How Ron Weasley Learned to Tolerate Kimchi and Draco Malfoy [Harry Potter ; Ron/Draco]
Title: How Ron Weasley Learned to Tolerate Kimchi and Draco Malfoy
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Rating: R
Summary: The first thing Ron notices about Korea is the heat.
Word Count: ~6,300
A/N: Written for merry_smutmas 2007 for ze_dragon's request. Endless thank yous to Garland for the beta.
***
The first thing Ron notices about Korea is the heat. He arrives at sunset and the air is striped with fierce reds and pinks, almost like spells, and his collar sticks to the back of his neck. Ron wonders how long he's been sweating. He thought summers at the Burrow were too much but this is different. It's like walking through an oven, his feet pushed forward by heat waves that smell like spices he doesn't recognize.
He apparates to Seoul Station and hails his very first taxi to get to his hotel. The driver doesn't speak any English but Ron has an address and pays generously with money that is neither galleons nor British pounds. By the time he arrives night has already fallen but the air is still claustrophobically warm. The driver gives Ron a weird look but for once it isn't just because Ron's clothes are a horrible attempt at "blending in" with Muggle fashion. He's different for reasons that have nothing to do with magic and he's going to get stared at even if he doesn't have his wand out, even if he isn’t reciting strange incantations.
He isn't even allowed to use magic here. "Only if absolutely necessary." He'd have to stay another month to qualify for a permit and he's beginning to feel homesick as it is.
It’s only been half a day.
He'll stick it out though, because Hermione's proud of him and even Harry’s a little envious and the Burrow has been stifling these past two years, with his mum keeping a watchful eye on his every move and Fred's empty chair sitting empty like a shrine at the kitchen table.
"Well, someone has to do it,” Harry had said. “Besides, it’ll be great to see Asia!" he’d added, with an enthusiasm that Ron doesn't share. So why doesn't Harry go to Korea, if it's so great. Oh, right, he's too important. Unlike Ron. Harry is a real Auror already. Ron’s no better than a file clerk, and that’s all this job is. Ron doesn't even quite know where Asia is, just that he's pretty sure there aren't any evil wizards hiding there for him to fight.
He had gone to lunch with Luna the week before he left and told her all about the job, whining about how he had to go alone, and how it was this weird country and how weird the writing looked when Hermione had showed it to him in a book. Luna had just smiled serenely and said in a floaty voice, "Maybe you'll get to see the river thorwackins. They're so very pretty." Ron had expected something more useful, or at least more cryptic.
Then, as they were parting ways, she'd added, "I think this will be good for you, Ron." She took Ron's hand and held it in the way someone might if they were wishing you condolences. "It will help you sort things out. You'll see." She let go and Ron had wondered, as he often does with Luna Lovegood, if she knows something she's not saying.
He thinks about her words as he checks into the hotel. It's above a strip of shops in what seems to be a touristy part of town and Ron's room is up on the tenth floor. He can see the cars passing on the street down below. It all feels so surreal. He wonders what Hermione would say if she were here and not poring over books for her own job. She'd probably smile and congratulate him, suggest that he get some sleep, tell him this is an important job. Maybe it is; Ron doesn't know yet. He's still grumpy over not being able to use his wand. It's become second nature to him and even something as simple as taking a shower suddenly seems foreign to him.
He chats with a nice girl at the bar and she tells Ron that she’s on holiday from Australia and he thinks of Hermione's parents, and the way Hermione's face crinkles up every time they're mentioned. Even in this new country there are things that remind Ron of how things used to be. That should be comforting, but it isn’t.
When he falls asleep, much later than he should, he dreams of Hogwarts and sleeping through Potions lessons and playing pranks with Fred and George. It feels just as surreal as the scene out his window.
***
When Ron wakes up, his blanket and sheet are twisted around his ankles at the foot of the bed. He nearly trips trying to climb off the mattress. Seoul looks different in the morning; penetratingly bright. It’s a little like staring directly at the tip of a wand right after it’s cast a spell, and when the radio clicks on automatically for the 9:00 am alarm, Ron nearly has a heart attack from the host’s harsh laughter.
He gets dressed in plain trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, leaves his hotel, and wanders. Outside it’s better. There are sweet aromas wafting from open deli windows and everyone smiles at him. The light still feels too bright, but maybe the truth was simply that where Ron was coming from had been too dim. The sky back home hasn’t shone like this since the war ended.
Ron passes a newsstand and skims the incomprehensible headlines. None of the pictures are moving. The writing looks like a child’s sketch of Nearly Headless Nick. Ron is so wrong for this job, he realizes again and again as he’s ambling way down the street. He isn't really sure where he's supposed to be going, as though the Ministry assumes that South Korea is just one street and that he's bound to bump into his target within a few minutes of arriving.
Funny thing is, it actually sort of works out that way.
Ron goes to the coffee shop on the corner. There is a group of Korean teenagers clustered around a couch in the corner, chatting animatedly. They give him a look, but not a second one. Ron thinks he must be doing an all right job blending in. He leans back on the stool and tries to figure out a pattern to their speech but just ends up flustered and wishing he had Hermione there to be his dictionary. She had picked up several phrases before Ron left, even saw him off in a string of Korean phrases:
"I have no idea what you're saying!!" Ron had said.
"I love you," Hermione translated. "Come back safely."
Ron smiles as he remembers, the vision swimming in front of his eyes clear as day. He remembers how tightly Hermione and Harry had hugged him, like they were all first years again and had just won the House Cup. His fingers tingle a bit but that might just be the coffee.
When he finishes he leaves the shop and runs straight into a girl, probably a tourist - she doesn't look Korean, in a huge black trench coat, causing her to spill her water bottle all over the sidewalk.
Ron starts to apologize profusely, but the moment the girl opens her mouth and turns to him, Ron stops. His jaw falls slack and open. That isn't a girl at all and moreover, Ron recognizes that voice. But that-that's impossible.
If Ron hadn't spent classes pondering ways to best hex off Draco Malfoy's stupid pointy face, he probably wouldn't even have recognized him. Malfoy looks, well, the first thing that comes to Ron's mind is "like a Muggle", though that can't be right at all. Still, he's definitely changed. His hair is longer, slightly unkempt around his ears and neck. He no longer looks like the sickeningly sleek model of Pureblood upbringing. He isn’t carrying a wand.
Ron, without really thinking much on it, and because he’s wanted to do this for a while anyway, grabs Malfoy by the wrist and flings him back against the wall. It’s totally within his job description. If he really is the fugitive expatriate Death Eater the Ministry claims him to be, he'll probably skitter off the second he sees a familiar face. It’s completely justified, even if Ron makes sure to make it hurt a little more than necessary.
"I thought you were dead," Ron says. His voice surprises him with its harshness. It isn't really a good salutation, but then, Malfoy's never been really worth one anyway.
"Most people probably do.” Malfoy’s reply is soft, almost dismissive. Ron hadn’t counted on that and he lets go, takes a step back. Granted, he hadn’t really counted on anything. He’s confused more than anything. This is his target? How big of a threat could Draco Malfoy be?
Ron looks at Malfoy, really looks at him. After a few moments of trying to figure how best to ask it, Ron gives up and just says, bluntly, "What the hell are you wearing?"
Malfoy looks almost embarrassed, but then his eyes go cold and hard again. "I seem to do better when people don't look at me as a wizard. You could take a tip…"
Ron laughs. "That's not what I mean. Those are girls' clothes! I thought you were a girl!" He gestures to the tightly-fitted shirt underneath Malfoy's trench coat. "I swear Ginny owns that shirt."
