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"How Close the Divide" part 3
Longer than I thought, according to LJ. Part I is here, Part II is here, and this is the end!
The next few days Ron was on tenterhooks. Draco diligently attended to him each morning in regards to the healing spell, but otherwise they gave each other an uncommonly wide berth. Given that they were still at the Manor, it was thankfully less noticeable than if they'd been in their place in London. Ron found it a struggle to get to sleep at night, stretched out under the sheets with plenty of room because he wasn't allowed anywhere near his partner. Even the most innocent of advances, an arm curled tentatively on Draco's bicep as an offering of peace, was silently declined. At least he hadn't been forbidden from their bed, but Ron struggled regardless, shunned and forbidden any affection.
By Thursday morning he'd decided to deal with Draco directly, though on parchment. He had no desire to screw things up again verbally. First he firecalled his mum and arranged for her to pick up Xave from school and have him spend the night at the Burrow. She didn't even ask what the occasion was, she simply chirruped, "Yes, of course, dear!" and went back to her business. Next he tried to firecall Remus, but he wasn't in his office, so he wrote him a note asking him to look in on Snape in the evening, and suggested that bringing dinner would be okay if he felt like it. After a trip to the owlery and using Draco's owl, Gabriel, to send the message, he sat down in the warmth of the library. There was a magnificent cherry rolltop desk which Draco used, but Ron usually sat in one of the plush chairs and use a lap-desk to write. Not that he did that very often, granted. Ron preferred to see people in person, not communicate from a distance, and that wasn't due solely to the amount of grief he'd received over the years about his untidy handwriting. With a piece of blue parchment and a quill he set to work, having thought through what he'd wanted to say for the past couple of days.
Dear Draco—
He paused, chewing on a flavourless bit of feather as he reread what he'd written.
How to end it? Ron wasn't a sap by nature, neither was Draco. They weren't sickeningly lovey, not like a couple of Draco's woofter friends they'd known during their time in the States that Ron had made fun of. He thought of their not-exactly-matching but similar tattoos, and a decent way to close the note finally came to him.
Nodding, he read it a couple more times until he was satisfied that it couldn't be misread. He wandered down to the specially modified kitchen where Draco spent much of his time, dropped the note into the letter and order bin that hung on the wall next to the door, and went on to his next tasks, feeling better already.
* * * * *
By 6:43, Ron had succumbed to a morbid funk; obviously he was totally screwed. Draco was either too busy to show up, or he was still so upset about their tirade earlier in the week that he wanted to continue punishing him.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Ron mumbled, tending to the oven heat, checking up on the lasagne he'd made and finishing off one of the two open bottles of cabernet savignon. After pouring himself a new glass, he clomped over to a drawer filled with tea towels and rapped at the bottom with his wand. Sluggishly and tediously a section slid back, revealing a small hiding place for the cigarettes and matches he had stashed away for moments just like this. His ambric energy was still very weak, but it seemed to be enough to do the most basic of spells… albeit at treacle speed. Abiding by their rules, even though he was alone, Ron went outside to their deck to smoke, his heart sinking as several more minutes went by. He'd really thought that Draco would show. Dejectedly he swirled the red wine around in his glass, occasionally sucking on the end of his fag and wishing beyond hope that Draco would suddenly appear.
"Fuck!" he swore in surprise. Wine splashed over his thigh when he glanced up at movement in the kitchen and saw Draco standing there, looking tenderly at him but still somewhat aloof. He lurched up out of his chair, flicking the cigarette off over the banister with annoyance and pulling on the glass door. He'd had his share of wine, but it was the emotional relief churning through him that made his knees weak and legs rubbery and useless so that he tumbled into Draco's arms.
"You're here," he said devoutly, clinging to Draco as though only he could keep his world from spinning out into shards of lost happiness.
"I am." Perhaps sensing Ron's neediness, or simply taking pity on him, Draco clasped his hands around Ron's waist. "You're a bit sloppy. Did you leave me any wine?"
Ron nodded against Draco's head. "Yeah," he said, feeling abashed despite the heady buzz of alcohol.
"Good. Will you pour some for me?"
Ron nodded again, embarrassed at the prickling of tears behind his eyes. He felt rather girly that he was so overwhelmed, but he kept his sniffling to a minimum as he grudgingly moved out of Draco's arms and got him some wine. Draco took a deep swallow before placing the glass on a countertop.
"Thanks. C'mere, Ron," Draco said, tilting his head to one side and turning his face up so he could kiss Ron's parched lips. Ron attempted to return the kiss with fervour, but Draco only lapped teasingly at Ron's tongue before leaning back to stand upright again.
"I only want to say a few things, then I want us to go upstairs," he said, his voice mollifying. Ron steadied himself, trying not to imagine the utter worst that might deservedly come out of Draco's mouth. "We're both raising Xavier. He's going to have traits of both of us, and many more things we probably won't understand, because they'll come from Percy, or his mum, who I'm pretty sure I only said twelve words to, ever. I've told you before that I want him to believe he can be anything he wants: archer, butterfly raiser, concert pianist, porn star—whatever. But he's ours, Ron. You and I are in this together, with him."
"And Snape," Ron couldn't resist reminding him.
"And Severus. But Severus is good for him too, and us, even if you don't see it," Draco barreled on, squelching Ron's half-hearted attempt at a contradictory remark. "I apologise for the comments about your family being obsessed. They do tend to focus on particular things, sometimes in ways that would seem abnormal to anyone, but so do I. I was pissed off, and I lashed out. Then there's this Harry thing."
Ron closed his eyes. Draco had been willing to go with him to Hogwarts to grasp at an elusive filament of closure, had seen that Ron had begun to put that behind him. And then Ron had flung it back up at him.
"Look at me," Draco commanded, though there was no harshness in his tone. Once Ron could bring himself to gaze full-on into Draco's eyes, he continued. "You loved him in ways he didn't know. He's gone; it's too late for you to tell him. Sometimes that's how life is. But I'm not going to make myself crazy thinking you're pining over your absolute best friend who you ultimately never told your deepest thoughts to. Do you know why?"
Ron shook his head. He would've driven himself around the bend if he'd known who Draco had loved before; it was that sliver of self-knowledge that prevented him from asking. That and the fact Draco had said he'd never tell because it was irrelevant.
"I didn't think you would." Draco placed a hand on Ron's bicep, his hand gently squeezing in a brotherly manner. "I could be really off the mark, but I think you've told me things you've never told another living soul. That's trust in me, Ron, and belief that I'm going to stick around. You're committed to me, and I know that. But sometimes you doubt yourself, and that's rather painful to watch, even though it happens a lot."
Draco's insight floored Ron. Draco almost never talked like this, then again, neither did he. They just didn't need to talk relationship stuff like a couple of women, but Draco was spot on in what he'd said.
"That's enough from me. Was there anything you wanted to say before we head upstairs and I ask you to do something kinky and really hot?"
"Um…" Ron tried to concentrate on how to respond to Draco's eloquence as well as the sexual promise that now hung in the air. Instead, a menagerie of unspoken replies spun around in his mind:
You're amazing. Don't ever leave me. I almost don't want my magic back to full strength because I'll miss you casting that spell on me every day and I feel like I'm the only thing in the world that matters to you then. You always smell right, like fir trees and clean skin. Any time there's soft rain I twist my handfasting band and think of our bonding ceremony. You're a brilliant father. I could watch you swim laps for days. You were so scared for me that you got a tattoo.
