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thrihyrneI've been writing on this off and on since December with a few other fics that have been posted before completing this one. This is the latest installment in the story arc from Ron's POV. I hope you enjoy!! My advance apologies for cross-posting to the Ron/Draco archives that many of us frequent.
Title: How Close the Divide
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 17,700 [posted in three parts]
Summary: Healers can be their own worst enemies— Ron is, but Draco steps up to the challenge. On top of that, despite their bond, when it comes to family, Ron can't leave well enough alone. Has he pushed things too far with Draco and Xavier? The sixth full-length installment in the Magic Immunity series.
A/N: Undying gratitude to my betas:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
honor74, wolfiekins, llembas, and Callum. Thank you for helping me fix the nubs and snagged threads in the weave of my stories.
The feeling was there again. It was an incessant, pulsing notice that something was not at all right, deep within himself. Ron decided to pass it off as irrelevant, despite being a Healer. What frightened him the most was that he knew instinctively on a base level that things were terribly, perhaps irreparably wrong.
Ron tried to rationalize it; a pinched nerve, or the fact that no matter what Draco said, their bed was lumpy. He'd tried sleeping in the corner, his long legs strewn catty-cornered to the mattress, clutching Draco to him. But he still woke up each day with an unrepentant, dull ache to the left of his spine. He believed, somehow, that he'd caused it. Too much firewhiskey, too many cigarettes, too much fighting, too many suppressed emotions, too much…
… too much life.
Or maybe it was far simpler than that, and he'd taken too many hexes at Harry's side during the War, and the Dark Magic effects were only now showing up. In which case he should really get himself checked out, but instead he let his maudlin thoughts hold sway.
"So. Are we still on for dinner at Michelangelo's?" Draco asked, peering blearily over his morning coffee. Ron knew that Draco hated mornings more than anything else in life.
"I reckon," Ron replied. "What time?"
"Six."
"I'll be there."
Later in the morning, once Draco was ensconced in his self-designed kitchen, Ron made sure Xavier was properly dressed and his morning ablutions taken care of to Ron's satisfaction. They flew together on Draco's Skyrunner to Xavier's school, a pre-Hogwarts wizarding institution that Draco had known about, but not attended. Given the lack of money in Ron's family, he'd not had any official schooling prior to Hogwarts, though unofficially he'd been more than well prepared. Once on the ground, Xavier tilted his head and scratched the side of his neck.
"I know you're not well," Xavier said as authoritatively as he could, given that he was nine and a half. "Tell me what's wrong."
"Not ready to talk about it yet," Ron answered, adjusting Xavier's jumper. "Think that there's something wrong with me, though. I'm planning to talk to someone on the staff today. Nothing you should worry about."
Xavier looked pointedly at him, shoving his hands into his pockets, scuffing his shoes against the cement.
"You're lying."
Ron took a deep breath, feeling tiny pinpricks of pain almost inside his back ribs, near his lungs now. He pretended the tiny daggers of wrong hadn't happened; it was the easiest way. Ron had become superb at denial.
"I wouldn't do that to you. You're everything to me. You and Draco."
Xavier fidgeted, apparently willing himself to believe what his surrogate father told him. "Good. No-one else is allowed to leave me, not all of a sudden like dad and mum did. I want some kind of warning."
"I'm not going anywhere. Well, I mean, I have to go to work," Ron hedged, bending down to enfold Xavier in a hug. "George and Remus will pick you up after school; Draco and I are having dinner together. It's our anniversary, as you know."
"Okay," Xavier mumbled into Ron's peacoat. He let go of Ron, shuffling backward and giving him a hard glare. "See you when you get home." He turned, adjusting his satchel over his shoulder while Ron stood up.
A deep, slowly throbbing continued wrongness pulsed with Ron's heartbeat, settling both in his pelvis and where he'd have wings, were he some kind of freakish, freckled angel. He continued to ignore it. He'd ask Hyacinth to do an auralic on him today… maybe. She'd let him know what was going on in his own body, even though Ron had a horrifying dread of whatever it was.
Surely he could be healed, as nearly everyone was. If only he didn't know he was kidding himself, and whatever the source of the pain, it would be the death of him. It was more than ironic; he was a Healer, yet he'd resolutely not sought out someone else to confirm what Ron believed to be true. No Healer could do an accurate assessment of him or herself. While one could have a sense of whether or not things were normal, or, in Ron's case, pretty fucking scary, no Healer could actually perform a self-auralic. Ambric energy was tricky that way. Ron knew innately that things within himself were frightfully damaged; he was more than aware of the topological suffusion of the magic which thrummed quietly within him. Ron simply knew he was screwed. He also couldn't bring himself to know exactly how much damage had been done, some of it willfully.
The truth was, he was too scared to know.
* * * * *
"You're a bit preoccupied," Draco said before eating a twirled forkful of fettuccine alfredo with indecent relish. "What's on your mind?"
"Nothing," Ron lied, more than happy to ignore the near-constant twinging in his upper back, and delving into his quite excellent baked manicotti. "Just enjoying the food."
Draco pursed his lips as he chewed, but let Ron's comment pass. They spent the remainder of their anniversary dinner engaged in amicable, familiar territory, conversation-wise; Ron's employment woes in that he'd been saddled with not two but three interns, and Draco's unnecessary worrying about whether or not he had enough customers for the catering he had planned for the upcoming holiday season.
"Of course you do," Ron insisted, thinking back to the myriad owls they'd received on Draco's behalf, all for weddings. Weddings paid well, Ron had discovered. At least they did for Draco, whose cakes were now being featured in Rita Skeeter's Living, a new magazine that catered to the well-off in the Wizarding world. They quite often sought out Draco, who was more than happy to oblige.
"Ron. What's going on?" Draco demanded, elbows jabbing against the table covering as he scowled at him. That he was simultaneously rubbing his shoe against Ron's ankle almost made Ron smile. "Something's off, I know it. And don't you dare lie to me."
Ron glanced over at Draco's bowl of pasta and sauce, the creamy, ivory mess congealing onto the thick strips. "I'm not right," Ron said at last, hesitantly. He didn't want to articulate it, especially since he couldn't back it up with anything authoritative from the St. Mungo's staff. He'd not seen Hyacinth, or anyone. He'd merely gone through his day as always, ignoring the omnipresent dull pain and pretending it wasn't there. "I just know that there's something wrong with me. Physically." He jabbed at the meal in front of him. "And that I don't think there's anything that anyone can do. In fact, I'm really afraid they can't," he said bitterly before dropping his fork with a clatter and draining his glass of wine. He could barely bring his gaze to meet his bondmate's, but he did it regardless.
Draco looked back, his expression both calculating and exceedingly angry. "Whatever it is, deal with it, Ron," he growled, snaking an arm out to grasp Ron at the wrist. "I love you, but why haven't you fucking told someone?"
Ron practically felt the anger emanating from his partner, though all he could do was shrug in response to the question.
"Tell me what to do. You know I'm a bottomless pit of money; I'll get whatever research needs to be done. But you've got to talk to me."
All Ron could do was sit, mute. This was the best relationship he'd ever had, and he'd betrayed both Draco and himself by allowing fear to rule him.
"Just don't fucking go where I can't follow, dammit!" Draco said in a low voice. "Because I'm Draco Fucking Malfoy and it took me forever to get together with you and by fucking Merlin you're not leaving. Not now. Not when we actually have things figured out. You're a Healer—it couldn't be easier for you to get an honest assessment and find out what you need to do. Surely it's something they can take care of."
Ron reeled in his chair, letting Draco's profanity wash over him, and sensing the gentle, but ever-present wrong continue to undulate in him. What on Merlin's green earth could he do? He'd waited too long; Ron was frantic about what could happen, sooner rather than later, though he was rather unaware down what kind of path his misery would choose to meander. He was a Healer, for Hades' sake. He could recognise a terminal diagnosis at a stone's throw, though thankfully he'd not had many cases like that during his tenure. He simply never suspected that he'd be self-diagnosing. Out of the blue, he heard Harry's voice telling him that he was the bravest person he'd ever known, but the memory only made him more despondent.
"I don't know how long I have." Ron sagged against the faux leather and waving at the server for another glass of wine. "And the truth is, I'm not sure how long I want to be around. But I do love you," he said, shaking his head. "It's not like that. I dunno why you don't seem like enough. Or Xave."
