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Chapter Five:


"You're doing /what/?"

Bill startled words were only met with a sigh from Ron, and general sniggering from Fred and George. Fluer shifted uncomfortably beside him, before nodding decisively, and congratulating his brother-in-law--and her soon to be brother-in-law . . . /in-law/, sitting next to the redhead.

Bill shook his head, and glared over at the twins.

"Did you know about this?" he demanded. A heavier sigh from Ron and more laughter from the twins seemed to be the only answer he was going to get. Bill groaned, and buried his head in his hands. "Why is my family completely up the river?"

"We're compensating for your luck and good sanity," Draco offered, sipping his tea. Bill thought about shooting him a glare, saw Ron's protective little look, and went back to burrowing into his arms.

"I think that it is wonderful," Fluer stated, nodding decisively. "And I don't see why my poor husband is so confounded by the idea--"

"Marriage is for a man and a woman," Bill muttered into his hands. Fred and George both exchange a glance of rolled eyes. Ron huffed slightly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"We're not getting married, William. We're having a Commitment. And if you've got your head too far up your--"

"We came to enlist Fluer's aid, actually, in preparing for the wedding," Draco broke in before his fiery lover could make a complete and utter idiot out of himself. The young Veela smiled brightly, and nodded, accepting instantly.

They left Bill and Fluer's flat with Fred and George to wander the streets of Cairo for a while before portkeying back to London. The two twins were inspecting a rather large and interesting artifact when Draco caught the sullen look in Ron's eyes.

"What is it, love?"

"Bill," Ron muttered, picking at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. He sighed a little, and shook his head. "I don't know. He didn't want me to raise Molly, he wasn't all that keen on me moving in with you, and now he wants to raise holy hell about us Committing."

"So we'll just have to prove him wrong, won't we? Come on. Your brothers are about to get themselves killed, I think."
~
"A Commitment?"

Harry popped out of Ginny's kitchen with those words, staring at Ron incredulously. The redhead curse creatively under his breath, and smiled at the dark haired man, who fiddled with his glasses a moment, before striding over.

"You're getting Committed . . . to /Malfoy/?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Ron asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Ginny carefully shifted about, as though ready to jump in between them as she had done countless times in their teen years. Harry rolled his eyes, and scoffed derisively.

"Well, for one, you keep going on about how you're not a pouf." Ginny cringed a little at the slang, and looked away, towards where her children were watching the men stand off. "And for another, it's /Malfoy/. What's he done, Imperiused you?"

"What do you have on him, honestly?" Ron demanded, throwing up his arms in anger and frustration. "He's not the bad guy anymore, Harry. He's not the snide, nasty little ferret that he was when we were twelve. Hell, he's closer to the sixteen year old who you saw couldn't kill a man, and who later saved your ass. So, what do you have on him?"

"He's not good enough for you," Harry hissed. Ron let out a barking laugh, and looked up at Ginny's ceiling for a moment, before glaring back at the younger man.

"And who is then? /You/? You left me standing, Harry, too busy being Perfect Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World to give a leg up to a friend in need. What's that say about you?" It was Harry's turn to laugh, though it was more of a dark chuckle as he shook his head.

"Listen to yourself. That's not you talking; that's Malfoy. And that'll always be Malfoy--"

"Don't try and get in my head, damnit! You don't get it, do you? We're /human beings/, Harry. We have these things that normal people like to call feelings, and we don't throw a partner away at the slightest problem, like you did with my sister, like you did with Draco, like you did with /me/."

"I didn't throw you away," Harry began, looking almost nervously away. Ron shook his head, and looked over at Ginny and the kids. Ginny had tears in her eyes, though whether of anger or relief, Ron couldn't tell. Arthur was asking Sirius quietly what Ron had meant, but the older boy was quickly escorting his younger siblings out of the room.

He left with a stilted good bye, and hurried out of the flat. Loitering before the lift, he heard Ginny's door open and close.

"Uncle Ron?"

He looked over at Sirius's light voice, and forced a smile for the nearly nineteen year old. The young man shoved a lock of hair out of his eyes, and shifted uncomfortably, before finally seeming to bring up the courage to ask his question.

