Title: Don't Judge a Book By its Cover (7/?)
Author: Mad Maudlin
Email: mekamorph@yahoo.com
Category: Angst, romance
Keywords: Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy, slash
Rating: R
Spoilers: None yet
Summary: In Which Ron doesn't have his wand, Malfoy chokes on an ice pop, Gryffindors aren't afraid of their sisters and it isn't any of Seamus' business.

Disclaimer #1: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Disclaimer #2: This story contains SLASH, people! Boys and other boys and kissing and touching and...yeah. That. So if you don't like that sort of thing, please turn back now, or forever hold your peace. I am not responsible for your actions.

A/N: Whoot. He he. Okay, I can explain...really. I'm stage manager for my school's spring musical, I'm taking two AP tests in May, and at a key point when they should've been online helping me, my usual muses were off in London writing porn and getting various bits of themselves pierced and tattooed. I also started this over a couple of times, because it sucked, and I had to do a partial complete change of premise (but 1 March 97 was a Saturday, so, go me!) Oh, and I'm a lazy cow. The one-year anniversary of this fic is approaching, and I'm kinda surprised that one random conversation could've spawned all this. I have no idea what I'll do when it's over...actually, I have no idea what I'll do for Chapter Eight. Although, I suppose I could be absolutely wicked and end it here...

Random references in this chapter include "Confection Carnage" by Aspen, The Refreshments and their groovy song "Mekong" (tho' I'll be shocked if anyone gets that one) and, as always, Discworld. Plus some others I probably forgot.

There's another sidebar which comes chronologically before this chapter. It's called Chapter 6.92. You can find it at the following URL:

 

Dedications: to my muses, especially Tas (who was actually helpful when she was, you know, on line and stuff) and Jaime, who took up duty most hazardous and let me ramble at her during the London escapade. Also to Michael Moore, for exhibiting a massive display of balls, and to all the P&P people who have bothered me to make sure this is finished.


Don't Judge a Book By its Cover

by Mad Maudlin

7.2 / Conversation

I was very glad my birthday fell on a weekend, for once, because it meant I could hide in bed until Seamus got bored and went down to breakfast. He's a big believer in this horrible Muggle idea that you should punch somone's arm until it goes numb every birthday; it's absolutely barbaric, but everyone else in the dorm seems to get a kick out of it, as long as they're not the victim. He'd gotten me every year so far, though after the first time he had to ambush me in the mornings, hence my sleeping in. I really hate Harry sometimes for having his birthday in the summer.

When I was sure Seamus had finally gone, I climbed out of bed and screamed. "Ginny!"

She jumped off of Neville's bed and made a face like she was going to be sick, although I think it might've been meant to be a smile. She must've known she wasn't high on my list of people to see first thing in the morning today. "Er...happy birthday, Ron."

"You're not supposed to be in here!"

"Harry let me up." I reminded myself to kill Harry. "I wanted to apologize. For, for what I said last night."

I sighed. I would rather not have thought about last night, but she seemed really upset about it, and if there's one thing no one in my family can resist it's Ginny upset. Unfortunately, she knows it. "Can it wait until I'm dressed?" I asked.

"Oh. Okay. Of course."

I changed in the bathroom-I haven't changed clothes in front of Ginny since we were little-and stared at the door for a good long while, debating whether to go back out. It wasn't like she was going to go away any time soon, and I'd have to go past her to get breakfast. On the other hand, there wasn't much left to say that we both hadn't already told each other in the Common Room last night, for the most part at the tops of our voices, and rehashing it wouldn't do either of us any good. I'd have liked some time to lick my wounds in private, thank you. But she said she wanted to apologize...and I wasn't about spens my entire birthday hiding in a bathroom.

I rubbed my hands together and fixed my shirt. "Gryffindors are not afraid of their little sisters," I told myself sternly, and opened the door.

