Title: That Sly, Summer Wind (1/?)

Author: Semirhage )

Rating: R for...well, you'll see

Warnings: SLASH! Woohoo! And...Draco, since we all know he needs his own warning. =P

Spoilers: All five books

Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley

Disclaimer: You know I don't own them, because if I did DM/RW and SS/HP would be canon. eg

Summary: Draco wakes up one morning to the wind beating at his window. When he looks upon his lawn, what does he see but a familiar red-haired figure? [Slash, DracoRon]

Author's Notes: Basically, this chapter is just setting up for heaps of information in the NEXT one, so if I've left some things unresolved, point them out in a nice review. You never know when I'll forget something. ::winks:: And hopefully by the third we'll be seeing some good Draco/Ron yumminess. I'm hoping to make this a three-chapter story, but that might not happen.

The summer of Draco's eighteenth year, a sly wind danced to the window of his bedroom at Malfoy Estate and ruffled the curtains. The cool breeze lapped at his face, not offering a moment of respite until his eyes sleepily opened to reveal hazy grey orbs. They looked at the window where the sun had just peeked above the horizon, then glanced at his clock, the bright numbers stating that the sixth hour had not quite arrived. Sighing, Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed then stalked to the window, shivering at the rush of cool air to his chest. His eyes roamed the expanse of land, some woods, some meadows; from his room on the third story, he had a picturesque view of the land that he owned - a beautiful, vast amount that had passed to him after everything had been cleared with the Ministry. His fingers had just latched the window shut when he noticed something - something that absolutely did not belong on his lawn. Curled by a great oak was a small, red-haired figure. He scowled, pulled a Slytherin-green jumper over his head, and threw the black and green cloak hanging on a nearby peg over his shoulders before stomping from his room to see what manner of intruder he was forced to deal with.

After descending the two flights of stairs, Draco took the direct path - through the ill-lit hallways that were still in the process of being cleaned up. He winced when he stepped on some rather large object, a sharp reminder that he had effectively forgotten any footwear. Making a mental note to have Eakley clean the hall leading to one of the mansion's numerous side doors in the near present, he found himself wishing that he had hired someone to keep a watch for situations such as this one. He had decided to forgo the possibility, mainly because the charms he had set around the building were more than sufficient, especially since the war was over. When he realised that the intruder was probably some ignorant Muggle, Draco sighed and stepped into the entrance from the door. Immediately, he was grateful that he had ordered all entrance foyers to be cleaned, despite how small or infrequently used they were.

He threw the door open and headed towards the oak and red-haired figure, snarling at the idiot who had decided to use his lawn for a bed. Now that he was at ground level with it, Draco realised it was not as small as he had previously thought. The short, messy hair and curveless figure stated the intruder was obviously male. Gaze not wavering, Draco slowed his gait and reached into his pocket for his wand - and cursed vehemently when he realised he had left it on the bedstand in his room.

Still, if this was a Muggle, he should not have to worry about wands. If there was a problem, though... Draco took great pride in being Slytherin, and the serpent house had always been noted for its cunning. Getting caught wandless - therefore defenseless - would be akin to going against everything he had stood for as a Slytherin.

Draco had just turned around to head back inside when a whimper caught his attention. His feet moved instantly, and he found himself gazing once more at the figure. Brilliant red hair sparkled in the early morning light, falling across a pale and freckled forehead. The boy's face was indiscernible in the shadows, but Draco caught sight of a slender hand clutching desperately the fabric of old and used pants. He was curled into a fetal position, his knees nearly touching his chest; from his perspective, Draco caught glimpses of mud stains on the otherwise plain ensemble.

He's...beautiful. Draco's throat constricted and his eyes widened slightly. He had not had a lover since Christmas when he had gotten into an argument with Blaise Zabini, in which both had thrown insults that were irreparable. Maybe he could keep the boy around...just for a little while...

Suddenly, Draco realised the figure was shivering and remembered rain had poured from the sky nearly all night long. "Idiot," he muttered as he walked towards the sleeping boy. What kind of moron would collapse outside in the middle of a storm? Allowing a beautiful boy into his house was fine, saddling himself with a sneezy, burdensome idiot was quite the opposite.

