Fractured and Tethered

"When figures from the past stand tall
and mocking voices ring the hall
Imperialistic house of prayer
Conquistadores who took their share
They keep calling me"
-Joy Division, 'Dead Souls'
**********

Around them, the air smelt putrid, like singed hair, burnt flesh, and sick-up. Even though the smell had only permeated the air moments ago, Ron couldn't recall for certain, but he suspected the sick-up had come from him.

"Ron!"

Hermione sounded quite a bit panicked, her voice high and shrill. When he glanced at her overtop Harry's head, Ron could see she looked even more panicked than she'd sounded. As for him? He would panic later. Panicking now would not help Harry, and helping Harry was absolute priority.

"What, Hermione?" Ron panted, hauling Harry's prone form as upright as he could between them. Harry was out like a light; he hadn't made so much as a peep when they'd shaken him or attempted to revive him with a Rejuvenating Charm, and they needed to do something about Harry's unconsciousness. Quickly.

"I can't– we can't heal this! We need to–"

"I know." She was all out of sorts and there wasn't any time for it. Snaking an arm around Harry's chest, Ron jerked his chin toward the splinters that made up what remained of Harry's wand. "Get that and let's move, all right?"
"Okay," she said breathlessly, snatching it up. As she stood, her arm went round Harry's other side, and Ron's bravado faltered as their best mate's head lolled from side to side.

"He's bad off." Of course he was. Ron had just seen Harry do what he'd been born to do and it was every bit as ugly as they'd feared it would be. The grassy knoll behind them was no longer green, patches of it smoldering in some places and splattered with blood or sick-up in others; the landscape was now just as ugly as the events that had transpired there minutes ago had been.

"He won't be for long," Hermione bristled, and promptly stuck out her wand hand.

Immediately there was a loud BANG, followed quickly by screeching tires and blinding, whitebright headlights. The Knight Bus skidded to a stop before them, and the hinges on the door squeaked almost impressively as it opened. Out stepped the rail-thin conductor with a spotty face and too-large ears. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or– Blimey! 's that 'Arry Potter?"

"Yes, it is," Ron said grimly, struggling, along with Hermione, to get Harry on board.

"'aven't seen 'im in a bit. My name is Stan Shunpike, 'n I once had 'im 'board when 'e was nothin' but a wee lad, that 'ne. Oi, Ern! 'Arry Potter's back 'gain!" Stan shouted gleefully, and Ron was glad that, for once, he was not on the receiving end of Hermione's glare.

"As you can see," she said through clenched teeth, working with Ron to manouevre Harry aboard, "we quite need to get him to St Mungo's rather quickly."

The two of them lowered Harry's limp form onto a bedstead. Harry's arms fell to his sides, chin drooping against his chest. Ron had to look away; Harry's mouth hung open, the lenses in his specs were shattered, and the sodding stupid scar under his fringe had burst or something; it was open once more, open rather wide. Blood ran in thick crimson rivulets down Harry's face, intermingling with soot and sweat and tiny pieces of something Ron didn't want to think on right then.

"Oooh, yes. No fare, no fare fer injured wizards needin' treatment," Stan said loudly. Forgoing the rest of his welcome speech, he flapped a handful of tickets at Ernie Prang, the ancient wizard behind the steering column. "Take 'er away, Ern. We've got ourselves a boy 'ero with a malady."

Sitting on either side of Harry, both Ron and Hermione hung onto a brass bed pole each. Another BANG sounded and the bus was off in a flash. The bus's speed caused their bed to slide toward the back, and when it stopped moments later in a darkened London alley, the bed slid forward again. Glad that he'd more than likely already emptied the contents of his stomach in the field from which they'd came, Ron and Hermione hoisted Harry up and got him down the steps.

"Thanks," said Ron, and then Hermione and he both were too busy situating Harry betwixt them to watch as the Knight Bus took off again. Eyeing the end of the alley where it met with the store-lined street, Ron asked dubiously, "Right, then. So what's the plan?"

If Harry were awake and able to walk on his own, it wouldn't be any trouble at all to get to the red-brick store that housed St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. If Harry were awake and able to walk on his own, actually, they wouldn't be going to St Mungo's. However, Harry was quite unconscious and they needed to somehow get him to the front of Purge and Dowse Ltd. without much notice from the Muggles.

"Act a bit knackered," Hermione ordered, settling one of Harry's arms about her shoulders.

Ron goggled at her. "All of us?"

Her mouth set in a thin line, and Ron knew he'd just said something supremely stupid. "Okay, so we're knackered," he said quickly, and they lumbered out onto the street, holding Harry upright while pretending to be leaning on each other for support at the same time.

It wasn't long until they arrived outside the department store. Shuffling past the sign that read 'Closed for Refurbishment,' they stopped in front of a window displaying a dummy with a ratty ginger wig and a striped anorak.

Hermione leant her bushy head close to the glass, staring straight into the dummy's eyes. "We're here with Harry Potter and it's an emergency; he urgently needs to see a Healer."

The dummy's head jerked forward, its jointed finger crooking, permitting entrance. Simultaneously, Ron and Hermione took Harry up the elbows and stepped through the dirty glass. Ron blinked as they came out on the other side, standing in the centre of the crowded reception area.

Harry's trainers made loud scraping noises as they dragged him straight through the winding queue to the desk marked Enquiries.

The plump blonde witch seated there blew a rather large bubble with her Droobles, then snapped it. "There is a queue, luv," she said snidely.

"The queue," Hermione said scathingly, lifting Harry's chin up, "can wait."

The witch took one good look at Harry, her eyes rounding as big as saucers, and nodded emphatically, fat curled fringe bouncing about her forehead. "S-spell damage, I presume?"

"What does it bloody look like?" Ron snapped, and it took a rap from Harry's splintered wand about the ear to distract him from tearing into her.

"Come on, Ron," Hermione snapped, pulling Harry and, by extension, Ron, toward the set of double doors just beyond the desk.

"Fourth floor," the witch called after them, "but you won't have to–"

Before she could finish, the double doors swung open and three Healers in bright lime robes bearing Healer patches (wand and bone crossed over one another) swished and flicked their wands, Levitating Harry up. Hermione and Ron tried to hold onto him, but the Healers swished their wands again, propelling Harry forward at a much faster rate, and they lost their grip on Harry.

As Hermione and Ron rushed after Harry's floating form, Ron cried, "Oi! Wait there!"

Not one of the Healers turned round to look at Ron, though one did swish and flick once more with a large embellishment, sending Harry's levitating body flying through the doors just before they slammed shut.

Hermione and Ron rushed back to the Enquiries desk and glared at the blonde witch. "Where are they taking him?" they demanded together.

"The Siegfried Grunnion Ward; it's down the corridor from the Janus Thickey Ward."

Hermione and Ron raced to the double doors, which clanged noisily as Ron flung them open. Racing up the rickety staircase, passing manky-looking Healers in dust-thick frames, they didn't stop until they reached the landing signposted SPELL DAMAGE. Hermione swung the door open and led the way down the corridor until they found another door labeled 'SIEGFRIED GRUNNION WARD'.

"Where's Harry?" Ron asked loudly as they made their way inside to yet another reception area. This one was much smaller, more of a waiting room than anything else. A middle-aged witch with dark hair and bright blue eyes smiled kindly at them from behind her cluttered desk.

"Have a seat, dears. The Healers won't be ready for a time; they're working on your friend right now, the poor little lamb. He's banged up something terrible, isn't he?"

And in that moment, Ron knew 'later' had come; he began to panic. He could practically feel the colour drain from his face just as he could feel his throat become dry and scratchy. This witch saw injured magical folk with all manner of maladies; if she thought Harry was 'banged up something terrible', it had to be pretty ruddy bad, hadn't it? Sucking in great big breaths rapidly, Ron screwed his eyes shut. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be.

But it was, because he heard Hermione answer the witch.

"Yes," she murmured, and Ron opened his eyes, grabbing hold of her hand and squeezing tightly. Ron's head began to pound and he had to lean forward. His head hanging between his knees, he sucked in large gulps of oxygen. Harry wasn't simply 'banged up something terrible'; his life was hanging in the bloody balance! After everything was over, their best mate had slumped to the ground and he hadn't stirred one ruddy bit, no matter how hard they'd shaken him or how many times they'd tried to awaken him with a Rejuvenating Charm.

"Harry will be all right," Hermione said quietly, pressing her palm against his.

When Ron stole a glance at her, he could tell she didn't really believe her own words of conviction. Her face was waxen, her lips trembling. Once upon a time Ron had known how to get rid of that tremble, but their time together had long since passed and he wouldn't dare revisit it out of respect for her. As wonderful as his time with Hermione had been, they simply weren't compatible, a conclusion they both came to when Ron realised he was more attracted to men than women.

"He has to be," Ron said after a long period of silence. It was his turn to be the strong one and he knew it. "He's Harry, all right? Harry who'd faced a ruddy Horntail and lived to tell about it. Harry who–"

"Harry who bested the Whomping Willow so we could save you from Padfoot," Hermione chimed in weakly.

Ron shuddered, distinctly remembering how it had felt when the bone in his leg broke. "Harry who got through all those obstacles first year to save the Philosopher's Stone," he added.

"Harry who– oh, Ron," Hermione choked suddenly, her cheek unexpectedly pressed against his shoulder.

"Er." He froze for a moment, not sure if he dared touch her, all things considered, but then– Sod it all; she's my best friend. It isn't like that, not anymore.

Wrapping his arms around her small frame, Ron held her as though she were made of glass, strong yet fragile. Thinking back to what Mum had done for him when he had been upset as a boy, Ron made soft, soothing noises, rocking her gently from side to side. "Hermione, I know we've not been–"

Just then the doors to the Siegried Grunnion Ward opened and Ron caught a quick glimpse of mousy brown hair before a flash of amber light distorted his vision, making stars bloom white and dance about before his very eyes.

When he regained the power of proper sight, Ron blearily focussed on a large black camera with purple smoke billowing out of out its lens and the figure holding onto the camera.

"Colin Creevey?" Hermione sat upright, blinking in the photographer's general direction. Sodding strong flash, that.

"All right, Ron, Hermione?" Colin asked breathlessly, holding up his camera for all to see. "I'm with Daily Prophet now – Bonzo retired, so I'm working with Rita Skeeter." He pointed to himself proudly. "Me! Can you believe it?"
Ron blanched. "No, I can't," he said slowly, exchanging a look with Hermione, who had quite the murderous glint appear in her eye at the mention of Rita Skeeter.

"It took a long time, but hard work and constant vigilance got me the job!" Colin beamed, then whipped out an acid green quill and a scroll of parchment as he sank down onto the settee beside them. "What can you tell me about Harry's injuries? His current condition? How he received the injuries?" The quill hovered over the parchment, the nib positively itching to get moving.

"Colin," Hermione began, "I really do not think this is the time or place for you to–"

"Excuse me, dears?"

All three looked over to the kindly witch behind the reception area.

"Misters Rufus Scrimgeour and Oswyn Sweetecok from the Ministry of Magic are here to see you." Then doors swung open again, revealing the Minister for Magic and his assistant. Both big-headed gits.

"Mister Weasley, Miss Granger," Scrimgeour began, and Ron held up his hand.

"We're not interested in speaking to the likes of you," he spat.

"Well, well," huffed Sweetecok, a scrawny little bloke with a large pouf of hair, "is that any way to speak to your Minister for Magic?"

"It is when he's utter crap." Ron scowled and Scrimgeour laughed.

"Oh, undoubtedly you are simply suffering from shock, my boy." Hermione tutted and Scrimgeour gave her a broad smile. "Buck up you, you two! You witnessed a historical event, did you not?"

"We're not talking about it." Hermione crossed her arms about her chest, and Ron highly suspected she would have stamped her foot were she not bone-weary and exhausted.

"Surely," the assistant interrupted, wheezing slightly, "you can tell us how Mister Potter did it?"

"We could, but we won't. Just leave off, will you?" Ron spat. As far as he was concerned, the Minister was a crock of shit, just looking to use Harry for his benefit, and Ron wouldn't have it.

"Harry," Hermione said coolly, "defeated Volde–"

"Hang on a mo!" Colin piped up, producing a second scroll of parchment. The quill leapt onto the new scroll while the other one rolled itself closed, obviously all used up. "And...go!"

"Harry defeated Volde–" She threw up her hands, face mottling red. "You know, this is terribly ridiculous."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, "it really sodding is. Our best mate is IN THERE–" He pointed at another set of double doors. "–and we've no idea what's wrong with him, and you lot want sordid details about how we watched our best mate become forced to be a fucking–"

The doors swung open yet again, revealing Mad-Eye Moody and Dedalus Diggle, his tall purple hat leaning precariously on one side of his head.

And then Ron just couldn't take it anymore. "–become a fucking murderer! BEASTLY BLOODY BASTARDS, THE LOT OF YOU," he roared, then rushed straight at reception, kicking the large desk.

"Weasley, get ahold of yourself," growled Moody, stumping over to him.

"No, I WON'T," Ron bellowed. Hermione shrank back against the wall, while Scrimgeour's assistant edged toward the door. FLASH-FLASH went Colin's camera while Scrimgeour nodded his head mock sagely and Diggle fiddled anxiously with his hat. "HARRY'S IN THERE, MOODY, AND–"

"There is far too much commotion in here," said Remus Lupin smoothly, quietly closing the doors behind him as he entered. "Hello Hermione, Ron." He nodded at each of them in turn, politely taking the Minister by the elbow. Ron's mouth clamped shut and Hermione steered him back to the settee while Remus murmured quietly to Scrimgeour, ushering him out the door while his assistant followed closely behind.

Moody gave Diggle a shove between the shoulder blades. As they filed through the door, he said, "We'll be back when you're ready to talk." To Ron, he added, "Mind your temper, boy. Focus on Harry, eh? What would Molly say if she were still alive?"

"Oi, Ron!"

Ron's head jerked toward the sound of his name and then there was another flash of amber light. "Fucking HELL, Colin!"

Hermione leapt to her feet. "Colin, there's a lovely tea room on the fifth floor. I expect you'll find it fascinating there." And with that, she all but pushed him out the door before collapsing on the settee.

For quite some time, Ron and Hermione had the waiting area to themselves, though Remus did pop in to tell them he'd be upstairs taking tea with Colin Creevey should they have need for him. They'd played so many games of Naughts and Crosses that Ron's eyes began to cross, and then they moved on to Hangman. After he'd been hanged five times, they quit playing games altogether and just waited.
Just when Ron's stomach began to rumble and tea was beginning to sound rather nice, a balding, pudgy Healer walked into reception. After mopping the sweat from his brow with the cuff of his robe sleeve, he cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels.

"Mister Weasley? Miss Granger?" he asked, looking round the reception area curiously.

It was empty save for the witch behind the messy desk and them. Ron's brows raised and he disguised a laugh as a cough when Hermione made a small exasperated noise and stood. "Yes, that's us," she said briskly, wiping her hands on the sides of her robe.

"Perhaps," the Healer said, "you'd care to sit down."

Resolve setting in his shoulders, Ron pushed himself to a stand. "I'd care to know what condition our mate's in. That's what I'd care to do, actually."

"Yes, well, it's your decision," he said gravely.

"Can you just get to it?" Hermione cut in impatiently.

"Yes, yes." Avoiding looking directly at them, the Healer busied himself by rolling up the sleeves of his robes. "It appears that Mister Potter has a– that is to say, he–"

"You don't know what it is, do you?" Ron worried his lower lip, panic beginning to set in once more.

The Healer ruffled. "Of course we do."

"Well, then. What is it?"

Hermione's hand caught hold of Ron's, and he inclined his head to hers, wondering how in Godric's name the Healer was going to answer her question. Obviously Harry wasn't dead; the Healer would've told them that right away. Judging from all the hemming and hawing, however, Ron was prepared for the worst.

"Mister Potter appears to be in a very deep sleep."

"Wake him up, then!" Ron said, his free hand unclenching a bit; perhaps this wasn't so bad after all.

"I'm afraid it isn't that simple. He hasn't responded to any attempts to revive him, nor any external stimuli. His breathing has shallowed, becoming irregular, and we've had to attach a breathing trumpet to his airways to assist him."

"You've stuck breathing trumpets up his nose and in his gob?" Ron asked incredulously. "And he's not woken up?"
"He's in a coma, Ron," Hermione explained, and the Healer nodded.

"Quite like a coma, yes."

"Then why didn't you just bloody SAY so?" Ron demanded.

"Because it isn't a coma, not as we know it. He hasn't had trauma to the head, other than superficial wounds. He hasn't any traces of poisons in his blood, nor are any of his humours unbalanced. It's terribly odd, to be frank," explained the Healer as he bustled toward the ward's exit.

"What can be done for him?" Hermione questioned.

Ron figured Hermione was already mentally going through a catalogue of information about comas and Healing Magic, and he smiled for the first time that day.

Hand on the brass knob, the Healer looked over his shoulder at them. "We don't know."

And then he was gone, leaving Ron and Hermione to stare at one another helplessly in the middle of the tiny waiting room.

The Healer had been gone all of five minutes before the reception witch offered to show them to the ward where Harry had been placed. It was much different from the Dai Llewelyn Ward Ron's dad had been in many years ago after that horrid snake bite, though it wasn't quite as bleak as what Ron remembered the Janus Thickey Ward looked like. The Seigried Grunnion Ward wasn't really so much of a ward as it was a single room. It was barely any larger than the crap cupboard Ron remembered seeing once at Harry's aunt and uncle's. There weren't any windows, but there was a small wardrobe was crammed in a corner and two rickety-looking chairs sat on either side of the small bed. Harry was propped up on a few pillows, his face newly scrubbed and clean (breathing trumpets stuffed in his gob and up his nose), though Ron hadn't any idea where his spectacles had gone. Not that Harry needed them at the present, mind.

Swallowing against a lump in his throat, Ron forwent the chair and perched on the side of Harry's bed. Hermione did the same, and they both reached for Harry's hand at the same time.

"We're not leaving you, mate," Ron swore.

"Not until you're ready to walk out of here," Hermione added.

**********

They stayed beside Harry while Order members, Ministry officials, reporters, and well-wishers paraded out over the next few days. It was exhausting, but they were afraid to leave Harry's side just in case. Just in case what, Ron wasn't sure, though he knew he didn't want to risk missing anything important.
When Hermione and he weren't busy answering questions, recounting the last moments of Voldemort's life, or attempting to keep down bland hospital food, they spent their time playing Exploding Snap or Wizards Chess. Sometimes they played quietly, while other times they talked about the war and how it had affected life as they knew it.

The world wasn't remotely like the one they'd once known as Hogwarts students. Many people died at the hands of Death Eaters or because of their affiliation with them. All of Ron's family, Fleur included, had been killed when two Death Eaters stormed the Burrow, looking for Harry, Ron, and Hermione during Christmas hols two years past. Only Bill and Percy had been spared as Percy had been on an errand for Scrimgeour at the time and Bill had been on a mission with Kingsley for the Order. Tonks and Hestia Jones died investigating a lead on Fenrir Greyback many months ago. Parvati and Padma Patil, along with Cho Chang and Terry Boot, died defending an Order safehouse somewhere outside of Mucking. The Malfoys were all dead, as was Walden MacNair and Nott the elder.

Many others whom had been associated with or connected to Voldemort in some way were locked up in Azkaban, most without a proper trial by the Wizengamot. Scrimgeour and his new band of cronies claimed the Ministry needed to be vigilant and take precautionary measures to ensure that history would not repeat itself. They'd even taken to seizing the assets of the imprisoned and auctioning off estates to raise Galleons for War Relief Funds. Though he despised the Ministry's tactics, Harry had placed the winning bids on a few of the estates only a few months ago before they set out to collect the final Horcrux. Ron hadn't understood why Harry'd done such a thing, though it made sense later when Harry had explained he wanted to use the properties for something good after the war was over. When he put things that way, Ron had understood immediately: even after Harry would defeat Voldemort, he'd still have that Saving People thing of his, and buying crap properties and turning them into Something Good would allow him to continue to do that.

On the fourth day of their beside vigil, Remus Lupin came to visit without Moody, Diggle, Shacklebolt, or any of the other Order members, which was immediate cause for suspicion.

"Hullo there, Professor," Ron greeted, barely looking up from the chessboard. Ron's knight obliterated one of Hermione's rooks, and Ron chortled. He could practically hear Hermione's eyes roll in her head.

"It's just Remus, Ron. I haven't been your professor in some time," Remus said gently, and then he gestured toward the chessboard. "I see you're keeping your spirits up," he noted, Conjuring a rickety chair for himself.

"We have to," Hermione said gravely, turning away from the chessboard at the foot of Harry's bed. "He hasn't had any progress."

Remus nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. With one flick of his wand, Ron packed up the chessboard, looking at Remus expectantly.

"Maybe you aren't seeing any progress because you've been spending every waking hour here," he suggested with a small smile. "Time tends to blur and details begin to get lost when exhaustion sets in."

"Harry needs us." Ron scooted off the foot of Harry's bed and leant back in an uncomfortable wooden chair.

"Harry also needs you to take care of yourselves."

Damn. Ron couldn't argue with that. Harry would be irked if he knew how much fussing Hermione and Ron had done over him. Still, he couldn't just very well leave, could he? "Yeah, well..." Faltering, Ron gave up trying to work out a line of reasoning.

Turning to Hermione, Remus asked, "Hermione, how long has it been since you've seen your parents?"

"Two months," she said quietly.

"Don't you think they'd like to see you? Don't you think they're worried about you?" he asked quietly.

"I suppose so," Hermione admitted, "though I've been sending them post and–"

Clasping her shoulder lightly, Remus continued, "Why don't you go home, Hermione? Get a bit of rest, sit with your parents." Looking to Ron, he added, "And you, Ron. Why don't you go home? Sleep for a bit, refresh yourself."

"I don't have a home anymore, Prof– Remus," Ron said automatically, mouth twisting as his chest tightened painfully. "Percy's in the States and it's just Bill there now. The Burrow isn't a home; it's a bloody nightmare. 'm not going back."

"Bill needs you, Ron," Remus said, and Ron's jaw clenched.

Right again, Professor. After Percy left for the States, Mr Lovegood had taken care of Bill during lunar cycles for a time, though now there was no one left to help Bill, not since Luna's father had passed on the month before.

"He can't go back to the Burrow." Hermione looked from Remus to Ron and back again, and he was grateful for her help. Yes, he wanted to help his brother just as much as he wanted to help Harry, but there wasn't any way he could ever set foot inside the Burrow again. It was just too damned painful.

"Go to the manor, then."

Ron sputtered. "Malfoy Manor?! Have you gone completely round the twist?"
"As a matter of fact, I haven't," Remus said with a slight smile, "despite what other wizards may say. Harry has barely set foot in the place since he bought it; he'll be needing someone to watch over it and oversee the cleaning while he's incapacitated. You'd be helping Harry, Ron, and it would be a place for you to assist your brother and for yourself to get the rest you clearly need."

