Despite crowing about being anxious to get back to flagrant displays of affection with Pansy Parkinson, Ron only watched her from a distance on the platform at Kings Cross. In the cold, oblique sunlight, she was prettier than he remembered her, standing with her parents who thought of him as a blood traitor. Pansy had said they weren't Death Eaters, just bigots. But this year, as the Dark Lord sat dispatching terror from his hiding places, keeping a line between those two positions was getting more difficult.
When she spied him watching them, Pansy blushed and her mother felt her cheeks and forehead, as if asking if she was sick. Ron smirked.
"Now look for a package from us as your birthday gets closer, Ron," his own mum was saying, not looking at him but smoothing Ginny's hair as if the girl wasn't a hand taller than her already. "Take care, all of you. And Harry," she said, her lips pursed, worried, "mind your headmaster and don't fret about the rest. There's a good lad."
Harry's mouth twitched as if he was about to smile reassuringly at her, but just then Malfoy walked past, careful not to look at Harry and the Weasleys, all of them keenly aware of one another. For the second time, no one had come to the station to see Malfoy off to school. He stood by himself in the steam of the train, ghostly pale and still.
Pansy took leave of her parents and boarded first. Inside the train, Ron dumped his trunk in a compartment with Harry and began scanning each car for her. She was at the front, with all the prefects but Malfoy, looking over schedules and discussing concerns - which had come to mean warning each other of new Weasley products making their way to school.
"Oh, Ron," Hermione said, drawing his eyes away from Pansy. "You're on the first shift this time, with - "
"Parkinson," he finished.
Pansy hopped to her feet, quick but still casual. "Right."
There was no need to begin patrolling so early. The train was only half-full, but they were walking its length anyway, pushing past students tugging at trunks and animal carriers.
"How was your holiday, Parkinson?" Ron asked, not at all sure how to settle back into her.
"Quiet," she answered.
"Oh, sorry."
"No, Weasley. I'm not telling you to be quiet. I mean to say that my holiday was quiet. You know," she said. "Not much company. A bit lonely."
"Oh. Right." He stepped ahead of her, breaking up a knot of younger students overwhelmed by their luggage. He paused, absentmindedly helping them hoist their belongings into the racks overhead.
"And you?" she asked him.
"My holiday?" he said. "A proper madhouse. Loads of company. Bodies everywhere. But - but still lonely."
Near the centre of the train, as the passage got more crowded, it became more difficult for them to stay together. They were reaching the Hufflepuff cars, the most raucous section, full of loud reunions and little personal space. Ron reached behind himself, grabbing for Pansy's hand. She clutched at his with both of hers.
There it was, the feel of her skin against his - warm and soft. His heart thudded and he dragged her toward himself through the crush of Hufflepuffs. The students' bodies and clothing were a blur of colours and smells past her face. And then she was inside a compartment, her back against the door. With his free hand, Ron tugged the window blind down behind her. He was holding her upturned, breathless face between his palms, bending toward her, when someone cleared their throat behind him.
"Move along, Weasley." It was Snape, so still and black against the dark grey seats he may as well have been coiled in a disillusionment charm.
"Sorry, sir."
"Open - the blind."
"Yes, sir."
They were back in the corridor, walking fast, away from Snape's compartment, Ron apologizing profusely to Pansy. "Just like him to be skulking and hiding somewhere, the old creeper."
"Not really like him to send us off with no detention though, not even points lost," Pansy added.
Ron hummed. "Must be because he owes Harry one. He did him a bit of a favour over the holidays."
"Potter did?"
"Yeah." They had come to another empty compartment and stepped inside, carefully this time. Ron kicked at the seats to make sure they were unoccupied before sitting down himself.
Pansy sat next to him, bending into the curve beneath the arm he closed around her shoulders. He was blushing but had to say it anyway, muscling through the shyness. "I missed you, even more than I thought I would."
She had nestled her face against his chest but at this confession, she made a high sweet sound and looked up at him. No one interrupted this time as Ron brought his lips to hers, lightly, a gentle grazing, and then firmer, nipping with his lips to get hold of hers, warm and a little wet, growing hotter as the connection was sealed and deepened.
They stayed that way until the train whistle blew. At the noise, the kiss broke and Ron crushed her against himself, the shyness gone.
"Am I going to have to know all your secrets now?" Pansy asked. "Like, do I get to find out what Potter did for Snape?"
"Do you want to know? It's nothing really. All business. He just let Snape borrow something while he was in town." As usual, it was truthful enough. Ron wasn't about to divulge the secret of Grimmauld Place just because Pansy was wondering about it. "Honestly, there's not much going on this year beyond what you already know. I mean, everyone knows about the necklace and Katie Bell. You were involved in the Death Eaters being mad about the love charm they found at Malfoy's place, so that's no secret to you. Harry's paranoid about some other stuff, but that's just him. Can't be too hard on him though. He lost his godfather last year and - well, it shows."