Deciding to figure out what to do with him later, Draco knelt by the boy and shook his shoulder gently. Instantly, he froze as warmth spread through his fingertips despite the layer of clothing separating him from the other boy. The last human contact he had experienced had been a brief handshake with Potter at the end of seventh year. Now he regretted it, realising the sad state of his sex life as his body began to react as a result of that one simple touch.

I'll have to get the manor magic-free, which means the house-elves will have to know to stay away. The idea of being with this boy was not so bad, as long as it did not get him into any trouble. With the Ministry hanging over him constantly, nobody was worth trouble, especially since both his mother and father were buried in the ground...somewhere. But...he supposed he could spare a bed.

"Ugh," the boy moaned. It was barely a whisper, but enough to freeze Draco: body and thoughts. As if in slow motion, he saw the boy stir, his head moving. The shadows fled from his face, revealing a wide-eyed look so familiar to Draco he could recall many instances he had seen it. Time seemed to stall as he tried to convince himself there could be someone else with that exact long nose, those blazing blue eyes, that stubborn chin - all of which fit together to form the one person he had ridiculed the entire seven years he had spent at Hogwarts. "Oh, nooo," Weasley moaned, head falling into his palms. He shook his head slightly, as if doing that would change the person kneeling beside him.

Pulling his hand back as if it had been burned, Draco leveled Weasley with an annoyed glare. "I thought I was going to have to deal with an ignorant Muggle and what I find is a Weasley," he drawled as he stood, folding his arms across his chest. "What are you doing at my estate, Weasley?"

Wincing, Weasley muttered something Draco could not hear. When he turned his face towards the blonde, his lips were compressed and eyebrows knit in determination. "That is none of your business, Malfoy," he answered heatedly, voice clipped. He was not able to keep his composure for more than a few seconds, for a cough racked his body. He sat and clutched his sides, eyes tightly shut in pain.

Sneezy, burdensome idiot, Draco thought sourly as he grabbed one of the red-haired boy's arms and hauled him to his feet. "Come on," he said, staring dispassionately at the boy. The only answer he received was a wary glance and a refusal to budge. Draco sighed. "I don't plan on killing you, you idiot, merely on giving you something so you don't continue to infest my property with your sneezing."

Upon hearing Draco's words, the red-haired boy's face paled, yet his ears turned the deepest shade of scarlet. Draco sniggered as the boy sought to regain the calm he had doubly lost. "Well?" he asked, lazily raising an eyebrow. "Are you going to stand there all morning or follow me?" Weasley's mouth opened and closed, causing the blonde to wonder how, if just for a few moments, he had found the redhead beautiful. He had just gotten out of bed, after all. Draco supposed he could find even Snape attractive in that state of mind. For a few seconds, he let his mind wander to what his old Potions professor might be doing this time of the year. Probably enjoying some time away from Hogwarts and students...enjoying the luxury of his home for the first time in years.

"Fine, Malfoy," Weasley muttered, tone surly. He hesitated, twisting the hem of his dirty, torn shirt around his finger. Sighing, he pushed himself from the ground and stood somewhat unsteadily on his feet. His eyes darted from Draco to the surroundings, then back to Draco.

It's almost as if he's expecting some Death Eater to jump from behind a tree. Same Weasley. Not even my helping the damn Order of the Phoenix can alter his suspicions of me. He probably won't be satisfied until I'm incarcerated for attempting to become the next Dark Lord. At least I don't have to worry about him acting strange around me, worrying about how to thank me for helping win the final battle. With the Ministry still hawking his every move, though, Draco was not sure how long he would be able to stand Weasley if he started poking his nose around suspiciously. You'd think after trashing this place to near ruins, they'd be satisfied with the results that nothing remains lurking in some hidden chamber. He could still remember arriving home after the war's end to find the Malfoy Estate, once proud and grand, ransacked and sinking into desolation. So much of the furniture had been destroyed, many things Draco was willing to swear had nothing to do with the Dark Arts had disappeared and had not yet been found, including his Mother's favourite pair of sapphire and diamond earrings. Not that he would ever use any of it, but the careless attitude of the Ministry snapped at his pride - his family's pride, his Mother's pride. As soon as possible, he had started renovating the once majestic building, but still parts were in the process of being repaired. The back of the building had scorch marks from an uncontrolled flame, but that was fixable. Draco just had not had the time yet. And there were some parts of the house that he was afraid to even peek at, afraid of the memories the rooms would evoke, afraid of the emotions that would surge through his body at seeing what destruction had been forced upon them...

