06/10/2013 23:52![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
my_thestral
my_thestralAuthor's note: I think I've said just about enough in the previous (half a) chapter. Let the story roll, I've had enough of delays! :)
Word count: 6153, this part
Pairing: Ron/Draco, some mention of past Ron/Harry
Rating: R (for language, I guess)
Disclaimer: nothing much has changed since 5 minutes ago when I've published the last (hafling) one, so you might wanna go check out that ;)
Rita Skeeter was in hell.
How on Merlin’s bloody earth could she have missed an opportunity like that!? To hell with her stingy boss that wouldn’t cover the cost of the table in the restaurant, making her stand outside like some third-grade scribbler, collecting scraps of information from the broken bits of conversation, when scandal after scandal apparently hit inside the prestigious place! Ron Weasley was reportedly having a heated – though too damn quiet! – argument with Harry bloody Potter – the Golden Trio might have come to an end and she was not there to see it because “it was beyond their budget” according to that troll that called himself her boss! Uhhhhh, she could so murder someone right now!
And that was not even the most shocking event that took place: following the argument between the Saviour and his best mate, Draco His Highness Malfoy stepped in, launched himself at the redheaded war hero and proceeded to kiss his face off! What a scandal! What a story! And she didn’t have a photo of it, so the story was practically worthless!! What was she supposed to do with the photo of an innocent looking pat on the back, which was clearly taken outside of the prestigious place!? All of it because of that… grrrrr! She’ll have to think of something to get back to that pompous fart! A nicely made up story, entirely fake, of course, that would get him in trouble when printed…yes, that could do… and she would of course claim the sudden and mysterious death of her sources…
But what a story, what a night! There were a million angles to work that story from! Was the Malfoy heir drunk? Drugged? Or even – hexed?! Because no Malfoy in a right mind would ever be seen kissing a Weasley, let alone a male Weasley, the one he was in a life-long quarrel with! So who had hexed him? Perhaps Potter – the eye-witness reports said he had been present and looking livid! But why? And why use his best mate to get back to Malfoy? It somehow didn’t fit.
Was it someone else then? An old grudge perhaps? Which one of the many enemies that the Malfoys had made in the past reared up their ugly head and came up with such an ingenious plot to humiliate and destroy the reputation of the proverbially promiscuous but very careful young man? Never before had Draco Malfoy given the public anything beyond the rumours that he wasn’t too particular on whom he bestowed his affection – and those were sadly very unprintable, given the long arm of his family’s influence. And yet everybody knew that the very much married young man shagged anything with a pulse – oh, how for once she yearned she’d be able to write that and they would have to print it! – so, perhaps it was one of the many enraged ex-es that had executed such a wonderful revenge? Or perhaps a neglected wife?! Oh, what a story would that make for!
Oh, how she wished she had seen it with her own eyes! Witness accounts simply weren’t it; the stupid people had claimed, one after another, that there were no hexes flying and that the gorgeous redhead – oh, he was gorgeous, wasn’t he, gorgeous and possibly corrupt to have found himself in the middle of such a scandal! - simply dragged both sworn enemies from the private lounge like children, holding their wrists of all things, then spoke to his best mate quietly, clearly trying to get him to agree to something, then abandoned him and turned to Malfoy, who proceeded to snog him stupid, no shame, no reservations. It was really hard to work the hexes into this story, silly blind unobservant people, surely there was something else going on!
This can’t have been it! Malfoy would never… he would never… or would he? Was there something she had missed going on all these years? It was just a little scandalous how he just got himself a job, wasn’t it? Malfoys didn’t do jobs, not in centuries, everybody knew that! And yet – he had gotten one and the one time she had overheard him comment on it, he’d mentioned he was bored. More money than God and bored?! Yeah, right…
What if – and she knew this was a very slim possibility, but still – what if the young Malfoy simply followed Weasley in his footsteps and that’s what landed him a job? But why chose Weasley? Potter was a much more obvious choice if he decided to… test the water with the other side, to put it politely… Either way -with Potter around who’d be short-sighted enough to choose Weasley, who was average at best?!
Well, besides the fact that he was bloody gorgeous, of course.
And that he had somehow managed to catch the attention of the smartest witch in England and persuade her to marry him.
And that he made the legendary Harry Potter his best friend in the course of a single train-ride.
Wait a minute, how could she have missed out on all that for so long!?
Once you put it all together – Weasley was in the bloody centre of it, wasn’t he?!
Was it really so hard to believe that Draco Malfoy, who was always a little bit radical and not quite up there with his father’s impeccable taste – fell for the poor boy? This was better than one of the Tales of Beedle the Bard and undoubtedly more scandalous and, oh, so juicy! What a love story! It was all there – the unrequited love, the influential spouses, powerful adversaries on all sides – she could write this as a seasonal series and still she’d have something to go on! But could it be? It seemed impossible…
Oh, she was getting herself all tangled and confused in her own theories! What she desperately needed was photographs, first impressions, statements… she needed statements!! But where to get them in the middle of the bloody night with a paper ready to be printed in the wee hours of the morning!? It’s not like she could go and ring on the doorbell of His royal Majesty, Lucius Malfoy in the middle of the night and ask his opinion on his son exchanging saliva with a Weasley, could she now?!
Looking frantically left and right around the long abandoned park in the prestigious neighbourhood as if trying to find forgotten and useful clues that would save her career her eyes spotted a lone figure appearing from between the trees on the far side of the park and her pulse hitched into the sky. She would know that figure anywhere. She had done her stalking, years and years of it, sometimes for a single picture of the elusive man and even in the faint light of the street lamps, Harry Potter was as obvious to her as if he'd come straight to her in broad daylight and shook her hand. Not that that had ever happened, for all the good propaganda she gave that boy!
Harry Potter, of all people, in the middle of the night – and what a night it was! – walking in the park all by himself – that alone was worth a story! Perhaps all was not lost after all, perhaps there was still a chance – as small as it was, given this man’s arrogance and the disdain he always held for her exemplary work! – a small chance, then, to get her statement, to have a story. She needed to tread carefully, though; Potter would be none too pleased to see her after a night like this and given their history, he might not be too inclined to trust her.
“Easy, Rita, easy…” she told herself as she approached as stealthily as she could and hoped that he wouldn’t disapparate on her before she managed to ambush him with the first question. But stealthy or not – she could not escape the trained senses of Head Auror.
“What do you want, Skeeter?” he all but growled at her, startling her almost out of her high-heel shoes.
“Well, good evening to you, too, Mr. Potter!” She tried to gain back some of her composure and his good grace by willingly ignoring his rudeness and going for corny. “Who’d say! The Saviour of the wizarding world found wandering all alone in the middle of the night in the wilderness of London! Looking out for us, Mr. Potter, hm? Evil never sleeps and all that rot? Or was the night perhaps a bit – too eventful for your liking?!” she asked pryingly, no longer able to contain her predatory curiosity.
