Penname:  Page of Cups

Email:  AndromedanPrincess@hotmail.com

Title:  Everything Changes

Pairing:  Ron Weasley/Draco Malfoy

Rating:  R

Summary:  Draco is torn, Crabbe is annoying, and Ron is miserable

I've put up enough disclaimers in my life to let people know that I'm not J.K. Rowling.  Honestly.  If I was, then this wouldn't have turned AU when Order of the Phoenix came out.

Chapter Fourteen:  Decisions

Draco rolled the parchment into a ball between his slender fingers, eyes staring at the ceiling of the Slytherin common room.  The letter in his hand hadn't left his line of sight for more than five minutes since it arrived this morning with the mail, and now when it was going on dinner time, Draco thought he might be obsessing.  Then again, it wasn't every day you were handed your death sentence on a silver platter, or a smooth piece of parchment in his case.  Things like this came around only once in the life of a Death Eater offspring and Draco was proud to say he was now holding his initiation letter.  What would his father do when he realized that Draco was going to have no part in the group?

January had gone, and it was now the middle of February.  Life at Hogwarts had come to a dull stand still, everyone suffering from a bit of cabin fever due to the extreme amounts of snow that fell this year.  Last time Draco went out, he returned with his trousers and cloak soaked with the flaky white substance.  Everyone grew restless, and Draco was among them, but that had a large part to do with Death Eater initiations.

Things with Ron were going better than Draco ever hoped.  Once or twice, that bloody 'L' word almost joined his vocabulary, but he was good to mind himself about actions like that.  No use in misleading Ron, thinking that something could come of them once their days at Hogwarts were over.  They were approaching all too fast as it was.  Of course, this was assuming that Draco lived until he finished his schooling.  The odds were against him, and all bets that Draco would die before June would be worth a handful or two of Galleons.

Glancing around the common room, Draco assured himself that no one could read Lucius's scrawl, then slid open the letter for what must have been the millionth time that day.  The parchment was already bent and worn, a result of Draco's constant vigilance over it.  He practically had every word memorized by now, down to the way Lucius's letters slanted, and the dashes over his I's instead of dots.  For a whole ten seconds, Draco considered sending a return letter with hearts over the I's.

Draco,

You should be very proud.  The Dark Lord has given approval for your acceptance into our circle.  You have proven yourself worthy.  The ceremony will take place on February 28th, at eleven-thirty p.m.  Follow the path around Hogwarts grounds until you come to the underground harbor where first years are taken on the first day at school.  There will be a boat waiting for you and the others.  It will leave at eleven.  I will meet you at the ceremony site.  Do not be late.

Burn this letter after you've read it.  No use in causing unnecessary commotion.

He hadn't signed it.  Draco wasn't surprised.  Lucius often didn't sign letters that were sent to his son.  Draco assumed this largely had something to do with the fact Lucius felt foolish signing things like 'Your father', and couldn't sign it with his usual 'L.C. Malfoy.'

Disregarding the instructions, Draco rolled the parchment up in his hand again, and began to roll it through his fingers.  You should be very proud, his father had written.  He had proven himself worthy.  Proud of what?  Proud of proving himself worthy of an ugly skull to mar his porcelain skin?  Perhaps he was supposed to be proud of accepting slave status.  He was having none of it.  If his father wanted to be on the bottom of the Death Eater food chain, Draco would not dissuade him; he simply would not be joining.

"Letter?"

Draco snapped his head up, and Goyle laughed.  His heart beat against his ribcage, and when he saw who it was sitting opposite him, Draco tried to regulate his breathing.  Relaxing back into his chair, Draco balled the parchment between his palms again.  He sighed.

"Letter."

"Got mine this morning, too.  Eleven on the twenty-eighth?"

"You too?"

"Yeah.  So what are we going to do about this?"

"We?"

"We're in this together, aren't we?"

Draco stared, dumbstruck, at his friend.  He couldn't remember a time before now when things were like this.  It had always been the three of them, or Draco separated from Crabbe and Goyle.  There had often been this sense like Draco had no one to be close to, which was true, because his best friend was Ron before Hogwarts.  At school, Ron's best friend was Potter, and Draco was on his own.  It was strange to have Ron back, in a new way, and still have Goyle for a friend.

