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Ron Weasley considered himself a patient man. He'd waited years for Hermione to notice him, had endured countless Quidditch practices in the rain, and had once sat through a four-hour lecture on the importance of proper cauldron maintenance. But watching Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy dance around each other for six months straight was testing even his legendary reserves of tolerance.
It started innocently enough. Well, as innocently as anything involving those two could start.
Ron had been nursing a pint at the Three Broomsticks after a particularly brutal Auror training session when Hermione burst through the door, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. She'd recently taken a position at the Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and Ron had learned to recognize that specific look: she'd won an argument.
"Ron! You'll never guess who I ran into at Flourish and Blotts? Draco Malfoy!"
Ron nearly choked on his Butterbeer. "Malfoy? What did the ferret want?"
"Don't call him that," Hermione chided, sliding into the booth across from him. "He's changed, Ron. Really. He was looking for advanced Arithmancy texts—apparently he's teaching at Hogwarts now. We had the most fascinating discussion about variable theory in numerical divination."
"Fascinating," Ron repeated flatly. "Right."
"He asked about you," Hermione continued, ignoring his tone. "And Harry. Where he was, what he was doing."
That made Ron pause. Harry had just signed with the Montrose Magpies as their starting Seeker, a position that had him traveling across Britain for matches and training camps. It was brilliant for Harry—Quidditch had always been his escape, his joy—but it meant Ron saw less of his best mate than he'd like.
"Probably wanted to gloat about having a stable job or something," Ron muttered, but his heart wasn't in it. The war had been over for five years. Even he had to admit that holding grudges took more energy than it was worth.
"Actually," Hermione said, pulling out a book and settling in with the air of someone prepared to stay awhile, "he seemed genuinely interested. Said he'd been following Harry's career. Thought his match against the Harpies last month was 'unexpectedly competent.'"
"High praise from Malfoy," Ron said dryly.
"I thought so too."
What Ron didn't mention—because he hadn't quite processed it himself yet, was that he'd seen Malfoy at that very match. He'd been in the VIP section, of all places, watching with the kind of focused intensity that Ron usually associated with Hermione reading a particularly dense tome. And when Harry had caught the Snitch in a spectacular dive that had the crowd roaring, Ron could have sworn he saw Malfoy smile.
Not smirk. Smile.
But that was mad, so Ron had pushed it out of his mind and chalked it up to too much sun.
***
The second incident happened three weeks later.
Ron had convinced Harry to grab lunch at a tiny curry place in Muggle London, somewhere they wouldn't be bothered by fans or reporters. Harry had been in brilliant form lately—three wins in a row, and the press was calling him the best Seeker since Charlie Buchanan. His best mate had grown into himself over the past few years, all lean muscle and sun-bronzed skin, his dark hair perpetually windswept and his green eyes bright with the kind of contentment Ron had never seen during their Hogwarts days.
"So," Ron said, attacking his vindaloo with enthusiasm, "Hermione mentioned she ran into Malfoy."
Harry's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "Did she?"
"Yeah. Teaching Arithmancy at Hogwarts now, apparently." Ron watched his friend carefully. "You knew that?"
"I might have heard something about it," Harry said, suddenly very interested in his curry.
"Harry."
"What?"
"You're rubbish at lying. Have been since we were eleven."
Harry sighed, setting down his fork. "He wrote to me. A few months ago."
Ron blinked. "He wrote to you. Malfoy. Wrote to you."
"It started as an apology," Harry said quickly. "For... well, everything. Hogwarts, the war, all of it. I wrote back because it seemed like the right thing to do. We've been corresponding ever since."
"Corresponding," Ron repeated, testing the word. It sounded so formal, so un-Harry-like.
"He's actually quite funny in writing," Harry continued, and there was something in his voice—something warm and almost sheepish—that made Ron's eyebrows climb toward his hairline. "Sharp, you know? But not cruel anymore. Just... witty. He tells me about his students, about the ridiculous things that happen at Hogwarts. Did you know that a third-year tried to calculate the exact numerical value of love last month and accidentally turned the Arithmancy classroom pink for a week?"
