Really, the regulations regarding broom length were completely moronic, but Ron had to wonder: if he'd remembered who made the official decisions on such things, would he have bothered to pursue it? Probably, since otherwise he would have had to put up with Hermione's disappointed looks. And Lee would have only made it worse--it was one thing for Hermione to be dating a guy who had at one point been the twins's best friend; it was wholly another for said former best friend to start taking on Hermione's mannerisms.
When Ron acceded gracefully to the first stirrings of her civic-minded indignation with an, "I'll just lodge a complaint," Harry had nodded the nod of the vastly relieved. It was an expression the two of them had developed all on their own.
"Just" lodging a complaint, as it turned out, involved a lot of paperwork. The problem with playing for a Quidditch team that wasn't in the Isles--Hungary had offered Ron the best deal and he'd accepted--was that everything Ron needed or wanted to do in regards to regulations had to go through the International Committee for Magic-Based Recreational Pasttimes. The Committee, unsurprisingly, had several subcommittees, one of which dealt with Quidditch issues that were further reaching than any single country or region.
It had somehow skipped his mind that the head of the Subcommittee for International Quidditch Standards was Viktor Krum. Then again, Ron hadn't really thought that turning in a couple of papers about the restriction on Sebessèg brooms for their extra two centimeters of length was going to end with him in a meeting with any sort of head of anything.
When he got the summons he thought two things: the first involved his hatred of Apparating to Copenhagen, which had more strictures on the activity given the density of diplomats and magical state officials it hosted; the second was a vague panic that he really couldn't remember where he'd put his dress robes.
Luckily Harry was a regular wiz at location charms and very discreet about those sorts of matters. Which still left the Apparition problem a regular mess, but Ron had endured worse trials in his life, so he showed up relatively on time to the office the summons had stated as the place of meeting. He knocked on the door, stuck his head slightly inside and began to ask, "Is this the--"
"Hello," Krum said.
"Oh, that's right, you ah-- Congratulations on the appointment."
Krum's smile was a mild thing--polite, but not too much so. "Come in, Mr. Weasley."
His accent had changed from the unwieldy barrier it had once been to something Ron barely even noticed. His teammate's words--when they spoke English--were much more of a challenge to decipher. He came in and took a seat and said, "You look good."
"Better than when you last saw me?" Krum asked, tone even.
Ron did his best not to flinch at the memory. Hermione had contacted Krum to help the three of them when it had become clear that at least one of the missing horcruxes could very well be residing at Durmstrang. Krum had long since left school, but he'd still maintained contacts and he'd gotten them in. He'd gone in with them, despite Hermione's protests that he'd done more than enough.
They'd all nearly died. Hermione's vocal chords had been wholly burnt out in the process of the spell. She'd had to learn sign language, which was how her and Lee had begun, Lee having grown up with a deaf sibling.
Krum, standing to the side, had unknowingly been in the path of the soul's planned escape route. Harry had destroyed the soul before it managed to burrow wholly into Krum and take over, but the soul had already entered through the palm of Viktor's right hand, squirreling its way up into his shoulder, headed for his magical core at the stem of his brain. Krum had lost the use of his right arm. His wand arm. One of his most pertinent Seeker's tools.
The last time Ron had seen Krum, he'd been holding him still until they could get him to an Order member, someone who would be able to heal what could be healed.
"Better than when you were competing in the tournament," Ron countered. He still wasn't quite the smooth mover Witch Weekly made him out to be, but he had learned how to talk in uncomfortable situations without using "erm," as a play for time. Ron's mum took it as a sign of maturity, as she'd told him, much to his own embarrassment.
Later, in response to the assertion, Harry had said, "I think we've just forgotten how to be afraid."
Ron had closed a hand over Harry's shoulder comfortingly. "Don't worry, mate, that'll come back to us."
Krum acknowledged Ron's words with a tilt of his head. "Sebessègs, yes?"
"They're good brooms," Ron said.
"Fantastic," Krum said. "I grew up playing on one."
"You can't seriously believe that the extra length makes any difference?"
"Not unless one is a horrendously bad flier."
"Most of our opponents aren't," Ron said, a bit mournfully.
Krum smiled. "It's not me that's the problem, it's this office. I did a bit of research. The regulation was written and instated in 1723. I think the wizard who put it through was taking money on the side from specific broom companies, but that's just an instinct. I can put forth a motion to have the regulation stricken, and I don't think anybody except one or two broom company lobbyists is going to complain much over the idea, but it's still not going to be taken out in time for the upcoming season."
"Hermione told me not to expect miracles."
"How is she? Her last letter mentioned going back to school."
"Muggle school. She's getting a degree in something they call Disability Studies. She wants to make things easier for disabled wizards. She's, well, Hermione."
Krum nodded.
"Look, not to be rude, but you needed me to come all the way here just to say that you were going to put this to a vote and we'd probably see results some time next year?"
"I didn't need you to come here at all."
"Then--"
"I wanted to see you."
Ron's stomach slid sideways a bit. "Don't take this the wrong way, but my friends and I got you caught up in something that cost you your career. I wouldn't want to see me, and I am me."
"My career in exchange for the safety of nearly half of my teammates, my rivals, people I had come to trust and admire. My career for the freedom to practice magic as I so desire, to watch others do so. It was never about you and your friends, Mr. Weasley."
"Ron," Ron said, as he couldn't think of anything else to say.
Krum took him up on the offer. "Ron."
Ron had actually known a lot of heroes in his life. He had known Dumbledore and Tonks and his parents and Hermione and Harry. Hate as he did to admit it, he had known Snape. He still found Krum heroic. "You have time for a beer? My treat."
"I have time for a whole dinner."
"I could probably float that, too. Somewhere around here good to eat?"
"What's your opinion on smørrebrød?"
"Haven't yet met one I didn't like."
"I think I can find us something," Krum deadpanned and Ron made the decision that he was decidedly Not Charmed.
At the end of the evening Ron asked, "You wanna, ah, meet for coffee? To discuss, you know, the progress of the petition?"
Viktor said, "Right. You should be kept. . .apprised."
"Next Thursday good for you?"
"I have a meetings until seven."
"So, after seven?"
"If it was eight, I could come to Hungary."
Ron, who always knew that he was a bit less-than-fluent in the language of flirting wondered if this was Viktor's way of saying he didn't mind going out of his way for Ron. "Or I could come here."
"I haven't had vaníliás kifli in a while."
"Those are those croissant things, yeah?"
Viktor said, "There's a bakery that's open late most nights, not far from your practice pitch."
"Ìnyenc?"
"You've been letting Ferencz show you around."
"More like she said, 'Weasley, there are some things you need to know,' and I was foolish enough to believe she meant how to say, 'Where's the loo?'"
Viktor smiled knowingly. "She has good taste."
Ron tried not to question if Viktor meant that on another level than Ferencz's fierce, nearly violent foodie tendencies. "I like that cherry soup stuff."
"Eight, then?"
" Ìnyenc."
Viktor leaned in, and capitalized upon the fact that Ron had his mouth slightly open to press his lips tight to Ron's lower lip, sucking at it for a moment before he pulled back and Apparated. Ron said, to nobody in particular, "Right. Flirting."
Then he Apparated to Hermione's flat. Lee was over--Ron wasn’t entirely sure why Hermione hadn't started insisting on him sharing the rent, except that Hermione had odd notions about her independence. Privately he could admit that, not being her boyfriend, he liked those notions, the peculiarity that defined her.
Ron said, "Hey, mate."
Lee took one look at Ron's face and instead of taking the mickey--as he would have done before the war, before the loss of both his best friends--he said, "I was just going to run out for some milk."
Ron would stand by his belief that it was for the best that Fred and George had been killed within moments of each other, even for those who had to survive both of them. One living without the other would have been unbearable. It didn't make him miss them any less. It didn't make Lee's quiet, pervasive awareness of his loss unreasonable or invalid.
Hermione's hands fluttered in a silent, "Hello." She looked like she was trying not to ask why he was here.
He had questions, but now that he was looking at her, tiny and fierce and one of the people he loved most in this world, it wasn't so easy to ask the things he needed to know. "Um. I just stopped in-- Viktor says hello."
She frowned a bit and took his arm, dragging him over to the couch. "Ron," she signed--a special combination of hand movements she'd created that always looked to him like a particularly frightening bird taking flight, but she seemed to feel it was apt, and really, she was the one who had to use it to communicate.
"No, I just, well, we were talking about you and I thought about it and we haven't seen each other in--"
"Less than a week," her hands cut him off.
Ron looked away from her. She caught his chin and forced him to look back. Then she withdrew her hand and said, "Can't call your name to make you pay attention to me anymore."
Ron flushed slightly. "I did see Viktor."
"The brooms."
Ron nodded.
"You two talked?"
Another nod.
"And then you came here."
The thing was, Ron knew if he let her, she'd ask him questions that would allow him to nod some more and then she'd talk him through his issue and he wouldn't have to do any of the work. She deserved better. "Do you blame us? For, well. You know."
"My voice," she signed, no interrogative in the motions.
Ron touched his fingers to her throat.
She mouthed. "No." She mouthed. "Never."
"But you can't--"
"Never," she moved her lips more slowly.
"I understood the first time."
"No," and she was back to using her hands, "you figured out the word the first time, you didn't understand."
Ron opened his mouth. Shut it. Finally he said, "Still, you have a tendency to forgive us easily."
"Viktor and I made our own decisions."
Ron noticed that the sign for Viktor was a lot more graceful looking than his visual signifier. "At least you were ours. Really ours, you know?"
She arched an eyebrow. "Yours?" Her fingers made the word very pointed.
"Ours," he said, unwilling to back down.
"Just because his reasons were different doesn't lessen them."
"I think I would blame me."
Hermione nodded. Her fingers told him, "You're almost always wrong about things."
There was, unsurprisingly, no progress to report. The hot chocolate was a pleasingly bitter contrast to the vaníliás kifli, though, and the company was better than the food. Ron wasn't disappointed.
As they were walking out, Ron said, "My flat's not far and I've, er, apricot brandy."
Viktor smiled. "Ferencz?"
"Flat-warming gift. You seem to know her well."
"Third cousin. We grew up together."
"Should have known." Ron smiled. "Purebloods."
"Absolutely disgusting creatures," Viktor agreed easily.
Once they were in his flat Ron made coffee and served it with the brandy. The beverages went down warm and smooth, side by side. Ron said, "You could stay, if you were interested."
Viktor said, "We'll see," and leaned in to kiss Ron for a second time.
Ron brought his hands up, curling them around the back of Viktor's neck. Viktor's good arm came up to curve under Ron's shoulder blades. It was steady, and surprisingly balanced, given the no-longer-symmetric nature of Viktor's functional body parts. Ron found himself not missing the other arm.
He pulled back enough to ask, "Can you feel-- At all?"
"Sometimes," Viktor said, and took Ron's mouth again, spacing his words between kisses. "With enough sensation."
Ron let one of his hands slip down to the pocket where he kept his wand and spelled his hand to heat up. Then he wound his fingers into Viktor's unresponsive ones and squeezed. Hard.
Viktor bit Ron's lips. Ron muttered, "Too much?"
"No, just--"
Ron pressed his forehead to Viktor's. "Just?"
