The Ties That Bind


Ron breathed deeply of the delicious smell of morning. Delicious in that he was still in bed, head buried under the covers, ensconced in a cozy cocoon fragrant with alder tree oil. The distinctive aroma evoked thoughts of Quidditch, broom polish, and sex, since it was in the lubricant that his partner made exclusively for their use. Ron closed his eyes, stretching his legs and flexing his feet. Rolling over on his side, he began to drift off again, burying his face in his lover's pillow.

"Ron! What the hell are you doing? Get your bony, horrifically late arse up. NOW!"

Fuck. In his somnifacient stupor, Ron had completely forgotten that this was the day he and Draco were taking Muggle transport - an airplane, to be exact - to go to New York City so Draco could take an intensive six-month culinary course. An international portkey would have been easier, but Draco insisted on experiencing the sensation of controlled flying without a broom, and there was food and drink involved.

The coverlet was yanked down, leaving Ron exposed and blinking owlishly in the sudden light. Draco glowered above him.

"You should be showered and dressed by now," he seethed. "Granger will be here in half an hour. I knew I had good cause to make you pack last week."

"Bollocks! Sorry, Draco." With the grace of a drunken hippogriff, Ron disentangled his legs from the sheets and stumbled to a standing position. "I'll get cleaned up and I swear I'll be ready to go on time."

Draco scowled, looking utterly unconvinced. "You'd better. I refuse to be alone with Granger, Mistress of Muggle Studies, listening to her blather on about what I need to know as though I'm a troglodyte."

"Troglowhat?" Ron said as he shucked his boxers and walked quickly to their bathroom.

"Never mind. I'll be waiting downstairs."

Twenty-nine minutes and fifty seconds later, Ron stood at the base of the stairs, eyeing the collection of luggage in disbelief. Most were elegant, slate-coloured cases embossed with D.A.M. in silver.

"Um, are you sure you want to haul all of that around?" Ron asked. "We've already sent heaps of stuff over there."

"I'm not hauling anything," Draco replied scornfully. "There are porters to do that. Cassandra assured me of that weeks ago."

Draco's second cousin on his mother's side was a witch living in New York. She had agreed to help them settle in once they arrived in the city. As fond of Draco as he was, Ron was a bit apprehensive about meeting more of Draco's extended family, and even their impending one-year anniversary didn't make him feel more secure.

"I'm looking forward to meeting her," Ron said as convincingly as he could.

"No, you're not. That's okay- you'll end up liking her regardless. She's a relation on Mother's side, after all." Draco fidgeted with the links on his watch, brows furrowed. "Granger's late."

Ron walked over to Draco and ran his fingers through the silky hair, earning an irritated growl for his trouble.

"She'll be here any second," Ron said, cradling Draco's head and tilting it up slightly until Draco grudgingly raised his gaze to meet Ron's. "You're right about Cassandra, though. I reckon she'll think you're just having some low-class fling. As long as that's not what you think."

The imminent reality of moving to another country with Draco, even temporarily, had loosened Ron's tongue. He hated how insecure he sounded.

Draco's expression warmed. "I don't always know what to call this." He gestured vaguely at the house they shared. "But 'fling' is certainly not what comes to mind." He put his arms around Ron's waist before sliding his hands down to cup Ron's arse. "I'm far too fond of this part of you to surrender it anytime soon."

Ron tilted his head as Draco nuzzled the side of his neck, moving his own hands so they were clasped behind Draco's waist.

"Two things to know about Malfoys, in case your Healer-addled brain hadn't picked up on these subtleties," Draco murmured into Ron's skin. "One, we have exceedingly refined senses. You simply smell right to me. End of discussion. Two, a Malfoy would never do anything even resembling slumming in his personal relations. We're rather exclusive, after all."

If Draco had intended to say anything further, it was silenced as Ron possessively kissed him. All his life, Ron had suffered through hand-me-downs, living constantly in the shadows of his older brothers and even his dearest friends. It was surely ironic that Draco Malfoy would be the first person to want to claim Ron for his own. As Draco's enthusiastic tongue mapped out mine, mine, mine in Ron's willing mouth, the redhead decided it didn't matter how they'd gotten together. It only mattered that they had.

There was a loud rapping at the door.

"Hermione."

"Granger."

The words were voiced in tandem against each other's mouths.

Ron slid his lips across Draco's cheek to his earlobe. "It's going to be okay," he said reassuringly.

"I've no doubt."

Draco pulled away and reverted to his public persona, complete with a slightly bored expression.

"I…" Ron's voice trailed off. Draco could shutter his emotions away on the turn of a knut in a way completely foreign to Ron, and it annoyed him. Well, wounded was more accurate but Merlin that sounded girly. Malfoys might be elegant and private, but Weasleys tended to wear their hearts on their sleeves. Ron suddenly wished they weren't going anywhere.

As though he could read Ron's mind, Draco returned to Ron's side and snaked an arm around his waist.

"We're going to be okay," he said in a low voice, and Ron had to smile.

"Ron? Malfoy?" Hermione's anxious voice could be heard outside.

The usual dispassionate look returned to Draco's voice as he opened the door.

"Granger. Lovely to see you, as always."

Ron winced at the insincerity in his voice. Hermione and Draco tolerated each other, but Ron had become resigned to the fact that they would never be friends.

"Hi Hermione. Thanks for doing this," Ron said, enfolding her in a hug.

"Anything for you," she said pointedly. Behind her back, Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste.

The ride to the airport was uneventful, if a bit tense. After rushed goodbyes and Ron promising to owl or write at least once a month, Draco and Ron made their way to the appropriate lounge.

We're really going, Ron thought in amazement, trying not to stare at the gaggle of people around him. Merlin do I hope this isn't a massive mistake.


***


Though Ron was sure Draco wouldn't have cared much for the image, Draco took to New York like a duck to water, especially with regards to its vibrant nightlife. Upon arrival, Cassandra had taken it upon herself to be their guide for as long as they wished. She'd escorted them to four clubs in three nights; it would have been even more but Ron insisted that they have at least a couple of evenings to themselves to get situated and send a few notes to friends and, in Ron's case, family, letting them know they had arrived safely and were settling in.

Like Draco, Cassandra was striking, with similar porcelain skin and high cheekbones. Unlike Draco, she had long, straight, jet-black hair. Despite not knowing each other very well prior to Draco and Ron's move, the second cousins soon got along like a house on fire, sharing an enthusiasm for dancing and socialising. Ron tried to be game about it, attempting to convince himself that they'd eventually have a balance in pursuits when he talked Draco into attending a match by a fledgling Quidditch team their first Sunday afternoon in the States. To Ron's astonishment, prior to leaving England Draco had even covertly relayed Ron's enthusiasm for sport, and Cassandra had ensured there was a widescreen television that Ron spent many grateful hours investigating.

There was even some sex, as Ron and Draco christened their bedroom, the vast tub in the bathroom, and the kitchen counter.

"Preparing food can be as intense as fucking," Draco had insisted, enticing Ron into the half-unpacked room by suggesting he would spend some time wanking for show, a visual treat that Ron found extremely erotic.

"I'll want to be able to think about us here," Draco went on, "you unable to keep your hands off of me, me thinking about your cock-"

"Okay," Ron agreed zealously before a thought struck him. "Just don't be thinking about my bits while you're chopping at things. That's perverse."

Draco had laughed until Ron had no choice but to kiss Draco into silence.

On his fourth Wednesday overseas, Ron found himself outside a wizarding tattoo parlour. It was his and Draco's anniversary, or at least Ron considered it to be. One year ago they'd had their first official date. Ron had been seeing Draco on a daily basis for the month prior to that while recalibrating Draco's magic after he'd been hexed during a duel. Draco spent from 10 o'clock to 6 at his culinary school, so Ron had the days to go exploring, investigating both the Muggle and Wizarding aspects of the city.

Though it would have surprised most people who knew Ron, with the exception of Hermione, at his core he was an incurable romantic and rather sentimental. Hence the sheepish smile that played on his lips as he finished a cigarette before entering the parlour. He'd been thinking seriously about getting a tattoo since the War had ended, but it wasn't until he and Draco had passed the six-month mark that it had struck him what he wanted to get, and where. He patted a pocket in his jacket and heard the rustling of the printout he'd made that morning. Thanks to Charlie and the Preserve's relatively new online presence on the Wizarding internet, his design of a Siberian Snegbog was printed on paper, ready to be magically inked on his left shoulder blade.

He went in.


***


"Ron, could you get me a glass of wine?" Draco sounded uncommonly tired when he came home later that day. "And some of that Tubman's Tonic, please. My head's positively throbbing." The door shut behind him.

Ron looked up from the chair where he was sprawled, watching a men's diving competition.

"Sure. Were you working more with that-"

"Don't even say the word." Draco sank dramatically to the floor, looking at Ron with a mournful gaze. "Thank you."

Ron padded into the kitchen and poured them each a glass, smiling a bit at the lingering pain in his back. He didn't know what Draco had in mind for the evening, but he was sure that it would be memorable. Draco never forgot any event of importance, even some that Ron thought were exceedingly trivial, like Draco's first owl's birthday.

"I'll just go get the potion," Ron said, handing one glass to Draco and kissing the crown of his head.

"Ow," Draco moaned.

"Oh c'mon, it can't be that bad."

The grey eyes took on a look of disbelief.

"Okay, fine," Ron acquiesced.

Moments later Ron found himself sitting on the couch behind Draco, gently rubbing his lover's scalp. He decided it wasn't too bad, drinking some wine and listening to soft music, though he was anticipating some intense lovemaking later in the evening. The tonic would kick in, and Ron had even planned to make dinner, sap that he was.

"How does lasagne sound?" Ron asked, massaging his thumbs into Draco's temples and using his Healer's sensibilities to try and detect if Draco had an actual malady.

