A/N:

The piece of music linked to this chapter is a tribute to another star snuffed out too soon, RIP Cadet! Serious it was peak how you went, but hopefully you're living it large wherever you are, and your music reaches out even after you are gone.

This chapter is so lemony, you may want a cup of tea after to wash it down. You've been warned. R&R please :)

Chapter 13 - The Third Chapter's Called Love

...the third chapter's called love

Ain't no soft shit, ain't no need for boohoo's

But when I started loving myself

Then I could love you like I used to

Cadet - Letter to Krept

"Ugh!"

For the nth time since they had moved into the castle together, Ron let out an exaggerated sigh and flopped languidly onto the love seat of the newly refurbished quarters he now inhabited with his husband, groaning loudly in his crippling boredom and chancing a quick glance at Draco, who was still in the throes of unpacking their shared belongings, allocating space to their belongings with a mere flick of his wand. Ron, who had never been overly keen on interior design, had thus far occupied his time preparing for his new position as Quidditch Professor, organising the rostrum for the academic year as well as managing to finagle a number of world class racing brooms for the students by using his influential connections as part of the Golden Trio, alongside his short lived career in professional quidditch. With everything organised for the start of term, Ron had found himself hard pressed for entertainment, and Draco had been fussing over the new role he was about to inhabit. Defense Against The Dark Arts at Hogwarts had widely been acknowledged to be a "cursed" subject, with professors throughout their childhoods coming and going as frequently as the morning post owls. The argument that had ensued when Draco had agreed to the position had rocked their marriage, but it was never unusual in the Weasley-Malfoy home for an argument to shake the walls, hexes to be thrown, crying and screaming to follow, and then there was the making up. Neither Ron or Draco had ever had feelings of such intensity for another person, and Ron had dated Hermione!

Ron watched Draco as he gracefully moved around the room, his OCD on full alert to everything that could be seen as out of place. Ron knew if he didn't stop him now, the room would be completely rearranged in the next ten minutes. The war had made Draco particularly self-aware, and he seemed to have adopted an almost abnormal necessity when at his most nervous to compartmentalise to the extreme. Ron still remembered the day Draco had "rearranged" his dad's shed, stating that the muggle tools were incorrectly laid out, the things that could catch alight too close to the things that gave of heat, and all sorts of other niggling issues that had made Arthur scratch his head in amazement, whilst Molly nearly teared up at the sight of a young man cleaning in her home, so rare was it an occurrence. That evening she had prepared Draco's favourite Weasley treat, a steaming hot stew with homemade onion bread, followed by one of Molly's legendary trifles, and the plumpening of Draco had began. At one point, Ron had joked that if he cleaned anymore, Draco ran the risk of actually becoming Molly. That had been the only reason Draco had accepted what he had, and endeavored to control this slight eccentricity, for fear of ever losing his 'masculine physique'.

Ron began to feel hungry, and his eyes fell upon his chosen morsel as Draco bent and stretched to rearrange his mini library, straightening the armchair in the corner space, and moving books to be in order of curriculum, then alphabetically, then by size and binding, and then starting again with curriculum. Swinging his long legs and taking a predatory stance, Ron slowly advanced upon his unwitting prey, a smirk crawling wickedly across his face. Draco was completely oblivious to the feral glint in his husbands eye, the way his limbs were honed to sweep between the boxes and cases without making a sound, years on a broom dodging bludgers and hulking quidditch players paying off. This was Ron's favourite game, and he always played to win. Advancing further, he filled the gap between himself and a now bent over Draco, and with one swift CRACK! he lay his palm squarely across Draco's behind, making him yelp in alarm and nearly topple to the ground.

"Damn it, Ronald!" Draco hissed angrily, straightening up and pulling himself into a token pureblood stance, his eyes seething with a fire that was swiftly changing into something more sultry when he took in his husband's craven leer.

