The Howler [Harry Potter, Ron/Draco] Pt. 2
“Look, I just shagged him, all right?” Ron exclaimed, like it wasn’t a big deal, like it wasn’t something he’d purposefully put off telling him and maybe even hoped he’d never have to tell them, like it was something he’d meant to tell them but had just forgotten or something like that.
“But I thought you hated him,” Ginny said, a bit sharply.
“I do!” Ron insisted-a bit too quickly, he guessed from the way everyone arched a doubtful eyebrow. “I mean it! If anything, I shagged him because I-hate him.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Ronald!” Hermione nearly snapped.
“And even if it did,” Neville said, “why would you have to-do it for that long?”
“It really wasn’t that l-”
“He said six months,” Harry cut him off.
“Well…yes. But that’s really not very long if you think about it,” Ron said, all too aware that he’d said the exact opposite to Draco. What the hell was he doing with all these lies and excuses? What sort of mess was he getting himself into and why couldn’t’ he stop?
Hermione stood suddenly, looking flustered and on the verge of a breakdown of sorts; and it didn’t matter than Ron couldn’t look her in the eye, because it didn’t seem like she would be capable of returning the gesture.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice faintly panicky and barely more than a whisper. “But I can’t-I-I have to go.”
She was out of that room like her hair was on fire; Ron could tell he was in trouble when she was so upset she forgot she could Apparate herself home. Ginny shot up from her seat before the door even closed, taking quick steps after the girl.
“Nice,” she hissed at her brother as she passed, slamming the door shut when she left.
Ron looked back at his two roommates, who were both staring uncomfortably at the ground.
“Is ‘Mione all right?” Ron asked. He knew it was a stupid question before he even opened his mouth, so he expected the looks he received in response. “But-well, we broke up last year, didn’t we?”
“Yeah,” Neville said, “but I think we all thought that you’d two-” Harry elbowed him none-too-gently and he stopped.
“What?” Neither of them said anything and Ron narrowed his eyes slightly, brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”
“Nevermind, Ron,” Harry sighed, shaking his head. “She’s probably just surprised to find out you shag guys.”
“I don’t shag guys!” Ron might’ve said that a bit louder than necessary and his voice did that weird rising-in-pitch thing he thought he’d finished with after puberty had settled down. “I shag one guy. Well, shagged, anyway,” Ron amended, glancing at the remains of the red envelope. “Don’t think I’ll be doing it again.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Neville offered. “I mean, it’s Malfoy. You wouldn’t want to end up, well, falling for him for anything.”
Falling for him. If someone had told Ron that he would ever have to worry about falling for Draco Malfoy-six months ago, six years ago, six minutes ago-he would’ve chosen to believe that the sky was purple first. But knowing that he’d screwed up to the point where he might never see Draco again, might never kiss him again or see him smile again…it hurt in a way Ron couldn’t have imagined.
“Right,” Ron said, suddenly quiet. “Yeah, it’s a good thing I-I didn’t. Fall for him.”
Neville nodded enthusiastically, before looking at the clock and realizing he was late for his shift at the local florist shop; but Harry’s frown deepened and Ron felt-not for the first time-that those glasses his best friend wore gave him the power to see right through Ron and into his very soul. A rather scary thought, that was.
The two friends held each other’s stares for several minutes as Neville rushed about, getting ready. When he finally Apparated out of the flat, Ron faked a cough so he had to blink and turn his head.
“Well, looks like you won that round, mate,” Ron chuckled nervously, starting to rise from his seat.
“Ron.”
He sat back down.
“I just don’t understand how you couldn’t tell me.”
“What, are you serious?” Ron gaped at him, incredulous. “I thought you’d think less of me. I mean, shagging Malfoy? How low could I get?”
“I’d never think less of you, mate,” Harry said without hesitation. “Never. And Malfoy…” He paused and frowned again, but this frown was a thoughtful one and Ron didn’t mind it so much. “Sure, he’s Malfoy, but…I don’t know. He isn’t as bad as he was in school, right? I’m sure he’s changed, at least a bit. We’ve all changed. And if it made you happy…” He looked at him hard. “Did it-did he make you happy?”
Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Did Draco make him happy? No, Draco made him crazy. Draco made him angry. Draco made him feel more aroused than he’d ever felt in his life. Draco made him want to punch the prat right in the face while kissing him crazy. Draco made him want to tear his hair out, made him want to commit bloody murder, made him want to scream, to cry, to laugh; Draco made him so many things. But happy?
Hell yes, Draco made him happy.
He made him so happy.
Ron nodded silently, barely daring to meet Harry’s eyes. But Harry banished his fears with a small, slow smile.
“Then, Ron,” he said softly, with a bit of a light laugh, “why are you still sitting here with me?”
