Entry tags:

my fic, remus/bill, ron/draco, ron/remus

FIC: Fractured and Tethered, 4/7, Ron/Draco, NC-17
Title: Fractured and Tethered 4/7 [COMPLETE]
Author: Tarie
Pairing: Ron/Remus, Ron/Draco, implied Bill/Remus
Rating: NC-17
Length: 36,500
Summary: The war may be over, but the race is on to save Harry's life.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters and universe are property of JKR, Scholastic & other assorted publishers, and the WB.
A/N: Written for merry_smutmas 2006 for thrihyrne . Eternal thanks and gratitude to my beta readers, mad_maudlin and nqdonne. Without their suggestions and keen eyes, this fic would be a jumbled mess. Also thanks to inthesewalls and Maud for excellent suggestions during the pre-writing stage, to ella_bane and legomymalfoy for their unrelenting encouragement and for the late-night buddy-up writing sessions. Lastly, a huge thank you to Gina for being so incredibly accommodating and not killing me for stomping all over my deadline.
*******

The sound of tiny wings fluttering madly overhead was breaking his concentration. Fingers clenching around the vane of the quill, Ron glowered up at the twittering grey mass whizzing about his room like a rogue Bludger. "Pig, would you be still for a ruddy second? Bloody hell."

Pig hooted shrilly, then fluttered down to perch atop one of the bedposts.

"That's better," Ron grunted, scribbled his name at the bottom of the parchment, and re-read his note:

M.E.M.–

H. needs more Order about, right quick. Tricksy Bells and Strange things are interested in finishing what V couldn't. Order needs to make sure she doesn't.

Sooner is better,
Ron

Folding the parchment up until it was no wider than a Knut, Ron tied it to Pig's leg, rapping him upside his wee head once or twice to get him to stop hopping about. The moment Ron's fingers left his little leg, Pig hooted and sped out the window.

There was no telling how long it would take Pig to find Moody, and Bill and Remus did have to be told, so Ron immediately set out to find them. He didn't have to search very long; light spilt out into the corridor from the Bill's cracked door, and Ron could hear Remus' familiar laughter as Bill recounted one adventure or another breaking curses in mummies' tombs in Egypt. His hand hovering over the doorknob, Ron felt yet another stab of jealousy and he knew it was fucking daft of him. So Bill and Remus were getting on. That should be a good thing. They'd both lost their wives, they both had been infected by werewolves, they both had a time finding a job because of the werewolf thing.... Besides, it wasn't as though Remus and Ron were anything more than friends. They'd just, well, had a bit of a shag that one time. Which Ron was still really fucking grateful for. He'd needed that closeness, that comfort, that feeling of being wanted and appreciated and all right just then. He hadn't been looking for anything more – not that he could devote time to anything more when Harry was as bad off as he was. And anyway, Bill and Remus were just friends. Just like Ron and Remus. Absolutely nothing to be jealous of, mate, Ron thought grimly, then pushed open the door.

And then the stab was accompanied by a punch to the gut; Remus was sitting on the edge of Bill's bed, Bill lounging about like a bloody pharoah with his boots resting on Remus' lap.

"Hello, Ron," Remus said, sobering a little, though Ron could still see the laugh lines about his mouth.

Ron scowled, then shook it off. "Hullo," he returned, rooted in the doorway.

"Something wrong, little brother?" Frowning, Bill sat up and swung his legs round, boots making a thumping sound as the heels hit the floor.

"Yeah." Ron nodded, leaning against the frame. "Something's wrong, all right."

Bill and Remus exchanged a glance. "It's about Harry," Remus commented, shifting in his seat.

"Yeah."

"Has he– is he?" Bill asked, half-rising out of his seat. Ron gestured for him to sit.

Clearing his throat, Ron shook his head again, hair flopping in his eyes. "No, he's still– he's still alive. It isn't that." Pushing his fringe back, he exhaled slowly, Malfoy's earlier words playing about in his mind. Bellatrix Lestrange was completely mental; there was no telling what she might do to Harry when she found him. If. IF, a voice that sounded rather like his Mum piped up. Chin up, hope for the best, dear. Ron suspected he'd need more than hope.

"What is it, then?" Remus' voice was strained, and he climbed to his feet, staring across the room at Ron.

