FIC: "See No Evil" R/D, NC-17, Part II

[squidlytales]

Author: TheGiantSquid
Title: See No Evil
Pairing: Ron/Draco, Ron/OMC; past Ron/Hermione, unrequited Ron/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Summary: After Draco is blinded in an accident that wasn’t quite an accident after all, Ron takes him in and soon discovers that not everything or everyone is as it seems.
Warnings: Character death (pre-story), rimming, clichés…

Part I | Part II | Part III



Ron roughly ran a hand over his face and he had the sudden urge to growl. “Regardless of Malfoy’s past actions, that does not excuse Healer O’Shaughnessy for not giving him the best treatment available here at St. Mungo’s!” he asserted, pounding his fist on the table for emphasis. “I worked with him for years during the War; I know he’s a prick, but he’s an all right bloke and he is not a Death Eater,” he finished emphatically.

O’Shaughnessy sneered at him and opened her mouth to respond when Augustus Pye held up his hand and the room fell silent. Ron was currently sitting at a large round table and being questioned about the activities that had occurred over the past three days concerning Draco Malfoy. Specifically, Ron and O’Shaughnessy’s two very open and loud disagreements. Apparently, right after Ron had shouted at her to leave, O’Shaughnessy had headed straight to the St. Mungo’s Board of Healers and Mediwizards to complain. The board was made up of all department heads. Ron himself was on the board, since he was in charge of Physical and Mental Well-Being, as were Richard and Florence, who were in charge of their respective medical divisions also.

“Enough, both of you,” Augustus said, and then threw a look to O’Shaughnessy when she opened her mouth again. Leaning forward, Augustus clasped his hands together in front of him and said, “I know you two have had your differences over the years, but I must admit, I never thought it would get in the way of treating patients here at St. Mungo’s.”

“We pride ourselves on being the best,” Hippocrates Smethwyck interrupted fiercely. “So what does it say to our patients about our Healers when two of them have shouting matches in the middle of our corridors?”

“It wasn’t in a corridor,” said Ron quickly. “It was behind closed doors.”

“It was still in a patient’s personal room,” Augustus replied, “which is unacceptable.”
Ron ground his teeth and felt his ears grow hot. “She mentioned my sister!” he exploded. “She had the gall to mention my sister. It was a cheap shot, Augustus, you know that!”

“That is entirely untrue!” O’Shaughnessy shrieked.

“Don’t lie about it!” Ron barked, and the room broke out in a dull roar.

BANG, BANG, BANG! “That is enough!” Smethwyck shouted over the noise, banging his gavel a few more times. “Let’s try to act like adults here!”

Ron fell back into his chair, still fuming and feeling a massive headache coming on. O’Shaughnessy sat down as well and refused to look in Ron’s direction

“Have we all stopped with this childishness now?” Smethwyck demanded, and everyone murmured some sort of affirmative. Sighing, Smethwyck sat down wearily in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Healer O’Shaughnessy,” he began, opening his eyes and turning towards her, “you’ve not shown or proven to us that Healer Weasley’s actions were in any way a...what did you call it? Oh yes-an affront to all humans. Your actions, however, are at best severely flawed. You are on a month’s probation, starting today.” O’Shaughnessy’s jaw dropped to the floor. Continuing, Smethwyck said, “You will also have a week’s suspension from work without pay. Please spend that time reevaluating the reasons you became a Healer in the first place. You are dismissed.”

O’Shaughnessy looked devastated, but she rose from her chair and walked quietly from the room with her head held high. Ron sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted, and rose to leave as well.

“Wait just a moment, if you would, please, Ron,” said Augustus. Ron blinked at him for a moment before lowering himself back into the chair and waiting dutifully as a few others filed out, which left him alone with Augustus, Smethwyck, Richard, and Florence. When the room was cleared, Augustus said, “We’re releasing Draco Malfoy tomorrow from our care.”

“What?” Ron exclaimed, standing up again.

“He’s fully healed,” said Smethwyck, sounding annoyed; he’d never been a particularly patient man, and he and Ron had knocked heads in the past. “And we’ve been getting some very bad publicity since he’s been here.”

Ron gaped at them. “You’re releasing him because he’s causing some bad PR?” he spluttered. “He’s not fully healed, either! His eyes-”

“As I understand it from the medical records,” Smethwyck interrupted, “Mr. Malfoy’s eyes will improve if he remembers to apply the restorative eyes drops and drink his potion every day.”

“He doesn’t have a home,” Ron stressed desperately. “He was Scott’s apprentice, so he was living with him and his family. I doubt they’re going to take him back now after all that happened! He’s got no where to go, and I doubt he can even afford those drops and potions anyway.”

“Regardless,” said Smethwyck, “his body is healed, and every day he stays here is money wasted and more problems for us. I’m sure he has some friends he can stay with until his eyes are working again.”

Ron continued to stare at them incredulously. Florence looked apologetic, as did Augustus, but Richard refused to meet his eyes. Ron had a good idea why. “He changed sides during the war,” he said finally. “His friends are either in Azkaban, dead, or refuse to speak to him.” Licking his dry lips, Ron’s mind worked quickly to find a solution to the problem. Then it came to him.

“All right. Fine. Whatever,” he said. Rubbing his hands together, Ron continued, “Since we’re all here, I’d like to make an announcement: As of tomorrow, I will be going on a two month holiday.”

“What?” Richard exclaimed. “You can’t do that!”

“Oh, I can,” said Ron coolly. “I haven’t had a holiday in four years; I know I have some paid time saved up.”

“Two months is a bit much, don’t you think, Healer Weasley?” Smethwyck grunted.

Ron grinned. “No,” he said. “That’s the perfect amount of time for Malfoy to get better.” Without another word, Ron turned his back on the Board and strode out of the room. He was halfway to his office when Richard caught up with him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, grasping Ron’s arm and tugging him to a stop. Ron winced at the look on Richard’s face; it held a mixture of anger and betrayal.

Ron sighed and gently pried his arm free from Richard’s grasp. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, looking into Richard’s green eyes. “But I’m his only chance.” He began walking again, and Richard quickly followed.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” he said once they were inside Ron’s office. “Maureen was right; his father-”

“Don’t,” Ron growled, and Richard frowned.

“I just...” He looked down and fidgeted. “You know how I am...how I feel about Death Eaters, Ron, and now you’re...you’re letting one live with you, for God’s sake. I don’t understand that at all. And you and I...” Richard’s voice was thick with emotion and Ron felt his heart ache.

He transfigured a sturdy box out of a stapler and began cleaning off his desk and packing away some of his things. “He’s not a Death Eater,” Ron said at last, ignoring the other issues.