Though Ron was loathe to admit it, the manor was the nicest of all the properties Harry had acquired and it would make the most sense to start cleaning it out so it would be properly ready for Harry to renovate for one of his Saving People projects if he got better. When he got better. It was certainly large enough, from what little Ron had seen of it before, and undoubtedly there would be a place for Bill to stay during the lunar cycle.

"I'll do it," Ron said finally, and Hermione's brows raised in surprise.

"You will?"

"Yeah." Lifting his chin, Ron looked from Hermione to Remus. "If she agrees to go home to her mum and dad as well, I'll do it."

"But what about–" Hermione started, but Remus held a hand up to intervene.

"I'll watch over him. It's the least I can do."

"All right, then," Hermione said, standing.

She and Ron exchanged an uncertain look as Remus stood to place an arm about both their shoulders. "Thank you, for Harry's sake."

**********

In the end, Hermione stayed behind at the hospital while Remus and Ron went to the Burrow to collect Bill and gather up his things. Ron stood at the end of the lane leading to the Burrow while Remus and Bill packed up a few trunks with clothing and other necessities. He felt a bit daft for standing at the edge of the property, but Ron knew it was for the best. His insides were already all out of sorts because of Harry; he wouldn't have been able to cope with the flood of emotions that entering the home which no longer housed the majority of his family would have brought on.

As Bill Levitated the last of the trunks out, coughing something terrible, Ron went along the fence toward a small shed that housed all of the Weasley children's brooms. The best way to get to Wiltshire would be flying, he reckoned. A Disillusionment Charm would be all they needed to disguise themselves from the Muggles and they could be on their way. Ron needed the distraction of flying, of the wind stinging his face and whipping his hair about as they soared high above the land, to keep him from becoming too maudlin.

"Oi, Ronnie," Bill called after him, and Ron turned round, standing to his full height. He was taller than Bill now and twenty-two; he didn't need to be called Ronnie anymore. Ron didn't like it, but it reminded him of Mum so he let it go, waving at his brother and Remus from across the way.

"What's that?"

"I've arranged for a Portkey." Beside Bill, Remus held up a manky old tin, and Ron sighed. There went the broom idea.

"No flying?" Ron asked hopefully, though he knew the answer was no.

"I've a horrid cold already, Ronniekins," Bill said, slinging an arm around Ron and pulling him close. Ruffing up Ron's hair, he added, "I'll catch my death if we brave the frigid skies, and while I'm all for danger, I don't think--"

Ron hadn't realised he'd made a face, though he must have for how quickly Bill cut off.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Ron I–"

"'s ok," he mumbled, then gave Bill an elbow. "Oi, prat, why've you not had some Pepper-Up or summat?"

"The pantry is quite bare," Remus said as he performed a Shrinking Charm on the trunks. "We packed what we could, but there weren't many potions ingredients in storage."

"What?" Ron looked at Bill with surprise. Last time he'd been at the Burrow, the pantry had been filled with a variety of herbs, roots, and other items used in a plethora of potions.

"Had to sell most of the lot," Bill said sheepishly, busying himself with stuffing a trunk in each pocket of his leather trousers. After a rather nasty coughing fit, he added, "Needed the money for food."

"I thought Percy was going to send Galleons over from the–"

"Gringott's stopped international deposits six months ago, Ron. Ministry's orders." Remus' mouth set in a thin line.

"Egomaniacal bastards," Ron said darkly, and Bill merely nodded.

"Yeah."

"Well, I believe that's everything, then." Remus held up the can. "It's almost time."

Perhaps a minute passed after all three had placed a finger on the can before Ron felt the familiar hook-behind-the-navel sensation of being pulled up off the ground and hurtled toward his destination. His feet slammed down roughly against hard earth and he fell on his arse just outside the front gate of Malfoy Manor. Beside him Bill coughed, Remus groaned, and the tin clattered against a rock.

"All right, then?" Ron clambered to his feet, brushing grass and soil off his bum.

"I'm still whole," Remus said bemusedly.

Wand out, Bill approached the gate cautiously. "How do we get in?"

"The Ministry told Harry they'd removed all the wards Lucius Malfoy had on the place." Wrinkling his nose, Ron performed a simple Unlocking Charm and the gate swung open easily. "Some of them were dead nasty. Bloody hell, he was a sick one."

"I've no doubt about that," Bill muttered, falling into step beside Remus as Ron led the way through the Walking Garden to the front door.

As the overly large double doors swung open to reveal what had once been a grandiose foyer, Bill whistled, and then began to cough.

"Yes," Remus murmured, "this had once been most impressive." Though the floor was relatively clean, it was quite obvious where things -- furniture, sculptures, et cetera -- had been removed, taken away by the Ministry. The walls were dank and dusty from lack of care, and the candelabra overhead was in need of repair.

"Still is, unfortunately." Craning his neck, Ron's eyes seemed to lift forever before he actually saw the sodding ceiling. Their voices echoed for what seemed like forever in the vast cavern, and he shrugged, not caring to dwell much on what the horrid place looked like. It wouldn't look like this after Harry was done with it anyway, so why 'ooh' and 'ahh' over it now? Motioning the two of them to follow, Ron cut across to the grand staircase and ascended the stairs.

"The main living quarters are to the left of the first landing," he explained, glancing over his shoulder at them every so often. "There's a room with all sorts of hides and mounts on the wall -- and not just any animals, but loads from Africa; I figure that's where you can stay, Bill."

"Skins and mounts, I see where I rate, mate," Bill returned, though Ron knew from both the tone and his grin that Bill thought it would be brilliant. This place definitely wasn't the bloody Burrow, but maybe a little reminder of a place Bill had called also home for a number of years would be good for him.

Sure enough, when Bill saw the room with his own eyes he proclaimed it to be 'brilliant' as such and there wasn't much setting up Ron and Remus needed to do to make sure he was comfortable. After performing an Engorgement Charm on the trunks and everything was put away, Ron promised he'd get Bill a proper Pepper-Up potion when he went to St Mungo's the following day. Once they'd bade Bill goodnight, Ron and Remus idly wandered the corridors, looking in at the various rooms until Ron decided he'd take one on the far end of the hall. The room was considerably smaller than the one Bill occupied, though it was still larger than the entire first floor of the Burrow. No animal skins or mounts here, though there were tapestries depicting dragons being slain by wizards riding all sorts of Winged Horses and such.

"Cor, is this really necessary?" Ron said half to himself as Remus Enlarged his trunk.

"No, it isn't, though ostentation rarely is." He smiled faintly, though the smile did not reach his eyes.

"Yeah," Ron said lamely, feeling awkward and miserable all of a sudden.

"Have I– Have I said something wrong?" Remus' hand froze on the latch of the trunk.

Ron shook his head. "No, I– It's just–"

"You're worried about Harry," Remus finished.

"Yeah."

"I'm worried about him as well, Ron. It's perfectly natural to–"

Remus was only trying to help, though right then Ron didn't want or need any help.

"Stop," Ron said loudly. "Just stop, okay? I don't–"

"Ron."

"– give a flying shrivelfig if it's perfectly natural to do this or that–"

"Ron."

"– or what-the-sodding-hell-ever; I just want Harry to be all–"

"Ron, please listen to–"

"– right. ALL RIGHT?"

He'd been so worked up that he hadn't noticed Remus advance until then. They were toe-to-toe, Ron's chest heaving so forcefully that it pushed out against Remus' with every exhalation.

"All right," Remus said softly, and Ron turned away.

He leant against a bedpost, the intricate carving digging against his forehead. "Just leave, all right?"
"No, I'm afraid I can't do that."

"I need you to leave," Ron whispered, screwing his eyes shut tight. This was all too fucking much. Harry, Bill being like he was, leaving the Burrow...

"You need many things, but being alone isn't one of them right now."

Ron shifted closer to the post, wrapping his hands around it, as though holding onto it would make everything better. His shoulders stiffened and he exhaled sharply.

"Did I say something wrong?"

There were footsteps behind him and then they stopped. Ron could sense Remus standing just behind him, but he could not bring himself to turn around to face his former professor.

"No," Ron whispered. "I just...I feel..."

"How do you feel?"

He swallowed hard. "Helpless. I feel helpless."

"I don't think there is any other way to feel in this situation, Ron. You and Hermione did all you could while you were there, and now Harry's care is in the hands of others, others who are trained in the art of Healing Magic. But that doesn't mean that you aren't still helping, nor should you forget that fact. By being here, you are a help to Harry, just as much as you are when you simply sit by his bedside and talk to him or silently keep him company."

Loosening his grip on the pole, Ron slid his hands down inch by inch. When they reached the bottom, he unthreaded his fingers and pulled his hands away, turning and pressing his back against the pole. Meeting Remus' eyes, he said angrily, "How? How, Remus? You can't know that."

"You're right," Remus said slowly, his mouth curving wryly. "I can't, but I can have faith. I can believe that you are. More importantly, I choose to believe that you are."

Ron's breath caught in his throat for a moment. "Why?" he asked simply. Although he very much wanted to look away, he found he could not.

"Because you are a good person, Ron, and Harry believes in you implicitly."

Ron felt his mouth gaping open a little, and he forcibly shook his head to bring himself round. "Yeah?" he asked hoarsely. It meant something to Ron that Harry believed in him, that Profe– Remus felt he was a good person. Ron rarely stopped to think about anything other than Harry or Hermione or his family, so it was almost shocking to hear that people thought about him at all, let alone thought good things.
"Yes," Remus confirmed. "As do I."

Impulsively Ron leant forward at that, pressing his lips softly to Remus'.

Remus froze beneath him, and Ron pulled back, chest heaving, nerves on end.

"Ron," he said, "we can't."

"Why not?" Ron breathed, fingers aching to reach out and touch.

"Because I'm–"

"So help me God if you say old I'll sodding hex you."

One corner of Remus' mouth turned up, albeit sadly. "No, I was merely going to say that it was improper. I was your professor, and I'm not goo–"

"'It's just Remus, Ron. I haven't been your professor in some time.'" Ron repeated Remus' earlier words and gave him a pointed look.

"Oh." Remus stared at him for several long seconds, a sheepish expression on his face. "Using my own words against me. Clever."

"A bloke learns a thing or two about cleverness being best mates with Hermione Granger for twelve years." Giving into the urge, Ron ghosted his fingers along the line of Remus' arm. "And if you think you aren't good enough for me, that's bollocks."

"But I–"

"You believe in me," Ron choked. "So let me believe in you."

"So stub–"

Ron took that as a 'yes' and surged forward, lips touching Remus' for the second time in a few short moments. His knees buckled slightly as excitement began to course through him, and then Remus' arms encircled his waist as he pushed Ron back against the bedpost. A low moan escaped from the back of Ron's throat, but was lost in Remus' mouth as it opened under his. And then Remus' mouth was gone far too quickly; he pulled back and stared at Ron critically with narrowed, dark eyes.

"Turn around, Ron," he said firmly

Though Ron wanted to ask why, he did not. He simply turned, facing the post once more.

"Place your hands at the top."
Ron complied and was rewarded by hot breath against his ear. "Just because we've both lost things doesn't mean we're lost." He nodded, moaning again as he felt Remus pull the hem of his shirt up over his belly.

"N-no," Ron stammered, pushing his hips hard against the pole, needing some sort of friction there. Any friction. Remus tugged slightly and Ron raised his arms higher, a chill racing down his spine as Remus' hands, calloused and cool, ran lightly over his muscles, thumbs swirling around the nipples.

This closeness was what Ron needed, and he pressed his forehead against the post again, not caring a whit about the carvings digging into his skin this time around as he reached behind to light his hands against the hard angles of Remus' hips. This was comfort and distraction and good, and Ron would think of nothing else but this moment.

Lips pressed against the column of his throat, gliding down to suckle the soft spot where neck met shoulder.

"Christ," Ron gasped, hips snapping against the post.

There was a muffled laugh against his skin, and Ron felt fire burn intensely in the pit of his stomach.

"Merely Remus," came the whisper against his skin.

Pressing his fingers desperately into Remus' angular waist, Ron managed to get out, "Remus, I'd merely like a shag."

Remus laughed. "Forward lad," he murmured, though nimble fingers did begin to open the belt and fly of Ron's trousers. Ron moved his hands to his own waist, shoving the garments out of the way. Behind him, he heard the satisfying sound of fabric dropping quickly, and then there was something hard and hot pressed against the curve of his arse Saliva-slicked fingers made their way inside him, and Ron squirmed, pushing back against Remus' hand.

"It's been a while." Remus leant his forehead against Ron's shoulder, and Ron had to thrust against the post to keep himself from bucking against Remus' hand. And then the fingers were replaced by his cock and they were shagging, slow and steady and almost sodding sweet, and Ron didn't care about the way his head banged against the post or that he was in an ex-Death Eater manor or that the Healers at St Mungo's were obviously incompetent arses. All he cared about was being believed in, being something to someone, being shagged, feeling good for the first time in months.

And then he heard a loud shout – his own – before he slumped to the side of the bedpost, falling face-first against the mattress, sticky and warm and spent, with Remus atop him.

"Rest now," Ron heard Remus murmur before the world began to fade away.
Hours later, Ron awoke to an eyeful of blinding sun and a wrinkled house-elf with bat-like ears and nearly Quaffle-sized eyes staring at him.

"Good morning, Mister Ron Wheezy. Dobby is ready to be serving you. At your service, Ron Wheezy, and Ron Wheezy's most special friend."

Dobby bowed rather grandly, the tips of his ears brushing the floor.

"Oh, bloody hell."

Ron flung the duvet over his head; he'd forgotten in all the chaos that Harry'd arranged for Dobby to come to the manor to work. Hogwarts had closed down three years ago on account of all the attacks, though Dobby had remained behind to keep the castle 'spick and span and sparkling'. When Harry had sent him an Owl offering him a job, complete with full wages and days off, at the manor, Dobby had leapt at the opportunity. What other house-elf, Harry had reasoned, would know Malfoy Manor better than him?

Beside him, Remus folded down the duvet. When Ron propped himself up on his elbows, he saw Dobby preparing a steaming cuppa for Remus. It did smell awfully good.

"Thank you, Dobby," Remus said graciously, accepting the cup and saucer. "My name is Remus Lupin; I know we have never met but I have heard many good things about you."

Dobby beamed up at them, his large eyes positively brimming with tears. "Dobby is pleased to be hearing that, sir! Ron Wheezy, is Remus Lupin being here often? Dobby will be making things comfortable for him and all of Harry Potter's friends, sir!"

Holding the duvets about his chest in place with his arms, Ron awkwardly thrust one hand out to nab the second cuppa off Dobby's tray. "You'll have to ask Remus about that, Dobby," he said awkwardly, feeling the tips of his ears become hot.

After taking a generous sip, Remus set the cuppa down on Dobby's tray and slipped out from beneath the duvets. "Yes, I suppose I will be, Dobby. Ron will need my assistance with Bill, so I'll be popping in from time to time."

Dobby grinned toothily, his eyes lighting up. "Dobby is overjoyed to be hearing this, sir!"

"I can see that," Remus said kindly, and with a swish of his wand he was clothed once more. "Dobby, would you be so kind as to help Ron and Bill settle in? I have to return to St Mungo's and I would appreciate the help."

"Yes, sir, Mister Remus Lupin, sir!" Dobby cried, straightening importantly.

"You're in good hands, Ron."

"Thanks, Remus," he said dryly, wiping the sleep from his eyes. "Go and send Hermione home, yeah?"

"I will." Remus gave him a small wave and exited, leaving Ron alone with a very eager house-elf.

"What can Dobby be doing for Misters Ron and Bill Wheezy?" Dobby asked, practically bursting with excitement as he made the tea service and tray disappear with one snap of his fingers.

Shimmying into his trousers, Ron ran a hand through his hair; he'd rather drive quill bits under his nails than spend the morning with Dobby. "Ah– You can–" Oh, bollocks, Bill would likely kill him. Unless Bill was too stuffed up and barmy from his cold. "You can help Bill put away his things and find something for brekkie that'll suit him. He's got a dead nasty cold."

"Dobby is knowing just the thing for dirty, naughty, nasty colds!" Dobby said, nodding emphatically.

"That's brilliant, Dobby," Ron said approvingly. "Why don't you, ah, have a go at that and I'll work on my own things."

"Yes, sir, Ron Wheezy, sir!" There was a cracking sound, and then Ron was left alone in the room with blissful, welcome silence.

It didn't take Ron long to unpack his trunks and make 'his' room a bit more homey and a little less Malfoy-ish. True, the Ministry had seized most of the assets and auctioned them off separately, but there were enough of the Malfoys' things throughout the manor to make Ron feel ill at ease. He spent a few hours learning the parts of the manor with which he was less familiar, making mental notes of where they should start cleaning in greater detail, where might be a good place to keep Bill when the moon was full....

After making himself another cuppa and having a few biscuits for lunch, Ron checked in with Bill, whom looked as though he wouldn't mind adding another hide to his wall, Ron reiterated his earlier promise of finding a proper potion at St Mungos. "'m leaving now and 'm not sure how long I'll be staying, so expect an owl later on with it."

Bill nodded, then waved Ron off. As Ron wandered down the corridor, heading for the Floo, Bill's voice carried behind him. "...-obby, why don't you show me how to clean those instruments of torture you told me were tucked away in Master Malfoy's den?"

Chuckling a little at that, Ron took a pinch of Floo powder and travelled to St Mungo's via the Visitor's Floo. He'd been away from Harry for far too long. Hopeful that Harry might have made some progress, Ron breezed quickly past the blonde witch in reception and soon found himself tucked inside the Seigfried Grunnion Ward at Harry's bedside once more. To Ron's great surprise, Hermione was still there, sitting on a rickety chair next to Remus.

"I thought you were going home," Ron said accusingly, squeezing behind their chairs so he could come round to Harry's other side.

"I was, though I could only sleep for a few hours. So, I came back," Hermione explained, eyes flickering over to Harry's form worriedly. His skin was dry and sallow and his chest moved up and down weakly, the breathing trumpets making high-pitched wheezing sounds on every inhalation.

"He hasn't any change," Remus said quietly, answering Ron's unspoken question.

"Bugger." Ron sat dejectedly in his chair.

Harry didn't make any progress that day or the next, and Ron was growing increasingly anxious on account of the impending full moon. While Bill didn't actually turn into a werewolf, he became extremely ill and violent, and Ron wasn't quite sure what to expect. He knew he would have to sit with his brother and protect him from himself, but Ron felt completely lost about the whole matter. Ron confessed as much to Remus when the two of them watched over Harry while Hermione rested at her parents' home, and Remus assured Ron there were things they could do prior to the full moon to prepare him for what lay ahead.

When Hermione returned, Remus accompanied Ron back to the manor. Bill welcomed him with a hearty clap on the back and an easy smile; the Pepper-Up Ron had sent from St Mungo's the other day had done the trick and got rid of his cold.

Remus quickly explained the nature of his visit and they set out to find a secure room in which to work. A room tucked away in the far-most western corner of the manor was the unanimous choice; it had once been a showroom for armor and weaponry and had thick impenetrable walls.

As Remus cast a few wards and charms on the room (just in case), Bill went on to explain the symptoms from which he suffered during each full moon.

Bill coughed. "So, Ronnie. About the..."

Fidgeting, forced himself to look his brother in the face. In his scarred face. "...the transformation thing," Ron finished. "Yeah?"

"It isn't exactly a transformation," Bill said slowly. "It's more like an illusion. At least, for me it is."

"Yeah, I know you don't..." Ron sneaked a quick look at Remus. "...get all wolfie, but you do, er, wolf out."

"I do," Bill nodded, his mouth turned down.

God, but Ron couldn't imagine what it must be like for Bill. Or Remus, for that matter.
Supposing he ought to ask, as he only had a vague idea of how things worked, Ron said slowly, "So what exactly happens, then?"

"I can't really explain it properly, but I'll try." One corner of Bill's mouth turned up and he idly picked at a loose thread on his cuff. "It's like I'm not me anymore, not really. This sense of...wildness...takes over, and I feel caged. Like I need to get out of my skin or something. That's why I've so many scars." He flipped up the hem of his t-shirt, revealing a flat stomach with several pale, silvery scars. "I hurt myself a lot because all I can think about is getting out. Getting out and...and being on guard. Being protective of myself. One time, right after we were married, Fleur-- I nearly broke her neck. She was trying to help, but she fumbled her wand and-- Oh, fucking hell--" His voice breaking, Bill turned away, his shoulders wracking.

Ron could barely stand to see his brother like that, though mercifully Remus drew his attention elsewhere.

"It's ready," he said solemnly.

"So," Ron said slowly, mouth scrunching to one side, "how're you going to help me do this, then? Won't this conjured moon affect you as well, Remus?"

"It won't affect me because I won't be in the room with you and Bill, Ron."

Ron's eyes widened. "You're going to– to leave me alone with that?" he asked, pointing at Bill, who turned around, looking more collected than he had a moment ago.

"Blimey, thanks mate," Bill said sardonically, giving Ron the two-fingered salute.

"Bugger off," Ron said, because it would make Bill feel less put-upon, and flicked Bill's fang earring with his thumb and forefinger.

"You can do this, Ron." Remus folded his hands and gave Ron a significant look. "I believe in you."

Fuck, there he went with pulling the 'I believe in you' card, Ron thought miserably.

"Yeah, you can do it, Ron," Bill said rather good-naturedly, though the sentiment didn't quite reach his eyes, which looked more worried than anything else. "Besides, I'm the one that's going to be suffering like hell. You'll be the sitter, that's all."

"That's all," Ron echoed, jumping nervously when the wooden case Remus Summoned suddenly appeared and fell to the floor with a clatter at his feet.

"Plenus Luminarium," Remus intoned, flicking his wand at the case. Light spilt out the keyhole, and both Remus and Bill backed up instinctively.

Grimacing, Bill pinned himself in the far corner of the room, while Remus spoke to Ron in a low voice. "I'll be going now, Ron, though I'll be right next door if you need me for anything, all right?"

Licking his lips nervously, Ron nodded. "Yeah. So I just...I just open the lid and then...?"

"Then the simulated moon will rise and–"

"And I'll get a bit wolfie," Bill chimed in humourlessly.

"There is that, yes." Remus nodded, then looked at Ron. "Right next door."

"Got it." Once the doors shut behind Remus, Ron cast a Locking Charm. After re-pocketing the wand, he ran his hand palm-flat over the case's lid. Beneath the grain, he could feel the faint pulses of magic straining to be released.

Swallowing hard, he met his brother's eyes. "Just do it, Ron," Bill whispered.

"Okay." With a great, shuddering gasp, Ron flipped open the lid of the trunk. A bright, glowing orb rose quickly, shining gloriously in the dim light of the room. Ron blinked, trying to adjust to the difference in lighting as quickly as possible.

In front of him, an ear-splitting howl sounded, and when Ron looked over at his brother, bile rose in his throat.

