A Matter of Trust

By Green

Pairing: Ron/Draco

Rating: R

Series/Sequel: One of two, sequel coming soon

Feedback: green99bottles@aol.com

gets down on knees and builds little altar to readers who provide feedback for they are god

Disclaimer: Some may say I have insulted a fine publication, destroyed it's magic and grossly insulted all associated with it. Well I'd like to apologise to the writers of 'WankWitch' (if, indeed it exists) and state that I do not own it or mean to upset anyone……oh yeah, and the books about the wizard kids, I don't own them either

Notes: I said I'd be back with more…

This fic is written in 'now' and in flashbacks, the two time periods are separated by ~~~~~~~~~~~~~, which anyone who has read my other fic will know is possibly my favourite computer key * g *

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

'Ron, just trust me'

'Dream on, Draco'

I can feel his gentle hands guiding me, the light touch of his fingers on my elbows. Despite my words I keep my eyes closed, because I want to trust him, I want not even to question that I do.

'How much longer, Draco?'

'Wait' His tone is teasing, I can hear the smile on his face as surely as if I saw it, or could trace it with my tongue or fingertips. I wish I could, right now. The skin near his mouth is so soft, even though he frowns such a lot. I know which of the muscles he uses to smile, because sometimes when he does I've just looked and looked. Not sneering or his smug grin, not the expression he has when he gets a good grade or scores in Quidditch. My smile, for me.

My feet stumble slightly as the ground becomes uneven. We must be in the cellars of Hogwarts now; we've been down enough stairs. As soon as I falter he grips on tighter and guides me on, slowly but surely. A gentle warmth conveys itself from his body to mine in our close proximity, and I can hear his breathing, the warm brush of air near my ear.

I know he's watching me and I know he's smiling.

'Your problem, Ron, is that you're too impatient'

'No, my problem is that I'm too trusting'

My tone is light, but I know what I say is true. I was pretty insane to ever get this far, insane, infatuated, inspired, call it what you will, it got me wandering around god knows where, happily dependant on the boy who once knocked one of my teeth out.

~~~~~~~~~~

It had been brewing, I suppose, ever since we met, although of course at eleven we could hardly know that. Any and every girl is told by her mother at some point that, if a boy teases you to death, then, secretly, he really likes you. As in * likes * with the emphasis on it.

I don't know if that always holds true for guys, but it did for me. After years of bullying, name-calling, tricks, resentment and anger, with a few broken limbs along the way, I was ready to call Draco Malfoy my worst enemy. I hated him.

No I didn't.

Hatred is complex, and bizarre, and cold like scalding water sometimes feels when you first run it out of the tap. Like jealousy, it can spring up even towards people you like, people you love.

Draco, well, I didn't know him well enough to hate him. I was just obsessed with him, annoyed with him. He got under my skin like he never did with Harry - some days I seemed to eat and breathe and dream Draco Malfoy until all I wanted was to smash his face in.

But that was confused, as well. Confused with something else that was happening to me that I barely understood. Adolescence, puberty, well, I have five older brothers, I know what goes on. Except that while they, and most of the boys I knew started surreptitiously hiding the informative 'WankWitch' all over the place, I, well…

…they had these trading cards. 'Wicked Witches & Wonderful Wizards'. It was something stupid like the hundred best-looking registered magic-users in the world, all in their underwear. They came free with a drink or sweets or something and basically it was the biggest craze since levitating yo-yos. Of course, the guys had the witches and the girls got the wizards, and everyone swapped away the ones from the 'wrong' gender. Among the boys there had to be huge cries of horror whenever you opened the packet and found you'd got three 'Meaty Merlins' again.

And then there was me. With a little hoarded collection of the other boys' cast-offs trying to make sense of it all.

I saw him. He had the bar…yes, it was chocolate bars they came in, I remember now…and he cut off the wrapping smoothly with his nail. I could see the distinctive red and black edging of the male cards, the glint off the image. And I saw him pocket it, deftly, so that no one who wasn't watching for it could have seen.

But I did. And by some sixth sense he felt my gaze, flicked his eyes up to meet it…

He flushed, involuntarily. Like he was uncomfortable and maybe unconsciously, I don't know, he licked his lips nervously and it was, like, yes, this other world exists, it's small, but it's there.

We both looked like a rabbit caught in the train's headlights.

I had to leave. I avoided him for weeks afterwards. I hated him.

No I didn't.

~~~~~~~~~~

'Just a little further now. Come on'

'You said that ten minutes ago'

Maybe one day we won't feel as though we need to argue, even when we mean it affectionately. His touch is still warm, ghosting through to my skin past the light cotton shirt I'm wearing. I never usually change my clothes before I see him, but tonight it all seemed different. He laughed as he arrived by the Lake - our now well-trodden rendezvous spot. He seemed…I don't know, light. Happy. And god knows I was too. Memories. Hopes for the future.

I didn't know that you could feel this way about someone. Probably because all this time I thought what I felt about girls was as good as it got. The words 'can you get?' and 'how wrong' come to mind…

'Why are you smiling, Ron? Something you'd like to share?'

