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The Hole	By : Tnteacups Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Draco/Ron Views: 7359 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of J.K.Rowlings ideas, characters, or works. I do not make any money from this fan fiction.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Mother

Draco woke with a start, a gasp sounding from his mouth as his eyes popped open, and he jerked, trying to sit up. He stayed where he was, pinned by Ron’s weight.
“Huh, wha-?” His jolt had woken Ron, who lifted his head, looking around for a moment.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.” Malfoy mumbled, trying to remember why he’d been so frightened.
“No, no. ‘Sfine…” Ron mumbled, his head dropping back to the pillow, and his snores resuming. Had he even really woken up? Malfoy turned his head slightly, inspecting the face next to his. Ron didn’t seem like he’d even been disturbed, his face slack, his body a dead weight on top of the smaller boy. Draco smirked, wondering if he’d sleep through a raging battle, or several trumpeters. His eyes fell to the slightly parted lips, and his mind inserted another idea of things that he might sleep through. Their faces were so close, he’d barely even have to move his head, just a slight tilt, and-
No, no. He didn’t really want to kiss the redhead. It was just Mr. Weasley’s implication of their closeness that was putting unwanted thoughts in his head again. And something touching an area as sensitive as a mouth was sure to wake him, anyway. Draco looked back toward the ceiling, deciding to settle for wrapping his arms more tightly around the tall man on top of him, stretching as he did so.
His toes bumped into one of Ron’s legs, and he realized a weight resting on his thigh was more of Ron’s limbs draped across him. The boy really was half on top of him. His top arm started to get tired, being held in an uncomfortably tight position, so he lowered it, hooking his fingers through one of Ron’s belt loops, so he could relax, without his arm slipping off. He bent his other, wrapping it up, around Ron’s shoulders, to rest in his hair, feeling the strange mixture of warm scalp, and cool red fluff. He allowed his fingers to explore a bit, drifting through the hair, appreciating the soft and coarse texture. It was odd, touching someone else, feeling how different they were from his own self. He knew his hair was softer, more fine, but more sleek feathery, and not nearly as thick. His own toes couldn’t even reach Ron’s ankle under the blanket, hitting shin, even when he tried stretching as far as he could go. Ron’s hips were slimmer, but his shoulders broader. He was certain that if his arm had been under more than Weasley’s neck, he wouldn’t have been able to reach his hair.
Malfoy turned to inspect his face again, and found blue eyes peering at him. Shit! He hadn’t noticed the lack of snoring.
“Sorry.” Malfoy said, dropping his hand away from the ginger mane.
“I didn’t mind.” Ron answered in a quiet voice, his eyes looking away, his face flushing slightly pink.
“Oh.” Malfoy wavered for a moment, and then returned his hand to it’s stroking, combing the short hair with delicate movements, worried a wrong touch would upset the balance of their familiarity. Ron closed his eyes, a small smile stretching his face, as he enjoyed the contact. Malfoy watched his lips twitch with contentment, and thought again of pressing his forward. That would certainly upset the peace of the moment.
Malfoy wondered for a moment if anyone else thought of them as Mr. Weasley had. Did Ron? He couldn’t just ask; if he got a no, he’d be mortified. And he’d probably never touch him again. That wasn’t a pleasant thought. Draco rather enjoyed having someone to touch, and wasn’t sure anyone else would be so relaxed with him casually touching, or hugging them. Everyone from his old friends probably thought he was a blood-traitor, and no one in the Order would ever trust him. He was lucky he’d become friends with Ron. He wasn’t going to jeopardize it, just to test Mr. Weasley’s theory.
He felt a stab of homesickness, thinking of his Slytherin housemates. His mother, and father. Did his old friends ever think of him? Did they whisper nasty things about him to each other, forgetting seven years of friendship, just to save face?
“What are you thinking about?” Ron’s eyes were open again, watching his face. Draco swallowed to clear his dry throat, and realized he’d been frowning.