Despising and something alike repulsion was clearly etched into the young man’s face, when he looked at her and he opened his mouth to give her a reply he thought she deserved, when suddenly he seemed to have changed his mind, closed his mouth and looked at her intently, as if he suddenly saw her in a new light. Never before was Rita Skeeter submitted to the full perusal of those legendary green eyes and suddenly she became full aware of the chilly night when Head Auror Potter bored at her with his focused stare and gave her a full once-over.
“You could say that,” he finally said, his voice void of all emotion. And Rita Skeeter found herself gawping with her mouth open at the most powerful wizard in England who returned her stare without averting his eyes. He had never willingly given her anything – and now this! Gods were clearly on her side tonight, she can’t screw this up, she can’t!!
“C-can I p-print this conversation?!” she gasped, praying to whatever force from heaven or hell looked over her to have her wish granted. “Can I quote you? You must have something to say on your arch enemy snogging your best mate!” she blabbed hastily, but her breath slowly froze in her throat when he fixed her with his stern stare once again. Suddenly she became chilly to the bone and an unwelcome realization crawled up her bones that he could put her out of job and the newspaper out of print by the morning if he chose to do so. That’s just how influential he was.
“But of course… I don’t want any trouble…” she squeaked quietly and tried to assess the damage she had done with her careless tongue.
“You don’t have anything, do you?” he suddenly smirked at her and the glee in his voice was unmistakable. “You weren’t in there…. So no photos, no statements, no first-hand impressions… my, my, Skeeter, you must simply be dying for information by now…”
She felt anger rise inside her like someone poured a bucket of hot coals down her throat – she would not have this insolent young man mock her, Saviour or no Saviour, she knew her weight in the eyes of the public, she could do some serious damage!
“Listen to me, Potter…” she spat, but it was all she was to say at this moment, because he stopped her breath dead with what came out of his mouth next:
“I’m willing to… be helpful… for once…” he offered matter-of-factly as if he had finally reached a decision, as if he didn’t realize that he almost cut the floor from under her feet with those simple words. He did not just say that, did he?! Talk about luck! She needed to think, think, think, recover her wits about as fast as possible and write down every word, every impression he was willing to share! She found herself nodding enthusiastically, still hardly able to believe her luck, her trained fingers looking for her quill and a piece of parchment almost on their own accord with a speed of a desperate woman.
“Of course… there will be some… conditions, which I need you to agree to, before we could continue this conversation, yes?” he added sternly and she deflated a bit. Oh… she should have known…, but then again – what did she have to lose? She was desperate, she had nothing, and anything Harry bloody Potter could provide would equal solid gold in her books right about now! So she found herself nodding yet again, though less eagerly and he took that as a mark of her consent and continued in a steady voice:
“First of all, I was never here. We never met, you never spoke to Harry Potter in reference to this story. I’m your “reliable source”, that’s all – you should be used to that by now,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice and this time she could not contain her disappointment.
“But then this is worthless!” she screeched, desperate to make him see how impossible this was without stating her first-class source!
“Shut up, Skeeter!” he said roughly, not bothering with politeness, the darkness in his voice so unmistakeable that this alone was enough to put a dam on a stream of her frustrated screams. “I will tell you more than enough… Remember, without me, you’ve got nothing. I alone can give you something to print, so don’t even try to push me. I was there – and you were not, it’s as simple as that. You will need some background and an eye-witness account. I can give you both, but you will under no circumstances mention my name in any relation whatsoever to this affair. Are we clear on that?” he looked at her piercingly and when she refused to nod directly, still livid at his audacity, he snapped at her in a cold irritated voice:
“Are we clear on that, Skeeter?! I need your answer now – or no story. See how McLaggen likes that. He’s still your boss, isn’t he? Never mind, him or another… anyone would have you fired if you show up empty handed after a night like this. Oh, and I will need you to keep your word once it’s given - or is there a need for an Unbreakable Vow?” he added sarcastically.
He had her cornered and they both knew it. She might as well give in. There would be plenty of opportunities to get back at him in the future, she would make sure of that! So with anger gripping at her throat she forced herself to nod and her somewhat resigned voice spoke of her surrender:
“No need for vows, Potter, I will keep my word. You and I never met tonight, so no names, at least not yours… Though I might have to mention you bringing your wife to dinner somewhere in the news!” she added quickly, knowing full-well that the chief-editor would skin her alive if she didn’t write about that.
Harry merely waved his hand dismissively at this piece of information, the “who-was-wearing-what” pages being the last thing on his mind, as he was now fully focused on telling an entirely different story. He knew he needed to tread carefully when the sharp quill of Rita Skeeter was involved. This was crisis management at its finest and Head Auror Potter needed to step up to the challenge if he was to keep any control whatsoever over his life… and to win his Ron back. This was the whole purpose of this travesty of an interview. Shaping the story to fit his desired perspective was the least of his crimes this evening.
Still – just speaking the words and painting the unwelcome picture for her caused a shadow of his anger to return and he found he could not speak as void of emotions as he hoped he would be able to.
“Now, let’s see if I can recap for you, what happened. To put it simply: Draco Malfoy kissed my – he kissed Ron. Full-on - not just a peck on the cheek, I assure you – but the whole fu- assault with the entire world watching and he wouldn’t let go. I – my wife – we were all very shocked by the unexpected action and Ron must have been, too, because he let himself be side-disapparated and is currently at an unknown location. Whether Malfoy is with him or not, is unbeknownst to me. That’s all I can tell you about what happened tonight. You put it in your own words and decorate it with your filth and see if I care. But if a splash of your dirt ends up on Ron, I will have your head, Skeeter - literally!” he looked at her with undisguised threat in his eyes and left the loathed reporter scribbling frantically with no doubt who should carry the full load of blame for this scandalous affair.
This information alone was worth standing shivering in the middle of the bloody night for. No hexes then; Draco Malfoy kissed Ronald Weasley out of his own will. So it was a love story after all! Now, wasn’t that sweet… surely a heart-melting real-life fairy-tale that a certain proud silver-haired wizard and his haughty wife would love to read at their morning coffee… NOT! She couldn’t help a gleeful smile spreading over her face as she watched her Quick-Quotes Quill slide speedily across the smooth surface of a parchment and she missed the raven-haired youth looking at her in disgust. He hastily picked up his words as if he was eager to have this conversation over with.
“Now – so far, this is nothing you didn’t already know, I assume. I’m sure you must have found a handful of eager witnesses to give you their own account of what happened tonight… Some might have mentioned Ron and I had been… having a slightly heated discussion before things… escalated in an unexpected direction,” he looked at her probingly and she smiled with a hungry smile of a vulture, rather relieved that she didn’t even have to pose the undoubtedly awkward question to the ill disposed young man.
“Well, I assure you, it was nothing!” he continued firmly, disappointing her immensely. “Ron and I – we’re very close, as close as we always were, and this will never change. It can’t,” he said, assuring himself as much as her. “It was just a small disagreement due to our different views regarding our re- our family matters and his recent career choice.”
Fully aware how badly he nearly blundered, he trod on full force, more determined than ever to give her the point of view the public should assume along with her article.