'You sound like Snape.'

'Shut up!' He pinches me on the arm and I yelp in protest, but I keep my eyes shut. This is important to him, I realise that - and whatever it is I want him to know that I'll value that. That I am so pleased that something to do with me is important to him.

I wonder where he's taking me?

Sometimes I realise I have no idea where this whole thing is going and most times I don't care. I'm walking this whole relationship with no idea of the destination, no idea what I want the destination to be.

But I don't have my eyes closed about him. I know what I'm doing. I know him.

'There are some steps here, be careful'

Don't I?

~~~~~~~~~~

He always tried to hurt me, to make my life a misery. But he was doing new things after the book incident.

See, he knew my weakness then. Knew it wasn't my friends or my family or anything other than * myself *.

He would sit across the aisle in Potions, sucking his pencil contemplatively between his thin lips. In Herbology it was his quick fingers that flashed through my field of vision, sitting directly opposite and studiously ignoring me even as he let our knees 'accidentally' brush.

And then he lobbied to allow the Quidditch players to play shirtless in the hot weather. I had to sit through the entire Championship Final, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, not looking at Draco and not looking at Hermione, who was carefully not looking at Harry.

I missed the simple insults to my parentage.

I would lie in bed at night plotting revenge and some time between awake and asleep the revenge became something else. I knew I wanted to hit him, reach out to him, touch him, to hit him, but not, but to hurt, but not - his face stuck into my mind like a curse and I couldn't lose it whatever I did.

* Whatever * I was doing…

I hated him.

No I didn't.

I had no idea where I was going then, either. Neither, I think, did he. I think maybe he was terrified. Perhaps if I'd thought about I wouldn't have done what I did.

But I'd do it again in a second.

I decided, to put it bluntly, to fight fire with fire. He was crueller than me, quicker with his tongue and mind, filled with more bile and vitriol to loose against anyone in a stream of insults. Able to see just how you felt and tailor the viciousness exactly to hurt the worst…to make it bleed and never let it heal….

~~~~~~~~~~

I'm trusting * him * to lead me through this place?

Yes, I am. I'm not giving up on him now. I know him better than I did.

A lot better.

~~~~~~~~~~

Malfoy had always been in control before. I could never match him or hope to affect him in the battlefields of snide remarks and cutting comments. But now, everything had changed. Now we had a currency for fighting that only we knew about, and if chose to pick on me that gave me all of those opportunities to pick back.

I walked into each lesson with a swagger, confident, cool, collected. When he sighed and leant back in his chair I would run my fingers through my hair and stick out the tip of my tongue as though I was concentrating. When he brushed my knee I would remember, and later stumble just to grab his shoulder and fall so close I could breathe in the air he had just exhaled. When he stared at me, I stared right back.

And I took to using the games field for shirtless jogging practice during Slytherin Quidditch trials.

The escalation of anger and revenge was applied to lust. I tried to hurt him by ostensibly wanting to pleasure him and he did the same. In a whirlpool of confused emotions all that was clear was that the whole day meant nothing unless I saw him…the excitement I felt, knowing I would see him in the next class, the way I missed him when he wasn't around - that was just our old feud, old anger, old hate, right?

Yeah, cos we hated each other. That was why meeting his eyes shot a ripple through me like thunder…

One time in Potions, Crabbe jostled me in the queue for ingredients, causing me to fall over. Draco reprimanded him, and helped me up. Then he froze and actually shook his head as though trying to clear it. He dropped my arm like it was red-hot, frowned and moved away. I realised I'd forgotten to try and manipulate the moment as with my other 'accidents'.

We'd both started to forget what the relationship was really supposed to be.

If we'd ever really known, that is.

Aggressive flirting or flirtatious aggression? Who knows? After all, it was all the relationship we had, all the connection we could manage. Our interactions had always consisted of violence and aggression, but I was beginning to believe that this was simply because there was some option - some 'understanding' of purpose - that two members of the same gender simply couldn't have.

Friends wasn't what we wanted to be. What else were we allowed to be but enemies?

~~~~~~~~~~

'Why do I get the feeling I've walked halfway to China by now?'

He laughs in response and then I almost miss his reply, for he takes my hand and interlaces our fingers, and a wave of jittering, warm sparks race through me.

That he * wants * to touch me, that still makes me feel drunkenly glorious.

'I told you already, we're nearly there. Honestly, Ron'

We probably haven't been going as long as I feel it to have been, but the time registers more fully when you can't see, and are treading carefully with each step. I always feel more aware when I'm with him anyway, more alive, more understood.

Sometimes I think I've been waiting six years just to hear him call me 'Ron'.

I feel paving stones underfoot. The air is significantly cooler. He leads me on a few more metres then holds me still. I move towards him, resting my head on his shoulder and pulling him close, wanting to hold him to me so tightly I forget what it feels like to be without him.

He draws his arms around me for a second, and I feel a gentle kiss on my ear through my hair. But then he stands back, and holds me off.

'Wait here.'

'Where are you going?' I'm a little disconcerted.

