Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Falling, Failing, Flying

Chapter Three

by sumthinlikhuman 0 reviews

After the war, things change. Everything changes. Including old grudges.

Category: Harry Potter - Rating: R - Genres: Drama, Romance - Characters: Arthur Weasley, Bill Weasley, Draco, Fleur, Fred, George, Ginny, Harry, Hermione, Ron - Warnings: [!!] [X] - Published: 2006-01-27 - Updated: 2006-01-28 - 4039 words

Chapter Three:

Ron let Draco rub his shoulders, and sighed, leaning back against the couch slightly, thankful to have his daughter out his hair for the night. Above him, Draco chuckled slightly.

"Normally, one at least escorts their only child to a birthday party--"

"She'll be fine. It's her cousin's party, and she's been flooing since she was able to say the word halfway coherently." Draco chuckled against, and worked his thumbs vigorously into the muscle at the base of Ron's neck. The redhead let out a sated little moan, and lulled his head a little bit, chuckling under his breath. "I'm not even going to ask how you got so good at this."

"You can thank Zabini, if you like. It's all his fault." It was Ron's turn to chuckle. He reached for his glass of wine, and sighed slightly as Draco finished with his shoulders. "Anything else you'd like me to work on? You're more tense than usual."

"No, I'm fine. Just a little worried for Molly. She's only five, you know--"

"She'll be ok. Well, as long as Sirius doesn't try to get her to do magic again . . .." Ron groaned at the very thought, and tried not to remember the last time his nephew had let his daughter play with a wand. The result had been just south of horrendous.

They sat in a pleasant silence for a while, Ron only half aware of the fact that he was leaning against Draco's calve, and that Draco had his arms draped lifelessly around his shoulders. It was comfortable, and somehow tender in a way Ron couldn't remember very well. He sighed, and shifted on the ground a little; Draco tensed.

"Do you need anything?" Ron shook his head, and leaned his head against the blonde's knee, turning his head to look up at him. His brow furrowed slightly as he met soft silver eyes, and then he shook his head a bit.

"When did this happen?" he demanded. Draco questioned the question slightly, raising a fine white-gold brow. Ron waved a hand absently for a moment, trying to articulate correctly.

"This. Us/. This . . . whole situation. Eleven years ago, I couldn't stand the sight of you. And here I am, sitting in your living area--/our living area--leaning against your leg and trying not to be worried about my daughter."

"Life can do some interesting things to you sometimes."

"I think there are some higher beings who are having a huge fucking laugh about all this." Draco chuckled a little, and ran a hand through Ron's hair. It was then that Ron noticed the affection behind it, an affection that seemed suddenly blindingly obvious. He looked back up at the blonde, who seemed to be carefully avoiding eye contact. "Draco?"


"When did you . . . /know/?"

"Know what?" He was chuckling slightly, looking pleasantly confused with the whole situation. Ron frowned a little, and tried to figure out what he was trying to say; his thoughts weren't coming out the way they were supposed to.

"When you were with Harry . . . did you ever think you'd end up happy with him?"

"Did you?" Ron thought about it, and then shrugged. Draco waved an errant hand at the reaction, and shrugged as well. "Harry pushed all the wrong buttons outside of the bedroom. Don't get me wrong, the sex was nice. But besides that, the only things we had in common were that Voldemort had ruined our family lives, and Quiddich."

"And what do we have in common?" Ron demanded. Draco smiled down at him beatifically.

"Quiddich, and both Voldemort and Potter ruining our lives for the foreseeable future." Ron let out a short bark of laughter, and covered his mouth as he continued to giggle drunkenly, apologizing softly through his mirth. Draco smiled slightly, and then shrugged, seeming to take the question seriously. He continued, "I don't know what we have in common. But it's nice to be around you."

"Do you ever miss the animosity?"

"You still glare at me, you know? And call me Malfoy. The animosity is still there, it's just not as bad. We've grown up. We don't have out parents telling us to hate each other." Ron nodded a little, sighed, straightened a bit and stretched, yawning softly. "You tired?"

