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Ron held the tin full of floo powder in his hands, debating. Hermione was in their bedroom, searching for her shoes; they were actually in the sitting room, but Ron wasn’t about to tell her that. Her distraction was saving him time.
They were due at the Burrow in an hour to help prepare for the engagement party—Percy’s. Percy’s… and Draco Malfoy’s.
Ron still couldn’t quite believe that he’d be calling the slimy git his brother-in-law. But he was even more horrified for Percy—soon to be Percy Weasley-Malfoy .
And he’d tried to put aside his blatant dislike of the Slytherin for his brother’s sake. Ron didn’t want to maintain the distance between himself and his brother, much less increase it. But at the end of the day, Draco Malfoy was still the boy who’d humiliated him throughout school, who’d said unforgivable things to his girlfriend. Ron couldn’t forgive, and he couldn’t forget.
Hermione came out of their room then, dressed her in forest green dress robes with her curly brown hair tied in a messy knot at the nape of her neck. His lips twitched just a little when he noticed that she was still barefoot.
“Ron, have you seen my shoes? I can’t find them anywhere.” Her voice was edging on desperation, so Ron rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and jerked his head towards the window.
“Over there, ‘Mione,” he said. And indeed, the honey yellow heels she’d been searching for were sitting on the floor innocently. Hermione shot him an annoyed look as she made her way over, but she didn’t say anything on the matter.
Hermione tugged on her heels and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The glint in her brown eyes told Ron that she knew what was bothering him, but she didn’t try to talk him around the matter. She just walked over and pressed a kiss against his cheek.
“This is Percy’s day,” she whispered in his ear. “Remember that.”
Ron inhaled deeply. “I’m trying to.”
He grabbed a fistful of floo powder and threw it into the fireplace. Then, arm in arm, he and Hermione stepped into the green flames and were whisked away to the Burrow.
“Ron! It’s good to see you. And you, Hermione.”
To her credit, Hermione smiled warmly at Percy as Ron attempted a grin that came across more as a grimace. “We wouldn’t miss this for the world. Right, Ron?”
“‘Course not.” Ron cleared his throat and brushed the soot off of his navy dress robes, mostly so he had a moment to compose himself. “You’re engaged, after all. It’s a big day.”
Percy nodded, but he seemed to pick up on Ron’s tension; his smile dimmed. “Well, Mum’s just putting the finishing touches on the decorations. Harry and Ginny are seating everyone, Bill and Fleur are with Draco, I think…”
That was all Ron heard. He shook himself mentally, but the mention of Malfoy was enough to make his blood boil. He was completely sure that this would turn out to be the biggest mistake of his brother’s life—their relationship was rocky, but Ron was certain that Draco could never be worthy of his brother.
Not my decision, Ron reminded himself. You’re here for Percy, asshole. Stand up there with him during the ceremony, have a few drinks afterwards, then go. That’s all you have to do. You don’t even have to talk to the git.
But Percy Weasley-Malfoy. Weasley-Malfoy .
“I’m going to go help Harry, then,” Ron said suddenly, the fact that he’d interrupted Percy not even registering. Hermione shot him a disapproving look. “Seating people, did you say? Yeah, I can… I can help with that.”
“Oh… okay.” Percy frowned sharply, his blue eyes peering worriedly at Ron through crooked glasses. “If you think they need it.”
Ron nodded jerkily and excused himself. He didn’t head to the pavilion, where Harry and Ginny were undoubtedly seating early arrivers; he went straight to the kitchen, expecting a few moments to collect himself.
To his utter annoyance, Malfoy was standing there. His blond brows rose when he saw Ron enter, but he kept his mouth shut—for once. Ron clenched his fists angrily, his breathing a little heavier than he’d like.
“I thought you were with Bill and Fleur.”
Draco’s lips thinned. “They went to help in the garden.”
Silence stretched between them. It wasn’t as though this was their first meeting since the Battle of Hogwarts; Ron hadn’t chosen to complete his seventh year at school, but Draco and Hermione had. He’d seen the Slytherin from time to time when he went to visit Hermione in Hogsmeade after a long day of Auror training. Draco had even attended a few family events at the Burrow. But this was the first time they’d been in a room alone together in… years.
Draco eyed him warily. “I don’t want to argue with you.”
Walking stiffly over to the pantry, Ron glanced over his shoulder at the Slytherin. “Neither do I.” He grabbed a loaf of his mum’s homemade bread and summoned a butter knife with a flick of his wand. “Toast?”
“No, thank you.”
So Ron set about making the impromptu snack, trying stubbornly to ignore the other man. All he could think about, however, were Draco’s many past mistakes.
I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley. Did your mother die of shock?
I heard your family all sleep in one room. Is that true?
Granger, they’re after Muggles. D’you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around… they’re moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh.