Malfoy's lip curls up into that same superior smirk that Ron's hated for almost ten years now. "Look around you. It's the way everyone's dressed. We're not in London. Things are different here." There's a hint of hope in Malfoy's voice. It's the same tone Ron hears in his mother's voice when she talks about the future nowadays.
"I've noticed."
"Have you?" Malfoy pushes back from the wall and starts walking. Ron follows because he isn't sure what else to do. He thinks he should be questioning Malfoy, interrogating him about his illegal magic. He should be contacting the Ministry, to let them know that he's succeeded, that he's worth something. That he shouldn't be stuck in this country all on his own.
Maybe he should be sending owls to Harry and Hermione. They'd know what to do.
"Why here?" Ron asks, as they turn the corner and Malfoy crosses the street to the subway station. "Why did you choose to come here?"
Malfoy smiles. Ron thinks it makes him look uglier than usual. "Weren't you paying attention at all?"
As they join the noonday rush of commuters down the stairs to the trains, Ron grabs Malfoy by the wrist. "Where are we going?"
"I'm going for lunch," he retorts, shaking off Ron's grip. "You appear to be following me."
"You don't get it, do you? You're wanted by the Ministry. What kind of magic have you been doing anyway? Wretched dark stuff, no doubt. They sent me-"
Malfoy nearly doubles over in a sudden burst of laughter. "Oh, that's funny."
***
They have lunch at a dark little café in Gwanghwamun. Malfoy has to pronounce the name three times and Ron still thinks he's just speaking gibberish. He's surprised by how at home Malfoy is here, by the way he seemed so familiar with the multi-colored subway lines that he seems like he could navigate them in his sleep. He hasn't seen any sign of magic since he got here, least of all on Malfoy.
"If you're going to be difficult," Ron says after they've ordered, "we could just take you back to the Ministry and do Priori Incantatem and find out what you've been doing."
Malfoy just looks at him flatly. "Who's we? It's just you here. Do it yourself."
Ron nearly pulls his wand out of his pocket before he remembers the rules: He isn't allowed to use magic here. If he did, he'd be just as much a criminal as Malfoy is.
"I can't," he says.
Malfoy leans across the table. "Why not?"
"The same reason you can't," Ron says, trying his best to sound authoritative. "International regulations on magic use."
"Hmm." Malfoy stares at Ron, right in his eyes, and seems to decide that he's telling the truth. "So what you're really saying-" He puts his elbows on the table and props his chin up, looking thoughtful. "-is that you can't do anything to me."
The waiter returns with food and glances between Ron and Malfoy before Malfoy thanks him in Korean. Ron has so many questions he wants to ask, because he's confused about what Malfoy's been doing since the final battle, since they all went their separate ways and Malfoy apparently ran off to Korea. And that flood of questions confuses him even more, because it means, in a weird way, he's interested in what Malfoy's been doing. And he really isn't interested in anything Malfoy does or thinks or says. He doesn't care at all. This mission is bloody stupid.
Ron looks down at his plate. There are little metal bowls on all sides of it, full of exotic side dishes, and some kind of orangey-pink pile of vegetable in the center. It smells really strong. He looks across the table where Draco is already eating, wolfing down huge bites of the stuff.
Well, Ron isn't going to let Malfoy get the best of him in eating, his specialty. He takes a cautious bite and then exhales sharply. His mouth feels like it's on fire.
"This is foul!!" he exclaims, grabbing his glass of water and draining it.
Malfoy rolls his eyes. "It's really no different from cabbage stew."
"It's nothing like cabbage stew!"
"Get used to it." Malfoy points at Ron with his spoon and then adds with a laugh, "It's not like you can use magic to make anything better."
"Shut up."
"Couldn't they have given me a more competent guard?"
Ron glares. "I’m not your guard. I'm just supposed to give a report on whether or not you're dangerous."
"Am I dangerous?"
Ron pointedly takes a big bite of the cabbage stuff, ignoring the sour burn. "You seem weak to me."
"Ha, weak! I nearly killed Dumbledore!" Malfoy says coldly, like he's reciting it like a certificate of accomplishment.
There’s no fight in his words but Ron still feels a whole flood of anger rush through him. But then he remembers all the things Harry told him. "Harry said you chickened out at the last minute," he says, trying to sound nonchalant and dismissive. "Like I said, you're weak."
"I could kill if I wanted to," Malfoy says quietly. Ron stares down at his plate of food. Somehow baiting Malfoy just isn't as rewarding anymore. He seems defeated, which doesn't really fit the profile of a dangerous fugitive.
***
The next few days are odd, to say the least. Ron gets up, meets Malfoy, they go out around the city together. Malfoy shows Ron the shopping malls and marketplaces. They rent this weird Korean horror film that scares the shit out of Ron even though it doesn't have a single spider in it. Malfoy tells Ron about Korean history, about Korean food (the cabbage stuff is called "kimchi"), about Korean music. They listen to some and Ron thinks that Tonks would have liked it. They talk about Ron's job and Malfoy's not-job and are almost friends but only because Malfoy is all Ron has to connect him back to reality. His reality.
Oftentimes Ron catches himself reaching for his wand, to do simple things like light rooms or get things off shelves in stores.
"Put your wand away, idiot," Malfoy says, each time. "They aren't used to magic being out in the open like that." Ron doesn't understand how Malfoy copes. He doesn't understand how Malfoy is okay with all of this. Ron remembers all of Malfoy's insults, each one stinging him just as much as it had Hermione. He remembers when Malfoy had his nose in the air and all he could talk about was the superiority of the Malfoy family, or pureblood wizardry. Now all he talks about is the Han River and this or that palace and how bloody crowded the Namdaemun Market is on Monday mornings.
"You mean there aren't any wizards here?"
"Don't be dim. Of course there are wizards. There are wizards everywhere. The ones here just have more discreet fashion sense."
"I never thought I'd see the day when Draco Malfoy praised Muggle fashion."
"I'm not praising it. You're not going to see me wearing leather trousers any time soon-" Malfoy gestures to a couple as they pass "-but considering my … circumstances… it seemed necessary. It's become habit."
Habits are funny things. By the end of the week Ron's learned the colors of the different subway lines and can pick out their names on the maps inside the cars. He hasn't written Hermione or Harry and he hasn't started his report on Malfoy because he isn't sure what to report. Malfoy certainly isn't dangerous or threatening but he is hiding something. Every time Ron asks him about his magic, he just walks off, leaving Ron's question hanging on the thick summer air.
One day Ron thinks he's finally making some progress:
"They're not dark spells, you know," Malfoy says, sounding far away even though he's just across the table at the burger shop. But then he changes the subject again. "The Ministry hasn't checked up on you, have they? They just sent you over here to get you out because you're a liability."
"Shut up, you're important to them," Ron says and, grudgingly, it's true.
"And to you?"
***
Literally, it's true, Ron would probably be lost without Malfoy, so he's important in that respect. He doesn't want to rely on Malfoy. He doesn't want to expect anything from him. Malfoy's still as good as a Death Eater in Ron's book and Ron is here for work. He's here to show the Ministry that he deserves to be working alongside Harry in the department, a full-fledged Auror instead of just a trainee.
So he isn't sure how he ended up doing friend-things with Malfoy. He tells himself it's just because there's no one else to do things with and they know each other, sort of. It makes sense. Like old classmates reuniting for an awkward yet amicable luncheon. Only, Ron and Malfoy were never on such good terms as they are now.
It's Saturday night and the weather has finally cooled off a little. Malfoy decides they're going out and Ron follows because he needs to keep tabs on Malfoy, for his report. Not because he's lonely.