"Usually, I don't like people--"
"To touch?"
"To notice."
Ron said, "I was there, mate. And all it means, all I notice, is that you stood by me and Harry and Hermione."
Viktor kissed him again, then. Ron let his other hand drop to the buttons on Viktor's trousers. It took a little bit of coordination to get them undone with only one hand, but he wasn't letting go with his other.
He got his hand around Viktor's cock and Viktor bucked up into the grip, said, "да!"
Ron couldn't reach his wand to do a translation spell, but the context was pretty clear, so he kept doing what he was doing. Viktor's hand stole in turn to the clasp on Ron's pants and when he'd manage to undo the fastenings he began to fold to his knees, carefully pulling his cock--but not his hand--from Ron's grasp.
Even as he was going to his knees, Ron said, "No, not like--" and slid to the ground with him.
Viktor began to ask, "What--" but Ron pulled cautiously on his injured arm until he was lying on his side. Not for the first time, Ron was deeply glad to have a cleaning company who came in and kept his flat sparkling. There hadn't been many occasions for him and a lover to sprawl on his kitchen floor--or, really, none--but now that he was doing it, it was nice not to be lying in his own filth.
It took a bit of maneuvering, but Ron managed to get himself lying so that they would have been facing each other--had their faces been on a level--without letting go of Viktor. He could have let go, it wouldn't have been a big deal to simply reinstate his hold, but now that Viktor had spoken about it, there was something larger at stake.
Ron allowed himself one long lick down the length of Viktor's cock, pausing, pressing a bit when Viktor skipped such preliminaries, simply taking him in one long, smooth swallow. Ron took a breath, a conscious, thought-driven breath and made his way up to the tip of Viktor's cock, where he made a lazy circle before sucking the tip into his mouth.
Viktor took Ron's cock into the back of his throat and swallowed and then Ron was beyond being able to show off. He took as much of Viktor as he could and just enjoyed the feel of Viktor on his tongue, pressing up to the roof of his mouth, sliding--thick and hot and smooth--against his throat.
Rod held on as long as he could--in his mind, his control over his own pleasure was gripped as tightly, tighter, even, than Viktor's fingers. When he let go, he squeezed said fingers, his body arching into Viktor, his tongue pressing ever more steadily against Viktor's cock.
Viktor spilled over into Ron's mouth, his good hand scrabbling at the skin beneath Ron's jumper.
When Viktor was done, when the feel of his own cock in Viktor's mouth was just a bit too much, Ron rolled onto his back. Viktor executed a move that allowed his head to be up near Ron's and then rolled as well, although more onto his front, onto Ron.
They were still holding hands.
Viktor said, "So, ah, maybe I'll hear something tomorrow?"
Ron said, "Doubt it, but I'd like to see you anyway."
Harry said, "Not that Viktor's not a nice bloke and what have you, but I sort of thought we had some sort of, er, singles support thing going on."
Ron played with his ear a bit. "Really?"
"It was unspoken," Harry said, manfully.
Ron came and joined Harry on the couch. They were in Ron's flat, since despite the fact that Harry could afford to have someone clean for him, he had some type of aversion to hiring such a person, and he only cleaned for himself when he was in spectacularly bad moods. The result was a less than sparkling flat. And then some. With a sense of his own transgression, Ron asked, "You lonely?"
"Not until I start looking at Hermione and Lee."
Ron nodded. Those two could make a professed loner feel as if he was missing something. Lee made Hermione smile--light up with mirth, even--and Hermione helped Lee to focus. The end result was all too perfect, much more so than it had any right to be. "Maybe you should call Gin."
"You realize that your sister's very nearly engaged?"
"Seamus is a wanker, though."
"A wanker who saved my arse and got me to see that I was never going to be happy as an Auror, as opposed to him and Gin, who are perfectly bloody fitted to be doing it."
Ron sighed. "I suppose."
Harry grinned, but Ron wasn't distracted. "The girls are all over you, mate, there's got to be someone who's interesting."
"Because you're always taking up your fans on their offers."
Ron made a face. "I did, a bit."
"When they weren't too weird or scary or--"
"Yeah," Ron cut Harry off, because at first he hadn't really had those standards, but sooner or later even the ease of orgasm hadn't been all that attractive with the species of boys and girls on hand. "Maybe a coworker. Didn't you like that girl, Orexia?"
"She's an Ancient Runes specialist. It's like trying to impress Hermione," Harry said glumly.
"You're a parseltongue specialist. That's not exactly something you come across every day." Ron forewent mentioning the whole 'Harry Potter' thing. Harry knew. And wasn't impressed by himself. It was a shame, but Ron had learned to handle it.
"Not like I had to work for it."
"No, none of that knowledge you've gone and found yourself regarding the history of it and the way the language interacts with magic counts as work."
"Still, it's not exactly Ancient Runes."
"I'm not exactly a Viktor Krum, Harry. I'm not saying that I can't hold up my end as Keeper, or that I don't earn my pay, or anything like that, but I'm not the greatest phenom Quidditch has ever seen."
"If there were two of you, could you technically both be the greatest?"
Ron stretched his foot out and kicked Harry lightly in the shin.
Harry caught Ron's ankle. "Does he make you feel like--"
"The greatest phenom Quidditch has ever seen?"
Harry shrugged.
Ron said, "He makes me feel like it doesn't matter that he is. That we're just us."
Harry's fingers squeezed lightly. "That's all right then."
Ron wasn't really the type to wait for bad things to come along. They would, inevitably, but he didn't watch out for them, just assumed he could take care of them when they happened. Which is why when he showed up at Viktor's office almost three months into their--entirely too easy--relationship to the sound of Draco Malfoy asking, "Have you ever even so much as attempted to look in your own files?" Ron was hard pressed to be wholly surprised.
That said, he was more than willing to be a bit surprised, and to even express said reaction. Ron look at Viktor, threw his thumb in Malfoy's direction and asked, "What in the bloody hell is he doing here?"
"His job," Viktor said calmly, but the look on his face was more than a little apologetic.
"His--"
Viktor said, "Can we talk about this somewhere else?"
Malfoy said, "No, here's fine."
Ron originally would have preferred to stay precisely where they were, where the distraction factor was lessened. He was, however, not going to stay anywhere that made Malfoy's life easier. "We were having lunch anyway."
He stalked out, trusting that Viktor would follow. Evidently things were going decently his way despite the Malfoy quotient. Ron picked the nearest pub and walked in, smiled at the hostess. "Two, please."
When they were seated, Ron fixed Viktor with his very best, 'oh boy are you in trouble, mister,' look. He had learned it from observation--of his mother. "Draco. Malfoy."
"Ron--"
"You do remember that he spent the entirety of my sixth year plotting ways to let Death Eaters into our school so that one of my brothers could be permanently maimed?"
Viktor said, "I remember. I also remember that he aided Professor Snape--"
"Dumbledore's murderer."
"Professor Snape in disabling the Unplottable nature of Voldemort's stronghold as well as weakening the wards in ways that would not be noticed until it was too late."
"Sure, after his mother had been--" Ron cut himself off.
Viktor asked softly, "Given to Greyback and his horde in the days preceding the full moon?"
Ron's stomach turned at the smell of food permeating the place. "My point being, he helped our side not out of any belief in what is right, or out of the realization that his rich-boy, purist beliefs were bloody wrong. He helped out of a completely self-serving instinct."
"But he helped."
"And I'm glad that we won; it doesn't make me like him."
"He is my friend."
"No, Viktor, friendship suggests that the other person gives a bleeding crap. Malfoy hasn't got the part of him that's even capable."
Viktor's jaw tightened. "Clearly, he cared about his mother."
"She spawned him."
Viktor stood. "I don't really have time for lunch today."
Ron stood. "Don't-- He's not worth--"
"He is my friend," Viktor repeated. "And the fact that you obviously suspect I don't know how to choose my friends makes me wonder why you would think I'd know how to pick a boyfriend."
Ron backed up, feeling the words drive into him, pointed and cold. "You have a point."
Viktor blinked.
"Every once in a while, I can admit that I might be behaving like an arse." Ron sat back down, hoping that Viktor would follow his example.
After a moment, he did. "He was. . .what's the word? Nobody in your Isles would hire him."
For good reason, Ron thought, but kept his mouth shut.
"He helped me with my English, that year at Hogwarts."
"If you'd told him who you planned on impressing with it, he wouldn't have."
"I told him not to use that word in connection with her."
"And he listened?"
"He was a child, Ron. We were all children. He was, in particular. Petted, spoiled by his parents."
"It doesn't change things. You were his idol. You were for most of us. Of course he would have listened to you, at least to your face."
"He couldn't eat, Ron."
Ron started to say, "I don't care," and the emotion behind it was pure but he realized that in truth, he kind of did. His mother had instilled in him an empathy for those even worse off than he, even as the twins had built up a jealousy for those better off. It didn't bother him that Malfoy had fallen from the former to the latter, if anything it settled pleasurably in his chest. But he wasn't Malfoy's friend, he was anything but Malfoy's friend, and he still didn't think he could have looked at a starving man asking for a job and said, "No."
Instead he frowned and said, "You're trusting him with your files."
Viktor smiled slightly. "Sports and recreation aren't exactly life and death matters."
"I know some people who would disagree."
"You're going to set Ferencz on me, aren't you?"
Ron returned the smile.
"First fight," Viktor said.
Ron said, "Yeah. I'm sort of hungry."
Viktor reached over and opened Ron's menu for him.
Despite Ron's most fervent wishes, Malfoy was still in the main foyer of Viktor's office, reorganizing files, when they returned. He threw Ron a look of glacial hatred, but it didn't distract Ron from the look Malfoy transferred to Viktor--one of clear competence with a vein of anxiety running underneath.
Viktor just shook his head and slipped into his private office, leaving the two of them to themselves.
"I swear, Weasley, if you've lost me my job--"
Irrationally, Ron found himself insulted for Viktor. "He doesn't just listen to anything I say."
"You've always had far more influence over factors in my life than common sense dictated was likely or even possible."
Ron smiled his best malicious smile. It was better, he knew, than Harry's. Harry got frustrated and mean and vengeful, but he had never quite managed the art of simple spite. He had Ron for that. "I'm sure when he realizes that you've no real administrative abilities and are missing a good chunk of actual magical training, my, ah, lack of influence in this situation will take care of itself."
"I could say the same for the day he realizes you're not only half a wizard, but half a man."
"I can find another boyfriend," Ron said. He could, too. He didn't particularly want to, but if called upon, he could.
Draco flushed at that, a deep, angry red line welling up from his cheeks. Ron noticed the way the cut of those cheeks was even more pointed than when he had last seen Malfoy, the way there were actual hollows around his eyes.
He wasn't really one to kick a man when he was down, not even if the man was Malfoy, so he said, "Have fun with your files," and turned to leave.
Malfoy didn't say anything once Ron's back was turned, or if he did, it was too quiet, too furtive, for Ron to hear.
The Malfoy Ron had known would have said something, anything, even if it was just name-calling. He didn't want to admit it, but Viktor might, might have a point in this instance.
Ron would make it up to him later.
Three months, seventy-seven arguments with Malfoy, and a nearly uncountable number of orgasms with Viktor later, Viktor flooed Ron at his flat and said, "I need a favor."
