21/08/2013 23:25![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
my_thestral
my_thestralAuthor's note: Boy, it's really been a while hasn't it? Perhaps when this murder of a summer vacation finally comes to an end, I can actually go back to writing rather than just acting like a mushroom, taking up space reserved for a more meaningful God's creation. ;) In case someone might actually read this (oh, wow, what a thought!): this is Part 3 of what is at the moment still an end-less fic (but in progress and with a clearly set directive as to where it's going - obey, story, obey, I command you!). Again, all my gratitude and due-respect to the Dumbledore of grammar and good advice, wwmrsweasleydo, it's inspiring what a few well-meaning and supportive comments can do! :)
Word count: 8007, this part
Pairing: Ron/Draco, some past Ron/Harry
Rating: Don'tknowDon'tknowDon'tknow, don't ask, I don't have a clue. You know what, let's just give it an R, to this one and every other chapter from now on, cause it's kindda heavy on the language though not so much on the action, not this part, at least...
Dislaimer: You can't seriously NOT know whose the original characters are - let me give you a hint: not mine, not in the least, I just mould them (and maul them, someone might say) into what fits the curious curves and corners of my mind. And neither is the money. Though I'd appreciate any advice where to go looking for that one. ;)
When Ron apparated in front of The Silver Spoon, he made sure it was some distance from the lit up lobby of the fairy-tale building. He stopped and watched it from afar and he felt his breath hitch nervously. The little poor boy inside him, still very much alive, was mesmerized by the glittering sight. The building itself was impressive, more like a palace, really; an abundance of space, lit up by the most amazing symphony of candles Ron had ever seen, simply breathing delicate style and all that unattainable air of wealth one could never reproduce without being born right into it – this was the home ground to all the Malfoys of this world and a far cry from what he was used to. It was not for the likes of him, never for him.
“Bloody hell,” he mumbled and felt a knot in his throat form. You couldn’t even get in, unless you somehow successfully made a reservation or were lucky enough to receive an invitation and for a brief moment an image flashed in front of his eyes what an idiot he would make of himself if he indeed approached the haughty valet just to find out that his name was not on the list and he could crawl away with a tail between his hind legs, thank you very much. He wouldn’t put it past Malfoy to do something like that to him, at least not the Draco he knew before the curious Ministry bathroom incident… but he made it all the way up here and it was time to put his courage to the test. He was a bloody Gryffindor, wasn’t he, and as his Muggle-born wife used to say: No pain – no gain. If nothing else, he could always try to pull his war-hero status, perhaps that would do…
So he straightened himself up to his impressive height, put what he hoped was confidence his stride and approached the stern bulky man in a staff uniform.
He tried to put all the authority of a trained Auror into his voice when he spoke: “Good evening, my name is Ron Weasley, I’m here for…” But he shouldn’t have bothered. The valet’s eyes got ridiculously round and awed at the sight of a somewhat reclusive, but still undoubtedly famous redhead who towered above him and it was clear he was sporting some sort of a panic attack:
“Mr. Weasley, of course, we’ve been expecting you! Right this way, Sir, right this way… Mr. Malfoy mentioned you might be dropping by, but honestly, Sir, who could miss you? I suspect you are not exactly the kind who gets lost in the crowd, if you forgive my familiarity. It’s this way, Sir, if you please… Mr. Malfoy has reserved a private lounge for your business dinner. The best one we have, if I say so myself, always the best for Mr. Malfoy and his esteemed company,” the man kept blabbing, clearly thunderstruck by Ron’s very appearance.
He took him right past the Skeeter woman, who was frantically making notes in her tattered notebook, almost salivating at the sight of one of the Golden trio – she could already see the headlines: “Rags to riches - Ron Weasley finally claims The Silver Spoon” – but she positively dropped the notebook when she saw who met the dashing redhead at the door: Draco Malfoy, the heir of the Malfoy family, in all his impeccable glory! That very Draco Malfoy who spent much of his youth plotting against the Saviour of the wizarding world and his companions! The very same Draco Malfoy who has since forever openly mocked the poverty and lack of pride of a certain pureblood that stood by the side of the Boy who lived unrelenting. Except that the notorious life-long adversary of Harry Potter’s side-kick looked anything but hostile tonight, greeting the tall redhead with a brilliant smile, escorting him into the premises with a hand on the tall ginger’s back! What a scandal! And she positively overheard the valet mention the private lounge and a business dinner - this had every feature of a social revolution! She urgently needed to find out what business could those two opposites possibly pursue together! She could just smell a story there, a possible headliner even – after all, one could hardly find two people less likely to cooperate and more likely to attempt to murder each other!
But the headlines were the last thing on Draco Malfoy’s mind. His heart stopped for a moment when he noticed the familiar fiery glow and when he got up to meet the absolutely gorgeous looking redhead he felt his legs almost give way. Why the fuck did Weasley have to look so heart-stopping tonight?! He got himself all dressed up, didn’t he, his robes looked new and well-tailored, but even if they didn’t… With his tall muscled frame and dashing blue eyes, almost glowing at the background of that liquid lava of silken hair, he looked every bit fit for the center-fold of one of those glossy magazines the teenage witches drooled over. He was lovely. And sexy. And unstoppable. A creature of magic, clearly sent to this world to doom one Draco Malfoy. He was just a giant magnet for him and not only him – Draco could see people’s heads turn all over the place as the redhead walked past them with his confident stride, oblivious to the attention he stirred, as always. It made him unreasonably proud and irrationally jealous and suddenly he just wanted to grab the magnificent man by the collar of his robes, disapparate them somewhere private and have himself fucked numb….
Instead he was looking at an endless evening full of meaningless chit-chat in the shade of constant anxiety that he would say something wrong, some haughty idiocy that would ruin it all and make Ron leave. But there was no way around it now, if he wanted even a chance to own him, he had to go all the way; the wining, the dining and the chatting and hopefully without drowning in those incredible blue eyes and doing something stupid. He’d been on the verge of practically humping his leg the whole blasted day, hadn’t he, because Weasley on the field was just a goddamn porn movie! All this masculinity and muscle in action made Draco half disabled as he was barely walking through their shift, constantly torn between wanting to snog him stupid and get as far away from him as he could to keep what was left of his rapidly failing self-control. If this was how Potter felt, hanging around Weasley every day, then Draco found new admiration for the man’s ability to stay sane.
And right about now the blond was not at all certain he could keep his precious composure intact. He felt almost dizzy when the tall and undeniably gorgeous man approached him with a slow stride of his endless legs, but then he was suddenly immersed into his wonderful intoxicating scent and he fell apart - Merlin, was there ever a man who smelled more of sex?! Ron positively oozed sex appeal and Draco felt himself melt into a puddle when the generous mouth stretched into a genuine smile and the redhead spoke in his warm rumbling voice: “Hey there… you’re already here…not waiting for long, I hope…”
The blond couldn’t tell him he was willing to wait well into the next day for him, possibly the next century, as he was not sure he could say anything coherent under an onslaught of acute arousal, but when he finally found his voice, the first thing he actually did manage to say, was, unforgivably, the truth.
“No need to worry, Weasley, not for long, no… just my whole life,” his tongue blurted out and as soon as it was out, he closed his eyes in silent reprimand of the retarded organ’s audacity. Great, then. His brain was clearly left behind tonight and he would be at the mercy of his other body parts. God only knows what other folly his hormone-enslaved body had in store for him! He was so fucked… But when he opened his eyes again, Ron was staring at him and suddenly awarded him with a brilliant unexpected smile that befuddled the rest of his mental capacity and inspired more insane action: one of the blond’s hands which apparently also came with a mind of its own, casually slid up his back when he showed him the way and once it was in place Draco had no intention of removing it again. Ever.
With the corner of his eye he saw the Skeeter woman drop her notebook and gape at them shamelessly and he knew that if the redhead wanted discretion, he'd just royally fucked up. They’d be on a cover of the social chronicle of every wizarding publication by tomorrow. Well, fuck.
But then again – how could Weasley ever hope to keep this private?! He was a bloody lantern in the dark, with his tall muscled figure and the flaming hair, wasn’t he!? And all too famous to be ignored, though he often chose to forget it and – God, that mindless hand up his back better not be it for their evening or Draco would have it removed! He looked at the ginger anxiously, fully expecting him to look uncomfortable, but Ron merely lifted his chin up another inch and flashed the most blissful provoking smile, directed at him, but just in time for reporter’s camera. Well, fuck again, Draco thought miserably, his crazed heart just a puddle of melted butter in the sun of that smile. With Weasley on the rampage, his self-control was toast.
The unlikely dinner partners had hardly disappeared into the restaurant, when Rita Skeeter’s overloaded brain almost burst a vein - again. Was she seeing things or was that really… Harry Potter, the one and only, in flesh and blood?! With a reportedly estranged – or not?? - wife hanging off his elbow!? Now there, right there was stuff for the gods, that’s why she chose the journalist profession to begin with, it was just so exciting! And right now her career choice smelled of a huge bonus! Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy – the business partners from hell; Harry Potter reviving stale romance with his wife - sometimes Rita Skeeter just loved her life!
