Disclaimer:
I own neither Harry Potter nor any other character or creation of J. K. Rowling. Give her credit for the characters. Give me credit for the plot.
Notes:
Hello readers. This is my first attempt at a slash fic, and my second attempt at any kind of fan fiction ever. Constructive criticism is welcomed and flames discouraged. I hope you enjoy the tale.
Chapter 2
Ron walked slowly—his need for clarity outweighed his curiosity. He saw Harry a few feet ahead. The Boy-Who-Lived was practically racing for the front door to his flat. Ron's eyebrows were furrowed, and he could not ignore the tinge of hurt at watching his best friend and sister put his arrival on the back-burner. "This was not the loving reception I'd expected," he thought to himself. That left one question.
"Who is so important that his or her arrival outshines mine?" Ron said aloud to the empty space of the hallway. Sighing, he continued, slowing as he reached the capacious foyer. It was elegantly and expensively decorated. Retribution for defeating the Dark Lord is not sparse. Ron stepped lightly so his footfalls would not echo off the tiled floor. Tiptoeing to the doorway, Ron could see that Harry and Ginny were already outside. They stood together with their heads tilted back and their eyes cast skyward. Ron's expression furrowed even more deeply. "Who would be so audacious as to arrive by broom?" he said. He heard a cough to his right. His head turned sharply. There, a painting of Ginny Weasley stood, smiling and calm. "My goodness, if it isn't my subject's brother? How are you, Master Weasley?" the painting said.
"Confused, for starters," he said, and began to walk towards the painting. "Who's got my best chum and sister ignoring me already? I've been here for under five minutes."
The painting's face held wisdom as she responded, "Of course they're not ignoring you, Master Weasley. As soon as your partner has arrived, you will see that all is as it should be."
"My partner? I have no partner."
The painting's face frowned. "No partner? I've heard your name connected with—" She froze, then lifted her eyebrows as realization dawned on her. "Ah...never mind that, Master Weasley."
"Never mind? Come off it now. Speak up and tell—"
The painting cut him off. "Perhaps the wise decision would be to look out the window, for as we speak, the answer approaches."
Ron turned on his heels to see his sister clasping her hands joyously. He stalked back to the window and looked to the sky. Squinting, he finally noticed the figure in the sky. He pressed his nose to the glass, trying to focus the figure more clearly. Whoever he was flew quite skillfully, Ron noted, as he watched the swathing black robes flutter in the quickly passing wind. The broom flew so precisely..."Must be well-made." Still he could not quite identify the rider. As the broom got closer, the rider got more daring, turning loops and sharp turns on his broom. Ron watched as the broom suddenly began a vertical climb, going higher and higher. A few seconds after the point Ron could no longer see him, he descended, speeding faster than free-fall. Ron held his breath as the rider got dangerously close to the ground. "Pull up, you git!," Ron exclaimed as the rider appeared to be just about to crash into the ground. Ron squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them to see the rider not only still among the living, but beginning to slow down, and finally stop. Ron's eyes tried to focus as he quickly followed the feet that were firmly placed on the ground upward. His eyes finally found a recognizable face.
He gasped—harsh and breathy, echoing through the foyer. His eyes were open wider than they'd ever been and his mouth hung slack. The immediate unconscious reaction of horror raised his eyebrows as his line of sight met the visitor's distinct countenance.
Draco Malfoy.
In the past, Ron had seen the vague stories of how the victory over the Dark Lord was owed greatly to efforts by Malfoy, how his connection with Harry won the final battle, how the wizarding world hailed his praises almost as much as the Boy-Who-Lived. At the sight of Malfoy's face, however, none of this registered. Suprisingly, nor did the torturous years of harmful verbal (and occasionally physical) conflict between the two. Before thought could seep into his conscious, all Ron could do was stare. Malfoy's body was tall, lean, toned. His posture impeccable, his stance commanding. It was the expression on his face that threw Ron, though. The initial expected smirk on his clever lips, the lazy confidence of his stare, and the sharp elevation of a thin marked eyebrow—the face Ron would have anticipated of Draco Malfoy quickly melted into a warm smile and affectionate gaze as Harry and Ginny rushed to meet him. The change left Ron dumbfounded. For some reason, he could not look away as he noted—memorized—the features, along with the rough blond hair that shifted in the wind. It was not slicked back as it was in his youth. Rather, with similar length, it fell messily—dangerously—atop his head. The effect was devastating.
