my_thestral ◾ Fic: Art of denial (Part 19/4) (Reply)

Author's note: - <-- even shorter than before! :)
Pairing: Draco/Ron
Word count: 3205 (this part)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: yeah, kindda the same as before, sadly :P

And when the blond saw the hurt and scared look the little ginger gave him, he finally understood Ron’s words “don’t take what little I have left” – this was what Ron was risking to lose if their relationship ever came to light. He knew the Mudblood bitch would work tirelessly to take that away from him, just out of spite, just to make a point that he couldn’t have it all and he knew Ron couldn’t live with the feeling that he had let his children down.

So he moved forward like a lightning before his death-pale redheaded lover got a chance to speak to his son.

“You must never tell anyone,” he put his hands on child’s narrow shoulders and looked deeply into the striking blue eyes, so alike his father’s. “Never. Not anyone. I’m not here to take your dad away from you, I promise you that, but if you tell, that’s exactly what will happen. Your mother will make sure you never see him again. Your dad and I... we’re like you and your cousin Albus. Rosie said you two had a... special relationship. Unbreakable, she put it. Your dad and I are like that. One day, I will tell your mother myself - soon, very soon - but until then – you mustn’t. It’s not your secret to disclose. I’m sure you’ve got secrets of your own, boys your age always do, you wouldn’t like to have those spilled in front of the whole world either, would you now?”

He kept looking straight into his eyes, hoping to wrench the promise of silence out of him and he almost gave up hope when one long moment after another had passed and still Hugo Weasley stared at him unrelenting... until suddenly the blue eyes lit up with a smile the way only the eyes of Ron’s children ever did, shining like sapphires, and Hugo said quietly.

“Like Albus and I, then? Unbreakable... promise?”

“Yeah... I promise. Just like Albus and yourself. Unbreakable,” said Draco quietly, only now realizing that he had somehow stumbled upon a painful secret of an innocent heart unaware.

“Your secret is safe with me,” then said the little suddenly ginger resolutely as if he had reached a decision. And only when the bitter pang of regret suddenly broke through Draco’s heart, the blond Slytherin realized that a tiny part of him was stubbornly hanging on to hope that perhaps Hugo won’t agree to silence and it would all come to light...

But it was not to be, the moment had passed and Ron already pulled his son closer and hugged him fiercely in a quiet thank you, before he let him go and the little ginger walked away quickly, murmuring something about having to find Albus.

Ron looked at his blond lover with sad tortured eyes and spoke quietly: “I must go... I promised.”

And Draco just nodded and the only consolation he had for him floated right out of his mouth: “See you on Thursday, then...”

Ron gave a tired smile and before the blond could help it, he pulled him closer and stole one last kiss, whispering straight into his mouth with a voice full of regret: “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry. Forgive me, I wish it could be different.”

He let go off him abruptly after that as if he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to do so at all, if he stayed a moment longer and Draco knew he had to walk away alone, once again a loser, more so than Ron would ever know. He would return back to his empty home, now void of the only light it ever knew with Scorpius gone, and he would try to forget this miserable day, the horribly missed opportunity, the star-crossed moment they shared, and he would attempt to drown this misery of existence he had without Ron at the bottom of the finest Firewhiskey opened in centuries.

“C’mon, Harry... let’s just get the kids on that train and then I’ll let you drag me to the Leaky Cauldron and get me shitfaced, like you always do…” he heard Ron talk in a voice that was somehow robbed of all its usual cheerfulness and when he turned the corner, Potter was there, looking scarily pale and every bit derailed and it was a small consolation to the blond that it was all because of him.

“Is he coming then?” Harry spit with venom and stared at the suddenly smirking blond across Ron’s shoulder.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Potter,” the blond burst out haughtily. “Your ginger boy-toy is yours for the night,” he accentuated viciously and got a moment of dark pleasure out of seeing Ron wince. “I’ll see you in the morning, Weasley. Potter, treat him nicely, he’s important to me!” he couldn’t help sinking in the poisonous blade of suspicion a little deeper in the heart of the green-eyed legend, who – at least for now – won their quiet tug-of-war, though he wasn’t aware of it.

He turned on his heel to leave while he had any dignity left, but he was suddenly stopped dead in his track by a quiet undecipherable voice of Hermione Granger Weasley:

“A word, Malfoy… In private, if you please.”

Draco rolled up his eyes with “Merlin, now what?!” expression, but moved a few steps away, just far enough to put them out of immediate earshot, and offered in a bored dismissive voice:

“I don’t know what could there possibly be left to discuss, Granger. I told you, your husband has done nothing wrong and you can’t honestly expect me to give a rat’s behind if you believe me or not! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my son and say my goodbyes!”

