"'You're my…second?' Harry darkly addressed the wizard at his side. Eyes were kept on the blond boy walking away. 'Did you volunteer me for a magical duel?'
'Don't worry about it.' Ron said, blasé as they headed down the staircase. 'Malfoy's a first year too. Worst he can do is shoot a lumos.'
Harry could, in fact, shoot a far more lethal fire charm than the harmless light spell. But this wasn't something he wished to mention. Though, considering his brimming irritation, he was tempted to demonstrate it on the redhead. 'Weasley, you volunteered me for a duel.'
Ron groaned, not hearing (or caring about) the words' underlining anger. 'It's not a big deal. As for me being your second? Means if you die I'll step in.'
The anger snapped. 'How's that better!'
'Not that you're going to die.' Ron rolled his eyes, still walking towards the Great Hall. 'Don't act so thick. Thought you'd be happy.'
'Happy? So what if Malfoy can't use magic, he'll have Goyle knock me out!' His patience was at its end. If there was one thing he'd wanted to avoid at Hogwarts, it was mindless complications like this.
But Ron had stopped and turned, looking at Harry as though the Boy Who Lived was the slow one. 'Goyle? Like that matters. I said Malfoy doesn't know any spells. I never said you didn't.'
Harry halted, certain he'd misheard. 'What?'
'I saw that incendio you did in the dorm.' Ron said absently, impatient to get to lunch. 'You're hiding your magic? How much you know? Fine, whatever. But Malfoy's Malfoy, so stop pretending you're scared of the git. Go in, set him on fire, and we'll crow it over him for ages. It's not master arithmancy.'
Harry froze. He could only watch as the other boy, tsking at him, continued to walk.
'You coming?' Ron called back over his shoulder, not pausing. Harry (his incredulousness deepening into contemplation) hurried to catch up.
Rather than his thoughts being on lunch or the upcoming duel, the Boy Who Lived considered the redhead he'd merely tolerated up to this point. Because it seemed that Ron was more observant than he first appeared. He was also a fair hand at chess and strategy, and even the chip on his shoulder wasn't altogether hampering.
So maybe, just maybe, Harry had underestimated the Quidditch-obsessed boy."
—From Chapter 9 of R. Skeeter's The Rise and Fall of Harry J. Potter.
While Harry and Hermione tried to figure out the Smith and Dursley messes, Ron had set out on his own mission. One that he hadn't exactly mentioned to his wife. She'd surely think he was taking unnecessary precautions that would burst into more chaos, but he knew what he was doing. He was sure she'd, soon enough, get behind his forward thinking. His brilliant thinking, more like.
It'd begun when Ron had gone around to a few friends, asking if they'd go on record that what Skeeter had written was false. Most of it had been easy enough. Hagrid had agreed (albeit with confusion) to say that eleven year old Harry hadn't sketched Gringotts' tunnel in early plans to break in. Neville had already told the papers it had been Hermione rather than Harry who'd hexed him at the end of first year (and that it hadn't been an out-of-control incendio).
Lavender, before slamming the door in Ron's face, had curtly told him that she'd already told 'Witch Weekly' that, in her professional opinion as a psychologist, saying Harry was sociopathic was laughable and horrific. She'd smirkingly added that she hadn't said as much about Ron, seeing as how he was a heartless bastard—"Shame the reporters didn't care about that." She'd sniffed, glaring at the flushing Ron through her partly open flat door. "So there you are! Get out!"
Oliver was aghast any would believe he'd needed to be blackmailed to get Harry on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team ("Best Seeker I'd seen in ages!" Oliver had cried out from his perch in the Puddlemere office. "In fact, why the hell didn't he go pro? Mmph, aurors. Waste of bloody good talent").
As the Chocolate Frog on top, Ron got tonnes of the old DA to refute the claims that Harry had taught them Unforgiveables. Most were miffed that anyone would even believe this, a few others burst into laughter at the thought of this. Some, Lee Jordan most prominently, were more annoyed that the notion hadn't occurred to Harry.
