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"Come home with me," Draco says during one of their end-of-the-night dates. Dates that seem to always begin with Draco letting himself into Ron’s apartment and Ron opening the door wider to accommodate Draco’s giant ego. Dates that Ron used to look forward to until Draco had asked that terrifying question. Now, Ron can't help but think of Lucius Malfoy stringing him up by his ankles for desecrating his son.
He sputters with his lips still pressed against Draco's neck where a smooth red hickey was in the process of being born, making a sort of farting noise with his mouth, "'M sorry, what?" He coughs around his words with nothing obstructing his throat. The bedroom is dark, it’s how Draco prefers it, but he can still see the disappointment crawl across Draco's face by the glare of the moonlight creeping in still.
"For a weekend, come home with me," Draco repeats, quieter this time, seemingly losing his nerve. He shifts where he’s pressed against Ron, leaning away enough to look the ginger in the face. Draco steels himself, Ron nearly grins at the act but decides against it with the serious direction the conversation has taken.
"To Malfoy Manor?" Ron's voice cracks as he says it, the grown man in him really showing.
"It’s just home to me, but, yes. Only, don't call it that in front of my Father," Draco smiles with something sad behind it, still so hopeful. And, really, Ron rarely sees him smile as it is, so, he'd never think of wiping such a rare occurrence away. Ron’s nodding before he can really think about it, before he can throughly imagine Lucius Malfoy poisoning his drink at dinner or Narcissa cursing his pajamas so that they choke him in his sleep.
But, Draco is hugging him soon after, which is also a rare occurrence. So, Ron doesn't seem to mind the thought of dying via poison or choking by clothing because Draco would never let such things happen.
"You said what?" Hermione asks, shoving her way into Ron’s apartment (much like Draco does) after a letter from Ron explaining his plans, dragging a half asleep Harry with her. It doesn't help that Ron was dreaming such a vividly amazing dream staring one Draco Malfoy before he was rudely awakened by Hermione’s fist on his front door.
"To be fair, I didn't say anything. I just nodded," Ron shrugs with Harry stifling a laugh next to him, it turns his shrug into a grin. He looks back at Hermione and his grin drops at her stern face. They’ve been out of school for years, they’re in their twenties for Merlin’s sake, and yet she’s still a mother away from home. Truly, she scolds Ron over his choice in partners more than Ron’s own mother (if she knew).
"Funny, is it?" She crosses her arms over her chest.
“Don’t you think it’s time for us to settle down, Hermione?” Ron sighs, exasperated.
“Of course! But, not with the likes of a—,“ Hermione starts and frankly, Ron’s had enough of her telling him what Draco’s thinking or what his intentions are. As if she knows him better than Ron does. It’s almost infuriating.
"A what? A Malfoy? Merlin, Hermione, you’re beginning to sound like his younger self. Draco and I are dating. I have to properly meet with his Mum and Dad at some point. And he has to meet mine," He sees her flinch at Draco's name as if it were worse than saying Voldemort out loud.
“It’s been months,” Ron sighs, suddenly exhausted, “Nearly a year. If he wanted me dead, he'd have done it before we started planning out daily activities with his parents," Ron says even though he doesn't believe it, but the thought helps him make up his mind. He tries to remember where he'd stuffed his luggage when he'd first moved into this apartment as Hermione opens her mouth to keep arguing.
"Plus, Draco loves to sleep, the vampire," Harry yawns, effectively interrupting another rant, "You really think he'd give up his precious beauty sleep for a Weasley just to kill him in the end?" He laughs and, although Ron doesn't quite like what he's suggesting, he laughs along. Only for the laughs to turn into screams when the fireplace ignites with green flames and Draco Malfoy comes strolling out, adjusting his cuffs and dusting off his coat.
“Darling, I know it’s late, but,—“ His voice dies in his throat as he looks up from adjusting his clothes, staring at the horrifying display of Hermione Granger and Harry Potter in Ron’s apartment, “I didn’t know you had guests.” His voice is full of a malice that, if you didn’t know him, you’d think he was plotting your death at that very moment. But, Ron knows better and Draco simply doesn’t tolerate anyone apart from Ron.
He prides himself on that fact.