"No. Not yet. I'm enjoying our chat." He settled back against Draco's leg, and looked up at him again. "So . . . you slept with Harry. And not the way I did, either . . ."

"Why are you so interested in my tryst with Potter? It's over. Done with. Ancient history. What's so important about it?" Ron was a little taken aback by the venom in Draco's voice, he murmured his next words, until the blonde encouraged him up to an audible level.

"Just wondering when you knew you liked men."

Draco blinked owlishly for a moment, before turning his gaze pointedly away from Ron. His hand stilled, and then fell away. Slowly, he stood, and stepped around Ron, who managed to just catch himself and bound up as the blonde stalked back towards his bedroom.


"Night, Weasley." That stung a bit. Ron reminded himself never ever to bring this up again. After he got the answer he wanted.

Draco's door was locked. Ron didn't even think about it, simply grabbed his wand from his room and unlocked the door, stepping in and looking around the darkened interior. The blonde was laying on his bed in the dark, staring blindly at the ceiling; he sat on the edge of the bed, and was silent for a very long time.

"It's not that I don't like women," Draco suddenly supplied, "it's just that I like men more. Woman get all gushy when you don't tell them you love them; men just shrug it off. Well, some men do."

"And not all women get gushy."

"The ones who don't are trashy." Ron stared at Draco for a moment, before sighing, and sprawling out beside the blonde. They laid silently together for a very long time, before Draco rolled onto his side, and stared at Ron intently. "Why do you care whether I like men or not? You don't like men unless you're acting as a woman."

"I just don't see the appeal, I guess." He could feel the heat on his face. Draco seemed to see it, and chuckled slightly, running his free hand--the one not supporting most of his weight--through Ron's hair absently, tracing the progress of his pale digits through the dark tresses.

"Well, there's the appeal of giving yourself up to it, and the appeal of being in control of the situation," Draco murmured, his lips barely moving. Ron wondered why he was staring at Draco's lips, but didn't think to look away. "You're always in control with women, and some guys take that in with them when they're with men. I never really liked that, so I fell more towards giving myself up when I was with men . . ."

"Erm . . ." Ron's face was on fire now. Draco's eyes darted over his face unsurely, and then he smiled softly, almost sadly. He pulled his hand free, and flopped onto his back again.

"You wouldn't get it. You've got to sleep with a man to get it."

"I'm here now, aren't I?" The words came out sounding more bold than he himself felt. Draco looked over at him incredulously, and then scoffed, staring up at the ceiling as though it was its fault that this conversation was happening.

"You don't know what you're asking. We've both been drinking. And the last time I tried anything--"

"The last time you tried anything, I was pregnant and you were sloshed. Neither of us were exactly in full mental capacity to try anything out." Draco shrugged against the sheets. Ron levered up onto his elbows, and stared down at the blonde for a good, long moment. "Well, neither of us are completely pissed. I know what I'm asking, relatively speaking. And neither one of us are under the harrowing effects of estrogen."

That got a little bark of laughter from Draco. He looked up at Ron, and then slowly sat up until they were facing each other. His hand danced through Ron's hair again, and he frowned for a moment, debating the merits of the situation.

"We're not having sex," he stated blandly, and Ron nodded emphatically. "We're just seeing how you like men. And if nothing comes of it, then you drop the subject, and we don't ask about the other's love life from now on. Agreed?"

"Sure. You gonna kiss me or what?"

Draco rolled his eyes, but leaned forward nevertheless, and lightly brushed his lips against Ron's.

Ron was surprised. He'd expected kissing another man would be remarkably different from kissing a girl. But then, he hadn't really been in a relationship that involved kissing since the first time Harry took him to bed, and then it had been him who was the girl. It had always seemed to him that men would be rougher, simply because Harry had been a little rougher.

Draco was soft about it. He repeated the gentle brush of lips, before pecking a closed-mouth kiss, and then a soft open mouthed one, his tongue ducking out to tap against Ron's lips, and then his teeth. Ron knew how to do this; kissing wasn't all that different, he supposed. He just had to think about where to put his hands.