They go to a park and there are kids playing basketball and beatboxing and some convention happening across the way. Malfoy finds a nice clean patch of grass and sprawls out, staring up at the sky.
Ron feels awkward standing so he sits beside him. "What are we doing here?" he asks.
"I'm thinking," Malfoy replies. His eyes are closed. He looks so peaceful, not at all like the Malfoy Ron knew and hated in school. It's like his whole personality has been wiped clean.
"Do you…" Ron starts, "do you still think they're filthy?"
"Who?" Malfoy's eyes open and he attempts a snarl. "Your girlfriend?"
"Fuck you." Ron kicks Malfoy in the shin. "I mean, Muggles."
"I know what you meant." Malfoy closes his eyes again and his mouth loses its harsh curl. "The people here are different. And a lot has changed. What with-"
"Yeah," Ron interrupts. "I know."
"You have to make adjustments."
"You have."
"I still have principles."
"No, you're different."
"Shut up, Weasley," Malfoy says dismissively, climbing to his feet. He doesn't offer Ron a hand. "Let's get out of here."
They catch a taxi and Malfoy gives the driver an address that Ron doesn't recognize. It's 11:30pm now and whatever's on the radio is terrible and Malfoy is different. And maybe Ron is, too.
***
There's a heavy, throbbing song playing when they enter the club. It doesn't sound anything like the Weird Sisters, or any other wizard band, or even any of the other music Ron’s heard here, and he can't understand the lyrics anymore than he can understand why Malfoy would want to come to a place like this in the first place. It's dark, smoky and the ceilings are low. It's hard to move forward. It's hard to move at all once they're through the door. Ron presses forward, nudging past the dancing couples until he catches up with Malfoy at the bar.
"What are we doing here?" Ron asks, practically yells in order to be heard over the music and the crowd.
Draco orders a drink before answering; a small glass of something clear and probably stronger than firewhisky. "I'm drinking. I don't know about you."
"Great," Ron replies. "Just great. That's the last thing I need, a drunk Malfoy to look after."
"Well, if I'm forbidden to use magic…"
Ron rolls his eyes. He looks around at the crowd, and feels out of place again. He hates the way he feels like he needs to cling to Malfoy just to stay sane.
"Do you want one?" Malfoy asks, raising his glass. They've done everything together thus far, so Ron doesn't see a good reason to say no. Part of him feels like he should remain responsible, in control, just in case Malfoy turns out to really be a psycho like his relatives, with plans to annihilate the Korean Muggle population. But the other part of him thinks that he has spent over a week at Malfoy's side and he almost - God, he can't bring himself to actually put it in words - trusts him. Maybe it's something in the stiflingly humid air. Maybe it's something in the strange language constantly bombarding Ron's ears. It might just be that both of them really have changed, and that this is a natural progression of things.
Malfoy orders Ron a drink, and another for himself. He's already a little tipsy, and smiling more than usual. Ron thinks the drink itself tastes like one of those poisons they learned about in Potions class, and downs his glass quickly, only to have it refilled by the guy behind the bar.
Malfoy laughs. "I've got to piss. I'll be right back."
Ron isn't sure why he decides to follow him, but he does anyway, justifying it to himself as he reaches the toilet as "it's part of my job".
"What are you doing?" Draco asks when he emerges from the stall and sees Ron standing there by the sink.
"I'm supposed to watch you," Ron says weakly. He doesn't want to admit that he just wasn't comfortable out in the club on his own.
"Don't you have spells for that? I'm going to the toilet."
"We're not supposed to use magic unless it's necessary."
"Oh right," Malfoy replies, waving his hand as he stumbles forward to the tap and starts to wash his hands. "You're not allowed, are you. Poor Weasley."
"You're drunk," Ron observes.
Malfoy flings his arm at Ron, catching it on his shoulder. "And you're pathetic. Who do you think you are, following me into the toilet like this? My mother?"
Ron crinkles his face up in disgust. "If I was your mother I'd hex myself."
"If you were my mother you'd be a girl," Malfoy says, laughing too loudly. He knocks back against the sink counter, pulling Ron with him. Ron shoves him off.
"You're a git, Malfoy."
Malfoy sneers. "Because I use magic here and you can't? Because you're scared of what will happen? I thought you were sorted into Gryffindor…"
Ron swears the air in the room froze a little at those words, no longer playful drunken jokes. "You're the one who's the coward. Or don't you remember?"
Malfoy blinks and looks taken aback and Ron thinks he must be playing dumb because he genuinely does look like he doesn't remember.
Then he slams Ron back against the bathroom stall and rips open his shirt sleeve, rolling it up so Ron can see the Dark Mark still tattooed into his forearm. "Here's something you should remember, Weasley," he hisses, "before you dare to call me a coward."
Ron stares at the mark. He's never really seen it this close. He stares at Malfoy, who's pressed up against Ron, his other hand twisted in Ron's collar. Ron doesn't really know what to say. One moment they were sitting in the park. One moment they were on the train. One moment they were at a restaurant. One moment they were meeting for the first time in two years.
And now it's like every fight they've ever had, only magnified. It's like Malfoy didn't change at all. Maybe this place plays tricks on you, he thinks.
Just as Ron thinks he gets it, Malfoy complicates it all further by kissing him. It's a tight, angry sort of kiss. There's nothing affectionate about it. It's just an extension of the fist at Ron's neck and the Mark glaring from Malfoy's arm. Another kind of fight. Another demonstration of strength and power.
Ron shouts and squirms and doesn't kiss back but that doesn't do anything to stop the feeling of intrusion. Malfoy's lips are just as chapped and dry as they look and they press and press against Ron's mouth until he gives in. When his mouth opens in a cry, Malfoy takes it as an invitation. His tongue darts in and it's wet and foreign and tastes spicy like kimchi, like Malfoy's life these past two years, soaking in this place.
Ron finally manages to shove Malfoy off of him, back against the bathroom counter. "What the hell are you doing!" he yells, grabbing for paper towels to wipe his mouth off. Malfoy starts to say something but then a squat little man comes into the bathroom and disappears to the row of urinals on the other side of the stalls. Ron and Malfoy are both breathing hard but are otherwise silent for the moment. Ron wonders if the man suspects anything.
The two minutes he's in there seem to last forever, punctuated only by the flush of a toilet.
Once the man is gone, Malfoy locks the door. "I don't want to talk about it," he says, and sounds just as stunned over what happened as Ron is.
"I don't want to talk about it either! That was disgusting! I should have known from the girly clothes that you'd turned into a ponce. Shouldn't have believed your crap explanation. Discretion, my arse. You really-" But Ron is cut off when Malfoy pushes him back against the wall again and kisses him, again, but less angrily this time, which makes the whole thing even stranger. And Ron isn't sure why he finds himself kissing back. Maybe it's just because he's drunk and already fired up from yelling. He closes his eyes and tries to think of Hermione, or any other girl, but Malfoy doesn't feel like a girl. That should make this disgusting, but instead it just makes Ron want to kiss harder; get Malfoy off in his stupid game, like he'll have won something in doing so.
But he doesn't really know what he's doing, and he's the one pressed up against the wall. He isn't in control at all, not really. Ron pants, turning his face to the side, breaking the kiss. "Coward," he growls, knowing just what kind of reaction it will get. In some ways, this feels exactly like so many of their fights in school. Action and reaction, serve and return. Ron knows just what to do to set Malfoy off and seeing that work again seems to set everything back into balance. It feels familiar. It feels good. And surprisingly, so do Malfoy's hands, sliding down Ron's body and pressing angrily against the front of his trousers.
"I think you're the one who's afraid," Malfoy whispers.
