Tantalus
(this is calliope14, posting for the lj-less Pale Rider. )
Title: Tantalus
Author: Pale Rider
Rating: R
Pairing: Draco/Ron, Harry/Ron
Warnings: Angst, Sex, AU
Summary: Tantalus stands, sunk up to his chin in a pool of crystal-clear water, fruit-heavy
branches dangling over his head. Yet when he thirsts and stoops to drink, the water recedes, leaving
only sand. When he hungers and rises to seize the fruit, a breeze blows the branches away. Thus, he
exists in a state of eternal want, all that he desires forever hovering just beyond his reach.
Notes: Response to Harry/Ron Fuh-Q-Fest challenge: "At Hogwarts, Harry/Ron/Draco triangle"
Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR's.
TANTALUS
As usual, Ron realized several minutes too late that this was a really bad idea. If he hadn't
decided to make a thorough inspection of the Room of Requirement before his guests arrived, he
probably wouldn't have come to his epiphany even that soon. But the fact that the room had filled itself
with squashy furniture and covered its walls and ceiling with pillows alerted Ron to the
inevitability of disaster. Certainly the room didn't think things were going to go well if it created
*this* in response to Ron's thought, _I need a place to tell Harry about Draco._
Ron briefly entertained the idea of trying to stop Harry; perhaps meeting him outside the room and
taking him to the Quidditch Pitch for some practice. It was useless to try that, though. Harry
would find out sooner or later, and the longer Ron delayed, the harder it would be to reach a happy
ending. It would be best if it all came out into the open as soon as possible. Besides, if he
changed plans at this point, Draco was liable to kill him.
So instead of doing anything, Ron sat, fidgeting, on one of the overstuffed sofas as he waited for
Harry to arrive. Various versions of the conversation to come flitted through his mind, most of
them ending with Ron offering to play chess before any of the important parts came 'round. That, of
course, wasn't going to work, because Draco was scheduled to show up not long after Harry did.
Whatever happened after that, chess was unlikely to be part of it.
As the minutes wore on, Ron began to convince himself that Harry would somehow forget; that he
would have an evening with Draco and return to Gryffindor Tower to find a sheepish Harry apologizing
fervently for his absence. It was the last fantasy of a nearly-hopeless mind, and it was crushed
when Harry knocked on the door at 8 o'clock on the dot, just as arranged.
"Come in," Ron croaked, but the door was opening almost before he spoke, admitting the lithe form
of his best friend. Even after seven years, Ron found himself entranced with the way Harry moved
-- each motion was graceful, but there was just enough error in timing from one movement to the
next that it looked adorably clumsy at the same time. Only on the Pitch or in battle did Harry lose
the last vestiges of awkwardness and start to move fluidly. Then he was a picture of deadly grace;
now he was a picture of unbalanced beauty. The urge to sweep the small boy into his arms and carry
him everywhere often nearly overwhelmed Ron.
"Hi Ron," Harry said, closing the door behind him. He crossed the room quickly until he was
standing in front of the taller redhead. "Am I late?"
"Of course not," Ron replied. He patted the cushion next to him on the couch and added, "Have a
seat."
"'Kay," Harry agreed, flopping onto the cushions. Despite Harry's cheerful demeanor, Ron could see
bags under his eyes and an unnatural pallor to his skin. The preparations for the final battle
were taking their toll on Harry. It made Ron even more eager to pull Harry into his arms and shield
him from all the evils of the world, but now was not the time. "So what's this about?" Harry asked.
"It's... you know... I'm not with Hermione, right?"
"Of course I know *that*," Harry said. "Not to say she wasn't eager for it for a while there."
"Well, I never could, really... get with her. Because I'm gay, you see."
To Ron's relief (and almost joy), Harry's response was to take his hand and say, "I am too, Ron. I
always rather ho... *thought* you might be."
"Well, I am. And I... I'm glad you are too." He disengaged his hand from Harry's and wrapped it
around his friend's narrow shoulders. "I know I've kept it secret for a long time..."
"I have too! I'm not mad at you," Harry protested.
"Well, you see, that's not all. After all, you haven't seen me going after any of the openly gay
kids," Ron replied.
"Have you been... saving yourself for someone?" Harry asked in a neutral voice.
"Er... not really," Ron said.
"Oh." Harry's voice was quiet and flat. He straightened up into a stiffer posture and asked, "Who
are you with?" His voice was strained, and Ron realized he may have missed something significant
over the past several years when his romantic attentions were elsewhere.
"He's, uh... he's on his way," Ron said. "He should be getting here..."
Three short, imperious raps sounded against the wood of the door.
"...now," Ron concluded weakly. The sense of impending doom was getting stronger. Then the door
opened and Harry tensed up, and doom went from probable to certain.
Smirking, Draco Malfoy sauntered into the room. "Hello darling," he said, "breaking the news, I
see?"
"*Draco*?" Harry gasped. "Draco *Malfoy*?"
"I think we *have* met," Draco drawled. Ron felt nauseous.
"You... you... you've been with *him*?" Harry asked. "How long?"
"Harry..."
"How *long*, Ron?"
"Since the middle of fifth year..."
Harry practically leapt off the couch. "Fifth year? *Fifth* year?"
"What *is* it with you and repetition?" Draco muttered; Ron hoped Harry hadn't heard him.
"Fifth year? When he was having everyone sing that awful song about you? When his father helped
*kill* Sirius? When he was *helping* that hideous Umbridge woman?"
"Well, we weren't exactly friendly at first!" Ron shouted.
"Not friendly? Not *friendly*! Friendly enough, if you were seeing each other!"
"Oh, that year we were just *fucking* most of the time," Draco interjected. Ron glared at him; he
was supposed to be more *helpful* than that.
"We got in a fight, you see," Ron explained, his voice wavering with nervousness. "In the
Prefect's Bathroom. It started with names, and then we were wrestling, but we'd both been about to get in
the bath, and..."
"...and somewhere along the way we ended up kissing and covered with each other's come," Draco
concluded.
Harry dropped into one of the squashy chairs. "And... you kept it up?" he asked weakly.
