Author: PineTranio
Title: In My Purpose Bred
Rating: R
Warnings: Depictions of violence and sex, strong language, AU
Prompt: Challenge #8, "You are so strongly in my purpose bred, That all the world besides methinks are dead."
Word Count: 48,350
Pairings: Ron/Draco, minor Harry/Ginny
Beta: The wonderful Libellule, who has the patience of an angel.
Summary: While trying to fulfill his dream of becoming a hero, Ron Weasley makes a secret deal with Draco Malfoy. One wrong decision, however, alters his future. Three years later, embroiled in a murder mystery, Auror Weasley finds a chance to make amends. But, will his efforts be too little, too late?


In My Purpose Bred

Chapter One

Ron Weasley took pleasure in the little things of life, the smell of grass after a rainstorm, his Mum's fresh blueberry pies and his nephew's raucous laughter. Working as an Auror for the Wizarding World kept the tall redhead quite busy, so he found joy in these every day things. It was this lack of time that brought Ron to develop a special delight, sitting in his favorite chair on Sunday mornings with a cup of tea beside him and the Sunday Prophet open before him, the paper crisp between his fingers.

Every Sunday, the twenty-two year old leisurely read the Prophet almost completely, stopping to do the puzzles and to read his own bi-weekly contribution, Tips on Wizard Chess. The Sports section he read thoroughly as well as the local and world news. He barely glanced at the Arts and Society pages; it was full of statements Ron didn't understand and people he didn't want to know. Occasionally, something caught his eye there and he gave the words a small portion of his attention, but quickly moved on.

On a particularly Sunday morning in mid-October, Ron found himself sifting through his paper in search of that very section. His favorite band, The Weird Sisters, gave an interview about their latest tour to the Daily Prophet and Ron was anxious to read it, knowing he'd never have time to actually go to the event. As Ron read about the magical effects used in the concert, something in the far right column caught his eye. The title of the section read "Poetry Corner", and beneath it were several sets of couplets written by amateurs. Normally, Ron wouldn't give them a second thought, but his curiosity got the better of them. He had no hand or mind for poetry writing, words never being his strong suit, but he wondered how these average folks fared.

The first three were poor even by Ron's standards, but the next two were decent. The last one was… intriguing.

In life, I do not fear you,
But fear the depths you've unearthed in me.

Ron snorted when he read the name of the author, Lover. How pretentious. Ron imagined some nerd sitting in his flat with stacks of books surrounding him, only dreaming about being a lover, but probably shrank away from the touch of a female…or male as the case might be. He didn't particularly like the poem either; it seemed unfinished and rather awkward. In life? Ron figured the next line should start with In death? Maybe? Or would that be too predictable? He didn't know and figured that was why he never read poetry.

The couplet left his thoughts immediately after he turned the page, once again engrossed with his Weird Sisters article.


The following morning, Ron emerged from his house and began his walk to work, five minutes late as usual. The sun hid behind full gray covers, casting a dull light upon the day. The air was the coldest of the season so far and Ron was ill prepared for it; a scarf would have warmed his throat, and kept the wind from icing his moistened lips. The redhead tried to make do by pulling up the lapels of his jacket to his ears and buttoning up the front. Still, his breath visibly puffed in front of his eyes and his nose turned pink as he made his way to the Ministry. In an effort to avoid the growing winds that pricked his face, Ron kept his gaze to the pavement and on his large feet encased in his Auror-issued boots; the thudding of his heavy footfalls vibrated through his legs. Ron preferred to walk to work when he could; it helped to rouse him from the vestiges of sleep. He allowed the cold air to fill his lungs before he exhaled slowly.

In and out. In and out. Thud thud. Thud thud. Two pieces of his personal symphony.

However, his short journey collided with another's travels through the busy streets of London. A pair of polished black shoes entered Ron's limited line of vision right before a shoulder slammed roughly against him. Ron stumbled backwards at the force of the blow. As he righted himself, an apology on his lips, he locked eyes with the person in front of him.

Draco Malfoy did not bother to readjust his scarf or collar as he stared at the man in his way. He had been walking briskly, admittedly in his own world, when the large immoveable form of Ronald Weasley was upon him. At the time of impact, he did not realize it was Ron; he only saw a dark lumbering shape and somehow missed the distinct red hair.

"I apologize," the blonde man said, his voice smooth and his gaze unsteady.

"'S my fault really. I wasn't paying attention," Ron countered, slightly bouncing from one foot to the other.

"Neither was I."

The two men regarded one another for a few seconds longer. It was odd running into each other in the middle of the city. They led completely separate lives in the wizarding world and traveled in very different circles. There was a time, however, when they both benefited from the other's presence. That period was long over and they parted on undefined terms. This was the first time since that abrupt parting that they looked into each other's eyes unhindered by a room full of acquaintances.

Ron snapped out of the trance first and, having nothing more to say, merely nodded his head and continued on his way, feeling keenly Draco's stormy grey gaze on his back.

Ron's best mate and partner, Harry Potter, had a hot cup of coffee waiting for Ron when he arrived at work a short while later.

"Morning, mate," Harry greeted, a cheery smile on his face.

"Morning," Ron returned as he slumped down into his stiff wooden chair. "Anything interesting on the docket today?"

"It's Monday, Ron," reminded Harry. "Nothing interesting happens on Mondays. We've got paperwork to finish on last week's raid though."

"Brilliant," he drawled.

"Could be worse though."

Ron snorted as he took a stack of parchment from a file folder. "How?"

"It's supposed to downpour today. For once, we'll be nice and dry at our desks while others get to brave the cold and wet."

Ron hummed in approval as his sipped his hot beverage. It was nice not to run around the countryside in inclement weather; Harry and Ron always managed to be in the field during the worst conditions.

The two men worked peaceably throughout the morning, diligently completing the mounds of forms that cluttered their desktops. It was shortly before lunch when a ruckus outside of their office disrupted them.

"What the bloody hell?" Ron wondered as he and Harry rose to investigate the disruption in the hall. Ron reached out and grabbed a new Auror trainee, Dennis Creevey, as he passed them. "What's happening out here?"

"You didn't hear?" The blank expressions on the two friends' faces gave the young man his answer. "Remember that dead witch we found two weeks ago?"

"The one found dead in her home in London?" Harry asked.

Dennis nodded vigorously. "They have a suspect and you'll never guess who it is! It's Draco Malfoy!" Dennis ran down the hall excitedly on the heels of other fellow Aurors.

Ron and Harry stared in amazement at each other, the same thought running through their heads. Draco Malfoy, a killer? It didn't seem possible.

During the latter end of the war, Draco left the Death Eaters and publicly announced his neutrality to the war. No one was ever sure how the former Slytherin was allowed to leave the dark wizards with his life, but he did and remained out of the war as much as a person could. Once the war was over, the Malfoy family tried to redeem themselves by becoming philanthropists, giving to a range of causes. Draco took a lowly job at the Daily Prophet and worked his way up to columnist in a few years. Lucius and Narcissa kept low profiles when not hosting dinner parties or attending to their charity work. Neither Harry nor Ron kept in close touch with Draco, but they knew how contrite he was. Why would Draco go through all of that trouble and then throw it away?

The two men sprinted down the hall to find the wizard in charge of the investigation.

"The details are bit vague right now," said Anthony Bridle, an underling of the department head, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Ron sighed; this small snip of a bureaucrat was the only person available who had any sort of answers and he was being quite stingy. "Is there anything you can tell us? Anything at all? What is the evidence against him?"

"I'm not sure as to the evidence, but the motive seems to be revenge. Very unimaginative."

"We'll try to find more outrageous cases for you next time, Bridle," Ron said, sarcastically.

"Why would Malfoy seek revenge on that witch?" asked Harry.

"That witch had a name, Auror Potter," Anthony said, snidely, slicking his auburn hair across his forehead. "Antigone Glacier. It just so happens that she and Mr. Malfoy dated for a few months awhile back and it didn't end amicably," Bridle explained, smugly. He let the comment hang in the air between Ron and Harry.

Ron didn't believe what the little pipsqueak said; Ron knew that Draco would never kill a woman over some breakup. Draco didn't even like—

"Why wasn't he considered a suspect right from the beginning then?" Harry questioned.

"Well," the short man twirled the quill in front of him, "Malfoy was the one who ended the relationship so it didn't make sense for him to want her dead. If anything, she would have wanted to attack him."

"Did she?"

"Yes, she did, not physically, but she attacked his reputation and his family's business. That is all the information I have right now. Auror Broadhurst should be arriving shortly with the suspect in tow. You can ask him after he's confined Malfoy." With that, Anthony turned away from them to file some reports.

"This doesn't make any sense, Harry," Ron told his friend as they made their way to Auror Broadhurst's office. "I saw Malfoy this morning, you know."

"How did he act?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. We knocked into each other so he looked a little frazzled by that, but he wasn't out of sorts. He apologized." Ron neglected to mention the awkward gaze they shared before Ron left Draco; no one knew about the two men's bargain from four years ago and Ron wanted to keep it that way.

"He mustn't have had a clue those Aurors were going to arrest him or I'm sure he would have tried to run at the sight of you. It'd be just like Malfoy to run from his troubles."

Ron snapped his head to his right to look at his partner. "I thought you were glad that Malfoy defected from the Death Eaters."

"Of course I was glad, but the Order could have benefited from his knowledge of the enemy. Stupid git declared himself neutral, only looked out for himself. Typical."

"He would have died if he came forward with what he knew, Harry. His parents were still there; he wouldn't risk their lives."

"Then why did he leave in the first place? Why are we fighting about this now? It was years ago and we won without his help." Harry didn't notice Ron swallow thickly before he murmured his agreement.

Unfortunately, they didn't have any luck obtaining information upstairs from Broadhurst. The thirty-year old strawberry blonde was surrounded by top ranking Aurors and department heads, giving congratulations and asking for details on the arrest. Ron and Harry stood at the edge of the crowd and listened to the response.

"Of course, he said he was innocent; the guilty ones rarely admit to it, do they? He came calmly though. I was a bit disappointed. My team and I were hoping to rough up the snotty lil git!" Several people chortled at that, but Ron found no humor in it.

When the laughter died down, Kingsley Shacklebolt noticed the two new Aurors in the room. "Aurors Weasley and Potter, is there something you need?"

"We were just…" Harry suddenly realized how juvenile they must appear, chasing after facts to case that wasn't even their own, asking the head of the entire department to confirm rumors. Surely, he and Ron were beyond that sort of behavior, right?

"You wanted to congratulate me!" Broadhurst exclaimed, gliding over to the men, a large smile across his face. He slapped them hard on their backs twice. "Nice of you chaps to come on up here." Thankfully, another Auror caught Broadhurst's attention and he moved away.

Kingsley looked at the young men, sternly. "I understand that this arrest has caused a lot of commotion in the department," he began, talking softly. "However, I am sure you two have some work that needs your attention, yes?" Ron and Harry nodded slowly like two scolded children. The smile their boss gave them eased their embarrassment, though. "Don't worry. We are having a meeting later on this afternoon and all will be revealed then. We don't want too many people knowing the details just yet; we're trying to keep the press at bay until Draco is safely in custody away from their flashbulbs. Why don't you head back downstairs now?"

Ron and Harry did just that. It would be a long afternoon while the partners eagerly awaited the conference regarding Draco's arrest.

At lunch, it was all people spoke about, everyone speculating on motives and punishments. No one questioned that Draco was guilty though. The phrase, "Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater," passed from more than one set of lips. Aurors talked about Draco's torrid love affairs with every woman in his father's company. They couldn't understand the draw to the former Slytherin. He was skinny, had pointy features, the personality of a rattlesnake and deadly connections. Why would any woman put herself in a position anywhere near him or his dick?

Ron found himself biting his tongue to stop his opinions from spilling forth. The whole thing was utterly ridiculous! Draco Malfoy was not skinny! He hadn't been since they left Hogwarts. He had grown into his features just like the men and women sitting around Ron had. As Ron looked at the faces of his companions he realized why they were so off the mark about Draco; they all went to school with him and most likely hadn't seen him since. They relied solely on their childhood memories, which were obviously tainted.

If they bothered to watch Draco over the past four years since he left the Death Eaters, they would see that Draco was a very attractive, charismatic, successful man that any woman would want to be with. Though, those women would all be quite disappointed when they realized that Draco had no designs on any of them.

"So," Ron's sister, Ginny, began, "what do you think of Malfoy, Ron?"

Ron looked across the table at his sister, who was also an Auror, and quickly thought about his response. Ginny still held a very strong grudge against the Malfoy family ever since the horrible incident in her first year at Hogwarts. Ever since Lucius Malfoy gave her Tom Riddle's diary, she has had absolutely no forgiveness for the entire family. Ron knew that and he was very upset for her, but he wished his sister would follow Harry's example; bad things happened to him constantly, but he moved on and did not allow them to rule his world. "I think we should wait to hear what Shacklebolt and Broadhurst have to say before passing judgment."

Ginny laughed at that. "You're joking, right? Since when have you been so diplomatic?"

"Since I became an Auror. And do I have to remind you that you are one as well?" Ron snapped.

Harry put a hand on Ron's shoulder, trying to draw attention away from his girlfriend. "Hey, mate, calm down. We're just fooling around. What's gotten into you?"

Ron ran a hand roughly through his red hair and scrubbed his face. "I'm not sure that he did it. I want to hear the evidence first before I make up my mind. Isn't that part of all our jobs?"

Ginny just scoffed at her hot - headed older brother. "What side of whose bed did you roll out of that's got you so cranky? Get off it, Ron. We're just having a bit of fun. There was a time when you enjoyed bashing Malfoy, probably more than any of us."

"When I was sixteen, Gin. Some of us have gone beyond school rivalries."

"Oh, it's not that he was in Slytherin; it's because he was a good for nothing Death Eater and then a cowardly neutral party!"

Harry spread his arms between the feuding redheads. "Stop it, you two! Quick tempers, the lot of you Weasleys! Maybe Ron has a point, Gin."

"You're taking his side?" she asked her boyfriend incredulously; Ron grinned broadly.

"It's not about sides, love. It's about being objective. And I know," he raised a hand to halt her protestation, "being objective where Malfoy is concerned is difficult, but face it. He hasn't done anything objectionable in a very long time."

"Unless you count offing his ex-girlfriend, that is," she added with a sneer. "Obviously, Broadhurst and Shacklebolt think they have enough evidence to detain him."

"This is useless," Ron said, as he unfolded his long form and stood up. "It's time to get back to work. See you at the meeting, Ginny."

"I'll expect an apology!" she called to her brother's retreating back.

"Will you two ever have a dignified argument?" Harry wondered as he sat down next to Ginny, affectionately taking her hand in his.

Ginny shook her head; her long red tresses danced around her shoulders. "It's just our way. You've seen us at family gatherings. Yelling is how we are heard over all of the others."

"It's not the volume that is the problem." Harry gave a laugh as he remembered how much he enjoyed the loud and lively Weasley family dinners. "You and Ron just constantly push each other's buttons and then end up not talking to each other for days afterwards. It's tiresome after all these years."

"Well, no one holds a grudge quite like us," smiled Ginny, trying to ease Harry's distress. "We end up putting you in the middle, don't we?" Harry simply nodded his head. "I don't understand my brother sometimes. He can be so consistent and even predictable, but lately, things that I think he will enjoy, he ends up despising and vice versa. I wonder how well I even know him anymore."

"Ron is still Ron, where it counts. Sure, occasionally, he can surprise-"

"Like this Malfoy thing. Why is he being so defensive?"

"Why are you?"

"Malfoy did it, Harry. This meeting will only confirm what you and I already know. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater."

"Sorry, Gin. I can't say that for sure."


Several hours later, Ron and Harry filed into a large conference room with their fellow Aurors; Ginny chose to sit with Dennis Creevey and her other friends. The two men didn't mind it at all, not wanting to get into another squabble in front of everyone. They only waited a few minutes and then Kingsley Shacklebolt and Auror Broadhurst stood side by side at a podium before the entire department.

"Good afternoon," Shacklebolt greeted, his low, rich voice, rumbled over the crowd, grabbing everyone's attention. "I know we are all anxious to hear the details on this morning's arrest of Mr. Draco Malfoy. To begin the meeting, I am going to have the arresting officer, Auror Broadhurst, discuss the events leading up to today."

Broadhurst strutted to the podium, his shoulders thrown back with an air of extreme confidence. "Afternoon all. As you've undoubtedly heard, I was able to capture the suspect, Draco Malfoy, at his place of business for the murder of Antigone Glacier. Ms. Glacier was found dead in her home two weeks ago. Cause of death was several strong blows to the head. She was dead approximately three days before the body was discovered. Initially, Mr. Malfoy was questioned because a former romantic relationship with Ms. Glacier, but was not labeled a suspect. Mr. Malfoy assured the Auror Department that he ended their relationship and held no grudge towards here. We looked into it and this did seem to be the truth. However," Broadhurst let the objection echo around the room, his eyes roaming over all of the intent faces in the crowd, "it was a lie.

As my team continued to survey Ms. Glacier's flat for signs of her killer, I discovered a stack of correspondences from Mr. Malfoy, all of them irate and one damning letter stating, 'If you continue with your machinations, you will only have yourself to blame for the consequences. I do hope it does not come to this.' The letter is dated three days before the murder. After some more investigating, I found that Ms. Glacier threatened Malfoy and his company by maliciously disclosing secret information to his competitors. All in all, it seemed like the lady was being quite the nuisance. Malfoy should have kept shagging her I suppose." Several people sniggered at Broadhurst's little joke and the Auror held up a hand to silence them.

"But, as it was, he broke the lady's heart and she exacted her revenge and Malfoy responded in kind. We have motive and we have opportunity, as Malfoy claims he was home alone on that night of the murder. As far as means, it is widely known that he is a former Death Eater and had knowledge and practice in such cold cruelty. Most likely it was not planned since he did leave quite a mess behind. I retrieved him and currently have him in a holding facility until his transport to Azkaban tomorrow; here, he will await a hearing and trial. Well, I think that about does it." Broadhurst stepped away from the podium and took a grand bow as most of the Aurors applauded him. The smile, large and toothy, stretched smugly across is face. He enjoyed the accolades until he finally sat in a chair off to one side and let Shacklebolt address his employees once again.

"There you have it. We have arranged for a press conference tomorrow morning. So no one is to discuss this matter with them until after that. I would prefer that the press only deal with my people or with Auror Broadhurst and his team, but I doubt I can successfully put a cap on it. Shortly after the conference, we will transfer Mr. Malfoy to Azkaban. The suspect has denied any involvement, but we are certain we have found our man. Congratulations are in order for Auror Broadhurst." Another round of clapping erupted briefly. "Everyone please adjourn to your offices and let's get back to work. There are more evildoers out there than Mr. Malfoy. Thank you."

Immediately the crowd was on its feet and people made their way out of the packed room. Ron stayed in his seat, however, thoughtfully chewing on his right thumbnail, his eyes glazed over, staring blankly at the chair in front of him. He didn't move as people clambered over his very long legs that stuck out in the aisle; he didn't even realize he caused a commotion, so intent on his thought was he. He played the speeches he just heard over again in his head. Once he tore through the bluster, all Broadhurst revealed was that this Glacier woman tried to ruin Malfoy and his business and Malfoy wrote a threatening letter in response. Malfoy has no one to corroborate his whereabouts on the evening of Glacier's death, but had knowledge of her apartment presumably because of their past relationship. It all seemed feasible, but not exactly probable to Ron. Malfoy did have a temper and acted irrationally on occasion, but it would take a great deal of antagonizing to beget a murder.

"Ron! You oaf! Move your ghastly long legs before I cut them off!"

Ron snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at his harasser and rolled his blue eyes. "Go around me, Ginny. There are plenty of other ways out of here besides through me."

"Do you have any idea how many people you blocked in while sitting here on your arse? One girl tried to slink past you and tripped. I think she chipped a tooth," his sister informed him, her manner accusing.

"Well, the stupid woman should have gone around me! Now, clear off and leave me alone."

Ginny pressed her hands against her slender hips. "You are insufferable Ronald Weasley."

"And you sound like Mum," Ron fired back. "Forget it, I'm leaving. You can pass through your precious aisle without any more obstacles. Merlin knows if there were others, you'd just irritate them until they got out of your way, wouldn't you?" Ron rose quickly, towering over his short sibling, and stalked out of the room, heedless to her apology.

Ron found Harry up in their office, packing up his papers for the day. "You heading out?"

Harry nodded, his messy black hair swinging slightly with the movement. "We finished just about everything and I figure no one will notice if we slip out of here a bit early." He had a giddy grin on his youthful face, his emerald green eyes shining behind his round glasses. "Let's go. We don't usually get a chance to leave on a Monday."

"I do hate Mondays," Ron said solemnly.

"So, let's go. I can have a kip before dinner with Gin tonight."

Ron sighed and looked at the ceiling or the heavens above. "Sometimes I seriously question why you are with my sister, mate."

"Loving her isn't enough?" Harry asked, amusement in his voice.

"She's been awful lately, especially to me, and I don't know what I did to deserve it. Rather, I know I did nothing to deserve it! Just now she accosted me in the conference room. Started yelling at me because I had the gall to be sitting in my seat when she wanted to walk through my bloody legs."

"Why didn't she just go around?"

"Because she's not normal!" Ron massaged his temples with his long fingers. "I don't know what has gotten into her lately, but I refuse to be her target. I have enough to deal with without adding her raving lunacy into the mix."

"I'll see if she'll talk about it with me tonight."

"Thanks, Harry. I don't mean to put you in the middle of us-"

"Don't worry, mate, I'm used to it. So, pack up your stuff and we'll sneak to the lifts."

As the Aurors gathered their things, Ron asked about Harry's opinions on the meeting.

"I think Broadhurst is a right arsehole, so pompous about everything. Did you see how he took credit for all of the team's work? He found the letter. He arrested Malfoy. I'm shocked Shacklebolt let him go on that way."

"What do you suppose Broadhurst has against Malfoy?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably nothing more than the fact he was a Death Eater. For a man like Broadhurst, that's all it would take."

Ron grunted in agreement and the two continued down to the lobby in companionable silence.

Ron thought about Harry's last comment as he made his way home, walking back the same way he came. He paused briefly on the sidewalk where he ran into Malfoy earlier that day. Had it really only been several hours ago? It seemed like days, most likely even longer to Malfoy. Ron wondered how he was doing in the holding cell? He pictured the blonde sitting glumly on the thin cot against the awful blue gray wall, his hair loose from tangling his fingers around it in frustration, his skin colorless. Did he cry after they threw him in? When he was left alone? Is he despairing while the entire Auror Department is rejoicing? Ron pictured Draco's large silver eyes round with uncertainty and red from rubbing at salty unshed tears.

"No," he said out loud to himself. "He wouldn't, not yet." Ron forced his feet to move again, to take him home, but that didn't stop his ruminations.

By the time the red head locked the door to his apartment, he was sick of thinking of Draco Malfoy. He kept imagining the young man by himself or worse, trying to ignore harsh verbal jabs from the guards nearby. Either way, in Ron's image, the unforgiving mattress dug into Draco's back and the candlelight from torch on the other side of the iron bars created spooky shadows across his face. His voice was sore from shouting his innocence to deaf ears and his entire body twitched from being locked up in a cage like an animal.

Ron knew so many people who would delight in this little scene that played in his head, but it made Ron nonplussed. All of his feelings with regard to Draco Malfoy confused him. It was so much easier at Hogwarts when they just plain hated each other. For six solid years, their relationship was completely straightforward with no footnotes attached. Draco was for the Dark Lord and Ron for the Boy-Who-Lived. Then Draco had to change the rules and desert his side! If he had stayed put, things would have remained the same between them. But, if it weren't for Draco, Ron wouldn't have become a respected Auror. Ron tried to think about that time in his life as little as possible. However, he found that once he started, it was hard to stop.

He sighed heavily for the tenth time that day as he padded down to his bathroom, stripping his work robes off and dropping them along the way. He needed to take a long hot soak and try to unwind from the day's events. Ron lowered himself into his enlarged tub as steamy water ran from the tap. He settled back against the cool white porcelain and closed his eyes wearily. He concentrated on the thunderous sound of the running water as it pounded against his freckled limbs. Pearls of sweat dotted his forehead and under his long fine lashes. Yes, it was working. The soothing, scented warmth engulfed his senses, uncoiled the tense muscles of his neck and broad shoulders and lapped over his stomach, carrying away his distresses with every splash and ripple. Ron languidly reached out, turned off the tap and sank back into the tub up to his chin. The tips of his hair turned a deep auburn as they floated along the undulating water. For about ten blissful minutes, he thought of nothing but these small pleasures, the scent of vanilla and mint in his nostrils, the new pink color of his skin, and the soft tinkling of water against the sides of the tub.

Slowly, like the creeping fingers of dawn, unbidden memories invaded his mind. Behind his eyelids, he saw corn silk hair fanned out across lush pillows, a seductive shade of evergreen, and a dark, intelligent gaze with the power to see all inner thoughts.

<@<<@<<<@

When Ron was eighteen years old, he confessed that he wasn't always proud of himself. Often, while in school, he picked fights with Hermione on purpose, just to have something to do, or to see her turn crimson with rage. At home, he found ample opportunities to disappoint his mother. His room was never clean; he neglected to de-gnome the garden, and his grades were never what his parents expected.

The one place Ron hoped to truly shine was with the Order of the Phoenix. Finally, out of school, he had time to devote to helping the wizarding world, fighting beside some of the greatest fighters ever seen, his best friend Harry included. He envisioned it countless times. Running into battle, wand drawn, always one step ahead of his opponent, always the perfect spell falling from his lips. Sure, he knew there would be times where someone would get the upper hand, a lucky shot with which the enemy could take the advantage. But those occasions were rare and he came out of them with nothing a good dose of Skel-e-grow couldn't fix, and nothing that a few heart felt congratulations, maybe a kiss on the cheek from a grateful, attractive townswoman, couldn't cure. Of course, this was all in his imagination, but it was so well placed, so engrained, that Ron honestly believed that he would flourish when he, Harry, Hermione and his other friends joined the Order of the Phoenix.

Unfortunately, this was not the case. While Harry was immediately sent out on reconnaissance missions, the details of which no one knew, Hermione immersed herself in piles of research and Ron struggled to find his identity. He was not allowed into the top-secret meetings with Kingsley Shacklebolt and the other Aurors, nor was he suited for paging through dusty, smelly books; he had had enough of that while at Hogwarts. No one heeded his opinions during strategy meetings nor did they have anything else concrete for him to do. He spent his days helping to fix up the newly renovated safe house and waited for someone to tell him when and where to point his wand.

After months of this, Ron had enough. He didn't want to keep waiting and he didn't want to be seen as slightly more than a servant. He was smart, not in the sensible, Hermione way, but he was smart where it counted. He could be charming, he was an excellent strategist, and he knew when to make personal sacrifices for the greater good.

He saw an opportunity to prove himself several months after his enlistment into the Order. While cleaning under the staircase, Ron overheard Kingsley discussing some very unexpected news with Ron's father; Draco Malfoy defected from the Death Eaters!

"Our informants believed that just before Lucius was sentenced to Azkaban," began Kingsley, "Draco intended to take his place in the Death Eater ranks, but that obviously didn't happen. He's been out and about the town, but there's no mark on him! He seems perfectly happy."

"Did he really say that he would remain neutral and wouldn't give up any information?" Arthur wondered.

"Yes and he is determined to stick by that oath. We tried reasoning with him, but he will not bend. I don't think anything short of dosing him with Veritaserum will unbutton his lip."

"Can this be true? Or is it a ruse to throw everyone off Voldemort's trail?"

"It is real, my friend."

"How is Draco still alive? There must have been some bargain made or the Dark Lord would never have let him live."