"Harry. He's . . . he's Molly's dad, isn't he?" Ron blinked, before slowly nodding. Sirius nodded as well. "I know he's mine. I had a testing at Mungo's when I turned seventeen, because Mum wouldn't tell me. Is he . . . . He's Mirel and Arthur's dad too, isn't he?"

"Yeah." The lift chimed as it opened. Sirius shifted again, more subtly, just a twitch in his hands and a shuffle of one trainer-shod foot. Ron sighed a little, and offered a more genuine smile.

"You're a good brother, Sirius. And a better son than Ginny seems to realize." He smiled a little, and shook his head.

"Don't tell her that."

"Is there something you wanted?" Sirius seemed to think about for a minute, before shaking his head. Ron nodded, and took an awkward step forward, pulling his nephew into a quickly returned hug.
~
Commitment plans turned out to be more of a nightmare than the episode at Ginny's flat with Harry. Fluer was constantly fluttering about with her sister Gabrielle, Hermione and Ginny, speaking of this, that or the other thing. It was all Ron could do to keep from exploding at certain points during the day, especially when Draco was sent on an unexpected Auror's raid, leaving him alone with what they had affectionately begun to call the Batty Crew.

He awoke one night, two months after the plans begun, to Draco coming home from yet another one of those raids, and offered a tired little smile as the blonde slipped into bed behind him. They kissed for a moment, before Ron gathered up the sleepy strength to roll over and wrap his lover in warm, welcoming arms.

"How'd it go?" he whispered. Draco only shrugged, and kissed Ron's collarbone idly. It was answer enough, and Ron let it drop at that, entangling himself with the blonde.

After three months of planning, they had everything set and ready for the ceremony.

Everything, that was, except for dress robes for Ron.

"I told you, I'm not going to wear white," he grumbled as Fluer fluttered through the selection at Madam Malkin's one early afternoon. Draco was sniggering in the corner, where Madam Malkin was doing the final measurements onto his own robes.

"But I'm supposed to be making an honest man out of you, Ronnie," the blonde pointed out. The redhead scowled at him venomously.

"Than I shouldn't be starting off our Committed relationship with a lie, now should I?" Draco leered at that, and Ron wagged a finger at him, seconding Malkin's command for the blonde to hold still.

Fluer held up yet another set of creamy white robes against his body, and drew a sigh from her brother-in-law.

"Can't I just wear . . . I don't know, gold or something?"

"No." It came from all four girls, and Draco, who was scowling slightly. Ron wandered over, and pecked him a kiss, which was almost returned with interest, if it hadn't been for the witch who shoved him ever so pointedly out of the way. Draco made a show of licking his upper lip with as much wanton abandon as he could muster; giggles sounded from the four young ladies, who were all blushing when Ron looked back at them.

"Aren't you lot supposed to be finding me dress robes?" They went back to their search. Draco chuckled a little, and reached out to run his fingers through Ron's hair.

"Let them have a bit of fun. And what's wrong with white, anyway?"

"White is symbolic of virginity." He gave Draco a pointed look, but got only a leer in return. Sighing, he muttered, "Why do I even bother with you?"

"White is symbolic of other things, too, you know, Ron," Hermione piped up as she lifted a robe to closer inspect it. Ron rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"So is gold. Or red. Or blue."

"Just try on the white," Draco muttered, pulling a bit of hair. Ron grumbled, glared at the blonde, and allowed himself to be laden with robes to try on.

He consoled himself with the knowledge that this was not apparently a worthy excuse to pull his daughter out of school--though she had bemoaned the fate righteously, and holed herself up upon being informed of it--and that she would subsequently never see him wearing something this stupid.

Standing beside Draco, letting the white fabric of the robe he'd finally conceded to drape over his frame, he had to admire the pair they made. The colors didn't do much for either of their appearances, but they were neither so washed out as too look completely foolish.

Madam Malkin packed their robes in separate boxes, and smiled slightly as they trumped out of the store.

But it was well into the month of January before they put the robes back on again.
~
In the age old tradition, the propositioned was escorted down the aisle of friends, family, old classmates and colleagues by his eldest living relative. Feeling foolish in white, for he was no virgin, he stood before those men and women, his eyes darting, ceaselessly unsure, looking for the judgment in their eyes.

