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Chapter Text

Ron was camped out laying on his bed watching the marauders map like Harry insisted. And while Ron agreed that Malfoy was a no-good foul poncey brat, there wasn’t any way that he had been made a death eater while he was at school. Last year, Malfoy was following Umbridge around like she had promised him the position of minister, with the way he had captured them all and rounded them up just before their escape to the Ministry.

Harry claimed that Malfoy was different this year, quieter. Ron never paid as much attention to the prat, he just hated him on instinct. But no, now he was watching the map for Malfoy to move from the dungeons and break curfew.

With Harry in detention, he’d left Ron with his map and cloak, knowing that his best friend would find a way to get something done. Any kind of information was better than just seeing the complacent smirk whenever they were in the Great Hall, just Malfoy bragging that he knew more than either of them would ever know.

So, when Ron watched Malfoy leave the dungeons, he gathered his wand and the cloak, and kept a close eye as Malfoy moved up the entirety of the castle. He left the dorm when Malfoy ended on the seventh floor. The Room of Requirement, of course.

Keeping an awareness of where Filch was, and draped in the invisibility cloak, Ron made his way down from the tower, through the hall and up the staircase, careful of his footsteps. At the entrance, Ron walked past thinking carefully, I need to be where Malfoy is, I need to be where Malfoy is, I need to be where Malfoy is.

He had to at least see the prat, find out whatever the bloody hell he was doing in there. Because it wasn’t going to be any late night rendezvous like Cormac McLaggen had, or a defence class like Harry. It was bound to be something malevolent.

Ron was more hateful than curious, which meant his caution quickly went out the window. If Harry had been right, then Ron was the one with the chance to find out, to stop Malfoy from whatever he intended to do. Walking in, Ron pulled off the invisibility cloak and hid it where only he would find it.

Malfoy wasn’t coming out of here any more fortunate, if Ron had anything to say about it. No, he would come out only after admitting whatever he’d been sneaking away for, describing in detail the plans he had and any information he knew from his father.

Ron was a man of strategy. Malfoy was a brown noser and a tattletale. Ron would have him revealing his most embarrassing secrets along with his darkest ones with only a matter of spells.

They ran through the labyrinth of rubbish as the items collided and sent the next into flames like a minefield. Ron was a metre behind Malfoy as they fled the danger.

“What the fuck Weasley did you think you were doing!” Malfoy shouted, “Do you see the hoarders room we’re in right now? Centuries of trash and secrets and dangerous, untested magics here! And you just send shit toppling over?”

Filch must’ve stored the fanged frisbees here too, thwipping through the air amongst the chaos of volatile magics combining like fireworks around them, the only thing to escape the room of requirement along with them.

Ron shouted in return, “You gave me a leg-locking curse and cast silencio!”

“You shouldn’t have been in there! Snooping around, following me, and now look what you’ve done!” Malfoy turned to face Ron, both of their faces scorched and Ron’s jumper torn, string hanging like the last straw of their animosity.

“Well at least I stopped you, you and whatever you were doing with that cabinet.”

Malfoy’s eyes flared, and his voice dropped to a slow cruel tone, like Snape’s. “And now you’ll never know. However you found me, however you got in, it’s over now. You only have yourself to thank when this comes back to haunt you.”

Ron looked back at the door, but the wall had sealed itself, and he had the feeling the room of requirement was gone. It was a danger to itself, only one thing needed to set it off like a chain of dominoes, and that was Ron.

“What, you going to tell your father about this?”

Malfoy laughed, and shook his head.

Ron’s face dropped, no, Malfoy would be reporting this to you-know-who. That had to be it. And Ron had just ruined His plan, whatever task he had set Malfoy out to do.

Malfoy’s sneer made it clear he wasn’t going to be explicit about that. “I’m a prefect. It’s my word against yours, and you were the one caught in that room last year working against directives from the headmistress. I think you’ll find any blame of Hogwarts’ magic going off and being unable to reveal it again, will land straight onto your shoulders. Now keep quiet, and I don’t want to see your filthy face again.”

Malfoy flicked his wand, and Ron felt the hold of a silencio and a cleaning charm fall over himself, scuff and scorch marks disappearing, and the scratches on his face cooling. His jumper had been fixed up.

Malfoy was already down the hall, his form starting to blend in with the surroundings, a disillusionment charm falling into place.

Ron on the other hand, had left the invisibility cloak in the room of requirement, and might as well be gone forever. He groaned and kicked at the stone floor, before rushing back to Gryffindor tower for the night.

Rolling over in bed the next morning, Ron heard gentle music playing, something classical, and very much unlike Seamus’ own yelping tunes. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and picking the lint out of his bellybutton. This wasn’t his dorm.

First off, it was bigger. It was different. The beds were in the four corners of the room, and there was a seating area in the middle, desks partnered together on the walls. It was green.

Ron turned towards the music, the bathroom door propped open with someone taking their time in the mirror. He looked at the beds, his own still gryffindor red, the curtains, the section of floor, even his family pictures spellotaped to the wall and his bedside table with his wand. He grabbed his wand. Because the rest of the room was slytherin. He could see Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott lying asleep, sheets pulled up tight over their shoulders in the cold room.

He stood up. That meant the bed next to his, that was Malfoy’s. And Malfoy must be the one in the loo. And this wasn’t something Malfoy could have done. Or would want to do. He wouldn’t kidnap Ron, wouldn’t bring him back to the snake nest. No, this had something to do with the room of requirement, the incident they had last night.

One step off of his section of stone flooring and onto the rug that belonged to the slytherin dorms, and Ron was sent tumbling forward, tripping and catching himself with his hands flat on the floor.

“You alright there Ron?” Neville asked.

“Wha?” Ron looked around, he was back in his own dorm, the classical music was gone, the sun shone through the window, and he had fallen over his own stack of comics.

“You okay?”

“I dunno, I, I must’ve been sleepwalking, I had a funny night.”

“Must’ve been better than scrubbing cauldrons. I swear he tells the first years to do their worst.” Harry complained from underneath his pillow.

Ron hummed. “Yeah maybe.” He should tell Harry. Of course he should tell Harry. It was about Malfoy, Harry would want to know. But he didn’t have to. Ron had lost his invisibility cloak, didn’t want to admit that and the fact that he’d destroyed the Room of Requirement. Or that now he was having some sort of fit, imagining that he had woken up in the slytherin dorms. Next to Malfoys bed instead of Harrys.

