Author's Note - See chapter one for disclaimers, warnings, ratings, etc.

Chapter Seven

When Draco got home, he went immediately to his bedroom closet and pulled a brown cardboard box from the top shelf. He placed it on his bed and pulled off the cover. In it were all his important papers, his original birth certificate, and his court papers changing his last name, his passport and other papers. On the bottom was a manila envelope filled with newspaper clippings. He pulled it out and dumped the contents on the bed.

He fingered them, and pulled the largest article away from the others and stared at it. It had a black and white photograph of two battered cars and picture of the same man he had seen in the frame at Ron’s house. His heart seemed to fall out of his body, but he knew it didn’t because it was beating so hard it throbbed in his head. The photo was confirmation of what he knew to be true. It was his father’s fault.

He scanned the article and read bits and pieces of it just to make sure it really was true.

“...confirmed that Lucius Malfoy was driving and it is suspected that alcohol was a contributing factor...”

“...Harry Potter, 22, an employee of the Postal Service, was killed instantly...”

Draco felt something on his cheek. He reached up and touched it, not knowing what it was. He felt wetness and realized he was crying. He hadn’t since he had been four years old and his father beat him for crying over something that Draco could no longer remember. He had never cried again, until now when he realized that his father had reached from beyond to make his life miserable once again.

He could’ve turned out as evil and rotten as his father, but he had refused to let that happen. He didn’t want to be like his father, so he had spent his life doing exactly opposite to ensure he would be a good person. Now, Draco wondered, what did it matter? He was destined for his father’s sins to haunt him and those he loved.

He reached for the obituary of the man who was unknown to him at the time he had clipped it from the paper. It was stapled to his mother’s. He hadn’t clipped his father’s obituary. He scanned Harry’s obituary and read the last line.

“...and he is survived by his partner of six years.”

Nowhere in the obituary was Ron’s name. Draco could only guess that the reason it wasn’t there was because Ron was a police officer and didn’t want the publicity. Six years...Ron had said that they had been together since they were sixteen...what a long time...and as it turned out, a lifetime.

Draco shoved the papers and the box off his bed and sat down heavily on the edge. He leaned slowly onto his side and pulled the pillow into his face. Then he sobbed uncontrollably for the first time since he was four.

He didn’t know someone could cry that much. By the time he had cried himself out, his eyes were so swollen he could barely get them open. He walked into his bathroom and saw his eyes were almost bruised underneath. He washed his face and looked back up in the mirror. He knew he had to tell Ron.

Ron was already at work and wouldn’t be home until the morning, Draco knew. He had to tell him as soon as possible. He clutched his stomach again and turned to the toilet. He threw up again. As he lie on the cold floor of his bathroom, he wondered how he would make it until morning. He decided to drive to Ron's house and sit on his porch until he came home.

Draco tossed and turned all night. He got up about two in the morning and sat on his couch for a while, then he tried to go back to bed, but he couldn’t sleep. He finally got up for good at four o’clock. He took a shower and got dressed. He sat on his couch until five-thirty, then got into his van and drove over to Ron’s house. Draco parked on the street, so Ron could get his car in his own driveway. He got out and sat on the step of Ron’s porch and waited.

*****

Ron wondered what had been the matter with Draco earlier in the day, but then when they returned to his house, he seemed to be himself again. Ron decided to not worry about it too much. He didn’t even go on about it to Hermione during work. He drove home with the sunrise just peeking over the horizon.

Ron turned down the alley and saw Draco’s van parked in the street. He frowned, not understanding why Draco’s van was there, but then thought maybe he was here to surprise him. He smiled thinking about that. He pulled into his driveway and saw Draco sitting, shivering on his porch. He had his arms wrapped around himself, trying to stay warm. He had his head down and only lifted it slightly, when he heard Ron’s car.

Ron got out of his car and started to walk to his door, thinking Draco would get up to meet him, but he didn’t. He sat on the porch, still shivering. He finally pulled himself up when Ron stood in front of him.

“Draco, what’s wrong?”

Draco wouldn’t look at him. “I have to talk to you.”

“Oh.” Ron got this sick feeling in his stomach. It flashed through his mind that maybe Draco had come to break it off with him.

They walked into the house, but Draco only came in a few feet. Ron walked towards his coffee table, pulling a gun out of the back of his waistband, from under his jacket. He then unsnapped a holster under his left arm and pulled out another gun. Draco’s mouth fell open, staring at the guns Ron tossed haphazardly on the table. Ron turned back to Draco and saw his face.

