Chapter 7
— one car ride later—
Ron stood outside the grand Malfoy Manor, his heart pounding as he lifted his fist to knock. The air was crisp, the weight of his mistakes pressing down on him like an invisible force. He had waited too long. He had let too much time pass. But he wasn’t leaving without seeing Draco.
The heavy wooden door creaked open, revealing Lucius Malfoy. His icy glare was sharp enough to cut through stone. His pale eyes flickered over Ron with unmistakable disdain, and his lips curled in disapproval.
"What are you doing here?" Lucius asked, his voice cold and clipped.
Ron swallowed, forcing himself to stand tall. “I need to talk to Draco.” His voice lacked the confidence he wanted it to have, but his desperation bled through.
Lucius scoffed. “He doesn’t wish to speak to you.” He stepped forward slightly, making it clear that Ron was not welcome. “And besides, he isn’t even here.”
Ron’s brows furrowed. “Where is he?”
Lucius opened his mouth, ready to dismiss him, but before he could, a softer voice spoke from within the house.
“He’s in the garden.”
Ron turned to see Narcissa standing a few steps behind her husband. Her expression was calm but knowing. There was no malice in her gaze—only something close to sympathy.
Lucius shot her a sharp look. “Why would you tell him that?”
Narcissa met his glare with quiet resolve. “Because they need each other.”
Lucius exhaled through his nose, clearly displeased, but he said nothing more.
Ron didn’t waste another second. “Thank you, ma’am.” He stepped past Lucius before he could change his mind, his feet carrying him down the familiar halls of the manor. He had been here before and had walked these corridors with Draco by his side. But now, every step felt heavier, like he was walking toward something he wasn’t ready to face.
Reaching the door leading to the gardens, Ron hesitated for a brief moment, inhaling deeply before pushing it open. The wind whispered through the garden, rustling the leaves and carrying the delicate scent of flowers through the air. Ron walked slowly, his fingers brushing over petals as he passed flower after flower—each one planted with purpose, each one tied to a memory. These were Narcissa and Draco’s favorites, a carefully curated masterpiece of color and life.
His hand lingered on the soft, ruffled petals of a pale pink peony, its gentle beauty standing out against the sea of vibrant blooms. Draco’s favorite. Narcissa’s favorite. And once upon a time, their favorite.
The first flowers he had ever given Draco had been peonies. He remembered the way Draco had scoffed at them at first, rolling his eyes in that dramatic way he always did. But Ron had caught the tiny smile, the way Draco’s fingers had lingered on the petals just a little too long. He loved them. He had tried to hide it, but Ron had seen right through him.
That memory clawed at his heart now, a painful reminder of everything that had once been so simple. Of a love that had been real before he had let it slip through his fingers.
He had to get him back.
The path led him to the fountain, its water shimmering under the soft afternoon light. And there, sitting at the edge, was Draco.
He was turned slightly away, his hand skimming the surface of the water in slow, lazy motions. The ripples distorted his reflection, breaking it apart and piecing it back together again.
Ron hesitated, taking in the sight of him. The way the light caught in his long pale hair, the way his shoulders seemed to carry a weight Ron had put there. He looked peaceful, but there was something hollow in the way he moved.
Ron took a deep breath and stepped forward, his heart hammering against his ribs. He forced himself to move, one foot in front of the other, until he reached the stone edge of the fountain. Slowly, he lowered himself beside Draco, careful not to get too close, though every fiber of his being ached to reach for him.
For a moment, there was only silence, the sound of the trickling water filling the space between them. Ron glanced sideways, watching as Draco continued tracing patterns in the water, his fingers barely skimming the surface.
Then, without looking at him, Draco spoke.
“Why are you here, Ronald?” His voice was quiet but firm, laced with exhaustion.
Ron swallowed, gathering his thoughts, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap. “I brought hardship on you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “You warned me, and I wouldn’t listen.”
Draco didn’t say anything, but Ron could feel the weight of his presence, the quiet expectation of what would come next.
