Chapter Text
Ron flinched when the daytime lights suddenly turned on, squinting against the harsh fluorescence. He groaned softly, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye in an attempt to push away the never-ending migraine at the front of his head. Had he even slept? He couldn’t recall closing his eyes, but he felt a long chunk of time had evaporated from his memory. He twisted his wrist, his heart sinking.
6:01. If he had slept, it wasn’t for very long. He ran his fingers through his hair, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes felt heavy; in fact, everything felt heavy. It was a struggle to even keep his head up. He wiped his palm down his face, peering through his fingers toward the front desk, toward the large, white double doors ahead of him.
There hadn’t been an update. He would have remembered that. And if he had slept, they would have woken him up.
Ron sighed, twisting slightly to look at Luna. She was draped across the arm of the chair next to him, her head hanging into the seat even farther away. Her hand was suspended limply in the air by her position. Blimey, that couldn’t be comfortable. Without thinking, Ron tentatively reached for her face, tucking a strand of long, dirty blonde hair behind her ear. He stayed there a moment, thumbing lightly at her cheek, admiring her as she slept.
He wasn’t surprised when her eyes fluttered open. Luna was always a light sleeper. She always knew when the atmosphere changed, when the wind blew a different way, and she always woke up. That was why they were here so early in the first place.
“Ron.”
He shifted, pulling the blanket under his chin and nuzzling into it. She wouldn’t get him this time. He refused to open his eyes. If he ignored her long enough, he’d fall right back to sleep, and she could tell him in the morning about whatever shadow creature happened to pass over them just now.
“Ron, wake up.”
Her hand was at his shoulder, gently rocking him. Nope. He wasn’t going to give in.
“Ron—”
“Bloody hell, Luna,” Ron muttered, twisting to face her. “I’m trying to sleep.”
“But—”
“I don’t need to know about whatever it is that has graced us with its presence until the morning.”
Luna stayed silent. Great. Now she had him worried. Ron wiped at his eyes, pausing slightly to awe at the halo of her hair, glowing against the moon beams that shined through the window. Her eyes matched the pale light, blinking owlishly at him.
“There’s a wolf in our bedroom,” Luna whispered.
Ron threw back the covers, snatching his wand from the bedside table and sitting upright. He pointed his wand straight at the doorway – he didn’t even have a spell ready yet, but there was a fucking wolf in their bedroom (what bloody spell would stop a wolf from eating them alive?) – only to freeze at the ethereal, white specter sitting calmly in their doorway. It wisped slightly, stray strands of smoke emanating and dissipating as the wolf watched them.
It blinked at them once, its eyes unsettlingly grey, gleaming against its otherwise blueish hue. Ron would know those eyes anywhere, to his immense displeasure. Sometimes cruel, sometimes deadly, and always belonging to a fucking prat.
“I think it’s Draco’s,” Luna whispered again.
Ron slowly lowered his wand and nodded once. “I’d have to agree.”
Looking back on it now, Ron should have known something was wrong. He certainly hadn’t been expecting the call this soon. But he got carried away; both of them did. Luna couldn’t stop tittering about how excited she was as they got dressed, and Ron’s hands were clammy; an intense, happy anticipation consumed him, made his heartrate skyrocket.
Imagine their surprise when they entered St. Mungo’s and found Malfoy pacing, his platinum hair unusually disheveled. Alone. Ron was used to his stomach turning to lead in an instant; the feeling came with being friends with Harry, a package deal. But he’d be lying if he didn’t say the sensation faded away after the war. And he’d certainly be lying if he did say that he ever expected to feel an imposing threat of dread over Malfoy.
So, here they were, over two hours later. Because what did one do in situations like this? You couldn’t go home, and you felt like you were imposing if you stayed. Ron, for one, didn’t particularly care if he was imposing. The git shouldn’t have called him if he didn’t want him to impose.
“What time is it?”
Luna’s soft voice ripped him from his thoughts. Her voice was gravelly, the way it always was in the mornings. Ron dropped his hand, pulling on a smile that probably appeared anything but.
“Six. Early.”
Luna hummed, remaining motionless. “Did they say anything?”
