The weekend passed quietly. The whole Forbidden Forest incident had already faded to background noise, the way low-level things always did when nothing exploded afterwards. Christmas break loomed on the horizon, and with it Professor Slughorn's much-anticipated Christmas party.
Draco had developed a habit of drifting over to Kevin's workshop whenever Hermione wasn't around. She'd been spending her free afternoons with Professor McGonagall, pushing through advanced Transfiguration work, which meant the workshop was vacant more often than usual. Draco liked the quiet. Kevin didn't mind the company, though he rarely stopped what he was doing to acknowledge it — just kept his attention on whatever was simmering in the cauldron, letting the comfortable silence stretch.
The door exploded inward.
Ron hit the workshop like he'd been launched from a trebuchet, all flailing limbs and wide-eyed panic. Kevin's hand jerked. The ladle skipped. Potion sloshed over the rim of the cauldron and spread across the worktop in a slow, damning creep.
Kevin stared at it.
Then at Ron.
He said nothing for a long moment.
"What is wrong with you?" Draco was on his feet, face red. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
"Ron." Kevin's voice was very even. "If you're not talking in the next five seconds, I'm putting your head in the cauldron."
"Sorry, Kevin — I'm sorry — it's nothing huge, I just need to —" Ron was already scanning the room, already moving. He spotted the heavy workbench in the corner and dove underneath it, folding himself into the gap with the practiced speed of someone who'd done this before. "I just need to hide here for a bit."
Before Kevin could respond, a figure appeared in the doorway.
Lavender knocked politely on the frame, poked her head in, and looked around with a bright smile.
"Has anyone seen my little Ron-Ron?"
Kevin and Draco turned to look at each other.
Little Ron-Ron.
A shudder moved through both of them simultaneously, thorough and involuntary. Kevin sneaked a glance down. Ron was wedged under the workbench with one hand over his mouth and the other waving in frantic, emphatic negation.
Kevin looked back at Lavender. "He might be at the Quidditch pitch."
Lavender's smile dimmed slightly, but she nodded. "I'll check there. Thanks!"
She bounced out. The door swung shut.
Ron exhaled in a single enormous rush and crawled out from under the bench. He sat on the floor with the posture of a man who'd survived a battle he hadn't expected to win.
"I owe you one."
Draco crouched in front of him and studied him like a peculiar specimen. "What's going on? You two were practically welded together three days ago."
"What happened to biting each other in the corridors?" Kevin added.
Ron's face did something complicated. "That's... sort of why I want to avoid her."
Kevin and Draco waited.
Ron hauled himself up from the floor, remembered his legs had gone to sleep from crouching under the bench, and stood too fast. The blood rush hit him all at once. He swayed.
Draco caught him on reflex, one hand on Ron's lower back, Ron's arm thrown over his shoulder for balance.
The door burst open again.
"Ron! I heard your voice, I knew you were —"
Lavender stopped.
The room stopped.
Ron was draped against Draco's chest. Draco's hand was splayed across the small of Ron's back. Ron's arm was around Draco's shoulder. Neither of them had moved yet.
Silence.
Kevin thought: My workshop is going to be in a Daily Prophet headline.
Ron thought: I should have stayed under the bench.
Draco thought: Why is everyone staring at me.
Lavender thought: So that's why he keeps coming here.
Then she turned and walked out. No raised voice. No slammed door. Just a steady departure, heels quiet on the stone.
The three of them stood very still.
They'd braced for screaming. The silence was somehow worse.
Draco recovered first, shoving Ron to arm's length. "Explain. Now."
Ron checked that the door was genuinely, thoroughly closed, then collapsed onto the sofa and stared at the ceiling.
"It's not that complicated. She's just — everywhere. All the time. It was great for a bit, but now it's like..." He spread his hands helplessly. "I can't breathe. She wants to come with me everywhere, she waits outside rooms, she —" He trailed off. "I need space."
Kevin sat on the edge of the worktop, potion forgotten. "You're tired of her."
"Not tired, just —"
"You're tired of her."
Ron opened his mouth.
"Scumbag Ron," Kevin said.
Draco pointed at Kevin. "Exact words."
"Oh, come off it —"
"Short honeymoon," Kevin said. "Shorter than I expected, even."
Ron rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "Fine. Okay. What do I do?"
"Break up with her."
"I know that. How?"
"No idea. That's your problem."
Draco stood up straighter. "I'll handle it."
Both Kevin and Ron looked at him.
He returned the look with complete confidence, chin raised. "I'll sort it. Don't worry."
Ron thought about this for approximately three seconds and decided it sounded better than anything he'd come up with. "Yeah, alright. Do it."
Whatever Draco had pictured — a quiet, dignified conversation, a clean resolution — it did not survive first contact with reality.
He found Lavender sitting alone on the steps near the courtyard, looking as though someone had recently told her she'd failed an exam she'd studied very hard for. Draco walked up with his hands on his hips and looked down at her from the full height of his considerable self-satisfaction.
"Ron says he doesn't like you anymore. Don't bother him again."
Lavender looked up at him.
The silence stretched.
She looked at him for a long, long time, with the particular expression of someone doing a great deal of internal arithmetic. Then, very slowly, the hurt on her face shifted into something else.
Something that looked almost like understanding.
Draco smiled. He was extremely pleased with himself.
Lavender stood up, looked him dead in the eye, and walked away without saying a single word.
Draco watched her go, still smiling.
It took him until dinner to work out what the expression on her face had meant.