nursedarry (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nursedarry) wrote2011-07-16 05:46 pm
nursedarry) wrote2011-07-16 05:46 pm
Fic: With the Best Will in the World
Title: With the Best Will In the World
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Millie/Greg, Luna/Hannah, Hermione/Theo, Ron/?
Summary: It's 8th year and Ron has two choices: get the boys together or don’t bother coming home for the holidays. Of course, things work out perfectly for scheming!Ron. Not.
Rating: PG13
Warning: Bad poetry?
Word Count: ~9000
Author's Notes: Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sassy_cissa, being_there and alovelycupoftea for the betas. Also, thank you to brissygirl for help with Aboriginal names. *snogs everyone * This was my submission for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hd_smoochfest for the divine brinimc.
“This sucks,” Ron toyed absently with his fork, scraping it annoyingly against his empty breakfast plate. “I’m so bored.”
“Yes, peace on earth can have that effect on a person,” Charlie said, smiling around his mug of coffee.
Ron bristled. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. I’m happy about how things are going now…” He looked up at his mother’s hunched shoulders as she moved around the large room, tidying up. Molly Weasley still maintained her household, but her surviving children knew she was hardly the contented house-witch she used to be. Ron tried to be more tactful in phrasing the remainder of his thoughts and failed miserably. “I just miss my friends and stuff.”
Percy leaned over him and pulled the fork from his hand and set it onto the plate before removing it from the table. Ron glared at him rather than thanking him.
He continued. “I thought Harry would stay with us, seeing as Hermione and Neville and everyone was away this summer.”
“Where is Harry?” A pregnant Fleur asked from the comfort of one of the squashy sitting room armchairs. She and Bill were spending the week with the Weasleys before going back to the cottage. They’d arrived late the night before and hadn’t heard the discussion that had taken place previously about the rest of the Golden Trio’s whereabouts.
“He’s stayed on to help with the rebuilding of Hogwarts,” Charlie informed her.
Molly gently chided her youngest son. “I think it’s nice he’s staying at the school. He really does care about that place. You know there’s nothing stopping you from doing the same.”
Ron rolled his eyes; they’d already been through this. As much as Ron had wanted to escape the melancholy atmosphere of the Burrow, he knew if he’d volunteered to return early to Hogwarts, it’d break his mother’s heart not to have him at home. She’d never say it though.
“Yeah, I’m sure school was the reason for Harry’s decision to stay at Hogwarts this summer,” Ginny said, looking up from her book.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Harry knows he can stay here whenever he wants.” Ron was confused and not a little hurt at his best friend’s decision to remain in Scotland when he could be with the Weasleys, rescuing Ron from the hours of ennui which were sure to make up the majority of his abbreviated summer holiday.
“Ron, are you intentionally blind or just terminally gormless?” Ginny teased.
“Huh?” Ron watched as a not-so-surreptitious wink passed between Charlie and his sister.
Ginny smiled. “Both, I guess.”
Charlie laughed.
“Ginny, what are you talking about? Harry Potter is one of the dearest, most selfless boys I know,” Molly said. “If he wants to spend some time alone, we can hardly stop him. Or blame him.”
“Alone isn’t what Harry has in mind, I should think,” Ginny said, stretching her legs and then re-folding them beneath her again.
Molly, Percy, and Ron all said “What?” at the same time.
“Ron, remember the way Hermione and Theo were looking at each other at the end of the war? I know it’s a lot for you to take in, but believe it or not, your friends might want to spend time with other people besides you. Especially if they fancy them.”
Charlie tried to hide his smirk in his coffee again.
Ron let out a disbelieving bark of laughter. “Right, so now you’re telling me Harry fancies someone and would rather be with them instead of us.”
“I think it’s patently clear that’s what she’s saying,” Percy said. Ron could tell from his tone that his brother was just as bowled over by the news, but he’d never admit it.
“I’m sure if Harry had fancied anyone, he’d have told me. Maybe come to me for advice…”
“Because you have such a vast amount of knowledge on the subject of romance,” Ginny said, dripping sarcasm.
Fleur laughed demurely from her chair.
“Well,” Ron said, trying to think of a way he could dig himself out of this. “I do when it comes to Harry!”
Charlie didn’t even pretend to hide his laughter this time.
“Shut up! Harry could have any girl he wants. Why does he need to be at school to see her now? And the only girls he’s been out with in the last two years have been Luna and Ginny, and they’re not even there this summer!” Ron was getting a little cross with his siblings now. What did they know that he didn’t?
“Oh, Ron… Someday it’ll happen to you and nothing will keep you away. Harry was never that interested in me; it’s been plainly obvious for two years he’s liked the same person since forever, and maybe now he has a chance to act on it. Do try to keep up.”
“Yes, do, Ron,” Percy said condescendingly from the kitchen.
“Oi! Shut up!” Ron cried. “And how do you know about this, huh? “ Ron directed the latter half of the sentence toward Charlie.
“The Muggles call it gaydar,” Charlie said simply.
“What?” Ron was hopelessly confused. His mother’s expression changed, though.
“You mean Harry…?” She asked and then a little wistful smile appeared on her face.
“Mum, it’s not what you think,” Charlie hastened to say. “He just asked me for some advice. Don’t start planning a wedding. It’s not me.”
“What? You and Harry?!” Ron was aghast.
“Did you just hear me? No, not me and Harry.” Charlie looked like he was having far too much fun with this conversation. In fact all the Weasleys in the room bar Ron looked like they were.
“He should have told me.” Ron pouted. “If he fancied a bloke at school, I wouldn’t have said anything.” Ron paused. “Merlin, it's not Blaise, is it?”
“Why?” Percy asked.
“Why is it all my friends are infatuated with Slytherins? They pretty much switched sides at the last minute. All of them, Parkinson, Malfoy, Goyle – they’d all be cozy’d up with You-Know-Who if he were still alive. Don’t you think that’s just wrong?” Ron looked around the room for support. He knew pretty well how his sister-in-law felt, but she kept quiet.
“Ronald, maybe it’s time they started healing too,” Molly said sagely. Even with the sorrows of the recent past, Ron new his mother’s maternal instincts would have her adopt every last one of the young snakes if she could. To Molly Weasley, the sins of the fathers shouldn’t be visited on the innocent or the duped.
“You did actually save Goyle’s life, remember?” Ginny prompted. “You must have thought the Slytherins had some redeeming qualities.”
“Well, it all happened so fast; I wasn’t thinking. And I certainly don’t want to date the bloke!”
Another sly look passed between Charlie and Ginny.
“What? Are you saying Harry fancies Goyle?” His face was one big grimace. “He’s not even at the school this summer. I remember Seamus saying the only Slytherin staying on to help out was Mal—” The remainder of Ron’s breath left his body in a wheeze.
“Harry? And the Malfoy boy?” Mrs Weasley sat down amidst the laundry which continued to fold itself.
“Well, not yet…” Charlie clarified. “But I think Harry’d like it to happen.”
“But when…? How….? Huh?” Ron was stunned.
“Ron, instead of sitting there like a flobberworm, maybe you could be happy for him," Ginny said. After all, if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s Harry.”
“But, but… I can’t believe you’re so calm about this. You of all people!” Ron didn’t mean to hurt his sister, but he really was bowled over.
“It was perfectly plain from the outset that people were throwing us together more than we were throwing ourselves at each other,” Ginny explained. “Besides, gay is gay, Ron. I’m not going to magically turn Harry straight; I don’t have the right kind of wand.”
“Ginevra!” Molly scolded. Everyone else sniggered.
Charlie stood and held his mug out to Percy who scowled at him. “Maybe you should stop being so surprised and start being more supportive.”
Percy grudgingly refilled Charlie’s mug and the older Weasley sat back down at the table.
“Me oui!” Fluer concurred. “Has Harry had a… boyfriend before?”
Ron’s eyes were as big as saucers. “Not that I know of.”
“Then maybe you could help out.”
“Charlie! I’m not volunteering to be his… boyfriend!” The grimace was firmly back on Ron’s face.
“I don’t mean that, you pillock! I mean maybe you could help out with Harry’s budding relationship. After all, does Malfoy even know Harry fancies him?”
“I doubt it…” Ron said under his breath. “Somehow I don’t see them discussing that sort of thing. Not with everything that’s happened between them so far. In fact, I don't see them discussing anything at all.”
“Well, there you go,” Molly announced. "Think of a way to get the two of them together. Then they can both spend Christmas with us, seeing as that poor boy’s parents are in prison.”
Everyone turned and stared at Mrs Weasley.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Trying to be a good son, Ron had half-heartedly agreed to his mother’s suggestion of trying to get Harry together with Malfoy. He was still in two minds over the whole idea, but his family had argued so eloquently. “Get it sorted, or don’t bother coming back for Christmas hols,” Percy had said and no one bothered to contradict him. Ron felt obliged to do something, though he was not going to set Harry and Malfoy up on a romantic date, or anything.
♥
The thirty-first of August was the busiest day of the year for Quality Quidditch. And this year it was even busier, as the shop, as well as many others in the alley, tried to raise their customer’s post-war spirits with sales and promotions.
And Quality Quidditch had gone all out. Darel Burambah, the new Australian Beater sensation, had finished up the season in his homeland, and was now touring Europe. Presently, he was firmly ensconced in QQ’s window, signing autographs and entertaining his fans. The queue to get in was growing ever longer and Ron despaired at the wait they’d have to get in.
In the years leading up to the war, Quality Quidditch had to magically expand; there was no other way it could sell all the merchandise it stocked. And its reputation was second to none, every professional team had an account with them, and nearly every school child who'd ever picked up a broom had spent more than one or two Sickles in the place. Now it looked as though it was going to need to expand again. And quickly.
Ron had asked Harry to meet him at the store that day. He figured Malfoy would appear at some point, what Quidditch player would pass up an opportunity to meet Daren Burambah? It was Ron’s intention to “shift” Harry in the direction of Malfoy, and then "lose" them in the shop. It was certainly cavernous enough, and he could leave them be for twenty minutes in hopes they would lose track of time and maybe even help each other find the exit. Ron reckoned nature would take its course, and from there, they would tire of looking to leave and fall madly in love among the broom wax and shin pads.
Strangely, Ron was actually quite proud of this plan. It incorporated Harry’s love of Quidditch with his love of—ugh—Malfoy. Whatever, Ron thought darkly, as he loitered outside the shop with the other people milling around waiting to get inside. At least it’d keep his family off his back.
He’d fire-called Harry the night before and had asked how the rebuilding was going. Harry had replied that they were nearly done; the remainder of the repairs could easily be finished during the upcoming term.
Nothing in Harry’s tone or conversation suggested anything about fancying Malfoy, and part of Ron reckoned his family were completely crazy in their suggestion that Harry felt something for the other boy. If they were wrong, the meeting-up-in-the-shop ploy wouldn’t look too suspicious, and Ron rather fancied meeting Darel Burambah, so it was all good.
“All right, Ron?” Harry said, suddenly at Ron’s side.
Ron hadn’t noticed him arrive. It disgusted him a little to realise that he had been keenly scanning the crowd for Malfoy and not his best friend.
“All right,” he replied, smiling. It was good to see Harry again. He looked… happier.
