Operation Opera (4)

AN: I just wanted you guys to know that I've always imagined Ron (and the Weasleys) as POC with tan skin and red hair and blue or brown eyes (since Ginny had brown and Ron had blue) and I've been reading a lot about people hating on POC HP characters and I think that's just stupid because POC people need more representation and Harry Potter could have been a great platform for that and it fell short. I also have a none-racist Pansy coming in later who is half-Japanese and before people start that "but Cho Chang" bullshit, she was supposed to be Chinese and has two Korean surnames as her first and last name because I guess that just "sounded" "Asian" and coming from the woman who invented Wolf Wolf I think we're allowed to expect more. So I just wanted to make it clear that yes, Ron is POC. If you don't like that, leave.

I don't know, especially now, this kind of breaks my heart a bit. I'm reading Harry Potter out loud for my boyfriend in Japanese – he is Japanese – and he told me how it's a bit strange for him to hear the characters speak Japanese with their own dialects – Hagrid has a specific "rough" dialect and Olivander uses old-man-Japanese – knowing that none of them are actually Japanese. And of course I know that she's British and it would be hard to make all her characters be Japanese but was a little bit more diversity really that much to ask for? Because I've been to England and it's diverse as fuck. Like… most of Europe is. I don't know man. I'm just kind of disappointed, re-reading and realising it is very very white.

They had agreed on their second date six days later and Ron felt absolutely delighted that he was going to get to see the blonde again. Though they had talked every day, multiple times a day – since having a single long conversation was very hard, with Harry, Hermione and Ginny constantly wanting to spend time with him – he still missed being able to touch Draco's hand or watch his hair gleam. During breakfast he found himself wishing he could have breakfast with the Malfoy instead, wishing he could be there as the blonde enjoyed his toast, one delicate bite at a time. When he showered, all he could think about was seeing Draco naked, which led to more showering, and when his eyes drifted shut with sleep, he prayed one day he would be able to feel the lingering of a kiss, pressed to his lips by Draco's rose ones.

He was head-over-heels in love, and well, it felt pretty much amazing from where he was standing.

Draco had sounded pleased when Ron had told him about his parents' positive reaction, and therefore it had been with regret that he added his bravery had departed him faced with the task of informing his siblings of their date. This hadn't upset the other boy in the slightest. He didn't have brothers or sisters of his own, and did not see it fit to judge the way Ron handled them, since he could not objectively say whether or not it was just. The situation was unfamiliar to Draco, and he had promised he would trust Ron's better judgement of the matter.

Ron was nervous when he knocked on the door leading to Malfoy manor – the gateway had eerily crept open on its own accord – because he had not seen mister Malfoy since the man had sleepily disappeared up the set of marble stairs, and he was half-expecting a sort of terrifying questionnaire. You could never really be sure with the Malfoys, his dad always said.

The door opened in a haste, and Lucius was revealed to Ron, currently fixing his tie correctly around his neck, his eyes focused while his hands moved onto buttoning the cuffs of his sleeves.

"Mister Weasley?" he glimpsed up for barely a second and then returned back inside the house, leaving the door open in invitation while he grabbed his coat, "How may I help you?"

"I came to pick up Draco sir," Ron did his best not to stutter, but the whole haphazard happening of things was throwing him off.

Though Lucius appeared to be in minor distress, he was still as regal as ever. He threw a questioning look over his shoulder – one pale eyebrow arched – and buttoned his coat.

"Draco?" he sounded unaware of the existence of his son. Then, he turned properly and realisation met his face, "He was unable to tell you, of course," he spoke more to himself than to Ron, using one hand to release his long golden locks from his coat while he used the other to fix his collar, "He's in his bedroom, but I need to be going, or I'll be late. Will you be able to find him on your own, or would you rather have a help accompany you?"

The idea of Draco and bedroom left him tongue-tied as his brain short-circuited and adjusted to default.

"I'll be f-fine," he rasped out, trying to force all the currently unwanted images from his head.

He was sure the older man had heard the strain in his voice and knew exactly what it meant, but all he did was give Ron one last look, before heading in the direction of what should be the salon.

"Alright then, good night mister Weasley," with one last nod in the redhead's direction, Lucius was gone.