"Bellatrix Lestrange. She's alive and she–"

At that moment there was a loud crash, and all three of them jumped.

"Fucking hell, it's your damned bird," Bill swore, racing to fling open the window lest Pig continue to hurl his feathery self against the stained glass.

Only it wasn't Pig. It was an owl quite a bit larger than Pig, buff-brown with dark streaks on its back and chest. The owl circled the room once before settling atop an Erumpet head mounted on the wall, shying away from its horn. Its great yellow eyes peered at Ron curiously, and he leant up to retrieve the bit of parchment attached to its leg.

"From Moody," he explained, tossing the ribbon to the ground. Breaking the wax seal with his thumb, Ron unrolled the letter, and then groaned.

"What?" Bill asked, leaning over Ron's shoulder. Then: "What the shite is that?"

"Rubbish, that's what it is," Ron said, mouth scrunching to one side as he tried to make heads or tails of the gibberish on the sheet:

EDG WRG PFSG, YFH. NRTW AJ HFEO FNB RTS YGGX AXWGOPGLWGS? PBGMGOGO FNBD WRTX FHEOD RTMG JTBBGX AXWF WRG NOFXU RTXSD, HFE IXFN! OESAKGXWTOH DGPEOAWH KGTDEOGD TOG AKLFOWTXW; HFE'S SF NGBB WF OGKGKYGO WRTW.

FRN AD AW HFE DGGK WF IXFN NRTW DFXUD WOAPIH YGBBD NFEBS BAIG WF DAXU, GR?

Stepping up to Ron's other side, Remus asked, "May I?" and waited until Ron nodded to examine the parchment. Withdrawing his wand, Remus murmured something under his breath and tapped the parchment. Nothing happened. "Hmm." Tapped again. The ink seemed to shimmer for a bit and then...nothing.

"Constant vigilance," Ron murmured, and Bill snorted as Remus tapped the parchment again.

This time the ink glimmered and the letters began to crawl about on the page, ink pooling until it disappeared, only to have new letters rise up seemingly out of nowhere.

Three heads leant in to read the revealed message:

Use the code, boy. What if your owl had been intercepted? Cleverer owls than yours have fallen into the wrong hands, you know! Rudimentary security measures are important; you'd do well to remember that.

How is it you seem to know what songs Tricky Bells would like to sing, eh?

"That's a good question," Bill said slowly, inclining his face toward Ron's.

Oh, bugger.

Pulling the post out of Remus' hands, Ron moved to the desk in the corner, pulling quill, ink, and parchment out of various cubbies so he could compose a reply to Moody's post.

Feeling two pairs of eyes on him, he stuck the nib of the quill into the inkpot and twisted round to look at Bill and Remus. "She's going after people she thinks betrayed Voldemort...and seeing as how Harry blasted him to bloody bits, I reckon that makes Harry at the top of the list. All right?" Not waiting for a response, he got back to it, nib moving quickly over the parchment's surface.

"How do you know all that?" Bill pressed.

Gritting his teeth, Ron ignored the question finished his letter:

Sorry about that. It won't happen again.
I'm a good listener and I blend in well. That's how.

Order up?

After tapping the note with his own wand and watching the letters scramble, Ron folded it up and went over to the owl, fastening his message to its leg.

From somewhere behind him, Remus cleared his throat.

"I just know, all right?" Ron said shortly, releasing the owl out the window.

There was a long, heavy silence. Ron curled his fingers around the window sill, watching intently for Moody's owl, or perhaps Pig, to return. He could not tell any of them how he knew of Bellatrix's plan. If he so much as mentioned he'd a source, they would have wanted names, and there wasn't any way Ron could compromise Malfoy's safety any more than the git had already done.

"All right," Remus said finally, and Ron let out a sigh, relieved.

"All right," he echoed, and then silence permeated the air again. A few times, he caught Remus and Bill eyeing him as though they wanted to question him. Mercifully, though, they didn't.

Scratching his ear absently, Ron glanced at the window and immediately began to back up; a brownish-black mass was rapidly approaching. The large owl glided into the room, wings barely making a sound. It situated itself on Bill's shoulder, which made a small smile break out on Ron's face as he reached for the post.

While Ron unrolled the parchment, Remus tapped the top of it with his wand. By the time he'd flattened it out, Ron could plainly see Moody's reply:

You blend in as well as a giant in Gringott's.

