Disclaimers and whatnot in chapter one. Hee.
**
"The rhythm persisted, the unfaltering common meter of blues, but the blueness itself, the sorrow, the despair, began to give way to hope."
- Rudolph Fisher
**
Ron kept his eyes open as long as he could without getting soot in them. When he finally saw Draco's face, he lunged out of the fire, toppling onto his hands and knees. He was dragged to his feet by two sets of hands and shoved towards the door. Through the rush of sensations, he felt warm breath on the back of his neck and Draco's soft, urgent voice. "Push on, Weasley, we've got to get back to my place, come on..."
Ron nodded at the words, barely registering his surroundings as the three of them hurried through the frigid night. He followed Draco and Colin numbly, and every time he blinked, he caught a glimpse of the man's dead eyes.
The darkness seemed to envelope them as they made their way through it, and Ron kept imagining shadows jumping towards him. He wanted to grab on to Draco's coat, make sure that he was still alive, and make sure that if anything attacked him it would have to go through Draco as well. He wasn't keen on dying alone.
After several sharp turns off their path, "just in case," they reached Draco's building and made their way quickly up he steps to his ramshackle apartment. Ron shakily went to the kitchen and turned on the sink, filling a glass with cool water and then dunking his head under the heavy stream. He felt the water running over his scalp and several small trickles moving down the back of his neck and under his shirt. The sound of the water drumming in his ears effectively cut off Colin's excited yammering, and Draco's attempts to get him to sleep.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, trying to forget the way blood had blossomed in a pattern that was almost lovely across the dead man's chest when Draco pulled him away from the sink. "What the hell are you doing, Weasley?" he asked as Ron shook the water from his eyes. "Were you hurt or something? You're covered in blood."
Ron grabbed his glass of water and sat down at the table with a half-hysterical laugh. "It's not my blood, I'm fine." He rose the cup to his lips, mindless of the fact that his hands were quite visibly shaking.
Draco sat down across the table from Ron and looked at him searchingly. "You don't look fine. What happened when we left?"
"I was right behind you," Ron said, speaking softly and trying to keep his voice steady. "And I was almost to the fireplace and a third Death Eater tackled me from behind. No idea where he came from..." He stared at the tabletop, closely tracing the wood grains in a desperate attempt to distract his distraught mind.
"Uh huh," Draco prompted softly, and Ron sighed.
"And we wrestled around for awhile and he was about to get the upper hand, so I picked up his gun and shot him." Ron finished his story quickly, ashamed of the way his voice cracked and the way his eyes began to sting.
"Uh huh." Draco's voice was flat and emotionless, a striking contrast to Ron's emotion-laden confession. "No idea at all who he was, then?" Ron shook his head, his eyes still unwaveringly focused on the tabletop. "Well, good riddance, anyway. One less idiot in the world."
Ron finally looked up at him, his face lined with feeling. "How can you say things like that? For crying out loud, the man is dead! What if...what if he had a family, Malfoy? Or a mother somewhere? What if he had lived and...and...and quit the life of crime and found a cure to the common cold or something!" Ron felt a few tears slip down his cheeks, but for the first time he couldn't bring himself to care. "God, you're acting like all that happened was...something simple! It's not! I fucking stole his life; I pointed that gun at him and I made the decision that he wouldn't live anymore..." He trailed off, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. He crossed his arms and buried his face in the crook of his elbow, shaking his head. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."
He distantly heard the chair that Draco was sitting in scrape across the floor and hoped almost desperately that Draco was leaving. He didn't hear anything, no footsteps or even rustling clothing for a moment, and so nearly jumped out of his chair when he felt a gust of warm breath on the back of his neck. Despite his upset state of mind, he couldn't repress the small shiver that worked its way slowly down through his body from the nape his neck. He realized that Draco was standing right behind him, leaning over, so close...
"What, Malfoy?" he whispered, trying to hide the tiny vibration of excitement in his voice.
"You've never killed anyone before?" Draco was also whispering, and his breath ghosted across Ron's skin and made it tingle. Ron bit his lip and barely shook his head. He wished that he could see Draco, see his eyes, and see if he was teasing on purpose. He was about to turn to look at the blonde when he felt a heavy weight on his back, as if Draco were resting his folded arms across Ron's shoulder blades. Ron squirmed uncomfortable, but Draco's weight only shifted slightly.
And then he felt warm breath on his cheek. Draco was most definitely leaning over him, very closely, and through the corner of his eye Ron could make out Draco's profile. He could hear Draco's breath in his ear, shallow and almost imperceptible when mingled with the susurration of his blood.
