Thought I'd drop the disclaimer again: I own none of this.
Jux: I'm going to post all the chapters on the Fire and Ice LJ comm this weekend for you. I'll give you the higher rated version there, but if you want to post the version, that's fine. I wasn't sure this would fit there since it will be the threesome, though there will be a lot of heavy development between Ron and Draco, since that'll be the big obsticle once Ron faces his sexuality difficulties.
Again, thank you for any comments because they are encouraging. This particular chapter has a lot of character development plotty stuff, so it's a bit long. It was originally part of last weeks chapter, but we played with the outline a bit since it all had to be in before Harry left and Ron met Malfoy again.
Ch 6 Ron Has a Heart to Heart to Heart
If Ron believed in fate, abstract notion as it was, he would place a 50 galleon bet on the idea that Fate, whomever/whatever it might be, had it in for him. What else could possibly explain the fact that a scantily garbed and high heel clad Harry had apparently been lurking about Ron's bedroom, waiting for him to finish his shower? He had his back turned, probably fiddling with several of the Quidditch figurines Ron had scattered about the room, so Ron ducked back into the bathroom and discarded the towel wrapped around his waist for something a little less…suggestive wasn't the word—that might imply something—a little less improper.
Improper, Ron snorted to himself as he spied a pair of pajama bottoms that didn't seem too grungy and quickly pulled them on. "I sound like that berk," he muttered aloud. After quickly running his fingers through his hair, he walked back into the confines of his bedroom, his eyes making a quick examination of Harry's body before he reined them in.
Harry's little outfit was now rather complete; the forest green dress Ginny had insisted upon clung so tight that it seemed to be painted upon Harry's body. He flashed an uncertain smile that Ron mirrored. His face had been decorated in soft colors and his hair had been charmed to reach shoulder length. Ron's insides did a flipping, wiggly thing that he couldn't explain away with the excuse of a WWW candy gone afoul.
"Sorry about that earlier," Harry said, his quiet words sounding very loud in Ron's ears. "Steve was angry for a bit, but he's quite warmed up to this evening's plan. I think I hit a kink of his, actually," he added with a chuckle and batted his eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion.
Ron tried to respond with something witty and clever, something that would make this less weird, but the portions of his brain not dealing with the maintenance of keeping his body alive had sputtered and stalled – Harry had eyelashes? Well, of course he had eyelashes, Ron scolded inwardly. Blokes have eyelashes, and some have a bit of a curve to their hips as well, so there was no need to feel so swirly around a professional Auror dressed for an undercover mission. Except it was Harry, and Harry was cutting a rather striking presence in that dress and those heels, and those little pink marks at the curve of Harry's neck meant that someone had agreed with this assessment. Ron scowled at that thought and flung himself into his bed in a rather ungainly heap.
"I think it was rather obvious that you hit some sort of kink of his, with how he…how he molested you right in front of everyone." The majority of that accusation was directed at his pillow rather than at Harry, but he peeked up long enough to catch Harry's suspicious expression.
Thankfully, Harry chose to disregard Ron's words. He turned back toward the shelf bearing Ron's collectable Quiddtich figurines and picked up a Magpie Beater, who greatly protested being manhandled. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Malfoy," Harry finally said after a lengthy silence. "I thought you wouldn't have agreed if you knew whom I had in mind."
Ron pushed up from the bed and sat on the edge, swinging his legs a bit restlessly. "I would've appreciated some warning," he said, though there was no malice in his voice. "I really wondered about your sanity for a bit, though, mate." Harry crossed the room, walking carefully in the movement-restricting dress. He hovered near Ron, and although he looked as if he would like to join Ron on the edge of the mattress, he hesitated and chose to stand half a meter away. Ron looked down at the duvet again, looked over at a poster of the Cannons Chasers tacked to the wall—anywhere but directly at Harry. It was rather obvious that this conversation couldn't take place right now; Ron found it too disconcerting to discuss Malfoy's "approach" while Harry's tongue kept slipping between his bright red lips as if tasting the remnants of Steve's kisses.