“I was thinking about my Slytherin friends. Wondering if they did the same as my father, and if they still…” He trailed off, leaving the thought open ended.
“I’m not sure. I haven’t heard anything about them.” Ron thought aloud, and dug his fingers underneath Malfoy’s side, so his arm wrapped more snugly around the blond’s torso. “Do you want to see them?” Ron asked, and Malfoy pondered that for a moment. Did he?
“I’m not sure. Part of me does, but I’m worried they’ll just be nasty, or get me thrown back in Azkaban. And my desire to stay out of there outweighs any nostalgia.” He grumbled, thinking of how Theo, or Pansy would turn him in in an instant. He’d bullied Crabbe and Goyle so long, they might not sound the alarm, but he didn’t really want to rekindle a friendship so unequal.
“Do you wanna go downstairs and make new friends?” Ron asked almost teasingly, his eyes sparkling with sport.
“I’m fine here.” Draco shrugged, his movement slightly tipping Ron’s head.
“Me too.” Ron agreed, closing his eyes again, and tucked his face into the pillow, right against Malfoy’s neck. Malfoy shivered, and closed his eyes, unsure if he liked the new sensation, or liked it. His neck seemed more sensitive than he’d thought possible, the simple press of skin to the slim curve causing all sorts of nice feelings. It was just a forehead and a nose, but it felt charged with electricity. Hair tickled his ear, and he opened his eyes, trying not to enjoy it too much.
* * *
Ron buried his face into the pillow, hiding his red cheeks. He could feel Malfoy’s neck, but refused to move, deciding the connection was better than showing how embarrassed he was by admitting that he enjoyed how very cozy they were. Hermione’s presumption had him thinking that maybe he liked this more than was necessary. Did one have to be gay to hold hands with, and nestle against a bloke? He didn’t think so, but he’d never done it with any other guy, either.
He felt Malfoy shiver, and felt his fingers tighten briefly in his hair, unaware that he’d even done it.
“Cold?” He asked, mumbling the word into Malfoy’s neck, unsure whether he even could be cold enough to shiver.
“Same as always.” Malfoy replied, his voice a bit odd. Ron couldn’t figure out why, and put it from his mind. He realized he could smell Malfoy, the fragrance of the soap mixing with his skin to make a new scent. He took a deep breath, finding it pleasant, and soothing. Almost sweet, with a bite from the soap. He shifted his head slightly, pressing more of his nose against Malfoy’s neck, wondering if all necks were as soft, and warm. He wanted to press more of his face to it, to feel more of it. It was warmer than the rest of Malfoy, and smelled nicer than fresh sheets.
Ron felt his face heat with another blush, and tried to push the thought away. He didn’t need Hermione’s stupid suggestion changing how he thought about Malfoy. He enjoyed physical contact, plain and simple. Something totally normal, that everyone liked. Just, most everyone wasn’t deprived of it for so long. They didn’t need it as much. That was it, Ron thought smugly, he was just making up for the year he’d been isolated. Nothing strange at all. If he felt differently about Malfoy, it would take longer than the space of one morning to determine. Just like it’d taken him months to like him enough to take him during their escape, instead of leaving him, as soon as he saw who it was.
He took another deep breath, trying to make his rosy cheeks lose their color, and enjoyed the smell that came with it. He would definitely need more time to decide if this was more than it seemed. For now, he was content to let things be, and just enjoy the moment of warmth, and companionship.
* * *
A knock at the door had Draco nearly growling with displeasure. He didn’t want to get up yet, but if someone came in, he was sure that Ron would roll away. Too late, he was already sitting up, and calling toward the door.
“Yeah?” He asked, pulling every single limb away reluctantly, his fingers the last to leave Draco’s chest.
“Ron? Mum’s here.” Bill’s voice carried easily into the room, and Malfoy felt a twinge of envy as Ron nearly lept from the blankets, a look of elation on his face. Malfoy rolled more slowly from the bed, trying to make it not too obvious that he’d been halfway across it. Ron was out the door after Bill before Malfoy had even managed to stand. He followed at a snail’s pace, mentally preparing himself for yet another set of distrustful eyes.