“Potter,” Draco nods, his eyes flickering to Hermione next, “Granger.” He gives it his best at trying to be polite, even throwing a small smile in, and Ron gives him points. When Draco’s eyes meet Ron’s, he sees them soften, “I’ll be in your bedroom packing your case.” And then he’s gone, ducking out of the living room and disappearing into Ron’s bedroom.
“Thanks, beetle,” Ron calls after him, unable to stop himself.
“He needs to pack your case for you?” Hermione asks in her best whisper, which really isn’t a whisper at all. Ron’s standing, opening his arms to herd his best mates out of his flat.
“Yeah, well, I’d just pack tanks and sweats, wouldn’t I?” Ron shrugs, continuing to shove and open the front door for them, “Can’t wear a Quidditch jumper to dinner with the Malfoy’s. Listen, I’ll send a letter.”
“‘Beetle’?” Hermione giggles.
“‘Darling’?” Harry scoffs just as Ron shuts the door in both their faces.
Hermione doesn’t let up. No matter how many times they’re out for drinks or having dinner, she’d interrupt Harry’s sentences and ask Ron what hexes he's preparing to take to Malfoy Manor or questions about Draco that he'd dare not answer. He's thankful for Harry, truly, one glare from Ron and an empathetic look from Harry and Hermione calms easily.
"Has ‘Beetle’ finished packing for you?" Hermione asks the night before Ron leaves.
"You don’t call him that, only I call him that. And what’s it to you? Planning to double-check his work?" Ron rolls his eyes, "I've got several pairs of underwear in my bag if you'd like to count them? Merlin, it’s really like we’re at school again." Harry laughs, unsuccessfully turning it into a faux yawn.
"And that book I gave you to borrow?" She asks.
"I'm not bringing 'Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed' on my first holiday with my boyfriend and his parents," Ron argues, watching as Hermione's face turns from annoyance to surprise.
"That’s the first time you've called him your proper boyfriend and nothing idiotic, like, ‘Beetle’," She says, smiling now, looking extra sweet even as she digs at the nickname. Ron had preferred the annoyed Hermione if it meant she’d stop smiling at him the way she is now, this Hermione makes him uneasy.
"Quiet you," Is Ron's only response before he's stomping off to his bedroom without a care in the word if they stay or go. Though, he doesn't sleep, not immediately at least. He can't help but think about the fact that in twenty-four hours he'll be in Malfoy Manor, with Draco Malfoy, and maybe even in his bed.
Just that one thought thrusts him back into his teenage years, with one hand down the front of his trousers and his mind on Draco Malfoy.
Draco's hand is tight in Ron's, he hasn't let go since they boarded the train and Ron is starting to sweat too, "Beetle," He whispers in their cabin being shared by two muggles that look scared out of their wits. Ron has some idea as to why that is as he glances over at Draco, who’s still muttering under his breath and staring out the window. Or, maybe it’s to do with the image of two men holding hands.
They could’ve traveled but floo powder but Draco hadn’t wanted to get there that quickly.
Ron smiles apologetically at the muggles before slipping his hand from Draco's tightening grip and wrapping his arm around his shoulders instead, "I’ve changed my mind about all this," Ron tries, successfully catching Draco’s attention and ceasing the muttering. The poor thing looks terrified, "There you are, want anything from the trolly?" He asks, giving Draco's shoulders a squeeze.
Draco shakes his head, Ron gets him a chocolate bar anyway.
The top of Malfoy Manor disappears into the fog of the early night, Ron can't help but stare up at it like it’s something to truly fear. Draco takes it upon himself to drag Ron down the walkway while his wand hovers their luggage just in front of them, reaching the stairs to the front door first.
It doesn't help that Narcissa and Lucius are waiting for them at the base of those same stairs. Lucius has his hands clasped in front of him, a look of pure intimidation plastered on his chiseled features. And, it's working, Ron practically whimpers at the sight. Draco has to pull him harder. Narcissa has a slight smile on her face and, Ron really has to give it to her, it looks genuine. Her hands clasped around Lucius’ arm until she's walking to meet them.
"Draco," She sighs when she reaches them, taking Draco's face into her hands and kissing him sweetly on the forehead. For a moment, Ron thinks she'll thoroughly ignore him, finding that he wouldn't exactly mind until she turns to him with that same smile, “and Harry Potter’s friend.”
“No, Mother. Let’s not start this. His name isn’t ‘Harry Potter’s friend’, it’s Ronald Weasley, and you will refer to him as such,” Draco forces out, taking Ron by surprise as he adds, “Please,” When the air suddenly becomes tense, Ron sees the slight twitch of Narcissa’s lip.
