Never Let Go

Drool dribbled down the side of her face, dripping in a steady rhythm onto the linens that had been changed only the day before. She’d been sleeping for the last five hours, two of which had spent clinging to Ron’s frame. Not that he minded. He was actually quite comfortable with the way her body molded against his own. So much so that his hormones had gotten a bit excited and he’d ended up having to imagine his parents having a shag, in order to bring that excitement down.

That image wasn’t one he’d soon forget. It was probably going to end up haunting him for a few days, but extreme times called for extreme measures. And if visualizing his parents having a go, meant that Emilia wasn’t going to find out about his stiffy then it was alright by him. He didn’t need her laughing at him or thinking that she couldn’t share a bed with him. He liked sleeping next to her, even if it meant she was going to be kicking him and mumbling in her sleep.

Not that he’d ever admit that aloud. It’d be weird for him to say that he liked sleeping with her, people would think he fancied her, she’d think he fancied her! And even though he did, he didn’t want people knowing about it. They’d tease him, tease her and she’d probably end up telling him that she really likes him as a friend but doesn’t fancy him as anything more than that. Because why would she fancy someone like him?

There’s nothing he could offer her that she doesn’t already have, which is why he’s resolved on keeping his mouth closed about how he feels. No one was ever going to find out, not her, not even Harry. He didn’t want his friends offering him sympathetic smiles when other boys started taking notice in her or telling him to make a move that he’d regret. No. Ron was resolved on doing and saying absolutely nothing.

And it’d be easy. Well, if not easy, at least manageable. That was, after all, what he’d been doing ever since she waltzed back into his life with that bloody smile of hers. She’d ruined everything, she had. Before she came back, he was perfectly content with fancying Hermione. To him, Hermione was lovely and even though she could be a bit bossy, he fancied her. But then Emilia came back and the childhood crush he’d had on her blossomed into something much stronger than he could have ever imagined. He wasn’t exactly sure why he felt the way he did, but Ron was almost certain that it had something to do with the fact that whenever he was alone with her, he felt at peace.

Whenever it was just them, the world and its problems disappeared. There was no Voldemort, there were no exams . . . there was absolutely nothing wrong or stressful about the world. There was only him and her. That was how he liked it. He liked the feeling he got when he was with her and he wished that he felt like he was enough to be with her, but his insecurities were more powerful than his heart. They silenced him, kept him from making his feelings known out of the fear of being rejected. In his mind, he had no chance at being anything more than a just friend.

It was that thought that he pondered when Emilia began to stir from her slumber. There wasn’t anything gracious about her as she woke. Her eyelids didn’t slowly flutter open and a smile didn’t spread across her lips. There was nothing peaceful or happy about her look. In fact, the opposite rang true. Her brow furrowed, giving her the appearance of being upset. Her lips curled into an unpleasant scowl that bore a strong resemblance to that of Draco’s. All in all, Emilia looked liable to curse anyone within her field of vision.

For a few minutes, she lay scowling at the ceiling. Her eyes half opened as they accustomed to the light, which was much brighter than the usual murky green light she awoke to. She wondered why the light had changed in hue. Had something happened while she slept? Perhaps the greenish lamps had been exchanged for more sensible ones. Yes. That was what happened, she thought to herself, but when her eyes landed on the crimson curtain that enclosed the bed, she realized she wasn’t in her bed. A moment of panic ensued, she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten there or whose bed she was in. So she turned, hoping that it was Chey or Jade. That it was someone she knew! Her eyes didn’t land on either girl, they landed on Ron and almost immediately, the memory of her morning endeavors struck here.

“Blimey! What’s gotten into you?” he asked, his bright blue eyes firmly fixed on his disheveled looking friend.

“Huh?”

“You alright?” he asked, speaking a bit slower that time.

Emilia nodded. “Y-yeah, I'm fine. Just forget where I was.” she sat up slowly, her shirt slightly riding up. “Know what time it is?”

