Ron/Draco fic: A Flaw in My Heart's Design
Title: A Flaw in My Heart’s Design
Author: icicle33
Pairings: Ron/Draco, Ron/OCs
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~8000
Warnings/Content: Auror Partners, EWE, Pining Draco, Jealous Draco, Bisexual Ron, Playboy Ron, humour, Angst with a Happy Ending
Summary: Several years after the war, Ron Weasley is an Auror and a bit of playboy, much to everyone’s surprise. Draco has the unfortunate luck of being his Auror partner. He still hates Weasley. And he most definitely does not have a crush on his partner. Not even a little bit.
Author's Notes: Thanks to digthewriter for running the ron_draco_fest and letting me join in the fun late! And a special thanks to felixfvlicis for all her help. I never would have completed this fic without you.
You've haunted me all my life
You're always out of reach when I'm in pursuit
Long winded then suddenly mute
And there's a flaw in my heart's design
For I keep trying to make you mine
[1]
~*~
“And then Malfoy actually wore the bloody nightgown right in the middle of a crowded Muggle supermarket. Everyone was ogling his scrawny arse and possibly quite scarred from those pale chicken legs. I could barely keep a straight face-”
Ron leaned over and patted Tracey on the back, who was choking on her laughter. He flashed her one of his annoyingly devastating smiles before continuing. “Don't die on me yet. It gets better.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “An old lady comes up to us next to the produce aisle. She pats Malfoy on the arm and tells him she likes his frilly nightgown and bunny slippers! And that she has the same one in pink.”
The small group surrounding Weasley erupted into undignified cackles or at least it sounded that way to Draco, whose anger started bubbling in his stomach. Theo Nott even had the audacity to catcall at him when he noticed Draco stalking towards them. Draco crushed the coffee cup he’d been cradling and then slammed it down on the closest table, frightening the group and breaking up the laughter. He’d been gone for all of five sodding minutes and Weasley was already mocking him-as if he didn’t get enough torture from the other Aurors and Ministry employees. Fucking Weasley, some partner he was.
As Draco approached, Weasley had a smug look on his face. He was lounging like a lazy cat on a small love seat with Tracey Davis draped over him like some harpy, her head in his lap, arms entwined with his. What a tart! He’d been holding court like he owned the place, sitting in the best seat with the rest of the group crammed around him, hanging on his every word. Draco shook his head and tried to make sense of the situation. This was surreal like a twisted alternate reality where Weasley had been sorted into Slytherin and had usurped Draco’s rightful place in the Slytherin hierarchy. This was just too much. He might have lost the respect of most of the wizarding world, but his fellow Slytherins too? Bloody buggering hell! He needed to put a stop to this immediately. He was still a Malfoy for Salazar’s sake.
After composing himself, he cast a nonverbal Stinging Hex at Weasley, who winced noticeably and rubbed his arse. Then he turned his anger on Nott, hexing him with a nasty Tongue-tying Jinx. Within seconds, he foamed at the mouth and started gagging. Draco felt no sympathy as he watched Weasley’s face turn pale and Nott struggle with a coughing fit. It served the tossers right for mocking him.
Satisfied, he plopped down into an armchair straight across from his Auror partner, which had been left empty. Well, at least the group had the good sense to save him a seat. He crossed his arms against his chest and gave the group the iciest look he could manage.
Once Nott and Weasley recovered he said, “Making up stories again to impress pretty girls you have no chance with Weasley?”
Of course, Weasley - the utter prat that he was - didn’t back down even if his ears did flush the slightest bit pink. “They're not stories, Malfoy. I actually convinced you to wear that ladies nightgown.”
“These are confidential case files that you shouldn't be discussing with civilians.”
Ron rolled his eyes and then gave Draco a challenging look, which looked much too close to a smirk. His amused, blue eyes taunted him with a “you can do better than that Malfoy” expression. He hated that Weasley did that now, turned his own signature smirk against him.
“And I do not have chicken legs.” He bit down on his bottom lip, trying to keep his composure. “They're strong and shapely. And masculine.” He glared at Ron, who let out a high pitched cackle. “I'd like to see your freckled arse try and pull off that dress.”
Ron snorted and rolled his eyes again. “Whatever you say, Malfoy. That would never happen. I'm not thick enough to believe old ladies nightgowns are typical Muggle attire.”
The group started laughing again: Tracey, Nott, one of the unbearable Patil sisters, and a young blonde girl, whose name Draco couldn't quite remember, but he knew her as a former Slytherin as well. His cheeks grew warm. This is ridiculous, he thought, Malfoys don't blush. Weasley will pay for this.
“We were on a case!” Draco shouted, his hands shaking at his side. “And undercover. You lied to me, Weasley.” Draco cringed at the squeaky pitch of his voice. “Took advantage of my pure-blood sensibilities and complete lack of knowledge of the Muggle world. What happened to Gryffindor righteousness or moral fibre? Some inane notion like that-” He gestured with his hands, which continued shaking.
“That's Hufflepuffs, Malfoy. I'm fresh out of moral fibre today. Plus-” He arched an eyebrow at him, the sheer nerve of him. “I'm a pure-blood too in case you forgot.”
“Well that's hardly the same thing. You're a-”
“Draco-” Tracey hissed.
“I'm a what, Malfoy? A filthy blood traitor?” The playful tone dropped from Ron's voice, his eyes darkened and Draco winced. He glared at Draco in the same way he regarded their suspects during an interrogation.
“That's not what I was going to say! Why does everyone always think so poorly of me? That was years ago, Weasley. Get over it.”
“I am over it, Malfoy.”
Since Weasley’s face almost matched the colour of his hair as it always did when he was angry, Draco didn’t quite believe him. Instead, he returned Weasley’s glare, his jaw clenched and wand squeezed in a death grip.
After several seconds, Weasley sighed, his entire body relaxed and his demeanour changed. “Fine. What were you going to say?”
Draco narrowed his eyes. He hated how everyone, including his Auror partner, automatically thought the worst of him. Hogwarts was ten bloody years ago. He hadn't been that person for a long time. How long would he have to prove himself before he was truly forgiven?
“You're best mates with Potter,” he finally said, trying to keep his voice calm. “And you dated a Muggleborn for years. It makes sense you would know more about the Muggle world than the average pure-blood.”
Ron gave him a strange look, as if he were appraising him but was confused at what he found. “I suppose that's true, Malfoy,” he agreed. “But it was still bloody hilarious.” A smug grin spread on his lips again and the rest of the group broke into laughter.
Draco threw his arms up in mock defeat. “I give up. You're incorrigible, Weasley.”
He stood from his chair and grabbed his forgotten beverage from the nearby end table while shooting the group a sneer with much more venom than he had intended. “I don't have to put up with this. Come find me when you're done embarrassing yourself by flirting with Tracey. She's never going to date you, you freckled git.”
Feeling proud of himself as he noticed Ron's neck start to turn a lovely shade of scarlet, he pointed at Tracey, Nott, and the sheepish looking blonde girl, whose name he'd learn one of these days. “And you lot-” He glared at them. “You're supposed to be Slytherins. We stick together. If we turn on each other, who else will defend us? Some mates you are.”
He huffed and then stomped out of the room, his Auror robes rippling behind him in a manner that he hoped was reminiscent of the late Professor Snape. He knew he was being petulant and perhaps even a touch over dramatic. But Weasley always found a way to get under his skin, even after all these years.
Besides, every chance he got Weasley flirted shamelessly with that silly bint Tracey Davis or that utter cow Padma, at least he thought she was Padma. What’s so great about them anyway? Weasley can do better. He’s a bloody Auror and war hero. There's no accounting for taste.
~*~
Draco's hands shook as he tried to fasten his black boxing wraps. He wanted the wraps to be tight, so he wouldn’t hurt himself. An Auror’s hands were indispensable, his or her greatest weapon. Damaging them was unacceptable. Still, a part of him wanted the pain, wanted to feel the raw, bloody knuckles, the sore aching joints. He needed the battle scars from letting his pride get the best of him, another permanent reminder of his flaws.
He was still furious at Weasley and needed to get his aggression out. The training gym was deserted, but he supposed it was normal for a late Friday afternoon. Most people had better things to do than take their problems out on magically reinforced punching bags. They had real lives to get back to, families, relationships, all that rubbish that Draco would never have. All Draco had was his job and his anger. Part of him liked it that way. At least it was familiar. At least it prevented him from getting hurt, from having to answer to anybody but himself.
Once the wraps were tightened to his satisfaction, he started hitting the heavy punching bag, first softly and then gradually picking up the pace and intensity, losing himself in the rhythm of his jabs, the steady acceleration of his heart rate, the heaviness of his breath. He didn’t like to admit that he enjoyed this. Yet, he found it cathartic and much preferred the Muggle training methods for his workouts.
While Potter had still been part of the Aurors, he had convinced Robards to include both Muggle and magical training exercises to their training. In the last few years, the DMLE had added some Muggle training equipment to their duelling grounds and training gym. At first, Draco had been completely against it. Why would Muggles know anything that wizards didn’t? Clearly, everything magical was superior. But he had been less than right, not that he’d ever admit it. There was something gratifying about using his body to throw punches, to kick a standing punching bag as hard as he could. He liked pretending it was one of the sniggering arseholes at work he wanted to clobber. Really, it was almost as satisfying as cursing someone and much less illegal too.
He needed this. He needed to feel his tense muscles ache, to feel sweat drench his thin, long sleeved shirt. He wanted to feel his angry magic course through his veins and beg for release. And most importantly, he needed to feel strong-both physically and mentally. For so much of his life, he had felt weak-too weak to act, too weak to save his family, to save himself. That would never happen again. Regardless of what happened, regardless of whether or not the Malfoy name would ever be worth less than scum, Draco would be ready. He would never be taken advantage of again. This time, he would fight back.