"Ron?"
Ron, continuing to avoid Harry's gaze so as not to blurt something completely stupid, merely grunted.
"Ron?" Harry said again, this time punctuating his query with a gentle touch on Ron's arm to draw his attention. There was no way he could ignore that, so Ron looked up at Harry, allowing his eyes to linger only momentarily on how Harry's hand rested on his bicep.
"Yeah?" The word sounded entirely too ragged to Ron's ears. He swallowed and pointedly ignored the heat emanating from Harry's fingers in order to return his gaze. Harry was watching him intently, his brow furrowed and only partially visible over the top of his glasses.
"He won't hurt you more than any other instructor. And he's been a good Auror so far, no matter how unpleasant an attitude he displays."
"Er…yeah, it'll be fine," Ron mumbled. Harry's fingers tightened on his arm and he stepped a little closer so that he was nearly standing between Ron's knees. Upping that bet regarding Fate to 100 galleons, a little part of Ron's mind whispered with glee. He was dismayed to notice from their proximity that Ginny or Hermione had evidently applied some sort of perfume to Harry. His nose was inundated with a scent comprised of a mix between some sort of flower and freshly laundered bed sheets. That, coupled with how his skin still tingled from Harry's touch and how the sounds of their quickened breathing seemed to combine, compromised an onslaught that nearly overwhelmed Ron's senses with conflicting information.
It was Harry, but it didn't smell like the sweat and musk of Harry, and it certainly looked like Harry, but his friend Harry didn't wear slippery satin that felt cool against Ron's fingertips...
Fingertips?
Ron tore his eyes off Harry's face, alarmed, and made the rather shocking discovery that he had apparently reached out and placed his fingers against the plane of Harry's left hip. The dress fit skintight against Harry's waist, like the casing on a sausage, Ron mused absurdly before the reality of what he had just done smacked him upside the head. He pulled his hand back and scrambled to his feet so quickly that he nearly knocked Harry over. There was no need to be thinking of Harry and his sausage, Ron thought harshly, and he backed away until he smashed into his bureau. He could hear the little Quidditch figurines toppling over and climbing to their feet again, but right now, the only thing that mattered was the way one of his very best friends regarded him from where he stood across the room from Ron, still a bit wobbly on those heels.
Harry's expression was one of extreme puzzlement. He glanced over at a clock adorning the wall near the door and then looked back toward Ron. "What Ginny was saying about you earlier—"
"How often are you out at clubs like these and with whom?" Ron blurted at the same time. His insides resembled how he would feel if he were performing loops on his broomstick after drinking an entire bottle of firewhiskey. Had Malfoy hexed him with some sort of slow-acting lust spell that had been triggered by the unusual sight of Harry looking very pretty when he usually was regular old, Boy-Who-Lived Harry? It had to be something like that, Ron reasoned, something that could be blamed on Malfoy with his shiny blond hair and propensity to trailing his wand-tip over the exposed skin on petrified trainees bodies. The alternative was just something he wasn't ready to contemplate.
Harry had taken a few steps closer to Ron and then had paused; he seemed very unsure and his demeanor virtually emanated the glow of tightly restrained curiosity. The brass knobs on the bureau jabbed into Ron's back, but he chose to remain pressed tightly against the furniture. Ron swiped his hair out his eyes and chanced a tentative peek at Harry through the remaining stubborn strands of hair. Their eyes met and remained connected; Ron had the unequivocal feeling that Harry was attempting to burrow through his thoughts again. His instinct was to remain slightly guarded for fear of allowing escape to any aberrant, erotic thoughts currently hurdling through mind.
"Even when I think I know everything you, sometimes, you truly confuse me," Harry finally said in a soft voice. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but at that moment, the door swung open and Hermione burst into the room and briskly made her way to Harry's side.
"Harry, Steve is so impatient that he's nearly gnawing off the arms of the settee," she said, her speech slowing near the end once she'd looked from Harry to Ron and had assessed their strained stances. "Harry," she repeated, much more calmly, "you're already a bit late, and you haven't yet masked your scar. Steve already has your luggage and Cross-Continent Portkey."