She clears her throat, seemingly mustering up the courage to say a name, "Ronald Weasley, welcome to our home," She nods at him, turning to go inside and taking Lucius with her.
"Is it too late to actually change my mind about all this?" Ron whispers.
"Yes," Draco replies, sliding his hand back into Ron's, mimicking his mother by dragging Ron with him.
“She hates me,” Ron concludes.
“She doesn’t. That’s actually quite a good reaction to her son bringing home a Weasley,” Draco reassures.
The inside of the Manor is just as dark as the fog encasing the outside, though it’s grander. Walls of green, black, and crème make the mansion. They tower over Ron and make him feel tiny, he nearly cowers away to find a tiny hole to hide in. But, Draco’s dragging him along still, unyielding, following closely behind his parents as they give a silent tour of the infamous home.
Ron can’t help but wonder why two people would need so much space. While he’s trapped in his head, Narcissa turns on them suddenly, it takes everything in Ron not to scream and cower behind Draco, “Hungry?” She asks, somehow making one word sound truly ominous.
Ron silently squeezes Draco’s hand, hoping the man gets the hint he’s trying desperately to scream into his head. He hadn’t prepared to have a sit down with the Malfoy’s on the first night of their stay. Ron had hoped on disappearing into whatever room he’d been put up in and then sneaking to Draco’s just a few minutes later. He’d planned on mentally preparing himself the whole night to having breakfast with the Malfoy’s the following morning.
That plan seemingly goes straight out the window when Draco says, “Starving.”
Ron mentally notes that they need to work on their silent communication skills.
Ron comes to the conclusion that the sounds of forks hitting plates in a nearly silent room does wonders for the mind. He almost believes the Malfoy’s are communicating in some kind of morse code, figuring out how they’re going to kill Ron and getting their stories straight. He tries his best to decipher the taps and drags, only to realize that he’s going mad.
“Ronald?” Narcissa’s voice drowned in faux kindness creeps into Ron’s ears, “Is there something wrong with your food?” She asks, knowing damn well there’s not a single thing wrong with these brussels sprouts. They’re possibly the tastiest thing Ron’s ever tasted, seasoned to perfection, and he has half a mind to tell her so.
He settles on shaking his head, “No, ma’am.” When he looks to Draco, he finds the man already looking at him with unease. Ron gives him a genuine smile, instinctively reaching a hand out and sliding it onto the back of Draco’s chair, tracing comforting shapes on the back of his shoulder. And, for a moment, everything is okay. Everything is going perfectly fine because it’s only Ron and Draco in the world.
Until Lucius Malfoy is clearing his throat and ruining the moment.
In Ron’s haste to yank his hand back, he knocks Draco’s wine glass over with his fist, spreading the red liquid across both the wooden dining table and his shirt. Through the sudden haste of Draco wiping the red stain, worsening it, and Ron arguing with him not to wipe but to dab at it, Narcissa clears her throat this time, “I think it’s time for bed.”
The words send the table into silence, the sound of her chair scraping across the floor echoing in Ron’s ears. When she walks away, Draco stands to follow her, beckoning his father a soft goodnight before dragging Ron after him, again.
Malfoy Manor’s halls call to Ron as he follows Draco. Portraits of Malfoy’s long gone staring at Ron and his bright hair and colorful sweater his mother had knitted for him, knowing immediately that he doesn’t belong in the home. Ron knows this too, he doesn’t have to be told this twice. He nearly drowns in the feeling before running right into Draco’s back.
He’s only thankful Draco’s mother hadn’t turned around yet because Draco makes up for the sudden hit by bringing Ron up to his side, sliding his hand up Ron’s back in soothing circles. When Draco’s mother turns, they look like the happy couple they are and not the terrified red head and annoyed blonde the Manor has brought out of them.
"I've set you up in Draco's old bedroom," Ron's heart skips a beat at her words, he’s sent back to his schoolboy days, getting giddy over a crush, "And I trust you'll behave. There'll be breakfast waiting for you both in the morning," She nods at him, Ron has the feeling she’s waiting for something, possibly for Ron to drop dead.
He goes to open his mouth, but Draco beats him to it, “Goodnight, Mother.”
