my_thestral ◾ ◾ Fic: Art of denial (Part 19/3)

Author's note: No author's note, how's that for me saving your precious time? ;)
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Word count: 3109
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: still literary - and literally poor :)

He knew this was coming, he just thought it was going to be Hermione and perhaps, she would be discrete – but this was Harry and Harry wasn’t holding back.

All the countless hours he spent gnawing on it in his mind amounted to nothing – he had no answer to give to his best mate, not a truthful one, at least. And Harry spitting out the question, all that rage in his voice, the hurt in those gorgeous green ponds he would love to love if things were different, if he wasn’t cursed with this impossible feeling of need, greed and yearning for a person who didn’t even want him whole-heartedly... it devastated Ron.

At least he had given Hermione something during all these years; a comfortable home, a loving family, his hand in marriage, all carefully wrapped in a glossy impenetrable foil of glorious lies – but he knew he had made her happy nevertheless and he wasn’t sorry.

But Harry... his Harry, the Harry he would gladly give his life for even this very day – he had given him nothing, absolutely nothing... Nothing but neglect, when he caught the yearning in the green eyes feasting on his face when he thought Ron wasn’t looking; nothing but excuses, if not flat out lies, when his best-mate craved more of his time, more of him - and rejection, always rejection, time and time again, one cruel rejection after another, every bloody time when the raven-haired youth couldn’t help spilling his feelings and he stole an odd kiss... or two... from time to time... A kiss Ron confessed to Draco about but couldn’t admit to how painfully sorry it had made him feel not to be able to return it, because it had a flavour of all things good and Harry and he could just taste Harry’s feelings in it...

And now it was finally here, before them, an ultimate proof of his betrayal and his stomach turned and his heart squeezed in his chest painfully at the wild sound of Harry’s livid raw voice.

“Bloody hell, Ron... how’s that even possible?! He’s yours, isn’t he? But how could he be, he’s a fucking Malfoy, he walks and talks and looks... he even smells like his bloody father! Talk to me, goddamn you, what the hell have you done?!”

And Ron opened his eyes, because he couldn’t bear it; he couldn’t bear a chance of more lies, a presence of heavy guilty silence neglecting such a big and important part of his life, reducing it to nothing. Harry at least deserved the truth and he needed to say it to his face.

“He’s mine...” he confessed and at the sight of his wife’s flabbergasted face he quickly added: “In a way, he is... He’s... Draco and I...”

“Well, hello, Potter!” came a calm cool voice behind his back and Draco Malfoy just stood there, smiling pleasantly, as if the angry hostile looks Ron’s wife and his best-mate propelled at him couldn’t affect him at all. “I take it you met my son. I hope he behaved impeccably, it wouldn’t do to offend the Saviour with an inappropriate attitude.”

“Bugger off, Malfoy!” hissed Harry, but then his feverish and stormy green eyes suddenly narrowed and he barked: “Or better, even – explain, you bastard, explain how it is, that your precious son, the son who’s undoubtedly a Malfoy to the core, somehow ended up with Ron’s eyes!? I would know those eyes anywhere, don’t even attempt a lie! What fucked-up dark magic is this, you creep?! What have you done to him?!”

“I suggest you keep your volume down,” the blond offered coolly. “Or do you enjoy being the centre of attention a little too much? In that case, please, continue, by all means - do throw a fit and cause a juicy little scandal for us all, you’ve been out of the limelight – what? the whole of 5 minutes? – I’m sure you miss it already!”

“Harry,” Hermione put her hand on the fuming wizard’s shoulder calmingly, because as sour that made her feel, bloody Malfoy was right. They didn’t need the extra attention; they should do this somewhere else, if at all. Ron would definitely be easier to corner and to press for explanation than the haughty blond.

But Harry was unrelenting. Though he lowered a volume of his voice, the tone of it was still murderous and he spelled out clearly, determinately:

“I want to know what this is. And I want to know now, Malfoy!”

“So you haven't told him yet?" the blond looked at Ron questioningly, but Ron just shook his head:

"Haven't managed," he said curtly. "You interrupted us when I was about to."

"Very well,” shrugged the blond and turned towards the hated raven-haired Gryffindor. "I suppose I might as well do it."

He looked his rival straight in the eye and spoke in a leisurely tone:

“There isn’t much time, so I’ll just give you the gist of it. My son was born prematurely and his life was in danger, he couldn't seem to breathe on his own. When nothing else helped, my mother thought of Weasley, having connections with the Muggle world. Now - my mother would never own up to it, but she realizes some of the Muggle inventions are downright brilliant and she figured out - since all my skills as a Healer or my magic were clearly not going to be enough to keep my son alive - that anything was better than losing the next heir of the Malfoy house. So she went and fetched him, in the middle of the night, she did, lest it was going to be too late. The Mud-, Granger here can attest to that, I’m surprised no one bothered to tell you," he gave a slow, sly, most disdainful smile as if he wanted to make clear that, in his opinion, informing him was far from necessary.