"Rather often. We had nothing kind to say to each other outside the bath, of course, but inside
there we... we were instatiable. And very rough. I was amazed you never noticed the bruises."
"All year?"
"It was like that most of the time. At the end, though, just after his father went to Azkaban but
just before he switched sides, I came in and he was crying. So... so I held him, and he begged me
to make love to him, and I did... and I realized I loved him. And we've been... gentler since."
"He's wonderful," Draco interjected, and for a moment his face was open and sincere.
"I... I can't believe this," Harry said.
"I'm sorry I hid it from you, Harry," Ron replied, standing up and taking a tentative step towards
the raven-haired boy. "I just... I didn't think you'd understand. I barely understood it myself,"
he continued, slowly walking towards Harry and extending a hand towards him. "I didn't mean to
hurt you, I just..."
"Don't touch me!" Harry shouted, batting Ron's hand away and practically somersaulting over the
back of the chair. The maneuver left him in a heap on the floor, but fortunately the Room of
Requirement had covered that with a thick, soft rug. Harry got back to his feet almost immediately. "I'm
sorry Ron," he said, "I know... I know you want me to approve..." He sniffled then, and Ron could
tell he had tears in his eyes, though they might have been from the fall. "I... I need... I need
some time," Harry said, his voice cracking several times.
Then, before Ron could do or say anything more, Harry turned and fled the room.
***
"Well," Draco said a minute after the door closed, "That went about as well as could be expected."
"Shut up," Ron groaned, falling back onto the couch and burying his head in his hands. "I didn't
even get to *tell* him."
"Are you sure he'd understand, Ron?" Draco asked.
"*You* did."
"I was brought up in a more refined environment," Draco replied, crossing the room to sit on the
couch beside his boyfriend. "I know about some of the historical triumvirates, and I'm aware that
such complicated partnerships are accepted, even desirable. Potter's head has been filled with
tripe about the 'one true love' ever since he was a little boy -- he's probably dreamed of having
someone sweep him off his feet and carry him to the palace where he can live happily ever after. It's
possible he even thought it was you, though Merlin knows why anyone would think *you* had a
castle."
"Of for the love of... can't you just leave off with that for a minute? Your snarkiness didn't
help one bit, you know."
"And here I thought that's why you liked me," Draco snapped back.
Ron just groaned and slumped over some more. "It's all ruined," he murmured.
"It bloody well *will* be if all you do is moan like that!" Draco retorted. "Look, you haven't got
much time..."
"You think I don't *know* that?" Ron exploded, standing abruptly and beginning to pace the
extremely puffy room. Draco couldn't suppress a smile -- he much preferred angry Ron to mopey Ron.
"Voldemort's coming tomorrow, or *maybe* the day after. Who knows if any of us will even live through
it. Harry might die, and he'll never know..."
Draco sighed, and briefly contemplated telling Ron to just forget about it and hope there was time
to sort things out after the battle. Even better, Ron could just forget about the whole thing
entirely. In his heart, however, Draco knew that there was a good chance one or all of them would be
dead before next week, and that Ron would never be truly happy without Harry in his life. So
instead he said, "Then tell him. Go to him."
"You think he'll even listen to me after that?"
"*Make* him listen," Draco explained, standing and walking up to his red-headed boyfriend.
"How?" Ron asked, his voice a bit huskier already.
Draco slipped his arms around Ron's waist and nuzzled the taller boy's neck. "The same way you
made *me* listen," he whispered, kissing the pale skin.
"I love you," Ron replied, bending his neck so he could kiss Draco properly. Draco felt the warmth
rise up inside -- the hot, fluttery feeling he got every time he heard Ron say those words,
knowing how much, how *deeply* Ron meant them.
"I love you, too," Draco said as their lips parted, and he meant those words too -- meant them so
sincerely that he could swallow his tremendous pride and jealousy, just to see Ron happy. He had
never been more frightened in his life than when he realized he cared more about Ron's happiness
than his own; feeling such an emotion went against everything his father had taught him. But it was
true, and Draco knew as Ron pulled away and headed for the door that he would risk anything to
please the redhead, including losing him to Harry.
Not that Draco ever -- *ever* -- played to lose.
***
The beds were still made, but the seventh-year dorm was already empty. With NEWTs already taken,
most students had been evacuated because of the impending attack. Only Harry and a few others, who
either wouldn't leave him or weren't safe outside Hogwarts, remained -- even Ginny had been forced
(protesting loudly) to depart for her aunt's. The only trunks still in the dorm belonged to
himself and Ron.
Ron. Harry didn't want to think about him, about Draco... about *them*, together. His stomach
twisted and turned at the idea. Harry had spent most of his years at Hogwarts thinking of Ron as
unattainable -- straight. Though he'd been desperately in love with his friend almost since he was
fourteen, he'd been able to resign himself to not having him, because Ron liked girls. It put him far
out of Harry's reach. To find out that Ron was gay, but involved... in *love*... with someone
else, seemed almost crueler. Now he was still unattainable, but hovering just beyond Harry's
fingertips, like a Snitch moving *just* too fast to catch.
Harry mechanically undressed and pulled on his pyjamas. He'd never felt more stupid in all his
life. All this time, he could have *had* Ron, if he'd just gotten up the courage to *ask*... he might
have even beaten Draco to the punch. Then again, the fact that *Ron* hadn't made any overtures
either probably meant something important, too. It made sense, after all -- though his personality
was poison, Draco was sex on legs. Harry, however, was a clumsy little midget with bad eyesight and
terrible hair. It was a wonder *anyone* had ever gone on a date with him.
Harry crawled into bed and, despite the warmth of the evening, curled up inside the blanket. He
tried to force his mind away from thoughts of Ron, but of course found he could think of nothing...
of no *one* else.
Someone *else* could, however. Only moments after he'd pulled the blanket tightly around himself,
a sharp, piercing pain lanced through Harry's head, starting at his scar and ending up somewhere
around the base of his neck. No vision came this time, only pain -- a message from Voldemort in and
of itself, a warning of his intentions for Harry's immediate future. Harry screamed as the pain
from the scar grew into the full-body fire of the Cruciatus curse.
