Relax Upon Your Rules, Part 2
Chapter 2. In which not much gets past Ron…
Ron was seething. Harry was a bloody git. Where did he get off? Lying to his best mate and for...for...urgh.
Ron had known, of course. Oh yes, he'd seen it coming. There wasn't much that got past Ron. Whatever some people said. He was a damn sight more observant than he was given credit for - "observational ability of an amoeba" - bloody cheek! And what did Hermione know about it anyway? For all she knew amoeba might actually be very observant. Had anyone done a study? And well, okay that was probably not the point. This time though, oh yes, this time he had certainly done enough observing! Too bloody much, if you asked him.
Of course, it all made sense now. "Ignore him, Ron," "You're imagining it, Ron," "Stop obsessing, Ron," Ha! Trying to throw him off the scent. But it hadn't worked. Oh no, Ron was too cunning for that. And he'd known Malfoy was up to something. Had even begun to suspect that Harry knew more than he was letting on. And Merlin, how right he'd been!
Ron squeezed his eyes shut tightly, refusing to allow any stupid tears to fall. He was curled up in bed but couldn't stop shivering; he just couldn't seem to get warm, and the low level throbbing that had started behind his eyes as he waited for Harry, was steadily reaching an unbearable pitch. Perhaps he should have listened to Hermione after all. He tried to ignore his increasing discomfort and concentrate instead on recalling the events of the past few weeks that had brought him to this point, wondering if he'd missed anything important, if there was something he could have done to stop this happening.
~~~
He had first noticed the looks about the third week into term. Ron was used to Malfoy's sneers and glares, crikey he'd been living with them for seven years. But this, this was something new. Funny, but from the moment they'd met, Ron had always known when the blond was looking - or perhaps more accurately glaring - at him. He'd get this tell-tale prickle at the back of his neck; Ron's cue to turn and glare right back at the evil git.
But now, well it was downright scary. Now when he turned to glare, more often than not the freak would be, well, let's just say not exactly glaring. Erm, actually he was more likely to be er, well okay, gazing dreamily, with slightly parted lips and a glazed look in his eyes. What was that all about? Honestly, it was fucking creepy.
The first time it had happened, Ron had automatically looked behind him to see who the prat was really looking at, only to find no one. Then it had hit him, Ron knew what was going on in the sadistic bastard's brain. He was obviously daydreaming about murdering Ron and visualising how small the body bits would be. This theory was confirmed when the Slytherin, realising that Ron was looking at him, closed his mouth and twisted it into his familiar sneer. Little Snot!
But then, the prickles had increased and Malfoy's looks intensified. The dreamy look took on a hungry edge, his eyes lost their glaze and shifted into something more dangerous, something slightly unhinged. Ron's anger quickly turned to confusion, then, gradually to panic. Seriously, just what was that psycho planning to do with his body?
Ron had tried to share his fears with Harry, but he just kept telling Ron that he was over-reacting and nothing had changed. It had reached the point were Ron was convinced that the bespectacled wizard was in some sort of denial about the whole thing; but he couldn't figure out why. Then he realised something. All those times that he had thought Malfoy was looking at him, Harry had also been there. So, what if those looks had actually been aimed at Harry? After all, every time the Slytherin git had noticed Ron was looking he'd glare or sneer at him, as if to say "Fuck off, Weasley, I'm not looking at you". Ha! Ron had figured it out. See, not much got past him. Harry had obviously noticed Malfoy's looks too and was embarrassed. Poor Harry! The Ferret liked him. Ron hadn't been able to stop himself sniggering at that. He'd continued to watch, and what he saw only re-enforced this new theory. Merlin, he was good at this.
Gradually though, Ron's own feelings on the matter began to change. It stopped being funny and he started to get a sick feeling in his stomach every time he felt the prickle. He began to dread it and all its associations. Worse still, Ron soon realised that he recognised that feeling of nausea. He'd had it before - when a certain Bulgarian Seeker had come to Hogwarts. Bugger.
But why would he feel jealous? Shit no! He couldn't, he didn't. Oh bugger, he did. But how? How could he fancy...Harry? He'd known the bloke for years and had never felt anything er, untoward for him. Bloody hormones! Ron tried to be rational. Okay, so maybe he had developed feelings for his best mate; Ron's stomach certainly seemed to think so. So right, fine, let's think about this. And he had tried to consider his friend in as detached a manner as possible.