For all of Ron's thoughts, "I can't believe how much I used to hate you. I got off on our fighting," is what came out of his mouth.
An understanding, rueful smile tugged the corner of Draco's lips. "We were younger then."
"Love you, so much," finally made its way across Ron's tongue.
Draco nodded sagely. "Meet me in our bathroom. I'm about to ask you to wield a razor, so if you felt like casting a sobering spell on yourself, I wouldn't mind." He kissed Ron deeply, his tongue sliding roughly against Ron's, who moaned at the intense contact. He wanted to be devoured, wanted Draco to be riding him, hot and grasping around him…
Breaking the kiss, Ron breathed heavily. "Razor? What?" he asked, wondering if Draco was going to ask him to shave his head or something really odd.
"Why don't you turn off the heat on the food. I really do appreciate it, but I ate a small snack before I came over, and I want you right now more than I want your Italian baking," he purred, sliding his hand down the front of Ron's groin and humming appreciatively at the pronounced erection trapped in his denims.
"Okay," Ron said plaintively when Draco's hand moved away to take the bottle of wine. He watched Draco leave the kitchen before methodically turning off the oven and putting his rather boring salad in the cold box. He did cast a low-grade sobering spell on himself which left him still feeling warm and cheery but not nearly as slow on the uptake as he'd been. Draco's confidence in him, in their ability to keep going without fucking things up, especially each other, was a welcome salve to his spirit. Now that things seemed back at peace, desire roared through him, and he practically bounded up the steps to see what Draco had in mind.
The door to the bathroom was closed and for a moment he paused, adjusting his increasingly hard cock before knocking.
"Come in," Draco called.
Ron entered their spacious bathroom, overwhelmed by the heat. After closing the door, he stared while he attempted to second guess his lover's intentions. Draco was naked, a glass of wine in his hand, standing up with one foot resting on a footstool. A basin of water was on the floor, steam rising up from it, next to a plush bathmat. A bottle of what appeared to be shaving cream was placed nearby, though Ron wasn't entirely sure as the label was in another language. Completing the odd tableau was a washcloth and a razor with an ornate bronze handle. Draco gazed heatedly at him and Ron swallowed.
"I want you to shave me," he said, his voice sliding over Ron like supple leather.
"Shave what?"
The sensual, slight movement of Draco's hips caused his heavy sacs to sway below his own stiffening shaft, and enlightenment hit Ron like a Bludger.
"Bollocks," he spluttered as Draco laughed silently at the accidental double entendre. "I mean, you really want me to shave those?"
"Yes, I really do. I used to keep them like that, back years ago, and the thought occurred to me that I'd like to have smooth balls again. It's also a trust thing. I want you to do it."
"Fucking hell," Ron said, sucking in a breath as sweat broke out on his forehead. It was undeniably a turn-on, both from the unexpected intimacy as well as the power that Draco was entrusting to him. He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it in a crumpled heap on the floor, and sank to his knees on the bathmat. The blade on the razor looked quite wicked. "I'm no surgeon," he rumbled, trying to ignore his painfully hard cock.
"Good," Draco said, his voice sultry. "You're not meant to cut them."
Reverently Ron cradled the soft, supple skin with one hand, nosing at the delicious musky scent in Draco's groin. Making sure his fingers weren't trembling, he picked up the washcloth and shaving cream, and set to his task. It wasn't until he'd made one careful, timid slide down with the razor and heard Draco's shuddering sigh that he realised he'd been holding his breath. He'd never thought of bollocks as particularly erotic before, but doing this, with Draco's low noises of pleasure raining down on him, made him reconsider. Gingerly, treating the pendulous skin as though it were fine crystal, he shaved off the downy hair until the skin was smooth. He'd noticed Draco's shaft edging upward even as Draco had considerately moved it to be out of the way, and he licked at the bottom of it when he was finished.
"Thank you," Draco said huskily, raking his fingers through Ron's hair and pulling him more closely toward his pelvis.
"Mmmmmm." Ron rinsed off the razor without looking at it and pushed the bowl away. He grasped at the back of Draco's thighs as he opened his lips to pull one of the silky sacs into his mouth.
"Ron, oh fuck, so good," Draco murmured, his grip tightening on Ron's scalp as Ron hollowed his cheeks and his tongue swiped around the malleable skin. He tended to both sides of the delicate, scalloped flesh before sitting back on his heels and looked up. Draco's gaze was scorching. He looked debauched, some of his slicked back hair now stuck to his sweaty temple.
"Bed?" Ron asked, his voice rough and throaty.
"Yes."
Knees creaking, Ron stood up, attacking Draco's neck and mouth, claiming him with open-mouthed, wet kisses. Spending all that time so close to Draco's groin had given him an idea; he didn't like to do it all that often, but he knew Draco loved being tongued in his arse. The thought of that hairless, satiny skin on his face, his tongue ploughing into the scalding, slightly bitter tunnel with Draco moaning above him made his pulse race.
"Wanna rim you," Ron breathed into Draco's ear.
"Yesssssssss," Draco keened, rutting against Ron's all-too-clothed pelvis. "Bed. Now."
They barely separated on their way to their four-poster until Ron wrenched himself away to shove down his uncomfortable denims and pants and pull them off. Draco crawled cat-like to the head of the bed, then lay down on his back, tugging a nearby pillow and placing it under his arse. Ron's cock twitched at the sight. They had a few poofter mags with buff blokes, some hung like hippogryffs, but seeing his own lover with his lean form, licking his lips and thighs spread wantonly, caused Ron's heart to stutter over itself. Draco was his: cock, arse, lips, fingers, earlobes, muscled back, scarred chest. He watched Draco cast a cleansing spell and then cast a heating charm on the room while Ron spread out on top of the bed, grateful that they'd picked one with an extra long mattress. Scooting up between Draco's legs, he spread Draco's pale arsecheeks with his thumbs, opening the beckoning puckered flesh before glancing up at Draco's flushed face.
"Gonna make you feel so good," he promised, mouthing at the tempting bollocks before scootching back and licking around Draco's furred entrance. Ron jabbed into him with his tongue, enthusiastically burying his face into the heady, musky skin as he licked and lapped inside, spurred on by his lover's moans and babbled profanity. He stopped for a moment, getting up on an elbow to pause and stick two fingers into his mouth to wet them before pressing them inside the springy muscles. Working his tongue in as well, he focussed away from his own aching cock enough to scissor around the heated channel and slid against Draco's prostate, evidenced by his lover's shouts.
"Fuck, ohgodsohgodsohgods!" he whimpered, raising his legs so that he placed his feet near Ron's shoulders. The rhythmic bumping against Ron's forehead made him realise that Draco was at last pulling himself off as well as fondling his smooth sacs, and he redoubled his efforts. Ron's jaw was beginning to ache, but from the way Draco was squeezing his arsecheeks and making broken, almost distressing noises, Ron knew he was on the cusp of what sounded like an intense orgasm.
Draco's whole body shook when he came. With his release he let out a primal wail that resonated in Ron's throbbing prick. Ron felt strikingly proud of himself; he'd learned well how to take care of his lover, but from time to time he wondered if sometimes Draco wasn't perhaps a bit bored. This, however, had been extraordinary, and despite his tired lips and tongue, Ron knew he'd remember the evening's events, and Draco's desperate, hungry sounds, for ages.