Then suddenly it all evaporated as strong arms seized Harry and held him close. Voldemort departed
with a mental howl of frustration as Harry was pressed against a broad chest. Large hands
soothingly stroked Harry's back as the blanket, which had become almost stranglingly tight as Harry
thrashed around, was stripped away and Harry was rocked gently. Whoever held him was murmuring something
Harry couldn't make out -- at first Harry couldn't even recognize the voice.
Then he realized it was Ron's, just as he was shifted so that his head was resting on the
redhead's shoulder. Warm, firm lips were pressed to Harry's neck, then his tearstained cheek, then his
burning forehead. Despite himself, Harry threw his arms around Ron's neck and held tight, basking in
the comfort the larger boy gave him.
"Vision?" Ron asked.
Harry shook his head slightly. "Just pain," he replied.
Ron squeezed Harry, then lowered him to the bed. "I love you," he whispered, then kissed Harry
gently on the lips.
Harry tensed up. This wasn't right; Ron loved Draco. Ron was lying. Wasn't he? Either way, Harry
couldn't accept this.
Harry wanted Ron to go away.
Harry wanted Ron to peel away his clothes and make tender love to him all night long.
Instead, Harry moaned softly as Ron kissed him again, then whimpered as Ron's large hand cupped
his penis through his pyjamas. Harry hadn't even realized he was hard, but as soon as he was
touched, his hips started moving with a will of their own, thrusting up into Ron's warm hand.
"I know it's hard to understand," Ron whispered as Harry helplessly rocked against him, "but I do
love you... just as much as I love Draco. I want us all to be together, Harry. I love him, but I
don't think I can live without you. And if you give him a chance, I think you could grow to love
Draco too."
Harry didn't agree, but all capacity for coherent speech had left him. Then Ron's lips were
covering his again, and Harry wouldn't have spoken for all the diamonds in Africa. He felt Ron lay down
beside him and pull him close a bare moment before all of it -- the stress of the upcoming battle,
Ron's revelation, the sensations Ron was giving Harry's body -- became too much. Harry came
convulsively, then fainted.
The next morning, Harry awoke to find himself surrounded by warmth. Ron had spooned up behind him,
and was holding him just loosely enough that he could extricate himself without disturbing the
redhead. As he did so, Harry heard Ron moan, and glanced back at his best friend. Ron wore a grimace,
and the smooth skin of his face and forehead were creased with lines of worry and perhaps even
pain. Harry turned away and removed his sticky pyjamas. He wanted to believe that Ron had meant
everything he said last night, that there was some kind of future for them... and Draco.
But in his heart, Harry knew that such an arrangement would never work. You couldn't go through
life loving *two* people like that -- you had to choose one. Ron *had* to love one of them more than
other, and despite what had happened last night, Harry feared it was Draco.
*****
Three days had passed, and Harry remained locked in an unnatural sleep. He didn't move, and barely
breathed. Only the occasional soft moan reassured Ron that Harry was still alive. He'd been thrust
into the position of caring for his friend, as Pomfrey and the other fully-trained mediwitches and
wizards were busy taking care of the more critically wounded patients. Some of them were still
bleeding, so cases of simple unconsciousness would have to wait, even if that unconsciousness had
been the last act of Voldemort himself.
Of course, for all Ron knew, Harry could have knocked himself out running into a wall after he
killed Voldemort. The final confrontation between them had taken place in the Chamber of Secrets, and
Harry's entourage had been left behind at the door, held up by an onslaught of Death Eaters. All
the black-robed wizards had fallen, but so had many on the side of light. Hermione's body had
already been whisked away by her parents; Ron's mum was still too distraught to make arrangements for
his father and Charlie. For his own part, Ron was trying not to think about them, or about Remus
and Mad-Eye, who had fallen buying Harry time to get into the chamber.
Shaking his head to chase away the gloomy thoughts, Ron moistened the towel and wiped the sweat
off Harry's brow. At least Draco had emerged relatively unscathed, and had been mentioned for an
Order of Merlin. He'd ably defended the front gates of Hogwarts, incapacitating no less than ten
Death Eaters without taking a single life. Well, Avery had died, but since he'd been the one to
assassinate Draco's father, everyone had decided to let it slide.
Harry moaned again, and Ron scrubbed a little behind one of his ears, hoping the sensation might
help Harry wake. The smaller boy *did* shift slightly in the bed, but then settled back into a deep
sleep. Ron shook his head and returned the washcloth to the little tray of water, then stood.
Then he ducked, as an owl nearly slammed into his head. One of Voldemort's meteors had taken out
the owlery, and the surviving owls had been streaking around the school madly ever since. This one,
though, seemed to have a mission. Landing officiously on Harry's bedstand, it extended a rolled-up
note to Ron:
'Your room, half an hour -- D.'
Ron smiled and tucked the note into his pocket, offering the owl a bit of candy from Harry's other
bedstand. The owl tore into a pumpkin pasty as Ron straightened out his robes. "I'll be back
tomorrow," he said, bending down to very lightly kiss Harry on the lips. "I love you."
Harry, of course, did not reply.
***
The odious woman in the horrific dress who once guarded the Gryffindor Dormitories seemed to have
vanished, leaving the passage into the tower open. Draco wondered whether she did this every
summer, or had simply become fed up after seven years of whatever Potter had put her through. Either
way, her absence served his purpose, allowing him to enter Ron's dorm without having to worry about
convincing some passing Gryffindor to let him in. Since Ron and Harry were the only living
Gryffindors still at the school, this was a significant advantage.
Draco half-ran across the common room and ascended the stairs, taking them two at a time until he
reached the seventh-year boys' dorms. He pushed open the door, then smiled as he saw Ron sitting
on the edge of his bed.
Ron smiled too. "Hey, sweetheart," he said, and Draco found himself standing next to the redhead
without even realizing how he'd gotten there.
"I've been worried about you," Draco said, placing a hand on Ron's shoulder.
"I'm fine," Ron replied, then reached out and pulled Draco into his lap. Draco swallowed his
squawk of protest as Ron squeezed him tightly, like a teddy bear. "I'm worried about Harry," the
redhead admitted. "He's not waking up."
