Archive of Our Own

Ron is five years old the first time he goes to the sea. His oldest brothers are waist deep in the ocean water but he stands at the shore, eyes following the movement of the waves as they wash over his feet again and again. 

He can hear the sounds around him. He can hear his mum call to Charlie, telling him not to go in too deep. He can hear Fred and George giggling loudly as they mess with a sleeping Percy. The sounds are there, but they're muted and seem faraway.

The only sounds that are vivid are the loud splash of the water against the sand and rocks, spilling onto the earth before retreating again and again.

His feet sink into the earth, grounding him, holding him there. He feels entirely at peace as he closes his eyes, allows the overwhelming scent of salt fills his nose, and breathes.

—

Ron has never been a patient person. He has been reckless and short-tempered, thoughtless and rash, careless and impulsive. He is not calm or diligent or gentle.

In the aftermath of the war, that is all he can be. He is thrown into it; the role of a grown up, of a pillar of comfort, of the person everyone seeks out for reassurance whenever they may need it.

At Fred's funeral, Ron does not cry. He has Ginny's face cradled to his chest as her tears soak his sweater. He has his hand clung tightly to George's as his brother squeezes so tightly it almost cuts off his blood flow.

The sound of his mother's sobs ring through his ears, the clicking of cameras amplified, the burst of light from the flashes that dot his vision with darkness. His breath catches in his throat and stays there, clogging his airway. 

He tries to ignore the rapid rise and fall of his chest but everything around him seems to blur, his head spinning and Oh Gods, is this what a heart attack feels like?

Ginny's arms tighten around his waist and George's shoulder presses against his. He focuses on that and forces himself to suck in a mouthful of oxygen—

—and breathes.

—

Two months after the war ends, Harry says that he's leaving. 

Ron doesn't want him to leave and yet, he doesn't ask him not to. Ron knows that if he asks, Harry will stay — he has no doubt about it. That's just who Harry is; he's spent his whole life sacrificing for others: his time, his safety, his life. He deserves to have peace, to have happiness, and if leaving will grant him those then who is Ron to ask him to stay?

"I'm sorry," Harry says softly with his face against Ron's shoulder. He is too small, a result of childhood malnutrition, but he fits perfectly in Ron's arms. Ron doesn't want to let go.

"Don't be," he responds, voice breaking off at the end, "Just promise me you'll come back when you're ready."

Harry nods but he doesn't promise. It doesn't occur to Ron until several months later when Harry has still not returned home.

Without Harry and Hermione, who is off in Australia to find her parents, Ron spends all of his free time with his family. It has never felt broken like this before, never been this quiet in their house. All that occupies it is the space left open by the twins—

because it feels like George is gone too. Mum can barely even look at him on the rare occasion that he joins them for dinner. He reminds her too much of what she has lost. 

When she notices the clock hand on the floor of the kitchen, she is inconsolable. 

Ron spends his time in the kitchen, cooking dinner and baking pastries because no one else will. He takes care of Mum's plants and uses his afternoons to clean the house. He places food outside the doors that never seem to open.

His home feels haunted by souls that are still alive.

Over the weekends, Ron visits Andromeda. She, too, has lost so much during the war and her grandson is all the family she has left that are not estranged or dead.

He likes spending time with Teddy anyway. The boy reminds him of why they went through all that they did in the first place; for a real and proper future.

"He seems to cry harder at night, when he realises Dora isn't there," Andromeda tells him, a faraway look in her eye that Ron recognises from his own mother's face, "He's too young to have lost so much already."

"But he's really lucky to have you," Ron says as he places his hand over hers, "And he's got all of us too. If there's one thing I can guarantee, it's that Teddy won't grow up lonely."

She cups his face in a maternal manner and smiles. "You're a good boy, Ron. Remember to take care of yourself." 

He smiles but he's keenly aware that it doesn't reach his eyes. "Of course."

Teddy Lupin is bright and sweet and completely untouched by the effects of the war. When he stops crying for his parents, Andromeda feels a deep shame at her own brief reposition.

Ron tells her it's okay, that Dora and Remus wouldn't want her to be discomforted or exhausted. He knows it's hypocritical because he can't stop feeling like a traitor to his brother whenever he forgets, for a moment, that Fred is no longer there.

He reminds himself that he is still alive and breathing and for that, he has no right to be feeling like he shouldn't be, like the wrong Weasley has been taken from his family, like his family would have been recovering by now had it been him.

It's a thought he can't seem to shake.

—

Three months after the war ends, Hermione returns without her parents. She is completely distraught as she cries herself to sleep in Ron's arms, 

She stays with him at the Burrow, of course, but it is clear that she feels out of place there. She asks if he's heard much from Harry and all he can do is press his lips together and shake his head. Harry has sent only two letters since he left a month prior.

When the time comes for them to speak about their relationship, Ron takes her hand in his. "I love you, 'Mione, I really do. I just don't think… I don't think I can love you the way I thought I did. I'm sorry."

She lets out a sigh of relief. "Me too. I don't think I want to be in a serious relationship right now anyway. I'd like to focus on my career for a while."

It's clean and mutual and Ron thinks he should be more upset about it but, honestly, he can't really bring himself to be. What hurts more than the breakup itself is the obvious distance that grows between himself and Hermione now that Harry isn't there with them. They're a trio, not a duo, and it just doesn't work when the three of them aren't all together.

Hermione moves into her own place not long after she returns. They meet once a week, then once a fortnight, then once a month. Ron feels as if he is, piece by piece, losing himself.

—

Six months after the war ends, Ron joins the Auror Corps. It isn't something he wants, it's something more like an obligation or an expectation. He is the only one of what the Wizarding World has dubbed The Golden Trio that isn't doing something, as far as they know. 

