Safe Harbour

~~~~~ SAFE HARBOUR, Part Three ~~~~~

"Ron, up with you. I've got some lunch here."

Ron opened one eye to find Draco towering over him. "Lunch," he repeated thickly. "Okay."

Draco nodded and moved away.

Ron hoisted himself up, charming his teeth clean and banishing his bad breath. He padded over to where Draco was working, barely succeeding in suppressing the urge to wrap his arms about Draco's waist. He settled for laying a hand on his shoulder. "You didn't have to run off like that."

Draco stiffened slightly but made no attempt to unseat Ron's hand. "I thought it prudent to make a hasty exit before things got out of hand."

"Draco, I'm confused," Ron said, daring to press ever so slightly against Draco. "I'm not the straightest wand in the box, but I'm not blind, either. I was certain..."

"Fuck," Draco breathed as he gently pulled away and turned about. "Whatever you think you're feeling, just forget it. We're paired together and working for The Order, nothing more. We can't...I can't let it be more than that." He let out a deep breath and stood there, his eyes red and bloodshot.

Ron nodded and stared at the floor. So he'd been on the right track after all. Something had indeed been happening between them, and he hadn't been the only one to recognize it. And now Draco was attempting to take the easy way out.

"Listen, mate,” Ron said, “it's like this: I would never presume to tell you what you should think or feel. I've known you for nearly a decade, but I haven't really gotten to know you, the real you, until these last few days. Having said that, I have to respect your wishes, however ill-conceived I feel they may be."

Draco shot him the look that normally would have heralded a blistering retort of epic Malfoysian proportions. Instead, he merely nodded. "You realize of course that whatever feelings you think you may have for me aren't genuine. Rather common phenomenon, really. Quite natural for a patient to develop feelings of gratitude or attachment to their caregiver."

Ron folded his arms. "I see. But then that only covers me. What about you?"

"What about me?" Draco asked with incredulity. "I've already told you, I can't allow us to...to...become involved."

"Right, right," Ron replied, stroking the whiskers on his chin. "So if I hear you correctly, you've totally invalidated my feelings but you've just admitted to harbouring similar ones of your own, but at the same time you're going to deny them based on some strange ideology that it would be somehow wrong for you to do so."

Draco gaped at Ron for many moments before speaking again. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with Ron Weasley? I've never heard you speak like that before."

"Surprise," Ron shot back.

"I wasn't attempting to invalidate anything," Draco replied, obviously struggling to maintain an even tone. "This simply isn't the most optimal situation for something like this to develop. And there are other considerations, that you know nothing about, that conspire to make the idea of anything happening between us all the more unlikely."

"You've clearly given this a great deal of thought," Ron said. "So now I hear you saying that you're well aware that we have mutual feelings of attraction, but the timing is all wrong."

Draco shook his head and sighed heavily. "No, no, that's not what I meant at all."

Ron shrugged. "Well, that's what you just said."

Draco threw up his hands and turned about. "You have no fucking idea what you're asking of me. Not the slightest clue. You crash through everything, like some big, bumbling hippogriff in a china shop, all lopsided smiles, ridiculous analogies, and simplistic life views that just don't hold up in the real world." He turned slowly, his gaze averted, hands planted firmly on hips.

"Wow, that's rather harsh," Ron answered, nodding slightly and taking a few steps toward Draco. "Not sure where the love is in all that, but here's the deal, then." He slowly reached out and gently lifted Draco's chin. Draco pressed his lips together and locked his now steely eyes on Ron's. Ron thought for a moment before continuing. "There's nothing I can do to change what's happened in the past, both yours and mine, and our subsequent perceptions of each other. We're in the here and now, and I think it's a good idea to keep looking forward. We keep glancing behind us, and we're going to miss something, make mistakes, or worse. You're right, there are things about you that I don't know. Not really fair to hold that against me, now is it?" He waited a moment for a response, but hadn't expected one. "One of the reasons that we're out here is because we're looking forward, that we're hopeful for a future without Snakeface and his bloody arseholes, a future where we can get back on track. Better days, yeah? If we allow ourselves to be held back and be bogged down by everything that's gone before, we've already lost." He chuckled nervously. "Sorry if that's a bit simplistic, but I also think it's a good idea to not over analyse things."

