Entry tags:

fic, hp

FIC: The Wood Was Dark, The Grass Was Green, 2/2
Title: The Wood Was Dark, The Grass Was Green
Author: cormallen
Betas: many thanks to busaikko and anoneknewmoose
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Rating: hard R/NC-17 in places
Length: about 18,000 words
Warning(s): slash, off-screen background-character deaths, romance
Summary: Post-HBP. There is a boy living in the woods near The Burrow...
A/N: In case you've got a huge problem with present tense -- never fear. The vast majority of this fic is in good old 'simple past'. I just wanted to off-set the prologue/epilogue. Also, I am playing around with the effects of a particular spell, and having a lot of fun with it. As far as the wizarding world’s concerned, the boys involved are of age.
Cross-posted to my journal and ron_draco.
Additional thanks to busaikko for the folk rhyme used in the title.




"You all finished hibernating?" Draco asked, rifling through the parcel I'd set down in front of him.

"I only slept till noon," I said indignantly, "and even so, I'm on holiday, I'm allowed. Oh, by the way, we were all out of those biscuits you wanted; the ones in there are good, too."

He pouted slightly. "I'll let it go, this time. Next time, I won't be so forgiving."

I chuckled. "Beggars, if you recall, can't be choosers."

"I bet you'd love to try out my begging skills," he snorted, busying himself with the rest of the food as I stared at him, mouth agape.

"You, uh, offering what I think you're offering?" I stammered, my voice suddenly hoarse.

He arched an eyebrow, and looked me up and down.

"Well, I don't think we're quite there yet. If you count last night, this is only our second date."

"I... we're..."

"You should see your face right now," Draco said with a grin. "It's like a ripe beetroot. Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Sit down, have a biscuit with me. Oh, honestly, Ron, quit looking at me like I'm about to swallow you whole. I like you, alright? I wouldn't have let you kiss me if I didn't, and I definitely wouldn't have, er, flirted with you most shamelessly for the last week and a half." He bit into an apple and winked at me.

I laughed nervously.

"Relax," he said, "now you know. If you'd rather leave it at that, I'll understand." He grinned again. "But I will mope. And then you'll have to make me feel better, and I'll be inconsolable, and you'll be very sorry. Joking, joking, see?"

"Yeah," I laughed more sincerely. "I see."

"Something tells me I won't have cause to mope," Draco looked at me seriously. "Will I?"

"I like you," I told him, blushing even more.

---

Draco tasted sweet, like apples and marmalade, and for a moment I found it almost painful that someone else -- more than one someone else -- got to find that out first; I banished that stupid, selfish thought as I closed my eyes. He pulled my tongue into his mouth, the soft lips encircling it gently, and a tingle began to form somewhere inside my chest and snaked down to my stomach and my legs, a hungry, insistent, greedy tingle that sent my arms tightly around his thin back. I felt his spine under my fingers, the nape of his neck -- he let out a little moan as I stroked it lightly, pulled away.

"What?"

"I want to take off your shirt, is that okay?" he asked, and I bravely replied that he could, but only if he took off his.

"Do you even need to ask?" he smiled, and I did too, as we unbuttoned each other's buttons. Without warning, he leaned down and latched on to one of my nipples, and I gasped. It felt strangely good; he was nibbling at it slightly, flicking his tongue over it as it stiffened, squeezing those soft lips tightly around it. I searched his chest until I found the little nubs there, and pinched them between my fingers.

"Harder," he mumbled, moving his mouth to the other side of my chest, "like this." His teeth closed sharply on my skin, pulling, teasing, and that same tingle, the one I only felt by myself, and never with Lavender or Hermione, shot through me again, settling finally between my legs.

Draco moved, his mouth mapping out a little path up to my collarbone, then licked the hollow there.

"I can feel you," he whispered, pressing his face into my neck. "You must really like this..." Without warning, his hand darted out and cupped at my zipper; it was like getting hit with a Jelly Legs Jinx. My knees wobbled as Draco drew endless circles with his palm; I leaned heavily onto his shoulder, shivering helplessly under this incredibly simple touch, something I'd done to myself on so many occasions. But there'd never been warm breath tickling my cheek, no lips and teeth worrying gently at my neck, no throaty whisper in my ear -- "I want to do everything to you" --

"Draco, stop," I managed, "I'm going to fall, this is --"

"No problem," he replied, and then he pulled me down onto his worn blanket, the slightly musty straw scent billowing around us.

I landed awkwardly on my arse, but it didn't matter, because Draco was crouched between my knees, pressing quick, flighty kisses against my chin and bottom lip, my cheekbones, my temple... His hand wound into my hair, pulling slightly, while the other was, oh, bloody hell, undoing my zipper...