Ron eased his fingers out and sat back on his heels, wiping at his mouth with the back of his arm and stretching his shoulders. Draco lay still, his hand curled around his slowly wilting cock, a glazed, otherworldly expression on his face. It struck Ron how innocent and untroubled Draco appeared; he tried to memorise it, planning to hide it away with the few other treasured remembrances of Draco being so relaxed and at peace.
Draco's slim tongue ventured out of his mouth, licking at his dry lips. He let out a sated, deep sigh before lolling his head to the side to gaze adoringly at Ron. "That was fucking unreal," he said ardently. "I want to take care of you, too, but I'm utterly shattered."
"Don't think it'll take me long," Ron admitted, knee-walking up the bed to lie down next to his lover. "You could bite me a bit, y'know, on my chest while I wank," he said, a bit discomfited at asking for something specific when Draco probably wanted to do nothing more than roll over and go straight to sleep. That's what he'd want to do, anyway. Well, after a half-asleep kiss.
"I'd be happy to," he said, his voice a bit raspy from his earlier vocal appreciation. After casting a wandless Scourgify on himself, he propped himself up to nip and teeth at Ron's attentive nubs.
"Your tongue should be outlawed, except on me," Ron groaned, his hand pulling hurriedly up and down on his cock, the fluid that had been seeping out of it providing all the slickness that he needed.
"After what you just did to me, I think I should say that about you." Draco flicked at Ron's nipple and leered at him from under hooded lids.
"Oh —ahhhhhhh —Draco, gonna, ohfuck…" Ron's jabbering changed to a low, liquid sigh of relief as his release fountained out of him, the pulses thundering throughout his body and landing as creamy rivulets on his stomach. His breathing calmed down as he languidly fisted himself, his hand motions slowing to a stop with a last shudder of completion.
"Better?" Draco asked silkily, using his fingers to trace down and around the cooling mess on Ron's abdomen.
"Much." Ron stuck out his lower lip and blew upward to get his fringe out of his eyes. "Feel boneless. Don't want to do anything."
"It's a bit early to sleep," Draco mused. He reached over to the bedside table to fetch his wand. Seconds later, Ron was cleaned up and Draco was sipping on a new glass of wine. "Want some?" he asked.
"Wouldn't mind some of that firewhiskey downstairs," Ron said, sitting up to pull down the coverlet and sheets. Thanks to Draco's heating charm the room was warm, but Ron still liked to stretch out underneath the finely woven cotton. Sometimes Draco's tendencies toward luxury suited Ron just fine, his choice of bedding being one of those.
"Fine," Draco said, sound just slightly put out.
"Or wine, whatever," Ron said quickly.
"No, I'll summon it and a glass. Or maybe we could go downstairs—do you want to watch telly? I think we still have that movie from George and Remus, "The Auror's Astrolabe." Since we have the evening to ourselves, we might as well be totally decadent."
Ron nuzzled Draco's shoulder, placing a trail of dry kisses up his neck until he reached his earlobe. "After our wild sex, I can think of nothing else I'd like more than to sit around on our couch with your head in my lap," he breathed into Draco's ear.
"Tickles!" Draco said, swatting at Ron's thigh. "Good. I'll put on some pyjamas and then let's go to the living room."
Ron followed suit, putting on his boxers and finding a t-shirt and tracksuit top that he layered on. Draco managed to find some popcorn, which he popped and coated with indecent amounts of butter and salt. They spent the evening watching the borrowed murder mystery and then the wizarding news. It was with a profound, marrow-deep gratitude that Ron got into bed that night, an arm wrapped around his bondmate, his head cushioned by a deep pillow.
"G'night," he mumbled into Draco's hair. "Sleep well."
"You too," Draco replied, clasping Ron's hand to his ribs.
* * * * *
Ron improved slowly and steadily under Draco's ambrus renovo spells and weekly visits to Raven. He spent some time attempting to get back in shape since he couldn't work at the hospital, jogging a couple of times a week and trying to cajole some of his friends into playing some pick-up Quidditch. In June, an owl he didn't recognize brought a brown paper wrapped parcel, addressed to Xavier and covered with shiny purple doodles.
"Oooh! That must be from Seph!" he yelped gleefully as the item crashed onto the table, spilling his pumpkin juice.
Ron knew that the two distantly related cousins —or something —had been corresponding, but he wasn't sure what they were writing about. "What is it?" he asked, cleaning up the mess with a spell, still not working with full ambric power, but getting ever closer.
"It's a book on Elvish grammar," he enthused, ripping off the paper.
Ron could feel his eyebrows rising as Xavier began flipping through the pages, nodding his head and grinning wildly. "You're still really into that stuff, huh?" he asked as Xavier absent-mindedly finished his toast, brushing crumbs onto the floor and shoving the crusts into his mouth. Moments later, he'd quickly taken in his plate to Draco who was waiting for the kettle to boil, then dashed away with his book.
"Don't forget to write her a thank you note!" Draco demanded to the boy's disappearing back. "Obsessed. Really," he said to Ron, a note of his former displeasure edging his voice.
"Not harmful," Ron reminded him with a shrug. "He's still practising his archery, too. And I've found the oddest books in his room; an old Arithmancy text from goodness knows where, and several histories, including one on Hogwarts."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Percy would be so proud."
As spring eased into summer, Ron noticed that the plants in the Manor as well as the garden and flowerbeds that he and Xavier had planted were noticeably more lush than he expected. One evening as he made a cooling-off lap around part of the lawn, he saw Xavier squatting near a patch of lupine, looking all the world as though he were talking to them. Moderating his pace from a jog to a fast walk, he made his way over, stopping and doing some stretching once he was within Xavier's line of view.
"Whatcha doing?"
"Oh! Hi! I'm, well, I've noticed that these flowers like it if I talk about moonlight and the beginning time of the Elves before there was a sun in the sky. Don't tell Draco, though," he said conspiriatorialy. "I know he thinks it's stupid that I've been learning it. But it sounds so pretty. Seph and I can even write some in the language."
Given Xavier's zeal and obvious pride in his own efforts, Ron couldn't find the heart to say anything negative. "That's pretty brilliant, Xave. Y'know, do you mind if I tell Neville that you're doing so well with the plants? He might want you to help out in his greenhouse or even his labs, if you think you'd like that."
Xavier beamed. "Wicked," he said, his demeanour reminding Ron distressingly of George.
It was on July 27th, however, when things really got off- kilter. Ron was at Draco's desk, drinking an ale and going through the St. Mungo's Internship Programme Manual which he'd written a couple of years before. He was updating it with the tidbits and new regulations that had come up as the programme had matured, when he heard his name being yelled from the nearby fireplace.
"Ron! Get your Squibby arse over here!"
Ron grumbled at the euphemism; George had been using it ever since he'd first been admitted for his then-unexplained illness, even though Raven declared he'd be fit to return within a week. He crouched down in front of the green flames, wondering sourly why George was bothering him. Xave was over at George's shop helping out, though given how often he came home looking slightly green for a little while, he suspected that George was using him more as an additional test subject than anything else. Xavier was going to turn ten the next day, which was part of the reason to have him out and over with his uncle so Ron and Draco could get the backyard ready for the party they were hosting.
"What is it?" Ron asked, cross. He had dozens of things to do, and he really hoped that Xavier was behaving himself; George was pretty hard to cheese off, unless you were Draco.
"Look at this!" Xavier said excitedly, jumping up and down so that his head sprang back and forth in the flames, flapping a letter at him. "It's from Hogwarts!"