"Shut up and forget the wine," Draco snarled, leaving several Galleons on the table to pay for their meal. "Just. Shut. Up. I'm going to fucking be enough for you, whether you like it or not. We're side-along Apparating to St. Mungo's. NOW."
Ron began to protest until he realised there wasn't anything to be done.
"Will you stay with me, if I'm kept in hospital?" he begged, not recognising it for the neediness it was until the traitorous words had escaped him.
"You couldn't get rid of me even if you tried, you idiot martyr," Draco promised, pushing Ron ahead of him as they left the restaurant. "At least until I kill you for not taking care of yourself. I can't believe you've not been evaluated before now. How long have you been having these feelings?"
"Several weeks," Ron admitted. "I have a regular appointment scheduled; just figured I'd wait."
Once out in the alley, Draco jerked Ron to him, fingers gripping so tightly above Ron's hips that Ron thought he'd bruise. Ron allowed himself to sag into Draco as they left with the distinctive crack! Of Apparition.
* * * * *
The resolute tapping woke Ron up.
He could've recognised the tinny heel-tapping from a thousand paces, but currently it was far nearer.
Hyacinth's olive-coloured eyes stared resolutely at him.
"Ronald."
Ron wanted to speak, but he had to clear his throat first.
"Ronald Bilius Weasley."
"Present," Ron coughed. "Where's Draco?"
"Your bed isn't that large," Hyacinth deadpanned. "Surely you can find him."
There was a discontented grumbling as Draco woke up, apparently as ill at ease as Ron was.
"C'mere," Draco growled, holding Ron's hand to his chest.
Ron plastered himself against Draco's frame, and allowed himself several deep breaths. His life was still fucked up, but Draco was still there. There was Xavier, too; Ron had to do right by him.
"You, and Xave," Ron said softly. "Severus, too. Need to fight this."
"Good," Draco said savagely, turning Ron toward him and holding Ron in a crushing embrace. "So we've established that you can't leave yet. I'm selfish, I'm worried, I'm your partner and I don't want to live alone. Don't you dare leave me, you ungrateful, self-centered, just… don't," he murmured, rubbing his forehead against Ron's.
"Won't," Ron replied.
"Do you mean it?"
Ron felt the wrongness and waffled.
"I want to," he said honestly. "Hyacinth? What in Hades is this? Is it curse-related? Or some late-festering hex or something from a few years ago? What in bloody hell is it?"
She looked down at her clipboard, pencil cradled elegantly across her forefinger. "We don't know."
"What do you mean YOU DON'T KNOW?" Ron raged. "I know I should've been in here sooner, but we're Healers! We can cure nearly everything!"
"We don't know, which just means that there's still plenty of options left to explore." Her tone was such that Ron suspected it was meant to be reassuring. "You're one of us. Surely you know we've got everybody on it, and then some. We've done the usual tests, and we simply don't have a definitive answer."
"So find one," Draco said through gritted teeth.
"May I have a pain potion, please?" Ron asked petulantly. "With a sleeping agent?"
"Of course," Hyacinth said gently. "Mr. Malfoy?"
"Once Ron is asleep I'm going to take a copy of his chart and consult with people outside of St. Mungo's. And you're going to make damn sure that whomever is currently monitoring Ron has my two-way mirror and uses it if anything changes. Anything at all. "
"That's highly irregular," Hyacinth said, brows furrowing and her lips downturned. "We do have such things as patient privacy."
"And I have such things as Healing experts in France," Draco seethed. "Ron is my lifemate. I deserve to go as far and wide with my resources as I'm able because I can, and I want him to be well as soon as possible. We fuck each other and sometimes bathe each other and take pisses in front of each other and sleep together at night. I don't think privacy is at all an issue here."
"Draco," Ron moaned, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep inexorably up his neck despite his compromised condition. "Don't. Hyacinth, I give you permission to give Draco anything he wants out of my records."
"As you wish. I'll just go get the potion. Won't be a minute," she promised, turning and striding quickly out of the door.
"Did you have to say that?" Ron asked, burrowing deeper into the sheets and gently rubbing his nose against Draco's downy chest hair. "I mean, they know we're together. You didn't have to be so… descriptive."
"Yes I did," Draco said, his voice far more tender than before. "I won't have them keeping things about you from me. I know wizarding law doesn't observe handfastings the same way as marriages, but I don't give a porlock's prick. Ah. Hyacinth's back."
Ron gingerly sat up and took the potion before sinking back against his pillow. "Thanks. You're brilliant."
"I know I am," she said tartly, though she soothed the comment by brushing her long, cool fingers through Ron's fringe after she took back the phial. "Between us and whomever it is that Mr. Malfoy—"
"Draco," he interrupted in a threatening voice.
"Whomever Draco knows," Hyacinth continued, "we'll figure this out. You're truly not at death's door. Just sleep for a while. I'll be back to check up on you regularly."
"Thanks. Really."
"You're welcome."
Ron sagged into the warmth of blankets and Draco's arms and was soon dragged into sleep.
* * * * *
There was something different when Ron awoke. He felt—loads better. Opening his eyes, he glanced down to the end of his bed where his chart hovered above the edge of the bedframe. With tremendous difficulty and struggle, he arduously summoned it to himself, exhausting himself in the process. He began looking through the tests and potions regimens. Maybe they'd found some kind of cure while he'd been comatose.
"I've been bloody infused with what?!" he exclaimed after getting two-thirds the way down the page.
"Some of George's ambric energy," Draco drawled to his left.
Ron jerked his head to see Draco sitting with his feet propped on Ron's bed, the Daily Prophet in his lap, evidently doing the crossword.
"But, but, that's…" Ron said, flustered.
"Somewhat unorthodox healing, or so they tell me. Not as thoroughly tested as some, but I thought it was worth the risk to keep you from getting worse." There was a challenge in Draco's gaze, and Ron opted to back down. "You needed an infusion to make sure you didn't get any weaker. The person with the closest pattern to yours was George. Rest assured he was about as excited about that prospect as I was."
"No shite," George's familiar baritone came from the doorframe.
Ron turned to see his brother amble in, Remus not far behind him.
"Not exactly a painless procedure either. You're lucky Remus talked me into it," George said, his comment earning him a swat on the shoulder from his bondmate.
"You volunteered, George, and you know it," Remus said before pulling a chair up to Ron's bedside. He shook his head, his silvery hair resting at his shoulders. "Sorry for the surprise visit, Ron, but we wanted to check in on you. How are you feeling?"
"Fair sight better than before, that's for sure. Thanks, George. I'm sure you had to think long and hard before doing this."
George shrugged, feigning nonchalance as he engorged a set of small red balls and began juggling them. "Somebody had to do it. Or maybe Malfoy blackmailed me."
Draco merely arched an eyebrow in response.
"What procedure did you use?" Ron asked, sitting up and adjusting his bedcoverings in his lap.
"They used a yew sap paste-based calefacient to maximize what's remaining of your decaying ambric energy, then Healer Stormcrow—"
"My ambric energy is DECAYING?" Ron yelled, interrupting Remus' explanation. "Why didn't I read the words ambrus arresto on my chart? REPEATEDLY?!" Ron's chest heaved in anger and fear as he glared at Remus.
"They've cast it several times," Draco said, dropping his feet to the floor and scooting his chair closer to the bed. "It doesn't seem to work like it's supposed to. I've learned a fair bit over the past forty-eight hours, but I must admit that much of the underlying magic I find baffling."
"For what it's worth, Stormcrow seems to think he can stop it before you lose all of your magic," George said jauntily.
"You're so reassuring," Ron said, his words soaked in sarcasm.
"Anytime, little bro."
"George," Remus warned, turning to look up him.
"What?" George feigned insult. "The only reason he's not a squib already is that he's got some of my astonishingly powerful magic in him."
Draco snorted and put his hand up on the bedcoverings, taking Ron's hand. "As soon as he's better I'm going to demand an exorcism."
"Ah. Weasley. So glad to see that you're up. Having a family reunion?" Healer Theodore Stormcrow posed in the doorway, a lime-coloured file folder tucked under his arm.
"Unfortunately," Ron muttered.
The Healer strode in, his auburn hair clipped close to his head and a smirk on his face. "Well, I have some good news for you."
"Brilliant. I'm ready not to feel like shite, be healed of whatever in Hades this is and get back home," Ron said, squeezing Draco's hand.