("Don't get me wrong." Lee had said, continuing to spin in his WWN chair while talking, listening to headphones as he did so. "Not a fan of the cruciatus. But dark magic overall? Meh, it could've been cool. A tiny bit of Fiendfyre never hurt anyo—aaannnddd we're back from the commercial break! We have a special guest for you viewers. Called 'Weasley King' back in the day, Auror Ron…Ron? RON! COME BACK OR I'M NOT TELLING THE REPORTERS A THING…oh. Well, folks, Ron Weasley has left the building. He's a boring chap anyway.")
Finishing this, Ron had realised this line of thinking could result in a goldmine. Instead of refuting rumours after they broke, he should try to preempt them. So, hightailing it back to Hogwarts, he impatiently waited for the end of an Herbology class. He then ambushed Neville, saying there was a good chance that in the next books owls or toads or cats would 'mysteriously' vanish around Harry, and could he refute this? As well as give a statement that Harry had never tried to murder them in their sleep.
"That is, to your knowledge, course." Ron waved the technicality away. Neville, having been bluntly shoved into an empty greenhouse to avoid a curious students, stared oddly at the other wizard. "You can at least say we never had a dorm mate 'mysteriously vanish'. Yeah?"
"Uh-huh." Neville's puzzled stare continued. "No attempted murders."
"Or actual murders." Ron emphasised. He got a gape in answer.
"Sure…" Neville was clearly questioning Ron's sanity more than Harry's, "listen, don't you think you're taking this a touch far?"
"Skeeter started it!"
"Sure mate. Sure."
In getting Neville's agreement, Ron figured he might as well do the thing properly. So Dean and Seamus were tracked down and asked the same thing. Though chortling at the thought, both agreed as well. Then Seamus laughingly asked if the redhead was handling the other rumours. This question was accompanied with a sultry wink and knowing grin (one Dean didn't seem to appreciate).
"Or maybe," Seamus had drawled, ignoring Dean's mouthing to stop, "Skeeter was onto something. Not the violence or what have you. But you lot were always going off by yourselves. Sequestered in bathrooms. Or broom closets. Or Quidditch showers…"
"Seamus," Dean hissed, sending an apologetic look at Ron, "shut up!"
"There was tonnes of gossip back then," Seamus happily continued while his partner grimaced, "some even about all three of you. Though, to be fair, Hermione never seemed the type. But you know what they say about the quiet ones."
"Seamus!" Dean groaned. Ron, only now catching on, paled at the implications.
"But you and Harry? Blimey, I was jealous." Seamus at last noticed the other's glare and quickly backtracked. "Not that I did anything Dean, but come on. Sixth year? When they were playing Quidditch? Tell me you didn't look."
Dean hesitated, not meeting Ron's now wide and disbelieving eyes.
"Had ten galleons on you two." Seamus continued with a smirk. "Not that I had good odds on it, everyone was going to Fred and George with the same bet."
"A bet?" Ron cut in, mouth dry. He prayed the man wasn't implying what he was almost positive it was. "My brothers were…what were you betting on!"
"You and Boy Wonder." Seamus couldn't keep a muffled laugh from his voice, especially with Ron's clear horror. "So come on, I've wanted to ask for years. How big is his Gryffindor Sword?"
Dean, though he'd opened his mouth to snark at the man, stopped at the last. He turned to the auror with reluctant interest, also awaiting the answer.
Ron, for his part, was severely rethinking his choice in friends. He also wondered if self-obliviation was a thing. He hoped it was. Because if not, he'd have to explain to Hermione why he needed his memory wiped, and she'd never stop laughing.
In then questioning the wholly unapologetic twins, Ron learned that much of Hogwarts had been convinced he and Harry had shagged.
Fred, safe in his portrait, had been the more explicit of the two, going into great detail about how the rumours of a secret relationship had grown year to year. Much of this had begun during the Triwizard Tournament, where the Yule Ball and the Second Task had left little doubt that they were an item.