"Now, you know I don't like when you talk to me like that, Drakey, it makes you sound like Hermione…" Ron allowed the words to ooze from his lips in a silky growl that he knew would set Draco's pulse alight. He'd learned that trick very early on in their relationship, and pulled the card whenever the opportunity arose.

Draco had began to crumble as Ron licked his lips suggestively, and knew he had a couple of seconds to fight or fly, Master Ron was out to play, and it was speak now or forever hold your peace. Draco cocked an eyebrow and then let his eyes coarse the length of his husbands body, thinking it would be best to simply hold his peace, because like hell was he going to ignore his husband looking like that. Draco allowed his shoulders to loosen and he looked coquettishly into his husbands eyes, realising that perhaps a break from the unpacking was warranted. After all, Ron had been very patient throughout the packing and unpacking process, and Draco was fully aware that his OCD was on full blast as he moved from room to room of The Burrow, packing up their belongings. It had not dampened upon their arrival at the castle, and although Ron had managed to keep him relatively occupied for the first week, with the added introduction of the new staff and students, Draco was now absorbing his new, yet old, surroundings, and in all honesty he was finding it a struggle. He thanked the Gods each day for Ron - an ironic statement given their history - whose joie de vivre and overwhelming love and support (as well as his notorious laziness) had given him an outlet for his worries. This would be the first place he had lived in since the Burrow, and before that the Manor. Returning to Hogwarts had been a daunting challenge, the memories still resonating deeply within Draco's soul. He knew what he had been here, a miniature carbon copy of his father, and he hated the recollection of how he had been coached into behaving. He was only a child, and this place had meant to protect him. He still felt a bitterness at Dumbledore's blatant favouritism, and the demonising of his house to the point he felt he was given no other real choice in how his path was laid. The only hope he had seen was provided by his godfather and Head of House, Professor Snape, who had attempted to keep his snakes out of the fire for as long as possible, before his untimely demise.

When Professor Snape, now Uncle Severus once more, had stepped out of the floo on that fateful day, followed by the Minister for Magic himself and, later, joined by Remus Lupin, Draco had allowed himself the scope of the new emotions he had nurtured at The Burrow, and cried in his godfather's arms in relief and joy. Although initially surprised, the encounter had been mutually emotional, and Snape had held tightly to the boy who was the closest to a son he had ever known, and allowed him to cry as he always had. The catch up afterwards had been surprising, as Severus had neither been shocked or showed distaste at Draco's pairing, and had made a show of thanking Molly and Arthur for taking better care of his godson than his own parents had been able. Draco had always thought that, had his father not been such a formidable influence on the home, his mother would have been given more scope to be a better parent, without the constraints of pureblood societal propriety. In fact, Draco had always suspected that his mother and Molly shared many similarities, so it was no surprise post the incarceration of Lucius that Molly and Narcissa had become close friends, at least it was not to Draco. Snape had blessed his union with Ron, and had even teased about the arrangements of the last names, with Draco always needing to have the Malfoy name. He had since visited them in their living quarters at Hogwarts, and had set a floo connection between his private lounge and theirs in case of any, as he put it, 'marital incidents' where Ron may need to escape.

Right now, however, escape was the last thing Ron was emanating as he drew his husband close and gripped the hair that was growing long and silken at the nape of Draco's neck. He tilted Draco's head to the side roughly, capturing the soft and sensitive skin of his neck just below his ear, his favourite spot, and nibbling hungrily whilst slowly rubbing the length of Draco's back with his free hand, eventually grasping both his hands in his own large hand, pinning him against him in a possessive, feral grip. Draco mewled in his onslaught, hitching his breath when the menstruations sent a bolt of lightning through him, straight to his heart and groin. Draco could never deny Ron when he was in this mood, nor would he ever want to. Draco longed for control in most of the areas of his life, which led him to moments where he would forget to actually live it. Ron was the complete opposite, and as his luxuriously thick auburn beard tickled Draco's neck, along with his sharp teeth and wicked tongue, Draco felt his need for control being replaced with his need to please the only person who knew him so deeply and truly. Draco pulled away slightly to look into his husband's eyes and lick his lips suggestively, flexing his fingers within Ron's secure grip. A cat like grin spread across Ron's face as he let go, his free hand stroking Draco's long locks. He had originally hated that Draco's hair seemed to grow exactly like his father's, however as time went on Draco restyled and rearranged it to look like the muggle manga characters. He played with a loose strand, tucking it behind Draco's ear and allowing his smile to broaden to one filled with so much love, concern and care it hitched Draco's breath to see it.

