Penname: Page of Cups
Email: AndromedanPrincess@hotmail.com
Title: Everything Changes
Pairing: Ron Weasley/Draco Malfoy
Rating: R
Summary: Christmas and here and Ron's gotten Draco an interesting present.
Disclaimer: This story contains characters, locations, and other random things created and/or owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, Inc., etc. Since no money is being made, no infringement is intended. Section 102(b) of the U.S. Copyright Act states that copyright protection does not extend to ideas, procedures, concepts, principles or discoveries, but the actual words used to express those things. I know. I'm researching my copyright abilities.
Chapter Twelve: Tristan and Blake
Snow was falling from the sky in tiny flakes of white that caused the dark night sky to become illuminated as the wind swept the particles over Hogwarts grounds. In a dormitory room on the fifth floor of the castle, a light could be seen flickering through the glass like a roaring fire dwindling upon the approach of midnight. Inside the room, the heavy emerald blankets shrouded two figures naked from the chest up that were clothed only by the sheets where their bodies could not be seen. Beneath the heavy material, their legs were intertwined and the cloth clung to the slightly damp skin of their legs, one set pale and boyish, and the other strong and freckled.
"Are you okay?" said Draco, finally, after what felt like hours on end of silence, the first thing to be said after their euphoric moans of pleasure died.
"Why do you ask?" replied Ron, wrapping his arm tighter around Draco's back and flexing the fingers of his other hand, which was shoved under his pillow and was starting to go numb.
"You're brooding. There's no reason to brood. It's Christmas Eve and it will be Christmas in less than an hour."
"I know that."
Ron shivered and released his grip on Draco long enough to pull the blankets up to his chin, burying Draco in the process. The top of his head was just barely sticking out at the end, a mass of blond hair fanning out around him like a halo. Two grey eyes peeked out at him from the darkness and Ron laughed, leaning forward to kiss his forehead.
"Cold?" asked Draco, yanking his arm out of the blankets to lay it on top of the material and bring his head back into the open.
"Very."
"Now will you tell me why you were brooding?"
"I wasn't brooding."
"Shame on you, Weasley. You shouldn't lie to me on Christmas Eve."
"I would only be lying if I were brooding, which, I can assure you, I was not."
"Liar," accused Draco. Looking to Ron, he released a heavy sigh upon seeing the small frown lines that were becoming etched into Ron's forehead and the pallor shade his skin was starting to take. Curling his fingers around Ron's chin, Draco pulled Ron forward to kiss a patch of freckles on his cheek. "What's bothering you? Talk to me."
"Nothing. Just my family. You don't want to hear about them. We're just the poor, pathetic, muggle-loving Weasley clan."
"Don't say that, Ron."
"Why not? It's true," said Ron as if he had just told Draco that Harry was the Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. "We're ignored. Just a family that should have been wiped out a long time ago. You've said so yourself. My family is neglected and I'm just Weasley number two thousand and fifty-nine, the most insignificant of all."
"Where is this coming from, Ron? Don't throw the things I used to say in my face on a night like this."
Ron tried to pull away from Draco, but the blond curled his fingers around Ron's wrists and pulled him forward, the force being gentle but enough to show resistance, and Ron stopped struggling. He didn't seem to have much in him prepared for the struggle to begin with. Looking him over and taking him in, Draco found himself examining Ron, and he forced himself to give up. There wasn't a way he was going to figure out the origin of this by telepathy.
"Hey . . . Ron - come on. What's wrong?"
"Tomorrow's Christmas," Ron finally answered, resignedly.
"And?"
"I'm stuck here." He closed his eyes and looked away, allowing Draco to put his arms around him and pull him closer. Nuzzling his face into the crook of Draco's neck, Ron breathed in deeply to take in Draco's scent, like evergreen trees and the stiff smell of the dungeons. "Sorry for being a prat."
"You aren't a prat," said Draco. "What was with the sudden outburst? One second you're calling yourself insignificant again, which I'd like to go on the record saying that I told you that you were not insignificant, and then you're crumbling."