Hermione has taken her NEWTs already and started work in politics. Harry is… well, nobody really knows what Harry's doing but he's not there for anybody to talk about, so that leaves Ron. 

If he's being honest, he hates it. The training is boring and tiring, and the only part he really enjoys is the physical training because it exhausts his body to the point that he collapses into a slumber as soon as his head hits his pillow.

He does it anyway, without complaint, because this is what everyone wants him to do. 

—

A year after the war ends, Ron moves out of the Burrow. The guilt of leaving settles in his chest and weighs it down, a vile and uncomfortable thing. He can't be there any longer though, lest it suffocates him.

His family is healing, slowly, but a sure thing. Everyone is slowly picking themselves back up and revealing glimpses of their old selves. 

Everyone, that is, except George. George who has moved into the flat above the store he opened up with his other half, George who no longer knows how to be himself without Fred . Because they were FredandGeorge and now there is just him and he doesn't know how to be alone; he's never had to be before. 

He is there and alive and doing everything he should; he's running a successful business and smiling at his friends and talking to his family but he isn't really there.

Ron has spent the last year of his life being the backbone of his family but they don't need him anymore. They don't need him to cook or clean or take care of the things they neglected. He doesn't know what to do with himself anymore. 

He gets a flat in Muggle London, despite knowing next to nothing about Muggles. Hermione helps him because of course she does and he feels at ease there, away from the crowds of people who flock to him and reporters who watch his every move. 

He visits clubs and bars and discovers the pleasures of intoxication and smoking. He knows, logically, that it's bad for him, he knows. But no one is there to stop him when he picks out another cigarette, lights it with a wave of his hand, brings it to his lips—

—and breathes.

—

Dear Harry, 

Are you coming home for Christmas this year? It's been over two years since you left and everyone misses you a lot mate. Mum wants to know when you'll be coming back, even just to visit. I know it's been hard Haz and I get it if you're not ready to move back here but it'd be nice if you could visit once in a while or at least floo call us. I'm starting to forget the sound of your voice. Let me know if/when you'll come.

Ron. 

Harry has still not returned. Ron hasn't heard from him in weeks and, truth be told, he's not even certain about where the man is. 

It aches somewhere deep within him in a place he rarely acknowledges and even more rarely tries to deal with. It's buried in his chest with his grief, and the nausea he feels when he looks in the mirror for too long, and the screams that rip from his throat to tear him from his sleep. 

If Harry notices the dried out droplets on the parchment, he doesn't mention it in his reply that says no, he can't make it for Christmas but he'll try to visit when he can. 

Ron doesn't reply, he can't. He won't burden Harry with his feelings. He can't do that to him. So he sits in this disappointment and sadness and rejection and let's it fill him till it rips from his guts and spills from his eyes.

He rinses the ugly taste out of his mouth, brushes his teeth and splashes cold water in his face. When he catches his own eye in the mirror, his stomach clenches again and he turns away quickly.

—

Three years after the war ends, Ron sees Draco Malfoy for the first time since the trials. Ron didn't stick around for the verdict then; he gave his piece and left. He remembers seeing the blond looking subdued, pale, almost sickly as he watched his life slip through his fingers.

If he were still sixteen, he would have thrown a fit at the sight of Malfoy holding Teddy as if he belonged there in Andromeda's house, as if it's a normal thing for him to be there. 

But he's not sixteen anymore. He's twenty now and it's been a long time since he's been that angry, unrestrained teenager.

"Malfoy," he says in lieu of a greeting as he steps out of the Floo. He spots Andromeda and goes over to kiss her cheek.

"Won!" Teddy exclaims, his hair turning from mint green to a violent shade of red even brighter than Ron's own. 

"Weasley," Malfoy returns, a skeptical look on his face, like he thinks Ron is suddenly going to send an AK his way. 

"Hey, Ted," Ron greets, watching the boy wiggle out of Malfoy's arms to throw himself against Ron's legs. Ron picks him up and blows a raspberry against his stomach before settling him on his hip. "How's it going, kiddo? Sorry I missed you last week, I had some work to get done." 

Teddy smiles brightly. "S'okay! D'you know Daco?"

"Draco," Ron corrects, lightly kissing Teddy's nose, "We went to Hogwarts together." 

"Nana says he my cousin," he says excitedly, "Cool, yeah? I never have cousin before."

"That is cool," Ron replies sincerely, glancing at Draco momentarily, "I'm sure Draco is very excited to have such a sweet boy as his cousin."

Teddy giggles and hides his face in the crook of Ron's neck. 

It's funny, looking back on it, how Ron and Draco end up seated on the carpeted floor of Andromeda's living room, playing with Teddy as if they were never rivals, enemies, on different sides of a war. 

Eventually, Teddy is exhausted from running around and ends up dropping into Ron's lap and his eyes flutter close not long after. 

Ron looks at Draco. "Got any plans after this?" 

"Excuse me?" He responds, raising an eyebrow. 

"Do you have any plans, Malfoy?" The redhead repeats. 

Draco gives him a contemplating look before eventually saying, "No. I don't." 

"Wanna go for a drink?"

The other boy—man, Ron corrects mentally—takes a moment to reply. "Yeah, alright, Weasley."

They end up going to a Muggle bar close to Ron's flat after saying their goodbyes to Andromeda. She seemed relieved that they weren't at each other's throats like she probably thought they would be.

"So," Ron says, setting down his glass of scotch, "What have you been up to?"

Draco narrows his eyes. "I'm going to assume for civility's sake that you're genuinely asking and not trying to mock me."

Blue eyes widen. "Um—I didn't—I haven't been… keeping up with anything, like, at all so… Genuinely asking, yeah."

He sips his mocktail and sighs. "House arrest," he said eventually, "Three years. Monitored spells. Finished my time a week ago."

"Shit," Ron responds, "I had no idea. Sorry 'bout that."