Draco wiggled around a bit so he could wrap his arms around Ron's shoulders. "He'll be fine," he
said. "Potter's bloody well indestructible, if you ask me. Merlin knows the world's best have tried
to break him and failed."
"And when he *does* wake up..."
"When he finally gets his arse out of that bed I'll personally hold him down so you can bugger him
'till he comes to his senses," Draco interrupted.
Ron sighed. "You really don't mind that I... feel that way about him?"
"No," Draco lied smoothly. Only an expert would have noticed that the words came just a bit too
quickly... too easily. Draco had already spent a great deal of time thinking about this, and decided
that the truth would make things too complicated. He wanted Ron in his life, more than he had ever
wanted anything, and Draco Malfoy always got what he wanted. If the price of a happy life with Ron
was to allow a permanent dalliance with Potter, then that was far less than Draco *would* have
paid. Merlin knew his father had seen a whole slew of trysts as an inconsequential matter when it
came to his wife's behavior. And what Lucius felt for Narcissa was, as far as Draco could tell,
*much* less than what he felt for Ron.
"You're wonderful, you know that?" Ron asked, nuzzling Draco's cheek.
"Of course I am," Draco replied, leaning forward to nibble at Ron's earlobe. "We Malfoys are
perfect," he whispered, then started kissing his way down Ron's neck. "Everything's going to work out,"
he continued, "Potter will wake up, he'll come home to Malfoy Manor with us." Draco began
unbuttoning Ron's shirt, kissing his way down Ron's chest as he did so. "And then," he added, "we'll all
live happily... ever... after." He kissed the large bulge in Ron's pants.
Something in Ron seemed to snap then, and the strong hands that had been holding Draco twisted
themselves in his shirt and then tore it apart, sending buttons and thread and shreds of fabric
flying. Draco found himself pinned to the bed, with Ron's mouth sealed over his. The rest of Draco's
and Ron's clothes disappeared in an orgy of ripping noises, but Draco didn't mind. Fine as his
clothes were, he'd chosen them for tonight because they were expendable. He'd fully intended to get Ron
riled up like this.
After all, if keeping Ron happy meant putting up with Potter for the rest of his life, Draco meant
to receive the return on his investment early... and often.
***
Harry opened his eyes to the familiar sight of the hospital wing's ceiling, lit with the usual
night-time candles. He slipped quietly from the bed, certain that other wounded were in the hospital
wing and needed to sleep uninterrupted. Sliding his feet into slippers, he carefully made his way
to the screen that blocked his view of the room and poked his head out. Lumps under white sheets
confirmed his earlier guess, but he saw no sign of Pomfrey or of her helpers. The fact relieved
Harry, as it meant he would not get fussed over by the well-meaning nurse. Keeping an eye out for
anyone who might see him, Harry made his way through the ward and then out the door, into the dark
halls of the school.
He made his way fearlessly to Gryffindor Tower -- after all, he'd taken his NEWTs; his time at the
school was finished. Filch could do nothing to him now. Yet though Harry made no effort to muffle
his footsteps, the withered, angry old man did not appear. Harry surmised he had fallen in the
battle, defending his home. Mrs. Norris seemed to have disappeared also. Even the Fat Lady was gone,
but the portrait hole hung open in an accommodating manner, and Harry easily got inside the tower.
Moments later, he emerged into the dorm room, moving quietly in case anyone was still there. Three
of the beds had been stripped of their linen and hangings, but his and Ron's bed were still
properly made. Casting a quick muffling charm so he wouldn't wake Ron up, Harry made his way to the
redhead's bed and pulled back the hangings. Then he froze.
The blankets had been thrown to the foot of the bed, and the flimsy white sheets only barely
reached Ron's bare chest. *That* was mostly covered by Draco, whose mussed blonde head rested on Ron's
collarbone. Draco's left hand was intertwined with Ron's right, his other hand buried deep in the
larger boy's red hair. Ron's left hand rested on Draco's exposed back. The boys' legs were also
entangled, and a large damp spot on the sheet where it rested against Draco's rear end left no doubt
as to what they'd been doing, and why they were naked.
Yet it was none of this that made Harry freeze. Instead it was the look on Ron's face; an
expression of blissful happiness. Harry could not help but compare it to the grim frown Ron had worn the
last time Harry saw him sleeping. The sight of that dreamy smile hit him like a bludger to the gut,
filling him with pain and nausea, making it impossible to breathe. _He's so happy with Draco,_
Harry thought, _Even though his father and brother are dead, he can still be happy with Draco._
_Even *before* that, he couldn't be happy with me._
Harry turned away and ran to his bed, blinking tears out of his eyes. The knowledge that Draco
could do this for Ron was almost more than he could take, but Harry knew he had to accept it. He knew
he had to let Ron go. But he also knew he couldn't bear seeing Ron with Draco: so close to his
grasp, yet so far away, forbidden. He didn't have the strength to keep himself from reaching out for
Ron's love... and doing that would ruin Ron's relationship with Draco. Even if Ron thought he
could love two people, Draco certainly wouldn't stand for not being number one. And that left only one
thing to do.
Harry quickly yanked some Muggle-style clothes from his trunk and pulled them on. Then,
occasionally reinforcing the muffling charm, he gathered up all his things from around his bed and in his
little desk and stowed them in the trunk. A whisper of "_Accio_ Firebolt!" and his broom was in his
hand; one quick spell later the trunk was safely ensconced in his pocket. Harry stepped to the
window and opened it. Then he turned and glanced back at Ron's bed.
Setting his broom down, Harry crossed over to Ron's desk, grabbing a quill and a clean piece of
parchment. Harry didn't trust himself to say goodbye, but he felt he needed to make sure Ron knew he
was all right. He scribbled down a quick message, then folded the parchment over and sealed it
shut with the password he and Ron always used on the notes they passed in class. Resisting the urge
to give the redhead a goodbye kiss, Harry ran back to the window, tossing the sealed letter onto
his own bed. Resolutely staring straight ahead, he mounted his broom and flew out of the tower.