She cups Draco’s cheek, smiling bright, it’s an oddly warm sight for Ron to witness, “Goodnight, my frostbite.”
Draco pinches Ron’s side, forcing him to swallow a yelp and giving him no time to react to the nickname, “Goodnight, Mrs. Malfoy,” Ron squeaks out. She nods at him, again, her version of goodnight to Ron, before she’s leaving them. Ron wishes he’d actually dropped dead instead.
“Merlin, she wants my head on a spike,” Ron is sighing as Draco drags him into the room.
“She’s actually quite expressive with you. That’s a good thing,” Draco shrugs off his jacket, leaving Ron leaning against the door, “I’m going to wash the smell and feel of wine off me. Fix up the bed, will you?” He asks, though, just like his mother, he gives Ron no time to reply before he’s disappearing into the bathroom.
In all fairness, Ron’s quickly sent into a spiral thinking about a door being the only thing separating him from a naked and wet Draco Malfoy that he moves on autopilot to prepare the bed before they’re both ready to sleep.
When the time does come, Ron can’t bring himself to actually get into Draco’s bed. He stands on the edge, on the side Draco had deemed Ron’s side during their many nights sharing a bed back at either of their places, and just stares. His brain doesn’t seem to ask him what to do next before he’s taking the pillow from his side and is tossing it to the floor. The blanket his mother knitted for him goes next, shaping it into the makeshift bed he’s made on the floor.
He’s stood there staring at it when the door to the bathroom opens, steam flooding the cold room, and Draco asks, “What are you doing?” Ron wishes he hadn’t looked because when he does, and he’s met with a wet-haired and shirtless Draco in low-hanging pajama bottoms and an emerald green cotton robe draped over his frame, his mouth goes dry. He genuinely has to ask himself why on Merlin’s green Earth he’d ever think about sleeping on the floor when he can be sleeping next to that.
“I just thought—” Ron starts, thankful when Draco interrupts him.
“That you’d be a gentleman and take the floor instead of sleeping on the king-size bed with your boyfriend of nearly a year?” Draco asks, looking at Ron with both narrowed and annoyed eyes. He crosses the floor, his robe billowing behind him as he stops on the opposite side of the bed, “We’ve shared a bed several times. What’s the problem?”
The problem is: This bed is in Draco’s bedroom at Malfoy Manor. It’s different.
Draco shrugs the robe off, waiting for Ron’s answer. Only, Ron’s too busy looking at Draco’s pale, naked shoulders to really think of anything even remotely coherent to say, “Get in the bed, Weasley, I need a cuddle,” Draco sighs, pulling the sheets back.
“Yes, Sir,” Ron’s voice cracks as he bends down to scoop his blanket and pillow up off the floor. This isn’t a new thing, Ron’s done this before, and yet, he’s scared out of his mind. He slides under the sheets, trying not to jump when Draco’s, warm from the shower, hands maneuver his arm so he can tuck into Ron’s side and throughly cuddle him.
It turns out that the Draco snores when in the comfort of his childhood bedroom. So, Ron adds that to the list of stuff he can hold over Draco’s head to get what he wants.
Ron wakes to the smell of bacon, eggs, pancakes, and hot chocolate. His stomach reacts immediately, letting out a rumble so loud he swears he sees Draco’s arm vibrating where it’s draped over his stomach. Still, he can’t bring himself to wake the sleeping form plastered to his side. It’s the most peaceful Ron’s ever seen him.
There’s still a slight crease between his brows, like whatever he’s dreaming about worries him. His lips mouthing words Ron can’t quite make out, he was never good at lip-reading. He presses his thumb to the crease between Draco’s brow, smoothing it out as best he can to smother some of that worry away.
“Hey,” Ron whispers, a loud noise in the quiet bedroom that makes the blonde stir, “Beetle, it smells like your Mum made breakfast.”
“Mum doesn’t cook,” Draco says, voice soaked with sleep as he shifts to press his nose into the crook of Ron’s neck, “Father does, it’s his new hobby ever since Mum had forbidden him from getting a new house elf. He has the apron to prove it.” Ron sputters out a laugh at that, imagining Lucius Malfoy with a pink apron over his dark clothes as he bakes goodies.
“Come on then, I’m starving and I’m not going down there by myself,” Ron says, attempting to pull his arm from underneath Draco’s body to try to get the blood flowing to the limb again.