“Don’t know. Let me give the clock a look.” Ron rolled onto his side, with his left hand he moved the curtain and peered over at the massive clock. “Half past two.”

“You’re fucking with me right?”

“Can look for yourself if you don’t believe me,” he resumed his original position, this time placing his hands behind his head.

“I believe you, but it’s just so late.”

“Not like it matters though. It’s Sunday. No one does a thing on Sundays. They’re meant to be spent lazying around. And that’s what we’ve been doing.”

“Suppose your right.”

“Course I am.”

An awkward silence ensued. Ron lay motionless on the bed. Emilia sat with her back to the headboard, her lips slightly parted as she discreetly stared at the top of his head. They both knew they were going to have to talk about what had happened. It was too odd – even by their standards – to go from not talking at all, to sharing a bed. Ron wasn’t sure what had gone on in her mind to make her forgive him and Emilia – well, she wasn’t sure about how to explain things. She couldn’t tell Ron that the reason she’d decided to swallow her pride and talk to him was because Harry had implored her to. That would piss Ron off; make him feel like Harry was more important to her than he was.

“Sorry for being such a prat.” Ron apologized, breaking the silence. “Don’t know what got into me. I just hate Malfoy and whenever he gets on high horse about stuff I just . . . I lose it and it’s not right, know it’s not right.”

“He is good at getting under people skin.” Emilia commented. “The other day, I was the one that wanted to fight him.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah,” she smiled sheepishly. “He saw me after your argument with him and went on about how I shouldn’t let a blood traitor talk to me like that, which is stupid since he knows I'm a blood traitor. But for some reason, Draco’s determined to make me a proper Malfoy. Hah. Like that’ll ever happen.”

“If it did, your Nan would beat it out of you.”

Emilia knows that’s the truth. If ever she were to start acting like a Malfoy, her grandparents would launch an intervention and if she didn’t desist, she could see them giving her a beating. Though, the thought of them hitting her was an abstract concept. The worst she’s ever received has been a slap so a full on beating is something foreign that she honestly has no intention of ever becoming familiarized with.

“I’d bang my head against a wall until I got it all out.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not a Malfoy because you’d be seriously deranged after all the beatings and bangings.”

“Even then, I wouldn’t be as deranged as you.” Emilia flicked his nose.

“Oi!” he exclaimed, feigning hurt. “What was that for?”

“Was a sign of affection,” she explained.

“For a troll.” He joked.

Emilia blew him a raspberry.

“Gross, you’ve got spit all over me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Then what do you reckon this is?” he pointed at a drop of saliva that had landed dangerously close to his right eye.

“That my friend is what I call a tear.”

He shot her an incredulous look. “That’s not a tear.”

“Course it is! And don’t worry Ronniekins, there’s no need to be embarrassed about getting so emotional. I know that having me back has made you a very emotional lad.”

“Don’t call me, Ronniekins.” He didn’t want his roommates to hear her. “They’ll tease me if they hear you call me that.”

“But Ronnie –” she didn’t get to finish her sentence.

Ron covered her mouth with his hand, which smelt strongly of chocolate. “Don’t.”

At that, her eyebrows rose and she proceeded to lick the palm of his hand. Ron quickly pulled his hand away, wiping it on his shirt.

“What was that for?” he groaned, disgusted by the saliva.

“That’s what you get for trying to silence me!” she curled up against him. “This bed’s not as comfy as the one at The Burrow.”

“It’s not.” Ron agreed, eyeing her suspiciously. “Mum’s got a spell she uses to keep the mattresses like we like them. Think she came up with it herself.”

“She’s really talented with home spells.”

Just as Ron was about to respond, his stomach began to rumble loudly and she began to laugh. Her entire face lit up at the sound of it and the fact that Ron blushed from embarrassment only served to fuel her laughter.

“Want to go down to the kitchens?” she managed to say in between her laughter. “We’ve missed lunch and dinners not for another three hours.”