A white owl followed him into the night, hooting in frustration, but Harry did not look back.
Title: Tantalus
Author: Pale Rider
Rating: R
Pairing: Draco/Ron, Harry/Ron
Warnings: Angst, Sex, AU
Summary: Tantalus stands, sunk up to his chin in a pool of crystal-clear water, fruit-heavy
branches dangling over his head. Yet when he thirsts and stoops to drink, the water recedes, leaving
only sand. When he hungers and rises to seize the fruit, a breeze blows the branches away. Thus, he
exists in a state of eternal want, all that he desires forever hovering just beyond his reach.
Notes: Response to Harry/Ron Fuh-Q-Fest challenge: "At Hogwarts, Harry/Ron/Draco triangle"
Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR's.
TANTALUS
As usual, Ron realized several minutes too late that this was a really bad idea. If he hadn't
decided to make a thorough inspection of the Room of Requirement before his guests arrived, he
probably wouldn't have come to his epiphany even that soon. But the fact that the room had filled itself
with squashy furniture and covered its walls and ceiling with pillows alerted Ron to the
inevitability of disaster. Certainly the room didn't think things were going to go well if it created
*this* in response to Ron's thought, _I need a place to tell Harry about Draco._
Ron briefly entertained the idea of trying to stop Harry; perhaps meeting him outside the room and
taking him to the Quidditch Pitch for some practice. It was useless to try that, though. Harry
would find out sooner or later, and the longer Ron delayed, the harder it would be to reach a happy
ending. It would be best if it all came out into the open as soon as possible. Besides, if he
changed plans at this point, Draco was liable to kill him.
So instead of doing anything, Ron sat, fidgeting, on one of the overstuffed sofas as he waited for
Harry to arrive. Various versions of the conversation to come flitted through his mind, most of
them ending with Ron offering to play chess before any of the important parts came 'round. That, of
course, wasn't going to work, because Draco was scheduled to show up not long after Harry did.
Whatever happened after that, chess was unlikely to be part of it.
As the minutes wore on, Ron began to convince himself that Harry would somehow forget; that he
would have an evening with Draco and return to Gryffindor Tower to find a sheepish Harry apologizing
fervently for his absence. It was the last fantasy of a nearly-hopeless mind, and it was crushed
when Harry knocked on the door at 8 o'clock on the dot, just as arranged.
"Come in," Ron croaked, but the door was opening almost before he spoke, admitting the lithe form
of his best friend. Even after seven years, Ron found himself entranced with the way Harry moved
-- each motion was graceful, but there was just enough error in timing from one movement to the
next that it looked adorably clumsy at the same time. Only on the Pitch or in battle did Harry lose
the last vestiges of awkwardness and start to move fluidly. Then he was a picture of deadly grace;
now he was a picture of unbalanced beauty. The urge to sweep the small boy into his arms and carry
him everywhere often nearly overwhelmed Ron.
"Hi Ron," Harry said, closing the door behind him. He crossed the room quickly until he was
standing in front of the taller redhead. "Am I late?"
"Of course not," Ron replied. He patted the cushion next to him on the couch and added, "Have a
seat."
"'Kay," Harry agreed, flopping onto the cushions. Despite Harry's cheerful demeanor, Ron could see
bags under his eyes and an unnatural pallor to his skin. The preparations for the final battle
were taking their toll on Harry. It made Ron even more eager to pull Harry into his arms and shield
him from all the evils of the world, but now was not the time. "So what's this about?" Harry asked.
"It's... you know... I'm not with Hermione, right?"
"Of course I know *that*," Harry said. "Not to say she wasn't eager for it for a while there."
"Well, I never could, really... get with her. Because I'm gay, you see."
To Ron's relief (and almost joy), Harry's response was to take his hand and say, "I am too, Ron. I
always rather ho... *thought* you might be."
"Well, I am. And I... I'm glad you are too." He disengaged his hand from Harry's and wrapped it
around his friend's narrow shoulders. "I know I've kept it secret for a long time..."
"I have too! I'm not mad at you," Harry protested.
"Well, you see, that's not all. After all, you haven't seen me going after any of the openly gay
kids," Ron replied.
"Have you been... saving yourself for someone?" Harry asked in a neutral voice.
"Er... not really," Ron said.
"Oh." Harry's voice was quiet and flat. He straightened up into a stiffer posture and asked, "Who
are you with?" His voice was strained, and Ron realized he may have missed something significant
over the past several years when his romantic attentions were elsewhere.
"He's, uh... he's on his way," Ron said. "He should be getting here..."
Three short, imperious raps sounded against the wood of the door.
"...now," Ron concluded weakly. The sense of impending doom was getting stronger. Then the door
opened and Harry tensed up, and doom went from probable to certain.
Smirking, Draco Malfoy sauntered into the room. "Hello darling," he said, "breaking the news, I
see?"
"*Draco*?" Harry gasped. "Draco *Malfoy*?"
"I think we *have* met," Draco drawled. Ron felt nauseous.
"You... you... you've been with *him*?" Harry asked. "How long?"
"Harry..."
"How *long*, Ron?"
"Since the middle of fifth year..."
Harry practically leapt off the couch. "Fifth year? *Fifth* year?"
"What *is* it with you and repetition?" Draco muttered; Ron hoped Harry hadn't heard him.
"Fifth year? When he was having everyone sing that awful song about you? When his father helped
*kill* Sirius? When he was *helping* that hideous Umbridge woman?"
"Well, we weren't exactly friendly at first!" Ron shouted.
"Not friendly? Not *friendly*! Friendly enough, if you were seeing each other!"
"Oh, that year we were just *fucking* most of the time," Draco interjected. Ron glared at him; he
was supposed to be more *helpful* than that.
"We got in a fight, you see," Ron explained, his voice wavering with nervousness. "In the
Prefect's Bathroom. It started with names, and then we were wrestling, but we'd both been about to get in
the bath, and..."
"...and somewhere along the way we ended up kissing and covered with each other's come," Draco
concluded.
Harry dropped into one of the squashy chairs. "And... you kept it up?" he asked weakly.