They were in it together, though.  Draco often thought that Crabbe and Goyle were going to realize one day that they didn't need Draco to be their leader.  They could have easily finished him off themselves, and didn't really need all the commotion Draco caused in their lives.  Crabbe seemed to have taken the message, turned out to be the friend Draco had always thought he was.  Goyle was a different story, and Draco didn't know what to make of him.

"Knut for your thoughts?"

"Just thinking that it's strange to be excluding Crabbe."

"He excluded us first."

Draco didn't miss the hint of bitterness in Goyle's voice.

"So what does your letter say?"

"Meeting place.  Burn letter after reading.  The usual.  You?"

"My father gave me a guilt trip all about how I should be very proud to be considered worthy of the mark.  Even used the word our when talking about the circle, like I was a part of them already.  Like they're a different species than the rest of the wizarding world, and I'm about to become one of them."

"They may as well be."

The concentration and conversation between the two was broken, and Crabbe walked through the entrance to Slytherin with Moira Nott, Pansy Parkinson, and two sixth year boys that Draco recognized from Junior Death Eater fledgling meetings.  When Crabbe spotted them, his eyes narrowed, and he divided himself from his company, walking over to join them.

Ever since receiving his mark, he disassociated himself from them.  Draco assumed that if he was going out of his way to join them again, he must know about the initiation letters.  Pansy, Moira, and the sixth years barely acknowledged Crabbe's absence before going back to laughing and talking about whatever had been their topic of discussion before entering the common room.

Goyle flinched when Crabbe sat next to him on the black leather couches.  Crabbe didn't notice, because his eyes went instantly to the balled parchment between Draco's fingers.  Without asking, he snatched it from him, unrolled it just long enough to see the nature of the correspondence, and then tossed it into the fire.  The absence of surprise confirmed what Draco had speculated:  Crabbe knew all about the ceremony.

"You're very lucky, you know," said Crabbe, his voice very forced.

"How are we lucky?" snapped Goyle.

"That question doesn't even have room to be asked.  You'll be joining him.  Isn't that honor enough?"

"You didn't used to think so."

"I didn't know what I was talking about.  We thought they were slaves, but it isn't like that at all.  It's an empire, and there's room for everyone.  Everyone who knows enough to follow.  It isn't servitude.  It's a bit of push and a bit of pull."

"It's doing Voldemort's work for him while he reaps the rewards.  It's degrading."

"It's an honor."

There was a glint coming into Crabbe's eyes, as he finally turned his focus onto Goyle.  They were glowering at each other, and Draco almost expected one to pounce on the other.  Crabbe mustn't have been as affected by the tension as he thought, however, because he returned his eyes to Draco.

"What's up with you and Weasley?" he asked, calmly.  Goyle's glare softened, and transferred from Crabbe to Draco.

"What do you mean?"

"You and Weasley.  Every time I see you in class, you're working with him, or talking to him.  You've always focused your time on Weasley.  That and -"

Crabbe's voice trailed off, and from the pointed glare he was receiving, Draco had a fairly good idea what Crabbe was about to get to.  As a child, Draco had always talked in his sleep.  Lucius always told him that he would grow out of it once he went to Hogwarts, and Draco thought he had, but if what Goyle told him was true . . . Draco decided to take a guess, and hope he wasn't too far off.

"Weasley would be a great lay," he said, simply.  "He's got a lot of energy, and I wouldn't mind taking a bit of it for myself.  That's all."

"You've almost been nice to him."

Excellent.  That had been what Crabbe was about to get to.  Goyle nodded the smallest acknowledgment of approval at Draco's actions.  He tried to collect his mind, and get himself together enough that he wouldn't let Crabbe know something was amiss.

"Do you really think Weasley would put out if I wasn't nice to him?  He'd be a great lay, but he's no slut."

"That had better be all it is. If it weren't -- I'm sure your father would find it very interesting."