Ron covers Malfoy's hands with his own. "Just do it if you're going to do it," he says. "Don't say anything." He doesn't want to hear Malfoy's stupid words. It makes it harder for him to pretend this is anything other than what it is.
The rest of it is carried off in silence. Malfoy unbuttons and unzips Ron's trousers and rubs him through his underwear. Malfoy's fingers are long, but hardly feminine and they move up over the cotton in fluid strokes from base to tip, just the way Ron does when he's alone. His hand feels like Ron's hand, only it's different when it's someone else's hand; less obvious, better. It feels really good. Ron closes his eyes and arches his neck, leans back, sinks into the wall. With just the movement of Malfoy's hand and the quiet sound of his breathing, Ron can pretend it's Hermione, and he does, until he comes and then his eyes blink open again. Then it's just Malfoy, staring at him intently, angrily, as though he expects Ron to do the same thing to him in return.
And Ron does, but isn't sure why.
***
It's funny how things fall apart and come together so quickly.
When they get back to Ron's apartment, Malfoy passes out almost immediately on the couch. They didn't speak at all in the cab but somehow it was an unspoken agreement that neither would be going home alone. Ron desperately wants to clarify things, or have Malfoy clarify things, but he isn't sure how. Maybe this is just one of those things that happens, and passes, and is forgotten.
After an hour of watching Malfoy sleep, angrily cursing him both out loud and in his head, Ron goes to take a shower. He feels sticky from the heat outside and from the stain on his underwear, and he feels like something's been taken from him. This wasn't like fooling around with girls. This was… Ron isn't sure what this was.
He turns on the shower and starts to undress. In the mirror he still looks the same. His freckles are all still in the same places. His hair is still red. He's still tall. He steps out of his clothes and piles them onto the bathroom counter. Then he gets into the shower and takes deep breaths in and out.
It's just the foreign air getting to him, he's sure. He can go home and pretend that none of this happened. He can go home and none of this will have happened. He'll go back to Hermione and become an Auror and he'll have that almost picture perfect normal life again. Draco Malfoy does not even figure in.
As if on cue, as Ron's mind drifts over that name, he hears footsteps in the hall and then the bathroom door opening. He can see Malfoy's outline on the other side of the shower curtain.
"Get out of here!" Ron shouts, but it's too late. Malfoy has pulled back the shower curtain. His eyes are a little glazed like he's still drunk and he smiles.
"Make me," he says, and hooks his hands around Ron's sides and tugs him out of the shower stall. Water drips across the tile and Ron reaches for a towel in embarrassment, and he really wants to punch Malfoy in the face, but wonders if that would do any good. Malfoy hasn't been himself all evening, maybe all week. Before, Ron could make excuses of drunkenness and that he was confused and that it was a mistake, but now he's sober and he's not gay and even if he was, he wouldn't want Malfoy.
"You're important to them."
"And to you?"
Ron looks at Malfoy's eyes. They're big and plaintive. He's hard - Ron can feel his cock pressed against his naked body and it's making Ron hard too. Malfoy starts tugging off his shirt and Ron helps him with his trousers and then pulls him back against him and they walk back into the shower. This time Ron pushes Malfoy against the slick tiled wall, takes control, grabs Malfoy's cock and pulls, strokes, squeezes, and Malfoy arches up into his hand again and again and moans. Ron hates the sounds, hates what he's doing, but doesn't stop because this is just one night and he'll forget it and Malfoy is still drunk so he'll definitely forget it. It's just sex, anyway. It's not even sex sex. It's just… it's no different than wanking.
When Malfoy comes he slumps forward against Ron's chest, his mouth breathing out sharply into the crook of Ron's neck and Ron rethinks: No, this is different from wanking.
When Malfoy sinks to his knees under the spray of the shower, takes Ron's cock in his mouth, slides his lips up and down the shaft in an even rhythm, Ron rethinks again: This is totally different from wanking.
***
Somehow they make it from the shower to the bed. Neither one of them suggested it, or maybe both of them did, but their fingers were pruning in the shower and it's more comfortable to be lying down, anyway. With Malfoy's head against the pillows and Ron on top of him, Ron is beginning to sense that this is becoming a thing. Once in the toilet at the club can be called a mistake. Again in the shower and it was carelessness. This third time, if there is a third time, has purpose behind it.
"I can't do this," Ron says, and rolls off to the side. "I don't… I'm not into this… with you. With guys."
Malfoy turns and faces him. "Coward," he whispers. Ron doesn't take the bait this time. He just lies very still and listens to Malfoy's breathing.
After a while he says, "What magic were you using before?" It's a question he's asked before and often, but never with an answer. It's weird to try to have a conversation when he's still naked, but he figures now is as good a time as any. Malfoy has his guard down.
"I…" Malfoy starts. He sits up and wraps the blanket around himself. "They were Memory Charms."
Ron blinks. "Memory Charms? You obliviated Muggles? You modified their memories? What were you covering up?"
Draco smiles a little. "No," he says, giving a sad laugh. "I mean Memory Charms on myself. To… forget things."
"Oh," Ron says. He isn't really sure what else he's supposed to say.
"That's why," Malfoy starts, "with you… I…"
"Oh." Suddenly Ron feels used. He gets it, but he's angry. He wanted Malfoy to have done that because… well, he isn't sure what reason he wanted.
"You wanted to forget things too," Malfoy adds. "You just didn't realize it."
"How much do you remember of… before?" Ron asks.
Malfoy leans back against the pillow. "Obliviating yourself is like believing a dream. You still know what really happened. It's like having two memories. I know that Crabbe is gone." His voice cracks. "Just like I know that Crabbe isn't gone." He shivers. "Are you going to write this in your report?"
Ron thinks about the question. He thinks about Malfoy. He thinks about the past week and a half and everything that's happened. Once Ron thought that there were people who would never change, would always be idiotic and cruel. Even after the war, even then, Ron thought that Malfoy would be that constant antagonist for him. Things have changed and Ron has changed too. He will change.
"It's not dark magic," he says, finally. "I'll just tell them that."
Malfoy smiles a little. "Thank you."
***
When Ron wakes up the following morning, his head hurts like hell and it takes a moment for him to figure out why he's naked in his bed. When he sees Malfoy dressed and sitting in the chair by the window, it all comes back to him. Funnily, he isn't angry. The sheets aren't twisted at his feet this time because he fell asleep on top of them. The sky outside doesn't look as painfully bright as before. Ron decides that it's time to leave.
He climbs out of bed and gets dressed, watching Malfoy the whole time, wondering when he's going to say something, wondering why he hasn't already left. He packs his things into the bag he brought, goes to the toilet, and leaves his hotel key on the bedside table.
"I could make you forget it," Malfoy says, his voice so abrupt it makes Ron jump.
"What?"
"I could make you forget what happened here, if you want." Malfoy is still looking out the window, rather than at Ron. "There isn't any reason we should remember this."
"But it was my job," Ron says, even though he knows that's not what Malfoy is referring to. "I don't want my memories messed with."
Malfoy shrugs and rises from the chair. "Suit yourself." He leaves without saying goodbye.
Ron follows.
Outside, it's warm and the air has the faintest tinge of impending rainfall. The street is crowded with people, tourists and locals alike. Ron pushes through them, trying to follow Malfoy, but he loses him at the next street crossing. It isn't important; they are both going home.
Ron buys a postcard at a shop in the subway station and decides to send it to Hermione by Muggle post because the picture doesn't move. He returns to Seoul Station to send an owl to his contact from the Ministry's consulate in Korea. He starts filling out his report in his mind, says there was no evidence of any dark magic. He qualifies Draco Malfoy as harmless, but thinks with a small smile that maybe that's a lie.
