Fic: Art of denial (Part 6)

[my_thestral]

Author's note: Just another one of my updating fits - I'll try to do one a day as long as I have something, either this one or any of the other two in progress. It's a tiring process, but quite satisfying, thank you very much! *is smug* I don't know about the quality, though - but I can't be sure of that even if I worked slower. I guess it's down to taste and grammar perfection in the end (boy, I'm so roast!)
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Word count: 2875 (this part)
Rating: R-ish?; again, lost here
Disclaimer: Another lady owns them, all the k-ching goes to her - as it should.

Draco had found out the news in the morning, enjoying his morning coffee in the company of his parents. And for the moment the world went still. The words blurred in front of his eyes and he wasn’t able to read it once more to see that it was true, then, that the moment he knew was coming but never wanted to think about since they started this crazy dance of desire and obsession he lived for, had finally arrived, with no announcement to soften the blow.  Ron never said a thing...

And neither did Draco. He disapparated from the sun-lit parlour without another word to his rather alarmed parents and headed directly to the Ministry. It didn’t take him a lot to locate the redhead. He was surrounded by the crowd of cheerful colleagues, all of them jumping over one another to congratulate him – but Draco didn’t let that stop him. Without a thought he launched into the crowd and pushed his way through to reach Weasley. And when he finally found himself panting in front of the redhead, he took one pained look into those mesmerising blue eyes, filled to the brim with guilt and regret - and he couldn’t stop himself, he wouldn’t be able to if Voldemort himself held a wand at his temple.

“You bastard!!” he howled, but his voice broke half way and it had come out almost as a sob. He pounced on him with nothing but blind hatred on his mind; knocked him onto the ground solid to show him how it felt to be helpless; delivered one blow after another to the beautiful startled face to make him share his pain because he had nothing else to share; to damage him, to hurt him, hurt him, hurt him; to ruin him, like he felt ruined himself.

And when he was violently dislodged from Ron, it was not the redhead’s doing. Ron never hit back, he didn’t even lift a hand to defend himself. But Potter did. He had his wand pointed directly at Draco, two red blotches on his face testifying of his glorious anger while the green eyes shone like flames. Draco should have been scared... this was the Saviour, the man who destroyed the Dark Lord himself and his magic was magnificent. And he would have been scared... any other time but now. Right now, he was too lost in hurt and wrath for fear. If Potter killed him now, he would have gone down with nothing but: “About time, you blind twat... about bloody time...  thank you.”

He knew he was getting hurt before the hex hit. But the pain never came. A very pale Ron Weasley collapsed at his feet instead and an instant later a flabbergasted Harry Potter was on his knees rocking his best mate’s body in his arms.

“Bloody hell, shit, what the fuck...!? Ron, I’m sorry, Ron, mate, are you alright?! I never meant to hurt you, god... I never did, you must believe me! I was just trying to stop the stupid snake trying to kill you and you just had to throw yourself in between – why the hell did you go and do that for?!”

“Didn’t mean to...” Ron was breathing heavily and it was obvious he was in considerable pain. “It was a bloody accident... wasn’t it... Go ahead, hex the bastard... Shit, this hurts.... You shouldn’t borrow hexes from your girlfriend, Potter... my sister knows what she’s doing... and you clearly don’t!”

“What in Merlin’s name is going on here?!” came the booming voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt. “Move away, go on, shoo... out of the way, I said! This is not a fish market! Don’t you people have anything better to do!? What is this commotion? Potter...Malfoy... I should have known... and Weasley... bloody hell, are you hurt, Weasley?! Can you talk? Mother of god, Molly is going to hang my head on the wall if you end up at St. Mungo’s yet again. Look at you! Who the hell did this!?”

“Which part… do you have in mind?” Ron asked, eyes closed and breathing heavily, his face swelling rapidly. “Caved my face in... or knocked the wind out of me? No one... it was an accident. But you might want to fetch me some help anyway.... I can’t seem to breathe properly... ”

“God, Ron, I’m sorry!” blurted Harry Potter and the green eyes behind his glasses were glassy with held back tears of guilt and regret - and fear. “I’m sorry, I’ll get help right away, just... breathe, mate, please, breathe... I’ll be right back.”

And because one could not apparate on the Ministry premises, Harry Potter shot like an arrow down the corridor and he was gone before anyone could see the tears rolling down his pale face.

“Holy Merlin and Christ, has Potter done it, then?”  Clearly flabbergasted Chief Kingsley looked at Draco sharply to get answers, but the blond couldn’t utter a word if his life depended on it.

In spite of deep bruises beginning to swell in all colours of the rainbow, Ron’s face was ashen white and Draco finally realized that Potter’s hex was anything but innocent. Any other time he would have pondered upon the fact that it was meant for him - but right now, nothing mattered. He was strangely numb inside as he stared at the crumbled body at his feet as if his brain was unable to process the fact, that Ron, his Ron, was hurt, genuinely hurt and that he could lose him...