Ron had forgotten, but naturally, once Harry joined Ron at the shop’s entrance, they were instantly ushered inside. Of course Mr Potter could jump the queue. Once inside, Ron hung back waiting to see if Malfoy pitched up.
And he didn’t disappoint.
Malfoy and Parkinson arrived at the shop shortly after Harry did. Of course no one offered to expedite their entrance and Ron cooled his heels waiting for the Slytherins to get to the front of the queue.
Ron watched Harry's expression when he casually mentioned that Malfoy had come in. Immediately Harry turned and looked at the shop's door. Ron tried not to grind his teeth together. Malfoy briefly made eye-contact with them, the expression on his face making it clear what he thought about Harry and Ron's queue-jumping.
As soon as they had got Darel's autograph and he had given them the benefit of his professional wisdom, Ron steered Harry into the main part of the shop. They browsed a bit together while Ron kept half an eye on Malfoy to see when he and the others reached the front of the queue. As Darel finished signing an autograph for a smiling Parkinson, Ron edged away from Harry as quietly as possible. He'd watch to see where Malfoy went and planned to "corral" him toward Harry by always being in the place Malfoy was heading, which Ron reckoned was all the encouragement he would need to move along.
But by now, the shop was heaving, Ron could hear the constant ringing of the tills and the level of chatter had increased even more in the short time Ron and Harry had been there. Ron was having trouble keeping tabs on Malfoy.
And then it happened. Ron lost sight of him between the Swerving Snitch display and a crowd of giggling Chasers all wanting Darel to say their names with his "sexy Australian accent."
Ron looked about wildly. No sign of a white-blond head anywhere. He turned toward the Seekers' gloves display where he'd left Harry. He wasn't there either. Ron would now have to go over the entire shop looking for both boys.
"Lose something, Weasley?" Ron turned and found himself staring at Pansy Parkinson.
Ron coughed and spluttered. "P-Parkinson, what are you doing here?"
"I came with Draco. Is there a reason you're casing the place?" She glanced around, presumably trying to see what Ron was looking at.
"I was… I was looking for a new helmet." God, could he have sounded more of an idiot if he'd tried? Ron blushed.
Parkinson smirked.
"That wasn't what I meant—"
"Relax, Weasley. Now, tell me how to get out of this place." She looked around. Ron followed her gaze. He realised then, while he'd been pushing Malfoy toward Harry, he himself had become lost in the cavernous shop.
“Um…”
Parkinson huffed in frustration. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” She took his arm, and another twenty minutes later, they found the door.
Harry and Malfoy were waiting for them outside.
“About bloody time, Pans,” Malfoy said snidely as they emerged. “I wasn’t going to stand out here with the Golden Boy much longer.”
“Oi Ferret-Face!” Ron completely lost himself. “You leave Harry alone!” Or rather… Wait. But the damage was already done. Malfoy looked as though he’d like nothing more than reach into his robe, pull out his wand, and hex the nose right off Ron’s face. “I mean, don’t call him that. His name’s Harry.”
“Is it possible that your IQ has dropped even further over the school holidays, Weasley? I know what his name is. I just didn’t use it. A bit like you and your brain.”
Ron forgot all about his mission. “Right, that’s it, Malfoy. You’ve had this coming for a long time!” He went for his wand. Harry shoved his arm against his chest, trapping Ron’s arm as he and Malfoy squared off.
“This is a great start to the new term, isn’t it?” Parkinson observed.
“Agreed,” Harry said. “And if you don’t want the Aurors here in five minutes, you’ll back away, Ron. He’s not worth it.”
Huh? Ron was totally confused. “But…” Ron looked from Harry to Malfoy, and then to Parkinson, who just rolled her eyes at the testosterone-induced confrontation.
“Draco, we need to go. Come on.”
Malfoy directed a black look toward Harry and Ron before letting Parkinson pull him away. They were quickly swallowed up in the crowded street.
Ron looked at Harry sheepishly. “Sorry mate, got lost in the shop.”
“Yes, that’s what Draco figured.”
Draco? So it was Draco, now? Ron was even more confused than before. “Did he, you know, say anything else to you?” Ron tried to ask this as nonchalantly as possible.
Harry frowned. “No. Why would he?”
“Er… No reason. Come on, let’s go get our books.” Ron led the way down the alley while his temper settled and started formulating Plan B.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
After the initial welcome back to another, and hopefully, quieter year of Herbology, Professor Sprout announced that in this term, they’d be mainly doing partner work.
Ron’s ears pricked up. So far, all of his ideas for getting Harry and Malfoy together had ended in failure: they’d obviously shared only a few uncomfortable minutes outside Quality Quidditch and they completely missed each other at King’s Cross, with the media taking up far too much of Harry’s time to get him suitably steered into the same compartment as Draco.
Ron had suggested a stroll through the carriages, but Harry fell asleep twenty minutes after they’d left the station and didn’t wake until the border. Ron realised he probably shouldn’t have kept Harry up the night before asking him about the rebuilding of Hogwarts in a vain attempt to ascertain how much progress Harry had actually made in his pursuit of Malfoy. And after waking on the train, Harry was more concerned about getting his stuff together and talking to Ginny about Gryffindor Quidditch.
Obviously, there was no chance at getting Harry and Malfoy together at the feast and Sorting. The next day, Ron had attempted to make Harry late to Potions in order that he be forced to sit with Malfoy, but Malfoy was already sitting with Nott at the front of the class when they arrived, even though Ron had seen both boys dawdling outside the Hall after breakfast. Well, Ron couldn’t be blamed if he didn’t have Harry’s map or any knowledge of the secret tunnel system in the dungeons.
So, here they were in the greenhouse with a promise of a full term of partnership work. How would Sprout arrange them, Ron wondered. Certainly not by house — aside from the tables in the Great Hall and the residences themselves, none of their professors were keen on allowing old rivalries to fester. Friendship was another thing, and no one was going to split up the snakes if they needed each other’s support, but housemates were encouraged to mingle if at all possible.
Let’s get mingling, then, thought Ron, then immediately wished he hadn’t.
“I think it’d be nice to learn a little something about each other, don’t you?” Professor Sprout said a bit randomly. “Starting from this end of the greenhouse, please tell the class the name of your favourite plant or flower.”
Ron’s mind leapt into action: Oh no! Will partners be based on that? Will we count off afterwards, or be separated by house or gender? Ron silently counted the number of students in the class (twenty) and figured Sprout would do the simplest thing and organise them into pairs with two counts of ten.
Counting silently, Ron tried to surreptitiously and gently manhandle Harry into a position amongst the milling students so that Harry and Malfoy would both count off the same number. Shoving Seamus aside and insinuating Harry next to the Irish boy, Ron was yanked away from his scheming by their teacher.
“Mr Weasley, is there some reason you and Mr Potter don’t seem to be able to stand still? Have you both got somewhere else to be?”
Ron realised that it was their turn to answer the question, but instead of listening, they’d been dancing about the greenhouse.
“Sorry Professor,” Ron said humbly. “Er, I like er…daisies, I guess.” Where the hell had that come from?, he wondered. He couldn’t care less about flowers.
“Uh… holly, Professor,” Harry said from beside Ron.
Ron didn’t hear the rest of the class’ answers. As soon as Professor Sprout’s attention was drawn elsewhere, he quietly began his jostling about again.
“Ron,” Harry whispered. “What are you doing? Will you please leave off?”
Ron’s improvisational skills were quickly being tested to their limit. “Sorry, just didn’t like the look of that… er… plant over there.”
Harry looked over to the window box full of daisies they’d been standing next to and frowned.
Fuck, Ron thought simply, following his gaze. However, they were now positioned pretty much where they should be if Professor Sprout were going to have them count off to ten twice. Ron checked again. Yup, Harry and Draco would both be number eight.
“Well, wasn’t it interesting to learn those things, yes?” Professor Sprout asked, somewhat rhetorically. “Now, for organising your partners for the term…”
Here it comes…
“The person two places to your left will be your partner.”
WHAT?! NO!
Ron looked around quickly to see another of his plans quietly scuppered. Malfoy and Hermione would be partners and Harry and Nott would now be working together.
“Hello, partner,” said a voice from beside him.
He turned toward the voice. “Hello, Parkinson.”
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Ron put his jacket on the chair next to him. He sat at one of the Three Broomsticks longer tables, feeling a bit of a tit on his own. Harry, Hermione, and Nott were meeting him as soon as they finished up at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
Ron had stayed in his brother’s shop for as long as he could stand it, trying to ignore George’s hand signals and “kissy” faces whenever Harry was in view. Yes, George had learned of the Get-Harry-Together-With-the-Malfoy-Boy-Or-Don’t-Bother-Coming-Home-For-Christmas ultimatum issued by Mrs Weasley at the start of the new term. And he wasn’t doing anything that made this job easier for Ron in the slightest. If anything, he was making things worse.
Finally, after George had shouted “How about this?” across the shop, holding up a rainbow-coloured glittery bottle of Liberace’s Lust Potion & Lube for the Lads, Ron legged it, telling his friends that he’d go save them a table and get in the first round. Hermione had gawped at him when he had announced that; Ron never volunteered to do anything socially. But before her look of surprise could change to one of suspicion, he was out the door.
Now he sat drinking his butterbeer, checking the windows every two seconds, glancing at his wrist at a non-existent watch, and waiting impatiently.
Plan C was to have Nott bring Malfoy to the pub with him. And didn’t Ron get some more funny looks from Hermione when he’d suggested that it might be nice for Nott to sit with his friends as well as Hermione and her friends? Seeing as Zabini and Malfoy were Nott’s closest friends, there was a chance Malfoy might turn up, if only to still feel a part of the Slytherin “crowd”. Goyle was busy with Bulstrode these days (the pair hadn’t been seen outside of classes and meals for days). Ron reckoned the prospect of sitting with Hermione might be preferable to Malfoy than hanging around the dungeons listening to the Goyle and Bulstrode in the midst of their honeymoon phase.
Ron shuddered and took another sip. The door opened and Harry and Hermione walked into the pub, followed by Nott, Zabini, Parkinson, and Malfoy. Ron tried not to feel apprehensive. Hopefully this would go to plan.
Zabini walked to the bar, presumably to get drinks, and Ron began co-ordinating the seating arrangements. “Harry, sit here,” he directed, pointing at a space across from him. He hoped that Hermione would then sit down beside him and Nott would take the seat next to her. That would mean everyone else might sit down opposite. Then Ron would organise the getting up for more drinks in such a way that would mean the others would have to shift about leaving Harry and Malfoy sitting together.
Simple.
Not so simple, as it turned out. Parkinson parked herself next to him, and Zabini on the other side of her. Nott and Hermione sat down across from them next to Harry, and Malfoy perched himself at the end of the table next to Parkinson. Then he proceeded to do a rather good impersonation of a statue.
Twenty minutes and another pint later, Ron wasn’t sure what made him more disgusted: Nott and Hermione playing with each other’s fingers or Harry making cow eyes at Malfoy. Or maybe Ron was just imagining that. Still…
“Hey, Harry,” Ron said, “Get 'em in, eh?”
Harry looked up at Ron as though he’d been a million miles away. “Huh? Oh, yeah.” He stood and fished in his pocket.
As Harry fiddled about with his money, Ron eyed Malfoy. "You buying too?"