And then he goes to find some kimchi.
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Rating: R
Summary: The first thing Ron notices about Korea is the heat.
Word Count: ~6,300
A/N: Written for merry_smutmas 2007 for ze_dragon's request. Endless thank yous to Garland for the beta.
***
The first thing Ron notices about Korea is the heat. He arrives at sunset and the air is striped with fierce reds and pinks, almost like spells, and his collar sticks to the back of his neck. Ron wonders how long he's been sweating. He thought summers at the Burrow were too much but this is different. It's like walking through an oven, his feet pushed forward by heat waves that smell like spices he doesn't recognize.
He apparates to Seoul Station and hails his very first taxi to get to his hotel. The driver doesn't speak any English but Ron has an address and pays generously with money that is neither galleons nor British pounds. By the time he arrives night has already fallen but the air is still claustrophobically warm. The driver gives Ron a weird look but for once it isn't just because Ron's clothes are a horrible attempt at "blending in" with Muggle fashion. He's different for reasons that have nothing to do with magic and he's going to get stared at even if he doesn't have his wand out, even if he isn’t reciting strange incantations.
He isn't even allowed to use magic here. "Only if absolutely necessary." He'd have to stay another month to qualify for a permit and he's beginning to feel homesick as it is.
It’s only been half a day.
He'll stick it out though, because Hermione's proud of him and even Harry’s a little envious and the Burrow has been stifling these past two years, with his mum keeping a watchful eye on his every move and Fred's empty chair sitting empty like a shrine at the kitchen table.
"Well, someone has to do it,” Harry had said. “Besides, it’ll be great to see Asia!" he’d added, with an enthusiasm that Ron doesn't share. So why doesn't Harry go to Korea, if it's so great. Oh, right, he's too important. Unlike Ron. Harry is a real Auror already. Ron’s no better than a file clerk, and that’s all this job is. Ron doesn't even quite know where Asia is, just that he's pretty sure there aren't any evil wizards hiding there for him to fight.
He had gone to lunch with Luna the week before he left and told her all about the job, whining about how he had to go alone, and how it was this weird country and how weird the writing looked when Hermione had showed it to him in a book. Luna had just smiled serenely and said in a floaty voice, "Maybe you'll get to see the river thorwackins. They're so very pretty." Ron had expected something more useful, or at least more cryptic.
Then, as they were parting ways, she'd added, "I think this will be good for you, Ron." She took Ron's hand and held it in the way someone might if they were wishing you condolences. "It will help you sort things out. You'll see." She let go and Ron had wondered, as he often does with Luna Lovegood, if she knows something she's not saying.
He thinks about her words as he checks into the hotel. It's above a strip of shops in what seems to be a touristy part of town and Ron's room is up on the tenth floor. He can see the cars passing on the street down below. It all feels so surreal. He wonders what Hermione would say if she were here and not poring over books for her own job. She'd probably smile and congratulate him, suggest that he get some sleep, tell him this is an important job. Maybe it is; Ron doesn't know yet. He's still grumpy over not being able to use his wand. It's become second nature to him and even something as simple as taking a shower suddenly seems foreign to him.
He chats with a nice girl at the bar and she tells Ron that she’s on holiday from Australia and he thinks of Hermione's parents, and the way Hermione's face crinkles up every time they're mentioned. Even in this new country there are things that remind Ron of how things used to be. That should be comforting, but it isn’t.
When he falls asleep, much later than he should, he dreams of Hogwarts and sleeping through Potions lessons and playing pranks with Fred and George. It feels just as surreal as the scene out his window.
***
When Ron wakes up, his blanket and sheet are twisted around his ankles at the foot of the bed. He nearly trips trying to climb off the mattress. Seoul looks different in the morning; penetratingly bright. It’s a little like staring directly at the tip of a wand right after it’s cast a spell, and when the radio clicks on automatically for the 9:00 am alarm, Ron nearly has a heart attack from the host’s harsh laughter.
He gets dressed in plain trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, leaves his hotel, and wanders. Outside it’s better. There are sweet aromas wafting from open deli windows and everyone smiles at him. The light still feels too bright, but maybe the truth was simply that where Ron was coming from had been too dim. The sky back home hasn’t shone like this since the war ended.
Ron passes a newsstand and skims the incomprehensible headlines. None of the pictures are moving. The writing looks like a child’s sketch of Nearly Headless Nick. Ron is so wrong for this job, he realizes again and again as he’s ambling way down the street. He isn't really sure where he's supposed to be going, as though the Ministry assumes that South Korea is just one street and that he's bound to bump into his target within a few minutes of arriving.
Funny thing is, it actually sort of works out that way.
Ron goes to the coffee shop on the corner. There is a group of Korean teenagers clustered around a couch in the corner, chatting animatedly. They give him a look, but not a second one. Ron thinks he must be doing an all right job blending in. He leans back on the stool and tries to figure out a pattern to their speech but just ends up flustered and wishing he had Hermione there to be his dictionary. She had picked up several phrases before Ron left, even saw him off in a string of Korean phrases:
"I have no idea what you're saying!!" Ron had said.
"I love you," Hermione translated. "Come back safely."
Ron smiles as he remembers, the vision swimming in front of his eyes clear as day. He remembers how tightly Hermione and Harry had hugged him, like they were all first years again and had just won the House Cup. His fingers tingle a bit but that might just be the coffee.
When he finishes he leaves the shop and runs straight into a girl, probably a tourist - she doesn't look Korean, in a huge black trench coat, causing her to spill her water bottle all over the sidewalk.
Ron starts to apologize profusely, but the moment the girl opens her mouth and turns to him, Ron stops. His jaw falls slack and open. That isn't a girl at all and moreover, Ron recognizes that voice. But that-that's impossible.
If Ron hadn't spent classes pondering ways to best hex off Draco Malfoy's stupid pointy face, he probably wouldn't even have recognized him. Malfoy looks, well, the first thing that comes to Ron's mind is "like a Muggle", though that can't be right at all. Still, he's definitely changed. His hair is longer, slightly unkempt around his ears and neck. He no longer looks like the sickeningly sleek model of Pureblood upbringing. He isn’t carrying a wand.
Ron, without really thinking much on it, and because he’s wanted to do this for a while anyway, grabs Malfoy by the wrist and flings him back against the wall. It’s totally within his job description. If he really is the fugitive expatriate Death Eater the Ministry claims him to be, he'll probably skitter off the second he sees a familiar face. It’s completely justified, even if Ron makes sure to make it hurt a little more than necessary.
"I thought you were dead," Ron says. His voice surprises him with its harshness. It isn't really a good salutation, but then, Malfoy's never been really worth one anyway.
"Most people probably do.” Malfoy’s reply is soft, almost dismissive. Ron hadn’t counted on that and he lets go, takes a step back. Granted, he hadn’t really counted on anything. He’s confused more than anything. This is his target? How big of a threat could Draco Malfoy be?
Ron looks at Malfoy, really looks at him. After a few moments of trying to figure how best to ask it, Ron gives up and just says, bluntly, "What the hell are you wearing?"
Malfoy looks almost embarrassed, but then his eyes go cold and hard again. "I seem to do better when people don't look at me as a wizard. You could take a tip…"
Ron laughs. "That's not what I mean. Those are girls' clothes! I thought you were a girl!" He gestures to the tightly-fitted shirt underneath Malfoy's trench coat. "I swear Ginny owns that shirt."