Ron exhaled shakily, forcing himself to continue. “I just… I wanted to be more than I was.” His fingers tightened into fists. “I wanted to prove I could be something, that I wasn’t—” He shook his head, frustration tightening his throat. “But in trying to be something more, I lost what actually mattered.”
Finally, Draco turned to look at him. The sight of him—eyes shimmering with unshed tears, his expression raw and open—nearly knocked the breath from Ron’s lungs.
“I never wanted anything but the man I fell in love with.” Draco’s voice cracked slightly, and he quickly looked away, blinking rapidly.
Ron’s chest tightened, his heart twisting painfully at Draco’s words. He had spent so much time chasing an illusion of success, of prestige, of everything he thought he was supposed to want. And in the process, he had pushed away the one person who had ever truly seen him, truly loved him, without conditions.
Slowly, hesitantly, Ron reached out, his fingers barely brushing against Draco’s hand where it rested on the stone ledge. He expected Draco to pull away, to reject him. But he didn’t. He just sat there, frozen, his breath shallow. “I promise I didn't want to kiss her. I've never met her before that night. You're the only one I've ever wanted.”
Ron’s voice was thick with emotion. “I was an idiot. I let greed and ambition cloud everything, and I hurt you. And I will regret that for the rest of my life.” He laced their fingers together gently, giving Draco the chance to pull away if he wanted to.
But Draco didn’t. He gripped Ron’s hand tighter.
“I know you didn't want to kiss her. Mother said Father hired her to kiss you so I would break up with you,” Draco murmured, his voice trembling. “And I don't want to think about the future.I care about right now.” He looked at Ron again, searching his face. “But I need to know Are you here to stay?”
Ron nodded so fast his hair swung, squeezing Draco’s hand. “If you’ll have me.”
Draco stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to determine if he was telling the truth. Then, with a shuddering breath, he let go of Ron’s hand—only to grab his face instead, pulling him forward and kissing him with a desperation that made Ron’s head spin.
It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was fierce, aching, filled with all the love and hurt and longing they had held between them for too long.
Ron cupped Draco’s face in return, pouring everything he had into the kiss. Promises unspoken, apologies without words.
When they finally pulled away, foreheads touching, Draco let out a shaky breath. “Don’t break my heart again, Weasley.”
Ron smiled through his own tears. “Never.”
— seven months later —
The little house was warm, filled with the scent of Draco’s favorite vanilla and cinnamon candles, their glow flickering against the walls. It was nothing like the manor they had left behind—no cold, echoing halls, no suffocating expectations. Just them. A home, cozy and imperfect, filled with mismatched blankets and the occasional clutter that came from actually living in a place.
And tonight, it was filled with something else too—Ron’s nerves.
He had planned this for years, and waited for the perfect moment. Draco’s birthday—it had to be today. Because seven months ago, when Ron thought he had lost him for good, he had promised himself that if he ever got Draco back, he would never let him go again.
The evening was perfect. The scent of dinner lingered in the air, candles flickered on the dining table, and soft music played in the background. Draco sat on the couch, wrapped in one of Ron’s old hoodies (because yes, Ron had learned his lesson and never threw them out again). He looked completely content, sipping cheap wine with a relaxed smile.
Ron, however, was anything but relaxed. The small velvet box in his pocket felt like it weighed a ton. His fingers twitched as he traced over the edges of it. He had spent months agonizing over the perfect moment, but the truth was—there was no perfect moment. There was just them, and that was enough.
Taking a deep breath, Ron stood up. "Hey, uh… can you stand up for a sec?"
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Why? I’m very comfortable, thank you."
Ron huffed a nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Just—trust me, alright?"
Draco sighed dramatically but set his wine down and stood up. "Fine, but this better be—"
Then Ron dropped to one knee.
Draco’s breath caught, his eyes going impossibly wide.
Ron pulled the ring box from his pocket and flipped it open, revealing a simple but elegant silver band. His voice was steady, though his heart was hammering. "Draco, I’ve spent so much of my life trying to prove myself to people who don’t matter. Trying to be someone I thought I had to be. But the only thing I ever needed—the only thing that ever really mattered—was you. You make everything make sense. You make me happy in a way I never thought I deserved. And I don’t care if your father never approves of me, because I have you, and I have Narcissa’s blessing, and that’s all I need."