“You see, Ron had recently decided to transfer to the active on-the-field duty due to… well, personal reasons, family obligations, nothing worth mentioning, really. And bloody Malfoy just followed him there. He set Ron up, claiming that he had been assigned as his partner, though it was later revealed that the so called re-assignment was nothing more than a work of bribery on the part of that skinny wanker to come as close to my – to Ron as possible. Malfoy kept on stalking him and – Merlin knows how, because Ron hates his fucking guts! – somehow managed to lure him to a so-called business dinner. And there he shamelessly proceeded to force himself upon Ron in more ways than one and when nothing else worked the bastard went on and kissed him, just like that, in front of the whole fucking world!”
He shut up abruptly at this point, as if aware that the anger in his voice became unmistakable and the crackling of his magic in the air was a clear sign that Harry Potter was quite beside himself. And that really spiked her interest. For such a reserved young man Potter was uncommonly livid tonight. Obviously the Saviour of the wizarding world could hardly approve of his best mate having anything to do with the alleged Death Eater but there was a definite undertone of a much more powerful emotion in his voice. It was hatred, she decided. She only had to look at him and it was all over his face.
Harry Potter hated having to witness this particular kiss. Now wasn’t that interesting… Was Potter – so careful to always be seen standing up for every poor creature’s rights, however undeserving - nothing but a bigot? Or was it because his best mate was involved? Perhaps he only hated the redhead kissing this particular man? Unable to embrace the brave new world and still holding on to the old grudges then? Not that wasn’t it… The years of prying on people had her well equipped for recognising human emotion and under all that clearly painted anger on Potter’s face there was something else… something that was suspiciously like… jealousy? Was Potter jealous?! Of what?! Of whom?! She desperately needed to find out more!
“So what did you think of it?!” she asked almost breathless. “How did you feel having seen your best mate and your – well, everybody knows you hate him – worst enemy kiss right under your nose? How…”
“Oh, but I didn’t think anything, Skeeter! We never met, remember?” he cut her off dryly, but unable to disguise how he ground his teeth in cold anger. Definitely jealous. She stared at him sharply, trying to discern his face better in the weak light of the street lamps. How deeply did it go, this poorly concealed jealousy? And who was he jealous of, exactly?! She saw him bite his lower lip and look away from her to gain his composure. Oh.My.God. What did she stumble across here?!
Harry knew he was losing it. Just running the events of the night in his mind, then having to repeat them out loud was making his blood boil. He knew he desperately needed to keep control. At this point, letting the world aware of his feelings wasn’t going to bring Ron back. But he still needed to get his message across, he couldn’t walk away now or Skeeter would wreak havoc with her bloody evil quill! Harry Potter might not have officially said it, but he needed it to be heard that there would be trouble for that blond back-stabbing rat that stole his man! And people needed to be told his version of events. People who mattered. Hermione, among the first. Molly and Arthur – they would be heart-broken if they thought Ron was the one who instigated Malfoy’s display of affection. Which he didn’t of course. Not on purpose. Well… he’d only done it to spite Harry. That’s what all this was about.
But he was suddenly distracted by a low calculated voice laced with incredulity that took him by surprise: “Are you in love with him?”
His head snapped in her direction, unable to mask a sudden flood of emotion and he heard her gasp: “Oh, sweet Merlin, you’re in love with Draco Malfoy, aren’t you!? All that hatred, all that tension… just a disguise for your obsession with your life-long adversary… you sure had us all fooled, Potter!”
He heard an undertone of vicious laughter in her voice and suddenly he couldn’t stand it. He pounced at her before she could move a muscle and he stared down her round frightened eyes, magnified by her glasses, with unabashed hatred and disdain:
“For once, I offer my cooperation,” he seethed through gritted teeth. “And this is what you go and bloody well do!! I just saved your pitiful misery of a career and still it is not enough for you! Oh, no, you have to dig deeper, discover more dirt, hurt more people in the process! Well, guess what, you blind old bat?! You wouldn’t be able to recognise the truth if it came and bit you in your skinny ugly behind! Once again, you got it all wrong, you brainless daft bitch! I’m not in love with Draco bloody Malfoy, how could you – who would even think of something as despicable as that?! I’m in love with Ron, my Ron, my life-long soul-mate, the one that’s been stolen from me by that greedy spoilt bastard! How’s that for a scandal, you dirty-minded queen of rats!?” With no small satisfaction he saw her open and close her mouth empty, for once unable to come up with a witty comment and he almost regretted what he had to do next.
“Of course, I can’t let you print that… though I’m dying to, trust me. But I just thought you might want to know anyway…” he said softly and before she could react, his wand was pointed at her temple and he adamantly said the word: “Obliviate!”
Her tense features relaxed into a blank expression and Harry closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair to collect what was left of his scattered brain tonight. This… was a disaster. He knew he was agitated and vulnerable tonight, he should have known better to try and speak to that sharp bitch! But he was desperate to get his message across and she was there and he thought he could pull this off… which, he clearly couldn’t, not tonight. And now he had to try and save what little he could and take it as a lesson not to blunder with the rest of his feeble plan.
He took a moment longer for his thoughts to clear, then took a deep breath and spoke firmly:
“You will forget everything about Ron Weasley and Harry Potter being more than just friends. The idea is ridiculous. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley are best mates, that’s all there is, and you won’t let anyone persuade you different. And Draco Malfoy is a worthless piece of shit just looking for attention. You need to let the public know the man is pathetic and a menace to the moral standards of our civilized society. The story you will go back to the Prophet with is one of the scandalous event of fraternization, which happened tonight in the very eyes of the public and for which solely one Draco Malfoy is responsible.
You will also have it printed that a reliable source from the Ministry– who asked to remain undisclosed at this point – let it slip that a certain rich young man of dubious character is under the investigation for illegal exertion of his influence and ill use of his family wealth to damage the reputation of a certain well-respected member of the wizarding community beyond repair. It will also be thoroughly investigated whether any illegal magic was used to get the victim to comply,” he added for good measure, knowing full well that this –if nothing else – would spike the interest and amount to no small level of agitation of a certain Malfoy. Malfoy Senior, to be exact. His next target.
Some time during this endless hell of an evening, Harry became aware that he desperately needed all the allies he could find if he ever stood a chance of getting Ron back. And – with no small amount of surprise to himself – the first person that came to mind was Lucius Malfoy. The old pureblood would be livid at the thought of his son making out with a man in full view of the public. There was no saying how far would he be willing to go, if that man was a Weasley.
Lucius loathed the Weasleys. And even though he did not hate Ron above other Weasleys, he was Arthur Weasley’s son and that sort of did the job. Harry was willing to bet everything he owned that there wasn’t a man alive today that Lucius Malfoy hated more than Arthur Weasley. Everything about Arthur simply rubbed Lucius the wrong way and at the few unfortunate occurrences that got those two in the same room at the same time, there were literally sparks flying. Lucius got in a fist-fight with him, for Christ’s sake, how un-Malfoyian was that!? Harry often wondered what was in the background of such passionate hatred. Did something happen at Hogwarts? Their mutual loathing did seem to go an awful long time back! They were only a few years apart, those two, they must have shared their breathing space at one point or another. Well, Harry supposed it didn’t matter - he couldn’t ask either of them and the one important thing that was real, was Lucius’s horrible antagonism towards the Weasleys.
