Handmade
by leenk
Rated: R for rape and languagebr
Disclaimer: all J. K. Rowling, plot is mine
Summary: some of the purest relationships are handmade. rw/dm -- implied kiddy love slash.
-----
A tiny light emited from the soft, velvety green petals. Little by little, something so tinier than the eye of a needle poked out. Ron and Harry leaned closer to see it. Out came a small blue somebody with damp and wrinkled wings just barely hanging on to the shoulder blades.
"Ron!" Harry whispered, a grin breaking out across his square face. "We did it!"
"Whoa..." Ron had his mouth opened like he was trying to breathe in. The tiny blue somebody opened it's mouth and sceamed. It was so high and loud, Ron had to grit his teeth to keep the drill-like pain from rattling his skull. Proffesor Sprout, the Herbology proffesor, hurried over. She looked at the the producer of the noise and gasped.
"10 points to Gryffindor for producing a fine speciman of a fairy, each!" She scooped up the fairy and left the two boys with identical faces of triumph smacked on their faces and breaking their features.
"Alright!" The two friends slapped high-fives. The third of their party, Hermione, walked over. She looked on proudly, kind of like a mother.
"See? I told you two you could do it!" Harry laughed and hugged Hermione.
"But, you've always gotten perfect scores and 10 points on your midterms," Ron reminded her.
"Yes, but--"
"Nevermind that," Harry grabbed hold of their hands and dragged them off toward the Great Hall. "To celebrate me and Ron's--"
"Ron and I," corrected Hermione.
"Whatever. Ron and I's victory--"
"Ron and my."
"Yeah, Ron and my victory of conquering our 5th year midterm with 20 points, let's have a little party to ourselves and live a little."
"Sounds good, Potter," came a quiet, stone cold voice. "But first, don't you think you'd need a life?" They whirled around.
"Malfoy!"
"I think your reaction speed has increased along with the size of your head," he smirked. Ron growled. Without taking his eyes off of Harry, he said, "Careful, Potter. Wouldn't let your whore get too excited." Ron jumped.
"Ron, no!" Hermione screamed. Harry grabbed a hold of the collar of his robes and jerked back. The hand-me-down piece of clothing came off, exposing his chest and back. It slowed him down, but not enough to stop him from knocking Malfoy over. He stood up shakily and turned to Harry.
Harry saw scars crossing up and down and across Ron's chest. "Oh, God, what's up with--" Ron shook his head frantically.
"C-Could I borrow your robes?" he asked quietly.
"Sure, sure," Harry took off his robes and held it out to him. Ron took it and buttoned it up to his collar bone. He smiled apolegetically and walked pass them toward the Gryffindor Tower. As he passed, Harry barely heard him whisper, "Don't ever ask me."
-----
Harry closed the door quietly to the room he and Ron shared with 3 other 5th year boys. On his bed, his robe was neatly folded. Funny, for someone who has God-knows-what under his, he thought, before casting his eyes over the bed of the subject of that thought. Ron lay sprawled on top of his blanket, face up. His curtains weren't closed all the way. His breathing, as always, was heavy and on the verge of being classified as a light snore.
Now that Harry knew about the scars on Ron's chest, he had to wonder--where did they come from? when did he get them? why? how come he didn't see them before? and, were there others? The last was easy to answer. Through his cheek, across his nose and denting his eyebrow, was a thin white scar, completely devoid of any freckles. But, Harry had seen Ron before in the showers, how come he had never seen anyone of them before?
One thing was for sure, it wasn't good. Harry resolved to ask Ron later, just as he was finishing his favorite class of all, dinner. Well, Ron called it a class.
-----
Potter hadn't seen the spasm of fear flick across Draco's face when Weasley's chest was bared. Good. Better that way. He remembered when he got those scars.
His and Weasley's family had an unwritten and rather dark tradition. The current master of the Malfoy Mansion always found some form of pleasure in harming the Weasley's most prized possesion. Mr. Malfoy's form of pleasure was sex while the other Malfoys' were usually violence.
He and Weasley were 7 then, and Ginny had been spending the Winter at somewhere-or-another. He had been invited to Draco's birthday party. It was more of a ball; only Mrs. Malfoy would think of something as extravagant as that. Draco remembered Ron walking in. He was dressed in long trousers and blue plaid flannel shirt. Over that was a messily draped robe.