"I'm sure he'd find it interesting regardless.  Taking a Weasley, ruining his innocence . . . I think my father would be proud."

Crabbe looked thrown, a little unsure, and his eyes didn't leave Draco until he stood to rejoin his group.  Once he had gone, Goyle stood, stretched, and tilted his head toward the Slytherin entrance.  His eyes never left Draco, and the latter nodded.  Together, they passed by Crabbe and the others, leaving Slytherin.

Draco didn't know where they were going until he was sitting by the fire in the Head Boy room, wrapped in the same bottle green blanket that Ron made love to him in the night before.  It still smelled like him, and Draco buried his face into the material, inhaling the scent.  To his right, the fire crackled, and Draco started to feel drowsy at Ron's scent mixed with the burning embers.

"He's on to you," said Goyle.  "You and Weasley.  He knows there's something going on, and I think he knows you were lying."

"You sure?  I thought he bought it."

"It seemed . . . Crabbe isn't what people expect of him.  We've always done a very good job of making people believe we're thicker than we really are.  I mean -- granted, we weren't the brightest of people in our first few years, but in Death Eater training, you learn a thing or two.  You don't know him like I do.  I think he knows more than we can possibly presume."

"How much more?"

"Draco, I wouldn't be surprised if he's seen Weasley leave your room.  He's probably recognized Amadeus leaving Weasley messages.  Might have even intercepted a letter or two.  He knows Amadeus, and he corresponds with your father."

"He corresponds with my father?" said Draco, snorting.  "What?  Do they send each other love letters?"

"It isn't funny, Draco.  We both used to.  You know that our fathers have always insisted on us being friends, because we're both pureblood, from long lines of Slytherins.  Your father -- he writes us occasionally.  He's stopped writing me now that Crabbe's got the Dark Mark.  Probably told him that I'm thinking about resisting it.  I think they're expecting us to resist, and that's why they've planned our initiation for the same night."

"My father wrote to you?  About what?"

"Everything.  Mostly you.  Asking us questions about what you were doing at school.  Making sure you were becoming a proper heir.  Seems to think that you're going to be a spot of trouble.  If only he knew.  Problem is, I think he has some idea.  Would explain why he's not writing me anymore, anyway.  You of all people should know that with our families, things are never what they seem."

"So what you're saying is that Crabbe probably knows the nature of my relationship with Ron.  Thus, my father knows about the nature of my relationship with Ron."  Draco sighed.  "Which means he'll be expecting me to reply with a big fuck you, and as soon as I do, either Ron or I am as good as dead."

"Pretty much, yes, that's what I was saying."

"So what do I do?"

"I suggest prayer.  As for me, I'm just not going to reply at all.  Let my father and Crabbe think I'm going, and then just not show up at all.  You?"

"Suppose I'm going to have to do the same.  Let them think I'm coming.  The more time I have them distracted, the more time I have to make Ron safe.  After I don't show . . . they're going to go after him just to hurt me.  I could make them think he means nothing to me."

"The last time you tried to do something like that with him, you ended up in worlds of trouble."

"But this time is different.  This time, Ron -- it's just different."

"It's not that different."

"Maybe I should just go.  I don't want it . . ."

"Don't tell me you're really thinking about taking the Mark."

"I could become a spy."

"That's dangerous work, Draco.  And you said you didn't love Weasley."

"My father isn't easily abated, and we're going to have to live with Crabbe."

"Listen, Draco, just don't say anything.  Give yourself time to think it over and decide what you really want to do.  You have two weeks yet to decide.  No use wasting them."

"February twenty-eighth," said Draco.  "That's the day before Ron's birthday."

"Lovely.  Since the meeting starts at eleven-thirty, you'd probably get your mark at midnight, right when it hits March first.  Can you imagine that?  You'd come back, show him your arm, and scream, 'Happy Birthday!  I'm a spy!'  I don't think Weasley would appreciate that gift."

Draco didn't seem to hear him, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knees.  Goyle sighed and sat back in his chair.