Fred somehow managed to say most of this with a straight face. George broke into helpless laughter half-way through. Neither were the least bit apologetic.
A steaming Ron gave further thought to obliviating himself. His ever helpful older brothers recommended an experimental memory potion, one that might leave him oinking for a week. Though this was tempting, he decided to instead disown much of his family and friends. And Harry, too, just for the Second Task nonsense.
"'What he'd most miss'." Ron muttered angrily, storming out of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. "Idiot wanker and a stupid task. Mindblowingly stupid. All of Hogwarts was stupid, actually, drawing conclusions from that! So now the public's doing…it…again…"
The Senior Auror stopped dead middle of the pavement, an horrific realisation slamming into his head.
"Oh hell." Ron whispered, voice catching in terror. He didn't care one iota about people's mumbles as they had to move around him. "Skeeter's saying…Frick! Oh no, no no no. That isn't good. That's really not good!"
Trying to calm down, he forced himself to think of other conclusions. Because what he thought Skeeter might write could easily not happen. She could claim Harry had an affair with anybody, after all, no need to think it was him. In fact, hadn't she mentioned someone else in her interviews?
Starting to calm, Ron began walking again as he considered this. Skeeter had hinted at them, yes, but she'd also hinted at someone else. This 'someone else' who could trigger a whole avalanche of new problems if not taken care of. But there was a way to solve this.
So it was that Ron apparated away to Malfoy Manor with a faint air of cheerfulness. Because, sure, he hated talking to the prat. But now he had an idea for a 'mission'. A mission that had absolutely nothing to do with rumours about him, and everything to do with embarrassing Draco Freaking Malfoy.
Ron would admit that this was precautionary. Even a desperate attempt at denying what Skeeter was surely going to write. But he consoled himself with the thought that, if he'd learned anything in his 'exciting' life, it was to assume that whatever seemed like a pygmy puff could easily transform into an Hungarian Horntail. So it was better to anticipate every worst-case scenario than to be caught unaware (while ignoring the few absolute worst-case scenarios that were nothing short of scar-inducing).
Ron took a deep breath, ringing the bell before he could change his mind. Because this was a good idea, it was, and if he kept telling himself that he might start to believe it.
The large door creaked open. He only caught a glimpse of a scowling blond before it began to be slammed shut.
"OI!" Ron snapped his wand out, halting the door ajar with his foot and a spell. "I have a deal for you."
"The hell do I care?" Draco Malfoy sneered from inside the house, now using his own wand to try and properly slam the door.
"Don't be thick!" Ron exclaimed, foregoing magic and slamming his back against the door. The brute force did the trick, at least for the moment. "Skeeter's on a rampage and you're next in line."
"You're mad." Malfoy huffed, trying and failing to get rid of the anti-locking charms his 'visitor' had employed. "Embarrassing Potter's fantastic in my book and…you oaf! Move! I'm not talking to any of you lot."
"Have you read the articles?" Ron hissed, wedging his foot further into the gap to keep it from closing. "You know what Skeeter's hinting at."
"Don't know, don't care." Malfoy steamed, moments from cursing the intruder to keep him out of his Manor.
"Bloody prat." Ron muttered to himself, already sick of dealing with this mess. He slammed his back against the door again. "Listen up! She's leading to you and Harry having an affair!"
This was met by a deep silence. Ron took advantage of Malfoy's shock to force the door open, striding into the entrance hall without further ado.
"She WHAT?" Malfoy exclaimed, voice and expression filled with utter horror. He then noticed the red-head standing before him, which led to rage rather than terror sweeping his features. "Weasley, GET OUT!"
"Not only are you two apparently shagging," Ron forced himself to get out these words and to not gag. Leaping forward, he clutched onto a tapestry as Malfoy struggled to remove him, "but Skeeter's going to claim you're both evil!"
"OUT! GET THE F— OUT!"