So he didn’t tell Harry. And he wasn’t about to approach the prat about it either. Malfoy didn’t want to see or hear from him, and Ron was happy with it that way. As long as he had disrupted Malfoy’s schemes, he would keep his distance.

Ron was in the changing rooms after quidditch practice, drying off after his shower. All the other guys were back out by the lockers, Ron always enjoyed getting longer showers than he got up in the dorms or at home. But there was something today that made him extra aware as he towelled himself off.

There was a sharp gasp from behind him, and Ron bolted around as he wrapped the towel around his waist. Malfoy was standing there, with his school bag slung across his body, his hands hugging a library book close.

“Malfoy!” Ron said in a hushed shout. He was in the showers, there were other gryffindors in the room just before that. How and why was Malfoy here?

Malfoy's eyes were wide, gazing over Ron’s lanky body, and Ron became quite aware of the scars spiralling over his arms and chest from the Department of Mysteries last year. Malfoy’s mouth snapped shut and he looked back over his shoulder, down to the floor, and at his new surroundings.

“I was in the library,” he said matter-of-factly.

Ron crossed his arms over his chest. “And you’re still there?” He went straight into explaining, “It’s got to be the room of requirement, it made me wake up in your dorms- in my own bed. It faded when I left my bed. Take, take a step away and see.”

Malfoy took a step onto the tiled floor, and disappeared from view with a look of relief on his face.

Ron took a moment to examine the space, but there was no trace that there had been several feet of library, or a slytherin in the showers with him. He logged the oddness in his mind, sure to be thinking of possibilities for the rest of the day, wondering if and when something similar would happen again.

The day continued on, and Ron didn’t mention a thing to Harry or Hermione. It was something strange, but it was Malfoy. He wanted nothing to do with him, he wanted to forget he existed. But it was clear the more Ron was determined to forget the problem, the more it occurred.

On the way up to transfiguration, the staircase divided Ron from his friends, and when he went to catch up with them, he ended up at the top of another staircase directly in front of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. Ron grimaced, and Malfoy gave his iconic sneer, and there wasn’t a word between them. Ron made his way to class.

Another day, eating lunch in the great hall, Ron walked towards the gryffindor table, but it was like the floor was carrying him elsewhere, gryffindor table always just ahead of him, and appearing back at the opposite end of the hall as fast as a blink. There was no pull of apparition, there was no sign that anybody else noticed the five different times that Ron had walked the length of the great hall, each time with more speed and frustration.

Finally, Ron grabbed a sandwich from the end of the slytherin table that he couldn’t escape, and walked out of the room in a huff. He relented, it was time to go to the library.

He was stubborn, he wasn’t going to address this with Malfoy without first having any sort of information or attempts at solutions. And he certainly wasn’t going to go whining to Hermione, when that’s exactly what she would call it. Telling her that he kept seeing Malfoy more than usual and that the castle was putting them closer was embarrassing. He had liked her, but now this was clearly intervening, Ron hated Malfoy and the more he saw him, the more he wanted to get back at him.

Ron would take anything. Any tidbit that would tell him about the magic that was affecting him. Affecting them. Because there he was again.

Across the circular table, Malfoy sat eating his lunch, his own plate and lemonade filled and taunting Ron. Malfoy sighed and put down his fork.

“You couldn’t even be in the great hall Weasley? You had to pull me to the library?”

Ron scoffed, “I didn’t want you here. I couldn’t bloody get to my table!”

“Well, we’re here now.” Malfoy rolled his eyes at seeing Ron look longingly at his plate. “Call a house elf, they’ll bring you something.”

Ron glanced to the sides, looking for Madam Pince. Or Hermione ready to scold him for attempting to eat in the library.

Malfoy glared at the hesitance, and switched his plate for Ron’s book.

“What, you’re not going to go back?” Ron took only a second before picking up the fork and eating the stew in the bowl.

“I assume Weasley, that you have noticed that this sort of magic is not typical. Hogwarts doesn’t allow apparation, doesn’t allow people into other houses’ common rooms, let alone dorms. I don’t appreciate being taken from my friends without their notice. And I want nothing more than to be able to walk away from you without an ounce of effort on my part.”

Ron scowled, feeling his face flush, Malfoy was scolding him as if he had something to do with this.

“Look Malfoy, I don’t want this either. I was searching for anything that can guide me on how to stop this, so I don’t want to hear it. Don’t blame me, and don’t think that you can just take over now that this magic decided you needed to be here.” Ron flipped open another book, letting Malfoy get stuck with Hogwarts, A History.

Malfoy was silent for a minute, holding back words of insult. “Like it or not, we can work twice as fast if we collaborate. Clearly there was something in that room, about that room, that was different than the rest of Hogwarts, and now it’s attached itself to us.”

Ron placed his finger on a set of words. “Generative magic. It’s what made that place unique, being able to make whatever you needed, be wherever you asked it to be.”

Malfoy hummed, “Does it say anything about it taking over a whole room though? It seems that’d be for something smaller, like duplicative or extension spells.”

Ron read through the rest of the section, and glanced back up at Malfoy taking a sip of his lemonade. He thought of their interaction in the room of requirement, the way the place was so explosive once something had been set off, and how they had made it out together. Now the magic had seemed to escape with them, and take place in a way that only they could sense.

“And no one else has noticed right? Your disappearing, or the rooms shifting?”

Malfoy huffed. “No. Earlier the hall wouldn’t take me back to the dungeons, it kept bringing me to the exit out to the greenhouses. I assume you had herbology this morning. I missed my whole free period avoiding you, and they all said nothing about it. Like I hadn’t even started off walking alongside them.”

Ron hummed, taking that into consideration.

“What?” Malfoy spat.

“Maybe that’s the problem. The magic’s attached to us somehow, it doesn’t want us to avoid each other. We’re the last ones to witness the room, it needs us together, so it can somehow still exist. In theory.” Ron thought out loud.

“I made it appear, you’re the one that destroyed it, I think it’s fair to say it should want us to have nothing to do with each other. As we’ve always been.”