[~]
When Ron arrived at Malfoy Manor and started up the driveway that led to the front door, he could’ve sworn the albino peacocks that roamed the gardens were actually glaring at him as he passed. This wasn’t going to be easy, then. He tried to steady himself with deep breaths as he got closer and closer to the front door, tightening his grip on the flowers in his hand; Harry told him that he couldn’t show up empty-handed when trying to win someone back. And Ron knew that flowers weren’t going to be nearly enough to win Draco back, but every little step in this process had to be perfect. Abso-bloody-lutely perfect.
The front door flew open before Ron could knock and he was fairly sure his gulp was audible when he saw Draco standing before with a look that could out-kill the Avada Kedavra curse.
“Uh, Draco,” Ron greeted, his voice cracking slightly in nervousness. “I’m so-very, very sorry. Really. Really sorry.”
Draco cocked his head to one side, but his expression remained unchanged. Ron took one last deep, deep breath before holding up the flowers in his hand.
“I brought you these,” he started, his voice strengthening as he continued. “Calla lilies and gladioluses. Calla lilies, because you told me back in fifth year-by accident, probably, you were really tired-that they represented regality and that your mother used to decorate your bedroom with them, so they were the first things you saw when you woke up in the morning and the last things you saw before going to sleep at night.”
Draco arched an eyebrow, but didn’t stop him, so Ron kept going.
“And gladioluses, because they represent strength of character. And two months ago, I was looking at the scar on your arm and you started telling me about what you went through in seventh year, and after, and you said it was the first time in your life where you really felt afraid. And you said you wished that you’d been stronger back then. And I reminded you of when me and Harry and Hermione were brought to the manor and even though you could recognize Harry through Hermione’s Swelling Charm, you didn’t rat us out. And I told you that took guts. And I meant that. I meant everything I’ve ever said to you, including-unfortunately-things said in anger. But also including things said in the middle of the night and during sex and-and before and after. And including my apology a few minutes ago. I meant that, too. I really meant that.”
He stopped there, having run out of both breath and words, and held out the flowers. Draco took them and tossed them to the ground without blinking.
“You’ll have to do a lot better than that,” he said bitingly, stepping back to close the door.
Ron’s hand surged forward, grabbing hold of the door before it closed all the way, ignoring the heated glare he received.
“I will do better,” he said firmly, with a finality he’d probably picked up from his mother, “I promise.”
Draco didn’t bat an eyelash and Ron barely managed to retract his hand before the door slammed shut. Deciding that the meeting had gone better than he really had expected, Ron left quickly before the peacocks chose to attack him.
“But I thought you hated him,” Ginny said, a bit sharply.
“I do!” Ron insisted-a bit too quickly, he guessed from the way everyone arched a doubtful eyebrow. “I mean it! If anything, I shagged him because I-hate him.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Ronald!” Hermione nearly snapped.
“And even if it did,” Neville said, “why would you have to-do it for that long?”
“It really wasn’t that l-”
“He said six months,” Harry cut him off.
“Well…yes. But that’s really not very long if you think about it,” Ron said, all too aware that he’d said the exact opposite to Draco. What the hell was he doing with all these lies and excuses? What sort of mess was he getting himself into and why couldn’t’ he stop?
Hermione stood suddenly, looking flustered and on the verge of a breakdown of sorts; and it didn’t matter than Ron couldn’t look her in the eye, because it didn’t seem like she would be capable of returning the gesture.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice faintly panicky and barely more than a whisper. “But I can’t-I-I have to go.”
She was out of that room like her hair was on fire; Ron could tell he was in trouble when she was so upset she forgot she could Apparate herself home. Ginny shot up from her seat before the door even closed, taking quick steps after the girl.
“Nice,” she hissed at her brother as she passed, slamming the door shut when she left.
Ron looked back at his two roommates, who were both staring uncomfortably at the ground.
“Is ‘Mione all right?” Ron asked. He knew it was a stupid question before he even opened his mouth, so he expected the looks he received in response. “But-well, we broke up last year, didn’t we?”
“Yeah,” Neville said, “but I think we all thought that you’d two-” Harry elbowed him none-too-gently and he stopped.
“What?” Neither of them said anything and Ron narrowed his eyes slightly, brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”
“Nevermind, Ron,” Harry sighed, shaking his head. “She’s probably just surprised to find out you shag guys.”
“I don’t shag guys!” Ron might’ve said that a bit louder than necessary and his voice did that weird rising-in-pitch thing he thought he’d finished with after puberty had settled down. “I shag one guy. Well, shagged, anyway,” Ron amended, glancing at the remains of the red envelope. “Don’t think I’ll be doing it again.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Neville offered. “I mean, it’s Malfoy. You wouldn’t want to end up, well, falling for him for anything.”
