Ron ran through the torch-lit corridors, fear burning in his chest and closing his throat. Every breath seemed to burn its way out of his lungs as he burst into the board room, but his husband was not there. Something inside him twisted painfully, but he steeled himself. There was a bathroom at one end of the boardroom; he had never been inside, but he knew it was there. He opened one of the doors and nearly stepped backwards. Blood--and he didn't want to think what else--covered the walls, congealing on the floor in greased puddles. There was a man inside, only one, and Ron stepped through the gore to kneel by his side. He ignored the still-warm liquid as it soaked through the knees of his robes, and rolled the corpse towards him. Bile rose in his throat as the corpse slumped against his ankle, he screamed, but didn't. His ears ringing, he stared at the figure on the necklace that the body wore. The same necklace that his husband wore: the angel who wore his husband's face.
A sudden premonition rocked him: he tore the light chain from about the dead man's flesh and grasped the angel in his hand. The little wings bit into his hand and he ran, nearly slipping, but out of the bathroom and through the boardroom. Sounds of amused fighting, snatches of victorious song and the sounds of retreating booted footsteps reached his ears. He hurried through the halls, trying to find a place untouched, find a place that was safe. There were swords, ostensibly ceremonial but sharpened and functional, in the drawing room. He had to reach them, he could see the doorway. He could block the door, lock himself inside. Heavy footfalls were behind him, only a corner or two away through the echoing halls, and he had to run, he had to hurry. He started to run, then gasped and fell forwards as pain stabbed through is body. He looked down, almost surprised, to see the tip of a spear protruding from his breast. He struggled forward, the heavy spear dragging him down.
"Only a woman," one of the invaders spat behind him in a coarse language Ron barely understood. The man's companion made a joke, and they walked away, leaving Ron to struggle towards the room with its swords, its safety. He struggled inside, gasping for air, trying to hear anything over the roaring of blood in his ears. He bolted the door, the spear banging against the wall as he turned around, bringing him to his knees with pain. The latch dropped easily, though, and he bolted it quickly before allowing himself to sag against the wall, leaning against his shoulder.
His eyes closed, and he felt his head go light as the blood poured from his body. Something inside the room creaked, though, and his head whipped up. He was away from the walls bearing the swords, and the insane thought of wrenching the spear from his body to use as a weapon flitted through his mind. The lid of the piano stirred, and he fixed his eyes on it.
"Is it safe?" Draco's voice called, and Ron stiffened. His husband, he was--?
"Draco?" he asked, his voice hoarse, unbelieving. A pale hand poked through the gap and pushed the lid back. Ron stared as his husband leapt nimbly from where he had been hiding inside the piano. "Draco," he said again, reaching out a bloody hand. He stared, surprised, as the angel slipped from his fingers and landed on the floor with a soft clink of weak chain.
Draco knelt before him, and picked the angel up, holding it gently in his hands. He turned it over and Ron could see the face of the angel again, a perfect miniature reproduction of the expressionless face before him. Draco leaned close, as if to kiss the blood from Ron's dying lips, but stopped. Ron looked into his pale eyes, and Draco frowned.
"Idolatry," he whispered, and Ron fell backwards, screaming as the spear rent its way through his body.
Ron stared at the ceiling for a long minute, his chest hurting as he sucked cold air into his lungs. He shivered, his heart beating fast, the cold air burning his lungs as it had in his dream. He curled up against his husband, his ear pressed against Draco's chest, needing to hear, needing to feel Draco warm and safe beside him. Draco stirred in his sleep.
"What izzit?" he asked sleepily. Ron clutched his arms tighter around Draco's chest, and Draco struggled to sit up, letting himself fall back onto the pillows when Ron didn't move.
"Ron?" he asked, more coherent. "What is it? What happened?"
"I--idolatry," Ron whispered into his chest. Draco's fingers pressed against his forehead for a moment before smoothing back tendrils of sweaty hair from his face.