Harry had still been staring at Ron through all this, but he shifted his attention to Hermione and grinned sheepishly at her. "Sorry. I didn't realize." His eyes flicked one last time over to Ron before he raised his arms and engulfed Hermione in a hug. "Don't let Padma keep you working too late," he lightly scolded.
"I still think you look a tart," she replied in turn when she lay her head on his false bosom. "But please be careful, Harry. There are so many unmonitored dark wizards in Asia."
Ron was actually quite grateful for Hermione's interruption and subsequent mini-lecture on Asian dark magic. He snatched at the opportunity to steady his breathing and swallow his heart back down into his chest from its current position of lodged-in-throat. For the first time in memory, Ron was looking quite forward to one of Harry's longer excursions, even if it required him to endure two weeks of Draco Malfoy's version of tutelage.
Harry drew away from Hermione and looked over at Ron with an oddly pained expression. Ron blinked and chewed at the inside of his cheek as he gathered his nerves. Finally, he walked to Harry's side, as casually as he could manage with his emotions writhing like they were, and he stuck out one very awkward hand.
"Take care of yourself, Harry," he said in a relatively neutral voice.
Rather than grasping the proffered hand in a manly handshake, Harry reached for Ron's palm and threaded their fingers together. Ron couldn't help how his eyes dropped to their joined hands. He nearly laughed aloud over the ludicrousness of the situation when he noted that someone had painted Harry's nails Gryffindor red; it had completely escaped his attention earlier when they were alone.
"Ron, you know I'll be leaving for two weeks after this extra mission." He squeezed their fingers tighter until Ron had no choice but to look directly at Harry. "If there's anything you need to say to me before I leave, it has to be now."
Ron's eyes darted over to Hermione; she was watching them both with a shrewd expression. He looked back over at Harry and forced a smile. No sense in making this evening any weirder. "Just be careful, like Hermione said. And be prepared to listen to a lot of griping about Malfoy once you've returned."
Harry seemed to be waiting for more, but there was no way Ron was going to even begin to deal with the tangled mess in his mind while Harry had curves that had no business being attached to a man's body. With one last squeeze of Ron's fingers, Harry sighed heavily and pulled his hand away, appearing to be resigned to the fact that Ron was not willing to talk about anything but a pleasant farewell at this point. "Just listen to some of what the ferret has to say. If you want to pass this next practical, you shouldn't allow half a month pass by without any training."
"Right."
"And I can't believe I'm about to tell you this, but you can trust him. Mostly," Harry added when Ron shot him an incredulous look. Hermione, however, nodded in agreement with Harry.
"Right, then," Ron repeated. There really wasn't much else. Hermione kept shifting her weight between each leg like she couldn't decide where to stand between her two friends. Harry poked the pointy toe of his feminine shoes into the carpet and tugged on the slit in his dress. There was an unusual tenseness permeating the very air they breathed in that room. It hung heavy and thick and clotted Ron's breath with each inhalation.
"Harry, love, we really need to be getting on." Steve's voice sliced into the room and instantly, the lingering uneasiness dissipated. Ron was quite sure that rather than dissolving though, all the anxiety had taken residence in his stomach. He watched as Steve neared Harry, and he narrowed his eyes when the prat took hold of Harry's hand-- the same hand that Ron had just been in contact with. Ron imagined he still felt the warmth of Harry's skin resting against his own. He surreptitiously wiped his palm down the outer thigh of his pajama pants.
"Goodbye, Hermione. Good luck with Malfoy, Ron," Harry called while he led Steve out Ron's bedroom doorway. He glanced once more over his shoulder at Ron before turning the corner.
Steve also turned to look back over his shoulder at Ron once Harry was out of sight, but his lips were twisted in a sardonic smile. Ron's hands involuntarily clenched into fists at his side and he forced himself not to submit to the desire to bash Cucumber boy's face in. "Don't worry, pretty thing, I'm a trained Auror, I'll watch his backside," he whispered over his shoulder and winked. "Very carefully," he added before he scurried off behind Harry.