Ron watched the three embrace and smile. Harry turned and motioned toward the door with a smile, and the group quickly made their way to the door. Ron watched them approach, eyes still glued to Malfoy, until he heard Harry turn the door. "Oh shit," was all that went through Ron's head as he tried to back up quickly, the vague thought of trying not to appear as a peeping tom flashing across his conscious. However, grace was not with him. In his haste, he tripped over his own two feet and fell flat on his bum, right as Harry swung the door open wide and Draco stepped through. Ron felt the raw panic in his throat as he gasped lightly, leaning back on his arms, legs bent in front of him. The pain in his backside was forgotten as he found his eyes locked in contact with smoky gray irises. Silence struck.
Draco Malfoy was accustomed to being prepared. He had arrived with much of the style and flair for which he was always known. He appreciated the warm and personal greetings from Harry and Ginny. When he heard the scuffling from inside Harry's home, as Harry had opened the door, he expected house elves to be skittering about, or something to that effect. Nothing, however, had prepared him for the sight that he actually beheld. Had he been anyone else but a Malfoy, trained to have extreme control over himself, his eyes would have widened, his mouth dropped open, and footing staggered. As it was, he fought the urge to gulp and his knees felt weak as he stared at the man on the floor, eyes devouring the sight like starving ferrets. The iron grip of his control showed no outward change in expression or demeanor. Inside, Draco was raving.
In the icy still moments that followed, Draco took advantage. He noted the sheer size of the man sprawled across the Potter foyer. He had to be well over six feet tall, with long legs and broad shoulders. Luckily for Draco, Ron's robes were half open, and only the blind wouldn't take notice of his well muscled and toned abdomen under the stretched cotton tee shirt he wore. It was obvious that Ron had grown into the pinnacle of masculinity—which made the frightened-little-boy expression on his face all the more charming. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open slightly. Panic marked his brow below a shagged collection of bright auburn hair. His freckles contrasted to the paling cream tone of Ron's skin. Ron looked exactly as staggered as Draco felt. Draco's mind raced and thoughts, desires and feelings long ago forgotten, began to resurface with astounding poignancy.
"I look like an idiot, standing here, practically drooling," he reprimanded himself, the thought sharp and angry. His self-disgust spurred him to action.
Ron's breath threatened never to return as the steely-eyed blond man's stare bore into his own. He watched the eyes travel, not revealing reaction or purpose, only to return to his own shocked blue gaze. Slowly, Draco's eyebrow raised, followed closely by the curving of his clever lips. Suddenly, Ron's embarrassment exploded in his mind, showing itself on his skin. "He's mocking me," Ron thought, thoroughly embarrassed, but somewhat familiar with the feeling. This was more like the Malfoy he remembered—not the stuttering gasping explosion of awe—ridicule. Ron could deal with ridicule.
Malfoy froze his expression and watched as the blush stained Weasley's pale skin. It started at his face, and Draco noticed it even creeping onto his hand. He couldn't help wondering how low the blush would travel...Draco shooed the thought from his head before he blushed himself. Instead, Draco focused on the changing in Ron's face—he was embarrassed, and immediately began to slip back into the old habits of school. "No, no," Draco objected in his mind, "Don't let him think that—he thinks you're being cruel! Great way to make a new, better impression." "Blimey," he muttered softly, almost to himself. Then he smoothly crossed to where Ron lay and offered a hand. Spoken in silky tones, Draco said, "Of all the honors, if it isn't Ron Weasley, dragon tamer. Please, I do hope you haven't hurt yourself. Stand so that we can become properly re-acquainted."
Ron inhaled sharply, almost wary of the hand that Malfoy offered. Years of petty rivalry and insults, and here he was, Ronald Weasley, grown man, afraid to be helped to his feet by Draco Malfoy. Shaking off his trepidation, Ron settled his hand into Malfoy's, his fingers lightly curved, softly brushing the skin. Ron noticed the tensing of Malfoy's arm, but paid no attention as he rose to his feet. Searching for a phrase of gratitude, Ron blurted, "There's no such thing as a dragon tamer. No one can train a dragon."
"Of all the stupid...," he thought, turning his head away.
Draco raised an eyebrow and said, "No one else can tame a dragon, you mean. Could just be you."
