17/01/2014 15:52![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
my_thestral
my_thestralAuthor's note: I just can't get myself to keep on writing this one lately - I've been stuck at the half of the next chapter for a month now with hardly anything written and whatever comes from under my fingers is kind of crap. So I decided to post the last complete chapter that I have written and maybe that'll kick-start the progress of this story, which, I'm afraid, has been turning increasingly boring. Oh, well - I need to make a mental note not to embark on any longer projects anymore, I'm clearly not up to it. :) LJ is a bit of a bitch about long texts, to I'll break this one in two parts as a precaution. I'm actually thinking about cross-posting at Archive of our own if the length is not that much of an issue there, but I need to investigate how things work there and I'm unusually thick when it comes to technology. :P
Anyway, the length of these two parts of a chapter is uneven, but if I must break it up, it makes sense to do it where it fits best. I hope any of this story still makes sense, it sure moves at an awfully slow pace. ;)
Word count: 2780 (this part)
Rating: god knows... R for whatever, I don't think any of it is for those underage, though this part is by far the most innocent
Pairing: Ron/Draco, some mention of Ron/Harry
Disclaimer: Not mine, not sure I could still be proud of it even if it was. And making money is more a fiction to me than my writing is - none made. :)
“For all the tangled curls in Merlin’s beard, finally!”
Draco Malfoy has been uncommonly nervous ever since Ron left him just in front of his wife’s protocolary quarters and quietly entered what Draco thought of “the lioness’ den”. He didn’t know why it bothered him so that Ron felt the need to talk to Hermione Granger Weasley. Oh, perhaps it was only the fact that she was admittedly the brightest witch in England at the formally most powerful position in the wizarding world and that from such a position she could do a significant amount of harm. Or was it that she was still Ron’s wife - someone that knew his man intimately and in far more detail that Draco could ever hope to at this point – and that she knew how to press his buttons and ultimately do god-knows what harm to their blooming relationship? Or perhaps simply - that he was due next through that solemn and foreboding looking door and that the woman on the other side of it hated him profoundly and had good reasons to. Harm again, this time for him alone.
Draco knew that in his heart he was no Gryffindor – if running was the wisest choice, he would have made it gladly - the Slytherins were, after all, the ultimate survivors, always calculating their chances of success and doing what was most rational and beneficial to their continued existence. Right now, bravery was not on the list. Draco knew that any other time, he would have avoided confrontation, at least until he could back himself and his arguments up sufficiently that he could face the Mud… the bloody woman on equal grounds. Or at the very least until when most of the initial shock wore off and she was less likely to hex him into his dead Auntie Bellatrix’s puppy, the most miserable wretched being that Draco ever had the dubious pleasure to encounter.
Frankly, ever since Ron left, he had kicked himself mentally an infinite number of times for ever giving away such a reckless promise to meet the scary bitch and – oh, bloody hell! – apologize and with every passing moment Ron spent closed off behind the massive quiet door he grew more itchy and agitated. Of course, years of Malfoyian drill had him well equipped for dealing with the situation of having to hide his nervousness and though he seemingly casually leaned against the wall in the lobby in front of the ministerial quarters, he chose to spend his time and work out his nervousness by doing what he did best: being wicked.
First he entertained himself by catching the memos wheezing past his ears and making him edgy – suits them right, then. He opened every single one he managed to snatch from the air – some struggled viciously and the yellow ones holding the super-important secrets were charmed beyond his reach, but no matter – and he read them all. With a reckless “blah blah blah, she really doesn’t need to know that, she’s got enough on her mind today,” he threw a hefty lot of them away - seriously, if he was ever made a Minister, he would never have allowed people to bother him with such trivial nonsense! And then he went off to incinerate some of the more stubborn ones – those sent by Potter persistently asking admittance in a 1001 way to his once-best friend were the first to go. Some of the memos he begrudgingly recognised as somewhat important, so he let them be, at least the content, but he charmed them to be particularly evasive and hard to open just out of spite. Why should life be easy on other people when he seemed to sink from one trouble to another this morning?
And then people started coming, dripping in one by one, sometimes in pairs, inevitably stopping dead in their tracks when they spotted him holding his place by the door. A first couple of them he simply chased away with a haughty “I believe your business here is hardly important today, don’t you think?” and a strategically placed raised eyebrow, but as the time drove by and there was still no Ron to be seen, he grew progressively more nervous and pissed off – and consequently more vicious. The fact that he knew he was quitting in the days to come did nothing to sweeten his hungry-shark attitude.
“What in bloody hell are you staring at?!” he barked at the wide-eyed female trainee, who just stumbled in, crouched under the weight of what looked like a million files. The woman positively squealed and surely enough, the files began dropping left and right from her overloaded trembling arms. Oh, an easy prey, just what he needed right now! Straight for the jugular, then!
“On a second thought: do take a good hard look at an attractive male up close, darling –given your battered appearance that might well be your last chance. Got in a fight with a hippogriff this morning, did you? Even so: do un-freeze the sorry remnants of your befuddled brain for a moment, just long enough to remember that you are actually a witch and as such you should be perfectly able to levitate those files rather than murder yourself carrying them around like a mere Muggle! Like so…”
He effortlessly made the files float and even made them sort themselves out in the alphabetical order -before he had them rush recklessly right back through the door from where the hapless witch appeared moments ago. “And don’t bother coming back until you do something about that hair-do, I implore you, it is giving me a headache! “ he threw at her rapidly departing back when she embarked on a hopeless chase to catch the files before the precious contents was spilled. Oh, all the life’s little pleasures…
Then there was a middle-aged stiff-looking wizard, one of those types who were proud to be traditional family men and were as bigoted as they came. He looked suspiciously as if he had no business with the Minister, but merely came to pry and gloat on Draco’s misery, so the blond took one long hard look at him, effectively freezing him on the spot and informed him coldly that he was too late if he came for his portion of snogs, he’d already chosen his man, thank you very much:
“But since you do look rather desperate for a real man’s hug, you might want to try your luck with my father, he’s as manly as it gets and closer to your age – though I’m afraid I can’t give you any sound advice how to get around my mother!” he offered with chilling politeness before the man flew as if the Hungarian Horntail was behind his heels, swearing something about “corrupt rich buggers” under his breath.