I let out a strangled cry when Draco's hot fingers pried through the thin cloth of my pants and claimed my hard cock, wrapping cleverly around it and squeezing, slightly at first, then a bit harder. For a moment, he didn't move, just held on to me, but then his hand suddenly slid down my length, and I lost it. I grabbed his head in my hands, pulling him in for a hard, greedy kiss as I thrust frantically against his smooth fingers. I mouthed at his lips, his tongue, still holding onto him like a man drowning, that sweet tension rising through me in a wave until it covered me completely.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -- so soon, I -- " I found myself mumbling, but Draco lifted his fingers to his mouth and licked, as if it was a perfectly ordinary thing to do.

---

I lay on my back, counting the myriad tiny cracks in my bedroom ceiling, doing my best not to reach too close to Draco. The distance between us, mapped out by borders of sheets and quilts, was almost too much; I tried not to think of his warm skin, so inviting underneath his borrowed pajamas, of his hands, clasped calmly over his chest.

"Ron, this is... well, stupid. You can share your bed with me, but you can only touch me outside?"

"I just... I can't," I said, tracing a particularly long fissure with my eyes. "This is my parents' house. This was Bill's bed, until he grew out of it. My mum told me stories and tucked me in here, and dad sat with me when I was afraid of the dark... It feels too awkward. I'm sorry. And -- " I didn't say it, but I wondered if he guessed, somehow: Hermione had been here, too, sneaking in to share kisses and light, hesitant hugs, so unlike those we exchanged in public.

"Hmph. Well, suit yourself, then," he told me, rolling over. "I could be taking off those itchy nightclothes of yours right now, you know."

I put out the lamp with my wand, and wished Draco good night.

"Know what I'd do to you right now, if you'd let me?" he asked in the darkness. "You're lying on your back already, all I'd need to do is move a little closer, like so," the bed shifted slightly as Draco turned towards me, "and then I could pull your pants down, just a tiny bit over your hips, so I could see the bottom of your stomach. You have that little trail of hair down there; I wonder, does it feel soft and silky, or is it coarse and thick? I'd stroke you lightly with my hands, just to find out, and then I'd give you a little kiss, right below your bellybutton, and then another, just a little lower, and I'd draw my tongue down, until I touched your waistband."

I self-consciously tugged on my covers, willing my body to pay no attention, but Draco continued softly.

"I'd unbutton your top next; I wouldn't take it off, I'd just open it up enough so I could flick the tip of my tongue over your nipples. You'd squirm, and you'd shiver, and draw that little noisy breath, like you did yesterday -- I'd swirl my tongue around each one, and bite down with my teeth, not too much, just enough to feel them become hot and hard, like little pebbles. I like your nipples, you've got those freckles all around... " He licked his lips noisily. "I'd move back down again, feel your hard cock through the flannel."

Hearing Draco say the words 'your cock' made my stomach do a little flip, and I took a deep loud breath.

"I'd lick it all over," he said casually, "if you'd let me."

My hands and his met at the ties of my pajama trousers, colliding awkwardly, until he relented and waited until I pulled apart the knot and wriggled my legs up and out. My heart was pounding somewhere in my throat, my stomach practicing intense acrobatic maneuvers; when Draco's hand clasped around me, I bit into my lower lip, hard. Nothing and nobody in the world was more important than his breath as it tickled over the very tip of my cock, hard from the moment he'd started speaking. In the darkness of the room, I couldn't see his face, but I knew he was looking right up at me when he whispered again. I could barely believe the words as they poured over my skin.

"May I suck you... please?"

"I... you... " I stammered weakly, but there was no time to think as something silky and moist closed over my prick, drawing it into a hot, tight wetness, as something -- oh, hell, his tongue -- snaked around me and began to slide, slowly, maddeningly, all the way down. His hair fluttered over my thigh; I'd never thought to offer him a trimming charm, mum usually did that for me, and -- No, don't think of mum, I screamed at myself, don't think of anything but those lips, those soft lips that kissed your face and your chest and your neck, and now they're kissing you somewhere you'd only dreamed about... I thrust up with my hips, causing Draco to gag slightly; immediately, his other hand moved to augment his mouth, stroking the base of my cock, my balls, as he slid his lips up the shaft.

"Draco," I gasped, my voice sounding foreign and strange to my ears, "I want to touch you, too... move, oh, hells, now!"

He didn't remove his mouth from me for even a moment, but the bed creaked traitorously as he turned around, so his arse was inches away from me; I cautiously probed forward with my hand and met the back of a naked thigh.

"When did you take off -- oh!" His fingers found mine, grasping them surely, pulling them forward between his legs until something solid and hot pressed against my palm.