“What happened to cooperating? I don’t want to be near you either, but that room has a higher magic than we understand. We have to yield to it to make any progress.” Ron was positive, if they could stick together and attempt to bring back the room of requirement, they could restore the magic somehow and this weird space-adjustment around them would be lifted.

But Malfoy’s eyes flashed with something, and his jaw set. “No. It’ll just have to fade. Next time you appear out of place, you best step back into your own. I won’t be speaking with you about this.”

Malfoy stood up from the table, and faded from view, as if he’d never been there. Except for the lunch plate. Ron relented and called in a house elf to take it back to the kitchens, feeling more like Hermione when he thanked it, and left the library with a stack of books on advanced transfiguration and generative magic.

The next few days, Ron saw Malfoy for mere flashes, only a quick glance before they stepped back into their own space, without anyone the wiser. In the hall, in the dorms, in the loo, out in the courtyard, during quidditch practise while Malfoy watched for a moment still in his pyjamas.

Ron became more frustrated without a solution. It was odd, having these moments that seemed almost intimate because they were the only ones who knew that it was happening.

During class, Ron’s quill would slip when Malfoy appeared next to him instead of Hermione, her desk seemingly pushed aside for him to appear, although only a second later, Malfoy was back on the other side of the room where he belonged, next to Parkinson.

Then finally, after dozens of times of avoiding eye contact or permanent scowls, Ron turned back towards his parchment and there was something folded on top of it. This time, Malfoy had left him a note.

He’d caved in. Whether it was the combination of Ron’s astute silence and defeated glance, or the pure annoyance of having to remove himself from Ron’s presence every other hour, Malfoy had decided to give Ron’s theory a chance.

They met on the seventh floor that night, after reluctantly eating dinner together, their tables awkwardly merged without anyone noticing. Nothing Ron said to Malfoy was noticed by Harry or Hermione, but Malfoy could hear everything Ron said to them.

It was unexpected, and revealing that Ron hadn’t mentioned any of this situation to his best friends. But Malfoy seemed relieved by it, and for some reason that made Ron feel better about it.

It had all started here, just outside this brick wall. Ron couldn’t tell that the place had been destroyed, it was like it had ever even existed. No door appeared, no matter how they phrased things.

Show me the room of hidden things.

Show me where the cabinet is.

I need a place where I can learn about generative magic.

I need a room to duel with Malfoy, he’s getting on my nerves.

Nothing worked. Ron placed his hands on the wall, tapped his wand on the bricks, had Malfoy do the same. Malfoy walked past the room, trying the same demands that he’d done to get in all year long, but there was no success.

“What did you ask for before? What were you in there for?” Ron asked.

Malfoy glared. “You already know, and that’s why it's better that it’s gone.”

So he didn’t really want the room of requirement back. It was the closest Malfoy had come to admitting he wanted nothing to do with it. He would rather deal with Ron than You-Know-Who. Ron would be the perfect excuse for his failure. The thought left a sour taste in Ron’s mouth, and he didn’t have anything to say in response. Well, nothing that would let him walk away without being hexed.

Malfoy traced his wand along the bricks like the goblins did at Gringotts, but it was fruitless. “Any more ideas?” he spat.

Ron did not. “We’ll have to know more about generative magic, something about the school wards. The room of requirement needed to give its magic somewhere to go, it’s got to come out of us somehow.”

Malfoy pushed off the wall. “As if that’s helpful. There should be nothing coming in or out between either of us.”

Ron flushed. “What’s that supposed to mean!” The image was clear in his own mind, and he had never thought of Malfoy in that way, under his robes, but now it was at the forefront of his mind and he was shocked and wary despite their distance.

Malfoy’s exhale was so hot it could be seen in the air. “No matter how much this magic seems to want us together, no matter how we interpret it, I want nothing to do with you.”

Malfoy glared at Ron, lingering over his lanky body, and Ron felt smaller for it. Malfoy was shorter, meaner, faster. And there was something that made Ron’s heart thump, his stomach solidify, despite him hating every ounce of the Slytherin.

“So what’s that mean?” Ron emphasised. “What’s the plan, just continue ignoring it’s happening? Hope that the strongest magic in the castle fades?”

“No. We’ll act as though we accept it. Not step away from where it brings us, but partake as though it is where we meant to be.”

“So my idea.”

Malfoy ignored Ron’s interruption. “You can sit amongst the slytherins if I have to suffer through the gryffindors. As we’ve said, they won’t notice a thing. Though, the magic better.”

They split back off to their respective dorms, and when Ron woke up to hearing Malfoy’s morning music, he just laid back and stared at his bed curtains wondering how much longer it had to be like this.

Chapter Text

The magic had shifted their classes often enough that Ron had to copy his homework without getting any instruction in the first place, because he’d been stuck with Malfoy having to do Herbology class for the second time that day. When Ron was pulled into Malfoy's space, his first instinct was to sit up taller, more alert of his surroundings.

Despite the slytherins, and whichever other classmates there were, not recognising his presence, Ron still felt he had to be ready for a fight. With Malfoy, even as tied together as they were now, that’s what it had always been.

But, Ron had come to realise that Malfoy hadn’t been as insulting as usual, although he was still clearly abrasive. There had been no comments against his siblings, his parents, his house, his lack of wealth, or nearly as much about Hermione and Harry as there used to be. There was plenty more that the Slytherin had previously used as ammunition, but it had been severely lacking in the past week.

Then, he noticed that Malfoy had even seemed to let his guard down when the school had pulled him to Ron’s side. Sitting in the middle of the gryffindor table, Ron on his left and Neville on his right, Malfoy had pushed aside his plate and settled his head into his arms for a rest.

Ron had made sure to wake him up at the end of breakfast, because the instant Ron left him, Malfoy would appear back amongst the Slytherins asleep, and it was clear that it would be unacceptable. Ron had laid a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder, his upper back, and the boy still hadn’t awoken. He didn’t want to shock him awake, but to be gentle was to be intimate. This was Malfoy for merlin’s sake. So, Ron removed his hand and cast a revenerate.

Malfoy awoke, alert and with a smidgen of drool at the corner of his mouth. Ron thankfully didn’t have to mention it as the boy had cast a freshening charm, and nodded a goodbye to Ron as he got up from the bench. And Malfoy disappeared like he hadn’t been there.