“You’re scared of my parents,” Draco says behind a yawn, stating it as a fact instead of as a question.
“Indeed I am,” Ron says, sitting up and making Draco flop uncomfortably onto the bed, “But, I’d also get lost on the way and never make it to the table, this house is a maze,” He stretches, arms over his head, before standing from the bed and darting to the bathroom before Draco can pull him back.
The morning sun brings an uneasy glow of warmth to Malfoy Manor. It’s off-putting, Ron thinks as he descends the stairs behind Draco. The only hiccup of the morning was Ron nearly losing his footing and falling down the stairs. But, he catches himself, just as Draco’s mother comes into view. She looks at Draco as if he’s the shiniest jewel in the world (he is) before looking at Ron as if he’d covered that jewel in scratches and muck (he hasn’t).
Ron is a polisher, he polishes Draco any chance he gets. And by polishing, he really means getting handsy with the chivalrous Malfoy.
He has to shake his head of such thoughts when Narcissa is clearing her throat and Draco is dragging him forward to a breakfast that goes surprisingly alright. As a matter of fact, most of the day goes rather smoothly. At one point, Ron and Draco had practiced spells on the enormous front lawn. All while Narcissa and Lucius watched from afar, sipping on drinks that looked far too strong for the middle of the day.
“My turn,” Narcissa called, standing from her chair on wobbly legs that only last for a millisecond as she pulled her wand from her jacket. Her stride is strong, as if she hadn’t been two heavy drinks into the day.
Ron was ready to put his wand away, to watch Draco and his mother duke it out. Only, when Ron had looked up, Narcissa was striding over to where Draco stood, taking his place but not before whispering something in his ear that gave him a right giggle. Then, Draco was making his way over to him, giving him an apologetic look as he squeezed Ron’s shoulders.
“She promised she’d go easy on you,” He said, planting a kiss to Ron’s cheek before taking Naricissa’s seat and her drink.
Ron doesn’t believe him for a second, not with the way Draco shares a warning glance with his mother that she seems to disregard. Nonetheless, despite his previous judgements, he decides on a simple, “Expelliarmus.”
And, really, he should’ve known better. And, judging by the smirk on Narcissa’s face, he’s in for a world of embarrassment. She easily deflects Ron’s spell with a graceful, “Protego,” and wastes no time in casting a powerful, “Tarantallegra,” sending Ron’s legs into a dancing fit.
Lucius’ egregious bark of laughter is the next thing Ron hears as Draco casts “Finite Incantatem” to cease his dancing feet. One look at the blonde tells Ron that he’s trying his best to hold in his laughter, the sight makes his own face split into a grin as he dusts his pants off.
“You can laugh,” He says, taking in the delightful sound of Draco’s laugh. Ron revels in the sight before him. Lucius laughing at him, not with him. Draco laughing with him, not at him. And Narcissa Malfoy hiding a slight giggle behind her gloved hand. It’s all so much for Ron, the fact that he’d made the Malfoy’s laugh.
True, he sacrificed his dignity, but the outcome seemed to be worth it in the end. Though, that all came crashing down around dinner time.
It starts with a sly comment from Lucius Malfoy.
“I must admit, I have my reservations about your choice of company, Draco. He’s not exactly someone I would have expected you to associate with.” Lucius says, as if the words themselves leave him indisposed.
“And who would you expect me to associate with?” Draco asks, the question loaded. Though, the answer is clear, “I haven’t brought him here to impress you, Father. I brought him here because our relationship has gotten rather serious. It’s simply a courtesy to bring him to properly meet my parents.”
“He couldn’t have impressed me if he’d tried,” Ron can feel the glare of Lucius’ eyes on him. Though, Ron’s too busy enjoying the food before him and studying Draco’s serious side profile to really care. He’s seen Lucius Malfoy laugh, he’s unafraid of the man now, “What could a Weasley possibly offer that could impress me? They’re just a bunch of red-headed fools.”
“You can’t use the excuse of my pureblood, considering I was born to two of the most loving wizards, so you decide to take a dig at my hair, Mr. Malfoy?” Ron scoffs, “I figured you’d come up with something better.” The silence that settles over the table is nothing short of deadly. And, yet, Ron brings a skewererd piece of meat to his mouth without a care in the world.
