A Bludger to the Heart

The October wind swept through the Hogwarts courtyard, tossing leaves like golden confetti. Ron Weasley leaned against the stone fountain, trying to look casual while a Hufflepuff girl with honey-coloured hair hovered way too close. She laughed at something he said—probably about Snape’s greasy hair—and touched his arm.

“And you really hexed him? In Potions?” Her eyes were wide.

Ron puffed up. “Well, not hexed. More like… magically encouraged him to trip over his own robes.”

She giggled. It was a nice sound, but it didn’t do anything to his stomach.

Across the courtyard, a familiar drawl cut through. “Weasley, still trying to charm girls with stories that never happened? Pathetic.”

Ron’s jaw tightened. Draco Malfoy strolled toward him, Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind like two overgrown bookends. His grey eyes landed on the Hufflepuff girl with a cold sneer.

“Malfoy,” Ron said flatly. “Piss off.”

But Draco didn’t. He walked right up, ignored the girl completely, and slid an arm around Ron’s shoulders—too familiar. Ron stiffened, hand twitching toward his wand.

“What are you—”

Draco leaned in and pressed a quick, theatrical kiss to Ron’s cheek. Dry, brief, but it hit like a bludger. Ron’s brain went blank.

The Hufflepuff girl’s face cycled through confusion, embarrassment, then horror. “Oh,” she said, tiny. “I—I didn’t realise you two were—sorry.” She backed away, turned, and fled.

Ron opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Draco’s arm was still draped over his shoulders, warm and solid. His breath ghosted against Ron’s ear. “Don’t get used to it, Weasley.”

Then he stepped back, laughed at the stunned crowd, and swept away, robes billowing. Crabbe and Goyle lumbered after him, looking as confused as everyone else.

Ron stood there, cheek tingling, heart hammering a rhythm he refused to name.

---

In the Slytherin common room, green light from the lake windows did nothing to hide the tears streaming down Draco’s face. He’d found a shadowy corner behind a high-backed armchair, knees drawn up, breath coming in gasps.

What had he done? That was stupid. So stupid. He’d ruined everything. Weasley would hate him even more now. He’d tell his friends, they’d laugh, word would get back to Father, and—

He pressed his palms against his eyes, smearing the kohl he’d carefully applied that morning. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The warmth of Ron’s skin still burned on his lips.

A third-year Slytherin peered around the chair. “Malfoy? Are you—?”

“Go away!” Draco snarled, voice cracking. The boy scurried off, and whispers spread through the snake pit.

---

By dinner, the rumours were an epidemic. Gryffindors kept glancing at Ron, who was trying to focus on his shepherd’s pie and failing. His cheek still felt warm.

“So, is Malfoy your girlfriend, or… boyfriend?” Seamus asked, eyebrows up.

“He’s not my anything,” Ron snapped.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. Hermione leaned in. “Ron, what happened? Everyone’s saying Malfoy kissed you.”

“On the cheek,” Ron said, ears reddening. “And he was being a git. Probably trying to embarrass me.”

“Well, it worked,” Harry said, not unkindly. “But why would he do that?”

Ron shrugged, but his mind was churning. He replayed the moment: the way Draco had looked at him, the arm, the hitch in his voice. There was something there. Something he didn’t understand but wanted to.

So he decided to test it.

Over the next week, Ron made a point of being friendly—very friendly—with other students. He laughed too loud at Lavender Brown’s jokes. He offered to help a Ravenclaw prefect with Charms. He stood a little too close to a Hufflepuff boy during study sessions.

And every time, Draco Malfoy materialised like a vengeful ghost. He’d sidle up, pale and tight-faced, and deliver a scathing insult that sent the other person scurrying. “Brown, your breath could curdle milk. Go away.” “Graves, Weasley doesn’t need your help—he’s too thick to benefit.” “Davies, remove your hand from his shoulder or I’ll remove it from your arm.”

Ron watched each time, a strange thrill buzzing through him. Draco’s eyes were always a little wild, a little desperate. His hands trembled. He looked, Ron realised, jealous.

The idea was intoxicating. And dangerous.

But Ron didn’t stop.