He hadn't been looking at her when he said it, and when he looked back now, she seemed uncertain, head cocked to one side, eyes narrowed.
"What?" Ron asked. "Dumbledore is handling the necklace incident, and as for the love charm business, you were there when Snape told us our role in all of that was to date obnoxiously enough for everyone to know it wasn't you who made it."
She sat back. "But why did the Death Eaters care? Kids do love magic on each other all the time and the adults usually just act like it's harmless - "
"Yeah, but it's not," Ron was saying. "It's dangerous, and stupid - humiliating. It's bad enough that even my anarchist brothers have restrictions on how they sell love magic in their shop."
"But since when are Death Eaters worried about something just because it's dangerous and stupid? Since when were they worried about love at all apart from breeding? Maybe this is different. Maybe there is something seriously wrong going on with Draco and - "
"Don't say her name and his together outside school," Ron hurried. "It might not be safe. They've given us the all clear for you when it comes to the love charm, but not for her."
Pansy sat back. "So we've come back 'round to protecting her, have we?"
"Don't be mad," Ron was saying, rocking her back and forth in an enormous hug. "Don't make that couple's high drama ours. Go back to obsessing over what Malfoy might be up to. I'm used to that. Harry's already doing that. Just don't be mad, love."
Pansy's cheeks flushed.
He hadn't meant to call her "love." It just came out. He blushed himself, bracing for her to correct him.
But she certainly didn't seem angry, swiveling sideways and shifting into his lap, tucking her head under his chin. He'd never had a girl in his lap before, let alone one he liked this much. She was light and warm, soft with pretty legs pressing down on his own. He laid one hand on her back but didn't dare draw her any closer.
He could hardly swallow but he forced himself to speak. "I don't pry when it comes to Malfoy and - that relationship he manages to keep going somehow. I started out leaving it alone because it hurt to know the details, but by now, after she's been safe for two years in spite of sneaking around with him, I hate to say it, but I rather - trust him, in my way."
Pansy tightened her arms around his torso. "Potter doesn't trust him though?"
"No, not at all. He's always got an eye out to catch Malfoy at something. Tiresome, really. You've been close to him for ages. Do you trust Malfoy?"
Pansy hummed. "I trust Draco to want to do the right thing. But he's up against so much, thanks to his parents. I'm not sure he's free to do what's right, or even to know how to tell what it is. It's not like that for you, Ron. Your parents are noble do-gooders. They rush in and mouth off like they've never any doubt. And the way you talk about them, they've never given you reason to doubt what you should do or why, when it comes to what's important. You don't know what it's like to live without that."
Ron suddenly felt very lucky, and a little sad.
He sat up straighter, as if just realizing something. "You know, I don't think I ever told Harry about the Death Eaters and Malfoy's love charm." He risked linking his free hand with the one on her back, encircling Pansy in an embrace as she sat in his lap. "I've been that distracted. When we first started the lipstick plan, I told him I was up to something meant to shake Malfoy off his love affair. And then when you and me actually happened, he said something about it being a throwback to the Yule Ball and I let it go at that. I never told him the other reason I was following you around."
She smiled somewhat archly as she nestled between his arms. "I know something about Death Eater intrigue that Potter doesn't? Does that mean I'm in your secret inner circle?"
He was bending to kiss her again. "Love, I'm in danger of making you my entire circle."
Malfoy was dressed in his robes and badge, making his way to the head carriage where the prefects were meeting. If he was going to convince Hermione he was mature enough for her to accept him as a husband, his behaviour needed to be stellar. He needed to be responsible, taking time to care for other people, the way she did. And he needed to have peace between himself and Potter - no more childish sniping and fighting.
But Potter wasn't making it easy.
As Malfoy came down the passage, past Potter's compartment, the door thudded open. "Had a comfortable holiday, did you?" Potter asked.
Malfoy nodded. "Yes," he said, and then in a grave tone he hoped sounded earnest, he added. "Thank you."
"No need to thank me, since no one asked me," Potter snapped. "It's no manor house but it's no Azkaban either. By the way, how was Azkaban? I've never been myself."
The years of baiting and fighting Potter had left a strong imprint on Draco's emotions. He didn't truly understand how deep his impulse to lash back at him would be. He wasn't as prepared as he thought he was to control himself. He needed to flee, to walk away without a word, run toward Hermione and the meeting with the other prefects about order and good student conduct.
But Potter was following him down the passage, not shouting but talking loud and fast, low and angry. "Did your mum bring you along for the visit? Did they give you a preview of Azkaban, before you wind up there yourself? Should make the transition easier for you, especially if they let you room with Daddy."
He risked speaking between clenched jaws. "I am not going to fight with you, Potter."
"No? Come on Malfoy, it's been so long. Nothing since that scuffle at the DA raid, since we can hardly count an attack on a petrified person laid out on the floor to be stomped on as a real fight now, can we?"