There were a few people gathered in the kitchen, and Draco stood in the doorway, watching as Molly hugged her youngest son. He glanced at a clock, and saw it was nearly noon, thinking lunch must be soon.
“And you!” Molly’s voice was loud enough to yank Malfoy’s head back in her direction. She was heading right for him, in nearly a beeline. He felt a moment of fear, wondering what he’d managed to do wrong this time.
Warm arms wrapped around him suddenly, and he felt as though his eyes would pop right out of his head, as the Weasley mother hugged him, squeezing near tight enough to bruise. She held it for a long moment, and he felt confusion, doubt, yearning, and guilt all flit around inside him. Confusion managed to get the largest hold, and as she pulled away, beaming up at him, he couldn’t make his mouth work to ask ‘why’.
“Arthur’s told me all about you.” Tears were glittering in her eyes, and Malfoy felt the sudden urge to run away, he didn’t do well with crying women. “Thank you so much for taking care of Ron when I… When I couldn’t!” Mrs. Weasley managed to choke out, before grasping him to her again, knocking the wind from him with the force of her affection. Malfoy could feel his face blazing, and looked wildly around for help, patting gently at the older woman’s back, not sure what to do.
“Mum, I think you’re crushing him.” Ron came to his aid, stepping forward to tap his mother’s shoulder. His face was crimson, right to his ears.
“Oh, sorry dear!” Molly apologized, stepping back again, her eyes still sparkling with unshed tears, her face full of warmth, and acceptance. Malfoy could only stare, staggered as she brushed his clothes straight, and picked over the state of his and Ron’s thinness. Somehow, unlike the others mentioning their lack of eating, her worrying felt less intrusive, and more concerned. She was worried for their health, and safety, and didn’t seem to even notice that Draco just stood there, flabbergasted, and silent.
“I’ll whip something up for lunch, you go sit down, and rest.” She said, ushering the pair out of the kitchen, and pushing her husband along after them. Malfoy thumped dully into a chair in the far side of the dining room, his mind a jumbled mess of emotions. He hadn’t been at all prepared for that greeting. He hadn’t been expecting anything but more enmity. To be so wrong, and so… appreciated, he felt as though she couldn’t possibly know who he actually was.
“Alright, mate?” Ron asked from beside him, his voice joking, as his father sat near the door.
“Yeah. I think so.” Malfoy said, still not sure. There was something in his chest that hurt, and he glanced at Mr. Weasley, not sure if he wanted to say what he was actually thinking in front of the older man. Ron didn’t ask any other questions, following his gaze to his dad. He turned slightly in his chair, facing Malfoy, and pressed his knee into the blond’s under the table. Malfoy glanced again at Mr. Weasley to see that he was leaning back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling, looking rather more than interested in it. Was he… trying to give them privacy? It made Malfoy think back to their conversation again.
“I’ll tell you about it later.” He promised in a low murmur, deciding that for now, he should try to actually sort out what he was feeling.
“Alright.” Ron said, turning back in his seat, their legs disconnecting. Malfoy missed the contact, but said nothing, clasping his hands together in his lap to stop the growing need to gouge at the table as he thought.
Mrs. Weasley arrived in no time, floating a tray of sandwiches, and a bowl of fruit ahead of her. Before it had even hit the table, people poured into the room, taking places, and looking eagerly at the food. Draco reached for a sandwich feeling a stab of hunger that he hadn’t thought his body was even capable of anymore. He picked up a sandwich and began eating it, testing his stomach as he slowly nibbled the ham and lettuce.
“Draco dear, have some juice!” Molly said, taking the seat on his other side, and pouring a glass to slide to him.
“Thank you.” He managed to articulate through a mouthful of bread. He watched as she slid a few orange slices and a pear half onto his plate, clucking like a worried hen, and doing the same for Ron.