'I'll be back in a minute. I have to check something.'

'Can I open my eyes yet?'

'No. Wait.'

'Draco?'

But there is no answer, he's gone.

I am * going * to keep my eyes closed. For a minute, at any rate.

Where the hell am I and where is he?

For a minute, at least.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been one of those days.

I was angry at the world, without any good reason, except that I was a teenager. I was tired of everyone, bored of everything, and I hadn't seen * him * all day. I forgot a book in my room, and had to run back to get it, so that I ended up wandering the corridors, late, and with no desire to arrive in my lesson.

He was skiving off Care of Magical Creatures.

He was running somewhere.

I was running in the opposite direction.

Neither of us really looking at where we were going…

Bang!

As I picked my books, and myself, off the floor, I turned to him in genuine anger like you get when you bash your funny-bone.

'You fucking idiot, Draco! I'm late for bloody Transfiguration!'

'You've torn my robes, Weasel! You'll pay for this!'

'Do you call me that because you can't stand that I have a * normal * name or what?'

'It describes you well, you, your siblings and particularly your mother'

'Fuck you!'

'You'd like that, wouldn't you?'

I just leapt up and hit him. He hit me. Arms flailing and tearing, angry.

No, we weren't angry. I don't think either of us was angry.

He shoved me against the hard wall, hand at my throat. Pain lashed through my stomach where he'd punched me, and I could see the tracks of my nails on his face. I spat in his face. Then he kissed me.

Then I bit his lip, hard.

Then we kissed again, and he pulled my hair until tears came to my eyes. I struggled to escape from his hands, and somehow we were moving against each other. He was hitting me or caressing me or something, gasping for breath, keeping his lips locked onto mine.

Tasting of hot blood from his lip, and salt tears from my eyes dripping in.

More and more intense, hot, pain ignored for the pleasure. Moving again and again against me, burning where the fabric of my jersey rubbed my stomach.

Burning all over. And I wanted, I needed, I had to have and now…

I stopped simply twisting and grabbed his back, pulled him in, up and down next to me, shocked by how he pressed into my groin, so evident. He didn't move away, and I felt a thrill of fear meeting his eyes.

Then

'Oh!'

'Shit!'

And he slumped against me, heavy, looking down at where damp patches were spreading across both our trousers. His eyes turned to me in surprise that looked bizarrely like terror.

I felt suddenly drained, emotionally and physically exhausted. It was all too much, too complex, piling in on me. Some instinct to do with Biology and procreation was telling me hold him hold him hold him don't let him go and something to do with my upbringing was telling me to smash his face in.

My reason was just trying to process his fear. My own. The fact that I felt the best and worst I had ever done in my life and the fact that I was still late for Transfiguration.

I could have said something, I suppose. I still don't know what.

But I just walked away, in silence. He stayed, leaning against the wall, and when, despite myself, I glanced back, I saw that he had his head in his hands. He looked up and saw me staring, and an ugly fear and anger passed over his face, but he too was silent.

But he didn't call me names either.

I gradually became aware that I was smiling at him. And then I ran like a bat out of hell.

That, you could say, was the true beginning, that and…..

~~~~~~~~~~

I can hear a noise ahead of me. A voice? Distant, it must be quite loud.

I won't look.

But what if he's fallen and hurt himself? What if a teacher's coming? We shouldn't be here at this hour. What if he's telling me to open my eyes and go to him and hasn't realised I can't hear?

Who does he think he is making me wait here anyway?

I can hear noises, people. That's it. I let my eyes open, then flinch in pain from the lights.

Rumbling as they draw nearer.

Within seconds, it seems, they're all around me, with torches and glowing wands, fuzzy shapes moving closer and closer. I raise my hand up to cover my eyes, feeling more and more afraid. I wish I had my wand.

'Who…? Draco?' I call into the room wildly, randomly, hoping for a stream of that deep laughter, hands smoothing my hair and telling me it's all OK and why am I such a scaredy-cat?

Instead a harsh voice echoes from behind the lights:

' ''Will you walk into my parlour, said the spider to the fly?'' like the parlour, do you Weasley?'

'Who are you? What's going on?'

The voice laughs, nastily. I try to squint at the figure approaching but the light still blinds me. I'm starting to sweat, and it's running into my eyes.

'He wants to know what's going on, guys!' The voice addresses the people behind him, and is greeted with catcalls and laughter. 'He wants to know, so why don't we tell him?'

He comes right up close to me, grabs me by the sweater.

'This is what's going on…'

He slams me against the wall, jarring my head.

'This!' Punches my stomach.

'This!' Slaps me round the face.

'And this!' throws me to the ground and kicks me.

I can hear this voice crying out, and it's me, whimpering in pain.

And then I look up, because I recognise something, some tone, look up into the seething, baying crowd. The faces are coming into focus now, and even if they weren't I'd know the hair.

There, in the mob, is Draco…

~~~~~~~~~~ TBC

Do not despair fair slashers! All is not precisely as it seems! But will Ron ever believe that………..? The sequel: 'A Matter of Belief' is coming soon……*g*