Draco found himself cursing and berating in his mind. Again. He had tried so hard to ignore the shiver that ran up his arm at the contact of Weasley's hand and wayward fingers. The mere touch of Ron's fingertips had Draco tense and hungry for more. He saw that Ron noticed his tensing, and damned himself again. And even after that, he'd spoke the words of a lovesick fool. Although he no longer prided in being of the Malfoy lineage, he did pride himself on the control and demeanor that the family had always adapted. Throw an overgrown, red-headed dragon tamer into the mix, and all of his composure washed away like it had never been there. He turned his head and realized that Harry and Ginny were still standing there. In actuality, only a few seconds had passed from entering the house to Draco helping Ron up. "Only a few seconds," thought Draco, "and I'll never be the same." He met Harry's eyes, and his own of icy gray narrowed.
Ron watched as Malfoy turned his head, only to realize that Harry and Ginny were still there. Blushing even more brightly, he saw only the back of Draco's head as it focused on Harry. Ron watched Harry wince and swallow visibly before stepping forward. Harry cleared his throat, then began, "Draco, Draco, allow me to welcome you to my home. Also allow me to present my best friend, Ron. Of course, I'm sure you remember him from Hogwarts." Here, Harry took a quick breath, glanced at Draco, and cleared his throat again. "Ron," he said, turning towards the red-head, "I don't think I've yet to have the chance to tell you exactly what happened during the Dark War. Um," he stalled, then chuckled nervously, "I bet you didn't know we were good chums now, eh?"
"Well now," Ron said, "I know Malfoy isn't an enemy...anymore. I've read the papers, so I know, vaguely, of his accomplishments." Harry winced a bit as he thought, "He doesn't have to keep using his last name. Crikey, we're not first years anymore," but continued, "Yes, Ron. Draco," he said with emphasis, "is the reason the Dark War was w—,"
"Harry, don't be so modest." Draco spoke up and tilted his head.
"But we'd have never—,"
"Never is a strong word, Harry." Draco stared pointedly at him.
Harry grinned at this, and said, "You're absolutely right. Never is a strong word. Much to strong to be used in this conversation." Harry glanced at Ron, then back at Malfoy, then back at Ron again.
Ginny, seeing her husband begin to botch things up, quickly stepped in. "Harry, darling, I'm sure we can coax Draco into regaling Ron with spectacular war stories later on, but for tonight, let's make sure both of our guests are settled and comfortable, no?"
Harry looked relieved, and put his arm around Ginny's waist lovingly. "Yes. Right. Come now, let us show you to your rooms." Harry turned and pecked a kiss on Ginny's delicate cheek before turning and motioning for Draco and Ron to follow. They walked down a long corridor to find a brilliant room with a large and decorative staircase that led to the second level of the Potter home. They walked further until they reached an apex of rooms. "Why don't you both stay in these rooms. They're right across from each other, and practically identical." Ginny opened the door to one room while Harry opened the door to the other, and both men peered. The living space was huge, and there was a regal poster bed on the far side. "Wow," Ron said, "Is this the Potter house or a bloody Muggle hotel?"
Harry chuckled. "I hope we can take that as a vote of approval." Harry's tone took a mockingly stern tone and asked, "And how are your rooms, Master Malfoy? Are they sufficient?"
Draco laughed. "Compared to the living conditions from the Dark War, they're more than enough. Thank you." With this, he bowed properly, and Harry bowed back, albeit more in jest than custom. They all laughed, and Ginny said, "Here, Ron, let me help you into your rooms."
"That's good," Draco said and turned his face towards Harry. "Potter and I have something to discuss."
Harry winced. "We do?" he asked weakly. Draco's face was turned, so only Harry suffered the effects of the icy glare of Draco's answer.
"Yes. Why don't we adjourn to your office."
Harry cringed again, but turned and said, "Right this way." Before turning all the way around, he shot Ginny a "help me!" look, but Ginny only laughed to herself and turned away. Ron looked bewildered. "What was that about?" he asked.
Ginny shrugged. "I haven't the foggiest. Let them settle it. They'll be okay when they return. Come now, let's get you comfortable." She grabbed Ron by the arm and led him into the room. Ron's thoughts, however, stayed lingering on the hallway, and wondering what further things would happen there.
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Join the mailing list!
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1. Request it in a review.