He needed to continue his training and focus on his career. Nothing else was important. Really, he needed to spend more time in the gym and less time socialising with co-workers. They probably hated him anyway. He never should have listened to Weasley in the first place. It wasn’t like Weasley had to work hard if he ever wanted a promotion in the future. No, from now on Draco would spend his afternoon breaks in the gym. He decided to skip any further visits to the new in-house Ministry coffee shop. He’d known an inter-departmental coffee shop would be a terrible idea. The Ministry had divisions and a hierarchy for a reason. In fact, he didn’t even like coffee all that much. He preferred tea. Yes, Weasley could keep the tacky coffee shop. And the Slytherins too. Who needed Nott and Davis? They’d never been close, not even back at Hogwarts.
Deep in his thoughts, Draco lost track of time. He didn’t know how long he’d been working out until he heard the last voice he wanted to hear.
“Malfoy-” Weasley’s voice sobered Draco, bringing him back to reality. It felt like taking a cold shower after one too many drinks. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
Draco wanted to ignore Weasley. He didn’t stop his workout or even look at the prat, but he knew that Weasley was an incessant pest. If he didn’t answer him, he would keep trying until Draco responded or they came to blows. And Draco felt much too tetchy for a fight right now. He was not in control of his emotions and feared what would happen if he got into another row with Weasley. He didn’t feel accountable for his actions and that was a dangerous frame of mind.
“Well, you found me,” Malfoy said through gritted teeth and in-between punches. “What do you want?”
“You’re not still angry about before? I was just taking the piss, yeah? All in good fun.”
Draco closed his eyes. He finally lowered his arms and then turned to face his partner, appraising him. The last thing he wanted to discuss was their argument or really anything that had to do with Weasley. Lately, everything concerning his Auror partner pushed him over the edge. “I’m not angry, Weasley. I just want to be left alone. It’s Friday. Aren’t you late to meet up with one of your slags?”
“Don’t be like that.” Weasley sighed. “I know you’re angry. When I came looking for you to apologise, you had already left on assignment.” He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it, and Draco tried to ignore how that made him feel, the wave of desire he quickly squelched. “We’re supposed to be partners. You could have got hurt.” His voice was soft now, almost as if he were worried. But that couldn’t be true. Could it?
“Hardly, Weasley. It was just another run of the mill Kneazle rescue mission.” Draco attempted to smile, but he knew it appeared forced. “It was stuck in a tree.”
Weasley furrowed his brow, deep creases forming between his eyes. “There was a Kneazle trapped in a tree and the Auror department was notified?” He repeated the words as if trying to convince himself. “And you saved it?”
Draco shrugged. “What you don't believe me?”
Weasley shot him a doubtful look.
“Okay, it wasn't a Kneazle stuck in a tree. Just another domestic. Mr and Mrs Cahill were arguing again. Mrs Cahill might have charmed all of Mr Cahill’s prized possessions to spontaneously combust.”
“Ah.”
“It wasn’t a big deal.” Weasley opened his mouth as if ready to protest, but Draco silenced him. “Just clean up and paper work. Nothing that you would've missed.”
A pensive look crossed Weasley’s face as if he were trying to figure out what to say. “I still don't like it. You should have waited for me. We’re partners. What if it had been a Domestic Code Black or a trap?”
Exasperated, Draco threw a punch at the bag again, a bit harder than he had intended, causing the entire bag to shake. “Well, it wasn’t!” He turned to face Weasley again. “And even if it had been why would you care?”
“Malfoy, that's hardly fair. You know I-”
Draco sneered. “Just leave it, Weasley. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get back to my workout.”
Weasley stood there blinking at him stupidly, completely stunned. “But it’s Friday,” he said, after several seconds. His eyes were much too bright and his nose was scrunched. “We always go to the pub on Fridays. After work.”
In that moment, Draco hated Weasley. Well, he had always hated Weasley. Who didn’t? But he especially hated him now-that clueless git with his stupid, freckled face and atrocious ginger hair, his pert, freckled nose, which Draco knew had exactly twenty-seven freckles. Not that he had ever counted. He hated him because he was a Gryffindor. And a war hero. A bloody disaster when it came to paperwork. He was always late to everywhere except lunch. His robes were never pressed and he always wore Muggle suits without a tie. And sometimes even with trainers. Who did that? Plus, he was almost always in an infuriatingly good mood. Everyone in the office loved him. No, everyone in the entire sodding wizarding world loved him. He was laid back and popular. Always cracking jokes. He dated a different witch or wizard every week and no one judged him for it. He never hid his feelings. Rather he wore them all on his face, often times turning as red as his hair. He was everything that Draco wasn’t. Everything that Draco longed to be. Everything that Draco would never be.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it.
The worst part - the real reason that Draco hated Weasley - was because against all odds - and against everything he’d been raised to believe - Draco had fallen under Weasley’s spell too. He’d actually fallen for Weasley’s oafish charms. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around it. But he knew that it was undeniably true. And it made him hate himself even more than he already did. For that, he would never forgive Weasley. Or himself.
A warm hand squeezed Draco’s shoulder. He shuddered. “Malfoy, are you alright? You’ve gone deathly pale. You’ve just been standing there gawking.”
Snapping out of his daze, Draco shoved Weasley off him. “Don’t touch me,” he snapped. His voice was caustic, shattering the palpable tension in the room and forcing Weasley to retreat.
“What is your problem?”
A small sense of victory filled Draco as he watched Weasley flinch, hurt obvious in his eyes. He wanted to hurt Weasley, to make him feel the same immense pain Draco felt every time he saw him with his slag of the week, the pain he felt as he watched Weasley give his affection to everyone but him, the pain he felt knowing that Weasley would never want him. He’d never see him as anything but the obnoxious schoolboy, whose sole purpose had been to make Weasley’s school year hell. And-in Draco’s eyes that was unforgivable. Even if his logic was fucked up and twisted.
“My problem Weasley is that you won’t fuck off and leave me alone.” Draco spat the name Weasley with the same virulence he had once reserved for insults like Mudblood or blood traitor.
Weasley took a step back. Draco didn’t know if it was an involuntary motion or not, but it felt as if he were reacting to the sharpness of Draco’s words. He hadn’t spoken to Weasley with so much venom in years, and now he’d done it twice in the last five minutes. He seemed to compose himself but still stared at Draco as if he had lost his mind.
“Seriously, you’re gonna act like a girl over one little prank? You know I’ve done worse.” Weasley smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which still looked worried. “Come on, I’ll pick up the tab tonight. You’ll feel better once you have a few drinks in you. You’re always so tense.” Weasley reached out to touch him again, but Draco managed to push him away before it happened.
“I thought I told you not to touch me, Weasley.”
Draco was breathing heavy now; his chest constricted as if all the air were being sucked from the room. He knew where this argument was heading. That if he went there, he could not turn back. He didn’t care. This little charade had gone on long enough. He didn’t want to continue living in his delusion.
“I don’t want to go to the pub with you! Why can’t you get that through your thick skull? We’re not mates. And I’m not one of your little admirers where you can snap your fingers and make me do your bidding. You’ve made my life a living hell these last three years I’ve been stuck with you.” He panted, his nostrils flaring as he attempted to catch his breath before delivering his final blow. “All I want is to be left alone and finish my workout. And unless you want me to use you as a punching bag, I suggest you leave. Now.”
Weasley gasped. The devastated look on his face made Draco want to hurl. The visible pain twisted his handsome features, making Draco believe that he had already punched him, but it only lasted for a minute. Quickly, his expression turned murderous. He glared at Draco as if he were worth less than dirt, the same vicious glower he’d given him when he sobbed for Crabbe during the Battle of Hogwarts.
“You know what, Malfoy,” he said, voice as cold as his face, “I don’t know why I even bother with you. You’re not worth it.”
Without waiting for a response, he stomped out of the room. Draco tried to ignore how the windows and lights seemed to flicker in the room. He hadn’t seen Weasley that furious in ages. Well, Draco had been itching for a fight. He wanted to push Weasley’s buttons and he had. Technically, he’d won.
So why did he feel so lousy?
He slumped down against the wall and rested his head against it. He closed his eyes, and bit down on his tongue hard, a vain attempt to hold in tears he knew threatened to escape. He hadn’t cried in years, not since his mother passed. All energy and motivation to finish his workout faded. He couldn’t get that last hateful glare Weasley had sent him out of his mind. Why did he always insist on hurting the few people he cared about?
Deep down, he knew that Weasley didn’t deserve his vitriol. Not for sharing one embarrassing story with some co-workers. Who really cared what Nott or Davis thought? But this wasn’t about that. It never had been. Something inside Draco had snapped as he watched Weasley fawn over Tracey, Padma, the receptionist, and even Richard, the intern, who sorted the mail all week. Watching Tracey lay in Weasley’s lap had been the final punch. He couldn’t take it anymore-the irrational jealousy, the urge to curse every single witch and sometimes even wizards that Weasley spoke to. His obsession was out of control. Something needed to be done. He only wished it hadn’t involved shattering the remaining fragments of his heart.
~*~
Draco watched as Weasley shrugged on his cloak and left their shared office. He didn’t say a word and only acknowledged Draco’s presence by a stiff nod before retiring for the weekend. Pretending he was engrossed in paperwork, Draco ignored him too. He was glad that Weasley no longer pretended that they could stand each other. Forced politeness was tiring. He had enough of that with the rest of the Ministry. He didn’t need it from his partner too.
Three weeks had passed since their fight. He’d barely spoken to Weasley since that day. On Monday morning, he’d greeted Weasley with a formal but terse apology. He explained he’d overreacted and wanted to forget the issue. Weasley had agreed, but things had not been the same.
A chasm existed between them now, which only appeared to be growing by the day. At first Weasley had attempted to mend the distance between them. He kept asking Draco to join him for lunch, for coffee, to go to the pub on Fridays. Seriously, what was up with Weasley and that bloody pub?