Draco opened his mouth as if to speak, but then thought better of it. He moved past Ron to one of the small windows and pushed the dingy curtain aside. Ron followed, maintaining a discreet distance. Draco wiped at a wavy and pocked pane of glass.

"I've done things, horrible things, Ron. I took the Dark Mark, I grovelled before that psychopath, kissed his bloody feet, pledged my allegiance to the Dark. I tormented both you and Potter the entire time I was at Hogwarts. I lied, I cheated, I did everything a good person isn't supposed to do. That's what I was taught, the only example that I knew."

"Go on," Ron said softly.

"But then I watched you and Potter and Granger, saw how you came together, how you treated each other, supported one another. Precious little of that in Slytherin House, I'll tell you. A few exceptions, though. Blaise and Pansy, and a few of the others that you know. And that's when I started to question, to dare to believe that there might be a better way."

"But your father," Ron offered.

Draco snorted as he still stared out the window. "Yeah, Lucius. You know what's really fucked? As much as I've grown to hate him, as thankful as I am that the miserable bastard will rot in Azkaban for the rest of his miserable, fucking life, it's difficult for me to blame him for what he became. It's how he was raised, what was pounded into his head from when he was a child. How could he have turned out any differently? He didn't stand a chance."

Ron stepped closer and placed his hands on Draco's shoulders. "He had free will. He chose to follow the darkest of the dark paths, Draco. He let himself fall into it. He didn't want to change."

"I hate to disagree," Draco replied evenly, "but I don't really think he had any chance to change. You see, when you're surrounded by darkness, when that's all you're immersed in, that's all you know, it colours your every perception, your every thought and belief. If you avoid the light, never even coming close to it, how can one possibly change? What was that rot in Muggle Studies? Surround yourself with positive, upbeat people, and that's what you'll become?" He chuckled mirthlessly. "Look at you. How could you have possibly turned out any differently, growing up in that cabal of red headed love and affection? So you know that the converse is also true. Darkness breeds darkness."

"But that doesn't apply to you, Draco. You've seen the alternative. You know there's another way than what you'd been shown. And you've embraced it. You've redeemed yourself, and every day from here on out will only add to that."

Draco shook his head. "Bloody hell, you're astounding! Salvation is instantaneous and all-encompassing, yes? With a word and a deed, I'm somehow absolved of all past transgressions." He turned about then, his eyes glistening. "I won't believe that even you are that naive."

Ron shrugged and grinned. "Another Weasley character fault. Look for the silver lining in every dark cloud."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Shite."

"Just because I said to keep things simple doesn't mean that they'll be easy, by any means. Sure, there are people out there that will never, ever change their opinion of you. Forget those tossers. They're a minority. I know a great many more that have taken notice of your efforts and are suitably impressed by your dedication to the cause."

"I don't give a skrewt's bum whether anyone else is impressed or not. I'm not fighting for them," Draco huffed.

"Too right," Ron agreed. "Poor choice of words. I just meant to say that I'm not the only one who's taken note of the change in you, and are pleased to see it."

Draco stared at him for a moment and then started to chuckle. "Bloody fucking hell, you never give up, do you?"

Ron shook his head. "Nope. Never."

Draco muttered something under his breath, but Ron didn't catch it. He then turned around again to stare out the window. "I need a bit of time to sort things through."

"Fair enough," Ron replied, reaching out and giving Draco's shoulder a squeeze.

Draco placed a hand on Ron's and returned the pressure. "Right, I've got to head into Strath for provisions at some point today, or we'll go hungry." He whirled away from Ron without so much as a glance and proceeded to busy himself by making some tea. "Probably ready for a lie down after all that prattling on and all."

"Sure," Ron lied. He obediently flopped down on the bed and settled in to watch as Draco prepared their breakfast.