"Rather often. We had nothing kind to say to each other outside the bath, of course, but inside
there we... we were instatiable. And very rough. I was amazed you never noticed the bruises."
"All year?"
"It was like that most of the time. At the end, though, just after his father went to Azkaban but
just before he switched sides, I came in and he was crying. So... so I held him, and he begged me
to make love to him, and I did... and I realized I loved him. And we've been... gentler since."
"He's wonderful," Draco interjected, and for a moment his face was open and sincere.
"I... I can't believe this," Harry said.
"I'm sorry I hid it from you, Harry," Ron replied, standing up and taking a tentative step towards
the raven-haired boy. "I just... I didn't think you'd understand. I barely understood it myself,"
he continued, slowly walking towards Harry and extending a hand towards him. "I didn't mean to
hurt you, I just..."
"Don't touch me!" Harry shouted, batting Ron's hand away and practically somersaulting over the
back of the chair. The maneuver left him in a heap on the floor, but fortunately the Room of
Requirement had covered that with a thick, soft rug. Harry got back to his feet almost immediately. "I'm
sorry Ron," he said, "I know... I know you want me to approve..." He sniffled then, and Ron could
tell he had tears in his eyes, though they might have been from the fall. "I... I need... I need
some time," Harry said, his voice cracking several times.
Then, before Ron could do or say anything more, Harry turned and fled the room.
***
"Well," Draco said a minute after the door closed, "That went about as well as could be expected."
"Shut up," Ron groaned, falling back onto the couch and burying his head in his hands. "I didn't
even get to *tell* him."
"Are you sure he'd understand, Ron?" Draco asked.
"*You* did."
"I was brought up in a more refined environment," Draco replied, crossing the room to sit on the
couch beside his boyfriend. "I know about some of the historical triumvirates, and I'm aware that
such complicated partnerships are accepted, even desirable. Potter's head has been filled with
tripe about the 'one true love' ever since he was a little boy -- he's probably dreamed of having
someone sweep him off his feet and carry him to the palace where he can live happily ever after. It's
possible he even thought it was you, though Merlin knows why anyone would think *you* had a
castle."
"Of for the love of... can't you just leave off with that for a minute? Your snarkiness didn't
help one bit, you know."
"And here I thought that's why you liked me," Draco snapped back.
Ron just groaned and slumped over some more. "It's all ruined," he murmured.
"It bloody well *will* be if all you do is moan like that!" Draco retorted. "Look, you haven't got
much time..."
"You think I don't *know* that?" Ron exploded, standing abruptly and beginning to pace the
extremely puffy room. Draco couldn't suppress a smile -- he much preferred angry Ron to mopey Ron.
"Voldemort's coming tomorrow, or *maybe* the day after. Who knows if any of us will even live through
it. Harry might die, and he'll never know..."
Draco sighed, and briefly contemplated telling Ron to just forget about it and hope there was time
to sort things out after the battle. Even better, Ron could just forget about the whole thing
entirely. In his heart, however, Draco knew that there was a good chance one or all of them would be
dead before next week, and that Ron would never be truly happy without Harry in his life. So
instead he said, "Then tell him. Go to him."
"You think he'll even listen to me after that?"
"*Make* him listen," Draco explained, standing and walking up to his red-headed boyfriend.
"How?" Ron asked, his voice a bit huskier already.
Draco slipped his arms around Ron's waist and nuzzled the taller boy's neck. "The same way you
made *me* listen," he whispered, kissing the pale skin.
"I love you," Ron replied, bending his neck so he could kiss Draco properly. Draco felt the warmth
rise up inside -- the hot, fluttery feeling he got every time he heard Ron say those words,
knowing how much, how *deeply* Ron meant them.
"I love you, too," Draco said as their lips parted, and he meant those words too -- meant them so
sincerely that he could swallow his tremendous pride and jealousy, just to see Ron happy. He had
never been more frightened in his life than when he realized he cared more about Ron's happiness
than his own; feeling such an emotion went against everything his father had taught him. But it was
true, and Draco knew as Ron pulled away and headed for the door that he would risk anything to
please the redhead, including losing him to Harry.
Not that Draco ever -- *ever* -- played to lose.
***
The beds were still made, but the seventh-year dorm was already empty. With NEWTs already taken,
most students had been evacuated because of the impending attack. Only Harry and a few others, who
either wouldn't leave him or weren't safe outside Hogwarts, remained -- even Ginny had been forced
(protesting loudly) to depart for her aunt's. The only trunks still in the dorm belonged to
himself and Ron.
Ron. Harry didn't want to think about him, about Draco... about *them*, together. His stomach
twisted and turned at the idea. Harry had spent most of his years at Hogwarts thinking of Ron as
unattainable -- straight. Though he'd been desperately in love with his friend almost since he was
fourteen, he'd been able to resign himself to not having him, because Ron liked girls. It put him far
out of Harry's reach. To find out that Ron was gay, but involved... in *love*... with someone
else, seemed almost crueler. Now he was still unattainable, but hovering just beyond Harry's
fingertips, like a Snitch moving *just* too fast to catch.
Harry mechanically undressed and pulled on his pyjamas. He'd never felt more stupid in all his
life. All this time, he could have *had* Ron, if he'd just gotten up the courage to *ask*... he might
have even beaten Draco to the punch. Then again, the fact that *Ron* hadn't made any overtures
either probably meant something important, too. It made sense, after all -- though his personality
was poison, Draco was sex on legs. Harry, however, was a clumsy little midget with bad eyesight and
terrible hair. It was a wonder *anyone* had ever gone on a date with him.
Harry crawled into bed and, despite the warmth of the evening, curled up inside the blanket. He
tried to force his mind away from thoughts of Ron, but of course found he could think of nothing...
of no *one* else.
Someone *else* could, however. Only moments after he'd pulled the blanket tightly around himself,
a sharp, piercing pain lanced through Harry's head, starting at his scar and ending up somewhere
around the base of his neck. No vision came this time, only pain -- a message from Voldemort in and
of itself, a warning of his intentions for Harry's immediate future. Harry screamed as the pain
from the scar grew into the full-body fire of the Cruciatus curse.