The look he received in return would have made a polar bear feel right at home.
Zabini, however, thought this was a wonderful idea. "Yes, Draco, it must be your round by now."
Grumbling, Malfoy stood and followed Harry to the bar. Although not standing anywhere near Harry, his arrival didn't go unnoticed.
Unfortunately, Ron's not-so-subtle suggestion didn't go unnoticed by Hermione, either. Ron was either going to have to let her in on the plan or think up the lie of the century. Regardless, a shared table at the Three Broomsticks was not the place to have either conversation. He forestalled any comment Hermione could make with another attempt at getting the two halves of the table into one discussion.
"Anyone else think the Puffs were robbed last week?"
"Oh, Ron, please, not Quidditch again!"
"I agree with Granger," Parkinson said.
"Yeah, you're outnumbered, four to three, and seeing as your fellow fliers are at the bar, I'd say you should change the subject." Nott smiled as he said it. Ron figured he was just currying favour. He knew for a fact that Nott religiously followed the Wasps — Parkinson had told him as much just the other day in Herbology.
Giving up on conversation, Ron turned his attention back to the bar. Harry and Malfoy were still not standing together, and Harry, who had been surreptitiously glancing in Malfoy’s direction, had had to leave off looking at the other boy in order to juggle three drinks in his hands. Malfoy had sensibly asked for a tray to carry his drinks back to the table.
Ron left the table to help Harry carry the glasses back before any more of his butterbeer ended up on the wooden floor.
Once again, things were not shaping up the way Ron had intended. If Harry and Malfoy couldn't even manage to bring back seven drinks back from the bar together, how were they ever going to do anything else together?
That thought made Ron shudder and he spilled even more of his drink.
♥
"Did you buy anything at the shop?" Ron asked Harry a little later.
"No, I'm always worried that anything I get there will backfire on me. Literally."
"Do you get a discount there, Weasley?" Parkinson asked him.
Nott guffawed. "Yeah, maybe you could share that lust potion with all these poor single people at the table."
Ron gaped at him and Hermione elbowed her boyfriend in the ribs. "You weren't supposed to say anything about that," she stage-whispered.
"What’s that Weasley?" Zabini asked.
"A little something to get a date with you, Zabini," Nott said. This time, Hermione wasn't as understanding. She drew her wand and spelled Nott's manly pint glass into a coconut shell with fruit on a toothpick and a paper umbrella stuck into it.
Beside him, Malfoy smirked into his drink, choked, and ended up having a very un-aristocratic-sounding coughing fit.
"Nothing," Ron grumbled. He could feel his face warm up and kept his eyes on the table.
"Ron's not gay," Parkinson said from beside him.
"What?" The other Slytherins asked as one.
"He's not," Parkinson averred. "I don't think he would have asked me out if he were."
Ron gaped again, but said nothing.
"You’re fast worker, Weasley!" Zabini said, a completely gratuitous and lecherous grin on his face. Nott just laughed and Malfoy… Malfoy just looked bored.
At least the argument over Ron's sexuality seemed to have been settled, but now he couldn't feasibly turn the conversation to Harry's or Malfoy's without sounding like an immature git. Anything he might attempt to achieve now, either secretly or openly, would just be tainted with a distinct sense of I know you are, but what am I?, and that wasn't how Ron had wanted this to work.
Simultaneously perplexed and grateful for Parkinson's lie, he still cursed into his drink and gave up Plan C as a bad lot.
♥
On the way back to the castle, Ron shuffled over to Parkinson and muttered a quiet "thanks".
"Whatever, Weasley," she said back. "I did it for Theo; he wants us all to try to get along."
Ron nodded, saying nothing. It seemed like a good idea, and played into his own plan. Though Ron reckoned Theodore Nott's and his mother's idea of the group "getting along" were two very different things indeed.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
The autumn was quickly drawing to a close and Ron was no closer to achieving his goal. The beginning of December found the students – even Hermione on this occasion – looking for any excuse to take a break from the day-to-day study and worries about the future, dull as it might be compared to the year before.
Right, thought Ron, this was bound to work. Lavender might not be a font of academic knowledge, but she was the Hermione Granger of coupling. If her idea of a drinking game couldn’t get Harry and Malfoy together, Ron was going to have to have to spend Christmas at Seamus's house.
He didn’t actually suggest the game himself, or why he wanted to play it, rather he let Lavender think it was her idea: bored teenagers, the lull before the holidays, nothing but studying, what could they do to have a bit of naughty fun? She had obligingly come up with a “super plan to spice up their lives.”
Ron had helpfully found them a suitable place, an old classroom George had told him about that was so disused and forgotten, Harry had said it wasn’t even on the Marauder’s Map. Zabini and Dean had been tasked to provide the “beverages”, and again, with the help of George, these had been rendered innocuous-looking enough, when they were in fact, only “this side of lethal”.
Lavender, of course, was in charge of the guest list, which Ron wanted to be big enough to hide his true intention for the evening – it had to look like anything that happened was random – but, thinking back to the Herbology debacle, the group had to be small enough that he could manipulate the game’s outcome, at least as far as Harry and Malfoy were concerned.
In the end, a dozen sixth, seventh, and eighth year students found themselves seated in a circle in the candlelit (now clean) room, goblets in front of them, raging hormones running amok inside them.
Lavender held open a book – there were books about these games? – and read from its hallowed pages.
“All the girls need to drink from the goblet of the boy sitting nearest her.” There was a bit of shuffling about as the girls figured who that would be, and then came the subsequent complaining by the boys about the fact they had less of their drinks left.
“Now, the boys from whose goblets have been drunk from have to kiss the girl who drank from it on the lips.”
“Ewwww!” This outburst, the one that could be heard the loudest at least, came from Hannah Abbot. “I don’t want some boy kissing me!”
Ron couldn’t believe his ears. What was this, primary school? Why would any girl object to being kissed by a boy?
“Oh, sorry, Hannah,” Lavender said with a wink. “Zabini can just kiss you on the cheek if you object.”
“No, no, I’ll do it,” Hannah grumbled. “I don’t want to be disqualified. Just don’t get any ideas, Zabini.” Hannah was smiling now.
“Hey, if you’d rather kiss Lovegood, I’m all for watching that!” Zabini said.
“No, no, I don’t want to break the rules; I didn’t have any of her drink. Besides, I can kiss her anytime.” Hannah smiled at Luna.
“Yeah…” agreed Zabini with an exaggerated glazed-over expression. “And I still want to watch that.” This sentiment was echoed around the group by several of the other participants.
Oh dear Lord, thought Ron. What planet have I been living on that I didn’t know about THIS?. His temperature immediately shot up.
“Ron?” Padma looked at him with her eyebrows raised. “Are you kissing me or what?”
“Oh, oh yeah.” He dutifully leaned over and gave Padma a quick peck. Then he watched as Harry kissed Parvati, and Malfoy kissed Parkinson. None of them looked at all the better for it.
Lavender moved on to the second task.
“Make up a phrase by saying one word each until you’ve gone around the circle three times. Take one sip of drink the first time, two the second, and three on the third. You have one second afterwards to say your word. Anyone who says nothing has to remove one article of clothing—” someone female squealed, “— and try to make your word fit. Right, I say we make up a love poem. I’ll start.”
Lavender took a dainty sip of her drink and smiled serenely. “Beloved…”
Neville drank and said “McGonagall…”
The group dissolved into laughter.
“Keep going!” Lavender instructed. And so they did.
“Your,”
“breasts,” More giggles.
“are,”
“round,”
“and,”
“ancient.”
Lavender pointed her finger at Dean. “This is a love poem! Would you say that to your beloved?”
“No,” Dean said, wiping a hand over his mouth. “But I’d describe McGonagall that way.”
“Play nice,” Lavender instructed. “Or I’ll take your drink away.”
“Fine, fine.” Dean took another drink. “Fluffy.”
More laughter and a “Hey, he got to drink twice!”
“You also have to take off your shirt,” Lavender ordered.
“What?”
“Now!”
Dean complied to much whistling and cat-calling.
And so it went, until between them, they’d finished all of their drinks and had refilled their glasses. By the end, Ron had also lost his shirt. Lavender read out the fruits of their efforts.
“Beloved McGonagall. Your breasts are round and fluffy. Your eyes are like sparkly sweets (what a surprise, Greg) and your lips are like clover (Seamus, that is so not right!). I want to watch the Quidditch (Harry, I’m warning you!) with you and kiss you every year on the Solstice (oh, thank god, Hermione.).
As fun as this was, and as tipsy as everyone had now become, things weren’t really moving in the direction Ron wanted them to go. Harry and Malfoy were no nearer moving forward in their relationship, and on top of that, Ron was getting chilly from sitting shirtless.
As soon as the goblets were full again, Lavender continued. “Right, everyone exchange and article of clothing with the person sitting across from you. It doesn’t have to be the same article.”
Ron looked around the circle. Result! Harry and Malfoy would have to do this bit together.
“Oh, and Dean and Ron, you can’t hand your shirts over. It has to be something else.”
“What?” Ron shouted, whilst Dean just calmly stood and removed his shoes. He passed them over to Katie, who gave him her hair band.
Harry, meanwhile, had stood and was now unbuckling his belt. With a shy smile, he handed it across the circle to Malfoy, who, obviously decided that if he were going to inherit Harry's belt, he would exchange the same. Malfoy threaded Harry's belt through his black trousers, as Harry took the fine leather belt from Malfoy and put it on.
Ron had lost his trainers to Parkinson, who, rather than put them on, threw them behind her. She, for her part, reached underneath her blouse, and Ron watched her fiddle about with something, all the time wondering what she as doing – was she going to present him with a piece of precious jewellery that she wore in her belly button or something?
Parkinson's hands emerged, holding a lacy bra. She threw it at Ron to howls of laughter. Ron blushed the colour of his hair.
"You have to put that on, Weasley," Blaise instructed.
"No way," he objected. "She's not wearing my shoes." No one could argue with that. Or blame Parkinson.
"Just hang it round your neck, then," Lavender ordered. "Or no more drinking and you have to organise the next game."
Ron wasn't sure he liked either option, but he dutifully hung the lacy garment around his neck, looking at his now shoeless feet.
"Very fetching, Weasley," Pansy said.
"And you," Lavender said to Pansy. "If you're not going to wear his shoes, you have to at least put them in front of you."
Pansy considered this. "Only if I get to have another drink."
"Good idea," Lavender said. "Everyone drink."
Everyone did.
"Okay," Lavender said, once they had drunk and refilled their goblets. "Next part."
By this time, Ron stuck with sitting in a piece of Slytherin lingerie, had once again turned to thinking about how things between Malfoy and Harry could progress beyond wearing each other 's belts. "I think there needs to be more kissing," he blurted out.
Peals of laughter rang out, but there were also a lot of assenting voices. "Yes, mostly between Abbot and Lovegood!" Zabini said.
Nott shouted at his housemate. "Blaise, if you don't leave off, Brown is going to disqualify you!"
"Shush, boys!" Lavender said in her best headmistress' voice. "There's more kissing coming, all right?"
"Ha! She said coming!"
"Oh my god, Millie, are you in ten years old, or what?" Parkinson cried.
"She's just drunk," Goyle said, placing an arm around his girlfriend.