She was sitting on Neville's bed again, and before I even sat down she launched into a speech. "I'm really, really sorry about what I said, Ron, and I promise I'll never bring it up ever again. It was wrong of me to call you that and I shouldn't have listened to rumors or made and judgements before talking to you first. Your business is your business and that's none of my business and...and I just worry about you and I'm sorry. Really."

Well, that was less unpleasent than I'd expected. "Thanks."

"Are you still mad at me?" She looked at me apprehensively from under her fringe, like she used to when she was little.

I bit off a sarcastic, but honest, answer. "Of course not. Water under the bridge." I tied my shoe and glanced up at her; she was frowning. "Seriously, Ginny, it's no big deal. Forget it happened." And leave me alone for a while.

She didn't say anything for a minute, so I thought it was okay. Then she said in the exact same tone of voice Hermione would use, "How can you be so casual about everything?"

"Define 'everything.'"

"About...don't you know what they call you behind you back?"

I'd known this was going to happen; now we got to retread the whole mess over again. "Yes, Ginny, I know. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not deaf." Though you wouldn't know from the way some people talked...

She looked appalled. "But don't you care?"

Of course I bloody care. Somewhere along the line I flushed my own reputation down the toilet and now I have no idea how to get it back. "Not really." I put my hand up to stop her launching into a tirade. "Look, people are idiots. I could care less about what they want to say, because the people who really matter know differently." Or I'd thought they did, at least, until last night. Call it surprise number sixteen billion for the year.

She opened her mouth and closed it a couple of times, then pinched the bridge of her nose like Percy does when he's really frustrated. "Ron, I feel like I don't know who you are lately. We hardly ever talk anymore, and then I hear these rumors, and I don't want to believe them, but...Will you tell me the truth about something?"

"Depends. Are you going to ask a question or demand an answer?"

She blushed at that, and I thought, good. She deserved it, after what she'd said. Just a little bit. She took a deep breath, bit her lip, then looked me in the eye and asked, "How many people have you slept with?"

"Three."

Her eyes went wide. "Just three?"

"Yes, just three." I leaned back on my elbows; I had a feeling this was going to go on a while. "It's not like you can go around this school having sex all willy-nilly, Gin. Besides, I'm not a, a, whatever the male equivalent is of a scarlet woman."

She nodded, then stared at her hands. "All right. But you do do...other things?"

"I have, yes." She seemed really uncomfortable about that, and for some reason, that made me sad. I always wanted to be the sort of person she could look up to, not someone she had to defend. Or attack, as the case may be. "Anything else?"

She swallowed. "Did you really...with Blaise Zabini...in the Quidditch cupboard?"

I felt my whole face go red, and now I looked at my hands rather than her face. "Yes."

"Oh."

"But we didn't do half the things every seems to think we did."

"Ah."

That about summed it all up right there. Her eyes dropped and her face tilted away and the disappointment in her voice made me want to crawl underneath the floorboards and die. Ginny was disappointed with me-I'd let her down, without even realizing it, and gained absolutely nothing in the balance. Failure again. I could deal with it if she hated me, I could probably even deal with it if she was disgusted with me...but she was disappointed. Only disappointed.

That left the hate and disgust up to me.

"Ginny..."

She could still look me in the eye, thankfully. "What?"

I'm sorry. I don't know how these things happen to me. I want you to be proud of me again. I want my reputation back. "Nothing. Nothing at all." I stood up and brushed the creases out of my clothes. "I'm going down to breakfast, are you coming?"

7.4 / Instigation

After dinner Harry and Hermione deposited me in a chair by the fireplace, then conjured up both a crowd and a stack of presents. "Happy birthday, Ron," Hermione said cheerfully, and gave me a kiss on the cheek. It was nice to know that at least some people didn't think I was contaminated or something.

Harry shoved a heavy package covered with about three layers of Spellotape into my lap. He has really got to stop wrapping things without adult supervision. "Open mine first."

"Gee, Harry, did you think it was going to escape?" I managed to find the one square centimeter that wasn't taped down and wrestled the paper off from there. It turned out to be a broomstick servicing kit like his; I reckoned there was more wrong with my Shooting Star than a good polish could fix, but then again, it's supposed to be the thought that counts.

