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You've Always Been Mine	By : Mamacita Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Draco/Ron Views: 7415 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Hidden Freckles
Godric’s Hollow
16 Jul 1990
Hermione and Ginny darted around the corner of the Castle and ducked behind a granite pillar. “Ready?” Ginny whispered, and Hermione nodded. She waited, wand at the ready, as Ginny conjured two gigantic, fat water balloons.
“Wingardium Leviosa!” Hermione said softly, and with a swish and flick the balloons rose to hover in mid-air. Hermione waved her wand gently and they rose higher.
The sound of pounding footsteps could be heard approaching. The girls looked at each other with wide grins and stepped out into plain view of Harry, Ron, and Draco, who were pelting toward them. The boys skidded to a stop, regarding the two girls with heavy suspicion.
Hermione said calmly, “Finite Incantatem.” The boys looked at each other, puzzled.
“What did you—” Ron began, just as one balloon fell on his head. He shrieked—it came out a bit hoarse as his voice was no longer able to reach quite that high—and spluttered when the balloon broke and icy water cascaded over his head and shoulders, soaking him thoroughly.
Draco looked up just in time to be hit squarely in the face with the second balloon. He yelped and cried, “My eyes! It’s in my eyes!” He wiped frantically at the water on his face.
Ron, Harry, and the girls were laughing. “Honestly, Draco,” Ron chortled, “it’s only a little water.”
“Oh—” Draco turned on him, stung— “that’s rich, coming from the boy who just screamed like a little girl.” Now it was Ron’s turn to look chagrined. He smiled weakly.
Just then Fred and George appeared around the side of the castle, yelling at the top of their lungs and brandishing brightly colored objects that strongly resembled...Muggle guns? When they were about twenty feet away they opened fire on the sitting ducks before them with powerful jets of water from what proved to be plastic water guns.
The little group abandoned all pretense of sophistication and, to a man—boy? girl?—screamed like crazy as the frigid water soaked them to the skin. They scattered in five different directions as the twins gleefully exhausted their water supply.
Fred and George looked at each other and nodded in satisfaction. “I think our work here is done,” said Fred—or was it George? “Shall we?”
Molly’s voice could be heard from somewhere nearby. George—or was it Fred?—hastily said, “We shall.” They took off at a run back the way they had come before any of the mums could step in to stop their fun.
Draco and Ron met at the scullery door. Looking around furtively in case of further ambushes, they quickly stepped inside the door, hoping to make it up to their rooms to change out of the wet clothes that clung uncomfortably in the heat—and to do so without running into any of the mums.
They took one last, hurried look out of the door and, satisfied that no one was pursuing them, turned to go through the kitchen—only to find Lily standing there, arms folded across her chest and foot tapping on the slate floor. She raised her eyebrows at their identical expressions of guilt.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said. “You are not trapising through the house and dripping water everywhere. Take off those wet things and leave them in here for Rose to collect for the laundry. I’ll have Lionel bring you some dry clothes.”
They just stood there, looking at her. “Well?” she said, making shooing motions with her hands. “Get busy.” Still they hesitated. “What? What is it?” she asked.
Ron cleared his throat. “Well—erm—we can’t. I mean, you’re still here.” He blushed furiously.
Draco eyed Ron, distracted by the blush. He had never lost his early fascination with Ron’s freckles, and he had been intrigued over the years to find that every square inch of his friend’s body was covered with them. Well—nearly every square inch. And when Ron blushed, as he did quite often, his freckles stood out even more than when his skin was its normal pale shade.
Lily tsk’d in exasperation and rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said, and stalked past them to the outer door. “I’ll go.” She pointed at them imperiously. “Clothes—off—now.” She went outside and closed the exterior door.
Ron closed the kitchen door, and he and Draco began the laborious job of stripping off wet clothes that were stuck to them so thoroughly as to be nearly as difficult to remove as if they were skin. Finally they finished, dropping their wet things into a sodden heap on the floor.
“Brr,” Ron said, shivering. “Didn’t seem cold out there in the sun, but it’s bloody freezing in here.” He paced back and forth in the small space, trying to work off the chill of the stone room.
“Yeah,” Draco said. He felt strangely breathless at the sight of Ron’s casual nakedness. This was a lot like some of his dreams had been starting out lately. He always seemed to wake up before anything good happened—although he wasn’t quite sure just what “good” might entail.
“Man, I hope Lionel brings a couple of towels with him,” Ron said. “I’m pretty wet even without the clothes.” He pulled out a wooden stool from beneath the sink and gestured to Draco, who shook his head no, he didn’t want it. Ron sat down, wincing when his bare arse hit the cold surface. He put his feet on the top rung, wrapped his arms around his knees, and sighed gustily.