“You don’t know that.”

Rom slammed down a pet rock Harry had given him for Christmas a few years ago. “I worked with him during the war,” he snapped. “We lived together for years, however unpleasant an experience that was. I saw his forearms more times than I can count. He didn’t have the Dark Mark and he was not a Death Eater.”

Ron walked around his desk and took hold of Richard’s hands. “I know you hate them. I know, okay? But you’ve got to trust me on this. He’ll be out in two months.”

“I can’t come over if he’s there,” Richard said, raising his head. Ron nodded in understanding and then went back to packing up his office. He had a lot of work to do and not much time to do it in at all.

~*~

“Are you out of your bloody mind?” Harry exclaimed, flapping his arms. Ron looked up at him in surprise and dropped the sheet he’d been holding. He had been trying to make said sheet fit onto a bed that was possibly too big for it.

“What?”

Harry stared at him with a somewhat comical look on his face. “Ron,” he gasped. “You’re telling me that you want Malfoy to come live with you?”

Ron sighed and gave up on the sheets for a moment. Straightening, Ron put his hands on his hips and said, “So? Harry, you saw him. He’s a mess and he needs help. Besides, I’m the best person for this job; you know that.”

Harry shook his head like a dog. “I don’t get it. You and Malfoy hate each other.”

“We do not,” Ron protested indignantly. “We got along a hell of a lot better than you and he ever did.”

Waving that away with his hand, Harry limped around the bed to stand closer to Ron. “But it’s still Malfoy,” he stressed.

Ron grunted in response, and then turned around and headed for the wardrobe in search of sheets that would fit. “I don’t hate him,” he said at last. “Harry, I’m a Healer, I can’t not help him.”

Harry sighed and crossed his arms. “I guess I just don’t understand why Malfoy of all people. I mean…bloody hell, Ron, you and Richard broke up because you didn’t want to live together. You thought it was moving too fast, and now you’re letting Malfoy come live with you? Merlin, Ron, does Richard know about all this?”

“Why do you care?” Ron bit out. “You never liked Richard anyway.”

“That’s because he’s boring as all fuck,” Harry snapped back. “But still, that must have been quite a blow to his ego, Ron. And you know how I am about egos.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Ron barked, throwing down some floral sheets he’d dug up from deep within the wardrobe. “Richard’s a Healer; he understands.”

Harry found that highly unlikely; he also knew Richard and his family’s history with Death Eaters, having seen it come up in a few Auror reports over the years. It had been a brutal murder. Removing his glasses, Harry rubbed tiredly at his eyes and asked, “What’s this all really about, Ron?”

Ron tore the smaller sheets off the bed and began replacing them with the hideous floral ones. “I just want to do what’s right,” he muttered, forcefully shoving a pillow into a pink pillowcase.

Harry watched Ron closely as he continued making the bed. He’d been nothing short of surprised when Ron had Flooed him early that evening to tell Harry his brilliant idea. He’d never seen Ron look so satisfied and happy about something so life altering before. And he was confused, too, because Ron had balked at the idea of living with Richard all those months ago. Said it was “too fast”, that he “wasn’t ready.” Harry snorted; “too fast” his arse. Ron and Richard had been dating on and off for nearly two years.

After the break-up, when Harry had taken his friend out for some Firewhisky, Ron had drunkenly confessed to him that he just didn’t care about Richard that way anymore. Ron hadn’t remembered saying it the morning after, and Harry had never told him.

“There,” Ron declared, placing a poofy-looking pillow in the center of the other seven or eight pillows sitting propped against the headboard. Turning to Harry, he grinned and said, “What do you think? Think he’ll like it?”

Taking in the pink floral patterns, pink pillowcases, and pink ruffles, Harry made a face and said, “Well…at least they’re not Gryffindor colors. Who the hell gave you those sheets, Ron?”

Ron bit his lip and frowned. “Mum, I think,” he said. “Way back when I first got the flat and everyone thought I was still straight. I dunno. I think they work.” He smiled at Harry, who shook his head and grinned.

After watching Ron fluff a pillow one last time, Harry followed his friend into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Ron pulled a couple of butterbeers from his fridge, sat down, and slid one over to Harry.

“I know you think I’ve lost my mind,” Ron said quietly after they’d sat in an amiable silence for several minutes drinking their butterbeers. Harry looked up and nodded, encouraging Ron to continue. “It’s just…” Ron set his bottle down on the table and leaned back in his chair, frowning a little. “I can’t explain it, but I just know this is something I have to do. I know you don’t approve, but…will you at least support me?” He looked up at Harry, pleading.

“Of course, Ron,” he said immediately, and meant it. He might not understand why Ron was going through so much trouble for a man who, years ago, had made their lives a living hell, but Harry loved and trusted Ron. If Ron said this was something he had to do, well, then Harry would stand by him, no matter what.

~*~

The moment Ron showed his face at St. Mungo’s, Lucia was on him like a hawk. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she demanded, hands on very wide hips.

“Did I eat all the scones again in the staff room?” he asked innocently. Flipping through some parchment, he said, “Did I get any new post today?”

“I’ve been reassigned to Smethwyck!” she hissed. “And no, you’ve no new post, though your mother has been checking in here every half hour since seven this morning.”

Ron groaned and gave up on the parchments. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Harry must’ve told her, the traitor.” Looking up, he saw Lucia glaring at him and grimaced. “What?”

“Smethwyck!” she repeated, looking aghast. “He’s the most stubborn, hotheaded person I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet! The mere idea of working with him is giving me a headache.”

“Lucia, I’m stubborn and hotheaded,” Ron said bluntly. “What exactly is the difference? And besides, it’ll only be for a few months.”

“Yes, well, I happen to like you,” she replied, and Ron grinned. Lucia sighed and threw up her hands in defeat. “Here,” she said, shoving some paper into his hands, “these are the messages your mum sent. She’s…a very strong woman, isn’t she?”

“You have no idea,” he murmured, eyeing the parchment. “Did she seem angry?”

Lucia gave him a look that Ron knew all too well. Bloody hell.

“Listen,” he said at last, “I don’t really have time right now to talk to my mum. I need to get to Draco before the hospital kicks him out. Tell her I’ll Floo her later tonight.”

Grunting, Lucia shook her head and walked out of Ron’s office. Smiling, Ron then sat in his chair and filled out the paperwork needed before his official holiday could begin. He rubbed at his eyes after the sixteenth page-he had no idea why they needed to know what his grandmothers’ maiden names were-and yawned widely. He’d been up very late last night cleaning his flat and making it as safe as possible for someone who couldn’t see. He ignored the little voice in the back of his head, sounding remarkably like Hermione, that kept reminding Ron that Malfoy might not want to move in with him.