He breaks down his newly established cockiness to two significant facts. One, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy love their son. Even though they each have their uniquely odd way of showing it, they do. Ron can tell by the warmth that spreads across their chiseled faces when Draco isn’t looking. And, two, Draco loves Ron. A fact of which Ron has recently come to accept as the truth.
These two facts clash in a way that Ron knows means: the Malfoy’s can’t hurt Ron without running the high risk of losing Draco in the process. Thus, Ron’s cockiness in Malfoy Manor has swelled to an obnoxious height and he will use this newfound cockiness however he sees fit. And Lucius Malfoy has just so happened to force himself onto Ron’s made-up radar.
Lucius opens his mouth just as Ron decides he’s not quite finished yet, “What’re you going to criticize next? My choice of socks?” Draco tries his best to stifle a laugh from beside him. He slides a hand onto Ron’s thigh, giving him a glance of appreciation with a hint of caution.
“You’re disgraceful.” It’s all Lucius Malfoy can seem to come up with, sounding like he’s whining, it’s enough for Ron to scoff.
“Your son doesn’t seem to think so,” Ron says, getting a final warning squeeze from Draco’s hand on his thigh.
Lucius stands from his seat, the chair tipping over behind him, he nearly looks like he’ll reach for his wand. And Ron, always one to stand down from a fight, stands up. He nearly puffs out his chest, the idiot, but thankfully he withstands the urge to do so. The look on Lucius’ face is all the pride he needs presently, “I’m thrilled you’ll be leaving soon, Ronald Weasley.” He grits out, teeth on the verge of cracking.
“Ronald—“ Draco starts, hooking a hand around Ron’s arm to guide him away. The man doesn’t go, he pulls himself from Draco’s grip gently before sending an apologetic glance over his shoulder.
“Maybe this little visit would’ve gone by without a hitch if you’d respected me as I tried to respect you, Mr. Malfoy,” Ron sighs, unable to contain his resentment for the man. Draco’s presence next to him is enough to guide him on.
“You dare speak to me like that in my own home?” Lucius scoffs, looking to Narcissa, who just raises her brows at him. She’s watching Ron experimentally, not on his side but also not siding with Lucius. It’s almost as if she’s waiting to see how Ron will win this. And, in front of Draco like this, he has to win this.
“Yes, Sir. I do,” Ron shrugs, unbothered, trying his best not to look for Narcissa’s reaction, “I can stand by while you talk to me like this. But, you’d expect me to sit around and let you criticize Draco for choosing me? He may be your son, but he’s also my partner.” He silently thanks his brain for saying partner instead of boyfriend, he’d have felt childish.
“I want you out of my house right this instant,” Lucius growls.
Ron opens his mouth, though he hasn’t the faintest idea what he was going to say. Thankfully, and shockingly, Narcissa beats him to it before he can embarrass himself with a sputtering of random words, “He stays.” She’s looking at Ron as if he’s some exquisite creature her son has caught and brought home.
Two simple words. Two simple words that have Ron’s head spinning and Lucius turning to give, what Ron can only assume is, a look a pure confusion. Draco’s hand settles at the base of Ron’s back, palm flat, just there for comfort before he’s balling it into a fist. He pulls Ron, stepping in front of him for only a moment.
“Thank you, Mother,” Draco says, still looking at Narcissa as he shoves Ron towards the stairs, “We’ll retire to our room and see you in the morning.” Ron can’t help but narrow his eyes at Lucius as he’s being dragged away.
When Draco drags him upstairs, Ron mentally prepares himself for yet another fight with a Malfoy the whole way there. What he actually gets is two warm hands cupping his cheeks and soft presses of the lips turn into gasping, open-mouthed kisses before Ron really has time to blink. He finds security in the way he wraps his arms tight around Draco, pressing them flush together, relishing in the kiss before he pulls away.
“What brought this on, then?” Ron asks, breathless.
“Speaking to my Father like that, Ronald Weasley, you’re mental,” Draco kisses him some more.
“Is mental doing it for you?” Ron asks, lips pressed into a smile as Draco pulls him to the bed. He collapses atop the blonde, careful not to crush him as he trails kisses down his neck. He bites, the content sigh Draco lets out just for Ron has him biting some more.
“You’re doing it for me,” Draco corrects.
“Are we—“ Ron starts.
“Going to have sex in my parent’s house like some teenagers with a death wish? Yes, Ronald, we are.”
