Hogwarts has a particularly delicious fry-up—thick marmalades, perfectly browned toast, fluffy eggs, crispy bacon—and a year on the run has led to an even greater appreciation for hot and satisfying meals.
This love for all things breakfast means he’s one of the first in the Great Hall every morning, which has led to the most traumatising discovery of his life.
Harry and Draco are shagging.
Of course, they think they’re being stealthy, that no one can tell they’ve been in each other’s pants.
Well, Ronald Bilius Weasley can.
Honestly, it’s so bloody obvious that he’s not even proud of himself for figuring it out.
Ron doesn’t say anything. He’s a loyal friend, and he’d rather not think about Harry and Draco doing…whatever it is they’re doing, but most importantly, he’s much too busy enjoying his beans on toast to deal with them.
“Morning,” Harry calls, clapping him hard on the back.
“Weasley,” Draco says with a nod, his serious tone undermined somewhat by his dishevelled hair and the very dark (and very conspicuous) love bite he’s got on his neck. “Good morning.”
“Surprised to see you lot up so early…”
“Oh—er, yeah. We wanted to get a start on McGonagall’s inter-house unity thing and um…get to the library early.”
Ron wasn’t going to say anything—Harry is his best mate and he did die very recently—but Harry’s the worst liar in the world and he’s suddenly spotted the bruise on Draco’s neck and is trying to have a silent conversation with him without Ron noticing.
Draco’s far too busy pouring his tea to realise Harry’s practically strangling himself in an attempt to get Draco’s attention. Harry’s hands are tight around his own neck while Draco’s stirring way too much sugar into his cup, Ron’s perfectly fluffy eggs are going cold and his bacon is becoming less crispy by the second, and, well, he’s had quite enough.
“So, how long have you and Malfoy been fucking?”
Harry actually does start choking—eyes nearly popping out of his head—Draco has gone even paler (a feat Ron didn’t know was possible), and if Ron wasn’t so annoyed about his favourite meal of the day being ruined, he would laugh.
Draco regains his composure first. “We are not fucking. I don’t even like Potter!”
“Hey—” Harry starts and Draco shoots him a look that reminds Ron so forcefully of fifth year, that he has to stop himself from looking around for Umbridge.
“We can’t keep sneaking around forever—” Ron snorts at Harry’s belief that anything they’ve done is even close to sneaky “—and I want to…well, I want to tell people that you’re my boyfriend.”
They’re staring and staring and staring, so clearly in love that Ron feels like gagging—just a little.
He’s saved by Headmistress McGonagall sweeping up to their table.
“Morning boys,” she says, nodding to them all in turn.
Ron has to answer for the group, given that Harry and Draco can’t take their eyes off each other.
“Mr Potter, could you explain to me why you and Mr Malfoy are wearing each other’s ties?”
Both of them flush bright red, spluttering incoherently as McGonagall frowns in confusion.
Ron affects a grave expression. “I think kids these days are calling it inter-house unity.”
For the @drarrymicrofic prompt: teamwork. Hugs to @academicdisaster24 for looking this over and being a shining light in my life.