"Put your hand around it," he breathed, lifting up his head, "oh, like that, yeah -- " and then he swallowed me whole.

My own cock felt a bit thicker in my hand, but otherwise, I reasoned, this was no different that touching myself. I sat up slightly, braced on my other arm, and carefully dragged my fingers over his shaft, waiting for some sort of reaction. He breathed out heavily, sending a shudder through my own body; encouraged, I moved my hand a bit faster, trying to settle into the comfortable rhythm I was so familiar with. It was strangely difficult to concentrate.

Draco was sucking me intensely, making little slurping noises that echoed through the room; the slap of my hand against his thighs was like a mantra, a long chanted spell that was coming ever closer to its inevitable conclusion. I fisted him harder, my movements clumsy and erratic, as he gripped me with wet, suffocating heat. I pushed against his mouth with a dull slap, only dimly aware of his tongue gently licking me clean, of his hand suddenly covering my fingers around his cock, jerking them quickly and carelessly until he let out a sharp, satisfied moan.

"Next time, I want to try to do that -- to you," I whispered into his shoulder as we lay listening to the ghoul rattling something farther upstairs.

---

The nightmare wouldn't leave me. Strange arms shook at my shoulders, twisted mouths chanted gibberish and spat in my face.

"Where is Malfoy?! Where is he, tell me! Now!"

"Weasley is our king," someone said in a sing-songy voice, "king of the weasel den." The voice sounded strangely like Draco's, but it didn't belong to the Draco I knew.

"All Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford," Professor Snape lectured. "Mr. Weasley, you'd do well to write that down."

"I didn't do it! I didn't, I didn't!" my Draco screamed, stretching a bloodied hand out to me. "Ron, you've got to believe me, I didn't do it! I didn't kill him!"

He was standing right in front of me now, so close that our noses almost touched, and there was a smudge of dirt across his face.

"Tell them, Ron, please! I didn't do it! I didn't kill Headmaster Dumbledore!"

Then I knew.

I bolted upright, suddenly awake. My legs felt sticky, tangled in the sheets, but I was in safe my room, in my bed. Yawning, I felt for my wand on the nightstand, and swished it through the air.

"Lumos!"

I wasn't alone in the bed. Sleeping next to me, his bare chest rising and falling serenely, was Draco sodding Malfoy.

"You," I hissed, jabbing him with the point of my wand, "all this time it was you, you vile disgusting git, you!"

Malfoy blinked owlishly.

"Ron? Not morning yet. Whaddaya want -- " and then his eyes opened really wide, like a baby's. His lower lip quivered. "Oh. Oh, Merlin, no!"

"Oh, yes, you bloody bastard, yes!" I growled almost gleefully, and jabbed him with the wand again.

"Ron," he said in a very small voice, "Ron, please! Let me explain!"

"Nothing to explain, Malfoy. In a moment, I am going to move. Then you will get up, get your things, bugger off and never come back."

"Ron, it wasn't my --"

"Shut your mouth," I whispered. "Shut your lying filthy mouth. Get out. Go! Go now before I hex you with every hex I've learned!"

"Please," he tried once more, "please, Ron, I can't leave now! Severus, he's either dead or he's coming for me, you have to understand, you have to --"

"No, it's you who needs to understand. I don't have to do anything for you. Not now, not ever."

I stood up, never taking my wand off of him.

"Up, Malfoy. That's it. Now, go down the stairs. You know where the door is, so go ahead and fuck off."

I couldn't help it. I watched him through the window as he ran across the moonlit field, a great bitter lump forming in my throat.

---

Somebody was pounding on my skull -- no, my door -- with fists that seemed to be made of iron. I lifted my heavy head off the pillow first, then sat up experimentally. It took quite a bit of effort, but I remained upright.

Draco, I remembered. No, not Draco. Malfoy.

The insistent knocking continued.

"Oh, what could you possibly want?" I queried the door, but it didn't answer. Instead, an achingly welcome voice yelled my name.

"Oi, Ron! Wake up! It's eleven o'clock, your mum's reheated breakfast twice!"

"Harry?" I rushed to the door, throwing the lock open.

"How've you been?" he asked after the obligatory hug.

"Eh. Nothing much happened around here, thankfully," I said, my stomach doing leaps and jumps all the while. Harry would need to know about Malfoy -- not all the details, of course; his whereabouts would do. And this time, there was no spell to make me question the wisdom of my decision; no little voice in the back of my mind suggesting that I ought to leave everyone else in the dark. I wondered how Malfoy had done it, but Harry and I could get to that later, for now I had to catch Harry up on --

"I've got some news," Harry said darkly, sitting down on my bed, and thrust a Daily Prophet at my hands.

