The Depths Between Us

The Hogwarts pool was something else. A huge stretch of emerald water under a ceiling that looked like a perfect summer sky, all warm light and drifting clouds. Third Saturday of term, and Gryffindor and Slytherin boys had the place to themselves for the afternoon.

Ron was already soaked. Hair plastered to his forehead, freckles pink from sun and effort. He paddled near the shallow end, watching Seamus try to drown Dean while Neville floated on his back like a happy otter.

But his eyes kept drifting to the side. Where Draco Malfoy sat on a bench, fully dressed. Black trousers, white shirt, pressed. Not a drop of water on him.

"Oi, Malfoy!" Ron treaded water. "Forget your trunks? Or scared the water'll melt your perfect hair?"

A few Slytherins snickered. Draco just lifted his chin. "I have no interest in swimming with riffraff. The water's probably contaminated by your presence, Weasley."

Ron snorted, swam closer. "You're just scared. All that pure-blood talk and you can't even dip a toe in."

Something flickered in those grey eyes—anger? embarrassment?—but Draco's sneer held. "I am not scared of anything. I simply choose not to engage in such plebeian activities."

"Right." Ron hauled himself out, water streaming, and walked over. "Then why're you sitting there like a princess watching the peasants play?"

"Because it amuses me to watch you make a fool of yourself." But Draco's shoulders went tight.

Ron grinned. He loved getting under Malfoy's skin. "Come on, just get in. Water's fine. Or can you not swim? Little Draco never learned?"

"I can swim perfectly well," Draco snapped. "I simply choose not to."

"Yeah, sure." Ron shook his head, sending water flying. Turned away. But something bugged him. Malfoy was always so vain, so proud. Why miss a chance to show off?

---

Two weeks later, the answer came. A day so hot the dungeons felt like ovens. Flitwick cancelled afternoon class, and a bunch of boys from different houses gathered by the lake, desperate for a breeze. One by one, shirts came off—Seamus, Dean, Neville, even Blaise Zabini lounging with that calculated elegance.

Ron peeled his off without thinking, relishing the cool air. Noticed Draco, sitting apart under a tree, hadn't moved to undress. The white shirt clung to him in the humidity, but he kept it buttoned.

"Still wearing your shirt, Malfoy?" Ron called, walking over. "What's the matter? Afraid we'll see you're all skin and bones?"

Draco's jaw clenched. "My wardrobe choices are none of your concern."

"Oh, but they are." Ron plopped down beside him, close enough to see sweat on his pale neck. "You've been avoiding showing your chest all year. Pool, lake... you're hiding something."

"I am hiding nothing." His voice wavered.

Ron studied him. Slender, sure. Narrow shoulders, delicate frame. Hips a bit wider than usual. He'd just assumed Malfoy was self-conscious about being thin. But something about how his fingers played with his collar...

And then Ron had an idea. A brilliant, idiotic, prankster idea.

He lunged.

Before Draco could react, Ron scooped him up—one arm under his knees, the other behind his back—and stood. Draco let out a high yelp, legs kicking.

"Put me down, you oaf!" His face flooded with colour.

"Nope." Ron grinned. "You're going for a swim, princess."

He strode toward the lake, ignoring Draco's struggles and the laughter. Draco was lighter than expected. His body felt... different. Softer. Ron's arm pressed against his chest, and he felt something odd. Something padded. Something lacy.

He stopped dead at the water's edge. Confusion replaced triumph.

Draco had gone completely still, face pale. His shirt was rumpled from the carry, top two buttons undone. Through the gap, Ron saw it. A thin strap of pink fabric. A hint of lace. And beneath it, the unmistakable curve of a breast.

Ron's brain just—stopped.

He set Draco down like he'd been burned, stumbling back. "What the—"

"Shut up." Draco clutched his shirt closed, eyes wild, darting between Ron and the other boys staring. "Don't you dare say a word."