At least it appeared he’d finally taken the hint. Draco had politely declined each offer. Since yesterday, Weasley had not asked him any more questions that weren’t related to their cases. Rather, they’d spent most of the day in an almost unbearable silence. But Draco knew he only had himself to blame. The delicate balance of their dynamic had been shattered, and Draco wasn’t certain that it could ever be repaired.
He had crossed a line. He knew it. And as much as it pained him, it was for the best. Eventually, Weasley would get over it. He hoped. He didn’t want to lose the only half competent Auror partner he’d ever been assigned.
Oh well, at least it was Friday. He had the rest of the weekend to wallow in his misery without having to worry about Weasley and whatever tart he was screwing. He checked his watch. It was half past six. The office should have cleared out by now. Friday evenings at the pub were a thing of the past. Now, Draco had a new tradition of spending his Friday evenings in the gym. Really, he much preferred it this way. Spending extra time with Weasley was unbearable. Yeah right. Maybe if he repeated it enough to himself, then one day he’d actually believe it.
~*~
When Draco entered the gym, he was surprised to find it occupied. He saw a tall, shirtless figure in the corner and frowned. He had spent several minutes organising his case files for the following week before heading out. It was now after seven. Why was anyone else here? Didn’t the idiot know that this was Draco’s workout time? And why wasn’t he wearing a shirt? The gym was charmed with permanent cooling charms. There was no reason to be shirtless. Draco hated show-offs, especially since he could never remove his shirt or even wear short sleeves in public.
More than a little annoyed, he approached the unwelcome figure, ready to kick out whomever was stupid enough to get between Draco and his workout, but then he felt his breath hitch. His heart hammered in his chest and eyes widened once he recognised an all too familiar pale, freckled back. Of course, of all people it had to be him: Ronald Weasley a.k.a The Bane of Draco’s Existence. Salazar, why couldn’t he ever catch a break?
Draco gulped and stood frozen with his mouth agape. He almost dropped his gym bag as he watched Weasley in action, who had not noticed his presence yet. Weasley cut a tall and imposing figure. He was broad shouldered with a strong back and thick waist all dusted with freckles. His biceps were larger than Draco remembered and he wondered if Weasley had been hitting the weight room in his down time. His oversized Auror robes did not do him justice. He could feel his face flush, heat rapidly spreading down his neck and all the way to his cock, which twitched as he drooled over his partner.
Granted, this wasn’t the first time Draco had seen Weasley without his shirt, but he’d never had an opportunity to study him so closely without being observed. Watching Weasley slam the bag in front of him with heavy kicks, all shirtless, sexy, and sweaty mesmerised him. It made him want to put that same breathless look on Weasley’s face. He wanted Weasley to use those strong arms and legs to fuck him face down into a mattress until he forgot his name, to fuck his mouth until his throat was raw. Or maybe he could tie Weasley up and watch him squirm as he struggled against unbreakable restraints, all while Draco did unspeakable acts with his tongue to that hard body. A slew of wicked fantasies swam through Draco’s mind, all involving Weasley naked, breathless, and flashing that brilliant grin. Merlin’s beard, this was a dangerous line of thought.
He needed to relax before he did something embarrassing like rub up against Weasley’s naked back and start sucking on that delectable neck. His cock throbbed painfully against the waistband of trousers. He was thankful for not changing into his workout kit yet because this was getting out of hand. He needed to think of something else, anything else, before Weasley turned around and realised he was a skeevy, drooling voyeur and punched him in the face.
Swallowing loudly, he closed his eyes and thought of the unsexiest images possible. McGonagall in lingerie. Goyle in a bathing suit. The one time he’d tried to have sex with Pansy and fainted when she asked him to eat her out. It seemed to work. Slowly, he regained his composure. His cock was only half hard now, but his body still betrayed him as he dropped the gym bag he’d been clutching like a lifeline.
Within seconds, Weasley stopped kicking the bag and turned around to face him. Draco knew he probably looked a fright. His mouth hung open in a wide ‘O’ and his cheeks were burning, streaked probably as red as Weasley’s hair. Sweat dripped down his forehead and his heart still beat much too fast. He was a far cry from the cool and collected Auror he always tried to portray as he hastily adjusted his robes. Yet, Weasley didn’t seem to care. He regarded Draco coolly but didn’t mention his unusual state of disarray. Instead, he greeted him with an amused smile.
“Oi, Malfoy, I’m glad you’re here. I was waiting for you.”
Weasley crossed his arms in front of his chest, making his biceps bulge. And Draco did not stare. He most definitely did not want to lick them. He gulped and then coughed in a vain attempt to clear his throat. His throat felt scratchy, but at least he’d recovered enough to speak.
“I wasn’t aware we had plans.”
Weasley shrugged. “It’s Friday.”
He said nothing else and then stared at Draco like it was the most obvious answer in the world, and he was an arse for not understanding. Granted, Weasley made him feel like an arse more times than Draco would care to admit, but this time he really was lost.
“And?”
“And-” Weasley rolled his eyes. “On Fridays you go to the gym now, right?” A smug smile tugged on his lips. “I thought I’d join you. See what all the fuss is, yeah? Why you rather do this than go to the pub?”
“Join me?” Draco blinked rapidly in disbelief. “I don’t recall extending an invitation.”
Weasley titled his head back and laughed. “Well, it’s a good thing this is a public gym then. Any Auror is permitted to use it.” His lips curled into a wicked grin. “Even after hours.”
“I-I-” Draco was stunned. For the past two days, Weasley had ignored him. He thought he’d finally decided to give up on him. Why was he doing this? Why was he so insistent on spending time with him anyway? And why did he have to be shirtless for Salazar’s sake? It was impossible to think clearly when he had to stare at Weasley’s hard chest.
Weasley continued to smile. “Great, if you have no more arguments, then go get changed. I can see why you like this, Malfoy. It’s a great workout and such a rush. I feel almost dizzy.”
“Me too.”
“What was that?”
Bollocks. Draco didn’t realise he’d actually said that aloud. Oh, fuck it all. It turned out that being in the presence of a shirtless Ronald Weasley turned his brain to complete mush. There was no way he would survive an entire workout session with what remained of his dignity intact.
“Nothing,” he cried, more forcefully than necessary. “I don’t think I’ll change after all. I’m feeling…uh-tired all of a sudden.”
Weasley frowned. “Tired?”
“Yeah, I worked out yesterday too. And I’m still sore.” He rubbed his shoulder and groaned, praying that Weasley would buy his cheap excuse.
Weasley didn’t look convinced. He deepened his frown and then bit down on his bottom lip. Eventually, he said, “Alright, then that means you’re free. Let me change and then we can go to the pub.” He flashed that devastating grin, which Draco both equally despised and cherished. “First round is on me.”
“Why are you so obsessed with going to the pub?”
“I dunno. I like the drinks. The chips.” Weasley shrugged, a sheepish look on his face. “The company’s not so bad.” He gave a weak smile. “So are we going?”
Weasley had this ridiculous, expectant look on his face, which caused Draco’s chest to ache. All he could do was sigh in response. He rubbed the temples of his throbbing forehead with his fingers. Merlin, Weasley was exhausting. The stupid git didn’t give up. Idiot Gryffindors. Closing his eyes, Draco sighed again. He felt his resolve waning, slipping away with the final remains of his dignity. He couldn’t bear to look at Weasley. He should have insisted that he put his shirt on right away. It was too late. One more Friday night at the pub with his slag of a partner, who wanted to shag everyone but him, could he really do this? He’d survived them before relatively unscathed. It wasn’t like he had better plans anyway. His mind was made up.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “But we’re drinking Firewhisky tonight. And I want a private table. I don’t want to deal with your adoring fans all night.”
Weasley laughed, emitting a bright, hearty chuckle that sprang from his belly and filled the room with warmth. “Whatever you say, Malfoy. I’ll go change. Give me 10 minutes.”
Draco nodded. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else. He hoped that he wouldn’t regret this decision in the morning.
~*~
Draco swirled the rich, amber liquid in his wide-lipped glass, sloshing it in circles as he watched the caramel spindles slide down the sides. He raised the glass to his nose and inhaled, breathing in the spicy, sweet aroma of the aged Firewhisky before taking a large gulp. Technically, he was supposed to sniff the whisky for a longer period of time and take small sips. His father had taught him how to properly savour a glass of aged Firewhisky by the age of fourteen. Malfoys needed to know how to behave in proper company. It was expected, but given that he was now on his fourth glass, Draco figured it was okay to cheat.
Merlin knew that he wanted to get drunk tonight, not savour the taste of the alcohol like his father had taught him. Besides, Weasley didn’t seem to know the difference. The freckled git sat across from him grinning like a loon as he sloshed the whisky around in his glass violently, spilling half of it in the process. Apparently, Weasley couldn’t handle his liquor. He’d been throwing drinks back quite rapidly since they first arrived.
“Weasley, the Firewhisky is supposed to go in your mouth not all over the table.”
“Not my fault.” He chuckled as if he had said something funny. He was doing that a lot tonight. Draco did not find it endearing. Not at all. “I was trying to drink it in the poncey way that you do.”
He rolled his eyes. “That Firewhisky costs 40 Galleons a bottle, so stop wasting it. Or I’ll make you pay the bill.”
Weasley choked, sputtering whisky and saliva all over the table and right in Draco’s face.
Wiping the spittle away, Draco drawled, “Lovely. I prided myself on being the last person in London you hadn’t swapped spit with yet.”
Weasley blushed and lowered his head, staring down into his glass as if it were suddenly interesting. Draco regarded him curiously. Usually, he never blinked when someone insulted his debaucherous love life. “It was a joke. I wasn’t judging.”
“I know.” Weasley sighed and then met his gaze again. “It’s just...I don’t know. It’s always been fun. I never wanted to be tied down. There are so many pretty witches out there. But-”
“But what? Don’t tell me Ron Weasley has finally fallen for someone? Who’s the lucky girl?” As soon the words had left his mouth, Draco cringed. He hated watching Weasley jump from partner to partner. The jealousy was slowly driving him mad, but he couldn’t imagine how painful it would be to see Weasley in an actual relationship. That might actually break him. Still, he had to know. Damn, his masochistic tendencies.