"Sorry mate, but it won't be quite that hasty," Stormcrow said snidely. "Don't wish to break up the party, but if I could have access to my patient, alone, I'd really appreciate it."
Ron had never much liked this particular Healer, even though his reputation for figuring out and curing baffling illnesses that weren't obviously hex- or curse-based was renown throughout the Healing community. Stormcrow was also arrogant, had bedside manners that had earned him two reprimands from their Head of Hospital, Vrain Frogmorton, and outside of St. Mungo's was outspoken about his disgust for shirt-lifters. Looking into the young man's face, Ron almost wished that there wasn't a cure if he was going to have to be dealing one on one with such a prick, albeit an exceedingly talented one.
"George and I will just be off," Remus said, standing and replacing his chair to its original spot against the wall.
"Sure you don't need me for anything?" George asked Theodore, reducing his juggling balls and pocketing them into his leather trench coat. "Bit more ambric energy? Fade-Away Frock for the missus?"
"I'm not going anywhere," Draco said menacingly as the Healer's smile turned absolutely mutinous.
"Ambric energy isn't like a memory that I can simply dump into a pensieve," Stormcrow retorted to George. "And not that it's any business of yours, but there is no missus. I suspect, however, that my girlfriend, a three-time featured witch in Playwizard, would quite enjoy such a garment, as would I."
As the Healer turned to address Draco, Ron watched George give him a double-handed rude gesture. Remus apparently shared the sentiment as he merely pursed his lips.
"Mr. Malfoy. You may be Ron's," Stormcrow paused, "partner, but I really must ask that you leave the room. I'll need my full concentration to create what I believe will be a permanent staunching of what, in my professional opinion, is simply a time-delayed manifestation of the myriad hexes and curses that Ron was hit with at the end of the War. I looked at your records," he said, jutting out his chin and looking at Ron. "Everything seems to indicate that you were with Potter nearly the entire time. My working theory is that you took almost as much in the crossfire as he did, and that some combination of them bonded into your ambric topography so effectively that no-one could tell it had happened, not even you. Until recently."
"In English," Draco hissed, lacing his fingers more tightly with Ron's.
"Just a bloody minute," Ron said, his mind whirring with Stormcrow's summary of his condition.
"We'll be off now," Remus repeated, his expression seeming to indicate that he was keeping his temper in check. "Healer Stormcrow, I hope that your theory is indeed as you've described and that you are able to bring Ron to a speedy recovery. Do take George at his word. Should you need either of us to assist in any way, please owl me immediately."
"Rest assured that I will." His gaze rested on George, who gave him a one-sided lip curl in lieu of a smile. "You should be fully recovered in a few days. I wouldn't recommend any duelling or advanced spell-casting until then, however."
"I'll try to remember that," George said blisteringly before glancing at Draco and Ron.
"I'd be sure to get a second opinion if I were you."
Remus tugged on George's arm and they left the room.
"How could I have not known that there was something that wrong with me?" Ron asked, reaching his free hand under his sheets to adjust the waistband of his sleep pants. "I'm a Healer too, for Merlin's sake. We all have quarterly obligatory physicals. Yeah, I fought next to Harry for months…" his voice trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence. "But that was nearly six years ago. I work in Obscure Hexes and Curses, y'know, and none of them have that long of a time before they show up. Kind of defeats the purpose in casting them, if you know what I mean."
"I do. Maybe you weren't listening," Stormcrow said, tapping the folder against the side of his charcoal trousers. "I don't think it's one particular curse or hex. I believe that given how dense and how intense the barrage of spells were being cast around you, the residual energy and dark magic got absorbed into your life essence integument."
"Ron. What the fuck is he saying?"
It was obvious that Draco's patience had strained nearly to the breaking point. While Ron was irrevocably grounded in his partner and grateful for his justifiable concern, he really didn't want to witness another of Draco's shouting matches. Ron was planning on being able to come back to St. Mungo's, after all, and he'd have to interact with Stormcrow on occasion.
"I'm not entirely sure, but I think I might understand," Ron hedged. "Look, Theodore, do you mind giving me a couple of minutes to talk with Draco, then you can perform whatever it is that you think will stop the decay rate, okay?"
The Healer let out a heavy sigh through his nose. "All right. But only a few minutes." He looked disdainfully at Draco, who returned with a glare that could have singed Stormcrow's russet eyebrows.
Once alone, Draco shook his head, a resigned expression settling on his refined features. "Do you really have a clue as to what that that pretentious arsehole is talking about? The idea of him spending a lot of time with you makes me absolutely ill."
Ron shrugged slowly. "Lean over?" he asked, already feeling an inexorable ebbing of strength as the infusion from George began to dissipate.
Draco did, placing a soft but chaste kiss on his mouth before nipping gently at Ron's lips. Ron sent out his tongue, reveling in the familiar, warm terrain of teeth and tongue of Draco's mouth until Draco pulled back, running his fingers down Ron's cheek. "Tell me what's going on, as you understand it," he said, sitting back down while Ron turned on his side.
"Well, it's been ages since I studied Abstrusology, and to be honest, I was pretty much pants at it. But I think that's what he's referring to. Every magical person has their own unique ambric pattern—"
"I know that," Draco interrupted. "How is he going to—"
"Draco. Let me finish," Ron said peevishly. "You asked. I'm answering." He took some of the sting out of his commentary by sliding his hand under Draco's. "I think I have something like an organic version of what I cured you of, that nasty persona immunata hex, except that your magic was actively working against you. Mine's been corrupted and is breaking apart, but no one thing caused it. If Stormcrow's right, the after-effects of the brunt of the spells I didn't dodge and the residual energy that's always let off after a spell, especially dark magic spells, just settled into me. It didn't do anything until all of a sudden, a few weeks ago, the deepest level of my personal magical signature asserted itself and the other energy, the changed energy, fought back. Mine seems to have lost."
Draco's fingers stroked Ron's as Ron lay still, lost in thought. Now that he'd said it all out loud, it did seem to make sense, but he wasn't entirely sure what the other Healer had in mind.
"Lost," Draco repeated, worry creeping back into his voice. "You're being awfully calm about this."
Ron shook his head as he heard Stormcrow's unwelcome footsteps coming down the corridor. "Most people who come to St. Mungo's are cured, one way or another. Stormcrow's a berk and an arse, but he knows what he's doing."
Draco scowled as he sat up, straightening his Italian wool jumper and fixating his gaze on Stormcrow. "He'd better."
* * * * *
After a celebratory 'welcome home' dinner, complete with an outrageous selection of chocolate desserts that Draco had made solely for Ron's return, Ron was practically dragged to Xavier's room to read to him before he went to sleep. Xavier hadn't asked to be read to in a couple of years, having insisting he was too old for that. Ron guessed that his sudden and serious illness had caused Xavier to regress somewhat and that he wanted to be comforted in an older and familiar way. Once tucked into his bed with his dragon-patterned coverlet pulled up to his chin, Xavier listened attentively as Ron read a chapter out of a massive Muggle book, The Lord of the Rings. Persephone Weasley, their distant American relation, had recently sent Xavier the book and he'd become hooked.
At long last Ron said good-night to his nephew, received a short grunt of farewell from Severus as he passed the library, and finally retreated to his bedroom. Draco was puttering around, straightening up a stack of books on his bedside table before lighting a few candles near their bed.
"Xave asleep?" Draco asked, walking over to his large bureau to get out a pair of silk pyjamas.
"Doubt it," Ron answered, sagging into an overstuffed chair and propping his feet on an ottoman. "But I don't know why not. If I tried reading that book I'd drop straight off. I can't pronounce half of the bloody characters' names, much less keep up with what's going on. When I was his age I didn't read anything except Quidditch Life, that Quidditch mag for kids."
"Somehow I suspect that being Percy's son, Xavier has far more book sense than you do," Draco said dryly, unfastening his trousers and folding them fastidiously before draping them over a charmed anti-wrinkle hanger.
"Thanks a lot!" Ron said indignantly as he sank further into the chair, rubbing at his temple.
"You have other redeeming qualities," Draco said as he unbuttoned his shirt. He turned around to hang it up as painstakingly as his other clothes in a chifferobe that he and Ron shared.