"What's wrong?"
"You're not going to be happy."
"Oi, Viktor, if this is about Malfoy--"
"The Danish Auror Corps is holding him, I need you to go get him out."
Ron put a hand to the back of his head. "I hate to ask, really, but if Aurors are holding him, mightn't there be a good reason? And how do you expect me to get him out when you evidently can't?"
"I could, Ron, if I weren't in Taipei."
Viktor could be doing a lot of things if he weren't in Taipei. Ron refrained from mentioning this.
Viktor sighed. "Please, Ron. At least go see why they're holding him. Then you can floo me again, leave it in my hands."
"And if it's something that he should rightly be held for?" Ron asked.
Viktor slumped slightly. "Ron, just--"
"All right, all right. But you--"
"Owe you, I know."
Viktor's acknowledgement made Ron feel a little sour inside, so all he said was, "Just come home, all right?"
"Three days."
"Yeah," Ron said, and cut the connection. "Bloody Malfoy," was his last sentiment before Apparating to Denmark.
He'd never been in the Danish Ministry before. It wasn't quite so confusing as the British one, which was a relief. He managed to find the floor with Aurors fairly easily and said, "I was sent by Draco Malfoy's employer to find out what crimes he has committed."
"Viktor out of town?"
Ron said, "Taipei."
"Too much traveling by half in his job," the Auror said. He reached over the desk. "Gulbrand Pederson, friends call me Gul, and as I attended Durmstrang with Viktor for six of his seven years, I like to consider him in that category."
Ron shook his hand. "Ron Weasley."
"I know. I follow Quidditch."
Ron smiled. "I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be flattering you, mate."
Gul shrugged. "He hasn't put forth a bid for representation, so someone who claims representational rights would be told the reasons for holding anyhow."
"Representational rights?"
"The British don't have those?"
"They might be called something different."
"The person who takes the rights basically vouches for the person who is being held. He doesn’t have to represent him before the Wizengård, but he does have to look after the charged's best interests."
Viktor really, really did owe him. "I, ah, suppose I'm representing Malfoy, then. Does he have to accept representation?"
"You said you were here on Viktor's behalf?"
"And nobody else's," Ron said, perhaps a bit too fervently.
"He used his floo call to get hold of Viktor. I'm assuming he was looking for representation."
It would have been nice for Viktor to have said something. Then again, it was probably smarter of him that he hadn't. "Most likely."
"He's been trafficking in illegal potions."
"Poisons?"
"No, nothing quite that heavy, just hallucinogenics."
Ron blinked.
"You know, fermented billywig concoctions, that sort of thing."
"Party potions."
"Some people use them outside of parties. They're quite the livelihood."
Ron ran a hand over his face. "Right then. So, he has to be held until he can be tried by the Wizengård."
"No, his representative--"
"Can take responsibility for him," Ron finished, wondering again exactly how he found himself in these sorts of situations.
Gul smiled. "Viktor's a persuasive guy."
Ron looked at the man in front of him, only slightly older than him, fit, with a classically Nordic appearance. "Uh, yeah."
This provoked a laugh from Gul, but it was so easy-going that Ron felt himself hard-pressed to be jealous of his evident predecessor. "Come on, I'll take you to Malfoy."
Ron followed like a man well aware he was being lead toward death, destruction and other scary words that began with the letter d.
Malfoy was lying on a cot on his side, so that his back was toward Ron and Gul as they approached. Ron knew he must have heard--neither of them were trying to be quiet--but he stayed where he was. Ron rolled his eyes. "C'mon, then, Malfoy, time to go."
Malfoy didn't say anything, didn't move. Ron motioned to the cell door and asked Gul, "Can you?"
Gul tapped the lock with his wand and pulled the door back. He stepped away to let Ron in. It only took Ron a few steps to get to Malfoy and drag him up and around by the collar of his robes. "I know you can't be--"
Ron cut himself off at the first look at Malfoy's face. He looked back at Gul.
Gul's gaze slid to the side for a moment before making a determined effort to meet Ron's. "He's a Malfoy. Some of the Aurors--"
"Yeah," Ron said, taking in the obviously broken jaw, the arm that Malfoy was holding awkwardly at his side. He slowly released the back of Malfoy's robes and allowed Malfoy to pull instantly away, not even making a comment when Malfoy did his very best to say, "Fuck you," with his eyes. It explained why Viktor hadn't known what Malfoy was being held for. He probably hadn't been able to manage much more than where he was, and a plea for help.
Ron said, "Viktor sent me as representative."
Malfoy flinched briefly and then nodded.
Ron turned to Gul. "You have an international floo here, right?"
"As long as you can verify it's your place you're taking him to."
"I'm marked on the Hungarian floo registry."
"That'll do."
Ron said, "Let's get out of here."
Malfoy shrugged with the side he wasn't favoring, and followed Ron out of the cell. Gul took them to the floo. Ron went through first. He figured Gul would press the issue if Malfoy balked. He let Malfoy catch himself, sensing that even if he were interested in helping, his touch would not be appreciated.
He said, "I'm calling a Healer."
Malfoy didn't respond except to tuck himself into a rather compact form on Ron's sofa. Ron flooed his team Healer and asked, "Housecall?"
"You look fine, Weasley," Kozma said. His bedside manner was non-existent, which Ron figured was why he had decided on team sports as a venue for his trade.
"It's for a friend."
"I charge for off-hours."
"Fine," Ron said. He thought idly about making Viktor pay him back, but decided he probably wouldn't. Viktor hadn't asked for this, even though he'd known. Ron wondered if he was that predictable.
Kozma stepped through and Ron pointed at Malfoy, still hiding in plain sight. Kozma asked, "Messy friendly match?"
"Something like that," Ron said, and slipped off to his kitchen. He didn't need to watch Kozma reassemble Malfoy. He'd have to deal with the newly whole product soon enough.
Kozma slipped Malfoy a sedative, though, which guaranteed that Ron wouldn't have to deal with him until morning at the very earliest. As it turned out, Malfoy slept straight through morning, and Ron left for practice before he woke. Ron set the wards that kept people in--something he'd never had to do, something he'd argued with Harry about even instituting. It seemed counterintuitive, but in the end he'd done it because Harry got all jittery and anxious and it was the easiest to simply let him have his way.
Ron returned in the late afternoon to the smell of coffee and Malfoy at his kitchen table, hunched over a mug.
Ron made himself some tea and sat down.
Finally, Malfoy said, "If not saying anything is your way of being nice out of pity, you can yell now."
Although he supposed he could have if he'd really wanted to, Ron was honestly too confused to yell for the moment. "Party potions?"
Draco traced the rim of his mug with his fingers. "The ingredients are largely cheap, they're not that complicated to brew, but they go for a small fortune."
"They eat through people's brains."
"User's problem."
"Malfoy--"
"I don't sell to children."
"What?"
"I don't sell to children. I sell to adults. Just because they make bad decisions doesn't mean they're not their own decisions."
"The substances are illegal."
Malfoy's expression was almost a smile, and for the first time since Ron had come home, Malfoy looked straight at him. "I think we'd both agree I've done worse."
"I'm more concerned by the fact that you can't seem to stop yourself."
"Oh, what do you know?" Malfoy asked. The question wasn't even barbed, just worn-sounding. "You may have been poor but you were never destitute. And yes, Viktor pays me decently, as assistant wages go, but it doesn't precisely make up for the fact that landlords don't want to rent to me.
"When they do you'd be amazed how often things like the heating charms on my unit manage to fail and I have to find independent contractors to provide. Of course, the mainstream contractors won't deal with me, so I have to make deals with sub-par ones who may or may not actually deliver once contracts have been signed and they've been paid.
"And you're sitting there thinking, 'you said you signed a contract, you should be able to acquire recompense.' Only to do so would require legal aid, and nobody cares to represent a Malfoy, not even so he can just make sure his flat is inhabitable in the ides of winter.
"So if I want a place, and adequate heat and food, then I have to find ways to generate income. And while I can't get a respectable job in potions, I can brew them on the side. Most of those potions don't even require a cauldron, just a pot with a thick enough bottom."
Ron asked, "Why didn't you say anything to Viktor?"
Malfoy straightened into a distinctive Patrician Sitting Pose and set his jaw. Ron sighed.
Malfoy said, "I asked him for a job."
Ron knew what it was to have pride despite being unable to afford it. It was tempting, with Malfoy sitting there, stiff and pale and breakable to say one thing, just one, and watch him shatter. But for all the things that Malfoy had done, for all the harm he had caused, he had never done something that he knew, without question, would destroy Ron.
Ron took several slow sips of his tea. "This representative thing--"
"It was supposed to be Viktor."
"Right, I got that. Now I need to know what's involved."
"You're accountable for me until the trial."
"Let's both of us assume that if you do anything I'll kill you and make it look like self-defense. I don't think anyone's going to argue much, you?"
Draco glared half-heartedly. "And you either argue my case or find someone to argue it in front of the Wizengård."
"What is the punishment for this sort of thing?"
"Up to five years in Fængsel."
Fængsel, the Norwegian wizarding prison, didn't host--nor had it ever hosted--Dementors, but that was about the only thing that could be said in its favor. "Have any ideas about your defense?"
"You must be joking, Weasley. With my record? I've no doubt they'll find a way to sentence me with six. And don't even try to pretend that you wouldn't think I deserved it."
Malfoy had already done a year in Azkaban, though. And Ron had to grant him his point about selling to consenting adults. "I'll talk with Viktor and Hermione. They're bound to know more about these things than I do."
"I don't need the mudblood's--"
"For one thing, you really do. For another, call her that again, think of her as that again, and I'll drop you right back in that cell I picked you up from last night. I doubt Gul's on watch all the time."
Malfoy blanched. Ron didn't feel a twinge of remorse. He tapped Malfoy's cup with a warming charm. "Drink up, we'd best get started."
Hermione signed, "Hello, Malfoy." The "Malfoy" bit looked suspiciously similar to the sign Ron knew meant "arse-licker." Lee had a regular tonne of dirty signs in his arsenal.
"She says 'hello,'" Ron translated.
"Er, tell her hello."
"Hello, Hermione," Ron said. Hermione laughed. Ron still hadn't gotten used to the silent, breathy whistle of her laughter.
Malfoy scowled. "You could have just told me she can hear."
"Where would the fun have been in that?" Ron asked, and turned back to Hermione.
Her hands flew. "Care to tell me what's going on?"
"He was selling psychotropic potions."
"And?"
"He thinks they're going to send him to Fængsel for six years."
"That seems a little extreme. Two, maybe."
Ron said, softly, "He needed the money."
Hermione didn't look particularly impressed by this, but then Hermione probably often thought that she needed her voice. Ron certainly did; he missed the sound of even her most pointed tones. She signed, "Law is law, Ron. And I'm hardly an expert on British wizarding law, let alone Norwegian. What do you expect me to do?"
"Provide a little research assistance?" He let his brows rise hopefully.
She looked at Ron thoughtfully. She'd always had a way of seeming to peer right past his eyes, into his thoughts, but since she'd lost her ability to speak her appearance of omniscience had only strengthened. It was backward and frustrating, but Ron didn't really begrudge her it. Her fingers finally asked, "Why are you asking me to do this?"