---

The Great Hall was loud, the enchanted ceiling showing a starry autumn sky. Ron sat at the Gryffindor table, and across the room, he could feel Draco’s gaze like a weight. Good.

A Hufflepuff girl named Megan approached, cheeks pink. “Ron? I… I’ve wanted to tell you something.”

He smiled, aware of the Slytherin table behind her. “Yeah? What’s that?”

She leaned in, and before he could think, her lips pressed against his. Soft and warm and completely wrong. Ron’s eyes stayed open.

From across the hall, a strangled sound.

Megan pulled back, smiling shyly. Ron forced a grin, but his attention was elsewhere. Draco had risen from the Slytherin table. He was moving—no, running—toward them, face a mask of something terrible.

“Malfoy?” Harry said, looking up.

Draco didn’t stop. He reached the space between tables, but instead of yelling, instead of insulting Megan, his legs buckled. He dropped to his knees on the stone floor with a crack that echoed through the suddenly silent hall.

“Draco?” Ron’s voice came out small.

Draco’s chest heaved. His breath came in ragged, panicked gasps. He clawed at his collar, eyes wide and unfocused. Black lines of mascara ran down his cheeks as tears spilled.

“Can’t—can’t breathe—” he choked.

The Great Hall erupted. Students stood on benches. Madam Pomfrey rushed from the staff table. Harry and Hermione ran toward Draco, but Ron stayed frozen, the taste of Megan’s kiss still on his lips.

Draco’s hands fluttered at his sides. He was trembling violently. “Ron—Ron, please—I’m sorry—I’m sorry—”

Then his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed sideways onto the floor.

The silence that followed was worse than any noise.

---

Harry and Hermione found Ron in an empty corridor an hour later, head in his hands.

“What have you done?” Hermione’s voice was sharp, harder than Ron had ever heard.

“I didn’t know he’d—” Ron started.

“Didn’t know? Ron, he’s been following you around like a lost puppy for a week. Anyone with half a brain could see he’s in love with you.”

Ron looked up, pale. “He’s Malfoy. He doesn’t—he can’t—”

“He can and he does,” Hermione said, softening a little. “And you used that. You used his feelings to get a reaction. That’s not a game, Ron. That’s cruel.”

The words hit like a hex. He thought of Draco on his knees, gasping. The mascara-stained cheeks. The trembling hands. The whispered apology.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Ron said, voice cracking. “I just… I didn’t understand why he kept showing up. Why he kissed me. I wanted to see if it was real.”

“And now you know,” Harry said quietly. “So what are you going to do about it?”

---

The hospital wing was dim and quiet, smelling of antiseptic and lavender. Draco lay in a bed near the window, face pale and bare of makeup, eyes closed. He looked younger like this. Smaller.

Ron pulled up a chair. The scrape made Draco’s eyes flutter open.

“Weasley.” Flat. No sneer.

“Malfoy.” Ron swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

Draco blinked slowly. “For what? For making a fool of me? For letting that girl kiss you? For standing there while I—”

“Yes,” Ron interrupted. “All of it. I was being a prat. I saw you getting jealous, and I thought it was funny. I didn’t realise how much it hurt you.”

Draco’s jaw tightened. “You weren’t supposed to realise. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything at all.”

“But you do.”

A long silence. Draco turned his head away, but Ron saw a tear slip down his cheek.

“I’ve liked you for years,” Draco whispered, barely audible. “Since second year. Since you stood up to me in the duelling club. I thought it would go away. It didn’t. It got worse.”

Ron’s heart hammered. He reached out, hesitated, then placed his hand over Draco’s on the blanket. Draco flinched but didn’t pull away.

“I don’t know what I feel,” Ron admitted. “But I know I don’t want you to cry because of me. And I know I kept looking for you, even when I pretended not to.”

Draco turned back, grey eyes searching Ron’s face. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying… maybe we could start over. Properly.” Ron gave a shaky smile. “No hexing. No insults. Just… talking. Seeing what happens.”

Draco stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he turned his hand over and laced his fingers through Ron’s.

“I suppose that’s acceptable,” he said, voice rough but genuine.

Ron squeezed his hand, and for the first time all week, the knot in his chest loosened. It wasn’t a grand declaration. It wasn’t a kiss. But it was a beginning, and for now, that was enough.