He had fun with a few more hapless visitors, right until a young man approached him; a boyish looking lad that looked barely out of Hogwarts. Draco remembered seeing him around and about far too many times to be random and judging by the young man’s jittery demeanour and a standard procedure of stuttering and blushing in his presence, he rightfully suspected the boy might have a crush on him. When he came up close, the blond noticed he was yet again flushed almost – almost! – Weasley red and shaking nervously and it was obvious it took some serious effort for him to be here. Therefore he said nothing, he just raised his eyebrow in a silent question and waited for the young man to speak his business – it was obvious, he was there for Draco and not for the Minister.
The young man opened and closed his mouth several times as if the words just wouldn’t come and then he finally managed to stammer: “I was… that was a very brave thing to do Mr. Malfoy. I… there is not many out there like… us…” – he looked positively ready to faint at this admittance – “and I think you and Mr. Weasley are very… oh, god… brave and lovely together… and I wish you both all the luck in the world. I wish I had someone like that as well,” he blurted in the end, misery clearly etched into his young face.
There was something about the young man that brought back a flash of memories of Draco’s own discovery he preferred boys to girls - well, at that point, just one particular boy - and it was not hard to remember how wretched, confused and alone it made him feel. Staring down the flushed embarrassed looking face he found appreciation for the young man’s bravery and somehow his anger and his frustration evaporated at the sight:
“You were a Gryffindor at Hogwarts, weren’t you?” ha asked a seemingly unrelated question and when the lad nodded in confusion, Draco just sighed: “Gryffindors! A bunch of trouble, everywhere they go! And I happen to have a soft spot for one, right lucky I am! What is your name, then?”
“Arjen… Arjen Debonheur, Mr. Malfoy, Sir,” the young man desperately fought to keep his wits about. Continental origin, then and if his memory served him right, not a pureblood surname - the boy had no idea how lucky he was.
“Well, Mr. Debonheur, Arjen, if you don’t mind me calling you by your first name – thank you for your support. I believe Mr. Weasley and I are on a bit of a short supply of friends at the moment and I’m sure it took a great deal of courage for you to openly express your… appreciation of our relationship. I will be sure to remember your kindness,” he said as charmingly as he could and saw the young man positively melt in front of his eyes. And something about his vulnerability brushed against a soft spot in Draco and – damn Gryffindors, that’s what you get hanging out with them, turning all noble and generous, he mentally rolled his eyes up at himself, as he offered as matter-of-factly as he could (god forbid a Malfoy should ever be accused of showing compassion!):
“You’re not alone in this, of course, as I’m sure you know. There are plenty of those like you… like us out there, one just has to know where to look. Should you be interested in… meeting one of our persuasion, I could, perhaps, stir you in the right direction….?” He looked at the young man pointedly when posing a delicate question, hoping he was not thick as well as a Gryffindor. When his inquiry was met with enthusiastic nodding, he merely smiled the tiniest of approving smiles and skilfully summoned a piece of parchment and a quill from the pocket of a passing-by witch without ever attracting her attention.
“This is the address and this… is the password. You need to say these words at the entrance and you will be admitted, no questions asked. It is “by invitation only” so you will need to state your reference once you’re inside. Name me and you will be treated properly. The establishment is discrete and quite respectable, though not as exclusive as some gentlemen’s clubs. They will not ask your bloodline and they will not question your motives. Once you look around you will be surprised how many faces you recognise. And even if you do not find a partner of your choice – I admit, I couldn’t, as I’ve been quite focused on Mr. Weasley for a good deal of forever and he doesn’t do this kind of establishments – it will make you feel less alone and you just might make friends you never thought possible.”
“I… thank you ever so much, Mr. Malfoy!” stuttered Arjen Debonheur, awed, radiating and still hardly able to believe his luck.
“Don’t mention it. Well, best be on your way, you don’t want to be seen with me if you’re not quite ready to come out yet,” Draco stretched out his arm, anxious to bid the young man goodbye as he felt quite drained of all the good deeds for the day. The young man shook it eagerly, staring at him as if he just found his god and Draco couldn’t help but feeling just a bit smug.
“I leave you alone for a bloody half an hour and you’ve already found yourself someone younger to pounce upon?” came a deep warm voice behind him and Draco positively jumped, the young man forgotten on the spot. Only years of Malfoyian drill stopped him from truly pouncing on a tall redhead with amusement and just a smidge of Weasley jealousy in this blue eyes and Draco could hardly think of a way to channel a sudden wave of love, relief and a tiny bit of awe that washed over him when he saw Ron staring at him with that look in his eyes.
“For all the tangled curls in Merlin’s beard, finally!” he blurted out impatiently, his nervousness back with a vengeance when he saw a serious expression on Ron’s face. At some point the young man vanished, barely finding a way out of the corridor in his bliss and because they were once more alone, Ron chanced embracing the slender blond. “How did it…?” Draco’s question died on his lips when Ron kissed him thoroughly and then proceeded to look at him intently. He loved the kiss, but he didn’t like that look.
“We’re alright, Hermione and I; I think she’s ready to forgive me as she’s aware she had no small part to play in this fiasco that was our marriage. But as for you… I’m afraid she thinks you’re the devil incarnate, so I had to put all my weight in before she even agreed to at least hear you out.”
“Well, you really shouldn’t have bothered,” murmured Draco, no more eager to face what he assumed would be a very livid, very powerful witch. He hated going into a fight and not having an upper hand, but when Ron looked at him like that, with that serious trusting spark in the brilliant blue eyes, he found out he had no heart to deny him.
“Do try, Draco, and do it honestly. I know you can, I’ve seen you give it your best and look where it landed us in just a couple of days. I need you to settle this to the best of your abilities, this is our future we’re talking about. I don’t expect miracles, I know how angry my wife is at you and right now, I’m quite happy not to be in your shoes –“ yeah, never lose trust in Ron’s brilliant ability to reassure people, thought Draco miserably, a true motivational speaker his boyfriend was! – “but you’ve brought this upon yourself and I need you to settle it. Can I count on you?”
The blue eyes stared at him seriously for a long moment, before a tiny spark of mischief crawled in and the redhead said in a matter-of-fact voice: “I would be… very grateful, of course… you have no idea how much… Perhaps you’d like to see tonight over a nice dinner just how grateful I can be?” he raised one of the ginger eyebrows and looked deeply into the grey eyes. And what Draco read in the blue expanse could make him go after a troll with no wand at hand.
“Sure, whatever, let’s get it over with,” he blurted, his wits clearly melted like a heap of snow in August. He grabbed the door-knob adamantly and chanced one last look at his lover: “You… will be the death of me one day, Weasley. I just hope it’s not this day. I doubt you can afford the funeral I want!” And with these words he marched though the door without ever looking back.