Order is up, ready, and on the way. Have sent word with DD to HJG.

Thrusting the scrap of parchment into Bill's awaiting hand, Ron shooed the owl away. After it ducked out the window, he leant back against the sill, resigned. "Well, that's that, then."

So if Moody was sending extra Order members to watch over Harry, why did he still feel so horrid?

**********

He'd forgot to fix the ruddy pin, so the door groaned as he opened it. "Oi, Malfoy. You awake?" Ron asked quietly, closing the door firmly behind him.
The pillow that sailed through the air, narrowly missing cuffing him in the ear, was affirmation enough, though Malfoy did follow that up with a shining example of his ususal pleasantness. "You're enough to wake the dead, Weasley. How could someone possibly sleep through your ogre-like stomping about the halls?"

Levitating a steaming tray of breakfast he'd nicked from the kitchens (after distracting Dobby by claiming to have discovered a doxy infestation in the northern sun room), Ron rolled his eyes and pulled a small fold-out table from the wardrobe. The tray set down lightly atop the table and Ron's stomach rumbled. Yeah, he'd just had a tonne of bubble and squeak, tinned tomatoes, and fried mushrooms, but Ron always had room for more food – especially if it looked and smelt as good as this porridge, kippers, and toast and marmy did. He'd have to nab something (but not the cucumber and haggis sandwich again) from St Mungo's tea room before settling in with Harry for the day.

"I'll pick up the Fracta-Fluid today while I'm out, and then we can get to working on that leg, yeah?" Cramming his hands in his pockets, Ron did a few figures in his head. Fracta-Fluid was rather pricey and hard to come by; he'd have to take a trip to Knockturn Alley, no doubt. It wasn't as though he could get some at St Mungos or even at the Apothecary on Diagon Alley, not when he wasn't a Healer or even an Apprentice Healer. When Malfoy didn't respond, Ron glanced over at him. "Malfoy?"

"What," Malfoy asked, poking at the contents of his plate with a fork, "is this?"

"Breakfast," Ron said, as though it should be obvious. Which it should have been.

"This," Malfoy declared, pushing the table away from his bed, "is not breakfast. This is slop, Weasley. It would be better off in a trough for decrepit Tebos or something."

"That's breakfast," Ron said through clenched teeth, "and you're going to fucking eat it or–"

"Or what?"

"Or starve. I don't care. Do what you please, Malfoy."

"Don't I always?" Malfoy countered, leaning toward the table to pour himself a cuppa.

"Yes, I'm quite sure you do. That's why you tried to kill Dumbledore, right? Because it pleased you." Ron said crossly.

Hot liquid sloshed over the side of the cup as Malfoy slammed it back down on the tray. "You don't," he said darkly, "get to talk about that. Or anything else you don't know a thing about. Essentially? You should be fucking mute, Weasley."

Ron's brows lifted questioningly. "Is that a fact?"
Malfoy sniffed, gingerly picking up his cuppa once more. "Yes."

Incensed, Ron stalked over to the bed and bent down, pressing his hand hard on Malfoy's injured thigh. Malfoy sucked in a breath so quickly that it whistled between his teeth, and Ron would have sworn on his mum's grave he saw tears begin to pool in Malfoy's stormy grey eyes.

"Have a good day with that leg, Malfoy."

After giving him a rough shake, Ron released Malfoy's thigh from his grasp and walked out. He hoped the prick's leg ached all morning. Would serve the twat right.

**********

Ron didn't get the Fracta-Fluid that morning. Every single apothecary and potions shop he visited hadn't any phials on hand, so he gave up and went to St Mungo's to relieve Hermione.

Standing outside the door to Harry's room on either side were Dedalus Diggle, purple top hat firmly in place, and Caecelia Dearborn, a thin witch with an equally thin mouth.

"'lo," Ron said breathlessly, reaching for the doorknob.

"Hold up," Dearborn said, flinging an arm out to block the door from opening. "Identify yourself."

Although Ron gave Diggle a pointed look, he did not come to Ron's defense. Nodding emphatically (and catching his hat just before it toppled off his head), he said, "Go on, then!"

"Ron Weasley. You know me."

"How do we know it's really you?" Dearborn asked, twirling her wand in her free hand.

