Word Count: 7,762
Rating: R
Category: AU, Angst, Drama
Notes: Written for the 2010 Ginger Lust project-a-thon using prompt #11.  This is written as a loose sequel to <i>Peace is Just a Facade</i>, a work by Curia Regis for Ginger Lust as well.  Many thanks to JW for giving me some advices, and CR for betaing!  This is dedicated to the lovely mods of Ginger Lust, for putting up with me and my Ron bunnies!
Summary: The war against the Muggles has finally ended, but now Ron faces and battles his own new war.
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley with minor pairings of Dean Thomas/Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/OMC
Warnings: Slash
Dedications: Mods of Ginger Lust
Completed Date: January 27, 2010

Click on the image for the larger version. Fanart by Chibi Toaster.

---

If you stare into the Abyss long enough the Abyss stares back at you. — Friedrich Nietzsche

---

The Muggles didn’t start the war; the magical folk of England didn’t either. It was inevitable. The bloodshed, tears, pain and death; the tears of parents who had lost children drowned the streets of Hogsmeade. When the truce was declared, it was already too late. Everybody had already lost too much, and childhood innocence couldn’t be bought back.

Ron Weasley stood there and watched as they signed the Magi-Muggle Peace Accords. He saw the Minister of Magic shaking hands with the Muggle Prime Minister in the midst of flashes from cameras and cheers from the crowd.

But he didn’t cheer.

He couldn’t.

And, standing beside him, Draco didn’t cheer either. Together, they stood silently and watched as the aura of peace settled over their world, and Ron wondered how long it would be until the next war.

— from Peace is Just a Facade by Ayla Pascal

---

He can’t move.

All around him, he sees dead bodies. Bodies that have been so brutally mutilated that he can’t even tell if they’re male or female. He sees so much red, so much blood on the dead and on the ground around them.

Clutching his gun and knife, he tries to move back. All around him, he hears screams and yells. He hears begging and pleading. He hears threats, gunshots, and shouts that fade as the victims die.

He’s finally able to move, and when he does, he trips over an unidentifiable item. With a loud thud, he lands into something warm and sticky. He looks and sees that he has landed on a pile of freshly killed Muggles, wizards, and witches. He sees the wide-open eyes, the gaping mouths where blood has gushed out, and he smells the dying, rotting flesh. He fights to keep the bile down and tries to breathe through his mouth.

Dread and horror overcomes him, and he attempts to push himself off these corpses, but then a heavy, boot-clad leg crushes into his chest, and he looks up at the owner of the foot. The sun is directly above the unknown man, and with the sun’s bright glare, he cannot see the man’s face. The only thing he does see is an evil smile and a gun being pointed at him.

Ron shouts just as the gun goes off, and that’s when he wakes up in his bed.

Gasping, he covers his sweaty face with his hands, and he fights back waves of nausea. He pants and blinks away the tears that have come to his eyes and struggles to calm his racing heart down.

The bed shifts, and he hears a sleepy voice say, “Ron? Are you all right? What happened?”

Feeling Draco’s nimble hands touching him through his soaked pyjamas, Ron manages to rasp out, “I’m fine. Just a bad dream.”

Even though it’s dark, Ron senses Draco’s frown. “You’ve been having way too many of these.”

“I’ll be fine,” he nervously laughs out. “It’ll pass eventually.”

“It’s been over six months.”

Ron feels better at hearing Draco’s scorn-filled voice. “Don’t be such a worried git. I’ll be fine.”

He knows Draco has stiffened, and he forces himself not to laugh at the mental image of Draco ruffling out his imaginary peacock feathers. He lies back on the bed and pulls Draco into an embrace. He hears Draco sigh. “Fine, if you say so. Let’s get some more kip.”

Ron agrees, and with his arms still around Draco, he listens to Draco’s breathing. Eventually, Draco has fallen back into a deep sleep, but Ron is unable to snooze. Instead, he listens to Draco snoring, which gives him comfort at least. Ron stays awake because he knows that if he returns back to his slumber, a new nightmare about the war will pop up.

He does not want to be in that hell again.

---

“Ron? Ron? Ron!”

Harry Potter’s voice makes him nearly jump out of his chair at Dean and Ginny’s small dining table.

“Oh, for Merlin — I mean — never mind! What is it, Harry?” Ron has nearly spouted out the wizarding curse he has grown up with, the curse he has forced himself not to say anymore.

He watches the way Harry, Ginny, and Dean exchange worried looks. Harry asks, “Are you all right?”

Ron nods, despite feeling the opposite. He feels exhausted and very tense, but he blames it on his sleepless night.

Ginny doesn’t look convinced. “Are you–”

“Yes, Gin, I’m sure!” Ron responds tersely back at her. Ignoring a dirty look from Dean, Ron forces a smile at his sister and his friends. He picks up the serviette he’s been doodling and writing on, hastily stuffs it into his pockets, and absently looks at his watch. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for the food.”

As Ron stands up, he pats his side, glad that his wand is in its holster, but then he almost panics when he doesn’t feel his gun or knife. A wild look comes on his face as he searches himself for the missing items.