Draco's hips seemed like the proper place. Unsurely, he lowered his hands to the blonde's hips, and ran his fingers along the skin just below his shirt hem. The blonde scooted subtly forward, one hand still buried in his hair, the other sliding over his shoulder and draping against his back, occasionally clenching at his jumper.

When they finally pulled away, Draco was pleasantly flushed. They sat there for a moment, breathing each other's air, not meeting their gazes, still holding each other easily.

"And?" Draco finally murmured.

"Not what I expected," Ron admitted. Draco looked poetically crestfallen, and the redhead chuckled, chucking his chin and kissing him delicately on the lips again. "I said it wasn't what I expected, not that it was /bad/."


"It's wasn't bad, Draco." The blonde nodded a little. His fingers were tracing little patterns against the redhead's skin, kindling little fires where they brushed. "I don't think I can get up."

"You could stay here," Draco offered slowly, softly, as though afraid of startling Ron away. The redhead nodded slightly, and managed to disentangle himself long enough to strip down to his pants, and slip under the covers; the blonde did as well, and then unsurely lay with his back to the other, pulling him close, until they almost touched.

"Night, Draco," Ron murmured, his a hand now comfortably draped over the blonde's hipbone.

"Night, Ron."
"I hate my job," Ron found himself hissing as he shuffled through files, searching for anything that would be useful. He slammed one cabinet shut with a firm kick as he dug through a box of folders, stacked on end instead of arranged neatly as they should have been. "I hate my job, I hate my life, I hate /everything/. Where's the fucking file? /Merlin/, I hate my job . . ."

"Maybe you wouldn't hate it so much if you were halfway organized, Weasley." Ron shivered slightly, and glared over his shoulder. Draco was laughing at him, just in his eyes, leaning against the door leading into his office. He reminded himself to update the 'Kill Later' list. Later.

"What do you want?" It didn't come out as chaffing as he would have hoped. Draco simply strolled into his office, shutting the door with a nudge of his hips, before sauntering nonchalantly towards Ron's desk, which he perched upon, one hand reaching in the breast pocket of the blazer he was wearing.

"Your birthday's coming up, isn't it?"

"Who'd you bribe for that information?" Ron grumbled, still rifling through the box of folders and cursing under his breath.

"The same people you bribed to find out where I live. But that's besides the point." The redhead darted a look up at his blonde companion, just as that hand flourished from his blazer, brandishing what looked like, but couldn't possibly be--

"Regional match, right on your birthday." Ron snatched the Quiddich tickets away instantly, staring at them incredulously. This wasn't happening. Couldn't possibly be happening.

"And it's a Canon's game," he whispered, as though if he spoke too loudly the quiet euphoria of the moment would shatter all around him, and he'd be back to searching for that damn elusive file he needed to hand into the vice minister. Draco was smiling proudly, inspecting his nails.

"I don't know what you see in them, but they were playing Ireland, so I figured I could at least show favor of the more decent of the two teams." Ron slapped his leg with the tickets, and smiled at him. Draco's eyes showed his mirth more than anything, as he leaned forward, and snatched the tickets away. "But they are /mine/, you see. So you only get to come on a condition."

"I've never much liked your conditions." That was lie. Draco smiled, and slapped Ron's cheek, before feigning surprise.

"Well then, I'll just keep these for myself, and invite somebody else out."

". . . out?" Draco gave Ron a completely aghast look, and rolled his eyes in abject exasperation, sighing heavily and leaning back on the redhead's desk. He sat there a moment, sucking on his tongue, before thawking Ron upside the head with the tickets. "Hey!"

"Yes, /out/. As in, you know . . . dinner, wine. Go to the match. Out. A /date/." Ron blinked for a moment, before feeling his face heat. He dived back into that box of files as Draco huffed a bit, tossing his head in annoyance. "Or, you know, you could just stay home like a fucking loser and, like I said, I'll go out with somebody else."