Ron shook his head, watching as she pulled herself upright. Her hand immediately shot to the back of her neck, her brows furrowing as she grimaced.
“Ow.”
Ron couldn’t help his snort. “Sorry,” he said, his hand covering her own, his thumb pressing lightly into her skin. “I would have woken you up sooner if I noticed.”
Luna tilted her head, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth. Then, her eyes widened, concern drawing over her features as she scanned the waiting room.
“Where’s Draco?” she blurted.
Ron frowned. He twisted to his other side, finding the seat that Malfoy was sitting in empty. Merlin, was that guy a ghost? Ron swore that he just appeared and disappeared at will, without the snap that usually accompanied apparition. It was bloody annoying.
“‘Dunno,” Ron mustered. “Probably went to take a piss.”
Luna looked unconvinced. She would never directly argue with him, but he could always tell when she disagreed. A certain calm would set into her face, usually followed by some suggestion that he wouldn’t be able to get out of. Ron sighed and let his hand fall as she reached her arms over her head, stretching toward the ceiling.
“You should talk to him,” Luna said, covering her mouth with her hand as she yawned.
Ron scrunched his nose. Now that he would get out of.
“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” Ron muttered darkly. “And I don’t want to talk to him, more importantly.”
“Why would he call us here, then?”
Ron gritted his teeth and threw his eyes to his jeans, picking at the material uselessly. “We’re Hermione’s friends. We should be here.”
It was quiet next to him. He could hear the faint pattering of feet on the other side of the double doors. After a moment, Luna sighed and sank into her chair. Ron glanced at her, tilting his head.
“What?”
Luna shook her head, staring off somewhere far away. “It baffles me when you choose to be oblivious.”
Ron narrowed his eyes. “I don’t choose to be oblivious. What are you on about?”
Luna looked at him then, her powdery, blue eyes seeing through him, and smiled sadly. “Then you know that Draco is your friend, too. Not just Hermione.”
They stared at each other for a long time. Luna was giving him one of her looks, the “I’m much smarter than I outwardly present myself” one. Or maybe it was the “You couldn’t argue with me if you tried” one. They often blended together. Luna had many looks, he had come to realize. She wasn’t much of a talker because her expressions did all the work for her.
Ron pressed his lips together and leaned back into his chair, breaking their eye contact. He didn’t know that Malfoy was his friend. Even if he did, it wasn’t much of a consideration. They were barely cordial, and that was mostly out of respect toward Hermione. The restraint was palpable between them; they shot quips that toed the line, instead of outwardly arguing every other second. If he was being honest, most of the time they avoided each other, when they could manage it.
Ron wasn’t like Harry. He didn’t forgive very easily. Especially when it came to Malfoy. The thought of comforting him made him want to puke slugs again.
Luna took his hand then, her fingers intertwining with his. It made his arm weak, melt into a puddle. It always did.
“She would appreciate it,” she said softly.
And there it was. He didn’t know how Luna could be so convincing with very few words. It had to be an artform. Ron took a deep breath, tightening their handhold ever so slightly.
“Fine. I’ll talk to him.”
Luna smiled, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go. Ron shook his head, dumbfounded that he was being coerced into this, and pushed himself out of the chair. “I’m going to call Harry,” he called over his shoulder, and he meandered toward the front entrance, zipping his jacket up to his chin and tucking his hands in his pockets.
The air was bitter; it stung his cheeks, so cold that it burned like fire. It wasn’t a very pleasant morning. The sun wasn’t up yet, but Ron could tell it would be a cloudy day. The sky was a dark grey, as if smoke was hiding everything, making the world appear flat. February was the most miserable month, if you asked him. Just when you were done with winter, there was a whole other month to get through. Ron’s teeth chattered as he walked toward the end of the sidewalk, his breath fogging in sporadic puffs as he breathed.
He was just about to pull out his wand, the wood freezing against his palm as he scanned the nearly empty lot, when he stopped in his tracks. There was Malfoy. He was standing about a meter away, his back rigid as he looked across the horizon. Ron scanned him from head to toe; he didn’t appear to need a talk. Then again, Ron wasn’t very good at reading him. Malfoy looked fine, other than the fact that his outfit was clearly haphazardly put together. It was like he threw on whatever he saw first. Considering the situation, Ron wouldn’t be surprised if he had.