" 'Former Hogwarts Professor Severus Snape Found Murdered; Death Eaters Responsible, Says Auror Squad,'" I read out loud, willing the headline to make sense.

"Death Eaters? But he was..."

"Read the rest of the article," Harry sighed, pointing at a paragraph towards the end.

" ... it is plain that the victim had been subjected to lengthy torture, spanning days, possibly even weeks. That, combined with the traditional Dark Mark left over the victim's residence is a strong indicator of You-Know-Who's responsibility..."

"They tortured him, and then they killed him," Harry said quietly, and sighed. "I wish I could say I was... sorrier than I am. I wish I... Whatever the reasons, Voldemort didn't consider Snape one of his men, that much's certain. Maybe he'd served his purpose, maybe he really... I don't know. He's dead, Ron. So much of it all has been for nothing!"

He deserved it, I wanted to say, him and Malfoy both, but I couldn't force the words out of my mouth. Harry and I sat there for a bit, not really talking, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts, waiting for something -- anything -- to start feeling better. It didn't.

---

By mid-afternoon, I still hadn't found an opportune moment to tell Harry about Malfoy. First, we came downstairs for a late breakfast with mum, Ginny, Tonks and dad, who had the day off. The three of us -- Ginny, Harry and I -- had to be as careful as possible in discussing school options for next fall. Even if Hogwarts would not be forced closed, Harry's plans for the summer hardly implied a return to classes and books. Hermione was expected to arrive later in the evening by Floo. After we'd eaten, Harry insisted on helping mum with the cleanup; as soon as the tablecloth was no longer sticky and the dishes were put away, Ginny dragged him outside to 'enjoy the summer air', as she'd put it. I knew I was hardly welcome along, but I shuffled out of the house nevertheless, hoping to catch Harry on their way back in, and started slowly down the field.

Hermione would be here soon; this third one out business was for the birds, I thought. Maybe we could finally talk it out, stop being just the kind of old friends that everyone inevitably expected to hold hands. Mum would be happy. Hermione would be happy. Harry and Ginny would be happy. I would be... well, I'd be a liar, but nobody would know.

The path to the forest was so familiar that I took it without hesitation. Only when I noticed that the flat stretches of grass around me had become fir trees did I stumble; 'Malfoy is there', I reminded myself. Snape hadn't given him up after all; I wondered how long it would take Malfoy to figure that out. It occurred to me that without any reassurances one way or the other, he could be on a search of a new, safer place to stay. Even if I didn't bother removing it, the ward I'd placed at the entrance to his cave wouldn't hold for much longer; he might have already left, for all I knew.

That thought made me feel rather foolish. I had had Malfoy defenseless in my room, and instead of hitting him with an Impedimenta or a Stupefy, I had not only allowed him to leave, I'd insisted on it. As much as I would have preferred to go just about anywhere else, it seemed that one more visit to the cave was in order. If Malfoy was still using it -- well, I had a wand, and he did not; and if he wasn't... If he wasn't, then good bloody riddance, I decided, and hurried further down the path.

Maybe it was because I couldn't make up my mind about whether I wanted Malfoy to be there or not, the walk seemed to take an inordinately long amount of time. As I finally approached the clearing, I stopped to prepare; reaching into my pocket for my wand, I felt something round and squishy next to it. Lifting the mystery object out into the light, I saw that it was an orange I had unwittingly saved from breakfast, following a weeks-old habit. Angrily, I lobbed the fruit into the bushes, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the glade.

I couldn't see into the cave very well; it was a murky dark even though the sun still reached down through the trees.

"Er, Mal -- Draco!" I called, gritting my teeth. "It's me! Come out, if you're there! We've got to talk!" I was aware that my voice didn't sound very sincere, but I hoped Malfoy wouldn't notice. "Draco! Draco?"

There was no answer; he was probably gone then. Damn.

It was still a good idea to look inside, anyway, I decided; perhaps the git had left without taking along all of the things I'd brought him.

"Draco!" I yelled, just in case, "Draco, I'm coming in!"

I stepped forward, and immediately wished I had not. My foot must have gotten caught on something, I surmised, seeing the cave walls whoosh past me, and I landed heavily on the ground. My wand clattered somewhere to the side; pain shot immediately through my knee, my ribcage, my chin. Leaning on an elbow, I lifted myself up slightly, vaguely sensing some movement behind me, but before I could do anything else, I heard Malfoy's satisfied voice.

"Incarcerous!" he shouted, and I collapsed again, as thick ropes wound around my ankles and my wrists.

"Mobilicorpus!"

The world turned itself around once more as I felt myself being lifted into the air, and deposited, none too gently, on the ground far back inside the cave. Malfoy's face floated into focus above me, as did my wand, clutched in his hand.