Ron’s grip on the knife tightened until his knuckles were white. His breathing was shallow, and he was suddenly disgusted with himself for planning to sit through this man’s wedding—for standing by and allowing this scum to marry his brother.
“You know...” Ron said suddenly, causing Draco to jump slightly. “Forever is a long time.”
Draco frowned sharply, looking unimpressed but also wary. “I know. It’s a fairly self-explanatory word, Weasley.”
“I’m just making sure that you’re prepared.” Ron put down the knife and turned to face the other man head-on. “You better spend the rest of your life trying to be worthy of him, Malfoy, if you go up to that altar and promise to love him.”
A pale pink flush was beginning to stain Draco’s cheeks. “I’m not serving him, Weasley,” he growled through gritted teeth. “I’m to be his partner.”
“Partner.” Ron scoffed, shaking his head. “I dunno what he sees in you.”
Draco’s grey eyes flashed, and Ron realized that he’d managed to make him truly angry. Good . “Oh, so you suddenly know what Percy wants now, Weasley? I was under the impression that you preferred to spend your life without him.”
A familiar, hot shame filled Ron at the reminder that he and Percy were still trying to find their footing around each other. It was painful to realize that he didn’t know his brother anymore—that, after the distance they’d kept through Ron’s last few years of school, Draco had come to know Percy better than Ron probably did.
He really didn’t know what Percy wanted.
“I know he’s too good for you,” Ron hissed. “He wasn’t around you that much at school. He didn’t hear the way you spoke about Muggleborns, he didn’t see how you treated anyone who was different than you—”
“I know he didn’t.” Draco ran a hand through his blond hair, his posture stiff as he tried to get his own anger under control; the fact that he had more control over his emotions infuriated Ron. “I know he didn’t, but I’m also not that twelve, fourteen, seventeen -year-old kid anymore. I’ve apologized. I’m trying to be better. Your brother…” Those grey eyes softened. “Your brother makes me better, Weasley.”
Ron should have been able to let it go. He should have been able to realize that Draco Malfoy wasn’t right for him , but, somehow, was right for Percy.
But it was so much easier to forgive Percy for his past mistakes than it was to forgive his childhood bully.
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Ron snapped. He didn’t wait for Draco’s response; he stormed out of the kitchen, intent on finding Hermione. She was the only one who’d be able to get him to calm down at this point.
But as soon as he stepped through the door, he ran into Percy. Who had, it was clear by the expression on his face, heard everything.
He looked at Ron with a horrible mixture of anger and disappointment. “You and I need to talk,” he said coldly.
Swallowing down his guilt, Ron nodded jerkily. “Fine.”
Ron was led into Percy’s old bedroom. The older man shut the door, and Ron noticed that his hands were trembling.
Percy didn’t turn away from the door. “What are you doing?”
It wasn’t a question. He was demanding an answer.
Well, if Percy thought Ron was going to cower and give in, he was damn wrong.
“Did you expect me to get on with him?” Ron crossed his arms over his chest, his face red with anger. “Did you honestly expect that?”
“I expected you to try and be civil!”
Glaring down at the floor, Ron shook his head stubbornly. He wanted to continue to stew, but there was something about Percy’s tone that made him realize that he was in real trouble. He forced himself to cool down; it wasn’t Percy he wanted to yell at.
Except, he realized, it was. Because Percy was the reason that Draco was even here.
“I just don’t understand what you see in him,” Ron admitted, his voice much quieter than before. “He isn’t a good person. And you deserve a good person.”
“What—what the hell, Ron? What makes you think you have any say—” Percy broke off suddenly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He inhaled and exhaled deeply; Ron recognized the tactic from the many years he and Percy had spent together. “Listen, Ron… I appreciate that you’re trying to look out for me, but this isn’t actually concern for me. This is you letting your anger get the best of you.
“I know Draco has hurt our family in the past. I’m not excusing any of his past behaviors.” Percy ran a hand through his red curls and sat down heavily on his bed. “But he’s not that person anymore, Ron.”
Ron looked away. “I’m not so sure about that,” he muttered. He looked back at Percy, his shoulders tensed and ready for battle. “He’s only going to break your heart, and you’re way too young for that shit.”
“Break my—” Percy’s face had gone red, and the anger on his face reminded Ron of the Percy he’d known at school. “First of all, I’m older than you. Second of all, you don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t spend my life with.” Percy ran a hand through his hair, too angry to even look at Ron at this point. “Would you like to know the truth, Ron? You broke my heart. You and everyone else here who doesn’t trust me enough to give my fiance a chance.”
There it was: the guilt. It threatened to swallow Ron whole. All this time, he’d been trying to save Percy from what he perceived to be a mistake. But now Percy was miserable on the day that was supposed to be one of his happiest.