"Malfoy?" Weasley asked hesitantly, taking a cautious step forward. His eyes were clouded with suspicion, and uncertainty leaked from him so strong that Draco held up a hand to stop his advance. The red-haired boy paused, chewing at his lower lip.

"Let's just get this over with," Draco stated coolly. A nasty glare replaced the indecision on Weasley's face as a result of his coldness. "I'll allow you to use my floo to contact your family. I will also have breakfast prepared for you and find you a change of clothes as well." There, Minister. See if that isn't more hospitable than you've treated some of your guests.

"There's no need," Weasley replied stiffly. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, and he looked as if he really wanted to punch something. Draco was willing to bet twenty galleons that something was him.

Shrugging in response, the blonde led the way to the door he had exited through. "I really hope you don't mind me showing you in through the side door, Weasley," he drawled. "The truth is, I like to reserve the grand entrance and main foyer for important guests. I'm sure you understand." He could almost hear Weasley growling behind him. "You should feel honoured. I could have sent you in through the servants' door with the clothes you're wearing."

Weasley muttered something and Draco strained to hear what he was saying. "...luck, I stop by bloody Malfoy's bloody mansion." He did not sound pleased at all by his current situation; in fact, his voice was laced with sour anger - probably at being insulted so many times in one setting.

Rolling his eyes, Draco opened the door and held it with one hand while Weasley walked through the doorway. He watched, amused, as the boy's expression changed from anger to openmouthed admiration. "Like what you see, Weasel?" he asked, shutting the door and finding himself right behind the redhead - so close, he could smell faint traces of grass and mud emanating from the other boy. He reached his hand towards the red hair, but Weasley seemed to noticed their situation as well, and jumped away as if stung by Draco's closeness.

"Not really, Malfoy," he snapped, an angry glare present on his face when he turned to face Draco. His blue eyes burned with such passion - angry, sapphire fire. Still, after everything that had happened, Draco could still produce such violent, heated emotions in the other boy. He would have enjoyed the situation much more, were the boy anyone but Weasley. Plain Weasley; but at least he never became boring with his quick temper and not-quite-so-mild tongue.

"Follow me, then," Draco ordered in a tone just arrogant enough to cause Weasley's ears to flame again. Wonderful, he thought, how some people are so dense they can't see through words and decipher meanings for themselves. Not that I really care how ignorant Weasley is. I rather like having him believe whatever I decide I want him to. Lips twisting into a smug smirk, Draco led the fuming boy to the informal dining room - he was tempted to take him to the kitchen instead, but that would be lowering himself since he had plans to eat as well. After he found the reason behind the redhead's nightly excursion.

As he led the way into the dining room, he heard a gasp. Draco rolled his eyes. "It's obvious to me now why nobody from your family is invited to any of the major wizarding balls. Your gaping is simply hideous. You remind me of a fish, except you aren't edible." Not in the traditional way, however I'm sure I could find alternate means of devouring you. That thought disturbed Draco, the sudden wince making him glad he was facing away from the other boy.

Weasley's mouth shut with an audible snap, informing Draco that he was right in assuming the boy was gaping again. "We have been invited," the redhead quipped. "It's just that none of us want to waste an evening with snotty prats."

"Actually, Weasley," Draco said, pivoting smoothly on his heels to face the red-haired boy, "I'd say it's you that's snotty." He allowed himself a brief moment to gloat as Weasley's face turned a pale shade of red. Draco affected a bored sigh. "Now, if you'll stop stalling, we can get this over with. First, you can take a seat while I get a potion for you."

"I'd rather stand," Weasley informed the blonde stiffly. His back was straight - to the point of appearing extremely uncomfortable - as he stared Draco in the eyes tenaciously.

Shaking his head, Draco motioned in the general direction of the table with a hand. "I am, in a way, your host, Weasley. It would be wrong of me to not offer you a place to sit while you eat breakfast."