Malfoy's lip curls up into that same superior smirk that Ron's hated for almost ten years now. "Look around you. It's the way everyone's dressed. We're not in London. Things are different here." There's a hint of hope in Malfoy's voice. It's the same tone Ron hears in his mother's voice when she talks about the future nowadays.
"I've noticed."
"Have you?" Malfoy pushes back from the wall and starts walking. Ron follows because he isn't sure what else to do. He thinks he should be questioning Malfoy, interrogating him about his illegal magic. He should be contacting the Ministry, to let them know that he's succeeded, that he's worth something. That he shouldn't be stuck in this country all on his own.
Maybe he should be sending owls to Harry and Hermione. They'd know what to do.
"Why here?" Ron asks, as they turn the corner and Malfoy crosses the street to the subway station. "Why did you choose to come here?"
Malfoy smiles. Ron thinks it makes him look uglier than usual. "Weren't you paying attention at all?"
As they join the noonday rush of commuters down the stairs to the trains, Ron grabs Malfoy by the wrist. "Where are we going?"
"I'm going for lunch," he retorts, shaking off Ron's grip. "You appear to be following me."
"You don't get it, do you? You're wanted by the Ministry. What kind of magic have you been doing anyway? Wretched dark stuff, no doubt. They sent me-"
Malfoy nearly doubles over in a sudden burst of laughter. "Oh, that's funny."
***
They have lunch at a dark little café in Gwanghwamun. Malfoy has to pronounce the name three times and Ron still thinks he's just speaking gibberish. He's surprised by how at home Malfoy is here, by the way he seemed so familiar with the multi-colored subway lines that he seems like he could navigate them in his sleep. He hasn't seen any sign of magic since he got here, least of all on Malfoy.
"If you're going to be difficult," Ron says after they've ordered, "we could just take you back to the Ministry and do Priori Incantatem and find out what you've been doing."
Malfoy just looks at him flatly. "Who's we? It's just you here. Do it yourself."
Ron nearly pulls his wand out of his pocket before he remembers the rules: He isn't allowed to use magic here. If he did, he'd be just as much a criminal as Malfoy is.
"I can't," he says.
Malfoy leans across the table. "Why not?"
"The same reason you can't," Ron says, trying his best to sound authoritative. "International regulations on magic use."
"Hmm." Malfoy stares at Ron, right in his eyes, and seems to decide that he's telling the truth. "So what you're really saying-" He puts his elbows on the table and props his chin up, looking thoughtful. "-is that you can't do anything to me."
The waiter returns with food and glances between Ron and Malfoy before Malfoy thanks him in Korean. Ron has so many questions he wants to ask, because he's confused about what Malfoy's been doing since the final battle, since they all went their separate ways and Malfoy apparently ran off to Korea. And that flood of questions confuses him even more, because it means, in a weird way, he's interested in what Malfoy's been doing. And he really isn't interested in anything Malfoy does or thinks or says. He doesn't care at all. This mission is bloody stupid.
Ron looks down at his plate. There are little metal bowls on all sides of it, full of exotic side dishes, and some kind of orangey-pink pile of vegetable in the center. It smells really strong. He looks across the table where Draco is already eating, wolfing down huge bites of the stuff.
Well, Ron isn't going to let Malfoy get the best of him in eating, his specialty. He takes a cautious bite and then exhales sharply. His mouth feels like it's on fire.
"This is foul!!" he exclaims, grabbing his glass of water and draining it.
Malfoy rolls his eyes. "It's really no different from cabbage stew."
"It's nothing like cabbage stew!"
"Get used to it." Malfoy points at Ron with his spoon and then adds with a laugh, "It's not like you can use magic to make anything better."
"Shut up."
"Couldn't they have given me a more competent guard?"
Ron glares. "I’m not your guard. I'm just supposed to give a report on whether or not you're dangerous."
"Am I dangerous?"
Ron pointedly takes a big bite of the cabbage stuff, ignoring the sour burn. "You seem weak to me."
"Ha, weak! I nearly killed Dumbledore!" Malfoy says coldly, like he's reciting it like a certificate of accomplishment.
There’s no fight in his words but Ron still feels a whole flood of anger rush through him. But then he remembers all the things Harry told him. "Harry said you chickened out at the last minute," he says, trying to sound nonchalant and dismissive. "Like I said, you're weak."
"I could kill if I wanted to," Malfoy says quietly. Ron stares down at his plate of food. Somehow baiting Malfoy just isn't as rewarding anymore. He seems defeated, which doesn't really fit the profile of a dangerous fugitive.
***
The next few days are odd, to say the least. Ron gets up, meets Malfoy, they go out around the city together. Malfoy shows Ron the shopping malls and marketplaces. They rent this weird Korean horror film that scares the shit out of Ron even though it doesn't have a single spider in it. Malfoy tells Ron about Korean history, about Korean food (the cabbage stuff is called "kimchi"), about Korean music. They listen to some and Ron thinks that Tonks would have liked it. They talk about Ron's job and Malfoy's not-job and are almost friends but only because Malfoy is all Ron has to connect him back to reality. His reality.
Oftentimes Ron catches himself reaching for his wand, to do simple things like light rooms or get things off shelves in stores.
"Put your wand away, idiot," Malfoy says, each time. "They aren't used to magic being out in the open like that." Ron doesn't understand how Malfoy copes. He doesn't understand how Malfoy is okay with all of this. Ron remembers all of Malfoy's insults, each one stinging him just as much as it had Hermione. He remembers when Malfoy had his nose in the air and all he could talk about was the superiority of the Malfoy family, or pureblood wizardry. Now all he talks about is the Han River and this or that palace and how bloody crowded the Namdaemun Market is on Monday mornings.
"You mean there aren't any wizards here?"
"Don't be dim. Of course there are wizards. There are wizards everywhere. The ones here just have more discreet fashion sense."
"I never thought I'd see the day when Draco Malfoy praised Muggle fashion."
"I'm not praising it. You're not going to see me wearing leather trousers any time soon-" Malfoy gestures to a couple as they pass "-but considering my … circumstances… it seemed necessary. It's become habit."
Habits are funny things. By the end of the week Ron's learned the colors of the different subway lines and can pick out their names on the maps inside the cars. He hasn't written Hermione or Harry and he hasn't started his report on Malfoy because he isn't sure what to report. Malfoy certainly isn't dangerous or threatening but he is hiding something. Every time Ron asks him about his magic, he just walks off, leaving Ron's question hanging on the thick summer air.
One day Ron thinks he's finally making some progress:
"They're not dark spells, you know," Malfoy says, sounding far away even though he's just across the table at the burger shop. But then he changes the subject again. "The Ministry hasn't checked up on you, have they? They just sent you over here to get you out because you're a liability."
"Shut up, you're important to them," Ron says and, grudgingly, it's true.
"And to you?"
***
Literally, it's true, Ron would probably be lost without Malfoy, so he's important in that respect. He doesn't want to rely on Malfoy. He doesn't want to expect anything from him. Malfoy's still as good as a Death Eater in Ron's book and Ron is here for work. He's here to show the Ministry that he deserves to be working alongside Harry in the department, a full-fledged Auror instead of just a trainee.
So he isn't sure how he ended up doing friend-things with Malfoy. He tells himself it's just because there's no one else to do things with and they know each other, sort of. It makes sense. Like old classmates reuniting for an awkward yet amicable luncheon. Only, Ron and Malfoy were never on such good terms as they are now.
It's Saturday night and the weather has finally cooled off a little. Malfoy decides they're going out and Ron follows because he needs to keep tabs on Malfoy, for his report. Not because he's lonely.
They go to a park and there are kids playing basketball and beatboxing and some convention happening across the way. Malfoy finds a nice clean patch of grass and sprawls out, staring up at the sky.