Finally, after answering question 172 about the size of his socks, Ron signed the documents with a flourish and banished them to the appropriate department. Standing up and stretching, Ron took in his office one last time whilst gathering his courage. He could do this. So what if Malfoy said no? At least Ron had tried to help. He shoved his hands in his pockets, then said good-bye to his office and walked out. Lucia cried and hugged him for several minutes, Ron patting her awkwardly on the back the whole time, and after saying more good-byes to some colleagues, he made his way to Malfoy’s room.

When he got here, however, he noticed that the door was ajar. Immediately concerned (and not a little suspicious), Ron barged into the room, only to find Malfoy sitting on his bed with a small suitcase beside him. Malfoy raised his head and cocked it to the side. “Weasley?”

“Er…” Ron said. “Yeah, it’s me. What…?”

“Florence told me,” was all he said. Licking his lips, Malfoy looked down and Ron noticed that he was wringing his hands. He had larger hands than Ron remembered.

“What did she, um, tell you?” Ron wanted to kick himself when his voice broke on the last word.

Malfoy scratched at the back of his neck. “That St. Mungo’s was releasing me, and that someone was coming to pick me up and take care of me. Like I need taking care of,” he added with a scoff.

“Did she say who?” Ron asked softly.

“Only that he was a good friend.”

Exhaling, Ron shuffled his feet for a moment and nervously ran a hand through his hair. “Florence may have been exaggerating a bit, I think-”

“Weasley, I’m not stupid,” Malfoy interrupted. Hopping down off the bed, he stretched and then groped for his suitcase. “Where are we going?”

“My flat,” croaked Ron. “You’ll be living with me for the next few months…if-if that’s all right, of course.”

“I’m not one for charity,” Malfoy declared, looking determined. “But I’m also a Slytherin. I can recognize when I need…help.” He said the last word with a sneer. “Anyway, I’ll be paying you back as soon as I can, so let’s just go, okay? We don’t need to have tearful confessions or any of that shite. I just want a hot shower and a bed to call my own.”

Ron blinked several times. “Okay,” he said at last. Stepping forward, Ron reached into his robes pocket and pulled out a package. “I, ah, got something for you.” He unwrapped the brown paper and pulled out a thin, white stick that was folded in four places. “Hold out your hand, palm up.”

Malfoy frowned a little, but raised his right hand. “What is it?”

“It’s something you’re going to use for a while now, especially when you’re in public,” Ron explained, and placed the object in Malfoy’s hand. “It’s a walking cane for the blind.”

Malfoy’s fingers closed in over the cane and squeezed his hand. “Why’s it in four sections?”

“That’s so that you can keep it in your pocket,” said Ron, stepping forward and touching the cane as well. Malfoy jerked once but otherwise remained silent. Ron took Malfoy’s suitcase and placed it on the ground before taking his other hand and showing him the grooves of the cane. “This is where it bends. All you have to do is flick your wrist and it’ll straighten out. Then when you’re done using it, it folds back up.”

Backing away from Ron, Malfoy then shot out his hand, and the cane did indeed straighten. “Why’s it so long?” he asked, running his hand up and down the shaft. Ron swallowed thickly.

“Um, so that you can hold it far out in front of you and better feel and sense where you’re going.” Ron stepped closer to Malfoy, who was still feeling the cane with his hands. Licking his lips, which had gone dry all of a sudden, he continued, “The cane has a black strap and loop at the top to help you keep a firm grip, and here at the end, there’s a nylon tip so that it can slide easily on the ground. Near the bottom of the cane is a section of red that identifies it as belonging to the visually impaired, and the white portion of it is painted with a reflective white paint, so that people can see you at night.”

Ron scratched at the back of his hot neck, worried about Malfoy’s deepening frown. “I thought it would help you to maintain your independence,” he blurted. “I didn’t think you’d want to hold onto my arm everywhere we went.”

Malfoy looked up, blinking several times, and then returned his attention to the cane.

“It’ll take a while to get used to,” Ron went on, apparently not knowing when to shut up. “But you’re a smart bloke and we can practice in this park that’s right down the street from my flat. It’s really nice there, with a small pond and trees and benches and sticks and-”

“Weasley,” Malfoy said, looking amused. “Thank you.”

Ron opened his mouth and then promptly shut it. He just knew he was blushing madly.

“You’re welcome,” he said at last. “Er, you ready? I figured we could walk to my flat, since it’s not very far from here, and I thought you’d like to practice with the cane.”

Malfoy nodded and silently picked up his suitcase again. He breathed in and out for several minutes, and then with a determined look on his face, said, “Let’s go.”

~*~

“Um, this is it,” Ron said unnecessarily as he led Malfoy into his flat. “Here, lemme have your cloak…”

Malfoy took a few tentative steps away from Ron, folding up his cane and slipping it into the pocket of his robes. “It’s warm,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

“Here,” Ron said, stepping up to Malfoy and taking him by the elbow. “Let me show you around so that you can get used to the place.” He gently led Malfoy into the living room, which was closest to the front hall. “Living room,” he announced. “Here’s the sofa; it’s blue tartan and hideous. It’s also the most comfortable sofa in the world. You’ll love it.” He watched Malfoy carefully as he felt along the sofa’s back.

“Over here is the fireplace,” Ron continued, and Malfoy carefully made his way over to him. “I usually just keep it going with magic. Above it is the mantle, so make sure to watch your head. I know I’ve nearly knocked mine off a few times in the past. Also, only certain people have access to enter the flat via the Floo-Hermione, Harry, my family-but you can still Floo out.”

Ron took Malfoy’s elbow again, still surprised that he was allowing it, and led him to the center of the room. “To your right is the coffee table,” he explained. “I contemplated removing it while you were here, like I did with the side tables, but in the end I kept it. If it’s going to be a problem, though, I can get rid of it-”

“It’s fine,” said Malfoy. “Do you have a telly?”

“You know what a television is?” Ron asked in surprise.

Malfoy’s lip curled. “Of course I do,” he said with no small amount of condescension. “The Scotts owned one, for their kids. They let me watch it. So do you have one?”

“Um, no,” said Ron apologetically. “I usually work really late, and by the time I get home, I just eat dinner and fall into bed.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Malfoy drawled. Ron scowled.