"Glad to hear you say that…" Ron's voice trailed off as he sat up, staring at Draco's back. "What on Merlin's—"
"Don't forget that Healer Abbott is coming tomorrow at ten o'clock," Draco interrupted, closing the carved wooden door. "He's going to teach me how to cast a ambrus renovo so that he doesn't need to come over here every day. Rather ironic that what got us together first was you healing me, now I'm—"
"That's a fucking tattoo!" Ron stood up so quickly he almost fell over his own feet. "When the hell did you get a tattoo?" he asked incredulously. "And why?" He gaped at the russet-coloured lion preening his paw, gracing his partner's shoulder blade.
Draco turned to look at Ron over his shoulder, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "When I started to go crazy thinking about you losing all of your magic, or worse." He slowly turned around, placing his arms around Ron's waist, his expression sombre. "Xavier went with me. Severus insulted my intelligence in the way only someone with his vocabulary can. You got a dragon as a pledge to me, early on. This is mine to you, to let you know that I'll do everything I can, learn all the healing I need to for you to get your ambric energy restored. No matter how long it takes. I'm not going anywhere and you are going to recover. I demand it."
Ron was flabbergasted. Draco had always been so proud of his nearly flawless skin. Ron was shocked to the point of overwhelmed that he would choose to have something permanent like that inked onto his body. That Draco was also so vehement in participating in Ron's healing process made his own devotion to Draco surge through him. It was a palpable wave of gratitude, pounding warm and steady; he felt a pulsing sense of home and need that inexplicably made him want to ravage his lifemate, even though his strength was still below normal.
"Then I will," Ron rumbled, grasping Draco's head in his hands and kissing him hard on the mouth. Draco responded in kind, sliding his hands down to knead at Ron's arse through his tracksuit pants. It was as though Draco were possessing and reclaiming Ron, his tongue aggressively twisting and turning against Ron's until he drew back, breathing heavily.
"Are you sure you're up for this?" Draco panted, his pupils dilated so that only a sliver of grey ringed the black. "Merlin knows I've missed you, but I don't want to do anything that's going to make you worse."
"I've worked with Raven Abbott on occasion," Ron said in a low voice. He smoothed his hands down Draco's back, slowly sliding his groin against Draco's erection, only loosely covered by his boxers. "I think he would approve of this kind of healing to go along with more conventional spells."
"Good," Draco breathed into Ron's mouth. "Want you in me," he murmured, flicking his tongue around Ron's lips before breathing hotly into Ron's ear. "Slow and deep, so deep."
Ron moaned, clenching his fingers under the slight swell of Draco's narrow backside. "Anything," he said, groaning at the thought of Draco spread out beneath him, showing Draco without words how much he loved him, how relieved he was that he wasn't actually dying. He was going to bring Draco as much pleasure as he could and then take him beyond it, their bodies joined in a way that made Ron thank Merlin he was a man every time they had sex.
There was no need for further words; Draco shed his boxers and climbed into bed while Ron got out of his tracksuit and y-fronts. Wand in hand, he aimed at his bed side table to Accio their lubricant. Ron felt as though he'd been doused in frigid water when the familiar tingle of energy didn't happen. His wand was lifeless, a dead piece of wood clutched in his fingers. He closed his eyes at the shame of having forgotten his current state, letting his wand clatter to the floor.
"Come here love," Draco entreated, the rare vocal endearment enough to bring Ron out of his gloomy reverie. "Ron." Draco held out his right hand, the other patting the space beside him on the bed. "It'll come back. You don't need it now, though." He pulled Ron into their bower of pillows and soft sheets and giving him such a heated look that Ron felt desire flood back to his groin.
Once flat on his back, Ron was bathed in kisses and occasional bites, his body owned and laved by Draco's clever tongue and lips. He spread his legs wide as Draco moved down his torso, reveling in being at his bondmate's mercy. Draco at last arrived at Ron's steely cock. He flicked his gaze upward to glance at Ron from under heavy lids before licking the fluid that had seeped from the top. "Mine," Draco sighed contentedly as he swallowed Ron half-way down, swirling his tongue around Ron's sensitive shaft.
"Yeah, oh fuck, feels amazing," Ron murmured, carding his fingers through Draco's fine hair as again and again he thrust into Draco's mouth. It didn't matter that they'd been together for several years; the sight of his lover, normally reserved and proper in his own cynical way, enthusiastically sucking him gave Ron a jolt of pleasure and he bucked against Draco's lips.
Draco drew back, wiping a stray bit of saliva from the corner of his mouth. "Like that, do you?" he asked with a sultry smile.
"You're brilliant," Ron said, wiggling his hips so that his cock bobbed in front of Draco's face.
"I know. Want you now, though."
Ron watched avidly as Draco got on his hands and knees to retrieve their lube from the bed side table. He was slender but kept his lightly-muscled form by swimming laps most days. Ron's gaze was drawn to Draco's unexpectedly wide shoulders and the new tattoo that blazed against his porcelain skin. When Draco sat back on his heels to unscrew the cap, Ron got up and tackled him, pinning him face-down on the bed. Draco chuckled when Ron gently ran his fingers over the vivid lion, now sitting straight up, his tail swishing in the air and blue eyes gleaming.
"Glad you like it," Draco said softly. "It had Xave's approval, but yours means more."
Leaning down, Ron brushed his lips over the coloured skin. "You mean everything," he breathed, rolling to his side and pulling Draco to him. "I know I was in a fucking bad place before, and you didn't leave. In fact, you marked yourself for me." He spoke the words reverently, hushed against Draco's cheekbone.
"You waited for me when I needed time." Draco insinuated his hand between them and slowly began to wank them together. "And besides, I enjoy shocking you from time to time," he said wickedly, raising an eyebrow before pressing his lips hard against Ron's in a closed kiss.
"It worked. I'm shocked," Ron gasped as Draco pulled hard on their cocks.
"And I'm horny. Get yourself ready," Draco demanded, moving back and getting up on his hands and knees, muttering a cleansing spell under his breath.
"Gladly." Ron caressed Draco's arsecheeks, leaning in to lick a swath from the base of his spine to tease briefly around Draco's entrance. Draco whimpered in response, widening the stance of his legs and hanging down his head. Ron squeezed some of the gel on his fingers, using them to press into Draco's body a few times while he slicked his cock with the other hand. He got to his knees, taking himself in hand and sliding up and down against the narrow crevice before pushing slowly and steadily into Draco's tight heat. He felt like a train taking on speed, his heart beating faster and faster as he pulled back and thrust in again, pressed completely against Draco's willing body.
"Harder, gods, want to feel like your cock's up my spine," Draco said savagely, shoving himself back, using the headboard for leverage.
Ron began a nearly brutal pace, holding on to Draco's hips as he slid in and out, encouraged by his lover's wordless enthusiastic grunts and moans. The squelching and slapping sounds of flesh meeting flesh was an erotic cacophany that reverberated in Ron's thundering heart. Even though he couldn't see Draco's face, Ron loved having sex this way, able to penetrate as fully as he could with each snap of his hips. It was almost animalistic, rutting into him like a wild thing, and Draco responded like a feral creature, wanton and insatiable.
"You—love—this—" Ron grunted. Possessive lust bloomed through him, the telltale spiral of his release coiling in his sacs as Draco wailed his affirmation. Draco suddenly let out a broken cry, his inner muscles clenching and spasming around Ron's cock. Ron slowed his thrusts, trying to hold himself in check through Draco's orgasm.
"Don't stop until you come!" Draco panted.
Ron took him at his word. A minute or so later the tension shattered; there was nothing but his release pulsing out of him, time drizzling like chilled honey as small details like Draco's quivering thighs and the musky scent of sex manifested themselves back into Ron's reality. He loosened his grip on Draco, placing his hands beside him on the bed and marking Draco's sweat-damp back with a trail of dry kisses.
"I'm going to collapse," Draco warned, "but stay in me, just for a bit. Missed you."
Gingerly they eased down to the bed, Ron angling as best he could to keep his softening cock from slipping out.
"I'm not crushing you?" Ron asked.
"A bit, but it's okay."
They lay quietly for a few moments, but Ron was overly conscious of his weight on Draco and he scooted back just a bit so that they were uncoupled. He rolled onto his back and Draco spooned up next to him, draping a leg over Ron's and wrapping an arm around Ron's torso.
"Scourgify," Draco said quietly and the wet spot under Ron's thigh disappeared.
"Love you," Ron mumbled before he surrendered to sleep.