"Whatever deal was done, it is keeping him deathly quiet. He went to great lengths to announce the fact as well. The Daily Prophet printed an article to the effect this morning. It is such a loss; the information that young boy has is undoubtedly vital in Voldemort's permanent demise."

"And there's not way to make him talk?"

"I fear for him. If we push the young Malfoy, I'd hate to think of the consequences for the rest of the family."

"We are in a war, Kingsley. Sacrifices must be made!"

"And so there will be, Arthur!" Kingsley sighed. "We are gathering members here tomorrow night and we will discuss the matter further."

Ron heard the two men walk away, but stayed in the shadows of the stairs for a few moments. Euphoria passed through him as he quickly went over the conversation again. It was perfect! The idea of turning Malfoy into an informant was quite the challenge, however, the more Ron considered it, the more certain he was that he could make it happen!

Without telling anyone, Ron left that night with a bag full of clothes, food and a heart full of determination. His plan was a simple one; visit Knockturn Alley since that was a common place for people like Draco to gather. Make him talk using either stealth or physical violence. Go home, feed his comrades what he learned, the Order stops the enemy in their tracks and Ron is hailed a hero! Yes! It all fit together!

Ron decided to, first, visit his brothers at the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes and inform them that he was moving in for a spell. He knew they wouldn't mind, but would threaten to practice their new creations on him as payment.

The Weasley twins were fonts of knowledge as well. They did have a few tidbits for their youngest brother.

"Malfoy? Yeah, a few things have been flying around, " Fred said as the three redheads walked upstairs to the twins' apartment.

"But, he doesn't seem to be up to any evil business," George added. "He got a hold of his fat trust fund a few days ago. We've seen him out and about."

"Dropping galleons as if they were on fire."

"Laughing it up with anyone who will talk to him. He's got his freedom for the time being."

"There's no telling what he'll do with it."

"With all that money just lying around,"

"I know what I'd do!"

"I'm with you, Fred!"

"So, you don't have anything for me?" Ron asked, interrupting them.

"No," they said in unison.

"I suppose we already know the answer to this, but do Mum and Dad know you are here?" George asked.

"Mum and Dad don't need to know everything I do; I'm eighteen now." Ron answered, puffing out his chest.

"Look at ickle Ronnikins! He comes of age and runs off to tangle with the Malfoy heir." Fred laughed as he unlocked the door to their rooms.

"I'm not tangling with anyone," asserted Ron. Then he sighed. "You two don't understand."

"Sure we do, Ronnie. You're a man now; you can do as you please."

"But be careful out there," George requested. "We don't want you to get hurt out there."

"Hurt? The only thing I seem to be in danger of is Malfoy accidentally throwing galleons in my face," Ron said.

"You never know, baby brother," Fred said, putting an arm around Ron. "But, as long as you report in every night to say that you're alive and reasonably well, we won't tell Mum what you're up to. Sound fair?"

Ron could tell that his brothers, for all of their joking, weren't keen on letting him go after the former Death Eater on his own, but they were trying to be supportive. They trusted him enough while they could keep an eye on him, and Ron couldn't refuse. If he left them, they'd tell their mum and dad immediately.

Ron agreed to their terms and quickly unpacked his things. Then left his brothers' shop and went off in search of the former Death Eater. The twins mentioned a particular out-of-the-way club Draco was spotted at several times, so he decided to start there.

Ron had never been to a club before and had no expectations as to what one would look on the inside. When he stepped into the Garret, he stopped on the threshold to take it all in. It was a relatively large space, indeed in a garret, with sloping ceilings and dark corners. Wrought iron sconces littered the walls, giving off spatters of candlelight around the small tables, while hundreds of lit candlesticks floated above the crowded dance floor. Ron watched as the flames randomly changed colors, creating a different atmosphere every few seconds.

The place was quite busy, all of the tables full of groups of friends and couples; the long bar that ran along the left side was jammed with thirsty customers and the two bartenders looked perfectly calm as they talked and filled orders. It was an amazing sight. Ron thought briefly, that he should bring Harry there sometime, even if he did bring Ginny too.

Leaving the images of his best mate and his sister behind and gathering his courage, Ron strode through the dense mass of laughing and shouting wizards and witches, his blue eyes adjusting to the ever-changing light. He looked from side to side, trying to pick out bright blonde hair attached to the skinny body of the annoying former Death Eater, but Draco eluded him. Ron was about to lose faith, when he heard a high-pitched yell a few feet away from him.

"Draco love! Buy me a drink!"

Ron whirled around until he saw him; at least he thought it was he. Underneath the pale blue flames, was a tall young man in a tight black T-shirt, which clung to a sculpted body, and loose black jeans that hung off of narrow hips. The outfit was unlike Draco's usual prim and precise school attire; the figure was new as well. Gone was the small stature and in its place was a person Ron barely knew. What he did recognize was that unique Malfoy hair that brushed the tops of Draco's shoulders. The man smiled at the person who yelled over to him, a pretty young woman with very long auburn hair.

"Langdon!" Draco yelled to the bartender. The burly man turned towards Draco and smiled broadly. "Get the young lady whatever she wants!" Langdon nodded his head and the woman ran over to kiss Draco on the cheek before placing her order. Draco accepted the kiss and moved off towards the dance floor.

Ron lost sight of him as the sea of sweaty bodies enveloped the apparently popular man. Ron wanted to keep an eye on Draco, watch his movements and interactions, but didn't want Draco to see him, not yet. He found a vacant spot along one of the eaves to watch Draco while hopefully keeping to the shadows. Ron figured he was pretty safe there as his subject was quite engrossed in dancing with several people gathered around him. Draco was a very good dancer and seemed to delight all of those around him.

As Ron settled into his stakeout, he took the time to examine the other patrons of the Garret. They were all young, but older than Ron and Draco, most likely early and mid twenties and they all seemed to be enjoying themselves. Ron felt heat rise from under his collar as he watched the men and women dance provocatively to the loud, pulsing music. Several couples were kissing and touching, making Ron blush, but he still observed them for a few extra seconds from underneath his eyelashes.

He tried not to get frustrated. It had been a long while since Ron kissed anyone, let alone touched anyone the way some of the clientele were touching each other. He and Hermione broke up six months prior and there hadn't been anyone since her. He didn't try because other things just seemed so much more important than his sex life. He missed the contact very much though. Ron liked the kissing, holding hands, and waking up with someone beside him; it made the uncertain world in which he lived a bit more bearable.

Ron's blue eyes ventured back over Draco and the crowd around him. It was made up of mostly men, very fit, glistening men with enviable bodies. It was more than slightly surprising to see Draco's long arms wrapped around the waists of more than one man at various times, pulling them close and whispering against their skin. Ron was not so much of a prude that he couldn't appreciate the male figure; he found himself appreciating it more and more as he got older. He loved women, but he allowed his thoughts to drift from time to time. His mind was, at that moment, very open to flitting fantasies involving a few of the men that were grinding happily with Draco. They were drawn to him like moths to flames.

"Don't they know who he is?" Ron wondered. "Don't they know what he's done, what his family has done, to the wizarding world? Sure, now he claims to be out of their clutches, but does that erase all of his past misdeeds?"

Ron leaned back and scrutinized Draco's every move for the better part of two hours. He had to admit, the blonde was quite handsome, striking, really, and he danced as if no one in the world was watching him. Draco was actually attractive, with his sweaty locks sticking to his forehead and his eyes closed as he swayed seductively to the music. He looked like another eighteen year old enjoying a night out with friends. Ron found himself growing jealous. Sexy Draco twirled around, the center of attention, without a care and there Ron stood on the sidelines once again, alone in the dark, struggling to make it through a war.

Ron crossed his arms across his chest and looked at his feet, his red hair falling in front of he face. He hated jealousy, but it seemed to be a typical emotion for him. He couldn't help himself though. There were so many things he wanted out of life that he never seemed to get. That was one of the reasons he decided to go out on his own. He couldn't sit around any longer for things to come to him; he needed to go and get it, at any cost! He did not want to be envious of Draco Malfoy. He could have what the blonde had with time and work.

With a new resurgence of his resolve, Ron picked up his head to see how Draco was faring. What he saw was a pair of eyes trained on him. Ron, in his surprise, fell back against the wall and smacked his head against the sloped ceiling. Draco stared at him as he danced, ignoring his partners, and Ron felt a strange tug in the pit of his stomach. They held each other's gaze for a few more moments until Ron decided to make his move. He gave Draco a small nod and an even smaller smile. Instead of returning the gesture, Draco turned away from his friends and walked straight towards Ron. Ron thought quickly about what to say to him, what excuses to make. No, he wasn't there to spy on him. It was a coincidence. When he had Draco at ease, then he would start asking questions. Yes, that sounded plausible.

"This is a surprise," Draco said rather loudly over the music. "But, something tells me it isn't for you." Ron didn't say anything, just looked back at Draco, taking in those physical changes up close. "Are you looking for me, Weasley?"

Ron cleared his throat before answering. "Why would I be looking for you, Malfoy?"

Draco chuckled good-naturedly. "I can think of several reasons. You've been standing over here for almost two hours now, doing nothing but look in my direction."

"That's rather vain, though I suppose that is normal for you. There are more people around here than you."

"True, but why would an Order member be here?" He widened his eyes in a mock state of shock. "Could it possibly be that you are foolish enough to think that a former Death Eater wants to turn snitch and help the Light?" Again, Ron did not comment. Draco sighed and put his hands on his hips. "Weasley, you might as well come out with it. This is probably the last place I would expect to find you and I'm certain anyone else here who knows you would think the same."

Ron merely shrugged and tried to look unphased. "Maybe I just needed to see it for myself," he consented. "Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater? Kind of hard to swallow."

"I've had my share of gawkers. But, what you see is what you get, Weasley. I'm out of their clutches and have no desire to run into another's. Enjoy the view tonight, but don't come back." Draco stepped backwards and was about to leave when Ron shot a hand out to grab his shoulder.

"Hold on!" Ron demanded, urgently. He felt himself losing whatever ground he hoped to have. "You're right, okay? I came here for information. I know you told everyone you wouldn't divulge any secrets, but I came to ask anyway. I don't know what kind of deal you made to get out there alive, but, it can't be worth letting Voldemort win." Ron held his breath as he waited for Draco's response.

Draco sighed, frustrated. He stood upright, grabbed Ron's hand and led him to the back of the club where there were less people and more darkness. Draco stopped abruptly and pulled Ron against him. Ron stumbled into Draco's arms and immediately tried to get out of them.

"Stay still," Draco ordered, his voice tickling Ron's ear. His stern tone and tight grip made Ron comply. "You really are new at this, aren't you? Talking so openly about Order business where anyone can hear you. Even you can't be that stupid, Weasley. How have you survived this long?"

Draco pulled away slightly, rested his hands on Ron's shoulders and massaged them gently; Ron tensed but allowed it, swallowing his instinct to push the boy away. "Your coming here was quite brazen. I'm sure at least a dozen people noticed you enter this club, as I did, and witnessed our tête-à-tête just now. I am watched at any given time, Weasley. Now, they might keep an eye on you too. We've never gotten along before so, they might wonder why I would be caught dead in your company."

"And this why you have your arms about me right now?" Ron asked, gulping slightly. He knew he shouldn't be, but, just then, he was more concerned with Draco's nearness, the pleasant scent of expensive cologne mingled with sweat, than who might be watching them.

Draco seemed to understand this and smirked, but didn't comment on Ron's questionable priorities. "I could always beat the shit out of you, but I do like this establishment and don't want to cause a scene. So, I'd rather have these people think we are snogging the life out of each other than we are conspiring against the Dark Lord."

"Because snogging you is so characteristic of me," he said, sarcastically.

"I'm sure you've noticed, Weasley, I'm not exactly unpopular around here."

That was a ridiculous statement. Of course, Ron noticed; he had eyes. He saw how people reacted to the handsome blonde. Any one of them would've loved to have Draco alone in the darkness, his hands rubbing circles along their skin.

"Given a choice between the two," Draco continued, "I'm sure sex makes more sense to any onlookers we might have, especially since you've been looking at me so intently all evening."

Ron sighed and placed his hands nervously on Draco's small waist. "I guess that is a good observation."

Draco laughed, his body shaking in Ron's tentative arms. When he stopped, Draco smiled at the redhead. "That was nice, a truthful admission from Ronald Weasley. But, back to the question at hand, as I've said to the Ministry, the papers and your precious Order, I have no desire to be controlled by another zealous group."

"You won't be," he assured him. Before he had time to think, words started plummeting out of his mouth. "Look, I've been thinking about this. Somehow, you got away from them, which must mean that some small part of you doesn't want them to win, right? You publicly say that you won't snitch, most likely to save your hide. But, what if you could help out and no one would know?"

"And how would you propose I do this?" he asked, not showing any sign of giving into Ron's request.

Ron leaned towards Draco's ear and spoke more softly. "I'm not the obvious choice, am I? As you said, we don't get along and I'm not exactly known as a powerful member of the Order. Who would suspect that you would feed me information?" Ron finished with a glint in his eye.

Draco studied Ron's face and looked deep into his eyes for several moments, as if he needed to find something there before speaking once again. "I'll tell you what, Weasley," he began. "Why don't you go home? This isn't what you want, is it? It's a momentary lapse in judgment, asking for my help. You wouldn't do that, would you?"

His voice was condescending and grated Ron's ears harshly. How dare Draco speak to him like that? He was just a coward! Left his responsibilities behind and for what? So, he could dance and get pissed? Ron forgot why he was envious of the young man in front of him.

"I have thought this through, Malfoy," he said heatedly, inadvertently bringing Draco closer to him, fingertips digging into skin. "Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

Draco winced at Ron's fierce grip. "Just because I'm not a Death Eater doesn't mean I suddenly do things out of the goodness of my heart. Make it worth my while and we can discuss this further."

"Worth your while? After everything you saw, after everything you've done, you still want to put a price on your information?"

"You have absolutely no idea what I will be risking if I go through with this. So, yes, I require compensation for my secrets."

"But, you will give it serious thought?" Ron asked warily. He lessened the pressure on Draco's sides as hope welled inside of him. Draco's hands slid to the back of Ron's neck; the strange sensation of long fingers entwined in the tips of his hair caused him to involuntarily shiver. Ron mentally shrugged it off.

"You've caught me in a giving mood. Take advantage of it. So, go now, and find me once you've thought about what I said."

"Malfoy, I don't need — "

Draco tightened his grasp on Ron's hair and gave a slight pull. Ron strained in Draco's grip; he was much stronger than he was at Hogwarts. It hurt too much to fight Draco's hold, so leaned back into the blonde's hand, his throat exposed.

Draco pressed his lips against Ron's neck and spoke softly, his voice not as passionate as their position let on. "Yes, you do. You might think that your brilliant idea has no faults, but it does; no plan is fool proof. Think about what it is going to mean for you to use me as your informant. I'm going to do the same."

"Oi! Draco!" a voice called out. Both Draco and Ron realized that one of Draco's friends was coming to find them.

Draco released Ron and roughly massaged the skin he pulled. "Just follow my lead and there won't be a problem."

"Your lead?"

Ron received a roll of Draco's silver eyes in response. "Merlin, why am I even trying to help you?" Without any preamble, Draco pulled Ron down and kissed him.

Ron stiffened in surprise, but quickly recovered and returned the kiss. As his lips slid over Draco's, he took inventory of all the new senses. Draco's lips felt soft, responsive, and pliable. He tasted like alcohol and strawberries and, if Ron wasn't mistaken, a tiny moan escaped the blonde's throat when Ron flicked his tongue out along the bottom of Draco's lip.

Ron hated to admit it, but it felt nice. He did truly miss kissing, cataloguing all the subtleties of his partner's techniques and just getting to know another intimately. It did not matter that Draco was on the other end of the kiss, though he was quite skilled. Having someone in his arms, touching him, sent thrills throughout his body right down to the tips of his hair.

Just as Ron's hands started to stroke up and down Draco's back, the voice interrupted them again.

"Excuse me, don't mean to be a bother."

Draco pulled away slowly from Ron, a soft pop emanating from their lips. He turned his darkened eyes to the intruder, looking rather put out. "What is it, Peter?" he asked the fidgeting dark haired boy.

"You got a message. It just came in a few minutes ago. Langdon has it for you at the bar."

Draco extracted himself from Ron and turned fully to Peter. "What was the message?"

"I don't know, do I? Langdon just asked me to find you. Must be important, or he wouldn't drag you away from your," Peter looked over Ron briefly and smiled, "attractive company."

Draco narrowed his eyes and stepped forward. "Thanks, Peter. Tell Langdon I will be there in a moment."

Peter nodded and spared another glance at Ron before walking away, leaving the two conspirators alone again.

Draco spun around to face Ron and reached out a hand to him. "Shall we?"

Ron looked at the upturned palm and took it in his own; he had the feeling that he was being tested and did not want to fail, not when he was close to getting what he wanted. If a few touches and a kiss helped in bring about the downfall of the Dark Lord, it was worth it.

Draco led them back up to the bar and over to Langdon. The bartender also gave Ron a once over and smiled before handing Draco a slip of parchment, which he read silently. As he waited, Ron decided he didn't like the looks these men gave him, like they knew something he did not.

"Well," Draco said when he finished reading his message. He folded the paper over and guided Ron to the exit door. "I have to leave now. Go to the bar, order one drink then go home." Ron nodded his head. "Good." Once more, Draco leaned forward and kissed Ron deeply. Ron brought their bodies closer to enhance their little show.

Draco drew back first, his eyes alight in the yellow candlelight above them. "No bad, Weasley," he commented with a smile before he swept out the door.

Ron strolled back over to the bar and ordered a Firewhiskey. When it came, he picked it up, absently, and took a long sip.

"He can be a bit much, can't he?" Langdon said from behind the bar.

Ron blinked at the man. "He can be," he agreed.

"You two know each other long?"

Ron shrugged. "Long enough."

"You looked rather friendly," he chuckled.

"What's that supposed to mean?" snapped Ron.

"Nothing at all, just telling you what I saw."

"Well, stop looking."

"Don't worry, mate, I'm not going to take your man. Though I will admit, I'm a bit envious of you."

Ron's ears picked up on that last sentence, but did not comment further. He sat and finished his drink and tried unsuccessfully to ignore the lingering feeling of Draco's lips on his own.

Contrary to his earlier protests, Ron went back to the twins' flat and thought about Draco's words. He did not doubt himself or his conviction; getting Draco to disclose his secrets was the right thing to do. But, he did wonder what it would mean to have Draco as an informant. They would be in constant contact with each other and Ron doubted he would have the opportunity to beat up the man if Draco wasn't cooperative.

Ron stared up into the darkness of his bedroom. Draco had the upper hand. The blonde said he would consider Ron's proposal, but he could still say no. He could also demand anything he wanted and Ron would have to find a way to pay it. The realization made Ron queasy. Draco was in complete control over the situation and he could do whatever he wanted with that power.

Yet, there was something different about this situation. Draco said that the Ministry and the Order contacted him and he refused to help them, but he was willing to help Ron. Draco said he would have a great deal to lose by helping him. What could he lose? The only possibilities that came to mind were his parents. Was that the reason Draco wouldn't give over his information? Did Voldemort threaten Lucius and Narcissa, two of his most loyal servants? The sick bastard! Even though Draco got away from Voldemort, he was still in his clutches. He pretended to be free, but that is exactly what it was, pretense.

Ron sat up in bed, a smile on his face. Suddenly, he felt the scales begin to tip.

<@<<@<<<@

Ron sat at his small kitchen table, chewing on the edge of a slightly burnt piece of toast when he heard the familiar whoosh of a guest flooing into his home. Since only certain people were allowed access to the Auror's flat, Ron guessed correctly that it was his best mate and partner. He leaned back in a worn wooden chair and took his cup of tea in his hands as Harry marched into the room.

"We've got a problem," Harry said, breathlessly.

"How can we have a problem? It's too early for problems." Ron sipped his tea casually.

"Well, time doesn't stand still for trouble, does it? It certainly didn't when Malfoy escaped custody a few minutes ago."

Ron nearly spit his tea all over Harry; some did trickle painfully out his nostrils. He reached for a napkin and rubbed his burning nose roughly as he regarded his friend. "You've got to be joking! How? Where? When? How?!"

"While he was being prepared for transfer. Get your things together; we need to get out of here and down to the Department now. I'll explain on the way."


Chapter Two

Draco Malfoy's disappearance was highly publicized in the paper and was the topic of every conversation in the streets. It had been a full day, with no sign of him. The Aurors were out in full force, following leads and searching homes and businesses. Harry opted to go to Knockturn Alley and ask some old school acquaintances about Draco while Ron had the unlucky task of going with a team to the Malfoy estate. He asked several questions concerning their son's flight while the others brusquely searched their home.

Ron watched as Lucius Malfoy stood back quietly, his arm around his weeping wife and waited patiently as the Aurors went through their private life, looking for a son who wasn't there and nor was he like to arrive anytime soon. Draco was too smart to contact his family.

"I'm glad you think so, Weasley," Lucius responded in his low baritone voice; Ron tried not to blush in embarrassment for speaking out loud unknowingly. "My son is quite an intelligent young man, much more so than most people believe."

"I don't doubt Draco's intelligence or his ingenuity," Ron replied.

Narcissa stopped crying and dabbed her light eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. "My son is not a killer, Auror Weasley."

"Then he shouldn't have run," Dennis Creevey interjected as he re-entered the room. He turned to Ron. "Sir, we've checked everywhere; there is no sign of him."

"Very well. Let's get out of the Malfoys' way then." Dennis left to round up the team, not bothering to look at either Lucius or Narcissa.

"Just as you suspected," Lucius said to Ron, pointedly. "Do excuse me. I think I shall see our 'visitors' out. I'll be right back, my dear." Lucius released his wife and left with a flourish.

"He may seem cold, Auror Weasley, but my husband is deeply worried about Draco," Narcissa said, turning to Ron.

"Not to be alarming, but he should be worried. Draco's disappearance is causing a bit of panic in the streets and the Ministry doesn't take kindly to fugitives."

"I should not bring this up. Indeed, Draco warned me never to breathe a word of this, but, Mr. Weasley, you know my son did not commit this crime."

Ron did not want to admit to Draco's mother that she was correct in her assessment; at that moment, he needed to show trust in his department. "There is convincing evidence to the contrary, Mrs. Malfoy."

"I know that you assisted Draco during the war and in turn, assisted Lucius and me. I've been forbidden to thank you-"

"I did nothing to deserve thanks!" he whispered harshly. "I don't know why Draco told anything, but it is of little consequences right now."

"That's not true. You know him; you've worked with him. You know he is not a murderer; he's worked too hard to get back the life he lost as a Death Eater. Please, help him. Don't let them harm my son." Tears started to well up in her eyes once more. Ron noted how much Draco resembled his mother. He always thought the blonde looked like his father, but there was a great deal of his mother's appearance in Draco as well, particularly around his eyes.

Ron sighed heavily and looked above Narcissa's head to see if they were still alone. "Mrs. Malfoy, I'm an Auror. If Draco is-"

"He is innocent!"

"If he is, then I will do what I can to make sure the Auror Department clears him of all charges."

Narcissa grasped Ron's hands. "That is all that I can ask. My son speaks highly of you, thinks you are fair and just. I must say that I agree with him."

"Thank you for the compliment, Mrs. Malfoy, but any Auror worth his salt would do the same."

Narcissa shook her head, a few silvery blonde tendrils escaping the expensive clips holding her hair away from her beautiful face. "No. I don't believe any Auror would do that. Too many people are swayed by heroism and power; I, myself, am not immune. It helps to know that someone is looking out for the truth and for my son."

Ron left the Malfoy estate with a weight lodged in is stomach. He felt guilt unlike any other and try as he might, he could not swallow it down. Ron had been swayed by heroism and power; it was what led him to Draco. He promised a frightened mother to look after her fugitive son. He had no right to do that. He should have remembered his training and not personalize that situation; Ron and Harry both had hard times distancing themselves from the people involved in their cases.


A full week went by with no revelations. Draco was still missing and no one knew where he was or what he was planning to do. The wizarding community was still on a high alert; Ron never saw anything like it since Sirius Black was on the loose. Many Aurors were called out to follow up on false leads or imagined sightings. That Friday, Ron had the morning off and went over to the Daily Prophet to drop off his Wizarding Chess Tip for the Sunday edition.

He walked through the double doors and immediately had to duck as several folded parchments zoomed around his head. It was a typical event in the morning hours of the newspaper, a hustle and bustle to gather assignments, send owls and finish articles. Ron was used to it all; it was very similar to the Ministry, constant activity around every turn of the building.

Ron made his way to the fifth floor, his article in his hands, and ventured to an out-of-the way corner office where his friend, Phipher Niggleby, worked and edited, among other things, Ron's chess tips. As he rounded a bend, Ron saw a most unwelcome sight, Rita Skeeter, stuffed into a dragon hide green dress that befitted someone half her size and age. Her curvy hips swayed side to side, the squeak of unforgiving fabric bouncing off the walls as she skittered towards the Auror.

"Oh, Auror Weasley! Just the man I needed to see!"

There was nowhere to run, so Ron let out a frustrated moan and tried to steel himself against the agony of Rita's company. "I can't imagine why you needed to see me, Skeeter. If you will excuse me."

She wrapped a red talon hand around his bicep. "Surely, you must realize that my readers are dying to know everything about the disappearance of the killer, Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy has not been sentenced yet," he said without thinking.

"No, he hasn't. He's gone off somewhere." Rita peered through her pointy glasses at Ron as if she wanted to read his mind. She looked rather like Ron's grandmother when she misplaced her spectacles. "An influential and talented man like you must have some peace of mind to give to the poor citizens," she simpered as she lead him in a stroll down the hall, her nails digging into Ron's robes.

"I have nothing to say to the press at this time," his reply engrained into him from his training.

"What do you say about the Auror Department's apparent ineptitude in locating and restraining criminals? Should we all be worried about the state of affairs with our beloved law enforcement?" Her smile was stretched as tightly as her dress, her eyes batted in what was once a coquettish way, but on the older woman, looked more like an insane old bat blinking back her next lapse with reality.

The woman was infuriating and Ron lost his patience. He wanted to have an easy morning, but nothing was ever easy when the witch was around. "The Aurors are doing the best they can under the circumstances, Skeeter. The last thing any of us need is you spreading more panic with your poison words. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment." Ron removed her hand from his arm and stalked down the hall to his friend's office.

"You look wretched," Phipher commented when Ron arrived at his desk.

"Skeeter," Ron said by way of explanation.

Phipher rolled his eyes. "A corker, that one."

Ron smiled at the man. Phipher Niggleby was an older man of sixty years with thin silver hair, kind brown eyes, a round belly and black ink splotches on various parts of his skin. He'd worked for the Daily Prophet since leaving Hogwarts and was nearing retirement, though his enthusiasm and energy did not indicate this. Phipher was spry and his long legs always carried him jauntily about. Ron enjoyed being around the man ever since he met him at an amateur Wizading Chess match two years prior. Ron won the match and Phipher offered him a bit of side work.

"I'm sorry you had to run into her. She's been insufferable ever since," Phipher flung his hand side to side, as if Ron could fill in the rest of the sentence on his own. "She won't rest until Malfoy's discovered dead or alive."

"She's questioning the Department's ability to capture him now. That's all we need, faithless citizens turning vigilante because the fumbling Aurors can't do their jobs."

"Not to be rude, but you did lose him in the first place."

"It was a mistake. His handlers underestimated him. It was a foolish thing to do."

"Ron, I know you want to stand up for your own, but you must see how this has diminished faith amongst the populace already. It's not going to be won back easily."

"All we need to do is capture the outlaw and throw him in Azkaban. Doesn't matter if he's innocent and there's no need for a trial or anything, just as long as he's off the streets," Ron grumbled sarcastically.

"You think he's innocent?" Phipher wondered.

Ron shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I think." Ron tossed his article onto Phipher's desk. "There's the tip for Sunday's edition."