“Whatever, Malfoy,” he muttered, and then led him out of the living room and into the adjoining room. “This is the kitchen and dining area. I have a refrigerator, which I love, so do not break it. There’s the table to the right; it only has two chairs and it’s pretty fucking small, too. Dinner usually consists of whatever I pick up on the way home from work, though now I suppose I’ll have to cook. The kitchen’s pretty small, so don’t bend over too much ‘cause odds are your arse will knock something over.”

Ron tugged on Malfoy’s arm, leading him out of the kitchen. “This is the hall; it’s the only one, really. If you walk straight down it, you’ll run into the loo. There’s one sink, a medicine cabinet above it, a linen cupboard, and a tub that’s also a shower. Pretty basic.” Ron came to a stop, and so did Malfoy. Taking his hand, Ron pulled Malfoy closer to the door leading to one of the bedrooms.

“If you’re in the hall facing the loo door, my bedroom is to the right,” he said, and led Malfoy into his bedroom. “If you ever need me, please come and ask. Directly across the hall is the extra room, which’ll be yours for the next few months.” He backed Malfoy out of the room and into the other one. “It’s yours, so feel free to arrange it to be as comfortable as you want. The sheets are unbelievably ugly, but they’re really soft and, well…” Ron cleared his throat and felt himself blushing. “There’s only one wardrobe. I hope that’s all right. There’s also a desk against the far wall. Once you leave the room, the loo’s to the left and everything else is to the right.”

Ron finally forced himself to shut his mouth and he watched nervously as Malfoy stepped more fully into the room and began running his hands over everything. Ron had never noticed how long and thin Malfoy’s fingers were before. And how his wrist bones looked very delicate. And that Malfoy’s arse looked so tight and squeezable…

Ron buried his face in his hands. “I’ll leave you be,” he announced rather loudly. Malfoy cocked his head and smirked, the little bastard. “I’ll come get you when lunch is ready.” Without another humiliating word, Ron quickly exited the room and headed right into his own. Throwing his body onto the bed, Ron laid there for what felt like hours, just staring up at the ceiling and trying desperately to ignore images of Malfoy that kept inundating his mind and the resulting erection. He was so fucked.

~*~

A light knocking on his door woke Ron a few hours later. He glanced quickly at his alarm clock and then sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “Come in,” he said. The door creaked open slowly and Malfoy stepped partly into the room.

“I wasn’t sure what we were doing for lunch,” he said.

Ron hauled himself off the bed and yawned. “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. You haven’t been waiting long, have you?”

“No, I ended up resting a bit as well.”

Nodding, Ron allowed Malfoy to lead them into the kitchen. “You have a good memory,” he commented. “That’ll help in the coming months.”

“Whatever.”

Ron rolled his eyes and then opened his refrigerator door. “Do sandwiches sound all right?”

“Whatever.”

“Okay then.”

Extracting the ham, lettuce, and mayonnaise from the fridge, Ron straightened up and set the items on the kitchen counter. He got the bread out of the breadbox and set about making the sandwiches. “I hope you like ham,” Ron said, trying to make conversation. “I also have some crisps in the cupboard, if you want some. It’s the third cabinet handle to your left.”

Malfoy stared blankly at Ron for a moment before he stood and slowly made his way over to the cupboards. Using his hands, it only took him a few tries but he eventually found the right door handle. “You have three bags,” he said, looking annoyed. “Which ones do you want?”

“All three are the same,” Ron answered, spreading just the right amount of mayo on the bread.

Grunting in return, Malfoy pulled down a bag of crisps and walked back towards the table, looking triumphant.

“After lunch, I’ll give you the restorative draught to drink and put the drops in your eyes, and then we can get started on therapy.”

Malfoy dropped the bag and stopped dead in his tracks. “What?” he said, sounding irritated.

Ron looked up in surprise. “What?”

“Therapy?” sneered Malfoy. “If you think for one minute that I’m letting someone like you anywhere near me, well, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“No, you’ve got another thing coming,” Ron snapped, setting down his knife and turning around to face Malfoy. “One of the reasons you’re here is so that I can better help you recover, and in a more efficient manner. I’m a Healer, Malfoy, that’s what I do.”

“I didn’t know you were going to do anything to me!” he shouted.

Ron shook his head. “I’m not!” he exclaimed, feeling utterly confused. “I’m just giving you potions and eye drops, I didn’t think you’d freak out about it-”

“I’m not freaking out,” he responded petulantly. “And it’s the therapy. What the hell is that?”

“You’re worried about that?” Ron said, blinking. “It’s…it’s nothing, Malfoy. Don’t worry about it. That’s my job.”

“I don’t care if it’s your bloody job,” Malfoy hissed. “It was bad enough coming here and accepting your help in the first place, but to let you do all kinds of weird things to me? No, no way in hell.”

“You’re here as my patient, Malfoy,” Ron growled, and stalked forward to stand in front of the other man. “If you refuse treatment, then you’re on your own.”

Malfoy opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it again. He stumbled backwards suddenly, clutching at his head, and Ron lurched forward and grabbed Malfoy’s arm. Pulling him upright, Ron steered him into the living room and onto the sofa. Ron kneeled in front of him and lit his wand.

“Open your eyes,” he murmured, and when Malfoy complied, he raised the wand and shown the light into his grey eyes. He then took Malfoy’s pulse and temperature, and listened to his heart.

“Looks like it was just a dizzy spell,” Ron said after a few minutes. “You’ll be fine.”

Malfoy didn’t say anything, and Ron ducked his head before standing up. “I’ll go finish the sandwiches and bring them out here, okay? I’ll be right back.” He rushed out of the room and finished lunch in record time. After grabbing a couple of butterbeers from the fridge, he walked back into the living room, set the food and drinks down on the table, and then plopped down onto the sofa.

“Ham, lettuce, and mayo,” he announced proudly. “Weasley special, with a side of crisps and butterbeer. Might not be something my Mum would make, but it’s about the only thing I can make, so eat up.”

They ate in silence for quite a while, and Ron didn’t even attempt a conversation; he could tell Malfoy was still affected by the dizzy spell he’d had earlier. At least he was eating the sandwiches without complaint, Ron thought. After they had finished, Ron went into the kitchen to fetch the potion and drops and then rejoined Malfoy on the sofa.

“Here’s the draught,” he said, carefully handing Malfoy the tall glass and watching as he drank it all down.

Malfoy set the glass down on the table, where it balanced precariously on the edge, and then said, “Where are you getting the potion from?”

Ron started slightly. “Er, the apothecary on Diagon. Why?”

“That can’t be cheap.”

Clenching and unclenching his fists, Ron answered, “Don’t worry about it. I can afford it.”

“I could make it for you for free,” Malfoy announced. Ron’s eyebrows shot into his hair; that wasn’t the response he was expecting.