"It's too much work to fight you when I don't want to," mumbled Ron. "You're the only good thing I have right now."
"I sincerely hope that isn't true. What about Potter?"
"He hates you," said Ron, pulling back and snickering. "He's trying to be civil about it and I told him you're coming by tomorrow to spend Christmas with me but Harry . . . he's a great guy but he's got so much to deal with right now. He doesn't blame me . . ."
"But he doesn't think I'm good enough for you?"
Slowly, Ron nodded. "Yeah. But you're, like, Draco Malfoy," he said, in the same lost, confused tone that Harry was often using these days. "To be fair, I can't really blame him. If it weren't for child care, I'd sincerely doubt if I would have caved in to your prowess."
"Thank Merlin for disgruntled house elves who are incapable of caring for three year old children," said Draco.
"Right. After everything you've done, I don't blame Harry for his views, but it doesn't mean that a distance hasn't grown between us. He supports me, but he thinks I should be placing my affection in - er - let's just say that there are other people Harry thinks I should be looking at."
"Better people."
"Precisely."
"So, Potter is more of a foe than a friend these days."
"He's a friend; just . . . he's got more to deal with than a best friend like me. Half the wizarding world is trying to kill him and the other half won't stop whispering about he cries about his dead parents, which he doesn't. When you're in a position like that, and just barely passing because of all the distractions, you don't need a orientation challenged best friend running around with one of the people you'd consider a possible murderer."
"Potter thinks I'm going to kill him?"
"He thinks you're going to become a Death Eater, and Death Eaters work to hand Harry over to Voldemort. So, technically, yes. And if you had asked me two hours before you first kissed me what I thought, I would have agreed with Harry."
"If it will ease your pretty little head, I'll let you in on a few random facts about me. My father is a Death Eater. My father wants me to be his marionette for the rest of his life. He started this practice when I was seven years old. When I was three years old, you were my best friend, my first friend. In retrospect, half of the only real friends I've ever had."
"Half?" said Ron, frowning.
"Greg and you. That makes you half. Someone at the ministry told my father that there should be a better screening process for the ministry child care center and when my father asked why, he was told that it was wrong for riffraff like your family to be associating with families like mine. My father was afraid that I'd be influenced by you so he pulled me out and, after realizing that me playing with you when he came to get me was not a new development, he threw me in solitary confinement. That's what I get for being friends with someone like you."
"Draco -"
"It wasn't the first time it happened, Ron. My father started acting strange when I was six. Don't you remember? I told you about it."
"I remember," Ron said, hardly a whisper.
"The point is, my father taught me to hate Potter, hate mudbloods, and to hate your family, especially your family. Mudbloods are one thing. They don't deserve to be around us, but my father says that as long as they behave like proper wizards, they should largely be ignored. Potter is a consequence of the Dark Lord's fall, and I'm expected to be better than him to show people that just because you have a scar on your head, it doesn't mean that you're special. But your family? You're pureblood. You're supposed to know better. Mudbloods are separate from us. Potter is an entire different thing in his own right. Your family is pureblood and you're in control of how you behave."
"We make your family look bad -" said Ron, softly.
"But I don't believe that anymore," interrupted Draco. "I had only my father around me from the time I was seven until I came here to Hogwarts. He chose my friends for me. He chose my girlfriends for me. He told me who to take to the Yule Ball, and when he found out I was gay, he chose who I dated. I was with Anthony because of him. I believed everything he told me. I forgot we were friends and when I came here, I hated you. I was jealous of Potter, I was annoyed by Granger, but I hated you."
Draco paused, clenching his jaw together and refusing to let emotion build too strongly in either his voice or his eyes, though he supposed that was already a lost cause.
"You were supposed to know better. You were trying to make me look bad," said Draco. "That was my mentality. I was supposed to do better than Potter to prove that just because he continues to suck oxygen, it doesn't mean he's worthy of the praise he receives. I was supposed to beat Granger to prove that it's important to have pure blood. I was supposed to beat you to be a Malfoy, to uphold my family name.