Oh, how mortified Weasley looked when he saw the little girls and boys, as young as 5 and as old as 17, all dressed in fancy dress robes. He had walked over and shoved his pettily wrapped present that seemed awfully tiny compared to other presents into Draco's own small hands. "'Made it in Art at Muggle school," he had mumbled and hurried out--fast. Too fast for Draco to open his mouth to say "Thank you." He opened it.
Even after those million of presents he recieved throughout the years after, he still remembered what it was. It wasn't because it had sucked--well, it was rather muggle-ish, but it had been different. A small wooden dragon crudely cut. The wood was deep chocolate brown. Draco turned the still, palm-sized dragon over onto it's back. On it's belly was a red smear, blood, from a cut? Written over it in clear green ink:
Happy 7th Birthday Draco!br
Your Bestest Friend, Ron
Draco had called a house elf, Dobby over. Dobby was his favorite house elf. His odd sense of humor kept him from having frequent nightmares. By then, the other guests had run to the cake.
"What is Dobby doing for you, Young Master Malfoy?" Dobby had asked.
"Chuck this into my toy chest, would you?" Draco requested. "And be careful with it, will you?"
"Yes, Young Master!" Dobby had carefully taken the dragon, hugged it close to him and scurried off toward Draco's room.
Throughout the dinner and dance, Weasley was no where to be seen. Sorely disapointed, Draco wandered the West tower to admire the stars. He had heard whimpering from one of the more abandoned rooms, even by the resident ghosts. And growling, his father's voice. He was tempted to run screaming from the West tower, which would raise suspicion of what he was doing there the first place, but his sense of adventure pushed him to open the door, quietly.
On a winged chair, kneeling toward the back of the chair, was Weasley, naked. His forehead rested on the backs of his hands which clutched the chair. Thrusting into the skinny boy was Mr. Malfoy, all dressed except for his pants. He had a thinly bloodied jack knife which had cut into Weasley's face, shoulders, chest, back and thighs.
Draco had run from the room. He saw Weasley later that night as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley picked him up. Oh, how he wanted to hold him and apoplogize and kiss his ouches and make everything all better. But he couldn't. He felt so ashamed.
From then on, they had lost touch and acted like they never met. Draco wasn't sure if Mr. and Mrs. Weasley knew about what Mr. Malfoy did. Sometimes it seemed like they knew. Draco still felt the urge to run up to Weasley and envelope him in a hug, all the while crying, "Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry!" But he couldn't. Animosity came out that mouth of his.
"Draco?" It was Blaise Zabini. He was the only one out of all those Slytherins that Draco could call a friend, but not enough to tell about him and Weasley's dead friendship. Blaise stood in front of Draco in his favorite chair, leaning forward slightly. He looked up to meet the Italien boy's eyes. "It's almost time for dinner, better get a move on." One thing was for sure: Blaise was by far the kindest Slytherin in Hogwarts.
"Alright," Draco answered. He swung himself up, feeling a heavy headrush. They left the cold, forboding dungeons for the rambunctious atmosphere of the Great Hall.
-----
He parted those wonderfully wet thighs, the smoky sent filling his nostrils. He inhaled deeply and sighed. Oh, how long he's waited for this. What a feast this would be! Now, if only Seamus would quit complaining and just let Ron eat his barbequed chicken, then it would be perfect.
"Just shut your mouth, Seamus!" Ron turned to the sandy-haired Irishman, grinning. "You'll get your chicken, jeez!" Seamus scowled and turned to his plate to discover his own barbequed chicken, lathered extra spicy, the way he liked it.
"Sweet Mother of Ireland," he praised. "Look at the size of this motherfucker!" He dug in. Harry and Hermione watched the two boys sadly.
"So, Ron," Harry started. Ron hummed through his bite in response. "How'd you get your scars?" Ron choked and took a swig of pumpkin juice. Seamus took the oppurtunity to pound him on the back, making him spit out his drink.
"Jesus Christ, Harry, what'd I tell you?" Ron turned to Harry angrily. He grabbed his plate and cup and ran from the hall.
Snape yelled "5 points from Gryffindor!" when he spotted the tall, thin, red-head and his chicken. Ron responded by flicking him off, to which Gryffindor lost 15 more points.
Harry blinked. "What? Was it something I said?" He looked around to find Seamus, Neville and Dean staring at him in horror. Hermione poked at her food.
Oh, Harry, what have you done? she screamed silently.
-----
He ran and ran and ran scanning every stone on the walls for that symbol that led to the hidden tower Fred and George talked about. There! The curling whatever-it-was breathing whatever-it-was-breathing etched in stone. Balancing his drink on his plate, he pulled out his wand and tapped the stone. Like in Diagon Valley, the stones curled back to reveal a tall archway.