It took Ron a moment to regain himself and realise he was supposed to be looking for Draco. All that had registered from the past few minutes was the fact that he was about to visit the blonde's bedroom, a place he had regarded as sacred ever since he had kissed Draco against his bedroom door. He counted himself lucky that every time he saw Lucius the man was occupied in one way or another, which meant he could not fully focus on scaring the crap out of Ron, and then took resolute steps towards the staircase. There was something Draco had not told him, and by Merlin, Ron hoped it was nothing bad, because if that happened to be the case, he thought he would rather have Lucius rant at him then having to face the issue.

With the images of Draco naked in his bedroom gone, came images of Draco sick in his bedroom. Of Draco wasting away in his bed, of pining in a corner, his skin slick with transpiration and his cheeks flushed with fever and... then the images of Draco naked in his bedroom returned and Ron felt something between terrifying desperation and exhilarating anxiety.

He reached the bedroom in record time, only to find the doors thrown wide open.

Draco's suite was huge, possibly as big as Ron's entire kitchen and living room together, with two tall windows leading to the balcony, both thrown wide open to let in the sun and a cool summer's breeze. The wooden bed overlooked the balcony, positioned perhaps a little awkwardly against the back wall with the foot of the bed placed against it instead of the head. There were dark green drapes, hiding the bed from view, opening up on the right side so Ron could see the green bedding, matching the drapes. The door leading to the bathroom was opened as well, but Ron could only make out a white tub with golden legs set upon the marble floor, and something that resembled a sink in the other room. One wall was hidden behind books and oak racks with framed photos, the racks going up all the way to the ceiling. Between two racks there was an archway visible, that lead to Draco's closet – this fact was proven by the tell-tale trail of clothes strewn from the side room to the bed.

There was a desk against the other wall, and a chaise longue with a small table, atop it a bottle of firewhiskey. There was an easel and drawing blocks set atop one another. Amidst it all was a half-clothed Draco Malfoy, holding one shirt in front of his naked chest and then the other while he looked at his mirror-image.

Black, expensive slacks covered Draco's long legs and pert ass, the fabric tighter around his behind so it was decently accentuated. A tiny sliver of faint pink was visible inches above the dark of the pants, and Ron smiled when he realised the blonde was wearing pink underwear, the colour standing out against his milky skin.

Inches of marble skin tended over the lean muscles in his back, his shoulder blades pulled taut at the action with which his arms moved. It ran down into a curve and then to his plump arse, forming a beautiful arch. His sides were exposed and soft, his abdomen rather taut with his abs defined though not too prominent. There was a fleck of silver that sparkled in the light, right near his navel and Ron marvelled at the display it made in the sun. He noticed a fresh scar on the wonderfully broad hips, the skin a little flushed there, but it did not bother him – it only made Draco's figure that much more appealing, knowing that even he had imperfections. Ironically, a Malfoy's imperfections made them all the more perfect.

"Ron? What—" their eyes locked onto each other in the mirror, a smile playing in the corner of Draco's mouth which meant he was glad to see the redhead. Then, his eyes widened and he bit his lip, "Damnit, I forgot to call you!"

"Is something wrong?" he was happy to at least see that Draco was still breathing which meant things could only be looking up from thereon.

"No, nothing's wrong per say," Draco focused his eyes on the two shirts again, picked one, and threw the other onto the bed. He slid into the soft white fabric and turned to face Ron directly – the movement of chest and arms drew attention to Draco's left arm, for the first time rid of all bandage and cloth, and it was now evident why the blonde hid it from the world. There was a thick, crooked scar running from the dip of his elbow to his wrist – it was angry and pink and looked painful – right where Ronald knew the dark mark had been. He stayed silent for a moment, boring through Ron with his piercing gaze, before continuing almost painfully casual: "my father has a meeting with some stockholders and it turned out they're bringing their sons, so I have to join. I know we were supposed to see a movie tonight, but let's go to the opera instead?"

There was something horribly precarious about the question—as if it was a statement, but an uncertain one—and every single word was wrapped in layers and layers of thick innuendo.

Sometimes, it was really difficult to catch up with the Malfoy's true intentions.

Sometimes, Ron had to stop trying so hard.