"Ron, I apologize if I — "

"It's not you, Phipher. It's just everything. I'm tired; it's been a long week and…"

Phipher put a hand on his mate's shoulder. "'And'?"

Ron shook his head. "Just 'and'. I better get going. Have to report in."

"You sure you don't want to stay for a cuppa?"

"No, I'm fine. Besides, you have to edit my mess you call a column," laughed Ron.

Phipher returned it. "Very well. I'll owl over the revision before lunch."

Ron nodded and left the room. The conversation with Rita really put him in a foul mood and he did not feel like staying in the building longer than he had to.

Once at his own desk, Harry informed him that there were still no new credible leads and they were scheduled to do a midnight sweep of wizarding London with a few other teams, including Auror Broadhurst.

"He's been a ray of sunshine this morning," informed Harry. "He's blaming everyone, but himself and Shacklebolt for Draco's Houdini act. It doesn't matter that he was the lead Auror on the case and present when Draco escaped."

"He probably wants everyone to forget how Draco used the arsehole's wand to fight his way out." Ron and Harry shared a laugh over the Auror's embarrassment.

Their mirth was interrupted by a persistent piece of parchment that repeatedly tapped Harry on the shoulder until he opened it. Immediately, Harry's face went ashen.

"What is it, mate?" Ron asked, leaning over Harry's shoulder to read the letter.

"There's been another murder."


"Another bird bit the dust," Broadhurst said with a horrid sneer.

Ron and Harry stayed in the doorway of the victim's small flat in Diagon Alley, the sleeves of their robes helping to conceal the rank odor they knew too well.

"Looks like she's been dead for a few days now," Dennis said. "Her landlady found her body. Apparently her cat kept crying for two days straight and finally she opened up the door. Poor thing. What a way to go."

Ron stared down at the body of the young woman. She was slumped on the floor by the windows, her arms at her side, a fine piece of twine wrapped around her swan-like neck several times. A matching cord hung around the other thick drapery.

"She was strangled by the tie-back of her curtain?" Harry asked.

"Brilliant, Auror Potter!" exclaimed Broadhurst. "I knew we had you around here for something, you are so adept at stating the obvious."

"Stop being an arse, Broadhurst, and tell us what you've found," shouted Ron, his eyes riveted on the dead woman as an Auror gently unwound the cord, revealing an angry dark ring on her throat; Ron guessed the she struggled as her attacker choked the life out of her.

"Very well." Broadhurst cleared his throat. "Maggie DeVann, young, single, attractive brunette, strangled by the tie-back of her own curtain approximately four days ago. It doesn't look like a break-in and very little was disturbed in the room. That's all we know so far. Why don't you and Potter go talk to her neighbors, but useful."

Ron and Harry did as ordered. The neighbors were all understandably saddened by the loss of Maggie. She was a popular woman, always friendly and helpful. She didn't have a boyfriend at the time, but dated often. No one could give a good description of any of gentlemen. No one heard any disturbances from the flat; it was a peaceful building and there hadn't been a break-in for many years. There was still one question that needed answering.

"Do you think this is linked to Malfoy's disappearance?" Harry asked what everyone was thinking,

"Even if it isn't, the papers will claim that it is, that he's off his rocker, killing anyone," Ron said.

Broadhurst cleared his throat. "Well, there is a good chance that Malfoy is behind this. He's a smart bastard, uses what's on hand to kill his victims so, he doesn't leave any magical signature. My team and I will continue here, so why don't you take your team back to the Department and begin writing up your interviews?"

"We're good for more than taking notes, Broadhurst," Dennis reminded the higher-ranking officer.

"You haven't proven your worth to me, Creevey, and this is my territory. Leave this one to the big boys."

"You talk just to hear your own voice, don't you?" Ron interjected. "We've worked on more difficult cases than a single murder, Broadhurst, and you know it!"

"Keep yelling, Weasley. It does wonders for our concentration."

Broadhurst turned abruptly away from Ron, Harry and Dennis and continued to pace in front of the corpse. The young men cursed as they rounded up the rest of their team and made their way out of the room.

Ron and Harry worked diligently on their paperwork for the rest of Friday and part of Saturday. They discussed Draco and their lack of progress. Harry seemed to be thinking twice about the Malfoy's guilt, which pleased Ron. He didn't want to be the only one doubting the Aurors. Ron didn't tell Harry about the conversation he had with the Malfoys, but Harry agreed that Draco would not return to his parents' home for refuge.

"If I were Draco, I'd run to Knockturn Alley and hide," Harry thought out loud.

"We've searched there numerous times and there's been no sign of him," Ron said as he added another piece of parchment to his report.

"I'm sure he's being protected. Draco must have kept one or two contacts down there. There are secrets in Knockturn we'll never unearth!"

Ron nodded his head; it made perfect sense. Knockturn Alley was not a friendly place and its inhabitants were less than cooperative with people of authority. They were also smart, not giving Aurors reasons to suspect they might be harboring a dangerous wizard.

Ron pushed aside his parchment and reached into the pockets of his robes for a folded piece of paper. He flattened it out on his desk and took up his quill. Underneath the word "underground", he wrote "disguise."

"What have you got there?" wondered Harry.

"Just a few notes I've made about Malfoy. I'm coming up blank, though. It's weird. When we were growing up, I felt I understood him, what motivated him, 'know thy enemy' and all that rubbish. But, I can't think of what he'd do now or who he'd turn to."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You're not a mind reader and Merlin knows you haven't even been in Malfoy's presence much since school. Of course you don't know him anymore." Again, Ron nodded. "Well, I'm off. Got to pick up a few things before dinner with your sister."

"Special night?"

"It's some anniversary or another. I don't know which one, but a few flowers and good wine and she melts all over."

Ron held up his hand. "Please, don't say anymore. I don't want sick all over my papers here!"

"Sorry, mate." Harry gathered his things and prepared to leave.

"I'm just glad she's stopped being a bloody nuisance. Did you ever find out why Ginny's been in such a mood?"

"Yeah, I did actually. You were right, it had nothing to do with you. It had to do with your mum." Ron looked quite surprised. "She's been bothering Gin with talk of marriage and kids and the whole lot that Ginny needed someone to lash out against. She chose you because Molly doesn't bug you about such things."

"And Gin thinks that's unfair, right? It's benefit in being the sixth boy; Bill gets the brunt of her attentions. He gave her a grandchild so the rest of us can do as we please, for a little while at least."

"I wouldn't get too comfortable. Soon she'll realize how long it's been since you've brought anyone home to meet her and then she'll be after you."

"Harry, I've never brought anyone home to meet her."

"I know." The two laughed at that before Harry's face suddenly turned serious. "Why is that, Ron? You've dated plenty of people, but you never go far with them."

"It is what it is, mate. I date; I don't get into relationships."

"That's rubbish. One day you're going to meet someone who'll knock that notion clean out of your head. Then I'll get to say I told you so. Who knows? You might get married before Ginny!"

"At the rate you move, the twins will get married before Ginny."

Harry left the room with an eye roll and Ron juggled finishing the rest of his work and pondering the "someone" Harry mentioned.

Once he managed to rid himself of the thought and complete his assignment, instead of going straight home, he went to a nearby pub he frequented, The Whirling Wand. It wasn't very crowded, being between lunch and evening, but Ron didn't mind. He wasn't in the mood for conversation and he certainly wasn't in the mood to bring home any company. He ordered an ale, took out his slip of paper from his pocket and thought once more about Draco.

Where was he? Why did he run? Did he really do it? What was he going to do? Did he kill this new girl as well?

So many questions and Ron did not have an answer for any of them. He felt that heavy weight in his stomach again; it hadn't been there since he left the Malfoy estate. Guilt, a feeling he hated almost as much as jealousy. He wasn't sure why he felt guilty at that moment, but it was present nonetheless.

Ron stared at the words he'd written, all of them had to do with the missing blonde in one way or another, names of friends, contacts, resources. Would Draco see any of these people or go to any of these places? Ron did not know, but he felt like he should know. Someone out there must know what Draco would do. Someone had to know him better than anyone else in the world and could help Ron find the man before Broadhurst!

Ron's glass stopped halfway to his mouth. That's what he wanted to do, he realized. He wanted to find Draco first, before that arsehole and his team did. Ron wanted to save Draco from them, from what they would do to him, to punish him from escaping. Why did he want to do this?

The voice of Narcissa Malfoy drifted back to him. You know him; you've worked with him. You know he is not a murderer.

"Can I buy you another?"

Ron looked up, startled, and saw a young woman about his age standing at his elbow. "I'm not the best of company right now," he told her, turning back to his drink and hoping she'd leave him be.

She didn't; the woman sat down on the stool beside him. "In this place, at this hour, you're the only company." She gestured to the sparse number of patrons.

"Wait around another hour; there will be plenty of blokes to choose from."

The woman leaned close to Ron, the strong scent of her perfume cloying. "What if I've already chosen?"

Ron turned to her, aghast. Was she being dense on purpose or was she a glutton for rejection? Before Ron could respond, a waiter came over and said in a soft voice, "Sir, your boyfriend has just arrived and is waiting at the back table."

Ron blinked at the man. He frequented the pub often enough that the staff knew him and this waiter surely knew that Ron did not have a boyfriend.

"He said to bring him an ale as well." The waiter gestured to the publican behind the bar, who began to pour the other drink.

"Oh," said the woman next to Ron. "I see." With that she turned and sauntered off to the other end of the pub.

"I appreciate the help, mate," Ron thanked the waiter. "Some women never know when to leave well enough alone."

"Don't thank me; thank your new friend at the back table." The waiter handed Ron the second drink.

"You mean someone is back there saying he is my boyfriend?"

"No, he saw you were in need of rescuing and told me to come over here. But, you might as well take him his drink, don't you think?"

Ron grabbed his ale as well as the stranger's and ventured to the back warily. The back was virtually empty save one handsome young man whom Ron figured was his savior. As Ron approached, the man smiled broadly, showing off beautiful teeth. He stood and reached out for one the drinks.

"Thanks, love," he said with a laugh.

"Not a problem, dear," joked Ron. He held out his hand to the stranger. "I'm Ron."

The stranger took Ron's hand in his own and shook it. "Elliot. Have a seat, Ron."

Ron sat across from Elliot and got a better look at him. He was average height, which put him at Ron's shoulders, slightly muscled, had rich coffee colored hair and matching eyes, a shadow of stubble above his lip and on his chin. He was quite handsome, his pleasing smile adding to the already attractive features.

"Not that I mind the assistance, but what made you do that?" Ron wanted to know.

Elliot blushed slightly and took a sip of ale. "Well, that tart wouldn't leave you alone when you obviously wanted nothing to do with her. I figured if she thought you were taken by another bloke, she'd back off right quick. And I was right, wasn't I?"

"Yeah, you were. But, what if I didn't go along with it? What then?"

"Then you could have fixed your own damn problem," he chortled. "Something told me you would though. I've seen you in here before and I could tell you weren't in the mood for her."

"But, I might be for you, is that it?"

Again, Elliot blushed. "No harm in trying, is there?"

Ron grinned, his bad mood slowly evaporating. "No, I suppose not."

Ron lived off of this ego boost for the rest of Saturday. A half an hour after meeting Elliot, Ron began to get sleepy and went home to rest; both he and Elliot said they hoped to meet again soon, but Ron thought it unlikely. Elliot was nice and he made Ron feel attractive, but Ron wasn't interested in starting anything with him, even casually. His mind was engaged elsewhere and would be so for the foreseeable future.

Sunday. Ron was very happy when he lifted his heavy eyelids to the milky morning light, knowing that he had the entire day do with as he pleased. As he rose from his warm bed sheets, he thought of his slowly consumed breakfast of sausage, egg, toast and Mum's jam, of the Daily Prophet waiting for him outside his door. Sundays almost made Mondays bearable.

The front of the newspaper was a most unwelcome sight. On the front page, a solemn smile on his handsome face, was Draco Malfoy. Ron recognized the photo as one taken earlier that year during one of Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy's charity events. Ron went to party for a little while with Harry while Ginny was at home with the stomach flu. The red head looked at the picture, watched Draco nod to the crowd, and then noticed the headline. It read:

ANOTHER MURDER! ANOTHER MALFOY CONNECTION!

The Daily Prophet has learned that yet another young woman has been murdered and she too has a connection to the illustrious Malfoy family. Maggie DeVann, was found yesterday inside her home, the victim of an apparent strangulation. Ms. DeVann was a former employee of one of Lucius Malfoy's many charities and worked closely with the son, Draco. Whether or not there was a romantic relationship between the young people, as there was with the first victim, Ms. Antigone Glacier, remains to be seen. When asked for a comment about this murder and a link between them, Auror Head, Kingsley Shacklebolt, said, "There is no apparent connection at that time, but the Aurors will look at all possibilities, as with any other case."

Ron frowned as he finished the article. It was a load of nothing, nothing at all. He wondered how the Prophet was able to gather so much information so quickly; Ron was not even informed about Ms. DeVann's employment to Malfoy's charities. It must be a coincidence though. The Malfoys employed about half the wizarding world! It was completely possible that these murders were unrelated.

Nodding his head smartly, Ron breathed deeply and turned the page. Ron perused the rest of the paper, looking for any additional articles or editorials on Draco or the Aurors. Unfortunately, he did find something in the Arts and Society page.

SYMPATHY FOR SOCIALITE AND SUSPECTED MURDERER!

Ron began to read the article, his heart beating a bit faster. Someone out there publicly supported Draco? But, as Ron continued, he discovered he was wrong; the article was about him!

Draco Malfoy, young playboy and heir to the Malfoy fortune is currently a fugitive, wanted for the murder of Ms. Antigone Glacier, daughter of Ministry officials, Maurice and Anna Maria Glacier. The young Mr. Malfoy, employed by this periodical, has not been seen since his escape last week. Many have been voicing their beliefs of his guilt; his past as Death Eater is a popular citation. However, it seems like there is one voice speaking out for this occasionally charming and unassuming young man.

An Auror working on the escape of accused killer, Draco Malfoy, confessed to reporters Friday that he believed in suspect's innocence. When asked about the Auror Department's lack of progress in the matter, our source said, "The Aurors are doing the best that they can under the circumstances." He then wanted to give peace of mind to the wizarding world and asked everyone not to panic. "Draco has not been sentenced yet," he reminded this reporter. The Auror never gave a concrete reason for his belief in Mr. Malfoy's innocence, but it was plain to see he wanted a safe return for the former Death Eater.

Ron couldn't believe it! It was that brief conversation he had with Rita Skeeter on Friday, blown out of proportion! How could she do that? She completely misconstrued his words and fabricated the rest of the article. Ron worried what he would tell Kingsley the next day. The man asked all the Aurors to stay away from the press and Ron inadvertently gave the Daily Prophet an exclusive. As Ron went through the remainder of the piece, he sighed in relief! The article never mentioned his name and there was no reason for his employer to suspect him.

Just as Ron was about to close his paper and have a shower, he saw that poetry section again, running along the right side. Ron recognized the name of the poet he read before, Lover, and quickly read his couplet.

In mourning, I draw the heavy curtain
On a love that was weak and uncertain.

Ron paused and read it again. And again. "Hmm," he mumbled to himself. Something felt strange, like a phantom touch running up his neck to the top of his head, urging him to look deep into the words. It was an odd sensation, but it did not leave him.

He wasn't sure why, but Ron wanted to read the poem that preceded this one. He stood up and searched his living room for last Sunday's edition. As he was quite busy and tired from his long work hours, the flat was more disheveled than usual and Ron knew he had not thrown out that paper. After about five minutes of rifling under dirty clothes and discarded pieces of mail, he found what he was looking for.

He opened the proper section and searched for Lover's poem. The first one dealt with life, the third, mourning. Logically, the missing one concerned death. Ron did not want to make poetry a hobby, but he couldn't get rid of that haunting feeling pressing into the crown of his head, so he read the brief passage, his lips mouthing the words.

Across your neck, white as fresh fallen snow,
A bright red ribbon begins to glow.

It did not say In death, as Ron predicted; it did not match the other two. Ron chewed thoughtfully on his thumbnail as he pictured the words in front of him.

A neck white as fresh fallen snow… The image of Draco Malfoy instantly appeared, his pale body naked and sprawled out for Ron's absorbing gaze.

A glowing, red ribbon… That was harder. Ron pictured a fine piece of satin tied in a bow around Draco throat like a present. Then he remembered the stain of his ardent kisses on Draco's skin, the broken blood vessels painted with care and concentration. Was that what Lover was describing? Ron's mind flashed between the two images, red satin, red love bites, back and forth until they melded into one.

Ron gasped. The sensual vision of Draco vanished and in its place was the horrid memory of Maggie DeVann's body, the dead weight of her head swaying slightly as the Aurors and medi-wizards bustled around her. Then Ron remembered the curtain! Maggie's heavy draperies that were tied back by the murder weapon. Her neck was spotted with red and purple bruises that stood out against her deathly white skin.

Ron sat on the floor, breathing evenly in and out, his eyes rapidly blinked in syncopation. Those ghostly fingers paralyzed him as a cold sweat broke out along his hairline. Was it even possible? Was he imagining things? The couplet fit with what Ron saw Saturday, didn't it? The notion was utterly absurd! Ron shook his head vigorously. He must still have been sleep deprived because normal, healthy people did not see death notices in the forms of amateur poetry in the newspaper!

Ron gathered his wits and got off of his wooden floor. He took the two papers and ripped out the poetry sections; he regretted that he didn't have the first poem anymore. He re-read them once more before he placed them on his small desk by the windows of the living room.

"It could be a coincidence," he repeated to himself. Not for the first time, Ron wished he understood poetry better. Maybe he was taking it too literally.

Ron decided to take a very long hot shower and mull over the morning's events, two articles about Draco, and the mysterious poetry.

By lunch, Ron was still confused and did not know what to do about his problems or who to tell. Normally, he confided in Harry, but every time he went to Firecall, he lost his nerve. Harry would want to have him committed. He finally thought of one person whom he could ask about the poetry, someone who would give his opinion frankly and knew not to ask too many questions, a reluctant acquaintance, Blaise Zabini.

Ron quickly sent an owl to the man, requesting a meeting the following day to discuss "a particular matter." Shortly thereafter, Blaise replied and invited him to lunch where they could discuss whatever Ron wanted.

The redhead tried to put Draco and the poems out of his mind for a few hours while he went to a family dinner at his parents' home, but everyone, save Ginny and Harry, wanted to know about the case. Ron tuned them out through the main course as much as he could and gratefully accepted Harry's proposal to hide out in Ron's old bedroom until dessert was served.

By the time he got home, he fell into his bed and drifted off to sleep, his mind too tired to think about Draco, even as he slumbered.


How Ron hated Mondays!

While he should have been filling out a status report on the people he and Harry interviewed in Maggie DeVann's neighborhood, Ron wrote to his friend, Phipher, to find out who handled the poetry entries when they were submitted to the newspaper. If he knew the identity of Lover then he could rule out his or her involvement in the murder of Ms. DeVann. He did not get a response before he left to have lunch with Blaise.

Ron entered a small café a few blocks away from work and instantly found his companion waiting for him at a small window-side table, perusing a copy of the Daily Prophet. Blaise Zabini was the sort of person who stood out in a crowd, with his long, wavy black hair, tall stature and disarming smile. Ron weaved through the hungry patrons and took a seat opposite Blaise.

"Nasty bit of business," Blaise commented before folding up the paper and setting it aside.

"What is?" Ron asked.

"Just about everything inside that rag. Almost every article mentions poor Draco in one way or another." Blaise turned his warm dark eyes on Ron. "What do you think?"

"I think Malfoy is many things, but poor is not one of them." Ron picked up a menu and began to look at the list of soups.

"Well, at least one of your ilk is looking out for him." Blaise paused for a remark from Ron regarding this, but Ron continued to stare at the menu and bit his tongue. "I imagine you have something to say about our friend, Weasley. Feel free to divulge in secrecy."

"Malfoy is not my friend, Zabini."

"In the literal sense, no, he is not, but there is a world of gray to be taken into account."

Ron closed his menu and dropped it onto the table. "Are you going to be cryptic all throughout lunch?"

Blaise smiled, his shocking white teeth glistening in the afternoon sunshine. "I won't, if you do me the same courtesy. Your owl was most peculiar yesterday." Blaise motioned to a waitress who was just setting down glasses at a nearby table. "Let's order then we can get right down to it."

The two men did so and after the waitress brought them each a glass of water, Blaise started the discussion.

"What sort of help can I be to you? I suppose I should ask if I am speaking with Auror Weasley or just plain Ronald Weasley."

"Both," he replied honestly. Ron reached into his pocket and pulled out the two clippings from the Daily Prophet. "What do you make of these?" he asked, passing them over.

Blaise quickly glanced at them then grinned. "I didn't know you wrote, Weasley! Though you really must come up with a more suitable nom de plume."

"They aren't mine, you git!" Ron fired back.

"Well, that is good news. I doubt you would have enjoyed my critique. So, what do you want to know about them?"

"You are into all of this literature and writing stuff, right?"

Blaise gave a dignified snort. "If you can call two best selling books in three years 'into.'"

"I don't really understand these kinds of things and I was hoping you could tell me, in your opinion, what they are about."

"Why ask me? Surely, you have better acquaintances than me who could help your scholarly exploration. Hermione perhaps?"

Ron shook his head. "For this, I would trust your opinion over hers. Besides, she is still in Edinburgh doing her research for St. Mungo's."

"Very well." Blaise read the couplets again before he spoke. "Well, they are relatively simple rhymes, nothing overly clever. I doubt your author has had any formal training."

"What are they about though? If it helps, the one on top appeared in the Prophet first."

"Your inquiry is completely speculative. For example, this one here," Blaise pushed the second piece towards Ron, "I could tell you that it was about a broken heart. The idea of drawing a curtain over something implies a death. So, one interpretation is that the author is laying his feelings of love to rest. However, he could be talking about an actual person, one who was weak minded or physically weakened by illness or injury. Do you see what I mean?"

Ron nodded. "What about the first one, the bright, red ribbon?"

Blaise thought for a moment. "What jumps out at me is the use of the word, 'begins', as if this ribbon is slowly becoming apparent."

"Like blood," Ron mumbled, glumly.

"Yes, I suppose. Like a cut that does not bleed at the moment the skin is sliced. Though, I fear we are entering into your area of expertise and not mine."

"So, you think this one is about a cut throat?"

"It's possible." Blaise turned to the approaching waitress and thanked her for her food.

Ron took his bowl of soup, but ignored it. "What about bruises?" he prodded further.

"Weasley, what is this all about?" asked Blaise as he placed a napkin on his lap. "Why is this so important? Does it have anything to do with Draco's case?"

"I can't go into it, Zabini. I just need to know your best opinion, no questions asked, nothing assumed, alright?"

"Very well."

The pair ate and spoke of idle things for a while. Ron found himself wanting to tell Blaise about his suspicions, thinking that with all the facts he could give him a more concrete answer. It was impossible though. Ron could not confess to him, ethically, not to mention the fact that the Auror was not positive if he was on the right track.

Ron was almost done with his soup when Blaise brought up the poetry again. "I think this Lover enjoys romanticizing death. He could also be a sadist or a masochist."

Ron's spoon stopped right in front of his parted lips. "Why would you say that?"

"You asked for my feelings and I'm giving them to you. Whether these poems are to be taken individually or sequentially, there seems to be an element of sensuality mixed with pain. A ribbon can be a pretty thing or it can be a restraint. The there is the notion of covering up love with a death shroud."

"Do you think this person is dangerous?"

"I would never suggest it. Some people simply enjoy morbidity. Have you heard from Draco at all?"

It took Ron a second or two to follow Blaise's conversation leap. "If we'd heard from him, I'm sure all of the papers would know about it."

"I asked if you had heard from him, not your Department."

Ron set his empty bowl aside. "Why would Draco contact me?"

"Because you and Draco were lovers."

Ron never heard anyone say those words out loud before; it was jarring. "Why would you say that?" he asked cautiously.

"It's true, isn't it? I was with Draco for a time myself."

"Were you?" Ron's voice was clipped.

"Yes. I'm guessing your liaison was supposed to be a secret, but Draco slipped up."

Ron ran a hand through his hair and smiled wryly. "And he was worried I would ruin it."

"I don't think anyone else would have noticed. It was all of the small things, the look on his face when he heard your name, or when he spoke your name. Draco was my lover, but he is my friend and I know how to read him. It didn't really take much deducing."

"It's not what you think," insisted Ron.

Blaise released a large sigh and leaned back in his chair. "That's a relief. I thought you and Draco fucked during the war in exchange for information and as soon as you were done with him, you ran off to be a bloody hero. But, thank you for putting me at ease and telling me it wasn't what I thought."

Ron did not appreciate Blaise's sarcastic tone. The tips of his ears burned with his growing frustration. "It wasn't that tawdry. We had an agreement, Zabini and I followed it."

"Agreements can be altered. That look I saw on Draco's face was a bit of sadness, frustration and a touch of pain, creating a classic expression of regret. Now, what do you suppose he would regret about you?"

"Probably that he didn't ask for more from me. He knew I'd do anything to get that information."

"I believe you may be onto something, Weasley. He regrets not asking for more." Zabini stood up and threw a few notes on the table. "I hope I was helpful. If you need further assistance, do let me know."


Chapter Three

<@<<@<<<@

Ron went back to the Garret the next night. The crowd looked the same, as if the patrons never went home, still dancing, kissing, laughing and drinking. Langdon was still behind the bar and efficiently serving his customers. Ron caught his eye and Langdon gave him a slow smile before nodding to the dance floor.

Draco was dancing to a fast beat, his exposed skin glistened in the candlelight and his white button down shirt clung to his sweating body. Once again, there were several people gathered around him, one of whom handed Draco a glass, which he drank greedily from, the clear liquid trickled down his chin. Ron followed the droplets with as much detached interest as he had inside of him, which was very little. With a deep breath, he advanced.

Trying to show Draco that he learned something from their last encounter, Ron slunk around the floor until he stared at Draco's back, hoping the blonde did not see him enter the club. Ron rolled his shoulders back and walked up to Draco. He wrapped an arm around Draco, his large hand resting on the blonde's abdomen. He felt the muscles under his fingers tense at the first touch, but then relaxed. A brief thought, that Draco had men doing this to him often enough not to cause him alarm, angered Ron. He wasn't just anyone and he needed to get Draco's full attention.

Ignoring the annoyed looks of Draco's friends, Ron pulled the young man back against his chest and nipped his earlobe. "Did you miss me?'

Draco turned his head to the side to see his admirer. "Well, well, well. I was wondering when I was going to see you again." Draco turned in Ron's arms and placed his hands on Ron's shoulders. "I must say I'm enjoying the fact that I am now almost as tall as you."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Can we go some place and continue our discussion?"

"Is that what you are calling it?" quipped one of Draco's friends close by.

Draco scowled at him. "Shove off, mate. No one like an eavesdropper."

The friend just laughed. "You'll tell me about it tomorrow anyway."

"He won't be around tomorrow," Ron snapped, pulling Draco away from the friend.

"Oh, what a sweet promise! I hope you can keep up with him."

"Get out of here!" Draco shouted again and playfully pushed the boy away.

Again, Ron realized how often this type of flirtation happened in Draco's life while Ron never imagined anything like this happening to him.

"How often do you bring men home?' Ron asked before he could stop himself.

A brief flash of hurt crossed Draco's face. "As often as I want," he replied. He ran his fingers through Ron's thick hair and pulled Ron close so they were nose to nose. "Are you asking to see my home, Weasley?" He gave him a playful kiss.

"I have a feeling that most men never get to see the entirety of your home when they visit."

Draco laughed joyously, something Ron had never seen before. " You are quite right. So, are you going to buy me a drink or are we going to just stand in the middle of all of these dancing people?"

"I'm just going along with your charade, you know," Ron started to protest.