It was a good question. So good a question that he wished he had a better answer than, "Because Viktor asked me. And you know how I am on my own."
"How we all are," her words literally waved aside his own. "Is that all?"
Ron shrugged and looked over at Malfoy, whose eyes were carefully blank. "He didn't mean any harm by it. Not like--"
She looked at Malfoy then, with her disconcerting, focused eyes. Ron couldn't help but enjoy watching Malfoy shrink a little bit under her gaze. She asked, "Did you?"
Ron said the words for her.
After a long moment, Malfoy shook his head.
"The minute you start being a shit, I'm done," she said, and Ron voiced it, even though he'd basically already told Malfoy the same thing.
Malfoy nodded.
"Very well," she said, "I'll get to the library this weekend, and floo you if I find anything."
Ron grabbed her lightly and kissed her forehead. "You're my absolute favorite girl."
She rolled her eyes. "Because there were so many in the running."
Viktor knocked on Ron's door, which Ron appreciated, because it allowed him a few moments of righteous indignation. He, in truth, deserved those moments. Viktor looked sheepish and said, "I should have mentioned the representative thing."
"Nah," Ron said, and didn't let him in the flat.
"I couldn't get back. And they were beating him."
"Gul was watching."
"You met Gul?" Viktor looked pained.
"He's nice. You usually date nice men?"
"I don't bother with any other kind." Viktor slumped against Ron's doorframe. He looked exhausted.
Ron had to press his fingers with bruising strength into his hips not to reach out and skim along one of Viktor's arms. "If you had told me and then asked, I still would have said yes."
"You don't like him."
"Appearances aside, I know the difference between an enemy and an annoyance. He may have been an enemy at some point--although I'm beginning to doubt even that--but he hasn't the significance to be anything other than an annoyance now." Ron, who hadn't really thought about it in those terms until that moment, having to explain it to Viktor, felt something loosen inside him. It tensed again as he admitted, "Also, it would have been you asking."
"Ron," Viktor said. "Let me in."
Ron stepped back and Viktor nearly fell inside, shutting the door behind him and pressing Ron to it. His lips were covering Ron's and he said, "Ron, Ron," and Ron rose up into the kiss. Viktor's good hand fell to Ron's hips and Ron would have allowed the make-out session to go where it would, only his flat wasn't all that large and exhibitionism wasn't a turn on for him so he put his own hands on Viktor's chest, between them and said, "Later. Your place."
Viktor flushed slightly, but smiled. "Right. Of course."
Ron looked over Viktor's shoulder and was not surprised to see Malfoy standing behind them, face as blank as always, body even more stiff than usual. Vindictively, Ron took one more kiss of Viktor, who hadn't yet noticed their audience. Then he let go.
Malfoy said, "Welcome back."
Viktor whipped around. "Oh. Hello, Draco."
"If you're going to sack me, I think you'd best do it now, before the sentencing," Malfoy said, his voice as casual as if he were discussing the society section of the Prophet.
Viktor said, "I'm not, so you'd best let go of that idea."
"Viktor--"
"No, Draco."
That having been settled, Ron said, "Hermione was going to look into alternative sentences. Evidently Muggles have monetary or community-oriented punishments."
Malfoy looked faintly horrified at the idea of relying on any sort of Muggle system of justice, but Ron imagined the thought of Fængsel occasioned a bit more than faint horror. Lesser of the evils, Ron thought, and smirked, even as he kept quiet about it.
"I'll speak with her," Viktor said.
"Oh, I think you'd best buy her a dinner. Or a whole week's worth of dinners."
"Won't Lee be a bit put off?"
"Hermione'd tell him if she was cheating on him with you. Hermione'd tell me."
Viktor thought about it for a moment. "Probably, yes."
"Speaking of dinner," Ron said.
"I'm buying?" Viktor asked.
"Hermione isn't the one with an impromptu houseguest."
Malfoy made a direct appeal to Viktor. "Isn't he a bit high maintenence?"
"Hello, cauldron," Ron said.
"I'm kettle," Viktor said.
Malfoy pouted.
When almost a week went by without Ron really regretting having an impromptu roommate--sure, it was inconvenient to have to go to Viktor's place if he wanted to have sex, but Malfoy wasn't filthy and for the most part was keeping his nasty comments to himself--Ron awoke to the sound of keening. It was high-pitched and eerie and it took Ron a second to identify it as human. Once he had quickly filtered through the other options he knew of from Lupin's DADA class, he thought, "Oh, Malfoy," and made his way cautiously to his guest room.
The covers were a twisted, broken mass at Malfoy's feet, leaving on display the ridiculous length of his legs, the unbroken stretch of pale torso, the taut chords of his neck. Open for display as they never were during the day, his cock lay long and thin against his thigh, his Dark Mark black and neatly drawn over his forearm.
Ron shielded himself, more than aware of what could come of startling wizards awake and called, "Malfoy."
It took four times, but on the fourth Malfoy was instantly awake, his wand out from under his pillows, trained on Ron. Surprisingly, he didn't roll a hex off immediately. Therefore, when his eyes focused he lowered the wand and said, "I suppose I forgot to put up a silencing spell?"
"Evidently," Ron said.
Malfoy laid aside his wand and ran a hand through his hair. "Apologies."
Reassured somewhat by the formality of the language--Malfoy could only be so distraught if he took four syllables to say a simple "sorry,"--Ron said, "We all have them."
Tremors ran through Malfoy's shoulders down to his fingers even as he nodded.
"Cold?" Ron asked. He took a step in the direction of Malfoy with the intention of handing him the covers only to stop when Malfoy flinched before Ron's foot had even returned to the floor.
Malfoy looked away, turning his head toward nothing in particular. Ron said, "I don't plan on hurting you."
Malfoy shook his head but didn't say anything.
Ron walked the rest of the way to the bed and held out the covers. After a moment, Draco took them from him, consummately careful that their fingers did not touch.
"You can't catch the desire to be a Blood Traitor, you realize?" Ron asked. There wasn't even much vitriol in the question, just a bit of a verbal eyeroll. One would think Malfoy would have bigger things to worry about.
Malfoy laughed then, which made Ron blink in surprise, then consternation, as the chuckles turned into sobs of laughter, quick and clearly hysterical.
Ron did the only thing he knew to do: came one step closer, and slapped Malfoy quickly across the face. Malfoy caught Ron's hand as it retreated, but rather than squeezing or twisting or making any move to harm him, Malfoy simply held on. Slowly, Ron lowered himself to sit on the bed.
"My mum used to, oh, run her fingers through my hair, sometimes. Or skim her knuckles along my cheeks. And Greg and Vince, when they were feeling bold in private, would knock my shoulders lightly. Snape had a habit of putting his hand to my back, as if I wouldn't go in the right direction if he didn't push me there. I never really noticed these things."
Ron thought about the way his mum was forever kissing his forehead at the most embarrassing of moments; Ginny mussing his hair for the sheer humiliation factor; Harry shoving at him lightly out of affection; Hermione tugging at his arm to garner his attention; Viktor settling an arm over his shoulders. They weren't the type of touches one paid much attention to, no.
"In Azkaban nobody touches you, but it's Azkaban, so I suppose that's expected and it's better than the alternative. Only when one is released from Azkaban, without knowing it, one expects the touch to return, has craved its return without understanding, precisely, what the craving was, having any sort of way to name it. But a released prisoner from Azkaban is every bit as untouchable as one interred and so the touch does not return.
"After a while it becomes bearable in a wholly unbearable sort of way. So long as nobody accidentally brushes up against you, reminds you of what you've lost, you can tell yourself things are fine."
Ron waited. Malfoy sounded as though he planned to go on but after a considerable stretch of silence Ron realized that he was done, waiting for Ron to fill in the rest.
With the hand held captive, Ron pushed lightly at Malfoy's chest, urging him to lie down. Malfoy did not resist. With his free hand, Ron spelled the covers up onto the bed, and over the two of them. Malfoy said, in a tone that belied any particular interest or worry. "If you do this, Fængsel will break me."
Ron said, "Perhaps that is my plan."
Malfoy did not tense, even as Ron's chest settled more firmly against his back. He said, "I could already be broken."
"Worry about it in the morning."
"Maybe," Malfoy said. "Yes," he said, and settled into sleep cradled in Ron's hold, his fingers never once loosening their grip on Ron's hand.
What caught Ron's attention was the fact that within a week, Malfoy began understanding signs. Mostly the ones that Hermione used all the time like "me," or "him," or "laws." But Ron had been translating for Viktor--who was not stupid--pretty much since they'd begun dating. Before that, Lee would usually help. Not having any need to know what she was saying without assistance, Viktor had just never put the words with their symbols.
Malfoy began to almost immediately. Granted, his life was partly in the hands forming the words, but it wouldn't have been at all unlike the Malfoy Ron had known to just presume that Ron was there to act as Hermione's verbal half.
The day that Malfoy tried signing, "Hello, how are you?" upon her arrival, his eyes distant and proud, she smiled and reached out to correct the positioning of his fingers. Ron watched him fight not to press into even that tiniest of touches. At first she frowned, and Ron thought he was going to have to explain, have to tell her it wasn't what she thought it was--Malfoy's struggles not to be touched. Only after a moment the frown smoothed into something less bothered, if still somewhat concerned. She seemed to understand, at least a bit. It wasn't surprising; she was Hermione.
She pulled back just enough to say, "You make my name like this," before putting her hands to his again, leading him through the motions. Hermione's name was given to her by the wizard who taught her the language, an amalgamation of the letter "h" and the word "brilliant." She was sheepish about it, even with people who didn't know what it meant. Ron loved it, it was his favorite sign.
Her hands brought Malfoy's together, palms brushing against each other and then outwards, curving his fingers into the correct formation, pulling his wrists to give the motion some emphasis.
Malfoy said, "One more time."
Hermione led him through the motions again and Ron watched him let her, even as Ron knew from the ease of the way his hands glided in hers that he'd already gotten it down. He evidently had a head for these sorts of things.
Viktor slipped in the door at this point and said, "Watch out for that one's boyfriend."
Malfoy looked unworried even before Hermione's grin. She signed, "It's only you he has a problem with."
Once Ron had relayed the message, Viktor said, "Not fair. Ron would have had the same honor, except that he chose the right siblings."
Lee forgave Ron just about anything given his tie with the twins. Sometimes Ron really wished he wouldn't. In this case, however, Lee didn't actually dislike Viktor, just felt somewhat threatened by his past in Hermione's life, so it didn't bother him as much. Viktor came over to greet Ron with a kiss and Ron leaned in a little, to take away the sting of memory that had come with Viktor's words.
"How was practice?" Viktor asked.
"Would have been better on my Sebessèg," Ron said with a look of innocence.
Viktor shook his head in amusement. "Any luck here?"
"Granger thinks she might have something," Malfoy cut in. He made the sign for "Hermione," even as he called her by her last name.
"Only took you two weeks," Viktor said in mock-exasperation.
Hermione pulled out a sign Ron knew she had learned from Lee. Viktor, wisely, did not ask him to translate.
She said, "Let's sit," and before Ron had to explain she herded them all to his sofa and seating area with her hands.