Then suddenly it all evaporated as strong arms seized Harry and held him close. Voldemort departed
with a mental howl of frustration as Harry was pressed against a broad chest. Large hands
soothingly stroked Harry's back as the blanket, which had become almost stranglingly tight as Harry
thrashed around, was stripped away and Harry was rocked gently. Whoever held him was murmuring something
Harry couldn't make out -- at first Harry couldn't even recognize the voice.
Then he realized it was Ron's, just as he was shifted so that his head was resting on the
redhead's shoulder. Warm, firm lips were pressed to Harry's neck, then his tearstained cheek, then his
burning forehead. Despite himself, Harry threw his arms around Ron's neck and held tight, basking in
the comfort the larger boy gave him.
"Vision?" Ron asked.
Harry shook his head slightly. "Just pain," he replied.
Ron squeezed Harry, then lowered him to the bed. "I love you," he whispered, then kissed Harry
gently on the lips.
Harry tensed up. This wasn't right; Ron loved Draco. Ron was lying. Wasn't he? Either way, Harry
couldn't accept this.
Harry wanted Ron to go away.
Harry wanted Ron to peel away his clothes and make tender love to him all night long.
Instead, Harry moaned softly as Ron kissed him again, then whimpered as Ron's large hand cupped
his penis through his pyjamas. Harry hadn't even realized he was hard, but as soon as he was
touched, his hips started moving with a will of their own, thrusting up into Ron's warm hand.
"I know it's hard to understand," Ron whispered as Harry helplessly rocked against him, "but I do
love you... just as much as I love Draco. I want us all to be together, Harry. I love him, but I
don't think I can live without you. And if you give him a chance, I think you could grow to love
Draco too."
Harry didn't agree, but all capacity for coherent speech had left him. Then Ron's lips were
covering his again, and Harry wouldn't have spoken for all the diamonds in Africa. He felt Ron lay down
beside him and pull him close a bare moment before all of it -- the stress of the upcoming battle,
Ron's revelation, the sensations Ron was giving Harry's body -- became too much. Harry came
convulsively, then fainted.
The next morning, Harry awoke to find himself surrounded by warmth. Ron had spooned up behind him,
and was holding him just loosely enough that he could extricate himself without disturbing the
redhead. As he did so, Harry heard Ron moan, and glanced back at his best friend. Ron wore a grimace,
and the smooth skin of his face and forehead were creased with lines of worry and perhaps even
pain. Harry turned away and removed his sticky pyjamas. He wanted to believe that Ron had meant
everything he said last night, that there was some kind of future for them... and Draco.
But in his heart, Harry knew that such an arrangement would never work. You couldn't go through
life loving *two* people like that -- you had to choose one. Ron *had* to love one of them more than
other, and despite what had happened last night, Harry feared it was Draco.
*****
Three days had passed, and Harry remained locked in an unnatural sleep. He didn't move, and barely
breathed. Only the occasional soft moan reassured Ron that Harry was still alive. He'd been thrust
into the position of caring for his friend, as Pomfrey and the other fully-trained mediwitches and
wizards were busy taking care of the more critically wounded patients. Some of them were still
bleeding, so cases of simple unconsciousness would have to wait, even if that unconsciousness had
been the last act of Voldemort himself.
Of course, for all Ron knew, Harry could have knocked himself out running into a wall after he
killed Voldemort. The final confrontation between them had taken place in the Chamber of Secrets, and
Harry's entourage had been left behind at the door, held up by an onslaught of Death Eaters. All
the black-robed wizards had fallen, but so had many on the side of light. Hermione's body had
already been whisked away by her parents; Ron's mum was still too distraught to make arrangements for
his father and Charlie. For his own part, Ron was trying not to think about them, or about Remus
and Mad-Eye, who had fallen buying Harry time to get into the chamber.
Shaking his head to chase away the gloomy thoughts, Ron moistened the towel and wiped the sweat
off Harry's brow. At least Draco had emerged relatively unscathed, and had been mentioned for an
Order of Merlin. He'd ably defended the front gates of Hogwarts, incapacitating no less than ten
Death Eaters without taking a single life. Well, Avery had died, but since he'd been the one to
assassinate Draco's father, everyone had decided to let it slide.
Harry moaned again, and Ron scrubbed a little behind one of his ears, hoping the sensation might
help Harry wake. The smaller boy *did* shift slightly in the bed, but then settled back into a deep
sleep. Ron shook his head and returned the washcloth to the little tray of water, then stood.
Then he ducked, as an owl nearly slammed into his head. One of Voldemort's meteors had taken out
the owlery, and the surviving owls had been streaking around the school madly ever since. This one,
though, seemed to have a mission. Landing officiously on Harry's bedstand, it extended a rolled-up
note to Ron:
'Your room, half an hour -- D.'
Ron smiled and tucked the note into his pocket, offering the owl a bit of candy from Harry's other
bedstand. The owl tore into a pumpkin pasty as Ron straightened out his robes. "I'll be back
tomorrow," he said, bending down to very lightly kiss Harry on the lips. "I love you."
Harry, of course, did not reply.
***
The odious woman in the horrific dress who once guarded the Gryffindor Dormitories seemed to have
vanished, leaving the passage into the tower open. Draco wondered whether she did this every
summer, or had simply become fed up after seven years of whatever Potter had put her through. Either
way, her absence served his purpose, allowing him to enter Ron's dorm without having to worry about
convincing some passing Gryffindor to let him in. Since Ron and Harry were the only living
Gryffindors still at the school, this was a significant advantage.
Draco half-ran across the common room and ascended the stairs, taking them two at a time until he
reached the seventh-year boys' dorms. He pushed open the door, then smiled as he saw Ron sitting
on the edge of his bed.
Ron smiled too. "Hey, sweetheart," he said, and Draco found himself standing next to the redhead
without even realizing how he'd gotten there.
"I've been worried about you," Draco said, placing a hand on Ron's shoulder.
"I'm fine," Ron replied, then reached out and pulled Draco into his lap. Draco swallowed his
squawk of protest as Ron squeezed him tightly, like a teddy bear. "I'm worried about Harry," the
redhead admitted. "He's not waking up."