Ron feels awkward standing so he sits beside him. "What are we doing here?" he asks.
"I'm thinking," Malfoy replies. His eyes are closed. He looks so peaceful, not at all like the Malfoy Ron knew and hated in school. It's like his whole personality has been wiped clean.
"Do you…" Ron starts, "do you still think they're filthy?"
"Who?" Malfoy's eyes open and he attempts a snarl. "Your girlfriend?"
"Fuck you." Ron kicks Malfoy in the shin. "I mean, Muggles."
"I know what you meant." Malfoy closes his eyes again and his mouth loses its harsh curl. "The people here are different. And a lot has changed. What with-"
"Yeah," Ron interrupts. "I know."
"You have to make adjustments."
"You have."
"I still have principles."
"No, you're different."
"Shut up, Weasley," Malfoy says dismissively, climbing to his feet. He doesn't offer Ron a hand. "Let's get out of here."
They catch a taxi and Malfoy gives the driver an address that Ron doesn't recognize. It's 11:30pm now and whatever's on the radio is terrible and Malfoy is different. And maybe Ron is, too.
***
There's a heavy, throbbing song playing when they enter the club. It doesn't sound anything like the Weird Sisters, or any other wizard band, or even any of the other music Ron’s heard here, and he can't understand the lyrics anymore than he can understand why Malfoy would want to come to a place like this in the first place. It's dark, smoky and the ceilings are low. It's hard to move forward. It's hard to move at all once they're through the door. Ron presses forward, nudging past the dancing couples until he catches up with Malfoy at the bar.
"What are we doing here?" Ron asks, practically yells in order to be heard over the music and the crowd.
Draco orders a drink before answering; a small glass of something clear and probably stronger than firewhisky. "I'm drinking. I don't know about you."
"Great," Ron replies. "Just great. That's the last thing I need, a drunk Malfoy to look after."
"Well, if I'm forbidden to use magic…"
Ron rolls his eyes. He looks around at the crowd, and feels out of place again. He hates the way he feels like he needs to cling to Malfoy just to stay sane.
"Do you want one?" Malfoy asks, raising his glass. They've done everything together thus far, so Ron doesn't see a good reason to say no. Part of him feels like he should remain responsible, in control, just in case Malfoy turns out to really be a psycho like his relatives, with plans to annihilate the Korean Muggle population. But the other part of him thinks that he has spent over a week at Malfoy's side and he almost - God, he can't bring himself to actually put it in words - trusts him. Maybe it's something in the stiflingly humid air. Maybe it's something in the strange language constantly bombarding Ron's ears. It might just be that both of them really have changed, and that this is a natural progression of things.
Malfoy orders Ron a drink, and another for himself. He's already a little tipsy, and smiling more than usual. Ron thinks the drink itself tastes like one of those poisons they learned about in Potions class, and downs his glass quickly, only to have it refilled by the guy behind the bar.
Malfoy laughs. "I've got to piss. I'll be right back."
Ron isn't sure why he decides to follow him, but he does anyway, justifying it to himself as he reaches the toilet as "it's part of my job".
"What are you doing?" Draco asks when he emerges from the stall and sees Ron standing there by the sink.
"I'm supposed to watch you," Ron says weakly. He doesn't want to admit that he just wasn't comfortable out in the club on his own.
"Don't you have spells for that? I'm going to the toilet."
"We're not supposed to use magic unless it's necessary."
"Oh right," Malfoy replies, waving his hand as he stumbles forward to the tap and starts to wash his hands. "You're not allowed, are you. Poor Weasley."
"You're drunk," Ron observes.
Malfoy flings his arm at Ron, catching it on his shoulder. "And you're pathetic. Who do you think you are, following me into the toilet like this? My mother?"
Ron crinkles his face up in disgust. "If I was your mother I'd hex myself."
"If you were my mother you'd be a girl," Malfoy says, laughing too loudly. He knocks back against the sink counter, pulling Ron with him. Ron shoves him off.
"You're a git, Malfoy."
Malfoy sneers. "Because I use magic here and you can't? Because you're scared of what will happen? I thought you were sorted into Gryffindor…"
Ron swears the air in the room froze a little at those words, no longer playful drunken jokes. "You're the one who's the coward. Or don't you remember?"
Malfoy blinks and looks taken aback and Ron thinks he must be playing dumb because he genuinely does look like he doesn't remember.
Then he slams Ron back against the bathroom stall and rips open his shirt sleeve, rolling it up so Ron can see the Dark Mark still tattooed into his forearm. "Here's something you should remember, Weasley," he hisses, "before you dare to call me a coward."
Ron stares at the mark. He's never really seen it this close. He stares at Malfoy, who's pressed up against Ron, his other hand twisted in Ron's collar. Ron doesn't really know what to say. One moment they were sitting in the park. One moment they were on the train. One moment they were at a restaurant. One moment they were meeting for the first time in two years.
And now it's like every fight they've ever had, only magnified. It's like Malfoy didn't change at all. Maybe this place plays tricks on you, he thinks.
Just as Ron thinks he gets it, Malfoy complicates it all further by kissing him. It's a tight, angry sort of kiss. There's nothing affectionate about it. It's just an extension of the fist at Ron's neck and the Mark glaring from Malfoy's arm. Another kind of fight. Another demonstration of strength and power.
Ron shouts and squirms and doesn't kiss back but that doesn't do anything to stop the feeling of intrusion. Malfoy's lips are just as chapped and dry as they look and they press and press against Ron's mouth until he gives in. When his mouth opens in a cry, Malfoy takes it as an invitation. His tongue darts in and it's wet and foreign and tastes spicy like kimchi, like Malfoy's life these past two years, soaking in this place.
Ron finally manages to shove Malfoy off of him, back against the bathroom counter. "What the hell are you doing!" he yells, grabbing for paper towels to wipe his mouth off. Malfoy starts to say something but then a squat little man comes into the bathroom and disappears to the row of urinals on the other side of the stalls. Ron and Malfoy are both breathing hard but are otherwise silent for the moment. Ron wonders if the man suspects anything.
The two minutes he's in there seem to last forever, punctuated only by the flush of a toilet.
Once the man is gone, Malfoy locks the door. "I don't want to talk about it," he says, and sounds just as stunned over what happened as Ron is.
"I don't want to talk about it either! That was disgusting! I should have known from the girly clothes that you'd turned into a ponce. Shouldn't have believed your crap explanation. Discretion, my arse. You really-" But Ron is cut off when Malfoy pushes him back against the wall again and kisses him, again, but less angrily this time, which makes the whole thing even stranger. And Ron isn't sure why he finds himself kissing back. Maybe it's just because he's drunk and already fired up from yelling. He closes his eyes and tries to think of Hermione, or any other girl, but Malfoy doesn't feel like a girl. That should make this disgusting, but instead it just makes Ron want to kiss harder; get Malfoy off in his stupid game, like he'll have won something in doing so.
But he doesn't really know what he's doing, and he's the one pressed up against the wall. He isn't in control at all, not really. Ron pants, turning his face to the side, breaking the kiss. "Coward," he growls, knowing just what kind of reaction it will get. In some ways, this feels exactly like so many of their fights in school. Action and reaction, serve and return. Ron knows just what to do to set Malfoy off and seeing that work again seems to set everything back into balance. It feels familiar. It feels good. And surprisingly, so do Malfoy's hands, sliding down Ron's body and pressing angrily against the front of his trousers.
"I think you're the one who's afraid," Malfoy whispers.
Ron covers Malfoy's hands with his own. "Just do it if you're going to do it," he says. "Don't say anything." He doesn't want to hear Malfoy's stupid words. It makes it harder for him to pretend this is anything other than what it is.