* * * * *
continue to part ii
Title: How Close the Divide
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 17,700 [posted in three parts]
Summary: Healers can be their own worst enemies— Ron is, but Draco steps up to the challenge. On top of that, despite their bond, when it comes to family, Ron can't leave well enough alone. Has he pushed things too far with Draco and Xavier? The sixth full-length installment in the Magic Immunity series.
A/N: Undying gratitude to my betas:
honor74, wolfiekins, llembas, and Callum. Thank you for helping me fix the nubs and snagged threads in the weave of my stories.The feeling was there again. It was an incessant, pulsing notice that something was not at all right, deep within himself. Ron decided to pass it off as irrelevant, despite being a Healer. What frightened him the most was that he knew instinctively on a base level that things were terribly, perhaps irreparably wrong.
Ron tried to rationalize it; a pinched nerve, or the fact that no matter what Draco said, their bed was lumpy. He'd tried sleeping in the corner, his long legs strewn catty-cornered to the mattress, clutching Draco to him. But he still woke up each day with an unrepentant, dull ache to the left of his spine. He believed, somehow, that he'd caused it. Too much firewhiskey, too many cigarettes, too much fighting, too many suppressed emotions, too much…
… too much life.
Or maybe it was far simpler than that, and he'd taken too many hexes at Harry's side during the War, and the Dark Magic effects were only now showing up. In which case he should really get himself checked out, but instead he let his maudlin thoughts hold sway.
"So. Are we still on for dinner at Michelangelo's?" Draco asked, peering blearily over his morning coffee. Ron knew that Draco hated mornings more than anything else in life.
"I reckon," Ron replied. "What time?"
"Six."
"I'll be there."
Later in the morning, once Draco was ensconced in his self-designed kitchen, Ron made sure Xavier was properly dressed and his morning ablutions taken care of to Ron's satisfaction. They flew together on Draco's Skyrunner to Xavier's school, a pre-Hogwarts wizarding institution that Draco had known about, but not attended. Given the lack of money in Ron's family, he'd not had any official schooling prior to Hogwarts, though unofficially he'd been more than well prepared. Once on the ground, Xavier tilted his head and scratched the side of his neck.
"I know you're not well," Xavier said as authoritatively as he could, given that he was nine and a half. "Tell me what's wrong."
"Not ready to talk about it yet," Ron answered, adjusting Xavier's jumper. "Think that there's something wrong with me, though. I'm planning to talk to someone on the staff today. Nothing you should worry about."
Xavier looked pointedly at him, shoving his hands into his pockets, scuffing his shoes against the cement.
"You're lying."
Ron took a deep breath, feeling tiny pinpricks of pain almost inside his back ribs, near his lungs now. He pretended the tiny daggers of wrong hadn't happened; it was the easiest way. Ron had become superb at denial.
"I wouldn't do that to you. You're everything to me. You and Draco."
Xavier fidgeted, apparently willing himself to believe what his surrogate father told him. "Good. No-one else is allowed to leave me, not all of a sudden like dad and mum did. I want some kind of warning."
"I'm not going anywhere. Well, I mean, I have to go to work," Ron hedged, bending down to enfold Xavier in a hug. "George and Remus will pick you up after school; Draco and I are having dinner together. It's our anniversary, as you know."
"Okay," Xavier mumbled into Ron's peacoat. He let go of Ron, shuffling backward and giving him a hard glare. "See you when you get home." He turned, adjusting his satchel over his shoulder while Ron stood up.
A deep, slowly throbbing continued wrongness pulsed with Ron's heartbeat, settling both in his pelvis and where he'd have wings, were he some kind of freakish, freckled angel. He continued to ignore it. He'd ask Hyacinth to do an auralic on him today… maybe. She'd let him know what was going on in his own body, even though Ron had a horrifying dread of whatever it was.
Surely he could be healed, as nearly everyone was. If only he didn't know he was kidding himself, and whatever the source of the pain, it would be the death of him. It was more than ironic; he was a Healer, yet he'd resolutely not sought out someone else to confirm what Ron believed to be true. No Healer could do an accurate assessment of him or herself. While one could have a sense of whether or not things were normal, or, in Ron's case, pretty fucking scary, no Healer could actually perform a self-auralic. Ambric energy was tricky that way. Ron knew innately that things within himself were frightfully damaged; he was more than aware of the topological suffusion of the magic which thrummed quietly within him. Ron simply knew he was screwed. He also couldn't bring himself to know exactly how much damage had been done, some of it willfully.
The truth was, he was too scared to know.
* * * * *
"You're a bit preoccupied," Draco said before eating a twirled forkful of fettuccine alfredo with indecent relish. "What's on your mind?"
"Nothing," Ron lied, more than happy to ignore the near-constant twinging in his upper back, and delving into his quite excellent baked manicotti. "Just enjoying the food."
Draco pursed his lips as he chewed, but let Ron's comment pass. They spent the remainder of their anniversary dinner engaged in amicable, familiar territory, conversation-wise; Ron's employment woes in that he'd been saddled with not two but three interns, and Draco's unnecessary worrying about whether or not he had enough customers for the catering he had planned for the upcoming holiday season.
"Of course you do," Ron insisted, thinking back to the myriad owls they'd received on Draco's behalf, all for weddings. Weddings paid well, Ron had discovered. At least they did for Draco, whose cakes were now being featured in Rita Skeeter's Living, a new magazine that catered to the well-off in the Wizarding world. They quite often sought out Draco, who was more than happy to oblige.
"Ron. What's going on?" Draco demanded, elbows jabbing against the table covering as he scowled at him. That he was simultaneously rubbing his shoe against Ron's ankle almost made Ron smile. "Something's off, I know it. And don't you dare lie to me."
Ron glanced over at Draco's bowl of pasta and sauce, the creamy, ivory mess congealing onto the thick strips. "I'm not right," Ron said at last, hesitantly. He didn't want to articulate it, especially since he couldn't back it up with anything authoritative from the St. Mungo's staff. He'd not seen Hyacinth, or anyone. He'd merely gone through his day as always, ignoring the omnipresent dull pain and pretending it wasn't there. "I just know that there's something wrong with me. Physically." He jabbed at the meal in front of him. "And that I don't think there's anything that anyone can do. In fact, I'm really afraid they can't," he said bitterly before dropping his fork with a clatter and draining his glass of wine. He could barely bring his gaze to meet his bondmate's, but he did it regardless.
Draco looked back, his expression both calculating and exceedingly angry. "Whatever it is, deal with it, Ron," he growled, snaking an arm out to grasp Ron at the wrist. "I love you, but why haven't you fucking told someone?"
Ron practically felt the anger emanating from his partner, though all he could do was shrug in response to the question.
"Tell me what to do. You know I'm a bottomless pit of money; I'll get whatever research needs to be done. But you've got to talk to me."
All Ron could do was sit, mute. This was the best relationship he'd ever had, and he'd betrayed both Draco and himself by allowing fear to rule him.
"Just don't fucking go where I can't follow, dammit!" Draco said in a low voice. "Because I'm Draco Fucking Malfoy and it took me forever to get together with you and by fucking Merlin you're not leaving. Not now. Not when we actually have things figured out. You're a Healer—it couldn't be easier for you to get an honest assessment and find out what you need to do. Surely it's something they can take care of."
Ron reeled in his chair, letting Draco's profanity wash over him, and sensing the gentle, but ever-present wrong continue to undulate in him. What on Merlin's green earth could he do? He'd waited too long; Ron was frantic about what could happen, sooner rather than later, though he was rather unaware down what kind of path his misery would choose to meander. He was a Healer, for Hades' sake. He could recognise a terminal diagnosis at a stone's throw, though thankfully he'd not had many cases like that during his tenure. He simply never suspected that he'd be self-diagnosing. Out of the blue, he heard Harry's voice telling him that he was the bravest person he'd ever known, but the memory only made him more despondent.
"I don't know how long I have." Ron sagged against the faux leather and waving at the server for another glass of wine. "And the truth is, I'm not sure how long I want to be around. But I do love you," he said, shaking his head. "It's not like that. I dunno why you don't seem like enough. Or Xave."
"Shut up and forget the wine," Draco snarled, leaving several Galleons on the table to pay for their meal. "Just. Shut. Up. I'm going to fucking be enough for you, whether you like it or not. We're side-along Apparating to St. Mungo's. NOW."