Draco wiggled around a bit so he could wrap his arms around Ron's shoulders. "He'll be fine," he
said. "Potter's bloody well indestructible, if you ask me. Merlin knows the world's best have tried
to break him and failed."
"And when he *does* wake up..."
"When he finally gets his arse out of that bed I'll personally hold him down so you can bugger him
'till he comes to his senses," Draco interrupted.
Ron sighed. "You really don't mind that I... feel that way about him?"
"No," Draco lied smoothly. Only an expert would have noticed that the words came just a bit too
quickly... too easily. Draco had already spent a great deal of time thinking about this, and decided
that the truth would make things too complicated. He wanted Ron in his life, more than he had ever
wanted anything, and Draco Malfoy always got what he wanted. If the price of a happy life with Ron
was to allow a permanent dalliance with Potter, then that was far less than Draco *would* have
paid. Merlin knew his father had seen a whole slew of trysts as an inconsequential matter when it
came to his wife's behavior. And what Lucius felt for Narcissa was, as far as Draco could tell,
*much* less than what he felt for Ron.
"You're wonderful, you know that?" Ron asked, nuzzling Draco's cheek.
"Of course I am," Draco replied, leaning forward to nibble at Ron's earlobe. "We Malfoys are
perfect," he whispered, then started kissing his way down Ron's neck. "Everything's going to work out,"
he continued, "Potter will wake up, he'll come home to Malfoy Manor with us." Draco began
unbuttoning Ron's shirt, kissing his way down Ron's chest as he did so. "And then," he added, "we'll all
live happily... ever... after." He kissed the large bulge in Ron's pants.
Something in Ron seemed to snap then, and the strong hands that had been holding Draco twisted
themselves in his shirt and then tore it apart, sending buttons and thread and shreds of fabric
flying. Draco found himself pinned to the bed, with Ron's mouth sealed over his. The rest of Draco's
and Ron's clothes disappeared in an orgy of ripping noises, but Draco didn't mind. Fine as his
clothes were, he'd chosen them for tonight because they were expendable. He'd fully intended to get Ron
riled up like this.
After all, if keeping Ron happy meant putting up with Potter for the rest of his life, Draco meant
to receive the return on his investment early... and often.
***
Harry opened his eyes to the familiar sight of the hospital wing's ceiling, lit with the usual
night-time candles. He slipped quietly from the bed, certain that other wounded were in the hospital
wing and needed to sleep uninterrupted. Sliding his feet into slippers, he carefully made his way
to the screen that blocked his view of the room and poked his head out. Lumps under white sheets
confirmed his earlier guess, but he saw no sign of Pomfrey or of her helpers. The fact relieved
Harry, as it meant he would not get fussed over by the well-meaning nurse. Keeping an eye out for
anyone who might see him, Harry made his way through the ward and then out the door, into the dark
halls of the school.
He made his way fearlessly to Gryffindor Tower -- after all, he'd taken his NEWTs; his time at the
school was finished. Filch could do nothing to him now. Yet though Harry made no effort to muffle
his footsteps, the withered, angry old man did not appear. Harry surmised he had fallen in the
battle, defending his home. Mrs. Norris seemed to have disappeared also. Even the Fat Lady was gone,
but the portrait hole hung open in an accommodating manner, and Harry easily got inside the tower.
Moments later, he emerged into the dorm room, moving quietly in case anyone was still there. Three
of the beds had been stripped of their linen and hangings, but his and Ron's bed were still
properly made. Casting a quick muffling charm so he wouldn't wake Ron up, Harry made his way to the
redhead's bed and pulled back the hangings. Then he froze.
The blankets had been thrown to the foot of the bed, and the flimsy white sheets only barely
reached Ron's bare chest. *That* was mostly covered by Draco, whose mussed blonde head rested on Ron's
collarbone. Draco's left hand was intertwined with Ron's right, his other hand buried deep in the
larger boy's red hair. Ron's left hand rested on Draco's exposed back. The boys' legs were also
entangled, and a large damp spot on the sheet where it rested against Draco's rear end left no doubt
as to what they'd been doing, and why they were naked.
Yet it was none of this that made Harry freeze. Instead it was the look on Ron's face; an
expression of blissful happiness. Harry could not help but compare it to the grim frown Ron had worn the
last time Harry saw him sleeping. The sight of that dreamy smile hit him like a bludger to the gut,
filling him with pain and nausea, making it impossible to breathe. _He's so happy with Draco,_
Harry thought, _Even though his father and brother are dead, he can still be happy with Draco._
_Even *before* that, he couldn't be happy with me._
Harry turned away and ran to his bed, blinking tears out of his eyes. The knowledge that Draco
could do this for Ron was almost more than he could take, but Harry knew he had to accept it. He knew
he had to let Ron go. But he also knew he couldn't bear seeing Ron with Draco: so close to his
grasp, yet so far away, forbidden. He didn't have the strength to keep himself from reaching out for
Ron's love... and doing that would ruin Ron's relationship with Draco. Even if Ron thought he
could love two people, Draco certainly wouldn't stand for not being number one. And that left only one
thing to do.
Harry quickly yanked some Muggle-style clothes from his trunk and pulled them on. Then,
occasionally reinforcing the muffling charm, he gathered up all his things from around his bed and in his
little desk and stowed them in the trunk. A whisper of "_Accio_ Firebolt!" and his broom was in his
hand; one quick spell later the trunk was safely ensconced in his pocket. Harry stepped to the
window and opened it. Then he turned and glanced back at Ron's bed.
Setting his broom down, Harry crossed over to Ron's desk, grabbing a quill and a clean piece of
parchment. Harry didn't trust himself to say goodbye, but he felt he needed to make sure Ron knew he
was all right. He scribbled down a quick message, then folded the parchment over and sealed it
shut with the password he and Ron always used on the notes they passed in class. Resisting the urge
to give the redhead a goodbye kiss, Harry ran back to the window, tossing the sealed letter onto
his own bed. Resolutely staring straight ahead, he mounted his broom and flew out of the tower.
A white owl followed him into the night, hooting in frustration, but Harry did not look back.