His lips thinned. "Yes, well. It was merciful, all things considered." 

An uncomfortable silence passes between them despite the buzzing of voices around them and music drifting through the speakers. 

"Heard you're an Auror," Malfoy eventually says conversationally, "How's that working out?"

Ron snorts and shakes his head. "It's a fucking drag, mate. Spend the whole day behind a desk. Cat in a tree if I'm lucky." 

He levels him with a look of intrigue. "Then why do you do it?"

Ron pauses. No one has ever really asked him that before. He swirls his drink in his cup, eyes following the movement before he looks back up at Malfoy, grey eyes waiting expectantly. "I don't know. Guess I never really thought of doing anything else."

"You could," Malfoy says, "You could do anything else. Except something in the Potions field perhaps." 

It occurs to Ron that Malfoy is teasing him. When Ron laughs, the nervous look falls off of Draco's face and makes way for a subtle, half-smile. "Too right that. Two years in the Aurors and I'm still pants at Potions."

Ron takes a moment to really look at the other man. He looks a lot different than he did back then. Where his white-blonde hair used to be cropped short and slicked back, it now falls in natural waves down to his jaw. He's grown into the sharp aristocratic features, the high cheekbones and pointy nose. He has an almost androgynous look to him now; Ron thinks he looks somewhat pretty.

He doesn't linger on the thought for too long.

"Well," he says, "I'm still terrible at Divination." 

Ron gives him a deadpanned stare. "Everyone is terrible at Divination. Even Hermione ended up dropping it."

"Defence then," he offers, shrugging, "Only year I didn't completely fuck up was when… in Third Year." 

He smiles gently and nods. "Yeah, Professor Lupin was really bloody brilliant."

They drink to that.

The conversation steers towards more neutral topics. Draco tells Ron about his correspondence with Andromeda since the end of the war, how he reached out through a letter in hopes of reuniting with them, and how they sent letters back and forth till they could meet. It brings a smile to Ron's face. Andromeda deserves all the family she can get.

At the end of the night, Draco offers to pay for their tab. Ron waves him off. "Don't be silly, my drinks costed almost double the price of yours."

When they step out of the bar, Draco looks at him, blond hair blowing away from his face from the chilling wind. "This was… unexpected."

Ron cracks a smile, brushing a hand through his short hair. "What, did you think I'd hex you on sight?"

Malfoy swallows. "Honestly, yeah, sort of."

"I'm…" Ron pauses for a moment. "Three years ago, I probably would have. I'm just tired of fighting. Tired of being angry. The war's over now."

The blond nods slowly. "Right. Still I… I think an apology is overdue. I am sorry about, well, everything. Behaving the way I did at school, then all the business in Sixth Year…"

Ron feels like he's seeing Draco Malfoy for the first time. Like this is Draco not Malfoy, the boy who was always trying to live up to the image created by his father. "Consider yourself forgiven," he says against his better judgment, "I mean, I can't forgive you on behalf of anybody else but… truthfully? I think everyone's a bit over all this hatred and rivalry. Besides, we got your letters back then." 

"You never replied," Draco responds quietly. 

"Everything was… too fresh," he says, thinking back to the months following the end of the war, the months following Fred's death.

"I understand." He nods, hair falling into his face. "And thank you. For giving me a chance. I don't know if I quite deserve it but…" 

Ron waves him off with a smile. "We were kids back then. Too young to go through all the shit we did. Perhaps things would've been different if we'd been given the chance to really be children."

"Probably," he agrees, not meeting Ron's eye, "It's not an excuse though, being children, for everything. It's not like I didn't have options entirely, just—"

He breaks off at the end, as if unsure of what he really wants to say. Ron finds it difficult to not at least sympathise with him, despite all their years of animosity.

Ron knows now that the world isn't just split into good and bad. There are good people who do bad things and bad people who do good things, and there are people who don't fall into either category. 

He thinks back to Snape and the way he treated them as children and though he can never excuse that, it's not difficult to recognise the why. He thinks about the way he himself abandoned his two best friends when they needed him most and, even though he returned, it doesn't erase what he did in the first place.

"Malfoy," Ron says, then decides to go for a different approach, "Draco. We all made choices, whether we'd make the same ones now or not doesn't change that. All we can do is live with it."

"I thought Granger was supposed to be the smart one," he responds, voice shaky even as he delivers the joke.

Ron thinks he may be starting to understand Malfoy—Draco—a bit. "I have my moments." He shrugs.

"I see that." He smiles this time, a full and honest smile that tugs at the corners of his lips and reveals the top row of his teeth, and it makes Ron's entire world stop for a minute. He's known Draco since they were eleven and met him even before that. He's seen sneers and smirks and teasing half-smiles on the man's face but this is new. He's never seen this smile before.

It's difficult to ignore the way it makes his heart stumble for a moment.

—

Three months after meeting Draco again, Ron finds himself settled into an encouraging routine. He still dislikes the work he does every weekday but on Tuesdays and Fridays he visits the Burrow, on Wednesdays he helps George close up the shop and on Thursdays, he meets Draco for a game of chess. 

He still visits Teddy every Saturday but he finds himself asking Draco to tag along almost every time. He enjoys the time spent with them and Andromeda and oftentimes it's the highlight of his week.

"Wanna take Ted to the Zoo on Saturday?" Ron asks him once they've packed up the glass chess set, "He's been going on and on about snakes these past few weeks, figured he'd enjoy it."

"The Muggle one?" Draco asks in response from the kitchen where he's making them tea. 

Ron hums in confirmation. "Away from the crowds and all. Y'know how it gets."

"For multiple reasons, yes," he says, only a tinge of bitterness to his words as he sets down the steaming cups on the kitchen table. Ron sits down across from him and murmurs his thanks. 