"Well..." Ron looked from one to the other, and then a triumphant smile lit up his face. "You!" he said, pointing at Dedalus Diggle. "Two Boxing Days past, you drank all of Eammon Vance's sherry and showed Hestia Jones your Father Christmas shorts!"

Diggle sputtered, while Dearborn leant in, eyes wide and bright. "Did he really?"

Ron jerked his thumb toward Diggle. "Ask him."

"Did you?"

"O– open the blasted door!" he squeaked, and his hat promptly fell off.

Stepping over the garish top hat, Ron opened the door himself and went in.

"Hullo, Her–" Ron said, and then cut off when he saw the condition of his best mate. "Oh. Harry."

"He isn't going to get any better, is he?" Hermione asked. Ron couldn't tear his eyes off his best mate, but he didn't have to look at Hermione to know she was crying. He couldn't blame her for it; Harry looked an absolute fright. The breathing trumpets attached to his nose and shoved in his gob were larger than the ones he'd in before. His hair hung limply about his face; it wasn't even messy, it just laid there flat. Harry's hair never laid flat. His skin was yellowish and his cheeks seemed rather sunken in. If it weren't for Harry's chest rising and falling slowly, Ron would have though he was looking at a corpse.

"I'm not a Healer, Hermione." His voice shook and he winced, wishing like hell he could say what he knew they both wanted to hear. What they both needed to hear.

"This isn't fair," she whispered brokenly, and he made a small noise of agreement. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair at all.

"No," he said hoarsely. He stared at Harry so long his vision began to blur, as though Harry were breaking apart in front of him, as though the line between real and breathing and alive and false and inanimate were fading in and out of one another. Ron's heart hurt. Everything hurt, and he needed something to hold onto. Someone to hold onto. Mechanically, he folded Harry's duvets down and slid beside Harry, rolling in so he could rest his head on his mate's chest, hearing his heartbeat.

"You shouldn't do that," Hermione said, and Ron closed his eyes, ignoring that.

"Come 'ere," he murmured.

"I–"

"We need you, Hermione," Ron mumbled, pressing closer against Harry's side.

Almost immediately he felt the mattress dip slightly, and when he opened his eyes he met Hermione's. Her head rested on the other side of Harry's chest, and together they inhaled as Harry did and rose as one on the exhalation. The three of them, together.

**********

Fracta-Fluid was nowhere to be found. One day he tried to nick it from a potions cupboard at St Mungo's, but sodding Lockhart happened upon him, escaped from the Janus Thickey ward. By the time Lockhart's Healer came upon them, Ron had seventeen autographed photographs and no Fracta-Fluid of which to speak.

Eventually Ron decided he had to brew the draught himself. Because he didn't fancy raising anyone's suspicion, he purchased the ingredients for the draught one or two at a time, and always at different shops. It took two weeks of trips to Knockturn and Diagon Alley after his shift with Harry until Ron acquired all the ingredients. During that time, Harry hadn't got any better, but he hadn't got any worse, either. Malfoy, on the other hand, had turned into an absolute sodding nightmare. He still refused to explain why he'd been skulking about the manor and he spoke no more of Bellatrix or anything that had even the remotest thing to do with the war. What Malfoy didn't refuse to do was be an utter pillock. He had complaints about everything and anything Ron did for him, accused Ron of building up his own personal Azkaban in the lower level of Malfoy Manor, and commented on more than one occasion that Ron was in fact holding him against his will. When Ron threatened to break Malfoy's other leg bone and then set him free - right on the Ministry's marbled floor, Malfoy shut up rather quickly.

When he had all the required ingredients, Ron scoured the manor until he found the perfect place to brew the potion – a narrow cupboard down the corridor and around the bend from the kitchens.

After conjuring up a blue bell flame so he could see in the dark space, Ron pulled several small crystal phials out of his robes' inner pocket and used an Enlargement Charm on the shrunken cauldron he'd set in the middle of the floor. A tap of his wand to the rim of the cauldron was all it took to get a fire going; Ron could hear it crackling and popping beneath the copper bottom. Dumping a phialful of shredded feverfew leaves into the cauldron's depths, he then poured in exactly seven drops of unicorn tears, which sizzled as they hit the hot bottom.