~
Ron was careful not to look around too much, because, honestly, war heroes with their mouths gaping open were not an attractive sight. He just stared straight in front of himself, trying not to take in too much of the overwhelming detail of how the privileged lived and dined, so he could make it through the evening with his self-esteem still in one piece. He instead focused on the warm palm of his companion, still resting at the small of his back and the feeling was not at all unpleasant… nor was it unwelcome. He appreciated Draco greeting him as he did and though he couldn’t care less about the newspapers and the Skeeter woman, it stroked his ego the right way that the young man acknowledged their new liaison so publicly. The Slytherin kept his promise so far – he certainly wasn’t trying to hide that they’d found themselves on more friendly terms after long last. After years of discretion and messages with double meanings and meetings he had to hide and excuses he had to come up with – this was… refreshing to say the least. Of course it wasn’t really a relationship, not yet, one blow-job, however glorified, certainly didn’t make that, but there was something there that didn’t really fit into a description of a casual fling either. He’d just have to wait and see how this went; this evening first and then the rest...
Draco wasn’t’ entirely sure how he made it to the table. He was semi-aware of himself blabbing, making unimportant small talk, but all he was really conscious of was that his hand was still resting up against a broad muscled back under a pretence of showing Weasley the way and the redhead did nothing to have it removed. He was a mere arm’s length away from that heavenly body he'd worshipped since he was a teenager and it was making his head spin to be able to inhale his warm masculine scent. Getting through this evening was proving harder and… harder, literally as well. Their private lounge came all too quickly and when his fingers finally let go of the hot muscles moving underneath them, they felt as if they’d lost something precious and immediately itched to get it back.
He had him sit down and saw Ron cock an eyebrow at the sight of the tiny table.
”Clearly those were not made to hold my mother’s dishes! ” he mumbled and the Slytherin rolled his eyes up in spite of his promise to himself to be on his best behaviour tonight – honestly, Weasley and his humongous appetite were a love story on its own!
When the waiter discretely delivered their menu lists, Draco – always the son of his mother, the perfect hostess – did what he'd known he would inevitably have to do as soon as he'd picked out this place for dining.
“Do take these things away, Antoine, if you please,” he said to the elderly waiter, not unkindly, but with an unmistakable air of someone who is used to giving orders. “We will have none of that confusing French fodder this time, we don’t want to scare our guest celebrity away, do we? Weasley, what do you feel like tonight? Is there any food in the world you ever wanted to try?” he looked him in the eye and it took a moment for Ron to understand what the worldly youth did right there: no doubt he would have made a fool of himself trying to decipher an incomprehensible menu and the blond subtly came to his rescue.
Ron felt a curious mixture of embarrassment and gratitude run over his body and before he could stop himself he felt his lips stretch into one of those smiles that he just knew were going to knock the breath out the Slytherin: “Can I have anything I want? Because you, for example, look absolutely delicious…”
It was so worth it. Draco suddenly seemed to have stopped breathing, his cheeks flushed and his silver eyes shone like new-born stars and he did look downright edible. Ron saw his slim fingers hold on the edges of the table to get a grip and it somehow made him feel happy and alive. Another naughty look into the grey eyes, then he blinked innocently and looked at the shocked waiter: “I’ll have some fish and chips, Antoine, thank you very much.”
Draco didn’t know whether he was going to pass out or laugh himself into insanity. This was just so like Weasley: the man really didn’t give a fuck, did he?! First he slowly fucked him with those incredible eyes and that undoing bone-melting smile until he almost lost it right there and then he went and ordered England’s most blue-collar food - a Muggle specialty at that! - in the world’s most prestigious wizarding restaurant. And just looking across the table at all that hot life and joy he felt bubbling inside a beautiful wild creature wreaking havoc in this porcelain shop of the rich and well-bred made him want to sink down to his knees in front of him and just drink the juices out of that incredible man. God, how he yearned to touch him, to sink into him, to claim him…
He called in years of drill in self-control and managed to stop himself from launching at the redhead, but he couldn’t erase the light and smile from his grey eyes when he looked at the stunned waiter and ordered in a matter-of-fact voice: “You heard the gentleman, Antoine. I’ll have the same,” he added, for once willing to jump off a cliff holding his hand and it earned him another one of those breath-taking smiles.
The waiter, who was used to the whims of the rich and spoiled, merely hung his head obediently, but when he turned away he couldn’t avoid cocking an eyebrow at the thought of what on Merlin’s Earth besieged the classy Mr. Malfoy to ever go for such plebeian food!? And that impressive redheaded man… Mr. Malfoy referred to him as a celebrity and he was sure he’s seen him before; he looked so familiar - except that he was equally certain that he’d never seen him set foot in this restaurant! He knew better than to ponder over the words that the ginger devil said to Mr. Malfoy right before he ordered – he was not the first and probably not the last to court the wealthy youth, though others had been… perhaps a bit more tactful.
Either way, he was paid to be discreet and it was none of his business what the esteemed guests got up to once they left – in the end he would be the one paying the ultimate price in losing his job, if information like this ever got out! Right now it seemed like a good idea to remove himself from the table as quickly as possible before he got more orders that would inevitably earn him deafening yelling in the kitchen from the outraged chef.
And just when he headed off towards the direction of the kitchen, he was stopped in his track by a young man with sparkling green eyes and incredibly tousled raven hair, who spoke with inherent authority: “A word, if you please…”
You would have to be deaf, blind and possibly dead not to know who this man was and for once in his long career, Antoine forgot himself: “You’re Harry Potter!” he blurted out in awe and the second the words were out he knew he'd just made a great professional blunder. The young man rocked himself on the balls of his feet nervously and answered somewhat impatiently: “Well, yes, I’ve been told that since birth and it seems to be true. However, this is irrelevant for this particular evening. I was wondering if you could help me with something…”
“Anything for you, Sir,” Antoine tried to sound obliging, very eager to make the most influential wizard of the generation forget his unprofessional behaviour.
“Thank you,” the young wizard relaxed with a warm smile, unusually kind and looked him in the eye as one person to another – and that was all it took for Antoine to call himself Harry Potter’s man. No one ever looked at him like that at his work before. To the regulars he was just a piece of restaurant furniture; they knew his name, to be sure, just like they know the names of complicated and delicate cutlery, but this young man, the prodigy of the wizarding world, looked at him like his grandchildren did, warm and trusting, and suddenly Antoine understood how Harry Potter had got to be who he was. He was not just a famous name, a poster child, a character from the History of Hogwarts, he was an actual breathing human being who radiated incredible authority and a strange vulnerability at the same time. He was as down-to-earth as they came and the old waiter instantly felt a strange sense of loyalty.
“As I was about to say: this is my first time in your lovely restaurant and I’m afraid I don’t know my way around it just yet as well as I’d like to. Would you be so kind as to direct me towards the private lounges?” Harry proceeded to ask politely, but his words still made the old waiter’s body stiff with inconvenience. What the raven-haired youth asked, was, of course, entirely impossible and out of the question. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to oblige the kind young man, made Antoine extremely uncomfortable, but he knew that this would be his last hour on the job if he humoured him.
“I’m very sorry, Sir,” he replied politely, trying to put as much of honest regret into his words as he could. “It is absolutely forbidden to take anyone there that doesn’t have a reservation, Sir! Perhaps another night…”
“Oh, no, you misunderstood me,” smiled Harry as friendly as he could muster – he didn’t expect this to be easy and he came prepared. “I don’t wish to occupy any of your private lounges, I merely spotted a very old friend and I wish to drop by and say my “hello”s. I think he would be terribly upset if he read in tomorrow’s newspaper that I was here with my wife, his sister, and hadn’t bothered to pay him any attention. Perhaps you have seen him - I suppose he is almost impossible to miss – the name is Ronald Weasley, he’s very tall, has shockingly bright ginger hair, and is possibly a guest of Mr. Malfoy – does that ring a bell?”
Antoine slowly relaxed – if the young celebrity wasn’t going to throw a screaming fit for not being given his own private lounge and he was merely here to see a friend, Ronald Weasley… Now he remembered where he knew the young man’s face from, he was one of the Golden trio, how could he miss it?! His astonishing face was all over the posters in his granddaughter’s bedroom, the place was covered in them! Well, it was a highly unorthodox wish, but perhaps he could make an exception for someone as special as Mr. Potter meeting an old friend.
“Well, Sir,” he started kindly “it is not a usual request as I’m sure you understand – after all, the private lounges are called private for a reason and they are mostly occupied when our guests don’t wish to be disturbed – but if it is a very old friend I suppose there cannot be much damage done if I – perhaps not take you there, but point you out where to go?”
Harry didn’t bother correcting the old man on all that “cannot be much damage done” business as he was obviously trying his hardest to oblige him; he merely nodded gratefully and listened carefully to Antoine’s instructions. Once complete, he thanked him profusely, signed a napkin for his grand-daughter upon request and left him with a tip that made the old waiter’s jaw hit the floor.