"Shut it, everyone!" Hermione shouted, and everyone did. Then they all looked expectantly at her. It wasn’t often she lost her temper completely.
"She's just keen to get to the kissing," Nott whispered conspiratorially to the entire group.
Hermione rolled her eyes and looked heavenward.
"Right," Lavender continued, "as I was saying, the next bit is about kissing." She looked up. "Take a drink and either confide a shameful secret to the person across from you or forfeit the game."
Of course, it was unlikely anyone wanted to quit at this point, but then again, it did mean trusting someone you might not trust with a secret.
Everyone's eyes flitted about the circle and Ron, already feeling a complete twat with a bra round his neck, tried to think of something not-too-terrible to say to Parkinson. After a long moment, he leant over and whispered that he used to get his two elder brothers confused.
Parkinson just stared at him. "That's hardly shameful, Weasley; no one could tell the two of them apart."
"I mean Bill and Charlie," Ron clarified.
Parkinson burst into a fit of giggles.
"Shut up, Parkinson!" Ron growled quietly. He looked over at Harry in time to see him whisper something in Malfoy's ear, his face going red.
He was distracted by the feeling of Pansy's lips at his sensitive ears. "I used to wank whilst thinking about Professor Lupin."
Ron's pulse shot up as his brain tried to picture at least part of that scenario.
Nearby Blaise said. "That's not kissing!"
"Not yet," Lavender said. "Now, we're going to go around the circle. The person across from you is going to tell the group your shameful secret or you have to French kiss them to keep them from divulging it."
"Woohoo!" Ron heard Seamus say. Ron turned to see what Harry and Malfoy would do but before he could, he was nearly bowled over by Parkinson, who stuck her tongue down his throat.
Ron sputtered and coughed, but licked his lips when she sat back with a smirk on her face.
Lavender smiled. "Okay, I guess we'll start with Parkinson."
"Nice one, Pans!" Theo said, leering.
Ron blushed some more.
Lavender turned her attention to Malfoy. He cleared his throat and looked across at Harry. It seemed unlikely that he was going to do the same thing his housemate had just done.
"Potter doesn't fancy redheads."
"What? You don't like me?" Ron couldn't help it, he just blurted it out. Everyone laughed.
Now it was Harry's turn to blush.
"No, Ron, of course I like you. I – er – don't fancy you, though. Sorry." Harry gave him a little smile, and everyone laughed louder.
"Have a drink, Ron," Lavender suggested, and so he did. "In fact, I think everyone should have one."
The members of the group drained their glasses again. Now Ron began to feel slightly less embarrassed and more emboldened.
"What do you say, Parkinson?" Lavender asked. Ron lunged across the circle and grabbed Parkinson before she could utter the either of the words Bill or Charlie.
After another heated snog, Ron averted his eyes from everyone, ignored the hollering of his classmates, and wondered at his motivation. Would he really have been that embarrassed to have had Parkinson tell the group his shameful secret?
He was drunk. That was it. And maybe if he were, Malfoy would be too. After all, there was less of the ferret than there was of Ron – no wonder his mother wanted to get her hands on the waif-like boy – and they were all pretty happy now, so maybe he'd make a move on Harry.
Ron waited impatiently while Seamus told everyone that Michael Corner's mum had discovered his stash of Wicked Witch magazines that summer, and Neville revealed that Blaise had once had a grope with his own step-sister.
"Okay, Harry," Lavender prompted.
Did Malfoy just twitch? Ron squinted to see better. Malfoy was definitely leaning forward, Ron was sure of it.
"Ron," Padma said. She reached out a hand and yanked him upright. No, Malfoy hadn't leaned forward, Ron had drunkenly tipped forward. "Sit up."
Ron righted himself and looked into his empty goblet. What the hell were they drinking, or was Parkinson's lipgloss laced with something?
"OOOOoooohhhhhh," said everyone around him.
"What, what? What did I miss?" Ron realised in his befuddled state, he'd missed what Harry had said.
"Harry just said that Malfoy fancies a Gryffindor. Maybe he likes redheads, then!" Blaise deadpanned.
"Shut up, Zabini," Ron said. "And let's have some more drink."
By the end of the game, Malfoy and Harry never exchanged more than their belts, but it wasn't all bad; Ron had managed to find the courage – Dutch as it was – to ask Parkinson to the Yule Ball.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
The band was as good as always, the dresses as beautiful, and the dress-robes – including Ron's this time – were as debonair as ever. Whilst Harry went in with some of his other housemates, Ron waited at the door to the Great Hall for his date.
Pansy – she was Pansy now – arrived in due course, though Ron thought she seemed to have taken an inordinately long time to make an entrance, looking absolutely stunning. Behind her came several of her other housemates, Malfoy among them. Ron was relieved to see he had not brought a companion. Now, all he had to do…
Pansy whispered something rather naughty in his ear before Ron could even start formulating Plan E. He'd been so wrapped up in the game after Pansy had kissed him, he'd been thinking of little else since. And after what Pansy had just said to him, there was no chance he'd be able to formulate anything at all.
"Don't worry about them, Ron. I think it'll all work out on its own," she said cryptically as they followed Goyle and Bulstrode into the Hall.
Ron barely heard her over the music. And whatever she'd said couldn't have been near as important as her previous statement about what she was wearing underneath her gown.
♥
Harry watched as a number of students, each with varying degrees of success at concealment, attempted to pour a variety of alcoholic ingredients into the enormous punchbowl. Hanging Professor Snape's portrait above the buffet table went a long way to frightening off some of the more timid of students who might have thought it fun to enhance the drink's potency, but a few made it past the scowl and sharp tongue. Harry briefly thought of Mrs Black's portrait and wondered how far he'd get trying to slip something past her.
Even knowing that the punch was suspect, Harry took a long sip and watched as the various couples twisted and turned on the dance floor. He'd had the summer to come to grips with Hermione now usually seen in the company of Theo Nott, but this Ron and Pansy thing was going to take some getting used to. Things had really changed and Harry wondered at the change in himself. He had become more comfortable with the fact that his tastes differed from that of his closest friends in terms of gender, but hadn't really yet acted on the other epiphany he'd had during those long seventh-year nights.
As if reading his tangled thoughts, Draco Malfoy approached the punch bowl and helped himself. He drank it carefully, eyes on the dance floor. Harry watched him as surreptitiously as he could until a slow song began and there was a bustle of activity on the floor.
"Right, Potter," Draco said and Harry started. He didn't like being caught out and after seven and a half years, it was still happening. "Shall we put Weasley out of his misery?" Draco set down his goblet and walked over to stand directly in front of Harry. He held out his hand and Harry stared at it dumbly.
"Uh, er…?" Harry said.
"Dance, Potter. It's very simple – I put my arms around you, you put your arms around me, and we move around the floor together. And Potter, I do hope you've learned a thing or two since fourth year."
Harry reached out with a suddenly sweaty palm and took hold of Draco's hand. He saw nothing else and blindly followed Draco out to the dance floor. He found himself near Hannah and Luna and Neville and Ginny, and took heart in the fact that no one in the room seemed to have fainted yet from seeing them together.
Draco placed his arms cautiously around Harry's waist and waited until Harry had reached around his shoulders with his. In the midst of this surreal tableau, Harry was dully aware that Draco had said something to him.
"What was that?" Harry directed the question to the soft blond hair that fanned out over Draco's right ear. Draco shuddered. Harry hoped that was a good thing.
"I said, Weasley's embarrassed himself enough trying to get us together; let's save him any further humiliation." Harry listened, whilst thrilling to the feeling Draco's arms around his waist and slowly moved to the music.
Finally the words registered. "What? He's been trying to get together with Parkinson. And it looks like he's finally managed it." Harry glanced over Draco's shoulder to see Ron and Pansy swaying in the darkened hall with their lips locked together. But he became distracted by how good Draco smelled, and returned to his earlier ear-nuzzling position.
"Potter, do those glasses actually work?" Draco asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "Weasley's been trying to get us together since the start of the year."
Harry blinked and cast his mind back to the last two terms. He idly rested his head on Draco's shoulder whilst reviewing the somewhat bizarre behaviour Ron had exhibited from time to time. Harry had been convinced it had all been in aid of getting him exactly where he was now: Pansy's arms. Looking at it the way Draco must have been, it now seemed obvious – Ron could have been trying to get Harry and Draco together.
But why?
Harry raised his head and looked directly at his dance partner for the first time that evening. "Why would he do that? That doesn't sound like Ron at all."
Draco returned the stare. In the glow of the candelabra his eyes looked very dark. And very attractive.
"He obviously knows something you don't, then, Potter."
"Oh? And what could that be?" Harry was vaguely aware that the music had changed, and another slow romantic tune had started up. It didn't look as though they were leaving the dance floor anytime soon.
"It's simple: you fancy me."
"I…" Harry started.
Draco continued without pausing. "And I would suspect that Granger has told him to get us together, because I can't see Weasley thinking this would be a good idea." One of Draco's hands left Harry's waist and gestured between them.
"I don’t know…" Harry mused. "I can't see Hermione coming up with plans that seemed to go so wrong. Are you sure he wasn't after Parkinson?" Harry was genuinely curious, but asking Ron himself seemed like a bad idea.
"I can't comment on his feelings for Pansy," Draco said, nodding at his housemate and Ron, where they danced practically wrapped around each other.
"But…?"
"But what? I'm here aren't I?"
"With Ron's help." Harry smiled.
"Despite Ron’s help," Draco said.
Harry nodded into his shoulder and held Draco a little tighter.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Pig had landed dangerously close to Ron's bowl of porridge the next day with a reply to his message. Literally punch-drunk, Ron had owled his mother the night before to tell her of his success. Now he waited for Harry to appear in order to tell him that he should ask Malfoy to accompany them to the Burrow.
Finding himself in a relationship with Harry Potter notwithstanding, Ron wondered what would confound Malfoy more: the invitation to a Weasley family Christmas or the realisation that if he accepted, he'd have to be gracious about being presented with a garish jumper.
The door to the Hall opened and Pansy walked in, followed closely by Harry and Draco. They weren't speaking, they weren't even smiling, but Ron had seen them leave the Hall together the night before. They had looked as happy as Pansy did now, which was a huge boost to Ron's wayward ego. He reckoned the fact Harry and Draco had appeared together this morning and exchanged a heartfelt glance before heading for their respective tables spoke volumes about their feelings.
♥
Two hours later, Ron sat in an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, nursing a bruised jaw. How did he even think that explaining to Pansy that Malfoy was invited to his house for Christmas but she wasn't had been a wise idea? He should have let Malfoy tell her. After all, he didn't have anywhere else to go and being Harry's new boyfriend made it okay. But Ron had told her and then went on to explain that he would have to tread lightly around his mum about his new girlfriend and he'd get back to her after the holiday.
Pansy hadn't looked pleased and Ron shouldn't have dug the hole any deeper. Asking her for a quick blowjob as an early Christmas present had definitely not done him any favours.
♥
Meanwhile, Harry and Draco sat in a compartment alone, holding hands and sharing shy smiles, despite having shared a considerable amount of body fluids the previous night. They mused on the upcoming holidays and the plans Molly Weasley would no doubt have organised for them.
"There's something else we need to do," Draco said.
Harry looked over. "Hmmmmm?"
