Author's Note: This is a part of a larger series, That's Life Together. Like all the stories in my series, it can be read and understood without reading the rest. To orient you in the series timeline, this takes place in August 2004, five months after the conclusion of Conversational Intelligence and Polite Conversation, and two weeks before Untapped Power. Remember to check my Author Profile for a complete list of the series in chronological order.

Ron's Adjudication

Ronald Weasley was enjoying the quiet. He'd had a headache most of the evening, and the store had been packed. August in Diagon Alley was always busy, but Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes attracted a large number of the school-aged crowd getting ready to go back to Hogwarts.

He walked the half-empty aisles, taking notes of what items needed restocking, what items weren't attracting interest, and any messes that needed special attention. He sent a quick cleaning charm toward the cage of pygmy puffs and did a quick change of food and water. They were selling fast this year, and he added that to his list.

He liked the quiet of the store after closing and often chose to close up at night. It was better than getting up early to open, and it was mindless work, really. He could do it without much extra attention, so he let his thoughts wander back to his own years getting ready for school. It was hard to believe that only ten years ago they were at the Quidditch World Cup, preparing for a fourth year of Hogwarts and the yet unknown Triwizard Tournament that initiated the subsequent years of war. That was also the year he had first really noticed Hermione.

Or noticed himself noticing, anyway. He smiled to himself and marked down the need for a full case of Skiving Snackboxes.

He'd been an ambitious kid. He would forever be grateful that the Sorting Hat hadn't paid much attention to that attribute. He'd wanted to do great things—be famous, and rich, and remembered as the best of the Weasley brothers.

He shook his head at the memory. That ambitious kid had turned into an angsty teenager—but then, looking back, hadn't they all been angsty? He'd let his childhood ambitions turn him into a jealous prat; thank goodness his friends had put up with that.

And here he was now, happily working in a shop. Well, he owned half of the shop these days, but still, working in a shop. Child Ron would be horrified. He had envisioned himself on dangerous Auror raids, fighting alongside his best friend, dazzling onlookers with his feats of prowess.

He laughed out loud at that thought. He'd made it through the first year of Auror training with Harry, and he'd found he was good at it. Both Harry and he had what felt like years of fighting experience, and they flew through that first year's lessons. They dazzled the other trainees, had impressed the instructors, and were well respected and liked.

And he'd hated every single minute of it.

He was done fighting. He had an Order of Merlin, First Class, and was respected and looked up to—he even had his own Chocolate Frog card, for fuck's sake—but he didn't care. These days, he cared about his friends and his family. He cared that they were happy and that they were safe. Let Hermione and Harry run off to change the world. He just wanted to be there to support them and enjoy his life.

Ron knew some people called him lazy, but he knew better. He worked twelve-hour days, then went home and—together with his wife (he still got a thrill calling her that, even nine months after the wedding)—cleaned the house and made dinner or prepared the next day's breakfast. Not that Hermione would let him get away with anything less than a fifty-fifty split of housework, but he didn't even try. He wanted to be there to help her climb the ladders in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, to support Harry while he caught criminals, and to run the shop. The bottom line, Ron thought as he finished his inventory checklist, was that he was happy. And wasn't that just the shit?

He headed back to the stockroom, flicking his wand at different boxes and sending them out to the front of the shop, then sighed. For all that he was happy, he had been worried about Harry. For the last few years, he'd had little social life. He worked hard, spent time with his godson, went to the pub with Ron, George, Neville, and a few random friends, and worked on refurbishing Grimmauld Place. He didn't really date much, and he didn't do much for himself.

Well, that was how it had been up until recently. Last fall, Andromeda had taken ill and spent several weeks at St Mungo's. Harry took care of Teddy and ended up spending a lot of time with Draco Malfoy, of all people. Malfoy and Andromeda had become close after the war, and so he and Harry traded off with Teddy during her illness. Somewhere along the line, they'd become friends, and then later that winter, more than friends.