When he'd arrived to the restaurant with his wife, Harry had missed seeing Ron by mere moments, which was just as well, because he probably wouldn't have been able to stop himself from launching head-on into a massive scandal – and right before the eyes of that annoying Skeeter character. This way he at least appeared relaxed when he made sure Ginny got her moments in the spotlight, smiling and kissing her thoroughly, and then proceeded to take her to the best table available – he didn’t bother with the private lounge as he knew she was eager to be seen by as many people as possible. She was positively sun-bathing in her husband’s fame and public display of affection and he could hardly take it against her – he didn’t take her out and spoil her nearly often enough as she deserved as his wife. It was just… he wasn’t in love with her and parading their marriage in public was just a tedious task, performed to appease her.
His proverbial luck struck again and as soon as he sat down next to Ginny and started discretely looking around to spot another familiar fiery head, there were cries of recognition and Luna Lovegood floated in to join them by the table. As it was, she was writing a piece on England’s most common locations to spot a – godknowswhat, a creature whose name Harry couldn’t repeat if his life depended on it – but maybe it was only an excuse for Luna to spend a lovely night out with her fiancée, a fellow strange-creatures enthusiast by the name of Rolf Scamander. She certainly could afford it, with the Quibbler sales soaring as they did. The girls hadn’t seen each other in months and seemed eager to do all the catching up in the next hour – and that was just what Harry needed. He mumbled something about seeing an old friend and went about to find his mark.
When he'd got the information out of the old waiter, he cautiously returned to the table to check on Ginny in case she felt abandoned. There was no saying what his temperamental wife might do when annoyed! But much to his relief she was so immersed in her conversation with Luna, that she hardly noticed when he got up to leave again. It was time for confrontation.
As Harry headed for the private lounge in question, his mind was empty. He didn’t know what he was going to see and how he was going to react as this was hardly planned. But he didn’t finish off Voldemort by exactly planning to kill him, did he, it just sort of happened and it made Harry Potter trust his luck and his ability to improvise.
He stopped dead in front of the private lounge he was instructed to find Ron in and he ran his fingers through his hair nervously. What was he doing? He didn’t know and frankly, he didn’t bother to look for excuses. He was here to stop Ron from doing something stupid and irreversible - with Malfoy of all people, the one person they both loved to hate! – and he didn’t care about how this looked and that he had questionable right at best to do this. Ron was his, he always was and if Malfoy wanted to take him out to dinner, he bloody well better ask his permission! Not that he would ever give it…
He opened the door softly without bothering to knock first and his heart dropped in a chasm at the sight.
Ron was sitting opposite from Malfoy, a table between them loaded with – was that fish and chips!? – but the piece of marble furniture, as expensive looking as it was, did nothing to keep them apart. The Slytherin’s eyes were closed and he was breathing out in soft short puffs as if he was trying to keep back the strained sounds and two of the delicate fingers of his right hand were immersed in Ron’s silken mouth. The redhead’s eyes were half closed, making him look every bit like a big ginger cat enjoying her meal and Harry could see his skilled gentle tongue softly sucking on the sensitive fingertips, slowly whirling around them and licking with merciless tenderness. There was so much sexual tension in the air, one could almost feel the infectious tide of arousal crawling all over the blond’s body.
Oh, yeah, Harry knew exactly how Draco Malfoy felt in that moment. Ron was the world-class master of tongue luxuries and the raven-haired youth was all too familiar with the undoing feeling under that heavenly torturous muscle… Just watching them started a slow pool of fire in his loins that only that same blasphemous mouth had the power to put out. And it drove him insane.
~
To say that things had escalated quickly once Antoine disappeared with their order, was a bit of an understatement. Just a bit. A big fucking bit. As soon as he was gone, Ron asked softly:
“Why did you go and do that?” Draco wasn’t sure if he was asking him about getting rid of the menu or ordering the same food as he did, but he didn’t really have an answer to either and he just shrugged: “Oh, you know, it’s good manners. My mother’s drill – always make the guest feel like he belongs.”
“Belongs… right,” smiled Ron, the expression on his face soft and predatory at the same time, if that was even possible. Draco felt a lump in his throat form as he found himself so at the mercy of those smiling blue eyes staring at him in feigned innocence. “Damn you, Weasley, you impossible bastard,” he thought helplessly and knew he wouldn’t trade the feeling for the world.
But the redhead was on a roll and clearly found it amusing to keep on knocking the breath out of him. He leaned forward towards him and asked with a voice made of honey: “And is that what I am to you, Malfoy… Draco? A guest, someone who comes and goes and will never be asked to… stay? Just a guest…?”
His presence was so intoxicating he might as well be fucking him. Draco was rendered speechless by the proximity of that incredible addictive scent and found himself without a response, well at least without the words to respond as his body was busy responding like crazy. He felt himself getting undressed by that intense feral stare behind the silken ginger eyelashes and it took everything out of him just to hold back a small moan when the redhead bit his lower lip gently and the sharp white teeth shone through.
“How, then, would you call it? Us?” the blond finally managed, voice hoarse and barely above the whisper as he could hardly remember that English was his mother tongue.
“Oh, I don’t know…” said Ron almost dreamily and smiled a slow blissful grin, looking every bit like a soft ginger kitten toying with its prey.“Partners, perhaps… for now?” his hand suddenly slipped forward and long fingers slid down Draco’s cheek. The grey eyes closed at the unexpected intimate sensation and the Slytherin’s mouth went dry. Sweet mother of God, that was it. He was going to push the table away and take him right there, he couldn’t hold back any longer.
What remained of his sanity was saved by Antoine entering with their food and setting it on the table with every bit as much complication as was due for a far more elaborate dish. It gave the Slytherin a few precious moments to catch his breath, but did nothing to stir down his arousal. What was the crazy Gryffindor trying to do to him?! Give him a heart attack besides the mother of all hard-ons?! Was he entirely unable to keep a meaningless conversation?! How was he ever going to – ohhhh….
Casually, as if it was the most common thing in the world one of Ron’s long arms sneaked under an expensive tablecloth and a hand crawled up his thigh, strong fingers sliding gently until they found their mark and brushed against his strained erection. And Draco saw stars. He sunk his teeth into his lip not to cry out, but he was unable to stop the shiver that pushed him further into that divine hand doing a devil’s work.
The redhead calmly looked up to the elderly waiter and said with a matter-of-fact politeness: “That will be all, Antoine. We’ll take it from here.”
Just looking at the young Mr. Malfoy who was transfixed by the redhead with a devilish glow in his sparkling blue eyes told Antoine that his presence was no longer required. He bowed shortly and walked away as quickly as his dignity allowed. On his way out he couldn’t help but let a small smile spread across his face. By the looks of it, the young Mr. Malfoy was in for quite a ride tonight.
As soon as the waiter was gone, so was Ron’s hand and Draco whimpered at the loss. “What the fuck…” he hissed. “You can’t go and do that to me…”
“Oh, how about we take it slow… partner,” said Ron softly and suddenly his big hand covered Draco’s and took hostage of the fingers. “Nothing like a slow fire, Malfoy, to have yourself burnt to ashes… And you’re burning right now, I can tell… I believe you tried to teach me something today… a lesson… when burnt, apply moisture,” he said with deadly gentleness and slowly lifted Draco’s hand towards his mouth. He licked two of his fingers probingly and when Draco exhaled tightly, desperately trying to keep control of himself, he whispered in his low incredibly sexy voice: “Oh, and you are hot and burning, Malfoy… hottest thing on the planet… I’ve been thinking about fucking you the whole day… Draco,” he sighed before he took his fingers in his mouth and began working them with his tongue. The blond man fell off the surface of the earth and Ron loved him for it. He knew he was taking him apart and it was just how he wanted it.
And that’s how Harry Potter found them.
~
Harry just stood there for a while, unable to move for he was sure he would come apart if he did. How could this be? How could Ron do that to him?! What had he done to lose him like that, to Malfoy of all people? Was Ron really so hurt, so determined to make a point, so hungry for love he was willing to take it from just about the first person that came along? Harry loved him, didn’t he know?! Perhaps he’d never really said it out loud, but it was a given: he’s been in love with him ever since he knew something like love existed. It was never anyone but Ron for him. Was it such a crime to want a family, the children he couldn’t give him no matter how much they cared for each other? How come he couldn’t understand what he was doing to Harry? He felt every bit like a man broken, just loosely connected pieces ready to fall apart at the slightest intervention.
“Ron,” he called quietly, but his mouth was so dry nothing came out of it. “Ron!” he tried again, this time louder, determined to be heard; determined to stop this abomination of his Ron giving himself to another person. It was Malfoy who opened his eyes in shock and stared at him as if he couldn’t believe he was real.
“Potter,” he said bluntly as if he was trying to discern if he was merely a figment of his imagination, but Ron, his Ron, did nothing. The long ginger eyelashes closed completely for a long moment and then he slowly let Malfoy’s hand go.
“Harry,” he said softly. “I thought you might come here.” Draco stared from one to the other with disbelief in his eyes and Ron smiled, but it was a sad lonely smile: “Oh, yeah… I knew he’d try. Ever since you let it slip we were going to meet, I knew he was going to try his hardest to be here… Never underestimate the resourcefulness of one Harry Potter, the man is a legend after all…” he said almost mockingly and then turned around and bored his stare into his best mate: “What did you do? Called every restaurant in town to see where he made reservation? Nah, too time consuming. Put a tracing charm on one of us? Not even you are quick enough for that! Or did you go and break into his file, Potter? That was it, wasn’t it? Oh, I know you, Potter, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to get what you want!”
