Author: wakaba-chan (darkrosewakaba@aol.com)
Pairings: Draco/Ron
Warnings: slash, major angst, progesterone-fueled writing
Notes: It feels unfinished, doesn't it? This started as a Lucius/Arthur fic, but I like this better. I'll still do the Lucius/Arthur, though; there aren't enough of those to satisfy me. This isn't much of a fic, but I needed to write some more slash, for my bleeding uterus demands it. (ha, try to get that mental image out of your head now. :-P)
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns them, but she never lets them out to play. :-(
I want everyone to check out my new webclique, Lubricus! It's a Harry Potter slash clique, and if you're interested in checking it out, please go here:
Thanks in advance!
The wind whipped cold around their shivering bodies as two young wizards stood, silent, facing the moon. One looked out on the balcony of the Astronomy Tower, past the foreboding forest of their youth, his gaze unflinching from the bitter frost. Perhaps it was the wind, perhaps it was the cold, or perhaps it was because of the blonde standing beside him, that the wizard's eyes seemed to fill with tears he could not control. He dared not wipe at them, to raise his hand and bring attention to the tears - any sign of emotion and his lover might never be able to forgive him. He might not be able to forgive himself.
A strong gust of wind came at the two, and the boy saw fiery red flash before his eyes; his hair had fallen into his face. To see his own hair, the startling feature on an otherwise unrecognizable man, made him realize so much more of what he was, and who he was. It made him realize that what he did - what he was doing - was not, and could never be, who he was.
Slender fingers came into his view, and gently brushed the fluttering red hair from his face. The fingertips lingered then, lightly tracing the redhead's jaw line; these touches were soft, yet reminded him only of their more heated explorations many times before, there on the well-used floor of the Astronomy Tower. They came to rest on his cheek, their warmth bringing a startling contrast to his frozen skin, and before the redhead could protest, the hand forced him to turn his head, and look at its owner.
His lover's eyes looked particularly silver that night; usually, they cast the shine of a polished gray with a hint of mischievous malice, but on nights like these, when no hints were to be dropped or games to be played, they shone true. He couldn't stand to look in those eyes now, not even after their passionate love-making only minutes before, but like a spell cast so perfectly by those silver eyes, he couldn't look away.
"You're quiet," his blond lover spoke softly, slowly caressing his cheek. He looked concerned for the other boy; a feat the redhead could have most probably done without.
"I know," was all he could handle to say in response.
The blond took a step in his direction; the concern in his face changed quickly to confusion. "What's wrong?" he asked the silent boy. "Come on, Ron, you can tell me -"
The redhead shirked away, repulsed by the sound of his name. Especially the sound of his name coming from the mouth of him. "Don't...just don't," he warned, his voice wavering. He stepped away from the blond, suddenly feeling uncomfortably close to the other boy.
"I don't...I don't understand," the other boy whispered, his feelings torn to shreds by the sight of his lover backing away from him. After all they had shared...it was more than just their bodies, but their fears, their hopes, their very souls were shared between them, and now, Ron was acting just as he had in first year. The realization hit the boy, and he asked, his heart sinking, "Is it something I've done?"
Ron sighed, and ran a trembling, nervous hand through his messy red locks. "No, it's just..." he trailed off, for he himself could not put into words what exactly he felt was wrong. How could he explain the reason to the very man that introduced the concept of bloodlines and rivalry to him? Ron knew exactly what was going on in his mind; that he was a Weasley, and that was a Malfoy, and that this - this relationship, this lust affair, this secret romance - should have never happened, and would not happen again. Ron needed things to be righted again. No matter what he felt in his heart or in his mind, his blood, his red hair, and his pride could not let him continue like this.
"Tell me you hate me," he said with tears in his eyes. He hadn't realized he said anything until he saw the Malfoy boy's shocked reaction.
"What...what did you say?" the blond asked, skeptical. He shook his head in disbelief. No, he couldn't have just asked him to do so; he had loved him, didn't he? "Ron, please; don't ask me to..."
"For God's sake, Draco!" Ron shouted, stomping his foot to the floor. He hadn't raised his voice to Draco like that for months. He made his request again. "Tell me you hate me; please. Insult my brothers, make fun of my hair. Tell me my father can't afford all his children; tell me my mother is as fat as a cow!" Draco couldn't believe the words coming out of Ron's mouth, and for all it was worth, neither could Ron. "Just tell me you hate me. That's all I ask."
Draco felt tears of his own in his eyes. This boy, the one that he had given his heart and his body - his entire self - to, completely and unquestioningly, was now asking him to hate him. Only one thing arose in his mind. "Why?" he asked with a heavy heart. Did he truly want to know the answer? "Why do you want me to hate you?"
Ron's answer came out as a breathy, needy whisper, but Draco could hear it clear. "Because I'm a Weasley," he nearly sobbed, as the realization on Draco's face hit before he could even finish his sentence. "and you're a Malfoy. Because that's the way it's always been." And that's the way it has to be, he thought sadly, though even he could not bring himself to say those words aloud.
The blond boy swallowed a harsh lump in his throat - and swallowed his feelings for this boy along with it - and walked back over to him, despite the redhead's look of protest. Draco snaked his arms around Ron's waist, savoring the familiar feel of his body against his. Neither of the two wanted this to end, but both knew now - and perhaps had known for months - that eventually, it would have to end.
Allowing his eyes to flutter closed, Draco leaned in and kissed Ron, softly, on his trembling lips. It was not a kiss of passion, like the ones shared so many times between the two; nor was it a desperate kiss, one that a dying man gives to his lover with his last breath. No, for as his tears fell silently down his face, Draco knew that this kiss meant goodbye, and no passion could come from a kiss like this.
Draco pulled away first, and when he opened his eyes he saw he was not the only one crying. Without untangling himself from this embrace, he said in a choked voice,
"I hate you, Weasley."
Ron sniffed, and gave a sad smile. "I hate you, Malfoy," he replied.