"It's not an ideal solution," she said, and her hands moved slowly, much more slowly even than usual, and nearly stilled compared to when he had seen her explain her research in the past.
Ron waited, because he was pretty certain that whatever she had to say, none of them were going to enjoy hearing it.
"Danish magical law has a plea bargaining system."
Ron had to stop her and make her mouth "plea bargaining," as he'd never seen that term signed out before.
She continued, "Since the state is prosecuting in Malfoy's case, they're likely to accept a bargain."
It was Malfoy who found his voice in order to ask, "What sort of bargain are we speaking of?"
Hermione nodded at him. "It's the equivalent of indentured servitude." She mouthed "indentured" without having to be asked. It took a couple of tries before Ron understood. When he looked up, he knew Malfoy had already caught on.
"And if you broke the conditions, it would mean immediate imprisonment," she said.
Softly, Malfoy asked, "What are the conditions?"
"Your representative takes responsibility for you for a time determined by the bargaining process. Most likely the time the prosecution was looking to imprison the accused for."
"What does responsibility mean?" Malfoy asked. Ron had been trying to, really. He just couldn't seem to remember the words.
"Provide shelter and care for, as the accused must turn all possessions over to the representative. The representative must approve the accused's profession, but all monies gained from such must be turned over as well."
Ron had known Hermione long enough to know when she wasn't saying something.
Malfoy evidently sensed her reticence as well. "And?"
"It's more of an. . .unspoken aspect to the whole thing."
"Allow me to guess. Since the representative is responsible for the accused," Malfoy said, "he is granted any liberties he deems necessary in order to make sure the accused does not cross the line, as it were."
Ron stood up and walked out of the room.
His Sebessèg was being cradled in a brace next to the Firestorm he played on and he grabbed it, fully intent on slipping out through his window. He heard the latch on his door and looked back to see Viktor slipping inside. Ron said, "I'm going out for a bit."
Viktor asked, "Mind if I come along?"
Ron tossed him the Firestorm. Viktor caught it with his good arm. Ron turned then, pressed himself to his broom, and flew out the window.
Either Viktor would follow, or he wouldn't.
Viktor followed at a slower pace for a while. Once the first burn of controlled panic and silent anger had wasted itself against the shock of wind and movement, Ron pulled back and allowed him to catch up. Viktor could fly just fine with only one arm to hold and control the broom, but he couldn't fly at the same speeds someone who had both arms could. Normally, when the two of them flew together, Ron just matched himself to Viktor without so much as a word.
Viktor called, "Are we actually going somewhere?"
Ron nodded. Viktor didn't ask where.
When the arrived at Ron's favorite local pub, Ron asked to use the floo and was immediately waved toward it.
Harry was home to answer his floo. "Hey, Ron."
"Come for a pint?"
"Yeah, give me a moment."
Ron wandered off to order a Kamenitza for Viktor, a Sárkány Sör for himself and an ale for Harry. By the time he made it to the table Viktor had claimed for them, Harry was saying, "Oh," and Viktor nodding guiltily.
Ron took a long pull of his beer. "Take it you're caught up?"
"I summarized," Viktor said.
The three of them drank in silence until Harry asked, "What are you going to do?"
"Agree, of course, and then chain him to my bed and sexually abuse him for however long I have. Also, make him cook meals for me."
Harry grinned. "Almost makes me wish I liked boys."
"Well, you can come over to eat," Ron said.
Viktor said, "I didn't know. I wouldn't have asked you to go if I'd known. He's my friend."
Malfoy was Viktor's friend, and Ron still didn't particularly like him, but he didn't exactly dislike him anymore either. There were moments, on the whole, where Ron suspected himself of being far more open to friendship with Malfoy than was wholly proper for any Weasley. Ron took another sip of his beer and rubbed at the back of his neck. "What would you do if I refused? If I gave him back up to himself and left him to the mercy of the Danish legal system?"
Viktor studied the label on his beer for a moment. "I am not sure. Try and get representation transferred, I suppose."
Ron was aware of Harry watching them. He looked toward his friend, but didn't say anything. Harry repeated, softly this time, "What are you going to do?"
"Not that," Ron said, but Harry had already known. Harry either knew Ron better than he knew himself, or had more faith in Ron than was technically warranted, which generally forced Ron into the position of actually being the man Harry thought him to be out of a desire not to disappoint his best friend.
Viktor said, "I've been thinking--"
Both Harry and Ron looked at him, waiting.
"You can say no," he said, clearly to Ron.
"I thought we just--"
"I meant, to what I'm about to say."
"Oh," Ron said, and thought maybe he knew what Viktor was about to say.
"I've been thinking of getting a house. Something a little bigger. For two people, say. I could make it three, though."
Ron wasn't afraid of domesticity. Until he'd realized it wasn't women that he thought of when he touched his cock he'd always expected himself to end up married and fathering children. When he had realized he'd stopped thinking about it altogether, since there was something of an emptiness where those old expectations had been, sore to the touch, like a cavity, or a deep cut. Still, the expectation of doing such a thing, of making a life with someone, regardless of the particulars of that life, and the reality, the moment of having to say, "yes, I'm willing to step on you and be stepped on and fight with you and hopefully make up," were two things entirely apart from each other.
"Are you sure you want to--"
Viktor slid his hand over Ron's forearm and squeezed. "I am certain. I would have asked sooner or later, even had this not happened."
Without saying yes, Ron outlined the details. "He stays on in your office, and has his own room."
Viktor nodded.
"And I swear, if I catch so much as a soporific being brewed--"
"He won't betray you."
"Maybe he won't betray you--"
"You think there's a difference?" Viktor asked.
As Ron had just agreed to move in with Viktor without saying a word, he supposed Viktor had a fair point. The fact that he was willing to admit that Malfoy might have loyalty to anything was a little world-altering, and Ron pushed it out of his mind, to be dealt with later.
After a considerable silence, Harry asked, "So, when's the housewarming?"
"I don't know," Ron said, "but you're in charge of drinks, mate."
When the three of them trudged back into the common area of Ron's flat--Harry having hitched a ride back with Ron--Lee and Malfoy were engaged in an uncommonly vicious game of Exploding Snap and Hermione was at his kitchen table, curled over a notebook and scribbling furiously.
Lee said, "Oi, about time."
Ron had the grace to say, "Sorry," and offer, "stay for dinner?"
"As it'll be up in about ten minutes, I'd say so."
Malfoy laid down a card, carefully avoiding looking in Ron's direction. Ron asked, "Ten minutes?"
At Lee's nod, Ron said, "Malfoy, you mind, er--"
Malfoy stood and walked into his bedroom. Ron said, "Right," and followed, Viktor less than a step behind him. Viktor closed the door and set up a silencing spell.
Malfoy said, "I won't beg."
Ron sank onto the bed. "Well, at least something's familiar in all this."
Malfoy frowned at that.
Ron said, "Out of curiosity, do you actually think I'd allow you to go to prison to make things easier on myself?"
"We're not precisely friends, Weasley."
"We're not precisely enemies, either. And you haven't called me Weasel or made fun of my mother since I picked you up, so perhaps we're closer to neutrality than outright hatred than we used to be."
Malfoy inclined his head.
"You would have to live with us," Viktor said softly. There was an undercurrent to the words, something Ron didn't understand, not until Malfoy looked at Viktor, his eyes sharp and bright.
Malfoy's huff of laughter was more pained than amused. "Of course."
And Viktor had never hid Gul, never lied to Ron about anyone in his past, so he knew that Malfoy and Viktor hadn't touched, not like that. What's more, Ron knew, from the look on Malfoy's face, that nothing having happened had not been his idea.
Malfoy ran a hand over his face. "Decisions, decisions."
Ron felt his jaw drop. " Fængsel is really preferable to--"
"To living as your thrall, watching the two of you touch, constantly being reminded of who I am and the things I cannot have? Will never have?" He sounded remarkably calm, as if the question were wholly theoretical.
Ron said, "Thrall?"
"I think I'm allowed a bit of melodrama."
"You did break the law. It's not as if they've just decided to prosecute out of whimsy."
"Whimsy?"
Ron waved a hand. "You know."
"I do," Malfoy said, his eyes shadowed, solemn.
"Draco," Viktor said. "We would not hurt you."
"Not purposely." Malfoy nodded. He cocked his head. "Unlimited power, Weasley."
Ron said, "Would that we were still sixteen."
Malfoy closed his eyes. "Fifteen, perhaps."
"Sure," Ron said.
Malfoy opened his eyes and said, "I'm yours then, I suppose."
Ron locked gazes with Malfoy, not even so much as nodding in agreement. Somehow, it was understood between the two of them that he accepted the terms. He then turned to the door and said, "Dinner should be here," before walking out of the room.
The owl that came to Ron's practice a few days later had a note written in Malfoy's handwriting.
23 Cicha; Kielce, Poland. You can floo from team headquarters to Źródło. It's a ten minute walk from there, anyone will be able to give you directions. Meet us after practice.
Ron scribbled on the back: Poland? I don't speak Polish.
A fresh note still with Malfoy's handwriting came back: You don't really speak Hungarian, either. That's what translation spells are for. And it's sort of in the middle, isn't it? Makes apparition easier on everyone.
Ron thought about pointing out that Malfoy was to live his life making things easier on Ron for however long the courts decided. In the end he just left it. Malfoy knew, and it was beside the point. Viktor was the one who had been looking for houses. Viktor had picked somewhere in between, a compromise for the two of them.
"Know anything about Kielce?" he asked a few of his teammates as they were getting dressed.
Olszewski said, "Kielce, or Miasto?"
As Olszewski had been born and raised in Lublin, Ron figured he probably knew more about these things that Ron did. "Er, 23 Cicha."
"That's really more Miasto, the wizarding town near Kielce. There's much bigger ones near Warsaw and Cracow, if that's what you're looking for. Miasto's less than half the size of your Hogsmeade."
"Quiet place?" Ron asked.
Olszewski nodded. "If quiet is what you're looking for, Miasto will suit and then some."
"Thanks, mate."
"You coming out with us?"
"Not this evening."
"See you tomorrow, then."
Ron smiled and sauntered toward the floo, hoping he would pronounce his end destination correctly. Evidently he did, as the place he landed in was a fairly well-kept brew pub. It was sparsely populated, but then, practice generally released well before the average person's workday, at least until season was upon them. He tapped his wand to his throat, implementing the translation charm before asking the barman for a coffee and directions.
The coffee was hot and strong, the way he liked it and the directions were easy. Ron finished the drink and set off.
Malfoy looked impatient when he arrived. Viktor just said, "Hello."
"Nice pub," Ron said.
Viktor grinned. "It was a consideration."
The house was constructed entirely of larch-wood and Ron said, "If we go this route, I hope you know some good anti-inflammatory spells."
"It's a wizarding house, Ron."
"Ah." It came with the spells, in that case. And was probably more expensive for them. Ron made himself erase the latter thought. He could afford it. He could certainly afford it with Viktor paying half.
"Shall we go in?" Viktor asked.
Inside the house was, predictably, barren--stripped of the clutter that defined his earliest associations of home, the mishmash of personal belongings which made up his school years, or even the sparse furnishings of his bachelor era. The floors were wooden and the windows plentiful. There were four bedrooms. What Viktor planned on doing with the other two Ron could only imagine, but he didn't think it would hurt to have them.