Ron ran through and the stones closed behind him. On the stone, a little fox joined the dragon etching on the stone.
-----
Draco heard the stones open and close. A voice yelped at something or another. It was Weasley. Since when did he know about this place? He dared not move a muscle in his large chair which blocked him from Weasley's view. Weasley put down whatever he had in his hands and ran up to Draco's chair. He gave it a mighty kick. Draco shot up and turned around to face him in his chair. Weasley yelled. Draco stared at Weasley for a few seconds then clamped his hand over the taller boy's mouth. He stopped yelling and Draco let go.
"Draco Malfoy!" he exclaimed.
"The one and only," Malfoy agreed.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
"I'm sorry, but the last time I checked, I was here first." Weasley was speechless. "That means I should be the one asking you what the fuck are you doing here?"
"I was just wandering around," said Weasley, rather softly. Draco saw the tips of his ears turn pink, a sure sign he was lying. "You know."
"Yeah. I know you're lying. Your ears are pink." Draco smirked. Weasley's ears turned red at that point. He dropped himself onto the floor to sit Indian style. Draco folded his arms on the back of the chair and rested his head on them to look down on Weasley's generally orange face. He sighed.
"I was looking for a place to get away from everyone where no one could fine me."
"Why?" he suprised them both. Draco Malfoy was actuallly wondering why instead of throwing insults? He added, defensively, "Just curious."
"There's no point in lying to you, I guess. Harry asked me about my scars." So, he has scars from that time, Draco thought. "And before, I told him not to ask me."
Draco swallowed painfully. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed them to lick his lips in nervousness. "Ron," he whispered. Ron started a bit. "What happened when, you know." Ron stared.
"I don't want to talk about it. Besides," his expression turned fierce. "Don't you know already about it?" Draco shook his head. Ron looked at him curiously. "Alright. Where should I start?"
"After you left the ballroom."
"So, after I left, I started wandering around your library..."
-----
Ron plopped into a plump leather sofa. He sniffled a bit and fiercly wiped his eye on his sleeve. I won't cry! he scolded himself. You knew he wouldn't like it. It's only a dumb present. And a dumb party. For my best friend. He barely heard Mr. Malfoy approaching.
"Ron Weasley!" Ron yelped and jumped. He turned around slowly to face the kind father of his best friend -- or former best friend.
"Mr. Malfoy! I-I --"
"Oh, don't worry. You're not in trouble," he assured him. "Why aren't you at Draco's party with all his other little friends?" Ron shrugged, no excuse came to his mind. "Ah, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Tell you what. I'll show you a part of the Mansion that even Draco isn't allowed to be in." The thought of having something Draco didn't have lifted Ron's head to meet Mr. Malfoy's steel grey eyes with his curious chocolate brown eyes. "You like ghosts?" Ron nodded vigorously. "You want to meet some of the first Malfoys?" He nodded again. "Alright, come on."
Ron stood when Mr. Malfoy did who took his hand. He led him to the West tower. He was shown some family portraits and the first Malfoy. And then...
"Ron, want to see something else?"
"Could I, sir?" Something else meant another ghost or an excuisite portrait of all of the Malfoys ever. Mr. Malfoy led him through a room that seemed not as used. The door didn't creak like most of the others. The furniture was covered with dust. It was an old library. Ron let go of Mr. Malfoy's hand and ran over to the nearest bookshelf. He wasn't much into books but the books that the Malfoy's had always had pictures of magical creatures. His hand hovered above a book entitled in Latin.
"May I, sir?" Mr. Malfoy nodded. Ron grinned and pulled out the book. He turned to the middle. He saw the most curious thing. It was a naked man grinning madly as he moved up and down on another naked man, his mouth frozen in terror. Ron's grin fell. He began trembling as he turned to another page and saw one man with his mouth at where another man's groin was. He was suddenly aware of Mr. Malfoy's hands kneading his ass. Ron whimpered. Mr. Malfoy leaned forward to suck on the small red-head's ear.
"Shh, just do whatever I tell you to," he whispered, biting his ear. He took the book from Ron's hands and replaced it on the shelf. Then he sat in a large, black leather winged chair. "Come here, Ron." He hesitated. "Do as I say, now," Mr. Malfoy coaxed. He smirked when Ron came over to stand in front of him. "Kiss me."