Draco shuddered. "I couldn't eat a thing. In fact, I may just take a soak and get rid of this smell and go to bed."

Ron sat up straight. "It's barely seven!"

"So? I feel wretched. We don't have anything planned, do we?"

Uncomfortable realisation prickled under Ron's skin. Draco hadn't remembered. Bollocks, he was an idiot.

"No. You go on," he said, masking his disappointment. "Tomorrow's another day."

"You're so good to me," Draco sighed as he got up gracefully from the floor and went up the stairs.

Ron was pissed off and lonely, with a side of horniness that wouldn't leave him. If he were back home he'd owl George and convince him to go out for a few pints. Ron was stuck in New York, though, and he didn't really know anybody. He wasn't ready to try using the telephone either. He stewed for a while, tried to read a Quidditch magazine he'd found in a small wizarding newsagency, and finally broke down and tromped upstairs.

True to his word, Draco was sound asleep. Dejected, Ron went back downstairs and poured a healthy tumbler of firewhiskey before going out on their side porch with a new pack of cigarettes. After smoking several in a row, he contemplated writing to Hermione, but recognised that that would only make him feel more pathetic. He could imagine what he'd write in his current state:
He'd surely have to burn the parchment. Ron returned to the kitchen and retrieved the firewhiskey bottle. At some point in the night when the contents and his cigarettes were all gone, he stumbled back into the house and passed out on the couch.


***


Ron awoke to the smell of coffee. He rubbed his eyes and then his teeth. His mouth felt disgusting, tasting roughly as though he'd spent several hours polishing Quidditch trophies with his tongue. As he gingerly hauled himself to a sitting position, a note that had been perched on his chest fell to the floor. Bracing himself, he picked it up.

Gone to the Institute- made you some espresso. The hangover potion's next to it. Why didn't you come to bed? Not that I'm entirely sorry as you do smell rather vile, but next time tell me what's wrong, please.

He dropped the note.

"And just when was I supposed to do that, when you fucking went to bed at 7:30?" Ron fumed out loud, screwing up his face as a headache overtook him. "Of course, if you'd wanted to go out, you would have managed that, I'm sure. Ooooh." A wave of nausea churned in his stomach as he got to his feet and shuffled toward the kitchen.

An hour and a very hot shower later he felt much more human. Even though he was still outraged at Draco's audacity to tell him he smelled bad, especially when he'd slept downstairs, he grudgingly allowed a small sliver of appreciation to flicker. The man could make a really effective hangover potion.

Unbidden, he heard a voice in his head that sounded distressingly like Hermione.

'Ronald Weasley, you're moping. Get over to one of those hospitals and go do something, for goodness' sake.'

He mulled the thought over and decided that it - or she, whichever - had a point. He was beginning to feel useless and, sons of selkies, he had two specialised degrees in Dark Arts Healing. It was all fine and good to hang out and relax, or be a tourist, but enough was enough. He'd brought a couple of letters from St. Mungo's that would validate his Healer status. After eating some breakfast, he retrieved them from a folder he'd shoved under the bed and went out.


***


Ron Muggle-watched as he took the train to Central Park West. The very concept of public transport was fascinating, and the fact that around one-third of the people on the trains looked as though they could be Tonks in various disguises amused him no end. He glanced surreptitiously at his Wizarding guidebook, cleverly glamoured as a spoof on a favourite Muggle book, Bored of the Rings, and confirmed he was at the right stop. After disembarking, he made his way to a tired-looking haberdashers shop and rang the antique doorbell.

"Name?" a nasal voice chirruped out of the ancient speaker.

"Weasley. Ronald-"

"Right. Visitor's sticker will be waiting. Guest pass."

"Healer, Order of Merlin, First Class, Specialty, Dark Arts Hexes," died on Ron's lips as he was cut off. He shrugged and entered the shop.

The New York Center for Calamities and Convalescence was everything and nothing like St. Mungo's. Healers sat typing at computers and bustling down corridors, ducking when manilla folders flew past them.

"Ah! Weasley. Persephone will be happy to see you," an enthusiastic medi-receptionist gushed, obviously misguided as to who Ron was.

"Um, but, I'm not-"

"Just that way, Mr. Weasley!"

"But no-one's expect-"

"She's on the second floor, room 211. Go on! The young lady hasn't had much company and you know how painful that skele-grow is."

Ron nodded mutely. He might as well go and see whoever this mysterious Persephone was.

"I'd actually like to see your head of hospital, if it's not a bother. I'm a Healer and I'll be in town for a few months. I'd like to help out."

"I'll let her know," the receptionist promised.

He walked to a door with a picture of a staircase and climbed the one flight to the second level. Bone Injuries. After a false start down the corridor, he turned around until he came to room 211. The door was open, and Ron peered inside.

A girl of around fourteen lay on a bed, her left hand holding a squat comic book and her right arm bundled in bandages, tied in a sling against her stomach. One leg was bent, held in a cast and magically suspended in the air about a foot above the coverlet. Her copper-coloured hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was absolutely covered in freckles. Ron glanced at the chart stuck in a tray adhered to the wall as his jaw dropped.

"Hey!" The girl had turned to Ron and she grinned widely. "Are you Uncle Baxter? Never met him, but Dad's talked about you before. C'mon in. I'm bored. This is the fifth time I've read this manga, I swear," she said with a sigh, dropping the book.

Ron forced his feet to move into the room and pulled up a chair.

"Persephone Weasley?" he asked weakly.

"Seph, thanks. Persephone's such an awful name. I hate it," she mused, gnawing on her lower lip. "D'you play Quidditch too? My mom went absolutely ballistic when I fell. Threatened not to let me play ever again. But I'd just die if I couldn't play, y'know? It's just so unfair. I mean, it's not like it's my fault. Stupid Sean, thinking he has to impress everybody until he runs smack into you…"

Ron let the diatribe tumble over him. Obviously she was some very, very distant relation, but his parents had never said anything about having family outside of England.

"You're not from here, are you? Did you come all the way to New York to see me? That'd be excellent." Persephone looked expectantly at him and Ron took a deep breath.

"Seph, is it? My name's Ron. Ron Weasley, and I'm definitely not your Uncle Baxter, whoever that is. Nice to meet you."

He stuck out his hand before realising that she couldn't really shake in return, then decided to make a small salute instead.

"I'm a Healer, but I'm here because my," he fished around for an appropriate word, "good friend, also a Wizard, is in cooking school. I'm from England, and until just now, I didn't know about you. Given the name and the freckles and all, we must be related. And yes, I love Quidditch; played Keeper for my House back in school."

"Cool," she said, awestruck. "I've never been to England. How long are you and your friend here? If we're related, do you want to meet my parents? I've never met anyone else with my last name before. That's awesome."

Ron tried to absorb the barrage of information and answer appropriately.

"I'd love to meet your parents. I'm here for six months at least. I don't know any other Weasleys other than my relations back home. What on Merlin's beard is manga?"

The word was completely unfamiliar to him.

"You don't know about manga? Oh yeah- you're old," she giggled in a manner reminiscent of a young Ginny. "Japanese stuff. You read it their way, back to front and right to left. It's excellent. Just not so much when you've read the same storyline five times." She picked up the book and handed it to Ron. "Go on, you can borrow it. So you're a Healer? Don't suppose you deal with broken bones."

He shook his head, smiling. "No, my specialty is hexes and curses, Dark ones. Do you know much about that? I mean, I hope not, but I've only been here a few weeks and things seem to be awfully different than-"

"Ronald B. Weasley, I presume?"

An authoritative voice bellowed from the doorframe and both Weasleys turned to see who had interrupted them. Ron nodded at the sturdy witch as she strode into the room. Her manner was all business. "Ah. Sorry about the misunderstanding, but you can imagine how busy things get at a hospital this size. So, you're looking to assist our other D.A. Healers, are you?"

"Yes," Ron affirmed. "I've got my papers. Just didn't expect to discover family across the pond, as they say." He stood, winked at Persephone, and faced the head of the hospital. "I'm here for the next few months and, while there's plenty to see in the city, I'd rather not be a tourist the whole time. You may not have the same need for Healers with my focus, as was the case at St. Mungo's, but I'd be more than happy to share what I can with your staff, if that's appropriate."

The witch- Jane Rueland, Chief Administrator, NYCCC, according to her badge- gave Ron a once-over, her hazel eyes boring into him. "Certainly. We're fortunate in that most of the maladies you'll see here are pretty pedestrian, but I'm sure we can put you to work. Can you be back here tomorrow at eleven?"

Ron nodded. "Should I ask for you?"

A badge materialised in her palm. "Wear this, Weasley. Just fill out a few parchments with the receptionist at the entrance level." She briskly left the room.

"Well, I guess I'll go and see if I can get a tour of this place," Ron said. "It was an unexpected pleasure to meet you, Seph. And thanks for letting me borrow the magna."

"Manga," Persephone chortled. "Mahn-guh. Oh- let me give you our number. I can't wait to tell Dad that I met another Weasley, and one all the way from England!"

Ron retrieved a pen from his jacket pocket. He and Draco had gotten used to Muggle things like pens and notepads in their few weeks in New York, though Ron still wasn't all that good with the telephone. Persephone dictated her phone number then looked at it herself just to make sure he'd written it down properly.

"They'll release me tomorrow, so call anytime after that."

"I definitely will. Maybe you can even show me some of your Quidditch moves."

Persephone's face lit up. "Cool. If my mom will let me." She grimaced. "Sometimes she treats me like I'm still a baby or something."

Ron grinned. "Mothers can be like that. Anyway, take care."

