A week had passed since the "incident." At least, that was what Ron had been calling it. He otherwise tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about anything really, just schoolwork, his project (which was now a one person affair), and of course, food. Definitely not about the letter filled with moonlace petals that he had meticulously hidden behind a stack of random books, or even the green and silver scarf that sat under his pillow.

No, those things were off limits. Reduced to this untouchable, singular part of his brain where everything was just incoherent nonsense. And, Ron was okay with that, or, he thought he was, anyways. He hadn't spoken to Harry much, or Hermoine for that matter. Ever since they found out that he was lying to them, things were just . . . odd.

And, quite honestly, Ron didn't know if it was because of that, or that fact that Professor Dumbledore had completely rejected Harry's piece of crucial information. Did he think he was lying? Ron didn't know, he had given up trying to know anything really. But, regardless, Harry had still been excessively put off by this. the conversation between the two of them went something like- "Ron!"

Harry shouted, barging into their dorm room in a bout of what looked to be a mixture of confusion and annoyance. Ron wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. Maybe he would ask about the letters again. Maybe he had found the scarf. Thoughts like this had plagued his mind ever since the incident, and, Harry's constant prodding about had definitely made it worse.

At that thought Ron's chest froze up, his heart nearly springing out from his chest. This feeling, over the course of seven days, had become completely natural to him. "Dumbledore didn't believe any of it. He said that Malfoy was innocent," Harry said in exasperation, taking a defeated seat on his bed. Ron breathed a short sigh of relief, wanting nothing more than to be exited from this conversation.

Any thoughts of Draco were painful. They felt like being stung with the most poisonous, writhing, terrible venom in the wizarding world. Nothing hurt more than thinking of him, absolutely nothing. And, even in class, when Draco would make some random, failed attempt at communicating with him, at apologizing. Ron would leave or look away as fast as humanly possible. Because, well, he would rather have had nice memories of Draco in the past than disgusted ones in the future.

It didn't make much sense to him, but he just knew that Draco was to be avoided, and so, he did just that. He didn't look at him, didn't talk, he didn't even walk within his vicinity. And, he wasn't sure if it made him feel better or abobidably worse. "What, why?" Ron asked, feigning a look of concern.

He was concerned, and he wasn't. He didn't really know what to feel. "He said that he can't prosecute an innocent student over hearsay.' Can you believe that?"

"No, bloody hell mate.

I thought he would at least be surprised," Ron said, taking a seat across from him. Harry had that devious, scheming look that he had when a new plan had sprung into his mind. Ron didn't like it one bit. "And that's the weird part, he did seem surprised. But-I don't know . . . it almost looked like he was . . . expecting it."

Ron was genuinely shocked at what was coming out of Harry's mouth, and he couldn't help but stare at him with indignation. "Expecting it? You think Dumbledore knows that he's going to die? Are you listening to yourself?" Harry stared at him, his face lacking any smile or smirk.

"Think about it Ron, do you think he would have honestly chosen to believe a Malfoy over your story? You did see his father, right?"

"Yes I did, but-"

"Then but nothing, it makes perfect sense."

"Harry, have you gone bloody mad!? How would he know?

And why wouldn't he do anything to stop his own death?" Harry just looked at him for a moment, his face accusatory.

"You don't believe me?" He asked, clearly surprised by this.

"No, quite frankly I don't.

It sounds insane." Harry stood up, trudging his way to the door.

"I'll prove it to you, one way or another." He said, opening the door with devilish haste. The look on his face made Ron want to retreat.

"And how do you intend on-" Harry was gone, shutting the door behind him as he left. And just like that, a week had passed by. Nothing. Harry had found positively nothing, and with that fact, he had hardly spoken more than five words to Ron on any given day. It hurt, but Ron kept busy.

It wasn't until he was sitting in potions class that day, taking notes on whatever exactly it was that they were learning about. Quills were scribbling, potions were bubbling, and papers were being turned with a hushed delicacy that made Ron squirm. He only looked up from his paper when Harry nudged his wrist into his arm, causing a streak of black to smear across his parchment. "You said that the vanishing cabinet is in the room of requirement, right?" He whispered, so softly that even Ron found him hard to hear.

