Fic: Choices 16/2

[my_thestral]

Author's note: Just a second part of this chapter - Draco kind of has to let his demons out in the open... hiya, easier said than done. :)
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Word count: 3138 (this part)
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Disclaimer: still the one from 5 minutes ago, go check it out

“You have to do what?!” Draco stared at his lover with gapping mouth and one could almost see the anger smouldering at the bottom of darkening grey eyes.

“You heard me,” Ron said quietly, staring at his lover’s face with the bravery he didn’t know he had. “It’s the way the curse works, you should know this better than I, it was your family that had it banned centuries ago, you must know about it!”

“Of course I know how the curse works, don’t be…” daft was barely kept at the end of his livid tongue. “But you, on the other hand, could clearly use some references. Do you even know what you’re asking of me?! The Talia curse – commonly known as the Sleeping beauty curse - was made up to punish the people from well-to-do families that have done unforgivable things – condemning them to literally sleep themselves to death if they were beyond hope of ever becoming valid members of society – a rather convenient and pain free method of elimination, actually – or, alternatively, giving them a chance at reformation at one condition: if their hearts were salvageable enough to have one true love and if that person agreed to re-awake them.

Now, here’s the part I have a slight problem with: it’s not entirely clear from the records, what that “re-awaking” part entails: am I being asked to allow my boyfriend to kiss a man whose one true love he is – or am I giving him permission to fuck him – until he wakes up?!”

The crude choice of words alone testified how beside himself Draco was. He ignored Ron’s pale face and a quiet: “Draco, please... don’t be like that...” , because he was livid and frightened out of his wits. The one man he was dead jealous off for most of his life, the one man that ownedRon in every possible way, before the redhead even acknowledged Draco’s existence, that man needed Ron - his Ron, finally his Ron! - in a way, that required some sort of intimate involvement and godohfuckinggod , what if the kiss was not going to be enough?!

He saw panic grab him by the neck while Ron stared in front of him miserably, trying to come to terms with what he’s been told – and all he could think about was how desperately he wanted to snog him and hold him without ever letting go and tell him – fuck it, scream at him! - that no, he can’t give him permission to go and do anything with or for the fucking four-eyed freak that continued to ruin his life even from a coma !

But he knew Ron better than he probably knew himself and he knew exactly what of a reaction this would have spurted: defiance, display of loyalty and of ruthless honesty – and he just wasn’t up to that. Deep down inside he knew this was only a formality: Ron came to him to ask his permission, because he was a true Gryffindor and because he really wanted one from Draco. But he didn’t need one. It was already decided. Except Draco didn’t want to acknowledge just how powerless that had made him feel. His heart felt heavy with absolute misery at the very thought of a nod of approval he was required to give to whatever it took to wake up Potter. He didn’t want to. Not just yet.

He needed a moment, a few moments in which he could pretend Ron Weasley still belonged to him and no one else but him. Just a few moments. In case this was all that was left for him, just in case life had it in for him once more and he was going to lose everything after coming so close. The very thought was unbearable and he felt as if the heart in his chest was soaked and suffocating with numbing depression.

And one thing kept of jumping at his tired tortured brain and in the end he couldn’t help blurting it out: “Why would my mother do something like that? You said Potter told her about you two and she had to know it was you he…” – his voice broke and he couldn’t finish, he couldn’t connect the words Potter, Ron and love into one sentence, it sounded too much like surrender of all his hopes. But one look at the wretched Ron’s face told him everything he needed to know – the redhead understood.

“Why would she do that?” Draco repeated stubbornly, just to occupy his mind with something other than panic and misery he felt. “She - us, the Blacks - we know the curse better than anyone. For the people who were cursed, the chance of ever waking meant a feeble option at best – one still had to be pure enough to have the ability to love – on this condition alone many a-Black had succumbed to a deadly slumber - and the person they bestowed their love upon had to volunteer to wake them – and not many could be persuaded to bring back to life the monsters hit with this curse.

And because the Blacks in particular were raised to love no one but themselves and most of them turned out to be arrogant bastards who thought ruining other people’s lives was an excellent sport  - it was a destiny of many a-member of my mother’s family, to end up sleeping themselves to death. So after losing his daughter and his brother to this calamity my great-great grandfather decided to put in all his weight to finally have this curse banished from the list of acceptable punishments for the noble families. My mother truly should have known better!” Draco all but yelled his eyes suddenly ablaze in impotent anger.

How could she have done something so cruel to them, to him? Wasn’t there a million different ways to knock the Saviour out?! She knew it was Ron who… Ron was that person for Harry, she knew how vulnerable and hurt that would make Draco feel, why would she have done such a wretched thing, put their young love under such stress, test it so sorely?!

And then it downed on him. It was a test . A test for them both.

For him, a trial of trust. If he could trust Ron enough to let him wake Potter - whatever it took - and still hope to see him return to him, he had nothing more to fear from the Boy who lived, ever again. He’d be free of a silent tiny gnawing fear that Ron might one day wake up to discover that he had chosen wrong and would come to change his mind.