After making his way back to the original entrance, Ron filled out some paperwork and was given an extensive tour of the hospital, which took almost two hours. He spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around Chinatown before heading home. He caught himself humming a tune he'd heard multiple times on the radio when he unlocked the door to their house. He felt better than he had in days, now that he had something predictable to look forward to with his daytime hours.

"Oy! What?" An unfamiliar owl tapped at the glass door to the porch, so he let it in. The bird swooped to Ron's hand before dropping a small bit of parchment. "Thanks." He scratched absently at the owl's head as he looked at the note.

Ron- Please meet me at Café Tacuba at six-thirty. Directions are below.

Yours,
Draco

Ron mulled over the notice. It was quarter to six already but that still gave him plenty of time to get to the restaurant since it was only a few blocks away. He went into the kitchen and found some leftover turkey to give to the owl, which hooted appreciatively before leaving. Evidently, it hadn't been told to return with a reply.

Forty-five minutes later Ron walked into the café. Draco was easy to spot, despite having his head buried in a wine list. He looked up as Ron sat down, apology written all over his face.

"Ron. I'm glad to see you," Draco said, putting down the listing and reaching for Ron's hand. "I'm such a fucking idiot. Please forgive me."

"For what?" Ron was pretty sure he knew why Draco was falling over himself with guilt, but he wanted to make sure.

"Our one year anniversary. It was yesterday and I didn't do a bloody thing. I'm so sorry."

A warm smile bloomed on Ron's face. "Apology accepted. Remind me to show you something when we get home." He glanced at the list. "Find anything good?"

"Definitely."

As if on cue, a waiter appeared. Draco handed back the list as he gave his order.

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Champagne?"

"Of course. We're celebrating."

"I'm glad you want to," Ron grinned. "And you'll never believe what I found out at the NYCCC today."

Draco looked blankly at him. "The what?"

"New York Center for Calamities and Convalescence. Hospital. Thanks."

The last word was directed at their waiter, who had returned with two fluted glasses and what appeared to be an expensive bottle of champagne in an ice bucket.

"To a year and a day together," Draco toasted once their glasses were filled.

"To our first year and a day," Ron echoed, buoyed by Draco's obvious contentment.

They sat for a couple of minutes in comfortable silence. Ron knew that Draco was equally surprised at their relationship, much less moving in together, and now living overseas. They each had their faults, to be sure, and many of their friends from Hogwarts were skeptical to the point of disbelief. Still, despite a few blow ups, usually family-centric, they'd had a marvelous year as far as relationships went.

"Wait- why were you at a hospital? Did something happen?" Draco was suddenly worried. "It's been ages since I've seen you out like you were this morning."

"No, no. I was fine." Ron felt a little sheepish. "Just had a bit of a pity party when you went to bed without saying anything." He shrugged it off. "No, I'm going to help out the Healers over there; give me something to do."

Draco nodded approvingly and refilled their glasses.

"Not only that," Ron went on, "but when I first showed up, they thought I was there to see someone. I've managed to find another branch of the Weasley family, can you believe it?"

"You're joking." Draco choked on his drink as the waiter approached with a menu. Ron ordered an appetizer for them both.

"You didn't know they were here, did you?" Draco asked when they were alone again.

"Bollocks, no," Ron said, grinning. "It's pretty great, though. Persephone was who I met. She's maybe fourteen, but I'm not good at guessing. I'm going to ring them tomorrow, and send an owl to Dad. He'll be bonkers, since he likes family trees and all that."

"I shouldn't even ask what she looks like."

"Not like us, really, though she has the freckles, poor sod." Ron played with the stem of his glass, thinking affectionately of his distant, unexpected relation.

"That's wonderful," Draco said with a small smile.

"What- that she doesn't look like us?" Ron feigned insult as a platter of steaming oysters was placed on the table.

"No, you paranoid git. That you're in one of the largest cities in the world and you managed to stumble across family you didn't even know about. Now maybe you won't feel so homesick." Draco eyed the oysters approvingly. "I must say that I'm obviously making a positive impact on you, food-wise. Excellent choice."

"Thanks," Ron said, tucking into the shellfish. "And I'm not homesick. Just need to get a routine. Hey, we should go to that next match, too. The New York Squall are playing the Albatrosses."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Ron, they're excruciating to watch."

"They're not that bad," Ron insisted, his eyes drawn to Draco's mouth as he delicately sucked in an oyster. "You and I could sure teach them a thing or two, though."

"Too right," Draco said, a competitive gleam in his eye. "Are you going to eat that last oyster?"

They stayed for what was a sumptuous dinner and had a bottle of wine when the champagne ran out. By the time they got home, Ron was in an excellent mood. He and Draco weren't usually much for public affection but Draco had snagged Ron's arm to duck into two shady alleys on their walk back for short but ferocious snogging sessions.

"Where're you going?" Draco asked accusingly once they were in the kitchen.

"Porch. Quick smoke."

"You know how much I hate that. It's a filthy habit."

"Yes, I know," Ron said. "I'll give it up, I promise. Especially now that I'll be at the hospital. But for now, leave off." He pulled Draco to him and planted a deep kiss on his lips. "Just go on upstairs and I'll join you in a few minutes."

Draco moved away as Ron retrieved a pack of cigarettes from a drawer.

"Don't take too long. I've been thinking about you all day." Draco gave Ron a lascivious look before running his hands suggestively over his own groin.

"I won't," Ron promised. "Especially if I know you'll be doing that without your trousers on. Merlin, you're sexy as hell. Not to mention you look like you need to be shagged." Changing his mind, Ron dropped the pack on the counter. "I'll smoke later," he growled as Draco smirked. "You're just too tempting, standing there like that."

"Of course I am."

They quickly navigated the stairs, shedding their clothes on the way until they were both in the bedroom, clad only in their boxers.

"What was it you wanted to show me?" Draco asked, kissing around Ron's neck and tweaking his nipples, making Ron moan.

"Oh yeah," Ron said, covering Draco's hands with his own. "That. Not that I want you to stop what you're doing, but let me turn around."

Draco let out a gasp. "Merlin! Ron, it's… I…"

Ron felt Draco's fingers trace the dragon on his skin.

"It's beautiful," Draco said in an awed voice. "I can't believe you did this."

"D'you like it?" Ron was suddenly afraid that his gesture was too much and he hunched his shoulders forward, caving slightly in on himself.

"Oh Ron. How could I not?" The fingers continued caressing Ron's back, and he felt Draco move closer before he breathed gently over the tattoo. "So beautiful," Draco murmured into Ron's skin. He moved his arms around to embrace Ron at the waist, entwining his hands at Ron's navel.

"You must be talking to Drake," Ron said ruefully.

Draco's hands splayed downward and snuck under the waistband of Ron's boxers.

"No. Both of you," he whispered as Ron felt Draco's tongue tenderly trace the outline of the silvery dragon.

Ron had spent a fair amount of time watching it in a mirror, seeing it move around, mostly stretching its wings and occasionally belching fire.

"What's he doing?"

Draco chuckled as his hands grasped Ron's burgeoning erection. Ron let his head fall back so it was next to Draco's, reveling in the erotic sensations being bestowed on him.

"I think he's purring. A gorgeous, silver dragon. Merlin, Ron." Draco began pulling on Ron's arousal, longer downward motions to swifter upsweeps, the way Ron said he toyed with himself when alone. "Does this mean you-"

The unasked question mingled with the sound of their heavy breathing. Ron didn't know what to say. He was grateful that Draco continued to plant a flurry of kisses around the tattoo while still fisting Ron, anchoring himself on the floor by shoving up as tightly behind Ron as he could.

"I'm piss-poor at words," Ron said, reaching behind him to grasp at Draco's taut arse. "But yeah, it definitely means a lot. A lot about how I feel about you. And us."

Ron felt the slick sweeps of Draco's tongue change course to the top of Ron's spine where he gave fervent nips.

"I adore you," Draco said in a husky voice. "And I'm awed by the gesture." He moved one hand below Ron's erection, teasing the skin behind his sensitive balls. "No one has ever done anything like that for me before."

Ron shuddered as a jolt of pleasure coursed from his groin where his lover's talented finger stroked further back, rubbing toward his arse. "Really?" he moaned as his cock was abandoned, only to find two of Draco's tangy-scented digits in his mouth, which Ron suckled with ferocity.

"Never."

Draco's tongue dipped into Ron's ear, sending another current of lust reeling through him. "I got us a toy to commemorate our first year. Let me use it as just one way to show you how much you mean to me."

"Fuck, Draco, anything," Ron said as he was wheeled around. Before Draco, Ron hadn't understood the power of kissing. For that matter, until his intimacies with Draco, Ron had been woefully unaware of myriad sensual avenues; his few former partners decidedly lacked anything resembling Draco's flair and erotic prowess.

"Anything, Ron?" Draco asked with a prurient licking of his lips.

"Well, you know. Almost anything."

"Just checking. Strip and get on the bed so I can have my wicked, hedonistic way with you."

Ron quickly obliged. He was up for almost anything that involved Draco and sex. Despite it all, he couldn't yet gather the nerve for full-on Draco inside of him with anything but his fingers. Those experiences, however, with Draco's skill, had given Ron the most intense orgasms he'd ever known. Moments later Ron found himself spread eagled, tied securely but lovingly to their bed. The 'toy' appeared to be a harness separating his cock and sacs.

"Merlin, Draco, you're evil," Ron rumbled, his body succumbing to nearly painful thresholds of pleasure. All he could do was writhe unsuccessfully against his multiple restraints as Draco chuckled around a sensitive nipple. He bit the hard nub before teasingly biting down Ron's abdomen, a zealous cartographer mapping a beloved land.

Draco licked, massaged, gently breached, and even tickled, lavishing a cornucopia of sensual attentions to every erogenous part of Ron's body save his rigid cock. When Draco released the strap around Ron's erection and he was finally sucked into Draco's inviting mouth, Ron thrust only twice, yelling shameless profanity. The rush of passion jerked out of him as he arched up as high as he could, almost dislodging Draco despite being firmly planted between Ron's open legs.