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I own neither Harry Potter nor any other character or creation of J. K. Rowling. Give her credit for the characters. Give me credit for the plot.
Notes:
Hello readers. This is my first attempt at a slash fic, and my second attempt at any kind of fan fiction ever. Constructive criticism is welcomed and flames discouraged. I hope you enjoy the tale.
Ron walked slowly—his need for clarity outweighed his curiosity. He saw Harry a few feet ahead. The Boy-Who-Lived was practically racing for the front door to his flat. Ron's eyebrows were furrowed, and he could not ignore the tinge of hurt at watching his best friend and sister put his arrival on the back-burner. "This was not the loving reception I'd expected," he thought to himself. That left one question.
"Who is so important that his or her arrival outshines mine?" Ron said aloud to the empty space of the hallway. Sighing, he continued, slowing as he reached the capacious foyer. It was elegantly and expensively decorated. Retribution for defeating the Dark Lord is not sparse. Ron stepped lightly so his footfalls would not echo off the tiled floor. Tiptoeing to the doorway, Ron could see that Harry and Ginny were already outside. They stood together with their heads tilted back and their eyes cast skyward. Ron's expression furrowed even more deeply. "Who would be so audacious as to arrive by broom?" he said. He heard a cough to his right. His head turned sharply. There, a painting of Ginny Weasley stood, smiling and calm. "My goodness, if it isn't my subject's brother? How are you, Master Weasley?" the painting said.
"Confused, for starters," he said, and began to walk towards the painting. "Who's got my best chum and sister ignoring me already? I've been here for under five minutes."
The painting's face held wisdom as she responded, "Of course they're not ignoring you, Master Weasley. As soon as your partner has arrived, you will see that all is as it should be."
"My partner? I have no partner."
The painting's face frowned. "No partner? I've heard your name connected with—" She froze, then lifted her eyebrows as realization dawned on her. "Ah...never mind that, Master Weasley."
"Never mind? Come off it now. Speak up and tell—"
The painting cut him off. "Perhaps the wise decision would be to look out the window, for as we speak, the answer approaches."
Ron turned on his heels to see his sister clasping her hands joyously. He stalked back to the window and looked to the sky. Squinting, he finally noticed the figure in the sky. He pressed his nose to the glass, trying to focus the figure more clearly. Whoever he was flew quite skillfully, Ron noted, as he watched the swathing black robes flutter in the quickly passing wind. The broom flew so precisely..."Must be well-made." Still he could not quite identify the rider. As the broom got closer, the rider got more daring, turning loops and sharp turns on his broom. Ron watched as the broom suddenly began a vertical climb, going higher and higher. A few seconds after the point Ron could no longer see him, he descended, speeding faster than free-fall. Ron held his breath as the rider got dangerously close to the ground. "Pull up, you git!," Ron exclaimed as the rider appeared to be just about to crash into the ground. Ron squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them to see the rider not only still among the living, but beginning to slow down, and finally stop. Ron's eyes tried to focus as he quickly followed the feet that were firmly placed on the ground upward. His eyes finally found a recognizable face.
He gasped—harsh and breathy, echoing through the foyer. His eyes were open wider than they'd ever been and his mouth hung slack. The immediate unconscious reaction of horror raised his eyebrows as his line of sight met the visitor's distinct countenance.
Draco Malfoy.
In the past, Ron had seen the vague stories of how the victory over the Dark Lord was owed greatly to efforts by Malfoy, how his connection with Harry won the final battle, how the wizarding world hailed his praises almost as much as the Boy-Who-Lived. At the sight of Malfoy's face, however, none of this registered. Suprisingly, nor did the torturous years of harmful verbal (and occasionally physical) conflict between the two. Before thought could seep into his conscious, all Ron could do was stare. Malfoy's body was tall, lean, toned. His posture impeccable, his stance commanding. It was the expression on his face that threw Ron, though. The initial expected smirk on his clever lips, the lazy confidence of his stare, and the sharp elevation of a thin marked eyebrow—the face Ron would have anticipated of Draco Malfoy quickly melted into a warm smile and affectionate gaze as Harry and Ginny rushed to meet him. The change left Ron dumbfounded. For some reason, he could not look away as he noted—memorized—the features, along with the rough blond hair that shifted in the wind. It was not slicked back as it was in his youth. Rather, with similar length, it fell messily—dangerously—atop his head. The effect was devastating.