“Well, I appreciate the gesture, Malfoy,” he said slowly. “I really do, but you’re…”

“Blind,” Malfoy finished snappishly. “Thank you for pointing out the obvious. I’d still like to try.”

Ron nodded, and said, “I understand that, but first you need to get used to doing every day activities first, and get used to your own body, before you can start doing more complicated tasks. That includes using a wand.”

“The blind aren’t allowed wands,” Malfoy said with no small amount of bitterness. His own wand had been destroyed in the explosion.

“But you’re not going to be blind for forever,” Ron reasoned, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “Not if you keep up with the drops and potions and therapy.”

Malfoy curled his lip and Ron’s eyes snapped down. “Right,” Malfoy said after a moment, and then leaned his head back, exposing his throat. Ron inhaled softly and his trousers tightened uncomfortably. It took him a few moments to realize that Malfoy was leaning back in order to get his eye drops. Ron hastened to retrieve the small bottle from the table and he stood to circle the back of the couch.

“All right,” he said. “Three drops in each eye. You okay with that?”

“Just do it, Weasley.”

“Okay, then.” Ron filled the dropper with clear liquid and said, “Okay, on three. One, two, three…” Drip, drip, drip. Malfoy blinked rapidly and then nodded at Ron, who administered the next three drops in the other eye.

“Now sit back for a few more minutes and let the medicine do its job,” said Ron. “I’m gonna clean up the kitchen and then we can get started on therapy.”

“I’m overjoyed,” Malfoy muttered. Ron ignored him and walked out of the room. When he returned, Malfoy’s eyes were closed and a soft snoring sound could be heard coming from his pointy nose. Ron grinned a little and shook his head. He sat back down on the couch and conjured up a few items he would need for their first session.

“What are you doing?” asked Malfoy, causing Ron to jump slightly.

Recovering, he said, “Getting ready for the session. Now that you have limited to no sight you will see that your other senses will begin to strengthen and become more acute in order to allow you to function. You’ve already shown signs of this in the past few days-your sense of smell and hearing are far more attuned than before, yeah? Well, today we’re going to work on the sense you’ll be using the most: touch.”

Ron leaned forward and let his hands hover right above Malfoy’s. “Most people can tell when others have invaded their personal space. But you can practically feel it, can’t you?” Malfoy nodded, breathing heavily. Ron then let his hands touch Malfoy’s. “Everything is so much more intense, now, isn’t it? Touch my hands and tell me what you feel.”

Malfoy hesitated for a moment before he raised his and Ron’s hands and began running his fingers over Ron’s skin. “Do you still play Quidditch?” he asked after a moment.

Ron swallowed thickly and shifted in his seat. “Er, yeah, sometimes with Harry and my brothers. Why?”

Malfoy turned one Ron’s right hand palm up and ran his fingers over the palm. “Because you have calluses, ones I used to get after riding a broom.” He then began stroking Ron’s fingers with his own, causing a shudder to course down Ron’s spine. Malfoy stopped to concentrate on Ron’s right ring finger, rubbing over the nail and cuticle. “You have a callus here too, from writing.”

“Yeah,” Ron croaked. Malfoy smirked a little and continued to massage Ron’s hands.

After a few more minutes, he said, “You’re hands are quite large.” He then grinned nastily. “And you know what they say about big hands.”

“Okay!” Ron blurted, and tore his hands away from Malfoy. “Excellent job, you’re doing great. Now, I think it’s time to work on identifying different fabrics and textures-”

“Can I feel your face?” asked Malfoy. Ron froze and closed his eyes. He wasn’t entirely sure why Malfoy was insisting on torturing him.

Ron rubbed at the back of his neck and said, “That’s probably a bit advanced for you right now. Let’s just stick to these little balls over here…”

“Oh, come on,” Malfoy said softly, his eyes wide and bright. “I already know what you look like. It’ll be good practice.”

Resisting the sudden urge to throw himself into the fire and Floo away forever, Ron nodded instead and garbled, “Sure.”

Lips quirked, Malfoy raised his hands and blindly reached forward until he touched Ron’s neck. His fingers then lightly began skimming Ron’s skin, slowly moving up, and then tracing the outline of his jaw. Ron exhaled loudly through his nose as Malfoy’s fingertips lined his lips, which were dry and chapped. He resisted the urge to lick them.

Malfoy frowned suddenly when he was lightly caressing Ron’s stubbly cheek. “I don’t remember this scar,” he said.

Something about that statement tickled the back of Ron’s mind, but he didn’t concentrate too hard on it because Malfoy was still touching him. “Er, what?”

Smiling, Malfoy said, “This scar, here.” He traced his finger from Ron’s right ear down to the middle of his right cheek. “What happened?”

Ron wanted to answer the question, he really did, but the combination of Malfoy’s smile and his bloody smooth hands was driving him to the brink of madness. Heart pounding in his chest, Ron shook his head roughly, causing Malfoy to drop his hands.

“I got it a few years ago,” Ron choked out. “I was drunk and got into a fistfight with someone at the Leaky Cauldron.”

Malfoy smirked. “Still hotheaded, Weasley? I thought you’d have grown out of that by now.”

“He was a reporter,” Ron grunted, and backed away from Malfoy. “He was asking me questions about-about Ginny. It was her birthday and the son-of-a-bitch was asking all these fucking questions about her and I lost it. The scar’s from when he swiped at me with broken glass.”

Malfoy was very quiet and looked paler than usual. Ron rubbed at his eyes, suddenly feeling bone-tired, and then reached towards the different balls sitting on the table. “Here,” he said, “try telling me what these fuzzy balls feel like.”

There was a long pause before Malfoy snorted. The awkwardness now gone, Ron grinned and began explaining about the various textured balls.

~*~

Ron was in the kitchen making sandwiches again (ham and mustard on rye) when a large barn owl swooped through the open window and settled itself on Malfoy’s shoulder. He’d been sitting at the table groping those bloody balls for a few hours, and subsequently, Ron had gone through the rest of the day with a half-erection tenting his robes.

“Weasley,” Malfoy deadpanned, “there’s a bird sitting on me.”

Sniggering, Ron removed the letter that was attached to the bird’s leg, and before he could even read it, the owl had flown off again. He sat down in the chair across from Malfoy and ripped open the parchment, his eyes scanning the letter.

“It’s from my mum,” he said, his stomach dropping into his stomach. “Bloody hell, I forgot to Floo her. She’s asking me to come over for dinner tonight.”

“Just tell her you’re busy,” Malfoy said, munching on another crisp. It seemed as if he really liked them.

Ron snorted. “You do remember my mother, don’t you?”