It didn't take long for him to add all the ingredients. According to the directions, the potion would have to simmer for twenty-four hours, so he packed up and headed out. Thoughts of stopping by the kitchens for a spot of tea took over his thoughts, and he'd been so preoccupied thinking on what type of tea he'd brew that he didn't notice Remus until he'd performed a Locking Charm on the door and moved to go to the kitchens.

"Remus!" he said quickly, and then gave him an overly bright smile, though inwardly a voice bellowed, BOLLOCKS.

Remus responded by lifting his brows slightly, and Ron was on pins and needles. Please don't ask about the cupboard.

"I was thinking," Remus said, looking up at him, "that tea would be quite lovely, though it would be even better with company. In fact, I was just on my way to visit Dobby in the kitchens now. Would you care to join me?"

Yeah," Ron said simply, though. "I would." He felt a surge of gratitude for Remus just then, grateful that he hadn't asked Ron about the stupid cupboard.

They walked the rest of the way to the kitchens in silence, their shoulders and hands brushing occasionally. And then they were there, just outside the huge oaken door, and Ron felt compelled to thank Remus.

"Thank me?" Remus questioned, his eyes wide and questioning.

"Yeah. Thanks." Ron reached over to straighten his collar.

"Whatever for?" Remus watched Ron's hand for a moment before he lifted his eyes to Ron's again.

"For believing in me. For being here. For being...for just being you, I reckon." Ron tried to play it off with a shrug, as though it wasn't a very big deal, but it was, and incredibly so. Things weren't fucked up between them on account of that shag, and Ron was glad for it.

Remus smiled then, and Ron knew he understood, knew he felt the same way.

"Anytime, Ron. Anytime."

**********

"Ron?"

"Mmph?" Ron lifted his head from Harry's chest to peer over at Hermione.

"You're keeping something from me," she said, propping herself up on her elbows.

"What?" Ron did the same, adopting what he hoped was a sufficiently confused expression. Pointing at his chest with what should have passed for disbelief, he asked, "Me? Huh-uh." One shake of his ginger head and he slid back down, curling up on his side, cheek resting against Harry's shoulder.

"Ronald, I am not daft."

Oi. She'd gone and used his proper name. Not on.

Sitting up with a start, he crossed his arms. "I realise that, Hermione. You're the cleverest person I know."

"Then I would think," Hermione said earnestly, "that you'd confide in me."

"There isn't anything to bloody confide! Anyway, Harry's the one you ought to be concerned about, not me!"

Sliding off the bed, Ron backed himself against the wall, and Hermione followed suit. They stared at one another across Harry's small room, and Ron ground his teeth together, shaking his head. He wouldn't do this, wouldn't get into a row with Hermione here.

"I am concerned about Harry. I'm also concerned about you," she said quietly, though she was also eyeing him suspiciously.

"I'm concerned about you, but you don't see me nagging!" he retorted, and instantly regretted it.

"I don't nag!" Hermione huffed. And then: "I'm fine, Ron. Honestly."

Somehow, he didn't believe her.

"Then I'm fine, too."

She sputtered, and Ron took the opportunity to grab up his rucksack. "And I should've been long gone. Jones'll be coming in a few hours to relieve you. I've things to do. Catch you later." The Fracta-Fluid would be ready by the time he returned to the manor.

**********

Ron took the long way back to the manor, stopping at one of the shops down the street from St Mungos for some curry. He lingered there for a time, sipping ale until he felt full and bloated, and then continued on to Wiltshire. First order of business would be to have a hot bath, then prepare the potion for Malfoy. He wasn't looking forward to it. The results were going to be fucking painful; he'd already begun to place a plethora of Silencing and Muffling Charms on the walls of Malfoy's room as a precaution.

Slipping out of his robes, Cannons jumper, and the rest of his clothes, Ron shrugged into a robe and padded down the corridor to the obnoxiously large Master Bath. It was as large as the Prefects' Bath, from what he remembered. It had a changing area, pool-sized tub with numerous taps, myriad decanters of sweet and/or musky smelling liquids lining the sides, showers, and a heating room off to the side. Bypassing the showers and the heating room, Ron went to the pool, dipping his toes in the warm water.

Perfect.

Just as his hand went to the knot in the robe's belt, he heard the distinctive sound of locks tumbling shut.