Bill's head had fallen back, long ginger hair spilling about his shoulders like some wild curtain. His hands clawed at his chest, nails scraping and tearing at his shirt.

Ron hated that he couldn't stop this, hated the sound of fabric ripping as Bill's nails cut through flimsy threads, hated the sightsmell of blood rising in the wake of Bill's nails on his chest.

Heart pounding and fear more than palpable, Ron risked life and limb to rush at his brother, wand brandished and aimed. Light and smoke billowed from the tip of it and there was that odd, disturbing static scent in the air, the scent of stunned flesh and stunted essence. Bill let out a piercing yip and fell to the ground, baying and scratching at the stone floor. Ron attempted to Stun him, though the charm did nothing but slow Bill down a minute bit. He tried another charm, and he'd thought it worked; Bill collapsed to the ground in a heap and stilled. Tension spreading out over every inch of his body, Ron stiffly approached, leaning over his brother's fallen form.

"Bill?" he whispered, pushing fringe out of his eyes. Ron nudged him with his foot and Bill rolled over, splaying out on his back. "Oi, you in–"

With a great roar, all of Bill's limbs burst upward, hands latching onto Ron's shoulders while Bill's legs wrapped around Ron's calves, holding him in place as Bill's arms yanked him down.
"Bloody fucking–"

Bill's head lolled side to side madly, teeth gnashing, absolutely no recognition whatsoever in his eyes, and Ron was sure this was the bleeding end. His own brother was going to fucking eat him and there was no sodding way he'd be able to alert Remus next door in time–

His wrist pivoted awkwardly so he could jab the end of his wand in his brother's gut. "Petricifus Totalus," Ron panted, and then everything stopped. Bill went rigid beneath him and Ron rolled off him, gasping for breath as he squinted against the psuedo-moon's harsh light. Beside him, Bill was motionless save for his eyes, which were wild and wide. Though he knew he shouldn't, Ron ended the charms in the room with a loud cry of "Finite Incantatum!". As if he'd used a larger Put-Outer, the ball of light that had been hanging just below the ceiling flew back into the box and the lid clanked shut. Bill let out a shuddering gasp and then stilled again; upon inspection, Ron discovered his brother had passed out from exhaustion.

And then Ron laughed. "Fucking frightful, that was," he said to himself amid the laughter, which soon gave over to a great wracking cough and then hysterical sobs which he stifled by cramming his fist into his mouth.

**********

Because of Remus' help beforehand (the pseudo-full moon exercise and then later taking the time to answer Ron's questions) and Hermione's encouragement, Ron managed to get through his first full moon with Bill much better than he would have otherwise Honestly, the days leading up to it and the evening of the big event itself were much easier to bear than visiting Harry in St Mungo's. He had still not shown any signs of improvement. If anything, his condition was worsening, though the Healers would not say as much. His complexion became more sallow by the day, just as his features became thinner and narrower. Every time Ron and Hermione's shifts overlapped, they read countless books on the brain and comas and magical catastrophes but had yet to come up with a theory or even a lead.

More often than not, Ron would return to the Manor at a late hour, and Bill would be entertaining Remus. Remus said he was there to help clean up the manor and to keep an eye on Bill, but Ron suspected there were other reasons for his prolonged visits. He wouldn't say so to Bill or to Remus, but it was nice to see the two of them getting on well, considering the multiple similarities in their lives. Merlin knew they could both use a friend. However pleased he was about Remus and Bill's burgeoning friendship, an uncharitable, selfish part of him was a wee bit jealous at the easy nature between them, though he vowed to himself that he wouldn't dwell on that rot; there were more important things on which to expend his energies.

The weather began to get a bit milder, and Ron decided he would focus his cleaning efforts on the grounds. He traded shifts with Hermione so he could be at the manor during the morning and afternoons and spent that time pruning and taking care of the lawn. Every so often, however, he would get the distinct feeling that he was being watched or that something was threatening one of the wards Bill had placed around the estate lines. When Ron confided this to Remus and Bill over dinner one evening, Bill simply shook his head and laughed. "There are all manner of animals mucking about, Ronnie boy," he said, propping his boots up on the table and leaning back with a jovial air about him. "I imagine their beady little eyes think your scrawny arse is intruding on their territory."

"My arse isn't scrawy," Ron snapped, looking at Remus for confirmation. Remus apparently had decided at that moment to find the chandelier fascinating and said nothing.

Bill snorted. "Whatever you say, little brother."

Ron became completely obsessed with his arse that day, bothering Hermione for hours as to whether or not she thought his arse was scrawny. At one point she told him she had not and would not ever discuss his bum with anyone, sounding quite put out about the whole thing. Ron informed her that discussing the state of his arse was penance for spending more of her time at St Mungo's with him on his shift instead of resting at her parents' house as she was supposed to have been doing. That was all it took to make her leave in a huff for her mum and dad's.

Ron was still laughing about her huffy exit when she returned to relieve him later that evening. He couldn't think on much else besides her pinched mouth and the horrified gleam in her eyes; Ron chuckled all the way back to the manor. Deciding to take a stroll around the grounds to work off some pent up energy, Ron stuffed his hands in the pockets of his robes and circled to the east side of the estate.

As he walked past a lush willow tree, movement behind the Malfoy family's mausoleum caught his eye. Wand out and at the ready, he crossed to the large granite building, careful not to make a sound. Rounding the corner, Ron discovered a ghost, or someone whom should have been a ghost.

"You're dead," Ron said, staring at what had to be an apparition or a delusional episode as a result of the crap sandwich he'd had in St Mungo's tea room.

"Not particularly," sneered Draco Malfoy. "Now get the fuck off my property, Weasel."

**********

"But you're dead," Ron said again, mouth agape. The Malfoys had been all been quite dead for some time – Lucius dead by Voldemort's own hand, Narcissa by her own, and Draco by the wand of Yaxley. All confirmed by the Order's source inside Voldemort's circle of Death Eaters. Narcissa's death had been highly publicized in The Daily Prophet, as had the 'disappearance' of Lucius Malfoy in autumn of what would have been Ron's last year at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy's name had been nothing more than a footnote on the weekly 'Have You Seen This Witch or Wizard?' column the Prophet took to running after the war became full-fledged.

"I assure you, I am very much alive." Malfoy drew himself up to his full height, which left him quite a few inches shorter than Ron. His face was as pale and pointy as ever, though it was more gaunt and sallow than Ron remembered it to be. His hair, curling about his collar, was tangled and dirty. His robe was torn and tattered in places, the hem absolutely filthy. If he squinted between the slight part in the cloak, Ron could just make out a dingy greyish shirt and rumpled trousers that had probably not been changed in weeks. To be perfectly blunt, Malfoy looked like shite. Not that he'd paid much attention to Malfoy's looks before, of course.

"I'm not blind," Ron said automatically, eyes narrowing. Then he, too, drew himself up to his full height, more than a little satisfied with the six inches he towered over the pointy-chinned git.

Malfoy scowled at him. "I would have thought otherwise. Still picking your robes out of rubbish bins?"

Ron scowled at him. "Fuck off."

"You fuck off and get off of this estate," Malfoy said evenly, though the way his eyes darted to and fro, as though he were on the lookout for something, did not escape Ron's notice.

"For all intents and purposes, Malfoy, you're good and dead....well, dead anyway, and this manor was confiscated by the Ministry and auctioned for War Relief Funds." For the life of him, Ron hadn't any idea why he was standing there explaining shite to Malfoy when he should have been hexing him.

Right.

The tips of his fingers tingled and Ron slowly flexed his hand, eyes never leaving Malfoy's face. Wand. Wand would be bloody good right about then. Malfoy's face was pinched, like he was up to no good.

One. Two.

"Three," Ron breathed, and withdrew and brandished his wand at Malfoy in one smooth, swift motion.

Of course Malfoy had to have complicated matters and done the very same.

Fucker.

Wand tip to wand tip, they circled round one another until Ron got tired of beating round the bush and swept the side of his foot under one of Malfoy's knees, sending Malfoy and his pointy arse right to the ground. Cursing, Malfoy scrambled to reach the wand he'd dropped in surprise, though Ron cut him off at the pass by stepping on its hilt.

"Get up, Malfoy," he said pleasantly, Levitating Malfoy's wand high enough so he could take it up. Ron got great joy in watching Malfoy grind his teeth together, pushing himself to his feet. Again, his eyes darted about, and Ron took Malfoy's moment of temporary distraction to shove him up against one of the mausoleum's tall marble walls.

Malfoy grunted as the back of his head connected with stone, though he made no attempt to recover his wand. "You don't own this manor."

Ron shook his head. "No."

"I knew it," Malfoy said triumphantly. "Go on then, Weasley. Go on before someone reports you for trespassing. I'd do it my bloody self if I–"

"Weren't running for your life?"

Malfoy's trap shut instantly, mouth setting in a thin line.

Goal for Gryffindor.

"That's it, isn't it?" Ron pressed, the tip of his wand steady against Malfoy's sternum.

"I'm dead, remember?"

Ron sighed. Malfoy had to have fucking cheek about everything, didn't he? "You aren't dead, Malfoy." Lowering his wand, he took a step back, eyes homing in on Malfoy's haggard face.

"What are you doing here, Weasley?" Malfoy asked carefully.

Shaking his head, Ron snorted. What fucking audacity. Malfoy was supposed to be dead. Yeah, he wasn't, but he absolutely looked like shite and technically he was the one trespassing here, not Ron. "I could ask the same of you, Malfoy. In fact, I just did. Answer."

"I asked you first."

Bollocks. He had.

"I'm looking after it for the new owner." There. That wasn't exactly a lie, now was it? Not that he gave a toss about lying to Malfoy.

"And the new owner would be...?"

"None of your fucking business," Ron snarled, putting an immediate end to that line of questioning. Malfoy couldn't be trusted, dead to the world or not.

Malfoy glared at him before he apparently remembered himself and adopted a bored expression. "Fine, suit yourself. House-elf."

"I'm not a sodding house-elf!" Ron cried indignantly, very tempted to snap Malfoy's wand in half and use the ends to plug up Malfoy's upturned nose.

"Of course you aren't," Malfoy said in a placating tone.

Valiantly playing the part of the better bloke, Ron ignored that little jibe. "Your turn."

"I'm looking for something," Malfoy said plainly.

"Something being...?" Ron opened his arms briefly, welcoming further explanation.

"None of your fucking business, I believe?" A white-blond brow arched maddeningly.

"You can't do that," Ron exploded.

"Do what?"

"Use my own words against me, you prig!"

"I believe I just did," Malfoy said, sounding quite bored.

"How daft are you, Malfoy? You do realise the Ministry's been locking everyone up who's ever consorted with Voldemort? And that any Death Eaters skulking about who haven't been picked up by Aurors would be rather interested to hear you've risen from the fucking dead?"

Malfoy looked pained for a moment, though the moment quickly gave way to an all-out glower. "Forget it," he barked, his shoulder jostling Ron's hard as he pushed past him.

"Where do you think you're going?" Ron whirled round, staring at Malfoy with disbelief.

"If you'll give me my wand, Weasley, I'll be on my way and you can return to your life of house-elfdom, tedious as it may be," Malfoy jeered, reaching for his wand.

"Oh no you don't, Malfoy." Ron made a show of tucking Malfoy's wand inside his robes, and then he faltered. What next?

He could give Malfoy back his wand and send him on his merry way (to certain death or imprisonment, undoubtedly) or he could keep Malfoy's wand in his pocket and....

Really, Ron would later think back to this moment and decide that he'd suddenly gone mental. He certainly didn't know what possessed him to do it, but as sure as the Cannons would one day again win the league championship, Ron heard himself say, "You're coming with me."

"I'm coming with you," Malfoy repeated.

He'd suddenly gone mental, or that crap cucumber and haggis sandwich he'd eaten that morning in St Mungo's tea shop was wreaking havoc on his senses, specifically his ability to not act completely off his nut. "Yeah."

"To my own home."

"Yeah– no. No, it's not yours any longer."

"It sure as hell isn't yours, Weasley," Malfoy sniffed, looking put out.

"No, it isn't," Ron said sharply, "but what it is is a safe place for you to be for now. You can't be flitting about the bloody countryside as you please."

"I," Malfoy declared, voice dripping with disdain, "do not flit."

"Not in those rags, you don't," Ron said solemnly, then he turned and began the trek back across the grounds to the manor.

Halfway across the lawn, he stopped, looking over his shoulder. Malfoy was just standing beside the mausoleum, still as a statue.

"If you want your wand, you'll come. Of course, you could just leave, but I doubt you'd get very far without a wand."

That did it. Malfoy steeled his shoulders and started toward him. And he was fucking limping like a damned cripple.

"Oi, what's that?" Ron asked, gesturing to Malfoy's leg.

"What does it look like, arse? My leg's bollixed up," Malfoy sneered, walking toward him unsteadily.

"How'd it happen?"

"It broke," Malfoy said coldly, pointing toward his thigh. "I didn't have access to any Skele-Gro, so it mended how it fucking mended. End of story."

Ron's mouth scrunched up and he took off again, myriad thoughts whirring about in his head. He should have tossed Malfoy out on his arse. No fuss, no muss. He should have Owled the Ministry. Oh, wait. Not a fan of the Ministry these days. Just because Malfoy and Snape had helped Harry find Helga Hufflepuff's cup, through no fault of their own, was that reason enough to protect him from the Ministry's constant vigilance (unwarranted vindictiveness against most, morelike) and rogue Death Eaters? Then again, Malfoy's leg was buggered up. If his mum were alive, she would've had Ron's head on a platter for even entertaining the idea of turning a sickly wizard out on his arse. Right. Ron would have to let him stay there.
"I should've been a Hufflepuff," he muttered to himself, ushering Malfoy into one of the manor's side entrances.

"Step aside, Weasley," Draco said snidely, bumping Ron aside with a roll of his hip. "I know my way around."

As they rounded a corner, Malfoy promptly stopped, his gaze swiveling about the corridor slowly. "Where are the fey-crafted candelabras? Where are the ornamental pixie reliefs? They're over seven centuries old and a family heirloom; I demand you return them immediately!"

The pit of Ron's stomach fell a bit. "Did you miss the part where I said there'd been an auction?" he asked slowly.

Malfoy's face grew peaked. "No," he said after a long moment's silence. "I didn't."

"A lot of the things are gone," Ron said awkwardly as they continued down the corridor.

Malfoy stopped again. "Everything?" he asked quickly.

"Not everything." Ron began to walk again, leading the way, and Malfoy fell into step beside him.

"Oh." Malfoy nodded to himself, almost as though he were filing that bit of information away. And then: "Weasley, it has been a while, but I'm pretty sure the suites are the other way."

"Yeah, I know."

"Then why are we going this way?"

This time Ron was the one to stop. "Look, Malfoy...."

Malfoy frowned. Then he tapped his foot. "Out with it, then."

"I'm not the only one here, okay? My brother's here, and Dobby, and sometimes Pr– Remus Lupin calls quite often, so you've got to–"

Malfoy blinked.

Ron blinked. Then he opened his mouth, intent on staving off shouts and curses that would call his brother, Dobby, Remus Lupin, and the Falmouth Bloody Falcons to the lower level of Malfoy Manor.

"I don't," Malfoy held up a hand, "want to hear anymore. Take me to my hole, then."

Ron's mouth instantly shut, teeth clacking together. And then he exhaled the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "All right, then." He hesitated, though, and watched Malfoy. Malfoy's lower lip trembled – Ron saw it – and then his face hardened.

"Well. On with it," Malfoy said impatiently.

Nodding, Ron led the way, never looking back.

**********

The door to Malfoy's 'hole' (Honestly, it was no more a hole than the Ministry was the Shrieking Shack - granted, it wasn't as large as and lacked the decorum of the suites in the main part of the manor, but it was filled with nice, sturdy furniture. There was a perfectly acceptable bath just down the corridor!) swung open and Ron, seated on a low cot, looked up. And then up some more, because his initial sight-line was on level with Malfoy's hips and the fluffy, beige towel that hung dangerously low. He didn't need to be seeing any of that, thank you very much. Well, Ron did appreciate views such as that, but not when Malfoy was part of the parcel. Right.

"Where are my clothes?" Malfoy demanded, hovering in the doorway.

"Ah." Ron twisted, reaching behind him. "Here." Fresh after a vigorous round or two of Repair and Cleansing Charms were Malfoy's cloak, shirt, trousers, pants, and socks. They weren't good as new, as Malfoy's clothes were a bit too grotty to fully take laundering and mending charms completely, but they were much better off than they'd been.

Snatching his things out of Ron's grasp, Malfoy waved a hand, gesturing for Ron to turn round. Rolling his eyes, Ron did as directed. Behind him, he could hear the soft hiss of fabric as Malfoy pulled on and adjusted various items. "So."

"So," Malfoy repeated, and Ron could practically hear his stupid lip curl.

"You're not to come to the main part of the manor. Don't leave this level or this wing. Don't worry about food; I'll make sure you've got it, and drink, and anything else you need." This wouldn't go over well; Ron just knew it.

"Do I have to check in before I take a piss?" Malfoy said, and Ron yelped as something snapped the back of his ear. The towel, no doubt.

"Fucker," Ron swore, turning round, one hand clapped over his ear.

"I'll take that as a 'no,'" Malfoy drawled, buttoning up his now-white shirt.

"If you have to take a piss or have a wank or whatever; keep it to your sodding self," Ron grumbled.

"Or whatever."

"This is serious, Malfoy. You'll have to, I dunno, lay low for a bit till we can get you back to...where ever it is you came from. Where ever you were headed. You know. Without being caught by Ministry or Death Eaters. Or both. So where were you headed, again?" It was probably too much for Ron to hope Malfoy would maybe shed a bit of light on that mystery.

"Obviously I was headed here for the present. The future? Well...that's only of interest to me." Malfoy smiled mysteriously and Ron was very tempted to box his ears.

It had definitely been too much for Ron to hope Malfoy would shed a bit of light on that mystery. "I'm thinking....not, Malfoy. There're a good lot of people who'd be interested in your being alive and all. Minster Scrimgeour, for one. Fenrir Greyback, for another." Ron paused, watching him carefully. The Order had heard reports of what Greyback did, or attempted to do, to Malfoy before Yaxley killed him. Well, Malfoy hadn't been killed (and Ron was dead curious as to how he'd avoided that when all other signs pointed to DOORNAIL), so maybe reports of Greyback's torturing had been off.

Malfoy turned away, though not before Ron noticed his hands clenched into fists. "He hasn't been captured by the Ministry, has he?"

"No," Ron said slowly. "Nor Goyle, nor Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, nor–"

"I've seen her."

"Who?"

Malfoy turned round again, fixing Ron with a serious, intense look, the likes of which sent a chill up and down his spine.

"Bellatrix. My aunt. She didn't see me – Glamours can work wonders – but I saw her."

Leaning in, Ron's hands dug into his thighs, all ears intent on Malfoy. "And?"

"Death is coming. For people like me. Traitors." His lips curled. "As though I fucking had a side to turn on." A beat, and then he strode purposely to the door, opening it so roughly the pins in one hinge snapped.

Taking the hint, Ron got to his feet.

"And for your precious Potter."

He froze in the doorway. "What?" he asked, a sour taste in his mouth. "What did you say?"

"Death is coming for your precious Potter, and if I know my 'auntie', it will be sweet and terrible and slow. If he's been a good boy." Malfoy smirked. "And if he's been a bad boy...well, you'll wish you'd have killed him yourself."

**********

The sound of tiny wings fluttering madly overhead was breaking his concentration. Fingers clenching around the vane of the quill, Ron glowered up at the twittering grey mass whizzing about his room like a rogue Bludger. "Pig, would you be still for a ruddy second? Bloody hell."

Pig hooted shrilly, then fluttered down to perch atop one of the bedposts.

"That's better," Ron grunted, scribbled his name at the bottom of the parchment, and re-read his note:

M.E.M.–

H. needs more Order about, right quick. Tricksy Bells and Strange things are interested in finishing what V couldn't. Order needs to make sure she doesn't.

Sooner is better,
Ron

Folding the parchment up until it was no wider than a Knut, Ron tied it to Pig's leg, rapping him upside his wee head once or twice to get him to stop hopping about. The moment Ron's fingers left his little leg, Pig hooted and sped out the window.

There was no telling how long it would take Pig to find Moody, and Bill and Remus did have to be told, so Ron immediately set out to find them. He didn't have to search very long; light spilt out into the corridor from the Bill's cracked door, and Ron could hear Remus' familiar laughter as Bill recounted one adventure or another breaking curses in mummies' tombs in Egypt. His hand hovering over the doorknob, Ron felt yet another stab of jealousy and he knew it was fucking daft of him. So Bill and Remus were getting on. That should be a good thing. They'd both lost their wives, they both had been infected by werewolves, they both had a time finding a job because of the werewolf thing.... Besides, it wasn't as though Remus and Ron were anything more than friends. They'd just, well, had a bit of a shag that one time. Which Ron was still really fucking grateful for. He'd needed that closeness, that comfort, that feeling of being wanted and appreciated and all right just then. He hadn't been looking for anything more – not that he could devote time to anything more when Harry was as bad off as he was. And anyway, Bill and Remus were just friends. Just like Ron and Remus. Absolutely nothing to be jealous of, mate, Ron thought grimly, then pushed open the door.

And then the stab was accompanied by a punch to the gut; Remus was sitting on the edge of Bill's bed, Bill lounging about like a bloody pharoah with his boots resting on Remus' lap.

"Hello, Ron," Remus said, sobering a little, though Ron could still see the laugh lines about his mouth.

Ron scowled, then shook it off. "Hullo," he returned, rooted in the doorway.

"Something wrong, little brother?" Frowning, Bill sat up and swung his legs round, boots making a thumping sound as the heels hit the floor.

"Yeah." Ron nodded, leaning against the frame. "Something's wrong, all right."

Bill and Remus exchanged a glance. "It's about Harry," Remus commented, shifting in his seat.

"Yeah."

"Has he– is he?" Bill asked, half-rising out of his seat. Ron gestured for him to sit.

Clearing his throat, Ron shook his head again, hair flopping in his eyes. "No, he's still– he's still alive. It isn't that." Pushing his fringe back, he exhaled slowly, Malfoy's earlier words playing about in his mind. Bellatrix Lestrange was completely mental; there was no telling what she might do to Harry when she found him. If. IF, a voice that sounded rather like his Mum piped up. Chin up, hope for the best, dear. Ron suspected he'd need more than hope.

"What is it, then?" Remus' voice was strained, and he climbed to his feet, staring across the room at Ron.

"Bellatrix Lestrange. She's alive and she–"

At that moment there was a loud crash, and all three of them jumped.

"Fucking hell, it's your damned bird," Bill swore, racing to fling open the window lest Pig continue to hurl his feathery self against the stained glass.

Only it wasn't Pig. It was an owl quite a bit larger than Pig, buff-brown with dark streaks on its back and chest. The owl circled the room once before settling atop an Erumpet head mounted on the wall, shying away from its horn. Its great yellow eyes peered at Ron curiously, and he leant up to retrieve the bit of parchment attached to its leg.