Tingling spasms pulsed through Ron as he continued to clench around Draco's fingers until the waves of sensation ebbed. For several minutes all Ron could do was lie there, gasping and his heart racing as though he'd been almost drowned and tossed onto land.

"Oh holy Merlin," he said eventually, raising his head to look at Draco through the sweaty red curtain of fringe in his eyes. "That was the most fucking unbelievable thing I've ever felt."

Draco sat back on his heels, trailing a finger through a stray bit of pearly fluid on Ron's abdomen. He fixed a possessive chiromancer's gaze at his hand before sucking the finger between his swollen lips, quirking a smile at Ron's subdued whimper in response.

"Why, thank you. I do rather enjoy giving mind-blowing sex."

Still bound, Ron watched avidly as Draco patted around the disheveled mess of sheets for their lubricant. He took his straining cock in hand and brought himself quickly to climax, the intense grey eyes not leaving Ron's face until his orgasm pulsed through him.

"Draco," Ron said hoarsely, watching his lover's pale heaving chest, "you're amazing."

Draco let out a long, sated sigh, wiping his hand on the sheet with the shadow of a grimace. "Yes, I am. Now let's get cleaned up and go to bed. I feel like I could sleep for a week."

The constraints were removed. Ron got up gingerly, his body drained from the intensity of their coupling. They brushed their teeth and went to the toilet in turns, soon lying in each other's arms and looking drowsily at one another.

"Turn over so I can see your gorgeous little love creature again," Draco said, smiling softly.

Ron obliged, and felt Draco nuzzle his shoulder and soon dozed off, holding Draco's hand across his chest.


***


Ron went to the hospital the next day and spent much of it introducing himself to the staff and even looking in on two patients who were almost through with some complicated curse-removal procedures. The treatments and their magical applications seemed to be similar protocol to what Ron had learned, though the actual style of the Healers was a far cry from the more staid company Ron was used to at St. Mungo's. He discovered they had a thriving internship program that he decided he definitely needed to write to St. Mungo's about. Merlin knew that his early attempts at good bedside manners with his first few patients mightn't have been so embarrassing if he'd had more occasions to see Healers at work.

Once back home, armed with Hermione's tidy notes, he got ready to try reaching Persephone by phone in the hopes of meeting up on Saturday. From what he'd observed, American Wizards tended to use Muggle technology far more than what was common in the U.K., something that would have delighted his father to no end. Draco was going to be tied up all day in what sounded like a tedious sauce-making seminar, so Ron was glad to have something else to do. He'd grown rather fond of their wide-screen television but the prospect of getting out and doing some socialising that didn't require him putting on his 'ponce pants' as Draco called them (of course, Draco usually wouldn't let Ron go clubbing without wearing the one pair of leather trousers that he had) was very appealing.

He dialed, and waited until Persephone answered. They chatted briefly, and then she gave him directions to their house.

"Just take the Chimera line to stop 22. We're on Hyacinth Park, catty-corner from the bus stop, house 942. You'll see a big hedge and a bright green fire hydrant- they've just painted them. It's pretty funny. Just tap your wand on the top and you'll be able to see our street."

"The what line?" Maybe Ron wasn't so good at using Muggle technology. "I think I'd know if I saw that on my public transport map."

"Oh!" Persephone giggled. "Not the covite bus, the Wizard bus."

"Covite?"

"Y'know. People without magic."

"We call them Muggles."

"That's weird."

Ron snorted. "Okay. Now you've just got to tell me how to find the Wizard bus. I'm pretty good with the Muggle routes."

"Go to Grand Central Station, to the bus terminals, lower level. There's a set of turnstiles near the ticketing windows; just go through the one furthest to your left, next to the wall mural. Then you'll be in our bus area. The rest is really obvious."

Ron smiled. "Sounds brilliant. I'll be there around two o'clock, then?"

"Excellent!" she chirped. "See you Saturday."


***


The weekend arrived. Initially rebuffed, Ron cajoled Draco into a deliciously satisfying shag. He didn't want anything elaborate, but Ron did tend to wake up at least semi-erect. Morning Draco was less guarded, hair rumpled and often cranky, but of all times of day, that was when he was most affectionate. Draco made a warning growling sound when Ron first trailed his hand down Draco's abdomen to nestle his fingers in the dark gold curls of his groin. Ron was gently tenacious and was rewarded when his lover gave in with an exasperated sigh.

"You and morning sex," he said, shaking his head and looking at Ron with slightly puffy eyes. "It's as though you think frottage is a daily fortifier or something."

Ron had gotten the lubricant Draco made exclusively for their use and lay back down on his side, stroking his lover's cock. "It's way too early for you to be using words I don't know."

Draco let out a cooing sound of pleasure as Ron, with a well-oiled hand, took their erections and began fisting them together slowly.

"Frottage," Draco said a bit breathlessly, giving attention to Ron's hard nipples. "Rubbing. Grinding. This. Fuck, you're so good at it."

"Thanks."

They thrust against each other, Ron giving Draco a couple of kisses on the side of his lightly-stubbled face. One thing he'd learned when they began spending their nights together was that there was absolutely no mouth-to-mouth kissing with Draco until he'd brushed his teeth. No exceptions.

A short while later, a satisfied Draco was having a shower. After lounging in bed for a few minutes, rather smugly relishing the pleasure of his own release, Ron got up and went to make coffee. Draco went off to the Institute for the day and Ron puttered around the house until noon. He didn't really know how long it would take to get to the Weasleys, and he figured better early than late. Armed with Persephone's directions, an assemblage of Muggle and Wizard money, and the manga, he left the flat.


***



***


The time flew by. Ron grew more comfortable at the hospital, and was even asked to function as the primary Healer for a rather exotic case, yet another duelling curse: everything the afflicted wizard said and wrote was backward, so trying to work out what he'd been hit with was only the first of many challenges. Using some of what he'd learned from his experience with Draco's persona immunata, Ron spent several days trying to invert the man's magic. Once the wizard was able to incant lumos, albeit very slowly, rather than the candle lighting, one nearby went out instead. There was an extensive library that Ron decided to visit to do research into more North American-centric spells and hexes. That combined with several weeks of creative spell-casting and some very helpful comments by a willowy intern who seemed to have formed an unrequited crush on him, and the wizard was able to return to his estate.

Ron and Draco hosted a few get-togethers with varying degrees of formality. Unsurprisingly, the Weasleys came over first, a couple of weeks after Ron had gone to visit them. Philip looked a bit surprised at Draco, even though Ron had been upfront that he was in the States with a male companion. Then again, Ron decided he was under no obligation to defend or even discuss his sexuality if he didn't want to. That lasted until the Weasleys were about to leave. Ron was giving Seph a quick personal tour of the flat, mostly to show her some pictures of his family. She squealed when she saw the twins in an older picture taken from their Egyptian holiday.

"Oh! They're cute!" she gushed. Fred and George winked at the camera before turning to look knowingly at each other and back to the photographer.

"I wouldn't say that- bit of a bloody nightmare, really," Ron said. "But good blokes deep down. It's just George now, though. They had- well, George runs it now- a really brilliant jokeshop. Completely out of the blue before the last War, Death Eaters attacked them, of all people. Fred didn't make it."

"I'm so sorry. That must've been really sad." Persephone put the picture carefully on the side table.

"Yeah. George's doing okay, but it's still weird seeing him without Fred." He followed her gaze to another picture, this one on Draco's side of the bed. It was of the two of them, lounging in a pub booth, Ron's arm draped over Draco's shoulder. The picture-Draco had a sly grin on his face, glancing over to Ron and back.

"Mmmm," she hummed thoughtfully. "You two are together. Like together together."

Ron felt a faint flush start at his neck. "Yes, we are."

She made another contemplative noise.

"Does that bother you?" Ron asked as they left the room.

"Ron, I read manga. Shounen ai manga," she said, as though that should make everything perfectly clear. "And I have an idea." She turned and Ron recognised an impish expression on her face. "Will you give me your address again?"

He wrote it down for her before descending the stairs. In the entrance hall, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley thanked Draco profusely for the stunning meal he'd concocted.

"Any time," he drawled. "It's been a delightful evening." He took Persephone's hand and kissed it, at which point she turned scarlet. "Please do come again."

Once the door was shut Draco collapsed on the sofa.

"You're not about to say something rude, are you?" Ron warned, thinking Draco had been laying it on a bit thick there at the end.

"No, Ron, I'm not," Draco said, indignant. "But I would like to have Cassandra, some of her friends and some of the more tolerable gents from the Institute over."

"Fine with me," Ron said affably, sitting next to Draco. "Just set a date and I'll make sure the flat's clean."

"Such a good house husband." Draco patted Ron's thigh and smiled warmly at him.

"I may have to kick your arse right about now."

"I can think of better things you could do to it."

The cleaning was put off until the morning.


***


A few days later, Ron heard the doorbell ring. He opened the door to see a befuddled looking man wearing a blue uniform with the acronym USWP stitched on the pocket in gold. He had a mid-sized package in his hand.

"Ron Weasley?" he asked, looking at the glittery purple writing on the box and back up at Ron.

"Yeah. Who're you?"

"Wizarding Post. Just never delivered anything here before. Please sign this." He shoved a parchment with dozens of lines on it and handed Ron a utilitarian quill. "Line twenty-seven."

Ron scrawled his signature as legibly as he could and accepted the parcel. "Thanks."

He went inside, investigating the art on the outside. It was from Seph, no doubt there, gaily addressed and with a couple of drawings of the characters in the manga comic she'd let him borrow. Inside were three more books and a note on pink paper so vivid it hurt his eyes to read it. "SEPH" winked in and out at the top of the page.
A few smiley faces rolled across the note.