He bit his lip. “Percy—”
“No, Ron. Please, just leave me and Draco be.” He sighed tiredly, suddenly looking much older than his twenty-nine years.
He looked so exhausted, in fact, that Ron didn’t try and stop him when he trudged out of the room.
Ron tried to enjoy the rest of the party. His mother had put together quite the meal; even Draco’s friends—Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott—seemed to be enjoying it. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were being civil, at least, but Ron saw the way his mother’s smile tightened when Narcissa turned her nose up at the food. Still, Molly was trying to stay stubbornly cheerful; she’d undoubtedly heard about Ron’s behavior.
He’d received quite the glare from her and Hermione when he’d come downstairs.
Sheepishly, he sat beside his father as the rest of the guests began mingling. Gryffindors and Slytherins didn’t mix, though. Percy and Draco were the only exception.
Arthur glanced at his son, his brow creased as he frowned. “Ron? Is everything all right? You look a bit sour.”
Hot shame flooded Ron’s face. “I… don’t like Malfoy,” he mumbled. It wasn’t the whole story, but he knew his father could read between the lines.
The stern—or perhaps exasperated—look he expected to receive didn’t arrive, however; to Ron’s surprise, his father’s own ears turned red.
“Ah.” Arthur glanced at him guiltily. “I suppose I’m not the only person who’s caused Percy grief today, then.”
Ron’s brows shot up in surprise. His father, who rarely quarrelled with anyone, causing trouble at his son’s engagement party? Then again… Ron’s gaze traveled to where Lucius Malfoy sat stiffly beside his wife, not deigning to speak with anyone outside of his family. He recalled a certain incident at Flourish and Blotts years ago, when Arthur had come to blows with another person.
Maybe he and his father weren’t so unalike.
Eyes wide, Ron turned back to Arthur. “Did you two fight?”
Arthur hesitated, but he dipped his head in shame. “Yes,” he admitted. “We were yelling something fierce at each other. I know he started it,” Arthur added hurriedly, “but I admit I overreacted.”
“So…” Ron’s hands twisted in his lap. “You don’t like the idea that they’re getting married either?”
A sharp frown overtook Arthur’s features once more. “Well… I don’t know about that ,” he began slowly. “My quarrel isn’t with Draco. I don’t know him well enough for that.” Arthur’s blue eyes were sad behind his glasses, but Ron couldn’t divert his attention away. His mother wore her flaws on her sleeve, but Arthur’s were more carefully hidden. To glimpse them now was startling.
“Lucius Malfoy has everything I never did,” his father confessed quietly. “It’s hard to know that one of my children is going to marry into his family, going to inherit his wealth, his connections, and, I fear, part of the legacy he’s left behind.”
Merlin. Ron hadn’t even considered that; the Malfoys weren’t exactly favored in the wizarding world anymore.
Arthur had a faraway look in his eyes as he continued, his gaze fixating on Percy. “I’ve always felt that I… that I couldn’t provide him with the tools he needed to fulfill his ambitions. It wasn’t as hard for the rest of you kids, but I never felt like I could give Percy the help he needed.” A quiet laugh escaped Arthur; it was the most self-deprecating sound Ron had ever heard from his father. “I suppose I’m just jealous of Lucius. He’s never had to worry about affording his son’s school supplies, about helping with his son’s finances; he’s never had any trouble giving his son his best shot… and now he’s going to give my son what I never could.”
Arthur sighed heavily. Then, as though just remembering that Ron was his audience, he sent a rueful smile his son’s way. “Sorry, Ron. I didn’t mean to unload on you, son.”
“No,” Ron said quickly, “no, that’s okay, Dad.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the rest of their family. Fred and George were entertaining Angelina and Hermione, Bill was doting on a pregnant Fleur, Harry and Ginny were laughing with Charlie… And then, on the other side of the garden, Pansy, Blaise, and Theodore were talking amongst themselves. Percy was trying to keep Lucius and Narcissa engaged in a conversation while Molly was chatting with Draco.
“I think I ruined Percy’s day,” Ron admitted to his father suddenly, quietly. “I’ve… I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so disappointed.”
Arthur winced. “I had my hand in that, Ron. He was the one to break up my argument.” Another heavy sigh followed those words. “It’s difficult to be happy for him when our judgement clouds us, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Ron’s gaze found Percy once more, trying so hard to impress his future in-laws. Lucius looked put out, but Narcissa was trying to smile, at least. Ron glanced back at his father. “We have to make it up to him, don’t we?”
Arthur turned to Ron sheepishly. “If you figure out how, let me know.”
Merlin, Ron thought.