Sure, Harry had grown taller in the last year or so, although he would always be shorter than Ron. Shorter was okay. He had also filled out, so that he was now quite stocky. Odd. Because well, not that he'd really ever thought about it, but if (and it was a very big if) Ron was going to go down that particular path he felt more of a leaning towards...well, lean. Not that it was an actual proper leaning as such. Merlin, no! But Ron just thought that maybe, perhaps, possibly, he would prefer something in the way of tall and slim. Not short and stocky.
Ron shook his head. Of course, what he really liked were breasts and long legs. Yeah, breasts and legs. He was nodding emphatically to himself now. The nodding came to a slow halt. Actually if he was being completely honest, he'd never been much of a breast man either. But definitely long legs. Well, Harry certainly didn't have breasts! Didn't have long legs either. Oh.
Okay, so Harry's other attributes obviously made up for his lack of stature. Twenty minutes later, Ron was still trying to convince himself. Hair? Hardly! Now, you see, Ron didn't get that either. But well, never let Hermione find out - she could be a bit sensitive about that sort of thing - but he really did prefer blonds. And what about those awful dorky glasses? Hadn't Harry ever heard of contacts? Now Ron had always thought that glasses could be sexy. On the right face. Harry's wasn't it. He supposed Harry had nice eyes, though to be honest green was one of Ron's least favourite colours. Except with silver, then it was quite nice.
Okay, so let's recap. So far, Ron didn't like Harry's build, hair or eyes. Bugger. Maybe Ron was wrong. Malfoy with Harry. Malfoy with Harry. Fuck. Yep, still made him feel sick. Oh bugger it all and now he felt tearful too. Great. Fucking fantastic. He was turning into a girl. Thank you so fucking much, mate! So, if he wasn't turned on by Harry's looks did that mean...fuckity fuck! No, it couldn't be...not that! Anything but that...he liked Harry for his personality. Ron was royally screwed. A seventeen year old for Merlin's sake, who liked someone for their personality? What kind of freak did that make him? Who gave a flying fuck about personalities?
And well, truth be known fond as Ron was of Harry - he was his best friend after all - he'd actually always found that whole ooh Voldemort hates me angsty hero complex thing rather trying. Not to belittle what Harry had gone through but well, the way he constantly harped on about how awful it was without his parents, it was a bit much sometimes. After all how could he miss them if he'd never had them in the first place? Ron would never say it to his face but well, sometimes he did have an urge to tell Harry to belt up and get over it.
He's a lot of fun too though (Ron didn't want to sound disloyal). And he's a wicked Quidditch player. Which Ron really envied. Come to think of it...that was a bit annoying too. There was Harry, never been on a broomstick in his life, never even seen Quidditch, and yet he was utterly brilliant at it the first time out. How fair was that? Ron had been practising since he was three and didn't even come close.
And talking of brooms. The lucky bastard had the best. Which Ron didn't really begrudge him. It wasn't Harry's fault that his parents had left him a vault full of galleons, which meant that he could afford the best of everything. Actually, that wasn't the galling thing. No, what was annoying was the fact that the broom had been a gift. Trust Harry to have a bleeding rich godfather as well.
In fact, the more Ron thought about it, the more he realised Harry didn't have too much to complain about. He was rich, brilliant at Quidditch, had half the girls - Ron scowled darkly - and boys, fawning over him and he'd probably have his pick of jobs when he finished school (not that Harry would ever actually have to work, thanks to all that money). So why was he such a whiny, little git? Oh, that's right for five, maybe six weeks, each summer he had to spend time with some relatives who weren't very nice to him. Shit! Harry should meet some of Ron's relatives. His Aunt Josephine alone had a moustache that could take your eye out at forty paces, not to mention the beard burn she left behind every time she tried to snog you. Silly old bat!
Of course, poor Harry had suffered a lot of nasty run-ins with the old Voldemeister. Though to be fair, so had Ron and Hermione. And well, not to harp on about it or anything, but it was Ron that had sacrificed himself in that giant chess game, and ended up in the Hospital Wing. And whose leg was broken by that salivating, bastard Sirius? Oh yes...flying brains anyone? In fact, sometimes it seemed that the only time Harry ever had to visit the infirmary was to visit Ron. Even during that awful Triwizard Tournament who had been asked to surrender their fate to Harry? Tied to a statue at the bottom of a lake!