A frowny face blinked sadly.


With no small amount of intrigue, Ron lifted one of the books of manga and began flipping through it. The first difference he noticed was that it must be wizarding manga. The illustrations, far more realistic than the one he'd borrowed before, were moving.

And-

"Bloody hell!"

After recovering from the shock that this was adult, in no uncertain terms, he started to laugh. Then he realised he was getting turned on by looking at it.

"Well," he said to himself, taking the package upstairs, "I'm up for a wank."

He grinned at his bad pun.

That evening he sat out on the porch, having an illicit cigarette after dinner when Draco charged outside.

"What the fuck is this?" he demanded, waving the comic at Ron, his grey eyes wide.

"What does it look like?" It was all Ron could do to keep from laughing at the flabbergasted look on Draco's face.

"I don't bloody know!"

Ron crushed out the cigarette. "Manga. Adult manga. Thank-you gift from Seph."

Draco looked incredulously at the cartoon men on the cover, half-dressed and provocatively nuzzling each other.

"You mean that a fourteen year old set you a comic book of gay porn?!"

"Never underestimate a Weasley, no matter where you find them."

Draco tentatively turned a few pages. "Oh gods. They're… that's…"

"Really hot," Ron said suggestively in his lover's ear. "Let's go read some, shall we?"

He tugged at Draco and they wandered back into the house to the couch.

"There's something not right with Weasleys, no matter where you find them," Draco muttered.

"Oh, don't be a prude, Mr. 'I Buy Things in Sex Stores.' It's even got a plotline, too."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Really."

"Sure, but that's not why you read it."

"No, I wouldn't think so."

"Shut up and start at the beginning."


***


It was a Tuesday in the last month of their stay. Ron was sitting in a staff lounge, discussing a challenging case with one of the other Healers over a cup of tea when a small hawk streaked in and dropped a tan-coloured parchment on the table. It didn't stop but went swooping back out as Ron regarded the page, sealed in an image of crossed feathers. He picked it up, looking quizzical.

"What symbol is this?" he asked his companion when Jane Rueland came rushing in.

"Don't know," the Healer admitted, shrugging.

"It's from the Wing-Borne, indigenous witches and wizards. Their communications are faster even than the USWF," she explained. "I knew it was theirs by the bird."

"The what?"

"United States Wizarding Federation," the Healer interjected. "You know- government-like, for the country."

"Somebody must have needed to get in touch with you urgently." Rueland double-checked the feather seal and nodded.

"Can't imagine why," Ron said, sliding his finger to unroll the parchment, which felt almost buttery, and very different from any paper he'd held before. He scanned the page, then, in a state of shock, forced himself to slow down and reread it again, slowly. The message didn't change. He let out a deep breath he hadn't realised he was holding, and looked up at the Chief Administrator. "I'm afraid that I'm going to have to go back home. Immediately."

He shook his head and glanced back down at the words just once more.

"My brother Percy and his wife were killed in a Muggle car accident."


***


"What do you mean you're not going? You're my partner! He wasn't my favourite brother or anything, but I'll still need you for support. This'll be just as bad if not worse than when Fred was killed!"

Ron was ranting while Draco tried to justify himself.

"Your family doesn't like me anyway," Draco said, sitting in a chair while Ron haphazardly threw clothes into a trunk.

"That's not bloody true!" Ron fumed and viciously hurled his trainers, which missed their target.

"It is and you know it." Draco got up to rescue the shoes and tried to console Ron, who shrugged him off.

"It isn't! Fuck, you're supposed to go and be with me during a family tragedy." Ron glared at Draco.

"They would see me as an unwelcome intruder in their grief," Draco insisted before his expression changed to one of concern. "Are you doing okay?"

"Okay? OKAY?" Ron began pacing again. "Percy and Primula accidentally killed by a Muggle car, and you." He jabbed his finger. "I thought we were a pair. That we'd be there for each other even when fucking shitty unfair things happen."

"I am, but I'd just-"

"You'd just rather not have to deal with being around my family even though something terrible has happened. I know. You've made that clear."

Like a wave hitting the shore, the hurt and remorse tumbled over Ron's anger. With a wounded voice, he asked, "Are you sure you won't come? It'd mean the world to Mum, I know it would."

"I would do anything for you," Draco said in a tender voice. "But I honestly believe that my presence would be an unwelcome intrusion in your family. You're a very tight-knit group, and the last thing I want to do is come between you all."

Draco embraced Ron, whose arms hung at his sides.

"I'll miss you terribly, but I really think this is best. They won't feel they have to censor themselves around me, and you won't have to be worrying about how we're all getting along. You can be there and be what your parents and siblings need. And then get back as soon as you can."

Slowly, Ron circled his arms around his lover's waist. He gently rubbed his nose in the soft hair at Draco's ear, drinking in the reassuring smell of his hair. Draco had a point; there would be a lot of difficult details to sort out and, while his parents did accept his partner, they hadn't given Draco the same warm reception that they had to the other extended members of the Weasley clan. With a sigh, he gave Draco an affectionate squeeze and kissed the pale skin of his ear.

"All right," he murmured before drawing back. "Doubt I'll sleep well, though. Always did have a ruddy lumpy mattress, no matter how many spells I cast on it. Besides, well," he cleared his throat, "I'm used to having you next to me."

"I'll be at the international portkey terminal as soon as you want me there," Draco promised, cradling Ron's face and placing a chaste, lingering kiss on Ron's lips.

"I won't sleep well either."


***


Both George and Remus greeted Ron at the London Portkey terminal.

"Where's Draco?" Remus asked as George apprised Ron before giving him a brief hug.

"He thought he'd be in the way."

"Ah," Remus said sagely and nodded. "I understand. How are things?"

"With Draco? Really good. I mean, we're both busy doing our own thing, but overall, I reckon we're pretty solid. Better than the other blokes I was seeing, for certain."

"More bad news," George said as they walked to the public floo. "Dad's resigning from the Ministry."

"What?" Ron exclaimed, stopping in his tracks in disbelief. "Why?"

"It was just too much, being a Muggle car and all," George said, turning around.

"He and Primula had left Xavier with Molly and gone to Muggle London to get a Patermas gift," Remus elaborated. "That they were killed on that account made him decide to leave the Muggle Artifacts office."

The trio resumed their walk to the floo.

"George and I will attend his Leaving Ceremony tomorrow."

"Mum's been pretty fucking miserable," George acknowledged as they stood in the short queue. "Glad you're here, though." He clapped Ron on the back. "You'll have to fill me in about New York later."

"I will."

Once at the Burrow, Ron consoled his mother, whose eyes were bloodshot.

"We're going to bury him at the family cemetery," she sniffled into his chest as she wrapped her arms around him.

"Not Hogwarts, then?" Ron asked, trying to soothe her by running his hands up and down her back.

"No. Percy loved Hogwarts, but we thought after his reconciliation with us that he'd want to be close by." She stepped back and took a sodden handkerchief out of an apron pocket to dab at her eyes. "The memorial will be tomorrow after your father's Leaving ceremony. George told you?"

Ron nodded. Just then, George ducked into the kitchen doorway with an auburn-haired boy riding on his shoulders.

"Uncle Ron!" he squealed, a wide smile on his face. "You're back!"

"Hi Xave!" Ron couldn't help smiling in return as George knelt down to let the six-year-old climb off of his shoulders. He rushed to Ron who scooped him up and began tickling him mercilessly. "Did you miss me?" he asked as Xavier squirmed and giggled.

"Ron, put him down," Molly chastised, but Ron knew her heart wasn't in it.

"Yes!" Xavier gasped as Ron swung him from side to side before lowering him to the floor. "You've been in America," he said confidently. He put his thumb in his mouth and dramatically wiggled a loose eyetooth. "I'm going to lose a tooth."

Ron squatted down to inspect his nephew's mouth. "You sure are. Can I pull it for you?"

"I've got dibs on that job," George smirked. "Remember? You said I could do it."

Xavier's pale blue eyes grew wide.

"Boys! Honestly," Molly said sternly before focusing a sad smile on her grandson. "Xavier, why don't you and Uncle George and Uncle Remus go to the garden and pick out three good-sized pumpkins. I'll make some fresh juice for visitors."

As they left, Molly sank down into a chair at the table, wearily raising her wand to bring the tea kettle to the table and poured herself a cup. "Tea?"

"Love some."

Ron stirred in milk and sugar, already missing Draco's usually subtle but comforting affectionate touches. As though reading his mind, his mother stated," Draco didn't come with you."

After taking a sip of tea, Ron nodded.

"I really wanted him to, but he figured there'd be a lot going on, y'know, family-wise. Didn't want to get in the way."

There was a thick silence.

"He sends his sympathy, and said he'd be thinking of all of us," Ron went on, his defence of his partner rising quickly to the surface. "I know this isn't the time to talk about it, but things are really good. We'll move back soon, and have to have you over. He can make the most brilliant desserts."

Ron realised he was on the verge of babbling to fill the silence, so he took another sip of tea to make himself shut up.

"Do you really love him, Ron?"

Ron choked. His mother had never asked him about his love life so bluntly before, and it took him by surprise.

"Well, yeah," he said a bit hoarsely, trying to regain his composure. "We don't exactly talk about it, but, um, yeah."

Molly let her eyes linger on Ron for a moment as though assessing him, then returned to her tea. They lapsed into silence again, hearing Xavier, George and Remus through the open window.

"Xave seems to be coping pretty well," Ron said after a while.

Molly sighed. "He's resilient, but he's done his share of crying. It was so sudden, you know, and Percy adored him."

"Yeah. Xave's a great little kid. He'll live with you and Dad, right, since Primula's parents were killed in the War?"