Ron watched the three embrace and smile. Harry turned and motioned toward the door with a smile, and the group quickly made their way to the door. Ron watched them approach, eyes still glued to Malfoy, until he heard Harry turn the door. "Oh shit," was all that went through Ron's head as he tried to back up quickly, the vague thought of trying not to appear as a peeping tom flashing across his conscious. However, grace was not with him. In his haste, he tripped over his own two feet and fell flat on his bum, right as Harry swung the door open wide and Draco stepped through. Ron felt the raw panic in his throat as he gasped lightly, leaning back on his arms, legs bent in front of him. The pain in his backside was forgotten as he found his eyes locked in contact with smoky gray irises. Silence struck.
Draco Malfoy was accustomed to being prepared. He had arrived with much of the style and flair for which he was always known. He appreciated the warm and personal greetings from Harry and Ginny. When he heard the scuffling from inside Harry's home, as Harry had opened the door, he expected house elves to be skittering about, or something to that effect. Nothing, however, had prepared him for the sight that he actually beheld. Had he been anyone else but a Malfoy, trained to have extreme control over himself, his eyes would have widened, his mouth dropped open, and footing staggered. As it was, he fought the urge to gulp and his knees felt weak as he stared at the man on the floor, eyes devouring the sight like starving ferrets. The iron grip of his control showed no outward change in expression or demeanor. Inside, Draco was raving.
In the icy still moments that followed, Draco took advantage. He noted the sheer size of the man sprawled across the Potter foyer. He had to be well over six feet tall, with long legs and broad shoulders. Luckily for Draco, Ron's robes were half open, and only the blind wouldn't take notice of his well muscled and toned abdomen under the stretched cotton tee shirt he wore. It was obvious that Ron had grown into the pinnacle of masculinity—which made the frightened-little-boy expression on his face all the more charming. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open slightly. Panic marked his brow below a shagged collection of bright auburn hair. His freckles contrasted to the paling cream tone of Ron's skin. Ron looked exactly as staggered as Draco felt. Draco's mind raced and thoughts, desires and feelings long ago forgotten, began to resurface with astounding poignancy.
"I look like an idiot, standing here, practically drooling," he reprimanded himself, the thought sharp and angry. His self-disgust spurred him to action.
Ron's breath threatened never to return as the steely-eyed blond man's stare bore into his own. He watched the eyes travel, not revealing reaction or purpose, only to return to his own shocked blue gaze. Slowly, Draco's eyebrow raised, followed closely by the curving of his clever lips. Suddenly, Ron's embarrassment exploded in his mind, showing itself on his skin. "He's mocking me," Ron thought, thoroughly embarrassed, but somewhat familiar with the feeling. This was more like the Malfoy he remembered—not the stuttering gasping explosion of awe—ridicule. Ron could deal with ridicule.
Malfoy froze his expression and watched as the blush stained Weasley's pale skin. It started at his face, and Draco noticed it even creeping onto his hand. He couldn't help wondering how low the blush would travel...Draco shooed the thought from his head before he blushed himself. Instead, Draco focused on the changing in Ron's face—he was embarrassed, and immediately began to slip back into the old habits of school. "No, no," Draco objected in his mind, "Don't let him think that—he thinks you're being cruel! Great way to make a new, better impression." "Blimey," he muttered softly, almost to himself. Then he smoothly crossed to where Ron lay and offered a hand. Spoken in silky tones, Draco said, "Of all the honors, if it isn't Ron Weasley, dragon tamer. Please, I do hope you haven't hurt yourself. Stand so that we can become properly re-acquainted."
Ron inhaled sharply, almost wary of the hand that Malfoy offered. Years of petty rivalry and insults, and here he was, Ronald Weasley, grown man, afraid to be helped to his feet by Draco Malfoy. Shaking off his trepidation, Ron settled his hand into Malfoy's, his fingers lightly curved, softly brushing the skin. Ron noticed the tensing of Malfoy's arm, but paid no attention as he rose to his feet. Searching for a phrase of gratitude, Ron blurted, "There's no such thing as a dragon tamer. No one can train a dragon."
"Of all the stupid...," he thought, turning his head away.
Draco raised an eyebrow and said, "No one else can tame a dragon, you mean. Could just be you."