Though, sleepy Malfoy was on Ron’s mind the rest of the day anyway, despite seeing him in so many other ways recently.

Bit by bit, Ron could feel the animosity between them fade, becoming comfortable in each other's space, and in talking about the day-to-day as if he were Harry or Hermione. The frequency of the castle changing shape and dragging them across the hall, or inserting each other into a space they would much rather remain private, did not change. Their research on generative magic was going nowhere, the magic refused to let them near the restricted section no matter which of them tried.

They hadn’t voiced it, but it may just be that they needed to accept that they were going to be pulled together without any say in it. Ron knew this would be a problem with the whole death eater situation, he was both concerned that Malfoy would be found out by his absence there, as well as the fear of himself being dragged into it.

You-Know-Who being fooled by this magic that had the rest of the school oblivious to their situation seemed unlikely. And both of them may be killed for it. Or worse, used.

So, despite this new fear on his mind, Ron found himself being …comforted by Malfoy’s presence. Malfoy would appear beside him, and Ron would scoot closer and jab him with his quill. Ron would be in the loo washing up and hear Malfoy curse as he appeared in there as well. Ron laughed when Malfoy directed, “Cover your bloody ears Weasley. I had to go anyway.”

They weren’t mates, but they weren’t on opposing sides anymore. Ron had been monitoring him the best he could, and Malfoy held a mask of keeping-it-together, whatever You-Know-Who had asked of him, Malfoy didn’t like it, and he was a mess. He didn’t outright say it, but Ron now knew.

Ron found himself waiting for the moment that he was pulled to Malfoy’s side, knowing his schedule as well as his own at this point. Appearing at his history of magic desk amongst the taller tables in ancient runes, Ron felt he was being eaten alive by Malfoy’s smirk down at him. Malfoy reached down and patted him on the head before returning to his inscription assignment. Ron retaliated by pinching Malfoy’s leg, foot propped up on the mid bar of the stool.

Then, amongst their weeks of comfortability, there came a chance to test the extent of the magic that had split itself between them.

“It’s Hogsmeade weekend.” Malfoy said one night, awoken by the feel of Ron’s magic in the bed besides his.

Ron turned over to face him, a look he had only just begun to recognise as anxious. He raised his eyebrows, knowing this was the perfect time to test out the limits of this magic. The room of requirement controlled space around them, but supposedly it was limited to Hogwarts, right?

If one or both of them were out of the castle, then perhaps they’d be able to disperse the magic, and be free of it.

“I’ll stay back, you go with Blaise and them.”

Malfoy frowned. “Don’t be stupid, you’ve got to know that’s not what I’m thinking about.”

“Well no, not Honeydukes and the like, of course not, but it will be you who’s out of bounds when the time comes.” Ron still had only glimpsed at the Dark Mark on Malfoy’s forearm, he typically had it well covered. But he knew that Malfoy had it, assumed that he had received a mission from You-Know-Who and that it was only a matter of time before he had to take action, or be punished for shirking his duties.

“Did He give you a timeline?” Ron asked.

“It’s not for you to worry about. You don’t want to know.”

“You don’t want to tell me.” Ron rebutted.

“No, I don’t. I don’t want to hear what you’d say. Or think. You’d ruin it just like the room of requirement, end up getting us cursed further.” Malfoy buried his fear in spite, but Ron recognised that now.

“You’re going to have to do something terrible, I already know that much.” Ron swallowed and watched Malfoy roll over to face the ceiling, not wanting to show his face to Ron any longer. “Last spring, he possessed Harry in the Department of Mysteries, the year before that had Wormtail chop off his own arm to bring him back in this new body. He’s terrifying. He’s got no limits and loves watching others break theirs in order to stay alive.”

Ron continued on, “I know you know more than me on him. Seen him, felt his magic on you. He’s done this to you and you’ve watched him bring your dad to his knees.”

“Weasley,” Malfoy warned.

“No, no, I’m not- I’m not taunting you. You’re in the thick of it. And you’ve done it to yourself, but not really. If there was a way out, would you take it?”

Malfoy was silent, and Ron reached out across the gap between their beds, laying his hand on Malfoy’s green bedding.

“Whatever it is he has you doing, I know I can get you out. You’re not alone.”

Malfoy laid his hand down in response, their fingers not yet touching, but close.

Ron scooped Malfoys fingers in his own, squeezing their hands together. He didn’t say anything else, his heart thumping in his hands just as hard as it was in his throat.

They drifted off to sleep like that, and Ron felt his presence in his dreams. He ran his fingers up Malfoy’s arm and over the gentle hairs at the base of his neck. He felt the word ‘Draco’ escape his lips, and the dream was so real, so comforting.

In this war, in this uncertainty, Ron was a safe person, a refuge for Malfoy, a promised lighthearted smile or joke or tease when the rest of his life was stress and fear and despair. Ron had never been a rock for someone before, no matter how much he tried for Harry, his friend had a lot he kept close from anyone.

Malfoy, even with all the secrets he had to keep, was able to reveal himself to Ron. They were connected now, and the magic that did so was more of a solution than a problem now. Ron woke up with Malfoy gone, and he sighed, not knowing when he would be pulled to see him again.

Hogsmeade came and Ron stayed back as planned, telling Hermione and Harry he was feeling under the weather. He stayed up in the common room and his dorm, eating the last of his sweets stash, knowing Harry was bound to restock it.

It was about midday when Ron pulled out the chess board, and after playing a few games against himself, he wished Malfoy were there. He even tested the words on his tongue.

Draco. I wish Draco was with me.

And he felt a tug. He felt the pull back, and then it was as if Hogwarts had allowed the shift, a cold breeze entering the common room, a patch of concrete and snowy grass appearing. The common room had doubled in size to allow it, the furniture pushed aside and Draco continued his walk and halted at the sight of Ron sitting covered with a quilt in front of a chess board, where his mouth dropped open.

“You’re here.”

“What did you do?”

“I pulled you from Hogsmeade.”

Draco looked stunned, “You did, Weasley, why?”

Ron hesitated, clearly he should have a better reason than ‘to play chess’. At least Draco thought he already had one. “Why, what happened?”

Draco suddenly looked sick, completely sick. Green in the face, scarf still wrapped up over his neck, his coat collar flipped up to keep him warm.