Molly placed her cup on its saucer and fixed an intense gaze on Ron.

"Arthur and I have spent a lot of time discussing Xavier's situation. We're not that old, and Merlin knows this house is big enough, but we're of similar minds on this. George and Remus spend most of their time at Hogwarts, and Ginny and Neville will soon have their own newborn to contend with."

The hairs on the back of Ron's neck began to prickle.

"You've had an affinity with Xavier since he's been born. I've watched you with him, and I know you'd make a wonderful parent. You can work at home, or even take a few years off- certainly with Draco's money you'll never be lacking."

Ron thought he heard an implied jab in his mother's last phrase, but he was too busy reeling from the implications to comment.

"You are his favourite uncle after all."

Ron stared, flabbergasted. "You think he should live with me?"

"Yes. You were going to be coming back soon anyway," Molly said beseechingly. "Why don't you just ask Draco to send your things and simply stay here? You can spend as much time with us as you like, of course, as we all adjust."

Ron ran his hands through his hair, then cradled his head, elbows on the table, and stared at this cooling tea. Deep down he'd resigned himself to the fact that he'd never have children, and after the surprise of finding a potential life partner with Draco, he'd put those feelings to rest. It was true that he was very fond of his nephew, and his mother's confidence made him feel vaguely capable. This would be a major life decision, though, one that he and Draco had most certainly never discussed. But this was family, and as Ron considered the request, the answer seemed as obvious as though he could read the answer in the leaves settled at the bottom of his cup.

"Well, I should really let Draco know about this," he said, twiddling his thumbs as he considered his words. "We've never talked about kids, y'know, and he's an only child. But, well, I'm pretty sure we're going to be together for a really long time, and I bet he'll end up spoiling Xavier even more than I would."

Fanciful, vivid images danced into Ron's mind: Draco teaching Xavier how to properly tie a tie; the three of them cheering on the Chudley Cannons; games of exploding snap in front of the fireplace; he and Draco seeing Xavier off when he went to Hogwarts for the first time.

He raised his head. "I'm willing to give it a go," Ron went on. "But no promises about how I'll do. I sure don't want to bollocks up Xave's life, and Draco and I are nothing like Percy and Primula."

A complex expression of relief and remorse settled on Molly's face. "I know you're not, Ron," she said, taking one of his hands and clasping it in hers. "And don't for a minute think you'll be doing this all on your own. Your father and I, George and Remus- we'll help out as often as needed. I'm so glad you're willing to accept this responsibility. I'd always thought you'd be such a wonderful father, no matter how many children you ended up having." Her voice cracked slightly. "But don't you start thinking I'm sorry you're the way you are, and George is. I love you just the same, and I've never seen you so happy before, with Draco."

Ron felt a tightness in his chest and took a deep breath to try and prevent the welling of tears to do anything traitorous like leave his eyes.

"I love you too, Mum. I'm sure we'll muddle through. Can't be that hard, right?" He attempted a rather lopsided smile.

"As easy as lumos and as complicated as advanced arithmancy." Molly gave his hand a comforting squeeze. "I'd best go check up on the boys. They've been dangerously quiet."

She got up from the table and went outside, leaving Ron to a plate of untouched biscuits and the thoughts churning in his head.


***




***


The endless loop of unanswerable questions in Ron's head mirrored his circles above the Malfoy Manor grounds. He hadn't wanted to be out there, but he needed the space in the sky and the Manor was far from curious eyes, whether Wizard or Muggle. He was furious at Draco for being so fucking unwilling to see that the Weasleys did accept him, albeit grudgingly. That he was a part of the family, and Draco bloody well was too stubborn to believe it. Ron was equally enraged at Fate, or whatever power had allowed Percy and his wife to be killed so that Xavier was an orphan, forcing Ron into the impossible situation of having to choose between his lover and his family.

Until he'd received Draco's reply, sent at extra expense via the Wing-Borne post, Ron had been in good spirits relative to the sombre tone of the days' events. Xavier got sad at times, but was surprisingly stoic at the funeral, given his age. Ron found himself reaching out to his nephew more and more, easing into his role as guardian with both nervousness and pleasure. Draco's refusal to accept Xavier into their lives left Ron in a miserable bind.

He found himself shivering and realised night had fallen while he'd continued to fly. As he steered toward the ground, he felt he bore the weight of a dozen giants. Surely Draco would come to his senses; he looked out for himself, to be sure, but after their first few months together Ron had realised that at least within their relationship, Draco was by far the most selfless of the two. Pulling his robe tight, Ron unspelled the wards at the broomshed and hung his Skyrunner in its slot on the wall. Out of habit he gave it an affectionate caress, remembering as he often did the first night he'd ridden it, which was also the first night he and Draco had shared their bodies with each other. Draco's broom gleamed sleekly in the adjoining space as he'd decided he really wouldn't need it in New York. Ron grasped the handle and leaned in to sniff it, inhaling the faint residual alder tree oil scent that permeated it due to Draco's devoted polishing.

Mentally shattered, Ron rested his head against his hand, distantly surprised when he saw two small drops on the floor and realised he was crying.

"Merlin, Draco, this isn't bloody fair," he said into the silence, irritably wiping his nose on his shoulder. "You'd be great with Xave, I just know it. We'd be great."

He looked around at the impressive array of brooms, Quidditch equipment and broom care products as feelings of hope and loss battled for dominance.

"With us as his dads, he'd be a brilliant player, no question. Just change your mind," he pleaded in the shadows, willing his thoughts to reach Draco. "He's family. I need to do this. But I need you, too."

With his index finger, Ron traced the smooth ebony curve of Draco's broom before turning to leave the shed. He respelled the wards and looked up at the night sky. Clouds obscured much of the stars, but a few twinkled against the darkness. He stood for several minutes, one part of his mind trying to recognise any familiar constellations, the rest scrambling for the right words to write to his lover. He hated writing. Ron had always felt his communication skills were pretty dismal at best, going all the way back to his years in Hogwarts when he'd had a thing for Hermione.

Ron's stomach made a raucous growling noise. Shaking his head, he pulled his robe close and decided to Apparate to The Strongbow, a pub not too far from the Burrow. Merlin knew he needed a drink. He vanished with a crack.


***


"Ishapost!" Xavier enthused through a mouth of sandwich.

"What?" Ron looked out from the kitchen where he was busy cutting up an apple.

Xavier swallowed and grinned toothily, displaying his newest gap. "Post! Oooh. Pretty owl."

Sure enough, an instantly recognisable eagle owl flew through the window, dropped a creamy parchment on the counter, and came to rest on Ron's shoulder.

"Hi Gabe," Ron said as the owl affectionately nipped at his ear. "Wasn't sure when I'd see you again."

"Whose is he?" Xavier asked before downing a goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Draco's."

Ron rummaged through the pantry and found his stash of dried beef. He broke off a few morsels and fed it to Gabriel. Though he acted as normally as possible, Ron felt anxious knots twist in his stomach. It had been over two weeks since he'd written Draco of his decision to stay and be Xavier's guardian, and the more days that went by, the more certain Ron became that Draco had decided to stay in New York. An ember of hope that Draco would ultimately be swayed by his professed love for Ron burned hesitantly in his chest, but Ron had spent most of his lonely nights steeling himself for the worst. He'd allowed himself limitless wallowing, spending sleepless hours on the back steps of their house smoking, drinking too much firewhiskey, and looking at his favourite picture of the two of them taken at a Magpies game.

"Is Draco like Uncle Remus?" Xavier asked as the owl flew out of the house.

"Um," Ron faltered. "Sortof. George and Remus are really together. Married-like." Please Merlin, don't make me have to explain any more, he thought as Xavier nodded his head as though Ron made perfect sense. I'm not ready to discuss stuff like this, not today.

"If you're married, why isn't he here?"

The simple question, asked so honestly, fractured Ron's fragile reserve.

"We're not," he said a bit gruffly before clearing his throat. "He's studying to be a fancy cook. He's ruddy brilliant at it too."

"Does he make chocolate ice cream? That's my favourite." Xavier's freckled legs swung under his chair at the thought of dessert.

"Dunno, really. Don't think so. Why don't you go have a little lie-down and I'll read this and then we'll play some Confounding Croquet."

Xavier loved the prototype of the game that George had recently modified to sell at Wheezes: about one time in four when a ball was hit it vanished in a puff of pungent smoke and relocated somewhere else entirely on the green.

Xavier rolled his eyes. "I don't need a nap. I'm not tired."

"Well, just rest for a bit anyway."

"Why?" Xavier pouted.

"Because I said so." Ron aimed his wand at the dirty plate and glass and they floated into the sink. "I've been letting you stay up too late."

"Mummy says I'm a night owl." The boy's scowl faded into a sad expression. "Why'd she die?"

Ron finished chewing a slice of apple, wondering what on earth to say.

"It was an accident. I'm really sorry, Xavier. I didn't know your mother that well, and there were times I didn't get along with Perce, I mean, your dad. Sometimes life is really, really unfair." He pocketed Draco's letter and walked over to his nephew, squatting by his chair. "Do you want to go outside and just yell for a bit? Might make us both feel better."

Xavier sniffed as Ron carded his fingers through the boy's fine russet hair.

"Okay. Will you have a nap with me after that?"

Ron nodded.

Together they went to the backyard, where Ron cast a limited silencing spell. They yelled up at the sky for a few minutes, Ron noticing a few tears on Xavier's face, but he didn't make mention of them. After a while, Xavier's energy faded and he leaned against Ron's side.

"Can we go inside now?" he asked.

"Sure. Why don't you brush your teeth and I'll be right in."

Once alone, Ron undid the silencio and took out Draco's letter. He felt as drained as Xavier looked, but he needed to know what his lover had written. The message was relatively brief, and quintessentially Draco, formal in his unique, intimate manner.