~~~~~

They ate in silence, Draco deep within himself. He barely spared Ron a glance before he threw on a glamour and set out for Strath.

Ron rifled through his rucksack, finally extracting a months old and well-worn copy of Quidditch Stars Unrobed! He fiddled with the radio, frowning when all it would pick up was Wizarding Channel One, and some Muggle station blaring rubbish that sounded like a pair of screeching cats in a boiling cauldron. He settled for the lesser of two evils and selected Channel One, resigning himself to the insipid ‘Music for Homemakers’ programmes that filled the bulk of the weekday morning broadcast.

After an hour of perusing Unrobed! he felt a bit stiff and decided that he needed a breath of fresh air. He threw on his denims and boots, cast a glamour on himself, dropped the wards and stepped outside. It was early May, but the air still held onto a slight chill despite the bright sunshine. The small, stone cottage was quite old, backed into a small hillside and facing roughly northwest. This was the first time Ron had been outdoors since he and Draco had arrived. He took deep breaths, the air fresh and tinged with the tang of the nearby water. He turned about and raised the wards, grinning as the cottage faded from view.

He set out on the narrow, curving track that wound its way amongst the grasses and small outcroppings of rock. The trees were few and rather windswept in appearance. He walked for a hundred yards or so before he crested a small hill and stopped, taking in the view. Draco had made mention of how beautiful the local landscape was, but mere words hadn’t done it justice.

He stood on a high point of land and the trail continued down a gradual slope for another half-mile or so where it ended at a rather large beach. A sizable loch spread out further beyond, with a large, sheltered harbour on the left, and a much smaller one on the right. Nearly straight ahead, the loch met the open sea, and in the distance, shrouded in haze, lay the low hills of the Isle of Skye.

“Brilliant,” Ron murmured as he continued down the track. Clouds had moved in occluding the sun, and Ron wished he’d thrown on a sweatshirt. As he walked, he began to notice what looked like the ruins of some sort of structure. He crested another small rise, and he stopped again. A jumble of ancient, cut stone of various sizes made a rough outline. Some sort of fort, Draco had said, although Ron couldn’t recall its name at the moment. Very old, that was certain; Iron Age? He’d have to ask Draco.

Ron left the track, making his way through the ankle and knee high grasses. He came to a section of rough hewn stone steps, where he decided to have a rest. He sat down, knees pulled up to his chest, and gazed out across the water.

The ruins were situated nearer to the smaller harbour, with the large beach just fifty or so yards below and to his right. If he’d wanted, he could have ambled down and walked along the beach for another mile and reached the first of the three villages that made up Gairloch proper. Ron only knew the name of the largest one, Strath, where Draco did most of their provisioning.

He’d never been to this area of Scotland before, and though the ruins of Hogwarts weren’t really all that far away, this section of the Highlands was even more stunning. A small sailboat made its way across the water as the sun broke through and washed everything with light.

It was hard to believe that a war was going on, that people were fighting and dying even as he sat there, taking in the idyllic scene below. Not that the Muggles knew anything as to what was going on in his world; a good thing, too, as they had troubles of their own, of which Ron was only peripherally aware.

“Always hidden, always just below the surface,” he murmured to himself. One never really could see what lay beneath: the struggles, the conflicts, the pain. It was the same way with people. Ron thought of Draco and his demons, and how, until this morning, there hadn’t been so much as the tiniest clue as to the depths of Draco’s self-torment. Ron couldn’t fathom how such an obviously intelligent, clever individual could blind himself, convince himself that he was so totally, irrevocably lost and without hope. What horrific things had Draco been subjected to? How could his own father have done such things?

The very concept of a parent behaving so heinously was so alien to Ron's experiences that it utterly boggled his mind. Sure, he knew people were capable of the most terrible things, and that child abuse, either physical, mental or both wasn't anything new, and it was rumoured that many of the students of Slytherin House came from less than wonderful households. He reasoned that the concept was suddenly so vexing due to Draco being the first individual that Ron knew personally that had come from such an upbringing.

“Only time will tell,” he whispered again, suddenly feeling quite silly sitting there and talking to himself. He sat for a while longer, thinking about Draco some more before drifting off to wonder how well Jon, George and Harry were doing. He missed them all terribly. It wasn't much longer before the first tinges of pain and fatigue seeped into his body, so he stood and headed back to the cottage.

He'd only gone a few yards up the hill when he realised that he'd seriously over-exerted himself. His headache increased exponentially, his limbs growing numb and heavy. He was barely a quarter of the way back to the cottage when he knew that he’d never make it the rest of the way on foot.

Ron sat down in a heap by the side of the path, faint, winded, and unsure how much longer he’d be conscious. If he passed out, his glamour would fail, and if some Muggle found him, and took him to hospital…there’d be hell to pay. He also couldn’t take the chance that Draco would discover him on his way back from Strath.