"From Moody," he explained, tossing the ribbon to the ground. Breaking the wax seal with his thumb, Ron unrolled the letter, and then groaned.

"What?" Bill asked, leaning over Ron's shoulder. Then: "What the shite is that?"

"Rubbish, that's what it is," Ron said, mouth scrunching to one side as he tried to make heads or tails of the gibberish on the sheet:

EDG WRG PFSG, YFH. NRTW AJ HFEO FNB RTS YGGX AXWGOPGLWGS? PBGMGOGO FNBD WRTX FHEOD RTMG JTBBGX AXWF WRG NOFXU RTXSD, HFE IXFN! OESAKGXWTOH DGPEOAWH KGTDEOGD TOG AKLFOWTXW; HFE'S SF NGBB WF OGKGKYGO WRTW.

FRN AD AW HFE DGGK WF IXFN NRTW DFXUD WOAPIH YGBBD NFEBS BAIG WF DAXU, GR?

Stepping up to Ron's other side, Remus asked, "May I?" and waited until Ron nodded to examine the parchment. Withdrawing his wand, Remus murmured something under his breath and tapped the parchment. Nothing happened. "Hmm." Tapped again. The ink seemed to shimmer for a bit and then...nothing.

"Constant vigilance," Ron murmured, and Bill snorted as Remus tapped the parchment again.

This time the ink glimmered and the letters began to crawl about on the page, ink pooling until it disappeared, only to have new letters rise up seemingly out of nowhere.

Three heads leant in to read the revealed message:

Use the code, boy. What if your owl had been intercepted? Cleverer owls than yours have fallen into the wrong hands, you know! Rudimentary security measures are important; you'd do well to remember that.

How is it you seem to know what songs Tricky Bells would like to sing, eh?

"That's a good question," Bill said slowly, inclining his face toward Ron's.

Oh, bugger.

Pulling the post out of Remus' hands, Ron moved to the desk in the corner, pulling quill, ink, and parchment out of various cubbies so he could compose a reply to Moody's post.

Feeling two pairs of eyes on him, he stuck the nib of the quill into the inkpot and twisted round to look at Bill and Remus. "She's going after people she thinks betrayed Voldemort...and seeing as how Harry blasted him to bloody bits, I reckon that makes Harry at the top of the list. All right?" Not waiting for a response, he got back to it, nib moving quickly over the parchment's surface.

"How do you know all that?" Bill pressed.

Gritting his teeth, Ron ignored the question finished his letter:

Sorry about that. It won't happen again.
I'm a good listener and I blend in well. That's how.

Order up?

After tapping the note with his own wand and watching the letters scramble, Ron folded it up and went over to the owl, fastening his message to its leg.

From somewhere behind him, Remus cleared his throat.

"I just know, all right?" Ron said shortly, releasing the owl out the window.

There was a long, heavy silence. Ron curled his fingers around the window sill, watching intently for Moody's owl, or perhaps Pig, to return. He could not tell any of them how he knew of Bellatrix's plan. If he so much as mentioned he'd a source, they would have wanted names, and there wasn't any way Ron could compromise Malfoy's safety any more than the git had already done.

"All right," Remus said finally, and Ron let out a sigh, relieved.

"All right," he echoed, and then silence permeated the air again. A few times, he caught Remus and Bill eyeing him as though they wanted to question him. Mercifully, though, they didn't.

Scratching his ear absently, Ron glanced at the window and immediately began to back up; a brownish-black mass was rapidly approaching. The large owl glided into the room, wings barely making a sound. It situated itself on Bill's shoulder, which made a small smile break out on Ron's face as he reached for the post.

While Ron unrolled the parchment, Remus tapped the top of it with his wand. By the time he'd flattened it out, Ron could plainly see Moody's reply:

You blend in as well as a giant in Gringott's.

Order is up, ready, and on the way. Have sent word with DD to HJG.

Thrusting the scrap of parchment into Bill's awaiting hand, Ron shooed the owl away. After it ducked out the window, he leant back against the sill, resigned. "Well, that's that, then."

So if Moody was sending extra Order members to watch over Harry, why did he still feel so horrid?

**********

He'd forgot to fix the ruddy pin, so the door groaned as he opened it. "Oi, Malfoy. You awake?" Ron asked quietly, closing the door firmly behind him.
The pillow that sailed through the air, narrowly missing cuffing him in the ear, was affirmation enough, though Malfoy did follow that up with a shining example of his ususal pleasantness. "You're enough to wake the dead, Weasley. How could someone possibly sleep through your ogre-like stomping about the halls?"

Levitating a steaming tray of breakfast he'd nicked from the kitchens (after distracting Dobby by claiming to have discovered a doxy infestation in the northern sun room), Ron rolled his eyes and pulled a small fold-out table from the wardrobe. The tray set down lightly atop the table and Ron's stomach rumbled. Yeah, he'd just had a tonne of bubble and squeak, tinned tomatoes, and fried mushrooms, but Ron always had room for more food – especially if it looked and smelt as good as this porridge, kippers, and toast and marmy did. He'd have to nab something (but not the cucumber and haggis sandwich again) from St Mungo's tea room before settling in with Harry for the day.

"I'll pick up the Fracta-Fluid today while I'm out, and then we can get to working on that leg, yeah?" Cramming his hands in his pockets, Ron did a few figures in his head. Fracta-Fluid was rather pricey and hard to come by; he'd have to take a trip to Knockturn Alley, no doubt. It wasn't as though he could get some at St Mungos or even at the Apothecary on Diagon Alley, not when he wasn't a Healer or even an Apprentice Healer. When Malfoy didn't respond, Ron glanced over at him. "Malfoy?"

"What," Malfoy asked, poking at the contents of his plate with a fork, "is this?"

"Breakfast," Ron said, as though it should be obvious. Which it should have been.

"This," Malfoy declared, pushing the table away from his bed, "is not breakfast. This is slop, Weasley. It would be better off in a trough for decrepit Tebos or something."

"That's breakfast," Ron said through clenched teeth, "and you're going to fucking eat it or–"

"Or what?"

"Or starve. I don't care. Do what you please, Malfoy."

"Don't I always?" Malfoy countered, leaning toward the table to pour himself a cuppa.

"Yes, I'm quite sure you do. That's why you tried to kill Dumbledore, right? Because it pleased you." Ron said crossly.

Hot liquid sloshed over the side of the cup as Malfoy slammed it back down on the tray. "You don't," he said darkly, "get to talk about that. Or anything else you don't know a thing about. Essentially? You should be fucking mute, Weasley."

Ron's brows lifted questioningly. "Is that a fact?"
Malfoy sniffed, gingerly picking up his cuppa once more. "Yes."

Incensed, Ron stalked over to the bed and bent down, pressing his hand hard on Malfoy's injured thigh. Malfoy sucked in a breath so quickly that it whistled between his teeth, and Ron would have sworn on his mum's grave he saw tears begin to pool in Malfoy's stormy grey eyes.

"Have a good day with that leg, Malfoy."

After giving him a rough shake, Ron released Malfoy's thigh from his grasp and walked out. He hoped the prick's leg ached all morning. Would serve the twat right.

**********

Ron didn't get the Fracta-Fluid that morning. Every single apothecary and potions shop he visited hadn't any phials on hand, so he gave up and went to St Mungo's to relieve Hermione.

Standing outside the door to Harry's room on either side were Dedalus Diggle, purple top hat firmly in place, and Caecelia Dearborn, a thin witch with an equally thin mouth.

"'lo," Ron said breathlessly, reaching for the doorknob.

"Hold up," Dearborn said, flinging an arm out to block the door from opening. "Identify yourself."

Although Ron gave Diggle a pointed look, he did not come to Ron's defense. Nodding emphatically (and catching his hat just before it toppled off his head), he said, "Go on, then!"

"Ron Weasley. You know me."

"How do we know it's really you?" Dearborn asked, twirling her wand in her free hand.

"Well..." Ron looked from one to the other, and then a triumphant smile lit up his face. "You!" he said, pointing at Dedalus Diggle. "Two Boxing Days past, you drank all of Eammon Vance's sherry and showed Hestia Jones your Father Christmas shorts!"

Diggle sputtered, while Dearborn leant in, eyes wide and bright. "Did he really?"

Ron jerked his thumb toward Diggle. "Ask him."

"Did you?"

"O– open the blasted door!" he squeaked, and his hat promptly fell off.

Stepping over the garish top hat, Ron opened the door himself and went in.

"Hullo, Her–" Ron said, and then cut off when he saw the condition of his best mate. "Oh. Harry."

"He isn't going to get any better, is he?" Hermione asked. Ron couldn't tear his eyes off his best mate, but he didn't have to look at Hermione to know she was crying. He couldn't blame her for it; Harry looked an absolute fright. The breathing trumpets attached to his nose and shoved in his gob were larger than the ones he'd in before. His hair hung limply about his face; it wasn't even messy, it just laid there flat. Harry's hair never laid flat. His skin was yellowish and his cheeks seemed rather sunken in. If it weren't for Harry's chest rising and falling slowly, Ron would have though he was looking at a corpse.

"I'm not a Healer, Hermione." His voice shook and he winced, wishing like hell he could say what he knew they both wanted to hear. What they both needed to hear.

"This isn't fair," she whispered brokenly, and he made a small noise of agreement. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair at all.

"No," he said hoarsely. He stared at Harry so long his vision began to blur, as though Harry were breaking apart in front of him, as though the line between real and breathing and alive and false and inanimate were fading in and out of one another. Ron's heart hurt. Everything hurt, and he needed something to hold onto. Someone to hold onto. Mechanically, he folded Harry's duvets down and slid beside Harry, rolling in so he could rest his head on his mate's chest, hearing his heartbeat.

"You shouldn't do that," Hermione said, and Ron closed his eyes, ignoring that.

"Come 'ere," he murmured.

"I–"

"We need you, Hermione," Ron mumbled, pressing closer against Harry's side.

Almost immediately he felt the mattress dip slightly, and when he opened his eyes he met Hermione's. Her head rested on the other side of Harry's chest, and together they inhaled as Harry did and rose as one on the exhalation. The three of them, together.

**********

Fracta-Fluid was nowhere to be found. One day he tried to nick it from a potions cupboard at St Mungo's, but sodding Lockhart happened upon him, escaped from the Janus Thickey ward. By the time Lockhart's Healer came upon them, Ron had seventeen autographed photographs and no Fracta-Fluid of which to speak.

Eventually Ron decided he had to brew the draught himself. Because he didn't fancy raising anyone's suspicion, he purchased the ingredients for the draught one or two at a time, and always at different shops. It took two weeks of trips to Knockturn and Diagon Alley after his shift with Harry until Ron acquired all the ingredients. During that time, Harry hadn't got any better, but he hadn't got any worse, either. Malfoy, on the other hand, had turned into an absolute sodding nightmare. He still refused to explain why he'd been skulking about the manor and he spoke no more of Bellatrix or anything that had even the remotest thing to do with the war. What Malfoy didn't refuse to do was be an utter pillock. He had complaints about everything and anything Ron did for him, accused Ron of building up his own personal Azkaban in the lower level of Malfoy Manor, and commented on more than one occasion that Ron was in fact holding him against his will. When Ron threatened to break Malfoy's other leg bone and then set him free - right on the Ministry's marbled floor, Malfoy shut up rather quickly.

When he had all the required ingredients, Ron scoured the manor until he found the perfect place to brew the potion – a narrow cupboard down the corridor and around the bend from the kitchens.

After conjuring up a blue bell flame so he could see in the dark space, Ron pulled several small crystal phials out of his robes' inner pocket and used an Enlargement Charm on the shrunken cauldron he'd set in the middle of the floor. A tap of his wand to the rim of the cauldron was all it took to get a fire going; Ron could hear it crackling and popping beneath the copper bottom. Dumping a phialful of shredded feverfew leaves into the cauldron's depths, he then poured in exactly seven drops of unicorn tears, which sizzled as they hit the hot bottom.

It didn't take long for him to add all the ingredients. According to the directions, the potion would have to simmer for twenty-four hours, so he packed up and headed out. Thoughts of stopping by the kitchens for a spot of tea took over his thoughts, and he'd been so preoccupied thinking on what type of tea he'd brew that he didn't notice Remus until he'd performed a Locking Charm on the door and moved to go to the kitchens.

"Remus!" he said quickly, and then gave him an overly bright smile, though inwardly a voice bellowed, BOLLOCKS.

Remus responded by lifting his brows slightly, and Ron was on pins and needles. Please don't ask about the cupboard.

"I was thinking," Remus said, looking up at him, "that tea would be quite lovely, though it would be even better with company. In fact, I was just on my way to visit Dobby in the kitchens now. Would you care to join me?"

Yeah," Ron said simply, though. "I would." He felt a surge of gratitude for Remus just then, grateful that he hadn't asked Ron about the stupid cupboard.

They walked the rest of the way to the kitchens in silence, their shoulders and hands brushing occasionally. And then they were there, just outside the huge oaken door, and Ron felt compelled to thank Remus.

"Thank me?" Remus questioned, his eyes wide and questioning.

"Yeah. Thanks." Ron reached over to straighten his collar.

"Whatever for?" Remus watched Ron's hand for a moment before he lifted his eyes to Ron's again.

"For believing in me. For being here. For being...for just being you, I reckon." Ron tried to play it off with a shrug, as though it wasn't a very big deal, but it was, and incredibly so. Things weren't fucked up between them on account of that shag, and Ron was glad for it.

Remus smiled then, and Ron knew he understood, knew he felt the same way.

"Anytime, Ron. Anytime."

**********

"Ron?"

"Mmph?" Ron lifted his head from Harry's chest to peer over at Hermione.

"You're keeping something from me," she said, propping herself up on her elbows.

"What?" Ron did the same, adopting what he hoped was a sufficiently confused expression. Pointing at his chest with what should have passed for disbelief, he asked, "Me? Huh-uh." One shake of his ginger head and he slid back down, curling up on his side, cheek resting against Harry's shoulder.

"Ronald, I am not daft."

Oi. She'd gone and used his proper name. Not on.

Sitting up with a start, he crossed his arms. "I realise that, Hermione. You're the cleverest person I know."

"Then I would think," Hermione said earnestly, "that you'd confide in me."

"There isn't anything to bloody confide! Anyway, Harry's the one you ought to be concerned about, not me!"

Sliding off the bed, Ron backed himself against the wall, and Hermione followed suit. They stared at one another across Harry's small room, and Ron ground his teeth together, shaking his head. He wouldn't do this, wouldn't get into a row with Hermione here.

"I am concerned about Harry. I'm also concerned about you," she said quietly, though she was also eyeing him suspiciously.

"I'm concerned about you, but you don't see me nagging!" he retorted, and instantly regretted it.

"I don't nag!" Hermione huffed. And then: "I'm fine, Ron. Honestly."

Somehow, he didn't believe her.

"Then I'm fine, too."

She sputtered, and Ron took the opportunity to grab up his rucksack. "And I should've been long gone. Jones'll be coming in a few hours to relieve you. I've things to do. Catch you later." The Fracta-Fluid would be ready by the time he returned to the manor.

**********

Ron took the long way back to the manor, stopping at one of the shops down the street from St Mungos for some curry. He lingered there for a time, sipping ale until he felt full and bloated, and then continued on to Wiltshire. First order of business would be to have a hot bath, then prepare the potion for Malfoy. He wasn't looking forward to it. The results were going to be fucking painful; he'd already begun to place a plethora of Silencing and Muffling Charms on the walls of Malfoy's room as a precaution.

Slipping out of his robes, Cannons jumper, and the rest of his clothes, Ron shrugged into a robe and padded down the corridor to the obnoxiously large Master Bath. It was as large as the Prefects' Bath, from what he remembered. It had a changing area, pool-sized tub with numerous taps, myriad decanters of sweet and/or musky smelling liquids lining the sides, showers, and a heating room off to the side. Bypassing the showers and the heating room, Ron went to the pool, dipping his toes in the warm water.

Perfect.

Just as his hand went to the knot in the robe's belt, he heard the distinctive sound of locks tumbling shut.

"What–"

"You're keeping something from me," drawled Draco Malfoy, and Ron cursed as he whirled around to face him.

Bloody déjà vu.

"I don't have to tell you shite," Ron said firmly, pointing at the door. "And you're not to be gimping about parts of the fucking manor where Bill or Remus or even ruddy Dobby can see you. D'you want the Dementor's Kiss or something? Now open the door up and ge–"
"No," Malfoy said petulantly, jutting his pointy chin out, and Ron rolled his eyes.

"Piss off," Ron snapped, twisting one end of the robe's belt in his hand, clenching it so hard that his knuckles began to ache. "I'm busy." Pointing with two fingers, he indicated the bath and then offered up a rude gesture to Malfoy with those two fingers.

Malfoy didn't piss off, of course. That would have been too easy, and Malfoy had never made anything easy for Ron.

Every muscle in Ron's body tensed up just then, but he managed to pivot and walk toward the bath again, Very Studiously Ignoring Malfoy. Perhaps if he ignored him, Malfoy would get bored of it and go back to his room. At this point, Ron didn't give a fuck if Minister Scrimgeour and Bellatrix Lestrange herself pranced through the door to incarcerate and murder Malfoy themselves; he just wanted his fucking bath.

Walking along the pool's edge, Ron turned on a few taps, then dumped the contents of a few decanters under the running water. A warm, crisp smell filled the air and bubbles began to rise on the water's surface. Grotty bastard can have a show if he likes, Ron thought sullenly, yanking open the belt on his robe. The tips of his ears reddened as he shrugged the robe off and he was glad his hair was long enough to cover them so Malfoy hadn't any idea he was even a tiny bit uncomfortable. As soon as the robe pooled about his ankles, he slid into the bath. Paddling to the centre of the pool, he turned around, unsurprised that Malfoy was still there.

"What are you doing?"

"Waiting for an answer to my question," Malfoy said, leaning against a column near the shallow end of the pool.

"Why do you want to know?" Ron grumbled. Too bad Malfoy was too far away to splash.

"Because things aren't adding up. You're here all the time, and your grotty brother, and the werewolf, yet I've seen hide nor hair of the Mudblood and Potter, that's why," Malfoy said, his chin wobbling a bit. Pointy bastard.

"And?" Ron said shortly.

"I find it hard to believe they'd be off fighting the good fight without their trusty sidekick." Malfoy pushed himself off the column and approached the edge of the pool, squatting down. "Or've you had a falling out?"

Ron blinked. "You really don't know, do you?"

Malfoy frowned. "Know what?"

"How long has it been since you saw Bellatrix Lestrange?"
"Six, perhaps eight weeks ago. Why?"

Blimey, he really didn't know. "Malfoy, the war's over. Voldemort's dead."

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment blankly, and then his brows began to creep toward his hairline. "Potter killed him?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." Malfoy's lips moved then, though Ron couldn't hear what he was saying. He got the distinct feeling he wasn't supposed to hear, anyway. Louder, Malfoy said, "Well, bully for him."

Ron paddled over to the taps and shut them off. Looping his arm round one, he hauled himself up between two, resting his elbows on them. "Not exactly."

"And what is that supposed to mean, Weasley?"

"Something went wrong. We dunno what. Voldemort made these Horcruxes, see, and Harry– I dunno what happened, but Voldemort exploded – it was dead disgusting – and so did his wand, and Harry's, too. Their cores came from the same phoenix, see, least that's what Harry said, and when Voldemort died, Harry just sort of...collapsed. He's in St Mungo's and he hasn't...he hasn't woken up yet," Ron said, his voice alternately shaking and cracking. His eyes began to sting and he turned his head, unwilling to let Malfoy see him be vulnerable like that.

"Fucking hell," Malfoy commented.

Ron swallowed hard. "Fucking hell, yeah." Collecting himself, he settled his gaze back on Malfoy, mouth set in a thin line.

"And Potter is...?"

"Total crap. Doesn't look good. So." Leaning onto his back, Ron pressed his feet against the side of the pool and pushed back hard, sending himself shooting toward the centre of the pool. He didn't want to talk about it anymore. Ron didn't want to talk about it, so he stayed underwater as long as he could. Malfoy didn't leave. Ron stayed in the pool until his fingers were all shriveled and pruney, and still Malfoy didn't leave. He just leant against the column again and waited.

After Ron toweled off, he put the robe back on and headed for the door. Fuck Malfoy; he could stand there all night if he liked. Scowling, Ron began to unbolt the locks. No Fracta-Fluid for the prig tonight; Ron was going straight to have a lie-in and that was that.

"I'm not surprised."

Why Malfoy had to pull this shit every single time he was ready to leave, Ron didn't know. Irate, he squared his shoulders and kept unfastening bolts. "And why's that?"

"I'm just not, that's all," Malfoy said in an infuriatingly calm voice.

Ron was tired of Malfoy's vague crap. He was through.

"Give it a rest, Malfoy," Ron snarled, spinning around, lashing out at him.

"Easy, Shrivelfig," Malfoy snorted, easily side-stepping Ron's pinwheeling arms.

The floor was wet, and Ron barefoot, which did not bode well for him at all. As Malfoy stepped to the side, he went careening into the column. The wind was knocked right out of him, and he slumped against the pillar, gasping.

Malfoy stepped right up to him, close enough that Ron could feel the heat from his body.

"I think you're the one who needs to give it a rest, Weasley," he said.

And Ron completely, utterly, totally snapped.

It was stupid. It was childish. It was the foolish, reckless Gryffindor in him. "Make me, Malfoy," he said.

Malfoy sneered, which the impetus for Ron to grab hold of his wrists and switch their positions, slamming Malfoy against the stone column.

"Smug bastard," Ron swore, lifting up and then banging Malfoy's wrists back onto the marble.

Malfoy winced. And then he wedged his good leg in between Ron's, planting his foot down and then lifting it up to give Ron a quick, sharp shove. Ron gasped, but held his ground, digging the balls of his feet down against the cobbled floor as best he could and rocked his hips forward, hoping to jostle Malfoy's smug arse roughly against the column again. However, Ron didn't count on their hips grinding together, nor did he count on feeling Malfoy's – Malfoy's COCK, the voice that sounded like a very traumatised Hermione shrieked – Malfoy's cock bump against his.

They both grunted.

And then they looked at each other.

"Fuck," Ron breathed, horrified.

"Weasley." Malfoy sounded just as horrified.

"Malfoy."

"Fuck–" And then Malfoy groaned, twisting his hips, arching off the column, and Ron canted his hips in. Their hips pressed against each other, and Malfoy wriggled his hands until Ron gave in and set them free. Immediately they settled on Ron's robe, pulling and knotting the material as his fingers pushed against Ron's collarbone. His mouth fell open as Ron angled his hips up and thrust forcefully, and Ron, so help him Godric, took advantage of it and leant in, running the tip of his tongue over Malfoy's lower lip, slipping in and behind to pull over the soft skin along the inside. Malfoy gasped then, and Ron pulled back, his own lips parted, Malfoy's lower lip practically between them. If he moved in just a bit, he could draw it into his mouth and suck on it...