"I've never been," he shrugged, trying to get his brain to stop functioning—which was a quite hard feat, surprisingly, "but if you're sure it's alright, I'd love to go."

Draco smiled, something broad and upright that made Ron fall in love all over again.

"Thank you," he replied honestly, the dark edge that had been in his voice before completely gone. He buttoned up his shirt and took a black waistcoat off his bed, adjusting it by the little straps on the back before tucking himself in properly, "you'll need a different jacket though."

"A jacket?" Ron's voice mimicked the words with a clear question mark at the end, his eyes searching Draco's for any answers.

"I'm sure we'll find something in my father's room," Draco quickly slid a black bowtie out one of his drawers. He passed Ron and let his hand slide past the redhead's hip, using the small touch to beckon him.

Ron's body betrayed him, and before his mind could wrap itself around the whole ordeal, he was already following the blonde into the master bedroom.

Not much about the room drew Ron's attention, but the first thing that caught his eye were the pictures placed atop the mantelpiece across from the bed.

The first picture was innocent enough – Lucius Malfoy, smiling with a toddler in his lap, the small blonde boy trying to do a braid in the long blonde hair, pouting as he failed. Draco's hair was so bright it was almost nothing more but a light spot in the picture – Ron felt blinded by Draco as his sun.

There were two pictures in what appeared to be the three broomsticks, each time three Gryffindor students with three Slytherin students – one where they were cheering wildly at a table, clinging their butterbeers together with great zeal, the second where they were posing properly for the camera, arms slung around each other's neck, broad smiles. Ron was positive he had never seen mister Malfoy smile so big, his arms wrapped around what appeared to be a young and stunning Sirius Black, and someone that looked suspiciously much like Harry. Remus and the late professor Snape were also in the picture, in their middle a smaller raven Slytherin grinning – Ron thought he might have seen the guy before, but he couldn't remember.

The fourth however, had Ron back up slightly. He was relatively sure that in it, Lucius Malfoy was kissing James Potter – quite zealously, before the both of them disappeared from the frame. Draco was unperturbed by this, and was reaching up in one of the oak wardrobes for some old boxes he knew his father kept up there.

"Is that—" he could not look away from the sight, the empty frame where the two men had just been engaged in a heavy lip-lock

"Yes," Draco didn't bother looking up, and brought the box to the grand four-poster, back turned to the older boy, "my father's relationship with late mister Potter is a well-kept secret, and I'm sure he would like to keep it that way."

The words were cold and calculated, stern. Ron detected just the undertone of insecurity that hitched his breath near the end, and like that, he was broken from his reverie.

There was no use to cry over spilled pumpkin juice, his mother always said. If Lucius Malfoy had once been involved with James Potter, so be it.

"I won't tell a soul," Ron swore – he tried to press every small and seemingly insignificant bit of love he felt for the boy into the words, all the affection and fondness and sheer joy – he came up behind the slim body and saw it cringe, the smallest of shivers running up Draco's spine. He wrapped his arm around Draco's form delicately, more for his own comfort than for the Malfoy's, truthfully. When Draco leaned back into him, Ron pressed a kiss to his temple and muttered: "I hardly think your father's clothes will fit me though."

"This is one of the boxes my father kept that has mister Potter's stuff," Draco undid the lid, casually brushing his hand over one of Ron's, tight against his belly, "my dad says he was nice and burly too, so I'm sure it'll fit you."

"Only you could make being big sound like a good thing," Ron rolled his eyes, feeling his ears heat up at the blonde's words.

Draco took a black suit jacket from the box, before turning in the tight embrace with a smile so lecherous Ron felt his knees go weak at the sight of it.

"Ron, I find it an incredible turn-on that you're nice and broad like that," his eyes shone with amusement, the curve of his lip deliciously distracting. One hand cupped a blushing cheek, pink tinging tan, and he brought Ron's face down, so their mouths hovered just inches apart, "it's fucking sexy Weasley."

They kissed, urgent and open-mouthed, and Ron was just so happy he got to taste the Malfoy again, that every single doubt he might have had before disappeared like snow before the sun. It seemed to go on for hours, in the best of ways, every single brush of their tongues sending sparks up Ron's spine, the tingles setting his entire core alight.