"If that is true, then you will buy me a drink. It's the gentlemanly thing to do and I am sure your mum raise you to be a gentleman."

"Don't talk about my mum," he said automatically.

"I can't even compliment the woman?"

"You never have before."

"Well, let me make a start. She's produced quite an attractive sixth son, who is about to prove how much of a gentleman he truly is."

Ron growled in frustration, but grabbed Draco's hand and led him to the bar, ignoring the way Draco's long fingers curled comfortably around his own.

Langdon grinned broadly as the pair approached. Draco practically hopped up onto his stool while Ron flopped into his and set their joined hands on top of the glossy bar. His thumb unconsciously started to trace gentle circles along Draco's smooth skin as they waited for Langdon to serve them.

"What do you drink?" Ron asked.

Draco thought for a moment. "I think I'll try something different tonight."

When Langdon reached them, a knowing look in his eyes, Draco ordered a glass of merlot and Ron asked for a scotch, neat.

"I see you're back," Langdon said to Ron.

"Did you think I wouldn't be?" Ron took a small sip of his scotch, loving the flavor on his tongue.

"One never knows with Draco around."

"On your way, Langdon," Draco ordered venomously.

"I'm starting to see a pattern here," Ron observed, turning to face his companion.

Draco took his glass in his unoccupied hand and swirled it, glowering at the red liquid as it coated the sides. "Eyes wide open, eh? Don't pass judgment on me, Weasley. I'm sure I could find a few less than savory things in your life too."

"I'm not judging you and I'm not saying that your life is unsavory. I'm just pointing out an observation."

Draco pulled his hand out of Ron's grasp abruptly. "You do not know me. Don't think you have me figured out because you will be sorely mistaken."

Ron downed his scotch and stood up. "You don't know me either, Malfoy."

"I'm starting to understand that. A great deal has changed since Hogwarts."

Ron found himself pulled into another lip lock with the former Slytherin. He responded immediately, his full lips molding against Draco's thinner ones. He grabbed the back of Draco's head and changed the angle of their kiss as he opened his mouth to Draco's questing tongue. It still did not matter to Ron that he was kissing Draco, or so he tried to convince himself. He enjoyed the incredible feeling of being touched, but ignored the small part of his brain that told him by whom he enjoyed being touched.

When he pulled away and saw Draco's dark eyes staring widely at him, Ron regretted his enthusiastic response. He flushed with embarrassment as he realized his hormones got the better of him. He didn't even like the blonde git, but he willingly participated in a very public, passionate kiss. There was also the fact that Draco was indeed a male and Ron's toes curled more during their encounters than they ever did when Ron was with Hermione! That wasn't a fact Ron ever wanted to voice out loud. "I would appreciate it if you would stop doing that," Ron said after swallowing thickly.

Draco smiled, seeing through Ron's weak complaint. "Am I making you feel uncomfortable, Weasley? Not used to the attention perhaps? Or did something just fall into place in that pretty lil head of yours?" Draco gulped down the remainder of his wine and licked his lips lasciviously. "I think it's time we left."

Draco and Ron walked out of the club and went into the nearest deserted street. Draco wrapped his arms around Ron and Apparated them to the large flat he kept in the city. Draco led him into the living room, which had a high vaulted ceiling with French doors facing the glowing lights outside, several plush sofas and chairs in varying shades of brown and red and an antique credenza with glasses and decanters of liquor. It was a beautiful room, but it looked like it belonged to a middle aged man rather than an eighteen-year old boy.

"Did you decorate this place?" Ron wondered as he sat down on one end of the sofa facing the striking view.

"Some of it. Why? Do you object to it?" Ron didn't comment further. "Did you want something else to drink, Weasley? Something a bit more smooth, perhaps? Brandy?"

"That's fine," Ron answered, wondering if Draco was going to stop his posturing any time soon. Sitting in the boy's home, surrounding by things that were supposed to be of comfort to him, Ron got the distinct impression that most of what he knew about the blonde was a myth, a partial truth entwined with exaggeration. Ron wanted to cut through all of that nonsense and get down to their important conversation. He realized that if the two had any hopes of working together, honesty was going to be a necessity. "So, I thought about things like you asked."

"And you still want to turn me into your secret informer." Draco handed the glass to Ron and sat beside him. "I knew you would."

"Malfoy, if you are just toying with me, tell me now. I don't have time to waste. The whole wizarding world doesn't have time to waste!"

"I'm not toying with you," insisted Draco. "I thought about your proposal as well, like I said I would."

"And you're going to help me?"

Draco took a leisurely sip of his drink and nodded his head. "I am."

"I need to know why. Why are you helping me when you said no to everyone else? Is it because of your parents? Voldemort's threatened them, hasn't he?"

Draco sipped his drink again before answering in a calm voice that belied his frustration. "Of course he has. He's the fucking Dark Lord; he has no sense of loyalty though he demands it of everyone else around him. He is a hypocritical coward and I want him dead. I would do it with my own two hands if I could. I am helping you because you need me." He curled his slender legs underneath him and faced his guest, the nearly empty crystal snifter of brandy cupped in the palm of one hand. "You were right last night when you said that a part of me wants to stop the Death Eaters, but it's more than that. You also want to stop them, but there's more to your story as well. The fact that you came to me completely on your own and with no clue how to go about this recruitment leads me to believe that this has a lot to do with your ego. Am I right? Does Ronald Weasley want to be the hero for once?"

Ron did not answer him back. He finished his drink, placed it on the table beside him and copied Draco's position. "So, you are willing to do this because my motives aren't precisely pure?"

"Yes. I would sooner trust you than any of the others because I am your only option and therefore of value to you."

"Then I am of value to you as well," Ron concluded.

"We are two halves making a whole. You have the ability to take down the Dark Lord and I have the knowledge to help you do it. While your Order and the Ministry make pretty promises about protection, I have little faith in their happening. And then, where would I be? And my parents?"

Ron shook his head, his long, red fringe dusting his eyes. "For once, Malfoy, your head and your heart are in the right place."

Draco gave him a bemused half smile. "So, you believe I have one now?"

Ron scoffed at the comment. At Hogwarts, Ron seriously second-guessed whether Draco had the vital organ. But, since then, Ron personally felt Draco's heart beat against his body, in time to his own. "We're all allowed to change our minds about things, aren't we?"

"Obviously, otherwise, you would not be sitting in my home."

"So, how does this info sharing work? You tell me everything or pieces or what?"

"You tell me what the problem is and I will tell you how to fix it, judging on what I know about Voldemort. I think that will work out the best. Though I could frighten you with everyday tales of horror if that is what you want to hear."

"I doubt you could shock me anymore."

"I would think carefully before placing that bet, Weasley. Just try to consider for a moment the things I witnessed that would make me want to leave them, fight against them. I was, after all, raised by Death Eaters all of my life. You don't want to know what they have done or what they made others do."

"Do you mean what they made you do?"

"I may not bear their mark, but I was one of them; I was not immune to their tortures. I don't want to discuss this right now, but let's say that I have gone through enough that the humbling fact that I am entrusting myself to a Weasley is not lost on me. Do you have any particular questions to ask tonight?"

Ron frowned. "Well, the obvious one is how can we take him down?"

"We can't just take him down; we have to get rid of all his resources. As long as he has money and obsessed servants, there will be turmoil."

"I understand that, but how do we do that? There are so many of them all over the country."

"We'll figure it out. Keep your ears open anytime an Order member is around. Eavesdrop on every conversation you can. Tell me their plans and I will tell you how to make them better."

"I'm pretty good at strategy, you know," Ron boasted.

"Well, then you'll be even better when I'm through with you."

Over the next weeks, they put their plan into action. Ron went back to Grimmauld Place and found out everything he could. He gained a fighting spirit, pushed his way into meetings and forced the Order to allow him to listen. Then he went to Draco and Draco added what he could about Voldemort's strategies and about his servants. It took a little bit of convincing for the Order members to believe in Ron's tactics, but after one of his insights saved a village of muggles, they were much more amenable. Spurred by this, Ron visited Draco more often in search of his help, and for someone with whom to share his success unabashedly.

The two started to enjoy their little routine, enjoyed the bit of consistency in their lives. Trust that was solely built on circumstance grew into one based on the affirmation of mutual respect and admiration. Ron trusted Draco to tell him the truth, not because it was in his best interest to do so, but because Draco wanted to. Draco, in turn, believed the same. It was a very easy transition to make; the two actually got to know each other. They talked often about their lives, their childhood, but rarely about the future and when the subject arose, it was discussed with ambiguities. The only things that they knew would happen if they survived the war was that Ron would be a hero and become an Auror while Draco would rebuild his family's reputation.

One night, a month after their partnership began, Ron Apparated into the living room, as usual, to find Draco standing rigidly by the doors of his balcony, a sullen expression etched into his features.

"What happened to you?" Ron asked, throwing his coat over the back of a chair.

Draco looked up at the sound of Ron's voice. "I didn't hear you arrive," he said, absently. "When did you get here?"

"Just now. You look terrible by the way."

The blonde snorted. "Thank you for that, Weasley. You always know the perfect thing to say at every given moment."

"I can see you're going to be a joy this evening. Want to just tell me what's wrong or do you want me to guess?" He flopped down onto the sofa and crossed his legs on the coffee table.

Hiding a brief scowl at Ron's careless action, Draco shrugged his shoulders. "There's nothing wrong. I was just thinking about something."

"From the look of it, it seemed rather unpleasant."

"No, not at all. I was considering this new life I have. I want for very little, right?" Draco gestured to the grandness surrounding them. "I have my money, a few friends and a nice dose of infamy. Why would I tamper with that? I shouldn't, should I?"

"I don't know. I wouldn't really call the crowd at the Garret your friends, and your infamy doesn't mean anything to me anymore. The money's great, true. And when you have your parents back, I suppose you'll be pretty much set."

Draco nodded his head vigorously; it was almost comical. "I think so as well!"

"But?"

Draco stopped all motion and sighed heavily. "But, until that day comes… This is most likely quite premature, but one thing that war has taught me is to not wait."

Ron nodded gravely. "I figured that out too."

"Excellent. I find myself… enjoying your presence."

When Draco didn't say anything else, Ron ventured for a response. "Thank you?"

"You don't believe me. I barely believe it myself. But, we aren't in school anymore and my perspective has now altered. I find myself admiring you, your confidence is still regrettably lower than it should be, but you are trying to break free from the things that bind you, stifle you. I have respect for that."

"Are you joking? There is something about me that you actually like?"

"And I do like the way you kiss," he added. "I would like you to hear me out."

Ron leaned forward on his elbows and gave Draco his full attention. The normally confident blonde actually seemed nervous. He clasped his hands tightly behind his back and rocked on his heels several times before capturing Ron's gaze.

"There is something particular lacking in my life and I think you can fix it, for some strange, and fateful reason. Succinctly, it's you."

Ron blinked. "I don't understand."

"I want you, Weasley."

"What?!" Ron's hands gripped his knees tightly until his knuckles were a deathly shade of white.

"Don't be thick. Sex. I'm talking about sex."

"Are you having me on? Is this some twisted form of payment for your help?"

"Not at all." Draco sat down on the coffee table in front of Ron, their legs practically touching.

Ron leaned back in the sofa cushion, trying to put more space between him and the apparently insane man. It became inexplicably warm in the large room and the redhead felt his ears flush and a few drops of sweat run down the back of his neck. "You—" Ron wet his dry lips, "You want to have sex with me?"

"Yes."

"But, we can't! I can't! You're a man!"

"Thank you for noticing. You are a man as well. Men can do more than kiss each other," he chuckled.

Ron ground his teeth in frustration. "I am aware of that, Malfoy. I don't have sex with men."

"You mean you haven't had sex with men."

"And I don't plan on changing that. I may have kissed you a few times to keep up appearances, but it wasn't an invitation for more."

Draco stood again and crossed his arms over his chest. His shirt was almost entirely undone; just a few buttons by his lower abdomen remained closed. Ron had a tantalizing peek of Draco's body throughout their evenings, but having it right in front of his eyes, the sculpted muscles, the spun gold hairs barely visible on his pectorals, made Ron's hands start to itch. He wanted touch Draco; he'd always been curious what it would be like to have sex with a man, but having it offered so freely and unexpectedly scared him.

"Don't try to convince me that you didn't enjoy our little show because I know you did. I've kissed enough men to know when I'm being kissed back."

"So, I might have been a bit starved for affection, but that's different. It had nothing to do with you personally."

"You would have kissed anyone then? Vincent Crabbe for example?"

Ron grimaced and shrank into the cushions again. The image was just too grotesque! "Fine, maybe it had a bit to do with you, but — "

"Weasley, I can get sex anywhere, but I am tired of the same men who only desire the thrill of being with a Death Eater or a Malfoy or whoever they think I am. It's damn tedious and not at all arousing anymore."

"You sound like Harry," observed Ron.

A dark expression clouded Draco's handsome face. He stalked over to the doors again and stared out into the night. "In the future, I would prefer it if you refrained from such comparisons."

Ron saw the muscles in his back tense and very slowly release. Though his values may have changed, Draco still held a deep seeded dislike for the black haired boy that would not fade away as it did with Ron.

"You said you are want of affection. I am as well. War really makes you crave simple pleasures, doesn't it? Someone with whom to share your frustrations, a few hours without worrying about everyone else, a time to just be a little selfish."

Ron couldn't find words to refute him. He and Draco sought each other to fill the gaps in their lives, a ready listener, a chess player and a friend, of sorts. Perhaps it was selfish to covet such things, but Ron did and apparently, it meant a lot to Draco as well. But, sex?

"I am not going to force myself on you," Draco said, his back still to Ron. "We can forget the whole matter if you want. But, something tells me that you don't want to. I am aware that under different circumstances I could never have you."

"I haven't given myself yet," Ron interjected.

Draco turned around and leaned against the glass panes, the late moonlight crowning his blonde hair in an ethereal majesty. "I have been very honesty with you, have I not?" Ron nodded. "Perhaps you will do me the same courtesy and tell me, honestly, if you will. I'm not talking marriage, Weasley. This is mutual gratification. You get my secrets, help the Order and become the hero you always wanted to be. I, anonymously, help stop this stupid war, free my parents and go about rebuilding my life. In the mean time, together, we can fend off the attacks of loneliness and helplessness to which neither of us want to admit."

Ron put his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. "This is a very strange night." Draco Malfoy, rich, charming and incredibly good looking, wasn't satisfied with his sex life and sought the touch of poor, fumbling, hot-tempered Ron Weasley.

Ron unfolded his long body and stood up. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets and looked at his feet. Ron knew he was decent looking, but judging by Draco's dance partners, he was not up to the blonde's standards. But Draco wanted him anyway, said he was attractive. Ron didn't like how weak, how needy he suddenly felt. He had the love and respect of friends and family and he was finally going to be a hero. Was it enough? Why did he want to be greedy, selfish? Did he want to give over to those feelings?

He raised his eyes back to Draco, who looked nervous again. Ron could not formulate words. Draco's extreme confidence was never a turn on for Ron. He found Draco desirable when he danced like no one was watching, or when he got embarrassed or surprised and, as Ron just discovered, when Draco was uncertain. He looked his age for once, no sneers or harshness on his face, just his striking eyes and his lower lip caught in his teeth. Ron realized how hard it must be for Draco to voice his desires to someone that hated him for most of their lives. Apparently, there were one or two things about this new Draco that Ron could admire.

Ron felt a pang in his chest; he could reject Draco, humiliate him for all of things that he did to Ron over the years, or he could keep thinking about this, let Draco fester in uncertainty. But, he wasn't that cruel.

Ron crossed over to the windows, toe to toe with Draco. He put his hands on Draco's small waist and held his darkening gaze until their lips tentatively met. Ron tilted his head and gently pressed a kiss on the corner of Draco's mouth, bent the other way and repeated the action. Ron felt Draco's lips twitch in a slight smile as the blonde's hand settled on Ron's lower back. Ron shivered and pulled Draco closer to him.

They stood by the windows kissing and caressing for many minutes, the waning lights of the city and the moon above plunging them into golden glow from the candelabras placed throughout the living room.

They found different ways to make each other moan, found a few ticklish spots and Draco found a particular erogenous zone on Ron, his ears. Draco tortured Ron's red lobes until Ron couldn't take it any more. He pulled away from Draco's pleasurable attentions and stepped out of his reach.

"This is a strange night," he repeated. Draco laughed and Ron found he enjoyed the sound.

It took a little while for Ron to get up the nerve to move beyond kissing and groping. Draco initiated it, opening Ron's jeans and sliding a tongue over the red head's cock. From that first contact, the red head was undone. He spent more and more time in Draco's lush master suite during his visits, basking in newfound pleasures.

He never felt as alive and completely present as he did when lying with Draco in soft, evergreen sheets, their mouths lazily seeking out the other, bodies entwined, and stuck together with sweat, semen and saliva. It sounded gross and Draco never liked staying that way for long, but Ron loved it and kept the squirming blonde trapped in his arms until he couldn't tolerate Draco's pleas for a shower any longer. Occasionally, Ron joined him there, but more often than not, he did a Scourgify spell on himself and went home. He never stayed the entire night at Draco's flat. It was a boundary he set for himself because he was not in a relationship with Draco; they were allies seeking comfort during uncertain days, nothing more.

For two months, neither ventured beyond that point. But, then the war escalated and Ron faced the fact that his perfect plan had a hitch in it; it had to come to an end.

<@<<@<<<@

Ron received an owl from Phipher Niggleby later on that day, confirming that he was the man who was in charge of the poems printed in the Arts and Society section. Phipher also said that no one knew the identity of the Lover. The couplets were an office joke dating back to when the Lover started writing them almost five years prior. The author never signed his or her real name and there wasn't a return address on the envelopes.

Ron grumbled as he pulled out a quill and a piece of parchment. It figured it wouldn't be that easy to cross Lover off the list of suspects. Ron quickly wrote to his friend to say he would be stopping by later on to discuss some side work. Ron thought that recruiting Phipher could be beneficial. The old man used to be an investigative reporter for the Daily Prophet and would most likely enjoy doing a little bit of digging for him. If Phipher could find other poems that described actual deaths from the past five years, then it would cast doubt on the charges against Draco, at least enough to entice Draco back home.

While he waited for the reply, Ron busied himself with his lengthy list on Draco. He added couplets and gazed intently at the words, praying for some sort of insight. Ron waited well past quitting time for that owl from Phipher, but it did not show up. He hoped that it would find him at home that night.

Ron walked the darkened streets of London to his flat, thanking Merlin that he remembered to wear a hat and scarf, as the weather was quite cold. Even in the serenity of night and the milky lights from the lamps, Ron's mind was still fixed on Draco. He walked blindly, shoulders up to his ears, head bowed, and flipped through various encounters the two shared in similar conditions. The time they watched the snow pile up to the sill of the windows on the main floor. Neither said a word for over an hour, just enjoyed the sight of fat snowflakes falling like blessed whispers to the ground, a large blaze crackling in the fireplace and on the table between them, a bottle of brandy Hors D'age. Ron cherished those moments as much as the still vivid memories of them in bed, Draco inside him or Ron practically crushing Draco into the plush mattress.

Draco. Draco. Draco.

He really wanted a brandy and it was all Draco's fault! It was his fault Ron was alone. That he drank alone, slept alone and it was his fucking fault that Ron never felt present in his own life. He should have been happy; he thought he was happy. But, it was clear he was not and Ron had some misplaced anger that suddenly he could not swallow.

Ever since his arrest, the blonde was constantly on Ron's mind. Old memories that he tried to ignore distended from his very core, filling him with unmanageable emotions! At night, alone in his flat, he sipped scotch and thought of Draco from three years ago, the determination, the trust, the open expressions on his face that Ron knew very few witnessed. At work, walking side by side with his best mate, Ron remembered sitting on Draco's sofa, snow-white feet in his lap, as they chatted about Quidditch. It was vexing! No matter where he went or with whom he was around, he breathed Draco Malfoy in and out and no one knew, not even Draco. Ron needed focus and perspective. Draco was part of the job and that was it! Anything else was in the past; he saw to that.

He arrived home to a surprising sight on his front stoop. Perched on the cold black wrought iron railing was a brown owl Ron did not recognize. Clutched in its beak was an envelope with Ron's name on it.

"Hey there," Ron greeted as he approached the bird. It perked up at the sight of Ron, knowing that the tall man standing there was the intended recipient of its letter. "That for me?" Ron reached out and took the letter from the owl. "Come on in, fella, and I'll give you a treat before you go back to wherever you came from."

The two walked up to Ron's flat and Ron retrieved a few owl treats for the bird. It hooted thankfully and began to nibble on its food. Ron took of his jacket and flipped the envelope over in his hand. He sat down on his couch and broke the seal. Inside were a two-page note and a clipping from the Daily Prophet. Ron recognized it as the article where he was misquoted. He set aside and began to read the enclosed. He immediately recognized the handwriting as that of his former lover's.

If you truly believe what you said in this article (yes, I know it was you), please do the following. In Knockturn Alley, there is a male prostitute named Westen who lives at The Parlor. Ask him about his encounter with 'Draco Malfoy.' It's amazing the things some people spout out in bed.

Ron blushed, remembering a few of the words that passed from his own lips and from Draco's. They both had very vocal moments.

I won't presume to do your job for you, but I relayed to Westen how fortune he was to be alive after bedding a true killer. Please go tomorrow. You owe me.
DM

Ron was very taken aback. He reread the letter three times, let the mysterious owl out of his flat and reread it again. What the hell was going on? Draco wrote to him and ordered him to go to Knockturn Alley. The blonde knew that Ron was the Auror quoted in the Daily Prophet! A prostitute named Westen had important information. Ron wasn't sure to what Draco insinuated when he mentioned vocal sex, but he figured he would find out the next day when he visited the brothel known as The Parlor.

Yes, Ron was going to do as Draco requested. He would have liked to say that he was appalled by Draco's gall and that his pride would never allow him to submit to Draco. But, he didn't think any of those things. His meeting with Blaise only increased his curiosity about Draco's case. Besides, Ron really did owe Draco.

He did not like the thought of Draco contacting him; it was too risky for both of him. He especially didn't like the idea of being ordered around by the fugitive he was supposed to be hunting. But, a lead was a lead and Ron decided he had to follow it. The letter was cryptic, most likely in case it fell into the wrong hands, and Ron decided to break it down thoroughly before going to The Parlor to ask his questions.

As he prepared for bed, he thought about Draco, out there alone on a cold night. He hoped the man was able to find a warm shelter. He seemed to track down information that would help prove his innocence quickly enough.


During his lunch break the next afternoon, Ron traveled to Knockturn Alley, leaving his Auror robes behind. He walked past the darkened shops with dusty windows full of mysterious wares, past wizards and witches in thick cloaks that covered their faces from view. The air was icy and foul smelling. Ron kept his head held high, but did not make eye contact with anyone who crossed his path. He found the small brothel easily; it was a known establishment that never seemed to be short on business. The place was a narrow three-story building with worn grey bricks and a shaky foundation that caused the structure to list to the left. Ron peered up at the windows whose ratty curtains were drawn; lunchtime must be busy for this establishment. Ron knocked on the front of the door, which was as inviting as Voldemort's smile. Through the rust and verdigris, Ron saw a plaque to the right that bore the name, The Parlor.

The wooden door creaked open and a voluptuous woman with red splotches peppering the tops of her lifted breasts looked Ron up and down. Her hair was a mass of righteous curls, piled haphazardly on top of her head, and her brown eyes were watery. "What's yer pleasure, dear? Ye look like ye might be a bit lost."

"Not lost. I'm looking for Westen, actually. Is he in?" Ron inquired with as much ease as possible. He did not want to let on that he was an Auror and risk losing his chance at information.

The woman frowned, emphasizing her already prominent wrinkles. "Oh, another poof. Gettin' lots of yer kind round here nowadays. Wes's finishin' up right now. Care to wait inside? Don't think he has another in line."

The woman stepped away from the door and disappeared into the shadows of the foyer; Ron followed. He caught up to his hostess at the end of the hallway in a cramp room with mismatched sofas and a smoldering fire. "Take a seat. I'll send Wes in when he's through."

Ron looked down at the molding and singed rose-colored sofa and decided he'd rather stand. He paced the room for about 10 minutes, mulling over his list of questions for Mr. Westen. He deduced that the young man had a client who looked like Draco or enough like Draco to make him believe he fucked him. The part about the names still didn't make sense to Ron, but he knew how to work around that.

Ron heard the light tread of feet coming down the stairs and a few seconds later, he saw a very young, very attractive boy enter the waiting room. He smiled happily at the sight of Ron, showing crooked teeth that did not deter from his good looks. The boy tossed his long sandy colored hair over his small shoulders and crossed his long arms across his slightly sculpted chest. He was dressed in loose faded black trousers and an open blue button down that matched the color of his eyes.

"Well, hello there," he greeted in a pleasant tenor voice. "Sorry to keep you waiting, love. Why don't you come with me where it's a bit more comfortable."

Westen's room was only slightly more habitable than the waiting room. There was a large four poster with sheer hangings and a lumpy mattress with mussed yellow sheets, a scallop-back, water stained white chair in one corner, a water basin and crusty mirror in another and two large windows covered by dusty damask. Ron felt bad for the poor boy, only a few years younger than he, and stuck in that hellhole.

"I don't know your face, so I'm assuming one of your mates recommended me," Westen surmised as he leaned against a bedpost and took another look at Ron. He seemed pleased at the prospect.

"I guess you could say that," Ron responded, closing the door behind him and tossing his coat onto the chair. "I believe you do know a friend of mine."

"Not surprising, love; I know a lot of people." Westen pushed off the post and walked over to Ron; he stood a good five inches below the red head's nose. He put his hands on Ron's shoulders and leaned in close. "Shall we get started then? I must say you're the most tempting client I've had all morning."

Up close, Ron saw a few faint bruises on Westen's neck and chest as well as a handful of silvery scars. One that was still a light shade of pink, by the corner of his right caught Ron's attention. Who hurt this boy? Was it the Lover?

When he felt Westen's fingers fiddle with the buttons of Ron's shirt, the Auror stepped away. "One moment there. Before we go any further, I need to ask, what do you charge, Westen?"

"Depends on what you asking for, love," he drawled.

"Information," Ron answered flatly.

Westen laughed uneasily. "Are you playing?"

"No, I'm not. I need to talk to you about a client of yours."

"We don't gossip about clients, sir."

Ron inwardly flinched at Westen's tone and change in address. "I don't want gossip, Westen. My name is Ron and I just want to know a bit about a client who roughed you up recently."

The young boy balked at that, suddenly seeming much older and jaded. "Even if I was going to talk, you'd have to be more specific, Ron."

"I'm willing to pay for your time, Westen. I'm looking for a serial killer who enjoys fucking in dress up. Ring any bells?" Ron hoped he was on the right track. If he were vague enough, hopefully Westen would fill in the blanks.

Westen's big blue eyes widened. He turned and sat down on the edge of his bed. "So, it's true then. It wasn't Draco Malfoy."

"No, it wasn't."

"I'm glad for it. I heard Malfoy speak at a charity outing once. He has been doing a lot for this end of town, trying to help our lot get out of here, we 'poor and fallen.' The bloke that I was with didn't sound like the Malfoy I heard that day."

"Polyjuice Potion," Ron clarified. "The fake couldn't imitate Draco's voice."

Westen gave a nod and continued his story. "Honestly, at first, I was thrilled at the thought of getting fucked by Malfoy, but then…" Westen's hand drifted up to his neck and lightly fingered the bruises there.

"He beat you," Ron filled in. Westen nodded and Ron moved to sit beside him. "Westen, it's alright. I want to help." Ron used his best bedside manner on the boy, a calm, inviting tone of voice, no judgments, like he was trained to when dealing with trauma victims. It worked.