Ron began to protest until he realised there wasn't anything to be done.
"Will you stay with me, if I'm kept in hospital?" he begged, not recognising it for the neediness it was until the traitorous words had escaped him.
"You couldn't get rid of me even if you tried, you idiot martyr," Draco promised, pushing Ron ahead of him as they left the restaurant. "At least until I kill you for not taking care of yourself. I can't believe you've not been evaluated before now. How long have you been having these feelings?"
"Several weeks," Ron admitted. "I have a regular appointment scheduled; just figured I'd wait."
Once out in the alley, Draco jerked Ron to him, fingers gripping so tightly above Ron's hips that Ron thought he'd bruise. Ron allowed himself to sag into Draco as they left with the distinctive crack! Of Apparition.
* * * * *
The resolute tapping woke Ron up.
He could've recognised the tinny heel-tapping from a thousand paces, but currently it was far nearer.
Hyacinth's olive-coloured eyes stared resolutely at him.
"Ronald."
Ron wanted to speak, but he had to clear his throat first.
"Ronald Bilius Weasley."
"Present," Ron coughed. "Where's Draco?"
"Your bed isn't that large," Hyacinth deadpanned. "Surely you can find him."
There was a discontented grumbling as Draco woke up, apparently as ill at ease as Ron was.
"C'mere," Draco growled, holding Ron's hand to his chest.
Ron plastered himself against Draco's frame, and allowed himself several deep breaths. His life was still fucked up, but Draco was still there. There was Xavier, too; Ron had to do right by him.
"You, and Xave," Ron said softly. "Severus, too. Need to fight this."
"Good," Draco said savagely, turning Ron toward him and holding Ron in a crushing embrace. "So we've established that you can't leave yet. I'm selfish, I'm worried, I'm your partner and I don't want to live alone. Don't you dare leave me, you ungrateful, self-centered, just… don't," he murmured, rubbing his forehead against Ron's.
"Won't," Ron replied.
"Do you mean it?"
Ron felt the wrongness and waffled.
"I want to," he said honestly. "Hyacinth? What in Hades is this? Is it curse-related? Or some late-festering hex or something from a few years ago? What in bloody hell is it?"
She looked down at her clipboard, pencil cradled elegantly across her forefinger. "We don't know."
"What do you mean YOU DON'T KNOW?" Ron raged. "I know I should've been in here sooner, but we're Healers! We can cure nearly everything!"
"We don't know, which just means that there's still plenty of options left to explore." Her tone was such that Ron suspected it was meant to be reassuring. "You're one of us. Surely you know we've got everybody on it, and then some. We've done the usual tests, and we simply don't have a definitive answer."
"So find one," Draco said through gritted teeth.
"May I have a pain potion, please?" Ron asked petulantly. "With a sleeping agent?"
"Of course," Hyacinth said gently. "Mr. Malfoy?"
"Once Ron is asleep I'm going to take a copy of his chart and consult with people outside of St. Mungo's. And you're going to make damn sure that whomever is currently monitoring Ron has my two-way mirror and uses it if anything changes. Anything at all. "
"That's highly irregular," Hyacinth said, brows furrowing and her lips downturned. "We do have such things as patient privacy."
"And I have such things as Healing experts in France," Draco seethed. "Ron is my lifemate. I deserve to go as far and wide with my resources as I'm able because I can, and I want him to be well as soon as possible. We fuck each other and sometimes bathe each other and take pisses in front of each other and sleep together at night. I don't think privacy is at all an issue here."
"Draco," Ron moaned, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep inexorably up his neck despite his compromised condition. "Don't. Hyacinth, I give you permission to give Draco anything he wants out of my records."
"As you wish. I'll just go get the potion. Won't be a minute," she promised, turning and striding quickly out of the door.
"Did you have to say that?" Ron asked, burrowing deeper into the sheets and gently rubbing his nose against Draco's downy chest hair. "I mean, they know we're together. You didn't have to be so… descriptive."
"Yes I did," Draco said, his voice far more tender than before. "I won't have them keeping things about you from me. I know wizarding law doesn't observe handfastings the same way as marriages, but I don't give a porlock's prick. Ah. Hyacinth's back."
Ron gingerly sat up and took the potion before sinking back against his pillow. "Thanks. You're brilliant."
"I know I am," she said tartly, though she soothed the comment by brushing her long, cool fingers through Ron's fringe after she took back the phial. "Between us and whomever it is that Mr. Malfoy—"
"Draco," he interrupted in a threatening voice.
"Whomever Draco knows," Hyacinth continued, "we'll figure this out. You're truly not at death's door. Just sleep for a while. I'll be back to check up on you regularly."
"Thanks. Really."
"You're welcome."
Ron sagged into the warmth of blankets and Draco's arms and was soon dragged into sleep.
* * * * *
There was something different when Ron awoke. He felt—loads better. Opening his eyes, he glanced down to the end of his bed where his chart hovered above the edge of the bedframe. With tremendous difficulty and struggle, he arduously summoned it to himself, exhausting himself in the process. He began looking through the tests and potions regimens. Maybe they'd found some kind of cure while he'd been comatose.
"I've been bloody infused with what?!" he exclaimed after getting two-thirds the way down the page.
"Some of George's ambric energy," Draco drawled to his left.
Ron jerked his head to see Draco sitting with his feet propped on Ron's bed, the Daily Prophet in his lap, evidently doing the crossword.
"But, but, that's…" Ron said, flustered.
"Somewhat unorthodox healing, or so they tell me. Not as thoroughly tested as some, but I thought it was worth the risk to keep you from getting worse." There was a challenge in Draco's gaze, and Ron opted to back down. "You needed an infusion to make sure you didn't get any weaker. The person with the closest pattern to yours was George. Rest assured he was about as excited about that prospect as I was."
"No shite," George's familiar baritone came from the doorframe.
Ron turned to see his brother amble in, Remus not far behind him.
"Not exactly a painless procedure either. You're lucky Remus talked me into it," George said, his comment earning him a swat on the shoulder from his bondmate.
"You volunteered, George, and you know it," Remus said before pulling a chair up to Ron's bedside. He shook his head, his silvery hair resting at his shoulders. "Sorry for the surprise visit, Ron, but we wanted to check in on you. How are you feeling?"
"Fair sight better than before, that's for sure. Thanks, George. I'm sure you had to think long and hard before doing this."
George shrugged, feigning nonchalance as he engorged a set of small red balls and began juggling them. "Somebody had to do it. Or maybe Malfoy blackmailed me."
Draco merely arched an eyebrow in response.
"What procedure did you use?" Ron asked, sitting up and adjusting his bedcoverings in his lap.
"They used a yew sap paste-based calefacient to maximize what's remaining of your decaying ambric energy, then Healer Stormcrow—"
"My ambric energy is DECAYING?" Ron yelled, interrupting Remus' explanation. "Why didn't I read the words ambrus arresto on my chart? REPEATEDLY?!" Ron's chest heaved in anger and fear as he glared at Remus.
"They've cast it several times," Draco said, dropping his feet to the floor and scooting his chair closer to the bed. "It doesn't seem to work like it's supposed to. I've learned a fair bit over the past forty-eight hours, but I must admit that much of the underlying magic I find baffling."
"For what it's worth, Stormcrow seems to think he can stop it before you lose all of your magic," George said jauntily.
"You're so reassuring," Ron said, his words soaked in sarcasm.
"Anytime, little bro."
"George," Remus warned, turning to look up him.
"What?" George feigned insult. "The only reason he's not a squib already is that he's got some of my astonishingly powerful magic in him."
Draco snorted and put his hand up on the bedcoverings, taking Ron's hand. "As soon as he's better I'm going to demand an exorcism."
"Ah. Weasley. So glad to see that you're up. Having a family reunion?" Healer Theodore Stormcrow posed in the doorway, a lime-coloured file folder tucked under his arm.
"Unfortunately," Ron muttered.
The Healer strode in, his auburn hair clipped close to his head and a smirk on his face. "Well, I have some good news for you."
"Brilliant. I'm ready not to feel like shite, be healed of whatever in Hades this is and get back home," Ron said, squeezing Draco's hand.
"Sorry mate, but it won't be quite that hasty," Stormcrow said snidely. "Don't wish to break up the party, but if I could have access to my patient, alone, I'd really appreciate it."