Harry was smiling as he said it, the kind of soft, unconscious smile that Ron had only seen him use when talking about Quidditch or Ginny, back when they'd been together.
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no.
"Mate," Ron said carefully. "Are you... do you fancy Malfoy?"
Harry's head snapped up so fast Ron worried about whiplash. "What? No! We're just - we're friends. Sort of. It's complicated."
"That's not a no."
"Ron -"
"I'm not having a go at you," Ron said, raising his hands in surrender. "I'm just... trying to understand. This is Malfoy we're talking about."
"I know who he is," Harry said quietly. "I also know who he's become. They're not the same person."
Ron sat back, studying his best friend. Harry had always been loyal to a fault, had always seen the best in people even when they didn't deserve it. But this wasn't just Harry being Harry. This was something else entirely.
"Does he know?" Ron asked. "That you might... you know."
"There's nothing to know," Harry insisted, but his ears were pink. "We're friends. That's all."
Ron nodded slowly, filing that information away for later. "Right. Friends."
They finished their meal in companionable silence, but Ron's mind was spinning. He needed to talk to Hermione.
***
"I think Harry fancies Malfoy," Ron announced the moment he walked into their flat that evening.
Hermione looked up from the case files spread across their kitchen table. "That's nice, dear. Did you pick up milk?"
"Hermione. Did you hear what I just said?"
"Yes, Ron. Harry fancies Draco. Is there a reason you're telling me something I've known for at least two months?"
Ron gaped at her. "You KNEW?"
"Of course I knew. I'm not blind." She turned back to her files, making a note in the margin of one. "Besides, Draco told me."
"Malfoy, sorry, Draco, told you that Harry fancies him?"
"No, he told me that he fancies Harry. Try to keep up."
Ron collapsed into the chair across from her, feeling like the world had tilted on its axis. "How are you so calm about this?"
Hermione finally gave him her full attention, setting down her quill. "Because they're both adults who deserve to be happy? Because the war is over and people change? Because I've actually spent time with Draco over the past few months and found him to be intelligent, surprisingly kind, and exactly the sort of person who could match Harry's energy?"
"But he's Malfoy," Ron said weakly.
"He was Malfoy. Now he's Draco, and he's my friend." She reached across the table to squeeze Ron's hand. "I know it's an adjustment. But you should see them together, Ron. The way Draco looks at Harry when he thinks no one's watching... it's rather lovely, actually."
"When would you have seen them together?"
Hermione's expression turned slightly guilty. "Draco and I have lunch every other week. Sometimes Blaise joins us—you remember Blaise Zabini? He's doing quite well in magical imports and exports. Anyway, Harry has stopped by a few times when he's been in London between matches."
"I can't believe you've been having secret lunch dates with Slytherins," Ron said, but there was no real heat in it.
"They're not secret, you've just been busy with Auror training. Besides, you'd like Draco if you gave him a chance. He asked about you, you know. Wanted to know if you'd be interested in getting a drink sometime."
"He did?"
"Yes. I think he's trying to make amends with everyone he hurt. It's actually quite admirable."
Ron rubbed his face, processing. "So let me get this straight. Harry fancies Malfoy. Malfoy fancies Harry. They're both too stubborn or oblivious to do anything about it. And you've been watching this unfold while having friendly lunches with the git."
"That's about the sum of it, yes."
"Brilliant," Ron muttered. "Just brilliant."
***
The Montrose Magpies versus Puddlemere United match was one of the season's biggest draws, and Ron had excellent seats courtesy of being Harry Potter's best mate. What he hadn't expected was to find Draco Malfoy sitting three seats down from his own.
Malfoy, because Ron still couldn't quite think of him as Draco, not yet, had changed since their school days. He'd always been pale, but now it seemed less sickly and more refined, aristocratic in a way that actually suited him. His white-blond hair was shorter, styled with careless precision, and he wore tailored black robes that probably cost more than Ron's monthly salary. But it was his face that really showed the change, the perpetual sneer was gone, replaced by an expression of focused attention as he watched the players warm up.
