Draco and Harry stayed asleep at Grimmauld Place for far too long. They slept until the sun had set and then risen again, and through most of the next day, too. They were undisturbed in that time- well, nearly.

At about midnight, there had been a bit of a disturbance.

. . .

After three hours of Harry (and Draco) being missing, Ronald Weasley got suspicious. And what do you do when something might be wrong? You go to Hermione, of course.

"'Mione," he said, that night in the Gryffindor common room. Hermione hummed in acknowledgement, but didn't move even to put her book down. "'Mione, Harry's been gone for hours," he tried.

"He does that," Hermione told him.

"Well, yeah, but what if something happens?"

Hermione finally put her book down to raise an eyebrow at him. "Ronald, when has anything ever happened?"

"Well- first thing that comes to mind is when he went off and died," Ron said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "This year, Ron. When he goes off, where is he usually? Somewhere with Malfoy making that potion of theirs."

"That doesn't help!" Ron said incredulously. "What's Malfoy gonna do if they get in trouble? What if Malfoy is the one causing the trouble?"

"Oh, if you're so worried, go talk to McGonagall."

"Alright," Ron said, standing up and going to the portrait-hole.

Hermione picked up her book again, glanced at Ron leaving the room, put it back down again with a sigh, and called after him, "I'm coming too!"

"Yes, Ms. Granger? Mr. Weasley? How may I assist you?" McGonagall asked the two, up in her office.

"Well, you see, Harry's gone missing-" Ron managed to get out before both Hermione and McGonagall interrupted him.

"Missing?" McGonagall cried.

"Well, not missing, it's only been a few hours," Hermione said.

McGonagall turned to her. "A few hours?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "We were wondering if you knew where he was, or if you could find out."

McGonagall, though incredibly worried, steeled herself, nodded, and shooed Ron and Hermione out of her office so she could start working on finding Harry.

. . .

She started by floo-calling everywhere he might have gone; from the Burrow to Godric's Hollow- even the Dursleys'. She had one last resort.

"Kreacher," she called out. With a crack of apparition, the house-elf appeared in front of her.

"What do you require?" he asked. He'd been assigned to work at Hogwarts after the War, as Harry didn't want him staying in a old, dusty house when there was no one to cater for.

"Kreacher, where is Harry?"

Kreacher tilted his head to the side. "Master Potter is currently in Grimmauld Place's living room. Would you like me to take you to him?"

"No, thank you. That will be all. Please return to your duties." With another crack, Kreacher returned to the kitchens. McGonagall turned to the fireplace. "Grimmauld Place living room," she called, and once the connection was secure, she knelt down and pushed her head through the flames of her office into the still-burning flames at Grimmauld place. And nearly started shouting with joy.

"Albus owes me fifty galleons," she murmured.

She retreated from the fire, severed the connection, and made her way to the Gryffindor common room. At her arrival, Hermione and Ron bounded over to her, eager for news on their friend.

"Harry is perfectly safe and happy," she told them.

"Where is he?"

McGonagall recalled the image of the boys, snuggled up together so happily. "I shan't disclose that information to you two, or you would immediately go off searching for him. He is safe, and he is happy, and I have no doubt he will return when he is ready."

. . .

This, of course, did absolutely nothing to help Ron. It'd been three and a half hours of no Harry at this point, and Hermione was starting to worry, too.

Dinnertime had rolled around; as the pair made their way down to the Great Hall, they talked in quiet voices about what might've happened. Zabini and Parkinson were already waiting for the two when they arrived, and they seemed worried, too. When Ron and Hermione had seated themselves, they opened up their issue with the rest of their friends. Ginny (and Luna by extension), Neville, Seamus and Dean, and Parkinson and Zabini overheard, too. None of them would spread the news- who knew how bad Hogwarts would panic if they thought Harry was really missing, not just doing potions with Malfoy. (Actually, they might panic more at the second idea than the first. Harry hated both potions and Malfoy. (Or so Ron thought.))

Their little group did panic, but didn't spread the news. Zabini then said, "You know, we think Draco's been missing for about that long, too. Usually they're brew-er, arguing somewhere together; maybe they're together now, too."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "If Malfoy does anything to Harry-" he ripped off a piece of chicken.