Harry tried to imagine how the proud old man would feel when he found out that the spawn of his number one enemy got his very married son, his precious Draco, the apple of his eye, to abandon all reservations and kiss him stupid for the entire world to see. He would be murderous! And Harry needed to profit on that spiteful sentiment.
Getting Lucius on his side was essential. The powerful patriarch of the Malfoy family was one of the few people in this world, if not the only one, who had the power to bring Draco to his knees - and he had numerous tools to do it. For example – how would Malfoy Junior like it in a brave new world with no job – given recent events and Rita’s likely report of fraternization Harry was sure he could arrange that – and with none of the daddy dearest’s money to fall back to?
And then there was Draco’s son. The little Scorpius. As powerful a tool for extortion as they come. Children always were. Recent events in Harry’s life made him bitterly aware of that. As far as he remembered, Draco was said to be fiercely protective of his son and quite enamoured with the boy. He truly seemed to adore the little one and that could only work in Harry’s favour. Another priceless thing to lose. And as much worth as the little Scorpius held to Draco, Harry was certain, he was just as precious in good ol’ Lucius’s eyes. With him around, Draco was no longer the sole heir to the Malfoy line. Perhaps he could simply be… skipped in favour of a more… compliant family member? Harry had no doubt that Lucius wouldn’t blink before blackmailing his son into obedience by threatening to take little Scorpius away one way or another. And then Draco would be left with nothing. It would certainly serve the bastard right!
Oh, yes, Harry was determined to make Draco find out what exactly he was putting on the line for Ron.
But Lucius would have to wait. First thing in the morning. Tonight Harry’s job was done. He was drained, exhausted, destroyed.
And he still had to deal with a disoriented Skeeter. On a last moment’s inspiration he side-apparated her to a small coffee-bar in the vicinity of Ron’s flat.
“Have someone with a camera wait here while you get your story ready,” he told her. “If you’re lucky you might get your pictures yet. Ron often comes here to grab a snack and if Malfoy’s with him…”
He winced nervously, trying to shake an unpleasant image and an ensuing painful thought of Ron doing something so personal with Malfoy that he might introduce him to one of his favourite places to hang out in the city. The thought just hurt too deep and this… it needed to be done, if he wanted the story to work. He decided to do it this way and now he had to stick to it, hard as it may be. But he was too fragile to even risk a look at the windows of Ron’s flat, afraid of what he might see there derailing him completely. He couldn’t allow himself to think what his best mate might be up to, he couldn’t handle more of this cursed night. Instead, he decided to disapparate quickly before his befuddled brain and aching heart would make him do something he would come to regret. He had no a clear destination in his mind when he disapparated, which was just flat out dangerous to say the least, given the cloudy state of his tired brain, but strangely enough, he ended up at The Burrow.
And for the first time that night Harry smiled a worn out smile, suddenly aware of what took him here. He let himself in and tip-toed to the bedroom occupied by his children. He kneeled down next to the magically enlarged bed, hosting them all, and simply watched them dream the undisturbed dreams of the innocents. Tonight he desperately needed the comfort of their company. They were a balm to his damaged soul; he could watch them sleep for hours.
Little James slept like a log, one could literally break bricks on his back and he wouldn’t flinch. One of his arms was casually stretched over his little brother in what suspiciously looked like protective manner - something he would undoubtedly fiercely deny when wide awake. They fought like cats and dogs, of course, like two siblings and would-be alpha males always did.
Albus, Harry’s little carbon copy, was a far lighter sleeper. Even in his sleep he always shifted and turned endlessly as if constantly trying to find a more suitable position. But tonight he somewhat miraculously seemed to have settled comfortably under his big brother’s arm, snuggling ever closer to the comforting warmth of another body until he was all but completely tucked under James’s shoulder. And they both continued to slumber peacefully.
And then there was Lily, his little princess. And her overly large Babbity Rabbity, a fluffy worn-out plush toy that was almost bigger than herself; the one she was perfectly unable to go to sleep without. It had never failed to make Harry smile. A little, because seeing her little carrot head peaking out between the rabbit ears was just hilarious; and more than a little, because he was able to provide his daughter with something he never had and had desperately wanted as a child. A small on-the-spot comfort, a soft little bed companion you could tell all your secrets to and whom you trusted vehemently to protect you when you drifted off to sleep. A safe haven in your very arms. A tell-tale sign that someone cared and loved you dearly. Uncle Ron’s present.
Ron… God, had it really been just a little over 24 hours ago when he stretched his exhausted limbs over him, once again destroyed by the mind-blowing sex the redhead never failed to provide? Had it really been only a day since Ron nuzzled against him and asked softly: “Stay… just tonight…”? And he had said no, and he had damned himself to this hell of a day when he saw the light in those blue eyes fade and slowly be replaced by disappointment and resentment. And then Ron, his Ron, who had moments before made him dissolve into absolute bliss and surrender, stared at him with hurt and anger in his crystal blue eyes and hissed at him as if he was talking to an enemy: “Then stop treating me like some bloody man-whore, Potter, and get the fuck out of here!”
And everything went to pot from that moment on. For once Ron was unrelenting, growling insults through the clenched teeth, pain and spite etched into his every feature and he wouldn’t listen to anything Harry had to say. He barely gave him enough time to get dressed, throwing robes at him with dark fuming violence and all but pushed him in the Floo, for once deaf to Harry’s desperate pleas to be reasonable.
Harry urgently needed to make things right between them. He wanted his Ron back; as a friend, as a lover, it didn’t even matter at this point. He missed him; he missed his overwhelming warm presence so bad it ached physically, a dull dark pain in the centre of his chest as if he was constantly just a bit out of breath. He had to rectify this somehow; he couldn’t stand Ron hating him. Yes, he hoped he would dream about Ron tonight, about the time when it was just the two of them in the world of black and white and simple. He could do with a world of the thousand shades of grey, what he couldn’t do without, was Ron. He needed him back in his world, back by his side, just… back. At any price.
Without further ado Harry whispered a charm to enlarge the children’s bed some more and squeezed himself next to the row of small warm bodies, healing his tattered soul instantly with their soft breathing and the silly little sounds they made in their sleep. It was all for them. And for him. For Ron. He’d do anything to keep it all.
And before he knew it, Harry Potter drifted off to sleep, but his tired brain knew better than to let him dream of Ron. His sleep was a dreamless slumber of utter exhaustion as if his body knew that he needed to rest badly. He had his work cut out for him the following morning and he had to be quick and sharp to do it. It would take all of his magic to win his life back.