“Ron?” Harry slowly gets to his feet, walks closer, and reaches out a hand.

“Don’t touch me!” he snarls, clutching onto his wand.

Harry backs away with both hands up in defence. Dean and Ginny rise up as well.

“Ron?” Ginny says in a gentle voice. “What’s wrong?”

“I . . . I can’t find my stuff.”

“What stuff?” Harry asks softly. “Your weapons?”

Ron nods frantically. The weapons must be at home. They protect him, and he needs them. Preferably now. He’ll be defenceless without them in case an attack arises. He feels absolutely incomplete without them. “I’m going home. Maybe I left them there.”

Before anyone can stop him, Ron Apparates away.

---

The rest of the day passes as Ron spends all day looking for the gun and the knife. They are nowhere to be found in the flat. As he searches, he tries to recall the last time he has had them and where he may have placed them. But he cannot find them. Instead, he ransacks the entire flat; clothes are strewn everywhere, books and papers are carelessly tossed on the ground, and there are even a couple of broken glasses that have slipped out of his shaky hands in the kitchen. He finally gives up, feeling tired and numb, and he sits on the sofa.

Later, when Draco Apparates with a loud crack, Ron is still on that sofa in the sitting room, changing the channels on the telly, his eyes blank as they watch the blur on the screen.

“Ron?” Draco’s voice sounds worried.

Ron doesn’t respond at first. He changes channels a few more times before he drops the remote. He knows Draco’s standing in front of him, and he glances up. He half expects Draco to have an evil smile like that faceless man in his nightmare, but he doesn’t see that. He doesn’t even see Draco’s customary smirk. All he sees is Draco’s anxious expression. He looks deep into the grey eyes, and he then remembers the mess he has made. He jumps up quickly, startling Draco.

“The mess. I meant to clean it before you come back.” Ron tries to laugh lightly, trying to get Draco to not question him of anything. “I’ll clean up and make us some sandwiches or something. You can take one of those long showers you love taking!”

He starts to walk away, but he feels Draco’s strong hand grabbing his wrist. “Wait. I’ll help you clean.”

Ron shakes himself out of the powerful grip. He faces Draco with a tight expression. “It’s fine, I tell you. I’ll do it. Just tell me one thing. Where’d you put my gun and knife?”

“Your stuff? It’s . . . you’re the one who hid them. You wouldn’t tell me where you were going to hide them.”

“I . . . I did?” Ron doesn’t remember doing that. He narrows his eyes and studies Draco intently. Is Draco lying to him? Perhaps he’s a spy working for the Muggles?

Draco nods.

“Oh, well, er, it’s okay. It’s not a big deal.”

A long silence passes before Draco breaks it. “I received a Floo-call from Harry earlier today at work.” Draco now works as the head liaison officer for the Muggle and Wizarding Alliance Organisation.

Ron fidgets with his wand. “And?”

“I think we’ll need to have a talk.”

“About what?” he asks unpleasantly. He’s aware something uncomfortable is inside of him, especially since Draco is being rather cryptic.

“You. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine. I’m just a bit exhausted from last night!”

Ron watches Draco step closer. “You didn’t sleep after that nightmare, did you?”

“I did. I slept,” he fibs through his teeth, watching Draco take another step towards him. Ron backs himself several steps until he finds himself against a wall.

“Stop lying,” Draco angrily spits out. “Just tell me the truth.”

“Look,” Ron declares, stepping sideways past Draco. “Let me clean the mess up. Please!”

He hears a heavy sigh. “Fine, but we’ll talk later after supper.”

“Okay.” Draco stalks off to the bath, and Ron begins to wave his wand around, cleaning up his mess from earlier. While he does that, he can’t help but be alert for any Muggles who might blast their way into the flat with those dreadful guns, bombs, and whatever else that cause death.

---

In the end, Ron somehow convinces Draco he is fine, so after supper, they don’t talk about whatever’s supposedly wrong with him. They instead have fun watching some DVDs; Ron’s current favourite series is SpongeBob SquarePants. He enjoys watching this show, but he feels bad since he knows Draco hates this show, who at the moment is currently muttering about how it has no aesthetic appeal.

Ron grins. “You know you like him.”

“I do not!” Draco answers haughtily. “He’s so ugly! And honestly, who lives in a bloody pineapple under the sea?”

“SpongeBob does.”

Ron receives a patented Draco Malfoy glare. “After this episode, we are watching a show of mine.”

“What show?”

When Ron sees the smirk, he has a feeling he is going to be in for a long night. “South Park.”

It’s Ron’s turn to groan and glare. He absolutely despises that series, much like Draco’s dislike for SpongeBob. “Fine, fine. But I’ll watch it only because I love you. And so I can review this for The Quibbler.”

After the war, Ron has decided to do something about his love for television shows and films by writing reviews about them in the The Quibbler, which still publishes unusual news, but Xenophilius Lovegood has decided to incorporate some additional sections about the Muggle lifestyle. Thus, through his connection and friendship with Luna, he has started his own review column. He loves this job since the best part is when he can watch the DVDs with Draco.