"Only problem is that we'd have to keep him from transforming," Draco continues, "Lest we go to trial for breaking the Statue. Maybe we should hold off till he can control his powers a bit better? Remember what happened when he saw a crup for the first time?"

Ron snorts a laugh. "Never forgetting that one, mate. Andy's face when she saw the tail."

"We could take him for that," he pauses, "What's it called? The ice skating but on wheels instead of blades."

"Roller skating," Ron fills in. At first, he found the idea of Draco sodding Malfoy living in Muggle London hilarious. It took him a little while to realise why he made the decision anyway. 

With the Mark on his arm, Draco can barely walk around freely in the Wizarding World, let alone get a job. Why would he need a job, one may ask, and Ron understands now that it's because he doesn't want to rely on the family money. Though a good portion of it was confiscated after the war, the Malfoy and Black families were of the richest purebloods in Wizarding History. Even a small percentage of that money would be enough to live a luxurious life.

"Yeah, that one." Draco's voice pulls him out of his thoughts. "This girl in my calculus class says there's a roller skating place about ten minutes away from here if we take the train. I'm sure Teddy would enjoy something like that."

Ron sips his tea and nods in confirmation. "That sounds nice but… do you know how to roller skate? 'Cause I definitely don't. I think it'd be pretty messy if all three of us didn't know what we were doing."

"I… didn't think of that," he admits, twisting a lock of his hair around his finger, "What about a theme park then? Not much could go wrong there."

"Is that the one with those fucking horrific death traps?" The redhead shudders. 

"You mean the rides?" Draco outright laughs at him. "The ones children go on? Aren't you supposed to be a Gryffindor?"

"Shut it," he grumbles in response, crossing his arms over his chest, "They have no business being that fast or high."

Snickering, Draco replies, "Well, you can always hold our stuff while I take Teddy on the rides." 

"You have to be at least, like, one-point-five meters to go on the big ones! We'll take him on the kid's ones," Ron amends.

"Fine with me." The blond shrugs. "Then Mum and Aunt Andy can take the whole day off if they'd like. Ted can sleep by one of us."

"Sounds good."

When Ron and Draco take Teddy to the theme park, they end up having to obliviate a Muggle stallholder when Teddy's hair changes into the exact same shade of pink of the cotton candy being sold by the man. 

Teddy has a great time though, if the bright grin on his face is anything to go by. Draco takes him on the spinning teacups and the rollercoasters designed for younger children while Ron snaps photos using the film camera he purchased weeks before.

"Excuse me," Ron says to a woman with bright pink streaks in her hair, "Would you mind taking a picture for us?"

Draco lifts Teddy up between them and the boy slings his arm around Ron's neck, pulling them all close together. They all smile brightly as the click of the camera goes off. Only later does Ron see the fond look Draco gives him and Teddy.

"You guys are really brave," the woman says as she hands the camera back to Ron, "And very cute together!" 

Draco and Ron share an amused look but neither of them end up correcting her before she bounds off.

Later that evening, when Teddy is settled into bed at Ron's two-bedroom flat, Ron asks Draco over tea, "Were you uncomfortable? With what that lady said today?"

Draco's posture straightens. "No. Why would I be?"

Ron shrugs and leans back against the sofa. "Dunno. Thought maybe you wouldn't like that people saw you as a queer." 

He isn't looking at Draco so he misses the deep frown etched on the blond's face. "It wouldn't quite matter what people saw me as because I am, as you so eloquently put it, a queer." Ron's head whips toward Draco. "And if that's a problem—"

"No!" Ron's teacup clinks loudly with how carelessly he puts it down. "No, shit, of course it's not a problem, Draco."

"Well," he says slowly, "You shouldn't go around using words like that if you're not… one yourself."

Ron stutters out an apology and then, "But I don't—I'm not—I don't think I'm, like, entirely straight or… yeah."

Draco gives him a look that very clearly says explain, one eyebrow raised and thinned lips.

"I mean, like, girls, yeah? But also, boys, yeah…" Ron coughs, suddenly feeling awkward. "So I'm not bent but I'm not straight?"

"You know you can like both, right?" He leans forward now, shifting closer to Ron. "It doesn't have to be one or the other."

"So… other people…?" 

Draco laughs, not unkindly. "Yes. You know my friend Annie from uni? She's bisexual. Says she dates whoever she likes."

He nods slowly, trying to wrap his head around the idea. “Huh,” he says eventually, “For a long time I thought it was just… a thing everyone experienced. Thinking that blokes and birds are all attractive. What about you though? Are you also… bisexual or?” 

The blond shakes his head, hair falling into his face. He tucks it behind his ear like Ron thought of doing for him. “No, I’m gay. Don’t see any appeal in women.” 

“Do your parents know?” He asks curiously, thinking of how his own parents would react. He can imagine his mum saying some stuff about how he could still find a nice girl to have children with since he likes both, or his dad being downright confused at the idea. 

Draco presses his lips together, a telltale sign of internal conflict. “They do, yes. You know my father’s views on marriage. Marry and produce an heir. Love comes second. He would’ve been more content that I marry a nice girl and have a child or two, and have a… lover on the side.” 

Ron laughs softly. “Like you’d ever do that.” 

“Fidelity is more important than pleasure,” he says easily, “But now that Father isn’t around… Well, Mother always says she just wants me to be happy. I don’t believe her. I know she cares about the bloodline as much as Father does— did. It’s not like surrogacy or adoption are out of the question though.” 

“Would you want children?” 

“If you’d asked me a year ago, I would’ve told you that you’re out of your mind.” He smiles to himself, a soft and sweet one. “But now… I think I’d like it. I don’t know if I’d make a very good father but… I do like children quite a lot.” 

“You’re good with kids,” Ron says truthfully, “I mean, Teddy adores you.” 

Draco scoffs playfully. “Of course he does. The only person he’s got to compare me with is you.”

