Draco Malfoy’s death notice was front-page news in The Daily Prophet:

"With immense sadness, loving parents Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy regret to announce the loss of their only son. The grieving parents ask that those wishing to convey their condolences to the family refrain from doing so. They prefer to mourn and lament this tragic passing privately."

Screams and gasps sounded around the Great Hall. Three girls passed out, two Hufflepuffs and one Slytherin. The voices rose, the sound becoming deafening.

Sitting in the midst of the din, quietly and deliberately eating his lunch at the Slytherin table, sat Draco. His hair was unwashed and disheveled, dark circles outlined his bloodshot eyes. His clothes looked slept in, though he probably had not slept at all. His hands shook almost imperceptibly as he ate.

His eyes stared blankly, fixed on the far wall, until he felt someone watching him. His eyes shifted to the right, resting only seconds on Ron, who was peering at him over his own copy of The Prophet. With no further acknowledgment, he returned his gaze to the wall, waiting for someone, anyone else to notice he was there.

Draco had received the news the night before by owl post. The notice had been carefully clipped from the paper and attached to a piece of his father’s letterhead with a curt note:

"Upon completion of your final year at Hogwarts, your personal belongings will be waiting for you at the manor gate. Failure to retrieve them in a timely fashion will result in their immediate destruction. - Lucius Malfoy"

Draco wasn’t even once mentioned by name.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco became a ghost of his former self, unrecognizable. He was sleepwalking through his classes, doing only enough to get by. All of his instructors knew what had happened, and while they did not make excuses for him, they did not press him, either. His work was sufficient to pass and nothing more. His friends’ attempts to engage him in conversation garnered barely intelligible responses, if he responded at all. His behavior served to isolate him from his own housemates, who soon took to avoiding him whenever possible. He was given wide berth in the corridors, and essentially dined alone in the Hall. He abandoned his position on the Quidditch team.

Ron was utterly lost. His anger still simmered under the surface, but he was quickly losing his resolve. Without his best friend to confide in, his anchor was missing and he felt adrift. He and Harry were closer than brothers, and for seven years, he and Harry had shared every little thing that happened every day. Now it was gone. And he missed Draco more than he thought was humanly possible. How could someone he had loathed for so many years become so important to him in such a short time? He didn’t know and he didn’t care. All he knew was he felt like part of him was missing without both of them in his life.

Harry was trying his best to mend the rift. He chattered endlessly to Ron in the dormitory, never sure if the other boy was listening. Ron made no overt attempts to show his animosity toward Harry; he usually ignored him or walked away. Everyone close to the pair noticed the change immediately, but could never discern what caused it. Hermione could entice neither boy to reveal the secret.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ron sat under a tree in the clearing by the lake, making his fourth attempt to start an essay for Transfiguration. He came here every few days, telling himself he enjoyed the solitude, the fresh air, the woodsy aroma that enveloped him. In truth, his memories of Draco clouded his every thought, and he felt closer to him when he came here.

It had all started here, and now it amounted to what? Nothing. He thought he had something, someone. Finally. He had someone to call his own, only to find out that Harry had been there first.

Ron cradled his head in his hands and cried again. He didn’t begrudge Harry anything. Despite what had happened, he did still love him. Harry was his best friend and he wanted more than anything for things to be normal again, but he didn’t know how they could be. The wound of betrayal ran deep.

He wanted to talk to Harry about how being with Draco made him feel, but could only imagine Harry comparing Ron’s experience with his own. He couldn’t get the image of the two of them together out of his head. Every inch of Draco’s body that Ron touched, licked and kissed, Harry already knew. He knew how it felt for Draco to fill him completely. They had probably come screaming each other’s names.

"Stop it!" Ron shouted, slamming his book closed and tossing it away. A ghost crossing the clearing, startling him. "Draco." //He looks so very tired.\\

Draco stood in the middle of the clearing, hands jammed in his pockets. "In the flesh," the Slytherin said quietly, stepping toward the redhead.

Ron stood, his back to the tree. "What are you doing here?" He couldn’t bring himself to look at the other boy.

"We need to talk. Please?" he pleaded.

"I can’t . . .," Ron shook his head.

Draco was crying. "I don’t know what else I can say or do to make you believe that I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. I need you to believe that. I honestly didn’t think it mattered. It was a one-time thing, it’s over with, and I never thought about it again."

"Never?"

"Never. Potter means nothing to me."

"He’s my best friend," Ron countered.

"I know that. I never expected that to change, and I can make allowances for it. I can tolerate being around him. But I never, ever, ever wanted to be with him again."

Ron finally met those stormy grey eyes and the two boys stared at each other, Draco exhausted and Ron uncertain.

"I’m sorry about what happened with your father," Ron said quietly. "That was because of me, wasn’t it?"

