GHOSTS
VII
Snowfall
***
"It's snowing," Ron whispered, taking in the white flurry with a childlike look of wonder on his face. "It never snows in London."
"Friends with one of the biggest mysteries of the wizarding world, and you're impressed by snow?"
Ron flinched. "Draco ... please. We're on holiday. Let's not talk about school, let's not talk about the wizarding world ... let's especially not talk about Harry."
"Let's just not talk, hmmm?" Draco pulled Ron tight against him, kissing him softly, then more firmly as Ron relaxed in his grip.
"In public, Draco?" Ron managed between kisses, "Whatever would your father think?"
Draco shoved Ron up against a wall, ignoring the stares of passersby. "Let's -especially- not talk about my father." The kisses were rougher this time, bruising, angry.
"Draco, Draco," soothingly, ducking out from under Draco's arm, "please. If you want to hurt me, could we do it in private? Don't worry," he assured a frightened looking old lady, grinning charmingly, "he's my boyfriend; all this is fine with me."
The old lady's eyes grew even wider, and she scuttled off muttering under her breath. Draco looked after her, bursting into laughter the second she was out of sight. "That was brilliant, Ron, brilliant."
And the snow was falling, and Draco was laughing; his -boyfriend- was laughing, and snow was falling in London, and snowflakes stood out on his red hair and on Draco's black velvet jacket and melted on the tips of their tounges and they melted into each other and it was a beautiful day and it was snowing in London.
***
He hadn't realized how cold it was until they got inside; the hotel must have been a thousand degrees warmer than the streets, and Draco shrugged it off and said he hoped this was alright and it was nicer than any place Ron had ever seen before.
"It's beautiful," he said, and Draco laughed again, and Ron soaked it in; he loved to see Draco laughing, even if Draco was laughing at him.
"It's a hotel."
"It's a beautiful hotel, and I love you." He hadn't meant to say it, but then, sometimes he said things without meaning to.
Draco grinned. "I love you, too. Just wait right here, okay, and I'll go get a room." He guestured for Ron to sit down in the plush sofa he was standing in front of, and Ron complied, rolling his eyes.
"'Wait right here,' as if I'm going to destroy the hotel or something," but he sat and waited anyway, because the sofa was so soft, and he hadn't realized his feet hurt any more than he'd noticed the cold, but it was cold and they did hurt, and he sat down and closed his eyes and didn't realize he was drifting off until he felt Draco's lips on his forehead, heard Draco's voice murmuring to wake up, dammit, but not sounding angry at all.
***
"You taste good," Draco said suddenly, and Ron decided to take his word for it, seeing as he'd never nibbled on himself the way Draco was doing.
"Er, thank you, I suppose."
"You're quite welcome," perfectly poised, as if skin taste was a normal topic of conversation. And it might well be, Ron mused; he didn't know what they discussed at formal dinner parties.
Which brought him back to the reason they were here in the first place, aside from the much sought-after central heating and the plush carpeting and the bed that could swallow you and you'd never notice (not to mention the swimming pool and twenty-seven premium cable channels).
"Draco?" He propped himself up on one elbow and tugged at a lock of Draco's hair, bringing him up from an exploration of Ron's navel.
"hmm?"
"You brought me here to break up with me, didn't you?"
At that Draco actually tumbled off the bed, although he naturally sat delicately right back on the edge of it, pretending nothing had happened. "Ron ... why would you say something like that?" He wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Because we can't stay together, and you know it. You've said it yourself, time after time — you're a Malfoy. I'm a Weasly. Besides, you need to ... you know. Keep the family name going; continue the bloodline and all that. And no offence, but I don't think I'd make a very good mother for your children." He grinned slightly, knowing full well that Draco knew it was fake.
Draco leaned over and brushed his lips against Ron's. "I think you'd make a wonderful mother." He sighed. "But really ... it wasn't my intention, but as long as you've gone and brought it up ... I ... I -do- love you, Ron, but...."
"I know. You don't have to explain yourself."
"So ... can we enjoy the holiday together, then? And then we'll go back to school, and go back to hating each other...."
"And then we'll be finished, and we never have to see each other again."
"But you'll know that I love you."
"And you'll know that I love you," but it wasn't the same, and it could never be the same, and he wasn't looking at Draco, he was looking out the window, and it was a beautiful day and it was snowing in London.