With their lips parting, Ron growled at the sight of Draco's mouth. His lips were dark red now, much redder than their usual pink colour, and the knowledge that Ron had done that, made him feel insanely proud.

He was helped into the jacket by slim hands and fine fingers and Draco pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips afterwards, before leading him out of the bedroom, and into the hallway. They were silent while they walked, but only because Ron was still feeling dazed about the ferocious kisses he had just been fed – his whole body felt bouncy and deliciously warm, as if Draco had set him alight – his smile giddy when he reached for Draco's hand.

Draco didn't say anything but let him take it, granting him with a miniscule smirk in return.

They travelled to the opera house by floo, arriving in a grand oval room that was clothed with marble tiles all around. People dressed ridiculously fancy were swarming the hall as they left the fireplaces, decorated with white stone and sculptures of the same mineral.

Ron felt rather uncomfortable with some of the people looking at his shabby clothes with disdain. If he had known he would seem so out-of-place, despite the fact that he had deemed himself properly dressed when he left home, he would have changed. When the rather rude looks travelled to Draco however, they disappeared and most people were actually nodding politely at the blonde wherever he passed.

All Draco did was nod in acknowledgement and hold Ron's hand tighter, feeling the tenseness enter his body.

They spotted Lucius amongst the crowd relatively easy. The man oozed superiority wherever he went, and even though he was just standing in the forecourt, glass in one hand, other on his hip, it seemed as if somehow, everyone was painfully aware of his presence, and all movement in the room resolved around him.

To Ron it appeared that Draco, although still in his teens, also somewhat had the same effect, since people immediately noticed he had arrived, and acted accordingly.

He was really damn glad he was used to people staring – due to being Harry's friend for so long – and that Draco did not stop holding his hand, because he was quite sure their linked digits was the only thing stopping him from feeling like a complete outcast.

In their greeting to the older Malfoy and his three colleagues they were courteous, as Ron was sure Lucius expected, and they were then pointed towards the antechamber, where the sons of the co-workers were apparently staying. Though Ron had seen how close Lucius and Draco usually were, they were now strictly formal, and he figured it was thanks to the three other men present in the group. If the men were in any way dazed at the fact that the blonde refused to let go of another boy's hand, they didn't show it, and Ron felt rather lucky for it.

"I have to warn you," Draco's voice came suddenly, and his lips were almost startlingly close – so close that Ron heard him clearly even though his voice was dropped low, his breath warming against the redhead's earlobe – making Ron shiver pleasantly though involuntarily, "these guys, they're not very likeable. So just ignore them in a polite way."

"How the hell do you ignore someone in a polite way?" Ron asked, confused, with the nerves shining through his voice.

All Draco did was smirk, fingers tightening their hold.

They approached a group consisting out of two brunettes and one raven, but they had been spotted long before they even headed their way. Ron had noticed the three boys by the tall, golden ashtray when they had entered, and their eyes had not left the pair until they were spotted. One brunette was rather tall and towered over the other two by almost a head, and the other brunette had a slightly toned skin, whilst the raven was almost unnaturally pale.

Before they even spoke a word, Ron was relatively sure he was not going to like them, their sneers and mocking attitude a blunt indicator.

"Thank Merlin, we thought you'd never be showing up!" the raven was the first to speak, showing off his shimmering white teeth when they were within reasonable distance.

"It's nice to see you again Draco," the smaller brunette smirked, eyes filled with a glee Ron was unable to place properly.

"Likewise," there was a small, almost imperceptible nod, but other than that, Draco remained as distant and closed-off on the outside as he always was.

"Would you like a smoke?" the tallest boy offered, fishing a pack out of the inner pocket of his robes – he was balancing his own cigarette between his slim fingers, ashes nearly tipping off.

"No thank you," Draco declined sternly, "I quit."

There was a silent voice inside Ron's head that was wondering about the newly revealed fact – the other more bulbous voice was far too busy loudly commenting on the way Draco's hips curved when he favoured his one leg.

"You've been quitting a lot these days," Draco pursed his lips as soon as the comment left the smaller brunette's mouth, as if he already knew what came next, "Blaise's been counting how long it's been since he last saw you naked. He's not pleased."

"He misses you something terrible," the raven added, "even got the maid fired because of it!"