So they settle on the sofa happily, and the rest of the night passes with no problems.

---

A few days later, Ron doesn’t really feel any better. His nightmares constantly plague him, making him seek solace by staying up late, watching episodes after episodes of SpongeBob and other shows on the telly. Draco tries to stay up with Ron, but Ron, knowing Draco’s work schedule, convinces him to sleep early, and that he will sleep later, but he never does that. At least not for more than an hour at a time.

As the days fly by, Ron becomes more and more exhausted, becomes edgier and tenser, and becomes more withdrawn as he tries to pretend everything’s normal.

Yet something’s terribly wrong, and Ron refuses to acknowledge it.

He starts to not even care about his beloved shows. He’ll have them on, but then he’ll stop paying attention to them and only stares at the screen emptily. That isn’t the only thing he loses interest in, though.

“Want to play chess?” Draco offers one day.

“Chess?” Ron sees the game he has always loved, a game Draco has never appreciated. Shaking his head, Ron continues, “No. I don’t like chess anymore.”

He turns to look the other way, so he can avoid the shocked, confused, and hurt expression on his lover’s face.

---

After Draco leaves for work, Ron tries to write a review for one of the films he has recently seen, but he doesn’t want to. All he wants to do is crawl back into their bed and huddle under the covers.

He does that, and he stares into the darkness.

Later, he hears the phone ringing, but he ignores it.

It rings again and again, and Ron just stays in his bed, shutting out the ringtone that sounds like bombs going off in their flat.

---

Draco and Ron are eating breakfast. Like all the other nights before, Ron hasn’t slept for more than an hour. He tries to act as if he’s fine. But those tense and jumpy feelings make him more aware of all the noises and sights in their flat, and he tries to conceal his problem by sipping on his morning tea.

Draco clears his throat, and that small sound makes Ron jerk up, spilling some tea all over the table.

“Bugger!” Ron curses, wiping up the mess.

When he finishes, Draco continues in a calm voice. “I think you should consider going to a mind healer.”

Ron forces himself to respond in a composed manner. His grip on his teacup tightens as he say, “I don’t need a mind healer.”

“I think you do.”

His hold on the teacup goes tighter. “Are you saying I’ve gone insane? Crazy? Mad?” Ron sneers out the last word, but Draco remains unfazed.

“I never said you were any of those. I just think you, and perhaps even myself, should seek out some help that we aren’t fully capable of diagnosing and curing ourselves.”

In a flash, Ron stands and hurls the teacup past Draco, hearing the loud crash. He grabs onto the edge of the table and stares down at his still sitting partner. Ron’s eyes take on a crazed look, and he snarls, “Is this your way of telling me to fuck off? Do you want to break up that badly?”

He watches as Draco quickly rise, who then slowly comes around the table, his hands outstretching to touch Ron.

Ron stumbles away from the treacherous hands, ignoring the pained expression on Draco’s face. “Ron, please, I’m not trying to do anything but get us help. I don’t want to break up! That is not my inten–”

“Shut up!” Ron bypasses Draco and reaches for the door. “Leave me alone! Go find a fucking mind healer, one who you may find more suitable as your fucktoy!”

Ron leaves the flat with nothing but his wand. No coat, no hat, no robe, just his wand.

He jogs down the stairs, skipping the clunky lift, and he runs out into the crowded, noisy street. With no destination in mind, he sprints down the road. All he wants to do is to forget all the hurtful words he has said to Draco, and he truly wishes to forget that wounded look on Draco’s face — the same face that has almost made his heart rip in two.

Ron doesn’t return until two days later. When he finally does so, he finds Draco looking very haggard on their sofa. Despite his obvious fatigue, Draco still glowers at Ron. At the front door, Ron squirms uncomfortably at Draco’s intense look. As the scowl deepens, he expects Draco to scream at him, to throw things at him, and to kick him out and officially separate.

Draco refrains from doing any of that. He only opens his arms, and Ron has never felt more love for him as he runs into them. He stays in Draco’s protective arms, and he pushes back a sob and apologises.

“Shhh. It’s all right, Ron. I’m sorry I brought that up to you so callously. We’ll . . . we’ll only do it when you’re ready,” Draco comforts him, planting soft kisses on the freckled cheeks.

Ron enfolds his own arms around Draco’s waist, and he just apologises until he finally pulls Draco into a rough kiss. He feels Draco accepting the kiss, and Ron whispers the spell that will remove all their clothes. Right on that sofa, Ron caresses, kisses, and pleasures Draco. Hearing the soft cries of lust and desire, Ron strokes Draco’s hard-on, and his other hand prepares Draco for the next step.

When he and Draco move together, Ron feels a burst of panic deep inside of him, and that makes their love-making frantic, wild, and different from any of their previous activities together. When they come together, Ron experiences the sexual gratification he seeks, but he then feels barren, wasted, and unworthy. But most of all, he’s afraid. He’s afraid of himself.

---

The nightmares grow worse. Even the one hour sleep he is able to get at a time is bombarded by the evil abysses in his mind.