The kitchen was obviously built for house elves. Viktor and he hadn't had that conversation, but Ron thought it might not be a bad idea to have one or two.
The backyard let off into a forest, and it was this final aspect of the house that convinced Ron of how absolutely it fit the two of them. Fields might have been easier to fly in, but forests were more challenging, and allowed for more gamesmanship. Viktor wouldn't fly with just anyone anymore, didn't trust just anyone not to push the boundaries of what he could and couldn't do. He trusted Ron.
Ron stood looking out the back window until Viktor came and stood at his back, good arm wrapped around Ron's torso. "So?" Viktor murmured. "Yes?"
"Just show me the price tag."
"Surprisingly reasonable. People are much more interested in real estate around the bigger cities. Or, even more preferably, Germany or Russia."
Ron heard footsteps and knew that Malfoy had finished his tour of the house, ended up back in the room with them. "Poor Poland. So underappreciated." Without twisting free of Viktor, or even looking behind him, he said, "What do you think, Malfoy?"
"It's not my house."
"It will be, probably for at least a year."
There was a long silence, and Ron was expecting Malfoy to say something nasty, or ignore the question altogether. Finally he said, "It's very empty."
Ron pressed his back ever so lightly into Viktor's chest. "It won't be."
Ron wasn't entirely sure why--if Gul had pulled some strings at Viktor's request, or if Viktor had his own strings for pulling, or even if Ron's sometimes reputation as Harry Potter's Right Arm of Justice had influenced things--all he knew was that the bargaining process went quite smoothly, and he ended up with one Draco Malfoy all for himself for a period of no less than four years.
Ron counted himself lucky it hadn't been five.
Ron and Viktor moved the three of them into the house, acquired a house elf, found furniture, even had a housewarming party. Viktor and Ron had let Malfoy pick his own room and left the décor to him. Upon viewing the final project, Ron rather liked the muted browns and greens Malfoy had picked. The motif was very natural looking and flowed well into the overall design of the house. Not that he mentioned it to Malfoy.
Roughly three months into the whole affair, Ron asked, "When did you try? For Viktor?"
Viktor was away on business, so it was just the two of them and Mimsy, the house elf. The first time Ron had needed to be out of town for a series of games he had said to Viktor, "Could you floo, at night? Because I'm an insecure bastard."
Viktor had said, "And I'm a loyal one." He had not said he didn't want Malfoy, which Ron had appreciated. He didn't like being lied to, and even had he not caught Viktor occasionally looking, he had his own eyes. Malfoy was fit, and had the type of hair that made a bloke want to push him to his knees and fuck his mouth just for the experience of digging into the strands, controlling Malfoy by his roots.
Ron said, "I know, it's not about you," and Viktor had flooed.
Malfoy's hand instinctively went to his wand at the question, a sure sign that he felt threatened. Ron sat down and schooled his features into as mild an expression as he could manage to make himself as un-intimidating as possible. He repeated, "When, Malfoy?"
"After I found out about you."
"So, it was personal?"
Malfoy laughed. "No. Not anymore so than anything is personal between us. No, I would have tried back in fourth year, only by the time I was aware he would have taken to an advance from a fourth year, another had already caught his eye, and she had girly bits, if you take my meaning, so I didn't figure him for being interested. Then, when I found out I had a chance, I wasn't going to not take it. Not for your sake."
To a certain extent, Ron could sympathize. He didn't think he would have made a move for another man's boyfriend, but he could at least recognize the impulse.
Malfoy said, "You don't deserve him," and it didn't even sound spiteful, just sad.
"Probably not, but I take comfort in the fact that you don't really either, so at least I'm not keeping him from something truly special."
Malfoy scowled at that, but didn't respond. He went back to sipping at his breakfast tea. Ron finished up his eggs and was standing up to head out to practice when Malfoy asked, "What's it like? What's he like?"
Ron thought about feigning confusion, making Malfoy say exactly what he meant. His cheeks were already pink, and it was a bit of a challenge, wondering if he could bring on a pure red. In the end, though, Ron said, "It's as if it should be just sex, that's really all the parts of it, a touch here and there, the something more, but it never is just that, you know?"
"No," Malfoy said.
"Oh." Ron sat back down. He wasn't sure why it occurred to him that he should just be late for practice, but it did. "You haven't--"
"I'm not a virgin." Malfoy sounded defensive.
"All right."
"Not completely."
Which, in Ron's experience, were the words that meant the exact opposite of what they said.
Malfoy's gaze slid away. "I was speaking of it not being 'just that.'"
Ron didn't have any answer but the truth for that. "It's not something I can explain. Maybe Hermione could, she's good with words."
"More likely it's inexplicable. The same way I can't talk about the way she looks at Jordan, or you look at Viktor." He paused, then said, "At least Potter's still a lonely bugger."
"Your generosity of spirit overwhelms me."
Malfoy smiled. "Incredible, is it not?"
"'Not' is a good way of putting it."
The smile stayed. "You're late for practice."
"Twenty-four and you're still getting me in trouble on a regular basis."
"Better you than me."
"There's a difference?"
"Not as noticeable a one as there used to be," Malfoy agreed.
In the aftermath of reunion sex, when Viktor hadn't even yet slipped from his body, Ron asked, "If it hadn't been for me, would you have said yes? To Malfoy?"
It wasn't a fair time to go on the offensive and Ron knew it, but he didn't care. Viktor was too careful with his words when given half the chance--a result of having to translate them and working in a field that required almost constant diplomacy.
Viktor asked, "Wouldn't you?"
"He spent most of our time in school calling my mother a cow and spewing derogatory names at my best friend."
"But you're not in school anymore."
"That doesn't--"
"And he feels a right bastard about all of it."
"He hasn't mentioned it to me."
"It's not an easy thing to say, 'sorry'."
"We all have to do things we don't bloody well like doing."
"He has a fair amount of those things to contend with, wouldn't you agree?"
Ron grumbled a bit. Viktor snuffled the back of Ron's neck. "He's beautiful."
"I've heard creatures of the dark often are. Trade-off and all."
Viktor laughed. "If you truly found him evil, you would never have agreed to being his representative. Not when you knew the extent of the commitment."
"Maybe I wanted to keep you happy."
Viktor tensed slightly.
"Viktor? I was only--"
"Do you know the first time I ever wanted to touch you?"
"When I came to argue about a broom with an extra nothing of length?"
"That night, with the horcrux, watching you Apparate time and again, well past your own endurance, to get all of us out of there. Harry and Hermione were both completely unconscious, I was barely holding onto reality, you were bruised and battered from pulling Harry out of the path of the magic, but you got us all out, one by one, and you didn't so much as falter coming back for me. Even though you had told me not to come, you had warned me."
"You came to help us. I couldn't bloody well leave you there. I wouldn't have left you there as long as I did, but you seemed to be doing better than the other two, and I could only side-along one at a time."
"I know."
Ron thought about what Viktor had said. "I don't understand."
"You're a quiet sort of hero. The type that does what needs to be done, helps those who need to be helped."
"I'm really not. I just like you, Hermione and Harry."
"You fixed Draco up that night. I didn't ask for that."
"His jaw was broken."
"He would have lived."
"Fine, I grant you your point that I'm not a complete arse."
"I want to think-- It's nice to believe in you as the person who would have helped him anyway. But I need to know that you didn't do it just for me."
"What, that isn't flattering?"
"Ron."
Ron sighed. "When you first asked, it was. For you. Because I've wanted to touch you before I even knew that was what I wanted."
"Now?"
Ron shrugged in Viktor's hold. "Most of my beliefs as a kid came from my parents, you know? It's hard to blame him for being the same way."
Viktor pressed his lips to the back of Ron's neck. "Love you."
To his surprise, the words didn't scare him, and he was able to mumble back, "Yeah, me too."
Whatever else Malfoy was, he was fantastic company at a Quidditch game--so much so that it stopped bothering Ron when Harry couldn't come with, because Malfoy was a sure thing. At one point Ron realized just how much of a sure thing Malfoy was and said, "You know if you just wanted to spend the afternoon at home--"
But Malfoy had rolled his eyes. "I would tell you if you were taking advantage of me."
And yeah, Ron supposed he would.
They had similar tastes in candy, and after a while Ron began to trust Malfoy to pick up something for them to chew on as they were yelling out plays, rolling their eyes, leaning forward, taut and silent, to see what would happen.
Somewhere along the way Malfoy began attending Ron's games alongside Viktor, as well. Afterwards he would say, "You really cocked that up," or, "Nice save on that last," or, "Are they actually renewing your contract for next season?" It was a toss up, really, but he was generally right regarding the observations he made. Not that this made Ron feel any better about the more negative ones.
After one particularly bad game, Malfoy tossed something off--it wasn't even one of his more offensive responses, and Ron knew it at the time but he was already frustrated with himself and couldn't help responding, "It could be worse; I could be a governmental assistant who's barely allowed to leave his own home without permission."
In response, Malfoy paled and snapped, "And I could be a blood traitor raised by brood mice," before turning and practically fleeing to his room.
Ron made himself stand where he was until the first urge to kill the other man had passed. Then he said, "Bloody buggering hells," and walked down the hallway to Malfoy's room.
The door was shut, but Malfoy wasn't allowed to ward Ron out. Ron knocked to give Malfoy warning, but he didn't wait to be invited in; he wasn't stupid enough to think he would be.
Malfoy said, "You could bloody well pretend like this room is actually mine, the way you and Viktor are always going on about."
"I could," Ron agreed. "But then you could stay in here until it pleased you to come out and by then it would be awkward for me to say that I shouldn't have said what I did. You caught me at a bad moment."
"Oh," Malfoy said.
"This is what friends do," Ron explained, and it was partially sarcastic, but a goodly dose of it was just serious. "They yell at each other and say stupid things on occasion and then apologize and move on."
Malfoy sank onto his bed. "I would kill to do what you do, mistakes and all."
It occurred to Ron that he was relatively sure Malfoy didn't mean that literally, which was something like a step forward in their relationship. "I'm lucky."
Malfoy nodded.
"You shouldn't have said that stuff about my family."
"No, but I figure you win in that arena as well, given that you still have said family. My aspersions aren't doing much to change that."
Ron laughed. "You can't just say 'sorry', can you?"
Malfoy asked, "Would you believe me, if I did?"
It was a good question. Ron gave it some thought. "Yes."
Once again, Malfoy said, "Oh."
Ron shook his head. "No wonder you're short on friends."
"I'm amassing a fair collection of late."
Ron smiled at the roundabout acknowledgement of change between them. "You think so?"
Malfoy smiled a bit as well. His, "I know," was familiarly lofty.
Over breakfast one morning, Viktor looked at Malfoy and asked, "Have you been sleeping?"
"Oh for-- I already apologized about the contracts, didn't I?"
"Yes, and we fixed the problem. I was referring to the fact that you haven't even attempted to read the paper for the last week."
"It's all rubbish anyhow," Malfoy said.
"But rubbish you like knowing," Ron said, taking Viktor's side. Not that he often didn't in a conversation involving the three of them, but seeing as how the two of them were now bullying Malfoy into possibly taking better care of himself, it was an odd position for Ron to find himself in.