"What's idolatry?" he probed gently. Ron shivered and clutched at him for a moment longer, before shaking his head and pulling away. Draco pulled him back and held him close.
"Oh." Ron tried to shake off the stupid fear that still wound its way through his heart. "Just a dream."
"About idolatry?" Draco's voice was sleepy and confused.
"Yeah." Ron felt like the stupidest person alive. Draco rolled on his side and looked seriously at him, eyes dark in the moonlight, as he pulled away.
"Are you all right?" Draco asked, concerned. Ron wrapped the comforter around himself as he resisted the urge to call up in a little ball. Draco touched his face and he flinched away from his husband.
"Ron," Draco said. "Ron, please, come here. You're scaring me."
"You died," Ron whispered, his voice sounding terrified even to himself. "Only I died."
Draco shifted over on the bed and drew Ron into his arms. "It's all right, love. It was just a dream."
"Just a dream?" Ron repeated, sounding like a little child but not caring.
"Just a dream," Draco confirmed, his breath warm against Ron's hair. Ron cuddled against him and Draco wrapped the comforter around them both. Ron fell asleep to the rhythm of his husband's heart beating, safe and steady, in his ear.
Ron woke alone, but for the sound of conversation and the clink of crockery, muffled and downstairs. For a moment he was almost confused as to where he was. The bed was different now, but the room he had grown up in always seemed the same. Draco had laughed at the old Quidditch posters on his walls, but Ron had refused to take them down, something sentimental inside of him clinging to the memories. Harry and Hermione had been married for years, almost as long as he had been with Draco, but the posters reminded him of the many evenings in the Gryffindor common room, he and Harry discussing, arguing or planning Quidditch games and strategies while Hermione studied or called them 'boys'.
"We're all grown up now," he mused to himself, rolling slowly out of bed and pulling on a pair of loose trousers and a robe. He wanted to stay in bed, but he was curious as to who on earth Draco might be entertaining at this hour. He slipped his feet into a pair of slippers and padded downstairs.
He was treated to the amazing sight of Draco in an apron, his hand wrapped rather uncomfortably about the handle of a frying pan. Molly Weasley stood by his side, speaking quickly of one tale or another--probably about Ron's childhood, he reflected, for she seemed to love embarrassing her children in front of their lovers--when she stopped and threw out her arms.
"Ron!" she cried happily, rushing to him and wrapping him in a warm embrace. "My darling boy, married now!" She kissed his cheeks, and Ron snuck a look over her the top of her head to catch Draco's amused look.
"Morning, sleepy head," his lover--his husband now--said fondly.
"Morning," he smiled back, then, "Mum!" He batted her hands gently away as she fussed at his hair. "I just woke up, of course it's messy."
"Boys," Molly huffed, still smiling. Ron nodded to his father, who had put down the Prophet.
"Ron," Arthur greeted, standing up and hugging his son also.
"Hey, dad," Ron grinned. "How was your holiday?"
"He barely stopped working for a moment," Molly chided, noting Draco's panicked look and returning to the stove to save their breakfast. "Eggs, Ron?" she offered.
"Thank you," he smiled, sitting down at the table and helping himself to some tea. He could feel his mother's displeasure as he spooned sugar into it.
"So much sugar," she muttered, "it's unbecoming.""I just woke up, mum," he fell back on his favourite morning excuse.
"That's no excuse. You'll rot your teeth," she fussed.
"I'm sure my teeth are fine," he fended, smiling as she showed Draco how to serve the eggs. Molly looked unconvinced, but happy at the same time. She took the pan from Draco and served her husband and children breakfast.
Draco sat beside Ron and squeezed his hand before picking up his cutlery. Ron followed suit, but found that he didn't truly want eggs after all. He picked at his toast idly while Molly filled them in on the details of their holiday. Ron abandoned his breakfast in favour of more tea, and Molly looked at him, concerned.