"Well, then. Much better," he smirked, pointing my wand at me again. My feet dragged on the earthy ground. I could do nothing as he propped me into a sitting position against the wall.

"Did you like my little substitute for a Trip Jinx, Weasley?" he asked, twirling my wand between his fingers. "I nicked the rope from your shed on my way out. Very nice of you to have left it unlocked. Of course, it's nowhere as nice as the real thing, but now that I've finally got myself a wand... Oh, just think of the possibilities!"

"Let me go, Malfoy!" I growled, pulling at my bindings.

"Or you'll do... what, exactly? That's what I thought. Now, I hardly imagined that you would be the first to test out my clever rope trick, but thanks for letting me know it works. And for this, of course." He spun the wand around with a flourish. "Now, I'd love to stay and chat, but unfortunately, I've got to run -- things to do, people to run from, you understand. Cheerio!"

He turned around, sliding the wand into his pocket, and headed towards the cave entrance.

"Malfoy!" I yelled. "You can't do this!"

"Just did," he threw over his shoulder without stopping.

"Malfoy!" I cried in desperation. "Draco, Snape isn't coming for you! He’s dead!"

From my miserable spot, I could see his shoulders droop. He stopped, standing still for a moment, then slowly turned around.

"He's... dead? How do you know? Did... did your... did Potter... who?"

"It was in the 'Daily Prophet' today," I replied, feeling an unpleasant tightness in my chest, "the Dark Mark was over his house. I'm sorry," I suddenly found myself saying.

"I see. Somehow I doubt you are here just to tell me this. Still, that simplifies my plan quite a bit, so..." He looked me up and down. "I am going to return the favour by not leaving you here to languish and starve. I'll end the restraining spell once I'm outside, right before I Disapparate."

"You made up a whole plan in the time since you've picked up my wand?" I asked incredulously, giving up struggling for a moment.

"Sort of," he said, staring past me. “Yeah. Actually, no, not really. I figured I'd just get as far away from here as I could. It sounded rather impressive, though." He sighed. "Listen, Weasley -- I'm glad it wasn't... I'm glad it wasn't your people that did it. Because then I'd have to hate you."

"Oh, that matters, does it? You think I don't hate you? I do! I hate you, Malfoy, I hate you for being, and I hate you for what you just did, I hate you for lying! I hate you!"

"I never lied to you," he whispered, moving his glance to his own feet. "I told you my name. It's not my fault you didn't recognize it. That's how Fidelius works."

The Fidelius Charm. Of course. That would account for the constant mental nudging, the inability to perfectly recall his face, not knowing his name...

"Snape. He was your Secret Keeper." He was the man you let fuck you ran through my head, and I quickly banished the image of Draco on his knees, his hands buried in Snape's robes, his mouth --

Draco nodded.

"That first day," he said, looking me straight in the eye, "I hated that it was you. I almost left before you got back, but I was waiting for him, too. And then you showed up with food and blankets and even a light, and all those plans -- it all seemed too good to waste. And then... In any case, that's a moot point now."

"But you did lie!" I exclaimed, knowing I was grasping at straws and doing it anyway, because just letting him leave a second time was... shameful? Ridiculous? "You said we went to different schools, and we didn't! You went to Hogwarts, same as I!"

I didn't expect Draco to start laughing, but he did. The laugh was harsh, bitter; there was no mirth in it, and Draco's eyes were narrow little slits above that cackling mouth. I noticed suddenly that I was still thinking of him as 'Draco', as if we still had a right to each other's first names. 'Malfoy', I tried to mentally correct myself, but he was still laughing in that thoroughly disturbing manner, and I couldn't concentrate.

"Do you honestly think we went to the same school?" he asked, kneeling down across from me. "Think about it, why don't you? You went to class with Potter and Granger, you sat in the common room with those brothers of yours. Your school was governed by Albus Dumbledore, and that... Hagrid, and, well, Potter again, and you played Quidditch because you wanted to, and you were a Prefect because they thought you'd do a good job. That's not the school I went to, and you know it. Slytherin House was the last resort for those who didn't end up in Durmstrang, and Goyle and Crabbe never let me out of their sight because their fathers wouldn't allow it! And it didn't matter what classes I went to, because I only ever had one homework assignment, and I couldn't bloody do it, because it was too fucking much, because I was weak and stupid and didn't deserve to live, and Severus, he died because of me! Everyone I care about is dead, or as good as dead! How many people were fucking murdered by the Dark Lord because you couldn't cast one sodding curse?”

"Draco!" I managed, feeling the magicked ropes cutting into my ankle. "It wasn't just any sodding curse!"