“You were in Hogsmeade,” Ron started for him, getting up to go to Draco, who still hadn’t moved. He pulled Draco from the sidewalk to the rug, wrapping a thick quilt around him ‘cause he looked quite shell shocked.

“I was. I was…I had… did you know?” Ron led him over to the couch. Whatever it was that Draco had been doing, it wasn’t simply shopping.

And he did want to know, but was it for the sake of stopping him anymore?

Ron sat beside him, and in this height of Draco’s panic he was unsure what to say, what to ask. What had happened? What had he done? Or what was he about to do? Was this for You-Know-Who’s task? Had Ron stopped him in time?

Was he okay?

He had held their hands together again, was that okay? Neither of them let go.

So Ron hushed him and got his breathing levelled out, watching the fireplace crackle. At one point, Draco finally moved, turning to study Ron’s face, looking for what was meant to be anger and resentment at Draco’s task, or perhaps success at being able to pull Draco back to Hogwarts after all.

But Ron didn’t turn back to look into Draco’s eyes, just gave a half smile and said, “Rook to F5.” And that’s how Ron dragged Draco back to himself, in beating him in a game of chess.

Once they had finished the game, Draco had snuggled up into Ron’s side, his head on his shoulder, hand gripping at the knitted jumper.

Ron let his mind drift for a moment, wondering what it would be like for the Gryffindors to come barging in. Would they finally see how he interacted with Draco, how he wouldn’t lean away? Even knowing that Draco had something awful on his mind, Ron wasn’t going to be repulsed.

He had managed to bring Draco back from whatever it was. And he would do it again. But he still needed to know. He unfurled the slytherin scarf around Draco’s neck and laid it over the back of the couch.

“Draco.” Ron said softly, smiling at the small whine the other let out.

Draco clicked his tongue. “Weasley, what am I, your date to the Yule Ball?”

Ron squeezed his arm around Draco’s side, nodded his head down to press against Draco’s on his chest. “I think that might be for the best. Call me Ron. Do it, just once.”

He hesitated. “No.”

“Tell me what happened. What did I pull you from?”

Draco sighed. “It’s His task. I tried something, I couldn’t let it be connected to me. I’d gotten what I needed to, I just needed someone to deliver it. I had just set it into motion. I’d left fast, nobody saw me there, and then you, you stole me away, here. And I don’t even know how it ended, if it’s going to work out, if I really am-”

He was talking too fast, his fist tightening in Ron’s jumper.

“Draco.” Ron said firmly. “Get it together. You can tell me, I won’t hate you for it, we’re past that now. I’ll bloody help you, and I’m glad I did. Who? What did they have to deliver? What did you cast without anyone seeing you?”

He wasn’t a crier, but his face was an upset mix of red, cheeks gaunt and breaths still slow as he admitted to Ron.

“Imperius curse. And a cursed necklace.”

“To do what?”

Draco’s face filled with disgust. He pulled up his sleeve and showed Ron the full dark mark, the ink that marked him as one of Voldemort's followers, until the end of his life.

“To kill.” Draco murmured the words and Ron exhaled onto the top of his head.

It wasn’t unexpected. But now Ron could see how much Draco didn’t want to do it. Sure, it was because now it would soil his own soul, his own hands. And despite not talking about it, Ron got the sense that Draco didn’t hold the same morals that he’d boasted about all these years. Something had shifted. He always wore that as a mask, but Ron knew there was more to Draco than the words that came out his mouth.

“Harry?” Ron asked. The fear struck him, would Draco do it? Would he not even have told Ron? It was always Harry, and Ron would fight to save him every time, but Draco… Draco never fought anything worth fighting for.

“No.” Draco’s voice cracked, like even though that would be worse, the task he had was hopeless.

Ron brushed his thumb over the dark mark, feeling Draco tense beside him. “You know what’s scary?” His tone was light again, as if a joke could get their mind off of murder. “What if my mum’s homing clock puts me at ‘lost’ whenever this magic pulls me towards you. I think my mum would send McGonagall a howler.”

“My father would be furious that I broke the greatest hidden asset within Hogwarts, and then find you had something to do with it and have you expelled from school, and your future would be ruined, resorting to become the groundskeeper.”

There was just enough of a hint of the threatening snotty Malfoy he knew in that, but with the current circumstances, Ron laughed. “It’d be a surprise when you’re home for holiday and I just keep turning up. Your house elves would start setting an extra plate ‘cause they know it’s unavoidable.”

He felt Draco grimace at that, home was not a fun subject this year. But he continued the hypothetical anyway, Ron was someone he could joke with. “What, so I get pulled over to yours and my parents are just supposed to let me go? No, they’d attempt to apparate over and I think they’d be so stunned by the two of us coiling around each other that they couldn’t say a word to insult your family or home.”

They let the silence sit as Ron’s fingers trailed over Draco’s arm, and he could feel his heart stutter with Draco’s gaze so strong over him.

“You stun me.” Ron admitted.

Draco gave a short hum, and pressed his head onto Ron’s shoulder. “Tell me more.”

Ron clicked his tongue in amusement, “You’re ridiculous. Fishing for compliments with me, who you’re stuck with for who knows how long.”

“It’s fine.”

It felt so sudden, with a rush of reasonings not quite clicking before he did it, but Ron moved. He curled over and held Draco’s face in his hand, catching a glimpse of those grey eyes in such surprise. And he kissed him.

He was kissing Draco, and he was kissing him back. Their lips were only the beginning. Draco’s hands held tight to Ron’s jumper, he moaned and licked into his mouth as if he wanted Ron. Ron covered Draco, the blanket jumbled between them, and he moved to kiss at Draco’s jaw, to hear his gasp and hear him say his name.

“Oh, merlin- Weasley,” Draco’s voice was high, surprised and not regretting a single thing.

“That’s not my name,” Ron said lowly, his hand wrapped around Draco’s wrist, holding it up by his head as they lay on the couch.

“Shit,” Draco said, clearly paying more attention than Ron, as he scrambled to sit up, Ron moving to let him. Looking up, Ron saw the common room door swing open, and students step up over the ledge and in.

“They can’t see you,” Ron said. But Draco had stepped off the couch and onto the snow covered grass where he’d come from, all of it disappearing from view.