That would be easy enough. It would be like kissing Ginny-Bear. Ron leaned forward and brushed his lips against the 30-something year old blonde on the cheek. He stood back, proudly surveying the non-existant ouch he had fixed. Mr. Malfoy growled. Ron whimpered in response.
"Kiss me on the lips," he ordered, his tone growing dark and fierce. Ron complied, a little more than a bit nervous. He leaned forward once again and laid his lips on the other's. He moved back but was pushed forward by Mr. Malfoy's hand. Ron fell forward and was pulled onto Mr. Malfoy's lap.
-----
"...and then, he raped me," Ron turned his suddenly remorseful face toward Draco. "So, now you know." Draco dug his nails into his palm. How could his father betray a little boy's trust? Not that it would've made things better had he just gone right out and said, 'Hey, Ron, I'm gonna rape u alright?' It was just as bad, but still!
"What?" Ron interrupted his thoughts. He laughed harshly, very unlike the playful, dynamic Ron known to all of Hogwarts. "Don't tell me you didn't know?"
"I didn't," Draco admitted. Ron just grinned.
"Aw, is wittle Dracie-poo upset? Is he gawnna cry because dear old Daddy didn't tell him a bed time story about how he raped foolish wittle Ronnie-kins?" Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 1...2...3... "Is Dracie-poo upset because Daddy didn't let him get some?" 6...7...8... "Are you gonna owl your daddy and --"
"Shut your fucking cake hole, Weasley," Draco hissed at him. Ron lost his grin. "I didn't know that's how it happened. I walked in and I ran out. I saw your cuts and I got scared. I didn't know he tricked you."
Ron mumbled something like, "Damn right he did." Draco ignored him.
"And," he inhaled and exhaled slowly. " I really liked your present. It was...unique." He immediately wanted to take it back. There was this little "Karma" saying that Pansy always recited, 'You are unique, just like everybody else." But he couldn't say special either. The way he learned it, it meant strange and interesting, certainly not in a good way, like a special case. "No, it's...I really like it. It was different from everyone else's and it was new."
"And small like your wanker," Ron added.
"Look, Weasley, you want a 'Thank You' or not?" Draco shot back. "I really liked the wooden dragon. It meant alot to me, because it was from my best friend. And i've really wanted to apologize for something I didn't do. Is that better?" Ron stood up. He smiled and shook his head in disbelief. Draco followed him with his eyes. The tall boy slouched a bit and turned to walk away.
"Where're you going?" Draco also stood and climbed out of his chair.
"Didn't know you were that dense, Malfoy. I'm leaving."
"You can't!"
"Yes, I can." Ron was so close to the door now. Draco tried to walk foward. He couldn't. He tried to talk. He couldn't. Finally, he managed to whisper:
"Please, Ron, stay." Ron turned around. "Please, I'm sorry. I really am. I wish we were still friends."
"Why are you so mean to me and Harry and Hermione?"
"I-I don't know. Maybe because I wish I were them. Just, please, Ron! Give me a chance!" Draco got down on his knees and cupped his hands together. "I'll do anything."
"Anything?" Ron asked.
"Within good judgement, of course."
"Well, it doesn't matter," Ron shook his head. "There's nothing you can do. I mean, unless you really want us to be friends again."
"I do, Ron, I do!"
Ron turned back to face Draco. He chewed his lip thoughtfully. Please say yes, Ron, please! Draco pleaded silently. "Alright." Draco straightened from his spot on the floor and looked up hopefully. "But, you only get one chance. You screw it up, I go back to hating you more than ever." Draco smiled a genuine smile. It was a wide grin that wrinkled the sides of his mouth and made his eyes smaller and brighter, not the tight, closed-mouth smirk that made his eyes narrow and dangerous looking.
-----
When Draco smiled, it almost seemed like Heaven. Ron barely remembered the last time he had seem him grin like that. It seemed like one of those muggle-movie flashbacks were everything is bright and happy and slightly faded, the image surrounded by a white glow or something.
-----
"Me an' you'll always be friends, right Draco?"
"No!" five year old Draco pouted and crossed his arms across his chest comically. "We'll be BEST friends FOREVER!"
Draco grinned and Ron grinned back, his mouth lopsided. And then, Draco leaned foward and pecked Ron on the lips. Ron dropped his mouth in suprise but quickly recovered. He leaned foward and pecked him back.
"Forever?" Ron asked, holding out his pinky. Draco hooked his to the other boy's.
"Forever." He kissed the hooked pinkies. Ron kissed them also to seal the agreement.