Ron had never much liked this particular Healer, even though his reputation for figuring out and curing baffling illnesses that weren't obviously hex- or curse-based was renown throughout the Healing community. Stormcrow was also arrogant, had bedside manners that had earned him two reprimands from their Head of Hospital, Vrain Frogmorton, and outside of St. Mungo's was outspoken about his disgust for shirt-lifters. Looking into the young man's face, Ron almost wished that there wasn't a cure if he was going to have to be dealing one on one with such a prick, albeit an exceedingly talented one.
"George and I will just be off," Remus said, standing and replacing his chair to its original spot against the wall.
"Sure you don't need me for anything?" George asked Theodore, reducing his juggling balls and pocketing them into his leather trench coat. "Bit more ambric energy? Fade-Away Frock for the missus?"
"I'm not going anywhere," Draco said menacingly as the Healer's smile turned absolutely mutinous.
"Ambric energy isn't like a memory that I can simply dump into a pensieve," Stormcrow retorted to George. "And not that it's any business of yours, but there is no missus. I suspect, however, that my girlfriend, a three-time featured witch in Playwizard, would quite enjoy such a garment, as would I."
As the Healer turned to address Draco, Ron watched George give him a double-handed rude gesture. Remus apparently shared the sentiment as he merely pursed his lips.
"Mr. Malfoy. You may be Ron's," Stormcrow paused, "partner, but I really must ask that you leave the room. I'll need my full concentration to create what I believe will be a permanent staunching of what, in my professional opinion, is simply a time-delayed manifestation of the myriad hexes and curses that Ron was hit with at the end of the War. I looked at your records," he said, jutting out his chin and looking at Ron. "Everything seems to indicate that you were with Potter nearly the entire time. My working theory is that you took almost as much in the crossfire as he did, and that some combination of them bonded into your ambric topography so effectively that no-one could tell it had happened, not even you. Until recently."
"In English," Draco hissed, lacing his fingers more tightly with Ron's.
"Just a bloody minute," Ron said, his mind whirring with Stormcrow's summary of his condition.
"We'll be off now," Remus repeated, his expression seeming to indicate that he was keeping his temper in check. "Healer Stormcrow, I hope that your theory is indeed as you've described and that you are able to bring Ron to a speedy recovery. Do take George at his word. Should you need either of us to assist in any way, please owl me immediately."
"Rest assured that I will." His gaze rested on George, who gave him a one-sided lip curl in lieu of a smile. "You should be fully recovered in a few days. I wouldn't recommend any duelling or advanced spell-casting until then, however."
"I'll try to remember that," George said blisteringly before glancing at Draco and Ron.
"I'd be sure to get a second opinion if I were you."
Remus tugged on George's arm and they left the room.
"How could I have not known that there was something that wrong with me?" Ron asked, reaching his free hand under his sheets to adjust the waistband of his sleep pants. "I'm a Healer too, for Merlin's sake. We all have quarterly obligatory physicals. Yeah, I fought next to Harry for months…" his voice trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence. "But that was nearly six years ago. I work in Obscure Hexes and Curses, y'know, and none of them have that long of a time before they show up. Kind of defeats the purpose in casting them, if you know what I mean."
"I do. Maybe you weren't listening," Stormcrow said, tapping the folder against the side of his charcoal trousers. "I don't think it's one particular curse or hex. I believe that given how dense and how intense the barrage of spells were being cast around you, the residual energy and dark magic got absorbed into your life essence integument."
"Ron. What the fuck is he saying?"
It was obvious that Draco's patience had strained nearly to the breaking point. While Ron was irrevocably grounded in his partner and grateful for his justifiable concern, he really didn't want to witness another of Draco's shouting matches. Ron was planning on being able to come back to St. Mungo's, after all, and he'd have to interact with Stormcrow on occasion.
"I'm not entirely sure, but I think I might understand," Ron hedged. "Look, Theodore, do you mind giving me a couple of minutes to talk with Draco, then you can perform whatever it is that you think will stop the decay rate, okay?"
The Healer let out a heavy sigh through his nose. "All right. But only a few minutes." He looked disdainfully at Draco, who returned with a glare that could have singed Stormcrow's russet eyebrows.
Once alone, Draco shook his head, a resigned expression settling on his refined features. "Do you really have a clue as to what that that pretentious arsehole is talking about? The idea of him spending a lot of time with you makes me absolutely ill."
Ron shrugged slowly. "Lean over?" he asked, already feeling an inexorable ebbing of strength as the infusion from George began to dissipate.
Draco did, placing a soft but chaste kiss on his mouth before nipping gently at Ron's lips. Ron sent out his tongue, reveling in the familiar, warm terrain of teeth and tongue of Draco's mouth until Draco pulled back, running his fingers down Ron's cheek. "Tell me what's going on, as you understand it," he said, sitting back down while Ron turned on his side.
"Well, it's been ages since I studied Abstrusology, and to be honest, I was pretty much pants at it. But I think that's what he's referring to. Every magical person has their own unique ambric pattern—"
"I know that," Draco interrupted. "How is he going to—"
"Draco. Let me finish," Ron said peevishly. "You asked. I'm answering." He took some of the sting out of his commentary by sliding his hand under Draco's. "I think I have something like an organic version of what I cured you of, that nasty persona immunata hex, except that your magic was actively working against you. Mine's been corrupted and is breaking apart, but no one thing caused it. If Stormcrow's right, the after-effects of the brunt of the spells I didn't dodge and the residual energy that's always let off after a spell, especially dark magic spells, just settled into me. It didn't do anything until all of a sudden, a few weeks ago, the deepest level of my personal magical signature asserted itself and the other energy, the changed energy, fought back. Mine seems to have lost."
Draco's fingers stroked Ron's as Ron lay still, lost in thought. Now that he'd said it all out loud, it did seem to make sense, but he wasn't entirely sure what the other Healer had in mind.
"Lost," Draco repeated, worry creeping back into his voice. "You're being awfully calm about this."
Ron shook his head as he heard Stormcrow's unwelcome footsteps coming down the corridor. "Most people who come to St. Mungo's are cured, one way or another. Stormcrow's a berk and an arse, but he knows what he's doing."
Draco scowled as he sat up, straightening his Italian wool jumper and fixating his gaze on Stormcrow. "He'd better."
* * * * *
After a celebratory 'welcome home' dinner, complete with an outrageous selection of chocolate desserts that Draco had made solely for Ron's return, Ron was practically dragged to Xavier's room to read to him before he went to sleep. Xavier hadn't asked to be read to in a couple of years, having insisting he was too old for that. Ron guessed that his sudden and serious illness had caused Xavier to regress somewhat and that he wanted to be comforted in an older and familiar way. Once tucked into his bed with his dragon-patterned coverlet pulled up to his chin, Xavier listened attentively as Ron read a chapter out of a massive Muggle book, The Lord of the Rings. Persephone Weasley, their distant American relation, had recently sent Xavier the book and he'd become hooked.
At long last Ron said good-night to his nephew, received a short grunt of farewell from Severus as he passed the library, and finally retreated to his bedroom. Draco was puttering around, straightening up a stack of books on his bedside table before lighting a few candles near their bed.
"Xave asleep?" Draco asked, walking over to his large bureau to get out a pair of silk pyjamas.
"Doubt it," Ron answered, sagging into an overstuffed chair and propping his feet on an ottoman. "But I don't know why not. If I tried reading that book I'd drop straight off. I can't pronounce half of the bloody characters' names, much less keep up with what's going on. When I was his age I didn't read anything except Quidditch Life, that Quidditch mag for kids."
"Somehow I suspect that being Percy's son, Xavier has far more book sense than you do," Draco said dryly, unfastening his trousers and folding them fastidiously before draping them over a charmed anti-wrinkle hanger.
"Thanks a lot!" Ron said indignantly as he sank further into the chair, rubbing at his temple.
"You have other redeeming qualities," Draco said as he unbuttoned his shirt. He turned around to hang it up as painstakingly as his other clothes in a chifferobe that he and Ron shared.