"Wasn't it? Only I didn't cast it, and what did that gain me... Oh. Oh, if he -- if Severus is... My father's next, do you understand that? One sodding curse I didn't even cast, but it's killed four people all the same, and me, too, sooner rather than later --" Draco's shoulders were trembling, his hands clutched into white-knuckled fists; he was blinking his eyes rapidly, far too rapidly.

Suddenly, Draco stood, wiping at his face. Reaching back into his pocket, he withdrew my wand and leveled it at me as he slowly backed away. A great heaving sob almost swallowed up his listless "Finite Incantatem", but the ropes restraining me slowly loosened, as did his fingers around my wand. It clattered to the ground at his feet; Draco made a strangled, desperate noise, turned around, and ran out of the cave.

It took me several moments to comprehend what had happened. I rubbed at my reddened wrists and stood up, wincing at the pain that still gnawed at my knee. My wand lay in the dirt, inches away from the rope Draco had stretched across the cave entrance; it was still warm when I picked it up. Stepping out of the cave, I saw him running towards the creek, his shirt a wavering spot of white among the trees.

"Oi, you!" I yelled, dashing after him, but Draco kept moving, and didn't turn around. I intensified my pace as much as my knee would allow, cursing all rope and its creator to the lowest pits of hell. The forest was two lines of blurry green to my sides, the white shirt was getting ever closer; a few more leaps and I could reach out and grab for it --

"Bugger!" I gasped, stumbling over a great big tree root.

The world was feeling very much like something out of “The Adventures of Miggs, The Mad Muggle”, as I plowed into Draco's back. My chin and his shoulder blade came painfully together for one moment, and in the next, we were tumbling to the ground, awkwardly trying to brace against the dirt.

"You oaf!" Draco hissed from below me. "Get up! I think you broke my leg!"

"Good!" I breathed heavily. "I was hoping for your head, too, but, hell, accentuate the positive!"

"Just lift up, you sodding wanker! Move!"

"I can't, you're lying on my arm," I yelled right back, "you think that's comfortable?!"

He turned his head towards me -- there was a bit of blood on his right cheek, I noted with satisfaction -- and then he wiggled slightly against my stomach.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Trying not to spend the rest of my life with a rock wedged in my armpit, what does it look like I'm doing! You ought to try it -- you know, getting up, I hear it's all the rage these days," he growled, arching his arse up into my thighs.

My arm was beginning to feel as if every last inch of it was poked with sharp little needles; struggling, I managed to extricate it from under Draco's chest, lifting up ever so slightly. At the same time, Draco performed quite a complex wiggle, succeeding in fully turning over, although his legs were still tangled between mine with startling familiarity.

"So, going to hex me now?" he inquired, looking up at me. "Take me to Potter, call in his pet Auror Squad? Or did you not think this far ahead?"

"I..."

"No plan at all. That's what I thought," he breathed, craning his neck up so that our noses were practically touching. And then his mouth was on me, salty and hot, his tongue pressing into my lips --

"Mmph! Draco, are you mmpph --" I tried, but his hands were rubbing shivers into my back, and I was letting my arm slip back under him, grasping at his shirt, his arse through the threadbare trousers, and he was moving, moving, his hips drawing circles against me, and mine were doing the same, and oh, hell, I felt my zipper being drawn down, his fingers pushing aside the cloth and gripping and sliding --

"Draco," I whispered, my voice hoarse and tight and maybe I said something else, too, maybe "want you" and "fuck" and "oh" and his name again, but I couldn't really tell, because my lip was trapped helplessly between his teeth and both of his hands were down there now, and I was sure that he must have had extra fingers, enough to cover the length of my cock in fast, frenzied strokes, and to knead gently at my balls and to slip into my arse cheeks and worry at that one spot right there and -- I thought that this time I did say "oh, hells, don't stop", but he didn't even think of stopping. He was kissing me, softly, gently, that taste of sweat, or maybe tears, still on his tongue; we took little breaths together and then it was back into the delicate press of his lips, while his hands worked me, insistent and slick from the droplets already beading at the tip of my prick. I groaned; suddenly, the hand that had been stroking up and down my arse dipped a little lower, a little farther -- I growled as I realized Draco had slipped a finger inside me. Draco was everywhere, I was full of him, his tongue and his hands moving in a maddening rhythm until it was all just too much. I was trying more words, but he swallowed them all up into his mouth, our lips still together as I was coming into his gripping hand.

He wiped his fingers on the grass.

"How pathetic you are. You hate me -- or did you forget? Or is that all it takes to clear my name in your book, for..." he grabbed at my wrist, looking at my watch, " six minutes?"