“I’ll get you some Dreamless Sleep Potion,” Draco suggests.

“No. I hate that crap.” Ron smiles weakly. “I think the nightmares will lessen up soon.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“It will,” Ron lies. “It will.”

---

Ron’s on the sofa, a thick blanket is wrapped around him, and he gazes at a spot on the table. It’s an interesting spot — roundish, with ragged edges, and it’s in the shade of a brownish-red. Its colour reminds Ron of something, but he isn’t sure what.

He continues to study that spot, and that’s when it hits him. The colour. It reminds him of dried up blood. There’s blood on the table. Still clutching onto the blanket with one hand, he leans over and cast a spell on it to make it disappear. It stays unchanged.

He summons a bottle of furniture cleaner and a scrubber. He still holds onto the blanket, and he scrubs the spot as hard as he can.

The spot doesn’t change. It refuses to change.

Just as Ron’s about to throw the scrubber at the wall, he hears Draco’s arrival.

Rising from the sofa, Ron still hangs onto the blanket, and he gestures towards the spot with the scrubber. “That spot. That bloody spot. It won’t go away no matter how much I clean it.”

Ron sees the concerned look on Draco, who at the moment takes his coat off and uncharacteristically throws it onto an armchair along with a bag. Draco walks over to the table and studies the spot. “It’s always been there. When we first moved in here, the place was furnished for us, and that spot has always been there. You didn’t mind it since it reminded you of a freckle.”

“Lies,” Ron whispers. “It wasn’t there before. This . . . it’s a bloodstain! Whose blood is it?!”

“Ron! It’s not a bloodstain!” Draco grabs him, and Ron tries to get out of the mighty grip. “Get a hold of yourself.”

He looks into Draco’s eyes and sees the truth in them. “I-it’s always been there?”

Draco nods and relaxes his hold.

Ron lets out a shaky sigh. “Sorry. I . . . I guess I must have had momentary amnesia.”

“Did you also forget you had a lunch meeting with Ginny and Dean?”

Frowning, Ron tries to remember making arrangement with his sister to meet or not. “I don’t remember. Was I really supposed to meet them?”

“Yes, and they tried calling the phone, but nobody answered.” Draco gives Ron a questioning look. “Did you hear the phone ring?”

“Yes, but it was so ruddy loud and annoying. I unplugged it.”

“I see.” Draco runs a hand through his mussed up hair. “Well, I guess you can meet them some other time. They did meet me briefly, and Ginny asked me to give you some of these new DVDs she bought.”

“Really?” Ron tries to smile. Even though he hasn’t felt like watching anything lately, he’s grateful for his sister sending him new DVDs every so often.

Draco walks over to the armchair to grab the bag, and Ron sits back on the sofa. Feeling Draco’s warmth sagging next to him on the sofa, Ron takes the bag and sorts through the DVDs. He takes out the bunch and studies the covers and reads the back. However, when he comes upon a cover that simply showcases a man holding a gun he freezes.

A flashback. No, a nightmare. No, no! It’s real. It’s happening again. The war has begun, and Ron’s in the middle of it once more.

He’s trapped against a tall wall; he sees about five Muggles who are members of the Special Forces judging by their uniform. They all carry guns, those frightening machine guns, and they are pointed at him. Ron glares at them, but all the men do is smirk. They say to him, “Surrender. Surrender to us, tell us all your magical secrets, and we’ll let you live.”

Ron spits at them. “Never, you sods.”

“Then you leave us with no choice.”

He tenses up, but he tries to find that secret portkey he keeps in his pocket. The portkey that will only activate when he’s in deep trouble like this. However, he can’t reach into his pocket without making it look like he’ll pull out a bomb or something.

Suddenly, a loud explosion goes off, and the men are all thrown off balance, including Ron.

Landing on the hard cement ground, Ron throws the blanket off of him, and he rolls over. He quickly stands up and tries to grab his gun and knife, but they aren’t with him. “Fuck! Wand! Where’s my wand then?” He sees his wand nearby, and he grabs it and points it at one of the men. A man who’s now actually trying to plead with him.

“Put it down, Ron. Put that down!”

Ron? How did this guy know his name? Pointing his wand at the man, he cries, “Stay back!” With his wand still out, he reaches into his pocket for the portkey, but it isn’t there.

“Shite!” He sees that the man was in front of him. The gun isn’t there anymore, so he decides to just stun the man and escape.

But before he can do anything, the man acts first. He hears “Stupefy”, and he falls into blackness.

---

Ron slowly opens his eyes and turns his head, which feels quite heavy. He tries to sit up, but he realises he has no energy in him to do so. He stares at the ceiling instead. An unnaturally white ceiling.

He hears voices, several voices filled with concern and apprehension. He can barely make out the owners of the voices, but his haze-filled brains prevent him from to fully concentrate. So he listens to the conversation half-heartedly.