"I WANT A TRUCE!" Ron roared back, refusing to budge. "You're a slimy prat, but you're well-connected. Between all of us we can take out Skeeter. See effing sense!"
"You blood trai…urgh." Malfoy made an obvious attempt to calm himself, exhaling deeply. "I'll ally with you when hell freezes over. Skeeter's attacking Potter? That's brilliant in my book. She won't lie about me."
"She already has." Ron said bluntly, likewise making an effort to keep his voice low (well aware of how close he was to being cursed, as well as how much he was making up off the top of his head). He silently thanked the diplomacy lessons Hermione had drilled into his head—they were coming in handy with making the best out of a horrid situation. If they could get Malfoy on their side over this, anything was possible. "Look up her recent interviews! She's implying a hell of a lot about you and Harry."
"If she ever claims that," Malfoy steamed, temper still high, "I'll destroy her. Skeeter wouldn't dare."
"Like she dared to take on the 'Wizarding Saviour'?" Ron noted that his words made the other man's scowl harden. Good. His bs was working. Now for the bluff. "No one's safe and you're her next target. But fine, you don't believe me? Be an idiot and just view this as a heads up. We can't stop her second book from coming out, so I'm sure what's written there will convince you." He really hoped it would.
"Funny, and here I thought you had no luck getting an advance copy."
"It's about our second year!" Ron scowled. "The Chamber of Secrets, 'mudbloods beware', you being a racist git? Of course she'll focus on that. How do you think that'll work with your polished image? Can't imagine your clients would like that."
For the first time in the conversation, Malfoy hesitated. He jerked his head up, glaring at the other man. "You have my momentary interest. What do you think she'll say?"
"That you were rooting for the Heir of Slytherin." Ron said, at last able to say something he believed was likely to happen. Nothing like a few truths to make a lie go down like sugar. "Wouldn't be shocked if she claims Harry was the Heir, but either way? You're going to be portrayed as aiding the guy. My guess is she's going to depict you attacking muggleborns. Probably Hermione and, since Skeeter's claiming Harry's dark-ish, she'll absolutely claim the same for you. Will probably say you two 'teamed up' in more ways than one. See? This stuff writes itself." The redhead gave an edged grin at the horrified man, partly enjoying himself. This mess was almost worth it for the look on Malfoy's face. "Nah, what am I talking about? No way could any of that impact your business."
"Shut up, Weasley!" Malfoy hissed, features having paled as the statement progressed. He then gave a slow answer. "I don't trust you."
"Same here, racist git."
"I don't trust you." He repeated with an edged, impatient voice. "I don't believe that's going to be in the next book." His mouth twitched. "However, if it is?"
"The truce will only last until Skeeter's taken down." Ron stated darkly. Still, he couldn't believe he'd gotten this far. If he said so himself, it was damn impressive.
"If Skeeter is as much of an imbecile as you think she is." Malfoy smoothly cut in, anger lying just beneath the surface. "'Harry Potter' or no, he's a half-blood. She knows better than to commit libel against my family."
"Whatever you say." Ron moved towards the door, giving a single-fingered salute over his shoulder. "Read the articles, Malfoy, and keep what I said in mind. We have a common enemy."
With that, he let himself out. The other wizard remained in the entrance hall for a long moment. He then spun towards his drawing room with a ruminating scowl.
"Funny thing just happened." Ron began, striding into his wife's office at the Ministry (ignoring the security's motions to not go in). Said wife epped, grabbed the blouse she was changing into, and quickly used it to cover her chest.
"RON!" Hermione exclaimed, a flush crossing her face. "Learn to knock! Close the door!"
He paused, looking at her scrambling to cover herself. His brow creased. "You do realise I've seen much, much more?"
"CLOSE THE DOOR!"
"Ohh." Ron, realising the issue, closed and locked the door properly. "Sorry 'bout that. But again, husband here. No need to knock."
"Common decency." She huffed, pulling on the blouse while muttering to herself. Buttoning the top, she glared daggers at him. "For my office, you knock! I do it for you, don't I? Because I understand you might be in a meeting. Or have confidential papers out. Or have spilled a potion and are changing shirts!"