Weasley bit his lip and looked uncertain. “No, it’s not that. I haven’t met anyone new. It’s just-” Weasley sighed again, and this time, he ran his fingers through his hair. Draco noticed his hands were shaking. “I don’t know what I want anymore. I-I…I slept with Tracey last week.”
Draco bit his tongue, hard. He drew blood and tried not to grimace as the coppery liquid filled his mouth. He swallowed with as much poise as he could manage and then forced a smile on his face. Under no circumstances could he allow Weasley to see how much he wanted to hit something. Or strangle a certain fake, blonde wench.
“That’s great, Ron,” Draco said, trying to sound as enthusiastic as possible. “You’ve been after her for ages. I didn’t think you’d actually manage it. Slytherin girls are notoriously difficult to impress.”
Ron shot him a confused look. “Did you just call me Ron?”
“Did I?” Draco let out a high-pitched chuckle. “That is your name, isn’t?” He tried his best to recover from his disastrous slip of the tongue.
“Yes, but you never call me Ron.”
“Sure, I do,” Draco lied, “we’ve been partners for three years now, Ron.” Draco savoured how foreign the name felt on his tongue. Surprisingly, it was not altogether unpleasant. “You’re the one who insists on calling me Malfoy. Using surnames is so Hogwarts, don’t you think?”
“Right.” Weasley didn’t look convinced, but then he said, “So does that mean you want me to call you Draco?”
“Sure,” Draco replied much too quickly. “I mean…if you want to.”
Ron shrugged. “Maybe.” He squirmed in his seat and looked rather uncomfortable. “But I dunno. You have to admit Draco is a weird name, mate. No offense.”
Draco laughed, a real laugh this time, shaking his entire chest. “It’s an old family name, you uncultured prat.” He smirked, but there were no malice behind his words. The irony of the moment was not lost on him. Wow, how things had changed! Ten years ago, he’d promoted Weasley to the number 2 spot on his enemy list for a similar crack about his name. Now, it just amused him.
“Because Ronald doesn’t sound like the name of an old codger?” He grinned again and rewarded Weasley with his brightest smile. “You can keep calling me Malfoy if you’d like. Just lose that constipated look. You’re putting me off my drink.”
Weasley shook his head and laughed. “You’re something else, Malfoy.”
Draco waggled an eyebrow and smirked. “Something good, you mean.”
Still grinning, Weasley agreed. “Yeah. You are.”
Now, it was Draco’s turn to blush. He felt his face grow hot, warmth spreading down his entire body. Damn, that Firewhisky. He usually had a higher tolerance than this. At least Weasley looked like he was about as sloshed as he was if not more so. His cheeks held a rosy tint, and he was still looking at him with that soppy grin. He really needed to stop that. It made him think inappropriate thoughts, like wondering how those full lips would feel, all plump and swollen, tucked between his teeth. He needed to change the subject. Desperately.
“So…”
“So…”
“About Tracey?”
“What about Tracey?”
Exasperated, Draco reached for the almost empty Firewhisky bottle and refilled both their glasses. “Will you see her again?” Draco asked. “She’s from a wealthy family. She’ll probably expect you to court her if you’re really interested. I can ask around if you’d like.”
“Court her?” Weasley mouthed, as if hearing the words for the first time and despising the taste of them. “Absolutely not.” He shuddered. “I know she’s your friend and all, Malfoy, but Merlin how did you put up with her for all those years in Slytherin?”
Draco was well aware of Tracey’s annoying qualities. During school, she’d been a shrill, annoying gossip among other things, but he had to choose his words carefully. He didn’t want to offend Weasley just in case he really did care for Davis. Gryffindors believed in chivalry and defending a lady’s honour. And all that rubbish. He finally settled for saying, “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Well, she’s quite fit. But-” Weasley fiddled with his glass, absently running his finger over the rim, “she never stops talking. I don’t know how I never noticed it before. It’s just non-stop chatter. About absolutely nothing. I couldn’t even spend the night she gave me such a headache. Luckily, I had a Puking Pastille in my jacket pocket.”
“Oh, I think you were too busy focusing on Davis’ other assets to notice how often her lips move.” Draco smirked. “And out-scheming a Slytherin, Weasley. I’m impressed.”
Ron snorted before downing the rest of his drink. “I’m such an idiot-”
“Your words not mine.”
Ron scowled, glaring at his empty glass as if it had offended him. “You didn’t let me finish, Malfoy. Sometimes...I’m such an idiot sometimes.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Merlin, Malfoy, what are you five-years-old? I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you-and you keep interrupting.”
“Someone is in a mood, tonight.” Draco pursed his lips and huffed. “Fine, continue. You have my undivided attention.”
“I-I’ve just…I don’t know, Malfoy, these last few weeks when we haven’t talked. It was hard,” Weasley said, struggling with every word. “Harder than I thought. And-”
“Aww, Weasley, I didn’t know you cared.”
Weasley banged his fist on the table. “Will you shut up and fucking listen for a minute? I’m trying to share something important here.”
“Okay. Okay. There’s no need to make a scene.”
Shaking his head, Weasley said, “Do you mind if I drink the last of that?” He motioned towards the almost empty bottle of Firewhisky. “I need it more than you do.”
“It’s all yours,” Draco replied. His head felt fuzzy from the alcohol. He’d lost track of how many drinks he’d had. Five? Six? Seven? He didn’t know why Weasley turned grumpy all of a sudden, but it was killing his buzz. Hopefully, giving him the last glass would brighten his mood.
“I realised something this last week,” Weasley said, after taking another sip of his drink. “All the girls, even the few blokes I’ve slept with, I never cared for any of them. I never wanted to spend time with them outside of the bedroom. I never missed them when they weren’t around. But now I-” He paused, averting his eyes to the table. “Why is this so hard? I’m rubbish with all this feelings talk. I should have asked Hermione to help me come up with a better speech. I’m royally bollixing this up.”
Smiling, he shook his head and then locked eyes with Draco, making the table feel small. “I realised that there’s someone that I do care about. More than I ever knew. But I have no idea how to tell them. Or if they’re even interested-”
Draco sighed. His head was still spinning from the alcohol and Weasley was acting much too melancholy. If he wanted to wallow in self-pity, he would have spent the evening at home in the dark, empty Manor alone with only the barmy house-elves for company. He wanted to salvage what was left of the evening. It was almost closing time. “Weasley, you’re a bloody Auror and war hero. What witch in her right mind, wouldn’t be interested in you? Just send her flowers or some other token of affection. Women love that. Or so I hear.”
Weasley placed his glass on the table and then dropped his head in his arms. He ran his hands through his hair again, pulling it violently. “It’s not a-” he mumbled into his arm, muffling his voice and not allowing Draco to make out the rest of his words. After several seconds, he lifted his head. “Forget it,” Weasley said, “I’m not being clear.” He picked up his glass and downed the last of the Firewhisky. “I’ve never been good with words anyway. I’m more of doer.”
Draco opened his mouth, but before he could respond, Weasley reached across the table and pulled him by the collar of his robes. As he leaned over, Draco started to panic. “Come here.” He grabbed Draco’s arm and pulled him towards the other side of the table, motioning for him to sit in the empty chair besides him, but never relinquishing his grip on Draco’s robes. What was Ron playing at? He didn’t like having his personal space invaded, especially not by Weasley. Ron had pulled their chairs together, arranging them so the backs touched. They were close enough now that Draco could make out all the freckles on Ron’s face, the faintest trace of red stubble, a shade darker than his hair grazing his lower jaw. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and run his tongue against that faint trail of red hair, but he knew it wouldn’t be welcomed.
“Weasley,” he said, once he regained his senses, “Ron…what are you doing?”
“It’s you…you, impossible prat. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all night.”
“Wha-” The words barely left Draco’s mouth before another pair of lips slammed against his. Ron’s mouth felt hungry against his, hot lips and tongue demanding entrance into his mouth, which he granted eagerly. After several moments, Draco deepened the kiss, felt himself press against Ron’s warm body, tangling one hand in his hair and slipping the other inside his shirt, finally touching those tantalising muscles he’d been ogling earlier. Ron moaned against his lips in response, causing Draco to gasp as he realised his cock was now hard, digging uncomfortably into his tight trousers and pressing into Ron’s muscular thigh. As much as he was enjoying this impromptu snog session, they needed to stop before they got carried away. They were in the middle of a pub after all.
“Ron,” he breathed, once they pulled apart. “Why?”
Ron stared at him, all wide-eyed and earnest, in that annoying way only Gryffindors seemed to manage. “Because I like you. Isn’t it obvious?”
Draco pondered for a moment, trying to understand what had happened between them. “I suppose.”
“Do you have a problem with this?” Ron gestured between the two of them with his index finger.
“Clearly, I don’t, Weasley. But I don’t understand-”
Shaking his head, Ron interrupted him: “Look, we’ll talk about this later, Malfoy. I promise. Can’t we just get out of here?”
Draco gulped. He still couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d fantasised about hearing those exact words from Ron for ages, but he’d never imagined it would happen-that Weasley wanted him back and supposedly even cared about him if the confusing drivel he sprouted earlier could be trusted. Perhaps it was the Firewhisky clouding his judgment, but he couldn’t think of a single reason to say no. Maybe in the morning he would realise that he’d made a colossal mistake and regret it immediately. But he was too far gone to care. Even if it was only for one night, he wanted Ron to be his, needed to see this through, to see where it might lead. Draco no longer ran away from his problems. Most of the time.
Mustering all the courage he could, he responded, “Absolutely.” He gave Weasley what he hoped was a seductive smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”
~FIN
A/N: Thanks so much for reading!
[1] The title of this fic as well as the quote at the beginning comes from the Death Cab For Cutie Song, “You’ve Haunted Me All My Life”. The lyrics and song definitely do not belong to me, nor am I trying to take credit. I listened to this song several times when writing this fic, so you can listen to it here if you’re interested.