"No!" Draco blinked at that outburst. Ron's flush nearly matched his hair, and took up most of his face, except for his lower lip, which was bright white where he was biting it harshly. He shook his head a little. "Wh-what I mean is . . .. Well . . . it--it'd be nice, yeah? To . . . to go out with you some time. I just . . .. /Merlin/. I don't /know/, Draco. I just . . . it's confusing, right? I haven't even--"

"Just . . . just stop talking," Draco interrupted softly. He was staring at the tickets intently, refusing to meet Ron's gaze. The redhead placed a hand on the blonde's knee, leaning his head against his thigh. "I got the tickets because I thought it'd be a treat for you--go out without the kid for a night, act like an adult, spend some time--. No. It's ok if you don't want to--"

He was cut off when Ron muttered a curse and lunged to his feet, his hands slamming down on either side of Draco's hips as he leaned in swiftly, stealing away a quick, wide-eyed kiss. For a moment afterwards, the blonde sat dumbfounded; the redhead snatched the tickets away bemusedly.

"These are really good seats, too. Where are we going for dinner?"
The morning of the game Draco had invited Ron to dawned dreary and humid, far too unseasonable for March. Ron grumbled through making breakfast, and thanked every grand deity he could possibly thing of--and a few he was pretty sure he made up on the cuff--that it was a Saturday, and he didn't have to work today. Molly was asleep in her room--the room that used to be his, he reminisced as he cracked a couple of eggs into a sizzling pan--and Draco wouldn't be up until he smelled coffee brewing. And really, despite the overcast sky, it was a relatively pleasant morning.

Molly woke even before Draco, seeming to hear the sizzle of bacon in the leftover butter-grease from making the eggs. She smiled up at her father, hugged him tightly about the knees, and plodded off to sit in the living room and turn on the Muggle telly Draco had insisted on buying her for her third birthday.

But Draco wasn't far behind. He smiled to see that Ron had made the eggs over-easy, and that the coffee was still black, and the bacon was cooked, but not quite crisp, set out in front of him. He smiled when Ron ducked down to steal a kiss before making his daughter's breakfast, the self-sacrificing man that he was.

Draco wondered, as he ran a bit of toast through the runny yokes of his eggs, just when exactly they had become domestics. He could remember a time, not so far distant, when he didn't know how to open a bottle of wine without magic, much less help make lunch for his house-mate's daughter before she went along to her play date. And he was almost definitely sure he could remember a time when Ron Weasley was the biggest slob known to mankind.

He didn't say anything. Ron finished his eggs and bacon, and joined Draco on the couch, simply to sit and ruminate for a while. It didn't take long before Draco found himself cushioned against the larger man, both of them prone against the sofa cushions, simply being there, together.

He wondered when that had happened, remembering Ron's early-pregnancy railings about not being a homosexual. He wondered when that had changed, when Ron had begun to look at their relationship in a slightly different light--after all, two blokes didn't normally shack up together without some expectations between the two of them, not even in the Wizarding world.

And he wondered, laying there peacefully, listening to Ron hum softly, tunelessly under his breath, if there were any of those expectations.

It was well after Molly had returned home from her play date that they even cogitated preparing for their outing. Ron's daughter was sent the way of his sister and her children, leaving them once more alone. Draco rummaged through his closet hopelessly, flinging random items aside; he'd never been quite this much of a queen before.

"I didn't think you were supposed to go in the closet. Should I be frightened?"

"You have to come out before you can go back in," Draco pointed out, and flashed a winning leer over his shoulder. Ron only flushed a little, and stepped in as well; most of his clothes were safely barricaded in the chest of drawers. He chuckled, picking up a particularly interesting mesh shirt of black and blood red.

"Didn't know you owned anything like this . . ."

"Third date outfit, Weasley. Honestly." Draco rolled his eyes, then shot Ron a lustful little look, grabbing a pair of leather trousers and holding them up before his legs. "Unless you're hoping for some third date action?"

"Let's . . . not rush anything." That got a sad little sigh, a nod, and the leather trousers were flung aside. Ron loitered near the door, and plucked the slacks from the ground, staring at them a little incredulously. "I just . . .."