To Draco’s surprise, he managed to finish his whole sandwich, and everything Mrs. Weasley had set on his plate. As he reached out for another glass of juice, he saw Ron grabbing another sandwich, and grinned over at his friend, glad to see that both their appetites had begun coming back. The conversations that whisked around the table seemed to be fervent, asking the three new arrivals all sorts of questions, and a few sharp glares being shot at Draco. He noticed that there was something they all were refusing to say. The three had been off getting a house ready. But no one said who for. Was it going to be the new headquarters? He watched the group chatting, and saw Bill shooting yet another glare at him. He thought of what Ron had said the previous night. He’d changed recently, but Ron wasn’t allowed to say why. Did the house have something to do with that? Was it because he was there, they no longer thought this house safe? No, the ginger trio had been gone long before the rescue mission. It had nothing to do with him.
Draco looked around the table again, trying to figure out what they were keeping from him.
“Here, dear. You need to eat more!” Molly was saying, piling a third helping onto Fleur’s plate.
“Oh, I really can’t. I’m too full!” Fleur argued, putting a hand over her stomach, and smiling at the matron.
“Oh.” Draco whispered, watching as the blonde’s hands cupped her belly from above and below. Her stomach was nearly flat, but the image was enough. He looked toward Bill, seeing how the long haired Weasley’s eyes were on his wife, loving, and proud. Draco looked away quickly, as the pieces fell into place. Fleur was expecting. The house was for her, and the baby. Bill was worried the Slytherin was going to get his wife and child killed.
Draco pushed away from the table, and fled the room, feeling sick to his stomach in a way that had nothing to do with the food. The room was suddenly too small. Too full. He needed to breathe. He ran toward the kitchen, and sought the back door, yanking it open, and getting most of the way outside, before he was stopped short, yanked back by his wrist.
He looked back, staring at the trapping gold bracelet, his breath coming in fast pants, his whole body feeling hot and cold, while his muscles shook. He pushed at the bracelet futilely, desperate to escape the constricting house, the joy, and protectiveness of those within.

Ron was staring as Fleur cupped her belly, smiling at the thought of his niece or nephew under her fingers. He couldn’t wait to meet the new Weasley. He couldn’t remember his parents bringing Ginny home, and wondered idly if Bill’s child would be red-headed like the rest of them. Would Fleur’s veela blood make a difference?
A loud scraping pulled his thoughts back to his surroundings, and he looked up just in time to see Malfoy practically run from the room, looking terrified. He shot after him in half a second, filled with worry for the blond. Was he having another breakdown? Was he going to puke again?
“Malfoy, wait!” He called in the hallway, confused by his friend’s path toward the kitchen, instead of the stairs. He usually ran for the bedroom. Was he going to puke in the sink?
Ron got into the kitchen, to see Malfoy out the door, tugging at his arm, as the gold band around his wrist kept him from truly leaving the house. His eyes were wide, and he looked as though he might be hyperventilating.
“Malfoy, what’s wrong? Calm down!” Ron hurried over, grabbing the hand that was trapped inside, and pulling his friend slightly back, worried by the redness gathering in his fingers. His struggles seemed to be making the band tighter, cutting of blood flow to his wrist.
“I have to get out.” Malfoy muttered, his eyes flashing to Ron’s for the briefest moment. His voice was filled with panic, as though there was something after him.
“You can’t get out, stop pulling!” Ron said louder, trying to get through to the distressed boy.
“I have to!” Malfoy shot back, yanking harder, until just his hand was inside again, his fingers turning slightly purple.
“Bill!” Ron called, turning to see his brother already walking into the kitchen. “Undo the charm!”
“What? No!” Bill refused, looking instantly irritated. He didn’t seem to register Malfoy’s struggles at all, his eyes on Ron.
“Bill! Let him go! It’s not like he can apparate without a wand! I’ll be with him!” Ron promised, feeling a strange coldness against his skin, as Malfoy’s struggles continued. His hand was going cold, and darkening rapidly, the gold tightening more.