His blue eyes suddenly flashed wildly and he hissed in anger: “But you know what, Potter?! You don’t know what you want, not this time. You think you can have it all, yet you don’t want what I have to give. My heart, Harry, I would have given you my heart if only you asked for it. But you can’t ask, can you?! And you won’t.
You’re always demanding, taking, never asking as you should ask for someone’s heart; get down on your fucking knees and ask, Harry, cause that’s the only way to ask for the heart of the one you love! Cause they’re your whole world and some and it’s not a shame. But I’m not your whole world, am I, Harry? I’ll never be, cause there are children’s illusions to keep up, a wife to please and a perfect image to uphold. Well, fuck that, Harry, fuck your perfect little world! I don’t want to be your dirty little secret anymore. Maybe with a wife and a family and me on the side you’ve got everything you ever wanted, but I need more, Harry. I need someone to complete me, just me, to make me feel whole. To look me in the eye and tell me they would sell their soul for me, to make me feel like I’m all they’ll ever need. And you won’t be that man, you’ve made that perfectly clear!”
“But neither can he!” finally erupted Harry, recognising the truth for what it was and, as helpless as he felt, taking out all his anger and frustration on the person that – he was certain - deserved it. “He doesn’t love you, Ron, he never will even if he knew how! He’s only using you to hurt you! He knows you’re angry and lonely and he’s just being a fucking dick as always, playing all your weaknesses… He’s a bloody Malfoy, Ron, the person who never did anything but chewed at your soul and he will do it again, I know he will and I will fucking kill him for it, but please, please Ron, don’t let him come between us! He’s nothing, a nobody, he’s not worth your time, he’s not the one…”
“Oh, is that so, Potter?” Draco Malfoy suddenly got up from behind the table, the look in his grey eyes hard as steel and his voice so cold it send a chill around the tiny room. “And you would know that because - ? Perhaps because you’re the same cold-hearted bastard that keeps this man here from ever finding love just because you’re a holy fucking prodigy and everything is yours to have?! How would you know how I feel!? Did you ever bother to ask? Well, let me tell you something about me and my intentions, Potter, since you’re such a know-it-all!
I’ve been in love – yes, in love, don’t give me that look! – I’ve been in love with this man ever since I knew love had a place in this world. True, I didn’t know it for the longest time, because once you’re bred a Malfoy, recognizing love is not set very highly on your priority list. I was raised to hate him, everything about him and I was all set on hating him from the start. Except he knocked me off my feet and somehow love happened instead of hate and I still don’t know how and it has left me confused, bothered and frustrated for the longest time. But I’ll have you know he’s been the only person for me since I was fucking 11 years old, so don’t give me that “he doesn’t love you” shit. And I will tell you something about this love that will probably make me lose this man, but much like him – I’m tired of keeping secrets.”
For a long moment he looked at Ron with curious sadness as if he was saying goodbye and indeed seemed to have reached a decision. All or nothing… for you, he thought to himself, then went back to staring into the livid green eyes of his rival and spoke.
“I made this happen,” he said clearly and when he saw the confusion and lack of understanding on the Gryffindor’s face he elaborated. “I made this happen, the whole mess you’re living in. I saw you two kissing in the Ministry corridor and I knew this was my chance. I was in love with Ron for so long I was willing to do anything, any bloody thing to win me my window of opportunity. And I decided this was going to be it. I went to the Mud… to his wife and dropped a hint – I knew she won’t be able to ignore it once it came out of my mouth. The pretending that her life was perfect was over and she couldn’t stand it, that I knew. Of course, at first, she claimed that I lied, so I let her in my head, Potter – I let her use legilimency on me and I didn’t care what else she might see in there as long as she couldn’t say this wasn’t real. I knew she wouldn’t be able to let it go, knowing that I knew.
And when your lives and your lies exploded around you, I waited patiently, as I have done all these years. I knew that something had to give and it surprised me, Potter, it was you. Cause this man here, the one you claim for yourself, was not willing to sell you out as eagerly as you let him hang in there all by himself. And believe me, that pained me and for a while there I thought I’d played it all and lost. But it turned out I only needed to wait for him to realize what I long before knew – that you were not good enough for him, though you always treated him the other way around. As far as I go, he’s not your side kick – you’re the one who’s not worthy to clean his shoes. How could you throw love like this away, you fool!?
Anyway – the moment I heard he transferred - and yes, I paid good money to be the first one to know – I asked for a transfer myself. Oh, don’t give me that look, Weasley, I know I told you some fool thought it was a good idea to pair me off with you, but trust me, that fool got handsomely paid for it! I would have done anything to get near you… so I did,” he shrugged, suddenly looking tired but defiant.
“So don’t tell me, Potter, this isn’t love! True, it’s my version of it, a twisted Malfoyian way to love, but it’s the only way I know. I do love this man, I love him far more you’ll ever be able to comprehend and you have no idea of the lengths I’m willing to go to prove that to him.”
“I told you this bastard was all poison!” hissed Harry, about an inch away from hexing Malfoy into nothingness. “He ruined our lives and he’s fucking proud about it, too! You need to get away from him, Ron, get away from him now! Come back to me and let me handle this…”
“Oh, I know how to handle this alright,” said the redhead quietly and stood up so abruptly that the marble table almost toppled over. Without another word he grabbed Harry by one wrist and Malfoy by the other and all but dragged them out of the private lounge and into the direction of the public dining area. Harry had a mind to resist, but he knew Ron better than that – if the redhead wanted him somewhere he would carry him there if needed. But Draco followed quietly, doing his best to keep up with the angry stride of Ron’s long legs. When they could already see the tables at the edge of the public dining area, Ron stopped as suddenly as he started and looked around.
“You’re here with Ginny, aren’t you?” he asked, his eyes scanning the crowd. “I know my little sister wouldn’t let you out of her sight and she’s far too eager to be seen with you to pass up on a chance like that.”
“What are you doing, Ron?” asked Harry quietly, the hairs on his neck suddenly prickling with alert at an unmistakable reflection of danger in his best mate’s eyes. People were already beginning to stare and he suddenly realized just how much he stood to lose.
“Well, Harry, my love, since you’ve pushed me, I thought I would do what I had no intention of doing – but you’ve left me no choice. I’m making you choose. Kiss me, Harry,” Ron asked, finally letting go of his wrist and stared deeply into the green eyes he had been hoping to love since forever.
Harry stared at him incredulously and finally whispered quietly: “You can’t do that to me, Ron. You know what you’re asking of me…”
But the redhead for once was unrelenting: “Kiss me,” he said just as softly and kept his eyes locked on the green orbs he came to adore. “Kiss me, Harry, and I’m yours. I won’t ever look at another man or a woman if you kiss me right now. I’ll wait for you, I’ll go back to cheating and lying for you. Just do it here and now and do it right… and I’m yours.”
Harry’s eyes were desperate: “Ron, please…” he whispered, but that was all the answer the redhead was willing to wait for.
“I didn’t think so,” he smiled sadly and with a sense of longing in his beautiful blue eyes he turned away and looked at the blond. “Kiss me,” he said simply… and this time he was not disappointed.
“Oh, yes, god, yes!” whispered Draco feverishly, launching himself at redhead so desperately, that he barely managed to keep his balance. Without another word the blond cupped Ron’s face in his hands and sought out his mouth hungrily, set out to consume this god-given chance he didn’t think he was going to get. And his time seemed to have stopped when he felt the beloved soft lips open and respond. He proceeded to kiss him with all the adoration of the years lost in ignorance and hatred and for his part, he was not willing to let go. Ever again. And that seemed fine with Ron.
“Ron, don’t… ” tried Harry, his voice filled with panic when he finally understood what he'd gambled away. But he never got to finish his sentence as a female voice suddenly cut through his words and he closed his green eyes in defeat.
“Harry? Oh, there you are, love, I’ve been looking all over the place for you! Where on Earth have you… Ron?!” Ginny Weasley Potter followed her husband’s petrified look and finally noticed the familiar figure who held her husband's undivided attention. Her anger soared so rapidly it made her dizzy. In an instant she realized she’d been played and her husband was only here for one person… and it was not her.
“You bastard!” she hissed and her hand moved rapidly to get her wand - but then her eyes registered what Harry – and the rest of the clientele - had been staring at and she lost her breath and her footing: “Sweet mother of Rowena, Ron, what are you doing?! This is no place to… Is that a man?! Is that… oh my fucking God, that’s Malfoy… “
Almost reflexively Harry stretched out his arm to catch her as her legs gave way at the sight of a gorgeous tall redhead, her brother, the war hero, the household name, the teenage girls’ idol, kissing the life out of Draco Malfoy, the heir of the distinguished house of Malfoy, very much married and very much oblivious to the fact that he had a reputation to uphold.
Finally Ron let go of the young man’s mouth clinging to him so desperately and looked at the two sets of eyes staring at him in disbelief.
“Come back to you, Harry? Come back to what?” he said quietly, but with unmistakable edge in his voice. Harry found no words to reply and the redhead turned to his sister: “Why so surprised, Gin? This is your bastard brother giving you back your husband, just as you requested. All yours now.”