"Don't explain yourself," Draco demanded, shooting a small, halfhearted glare over his shoulder. Ron muttered an apology, and wandered out of the closet; the blonde changed in there, and came out a moment later wearing jeans, trainers and a simple black and white Oxford, still managing to look absolutely stunning.

Ron said as much, in as few words as possible. Draco didn't object much, but did see the necessity in reminding the redhead of their dinner date before the match.

They hurried out the door, but didn't rush their meal, and arrived just as the first whistle blew. The seats were just as amazing as Ron had thought they would be--high enough that they could see everything, but low enough that they could make out details.

Draco didn't seem all that enthused with the game, but Ron caught a couple of times when he smiled at a particularly spectacular play. Mostly, he just commented on how Harry had played better than either of the Seekers in the current game; Ron had to agree.

At some point or another, Ron ended up with his arm around Draco's shoulders, holding him a bit closer than was really necessary. He didn't notice until he saw a woman some years younger than them shooting them a dirty glance. Instantly, his arm was gone, and Draco had to sigh in annoyance, shooting an even nastier glare back at the girl. He leaned in towards the redhead, nuzzled just below his ear for a moment.

"Ignore them," he requested simply, "because they're damn fools. If you want to have your arm around me, that's just fine. And that's all that matters, right?"

Ron stared at him for a second, seeming unsure. Draco finally took the decision away from him by grabbing his arm and slinging it about his shoulder once more, before leaning in, and kissing him hungrily.

Neither of them knew the score when they got back to the flat. A quick check proved that Molly was already returned safe and sound, and was fast asleep. Draco brewed a pot of coffee, and settled onto the counter as they waited, Ron resting between his knees and smiling at him.

"This has been really fun."

"I told you." Ron conceded the point, running his hands idly over Draco's thighs. They were silent, settled as they were, domestics once more. At least it was a peaceful life. Suddenly, Ron began to chuckle; Draco shot him a startled glance, and inquired as to just what the redhead had been drinking throughout the night.

"I was just thinking," he uttered gently through his chortles.

"Don't hurt yourself," Draco interjected, earning himself a soft slap on the side of the head. He smiled, and stole a kiss.

When they broke apart, Ron leaned his forehead against the blonde's, and continued, "The game was all well and good, you know. But I haven't gotten a real present, now have I?"

"Third date material, Weasley."

"So we'll come back to the second and third later. How's that, Malfoy?" He didn't have to steal a kiss. Draco willing gave that one up, parting his lips and somehow murmuring soft encouragement as Ron kissed him hungrily.

The little timer on the coffee pot dinged, pulling their attentions away for a moment. Draco glared at the contraption menacingly. Ron only chuckled, and pulled him off the counter, leading him away, to which Draco mightily complained about wanting his caffeine fix.

"Later. I've got to unwrap my birthday present." Draco suddenly seemed much more interested in that idea than drinking the bitter brew. The door shut behind them, locked, and Ron didn't miss a beat as he cast a silencing charm.

Ron settled onto their bed easily--it still startled him a bit to think of it as their bed instead of Draco's bed--and watched the blonde shuck his shirt, and work at his belt for a moment, his gaze darting coyly up to glance at the redhead through thick lashes and the fall of his hair.

Striped to his pants, he moved forward, and helped make quick work of the redhead's clothes as well, all the while fluttering kisses over his face, focusing intently on his lips, the underside of his chin, his throat . . .

He straddled Ron's lap daringly, rocking his hips just a bit. Ron's face was brilliantly flushed, his lips parted in quiet little pants that blasted warm, moist breath across Draco's shoulder. This was new for the redhead, the blonde realized; he smirked, and rocked his hips a bit harder, moaning softly, tossing his head back.

Ron laved at the paleness of his neck, nipped gently. Draco worried his lip a moment, stifled his gasp and sharp cry of pleasure as he anchored himself with an arm wrapped around the redhead's shoulders, and his free hand buried in the spares hair of the older man's chest hair, tugging a little at it as they thrust against one another.

"Is this ok?" he murmured through his harried breath. Ron chuckled breathlessly, nuzzling Draco's neck.

"Not quite what I expected--"

"--but not bad."
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