“Good point.” Malfoy stood and stretched, exposing a bit of his pale tummy and a hint of a scar. Ron’s entire body throbbed at once. “We might as well go, then,” he said. “But your brothers won’t be there, will they?” He looked anxious at the thought of Fred and George being there. Ron knew Malfoy could handle the others all right, but the twins were always able to get under Malfoy’s skin.

“No, Mum says it’ll just be her and Dad and me...and my friend. Shite, how’d she find out already?”

“Probably Potter,” said Malfoy, smirking.

Ron grunted in agreement. “I s’pose we could save the ham and mustard sandwiches for tomorrow,” he mused, scratching chin.

“I can’t wait,” said Malfoy sarcastically. He went very still suddenly and then asked, “Are you sure your parents won’t mind my being there?”

“Not at all,” Ron said absently as he packed away the ham and other ingredients. “You always sucked up to them during the War and Mum loved you.” He chuckled and turned around, only to freeze upon the look on Malfoy’s face. “What? What is it?”

Malfoy audibly swallowed. “Nothing,” he said at last. “Let’s just go.”

Ron got their cloaks and helped Malfoy slip his on. “Do you have your cane?”

“Yes, Mum.”

Scowling and blushing, Ron said, “You’ll need to hold onto me when we Floo.” He slipped his long arms around Malfoy’s slender waist and stepped into the fire. “The Burrow!” he shouted, and threw down the Floo powder. A moment later they were spinning away from Ron’s flat and towards his parents’ house.

They landed with a thud and spilled out of the fireplace. Molly Weasley was practically on top of them a second later. “Arthur! The boys are here! Here, let me help you up, dear.”

Ron held out his hand, but apparently the endearment was in fact referring to Malfoy, and not her own son. Grumbling, Ron pushed himself off the floor and began dusting off his clothes. He watched as his mother gushed over Malfoy and then shooed him into the kitchen, leaving Ron alone with his dad, who had just appeared.

“Hello, son,” said his dad, pulling Ron into a hug.

“Hey, Dad,” he mumbled into his father’s blue Weasley jumper. The two men soon joined Malfoy and Ron’s mum in the kitchen, where Malfoy was already being bogged down with food.

“Have you fed him at all, Ronald?” Mrs. Weasley demanded. “Draco, you’re much too thin. You really should eat more.”

“He’s fine, Molly,” Mr. Weasley said fondly. Turning to Malfoy, he said, “I’m so sorry about your mother, Draco. I read about what happened in the papers.”

“Thank you,” said Malfoy through stiff lips, looking very uncomfortable.

“How are you feeling?” Mrs. Weasley asked him. “We heard from Harry about what happened at the Ministry. We’re so sorry, but Harry said Ron was taking good care of you. He’s made us so proud, our little Ronnie.”

“Mum,” Ron groaned, feeling his ears grow hot. Malfoy snickered and shoved some mashed potatoes into his mouth. Ron had never seen Malfoy look so undignified when eating before; maybe he wasn’t feeding him well.

“Oh, fine,” she said, smiling warmly. “But Draco, really, how are you? We haven’t heard from you since the war ended. You don’t Floo, you don’t owl...”

Malfoy’s cheeks turned bright pink and he took a deep gulp of pumpkin juice. “I’m fine,” he said after swallowing. “It’s a lot to get used to, but I think I’m coping well.”

“I think you’re going to be just fine,” cooed Mrs. Weasley, who then promptly put several helpings of roast on Malfoy’s plate. “Now eat up,” she said sternly. “I know Ron isn’t much of a cook, being the bachelor that he is. I’m sure Richard did all the cooking when they were together.”

Malfoy choked on his potatoes, sputtering and coughing. Mr. Weasley pounded him on the back several times before Malfoy waved him away. “I’m okay,” he gasped, taking sips of his juice. Molly exchanged a few knowing looks with her husband, who in fact didn’t seem to know anything at all.

The rest of the evening passed by rather uneventfully, with Molly chattering on about one thing or another, Arthur excitedly explaining the several new Muggle devices he’d, ah, borrowed from the Ministry, and Ron mostly just dying from embarrassment.

Near eleven o’clock, Ron yawned loudly and suggested that he and Malfoy make their way back to the flat. Laden down with at least two week’s worth of food, they Flooed out of the Burrow and back to London. Malfoy had insisted on doing it alone, and when Ron arrived after him at the flat, he appeared to still be in one piece, so Ron didn’t say anything about it.

After putting the leftovers in the fridge, Ron ambled back into the living room and stretched out on the couch, propping his feet on the table next to Malfoy’s. “Sorry ‘bout my mum,” he said. “But you know how she can be. Anyway, she seemed really happy to see you. I have no idea why, but there you go.” Ron grinned and then toed off his shoes, wriggling his toes when they were finally free.

“Ugh,” said Malfoy, wrinkling his nose. “Get those away from me.” He nudged at Ron’s feet, trying to push them off the table. Laughing, Ron pushed back until they were engaged in feet-to-feet combat. Ron emerged victorious when he was able to knock Malfoy’s feet right off the table.

“Aha!” he crowed, grinning widely. He watched as Malfoy laughed a little and put his feet right back on the table.

“So Weasley,” said Malfoy after a beat, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head, “I suppose my question as to why you and Granger never married was answered tonight.”

Ron stiffened, the hairs on his body standing on end, and he turned his head to stare at Malfoy. “What?” he said softly. Malfoy’s lips curled upward and he got a very ugly look on his face.

“I must admit,” he murmured, “I didn’t believe the papers when they outted you a few years back. Honestly, Weasley, getting caught fucking another man in a broom cupboard? That’s taking the whole closet metaphor a little too far, don’t you think?”

“Shut up,” Ron snarled, flushing bright red. “It’s none of your business. If you have a problem living with a poofter, then you’re free to find some place else to live!” He stood up with a flourish and began to storm out of the room when Malfoy’s voice stopped him.

“Trust me, I don’t mind,” he replied, turning his head in Ron’s direction. There was something about his voice that sent Ron’s head spinning. Malfoy lowered his arms and twisted his body on the sofa so that he was facing Ron. “In fact,” he continued, “I find it quite surprising. I didn’t believe the papers because the last time I’d seen you, you were completely enamored with Granger and screwing her every chance you could.”

“Don’t talk about Hermione that way,” Ron warned, feeling his face heat up alarmingly. “I loved Hermione; I still do. But I couldn’t love her the way she deserved. She was the one who helped me figure out what I really wanted.” He paused, lost in thought for a few seconds. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,” he muttered, poised to leave again.