Malfoy didn't move in, though he did shove his hand between them, the heel of his palm pressing against Ron's erection. "Ch-ch-Christ," Ron rasped, hips automatically snapping against Malfoy's hand.

"You're fucking disgusting, Weasley," Malfoy grunted, his pelvis pressing against Ron's leg, moving in quick, jerky figure-eights. "Damned– disgracef–"

"Shut up," Ron ground out, and then his knees began to give out. His hand flew out, grasping onto Malfoy's shoulder, and he could feel his thighs begin to strain, though he wasn't ready, didn't want them to–

"Don't you–"

"Gotta–"

"I'm–"

"Weasley–"

Ron fell into Malfoy then, his mouth open and panting against Malfoy's cheek, and he felt himself pulse against Malfoy's hand, wet heat spreading out before him.

"Coming–"

"Hate you– Shooti– Coming– ," Malfoy said raggedly, and Ron felt Malfoy come against him. Ron's head spun for the longest time, and then he heard Malfoy say, his voice all strangled, "You made me fucking ruin my trousers, you arse."

"Use a Cleaning Charm," Ron said, stumbling back a few steps.

"You still have my wand," he scowled in between gasps for air.

"Hmm. That's a sticky situation, then." Ron merely smiled, then performed a Cleaning Charm on himself.

"You are a complete bastard."

Yes, yes Ron was.

**********

The next morning, Ron stood outside Malfoy's room for a good twenty minutes, ear pressed up against the door. He didn't hear Malfoy shuffling around, so it was possible he was still sleeping. However, Ron couldn't know for certain if Malfoy was still dead to the world as the beaker of Fracta-Fluid he held was hissing, popping, spitting, and making all manner of noises.

After what had happened the night before, Ron didn't want to look at Malfoy, much less speak to him. He'd some time to think on things, and Ron decided that what happened between them was Not On.

It was all Malfoy's fault, anyway.

If Malfoy hadn't done that thing with his leg, none of the shite that followed would have happened. No, no. If Malfoy hadn't been gimping about the fucking manor and stayed in his room like he was supposed to be doing, none of all that would have happened. In fact, if Malfoy had just bloody stayed in hiding or off being dead or whatever he wanted to call it, none of all that would have happened.

Clearly Malfoy was the instigator and Ron was completely innocent. Ron had been taken advantage of. Ron had been played. It was just like Malfoy to ruin everything. Ron was a victim here, and Malfoy the fucking pretentious wanker of a criminal.

What was probably the most bloody unfair thing of all this was that Ron couldn't even tell anyone about it. Bill couldn't know. Remus couldn't know. Hermione couldn't know. No one could sodding know Malfoy was 1) alive, and 2) holed up in his family's home. Or what had once been his family's home, before the Ministry seized and auctioned it off.

Ron didn't even know why he was doing all this for Malfoy. He hated Malfoy.

"I hate Malfoy."

Yes, that sounded about right. He hated Malfoy. He did. And Ron was only hiding him because it was something Harry would have done were Harry–

Don't you act like he's dead, you arse. Harry's still alive. He's your best mate and he's still alive.

"Fuck all this for a lark," Ron muttered darkly, and then he flung open the door to Malfoy's room.
Just as Ron cleared the threshold, Malfoy awoke with a start, his arms flailing out to his sides. Once his hands found purchase on a duvet, he pushed himself to a seated position, the hair on one side of his head sticking straight up, eyes bugging slightly as he looked around wildly.

"What? Is it the Ministry? Are the–"

"Shut up, you stupid sod," Ron hissed. He shut the door and stood at the foot of Malfoy's bed, beaker in hand. "You're safe. No Ministry, no Death Eaters. Just me."

"Thank fucking Merlin," Malfoy breathed, and then he made a face. "Thank fucking Merlin for being safe. Not for you." Relaxing, he flopped back against the mattress.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Right. Of course."

There was a brief silence, and then Malfoy unexpectedly popped back up to look at him, propping himself on his elbows, glaring at Ron. "If you're here for...deviant...things...think again, perverted pillock," he sneered.

"I'm not here for that!" Ron said automatically, and then he swore; heat rose in his cheeks and that was not fucking on.

"Good," Malfoy snapped.

"Good," Ron retorted, thrusting the beaker hard against his chest.

"Christ," Malfoy complained, snatching up the beaker with one hand and rubbing at his chest with the other. "Savage."

Frustrated, Ron exhaled quickly, the breath coming out one side of his mouth in a huff. "Take your potion."

Malfoy eyed it dubiously. "How will I know if this actually works or not? Your potions work at Hogwarts was subpar at best."

He studiously ignored the jab about his potion-making skills. "Oh, you'll know, Malfoy. It'll take a few days for it to do its job, so you're going to have to be bed-bound for a time."

Malfoy glowered. "A few days? I will not be an invalid. I'm not taking it."

"You are going to take it or you really will be an invalid – for life. That limp's only going to get worse if you don't correct it now. No potion, no safe house. I'll have your arse Portkeyed right into the Ministry of Magic, or perhaps into the haunting grounds of your old colleagues." Ron shook his head a little, a bit disbelieving at Malfoy's cheek but more cross than anything. How could Malfoy be so...so Malfoyish about the whole thing? Ron had gone out of his fucking way to collect the ingredients and brew the potion, and now he wasn't going to take it?

"You wouldn't." Malfoy made a noise of disgust and smoothed his hair.

"Try me."

Malfoy's upper lip curled slightly, but he did take up the beaker in both hands and raise it to his mouth, drinking deeply. Satisfied, Ron turned toward the door.

Then he promptly froze when Malfoy began screaming and convulsing.

Fuck.

"Malfoy," Ron gasped, flying to his bedside.

Christ, Malfoy was all over the place, completely spastic. His limbs jerked and shuddered, his head lolled from side to side, and his mouth gaped open and shut like an oxygen-deprived fish.

"Malfoy," Ron bellowed, fingers desperately trying to get a hold of part of him. Any part of Malfoy, but he was flailing wildly all over the place and Ron couldn't find purchase.

Then there was a terrible groan as the entire bed actually moved, scooting forward each time Malfoy's back slammed against the mattress.

"Bugger this," Ron breathed, propelling himself forward, ending up in a heap across Malfoy's middle. Beneath him, Malfoy's back bowed up, held, and then fell.

The screaming stopped, and Ron slowly slid off of Malfoy and onto the floor. Breathing heavily, Ron climbed to all fours before slowly standing. Malfoy's pale skin was flushed and glistened with sweat, while his eyes stared unseeingly at the ceiling. His bad leg trembled, and then his chin dropped against his chest. The potion had taken its toll.

Malfoy was asleep.

That was a fucking nightmare. Ron pressed trembling hands to his temples and cursed.

**********

The first thing Ron saw when he opened the door to Harry's room was Hermione's tear-stained face.

"What? What is it?" he asked quickly, forcing himself to keep focussed on her face and not glance over at Harry. He couldn't look at Harry lying in that narrow bed, not if the unimaginable had actually, finally happened.

"I can't take it anymore!" Hermione sniffled, then scowled and wiped at her eyes.
Ron's stomach did a slow flip; so Harry was all right then. Thank Merlin.

"I know," Ron said lamely, raising himself on the balls of his feet slightly to get a glimpse of his best mate. Harry looked no better than he had yesterday, although he did not look any worse. At least he seemed to be stable today, even if the Healers still did not have a clue as to what was truly wrong with him. "It's hard to see him like this."

"It is," Hermione agreed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "But I didn't mean this." She gestured toward Harry, her mouth turning down a little.

"What did you mean, then?"

"It's Mum and Dad. They don't understand."

Ron's brows knitted together. "Our best mate's in a coma-like thingy! What's so bloody hard to understand about that?"

"It's not that they don't understand about Harry...." Her voice trailed off, and Ron watched as several different emotions flashed across her face. Finally settling on a look of discontent, Hermione worried her lower lip and smoothed non-existent wrinkles out of Harry's turned-down sheets.

"Well then?"

"They don't understand why I won't go to university now that the war's over."

Ron blinked. "Uni– that Muggle school thingy? But you've finished school; you've long left Hogwarts."

"Yes, but they feel it's important for me to attend university and prepare for a Muggle job in case a magical one doesn't–"

"Hermione," Ron broke in, "you are a witch. Not only that, but you are probably one of the most brilliant people around, with magic and other stuff. D'you really think you'd be happy doing Muggle work?"

Hermione fixed him with a pointed look. "No," she said, and then sighed. "I wouldn't. But it isn't fair of me to stay there and keep their hopes up that I will go on to uni."

"Then move in with me," Ron said simply.

"Oh, Ron, I–" The pointed look faded, giving way to a confused one.

"You know full well I don't mean it like that. We've not been us in...since just after Harry's nineteenth birthday party."
The corners of her mouth quirked. "That was some time ago."

"Yeah, it was. So it's not like that. 'sides, you're not a bloke, so..."

"No," Hermione said with a slight shake of her head, her tone the lightest it'd been in days, "I'm not a bloke. So...."

"You'd be abso-bloody-lutely perfect if you were," Ron teased, "instead of just plain perfect."

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "You're terrible," she told him, though Ron knew from the gleam in her eyes that she was secretly pleased.

"And a complete bastard," Ron said, which only made him think about Malfoy. He hadn't realised he'd been frowning until Hermione touched his hand and looked at him questioningly. "'s nothing." And then: "Did you ever think you'd live to see the day when you moved into Malfoy Bloody Manor?"

She shook her head, bushy hair bouncing about her shoulders. "Not in this lifetime."

One corner of his mouth turned up. "Me neither."

Malfoy, Ron knew, would not be pleased about Hermione moving in.

**********

Malfoy was certainly not pleased about Hermione moving in. He found out about it when Ron checked on him that evening.

"You're joking," he said flatly, grunting as he sat upright, pressing against the backboard of the bed for support.

"No," Ron said shortly, shoving a plate of bangers and mash at him. "Now eat up."

"You expect me to eat this shit? How am I to keep anything down when you've just foisted upon me the knowledge that a fucking Mudblood will be sullying my family's home?" Malfoy snarled, and Ron saw fucking red.

Lunging forward, he took up the plate and threw it hard against the wall. It shattered, shards of porcelain and food exploding everywhere. After wiping his hands on the sides of his trousers as calmly as he could manage, he leant in to Malfoy, their noses bumping. "If I ever hear you call Hermione that again, I will end you." Gnashing his teeth, he added, "Understand?"

Malfoy stared back, saying nothing.

Ron poked him in the chest. "Answer me."
"Yes, I understand," Malfoy said after the silence nearly became too much to bear. "God, give a man his personal space, will you?"

Scowling, Ron moved back, his eyes still fixated on Malfoy. Sneering, pointy, pratfuck Malfoy.

"This isn't your family's home anymore. Kind of getting tired of reminding you about that, actually." Producing his wand, Ron got rid of the mess and Summoned another plate of dinner. After presenting it to Malfoy, Ron added, "It's not going to be a home for much longer anyway, so just shut up about it, yeah?"

In the midst of pushing a bit of potatoes on his fork, Malfoy stilled. "Explain, please."

"S.P.E.W."

"Excuse me?"

"Society for the Protection of Elvish Welfare or summat. It's coming here."

"What exactly does that mean?" Malfoy asked, his face pinched.

"Harry bought this place to do something good with it, and Hermione's going to be doing the Something Good while Harry's in St Mungo's."

"How," Draco asked slowly, gritting his teeth, "does my family home fit into Elvish Welfare?"

"Not your family home," Ron said, holding up a hand. "And it fits because it's going to be a halfway house for displaced and needy elves. 'Least, that's what she said. I just live here."

"She can't do that!" Malfoy exclaimed, tossing back the duvets. "And I won't stand f– FUCKING HELL!" Malfoy had tried to stand in the middle of his tirade, which was incredibly daft. The potion had been in his system since that morning and already it was working to undo the shoddy healing in Malfoy's thigh, his bone slowly splitting apart.

"No standing. Bedrest, remember?"

Malfoy glared at him, and Ron presented the prat with his palm. "I don't want to hear it. This place belongs to Harry, and we'll do with it exactly what we know he'd want done. And Harry'd want Hermione to do this, so sod the hell off. You don't get a vote."

That was enough to make Malfoy's mouth set in a thin line. "Then give me back my wand and I'll be on my way, Weasley," he said through clenched teeth.

"You're not going anywhere with your leg like that, twat," Ron said. Honestly, he was a stubborn, idiotic dolt.

"While it's awfully endearing of you to be so concerned about my health," Malfoy scoffed, "I am a more than competent wizard. I've stayed alive this long without detection, haven't I?"

Ron snorted. "Think again. I detected your sorry arse."

Malfoy sulked.

"Oh, come off it. And here, have a look." Remembering himself, Ron pulled the Daily Prophet he'd been perusing earlier out of his pocket.

Malfoy caught it easily, unfolding it to study the front page. The longer he read, the more the sulk gave way into a frown, and then an outright glare.

"The Ministry's mad," Malfoy said, tone clipped as he began to flip quickly through the paper.

"Yeah. Twelve people locked up yesterday alone for connections to Voldemort, seven the day before. Forty-three this month so far, mate."

"Fuck."

"Seeing as how you had more than an acquaintance with Voldemort, I'm thinking you'd be in queue for a Dementor's Kiss not long after they'd catch you." Ron folded his arms and waited, fully expecting Malfoy to tell him to fuck off. From what Ron knew, Malfoy had been forced into doing some of Voldemort's dirty work because his family had been threatened, but none of the loonies at the Ministry would take that into consideration, nor would most of the general population these days. It was ridiculous how hive-minded the lot of them had become.

"Weasley?"

Malfoy's voice jolted Ron out of his reverie. "Yeah?"

"You'd better look at this," Malfoy said grimly, showing Ron the back page of the Prophet.

The headline screamed: HARRY POTTER: SYMBOL OF FUTURE HIBERNATES, WAITS FOR DAWN OF NEW DAY FOR VICTORY CELEBRATION

"What the bloody fuck is that?!" Ron roared, snatching the paper out of Malfoy's hands. His eyes skimmed the article quickly:

HARRY POTTER: SYMBOL OF FUTURE HIBERNATES, WAITS FOR DAWN OF NEW DAY FOR VICTORY CELEBRATION
Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, remains fast asleep in the most hallowed of halls at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London. Ever since he conquered the Dark Lord, aka Voldemort, aka Tom Marvolo Riddle, Potter has been a resident of the Siegried Grunnion Ward at the prestigious hospital.

"Harry's such a fine, upstanding boy. He's recuperating nicely, for a Sleeping Beauty. When the time is right, he'll awaken, but not until then. When order has been restored to the wizarding world, the Ministry has tightened every cog, and every witch and wizard remembers their place, Harry will rise again and, oh, we'll have such a celebration!" one St Mungo's Healer, whom asked to be anonymous, said.

Minister for Magic Rufus Scrimgeour declared in a press conference yesterday that Potter is the paradigm to whom all witches and wizards must aspire to be, for his unflinching loyalty to the Ministry is (ctd page 137 ½, column 2)

Not bothering to turn to page 137 ½, Ron balled up the paper and threw it against the wall. It bounced off and fell to the floor, coming to rest in a pile of sausages.

"A bunch of shit," Malfoy said flatly.

Ron grunted in agreement, sinking down onto the mattress' edge.

"It is," he muttered, and he didn't even care that he and Malfoy had just actually agreed on something.

**********

The next few days were packed full. Although Bill, Remus, Dobby, and himself had been finished cleaning the manor some time ago, they had plenty to do around the estate since Hermione agreed to move in. It wasn't that they had to make things homey for her, but rather they had to transform an entire wing of the estate into what would serve as her S.P.E.W. shelter. The transformation wasn't hard work, but it was quite time consuming, making human-sized environments more comfortable for elves. While the Ministry, and later Harry, had done a bang-up job of ridding the manor of Lucius Malfoy's wards and charms, occasionally they happened upon difficulties with suits of armor being stubborn or portraits talking cheek. Fortunately, Dobby was there and knew how to deal with most of the situations that arose.

Ron also had Malfoy's presence to conceal, which was difficult at times as every time Remus or Bill or Hermione would volunteer to go to the manor's lower levels for something to assist with the transformation, Ron had to find an excuse so he could go and do it for them. None of them were daft and Ron was sure they were suspicious of his motivations.

During dinner that evening, Ron could barely concentrate on his meal; he had the distinct feeling he was being watched.

"What?" he asked finally, the tines of his fork clanging as they hit the tabletop.

Hermione looked at Remus, who looked at Bill.
Bill dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his serviette, and then dropped it onto the table beside his plate. "Ron, you've not been yourself lately."

His eyes narrowed as he set his elbows on the table, leaning in toward his brother. "Of course I've been myself. Who else would I be?"

"That isn't what I meant and you know it," Bill frowned.

"We're concerned about you, Ron," Remus added, sitting up straighter. His smile faltered. "You've been unusually quiet."

"I've a lot on my mind," Ron said automatically.

"You know you can talk to any of us at any time, don't you?" Flicking her wand, Hermione refilled his goblet of pumpkin juice.

Ron couldn't quite look her in the eye. "I know," he mumbled, taking a long pull of juice.

"If this is about Harry–" Bill started, and Ron pushed his chair back.

"Not everything's about Harry."

It was time for Ron to get out of there. They were all looking at him with that scrutinizing glimmer in their eyes and he wasn't going to stick around to endure more of their questions. Tucking the chair back in, he said, "Dinner was brilliant, but I've got to dash."

And dash Ron did, all the way down to Malfoy's room. He made a slight detour into a cloak room along the way, prying up a floorboard to retrieve the flask of Skele-gro he'd stashed there.

Before Ron could open Malfoy's door, it burst open before him.

"I've been waiting all blasted day," Malfoy griped, pulling Ron in by the hem of his sleeve. The door slammed shut, and Malfoy wobbled on one leg, his balance giving out, and he slumped against Ron.

"Malfoy, are you thick? You took a potion that re-broke your bloody leg. What the hell are you doing hopping about your room on one leg like you're Mad-Eye Moody's evil, daft twin?"

Malfoy waved Ron's questions away, gesturing to the goblet at his bedside. "Fill that and let's get on with it."

"I'm not a house-elf," Ron complained. " A simple 'please' and maybe even a 'thank you' would be ace, Malfoy."

"Fine. Fill that and let's get on with it, please."

"Much better," Ron said in a deliberately patronizing tone. Then he jerked his thumb toward the bed. Malfoy leered, but he did hobble over and take a seat, wincing. Ron had no sympathy for him; prat brought it upon himself.

Pouring a steaming gobletful of Skele-Gro, Ron warned, "It'll burn," as he pressed the cup into Malfoy's awaiting hand. "I've had the Cruciatus Curse cast upon me more than once; I'm sure I can handle this," Malfoy sneered before knocking back the entire contents of the goblet. A beat, and then he began to sputter and cough. "I'm on fucking fire! It burns! It burns!" he choked, hands clutching at his throat.

Rolling his eyes, Ron Conjured a glass of water, which Malfoy accepted and drained in a matter of seconds.

"'I've had the Cruciatus Curse cast upon me more than once; I'm sure I can handle this'," Ron mimicked in a high-pitched voice.

"Shut up," Malfoy said petulantly. And then he did something entirely infantile, which Ron should have expected from the likes of him but really hadn't, actually. Malfoy crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue at Ron. Granted, he framed the expression with a rude gesture on either side of his head, but still. Manky, miserable Malfoy made a fucking face at him.

And Ron laughed. Ron laughed and laughed, clutching his belly. Malfoy imitated Ron, grabbing melodramatically at his own stomach, and Ron actually heard Malfoy snicker. The snicker turned into an honest-to-Godric laugh when Ron flung his arm out to cuff Malfoy's shoulder, and Ron thought it was the best thing he'd heard all day. It was real, probably the most real thing Malfoy had done during his entire stay at the manor, and it sounded quite nice, low yet light, tinged with amusement.

After some time had passed and they'd both remembered themselves (straightening and being sure to leave plenty of mattress between them), Malfoy turned in slightly, looking at Ron. "I want to see Potter," he said suddenly.

Ron wiped a few tears of laughter from his eyes. "Huh?"

"I want to see Potter," Malfoy repeated slowly, and Ron goggled at him.

"Why?"

"Because I just do, all right?"

That sobered Ron right up. "No," he said firmly. "'Because I just do' isn't enough, and it's a stupid idea anyway. We've Order members guarding his ward, and don't forget you've to pass through the reception queue and– NO."

"Fine," Malfoy huffed. "I want to see Potter for myself. You said the Healers didn't know what was wrong with him, which is rather curious. Do they know about the wands and the Horcruxes?"

Ron shook his head.

"I thought so."

"Huh?"

"Weasley," Malfoy said through gritted teeth, "you are trying my patience. Let me look at Potter. What can it hurt?"

"Your scrawny neck if you get caught, that's what," Ron returned. "Why would you want to help Harry anyway?" It wasn't as though Malfoy had ever expressed concern for anyone other than himself before. Maybe the Skele-Gro had side effects which included becoming mentally incompetent in a matter of minutes.

"I wouldn't be doing it for Potter," Malfoy said with disbelief. "I'd be helping myself!"

Now that made sense. Of course Malfoy would risk his freedom, and quite possibly his life, for himself. Why would he do anything for anyone else? "Go on, then."

"If I can fix Potter, Potter will recover and come back to the manor – and then all this fucking nonsense with Mu– Muggleborns and werewolves and house-elf shelters will stop."

Personally, Ron thought that even if – when – Harry would wake up, the house elf shelter would still be a go. Sure, Hermione was persuasive as all hell, but Harry had an uncontrollable urge to just help. He'd more than likely be all for housing needy elves, but Ron kept his thoughts selfishly to himself. Besides, if Malfoy could be a selfish prig about things, so could he.

Extending a hand, Ron said, "Malfoy, if you can fix Harry, I'll give you your wand back and you can go where ever the merry fuck you please."

Malfoy looked at him for a long moment, the corners of his mouth quirking. His fingers were long and thin, and they were rather warm when they curled around Ron's. "Weasley, it's a deal."

**********

The Skele-Gro mended Malfoy's bone overnight. When Ron went to collect him for their trip to St Mungo's, he couldn't help but grin as Malfoy walked, sans limp, down the corridor toward the Floo. As Malfoy pinched into the container of Floo Powder, he caught Ron staring at him. "What is it, Weasley?"

Ron shook his head. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Two pale brows lifted.

One corner of Ron's mouth twitched. "It's good to see you walking like that. That's all."

Malfoy opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself. His brow furrowed, and then he said, "Thank you, Weasley" before ducking into the Floo and shouting "Knockturn Alley!"

In an instant he was gone, and Ron stood stock-still until the green flames died. Had Malfoy just thanked him? Surely he'd misheard.