Hermione gave me a book, to the astonishment of absolutely no one, although since it was a Quidditch book I decided I could forgive her. Mum and Dad sent me a cardigan and some extra pocket money, and Ginny got me the biggest piece of Honeyduke's chocolate I'd ever seen. You could've used it for a doorstop, I swear. Percy also sent me a book, a chess book, which was slightly less forgivable. I was watching the knight on the cover club an opposing pawn to death when Hermione poked me on the knee.

"Do you know who this one is from?" she asked, handing me a flat, squarish package. "There isn't a card or a tag on it."

I looked it over and shrugged. It was wrapped in shiny gray paper with thin green ribbon, and not a spot of Spellotape in sight. Whoever had wrapped it needed to give Harry lessons. I broke the ribbon, and the paper fell away in one big piece, revealing another book-but there was nothing stamped on the dark gray binding, no title or anything. Curiously, I cracked the cover and peeked inside.

It was full of pornographic pictures of Draco Malfoy.

I slammed it shut, but now everyone was staring at me, probably trying to guess who'd sent it. Not, of course, like I was going to tell them. Well, possibly in a next century or so, but not until then. "What is it?" Harry asked.

I swallowed hard so that my voice would sound normal. "Nothing."

Seamus smirked at me. "You wouldn't be blushing like that if it was nothing, Weasley. Out with it."

"It's nothing. Really." I shoved the Photo Album of Evil under the cardigan and rubbed my hands together briskly. "What's next, then?"

Seamus, however, is a nosey bastard who doesn't know when to let a subject drop. He jumped on me, nearly flipping the chair over, and tried to grab the album. We wrestled over it, and he came a little too close to breaking my grip. "Finnigan, let go!" I growled.

He climbed about halfway into my lap; I might've enjoyed that, under other circumstances, and if he were anyone else on the face of the planet. "I just wanna see it!"

"Well, you can't!"

"Come one, Weasley, just a peek!"

"It's none of your-bloody-business!" Seamus is a hell of a lot stronger than he looks, and I wasn't exactly in the best position to throw him off. I wrapped one arm around the album, hugged it to my chest, and tried to shove Seamus away with the other; he grabbed onto the nearest thing for balance, which, unfortunately for everyone involved, happened to be Harry. He tripped and fell on top of Seamus, and they both went tumbling onto the gifts I had yet to open. Specifically, Seamus landed on top of the package from Fred and George, and a moment later, Harry landed on top of a very large and badly startled orangutan.

I got the book back, though.

Harry yelped and scrambled to his feet. The orangutan looked around, scratched its head, then asked, "Ook?"

Hermione climbed to her feet quickly and leveled her wand at him. "Seamus, hold very still," she ordered him, in a sort of fake-reassuring tone of voice.

Orangutan Seamus didn't seemed very reassured. He screamed "Ook!" and scrambled away on all fours, and tried to climb Dean. "Ook ook ook!"

"Arrgh! Seamus, gerroff!"

"Hold him still, Dean!"

"I'm trying!"

"Ook!"

"Gerroff me!"

"Homomorphus! Oops, sorry, Colin...homomo...Seamus, come back here! Homomorphus!"

It turns out that orangutans are really quite fast. And strong. And have a great love of bananas. It took a full quarter of an hour to get Seamus put right, and another ten minutes to get him off the chandelier in one piece. When we dared actually open the remains of the twins' package, it turned out to be nothing more dangerous than musical boxers shorts and some trick candy that was still mostly edible. Not that anyone would willingly eat it, coming from them, but like I said, it's the thought that counts.

I slipped the album under my seat cushion for the rest of the evening. Nobody asked after it.

7.6 / Investigation

Dean was snoring. Neville was snoring. Seamus, after liberal application of a Calming Charm and some profuse apologies, was snoring. Harry wasn't snoring, but he never does; I reckon, if he ever had, his bastard relatives found some way to make him quit it a long time ago. I was the only person left awake in the dormitory, and there was no way I was going to get to sleep any time soon. The most evil picture book in the world was burning a metaphorical hole in my mattress.