For Ron, it was an examination of his heart. Offer him a chance to be with the one man he adored for his entire life – and see if he can find his way back to the man he claimed he truly loved. To Draco.

What a cruel way to do this. His mother’s way. She was a Black through and through. With one blow she slashed their hearts open and put them on display – and she was running the show even from afar.

“I love you,” the quiet voice cut through his thoughts and Draco’s world shook with the force within them. A second later Ron Weasley was by his side, wrapping him into his incredibly comforting bear-hug and kissing his insecurities away. “I wish you didn’t doubt me,” he said between two feverishly returned kisses and suddenly Draco knew he had nothing to fear. He already had more than he ever hoped to have, a head full of wonderful memories, a heart full of blossoming hopes. In the last couple of days, Ron gave him more than he had ever been given before.

And with this thought on his mind Draco Malfoy decided to throw it all to the dogs as he went on to do the bravest thing he had ever done in his life.

“Do it,” he said straight into his mouth and then pulled away, so there could be no doubt as to what he was saying. “Do it. Whatever it takes. Say goodbye to him as your lover, good and proper, and come back to me. And then don’t ever ask me to let you go again.”

His own words seemed to strangle him once they were out and it hit him with full force how many things could go wrong and how much he was risking. But he was his mother’s son, he did what needed to be done, the harder the challenge, the higher the reward. His reward, his wonderfully tall and warm and loving reward, currently occupied by kissing every inch of his skin, was worth it. He could only hope he wasn’t making the biggest mistake in his life.

~

As the door clicked behind him, Ron gave a heavy sigh. So this was it, then. For a moment he just held his place at the door and watched Harry. His Harry. He really was the tiniest little thing, wasn’t he? Someone had removed his glasses and without them, Harry didn’t even show his 25 years, he barely looked above the age of a teenager. And he was a thing of beauty.

Smaller than the usual – well, certainly smaller than Ron, no surprise there! – all lean muscled frame, all of it perfectly proportioned. And that shock of jet black hair against the pale skin and those incredible dark eye-lashes casting long shadows down his pale cheeks... No one would have guessed the splendid shade of sparkling green they hid behind their veil. The soft mouth, just slightly turned upwards in the corners, as if he was somehow meant to smile, Harry was everything Ron once wanted from life.

But not anymore. Or so he’d like to believe.

Resigned to his faith, Ron slowly approached the bed and slowly sat down next to Harry heavily, so his childhood bed sunk a little under their combined weight. But Ron knew the good ol’ bed can take it, they sure put it through a lot in their time, the randy little beasts they had been! Boy, this piece of furniture sure held some sweet memories and just the thought of those young simple days made Ron smile most fondly. He gently swiped away a few strands of raven-black hair plastered to Harry’s forehead and ran his thumb across his cheek softly, as if he was trying to buy time to make a decision.

Gods… only a few days ago he would have jumped at this opportunity to show the world who was truly Harry Potter’s chosen one, he would have relished in it! He would have launched himself at Harry, kissed him, stripped him, fucked him, anything, any bloody thing that would have brought him back and then he would have shared it with the whole world. Gladly . Any of those things. Gladly .

But now it was all so infinitely more complicated. He knew a part of him would always love Harry; it was enough for his heart to catch just a glimpse of him and it began beating faster. He felt an acute need to protect him, to keep him safe and from hurting, to own him. To be with him, to laugh and to joke and to touch him, to feel his warm skin and his heart, just to make sure he was somehow real and he made it to adulthood alive.

But he really did not want to kiss him. For more reasons than one.

At the bottom of it there was the tiniest fear that somehow the touch memory would come to activate that soft spot, that vulnerability, that undeniable pool of love he always had in store for Harry – and that this, perhaps would lead him down the path of betrayal he could not imagine surviving unscathed. What if –

He didn’t even want to think about it. Not like this, not with what he was about to do, not right now. Because his lips still tasted of Draco, of that fresh, foreign scent and taste of exclusive, expensive flavour Draco Malfoy wore on his skin. Ron only needed to run his tongue along his lips, still painted with his sweet devoted kisses – and he desperately felt like more, felt like turning around, running to him and ravaging him stupid with his mouth. He fell in love with Draco Malfoy, stupidly, unexpectedly, head over heels in love, and there was no way back for him. There couldn’t be.

But still he was here to do this. To wake up Harry somehow, the only way the curse allowed, and then to break it to him gently, that he didn’t want to be with him any longer. At least not like this. Easier said than done… But there was no way around it now. He was here to give Harry what Draco called “his goodbye” and damn him to hell and back if he was not going to do just that!

He sighed heavily one more time, closed his eyes and slowly sunk down onto Harry’s lips.