Ron made his way over, Hermione following behind.
"Malfoy," he said gruffly.
Grey eyes flickered to him, and for a moment Ron saw something guarded in their depths. Then Malfoy, Draco, smiled. It was tentative, almost nervous, and it transformed his entire face.
"Weasley. Granger. I didn't realize you'd be here."
"Harry's our best mate," Ron said. "Where else would we be?"
"Fair point." Draco gestured to the seats beside him. "Would you like to sit? I'm here alone, and I promise I've learned to share space without hexing anyone."
Ron glanced at Hermione, who gave him an encouraging nod. With a mental shrug, he dropped into the seat next to Draco.
"So," Ron said, because subtlety had never been his strong suit, "you follow Quidditch now?"
"I follow Harry," Draco corrected, then seemed to realize what he'd said. A faint pink tinge colored his pale cheeks. "His career, I mean. The Magpies are having an excellent season."
"They are," Ron agreed, deciding to take pity on him. "Harry's been flying better than ever. Reckon he's happy."
"He deserves to be."
There was something in Draco's voice, something soft and genuine, that made Ron look at him more closely. Hermione had been right. Whatever Draco felt for Harry, it was written all over his face when he thought no one was paying attention.
The match started with a roar from the crowd, and Ron forced himself to focus on the game. Harry was magnificent, as always, a blur of green and black as he circled the pitch, eyes scanning for the Snitch. The Magpies were up by forty points when Harry suddenly dove, his Firebolt Supreme eating up the distance to the ground at breathtaking speed.
Ron was on his feet, cheering. Beside him, Draco had gone absolutely still, his knuckles white where they gripped the edge of his seat.
"Come on," Draco whispered, so quietly Ron almost didn't hear him. "Come on, Harry."
Harry pulled up at the last possible second, the Golden Snitch clutched triumphantly in his fist, and the stadium exploded. Ron was shouting himself hoarse, Hermione was hugging him, and when he glanced at Draco, the other man was smiling with undisguised joy and relief.
"Brilliant," Draco breathed. "Absolutely brilliant."
After the match, they made their way down to the players' entrance. Harry emerged twenty minutes later, hair still damp from the showers, wearing jeans and a Magpies t-shirt that clung to his frame. He'd always been slight as a teenager, but Quidditch had filled him out—broad shoulders, strong arms, the kind of athletic build that came from years of professional training.
His face lit up when he saw them. "Ron! Hermione! You made it!"
"'Course we made it," Ron said, pulling Harry into a hug. "That dive was mental, by the way. Thought you were going to crater yourself."
"Had it under control," Harry said, grinning. Then his gaze landed on Draco, and something soft and wondering entered his expression. "Draco. Hi."
"Hello, Harry," Draco said, and Ron could hear the smile in his voice. "Excellent match. Though that last dive took at least five years off my life."
"Worth it though, right?" Harry was moving toward Draco as if pulled by a magnet, and Ron felt Hermione's hand on his arm, gently tugging him back to give them space.
"Completely worth it," Draco agreed.
They stood there, just looking at each other, and Ron was hit with the sudden realization that he was witnessing something private. Something important.
"Right," he said loudly, making both Harry and Draco jump. "Who's hungry? I'm starving. Let's get dinner."
***
Dinner became a regular thing after that.
At first, it was just the four of them, Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Draco. Sometimes Blaise Zabini joined them, and Ron found himself reluctantly admitting that the Slytherins weren't nearly as terrible as he'd remembered. Blaise was dry-witted and surprisingly funny, with a merchant's instinct for reading people that made him excellent company. And Draco...
Draco was sharp-tongued, yes, but in a way that was more playful than cruel. He traded barbs with Hermione about obscure magical theory, told elaborate stories about his students that had them all laughing, and watched Harry with eyes that gave away everything his carefully controlled words didn't.
And Harry? Harry was absolutely gone for him.