Fin.
by leenk
Rated: R for rape and languagebr
Disclaimer: all J. K. Rowling, plot is mine
Summary: some of the purest relationships are handmade. rw/dm -- implied kiddy love slash.
-----
A tiny light emited from the soft, velvety green petals. Little by little, something so tinier than the eye of a needle poked out. Ron and Harry leaned closer to see it. Out came a small blue somebody with damp and wrinkled wings just barely hanging on to the shoulder blades.
"Ron!" Harry whispered, a grin breaking out across his square face. "We did it!"
"Whoa..." Ron had his mouth opened like he was trying to breathe in. The tiny blue somebody opened it's mouth and sceamed. It was so high and loud, Ron had to grit his teeth to keep the drill-like pain from rattling his skull. Proffesor Sprout, the Herbology proffesor, hurried over. She looked at the the producer of the noise and gasped.
"10 points to Gryffindor for producing a fine speciman of a fairy, each!" She scooped up the fairy and left the two boys with identical faces of triumph smacked on their faces and breaking their features.
"Alright!" The two friends slapped high-fives. The third of their party, Hermione, walked over. She looked on proudly, kind of like a mother.
"See? I told you two you could do it!" Harry laughed and hugged Hermione.
"But, you've always gotten perfect scores and 10 points on your midterms," Ron reminded her.
"Yes, but--"
"Nevermind that," Harry grabbed hold of their hands and dragged them off toward the Great Hall. "To celebrate me and Ron's--"
"Ron and I," corrected Hermione.
"Whatever. Ron and I's victory--"
"Ron and my."
"Yeah, Ron and my victory of conquering our 5th year midterm with 20 points, let's have a little party to ourselves and live a little."
"Sounds good, Potter," came a quiet, stone cold voice. "But first, don't you think you'd need a life?" They whirled around.
"Malfoy!"
"I think your reaction speed has increased along with the size of your head," he smirked. Ron growled. Without taking his eyes off of Harry, he said, "Careful, Potter. Wouldn't let your whore get too excited." Ron jumped.
"Ron, no!" Hermione screamed. Harry grabbed a hold of the collar of his robes and jerked back. The hand-me-down piece of clothing came off, exposing his chest and back. It slowed him down, but not enough to stop him from knocking Malfoy over. He stood up shakily and turned to Harry.
Harry saw scars crossing up and down and across Ron's chest. "Oh, God, what's up with--" Ron shook his head frantically.
"C-Could I borrow your robes?" he asked quietly.
"Sure, sure," Harry took off his robes and held it out to him. Ron took it and buttoned it up to his collar bone. He smiled apolegetically and walked pass them toward the Gryffindor Tower. As he passed, Harry barely heard him whisper, "Don't ever ask me."
-----
Harry closed the door quietly to the room he and Ron shared with 3 other 5th year boys. On his bed, his robe was neatly folded. Funny, for someone who has God-knows-what under his, he thought, before casting his eyes over the bed of the subject of that thought. Ron lay sprawled on top of his blanket, face up. His curtains weren't closed all the way. His breathing, as always, was heavy and on the verge of being classified as a light snore.
Now that Harry knew about the scars on Ron's chest, he had to wonder--where did they come from? when did he get them? why? how come he didn't see them before? and, were there others? The last was easy to answer. Through his cheek, across his nose and denting his eyebrow, was a thin white scar, completely devoid of any freckles. But, Harry had seen Ron before in the showers, how come he had never seen anyone of them before?
One thing was for sure, it wasn't good. Harry resolved to ask Ron later, just as he was finishing his favorite class of all, dinner. Well, Ron called it a class.
-----
Potter hadn't seen the spasm of fear flick across Draco's face when Weasley's chest was bared. Good. Better that way. He remembered when he got those scars.
His and Weasley's family had an unwritten and rather dark tradition. The current master of the Malfoy Mansion always found some form of pleasure in harming the Weasley's most prized possesion. Mr. Malfoy's form of pleasure was sex while the other Malfoys' were usually violence.
He and Weasley were 7 then, and Ginny had been spending the Winter at somewhere-or-another. He had been invited to Draco's birthday party. It was more of a ball; only Mrs. Malfoy would think of something as extravagant as that. Draco remembered Ron walking in. He was dressed in long trousers and blue plaid flannel shirt. Over that was a messily draped robe.