Ron laughs heartily. He wraps his arms around his knees and rests his chin there, eyes glued to the other man. “You’re really something, you know.” 

This time, Ron doesn’t miss the look Draco gives him. 

When Ron gets the photo from that day developed, he slides it into the picture frame gifted to him by Hermione two years prior. The picture sits on the main shelf in his ornament cupboard, right next to the ones of his family, his House mates, and the one of him, Harry and Hermione when they were fifteen.

—

Six months after reconnecting with Draco, Ron returns home after a long day at the Ministry to find Harry Potter holding that very picture frame in his hands. 

“Harry,” he breathes, air getting caught in his lungs as he tries to grasp the reality of the situation, “You’re here.” 

Harry sets the photo down, turns to Ron and nods, green eyes somehow bright and so very very dull. It’s easy to see the difference in him. His hair has grown longer and his face is unshaven, a thick stubble marking his cheeks, chin and upper lip. His glasses are different too, no longer those same round ones from his childhood but rather a thin-framed rectangular pair. He hasn’t grown in height but his shoulders are bulkier and his jaw is stronger. He looks like a man now, rather than the scrawny teen Ron has always known him as. 

“I see you’re suddenly best mates with Malfoy, of all people,” Harry says, voice cold, “How’d that happen?” 

“I—“ Ron stumbles, taken entirely off guard by the harshness in his best friend’s voice, “I’m not best mates with Malfoy.” 

“I went to Hermione’s place,” he says slowly, “Asked her where you are now. She gave me your address, said you’d probably be home at this time. I get living in Muggle London, I suppose, but your wards are shite, Ron.” 

His wards aren’t shite. He set them to allow certain people in at any given time. 

“The first thing I see when I look around is a picture of you with Draco Malfoy and my godson. Like a happy little family.” He says the words with such venom that it makes Ron’s stomach clench. 

“I don’t understand why you’re being like this, Harry,” he responds quietly, but it’s loud enough to hear in the deafening silence that rings through his flat. He would probably be able to hear a pin drop. 

“He…” Harry swallows hard, fist clenching. “He’s a Death Eater.” 

“He was a Death Eater. When he was sixteen. We’re almost twenty one.” 

“He poisoned you.” 

Ron doesn’t reply. 

“He let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Your brother paid for that.” He’s being ruthless now and Ron knows now that he can’t feed into it lest it explodes into something unfixable. 

“The war’s over, Harry,” is what he chooses to say, “It’s done. There’s no reason we have to cling to the past.” 

The look on Harry’s face feels like a hand reaching out, right into his chest, shoving through his ribcage and clenching tightly around his beating heart. It pulls forward all the hurt and heartbreak repressed over years. 

“You left,” Ron murmurs, any louder and he fears his voice may give out.

“I had to.” 

“No.” He can feel himself getting upset, getting angry, and he hates it but he doesn’t know what to do with it. “You didn’t have to. You chose to.” 

“You don’t understand,” Harry snaps back. 

"You've been gone for three years, Harry," Ron argues, voice raising, "You barely called. You barely wrote. I needed you and you were just gone."

Harry pauses, collecting himself. The anger seems to completely leave his body, shoulders slumping forward, making him look even smaller. 

"I—Your brother was gone, Ron," he says, as if it explains his disappearance. 

"Yes," Ron says slowly, "I am very well aware of that." 

"Your brother was gone," Harry repeats, desperate, "I was alive and your brother was gone." 

"You keep saying—" The realisation strikes him hard, right in his chest. His face falls and he breathes out shakily. "Oh. Oh. Harry. Harry, don't tell me you blame yourself for Fred dying."

"I—" Harry's voice shakes as he speaks, "It's—"

"Gods," Ron breathes, stepping closer to his best friend, "You stupid git. Do you think I blamed you? That my family blamed you?"

Harry doesn't say anything. 

"Mum literally sees you as her son, Harry." He feels tears flood his eyes for the first time in years and it's both relieving and mortifying but it makes sense that it's Harry, out of all people, that would cause them. "Not seeing you all this time, it broke her heart, Harry. We thought… we thought you didn't want to be here, with us. We thought…"

"Ron," he says softly, "No, of course that wasn't it. I was so ashamed back then. I couldn't face you all after knowing that I was responsible for… for what happened."

"You weren't." Ron's hands fall to Harry's shoulders, pulling the younger man closer. "You weren't responsible for any of it, Harry. The War would've happened with or without you. We won because of you. Who knows what would have happened if you'd died."

Harry collapses against Ron, hand gripping tightly at the material at the back of his shirt. He immediately wraps his arms around Harry's shoulders. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." An echo of their conversation three, almost four now, years ago. Ron realises with a start that Harry wasn't apologising for leaving, back then. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

—

"You realise that stuff is terrible for you, right?"

Ron takes another drag from the cigarette before crushing it under his foot and vanishing the mess with a wave of his hand. "Yeah, well." 

The look on Draco's face is unreadable. "Only you, Ron Weasley, would use wordless, wandless magic for such mundane tasks. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were showing off." 

He remains quiet for a moment. "Harry's back," is what he says eventually.

"I thought you'd be a lot happier about that," Draco says evenly, "Why are you out here smoking instead of playing catch up with him?"

"Because I fucked up," he replies, wishing he still had his cigarette. Fuck Draco for making him think better about it.

"What happened?"

Without thinking much of it, Ron spills the retelling of what happened without going into too much detail. He leaves out the unnecessarily emotional parts and the really vulnerable pieces.

Ron startles when Draco puts his hands on Ron's shoulders. "Ron, it is not your job to take care of everyone."

When he begins to protest, Draco stops him by grabbing his face between those thin fingered hands.

