Ron could kill the blond bastard. And he absolutely would, if he were still here. Because the dickhead had fled at the first sign of difficulty. (Not unlike Ron during the horcrux hunt. But that's irrelevant.) The only thing that matters is that Malfoy is an arse. (With a nice arse, but Ron is still coming to terms with those thoughts. Viktor's helped a lot with that.)

Oh, Viktor. Ron could stare into his chocolate brown eyes for days. But he shouldn't be concentrating on Viktor right now, he should be concentrating on Harry.

"Are you okay?" Ron asks, and then immediately regrets the stupid question. Harry is looking up at him with red rimmed eyes and is very clearly not okay.

Ron is the wrong person to be talking to him about this. Emotional range of a teaspoon, he's got, and he knows it. Fuck, but where's Hermione? She'd be much better equipped for this. Ron sighs, then pulls out his phone. He opens his text log with Hermione and stares at the last thing she'd sent.

Stay safe. He hits reply and then stares at the blank screen for a long moment before closing it. Instead, he clicks several more buttons and then holds the phone up to his ear. He glances at Harry as the phone begins to ring.

"'Mione," he says as soon as she picks up.

"How is he?" she asks immediately. Of course she's already seen the Prophet. Everyone has. That's someone else Ron could kill right now: Barnabas Cuffe, Editor-in-Chief of the Prophet and fucking arsehole supreme.

"Not good."

"Put him on."

…

"D'you want me to hex him for you?" Ron asks once Harry's off the phone. "I'll do it."

"No," Harry mumbles. "I don't want you to hurt him."

"But he's hurt you. It seems only fair." Harry shakes his head and Ron frowns at him.

"I don't want you to hurt him," Harry says again.

"What about a howler?" Ron wonders if he could get his mum to help him with a howler. He can still so vividly remember his howler from Year Two. Ronald Weasley, how dare you steal that car. He smiles fondly at the memory before realizing that Harry is looking at him strangely. "Draco Malfoy," he improvises. "How dare you leave our Harry. I am absolutely disgusted." When Harry continues to stare at him, he trails off.

"No," says Harry.

"Sorry, mate, but I'm doing it." Ron's already composing it in his head. Because there's nothing the Weasley family is better at than yelling about things in an over the top manner. At least this time it will be productive.

"Ron, no," Harry says again. "I love him."

"All the more reason to— sorry what?" Ron knows he should have seen this coming. If Harry hadn't had strong feelings for the Ferret, he wouldn't have gone to the trouble of telling Ron about their relationship in the first place. Still, Ron's rather surprised by the announcement. But Harry's his friend so he decides to take it in stride. Harry loves the Ferret. So be it.

"I love him," Harry says again. Ron nods once, decisively.

"Then I am definitely fucking yelling at him through a piece of parchment. No one breaks my best friend's heart and gets away with it." Harry gives a startled laugh, which still sounds to Ron like half a sob, but at least it's half a laugh. Ron counts it as a win.

"I didn't realize we were still best friends," Harry says softly. The bottom falls out of Ron's stomach. He had thought they'd made up. He thought that was why he was here. But then again, teaspoon. So perhaps he'd misread the situation. Ron takes a deep breath and claps a hand to Harry's shoulder.

"Mate," he says. "You will always be my best friend. Even when we're prats to each other. I realize I left things between us in a bad way for a long time, and a lot of that was my own pride. I didn't want to admit that I'd flown off the handle, nor did I want to confront questions about my own sexuality. But that's no excuse for my behavior. I was a grade A arsehole and you deserved better."

"Is this an apology?"

"Yes. I am so very sorry, Harry. You're my best friend and I was a selfish prat. To make it up to you, I shall yell at Ferretface through a piece of parchment."

"Ron."

"Ferret."

"Ron." Ron sighs.

"Malfoy."

"Draco," Harry insists. Ron twists his mouth to the side but he nods and Harry smiles for perhaps the first time that day.

…

Of course, his mum had had to go and make it worse.

The letter had arrived two hours after Malfoy had left and in true mum fashion, it had been filled with criticisms masked as concern. Why hadn't Harry come out to her? Why had she had to find out his preferences from a newspaper? And was Harry sure he wanted to be kissing someone with such a checkered past? Oh, and if Harry were really now into men, would he not want to consider someone more appropriate? Ron had tried to get the letter away from Harry before he could read it, but Harry had snatched it up before Ron could get a hand on it.

The letter had brought on a fresh bout of tears and another call to Hermione, and while Ron hadn't wanted to agree with her on the fact that his mother was being overbearing, he couldn't exactly disagree.

"She means well," he'd protested, only to have Harry turn to glare at him through tear filled eyes. "But she's wrong, obviously."