Author: icicle33
Pairings: Ron/Draco, Ron/OCs
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~8000
Warnings/Content: Auror Partners, EWE, Pining Draco, Jealous Draco, Bisexual Ron, Playboy Ron, humour, Angst with a Happy Ending
Summary: Several years after the war, Ron Weasley is an Auror and a bit of playboy, much to everyone’s surprise. Draco has the unfortunate luck of being his Auror partner. He still hates Weasley. And he most definitely does not have a crush on his partner. Not even a little bit.
Author's Notes: Thanks to digthewriter for running the ron_draco_fest and letting me join in the fun late! And a special thanks to felixfvlicis for all her help. I never would have completed this fic without you.
You've haunted me all my life
You're always out of reach when I'm in pursuit
Long winded then suddenly mute
And there's a flaw in my heart's design
For I keep trying to make you mine
[1]
~*~
“And then Malfoy actually wore the bloody nightgown right in the middle of a crowded Muggle supermarket. Everyone was ogling his scrawny arse and possibly quite scarred from those pale chicken legs. I could barely keep a straight face-”
Ron leaned over and patted Tracey on the back, who was choking on her laughter. He flashed her one of his annoyingly devastating smiles before continuing. “Don't die on me yet. It gets better.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “An old lady comes up to us next to the produce aisle. She pats Malfoy on the arm and tells him she likes his frilly nightgown and bunny slippers! And that she has the same one in pink.”
The small group surrounding Weasley erupted into undignified cackles or at least it sounded that way to Draco, whose anger started bubbling in his stomach. Theo Nott even had the audacity to catcall at him when he noticed Draco stalking towards them. Draco crushed the coffee cup he’d been cradling and then slammed it down on the closest table, frightening the group and breaking up the laughter. He’d been gone for all of five sodding minutes and Weasley was already mocking him-as if he didn’t get enough torture from the other Aurors and Ministry employees. Fucking Weasley, some partner he was.
As Draco approached, Weasley had a smug look on his face. He was lounging like a lazy cat on a small love seat with Tracey Davis draped over him like some harpy, her head in his lap, arms entwined with his. What a tart! He’d been holding court like he owned the place, sitting in the best seat with the rest of the group crammed around him, hanging on his every word. Draco shook his head and tried to make sense of the situation. This was surreal like a twisted alternate reality where Weasley had been sorted into Slytherin and had usurped Draco’s rightful place in the Slytherin hierarchy. This was just too much. He might have lost the respect of most of the wizarding world, but his fellow Slytherins too? Bloody buggering hell! He needed to put a stop to this immediately. He was still a Malfoy for Salazar’s sake.
After composing himself, he cast a nonverbal Stinging Hex at Weasley, who winced noticeably and rubbed his arse. Then he turned his anger on Nott, hexing him with a nasty Tongue-tying Jinx. Within seconds, he foamed at the mouth and started gagging. Draco felt no sympathy as he watched Weasley’s face turn pale and Nott struggle with a coughing fit. It served the tossers right for mocking him.
Satisfied, he plopped down into an armchair straight across from his Auror partner, which had been left empty. Well, at least the group had the good sense to save him a seat. He crossed his arms against his chest and gave the group the iciest look he could manage.
Once Nott and Weasley recovered he said, “Making up stories again to impress pretty girls you have no chance with Weasley?”
Of course, Weasley - the utter prat that he was - didn’t back down even if his ears did flush the slightest bit pink. “They're not stories, Malfoy. I actually convinced you to wear that ladies nightgown.”
“These are confidential case files that you shouldn't be discussing with civilians.”
Ron rolled his eyes and then gave Draco a challenging look, which looked much too close to a smirk. His amused, blue eyes taunted him with a “you can do better than that Malfoy” expression. He hated that Weasley did that now, turned his own signature smirk against him.
“And I do not have chicken legs.” He bit down on his bottom lip, trying to keep his composure. “They're strong and shapely. And masculine.” He glared at Ron, who let out a high pitched cackle. “I'd like to see your freckled arse try and pull off that dress.”
Ron snorted and rolled his eyes again. “Whatever you say, Malfoy. That would never happen. I'm not thick enough to believe old ladies nightgowns are typical Muggle attire.”
The group started laughing again: Tracey, Nott, one of the unbearable Patil sisters, and a young blonde girl, whose name Draco couldn't quite remember, but he knew her as a former Slytherin as well. His cheeks grew warm. This is ridiculous, he thought, Malfoys don't blush. Weasley will pay for this.
“We were on a case!” Draco shouted, his hands shaking at his side. “And undercover. You lied to me, Weasley.” Draco cringed at the squeaky pitch of his voice. “Took advantage of my pure-blood sensibilities and complete lack of knowledge of the Muggle world. What happened to Gryffindor righteousness or moral fibre? Some inane notion like that-” He gestured with his hands, which continued shaking.
“That's Hufflepuffs, Malfoy. I'm fresh out of moral fibre today. Plus-” He arched an eyebrow at him, the sheer nerve of him. “I'm a pure-blood too in case you forgot.”
“Well that's hardly the same thing. You're a-”
“Draco-” Tracey hissed.
“I'm a what, Malfoy? A filthy blood traitor?” The playful tone dropped from Ron's voice, his eyes darkened and Draco winced. He glared at Draco in the same way he regarded their suspects during an interrogation.
“That's not what I was going to say! Why does everyone always think so poorly of me? That was years ago, Weasley. Get over it.”
“I am over it, Malfoy.”
Since Weasley’s face almost matched the colour of his hair as it always did when he was angry, Draco didn’t quite believe him. Instead, he returned Weasley’s glare, his jaw clenched and wand squeezed in a death grip.
After several seconds, Weasley sighed, his entire body relaxed and his demeanour changed. “Fine. What were you going to say?”
Draco narrowed his eyes. He hated how everyone, including his Auror partner, automatically thought the worst of him. Hogwarts was ten bloody years ago. He hadn't been that person for a long time. How long would he have to prove himself before he was truly forgiven?
“You're best mates with Potter,” he finally said, trying to keep his voice calm. “And you dated a Muggleborn for years. It makes sense you would know more about the Muggle world than the average pure-blood.”
Ron gave him a strange look, as if he were appraising him but was confused at what he found. “I suppose that's true, Malfoy,” he agreed. “But it was still bloody hilarious.” A smug grin spread on his lips again and the rest of the group broke into laughter.
Draco threw his arms up in mock defeat. “I give up. You're incorrigible, Weasley.”
He stood from his chair and grabbed his forgotten beverage from the nearby end table while shooting the group a sneer with much more venom than he had intended. “I don't have to put up with this. Come find me when you're done embarrassing yourself by flirting with Tracey. She's never going to date you, you freckled git.”
Feeling proud of himself as he noticed Ron's neck start to turn a lovely shade of scarlet, he pointed at Tracey, Nott, and the sheepish looking blonde girl, whose name he'd learn one of these days. “And you lot-” He glared at them. “You're supposed to be Slytherins. We stick together. If we turn on each other, who else will defend us? Some mates you are.”
He huffed and then stomped out of the room, his Auror robes rippling behind him in a manner that he hoped was reminiscent of the late Professor Snape. He knew he was being petulant and perhaps even a touch over dramatic. But Weasley always found a way to get under his skin, even after all these years.
Besides, every chance he got Weasley flirted shamelessly with that silly bint Tracey Davis or that utter cow Padma, at least he thought she was Padma. What’s so great about them anyway? Weasley can do better. He’s a bloody Auror and war hero. There's no accounting for taste.
~*~
Draco's hands shook as he tried to fasten his black boxing wraps. He wanted the wraps to be tight, so he wouldn’t hurt himself. An Auror’s hands were indispensable, his or her greatest weapon. Damaging them was unacceptable. Still, a part of him wanted the pain, wanted to feel the raw, bloody knuckles, the sore aching joints. He needed the battle scars from letting his pride get the best of him, another permanent reminder of his flaws.
He was still furious at Weasley and needed to get his aggression out. The training gym was deserted, but he supposed it was normal for a late Friday afternoon. Most people had better things to do than take their problems out on magically reinforced punching bags. They had real lives to get back to, families, relationships, all that rubbish that Draco would never have. All Draco had was his job and his anger. Part of him liked it that way. At least it was familiar. At least it prevented him from getting hurt, from having to answer to anybody but himself.
Once the wraps were tightened to his satisfaction, he started hitting the heavy punching bag, first softly and then gradually picking up the pace and intensity, losing himself in the rhythm of his jabs, the steady acceleration of his heart rate, the heaviness of his breath. He didn’t like to admit that he enjoyed this. Yet, he found it cathartic and much preferred the Muggle training methods for his workouts.
While Potter had still been part of the Aurors, he had convinced Robards to include both Muggle and magical training exercises to their training. In the last few years, the DMLE had added some Muggle training equipment to their duelling grounds and training gym. At first, Draco had been completely against it. Why would Muggles know anything that wizards didn’t? Clearly, everything magical was superior. But he had been less than right, not that he’d ever admit it. There was something gratifying about using his body to throw punches, to kick a standing punching bag as hard as he could. He liked pretending it was one of the sniggering arseholes at work he wanted to clobber. Really, it was almost as satisfying as cursing someone and much less illegal too.
He needed this. He needed to feel his tense muscles ache, to feel sweat drench his thin, long sleeved shirt. He wanted to feel his angry magic course through his veins and beg for release. And most importantly, he needed to feel strong-both physically and mentally. For so much of his life, he had felt weak-too weak to act, too weak to save his family, to save himself. That would never happen again. Regardless of what happened, regardless of whether or not the Malfoy name would ever be worth less than scum, Draco would be ready. He would never be taken advantage of again. This time, he would fight back.