"What–"

"You're keeping something from me," drawled Draco Malfoy, and Ron cursed as he whirled around to face him.

Bloody déjà vu.

"I don't have to tell you shite," Ron said firmly, pointing at the door. "And you're not to be gimping about parts of the fucking manor where Bill or Remus or even ruddy Dobby can see you. D'you want the Dementor's Kiss or something? Now open the door up and ge–"
"No," Malfoy said petulantly, jutting his pointy chin out, and Ron rolled his eyes.

"Piss off," Ron snapped, twisting one end of the robe's belt in his hand, clenching it so hard that his knuckles began to ache. "I'm busy." Pointing with two fingers, he indicated the bath and then offered up a rude gesture to Malfoy with those two fingers.

Malfoy didn't piss off, of course. That would have been too easy, and Malfoy had never made anything easy for Ron.

Every muscle in Ron's body tensed up just then, but he managed to pivot and walk toward the bath again, Very Studiously Ignoring Malfoy. Perhaps if he ignored him, Malfoy would get bored of it and go back to his room. At this point, Ron didn't give a fuck if Minister Scrimgeour and Bellatrix Lestrange herself pranced through the door to incarcerate and murder Malfoy themselves; he just wanted his fucking bath.

Walking along the pool's edge, Ron turned on a few taps, then dumped the contents of a few decanters under the running water. A warm, crisp smell filled the air and bubbles began to rise on the water's surface. Grotty bastard can have a show if he likes, Ron thought sullenly, yanking open the belt on his robe. The tips of his ears reddened as he shrugged the robe off and he was glad his hair was long enough to cover them so Malfoy hadn't any idea he was even a tiny bit uncomfortable. As soon as the robe pooled about his ankles, he slid into the bath. Paddling to the centre of the pool, he turned around, unsurprised that Malfoy was still there.

"What are you doing?"

"Waiting for an answer to my question," Malfoy said, leaning against a column near the shallow end of the pool.

"Why do you want to know?" Ron grumbled. Too bad Malfoy was too far away to splash.

"Because things aren't adding up. You're here all the time, and your grotty brother, and the werewolf, yet I've seen hide nor hair of the Mudblood and Potter, that's why," Malfoy said, his chin wobbling a bit. Pointy bastard.

"And?" Ron said shortly.

"I find it hard to believe they'd be off fighting the good fight without their trusty sidekick." Malfoy pushed himself off the column and approached the edge of the pool, squatting down. "Or've you had a falling out?"

Ron blinked. "You really don't know, do you?"

Malfoy frowned. "Know what?"

"How long has it been since you saw Bellatrix Lestrange?"
"Six, perhaps eight weeks ago. Why?"

Blimey, he really didn't know. "Malfoy, the war's over. Voldemort's dead."

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment blankly, and then his brows began to creep toward his hairline. "Potter killed him?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." Malfoy's lips moved then, though Ron couldn't hear what he was saying. He got the distinct feeling he wasn't supposed to hear, anyway. Louder, Malfoy said, "Well, bully for him."

Ron paddled over to the taps and shut them off. Looping his arm round one, he hauled himself up between two, resting his elbows on them. "Not exactly."

"And what is that supposed to mean, Weasley?"

"Something went wrong. We dunno what. Voldemort made these Horcruxes, see, and Harry– I dunno what happened, but Voldemort exploded – it was dead disgusting – and so did his wand, and Harry's, too. Their cores came from the same phoenix, see, least that's what Harry said, and when Voldemort died, Harry just sort of...collapsed. He's in St Mungo's and he hasn't...he hasn't woken up yet," Ron said, his voice alternately shaking and cracking. His eyes began to sting and he turned his head, unwilling to let Malfoy see him be vulnerable like that.

"Fucking hell," Malfoy commented.

Ron swallowed hard. "Fucking hell, yeah." Collecting himself, he settled his gaze back on Malfoy, mouth set in a thin line.

"And Potter is...?"

"Total crap. Doesn't look good. So." Leaning onto his back, Ron pressed his feet against the side of the pool and pushed back hard, sending himself shooting toward the centre of the pool. He didn't want to talk about it anymore. Ron didn't want to talk about it, so he stayed underwater as long as he could. Malfoy didn't leave. Ron stayed in the pool until his fingers were all shriveled and pruney, and still Malfoy didn't leave. He just leant against the column again and waited.