Ron was still getting used to it. Draco Malfoy! Ron had no problem with the fact that Harry was bisexual, that wasn't the issue here. It wasn't all that uncommon in the wizarding world, and Malfoy was hardly Harry's first boyfriend. That had been Michael Corner four years ago, and Ginny had actually been the one to set them up. Ron still got a laugh out of that.

But there had been no one, man or woman, for the last three years. And now there was Malfoy. The thing was, was that they truly seemed to work well together. All the energy they used in those years of conflict was channelled into positive outlets, and they appeared to be having a blast. Harry was going flying regularly again, was taking Teddy to Quidditch Games, and was even talking about an upcoming holiday. Harry hadn't willingly taken a holiday in… well, ever, really. There was the one he and Hermione had dragged him along on, but as that wasn't his choice, it didn't really count.

So, Malfoy seemed to make him happy for whatever reason. Ron wanted to be suspicious, but it was clear that Malfoy was not the same person he was in school. Oh, he was still snarky, irritating, sarcastic, and ridiculously posh. He dressed rich, was always perfectly groomed, and Ron was pretty sure he got a manicure regularly. Who could be friends with a guy like that, let alone date them? Hell, he carried a Man-Bag. A Man-Bag! He could call it a satchel all he liked; it was a Man-Bag!

Still, Malfoy had apologised to both him and Hermione for events in their past, and Harry said Malfoy did great work at his job in the St. Mungo's Potions' labs. He'd invented a potion just last year that was proving to work extremely well in the treatment of Dragon Pox. Ron thought about all the lives might be saved by such a thing, and Malfoy didn't brag about that or gloat, all the kinds of things that used to drive Ron crazy as kids.

So yes, for Harry's sake, he did his best to tolerate the bast-er... guy because he made Harry happy, and Ron loved seeing a happy Harry. And if he happened to get some enjoyment himself by teasing the ferret for being a prissy, manicured git with a Man Bag—well, that was a little side benefit he'd keep quiet.

Ron stocked the last toy onto the shelf, then started flipping off lights. Checking the locks, he started toward the back when he heard the floo chime.

"Ron?!" he heard his father yell in an odd voice.

Ron was immediately concerned and hurried to the backroom. "Dad? What are you doing here? Is Mum okay?"

Arthur Weasley was standing in front of the fireplace, and he did not look good. Ron started to panic. His dad was one of the most solid people he knew; he did not ruffle easily.

"Mum is fine; so's Hermione and all your siblings."

Ron's body flooded with relief, but his father continued.

"Ron, it's Harry. He was on a case tonight and was hurt. I don't have many details, only that it's pretty serious, but they have him stabilised. Your mother is already on her way over to St Mungo's. We're both listed as his emergency contacts, so she went over, and I came to get you and Hermione. I stopped at your place first, but Hermione said you were still here and she'd meet you at the hospital."

Ron could barely move. Harry. Merlin, no. He had to get there. He had to be there for his best friend, his brother. The whole family was already there, knowing his mum's skills at getting the word out, so there was no one else—

Ron froze. Malfoy. His family didn't know about Malfoy yet. Harry and Malfoy had decided to keep things quiet for a while to see how things went before introducing all the stress of Malfoys and Weasleys to the mix. Other than Andromeda and Teddy, only he and Hermione knew, and he thought probably Parkinson.

"Dad, you said he's stable?"

"Yeah. They said he's been in and out of consciousness, but that's all I know."

"Tell Hermione I'll be there soon, but I have to make a stop first. Harry would want me to, I think. I don't want to say more just yet, but I'll meet you there."

"Do you need help?"

"No, go on. Send me a Patronus with an update as soon as you can?"

"I will. Be quick, Son. He'll be ok; we'll watch over him.

"Thanks, Dad. He needs it."

