The Grin That Ruined Everything

The corridor outside Transfiguration was buzzing with third-year gossip. Draco Malfoy found the source of the laughter in about three seconds — it was making his stomach lurch.

Ron Weasley was leaning against a suit of armor, arms crossed like he was trying to look casual. Problem was, he was blushing the color of Gryffindor scarves. And a Ravenclaw girl — Padma Patil, thanks brain — was standing way too close, her hand brushing his sleeve as she laughed at something he said.

Draco’s hands curled into fists inside his robes. That hot, ugly thing in his chest slithered tighter. It wasn’t new — had been coiling for months, ever since that Quidditch match when Weasley took a Bludger to the face and grinned through his split lip like it was the best day ever. Draco hated that grin. Still did. Maybe that was the problem.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Draco was moving. Sharp footsteps, purposeful. The chatter around him died as students caught sight of that legendary Malfoy sneer — aimed straight at Ron Weasley.

Ron looked up, eyebrows shooting up. “Malfoy? What do—”

Draco didn’t let him finish. He slid into Padma’s space, shouldered her aside with a muttered “Excuse us,” and then did something that made the whole corridor freeze. He leaned against Ron’s side, grabbed his robes, and kissed him on the cheek.

Quick. Barely a brush of lips. But the effect? Immediate. Ron went rigid. Mouth open. Ears so red they looked ready to catch fire.

Padma stared. “I—you—what?”

Draco turned his sneer on her, even as his heart hammered against his ribs. “I think you know what, Patil. Piss off.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Scuttled away, shooting a scandalized look over her shoulder. Draco felt a quick, giddy rush of victory.

Then he felt Ron’s gaze, and the victory curdled.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron’s voice was high, strangled.

Draco opened his mouth. Nothing. The words were stuck behind the wild, terrified thing pounding in his chest. He turned and fled.

---

The Slytherin dungeons were cold and empty. Draco made it to his dorm, locked the door, and slid down the stone wall, knees to chest, shaking. He pressed his palms into his eyes. Why had he done that? Weasley. Ronald Weasley. The boy who ate like a troll and smelled like treacle tart and had completely, irredeemably ruined Draco’s ability to look at anyone else. He hated him. He wanted to kiss him again.

A sob escaped, ugly and raw. He didn’t get it. Why did his body ache? Why did his chest burn? Why did he want to hex anyone who got too close to that freckled, stupid, wonderful face?

He cried until his throat was sore, then cried some more, mascara streaking down his cheeks.

---

In the Gryffindor common room, Ron wasn’t having a better time.

“What do you mean, Malfoy kissed you?” Fred wheezed, bent over the sofa arm. “Our Malfoy? The ferret-faced git who’s been trying to get you expelled since first year?”

“On the cheek,” Ron said, voice strangled. “It was on the cheek.”

“That’s almost worse,” George said, wiping a tear. “Positive. Aggressive. Possessive. He called Padma off like she was a rival suitor.”

“She was not my suitor! She was just—we were just—”

“Flirting,” Hermione cut in, looking up from her Charms homework. “You were obviously flirting, Ron. And Draco Malfoy clearly didn’t like it.”

Ron stared. “Since when do you call him Draco?”

“Since he kissed you, apparently,” Harry said, trying and failing to hide a grin.

Ron buried his face in a pillow and groaned.

But later that night, lying in his four-poster, he replayed it over and over. Malfoy’s body pressed against his. The warmth of his breath. The look on his face — not sneering, not superior, but almost desperate. Curiosity flickered in Ron’s chest, stubborn and intrigued. He wanted to see what would happen if he did it again.

---

Next morning, Ron made a decision. He sat next to a friendly Hufflepuff girl, Hannah Abbott, at breakfast. Laughed at her jokes. Touched her hand. And from across the Great Hall, he felt it — a gaze like a dagger between his shoulder blades. Draco Malfoy was staring. Pale face, white knuckles around his fork. When Hannah leaned in to whisper something, Draco’s fork snapped in half.