"Alright, alright! Sorry." Ron huffed, raising his hands. He then remembered what he was about to tell her and that she wasn't going to be pleased. His voice became far less annoyed and much more apologetic. "No really, I'm sorry. This is about boundaries? Sure. I get it, course I do. You don't want to flash your department—"
"Ron." Hermione said warningly, stepping around her desk.
"—not that anyone would complain. I mean, don't do it, but any bloke would thank his lucky stars to see that. Which, of course, by 'that' I mean your gorgeous self. I'm not, err, 'objectifying you' or whatnot. Course not. So I'll knock next time. Absolutely. Nothing ridiculous about that. Completely understandable."
"What do you want." She sighed, cutting off his rambling.
"Want? Why would I want something? Aside from wanting to see my not-naked, gorgeous wife."
"You're trying to mollify me. Not very well, mind you." Hermione gave him a narrowing look. "No, that's not it. You don't want anything, you did something. What did you do?"
"I've done nothing ever and—"
"What did you do?" Her tone became more reluctant.
Ron opened and closed his mouth, thinking about how to respond. After heavy contemplation, he decided to rip off the plaster and hope for the best. "Malfoy might or might not barge in later. As hard as it might be, try not to punch him."
Hermione gave a groan, not wanting to hear more. But he kept going anyway.
"See, the git will mention rumours I might've exaggerated. Or possibly made up. The rumours are about, urgh." He fought back a gag. "They're about him and Harry doing…stuff. He'll also think we want to be allies."
Hermione stared at him.
"What I figured?" The auror added quickly, noting the signs of her bristling annoyance. "We have a common enemy. As much as I hate Malfoy, he's connected to different people than us. Why not take advantage of that? Even better, the interviews Skeeter's been giving back me up! A bit, at least. Or they could, especially if Malfoy makes a fuss and draws attention to himself."
"The interviews?" Hermione gave a low exhale. "You mean Skeeter's interviews implying that Harry and you had a relationship?"
Ron fidgeted, not wanting to think about that particular monstrosity. "Not only me…which absolutely never happened, by the way. Skeeter was saying Malfoy too! So he'll see that, become convinced she's coming after him, and join our side."
"Skeeter's not going after Malfoy." She sighed. "The rumours have all been about us. At most, she'll write about Harry's obsession with him in sixth year. Or some relatively small thing Malfoy did, such as his racist remarks."
"Well, you're wrong. But even if not, that's more than enough." He emphasised over Hermione's frosty look. "Malfoy cares more about his image than anything. Always has, vain git. But now? His company caters to muggleborns! The next book is about the Chamber of Secrets! I only said that stuff about him and Harry to make him pay attention!" He paused, hopefulness resurfacing. "Though, you know, Skeeter'll probably actually write that."
"She's not. Skeeter was clearly saying that you'd shagged Harry. Still, hmm." Hermione's bluntness gave way to thoughtfulness. Ron's horror at her statement was ignored. "The Chamber. You really think Malfoy's behaviour in the book will get him to be an ally? Maybe, because you've planted ideas in his head, he'll read what he expects to read?"
"Yeah, Malfoy's an idiot." Ron said, now distracted. "But come on, Skeeter won't write that about me. It's ridiculous. I'm straight, obviously straight. I'm married to you, you being a woman! We have a kid! You're pregnant!"
"She's an ex-tabloid reporter. She doesn't care." Hermione said frankly, albeit sympathetically.
"But this is so stupid."
"So are her claims that Harry's a sociopath and secret Dark Lord, but that didn't stop her. Don't forget that she's gearing you up to be his number one 'henchman'."
"He…oh." Ron drooped with the reminder of how far Skeeter had proven she would go. "Okay, look. Even if you don't believe it, tell me there's a chance Skeeter's going to claim someone else—anyone else—has been shagging Harry? Which, I feel bad for the bloke, I do, but say it might not be me."