~

Draco was shivering. As soon as Ron had left, so did all the light, all the hope that this will somehow turn out alright. How could he win? He neverwon when he went up against Potter! Never! Except a couple of days ago in a restaurant, when Ron looked him deep in the eye and said: “ Kiss me ” – it had felt like victory back then. Sweet and proper; elating and long overdue and – sweetmerlinandrowena , please let him come back to me, he thought desperately, suddenly feeling so fragile he didn’t know if he could keep himself on his feet.

Mercifully he was distracted by the shifting coming from the bed and when he threw a nervous glance in the direction of the sound, his heart immediately relaxed and once more constricted in a sudden wash of overwhelming feelings.

“Papa?” The blond mussed head of Scorpius Malfoy peeked out from under the heavy patchwork quilt and his bright eyes, a most curious mix of blue and grey, though still quite obviously sleepy, blinked happily with unexpected joy of finding his father with him.

Draco was by his side in a blink of an eye.

“Scorpius...” he whispered, his throat constricted with love and relief at being able to close his arms around his son protectively and feel his every emotion requited in a way only a child could do: fully, simply, unconditionally, no reservation, no pretence, no agenda. In that moment Scorpius was there for him, holding him together as if the roles were reversed and it brought exhausted tears into Draco’s eyes to think what a power this tiny creature held over him, how blessed he truly was to have someone like this in his life.

If the innocence and love could have a form, in that moment they would exist in that of Scorpius Malfoy and it was a balm to his tortured father’s soul just to know that he was close, that his life was not just a meaningless pointless existence no matter what happened.

And the tiny shelter of bony arms around his neck had brought back hope. Ron had done this. Ron had taken care of his child and made sure he got it back with the help of his mother and that spoke volumes of what they had. Ron cared.

So he willed himself not to spill the tears of exhaustion and emotional turbulence that were dwelling somewhere at the edges of his eyelashes – after all, it might scare his precious baby to see his papa cry – unprecedented event! – and he wasn’t ready to admit his defeat. Not yet. Not at all. A Malfoy here, dammit! He’s gonna fight for his man if he had to!

“Papa... what is this place?” a soft voice of his son broke through the scattered fuming thoughts swirling in his darkened mind and he pushed them aside with the last of his strength and smiled at his child fondly.

“Remember how I told you, that if you’re going to be really good and if you will keep our secret long enough, we will come and see Ronnie, the boy from the story, once?”

Scorpius’s particular eyes got impossibly big and awed at his words and Draco could barely hold back a smile at this obvious display of innocent infatuation.

“Well, you have been exceptionally good, as Wheezy keeps on ensuring me, and I believe the time has come for me to live up to my promise, so I brought you here – this is his home – to meet him. But do keep in mind what I told you about him - Ronnie is all grown up now, like your dad here, and everyone calls him Ron now – though if you insist on calling him Ronnie, I can’t imagine him objecting much,” he smiled straight into his child’s eyes and got a thoughtful look in return.

“I think I shall call him Ron, then, if everyone else does,” said Scorpius after a short pause and nodded to himself as if he just came to an important decision. “Though it might take some getting used to,” he said apologetically as if he wasn’t quite sure he didn’t over-estimate his abilities to rename his hero on such a short notice and Draco couldn’t help but smile again. The boy was smart, there was no denying it, and his sharp intellect sometimes reminded Draco of his own mother – but there was a heart there, which he wore on his sleeve for everyone to see and it scared and awed Draco that he had fathered and raised someone who was so unlike him in this respect.

By the time he was Scorpius’s age, he had been bullied into hiding his every emotion, every crazy unabashed childish feeling he had, every inappropriate observation he made from his innocent perspective. It had given him the structure of a proper Malfoy. It had also ruined him for life and he had sworn, that once he was to have his own child, he would raise him to be different. To remain who he was and not to lose himself in the process of obtaining proper manners and other qualifications that were one day going to make him a head of the Malfoy family.

His musings were once more interrupted by his son’s voice and his simple question sent chills down his bones: “Am I only to meet him this once, papa, or will I get to see him much?”

And this question has brought home most forcefully that he didn't have an answer to give.

“I don’t know, child,” he whispered truthfully and he felt as if his heart was choking him in his throat. “I was hopeful he would have us.”

~ End of Part 16/2 ~

Next: ( Choices, Part 17 )
See also:

( Choices, Part 1 )
( Choices, Part 2 )
( Choices, Part 3 )
( Choices, Part 4 )
( Choices, Part 5/1 )
( Choices, Part 5/2 )
( Choices, Part 6 )
( Choices, Part 7 )
( Choices, Part 8/1 )
( Choices, Part 8/2 )
( Choices, Part 9 )
( Choices, Part 10/1 )
( Choices, Part 10/2 )
( Choices, Part 11/1 )
( Choices, Part 11/2 )
( Choices, Part 12 )
( Choices, Part 13 )
( Choices, Part 14 )
( Choices, Part 15/1 )
( Choices, Part 15/2 )
( Choices 16/1 )