“Send me an owl when you’re done!” Ron threw in behind him. “And good luck, love,” he added to himself, with no small amount of sympathy. Normally, he’d pay good money to be able to face this particular confrontation – that is, if his feelings weren’t involved. Clearly there were two forces of nature about to face each other in that room and Ron wasn’t so certain of the outcome as he’d like to be. But there was little for it now, he had things to do in what looked like it was going to be another endless day. He decided it was as good a time as any to have lunch with his brother. He needed Bill’s help if he wanted to make things right with his family – another thing he had left unresolved for far too long and yet another seemingly impossible task.“For all the tangled curls in Merlin’s beard, finally!”
Draco Malfoy has been uncommonly nervous ever since Ron left him just in front of his wife’s protocolary quarters and quietly entered what Draco thought of “the lioness’ den”. He didn’t know why it bothered him so that Ron felt the need to talk to Hermione Granger Weasley. Oh, perhaps it was only the fact that she was admittedly the brightest witch in England at the formally most powerful position in the wizarding world and that from such a position she could do a significant amount of harm. Or was it that she was still Ron’s wife - someone that knew his man intimately and in far more detail that Draco could ever hope to at this point – and that she knew how to press his buttons and ultimately do god-knows what harm to their blooming relationship? Or perhaps simply - that he was due next through that solemn and foreboding looking door and that the woman on the other side of it hated him profoundly and had good reasons to. Harm again, this time for him alone.
Draco knew that in his heart he was no Gryffindor – if running was the wisest choice, he would have made it gladly - the Slytherins were, after all, the ultimate survivors, always calculating their chances of success and doing what was most rational and beneficial to their continued existence. Right now, bravery was not on the list. Draco knew that any other time, he would have avoided confrontation, at least until he could back himself and his arguments up sufficiently that he could face the Mud… the bloody woman on equal grounds. Or at the very least until when most of the initial shock wore off and she was less likely to hex him into his dead Auntie Bellatrix’s puppy, the most miserable wretched being that Draco ever had the dubious pleasure to encounter.
Frankly, ever since Ron left, he had kicked himself mentally an infinite number of times for ever giving away such a reckless promise to meet the scary bitch and – oh, bloody hell! – apologize and with every passing moment Ron spent closed off behind the massive quiet door he grew more itchy and agitated. Of course, years of Malfoyian drill had him well equipped for dealing with the situation of having to hide his nervousness and though he seemingly casually leaned against the wall in the lobby in front of the ministerial quarters, he chose to spend his time and work out his nervousness by doing what he did best: being wicked.
First he entertained himself by catching the memos wheezing past his ears and making him edgy – suits them right, then. He opened every single one he managed to snatch from the air – some struggled viciously and the yellow ones holding the super-important secrets were charmed beyond his reach, but no matter – and he read them all. With a reckless “blah blah blah, she really doesn’t need to know that, she’s got enough on her mind today,” he threw a hefty lot of them away - seriously, if he was ever made a Minister, he would never have allowed people to bother him with such trivial nonsense! And then he went off to incinerate some of the more stubborn ones – those sent by Potter persistently asking admittance in a 1001 way to his once-best friend were the first to go. Some of the memos he begrudgingly recognised as somewhat important, so he let them be, at least the content, but he charmed them to be particularly evasive and hard to open just out of spite. Why should life be easy on other people when he seemed to sink from one trouble to another this morning?
And then people started coming, dripping in one by one, sometimes in pairs, inevitably stopping dead in their tracks when they spotted him holding his place by the door. A first couple of them he simply chased away with a haughty “I believe your business here is hardly important today, don’t you think?” and a strategically placed raised eyebrow, but as the time drove by and there was still no Ron to be seen, he grew progressively more nervous and pissed off – and consequently more vicious. The fact that he knew he was quitting in the days to come did nothing to sweeten his hungry-shark attitude.
“What in bloody hell are you staring at?!” he barked at the wide-eyed female trainee, who just stumbled in, crouched under the weight of what looked like a million files. The woman positively squealed and surely enough, the files began dropping left and right from her overloaded trembling arms. Oh, an easy prey, just what he needed right now! Straight for the jugular, then!
“On a second thought: do take a good hard look at an attractive male up close, darling –given your battered appearance that might well be your last chance. Got in a fight with a hippogriff this morning, did you? Even so: do un-freeze the sorry remnants of your befuddled brain for a moment, just long enough to remember that you are actually a witch and as such you should be perfectly able to levitate those files rather than murder yourself carrying them around like a mere Muggle! Like so…”
He effortlessly made the files float and even made them sort themselves out in the alphabetical order -before he had them rush recklessly right back through the door from where the hapless witch appeared moments ago. “And don’t bother coming back until you do something about that hair-do, I implore you, it is giving me a headache! “ he threw at her rapidly departing back when she embarked on a hopeless chase to catch the files before the precious contents was spilled. Oh, all the life’s little pleasures…
Then there was a middle-aged stiff-looking wizard, one of those types who were proud to be traditional family men and were as bigoted as they came. He looked suspiciously as if he had no business with the Minister, but merely came to pry and gloat on Draco’s misery, so the blond took one long hard look at him, effectively freezing him on the spot and informed him coldly that he was too late if he came for his portion of snogs, he’d already chosen his man, thank you very much:
“But since you do look rather desperate for a real man’s hug, you might want to try your luck with my father, he’s as manly as it gets and closer to your age – though I’m afraid I can’t give you any sound advice how to get around my mother!” he offered with chilling politeness before the man flew as if the Hungarian Horntail was behind his heels, swearing something about “corrupt rich buggers” under his breath.
He had fun with a few more hapless visitors, right until a young man approached him; a boyish looking lad that looked barely out of Hogwarts. Draco remembered seeing him around and about far too many times to be random and judging by the young man’s jittery demeanour and a standard procedure of stuttering and blushing in his presence, he rightfully suspected the boy might have a crush on him. When he came up close, the blond noticed he was yet again flushed almost – almost! – Weasley red and shaking nervously and it was obvious it took some serious effort for him to be here. Therefore he said nothing, he just raised his eyebrow in a silent question and waited for the young man to speak his business – it was obvious, he was there for Draco and not for the Minister.
The young man opened and closed his mouth several times as if the words just wouldn’t come and then he finally managed to stammer: “I was… that was a very brave thing to do Mr. Malfoy. I… there is not many out there like… us…” – he looked positively ready to faint at this admittance – “and I think you and Mr. Weasley are very… oh, god… brave and lovely together… and I wish you both all the luck in the world. I wish I had someone like that as well,” he blurted in the end, misery clearly etched into his young face.