Ron approached Malfoy Manor with trepidation. He really had no idea what to expect. He'd only been here once in his life, and it was not a fond memory. He had to push back sudden flashbacks of Hermione's screams and Wormtail's silver hand. Shaking it off, he pushed forward. He couldn't get distracted.

A house-elf met him at the front gate to "inquire as to young sir's business." Shit, even the house-elves were obnoxious.

"I need to talk to Draco Malfoy. It's urgent, regarding Har-er…regarding Mr Potter."

"Yes, sir, I'll let him know. Please proceed to the front door and I will meet you there."

He rolled his eyes at the elf. The more house-elves he met, the more he was sure Dobby was an anomaly. Thoughts of Dobby suddenly reminded him as to why he was there, and he quickened his steps.

As he reached the front door, it opened automatically, and he was ushered inside. Malfoy was coming out of a room on the right, and Pansy Parkinson was with him.

"Weasley. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Malfoy drawled and attempted to scowl, but Ron could tell he was on edge. He had to know something was wrong to bring Ron all the way to the Manor.

"Parkinson, can I have a moment alone with Malfoy?"

Malfoy interrupted. "Pansy, stay. Weasley, I don't have any secrets from Pansy. Just spit it out. What's going on? I know you're not here for tea."

"Fine. It's Harry. He's been hurt. I don't know all the details yet, but my dad just came to tell me. Hermione and the rest of my family are already at the hospital. Dad said he's stable, but in and out of consciousness, and it's serious."

Malfoy looked sick, but he appeared to be trying to hide it behind a bored mask. Pansy grabbed his arm as though she was steadying him. She was whispering in his ear, then he nodded.

"Weasley," Pansy said. "Thank you for letting us know. I know this is going to be uncomfortable for everyone, but obviously Draco needs to be there, and I'm going to come along for support. Would you mind giving us a moment to gather ourselves? Linney here will take you to the study, which has the closest Floo. We'll meet you there as soon as we can and go over with you."

The elf—Linney evidently—gestured to a room down the hall, and Malfoy hurried back into the room from where they had come. Ron hadn't been there more than a minute before they joined him, and he realized that they must have practically run; he had a fleeting thought that he might wonder about that if he weren't feeling the need to rush, as well.

Malfoy handed him a porcelain bowl filled with Floo Powder which he took without comment, throwing the powder into the flames. "St Mungo's!"

The reception area was quiet. It was a Tuesday evening and, evidently, things were quiet in Wizarding Britain. Ron cringed at the thought. Obviously not everywhere, though, or Harry wouldn't be here.

Malfoy stepped up behind him, Parkinson holding his hand.

"Harry Potter?" Ron asked.

Right then, his father's weasel Patronus appeared. "No change. Fourth Floor, Spell Damage."

The man at the desk nodded solemnly. "Sounds like you know where you're going then. Back that way, then up the lifts on the right. I hope everything is okay with Mr Potter."

Malfoy spoke up. "I work here, remember? Come on. It's this way."

Ron nodded in thanks to the wizard at the desk, then practically ran down the hall, following Malfoy.

In the lifts, Ron took a moment to look closely at his companions. Malfoy was even more pale than usual, and his normally perfectly styled hair was dishevelled and falling in his face. Still, he was standing straight and had a bored look upon his face, which Ron supposed might have fooled him if he weren't looking closely.

Ron took a deep breath to calm himself. Damn, he was so worried.

"I'll go first," he told Malfoy. Give me about thirty seconds so I can prepare the family for the fact I brought you. Some of them know that you're friends, but…"

"Yes. But… Go, Weasley," he said as the doors opened. "Thirty seconds."

Ron stepped off the lift and saw his family in the waiting area down the hall. Hermione noticed him first and ran up, then threw her arms around him, whispering in his ear. "You brought him?"

"Yeah. I only have a few seconds to prepare them. He okay?"

"I don't know, I just got here myself," she answered, obviously trying to hold back tears.

He squeezed her tight, then looked up at his family.