He finally looked at the blond still holding on to his broad shoulders and smiled: “For you, I have different plans tonight.” And he disapparated them from the spot, leaving behind broken hearts and broken lives, no regrets.
He had to know where to take this and he had to know now.
~ End of Part 3 ~
Next: Choices, Part 4
See also:
( Choices, Part 1 )
( Choices, Part 2 )
Word count: 8007, this part
Pairing: Ron/Draco, some past Ron/Harry
Rating: Don'tknowDon'tknowDon'tknow, don't ask, I don't have a clue. You know what, let's just give it an R, to this one and every other chapter from now on, cause it's kindda heavy on the language though not so much on the action, not this part, at least...
Dislaimer: You can't seriously NOT know whose the original characters are - let me give you a hint: not mine, not in the least, I just mould them (and maul them, someone might say) into what fits the curious curves and corners of my mind. And neither is the money. Though I'd appreciate any advice where to go looking for that one. ;)
When Ron apparated in front of The Silver Spoon, he made sure it was some distance from the lit up lobby of the fairy-tale building. He stopped and watched it from afar and he felt his breath hitch nervously. The little poor boy inside him, still very much alive, was mesmerized by the glittering sight. The building itself was impressive, more like a palace, really; an abundance of space, lit up by the most amazing symphony of candles Ron had ever seen, simply breathing delicate style and all that unattainable air of wealth one could never reproduce without being born right into it – this was the home ground to all the Malfoys of this world and a far cry from what he was used to. It was not for the likes of him, never for him.
“Bloody hell,” he mumbled and felt a knot in his throat form. You couldn’t even get in, unless you somehow successfully made a reservation or were lucky enough to receive an invitation and for a brief moment an image flashed in front of his eyes what an idiot he would make of himself if he indeed approached the haughty valet just to find out that his name was not on the list and he could crawl away with a tail between his hind legs, thank you very much. He wouldn’t put it past Malfoy to do something like that to him, at least not the Draco he knew before the curious Ministry bathroom incident… but he made it all the way up here and it was time to put his courage to the test. He was a bloody Gryffindor, wasn’t he, and as his Muggle-born wife used to say: No pain – no gain. If nothing else, he could always try to pull his war-hero status, perhaps that would do…
So he straightened himself up to his impressive height, put what he hoped was confidence his stride and approached the stern bulky man in a staff uniform.
He tried to put all the authority of a trained Auror into his voice when he spoke: “Good evening, my name is Ron Weasley, I’m here for…” But he shouldn’t have bothered. The valet’s eyes got ridiculously round and awed at the sight of a somewhat reclusive, but still undoubtedly famous redhead who towered above him and it was clear he was sporting some sort of a panic attack:
“Mr. Weasley, of course, we’ve been expecting you! Right this way, Sir, right this way… Mr. Malfoy mentioned you might be dropping by, but honestly, Sir, who could miss you? I suspect you are not exactly the kind who gets lost in the crowd, if you forgive my familiarity. It’s this way, Sir, if you please… Mr. Malfoy has reserved a private lounge for your business dinner. The best one we have, if I say so myself, always the best for Mr. Malfoy and his esteemed company,” the man kept blabbing, clearly thunderstruck by Ron’s very appearance.
He took him right past the Skeeter woman, who was frantically making notes in her tattered notebook, almost salivating at the sight of one of the Golden trio – she could already see the headlines: “Rags to riches - Ron Weasley finally claims The Silver Spoon” – but she positively dropped the notebook when she saw who met the dashing redhead at the door: Draco Malfoy, the heir of the Malfoy family, in all his impeccable glory! That very Draco Malfoy who spent much of his youth plotting against the Saviour of the wizarding world and his companions! The very same Draco Malfoy who has since forever openly mocked the poverty and lack of pride of a certain pureblood that stood by the side of the Boy who lived unrelenting. Except that the notorious life-long adversary of Harry Potter’s side-kick looked anything but hostile tonight, greeting the tall redhead with a brilliant smile, escorting him into the premises with a hand on the tall ginger’s back! What a scandal! And she positively overheard the valet mention the private lounge and a business dinner - this had every feature of a social revolution! She urgently needed to find out what business could those two opposites possibly pursue together! She could just smell a story there, a possible headliner even – after all, one could hardly find two people less likely to cooperate and more likely to attempt to murder each other!
But the headlines were the last thing on Draco Malfoy’s mind. His heart stopped for a moment when he noticed the familiar fiery glow and when he got up to meet the absolutely gorgeous looking redhead he felt his legs almost give way. Why the fuck did Weasley have to look so heart-stopping tonight?! He got himself all dressed up, didn’t he, his robes looked new and well-tailored, but even if they didn’t… With his tall muscled frame and dashing blue eyes, almost glowing at the background of that liquid lava of silken hair, he looked every bit fit for the center-fold of one of those glossy magazines the teenage witches drooled over. He was lovely. And sexy. And unstoppable. A creature of magic, clearly sent to this world to doom one Draco Malfoy. He was just a giant magnet for him and not only him – Draco could see people’s heads turn all over the place as the redhead walked past them with his confident stride, oblivious to the attention he stirred, as always. It made him unreasonably proud and irrationally jealous and suddenly he just wanted to grab the magnificent man by the collar of his robes, disapparate them somewhere private and have himself fucked numb….
Instead he was looking at an endless evening full of meaningless chit-chat in the shade of constant anxiety that he would say something wrong, some haughty idiocy that would ruin it all and make Ron leave. But there was no way around it now, if he wanted even a chance to own him, he had to go all the way; the wining, the dining and the chatting and hopefully without drowning in those incredible blue eyes and doing something stupid. He’d been on the verge of practically humping his leg the whole blasted day, hadn’t he, because Weasley on the field was just a goddamn porn movie! All this masculinity and muscle in action made Draco half disabled as he was barely walking through their shift, constantly torn between wanting to snog him stupid and get as far away from him as he could to keep what was left of his rapidly failing self-control. If this was how Potter felt, hanging around Weasley every day, then Draco found new admiration for the man’s ability to stay sane.
And right about now the blond was not at all certain he could keep his precious composure intact. He felt almost dizzy when the tall and undeniably gorgeous man approached him with a slow stride of his endless legs, but then he was suddenly immersed into his wonderful intoxicating scent and he fell apart - Merlin, was there ever a man who smelled more of sex?! Ron positively oozed sex appeal and Draco felt himself melt into a puddle when the generous mouth stretched into a genuine smile and the redhead spoke in his warm rumbling voice: “Hey there… you’re already here…not waiting for long, I hope…”
The blond couldn’t tell him he was willing to wait well into the next day for him, possibly the next century, as he was not sure he could say anything coherent under an onslaught of acute arousal, but when he finally found his voice, the first thing he actually did manage to say, was, unforgivably, the truth.
“No need to worry, Weasley, not for long, no… just my whole life,” his tongue blurted out and as soon as it was out, he closed his eyes in silent reprimand of the retarded organ’s audacity. Great, then. His brain was clearly left behind tonight and he would be at the mercy of his other body parts. God only knows what other folly his hormone-enslaved body had in store for him! He was so fucked… But when he opened his eyes again, Ron was staring at him and suddenly awarded him with a brilliant unexpected smile that befuddled the rest of his mental capacity and inspired more insane action: one of the blond’s hands which apparently also came with a mind of its own, casually slid up his back when he showed him the way and once it was in place Draco had no intention of removing it again. Ever.
With the corner of his eye he saw the Skeeter woman drop her notebook and gape at them shamelessly and he knew that if the redhead wanted discretion, he'd just royally fucked up. They’d be on a cover of the social chronicle of every wizarding publication by tomorrow. Well, fuck.
But then again – how could Weasley ever hope to keep this private?! He was a bloody lantern in the dark, with his tall muscled figure and the flaming hair, wasn’t he!? And all too famous to be ignored, though he often chose to forget it and – God, that mindless hand up his back better not be it for their evening or Draco would have it removed! He looked at the ginger anxiously, fully expecting him to look uncomfortable, but Ron merely lifted his chin up another inch and flashed the most blissful provoking smile, directed at him, but just in time for reporter’s camera. Well, fuck again, Draco thought miserably, his crazed heart just a puddle of melted butter in the sun of that smile. With Weasley on the rampage, his self-control was toast.
The unlikely dinner partners had hardly disappeared into the restaurant, when Rita Skeeter’s overloaded brain almost burst a vein - again. Was she seeing things or was that really… Harry Potter, the one and only, in flesh and blood?! With a reportedly estranged – or not?? - wife hanging off his elbow!? Now there, right there was stuff for the gods, that’s why she chose the journalist profession to begin with, it was just so exciting! And right now her career choice smelled of a huge bonus! Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy – the business partners from hell; Harry Potter reviving stale romance with his wife - sometimes Rita Skeeter just loved her life!