” . . . He’s been suffering from nightmares . . . ”

” . . . He’s so withdrawn . . . ”

” . . . And panic-stricken. He freaks out over the littlest things lately . . . ”

” . . . Worried about him . . . ”

” . . . He’ll hurt himself . . . ”

” . . . You say flashbacks are normal, but what about hallucinations . . . ”

Ron has difficulties sorting out the words. To do that is a bother, so he decides to return back to sleep, hoping no nightmares will invade his mind.

---

The next time Ron wakes up, he sees Draco sitting next to him, who’s holding one of his hands. On his other side, he sees Luna Lovegood with a faraway expression on her face.

Draco squeezes his hand lightly. “Good afternoon, love. Sleep well?”

Ron nods. This time his head doesn’t feel quite funny, and he’s able to sit up. As he leans back into the plush pillow, he sees he’s in a private room. A private hospital room. When he speaks, his voice comes out gruff. “St Mungo’s?”

“Yes.”

He gestures towards Luna. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been assigned to be your mind healer, Ron,” she answers in her dreamy voice. “How are you feeling?”

When he hears “mind healer”, something akin to anger bubbles deep inside of him as he yanks his hand out of Draco’s. “What’s this? A bloody mind healer? I don’t need a sodding mind healer!”

“Ron–” Draco begins, but Ron doesn’t let him finish.

“Get out. You . . . you think I’m really insane, don’t you? Then leave me!”

Draco jolts back as if he’s been slapped.

Luna chooses to interrupt then. “Draco. Perhaps you should step out for a minute.”

“But–”

“Please,” Luna says in a firm voice.

Draco gives Ron a tense look, and he whispers, “I don’t think you are mad, but you are hurting and I want you to get better. That’s all I want.”

Draco leaves the room like a defeated Quidditch player, and Ron feels guilt and shame at his outburst. He buries his face in his hands and exhales loudly like he’s trying to get rid of all those emotions inside of him.

Luna lets him recover for a few minutes. In a calm voice, she asks, “Will you tell me what you think of all this?”

Ron glances away and stares at the wall that’s so white and sanitised. “I . . . I don’t know. I know I’ve been off lately, but . . . ”

She waits. She doesn’t force him to speak quickly. She allows him to think and talk at his own pace.

“Did . . . did something happen?” he pleads. “I don’t remember coming here. Last I remember was me being caught at a dead end by these Special Forces guys. There was an explosion, and we were all thrown off balance. One of the guys knew my name, and I was going to attack . . . ”

He stops and gives her a horrified look. “Was that Draco I nearly attacked?”

When she nods, he becomes so unnerved that he starts babbling. “I nearly hurt him? I . . . I thought . . . it was a flashback . . . no it was real . . . I can’t believe I nearly . . . ”

A soft, cool hand rests on top of his, and that brings him back to reality. “It’s okay, Ron. It’s okay.”

He swallows before answering, “It’s not okay, Luna. I nearly hurt him. I . . . I might have killed him.”

“Draco’s not that careless or stupid. He’s capable of taking care of himself. You know he does remind me of a peacock. Though I cannot imagine him to be that bright or colourful in appearance.”

He lets out a nervous smile. “As always, your outlandish comments amuse and comfort me. I do admit that I’ve imagined Draco as a peacock at times, too.”

She beams but quickly sobers. “So what do you think? Or should I say, what do you want to do?”

He sighs and tilts his head at the ceiling. “If my . . . problems are going to make me hurt those who I love, then I want to fix it. No. I have to fix it.”

“We’ll do this all together. We’ll all help you. Just keep in mind that it will not be something that can be healed in a day or two. It will be a long road.”

He shuts his eyes hard. Her words are correct, and it proves the facts he’s been dreading. Softly, he says, “Yes. It will be a long and difficult road for . . . all of us.” Grabbing her hand, he clasps it gently. “Will you call Draco in? I want to apologise to him.”

Ron decides to start this battle correctly, and he’ll need Draco to help him.

---

“Did you take the potions?” Draco asks.

“Can’t you tell? Those potions make me so tired,” Ron snaps.

“And cranky. Must be a horrid side-effect.” Draco sees that Ron isn’t moving. “Come on. Let’s not keep Luna waiting. Last time we were late, she gave me a long lecture on why I should eat raw garlics to get me to move faster! I mean, does she think I’m going to be attracting vampires or what?”

Ron chortles.

“Ah, I’m making progress! You laughed.” Draco squeezes Ron’s hands and kisses it. “Let’s go. I don’t want ‘her loonyness’ to give me another long talk about garlic or anything bizarre!”

---

“Have you visited you parents’ graves ever since they were buried?”

“No,” Ron admits with shame. “I . . . I can’t seem to return there. It just gives me bad memories.”

Luna gives him a cup of tea and settles on the sofa next to him. Her office is airy and friendly, with flowers and other plants lingering around the room. These plants have been given to her by Neville, who runs a successful nursery. Ron always feels at peace when he’s in here.

Taking a sip of her tea, she nibbles on a digestive biscuit, and she then says, “Try to think of only good memories of them.”

“It’s hard.” He sighs as he attempts to block out the memories of his childhood home being bombed by the Muggles. His parents were victims of the bombing, and what frightens him more is the timing of the bombing. It happened an hour prior to his weekly visit to the Burrow.