“Mhm, let me just get dressed.” Ron sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed, his pale toes curling when the cold air nipped at his feet. “Want to wait here? I’ve got to brush my teeth and go to the loo before I throw some clothes on.”

“You think I can use the bathroom? I’ve got to pee.”

Ron scratched the back of his neck. “Don’t see why not, but . . .”

“But what?” she pulled down the fabric of her shirt, covering her once exposed belly.

“It’s not very clean. In the morning, it is but then we all get to it and it gets a bit stinky and dirty. So I don’t know if you’d want to go in there.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Ron pushed the curtain, letting the light fully rush into his bed.

Ron stood beside the bed, taking a moment to stretch the muscles that hadn’t moved much during the course of the morning. As he stood there, his eyes scanned the dormitory for his mates, but no one was there; not even Neville. He slipped his feet into the dark brown slippers and turned to face Emilia.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

Emilia nodded and left her place on the bed. “No one’s here.”

“It’s a nice day out,” he commented. “They’re probably outside.”

“We should have a picnic.”

“A picnic?” he asked, suspiciously. As if a picnic was code for something more sinister.

“I'm not gonna poison you!” she picked up on his distrust. “Honestly Ron. That’s what Fred and George are for. Not me. Now show me where the bathroom is. You left that out of the tour you gave me that one time.”

“It’s over here,” Ron led her to the connecting door in the opposite direction of the room. “You sure about the picnic though?”

“Why don’t you want to have a picnic? You love picnics!”

“At home,” Ron clarified. “But no one around here just has picnics.”

“Well, I'm gonna have a picnic and if you want to eat with me, then you’ll be joining me.”

“Fine,” he groaned. “But I want bacon sandwiches and you’ve got to make them.”

She made him five bacon sandwiches. All of which were eaten under the shade that an obliging tree provided them. It was a beautiful old tree that Emilia had spent many evenings curled up against. She was fond of it because it reminded her of something out a dream, it was whimsical in nature and its sturdy branches made her believe that if she chose to, she’d be able to climb all the way to the very top. One day, she’d climb it. And the view from the top would be spectacular, of that she was certain. Ron wasn’t as fond of the tree as she was. To him it was just another tree, nothing special about it, but he liked the way Emilia’s face lit up when she talked about it. She seemed like she was genuinely happy with it and that she was going to share with him some amazing secret. She was odd like that, but that was one of the things that made her . . . her.

What remained of their day was spent doing absolutely nothing productive. They sat under the tree for about an hour. Then they proceeded to wander about the grounds and dropped by Hagrid’s for a spot of tea. And after that, they somehow ended up in the Astronomy tower until dinner time. That was the first time that she’d been to the Astronomy tower and the view from it was spectacular. The beauty was so powerful that she resolved on returning sometime during the week so she could sketch it. She wanted to capture the essence of the lake and the simple beauty of the majestic trees. When she told Ron about it he started to laugh. He wasn’t one for art, never had been, and he honestly couldn’t imagine her as an artist.

“Think it’s time I go back to the dungeons.” Emilia declared, a little before curfew.

“Want me to walk you?” he offered.

“No need, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” he was skeptical and would never grow used to the fact that she had to go back to the dungeons with the vile Slytherins.

Emilia laughed and delicately touched his wrist. “I will.”

“Oh. Alright then,” he grumbled. “But can I ask you something before you go?”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Why’d you come to bed? It’s not that I'm complaining. It’s just . . . yesterday, you wouldn’t even look at me and today, you climbed into bed. Why?”

“Because even though you’re a massive git sometimes, I really care about you Ron and I always seem to remember the little boy that loves lions. I'm quite fond of that little boy.” That was a half truth.

Ron felt quite happy with himself. “Pedophile,” he joked, having to ruin the moment.

“You’re a wanker, Ronald Weasley.”