"Well, Weasley," Draco whispered, and Ron could imagine his soft, pale lips mere centimeters from his ear. "I never said this job would be easy." Ron shivered, barely registering the words themselves. "You'll get used to it," Draco continued, and then paused, his breath still tickling the inside of Ron's ear. "I'm sorry, though." And with those words, Draco walked away, leaving a very confused and slightly aroused redhead behind.
**
Draco stalked into his bedroom, his eyes narrowed and teeth clenched tightly. He only just managed not to slam the door before sitting down with his back against it. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his elbows on them, curling his fingers into his hair. He had to think, he had to collect himself; he was acting stupidly.
God fucking damn Weasley and his fucking innocence.
He couldn't decide what was worse, the fact that the loss of such innocence was his fault, or the fact that it had excited him so much. "You're a sick fuck," he said softly. He couldn't help but think that, had it been anyone else, he wouldn't feel this way. He wouldn't feel so goddamned conflicted. He wouldn't have wanted to kiss away the tears and whisper stupid nothings to him and take all of the horrible thoughts and make them pure again. Like that was even possible; everything Draco Malfoy touched turned to ash these days.
"Only proves how messed up I am. I get my jollies off by desecrating perfection." That thought scared him more than any other. He would not ever become like his father. He would never condone the careless destruction of life that his father was so fond of.
"And that's why you're going to keep your hands to yourself, Draco." With a decisive nod, he picked himself up and made his way to bed.
**
Ron had no idea how long he had been sitting in the dimly lit kitchen, his face buried in his arms. He was so horribly confused, and no matter how hard he tried, his train of thought kept moving from the dead man to the wonderful feeling Draco pressed up against him. With a sharp shake of his head, he sat up and sighed.
Goddamn Malfoy and his bloody teasing.
He had to do something; his thoughts were starting to ring too loudly in his ears. He stretched his arms up above his head, feeling his muscles extend and then bent over, letting the blood rush to all of the newly awakened muscles. He closed his eyes and thought back to what he'd seen before the Death Eaters had come in. The scrap of paper with the words Pandora's box written on it and the maps of Greece.
Ron straightened and pursed his lips, thinking back to what he'd learned of Mythology. It wasn't much; he had tried to avoid classes like that in school. He did, however, know someone who had taken three years of Mythology classes. A glance at the clock above the doorway told Ron that it was 5:30 in the morning, but with a small shrug he decided to go anyway. This was very important, and he was bored and needed to do something before he went insane.
He went to the small living room and started poking through a chest full of clothing, hoping to find something to change in to and that would fit him. He finally came up with a faded pair of jeans that were actually a bit baggy on him, a dark green, long-sleeved turtleneck, and a plain black t-shirt. He quickly changed out of the suit he was wearing and then made his way back to the kitchen to write Draco a short note, describing where he was going. He made one last stop at the living room chest for a long jacket and then went on his way.
He left the apartment quietly, not wanting to arouse suspicion from any of the other tenants in the building. Being quiet on the ancient stairs was something of a difficult proposition, but Ron managed it without a lot of effort. When he stepped out the door and onto the street, he could barely see. Two street lamps lit the block, the rest having burned out. He couldn't see the moon or any stars, and it was rather creepy.
~It's always darkest the hour before dawn,~ he thought, and pulled the coat more tightly around him. The air was calm but frigid, biting at his exposed skin as if it were angry with him for being outside. Angry at him for disturbing its silent requiem for the night. The narrow street reminded him of a sort of grim parody of a river, the frost dampened pavement glittering spookily underneath one of the lamps. He paused for a moment beside the pole, eerie light washing over his pale skin and creating weird shadows around his feet.
He shivered and pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck, trying to ward off the biting cold and trying to make himself impervious to anything that was lurking in the shadows of the ancient buildings around him. With a last glance around, he stepped off of the curb and crossed the street quickly, hurrying away from the spine-chilling road. He measured his steps carefully, each footfall ringing in his ears. He knew that he was being silly, that he was simply unnerved by what had happened to him earlier, but that didn't make it easier to be in the dark.
Ron turned sharply down an alley and saw bright lights at the other end, beckoning him warmly. He nearly ran for it, dodging piles of trash and a stray cat on the way. When he stepped from the darkness, he found himself in a place he knew; he was two streets over from where Harry lived. He gave a deep sigh of relief and quickly noted that every light on this street worked.
He hurried down the sidewalk, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets as he headed towards his destination, more determined than before to get there without incident.