"No, look at me," he says slowly, as if talking to an idiot, "You have spent the past years of your life doing everything for other people. Tell me, Ron, why are you still part of the Aurors? You hate every second of that job save for the one or two times you talk about how it wasn't utterly boring."

"I—"

"Because it's what everyone else wants you to do," Draco fills in, "You always talk about other people, how they're struggling, how they're having a hard time but what about you ? You take everybody else's burdens without complaint and you never let yourself feel hurt. You barely even gave yourself time to mourn."

"Draco," he breathes, his chest feeling tight as he stares at the silvery eyes that look back at him with such earnestness and care.

"Ron," the other man returns, leaning forward so their foreheads rest against each other, "You can't keep destroying yourself to keep everyone else together. You can't keep sacrificing your own wellbeing to ensure that of others."

Ron swallows hard and runs his hand down Draco's wavy hair, barely a brush across his palms. "It's—It's all I've ever known." 

"I know," he whispers, breath creating a cloud of fog in the cold winter air, "There are a lot of things that you've never known before but that doesn't make them bad or wrong."

If Ron were a bigger man, he would've kissed Draco right then and there. But he is not, so he doesn't. Instead, he moves his head to bury his face in Draco's shoulder and curls his arms around the smaller man's waist.

Draco stiffens for a moment, then goes lax in his arms and hugs him back just as tightly.

—

Seven months after reconnecting with Draco, Ron hands in his resignation to the Head Auror. Robards is appalled but Ron is resolute in his decision. 

“This isn’t what I want,” he says to the man, “I was never meant to be a part of this team. I’m sorry for wasting your time.” 

“Stupid boy,” Robards says, and pulls him into a hug, “You’ve got a lot of potential, kid. Don’t let it go to waste.” 

“Thank you, sir. It’s been a pleasure working under you these past few years.” 

He’s unsure of what to do now. He thinks for the time being, he could go work with George at the shop. The atmosphere is uplifting and it’s always filled with smiling faces and laughter. It would be pretty cool to be with his brother too.

He feels a bit lost, but he also feels free. 

And, honestly, anything would be worth doing if it means he gets to see the elated look on Draco's face when he tells him. Ron knows, he knows , that the smile Draco gives him isn't for himself, it's for Ron. 

"I'm proud of you," Draco says, words that Ron always ached to hear throughout his life said so easily and with so much sincerity, "And whatever you decide to do next, I'll support you."

"Thank you. I don't know what to do now really. I've been thinking maybe I'll work with George at the shop for a while. But for now, I think I'd like to take a break for a bit."

Draco nods as he goes to put the kettle to boil. Ron used to ask him why he always made tea the Muggle way and he just shrugged and said that he enjoyed the process. Ron doesn't question him about it anymore. "Yeah, that's a good idea. Do you have anything you'd like to do?" 

Ron smiles as he watches the other man move around the kitchen of Ron's flat. It's endearing how well he knows the place, how at home he seems there. His blue eyes follow the movement of Draco's lithe form, his movements almost like a dance. "Dunno. I figured I'd take some time to figure out what I actually enjoy. Take up some hobbies and such. Maybe I'll learn how to roller skate." 

Draco hums his approval. "Let's learn together. Then we can finally take Teddy. Gods, we've been saying that for months, haven't we?"

"We really have," Ron responds gravely, "Alright, as a New Years resolution, I swear to learn how to bloody well roller skate in 2002." 

"I'll drink to that," he says, and sips his tea like a poncy fuck. 

"Usually people drink alcohol when they say that."

"I—I don't drink," Draco says slowly. 

"Funny enough, I did notice that," Ron responds as an attempt to lighten up the mood.

His attention is drawn to Draco's fidgeting hands, fingers twisting together where they sit on the table. The blond's lips are pressed together so tightly, they look white.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks softly, reaching forward to place his large hand on Draco's ones.

Draco flips Ron's hand, pressing a finger to Ron's pulse point and feels the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He takes a shaky breath and grounds himself to the beat of Ron's pulse. "That first year," he says slowly, "After the war. Before I started studying, before I started getting myself together, everything was just… bad."

Draco rarely ever speaks about his time under house arrest. The only part Ron knows is that in those years he studied for his A Levels so he could get into a Muggle university. 

"I couldn't go anywhere in the Manor," he murmurs, fingers now stroking up and down Ron's forearm. His eyes are glued to the cup of tea in front of him. "Not even my bedroom. Everything was a reminder of all that happened there. That was part of the reason why I chose to move out as quickly as I did."

Draco breathes hard and continues, "I just wanted to forget. So I turned to alcohol. Broke into my father's old alcohol cabinet and every day I'd drink a bit more than the previous. On one particular bad day, I… I overdid it. Ended up overdosing; alcohol poisoning. Mum was terrified when she found me. After that I… I swore never to touch alcohol again. And I haven't."

Ron notices the shakiness of Draco's voice and the rapidness of his breath and recognises the signs easily. He gets up and moves next to Draco, kneeling by his side. "Draco, hey. You're okay, just breathe with me, okay? In… Out…"

Draco's whole body shudders with the panic attack, his fingers clenching tightly around Ron's hand. "I—I…" 

"Shh, it's okay, I'm here." He guides Draco's free hand to his chest and holds it there. "Feel that? I'm alive, as are you, and we're okay."

When Draco's breath eventually evens out, he squeezes his eyes shut and whispers, "Thank you."

Ron runs a hand over his hair and nods. "Of course. Does this happen often?" 

"Not—Not for a while. Usually triggered by memories of the war or… or snakes. I can't seem to stand the sight of snakes anymore." He laughs at himself, despite the lack of humour in the situation. "H-How did you know what to do?"

"George used to… the first two years after," he stumbles over the words, "After Fred died, George used to have panic attacks all the time. They were really intense at first. It scared everyone real bad."