~ End of Part 5/2 ~
Next: Choices, Part 6
See also:
( Choices, Part 1 )
( Choices, Part 2 )
( Choices, Part 3 )
( Choices, Part 4 )
( Choices, Part 5/1 )
Word count: 6153, this part
Pairing: Ron/Draco, some mention of past Ron/Harry
Rating: R (for language, I guess)
Disclaimer: nothing much has changed since 5 minutes ago when I've published the last (hafling) one, so you might wanna go check out that ;)
Rita Skeeter was in hell.
How on Merlin’s bloody earth could she have missed an opportunity like that!? To hell with her stingy boss that wouldn’t cover the cost of the table in the restaurant, making her stand outside like some third-grade scribbler, collecting scraps of information from the broken bits of conversation, when scandal after scandal apparently hit inside the prestigious place! Ron Weasley was reportedly having a heated – though too damn quiet! – argument with Harry bloody Potter – the Golden Trio might have come to an end and she was not there to see it because “it was beyond their budget” according to that troll that called himself her boss! Uhhhhh, she could so murder someone right now!
And that was not even the most shocking event that took place: following the argument between the Saviour and his best mate, Draco His Highness Malfoy stepped in, launched himself at the redheaded war hero and proceeded to kiss his face off! What a scandal! What a story! And she didn’t have a photo of it, so the story was practically worthless!! What was she supposed to do with the photo of an innocent looking pat on the back, which was clearly taken outside of the prestigious place!? All of it because of that… grrrrr! She’ll have to think of something to get back to that pompous fart! A nicely made up story, entirely fake, of course, that would get him in trouble when printed…yes, that could do… and she would of course claim the sudden and mysterious death of her sources…
But what a story, what a night! There were a million angles to work that story from! Was the Malfoy heir drunk? Drugged? Or even – hexed?! Because no Malfoy in a right mind would ever be seen kissing a Weasley, let alone a male Weasley, the one he was in a life-long quarrel with! So who had hexed him? Perhaps Potter – the eye-witness reports said he had been present and looking livid! But why? And why use his best mate to get back to Malfoy? It somehow didn’t fit.
Was it someone else then? An old grudge perhaps? Which one of the many enemies that the Malfoys had made in the past reared up their ugly head and came up with such an ingenious plot to humiliate and destroy the reputation of the proverbially promiscuous but very careful young man? Never before had Draco Malfoy given the public anything beyond the rumours that he wasn’t too particular on whom he bestowed his affection – and those were sadly very unprintable, given the long arm of his family’s influence. And yet everybody knew that the very much married young man shagged anything with a pulse – oh, how for once she yearned she’d be able to write that and they would have to print it! – so, perhaps it was one of the many enraged ex-es that had executed such a wonderful revenge? Or perhaps a neglected wife?! Oh, what a story would that make for!
Oh, how she wished she had seen it with her own eyes! Witness accounts simply weren’t it; the stupid people had claimed, one after another, that there were no hexes flying and that the gorgeous redhead – oh, he was gorgeous, wasn’t he, gorgeous and possibly corrupt to have found himself in the middle of such a scandal! - simply dragged both sworn enemies from the private lounge like children, holding their wrists of all things, then spoke to his best mate quietly, clearly trying to get him to agree to something, then abandoned him and turned to Malfoy, who proceeded to snog him stupid, no shame, no reservations. It was really hard to work the hexes into this story, silly blind unobservant people, surely there was something else going on!
This can’t have been it! Malfoy would never… he would never… or would he? Was there something she had missed going on all these years? It was just a little scandalous how he just got himself a job, wasn’t it? Malfoys didn’t do jobs, not in centuries, everybody knew that! And yet – he had gotten one and the one time she had overheard him comment on it, he’d mentioned he was bored. More money than God and bored?! Yeah, right…
What if – and she knew this was a very slim possibility, but still – what if the young Malfoy simply followed Weasley in his footsteps and that’s what landed him a job? But why chose Weasley? Potter was a much more obvious choice if he decided to… test the water with the other side, to put it politely… Either way -with Potter around who’d be short-sighted enough to choose Weasley, who was average at best?!
Well, besides the fact that he was bloody gorgeous, of course.
And that he had somehow managed to catch the attention of the smartest witch in England and persuade her to marry him.
And that he made the legendary Harry Potter his best friend in the course of a single train-ride.
Wait a minute, how could she have missed out on all that for so long!?
Once you put it all together – Weasley was in the bloody centre of it, wasn’t he?!
Was it really so hard to believe that Draco Malfoy, who was always a little bit radical and not quite up there with his father’s impeccable taste – fell for the poor boy? This was better than one of the Tales of Beedle the Bard and undoubtedly more scandalous and, oh, so juicy! What a love story! It was all there – the unrequited love, the influential spouses, powerful adversaries on all sides – she could write this as a seasonal series and still she’d have something to go on! But could it be? It seemed impossible…
Oh, she was getting herself all tangled and confused in her own theories! What she desperately needed was photographs, first impressions, statements… she needed statements!! But where to get them in the middle of the bloody night with a paper ready to be printed in the wee hours of the morning!? It’s not like she could go and ring on the doorbell of His royal Majesty, Lucius Malfoy in the middle of the night and ask his opinion on his son exchanging saliva with a Weasley, could she now?!
Looking frantically left and right around the long abandoned park in the prestigious neighbourhood as if trying to find forgotten and useful clues that would save her career her eyes spotted a lone figure appearing from between the trees on the far side of the park and her pulse hitched into the sky. She would know that figure anywhere. She had done her stalking, years and years of it, sometimes for a single picture of the elusive man and even in the faint light of the street lamps, Harry Potter was as obvious to her as if he'd come straight to her in broad daylight and shook her hand. Not that that had ever happened, for all the good propaganda she gave that boy!
Harry Potter, of all people, in the middle of the night – and what a night it was! – walking in the park all by himself – that alone was worth a story! Perhaps all was not lost after all, perhaps there was still a chance – as small as it was, given this man’s arrogance and the disdain he always held for her exemplary work! – a small chance, then, to get her statement, to have a story. She needed to tread carefully, though; Potter would be none too pleased to see her after a night like this and given their history, he might not be too inclined to trust her.
“Easy, Rita, easy…” she told herself as she approached as stealthily as she could and hoped that he wouldn’t disapparate on her before she managed to ambush him with the first question. But stealthy or not – she could not escape the trained senses of Head Auror.
“What do you want, Skeeter?” he all but growled at her, startling her almost out of her high-heel shoes.
“Well, good evening to you, too, Mr. Potter!” She tried to gain back some of her composure and his good grace by willingly ignoring his rudeness and going for corny. “Who’d say! The Saviour of the wizarding world found wandering all alone in the middle of the night in the wilderness of London! Looking out for us, Mr. Potter, hm? Evil never sleeps and all that rot? Or was the night perhaps a bit – too eventful for your liking?!” she asked pryingly, no longer able to contain her predatory curiosity.