It was probably rather unfortunate that Harry chose that particular moment to approach him.
"Hi Ron." His friend said cheerily. "What's up?"
Ron scowled up at Harry and snapped, "Oh belt up you whiny, little git!" And then walked out of the common room leaving behind a very confused and somewhat hurt Harry.
~~~
Ron had retreated to his favourite place, the Quidditch stands, to continue his thoughts. Now that he had calmed down, he was starting to feel a bit guilty for snapping at his friend. After all, it wasn't his fault that Ron had started having feelings for him. Funny though, he didn't feel any different when he looked at Harry. No sudden urge to snog him or anything. Maybe he needed to be in the mood.
Oh, shit no. Not now. Ron could feel his neck prickling. And sure enough, there below him on the pitch, was Malfoy; gazing up at him. He'd decided on the dreamy look this evening. Stupid, bloody Ferret. Couldn't Malfoy see that Harry wasn't with him? Some people were so dense!
Ron decided to ignore the daft bugger, and leaned his head back on his chair, closing his eyes. Right, where was he? Oh yeah, being in the mood for a snog. Wonder what Malfoy's doing now? He's still down there. I can feel him looking. How long does it take to figure Harry's not here? Thick bastard. He opened one eye and looked down. Yep, he was still there. Ron sat up having decided that, the only way he'd get rid of the pathetic prat was to let him know he'd seen him. So, he held up his hand and started to wave in a vastly exaggerated manner, hoping Malfoy would recognise the sarcasm behind it and leave. To his utter shock, the blond boy hesitantly raised his own hand and started to wave back.
Ron stopped waving and gaped. The Slytherin below stilled his hand then shook his head as if coming out of a trance. Scowling up at Ron, he made use of his still raised arm to make a rather rude gesture at the Gryffindor, before turning and walking away, head down and muttering to himself.
Ron felt a surge of anger. Bastard! No need to take it out on him just because his bloody boyfriend wasn't here. A sudden wave of nausea washed over him. Shit. Well, it seemed he did like Harry despite his earlier protestations. Either that, or he was coming down with something; perhaps he should go and see Madam Pomfrey. And with that he wandered back up to the castle and went to bed.
~~~
Continuing his observation of Harry and Malfoy, Ron began to notice some interesting developments. First, there was the incident in Potions.
Harry had spent most of the lesson, stealing glances at Malfoy, and then smiling mysteriously. It had really set Ron's nerves on edge. He had tried to provoke a reaction by declaring his intention to hit the Slytherin. And sure enough, as he'd expected Harry had responded with his usual comeback these days and told Ron to just ignore Malfoy. Bloody cheek! When Harry, himself, had been obsessing over the bastard all lesson. Talk about double standards. And then, there was the laughter; as if Harry was enjoying a private joke. But at whose expense?
And then today, Ron had come across Malfoy and Harry talking in the Entrance Hall. Talking! Since when did Harry talk to that git? Malfoy had looked flushed and agitated, Harry smug. But there had been no shouts or insults - at least not until Ron had turned up and the Slytherin had started on him. Bloody Ferret. Again, Harry had been evasive when Ron had questioned him, changing the subject in an obvious attempt to throw Ron off the scent. And as Malfoy had left, Ron could have sworn he'd seen something that looked suspiciously akin to admiration in a certain pair of green eyes. Yep, Ron was definitely worried.
When Harry had told Ron later that same evening, that he was going to the library to work, Ron knew something was definitely not right. Work, Harry and library were three words that did not go together. Ron decided that he would have to get to the bottom of this, or die trying. The solution was obvious….he would have to follow Harry; it was for his friend's own good. Unfortunately, Ron had only got as far as the other side of the portrait hole before being accosted by Hermione. She was just returning from the library where she'd gone straight after dinner, and had immediately launched into a full-on lecture about the merits of library study over hall wandering. It had taken Ron three attempts before he was able to shut her up long enough to tell her that he had, in fact, been heading to the library when she'd stopped him.