"Hogwarts?!" Ron said, utterly baffled. "Who's writing you from there? Has Neville been talking with Sprout about you?"
"I'm going! In September!" he squawked, his grin so wide Ron thought that his face must hurt.
"That can't be right," Ron insisted, his mind reeling. "You're turning ten. Not eleven. Nobody goes when they're ten."
"Apparently on rare occasion they make exceptions," George's voice sounded a bit distantly behind Xavier. "I've checked the letter and believe me—it's not been forged. Signed by McGonagall. It's legit. Poor bastard, going to school a year early."
"Wait'll I tell everybody at my birthday party tomorrow!" Xavier went on. "Is Draco about? I want to tell him, too!"
"No, he's barricaded in his bakery. Making a twenty-five layer cake for somebody who asked for a bit much in the birthday cake realm," Ron said without any malice. He knew that Draco really wasn't doing twenty-five different layers, but he was sure it would be towering and absolutely mouthwatering.
"Oh." Xavier's face fell. "Well, go tell him, please? I want him to know NOW!"
"Okay. Hey—can you send the letter here?"
"NO!" he exclaimed, clutching it down out of sight of the fire. "I'm not going to let it go. Ever."
Ron let out a deep sigh. "I understand. I was pretty excited when I got mine as well. Keep it in a safe place, and be sure you're helping George, not being a nuisance, or you'll be back here faster than you can say Wheezes."
"I'll be good!" Xavier promised before vanishing from the fireplace.
George's face reappeared. "Cor," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Can you believe that? Poor bugger is going to school in a little over a month. Ron, are you okay?"
"Yeah, just overwhelmed with shite to do," Ron said, gesturing vaguely and hoping he sounded convincing. "Look, thanks for having him there. Just have him come back by floo before six, right?"
"Sure. Bye."
The fireplace fell silent and Ron collapsed onto his arse with a thump. He wasn't ready for Xavier to go to school. Xave was a marvelous, talented, genuinely brilliant child with a warm heart and open mind. He'd be ripped apart by the other Houses, for sure; he was naïve and wore his feelings on his bloody sleeve and was already kind of poncey even if he did still have a crush on Seph and Ron wanted to tear out his own hair and bash in the face of the first Slytherin who tried to do Xavier wrong. Because no matter what Draco said, Ron knew in the deepest recesses of his heart that Xavier would be a Gryffindor. It was a given, just like the red hair on his head and the impetuosity in his spirit.
"Guess there's an extensive trip to Diagon Alley in the near future," he said under his breath, getting to his feet. He walked to the desk, shook the mostly empty ale bottle, and wandered down the corridor to the kitchen. He took a new beer out of the cold box and stepped over to a wall panel with a small button that had an image on an ear on it. George really was a genius, having installed a system that allowed one to talk into a speaker-type thing using the amplification properties behind his and Fred's Extendable Ear product and to have the person speak back, all from different rooms in the house. There were Ear Trumpets set up in the kitchen, Draco's in-house bakery, the pool, Xavier's room, Severus' room, out in the broom shed and a variety of other strategic locations. Ron tapped the button with a faint cake on it until it glowed luminous scarlet. He stood for a moment, taking a long pull off of his beer, faintly shocked at his rampantly stampeding emotions. The news was just so sudden, and he was caught unawares and unprepared. He wasn't ready for Xavier to be at Hogwarts; the thought of him going, experiencing a whole new stretch of time in the place where he and Draco had fought and hated each other for so many years, where Ron had grown into a young man…
"What?" Draco's preoccupied voice shot out from the Ear Trumpet.
"I've got something to tell you."
* * * * *
Xavier stood off in a cluster of some other first-year students he already knew, yakking a mile a minute. Molly and Arthur hovered nearby, Molly trying to dab surreptitiously at her eyes. Ron didn't recognise many of the other parents, as they were older than he and Draco, though some seemed familiar. Draco was conspicuously sombre, lost in his own thoughts yet keeping a wary eye out for the new other pureblood Slytherin families he suspected would make their appearance. Ron's stomach churned with anxiety for Xavier, which was ridiculous since he was completely at ease.
"What're you thinking?" Draco asked quietly, scooting closer to be next to him. Ron knew that Draco wasn't at all ashamed that they were together and handfasted, but especially in crowds like this, he kept his physical affection to a minimum.
"That I was a fucking mess when I went off to Hogwarts for the first time, but he seems just great." Ron rubbed at his nose before playing with the hair of his newly growing goatee. "How crazy that I met Harry for the first time that day. Just wonder if his life will turn inside-out like that, or be more conventional."
"We're his parents," Draco said, arching an eyebrow and giving Ron a compassionate look that reassured Ron more than any words he could have said. "He'll never be conventional."
The whistle for the train blew. Xavier rushed over to give good-bye hugs to his grandparents, and then trudged more slowly over to Ron and Draco.
"I'll write after the Feast," he promised, his smile more subdued than moments before. He looked at Draco and then across to Ron. "I'm gonna miss you two, like crazy. But I'll be okay. I'll write, I will. Honest."
"You'd better, or you'll be getting Howlers from me on a regular basis," Ron threatened.
"No letters, no quadruple-chocolate cookies," Draco added.
Xavier's usual impish grin settled on his sunburned face. "I promise, really!!" He opened his arms and Ron leaned over, enfolding him in a crushing hug.
"Do us proud," Ron said into Xavier's hair. "Love you. I'll miss you terribly."
He stood up, and watched as Draco bid his goodbyes, slipping a small tin into Xavier's hand as the whistle sounded again.
"Bye! See you at Christmas!" Xavier shouted over his shoulder as he tore off to join the last few stragglers getting on the train.
Ron watched the train pull away, feeling a bruising ache lodge somewhere in his heart. "I need a drink," he mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"I'll join you," Draco replied, his voice stern.
"I'm not aiming to get arsed," Ron insisted as his parents came over.
They exchanged niceties with his mum and dad until they took the hint and left, Molly giving Ron a soft pat on his shoulder. Ron followed Draco back through the barrier into King's Cross and from there they found an Apparition point to get to the Belligerent Badger. Once ensconced in a booth with a shot of Bitter Banshee and pint, he finally relaxed, wiping at his eyes as the overwhelming emotions caught up with him.
"What was in the tin?" he asked after he blew his nose, regaining his composure.
"Snapping gingers. Wanted to have something that would remind him of Percy."
Ron gazed at his lover, brought up short by his surprising empathy and perceptiveness. Yeah, they definitely still had their rows, and Draco was unbearable to be around when under deadlines—Ron was no better. Through it, though, they made things work, and most of their glassware hadn't suffered Ron's wrath.
"Here's to you," Ron said, toasting Draco.
"To us."
They drank for a while, letting the burbling ambiance of the pub wash around them until at last Draco tilted his head and gave Ron a calculated look.
"Think we'll survive his sorting results?"
Ron snorted. "As long as he's in Gryffindor. No worries. Bound to happen."
Draco quirked his lips to the side, a glint in his eye. "He looks awfully good in green."
..:~:..
The next few days Ron was on tenterhooks. Draco diligently attended to him each morning in regards to the healing spell, but otherwise they gave each other an uncommonly wide berth. Given that they were still at the Manor, it was thankfully less noticeable than if they'd been in their place in London. Ron found it a struggle to get to sleep at night, stretched out under the sheets with plenty of room because he wasn't allowed anywhere near his partner. Even the most innocent of advances, an arm curled tentatively on Draco's bicep as an offering of peace, was silently declined. At least he hadn't been forbidden from their bed, but Ron struggled regardless, shunned and forbidden any affection.