The rest of it is carried off in silence. Malfoy unbuttons and unzips Ron's trousers and rubs him through his underwear. Malfoy's fingers are long, but hardly feminine and they move up over the cotton in fluid strokes from base to tip, just the way Ron does when he's alone. His hand feels like Ron's hand, only it's different when it's someone else's hand; less obvious, better. It feels really good. Ron closes his eyes and arches his neck, leans back, sinks into the wall. With just the movement of Malfoy's hand and the quiet sound of his breathing, Ron can pretend it's Hermione, and he does, until he comes and then his eyes blink open again. Then it's just Malfoy, staring at him intently, angrily, as though he expects Ron to do the same thing to him in return.
And Ron does, but isn't sure why.
***
It's funny how things fall apart and come together so quickly.
When they get back to Ron's apartment, Malfoy passes out almost immediately on the couch. They didn't speak at all in the cab but somehow it was an unspoken agreement that neither would be going home alone. Ron desperately wants to clarify things, or have Malfoy clarify things, but he isn't sure how. Maybe this is just one of those things that happens, and passes, and is forgotten.
After an hour of watching Malfoy sleep, angrily cursing him both out loud and in his head, Ron goes to take a shower. He feels sticky from the heat outside and from the stain on his underwear, and he feels like something's been taken from him. This wasn't like fooling around with girls. This was… Ron isn't sure what this was.
He turns on the shower and starts to undress. In the mirror he still looks the same. His freckles are all still in the same places. His hair is still red. He's still tall. He steps out of his clothes and piles them onto the bathroom counter. Then he gets into the shower and takes deep breaths in and out.
It's just the foreign air getting to him, he's sure. He can go home and pretend that none of this happened. He can go home and none of this will have happened. He'll go back to Hermione and become an Auror and he'll have that almost picture perfect normal life again. Draco Malfoy does not even figure in.
As if on cue, as Ron's mind drifts over that name, he hears footsteps in the hall and then the bathroom door opening. He can see Malfoy's outline on the other side of the shower curtain.
"Get out of here!" Ron shouts, but it's too late. Malfoy has pulled back the shower curtain. His eyes are a little glazed like he's still drunk and he smiles.
"Make me," he says, and hooks his hands around Ron's sides and tugs him out of the shower stall. Water drips across the tile and Ron reaches for a towel in embarrassment, and he really wants to punch Malfoy in the face, but wonders if that would do any good. Malfoy hasn't been himself all evening, maybe all week. Before, Ron could make excuses of drunkenness and that he was confused and that it was a mistake, but now he's sober and he's not gay and even if he was, he wouldn't want Malfoy.
"You're important to them."
"And to you?"
Ron looks at Malfoy's eyes. They're big and plaintive. He's hard - Ron can feel his cock pressed against his naked body and it's making Ron hard too. Malfoy starts tugging off his shirt and Ron helps him with his trousers and then pulls him back against him and they walk back into the shower. This time Ron pushes Malfoy against the slick tiled wall, takes control, grabs Malfoy's cock and pulls, strokes, squeezes, and Malfoy arches up into his hand again and again and moans. Ron hates the sounds, hates what he's doing, but doesn't stop because this is just one night and he'll forget it and Malfoy is still drunk so he'll definitely forget it. It's just sex, anyway. It's not even sex sex. It's just… it's no different than wanking.
When Malfoy comes he slumps forward against Ron's chest, his mouth breathing out sharply into the crook of Ron's neck and Ron rethinks: No, this is different from wanking.
When Malfoy sinks to his knees under the spray of the shower, takes Ron's cock in his mouth, slides his lips up and down the shaft in an even rhythm, Ron rethinks again: This is totally different from wanking.
***
Somehow they make it from the shower to the bed. Neither one of them suggested it, or maybe both of them did, but their fingers were pruning in the shower and it's more comfortable to be lying down, anyway. With Malfoy's head against the pillows and Ron on top of him, Ron is beginning to sense that this is becoming a thing. Once in the toilet at the club can be called a mistake. Again in the shower and it was carelessness. This third time, if there is a third time, has purpose behind it.
"I can't do this," Ron says, and rolls off to the side. "I don't… I'm not into this… with you. With guys."
Malfoy turns and faces him. "Coward," he whispers. Ron doesn't take the bait this time. He just lies very still and listens to Malfoy's breathing.
After a while he says, "What magic were you using before?" It's a question he's asked before and often, but never with an answer. It's weird to try to have a conversation when he's still naked, but he figures now is as good a time as any. Malfoy has his guard down.
"I…" Malfoy starts. He sits up and wraps the blanket around himself. "They were Memory Charms."
Ron blinks. "Memory Charms? You obliviated Muggles? You modified their memories? What were you covering up?"
Draco smiles a little. "No," he says, giving a sad laugh. "I mean Memory Charms on myself. To… forget things."
"Oh," Ron says. He isn't really sure what else he's supposed to say.
"That's why," Malfoy starts, "with you… I…"
"Oh." Suddenly Ron feels used. He gets it, but he's angry. He wanted Malfoy to have done that because… well, he isn't sure what reason he wanted.
"You wanted to forget things too," Malfoy adds. "You just didn't realize it."
"How much do you remember of… before?" Ron asks.
Malfoy leans back against the pillow. "Obliviating yourself is like believing a dream. You still know what really happened. It's like having two memories. I know that Crabbe is gone." His voice cracks. "Just like I know that Crabbe isn't gone." He shivers. "Are you going to write this in your report?"
Ron thinks about the question. He thinks about Malfoy. He thinks about the past week and a half and everything that's happened. Once Ron thought that there were people who would never change, would always be idiotic and cruel. Even after the war, even then, Ron thought that Malfoy would be that constant antagonist for him. Things have changed and Ron has changed too. He will change.
"It's not dark magic," he says, finally. "I'll just tell them that."
Malfoy smiles a little. "Thank you."
***
When Ron wakes up the following morning, his head hurts like hell and it takes a moment for him to figure out why he's naked in his bed. When he sees Malfoy dressed and sitting in the chair by the window, it all comes back to him. Funnily, he isn't angry. The sheets aren't twisted at his feet this time because he fell asleep on top of them. The sky outside doesn't look as painfully bright as before. Ron decides that it's time to leave.
He climbs out of bed and gets dressed, watching Malfoy the whole time, wondering when he's going to say something, wondering why he hasn't already left. He packs his things into the bag he brought, goes to the toilet, and leaves his hotel key on the bedside table.
"I could make you forget it," Malfoy says, his voice so abrupt it makes Ron jump.
"What?"
"I could make you forget what happened here, if you want." Malfoy is still looking out the window, rather than at Ron. "There isn't any reason we should remember this."
"But it was my job," Ron says, even though he knows that's not what Malfoy is referring to. "I don't want my memories messed with."
Malfoy shrugs and rises from the chair. "Suit yourself." He leaves without saying goodbye.
Ron follows.
Outside, it's warm and the air has the faintest tinge of impending rainfall. The street is crowded with people, tourists and locals alike. Ron pushes through them, trying to follow Malfoy, but he loses him at the next street crossing. It isn't important; they are both going home.
Ron buys a postcard at a shop in the subway station and decides to send it to Hermione by Muggle post because the picture doesn't move. He returns to Seoul Station to send an owl to his contact from the Ministry's consulate in Korea. He starts filling out his report in his mind, says there was no evidence of any dark magic. He qualifies Draco Malfoy as harmless, but thinks with a small smile that maybe that's a lie.
And then he goes to find some kimchi.