Starting, he snatched up some Floo Powder, following suit.

They'd ended up in the back of a musty-smelling shop with shrunken heads hanging about. After pulling the hoods of their robes down enough to considerably conceal their faces, they made their way out into the crowded street. Winding around hags and gnarled-looking warlocks, they came to the end of the alley to an out-of-the-way apothecary. Malfoy waited outside while Ron went in, paying more for a flask of Polyjuice Potion than he would have liked, but he hadn't any time to brew it on his own.

They skulked back to the basement, where Malfoy took the potion. Ron shuddered as he watched Malfoy down it, remember the awful taste it'd had when he'd taken it during his second year. In a matter of moments, Malfoy no longer looked like Malfoy. Rather, he looked like an elderly witch with a hunched back, and Ron sporfled.

"Shut up," Malfoy said, thwapping Ron up the side of his head with the flask. "We've not got much time, so let's not waste it."

Soon enough they were at St Mungo's, where Ron found it was quite easy to smuggle Malfoy in to see Harry. Dedalus Diggle was on guard again, and Ron was bloody relieved when he said Hermione had stepped out to have a cuppa on the fifth floor. After introducing Malfoy as his great-aunt Tessie, whom was terribly concerned about her nephew's best friend, they found themselves all alone with Harry's prone form.

Malfoy didn't say a damned thing the entire time they were at St Mungo's. He leant in close to Harry, walked around the perimeter of the bed, and leant in close to Harry on the opposite side, eyes flickering up and down Harry's frame. All he did was nod to himself and tilt his head, as though he were searching through his memory for scraps of information. After a few minutes of this, Ron started to get nervous; Hermione was probably due back from the tea shop any moment.

"C'mon, before it's too late," he muttered. Malfoy didn't even put up a fuss when Ron led him by the elbow out the ward.

**********

They returned to the manor just in time; Malfoy had no sooner shut the door to his room when the Polyjuice wore off.

Shrugging off his robe, Ron flopped onto the foot of the bed, stretching his legs out front.

"The Healers can't help him," Malfoy said as calm as you please, hanging his robes up in the wardrobe.

Ron sat up. "Malfoy?"

"You said they don't know about the Horcruxes or the connections between Potter and Voldemort's wands."

"Right."

"Horcruxes are Dark Magic to begin with, and with the twin wands, it doesn't look good."

"Malfoy," Ron said impatiently, rising. "Out with it already, okay? If you know something, then just say it. That's my best mate laying in that ward and if you're holding out on–"

"Potter's still connected to Voldemort, that's what I know." Malfoy held his gaze for a moment before looking away.

Ron boggled. "How can that be possible? Voldemort's fucking dead, mate. I saw it myself. I got some of him on me." Picking tiny pieces of Dark Lord off his skin was not a moment Ron cared to remember, but it was also one he could not seem to forget.

"Doesn't matter if Voldemort's dead or not– Potter's connected to him, tethered to his soul."

The more Ron thought about it, the less ridiculous it began to sound and the more he became worried. "So," he said slowly, "what will that mean for Harry if he's got ties to Voldemort still?"

"You see him, Weasley. He's deteriorating, isn't he?"

"Yeah."

"He's got nowhere to go – he can't move toward life or death."

Ron did not like where this was going. "So what's happening to him, do you reckon?

"If Potter is tied to a dead soul, what does that say about his own soul?" Malfoy looked at him expectantly, though the usual superior air was nowhere to be found.

"His soul's leaving his body." Ron blanched. "Isn't it?"

Malfoy inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring slightly. He nodded. "Yes. He won't die, though, because his body is still functioning."

"Bloody hell," Ron breathed. "So if he wakes up, it'll be like a fucking Dementor got him."

"So the savior of the wizarding world sacrificed himself for the Greater Good, and the Ministry will still have their fucking poster boy, only he can't contradict them anymore," Malfoy said solemnly.

Ron felt fucking ill.

**********

"Ron!"

For a second Ron thought he could pretend he hadn't heard Hermione, just put a bit of speed on and disappear down round the corridor's bend.

That had only been for a second, and then logic took over.

He paused, waited a moment, got rid of what was undoubtedly a guilty expression on his face, and pivoted round to see her, a slight, surprised smile firmly in place.

"Hermione! Hullo." Please don't ask what I've been doing down here. He was a crap liar; Hermione would see right through him; he'd have to blow Malfoy's cover; and it would be a horrendous bloody mess.

"I waited for you, but you never showed up to sit with Harry. Caecelia Dearborn came in and sat with me a bit when she and Moody came to relieve Diggle, but I was been expecting you."

Oh, bollocks. Think, Weasley, think.

"That. Right...." Faltering, Ron shifted his weight from foot to foot, and then genius struck: he put on a coughing fit. "I'm having a time of it today. Sorry, I should've sent a message with Pig."

Hermione's face scrunched up and she tilted her head, looking at him with concern. "That's all right," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Have you taken anything?"

Ron nodded emphatically. "Yeah, some Pepper-Up," he said, the lie rolling easily off his tongue.

"Good." She gave him a pat on the arm, then moved to go around him, but obviously changed her mind and stopped.

Ron looked at her expectantly. "Something bothering you? Do you need help with any of the S.P.E.W.S. paperwork?"
"No, I've that under control, but thank you – though I may ask you to help with badges and things later on, if you don't mind?"

Doing his best to keep a straight face and not sputter/howl with laughter at the memory of the badges she'd made for S.P.E.W. back in Hogwarts, Ron shook his head. Actually, he minded. He minded a lot, but it was for Hermione, so he'd do it. Simple as that.

"Brilliant, thank you, Ron," Hermione beamed. Her head inclined the other way and she hesitated for a moment before saying, "You haven't been in my room recently, have you?"

That was definitely a random question. Puzzled, Ron made an "uh-uh" sound.

"I didn't think so," Hermione said slowly, "but it's the oddest thing."

"What's so odd about what?"

"Furniture's been moved. Not much, from what I can see but, for example, there are two more inches between the headboard and the wall than there were yesterday. A vase is facing the wrong direction on the writing desk – I'd a specific part of the pattern facing me and now it's different."

"Have you asked Bill or Remus if they were in there looking for something?" Ron asked, a niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach. Before Hermione even moved to shake her head, Ron was confident the answer would be 'no'.

"I've even asked Dobby," Hermione said with a frown. "No one's been in there but me."

"Huh," Ron said lamely, and then shrugged. "I dunno, Hermione. You've been keeping horrid hours lately. You do realise how many hours you spend at St Mungo's with Harry and how hard you work on your S.P.E.W.S. project when you come back here, yeah?"

"I do," she admitted slowly.

"So it's possible you're remembering things incorrectly." Punctuating the suggestion with a small smile, Ron reached over to pat her hand. He felt a bit like a prick for doing it because he was fairly positive he knew what was going on with Hermione's things, but he would keep his suspicions to himself. To help Harry.

Right.

"It's possible." Rolling her eyes, Hermione laughed at herself. "I'm being ridiculous, aren't I?"

"Nah. Not at all." Ron grinned a bit when Hermione turned her hand over to catch his. "Want to go bother Dobby and have a cuppa? I'll even make the tea — for us and Dobby. What d'you say?"

She brightened at that, and Ron felt some of the guilt that had been building dissipate. "That sounds lovely."

**********

Breakfast turned out to be quite the tense affair once Ron told Bill, Remus, and Hermione about Harry's condition. Once Ron finished explaining everything, three pairs of eyes stared at him over the rims of steaming cuppas.

It was absolutely silent, so silent that it was rapidly becoming unbearable. Clearing his throat, Ron pushed his porridge around his bowl with the side of his spoon.

"How can you possibly know that?" Hermione asked finally.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Ron challenged. He absolutely could not give Malfoy up. He could not. He would not. Somehow, someway he had to get them all to believe him.

"It isn't that we don't believe you, Ron. It's just that– how the hell do you know that? You said the Healers don't know anything about it, so how can you?" Bill set his cuppa down, his mouth scrunching to one side. Ron could practically see the wheels in his head begin to spin, trying to make sense of it all.

There wasn't any way he could explain things without implicating Malfoy. And since he refused to give Malfoy up, he'd have to try another tactic. "Just...just trust me on this, okay? I wouldn't be making this up, not when it's about Harry."

Remus, who had straightened in his chair as though he were about to counter Ron, grew silent. Then he nodded. "What you're saying does make a great deal of sense."

Hermione and Bill's chairs scraped against the floor as they both turned to stare at him. Ron gnawed on the inside of his cheek, waiting impatiently for someone else to bloody speak.

"Sense or not, we're not Healers. Sure, we know basic Healing magic, but Harry's not got a 'basic' sort of problem," Bill said.

"Since when did you become such an expert on the Dark Arts, Ron?" Hermione said, her eyes slightly bugged out in that 'I'm not quite sure I believe you' air she got with Ron from time to time.

"I never said I was an expert! God!" Ron grumbled.

"Clearly you must be if you worked all that about Harry out on your own," she said pointedly.

Merlin in a ruddy Christmas cracker, she was seriously testing his patience.

"Look, this is about Harry, not me and what I do and do not know about Dark Arts. What I do know is this: Harry's soul is pulling away, so that means he's in bloody trouble. I also know -- and you would too if you'd seen the damned article that ran in the Prophet the other day -- the Ministry pretty much wants Harry to stay a sodding vegetable. They're upholding him as some sort of savior, a symbol for the fucking future. You know as well as I that Harry wants nothing to do with Scrimgeour!" Ron pounded his fist on the table and the china rattled. If they would focus on what was important instead of the messy background information, they'd see how dire Harry's situation was.

"I saw the article." Hermione's brow furrowed together and her mouth set in a line so thin it nearly disappeared. "It would be in the Ministry's advantage for Harry to stay like he is...."

"Which would explain why the Healers have made no fucking progress with his case," Ron added. "Yeah, we've not told them about the Horcruxes or the thing about Harry and Voldemort's wands 'cos we've to keep it quiet for now, but if I--" He winced a moment, guilt flaring at taking credit for something Malfoy'd done. "-- can figure it out, surely Healers who've seen all sorts of strange shite should've been able to see it too."

"I wouldn't put it past our dear Minister Scrimgeour--" Remus' lips twisted wryly as he continued. "--to have ordered St Mungo's staff to ease off of finding a cure for Harry's malady."

"We need to get Harry out of there, if that's the case. And now." Bill pushed back his chair, then flipped the top on his wristwatch. Pressing his finger to the glass plate, he moved it around in a circle slowly, presumably tracking a few of the hands. He abruptly snapped it shut, looking from Ron to Hermione to Remus. "Moody'll be on patrol there in a quarter hour. That'd be the best time to get Harry out."

"The Healers can't do anything for him there, obviously, so it's up to us to help him break away from Voldemort's soul," Hermione agreed, rising to her feet as well.

Remus and Ron followed suit, and Ron felt an immense wave of relief wash over him. Not only did they believe what he'd told them, but he didn't have to rat out Malfoy and they were going to get Harry and work on helping him right then and there.

"Yes, it would be best if we remove Harry ourselves. Checking him out of St Mungo's legally will arouse suspicion from the press; so it would be to our advantage if people believed him to be missing," Remus mused aloud. Ron got the distinct feeling that by 'people', Remus actually meant 'Death Eaters'.

"Moody'll make diversions. That bint at reception's a horrid snoop," Ron commented, and the rest of them nodded in agreement. And then it occurred to him that they ought to get a start on researching how to cut the connection between Harry and Voldemort as soon as possible. "One of us ought to stay here and make some headway researching things, yeah?"

"I could–" Hermione started, but Ron cut her off.

"I was thinking I could do it? There're a few books in the library I'm keen on as it is, and they," Ron gestured toward the other two, "could use your quick thinking if you happen to get in a bind."

It took but a moment for Hermione to consider that, and Ron mentally patted himself on the back for pointing out Hermione's assets in high-stakes situations.

"Send an owl ahead to Moody, will you?" Bill asked as Remus began ushering them all out of the dining hall.

"I'm on it." As Bill, Remus, and Hermione headed to the Floo in the parlor, Ron made a beeline to his room, where Pig's cage awaited.

**********

"What exactly are we looking for?"

"I dunno," Ron said with a shrug. Then: "It's your fucking library; show me where the Dark Arts books are."

"It's not my library anymore," Malfoy said pointedly. "As it comes with the manor, and you have taken great joy in pointing out that the manor is no longer part of my family, it would seem that the library would no longer be mine as well."

Cranky arse. Ron should have left him in his damned 'hole' rather than bring him out to be useful while Remus, Bill, and Hermione were committing a little kidnapping at St Mungo's.

"Fine. It's not your fucking library. But you do know it, so show me where some useful books might be," Ron said with an exceeding amount of patience.

"I'm quite sure the Ministry confiscated any books they deemed 'dangerous'." Malfoy began to walk along the long wall of books, his head tilting back. The higher the shelves, the less books there were. Ron scowled; fucking Ministry. How dangerous could bloody books be?

Riddle's diary nearly killed Gin and it was a ruddy Horcrux.

Okay, so books could be a bit dangerous.

"Here," Malfoy said finally, pointing to a shelf halfway up the wall. "Let's start there."

There wasn't a ladder in sight so, shrugging, Ron brandished his wand, Levitating a stack of books down from the shelf Malfoy indicated. Guiding them to a long table near a stained glass window, they bumped against one another before coming to rest on the table with a soft thump. Rolling up his shirt sleeves, Ron tucked into a chair, opening up the book nearest him. Malfoy meandered over to where Ron was sitting and drummed his fingers on the table.

"So what shall we look for, exactly? Besides Horcruxes?" Ron asked, finger skimming over the table of contents.

"Hmmm," Malfoy murmured, taking a book off the top of the stack and sliding into the chair across from Ron. "Life bonds? Soul bonds? Particularly accidental, in either case."

"Right," Ron said quickly, as though he'd been the one to think of it and not Malfoy. "Of course."

Malfoy made one of those annoying tongue clucking sounds and flipped open his book.

Ron was in the middle of his third book when the conversation he'd had with Hermione the night before came to mind. Dog-earing the page he was currently looking at, Ron closed the book, folding his arms on the table, stared at Malfoy, and waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Stop your staring, Weasel." Wetting the pad of his thumb, Malfoy flipped to the next page in his book, not bothering to look up.

"What were you doing going through Hermione's things?"

That did it; Malfoy closed the book and lifted his gaze, an expression of polite bewilderment etched upon his pointy, pale features. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said evenly.

Oh, but he did. Malfoy knew perfectly well. If he thought he was fooling Ron, he was only deluding himself. "When I caught you outside near the mausoleum, you said you were looking for something. So you thought the something might be in Hermione's room?"

The only indication Malfoy gave that he was listening was the flaring of his nostrils.

A bit smug at that, Ron continued, "Something of your mum's? I know that room was hers; Dobby told me."

"Piss off," Malfoy snapped, the hold he'd had on his emotions now gone.

"No. Tell me what you're looking for." Pushing his book away, Ron stood up, then leant across the table to get right in Malfoy's face. "I'm fucking serious, Malfoy. Tell me."

"I was fucking serious when I told you to piss off," Malfoy said with a glower. He shoved his chair back so quickly that it nearly topped over. "I'm through with helping you and Potty," he sneered as he attempted to side-step Ron when he moved to block Malfoy's exit.

"You're not through until I say you are," Ron shouted, incensed at Malfoy's utter nerve. How could he be semi-bearable one minute and an absolute stonkingly annoying fucker the next?

"You're not the boss of me, Weasel," Malfoy sneered.

"Of course I'm not – you're still too hung up on Lucius and ruddy Voldemort," Ron shot back. He knew it was dirty, knew it was untrue, but it would hurt Malfoy so he didn't give a sodding lick about it.

Malfoy's skin, usually so pale one could see some of the larger veins beneath it, mottled red. "Bloody– bastard–" he choked, and then all of a sudden Ron's arse was pressed against the table and Malfoy's hands were all over him, poking and tugging and rubbing.

And then Ron wanted very much to poke and tug and rub back, so he did.

Malfoy moaned.

Then Ron moaned.

And then Ron stopped fighting because Malfoy was looking at him with flushed skin and narrowed, predatory eyes. Strangely dizzy from getting caught up in Malfoy's eyes, Ron blinked, and then Malfoy's face was pressed against his chest. Ron sucked in a larger breath and then nearly choked to death because Malfoy's tongue darted out to lap at the moisture that had collected in the hollow of his throat. Malfoy's tongue was warm and wet and smooth, and it felt really fucking good as it slid down as far as it could go until Ron's collar got in the way. Malfoy grunted, and Ron shoved a hand in between them to grab hold of his shirttails, hiking it up to the centre of his chest. There was a brief moment in which Ron thought he just fucked everything up; Malfoy froze, staring back at him.

When Ron looked away and began to lower the shirt again, Malfoy sprung into action. His mouth latched onto one of Ron's nipples, tongue swirling along the edges, teeth tugging on the hard tip. Ron's head fell back and he began to gurlgle as Malfoy's hand came up to pay attention to the other nipple, pinching and then rubbing over it to smooth out the pain.

Ron's arms flailed a bit until his hands made their way into Malfoy's white-blond hair, twisting and clutching and just holding on. Malfoy sank lower and lower, and God but Ron wanted to feel the prat everywhere. Adrenaline raced through his veins, his heart pounded madly in his chest, and he wasn't gentle about it at all as he pushed down firmly atop Malfoy's crown. Malfoy jerked his head back, eyes looking up to Ron.

Do it, Ron willed, staring back at him, breath coming out in short, quick pants. Just fucking do it.

Malfoy's knees hit the floor, and Ron's heart nearly imploded in his chest as he looked at the picture before him. Malfoy – snotty Slytherin Draco Malfoy – was on the floor on his fucking knees in front of Ron Weasley, and he looked as far gone as Ron felt.

Malfoy reached up, pressing the heel of his palm against the front of Ron's trousers. Ron's cock curved out to greet it, pressing against it, separated only by fabric and a matter of time.

Do it.

In a matter of moments Ron's fly was undone and trousers and shorts pooling somewhere in the vicinity of his knees, Malfoy's breath ghosting over his thighs and across the head of his cock. Ron whimpered, hips straining forward. He felt sick in the pit of his stomach, sick from anxiousness and want and excitement, and he nearly went dizzy when Malfoy licked the palm of his own hand.

This was really going to happen. Malfoy was really going to touch him, and they were really going to do this.

"Fuck yeah," Ron breathed as Malfoy's thumb ran over his foreskin. Then when Malfoy replaced his thumb with his tongue, Ron lurched forward, hands scrabbling to hold onto the side of Malfoy's face. He moaned as Malfoy used his whole hand to stroke the length of Ron's cock, nails scraping along the underside. His hips canted forward and he bit his lip hard, Malfoy's mouth sucking the tip of his cock in his mouth. Malfoy alternated the pressure, then pulled back, held a beat, then moved forward again, sliding his mouth all along the line of Ron's shaft.

"Ohmygohhhhhhhhhhh," Ron groaned, hands moving up to tangle in Malfoy's hair again. Malfoy then did something with his hands to the spot between his cock and his balls and Ron's mouth opened and shut soundlessly. If he were one of those Muggle eklectrical things his dad used to tinker about with, he would have circuited his shorts right then and there. Ron's head tipped to one side and every muscle in his face seemed to spasm; he couldn't lift up his fucking head or close his mouth. In fact, all he seemed to be able to do was thrust himself further and further into Malfoy's mouth. All in all, as long as he could still fuck Malfoy's mouth, Ron was good to go.

Malfoy began to alternate using his mouth and his hands, pumping him a few times before taking Ron fully in his mouth, his lips covering his teeth as he moved down wetly and rapidly. Ron moved to meet him, grunting with abandon as he felt himself slip to the back of Malfoy's throat. He had to screw his eyes shut when he felt Malfoy's fingers behind his balls, moving back to press teasingly against his entrance and then–

"–to the suite just down from mine...."

Oh fuck. They're back.

Malfoy froze and Ron had to cram a fist in his mouth to muffle his cries as he came, pulsing in Malfoy's mouth. As Hermione's voice began to sound closer and closer, Bill and Remus's chiming in here and there, Malfoy sucked Ron's semen down as Ron's other hand began to slip out of Malfoy's hair and run across his jaw, his cheek. And then it was all over Fucking spent but unable to collapse like he wanted lest they get found out, he shoved Malfoy off. They hurriedly rearranged their clothing as Ron shooed him out of the library's rear exit. Just as he began to close the door, Ron saw Hermione standing across the room, obviously scanning it for him. Shutting it as quickly and quietly as possible, he rushed after Malfoy, ushering him down the corridor.

Once Malfoy had disappeared to the manor's lower level, Ron ducked in the nearest loo and slumped against the wall.

That had been too close.

**********

They never talked about what happened in the library. They never talked about what happened in the bath, either.

Ron was fine with not talking about it because not talking about it meant they could both pretend it didn't happen.

There was a perfectly good reason as to why Malfoy and he had done the things they had. Malfoy's only human contact was with Ron, so clearly Malfoy was desperate for closeness. That would explain why he rubbed himself off on Ron and why he sucked Ron off. Right. Malfoy was definitely needy and since Ron was the only person he had, Malfoy latched on and pinned different labels on him: Healer. Cook. Launderer. Companion. Lover.

Lover?

Fucking hell, no. Strike that. What about Warm Body?

No, I'm not about to let myself be fucking used.

If you weren't being used, then you did all that shite willingly.

Ron promptly began to ignore the voices in his head. What did he know anyway? What happened between Malfoy and him wasn't a big deal. At all. Much.

Scowling, Ron shoved all those unpleasant thoughts aside, taking a peek in Harry's room. Harry had been in the manor for a few days, and everyone agreed that they'd done the right thing by sneaking Harry out of St Mungo's. He was so skinny now that circles protruded under his eyes. His skin had a yellowish cast to it, and every few moments his entire frame would jerk. The faster they found a way to sever the connection between Harry and Voldemort's dead soul, the better.

"Soon, mate," Ron whispered as he closed the door. Soon.

**********

The day the Prophet finally ran a front-page headline screaming about Harry's disappearance from St Mungo's (everyone agreed the Ministry must have paid the Prophet off to keep the whole thing secret for as long as possible), Hermione found a passage in a very old, very musty tome that had been tucked away on one of the highest shelves in the manor's library that made her shriek.

"I've found something!" she cried, standing up so quickly that her chair wobbled.

"What?" Ron asked eagerly.

Bill closed the book he was looking at, and both Weasleys turned to stare at Hermione expectantly.

Marking her book, she tucked it under her arm. "Let's go to Harry's room. Remus will want to hear this as well."

So the three of them left the library, filing into Harry's room. Remus, who had been reading a bit of Quidditch Through the Ages to Harry, lowered the book to his lap. "Have you found anything?" he asked slowly, as though he almost hated to ask in case the answer might be unfavorable.

"Yes," Hermione said breathlessly, opening the book to her marked page.

