen to make some breakfast for two, something he always wanted to do.

In more comforting low light, Ron opened his eyes and turned over, not knowing what to expect. Yawning and stretching, he felt his limbs and muscles crack and pop in appreciation for room and movement, and as his hands made circles in the air Ron hit a small table next to the bed and pushed a small piece of paper over. Leaning over to grab it, he opened it and saw in wonderful calligraphy his name.

In an act of obliviousness that Ron was famous for, he didn't even stop to think about how this man knew his name, but simply opened the note and read.

Ron;

Sorry there was no time to explain things last night. The apartment's small and I'm sure you'll be able to find the things you need, and if I'm not in it I'll be at work. Make yourself comfortable, and I'll be back after six or seven. Please stay, I have some things to tell you that may cheer you up.

Erin

P.S.- I made some lunch for you, it'll be on the table in the kitchen. If you're still hungry make whatever you want.

Not even wondering about what news this man Erin might have for him, Ron's thoughts turned to lunch.

When Erin apperated into the bar, Draco was already there, pristine as ever and angry as hell.

"Well?"

Trying to scuff his shoes on the enchanted floor (impervious to spills, messes, and any bodily fluid) Erin tried to turn the conversation on something he knew he could completely divert Draco's attention to—Draco.

"Your hair looks especially nice today." It wasn't that Erin didn't want to talk about Ron, but he didn't feel quite comfortable enough talking about him with Draco, not when he had that terrifying malicious glint in his eyes. Luckily, Draco took the bait.

Setting back his shoulders and straining to stand just a little bit higher, Draco ran a finger through his hair. It should look different; he had tried a different enchantment on it this morning. It wasn't often that Draco actually tried to improve his appearance, but perfection is a fluid thing and he liked to keep on top of it.

Erin silently let out some captured air as Draco prattled on about a new spell and how he wasn't sure about it but he did like the results.

A good thirty minutes later, when Draco noticed the distant look in Erin's eyes and the jerking motions his head was going trough to keep him awake, Draco was in a good enough mood to not curse Erin right there.

Instead, with a wonderfully frightening grin, Draco grabbed Erin's arm, nearly jerked it out of it's socket, and apperated right into Erin's cozy flat.

If Draco wasn't so shameless, he may have been embarrassed by his impact on Ron. But as it was, he reveled in the shattering glass, the stick thin, gangly, freckled anomaly standing there in a puddle of coffee and shattered clay with the most astounded look on his face.

Draco angled his head so his angular face caught the light, threw his head back, and proudly spat out one of his favorite insults.

"Ron." Draco had forgotten how those three letters formed on his tongue in a disgusting, mucus covered ball of wax, and how much he loved to chuck it at his least favorite person that was no where near worth it.

Feeling the color rising to his cheeks like it had failed to do for years, Ron simply glowered and whispered just loud enough for everyone present to hear, "Motherfucker."