"He wants me to be just like him." Draco shook his head. "He doesn't see that I'm not like him. I believed him for the longest time and then Anthony . . . my father knew. He knew Anthony was cheating on me, and when I later told him about it, he told me to stop being such a girl. The reason I broke up with Anthony had nothing to do with the fact he was seeing other people. I confronted him about it, tried to get him to stop or at least do something, but he hit me. He hit me. That was it for me. I broke up with him and we got into a fist fight, which I'm convinced he only came off better in because I was in a daze from the first punch. When my father heard about it, he yelled at me. He said if I was going to be a faggot, I should learn to live with being kicked around."
Draco's fingers had been playing with a corner of the pillowcase his head lay on, and when he got to this point in the story, his fingers stilled and he chanced looking up at Ron. There were two extremely thin tear tracks running over the apples of his cheeks, one of which was veering off to the right and dropping on to his pillow, and the other ran to the corner of his mouth, his saliva mixing with the salty fluid. Reaching out with his thumb, Draco brushed away the tears and gave Ron a soft smile.
"Never cry on account of me, Weasley."
"I love you," said Ron, his voice throaty and sounding painfully tight.
Draco looked down at his pillow once again and bit hard on his tongue, wincing when he felt a tiny drop of blood flow onto his bottom lip. The taste was just barely there, that coppery, metallic taste that blood has, and Draco stared down at his long, slender fingers.
"My point is," he continued, refusing to acknowledge the slightly pained look on Ron's face, "that I don't want to be like him. If he were on the light side, I would join the Death Eaters, but he's a Death Eater, and I would never join them for the sole fact that my father is held in their high regard. Potter can sleep soundly."
"What about your mother?" asked Ron.
"She was around. It's because of her that I'm not in Durmstrang in the first place. Father wanted me learning the dark arts there, but my mother didn't want me to go that far away. She used to be extremely protective of me, but my father . . . well, you know about the drugs. My father was sick of her arguing with him on how I should be raised, and he started hitting her first, but that got to be messy and hard to cover up, so he started sedating her. That's what the entire article in the Daily Prophet that you were so kind to mention during one of our rows was about. She went to her mediwitch for a routine check up and they found it in her blood. Father hadn't known she was going in. If he had, he would have made sure she was clean."
"I'm sorry. And here I'm complaining about my family."
"Why were you upset about your family? I still don't think I can possibly be the one good thing you have right now. I envy you for your family."
"Well," said Ron, carefully, "my mum and dad are great. Nothing like what goes on with your family. Ever since Ginny died, though - things are weird. Mum smothers me like she expects me to go next and I can't without her letting me know just how much she loves me. Dad's working so much at the ministry so he doesn't have to think about it. I'm worried about him. I was supposed to go home for Christmas, and I desperately wanted to because I miss my mum, and even if she does smother me, I need her around. They're going to see my brother Bill now, though, because they didn't see him this summer holiday and they said they wanted me to stay here because there wasn't enough money to take me, which is probably true but is also a secret code for Hogwarts is safer and they think I'll die, too, if I go with.
"That's what things are like without adding Percy to the equation. I don't know what my mum and dad would do if they knew about Percy."
"What do you mean? Isn't Percy that uptight brother of yours?"
Nodding solemnly, Ron said, "If you tell anyone, I'll murder you with my own hands. You understand?"
"I swear to keep my abnormally large mouth shut."
"He's a Death Eater."
"Your brother? The one with the glasses? How?"
"I don't know. I haven't trusted him since some time in my fifth year. Harry told me I was crazy for thinking of Percy like that because he takes the straight and narrow path, but he sided with Fudge when the issue of Voldemort returning was presented, and it wasn't until after Ginny died . . . I always thought he knew. He kept telling us we were being ridiculous, thinking that Voldemort was back, but there was something to him that just called out at me. I knew he was lying. And then Harry . . . Harry heard his voice, heard him being addressed last year."