And they had, Draco had panted Ron’s name into his childhood pillows, and Ron had ruined the duvet. In a sad attempt to cover Draco’s loud whines, he’d bitten Ron’s palm, marking the man. And, shockingly, Ron had discovered something new about himself. Like, the fact that he enjoys Draco marking him in places quite difficult to hide, even with a spell. Unless he intends to wear mittens to dinner.
“An owl came for you,” Narcissa says, nearly shocking Ron as she speaks to him and then continues, “A small thing, he almost missed the window,” It takes Ron an embarrassing amount of time to realize that it was her take on small talk and even a joke. The only confirmation of that is when he looks at her and finds a small smile on her face.
“His name is Pigwidgeon,” Ron says, sitting at the table, “I call him Pig.” Then he nearly hits himself at the unneeded information he’d given Draco’s mother.
“Pig?” Narcissa asks, a delightful laugh accompanying the word. She reminds Ron so much of Draco it’s nearly frightening, “Embarrassing, isn’t it? The names we give the ones we love. I can only assume the lovely names you have for my son. Probably not as lovely as Pig, I assume.” She smiles at him again, a look Ron will likely never get used to as he watches her.
He almost misses what she’d previously said, hidden behind the joke. The ones we love. Yes, absolutely, Ron loves Draco, but he hadn’t expected Narcissa to accept that after just one weekend visit. Let alone, speak those words into the large space between them.
“Beetle,” Ron’s voice struggles with the single word, as if he’d just let Narcissa in on a secret. Which, he hadn’t, he can’t count the texts and letters he’s gotten from Harry or Hermione about the nickname he’s given Draco, “Or Malfoy when I’m angry with him.” He shrugs, suddenly finding heavy interest in his thumbs.
“Are you angry with him often?” Narcissa asks. She doesn’t seem to mean anything harsh by it, she also doesn’t seem to have her wand on her to turn Ron into a toad, no matter the answer. So, he answers honestly, even if the answer isn’t bad.
“Never,” Ron says.
“Good morning, family,” Draco says through a yawn as he cambers down the stairs as loud as possible. Family, Ron tries not to linger heavily on that tidbit of news, “I’m hoping for delicious handmade pancakes, unless Father is still in a mood. Then I’ll settle for a good spell.” He plops into the seat beside Ron’s, turning to him with a brilliant smile on his face. As if his father arguing with him over whom he brings home is a normal occurrence.
Ron decides not to think about that too much, he’ll stay with the delusion that he’s the only one Draco’s brought home, thank you very much. Luckily, he doesn’t have to think of it much longer before Lucius is striding down the stairs, much to Ron’s surprise. He heads straight into the kitchen, taking on Draco’s façade about the night before and forgetting it all.
Plate after plate float from the kitchen door moments later, giving Ron enough reassurance that Lucius hadn’t poisoned the food because then he’d have to poison his whole family. And, Ron knows the man loves his wife and child too much to get rid of one pesky Weasley. So, he dives in, attacking the chocolate chip pancake’s first.
As much as he despises Mr. Malfoy, the man makes phenomenal pancakes.
He’s halfway through a chocolate chip pancake when he remembers the letter that came to him. Only when he sees the name scribbled on the front does he almost wish he had truly forgotten. There’s no haste in opening the letter, he’s only lucky it’s not a howler as Narcissa and Draco are in a steady rhythm of conversation and Ron would hate to ruin it.
Ronald,
I found your lack of explanation as to why you haven’t found the time to visit quite secretive, considering I’m your mother. So, I reached out to Hermione who told me a lovely story involving you and the Malfoy boy.
Ron squeezes his eyes shut as if the words on the page will just disappear and they really could. But, when he peeks an eye open, he finds them to still be there. He reads on.
I find it saddening that you believed you couldn't trust your mother with the news. You could’ve saved me many conversations about settling down, Ronald, considering only spent most of your school years pining after him, and most of your holidays away from school doing the same. Of course, your father and I are ecstatic over the outcome. Hope to hear from you soon!
Love, your mother (don’t forget that tidbit next time you have a fit like this).
P.S. Do bring him to the burrow for Christmas.
Ron's heart swells.
"All good?" Draco asks from beside him, spooning eggs onto Ron’s plate.
"Yeah," Ron breathes, stealing a piece of bacon from Draco’s plate, "What size sweater do you wear?"