Draco found himself cursing and berating in his mind. Again. He had tried so hard to ignore the shiver that ran up his arm at the contact of Weasley's hand and wayward fingers. The mere touch of Ron's fingertips had Draco tense and hungry for more. He saw that Ron noticed his tensing, and damned himself again. And even after that, he'd spoke the words of a lovesick fool. Although he no longer prided in being of the Malfoy lineage, he did pride himself on the control and demeanor that the family had always adapted. Throw an overgrown, red-headed dragon tamer into the mix, and all of his composure washed away like it had never been there. He turned his head and realized that Harry and Ginny were still standing there. In actuality, only a few seconds had passed from entering the house to Draco helping Ron up. "Only a few seconds," thought Draco, "and I'll never be the same." He met Harry's eyes, and his own of icy gray narrowed.
Ron watched as Malfoy turned his head, only to realize that Harry and Ginny were still there. Blushing even more brightly, he saw only the back of Draco's head as it focused on Harry. Ron watched Harry wince and swallow visibly before stepping forward. Harry cleared his throat, then began, "Draco, Draco, allow me to welcome you to my home. Also allow me to present my best friend, Ron. Of course, I'm sure you remember him from Hogwarts." Here, Harry took a quick breath, glanced at Draco, and cleared his throat again. "Ron," he said, turning towards the red-head, "I don't think I've yet to have the chance to tell you exactly what happened during the Dark War. Um," he stalled, then chuckled nervously, "I bet you didn't know we were good chums now, eh?"
"Well now," Ron said, "I know Malfoy isn't an enemy...anymore. I've read the papers, so I know, vaguely, of his accomplishments." Harry winced a bit as he thought, "He doesn't have to keep using his last name. Crikey, we're not first years anymore," but continued, "Yes, Ron. Draco," he said with emphasis, "is the reason the Dark War was w—,"
"Harry, don't be so modest." Draco spoke up and tilted his head.
"But we'd have never—,"
"Never is a strong word, Harry." Draco stared pointedly at him.
Harry grinned at this, and said, "You're absolutely right. Never is a strong word. Much to strong to be used in this conversation." Harry glanced at Ron, then back at Malfoy, then back at Ron again.
Ginny, seeing her husband begin to botch things up, quickly stepped in. "Harry, darling, I'm sure we can coax Draco into regaling Ron with spectacular war stories later on, but for tonight, let's make sure both of our guests are settled and comfortable, no?"
Harry looked relieved, and put his arm around Ginny's waist lovingly. "Yes. Right. Come now, let us show you to your rooms." Harry turned and pecked a kiss on Ginny's delicate cheek before turning and motioning for Draco and Ron to follow. They walked down a long corridor to find a brilliant room with a large and decorative staircase that led to the second level of the Potter home. They walked further until they reached an apex of rooms. "Why don't you both stay in these rooms. They're right across from each other, and practically identical." Ginny opened the door to one room while Harry opened the door to the other, and both men peered. The living space was huge, and there was a regal poster bed on the far side. "Wow," Ron said, "Is this the Potter house or a bloody Muggle hotel?"
Harry chuckled. "I hope we can take that as a vote of approval." Harry's tone took a mockingly stern tone and asked, "And how are your rooms, Master Malfoy? Are they sufficient?"
Draco laughed. "Compared to the living conditions from the Dark War, they're more than enough. Thank you." With this, he bowed properly, and Harry bowed back, albeit more in jest than custom. They all laughed, and Ginny said, "Here, Ron, let me help you into your rooms."
"That's good," Draco said and turned his face towards Harry. "Potter and I have something to discuss."
Harry winced. "We do?" he asked weakly. Draco's face was turned, so only Harry suffered the effects of the icy glare of Draco's answer.
"Yes. Why don't we adjourn to your office."
Harry cringed again, but turned and said, "Right this way." Before turning all the way around, he shot Ginny a "help me!" look, but Ginny only laughed to herself and turned away. Ron looked bewildered. "What was that about?" he asked.
Ginny shrugged. "I haven't the foggiest. Let them settle it. They'll be okay when they return. Come now, let's get you comfortable." She grabbed Ron by the arm and led him into the room. Ron's thoughts, however, stayed lingering on the hallway, and wondering what further things would happen there.
Join the mailing list!
How?
1. Request it in a review.
2. E-mail me a request at songbird333@adelphia.net with
"The Irony Of The Dragon Tamer" in the subject line.