Draco stopped and spun around to face him. "Look, I can't take that back. But from now on, if we'd just leave each other alone - "
"You'd like that, wouldn't you."
"Yes, actually."
Harry stepped close enough to rumpled Malfoy's robe. "Not a chance. I know what you've done - what you are. Let's see that arm, Malfoy - the one you yanked away from Madam Malkin when she tried to touch it. The one you showed Borgin to scare him into helping you hex Katie Bell. The one you brought into my house."
Malfoy was backing away, fear and hatred on his face, his teeth clenched so hard they ached.
Potter lunged forward, grabbing at Malfoy's left wrist, tugging upward on his sleeve. Beneath his robe and jumper, Draco wore a white shirt with long, well-fitted sleeves, the cuffs cinched together not by flimsy buttons and thread but by heavy pewter cufflinks locked in place even as Potter tore at them. They kept his arm covered as Malfoy struggled to shake Potter loose.
They were shoving and tripping each other, banging against the walls, grunting and panting.
"Get off me, Potter."
"Just show me and prove me wrong." Harry was frantic now. He couldn't hold onto Malfoy much longer with just his physical strength. He was reaching for his wand when a voice rang out in the passage.
"Oi! That's enough. Break it up."
Ron was running toward what appeared to him to be two older students who should have known better brawling on the train. He could only see the back of one of their heads, since the taller one was being held in a headlock, hidden from view by the shorter boy who was about to lose the upper hand and looked as if he was going to escalate things by bringing his wand into the mix.
When they heard Ron's voice, the taller one wrenched himself free, standing up straight, bringing his platinum blond head into view. If this was Malfoy, then Ron knew who the other boy must be only too well.
"Aw, Harry, no." Ron had stepped between them, his hands on both of Harry's shoulders, walking him backward, toward their compartment. "Take it easy, mate. He's not worth it."
It was the first time hearing those words from Weasley had actually stung. Malfoy was still smarting from them as Pansy took his arm and led him away, into an empty compartment near the front.
"You can't go on duty like this," she said, pulling out her compact to show him his reflection. Potter had roughed up his clothes and hair and the red scuff on his jaw where Harry had held him in the crook of his arm was darkening into a purple bruise.
He swore. "Does Hermione have to know?"
"Draco, it's hard to fight in private on a crowded train. Loads of people saw you. She's probably hearing about it as we speak."
He swore more elaborately.
"What did you do to him?"
Malfoy sank onto the seat beside him, lying back, covering his eyes with his arm. "Nothing - well, not nothing. Nothing today, nothing I can fix, nothing I can change."
Pansy crouched beside him, patting his elbow. "Get some rest, Draco. You look knackered. We'll make do without you."
He couldn't answer. His throat bobbed, and he reached out and squeezed Pansy's hand in thanks as she stood to leave.
Upon arriving in Hogsmeade, Draco didn't move when the train came to a stop. As he lay on the seats as if asleep, the door of the compartment slid open. He lifted his arm from his eyes and Hermione was there, stiff, play-acting her role as prefect.
She spoke, her hands behind her back, clasped together on the handle of the door. "Malfoy, we ask that you wait and leave at the end of the disembarking. Ron has gone ahead to get Harry off the train first."
He sat up, nodding. If it was going to be this detached and official, they should have just sent Pansy back for him. He had to say something. Maybe that was why she came.
"I was walking away, Granger - "
"Yes, that's what the second year Ravenclaws who saw the whole thing told us. They reckoned you must have deserved it, but couldn't say why. We wanted you to know that we understood that." She said it without looking at him. The train was closely watched and they had to remain mere classmates while they were on it.
She sent him on ahead in the second to last carriage to the castle, coming in the last one herself, with just a few stragglers, Flitwick, and an Auror.
Dinner had already started by the time she got inside, but Draco was not in the Great Hall. If he was hiding, there was only one place he would go.
He had postponed returning to school as long as he could, and now he was back here, on the seventh floor, lying in the shadow of the vanishing cabinet, trying to imagine what to do next. Maybe he would need to confide completely in Snape after all. And why not? He'd been brilliant over Christmas.
Or maybe it was all useless and he should just stay hidden in here forever, become another ghost in the castle, the one with the mark.
Draco heard the hinges on the door of the Room of Hidden Things creak as Hermione opened it. Lying on his back on the rug, he turned his head to watch her step inside, and instead of jumping up to meet her, as he usually did, he simply lifted a hand and waved. Above him, the velvet cover had been pulled off the vanishing cabinet. She noticed it, looking it over as she stepped toward him.
When she was close enough, he raised both of his arms toward her. It could have been an invitation to take his hands and pull him up onto his feet. If it was, she read it differently, sinking between his arms instead, lying next to him on the rug, his arms falling around her, her head on his shoulder. She settled into him. He heard her inhale his scent and murmur contentedly against his neck.
It was then that he decided.
"Hermione, I have something more to tell you…"