When he saw Potter go even a shade paler, he was satisfied with the effect of his words and continued:

"Of course Weasley came, bare feet, barely clad, he came to save my baby - in the middle of the bloody night! - Potter. Because that’s what partners do... and because he knew I had no one else to ask. Still a full-blooded Gryffindor, this one, even after all these years. He brought a book from his wife’s library describing a proper procedure and he broke into a Muggle hospital to bring us the substance and the accessories my son needed to breathe – all of it, for my son. And it worked, just like I knew it would as soon as I saw him. I couldn’t do this alone, but with him, I could.

But to complete a procedure Weasley had to hold my son on his chest, I didn’t trust anyone else to do it. He had him right there, on top of his heart, keeping him warm and alive with his heart-beat, healing him with his touch and with whatever magic he could spare – and that’s when it must have happened.

With my son so vulnerable and Ron giving so much, his magic must have spilled somehow, because when my little boy finally opened his eyes, they were the most brilliant colour of blue... Don’t ask me why it had happened, I can’t give you an answer to that,” – though I long to, he thought to himself bitterly - “but it did and that’s the whole story. After my mother had seen her grandson alive and marked by those astonishing eyes, she had no reservation of asking Weasley to be his godfather. My mother has a gift of seeing people’s magic, you see – that’s how she knew you weren’t dead that time in the Forbidden Forest, Potter – and she saw their signatures align. So you see, this is how it came to be that there’s a bit of Weasley in this Malfoy – it almost made my father cry, actually – and certainly not from joy!”

He allowed them all to breathe, to exhale a quiet sigh of relief that this, perhaps, wasn't going to be so bad after all - and then he went straight for the jugular.

“But do tell me again, Potter dear -” he bore his steely grey eyes into the fuming green ones “- what exactly are you accusing your best mate of? Betraying you? With what? Helping to heal a child of a person in need; the son of the man whom he trusts daily with his life? The only son this desperate father here would ever have? Should he have refused so you could feel more secure and cemented in your exclusive friendship?! Would you let a child die to feel better about your precious relationship with your best mate, hm? It’s not like he cheated on you, did he now? He’s not yours to have, you know, he has a wife, and I don’t see her complaining!” he threw a poisoned arrow straight at his heart and watched him go pale.

“Malfoy...” Ron interfered, cause he couldn’t stand to see the bottomless well of pain reflecting in the legendary green eyes of his best mate. But Draco would not be swayed. He was here to tell this greedy man here, the usurper, that he did not own Ron, that he had no right to him and say it he would! He was nothing, a nobody compared to his man and he should be counting his stars Ron was willing to spend any time with him at all, the bloody four-eyed git that he was, shouting at him like that, as if the redhead owed him something!

“If anything, you should finally start looking up to him, you self-absorbed snot!” he barked at his arch-enemy, undeterred. “You’re not the only one who saves lives around here, you know, and some of us do it without getting any credit for it. What Weasley did that night was precious, priceless and I owe him to hell and back, a life debt, and I will not have you abuse him with your temper!”

The last words were spit out in such a vicious Malfoyian voice that Harry’s hand reflexively jumped towards its holder.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, put that away, Potter!” Draco smirked at him with cold disdain. “What are you, 17?! Are you going to throw anotherSectumsempra! at me in front of all these people, in front of your children, for that matter? Everyone knows you’re the better wizard of the two of us, but it seems only one of us bothered to grow up!”

“Malfoy... Draco, enough!” Ron interfered once again, this time adamantly, and took a step forward, grabbing onto the blond’s shoulders, deliberately putting himself between him and Harry’s wand.

“Draco, is it?” hissed Harry Potter, for once completely raw with all the rage and confusion and punching shock this day held for him. “Since when do you call bloody Malfoy Draco, Ron? All these years and this git is still complete undiluted poison! I won’t have you turn my best friend against me, do you hear me, you skinny slime!? I’ll talk to Chief Kingsley first thing in the morning and I’ll break you up, I swear I will, you should have never been paired together in the first place what a fucked up idea was that anyway?”

Draco's eyes went storm-dark in rage, but this time it was Ron who turned towards his best mate and looked him in the eye calm, unflinching.

“You’ll do no such thing. We are a good team and just because you two still have your differences, you can’t just push me around at will, Harry - I could get hurt. He’s a good Healer, the best we have, and my life depends on him daily, just like he said. We’ve been a team for well over 10 years now and I know him like the back of my hand – and I trust him. I call him Draco because you can’t do this job without a certain level of camaraderie. I will keep him as my partner – or I will quit.”

And one could almost literally see Harry Potter’s heart sink to the ground.

“You wouldn’t do that... Does he really mean that much to you?” he looked at his best mate heart-broken, pale as a sheet, but for once Ron didn’t back off:

“He does,” he confirmed solemnly, adamantly and cemented what he was saying in a voice that left no room for doubt: “He’s all that and more for me out there, when I need him.”