"Hey, everyone. Um, I need to tell you about something real quick. There was someone who needed to be here. Harry would want him to be. Just, be nice, okay? Remember why we're here."

His family looked confused, then one by one they looked behind him and looks of shock, discomfort, and confusion crossed various faces.

Ginny spoke first, her voice flat. "Malfoy, thanks for coming. Parkinson."

Malfoy just nodded, then looked at Hermione. "Hermione, how is he? Can I see him? I need to…" his voice almost sounded like it hitched, "to see him."

Hermione looked at him closely, then nodded. "Right. Ron, you too. Come on, let's see if there're any changes, and find out when we can get in there."

Malfoy looked grateful and gestured to Pansy to sit, then followed Ron and Hermione down the hall to an area with lots of activity. Healers were busily running in and out of a room with Aurors stationed outside. Neville was one of them, and Ron almost choked in relief.

"Nev!" Ron hurried over. "Nev, man, what can you tell us?"

"Is he going to be okay?" came Malfoy's abnormally quiet voice behind him. It barely sounded like him at all, his voice missing much of the ponciness that Ron normally associated with the man.

Neville looked closely at Malfoy, then shrugged it off and turned his attention back to Ron.

"I don't know about his status; it's too soon to say for sure. I also can't talk about where we were, but I can say that we got split up. I heard a spell fight, and got there as quickly as I could, maybe twenty, thirty seconds after it started? Harry was being Harry, keeping up his own, but there were three of them and one of them got behind him right as I joined in. They got past his shield before I could take them down. He got the other two before he fell, but…" Neville trailed off and just stared at the wall.

"Do they know what hit him?" Malfoy asked.

"Yeah, we think it was the same thing that Dolohov hit Hermione with back at the Department of Mysteries." Neville looked at Hermione apologetically. "They've stopped the bleeding, and he's in and out of consciousness, but they haven't been able to seal the cut yet as they are repairing internally first. Evidently, this curse doesn't make clean cuts."

"No, no it doesn't. Excuse me, I need to talk to Pansy. I think we have a book back at the Manor that might help the Healers. I'm going to send her for it."

Malfoy hurried back to Parkinson, and Neville looked questioningly at Ron and Hermione.

Ron nodded. "Yeah, they've been dating a few months. They're getting kind of serious but haven't told anyone. Harry would be really upset if I hadn't brought him. I might not like the git, but it's for Harry."

Neville smiled and made a knowing hum. "So that's why he was so secretive about who it was." He grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "You're a good friend, Ron. Anyway, I don't think they'll let anyone in until they're done. You might as well go sit down, and I'll let you know as soon as there's any change. I'm on guard duty on the room, so no one in or out without my knowing. He's safe, and I'm not going anywhere."

Hermione gave Neville a quick hug of thanks, then took Ron's hand and dragged him back to his family. Everyone was sitting in chairs, leaning on those next to them or holding hands and talking quietly. When you were part of the Weasley family like Harry was, you were Family.

In the corner by himself, slumped over in a chair, was Malfoy.

He looked terrible. And he looked alone.

Once upon a time, Ron would have taken this opportunity to taunt him, just as he knew Malfoy would be taunting him over Harry's injury.

But now, he just looked lost. Forlorn. Unbelievably fragile.

Ron glanced at his wife, who nodded, then he walked over and sat down next to Malfoy. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Draco. Can I get you anything? Neville thinks it'll be a little while still."

"No, thank you." So prim, so proper, when he wasn't being an ass.

Ron wasn't in the mood to talk, and he figured Malfoy wasn't either, so he just sat back, and let the silence hang.

Malfoy looked grateful, then leaned his head on the wall and slowly closed his eyes.

Sometimes, Ron thought, being there for someone was really about just being there.

Almost an hour later, Neville approached Ron and Draco, still sitting in their silence. Ron noticed Hermione nearby playing with Victoire, Bill and Fleur having gone off somewhere. Did he remember some mumbles about tea?