Despising and something alike repulsion was clearly etched into the young man’s face, when he looked at her and he opened his mouth to give her a reply he thought she deserved, when suddenly he seemed to have changed his mind, closed his mouth and looked at her intently, as if he suddenly saw her in a new light. Never before was Rita Skeeter submitted to the full perusal of those legendary green eyes and suddenly she became full aware of the chilly night when Head Auror Potter bored at her with his focused stare and gave her a full once-over.
“You could say that,” he finally said, his voice void of all emotion. And Rita Skeeter found herself gawping with her mouth open at the most powerful wizard in England who returned her stare without averting his eyes. He had never willingly given her anything – and now this! Gods were clearly on her side tonight, she can’t screw this up, she can’t!!
“C-can I p-print this conversation?!” she gasped, praying to whatever force from heaven or hell looked over her to have her wish granted. “Can I quote you? You must have something to say on your arch enemy snogging your best mate!” she blabbed hastily, but her breath slowly froze in her throat when he fixed her with his stern stare once again. Suddenly she became chilly to the bone and an unwelcome realization crawled up her bones that he could put her out of job and the newspaper out of print by the morning if he chose to do so. That’s just how influential he was.
“But of course… I don’t want any trouble…” she squeaked quietly and tried to assess the damage she had done with her careless tongue.
“You don’t have anything, do you?” he suddenly smirked at her and the glee in his voice was unmistakable. “You weren’t in there…. So no photos, no statements, no first-hand impressions… my, my, Skeeter, you must simply be dying for information by now…”
She felt anger rise inside her like someone poured a bucket of hot coals down her throat – she would not have this insolent young man mock her, Saviour or no Saviour, she knew her weight in the eyes of the public, she could do some serious damage!
“Listen to me, Potter…” she spat, but it was all she was to say at this moment, because he stopped her breath dead with what came out of his mouth next:
“I’m willing to… be helpful… for once…” he offered matter-of-factly as if he had finally reached a decision, as if he didn’t realize that he almost cut the floor from under her feet with those simple words. He did not just say that, did he?! Talk about luck! She needed to think, think, think, recover her wits about as fast as possible and write down every word, every impression he was willing to share! She found herself nodding enthusiastically, still hardly able to believe her luck, her trained fingers looking for her quill and a piece of parchment almost on their own accord with a speed of a desperate woman.
“Of course… there will be some… conditions, which I need you to agree to, before we could continue this conversation, yes?” he added sternly and she deflated a bit. Oh… she should have known…, but then again – what did she have to lose? She was desperate, she had nothing, and anything Harry bloody Potter could provide would equal solid gold in her books right about now! So she found herself nodding yet again, though less eagerly and he took that as a mark of her consent and continued in a steady voice:
“First of all, I was never here. We never met, you never spoke to Harry Potter in reference to this story. I’m your “reliable source”, that’s all – you should be used to that by now,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice and this time she could not contain her disappointment.
“But then this is worthless!” she screeched, desperate to make him see how impossible this was without stating her first-class source!
“Shut up, Skeeter!” he said roughly, not bothering with politeness, the darkness in his voice so unmistakeable that this alone was enough to put a dam on a stream of her frustrated screams. “I will tell you more than enough… Remember, without me, you’ve got nothing. I alone can give you something to print, so don’t even try to push me. I was there – and you were not, it’s as simple as that. You will need some background and an eye-witness account. I can give you both, but you will under no circumstances mention my name in any relation whatsoever to this affair. Are we clear on that?” he looked at her piercingly and when she refused to nod directly, still livid at his audacity, he snapped at her in a cold irritated voice:
“Are we clear on that, Skeeter?! I need your answer now – or no story. See how McLaggen likes that. He’s still your boss, isn’t he? Never mind, him or another… anyone would have you fired if you show up empty handed after a night like this. Oh, and I will need you to keep your word once it’s given - or is there a need for an Unbreakable Vow?” he added sarcastically.
He had her cornered and they both knew it. She might as well give in. There would be plenty of opportunities to get back at him in the future, she would make sure of that! So with anger gripping at her throat she forced herself to nod and her somewhat resigned voice spoke of her surrender:
“No need for vows, Potter, I will keep my word. You and I never met tonight, so no names, at least not yours… Though I might have to mention you bringing your wife to dinner somewhere in the news!” she added quickly, knowing full-well that the chief-editor would skin her alive if she didn’t write about that.
Harry merely waved his hand dismissively at this piece of information, the “who-was-wearing-what” pages being the last thing on his mind, as he was now fully focused on telling an entirely different story. He knew he needed to tread carefully when the sharp quill of Rita Skeeter was involved. This was crisis management at its finest and Head Auror Potter needed to step up to the challenge if he was to keep any control whatsoever over his life… and to win his Ron back. This was the whole purpose of this travesty of an interview. Shaping the story to fit his desired perspective was the least of his crimes this evening.
Still – just speaking the words and painting the unwelcome picture for her caused a shadow of his anger to return and he found he could not speak as void of emotions as he hoped he would be able to.
“Now, let’s see if I can recap for you, what happened. To put it simply: Draco Malfoy kissed my – he kissed Ron. Full-on - not just a peck on the cheek, I assure you – but the whole fu- assault with the entire world watching and he wouldn’t let go. I – my wife – we were all very shocked by the unexpected action and Ron must have been, too, because he let himself be side-disapparated and is currently at an unknown location. Whether Malfoy is with him or not, is unbeknownst to me. That’s all I can tell you about what happened tonight. You put it in your own words and decorate it with your filth and see if I care. But if a splash of your dirt ends up on Ron, I will have your head, Skeeter - literally!” he looked at her with undisguised threat in his eyes and left the loathed reporter scribbling frantically with no doubt who should carry the full load of blame for this scandalous affair.
This information alone was worth standing shivering in the middle of the bloody night for. No hexes then; Draco Malfoy kissed Ronald Weasley out of his own will. So it was a love story after all! Now, wasn’t that sweet… surely a heart-melting real-life fairy-tale that a certain proud silver-haired wizard and his haughty wife would love to read at their morning coffee… NOT! She couldn’t help a gleeful smile spreading over her face as she watched her Quick-Quotes Quill slide speedily across the smooth surface of a parchment and she missed the raven-haired youth looking at her in disgust. He hastily picked up his words as if he was eager to have this conversation over with.
“Now – so far, this is nothing you didn’t already know, I assume. I’m sure you must have found a handful of eager witnesses to give you their own account of what happened tonight… Some might have mentioned Ron and I had been… having a slightly heated discussion before things… escalated in an unexpected direction,” he looked at her probingly and she smiled with a hungry smile of a vulture, rather relieved that she didn’t even have to pose the undoubtedly awkward question to the ill disposed young man.
“Well, I assure you, it was nothing!” he continued firmly, disappointing her immensely. “Ron and I – we’re very close, as close as we always were, and this will never change. It can’t,” he said, assuring himself as much as her. “It was just a small disagreement due to our different views regarding our re- our family matters and his recent career choice.”
Fully aware how badly he nearly blundered, he trod on full force, more determined than ever to give her the point of view the public should assume along with her article.