“I went on an undercover ride-along last night with Hermione and another officer.” Ron looked amused at Draco’s reaction. He stopped smiling when he noticed Draco didn't smile back. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

Draco lifted his eyes from the guns. "I have to tell you something."

Ron ran a hand over his hair. "You don't want to see me anymore." He said it with such a finality that he knew it must be true.

"No! No, not at all!" shouted Draco, louder than he meant.

"Then what is it?" Ron was getting impatient. He just wanted Draco to be out with it.

Draco felt his hands start to tremble. "When you told me yesterday about...Harry...I didn't realize it...until then...and then...I--"

"You are not making any fucking sense!" shouted Ron, who became angry the moment Draco said Harry's name.

"I know, I know...you see...it's my father...he, um...” stammered Draco.

Ron's face was turning red from anger and he crossed the room to stand in front of Draco. He grabbed Draco's upper arms and gripped them painfully. He began shaking Draco and yelled, "Tell me! What are you trying to tell me?"

Draco's teeth were jolting together and his neck was getting whipped about. He blurted out the horrible sentence that he knew would make Ron stop shaking him. "My father was the drunk driver that killed Harry."

Ron immediately let go of Draco. He turned his head slightly, looking at him with disgust.

"What?" whispered Ron. He knew what he had heard, but he couldn't believe it.

Draco was silent. He glanced at the guns again on the table. Ron saw him and Draco turned away from the table quickly. Ron scoffed at Draco and said in a low voice, "Don't worry. I won't ruin my life by killing you. My life has already been ruined."

Draco turned back to Ron and cried, "But, Ron! It's not my fault! I had nothing to do with it! It was my father's fault. I told you I hated him, didn't talk to him. I even changed my name!" The last sentence came out like a sob.

"Get out of my house," said Ron, in an eerie calm.

"Please, Ron. I love you."

Ron said through gritted teeth, "Shut up."

Draco clasped his hands together, begging Ron not to be mad at him, not to fault him for everything.

"Is that why you came up to me on the pier?" asked Ron.

"What?"

Ron enunciated each repeated word. "Is that why you came up to me on the pier?"

Draco was utterly confused. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t be so stupid! Did you know this before and you talked to me that first day on the pier because of some sort of sick joke?”

Draco tried to touch Ron, but he jerked away. “No. No. I didn’t know until yesterday.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “Yesterday. Yesterday. Was that before or after I let you...let you...” Ron’s mouth curled in a shocked circle. His eyebrows furrowed. His eyes blinked in disbelief. “Get out of my house,” repeated Ron.

“Please listen to me--” begged Draco.

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” screamed Ron, as he pushed Draco into the wall. Ron wrenched the door open and continued shoving Draco out of door.

Draco felt Ron’s hands hit him about the arms and chest. He heard him scream to get out. His heart broke as he felt Ron’s disgust with him. Draco tripped on the lip of the doorway and stumbled back. He caught himself on the broken screen door. Ron continued shoving him and screaming. Draco stumbled down the step of the porch before he turned and ran to his van.

He could barely see with the tears blinding and stinging his eyes. He jumped into his car and fumbled with the keys in his pocket. He tried to put them in the ignition but they fell to the floorboard. Ron was standing on the porch now, screaming and gesturing to Draco. He picked the keys up and shoved them in the ignition. He gunned the engine and shot off, driving like a maniac down the alley.

When Draco left, Ron went back in the house. He was irrational and in a pure rage. He slammed the front door and leaned into the back of it. He wanted to hurt someone, to throw something. He couldn’t see anything but the picture of his family on the television. He stomped over to it and roughly picked it up. He threw it like a baseball into the back of the front door, chipping the paint. The frame and glass shattered and landed in a heap on the carpet.

Ron started to shake, then he started to cry. He let himself fall to the floor. He gradually lifted his head towards the picture and crawled over to it. On his hands and knees, he picked through the glass to retrieve the picture.

He tried to stand up. but his legs wouldn't support him. He was sick with disgust, anger and disappointment. Now he knew why Draco had been distant after he had told Harry’s story. He crawled to his bedroom, looking at the gray carpet as he went. Moving his hands through the soft material, he struggled to the nightstand and lean up against it. He reached up and grabbed Harry’s picture clutching it, along with his family’s picture to his chest. He leaned over and let himself drop to the floor again.