By Thursday morning he'd decided to deal with Draco directly, though on parchment. He had no desire to screw things up again verbally. First he firecalled his mum and arranged for her to pick up Xave from school and have him spend the night at the Burrow. She didn't even ask what the occasion was, she simply chirruped, "Yes, of course, dear!" and went back to her business. Next he tried to firecall Remus, but he wasn't in his office, so he wrote him a note asking him to look in on Snape in the evening, and suggested that bringing dinner would be okay if he felt like it. After a trip to the owlery and using Draco's owl, Gabriel, to send the message, he sat down in the warmth of the library. There was a magnificent cherry rolltop desk which Draco used, but Ron usually sat in one of the plush chairs and use a lap-desk to write. Not that he did that very often, granted. Ron preferred to see people in person, not communicate from a distance, and that wasn't due solely to the amount of grief he'd received over the years about his untidy handwriting. With a piece of blue parchment and a quill he set to work, having thought through what he'd wanted to say for the past couple of days.
Dear Draco—
- I'm sorry for what I said in the sauna a few days ago. I acted like an insensitive prick, and I apologise. I really hate it that we're not talking. Being in bed with you, not able to hold on to you at all, it's bloody awful. I know I can't take back what I said, but Merlin knows I wish I could. Sometimes I say incredibly stupid shite, and then wish I hadn't. Talking first, regretting afterwards… you know I do that a lot. You're right to be really cheesed off, but do you think we could talk this evening? I've arranged for Xave and Snape to be taken care of. I'd really like to spend the evening back over at our other place, just the two of us. I'll be honest—I miss you, and I feel like a shitty berk. I just want to talk through things. I know I fucked up, big time. And I admit it, I wouldn't object to some snogging. You're the only one for me. The only one, Draco. I'm sorry that sometimes I royally put my foot in it and make you wonder why you're with me, or even wish you weren't.
He paused, chewing on a flavourless bit of feather as he reread what he'd written.
- I know you're busy finishing up that big éclair order for Parkinson's party this afternoon, that's why I'm not interrupting you. If you're willing to accept my apology, please come over to the house around six. I really hope to see you then.
How to end it? Ron wasn't a sap by nature, neither was Draco. They weren't sickeningly lovey, not like a couple of Draco's woofter friends they'd known during their time in the States that Ron had made fun of. He thought of their not-exactly-matching but similar tattoos, and a decent way to close the note finally came to him.
- Marked as yours,
Ron
Nodding, he read it a couple more times until he was satisfied that it couldn't be misread. He wandered down to the specially modified kitchen where Draco spent much of his time, dropped the note into the letter and order bin that hung on the wall next to the door, and went on to his next tasks, feeling better already.
* * * * *
By 6:43, Ron had succumbed to a morbid funk; obviously he was totally screwed. Draco was either too busy to show up, or he was still so upset about their tirade earlier in the week that he wanted to continue punishing him.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Ron mumbled, tending to the oven heat, checking up on the lasagne he'd made and finishing off one of the two open bottles of cabernet savignon. After pouring himself a new glass, he clomped over to a drawer filled with tea towels and rapped at the bottom with his wand. Sluggishly and tediously a section slid back, revealing a small hiding place for the cigarettes and matches he had stashed away for moments just like this. His ambric energy was still very weak, but it seemed to be enough to do the most basic of spells… albeit at treacle speed. Abiding by their rules, even though he was alone, Ron went outside to their deck to smoke, his heart sinking as several more minutes went by. He'd really thought that Draco would show. Dejectedly he swirled the red wine around in his glass, occasionally sucking on the end of his fag and wishing beyond hope that Draco would suddenly appear.
"Fuck!" he swore in surprise. Wine splashed over his thigh when he glanced up at movement in the kitchen and saw Draco standing there, looking tenderly at him but still somewhat aloof. He lurched up out of his chair, flicking the cigarette off over the banister with annoyance and pulling on the glass door. He'd had his share of wine, but it was the emotional relief churning through him that made his knees weak and legs rubbery and useless so that he tumbled into Draco's arms.
"You're here," he said devoutly, clinging to Draco as though only he could keep his world from spinning out into shards of lost happiness.
"I am." Perhaps sensing Ron's neediness, or simply taking pity on him, Draco clasped his hands around Ron's waist. "You're a bit sloppy. Did you leave me any wine?"
Ron nodded against Draco's head. "Yeah," he said, feeling abashed despite the heady buzz of alcohol.
"Good. Will you pour some for me?"
Ron nodded again, embarrassed at the prickling of tears behind his eyes. He felt rather girly that he was so overwhelmed, but he kept his sniffling to a minimum as he grudgingly moved out of Draco's arms and got him some wine. Draco took a deep swallow before placing the glass on a countertop.
"Thanks. C'mere, Ron," Draco said, tilting his head to one side and turning his face up so he could kiss Ron's parched lips. Ron attempted to return the kiss with fervour, but Draco only lapped teasingly at Ron's tongue before leaning back to stand upright again.
"I only want to say a few things, then I want us to go upstairs," he said, his voice mollifying. Ron steadied himself, trying not to imagine the utter worst that might deservedly come out of Draco's mouth. "We're both raising Xavier. He's going to have traits of both of us, and many more things we probably won't understand, because they'll come from Percy, or his mum, who I'm pretty sure I only said twelve words to, ever. I've told you before that I want him to believe he can be anything he wants: archer, butterfly raiser, concert pianist, porn star—whatever. But he's ours, Ron. You and I are in this together, with him."
"And Snape," Ron couldn't resist reminding him.
"And Severus. But Severus is good for him too, and us, even if you don't see it," Draco barreled on, squelching Ron's half-hearted attempt at a contradictory remark. "I apologise for the comments about your family being obsessed. They do tend to focus on particular things, sometimes in ways that would seem abnormal to anyone, but so do I. I was pissed off, and I lashed out. Then there's this Harry thing."
Ron closed his eyes. Draco had been willing to go with him to Hogwarts to grasp at an elusive filament of closure, had seen that Ron had begun to put that behind him. And then Ron had flung it back up at him.
"Look at me," Draco commanded, though there was no harshness in his tone. Once Ron could bring himself to gaze full-on into Draco's eyes, he continued. "You loved him in ways he didn't know. He's gone; it's too late for you to tell him. Sometimes that's how life is. But I'm not going to make myself crazy thinking you're pining over your absolute best friend who you ultimately never told your deepest thoughts to. Do you know why?"
Ron shook his head. He would've driven himself around the bend if he'd known who Draco had loved before; it was that sliver of self-knowledge that prevented him from asking. That and the fact Draco had said he'd never tell because it was irrelevant.
"I didn't think you would." Draco placed a hand on Ron's bicep, his hand gently squeezing in a brotherly manner. "I could be really off the mark, but I think you've told me things you've never told another living soul. That's trust in me, Ron, and belief that I'm going to stick around. You're committed to me, and I know that. But sometimes you doubt yourself, and that's rather painful to watch, even though it happens a lot."
Draco's insight floored Ron. Draco almost never talked like this, then again, neither did he. They just didn't need to talk relationship stuff like a couple of women, but Draco was spot on in what he'd said.
"That's enough from me. Was there anything you wanted to say before we head upstairs and I ask you to do something kinky and really hot?"