"Draco --"

"Don't you 'Draco' me," he spat, pushing his knee against my softened prick. "What's next, telling me that a handjob's what you came out here for? Look at you... One quick wank and it's 'Draco' again, not 'vile disgusting git'. You loved it, sucking on my filthy mouth! Maybe I ought to talk to Auntie Bella about this -- letting me out in front of the troops starkers -- Potter won't be able to compete. Certainly beats the Killing Curse when it comes to entertaining execution methods."

"That's not funny!"

"Wasn't meant to be," he shrugged. "Now, would you just do whatever it was you meant to? I am tired of waiting, for him and for you." He lay back, stretching his arms in the dirt. "There, I've made it easy for you. Get your wand out."

"You're... giving in?" I muttered dumbly, obediently reaching out with my wand arm.

"I've evaluated my chances," he said serenely, watching me stand. "Who was I kidding -- stolen wand or no, I'm lost. I don't fancy dying tired. So, go ahead, drag me to Potter. I'd walk on my own, but I wager bringing me in bound and gagged looks so much better on a hero's resume."

I stared at him, lying in the grass and dirt at my feet, his grey eyes wide open, his mouth stretched in a resolute grin. I lifted my wand.

"I know who can keep you safe," I blurted out suddenly. "It might take some explaining, but I know I can convince her." As soon as I said it, I wondered what in the world had possessed me to make the offer, and shook my head.

Draco sat up.

"For Merlin's sake, just give me your wand. I'll hex myself. Honestly, are you sure you are on Potter's side?"

"Draco, I know who can help you," I repeated, bending down to grab him by the arm. "Get up, we're going to go talk to her."

"Mad," he shrugged, "absolutely bloody raving. What are you on about?"

He was staring at me, blood crusted on his raised eyebrow, his teeth clamped tensely over his lower lip in that achingly familiar fashion, and I realized I just couldn't stand it.

"I don't want to take you to Harry, alright?" I said, closing my eyes so I wouldn't have to look into his. It didn't help. Even through my tightly shut eyelids I could see Draco lying in my bed, his head propped up on his elbow, smiling shyly. This is Draco Malfoy, I reminded myself, Draco the arsehole Malfoy, Draco the enemy Malfoy, but that didn't work, either. He lied to you and he used you, I tried again, but there he was, hanging his soaked clothes over a gnarled branch, biting at his lip before telling me about his mother. Everyone I care about is dead, he yelled, running from my bed in the darkness.

"I don't want to take you to Harry, or the Aurors," I repeated, still not looking at him, because all I could see was my arms wrapped tightly around his skinny body as we lay in the prickly straw.

"What the fuck do you want, then?" he snarled, "what in the world could you possibly want? Tell me, because I am simply dying to know!"

"I want... " I whispered in confusion. "I want... I don't know, alright? I don't know what I want, I only know what I don't want. I don't want this to be the last time we talk."

Draco rolled his eyes; I forced myself to ignore the sneer that was his standard response to most everything.

I want you to be safe, I thought. I want this fear and pain and, I don't know, all of this, this threat, to be over. I want you to wait for me, so that when I come back, we can figure this out. I want to come back to you. But I couldn't say any of that.

"Look, I just need you to trust me right now," I finally told him, holding tightly onto his arm.

"Oh, that's rich," Draco muttered, but didn't try to yank his arm out of my grasp. "So, where are you going to take me, if not to Potter?"

---

"It smells funny in here," Draco complained as I shut the shed door behind us. I chuckled inwardly; it was amazing how quickly his demeanor changed as soon as he felt more confident about a situation.

"You're not going to stay here for very long, alright? I've got to talk to her first, and I can't very well march you through the front door now," I instructed. "Argh, I think I hear Ginny. I'm going lock you in here. I doubt anyone will want brooms tonight, but still..."

"I'm not going to run," he sighed. "I think I've proved that already."

"I know."

I peered through the cracks in the door; the garden seemed clear.

"I'll try to be back as soon as possible, and I'll get you something to eat, too."

---

Walking through the door, I saw that I'd missed Hermione's arrival. She was sitting at the kitchen table with Harry and Ginny, nursing a cup of tea.

"Ron," she smiled, getting up, "there you are!"

"I've been out -- walking. Just... thinking about the news, and everything," I explained, pouring some tea for myself. "You've seen the Prophet..." I trailed off.

"Oh, Ron," she said, coming up to give me a quick peck on the cheek. I blushed, allowing her to hug me, feeling like the biggest arse in the world.

An uncomfortable silence ensued for a few moments, interrupted only by the clinking of the kettle against my cup, and the creak of the chair as I settled at the table. The four of us stared at each other, and then, suddenly, Harry smiled.