He curled up in a fetal position and continued crying. He hadn’t cried like that since Harry had died. It was like it was now, in the privacy of their bedroom. Not in front of anyone else. He hadn’t even cried at Harry’s funeral. Not in front of anyone else.

*****

Draco sped back to his apartment, terrified and distraught. He knew Ron wasn't going to believe him, but he had hoped he would listen and understand that he had nothing to do with the accident. He got to his parking space and sat there staring into the beige wall of the carport in front of him.

The longer he sat there, the less scared he was and the angrier he became. It wasn't fair. It wasn't his fault. Hate wasn't even what he felt for his father. He couldn't even figure out a word strong enough for the hate.

*****

Ron lie there, on the floor of his bedroom, long out of tears. He lifted up and pulled himself on the bed. He sat there for a moment, still clutching his pictures, before he placed them on the nightstand and got up off the bed. His legs barely held him, but he staggered to the telephone in the living room. He picked up the receiver and called the number he knew by heart.

"Hello?"

"Would you come over?" croaked out Ron.

"Ron? What's wrong?" asked Hermione.

Ron cleared his throat, trying to speak. "Please."

"Okay." She could hear in his voice something was really wrong. "I'll be over as soon as I can."

"Okay." Ron's voice got very small and he hung up the phone.

He sat on his couch and didn't move until Hermione started banging on his door a half an hour later.

Ron walked to the door and saw the broken frame on the carpet. He called out, "Just a minute." He dropped to his knees, picked up the little slivers of glass and placed them on the frame in his hand. He grabbed the doorknob and pulled it slightly open. "Watch out for the glass."

Hermione poked her head in and saw Ron on his knees behind the door. She took a large step avoiding the glass and walked into the house.

Ron continued picking up the little shards of glass, as Hermione stood over him. Ron glanced up, and then continued. Hermione looked around the room and rested her eyes on the guns on the coffee table.

"You need to put your guns away."

Ron looked up at the coffee table. "Oh. I forgot." He got up, laid the frame on the table and picked up the guns. He walked into the bedroom and locked them in their case in the closet. He walked back out into the living room and said, "Want something to drink?" He didn't wait for an answer and headed for the kitchen.

Hermione followed him, saying, "Why did you ask me to come over here?"

He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. "Uh, huh," muttered Ron. He popped the top on the can and took a sip.

Hermione leaned her hand on the counter and tried to look at Ron in the eyes. "You're acting weird. What's going on?"

Ron didn't say anything, and left the kitchen. Hermione sighed and followed him. He sat on the couch and turned on the television.

Hermione snatched the remote out of his hand and yelled, "Ron! I had to drop the baby off at a friend's house to come over here!"

He jerked his head up and stared at her.

"What is going on?" yelled Hermione.

Ron's lip started to tremble. "I...I...needed company. I didn't want to be alone."

"You need to talk to me." She sat down on the couch next to him.

"I don't know if I can get it out..." Ron could feel himself start to shake, but he refused to cry in front of Hermione. He swallowed and his throat felt very dry. He took a swig of his beer. Ron continued, "Draco was over here this morning..." He told her most everything that had happened. His voice shook and his hands trembled, but he didn't cry.

"Oh my God," was all she could say at first.

Ron quivered out, "Do you think he did it deliberately?"

Hermione quickly turned her head. “What? Did what deliberately?”

“You know, get to know me.” Ron dropped his head and stared at the beer can in his hand.

“What? Do you think he...did this...met you...on purpose?” Hermione was flabbergasted.

Ron said in small voice, “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

“Are you listening to yourself?”

Ron was hearing what he was saying and it was the part of his personality speaking that he didn’t like. He was being suspicious and paranoid, he knew. He didn’t give up very easily, though. “Yeah, but how do I know he’s telling the truth?”

“Then do a little investigating. Have you looked again at the articles you kept?"

"No, but I only have Harry's obituary now, I got rid of everything else," said Ron.

"Well, Ron, I think you’re wrong. I think he had no idea.” Hermione got up and headed for the door. She continued, “Come on.”

Ron looked at her with a frown on his face. “Where?”

“Investigate. You aren’t going to sit around here in this mood.” She opened the door and beckoned at him to get up and join her.

Ron sighed loudly, very annoyed, that she wasn’t letting him mope around his house, but he dropped his beer on the table and followed her out the door.