“Oh, I have no doubt you told the truth,” Hermione said calmly, but somehow her controlled voice gave Draco the chills all of Potter’s raging about couldn’t. “It’s just… not the whole truth, is it? Magic doesn’t just spill, Malfoy, and I think there’s far more to this story than you’re sharing. It’s not just Ron’s eyes, your son’s got his smile, his tall figure… he may look like you, but he’s got his character woven right into his bones, there’s no Malfoy in the world with such light and kindness in them! And that’s no ordinary healing magic, Malfoy!”

Draco suddenly had a heart in his throat and he had to bite his tongue not to tell her, not to spill it all and scream at her, that she was right, that what they had was no ordinary magic, but the most precious, powerful and richest magic out there - or perhaps not magic at all, but two people head over heels in love with each other for almost two decades and still going strong…

But she wasn’t finished yet:

“I’ve heard what you said, the whole of it,” she spoke with a subtle underlying threat in her cool voice. “You kept calling my husband Weasley, but you slipped once and called him Ron – and once was quite enough, thank you very much, I know how you really think of him! Then you said you had no one else to ask for help, you trusted no one else and that you could make it work with him and not alone... and then go on calling his eyes brilliant and astonishing and don’t object at all when your mother proposes him as your only child’s godfather... – have you been hexed or what?! Just what do you think my husband is to you, Malfoy?!” she glared at him and this time he couldn’t stop himself.

He gave the biggest meanest smirk in his repertoire and said slyly: “That’s for you to find out, Granger. Good luck – and do share what you come up with, this could be… interesting. In any event, I could always use a good laugh.”

He turned around, grateful for the small victory in this hell of a day, and walked away, just to hear her bark in a hate-filled voice behind his back: “This is not the end of it, Malfoy. I’ll get to the bottom of this and Merlin help you if I find out something I shouldn’t. And Ron.”

And that just spilled over the cup of his frustration. He was at her side before she could wink: “He gave you the best years of his life!” he hissed with so much malice her eyes got the size of saucers. “You. He gave it to you. Not Potter, not… anyone else. Never forget that. Hurt him and I’ll tear your life apart. No second thoughts.”

His eyes were silver and impossibly hard from this close up and it was obvious he had meant every word. But what Hermione Granger read at the bottom of them shook her up more than any threat could.

“How long?” she asked quietly, her voice suddenly shaken and free of malice, and he held her gaze for a moment longer before he replied firmly, with no pretence: “Since forever. You have no idea how long. Before you, before Potter, before he even knew. Before I did. Always.”

And he let go of her and left her with all the unanswered questions swirling around her head and turned around to walk towards his son he spotted at the edge of platform about to board the train.

The way his sweet boy hugged him made it really hard to hold back the tears on this over-whelming day, but just as he waved behind the departing train and watched the three heads – blond, ginger and raven-haired – slowly disappear from the view, sinking his heavy heart even deeper into the ground, a small hand slipped into his and there was Hugo Weasley, holding his hand, squeezing his fingers for dear life.

It was obvious the boy had been crying, his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen and he was still sniffing softly. But he said nothing for the longest time, just held his hand like a life-line and finally asked quietly:

“Can I sleep over at your place tonight? Dad’s already gone with Uncle Harry and mom will be all sobby and cranky and my room is still full of the stuff Albie left behind…”

He seemed to have lost his train of thought after that and Draco found himself admiring the little ginger, putting on a brave face when he was clearly heart-broken.

“They don’t understand!” the boy suddenly erupted. “They all make fun of me and Albie, they tease me, like they used to tease dad for being Uncle Harry’s shadow, but they don’t understand. He’s… we’re… he kissed me last night… on the cheek… and told me he’ll write every day, but I know he won’t, he never does, he’s so sloppy… He’ll get all these new friends and he’ll forget about me and next year I won’t matter anymore and he’ll be embarrassed to know me. If only I was a year older!”

His face suddenly pressed into Draco’s expensive robes and the blond could feel the moisture soaking through.

“Hey…” he said gently and dug his fingers deep into the silken ginger hair, so alike his father’s, and caressed softly while the bony shoulders shook with barely suppressed sobs. “Don’t cry… how could you think he’d forget you? How could anyone forget you? Unbreakable, remember?”

When the little tear-streaked face looked up to him and gave a little shy sad smile, he wiped his tears away gently with his thumbs and smiled sentimentally at the unexpected memory: “You know, I met your father for the first time on a day like this one. On the Hogwarts express, first day of school. And I hated him from the second I set my eyes on him.”

He smiled cheekily again at the sight of impossibly big blue eyes staring at him in surprise and said quietly:

“We hated each other for years. Except it was never only hatred, at least not on my part. I never wanted any other person’s attention the way I wanted his. I needed to see him angry and those blue eyes ablaze; my day was not complete unless I saw him turn crimson at one vicious remark or the other aimed at his poverty, awkwardness, lack of self-esteem – and after that there would be a chance of a brawl when he would wrap around me and let me breathe in his warmth, the hot life surging against his skin, seeping right into me, making me fill warm and oh, so damn alive. Does Albus ever make you feel like that?” he asked him and noticed the familiar Weasley blush creeping up the boy’s neck when he nodded quietly.