"Um…" Ron tried to concentrate on how to respond to Draco's eloquence as well as the sexual promise that now hung in the air. Instead, a menagerie of unspoken replies spun around in his mind:
You're amazing. Don't ever leave me. I almost don't want my magic back to full strength because I'll miss you casting that spell on me every day and I feel like I'm the only thing in the world that matters to you then. You always smell right, like fir trees and clean skin. Any time there's soft rain I twist my handfasting band and think of our bonding ceremony. You're a brilliant father. I could watch you swim laps for days. You were so scared for me that you got a tattoo.
For all of Ron's thoughts, "I can't believe how much I used to hate you. I got off on our fighting," is what came out of his mouth.
An understanding, rueful smile tugged the corner of Draco's lips. "We were younger then."
"Love you, so much," finally made its way across Ron's tongue.
Draco nodded sagely. "Meet me in our bathroom. I'm about to ask you to wield a razor, so if you felt like casting a sobering spell on yourself, I wouldn't mind." He kissed Ron deeply, his tongue sliding roughly against Ron's, who moaned at the intense contact. He wanted to be devoured, wanted Draco to be riding him, hot and grasping around him…
Breaking the kiss, Ron breathed heavily. "Razor? What?" he asked, wondering if Draco was going to ask him to shave his head or something really odd.
"Why don't you turn off the heat on the food. I really do appreciate it, but I ate a small snack before I came over, and I want you right now more than I want your Italian baking," he purred, sliding his hand down the front of Ron's groin and humming appreciatively at the pronounced erection trapped in his denims.
"Okay," Ron said plaintively when Draco's hand moved away to take the bottle of wine. He watched Draco leave the kitchen before methodically turning off the oven and putting his rather boring salad in the cold box. He did cast a low-grade sobering spell on himself which left him still feeling warm and cheery but not nearly as slow on the uptake as he'd been. Draco's confidence in him, in their ability to keep going without fucking things up, especially each other, was a welcome salve to his spirit. Now that things seemed back at peace, desire roared through him, and he practically bounded up the steps to see what Draco had in mind.
The door to the bathroom was closed and for a moment he paused, adjusting his increasingly hard cock before knocking.
"Come in," Draco called.
Ron entered their spacious bathroom, overwhelmed by the heat. After closing the door, he stared while he attempted to second guess his lover's intentions. Draco was naked, a glass of wine in his hand, standing up with one foot resting on a footstool. A basin of water was on the floor, steam rising up from it, next to a plush bathmat. A bottle of what appeared to be shaving cream was placed nearby, though Ron wasn't entirely sure as the label was in another language. Completing the odd tableau was a washcloth and a razor with an ornate bronze handle. Draco gazed heatedly at him and Ron swallowed.
"I want you to shave me," he said, his voice sliding over Ron like supple leather.
"Shave what?"
The sensual, slight movement of Draco's hips caused his heavy sacs to sway below his own stiffening shaft, and enlightenment hit Ron like a Bludger.
"Bollocks," he spluttered as Draco laughed silently at the accidental double entendre. "I mean, you really want me to shave those?"
"Yes, I really do. I used to keep them like that, back years ago, and the thought occurred to me that I'd like to have smooth balls again. It's also a trust thing. I want you to do it."
"Fucking hell," Ron said, sucking in a breath as sweat broke out on his forehead. It was undeniably a turn-on, both from the unexpected intimacy as well as the power that Draco was entrusting to him. He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it in a crumpled heap on the floor, and sank to his knees on the bathmat. The blade on the razor looked quite wicked. "I'm no surgeon," he rumbled, trying to ignore his painfully hard cock.
"Good," Draco said, his voice sultry. "You're not meant to cut them."
Reverently Ron cradled the soft, supple skin with one hand, nosing at the delicious musky scent in Draco's groin. Making sure his fingers weren't trembling, he picked up the washcloth and shaving cream, and set to his task. It wasn't until he'd made one careful, timid slide down with the razor and heard Draco's shuddering sigh that he realised he'd been holding his breath. He'd never thought of bollocks as particularly erotic before, but doing this, with Draco's low noises of pleasure raining down on him, made him reconsider. Gingerly, treating the pendulous skin as though it were fine crystal, he shaved off the downy hair until the skin was smooth. He'd noticed Draco's shaft edging upward even as Draco had considerately moved it to be out of the way, and he licked at the bottom of it when he was finished.
"Thank you," Draco said huskily, raking his fingers through Ron's hair and pulling him more closely toward his pelvis.
"Mmmmmm." Ron rinsed off the razor without looking at it and pushed the bowl away. He grasped at the back of Draco's thighs as he opened his lips to pull one of the silky sacs into his mouth.
"Ron, oh fuck, so good," Draco murmured, his grip tightening on Ron's scalp as Ron hollowed his cheeks and his tongue swiped around the malleable skin. He tended to both sides of the delicate, scalloped flesh before sitting back on his heels and looked up. Draco's gaze was scorching. He looked debauched, some of his slicked back hair now stuck to his sweaty temple.
"Bed?" Ron asked, his voice rough and throaty.
"Yes."
Knees creaking, Ron stood up, attacking Draco's neck and mouth, claiming him with open-mouthed, wet kisses. Spending all that time so close to Draco's groin had given him an idea; he didn't like to do it all that often, but he knew Draco loved being tongued in his arse. The thought of that hairless, satiny skin on his face, his tongue ploughing into the scalding, slightly bitter tunnel with Draco moaning above him made his pulse race.
"Wanna rim you," Ron breathed into Draco's ear.
"Yesssssssss," Draco keened, rutting against Ron's all-too-clothed pelvis. "Bed. Now."
They barely separated on their way to their four-poster until Ron wrenched himself away to shove down his uncomfortable denims and pants and pull them off. Draco crawled cat-like to the head of the bed, then lay down on his back, tugging a nearby pillow and placing it under his arse. Ron's cock twitched at the sight. They had a few poofter mags with buff blokes, some hung like hippogryffs, but seeing his own lover with his lean form, licking his lips and thighs spread wantonly, caused Ron's heart to stutter over itself. Draco was his: cock, arse, lips, fingers, earlobes, muscled back, scarred chest. He watched Draco cast a cleansing spell and then cast a heating charm on the room while Ron spread out on top of the bed, grateful that they'd picked one with an extra long mattress. Scooting up between Draco's legs, he spread Draco's pale arsecheeks with his thumbs, opening the beckoning puckered flesh before glancing up at Draco's flushed face.
"Gonna make you feel so good," he promised, mouthing at the tempting bollocks before scootching back and licking around Draco's furred entrance. Ron jabbed into him with his tongue, enthusiastically burying his face into the heady, musky skin as he licked and lapped inside, spurred on by his lover's moans and babbled profanity. He stopped for a moment, getting up on an elbow to pause and stick two fingers into his mouth to wet them before pressing them inside the springy muscles. Working his tongue in as well, he focussed away from his own aching cock enough to scissor around the heated channel and slid against Draco's prostate, evidenced by his lover's shouts.
"Fuck, ohgodsohgodsohgods!" he whimpered, raising his legs so that he placed his feet near Ron's shoulders. The rhythmic bumping against Ron's forehead made him realise that Draco was at last pulling himself off as well as fondling his smooth sacs, and he redoubled his efforts. Ron's jaw was beginning to ache, but from the way Draco was squeezing his arsecheeks and making broken, almost distressing noises, Ron knew he was on the cusp of what sounded like an intense orgasm.