“What’s he need outside for, anyway?” Bill asked, glaring at Malfoy finally, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of the wrecked boy. Ron glanced back at his friend, realizing that it was Bill’s first time seeing the Malfoy heir in such a state. Tears were streaking down his cheeks, his eyes were huge, and his mouth was moving, silent words forming incoherent sentences, as he stomped his feet, and yanked over and over at his hand. He looked nearly possessed as he struggled to get away, seeming as though he’d tear his hand off to do it.
“Finite Incantatem.” Bill waved his wand toward the blond, and watched as he fell with a lurch, landing on his side. He quickly scrambled to his feet, shooting away from the house faster than he’d moved in a year. Ron followed behind him, shouting thanks to his brother as he followed the manic Malfoy away from the house, and past the Apparation shed. They disappeared into a field of tall grass that went well above their heads, and Ron sped up, catching up, and grabbing his hand again, keeping hold of the boy so he wouldn’t lose him as he ran further and further from the building.
He finally collapsed, breathing in ragged gasps, clutching his side, his fingers squeezing Ron’s in a death grip as he shook with exertion. Ron crashed to the ground next to him, his legs feeling like rubber, and his lungs turned to fire.
“What’d you run for?” He wheezed, falling to lay on his back, trying to catch his breath as the world lurched around him.
“I-” Malfoy gasped for air, his fingers tightening even more on Ron’s. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? You just decided to go for a sprint?” Ron huffed, pushing himself slowly back to a sitting position. The world wasn’t moving anymore, and he didn’t quite feel the need to pass out.
“No, I-” Malfoy floundered, and groaned, his face scowling, and his hand yanked roughly away. “It was too much.”
“What was? It was just juice.” Ron said, thinking back to the last thing Malfoy had been eating.
“Not the food. The… warm fuzziness of everyone fawning over her. No wonder Bill hates me. I wouldn’t want Death Eaters around my child either.” He hissed, his fingers digging madly into the dirt. For once, Ron let him dig, smiling a bit as he realized he could too, without worrying about ruining anything. It was just dirt.
“You’re not a Death Eater.” Ron argued, his own finger poking into the soft earth.
“I’m not?” Malfoy barked, yanking his sleeve up, and brandishing his left arm. “Explain this, then!”
“So what? Snape’s got one too!” Ron said, pushing the arm away, feeling irritated with Malfoy’s determination to believe the worst of himself. “You switched sides. You’re not a Death Eater.”
“Are you sure he’s switched sides? He was practically the Dark Lord’s favorite.” Malfoy bit out, glaring at the hole that was quickly forming. Soil was so much easier to part than stone.
“I’m not sure but Hermione is. And I trust her. Just like I trust you. You want to be different, so be different. Change whatever you don’t like about yourself.” Ron announced, feeling a bit silly, but forcing himself not to make a face. Malfoy needed words of encouragement more than the redhead needed his pride.
“Fine. Where do I sign up to change everything?” Malfoy hissed angrily, glaring over at Ron with a look that reminded him of their school days.
“Nowhere. You do it yourself.” Ron replied, trying to sound like he knew what he was talking about. Even if it was total rubbish, Malfoy needed something to calm himself down.
“They’ll never trust me.” Malfoy whispered sullenly, his hand balling into a fist around the dirt. “It doesn’t matter how much I change, because no one will ever see anything except what they want. And no one wants to trust me.”
“That’s not true. I trust you. My mum and dad trust you. Mum seems to be absolutely bonkers over you, actually.” Ron said, remembering the look on Malfoy’s face as his mother had nearly squashed him in a hug.
“Your mother’s a fool!” Malfoy snapped, glaring up at Ron, his face twisted with anger. “She trusts me because I ‘helped’ you? What a load! Doesn’t she know who I am!? Haven’t the others told her exactly what kind of evil monster she so readily embraced!? How could she just put her faith blindly in someone so easily? She hears one good thing about me, and suddenly forgets I’m a Death Eater? She’s stupid, and it’ll get her killed!”