"Obviously," came Hermione's voice through the speakerphone. Ron had winced, even though the tinny quality of the sound had reminded him she wasn't there. "Don't listen to her, Harry. The only person's feelings whose matter in this are yours."

"Exactly," Ron had agreed, glad that Hermione hadn't been there in person because she surely would have whacked him on the arm for adding nothing original to the conversation. He'd spent the rest of the phone conversation nodding enthusiastically and agreeing to the things she had said while she talked Harry back down to a non-crying state.

Now it's dinnertime, and all of them are gathered around the kitchen table, eating a medley of Harry's favorite foods that Viktor had asked Winky to make. Harry's partway through the treacle tart — not a plate's worth but the entire thing — and nursing a heavy pour of whisky. Ron's bent over a piece of parchment with Pansy, who surprisingly had been completely on board with sending Draco a howler. She's provided many of the best lines so far, and even Viktor has added a quip or two, in between attempting to feel Ron up under the table.

"Not now," Ron hisses as Viktor skips his thigh entirely and puts his hand directly on Ron's crotch.

"But I can feel that you want me," Viktor whispers.

"Oh," Pansy says, putting her hand where Viktor's had been. "You're right. He does."

"You two aren't helping."

"I beg your pardon," Pansy sniffs. "'Stop being an insecure arsehole' was all my doing."

"Yes, and I have added 'If you do not come back Viktor may have to take Harry to bed to cheer him up,'" Viktor adds. Ron looks up in time to see Harry shovel another bite of treacle tart into his mouth.

"I don't want a foursome," he says, his mouth still full.

"That is not what I was suggesting—" Viktor starts to say, but Harry cuts him off.

"—I just want him back." And Ron watches in despair as his best friend folds in on himself again.

"I'm going to yell so fucking loud," Ron mutters, turning his attention back to the howler draft.

"You might want to add that Harry misses him," Pansy says. Ron makes a note. He adds a few more lines and then sits back, finished. He's quite proud of it if he says so himself. He's going to have Pansy and Viktor make it with him, so that they can all yet at Malfoy together. It's going to be brill.

That done, he tucks into his beef wellington.

"You know what," Oliver says loudly from his seat next to Percy. He puts his fork down emphatically on his plate and the clatter has all of them looking up. "Fuck the Prophet." Ron is about to agree with this sentiment when Oliver continues, "Perce, I think it's time we came out to the world."

"Sorry, what?" Percy asks. He puts his cutlery down much more quietly and looks at Oliver as though he's gone mad.

"Let's write a letter to the editor," Oliver carries on as though Percy hasn't spoken. "Announcing our relationship, along with our support for Harry and Draco." Ron's eyebrows are so far up his forehead he's not sure they're even visible under his hair anymore. Percy and Oliver? Percy, Ron's most stick-in-the-mud brother is dating Oliver "Backup Keeper for England" Wood? Well, fuck him sideways.

"Percy?" he asks, staring at his brother. "What?"

"Ha ha ha," Viktor cries, pointing at Percy and Oliver in delight. "I fucking knew it." Percy presses his lips into a straight line before taking a deep breath and nodding once.

"Fine," he says. "Yes. Oliver and I are together."

"He's the golden snitch of my life," Oliver says, taking Percy's hand. Percy glares at him for a moment before his features soften.

"You're ridiculous," Percy says.

"Oh, you love me."

"Luckily for you, I do." Oliver leans over and kisses Percy on the cheek. Even that small display of affection boggles Ron's mind, but Percy looks so happy he can't help but smile.

"Perce," Ron says. "I think he's a Keeper."

"You're the worst," Percy says. "But yes, Oliver. Let's write that letter. Fuck the Prophet indeed."

"I will write a letter too," Viktor says. Ron heart stutters and Viktor must notice his alarm because he continues, "Do not worry. I will say nothing about us. I merely wish to show my support for Harry."

"Count us in," Neville says. "We'll write one too."

"I'll send them a howler," Ron says. "Followed up by a text copy for them to print." Two howlers in one day. He's almost excited about it.

"So, what?" Pansy asks. "Are we staring a letter campaign against the Prophet?" Oliver nods vigorously, his eyes bright with the same kind of fervor that Ron had seen him wear when talking about the Quidditch Cup at Hogwarts. "Right." Pansy seems to hesitate for a moment before she says, "I'll text Blaise and tell him to get in on it." Then she starts muttering to herself about Theo and international owls.

"I'll text Hermione," Ron says, while Neville offers to reach out to Seamus and Dean, and Hannah says she'll talk to all the Hufflepuffs she knows and it snowballs from there. "But first: Draco's howler."