She rolled her eyes but obliged. "Yes, there's a chance someone else will be depicted as Harry's 'secret lover'. If it will cheer you up, I'll even help convince Malfoy it'll be him."
A sincere grin spread across his face at this silver lining. "You're amazing. Do I tell you that enough? Brilliant, really. Beautiful too and, so you know? I'm definitely, absolutely, without a doubt, completely straight."
"I might've gotten that." Hermione mused, leaning against him. He looped his arms around her, pecking her neck. "So your sordid affair with Harry is over?"
"Harpy." Ron murmured, drawing her close to him and deepening a kiss. He made a note to ask her (when they weren't as preoccupied) what she knew about bets at Hogwarts concerning the three of them. The three of them and certain unsettling activities…activities that he really didn't want to contemplate.
She pulled away, gazing at him with shining eyes and already red-rubbed lips. "You locked the door?"
"Yeah." Ron mumbled, busily taking off her blouse, thoughts of long-ago bets disappearing. She returned to the kiss, neither caring that their words became muffled. "No meetings?"
"They'll knock."
After a pleasant half hour…or two…in Hermione's office, Ron reluctantly realised he ought to get back to work. Which, considering this was a slow week for crime (apparently all the criminals were reading Skeeter's book?), consisted of damage control. He also remembered that he ought to warn Harry about the Malfoy situation.
When he'd sent off his Patronus message, he'd expected an answer back in a good amount of time. As Hermione had mentioned Harry'd gone up to Edinburgh, he'd expected to have awhile to relax in Auror Headquarters. So it was surprising when a silver stag galloped up to him before he'd even gotten to his office. The redhead sent the pawing Patronus an odd look and glanced around at the relatively empty hallway as the message played.
"If you want to talk about Smith," Harry's irritated tone came from the stag's mouth. A few people paused to listen in, but a steely look from Ron sent most scurrying, "I'm not in the mood. Nor about the Dursleys. Or Skeeter. But what, Malfoy? No, actually, I don't care. Which they're…damn, they aren't leaving. Ron, listen! I was an idiot and forgot a glamour. Now I'm stuck in a bloody closet on the ground floor entryway because bloody reporters and their bloody cameras ambushed me in the Atrium. So distract the herd of them! Hurry up!"
As the Patronus faded away Ron considered the problem. After a minute, he figured he might as well do the easiest distraction. So he spelled his hair brown, enchanted his freckles off, and grabbed a scrap parchment from his pocket. Scrawling an illegible line over it, he trampled to an elevator. In quick time he'd made his way down to the ground floor…only to be almost pushed back into the elevator by the wall of people.
"Alright then." Ron muttered, sliding as much as he could to the side as the door closed behind him. Peering around at the sea of people and cameras, it was clear no one knew exactly where Harry had disappeared off to. Just what he wanted. "Sonorus. OH MERLIN!" His own voice rang in his ears. Waving the paper over his head, the huge crowd spun towards him. "HARRY POTTER! JUST SAW HIM ON THE FIFTH FLOOR, IN MCLAGGEN'S OFFICE! LOOK AT HIS SIGNATURE!"
A cry arose from the horde. As stampedes galloped towards the lifts and stairs, an excited blond grabbed the parchment out of Ron's hand. He let her have it without protest. Leaning back against the wall, he tapped his foot as the entrance hall rapidly emptied.
As the last filled elevators took off, he glanced around expectantly. All he could see were bits of paper scattered about and billowing puffs from the camera. He sighed, getting rid of his glamour.
"THEY'RE GONE, IDIOT." Ron's loud voice rang out. As a door across the way cautiously pushed open, he strode towards it. "Quietus. Forgot a glamour? Really?"
"Shut it." Harry took a surveying look around before he warily left the doorway. "Also, what? My autograph?"
"Your scribble of a signature's as easy to fake as ever. You forgot your Cloak too? Jeez, how'd you get to be Head. Can't even do a disillusionment."