Oh, how mortified Weasley looked when he saw the little girls and boys, as young as 5 and as old as 17, all dressed in fancy dress robes. He had walked over and shoved his pettily wrapped present that seemed awfully tiny compared to other presents into Draco's own small hands. "'Made it in Art at Muggle school," he had mumbled and hurried out--fast. Too fast for Draco to open his mouth to say "Thank you." He opened it.
Even after those million of presents he recieved throughout the years after, he still remembered what it was. It wasn't because it had sucked--well, it was rather muggle-ish, but it had been different. A small wooden dragon crudely cut. The wood was deep chocolate brown. Draco turned the still, palm-sized dragon over onto it's back. On it's belly was a red smear, blood, from a cut? Written over it in clear green ink:
Happy 7th Birthday Draco!br
Your Bestest Friend, Ron
Draco had called a house elf, Dobby over. Dobby was his favorite house elf. His odd sense of humor kept him from having frequent nightmares. By then, the other guests had run to the cake.
"What is Dobby doing for you, Young Master Malfoy?" Dobby had asked.
"Chuck this into my toy chest, would you?" Draco requested. "And be careful with it, will you?"
"Yes, Young Master!" Dobby had carefully taken the dragon, hugged it close to him and scurried off toward Draco's room.
Throughout the dinner and dance, Weasley was no where to be seen. Sorely disapointed, Draco wandered the West tower to admire the stars. He had heard whimpering from one of the more abandoned rooms, even by the resident ghosts. And growling, his father's voice. He was tempted to run screaming from the West tower, which would raise suspicion of what he was doing there the first place, but his sense of adventure pushed him to open the door, quietly.
On a winged chair, kneeling toward the back of the chair, was Weasley, naked. His forehead rested on the backs of his hands which clutched the chair. Thrusting into the skinny boy was Mr. Malfoy, all dressed except for his pants. He had a thinly bloodied jack knife which had cut into Weasley's face, shoulders, chest, back and thighs.
Draco had run from the room. He saw Weasley later that night as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley picked him up. Oh, how he wanted to hold him and apoplogize and kiss his ouches and make everything all better. But he couldn't. He felt so ashamed.
From then on, they had lost touch and acted like they never met. Draco wasn't sure if Mr. and Mrs. Weasley knew about what Mr. Malfoy did. Sometimes it seemed like they knew. Draco still felt the urge to run up to Weasley and envelope him in a hug, all the while crying, "Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry!" But he couldn't. Animosity came out that mouth of his.
"Draco?" It was Blaise Zabini. He was the only one out of all those Slytherins that Draco could call a friend, but not enough to tell about him and Weasley's dead friendship. Blaise stood in front of Draco in his favorite chair, leaning forward slightly. He looked up to meet the Italien boy's eyes. "It's almost time for dinner, better get a move on." One thing was for sure: Blaise was by far the kindest Slytherin in Hogwarts.
"Alright," Draco answered. He swung himself up, feeling a heavy headrush. They left the cold, forboding dungeons for the rambunctious atmosphere of the Great Hall.
-----
He parted those wonderfully wet thighs, the smoky sent filling his nostrils. He inhaled deeply and sighed. Oh, how long he's waited for this. What a feast this would be! Now, if only Seamus would quit complaining and just let Ron eat his barbequed chicken, then it would be perfect.
"Just shut your mouth, Seamus!" Ron turned to the sandy-haired Irishman, grinning. "You'll get your chicken, jeez!" Seamus scowled and turned to his plate to discover his own barbequed chicken, lathered extra spicy, the way he liked it.
"Sweet Mother of Ireland," he praised. "Look at the size of this motherfucker!" He dug in. Harry and Hermione watched the two boys sadly.
"So, Ron," Harry started. Ron hummed through his bite in response. "How'd you get your scars?" Ron choked and took a swig of pumpkin juice. Seamus took the oppurtunity to pound him on the back, making him spit out his drink.
"Jesus Christ, Harry, what'd I tell you?" Ron turned to Harry angrily. He grabbed his plate and cup and ran from the hall.
Snape yelled "5 points from Gryffindor!" when he spotted the tall, thin, red-head and his chicken. Ron responded by flicking him off, to which Gryffindor lost 15 more points.
Harry blinked. "What? Was it something I said?" He looked around to find Seamus, Neville and Dean staring at him in horror. Hermione poked at her food.
Oh, Harry, what have you done? she screamed silently.
-----
He ran and ran and ran scanning every stone on the walls for that symbol that led to the hidden tower Fred and George talked about. There! The curling whatever-it-was breathing whatever-it-was-breathing etched in stone. Balancing his drink on his plate, he pulled out his wand and tapped the stone. Like in Diagon Valley, the stones curled back to reveal a tall archway.