Parkinson rolled her eyes. "Draco wouldn't hurt a hair on Potter's head if his life depended on it, Weasley. Our problem is where they're at, and anyone else that might be with them." Most of the Gryffindors had stopped listening when the conversation turned to Malfoy, so only Hermione and Ron leaned in to hear what Parkinson said. "Y'know, there's been talk amongst the Slytherin parents about a new group of Death Eaters. People who escaped Azkaban and want revenge on Potter. I don't know if it's true, but he could be in danger. Draco, if he's with him, could be in danger too."

"Blimey. Well, that settles it," Ron said, standing up. "I'm going to find Harry."

Hermione's eyebrow's shot up. "You haven't even finished eating your dinner!" she exclaimed.

"Harry's far more important," Ron said. Hermione's jaw dropped open.

"If you think you're going off looking for Potter while Draco is missing and probably with him, you are sorely mistaken," Parkinson said.

"Yeah," Zabini added. "We're in."

Hermione looked around at the group, seeing their unwavering determination. "Alright, then," she sighed. "I suppose I'll come along so you idiots don't get yourselves trapped or lost or killed."

They'd exited the castle by the time any of them realised that they had no idea where they were going.

"Well, McGonagall said she found Harry," Hermione said, "And she had ashes in her hair, but not on her clothes. So, she probably floo called around until she found them. It took her half a hour, so it wouldn't be the first place you'd think Harry would go- like the Burrow, for example. So where would Harry go?"

Zabini and Parkinson, having apparently established that Malfoy would be where Harry was, listened and made a list as Hermione and Ron ran through places Harry might've gone.

"The Burrow, obviously; Luna's house, Andromeda's house; wow, Harry doesn't really have many place to go to. Um, Godric's Hollow?"

"Grimmauld Place? Hogsmeade?"

"Wait," said Parkinson. "Granger, you said McGonagall flooed the place? Wouldn't it be easier for us to just floo around asking, too?"

"Where are we gonna get a Floo?" Ron asked.

"We can't use McGonagall's, or any others in the school," Hermione said. "Unless we bring our own floo powder, that is. Then we could use the Room of Requirement to get a floo."

"Anyone got Floo powder?" Zabini asked.

"Nope," the group said collectively.

"So, we'll need an actual floo where we preferably won't be interrupted."

"Well," Ron said hesitantly, "Isn't Grimmauld Place hidden by a Fidelius? There's a floo in the main room, too."

"Oh, the old Black house?" Parkinson asked.

"You know about Grimmauld Place?"

"Of course. I'm a pureblood; we all go to each others' houses when we're young. I've been there, and Malfoy Manor, and Blaise's home, too."

"So- all you purebloods know where Grimmauld Place is?" Hermione asked.

"Number 12, Grimmauld Place," said Parkinson and Zabini.

Hermione groaned. "You could have all infiltrated us and found as at any point in the war-" she started saying, but Ron interrupted before she could wind herself up too much.

"In any case, we should head over to Grimmauld Place to use the Floo. We need to get off Hogwarts Grounds to apparate there. C'mon," he said, heading towards the Whomping Willow.

When Parkinson and Zabini identified where he was headed, they both immediately began backing up, shouting, "Weasley, what are you doing? Do you want to die?!"

Ron just picked up one of the long branches, fallen from the tree, and (avoiding the branches of the tree) hit the knot at its base. The tree stopped moving, and Ron entered the dark tunnel, trusting Hermione to lead the others after him.

He emerged in the Shrieking Shack, and made his way out into the streets of Hogsmeade. It was a quiet day today. The shops were open but not busy- except for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Ron didn't even have to look to know it was shut. It hadn't opened once since the war. He passed quickly, and without a second glance back.

He made his way to the outskirts of Hogsmeade, over the edge of a snowy cliff. He remembered sitting here with Hermione; remembered Malfoy, being pelted by snowballs, and Harry playing with the strings of his hat. He smiled.

"Right, ready?" Hermione asked him once the group had gathered. She was taking Ron in a Side-along, while Parkinson and Zabini went together. He gripped her hand as the sickening feeling of apparating washed over him.

He somehow managed to not throw up when his feet hit the ground again; probably helped a lot that he had retained all his bodily parts this time.

He looked up as Zabini and Parkinson dusted off their robes. The house emerged before him, a looming grey wall of foreboding.