His attention was diverted when his mother declared that it was time to have a bit of fun. She waved her wand at the old Muggle radio that Arthur had enchanted years ago to play wizarding stations, and music filled the air. Ron watched as Draco stood and held out a hesitant hand to Molly, his face hard, as though he was prepared for rejection. But Molly accepted without a fuss. Ron watched, a little in awe, as Draco—who’d made fun of his mother’s weight and financial situation for almost a full decade—brought her close and guided her in an elegant waltz.
Percy followed suit with Narcissa. His movements were clumsier (Percy, though talented in many other areas, had never been much of a dancer), but Ron was surprised to see that Narcissa only seemed amused by this.
Harry and Ginny quickly joined them, closely followed by Hermione and Charlie—message received, Ron thought with a wince—and then Bill and Fleur. George and Angelina paired off, as did Pansy and Blaise. Even Fred had dragged a startled-looking Theodore onto the dancefloor.
That just left Ron, Lucius, and Arthur on the sidelines.
“Well, then.” Arthur cleared his throat and stood, grabbing a glass of champagne off of a narby table. “I guess this is my cue to try and apologize to Lucius.” He locked eyes with Ron. “Wish me luck.”
And then he was off, determinedly making his way over to the Slytherin.
Ron felt pathetic sitting there by himself, but he supposed he deserved it. He watched everyone dance with a certain wistfulness. As soon as the first dance was over, Ron stood, having made up his mind about what he had to do.
He felt like a fool as he approached Draco, but he’d never let that stop him before. Gryffindor stubbornness, and all that.
Once he reached the Slytherin, he cleared his throat.
“I… I don’t suppose you’d like to… you know.” Ron gestured at the others, who were pairing up again as the next song started.
Draco looked at Ron’s outstretched hand, his lips pulling back in a sneer. His grey eyes were suspicious as he looked at Ron. “Is this a trick?”
It wasn’t, but Ron grudgingly admitted to himself that Draco had reason to think so. “No,” he said honestly. “It’s an olive branch. And… and an apology.”
Some of the hostility vanished from Draco’s gaze, but he was still wary. Still, he took Ron’s hand. “All right, then.”
“I’m a bad dancer,” Ron warned him as they began; both men determinedly ignored their gaping friends and family.
A flicker of amusement passed over Draco’s face. “I know.”
It felt very strange to be standing so close to his childhood bully, and even more so to be holding his hand, but this was for Percy, dammit. He’d suffer through it, and he wouldn’t mess it up this time.
“You really love my brother?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question, but the silence was suffocating. And this… this was something he wanted an honest answer to.
“Yes.” Draco’s conviction was apparent in his voice. “I really do, Weasley.” He hesitated. “If you can never trust me… at least don’t worry about that.”
Ron struggled to find the right words. It was so hard to surrender his hatred for this man, but their families were about to become one. He had to try and trust him.
While he was trying to find his voice, Draco spoke again. There was a distant look in his eyes, as though he didn’t realize anymore that he was still speaking with Ron. “I never thought I could have any of this,” he murmured. “Especially not after the war. We lost all favor, all respect… For the first time ever, I couldn’t rely on my family name. All I had was myself, and I didn’t like what I saw.” Draco looked back at Ron, then, practically daring the Gryffindor to poke fun at his weakness. But Ron was listening attentively.
“I ran into your brother at a pub; we both wanted to forget, just for a little while. I didn’t expect to fall for him.” Draco paused, then let out a short laugh; the sound surprised Ron. “I really didn’t expect him to fall for me. After all, who would need me for me?” Draco’s Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. “But he did. So yes, Weasley.” Draco looked at him steadily. “I do care about him.”
Ron nodded slowly. He took a deep, slow breath in, then let it out. “I don’t like you,” he told Draco bluntly. “And I know you don’t like me. This isn’t going to be easy for me, Malfoy, and I’ll mess it up—I’ve already messed it up—but I want to try for my brother.”
To his astonishment, Draco’s eyes softened with agreement. “I’ll try too, Weasley.”
It wasn’t a perfect arrangement, but Ron was satisfied. The dance ended—thankfully—and Ron and Draco quickly released each other. Ron turned around to see Hermione watching him proudly, and he nodded his goodbye to Draco and hurried over to his girlfriend. She kissed him on the cheek once he reached her.
“Nice save,” she said wryly, a small smile on her face.
“I’m never doing that again,” Ron said immediately. “I hope Percy knows how much he means to me, because there are very few people I would dance with Malfoy for.”
Hermione’s dark eyes crinkled at the corners as she grinned. “I think he does,” she murmured. She grabbed his shoulder and turned him around; Ron saw Percy beaming at him from over Molly’s shoulder.
“Good.” Ron’s voice was thick. “That’s… that’s good.”
Then he turned to Hermione, holding out a hand. “Would you care to dance?”
Hermione’s dark fingers laced through Ron’s pale ones. “I’d love to.”