After Ron toweled off, he put the robe back on and headed for the door. Fuck Malfoy; he could stand there all night if he liked. Scowling, Ron began to unbolt the locks. No Fracta-Fluid for the prig tonight; Ron was going straight to have a lie-in and that was that.

"I'm not surprised."

Why Malfoy had to pull this shit every single time he was ready to leave, Ron didn't know. Irate, he squared his shoulders and kept unfastening bolts. "And why's that?"

"I'm just not, that's all," Malfoy said in an infuriatingly calm voice.

Ron was tired of Malfoy's vague crap. He was through.

"Give it a rest, Malfoy," Ron snarled, spinning around, lashing out at him.

"Easy, Shrivelfig," Malfoy snorted, easily side-stepping Ron's pinwheeling arms.

The floor was wet, and Ron barefoot, which did not bode well for him at all. As Malfoy stepped to the side, he went careening into the column. The wind was knocked right out of him, and he slumped against the pillar, gasping.

Malfoy stepped right up to him, close enough that Ron could feel the heat from his body.

"I think you're the one who needs to give it a rest, Weasley," he said.

And Ron completely, utterly, totally snapped.

It was stupid. It was childish. It was the foolish, reckless Gryffindor in him. "Make me, Malfoy," he said.

Malfoy sneered, which the impetus for Ron to grab hold of his wrists and switch their positions, slamming Malfoy against the stone column.

"Smug bastard," Ron swore, lifting up and then banging Malfoy's wrists back onto the marble.

Malfoy winced. And then he wedged his good leg in between Ron's, planting his foot down and then lifting it up to give Ron a quick, sharp shove. Ron gasped, but held his ground, digging the balls of his feet down against the cobbled floor as best he could and rocked his hips forward, hoping to jostle Malfoy's smug arse roughly against the column again. However, Ron didn't count on their hips grinding together, nor did he count on feeling Malfoy's – Malfoy's COCK, the voice that sounded like a very traumatised Hermione shrieked – Malfoy's cock bump against his.

They both grunted.

And then they looked at each other.

"Fuck," Ron breathed, horrified.

"Weasley." Malfoy sounded just as horrified.

"Malfoy."

"Fuck–" And then Malfoy groaned, twisting his hips, arching off the column, and Ron canted his hips in. Their hips pressed against each other, and Malfoy wriggled his hands until Ron gave in and set them free. Immediately they settled on Ron's robe, pulling and knotting the material as his fingers pushed against Ron's collarbone. His mouth fell open as Ron angled his hips up and thrust forcefully, and Ron, so help him Godric, took advantage of it and leant in, running the tip of his tongue over Malfoy's lower lip, slipping in and behind to pull over the soft skin along the inside. Malfoy gasped then, and Ron pulled back, his own lips parted, Malfoy's lower lip practically between them. If he moved in just a bit, he could draw it into his mouth and suck on it...

Malfoy didn't move in, though he did shove his hand between them, the heel of his palm pressing against Ron's erection. "Ch-ch-Christ," Ron rasped, hips automatically snapping against Malfoy's hand.

"You're fucking disgusting, Weasley," Malfoy grunted, his pelvis pressing against Ron's leg, moving in quick, jerky figure-eights. "Damned– disgracef–"

"Shut up," Ron ground out, and then his knees began to give out. His hand flew out, grasping onto Malfoy's shoulder, and he could feel his thighs begin to strain, though he wasn't ready, didn't want them to–

"Don't you–"

"Gotta–"

"I'm–"

"Weasley–"

Ron fell into Malfoy then, his mouth open and panting against Malfoy's cheek, and he felt himself pulse against Malfoy's hand, wet heat spreading out before him.

"Coming–"

"Hate you– Shooti– Coming– ," Malfoy said raggedly, and Ron felt Malfoy come against him. Ron's head spun for the longest time, and then he heard Malfoy say, his voice all strangled, "You made me fucking ruin my trousers, you arse."

"Use a Cleaning Charm," Ron said, stumbling back a few steps.

"You still have my wand," he scowled in between gasps for air.

"Hmm. That's a sticky situation, then." Ron merely smiled, then performed a Cleaning Charm on himself.

"You are a complete bastard."

Yes, yes Ron was.

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