There was none. His proposed took his hand, and led him gently towards the presiding, who spoke clearly words that had been heard over generations, and words that would be heard again. They were flanked by witnesses, by confidants and close friends. And when their vows and rings and love was exchanged, there was not a hint of doubt left in the eyes of the propositioned.

The reception was softly boisterous, and the first dance of partners was concluded with appropriate appreciation. Children scurried through their numbers, the generation that they all hoped and prayed would never know the hardship and anguish they had.

And out of the crowd, not a single objection to the union came, lightening the spirits of both parties. They danced, and spoke, and drank to their fill, until the guests began to filter away, and they were escorted to the room, and the portkey that would take them to their suite.

"We don't have to, you know."

"I want to."

It was enough. The delicate clothing, so purely white, was quickly shucked from his body, and joined by opposing black to pool on the ground. Their lips met, hands skating over skin and legs entwining as they tumbled back onto the bed. He proclaimed aloud that he was finally being made an honest man, which made his proposed--his partner--chuckle very softly.

And then the roles were reversed, though not entirely, as the propositioned was laid out upon the blankets, and the proposed rode him gently, lovingly.

It did not stay gentle for long. And then, as they lay together in the moments afterwards, came that mirth again.

"If you tell me that 'wasn't bad', I swear to everything I hold holy and true that I will divorce you right now."
~
Draco lay idling on the bed, sipping orange juice and reading the /Prophet/, when Ron returned from his little jog around the hotel they were staying out for the extent of their honeymoon. He looked up with a smile as the redhead came in, and shifted expectantly on the covers.

"I'm all sweaty and gross," Ron uttered, almost self-consciously. Draco rolled his eyes, and grabbed the older man by his pants, dragging him forward until he tumbled onto the bed, allowing the blonde to climb atop him.

"You were all sweaty and gross last night, too," Draco pointed out, kissing him hungrily, before continuing, "Didn't stop me then either."

"That was different. That was a good sex sweaty. This is--"

"Hot runners beget good sex." Draco smothered any more complaint by kissing his partner more firmly, making a point to delve his tongue into the redhead's mouth and thoroughly plunder the orifice in a mimicry of their actions the night before.

He pulled back to find Ron quite flushed, and sighed.

"I need to take a shower," Ron murmured, but made no move to get out from underneath Draco, who remained pleasantly draped over him. The blonde hummed slightly, laving at the redhead's neck, before nipping a hickey he'd given him the last time they'd done anything, making him gasp.

"Can I help?"

"You are insatiable!" There was laughter in the words as Ron pushed Draco off, and sauntered into the bathroom, cleverly forgetting to close the door behind him.

Draco shouted after him, "If I were insatiable, you would never leave this bed, my good man."

"The only reason I did, apparently, is because you require at least four hours of sleep a night, and preferably nine."

"Beauty rest, lover," Draco offered, ducking into the bathroom in time to see Ron's nude form pop into the shower. He grinned, shucking his minimal clothing as he walked towards the partitioned area. "You wouldn't want me to get all wrinkly, now would you?"

"You're barely even thirty, Draco, and there is not a wrinkle on your body." He ducked around the partition, and dragged the blonde under the warm stream with him, pressing him up against the cold tile and glass.

"No reason to start now, then, is there?"

They kissed, moving not so subtly against each other, hands flying over warm flesh as they gasped for air. Draco panted lustfully, little moans leaving him, as Ron lifted him up to pin him more properly against the wall, fixing a small albeit noticeable height difference and began to rock his hips powerfully against his partner's, nipping at his shoulders and neck and chest.

"Fuck. Ron, you'll be the death of me," Draco murmured as Ron playfully lapped at his nipple. The redhead smiled up at him, kissing him hungrily.

"I'd better be," he stated as he palmed his lover's erection. "If you got yourself killed--"

"Yes, yes, you've told me before. Are you going to bonk me or not?" Ron let out a shivery laugh, moving teasingly against Draco. The blonde mewled softly, clawing at the redhead's chest and shoulders as he strove to prolong their moment, before finally giving a little growl of protest, grasping Ron firmly, and lowering himself onto him.