Ron laid back on the couch and groaned, taking the left behind slytherin scarf and scarpering upstairs to collect himself.

It took them another few days to get back onto the same page. Draco wasn’t acting the same, always stepping back into his own space when the magic brought him close to Ron. Ron tried to convince himself that it wasn’t about their kiss.

Draco had imperio’d someone. Cursed someone. And that person had ended up being Katie Bell, which couldn’t have been his intended target.

Draco didn’t tell Ron. Thankfully he didn’t have to wait for him to, because it was all anyone could talk about when they came back from Hogsmeade. Katie Bell cursed, but not dead, because who else could have noticed something wrong other than Harry.

And while Draco had said that Harry wasn’t his target, that ended up being close too.

“It had’t’ve been Malfoy. Who else would have had a cursed object! And to plant it in The Three Broomsticks, on a Hogsmeade weekend? It’s a Hogwarts student, it’s Malfoy. It’s a death eater, it’s something bigger than meant for Katie. And she didn’t remember anything, she just knew she had to take it to Dumbledore.”

Ron hadn’t contributed anything to the conversation. It felt like a betrayal to Harry to stay silent, but what would they be able to do? They couldn’t stop Draco, not unless they had a way to save him. And if his target was Dumbledore, then there was no chance he was an option to ask for help.

And Harry, Harry had a complicated thing with Dumbledore. He was an old bat, he was a great wizard but that was outnumbered by the amount of times he didn’t treat Harry well. In Ron’s book, sending him to the Dursley’s time after time was enough, but then it went as far as ignoring him last year despite his nightmares that turned to visions, that led to Dumbledore finally facing off against Voldemort. And then Harry again was sent off to the Dursleys to be attacked by dementors.

Harry’s situation was always worse off, and Ron was always on his side, always did what he could to help him. But this was different. Malfoy was Draco now, and Ron was magically tied to him. And Harry wasn’t in danger.

Of course, Ron didn’t want anything bad to happen to Dumbledore. But that was the thing, wasn’t it. Draco wouldn’t be able to kill him. Not with a curse necklace, not with whatever he’d had in the room of requirement. Not with whatever idea he came up with next. Voldemort didn’t think Draco could succeed either. He wanted the Malfoys to fear and respect him, to face the circumstances for his father’s failures in the Department of Mysteries last year.

Ron felt a flurry of emotions, and Hermione only saw it as anger. The way he did his homework, quill snapping under his mountain of anxiety. The way he piled on his plate and saved more for later. The way he snagged books out from the library shelf. Ron was frustrated with not being able to do anything.

He couldn’t tell Harry and Hermione about Draco, things had gone on so long and gotten so serious, and so far off base, that they wouldn’t get it. Wouldn’t get that he was worried about him, that he missed him, that he liked the time they got to spend together in their own space where nobody could intrude.

Ron told himself that it was enough that he knew what they would say; their suggestions of how to fix the issue, their complaints about Draco, all the way to their mistrust and disappointment that he started this by hiding the truth from them. So sitting in his anger at himself, at Voldemort, was the only thing he could do.

Until, he was pulled to Draco’s side as they got ready for bed.

“Hullo.” Ron said as Draco pulled back his bed sheets. Draco turned, seeing Ron sitting on his four poster, quidditch magazine layed astray.

He hadn’t risked a smile, not with how things had been, not with how he had been avoiding Weasley. “Were you planning on staying then?” Draco tried to hold his face of indifference, tried to show that he meant for him to leave, that he had to say no. But with Weasley, he could say anything and he’d stay anyhow.

“If you wanted me to.”

“I don’t.”

Ron quirked a grin. “Then tell me to leave.” Ron stood up and walked into Draco’s space, onto the cold stone floor and sat on Draco’s bed.

Draco said nothing, and Ron laid back onto the bed, pillows fluffy around his head.
“I’m the one person you can argue with, and you won’t hmm?” Ron teased. “Aren’t you scared of catching gryffindor cooties?”

Draco scoffed and sat. “Budge over Weasley.”

Ron turned onto his side so he was facing Draco, and when the blond lay next to him, Ron’s gaze fell onto his lips. There was a heated twist in his stomach, both wanting to be here with Draco and feeling guilty about wanting that, and a dozen other things that he didn’t name. But he wasn’t going to sit here and stew.

He wasn’t going to leave Draco either. If Draco had been brought to Ron’s dorms, surely he would have left without an acknowledgement, embarrassed or whatever he was feeling about their…kiss.

But Ron wasn’t going to let it be just that. And he wasn’t best with his words, so.

“We were interrupted earlier.”

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes over to see Ron’s smug face. “Oh, is that what you want to say about it?”

“And I don’t want to know what you have to say about it.”

Draco raised a brow. “What does that mean?”

“There’s too much you’d have to say. Analysing everything about it. Between us.” Ron lay his hand next to Draco’s arm, his short sleeves showing his milky skin, his thin wrists.

“There’s not enough space between us to analyse,” Draco witted.

“That’s fine by me.” Ron placed his hand on Draco’s hip, and pushed himself up to lean over him. “I want your mouth otherwise occupied.”

Draco’s eyes were attentive, his hands landing on Ron’s sides, not pulling him in but feeling the whole of Ron above him. Their lips met, clumsy as their noses bumped, mouthing over each other, Draco’s tongue slipping over his lips, their teeth clinking.

Ron’s hand reached for Draco’s chest, realising he’d only been with girls before, but all the same he knew what to do. He felt Draco’s heartbeat, his kissed and sucked at his neck, listened to the sounds that came out his mouth.

He could feel himself hard in his pants, all the more in finding Draco was too. Ron brushed them together, and Draco pulled at his hair in excitement, hand sneaking under Ron’s shirt to touch his skin, to get him closer.

Draco’s breath in his ear told him that he was getting close, that this was enough. When they’d both been spent and cast a cleaning spell, Ron sank down and placed his head on Draco’s chest, wrapping his arms around his midsection. Feeling Draco breathing was a settling thing, and his hand scratching in Ron’s hair was a tell that this was something that Draco found himself wanting too.

No matter their circumstance and everything that stood between them, they would find a way to make this work.

Chapter Text

More time passed and Draco had to keep making attempts at Dumbledore’s life, he had to report back to Him with something, and he’d only had another failure. He was on edge, unable to eat anything besides a few crisps or an apple. He wasn’t sleeping, but occasionally got to listen to Weasley’s snores.