Ron stared in shock at the blond, his face slack as Malfoy spewed insults about his mother. His face held every single inflection of his words, his sunken eyes holding the familiar nasty spark he’d lost in Azkaban. Ron could hardly believe what Malfoy was saying. It was almost as though he really hadn’t changed. He was on the verge of saying something nasty back, defending his mother, when Malfoy spoke again, the anger on his face morphing to pain.
“How could she trust me more than my own mother?” Malfoy’s voice had quieted to nearly a murmur, staring at his knees as he waited for Ron to reply, unwilling to meet his eyes. Ron took the sight of him in, trying to figure him out before he spoke. His pale cheeks were flushed, and his bottom lip was trembling as though he was on the verge of crying. Ron could barely see through the silvery curtain of hair hiding Malfoy’s eyes, but could make out the flutter of his eyelashes as he blinked rapidly, fighting back waterworks. Was it due to Narcissa, or Molly? Ron couldn’t quite tell.
“What d’you mean? Your mum loved you. She died for you, didn’t she?” Ron asked, tilting his head, trying to see under the shield of hair. Malfoy jerked his head away, hiding his emotional features, and took a deep breath.
“Sure, she loved me. But she didn’t trust me. She was afraid of me. She tried to hide it, but I could see it in her eyes. The way she jumped like a startled cat when she wasn’t expecting me.” he rubbed his face roughly, turning clear, haunted grey eyes on Ron. “After I took the Mark, she never touched me. She’d shy away if I tried to comfort her, always had somewhere else to be. Like I was contagious.”
Ron stared into the silvery pools for a while, turning over what Malfoy had said. Had his mother really withdrawn from him, just because he’d followed his father’s footsteps? He couldn’t imagine his own mother refusing to hug him, just because he’d made bad choices. She’d be upset, sure, but would she abandon him to the wolves? He really doubted it.
“Malfoy…” Ron began, not sure how to say what he wanted to. “I don’t think your mother was afraid of you. I know my mum wouldn’t be. She’d be worried I’d get hurt. Your mum probably pulled away, because she knew you’d get hurt, and couldn’t stand watching. The first time Mum thought I could’ve died she went ballistic. Couldn’t seem to decide if she wanted to be angry that I’d gotten myself into so much trouble, or pleased that I was alive. Woman nearly crushed me to death hugging me, at the same time she took away my quidditch privileges for the summer, and promised I’d spend every waking hour working on the lawn.”
Malfoy looked confused, and opened his mouth to interrupt, but Ron held up a hand, and continued, wanting to finish his thoughts before being shot down.
“No one’s perfect, Malfoy. And no one reacts the same to anything. So your mum going to an extreme when she was afraid for your life, every day, is no surprise. Would you honestly be able to watch someone you care about risk their lives constantly, and just pretend everything was normal?” Ron asked, hoping he could get Malfoy to see things from a different angle.
Malfoy was silent for a moment, staring thoughtfully at Ron, a calculating look on his face.
“Probably not.” He finally conceded, looking back toward the dirt, his hand beginning to bury itself further.
“My mum’s response to stress is to hug everyone. You’ll probably get a few more before she leaves.” Ron said, grinning at the thought of the poor blond drowning in the affection of the Weasley matriarch. Ron thought it might do him some good. He’d been without a proper family for too long.
“Uhg. Remind me not to leave the bedroom, then.” Malfoy groaned, looking once again sane, and placing his usual sneer across his features.
“Are you better?” Ron asked hopefully, taking in the softening complexion, and red-rimmed eyes. He looked like the worst was over.
“I think so. Sorry about running like that.” Malfoy said, his sneer falling, and an apologetic look overtaking his face. It was an expression Ron was sure he’d never show to the others.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s about time we had some sun, anyway.” Ron teased, gesturing to sky above them. Malfoy looked up, squinting at the cloudy sky, and digging his fingers even deeper into the ground.
“Does this really count as ‘sun’?” Malfoy countered, looking back down, and fixing Ron with an argumentative stare.