I pulled it out of its hiding place and looked at it, which was silly, because my bed curtains were closed and I couldn't see a blessed thing. I wasn't quite sure why I hadn't chucked it into the fire when no one was looking, or dumped it in the bin, or perhaps owled it anonymously to Professor Dumbledore with a note demanding Malfoy's expulsion. Blackmail, I decided; this stuff would make excellent blackmail in case of...something. I'd know what it was when I saw it. And, anyway, I couldn't get rid of it when I hadn't even looked through it properly yet. It was pure morbid curiosity, of course, not any actual desire to see Malfoy running around starkers, because I'd had quite enough of that in one lifetime. Plus, I reckoned I could use the laugh.

I lit my wand and opened the album at random. There was just one picture centered on each page, no captions or notes at all. As if that was really necessary. In one photo, Malfoy slowly performed a striptease, easing his shirt off with agonizing slowness; in another, he was down to his shorts and groping himself through the fabric. I flipped a few pages ahead, and found a picture of Malfoy eating an ice pop. A simple red ice pop, like my mum used to make during the summer, mostly just colored sugar water in the solid state; except Malfoy wasn't just eating it, he was molesting it. He slid his tongue around its tip, bobbed his head up and down its length, and let it melt and dribble and run down his chin and neck and arm. When he was finished with it, his lips were stained bloodred, like a parody of lipstick, and he smiled around the stained little wooden stick he held clenched in his teeth. I turned the page before he could conjure up another one.

I found myself on the last page of the album, then; there was just one picture there, but it was probably the worst of all. Malfoy was completely naked, except for those thigh-high come-fuck-me-boot he'd worn last summer. He was sitting on the end of a bed, in his dormitory, if all the green upholstry was any indication. Slowly, like he was performing for an audience again, he took himself in hand and started to wank, and for some reason I could not look away from the long girl fingers that stroked his rising length. I watched picture-Malfoy gasp and squirm and squeeze himself, watched his hips thrust forward into his own grip, watch him throw his head back, and arch off the mattress, and come with his mouth hanging open. I watched him slowly regain his breath, and look at me as if he could see me through the picture, and ever-so-slowly lick his sticky fingers clean.

I slammed the book shut. I tried to shove back under the mattress, but I was so wound up I dropped it onto the floor. (Wound up disgusted, I mean, not wound up...well). Seamus stopped snoring for a few seconds, but luckily the noise didn't actually wake anyone up, and after a moment I decided it was safe to breath again. I bent over the edge of the bed and tried to gather the book up, and it was then that I noticed the piece of parchement that had slid out from between two pages. If I'd been looking more carefully, I'd have found it sooner. Malfoy's handwriting, although he hadn't signed it: Come to the dungeons to get the rest of your gift.

I crushed the note in one hand and stared into the lit end of my wand for what seemed like ages..

It couldn't hurt just to have a look...

Finally I crawled out of bed to tuck the photo album back under my mattress, where it belonged. It had fallen open to the picture of Malfoy with the ice pop; he had a blue one now, but as I watched he accidently broke a piece off the end and choked. Served the little git right, and it seemed like good auspices to go on. I stuffed the book away, then crept across the room and peeked through Harry's bedcurtains. He was sprawled out on his back with his mouth open-kind of cute, really. Not that I was far enough around the bend to think of Harry like that. I shook his shoulder until he blinked at me and squinted. "Errrugh? Whuzza?"

"Harry, can I borrow your cloak?"

"Uh?"

"Cloak, Harry."

"Nkay..."

He rolled over and buried his face in the pillows. Probably wouldn't even remember that I'd been awake later. Good thing, too, because if he asked in the morning what I wanted the cloak for, I wasn't sure what I was going to tell him. Not, of course, that there'd be anything to tell.