Hermione had looked dubious, and examining his empty hands, had asked suspiciously, "Then where are your books?"
Thinking quickly - not the easiest task for Ron - he'd responded with an improvised, "I left them with Harry, while I came back here to change my socks." Then he'd run for it, before she had a chance to reply, leaving behind a very perplexed looking witch. Socks?
By the time Ron had made his escape, Harry was long out of sight. So, he'd decided to check out the library, on the unlikely chance that Harry might have been telling the truth. As Ron had suspected the library was quite Harry-free. After that, he had reluctantly admitted defeat, and sullenly made his way back to the Gryffindor Tower.
As he'd passed McGonagall's classroom Ron had heard voices. Harry and Malfoy's voices. He'd crept back to the door and peeked in the window. And immediately wished he hadn't. For there was his best friend with - with - Malfoy in his arms. Harry had been petting the other boy's hair and murmuring softly to him.
Ron had stayed just long enough to hear Malfoy groan, 'Oh Harry,' then he'd run. Run down the stairs and out the doors. Run and run and run. Finally stopping at the edge of the lake, he'd leant against a tree trying to catch his breath. Harry and Malfoy. Harry and Malfoy. It had been all he could think. Suddenly, he had bent over and vomited. Wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve Ron had moved away from the spoiled tree and sat down leaning against another.
The evening dew had soaked through his thin robes, but Ron hadn't cared. Harry and Malfoy. Harry and Malfoy. It had been a mantra running through his head and he hadn't been able to stop it. Much as he'd had his suspicions, seeing it was quite something else. Ron's eyes had stung with unshed tears. What will I do?
Because in that moment he knew; finally knew. No one should hold Malfoy in their arms. No one should pet that blond head or murmur softly to him.
No one that is…but Ron.
He hadn't been able to stop the tears then and had sat looking out across the lake as they had run unheeded down his stricken face.
~~~
Once the tears had subsided, Ron had lain on the grass and stared up at the sky. His clothes had been soaked through and he'd started to shiver.
I am so fucked. Malfoy. Bloody hell. What's happening to me? And when did it start?
He'd tried to lose himself in counting the stars.
One, two, three.
I hate him. Have always hated him. Haven't I?
Four, five.
Merlin, Ron, it's the Ferret!
No….not any more. Somehow, somewhere it had become Draco. And now there was no going back. Shit.
Six, seven.
Fuck.
Ron's teeth had been chattering by then and it had become harder to see the stars. All at once he'd realised it was raining; had been for some time. Well, it was official. He'd lost his freaking mind. He was lying on his back, in the pouring rain, looking at the stars and thinking about Draco Malfoy.
Aaah!
Ron had jumped to his feet then and squelched his way back to the castle.
When he had walked dripping into the common room, Hermione had leapt to her feet with a startled, "Ron!"
She had then proceeded to lecture him about the stupidity of being out in the rain. This had progressed to the stupidity of sitting around in wet clothes and had ended with the stupidity of ignoring her advice. When he had continued to ignore her she had finally given up with an exasperated, "Fine! But don't you dare come complaining to me when you're stuck in the Hospital Wing with Madam Pomfrey pouring foul-tasting potions down your throat." And she had stamped up to the girls dormitory without a backward glance.
Ron had sat, steam rising from his damp clothes, staring into the fire. Seamus and Dean had wisely decided to give him a wide berth, recognising that it wasn't only his clothes that were steaming.
Harry, the bastard whiny git. Ron couldn't believe it - rich, brilliant at Quidditch, pick of the jobs and Draco. It wasn't fair. And he hadn't even told Ron. His best mate. Didn't trust him. Ron felt sick, hurt and betrayed.
~~~
Dean and Seamus turned to see who was coming through the portrait hole. They looked over at each other, grinning with relief. Harry, thank Merlin! Maybe he'd be able to calm Ron down.
They both turned to watch the redhead's reaction to the arrival of his best mate. Watching the play of emotions that crossed Ron's face, they quickly reached a mutual decision. Without a word or glance at the other, they swept their unfinished homework into their arms and ran for it.
When Ron came storming into their dorm ten minutes later, they shared a hurried look of horror, and dove behind their respective bed curtains. Sometimes retreat really was the only option, even for brave Gryffindors.
Part 3