“Sure it does. More sun than either of us has had in a year. You look like you could use it, too.” Ron teased, darting his hand out to playfully bat aside one of Malfoy’s fringe locks.
“You’re one to talk. Any paler and you’d lose your spots, Weasley.” Malfoy smirked, eyeing the pale freckles across the bridge of his nose.
“Good. Never liked them anyway.” Ron grimaced, running a hand across one cheek self consciously.
“Why not? I don’t think they’re that bad.” Malfoy said with a shrug, his eyes darting across the speckled face, examining the colors.
“Didn’t you used to say foul things about them in school?” Ron countered, remembering a couple choice phrases the blond had shot across the great hall, the library, and the quidditch pitch.
“Eh, I said a lot of shite I didn’t mean.” Malfoy shrugged, staring as his hand was completely covered by dirt, and his fingers wiggled, making the soil roll. “I don’t think I’ve played in the dirt since I was three.”
“Let me guess, it wasn’t something a Malfoy was allowed to do?” Ron sniggered, and watched as Draco lifted his hand to inspect his filthy skin and nails with a grimace.
“No, it really wasn’t. I remember trying to help a gardener once. Father yelled at me for half an hour about how unbefitting of my status that was.” His eyes had gone dull again, and Ron decided to pull the conversation away from the boy’s parents.
“My parents encouraged it. Our garden had gnomes, and we had to get rid of them every few months. Nasty little buggers.” Ron made a face at the memory of being bitten on more than one occasion by the nasty little potatoes. To his surprise, laughter bubbled from Draco’s mouth, and his eyes sparkled once more as he looked up, meeting Ron’s gaze, and shaking his bangs out of the way.
“Sorry, sorry…” He finally managed to gasp, tears sparkling in his lashes as Ron stared at him, dumbfounded. He had no idea why Malfoy was laughing, but as his face crinkled with another bout of hysteria, his arms clutched around his aching diaphragm, Ron couldn’t stop staring. His new best friend was clearly suffering some sort of breakdown-induced madness, but Ron couldn’t remember seeing anyone so beautifully jubilant in so long, Malfoy’s laughing face was something he never wanted to stop looking at. It gave him real hope that they could both eventually overcome the past year.
Then Malfoy’s laughter started choking, and the tears started spilling down his face, and Ron realized he was actually crying again, holding himself tightly, harsh sobs wracking his thin frame all over again, his face no longer amused, but agonized. Ron moved to him immediately, wrapping his long arms around Malfoy’s shoulders, feeling panic rise in his chest at the quick swerving of his friend’s emotions.
“It’s okay.” Ron muttered, as the pale forehead fell to his shoulder, and Draco’s arms shot around his ribs, his fingers gripping the brown leather jacket that covered Ron’s back. He patted Malfoy on the back, trying to soothe the boy’s distress, whispering words his mother had used on him as a child, and rocking slightly back and forth, trying desperately to keep his worry from his voice, and sound as though he knew exactly what he was doing, and that he knew for certain that things would get better.
* * *
Draco felt his laughter turn sharply into sobs, and horror filled his chest, trying to hold his pendulum of emotions together with his arms, to no avail. He couldn’t see through the tears that filled his eyes, and tried desperately to choke out an apology, but his throat seemed stuck closed, letting go of only the most undignified whimpers and sobs. Warmth wrapped around him, and he grabbed onto it, wrapping his arms tightly around what he knew must be Ron, and burying his face in leather, hoping to at least hide his wretched expression from Ron’s eyes. He heard the voice whispering in his ear, but couldn’t make out the words through his own noisy wailing, and the blood rushing through his ears. He felt like he was swaying, and held tighter, feeling lightheaded from his lack of proper air. He pulled in a shuddering breath, only for it to be released is an equally fast and quaking sob. He clamped his lips shut, and choked silently on his sobs for a few moments, hoping they’d die down, but they broke out with a gasp, and he cried harder, knowing that at any moment, Ron might get up and leave him there, foregoing the mess that was Draco Malfoy. He really had no reason to stay, to offer comfort to the broken pureblood, and Malfoy almost hoped he would, so he could get on with dropping to the ground, and letting himself die.
