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Blue Skies Crossed by Vindictus Viridian

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Chapter Notes: A gift for Mask, who truth-or-dared me into just one more little Blue foray.
Weasley cannot save a thing,
He cannot block a single ring…


Draco was more than a little proud of that song. It had taken him several hours of quill-chewing to write, and a few more to convince his fellow Slytherins that Ron Weasley, in particular, was worth the effort to torment. As far as they knew, Ron was the weak member of the team, susceptible to teasing, and fewer points toward the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor was as good as more for Slytherin.

Draco had something else in mind. I would have tolerated a poorer companion for you, but never a weaker one, his father had said, and this was the test. If Ron was weak, he deserved every blush, every wince, every fumble. If Ron was not, then perhaps, just perhaps, they could make up their differences someday.

But first he had to stop letting the Quaffle fly through as he fell off his broom. How had he stayed on the team this long? Draco watched as he sang. Bradley of Ravenclaw had the Quaffle and was charging the Gryffindor rings. Ron froze, shot in what seemed the wrong direction – and blocked the Quaffle. Slytherin united to gasp and boo; Draco managed only the gasp. Perhaps it was an accident.

Minutes later, Chambers made another attempt to score against Gryffindor. Ron blocked that one, too, and in a way that really didn’t look like an accident. Draco remembered himself sufficiently to swear. Weasley was born in a bin… lost some of its punch. It was much harder to hassle someone who was doing well.

Draco sat as though disappointed. As far as cups and games went, he was. Still, what might a tougher Ron mean to him? What might he mean in turn to this new bold redhead? There had to be some way to approach the other boy, some way around all those brothers and Harry and those other little inconveniences of being smitten with a Weasley. If Draco himself could stand up to the torrent of hatred that the other Gryffindors poured on him, then Ron had to prove himself; that was the only way either of them could ever face their parents and confess. And Ron had crumpled last summer. Ron had betrayed a promise. Ron had failed.

Now – Ron swung down from his broom to catch the Quaffle, hurled it to one of the red Gryffindor blurs, and then turned quite clearly to face Slytherin’s seats and make a rude gesture. “Weasley Is Our King” faltered and faded. Draco shot to his feet and restarted it, just to be certain. His lover – his ex-lover, rather – had seemed strong once before, promising an invitation, promising everything. Draco didn’t think he could handle another summer of waiting and hoping before getting hurt again.

Weasley was born in a bin,
He always lets the Quaffle…


It didn’t work so well as a taunt when Weasley wasn’t letting the Quaffle in, Draco had to admit. A flash of motion caught his attention; the Seekers were after the Snitch. They lost it again, but Crabbe and Goyle would be lost to the world for the next five minutes in fantasies of two beautiful girls fighting on broomsticks. Draco thought about hexing them to get their attention back to the task at hand, but realized he no longer had a task for them. They might as well have their fantasy – one between them seemed about right for their tiny minds – while he had his own.

”Good game.” Ron looked at him as though he’d gone mental.

That wasn’t going to do it. Draco was good with words, and good at getting what he wanted. He could do better than that.

“I did talk about you with my father, indirectly. He wasn’t worried that I was seeing a boy, or even that you didn’t have much money; he was worried you weren’t strong enough. It looks like you are. What did yours say?”

No. That wouldn’t work either. This was the new Ron, who’d been around for all of minutes. He’d hardly been able to talk about love with his parents in those moments. And he certainly hadn’t before, or there would have been more of a letter than that drivel about “This isn’t going to work.”

At least, Draco thought there would have been.

How would he have reacted if he had Ron’s letter in hand, the one that should have come, and his parents had absolutely forbidden him to see Ron again? He would have thrown a fit, of course, but his parents had ways of ignoring those, and the truth was he found them both a little frightening sometimes. He would have objected. They would have threatened to send him to Durmstrang instead, which had its allures but no Ron. How hard would he have fought, before sending a letter that said very nearly what Ron’s had? Maybe Ron really had tried. Maybe the relationship really was just doomed from the start.

Or maybe they just had to be able to keep a secret. Draco blinked himself from his thoughts, jostled by Millicent Bullstrode above him on the stands and Crabbe and Goyle below. Apparently the game was over, and judging by the Slytherins around him, Gryffindor had actually won somehow. That meant they had the cup as well.

Weasley is our King,
He didn’t let the Quaffle in…


Draco felt a bit plagiarized as he hurried to the castle ahead of the red-clad mob bearing Ron, his Ron, on their shoulders. Perhaps he should take it as flattery of his song-writing skills rather than be annoyed. Draco waited just past the door, watching the melee as the crowd tried to squeeze through without dropping the hero of the hour. Ron rubbed his head, spotted Draco, and lost his generally content look in a scowl. Draco had preferred the other. He offered up a half-shrug that would mean nothing to anyone else, not even sure Ron would see it while being bounced around like that. Ron steadied himself against the jostling hands, looked back, and nodded once rather firmly.

Apology accepted, it seemed. Maybe tomorrow, when the fuss had died down, they could have a real talk, or better. Draco hurried away to Slytherin House, nervous about being alone in a sea of Gryffindors who might notice him at any moment. He felt a warm glow in his middle. Ron was strong. Someone strong had loved him, and might yet love him again. The families didn’t matter that much; their Houses didn’t matter that much. How it felt when Ron touched him, when he touched Ron – that mattered.



* “Weasley Is Our King” is quoted from OotP, Scholastic Press 2003, pp. 407, 684. Likewise, Ron brags specifically about Bradley and Chambers (p. 704), and Harry watches Ron being carried into the castle (pp. 701-2). This is closer to canon than I usually sail my ship, so I’m citing my sources. The other back-citations are all to the Blue series, and my own insanity.