So despite the dangers of having it tracked and pinpointed, Ron decided to Apparate. He closed his eyes and struggled to focus his increasingly fuzzy mind on the cottage…his destination right by where the front door was, that small, worn patch of earth, next to the flat, oblong piece of grey shale…

He took a deep breath and Apparated, and knew no more.

~~~~~

“What in Merlin’s Balls are you doing out here?”

Ron groaned, but kept his eyes shut. “Nothing,” he replied. Draco struggled to lift him to his feet. “Just wanted some fresh air,” he added lamely, cracking open his eyes.

Draco was still wearing his glamour, and Filch-Snape glared at him. “Open a window next time,” he huffed. “You’re not well, you big, moronic git. How many times do I have to say it?”

Ron threw his arm about Draco’s shoulders. “A few hundred more times, I expect.” He grinned, but Draco would have none of it.

“Idiot,” Draco muttered as he dropped the wards and kicked open the door. They stumbled across the threshold, barely making it to the bed, where Draco dropped Ron face first onto the mattress. “Can’t leave you alone for a second!”

Ron sighed as he rolled over, just in time to see Draco slam the door and drop his glamour. Draco stalked over to the table, pulling a handful of sacks from his jacket pocket and engorging them back to normal size. “How your Mum ever survived your upbringing with even a shred of sanity is beyond me. I’m beginning to think they awarded her the Order of Merlin simply for surviving the trauma of raising such a clutch of red headed miscreants!”

“You know, you’re really quite cute when upset,” Ron said.

“Enough cheek, I think,” Draco shot back. “Here, take your potion and sleep. Or else.” He tossed the phial to Ron, who caught it easily.

“Yes, Doctor.” Ron popped the cork and hefted the phial, winking at Draco as he downed the liquid. “I think I’m actually getting used to this,” he said around his frown.

Draco merely nodded and continued unpacking their provisions.

~~~~~

The pair fell into a comfortable rhythm, their days following a familiar pattern. Draco would prepare breakfast, they would listen to the Wizarding Wireless for a few hours, and then Ron would nap while Draco would either read or journey into Strath. They usually skipped lunch, as Ron almost always slept through it.

Ron would then awake in early afternoon to find Draco milling about, preparing their evening tea. Draco had taken to bringing back the local Muggle newspaper every other day, and while it obviously held no news of their world, it was something new to read nonetheless. Somehow, Draco had also managed to procure three recent copies each of Quagmire’s Quidditch Quarterly and Quidditch Stars Unrobed!, which Ron devoured far too quickly.

After tea, they again usually listened to the Wireless, and Ron eventually talked Draco into playing Wizard's Chess. At first, Ron would barely last half an hour after tea before needing to lie down; but as time wore on, he felt his strength returning slowly but steadily.

That first night after he’d collapsed while on the way back to the cottage, Draco had made a big show of preparing his bedroll in the far corner of the room. Ron had watched with interest, but said nothing. It was Draco’s way of saving face, of proclaiming silently that he was going to handle things in his own manner, that he’d come to Ron in his own good time, thanks so very much. Ron didn’t have very long wait; he awoke the next morning to find Draco in the bed, back to him and perched precariously on the far side of the mattress.

Draco opened up very slowly over the course of the next week, his willingness to reveal his darkest secrets in almost direct correlation to Ron’s increasing stamina and general return to health. Draco also gradually dropped the barriers that he’d erected between them, slowly becoming more and more affectionate and tactile as the days marched by.

Ron finally remembered to ask about the ruins, and Draco turned out to be a veritable storehouse of information regarding the area. Seems the Malfoy family had maintained a small house in Lonemore, one of the villages of Gairloch, for many generations. Draco recalled spending a few summers of his youth on the beaches of Gair Loch before Lucius sold the property to Muggles when Draco was six.

One of Draco’s distant ancestors was a MacKenzie, whose clan had held title to the surrounding lands including the fort of An Dun from 1494 until the middle of the eighteenth century. Prior to that, An Dun was controlled by the MacLeod clan, who took over the land when the Vikings departed the area in 1263. Draco wasn’t certain, but it was entirely likely that Jon could trace his lineage directly to the clan that ruled Gairloch for over two hundred years.

As Ron regained his health, he and Draco took longer and longer walks, glamoured, of course, and weather permitting, venturing further and further into Gairloch, finally visiting each of the three villages. Ron’s favourite spot was An Dun, hands down, and he and Draco managed to catch at least one dazzling sunset from their vantage point on the ruined stone steps. It was on a Thursday evening in early May, near the end of their second week in Gairloch that Ron finally kissed Draco. Or perhaps it was the other way around...