"Come on, Draco.  Just forget about it for now.  Let's go down to the Great Hall and get something to eat.  You can worry your head about this later, or tomorrow, or any time other than now."

Nodding, Draco stood, and the two left the Slytherin common room.

~*~

From the corner of his eye, Ron watched nervously as Draco allowed the runespoor to wrap around his shoulders.  It seemed that for once, Hagrid acquired the perfect animal for Care of Magical Creatures; one that Draco actually took a fancy to.  A three headed serpent of livid orange with black spots, Harry joked that it was a Chudley Cannons snake.  Said serpent was now making itself comfortable on Draco, and Hagrid was instructed the class to get closer.  Where Hagrid had gotten these African snakes, Ron had no idea, but he planned on staying far away.  At least he had until Draco was given permission to roam freely, and he went right for Ron.

"What's the matter, Weasley?" said Draco, snickering.  "Afraid of snakes as well as spiders and your own shadow?"

Goyle seemed to slightly roll his eyes, but Crabbe snickered unpleasantly.  One eye seemed trained on Draco as the latter approached Ron, holding the three heads outward.

"Get it away from me, Malfoy."

"Oh, Weasley, don't you like it?"

"Malfoy -" said Ron, tersely.  Crabbe unwrapped the snake from its place around Draco, and then draped it across Ron.  Draco tried to offer an apologetic smile, but Ron was too busy trying not to move a limb.  The last thing he wanted to do was to disturb it, and possibly suffer the wrath of a very upset beast.

"Relax, Ron," said Harry, glaring at Draco.  "It won't hurt you."

"How do you know?"

Harry looked at him as if her were very stupid before taking the snake from Ron, and wrapping it around its own shoulders.  As he walked back in the direction Hagrid was, Ron could hear him hissing.  Of course.  Harry was a Parselmouth.  Ron had a tendency to forget that every once in a while.  No wonder he looked at Ron so curiously.

"Sorry about that," said Draco.  Crabbe seemed to have been dragged away by a joint effort of Millicent Bulstrode and Goyle.

"Sorry about what?  Harassing me with evil snakes."

"Actually, runespoors aren't notorious for being dangerous.  Only the right head is poisonous, and that one is usually assaulted by the other two.  Weren't you listening to Hagrid?"

"You actually were listening?"

"Miracles come around once in a lifetime.  I need to talk to you."

Ron's face fell at the strong lines that had become ingrained in Draco's face.

"What about?"

"I can't talk to you about it here.  Meet me tonight in my room, okay?  Goyle's going to be there, too.  I asked him to come, so if you could try and get along . . ."

"No problem.  Should be easier than you and Harry getting along.  I'm the one who is asking for too much.  What nature is the thing we need to discuss?"

"Something you won't be pleased with."  Draco chanced a look back to the rest of the class, and pulled Ron behind a tree, blocking them from view.  "I got a little something from my father in the mail.  I'll tell you everything tonight."

Ron nodded.

"All right.  Tonight, then.  What time?"

"Seven if you can manage."

"Not a problem."

Giving Ron a grin, Draco squeezed his hand, and then released it.  As he returned to where Crabbe and Goyle stood, Ron draped his fingers over the hand Draco touched.  A little something in the mail, courtesy of Lucius Malfoy, that Draco didn't believe Ron would be particularly pleased with.  It was just enough to keep Ron on edge, and seven o'clock would not come fast enough if Ron were to triple the speed of time.

~*~

"Hello there, Weasley," said Goyle, as Ron approached.  "You should be more careful when you're coming to visit Draco.  Anyone could see you."

"Yeah, I probably should be.  Do you have any idea what he wants to talk to us about?"

"A fairly good idea as he's already discussed it with me.  Would have said something to you, too, but he didn't get a chance until we were in class.  Crabbe would notice if he spent most of the time talking to you.  Besides, you're probably going to want to touch him when he tells you.  Hug him, hold him . . . something.  Just try to wait for most of the gushy stuff until after I leave.  The thought of Draco getting fluffy makes me sick to my stomach."

"Is there something wrong?  Is Draco okay?"

"That's pending."

"Perfect."