"Well?" Ron asked impatiently. "Out with it!"

"According to something I read yesterday, brother wands have been known to create problems for any wizards who happen to engage in dueling. In 1503, two men in Godwick who had brother wands, unicorn hair from the same stallion, dueled and there were strange results. One man cast a charm to remove the other's head – as though Apparating it elsewhere, I suppose, as surely–"

"Hermione," Ron cut in, "does this or does this not have a point?"

He was rewarded with a glare. "Yes, of course it does. As I was saying, the man's head ended up sprouting out of the shoulder of the other." Everyone in the room shuddered, and Hermione continued. "When brother wands are used against each other, magic can often backfire disastrously, as it did in 1503 in Godwick. And in here–" She gestured to the book in her hand. "– I've come across soul bonding. Soul bonding is very complicated magic, and it's something that very few people do because of the risks. If one of the persons whom had performed the Soul Bond Ritual passes away, the other typically commits suicide within days, as their own soul begins to leave their body the moment the bonded soul has left that of the other."

Ron frowned, trying to digest this information.
"So why do it in the first place?" Bill mused.

"When you love someone, you love them completely, mind, body, and soul. What better way to have a connection with each piece of them than to do that?" Remus countered, a brief, sad smile flickering across his face.

Bill nodded solemnly, and Ron couldn't look at either of them without thinking of Tonks and Fleur and all the other people they'd all lost, so he stared hard at the scar on Harry's head.

"But Harry and Voldemort didn't Soul Bond, so what gives?"

"No, they didn't Soul Bond, not willingly, anyway," Hermione said, and Ron turned round to look at her.

"The brother wands must have played a part in this," Remus said thoughtfully.

"So how do we fix it?" Bill asked, and Ron echoed his question.

"Yeah, how do we fix it? We don't want Harry to die and we don't want him to wake up like he'd got the Dementor's Kiss, so what can we do?" Ron said, moving to stand beside Hermione, glancing down at the book.

"There's something called a Severance Solution – a potion I've certainly never heard of before," Hermione said with a frown. "It says here it's only been used once or twice – the potion must be poured over the bones of the owner of the dead soul. Apparently the potion liquidates the bones, destroying the earthly ties the soul has, thereby freeing the soul that's attached to it. I suppose it hasn't been used all that much because it would be quite traumatic to lose your loved one and desecrate the body they'd left behind."

Ron's mouth scrunched up. "The whole thing's fucking mental."

"I suppose it would be romantic if there wasn't the risk you could turn into a soulless body or have to choose between killing yourself or destroying the only thing you'd left of your lover," Hermione said briskly, closing the book and placing it under her arm again.

"But there isn't anything left of Voldemort," Ron protested. "Not physically, anyway. So we're bloody screwed."

"There may be nothing left of Voldemort, per se, but there are the graves of his parents to consider," Remus commented, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We know where they're buried; their bones would would fulfill the requirements of the Severance Solution -- they hold the genetics that made up and had been passed along to Voldemort."

Bill let out a whoop, clapping Remus on the back. Remus chuckled, returning the favour, and Ron's gaze swung from one to the other. He wasn't even jealous. Ron had no claim on Remus, nor did he want anything of Remus beyond friendship. If what he suspected was going on might even be the slightest bit true, he would be happy for them.

"Well," Ron said slowly, one corner of his mouth hitching up, "I reckon we ought to get busy locating bones and finding out how to make this Severance Solution, eh?"

**********

Later that evening, Ron delivered Malfoy's dinner. As he'd taken to doing, Ron sat with him, taking a cuppa. Malfoy didn't complain much about Ron's cooking anymore, though he did more talking than eating. That night's topic of conversation was Hermione's discovery.

"– yeah," Ron nodded, running a finger around the rim of his mug. "And the worst part is, this potion? None of us have heard about it before, and so far none of the books in the library are any help."

Malfoy set down his fork and pushed his plate away. "What's the name of the potion?" he asked, a queer expression on his face.

"Some sort of Solution," Ron said, watching curiously as Malfoy rose from his seat. "Severance? Yeah, that's it."

"Severance Solution," Malfoy muttered to himself. "Severance Solution." And then he looked over at Ron. "That sounds familiar."

"It does?" Ron asked slowly, hardly daring to hope that Malfoy might be onto something.

"It does," Malfoy said firmly, and then he rifled through the contents of his desk for a minute before producing several scrolls of parchment.

"What're those?" Setting his cuppa down, Ron crossed over to Malfoy, peering down at the lot.

"These," Malfoy said, "are Snape's. He gave them to me."

"He gave them to you? When?"

Malfoy waved a hand impatiently. "Before he left the country, but that isn't important." He thrust a few scrolls at Ron. "You look through these and I'll go through these. I know I've seen that potion in here somewhere."

Heart tattooing wildly in his chest, Ron unfastened the ribbons holding the scrolls shut and opened them. Smoothing them out, his eyes flew across the sheets. Snape's handwriting was small and cramped; nearly every bit of the parchment was black with ink. Beside him, Malfoy made soft noises, muttering to himself every so often before tossing the scroll on the floor and moving to the next one.
Beginning to get discouraged, Ron set aside the scrolls he'd already inspected. There were two left on his pile, and he pulled the one that had been on the bottom out, skimming. The words were beginning to swim before his eyes; he had to squint to read most of Snape's bloody minute writing.

And then he saw it – Severance Solution.

"Oh," Ron breathed. "OH. Malfoy, look!"

In his excitement, Ron jostled Malfoy's elbow, causing him to drop the scroll he'd been looking at. "What, Weasley?" Malfoy asked exasperatedly, stooping to retrieve his scroll.

"Here it is!" Shoving the parchment under Malfoy's nose, Ron grinned broadly. "Right there! See?"

"I see," Malfoy frowned, scanning the parchment. "Some of these ingredients will be particularly hard to come by."

Ron didn't give a toss about that; what mattered was that they'd found the recipe. Thanks to Malfoy, they found it, and Ron couldn't take the credit for this, nor could he hide Malfoy's presence anymore. It if weren't for Malfoy (and Snape's notes), Harry would be doomed. Besides, there would be no way he could explain to the others how he just happened to have acquired notes bearing Snape's handwriting.

He had to tell them, and now.

**********

It took a few minutes to round Remus, Bill, and Hermione up. They met in the library, seated around the table near the stained glass window.

"What is it, Ronnie?" Bill asked around a yawn. He'd been having a lie-in when Ron had found him, and he wasn't entirely awake yet.

Remus and Hermione merely looked over at Ron, watchful.

This is it, Ron thought worriedly. It's now or never.

Twisting round toward the rear door, Ron called, "Come on, then!"

As the door began to creak open, the others at the table began to murmur.

When the door fully opened, revealing Draco Malfoy, the murmuring stopped.

The room became deadly silent.
Unable to take the oppressive silence, Ron blurted lamely, "Malfoy isn't really dead."

And then everyone at the table began to talk at once. Ron could barely make sense of what anyone was saying as they were talking over one another.

Malfoy stood in the doorway, watching them all with a look of annoyance on his features. Ron met his eyes, shaking his head helplessly.

"Thank you for the warm welcome," Malfoy said sardonically, moving inside.

"How are you–" Hermione started, and Malfoy cut her off.

"I'm afraid that is a story for another time, Granger."

Running a hand over the scars on his face, the ones he got from Fenrir Greyback, Bill stood up, his hands then clenching into fists. "What is this fucking plonker doing here?"

Remus rose to his feet, holding a hand up, pressing it against Bill's chest as though to both calm him and urge him to step back. "There is an explanation for this," he told Bill before turning to look from Malfoy to Ron. "Isn't there?"

"Yeah," Ron said, looking at Malfoy imploringly. "There is."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but he did produce the scroll from the inner pocket of his robe. Holding it up, he said, "This belonged to Professor Snape. I've more scrolls in my room, and–"

"You've been staying here, in the manor?" Hermione interrupted, gaze swinging from Malfoy to Ron.

Ron averted his eyes. "Yeah, for a while. I couldn't tell you because of the fucking Ministry crap and–"

"I see," Hermione said quietly. A beat, and she lifted her chin defiantly, eyes boring into Malfoy.

Ron winced; he knew she'd be hurt by his keeping secrets. They were likely all cross with him, but he couldn't have told them! Not until it was absolutely necessary, like now.

"Weasley found me outside behind the mausoleum. I was injured, so he took me in, gave me a fucking nasty potion, et cetera, et cetera," Draco said impatiently, moving quickly on to the point. "Snape gave me these notes. He thought they might come in handy. Being on the run is crap, so he wanted me to be prepared."

"Then where the hell is he?" Bill broke in.

"In the States. He'll be back eventually."
"Why aren't you with Professor Snape, Draco?" Remus inquired. "Why would you remain behind in Britain when there is so much at stake and no reasons to risk being discovered by your enemies?"

Draco gave him a pointed look. "Snape told me to come here. Mother's Pensieve is here and I was to bring it back."

"So you're the one who's been going through my things," Hermione gasped, looking scandalised.

"They aren't your things, Granger. They belonged to my mother," Malfoy sneered.

Ron coughed loudly, attempting to stamp out that particular row before it could get properly started.

"What does Snape want with Narcissa Malfoy's Pensieve?" Bill looked as confused as Ron felt.

Malfoy ignored the question, waving the parchment around. "Can we focus, please? Do you not even care what is on this bit of parchment?" He waited until everyone was quiet before carrying on. "I've the instructions for your Severance Solution right here," he said smugly.

"From Snape," Hermione said.

"Yes, Granger, from Snape. Just like I've said," Malfoy snapped.

"And why should we trust you, exactly?"

"Hermione." Ron cared for Hermione deeply, but sometimes he wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake some bloody sense into her. "Malfoy's the one who figured out what was wrong with Harry in the fucking first place!"

Her eyes rounded at the revelation. She sputtered a bit before retorting, "He has Snape's notes, remember? I didn't trust the Half-Blood Prince's book and I don't trust him!" Stabbing a finger in Malfoy's general direction, she railed, "They barely did a thing to help us during the war, and don't you dare bring up Hufflepuff's cup. Their 'assistance' with that was more accidental than anything, and I–"

"Did you or did you not just hear me say that Malfoy's the one who figured out about Harry being tied to Voldemort's soul?" Ron snapped.

Beside them, he was vaguely aware of Remus eyeing them with a great deal of scrutiny, Malfoy's feigned disinterest in the goings-on, and of Bill slipping out of the library altogether.

"Well, yes, but I–"

"But nothing, then! Just fucking trust him!" Ron bellowed. Malfoy had helped Harry. Malfoy wanted to help Harry. Sure, he had selfish reasons for doing so, but what mattered was that without Malfoy's help they wouldn't have even known what was wrong with Harry. That was the reason Ron was defending Malfoy. The only reason. Right.

"How did Malfoy know what was wrong with Harry, hmm?" Hermione asked, glaring at him.

"I am standing right here," Malfoy commented wryly, "but please, feel free to talk about me."

Letting out a tut, Hermione rounded on him. "How did you know what was wrong with Harry?"

"Weasley told me about the brother wands and how the Healers hadn't any clue of Horcruxes or their wands, so I asked to see him for myself. Really, it wasn't very difficult to discern what was the matter," Malfoy said smugly.

"You took him to St Mungos?!" Hermione looked as though she couldn't decide between hexing or outright murdering Ron.

"Well," Ron started slowly, "I–"

"OI!"

Everyone stopped, turning round to look at Bill, who was standing in the main doorway of the library.

"It's Harry. He's worse," Bill said grimly.

"Worse?" Ron asked hoarsely. "How?"

Bill shook his head. "Just trust me on this, Ron. Worse. I don't think we've much time," he said gravely.
The tempers in the room deflated instantly.

Remus held out his hand. "Draco, if I may see the instructions, please. We need to begin brewing immediately."

**********

Brewing immediately, as it turned out, was not feasible.

Some of the required ingredients (like Acromantula venom, a strand of Golden Fleece, Mooncalf Dung, Sphinx whiskers) were, as Draco had predicted they would be, hard to come by. It took a number of days (and more owls to Mundungus Fletcher than they would have liked) for them to acquire everything they needed.

Between the five of them, they drew sticks to see who would remain behind to brew the potion and who would go off to Little Hangleton to retrieve the bones of Voldemort's parents.

Remus and Hermione drew the smallest of the lot. The following morning, they set out to Little Hangleton while Ron, Bill, and Malfoy started on the Severance Solution down in one of the lower level's empty rooms.

Malfoy painstakingly chopped, ground, and turned various bits of roots and leaves and pollens and animal bits into powder while Ron kept the temperature steady. Bill measured and stirred, and the three of them held their breath each time a new ingredient was tipped into the cauldron. The contents of the cauldron bubbled, the liquid turning grey, then pink, and finally a brown colour that reminded Ron of chocolate frogs. The potion certainly didn't smell like chocolate frogs, however; it smelled absolutely vile. Wrinkling his nose, Ron watched as the steam rose in figure eights.

He craned his neck toward Malfoy. "Is that what it's supposed to look like?"

"I believe so, yes."

Bill smoothed the parchment beside him, double-checking. "Figure eights, yeah. Has it got a glossy sheen yet?"

Malfoy leant over the cauldron, tilting his head to one side. "Mmm, yes. It has."

Ron grinned. "Brilliant."

A gigantic wave of relief washed over him. Before the day was out, Harry would have his connection to Voldemort severed forever and he'd wake up as good as bloody new. Harry'd been incapacitated for so long now and there was so much to tell him about, though Ron would save that until Harry regained off his strength and was ready to get out and about. He'd have to take a look at Harry's broom as well as his own; they'd been sorely neglected for months, and Ron was sure Harry would be anxious to get up in the air and feel the wind on his face.

The wave immediately ebbed as Hermione and Remus appeared empty-handed.

"Have you left the bones upstairs?" Ron asked uncertainly.

Hermione shook her head as Remus opened his hand, revealing a scrap of parchment.

"What's that?" Nudging Malfoy with his elbow, Bill passed the ladle over and stood. Malfoy kept up the stirring with a steady hand as Bill and Ron read over the large, messy joined-up writing:

Potter,

Won't you come out to play?
Hide and seek is ever so much fun, though I can do nothing more than spin about without a playmate.

Come out, come out, Little Harry, and end my loneliness.

I haven't heard the baby cry in ages. My ears crave the music.

"What the fuck is that?" Ron asked flatly.

"Draco," Remus said evenly, "please read this."

Bill traded places with Malfoy.

Malfoy read over the message a few times before looking up at Remus and Hermione. "Where did you find this?"

"Inside Tom Marvolo Riddle, Senior's tomb. It was empty, save for that. Merope Gaunt's tomb had nothing but cobwebs and dirt inside," Hermione explained.

"You know who wrote this note," Remus stated.

Malfoy nodded. "My aunt. Bellatrix."

"Where can we find her?" Hermione asked, tucking the note in a robe pocket.

"You've read the note, Granger. Has she left an address?"

Hermione glared at him and Ron inwardly groaned. Why the hell did Malfoy have to make everything so sodding difficult?

"If you know how to find her, Malfoy, you ought to take us there. Harry's life depends on it!"

Malfoy's jaw clenched and he pushed past her. "You've done nothing for me, Granger. None of you have, and I've done tonnes for you and your precious Potter. I'm through."

And then he was gone, leaving the rest of them to stare at each other helplessly.

"What an arrogant, selfish, bastard," Bill growled, ladle clanging loudly against the sides of the cauldron as he continued to stir.

"Shut up, Bill," Ron snapped.

Hermione and Remus goggled at him, but Ron didn't care.

Intent on finding Malfoy, Ron left as well.

**********

Malfoy didn't go very far. Ron found Malfoy in his room, as expected. A pinched, scowling face greeted his as Ron closed the door behind himself.

"Go away, Weasley."

"I don't think so, Malfoy." Honestly, did he really believe Ron would leave just because he said so?

"Fine, you can stay," Malfoy said through clenched teeth. "Just don't expect conversation. I'm done with you."

"You. Are. An. Idiot." Ron shook his fist in Malfoy's face.

Malfoy flinched but didn't bat it away. "As if you are any better," he said, though he didn't seem to get any of his ususal kicks out of insulting Ron.

"So Hermione, Remus, Bill, and I've done nothing for you, eh? Did you forget that we've kept you secret, kept you safe, and all that rot?" Ron moved from fist shaking to finger wagging, which got a response out of Malfoy.

Batting Ron's finger away, Malfoy's mouth twisted and his eyes slanted. "If you think I'm going to do whatever it is you're here to beg me to do, think again. I've done enough, haven't I? I've done a hell of a lot, in fact, and the lot of them treat me like I'm a fucking pariah! I'm through."

"I don't treat you like you're a pariah, though I'll fucking start if you don't stop acting like a twat," Ron snapped.

"You're only down here bellowing your stupid red head off because of Potter, anyway, so stop pretending otherwise," Malfoy jeered.

Having had enough, Ron took up great fistfuls of Malfoy's robes and shoved him hard. Malfoy fell back against the mattress, his head bouncing off the pillow, and Ron leant over him, glowering. "Shut up! Shut UP, Malfoy! If you'd stop being so fixated on Harry, maybe you'd see this'd be good for you to do. Help Harry, and we can use it to get your named cleared at the Ministry. They won't clear you otherwise because of the Voldemort thing, but with Harry's name tossed in the ring, they're sure to grant you pardon! I'm down here bellowing my stupid red head off because of you, you fucking twa–"

Malfoy cut him off, reaching up to yank Ron down to his level, pressing his mouth against Ron's, Malfoy's lips moving quickly, shifting, tugging, insistent. Ron's mouth opened farther and farther with each short, searing kiss until Malfoy's tongue slipped inside his mouth, sliding and flicking against Ron's tongue. Ron moaned into Malfoy's mouth, one hand carding through Malfoy's hair while the other gripped his shoulder, feeling firm muscle and bone beneath his palm. Malfoy was warm against him, so fucking warm, and Ron couldn't focus on much beyond a few basic thoughts: warm and fit and wannashagrightnow.

As they kissed, Ron sprawled out atop him, the mattress dipping beneath his added weight.

"Fuck," Ron mumbled against Malfoy's neck, thrusting his hand between them to start tugging at the buttons on Malfoy's fly.

"Soon," Malfoy panted, and Ron rolled off him momentarily so they could undress, and quickly.

"Done," Ron gasped, crawling back atop Malfoy, hovering on all fours over his pale, thin form.

"You want it bad," Malfoy smirked, shoving his hand between the two of them, slapping at Ron's cock as though testing its hardness.

"Motherfuck," Ron swore, the latter half of the curse coming out as a moan as he collapsed atop Malfoy, rubbing against his thigh wantonly. "Yeah. Yeah."

Malfoy's smirk deepened at that, and Ron was overcome with the strong desire to wipe the damned thing off his face. Scooting back, he maneuvered so he was on one side of Malfoy and then, after getting a firm grip on his hips, flipped Malfoy over roughly onto his stomach.

"What in the–"

"Shut up," Ron choked, pulling Malfoy up to his knees.

"I won't–"

Leaning over Malfoy's back, Ron's tongue darted out to trace the shell of Malfoy's ear. "Shut up or I won't fuck you, prat," he whispered, breath coming out in hot puffs. When Malfoy didn't say anything in return, Ron slowly dragged his fingernails down Malfoy's back, following their path with his lips and tongue. Reaching the dip in the small of Malfoy's back, Ron paused, laving the curve with his tongue, sweat and salt and Malfoy filling his mouth. Beneath him, the muscles in Malfoy's back spasmed.

More than a little satisfied with the reaction, Ron moved lower still, his tongue gliding along the crack in Malfoy's arse, tip pressing against his hole.

"Fuck," Malfoy gasped, his entire body jerking, and Ron leant up to press a kiss to the nape of Malfoy's neck while both hands kneaded Malfoy's arse.

"Wanna fuck you now," Ron murmured against his skin.

"Do it," Malfoy said quickly, and then the bastard started pulling himself off beneath Ron.

"Oh, I'll fucking do it," he said through gritted teeth. Spitting in the centre of one palm, Ron licked the other before wrapping his fingers around his cock. The saliva slid easily over his cock, making the skin glisten while his balls tightened with anticipation.

Malfoy kept making low, keening noises, and Ron wanted those noises to turn into his name in the worst way.

"Puttin' it in now," Ron gasped, one hand on Malfoy's arse and the other wrapped round his cock. Biting down hard on his lower lip, Ron shifted forward.

And missed.

The head of his cock smacked against Malfoy's arse.

"Fucking–" Growling, Ron canted his hips back and repositioned himself. Gonna do it. Concentrating hard, Ron snapped his hips forward, cock hitting just below the crinkle.

Malfoy groaned beneath him, and Ron let out a litany of curses as he steadied himself and pushed in again. This time it worked; the head breached Malfoy's hole, and Ron gasped as Malfoy's muscles began to clamp down around him, practically urging him to push himself in the rest of the way. So he did, and Malfoy exhaled sharply.

And then they began to move. It wasn't perfect and it took some time to find a rhythm, but none of that mattered because it felt too fucking good to be inside Malfoy, so Ron didn't give a flying fuck if they had a few technical difficulties. Malfoy rocked back against Ron's cock, grunting and gasping as he stroked himself off as well, and Ron thrust forward hard and fast, his balls slapping against Malfoy's arse on each downstroke. Every time Malfoy moaned, Ron died a little on the inside, and he wanted more. More moaning, more rocking, more clenching, more more more.

But then everything began to speed up and then, as he dug his hands into Malfoy's hips and bucked up and into Malfoy with a strangled sobmoan, Ron came. Malfoy didn't last much longer, and Ron pulled out when both of their shaking subsided.

Malfoy sank down atop the duvet, and Ron rolled off him, sprawling out on the other half of the bed.

"Fuck, Malfoy," he panted, trying to catch his breath.

Then there was silence for a long time, the only soft sounds that of their breathing.

Just as Ron was beginning to drift off to sleep, Malfoy spoke quietly.

"I know where she is. I'll tell them."

"Tomorrow, yeah?" Ron asked, snuffling his face against a pillow.

"Tomorrow. Yeah."

**********

Ron slipped out before Malfoy awoke. After a lengthy time in the bath, during which he contemplated drowning himself so he wouldn't have to figure out what the bloody fuck was really going on with Malfoy and himself (As how could he deny now that something was going on?), Ron helped Dobby set the table for breakfast.

By the time Remus, Bill, and Hermione (Malfoy mercifully not among them) entered the dining hall, Ron was nursing his second cuppa and going over some paperwork for Hermione's S.P.E.W.S., which would be opening within the next few weeks. No one said a word. The only sounds in the hall came from the scraping of chairs against the stone floor and the clinking of plates. As he shoved bacon in his mouth, Ron felt a pair of eyes or two staring at him, but he didn't give anyone the satisfaction of looking at them. He was too consumed by his thoughts, which were dominated by choruses of Bloody hells and I shagged Malfoys and I've gone completely round the ruddy twist nows.

