Title: The Difference between Being Alive and Living
Author: Diosa
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all that is affiliated with it is in no way associated with me, I'm just playing with the characters.
Summary: Ron Weasley is leading an empty life, someone fills it.
Pairing: Ron/Draco
A/N: I started writing this more than two years ago, and quite forgot about it. Recently I was flipping through my notebook and found it so I figured I might as well finish it. This is completely unbeta'd.
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Ron Weasley was lonely. Yes, he had friends and family, but at the end of the day, when he got home from the Ministry job he hated, but paid well and walked into his large flat that was tastefully decorated but had no personality, he always felt the hard truth. He was alone. And somehow, no matter how hard he tried he could not shake the loneliness he felt. It was a constant, horrible feeling.
He Apparated in the aforementioned flat after a not-so-hard day of work and collapsed into his attractive, but not very comfortable armchair; Hermione had picked it out, she said it went with the 'décor.' That was five years ago… he had been meaning to replace it for four years, but simply could not be bothered. It was not as if any one else was really going to sit in it.
He glanced at a picture of her on the mantle; she was married now. She even had two children. He was godfather to the first and Harry godfather to the second. Harry got married too… to the daughter of the owner of the Quidditch team he played for. But that was three years ago. He was coaching now. It was the respectable thing to do after being injured. Ron's eyes trailed to a picture of the three of them on Harry's last birthday. They were all thirty now – Hermione was rapidly approaching thirty-one – and he could not help but think he was too young to be so despondent.
'Time to find some company for the night…' he mumbled to himself.
No one knew of this particular habit of his; it was not something you told the world about, but when he was feeling especially forlorn, he would drive over (yes drive, he enjoyed many things Muggle nowadays) to the shady part of London that was perpetuated by male prostitutes; Muggles. He rarely slept with them, preferring instead for them to lie close to him in his satin covered king size bed. Yes satin, a horrible cliché, but what was a queer bloke to do. They felt damn good. Sometimes he talked with them, but mostly he just wanted to feel a warm body next to his. It was sad really; pathetic in fact, but that was his life.
He threw off his robe and put on a pair of jeans and a black jumper before grabbing his keys and leaving. He bought the car because he wanted to and could afford it. Thirty minutes later he was coasting slowly through the area, looking for any possibilities. He saw something glint in a corner. Blond hair it looked like. At first he thought it was a dog, but something about the colour tugged at his mind. He stopped the car, intending to investigate. His curiosity was piqued.
'What's your pleasure love?' asked a trannie, probably no more than twenty years old, as he stepped out of his car.
'Not tonight,' he muttered distractedly. He walked to the blond creature cautiously. It was a man. The person turned at the sound of Ron's heavy footsteps upon the pavement.
'Shit! Malfoy, is that you?'
Draco Malfoy looked at him in stunned silence. Or perhaps he could not speak. He looked horrible; his platinum hair was dirty and matted, his clothes were fit for rags and he was emaciated.
'Malfoy? Can you hear me? Draco?'
'Go away,' he said in a raspy voice. He coughed violently, and Ron nervously waited for it to subside.
'What are you doing here?'
'I'm having a fucking tea party,' he replied viciously.
'Do – do you live here?'
Draco stared at him with a piercing gaze. His cold grey eyes were the only part of him that Ron really recognised. 'Sort of,' he said after a prolonged silence. 'I wander around a lot.'
Ron nodded, not knowing what to say. Many thought he had been a Death Eater, but after the war the Ministry did not have enough evidence to formally charge him. His father however, had been successfully charged and imprisoned. He was dead now. With the stain of Dark Wizard on his name, investors pulled out of Malfoy businesses, people refused to work for him and in an amazingly short space of time Draco Malfoy became virtually penniless. Apparently he was not as rich as he had always let on. Lucius Malfoy had destroyed the family finances some time ago. His mother committed suicide and no one had seen of heard of him since her funeral.
Ron felt a surge of compassion. A lot had changed. 'Come with me.'
'And be your fuck-toy? I'd rather not.'
'Why would you even think that?'
'This is hustler territory Weasley. People don't come here for moonlight strolls.'
'I'm not trying to make you my sex slave Malfoy. You're ill. You can't stay here.'
'Since when do you care?' he asked bitterly, wheezing loudly.
'Since now… come on Malfoy, I have a nice flat and it's warm. You can eat something and clean up.' He did not think he needed to mention that he could probably hang clothes on his collar bone, nor that he could smell him where he stood.
Draco looked at him searchingly before finally speaking. 'No tricks?'
'None whatsoever.'
'I haven't done anything to ever deserve kindness from you.'
'I know, but I'm offering it anyway.'
The former Slytherin glanced around, as if balancing his options. 'All right, I'll come.'
The drive was silent and heavy with unspoken questions. Eventually Ron ushered him inside.
'You live well Weasley.' He surveyed the posh flat with jealous eyes. The spacious living room was done in earth tones while there was a large professional looking kitchen and a long hall with several doors on each side.
'Living's cheap when you're single.'