It was in the way Harry's attention always tracked to Draco in a crowded room. The way he laughed harder at Draco's jokes, leaned closer during conversations, found excuses to brush against him in passing. The way he lit up like a Christmas tree whenever Draco walked into a room.
The only ones who seemed oblivious to this painfully obvious mutual attraction were Harry and Draco themselves.
"I'm going mad," Ron told Hermione one night as they got ready for bed. "How can they not see it?"
"Love makes people rather stupid," Hermione said philosophically. "Look how long it took us to figure out our own feelings."
"That was different. We were teenagers."
"And Harry spent seven years with us being teenagers," Hermione pointed out. "He's got experience with oblivious pining."
Ron groaned, flopping back onto their bed. "Someone needs to do something."
"Absolutely not," Hermione said firmly. "We are not meddling, Ronald Weasley. They'll figure it out on their own."
"But -"
"No."
Ron sulked, but he knew better than to argue with Hermione when she used that tone.
***
The Quidditch season culminated in the British and Irish League Championship, with the Magpies facing off against the Ballycastle Bats. It was the biggest match of Harry's professional career, and half the wizarding world had turned out to watch.
Ron had secured a box for their group, himself, Hermione, Ginny (who'd come to support her ex-boyfriend-turned-good-friend), Blaise, and Draco. The atmosphere was electric, the crowd a sea of green and black for the Magpies, red and gold for the Bats.
"Harry must be nervous," Ginny said, leaning forward to watch the players enter the pitch.
"He's terrified," Draco said quietly. "He sent me an owl this morning. Could barely sleep last night."
Everyone turned to look at him, and Draco seemed to realize he'd revealed more than he'd intended. He cleared his throat. "We correspond regularly. He tells me about his matches."
"And you tell him about your students," Ron said, because he'd heard all about it from both Harry and Hermione.
"Yes," Draco admitted. "It's... we have a standing correspondence."
"Sounds romantic," Ginny said with a knowing smirk.
Draco's expression shuttered. "It's not like that. Harry doesn't - we're friends."
"Right," Ginny said, in a tone that suggested she believed that about as much as Ron did. "Friends."
The match began, and Ron forced himself to concentrate. This was important for Harry. Everything else could wait.
It was brutal. The Bats were ruthless, their Beaters targeting Harry with a viciousness that had Ron on his feet shouting protests more than once. But Harry was incredible, dodging, weaving, staying focused on the Snitch even as Bludgers whizzed past his head.
Beside Ron, Draco had gone pale, his hands clenched so tightly in his lap that Ron worried he'd hurt himself.
"He's all right," Ron said, surprising himself. "Harry's the best Seeker in the league. He can handle this."
Draco nodded jerkily, not taking his eyes off the pitch.
The match stretched on for hours. The score was tied at 180-180 when Harry suddenly rocketed upward, the Bats' Seeker hot on his tail. They climbed higher and higher, until they were nearly out of sight, two dark specks against the clouds.
Then Harry dove.
It was the most spectacular, terrifying, beautiful thing Ron had ever seen. Harry fell like a stone, arms tight against his sides, his Firebolt Supreme screaming as it cut through the air. The Bats' Seeker was following, but he didn't have Harry's nerve—he pulled up twenty feet before Harry did, and that was all the difference.
Harry's fist closed around the Snitch five feet from the ground, and he pulled up at the very last second, whooping in triumph as the crowd went absolutely mental.
Ron was screaming, Hermione was crying, Ginny was dancing, Blaise was applauding enthusiastically, and Draco -
Draco was standing completely still, eyes suspiciously shiny, smiling like the sun had just come out.
"He did it," Draco whispered. "He actually did it."
***
They fought their way down to the pitch, where Harry was being mobbed by teammates, reporters, and fans. He was covered in sweat, dirt, and what looked like grass stains, his hair sticking up in every direction, his grin so wide it had to hurt.
When he spotted them, he broke away from the crowd and ran over. Ron braced himself for a sweaty hug and got exactly that, Harry was disgusting and smelled like a gym bag, but Ron didn't care. This was his best mate, his brother in everything but blood, and he'd just won the Championship.