Whatever the case, she moved closer and Neville sat down with them.

"All right, mate. You can go back. They said two at a time only, and if anyone upsets him, they'll limit even that. They have him closed up, and he's asleep, but he did talk to me for a moment, which means he's conscious. He's on some pain potions, so he might be a bit out of it."

Ron immediately relaxed, and even smiled. Harry on pain potions was always fun to watch—if you could forget the reason he was on them. Unfortunately, Ron had seen him hurt too many times over the last thirteen years, so now that he was safe, Ron almost felt back to normal.

Then he glanced over at Malfoy and realized that he was barely holding it together.

He looked at Hermione, and she nodded and turned to Malfoy.

"Draco, why don't you go in first. We'll come back one at a time in a few minutes."

Malfoy appeared surprised but stood up. He looked at the rest of the room—practically daring anyone to say something—then with a muttered word of thanks to Hermione, he followed Neville and left the room.

Ron watched his back, then looked at his family. They were all eagerly waiting for a word of explanation.

"Okay, go ahead. I'll explain as best as I can."

"Ronald Weasley!" his mum chided. "I don't think a single one of us can have sat in this room for the last hour and need an explanation. That poor young man is clearly distraught. I just want to know how long they've been together, and when they were going to tell us. This is obviously not just casual."

Ron looked around and noticed that the rest of his family didn't look angry—just tired and curious. Ginny even had a little smirk on her face.

George spoke up next. "We understand why they didn't say anything yet, Ron. Before today, I wouldn't have believed Malfoy had it in him, but there was no pretending there. So, how long?"

"Since February. They got to be friends last fall when Andromeda was sick, then started spending more time together, often with Teddy. Things sort of fell into place last February. I didn't ask for too many details; you'll have to ask Harry if you want them." He looked at his mum. "I think Harry was going to ask to bring him to dinner at the Burrow soon, but work has been busy, and he just hasn't had the chance."

His mother looked satisfied with that. He looked at his wife.

"Hermione, can you tell them what Neville told us? I think I'm going to go back now for a few minutes, then we can switch. All right?"

"Of course; go on."

Ron turned and walked back down the hall to Harry's room. Neville was back outside, and the door was slightly ajar. Ron entered quietly, then stopped when he heard a hushed conversation.

"Draco, I'm okay. They said I'll be mostly healed in a couple of weeks," came Harry's weak voice.

"I'm working on that. I may have a way to speed that up." It got quiet. "Harry…"

More silence. Ron felt guilty overhearing the private conversation, but he didn't want to go forward and interrupt, either.

He peeked around the edge of the wall where he was standing unseen. Malfoy's back was to the door, and Harry's bed was angled so that Ron couldn't see his face, but he could see Malfoy holding Harry's hand in what appeared to be a death grip.

Malfoy seemed to have regained his voice because he continued.

"Potter." His voice was firm now. "I was so angry with you tonight for getting yourself hurt. And so scared. Teddy needs his godfather, so you can't keep doing stuff like this. You have to take more care."

It sounded as though Harry tried to talk, but Malfoy shushed him.

"I'm not finished. You must take more care." The firmness in his voice was wavering. "I can't… I can't lose you." More silence. "I...I'm in love with you, as unlikely as that would seem. Honestly, you're a brash, irritating, crass, gloomy prick, and I must have lost my mind, but there it is. I love you, and you'd better fucking take better care of yourself because I do not intend to be alone for the rest of my life. I intend for us to live it together."

Ron sucked in a breath and had to stifle a more vocal reaction at that. Rest of my life? Well, bloody hell.

Harry evidently had a better reaction, because it appeared that Malfoy now had his face lightly attached to his best friend's. Bloody buggering hell.

He figured it was probably time to make his entrance and stepped back to make noise at the door.

"Harry? Are you awake?"

"Ronald, if he was asleep, your loud troll-like entry would have most definitely roused him. Harry, why do you keep this cretin around?"