Draco's whole body shook when he came. With his release he let out a primal wail that resonated in Ron's throbbing prick. Ron felt strikingly proud of himself; he'd learned well how to take care of his lover, but from time to time he wondered if sometimes Draco wasn't perhaps a bit bored. This, however, had been extraordinary, and despite his tired lips and tongue, Ron knew he'd remember the evening's events, and Draco's desperate, hungry sounds, for ages.
Ron eased his fingers out and sat back on his heels, wiping at his mouth with the back of his arm and stretching his shoulders. Draco lay still, his hand curled around his slowly wilting cock, a glazed, otherworldly expression on his face. It struck Ron how innocent and untroubled Draco appeared; he tried to memorise it, planning to hide it away with the few other treasured remembrances of Draco being so relaxed and at peace.
Draco's slim tongue ventured out of his mouth, licking at his dry lips. He let out a sated, deep sigh before lolling his head to the side to gaze adoringly at Ron. "That was fucking unreal," he said ardently. "I want to take care of you, too, but I'm utterly shattered."
"Don't think it'll take me long," Ron admitted, knee-walking up the bed to lie down next to his lover. "You could bite me a bit, y'know, on my chest while I wank," he said, a bit discomfited at asking for something specific when Draco probably wanted to do nothing more than roll over and go straight to sleep. That's what he'd want to do, anyway. Well, after a half-asleep kiss.
"I'd be happy to," he said, his voice a bit raspy from his earlier vocal appreciation. After casting a wandless Scourgify on himself, he propped himself up to nip and teeth at Ron's attentive nubs.
"Your tongue should be outlawed, except on me," Ron groaned, his hand pulling hurriedly up and down on his cock, the fluid that had been seeping out of it providing all the slickness that he needed.
"After what you just did to me, I think I should say that about you." Draco flicked at Ron's nipple and leered at him from under hooded lids.
"Oh —ahhhhhhh —Draco, gonna, ohfuck…" Ron's jabbering changed to a low, liquid sigh of relief as his release fountained out of him, the pulses thundering throughout his body and landing as creamy rivulets on his stomach. His breathing calmed down as he languidly fisted himself, his hand motions slowing to a stop with a last shudder of completion.
"Better?" Draco asked silkily, using his fingers to trace down and around the cooling mess on Ron's abdomen.
"Much." Ron stuck out his lower lip and blew upward to get his fringe out of his eyes. "Feel boneless. Don't want to do anything."
"It's a bit early to sleep," Draco mused. He reached over to the bedside table to fetch his wand. Seconds later, Ron was cleaned up and Draco was sipping on a new glass of wine. "Want some?" he asked.
"Wouldn't mind some of that firewhiskey downstairs," Ron said, sitting up to pull down the coverlet and sheets. Thanks to Draco's heating charm the room was warm, but Ron still liked to stretch out underneath the finely woven cotton. Sometimes Draco's tendencies toward luxury suited Ron just fine, his choice of bedding being one of those.
"Fine," Draco said, sound just slightly put out.
"Or wine, whatever," Ron said quickly.
"No, I'll summon it and a glass. Or maybe we could go downstairs—do you want to watch telly? I think we still have that movie from George and Remus, "The Auror's Astrolabe." Since we have the evening to ourselves, we might as well be totally decadent."
Ron nuzzled Draco's shoulder, placing a trail of dry kisses up his neck until he reached his earlobe. "After our wild sex, I can think of nothing else I'd like more than to sit around on our couch with your head in my lap," he breathed into Draco's ear.
"Tickles!" Draco said, swatting at Ron's thigh. "Good. I'll put on some pyjamas and then let's go to the living room."
Ron followed suit, putting on his boxers and finding a t-shirt and tracksuit top that he layered on. Draco managed to find some popcorn, which he popped and coated with indecent amounts of butter and salt. They spent the evening watching the borrowed murder mystery and then the wizarding news. It was with a profound, marrow-deep gratitude that Ron got into bed that night, an arm wrapped around his bondmate, his head cushioned by a deep pillow.
"G'night," he mumbled into Draco's hair. "Sleep well."
"You too," Draco replied, clasping Ron's hand to his ribs.
* * * * *
Ron improved slowly and steadily under Draco's ambrus renovo spells and weekly visits to Raven. He spent some time attempting to get back in shape since he couldn't work at the hospital, jogging a couple of times a week and trying to cajole some of his friends into playing some pick-up Quidditch. In June, an owl he didn't recognize brought a brown paper wrapped parcel, addressed to Xavier and covered with shiny purple doodles.
"Oooh! That must be from Seph!" he yelped gleefully as the item crashed onto the table, spilling his pumpkin juice.
Ron knew that the two distantly related cousins —or something —had been corresponding, but he wasn't sure what they were writing about. "What is it?" he asked, cleaning up the mess with a spell, still not working with full ambric power, but getting ever closer.
"It's a book on Elvish grammar," he enthused, ripping off the paper.
Ron could feel his eyebrows rising as Xavier began flipping through the pages, nodding his head and grinning wildly. "You're still really into that stuff, huh?" he asked as Xavier absent-mindedly finished his toast, brushing crumbs onto the floor and shoving the crusts into his mouth. Moments later, he'd quickly taken in his plate to Draco who was waiting for the kettle to boil, then dashed away with his book.
"Don't forget to write her a thank you note!" Draco demanded to the boy's disappearing back. "Obsessed. Really," he said to Ron, a note of his former displeasure edging his voice.
"Not harmful," Ron reminded him with a shrug. "He's still practising his archery, too. And I've found the oddest books in his room; an old Arithmancy text from goodness knows where, and several histories, including one on Hogwarts."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Percy would be so proud."
As spring eased into summer, Ron noticed that the plants in the Manor as well as the garden and flowerbeds that he and Xavier had planted were noticeably more lush than he expected. One evening as he made a cooling-off lap around part of the lawn, he saw Xavier squatting near a patch of lupine, looking all the world as though he were talking to them. Moderating his pace from a jog to a fast walk, he made his way over, stopping and doing some stretching once he was within Xavier's line of view.
"Whatcha doing?"
"Oh! Hi! I'm, well, I've noticed that these flowers like it if I talk about moonlight and the beginning time of the Elves before there was a sun in the sky. Don't tell Draco, though," he said conspiriatorialy. "I know he thinks it's stupid that I've been learning it. But it sounds so pretty. Seph and I can even write some in the language."
Given Xavier's zeal and obvious pride in his own efforts, Ron couldn't find the heart to say anything negative. "That's pretty brilliant, Xave. Y'know, do you mind if I tell Neville that you're doing so well with the plants? He might want you to help out in his greenhouse or even his labs, if you think you'd like that."
Xavier beamed. "Wicked," he said, his demeanour reminding Ron distressingly of George.
It was on July 27th, however, when things really got off- kilter. Ron was at Draco's desk, drinking an ale and going through the St. Mungo's Internship Programme Manual which he'd written a couple of years before. He was updating it with the tidbits and new regulations that had come up as the programme had matured, when he heard his name being yelled from the nearby fireplace.
"Ron! Get your Squibby arse over here!"
Ron grumbled at the euphemism; George had been using it ever since he'd first been admitted for his then-unexplained illness, even though Raven declared he'd be fit to return within a week. He crouched down in front of the green flames, wondering sourly why George was bothering him. Xave was over at George's shop helping out, though given how often he came home looking slightly green for a little while, he suspected that George was using him more as an additional test subject than anything else. Xavier was going to turn ten the next day, which was part of the reason to have him out and over with his uncle so Ron and Draco could get the backyard ready for the party they were hosting.