“It will take time, but that’s what we need to do. Take small steps here and there.”

He knows that. She has told him to slowly accept the past and try to move away from it to achieve a sense of normalcy he hasn’t had for years. “I’ll . . . I’ll think about it. Maybe I’ll get Gin and my brothers to go in a couple of weeks.”

She gives him an encouraging smile. “That’s a start.” She points at the biscuits. “Here, have some. Harry bought these for me.”

---

Ron moans and groans, tossing and turning. He’s just returned from a battle. He’s in the hospital ward, and he sees many in pain, and he even sees a guy with both legs damaged from a bomb. He shudders at the missing limbs, and he remembers the smell of injured flesh, the medicines, and the potions. It’s enough to nearly make him want to vomit.

“Ron!” Draco’s loud voice wakes him up. “It’s only a nightmare. Get a hold of yourself.”

His eyes fly open, and he sits up gasping. He automatically leans into Draco’s caring embrace, and he tries to fight back a sob that’s threatening to escape him.

“It’s okay, Ron. It’s okay,” Draco’s voice soothes him, and Ron shudders against the warm torso.

When Ron’s finally calm, he smiles shakily at Draco. “S-sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Draco’s hand smoothes away his fringe, the cool hand a contrast against Ron’s hot forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He doesn’t say anything for a long while. Luna has told him to talk to Draco about these nightmares, and so far Ron has yet to tell Draco any of them. Ron realises that he needs to. He needs to overcome them, and he wants to defeat them, but he still can’t help but think he’ll only burden Draco. “I don’t want to bother you with these.”

“You will not be bothering me with this. You will be helping both of us by telling me. You shouldn’t try to go through this by yourself. I want to help you, but you won’t let me,” Draco bitterly complains. “I’ve been through the same thing as you; I have no problems, so let me help you with yours!”

“I . . . I know.” Ron feels slight resentment at that last hurtful sentence. Draco’s lucky, and Ron can’t help but wonder why Draco’s not suffering in a similar manner. Then again, Draco is affected by all this in a different way. Draco has to watch Ron become like this, and Ron realises that all of this will be rough for anyone — including Draco.

Draco groans. “I don’t mean to sound so selfish. Just . . . I won’t force you. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

“Thanks.” Ron tentatively leans up and softly kisses Draco’s lips. “Thank you. I’ll tell you, but I’m warning you; my nightmares are pretty gruesome.”

“Ron,” he says dryly. “I was your partner in the war. We saw many things together, so please don’t paint me as some ignorant sod who sees things through rose-coloured glasses.”

“Okay.” Ron takes a deep breath and tells Draco the latest nightmare, and when he finishes, he feels as if a huge weight has been lifted off of his soul.

---

“Hey, mate,” Harry says cheerfully as he enters the flat with a bag. “I’ve bought us fish and chips, some butterbeer, and Exploding Snaps!”

Ron comes out from his cocoon of blankets. He’s been feeling a bit anti-social that day. Draco’s still at work, so Harry must’ve decided to check up on him and to hang out. “Hey.”

Harry sits in the armchair while Ron remains on the sofa. “Are you all right?”

Ron nods. “I . . . it’s just . . . ”

“I know,” Harry says understandingly. “We don’t have to do the games, but I reckon you might want to eat the fish and chips. It’s from your favourite place.”

“Really?” He perks up a bit at that. “Thanks, Harry.”

By the time they finish eating, Ron’s in the mood to play some Exploding Snaps with Harry.

The game goes on forever, and when Draco finally comes home, Ron looks up with a smile. Draco stares with a surprised expression, and he grins back, too.

Harry sees Draco. “Malfoy.”

“Potter. I see you’ve bought fish and chips. Where’s mine?”

“Sorry, but Ron and I both cleaned it up.”

Draco gives Ron a phony hurtful pout. “You didn’t save me any?”

Ron rolls his eyes. “Stop being a git. You can go buy your own.”

“Oh, your words stab me. Remind me not to give you your favourite sweets later on,” Draco grumps out.

“I’ll survive,” Ron jokes, and all of them burst out laughing.

Ron realises that this feels almost normal, and he’s surprised at how he doesn’t flee from it.

---

“Will you tell me what happened a couple of days ago?” Luna fingers one of her bracelets as she looks at Ron in a serene manner.

He awkwardly avoids looking at her, and he stares at the plush oriental carpet on the floor, studying its intricate designs.

“I . . . Draco and I had arranged with Ginny and Dean on an outing. We were going to go have a picnic . . . Ginny’s great at making food, you know.” He plays with a loose thread at the edge of his shirt.

“Yes?” she prompts.

“But I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t do it. I locked myself in the bedroom, and I just crawled under the blankets,” he whispers, looking ashamed.

“Was Draco upset?”

He shakes his head. “That surprises me.”

“Why would it surprise you?”

“Because we had planned on this for a while, and at the last minute, I couldn’t do it.”

“Draco is Hermes.”

He blinks at the cryptic words.

