When Ron heard the usual tapping on his window that he had grown all-to fond of he practically threw himself out of bed. He didn't care that he was dressed head to toe in his pj's, or even that Harry was snoring right across from him (which was odd considering that it was typically the other way around). He opened the window lightly, taking up the black parchment in his hands and patting the messenger on its head. He made sure to be quiet, avoiding the creaky floorboards, and staying as far away from Harry as possible. Because, if he had to make up one more lie he was sure that he would explode. He opened the letter, reading it's contents with a vehemence that purely shocked him.

Dear Ron,

Sorry that it took me until this time to answer your letter, although I'm sure you have less interesting things to spend your time doing. Did you know that you were wearing your tie backwards today? I know I should have told you during our session, but I thought it was too hilarious to bring up. Also, you like my poetry? I must say I am quite shocked, I didn't think you of all people to be fond of literature. I'll leave you with one here.

Hazel is the only thing I see

For your eyes, on mine

Is but a delicacy worthy

Of a thousand hungry knights

Chanting for sustenance.

You must know, because I

Must tell you that you are really

Quite an angel. And, it pains

Me so to watch the tenderness

With which you look at things.

Because, hazel, hazel is the only

Thing I see.

Meet me at the quidditch pitch, right now . . . oh, and bring your broom.

Yours, Draco

___

Ron did just as he asked, sneaking through his door with his broom in his pink-toned hand. He had changed in a thick sweater and a pair of trousers, his typical outfit of choice when he was home. He tried to avoid the paintings leering at him as best as he could, and fight the rising fear that Harry was watching his whereabouts on the Marauder's Map. To be honest, Ron hadn't a clue what he was doing. It seemed lately as if he never did.

The Lavender-business was one thing, the lying to Harry was another. But now, he was sneaking out at night. And, to meet whom you may ask? Draco bloody Malfoy. Where had his life gone so horribly wrong?

And that was just the thing too, Ron liked it. He liked being near Draco, he liked talking to him, and hearing his ridiculous insults, and hearing his breathing, and staring into his eyes. He liked how it felt when he was being held by him, and he was whispering into his ear. Was there something wrong with him? There absolutely had to be.

Because no one in their sain, coherent mind would feel what he was feeling. At least, that's what he thought. When he walked outside, the freezing air struck him like a blow to the face. He felt his entire body go cold with the chill of the wind, and he could see his breath like a puff of smoke in front of him. He had seriously underdressed. "Finally, I've been here for an hour!"

Draco said, walking up to him in a thick coat, accompanied by a hat and gloves. Ron stood there shivering, his arms becoming engrossed by goose-bumps. He was sure that if he looked in a mirror he would have seen his lips turning purple. "Hey, what's wrong?" Draco asked, suddenly concerned at his lack of non-chattery words.

"J-j-just r-really c-c-cold out here," he said, wrapping his arms around his own torso, broom and all. Draco thought for a moment, then began taking his coat and scarf off. "Here, put these on," he said, setting his broom against the side of the stadium. "Y-you want m-me to w-w-wear a s-Slytherin scarf?" He asked, genuinely surprised at this offer.

"Yes? Unless you want bloody frostbite I suggest you wear it," he said, holding them out to him. Ron nodded, sliding the rather big coat over his shoulders and wrapping the scarf around his neck. It smelled almost concerningly like cologne and vanilla, a scent which Ron couldn't seem to get enough of. Ron noticed that Draco was wearing only a long sleeve shirt and a sweater and frowned.

"Aren't you cold?" He asked, the jitters finally leaving him.

"It's fine, better me than you," he said. And, at that, Ron couldn't help the redness rising in his cheeks. They stood there for a few seconds, shuffling awkwardly.

"So, why did you want me to come?" Ron finally asked, gripping his broom as if it were some unrealized confidence that he could absorb. "I thought we could . . . fly," he said, staring down at his Nimbus 2001. Ron was somewhat surprised that he hadn't gotten a new one yet.