"I'm used to rough sex and he always likes it on the rougher side. But, he has this weird habit. One moment he's fucking me, then he's spouting out names of women. He called out for different women, babbled on and on about how he was going to have them, make them his own. Never had a bloke call out for a girl while cumming before. The last time was different though. He got so carried away, he had me answer to the name Maggie, tell him I loved him and all sorts of things. When we finished, he started to hit me and choke me. His eyes were manic, like they couldn't see anything, or saw something that wasn't actually there." Westen swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "It didn't last long though. The anger just faded out of him. He dressed, paid me and left without saying a word. I've had men spit on me or curse at me or even apologize, but he just walked out the door. Didn't care that I was bleeding or crying. He was like a totally different person."

"I'm sorry that happened to you, Westen," Ron said sincerely. With every word Westen said, Ron's desire to catch the killer grew.

"It comes with the territory," Westen shrugged before giving a small sniff.

"When did you first meet this guy?"

"About a week ago. He came three times last week, usually stays for a few hours, always at night. So, Ron, who are you that you are interested in a poor, beaten up prostitute?"

"I'm an Auror actually."

Westen jumped backwards and hit the headboard. "An Auror?!" he cried out in fear.

"Calm down. I'm not going to arrest you. I'm not going to harm you or your business. I need your help. The man that hurt you is framing Draco Malfoy for murder. He is using Polyjuice Potion so we don't know what he looks like. You've heard his voice and you've seen his true personality; you're the best lead I have."

"What do you need from me?" he asked, easing away from the headboard and closer to Ron.

"I just want you to stay in touch with me. If you see him again, if he says any other names, if you hear something from the others here or remember anything that can help spot him, let me know."

"You seem awfully certain that Malfoy isn't the killer. Everyone else thinks he's guilty. Why is that?"

"I know him. He wouldn't kill anyone. He can be a pain in the ass, but he's not a murderer."

Westen nodded in agreement. "I think so too. You don't think badly of me, do you? For not coming forward?"

"No, I understand why you didn't say anything; you were scared. But, I hope you'll work with me on this, if not for Draco and others, who might lose their lives, then for yourself. This guy might not stop his beating next time." Ron placed a hand on the boy's shoulders and noticed they were shaking. "Try not to worry, Westen. It was nice meeting you."

Westen raised his head in surprise. "You mean that?"

Ron smiled at him. "Yeah, I do." He walked over to his pocket and pulled out a money pouch. He tossed it several times in the air, the clanging of many coins echoed through the small space. Ron dropped the red velvet bag into Westen's hands. After a quick glance up at Ron, Westen looked inside and gasped. It was completely full of galleons!

"Sir, I can't take this!" he exclaimed, pulling the drawstring to close the pouch.

"I said I would pay for your time," reminded Ron, who had moved back over to the chair and started putting on his coat.

"But, this is so much, sir! And we only talk for a little while."

"Please, don't call me 'sir', Westen. And just take the money. It may not be what you charge, but I have a feeling it's closer to what you're worth."

Westen beamed at Ron's words. His eyes shone brightly, as though for the first time, he believed he was indeed worth something to the world. "How can I get in touch with you?"

Ron gave him his Firecall address and told him to Owl him before calling.

"Do you have a middle name or a nickname you can use to sign any messages with?" Ron wondered.

Westen thought for a moment. "My little sister used to call me Ten when she was a baby. It was her favorite number too." Westen looked down at the bag of money and gave another sniff.

"Where is she?" Ron wanted to know.

"Dead. The summer before Voldemort was defeated, Death Eaters attacked our village. Only a handful of people were left alive. My wretched father lived through it, but Eloise—" Westen rubbed his eyes roughly and did not continue his story. "I'll write the number 10 at the bottom of any letters I send. Would that be alright?"

Ron stuck out his hand and shook Westen's. "That'll be just fine. If you need anything, just let me know, okay?" Westen nodded, shaking loose a few stray tears. "Westen, hide the money. Try to get out of here if you can."

Westen laughed and gave him a sad smile. "You should work for one of Malfoy's charities."

"This isn't charity; it's hope."


Chapter Four

<@<<@<<<@

Consciousness was slowly invading Ron's slumbering mind. It was a gentle take over, body-warmed sheets tangling with his feet, weak rays of sunshine tickling his eyelids and the soothing concert of a heartbeat and low breaths reaching his ears. Ron's sleepy blue eyes opened to a mass of pale flesh, spotted red from amorous attention. A flat, pink nipple was by his left hand, rising and falling to the rhythm of sleep. As Ron tried to raise the gossamer veil of his dream state, he realized that he knew that nipple and the chest on which it laid, as well as the shoulder beneath his red head.

He closed his eyes and with his other senses, memorized every feeling in his body as he lay quietly with his bedfellow. Ron's skin was pleasantly warm and sticky, his muscles heavy from exertion, his mouth tasted stale with an undertone of sweet brandy wine and Draco's kisses. The scent of their coupling and of Draco's fabric softener filled his nostrils. All of these senses wove together in the most exquisite tapestry of Ron's perfect morning. He nuzzled into his lover's neck and placed a kiss in the crook.

Draco suddenly twitched, his body slowly reanimating from his rest. He opened his pale grey eyes and glanced down at his companion. As recognition set in, Draco looked from Ron to the morning light and back to Ron. "You're still here," he said in a deep rasp.

Ron blinked away his brief pang of disappointment. "That wasn't the response I was hoping for."

"What were you hoping for?"

"Well," Ron rolled onto his stomach and rested his chin on Draco's chest, his expression demure, "'Good morning' would have been nice."

"Good morning," Draco replied, deadpan. "What time is it anyway?" Draco looked to his bedside table and read his clock. "Fuck! It's only seven am! We're going back to sleep."

"We are?"

"Yes, we are." Draco maneuvered them so Ron was again wrapped around him, his head tucked into Draco's neck. The grumpy blonde carded his long fingers through Ron's fiery locks and Ron released a noise reminiscent of a purr. "Like that?" Draco whispered to him. Ron moaned in response. "See what you've been missing every time you've left in the dead of night?" Draco's tone was much more serious.

"Yes. See what you've missed every time you've jumped up to go take a shower?"

Draco's hands stopped. "Oh, I didn't do that yet, did I?"

"Don't stop." Ron nudged Draco's still hand until it continued its gentle stroking. "No, you didn't shower. We ate, had drinks and fucked for hours until we fell asleep." Ron smiled broadly against Draco's skin.

"Sounds spectacular."

"You do remember it, right?"

"I do, just a bit sleep addled at the moment."

"Not often someone wears out the Great Draco Malfoy?"

Draco chuckled. "Proud of yourself, aren't you?" Draco sighed contentedly. "As well you should be. Last night was pretty amazing." Draco pulled his fingers from Ron's hair and coaxed him up to him. Their lips met in a sloppy, lazy kiss. "I'm awake now," Draco stated when he leaned away from Ron.

"So, we're not sleeping?"

"Let's take a shower."

Ron groaned as he disentangled himself from his lover and the bedclothes. Ron stood up and stretched his long arms high above his head. He let his limbs drop heavily as he reached down for Draco. The blonde was staring at Ron's naked body hungrily. Ron shook his head at Draco's insatiable drive and hauled him to his feet.

"Are we really going to shower, Malfoy?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Yes," he answered before he sucked Ron's earlobe into his mouth. "But, that doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves as we do it."

Ron and Draco lathered soap onto each other's bodies, their hands massaging muscles and delving into all crevices of skin. They washed their hair and caressed slippery skin under the streams of steamy water as the suds fell down their faces and over their fused mouths.

Ron pressed Draco against the slick tiles of the shower wall and deepened their kiss. He thrust into Draco's mouth, fondling his lover's tongue with his own and sucking it back into his own heated cavern. They continued to tease and stoke each other until the water began to cool and their fingertips were puckered.

As they walked from the spacious bathroom back to Draco's bedroom, hair dripping and feet skidding on the floors, Draco repeatedly tried to snatch Ron's fluffy towel from around his waist. Ron laughed and jumped out of his reach.

"You need to learn to keep your hands to yourself, Malfoy!" he said as he stumbled into a marbled column. "Oof! My shoulder!" he whined, rubbing his sore bones.

"Serves you right for trying to run away from me." Draco reached for his lover and yanked his towel from his body. With a high victorious shout, Draco jogged into his bedroom, leaving behind a naked and slightly befuddled Ron.

As the echo of Draco's spirited voice faded away, Ron contemplated this playful Draco Malfoy that he just met. Draco was a passionate pain in the ass, smart, charming and flirtatious, but not playful! Just a few minutes ago, the blonde was thoroughly engrossed in nibbling on Ron's ear until the redhead's knees gave out. This child-like joy was not something Ron attributed to Draco's character, but he found himself intrigued by it. He trotted off after Draco and found him sitting on the heavily mussed bed, his prize towel dangling from his hands. Draco stared contemplatively at the damp terrycloth.

"Tired of your victory already?" Ron asked, standing before him, comfortable with his lack of covering.

Draco's eyes slowly rolled up to look at Ron's face. He had an unreadable expression in his grey eyes that made Ron wary. "I have something for you."

"And what is that?"

"The missing piece of the puzzle. I saw my mother and father yesterday."

"You did?!" Draco had not seen his parents in a few months and Ron was surprised that the Malfoy heir hadn't mentioned it sooner.

Draco inhaled very slowly. "It's the snake, Voldemort's stupid, bloody snake. She's the key to his undoing. Behead her and his powers are all but dissolved; even a well-placed Expelliarmus will kill him."

Ron was rooted to the spot, the carpet beneath his large feet soaked through. After three months of waiting and calculating Voldemort's downfall, Draco finally came through with the answer. Ron listened intently as Draco proceeded to explain how Voldemort anchored himself to their world and how, though she was rarely left alone, the Order would have one opportunity to get close to the snake, Nagini. Voldemort was leaving in three days to personally oversee the occupation of Diagon Alley.

"Diagon Alley?!" Ron exclaimed.

"He is going to attack it, takeover Gringott's and create a stronghold. Nagini will not be with him, but at the Manor."

" Your manor?"

Draco nodded glumly. "He's taken it as his own sanctuary, but he is sorely mistaken. That is my family's home and I will have it back!"

"This is— this is incredible. We'll have to split into teams-"

"I would concentrate on that slimy pet of his. If you destroy her, the Order will not have any trouble getting control of Diagon Alley." Draco tossed Ron's towel to him, his face melancholy.

"I have to go!" exclaimed Ron, running through the bedroom in search of his discarded clothes.

"I figured as much. Ronald Weasley, England's most dashing knight, is off to be a hero." Draco gave a half-hearted laugh.

"That was the plan," he agreed, not noticing the melancholy in Draco's voice. "This is amazing, just what we needed. Voldemort will be dead in a few days!" Ron hopped up and down on one foot, struggling to get his moist legs into his jeans. He hobbled around, yanking fiercely on the denim until he pulled too hard and fell back onto his behind.

"Wait a second, Weasley." Draco knelt down beside Ron and cupped his hands over Ron's, stilling them. "Just because you have the key doesn't mean the door will swing open of its own accord. If you mess this up, not only will you be dead, but there will be little opportunity to get near Nagini again. Both consequences are undesirable."

Ron gave Draco a goofy smile. "Why? Would you miss me, Malfoy?"

"I don't like the notion of you no longer being in this world."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked, his brow furrowed.

Draco pulled away from Ron as if the red head was made of flame. "It means what it means, Weasley. Now go, go be a hero."

Ron stood, his lower body encased properly in his jeans. He zipped up the fly and buttoned the top. "And don't die?"

Draco tore his gaze away from Ron's navel and looked him dead in the eye. "It's is preferred."

Ron Apparated back to 12 Grimmauld Place and quickly relayed his news.

For the next several hours, the house was a frenzy of activity, people arriving and leaving for non-sop meetings. Hermione researched the protections wards around Malfoy Manor, determined to find a weakness and Ron got the pleasure of writing a letter to his best mate, Harry, and telling him of the exciting breakthrough.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Remus Lupin and Arthur Weasley split the Order members into teams. Their plan consisted of a domino attack, the first part being to break into Malfoy Manor and behead the snake, the second being to kill Lord Voldemort with the help of the Boy-Who-Lived. Kingsley's larger team would go to Diagon Alley and hold off the Death Eaters while Remus and Arthur stormed the manor. Once the manor was secured, Arthur's team would Apparate to Diagon Alley to support the other Order members. According to Ron's information and the additional pieces Hermione discovered, Voldemort truly would be immensely weakened after Nagini's death and be ripe for attack. Everything fell into place nicely and quickly, once they were all certain what they were looking for. There was only one small problem for Ron.

"Dad?" Ron called to his father, who was, for once, alone in the sitting room.

"What is it, Ronnie?"

Ron stood before his father. "I need to ask for a transfer."

"A transfer? Don't want to fight beside your dad?" Arthur asked, trying to sound playful.

"No, it's not that. I do want to, but I feel that I should stay behind with Remus's team at the Manor."

Arthur blinked in confusion. "Any particular reason for that? I would have thought you'd want to be by Harry's side. You are always there for each other."

"I know, but this time I think he can handle being on his own."

Arthur leaned forward and regarded his youngest son. "Is there a problem between the two of you? Is he angry about you and Hermione?"

"No, Hermione has nothing to do with it. We haven't fought or anything. It's just… a feeling."

Ron didn't want to tell him the real reason for his request. He thought it would be a good idea to keep an eye on Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. Ron knew they very well might serve time in Azkaban for the things they did while following Voldemort, but he hated the thought of having to tell Draco that, after all he did for Ron and for the wizarding world, his parents were dead. That would be a wonderful 'thank you' gift. Great job helping to save the world, Malfoy. Sorry you have to start over as an orphan.

"So, can I be moved?"

Arthur rose and placed a comforting hand on his son's shoulder. "I think I can arrange that. You're old enough now to make your own choices and trust your instincts. If you think you should be there, then we'll let you stay and keep order."

Ron smiled as they walked out of the sitting to room to find Remus and make the transfer. Ron was pleased; he made the killing of the snake and the reclamation Malfoy Manor his objective.

On the morning before they were to attack the Death Eaters, Ron found himself staring up at the ceiling, going over his last conversation with Draco. It was something he indulged in when he couldn't sleep. He thought about their long talks; Ron confessed feelings and thoughts about Hermione and Harry that he never voiced to another soul. When he dropped the façade, Draco was a calming presence, someone to whom Ron wanted to open up.

Then there were the memories of the sex. Ron thought about those a lot! If he concentrated, he could bring back that astonishing sensation of being penetrated by Draco's cock for the first time. It was painful, but gratifying at the same time. His earlier curiosity about being with a man was satisfied as Draco slowly, carefully slid inside of him. It was the most incredible feeling that Ron barely had words for it. It was much better than sex with girls; that he was sure of!

Images of Draco thrusting inside of him, talking to him, drinking with him flooded Ron's mind as he stared blankly about his room. There were times when he did not see Draco for three or four days together, but they never felt quite so long as the past two had for Ron. His bed was cold and empty and his penis was hard; the thought of release by his own hand was not as appetizing as the desire of Draco's mouth wrapped around Ron's shaft. The upcoming battle was the topic of every conversation, but Ron found himself more than once, wishing he were having one with Draco.

Draco. Draco. Draco.

Ron's palms itched at the thought of touching his pale skin, of cupping the swells of his arse and pulling him into his lap. A fine line of perspiration dotted along Ron's upper lip as he closed his eyes for the explicit shots of his naked lover. He wanted him again and again and Ron didn't know where this sudden voracious desire came from.

After several more minutes of torture, he stroked himself to a lackluster completion, cleaned off the mess and stumbled downstairs for breakfast.

He hoped that the noise and hubbub of the house would distract him, but his thoughts drifted to Draco as he ate his eggs and also as he sat through yet another strategy meeting. By teatime, Ron was frustrated both sexually and mentally. His desire for Draco had not waned and the monotony of Kingsley's meetings was making him anxious. The Order members knew the plan backwards and forwards. They were as prepared as they could be for surprises and they had trained relentlessly. What they needed was to just bloody get on with it already!

Ron fumed silently, knowing that his outburst would be most unwelcome at such a tense time. He needed to do something though; the waiting was making him anxious. He felt like a caged animal, pacing back and forth just waiting for the bars to open and release him. He had someone who would understand his anxiety and his frustrations. Who would listen to him rant and yell, then, with a single caress, make it all vanish.

Without telling anyone he was leaving, Ron Apparated to Draco's flat. But, something was different. Ron found himself on the outside of Draco's building, standing under the afternoon sun. Ron wondered what happened? Did he misjudge the distance? It seemed impossible, since he had visited Draco so often. Did Draco redo his wards to not allow Ron access? Why would the former Slytherin do that? He would find out.

As inconspicuously as possible, Ron wrapped on Draco's door, head lowered. After several long seconds, the door opened to show Draco standing there in a pair of black jeans and a red button up shirt. He was beautiful.

Draco gasped when he saw his visitor. "What are you doing here, Weasley?"

"I couldn't Apparate inside," Ron stated as he stepped into the building.

"I changed the anti-Apparation wards."

"Why?"

"I wasn't expecting you to come back," Draco explained.

"I did."

"Why did you?"

Ron didn't answer; he turned and walked up the spiral stairs that led to Draco's flat. He waited in the living room for Draco to catch up to him.

"What's going on? Did something happen?"

"Yeah, I think it did." Ron pushed Draco against the wall and attacked his mouth.

Ron poured all of his pent up sexual tension that had been growing for two days in his kiss. He tore open Draco's shirt and ran his hands up and down Draco's chest. He tweaked Draco's pale pink nipples until the blonde moaned out loud.

Draco struggled to get the shirt off of his body completely, his hand getting caught in his sleeves. Ron roughly yanked it off and let his hands briskly stroke up and down every available expanse of bare skin. Draco grappled at the back of Ron's jumper, needing to feel his freckled flesh again his own. He pushed Ron away long enough to remove the offending garment and then pulled him close again.

"What's gotten into you?" Draco breathed heavily.

"Are you complaining?" Ron snickered as he fingers toyed with the fly of Draco's jeans.

Draco thrust into his lover's hand. "No, no. Just want to know what it is, so I can make sure it happens again!"

Ron grinned seductively as he lowered the zipper on the denim. "When I figure it out, I'll let you know."

The two men made their way into Draco's bedroom, removing the rest of their clothing along the way. They toppled onto the bed, their hands and lips delving into moist skin and their moans creating a consonance in the chamber.

Ron kissed his way down Draco's taut stomach, nipping at his ticklish sides and stopping to lavish attention on his hipbone. He smiled to himself as he felt Draco arch into his mouth; Ron knew Draco loved to be touched there, nibbled, suckled, nuzzled. It didn't matter; the faintest touch drove him mad with desire and that was just what Ron wanted to do to his lover.

As he settled himself between Draco's thighs and rocked their bodies together, Ron felt his chest swell with an unknown emotion. He didn't know where it came from, that seemed to be happening often to him, but he let it flow through him and into Draco. The burning passion inside of him grew, making his kisses deeper, his caresses more tantalizing; his partner responded more vocally.

"Ron," Draco moaned as Ron pushed deeply inside of him. "Uh, Ron! Don't stop!"

As Ron's thrusts became frantic, he realized he never felt so connected with Draco, the two of them moving as one being. It was the closest they ever came to making love. Sex was always amazing with Draco, but it never felt quite as exquisite as it did this time. Ron felt his release building and he welcomed the sweet oblivion as it overwhelmed him. As he came he called out for his lover. "Draco!"

Ron awoke to a darkened room hours later. As his eyes adjusted, Ron gazed down at his slumbering lover who lay beside him, an arm flung across the redhead's stomach. He looked beautiful and vulnerable and Ron found himself wishing Draco would wake up so they could have another go. It wasn't his fault he wanted him again; Draco was so tempting laying there in the moonlight.

Moonlight?!

Ron's eyes darted around the room and landed on the bedside clock. "Oh, fucking Merlin!" he whispered harshly.

It was after midnight! He had to get back to Grimmauld Place! His parents must have been worried, wondering where their son disappeared to the day before such an important battle! What had he been thinking? He hadn't been. He allowed his hormones to takeover his better judgment.

Ron got out of bed and retrieved his clothing, trying not to disturb Draco. When he was dressed, he looked back at the man in bed, his handsome face partially hidden by soft pillows and his blonde hair sticking out in every direction. A sudden wave of guilt and shame coursed through his veins. He shouldn't have gone to Draco. The former Death Eater could not comfort him forever.

He Apparated into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place and was greeted by his parents.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" shouted his mother. "Where have you been?" Molly hugged her son tightly to her. "Your father and I have been beside ourselves. Not mention your friends."

Ron wrapped his arms around his mum and looked sadly at his father. Arthur's expression was a mixture of relief and disappointment. "I'm sorry, Mum and Dad. I didn't mean to be gone so long. I didn't want you to worry."

Molly pulled away from him. "I know you are grown now, Ron, but just vanishing at a time like this…" She stifled a sob with her hand.

"Your mother is right, Ron," Arthur agreed. "This isn't the time to be running off without telling anyone. You have a responsibility, not only us, but to the Order."

"I know, Dad, I know. I just needed to get away for a while and I lost track of time. It will never happen again. I promise."

Ron listened to them lecture for a while longer; he knew he deserved everything they said to him.

When he stumbled into his room, he stared at his reflection in the scratched mirror by his dresser. In the span of two months, Ron changed to the point where he barely recognized himself. He lied to his family and friends. He had sex with another man, a former Death Eater and used this lover to better his own standings in the Order. It did not sound like his life at all and yet, it was. He started the adventure, wanting to be a respected member of the Order, a hero in eyes of the wizarding world. He didn't feel like one. He felt like a selfish teenager who just got reprimanded by his mummy. He didn't want to be that boy anymore. He wanted to be great.

Before Ron fell asleep that night, he resolved to stay on his course and not be distracted or tempted from it again.

<@<<@<<<@

Ron returned to work from Knockturn Alley, but found he had little to do. He took out his list about Draco and made many additions to it. For the first time since Draco's disappearance, he felt that pieces would soon fit together.

The evening was again abnormally cold, but Ron still walked home, a bounce in his step. As he neared his home, he noticed another occupying his stoop. Ron's brows creased in confusion; this was the second night in a row that he came home to find something or someone that did not belong. This time, it was a huddled black shape. The Auror instantly thought it was a poor homeless person, trying to stave off the chill of impending frost. Ron checked his pockets and found a few sickles and knuts clanging about; he would give them to the beggar and show him to the nearest shelter.

Ron's heavy footfall jarred the shape. It visibly tensed underneath tatty, gray woolen robes when Ron's presence neared, but did not shrink away. Ron thought sadly, that they were not enough to warm a body on nights like those. But, he was glad to help, if he could. He stood as far away as he could, not wanting to spook him or her, and peered through the splintered shadows to get a proper look.

"Evening there," Ron greeted cheerfully. "Is there something I can help you with?"

The person righted their posture and stood only a few inches shorter than Ron. The man, Ron assumed it was a man from the height and size of the robes, lifted the hood off of his face slightly and turned towards the lit scones on the building.

Ron almost jumped in shock. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Hiding," Draco stated flatly.

"Hiding?!" Ron squeaked. "At my flat? With half of the wizarding world looking for you? You should be in South America by now!"

Draco lowered his head, once again covering it in shadow. "I'm sure the climate is much more agreeable there than it is here. But, I can't go to until I've cleared my name. Now, let me inside. It's freezing out here." Draco childishly bounced up and down to emphasize this point.

"I can't let you in! You're a fugitive." But, he wasn't any fugitive. It was Draco, standing on his doorstep. A large part of Ron wanted nothing more than to whisk Draco in from the cold and hide him away forever. Ron would be in so much trouble for giving Draco shelter though. If anyone ever discovered Draco in his home…Ron didn't even want to think about the amount of time he would spend in Azkaban!

"Yes, I am, and yes, you can let me in."

"Y-you came to me, of all people, for help?" Ron spoke the question that had bothered him since receiving Draco's letter the previous night. Ron thought he was the last person Draco would turn to for assistance; his pride alone would not allow it.

"This isn't easy for me, Ron, standing here. I often wondered if we would ever have a true conversation face to face ever again, but I have nowhere else to go. You talked to Westen; you know I am innocent. You know I didn't murder anyone, Ron."

"How do I know that?" Ron asked genuinely.

"I saw Blaise today," Draco answered. He took a tentative step closer to Ron, hands jammed deep into the pockets of the cloak. "He told me you two spoke."

"We did, but how did-" Ron frowned. "You've been staying with him." It wasn't a question. Ron felt his heart constrict at that thought of Draco going to that love before going to Ron.

"For a few hours. As you can see, I didn't even stop to clean up." Draco tried forced a small grin, but it merely matched the grimace on Ron's lips. He sighed and rubbed his chilled forearms. "Ron, please let me in. I need to explain. No one knows I'm here. No one knows about us-"

"There is no us!" the redhead exclaimed, louder than was warranted.

"So, no one will suspect that I would come here," finished Draco.

Ron crossed his arms, petulantly. "Except Zabini. He knows all about our past."

"Blaise would never betray me. I trust him with my life."

"Then go back to him and leave me alone." A loud voice rang in Ron's ears, protesting this statement. Don't leave! Please, don't!

Draco placed his gray gaze on Ron, his eyes open, honest and imploring. "I can't. I need you. I need your help."

Ron took in the man's sorry state, dirty fingers, smudged cheeks, his vibrant soft hair matted down and tangled. His silver eyes glistened with the cold that blew around them and his lips were as white as sheets. Draco was an absolute mess. Ron felt a wave of sympathy for the normally meticulously coiffed man. Obviously, being a fugitive from the law did not agree with the Malfoy heir.

"Fine, come on in, but no comments on my place, alright?" Ron put his key into the lock, turned it and entered his flat, his guest behind him. "I already know it's a mess, so no need to express how you feel about my 'shabby existence'."

"Am I allowed to compliment you, sir?" Draco asked, mocking his orders.

Ron rolled his eyes. "It's been a long while since I heard one from you."

"I like the way you kiss," he muttered, as he pushed past his former lover.

Ron closed the door. "What about one outside of the bedroom?"

"We kissed outside of the bedroom, Weasley," he retorted and continued out of the small foyer and into Ron's home.

Draco looked around the main room and instantly liked it. The furnishings were indeed shabby, but the colors were pleasing and warm. The room reflected its owner rather well, comfortable, not formal, a welcoming space. But, Draco kept his observations to himself.

"Um, can I make you some tea?" Ron asked, reverting to his social etiquette.

"Tea would be lovely, thank you," Draco answered properly as he suppressed another shiver.

Ron drifted into the kitchen, thinking about how incongruent Draco looked walking around his personal space. Ron's body went through the motions of collecting his tea things while his mind raced about the current situation. If Draco were found in his home, there would be a great deal to answer for. He'd have to confess everything, that he, Ronald Bilius Weasley, fucked Draco Malfoy, and that… That what?! That he sheltered him for old times sake? Ron cringed as he visualized the headlines of the papers, of Prophet reporters drafting columns dedicated to his promiscuous behavior and questionable morals. It was all too horrible to contemplate. He would lose the respect of his family and friends when they discovered his dealings with Draco, that he took credit for the blonde's work. Never mind why he did it; it was a moot point; he did it nonetheless. And his mother would be very upset with the way he left Draco! It wasn't gentleman-like at all and Molly tried to raise him like a gentleman.

Ron gathered his tray with shaky hands and joined Draco in the living room. He set the tea on his scuffed mahogany coffee table and motioned for Draco to sit in the chair opposite the sofa, where Ron sat. They lapsed into an awkward silence as the host poured tea and waited for his guest to tell his story.

Draco held the hot teacup reverently in his bruised and scabbed hands. He sipped tentatively at first but soon downed the beverage in an ungraceful, un-Malfoy-like manner. A soft flush appeared on his high cheeks as the tea's warmth spread throughout his body. He sighed pleasantly then sheepishly looked up at Ron. "Might I- may I trouble you for…" Draco held out his empty cup.