"We need to come up with a plan to get Pansy and Weasley back together."
Harry laughed. "I'm sure we can think of something."
The End
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Millie/Greg, Luna/Hannah, Hermione/Theo, Ron/?
Summary: It's 8th year and Ron has two choices: get the boys together or don’t bother coming home for the holidays. Of course, things work out perfectly for scheming!Ron. Not.
Rating: PG13
Warning: Bad poetry?
Word Count: ~9000
Author's Notes: Many thanks to
sassy_cissa, being_there and alovelycupoftea for the betas. Also, thank you to brissygirl for help with Aboriginal names. *snogs everyone * This was my submission for hd_smoochfest for the divine brinimc.“This sucks,” Ron toyed absently with his fork, scraping it annoyingly against his empty breakfast plate. “I’m so bored.”
“Yes, peace on earth can have that effect on a person,” Charlie said, smiling around his mug of coffee.
Ron bristled. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. I’m happy about how things are going now…” He looked up at his mother’s hunched shoulders as she moved around the large room, tidying up. Molly Weasley still maintained her household, but her surviving children knew she was hardly the contented house-witch she used to be. Ron tried to be more tactful in phrasing the remainder of his thoughts and failed miserably. “I just miss my friends and stuff.”
Percy leaned over him and pulled the fork from his hand and set it onto the plate before removing it from the table. Ron glared at him rather than thanking him.
He continued. “I thought Harry would stay with us, seeing as Hermione and Neville and everyone was away this summer.”
“Where is Harry?” A pregnant Fleur asked from the comfort of one of the squashy sitting room armchairs. She and Bill were spending the week with the Weasleys before going back to the cottage. They’d arrived late the night before and hadn’t heard the discussion that had taken place previously about the rest of the Golden Trio’s whereabouts.
“He’s stayed on to help with the rebuilding of Hogwarts,” Charlie informed her.
Molly gently chided her youngest son. “I think it’s nice he’s staying at the school. He really does care about that place. You know there’s nothing stopping you from doing the same.”
Ron rolled his eyes; they’d already been through this. As much as Ron had wanted to escape the melancholy atmosphere of the Burrow, he knew if he’d volunteered to return early to Hogwarts, it’d break his mother’s heart not to have him at home. She’d never say it though.
“Yeah, I’m sure school was the reason for Harry’s decision to stay at Hogwarts this summer,” Ginny said, looking up from her book.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Harry knows he can stay here whenever he wants.” Ron was confused and not a little hurt at his best friend’s decision to remain in Scotland when he could be with the Weasleys, rescuing Ron from the hours of ennui which were sure to make up the majority of his abbreviated summer holiday.
“Ron, are you intentionally blind or just terminally gormless?” Ginny teased.
“Huh?” Ron watched as a not-so-surreptitious wink passed between Charlie and his sister.
Ginny smiled. “Both, I guess.”
Charlie laughed.
“Ginny, what are you talking about? Harry Potter is one of the dearest, most selfless boys I know,” Molly said. “If he wants to spend some time alone, we can hardly stop him. Or blame him.”
“Alone isn’t what Harry has in mind, I should think,” Ginny said, stretching her legs and then re-folding them beneath her again.
Molly, Percy, and Ron all said “What?” at the same time.
“Ron, remember the way Hermione and Theo were looking at each other at the end of the war? I know it’s a lot for you to take in, but believe it or not, your friends might want to spend time with other people besides you. Especially if they fancy them.”
Charlie tried to hide his smirk in his coffee again.
Ron let out a disbelieving bark of laughter. “Right, so now you’re telling me Harry fancies someone and would rather be with them instead of us.”
“I think it’s patently clear that’s what she’s saying,” Percy said. Ron could tell from his tone that his brother was just as bowled over by the news, but he’d never admit it.
“I’m sure if Harry had fancied anyone, he’d have told me. Maybe come to me for advice…”
“Because you have such a vast amount of knowledge on the subject of romance,” Ginny said, dripping sarcasm.
Fleur laughed demurely from her chair.
“Well,” Ron said, trying to think of a way he could dig himself out of this. “I do when it comes to Harry!”
Charlie didn’t even pretend to hide his laughter this time.
“Shut up! Harry could have any girl he wants. Why does he need to be at school to see her now? And the only girls he’s been out with in the last two years have been Luna and Ginny, and they’re not even there this summer!” Ron was getting a little cross with his siblings now. What did they know that he didn’t?
“Oh, Ron… Someday it’ll happen to you and nothing will keep you away. Harry was never that interested in me; it’s been plainly obvious for two years he’s liked the same person since forever, and maybe now he has a chance to act on it. Do try to keep up.”
“Yes, do, Ron,” Percy said condescendingly from the kitchen.
“Oi! Shut up!” Ron cried. “And how do you know about this, huh? “ Ron directed the latter half of the sentence toward Charlie.
“The Muggles call it gaydar,” Charlie said simply.
“What?” Ron was hopelessly confused. His mother’s expression changed, though.
“You mean Harry…?” She asked and then a little wistful smile appeared on her face.
“Mum, it’s not what you think,” Charlie hastened to say. “He just asked me for some advice. Don’t start planning a wedding. It’s not me.”
“What? You and Harry?!” Ron was aghast.
“Did you just hear me? No, not me and Harry.” Charlie looked like he was having far too much fun with this conversation. In fact all the Weasleys in the room bar Ron looked like they were.
“He should have told me.” Ron pouted. “If he fancied a bloke at school, I wouldn’t have said anything.” Ron paused. “Merlin, it's not Blaise, is it?”
“Why?” Percy asked.
“Why is it all my friends are infatuated with Slytherins? They pretty much switched sides at the last minute. All of them, Parkinson, Malfoy, Goyle – they’d all be cozy’d up with You-Know-Who if he were still alive. Don’t you think that’s just wrong?” Ron looked around the room for support. He knew pretty well how his sister-in-law felt, but she kept quiet.
“Ronald, maybe it’s time they started healing too,” Molly said sagely. Even with the sorrows of the recent past, Ron new his mother’s maternal instincts would have her adopt every last one of the young snakes if she could. To Molly Weasley, the sins of the fathers shouldn’t be visited on the innocent or the duped.
“You did actually save Goyle’s life, remember?” Ginny prompted. “You must have thought the Slytherins had some redeeming qualities.”
“Well, it all happened so fast; I wasn’t thinking. And I certainly don’t want to date the bloke!”
Another sly look passed between Charlie and Ginny.
“What? Are you saying Harry fancies Goyle?” His face was one big grimace. “He’s not even at the school this summer. I remember Seamus saying the only Slytherin staying on to help out was Mal—” The remainder of Ron’s breath left his body in a wheeze.
“Harry? And the Malfoy boy?” Mrs Weasley sat down amidst the laundry which continued to fold itself.
“Well, not yet…” Charlie clarified. “But I think Harry’d like it to happen.”
“But when…? How….? Huh?” Ron was stunned.
“Ron, instead of sitting there like a flobberworm, maybe you could be happy for him," Ginny said. After all, if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s Harry.”
“But, but… I can’t believe you’re so calm about this. You of all people!” Ron didn’t mean to hurt his sister, but he really was bowled over.
“It was perfectly plain from the outset that people were throwing us together more than we were throwing ourselves at each other,” Ginny explained. “Besides, gay is gay, Ron. I’m not going to magically turn Harry straight; I don’t have the right kind of wand.”
“Ginevra!” Molly scolded. Everyone else sniggered.
Charlie stood and held his mug out to Percy who scowled at him. “Maybe you should stop being so surprised and start being more supportive.”
Percy grudgingly refilled Charlie’s mug and the older Weasley sat back down at the table.
“Me oui!” Fluer concurred. “Has Harry had a… boyfriend before?”
Ron’s eyes were as big as saucers. “Not that I know of.”
“Then maybe you could help out.”
“Charlie! I’m not volunteering to be his… boyfriend!” The grimace was firmly back on Ron’s face.
“I don’t mean that, you pillock! I mean maybe you could help out with Harry’s budding relationship. After all, does Malfoy even know Harry fancies him?”
“I doubt it…” Ron said under his breath. “Somehow I don’t see them discussing that sort of thing. Not with everything that’s happened between them so far. In fact, I don't see them discussing anything at all.”
“Well, there you go,” Molly announced. "Think of a way to get the two of them together. Then they can both spend Christmas with us, seeing as that poor boy’s parents are in prison.”
Everyone turned and stared at Mrs Weasley.
Trying to be a good son, Ron had half-heartedly agreed to his mother’s suggestion of trying to get Harry together with Malfoy. He was still in two minds over the whole idea, but his family had argued so eloquently. “Get it sorted, or don’t bother coming back for Christmas hols,” Percy had said and no one bothered to contradict him. Ron felt obliged to do something, though he was not going to set Harry and Malfoy up on a romantic date, or anything.
The thirty-first of August was the busiest day of the year for Quality Quidditch. And this year it was even busier, as the shop, as well as many others in the alley, tried to raise their customer’s post-war spirits with sales and promotions.
And Quality Quidditch had gone all out. Darel Burambah, the new Australian Beater sensation, had finished up the season in his homeland, and was now touring Europe. Presently, he was firmly ensconced in QQ’s window, signing autographs and entertaining his fans. The queue to get in was growing ever longer and Ron despaired at the wait they’d have to get in.
In the years leading up to the war, Quality Quidditch had to magically expand; there was no other way it could sell all the merchandise it stocked. And its reputation was second to none, every professional team had an account with them, and nearly every school child who'd ever picked up a broom had spent more than one or two Sickles in the place. Now it looked as though it was going to need to expand again. And quickly.
Ron had asked Harry to meet him at the store that day. He figured Malfoy would appear at some point, what Quidditch player would pass up an opportunity to meet Daren Burambah? It was Ron’s intention to “shift” Harry in the direction of Malfoy, and then "lose" them in the shop. It was certainly cavernous enough, and he could leave them be for twenty minutes in hopes they would lose track of time and maybe even help each other find the exit. Ron reckoned nature would take its course, and from there, they would tire of looking to leave and fall madly in love among the broom wax and shin pads.
Strangely, Ron was actually quite proud of this plan. It incorporated Harry’s love of Quidditch with his love of—ugh—Malfoy. Whatever, Ron thought darkly, as he loitered outside the shop with the other people milling around waiting to get inside. At least it’d keep his family off his back.
He’d fire-called Harry the night before and had asked how the rebuilding was going. Harry had replied that they were nearly done; the remainder of the repairs could easily be finished during the upcoming term.
Nothing in Harry’s tone or conversation suggested anything about fancying Malfoy, and part of Ron reckoned his family were completely crazy in their suggestion that Harry felt something for the other boy. If they were wrong, the meeting-up-in-the-shop ploy wouldn’t look too suspicious, and Ron rather fancied meeting Darel Burambah, so it was all good.
“All right, Ron?” Harry said, suddenly at Ron’s side.
Ron hadn’t noticed him arrive. It disgusted him a little to realise that he had been keenly scanning the crowd for Malfoy and not his best friend.
“All right,” he replied, smiling. It was good to see Harry again. He looked… happier.
Ron had forgotten, but naturally, once Harry joined Ron at the shop’s entrance, they were instantly ushered inside. Of course Mr Potter could jump the queue. Once inside, Ron hung back waiting to see if Malfoy pitched up.