7.8 / Capitulation

I found the right dungeon eventually, although it seemed like I'd had to stick my head into every door below the castle first. It was dark like all the others, but the moment I stepped inside the lamps burst into flame, to reveal Malfoy reclining with his feet on a table. Thank Merlin, he was dressed; I'd been worried that he'd show up naked, since that seemed like the sort of thing he'd do, being a psycho bastard and all. But, no, he wore a gray shirt, black trousers that were tighter than is strictly decent and-I swallowed-those bloody thigh-high boots. I loitered in the doorway, debating with myself, and almost didn't notice his growing look of confusion until he stood up and started peering at me with a scowl that almost looked nervous. It took me a minute to remember that I was invisible.

I got a satisfying little start out of him when I shed Harry's cloak, although he pulled himself together too fast for me to enjoy it. "Evening, Malfoy," I said. Like I did this sort of thing every day, you know?

He smiled, looked almost lazy, and strode up to me with a swing in his step I was beginning to loathe. "Many happy returns, Weasley. Like your present?"

"Oh, yes, I had a good laugh over it. Did you take those pictures yourself?" I don't think I sounded half as casual as I'd wanted, but it wasn't entirely my fault. Trousers and evil footwear aside, Malfoy was a bit, well, distracting; his top two shirt buttons were open and I could see a sizable slice of skin through the gap. Even though I wasn't looking, I mean. It bothered me.

He just plain bothered me all over, actually, especially when he stood close enough to breathe my air. "That wasn't what I meant." He pressed his hand against my chest and started sliding it lower, a rough caress, while my heart shot into my throat and my mouth went dry. He seemed amused by my reaction. "Well?" He stopped with his fingers on my belt. "Aren't you going to unwrap me?"

In a triumph of will and determination, I took one step backwards-just enough to get out of his reach. Laugh if you don't think that's difficult, but obviously you've never been a position like it, with Malfoy standing there, offering himself, and his shirt unbuttoned and his voice doing this little thing on the end of the phrase. I took a step back and folded my arms and swallowed hard. "I thought you weren't like that," I spat at him.

He shrugged fluidly. "Perhaps I've changed my mind." Oh-so-casual. Completely assured. Oh, yes, I just decided to be a fag one day, can I fuck you? Bastard.

I rolled my eyes at him and sneered. "Or perhaps you just want another...what did you call me? A 'convenience?'"

His face fell for a minute, and I thought I saw his cheeks pink a little; five points to Gryffindor. But then he reached up and caressed my face, a touch that sent little tingly feelings up and down my spine. "Let's not dredge up ancient history, Weasley."

I tried to twist away. "That was six weeks ago."

"Same difference."

I batted his hand down and pushed around him, towards the door. "Sorry, Malfoy. Maybe another time."

His eyes bugged out like he couldn't believe what he was hearing, which would've been funny in another situation. I reached for the door, which was still just barely cracked, and started to pull it open; Malfoy suddenly threw all his weight against it to slam it shut. My fingers were wrapped around the edge of the door, and when he pushed it, I didn't have enough time to pull them away. The little git crushed my hand between the door and the frame so hard I was surprised that none of my fingers just dropped off. "AAAAAAaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh FUCK!"

Malfoy leapt away like I was on fire and scuffed the floor with his hideous boots. "Sorry."

"Sorry? Fuck, Malfoy, that fucking hurt..." I dared examine my hand; a dark red mark crossed the second joint of three fingers, and it hurt like hell when I tried to flex them. Given time it'd be one hell of a bruise.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and mumbled something irritable. He stared at me while I massaged my hand, trying to figure out if he'd broken any bones with that little manoeuver. Bastard. Crazy, evil, clumsy, stupid bastard. Who all of a sudden reached out towards me. "Give it here."

I cradled my hand against my chest and backed away. "No."

"What do you think I'm going to do, Weasley, bite it off?" Possibly, but before I could tell him that he pulled his wand out of his back pocket (which was frankly amazing, considering how tight those trousers were). It was only then that I recalled leaving my own wand all the way back up in Gryffindor Tower. Oh, hell. "Give me your bloody hand."