Ron reached out for it. "Of course," he said, refilling it and handing it over again.

This time, Draco allowed the heat to spread into his hands and let the steam rise in front of his face. He sipped gingerly, shuddered slightly then rose, somewhat revived, to his feet. He watched Draco slowly pace back and forth across the sagging hard wood floors, his robes battering his ankles.

"As I was saying earlier, I am innocent, but of course, I need to do more than state the fact; I must prove it."

Ron leaned forward onto his knees. "Why did run if you are not guilty?"

Draco snorted. "It's rather hard to prove one's innocence from Azkaban, isn't it? I had no choice, but to run, and I will do so until I figure things out."

"So, you're being framed?"

"It's a misunderstanding that I will clear up with your help." Draco took another sip from his cup before continuing. "Someone else murdered Antigone and did a right good job of covering his tracks. It was my misfortune that the nasty bitch and I were in the middle of a disagreement."

"Nice to know you don't speak ill of the dead, Malfoy."

"After what she did to me?" Draco scowled. "What else can I say about her?"

"You dated her, didn't you? You must have liked something about her," Ron commented, staring at the bottom of his china cup.

"You know better than anyone that my relationship with her was all pretense."

"How would I know that? Just because you slept with men three years ago doesn't mean you didn't decide to experiment with the opposite sex."

Draco screwed up his face in disgust and plopped back down into his chair. "My family is still in a rather precarious situation. If it came out that I like men exclusively my parents would be pariahs! They have enough to deal with so I occasionally take out a woman and make sure that all of the society pages see us." Draco sighed heavily and swallowed the last of his tea. "It's awful, Ron," he admitted, sadly.

"So far you aren't doing much to convince me that you are innocent and I know you are. You've told me that you are forced to date women in whom you have no interest, and that it is torture and one of them decided to torture you instead. This is pretty straight forward case."

Draco placed his cup on the distressed wooden coffee table between them and looked directly into Ron's deep blue eyes. "I don't need to convince you; you believed me before I arrived here. I know it was you the Daily Prophet quoted."

"Why would you assume it was me?"

"I don't assume, I know. Besides, you wouldn't have been so eager to see Westen if you didn't believe I was innocent. He's something, isn't he? Young, sweet honest face."

"I never suspected him of lying."

"Me neither. Poor boy, just waiting around until this pervert decides to have another go at him."

"I can't believe his madam would let someone do that to him."

"Don't ask, don't tell," was Draco's regretful reply. "But, on the bright side, I did ask and Westen told me about this Polyjuice killer. Luckily, the smart boy knew he wasn't with the real Draco Malfoy; I bet the killer thought Westen couldn't tell the difference. But, now, we have a lead on how to find him!"

Ron stood abruptly, bent down to quickly grabbed his tea things and marched off to the kitchen. Over the loud clanging of dishware, Ron ground out roughly, "What the hell am I getting myself into? I'm a reputable Auror for Merlin's sake. What am I thinking, keeping him here? Protecting young prostitutes? Impeding my own investigation?! Why is he even here?! I am going to get into so much trouble." Ron continued to talk to himself, not realizing that Draco was standing behind him in the kitchen doorway. "Think about him enough already. Now he's in my home."

"You think about me?"

Instead of turning to see the man, Ron loomed over the sink, his hands squeezing the edges, the tap running. After a few steady breaths, Ron shut off the water and turned to Draco, his arms crossed tightly, protectively. "Well, I'm… working your case and I -" he couldn't find the proper words. He was so confused he could barely explain his feelings without contradicting himself.

Draco didn't push the matter further. Ron was grateful for it; he wasn't ready to face the barrage of questions that Draco most likely had for him about their past. Ron didn't want to answer that question; it brought about a deep feeling of shame. "Why don't you tell me how you plan on proving your innocence to someone other than me?"

"I have to find the real killer of course."

"Is that all? If catching killers was that easy, Malfoy, we'd let the civilians do it daily."

"I didn't say it was going to be easy; I just said that is what I have to do." Draco pulled his cloak tighter around him and pouted.

In the bright lights of Ron's kitchen, Draco's unclean state was more obvious.

"Do you want -" Ron took a second to think about what he was going to offer. He knew it was a bad idea, that it broke many laws, but he couldn't turn him away. "Do you want to clean up a bit before we go any further with this discussion? I can get you something to sleep in too."

Draco arched one eyebrow. "Sleep in? You're letting me stay the night?"

"On the couch," Ron stated before either of them got other ideas. "You can stay here and tomorrow, well, we'll talk about that later."

A smile blossomed across Draco's face, which made Ron's chest tighten and his hands itch. "Thank you. Really, Ron, thank you."

Draco took a step closer to Ron, but Ron stepped backwards. "Come on. I'll get you towels."

Ron got Draco situated in his bathroom and told him to take as long as he wanted. Draco thanked him again and started to say something else, but quickly snapped his mouth shut. Ron left the small room before he could dwell further on that mouth.

In his room, Ron looked for clothes to give to Draco. He found a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a worn T-shirt as well as a pair of knit socks, if he was still cold. Ron then searched for a heavy blanket to ward off any lingering chill Draco might have. He left the clothes inside the bathroom, dropping them quickly by the door, taking no time to linger on the occupied shower. He took his old comforter and a pillow from his bed and made up the couch. Draco would be comfortable there. Ron wondered where Draco had been staying for the past week. In the street? With other former lovers?

When Draco emerged from the steamy bathroom, he was dressed in the clothes Ron left for him, his hair toweled dry and falling in loose curls around his reddened face. He shuffled down the hallway, his bare feet barely visible underneath the long pajama bottoms. Ron watched him pad down the hardwood floor and noted how tired he looked. There were dark circles under his eyes and his movements were sluggish; fatigue must have caught up with him. A warm swell of compassion washed over Ron as Draco came to his side.

"Hey," Ron greeted gently, discreetly inhaling the scent of his soaps that wafted off of Draco's skin.

"Hey," Draco returned, dropping the knitted socked onto the couch.

"You must feel better now, yeah?" Ron fluffed the pillow in his hands and placed it on top of the comforter. "You're all set here. It's not as posh as you're used to, but it's cozy and warm and…safe," Ron babbled, his eyes downcast.

"That's all I need." Draco reached out his hand and touch Ron's arm; the redhead looked over at him and didn't pull away. "Ron, I— "

"Draco, why don't we get some sleep?"

Draco sank onto the couch. "We used to talk for hours and now, you won't let me speak, not even to say thank you. I'm glad you decided to let me in."

"I haven't decided anything," Ron lied as he stared longingly at the hand that touched him. "So far, you are just staying for the night. Beyond that, I don't know."

"Yes, you do. So, thank you in advance for that as well. You aren't the kind of man to stand aside while a wrong is being done. You jump in without thinking."

"Being an Auror has actually taught me one or two things, like how to think logically before acting. I think you'll be disappointed."

"No. Some things are innate. You'll never be rid of that instinct; you might fight it, but you won't win." Draco smiled weakly.

Ron's hand started to itch once again; it wanted to be held, to tangle with those familiar fingers. Ron stuffed both hands into his pockets before the urge to touch Draco overwhelmed him. "Fine then. Is there anything else you want to say? Because it's getting late."

"Plenty, but that is all for tonight. Do you have something to say?"

"I can't think of anything right now," he fibbed. "I need to go to bed. And by the looks of you, you could use some rest as well."

"Thanks for noticing, Ron. Running from all of London tends to put a damper on one's beauty sleep."

"Then take advantage of it now when you know no one will find you. Good night, Draco."

Draco crooked his eyebrow and his eyes twinkled in delight. "Good night, Ron."

"Night, Draco," he repeated. Ron tried to walk away, but his feet would not cooperate. He flexed his hands and balled them into fists, trying to circulate his blood in hopes that it would revive his immobile limbs.

Draco just smiled as Ron twitched. "Something you want, Ron?"

Ron shook his head back and forth and, with great effort, pulled his feet from the invisible tar that held him in place. He almost heard the chuckle in Draco's departing grin as he walked down the hall to his bedroom. As he traveled the short distance to his room, he realized that though Draco would hopefully find some rest that evening, he certainly would not. He knew that the fact that Draco Malfoy was sleeping in the next room, on his couch, in his clothes, would frighten off any hopes of a peaceful slumber and instead plague him with vivid fantasies involving his favorite subject.

Ron groaned loudly once inside his room and fell face first onto his bed. How long did he plan on torturing himself? He needed to reign in his desire for Draco or it would drive him mad! He longed to touch Draco, take him in his arms and ask for a second chance. But, Ron did not know if he deserved a second chance. He had three years to seek out Draco and make things right, but he didn't. He had multiple excuses, but it did not change the fact that it was his fault he merely dreamt of Draco instead of having him in his bed.


Chapter Five

The following morning was gloomy, cold and sleet tapped at the windowpanes. Inside Ron's apartment, the sound of crackling bacon and the warmth from the stove filled the air. Ron worked quietly as he prepared breakfast for two while Draco slept on. On mornings when he had to work, Ron usually just had a bowl of Weetabix and coffee, but he thought Draco would appreciate something more substantial. He placed scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon on two plates and set them on his small kitchen table. Ron did not want to wake Draco, but if they were going to talk before he headed to work, then it would be done over breakfast.

Draco was curled up on his side with the comforter tucked underneath his chin. His wild hair covered his shut eyes, and his mouth was slightly open, little puffs of air escaping and tossing the blonde strands about. His chest rose and fell in perfect rhythm, no interruptions, and no sign of disturbing dreams. Ron did not want to wreck this possible first good night's rest for Draco, but he had to.

"Draco," he called out. Draco did not wake. "Draco," said louder. "Come on now. Time for breakfast." Still nothing. Ron reached out to lay his hand on Draco's shoulder and gently shook him.

Draco stirred and buried himself further into the comfort of the blankets. Ron shook harder. "Draco, breakfast is on the table." Ron paused to reflect on how surreal that sentence sounded in light of Draco's situation. "It's time to wake up now."

"I don't want to," came a muffled voice followed by some more burrowing away from Ron.

"Then you don't get breakfast."

Draco poked his head out just enough for his sleepy eyes to connect with Ron. "What did you make?" he asked innocently. "Do I smell bacon?" Draco lifted the blanket off his face and smelled the air.

Ron had to laugh at his boyish behavior. "Yes, you do. Now, get up."

"You could bring it over for me," he smiled slyly, "since I'm so comfortable where I am."

"Not happening, Malfoy. Get your lil arse in there now." Ron walked back to the kitchen and shook his head playfully; it was a strange morning.

Draco shuffled into the room just as Ron was pouring them both a cup of coffee.

"Bad little or good little?" Draco wondered as he plopped down. When Ron squinted at him, Draco clarified. "My arse. You said it was little."

Ron rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "This is not the breakfast conversation I want to be having." Ron passed Draco a steaming mug of coffee.

Draco took it and gracefully wrapped his fingers around it. "Let me have this first cup of caffeine and I will talk about whatever you want." As Draco sipped the beverage he held Ron's gaze intently.

Ron picked up his fork and began to eat his food. "This is ridiculous," Ron said around a mouthful of eggs.

"What's ridiculous are your table manners. Just because I am not a lawful guest does not give you liberties in average civility." Draco took a healthy sip of coffee, placed the cup down and started to cut his food into manageable bites.

"Just remember, Malfoy, you are a guest which means I can toss you out on your arse any time I want to!"

"Good, we are back to my arse. You can answer my question now."

Ron chomped on his bacon. "You know perfectly well that I never had a problem with your arse."

"True, but you haven't seen it in awhile. Time may have altered it."

"You just want me to say it, don't you? You enjoy making me uncomfortable."

"Just asking for some honesty is all."

"Fine then, it's good little. Now, if we are handing out honest answers, how long were you fucking Zabini?"

"For a year and a half, starting about ten months after you left," Draco replied not missing a beat.

Ron sat back in his chair. "You were with him for awhile."

Draco shrugged and stabbed a piece of egg. "For as long as it lasted. We are better friends than lovers."

"Why?"

Draco dropped his fork onto his plate with a clang. "We are not doing this, Weasley. I am not rehashing all the relationships I have had since you left. It's beneath us, and frankly, it's just none of your business."

Ron slumped down, his shoulders sagging. Draco was right; it wasn't his business and deep down it would not do any good to know. "How did you bruise your hands?" he wondered, staring down at the mentioned appendages resting on the table.

Draco, too, looked down at them, as if he forgot they were injured. "Oh, I had a disagreement with a brick wall. Unfortunately, I came out the worse for wear."

"Where was this, ah, brick wall located?"

"At The Parlor in Knockturn Alley."

"Were you hiding out there?" Ron wondered, his face twisted in consternation.

"Don't get all indignant," Draco tried to appease. "I never indulged in their filthy pleasures. And believe me, it was filthy! One of the worst hovels I've ever been in and I have been to my share of them. I may not have use for a prostitute's initial trade, but they are some of the most well informed members of society. It only took a very little amount of digging to find out a thing or two."

"So, someone has Polyjuice Potion and is impersonating you. How'd he get your hair?"

Draco shivered violently. "I don't know how he came by it, and the thought just revolts me!"

"So, you are being framed."

"If the killer knew anything about the dispute I had with Antigone, then it would be quite convenient to frame me. Otherwise, he took advantage of the Aurors' egregious mistake."

"So, we have a serial killer on the loose with access to Polyjuice Potion. That's just wonderful!"

"Blaise mentioned something about poems that appeared in the Daily Prophet. Do they have anything to do with me?"

"I don't know for sure. It could be a coincidence."

"But, you don't think so. Can I see them?" Draco asked encouragingly.

Ron sighed as he stood up and retrieved the poems from the other room, praying that Draco would not laugh at his hypothesis. He handed them over and as Draco read them, Ron relayed his thoughts and reasons for going to Blaise.

Draco did not laugh, but stared at the scraps of papers in his hands, taking in every word Ron had to say. When Ron finished, Draco looked up at him. "So, if we can not find the identity of this Lover, then we should start by seeing if there are other victims."

Ron nodded his agreement. "Phipher Niggleby at the Prophet said Lover has been sending in couplets regularly for five years now so there is no telling how many people could have been murdered."

"And if it started during the war, no one would take notice of another dead body, just write it off as a Death Eater attack. Merlin, five years of writings; this could take forever!" Draco threaded his fingers through his hair, snagging them on a few knots. "I don't have the luxury of time. We need to find something to speed this up."

"Phipher's looking into these poems and comparing any suspicious ones to deaths during the same time period. It'll cut the workload in half. In the mean time, I'm going to work and pretend I want to hunt you down and arrest you."

"And what am I to do all day?"

Ron stood and took his plate to the sink. "You are going to do something you haven't done for the past few weeks. Stay put."

"Stay put?!" Draco protested. "Staying put is not going to help me. I need to be out there looking for the killer."

"How do you suppose to do that? You can't afford any mistakes. If Broadhurst finds you—"

"I'm dead, I know."

"And it is preferable," Ron began, a small laugh in his tone, "for you to remain here in this world."

Draco gave Ron a wry smile at the blatant use of a phrase the blonde uttered before Ron left. "Understood. I cannot be seen and I won't be seen. Just trust me."

Ron frowned, suddenly feeling like he was being tested once again by Draco. Trust him? It wasn't a hard thing to do for Ron, but he couldn't fathom how Draco would manage. "Are you sure about this, Draco? What do you think you can find out if you won't be in public?"

Draco smiled. "Look what I've accomplished in the past few days. I'm not in prison, I'm not dead and I've got a possible suspect for these murders. I think I've done quite well."

"Yes, but that will only go so far. The Aurors are always out looking for you."

"Luckily, I have you. You will do what you can to protect me, right?"

Ron thought of Narcissa Malfoy and the promise he made to her. "Yes, I will. Draco, I just don't want you to take any unnecessary risks right now. We have a lead, yes, but it's thin at best and if you get caught-"

"I won't get caught, Ron. Trust me."

Ron nodded his head. He never stopped trusting Draco.


He arrived home that night shortly before seven o'clock, strangely happy to be entering a home where someone was waiting for him. He opened the door, a greeting ready on his tongue, and stepped into his living room.

"What in Merlin's name happened here?"

Draco looked up from his place on the floor and smiled broadly. "Oh good, you're home! I've had a great day!"

"Nice to know you can have one of those when you are running from Aurors. What did you do to my flat?"

Ron surveyed the space; it was a disaster. Pieces of parchment covered the floor and dripped down from his couch! His hardwood floor was a patchwork of sheets of paper, some obviously older than others. Ron bent down to see what was written all over these pages, but Draco slapped his hand away.

"Don't touch them," Draco snapped, "They are in order." Draco straightened some of the pages around him and began flipping through some that where clustered in his lap. "And don't step on them either. I haven't finished reading them all yet."

"Reading? Malfoy, what are you doing in here? Why have you littered my home with old parchment?"

"You don't like my decorating?" he asked with a laugh.

"Malfoy," Ron said in a deep warning tone. His face was getting red with anger.

"Oh calm down, Ron. As long as you don't set them on fire, we'll be fine. Now, take off your shoes and come sit down. I'll show what I've found!"

Ron grumbled as he walked back to the foyer and kicked off his boots and hung his robe on a hook. He didn't like being ordered around in his own home, particularly by an ex-lover who happened to be a fugitive! He walked back to Draco and took a seat on the floor beside him.

"You do realize that you will be cleaning this up by yourself, right?"

"So, I was thinking about the Polyjuice Potion," began Draco, ignoring Ron's comment. "It takes a month to brew the potion, right? But, if I'm right about not being framed for Antigone's murder, how did someone get a hold of my hair and make the stuff in less than a month?"

"I don't know," Ron admitted.

"Of course you don't. You're a great Auror, Ron, but you'll never crack all the secrets of the Dark Wizards."

"I get paid to catch Dark Wizards, Malfoy. I think you'd be surprised at what I know."

"Did you know that certain less savory apothecaries keep partial potions on hand for emergency purchase?"

"Are you telling me that someone bought pre-made Polyjuice and simply added your hair to complete it?" Draco nodded. "That's revolting."

"Anything can happen for the right price. I visited several establishments and made some inquiries."

"How did you do that if you were supposed to stay out of sight?" Ron jumped to his feet and started pacing through the parchment, scattering it every which way as he glared daggers at Draco. "What did you do? Obliviate them afterwards?"

"Nothing quite so drastic." Draco leaned back on his hands and crossed his ankles nonchalantly. "There are still some people out there that fear my and respect my father enough to keep their mouths shut after a few idle threats. I got a few verbal accounts of some suspicious clientele as well as some order forms that I liberated from the shops. It's an interesting read actually."

As Draco sprawled out amongst the cream colored papers, Ron got his first good look at the man since he came home. It seemed that the Malfoy heir had liberated several items of clothing from Ron's closet that day, namely, another pair of knit socks, a pair of old jeans that must have been magically shrunk to fit and one of his old maroon Weasley jumpers that bore several holes along the shoulder seams and by the cuffs. It wasn't made to fit Draco's smaller frame; the sleeves were pushed up to his elbows and the bottom hung much lower than it was supposed to. But Draco looked completely at ease in it, in his home, creating a mess, ordering Ron about. Ron volleyed between being upset at Draco's immersion into his home and being taken in by Draco's charm, sitting there in a love-worn jumper that was nowhere near as fine as the rich man's clothes at home.

"I see you've settled right in," he commented, nodding to Draco's attire.

Draco pulled down the sleeves to show how long they were. "Well, I had to wear something today, didn't I? My garments need to be washed once again before I put them on my back. I will get to that later. Sit back down. Your pacing is dizzying."

Ron knelt down in front of Draco as the blonde tried to fix the mess Ron created. "Yes, let's get back to this. You wandered around in broad daylight like an average citizen, stole papers from disreputable people whom you threatened and then you came back here and took my clothes."

"Stop talking about the clothes. You would have given them to me if I had asked for them, but you weren't here to ask, so I took them. And, there was just too much information to look for that it wasn't logical to do it in the shops. I'll put them back when we are through with them."

"I am uneasy about all of this 'we' business. The Aurors will now add thievery to the charges against us."

Draco shrugged. "What's a bit of theft when there are murder and assistance to a fugitive charges as well?" Draco handed a sheet of parchment that had his own handwriting on it. "So, I started making a list of names that I recognize and what they purchased as well as a list of people I've never heard of. I thought you could find out who they are and we might be able to deduce if they were around me recently, at least long enough to steal my hair." Draco shivered again at the thought of such a personal invasion.

"Did anyone fess up to selling the Polyjuice Potion?"

Draco shook his head. "Not yet, but I'll find him. There are plenty of apothecaries, muggle and wizard, that I can speak to about this. Someone will know and want to tell."

"For the right price?"

Draco smiled. "Exactly. The price being that I won't turn them in to you for their misdealings."

"Draco, if there is black market selling of Polyjuice, I need to shut it down."

"You can do whatever you want, after I clear my name, not before."

Ron looked around at the stacks of inked parchment and was reminded of nights spent with his friends in the library and in the Gryffindor common room. "Merlin, this sounds like a long research session with Harry and Hermione," he groaned.

Draco scowled and made a grumbling noise. He took up some more paper and tried to read it. "Well, I'm no Boy-Who-Lived nor am I the annoyingly smart Granger, but I trust we will be able to get through this mess quickly if we work together."

"I wasn't comparing you to them, Draco."

"Of course you're not; I'm not even in the same category as those two, am I?"

Apparently, Draco still had a sore spot where Ron's friends were concerned. "No, you aren't. You go into the Ex-Lover category," he said, callously.

Draco snorted. "A title unwittingly bestowed on me." Draco stood up and moved over to the windows and knelt by a small stack on papers he placed there.

"Pardon me?"

"I said I was put into your convenient little category against my will!" Draco said tersely, still looking down at the parchment.

"Are we about to have the fight now? The one that we've been avoiding since you walked through my door?" he asked nonchalantly.

"No, Weasley. We're going to have the fight we've been avoiding ever since you walked out of my door!" Draco straightened up and defiantly crossed his arms; his grey eyes held an icy stare that incited Ron's growing frustration. "Don't you have anything you want to say to me after all of these years? Any explanation at all?"

"What is there to explain, Malfoy? We had an agreement and I stuck to it."

"Rubbish! You fucking ran away like a child! Things changed, the agreement changed and you bloody well knew it! You felt it just as I did."

"You were supposed to be my informant. We only had sex when we both wanted to. And then I had to go."

"Yes, off with your precious Potter. Sure, you went off to risk your neck, but you never said anything to me. No goodbye, nothing!"

"Is that all you wanted? A goodbye?"

"Fuck you, Ron!" Draco shouted. "You know that's not what I wanted and it's not what you wanted either."

"I had to go, Draco. We never said anything about a future together; we were only supposed to be a comfort to each other. You said so yourself."

"You are mad if you think I believe any of this bullshit. You felt something for me and then you just walked away! After months of helping you, holding your hand, you just…vanished. I didn't even know if you were alive at the end of the war. I had to read about you in the paper, Ronald Weasley, best mate to Harry Potter and accomplished war hero! All hail Weasley!"

"Stop it! You have no idea—"

"Tell me, Ron. I have wanted to know for three years why you left my bed and never returned when it so obviously tore you up inside to do it."

Ron began to pace and dug his fingers into his scalp, the pages on the floor forgotten and scattered. "What do you want me to say? I'm an idiot! I went to fight the final battle and never looked back. For a year, I thought I made the right decision. You and I… it was just one of those things. I got carried away with all of the interviews and awards and everything! It was what I wanted! To be the hero! That's why I sought you out to begin with!"

"I can not believe what I am hearing! You stayed away from me because you wanted to go polish your medals instead. Am I understanding you correctly?"

"Don't talk down to me, Malfoy. You won't even try to understand what I am saying!"

"Because it is ludicrous! What gives you the right to act like the victim here? I'm the one who was wronged! Do you think I enjoyed waiting on the stoop in the freezing cold looking as wretched as I did, praying to the gods that the man who dumped me wouldn't turn me away or worse, turn me in?!"

"I don't have a good explanation. I was being selfish. I wanted to be the hero and enjoy the glory. I couldn't do that with you. When we were together, I —" Ron stopped, debating whether or not he was ready to say his next thought out loud. He pressed on. "I forgot about everything when I was with you. And then I forgot about everything even when I wasn't with you. You, you, you, that was it! I wanted you and I couldn't have you and be a hero at the same time; my mind just couldn't handle it."

Draco sneered at him. "Your mind couldn't handle it?!"

"I didn't want to be with you!" The silence that filled the apartment was as thick and eerie as a tomb. Ron's lip quivered and he couldn't catch his breath. He stared at Draco in shock at his own words. They hurt Draco badly, Ron could see. The blonde's grey eyes were glassy and he was standing as still as a statue. Ron couldn't believe what he said! It sounded so much worse than he intended. "Draco, I didn't mean it."

Draco looked down at his feet and took several quick breaths. He dug his fingers into his hips and raised his head. "So, I was your plaything. Just another dance partner for you to lead around the floor."

"No, Draco, not at all. I didn't mean what I said. I did want to be with you, but I — "

"Couldn't," Draco finished in a rasp.

"You don't understand!" He needed to make it clear to his former lover. He wasn't a cast-off! "When I realized what I did was so ashamed of myself. I didn't think you'd want me back. You were always in the papers, linked with some attractive person or another. So, I tried to move on without you. You had your life all together."

"Dating women I had no interest in, men that bored me and constantly being scrutinized in the Daily Prophet for my lifestyle and for my Death Eater parents is my idea of 'together.'"

"You enjoyed Zabini's companionship for almost a year. It couldn't have been that bad," Ron shot back, jealousy once again taking over in an instant. He turned from Draco and walked over to the mantle, placing his hands onto the painted wood, needing to anchor himself to something solid. He could feel the wretched emotion swirling inside of him, just under the surface at the thought of Blaise Zabini touching his Draco!

"I have had enough of this jealousy over Blaise!" Draco yelled at Ron's broad, tense back. "You have only yourself to blame for my involvement with him. If you hadn't been such an egotistical coward, I wouldn't have taken up with him in the first place! It's not my fault that you are emotionally impotent!" Ron whirled around at that word. "You wanted the credit for the information, you took it. You wanted me and you had me. You wanted to be a hero and you received your bloody fucking parade! Now, you regret it. Three fucking years and you couldn't stand to be in my presence for longer than a minute; your guilt was so thick? I am tired of hearing you defend your actions when all this while, you've been doing penance for them. It's sad, Ron, truly sad."

Ron stared at Draco, his jealousy and frustration starting to fizzle out, leaving him feeling incomplete and full of self-pity. Draco's passionate words stabbed him in the heart. Once again, Draco said something about Ron that the red head did not want to voice. Ron couldn't decide if he wanted to kiss Draco for this or punch him. So, he did what he always did; he left.

With his head hanging low, he crossed the room, past Draco and out the door. He closed it soundlessly behind him and leaned back against for support. He squeezed his eyes tightly, two small tears escaping from the corners. The fight didn't go as he planned. How could he have said something so awful and untrue?! He wanted Draco more than he wanted his next breath. He was a fool!

Ron bit his bottom lip until it bled. He blew it! He finally had the chance to win Draco back and he blew it! He imagined the fight with Draco a hundred different ways, but it never ended so sadly. Ron sighed. He messed things up again. He finally had the opportunity to explain why he left Draco the way he did, to say so many things. Instead, his mind abandoned his heart and he spewed out a bunch of useless, self-pitying drivel!

Beneath Ron's back, he felt the door shudder slightly. He pushed off of it just as it swung inward. Draco stepped in front of it, his hip resting against the door jam. His eyes were not full of tears, but they were red from rubbing them away. "You didn't get very far," he commented.

"No, I didn't."