“Shh… You’re safe now.” The first real words of Weasley’s chanting finally broke through his ears, and Malfoy’s chest shuddered with the effort to calm down, so he could hear more.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Ron’s voice was quiet, soft, punctuated by his fingers carding through platinum hair with delicate strokes. Draco realized that the rocking wasn’t in his head, Weasley was actually tipping them back and forth like one might a baby.
“I- I’m so-sorry.” Malfoy choked through tears, hiccups filling his throat and chest as he fought to control his breathing.
“Don’t worry about it. Just relax.” Ron whispered, petting his hair again, and rubbing one large palm across Malfoy’s back. He struggled to do just that, taking a few deep gulps of air, interspersed with more hiccups. He swallowed several times trying to dissolve the lump that had formed in his throat, and sniffled to clear his nose. It was wholly undignified, and he pushed that thought, too, away, focusing on loosening his tense muscles, and stopping the jerky motions of his chest. A couple tears still slid down his cheeks, and he pulled away slightly, wiping his face on his sleeve. Ron’s arms drooped slightly, expecting Draco to pull away completely now that he seemed to be fending off the misery.
Draco wiped his face again, and buried it back into Ron’s chest. The comfort of being in his arms far outweighed the discomfort of Mr. Weasley’s implication still heavy in his mind. The way Ron’s arms tightened back around his shoulders instead of pushing him away was like a cool salve on his nerves, and he shifted his face off of the suddenly unbearable leather coat, and nestled toward the middle of Ron’s chest, resting his cheek on the soft wool of his hideous cardigan.
Through his clearing nostrils he could smell Weasley under his face, the clean smell of the cloth mingling with the scent of sweat from running through the field. He took large breaths of the scented air, detecting the soil around them, the smell of impending rain. It was beautiful, and warm, and he found himself fighting back another wave of tears at how very glad he was to be outside, under the sky, in the arms of another human. He might’ve died never experiencing such things again. All it would’ve taken was Ron escaping without him, and he surely would’ve lost the will to even keep digging his way out.
The redhead had stopped rocking, and was instead rubbing his back slowly, long strokes up and down, not saying anything. Draco closed his eyes, soaking in the warmth of the chest underneath his face, the smells that surrounded him, and the sound of a breeze ruffling the tall grass around them. He could taste the salt from his tears still lingering on his lips, and felt the temperature dropping the longer they sat motionless. Even Ron’s warm arms and chest underneath him didn’t stop the shiver that passed through him, the external cold making his freezing soul that much more prominent.
“Ready to go back?” Ron asked quietly, his hands pausing for a moment.
“Not yet.” Malfoy breathed, enduring the chill so that he could remain in the perfect moment a few seconds longer.
“Okay.” Ron easily accepted, his hands returning to their back and forth motion.
“Sorry I’m so useless.” Malfoy muttered, sniffling again.
“You’re not. You may not be good right now, but you’re not useless.” Ron hesitated, his hands pausing before he continued. “You kept me from losing my mind. And if you weren’t here, now, I- I think I’d be a lot worse off than you are. So you’re not useless.”
Draco let out a small chuckle at the way Ron seemed to be rambling, and pulled back slightly, laughing again when he caught sight of the way Ron eyed his laughter with worry.
“Don’t worry, I think I’m done, now.” He wiped his face again, fighting his smile. Ron watched him warily, waiting for his good humor to turn black.
“Really, I feel much better. Thanks.” He felt his face darken, and Ron dropped his arms away, his eyes still suspicious.
“So… What was that one for?” Ron asked, indicating the second half of Malfoy’s breakdown with a lame wave of his hand. Draco shrugged, and began poking at the dirt again.
“I don’t really know. It was like all the good and bad and nothingness just sort of… got out of hand.” He tried to put into words the way his laughter had just sparked some horrible avalanche of emotions inside him.
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The Hole