There was something about the young man that brought back a flash of memories of Draco’s own discovery he preferred boys to girls - well, at that point, just one particular boy - and it was not hard to remember how wretched, confused and alone it made him feel. Staring down the flushed embarrassed looking face he found appreciation for the young man’s bravery and somehow his anger and his frustration evaporated at the sight:
“You were a Gryffindor at Hogwarts, weren’t you?” ha asked a seemingly unrelated question and when the lad nodded in confusion, Draco just sighed: “Gryffindors! A bunch of trouble, everywhere they go! And I happen to have a soft spot for one, right lucky I am! What is your name, then?”
“Arjen… Arjen Debonheur, Mr. Malfoy, Sir,” the young man desperately fought to keep his wits about. Continental origin, then and if his memory served him right, not a pureblood surname - the boy had no idea how lucky he was.
“Well, Mr. Debonheur, Arjen, if you don’t mind me calling you by your first name – thank you for your support. I believe Mr. Weasley and I are on a bit of a short supply of friends at the moment and I’m sure it took a great deal of courage for you to openly express your… appreciation of our relationship. I will be sure to remember your kindness,” he said as charmingly as he could and saw the young man positively melt in front of his eyes. And something about his vulnerability brushed against a soft spot in Draco and – damn Gryffindors, that’s what you get hanging out with them, turning all noble and generous, he mentally rolled his eyes up at himself, as he offered as matter-of-factly as he could (god forbid a Malfoy should ever be accused of showing compassion!):
“You’re not alone in this, of course, as I’m sure you know. There are plenty of those like you… like us out there, one just has to know where to look. Should you be interested in… meeting one of our persuasion, I could, perhaps, stir you in the right direction….?” He looked at the young man pointedly when posing a delicate question, hoping he was not thick as well as a Gryffindor. When his inquiry was met with enthusiastic nodding, he merely smiled the tiniest of approving smiles and skilfully summoned a piece of parchment and a quill from the pocket of a passing-by witch without ever attracting her attention.
“This is the address and this… is the password. You need to say these words at the entrance and you will be admitted, no questions asked. It is “by invitation only” so you will need to state your reference once you’re inside. Name me and you will be treated properly. The establishment is discrete and quite respectable, though not as exclusive as some gentlemen’s clubs. They will not ask your bloodline and they will not question your motives. Once you look around you will be surprised how many faces you recognise. And even if you do not find a partner of your choice – I admit, I couldn’t, as I’ve been quite focused on Mr. Weasley for a good deal of forever and he doesn’t do this kind of establishments – it will make you feel less alone and you just might make friends you never thought possible.”
“I… thank you ever so much, Mr. Malfoy!” stuttered Arjen Debonheur, awed, radiating and still hardly able to believe his luck.
“Don’t mention it. Well, best be on your way, you don’t want to be seen with me if you’re not quite ready to come out yet,” Draco stretched out his arm, anxious to bid the young man goodbye as he felt quite drained of all the good deeds for the day. The young man shook it eagerly, staring at him as if he just found his god and Draco couldn’t help but feeling just a bit smug.
“I leave you alone for a bloody half an hour and you’ve already found yourself someone younger to pounce upon?” came a deep warm voice behind him and Draco positively jumped, the young man forgotten on the spot. Only years of Malfoyian drill stopped him from truly pouncing on a tall redhead with amusement and just a smidge of Weasley jealousy in this blue eyes and Draco could hardly think of a way to channel a sudden wave of love, relief and a tiny bit of awe that washed over him when he saw Ron staring at him with that look in his eyes.
“For all the tangled curls in Merlin’s beard, finally!” he blurted out impatiently, his nervousness back with a vengeance when he saw a serious expression on Ron’s face. At some point the young man vanished, barely finding a way out of the corridor in his bliss and because they were once more alone, Ron chanced embracing the slender blond. “How did it…?” Draco’s question died on his lips when Ron kissed him thoroughly and then proceeded to look at him intently. He loved the kiss, but he didn’t like that look.
“We’re alright, Hermione and I; I think she’s ready to forgive me as she’s aware she had no small part to play in this fiasco that was our marriage. But as for you… I’m afraid she thinks you’re the devil incarnate, so I had to put all my weight in before she even agreed to at least hear you out.”
“Well, you really shouldn’t have bothered,” murmured Draco, no more eager to face what he assumed would be a very livid, very powerful witch. He hated going into a fight and not having an upper hand, but when Ron looked at him like that, with that serious trusting spark in the brilliant blue eyes, he found out he had no heart to deny him.
“Do try, Draco, and do it honestly. I know you can, I’ve seen you give it your best and look where it landed us in just a couple of days. I need you to settle this to the best of your abilities, this is our future we’re talking about. I don’t expect miracles, I know how angry my wife is at you and right now, I’m quite happy not to be in your shoes –“ yeah, never lose trust in Ron’s brilliant ability to reassure people, thought Draco miserably, a true motivational speaker his boyfriend was! – “but you’ve brought this upon yourself and I need you to settle it. Can I count on you?”
The blue eyes stared at him seriously for a long moment, before a tiny spark of mischief crawled in and the redhead said in a matter-of-fact voice: “I would be… very grateful, of course… you have no idea how much… Perhaps you’d like to see tonight over a nice dinner just how grateful I can be?” he raised one of the ginger eyebrows and looked deeply into the grey eyes. And what Draco read in the blue expanse could make him go after a troll with no wand at hand.
“Sure, whatever, let’s get it over with,” he blurted, his wits clearly melted like a heap of snow in August. He grabbed the door-knob adamantly and chanced one last look at his lover: “You… will be the death of me one day, Weasley. I just hope it’s not this day. I doubt you can afford the funeral I want!” And with these words he marched though the door without ever looking back.
“Send me an owl when you’re done!” Ron threw in behind him. “And good luck, love,” he added to himself, with no small amount of sympathy. Normally, he’d pay good money to be able to face this particular confrontation – that is, if his feelings weren’t involved. Clearly there were two forces of nature about to face each other in that room and Ron wasn’t so certain of the outcome as he’d like to be. But there was little for it now, he had things to do in what looked like it was going to be another endless day. He decided it was as good a time as any to have lunch with his brother. He needed Bill’s help if he wanted to make things right with his family – another thing he had left unresolved for far too long and yet another seemingly impossible task.