He needed to continue his training and focus on his career. Nothing else was important. Really, he needed to spend more time in the gym and less time socialising with co-workers. They probably hated him anyway. He never should have listened to Weasley in the first place. It wasn’t like Weasley had to work hard if he ever wanted a promotion in the future. No, from now on Draco would spend his afternoon breaks in the gym. He decided to skip any further visits to the new in-house Ministry coffee shop. He’d known an inter-departmental coffee shop would be a terrible idea. The Ministry had divisions and a hierarchy for a reason. In fact, he didn’t even like coffee all that much. He preferred tea. Yes, Weasley could keep the tacky coffee shop. And the Slytherins too. Who needed Nott and Davis? They’d never been close, not even back at Hogwarts.
Deep in his thoughts, Draco lost track of time. He didn’t know how long he’d been working out until he heard the last voice he wanted to hear.
“Malfoy-” Weasley’s voice sobered Draco, bringing him back to reality. It felt like taking a cold shower after one too many drinks. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
Draco wanted to ignore Weasley. He didn’t stop his workout or even look at the prat, but he knew that Weasley was an incessant pest. If he didn’t answer him, he would keep trying until Draco responded or they came to blows. And Draco felt much too tetchy for a fight right now. He was not in control of his emotions and feared what would happen if he got into another row with Weasley. He didn’t feel accountable for his actions and that was a dangerous frame of mind.
“Well, you found me,” Malfoy said through gritted teeth and in-between punches. “What do you want?”
“You’re not still angry about before? I was just taking the piss, yeah? All in good fun.”
Draco closed his eyes. He finally lowered his arms and then turned to face his partner, appraising him. The last thing he wanted to discuss was their argument or really anything that had to do with Weasley. Lately, everything concerning his Auror partner pushed him over the edge. “I’m not angry, Weasley. I just want to be left alone. It’s Friday. Aren’t you late to meet up with one of your slags?”
“Don’t be like that.” Weasley sighed. “I know you’re angry. When I came looking for you to apologise, you had already left on assignment.” He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it, and Draco tried to ignore how that made him feel, the wave of desire he quickly squelched. “We’re supposed to be partners. You could have got hurt.” His voice was soft now, almost as if he were worried. But that couldn’t be true. Could it?
“Hardly, Weasley. It was just another run of the mill Kneazle rescue mission.” Draco attempted to smile, but he knew it appeared forced. “It was stuck in a tree.”
Weasley furrowed his brow, deep creases forming between his eyes. “There was a Kneazle trapped in a tree and the Auror department was notified?” He repeated the words as if trying to convince himself. “And you saved it?”
Draco shrugged. “What you don't believe me?”
Weasley shot him a doubtful look.
“Okay, it wasn't a Kneazle stuck in a tree. Just another domestic. Mr and Mrs Cahill were arguing again. Mrs Cahill might have charmed all of Mr Cahill’s prized possessions to spontaneously combust.”
“Ah.”
“It wasn’t a big deal.” Weasley opened his mouth as if ready to protest, but Draco silenced him. “Just clean up and paper work. Nothing that you would've missed.”
A pensive look crossed Weasley’s face as if he were trying to figure out what to say. “I still don't like it. You should have waited for me. We’re partners. What if it had been a Domestic Code Black or a trap?”
Exasperated, Draco threw a punch at the bag again, a bit harder than he had intended, causing the entire bag to shake. “Well, it wasn’t!” He turned to face Weasley again. “And even if it had been why would you care?”
“Malfoy, that's hardly fair. You know I-”
Draco sneered. “Just leave it, Weasley. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get back to my workout.”
Weasley stood there blinking at him stupidly, completely stunned. “But it’s Friday,” he said, after several seconds. His eyes were much too bright and his nose was scrunched. “We always go to the pub on Fridays. After work.”
In that moment, Draco hated Weasley. Well, he had always hated Weasley. Who didn’t? But he especially hated him now-that clueless git with his stupid, freckled face and atrocious ginger hair, his pert, freckled nose, which Draco knew had exactly twenty-seven freckles. Not that he had ever counted. He hated him because he was a Gryffindor. And a war hero. A bloody disaster when it came to paperwork. He was always late to everywhere except lunch. His robes were never pressed and he always wore Muggle suits without a tie. And sometimes even with trainers. Who did that? Plus, he was almost always in an infuriatingly good mood. Everyone in the office loved him. No, everyone in the entire sodding wizarding world loved him. He was laid back and popular. Always cracking jokes. He dated a different witch or wizard every week and no one judged him for it. He never hid his feelings. Rather he wore them all on his face, often times turning as red as his hair. He was everything that Draco wasn’t. Everything that Draco longed to be. Everything that Draco would never be.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it.
The worst part - the real reason that Draco hated Weasley - was because against all odds - and against everything he’d been raised to believe - Draco had fallen under Weasley’s spell too. He’d actually fallen for Weasley’s oafish charms. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around it. But he knew that it was undeniably true. And it made him hate himself even more than he already did. For that, he would never forgive Weasley. Or himself.
A warm hand squeezed Draco’s shoulder. He shuddered. “Malfoy, are you alright? You’ve gone deathly pale. You’ve just been standing there gawking.”
Snapping out of his daze, Draco shoved Weasley off him. “Don’t touch me,” he snapped. His voice was caustic, shattering the palpable tension in the room and forcing Weasley to retreat.
“What is your problem?”
A small sense of victory filled Draco as he watched Weasley flinch, hurt obvious in his eyes. He wanted to hurt Weasley, to make him feel the same immense pain Draco felt every time he saw him with his slag of the week, the pain he felt as he watched Weasley give his affection to everyone but him, the pain he felt knowing that Weasley would never want him. He’d never see him as anything but the obnoxious schoolboy, whose sole purpose had been to make Weasley’s school year hell. And-in Draco’s eyes that was unforgivable. Even if his logic was fucked up and twisted.
“My problem Weasley is that you won’t fuck off and leave me alone.” Draco spat the name Weasley with the same virulence he had once reserved for insults like Mudblood or blood traitor.
Weasley took a step back. Draco didn’t know if it was an involuntary motion or not, but it felt as if he were reacting to the sharpness of Draco’s words. He hadn’t spoken to Weasley with so much venom in years, and now he’d done it twice in the last five minutes. He seemed to compose himself but still stared at Draco as if he had lost his mind.
“Seriously, you’re gonna act like a girl over one little prank? You know I’ve done worse.” Weasley smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which still looked worried. “Come on, I’ll pick up the tab tonight. You’ll feel better once you have a few drinks in you. You’re always so tense.” Weasley reached out to touch him again, but Draco managed to push him away before it happened.
“I thought I told you not to touch me, Weasley.”
Draco was breathing heavy now; his chest constricted as if all the air were being sucked from the room. He knew where this argument was heading. That if he went there, he could not turn back. He didn’t care. This little charade had gone on long enough. He didn’t want to continue living in his delusion.
“I don’t want to go to the pub with you! Why can’t you get that through your thick skull? We’re not mates. And I’m not one of your little admirers where you can snap your fingers and make me do your bidding. You’ve made my life a living hell these last three years I’ve been stuck with you.” He panted, his nostrils flaring as he attempted to catch his breath before delivering his final blow. “All I want is to be left alone and finish my workout. And unless you want me to use you as a punching bag, I suggest you leave. Now.”
Weasley gasped. The devastated look on his face made Draco want to hurl. The visible pain twisted his handsome features, making Draco believe that he had already punched him, but it only lasted for a minute. Quickly, his expression turned murderous. He glared at Draco as if he were worth less than dirt, the same vicious glower he’d given him when he sobbed for Crabbe during the Battle of Hogwarts.
“You know what, Malfoy,” he said, voice as cold as his face, “I don’t know why I even bother with you. You’re not worth it.”
Without waiting for a response, he stomped out of the room. Draco tried to ignore how the windows and lights seemed to flicker in the room. He hadn’t seen Weasley that furious in ages. Well, Draco had been itching for a fight. He wanted to push Weasley’s buttons and he had. Technically, he’d won.
So why did he feel so lousy?
He slumped down against the wall and rested his head against it. He closed his eyes, and bit down on his tongue hard, a vain attempt to hold in tears he knew threatened to escape. He hadn’t cried in years, not since his mother passed. All energy and motivation to finish his workout faded. He couldn’t get that last hateful glare Weasley had sent him out of his mind. Why did he always insist on hurting the few people he cared about?
Deep down, he knew that Weasley didn’t deserve his vitriol. Not for sharing one embarrassing story with some co-workers. Who really cared what Nott or Davis thought? But this wasn’t about that. It never had been. Something inside Draco had snapped as he watched Weasley fawn over Tracey, Padma, the receptionist, and even Richard, the intern, who sorted the mail all week. Watching Tracey lay in Weasley’s lap had been the final punch. He couldn’t take it anymore-the irrational jealousy, the urge to curse every single witch and sometimes even wizards that Weasley spoke to. His obsession was out of control. Something needed to be done. He only wished it hadn’t involved shattering the remaining fragments of his heart.
~*~
Draco watched as Weasley shrugged on his cloak and left their shared office. He didn’t say a word and only acknowledged Draco’s presence by a stiff nod before retiring for the weekend. Pretending he was engrossed in paperwork, Draco ignored him too. He was glad that Weasley no longer pretended that they could stand each other. Forced politeness was tiring. He had enough of that with the rest of the Ministry. He didn’t need it from his partner too.
Three weeks had passed since their fight. He’d barely spoken to Weasley since that day. On Monday morning, he’d greeted Weasley with a formal but terse apology. He explained he’d overreacted and wanted to forget the issue. Weasley had agreed, but things had not been the same.
A chasm existed between them now, which only appeared to be growing by the day. At first Weasley had attempted to mend the distance between them. He kept asking Draco to join him for lunch, for coffee, to go to the pub on Fridays. Seriously, what was up with Weasley and that bloody pub?
At least it appeared he’d finally taken the hint. Draco had politely declined each offer. Since yesterday, Weasley had not asked him any more questions that weren’t related to their cases. Rather, they’d spent most of the day in an almost unbearable silence. But Draco knew he only had himself to blame. The delicate balance of their dynamic had been shattered, and Draco wasn’t certain that it could ever be repaired.