"I've decided to turn to ignorance for comfort," Malfoy stated, somewhat airily.
Ron leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. "See, the thing is, Malfoy, that I could tell you to take down the silencing spells, could even do it myself without so much as asking, but instead I'm having a conversation with you where I try to figure out what's wrong. I wouldn't mind a little cooperation."
"Why don't you, then?"
"Because I hate that I can. Now, are you going to tell us or--"
Ron would never know what it was that caused Malfoy to budge, whether it was the offhanded way he admitted to his revulsion at the power he held, or if he was simply ready to give, but Malfoy said, "It's just spring."
There was silence for a moment before Viktor gave voice to Ron's question. "Spring?"
"I have nightmares in the spring. That is, I have nightmares in general, but springtime exacerbates them. The worst things always happened in spring so I guess my mind translates that into some sort of permission to dredge it all up."
It was summertime for Harry. Ron and Hermione would have to regularly check in to make sure he wasn't giving up sleeping as a matter of course. Ron nodded. "You want some Dreamless?"
"Dreamless is addictive."
"Sure, but not if taken once a week or so."
"He needs to sleep more than once a week," Viktor said.
"I've had this problem for seven years and it hasn't killed me yet," Malfoy interjected.
"It looks like it's about to, mate," Ron said.
Malfoy blinked, whether at the "mate" or the blunt statement, Ron couldn't be sure. He said, "If you'll let me brew, there's a couple of other potions that might help without running the dependence risk."
"Not illegal?" Ron asked.
"No, just unusual."
Viktor said, "Professor Snape's secrets?"
Malfoy nodded, his shoulders tensing slightly. Ron could only imagine Malfoy was waiting for a derogatory remark. Ron didn't deliver. Speaking ill of the dead was classless in a way that not even Ron was willing to be.
Instead he slid his hands over Malfoy's shoulders. For a moment, Malfoy tensed to the point that Ron was worried he'd shatter under his palms. Malfoy said, "Weasley, don't--"
"Shut it, Malfoy," Ron said, which--despite being in English--were evidently the magic words, because Malfoy loosened, perhaps even melted into Ron's hands a bit. Ron looked over at Viktor who was watching the whole thing closely.
Ron said, "Nobody touches him. He misses touch."
Viktor walked to them slowly. There was a long pause in his movements, and then he brought his hand to settle on Malfoy's hips. Malfoy stopped breathing, a choked sound. Ron said, "C'mon," and squeezed with his hands a bit, massaging at the shoulders.
Viktor said, "Hush," and ran his hand up the length of Malfoy's torso and back down again.
Viktor met Ron's gaze, his eyes inscrutable. Ron mouthed, "Friend."
Viktor smiled and shook his head a bit, but it wasn't a "no," just an indication of disbelief.
Malfoy's head turned, his eyes flickering back to Ron, but he didn't ask. Ron gave his shoulders another squeeze for good measure. "You can brew."
"I won't--"
"I know," Ron said.
"I don't really want to mess this up," Malfoy admitted.
Ron rested his chin on one hand, his cheek brushing against Malfoy's. "We know."
The thing about touching Malfoy, was that once Ron had started openly acknowledging that he planned to do so in front of Viktor, it became very easy to simply continue. For instance, if the two of them were playing chess, their feet bare under the table, Ron would casually place his atop Malfoy's. Or if Malfoy was sprawled on the couch, reading or making an argument or pretending to sleep, Ron would insinuate his lap under Malfoy's head and let him go on as if nothing had changed.
Viktor, of course, had his own way of going about it, a less subtle, more aggressive way. He would take Malfoy's outer robes off for him when they came in after work, his good hand brushing the length of Malfoy's back, his neck. Or he would rub at Malfoy's neck during those same chess games of footsy fame.
At first it had been hard to watch, even knowing he had started it, a low-burning ball of jealousy taking up habitation in Ron's stomach at each purposeful touch. That had been until Ron had accidentally looked up at Viktor one night--their gazes catching--and Viktor had said, "Could I speak with you for a moment?" before leading Ron into their room and taking him up against the door.
After that it was easier to accept Viktor helping to finish what Ron had started.
And so it went until the night Malfoy came home from his seventh monthly meeting with the parole officer assigned him by the Wizengård. Malfoy was generally a bit silent after these meetings. He would either eat nothing or too much and retire early. Viktor and Ron had learned to respect his silence on the issue.
But learning to accept his silence and not making a comment when Malfoy winced while picking up his fork that evening were two very different things.
Ron said, "Malfoy--"
Malfoy sighed. "Leave it, Ron."
There was a beat where all of them stilled. Malfoy said, "Weasley, I meant."
"Ron's fine," Ron said, at a loss for what else to say.
Malfoy snorted. "Draco's fine too, but that doesn't mean you have any intention of using it."
Ron thought about it, about the fact that they lived together and he never so much as thought of the other man in those terms. "Draco, then. I'll do my best." Not one to be diverted from his purpose for long, he asked, "Why are you sore?"
"Old injury," Draco said smoothly.
Viktor tapped Draco's arm with his wand and his expression darkened.
"Viktor," Draco said.
"Is it always like this?"
Ron thought about asking for pronoun clarification, but one look between Draco and Viktor convinced him otherwise.
Draco said, "Parole Officer Kiersted has a dislike for uncontrolled substance brewers. His sister died of an overdose. Which is almost funny, except for the part about his sister, because usually it's the other thing that causes people to want to hex me. Or worse."
"He hexed you?" Ron asked.
"It was a minor one. And if I'd had my wand it wouldn't have been an issue." Draco wasn't allowed his wand in the Danish Ministry.
"He's being removed from your case," Ron said.
"I don't know if--"
"I asked Gul for a compendium of the rights and responsibilities of a representative. All I have to do is say the word."
"Oh," Draco said.
"Why didn't you say something?" Ron asked, with the sinking feeling that the abuse had probably been going on since the beginning, it had just become more visible as it escalated with time. Or perhaps Ron was just paying more attention these days. He thought Viktor would have noticed, though.
"It wasn't as if any of the damage was permanent. And you aren't exactly my representative out of the pure desire to help me."
"Translation, you were too fucking proud?" Ron said, a hint of incredulity creeping into his tone.
Draco's expression was sharp. "Would you have asked me? In a reverse situation, would you?"
"At this point, I'd like to think I would have."
Draco looked away at that. "Oh."
Ron sighed and asked Viktor, "What was the hex?"
Viktor just asked Draco, "Have you brewed any muscle relaxants of late?"
"Green bottle, top shelf."
Viktor said to Ron, "We probably know all the same basic sports-healing spells. I'll see what I can do. Get the bottle?"
Ron nodded and went off to look. He could feel Draco's gaze on him even after he had left the room.
Viktor dragged Draco to his and Ron's bed that evening, and despite sensing that not refusing was acceding to something he couldn't exactly control or predict, Ron stayed silent. Draco said, "This is a bad idea," and Viktor and Ron both ignored him.
There was comfort in the solidarity.
Viktor curled over Draco, his left arm stretching across so that his hand could splay over Ron's back. This, of course, required that Ron tuck rather tightly into Draco. It should have been uncomfortable and awkward, but in truth it was easy to form himself against Draco's back, fit his hand between Draco's and Viktor's stomachs.
Draco said, "Bad as in I-think-I'll-just-brew-up-another-illegal-potion, bad."
Viktor said, "Sleep," sounding rather unconcerned.
Draco laughed uneasily, "Oh, yes, certainly."
Ron said, "Worried we're going to kill you in your sleep?"
"You aren't that merciful," Draco shot back.
It was Ron's turn to laugh. "Sleep, Draco." His suggestion had just a hint of compulsion to it. He would have felt bad, but Draco validly needed the sleep, and Ron knew he wasn't going to listen to reason. Ron knew, because in Draco's situation he wouldn't have either.
That made him feel a little bad.
He said, "Maybe this wasn't our best idea yet."
Viktor said, "He needs something."
"We both know what he needs, Viktor."
Viktor's fingers flexed, digging in to Ron's back. Ron didn't mind. Ron finally said, "If only he weren't so bloody fucking gorgeous."
Viktor's hand slipped from Ron's back to his arm and he tugged Ron over Draco. Ron--who sometimes forgot just how powerful Viktor was, one good arm or no--said, "Ow," and, "You'll wake him."
Draco, to prove the point, said, "Can't breathe," but that problem was taken care of quickly enough as Viktor pulled Ron all the way onto him. Draco then said, "I'll just--"
"Stay," Viktor said, his tone absolute. To Ron he said, "You're bloody fucking gorgeous. His looks have nothing to do with that."
He kissed Ron, then, a forceful, claiming, statement of a kiss. When he had finished, he said, "Now, kiss him."
"Bad suddenly isn't a strong enough adjective for--"
Ron cut off Draco's panic before it could really build on itself, shifting himself slightly so that while he was still lying atop Viktor, his mouth could press up against Draco's.
Viktor slipped his hand beneath Ron's waistband, in order to caress the flesh of his arse. Ron let up for long enough to say, "Draco, c'mon."
Draco opened his mouth, slightly. Enough for Ron to slip his tongue inside, touch it lightly to Draco's.
And just like that, Draco unraveled. Ron felt it, felt him pull apart at himself, come down to the very originating thread under his mouth. Ron panted, "It's not, don't--"
Draco arched up far enough to kiss him, shut him up.
Viktor whispered, "Touch him."
It wasn't clear for whom the order was meant, but Ron brought his hand to Draco's cock, cupping it none-too-gently. He swallowed Draco's moan. "Too much?"
Draco shook his head frantically. Ron dipped to bite softly at Draco's neck. Viktor laughed huskily.
He asked, "What would you like?"
Ron knew Viktor was looking at Draco, asking Draco. He wondered what he wanted and then realized it didn't matter. Whatever Draco asked for was going to sound good.
Clearly, Draco wasn't the only one coming apart.
Draco--with a surprising amount of strength--flipped Ron onto his back. He pressed one hand to Ron's chest. "This, I want--"
The other hand slipped Ron's bottoms down to his thighs, and Draco's mouth came over the head of Ron's cock. Ron's breath caught. It took Viktor saying, "Ron, love," to remind him that he needed to exhale.
Draco wasn't fancy about it. He didn't lick or tease, he just swallowed Ron steadily down until Ron could feel the press of Draco's nose to his skin. Ron watched as Viktor ran his hand from Draco's tailbone to his hair, where he buried his fingers and tugged lightly, pulling Draco up.
Ron moaned, "Viktor."
"Is that all you want?" Viktor asked.
Draco, looking straight at Ron, closed his eyes and shook his head.
It took a second for Ron to understand, but he did. "You have to ask."
Draco's eyes flew open, their expression pleading. Ron said, "Ask."
Draco said, "Viktor, please."
"Please?" Viktor asked.
"Fuck me, please." Draco's words were soft, as if certain they were unimportant.
Ron's gaze flickered to Viktor's for a second, and seeing what he had expected to see he took hold of Draco's head and lowered his mouth onto his cock again. Draco went without any fuss, any complaint, but Ron could feel the disappointment in him, the perceived humiliation.