"Ah, yes. The infamous duel."
Growing strangely quiet, Ron nodded.
"My family is falling apart and I hated you so much for mocking them when they're everything to me and it's disappearing."
"I'm sorry for hurting you," said Draco, trailing his index finger across Ron's cheek to connect the freckles with his fingertip. Wincing at his tone, Draco scrunched up his nose. "This is pathetic, Weasley. Look at us. We're one of those boring couples."
"Nothing about this is something I would define as boring," said Ron, nipping Draco's finger as it ran along his bottom lip, and Ron sucked it into his mouth.
"No, really. We are. We used to have all this zest and passion when we'd fight. Potter and Granger had to physically restrain you from murdering me countless times. Then, we first started this thing we have, the sex was rough and brutal. Now we're lying in bed pouring out hearts out and cuddling."
"The fates are cruel."
"We're one of those couples who start out passionate and then as soon as we get a title, we get boring. The tension dissipates. Who cares about someone like me and someone like you unless there's rough, brutal sex that results in bruises afterward?"
"We haven't always hated each other," said Ron, shifting his body to straddle Draco's waist causing the boy beneath him to squirm. "And we still have that drive you're talking about. I don't understand what you think is missing. Do you want to kill each other in the corridor again?"
"Not especially."
Draco met Ron's lips as Ron spread out on top of him, parting his lips when Ron's tongue searched for access, and he wrapped his arms around Ron's body to rest his palms just above the curvature of his bum. Pulling back, Ron placed a solitary kiss at the dip in the center of the collar bone.
"You know where that tension went?"
"Where?" asked Draco, winding his fingers in Ron's coppery fringe and pulling him down for their chests to meet.
"We fuck all that tension out."
Snickering, Draco said, "So that's where it all goes."
"Mmm hmm," said Ron, nodding knowingly. "Time?"
"Just before midnight," said Draco, checking the clock on a table beside his bed.
"I have to go back."
"What?"
"I told Harry I'd be there in the morning to open gifts. It's our last Christmas at Hogwarts, Draco."
"It's our first Christmas together."
"I know. You're coming over just after breakfast, right?"
"Well, yes."
"Then it's okay."
"Fine, but at least stay with me until it's Christmas. You can go after midnight."
"Do you really think we lost our passion?"
"Not when you put it your way."
"Okay," said Ron, breaking out into a smile and resting his body next to Draco's, cradling the blond into his body.
~*~
"What is this supposed to mean?" asked Ron, stretching out on his bed and looking to Hermione.
"I can't read it from over here, Ron," she said, crossly, and he handed her the paper before rolling his eyes.
Harry had been the first of the trio to wake up and he had barely pulled (literally) Ron out of bed when Hermione showed up with her gifts and the three set out on unwrapping them. So far, Ron had gotten a new cloak from the twins, something that looked inedible from Hagrid, navy dress robes from Harry, and a replacement copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them from Hermione, who was sick of Ron complaining about not having his own copy and writing all over hers and Harry's. As he got to the last package, a lumpy parcel from his mother, Ron ripped off the attached note and, after reading it, handed it over to Hermione, thoroughly confused.
"What does it say?" asked Harry.
Hermione scanned the note. "Happy Christmas. We love you. Sorry you can't be here with us in Egypt. That kind of thing. Wait . . . 'tell him Happy Christmas as well and I hope it fits. I hope he doesn't mind I used magic. There was very short notice.' What's that all about?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out," said Ron.
"Maybe your mum really cracked," offered Harry. "Maybe it's Egypt."
"Maybe." Sighing, Ron held up the attached parcel. "My psychic Trelawney super Divination powers tell me that this parcel will contain a maroon jumper."
"What makes you say that?" said Hermione.
"Mine's black," said Harry, sounding pleased, and pulling the jumper out of it's wrapping.