"Yeah, that's where I followed him to." He said, his voice shaking at the very thought of the memory. It was a war he fought daily, trying not to feel the same piercing betrayal that he had felt that day. And, almost every time he lost. "Do you think it would be possible for Dumbledore to have seen the closet?

That way he would know . . ." Ron tuned Harry out for the rest of class, only responding when he absolutely knew the answer to one of his questions. Ron was extremely tired of hearing about the Dumbledore-situation, afterall, if Dumbledore chose not to believe him, then that was his choice. Harry couldn't do anything about it. He just had to make sure that it didn't happen, and that would be enough. Hopefully.

Once class ended Ron took some extra time to pack his bag, placing all of his things in meticulously. He really only did it because he didn't want to follow Harry and Hermione. Because, if he heard one more thing about the "Room of Requirement," he was going to bloody crucio himself. But, Ron realized that the idea was a fatal mistake when the only person left in the room was Draco. He hurried even faster then, practically throwing his things into his bag.

However, Draco only drew closer, walking with a sort of intent that Ron was not prepared for. "Ron . . . can I speak to you for a moment?" Draco asked innocently, Ron tried his hardest not to look into his eyes. He didn't know what would happen if he did. "I have to go," he said blandly, and it wasn't a lie.

He did have another class to go to. It wasn't for another twenty minutes, but Draco didn't need to know that. "It will only take a second," he said, trying to make his way closer. Ron froze at this, he felt frightened. But not at Draco.

And with that, he finally mucked up enough courage to look him in the eyes, his steely, moon-like eyes. "I told you not to speak to me. Can't you at least do one good thing?" Ron spat, he hated the words he was saying. Despite everything that had happened, he hated them.

"That's exactly why I'm here, please just-"

"No, Draco, just-" he started walking away, and Draco grabbed onto his wrist. They stared at each other for a moment. And Ron couldn't truly describe what happened in that moment. They didn't speak, but Ron felt like there were a million things that he wanted to say. And maybe he wanted to say them too. "Leave me alone, please" Ron whispered, tearing away from his grasp.

He left Draco standing behind him as he exited the room. He hated doing that.

___

Another three days passed and Ron was at a complete and total loss. He didn't know what to do with his DADA project, not without Draco anyway, and Harry had been off doing, well, whatever exactly it was that Harry did. Hermione focused on work, and besides her mild reserve towards Ron, she was otherwise normal. Ron hated it. And, he couldn't help but feel like the whole mess was his fault.

It was though, wasn't it? If he would have just told the truth from the start, maybe things would have been different. That was just the thing too, if he could have gone back, if he could have chosen a different partner instead of Draco, would he have? Of course, he wanted to say yes, to say that his friendship with Draco was all just some grand, otherworldly mistake. But he couldn't, he wouldn't leave.

And that fact killed him. Because, no matter how hard he tried, to bury the thoughts, to forget the scarf, to forget his eyes, he just couldn't. And Ron was getting incredibly tired of it. "Where do you think Harry's gone this time?" Ron asked, picking at his glazed carrots and buttery rolls.

Lunch that day was delicious, but Ron wasn't especially hungry. "I haven't a clue, he keeps talking about the Room of Requirement." She said, clearly not that hungry either. "He's done that to you too? It's all he talks about anymore," Hermione nodded.

"Hey, Ron?" She asked, Ron looked up from his plate, already nervous for what she was going to say. "Why did you lie? About the letters, I mean," Ron gulped, his fork nearly dropping out of his hand. "I don't know, I shouldn't have," he said, "It was wrong of me, I'm sorry."

Hermione just shook her head. "Who are they from?" She asked in a calm enough tone that Ron was extremely tempted to divulge the truth to her. "I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"It's just . . . it's not important anymore, it was ridiculous,"

"Well, are you sure Ron? It's not like you to keep secrets." She seemed concerned, like in that moment she wouldn't be surprised if he admitted to conspiring with the Dark Lord. It made Ron feel sick.