He didn’t feel safe, even if there was some kind of link that connected him to Weasley, it wasn’t going to save him from the Dark Lord. It wasn’t going to save their school.

Weasley thought the opposite. “I’m not saying we tell anyone about your mark. But I should tell someone, something. You’re the only one tasked with bringing in Death Eaters and killing Dumbledore. And if they could be prepared for that, you could do it without feeling guilty. Voldemort would be overrun, the school will be protected…Strategy Draco.”

“We are not alone Weasel.” Draco hissed, as they were currently sitting in the combined space of the gryffindor common room and the grounds of the quidditch pitch. They sat back to back, Draco was watching Slytherin practice, not really wanting to be there because if he could afford to play he would. But with everything that had happened since this summer with The Dark Lord, and now with his tasks making him sick to his stomach, and all the pressure, and now a Weasley to keep a secret… there had been no chance of being able to fly too. So when his bloody replacement, Harper, made Draco swear to come watch and give feedback, he decided some time out in the sun would be good.

Of course, Weasley found it the perfect time to intrude with a strategy.

Draco had resigned himself to thinking it was just a matter of time, there was no resisting the Dark Lord, there was no fooling him, and to even think of thinking of it was blasphemy. Draco had to bow down. Draco had to find a way to overcome whatever was holding him back from completing these tasks.

It wasn’t Ron. He wasn’t going to give up Ron.

No, the problem was his morals, his jumbled values. Though of course, Weasley would call them noble, or a weak attempt at being it.

Weasley had started talking again, but Draco was numb to it, pressing his back further against his.

Despite all the years of thinking Dumbledore a bumbling fool, ‘nitwit, oddment, blubber tweak!’ for Merlin’s sake, Draco couldn’t imagine facing him and saying ‘avada kedavra’.

In fact, he’d even been practicing it. On spiders, on Hagrid’s mongrel creatures. It hadn’t been successful more than a handful of times. All his hatred and anger and stress was overrun by the fear that it was the same spell he’d watched used a hundred times, and the knowledge that something much worse would be spent on him if he didn’t get it together.

He grounded himself, feeling the grass under his fingers, pressing hard against Weasley’s back, trying to match his breathing.

Weasley elbowed him.

“What!”

“We’re in a bubble, our own little space where no one really notices we’re gone. You’re allowed to freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out. This is my damn life, everything is on the line, I need to maintain control.” Draco’s voice leaned towards hostile as he said, “And why, do you get off on me being high strung? Want me to break?”

He laughed, “I bloody think not, but you need to think about this seriously. A solution, I mean, because doing what you’re ordered to is not the only thing.”

Draco cringed, it wasn’t that simple.

Weasley continued, “Look, that’s not what I mean. It's just, you’re an asset now, with this information we could destroy Voldemort.” Draco had noticed that. Lately, Weasley had become bold enough to say His name. He couldn’t, wouldn’t.

“That’s not what I’m here for. Don’t make this something that it isn’t, don’t you get it? That’s treason! That’s my life, stripped and dissected and used as snake food!” Draco stared up at the clouds, ripping grass out of the ground. Weasley had been growing more tense too as the end of the year drew nearer, as Draco had become more desperate to find a way through this.

That was all he could do, get to the next thing. There was no after, there was only the next attempt, and if he were to succeed, the next task. If he were to fail, there was still no plea for escape. He had promised his life to Voldemort. The mark on his arm, the dark magic leached into his skin was a manacle, a continuous threat.

Draco began to lean forward, to pull away from Weasley, but he felt the man’s hand grip onto his thigh. “Don’t leave. I’ll stop. I swear, no more, not now.”

Draco leaned back again, stewing in the silence, pulled away from his own thoughts at the not-so-distant sounds of the Gryffindor common room, where there was a familiar singing of “Weasley is Our King”. He may be worried, he may be overinvolved, and he may be scared himself, but with all of this, Weasley hadn’t pulled away. Stupid Gryffindor.

While Draco slept on him, Ron came up with a plan. Not that it was a great one. But it was something that had a chance. A chance of taking down Voldemort, and would be something that Draco would agree to.

Ron knew this was the worst year yet. Things were coming to a peak, the war was about to happen, and Hogwarts would be ground zero. Harry knew it too.

They’d seen Dumbledore’s hand, shrivelled and black, cursed by some ring that he had been “too tempted by” Harry had told him. Whatever that meant, neither of them knew. But Ron knew that Harry’s lessons with Dumbledore were in preparation for something beyond defensive measures. Looking at memories, learning how Voldemort had begun, it was knowing your enemy. Keeping them close. Dumbledore was ready for this fight, and he was ready for it to become Harry’s fight.

No, Ron didn’t want to go to Dumbledore. So, despite all the bloody years of hostility, he knew this was the best call.

“Detention Mr. Weasley! Does your learning deficit grow with every breath you take, or only exist when you step into the classroom? Your petals are not stripped, your cuts cross-grained; you will poison your classmates if those ingredients were to be dipped into the concoction you currently have! You’ll see me tonight after dinner, you utter fool.” Snape cleared his disaster of a potions station, and continued onto the next row.

When the time came, Ron knew he had to keep a level head. He didn’t want to be accused of being a liar or of attempting to get Malfoy in trouble. In fact, if he were, wouldn’t it make sense to go to anyone but Snape? But he was ready to be scolded half to death, and he was prepared to fight the greasy bat in order to get it into his head that he was here to protect Draco, to give him hope, to get him help.

“Is this room secure?” Ron started, gripping the caudron brush he’d been given.

“Mr. Weasley, I assure you, you need not be afraid of the filth, it will not harm you.” Snape droned sarcastically.

“I mean, Professor, that I have information I did not find in a book, and I needed to pass it on to you. And as much as I bloody hate it, you’re the smart solution here.” Ron saw Snape’s narrowed eyes at his language, “Sir.”

There was a moment of silence, the man flickering his eyes down to the unused cauldron brush. “Your deflection will only cost you more work and wasted time.”