Draco nodded, sniffling. "It’s okay, though. End of school, I’ll be on my own. At least he doesn’t expect me to join his side. And maybe since he’s killed me figuratively, he won’t actually do it."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don’t know. I have the rest of the year to figure it out. I’ve had offers of help from Snape and even Dumbledore, if you can believe it."

"Good. If anybody can help, they can."

Draco nodded again. "Well, I just wanted to tell you again, to try and clear things up between us. I know we can’t ever be. . . I didn’t want to leave things like they were. I’m just really, really sorry, Ron." He shrugged in resignation and sighed. "Sorry I interrupted you." He turned to leave.

"Draco, wait," Ron called. He stepped closer to the blond, afraid to get too close for fear of losing control. "Can you tell me one thing. Why?"

"One of your hard questions again," Draco chuckled. "You know I’ve hated Potter for years. Ever since he refused my hand our first day here. I got the impression he thought he was too good for me. You just don’t do that to a Malfoy. Then he joined the Quidditch team his first year. He’s just so bloody good at it. I couldn’t find any way to win against him. We were drunk that day, I could use that excuse, but that’s not all of it. I wanted to be able to say I’d bested the great Harry Potter, even though I knew I’d never tell anybody. I wanted him to submit to me, and he was willing. I wanted to see desire for me in face. When I touched him, I wanted him to beg for more. I wanted him to scream my name when he came. And he did all that."

Ron placed the heels of his hands over his eyes, trying to rub out the mental picture Draco had so artfully painted for him.

"Afterward, none of it mattered. I’d done what I set out to do. It was a task, nothing more. I never had any desire for him. It wasn’t about the sex, it was the conquest, the victory, however fleeting it was. I won, and I moved on."

"I just keep picturing you two together," Ron said, shaking his head.

"If either of us had told you from the start, would you have continued seeing me?"

"I – I, uh," Ron stammered, then took a deep breath. "I don’t know. Probably not."

"Then I guess we never really had a chance, did we?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You tossed us away when you felt Potter and I betrayed you. Now you tell me if we’d told you about us, you probably would have done the same thing. If you were willing to toss this away so easily, it must not have been very important to you to begin with."

"That’s not true!" Ron shouted. "It’s just that . . .oh, this is so hard."

"Life is hard, Ron," Draco replied evenly. "You know that. Like the muggle saying goes, ‘Anyone who says differently is selling something.’ You have to work at most things in life, but those usually end up meaning the most, don’t they?"

Ron stared at Draco, shaking his head. "When did you get so philosophical?"

"Shortly after I died."

Ron approached him very carefully. Draco looked so fragile he might break at the slightest touch. "I love you. Did you know that?"

"I thought before, maybe." Draco’s tears welled again. "I wasn’t so sure after . . ." His tears fell freely when Ron embraced him tenderly.

"I’m sorry," Ron whispered, rubbing Draco’s back to soothe the sobs. "I let my emotions get the better of me again. But I can’t go on like this, being at odds my boyfriend and best friend. Nothing makes sense anymore."

"Boyfriend?" Draco pulled away to look at Ron. "Is that what we were?"

"Are." Ron gave him another crushing hug. He’d missed this, just the feeling of being close to Draco, the feeling of taut, lean muscle under the pale, supple skin. The warmth from the closeness seeping into his bones. The body in his arms felt nothing like what he remembered, though. His arms encircled the waist much easier, and he could feel ribs poking him in his torso. And he couldn’t smell the warm, spicy scent of hazelnut he’d come to associate with this body.

Ron broke the embrace. "Well, I’ve got some work to do."

"Such as?"

"I have to try and repair things with Harry." Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Stop that. And I’ve got to take care of you. You look dreadful. And it won’t do for you to quit the Quidditch team. Slytherin needs you. Especially if you have any hope of beating Gryffindor this year."

"Does this mean . . .?

"If you’ll have me," Ron replied shyly, hanging his head.

Draco’s fingertips lifted Ron’s chin. "Every day." Draco smiled and stole a kiss.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Harry?" Ron startled his friend in the dormitory by speaking to him unbidden. Harry had been undressing from Quidditch practice and spun around to the familiar voice.

"Yes?" he asked expectantly.

"I – I’m sorry." Ron thought that sounded terribly lame and moved his hands as if trying to explain, succeeding in only flailing them about. "I don’t know how to apologize to you. I was awful to you. I’m just really sorry."

Harry grabbed him in a bear hug. "I understand, Ron. It’s okay." He pulled away, grinning madly. "I thought you’d never speak to me again."

"I didn’t either. This whole thing has just been so difficult. I wanted to tell you all about Draco, but when I found out you and he had . . . I was jealous you’d been there before me."

"I never thought about him again after that one time. Really. Except maybe when he was acting like an obnoxious prat and I wanted to throttle him."

"Can you be civil to him?"

"You mean you two worked things out?" Ron smiled and nodded. "For you, anything."

"You’re the best, Harry."

"I know," Harry said, patting himself on the back and laughing when Ron swatted him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*