"It was the maid's son, actually," Draco commented dryly, and as soon as Ron caught on – the words that had just been spoken rushing up and breaking through him – his hold on the blonde's hand turned so tight it was uncomfortable, "the fact that he got an innocent woman fired only shows how utterly thoughtless he is."

"I suppose it was rather inconsiderate of him to shag someone else," there was a careless shrug and Ron fumed on the inside, "I'm actually rather surprised he hasn't moved on. Are you really that stunning naked?"

Ron felt his ears redden and he was about to say something, anything, when Draco beat him to it: "it's not about how stunning you are when you're naked, it's about what you do when you're naked, and when it comes to that, yes, I'm very sure I could teach you a little something."

His voice was a cover-up of sickly sweet and even though the words were not directed at him, Ron felt their impact immediately. From the glazed looks the three boys had, he was sure they felt it too – something Ron had come to fondly refer to as 'the Draco Malfoy effect'.

"I would be one very eager student," the raven teased – which brought a whole different feeling to Ron – and the redhead felt his anger rise like bile in his throat.

"I have no doubt that you would be, but I'm afraid I'm a very demanding teacher and you could not satisfy my needs, even if you tried very hard," his bite was back and Ron literally saw the other boy deflate at the words, "you wouldn't want to put yourself through the humiliation, I've been far too spoiled in the past to settle for you."

Ron felt proud at the comeback, glad to see that Draco had not left his cocky attitude behind at school, and felt a silly smirk tug at his lips.

When Draco then let go of his hand and opted for wrapping an arm around his waist instead, Ron's cheeks heated with the thought of what that would make the three boys think.

They looked at him as if they hadn't even really noticed him until then, their eyes slightly wider than they were before, and their faces the perfect example of utter awe.

Ron had felt fortunate at dating the Malfoy before. Now, he realised he should perhaps also be honoured, since he was sure dating another would never earn him such looks of jealousy and resentment.

And though being glared at out of spite was not at all pleasant, it was okay if it meant he got to feel the blonde's weight rest into his side, the smell of his cherry shampoo clouding his senses.

When a voice resounded through the room to announce that the performance would begin shortly, they joined the adults before a host lead them to their seating arrangements.

They had a separate compartment to their disposal, apparently, and Ron felt a little uncomfortable, knowing it must have been expensive seats. Draco took place on the second row, whilst the four older men sat on the first, and the other boys followed his example. Ron ended up next to the shortest brunette, whilst the crude raven happily took a seat on Draco's other side.

Draco paid no attention to him, and instead leaned closer into Ron's side, sending him a careful smile.

"This is your first time right?" he queried delicately, voice not exactly a whisper, but dropped down politely as to not disturb the other men on the front row, discussing business still, "I hope you'll enjoy, I saw this piece before and found it rather amusing."

Ron grinned, sliding a finger over the palm of the pale hand as he settled himself more comfortably in his chair.

"I'm kind of excited. Everyone's always so mysterious about opera," he admitted, "It makes you wonder what the big deal's about."

Draco chortled softly, earning the attention of the other three boys – even though they had been glancing at them the entire time – playfully catching Ron's wandering finger in his own.

"You'll see soon," the blonde promised, "well, hear would be more accurate. I'm personally always amazed by the fact that even though they're chanting in a different language, every word is somehow still understandable. Even if you close your eyes, it's still possible to comprehend what they're talking about, because you can sense the emotion in their singing."

He beamed and in that moment Ron felt such an intense fondness for the beautiful boy next to him, he found himself unable to resist to the temptation, and claimed the pink lips to himself.

With their lips connected Ron felt the smile and it made him want to smile along – instead he adjusted his head and allowed Draco to grasp onto his neck, prying his lips apart with an eager tongue.

"You still taste like watermelon," Ron revelled when they parted, the sensation of the kiss leaving him so putty he had to rest his forehead into Draco's nape, currently much too excited to feel silly.

"You're still daft," Draco laughed breathlessly, Ron's unconsciously traced patterns on his palm making him feel entirely too giddy, "are you comfortable?"

Ron looked up through his red bangs.

"Very," he confirmed.

Draco just laughed again.

AN: thank you for reaaading! I hope you guys are enjoying this~! Let me know!