“You see, Ron had recently decided to transfer to the active on-the-field duty due to… well, personal reasons, family obligations, nothing worth mentioning, really. And bloody Malfoy just followed him there. He set Ron up, claiming that he had been assigned as his partner, though it was later revealed that the so called re-assignment was nothing more than a work of bribery on the part of that skinny wanker to come as close to my – to Ron as possible. Malfoy kept on stalking him and – Merlin knows how, because Ron hates his fucking guts! – somehow managed to lure him to a so-called business dinner. And there he shamelessly proceeded to force himself upon Ron in more ways than one and when nothing else worked the bastard went on and kissed him, just like that, in front of the whole fucking world!”
He shut up abruptly at this point, as if aware that the anger in his voice became unmistakable and the crackling of his magic in the air was a clear sign that Harry Potter was quite beside himself. And that really spiked her interest. For such a reserved young man Potter was uncommonly livid tonight. Obviously the Saviour of the wizarding world could hardly approve of his best mate having anything to do with the alleged Death Eater but there was a definite undertone of a much more powerful emotion in his voice. It was hatred, she decided. She only had to look at him and it was all over his face.
Harry Potter hated having to witness this particular kiss. Now wasn’t that interesting… Was Potter – so careful to always be seen standing up for every poor creature’s rights, however undeserving - nothing but a bigot? Or was it because his best mate was involved? Perhaps he only hated the redhead kissing this particular man? Unable to embrace the brave new world and still holding on to the old grudges then? Not that wasn’t it… The years of prying on people had her well equipped for recognising human emotion and under all that clearly painted anger on Potter’s face there was something else… something that was suspiciously like… jealousy? Was Potter jealous?! Of what?! Of whom?! She desperately needed to find out more!
“So what did you think of it?!” she asked almost breathless. “How did you feel having seen your best mate and your – well, everybody knows you hate him – worst enemy kiss right under your nose? How…”
“Oh, but I didn’t think anything, Skeeter! We never met, remember?” he cut her off dryly, but unable to disguise how he ground his teeth in cold anger. Definitely jealous. She stared at him sharply, trying to discern his face better in the weak light of the street lamps. How deeply did it go, this poorly concealed jealousy? And who was he jealous of, exactly?! She saw him bite his lower lip and look away from her to gain his composure. Oh.My.God. What did she stumble across here?!
Harry knew he was losing it. Just running the events of the night in his mind, then having to repeat them out loud was making his blood boil. He knew he desperately needed to keep control. At this point, letting the world aware of his feelings wasn’t going to bring Ron back. But he still needed to get his message across, he couldn’t walk away now or Skeeter would wreak havoc with her bloody evil quill! Harry Potter might not have officially said it, but he needed it to be heard that there would be trouble for that blond back-stabbing rat that stole his man! And people needed to be told his version of events. People who mattered. Hermione, among the first. Molly and Arthur – they would be heart-broken if they thought Ron was the one who instigated Malfoy’s display of affection. Which he didn’t of course. Not on purpose. Well… he’d only done it to spite Harry. That’s what all this was about.
But he was suddenly distracted by a low calculated voice laced with incredulity that took him by surprise: “Are you in love with him?”
His head snapped in her direction, unable to mask a sudden flood of emotion and he heard her gasp: “Oh, sweet Merlin, you’re in love with Draco Malfoy, aren’t you!? All that hatred, all that tension… just a disguise for your obsession with your life-long adversary… you sure had us all fooled, Potter!”
He heard an undertone of vicious laughter in her voice and suddenly he couldn’t stand it. He pounced at her before she could move a muscle and he stared down her round frightened eyes, magnified by her glasses, with unabashed hatred and disdain:
“For once, I offer my cooperation,” he seethed through gritted teeth. “And this is what you go and bloody well do!! I just saved your pitiful misery of a career and still it is not enough for you! Oh, no, you have to dig deeper, discover more dirt, hurt more people in the process! Well, guess what, you blind old bat?! You wouldn’t be able to recognise the truth if it came and bit you in your skinny ugly behind! Once again, you got it all wrong, you brainless daft bitch! I’m not in love with Draco bloody Malfoy, how could you – who would even think of something as despicable as that?! I’m in love with Ron, my Ron, my life-long soul-mate, the one that’s been stolen from me by that greedy spoilt bastard! How’s that for a scandal, you dirty-minded queen of rats!?” With no small satisfaction he saw her open and close her mouth empty, for once unable to come up with a witty comment and he almost regretted what he had to do next.
“Of course, I can’t let you print that… though I’m dying to, trust me. But I just thought you might want to know anyway…” he said softly and before she could react, his wand was pointed at her temple and he adamantly said the word: “Obliviate!”
Her tense features relaxed into a blank expression and Harry closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair to collect what was left of his scattered brain tonight. This… was a disaster. He knew he was agitated and vulnerable tonight, he should have known better to try and speak to that sharp bitch! But he was desperate to get his message across and she was there and he thought he could pull this off… which, he clearly couldn’t, not tonight. And now he had to try and save what little he could and take it as a lesson not to blunder with the rest of his feeble plan.
He took a moment longer for his thoughts to clear, then took a deep breath and spoke firmly:
“You will forget everything about Ron Weasley and Harry Potter being more than just friends. The idea is ridiculous. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley are best mates, that’s all there is, and you won’t let anyone persuade you different. And Draco Malfoy is a worthless piece of shit just looking for attention. You need to let the public know the man is pathetic and a menace to the moral standards of our civilized society. The story you will go back to the Prophet with is one of the scandalous event of fraternization, which happened tonight in the very eyes of the public and for which solely one Draco Malfoy is responsible.
You will also have it printed that a reliable source from the Ministry– who asked to remain undisclosed at this point – let it slip that a certain rich young man of dubious character is under the investigation for illegal exertion of his influence and ill use of his family wealth to damage the reputation of a certain well-respected member of the wizarding community beyond repair. It will also be thoroughly investigated whether any illegal magic was used to get the victim to comply,” he added for good measure, knowing full well that this –if nothing else – would spike the interest and amount to no small level of agitation of a certain Malfoy. Malfoy Senior, to be exact. His next target.
Some time during this endless hell of an evening, Harry became aware that he desperately needed all the allies he could find if he ever stood a chance of getting Ron back. And – with no small amount of surprise to himself – the first person that came to mind was Lucius Malfoy. The old pureblood would be livid at the thought of his son making out with a man in full view of the public. There was no saying how far would he be willing to go, if that man was a Weasley.
Lucius loathed the Weasleys. And even though he did not hate Ron above other Weasleys, he was Arthur Weasley’s son and that sort of did the job. Harry was willing to bet everything he owned that there wasn’t a man alive today that Lucius Malfoy hated more than Arthur Weasley. Everything about Arthur simply rubbed Lucius the wrong way and at the few unfortunate occurrences that got those two in the same room at the same time, there were literally sparks flying. Lucius got in a fist-fight with him, for Christ’s sake, how un-Malfoyian was that!? Harry often wondered what was in the background of such passionate hatred. Did something happen at Hogwarts? Their mutual loathing did seem to go an awful long time back! They were only a few years apart, those two, they must have shared their breathing space at one point or another. Well, Harry supposed it didn’t matter - he couldn’t ask either of them and the one important thing that was real, was Lucius’s horrible antagonism towards the Weasleys.