Frustration thundered through Ron, making him feel ill. He refolded the letter, scuffing his shoes on the grass as he walked to the house. Resentment flared into a slow burn in his chest as he silently swore at Draco for refusing even to try living with Xavier. His nephew was well-tempered, rarely disobeyed, and despite the awfulness of his parents' sudden deaths, he still managed to be mostly cheerful. Ron's irritation turned to a confusing miasma of resignation and optimism as he took off his shirt in the warm room and stretched out on his stomach beside Xavier. The boy clutched a stuffed animal dragon, sent by Charlie. Ron was secure in the decision he'd made for himself. He wasn't so desperate as to look for someone else, especially since Draco's letter held hints that he'd come around.

"What's that?" Xavier asked, interrupting Ron's circuitous reverie.

"What's what?" Ron got up on his elbows.

"Dragon. On your back."

A rueful smile crept on Ron's mouth. "It's a tattoo. Is he moving or is he asleep?"

"He's spreading his wings," Xavier said in an awed voice. "Can I put him on me?"

"No," Ron said with a low chuckle. "Drake's permanent."

"Why d'you have it?" Xavier's small finger tentatively reached over Ron's shoulder blades. "Can I touch him?"

"Sure." Ron turned onto his side so Xavier could run a soft pad over the skin. "I guess I got it because Draco's a really special bloke. Draco means dragon."

Ron felt Xavier's finger movements and guessed he was trying to pet the Snegbog.

"When's he coming?"

Ron looked over his shoulder. "Who, Draco?"

Xavier nodded.

"I don't know. He's thinking about a lot of things right now." Hopefully a lot about me, Ron thought to himself. "Here, let's rest for a bit."

"Okay."

Ron laid his head sideways, elbows splayed and his arms under his pillow. Xavier scooted over next to him and lay on his back, the stuffed animal in his hands.

"If you like him, I hope he comes soon." Xavier said softly.

"I do, too."


***


The days stretched into weeks; weeks to a month, and then another. Ron returned to St. Mungo's, working a few days a week, assisting in his field of specialty but also cobbling together a new Healer internship program after having a discussion with the head of hospital. He and Seph even exchanged a few letters. Ron relished the vibrant envelopes and garish stationery, in addition to hearing the details of her antics at school and Quidditch successes. In October there was a huge Halloween party at the Burrow, the first for Ginny and Neville's son, Clydelan Percival. Ron owled a holiday card to Draco even though he hadn't received any further communication from him since the letter in September.

A cold, damp November seeped into Ron's days. In a rare show of loyalty, George spoke his mind to Ron in no uncertain terms over a couple of pints with Remus.

"You deserve better than to be left hanging by that condescending, doesn't-appreciate-what-he's-got bloody snob wanker," George fumed.

Ron opened his mouth to retaliate but Remus beat him to it.

"That's between the two of them, George," Remus said disapprovingly while George polished off his ale, brows furrowed.

"I know! I just don't get it, Ron. I've told you that Winthrop chap's been asking about you. Now there's a bloke who'll be good to you and he's interested. Not an eyesore, either."

Remus raised an eyebrow at the last comment, but George merely winked and lewdly ran his tongue over his teeth. "C'mon, Remus, you know I'm only interested in middle-aged werewolves."

"It'd better be only one middle-aged werewolf," Remus jokingly threatened, looking at the handfasting band on George's hand.

"I just think he's going to come around," Ron insisted, light a cigarette. "Besides, you don't really know what he's like. I can't blame him for being a bit distant, since this was all quite a shock. He really cares about me."

"Funny way to show it," George grumbled, ignoring Remus' warning look. "Bet you regret that tattoo now."

"I fucking do not! We're meant to be together, George. You don't have to like it, and I can't bollocky explain it, but it's true. I still love him."

Remus offered a sympathetic smile. His gaze flickered over to the door of the pub and he stared for a minute, but returned his attentions to Ron. Feeling bolstered, Ron took a drag and continued on, half for George's benefit and half to remind himself of his own loyalties.

"Sometimes he's a bit of a prig, but most everybody is on occasion. He thinks a lot, you know- he's miles ahead of me in that department. But mostly, he likes me. Even when he's had a shite day or is in a bad mood, I still know he's glad I'm around. He cares, and he worries. Gets jealous, too. Of me, if you can believe that. We've been together longer than anybody else he was with."

Ron paused to finish his pint and noticed that George had a surprised expression on his face.

"And I hope I haven't been gone too long, because I want that to continue."

The warm familiarity of the speaker nestled in Ron's heart as he turned around. Draco stood behind Ron's chair, impeccably dressed, bearing an expression so unusual it took Ron a couple of seconds to recognise it. Fear hung in his eyes, uncertainty reflected in their dull granite.

"I've never heard a compliment as precious as what you've just said. Does that mean you haven't given up on me?"

Ron was so disconcerted by the lack of confidence in Draco's timbre that he stumbled over his reply.

"No. I mean, I hadn't yet," he said, rising from his chair and drawing Draco to him in a fierce hug. "My bed's been too big, too. I'm so glad you're home," he breathed into Draco's ear.

"We'll get Xavier from Ginny's and he can stay with us for tonight," Remus said as Ron stepped back.

"Thanks, Remus. Draco and I have a lot of catching up to do. I'll come get him-"

"We'll come get him," Draco gently interrupted, squeezing Ron's hand and releasing it. "If that's acceptable," he went on, acknowledging Remus and George with a nod but addressing the question to Ron.

"That should be fine," George said to Draco with an innocent grin. "We'll bring him over first thing in the morning, so be sure old Sir Wanksalot here gets a proper shagging or two tonight."

"Piss off, you tosser," Ron threatened, but Draco merely turned and placed his hands elegantly on the table in front of George, leaning in until they were nearly nose to nose.

"That's a brilliant suggestion. If I'm exceedingly fortunate, Ron will fuck me thoroughly and in ways I've never even considered so that I won't be able to sit for a week. I'll enjoy coming up with explanations for Xavier as to why I have a phobia of chairs."

With the lethal grace of a lynx, Draco stood up. George looked as though he might begin spewing slugs at any second as Remus unsuccessfully disguised a coughing laugh behind his hand.

"No pressure, then," Ron said jovially, drinking in the grateful reality of Draco's presence. Though they hadn't been separated all that long, Ron was newly entranced by his partner's fluid movements, and the aura of controlled power that compelled other's eyes to him. Draco still wore his more guarded public demeanour, but the message revealed in his eyes as he gazed at Ron was unabashed relief. Ron wanted them to be at their house now. There would be plenty of time to talk and readjust, but in that moment, above all Ron wished to be gloriously naked with Draco. The thought went straight to his recently-ignored cock, and Draco must have known it because Ron saw a flicker of lust in Draco's expression.

"Absolutely none," he drawled, brushing an imaginary speck off of his tailored overrobe. "But we should get going before we cause a scene. Remus. George."

Draco bid his good-byes while Ron hurriedly struggled into his coat.

They walked out of the pub to the alley to Apparate, but not before Draco paused to cup Ron's jaw in his hands and kissed him tenderly.

"I've missed you," he murmured into Ron's lips.

"Likewise," Ron said, sucking Draco's lower lip into his mouth. It felt blissful. Ron hadn't realised that his mouth could feel lonely, but that seemed the only explanation for how he was now at peace. The kiss deepened, their tongues possessively reclaiming each other as Ron put his arms around Draco's waist. Eventually Ron drew back for air, and panted, "Ready?"

Draco nodded, his face completely unguarded. Seeing Draco's undisguised raw emotions and need made Ron's breath hitch. "You're so beautiful," he said, leaning in to plant a kiss at Draco's temple before closing his eyes and Apparating.


***


"Are you absolutely sure?" Draco asked, his husky voice both solemn and concerned.

"More than anything." Ron continued fisting their cocks together, relishing the hungry moan that escaped from Draco's throat. They were both aching with pent-up need, and Ron felt he could contentedly drown in the desire he saw in his lover's dilated eyes. "I want you to fuck me, Draco. Only you."

Draco's erection jumped in Ron's hand, and in response Ron draped his leg over Draco's lean thigh, eager for as much contact as he could manage.

"Just be gentle. Well, at first, anyway."

"Merlin, Ron." Draco ravished Ron's mouth, his lips swollen from their ferocious kisses. "I will. Gods, even imagining it is enough to make me want to come."

He ground his hips against Ron's for emphasis and offered his neck, which Ron bit down on, earning a throaty, ragged sigh.

"You'd better not," Ron growled before licking the red mark he'd made. "There's always that cock ring…" He let go of his own erection to grasp the base of Draco's shaft and held it tight.

"No need," Draco gasped. "It's just been a while. Where's my wand?"

"Somewhere in that pile of clothes, I reckon."

"Probably." Draco nibbled on Ron's earlobe. "May I have my cock back now?"

"If you insist."

Ron rolled from his side onto his back, avidly watching Draco's svelte form as he rifled through his overrobe. Draco returned to the bed and sat on his heels, his gaze raking over Ron. For his part, Ron absorbed the physical beauty of his lover's body: the white skin, lightly defined pectorals and nearly invisible downy hairs that trailed down to a golden thatch of curls. Strong, wiry arms and prominent collarbones that set off his long neck, white-blond hair worn a bit long and deliciously disheveled.

"You're quite a sight for sore eyes," Draco murmured. "I'm sorry that I-"

"No apologies. We do need to talk, about us, and Xavier," Ron said, getting up on his elbows. "But right now, I want you to fuck me. I want to know how it feels to have you deep inside me."

Draco exhaled slowly, running his thumb up and down his wand. "Do you want to be on your back? You should probably have a pillow."