She smiles and gives him some chocolate. “I’m just saying he’s like Hermes and those flying shoes. He’ll go with the flow, especially when it comes to you.”

He doesn’t respond, and she says, “You’re bothered by something else.”

It isn’t a question but rather a statement. “Yes. I am. I . . . I thought I was getting better, but then this incident proves otherwise.”

She looks at him with a thoughtful expression. “Do you know Aesop’s Fables?”

“No.”

“It’s a Muggle thing. Aesop is this Ancient Greek slave who has created a lot of fables, which uses animals in a human setting. These tales are supposed to teach young children morals. One of the more famous story is ‘The Tortoise and the Hare’. In that story, the hare mocks the tortoise for being slow, and it comes to a point where they have a race. The hare, of course, dashes off and is far ahead of the tortoise. He’s so cocky, so he decides to take a nap, thinking he’d wake up in time to make it to the finish line. But in the end, the hare sleeps too long, and the tortoise wins the race.”

He’s confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Most people say that the moral of this story is that overconfidence gets you nowhere. But I like to think there’s a second moral to the fable.”

“And . . . ?”

“It takes time and perseverance for results to come up. See the tortoise took his time, and he plodded on even though he knew he had a handicap.”

She reaches out and pats his hand. “So you see, the same thing will happen to you, too.”

---

For the first time in months, Ron finds himself at a nice restaurant. He’s there with Draco, the two of them doubling up with Harry and Luna. It’s a quiet restaurant, and it has plenty of space, which gives Ron some comfort since it isn’t small, packed, and loud with other people.

Still, he feels a slight sense of dread when the waiter comes to take their orders. Yet by the time their main course has arrived, Ron doesn’t want to bolt anymore. Instead, he enjoys his meal, the quiet conversations, and the good vintage wine.

Ron gives smiles hesitantly at Draco. Under the table, Draco’s hand rests on his thigh, and Ron covers the hand with his. “This is a great place, Draco.”

“Of course. We Malfoys are known for our good tastes.”

“In what?” Harry asks wryly. “In hair care products?”

Draco scowls at Harry, and Ron sniggers. “Good one, mate.”

“So you’re on his side?” Draco pouts at Ron. “Don’t tell me I have to compete with Scarhead here.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely name for Harry, Draco,” Luna pipes up, giving Ron a conspiratorial wink.

“Luna . . . ” Harry pretends to look offended, and it is Draco’s turn to laugh. They start to banter with each other, and Ron and Luna just roll their eyes.

In a loud voice, Luna announces, “I have a plan I’d like to suggest to Ron and Draco.”

That silences the arguing pair, and all the men look at her curiously.

“Ron, you’ve come a long way, and you’re improving at a good pace. Why don’t you and Draco take a trip somewhere for a couple of weeks? It will do you both some good. Granted, I do want Ron to achieve that feeling of normalcy, and I think taking trips here and there can be considered ‘normal’.”

Ron and Draco speak with their eyes. Before one of them can answer, Luna says, “Oh, you don’t have to decide now. Remember the tortoise, Ron.”

Draco and Harry both give Luna a “what on earth are you talking about” looks, and they both shrug in unison. That amuses Ron since, in some ways, Harry and Draco have similar mannerisms.

She beams. “Who’s ready for dessert?”

---

In the end, they decide to go on a trip. They choose to visit Hermione and her family in New Zealand.

At the Portkey Station, they meet Hermione, and she nearly assaults Ron with a warm hug.

“Ron!” She joyfully greets him. “Oh, you look great!”

He returns the hug. “You look way better than I do.” He steps back to admire her, and she did indeed look happy and healthy, her cheeks were fuller and redder, and her hair has been tamed into a slightly-less bushy ponytail. She’s dressed conservatively in her blouse and skirt. She turns to Draco and extends out a hand.

Draco shakes it. “Hello, Granger — I mean . . . ”

“Call me Hermione,” she interrupts.

“All right. Good to see you, Hermione. Let me thank you on both our behalf for your invitation and hospitality.”

She waves a hand. “Not a problem. I’ve been telling Ron to visit me for years, and I’m glad he came with you.”

As Draco and Hermione talk, they all walk outside. As Ron looks around the surrounding, he notices that the air in Wellington feels different compared to England, and the new senses that bombard him don’t make him feel jumpy like he’s expected. Instead, it soothes him.

Of course, the warmer climate might have had something to do with it. After all, it is winter back on the Isle, and here it’s summer.

“Ron?” Hermione’s voice brings him back to reality. “Ready? The girls and Tony cannot wait to meet you and Draco.”

He nods. “All right.”

---

The days pass by, and Ron’s surprised by how much fun he’s having. Yes, he does have days where he wants to lock himself up and be alone, but he discovers that Hermione’s twin daughters, Josephine and Anne, unwittingly pull him out of that slump, and he realises he actually enjoys being around children.

“Uncle Ron! Toss me on the bed! Like a cannonball!”

“Uncle Ron, come play house with us! You can be the daddy and Uncle Draco can be the mummy!”

“Uncle Ron! Come jump on the trampoline with us!”