There was a sudden, random cacophony of sound from the two, filling the bathroom, and probably migrating its way to the bedroom as well.

"The good thing about this?" Ron murmured against Draco's neck as he began to move his hips. "You can't get knocked up."

"Mm. Shush and bonk me." The redhead shook his head, muttering something about insatiable, but did as he was told. The shower, of course, played it's own benefits--despite their play, they were both clean when they tumbled into bed together, still wrapped around each other, kissing desperately.

Draco sighed as he settled against Ron's side, firmly curled around him as he traced idle patterns through his chest hair. Suddenly, he laughed.

"If you'd told me this would happen nineteen years back, I'd have put you away."

"You would've hit me first," Ron pointed out, running his fingers through his partner's thick blonde locks. "And why would I have had that delusion? You were a dandy ponce nineteen years ago."

"I'm not now?" Their eyes met, and Ron blinked, flushing a little bit and muttering in confusion.

"Well . . . don't see why you'd want to be a dandy ponce--"

"Is there something wrong with being one though?" Ron figured he was just backing himself into a corner he didn't want to be backed in to, and apologized for the term, kissing Draco powerfully.

The blonde, not surprisingly, let it drop.
~
"Molly, where are you off to? And . . . what are you wearing? Are you wearing a camisole?"

Molly Weasley rolled her eyes, and leaned against the frame into the kitchen to stare at her father and his partner. Draco Malfoy-Weasley only chuckled slightly, and swirled a spoon through the ice cream he was luxuriously working through. Ron stared at her in abject horror.

"Go put clothing on this instance!"

"I am wearing clothing," Molly complained, flicking a brilliant ginger braid over her shoulder as she crossed her arms over her chest. She waved at herselve vaguely. "This is clothing."

"If you're a linguire model," Draco muttered helpfully. Ron made a horrified little sound, and stood, almost tumbling his chair back.

"Where were you thinking of going in something like that, young lady!?"

"Out. Clarissa is having a party--" Ron shook his head, his voice an unattractive shade of red that nearly matched his hair as he went from frustratingly upset to positively livid.

"Oh no. No daughter of mine is going to any sort of party/, especially when I had no prior knowledge of it! And dressed like that? There weren't going to be boys there, were there? Draco! She was going to go like /that to a party with /boys/."

"Oh, yes," Draco murmured, smiling at his ice cream. "Absolutely horrible. Because you never went to parties where there were girls when you were her age."

"No, I didn't." The blonde gave the redhead a sharp little look, and Ron shrugged a little. Molly scowled, and stomped one foot, drawing attention back to herself as she flourished into the room, standing between Draco and Ron and glaring up at her father.

"You can't say I can't go, Dad."

"And why not?" Ron demanded, scowling down at her. "I'm your father, and you're barely thirteen. You are not going to a party at this hour, and you will not go to any party dressed in . . . /that/."

"You've got to be having me, Dad. Papa Draco, you agree with me, right?"

Draco only chuckled at his adopted daughter's slight whining, and waved her on, as though encouraging her to do some horrible task. Ron was frowning, his arms crossed resolutely over his chest. Molly finally looked back at her biological father, and returned the expression.

"You are not going to a party, be it Muggle or Wizarding, and you are especially not going to a party where there will be young men, dancing, and involving you dressed in such a manner." Molly let out a quiet little wordless scream, and whirled to glare at Draco, as though it were all his fault that her father were so unfair.

"Can you please talk some sense into my father, Papa Draco?"

"He's your father before he's ever my partner, so I'm afraid to say that his word rules." Ron flashed him a thankful little grin, which was gone as soon as young Molly turned back to glare at him. She huffed, and let out that little wordless scream again.

"You never let me have any fun!" And she stormed away, red hair waving around her neck and shoulders, the pure embodiment of thirteen year old wrath as she slammed her door shut, shaking the picture frames into misalignment.

Draco swished his wand absently to correct the pictures as Ron grumbled and collapsed into a chair, sobbing against his arms in mock distress.

"This is all your fault, you know," he uttered, casting Draco a mischievous little glance. The blonde looked aghast.

"How is it my fault that you can't control the fruit of your loins?" Ron rolled his eyes at that, and grabbed Draco, pulling him down to sit on his lap. The blonde sniggered a bit, running his hands through the redhead's hair as he hummed idly to himself, strains of jazz they hadn't listened to in a while.