~
Ron was careful not to look around too much, because, honestly, war heroes with their mouths gaping open were not an attractive sight. He just stared straight in front of himself, trying not to take in too much of the overwhelming detail of how the privileged lived and dined, so he could make it through the evening with his self-esteem still in one piece. He instead focused on the warm palm of his companion, still resting at the small of his back and the feeling was not at all unpleasant… nor was it unwelcome. He appreciated Draco greeting him as he did and though he couldn’t care less about the newspapers and the Skeeter woman, it stroked his ego the right way that the young man acknowledged their new liaison so publicly. The Slytherin kept his promise so far – he certainly wasn’t trying to hide that they’d found themselves on more friendly terms after long last. After years of discretion and messages with double meanings and meetings he had to hide and excuses he had to come up with – this was… refreshing to say the least. Of course it wasn’t really a relationship, not yet, one blow-job, however glorified, certainly didn’t make that, but there was something there that didn’t really fit into a description of a casual fling either. He’d just have to wait and see how this went; this evening first and then the rest...
Draco wasn’t’ entirely sure how he made it to the table. He was semi-aware of himself blabbing, making unimportant small talk, but all he was really conscious of was that his hand was still resting up against a broad muscled back under a pretence of showing Weasley the way and the redhead did nothing to have it removed. He was a mere arm’s length away from that heavenly body he'd worshipped since he was a teenager and it was making his head spin to be able to inhale his warm masculine scent. Getting through this evening was proving harder and… harder, literally as well. Their private lounge came all too quickly and when his fingers finally let go of the hot muscles moving underneath them, they felt as if they’d lost something precious and immediately itched to get it back.
He had him sit down and saw Ron cock an eyebrow at the sight of the tiny table.
”Clearly those were not made to hold my mother’s dishes! ” he mumbled and the Slytherin rolled his eyes up in spite of his promise to himself to be on his best behaviour tonight – honestly, Weasley and his humongous appetite were a love story on its own!
When the waiter discretely delivered their menu lists, Draco – always the son of his mother, the perfect hostess – did what he'd known he would inevitably have to do as soon as he'd picked out this place for dining.
“Do take these things away, Antoine, if you please,” he said to the elderly waiter, not unkindly, but with an unmistakable air of someone who is used to giving orders. “We will have none of that confusing French fodder this time, we don’t want to scare our guest celebrity away, do we? Weasley, what do you feel like tonight? Is there any food in the world you ever wanted to try?” he looked him in the eye and it took a moment for Ron to understand what the worldly youth did right there: no doubt he would have made a fool of himself trying to decipher an incomprehensible menu and the blond subtly came to his rescue.
Ron felt a curious mixture of embarrassment and gratitude run over his body and before he could stop himself he felt his lips stretch into one of those smiles that he just knew were going to knock the breath out the Slytherin: “Can I have anything I want? Because you, for example, look absolutely delicious…”
It was so worth it. Draco suddenly seemed to have stopped breathing, his cheeks flushed and his silver eyes shone like new-born stars and he did look downright edible. Ron saw his slim fingers hold on the edges of the table to get a grip and it somehow made him feel happy and alive. Another naughty look into the grey eyes, then he blinked innocently and looked at the shocked waiter: “I’ll have some fish and chips, Antoine, thank you very much.”
Draco didn’t know whether he was going to pass out or laugh himself into insanity. This was just so like Weasley: the man really didn’t give a fuck, did he?! First he slowly fucked him with those incredible eyes and that undoing bone-melting smile until he almost lost it right there and then he went and ordered England’s most blue-collar food - a Muggle specialty at that! - in the world’s most prestigious wizarding restaurant. And just looking across the table at all that hot life and joy he felt bubbling inside a beautiful wild creature wreaking havoc in this porcelain shop of the rich and well-bred made him want to sink down to his knees in front of him and just drink the juices out of that incredible man. God, how he yearned to touch him, to sink into him, to claim him…
He called in years of drill in self-control and managed to stop himself from launching at the redhead, but he couldn’t erase the light and smile from his grey eyes when he looked at the stunned waiter and ordered in a matter-of-fact voice: “You heard the gentleman, Antoine. I’ll have the same,” he added, for once willing to jump off a cliff holding his hand and it earned him another one of those breath-taking smiles.
The waiter, who was used to the whims of the rich and spoiled, merely hung his head obediently, but when he turned away he couldn’t avoid cocking an eyebrow at the thought of what on Merlin’s Earth besieged the classy Mr. Malfoy to ever go for such plebeian food!? And that impressive redheaded man… Mr. Malfoy referred to him as a celebrity and he was sure he’s seen him before; he looked so familiar - except that he was equally certain that he’d never seen him set foot in this restaurant! He knew better than to ponder over the words that the ginger devil said to Mr. Malfoy right before he ordered – he was not the first and probably not the last to court the wealthy youth, though others had been… perhaps a bit more tactful.
Either way, he was paid to be discreet and it was none of his business what the esteemed guests got up to once they left – in the end he would be the one paying the ultimate price in losing his job, if information like this ever got out! Right now it seemed like a good idea to remove himself from the table as quickly as possible before he got more orders that would inevitably earn him deafening yelling in the kitchen from the outraged chef.
And just when he headed off towards the direction of the kitchen, he was stopped in his track by a young man with sparkling green eyes and incredibly tousled raven hair, who spoke with inherent authority: “A word, if you please…”
You would have to be deaf, blind and possibly dead not to know who this man was and for once in his long career, Antoine forgot himself: “You’re Harry Potter!” he blurted out in awe and the second the words were out he knew he'd just made a great professional blunder. The young man rocked himself on the balls of his feet nervously and answered somewhat impatiently: “Well, yes, I’ve been told that since birth and it seems to be true. However, this is irrelevant for this particular evening. I was wondering if you could help me with something…”
“Anything for you, Sir,” Antoine tried to sound obliging, very eager to make the most influential wizard of the generation forget his unprofessional behaviour.
“Thank you,” the young wizard relaxed with a warm smile, unusually kind and looked him in the eye as one person to another – and that was all it took for Antoine to call himself Harry Potter’s man. No one ever looked at him like that at his work before. To the regulars he was just a piece of restaurant furniture; they knew his name, to be sure, just like they know the names of complicated and delicate cutlery, but this young man, the prodigy of the wizarding world, looked at him like his grandchildren did, warm and trusting, and suddenly Antoine understood how Harry Potter had got to be who he was. He was not just a famous name, a poster child, a character from the History of Hogwarts, he was an actual breathing human being who radiated incredible authority and a strange vulnerability at the same time. He was as down-to-earth as they came and the old waiter instantly felt a strange sense of loyalty.
“As I was about to say: this is my first time in your lovely restaurant and I’m afraid I don’t know my way around it just yet as well as I’d like to. Would you be so kind as to direct me towards the private lounges?” Harry proceeded to ask politely, but his words still made the old waiter’s body stiff with inconvenience. What the raven-haired youth asked, was, of course, entirely impossible and out of the question. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to oblige the kind young man, made Antoine extremely uncomfortable, but he knew that this would be his last hour on the job if he humoured him.
“I’m very sorry, Sir,” he replied politely, trying to put as much of honest regret into his words as he could. “It is absolutely forbidden to take anyone there that doesn’t have a reservation, Sir! Perhaps another night…”
“Oh, no, you misunderstood me,” smiled Harry as friendly as he could muster – he didn’t expect this to be easy and he came prepared. “I don’t wish to occupy any of your private lounges, I merely spotted a very old friend and I wish to drop by and say my “hello”s. I think he would be terribly upset if he read in tomorrow’s newspaper that I was here with my wife, his sister, and hadn’t bothered to pay him any attention. Perhaps you have seen him - I suppose he is almost impossible to miss – the name is Ronald Weasley, he’s very tall, has shockingly bright ginger hair, and is possibly a guest of Mr. Malfoy – does that ring a bell?”
Antoine slowly relaxed – if the young celebrity wasn’t going to throw a screaming fit for not being given his own private lounge and he was merely here to see a friend, Ronald Weasley… Now he remembered where he knew the young man’s face from, he was one of the Golden trio, how could he miss it?! His astonishing face was all over the posters in his granddaughter’s bedroom, the place was covered in them! Well, it was a highly unorthodox wish, but perhaps he could make an exception for someone as special as Mr. Potter meeting an old friend.
“Well, Sir,” he started kindly “it is not a usual request as I’m sure you understand – after all, the private lounges are called private for a reason and they are mostly occupied when our guests don’t wish to be disturbed – but if it is a very old friend I suppose there cannot be much damage done if I – perhaps not take you there, but point you out where to go?”
Harry didn’t bother correcting the old man on all that “cannot be much damage done” business as he was obviously trying his hardest to oblige him; he merely nodded gratefully and listened carefully to Antoine’s instructions. Once complete, he thanked him profusely, signed a napkin for his grand-daughter upon request and left him with a tip that made the old waiter’s jaw hit the floor.
When he'd arrived to the restaurant with his wife, Harry had missed seeing Ron by mere moments, which was just as well, because he probably wouldn't have been able to stop himself from launching head-on into a massive scandal – and right before the eyes of that annoying Skeeter character. This way he at least appeared relaxed when he made sure Ginny got her moments in the spotlight, smiling and kissing her thoroughly, and then proceeded to take her to the best table available – he didn’t bother with the private lounge as he knew she was eager to be seen by as many people as possible. She was positively sun-bathing in her husband’s fame and public display of affection and he could hardly take it against her – he didn’t take her out and spoil her nearly often enough as she deserved as his wife. It was just… he wasn’t in love with her and parading their marriage in public was just a tedious task, performed to appease her.