At their every request, Ron sees their large blue eyes, and he cannot resist them.

Draco enjoys their company, too, and he even plays house with them. Though he does snark on why he has to be the mother.

Ron only grins and says, “Aw, come on. You make the perfect mother-figure.”

Draco glares at him. “If you dare compare me to that Angelina woman again, I will permanently spell a cock ring on you.”

Thankfully, they are in the guest room when he says that, away from certain twin’s ears and Hermione’s “prudish” nature.”

Ron lifts an eyebrow. “If you do that, I will castrate you.”

“I dare you to try.” Draco’s scowl softens. “I miss our bickering, you know?”

Swallowing an unexpected lump in his throat, Ron softly agrees, “Me too.”

Ron pulls Draco into a hug, and he kisses Draco’s pouty lips. He nips and sucks until they are swollen, and Draco lets out a groan of pleasure.

Guiding them onto the bed, Ron climbs on top and covers Draco’s slim and lithe body with his own body that’s more muscular and bulkier than Draco’s. As his hands and mouth wanders, he feels his own arousal stirring inside of him.

They barely remember to cast a silencing charm as they, for the first time in months, make love to one another. It’s poignant and fulfilling, unlike the last time he has done it with Draco, where he recalls feeling unworthy and empty. This time he feels grateful and lucky to have a man like Draco to help him through the abyss of hell. This time, when he comes with Draco, he allows himself to cry out in bliss.

When they cuddle next to each other, Ron feels sleepy. Before he sleeps, though, he whispers, “I remember where I put my gun and knife.”

“Where?”

“I buried them in the Forbidden Forest. When the Magi-Muggle Peace Accords happened, I buried them somewhere. I just wanted to forget.”

“Are you going to retrieve them?”

Ron kisses him, and as he feels his eyes closing, he says. “No. They can stay there. I just hope I’ll never need them again.”

“Me, too.”

Like their love making, for the first time in ages, Ron looks forward to sleeping, and he knows he won’t suffer from nightmares that night.

---

“Checkmate,” Ron says, moving his piece to claim victory.

Tony beams at him. “That, my friend, was the best and the most intense chess game I’ve ever had the privilege of playing against anyone.”

“You’re telling me,” Draco announces in a bored voice, yet his eyes twinkle with amusement. “That’s the longest chess game I’ve ever watched. Even the girls went to sleep, and Hermione had to put them to bed.”

“Oh,” Ron rubs his head sheepishly. “Well, Tony here is an excellent chess player. He’s–”

“Wait, wait. Don’t say it. Better than me right?”

“You said it. Not me.”

Draco rolls his eyes as Tony laughs.

Hermione comes into the room and exclaims, “They are finally done!” She sits on the armrest of her husband’s chair. While she rests her hands on his shoulders, she looks at Ron and Draco.

“Tomorrow is your last day here with us. What do you two want to do on your final day?”

Ron and Draco looks at each other. They both exchange grins as Hermione’s eyes narrow. “I know that look, Ronald Weasley. You will not plan anything that deals with George and his pranks!”

“Who me?” Ron asks innocently. “Never.”

“Mmm,” she doesn’t believe him.

“Okay, fine, we are going to give the girls some of his pranks items as gifts, but we also want to treat you all to a nice outing at the local wizarding amusement park and then a nice dinner at a ritzy place.”

Hermione smiles softly. “Oh, you don’t need to . . . ”

“We want to,” Ron says. “You’ve been great towards us.” He gives her a pleading yet a playful look, one he knows that always gets to her.

She concedes. “All right, you two. Thank you so much.”

---

Ron and Draco return to England, and they more or less go back to their routines. Draco still works as the head liaison officer, and Ron still writes for The Quibbler; although he also works as a part-time football coach at Hogwarts now, a sport he has grown to like despite his initial favour for Quidditch, which he still likes. Football has become as popular as Quidditch at Hogwarts, mostly due to the Muggle-borns’ influences, and Ron volunteers his time there, enjoying his interactions with the young youths.

At first, Ron’s hesitant to take the position, but through Draco, his friends, and his family’s support, he decides to try it. Luckily, he has grown to love it.

Now his life feels a bit more secure. Along with his jobs, he still sees Luna on a weekly basis, and he still takes those potions. Though the nightmares still hit him, they aren’t as serious or concurrent as before.

He knows that it will take a while for him to be fully healed and “normal”. However, he also knows that, like the tortoise, he will press on and never give up. As long as Draco’s with him, and he has his friends and family, that’s all he needs to move on with his life.

---

Ron Weasley has survived more wars than he’s ever imagined himself to be in.

He has survived Voldemort and the Death Eaters, he has survived the Muggles, and he has survived himself.

Of all the battles he’s been through, battling himself has been proven to be the most difficult and challenging. Yet he has miraculously survived it.

No cheering’s been done when the war has ended with the Magi-Muggle Peace Accords.

But now, with the battle truly over, Ron finally feels like cheering. They finally have peace.

Ending Notes

-The fic’s title comes from a line in “Anthem for Doomed Youth” by Wilfred Owen. (http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/owen2.html)