But Ron was connecting dots. The swimming refusals. The never changing in the dorm. The way Draco always used the prefect's bathroom alone. And then he remembered—months ago, Blaise had referred to Draco as "she." Ron had thought it was a joke. But everyone else just nodded.

He looked at the Slytherins nearby. Blaise was watching with an arched eyebrow. Pansy Parkinson, who'd just arrived, was glaring daggers at Ron.

"You didn't know?" Blaise asked mildly.

"Know what?" Ron's voice cracked.

"That Draco is a girl." Blaise said it like it was obvious. "Her real name's Draconia. She keeps it quiet for her father's sake, but we all know."

The world tilted. Ron turned back to Draco—Draconia—who was trembling, knuckles white where she clutched her shirt. Her eyes glistened.

"I," Ron began. "I didn't... I mean..."

"You thought what?" Her voice was sharp, brittle. "That I was just a scrawny boy? Too weak to swim? Too ashamed of my body?" She laughed, hollow. "Congratulations, Weasley. You found me out. Now everyone knows."

She turned and ran toward the castle.

---

Ron didn't sleep that night. Just lay there, staring at the canopy, replaying it over and over. The feel of her in his arms. The lace. The way she'd looked at him—not hatred, but broken fear.

And somewhere, under the guilt and confusion, something new stirred. He remembered the softness of her body against his, the delicate line of her collarbone, how her hair smelled like apples. Her laugh, usually so cruel, but when he'd lifted her it had been genuine surprise.

He wanted to see her again. Apologize. He wanted—and this thought terrified him—to hold her properly.

---

Three days later, he cornered her in an empty corridor near the Astronomy Tower. She wore her usual robes, but without the stiff posture. Looked tired.

"What do you want, Weasley?" She didn't meet his eyes.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry." His voice came out rough. "I didn't know. I was an idiot. I shouldn't have—I mean, I didn't mean to humiliate you."

"You did."

"I know. And I'm sorry." He stepped closer. "Look, I don't care that you're a girl. I mean, I care, obviously, but not in a bad way. I think it's... I think you're..."

She looked up, grey eyes guarded. "You think I'm what?"

His face burned. "Beautiful," he blurted. "I mean, you're still a git, but a beautiful git. And I keep thinking about how you felt in my arms. I know that's weird, and you probably hate me, but I can't stop thinking about you."

Her lips parted. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, slowly, a faint blush crept across her cheeks.

"You're an idiot, Ron Weasley," she said softly.

"Yeah." He agreed. "But I'd like to make it up to you. If you'd let me."

She looked down at her hands, then back at him. "What did you have in mind?"

---

The secret romance started in the quietest corners of Hogwarts. The Room of Requirement gave them a cozy nook with a fireplace and a chaise lounge. Ron was awkward at first—didn't know how to act around her now that he saw her differently. But Draco—Draconia, though she let him call her Draco—was patient.

"You don't have to treat me like glass," she said one evening, sitting beside him. "I'm still me. I still hate Neville's toad."

Ron laughed, tension easing. "I know. But I want to do this right. I want to—see you. The real you."

She bit her lip, then slowly unbuttoned her robe. Beneath, a simple white blouse and a pink bra that peeked through. Ron's breath caught.

"Is this what you wanted?" Her voice wavered.

"I wanted you." He surprised himself with how sincere it came out. "All of you."

He leaned in, and when their lips met, it was soft and tentative. A question asked and answered. Her mouth tasted like mint and tea, and her hand found his, fingers lacing together.

They pulled apart, breathless. Ron wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Her head rested against his chest, and he felt the gentle weight of her, the soft curve of her breast pressing against him. He didn't move his hand—just held her, savouring the warmth.

"You're not so bad, Weasley," she murmured.

"You're not so bad either, Malfoy."

And for the first time, she smiled. A real smile. Not a sneer. Ron kissed her forehead, and they stayed like that, tangled together, as the fire crackled and the world outside disappeared. He had a feeling this was only the beginning.