With that, she began her descent to the dungeons. She hadn’t been there all day and knew there was a good chance that her belongings had been scattered across the dormitory. That was one of Pansy’s favorite past times. She thought that if she couldn’t make Emilia cry, that she would at least make her pick up all her crap. Had they been muggles, that would’ve been a better punishment, but they were witches and as such, Emilia always employed magic to gather her belongings and tidy up. She wasn’t going to give Pansy the satisfaction of causing even one drop of sweat. Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. She would give Pansy the satisfaction of causing her sweat and perhaps of even drawing her blood, but only if they were fighting. She’d proudly give a bit of both if she got to have a swing at that damn pug.

It was unhealthy, how much she hated her. Emilia knew that, but she couldn’t help it. Pansy provoked her; whenever she was around she made sure to insult Emilia and her friends. And the insults weren’t as childish as she would’ve liked, they were dangerous insults that could be taken as direct threats. That was why they got to Emilia as powerfully as they did, because anyone that threatens her loved ones is liable to get a fist to the face or a spell sent their way.

When she finally reached the dungeons, she was so worked up about what Pansy had potentially done, that she was convinced that a fight would take place on that night. She held onto her wand tightly, wanting to be prepared to strike at a moments notice, but before she’d even gotten to the stairway that led to the girl’s dormitories, someone called her name and took her from her thoughts.

“Emilia,” they had called.

She stopped just as she was turning towards the staircase. “Yes?”

From the shadows emerged Draco, his heels clicking against the cold concrete. “I’ve been waiting.”

“What for?” she asked, her hold on the wand intensifying.

“To have a chat,” he spat.

“A chat?” she scoffed. “What do you really want?”

Draco stopped mere inches from her. “To chat,” he repeated, his scowl becoming more visible. “I know what you saw last night.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t mock me!” Draco hissed. “You know very well what I'm referring to and if you – if you so much as tell anyone, I’ll make it so you can never run your mouth again.”

“That supposed to scare me? Because if it was, you’ve failed miserably,” she remained composed although her feet were threatening to bolt towards the stairs. “You seem to be under the impression that you can do whatever the hell you want and order people around just because you’re a Malfoy. But guess what? You might be able to boss around the Slytherins but you can’t boss me around and for the future, just know that I'm not one to be threatened, even if it’s by a Death Eater.”

“Enough!”

“Why don’t you want people knowing what you are? Are you afraid?” she baited. “That’s it. Isn’t it? You’re afraid that Harry or Dumbledore will find out and then you’ll be thrown out of Hogwarts. You’re afraid that you’ll have to start doing his bidding right away and you’re not up for that.”

“I won’t tolerate your idiotic notions.” Draco growled.

Emilia ignored his words. “You like pretending that you’re tough and that you’ve got what it takes to be a Death Eater, but you don’t. You’re not fit for that world. And you know it . . . that’s why you were crying last night! Wasn’t it?”

“Shut that filthy trap of yours!” his wand shot up, it was now at eye level. “Now, I don’t know what you’re playing at or what you’re planning with Saint Potter and that Weasley, but whatever it is, know that you’re not going to succeed at it. I'm not about to let a pair of pathetic little orphans and a –”

“The only pathetic person here is you.”

Draco smiled smugly. “There’s nothing pathetic about me. I have everything that anyone could ever want.”

“But you’re not free.” Emilia boldly declared. “And there’s no point in being rich or handsome, if you don’t have the freedom to do what you want with you life. So don’t act like you have everything, because you’re lacking the most basic human necessity.”

“I am free.” Draco argued.

“To follow Voldemort’s orders . . .” she added. “And that’s not real freedom. You know that’s not real freedom.”

“I don’t have to listen to this!”

“But you should.”

“I’ve had enough of you and your nonsense.” Draco lowered his wand. “Stay away from me, because if I ever catch you snooping, I won’t hesitate in disposing of you.”

His threat sounded sincere. It was laced with an appropriate amount of venom that would inspire fear, but his eyes . . . those cold grey eyes told her that he didn’t mean it. In them, she saw a flicker of emotion; he was scared.