Ron took that as a yes. He put down the brush, and began with, “There are things you should already know, Malfoy’s a death eater, he’s tasked to kill Dumbledore, to bring Death Eaters into the school- but there’s been a complication, involving me, and he- he doesn’t want to do it.” He spoke with his hands, waving and gesturing, rambling as much as he was, “And, you handle information, not action, I get that- it’s a waste- but I think I get it. But Draco, you’ve got to step in for him. With him, with what we’ve got going on, we can get the upper hand before the war even starts, Voldemort won’t know what hit him, I just need you to hear me out.”

Snape growled, “You are a child. Mr. Malfoy is a child. What you ‘get’, what you ‘think’ you know is nothing.” He sounded exactly as he had at the times he’d appeared at Grimmauld Place, cruel and condescending in a way that was only slightly different than his professor tone. He spat more. He was bitter, dismissive, and definitive. “ There is no complication that can bring him away from the Dark Lord’s grip.”

Ron stood his ground, “But there’s something you don’t know. And it will help. More than you think of two children. The Order needs us.”

“And what, I pray, compels you to say ‘us’ in terms of yourself and Mr Malfoy?” Snape laid his quill down and settled his fingers onto his temples as Ron told him of the mishap in the Room of Requirement, of the generative magic that clung onto them and insisted on bringing them together at any random time, without anyone knowing the wiser. Of how he could call Malfoy to his side, away from danger.

Then, with Snape saying nothing more, only raising his eyebrows in encouragement for evidence, Ron did so. Draco appeared at his side, pulled in apparently from the corridor, judging from the portrait on the wall.

“You’re interrupting my rounds,” Draco said, “And aren’t you in detention?”

“Only sort of, come through, we’ve been talking about you.” Ron told him. Then he turned to Snape, “I’ve got him, he’s on duty, in the corridor, there’s a shift in the floor right here, about three metres worth, then this room resumes, like a puzzle piece, but Draco’ll be here in just a moment, and you’ll tell him. I haven’t, swear it, you’re still just Snape.”

Hearing this, Draco frustratingly questioned, “What’ve you been telling him? What’s Snape meant to tell us? You know he’s a Death Eater too, and he’s been pestering me all year about my tasks, you can’t! You’ve signed-”

Ron interrupted him, pulling on the magic that tied them, and Draco’s surroundings disappeared, him now physically in the potions room.

“-my death warrant!” Draco shoved him, “Un-bloody-believable Weasley.”

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape began, “I’ve been led to believe that the two of you have become quite close this year, care to confirm?”

Ron flushed, “That’s not on! I said nothing of the sort, I came to you for help, you bastard!”

Snape gave a heavy smirk at the outburst, one that said this was exactly where he found he enjoyed working with teenagers, so easy to make them embarrassed over the simplest things.

Draco looked appalled at his godfather finding this out, surprised that this was the thing that was pointed out rather than whatever else Weasley had the gall to go to him with. What idiocy would have Weasley do such a thing?

He was furious, best that it all come out now. “What is this, am I here to serve detention as well? For disrupting the nature of magic, and then off to my death for intermingling with a Weasley?” He said irately, “Doesn’t he know? You’re not simply my head of house, and not even a vow to my mother will help you protect me. Not with that mark on your arm, same as mine!”

Ron snorted, “You really do think I’m an idiot. Strat-e-gy,” he sounded out, “I came up with one.”

Snape exhaled, “Mr Malfoy, the reason I hold the trust of the Headmaster is not for the reason you may be led to believe. He is no fool, but he is the one I report to. The Dark Lord may have a hold on you and I, but he is not all-powerful or all-knowing. Your mother trusts me to keep you alive, and whether or not any of us believe it, Mr Weasley does the same.”

Draco scoffed in disbelief, “You, you’re a traitor? A spy, for Dumbledore?”

“Who is already dying, that’s not a task you need to concern yourself with. No, the other is far more important. The Dark Lord will never be impressed or show gratitude, you will merely obey him and be strung along to the next worst thing, Snape said pointedly, “Your mother, your father, they have faced this far before you came along, and now to have you in it is something they regret-but they are too proud to admit it.”

Draco attempted to interrupt, and Ron squeezed his shoulder, his hand just resting on him so comfortably, like he’d rather spend the rest of his days in detention than see the world bend at the knee to Voldemort. Draco remembered seeing Snape kneeling to the Dark Lord. How long had he managed this? What was it that they were going to do?

“You,” Snape continued, “could be a pivotal point, could promise that the Dark Lord never takes hold of this castle, doesn’t take a step further without our clear understanding of what he aims to do. With this generative magic binding you together, you would make the perfect bait, a trap, a spy. Or, with your refusal to act as such, I end your connection, I obliviate the entirety of this scenario from both of you idiots, and we face the repercussions.”

Ron dropped his hand from Draco’s shoulder, and gripped his wand. “No, you wouldn’t, you can’t!”

“No hesitance here,” Snape hissed. “You endanger my position, yourself, and everything we’ve worked for. You. Are. A. Child. Strategy. You’ve held onto this information for months, and it’s a miracle there’s been no movement in the wrong direction, it’s the only indication that Mr Malfoy might make a decision that will show some character.”

Ron spat, “Voldemort doesn’t own him, he’s not some chicken, choosing to follow orders and-”

“Stop.” Draco said. “I’ll do it. I’ll do the stupidest thing and betray the Dark Lord. If you have,” he said to Snape, “and you’ve apparently known,” he nodded to Ron, “I think we’ll make it out alive.”

Ron exhaled.

“But I don’t know how you expect to stop Him, not if you say Dumbledore’s already dying.” Draco admitted.

Ron could feel something stirring in his stomach as he saw Snape slowly nod. He didn’t know why it made him so nervous, he could just sense there was something that would go wrong. And Snape knew it too.

“The Headmaster is not all powerful or all knowing either. But he won’t die without having left a plan.”

It was heavy. But now they had a starting point, and maybe the upperhand. Ron cut the tension, nodding appreciatively, “Strategy.”

Draco shoved him, “Bloody Gryffindors. Enjoy detention.” He looked to his head of house, offering a solemn thanks. And then, he whisked away back into the corridor where he’d been before, feeling lighter despite the extra pressure. There was a hint of relief at the forefront of his mind, beginning to feel ready to face whatever came next.

A twitch of a smile when he felt the promise that Ron would be at his side.

Chapter Text