Draco had risen from the steps to stretch just as the small, blazingly orange disc of the sun was sinking into the sea. Ron had approached him slowly, gently winding his arms about Draco’s waist and leaning his chin on Draco’s shoulder. Draco had actually pressed against him, placing his hands over Ron’s. Ron nuzzled Draco’s cheek, barely pressing his groin into Draco’s backside. They stayed that way until the sun disappeared, the sky a sizzling tapestry of bright oranges, reds, and purples. Draco had pulled away, and Ron thought that he was simply making ready to return to the cottage. Instead, Draco framed Ron’s face with both hands, pausing only the briefest of moments before he’d leaned up to press their lips together. Ron had pulled Draco in tightly, his large hands caressing and massaging Draco’s lower back. Draco broke away and smiled, gently taking Ron’s hand and leading him back to the cottage.

Ron slept dreamlessly that night, for the first time in ages, with Draco spooned against him, the fingers of their right hands interlaced.

~~~~~


Friday, 5 May, 2000


“Ayuh, I’d say ya’ve made a remarkable recovery,” the mediwitch said as she moved her wand over Ron's chest. "Ambric levels are within ninety-five percent of normal, residual traces of dark energy, nominal." She winked at Ron as she sheathed her wand in her waistbelt. "Just one more thing," she murmured, placing the odd contraption hanging from her neck into each ear. She blew on the round silver disc connected to the earpieces by slender, black tubes, placing the disc on the center of Ron's chest.

"Shite!" Ron yelped. "That's bloody cold, that is!"

"Careful there, Miss Heliotrope," Draco called out from across the room. "He may look like a sturdy, strapping bloke, but beneath that hulking exterior, lies a most fragile flower."

Ron stuck out his tongue, and Draco responded in kind.

"That's Hortense to you laddie," she replied, carefully moving the disc about Ron's chest. "Take some deep breaths, hold for a count of two, and then release, yes? That's a good lad."

Ron complied while Draco moved up to stand behind him. Hortense listened intently while Ron breathed deeply in and out, completing a few sets before the mediwitch finally nodded and straightened up. She removed the device from her ears, and her auto quill immediately began scratching away in her tiny notebook.

"So," Draco began brightly, "he'll need another two weeks of bed rest, right?"

Hortense arched an eyebrow all the way up into her silvery grey hairline. "Nice try, lad, but Mr. Weasley here is recovered enough for return to duty. Not quite one hundred percent, but well along."

"Can't blame a bloke for trying," Draco offered sheepishly. He placed both hands on Ron's bare shoulders and leaned his head against Ron's.

Hortense chuckled and shook her head. "Now ya just keep yer panty hose on, Mr. Malfoy, at least until I've left the building." She opened her bag and made to place the odd device inside.

Ron stayed her hand. "What is that thing? Old, isn't it?"

"What, this? Oh, yes, belonged to my da. Muggle doctor, and a damn good one, at that. Quite something to be a healer without the benefit of magic, ya know."

"But I thought your wand could tell you everything you need to know about a patient," Ron replied. "What do you need that for, then?"

Hortense harrumphed. "Ayuh, my wand is capable of a very thorough scan, but I still like to hear a healthy heart and lungs with my own ears, thanks very much. I've always believed in a hands on approach to medicine, truth be told." She stuffed the Muggle contraption into her bag, rooting about for a moment before extracting a roll of parchment. "I've been instructed to give this to ya had I found Mr. Weasley here to be fit and ready for duty."

She thrust the parchment at Draco, who eyed it ominously.

"Thank you, Hortense. For everything," Draco said absently. He took the parchment, broke the seal and began reading.

"Yeah, thanks," Ron added, jumping off the table and hugging the stocky mediwitch firmly.

"Oh, well, Merlin's Broomsticks!" Hortense stammered, her hands fluttering about and patting Ron animatedly. "Ya're quite welcome, lad, quite welcome indeed!" Ron released her, and she smoothed out some strands of hair that had come loose from the tight bun on the top of her head. She smiled widely as she threw her cloak about her shoulders. She picked up her bag and laid a hand on Ron's. "Be safe, now, both of ya, yes?" She winked and jerked her head toward the door. "Do an old lady a favour and drop the wards? Don't fancy Apparatin' in a downpour."

"Of course," Draco said.

Hortense nodded. "Thanks much, lad. Be careful out there!" She held her bag to her waist with one hand while she held up the index finger of her other hand, scribing what looked like the letter zed in the air; she Disapparated to a series of clangs and a lurid yellow puff of smoke.

Ron waved his hand in a attempt to clear away the haze. “What in hell was that all about?” he wheezed. He turned to look at Draco, who was staring at the parchment. “Oy, you okay? What is it?”

“What was that, Ron?”

Ron walked around the table and threw his arm about Draco’s shoulders. “Well, first I asked what was up with Hortense.” He gestured to the slowly dissipating cloud of smoke.

“Oh, well, just an old way of Apparating,” Draco answered. “For a while it was in vogue to have your own arrival and departure alert, as well as a distinct visual signature. Old school stuff.”

“Interesting,” Ron observed, banishing Hortense’ smoke with a wave of his hand. “And what’s the good news?” He tapped the parchment.