And then there was the cigarette in his hand. Maybe he was the one smoking up the entire sky.
Ron swallowed, stuffing his hands further into his pockets and turning his head to the east. It was lighter that way, the clouds fading into a lilac hue. Fuck, he didn’t want to talk to him. It wasn’t even because of their silent truce. Ron didn’t want to talk to him because that would mean talking about what was going on inside, which he knew very little about, other than the fact that it scared the shit out of him. It was easier to avoid it entirely.
He glanced toward Malfoy again. Gryffindors didn’t do easy, he reminded himself. And Hermione would want him to.
“Thought you quit,” he called across the sidewalk.
Malfoy flinched. His eyes matched the sky, dragging over Ron as he slowly approached. When he finally reached his side, Malfoy sighed, dropping his left hand and letting it hang in the air, the cigarette wisping between his fingers.
“Who told you that?” Malfoy rasped.
Ron shrugged. “‘Mione.”
Malfoy pursed his lips, his throat bobbing. He stared straight ahead, as if Ron wasn’t even there. Ron exhaled through his teeth. The prat was going to make this as difficult as he possibly could, wasn’t he?
“You call Harry?” Ron blurted, raising an eyebrow. “He might be up by now.”
Malfoy nodded once. He lifted his hand, taking a long drag from the cigarette. He had the decency to turn his head, blowing the smoke away from Ron; it was the wind that carried it back over his face. Ron cleared his throat, tucking his chin under his collar and squinting his eyes against the foul odor.
Malfoy didn’t apologize.
“Didn’t know you could cast a Patronus,” Ron admitted plainly.
Malfoy’s brow furrowed, and he glared at him through the corner of his eye. “I do have happy memories, you know.”
Ron nodded aggressively, shifting his weight between his feet. “Right, right.”
Merlin, this was terrible. He had never had a decent conversation with Malfoy in his life. Should he just outright ask? Was he going to make him do that? Ron’s hands were digging so far into his pockets that he expected them to rip open. Bugger, get a grip, he thought miserably.
“How…” Ron inhaled sharply. This was not going to go well. “How’re you holding up, mate?”
Malfoy’s hand froze its trajectory, his mouth still slightly parted. He slowly turned his head, a deadly glower painted fantastically across his face.
“I’m outside of St. Mungo’s waiting for an update on my girlfriend, who could be concurrently dying alongside my unborn child.”
Ron’s insides withered.
“How do you think I’m holding up?”
Ron’s shoulders tensed. “Just fine?” he suggested, attempting a weak smile.
Malfoy stared at him like he had just fucked his mother. “Piss off, Weasley,” he hissed, ripping his gaze away.
Ron let out a breathy groan. “I’m sorry,” he pleaded, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. He refused to take his hands out of his pockets. “I was just trying to make you feel better.”
“Well, don’t,” Malfoy snapped. He took another drag from the cigarette, his jaw clenched.
Ron threw his eyes to the horizon, cursing inwardly. How are you holding up? Just fine? What the fuck was he thinking? The worst of it was, he could feel another onslaught of absolutely horrendous conversation at the tip of his tongue. He was never very good at thinking before speaking, and apparently this wasn’t going to be an exception.
“Look,” Ron started, his chest constricting against him. “I am sorry. I wasn’t expecting to see you out here. I was going to call Harry myself. I thought I’d have more time to come up with something to say.”
“Why do you have to say anything at all?” Malfoy drawled.
Ron balked, snapping his head toward Malfoy. “Because it’s Hermione.”
Malfoy visibly weakened at her name. His shoulders slackened, and his eyes lost their hard edge. His hand moved toward his mouth again, only to pause, his thumb scratching at his chin lightly instead.
Ron’s heart sank. He was, at the very least, smart enough to quell his hatred because of what he saw between them. He was the first to notice them, even before they told everyone. Malfoy always looked at Hermione like she was the world, the sun that rose. He didn’t want to know what it was like to consider life without the sun.
“They’ll be alright, Malfoy,” Ron said gently.
Malfoy let out a shaky breath, matching the smoke that fizzled from the end of his fag. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” he responded curtly.