"What is it?" Ron asked, cross. He had dozens of things to do, and he really hoped that Xavier was behaving himself; George was pretty hard to cheese off, unless you were Draco.
"Look at this!" Xavier said excitedly, jumping up and down so that his head sprang back and forth in the flames, flapping a letter at him. "It's from Hogwarts!"
"Hogwarts?!" Ron said, utterly baffled. "Who's writing you from there? Has Neville been talking with Sprout about you?"
"I'm going! In September!" he squawked, his grin so wide Ron thought that his face must hurt.
"That can't be right," Ron insisted, his mind reeling. "You're turning ten. Not eleven. Nobody goes when they're ten."
"Apparently on rare occasion they make exceptions," George's voice sounded a bit distantly behind Xavier. "I've checked the letter and believe me—it's not been forged. Signed by McGonagall. It's legit. Poor bastard, going to school a year early."
"Wait'll I tell everybody at my birthday party tomorrow!" Xavier went on. "Is Draco about? I want to tell him, too!"
"No, he's barricaded in his bakery. Making a twenty-five layer cake for somebody who asked for a bit much in the birthday cake realm," Ron said without any malice. He knew that Draco really wasn't doing twenty-five different layers, but he was sure it would be towering and absolutely mouthwatering.
"Oh." Xavier's face fell. "Well, go tell him, please? I want him to know NOW!"
"Okay. Hey—can you send the letter here?"
"NO!" he exclaimed, clutching it down out of sight of the fire. "I'm not going to let it go. Ever."
Ron let out a deep sigh. "I understand. I was pretty excited when I got mine as well. Keep it in a safe place, and be sure you're helping George, not being a nuisance, or you'll be back here faster than you can say Wheezes."
"I'll be good!" Xavier promised before vanishing from the fireplace.
George's face reappeared. "Cor," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Can you believe that? Poor bugger is going to school in a little over a month. Ron, are you okay?"
"Yeah, just overwhelmed with shite to do," Ron said, gesturing vaguely and hoping he sounded convincing. "Look, thanks for having him there. Just have him come back by floo before six, right?"
"Sure. Bye."
The fireplace fell silent and Ron collapsed onto his arse with a thump. He wasn't ready for Xavier to go to school. Xave was a marvelous, talented, genuinely brilliant child with a warm heart and open mind. He'd be ripped apart by the other Houses, for sure; he was naïve and wore his feelings on his bloody sleeve and was already kind of poncey even if he did still have a crush on Seph and Ron wanted to tear out his own hair and bash in the face of the first Slytherin who tried to do Xavier wrong. Because no matter what Draco said, Ron knew in the deepest recesses of his heart that Xavier would be a Gryffindor. It was a given, just like the red hair on his head and the impetuosity in his spirit.
"Guess there's an extensive trip to Diagon Alley in the near future," he said under his breath, getting to his feet. He walked to the desk, shook the mostly empty ale bottle, and wandered down the corridor to the kitchen. He took a new beer out of the cold box and stepped over to a wall panel with a small button that had an image on an ear on it. George really was a genius, having installed a system that allowed one to talk into a speaker-type thing using the amplification properties behind his and Fred's Extendable Ear product and to have the person speak back, all from different rooms in the house. There were Ear Trumpets set up in the kitchen, Draco's in-house bakery, the pool, Xavier's room, Severus' room, out in the broom shed and a variety of other strategic locations. Ron tapped the button with a faint cake on it until it glowed luminous scarlet. He stood for a moment, taking a long pull off of his beer, faintly shocked at his rampantly stampeding emotions. The news was just so sudden, and he was caught unawares and unprepared. He wasn't ready for Xavier to be at Hogwarts; the thought of him going, experiencing a whole new stretch of time in the place where he and Draco had fought and hated each other for so many years, where Ron had grown into a young man…
"What?" Draco's preoccupied voice shot out from the Ear Trumpet.
"I've got something to tell you."
* * * * *
Xavier stood off in a cluster of some other first-year students he already knew, yakking a mile a minute. Molly and Arthur hovered nearby, Molly trying to dab surreptitiously at her eyes. Ron didn't recognise many of the other parents, as they were older than he and Draco, though some seemed familiar. Draco was conspicuously sombre, lost in his own thoughts yet keeping a wary eye out for the new other pureblood Slytherin families he suspected would make their appearance. Ron's stomach churned with anxiety for Xavier, which was ridiculous since he was completely at ease.
"What're you thinking?" Draco asked quietly, scooting closer to be next to him. Ron knew that Draco wasn't at all ashamed that they were together and handfasted, but especially in crowds like this, he kept his physical affection to a minimum.
"That I was a fucking mess when I went off to Hogwarts for the first time, but he seems just great." Ron rubbed at his nose before playing with the hair of his newly growing goatee. "How crazy that I met Harry for the first time that day. Just wonder if his life will turn inside-out like that, or be more conventional."
"We're his parents," Draco said, arching an eyebrow and giving Ron a compassionate look that reassured Ron more than any words he could have said. "He'll never be conventional."
The whistle for the train blew. Xavier rushed over to give good-bye hugs to his grandparents, and then trudged more slowly over to Ron and Draco.
"I'll write after the Feast," he promised, his smile more subdued than moments before. He looked at Draco and then across to Ron. "I'm gonna miss you two, like crazy. But I'll be okay. I'll write, I will. Honest."
"You'd better, or you'll be getting Howlers from me on a regular basis," Ron threatened.
"No letters, no quadruple-chocolate cookies," Draco added.
Xavier's usual impish grin settled on his sunburned face. "I promise, really!!" He opened his arms and Ron leaned over, enfolding him in a crushing hug.
"Do us proud," Ron said into Xavier's hair. "Love you. I'll miss you terribly."
He stood up, and watched as Draco bid his goodbyes, slipping a small tin into Xavier's hand as the whistle sounded again.
"Bye! See you at Christmas!" Xavier shouted over his shoulder as he tore off to join the last few stragglers getting on the train.
Ron watched the train pull away, feeling a bruising ache lodge somewhere in his heart. "I need a drink," he mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"I'll join you," Draco replied, his voice stern.
"I'm not aiming to get arsed," Ron insisted as his parents came over.
They exchanged niceties with his mum and dad until they took the hint and left, Molly giving Ron a soft pat on his shoulder. Ron followed Draco back through the barrier into King's Cross and from there they found an Apparition point to get to the Belligerent Badger. Once ensconced in a booth with a shot of Bitter Banshee and pint, he finally relaxed, wiping at his eyes as the overwhelming emotions caught up with him.
"What was in the tin?" he asked after he blew his nose, regaining his composure.
"Snapping gingers. Wanted to have something that would remind him of Percy."
Ron gazed at his lover, brought up short by his surprising empathy and perceptiveness. Yeah, they definitely still had their rows, and Draco was unbearable to be around when under deadlines—Ron was no better. Through it, though, they made things work, and most of their glassware hadn't suffered Ron's wrath.
"Here's to you," Ron said, toasting Draco.
"To us."
They drank for a while, letting the burbling ambiance of the pub wash around them until at last Draco tilted his head and gave Ron a calculated look.
"Think we'll survive his sorting results?"
Ron snorted. "As long as he's in Gryffindor. No worries. Bound to happen."
Draco quirked his lips to the side, a glint in his eye. "He looks awfully good in green."