"Come to bed?" Ron breathed huskily, his now lidding eyes smoldering.

"How could I resist such an offer?" Draco smirked back, slipping his fingers to intertwine with Ron's hands and lead his lover to their newly arranged bedchamber. It was in the moments of utter bliss like this that Draco felt truly blessed, and he was going to make sure Ron knew how happy he was.

In silence they came to the bed together, the passion intensifying as they gripped each other in a firm embrace, the planes of their bodies melding into one as they ran their tongues, hands and any other possible unclothed extremity against each other. It was not long before every offending garment of clothing had been removed and the couple were reveling in their glorious nakedness together beneath the sheets of their king sized four poster bed. Draco allowed a stray thought of thanking Minerva for the exquisite living quarters to cross his mind before returning to the pleasures he was experiencing with the man who he proudly said was the love of his life.

It was in this moment of lucency Ron pounced, pinning Draco desirously to the mattress and playfully laying full body across him, claiming his mouth in a heated, avaricious kiss that seemed to cover Draco's very bones in molten lava. Draco ran his hands greedily over the muscles and contours of Ron's back as he felt the warmth of Ron's length rubbing against his abdomen, hard and ready to take him. With a movement of his hips and a positioning at his entrance, Ron claimed his husband with a primitive grunt, sweat beginning to bead with the effort of control he was maintaining, stopping himself from losing himself by thrusting powerfully into the tight cavity. Draco moaned loudly at the contact, adjusting to the persistent throbbing of Ron's length and girth. The exquisite ecstasy of being molded into one being consumed Draco, and he felt his magic reach out and blend with Ron's wild power, both cocooning them in their lovemaking.

When he was ready, Draco let out a deep breath and looked once again into the warm and patient eyes of his husband, who had given him a moment to prepare for what was to come. With a nod and growl of ascent, Ron began to move, slowly at first, then gaining momentum with every sound Draco wrought, his lover's passion spurring him forward. Draco reached between them to grab his own throbbing member, preparing himself as he felt Ron tighten and his movements become erratic. The intertwining of their magics swirled around them, almost dancing at the joyous love emanating for the couple as, together, they found a strong and monumental release. Draco clung to Ron briefly, and Ron in turn moved so that Draco was placed in his "spot", in the centre of his chest, Draco's hand lazily playing with the mop of chest hair tangled closest to his grasp. As they lay, panting and sated, Draco felt his lids grow heavier as Ron's breathing steadied beneath him, and as the light show their magic always seemed to produce began to fade, so to did Draco's resolve, and they both tumbled into a peaceful and calm sleep, with all thoughts of arrangements, the curriculum, students, and any other mess crumbling to ash as they settled into a contented sleep.