**
"The rhythm persisted, the unfaltering common meter of blues, but the blueness itself, the sorrow, the despair, began to give way to hope."
- Rudolph Fisher
**
Ron kept his eyes open as long as he could without getting soot in them. When he finally saw Draco's face, he lunged out of the fire, toppling onto his hands and knees. He was dragged to his feet by two sets of hands and shoved towards the door. Through the rush of sensations, he felt warm breath on the back of his neck and Draco's soft, urgent voice. "Push on, Weasley, we've got to get back to my place, come on..."
Ron nodded at the words, barely registering his surroundings as the three of them hurried through the frigid night. He followed Draco and Colin numbly, and every time he blinked, he caught a glimpse of the man's dead eyes.
The darkness seemed to envelope them as they made their way through it, and Ron kept imagining shadows jumping towards him. He wanted to grab on to Draco's coat, make sure that he was still alive, and make sure that if anything attacked him it would have to go through Draco as well. He wasn't keen on dying alone.
After several sharp turns off their path, "just in case," they reached Draco's building and made their way quickly up he steps to his ramshackle apartment. Ron shakily went to the kitchen and turned on the sink, filling a glass with cool water and then dunking his head under the heavy stream. He felt the water running over his scalp and several small trickles moving down the back of his neck and under his shirt. The sound of the water drumming in his ears effectively cut off Colin's excited yammering, and Draco's attempts to get him to sleep.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, trying to forget the way blood had blossomed in a pattern that was almost lovely across the dead man's chest when Draco pulled him away from the sink. "What the hell are you doing, Weasley?" he asked as Ron shook the water from his eyes. "Were you hurt or something? You're covered in blood."
Ron grabbed his glass of water and sat down at the table with a half-hysterical laugh. "It's not my blood, I'm fine." He rose the cup to his lips, mindless of the fact that his hands were quite visibly shaking.
Draco sat down across the table from Ron and looked at him searchingly. "You don't look fine. What happened when we left?"
"I was right behind you," Ron said, speaking softly and trying to keep his voice steady. "And I was almost to the fireplace and a third Death Eater tackled me from behind. No idea where he came from..." He stared at the tabletop, closely tracing the wood grains in a desperate attempt to distract his distraught mind.
"Uh huh," Draco prompted softly, and Ron sighed.
"And we wrestled around for awhile and he was about to get the upper hand, so I picked up his gun and shot him." Ron finished his story quickly, ashamed of the way his voice cracked and the way his eyes began to sting.
"Uh huh." Draco's voice was flat and emotionless, a striking contrast to Ron's emotion-laden confession. "No idea at all who he was, then?" Ron shook his head, his eyes still unwaveringly focused on the tabletop. "Well, good riddance, anyway. One less idiot in the world."
Ron finally looked up at him, his face lined with feeling. "How can you say things like that? For crying out loud, the man is dead! What if...what if he had a family, Malfoy? Or a mother somewhere? What if he had lived and...and...and quit the life of crime and found a cure to the common cold or something!" Ron felt a few tears slip down his cheeks, but for the first time he couldn't bring himself to care. "God, you're acting like all that happened was...something simple! It's not! I fucking stole his life; I pointed that gun at him and I made the decision that he wouldn't live anymore..." He trailed off, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. He crossed his arms and buried his face in the crook of his elbow, shaking his head. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."
He distantly heard the chair that Draco was sitting in scrape across the floor and hoped almost desperately that Draco was leaving. He didn't hear anything, no footsteps or even rustling clothing for a moment, and so nearly jumped out of his chair when he felt a gust of warm breath on the back of his neck. Despite his upset state of mind, he couldn't repress the small shiver that worked its way slowly down through his body from the nape his neck. He realized that Draco was standing right behind him, leaning over, so close...
"What, Malfoy?" he whispered, trying to hide the tiny vibration of excitement in his voice.
"You've never killed anyone before?" Draco was also whispering, and his breath ghosted across Ron's skin and made it tingle. Ron bit his lip and barely shook his head. He wished that he could see Draco, see his eyes, and see if he was teasing on purpose. He was about to turn to look at the blonde when he felt a heavy weight on his back, as if Draco were resting his folded arms across Ron's shoulder blades. Ron squirmed uncomfortable, but Draco's weight only shifted slightly.
And then he felt warm breath on his cheek. Draco was most definitely leaning over him, very closely, and through the corner of his eye Ron could make out Draco's profile. He could hear Draco's breath in his ear, shallow and almost imperceptible when mingled with the susurration of his blood.