"Ron," he said quietly, "I'm not afraid." He'd clasped Ginny's hand under the table, and was now extending the other across the tablecloth. "I know -- that it's too soon, that it's... it won't be easy... But I am not afraid." He took the cup out of my hands, gave my fingers a quick little squeeze.

"I'm not afraid with you," Draco whispered, looking up from his side of the bed.

"I know," I smiled back. "I know."


After everyone had gone to bed, I came back downstairs, just in time to catch Tonks coming in from her nightly patrol.

"All clear," she grinned, hanging up her cloak and putting on a pair of slippers. "What are you still doing up, Ronnie?"

"Tonks," I asked, trying not to stammer, "does it bother you that Professor Lupin's a werewolf?"

"Why would you ask that?" she furrowed her pink brows, and gave me an appraising look. "It bothers me that when people hear 'werewolf', they think 'dangerous', when they hear 'full moon' they think 'Fenrir Greyback', and well, you know Remus isn't like that. Would I prefer he didn't have to go through all the trouble of finding quality Wolfsbane potion, especially now? Yeah." She grimaced. "I am pants at potions. But I know what you mean -- I think. Remus is Remus, and everything else doesn't matter."

"Thanks," I told her. "Listen, Tonks -- can we go somewhere, er, where nobody can -- somewhere... quiet. Private. I have a favor to ask you, but before I can do that, I've got to explain some things. A lot of things. You see, there's a boy who lives in a cave in the forest... "

---

"Tonks'll be here in a bit," I say, watching Draco bite into a roll. Last night, I took her out to the shed to meet, as she said, her new cousin. It was a strange sort of meeting. Draco was guarded, unsure, Tonks was trying her best to be understanding, and I... I was just awkward. She walked Draco back to the cave afterwards, without me, so they could talk. I don't imagine it got much more comfortable between them, though. She looked in on me when she got back, to tell me she'd help, to my relief. I wasn't completely sure until she said it; I was biting my nails the entire time she was gone, and they were a sorry sight, ragged and uneven.

"Hmph," Draco chews and swallows. "Think it'll work? She's not exactly the superb spellcaster, even if she is family."

"You know, for someone in constant danger of --"

"-- being killed," he interrupts, "yes, yes, I know, I'm not nearly gracious enough. I won't pretend to understand why you are doing this, or why she hasn't gone and told her bosses all about me. For what it's worth, though, thanks. Oh, and Ron --" he cocks his head at me and blinks. "I'm sorry. You know, for everything."

"I'm not sorry," I smile, and I think I mean it. There are footsteps outside, and a dark silhouette blocks the cave entrance. "There she is. Well, I guess this is good bye."

"Yeah."

We stand up, awkwardly staring at each other, then Draco steps forward, closer and closer to me, until our noses almost touch. He smiles crookedly, and presses his lips to mine for just a moment, salty and wet.

"Bye," I whisper as he pulls away. "I've got to go forget."

His face turns serious.

"Ron. I'll remember."

"Yeah." I walk out of the cave, brushing past Tonks; she grips my shoulder as I pass.

"Hey. It'll be all right."

I nod. After the dim cave, the bright sunlight hurts my eyes, and I rub at them angrily, hearing Tonks's voice asking if Draco is ready. He must be, because the air around me crackles, and Tonks yells "Fidelio" and I blink, once, twice...

"Ronnie!" Tonks calls. I turn around. She's standing in the cave mouth next to a thin blond boy I don't know. He's looking at me with a strange crooked smile on his face.

"Don't ask," she says. "Order business. Got to go. Tell Molly I'll be back later tonight, okay? Oh, almost forgot -- here." She presses a folded up note into my hands, grabs the boy's sleeve, and they vanish with a loud pop.

I walk slowly down the forest path, back to the field and the Burrow, resolving to find out what's going on from her tomorrow. It doesn't seem important enough to worry everyone about, I decide, and I let mum know Tonks will be back late, and nothing else. I don't open the note until I'm ready for bed, and for some reason, I lock my bedroom door before I read it.

I'm a secret, waiting for you, it says in narrow, unfamiliar handwriting. Bizarre. I shrug, crumple up the paper, and shove it under my pillow.

By morning, I forget about it.



back to Part 1

---

My mother said I never should
Play with the gypsies in the wood;
If I did, she would say,
Naughty girl to disobey.
Your hair shan't curl,
Your shoes shan't shine,
You naughty girl, you shan't be mine.
The wood was dark, the grass was green,
In comes Sally with a tambourine.
I went to the river - no ship to get across,
I paid ten dollars for an old white horse,
I up on his back and off in a crack -
Sally, tell my mother I shall never come back.

-- folk rhyme