"You know," said Ron, tearing the packaging apart and extracting the jumper, which was, indeed, maroon, "I love my mum. I hate maroon so much, but I'd never have the heart to tell her so. I don't know why my mum always makes mine maroon. I don't know if she thinks I look good in the color or she thinks I like the color, but I'd never have the heart to tell her I can't stand it. She'd be heartbroken, thinking I've hated my jumpers all these years."
"You have," pointed out Harry.
"But that doesn't stop me from wearing them," he replied. Climbing off the bed, Ron grabbed a pair of worn out jeans with holes in both the knees and grabbed his new jumper. "I'm going to take a shower and get dressed. I'll meet you in the common room to go down for breakfast."
"When's Malfoy coming up?" asked Hermione.
"I'm supposed to meet him after breakfast outside the common room entrance. You will be nice to him, won't you?"
"So long as he's nice to us," said Harry, tersely. Ron decided not to push it and headed out of the dormitory, craving a warm shower.
~*~
The Gryffindor trio was returning from their Christmas breakfast, which the house elves must have gone all out on and was upsetting Hermione so much at the amount of 'slave labor' that must have taken place that Harry suggested cutting their meal short and taking her back to the common room. Draco hadn't been in the Great Hall during breakfast and Harry was silently hoping that he wouldn't show up at all today. He never said it out loud but Ron knew what he must be thinking, and his heart sank, praying that Harry's wish would not come true. Leaving Draco early that morning had been task in itself and he didn't even want to think about not being with him for the holiday.
His worries were forgotten as the three turned the corner into a hallway leading to the common room. About halfway down, only a short distance from where the fat lady's portrait hung was Draco Malfoy, leaning back against the wall with his platinum hair hanging in his face and two boxes on the floor beside his feet.
"Malfoy," said Harry, his tone flat and unreadable. Ron decided it was smarter to ignore him.
"Draco," said Ron, rushing up to him and swatting a piece of hair out of his eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Why would something be wrong?"
Ron batted at the hair.
"Oh," said Draco, laughing, and he nervously eyed Harry and Hermione who had just joined them. "Er - It's Christmas. There's hardly anyone around to see me walking around like this and you like it better down so . . ."
Ron broke out into a grin and reached out to lightly tug on the end of one of the pieces, which fell just above Draco's shoulder.
"It looks good. So where were you at breakfast?"
"I must have eaten earlier than you did. I forgot that you don't crawl out of bed until the day's half wasted."
"It's only ten. I can't help you get up far before the cock crows."
"Was that supposed to be some sort of perverted joke?"
"No, don't be daft, you nymphomaniac."
"I'm a nymphomaniac just because I though you were making a perverted joke?"
"No, you're a nymphomaniac because you've shagged half of Hogwarts."
"It isn't half, but fair enough," said Draco. "So, Weasley, guess what I got for Christmas this morning?"
"What? Did you father send you some stationary with the Dark Mark on it?"
"Now that you mention it . . ." said Draco, laughing. "No, really, I got a Weasley parcel."
"What?"
"A Weasley parcel. Your brothers or at least I'm presuming it was your brothers practically killed me with Filibuster fireworks. They went off the moment I opened it up."
"Why did you get a Weasley parcel?"
"I wouldn't know, but I've got a very nice green Weasley jumper," said Draco, tugging on the sleeve on Ron's new maroon one. "Fits quite well, actually. Your mother sent me a letter apologizing if it wasn't perfect because she didn't know we were an item until a few days ago."
"My mum sent you a Weasley jumper?" said Ron. Draco, trying to look stern, nodded. "Do you like it?"
"I've already sent my gratitude."
"Thank you, Draco."
"Not a problem. At least we know one of our parents encourages this relationship. Though, for future reference, would you do me the honor of telling me before you tell your mother?"
"Er - but I didn't tell her. How did she know?"
"Er - that may have been me," said Harry, sheepishly. "Your mum wrote me to ask you how you were, and I might have let that slip about - er - you know. It hadn't occurred to me that you wouldn't have told her about it. Sorry, Ron."