Ron approached the bed and was relieved to see the look of amusement on his friend's face. He was pale, but he looked okay.

"Well, Draco, obviously he keeps me around so that I can remind him that real men don't get manicures and highlights in their hair."

"Idiot. They're lowlights. Honestly. Uncultured heathen."

Harry just laid back, apparently enjoying the sport before him. Finally, he spoke quietly.

"Thank you, Ron, for going to tell him. He told me what you did; I really appreciate it. And does this mean the family…?

"Yeah, the family knows." He glanced at Malfoy. "It seems you made a good impression out there. No one appears to even be upset."

He looked back at Harry. "I know you hate confrontations, but this was a shitty way to avoid one. Everyone is so glad you're okay that no one has a word of complaint."

Harry laughed quietly, then grimaced. "I think I need another pain potion."

Ron looked alarmed since Harry never admitted to pain. "Look, Hermione wanted to check on you before you go back to sleep. I'll just step out and check with the Healers about that potion."

"Thanks, mate. I really owe you one."

"Never, Harry. You never owe me. I'm just really glad you're okay." He patted Harry's shoulder, then headed for the door.

Ron sat in the waiting room while the family slowly left. His brothers and Ginny had all gone home, and his parents were off telling Harry goodnight. Ron watched Draco trying to appear patient for the room to clear out so he could rejoin him. He wouldn't be surprised if Malfoy had planned on sleeping overnight in the chair, even if they wouldn't let him.

Someone sat down next to him, and he looked up.

"Parkinson. Did you find whatever it was Malfoy sent you for?"

"I did. I think it'll help. He has an obscure potions book with a potion specifically for this sort of curse. If done properly, it should heal Potter in several days, instead of weeks. Draco will likely need to make some adjustments, as a few of the ingredients are difficult to find any more, but he's a bit of a genius at what he does. It'll help Draco, too, as he'll feel useful, and if it works, he'll be able to publish his changes and help St. Mungo's. So, it's a win for everyone."

"Thank you. We appreciate it."

"I just located the book he told me to locate. It has nothing to do with Potter."

Ron just gave her a disbelieving look. "I saw them alone together, you know. Tonight. Have you seen them when they didn't know anyone else was watching?"

"Yes," Pansy sighed. "We're fucked, aren't we?"

Laughing and drawing attention from the others, Ron nodded. "Absolutely fucked. Guess we'll have to get along. Does that mean I have to call you Pansy?"

She looked disgusted. "Certainly not, Weasley."

"Thank the gods," he said with a laugh. "Well, Parkinson, I think your boy Malfoy is about ready to head back in. Go on and tell him what you found before you lose your chance. I know you don't need my thanks, but you have it anyway."

Ron walked with her over to Malfoy. "Take care of him tonight. We'll be back in the morning so you can go home and get some rest."

Malfoy looked at him, then surprised the hell out of him and gave him a small smile, sticking out his hand. "Thank you, Ronald. I'll guess I'll see you in the morning."

Ron just stared at him, then took the offered hand in a shake.

Hermione, watching the entire episode, just laughed and grabbed her husband, turning him to go. "Good night, Draco. And good luck making him take it easy. Sick Harry sucks to take care of, and pain potions make him impossible and a little ridiculous. But maybe you'll have better luck at it than the rest of us."

Malfoy scowled. "That sounds a bit like a curse. I thought you said you liked me now. Bloody Gryffindors."

Ron laughed and put his arm around his wife's shoulders, pulling her to the lifts. "Merlin, I love you. Come on, he'll be well taken care of, as much as I hate to admit it. Let's go home as it'll be our turn tomorrow. We need our rest."

Ron smiled and kissed his wife and best friend, and left his other best friend in surprisingly good hands. Interesting, that. Who would have thought?

A/N: This story is part of a series: That's Life Together. Links to the other stories in the series IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER and more information can be found on my Author Profile. Next in Series: Untapped Power.