"Where?"

Ron's brows knitted together and he was sure that Draco could hear the rapidity of his heart. Bloody hell, couldn't he just calm down?

"Anywhere," Draco said, instantly realizing his mistake. "I mean, anywhere on the grounds of course."

"Yeah . . . that sounds fun," he said, watching as Draco mounted his broom and kicked off the ground.

What am I doing? He thought, following behind him without an ounce of haste.

___

They flew about for a while, watching the moon, talking about everything and nothing. Small talk really, nothing Ron would have necessarily deemed as substantial. The air was biting at his cheeks, and while of course, the scarf was helping, it didn't save him from the runny nose he knew he was going to have later. "I was barfing bloody slugs for hours! It was horrifying," Ron said, flying slowly by Draco's side. Draco was laughing uncontrollably at the memory, "that was your own fault for trying to cast the spell with a broken wand," he said, watching as Ron sniffled in disagreement.

"Well, I wouldn't have done it if you didn't say what you said to Hermione," at that Draco got quiet, his eyes focusing on the green room below them. Ron wanted to kick himself, but then again he didn't. What he said was true after all. "I really am sorry," he said, looking as if he were attempting to swallow poison. " I know I shouldn't have said that.

You'd be surprised at the amount of things I regret doing." Ron just looked at him then, and he suddenly realized that he truly didn't know Draco at all. "You should tell Hermione that, I can't forgive you for her," he said, hating that he simply had to say it. He turned to him, skin silvery under the moonlight. "You forgive me?"

he asked, trying his hardest not to smile. Ron smirked, "obviously, do you think I'd be here with you if I didn't?" The way Draco looked at him then reminded him all too much about their conversation they had had earlier in the day. They were sitting at their unusual spot in the library, shrouded with the vast hall of empty space and silence. It was peaceful as they scribbled down notes and flipped through books, trying to write a cohesive essay outline and presentation plan (Draco's idea by the way).

"What's going on with you and Lavender?" Draco proclaimed out of nowhere, lying down his quill. Ron stopped writing mid-sentence, staring up at him in disbelief. "Um . . . I'm not entirely sure, I haven't spoken to her in awhile. Why?"

"Just wondering," he said, focusing again on the grouping of parchment beneath his arms.

Ron got to thinking for a second, and, without realizing what he was doing he blurted, "What about you and Pansy?" Draco just looked at him, his face filled with the vague look of satisfaction accompanied by confusion. His hair was in his eyes, why did his hair always have to be in his eyes? "What about it?" He asked, smirking at the fact that Ron's cheeks were inflamed.

"Oh well I was just . . . you two are always together and you sit with her all the time. So I . . . I guess I just thought-"

"That we're dating?" he asked, his smirk growing wider and more cheeky. It was hard to keep eye contact between them when he looked at him like that. It was like staring into the sun.

Ron nodded, eyes darting from the tables beside him to his hands to Draco's eyes. "Did you completely miss the bit about friends out of necessity when we were in that house? I thought it was rather clear." Ron just stared, not sure what to make of this statement. Draco sighed, "I don't like her as a person Ron, let alone a bleeding girlfriend.

Merlin, the thought makes me want to wretch,"

"Why? I thought she was a part of the 'Slytherin Brotherhood' or whatever." Ron said, chuckling a bit to himself. Draco moved his parchment to the side, entwining his pale, long fingers together in a knit ball. "Look, I . . . I know you think that I'm some blood purity crazed fanatic but I . . . I wish things were different."

Ron felt a pang in his heart,

"I don't think that, not now anyways," Ron looked down at his feet. And, just like that, the conversation went up in smoke. Ron was back on his broom again, resisting the intense urge not to wipe his nose and dirty Draco's coat. After all, it looked more expensive than anything Ron had owned in his life, dirtying it would be a crime against the wizarding world. "Draco?"

Ron asked, feeling like he was floating on air. "Yes?" He responded, eyes shimmering like moonstones. "Do you like your father?" he asked, tired of beating around the bush.