"S'okay, just . . . could you try not to tell my mother about things like this in the future."
"Yeah," said Harry, shrugging to Hermione.
"As much as I enjoy speculating Weasley jumpers and the fact your mother knows about us, are we going to stand out here all day or do I get invited in?"
"Oh, right! I forgot."
"That much is obvious," drawled Draco, sneaking a sharp glare at Harry as Ron said the password and they entered the Gryffindor common room. The room was still as disgustingly chipper as it had been the last time Draco was in here, and he set his boxes on the floor before taking a seat in one of the armchairs only to have Ron squeeze in beside him.
"You're going to crush me," said Draco.
"If I were going to crush you, I would have done it by now, and it wouldn't be because I'm sharing a chair with you."
Harry made a coughing, choking sort of noise and he got up from his chair to go sit at one of the tables where Hermione had seated herself. From where he was seated, he could hear Malfoy mutter, "Buggered Potter," as Hermione set up the chessboard. Sneaking a glance over at the couple, he grimaced seeing Ron get up and give Draco a quick kiss and say something about a gift before running up the stairs to the Gryffindor dormitory.
"Why do you treat him like that?" drawled Draco once Ron was gone.
"Who?" said Harry. "Me? That's rich coming from someone like you."
"I treat Ron a lot better than you treat him."
"Ron? What happened to 'Weasel'?"
"Potter, are you his best friend?"
"Of course."
"Then bloody act like it. It's no secret we don't like each other but I'm keeping my mouth shut because I care about him."
Snorting his obvious disbelief, Harry said, "You care about him? I've never heard such a blatant lie before in my entire life. I am acting like a best friend. You didn't hear me saying anything, did you? I don't like you, Malfoy. I'm not spending my Christmas with you. If Ron wants to, that's his own decision."
"Walking away from him the moment I get here is not being a best friend. Ron is a trusting person -"
"Obviously," seethed Harry, a pointed glare resting on Draco.
"He doesn't take care of himself. I keep telling him that he should ditch you for treating him this way."
"That would be convenient, wouldn't it? Make it so much easier to turn him over to Daddy dearest, wouldn't it?"
"Don't talk about what you don't understand, Potter. It makes you looks ignorant."
"Let's not fight," interrupted Hermione, her voice soft but clearly breaking through the fight that was starting. "It's Christmas and Ron's going to be back down here soon. He's going to get upset if he sees you fighting."
Draco scowled at first Hermione and then Harry before turning around and returning to his hair. Harry turned back to Hermione, mouthed a thank you, and started setting up his own chess pieces.
"What is Ron thinking?" whispered Harry, sneaking a glance over at Draco, who was staring into the fire and sneering.
"I don't know, Harry, but just let it go. At least for today," she replied, also staring uneasily at Draco.
"I'm not deaf, you know," said Draco.
Harry and Hermione exchanged glances that were broken by the sound of feet coming down the stairs and Ron came into the common room with a medium-sized bag pulled shut by a drawstring, which he was swinging it by. His feet stilled as he entered the common room and looked from Harry's scowl to Draco's sneer before landing on Hermione, looking as if she had just been caught breaking curfew by her beloved Professor McGonagall.
"What's going on?" said Ron, nervously.
"Nothing," said Draco, motioning him over. Ron kept his eyes focused on Hermione and Harry as he walked over to where Draco was seated and he dropped next to him in the armchair again, his body half resting on the chair but mostly seated on Draco's lap. "Do you want to go first or should I?"
"You," said Ron, setting his bag beside the chair.
"Okay." Keeping Potter in his sight, who wasn't playing chess but staring at the couple intensely just as Granger was, Draco handed over the first of the boxes, a square one about the size of a Quaffle. It was incredibly light to Ron as Draco handed it over and he shook it, trying to figure out what it could contain.
"I didn't just break anything, did I?" asked Ron. Draco stifled a laugh and said no.