Ron spun abruptly and two long strides later, he was close enough to his bed that he could drive his fist into his pillow. "Bloody, sodding pillock!"
"Ron! There's no need to act like a fourteen year old!" Hermione admonished. She grabbed at his elbow to prevent a repeat performance. Ron felt a little guilty and properly chastised; he had nearly forgotten Hermione was nearby.
His entire evening seemed completely surreal, to the point that if he hadn't known any better, he would swear on Dumbledore's grave that it was a daydream gone badly. He let himself succumb to his physical and mental exhaustion and fell backward onto his mattress, reveling in how his entire body bounced on the springs. Hermione snorted in distain. Nevertheless, once Ron had settled into the sheets, she joined him by sitting cross-legged against the headboard.
"Now are you ready to truly tell me how things went," she began as she pulled a pillow into her lap, "or did you intend for me to believe that meeting Draco went as well as you claim?"
"Everything's fine," Ron grumbled. He flipped onto his stomach and snuggled his head into the duvet, rather grateful that she'd delicately restrained herself from mentioning the whatever that had occurred with Harry. Well, somewhat grateful; she still wore her Inquisitive-Hermione face, which usually meant there would be no stopping her from delving for answers. Ron pillowed his head on his forearm and mumbled, "I'm sleepy, and I've got to be up early in the morning, so be happy that everything is completely wonderful."
"Of course it is," Hermione said with a note of disbelief in her voice. Ron didn't catch her expression, but he did feel how she whacked him across the shoulders and the back of his head with the pillow.
"Oi, woman!" He pulled the pillow from her hands and put it to use the way it was intended. "You've been spending too much time with my sister."
"Who has gone home, by the way," Hermione informed him, "though she did suggest a few more brutal measures than that. Now I've got two more pillows at my disposal here, so you might as well ease my concerns."
Ron flipped to his back so that he faced the ceiling. Likely due to his stubborn, lingering feelings for her, Hermione had a talent for making him feel guilty without much effort at all. He had no choice but to relent. "Well, it was the entire day, really, not just Steve's little digs at the MLES. First, Mrs. Wattle started in with her, 'I really would encourage you to consider accepting a position in Records' blabber," Ron said, mocking his superior's voice. He folded his arms across his chest and stared hard at the ceiling.
"Oh Ron, they've been saying that for nearly two years. You're not going to let it bother you now?" The last question sounded more like a command to Ron's ears and brought a smile onto his face. He could always count on Hermione.
"Well, there's also obviously this thrilling arrangement I've got now with Malfoy of all people." He turned to his side so he could see Hermione's face and snuggled into the pillow. "Imagine my surprise when my two very best friends kept that little tidbit a secret." The last was said with an expression that was rather close to a pout.
Hermione's teasing smile slipped into a grimace. "Was it completely horrid?" she asked softly. "I had my doubts when Harry first mentioned it, but Draco really did save Harry's life a few months ago when they brought in that Death Eater, Walters."
"That's probably because he and Mafoy were old Muggle-torture mates."
"No, he had a perfect opportunity to hurt Harry, but he chose to help. I think, unpleasant as the man might be, Draco Malfoy has taken his oath as an Auror quite serious." Hermione tapped her index finger against her knee while she seemed to contemplate something. Ron just rolled his eyes.
"He took my wand, Hermione, ordered me to give it over, and then leveled a volley of hexes at me while I was unarmed. Without explaining anything," he added for sympathy. .
"Really?" Hermione asked, now watching Ron with one eyebrow raised. The infuriating smile had returned to her face.
"Yes," Ron complained in his most put-upon tone of voice. "I ended up having to lob a lantern at his pale arse. I reckon the greedy wanker was just twitching to get hold of my wand." His eyes widened at the unintentional double entendre and he hastily added, "To hex me." He decided to withhold any other…details…about their session. Hermione didn't need any reminder to bring the conversation around to Ginny's earlier accusations.