"You look tired, dear," she said.
"I just woke up," Ron grumbled, feeling oddly claustrophobic at her mothering.
"Have you been eating healthily?" she pressed, an odd note of concern in her voice.
"Yes," he said, suddenly cranky and sarcastic.
"Ron," his father warned, as if he were a small child again. Ron glared at him, but Molly patted his hand.
"It's all right," she soothed, "it's early."
"Sorry," Ron mumbled, a bit embarrassed. It wasn't her fault, after all, and she was always like this. Perhaps he had grown used to having the whole house to just him and Draco. He sighed and took another sip of tea.
His parents and husband finished their meal in silence. Molly collected the dishes and set them to wash, then went to stand by Arthur's side.
"Well?" she prompted.
"Sorry?" Draco looked up, Ron with him. She smiled, and Arthur retrieved an envelope from inside his robes and pushed it along the table to the boys.
"What--?" Ron asked, taking the envelope and holding in his hands.
"Our wedding present to you," Molly smiled, and motioned him to open it. Ron slipped his finger under the sticking, more than used to his father's Muggle obsession by now--and opened it. He tipped it over his outstretched hand, and stared in amazement as a key fell out.
"A key?" he asked, confused. "But--I just use the key under the flower pot. Or I Apparate in."
"Your mother thought it might be more romantic to open the door to your new house first," Arthur prompted, and Ron's jaw dropped open. Draco stiffened beside him.
"A--house?" Ron asked.
"You can't go living with the twins forever," Molly pointed out. "And that flat is much too small for a family."
"We're not going to have a family, mum," Ron pointed out. "You couldn't pay me to get pregnant, and Draco would ruin his figure!" He laughed, but stopped when nobody else did. "It was a joke," he said, frowning at Molly's worried expression.
"Do you want to see the house today?" Arthur changed the topic. "I'll be going back to work this afternoon, but I can take you before lunch."
"Sure," Ron said. "I'll go shower." He hugged his parents and left Draco, already dressed, to talk with them while he bathed.
Arthur took Ron's arm while Molly took Draco's, and they Apparated the blindfolded boys to their new house. Ron staggered a bit as the world moved dizzily about him, but Arthur steadied him with a firm grip until he was settled.
"Are you ready?" Molly asked, and Ron nodded.
"You can take your blindfolds off, now," Arthur said, and Ron whipped his from his eyes. His eyes adjusted to the sunlight and his hand groped for Draco's as he stared at their new house.
He took a step forward and blinked, as if it might disappear. It was nothing like the Burrow, which had defined his view of a family home for years. This house was lovely; smaller than the Burrow but much larger than their flat had been. It was white, sweet, and very neat from the outside. Ron's stomach churned uncomfortably.
"How did you ever afford this?" he asked his mother quietly.
"We've been saving," she said with a smile. "And with your father's new job?" She shrugged. "Do you like it?"
"Oh," he dropped Draco's hand to embrace his mother, then his father, and his mother again. "It's wonderful!"
Draco stood to one side, looking slightly uncomfortable, but pleased. He hadn't liked the flat, Ron had known: felt it was too commonly urban. When Molly released Ron again, he kissed her cheek before racing to Draco's side. Draco hugged him, smiling.
"Do you want to look inside?" Arthur prompted, laughing as Ron practically jumped, staring into his hand and the key that had been digging into his palm, almost forgotten in the excitement. He walked to the front door and pressed the key into the lock, turning the handle and letting the door swing open. He took Draco's hand, but Draco stopped him, swinging him into his arms and laughing when Ron squirmed.
"We've already done this once," he protested. Draco smiled.
"Not in our own house," he said, putting Ron down carefully.
"I love you, Draco," Ron said, looking around in awe.
Draco squeezed Ron's hand, and smiled. "I love you too."
Molly and Arthur stood outside the door and watched, happy, as their son and son-in-law embraced, kissing in the doorway of their new home.