Goyle said the password when they arrived at Draco's room, and the door clicked.  Turning the knob, Ron eased the door open, and Goyle followed close behind.  Draco sat at his desk, head bent over the top as he scribbled on parchment with his quill.  Dipping it in the ink, he hesitated, nibbled on the knuckle of his thumb, and touched the quill again before scrawling.  Goyle cleared his throat.

"It's seven."

Draco's head snapped up, and the quill fell from his fingers.  It made a large ink blot right over the third paragraph.  Judging from the books laying about, he had been working on his Transfiguration homework.  Part of Ron felt sorry for him, seeing as how he was going to have to copy everything he wrote over again.

"You wanted to talk to me?" said Ron.

"Oh.  Yeah.  Er - have a seat . . . somewhere."

Ron looked around, and was alarmed to find that Draco's usually pristine room was in disarray.  Indeed, it looked a lot like the Gryffindor boys' dormitory usually looked after Seamus had gotten himself comfortable.  Yesterday's robes were draped across one of the high back chairs, and school texts were piled on the others.  He hadn't even made his bed, and the sheets were partially strewn on the ground.

Goyle didn't seem to have a problem with this arrangement, picking up an advanced History of Magic text, and placing it on the table before him.  He sat down, looked to Draco, and said, "Just because you're nervous doesn't mean you have to become a slob."

"Draco, are you all right?" asked Ron.

"I'm fine."

His fingers shook as he put his quill away, not even noticing the splotch on his essay.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

Throwing the robes on the ground to clear off his chair, Draco sat, and motioned for Ron to have a seat.  Dropping on the arm of Draco's chair, he watched intently as Draco's arm came around his back, and his palm rested lightly above the cleft of Ron's arse.

"I got my initiation letter yesterday."

"Your initiation . . . to become a Death Eater?"

"Yes.  My father sent it . . . Crabbe's seen it."

"He can't be trusted," said Goyle.

"I wanted to tell you . . . I don't know what I'm going to do yet.  I wasn't planning on going, on replying to my father, and telling him to stick his Dark Mark up his arse, but recent revelations have prevented such an action."

"We're under the impression that Crabbe somehow knows about you two, and has relayed the information to Lucius."

"Which means that he'd be after you just as much as me if I don't show."

Ron stared at Draco, then at Goyle, at a loss for words when looking at either one.  He could feel himself gaping, could see his mouth hanging open in his mind, and he tried to look less foolish.  It wasn't coming off well.

"What does that mean?" said Ron, finally.

"He wants to take the Mark," said Goyle.  "Become a spy."

"You'll get hurt!  No!  No way, Draco."

"Either way, someone is going to be after me.  No matter what I do I could get hurt.  I don't want you to get hurt, too.  One of us should make it out of this unscathed, and it's unfair to hurt you just because I wanted to get you into bed."

Ron tried not to let the last comment sting.  He knew that had been Draco's sole intention when they first were together.  Still, it wasn't easy or pleasant to hear.  Then, there was this problem where Draco was sitting here, claiming that he was going to take the Dark Mark.

"You said you wouldn't, Draco," said Ron, flatly.  "Can't you just . . . when do you have to decide?"

"February twenty-eighth."

"Could you . . . don't make any decisions yet.  Please, Draco.  Just think about it until then.  If you still want to, then I'm not going to stop you.  I wouldn't be able to even if I tried."

"All right, but until then, trust no one but me, Goyle, Potter, and Granger.  Anyone else . . . I don't even want to think about what could happen."

"This isn't going to get mushy, is it?" said Goyle.  Ron and Draco shot glares in his direction.  "What?  I mean, I don't want to be in the middle of an 'I love you so much' moment."

"We may get mushy.  Why?" said Draco.  "Would you like to leave?"

"If you're going to have 'please don't leave me' sex, then yes."

"We get to have sex over this?" said Draco.  "Excellent.  Get out of here, Goyle."

Ron's laugh was halfhearted as Goyle left the room, and Draco pulled Ron into his lap.  Draco's head lay against the back of the chair, and Ron nuzzled his face into his neck.