“Deployment Orders,” Draco murmured, dropping the paper to the table. “We’re to report to Northern Command Headquarters in Inverness tomorrow morning at oh-nine-hundred for re-assignment.”

Ron turned Draco to face him. “We’ve always known that we’d be leaving here. Can’t stay in this haven forever, yeah?” He lifted Draco’s chin. “Still work to do, and time we got back to it. I do feel a bit guilty having been here so long while the rest of our mates are out there.”

Draco nodded and buried his head against Ron’s chest, the fingers of one hand slowly playing across the surface of one of Ron’s ginger-furred pectorals. “I know, I know, and a week ago I’d have been glad to go and never give this place another thought. But now…”

Ron kissed the top of Draco’s head. “But now, what?”

“But now I don’t want to leave,” Draco replied. “I’ve never felt so safe, so secure as I’ve felt being here with you. This is our haven, our safe harbour from the storm. Gods, Ron, I can’t bear the thought of what will happen once we leave here.” He lifted his head and kissed Ron roughly, his tongue pushing hungrily into Ron’s mouth.

Ron embraced Draco firmly for a moment before breaking their kiss. He sighed heavily, cradling Draco’s head with both hands. “Wherever we go, whatever happens, we’ll always have this, and it’ll be ours and ours alone. No one, nothing, can ever take this away from us, yeah?” He snuffled, releasing Draco to wipe at his nose. “Now you’ve gone and gotten me all worked up.”

Draco chuckled and sniffled himself, wiping at his eyes. “What a poncy couple of poofs we are, eh?”

“Guilty,” Ron agreed. “Wouldn’t want to be any other way.” He squeezed Draco’s shoulder. “I can’t begin to thank you enough for all you’ve done. I wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for you. You saved me, in every way a body could be.”

Draco nodded, staring at the floor. “And you saved me, Ron. No one’s ever bothered to try to understand me before. To try to…to help me. You’re the only one…” He walked away to the bed and began shoving random items into his rucksack. “But now that’s all over, finished, done. We‘re leaving, and that‘s that.”

Ron moved behind Draco and gently pulled the rucksack out of Draco’s hands. “Now hold on a minute,” he said firmly. “Yeah, we’re leaving Gairloch, but we’re going together. Both of us. You and me. Nothing’s finished, Draco, not as far as I’m concerned. A beginning, more like. At least that‘s what I thought.”

Draco whirled about and sat down heavily on the bed. “Damn you, Ron. You just don’t play by the rules, do you?”

Ron threw up his hands. “What in bloody hell are you going on about now?”

Draco shook his head. “You, Merlin be damned! It’s not supposed to go this way. You’re not supposed to be so fucking understanding and supportive and wonderful and sodding gorgeous and funny…” He thumped the mattress with both fists. “I don’t know if I can do this, Ron! I don’t know how! No one’s ever…I’ve never…”

Ron knelt down, grasping one of Draco’s fists and squeezing it firmly. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to answer it truthfully, okay?”

Draco struggled to maintain his composure. He met Ron’s gaze and nodded. “Go ahead. Shoot.”

Ron took a deep breath. “Do you trust me, Draco? Implicitly?”

Draco blinked. “What?”

“I said, do you trust me?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. What kind of silly question is that?”

Ron grinned. “So you do, then.”

Draco held up his hands. “Yes, Ron, I trust you.”

“Good. So you’ll believe me when I tell you something, then.”

“Of course,” Draco responded, his tone tinged with annoyance.

Ron placed his hands on Draco’s knees. “I’m not leaving you, Draco. I’m not going anywhere that you can’t follow. If they try to split us up when we get to Inverness, then I’ll resign my commission. Simple as that.”

“But you can’t do that.”

Ron shrugged. “I most certainly can. Last time I checked, this was still a volunteer Service. And I’ve done my bit, for over two years. I’ve got the scars to prove it.”

“But you just said you couldn’t wait to get back into the thick of things,” Draco said. “You wouldn’t feel guilty ducking out of the Service so abruptly?”

“There are many ways to serve,” Ron answered, shrugging and smiling.

Draco nodded, gazing at Ron and tracing a finger across the Inferi scar. “You’re right, as usual. You’ve done a brilliant job. Not a soul would begrudge your choice to resign. You very nearly died, after all. I’m seeing another Order of Merlin for the Weasley clan.”

Ron chuckled. “Probably. But you saved me, and you’ve also done amazing things in service of The Order. I think I’m seeing the first Order of Merlin for the Malfoys.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Draco replied. “Besides, I was horrible at Divination, so my predictions are highly suspect.”

“That makes two of us, then.”

They were both silent for many moments, the only sound being the low crackling of the fire in the hearth.

“Rain’s stopped,” Ron observed.

“For a few minutes,” Draco added. “Are you sure, Ron? Truly?”

Ron grinned wickedly. “What, about the rain?”

“Arsehole,” Draco spat. “Don’t toy with me right now. You know what I meant.”

“Yeah, I know. And yeah, I’m sure.”

Draco shook his head and flopped back onto the mattress.

“Do I have to say it?” Ron prodded, scooting between Draco’s spread legs and leaning over him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, might as well go for the full monty. Let ‘er rip.”

Ron sniggered out loud. “Shite, Draco, you’re something else!”

“Just say it,” Draco growled.

“As you wish,” Ron replied, working his way onto the bed and on top of Draco. “I love you.”

Draco stared for a moment before taking a deep breath. “Wow.”