Draco's startled swallow when Viktor pressed one long finger steadily inside him was enough to make Ron scream in sheer, mind-melting pleasure. When he had recovered the ability to see and make sense of the images presented to his brain, Viktor was on his second finger, and Draco had dug both hands deep into Ron's torso. Ron managed to maneuver his body well enough to cover Draco's hands with his own.
Viktor said, "Breathe," just before rising up and pressing into Draco. Draco whimpered then, whimpered and stilled, and Ron ran his fingers gently over Draco's. Viktor said, "Fuck," and Ron sympathized with the sentiment, both meanings.
Viktor waited, waited until Draco's head moved slightly. His tongue dragged along Ron's cock and Ron said, "Draco, Draco," and Viktor moved.
Draco moaned, Ron thought he was babbling things, babbling them into his cock and it was too much, too much to watch Viktor's smooth glide in and out of Draco, view the perfect, white arch of Draco's back, feel the tight, wet heat of his mouth. Ron said, "Draco, fuck," and came.
Draco didn't pull back, didn't struggle, just drank Ron down, held him until the very end, when Ron nearly couldn't handle it anymore, and then he let Ron slip from his mouth gently, so gently. Ron watched, sated, watched and saw what Viktor must have seen watching him and Draco--it was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.
Draco was looking at him, eyes open and unsure. Ron brought one hand to Draco's face. Draco pressed his cheek into the touch. Ron wrapped his other hand around Draco's cock, a firm squeeze and then a pull and then another until there was nearly a rhythm, as much as Ron could manage, his mind filled with the sight of Viktor arching, his head falling back, long, low sounds of pleasure emitting from his throat.
Draco shifted his face to kiss Ron's palm. Then he bit into the soft flesh and came.
Ron moved his hands to catch Draco as the tension drained from his body and he slumped over, Viktor following. He supported them both, twisting so that they would fall to the bed instead of on him.
Draco said, "I--"
Viktor said, "Hush."
Ron said, "Morning. It'll come soon enough."
"Yeah," Draco said, but he closed his eyes, and didn't jerk when Ron and Viktor twined their hands together atop his hip.
As it turned out, "morning" was actually early evening, as Ron had to leave for practice before the others had woken, and they both needed sleep more than they needed to talk. At least, that was how Ron justified leaving things, even knowing it meant they would be with each other all day, incapable of having a complete conversation, but fully capable of having partial one--should they choose simply to leave him out of it. They were still at work when he arrived home, so he rustled up some dinner for the three of them and waited.
They came home silent, standing apart from each other, and Ron knew they hadn't spoken. An odd flash of the sense that this arrangement might work blinked through Ron's mind.
Surprisingly, it was Draco who opened them conversation with, "I can't be your occasional pity fuck. I thought maybe that would work, but I've gone over it with myself and it won't."
By the time he was finished, Ron was just glad he hadn't tacked an apology to the end.
"You thought that was a pity fuck?" Viktor asked this quietly. He carried a hint of offense in his voice that Ron recognized, but he didn't think Draco would.
And of course Draco had, of course, because they had both felt him tighten, cry out a bit upon Viktor's entry; and why wouldn't a person work up to that, wait for everything he had ever wanted unless--unless--the person only thought he would get one chance?
Draco had tucked himself into a corner and was eyeing them both somewhat warily. Ron sat down at the table and said, "Come sit with me."
Viktor took a seat. Ron waited for Draco to accept the inevitable and take one for himself. When he did, Ron said, "You live with us. Regardless of how that came to be, you do. And while it might have been regular practice where you grew up to emotionally abuse housemates, Viktor and I think it's safer if nobody in the house wants to kill us in our sleep."
"Also," Viktor said, still sounding a bit disgruntled, "my relationship with my boyfriend means too much to risk it over making you feel desired."
"In that case, there's still clearly the distinction between your boyfriend and me."
Ron couldn't help feeling a little smug at that. Still, he said, "It's not like there are a whole bunch of ways to describe this."
"That's because it isn't done," Draco said.
"Still constrained by notions of propriety? I would have thought the second threat of prison would have cured you of that, if not the actual experience."
Ron tilted his head, surprised at the calm venom in Viktor's statement. Even more amazing was Draco's relative lack of reaction.
Sometimes he wondered how Durmstrangs and Slytherins defined friendship.
Ron said, "It's not entirely unheard of."
"The Slytherin-Gryffindor-Ravenclaw myth is just that," Draco said.
"You were there?" Ron asked.
Draco rolled his eyes.
"It doesn't matter that it is a myth," Viktor said. "What matters is that the myth exists, that the idea has been put forth into the general conscience."
"So people are kinky," Draco said.
"People have wants other than exactly what they're told they can have," Ron said.
"Slytherin abandoned Ravenclaw and Gryffindor and left them his pet basilisk as a parting gift," Draco pointed out.
"Yeah, we're going to have to watch out for your temper," Ron said, at the same time that Viktor said, "Thought you said that was a myth."
Draco blinked at them.
Viktor said, "It wasn't a pity fuck."
Ron nodded, "It really, really wasn't."
"What, exactly, was it?" Draco asked hesitantly.
Ron looked at Viktor, who shrugged.
"Oh, brilliant." Draco scrubbed his hands over his face.
Viktor laughed, and Ron leaned over the table to kiss him while Draco wasn't watching.
In the middle of a screaming match over the efficacy of the new interior defense tactics Ron's coach had implemented--which Ron was mostly defending because he was on the team, and well, it was habit to fight with Draco--Draco stopped mid-yell and said, "See, this is why--"
"Stop it before you say something even stupider than everything that's come out of your mouth so far."
Draco ignored the warning, "--we can't do this. You don't like me."
"Not always, you have a way of being obnoxious. But you don't always like me, either."
Draco looked at Ron.
Ron said, "I mean, you think my ideas are stupid."
"If I thought they were that stupid, I wouldn't bother arguing. I suppose I do have time to waste, but why would I want to waste it that way?"
"I just figured you didn't feel like you had a lot of choice. It's not as if you can get your own place."
Draco said, "No."
"And it's not as if this is an ideal situation for you either."
"Ideal." Draco tucked his hair behind his ear with one hand. "I think that if I had what I one thought of as ideal now, maybe I would be happy, just because I wouldn't know any better."
Ron heard the, "But?"
"But I want to be here. Ideal could be overrated."
"Could be."
"It's not just Viktor. I thought-- He's my friend, it was easy to think, 'yes, this is what I want,' but it's not just him."
Ron had sort of understood that, what with the blowjob, but he'd thought it a purely physical thing. "It's possible that we're friends as well."
"I missed the part where that happened."
Ron nodded. "We weren't paying attention."
"It's funny, because I've grown used to change, but you were a constant," Draco said. "I think I forgot that change could be for the better."
Ron wasn't quite sure how to respond to that when--for the most part--change was welcome in his life. He said, somewhat tangentially, "Hermione's started calling you by your name."
Draco frowned. "What was she calling me by before?"
"Various choice words."
"Your mu-- friend fights dirty."
"Because we don't know anyone who name calls," Ron said, his face as blank as he could manage.
Draco's face flashed with acknowledgement. "Why'd she stop?"
"It's her way of telling me that she's all right with me having you as a friend. I just wasn't listening until recently. Sometimes I don't, even when I know she's right. Having a friend who's always right is exhausting."
"She's not so bad," Draco said, sounding confused at his own opinion.
"If I could have been straight for her, I would have been," Ron said, well aware of the high-level of protectiveness he had around the subject of Hermione.
"Viktor's nothing to sneer at."
"Neither are you," Ron said quickly, before he could stop himself.
Draco's lips were on his before Ron even saw him move, and Ron brought his hands to Draco's back, pulled him in tighter, kissed back without question or hesitation. Draco said, "Okay, okay," panted it out between kisses.
Ron dragged his lips away for long enough to breathe, long enough to say, "I like you."
"Sometimes," Draco said.
"No," Ron said, "Not-- I like you."
Draco's kiss was slower this time, more like a declaration, or a claiming, or maybe even simply a confirmation. Ron laid himself open at the first touch of their lips.
Viktor brought Burie chocolates home on Ron's birthday.
Draco said, "I advised," and didn't meet Ron's eyes.
Ron took a chocolate and, despite his tendency to simply chew and swallow, found himself slowing, allowing it to melt over his tongue. When he had swallowed, he kissed Draco. "Good advising."
Draco smiled a bit, then, a small lifting of the corners of his mouth. "We could skip dinner."
Viktor laughed.
Ron looked over at him and asked, "I think we'll need the energy, don't you?"
"Definitely," Viktor agreed, nodding with an enforced gravity.
"Fine," Draco gave in, less than gracefully. "But I'm not being nice to your friends."
"It's my birthday," Ron said.
Draco sighed. Viktor chuckled some more.
Draco said, "You don't want-- I could stay here. Wait for you to come home."
As tempting as the vision of a waiting--naked and eager--Draco was, Ron said, "They'll be nice to you, you realize?"
"I looked up the signs that Hermione used to use as my name."
Ron couldn't help it, he smiled.
Draco said, "My point exactly."
"She uses the sign for 'dragon' now," Viktor said.
"And Potter has a tendency to keep his hand on his wand whenever I'm in the room," Draco said, clearly ignoring Viktor's point.
"Harry sometimes does that when just he and I are in a room. He has paranoia issues. Believe me when I say they can't be drawn back to you." Ron would have loved for things to be so simple. "Also, he's bringing a date, he'll want to be on his least-crazy behavior. Almost like a birthday gift. For me."
"Similar to you attending his birthday celebration dinner," Viktor added seamlessly.
Ron took another chocolate, bit into it, and brought his mouth to Viktor's to share. Support like that deserved a reward.
Viktor drew Ron in, his good hand slipping beneath the hem of Ron's jumper, lying cool and steady over his ribs. Viktor broke off the kiss and mumbled, "Eating really is overrated."
Ron grinned into Viktor's cheek, the curve of skin leading into his ear. "Don't you start." He twisted his neck to look at where Draco was standing, eyes deep-set with want, hands held purposely behind his back. Ron said, "Come on, then."
Draco took the step to press himself along Ron's side, curl his hand into Viktor's robes. He said, "I'll fuck it up. Your birthday."
Ron said, "Possibly."
"And then--"
"He'll forgive you," Viktor said.
"But--"
"I'd rather have you there," Ron said. Draco was scared he knew, scared of friendships that didn't seem like friendships just yet, maybe even weren't at the moment, but they would be, Ron knew. Draco was scared of screwing things up, of halting that process, of losing what ground he had gained. And a scared Draco was often a mean one, often a counter-productive one.
Ron, though, for the first time in a long time wasn't scared, or confused. He wanted Draco at his birthday dinner.
"I really would be here when you got back," Draco said. "And not just because--"
"I know," Ron said.
"Yes," Viktor said. "But we want you to come with us."
Ron nodded, pressed into Viktor's hand just the tiniest bit.
Draco laid his head on Ron's shoulder. "The things I do for the two of you."
"It is Ron's birthday," Viktor said.
Draco made an indescribable noise into the cotton of Ron's jumper. Ron glanced at the clock on the wall. They were running late.
He let himself stand--held up by the two of them, holding the two of them up--for just a few minutes more.