"Well, it's certainly a new approach for you, I gather." she said once Ron had quit griping. She adjusted her position so that she could look at him directly. "You know very well that Harry would have never suggested—"
"I know, Hermione. Don't nag."
"I'm not nagging. I'm just putting this entire situation in perspective for you, since it appears you haven't had the best day. Malfoy's…er…method might be unorthodox, but you do need some sort of nudge to get over this block you've got." Ron snorted, but she pushed onward. "Malfoy might be very intimate with all matters of dark magic, and he certainly is an unpleasant little ferret—"
"And full of himself, so much so that he makes Percy sound humble," Ron interjected.
"Yes, and rather conceited. But," and her gaze hardened slightly, just enough to let Ron know that she really wanted him to hear this, "Malfoy also believed in a lot of things just because he admired his father. Very poor judgment really, but I think everyone has a soft spot for their own parents." She went quiet; Ron knew she was thinking about her own parents and how she'd had to resist their thinly veiled "suggestions" that she wouldn't be a well rounded person if she didn't attend a Muggle university.
He still didn't think that admiration for one's parents excused any of the rubbish Malfoy had put them through, put Harry through, he corrected, while at Hogwarts and afterward. No matter what Hermione claimed, He was convinced that if Malfoy had a heart in that icy chest of his, it would be an astounding lump of coal and ash, burnt by darkness. Which reminded him…"Hermione," he said, breaking the silence. She visibly shook herself from her memories and looked down at Ron. "Near the end of our session today, right before Malfoy began bleating a load of hippogriff dung about death eaters, he had his wand pointed directly at my chest, and he whispered the Killing Curse at me." Ron swallowed at the memory, still as fresh as some of the aches in his muscles garnered from their session. "How can he do that without anything happening?" He muttered the last very softly and turned to lie on his back again.
Hermione didn't answer right away. Close to dozing off, Ron listened to the sounds of insects and nocturnal birds drifting through his window screen with the evening breeze. His weary eyes flicked from a poster adorning his wall, to curly wisps of hair that seemed to float around Hermione's head—anything that would keep him from dwelling on images of Malfoy kneeling above him with a knowing smirk or Harry focused on pushing a thin slip of forest green fabric back onto his bare shoulder.
"It's because Malfoy's not dark, not really," Hermione observed after an extended silence, startling Ron from the thoughts he'd failed at avoiding. She looked very sleepy and satisfied that she'd been able to puzzle Ron's query out.
"Mmhmmm," he hummed, waiting for her to elaborate on her declaration.
"He'd have to desire someone's death with all his being for that particular Unforgivable to work as cast." She pressed her palm to Ron's forehead and began stroking his fringe back. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "He's completely inconsiderate and an absolute-"
"wanker," Ron supplied in a voice graveled by impending sleep.
"Fine, that," she said softly. "But he's not as evil as you'd like think. It's time you learned not to judge people by their past." Hermione continued to brush the damp strands of hair from his face, and Ron's eyes fluttered closed as he relaxed into her touch. Now why couldn't everything be as easy, he wondered as some of the heaviness lifted from his chest. Hermione's attempts to lull him to sleep were a very welcome distraction. Her gentle touch caused his heart to beat in fits and starts before settling into a quiet rhythm. It was comforting and seemed absolutely normal compared to what had occurred that day between he and Harry or even Malfoy. Hermione might not be available nor romantically interested in Ron at this point, but she was clearly female; his body reacted accordingly to her fussing, and he understood. Perhaps everything else occurring that day was a fluke.
A/N: There are a few wordy chunks in there that I'm worried about, but my collaborator encouraged me to keep them in. Had to set a few threads down in this chapter. For anyone wondering, because some have asked on my LJ, I like a strong trio friendship, no matter which two happened to be paired off. And we both think that someone as blatently canon-het as Ron is not going to dive into a relationship with Harry or Malfoy without some transition.
Comments are appriciated! Hopefully we'll keep to this schedule of posting weekly.