“Didn’t hurt, now did it?”

Draco shook his head. “Not at all. As a matter of fact…”

“I love you, Draco,” Ron rumbled.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Oh, and Ron?”

“Yeah?”

“Me too.”

“Brilliant!”

“Exactly.” Draco reached up and crashed their lips together, both hands firmly grasping Ron’s broad shoulders. He nibbled and nipped at Ron’s lower lip, pulling Ron down on top of him.

Ron groaned into Draco’s mouth, his erection straining against the tight fabric of his denims. He could feel Draco’s own hardness brushing against his, the layers of fabric separating them suddenly far too much of a hindrance. He pulled away and stood up, leaving Draco panting on the bed. He yanked at the buttons of his fly, not caring that one of them popped off and clinked across the floor.

“Gods, you’re so bloody beautiful,” Draco murmured as he sat up and helped Ron to push his jeans down. While he struggled to completely remove his denims, Draco made short work of shoving down Ron’s boxers. Ron’s thick cock bobbed heavily, and Draco grasped it with both hands, eagerly swirling his tongue about the wide, purple head.

Ron gasped and nearly fell over, steadying himself on Draco’s shoulder. Draco took as much of his length as was possible, wrapping both hands about his muscular, furry arse. Draco sucked his cock with relish as Ron slowly began moving his hips back and forth. Draco held on tightly, massaging his arse cheeks firmly and raking his teeth along the underside of Ron’s prick on each upstroke.

Ron panted as Draco continued to tease him, one of Draco’s hands now cupping and fondling his sacs. “Fuck, Draco, gonna come!”

Draco immediately released Ron’s cock and stood up. “Not yet,” he breathed, his swollen pink lips curved into a wicked smile. “You’re going to fuck me,” he insisted, yanking his jumper over his head and tossing it away.

Ron kicked off his boxers and flopped onto the bed as Draco finished removing his trousers and y-fronts. Draco climbed onto the mattress, throwing a leg over his hips and straddling him, Draco’s arse hovering above his groin.

“Fuck me,” Draco repeated, “Make me yours.” With that, he dropped on top of Ron and began suckling at the Inferi scar.

“Shite!” Ron yelped, Draco’s tongue teasing the sensitive, puckered flesh.

Draco lifted his head, smiling broadly.

Ron growled and flipped them over, descending on one of Draco’s nipples and taking it between his teeth.

Draco moaned as Ron nibbled at the nub of flesh firmly, quickly releasing it to lick and lave his way down the centre of Draco’s chest. He made his way down Draco’s abdomen, flicking his tongue in and out all the while, stopping occasionally to nip or nibble at Draco’s silky, pale skin.

“Want you,” Draco panted, his hands carding through Ron’s ginger hair. “Want you so much.”

Ron took Draco’s cock into his mouth, languorously swirling his tongue about it in an intricate dance. Draco bucked his hips and arched his back as Ron withdrew, Draco’s erection flopping against his belly with a loud slap. Ron hefted Draco’s legs up and over his shoulders, whispering the Lubricus charm.

He pressed one finger against the tight ring of muscle guarding Draco’s entrance. Draco gasped and pushed against Ron’s finger; Ron paused barely a second before plunging his digit into Draco, then quickly adding another, twisting and scissoring them about.

“Hurry,” Draco moaned, “Make me yours, Ron, want to be yours!”

Ron continued preparing Draco for a few moments longer before withdrawing his fingers and casting a second Lubricus on himself. He shifted about, pulling Draco closer. He pressed the head of his cock to Draco’s entrance, pausing briefly before breaching his lover. Draco howled, his arse clenching involuntarily, but relaxing almost instantly.

“Do it!” Draco gasped.

Ron nodded, placing both hands on Draco’s narrow hips and slowly but steadily pressing his length inside, until he was almost completely sheathed by Draco.

“Godssobloodytight,” he rumbled, holding the position just long enough to give Draco time to catch his breath. A moment later, Ron began to pull out, pausing just at the right moment and pressing inside again. He quickly increased the speed of his strokes, Draco’s cries having become quite unintelligible.

Ron knew he wouldn’t last much longer, so he grabbed Draco’s neglected cock with one hand and began stroking his partner as best he could. Draco pushed his hand away, attending to his own erection. Ron concentrated on the rhythm of his strokes, the feeling of Draco’s tight arse about his cock too wonderful for words. He felt his orgasm building within him, a roiling, all-encompassing heat. Draco bucked and writhed, his eyes squeezed shut and sweat glistening all over his body.

“Fuck!” Ron yelled, his orgasm rolling out of him in a wave of ecstasy. He ceased his thrusts, grasping Draco’s hips for dear life, not ever wanting to feel any differently, to be anywhere else, with anyone else. Draco was his haven, his sanctuary. The wave of pleasure rolled through and past him, and he relaxed, his spent prick still sheathed in his lover. He made to slowly withdraw, but Draco’s cry stopped him.

“No, not yet,” Draco said, and thrust his hips against Ron. He managed one more shove before he too came, his ejaculate shooting across his belly and chest.

Ron pulled himself out and flopped down, his head on Draco’s chest. He murmured a cleansing charm on them both, and fumbled for the quilt, pulling it up and over them.

Draco kissed the top of his head, wrapping his arms about Ron and holding him tightly. “Extraordinary,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed.