“So if Granger wasn’t your type,” Malfoy interrupted, sounding far too knowing for Ron’s liking, “then who was?” His grin suddenly grew evil. “Was it Potter? Did he...do it for you?”

Ron’s entire body felt like it was on fire. “I mean it, Malfoy!” he barked. “It’s none of your business.”

“So did you confess your undying love to Potter?” Malfoy taunted viciously. “Did he turn you down? Is he as heterosexual as he claims to be? Did he break your heart?”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Ron shouted. His throat was tight and his heart was pounding heavily in his chest. Malfoy’s questions were hitting too close to home and Ron didn’t like reliving that particular time of his miserable life.

Malfoy’s eyes were gleaming and for one cruel moment, Ron was grateful that Malfoy couldn’t see how angry and flushed he was. “Potter’s nothing special, you know,” he whispered finally. “Even when he was stalking me in sixth year, I knew that he wasn’t our type.”

“O-Our type?” Ron stuttered, feeling foolish. Malfoy’s grin grew wider, exposing his straight white teeth.

“He may have been aesthetically pleasing, I suppose, for someone who’s never seen a comb in his life,” he drawled, “but he wasn’t exactly someone I’d had my eye on at the time.”

“Who did you, then?” Ron asked before his brain could catch up with his mouth.

The look on Malfoy’s face suddenly grew very serious and he seemed to shrink. “No one,” he hissed. “Absolutely no one.” Without another word, he stood up from the sofa and made his way slowly out of the room. Ron continued to shake long after Malfoy had gone.

~*~

Three weeks passed in relative peace. They did not speak of the Living Room Incident, as Ron had coined it, and he was a bit stunned that he and Malfoy were able to get along fairly well. They still argued incessantly, but Ron was reminded of the type of bickering arguments he and Hermione used to have back in school. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

Ron had dragged Malfoy to the Burrow again on Halloween to celebrate the fifth anniversary of DV-Day with friends and family. Harry wasn’t there, though, since he never celebrated the Defeat of Voldemort. The rest of Ron’s family, as well as Hermione and Neville, were there to honor the dead and the sacrifices that were made on that fateful day. Malfoy had been very quiet and solemn during that time, but Ron decided not to push him, as long as Malfoy didn’t mention his father or Ginny. They’d come to an unspoken understanding that those names were never uttered in each other’s presence.

During that time, Ron had managed to learn a lot about Malfoy-what he liked, what he didn’t like (which was quite a long list), his hobbies, his favorite Quidditch teams (Ron was dismayed to learn he supported the Tornados), and so on. Even if he and Malfoy spent a good portion of their time bickering, it reminded Ron strongly of his relationship with Hermione. For some reason, that emboldened him and made him feel more confident.

He knew now that Malfoy was gay as well, though they had never actually said anything about it. He also knew that Malfoy liked to sleep in late-every single day-and would rarely be seen before noon. The two men would then spend their days talking, taking trips into London, reading (well, Ron did most of that), and walking. It turned out that Malfoy enjoyed his walks, especially around dusk every evening. He and Ron would stroll down to the park and sit on the bench, usually in silence. Although Malfoy couldn’t see the beautiful sunsets, Ron usually didn’t view them either, instead choosing to watch Malfoy’s face light up with the warmth of the sun hit their bodies. As the weeks went by, Ron realized he was becoming more and more enamored with Draco. And that didn’t bother Ron in the least.

Ron had just woken up on a Friday morning to find a long parchment from Lucia begging him to come into the office just so that she could have something to do that didn’t require picking up dry-cleaning or fixing Smethwyck’s comb-over. He had relented, and told Malfoy to hold down the fort while he went into the office. Ron had promised he was only going to stay until lunch, and then he would be home and they could walk down to the park and feed the baby ducks. Apparently Draco had a...fondness for baby animals. Ron had laughed for a good ten minutes before Malfoy had stormed out of the room in a huff and straight into a wall, bruising his nose. He hadn’t spoken to Ron for a day because of it.

A light knock on the door to his office caused Ron to pause in the ever-so thrilling signing of the documents and say, “Come in.”

It turned out to be an anxious-looking Richard. “Hello, Ron.”

Smiling, Ron stood and said, “Hey! Come in, sit down. How are you?”

After settling down in the chair, Richard smiled thinly and responded, “I’m fine. How are you?”

“I’m great,” Ron said sincerely. A silence fell over the room and Ron coughed, taking a moment to look at Richard carefully. The other man seemed to be more frazzled than ever and there were deep, dark circles under his eyes. “Is there, er, anything I can help you with?”

Richard frowned and crossed his arms. “I just wanted to see how you were doing,” he muttered. “And to see if he was still living with you.”

“Of course he is,” said Ron defensively. “Look, I’m not in the mood for a fight. I’m only here for half a day to get these papers signed, and then I’m going home.” He sighed at the look on Richard’s face. “I miss you, Richie,” he said. “I do. Listen...Hermione’s taking Draco into Diagon Alley tomorrow around noon. We’re out of the eye drops, and he’s insisting on helping with the brewing. Why don’t you and I meet for lunch?”

Richard raised his eyes, and Ron got an uneasy feeling in his stomach at the look. “It’s Draco now, is it?”

Ron blushed. “We’ve been living together for a few weeks now, it’s only natural we’d start calling each other by our given names.”

Another loud silence and Ron felt like slamming his head against the desk. “Just meet me for lunch, okay?” he pleaded. “It’ll just be us. I’ll make sure Hermione keeps Draco busy.”

Licking his lips, Richard thought for a few more minutes before he nodded. “Meet at the Leaky at noon? And Malfoy will be at the apothecary?” he asked at last. Ron broke out in a broad smile and nodded. Tomorrow was going to be an excellent day indeed.

~*~

Saturday turned out to be one of the sunniest and warmest Novembers that Ron could recall. As he was getting ready for his not-really-a-date with Richie, he ended up changing several times as the day grew warmer. He ended up wearing a long-sleeve shirt, jeans, and a light jacket. Draco, on the other hand, was apparently a complete pussy when it came to the cold, as he was currently sporting two shirts, a thick cloak, and tailored trousers that accentuated the curve of his arse. Ron pretended not to notice. It didn’t work.

Hermione ended up meeting the two of them at the Leaky Cauldron. Ron was a bit worried about leaving her and Draco alone together; they had got along fairly well during the War, mostly by ignoring each other, but now they would be forced to spend time together, in public, alone.... Ron prayed that Draco wouldn’t congratulate Hermione on “turning Ron gay,” as he had quipped that morning.