Draco opened the door further and stepped aside to allow Ron back into the flat. In the foyer, Ron grabbed Draco's hands and pulled them to his chest.

"Draco, please — "

Ron didn't get a chance to finish his plea. "I know it's unfair for me to put all of the blame on you, but that's what I've done for three years. I wasn't going to make a fool out of myself for you. But, I seemed to have done so regardless."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't take rejection well at all, as you know. You left, then Blaise left." Draco halted Ron's scowl with a stern look. "He left me because I wasn't over you. I was still holding out hope that you would come to your senses. When you didn't, I tried to hate you, but I couldn't. I still wanted you."

Ron's eyes widened and his heart started to beat rapidly. He looked down at Draco with hope shining in his blue eyes. "Really?"

"I feel better finally getting everything out in the open. We've both said some things we didn't mean tonight though."

"Yes, and I'm sorry."

"I know. I am too. We should leave the past where it belongs."

"Are we ready to do this?" Ron asked.

"I think we are," Draco answered. He took a very shaky breath "Being here, staying at your flat, actually talking to you again, makes me just want you all the more."

"I want you so much, I can barely tell you."

"That's fine; I've always been a visual learner."

Draco reached up and kissed Ron softly on his lips. The red head released Draco's hands in favor of wrapping them around Draco's body; Draco entwined his fingers with Ron's wavy hair. They caressed each other's mouths, savoring the unique textures inside, smooth cheeks, sharp teeth. It was heaven, stoking the flames of passion that lay dormant beneath their very skin.

This was what Ron wanted. He wanted Draco, wanted to be with him, to kiss every bit of him. He wanted to reiterate this point, but as Draco's lips descended on Ron's sensitive ears, the thought evaporated.

"Fuck, Draco," he cursed, leaning into Draco's ministrations. Draco always knew how to coax a reaction from Ron. The blonde's skillful tongue twirled around the curves and his teeth nibbled on the lobes before sucking on the warm skin behind his ear.

Draco ceased his torture and peppered kissed along Ron's jaw and back to his parted mouth. "I've missed you so much," he whispered.

"Missed you too," Ron muttered. "So much." Ron sucked Draco's bottom lip into his heated cavern before pulling away to nuzzle his cheek. "Forgive me." He moved Draco's jumper to the side and bit lightly along Draco's collarbone.

Draco gasped. "Yes."

"Forgive me, please." Ron laved at his markings.

"Yes, oh, fuck, Ron, don't stop."

"Think about you, dream about you," Ron confessed into Draco's skin.

"Me too, love, me too."

They shared many kisses and caresses that night, each one as important to their reconciliation as the next. Their passion wasn't a precursor to sex or comfort. Every touch, taste and tender gaze was done out of need. They needed to kiss each other, reacquaint, and revel in all of the sensory joys of being close together. Later on, Ron and Draco fell asleep in Ron's large bed, their arms and legs tangled with each other and peaceful smiles on the lips.


Over the course of the next week, Ron and Draco fell into a comfortable routine. While Ron continued to investigate false sightings of the fugitive Malfoy and other erroneous work, Draco sifted through order forms from the apothecary shops and made more inquiries around Knockturn Alley. Ron did not like Draco leaving the flat, but he couldn't keep him prisoner. Draco had contacts that definitely wouldn't be as willing to talk as Westen was. So, he let Draco do what he had to do and tried not worry about him while they were apart.

When they were together at home, Ron couldn't have been more at ease. Once they cleared the air of all their anger and frustrations, the two men became closer than before. On most evenings, they ended up on Ron's old sofa, Draco's back against Ron's chest, sipping brandy and watching the candles flicker. Ron was so content in these moments that it was easy to forget about Draco's predicament. His mind was full of the simple pleasures once again, the familiar taste of brandy wine on his tongue, the weight of Draco's torso leaning on him, the way Draco's hip bone fit perfectly beneath Ron's palm.

On the following Friday, Ron hoped to receive an update from Phipher as well as the newest couplet that would be printed in the Sunday edition. Luckily, the previous installment was of a romantic nature and had no allusions to murder; Ron didn't need Blaise Zabini's help in figuring that much out.

"Good morning," Ron greeted as he entered his kitchen. Draco was standing in front of the stove and doing something that looked like flipping pancakes. With the spatula in both hands, Draco stabbed at the edges of the cooking batter, jostling the browning sausages beside it. "What are you doing up so early and please don't flip those onto my ceiling."

Draco growled at both Ron and the breakfast food. "Laugh all you want. My hand might slip and you will have breakfast on your face!" He gave one final rough stab and the spatula slid across the pan, freeing the slightly burned pancake. "Aha!" He turned triumphantly to Ron.

Ron laughed as he opened the fridge. "I'm glad you best our breakfast. You should be very proud of yourself." He pulled out the syrup and kicked the door closed. "Why are you making breakfast?"

"I have to earn my keep. You've been generous with your hospitality. Don't get too many ideas though; I don't cook often."

"I never would have guessed. Did you make any coffee?" Ron pick up the coffee pot and saw that Draco did in fact make some.

"Now, that I know how to do well."

"It's not the only thing. Did Phipher's owl show up yet?"

"Not yet," he said as he plated their food.

"It will soon enough, I suppose. I hope it's similar to last week's genius."

Draco snorted. "He's not Shakespeare, but at least Lover's not depicting death."

"So," Ron began, a piece of sausage stuffed in his cheek, "I thought I would check in on Westen today."

Draco made a show of swallowing his mouthful before answering. "Taken with him, aren't you?"

"You've got no reason to worry," Ron smiled. Draco tried to return it, but it transformed into a sizeable yawn instead. Ron looked at him more closely. Draco's eyes were red and there were circles under them. He didn't look good at all. "Draco, are you feeling alright?"

"I didn't sleep well last night," Draco explained.

"Why not?"

"Have a great deal to think about, don't I? What's that phrase? 'The innocent don't sleep in their cells'? Something like that."

"You aren't in a cell anymore, Draco. You're here, you're safe."

"But, I'm not free, Ron." Draco dropped his fork and moved to put his things in the sink.

Draco's attitude worried Ron. He noticed his lover growing despondent over the past few days. He knew that Draco was hoping for a quicker resolution to his case, but it wasn't heading in that direction. Suddenly, Ron wondered something. "Draco, have you contacted your parents at all since you ran?"

Draco shook his head before taking the final bite of his bacon. "Father would never forgive me for being so foolish!"

"I was at the Manor twice after you vanished."

Draco sat up straight and leaned over the small wooden table. "How are they? How is Mother?" asked hastily.

"They are fine. Well, as fine as you would expect. Your dad knew you wouldn't hide at the house and I did as well. We had to search the place anyway."

"Father must have adored having such people skulking through his belongings."

"Watch who you call 'such people.' Your mum was distraught. She's very worried about you. She asked," Ron scratched behind his ear, "she asked me to look out for you. You told her about us, about our arrangement during the war." Ron did not say this with any anger, just stating the facts.

"I did do that," he confirmed. "I told her a long while ago, not long after the war ended. I don't even know why I did it, but one night I just found myself telling her everything."

"Everything?"

"Yes, everything, Ron. She knows that her only child seduced the youngest Weasley boy into his bed. You can be sure of her discretion; she hasn't spoken a word about it to my father."

"I'm not worried about your mother's discretion, Draco," Ron assured, though he was slightly embarrassed at the thought of his next encounter with Mrs. Malfoy. "She is an honorable woman."

"Won your heart, has she? Yes, she has a tendency to charm the men she likes. And she got you to promise to help me?"

"Like I said, she was distraught, crying a lot. She thought that my department wouldn't be fair to you and she asked me to make sure that did not happen."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Draco asked, resting his chin in his hands, his sleepy eyes fixed on his lover.

"I don't know. I just wanted you to be assured of your parents' devotion, I suppose. Thought it might—"

"Give me strength?" Draco filled in. "It does."

As Ron told Draco, he went to The Parlor that afternoon to visit Westen. Lover hadn't shown up since he beat the prostitute. Ron suspected that was because he was infatuated with his next victim and would go back to Westen when the obsession went sour.

Westen did as Ron instructed the first day they met; he saved the galleons the Auror gave him and put a little bit aside from every client he serviced.

"I might get out of here," he said hopefully as the two sat on the lumpy bed. "I don't know what I'd do, but anything is better than this."

"Has anyone else been treating you badly?" Ron asked, noticing a few fresh bruises on Westen's arms.

"The same as always, a few rough fucks a day, a few bruises the next."

"Westen, I don't want you to get into trouble, but I really don't mind scaring any of your more forceful customers away or throwing them into Azkaban."

Westen laughed. "Thanks for the offer, but I would definitely get into trouble, but mostly for having an Auror here. Men get tossed out of here often enough."

"Well, just know that the offer is on the table."

"It's too bad men that pay for sex aren't as nice as you are."

"With a little luck, when you get out of here, you'll meet someone who wouldn't dream of putting a price on you."

Ron left shortly afterwards and headed towards Diagon Alley. As he stepped into the sunshine of the afternoon, he heard a shocked voice call out his name.

"Ron?!"

Ron turned towards the voice. Harry loomed at the entrance to Knockturn Alley. "Harry? Wh-what are you doing here?" Ron asked, his eyes darting nervously around for other familiar faces.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing leaving a brothel in Knockturn Alley?"

"I was… ah… interviewing someone."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "Is that what you call it? Ron, you could lose your job for this. If anyone else saw you… What are you thinking? You've been acting weird for weeks, but I never expected —"

"It's not what you think, Harry," insisted Ron.

"I think you just walked out of a brothel in the middle of the afternoon with no reason to be there except to pay for sex."

Ron huffed. "I have never paid for sex."

"Are they giving it away now?" snapped Harry.

"No! Look, mate, I have a good reason for being there, I promise, but I can't tell you." Ron turned to walk away, but Harry jogged to his side.

"Is there a problem? You've never had a problem getting dates before. This is not the way to avoid commitment."

"This has nothing to do with sex!"

"Forgive me if I find that hard to believe."

Ron yanked his friend down a deserted side street and leaned in closely. "I'm your best mate; you should trust what I say."

"I do, but lately you've been so out of it that I don't know what to think! You don't listen when people talk. You stare into space all the time at the office. You're in your own little world. Tell me what's going on with you."

Ron looked into his friend's green eyes and felt a wave of guilt. This was the man that, as children, he shared everything with. They fought side by side, slept in the same dorm, suffered and survived one of the most horrific times of the wizarding world. Harry didn't know about Draco and how happy he made Ron. He didn't know a great deal about Ron! Draco was a big part of his life even when they were apart. It was time to fill his best mate in on a few things.

"Fine, I'll tell you what is going on, but not here."

Ron and Harry Apparated back to their office where they locked the door and cast a Silencio on the room. When Ron was certain no one would overhear them, he confessed.

He told Harry that he was doing a side investigation into Draco's case. He mentioned the poems, Phipher, Zabini, the apothecaries, Westen, everything and everyone involved save Draco himself. Ron still wasn't ready to let that secret go.

"Say something, mate," Ron requested when he was finished.

"I don't know what to say, Ron. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"It was just a hunch. I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it."

"Well, I don't like the idea of you lying to Shacklebolt day in and out. But, if you really felt so strongly about this, I would have at least listened to you. I wouldn't have stopped you either. You're my partner."

"I'm sorry I didn't come to you with this."

"It's done. We just have to go on from here. Is there anything you'd like me to check out for you?"

Ron smiled, enjoying having his friend by his side. "Actually there is. I have a list of suspicious customers that have purchased Polyjuice ingredients in the last weeks. I need to know their whereabouts in and around the day of Draco's arrest."

"That's some quick thinking on this killer's part. The only people who would have been in contact with him before he escaped were Aurors so —" Harry cut himself off.

"You don't think…?"

"Merlin, I hope not."

"I'll find out who was near him while we were holding him."

"Ron, do you really think one of us could have done that? You saw those murders. They were so cold and vicious."

"I think this person is smart and knows how to cover his tracks. Who better than a fellow Auror to carry out a perfect murder? He would know how we think, how we work."

"I don't like the idea of a brilliant killer being right under our noses."

"That's what makes him brilliant."

"One question though. Why does he fuck men, but call out for women?"

Ron gave a wry chuckle. "I couldn't begin to tell you."

A harsh knock on the door ceased the partners' conversation. Harry took down the spell and Ron opened the door. It was Ginny.

"What's going on in here?" she asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," the men said in unison.

"Right. Well, you've had an owl flapping around out here for some time."

Ron and Harry stepped into the hall and saw an owl with a small package in its claws. Ron recognized it as Phipher Niggleby's owl.

It hooted at Ron then flew past the Aurors and dropped the package on Ron's desk. It perched on the back of the red head's chair and waited.

"Who's it from?" Ginny wondered.

"Don't know," Ron lied easily.

"Well, whoever sent it, his owl made a nuisance of itself flying back and forth out there. Kingsley's assistant, Bridle, looked like he wanted nothing more than to wring the poor thing's neck!"

"I doubt that weakly would have the guts to strange a worm," muttered Ron. "Why didn't you knock sooner?"

Ginny shrugged. "We couldn't tell who it was for at first."

"Well," Ron began, "thanks, Gin. We better get back to work." He ungracefully ushered his sister out of their office and closed the door before she could object. As Ron crossed to the owl, he heard her frustrated grunts and heavy footsteps as she stomped away.

"You lied to her; you know this owl."

"She's my sister. I lie to her all the time. Do you know how long I kept the Father Christmas dream alive for her?" Ron opened the package. Inside were several pieces of parchment full of couplets by Lover.

"Looks like Niggleby's been busy," Harry commented.

Ron held out a letter to Harry. "According to this, Lover's been busy too."

On the parchment was the poem for the Sunday Prophet.

A mistake I made in loving you
A mistake I'll drive deep inside of you

"I think Lover isn't enjoying his latest woman anymore," Harry remarked, gravely.

"That means we don't have much time. Either Westen is going to be getting another visit or we're going to find another dead body."


"I don't know how much more of this I can take," Draco confessed as he lay beside Ron that night.

Ron sighed; his body and mind were beautifully weak from making love with Draco. He wasn't in the mood to get into a serious conversation, preferring to bask in the sweaty afterglow with his lover. But, Draco's serious tone pulled him from his respite. "Tired of my company already?"

"No, just the hiding part. It seems like I've done so much of it lately. Maybe you were right; I should just run to South America."

Ron sat up on his elbows and peered at Draco through the darkness. "You're joking right?"

Draco turned over to see Ron. "Could be nice, a new life, new name, one with no stigma attached to it."

"You worked hard to get back your name and respect."

"But, look how quickly everyone was to turn on me! It'll always be like this, Ron, unless I vanish for good."

"I don't like this. You could never come back. You'd have to leave everyone and everything behind, family, friends, me."

"No, I wouldn't. You'd come with me of course." Draco looked almost gleeful at the prospect of whisking Ron away to an exotic country.

"Draco, I can't just leave. There would be so many questions. Besides, my life is here."

Draco sat up in bed and leaned against the headboard. "So, I'm willing to give up everything and run away with you, but you wouldn't do the same for me."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're not going anywhere. I'm not leaving my family for you because I am going to take you to them when this is all over. So, let's stop the hypothetical."

Ron reached for Draco, who willingly sank into the embrace. The red head wrapped his arms tightly around Draco's form and kissed his mussed hair. The thought of losing Draco again was unbearable, but what made him hold onto Draco was the realization that he would run away with his lover if there weren't other options. As long as there was an alternative, Ron intended to stay and clear Draco of the murder charges.

"You won't be hiding for much longer," Ron whispered. "The tides are turning, I can feel it!"

"I'd like to see my parents for the holidays and I don't mean from inside a cell."

"I'll make sure you get to the Manor for Christmas. Just give me a bit more time."

Draco didn't answer back, but buried himself further against Ron's bare chest.

"Draco, I need to tell you something."

"Why do I get the feeling that I am going to hate this?"

"Because you're smart. I had to tell Harry today." He felt the muscles in Draco's body tense.

"Tell him what?"

Ron relayed the details of his conversation with Harry. "Obviously, I didn't say anything about you being here or that you supplied the apothecary list. This could be a good thing, though, having someone else to help us."

"Yes, having Harry Potter around is always a stellar idea," Draco groaned.

"I know you don't like him, Draco, but he does think you are innocent. That has to count for something."

"A very little."

"Draco, I know you are frustrated and I am too. I hate hiding here as much as you do. I hate that the only time we get to be together is in my flat. But, soon, it will all change. We'll be o the cover of the Arts and Society page of the Prophet!" Ron laughed at his joke. Secretly, he hoped they would be, just to show the world that they were together and to hell with anyone who had a problem with it. He was ready for that. Ready to be with Draco completely, to give over to the all-consuming motions his lover brought out in him. He was looking forward to it actually.

"If it's all the same to you, I don't think I want to see my image in the paper again for a long time to come."

"Very well, then I'll just have to take you to Mum's and she can add your picture to the mantle."

"Aren't you rushing thing a bit? You don't even know if she'll like me."

"Are you kidding? My mum will be so thrilled that I brought anyone home to meet her and dad that she'll fall in love with you before she even sees your handsome face."

"Then when she hears why her son hasn't had a steady relationship in three years, she'll be very understanding," Draco said sarcastically.

"What can I say? I had an unfinished matter to deal with?"

"And it was?"

"Wanting you more than any other man I met."

Draco's smile was very cat-like. "That's what I like to hear." He leaned up and captured Ron's full lips in a sweet kiss.

Ron hummed his pleasure. "I'll remember to say it more often."

They were quiet for a while, both falling into the gentle arms of slumber. Just as Ron was about to completely drift off, he heard Draco's soft tentative voice.

"Do you really think your mum will like me?"

Ron bent down and rubbed his nose against Draco's. "I do, so she will have to. But, my sister is another story." Ron felt Draco's body jostle with silent laughter.


Chapter Six

Work had become a mere formality of the day to Ron. He normally enjoyed his job immensely, but hunting down a fugitive, whom he knew was innocent, just took up time he could be using to find the real killer and time he could be spending with his boyfriend. Besides being weary of his workload, he was not enjoying all the pretending anymore. He kept telling himself that it was for Draco. When he snuck away on lunch breaks to interview the people on Draco's list, he was doing this for Draco. All of the extra time he put in after his shift ended, the frustrations, the tired mind, would all be worth it when Draco was cleared.

It was dark when he opened his door the next nigh; only the light of the moon and two dripping candles illuminated the space. He instantly felt something was wrong.

"Draco?" he called out. There was no response. "Draco?"

Draco wasn't there. The place looked the same as he left it, but Ron felt down to his bones that Draco was gone. His mind jumped from one scenario to another.

Draco got a new lead and would be home shortly.

Draco ran away to South America, leaving Ron behind forever.

Draco was captured and on his way to Azkaban.

Ron's heart slammed repeatedly against his ribcage as he purposely placed one large foot in front of the other and searched his flat, ending with the living room. There, he found evidence that Draco truly left. The stacks of parchment papers of Draco's lists and notes were gone as were the couplets Phipher gave to Ron. He took all of their hard work and left.

Ron felt light-headed and slumped onto his sofa. What was he going to do? Ron new Draco wasn't going to simply walk through the door at any moment. The blonde left no indication of his whereabouts and Ron couldn't think why he would leave him. He felt nervous, salty tears spring up in his eyes, but he refused to let them spill.

"Calm down, mate," he told himself. "Keep your head. You're all he's got. You know Draco. What is going on inside his head?"

Ron contemplated this for several minutes. His heart returned to a more regular pace and he tried to regard the situation logically. Draco was alone with all of the evidence against the Lover. Where would he go with it? Who else could he trust? Like a swift kick to the chest, Ron realized who would most likely have answers for him.

He ran out of his home into the cold night and continued on to the left, thanking the gods that Mr. Blaise Zabini didn't live very far away from him. Using all of the nervous energy inside of him, he ran and ran, not caring how bizarre he appeared or who might have recognized him. His focus was on Blaise's flat and who, hopefully, was inside it.

Sweat beaded up on his face and chilled the red head as it evaporated. Ron's lungs burned from the stark air and exertion, but he kept going; a few body aches and cold limbs were nothing compared to the absolute panic coursing through his veins and into his heart.

Ron reached Blaise's home, out of breath and drenched with sweat. He huffed and huffed, his face bright red, matching his wild wind blown hair. He pounded his fist heavily on the door and leaned against the wall of the sturdy brick townhouse. He knocked again, more vigorously, until he heard someone approaching on the other side of the wood.

"It's about bloody time!" he gasped when he saw the exceptionally put-together Blaise Zabini standing in the entrance.

"What the hell happened to you? Decide to go for a late night jog?"

"Let me in, Zabini. It's an emergency." He tried to take calm, even breaths, but he could not regain his composure. "Please, Blaise, I have to talk to you."

Blaise looked his guest up and down, taking in his frozen and exhausted presence before stepping back to allow Ron's entry. "Very well, but only because you said 'please.'"

Ron lurched forward into the warm vestibule. When he heard the door close and lock behind them, Ron got right to the point.

"Are we alone, completely alone?"

"We are. Would you like to sit down? I'll make you a drink."

"This isn't a social call."

"I suspected as much, but you look like you could use a respite from your travels. Follow me."

Ron did as he was told and followed Blaise into a cozy library, a fire crackling at one end of the room with two wingback chairs ready to accept occupants. Ron sat down and removed his coat. Blaise appeared at his elbow with a tumbler of deep amber liquid. Ron took a small sip and then a much larger one. The fiery alcohol lodged itself in his throat before being forced down. Ron gave a rough cough and set the glass down on a nearby table.

"Where is he?" he asked his host.

"Of whom do you speak?" Blaise asked back, taking the chair beside Ron. "Do you speak of Draco? Scare him off already?"

Ron ignored the slight and pressed onward. "I came home tonight and he wasn't there. I don't know where he is. I thought he might be here." Ron paused and put his face into his hands. The adrenaline was quickly slipping away, leaving Ron to face his tired, scared and stressed body. Tears again pricked his eyes and his chapped lips trembled. He looked at Blaise, his weary self on complete display. "Blaise, I am worried. This doesn't feel right. He — " Ron swallowed. "He was talking about running away, leaving it all behind him. I need to find him before someone sees him." Ron sniffed and rubbed his red eyes. "This is the only place I thought he might go."

"What makes you think Draco is gone and won't come back?"

"I don't know, it's just a feeling, like something inside of me is missing. He's out there somewhere and he needs me! If he's not here then you must know where he is. When was the last time you saw him?"

"This morning."

Ron almost jumped out of his chair. "You did?! What did he say? Was he alright?"

"Physically, he was quite fine. Mentally, he was not as sound as usual."

"Where is he? I need to se him, bring him back home."

"He needs his freedom, Ron. He needs to be in his own home and just hiding out in yours."

"I know that! We've been trying to find the other killer. Look, if he's angry at me — "

"He's not angry, Weasley."

"Then just tell me already!" he cried out.

Blaise reclined in his chair. "You know, he actually told me not to tell you. Why would he do that, do you think?"

"I bet you're going to tell me," Ron ground out.

"He wants to protect you, Ron. As you have him."

"I don't want protecting. I want Draco. Blaise, please, he's not okay, I feel it."

"I agree with you; he's not alright. This plot of his is ridiculous."

"All the more reason for me to find him sooner rather than later."

"Are you in love with him?" Ron nodded energetically. "Verbalize it, Weasley."

"Yes, I love him. I hid him from the authorities for weeks, risked my job and my freedom for him. I promised his mother I'd keep him safe. Yes, I am in love with him and I would like to be able to tell him to his face. What is he up to?"

Blaise considered Ron's declaration for a few seconds then nodded his head. "Well, I don't usually do what Draco tells me to do, anyway. He went to Potter."

Ron's stomach dropped. "He did what?"

"He went to Potter," Blaise repeated, slowly. "He said he had a plan."

"But, he hates Harry."

"Yes, he does, but you trust Harry. Draco figured if Harry knew everything, and I mean everything, then your mate just might help him. You see Draco doesn't want you to end up in prison because of him. How are the two of you going to be together then?"

"So, he wants Harry to take it from here and leave me by the sidelines." Ron stood up and grabbed his tumbler. He swallowed the remaining alcohol and did not gasp at the burn this time. "Did he actually expect me to just stand by while he and Harry figure the rest of this out? Instead of me getting in trouble, Harry will."

"Of course he won't; he's still the Boy-Who-Lived. People will think he did a valiant thing, helping an innocent man. Even without his title, Harry's only vested interest in Draco is to stop the real murderer and get his best friend's lover back to him safely. The papers would have a field day if they knew that suspected killer, Draco Malfoy, was assisted by his Auror lover. They won't paint the romantic picture that you do."

"I knew I might have troubles when I first started looking into this case and I did it anyway. I would have kept doing it even if Draco never showed up at my flat."

"But, he did. He couldn't stay away from you, Weasley. As soon as I mentioned our meeting, he could not be persuaded to leave you be."

"I'm glad he came. So, he's with Harry, is he? Harry should be easy enough to track down. And when I find them, I am going to kill them for leaving me to think the worst." Ron pulled his coat back on. "Zabini, thank you for this. I owe you."

"Yes, you do. But, can you please Apparate wherever you are going instead of running through the streets of London like madman?"

Ron laughed. "I will. He's not going to be happy that you told me."

"No, it's for his own good." Ron shook Blaise's outstretched hand and then Apparated over to Harry's home. But, he wasn't there nor was he at Ginny's. There was only one other place that came to his mind.


"Ron!" Harry exclaimed when he saw his friend enter their office.

"Where is he, Harry?" Ron asked coldly, a grim, determined expression on his freckled face.

"Ron, I was writing you an owl to tell you —"

"Where is he, Harry?!"

"He's safe, Ron. Don't worry."

"Don't tell me not to worry! You are not the one who came home to an empty flat tonight."

"Calm down, mate, and let me explain."

"I don't need an explanation; Zabini filled me in. What I need is to see him for myself."

Harry sighed and shook his head. "Follow me."

Ron and Harry took the stairs down two levels to the old interrogation chambers. It was a smart place to hide a fugitive; most of the chambers were converted to storage closets that few people entered.

They stopped in front of the farthest one. Harry pressed his wand to the lock and whispered, "Alohomora." The lock turned and the creaky door slowly swung into the room.

It was a dark space, piled with wooden cabinets and file boxes. At one corner of the room was a worn rug underneath two chairs and an old secretary desk. Three candles lit the dreary nook and among the shadows, barely visible, stood Draco.

The blonde peered at his company and stepped into the candlelight. "Ron?" His soft tone carried easily over the quiet room.

Ron marched across the room to Draco and wrapped his arms around the shorter man's back, crushing their bodies together. Draco returned the embrace, flattening his palms against Ron's lower back and burying his face into the crook of his neck.

"Never, ever, do that again," Ron commanded, evenly. "Do you understand me?"

Draco smiled into his lover's red head. "Yes, mother. Ow!" he exclaimed as Ron tightened his hold on him.

"I'm not fooling around, Draco. Do you have any idea how scared I was?" Draco nodded his head and held Ron closer. "I didn't know where you were or how long you were gone. You just left and…" Ron voice trailed off. He kissed the side of Draco's face and finally breathed a sigh of relief. Draco was in his arms; that was the most important thing. "I'm just glad you didn't go to South America."

"Not without you."

The sound of a clearing throat reminded the two that they were not alone. Ron looked over the top of Draco's head to see Harry, an expression of awe in his bespectacled eyes.

"Ron, can I talk to you for a minute? I'll lock you in, Draco. We'll be right back."

Ron kissed Draco's dry lips and extricated himself from his arms. He and Harry left the room, locked the door and headed back towards the stairs.

"So, you and Draco."

"Yes."

"Draco did help the wizarding world. He helped through you. The two of you conspired to take down Voldemort."

"Yes," Ron repeated.

"And you became lovers. You neglected to tell me this when you were confessing your deceptions yesterday."