Lose him. He could lose him! He was losing him!!! And he was just standing there, doing nothing!

“Move,” he said to Kingsley, his voice harsh as if from lack of use. When Chief Kingsley looked at him in confusion and indignation crept in this voice “Now, listen, Malfoy...”, Draco couldn’t have given three fucks about his superior position and overpowering presence.

“Move!!! Move, move, move, fucking move or do I have to shove you away!? I’m a fucking Healer, am I not, as much as you try to ignore it, ignore me and give me the crappiest assignments in Ministry’s history, I am the one who’s capable here and you’re going to bloody move or I’m going to have to make you!”

Much to his surprise, Chief Kingsley moved away without another comment and Draco kneeled next to Ron. As soon as he all but tore his clothes apart, he put a hand on top of his heart and it nearly made him sick to hear it beat faintly and completely out of rhythm.

“Cold,” whispered Ron. “Your hand is cold. It hurts,” he tried to tell him, but a bubble of blood burst out of his mouth and Draco could barely control the sudden surge of panic that swept through him.

“What did he use on you, do you know?” he asked him instead, to keep cool, to say something, to keep talking, to hold on to illusion that he could help him, to keep himself from falling apart completely.

“Don’t know...” the redhead managed. “Could be constricting hex... pressure on the lungs... Aurors use it to bind prisoners... stop them from running...never meant to be used this long... think it went awry... too strong.”

“Alright... keep still then...” He barely stopped himself from blabbing a thousand and one gentle endearment that swam through his mind “breathe, baby, please, breathe... I’ll fucking die without you, Ron... love... just breathe, please... deargodpleaselethimbreathe...” With Chief Kingsley barely a few steps away, perusing his work most carefully, he couldn’t afford to say any of these words, so he focused instead and performed a complicated diagnostic spell over the redhead’s limp body. Almost instantly an image of three burning rings wound up tightly around Ron’s chest appeared in the air and he heard Kingsley’s sharp intake of breath.

“Merlin... Can you break them?” he heard the older man ask quietly and the tension in his voice was impossible to miss.

“Death Eater spawn here,” Draco said quietly, without even bothering to sound bitter. “I’ve seen those before. Nothing I can’t deal with. Just.... shut up and let me work.”

And without another word Chief Kingsley did exactly what he was told and Draco knew it was now or never. If he got this wrong, his career was as good as over, but right now he couldn’t care rat’s arse if he never worked again. Ron would die.Ron, who threw himself in a way of a hex meant for him without a second thought. His Ron. And he’d never get a chance to apologize. Or to thank him. He’d never get a chance to tell him how angry and desperately sad his announced wedding had made him. And to tell him why. He needed Ron to know. He needed him to live to tell him.

So Draco focused. He knew he needed to make his mind completely blank and to forget it was Ron he was trying to save or his hand would shake and there would be no way back. So when he uttered the counter-spell there was nothing in his mind but a burning ring. He heard a loud crack and saw Ron take a big gulp of air. Some colour returned to his battered cheeks immediately and when Draco repeated the diagnostic spell, there were only two more rings constricting the chest of his favourite ginger. Kingsley saw it, too, and the thoughtful look he sent in Draco’s direction was nothing short of impressed.

“Just two more... lie still... you’ll be right as rain soon...” he told him, just to hear his own voice say it, not to lose the focus, not to lose the man he had come to crave beyond words.

He focused once again so intensely, he never noticed the small drops of perspiration sliding down his temples. Another“crack!” – and one could literally hear the air wheezing into Ron Weasley’s lungs.

Ron’s eyes never left his face and Draco couldn’t help himself. He looked deep into those s liquid pools of blue brilliance in the midst of his bruised face to find strength – and his hands began to shake when he lost himself in them completely. Only when a sharp “Malfoy!” spoken in a deep urgent voice of Chief Kingsley woke him up from his reverie, he was able to focus once again.

Diagnostic spell showed one ring left, but it was thicker than the other two and it seemed to burn with a brighter flame.

“Just one more... one more...” he told himself as much as the redhead to keep a hold on his faltering composure.

“Malfoy...Draco…” Ron said quietly “I have full trust in you.”

It was all it took. Draco closed his eyes again, emptied his mind and exhaled: “Adflicto Affligo!”

He opened his eyes to see Ron’s massive chest expand almost with a crack as he inhaled deeply and Draco quickly put a palm of his hand on the wonderfully hot naked skin on top of his heart: “Careful there, Weasley! We don’t want you to start hyperventilating. It won’t do you any good. Just one long measured intake of air – there you go – and now exhale slowly. That’s right... Go again... A big gulp in... and a long slow breath out...”