"You absolute legend," Ron said, pounding Harry on the back.
"We did it!" Harry was bouncing on his toes like an overgrown puppy. "Ron, we actually did it!"
Hermione hugged him next, then Ginny, then Blaise, and finally, finally, Harry turned to Draco.
They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, and Ron saw the exact moment Harry registered that he was gross and sweaty and probably shouldn't hug Draco in his expensive robes. Harry started to step back, apologetic smile forming -
And then Draco closed the distance and pulled Harry into a fierce embrace.
Harry froze, clearly shocked, but then his arms came up to wrap around Draco's waist, and he buried his face in Draco's shoulder. They stood like that for a long moment, holding each other while the celebration raged around them, and Ron saw Draco's hand come up to brush Harry's sweaty hair back from his forehead.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them were smiling like absolute fools.
"You were amazing," Draco said, his voice rough with emotion.
"You came," Harry said wonderingly. "You actually came."
"Of course I came. I wouldn't have missed this for anything."
They were still standing too close, still staring at each other, and Ron felt Hermione tug on his sleeve.
"Let's give them a minute," she murmured.
"But -"
"Ron. A minute."
Reluctantly, Ron let himself be pulled away, though he kept glancing back at Harry and Draco. They were talking now, Harry gesturing animatedly while Draco listened with obvious fondness, and something in Ron's chest went warm.
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
***
The celebration party was held at a wizarding hotel in London, a sprawling affair with half the Quidditch world in attendance. Ron had stationed himself at the bar with Blaise, both of them nursing drinks and watching the crowd.
"They're hopeless," Blaise said, nodding toward where Harry and Draco stood by the windows, deep in conversation.
"Completely," Ron agreed. "How long have you known? That Draco fancies Harry?"
"Since Hogwarts, probably." Blaise swirled his drink thoughtfully. "Draco has always been obsessed with Harry Potter. We all just assumed it was rivalry, but looking back... I think it was always more than that. He just didn't have the language for it then."
"And now?"
"Now he's had years to think about it, to grow up and figure out who he is. And apparently who he is includes being pathetically in love with Harry Potter." Blaise smiled. "Could be worse. Potter's not terrible."
"High praise from a Slytherin," Ron said dryly.
"We have standards," Blaise replied primly. Then, more seriously, "He makes Draco happy. I haven't seen Draco this happy since before the war. That counts for something."
Ron thought about that, watching Harry throw his head back and laugh at something Draco said. Harry looked happy too—lighter than Ron had seen him in years. The weight of the war, of being the Chosen One, had finally lifted from his shoulders, and what was left was just Harry. Happy, brilliant, beloved Harry.
"Yeah," Ron said quietly. "It counts for a lot, actually."
***
The moment of truth came two weeks later, at Hogwarts of all places.
Ron and Hermione had been invited to give a guest lecture on Post-War Reconstruction in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Draco had convinced them to stay for dinner afterward. They'd just finished their lecture when a commotion in the entrance hall drew their attention.
Harry had apparently decided to visit Draco as a surprise.
Ron watched from the marble staircase as Draco descended from the upper floors, clearly coming from his classroom. He hadn't seen Harry yet, he was talking to Professor McGonagall about something, his expression animated, when Harry came barreling through the main doors.
"Draco!"
Draco turned, and his entire face transformed. "Harry? What are you doing here?"
"I missed you," Harry said simply, crossing the entrance hall in long strides. He was in casual clothes, jeans and a green jumper that matched his eyes, and he looked windblown and gorgeous and hopelessly in love.
Ron heard Hermione's quiet intake of breath beside him.
"I'm still in my teaching robes," Draco said, which was possibly the most irrelevant observation ever given the circumstances. "I have marking to do. There's a staff meeting in an hour."
"I don't care," Harry said, and then he kissed him.
It wasn't dramatic or showy, just a soft, tender press of lips that somehow felt more intimate than anything Ron had ever witnessed. Draco made a small, surprised sound, his hands coming up to clutch at Harry's jumper, and when they finally broke apart, both of them looked dazed.