Ron ran through and the stones closed behind him. On the stone, a little fox joined the dragon etching on the stone.
-----
Draco heard the stones open and close. A voice yelped at something or another. It was Weasley. Since when did he know about this place? He dared not move a muscle in his large chair which blocked him from Weasley's view. Weasley put down whatever he had in his hands and ran up to Draco's chair. He gave it a mighty kick. Draco shot up and turned around to face him in his chair. Weasley yelled. Draco stared at Weasley for a few seconds then clamped his hand over the taller boy's mouth. He stopped yelling and Draco let go.
"Draco Malfoy!" he exclaimed.
"The one and only," Malfoy agreed.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
"I'm sorry, but the last time I checked, I was here first." Weasley was speechless. "That means I should be the one asking you what the fuck are you doing here?"
"I was just wandering around," said Weasley, rather softly. Draco saw the tips of his ears turn pink, a sure sign he was lying. "You know."
"Yeah. I know you're lying. Your ears are pink." Draco smirked. Weasley's ears turned red at that point. He dropped himself onto the floor to sit Indian style. Draco folded his arms on the back of the chair and rested his head on them to look down on Weasley's generally orange face. He sighed.
"I was looking for a place to get away from everyone where no one could fine me."
"Why?" he suprised them both. Draco Malfoy was actuallly wondering why instead of throwing insults? He added, defensively, "Just curious."
"There's no point in lying to you, I guess. Harry asked me about my scars." So, he has scars from that time, Draco thought. "And before, I told him not to ask me."
Draco swallowed painfully. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed them to lick his lips in nervousness. "Ron," he whispered. Ron started a bit. "What happened when, you know." Ron stared.
"I don't want to talk about it. Besides," his expression turned fierce. "Don't you know already about it?" Draco shook his head. Ron looked at him curiously. "Alright. Where should I start?"
"After you left the ballroom."
"So, after I left, I started wandering around your library..."
-----
Ron plopped into a plump leather sofa. He sniffled a bit and fiercly wiped his eye on his sleeve. I won't cry! he scolded himself. You knew he wouldn't like it. It's only a dumb present. And a dumb party. For my best friend. He barely heard Mr. Malfoy approaching.
"Ron Weasley!" Ron yelped and jumped. He turned around slowly to face the kind father of his best friend -- or former best friend.
"Mr. Malfoy! I-I --"
"Oh, don't worry. You're not in trouble," he assured him. "Why aren't you at Draco's party with all his other little friends?" Ron shrugged, no excuse came to his mind. "Ah, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Tell you what. I'll show you a part of the Mansion that even Draco isn't allowed to be in." The thought of having something Draco didn't have lifted Ron's head to meet Mr. Malfoy's steel grey eyes with his curious chocolate brown eyes. "You like ghosts?" Ron nodded vigorously. "You want to meet some of the first Malfoys?" He nodded again. "Alright, come on."
Ron stood when Mr. Malfoy did who took his hand. He led him to the West tower. He was shown some family portraits and the first Malfoy. And then...
"Ron, want to see something else?"
"Could I, sir?" Something else meant another ghost or an excuisite portrait of all of the Malfoys ever. Mr. Malfoy led him through a room that seemed not as used. The door didn't creak like most of the others. The furniture was covered with dust. It was an old library. Ron let go of Mr. Malfoy's hand and ran over to the nearest bookshelf. He wasn't much into books but the books that the Malfoy's had always had pictures of magical creatures. His hand hovered above a book entitled in Latin.
"May I, sir?" Mr. Malfoy nodded. Ron grinned and pulled out the book. He turned to the middle. He saw the most curious thing. It was a naked man grinning madly as he moved up and down on another naked man, his mouth frozen in terror. Ron's grin fell. He began trembling as he turned to another page and saw one man with his mouth at where another man's groin was. He was suddenly aware of Mr. Malfoy's hands kneading his ass. Ron whimpered. Mr. Malfoy leaned forward to suck on the small red-head's ear.
"Shh, just do whatever I tell you to," he whispered, biting his ear. He took the book from Ron's hands and replaced it on the shelf. Then he sat in a large, black leather winged chair. "Come here, Ron." He hesitated. "Do as I say, now," Mr. Malfoy coaxed. He smirked when Ron came over to stand in front of him. "Kiss me."