Draco was already blinking back tears, his lips parted slightly, like he was trying to find words but failing.
Ron swallowed hard, his grip on the ring box tightening. "So, what do you say? Will you marry me?"
For a heartbeat, there was silence—just Draco staring at him with those stormy grey eyes, shining with unshed tears. Then, in a rush, Draco nodded. "Yes. Yes!"
Ron barely had time to slip the ring onto Draco’s finger before he was pulled up into the tightest, most desperate kiss of his life. Draco was laughing against his lips, his hands shaking slightly as they clung to Ron’s shirt.
When they finally broke apart, Draco wiped at his eyes, letting out a choked laugh. "I can’t believe you actually did it."
Ron grinned, still holding onto him. "You’re stuck with me now. No take-backs."
Draco laughed again, pressing their foreheads together. "I wouldn’t dream of it."
And in that tiny, warm house, filled with love and laughter, Ron knew—this was all he ever needed.
— One skip to the wedding day later —
The day was perfect. The sky stretched endlessly above them, a brilliant shade of blue with just the right amount of wispy clouds drifting lazily across it. The warm breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers, and the soft hum of distant birdsong filled the air as Ron and Draco stood at the altar, surrounded by the people who mattered most.
Ron’s family was there in full force—Molly had already teared up multiple times, Arthur beaming with pride. The Weasley siblings each played a part in making the day unforgettable, from Fred and George cracking jokes to keep Ron from getting too nervous to Ginny fussing over Draco’s suit to ensure every detail was perfect. Hermione stood proudly by Ron’s side, holding back tears, and Harry, ever the best man, gave Ron a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder just before the ceremony started.
Draco, dressed in an elegant, white, tailored suit, had never looked more beautiful to Ron. His mothers silver necklace, their house crests shining brightly in the sun. His long silvery-blond hair was perfectly styled, but there was a softness to his expression that made Ron’s heart ache with love. His golden brooch shone in the light showing he was here for the long run. The gold stood out against the dark green of his pressed suit.
Narcissa stood nearby, her gaze filled with quiet approval and warmth for her son. She had embraced Ron fully into their lives, something that still meant the world to him.
Lucius Malfoy, however, was not invited. Not even considered.
But Draco didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he stood taller, lighter, as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. This was his day, their day, and nothing—not the past, not old wounds—could touch them here.
As they exchanged vows, there wasn’t a dry eye in sight. Ron spoke from the heart, his voice steady but full of emotion. “Draco, I have loved you through every high and every low, through every argument and every laughter-filled morning. I’ve loved you in the smallest moments and the biggest, and I promise to love you for the rest of our lives.”
Draco, usually composed, had tears shining in his eyes as he squeezed Ron’s hands, his voice slightly unsteady but no less heartfelt. “You’ve shown me what love really means, Ron. You’ve been my home, my safe place, and my greatest adventure. I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”
The moment they were pronounced husbands, cheers erupted from the gathered friends and family. The newlyweds barely heard them, lost in the feeling of finally, finally being married. Ron pulled Draco into a deep, lingering kiss, holding him close, ignoring George’s exaggerated wolf whistle in the background.
The reception was just as magical. Fairy lights twinkled above them as they danced beneath the stars, Ron holding Draco close as they swayed to a song that had once played in their tiny apartment. The food was fantastic, the speeches hilarious and touching (especially Hermione’s, who managed to embarrass them both with stories from their past), and the joy in the air was infectious.
At one point, Ron caught sight of Narcissa watching them from the side of the dance floor, a small, content smile on her lips. When their eyes met, she nodded once—approval, acceptance, something Ron had never expected but cherished more than he could say.
By the end of the night, Draco leaned into Ron’s shoulder, exhausted but happier than he had ever been. Ron pressed a kiss to his temple, his hand slipping into Draco’s as they watched their loved ones celebrating around them. He knew, without a doubt :
that this was the beginning of the best chapter of their lives.