Parkinson stepped up to the door first; she opened it with a flick of her wand. The group entered silently, avoiding the portrait of Walburga Black, making their way into the living room- well, they started to, but Parkinson and Hermione (leading the group) both stopped in the doorway so abruptly that Ron walked into Zabini. "Bloody hell," Ron muttered. Parkinson and Hermione immediately turned around and shushed him, then tiptoed further into the living room. So they were being quiet, then? Okay.

Zabini blocked Ron's view for a moment when they entered; then he moved, and Ron nearly swore.

Harry was there.

So was Malfoy.

And they were hugging. No, not even that. They were- they were embracing each other. Ron's eyes widened, and he said, "What the bloody-" before Hermione cut him off, slapping her hand over his mouth.

"Don't wake them up," she hissed at him.

"Wake them up?!" Ron said, his voice muffled by Hermione's hand. "'Mione, are you seeing what I'm seeing? They are asleep together!"

"Yes, Ronald, I see- do you know what I also see? Harry is smiling."

Ron squinted at the pair and- yes- he could just make out the edges of a smile on Harry's face, nestled in Malfoy's shoulder. He suppressed a shudder.

The group stood there, watching Malfoy and Harry for another couple of minutes, each dealing with their own emotions at this revelation. Parkinson and Zabini seemed almost relieved, which was strange; Hermione looked like something obvious had just hit her, like she'd solved a problem, and was applying her answer to other situations. It was a look Ron had seen on her many times before.

Ron himself was having an internal battle, which continued even as Parkinson led the group back out, and as the group returned to Hogwarts. He hated Malfoy. They ferretty git had insulted him and his family for all of his life. He'd been prejudiced and rude towards Hermione- well, he had been, Ron supposed. He couldn't actually think of a single time this year that Malfoy had insulted Hermione- especially not for her blood status.

And then there was that damned smile on Harry's face. He hadn't smiled in his sleep for a long, long time,being constantly plagued with nightmares as he was.

As Ron thought, Parkinson and Hermione started talking very quickly in very high voices about Draco and Harry. Ron put aside his inner turmoil for now and listened.

"Draco's been whining about Harry since first year," Parkinson said excitedly. "Now he'll have to admit it was because he liked Potter!" Wait, what? Malfoy liked Harry?

"I know, I know!" Hermione said in response. "I don't know how I could've missed it before; it's so obvious! He's liked Malfoy for years!" What?!

"But, knowing Harry," Hermione said, frowning, "He won't even realise for ages..."

"Well, until he does, we should give them a ship name to talk about them. A recognisable one, though," said Parkinson.

"Woah, Pans," said Zabini, "You don't know the gossip?" Immediately, both girls turned to him. "Wow, I know something about Hogwarts gossip that Pansy Parkinson doesn't. This feels good."

"Spill, Blaise."

"There's already a ship name for Draco and Potter. They're calling them 'Drarry'."

Parkinson frowned. "Hmm... It'll do, I suppose. Not the most original or names, nor the most secretive... Oh well, those two are so oblivious, they wouldn't figure out it's about them."

Ron, meanwhile, was suffering through the revelation Hermione had made earlier. Harry and Malfoy like each other.

Oh, bloody hell. They really did. And- to make matters worse- curled up at Grimmauld Place... They'd looked good together. Comfortable. Happy.

Ron wondered if Harry's breakup with Ginny (that Ron had, honestly, been expecting) had been because not one, but both members of the relationship realised they were LGBTQ+. And maybe Harry's obsession with Malfoy would've been an obvious hint at Harry's sexuality- nope, Ron was not thinking about this. The girls could do that.

Inside Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione split up from Blaise and Pansy- as the Slytherins had insisted on being called- with a wave of goodbye. As they headed up to Gryffindor tower, Ron decided that he would wait until Harry was ready to tell him whatever he wanted to until he drew his final conclusions. For now, as long as Malfoy wasn't hurting Harry, Ron would just avoid the subject as much as he could.

He went to bed thinking over what had happened. The only solid conclusion he came to was that 'Drarry' could be, with some effort, something he could learn to live with- so long as Harry was happy. If Harry was happy, then Ron could be too, because Harry deserved everything Ron could give him and more.