Ron was scarfing breakfast down that morning, taking heaping spoonful's of egg and thick pieces of bacon. He slurped down pumpkin juice and grabbed handfuls of fruit tarts, all the while he was staring down at the table, doing anything and everything in his power not to look up. "Ronald! Can't you breath? Stop eating for a moment and take a breath."

Hermione squealed, appalled by his behavior.

"Jeez mate, haven't you eaten?" Harry said, cutting his sausage with a delicacy that Ron wanted to laugh at. "Yesh, Ima jus very hungry," he let out, avoiding the real reason for his soon to be self-induced food coma. The fact was, he refused to look up at Draco, to meet his foggy grey eyes or his pointed features.

He was sure that if he did (especially after yesterday's events) his heart would jitter to bits. It was hard enough, having their sessions with this awkward, wanting-to-say-something-but-not-really-knowing-what silence. It was painful, and Ron couldn't stop thinking about how they had their field trip to capture their creature the next day. It wasn't anything new, in fact, they had been planning it for days. They knew what spell to use, where to travel to, and even how to look after the creature once it was in their care.

But, regardless, Ron was terrified, for multiple reasons. The idea of being in the forest for hours with Draco Malfoy was both astonishing and uncomfortable, not to mention the fact that they had to legitimately capture a DEMON BAT. How in the bloody hell would that even be possible? It's a DEMON, Ron thought to himself sullenly. It plagued his thoughts all day, and, being nearly ten feet away from Draco at lunch was definitely not helping.

"Is it the project? Are you stressed because of working with Malfoy? You know, stress-eating is a perfectly plausible explanation for your situation. But I hate to inform you that it is a project, and Malfoy is only person, there is no-"

"I'm not stresfed," he said, cutting Hermione off while shoveling a fork-full of buttered and syruped French toast into his mouth. "Look, I know you Ron, and I know you like food, but not that much.

What's wrong?" Harry asked, staring at Ron with intent. He kept silent, which, in retrospect, probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but it made sense to him then. "It's something to do with that letter, isn't it?" Harry prodded, getting that familiar, devious look in his eyes.

"What!? No! I told you it was my Aunt Tessie . . . She's going to be at home for thanksgiving," he said.

"It was Christmas,"

"What?" Ron said, stopping eating with a fearful pang in his chest.

He felt so stupid, how could he say that?

"Last time, you said she was coming over for Christmas . . . now it's thanksgiving?" He said, causing Ron to sweat.

"Um, well, she's coming for both, seems I was mistaken last time," he gulped, growing too sick to so much as think about the pile of breakfast food on his plate. "Seriously Ron?

Is there something you're not telling me?" Harry asked, his tone sounding dumbfounded and somewhat hurt. Hermione observed from afar, calculating Ron's movements, keeping her arms crossed. "No, actually, why would I lie to you Harry?" He felt abominably guilty, like he was withholding some life or death truth.

Something that, once said, would brand him as deranged, mad even. He refused to see the looks on their faces, the disgust with which they would leer at him. It was simply impossible. Harry deflated a little at that, looking as if he had just gotten reprimanded. "You're right, sorry," he said, going back to his sausage.

Ron let out a mental sigh, picking his back up and glancing in front of him. He must have forgotten all of his resolve, because as soon as he looked up he noticed Draco, staring at him with a hunger that even he couldn't place. Almost immediately, he turned back to his food.

___

It was hard to say exactly what made him start calling him Draco. Ron thought that maybe it began after the piano-thing (he didn't know what to call it). Or, perhaps it was the empty classroom situation, either way, he had contented himself with calling him Draco. In fact, for some disturbingly unknown reason, Ron smiled every time he said the words. However, when he had called him Ron, well, that was an entirely different story.

"What did you just say?" Ron asked, from his spot at the worn library chair. The re-modeling had hardly consisted of anything, just a few desks and a new chandelier put in. "Ron? That's your name isn't it?

Or am I mistaking you for another idiot?"

"That's a bit harsh," he said. They had taken up insulting each other lately, but with no genuine malice, just purely to see who could be funnier. "What shall we do today? We already know how to catch the thing, I think we're rather set."

He said, leaning closer into the table. "We don't?" Ron asked, his seriousness coming through as clearly as possible. "Merlin, Ron, are you deaf? Everything that I say seems to go in one ear and out the other,"

"Forgive me for not being too apt to listen to a Malfoy speak," Ron said, Draco gave him a look, one that made him instantly regret his words.

He sighed, "sorry, I'm just nervous," he admitted reluctantly. He hated saying that, especially when saying it to Draco, but he really was scared. Like, having to face a giant spider all over again scared. "About?" Draco asked, his face growing concerned.

"This bloody demon bat, I just . . . I don't very well with things like that," he said, finding it increasingly harder to look Draco in the eyes. "Things like what?"

"Like, scary things, dark magic, creepy-crawlies, the whole lot. I've never done well with -"

"Ron," he said, in a voice so tantalizing soft that the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. "I won't let anything happen to you, there's nothing to be scared of," he said, bringing his eyes up and down his face.

Ron felt his body heat to a thousand degrees, while at the very same time his blood froze to chunks of ice. Was the library always so stuffy? Did it always feel like everyone was staring at him? He didn't know, he didn't know anything, not anymore. And, later that night, when he heard the same, fanatical taping at his window he was sure that he would never know.

Thankfully, the rest of his roommates were in the common room, probably talking on and on about the trip the next day. He would have been there to if it wasn't for the nagging feeling he had in the pit of his stomach. The calling of some disembodied voice, the warmth he felt at the thought of Draco. He opened the window as fast as possible, feeling the string of snowflakes touch his nose, getting hit in the face with a cold burst of hair that reminded him of Christmas morning, meeting the golden eyes of the white owl he had commenced to memory. He smoothed his hand over its sleek back, taking the black parchment out of its mouth.

Ron hadn't noticed when the owl flew away back into the powdery fog, because he was so dumbfounded by the contents of the letter that everything else in his peripheral felt null and void. It read beautifully:

Dear Ron,

I know you have fear

Of everything unknown

And everything known

I to, feel it sometimes

Momentary call

Ceaseless whisper

For I, beacon in the sea

Amongst dreary waters

If you so need

Don't fret

Please

Don't fret

For, all I can see

Is a world in which you

Do not have glee

See you tomorrow,

Yours, Draco

Ron put the letter on his desk, his heart pounding rapidly, a smile spread on his face. He had no idea what to think. That was, before Harry came barging in.