“Yesterday... when he kissed me... I thought my head was going to blow up,” he admitted. “I was hot and my hands were shaking something crazy and I was all dizzy. And he just smiled at me, that perfect smile he has. He is... was always so nice to me and he’s so pretty, not like me, all scrawny and freckled and ginger... no one likes gingers,” he sighed miserably and Draco had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing and embarrassing the poor boy.

“Well... I like one,” he offered kindly instead and it earned him a blissful smile that lit up the little ginger’s freckled face and made him even more alike his stunning father. “And I’ll have you know the Malfoys have impeccable taste. We only want the best and if I say gingers are the best, you better believe me! Albus... or anyone else you choose to give your heart to eventually, should be counting their lucky stars to have you!

And I’ll tell you another thing: if your father and I could overcome our differences, the centuries of hatred cemented between the Malfoys and the Weasleys and everything that went wrong between us from the moment we met – then you and... whoever you choose are going to have a picnic!”

He saw him smile through his tears and all of the sudden he felt his face mirror that smile as he realized that somehow the little redhead helped heal his own shredded heart by giving him exactly the thing he was so used to receiving from his father: hope.

“Come,” he told him and offered his arm for support. “You must tell me how you imagined this, having a sleep over at my place, because I’m pretty sure you know there’s no way in hell your mother would ever allow it – but I’m equally sure that if anyone, you can come up with a feasible plan. Your reputation precedes you, Hugo Weasley! Your father always says that if anyone can change the colour of his hair, it is you - your antics are bound to turn it grey! And I’m willing to bet everything I own that Albus is sitting on that train right now, missing you - and all the mischievous things you do together - like crazy already!”

And that had earned Draco a big genuine smile and Hugo Weasley had grabbed onto the offered arm firmly.

“You see, I was thinking…” he started.

When Draco Malfoy found himself sitting in front of a fireplace that evening, a glass of Firewhiskey in his hand and a ginger head of Hugo Weasley slumbering away peacefully in his lap, he was still busy rolling the frustrating day behind him in his mind, trying to figure out how it could have gone so horribly wrong and why.

Well, one of the “why”s was certainly his own arrogance and the steel grip of his bloody pride. Another was Ron’s total obliviousness of his feelings. His true feelings. Draco was fairly sure Ron knew he loved him; after all, he kept on saying it over and over again, at various occasions, though, granted, most of these occasions entailed him getting fucked out of his mind and screaming the words... But still. He knew.

But what he didn’t realize was just how very much Draco was tired of all the pretence, how crazily infatuated with him he was and how far he was willing to go to finally own him, good and proper, in the light of day, in the face of the world and all that rot that went hand in hand with magnificent love such as theirs. Love like that should not be hiding in the dark obscure corners as if it was shameful and cursed – it should be out there, shining, blinding others with its lustre, inspiring songs and paintings, recognised and admired, glorified for all it was, for everything it had made them! After all these years of carrying around this poisonous obsession, his heavy heart, Draco was finally getting sick of doing all the right things. For once in his life he wanted to do something for that battered, bruised and fucking resilient love he had kept to himself for so long.

But their predicament remained the same as always: he could never openly acknowledge Weasley wasn’t just a fuck. Not then, not now. Not ever. Not openly. He could not be the one to make that first step. Stupid Malfoyian pride... He was just too proud to propose and Ron was too self-conscious to ever consider asking... so after a big gulp of the spicy liquid making his head spin pleasantly, Draco Malfoy decided that, perhaps, the time has come, to show him. Subtly, of course. Paint the map of his feelings and push that gorgeous, criminally oblivious ginger motherfucker in the right direction until it is the only direction left to choose. And then just ambush him. That sounded as good a battle plan as any. It might take months, years even, but Draco Malfoy was willing and ready to initiate a proper guerrilla combat for his man... even if perhaps a tiny bitagainst his own will.

So when he woke up in the morning, stiff-necked and slightly hung-over and he still thought that was a good idea, he knew there was no other way for him. Time to go full-on Slytherin on the poor unsuspecting Gryffindor bugger he loved from the bottom of his heart.

He woke up Hugo Weasley just the way they had agreed, got him to dress quickly with a hint of possible owl mail from Albus and sent him down the Floo to the Burrow, where he was supposed to have spent the night before Draco intercepted him.

Then he made sure he got his proper grooming, he needed to feel impeccable for what he was about to do and looking perfect for the occasion had always made him feel as if he was up to it.

Then he joined his wife in the breakfast parlour, kissed her on the cheek like every morning when he took his breakfast in her company and asked her casually over a croissant and a cup of strong black coffee: “Astoria, darling... I was wondering: How would you like to be a free woman again?”

When his wife's confused look gradually transformed into one of disbelief, he explained almost matter-of-factly:

“You see, the fact is - I want a divorce.”

~ End of Part 19/4 ~

Next:

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