Ron’s heart did a strange, pleased flutter.

By the third day, Draco’s reactions had escalated. When Ron gave Lavender Brown a friendly shoulder squeeze in the corridor, Draco materialized out of nowhere, seized Ron’s wrist, and dragged him away with a snarled “He’s busy.”

By the fifth day, Draco was a mess. Wrinkled robes. Shadows under his eyes. He snapped at everyone except Ron, whom he seemed unable to look at.

Ron, meanwhile, was at war with himself. This was wrong. Cruel. He knew it. But every time he saw Draco’s jaw tighten with jealousy, he felt an answering thrill in his chest. A feeling that whispered, he wants me. He actually wants me. And that was terrifying.

---

The sixth day was when everything broke.

Ron had found a seventh-year Hufflepuff — charming, blonde, oblivious — and let her kiss him. Properly. On the mouth. Right in the middle of the Great Hall at lunch.

For a moment, normal. Cheers, hoots, benches scraping.

Then a crash.

Draco Malfoy dropped his goblet. It echoed through the hall. He was on his feet, stumbling backward, face a terrible gray-white. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, no—”

His knees buckled. He hit the stone floor with a crack that silenced the whole hall.

Then he started crying. Not quiet. Not dignified. Ugly, gasping sobs wracking his whole body, shoulders shaking, breath coming in strangled huffs. His chest heaved like he couldn’t get air. His mascara — he’d been wearing mascara, Ron realized with a distant jolt — smeared in dark rivulets down his cheeks.

“Breathe,” someone said. “Someone help him—”

But no one moved. No one except Ron.

He was across the hall before he knew he’d moved, shoving past the frozen crowd, dropping to his knees in front of Draco. “Malfoy. Malfoy, look at me.”

Draco’s eyes were wild, unfocused, glittering with tears. His hands clawed at his chest, his collar, like he could tear the pain out.

Ron grabbed his wrists. “Hey. Hey. Stop that. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

“I can’t—I can’t breathe—”

“With me. Come on. In.” Ron inhaled loudly. “Out.” He exhaled. “In. Out. That’s it. Keep going.”

Draco’s breath hitched. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears spilling down his chin, and followed Ron’s rhythm.

The Great Hall was dead silent. Ron didn’t care. He kept holding Draco’s wrists, kept breathing with him, until the gasps softened and the trembling eased.

“Better?” Ron murmured.

Draco nodded, a tiny, broken motion.

Ron looked up. The whole school was watching. Dumbledore stood at the head table, looking thoughtful. McGonagall was already striding toward them.

“Come on,” Ron said quietly. “Let’s get out of here.”

He helped Draco to his feet, slid an arm around his waist when his knees wobbled, and led him out without looking back.

---

They ended up in an empty classroom on the second floor. Ron locked the door, turned to find Draco sitting on a desk, face buried in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Draco choked out. “I’m sorry. That was—I didn’t mean—”

“Did you mean that kiss? In the corridor?”

Draco’s head snapped up. His face was a mess — red-eyed, blotchy, streaked with mascara. “What?”

“The kiss. On my cheek. Did you mean it?”

Draco’s mouth opened and closed. Then his shoulders slumped. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you, you absolute idiot!” Draco’s voice cracked. “I like you, and I hate it, and I hate you, and I can’t—I can’t stand seeing other people touch you, and I don’t know what to do with that, and—”

Ron crossed the room and kissed him.

It was clumsy. Their noses bumped. Draco made a startled sound against his mouth. Then his hands came up, clutching Ron’s robes, pulling him closer.

When they broke apart, they were both breathing hard.

“Does this mean you’re my girlfriend?” Ron asked, a shaky grin spreading.

Draco shoved him. “I will hex your tongue off.”

“Wasn’t that the point of the kiss?”

“Shut up.”

But Draco was smiling. A real smile, watery and exhausted and brilliant.

Ron took his hand. “Okay. Let’s figure this out. Together.”

Draco squeezed back. For once, he didn’t run.