Ron frowned. “Why not?”
Malfoy was silent for a moment. He straightened, bringing his right arm across his chest and resting his other elbow against his wrist. Ron started to wonder if there was something across the lot that he wasn’t seeing.
“I don’t have the best luck,” he finally said quietly.
Ron blinked. He couldn’t necessarily argue with that. He opened his mouth anyway, only to freeze when Malfoy exhaled deeply. He pressed his hand against his eyes, shielding himself away.
“I wouldn’t forgive myself if…” Malfoy started to say. He didn’t finish, wiping his hand down his face slowly, and turning toward Ron. It was a shocking image to him. He could never read Malfoy, but he could now. He was utterly devastated.
“She didn’t want to have it, you know.”
Ron blinked once. “Hermione?”
Malfoy nodded, his mouth drawing into a thin line. “With the long-term effects of prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse combined between the two of us, it is statistically improbable that a child could survive to term.” He cocked his head then, his palm turning upward. “Among other things.”
Ron’s eyebrows lifted slightly. He glanced at Malfoy’s left hand, ringless.
“That does sound like Hermione,” he managed.
Malfoy’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Yep,” he said lowly, taking another drag.
Ron let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He removed his hands from his pockets, crossing his arms and squeezing tightly against his chest. Blimey, it was fucking cold.
“I’m glad you convinced her.”
Malfoy turned sharply, his eyes flashing.
“She deserves to be a mum,” Ron clarified. He tilted his head, scoffing lightly. “Hell, she was basically my mum in school. Me and Harry.”
Malfoy’s eyes softened. He even let out a breathy laugh, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“And it’s not about luck,” Ron continued. He looked at Malfoy, considering him. “Hermione’s a fighter. I’ve seen her through some shit, and so have you.”
Malfoy swallowed heavily. He ripped his gaze to the ground, pressing his lips together.
“And if that kid is anything like her, which, I certainly hope it is—”
“You didn’t have to say that,” Malfoy interrupted quickly.
“Then it’s a fighter, too,” Ron finished. He faced Malfoy fully, taking a step forward and grabbing his shoulder, shaking him lightly. “So, when I say that they’ll be alright, you best believe me.”
He waited until Malfoy looked him in the eye and nodded. Ron knew it was the only gesture of thanks he’d receive now. If he knew anything about Malfoy, gratitude came in actions throughout a long period of time. He treated it as a debt. Ron sighed and patted his shoulder, letting his hand fall between them with his palm outstretched.
Malfoy frowned, his eyes glittering slightly. “Eager to hold my hand now, Weasley?”
Ron blew air harshly through his lips. “Are you kidding?” He snatched the fag from Malfoy’s hand, ignoring his affronted gaze as he held it to his face.
“This stays between us,” Ron ordered, and he threw the stick to the ground. “Hermione would kill me if she found out I let you smoke.”
Malfoy snorted, his smile devilish. “Looks like we have something in common, then,” he drawled. “She’d kill me, too.”
Ginny pulled Malfoy into a bone-crushing hug as soon as she and Harry arrived. Ron’s eyes widened at the sight. He tapped at Luna’s hand lightly, and she looked up from the newest edition of The Quibbler, inherently knowing what he was calling her attention to.
“Never thought I’d see the day,” Ron whispered, leaning closer to her.
Luna hummed noncommittedly. “Yes, well, hospitals do tend to bring people together in funny ways.”
Harry started off nervously hovering, clearly trying to think of something to say other than the classic “I’m sorry.” He finally retired after Malfoy told him to fuck off, slouching into the chair next to Ron and sparing concerned glances toward the git’s way.
“Can’t believe they haven’t come back with anything yet,” Harry muttered.
Ron sighed. After the war ended, Harry started up a habit of talking through things as they were happening. It was preferable over the lack of talking he did during it, but Ron failed to see how he couldn’t have found a happy medium between the two methods.
“You’ve been here longer,” Harry said suddenly, leaning toward him. “How is he doing?”
Ron lifted an eyebrow, glancing at Harry in the corner of his eye.
“Draco,” Harry clarified, although it didn’t need clarifying.