"Yeah. This time, especially, I really want to see your face."

After that, there were no words. Placing his wand at Ron's entrance, Draco uttered a cleaning spell, accio'ed their lubricant, and tossed the wand aside. Ron closed his eyes as Draco's clever tongue seemed to draw complicated runes on his cock before delving lower and spreading Ron's cheeks apart with his hands. Ron succumbed to his other senses: the feeling of his feet on cool sheets; the heat and wet of Draco's tongue as it flicked around Ron's most intimate muscle; the scent of broom polish when Draco coated his finger with his self-made unguent and carefully stretched Ron, nudging his prostate so that Ron was straining up from the bed, fists clenched for purchase in the rumpled cotton.

"Now, Draco, please," he begged, raising his head when the fingers withdrew, leaving him feeling empty.

"Relax," Draco said, gently pouring more oil in his palm and covering his cock from head to root until his erection glistened in the dim light. He got to his knees and put one hand on Ron's knee, the other on himself as he positioned the tip and pushed. When he got past the ring of muscle Ron grimaced in pain, squinting his eyes against it.

"I'll go slowly, but push against me, if you can."

Ron could only nod and hope his body would adapt quickly to what felt like a massive intrusion. Won't fit, won't fit, fuck, I had no idea, raced through his mind, but then Draco was leaning over him, kissing him and stroking Ron's erection. Draco murmured soothing endearments while Ron waited out the burning and distress he felt. As Draco began to slowly inch back and thrust, angling to hit that point of pleasure inside of him, Ron opened his eyes. Draco looked rapturous, feral and reverent all at once.

"You're so tight, Ron," he said, voice thick with desire. "So good."

Ron could conjure no reply. The discomfort metamorphosed into a not unpleasant fullness and a craving for more. More friction, more Draco. He wrapped his legs around Draco's waist and Draco began thrusting into him in earnest. The new sensations were overwhelming, and felt brilliant.

"You're… amazing… love," Ron chanted as Draco vigorously fucked him, his pale fringe swinging into his eyes and stomach muscles stretched out. "Draco…"

Ron's climax poured out of him in raging pulses. Seconds later, Draco came with a reedy cry, the look of surrender so intimate Ron felt all doubt splinter. As his body recovered, Ron reached up to pull Draco to him for a breathy kiss. Draco sank down bonelessly, his head resting against Ron's neck. They lay together, Ron stroking Draco's back and feeling his lover's heartbeat slow to its more usual meter. The room was still save their quiet breathing until Ron sensed that Draco would soon slip out of him. He made a disappointed noise as that happened and Draco gave him a heavy-lidded smile.

"Feel okay?" Draco asked as he rearranged himself to be face to face, sliding his arm under Ron's to enfold his torso.

Ron experimentally clenched his arse and winced, garnering a concerned look from his lover. "Bit sore, but otherwise unreal," he said reassuringly, using his thumb to smooth out the wrinkle between Draco's brows. "Wish we'd done this ages ago."

"I did suggest it," Draco said slyly.

"Yes, you did. But I guess I wasn't ready."

Draco pressed his lips tenderly to Ron's.

"I know." He nudged his head down to the hollow under Ron's arm and took a couple of deep breaths before exhaling a contented sigh. "This will shock you no small amount, but at heart I'm sentimental. When I would debate and struggle and wonder just how much my presence might warp your poor defenceless nephew, I still slept with one of your shirts."

"Why?"

Embarrassment flitted across Draco's features. "I missed your scent. I found one you'd worn before you left and didn't wash it."

Ron fondly shook his head. "I'm all yours, even if you are a bit of a perv. Not that I don't like it."

Draco snorted. "This coming from the man who's been reading Japanese porn and who had his nose in my crotch well before we were involved."

"That was part of lifting your hex!"

Ron reached down to slap Draco on the arse, sending another twinge of pain from his own backside. "Um, not to break the mood, but we're sticky and I'm sore. Could you get your wand?"

"Of course."

Draco eased away and found his wand on the floor. He cast cleaning spells on both of them and brought a small aubergine bottle back to the bed.

"Thanks," Ron said, reaching for the ointment.

"No, let me."

"You don't need to," Ron insisted, shifting over to make room.

"Ron, I want to. Don't be difficult. And turn over."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Fine. Do I get a massage, too?" he asked, arranging himself on his stomach, legs spread.

"Maybe later. Right now I'm just making sure your tender parts are taken care of, because I hope you'll want to do this again."

Draco applied the cooling salve with soft strokes.

"No doubt. Thanks for taking care of me." Ron's arse felt much better, and for the hundredth time praised Merlin at Draco's ability with potions.

The slender fingers stopped their ministrations. Draco slowly stretched out on top of him, lightly kissing a path that began at the small of Ron's back and stopped at his shoulder blade.

"You're welcome. It's good to see this fellow again, too."

Ron smiled as he felt Draco run his fingertips across his skin. He settled comfortably under Draco's weight, his arms covered by Draco's, and his lover's quiescent cock nestled snugly in his cleft. Ron relished the soft prickles of Draco's curly hairs at the base of his spine, feeling utterly serene.

"I'm so glad you decided to give this a go," Ron said contentedly. "I could try being Xavier's guardian on my own, with Mum and Dad, and George and Remus' help, but I didn't want to."

Draco rubbed his nose against the back of Ron's head. "Don't harbour any illusions, Ron- I'll probably be a dismal parent. Merlin knows I don't want to be like my father. I've been thinking about this a lot, and when it comes down to it, I'd far rather emulate Professor Snape."

Ron groaned. "Draco, please don't ever bring his name up in bed again. That's indecent."

"Piss off," Draco said affectionately.

"How is he, anyway?" Ron slid his fingers into Draco's so they were intertwined.

"Well, he said that I was an opprobrious prat, wasting my talents in an inane pursuit. He also added that I had obviously been sundered from all of my rational faculties if I was still involved with an implacable, impetuous Gryffindor, and going to take on paternal responsibilities- about which I know less than nothing- of a next-generation Weasley. Something along those lines."

"The usual, then. Not that I understood half of what you just said."

Draco chuckled. "He also said that if it required begging to stay with you, I should, because he'd never seen me as happy as when we were together."

Ron was shocked. "You're having me on. Snape said that?"

"Mmm hmm."

Draco disengaged his hands and with a kiss to the nape of Ron's neck, got off of Ron and stepped down from the bed. Curious, Ron turned his head to see Draco rummage through a dresser drawer and return with a pair of green silk boxers.

"Thought you'd want these," he said, climbing back in and sliding under the sheets.

"Thanks."

Ron sat up to put them on; walking around in the altogether was one thing, but he wasn't comfortable sleeping in the nude. Snape's comment had given him pause. He knew Draco had confided in his former Head of House since Hogwarts, but he hadn't expected the cantankerous man to actually support Draco's choice. "So you're happy?"

Draco gave him a patient look. "Yes, Ron. I'm not naïve; I know we'll have our share of arguments. I'll sulk, you'll swear a lot and hit things. But at the end of the day, I want to be with you." He ran his fingers through Ron's shaggy hair. "Only you."

Ron was dumbfounded. "That sounds serious," he said, his heart seeming to stumble over its regular beat. Ron had spent hours of soul-searching of his own and kept returning to the same undeniable conclusion that he wished to spend his life with Draco. As his lover had just pointed out, they'd definitely have petty differences, and potentially some major rifts. Draco more often than not called Ron tempestuous, while Ron more candidly knew he possessed a really short temper and could turn into an utter arsehole without too much provocation. Then there was the raising of Xavier. From what Draco had shared, Ron knew that discipline had been of tantamount importance in the Malfoy family. All children need structure, but Ron felt vehemently that his nephew should live in an environment of love and acceptance. Surely he and Draco could come to some middle ground.

"Quite serious," Draco said, gently rubbing his thumb on the sensitive skin behind Ron's ear. "Part of why I took the time to stay on my own was to think through things, because, as you know, I don't make decisions lightly."

Ron nodded in agreement.

"We haven't been together for all that long, I realise," Draco continued, "but Ron, life is dull and flat in your absence. I know that's not residual from your healing of that curse, either. I looked it up."

Draco paused and Ron found himself focused unblinkingly on Draco's eyes, the grey irises flecked with slivers of blue.

"Will you have me as your lifemate? Handfasting and all?"

Ron exhaled a shaky breath.

"Yes." He leaned in and kissed Draco, trying with that one simple gesture to convey everything he felt, since all but one word had escaped him.

"Yes, yes."

Draco's lips curved into a smile against Ron's.

"I don't think I can sleep now," Ron confided. "Mind's racing."

"In a good way?"

"Definitely."

They continued to lie quietly as Ron's thoughts slowly settled, grains drifting into a vast dune of hope.

"I love you," he said finally, placing a kiss on Draco's forehead before turning on his side. Draco stretched out behind him, insinuating his arm under Ron's and threading their fingers together.

"And I you. Nox," Draco said in the direction of the still-burning candle. "Sleep well."

With the homey smell of the candle's smoke drifting over him and a sleepy lopsided grin, thinking of the look that would be on George's face when he told him of his future plans, Ron drifted into a sound slumber.


***


Author's Notes

First, no ill will is meant toward the non-Magic citizens of New York City, but I do feel even they would be surprised that witches and wizards lived there.

Covite is a made-up, rather snobbish word that was used at the time by my fellow students at my Alma Mater (a small, liberal arts university). It was used in reference to the people who lived in the town, many of whom were seen to be far less intelligent than the students at the academic institution.

Snegbog is a word I made up from Russian, literally "snow-god." I thought it would fit for a dragon of Siberia.

My heartfelt, intense, devoted gratitude goes to fungus_files, cim_halfing and snottygrrl for their betas of this story. My writing improves evermuch under your skillful eyes.


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