Harry tried to imagine how the proud old man would feel when he found out that the spawn of his number one enemy got his very married son, his precious Draco, the apple of his eye, to abandon all reservations and kiss him stupid for the entire world to see. He would be murderous! And Harry needed to profit on that spiteful sentiment.
Getting Lucius on his side was essential. The powerful patriarch of the Malfoy family was one of the few people in this world, if not the only one, who had the power to bring Draco to his knees - and he had numerous tools to do it. For example – how would Malfoy Junior like it in a brave new world with no job – given recent events and Rita’s likely report of fraternization Harry was sure he could arrange that – and with none of the daddy dearest’s money to fall back to?
And then there was Draco’s son. The little Scorpius. As powerful a tool for extortion as they come. Children always were. Recent events in Harry’s life made him bitterly aware of that. As far as he remembered, Draco was said to be fiercely protective of his son and quite enamoured with the boy. He truly seemed to adore the little one and that could only work in Harry’s favour. Another priceless thing to lose. And as much worth as the little Scorpius held to Draco, Harry was certain, he was just as precious in good ol’ Lucius’s eyes. With him around, Draco was no longer the sole heir to the Malfoy line. Perhaps he could simply be… skipped in favour of a more… compliant family member? Harry had no doubt that Lucius wouldn’t blink before blackmailing his son into obedience by threatening to take little Scorpius away one way or another. And then Draco would be left with nothing. It would certainly serve the bastard right!
Oh, yes, Harry was determined to make Draco find out what exactly he was putting on the line for Ron.
But Lucius would have to wait. First thing in the morning. Tonight Harry’s job was done. He was drained, exhausted, destroyed.
And he still had to deal with a disoriented Skeeter. On a last moment’s inspiration he side-apparated her to a small coffee-bar in the vicinity of Ron’s flat.
“Have someone with a camera wait here while you get your story ready,” he told her. “If you’re lucky you might get your pictures yet. Ron often comes here to grab a snack and if Malfoy’s with him…”
He winced nervously, trying to shake an unpleasant image and an ensuing painful thought of Ron doing something so personal with Malfoy that he might introduce him to one of his favourite places to hang out in the city. The thought just hurt too deep and this… it needed to be done, if he wanted the story to work. He decided to do it this way and now he had to stick to it, hard as it may be. But he was too fragile to even risk a look at the windows of Ron’s flat, afraid of what he might see there derailing him completely. He couldn’t allow himself to think what his best mate might be up to, he couldn’t handle more of this cursed night. Instead, he decided to disapparate quickly before his befuddled brain and aching heart would make him do something he would come to regret. He had no a clear destination in his mind when he disapparated, which was just flat out dangerous to say the least, given the cloudy state of his tired brain, but strangely enough, he ended up at The Burrow.
And for the first time that night Harry smiled a worn out smile, suddenly aware of what took him here. He let himself in and tip-toed to the bedroom occupied by his children. He kneeled down next to the magically enlarged bed, hosting them all, and simply watched them dream the undisturbed dreams of the innocents. Tonight he desperately needed the comfort of their company. They were a balm to his damaged soul; he could watch them sleep for hours.
Little James slept like a log, one could literally break bricks on his back and he wouldn’t flinch. One of his arms was casually stretched over his little brother in what suspiciously looked like protective manner - something he would undoubtedly fiercely deny when wide awake. They fought like cats and dogs, of course, like two siblings and would-be alpha males always did.
Albus, Harry’s little carbon copy, was a far lighter sleeper. Even in his sleep he always shifted and turned endlessly as if constantly trying to find a more suitable position. But tonight he somewhat miraculously seemed to have settled comfortably under his big brother’s arm, snuggling ever closer to the comforting warmth of another body until he was all but completely tucked under James’s shoulder. And they both continued to slumber peacefully.
And then there was Lily, his little princess. And her overly large Babbity Rabbity, a fluffy worn-out plush toy that was almost bigger than herself; the one she was perfectly unable to go to sleep without. It had never failed to make Harry smile. A little, because seeing her little carrot head peaking out between the rabbit ears was just hilarious; and more than a little, because he was able to provide his daughter with something he never had and had desperately wanted as a child. A small on-the-spot comfort, a soft little bed companion you could tell all your secrets to and whom you trusted vehemently to protect you when you drifted off to sleep. A safe haven in your very arms. A tell-tale sign that someone cared and loved you dearly. Uncle Ron’s present.
Ron… God, had it really been just a little over 24 hours ago when he stretched his exhausted limbs over him, once again destroyed by the mind-blowing sex the redhead never failed to provide? Had it really been only a day since Ron nuzzled against him and asked softly: “Stay… just tonight…”? And he had said no, and he had damned himself to this hell of a day when he saw the light in those blue eyes fade and slowly be replaced by disappointment and resentment. And then Ron, his Ron, who had moments before made him dissolve into absolute bliss and surrender, stared at him with hurt and anger in his crystal blue eyes and hissed at him as if he was talking to an enemy: “Then stop treating me like some bloody man-whore, Potter, and get the fuck out of here!”
And everything went to pot from that moment on. For once Ron was unrelenting, growling insults through the clenched teeth, pain and spite etched into his every feature and he wouldn’t listen to anything Harry had to say. He barely gave him enough time to get dressed, throwing robes at him with dark fuming violence and all but pushed him in the Floo, for once deaf to Harry’s desperate pleas to be reasonable.
Harry urgently needed to make things right between them. He wanted his Ron back; as a friend, as a lover, it didn’t even matter at this point. He missed him; he missed his overwhelming warm presence so bad it ached physically, a dull dark pain in the centre of his chest as if he was constantly just a bit out of breath. He had to rectify this somehow; he couldn’t stand Ron hating him. Yes, he hoped he would dream about Ron tonight, about the time when it was just the two of them in the world of black and white and simple. He could do with a world of the thousand shades of grey, what he couldn’t do without, was Ron. He needed him back in his world, back by his side, just… back. At any price.
Without further ado Harry whispered a charm to enlarge the children’s bed some more and squeezed himself next to the row of small warm bodies, healing his tattered soul instantly with their soft breathing and the silly little sounds they made in their sleep. It was all for them. And for him. For Ron. He’d do anything to keep it all.
And before he knew it, Harry Potter drifted off to sleep, but his tired brain knew better than to let him dream of Ron. His sleep was a dreamless slumber of utter exhaustion as if his body knew that he needed to rest badly. He had his work cut out for him the following morning and he had to be quick and sharp to do it. It would take all of his magic to win his life back.
~ End of Part 5/2 ~
Next: Choices, Part 6
See also:
( Choices, Part 1 )
( Choices, Part 2 )
( Choices, Part 3 )
( Choices, Part 4 )
( Choices, Part 5/1 )