“Your skin is warm,” Ron said suddenly, still staring at him with a tired smile spreading over his colourful messed up face. “Before it was cold… and now it’s warm.” God, how did he still manage to look so incredibly tempting with his face as battered as it was, was beyond Draco. It was all he could do not to kiss him stupid.

“Well, yeah... Weasley, your talent for pointing out the obvious never ceases to amaze me,” he retorted to sarcasm and even managed a smirk, but no genuine malice. “With your immense powers of observation restored, I reckon you can do on your own.”

It had earned him a blissful smile, revealing blood covered teeth, miraculously still all of them there, and resulting in Draco’s head taking a sudden swim as if he was drunk. He had to get away or he would either punch the beautiful bastard he could never have - or blurt out the truth he barely kept at bay from himself: how very much in love with him he was. Both equally undesirable, both equally impossible, both entirely unacceptable.

He got up abruptly, the muscles in his long legs quivering from the awkward kneeling, and he turned to get away from the young man on the ground as fast as he could because he was not sure how much more of smiling wounded Ron Weasley he could take. With exhilaration still running high through his veins he desperately wanted to snog him into whispering his name like he sometimes did; he wanted to make sure he was alright in every way and then just collapse into his arms and sleep. He was destroyed. The anger, the brawl, the fucking-Potter-he-needed-to-murder incident and the complex spell-work – it had all taken its toll on him and now he didn’t want anything else but to cuddle next to his favourite ginger and find comfort in his embrace. And it was barely 10 in the bloody morning - so quite impossible. Just another thing he could not have today…

And on top of it, it seemed as if Chief Kingsley was not done with him yet. The deep booming voice stopped Draco dead in his tracks.

“Not so fast, Mr. Malfoy. First, let me compliment you on your exemplary work here – it seems we have underestimated your potential and your evident skill and I assure you, your superior will be notified of this. And secondly: how much of this misery is actually your work!? The hex – that wasn’t you, was it? But his face…”

“We had a… disagreement,” came an unexpected interference and Ron stared at Chief Kingsley from the floor with his blue eyes alert. “I might have… provoked Malfoy a bit,” he lied shamelessly. “I suppose you could say I had it coming,” he added for a good measure and never took his eyes of Kingsley. “You can’t fire him for that. You’d have to fire me as well.”

“I assure you, Mr. Weasley, I fully intend to thoroughly investigate what happened here today and how does Mr. Potter hexing you – you, of all people! – compute into this doubtlessly very intriguing story. But for now let it be said that we’d be right fools to miss out on the priceless skills Mr. Malfoy here possesses – in short, we’d be stupid to fire him. At least not directly. But you two will need to find a way to work with each other, because this type of behaviour is unbefitting for two young men of 24!” he barked at them and looked from one to another sternly:

“So, just to make a point, I’m putting you both on a 2 month parole – in lack of a better word – effective immediately, and let me state right away, gentlemen: I expect better of you, of both of you. I will give it some consideration over the weekend, how to best enact your disciplinary punishment and you will both report to my office on Monday morning, 9 AM sharp, to discuss the conditions of your continued employment with the Ministry. Is that clear!?”

“Perfectly,” said Ron and Draco just nodded curtly. He knew he got away with it with nothing but a tap on the wrist – if it was any other man than Shacklebolt Kingsley, who was notoriously fair and just, he would already be emptying his drawers. Hardly anyone would have passed up an opportunity to have Draco Malfoy fired.

“Right… so that’s settled,” said Kingsley with uncommon degree of satisfaction in his voice and took a good hard look at the blond.

“Go home, Draco,” he said unexpectedly softly. “And get some rest. You look like shit,” he added tactlessly, and then: “And thank you. This was one hell of an effort right there, son. I’ll notify your superior about your mandatory day off, don’t you worry. Now get the heck out of here before Potter returns and I’ll have to employ the Dementors to hold him away from you.”

“Speak of the devil,” murmured Draco and shot a hateful look towards the lithe figure who appeared at the end of corridor, sprinting full force and with a small army of healers in tow.

“Indeed,” murmured Chief Kingsley and a silent growl much alike “I’m getting too old for this job” may or may not have passed his lips before he turned towards the energetic youth and seemingly braced himself for the encounter. And just like that Draco was offered a precious moment to take one last look at the redhead. Just to make sure he was alright. Just to see if he was still needed. If he was wanted. If he was forgiven. And the second their eyes met, Ron’s finger slipped, as if casually, to the thin golden chain around his neck that Draco could swear was not there before. The fingers brushed against the key-shaped pendant and Ron mouthed “Tomorrow”. Yeah... it was only Wednesday. Draco’s life was fucked up that way.

~ End of Part 6 ~

Next: Art of denial (7): Cracked open and oozing true feelings
See also:
Art of Denial (1): It's been 20 years...
Art of denial (2): First time
Art of denial (3): Some First time... some Second time...
Art of denial (4): Still second time... and time again...
Art of denial (5): Milestones