"It's not bad, I mean, it's not a terrible secret I just can't- if you knew who I was talking to you would hate me."

Hermione shook her head, looking astonished. "Just please, tell me this, it's not," she leaned in, "He who shall not be named, is it?" Ron looked amazed, "What? No! How could you possibly think that?"

"I don't know Ron, you've been acting strange, like, sulky almost. Is it because of the Malfoy thing?" She asked, noticing that lunch was coming to an end.

"No, I mean, yes, yes it is that I guess." He felt flustered.

Hermione suddenly looked extremely frustrated, Ron got a bit scared by this. "Can't you just tell me Ron? We're best friends aren't we?" She said, giving off the expression of pain. Ron genuinely didn't know how to respond to this.

He wanted, above anything else to tell her, but what good would come off it? What was the point? She'd hate him, Harry would hate him. And, it didn't matter that it was just a few stupid letters, if they knew that he had befriended Draco Malfoy, a death eater, Lucius Malfoy's son. Well, he didn't want to think about what would happen to him.

But there was this part of him, this massive, unavoidable part that wanted to spill everything to her. No one knew who Draco really was, no one knew that he was the complete opposite of the emotionless git that everyone thought he was. And, no one knew about the poetry, about the music, the kindness, the thought. No one knew about Draco. They only knew about Malfoy. And, he couldn't, at least, he didn't feel as if he could divulge that just yet.

Ron felt a pang in his heart at the thought of Draco, but felt an even bigger one seeing Hermione's expectant eyes waiting for him to say something. Merlin, he wanted to tell her. He must have been bloody crazy, because without thinking he said, "Malfoy." She just looked at him, the face of utter confusion. "What? What do you mean Malfoy?"

She said, her voice growing a bit softer when she realized that Ginny, Neville, and Seamus weren't too far away. Ron shook his head, preparing himself for being hexed or stupified into a nearby table of ravenclaws. "The letters . . . they were from Malfoy," he said lightly, voice nearly inaudible. He truly didn't know what he was doing. But, despite that fact, it felt right, like he was purging some long, dark secret he had held onto.

Although, he guessed it wasn't much of a secret, considering the fact that they were partners and all. They were bound to talk to each other at some point. Regardless, Hermione was astonished, sitting there in silent awe. "What were they about?" She asked, her tone light, as if she was holding back some blind fit of rage that was about to be unleashed upon him.

Voice shaking, Ron told Hermione about stealing Draco's paper, and the apology, and the future letters. He left out some of the other things, like the piano, and the house, and, well, everything that made Ron extremely uncomfortable talking about out loud. He never talked about them sneaking out, or the moonlace, or the scarf, but it didn't seem to matter. Hermione still looked as if a lever had just been pulled in her brain. "He writes poetry?"

She said, truly amazed at this. Ron just shook his head,

"I should have never taken it from him, I just . . . wanted to know, I guess. It thought he was writing some hexing spell or something." Ron scraped his fork against his food, suddenly not hungry whatsoever. For a moment he felt like he had made one of the biggest mistakes in the entirety of his existence.

But then he saw that Hermione wasn't angry, if anything, she seemed . . . somewhat sad. "And when you heard that he had to kill Dumbledore . . ."

"I was hurt, I mean, He's bloody Draco Malfoy, I don't know how I didn't expect it. But, I guess, I thought we had become friends."

"And, now?" She asked, looking a bit too deeply into his eyes.

"Now? I don't know. I haven't spoken to him." Hermione was silent for a second, this odd, faraway look in her eyes. Ron sat there in the silence, pained at the fact that she wasn't saying anything.

Was she furious? Plotting his demise? About to run and tell Harry? The thoughts were destroying him, his mind was in flames. "I think you should speak to him," she said finally, causing his jaw to nearly drop into his plate.

"What?" He asked, a bit too loud, considering that for a moment it felt like everyone in the room was looking at him. "You said you're friends Right?" Ron nodded, "And, if he's willing to become friends with you, someone who he's supposed to hate. I mean, Ron, it seems like malfoy-" she took in a breath "Draco, it seems like Draco is . . . different."