Tearing off the paper, Ron opened the box and stared inside.
"Er - Draco . . ."
"I noticed your pajamas were too small so I got you new ones," explained Draco.
"But the box is empty."
"What's your point?"
Ron stared blankly at Draco until a smirk started to curl on Draco's lips and Ron laughed, chucking the empty box at him.
"You are a nymphomaniac."
"You were going to kill me when you started shaking it," said Draco, pinching Ron's waist. "I had to try very hard not to laugh . . . Ron, stop shifting like that. You're going to injure certain appendages that are best left unharmed."
"Stop pinching me, then," said Ron, pinching Draco's cheek and leaving a red mark on his pale skin where the forefinger and thumb had been. "You're freakishly white."
"I blame it on my father."
"You blame a lot on your father."
Draco shrugged, reaching over to grab the second box and grunting as Ron started squirming on his lap again from the constant movement.
"I told you to knock that off," said Draco, laughing. "Now, don't shake this."
The box was long and narrow and Ron stared at it for a long time before asking, "This isn't some really frightening sex toy, is it?"
"No," said Draco, laughing. "I didn't even think of buying sex toys for Christmas. That would have been amusing. An extensive supply of lube or something. Then again, it would have been rather selfish of me because it would be a present for me as well."
"Who says I'd use it with you?" said Ron, tearing at the paper.
"You better would have used it with me."
Lifting the lid off the box, Ron gaped and from their spots at the table before a chessboard that wasn't even completely set up, Harry and Hermione struggled to see what it was.
"I promise to use any future sex toys with you," said Ron, letting the box drop as he pulled out his new broomstick.
"It's a Firebolt 500," said Draco. "The model just came out two weeks ago. Cost me a fortune but you're worth it."
"Draco -"
"Don't get all sappy on me, Weasley. I wouldn't know what to do with you."
Seizing Draco's chin with the hand that wasn't holding his broom, Ron pulled him forward to cover Draco's lips.
"Yeah," said Draco once Ron had broke away. "That is where all the tension goes."
"I can't believe you did this."
"Just don't let me hear you going on about how you can't play Quidditch because of that broom of yours, okay? Even if you aren't playing for Gryffindor, thanks to captain Potter that better get some use."
"He didn't try out," said Harry.
"Getting defensive there, Potter," drawled Draco. "Don't let me see you letting that go to waste."
"I won't," promised Ron. "I hate you! My gift sucks!"
"I'm sure your gift doesn't suck," said Draco, laughing as Ron carefully put the broom back into it's box, treating it like it were made of glass and was likely to shatter at any moment. Reluctantly, he pulled open the drawstring of the bag and extended a box to Draco, sighing. "Get your arse over here, Weasley."
Draco wrapped an arm around Ron's waist and yanked him back into his position in the armchair. Resting his head on Draco's shoulder, Ron watched in anticipation as Draco meticulously removed the paper, marveling at how he carefully peeled back every piece while Ron just dove in and took what he was looking for. Opening the box, Draco extracted his gift and stared at it, allowing the box to drop from his fingers.
"A stuffed bear?" said Harry, cocking an eyebrow.
"Shut up, Potter," snapped Draco, turning to look at Ron and gaping.
"What? It's a stuffed animal and about a million years old. It's missing an eye."
"I told you to shut up, Potter," snapped Draco. "Is this . . . Ron, is this what I think it is?"
"Yeah," he said, softly laughing. "It's Blake."
"How could you possibly say this sucks?" Draco curled his fingers around the back of Ron's neck and he slowly pulled him down, tilting his head up to kiss Ron and marvel at how just pressing his lips to Ron's could make him feel so . . . genuine. Ron made him feel like he was finally real, that there was no fabrication to him - and loved. Ron made him feel so loved, cared for, and Draco hugged the bear to his chest, dropping his chin to rest on it's head and painfully aware that Ron had confessed his love and Draco had changed the subject. This was so not going the way it was supposed to.