"I have my Cloak!" Harry bristled as his best friend approached him. "But there was no room to maneuver, for that or a disillusionment. It wouldn't have done any good—umph!"
"Yeah yeah, whatever." Ron grabbed Harry and steered the protesting man back over to the lifts. Pushing a button, one shortly arrived (thankfully bereft of reporters or Ministry workers). "Gotta tell you something."
"Uh-huh." Harry said slowly. He suspiciously glanced at how the older wizard had slammed the elevator's door shut after them and, immediately after it'd started moving, triggered the emergency stop. "Look, thanks for that. I appreciate it. But I'm almost as fond of being trapped in lifts as I am of being stuck in a closet surrounded by reporters. What's this about?"
Ron repressed a snicker, turning back from messing with the dials. "Might want to work on your phrasing."
"My phrasing?" He asked tiredly, clearly not wanting to deal with this.
"Being stuck in a…never mind." The redhead shook his head. He realised it was almost certainly Harry's fault that there'd been rumours about them back at Hogwarts. He wondered why, exactly, he was helping the oblivious git. "Malfoy's going to contact you. He might be under the impression we're allying."
Harry scrunched up his nose, confusion not at all cleared away.
"I convinced him he's Skeeter's next target." Ron helpfully explained. "Problem is, this might backfire since I don't know what's in the next book. The only thing we 'know' is she has an uncanny ability to scrape up scandals. So, on that note, I have a question for you." His calm gave way to disgust for his next words. "Did you ever…like…that git?"
Harry's brow furrowed, still puzzled. "Malfoy? No, we weren't friends. You know that. I guess we're civil enough these days when we have to be, so I'm fine with an 'alliance'. But do we have to call it that? It sounds weird. Formal. Very formal."
"Why are you so daft?" Ron gave a put-upon sigh, rubbing his eyes. He ignored the last question. "I'm not asking if you were friends. I'm asking if, at Hogwarts, you had a crush on the blond git. Or if you've ever snogged him. Or shagged. Any of the above, really. If 'yes' then please, please don't give me details."
Harry froze. Then snorted. "What?"
"Don't make me repeat that." Ron was looking rather green. "If you did, just tell me. I can be supportive and all; if you like girls and blokes, s'all good. Though I really, really hope you had better taste than Malfoy…"
"I'm straight." Harry cut in, struggling not to laugh. His amusement was mixed with more than a touch of confused horror. "Even if I wasn't, why would you think I'd like Malfoy? Wait, is this what you meant about the closet thing?"
"Just had to check." Though Ron was clearly relieved. "Would've actually made things easier if you had, since there'd be more of a chance Skeeter had caught wind of it. Because look, it's like this. Malfoy now thinks she's going to write about you two going at it. Him being written as a racist prat might be enough for him to help us—and, with him, tonnes of other purebloods. But if Skeeter does write about 'you two', he'll be on a warpath. Which could only help us. Got it?"
Harry frowned, glancing at the lift's still-closed door. "Think Skeeter will write that?"
"She mentioned it in interviews." Ron fidgeted. "Hermione thinks she hints more towards…"
"Us. I know." He let out an impatient breath. "I'm not sure what's going to be a bigger headache: this, the Dursleys, or the 'Dark Lord Potter' nonsense."
"Yeah." Ron weakly agreed, his thoughts elsewhere. "Hey, to be clear? I think of you as a brother, that's it."
"I'm straight!" Harry groaned, leaning back against the wall. His amusement had long since vanished. "How many times do I have to repeat that? But a fat load of good you're doing about the rumours. First churning up things with Malfoy, then locking us in a bloody lift?"
"Oh. Huh." He glanced around, only now considering this. "Guess I shouldn't have told the Prophet you used to say Malfoy's name in your sleep."
"RON!"
"Kidding, kidding! Put your wand away, I was joking. Can you get more paranoid? Don't point that thing at me. Like I'd say anything about your Malfoy obsess—OW! Oh, come on! That one actually happened!"