~~~~~~


Ron watched the sunset, Draco sitting between his legs and snuggling against his chest. The skies were still mostly cloudy, but had broken just enough to permit a rather spectacular show as the sun slipped beneath the waves. After the cozy warmth of the cottage, it was down right chilly so close to the loch. The wind gusted across the ruins of An Dun, and Ron cast another warming charm as they huddled closely together on their favourite step.

“Beautiful,” Draco commented, unable to hide the slight chatter of his teeth.

“We can go back if you want,” Ron replied, nuzzling against the side of Draco’s hoodie.

“We’re here. You wanted to see the sunset once more. We might not get the chance to be here again.”

“You never know.”

Draco craned his neck to look up at Ron. “Were you serious about quitting the Service if they separate us?”

“Completely. Would you do the same?”

“Absolutely.”

“There you go then,” Ron replied. “We might be right back here tomorrow, looking up an estate agent.”

“Maybe,” Draco said softly. “The War won’t be over by then. No escaping that.”

“Too right,” Ron agreed. “It’ll be over though, perhaps sooner than we think. But I’m not willing to wait. We only get one go round, and this is ours. I intend to make the most of it.”

Draco remained silent for many moments. He fidgeted slightly, shifting against Ron’s thighs.

“What?” Ron asked.

“Nothing,” Draco answered.

“C’mon,” Ron prodded.

“Well, it’s just that this bloody stone is so damned cold.”

“Draco,” Ron sighed, shaking his head. “Let’s go back then.”

“No, no, I’m fine, really. Not sure if I’ll ever feel my arse again, but that’s a small price to pay to experience such sublime beauty.”

“Arse,” Ron muttered.

“Nope, still can’t feel it,” Draco shot back.

Ron chuckled, shivering slightly as the sun prepared to disappear from view. Far out in the water, he could barely make out a tiny speck moving in toward the harbour. “Look there,” he said, pointing. “How’d you like to be out on a boat in weather like this?”

“No thank you,” Draco replied. “Some Muggles are absolutely insane. I‘d be surprised if they even make it to the dock.”

Ron smiled and held Draco tighter. “They’ll make it,” he said, lacing his fingers with Draco’s. “I know they will.”

~~ fin ~~