~ End of Part 10/1 ~
Next: Choices, Part 10/2
See also:
(Choices, Part 1)
( Choices, Part 2 )
( Choices, Part 3 )
( Choices, Part 4 )
( Choices, Part 5/1 )
( Choices, Part 5/2 )
( Choices, Part 6 )
( Choices, Part 7 )
( Choices, Part 8/1 )
( Choices, Part 8/2 )
( Choices, Part 9 )
Anyway, the length of these two parts of a chapter is uneven, but if I must break it up, it makes sense to do it where it fits best. I hope any of this story still makes sense, it sure moves at an awfully slow pace. ;)
Word count: 2780 (this part)
Rating: god knows... R for whatever, I don't think any of it is for those underage, though this part is by far the most innocent
Pairing: Ron/Draco, some mention of Ron/Harry
Disclaimer: Not mine, not sure I could still be proud of it even if it was. And making money is more a fiction to me than my writing is - none made. :)
“For all the tangled curls in Merlin’s beard, finally!”
Draco Malfoy has been uncommonly nervous ever since Ron left him just in front of his wife’s protocolary quarters and quietly entered what Draco thought of “the lioness’ den”. He didn’t know why it bothered him so that Ron felt the need to talk to Hermione Granger Weasley. Oh, perhaps it was only the fact that she was admittedly the brightest witch in England at the formally most powerful position in the wizarding world and that from such a position she could do a significant amount of harm. Or was it that she was still Ron’s wife - someone that knew his man intimately and in far more detail that Draco could ever hope to at this point – and that she knew how to press his buttons and ultimately do god-knows what harm to their blooming relationship? Or perhaps simply - that he was due next through that solemn and foreboding looking door and that the woman on the other side of it hated him profoundly and had good reasons to. Harm again, this time for him alone.
Draco knew that in his heart he was no Gryffindor – if running was the wisest choice, he would have made it gladly - the Slytherins were, after all, the ultimate survivors, always calculating their chances of success and doing what was most rational and beneficial to their continued existence. Right now, bravery was not on the list. Draco knew that any other time, he would have avoided confrontation, at least until he could back himself and his arguments up sufficiently that he could face the Mud… the bloody woman on equal grounds. Or at the very least until when most of the initial shock wore off and she was less likely to hex him into his dead Auntie Bellatrix’s puppy, the most miserable wretched being that Draco ever had the dubious pleasure to encounter.
Frankly, ever since Ron left, he had kicked himself mentally an infinite number of times for ever giving away such a reckless promise to meet the scary bitch and – oh, bloody hell! – apologize and with every passing moment Ron spent closed off behind the massive quiet door he grew more itchy and agitated. Of course, years of Malfoyian drill had him well equipped for dealing with the situation of having to hide his nervousness and though he seemingly casually leaned against the wall in the lobby in front of the ministerial quarters, he chose to spend his time and work out his nervousness by doing what he did best: being wicked.
First he entertained himself by catching the memos wheezing past his ears and making him edgy – suits them right, then. He opened every single one he managed to snatch from the air – some struggled viciously and the yellow ones holding the super-important secrets were charmed beyond his reach, but no matter – and he read them all. With a reckless “blah blah blah, she really doesn’t need to know that, she’s got enough on her mind today,” he threw a hefty lot of them away - seriously, if he was ever made a Minister, he would never have allowed people to bother him with such trivial nonsense! And then he went off to incinerate some of the more stubborn ones – those sent by Potter persistently asking admittance in a 1001 way to his once-best friend were the first to go. Some of the memos he begrudgingly recognised as somewhat important, so he let them be, at least the content, but he charmed them to be particularly evasive and hard to open just out of spite. Why should life be easy on other people when he seemed to sink from one trouble to another this morning?
And then people started coming, dripping in one by one, sometimes in pairs, inevitably stopping dead in their tracks when they spotted him holding his place by the door. A first couple of them he simply chased away with a haughty “I believe your business here is hardly important today, don’t you think?” and a strategically placed raised eyebrow, but as the time drove by and there was still no Ron to be seen, he grew progressively more nervous and pissed off – and consequently more vicious. The fact that he knew he was quitting in the days to come did nothing to sweeten his hungry-shark attitude.
“What in bloody hell are you staring at?!” he barked at the wide-eyed female trainee, who just stumbled in, crouched under the weight of what looked like a million files. The woman positively squealed and surely enough, the files began dropping left and right from her overloaded trembling arms. Oh, an easy prey, just what he needed right now! Straight for the jugular, then!
“On a second thought: do take a good hard look at an attractive male up close, darling –given your battered appearance that might well be your last chance. Got in a fight with a hippogriff this morning, did you? Even so: do un-freeze the sorry remnants of your befuddled brain for a moment, just long enough to remember that you are actually a witch and as such you should be perfectly able to levitate those files rather than murder yourself carrying them around like a mere Muggle! Like so…”
He effortlessly made the files float and even made them sort themselves out in the alphabetical order -before he had them rush recklessly right back through the door from where the hapless witch appeared moments ago. “And don’t bother coming back until you do something about that hair-do, I implore you, it is giving me a headache! “ he threw at her rapidly departing back when she embarked on a hopeless chase to catch the files before the precious contents was spilled. Oh, all the life’s little pleasures…
Then there was a middle-aged stiff-looking wizard, one of those types who were proud to be traditional family men and were as bigoted as they came. He looked suspiciously as if he had no business with the Minister, but merely came to pry and gloat on Draco’s misery, so the blond took one long hard look at him, effectively freezing him on the spot and informed him coldly that he was too late if he came for his portion of snogs, he’d already chosen his man, thank you very much:
“But since you do look rather desperate for a real man’s hug, you might want to try your luck with my father, he’s as manly as it gets and closer to your age – though I’m afraid I can’t give you any sound advice how to get around my mother!” he offered with chilling politeness before the man flew as if the Hungarian Horntail was behind his heels, swearing something about “corrupt rich buggers” under his breath.
He had fun with a few more hapless visitors, right until a young man approached him; a boyish looking lad that looked barely out of Hogwarts. Draco remembered seeing him around and about far too many times to be random and judging by the young man’s jittery demeanour and a standard procedure of stuttering and blushing in his presence, he rightfully suspected the boy might have a crush on him. When he came up close, the blond noticed he was yet again flushed almost – almost! – Weasley red and shaking nervously and it was obvious it took some serious effort for him to be here. Therefore he said nothing, he just raised his eyebrow in a silent question and waited for the young man to speak his business – it was obvious, he was there for Draco and not for the Minister.