Falling for him. If someone had told Ron that he would ever have to worry about falling for Draco Malfoy-six months ago, six years ago, six minutes ago-he would’ve chosen to believe that the sky was purple first. But knowing that he’d screwed up to the point where he might never see Draco again, might never kiss him again or see him smile again…it hurt in a way Ron couldn’t have imagined.
“Right,” Ron said, suddenly quiet. “Yeah, it’s a good thing I-I didn’t. Fall for him.”
Neville nodded enthusiastically, before looking at the clock and realizing he was late for his shift at the local florist shop; but Harry’s frown deepened and Ron felt-not for the first time-that those glasses his best friend wore gave him the power to see right through Ron and into his very soul. A rather scary thought, that was.
The two friends held each other’s stares for several minutes as Neville rushed about, getting ready. When he finally Apparated out of the flat, Ron faked a cough so he had to blink and turn his head.
“Well, looks like you won that round, mate,” Ron chuckled nervously, starting to rise from his seat.
“Ron.”
He sat back down.
“I just don’t understand how you couldn’t tell me.”
“What, are you serious?” Ron gaped at him, incredulous. “I thought you’d think less of me. I mean, shagging Malfoy? How low could I get?”
“I’d never think less of you, mate,” Harry said without hesitation. “Never. And Malfoy…” He paused and frowned again, but this frown was a thoughtful one and Ron didn’t mind it so much. “Sure, he’s Malfoy, but…I don’t know. He isn’t as bad as he was in school, right? I’m sure he’s changed, at least a bit. We’ve all changed. And if it made you happy…” He looked at him hard. “Did it-did he make you happy?”
Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Did Draco make him happy? No, Draco made him crazy. Draco made him angry. Draco made him feel more aroused than he’d ever felt in his life. Draco made him want to punch the prat right in the face while kissing him crazy. Draco made him want to tear his hair out, made him want to commit bloody murder, made him want to scream, to cry, to laugh; Draco made him so many things. But happy?
Hell yes, Draco made him happy.
He made him so happy.
Ron nodded silently, barely daring to meet Harry’s eyes. But Harry banished his fears with a small, slow smile.
“Then, Ron,” he said softly, with a bit of a light laugh, “why are you still sitting here with me?”
[~]
When Ron arrived at Malfoy Manor and started up the driveway that led to the front door, he could’ve sworn the albino peacocks that roamed the gardens were actually glaring at him as he passed. This wasn’t going to be easy, then. He tried to steady himself with deep breaths as he got closer and closer to the front door, tightening his grip on the flowers in his hand; Harry told him that he couldn’t show up empty-handed when trying to win someone back. And Ron knew that flowers weren’t going to be nearly enough to win Draco back, but every little step in this process had to be perfect. Abso-bloody-lutely perfect.
The front door flew open before Ron could knock and he was fairly sure his gulp was audible when he saw Draco standing before with a look that could out-kill the Avada Kedavra curse.
“Uh, Draco,” Ron greeted, his voice cracking slightly in nervousness. “I’m so-very, very sorry. Really. Really sorry.”
Draco cocked his head to one side, but his expression remained unchanged. Ron took one last deep, deep breath before holding up the flowers in his hand.
“I brought you these,” he started, his voice strengthening as he continued. “Calla lilies and gladioluses. Calla lilies, because you told me back in fifth year-by accident, probably, you were really tired-that they represented regality and that your mother used to decorate your bedroom with them, so they were the first things you saw when you woke up in the morning and the last things you saw before going to sleep at night.”
Draco arched an eyebrow, but didn’t stop him, so Ron kept going.
“And gladioluses, because they represent strength of character. And two months ago, I was looking at the scar on your arm and you started telling me about what you went through in seventh year, and after, and you said it was the first time in your life where you really felt afraid. And you said you wished that you’d been stronger back then. And I reminded you of when me and Harry and Hermione were brought to the manor and even though you could recognize Harry through Hermione’s Swelling Charm, you didn’t rat us out. And I told you that took guts. And I meant that. I meant everything I’ve ever said to you, including-unfortunately-things said in anger. But also including things said in the middle of the night and during sex and-and before and after. And including my apology a few minutes ago. I meant that, too. I really meant that.”
He stopped there, having run out of both breath and words, and held out the flowers. Draco took them and tossed them to the ground without blinking.
“You’ll have to do a lot better than that,” he said bitingly, stepping back to close the door.
Ron’s hand surged forward, grabbing hold of the door before it closed all the way, ignoring the heated glare he received.
“I will do better,” he said firmly, with a finality he’d probably picked up from his mother, “I promise.”
Draco didn’t bat an eyelash and Ron barely managed to retract his hand before the door slammed shut. Deciding that the meeting had gone better than he really had expected, Ron left quickly before the peacocks chose to attack him.