***
VII
Snowfall
***
"It's snowing," Ron whispered, taking in the white flurry with a childlike look of wonder on his face. "It never snows in London."
"Friends with one of the biggest mysteries of the wizarding world, and you're impressed by snow?"
Ron flinched. "Draco ... please. We're on holiday. Let's not talk about school, let's not talk about the wizarding world ... let's especially not talk about Harry."
"Let's just not talk, hmmm?" Draco pulled Ron tight against him, kissing him softly, then more firmly as Ron relaxed in his grip.
"In public, Draco?" Ron managed between kisses, "Whatever would your father think?"
Draco shoved Ron up against a wall, ignoring the stares of passersby. "Let's -especially- not talk about my father." The kisses were rougher this time, bruising, angry.
"Draco, Draco," soothingly, ducking out from under Draco's arm, "please. If you want to hurt me, could we do it in private? Don't worry," he assured a frightened looking old lady, grinning charmingly, "he's my boyfriend; all this is fine with me."
The old lady's eyes grew even wider, and she scuttled off muttering under her breath. Draco looked after her, bursting into laughter the second she was out of sight. "That was brilliant, Ron, brilliant."
And the snow was falling, and Draco was laughing; his -boyfriend- was laughing, and snow was falling in London, and snowflakes stood out on his red hair and on Draco's black velvet jacket and melted on the tips of their tounges and they melted into each other and it was a beautiful day and it was snowing in London.
***
He hadn't realized how cold it was until they got inside; the hotel must have been a thousand degrees warmer than the streets, and Draco shrugged it off and said he hoped this was alright and it was nicer than any place Ron had ever seen before.
"It's beautiful," he said, and Draco laughed again, and Ron soaked it in; he loved to see Draco laughing, even if Draco was laughing at him.
"It's a hotel."
"It's a beautiful hotel, and I love you." He hadn't meant to say it, but then, sometimes he said things without meaning to.
Draco grinned. "I love you, too. Just wait right here, okay, and I'll go get a room." He guestured for Ron to sit down in the plush sofa he was standing in front of, and Ron complied, rolling his eyes.
"'Wait right here,' as if I'm going to destroy the hotel or something," but he sat and waited anyway, because the sofa was so soft, and he hadn't realized his feet hurt any more than he'd noticed the cold, but it was cold and they did hurt, and he sat down and closed his eyes and didn't realize he was drifting off until he felt Draco's lips on his forehead, heard Draco's voice murmuring to wake up, dammit, but not sounding angry at all.
***
"You taste good," Draco said suddenly, and Ron decided to take his word for it, seeing as he'd never nibbled on himself the way Draco was doing.
"Er, thank you, I suppose."
"You're quite welcome," perfectly poised, as if skin taste was a normal topic of conversation. And it might well be, Ron mused; he didn't know what they discussed at formal dinner parties.
Which brought him back to the reason they were here in the first place, aside from the much sought-after central heating and the plush carpeting and the bed that could swallow you and you'd never notice (not to mention the swimming pool and twenty-seven premium cable channels).
"Draco?" He propped himself up on one elbow and tugged at a lock of Draco's hair, bringing him up from an exploration of Ron's navel.
"hmm?"
"You brought me here to break up with me, didn't you?"
At that Draco actually tumbled off the bed, although he naturally sat delicately right back on the edge of it, pretending nothing had happened. "Ron ... why would you say something like that?" He wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Because we can't stay together, and you know it. You've said it yourself, time after time — you're a Malfoy. I'm a Weasly. Besides, you need to ... you know. Keep the family name going; continue the bloodline and all that. And no offence, but I don't think I'd make a very good mother for your children." He grinned slightly, knowing full well that Draco knew it was fake.
Draco leaned over and brushed his lips against Ron's. "I think you'd make a wonderful mother." He sighed. "But really ... it wasn't my intention, but as long as you've gone and brought it up ... I ... I -do- love you, Ron, but...."
"I know. You don't have to explain yourself."
"So ... can we enjoy the holiday together, then? And then we'll go back to school, and go back to hating each other...."
"And then we'll be finished, and we never have to see each other again."
"But you'll know that I love you."
"And you'll know that I love you," but it wasn't the same, and it could never be the same, and he wasn't looking at Draco, he was looking out the window, and it was a beautiful day and it was snowing in London.
***