And he didn’t disappoint.
Malfoy and Parkinson arrived at the shop shortly after Harry did. Of course no one offered to expedite their entrance and Ron cooled his heels waiting for the Slytherins to get to the front of the queue.
Ron watched Harry's expression when he casually mentioned that Malfoy had come in. Immediately Harry turned and looked at the shop's door. Ron tried not to grind his teeth together. Malfoy briefly made eye-contact with them, the expression on his face making it clear what he thought about Harry and Ron's queue-jumping.
As soon as they had got Darel's autograph and he had given them the benefit of his professional wisdom, Ron steered Harry into the main part of the shop. They browsed a bit together while Ron kept half an eye on Malfoy to see when he and the others reached the front of the queue. As Darel finished signing an autograph for a smiling Parkinson, Ron edged away from Harry as quietly as possible. He'd watch to see where Malfoy went and planned to "corral" him toward Harry by always being in the place Malfoy was heading, which Ron reckoned was all the encouragement he would need to move along.
But by now, the shop was heaving, Ron could hear the constant ringing of the tills and the level of chatter had increased even more in the short time Ron and Harry had been there. Ron was having trouble keeping tabs on Malfoy.
And then it happened. Ron lost sight of him between the Swerving Snitch display and a crowd of giggling Chasers all wanting Darel to say their names with his "sexy Australian accent."
Ron looked about wildly. No sign of a white-blond head anywhere. He turned toward the Seekers' gloves display where he'd left Harry. He wasn't there either. Ron would now have to go over the entire shop looking for both boys.
"Lose something, Weasley?" Ron turned and found himself staring at Pansy Parkinson.
Ron coughed and spluttered. "P-Parkinson, what are you doing here?"
"I came with Draco. Is there a reason you're casing the place?" She glanced around, presumably trying to see what Ron was looking at.
"I was… I was looking for a new helmet." God, could he have sounded more of an idiot if he'd tried? Ron blushed.
Parkinson smirked.
"That wasn't what I meant—"
"Relax, Weasley. Now, tell me how to get out of this place." She looked around. Ron followed her gaze. He realised then, while he'd been pushing Malfoy toward Harry, he himself had become lost in the cavernous shop.
“Um…”
Parkinson huffed in frustration. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” She took his arm, and another twenty minutes later, they found the door.
Harry and Malfoy were waiting for them outside.
“About bloody time, Pans,” Malfoy said snidely as they emerged. “I wasn’t going to stand out here with the Golden Boy much longer.”
“Oi Ferret-Face!” Ron completely lost himself. “You leave Harry alone!” Or rather… Wait. But the damage was already done. Malfoy looked as though he’d like nothing more than reach into his robe, pull out his wand, and hex the nose right off Ron’s face. “I mean, don’t call him that. His name’s Harry.”
“Is it possible that your IQ has dropped even further over the school holidays, Weasley? I know what his name is. I just didn’t use it. A bit like you and your brain.”
Ron forgot all about his mission. “Right, that’s it, Malfoy. You’ve had this coming for a long time!” He went for his wand. Harry shoved his arm against his chest, trapping Ron’s arm as he and Malfoy squared off.
“This is a great start to the new term, isn’t it?” Parkinson observed.
“Agreed,” Harry said. “And if you don’t want the Aurors here in five minutes, you’ll back away, Ron. He’s not worth it.”
Huh? Ron was totally confused. “But…” Ron looked from Harry to Malfoy, and then to Parkinson, who just rolled her eyes at the testosterone-induced confrontation.
“Draco, we need to go. Come on.”
Malfoy directed a black look toward Harry and Ron before letting Parkinson pull him away. They were quickly swallowed up in the crowded street.
Ron looked at Harry sheepishly. “Sorry mate, got lost in the shop.”
“Yes, that’s what Draco figured.”
Draco? So it was Draco, now? Ron was even more confused than before. “Did he, you know, say anything else to you?” Ron tried to ask this as nonchalantly as possible.
Harry frowned. “No. Why would he?”
“Er… No reason. Come on, let’s go get our books.” Ron led the way down the alley while his temper settled and started formulating Plan B.
After the initial welcome back to another, and hopefully, quieter year of Herbology, Professor Sprout announced that in this term, they’d be mainly doing partner work.
Ron’s ears pricked up. So far, all of his ideas for getting Harry and Malfoy together had ended in failure: they’d obviously shared only a few uncomfortable minutes outside Quality Quidditch and they completely missed each other at King’s Cross, with the media taking up far too much of Harry’s time to get him suitably steered into the same compartment as Draco.
Ron had suggested a stroll through the carriages, but Harry fell asleep twenty minutes after they’d left the station and didn’t wake until the border. Ron realised he probably shouldn’t have kept Harry up the night before asking him about the rebuilding of Hogwarts in a vain attempt to ascertain how much progress Harry had actually made in his pursuit of Malfoy. And after waking on the train, Harry was more concerned about getting his stuff together and talking to Ginny about Gryffindor Quidditch.
Obviously, there was no chance at getting Harry and Malfoy together at the feast and Sorting. The next day, Ron had attempted to make Harry late to Potions in order that he be forced to sit with Malfoy, but Malfoy was already sitting with Nott at the front of the class when they arrived, even though Ron had seen both boys dawdling outside the Hall after breakfast. Well, Ron couldn’t be blamed if he didn’t have Harry’s map or any knowledge of the secret tunnel system in the dungeons.
So, here they were in the greenhouse with a promise of a full term of partnership work. How would Sprout arrange them, Ron wondered. Certainly not by house — aside from the tables in the Great Hall and the residences themselves, none of their professors were keen on allowing old rivalries to fester. Friendship was another thing, and no one was going to split up the snakes if they needed each other’s support, but housemates were encouraged to mingle if at all possible.
Let’s get mingling, then, thought Ron, then immediately wished he hadn’t.
“I think it’d be nice to learn a little something about each other, don’t you?” Professor Sprout said a bit randomly. “Starting from this end of the greenhouse, please tell the class the name of your favourite plant or flower.”
Ron’s mind leapt into action: Oh no! Will partners be based on that? Will we count off afterwards, or be separated by house or gender? Ron silently counted the number of students in the class (twenty) and figured Sprout would do the simplest thing and organise them into pairs with two counts of ten.
Counting silently, Ron tried to surreptitiously and gently manhandle Harry into a position amongst the milling students so that Harry and Malfoy would both count off the same number. Shoving Seamus aside and insinuating Harry next to the Irish boy, Ron was yanked away from his scheming by their teacher.
“Mr Weasley, is there some reason you and Mr Potter don’t seem to be able to stand still? Have you both got somewhere else to be?”
Ron realised that it was their turn to answer the question, but instead of listening, they’d been dancing about the greenhouse.
“Sorry Professor,” Ron said humbly. “Er, I like er…daisies, I guess.” Where the hell had that come from?, he wondered. He couldn’t care less about flowers.
“Uh… holly, Professor,” Harry said from beside Ron.
Ron didn’t hear the rest of the class’ answers. As soon as Professor Sprout’s attention was drawn elsewhere, he quietly began his jostling about again.
“Ron,” Harry whispered. “What are you doing? Will you please leave off?”
Ron’s improvisational skills were quickly being tested to their limit. “Sorry, just didn’t like the look of that… er… plant over there.”
Harry looked over to the window box full of daisies they’d been standing next to and frowned.
Fuck, Ron thought simply, following his gaze. However, they were now positioned pretty much where they should be if Professor Sprout were going to have them count off to ten twice. Ron checked again. Yup, Harry and Draco would both be number eight.
“Well, wasn’t it interesting to learn those things, yes?” Professor Sprout asked, somewhat rhetorically. “Now, for organising your partners for the term…”
Here it comes…
“The person two places to your left will be your partner.”
WHAT?! NO!
Ron looked around quickly to see another of his plans quietly scuppered. Malfoy and Hermione would be partners and Harry and Nott would now be working together.
“Hello, partner,” said a voice from beside him.
He turned toward the voice. “Hello, Parkinson.”
Ron put his jacket on the chair next to him. He sat at one of the Three Broomsticks longer tables, feeling a bit of a tit on his own. Harry, Hermione, and Nott were meeting him as soon as they finished up at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
Ron had stayed in his brother’s shop for as long as he could stand it, trying to ignore George’s hand signals and “kissy” faces whenever Harry was in view. Yes, George had learned of the Get-Harry-Together-With-the-Malfoy-Boy-Or-Don’t-Bother-Coming-Home-For-Christmas ultimatum issued by Mrs Weasley at the start of the new term. And he wasn’t doing anything that made this job easier for Ron in the slightest. If anything, he was making things worse.
Finally, after George had shouted “How about this?” across the shop, holding up a rainbow-coloured glittery bottle of Liberace’s Lust Potion & Lube for the Lads, Ron legged it, telling his friends that he’d go save them a table and get in the first round. Hermione had gawped at him when he had announced that; Ron never volunteered to do anything socially. But before her look of surprise could change to one of suspicion, he was out the door.
Now he sat drinking his butterbeer, checking the windows every two seconds, glancing at his wrist at a non-existent watch, and waiting impatiently.
Plan C was to have Nott bring Malfoy to the pub with him. And didn’t Ron get some more funny looks from Hermione when he’d suggested that it might be nice for Nott to sit with his friends as well as Hermione and her friends? Seeing as Zabini and Malfoy were Nott’s closest friends, there was a chance Malfoy might turn up, if only to still feel a part of the Slytherin “crowd”. Goyle was busy with Bulstrode these days (the pair hadn’t been seen outside of classes and meals for days). Ron reckoned the prospect of sitting with Hermione might be preferable to Malfoy than hanging around the dungeons listening to the Goyle and Bulstrode in the midst of their honeymoon phase.
Ron shuddered and took another sip. The door opened and Harry and Hermione walked into the pub, followed by Nott, Zabini, Parkinson, and Malfoy. Ron tried not to feel apprehensive. Hopefully this would go to plan.
Zabini walked to the bar, presumably to get drinks, and Ron began co-ordinating the seating arrangements. “Harry, sit here,” he directed, pointing at a space across from him. He hoped that Hermione would then sit down beside him and Nott would take the seat next to her. That would mean everyone else might sit down opposite. Then Ron would organise the getting up for more drinks in such a way that would mean the others would have to shift about leaving Harry and Malfoy sitting together.
Simple.
Not so simple, as it turned out. Parkinson parked herself next to him, and Zabini on the other side of her. Nott and Hermione sat down across from them next to Harry, and Malfoy perched himself at the end of the table next to Parkinson. Then he proceeded to do a rather good impersonation of a statue.
Twenty minutes and another pint later, Ron wasn’t sure what made him more disgusted: Nott and Hermione playing with each other’s fingers or Harry making cow eyes at Malfoy. Or maybe Ron was just imagining that. Still…
“Hey, Harry,” Ron said, “Get 'em in, eh?”
Harry looked up at Ron as though he’d been a million miles away. “Huh? Oh, yeah.” He stood and fished in his pocket.
As Harry fiddled about with his money, Ron eyed Malfoy. "You buying too?"
The look he received in return would have made a polar bear feel right at home.