"You spoil her."

"You /let me /spoil her, Ron." Draco smiled winningly. Ron rolled his eyes, and picked the blonde up, seemingly effortlessly, to set him on the table in front of him and pull the chair in closer; Draco slung his legs over Ron's shoulders, and sniggered to himself.

"I just realized something," Ron murmured in the direction of Draco's crotch. The blonde shifted a bit, made a consenting little sound in the back of his throat as the redhead traced a pattern on his hips through his slacks. "We've not gone out since the Commitment."

"Do Committed couples go out? My partners certainly never did." Ron shrugged a little, jostling Draco's legs. He idly nuzzled the blonde's inner thigh.

"Nor mine, but they had so many kids at home--. Don't start. I was just thinking. We're young enough, smart, good looking. We should go out and shove that in other peoples faces."

"Not two years back, you were horrified of the idea of going out with me and shoving that in peoples faces," Draco pointed out. Ron shrugged again, and altered his attention to the inseam of the blonde's slacks, making him squirm a little. "Or we could stay in, have a bonk, and watch a bit of telly?"

"Insatiable," Ron reminded. Draco huffed a little.

It wasn't his fault that he was being so hard up. Ron, over the past few months, had been downright unresponsive to his advances, and it was beginning to wear him thin. Especially when the redhead insisted on teasing him like he was. Once more, he shifted, this time subtly closer to the warm heat of Ron's mouth; the redhead hummed, and semi-obligingly nuzzled the blonde's crotch.

"You know, she'll probably end up blackmailing us into letting her go," Draco pointed out softly, looking around nonchalantly. Ron grunted, and sat up properly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"And by us, you mean me."

"Well, of course. I didn't say she couldn't go." Ron rolled his eyes, and shoved Draco playfully.

"I've got more blackmail on her than she'll ever hope to find on me."

"How downright Slytherin of you, sweet," Draco murmured, kissing the side of Ron's mouth. He snatched up his ice cream, and finished it off; Ron stared eviously at the spoon every time it disappeared between his partner's lips.

"All your fault," Ron sing-songed softly, and snatched the bowl and spoon away, kissing Draco's mouth hungrily. The blonde made a happy sound in the back of his throat, sliding from the tabletop to straddle the redhead's thighs easily.

They didn't pull apart at the sound of Molly's slamming door, until she was coughing darkly in the doorway. Draco growled, and looked over at her menacingly as Ron paid pointed attention to his neck.

"Yes, Molls?"

"Uncle Harry's on the Muggle line." Ron moved back from Draco with a surprised start. Molly was holding their cordless phone, shaking it from side to side. "Wants to talk to you, Dad." Ron nodded, lifted Draco off him, and snatched the phone away; Molly stalked back into her room.

"'ello? Yeah, hi. Um, Harry. Actually . . . actually, this isn't a good time." His eyes darted over to Draco, who looked positively murderous. "No, I understand. Yeah, really. No, Harry, it--it's not like that. Listen, would you just--Harry--"

Draco rose, snatched the phone away, and growled, "Potter. Not a good time. Call back at a decent hour." He hung up, and tossed the phone carelessly towards the table, where it skittered noisily.

They stood in silence for a long moment, before Draco just huffed, and stormed out of the room. Ron grumbled, and stalked after him, shutting the door quietly behind him as Draco flopped onto the bed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm sorry--"

"Not you're fault he's a prat with horrendous timing." That wasn't what was upseting Draco, obviously. Ron shuffled forward, unconsciously undressing, until he slid onto the bed, and pulled his partner close to him, kissing his neck gently. "Not now," Draco muttered with a shrug, which made Ron sigh.

"It was fine a minute ago."

"A minute ago, I didn't have to tell Potter to piss out of my life again," the blonde snapped, glaring over his shoulder at the redhead, who frowned slightly, and pulled away from him, staring at the ceiling.

Ron sighed, and pushed himself up, grabbing his clothing and dressing, well aware of Draco watching him, following him into the foyer, before quietly demanding, "Where are you going?"

"I don't know." He shrugged, grabbed his coat, and left.