Ron also worried about Hermione in general; she was still very pregnant, a week over-due, and looked ready to burst any minute. She couldn’t usually keep up a steady pace any more, instead choosing to waddle her way around, but then again, Draco wasn’t exactly a quick walker any more either. No, he liked going slow and using his cane to hit people to get out of his way. Ron really needed to speak to him about that....

He and Draco walked into the Leaky Cauldron together and Ron spotted Hermione on the other side of the pub near the entrance to Diagon Alley. She waved at them, and the two headed over to her.

“Hello, Ron,” she said, pulling him into an embrace. “Hello, Draco,” she added warmly, holding out her hand. Draco seemed to sense that somehow and held out his right hand as well, shaking hands.

“Granger,” he replied. He then frowned and said, “My lord, are you still pregnant?”

Hermione laughed lightly. “Yes, I am. I’m afraid I’m going to be slowing you down today.”

Smiling slightly, Draco shook his head and held up his cane. “I’m not very quick myself. Care to show me around? I haven’t been to Diagon since the accident.”

Hermione and Draco waved good-bye to Ron and then headed out into the Diagon Alley. Ron shook his head to clear it and then looked eagerly around the dining room of the Leaky Cauldron. Not seeing Richard anywhere, he frowned and glanced at his watch. He realized that in his excitement to get Draco out of the flat, he’d arrived nearly half an hour early for his lunch not-quite-date with Richard. He thought quickly for a moment and decided that he had plenty of time to walk with Hermione and Draco to the apothecary and back for lunch with Richard. Ron quickly sprinted out of the pub and into Diagon Alley. He stared down in the direction of the shop and saw Draco’s white-blond hair gleaming in the sun. Grinning, Ron jogged to catch up.

“Hey!” he said when he’d reached the two. “I didn’t realize how early we were, so I thought I’d join you before meeting Richie.”

Hermione gave him a dubious look, which Ron ignored as he proceeded to engage Draco in another one of their usual conversations about potions and how Draco was ready to begin more complicated activities, thank you very much. Soon, the three found themselves perusing the packed aisles of the apothecary. Hermione had wandered off to look at some potions that could induce labor because she was “really quite through with being pregnant” while he and Draco argued over the regenerative properties of vampire bat wings compared to fruit bat wings. Ron didn’t really know what he was talking about, potions not being his strong suit, but he just liked to see Draco get all flustered and passionate about something.

Ron was enjoying himself so much that by the time he looked at his watch again, he only had a few minutes to make it back down to the Leaky Cauldron. “Shite,” he muttered. “I’ve got to go,” he told Draco, who frowned and ducked his head.

Shifting on his feet, Ron managed to catch Hermione’s eye and indicate that he was going to leave. She smiled at him and inclined her head to go ahead and then joined Draco at the counter to pay for the dozen bottles of potions she’d managed to find. Ron waved one last time and exited the building, half jogging down the street because he didn’t want to be late. He was nearly to the pub when everything went to hell.

A loud explosion echoed down the alley and people began to scream and run for cover. Ron was knocked off his feet and landed with a heavy thud on the hard cobblestone street. It took him a few moments to catch his bearings, and when he did, Ron jumped to his feet and watched in horror as smoke billowed into the sky from the direction he had just come from. With a growing sense of dread and panic, he ran as fast as he could back down the street, pushing past the throng of people who were screaming and fleeing in terror.

The closer he got to the apothecary, the more his stomach tied itself into knots. Injured witches and wizards were lying in the street moaning and crying out for help. Ron stopped, the Healer in him rearing its head, and pointed his wand towards the sky. “Expecto Patronum!” he shouted, and a bright, white terrier burst forth from his wand and quickly scampered off in the direction of St. Mungo’s. He then bent down and began examining the bodies on the ground, thanking God when he found that they were all alive and breathing. Several minutes later, cracks of Apparition could be heard echoing in the alley as Healers arrived en masse. Ron was about to leap into the apothecary when someone grabbed him from behind and whirled him around.

“What are you doing here, Ron?” Richard screamed, a wild, manic look in his eyes. “You were supposed to be in the Leaky Cauldron! Why are you here? Why are you here?” Richard shook Ron forcefully by the shoulders, jolting him out of his stupor, and Ron pushed Richard away.

“I’ve got to find Hermione and Draco!” he yelled, and ran away as quickly as he could.

“Ron, STOP!” shouted Richard, but Ron ignored him and plowed forward through a group of Aurors who were working valiantly to put out the fire in the shop. His eyes flickered over everything, his heart pounding in his throat, until he heard a faint voice calling his name from behind him.

Spinning around, Ron ran in the direction of the voice and found Draco sitting outside in the street, blood oozing from a large gash in his forehead.

“Fuck, Draco, are you all right?” Ron gasped, frantically running his hands up and down Draco’s body searching for other injuries. “Where’s Hermione?” he demanded.

“We’d just stepped out of the shop,” Draco mumbled, looking dazed. “I think I flew in the air...My head hurts...”

Ron placed his hands on Draco’s cheeks and said, “Where is Hermione?”

Draco’s head lolled forward suddenly and Ron was on the verge of freaking the fuck out when a familiar voice groaned his name. Head snapping to the right, he saw Hermione sitting against a blackened wall, holding her protruding belly with a pained expression on her face. Ron wrapped his arm around Draco’s slim shoulders and hoisted him up.

“C’mon,” he said, struggling to maintain his balance as Draco buried his face into Ron’s neck, getting blood everywhere. He finally made his way over to Hermione, whose jaw was clenched and looked to be in immense pain.

Ron set Draco down carefully next to her and asked, “What’s wrong, Hermione?”

Hermione made a noise Ron wouldn’t classify as human. “I landed on my stomach. I’m bleeding,” she said through gritted teeth. “I need to get to St. Mungo’s. The contractions are only two minutes apart.”

“Fuck,” Ron said under his breath. He lifted up Hermione’s skirt a little and said, “I need to see if you’re dilated.”

“Just do it,” she ground out, and then let out a moan when Ron conjured a latex glove and then quickly and discreetly examined Hermione. People were still screaming in the background; Aurors were running all over the place trying to put out the fires whilst Healers worked at getting as many people to the hospital as possible.

“You’re fully dilated,” said Ron, removing his hand, banishing the glove, and casting a cleaning spell. She was bleeding far too much. “But I think I felt a foot. We need to get you to St. Mungo’s now.”

Ron Summoned a large chunk of plaster and tapped it with his wand, uttering a spell, and the item turned blue for a moment. “On the count of three,” he said, gripping Draco and Hermione’s hands, and a few seconds later, they were whirling away to the hospital.

~*~

Part III