"I don't get it," said Harry and Draco's head snapped up, glaring at him.
"It's a long story," said Ron. "I'm sure you don't want to hear it."
Draco almost laughed at Potter's face, looking like he definitely did need to hear it.
"I'd like to hear it," said Hermione and Harry, speechless, nodded.
"Well," started Ron, "Blake is my teddy bear that Fred changed into a spider when I was three. You'd have thought I would be turned off by it thanks to Fred's little trick, but I was so relieved that it was my bear once again after the whole ordeal that I took Blake everywhere with me. I never left him out of my sight. You know Draco and I were friends at child care. Well, he used to carry around this stuffed dragon, Tristan, and when we had to leave to start tutoring . . . you know how kids are. They think two weeks is a lifetime. We were afraid we were never going to see each other again so we switched toys. He took Blake and I took Tristan."
"Do you still have Tristan?" asked Draco, interrupting. Ron held up a finger, leaned over to his bag, and pulled out a gold and purple stuffed dragon that looked like it had been through hell and back.
"I had my mum send them," said Ron, grinning. "Thought she'd be really boggled by it at the time, but I guess she knows why I did that now."
"So you switched stuffed animals," prompted Hermione.
"Yeah. Well, you know, we thought that if I had his dragon and he had my bear, we'd have to see each other again. Our parents wouldn't just let us keep a friend's toy or give away our own toys. It was an ingenious idea at the time and I still stand by what we did."
"I agree," said Draco, who had started rubbing his palm over the cloth spikes of the dragon's tail. "My hands used to be so little. I remember when Tristan was almost as big as I was."
"And you literally dragged him along by his tail everywhere you went."
"Yeah," said Draco, grinning.
"Anyway," continued Ron, looking from Draco to Hermione and Harry, "we saw each other again but we kept hold to the stuffed animals with the intent of only giving them back when we were forced to. However, the day Draco left and didn't come back, he brought Blake in and told me his father was acting weird and he didn't want anything bad to happen to my bear. So, now I had Blake back but he told me to keep Tristan for him just in case. Now, I'm giving Blake back."
"Is this so that we have to see each other again?" asked Draco, running a hand over the bear's paws.
"That and to remember our friendship. If it would never have been there, we'd never be together like this."
"Ron, your gift is a trillion times better than mine. It's perfection."
"I love you," said Ron and Draco froze.
There is was again, this time in front of Potter and Granger, but he choked down the three words so desperately trying to escape his lips. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Ron's waist and pulled him farther onto his lap before claiming his lips, forcing all that passion he was building by not fighting with Ron. If he wasn't going to say the words (and in all reality, he couldn't say the words), then he could at least try to show Ron what he meant to him.
"Draco," said Ron, softly, and Draco noticed that Harry and Hermione had turned their backs to them and were speaking in whispers, one occasionally glancing over their shoulder at the couple.
"What?"
"We need to talk."
Swallowing, Draco nodded.
"I love you," said Ron, tracing Draco's cheekbone with his index finger. "I've been trying not to tell you because I know you don't love me back. I don't expect you to say it, okay? I just want you to know that . . . I've loved you since we were kids. When we were little, it was respect. When we were fighting these past years at Hogwarts, I was hurt you would do something like that to a friend, but had you approached me and acted like the person I knew as a kid, I would have loved you again. Now - I love you romantically. I can't not tell you. So, what I'm trying to say is, don't feel like you need to say it back just because I say it. I'd rather have you not tell me you love me than have you tell me that you do and not mean it."
Pressing his lips together, Draco nodded.
"Okay."
"Okay," said Ron, breaking out into a sad smile. Meeting Draco's lips with his own, Ron allowed his eyelids to flutter closed, and his eyelashes kissed the apples of his cheeks as his lips moved against Draco's, causing the nerves in the tissue to tingle and shoot waves of pleasure through his entire body. Nodding, Ron murmured against Draco's lips, "Okay."