_o0o_

Eric was unaccustomed to using such archaic, and confusing, modes of communication, however he petted the owl that had daintily fluttered onto his overly exuberant, overly Celtic themed bedspread. Eric, who had decided to languish in the luxury provided by his wealth and affluence rather than rush to meet with the barrage from Bon Temps, and in so doing he had allowed his mind to wander to the last time he was in Scotland. Following the multiple meetings between the wizards and other magical creatures, Eric had made many contributions to the restoration of the wizarding world, purchasing properties in and around wizarding pockets and making a killing, so to speak, from the turnover of wizarding businesses. He had even invested in a joke shop, of all things, though he couldn't deny the energy, determination and persistence of the owner, a young man who had recently lost his twin brother and co-conspirator in many of the designs during SWW, was enough to charm even the most stoic of businessmen. Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact that he had discovered his mate was an honorary member of that particular family, although it did not help with the natural possessiveness when the home was inundated with males, and one of whom she had previously had a fleeting relationship with. Eric was reminded of family life long, long ago, and the village atmosphere of the Weasley home seemed to be almost appealing after the millennia of being sectioned off from real warmth, or hiding in the coffin at least. Vampires are solitary, only mingling in nests when one strong vampire feels the need to create a hive around itself for protection. Eric was so accustomed to solitude, it had taken a dynamite blonde with an extra splash of fae blood to have him even contemplate being part of a family home. Now, years on from Sookie and all that crumbled in the wake of that relationship, Eric found himself contemplating the benefits of family, and in particular the settling down with his mate and giving her all she would desire as a life mate. Humming a long forgotten Nordic lullaby nonchalantly he opened the parchment deposited by the owl, who was now perched atop one poster snoozing softly.

The script was small, delicate, and infinitely rushed, with splotches of ink where the author had clearly been in the middle of several things before responding. It was brief, but still held in it's feminine calligraphy the nuances of the curves of her face, the aroma of her subtle perfume lingering to the parchment, mingling with the tart ink and fainter still smell of owl. Eric held it to his nose and revel in the scent, like a pervert with a pair of used underwear. He chuckled at his own childish behaviour, but also felt himself stiffen at the sheer thought of what the paper had to say. She would be there, tomorrow, but she had to go to somewhere and do something Eric had little to no interest in prior to meeting them in Hogsmeade at his newly opened bar, V, a sophisticated whiskey club renovated from a disused muggle whisky distillery on the outskirts of the wizarding village. She would be bringing her friends, so she had bossed that he needed to ensure they were on the guest list. One sentence in particular made him chuckle, as she had questioned what Sookie would be wearing that evening, in a style almost suggesting that there may be a drop of jealousy in his mate that he would have to dispel, as any thought of her emotional anguish made him ache to sooth her. The euphoria of having a mate was a completely alien experience for Eric when it was first discovered by his blessed little bookworm, however now that they had begun their journey, though at a slower pace than he would have desired, as per her wishes. Although he would never want others to know of this apparent weakness that had developed, he could not help but daydream languidly about the life they could lead. Granted, it would not be the 2.4 children life many craved, however his little hellcat was not the type to want to settle for babies, a dog, a mortgage, and all the other comforts many people crave. She was a creature of adventure, forged in the fires of a war that still baffled Eric. Having met Dumbledore as a very young man, it didn't surprise Eric at all that the remarkable wizard would become a zealot, bigot and madman in the end, whether the wizarding world would ever vilify such a "sainted figure" was another question entirely. It pleased Eric, upon meeting his mate's friends and family, that they held no overzealous relatability to what Albus Dumbledore had believed to be the "greater good", as it seems he was happy to use children in a war to achieve a victory for "the Light". This reminded Eric of why so many stayed out of wizarding politics, it made no sense and rested solely on the idea that magic would solve every problem.

Eric penned a quick note back, expressing the brief platitudes he was accustomed too, and adding an extra pinch of spice that he knew would get a rise out of her...the mere thought certainly did out of him. He called down the now sleep addled owl, attached his note, and sent it into the cold Scottish night. Now for the task ahead. He stretched every limb and climbed out of the decadent bedspread, striding over to his wardrobe and picking the most striking cobalt blue suit for his evening festivities, with the sheer thought of how Sookie and Lafayette would be surviving this weather drawing a chuckle from his as he slipped into the expensive Italian fabric, straightened and pinned his cuff links, and finalised his look with a well selected matching tartan pocket square. With a final check over of his apparel, Eric took an unnecessary breath in and left to join his confused consort and the crew of magical misfits destined to help rebuild this world...and potentially help save it if what Eric had heard from Hermione was true...