"And now?" Ron knows that Draco is asking more for a distraction than anything else. He's not disinclined to indulge. 

"They still happen on occasion. Especially around the holidays or their birthday. But he's been prescribed some potions for anxiety, I think it's been helping a lot." 

Draco nods, the tremors in his hands slowing down. 

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know," Ron tells him gently, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Draco's ear. "I've had them too. It's just one of those things we have to deal with."

Silver eyes meet his, wide and vulnerable. Ron feels unnerved at the way Draco looks at him with so much trust and… and… Ron can't quite name it yet.

Draco leans forward and rests his forehead against Ron's for a moment. He then moves to press his nose to the juncture of Ron's neck and inhales deeply.

Ron's heart stumbles but he still sits up on his knees, pulls Draco closer and threads his hand through the blond strands. He presses his nose to the top of Draco's hair—

—and breathes.

—

Ten months after reuniting with Draco, he proposes a plan to Ron.

"I've been thinking," he says as he closes the door to Teddy's room after putting the boy to sleep. 

"Dangerous," Ron murmurs under his breath. 

Draco narrows his eyes and pretends he didn't hear. "I've been thinking," he repeats, "You know how I have off from uni for Easter?" 

"Mhmm." 

"Do you maybe, um." He coughs and bites the inside of his cheek. "There's this, um, the Black Family is—" 

"Draco," Ron says softly. 

"Do you wanna go on a trip?" He blurts out, completely unlike his usual collected demeanor, "To the seaside. Mum has a house, by the beach. I thought it'd be nice but if you don't want to—" 

"I'd love to," he cuts the rambling off, smiling. 

"Yeah?" Ron wonders why he's so surprised, as if they don't spend so much time together already. As if he doubted Ron would want to spend more time with him. 

"Of course." 

They leave on the Wednesday before Easter, in the jeep recently bought by Draco. He got his driver's license a month ago and Ron has only ridden with him a handful of times. He still feels slightly nervous in cars, not quite trusting them and the way they make his stomach spin, but he thinks he’ll be alright. 

The drive is supposed to be just under four hours long but with the amount of stops they make on the way to prevent Ron from sicking up in the car, to take pictures of things they find interesting, or to fulfil their basic needs, it ends up taking them six to reach the beach house.

Of course, the place is bloody stunning. Ron doesn't know why he expected any different when Draco said it was a house of the Black Family. 

In comparison to Malfoy Manor or even Grimmauld Place (as Ron imagines it was before it was abandoned and ruined), it's quite modest but Ron's standards are not that high so his breath catches as soon as he lays his eyes on the place. 

The house is two stories high and at least 800 square meters of light wood and glass. From afar, he can see the patio overlooking the ocean with a large hammock and two egg chairs hanging from the ceiling. 

"Brilliant," he says softly, eyes settling on the ocean where the sun is starting to set, "We have to take pictures of the sunset on the beach." 

Draco gives him an indulgent look and nods. "Of course."

When they are settled into their chosen rooms, both downstairs for convenience, Ron changes into his swimming shorts and a loose t-shirt and immediately drags Draco by the hand to the water.

"It's bloody cold," Draco complaint but he's not resisting at all. 

"Suck it up!" Ron shoots back cheerfully. 

As they approach the ocean, Ron lets go of Draco's hand to splash into the icy water, soaking himself up to his thighs. He grins wildly and looks back to see Draco, feet barely in the water, arms crossed across his chest.

Ron splashes water at him and laughs hard when he shrinks back. 

"Fucker!" Draco shouts, "It's fucking freezing, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Before Draco can react, Ron is running towards him, scooping him up in his arms and taking them both back into the ocean. 

Draco shouts and circles his arms around Ron's neck for balance moments before he is submerged in water. 

"You piece of shit," Draco spits when he stands up but the intimidation he's going for is undermined by his chattering teeth, "I'll get you back for this." 

Ron grins. "I'm sure you will." 

He shakes his long, wet hair out of his face and glares. "I hate you." 

The redhead moves closer to him and ruffles his hair. "No, you don't." 

After a beat, Draco looks at him, shakes his head and murmurs, "No. I don't."

Huffing out a laugh, Ron pretends that his heart isn't beating erratically against his chest as he half-heartedly splashes Draco with water again.

They watch the sunset from inside the water, forgetting about the camera completely as the sky floods with hues of pinks, purples and reds. 

"It's beautiful," Draco murmurs, the cold forgotten completely. Their shoulders brush and Ron nods, looking directly at him.

"Yeah," he agrees softly, "Beautiful."

Their eyes meet when Draco turns his head to face Ron. He wishes, later, that he kissed him in that moment, as the sun kissed the horizon and the cold breeze kissed their skin. 

Later, Draco tells him that he wanted him to.

—

On Thursday, they go shopping in the nearby town to get some groceries for Ron to cook dinner with. Draco stops at a small bookstore and purchases a vintage copy of some playwriter Ron can't remember the name of, although he vaguely remembers Draco saying that he was a raging bisexual who wrote poetry about men and women alike.

"How much longer?" Draco asks, tiptoeing to see over Ron's shoulder, resting his chin there.

"Almost done," he responds, turning the heat down.

"What did you—?" When his eyes land on the food, he stops. "Ron?" 

The redhead turns and smiles. "I hope it turned out alright. Your mum gave me the recipe."

"You made me tabbouleh and kebab?" Draco asks slowly, unblinking as he stares at Ron. 

Ron nods, as if it's not a big deal. "Yeah. You mentioned that your mum's family is Middle Eastern and that you don't get to have the food very often so I asked her what your favourite dish was and… yeah."

"Put the food under a Stasis," Draco whispers. 

Ron looks at him in confusion but he waves his hand to do as he says anyway. "Is something—? 

Before he can finish, Draco is dragging him to the sitting room, shoving him onto the couch, leaning down and pressing their lips together. 