"Spinner's End." Malfoy's voice echoed in the empty hall, and four heads swivelled in his direction.

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione asked stiffly, clearly miffed by his behavior yesterday.

"My aunt is at Spinner's End." One brow arched as his chin jutted out almost defiantly. "You wanted to know where she is, didn't you?"

"Spinner's End. Why'd she be there? That's nowhere near Little Hangleton," Bill said, popping a biscuit into his mouth.

"Snape's home is there," Remus said.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance. Snape had hated Remus. It was decidedly curious as to why Remus knew where Snape's home was, but that was a mystery to solve another time.

"How d'you figure that's where she is?" Ron asked, then turned his face away as he felt heat rising in his cheeks. Motherfucker. Must control myself. Act NATURAL.

Malfoy slowly walked along the length of the table until he stood before Ron. "Because she said so in her letter. That's how I figure. '...I can do nothing more than spin...Come out...and end my loneliness.' She was being rather forward, if you knew what to look for," Malfoy told him, grey eyes meeting blue. There wasn't any hint of...Ron didn't know what he was looking for, but whatever it was, it wasn't there. What was there was determination and pride, and Ron found himself smiling a little as he nodded at Malfoy.
"Then let's not waste any time," Bill declared, gulping down the last of his pumpkin juice. "Hermione, why don't you and Remus work out the logistics and the rest of us'll see to the supplies?

As everyone began to branch off to do their part, Ron poked about long enough so he fell in step behind Malfoy, who was walking a few paces behind Bill as they went to the pantry.

Quickening his step, Ron walked closely behind Malfoy. Leaning forward, he murmured, "Thank you," and then straightened. He slowed down so he wasn't quite so on top of Malfoy again. Malfoy glanced over his shoulder and said nothing, though Ron did not miss the way both corners of his mouth lifted, even if it was only for a bloody second.

**********

Just as Ron was shoving a sack of Darkness Powder into Bill's rucksack, Hermione stuck her head in the pantry.

"'lo, Hermione," Ron said, cramming the satchel into an inner pocket.

"Hello," she said, and then she gestured to the rucksack. "We won't be needing that today."

"Why not?" Malfoy asked, poking his head out of a box full of shirts and scarves and things that'd been woven with a Shielding Charm, leftover items from the twins' old shop.

"It's Full Moon tonight," she said and, from behind Malfoy, Bill groaned.

"Yeah, it is. Remus and I were talking about it this morning, but in all the excitement of Harry and-- we let go of it, got caught up in this," he asked, leaning against the wall.

"We'll just...go tomorrow then," Ron said automatically. "First thing. Bright and early and all that."

"Remus's delivery of Wolfsbane from Slughorn came just a few minutes ago," Hermione said. "He's taken it, but I can't believe I didn't think to mention the full moon earlier when–"

"Granger, it happens," Malfoy butted in. "We'll go tomorrow, like Weasley said."

Rather impressed, but moreso surprised, by that little display of maturity, Ron gawked at Malfoy. He vaguely recalled Malfoy being a bit of a git about Remus being a werewolf back during their Hogwarts days, so this was unexpected. And different. But definitely good.

"Remus took the Wolfsbane, but I'm going to watch over him tonight, just in case," she said, and she actually smiled at Malfoy. Ron thought he might die of shock. "Maybe you could help Ron look after Bill, Malfoy?"

Malfoy winced, then looked at Bill with a bit of horror plastered across his face. "Doesn't Wolfsbane do the trick? You'll just be curled up and harmless, right?"

"No, it doesn't work. I wasn't bitten during a full moon, remember?" Bill said tersely, scowling at Malfoy. "I don't turn into a werewolf, which I'm sure just chaps your mate Greyback's arse."

"He was never my mate," Draco said through gritted teeth.

"Right then!" Ron said loudly, trying to draw attention away from the mounting tempers. "No, Bill doesn't turn. He just goes completely mental and acts like he is," Ron added.

Bill snorted. "Thanks, little brother."

"Well, you bloody do, so piss off." To Malfoy, Ron queried, "So? In or out?"

Malfoy's mouth became very thin, so thin Ron expected it to simply disappear. "I don't really have a choice, now do I?"

Shaking his head, Bill chuckled a little, his irritation fading, and Ron smirked. "No, not really."

"Fuck me," Malfoy moaned.

Already did, one of the voices in Ron's head piped up, and Ron promptly put his face in his palm.


**********

Bill paced about the room anxiously. "Just want to get it over with," he muttered, running his hands through his hair, tugging on the ends.

Ron couldn't blame him. It always looked fucking horrendous, and undoubtedly actually experiencing it was tonnes worse than watching.

Malfoy said nothing, wedging himself in the corner opposite Bill. His skin was practically as pale as his hair, and Ron felt a bit bad about locking Malfoy in there with them.

"If you really want to leave, Malfoy I can remove the Locking Charm," Ron offered.

Malfoy scowled. "I'm fine, Weasley. If you can handle this, I surely can." To Bill, he said, "Don't even think about biting me."

"What, when you look like such a tasty morsel?" Bill asked, leering. He then threw back his head and howled, and Ron chortled, clapping in appreciation.

"Good show, Bill," Ron laughed. "That'll teach him t–"

A horrid snarling noise sounded, and Ron cut off, staring at his brother in horror. Ron hadn't realised the time was so close. None of them had.

Malfoy shrank back even farther into his corner, and Ron winced as Bill leant backwards, his back bowing in a 'c'.Bill's shoulders hunched over and his hands clenched up, as though he were trying to hold them like great ruddy paws. Ron backed up slowly as Bill flung his torso forward, his jaws snapping and his teeth gnashing wildly. Malfoy's eyes were wide with panic, and he was fidgeting so much that it could only mean trouble.

"Don't move," Ron whispered, trying his best to bloody be statue-like. He wanted to hold off as long as he could from Stunning Bill; Bill had to learn to control this at some point, and Ron was certain he saw a tiny bit of improvement each time–

But Malfoy didn't listen.

Bill's hands scratched at his face and he howled, which made Malfoy scoot a few metres along the wall toward the door. Seeing this, Bill growled and sprung into action, propelling himself toward Malfoy.

Malfoy cried out and made a beeline for the opposite wall, cutting the corner at the last moment before impact. Bill was hot on his heels, teeth clacking and raw, primal gutteral sounds spilling past his lips. When Malfoy swerved to the left, Bill didn't stop quickly enough and slammed into the wall. The force of the collision knocked him back and on his arse. He clamored to his feet and headed for Ron, who scrambled for his wand. As his fingers found and wrapped around the hilt, he saw that a panel in the wall had seemingly disappeared. Just as he yelled out the incantation for the Body Bind, he saw Malfoy disappear into the passageway.

Bill fell to the ground with a crash, and Ron fell back against the wall, bloody exhausted. He slid down it, drawing his knees up to his chest. In front of him, Bill laid still, and Ron's eyes flickered from his brother to the curious passageway. If he weren't worried that Bill might break the hex or that it might wear off, Ron would have investigated. He couldn't risk leaving Bill alone, though.

"Oi, Malfoy!" Ron called, then tilted his ear toward the passage.

Nothing.

Conjuring a glass of water, Ron gulped it down and began the long wait for the moon to give way to the sun.

**********

"Weasley," a voice hissed in his ear, and then his shoulders were being shaken from side to side.
Blinking blearily, Ron rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "Mrphmwha?"

"Wake up, you tit."

With a noise between a yawn and a snort, Ron sat up, nearly beaning his head off Malfoy's knee. "You're back," he said with surprise.
"Where else would I be?" Malfoy asked, waving at the door. "Can't reverse your Locking Charm without my wand."

"Good point," Ron admitted, glancing over at his brother. Beside him, Bill, still bound, was asleep. Flicking his wand, Ron muttered, "Finite Incantatum." Bill's body went slack and the door creaked open.

Malfoy's eyes flickered from the door to Ron to the passageway.

"What's down there, Malfoy?" Ron asked curiously.

"It leads to a room below my family's mausoleum," Malfoy said tersely, "though that isn't of any consequence right now."

"Well then what is?" Ron asked, annoyed. Bloody Malfoy, always needing to build up suspense to a big reveal.

"I've found what Snape wanted: Mother's Pensieve."

"Your mum's Pensieve is...down there?" Ron jerked his chin toward the passageway, head tilting to the side as he tried to discern why anyone would keep their Pensieve in a place like that.

Malfoy nodded.

Ron's lip curled. Confused, he asked, "What did he want with it?"

"Some time ago, before they killed Mother, Snape sent her a parcel that had with it explicit instructions as to how she was to take care of it. Can you guess what was in the parcel, Weasley?"

"A memory?" Ron said, taking a stab.

Malfoy's lips twisted wryly. "Very good. It was one of Snape's memories, one he entrusted to my mother. She was to place this memory in her Pensieve; never to look at it, no matter what; and protect it at all costs. I never knew what the memory was; Snape never told me that. All he ever said was that it was of utmost importance that I retrieve it and bring it to him."

"But you've looked at the memory now, haven't you?" Ron asked. A beat, and then he added, "I would, were it me."
"I've no doubt about that. You Gryffindors were a nosy lot, always did what you pleased, bent the rules without so much as a care," Malfoy blustered.

Ron rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "So, you looked at it."

"Of course I did!" Malfoy exclaimed. "Do you honestly think I wouldn't have?"

Smirking, Ron shook his head. "Nah. You're a nosier prat than all of Gryffindor combined."

"Yes, I am," Malfoy agreed before pressing on. "It's a memory Snape has of Dumbledore, from sometime during our sixth year."

At mention of Dumbledore, Ron bowed his head. It was so hard to believe sometimes, even now, that he was dead. Chasing after the Horcruxes for all those years, Harry talked often about the information Dumbledore had given him, and that had helped to make his passing a bit less difficult. "What did Dumbledore do in the memory?"

"He told Snape that he knew about me. He knew Voldemort was holding Mother and Father over my head, and he told Snape to protect me, to make sure I didn't take the Mark." Malfoy's voice broke a little, but he didn't stop recounting what he'd seen. "And he told Snape he was dying. Dumbledore was dying because of what he'd gone through to get one of the Horcuxes, and he looked Snape in the eye and made Snape promise to kill him if it would help him remain on Voldemort's good side."

"Bloody hell," Ron breathed, tilting his head to get a look at Malfoy. "You saw all that?"

"No, I made it all up," Malfoy said. Then: "Yes, I saw all that."

"D'you know what this means?" Ron asked slowly, Malfoy's words replaying in his mind.

"It means I've found what Snape asked me to find," Malfoy said simply.

Ron snorted. "Now who's the tit? No, Dumbledore's vouched for you – and for Snape – and you've solid, irrefutable proof; that's what that means!"
" Weasley," Malfoy began, sounding very much as though he were trying to keep a rein on his temper, "you ought not–"

A groan sounded beside them as Bill stirred.

"Oi, Bill." Ron touched his shoulder lightly. "I'll move you to your room in a mo, okay? Dobby'll bring up tea, you can have a lie-in, it'll be brilliant."

"Brilliant," Bill repeated, one arm moving to lay across his face.

"Brilliant," Ron said firmly, looking at Malfoy.
And it was. Or it would be, when Malfoy got his named cleared with the Ministry.

**********

Remus and Bill were too weak from the full moon to go to Spinner's End or look after Harry, so Hermione, Ron, and Malfoy drew sticks. Ron's was the smallest of the lot, which meant he would be the one to stay behind.

As he watched Hermione and Malfoy double-check their supplies for the mission, bickering madly all the while, Ron had to shake his head. Either they were going to destroy the bones of Voldemort's parents or each other; he wasn't sure which outcome had the better odds.

When the last of the things were packed, Hermione and Malfoy set out for the Floo while Ron looked on.

"Malfoy, can I talk to you for a mo?" Ron called. Hermione's brows shot up and she gave Ron a questioning look, but he just waved her on ahead. "I won't keep him long."

"You'd better not, Ron," she warned.

"I won't."

Hermione disappeared round a corner about the same time Malfoy made it to where Ron was waited.

"What is it, Weasley?" Malfoy asked. A mischievous smile curved his mouth, and he added, "'You'd better not keep me long'" in a shrill voice that was a poor, albeit humourous, imitation of Hermione.

"Well, you ought to... You should be prepared, you know?" Ron said awkwardly, reaching inside his robe. "In case something might happen."

"Nothing's going to happen to me. Granger the Good will protect little old me," Malfoy said, eyes rolling.

"I'm serious, Malfoy." All of a sudden his palms were hot and sweaty and he felt light-headed, all out of sorts. "Here," he mumbled, withdrawing Malfoy's wand from his pocket, thrusting it in his hand. "Take it."

"Weasley," Malfoy said slowly, his fingers gently curling around the hilt of his wand, "I--"

"It's your wand," Ron interrupted, "and so...use it well. Or something. Extenuating circumstances and all that."

"Extenuating circumstances," Malfoy repeated.
"Yeah," Ron grunted.

Malfoy grew absolutely silent, staring at Ron so hard that Ron thought he might actually be looking straight through him. Uncomfortable, Ron shifted his weight from foot to foot. And then quickly, unexpectedly, heatedly, Malfoy pressed Ron against the wall and crushed his mouth to Ron's.

As soon as it began, it was over, and Malfoy was running down the hall toward the Floo, leaving Ron with bruised lips and a heavy, worried heart.

**********

So, Ron stayed behind to play nursemaid while Hermione and Malfoy set out to find Bellatrix Lestrange and free Harry from Voldemort once and for all.

While Ron tried not to think on them and what they might be doing at the moment, it was awfully hard not to think about it. He did his best to stay busy as all hell, moving from Harry's room to Remus' to Bill's and back again, but since Harry was in a coma-type thing and Remus and Bill were knackered from the full moon, Ron had more time for himself and his thoughts than he should have had, considering the situation.

Taking what had to be his eighth cuppa for the day, Ron lumbered down the corridor and pushed open Bill's door. Parking his arse in the wingback chair beside Bill's bed, Ron sighed.

He blew on his tea, took a sip, and frowned as he checked the time on the huge grandfather clock near the writing desk. It had barely advanced since the last time he'd been in to sit with Bill that afternoon. Hermione was perfectly capable of taking care of herself; Ron had seen that with his own two bloody eyes time and again. But Malfoy? Malfoy was hot-headed with his wand and tended to show off. Knowing him, he'd get entirely too smug about something, become distracted, and then he'd end up fucking dead.

Ron should've insisted on going in Malfoy's place. He should've refused to give Malfoy his wand and made him fucking stay behind with Bill, Remus, and Harry.

"God, I'm a ruddy moron," Ron muttered, then knocked back the rest of his tea.

"Yeah, you are," Bill mumbled, rolling onto his side. Pushing a shock of ginger hair out of his eyes, he gave Ron a tired grin.

"Fuck off," Ron retorted, because it was expected, not because he was in the mood to have a bit of a row.

"Have you now?" Bill asked, the grin becoming sly.

Ron blinked. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"This?" Bill propped himself up on one elbow and made a rather vulgar gesture with one hand. "You and Malfoy, eh?"

Sputtering ,Ron shook his head vehemently, hair flopping madly. "I don't know what you're on about, brother. I reckon you howled yourself barmy last night."

"Oh, come off it, Ronnie. I've seen the way you look at him– and his arse," Bill laughed, reaching round to wedge his pillow between the headboard and his back.

"What about the way you look at Remus, huh?" Ron shot back and then winced. DENIAL. I should have sodding denied it. Christ, I'm a moron.

"What d'you mean, the way I 'look' at him?" Bill asked, brow furrowing.

"I've seen you gaze at him," Ron said smugly. "Like this." He made a production out of mooning longingly at something, complete with a heavy sigh and batting eyes.
"I do not gaze at Remus," Bill protested. And then: "Maybe I do just a little, but it's nothing compared to you. Christ, you pant after him like you've ingested two or three Ton-Tongue Toffees."

It took a moment for Ron to process this, and then he sputtered.

Bill smirked yet again, and Ron had half a mind to hex his gob off. It would serve him right, the twat.

Puffing his chest, Ron decided he would be the better man and ignore his brother's jibes. Obviously Bill was trying to get a rise out of him and Ron would not take the stupid bait.

"It's been a while," Bill commented after a great deal of silence.

"Yeah."

"You worried?"

A lump rose in his throat and Ron had to swallow hard to make it go away. Inhaling slowly and deeply, he nodded.

Groaning, Bill slid out of bed and Ron rushed to his side, sliding an arm round his middle to help hold him up. "What're you doing?" Ron asked, brows knitting together.

"Let's pop in on Harry and Remus, yeah? It'll take your mind off things...and mine," Bill suggested.
Ron agreed, and they headed out of the room.

They hadn't gone more than a few feet before they caught sight of Remus; he was headed in their direction.

"I was just coming to get you. You need to see this," Remus said quickly, waving them toward Harry's room.

"Remus, what–" Ron started, but Remus just shushed him.

"Come on," he said urgently, and Ron and Bill hurried after him without another word.

After entering Harry's room, they gathered round his bed. Bill and Remus leant over it, hands pressed against the mattress to help support them.

Ron didn't pay much mind to what Remus and Bill were doing, however. What caught his attention was the breathing trumpets. They weren't stuck up Harry's nose or in his gob any longer; they were laying near the centre of the bed beside Harry's right arm.

Harry wasn't using the breathing trumpets and his chest was rising and falling on its own. Not only that, but he was bloody well blinking.

"They did it," Ron whispered.

Harry's head lolled toward Ron, his eyelids fluttering madly, and Ron half-laughed, half-sobbed.

"They fucking did it," he said again, and took up Harry's hand in his. It wasn't clammy or cool anymore; it was warm. Ron let out a yell, Bill and Remus laughed, and Harry let out a muffled "mmmrph?"

"Oh bugger, I've missed you, mate," Ron choked. And when he felt Harry squeeze his fingers weakly, Ron thought his heart was going to burst from relief and joy.

"Welcome home, Harry," Remus said, and Bill and Ron echoed his sentiment.

As Ron leant over to ruff up Harry's hair, he froze for an instant; somewhere in the space of the last few minutes, Bill had taken hold of Remus' hand. Their fingers were intertwined but they weren't focussing on themselves; they were focussed on Harry. Ron grinned, making note of the hand-holding so he could take the mickey out of Bill later. For now, he had weeks of lost time to make up with his best mate.

"Thanks," Harry said hoarsely, and Ron thought that was the best damned noise he'd heard in yonks. Squinting, Harry peered around the room. "Where am I?"

"Malfoy Manor, mate," Ron said cheerfully. "Or whatever y' want to rename it." Malfoy. Speaking of, when the bloody fuck would he and Hermione return? What if-- what if one, or both, of them had gotten hurt fighting Bellatrix off? Hurt or worse? It wouldn't take long to Apparate back to the manor. What was taking them so long? Yeah, Harry had only just woken up, but it'd been a few minutes.

"It doesn't really feel right to rename it," Harry said, taking great deep breaths after every few words. "It's not really mine, anyway. It's for everyone."

"You have to fully recover first before thinking of ways to use this estate for the benefit of others," Remus said firmly, and both Ron and Bill nodded in agreement.

"That's right," Ron said firmly. "No Boy Who Lived shit until you can fly circles around me, mate."

"Give me a broom right now, then," Harry said automatically, grinning shakily.

"Har-dee-har-har," Ron said sarcastically, joking flashing a rude gesture in Harry's direction.

"Have we missed it? Has he– oh! Oh, Harry!" Hermione shrieked from the doorway, and then Ron had to move out of the way so Hermione and her hair didn't maim Ron as she reached out for Harry.

"'lo, Hermione," Harry said weakly.

She make a snuffling sound and wiped at her eyes as Ron crossed to where Malfoy stood. Bugger, but Ron was relieved to see him.

"Did you–" Ron started, and Malfoy nodded.

"It's done. Moody and a tonne of Aurors showed up and I had a hell of a time giving them all the slip. Oh, and my dear 'auntie' should be getting the Dementor's Kiss right about now."

"Well done," Bill said suddenly, speaking over the other conversations.

"Granger did most of the work," Malfoy demurred.

Ron was struck by how much Malfoy had changed since he'd been a fucking prat of a Slytherin at Hogwarts. Actually not taking the credit for something? Allowing someone else to be praised rather than Malfoy?

"However," Malfoy added, "I was rather brilliant."

On second thought, maybe he hadn't changed all that much. But that was all right; Ron didn't think he was all that bad anymore. Hopefully the lot of them wouldn't either, once they knew what Dumbledore had said. That reminded Ron– "Oi, Malfoy."

Malfoy flinched. "You don't have to yell like a banshee, Weasley. I'm right fucking here."

Rolling his eyes, Ron pressed onward. "Tell them about the Pensieve."

"What Pensieve?" Harry asked, and Ron jerked his thumb toward Malfoy. Harry nodded and sat up farther, squinting in Malfoy's direction.

"I found Mother's Pensieve," Malfoy said slowly.

"What did you find inside it?" Hermione questioned, perching on the edge of Harry's bed.

"A memory Snape had of Dumbledore during sixth year. It proves Dumbledore ordered Snape to kill him, as well as that Dumbledore vouched for me and even set out to protect me from Voldemort," he explained.

A hushed silence fell over the room and many glances were exchanged.

"Dumbledore really....?" Hermione asked tentatively. When Malfoy nodded, one corner of her mouth turned down. "I hope you can forgive me for what I said about you earlier, but I won't be surprised if you can't, Malfoy. Thank you for helping Harry. Really."

Harry shot a questioning look at Ron.

"Yeah, if it weren't for Malfoy, you'd still be...wherever you just were," Ron filled him in.

"Oh." Harry blinked a few times owlishly and his nose wrinkled a bit, but ultimately he worked out what Ron told him and got that it was a pretty decent thing. Maybe even a good thing. "Thank you, Malfoy," Harry said quietly. "For whatever it is that you've done."

Malfoy shrugged noncommittally. "All in a day's work, Potter," he said nonchalantly, reaching in his robe pocket and producing his wand. "Weasley." He extended the wand to Ron, who accepted it after a moment's hesitation.

"Malfoy? Can I see you–" Ron jerked his head toward the corridor. Though Ron wasn't looking at him, he heard Bill snort. Flinging his hand out behind him, Ron gave Bill the two-fingered salute.

Instead of answering, Malfoy chose to just step out in the corridor. Ron reassured Harry he'd be right back before following suit.

"What is it, Weasley?" Malfoy traveled a few feet down from Harry's open door and stopped, looking at Ron curiously.

"Here, you've earned the right to have it back." Offering Malfoy a small, slow smile, Ron pressed Malfoy's wand into his hand. "I told you if you fixed Harry, I'd give you your wand back and you could go wherever you please."

Malfoy's fingers curled around the hilt of his wand as he accepted it, though his eyes never left Ron's face.

"Weasley," he said with a slight laugh, "you really are a tit. I'm right where I want to be."

THE END.