"Oh," Draco breathed. "Oh."
"Yeah," Harry said, smiling. "That's what I've been trying to tell you for months. But you're brilliant and oblivious and I love you anyway."
"You love me," Draco repeated faintly.
"So much it's actually embarrassing. Ron's been making fun of me for weeks."
"I have not!" Ron called down, because he had some pride. "I've been very supportive!"
Both Harry and Draco jumped, finally noticing their audience. Several students had stopped to watch, along with a handful of professors. Professor McGonagall looked like she was trying very hard not to smile.
"Ron!" Harry's ears were bright red. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough," Ron said, grinning. He jogged down the stairs, Hermione following more sedately. "About bloody time, by the way."
"Ronald," Hermione chided, but she was smiling too.
Draco had gone pink, a full-body flush that crept up from his collar and made him look younger, more vulnerable. "I - Harry, I didn't think -"
"I know," Harry said gently, taking Draco's hand. "I'm telling you now. I love you. Have for a while. And unless I'm completely misreading things, you feel the same way?"
"Yes," Draco managed. "Yes, you complete and utter disaster of a man, I'm absolutely mad about you."
Harry's grin could have powered the castle. "Yeah?"
"Yes." Draco was smiling now too, that same helpless, joyful smile Ron had seen at the Quidditch match. "Though I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with you."
"I have some ideas," Harry said, and Draco laughed, a real, unguarded laugh that echoed through the entrance hall.
Ron felt Hermione slip her hand into his, squeezing gently.
"They're going to be insufferable," Ron said, but he couldn't stop smiling.
"Absolutely," Hermione agreed. "It's going to be wonderful."
And watching Harry and Draco stand there in the Hogwarts entrance hall, holding hands and grinning at each other like lovesick teenagers, Ron had to admit she was right.
It was pretty wonderful indeed.
***
Six months later, Ron found himself at another Quidditch match, Magpies versus Harpies, but this time he wasn't watching the game. Well, not entirely.
He was watching Draco, who was sitting beside him in the friends and family section, wearing a Magpies scarf that Harry had given him and shouting himself hoarse in a display of partisan enthusiasm that would have gotten him mocked relentlessly in their Hogwarts days.
"Come on, Harry!" Draco yelled as Harry circled overhead. "I did not take time off from grading essays to watch you lose to Ginny!"
"He can't hear you!" Ron shouted back, but he was laughing.
"He can feel my support!" Draco insisted, and honestly, given the way Harry kept glancing toward their section between passes, he might have been right.
The match ended with a Magpies victory, Harry catching the Snitch right out from under Ginny's nose in a move that had her cursing and him laughing, and when he flew down after the handshakes and press obligations, he made a beeline for their section.
Harry vaulted the barrier, sweaty and grass-stained and absolutely disgusting, and swept Draco into a kiss that made several nearby fans whistle and cheer.
"Gross," Ron said automatically, but he was grinning.
"Hopelessly romantic," Hermione corrected, taking a photo with her Muggle camera.
When Harry and Draco finally broke apart, both of them flushed and happy, Harry slung an arm around Draco's shoulders and turned to Ron.
"Dinner?" Harry asked. "All of us? Blaise is coming, and Ginny said she'd join if she's done being furious at me for that last Feint."
"She'll be furious for at least another hour," Ron said knowledgeably. "But yeah, dinner sounds brilliant."
As they made their way out of the stadium, Harry and Draco walking ahead with their heads bent close together, Hermione leaned over to whisper, "You know, I think you saw this coming before anyone else."
"I'm observant," Ron said loftily.
"You're a meddler."
"I didn't meddle! You specifically told me not to meddle!"
"But you wanted to," Hermione said, kissing his cheek. "That's what counts."
Ron watched Harry ruffle Draco's hair, laughing when Draco swatted his hand away with mock indignation. They were happy. Both of them. Together.
Yeah, Ron thought. He'd seen this coming.
And he was glad he'd been right.