'Where do those lead?' asked Malfoy, motioning to the closed doors.
'Bathroom, office, spare bedroom, cupboard and the master bedroom's at the end of the hall.'
Draco nodded vaguely, 'may I…?'
'Go ahead. I'll – er – get you some clothes.' Ron fought the urge to call Hermione. He wanted to talk to her, didn't want to wake her family or have to explain how he had found Malfoy. He found some clothes he rarely wore; a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt that was slightly too small and laid them out in the spare room. They would be too big, but at least they were clean and comfortable. He warmed up some food as well, but judging from Malfoy's size he had not eaten anything substantial in more than a few days, possibly weeks, so he made some milkshakes as well. He would have to go back on food gradually.
Malfoy emerged from the bathroom, clad in Ron's soft bathrobe looking more like himself. His hair was long and straggly and would need to cut.
'I've put some clothes in the spare room for you.'
'Thank you.' He disappeared into the room and came out a few minutes later. The clothes hung on him pitifully, making him look more skeletal than ever.
'Your spare room only has some boxes in it.'
'I know… I've been meaning to fix it up. I can transfigure some blankets into decent bedding. Malfoy – when was the last time you ate something?'
It took him a moment to answer. 'Last week I think. I black out sometimes. I don't know for how long.'
'Shit, Malfoy. Here, drink this.'
He took the milkshake without complaint, and that said a lot. He took a long drink, and then coughed, bringing some back up.
'Sip it slowly, there'll be more when you're done.'
Draco nodded, sipped a little, looking around again. 'Do you live like a Muggle?'
'Practically, but I work for the Ministry.'
'What department?'
'Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I don't do field work though. I'm not an Auror or MLE if you're wondering, just a well paid paper pusher.'
'I take it you don't like your work?'
'Not in the slightest.'
He laughed shortly, then took a long rattling breath.
'What happened to you Malfoy?'
'I sold my soul to the devil and now I'm reaping the rewards.'
'Seriously, I want to know.'
'You and everyone else.'
'Were you a Death Eater?'
He sipped some more of his drink before answering. 'Not officially, but I supported the cause, and now I'm paying for it.'
'What happened after you lost your money?'
He pursed his lips together in annoyance, but still responded. 'I had no friends, the bank wouldn't help me – my wand was confiscated – '
'What! They can only take your wand if you've been charged and convicted of a serious offence!'
'I was charged – with fraud.'
'Fraud? How did they manage that?'
'I authorised payments after I was bankrupt, something no one bothered inform me of.'
'Then why didn't they lock you up?'
'They felt the loss of my money and magic was punishment enough… the bastards. I would have been better of rotting in Azkaban.' That spoke volumes about whatever he had experienced while out of the Wizarding World.
Ron began to understand. The Ministry wanted him to suffer and they found a way to make him do so. He got a raw deal, not even Malfoy, the nemesis of his youth, deserved to be starving on the street, living like a vagrant. Some might find it fitting that the once proud Draco of the old and prominent Malfoy line had fallen, but he found it sad.
'How did you survive with nothing? Not even magic?'
Draco's response was a short, brittle laugh; he then coughed so hard that his undersized frame shook alarmingly.
'You're really sick.'
'Really Weasley? I hadn't noticed.'
'I'm taking you to see a Healer tomorrow – actually a muggle doctor might be better.'
'Who says I'll be here tomorrow?' Ron did not answer him. They both knew he would not leave. He had nowhere to go.
'Continue your story.'
'Eager to hear the sordid details?' He sighed heavily. 'Very well, after my mother's death, when it became really apparent to me that I had nowhere to turn and no one would hire me, I left the our world. I was disgraced without my wand anyway, and it was beyond obvious that the Ministry would have exiled me if they could,' he broke off and coughed some more, wheezing for a few moments before he was able to speak again. His cough made Ron uneasy.
'I had no skills and knew next to nothing of Muggle culture, so I did the only thing I could.' His expression grew dark and Ron had a feeling he knew exactly how he had survived.
'You sold yourself.' It was a statement not a question.
'You say it like it's dirty,' he said scathingly. 'You think I wanted to sell my body? You think I liked it? Being touched, abused… my beautiful –' he broke off and for a minute Ron thought Malfoy might actually cry. ' - my once beautiful body,' he finished in a hard voice. 'But after a few weeks in and out of shelters I realised I needed to make some money so… ' His face was drawn and pale. 'I'm tired,' he finally said, and he more than looked it.
'You can sleep in my room. I'll take the spare.'
'You'd let me have your bed?'
'Sometimes a person really needs a good night's sleep in a comfy bed.'
'Thank you Weas – Ron. I don't deserve your help.'
That really surprised him. Draco, yes Draco now, was a changed man. Apparently living on the streets had taught him something: gratitude. It was a shame what he had to go through to learn it though.
Ron watched Draco get into his bed from the doorway, and saw with some pain, the look of ecstasy that flitted across his face as he slipped between the sheets.
'Thank you Ron,' he said in a small voice.
'You're welcome… Draco.'