Zabini, however, thought this was a wonderful idea. "Yes, Draco, it must be your round by now."
Grumbling, Malfoy stood and followed Harry to the bar. Although not standing anywhere near Harry, his arrival didn't go unnoticed.
Unfortunately, Ron's not-so-subtle suggestion didn't go unnoticed by Hermione, either. Ron was either going to have to let her in on the plan or think up the lie of the century. Regardless, a shared table at the Three Broomsticks was not the place to have either conversation. He forestalled any comment Hermione could make with another attempt at getting the two halves of the table into one discussion.
"Anyone else think the Puffs were robbed last week?"
"Oh, Ron, please, not Quidditch again!"
"I agree with Granger," Parkinson said.
"Yeah, you're outnumbered, four to three, and seeing as your fellow fliers are at the bar, I'd say you should change the subject." Nott smiled as he said it. Ron figured he was just currying favour. He knew for a fact that Nott religiously followed the Wasps — Parkinson had told him as much just the other day in Herbology.
Giving up on conversation, Ron turned his attention back to the bar. Harry and Malfoy were still not standing together, and Harry, who had been surreptitiously glancing in Malfoy’s direction, had had to leave off looking at the other boy in order to juggle three drinks in his hands. Malfoy had sensibly asked for a tray to carry his drinks back to the table.
Ron left the table to help Harry carry the glasses back before any more of his butterbeer ended up on the wooden floor.
Once again, things were not shaping up the way Ron had intended. If Harry and Malfoy couldn't even manage to bring back seven drinks back from the bar together, how were they ever going to do anything else together?
That thought made Ron shudder and he spilled even more of his drink.
"Did you buy anything at the shop?" Ron asked Harry a little later.
"No, I'm always worried that anything I get there will backfire on me. Literally."
"Do you get a discount there, Weasley?" Parkinson asked him.
Nott guffawed. "Yeah, maybe you could share that lust potion with all these poor single people at the table."
Ron gaped at him and Hermione elbowed her boyfriend in the ribs. "You weren't supposed to say anything about that," she stage-whispered.
"What’s that Weasley?" Zabini asked.
"A little something to get a date with you, Zabini," Nott said. This time, Hermione wasn't as understanding. She drew her wand and spelled Nott's manly pint glass into a coconut shell with fruit on a toothpick and a paper umbrella stuck into it.
Beside him, Malfoy smirked into his drink, choked, and ended up having a very un-aristocratic-sounding coughing fit.
"Nothing," Ron grumbled. He could feel his face warm up and kept his eyes on the table.
"Ron's not gay," Parkinson said from beside him.
"What?" The other Slytherins asked as one.
"He's not," Parkinson averred. "I don't think he would have asked me out if he were."
Ron gaped again, but said nothing.
"You’re fast worker, Weasley!" Zabini said, a completely gratuitous and lecherous grin on his face. Nott just laughed and Malfoy… Malfoy just looked bored.
At least the argument over Ron's sexuality seemed to have been settled, but now he couldn't feasibly turn the conversation to Harry's or Malfoy's without sounding like an immature git. Anything he might attempt to achieve now, either secretly or openly, would just be tainted with a distinct sense of I know you are, but what am I?, and that wasn't how Ron had wanted this to work.
Simultaneously perplexed and grateful for Parkinson's lie, he still cursed into his drink and gave up Plan C as a bad lot.
On the way back to the castle, Ron shuffled over to Parkinson and muttered a quiet "thanks".
"Whatever, Weasley," she said back. "I did it for Theo; he wants us all to try to get along."
Ron nodded, saying nothing. It seemed like a good idea, and played into his own plan. Though Ron reckoned Theodore Nott's and his mother's idea of the group "getting along" were two very different things indeed.
The autumn was quickly drawing to a close and Ron was no closer to achieving his goal. The beginning of December found the students – even Hermione on this occasion – looking for any excuse to take a break from the day-to-day study and worries about the future, dull as it might be compared to the year before.
Right, thought Ron, this was bound to work. Lavender might not be a font of academic knowledge, but she was the Hermione Granger of coupling. If her idea of a drinking game couldn’t get Harry and Malfoy together, Ron was going to have to have to spend Christmas at Seamus's house.
He didn’t actually suggest the game himself, or why he wanted to play it, rather he let Lavender think it was her idea: bored teenagers, the lull before the holidays, nothing but studying, what could they do to have a bit of naughty fun? She had obligingly come up with a “super plan to spice up their lives.”
Ron had helpfully found them a suitable place, an old classroom George had told him about that was so disused and forgotten, Harry had said it wasn’t even on the Marauder’s Map. Zabini and Dean had been tasked to provide the “beverages”, and again, with the help of George, these had been rendered innocuous-looking enough, when they were in fact, only “this side of lethal”.
Lavender, of course, was in charge of the guest list, which Ron wanted to be big enough to hide his true intention for the evening – it had to look like anything that happened was random – but, thinking back to the Herbology debacle, the group had to be small enough that he could manipulate the game’s outcome, at least as far as Harry and Malfoy were concerned.
In the end, a dozen sixth, seventh, and eighth year students found themselves seated in a circle in the candlelit (now clean) room, goblets in front of them, raging hormones running amok inside them.
Lavender held open a book – there were books about these games? – and read from its hallowed pages.
“All the girls need to drink from the goblet of the boy sitting nearest her.” There was a bit of shuffling about as the girls figured who that would be, and then came the subsequent complaining by the boys about the fact they had less of their drinks left.
“Now, the boys from whose goblets have been drunk from have to kiss the girl who drank from it on the lips.”
“Ewwww!” This outburst, the one that could be heard the loudest at least, came from Hannah Abbot. “I don’t want some boy kissing me!”
Ron couldn’t believe his ears. What was this, primary school? Why would any girl object to being kissed by a boy?
“Oh, sorry, Hannah,” Lavender said with a wink. “Zabini can just kiss you on the cheek if you object.”
“No, no, I’ll do it,” Hannah grumbled. “I don’t want to be disqualified. Just don’t get any ideas, Zabini.” Hannah was smiling now.
“Hey, if you’d rather kiss Lovegood, I’m all for watching that!” Zabini said.
“No, no, I don’t want to break the rules; I didn’t have any of her drink. Besides, I can kiss her anytime.” Hannah smiled at Luna.
“Yeah…” agreed Zabini with an exaggerated glazed-over expression. “And I still want to watch that.” This sentiment was echoed around the group by several of the other participants.
Oh dear Lord, thought Ron. What planet have I been living on that I didn’t know about THIS?. His temperature immediately shot up.
“Ron?” Padma looked at him with her eyebrows raised. “Are you kissing me or what?”
“Oh, oh yeah.” He dutifully leaned over and gave Padma a quick peck. Then he watched as Harry kissed Parvati, and Malfoy kissed Parkinson. None of them looked at all the better for it.
Lavender moved on to the second task.
“Make up a phrase by saying one word each until you’ve gone around the circle three times. Take one sip of drink the first time, two the second, and three on the third. You have one second afterwards to say your word. Anyone who says nothing has to remove one article of clothing—” someone female squealed, “— and try to make your word fit. Right, I say we make up a love poem. I’ll start.”
Lavender took a dainty sip of her drink and smiled serenely. “Beloved…”
Neville drank and said “McGonagall…”
The group dissolved into laughter.
“Keep going!” Lavender instructed. And so they did.
“Your,”
“breasts,” More giggles.
“are,”
“round,”
“and,”
“ancient.”
Lavender pointed her finger at Dean. “This is a love poem! Would you say that to your beloved?”
“No,” Dean said, wiping a hand over his mouth. “But I’d describe McGonagall that way.”
“Play nice,” Lavender instructed. “Or I’ll take your drink away.”
“Fine, fine.” Dean took another drink. “Fluffy.”
More laughter and a “Hey, he got to drink twice!”
“You also have to take off your shirt,” Lavender ordered.
“What?”
“Now!”
Dean complied to much whistling and cat-calling.
And so it went, until between them, they’d finished all of their drinks and had refilled their glasses. By the end, Ron had also lost his shirt. Lavender read out the fruits of their efforts.
“Beloved McGonagall. Your breasts are round and fluffy. Your eyes are like sparkly sweets (what a surprise, Greg) and your lips are like clover (Seamus, that is so not right!). I want to watch the Quidditch (Harry, I’m warning you!) with you and kiss you every year on the Solstice (oh, thank god, Hermione.).
As fun as this was, and as tipsy as everyone had now become, things weren’t really moving in the direction Ron wanted them to go. Harry and Malfoy were no nearer moving forward in their relationship, and on top of that, Ron was getting chilly from sitting shirtless.
As soon as the goblets were full again, Lavender continued. “Right, everyone exchange and article of clothing with the person sitting across from you. It doesn’t have to be the same article.”
Ron looked around the circle. Result! Harry and Malfoy would have to do this bit together.
“Oh, and Dean and Ron, you can’t hand your shirts over. It has to be something else.”
“What?” Ron shouted, whilst Dean just calmly stood and removed his shoes. He passed them over to Katie, who gave him her hair band.
Harry, meanwhile, had stood and was now unbuckling his belt. With a shy smile, he handed it across the circle to Malfoy, who, obviously decided that if he were going to inherit Harry's belt, he would exchange the same. Malfoy threaded Harry's belt through his black trousers, as Harry took the fine leather belt from Malfoy and put it on.
Ron had lost his trainers to Parkinson, who, rather than put them on, threw them behind her. She, for her part, reached underneath her blouse, and Ron watched her fiddle about with something, all the time wondering what she as doing – was she going to present him with a piece of precious jewellery that she wore in her belly button or something?
Parkinson's hands emerged, holding a lacy bra. She threw it at Ron to howls of laughter. Ron blushed the colour of his hair.
"You have to put that on, Weasley," Blaise instructed.
"No way," he objected. "She's not wearing my shoes." No one could argue with that. Or blame Parkinson.
"Just hang it round your neck, then," Lavender ordered. "Or no more drinking and you have to organise the next game."
Ron wasn't sure he liked either option, but he dutifully hung the lacy garment around his neck, looking at his now shoeless feet.
"Very fetching, Weasley," Pansy said.
"And you," Lavender said to Pansy. "If you're not going to wear his shoes, you have to at least put them in front of you."
Pansy considered this. "Only if I get to have another drink."
"Good idea," Lavender said. "Everyone drink."
Everyone did.
"Okay," Lavender said, once they had drunk and refilled their goblets. "Next part."
By this time, Ron stuck with sitting in a piece of Slytherin lingerie, had once again turned to thinking about how things between Malfoy and Harry could progress beyond wearing each other 's belts. "I think there needs to be more kissing," he blurted out.
Peals of laughter rang out, but there were also a lot of assenting voices. "Yes, mostly between Abbot and Lovegood!" Zabini said.
Nott shouted at his housemate. "Blaise, if you don't leave off, Brown is going to disqualify you!"
"Shush, boys!" Lavender said in her best headmistress' voice. "There's more kissing coming, all right?"
"Ha! She said coming!"
"Oh my god, Millie, are you in ten years old, or what?" Parkinson cried.
"She's just drunk," Goyle said, placing an arm around his girlfriend.
"Shut it, everyone!" Hermione shouted, and everyone did. Then they all looked expectantly at her. It wasn’t often she lost her temper completely.