He had crossed a line. He knew it. And as much as it pained him, it was for the best. Eventually, Weasley would get over it. He hoped. He didn’t want to lose the only half competent Auror partner he’d ever been assigned.
Oh well, at least it was Friday. He had the rest of the weekend to wallow in his misery without having to worry about Weasley and whatever tart he was screwing. He checked his watch. It was half past six. The office should have cleared out by now. Friday evenings at the pub were a thing of the past. Now, Draco had a new tradition of spending his Friday evenings in the gym. Really, he much preferred it this way. Spending extra time with Weasley was unbearable. Yeah right. Maybe if he repeated it enough to himself, then one day he’d actually believe it.
~*~
When Draco entered the gym, he was surprised to find it occupied. He saw a tall, shirtless figure in the corner and frowned. He had spent several minutes organising his case files for the following week before heading out. It was now after seven. Why was anyone else here? Didn’t the idiot know that this was Draco’s workout time? And why wasn’t he wearing a shirt? The gym was charmed with permanent cooling charms. There was no reason to be shirtless. Draco hated show-offs, especially since he could never remove his shirt or even wear short sleeves in public.
More than a little annoyed, he approached the unwelcome figure, ready to kick out whomever was stupid enough to get between Draco and his workout, but then he felt his breath hitch. His heart hammered in his chest and eyes widened once he recognised an all too familiar pale, freckled back. Of course, of all people it had to be him: Ronald Weasley a.k.a The Bane of Draco’s Existence. Salazar, why couldn’t he ever catch a break?
Draco gulped and stood frozen with his mouth agape. He almost dropped his gym bag as he watched Weasley in action, who had not noticed his presence yet. Weasley cut a tall and imposing figure. He was broad shouldered with a strong back and thick waist all dusted with freckles. His biceps were larger than Draco remembered and he wondered if Weasley had been hitting the weight room in his down time. His oversized Auror robes did not do him justice. He could feel his face flush, heat rapidly spreading down his neck and all the way to his cock, which twitched as he drooled over his partner.
Granted, this wasn’t the first time Draco had seen Weasley without his shirt, but he’d never had an opportunity to study him so closely without being observed. Watching Weasley slam the bag in front of him with heavy kicks, all shirtless, sexy, and sweaty mesmerised him. It made him want to put that same breathless look on Weasley’s face. He wanted Weasley to use those strong arms and legs to fuck him face down into a mattress until he forgot his name, to fuck his mouth until his throat was raw. Or maybe he could tie Weasley up and watch him squirm as he struggled against unbreakable restraints, all while Draco did unspeakable acts with his tongue to that hard body. A slew of wicked fantasies swam through Draco’s mind, all involving Weasley naked, breathless, and flashing that brilliant grin. Merlin’s beard, this was a dangerous line of thought.
He needed to relax before he did something embarrassing like rub up against Weasley’s naked back and start sucking on that delectable neck. His cock throbbed painfully against the waistband of trousers. He was thankful for not changing into his workout kit yet because this was getting out of hand. He needed to think of something else, anything else, before Weasley turned around and realised he was a skeevy, drooling voyeur and punched him in the face.
Swallowing loudly, he closed his eyes and thought of the unsexiest images possible. McGonagall in lingerie. Goyle in a bathing suit. The one time he’d tried to have sex with Pansy and fainted when she asked him to eat her out. It seemed to work. Slowly, he regained his composure. His cock was only half hard now, but his body still betrayed him as he dropped the gym bag he’d been clutching like a lifeline.
Within seconds, Weasley stopped kicking the bag and turned around to face him. Draco knew he probably looked a fright. His mouth hung open in a wide ‘O’ and his cheeks were burning, streaked probably as red as Weasley’s hair. Sweat dripped down his forehead and his heart still beat much too fast. He was a far cry from the cool and collected Auror he always tried to portray as he hastily adjusted his robes. Yet, Weasley didn’t seem to care. He regarded Draco coolly but didn’t mention his unusual state of disarray. Instead, he greeted him with an amused smile.
“Oi, Malfoy, I’m glad you’re here. I was waiting for you.”
Weasley crossed his arms in front of his chest, making his biceps bulge. And Draco did not stare. He most definitely did not want to lick them. He gulped and then coughed in a vain attempt to clear his throat. His throat felt scratchy, but at least he’d recovered enough to speak.
“I wasn’t aware we had plans.”
Weasley shrugged. “It’s Friday.”
He said nothing else and then stared at Draco like it was the most obvious answer in the world, and he was an arse for not understanding. Granted, Weasley made him feel like an arse more times than Draco would care to admit, but this time he really was lost.
“And?”
“And-” Weasley rolled his eyes. “On Fridays you go to the gym now, right?” A smug smile tugged on his lips. “I thought I’d join you. See what all the fuss is, yeah? Why you rather do this than go to the pub?”
“Join me?” Draco blinked rapidly in disbelief. “I don’t recall extending an invitation.”
Weasley titled his head back and laughed. “Well, it’s a good thing this is a public gym then. Any Auror is permitted to use it.” His lips curled into a wicked grin. “Even after hours.”
“I-I-” Draco was stunned. For the past two days, Weasley had ignored him. He thought he’d finally decided to give up on him. Why was he doing this? Why was he so insistent on spending time with him anyway? And why did he have to be shirtless for Salazar’s sake? It was impossible to think clearly when he had to stare at Weasley’s hard chest.
Weasley continued to smile. “Great, if you have no more arguments, then go get changed. I can see why you like this, Malfoy. It’s a great workout and such a rush. I feel almost dizzy.”
“Me too.”
“What was that?”
Bollocks. Draco didn’t realise he’d actually said that aloud. Oh, fuck it all. It turned out that being in the presence of a shirtless Ronald Weasley turned his brain to complete mush. There was no way he would survive an entire workout session with what remained of his dignity intact.
“Nothing,” he cried, more forcefully than necessary. “I don’t think I’ll change after all. I’m feeling…uh-tired all of a sudden.”
Weasley frowned. “Tired?”
“Yeah, I worked out yesterday too. And I’m still sore.” He rubbed his shoulder and groaned, praying that Weasley would buy his cheap excuse.
Weasley didn’t look convinced. He deepened his frown and then bit down on his bottom lip. Eventually, he said, “Alright, then that means you’re free. Let me change and then we can go to the pub.” He flashed that devastating grin, which Draco both equally despised and cherished. “First round is on me.”
“Why are you so obsessed with going to the pub?”
“I dunno. I like the drinks. The chips.” Weasley shrugged, a sheepish look on his face. “The company’s not so bad.” He gave a weak smile. “So are we going?”
Weasley had this ridiculous, expectant look on his face, which caused Draco’s chest to ache. All he could do was sigh in response. He rubbed the temples of his throbbing forehead with his fingers. Merlin, Weasley was exhausting. The stupid git didn’t give up. Idiot Gryffindors. Closing his eyes, Draco sighed again. He felt his resolve waning, slipping away with the final remains of his dignity. He couldn’t bear to look at Weasley. He should have insisted that he put his shirt on right away. It was too late. One more Friday night at the pub with his slag of a partner, who wanted to shag everyone but him, could he really do this? He’d survived them before relatively unscathed. It wasn’t like he had better plans anyway. His mind was made up.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “But we’re drinking Firewhisky tonight. And I want a private table. I don’t want to deal with your adoring fans all night.”
Weasley laughed, emitting a bright, hearty chuckle that sprang from his belly and filled the room with warmth. “Whatever you say, Malfoy. I’ll go change. Give me 10 minutes.”
Draco nodded. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else. He hoped that he wouldn’t regret this decision in the morning.
~*~
Draco swirled the rich, amber liquid in his wide-lipped glass, sloshing it in circles as he watched the caramel spindles slide down the sides. He raised the glass to his nose and inhaled, breathing in the spicy, sweet aroma of the aged Firewhisky before taking a large gulp. Technically, he was supposed to sniff the whisky for a longer period of time and take small sips. His father had taught him how to properly savour a glass of aged Firewhisky by the age of fourteen. Malfoys needed to know how to behave in proper company. It was expected, but given that he was now on his fourth glass, Draco figured it was okay to cheat.
Merlin knew that he wanted to get drunk tonight, not savour the taste of the alcohol like his father had taught him. Besides, Weasley didn’t seem to know the difference. The freckled git sat across from him grinning like a loon as he sloshed the whisky around in his glass violently, spilling half of it in the process. Apparently, Weasley couldn’t handle his liquor. He’d been throwing drinks back quite rapidly since they first arrived.
“Weasley, the Firewhisky is supposed to go in your mouth not all over the table.”
“Not my fault.” He chuckled as if he had said something funny. He was doing that a lot tonight. Draco did not find it endearing. Not at all. “I was trying to drink it in the poncey way that you do.”
He rolled his eyes. “That Firewhisky costs 40 Galleons a bottle, so stop wasting it. Or I’ll make you pay the bill.”
Weasley choked, sputtering whisky and saliva all over the table and right in Draco’s face.
Wiping the spittle away, Draco drawled, “Lovely. I prided myself on being the last person in London you hadn’t swapped spit with yet.”
Weasley blushed and lowered his head, staring down into his glass as if it were suddenly interesting. Draco regarded him curiously. Usually, he never blinked when someone insulted his debaucherous love life. “It was a joke. I wasn’t judging.”
“I know.” Weasley sighed and then met his gaze again. “It’s just...I don’t know. It’s always been fun. I never wanted to be tied down. There are so many pretty witches out there. But-”
“But what? Don’t tell me Ron Weasley has finally fallen for someone? Who’s the lucky girl?” As soon the words had left his mouth, Draco cringed. He hated watching Weasley jump from partner to partner. The jealousy was slowly driving him mad, but he couldn’t imagine how painful it would be to see Weasley in an actual relationship. That might actually break him. Still, he had to know. Damn, his masochistic tendencies.