His proverbial luck struck again and as soon as he sat down next to Ginny and started discretely looking around to spot another familiar fiery head, there were cries of recognition and Luna Lovegood floated in to join them by the table. As it was, she was writing a piece on England’s most common locations to spot a – godknowswhat, a creature whose name Harry couldn’t repeat if his life depended on it – but maybe it was only an excuse for Luna to spend a lovely night out with her fiancée, a fellow strange-creatures enthusiast by the name of Rolf Scamander. She certainly could afford it, with the Quibbler sales soaring as they did. The girls hadn’t seen each other in months and seemed eager to do all the catching up in the next hour – and that was just what Harry needed. He mumbled something about seeing an old friend and went about to find his mark.
When he'd got the information out of the old waiter, he cautiously returned to the table to check on Ginny in case she felt abandoned. There was no saying what his temperamental wife might do when annoyed! But much to his relief she was so immersed in her conversation with Luna, that she hardly noticed when he got up to leave again. It was time for confrontation.
As Harry headed for the private lounge in question, his mind was empty. He didn’t know what he was going to see and how he was going to react as this was hardly planned. But he didn’t finish off Voldemort by exactly planning to kill him, did he, it just sort of happened and it made Harry Potter trust his luck and his ability to improvise.
He stopped dead in front of the private lounge he was instructed to find Ron in and he ran his fingers through his hair nervously. What was he doing? He didn’t know and frankly, he didn’t bother to look for excuses. He was here to stop Ron from doing something stupid and irreversible - with Malfoy of all people, the one person they both loved to hate! – and he didn’t care about how this looked and that he had questionable right at best to do this. Ron was his, he always was and if Malfoy wanted to take him out to dinner, he bloody well better ask his permission! Not that he would ever give it…
He opened the door softly without bothering to knock first and his heart dropped in a chasm at the sight.
Ron was sitting opposite from Malfoy, a table between them loaded with – was that fish and chips!? – but the piece of marble furniture, as expensive looking as it was, did nothing to keep them apart. The Slytherin’s eyes were closed and he was breathing out in soft short puffs as if he was trying to keep back the strained sounds and two of the delicate fingers of his right hand were immersed in Ron’s silken mouth. The redhead’s eyes were half closed, making him look every bit like a big ginger cat enjoying her meal and Harry could see his skilled gentle tongue softly sucking on the sensitive fingertips, slowly whirling around them and licking with merciless tenderness. There was so much sexual tension in the air, one could almost feel the infectious tide of arousal crawling all over the blond’s body.
Oh, yeah, Harry knew exactly how Draco Malfoy felt in that moment. Ron was the world-class master of tongue luxuries and the raven-haired youth was all too familiar with the undoing feeling under that heavenly torturous muscle… Just watching them started a slow pool of fire in his loins that only that same blasphemous mouth had the power to put out. And it drove him insane.
~
To say that things had escalated quickly once Antoine disappeared with their order, was a bit of an understatement. Just a bit. A big fucking bit. As soon as he was gone, Ron asked softly:
“Why did you go and do that?” Draco wasn’t sure if he was asking him about getting rid of the menu or ordering the same food as he did, but he didn’t really have an answer to either and he just shrugged: “Oh, you know, it’s good manners. My mother’s drill – always make the guest feel like he belongs.”
“Belongs… right,” smiled Ron, the expression on his face soft and predatory at the same time, if that was even possible. Draco felt a lump in his throat form as he found himself so at the mercy of those smiling blue eyes staring at him in feigned innocence. “Damn you, Weasley, you impossible bastard,” he thought helplessly and knew he wouldn’t trade the feeling for the world.
But the redhead was on a roll and clearly found it amusing to keep on knocking the breath out of him. He leaned forward towards him and asked with a voice made of honey: “And is that what I am to you, Malfoy… Draco? A guest, someone who comes and goes and will never be asked to… stay? Just a guest…?”
His presence was so intoxicating he might as well be fucking him. Draco was rendered speechless by the proximity of that incredible addictive scent and found himself without a response, well at least without the words to respond as his body was busy responding like crazy. He felt himself getting undressed by that intense feral stare behind the silken ginger eyelashes and it took everything out of him just to hold back a small moan when the redhead bit his lower lip gently and the sharp white teeth shone through.
“How, then, would you call it? Us?” the blond finally managed, voice hoarse and barely above the whisper as he could hardly remember that English was his mother tongue.
“Oh, I don’t know…” said Ron almost dreamily and smiled a slow blissful grin, looking every bit like a soft ginger kitten toying with its prey.“Partners, perhaps… for now?” his hand suddenly slipped forward and long fingers slid down Draco’s cheek. The grey eyes closed at the unexpected intimate sensation and the Slytherin’s mouth went dry. Sweet mother of God, that was it. He was going to push the table away and take him right there, he couldn’t hold back any longer.
What remained of his sanity was saved by Antoine entering with their food and setting it on the table with every bit as much complication as was due for a far more elaborate dish. It gave the Slytherin a few precious moments to catch his breath, but did nothing to stir down his arousal. What was the crazy Gryffindor trying to do to him?! Give him a heart attack besides the mother of all hard-ons?! Was he entirely unable to keep a meaningless conversation?! How was he ever going to – ohhhh….
Casually, as if it was the most common thing in the world one of Ron’s long arms sneaked under an expensive tablecloth and a hand crawled up his thigh, strong fingers sliding gently until they found their mark and brushed against his strained erection. And Draco saw stars. He sunk his teeth into his lip not to cry out, but he was unable to stop the shiver that pushed him further into that divine hand doing a devil’s work.
The redhead calmly looked up to the elderly waiter and said with a matter-of-fact politeness: “That will be all, Antoine. We’ll take it from here.”
Just looking at the young Mr. Malfoy who was transfixed by the redhead with a devilish glow in his sparkling blue eyes told Antoine that his presence was no longer required. He bowed shortly and walked away as quickly as his dignity allowed. On his way out he couldn’t help but let a small smile spread across his face. By the looks of it, the young Mr. Malfoy was in for quite a ride tonight.
As soon as the waiter was gone, so was Ron’s hand and Draco whimpered at the loss. “What the fuck…” he hissed. “You can’t go and do that to me…”
“Oh, how about we take it slow… partner,” said Ron softly and suddenly his big hand covered Draco’s and took hostage of the fingers. “Nothing like a slow fire, Malfoy, to have yourself burnt to ashes… And you’re burning right now, I can tell… I believe you tried to teach me something today… a lesson… when burnt, apply moisture,” he said with deadly gentleness and slowly lifted Draco’s hand towards his mouth. He licked two of his fingers probingly and when Draco exhaled tightly, desperately trying to keep control of himself, he whispered in his low incredibly sexy voice: “Oh, and you are hot and burning, Malfoy… hottest thing on the planet… I’ve been thinking about fucking you the whole day… Draco,” he sighed before he took his fingers in his mouth and began working them with his tongue. The blond man fell off the surface of the earth and Ron loved him for it. He knew he was taking him apart and it was just how he wanted it.
And that’s how Harry Potter found them.
~
Harry just stood there for a while, unable to move for he was sure he would come apart if he did. How could this be? How could Ron do that to him?! What had he done to lose him like that, to Malfoy of all people? Was Ron really so hurt, so determined to make a point, so hungry for love he was willing to take it from just about the first person that came along? Harry loved him, didn’t he know?! Perhaps he’d never really said it out loud, but it was a given: he’s been in love with him ever since he knew something like love existed. It was never anyone but Ron for him. Was it such a crime to want a family, the children he couldn’t give him no matter how much they cared for each other? How come he couldn’t understand what he was doing to Harry? He felt every bit like a man broken, just loosely connected pieces ready to fall apart at the slightest intervention.
“Ron,” he called quietly, but his mouth was so dry nothing came out of it. “Ron!” he tried again, this time louder, determined to be heard; determined to stop this abomination of his Ron giving himself to another person. It was Malfoy who opened his eyes in shock and stared at him as if he couldn’t believe he was real.
“Potter,” he said bluntly as if he was trying to discern if he was merely a figment of his imagination, but Ron, his Ron, did nothing. The long ginger eyelashes closed completely for a long moment and then he slowly let Malfoy’s hand go.
“Harry,” he said softly. “I thought you might come here.” Draco stared from one to the other with disbelief in his eyes and Ron smiled, but it was a sad lonely smile: “Oh, yeah… I knew he’d try. Ever since you let it slip we were going to meet, I knew he was going to try his hardest to be here… Never underestimate the resourcefulness of one Harry Potter, the man is a legend after all…” he said almost mockingly and then turned around and bored his stare into his best mate: “What did you do? Called every restaurant in town to see where he made reservation? Nah, too time consuming. Put a tracing charm on one of us? Not even you are quick enough for that! Or did you go and break into his file, Potter? That was it, wasn’t it? Oh, I know you, Potter, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to get what you want!”
His blue eyes suddenly flashed wildly and he hissed in anger: “But you know what, Potter?! You don’t know what you want, not this time. You think you can have it all, yet you don’t want what I have to give. My heart, Harry, I would have given you my heart if only you asked for it. But you can’t ask, can you?! And you won’t.