"Glad to hear you say that…" Ron's voice trailed off as he sat up, staring at Draco's back. "What on Merlin's—"
"Don't forget that Healer Abbott is coming tomorrow at ten o'clock," Draco interrupted, closing the carved wooden door. "He's going to teach me how to cast a ambrus renovo so that he doesn't need to come over here every day. Rather ironic that what got us together first was you healing me, now I'm—"
"That's a fucking tattoo!" Ron stood up so quickly he almost fell over his own feet. "When the hell did you get a tattoo?" he asked incredulously. "And why?" He gaped at the russet-coloured lion preening his paw, gracing his partner's shoulder blade.
Draco turned to look at Ron over his shoulder, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "When I started to go crazy thinking about you losing all of your magic, or worse." He slowly turned around, placing his arms around Ron's waist, his expression sombre. "Xavier went with me. Severus insulted my intelligence in the way only someone with his vocabulary can. You got a dragon as a pledge to me, early on. This is mine to you, to let you know that I'll do everything I can, learn all the healing I need to for you to get your ambric energy restored. No matter how long it takes. I'm not going anywhere and you are going to recover. I demand it."
Ron was flabbergasted. Draco had always been so proud of his nearly flawless skin. Ron was shocked to the point of overwhelmed that he would choose to have something permanent like that inked onto his body. That Draco was also so vehement in participating in Ron's healing process made his own devotion to Draco surge through him. It was a palpable wave of gratitude, pounding warm and steady; he felt a pulsing sense of home and need that inexplicably made him want to ravage his lifemate, even though his strength was still below normal.
"Then I will," Ron rumbled, grasping Draco's head in his hands and kissing him hard on the mouth. Draco responded in kind, sliding his hands down to knead at Ron's arse through his tracksuit pants. It was as though Draco were possessing and reclaiming Ron, his tongue aggressively twisting and turning against Ron's until he drew back, breathing heavily.
"Are you sure you're up for this?" Draco panted, his pupils dilated so that only a sliver of grey ringed the black. "Merlin knows I've missed you, but I don't want to do anything that's going to make you worse."
"I've worked with Raven Abbott on occasion," Ron said in a low voice. He smoothed his hands down Draco's back, slowly sliding his groin against Draco's erection, only loosely covered by his boxers. "I think he would approve of this kind of healing to go along with more conventional spells."
"Good," Draco breathed into Ron's mouth. "Want you in me," he murmured, flicking his tongue around Ron's lips before breathing hotly into Ron's ear. "Slow and deep, so deep."
Ron moaned, clenching his fingers under the slight swell of Draco's narrow backside. "Anything," he said, groaning at the thought of Draco spread out beneath him, showing Draco without words how much he loved him, how relieved he was that he wasn't actually dying. He was going to bring Draco as much pleasure as he could and then take him beyond it, their bodies joined in a way that made Ron thank Merlin he was a man every time they had sex.
There was no need for further words; Draco shed his boxers and climbed into bed while Ron got out of his tracksuit and y-fronts. Wand in hand, he aimed at his bed side table to Accio their lubricant. Ron felt as though he'd been doused in frigid water when the familiar tingle of energy didn't happen. His wand was lifeless, a dead piece of wood clutched in his fingers. He closed his eyes at the shame of having forgotten his current state, letting his wand clatter to the floor.
"Come here love," Draco entreated, the rare vocal endearment enough to bring Ron out of his gloomy reverie. "Ron." Draco held out his right hand, the other patting the space beside him on the bed. "It'll come back. You don't need it now, though." He pulled Ron into their bower of pillows and soft sheets and giving him such a heated look that Ron felt desire flood back to his groin.
Once flat on his back, Ron was bathed in kisses and occasional bites, his body owned and laved by Draco's clever tongue and lips. He spread his legs wide as Draco moved down his torso, reveling in being at his bondmate's mercy. Draco at last arrived at Ron's steely cock. He flicked his gaze upward to glance at Ron from under heavy lids before licking the fluid that had seeped from the top. "Mine," Draco sighed contentedly as he swallowed Ron half-way down, swirling his tongue around Ron's sensitive shaft.
"Yeah, oh fuck, feels amazing," Ron murmured, carding his fingers through Draco's fine hair as again and again he thrust into Draco's mouth. It didn't matter that they'd been together for several years; the sight of his lover, normally reserved and proper in his own cynical way, enthusiastically sucking him gave Ron a jolt of pleasure and he bucked against Draco's lips.
Draco drew back, wiping a stray bit of saliva from the corner of his mouth. "Like that, do you?" he asked with a sultry smile.
"You're brilliant," Ron said, wiggling his hips so that his cock bobbed in front of Draco's face.
"I know. Want you now, though."
Ron watched avidly as Draco got on his hands and knees to retrieve their lube from the bed side table. He was slender but kept his lightly-muscled form by swimming laps most days. Ron's gaze was drawn to Draco's unexpectedly wide shoulders and the new tattoo that blazed against his porcelain skin. When Draco sat back on his heels to unscrew the cap, Ron got up and tackled him, pinning him face-down on the bed. Draco chuckled when Ron gently ran his fingers over the vivid lion, now sitting straight up, his tail swishing in the air and blue eyes gleaming.
"Glad you like it," Draco said softly. "It had Xave's approval, but yours means more."
Leaning down, Ron brushed his lips over the coloured skin. "You mean everything," he breathed, rolling to his side and pulling Draco to him. "I know I was in a fucking bad place before, and you didn't leave. In fact, you marked yourself for me." He spoke the words reverently, hushed against Draco's cheekbone.
"You waited for me when I needed time." Draco insinuated his hand between them and slowly began to wank them together. "And besides, I enjoy shocking you from time to time," he said wickedly, raising an eyebrow before pressing his lips hard against Ron's in a closed kiss.
"It worked. I'm shocked," Ron gasped as Draco pulled hard on their cocks.
"And I'm horny. Get yourself ready," Draco demanded, moving back and getting up on his hands and knees, muttering a cleansing spell under his breath.
"Gladly." Ron caressed Draco's arsecheeks, leaning in to lick a swath from the base of his spine to tease briefly around Draco's entrance. Draco whimpered in response, widening the stance of his legs and hanging down his head. Ron squeezed some of the gel on his fingers, using them to press into Draco's body a few times while he slicked his cock with the other hand. He got to his knees, taking himself in hand and sliding up and down against the narrow crevice before pushing slowly and steadily into Draco's tight heat. He felt like a train taking on speed, his heart beating faster and faster as he pulled back and thrust in again, pressed completely against Draco's willing body.
"Harder, gods, want to feel like your cock's up my spine," Draco said savagely, shoving himself back, using the headboard for leverage.
Ron began a nearly brutal pace, holding on to Draco's hips as he slid in and out, encouraged by his lover's wordless enthusiastic grunts and moans. The squelching and slapping sounds of flesh meeting flesh was an erotic cacophany that reverberated in Ron's thundering heart. Even though he couldn't see Draco's face, Ron loved having sex this way, able to penetrate as fully as he could with each snap of his hips. It was almost animalistic, rutting into him like a wild thing, and Draco responded like a feral creature, wanton and insatiable.
"You—love—this—" Ron grunted. Possessive lust bloomed through him, the telltale spiral of his release coiling in his sacs as Draco wailed his affirmation. Draco suddenly let out a broken cry, his inner muscles clenching and spasming around Ron's cock. Ron slowed his thrusts, trying to hold himself in check through Draco's orgasm.
"Don't stop until you come!" Draco panted.
Ron took him at his word. A minute or so later the tension shattered; there was nothing but his release pulsing out of him, time drizzling like chilled honey as small details like Draco's quivering thighs and the musky scent of sex manifested themselves back into Ron's reality. He loosened his grip on Draco, placing his hands beside him on the bed and marking Draco's sweat-damp back with a trail of dry kisses.
"I'm going to collapse," Draco warned, "but stay in me, just for a bit. Missed you."
Gingerly they eased down to the bed, Ron angling as best he could to keep his softening cock from slipping out.
"I'm not crushing you?" Ron asked.
"A bit, but it's okay."
They lay quietly for a few moments, but Ron was overly conscious of his weight on Draco and he scooted back just a bit so that they were uncoupled. He rolled onto his back and Draco spooned up next to him, draping a leg over Ron's and wrapping an arm around Ron's torso.
"Scourgify," Draco said quietly and the wet spot under Ron's thigh disappeared.
"Love you," Ron mumbled before he surrendered to sleep.
* * * * *
continue to part ii
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Date: 2007-04-03 03:52 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-04 02:42 am (UTC)::is now sidetracked by the gorgeousness of your icon::