That would be easy enough. It would be like kissing Ginny-Bear. Ron leaned forward and brushed his lips against the 30-something year old blonde on the cheek. He stood back, proudly surveying the non-existant ouch he had fixed. Mr. Malfoy growled. Ron whimpered in response.
"Kiss me on the lips," he ordered, his tone growing dark and fierce. Ron complied, a little more than a bit nervous. He leaned forward once again and laid his lips on the other's. He moved back but was pushed forward by Mr. Malfoy's hand. Ron fell forward and was pulled onto Mr. Malfoy's lap.
-----
"...and then, he raped me," Ron turned his suddenly remorseful face toward Draco. "So, now you know." Draco dug his nails into his palm. How could his father betray a little boy's trust? Not that it would've made things better had he just gone right out and said, 'Hey, Ron, I'm gonna rape u alright?' It was just as bad, but still!
"What?" Ron interrupted his thoughts. He laughed harshly, very unlike the playful, dynamic Ron known to all of Hogwarts. "Don't tell me you didn't know?"
"I didn't," Draco admitted. Ron just grinned.
"Aw, is wittle Dracie-poo upset? Is he gawnna cry because dear old Daddy didn't tell him a bed time story about how he raped foolish wittle Ronnie-kins?" Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 1...2...3... "Is Dracie-poo upset because Daddy didn't let him get some?" 6...7...8... "Are you gonna owl your daddy and --"
"Shut your fucking cake hole, Weasley," Draco hissed at him. Ron lost his grin. "I didn't know that's how it happened. I walked in and I ran out. I saw your cuts and I got scared. I didn't know he tricked you."
Ron mumbled something like, "Damn right he did." Draco ignored him.
"And," he inhaled and exhaled slowly. " I really liked your present. It was...unique." He immediately wanted to take it back. There was this little "Karma" saying that Pansy always recited, 'You are unique, just like everybody else." But he couldn't say special either. The way he learned it, it meant strange and interesting, certainly not in a good way, like a special case. "No, it's...I really like it. It was different from everyone else's and it was new."
"And small like your wanker," Ron added.
"Look, Weasley, you want a 'Thank You' or not?" Draco shot back. "I really liked the wooden dragon. It meant alot to me, because it was from my best friend. And i've really wanted to apologize for something I didn't do. Is that better?" Ron stood up. He smiled and shook his head in disbelief. Draco followed him with his eyes. The tall boy slouched a bit and turned to walk away.
"Where're you going?" Draco also stood and climbed out of his chair.
"Didn't know you were that dense, Malfoy. I'm leaving."
"You can't!"
"Yes, I can." Ron was so close to the door now. Draco tried to walk foward. He couldn't. He tried to talk. He couldn't. Finally, he managed to whisper:
"Please, Ron, stay." Ron turned around. "Please, I'm sorry. I really am. I wish we were still friends."
"Why are you so mean to me and Harry and Hermione?"
"I-I don't know. Maybe because I wish I were them. Just, please, Ron! Give me a chance!" Draco got down on his knees and cupped his hands together. "I'll do anything."
"Anything?" Ron asked.
"Within good judgement, of course."
"Well, it doesn't matter," Ron shook his head. "There's nothing you can do. I mean, unless you really want us to be friends again."
"I do, Ron, I do!"
Ron turned back to face Draco. He chewed his lip thoughtfully. Please say yes, Ron, please! Draco pleaded silently. "Alright." Draco straightened from his spot on the floor and looked up hopefully. "But, you only get one chance. You screw it up, I go back to hating you more than ever." Draco smiled a genuine smile. It was a wide grin that wrinkled the sides of his mouth and made his eyes smaller and brighter, not the tight, closed-mouth smirk that made his eyes narrow and dangerous looking.
-----
When Draco smiled, it almost seemed like Heaven. Ron barely remembered the last time he had seem him grin like that. It seemed like one of those muggle-movie flashbacks were everything is bright and happy and slightly faded, the image surrounded by a white glow or something.
-----
"Me an' you'll always be friends, right Draco?"
"No!" five year old Draco pouted and crossed his arms across his chest comically. "We'll be BEST friends FOREVER!"
Draco grinned and Ron grinned back, his mouth lopsided. And then, Draco leaned foward and pecked Ron on the lips. Ron dropped his mouth in suprise but quickly recovered. He leaned foward and pecked him back.
"Forever?" Ron asked, holding out his pinky. Draco hooked his to the other boy's.
"Forever." He kissed the hooked pinkies. Ron kissed them also to seal the agreement.
Fin.