It was curiosity above anything else, although someplace, somewhere, Ron truly wanted to hate him again. He was dying for him to say the words "of course, I couldn't be more proud," or ask "why wouldn't I?" Because honestly, hating him would be the easiest, most straightforward option in comparison to whatever it was that he was feeling. He could loathe him, he could be disgusted by the sight of him, he just wanted it to end. But then again he didn't.

"Ron . . ." he said, looking at nothing in particular. His eyes began to have a glassy quality to them that he had never seen before. "I really don't know how to answer that." Ron wasn't satisfied with that answer.

"How can't you?

I mean, it's pretty straightforward."

"I just . . . he's my father, how can you actually hate your father? But, I don't know, I definitely don't love him," he sighed, "I don't think I've ever actually loved my father." Ron felt like he had vastly overstepped and wanted to quench this string of thought as soon as possible.

"Draco-"

"I genuinely don't think I have one good memory of him.

It's like, the only thing I can hear when I think of him is this voice telling me that I failed, that I should've done better, should've known better."

"It's okay, I don't need to-"

"So, I guess I don't like him particularly, not by normal standards anyways." After that he grew quiet, and Ron had since given up on his pleas. Of all the times Draco Malfoy had stunned him to silence, this was by far the worst. "I'm sorry," he decided to go with, and he meant it. With every fiber, every tendril of his heart he meant it.

"It's not your fault. None of it is." He said, broom beginning to decline towards a random edge of the castle. "Come on, I want to show you something." With that, they descended together.

___

They wound up at a small glass door, nestled in between a grouping of bushes and thick brambles. Ron didn't know how late it was, or if Harry was awake, he couldn't even remember what class he had at the start of the next day. Everything was like a hazy, thick fog that he just couldn't see through. It was all clouded, and murky, and the only thing he could see, or hear was Draco. "This is the entrance to the greenery, I wanted to show you something," with that Draco pressed open the door, bombarding them with the scent of herbs and roses.

Almost immediately he made out the line of silver sparkling in the corner of the room. A group of flowers were growing out of the garden box, winding and spiraling like comets whizzing through the atmosphere. They were all white, with pedals bloomed all the way out, so much so that they looked like miniature suns. Ron was taken aback, he normally didn't care much for flowers, or plants in general but these were a new kind of beauty. Ron could genuinely only think of one word to describe them . . . godlike.

"They're called Moonlace, they only bloom at night."

"Wow," was all Ron could seem to say. And, just as he said that, Draco walked up and plucked one directly from it's spot. "Here," he said, handing the precious thing over to him. Ron couldn't take it no matter how much he wanted to.

"Are you mad? Can't we get in trouble for this?"

"Who's going to notice one missing flower Ron? They're common, hardly rare contraband." he said, the fact was, they were rare, extremely, but Ron didn't know that.

"You want me to have it?" He asked, the scarf beginning to tickle his chin.

"Well obviously, who else would I give it to? Pansy?"

"Haha, hilarious," he said, making a feeble attempt at resisting a smile.

Ron took the flower, feeling it's warmth in his hand. He looked at it, purely amazed. "It's beautiful isn't it?" Draco asked, Ron nodded, smiling in wonder. He felt like a child, one who was picking his wand out for the first time, or eating a chocolate frog.

Not the hallowed, fearful git he knew he had become. "They make me think of you," he said, taking a rather daring step towards Ron. "You know what," he said, "you've been asking me questions all day, it's my turn." Ron gulped, feeling his breath hitch in the base of his throat. Suddenly he felt like he didn't need the coat or the scarf anymore.

"What did you smell in your amortentia?" His eyes, merlin, why did they have to look at him like that? "I-I well . . ." he stuttered out, not sure if he wanted to lie or come clean. But Ron knew what he had to say, he knew it in the beating of his heart and the pain in chest. "You," he breathed, remembering the intense smell of parchment and cologne.

He thought, albeit reluctantly, that he would never forget it.