"Right," Weasley spat. "So you think insulting me is? What kind of host do you fancy yourself to be, anyway? I wouldn't let you be one for me if you paid me to."

Draco laughed. "You should. You really need it." His eyes narrowed as his gaze traveled down Weasley's body, then back up to his face. In addition to the random grass and mud stains, his clothing sported numerous rips. "From the look of your clothing, the war hasn't been very good for your family. Maybe you should consider alternate means of income. ... I hear many wizards pay galleons for nightly entertainment. I'm not saying you'd get great pay to start, but you-"

A resounding slap burned in Draco's ears, and one side of his face was completely numb. Weasley's face was mere inches from his own, his hand still upraised. "How dare you suggest that I-" He stopped, body shaking in unbridled anger.

Roughly, Draco grabbed the hand that had hit him and tangled his free fingers in the hair at the back of Weasley's head. "Damn you, Weasley," he spat as he crushed his mouth against the other boy's. Weasley froze, obviously not expecting that to happen - Draco was not either.

In those moments, the blonde fought the tidal wave of emotions crashing through his body, threatening to overcome his control. His face, where it had been hit, was tingling - only, it was not the only part of his body in that state. When the blonde swept his tongue across the dry lips, moistening them, blue eyes flashed. Weasley pushed at Draco with his free hand, only to be backed up until he was pressed against the wall.

Draco felt his eyes closing against his own volition as Weasley's hand grasped at his cloak, slipped under his jumper; it was cold against the heated flesh of Draco's chest. Despite the furtive fingers, the boy's chapped lips remained still to Draco's advanced. A finger slipped against one of Draco's nipples, causing him to sink his teeth into Weasley's lower lip, procuring a startled gasp and an opening for Draco to slip through.

In an instant, he was inside. Time stopped as liquid fire roared through his veins. A shy, yet equally needy tongue met his headlong, and this time, Draco's eyes were the ones shooting open in surprise. A dance for dominance ensued as the blonde released the redhead's hand and melded their bodies together. Their hips met, creating a friction that left Draco dizzy and in need of breath.

Fire. Need. Hot. Draco's eyes drifted shut as he tilted his head for a better angle to raid Weasley's mouth. The other boy whimpered as he swept along his moist caverns. He tasted, Draco decided, of chocolate and mint, a not altogether unpleasant taste. The blonde-haired boy could feel Weasley forming his name against his lips, again and again. It was a plea - a desperate plea for more. He crushed them closer, knowing there would be bruises, but not caring. Nothing mattered but fulfilling his need; it was consuming. Then Weasley's teeth raked smoothly across his tongue and -

"Malfoy!" His shoulder was shaking - no, being shaken. Very roughly. Annoyed blue eyes were staring at him when he came back to the immediate with an uncharacteristic start. "You were suggesting me finding another job, then you sorta zoned out." From the look Weasley was giving him, it was obvious who he thought was sick.

"Sod off, Weasley," Draco sneered, pushing the boy away. "Sit down and wait while I get that potion." Without waiting for a response, he stalked from the room and stopped to think only when he was far enough away for Weasley to not have the option of spying on him. Hopefully, his lack of knowledge of the mansion would keep him from wandering...

Sighing, Draco rubbed his temple. He had had a fantasy about Weasley, and worse, had it in front of the sodding idiot. A fantasy! Maybe I am sick, he lamented. Why would I want to do something like that with Weasley otherwise? Must be because I haven't had sexual contact with another guy in so long...maybe I should find myself some company...besides the Weasel.

"Is Master fine?" a hesitant voice asked. A pair of luminous eyes gazed at him, emitting embarrassing loyalty. Those eyes belonged to Eakley, a house-elf Draco had 'rescued' - as the house-elf saw it; Draco himself sometimes regretted taking the annoying thing back from the Ministry.

"Yes. There's a boy in the small dining room. He needs a potion for a cold - see that he gets the proper amount. Tell him that I'll be back shortly and not to move. And have breakfast for two prepared - have it sent to the dining room. Understand?" After making positive Eakley knew exactly what was expected of him, Draco returned to his room. He needed to change his clothes, brush his hair, clean his teeth, and get his wand. Then he would deal with Weasley.

Fin Part One

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