"She's just keen to get to the kissing," Nott whispered conspiratorially to the entire group.
Hermione rolled her eyes and looked heavenward.
"Right," Lavender continued, "as I was saying, the next bit is about kissing." She looked up. "Take a drink and either confide a shameful secret to the person across from you or forfeit the game."
Of course, it was unlikely anyone wanted to quit at this point, but then again, it did mean trusting someone you might not trust with a secret.
Everyone's eyes flitted about the circle and Ron, already feeling a complete twat with a bra round his neck, tried to think of something not-too-terrible to say to Parkinson. After a long moment, he leant over and whispered that he used to get his two elder brothers confused.
Parkinson just stared at him. "That's hardly shameful, Weasley; no one could tell the two of them apart."
"I mean Bill and Charlie," Ron clarified.
Parkinson burst into a fit of giggles.
"Shut up, Parkinson!" Ron growled quietly. He looked over at Harry in time to see him whisper something in Malfoy's ear, his face going red.
He was distracted by the feeling of Pansy's lips at his sensitive ears. "I used to wank whilst thinking about Professor Lupin."
Ron's pulse shot up as his brain tried to picture at least part of that scenario.
Nearby Blaise said. "That's not kissing!"
"Not yet," Lavender said. "Now, we're going to go around the circle. The person across from you is going to tell the group your shameful secret or you have to French kiss them to keep them from divulging it."
"Woohoo!" Ron heard Seamus say. Ron turned to see what Harry and Malfoy would do but before he could, he was nearly bowled over by Parkinson, who stuck her tongue down his throat.
Ron sputtered and coughed, but licked his lips when she sat back with a smirk on her face.
Lavender smiled. "Okay, I guess we'll start with Parkinson."
"Nice one, Pans!" Theo said, leering.
Ron blushed some more.
Lavender turned her attention to Malfoy. He cleared his throat and looked across at Harry. It seemed unlikely that he was going to do the same thing his housemate had just done.
"Potter doesn't fancy redheads."
"What? You don't like me?" Ron couldn't help it, he just blurted it out. Everyone laughed.
Now it was Harry's turn to blush.
"No, Ron, of course I like you. I – er – don't fancy you, though. Sorry." Harry gave him a little smile, and everyone laughed louder.
"Have a drink, Ron," Lavender suggested, and so he did. "In fact, I think everyone should have one."
The members of the group drained their glasses again. Now Ron began to feel slightly less embarrassed and more emboldened.
"What do you say, Parkinson?" Lavender asked. Ron lunged across the circle and grabbed Parkinson before she could utter the either of the words Bill or Charlie.
After another heated snog, Ron averted his eyes from everyone, ignored the hollering of his classmates, and wondered at his motivation. Would he really have been that embarrassed to have had Parkinson tell the group his shameful secret?
He was drunk. That was it. And maybe if he were, Malfoy would be too. After all, there was less of the ferret than there was of Ron – no wonder his mother wanted to get her hands on the waif-like boy – and they were all pretty happy now, so maybe he'd make a move on Harry.
Ron waited impatiently while Seamus told everyone that Michael Corner's mum had discovered his stash of Wicked Witch magazines that summer, and Neville revealed that Blaise had once had a grope with his own step-sister.
"Okay, Harry," Lavender prompted.
Did Malfoy just twitch? Ron squinted to see better. Malfoy was definitely leaning forward, Ron was sure of it.
"Ron," Padma said. She reached out a hand and yanked him upright. No, Malfoy hadn't leaned forward, Ron had drunkenly tipped forward. "Sit up."
Ron righted himself and looked into his empty goblet. What the hell were they drinking, or was Parkinson's lipgloss laced with something?
"OOOOoooohhhhhh," said everyone around him.
"What, what? What did I miss?" Ron realised in his befuddled state, he'd missed what Harry had said.
"Harry just said that Malfoy fancies a Gryffindor. Maybe he likes redheads, then!" Blaise deadpanned.
"Shut up, Zabini," Ron said. "And let's have some more drink."
By the end of the game, Malfoy and Harry never exchanged more than their belts, but it wasn't all bad; Ron had managed to find the courage – Dutch as it was – to ask Parkinson to the Yule Ball.
The band was as good as always, the dresses as beautiful, and the dress-robes – including Ron's this time – were as debonair as ever. Whilst Harry went in with some of his other housemates, Ron waited at the door to the Great Hall for his date.
Pansy – she was Pansy now – arrived in due course, though Ron thought she seemed to have taken an inordinately long time to make an entrance, looking absolutely stunning. Behind her came several of her other housemates, Malfoy among them. Ron was relieved to see he had not brought a companion. Now, all he had to do…
Pansy whispered something rather naughty in his ear before Ron could even start formulating Plan E. He'd been so wrapped up in the game after Pansy had kissed him, he'd been thinking of little else since. And after what Pansy had just said to him, there was no chance he'd be able to formulate anything at all.
"Don't worry about them, Ron. I think it'll all work out on its own," she said cryptically as they followed Goyle and Bulstrode into the Hall.
Ron barely heard her over the music. And whatever she'd said couldn't have been near as important as her previous statement about what she was wearing underneath her gown.
Harry watched as a number of students, each with varying degrees of success at concealment, attempted to pour a variety of alcoholic ingredients into the enormous punchbowl. Hanging Professor Snape's portrait above the buffet table went a long way to frightening off some of the more timid of students who might have thought it fun to enhance the drink's potency, but a few made it past the scowl and sharp tongue. Harry briefly thought of Mrs Black's portrait and wondered how far he'd get trying to slip something past her.
Even knowing that the punch was suspect, Harry took a long sip and watched as the various couples twisted and turned on the dance floor. He'd had the summer to come to grips with Hermione now usually seen in the company of Theo Nott, but this Ron and Pansy thing was going to take some getting used to. Things had really changed and Harry wondered at the change in himself. He had become more comfortable with the fact that his tastes differed from that of his closest friends in terms of gender, but hadn't really yet acted on the other epiphany he'd had during those long seventh-year nights.
As if reading his tangled thoughts, Draco Malfoy approached the punch bowl and helped himself. He drank it carefully, eyes on the dance floor. Harry watched him as surreptitiously as he could until a slow song began and there was a bustle of activity on the floor.
"Right, Potter," Draco said and Harry started. He didn't like being caught out and after seven and a half years, it was still happening. "Shall we put Weasley out of his misery?" Draco set down his goblet and walked over to stand directly in front of Harry. He held out his hand and Harry stared at it dumbly.
"Uh, er…?" Harry said.
"Dance, Potter. It's very simple – I put my arms around you, you put your arms around me, and we move around the floor together. And Potter, I do hope you've learned a thing or two since fourth year."
Harry reached out with a suddenly sweaty palm and took hold of Draco's hand. He saw nothing else and blindly followed Draco out to the dance floor. He found himself near Hannah and Luna and Neville and Ginny, and took heart in the fact that no one in the room seemed to have fainted yet from seeing them together.
Draco placed his arms cautiously around Harry's waist and waited until Harry had reached around his shoulders with his. In the midst of this surreal tableau, Harry was dully aware that Draco had said something to him.
"What was that?" Harry directed the question to the soft blond hair that fanned out over Draco's right ear. Draco shuddered. Harry hoped that was a good thing.
"I said, Weasley's embarrassed himself enough trying to get us together; let's save him any further humiliation." Harry listened, whilst thrilling to the feeling Draco's arms around his waist and slowly moved to the music.
Finally the words registered. "What? He's been trying to get together with Parkinson. And it looks like he's finally managed it." Harry glanced over Draco's shoulder to see Ron and Pansy swaying in the darkened hall with their lips locked together. But he became distracted by how good Draco smelled, and returned to his earlier ear-nuzzling position.
"Potter, do those glasses actually work?" Draco asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "Weasley's been trying to get us together since the start of the year."
Harry blinked and cast his mind back to the last two terms. He idly rested his head on Draco's shoulder whilst reviewing the somewhat bizarre behaviour Ron had exhibited from time to time. Harry had been convinced it had all been in aid of getting him exactly where he was now: Pansy's arms. Looking at it the way Draco must have been, it now seemed obvious – Ron could have been trying to get Harry and Draco together.
But why?
Harry raised his head and looked directly at his dance partner for the first time that evening. "Why would he do that? That doesn't sound like Ron at all."
Draco returned the stare. In the glow of the candelabra his eyes looked very dark. And very attractive.
"He obviously knows something you don't, then, Potter."
"Oh? And what could that be?" Harry was vaguely aware that the music had changed, and another slow romantic tune had started up. It didn't look as though they were leaving the dance floor anytime soon.
"It's simple: you fancy me."
"I…" Harry started.
Draco continued without pausing. "And I would suspect that Granger has told him to get us together, because I can't see Weasley thinking this would be a good idea." One of Draco's hands left Harry's waist and gestured between them.
"I don’t know…" Harry mused. "I can't see Hermione coming up with plans that seemed to go so wrong. Are you sure he wasn't after Parkinson?" Harry was genuinely curious, but asking Ron himself seemed like a bad idea.
"I can't comment on his feelings for Pansy," Draco said, nodding at his housemate and Ron, where they danced practically wrapped around each other.
"But…?"
"But what? I'm here aren't I?"
"With Ron's help." Harry smiled.
"Despite Ron’s help," Draco said.
Harry nodded into his shoulder and held Draco a little tighter.
Pig had landed dangerously close to Ron's bowl of porridge the next day with a reply to his message. Literally punch-drunk, Ron had owled his mother the night before to tell her of his success. Now he waited for Harry to appear in order to tell him that he should ask Malfoy to accompany them to the Burrow.
Finding himself in a relationship with Harry Potter notwithstanding, Ron wondered what would confound Malfoy more: the invitation to a Weasley family Christmas or the realisation that if he accepted, he'd have to be gracious about being presented with a garish jumper.
The door to the Hall opened and Pansy walked in, followed closely by Harry and Draco. They weren't speaking, they weren't even smiling, but Ron had seen them leave the Hall together the night before. They had looked as happy as Pansy did now, which was a huge boost to Ron's wayward ego. He reckoned the fact Harry and Draco had appeared together this morning and exchanged a heartfelt glance before heading for their respective tables spoke volumes about their feelings.
Two hours later, Ron sat in an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, nursing a bruised jaw. How did he even think that explaining to Pansy that Malfoy was invited to his house for Christmas but she wasn't had been a wise idea? He should have let Malfoy tell her. After all, he didn't have anywhere else to go and being Harry's new boyfriend made it okay. But Ron had told her and then went on to explain that he would have to tread lightly around his mum about his new girlfriend and he'd get back to her after the holiday.
Pansy hadn't looked pleased and Ron shouldn't have dug the hole any deeper. Asking her for a quick blowjob as an early Christmas present had definitely not done him any favours.
Meanwhile, Harry and Draco sat in a compartment alone, holding hands and sharing shy smiles, despite having shared a considerable amount of body fluids the previous night. They mused on the upcoming holidays and the plans Molly Weasley would no doubt have organised for them.
"There's something else we need to do," Draco said.
Harry looked over. "Hmmmmm?"
"We need to come up with a plan to get Pansy and Weasley back together."
Harry laughed. "I'm sure we can think of something."
The End