Ron was amazed, and he genuinely had no idea what to say. "But I thought you-"

"Ron, if his father had to come here himself to remind him to kill Dumbledore, do you think he wanted to do it?"

"I don't-"

"It seems to me like he doesn't have a choice. So, I think you should talk to him." She said, moving her plate and crossing her arms on the table.

Surprised was a complete understatement for the way that Ron was feeling. More like bewildered, or flabbergasted, or generally any word that meant "I have no idea what is happening." Because he didn't, he had no idea what was going on. "He's a death eater Hermione," Ron whispered. Hermione's brows knit together, "yes, but above all else he is a person, and he is clearly not as terrible as we all thought."

"What are you saying? That I just bloody forget that he was to kill Dumbledore and be friends again. He LIED to me Hermione." Ron was getting a bit angry now, he refused to admit that Hermione was right. "I'm not saying that Ron, I'm saying to speak to him.

Maybe you can help."

"Help what?"

"Him, Ron," she looked around, noticing that people were beginning to get up and make their way to class. They had both barely eaten anything off of their plates. Hermione got up, fixing her books back into her bag, Ron did the same.

"Look, I'm not saying to forgive him. I'm saying to speak to him. If you two really are friends that talking can't hurt. Wouldn't you speak to Harry?" She asked, practically cornering Ron with her words.

He felt trapped, completely, utterly trapped. "Well, yes but-"

"Then it's not all that different," Ron sighed. "Maybe," he said. They started walking out together, having to plunge through a group of first-year hufflepuff students to get through. Something dawned on Ron suddenly, and his heart felt as if it dropped to his stomach. He stopped Hermione just before they left the great hall, "you can't tell Harry, not yet."

He said, feeling as if he was making his letters with Draco a bigger deal than it needed to be. Hermione looked at him, clearly taken aback. "Ron . . ."

"I know, but, you know how he'll react if he knew that we were friends. I just-I can't deal with that, not now." Hermione stared at him with a sheer scrutiny that made him quesy, "fine, but you have to be the one to tell him Ron.

He should know. And, it could certainly help, with the situation and everything."

"I know, and I will. I just need time." She nodded, and with that, they kept walking.

All the while trying their hardest not to acknowledge the conversation that had just went down.

___

After evidently joining Harry, him, Ron, and Hermione all went to charms, tensions feeling incredibly thick.The day passed by rather quickly, and Ron didn't know if it was because it was a friday, or the fact that Draco had spent the entire day without looking back at him. Ron tried to convince himself that it didn't matter, that he didn't care. After all, why should he care about Draco? Draco was a no-good, conniving, back-stabbing person.

And he was a death eater, Ron couldn't forget that bit, he wouldn't. But merlin, why did he feel like the very core of his being was being slowly torn apart? Why did it feel like his heart was stomped on, crushed. Maybe that's what made him take hold of the blank parchment sitting on his desk. Or, why he picked up his quill.

He didn't exactly know what he was doing. What was he doing? He asked himself this as he took a seat at his desk, smoothing his fingers over the parchment that he placed in front of him. The conversation between him and Hermione was lingering in the back of his mind, overtaking his thoughts. He simply couldn't believe.

Her of all people, the person who Draco had specifically called a "mudblood," was telling Ron to speak to him. It just didn't make any sense. And, when he started scribbling down words feverishly onto the parchment, his writing nearly incoherent, it still didn't make sense. He crumpled up his paper in a ball, throwing it angrily into the wastebasket. His hands were nearly shaking as he set down his quill and walked over to his bed.

He stared at his pillows for a moment, trying to wrack his brain around how he could hate someone so much yet miss them at the very same time. Did that mean you didn't hate them? Or were you just stupid? Ron wasn't entirely sure about it, and he didn't really want to be. Ron didn't really know what he was doing.

It was the middle of the evening, the time that he normally would have spent with Draco in the library. Hermione was off probably studying somewhere, and Harry was, well, being Harry. That left him by himself, surrounded by nothing but his thoughts. And, as he lifted up his pillow, staring at the mangled scarf underneath, he truly wanted to cry. He picked it up, overwhelmed with the scent of cologne.