The young man opened and closed his mouth several times as if the words just wouldn’t come and then he finally managed to stammer: “I was… that was a very brave thing to do Mr. Malfoy. I… there is not many out there like… us…” – he looked positively ready to faint at this admittance – “and I think you and Mr. Weasley are very… oh, god… brave and lovely together… and I wish you both all the luck in the world. I wish I had someone like that as well,” he blurted in the end, misery clearly etched into his young face.
There was something about the young man that brought back a flash of memories of Draco’s own discovery he preferred boys to girls - well, at that point, just one particular boy - and it was not hard to remember how wretched, confused and alone it made him feel. Staring down the flushed embarrassed looking face he found appreciation for the young man’s bravery and somehow his anger and his frustration evaporated at the sight:
“You were a Gryffindor at Hogwarts, weren’t you?” ha asked a seemingly unrelated question and when the lad nodded in confusion, Draco just sighed: “Gryffindors! A bunch of trouble, everywhere they go! And I happen to have a soft spot for one, right lucky I am! What is your name, then?”
“Arjen… Arjen Debonheur, Mr. Malfoy, Sir,” the young man desperately fought to keep his wits about. Continental origin, then and if his memory served him right, not a pureblood surname - the boy had no idea how lucky he was.
“Well, Mr. Debonheur, Arjen, if you don’t mind me calling you by your first name – thank you for your support. I believe Mr. Weasley and I are on a bit of a short supply of friends at the moment and I’m sure it took a great deal of courage for you to openly express your… appreciation of our relationship. I will be sure to remember your kindness,” he said as charmingly as he could and saw the young man positively melt in front of his eyes. And something about his vulnerability brushed against a soft spot in Draco and – damn Gryffindors, that’s what you get hanging out with them, turning all noble and generous, he mentally rolled his eyes up at himself, as he offered as matter-of-factly as he could (god forbid a Malfoy should ever be accused of showing compassion!):
“You’re not alone in this, of course, as I’m sure you know. There are plenty of those like you… like us out there, one just has to know where to look. Should you be interested in… meeting one of our persuasion, I could, perhaps, stir you in the right direction….?” He looked at the young man pointedly when posing a delicate question, hoping he was not thick as well as a Gryffindor. When his inquiry was met with enthusiastic nodding, he merely smiled the tiniest of approving smiles and skilfully summoned a piece of parchment and a quill from the pocket of a passing-by witch without ever attracting her attention.
“This is the address and this… is the password. You need to say these words at the entrance and you will be admitted, no questions asked. It is “by invitation only” so you will need to state your reference once you’re inside. Name me and you will be treated properly. The establishment is discrete and quite respectable, though not as exclusive as some gentlemen’s clubs. They will not ask your bloodline and they will not question your motives. Once you look around you will be surprised how many faces you recognise. And even if you do not find a partner of your choice – I admit, I couldn’t, as I’ve been quite focused on Mr. Weasley for a good deal of forever and he doesn’t do this kind of establishments – it will make you feel less alone and you just might make friends you never thought possible.”
“I… thank you ever so much, Mr. Malfoy!” stuttered Arjen Debonheur, awed, radiating and still hardly able to believe his luck.
“Don’t mention it. Well, best be on your way, you don’t want to be seen with me if you’re not quite ready to come out yet,” Draco stretched out his arm, anxious to bid the young man goodbye as he felt quite drained of all the good deeds for the day. The young man shook it eagerly, staring at him as if he just found his god and Draco couldn’t help but feeling just a bit smug.
“I leave you alone for a bloody half an hour and you’ve already found yourself someone younger to pounce upon?” came a deep warm voice behind him and Draco positively jumped, the young man forgotten on the spot. Only years of Malfoyian drill stopped him from truly pouncing on a tall redhead with amusement and just a smidge of Weasley jealousy in this blue eyes and Draco could hardly think of a way to channel a sudden wave of love, relief and a tiny bit of awe that washed over him when he saw Ron staring at him with that look in his eyes.
“For all the tangled curls in Merlin’s beard, finally!” he blurted out impatiently, his nervousness back with a vengeance when he saw a serious expression on Ron’s face. At some point the young man vanished, barely finding a way out of the corridor in his bliss and because they were once more alone, Ron chanced embracing the slender blond. “How did it…?” Draco’s question died on his lips when Ron kissed him thoroughly and then proceeded to look at him intently. He loved the kiss, but he didn’t like that look.
“We’re alright, Hermione and I; I think she’s ready to forgive me as she’s aware she had no small part to play in this fiasco that was our marriage. But as for you… I’m afraid she thinks you’re the devil incarnate, so I had to put all my weight in before she even agreed to at least hear you out.”
“Well, you really shouldn’t have bothered,” murmured Draco, no more eager to face what he assumed would be a very livid, very powerful witch. He hated going into a fight and not having an upper hand, but when Ron looked at him like that, with that serious trusting spark in the brilliant blue eyes, he found out he had no heart to deny him.
“Do try, Draco, and do it honestly. I know you can, I’ve seen you give it your best and look where it landed us in just a couple of days. I need you to settle this to the best of your abilities, this is our future we’re talking about. I don’t expect miracles, I know how angry my wife is at you and right now, I’m quite happy not to be in your shoes –“ yeah, never lose trust in Ron’s brilliant ability to reassure people, thought Draco miserably, a true motivational speaker his boyfriend was! – “but you’ve brought this upon yourself and I need you to settle it. Can I count on you?”
The blue eyes stared at him seriously for a long moment, before a tiny spark of mischief crawled in and the redhead said in a matter-of-fact voice: “I would be… very grateful, of course… you have no idea how much… Perhaps you’d like to see tonight over a nice dinner just how grateful I can be?” he raised one of the ginger eyebrows and looked deeply into the grey eyes. And what Draco read in the blue expanse could make him go after a troll with no wand at hand.
“Sure, whatever, let’s get it over with,” he blurted, his wits clearly melted like a heap of snow in August. He grabbed the door-knob adamantly and chanced one last look at his lover: “You… will be the death of me one day, Weasley. I just hope it’s not this day. I doubt you can afford the funeral I want!” And with these words he marched though the door without ever looking back.
“Send me an owl when you’re done!” Ron threw in behind him. “And good luck, love,” he added to himself, with no small amount of sympathy. Normally, he’d pay good money to be able to face this particular confrontation – that is, if his feelings weren’t involved. Clearly there were two forces of nature about to face each other in that room and Ron wasn’t so certain of the outcome as he’d like to be. But there was little for it now, he had things to do in what looked like it was going to be another endless day. He decided it was as good a time as any to have lunch with his brother. He needed Bill’s help if he wanted to make things right with his family – another thing he had left unresolved for far too long and yet another seemingly impossible task.“For all the tangled curls in Merlin’s beard, finally!”