Weasley bit his lip and looked uncertain. “No, it’s not that. I haven’t met anyone new. It’s just-” Weasley sighed again, and this time, he ran his fingers through his hair. Draco noticed his hands were shaking. “I don’t know what I want anymore. I-I…I slept with Tracey last week.”
Draco bit his tongue, hard. He drew blood and tried not to grimace as the coppery liquid filled his mouth. He swallowed with as much poise as he could manage and then forced a smile on his face. Under no circumstances could he allow Weasley to see how much he wanted to hit something. Or strangle a certain fake, blonde wench.
“That’s great, Ron,” Draco said, trying to sound as enthusiastic as possible. “You’ve been after her for ages. I didn’t think you’d actually manage it. Slytherin girls are notoriously difficult to impress.”
Ron shot him a confused look. “Did you just call me Ron?”
“Did I?” Draco let out a high-pitched chuckle. “That is your name, isn’t?” He tried his best to recover from his disastrous slip of the tongue.
“Yes, but you never call me Ron.”
“Sure, I do,” Draco lied, “we’ve been partners for three years now, Ron.” Draco savoured how foreign the name felt on his tongue. Surprisingly, it was not altogether unpleasant. “You’re the one who insists on calling me Malfoy. Using surnames is so Hogwarts, don’t you think?”
“Right.” Weasley didn’t look convinced, but then he said, “So does that mean you want me to call you Draco?”
“Sure,” Draco replied much too quickly. “I mean…if you want to.”
Ron shrugged. “Maybe.” He squirmed in his seat and looked rather uncomfortable. “But I dunno. You have to admit Draco is a weird name, mate. No offense.”
Draco laughed, a real laugh this time, shaking his entire chest. “It’s an old family name, you uncultured prat.” He smirked, but there were no malice behind his words. The irony of the moment was not lost on him. Wow, how things had changed! Ten years ago, he’d promoted Weasley to the number 2 spot on his enemy list for a similar crack about his name. Now, it just amused him.
“Because Ronald doesn’t sound like the name of an old codger?” He grinned again and rewarded Weasley with his brightest smile. “You can keep calling me Malfoy if you’d like. Just lose that constipated look. You’re putting me off my drink.”
Weasley shook his head and laughed. “You’re something else, Malfoy.”
Draco waggled an eyebrow and smirked. “Something good, you mean.”
Still grinning, Weasley agreed. “Yeah. You are.”
Now, it was Draco’s turn to blush. He felt his face grow hot, warmth spreading down his entire body. Damn, that Firewhisky. He usually had a higher tolerance than this. At least Weasley looked like he was about as sloshed as he was if not more so. His cheeks held a rosy tint, and he was still looking at him with that soppy grin. He really needed to stop that. It made him think inappropriate thoughts, like wondering how those full lips would feel, all plump and swollen, tucked between his teeth. He needed to change the subject. Desperately.
“So…”
“So…”
“About Tracey?”
“What about Tracey?”
Exasperated, Draco reached for the almost empty Firewhisky bottle and refilled both their glasses. “Will you see her again?” Draco asked. “She’s from a wealthy family. She’ll probably expect you to court her if you’re really interested. I can ask around if you’d like.”
“Court her?” Weasley mouthed, as if hearing the words for the first time and despising the taste of them. “Absolutely not.” He shuddered. “I know she’s your friend and all, Malfoy, but Merlin how did you put up with her for all those years in Slytherin?”
Draco was well aware of Tracey’s annoying qualities. During school, she’d been a shrill, annoying gossip among other things, but he had to choose his words carefully. He didn’t want to offend Weasley just in case he really did care for Davis. Gryffindors believed in chivalry and defending a lady’s honour. And all that rubbish. He finally settled for saying, “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Well, she’s quite fit. But-” Weasley fiddled with his glass, absently running his finger over the rim, “she never stops talking. I don’t know how I never noticed it before. It’s just non-stop chatter. About absolutely nothing. I couldn’t even spend the night she gave me such a headache. Luckily, I had a Puking Pastille in my jacket pocket.”
“Oh, I think you were too busy focusing on Davis’ other assets to notice how often her lips move.” Draco smirked. “And out-scheming a Slytherin, Weasley. I’m impressed.”
Ron snorted before downing the rest of his drink. “I’m such an idiot-”
“Your words not mine.”
Ron scowled, glaring at his empty glass as if it had offended him. “You didn’t let me finish, Malfoy. Sometimes...I’m such an idiot sometimes.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Merlin, Malfoy, what are you five-years-old? I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you-and you keep interrupting.”
“Someone is in a mood, tonight.” Draco pursed his lips and huffed. “Fine, continue. You have my undivided attention.”
“I-I’ve just…I don’t know, Malfoy, these last few weeks when we haven’t talked. It was hard,” Weasley said, struggling with every word. “Harder than I thought. And-”
“Aww, Weasley, I didn’t know you cared.”
Weasley banged his fist on the table. “Will you shut up and fucking listen for a minute? I’m trying to share something important here.”
“Okay. Okay. There’s no need to make a scene.”
Shaking his head, Weasley said, “Do you mind if I drink the last of that?” He motioned towards the almost empty bottle of Firewhisky. “I need it more than you do.”
“It’s all yours,” Draco replied. His head felt fuzzy from the alcohol. He’d lost track of how many drinks he’d had. Five? Six? Seven? He didn’t know why Weasley turned grumpy all of a sudden, but it was killing his buzz. Hopefully, giving him the last glass would brighten his mood.
“I realised something this last week,” Weasley said, after taking another sip of his drink. “All the girls, even the few blokes I’ve slept with, I never cared for any of them. I never wanted to spend time with them outside of the bedroom. I never missed them when they weren’t around. But now I-” He paused, averting his eyes to the table. “Why is this so hard? I’m rubbish with all this feelings talk. I should have asked Hermione to help me come up with a better speech. I’m royally bollixing this up.”
Smiling, he shook his head and then locked eyes with Draco, making the table feel small. “I realised that there’s someone that I do care about. More than I ever knew. But I have no idea how to tell them. Or if they’re even interested-”
Draco sighed. His head was still spinning from the alcohol and Weasley was acting much too melancholy. If he wanted to wallow in self-pity, he would have spent the evening at home in the dark, empty Manor alone with only the barmy house-elves for company. He wanted to salvage what was left of the evening. It was almost closing time. “Weasley, you’re a bloody Auror and war hero. What witch in her right mind, wouldn’t be interested in you? Just send her flowers or some other token of affection. Women love that. Or so I hear.”
Weasley placed his glass on the table and then dropped his head in his arms. He ran his hands through his hair again, pulling it violently. “It’s not a-” he mumbled into his arm, muffling his voice and not allowing Draco to make out the rest of his words. After several seconds, he lifted his head. “Forget it,” Weasley said, “I’m not being clear.” He picked up his glass and downed the last of the Firewhisky. “I’ve never been good with words anyway. I’m more of doer.”
Draco opened his mouth, but before he could respond, Weasley reached across the table and pulled him by the collar of his robes. As he leaned over, Draco started to panic. “Come here.” He grabbed Draco’s arm and pulled him towards the other side of the table, motioning for him to sit in the empty chair besides him, but never relinquishing his grip on Draco’s robes. What was Ron playing at? He didn’t like having his personal space invaded, especially not by Weasley. Ron had pulled their chairs together, arranging them so the backs touched. They were close enough now that Draco could make out all the freckles on Ron’s face, the faintest trace of red stubble, a shade darker than his hair grazing his lower jaw. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and run his tongue against that faint trail of red hair, but he knew it wouldn’t be welcomed.
“Weasley,” he said, once he regained his senses, “Ron…what are you doing?”
“It’s you…you, impossible prat. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all night.”
“Wha-” The words barely left Draco’s mouth before another pair of lips slammed against his. Ron’s mouth felt hungry against his, hot lips and tongue demanding entrance into his mouth, which he granted eagerly. After several moments, Draco deepened the kiss, felt himself press against Ron’s warm body, tangling one hand in his hair and slipping the other inside his shirt, finally touching those tantalising muscles he’d been ogling earlier. Ron moaned against his lips in response, causing Draco to gasp as he realised his cock was now hard, digging uncomfortably into his tight trousers and pressing into Ron’s muscular thigh. As much as he was enjoying this impromptu snog session, they needed to stop before they got carried away. They were in the middle of a pub after all.
“Ron,” he breathed, once they pulled apart. “Why?”
Ron stared at him, all wide-eyed and earnest, in that annoying way only Gryffindors seemed to manage. “Because I like you. Isn’t it obvious?”
Draco pondered for a moment, trying to understand what had happened between them. “I suppose.”
“Do you have a problem with this?” Ron gestured between the two of them with his index finger.
“Clearly, I don’t, Weasley. But I don’t understand-”
Shaking his head, Ron interrupted him: “Look, we’ll talk about this later, Malfoy. I promise. Can’t we just get out of here?”
Draco gulped. He still couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d fantasised about hearing those exact words from Ron for ages, but he’d never imagined it would happen-that Weasley wanted him back and supposedly even cared about him if the confusing drivel he sprouted earlier could be trusted. Perhaps it was the Firewhisky clouding his judgment, but he couldn’t think of a single reason to say no. Maybe in the morning he would realise that he’d made a colossal mistake and regret it immediately. But he was too far gone to care. Even if it was only for one night, he wanted Ron to be his, needed to see this through, to see where it might lead. Draco no longer ran away from his problems. Most of the time.
Mustering all the courage he could, he responded, “Absolutely.” He gave Weasley what he hoped was a seductive smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”
~FIN
A/N: Thanks so much for reading!
[1] The title of this fic as well as the quote at the beginning comes from the Death Cab For Cutie Song, “You’ve Haunted Me All My Life”. The lyrics and song definitely do not belong to me, nor am I trying to take credit. I listened to this song several times when writing this fic, so you can listen to it here if you’re interested.