I extended my hand towards him-I didn't have much choice, not when I couldn't defend myself-and he grabbed me by the wrist and jerked me forwards. He's stronger than he looks. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for him to hex me, then yelped again when he squeezed my fingers. I looked just in time to see him press the tip of his wand against my palm and cast one of the basic healing charms we learned last year. The pain in my fingers melted away, he let go, and I was left feeling like extremely big ass.

We stood and stared at each other for quite a while; he was blocking the door. I averted my eyes first. He folded his arms and tapped his foot, sending the harsh echoes reverberating around the room, then finally sighed melodramatically. "What's the magic word?"

"Which one?" I snapped.

"I didn't have to fix your hand, you know," he said petulantly "Or couldn't your parents afford to teach you common courtesy?"

I grated my teeth and clenched my fists, because even if I fully intended to pound him into a thin paste on the floor, I knew the moment I jumped on him we'd end up doing something else entirely.

"I'm waiting, Weasley."

Fucking evil crazy stupid bastard.

I took a deep breath, raised my chin, and looked him straight in the eye. "Thank you." It sounded more like a death threat than anything else, which was my point, but from the way he smirked I might as well have knelt down and kissed those blasted boots.

He took one step forward and patted my cheek. "Good boy." Before I could pull away, his hand slid around to grab the back of my head and he kissed me, pushing me backwards across the room and against the table. I grabbed his shoulders as if to push him away, but for some reason I can't quite explain, I didn't follow through. I just held onto him and let him lead.

He pushed me back against the table and practically straddled me, those painted-on trousers getting even tighter by the second. He held me around the waist with on arm and clenched the opposite hand in my hair, and he kissed me like fireworks and cinnamon and he tasted like wintergreen. This was good, this felt really good; and I knew that it would only get better, especially with full use of my arms this time, if I let it. He ground his hips against mine and started to fumble with my clothes one-handed, and felt really fucking amazing, and if I stayed where I was it going to feel great. And I'd have to sneak back into the Tower in the morning and give Harry back his cloak, and explain where I'd spent the night this time, and look my little sister in the eye.

And I stopped.

I wrenched myself away from Malfoy's mouth, and pushed him away as hard as I could. He went flying , tripped over his own feet and landed in a heap on the floor. "What the hell?" he demanded indignantly. His lower lip was curled in the beginning of a pout.

"Good night, Malfoy." I put my belt back in order...just how the hell had he managed to unfasten it already, anyway? I straightened myself up and snatched Harry's cloak off the floor.

Malfoy scrambled to his feet, although he seemed to be having some trouble in those boots. "God damn it! You ten-Sickle slut! Don't you dare tell me you didn't want that!"

"Not that much, I don't." I put on the cloak so I wouldn't have to look at the front of my own trousers and left about as quickly as I could without running. I was never going to run away from a Malfoy. I felt my way along the dungeon walls, in the direction of the nearest staircase, concentrating on not tripping or snagging the cloak on the rough edges of stone. Malfoy ran out after me, fuming, but he obviously couldn't guess which was I'd gone, because he stood in the middle of the corridor and started screaming incoherently; he seemed to think he knew quite a bit about my family, my House, my friends, and my personal habits. As I rounded the corner, I nearly stepped on Mrs. Norris, who was trotting towards Malfoy with her tail straight up in the air. Where she went, Filch followed; that was reason enough to run. Malfoy didn't seem to notice a thing.

By the time I got all the way back to Gryffindor I had calmed down completely. I put Harry's cloak away without waking him up, put my pajamas back on, and climbed into bed. Alone. Just like I had every night for the last six or seven weeks. Whereas, unless a miracle had occurred, Malfoy was down in the dungeons trying to explain himself to Filch. If he hadn't already been given a month's worth of detentions for being a freak on school grounds or something, of course. I smiled at the mental image of Malfoy scrubbing floors in those stupid boots.

I win, I thought, and drifted off to sleep.