Draco Malfoy has been uncommonly nervous ever since Ron left him just in front of his wife’s protocolary quarters and quietly entered what Draco thought of “the lioness’ den”. He didn’t know why it bothered him so that Ron felt the need to talk to Hermione Granger Weasley. Oh, perhaps it was only the fact that she was admittedly the brightest witch in England at the formally most powerful position in the wizarding world and that from such a position she could do a significant amount of harm. Or was it that she was still Ron’s wife - someone that knew his man intimately and in far more detail that Draco could ever hope to at this point – and that she knew how to press his buttons and ultimately do god-knows what harm to their blooming relationship? Or perhaps simply - that he was due next through that solemn and foreboding looking door and that the woman on the other side of it hated him profoundly and had good reasons to. Harm again, this time for him alone.
Draco knew that in his heart he was no Gryffindor – if running was the wisest choice, he would have made it gladly - the Slytherins were, after all, the ultimate survivors, always calculating their chances of success and doing what was most rational and beneficial to their continued existence. Right now, bravery was not on the list. Draco knew that any other time, he would have avoided confrontation, at least until he could back himself and his arguments up sufficiently that he could face the Mud… the bloody woman on equal grounds. Or at the very least until when most of the initial shock wore off and she was less likely to hex him into his dead Auntie Bellatrix’s puppy, the most miserable wretched being that Draco ever had the dubious pleasure to encounter.
Frankly, ever since Ron left, he had kicked himself mentally an infinite number of times for ever giving away such a reckless promise to meet the scary bitch and – oh, bloody hell! – apologize and with every passing moment Ron spent closed off behind the massive quiet door he grew more itchy and agitated. Of course, years of Malfoyian drill had him well equipped for dealing with the situation of having to hide his nervousness and though he seemingly casually leaned against the wall in the lobby in front of the ministerial quarters, he chose to spend his time and work out his nervousness by doing what he did best: being wicked.
First he entertained himself by catching the memos wheezing past his ears and making him edgy – suits them right, then. He opened every single one he managed to snatch from the air – some struggled viciously and the yellow ones holding the super-important secrets were charmed beyond his reach, but no matter – and he read them all. With a reckless “blah blah blah, she really doesn’t need to know that, she’s got enough on her mind today,” he threw a hefty lot of them away - seriously, if he was ever made a Minister, he would never have allowed people to bother him with such trivial nonsense! And then he went off to incinerate some of the more stubborn ones – those sent by Potter persistently asking admittance in a 1001 way to his once-best friend were the first to go. Some of the memos he begrudgingly recognised as somewhat important, so he let them be, at least the content, but he charmed them to be particularly evasive and hard to open just out of spite. Why should life be easy on other people when he seemed to sink from one trouble to another this morning?
And then people started coming, dripping in one by one, sometimes in pairs, inevitably stopping dead in their tracks when they spotted him holding his place by the door. A first couple of them he simply chased away with a haughty “I believe your business here is hardly important today, don’t you think?” and a strategically placed raised eyebrow, but as the time drove by and there was still no Ron to be seen, he grew progressively more nervous and pissed off – and consequently more vicious. The fact that he knew he was quitting in the days to come did nothing to sweeten his hungry-shark attitude.
“What in bloody hell are you staring at?!” he barked at the wide-eyed female trainee, who just stumbled in, crouched under the weight of what looked like a million files. The woman positively squealed and surely enough, the files began dropping left and right from her overloaded trembling arms. Oh, an easy prey, just what he needed right now! Straight for the jugular, then!
“On a second thought: do take a good hard look at an attractive male up close, darling –given your battered appearance that might well be your last chance. Got in a fight with a hippogriff this morning, did you? Even so: do un-freeze the sorry remnants of your befuddled brain for a moment, just long enough to remember that you are actually a witch and as such you should be perfectly able to levitate those files rather than murder yourself carrying them around like a mere Muggle! Like so…”
He effortlessly made the files float and even made them sort themselves out in the alphabetical order -before he had them rush recklessly right back through the door from where the hapless witch appeared moments ago. “And don’t bother coming back until you do something about that hair-do, I implore you, it is giving me a headache! “ he threw at her rapidly departing back when she embarked on a hopeless chase to catch the files before the precious contents was spilled. Oh, all the life’s little pleasures…
Then there was a middle-aged stiff-looking wizard, one of those types who were proud to be traditional family men and were as bigoted as they came. He looked suspiciously as if he had no business with the Minister, but merely came to pry and gloat on Draco’s misery, so the blond took one long hard look at him, effectively freezing him on the spot and informed him coldly that he was too late if he came for his portion of snogs, he’d already chosen his man, thank you very much:
“But since you do look rather desperate for a real man’s hug, you might want to try your luck with my father, he’s as manly as it gets and closer to your age – though I’m afraid I can’t give you any sound advice how to get around my mother!” he offered with chilling politeness before the man flew as if the Hungarian Horntail was behind his heels, swearing something about “corrupt rich buggers” under his breath.
He had fun with a few more hapless visitors, right until a young man approached him; a boyish looking lad that looked barely out of Hogwarts. Draco remembered seeing him around and about far too many times to be random and judging by the young man’s jittery demeanour and a standard procedure of stuttering and blushing in his presence, he rightfully suspected the boy might have a crush on him. When he came up close, the blond noticed he was yet again flushed almost – almost! – Weasley red and shaking nervously and it was obvious it took some serious effort for him to be here. Therefore he said nothing, he just raised his eyebrow in a silent question and waited for the young man to speak his business – it was obvious, he was there for Draco and not for the Minister.
The young man opened and closed his mouth several times as if the words just wouldn’t come and then he finally managed to stammer: “I was… that was a very brave thing to do Mr. Malfoy. I… there is not many out there like… us…” – he looked positively ready to faint at this admittance – “and I think you and Mr. Weasley are very… oh, god… brave and lovely together… and I wish you both all the luck in the world. I wish I had someone like that as well,” he blurted in the end, misery clearly etched into his young face.