“Oh,” Ron said shortly. He tilted his head, peering at Malfoy, before focusing on Harry again. “Terrible.”
Harry stared at him blankly, before gritting his teeth and sitting back in his seat a little too hard. “It’s not funny, Ron.”
“I’m being serious,” Ron said. When Harry didn’t answer, he patted his arm lightly. “Don’t worry about it. I talked to him.”
Harry’s neck nearly broke. “I said it wasn’t funny.”
“I said I was serious,” Ron repeated.
The way Harry was looking at him, Ron considered that he had suddenly sprouted a third limb.
“You talked to Malfoy,” Harry said slowly.
“I did.”
“He did,” Luna supplied on the other side of him.
Harry balked, his mouth dropping open. “Well, how was he? What did he say—?”
“Mister Malfoy?”
Ron’s eyes widened as he slowly turned to the double doors at the back of the waiting room. A young woman stood there, outfitted excessively in the Healer uniform. He scrambled from his seat, like she was a sudden oasis in the desert. Apparently, everyone else had the same idea, because her face paled when she was suddenly confronted with a mob of apprehensive, standing individuals.
“Just Mister Malfoy, she said,” the Healer gasped out, her hand lifting like she was a traffic cop.
Ron couldn’t breathe. She said. Hermione was alive. She spoke. She requested Malfoy, that arse. Ron whirled, shocked to see that Malfoy was the only one sitting. He wasn’t even moving.
“Draco, go,” Ron called, pointing toward the double doors.
Malfoy glanced at him, his eyes wide, and then he pushed himself out of his seat, following the Healer with long strides into St. Mungo’s. Ron stared after them until the doors fully closed, his ears ringing loudly from lack of sleep and alarm.
They waited. They waited some more. They debated over whether the fact they were waiting so long was good or bad. And when the Healer came back, they mobbed her again; Ginny demanded to see them so harshly that Ron was sure that the girl would cry.
“You’re allowed to go back now,” she said shakily. “I’ll take you.”
They herded her down the hallway. The poor girl had to practically run to stay ahead of them. “This is Miss Granger’s room,” she said finally, turning on her heel to face them. “I have to remind you that she’s been through a lot, she’s very tired, so don’t overwhelm—”
“For fuck’s sake, let us in!” Ginny shouted.
The Healer nodded quickly, gesturing for them to go in and hurrying away.
They crowded into the doorway immediately. Ron was grateful he was taller than all of them; he saw Malfoy first, saw the swaddle of pink blankets that he cradled in his arms as he stood by the bed. He looked up, and he was more elated than Ron had ever seen him.
He felt like he was in slow motion as he dragged his eyes to the bed. Hermione turned her head against the pillow. Her hair was so frizzy and wild that Ron thought it could strangle her, and her face was pale and drenched in sweat.
“Hey,” she said weakly. Her smile was anything but.
Ron let out a sigh of relief, his heart soaring. “Fuck you, Hermione,” he choked out. “Don’t do that shit again.”
Everyone else was still fawning over Hermione as he sidled his way toward Malfoy. “Congrats, mate,” he said, patting his arm lightly and peering into the blankets. It kind of looked like a lizard.
“She’s beautiful,” Ron said instead.
Malfoy exhaled sharply through his nose, his mouth splitting into a perfect smile. “Right, Weasley. Tell me what you really think.”
Ron scrunched his nose, playfully contorting his face into a grimace. “You don’t want me to.”
Malfoy looked up, raising a brow in challenge. “Granger called her a lizard.”
Ron’s mouth dropped open.
“She’s still on the meds,” Malfoy drawled, glancing between him and Hermione.
Ron wheezed, clapping his hand over his mouth. “I guess it is possible for me and Hermione to think the same.”
Malfoy bit his lip, shaking his head as his eyes were drawn back to his daughter. Ron smiled at him and leaned forward conspiratorially.
“Hey,” Ron said quietly. “Statistically improbable, my arse.”
Malfoy tsked, his smile widening. Even then, he didn’t look up. Ron stood back slightly, glancing around the room before finally settling on Luna. She smiled faintly, her eyes a perfect blue.
Ron sighed, fisting his hands in his pockets. He’d be the first to call it. Draco Malfoy was going to be a great father.