"I know, Harry, and this wasn't how I wanted you to find out."

"He's the reason you date. You've refused any notion of meaningful relationship with anyone. Draco's the reason. You're in love with him and you were hoping to get back together with him."

"I wanted to, but I was a coward. Draco called it penance, for leaving him in the first place. Being with Draco during that time clouded my mind. I thought less and less about you and the war."

"You were falling for him, Ron. Of course you were focused on him," Harry said, as if this should have been obvious.

"But, I had never felt that way before. I didn't understand it. When I realized what it was, so much time had passed."

"Seems like neither of you moved on. I was so shocked to see Malfoy skulking by my flat. I was reluctant to believe him when he said you were together. I mean, I'm your best mate; I should know these things. You would never take up with Draco Malfoy and not tell me about it! But, seeing him in your Weasley jumper made me think twice."

"I'm sorry, Harry and I know I've been saying that a lot lately, but I am sorry. I've been so confused about what to do."

"I can tell. I can't say that I am happy about any of this, all these lies, but now is not the time for me to dwell on it. Trust me, I will do so later on! Right now, we need to find a killer. We've come up with a plan. It's risky, but it's all we've got."

"What is it?" Ron asked eagerly.

"Since we are having trouble finding this poet killer, we need to at least prove that it isn't Draco," reasoned Harry. "I am going now to talk to Shacklebolt before he leaves for the night. If we can show him that there is indeed a double of Draco running around, we might have a chance."

"But, will he listen?"

"We have to try. No one will believe you and me. We need another Auror to see the real Draco, now he is secure, so when the Polyjuice Draco strikes, it will be clear our Draco is innocent." Ron grumbled his agreement to Harry's thoughts. "I'm not going to tell him any more than he has to know."

"Fine, fine, do what you have to do. I've made a mess out of this case anyway."

"No, you haven't. You're just a little too close to it. I understand now why you've been so distant; a lot has happened to you in a short amount of time. Oh, I have a list of people who helped contain Draco when he was first brought in. Kingsley will have to know about that as well."

"I'm going to go back to Draco now. Fetch me as soon as you're done with Shacklebolt.

Harry patted his best mate on the arm. "We'll clear him, Ron. And we'll get this Lover before he has the chance to hurt anyone else."

After Harry was out of sight, Ron returned to the storage room and let himself in. Draco was in Ron's arms before the door closed.

"I can't believe you went to Harry," Ron commented as they sat down in the two chairs.

"It was the lesser of two evils. So, Blaise ignored my wishes?"

"He's a smart man. I was worried enough to beat the information out of him. Luckily, I didn't have to. He told me after I'd proven my worth, so to speak."

"And how," bellowed a voice behind Ron, "would such an insignificant excuse for a wizard like you ever do that, Auror Weasley?"

Draco and Ron turned towards the door and saw to their abject horror, Auror Broadhurst! Ron's eyes widened and his mind raced. How did he find them? How was he going to get Draco out of there safely?

The man looked furious as he leveled his wand at the pair. "The illustrious Potter and Weasley, harboring the fugitive Malfoy. I knew you and your partner were falsely praised." Broadhurst stepped further into the room. "Wait until the world hears about this!" His laugh was full of cold joy and his eyes reflected the same thing. He sneered, contorting his attractive face, and addressed Draco. "Not a bad plan, murderer, hiding right here under our noses. Quite brilliant. Fortunately for the wizarding world, I am more brilliant than you!

As Broadhurst berated Draco, Ron reached into his jacket pocket and grabbed the handle of his wand. The vain Auror loved to hear himself talk, so, Ron waited for a moment to catch him completely off guard.

"You escaped once, Malfoy, but you will not be that fortunate a second time."

"You're pathetic, Broadhurst," Draco spat. "You'll do anything to get your name in the Prophet, even frame an innocent man. You're as vile as the real killer!"

Ron saw a fine twitch at the corners of Broadhurts's mouth, a curse about to be born. Ron's hand shot out of his pocket and he sent a spell straight at the other Auror's chest. "Expelliarmus!" he shouted with all his might.

Broadhurst flew back and slammed into a cabinet, then crumpled to the ground. He did not stir as files and parchment flew on top of his body.

Ron's chest puffed in and out as he looked at what he'd done. He attacked an Auror!

"You attacked an Auror!" Draco said in disbelief.

"Never done that before. But, he was going to curse you! Shit! How did he know we were down here?"

"I have no idea but we can't let him go; he'll ruin everything!"

"I know, I know. Here, take his wand." Draco did as he was told. Ron took his lover by the elbow and guided him out of the room. When they were both in the hallway, he cast a Silencio on the room and closed the door. Then, he locked it and the two men ran for the stairs.

"You can't be seen," Ron reminded Draco again.

"I'm aware of that, Weasley."

They ran as silently as possible up two levels. Ron stuck his head out of the stairwell to see if they were alone. The hallway was deserted, most of the employees having left for the day.

"Draco, let's go." They sprinted the short distance to Ron's office and quickly went inside. "I'll find Harry and Shacklebolt. You, stay here. This is an obvious place for you to be, but I'll be quick. I doubt Broadhurst told anyone what he was up to. So, you just stay here, okay?"

"Yes, Ron, I get it, no running."

"I don't think I could take it if I came back here and couldn't find you."

"We won't know that answer to that because I'm not going anywhere."

"I'll be back soon." As Ron backed out of the room, he saw a flash of panic burst forth from Draco. He blinked his grey eyes rapidly and his long fingers twitched at his sides. He was scared!

"Wait!" he yelled. "Before you go —"

"We don't need to do the emotional goodbyes, Draco. This isn't over."

"Yes, we do! I didn't get a chance to during the war and you are not going to spoil my chance now!"

Ron pulled back at Draco's forcefulness. "Okay. You were saying?"

Draco pinned Ron with a very serious gaze. "When Potter first locked me in that room today, all I thought about was you and how I was doing this for us. But, then I realized I should have said something to you before I disappeared." Draco breathed in and out in quick succession. "I have loved you since the first time I woke up with you in my arms. I've been dreaming about the time when I'd get you back ever since the last night we were together."

Ron took Draco's hands and entwined their fingers. He raised them to his mouth and kissed Draco's knuckles. "You have me," he admitted. "I love you too." They kissed tenderly for only a moment. "If I don't leave now, we are both going to be under arrest for assault and we'll have to love each other from behind bars."

Ron made it up to Kingsley Shacklebolt's office without seeing anyone, a small relief. He wrapped on the large door and heard his employer's deep voice beckon him in. Ron walked inside and saw his partner sitting across from Shacklebolt, a grin on his face.

But, Harry's grin faded when he noticed Ron's scarlet face. "Ron, what's the matter? Did something happen?"

"We have a small problem."


It had been two days since Ron and Draco had seen each other and Ron was not handling the separation well. He was grateful that Kingsley even listened to what Harry and he had to say, especially after he confessed to attacking Auror Broadhurst. Ron found himself lucky that he wasn't sacked immediately. So far, he received a fine and a write up in his personal record. It took a great deal of convincing, but the Head Auror ultimately put a bit of faith in two of his favorite employees. Draco was moved to a different location in the building, away from the rest of the staff and away from Ron.

The red head was not adjusting to having an empty home. Draco had only been with him for a little over a week, but he made an indelible impression in the place. Ron missed the smell of Draco's coffee in the morning and the pile of Weasley jumpers by the closet. He missed waking up to Draco beside him, the bed sheets tangled around his waist.

Harry helped distract him though. The two partners, with Kingsley's permission, worked on their own investigation into the murders. Based on Phipher's findings, they discovered a pattern between the time of the death poems and the actual killings. The killer wrote about the murders less than a week before he carried them out. It didn't leave the Aurors much time to find this psychopath and they still had a sizeable list of suspects, including ten Aurors who had access to Draco when he was initially captured.

Harry threw down another sheet of Lover's couplets in tired frustration. "I don't know how Niggleby did all of this! It's rubbish. Can I look at the apothecaries' order forms again?"

Ron raised his wand a sent a few pages over to Harry. "You'd like reading about pickled newt eyes and lint from a giant's belly button instead? Be my guest."

Around two o'clock that afternoon, the two received a visitor.

"Auror Weasley?"

Ron looked up to see Anthony Bridle in the doorway. "Ever heard of knocking, Bridle? What do you want?"

"Auror Shacklebolt needs to see you right away," Anthony said with an air of importance.

"You came all the way down here to tell us that?" Harry asked.

"I didn't say he needs you, Auror Potter. He wants to see Weasley. And," he turned to face Ron, "he wanted me to speak to you directly. Bring your robes; you're going into the field."

"Without me?" Harry wondered.

"I'm sure he can survive without you for a few hours, Potter. Come, Weasley. You mustn't keep Kingsley waiting." Bridle turned and left.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Bridle is such a little toady! I don't know how Kingsley can stand having him under foot constantly."

"I know," agreed Harry. "If I didn't know him so well, I'd wonder about those two."

"That's nasty, Harry! I better go see what the boss wants."

When Ron arrived at Kingsley's office, the head Auror did not waste any time. "You are needed at St. Mungo's. Some arsehole beat a poor, young man named Ten and sent him to hospital. He requested to see you."

"Oh, shit!" Ron cursed, softly, running a hand through his hair. "Westen."

"I'm guessing this is the break you have been waiting for. Report back here the moment you are through at St. Mungo's. Our guest is still quite safe; I saw him this morning. I am sure he will want an update on this as well."

Ron spoke to a medi-witch at the desk before going to see Westen.

"Poor thing," she said to Ron. "Someone used him for a punching bag, after he had his way with him. He's just a boy."

"How bad is he?"

"He'll live, but until our potions kick on, he's going to wish that he wasn't."

The witch showed Ron to Westen's hospital room and the Auror could not hold back the gasp that erupted from him at the sight of his informant.

"Hi, Ron," Westen croaked.

How he knew it was Ron who entered the room, the Auror could not fathom. Westen's eyes were practically swollen shut and covered in deep purple bruises. Peeking out from beneath his hospital robes were what looked like claw marks, slashing across his neck. Westen's beautiful long sandy hair was slicked back from sweat and matted in places. His hands were wrapped in white gauze and a sling held his left arm close to his body.

"Oh, Westen," Ron sighed sadly. He crossed to the invalid's bedside and, instead of sitting in the available chair, sat on the mattress. He placed a comforting hand on top of Westen's knee, hoping the boy didn't have too many other injuries below the bedcovers. "I am so sorry, Westen."

"It's not your fault, Ron. It's part of the job, right?" Westen sniffed back a few tears and winced at the pain from his eyes. "He was in a right state this morning."

"Tell me what happened, mate."

Westen adjusted his sling a bit and stretched his neck, giving Ron a more gruesome view of the scratches there. "I don't know why he showed up so early in the morning, maybe because he doesn't want to be seen. He came up to my room, grabbed me and threw me on the bed and we started fucking, no foreplay, nothing. He was so angry the whole time, seemed to like how much pain he caused me, kept punching me and telling me to cry. He wanted to see me cry. I was beautiful when I cried." Westen reached for a cup of water that lay on the table nearby. Ron handed it over to him. With a shaky hand, Westen took a sip, some of the liquid spilling past his split lips. His tongue darted out to catch the droplets and he winced again as it drifted over a cut.

Ron held onto Westen's knee as tears fell over his puffy face. "He's never going to get near you again. I promise, Westen. If I have to kill him myself, I will make sure he doesn't come anywhere near you."

"But, you don't know who he is," reminded Westen.

"Did he call you by any other name today? Or did he mutter anything that could help us identify him?"

"No," he answered, softly. "If he did, I didn't notice. I'm sorry. The pain was more than I expected."

"Listen to me. You have nothing to be sorry about. I'm sorry for putting you into this situation."

"You didn't, Ron. I would have been in it with or without you."

"But, I could have done something!"

"You can't save everyone, Ron. Hey, I'm still alive though."

"And I'm going to keep you that way. I'm going to have an Auror put outside your door. It's my sister and she'll protect you in case this animal decides to attack again."

"You have a sister?" Westen's voice sounded happy.

Ron remembered the story Westen told about his sister calling him "Ten." And the sad cause of her death. "Yes, I do. And she's an excellent Auror. You'll be in good hands." Ron stood up and took Westen's battered hand gingerly in his own. "I have to go now, but I'll be back to see you soon, alright?"

"Thank you, Ron. I mean it. I'll heal, but I am sorry I couldn't do more for you. I'll testify too, if you need me too."

"We will. Westen, you may have just helped clear an innocent man with your sacrifice and for that, I can't even begin to thank you."

"You're in love with him, the real Malfoy?"

Ron nodded his head, not knowing if Westen saw it or not. As much as he liked Westen, Ron didn't want to risk giving his reply out loud. From the slight rise at the corners of Westen's mouth, Ron guessed that he understood.

As ordered, Ron returned to Kingsley's office after leaving St. Mungo's. When the Head Auror heard Westen's account of the attack, he stood up from his desk and walked out of the office. Ron chased after him.

"Kingsley?" he called after him. "Where are you going?"

"To get Bridle. We need to have an emergency meeting with you, Potter, Broadhurst and his team. If you would be so kind as to retrieve your partner from your office and join me in the conference room, I shall round up the others."

Ron needed no further instruction. He raced down to his office and burst through the door, causing Harry to scatter several pieces of parchment in surprise.

"Merlin, what happened? What did Kingsley want?"

An enormously joyful smile bloomed on Ron's face, lighting up the entire room. "I think we did it."

It took Harry a moment to understand what Ron said. "Really?"

"Westen got attacked. He's going to be fine, thank the gods, but this proves that there is more than one Draco running around. Shacklebolt is setting up a meeting right now. Draco could be free tonight!"

The meeting was very long and arduous. Auror Broadhurst refused to believe any of the evidence put before him and the bulk of his team stood behind him. They were also very upset that they weren't informed about Draco's recapture to begin with.

Harry divulged his dealings with Draco and asserted his belief in his innocence, but it was Ron's testimony that was the most shocking. He told them everything that happened, from his being Draco's lover to hiding him from the Aurors, Westen, and the poorly written poetry.

"We need to get past the idea of Draco being the killer because he isn't," Ron stated to the room. "This Lover is still out there and is planning on killing again soon!"

"And you know this because the newspaper told you so," Broadhurst said in a snarky tone.

"No, you git, five years worth of overly sentimental tripe and accurate descriptions of death told me that!"

"Enough of this," Kingsley demanded. "From my discussion with Mr. Malfoy earlier and all of this new information, I am convinced that we have captured the wrong man. Anthony, you and I need to organize a press conference as soon as possible. Harry, why don't you go release Mr. Malfoy from his holding place? He has a few papers to sign. I shall let everyone know when our conference with the media is to take place. We shall call one for the entire staff first though. You are dismissed."

Ron paced back and forth outside of Kingsley's office. Draco was inside and Ron was waiting for his lover to come out of there a free man. Word had spread quickly through the department that Draco was secretly captured, but being released. No one had the full details, but Broadhurst and his team made sure their displeasure was plain to see. Ron didn't care about any of it and didn't comment to anyone. His future as an Auror was a bit uncertain at the moment, but he couldn't bring himself to care about that either. He just wanted to see his lover's smiling face.

Ron got his wish. Draco stepped out of Kingsley's office, a glowing smile on his face at the sight of Ron. Draco ran towards him and jumped into Ron's arms. Ron held him tightly.

"We did it, love," Ron whispered in Draco's ear. "We did it!"

"Love you." Draco kissed him deeply, pulling a moan from Ron's hungry mouth.

"Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to take this display back to your flat," Kingsley said from his doorway. "I also suggest using the Floo by Bridle's desk. It's not wise for you to be seen just yet, Mr. Malfoy."

"A fine idea, sir," Ron agreed with a laugh. Ron led Draco to the fireplace and picked up a handful of Floo powder.

"So, we're heading back to your flat?" Draco asked, also taking some powder in his hands.

"Yes, we are. We have to make up for some lost time."

"We've been apart for two days."

"But, it seemed much longer than that. So, I suggest we go home, and have fabulous sex all night long. You in?"

"Can't think of a better way to spend an evening."


The news of Draco's innocence was released the following morning to a mixed audience. The majority of the population was glad that Draco was cleared, if he was truly innocent, but still nervous about the loose killer. The Daily Prophet had several detailed articles on the subject, even mentioning Phipher Niggleby as a vital component to the investigation, the scholar who broke through the code in the killer's terrible amateur poetry.

Ron, weary from his amazing night with his lover, walked to work a little slower that morning. His muscles ached in the most pleasant way, every step a constant reminder of their lovemaking. The air was crisp, a hint of snow in the grey clouds, and Ron forgot his scarf once again. Ron brought his shoulders up to his ears to keep them warm and tucked his head down against the steady wind.

As he crossed the street, Ron thought he heard his name called out. He looked around and didn't see anyone he knew. He took one step and heard it again. Ron turned all the way around and finally saw the source of the voice. Down a narrow side street, leaning against street lamp, was a man. He was too far away to recognize completely, but something about him was familiar to Ron.

"What do you want?" he called out to the mysterious man. A metallic clicking sound, a muggle pistol being cocked, bounced off the sides of the buildings and stopped Ron's heart for a few beats.

"Walk towards me, slowly."

Ron looked side to side. There were some people walking around, but if this gunman brought his weapon out in the middle of the morning, he most likely wouldn't have too many qualms about shooting Muggles.

"Now, Weasley!"

Ron did as he was told and walked slowly down the cobble road. As he neared the man, he saw the gun more clearly as well as the person aiming the weapon at the red head's chest. Ron couldn't believe it! He almost laughed, but the maniacal glint in his capture's eyes and that gun reminded Ron how serious his situation was.

"Bridle, what do you think you are doing with that thing?"

Anthony Bridle scowled at Ron, an ugly, consuming hatred leaking out of every pore of the fellow Auror. "I think I am going to kill you, Auror Weasley."

"Why do you want to kill me, Bridle?"

"Toss me your wand. Don't even think of casting a spell either. I'm pretty fast with this thing. Have you ever felt a bullet pierce your skin, Weasley? It's quite painful."

Again, Ron looked at his surroundings. It was early morning, and the side street was empty, shudders closed and no sign of movement anywhere. Ron thought that he could disarm Bridle, but the idea of unsuspecting slumbering muggles close by, stopped him. Ron reached into his pocket and tossed his wand away.

"There. Now, tell me what is going on." He tried to sound calm, but there was a slight shake in his voice.

"Did you really think I'd let you get away with it?" he growled. "You can't just do that and expect to escape unscathed!"

"Do what? What did I do to you, Bridle?"

"You publicly rebuked my work!" he hollered.

Ron blinked. "Excuse me?"

"My poetry! You insulted my poetry in front of my peers and in the bloody newspaper! You called it overly sentimental tripe! The Prophet said it was terrible and amateur!"

Ron's mind whirled as he caught up Anthony's words. "You're the killer? You framed Draco. You killed Maggie and Antigone. You put Westen into the hospital!"

"Who are you to judge other people's expressions of heart-felt emotions? I put time and thought into each one of those pieces and you threw that effort back into my face." To Ron's surprise, Anthony started to cry angry tears. "You are an insensitive arse, Weasley! You wouldn't know good writing if it bit you on the nose. I've read your reports and they are wretched."

"Wait a minute here! Are you telling me that you have finally revealed yourself because I insulted your couplets? That's it? Fuck, if I knew it would be that simple, I would have done it weeks ago!"

"Don't you dare belittle me!"

He shook the gun at his captive and Ron leaned away, thinking of the murdered women. They were killed with what was on hand, leaving no magical signature behind. Bridle could shoot him and dispose of his body, not leaving any trace for Aurors to find.

"I don't think you understand the gravity of your situation," Anthony said viciously. "You are a dead man, just another one of my victims. I even wrote a special poem just for you. 'A gaping hole leaves no place to hide. I see now you are empty inside.' Good enough for the brilliant Ronald Weasley? I think it describes you well or how you will be when all of your blood is flowing out you onto the sidewalk."

"I rather prefer him the way he is, thank you."

Both Anthony and Ron turned to see Draco step out from behind a parked car. Neither man heard him enter the small area.

"Draco?" Ron questioned as his lover walked over to the Aurors, his wand trained on Bridle.

"You forgot your scarf, love," Draco said. Ron noticed the aforementioned garment wrapped around Draco's neck. "Looks like I arrived at the right moment. Is this the psychopath who framed me?"

"You might as well drop your wand, Malfoy," Bridle informed him. "I'm just going to shoot you both. Do you have it in you to use a Killing Curse on me?"

"You dare harm my boyfriend and I won't think twice."

"Isn't that sweet? I loved someone once. It ended badly though." Bridle laughed harshly at his sick joke. "Love always ends badly."

"Yeah, when a gay man tries to fall in love with women, I'd say it ends badly," Ron muttered.

"I'm not gay!" he shouted. Bridle fired a shot just above Ron's head.

"Expelliramus!" Draco shouted.

Bridle ducked and the spell hit the brick wall behind him. He fired at Draco. The blonde jumped to the side and tumbled to the ground. "Not smart, Malfoy! Stop where you are, Weasley," he warned the encroaching red head. "You both deserve to die for spreading your lies!"

"You sleep with men, Bridle. You're gay!" Ron insisted.

A fury Ron did not think possible erupted from the annoying man's mouth. Bridle roared long and loud like an animal! Forgetting his muggle gun, the enraged man charged at Ron and was about to tackle him when Draco shouted, "Protego!" Bridle hit the strong barrier surrounding Ron and fell hard backwards onto the stone pavers.

"Accio Ron's wand!" Draco called. The wand flew into his outstretched hand. He quickly ended his shield charm and tossed the wand to Ron. "Are you alright, love?"

"Yeah," Ron answered. He turned to face Bridle. The fall jarred the killer and when he looked up, he saw two wands pointed at him. "It's over, Bridle."

Bridle snickered at the Auror. It started quietly, but grew into a full on guffaw. Neither Draco nor Ron knew what to make of this crazed laughter. Suddenly, Bridle kicked his foot out fiercely and made contact with Ron shinbone. Ron cried out in pain and surprise and clutched his leg with both hands, his wand falling from his fingers. Bridle turned swiftly and pulled the trigger of his gun. Draco fell backwards with the force of the bullet.

"No!" Ron screamed.

"Ha!" Bridle yelled. "No more playing around! You can't best me! I've been doing this for too long!" Bridle stood and loomed over Ron, who cradled his leg against him. "Now, Auror Weasley, I shall end this." Ron stared down the barrel of the gun and waited. "You've brought this on yourself, Weasley. I had no reason to kill you until you stuck your nose into Broadhurst's case!"

"Why did you kill all those women?"

"I didn't want to kill them, I wanted to love them, marry them, have a family, like I'm supposed to! It just didn't work out. I'll find the right woman one day. You, however, won't. You will be dead and your Death Eater lover won't be far behind you."

"Former Death Eater," Ron corrected. "And I rather be with him in death than live my life with some woman I don't love!"

"Let me grant you your wish then."

Just as Bridle's finger pressed back on the trigger, Ron heard a distant voice then felt something wet splash onto his cheeks. He looked up at Bridle's waxen face; the man was gazing down at his own body in confusion. On the right side of Bridle's stomach was a dark red stain.

Bridle slowly touched the spot and collected a few drops of his blood on his fingertips. "Wha?" he began, before slumping to the ground.

Ron relaxed his muscles as he realized he wasn't going to be shot. He moved to get a better look at Bridle; he was alive, but had fainted. Ron lifted his eyes and looked around to find his savior. Draco was on one elbow and his wand was pointed towards the fallen Bridle. The blonde's whimpers reached Ron's ears before collapsed. "Draco!"

Ron hobbled over to kneel beside him, ignoring the pain in his leg. He gazed down at his lover and Draco stared back at him, his face screwed up in pain. Draco dropped his wand and clutched a wound by his shoulder. "Draco, love?" Ron called to him.

"Ron? I got shot," he said through short gasps.

"You did, love." He pushed blonde sweaty locks off his love's forehead. "But, we're going to get you help. You're going to be fine." Ron moved Draco's hand away from the wound and pressed his own down to stop the blood flow.

"I don't feel fine."

Ron bent down and kissed Draco's brow. "I know, love, I know. I'm here though and I'm going to take care of you." Ron grabbed Draco's wand and silently called for his own. When it was in his hand, Ron sent an emergency signal to Harry's wand. With any luck, his partner and a team of Aurors would arrive in minutes.

"Are you hurt?" Draco wondered, his eyes darting over his boyfriend's body.

"No badly. You saved my life. The Aurors are on their way. They'll arrest Bridle and we'll get you to St. Mungo's, okay?"

Draco nodded then winced. "Love?"

"What is it, Draco?" Ron sniffed back approaching tears.

"I had a feeling you might need me today."

Ron's hand stroked Draco's soft hair, trailed over a sharp cheekbone and gently cupped the side of his face. "I need you every day."


Epilogue

Three years later

"This is all your fault, you know!" Harry complained to his best friend as he fiddled with the tie around his neck.

Ron looked over at Harry incredulously. "It's my fault you can't tie your own tie?"

Harry glared at Ron's reflection in his mirror. "Its your fault I have to tie one to begin with, along with that husband of yours!" Harry took the silk pieces in his shaky hands and tried again to tie the tie. "You and Draco moved in together less than a month after you reconciled, so Ginny figured it was time for us to move in together. You and Draco got engaged, so Ginny thought it was time we got engaged. Do you see a pattern here?"

Ron walked over to Harry and swatted his fingers away. "Continue your nervous babbling; I'll tie," he suggested.

"I find it amusing that you, who was once perpetually single, have surpassed all of your other single siblings. I love your sister more than anything, but we were doing just fine until you and the love of your life decided to show everyone up with your speedy romance."

"Speedy? I had already wasted enough time; there wasn't any reason to wait." Ron finished his work with a flourish.

"Just promise me, you'll tell me first if you two decide to start a family."

The door to the dressing room burst open and Draco entered in a huff. He pointed his finger right at his husband. "You are never to leave me alone with all of those weepy women again! Granger's in tears, Molly's inconsolable, Fleur is blubbering away in her native tongue and Gin keeps twirling around like a dervish just to watch her puffy dress spin."

"Her dress is puffy?" Harry asked with interest.

"Yes and she looks lovely, Potter. If you two are quite finished in here, you can see for yourself."

As Ron stood beside his best mate at the altar, he took a moment to enjoy the pleasures of the day, Harry's shaky breaths, the sound of a harp being plucked and the way his handsome husband's eyes glared scornfully at the Weasley twins, who were pretending to sob into over-sized handkerchiefs. Ron smiled broadly. He adored his husband and he knew that, despite a few bumps along the way, Draco loved his new family.

"Ron?" Harry whispered urgently.

"Yeah?" Ron looked at the groom and saw his face was white as a sheet.

"Am I ready for this?"

Suddenly, the doors at the back of the church opened and Ginny, on her father's arm, entered in a cascade of laces and silk.

"You'd better be," Ron chuckled.

Harry didn't respond. His attention was glued to the beautiful bride walking towards them. His green eyes shone brightly with happy tears and adoration. Ron noticed his sister's expression mirrored her soon-to-be husband's. They were ready. It may have taken them awhile, but they were ready to be married. Ron remembered that feeling well. It took him three years to realize that he found the love of his life in a club, dancing as if no one was watching him.

As Harry and Ginny said their vows to each other, Ron glanced back at Draco, who was already looking at him. "I love you," Ron mouthed.

"Love you," Draco mouthed back before sending his lover a sexy smile.

Ron's knees wobbled; Draco always knew how to affect him. That smile held promises for later on that evening. Before, he could indulge in the possibilities, Ron turned back to his sister and brother-in-law, loving the sight of their happy, glowing faces. As they sealed their vows with a kiss, Ron decided he made the right choice not to tell Harry that he and Draco were already talking about starting a family.


THE END

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