Ron's entire body freezes up but not long enough for Draco to pull away. He reacts quickly, blindly reaching forward to grab Draco's small waist and pull him onto his lap as he returns the kiss with as much heat as Draco gives.

Draco tangles his hand in Ron's thick hair, the other on his shoulder, pulling him impossibly closer as their lips move together. 

"You make it impossible," Draco says breathlessly when he pulls away, his eyes boring into Ron's, "To resist you. I never stood a chance."

Ron blinks owlishly. "Draco," he says, just as out of breath as the other man, "You—?" 

"Like you? Fancy you? Are head over heels for you?" He responds as his hand moves from Ron's shoulder to cup the older's cheek. "Yes to all of the above, and more."

"I never thought," the words catch in Ron's throat, "I never thought you'd feel the same."

Draco smiles, a sweet and alluring thing. "How could I not?" His voice is so quiet but the words ring in Ron's ears. "You come into my life again, all open hearted and kind, offering me a forgiveness I never deserved—don't make that face—and showing me what it means to be cared for, to trust, to love , and you expect me not to fall completely and utterly in love with you?" 

Ron doesn't know what to say, so he places his hand at the back of Draco's neck and pulls him in for another deep, heated kiss. He can do this till his lips bleed or go numb, till the building comes crashing down on them, till the sky collapses and, even then, he is not sure he could let go of him. Not when Draco makes that soft, keening noise against his lips, his hips grinding downwards, his hands tugging lightly at Ron's hair.

"Ron," he murmurs, their lips brushing with the words, "You're crying."

Draco uses the pad of his thumb to catch the moisture from Ron's face as Ron breathes out shakily. "Just. Overwhelmed. I never… never knew I could feel this much. And have it returned." 

"You deserve everything good that this world has to offer. And more."

When their lips meet this time, it's softer but no less passionate. They pour their hearts out between them, pushing all that unspoken love and care into the slow, languid movement of their lips against each other.

"Bedroom?" Draco asks softly. In a flash, they are there, sprawled on top of the covers of Ron's temporary bed, Draco leaning over him. "Gods, I don't think you realise how incredibly attractive that is."

Ron feels a wave of pleasure wash over him at the words. He drags his teeth across his bottom lip, trying and failing to contain his grin. Draco leans down and places a quick, chaste kiss to his lips, once, twice, thrice before continuing across his jaw, down his neck, scraping teeth across his Adam's apple, sinking them into the crook of his neck.

He gasps loudly as Draco's hands slip under his shirt, exploring the muscles of his abs, then his chest, before pulling the shirt off of him.

"Let me take care of you," Draco whispers, warm breath tickling Ron's ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

He nods slowly, unable to think with how high he is on the feeling of Draco's lips trailing down his chest, tongue tracing his scars, hands holding his hips still.

As the ministrations continue, Ron sucks in a sharp breath, allows his eyes to fall closed, throws his head back—

—and breathes.

—

Ron stands on the shore of the beach, inhaling the salty scent of the ocean as he watches the waves wash over his feet again and again. His feet sink into the ground, keeping him rooted in place. 

When he turns his head, he sees Draco. His hair is tied half up, blond strands framing his dainty face. He has Ron's blue hoodie on, the oversized material falling to the middle of his knee-length shorts.

"Hey," he says softly when he reaches Ron, a small, delicate smile on his face. 

"Hi," Ron returns, reaching an arm around the younger man's waist to pull him closer, "Sorry for leaving. Did I scare you?"

"A little," Draco admits, sweater paws moving to rest against Ron's chest, "Thought maybe you might have regretted last night."

"Not at all," he responds immediately, "Last night was…" he sighs happily, unable to find the right words. "Yeah."

Draco breathes hard through his nose, amused. "Yeah."

"I've always loved the sea, you know?" He muses, looking out at the horizon as Draco tucks himself under Ron's chin, lips pressed to his collarbone. "Ever since I came here as a kid, I've always felt at peace being by the ocean."

"We'll come here as often as you like," Draco responds, voice muffled by Ron's shirt.

Ron hums contentedly. "Anywhere with you is good." 

The blond scoffs. "Cheesy."

He just laughs and agrees. He can't help but be cheesy when it comes to Draco.

"People aren't going to like it, you know," Draco says softly, "Us being together."

"A wise man once told me that I need to stop sacrificing my happiness for others," he teases in response. 

"Your wellbeing," Draco corrects, "But all the same, I suppose."

“It doesn’t matter to me what other people think,” Ron says decidedly, “I have no intention of letting you go now that I have you. I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.”

Draco’s blanches at the bold declaration. “You are utterly ridiculous, Ron Weasley.”

“But you like me anyway, don’t you?” He whispers rhetorically, lips brushing against the shell of Draco’s ear in a way that makes him shudder. He moves back, putting a bit of space between them so that he can look at Draco properly. 

Draco gives him that all too familiar questioning look.

Ron catches Draco's chin between this index finger and thumb, dragging his thumb up and over the other's bottom lip. "Have I ever told you how stunning I think you are?"

Ron watches in amusement as Draco's cheeks and ears turn pink. "No, I don't believe you have." 

"Then I must have told you how pretty your eyes are?"

"No, not that." He presses his lips together.

"You are unbelievably breathtaking," Ron says, the smile on his face making his eyes crinkle at the corners, "Every part of you." 

"You're going to speak to me that way and not kiss me?" Draco asks breathlessly, "Didn't know you were such a tease, Weasley." 

Ron kisses him and it feels like coming home. 

When they part, Ron presses his lips to Draco's temple before pulling him back into his arms. He nuzzles his face against Draco's hair, inhales the salty scent of the ocean and the sweet scent of Draco's shampoo—

—and breathes. 

—

In July 2002, Ron and Draco take Teddy roller skating.