There was something about the young man that brought back a flash of memories of Draco’s own discovery he preferred boys to girls - well, at that point, just one particular boy - and it was not hard to remember how wretched, confused and alone it made him feel. Staring down the flushed embarrassed looking face he found appreciation for the young man’s bravery and somehow his anger and his frustration evaporated at the sight:
“You were a Gryffindor at Hogwarts, weren’t you?” ha asked a seemingly unrelated question and when the lad nodded in confusion, Draco just sighed: “Gryffindors! A bunch of trouble, everywhere they go! And I happen to have a soft spot for one, right lucky I am! What is your name, then?”
“Arjen… Arjen Debonheur, Mr. Malfoy, Sir,” the young man desperately fought to keep his wits about. Continental origin, then and if his memory served him right, not a pureblood surname - the boy had no idea how lucky he was.
“Well, Mr. Debonheur, Arjen, if you don’t mind me calling you by your first name – thank you for your support. I believe Mr. Weasley and I are on a bit of a short supply of friends at the moment and I’m sure it took a great deal of courage for you to openly express your… appreciation of our relationship. I will be sure to remember your kindness,” he said as charmingly as he could and saw the young man positively melt in front of his eyes. And something about his vulnerability brushed against a soft spot in Draco and – damn Gryffindors, that’s what you get hanging out with them, turning all noble and generous, he mentally rolled his eyes up at himself, as he offered as matter-of-factly as he could (god forbid a Malfoy should ever be accused of showing compassion!):
“You’re not alone in this, of course, as I’m sure you know. There are plenty of those like you… like us out there, one just has to know where to look. Should you be interested in… meeting one of our persuasion, I could, perhaps, stir you in the right direction….?” He looked at the young man pointedly when posing a delicate question, hoping he was not thick as well as a Gryffindor. When his inquiry was met with enthusiastic nodding, he merely smiled the tiniest of approving smiles and skilfully summoned a piece of parchment and a quill from the pocket of a passing-by witch without ever attracting her attention.
“This is the address and this… is the password. You need to say these words at the entrance and you will be admitted, no questions asked. It is “by invitation only” so you will need to state your reference once you’re inside. Name me and you will be treated properly. The establishment is discrete and quite respectable, though not as exclusive as some gentlemen’s clubs. They will not ask your bloodline and they will not question your motives. Once you look around you will be surprised how many faces you recognise. And even if you do not find a partner of your choice – I admit, I couldn’t, as I’ve been quite focused on Mr. Weasley for a good deal of forever and he doesn’t do this kind of establishments – it will make you feel less alone and you just might make friends you never thought possible.”
“I… thank you ever so much, Mr. Malfoy!” stuttered Arjen Debonheur, awed, radiating and still hardly able to believe his luck.
“Don’t mention it. Well, best be on your way, you don’t want to be seen with me if you’re not quite ready to come out yet,” Draco stretched out his arm, anxious to bid the young man goodbye as he felt quite drained of all the good deeds for the day. The young man shook it eagerly, staring at him as if he just found his god and Draco couldn’t help but feeling just a bit smug.
“I leave you alone for a bloody half an hour and you’ve already found yourself someone younger to pounce upon?” came a deep warm voice behind him and Draco positively jumped, the young man forgotten on the spot. Only years of Malfoyian drill stopped him from truly pouncing on a tall redhead with amusement and just a smidge of Weasley jealousy in this blue eyes and Draco could hardly think of a way to channel a sudden wave of love, relief and a tiny bit of awe that washed over him when he saw Ron staring at him with that look in his eyes.
“For all the tangled curls in Merlin’s beard, finally!” he blurted out impatiently, his nervousness back with a vengeance when he saw a serious expression on Ron’s face. At some point the young man vanished, barely finding a way out of the corridor in his bliss and because they were once more alone, Ron chanced embracing the slender blond. “How did it…?” Draco’s question died on his lips when Ron kissed him thoroughly and then proceeded to look at him intently. He loved the kiss, but he didn’t like that look.
“We’re alright, Hermione and I; I think she’s ready to forgive me as she’s aware she had no small part to play in this fiasco that was our marriage. But as for you… I’m afraid she thinks you’re the devil incarnate, so I had to put all my weight in before she even agreed to at least hear you out.”
“Well, you really shouldn’t have bothered,” murmured Draco, no more eager to face what he assumed would be a very livid, very powerful witch. He hated going into a fight and not having an upper hand, but when Ron looked at him like that, with that serious trusting spark in the brilliant blue eyes, he found out he had no heart to deny him.
“Do try, Draco, and do it honestly. I know you can, I’ve seen you give it your best and look where it landed us in just a couple of days. I need you to settle this to the best of your abilities, this is our future we’re talking about. I don’t expect miracles, I know how angry my wife is at you and right now, I’m quite happy not to be in your shoes –“ yeah, never lose trust in Ron’s brilliant ability to reassure people, thought Draco miserably, a true motivational speaker his boyfriend was! – “but you’ve brought this upon yourself and I need you to settle it. Can I count on you?”
The blue eyes stared at him seriously for a long moment, before a tiny spark of mischief crawled in and the redhead said in a matter-of-fact voice: “I would be… very grateful, of course… you have no idea how much… Perhaps you’d like to see tonight over a nice dinner just how grateful I can be?” he raised one of the ginger eyebrows and looked deeply into the grey eyes. And what Draco read in the blue expanse could make him go after a troll with no wand at hand.
“Sure, whatever, let’s get it over with,” he blurted, his wits clearly melted like a heap of snow in August. He grabbed the door-knob adamantly and chanced one last look at his lover: “You… will be the death of me one day, Weasley. I just hope it’s not this day. I doubt you can afford the funeral I want!” And with these words he marched though the door without ever looking back.
“Send me an owl when you’re done!” Ron threw in behind him. “And good luck, love,” he added to himself, with no small amount of sympathy. Normally, he’d pay good money to be able to face this particular confrontation – that is, if his feelings weren’t involved. Clearly there were two forces of nature about to face each other in that room and Ron wasn’t so certain of the outcome as he’d like to be. But there was little for it now, he had things to do in what looked like it was going to be another endless day. He decided it was as good a time as any to have lunch with his brother. He needed Bill’s help if he wanted to make things right with his family – another thing he had left unresolved for far too long and yet another seemingly impossible task.
~ End of Part 10/1 ~
Next: Choices, Part 10/2
See also:
(Choices, Part 1)
( Choices, Part 2 )
( Choices, Part 3 )
( Choices, Part 4 )
( Choices, Part 5/1 )
( Choices, Part 5/2 )
( Choices, Part 6 )
( Choices, Part 7 )
( Choices, Part 8/1 )
( Choices, Part 8/2 )
( Choices, Part 9 )