Draco looked at the expanse of freckled skin before him and experienced a powerful urge to touch it. Before he could stop himself, his hand reached out and he ran a finger down the slope of Ron’s bowed back, tracing the line of his shoulder blade and spine.
Ron tensed slightly but did not look up. However, a fiery blush spread down his neck and across his upper back. “Uh, what—” he began, and his voice broke. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What are you doing?” he asked, this time in a near-whisper. His back remained turned to Draco.
“I don’t know,” Draco admitted quietly. “I just—I just wanted to touch your freckles.” Ron turned and looked at him then, and Draco gave a little shrug as if to say he knew it sounded silly, but there you were.
Ron stared at him for a moment. “Why?” he asked finally.
Draco shrugged again. “I dunno. They’re all over you—well, most of you anyway—” Ron’s eyes widened and flicked toward his lap; he was obviously aware of where his freckles were in short supply— “and, well, I just sort of...couldn’t help it.” He met Ron’s eyes a little defiantly. “Sorry,” he muttered, and turned away.
“Wait.” Ron grabbed Draco’s arm. “I—I guess I don’t mind. It’s not a big deal, right?”
Draco turned back to him and Ron saw to his surprise that it appeared to be a bigger deal than he’d thought. He looked at the evidence of Draco’s not-so-casual interest and swallowed. As they grew up together he’d often envied Draco his smooth, unblemished skin, but he found himself feeling rather gratified, in an odd and unexpected way, to find that Draco apparently returned the appreciation—with interest.
Draco held his gaze firmly, only looking away when a knock came at the kitchen door. “Yes?” Draco called. He felt a bit disappointed, as if a promised treat had been withdrawn.
“Your clothes, Master Draco,” Lionel said. Draco opened the door and took the neat stack of clothing and towels from the elf, who bowed and closed the door again. Draco passed Ron his clothes and a towel and then took the other towel and began to dry himself.
As they dragged on clean shorts and shirts, Draco made one final effort to convey something of what he felt, although he was still a little confused as to just what that was.
“So Ron, I was wondering—do you ever—you know....” He trailed off, afraid he would sound utterly stupid.
“Do I ever what?” Ron asked, pausing with his shirt half on.
“Well—I just wondered if you ever, um, think about...things,” Draco faltered.
Ron looked at him as if he were mental. “Do I ever think about things?” He snorted. “Like what?” He shook his head. “What are you on about?”
Draco squeezed his fists so tightly he could feel each individual nail digging into his palms. Now or never, he thought.
“Me,” he blurted. “Do you ever think about me?” There. He’d said it. He shouldn’t have, but it just seemed to be one of those days when he couldn’t quite manage to control his impulses. He waited, cringing inside, for the ridicule that was sure to follow.
Only it didn’t. Instead the silence stretched out for so long that he chanced a look at Ron. Ron was watching him intently, his mouth slightly open as if he were about to say something. Finally he did.
“Yeah, I do. All the time,” he said simply.
Draco sagged with something like relief. “Really?” Ron nodded. “Well...good.” He said it again, more firmly. “Good. That’s—that’s all I wanted to know.”
Ron stood up. “Do you, then?” he asked softly.
Draco nodded. “All the time. I mean all the time,” he confessed in a rush. “I even dream about you sometimes.”
“You do?” Ron looked interested. “What—what kind of dreams?”
Draco thought for a moment. “I’m not really sure,” he said at last. “But usually when I wake up I’m—” He glanced down at himself and then back at Ron, his cheeks tinged a delicate pink. “Well—you know.”
And suddenly, Ron did know. He couldn’t think what to say. Apparently Draco couldn’t, either. They finished dressing in silence.
When Ron moved to open the outer door, Draco stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Er—I think it would be best if all this stayed between us,” he said seriously.
Ron grinned shyly. “Too right,” he agreed. “Can you imagine if, say, the twins knew?” They both shuddered theatrically.
As they headed back out into the sunshine Draco casually dropped one arm over Ron’s shoulders, and Ron sent him that same shy smile.
Which Ginny and Hermione’s sharp eyes found very interesting as they watched the two boys finally emerge from the castle after their rather protracted absence. Hermione’s mind, ever seething with theories and possibilities, hit on one particular possibility as she looked at Draco’s arm where it hung rather possessively about Ron’s shoulders, and the most amazing idea popped into her mind. She was tempted to dismiss it out of hand. Surely it couldn’t be; this was Ron and Draco, after all. But, being Hermione, she determined instead to wait and see if she was right. If she was...well then, how very intriguing, indeed.
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You've Always Been Mine