You’re always demanding, taking, never asking as you should ask for someone’s heart; get down on your fucking knees and ask, Harry, cause that’s the only way to ask for the heart of the one you love! Cause they’re your whole world and some and it’s not a shame. But I’m not your whole world, am I, Harry? I’ll never be, cause there are children’s illusions to keep up, a wife to please and a perfect image to uphold. Well, fuck that, Harry, fuck your perfect little world! I don’t want to be your dirty little secret anymore. Maybe with a wife and a family and me on the side you’ve got everything you ever wanted, but I need more, Harry. I need someone to complete me, just me, to make me feel whole. To look me in the eye and tell me they would sell their soul for me, to make me feel like I’m all they’ll ever need. And you won’t be that man, you’ve made that perfectly clear!”
“But neither can he!” finally erupted Harry, recognising the truth for what it was and, as helpless as he felt, taking out all his anger and frustration on the person that – he was certain - deserved it. “He doesn’t love you, Ron, he never will even if he knew how! He’s only using you to hurt you! He knows you’re angry and lonely and he’s just being a fucking dick as always, playing all your weaknesses… He’s a bloody Malfoy, Ron, the person who never did anything but chewed at your soul and he will do it again, I know he will and I will fucking kill him for it, but please, please Ron, don’t let him come between us! He’s nothing, a nobody, he’s not worth your time, he’s not the one…”
“Oh, is that so, Potter?” Draco Malfoy suddenly got up from behind the table, the look in his grey eyes hard as steel and his voice so cold it send a chill around the tiny room. “And you would know that because - ? Perhaps because you’re the same cold-hearted bastard that keeps this man here from ever finding love just because you’re a holy fucking prodigy and everything is yours to have?! How would you know how I feel!? Did you ever bother to ask? Well, let me tell you something about me and my intentions, Potter, since you’re such a know-it-all!
I’ve been in love – yes, in love, don’t give me that look! – I’ve been in love with this man ever since I knew love had a place in this world. True, I didn’t know it for the longest time, because once you’re bred a Malfoy, recognizing love is not set very highly on your priority list. I was raised to hate him, everything about him and I was all set on hating him from the start. Except he knocked me off my feet and somehow love happened instead of hate and I still don’t know how and it has left me confused, bothered and frustrated for the longest time. But I’ll have you know he’s been the only person for me since I was fucking 11 years old, so don’t give me that “he doesn’t love you” shit. And I will tell you something about this love that will probably make me lose this man, but much like him – I’m tired of keeping secrets.”
For a long moment he looked at Ron with curious sadness as if he was saying goodbye and indeed seemed to have reached a decision. All or nothing… for you, he thought to himself, then went back to staring into the livid green eyes of his rival and spoke.
“I made this happen,” he said clearly and when he saw the confusion and lack of understanding on the Gryffindor’s face he elaborated. “I made this happen, the whole mess you’re living in. I saw you two kissing in the Ministry corridor and I knew this was my chance. I was in love with Ron for so long I was willing to do anything, any bloody thing to win me my window of opportunity. And I decided this was going to be it. I went to the Mud… to his wife and dropped a hint – I knew she won’t be able to ignore it once it came out of my mouth. The pretending that her life was perfect was over and she couldn’t stand it, that I knew. Of course, at first, she claimed that I lied, so I let her in my head, Potter – I let her use legilimency on me and I didn’t care what else she might see in there as long as she couldn’t say this wasn’t real. I knew she wouldn’t be able to let it go, knowing that I knew.
And when your lives and your lies exploded around you, I waited patiently, as I have done all these years. I knew that something had to give and it surprised me, Potter, it was you. Cause this man here, the one you claim for yourself, was not willing to sell you out as eagerly as you let him hang in there all by himself. And believe me, that pained me and for a while there I thought I’d played it all and lost. But it turned out I only needed to wait for him to realize what I long before knew – that you were not good enough for him, though you always treated him the other way around. As far as I go, he’s not your side kick – you’re the one who’s not worthy to clean his shoes. How could you throw love like this away, you fool!?
Anyway – the moment I heard he transferred - and yes, I paid good money to be the first one to know – I asked for a transfer myself. Oh, don’t give me that look, Weasley, I know I told you some fool thought it was a good idea to pair me off with you, but trust me, that fool got handsomely paid for it! I would have done anything to get near you… so I did,” he shrugged, suddenly looking tired but defiant.
“So don’t tell me, Potter, this isn’t love! True, it’s my version of it, a twisted Malfoyian way to love, but it’s the only way I know. I do love this man, I love him far more you’ll ever be able to comprehend and you have no idea of the lengths I’m willing to go to prove that to him.”
“I told you this bastard was all poison!” hissed Harry, about an inch away from hexing Malfoy into nothingness. “He ruined our lives and he’s fucking proud about it, too! You need to get away from him, Ron, get away from him now! Come back to me and let me handle this…”
“Oh, I know how to handle this alright,” said the redhead quietly and stood up so abruptly that the marble table almost toppled over. Without another word he grabbed Harry by one wrist and Malfoy by the other and all but dragged them out of the private lounge and into the direction of the public dining area. Harry had a mind to resist, but he knew Ron better than that – if the redhead wanted him somewhere he would carry him there if needed. But Draco followed quietly, doing his best to keep up with the angry stride of Ron’s long legs. When they could already see the tables at the edge of the public dining area, Ron stopped as suddenly as he started and looked around.
“You’re here with Ginny, aren’t you?” he asked, his eyes scanning the crowd. “I know my little sister wouldn’t let you out of her sight and she’s far too eager to be seen with you to pass up on a chance like that.”
“What are you doing, Ron?” asked Harry quietly, the hairs on his neck suddenly prickling with alert at an unmistakable reflection of danger in his best mate’s eyes. People were already beginning to stare and he suddenly realized just how much he stood to lose.
“Well, Harry, my love, since you’ve pushed me, I thought I would do what I had no intention of doing – but you’ve left me no choice. I’m making you choose. Kiss me, Harry,” Ron asked, finally letting go of his wrist and stared deeply into the green eyes he had been hoping to love since forever.
Harry stared at him incredulously and finally whispered quietly: “You can’t do that to me, Ron. You know what you’re asking of me…”
But the redhead for once was unrelenting: “Kiss me,” he said just as softly and kept his eyes locked on the green orbs he came to adore. “Kiss me, Harry, and I’m yours. I won’t ever look at another man or a woman if you kiss me right now. I’ll wait for you, I’ll go back to cheating and lying for you. Just do it here and now and do it right… and I’m yours.”
Harry’s eyes were desperate: “Ron, please…” he whispered, but that was all the answer the redhead was willing to wait for.
“I didn’t think so,” he smiled sadly and with a sense of longing in his beautiful blue eyes he turned away and looked at the blond. “Kiss me,” he said simply… and this time he was not disappointed.
“Oh, yes, god, yes!” whispered Draco feverishly, launching himself at redhead so desperately, that he barely managed to keep his balance. Without another word the blond cupped Ron’s face in his hands and sought out his mouth hungrily, set out to consume this god-given chance he didn’t think he was going to get. And his time seemed to have stopped when he felt the beloved soft lips open and respond. He proceeded to kiss him with all the adoration of the years lost in ignorance and hatred and for his part, he was not willing to let go. Ever again. And that seemed fine with Ron.
“Ron, don’t… ” tried Harry, his voice filled with panic when he finally understood what he'd gambled away. But he never got to finish his sentence as a female voice suddenly cut through his words and he closed his green eyes in defeat.
“Harry? Oh, there you are, love, I’ve been looking all over the place for you! Where on Earth have you… Ron?!” Ginny Weasley Potter followed her husband’s petrified look and finally noticed the familiar figure who held her husband's undivided attention. Her anger soared so rapidly it made her dizzy. In an instant she realized she’d been played and her husband was only here for one person… and it was not her.
“You bastard!” she hissed and her hand moved rapidly to get her wand - but then her eyes registered what Harry – and the rest of the clientele - had been staring at and she lost her breath and her footing: “Sweet mother of Rowena, Ron, what are you doing?! This is no place to… Is that a man?! Is that… oh my fucking God, that’s Malfoy… “
Almost reflexively Harry stretched out his arm to catch her as her legs gave way at the sight of a gorgeous tall redhead, her brother, the war hero, the household name, the teenage girls’ idol, kissing the life out of Draco Malfoy, the heir of the distinguished house of Malfoy, very much married and very much oblivious to the fact that he had a reputation to uphold.
Finally Ron let go of the young man’s mouth clinging to him so desperately and looked at the two sets of eyes staring at him in disbelief.
“Come back to you, Harry? Come back to what?” he said quietly, but with unmistakable edge in his voice. Harry found no words to reply and the redhead turned to his sister: “Why so surprised, Gin? This is your bastard brother giving you back your husband, just as you requested. All yours now.”
He finally looked at the blond still holding on to his broad shoulders and smiled: “For you, I have different plans tonight.” And he disapparated them from the spot, leaving behind broken hearts and broken lives, no regrets.
He had to know where to take this and he had to know now.
~ End of Part 3 ~
Next: Choices, Part 4
See also:
( Choices, Part 1 )
( Choices, Part 2 )