And Draco’s heart soared at those words as if Ron had just flat out admitted he loved him. He looked at him bright eyed, barely able to hold back a blissful smile – so what the redhead said next felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice-cold water over him.

“But that doesn’t change anything between us, Harry,” Ron rambled on, without ever looking at his shocked lover. “It shouldn’t, anyway… You heard what happened, how it came to be that his son comes with my eyes, I’m prepared to swear on Fred’s grave what he told you was the truth – and please, just... don’t let this ruin what we have. Please, mate… calm down for fuck’s sake, you look like you're about to faint... just... let me talk to him in private, you two did always rub each other the wrong way. 5 minutes, Harry, it’s all I need.”

The redhead stared into the green eyes, moist with barely held back tears of indignation, until he saw Harry close them and give the tiniest of nods, the look of devastation never leaving his face.

Ron turned towards Draco and grabbed him by the upper arm:

“With me,” he said curtly and without bothering to go far, he just pushed him behind the wall separating the two platforms, so they were barely out of sight and threw a silencing charm over them.

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” he hissed at him, but the blond was not giving up any ground.

“I thought you weren’t going to lie!” he squeezed through the gritted teeth, because he was angry enough to sink them into that beautiful long neck and cut him open.

“And I wasn’t!” Ron yelled. “Every word I told them was the truth, every last one. But if I remember correctly I also promised to protect you, your reputation, everything we’ve worked for in this travesty of our lives. And you’re making it bloody hard, Malfoy!”

“God, you should see yourself how pathetic you are!” Draco erupted, still hurt and raw after he had come so close to winning Ron over. “Crawling after him, crawling before him, still crawling after all these years! Merlin, you make me sick, I don’t know why I bother…”

“Because I don’t want to lose him, you twat!” growled Ron and sudden hurt in his voice was enough to curb Draco’s anger. “I’m already losing my daughter, next year it’s my son - why the fuck do you think it’s a good idea to take from me what little I have left, when you’re not giving me anything in return!?”

And the blond went silent at these words. Of course, Ron didn’t know. He never knew the heir of the house of Malfoy came here willing to throw it all to the dogs for him, to be with him – he never knew, cause he didn’t tell him.... and right now, he wasn’t going to.

He was too hurt and angry to do so. He knew he was going to regret it later, he knew he was going to shout insults at the conceited lonely idiot in the mirror come this very evening – but he couldn’t do it. 11 years of hopes and dreams and careful planning behind him and it had come down to this: he couldn’t crawl. Not after he saw Ron clearly set on leaving the station with Potter. It just hurt too much.

So he bit the inner part of his lip until he draw blood just to keep in the angry boiling howls of possessive love and bitter hurt and called on all of his Malfoyian drill to keep his cool and not to shatter in front of him. Clinging on to his dignity with every last bit of strength he had left, he looked him straight in the eye and spoke coldly:

“I assume this conversation is over. Go, run back to your master, like a good puppy you are and don’t bother waiting for me this Thursday, I shall be… indisposed.”

He turned around, barely conscious of what he was doing, just to run away from this godforsaken place of his broken dreams and lick his wounds in private, when he was forcefully pulled backwards by one stretch of the massive scarred arm and a hissed “Goddammit, Malfoy... you pompous fuck... no, you don’t… Draco, no you don’t” drowned in a long desperate kiss he needed more he could possibly fathom.

He found himself knocked into the brick wall painfully and Ron was kissing him right there and then, not caring for consequences, not caring about being found out. And before he knew it he was returning the kiss, obsessively, brutally, eager to hurt, because those lips wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I won’t let you do this to me, Draco,” the redhead whispered heatedly between those heavenly kisses born out of primal need and starved desire.

“I don’t care if my wife is only ten steps away... I don’t care if you think I’m just Harry’s lackey... I don’t care if you keep treating me as if I’m just a fuck... God, fucking god, Malfoy... what are we?... I don’t know anymore... I just know I can’t let you go without showing you what you do to me... how madly I want it... want you... want to be with you. You’re all I want, the rest is just smoke-screen... can’t you see? What will it take... for you... to get it into this beautiful... blond head of yours... that you don’t need to compete with Harry for me... there never was any competition. You’re the one I want. But I can’t have you, so...”

“What if you could?” Draco interrupted feverishly, finally finding his heart and the treacherous bastard over-rode his pride in one bold blow. “What if you could, Ron? What if...”

“Dad, have you... oh.”

And just because Draco was cursed that way, all of the sudden Hugo Weasley stood there, wide-eyed and stunned and somehow looking very vulnerable.

~ End of Part 19/3 ~

Next:
See also:

Art of denial (3): Some First time... some Second time...

Art of denial (5): Milestones

Art of denial (7): Cracked open and oozing true feelings

Art of denial (15/2): Come to me

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my_thestral

◾ Fic: Art of denial (Part 19/3)

Fic: Art of denial (Part 19/3)

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