"Well, Weasley," Draco whispered, and Ron could imagine his soft, pale lips mere centimeters from his ear. "I never said this job would be easy." Ron shivered, barely registering the words themselves. "You'll get used to it," Draco continued, and then paused, his breath still tickling the inside of Ron's ear. "I'm sorry, though." And with those words, Draco walked away, leaving a very confused and slightly aroused redhead behind.
**
Draco stalked into his bedroom, his eyes narrowed and teeth clenched tightly. He only just managed not to slam the door before sitting down with his back against it. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his elbows on them, curling his fingers into his hair. He had to think, he had to collect himself; he was acting stupidly.
God fucking damn Weasley and his fucking innocence.
He couldn't decide what was worse, the fact that the loss of such innocence was his fault, or the fact that it had excited him so much. "You're a sick fuck," he said softly. He couldn't help but think that, had it been anyone else, he wouldn't feel this way. He wouldn't feel so goddamned conflicted. He wouldn't have wanted to kiss away the tears and whisper stupid nothings to him and take all of the horrible thoughts and make them pure again. Like that was even possible; everything Draco Malfoy touched turned to ash these days.
"Only proves how messed up I am. I get my jollies off by desecrating perfection." That thought scared him more than any other. He would not ever become like his father. He would never condone the careless destruction of life that his father was so fond of.
"And that's why you're going to keep your hands to yourself, Draco." With a decisive nod, he picked himself up and made his way to bed.
**
Ron had no idea how long he had been sitting in the dimly lit kitchen, his face buried in his arms. He was so horribly confused, and no matter how hard he tried, his train of thought kept moving from the dead man to the wonderful feeling Draco pressed up against him. With a sharp shake of his head, he sat up and sighed.
Goddamn Malfoy and his bloody teasing.
He had to do something; his thoughts were starting to ring too loudly in his ears. He stretched his arms up above his head, feeling his muscles extend and then bent over, letting the blood rush to all of the newly awakened muscles. He closed his eyes and thought back to what he'd seen before the Death Eaters had come in. The scrap of paper with the words Pandora's box written on it and the maps of Greece.
Ron straightened and pursed his lips, thinking back to what he'd learned of Mythology. It wasn't much; he had tried to avoid classes like that in school. He did, however, know someone who had taken three years of Mythology classes. A glance at the clock above the doorway told Ron that it was 5:30 in the morning, but with a small shrug he decided to go anyway. This was very important, and he was bored and needed to do something before he went insane.
He went to the small living room and started poking through a chest full of clothing, hoping to find something to change in to and that would fit him. He finally came up with a faded pair of jeans that were actually a bit baggy on him, a dark green, long-sleeved turtleneck, and a plain black t-shirt. He quickly changed out of the suit he was wearing and then made his way back to the kitchen to write Draco a short note, describing where he was going. He made one last stop at the living room chest for a long jacket and then went on his way.
He left the apartment quietly, not wanting to arouse suspicion from any of the other tenants in the building. Being quiet on the ancient stairs was something of a difficult proposition, but Ron managed it without a lot of effort. When he stepped out the door and onto the street, he could barely see. Two street lamps lit the block, the rest having burned out. He couldn't see the moon or any stars, and it was rather creepy.
~It's always darkest the hour before dawn,~ he thought, and pulled the coat more tightly around him. The air was calm but frigid, biting at his exposed skin as if it were angry with him for being outside. Angry at him for disturbing its silent requiem for the night. The narrow street reminded him of a sort of grim parody of a river, the frost dampened pavement glittering spookily underneath one of the lamps. He paused for a moment beside the pole, eerie light washing over his pale skin and creating weird shadows around his feet.
He shivered and pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck, trying to ward off the biting cold and trying to make himself impervious to anything that was lurking in the shadows of the ancient buildings around him. With a last glance around, he stepped off of the curb and crossed the street quickly, hurrying away from the spine-chilling road. He measured his steps carefully, each footfall ringing in his ears. He knew that he was being silly, that he was simply unnerved by what had happened to him earlier, but that didn't make it easier to be in the dark.
Ron turned sharply down an alley and saw bright lights at the other end, beckoning him warmly. He nearly ran for it, dodging piles of trash and a stray cat on the way. When he stepped from the darkness, he found himself in a place he knew; he was two streets over from where Harry lived. He gave a deep sigh of relief and quickly noted that every light on this street worked.
He hurried down the sidewalk, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets as he headed towards his destination, more determined than before to get there without incident.