Fic: "Sofa So Good" for reddiej
Gift for: reddiej
Author: shiv5468
Title: Sofa So Good
Pairings: Ron/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Draco comes home with some unexpected news for Ron.
Ron sat on the cream sofa, with his legs perched on the coffee table before him, and pretended to read a magazine.
His mother didn’t think that cream was a proper colour for a sofa, but Draco had insisted. Draco thought it showed off Ron’s colouring, and his other suggestion - green - was clearly unacceptable to a Gryffindor. Ron got teased enough by his mates for taking up with the Slytherin’s Slytherin, without taking additional flak for a green colour scheme.
It was bad enough he had to think about a colour scheme - not that he did really, but Draco had shown him curtain fabrics, and carpet samples, and somehow he’d found himself being Consulted and Having Opinions without meaning to.
Draco was very good at that sort of thing: sneaking things up on you without you noticing. Living with him was like walking across Morecambe Bay: you thought you knew where all the landmarks were, until one day you found yourself being sucked under and flailing around hoping to be rescued before you were up to your neck in quicksand.
Ron hadn’t wanted this sofa at all. It wasn’t the cream he objected to, though his mother had plenty to say on the issue of protective charms and keeping things clean that all sounded very sensible, but all of the sticky out bits. In his view a sofa should be plump and soft and comfortable to sit on, and this sofa looked like nothing more than a game of jackstraws. All it would take was tugging one of the metal thingies, and the whole thing would fall apart.
But his mother had disapproved, and she’d even gone so far as tutting, and that meant that he had to take Draco’s side or the pair of them would take that as a sign that he was going off Malfoy and nothing could be further from the truth.
The sofa wasn’t just somewhere to sit; it was a bone of contention and a symbol of his affection for Draco all rolled into one.
He turned a page of the magazine, and tried to concentrate on the article.
Draco was late.
Which wasn’t really a reason to worry, even if you did know that he was having dinner with Lucius, and that Lucius didn’t approve of their relationship, because Lucius wasn’t going to do anything drastic or permanent in a public place - that’s what Draco said, and Ron believed him - so it was just likely that the dinner had gone on longer than expected.
Perhaps the port had been particularly fine, or Lucius had actually found something pleasant to say to his son.
Or perhaps Draco had been run over by the Knight Bus, because that was a lot more likely than Lucius having a good word to say to anyone. Although he wasn’t going to say that to Draco because that was very clearly a topic marked Quicksand: Do Not Enter.
He turned another three pages without reading a word written on them, then dropped the magazine. It wasn’t as if he was that interested in Vogue anyway.
Somehow his Quidditch magazines always made their way into the bathroom, so that Draco could read them in the bath, and it was too much effort to go and fetch one. Even Accio was too much effort, and took valuable energy away from fretting about Draco.
The fire flared up, and he grabbed the magazine again, and arranged himself into a picture of unconcern.
“Oh there you are…” he began, trying to sound airy, and then saw Draco’s face. He looked like someone had died. “What on earth is the matter? You look awful.”
Draco didn’t reply for several moments, just gazed into the middle distance, like someone who had seen the Snitch snatched from under their nose and couldn’t quite come to terms with it. “I’ve just had dinner with Lucius,” he said eventually.
“I know,” Ron replied.
“He brought someone along with him.” Draco stumbled forward, and slumped onto the sofa next to Ron. “Someone unexpected.”
“Well, short of him bringing back Voldemort, I can’t see what’s got you into such a state. Even if it is Voldemort, just say the word. I’ve got a couple of mates who are very good at seeing off Dark Lords, and we’ll just nip round and sort things out.” He patted Draco on the hand.
“It was one of your mates,” Draco said, still sounding shocked.
“Harry? What was he doing there?”
“Not Harry, the other one.”
“Hermione? Oh, that’s all right then. You had me worried for a bit.”
Draco fixed him with a glare. “You think that my father having dinner with your ex is in some way ‘all right’. Has someone Confunded you?”
Ron shifted uncomfortably. He was going to have to come clean about something, and that was never fun. Draco had an ability to hold grudges that would put Hermione to shame, and it had taken him months to get back into her good books after being caught snogging Draco at her birthday party. There were, he had to admit, more tactful ways of breaking up with someone, so he didn’t hold it against her that she’d fired off a volley of hexes. Most of the damage had healed quickly enough. He knew that Draco resented it, though - which was stupid really, because it was nothing less than he would have done in the same position.
“Well, she did mention that she was going out to lunch with him a couple of months ago, so it’s not really a surprise,” he said, trying to make it sound as if it was something that had slipped his mind as unworthy of mention rather than a bloody big secret.
“You knew that Lucius was seeing Granger?” Draco said, his voice rising in indignation. “You knew, and didn’t think to tell me?”
“They’re not seeing each other.” Ron laughed. “Apparently, he… er .. wanted to have his mind set at rest about … you know… us.” Ron congratulated himself on having made it to the end of the sentence without letting slip that Lucius had tried to recruit Hermione to split Draco and Ron up, and had been sent off with a flea in his ear. Hermione might not have been entirely happy at being dumped for another man, but she wasn’t going to go behind a friend’s back either.
Ron was just congratulating himself on having got away with it, when Draco dropped the bombshell. “Of course they’re seeing each other; they’re engaged.”
Ron grinned. “That’s not funny, Draco. Come off it.”
His grin faded, transmuted into a nervous grimace, as he realised that Draco wasn’t joking. “Shit. How the… why… I don’t… fuck.”
“That was my reaction, though to be fair, I expect I expressed it with rather less spluttering and a lot more vigour. It didn’t go down well. We had a blazing row - in public as well! - and I am in imminent danger of being disinherited in favour of a little half-blood. I hope you can afford to support me in the style to which I am accustomed, because if that vindictive bitch gets her way…”
“Hermione is pregnant?” Ron spluttered. “Good god. That doesn’t sound like her - she can’t have planned it.”
“Not yet,” Draco said mournfully. “But it can only be a matter of time. I shall have to get a job and practise economies.”
“Don’t be a pillock,” Ron said harshly. “This is more important than your inheritance - Hermione’s life might be in danger.”
Draco stiffened. “More important?” His voice sounded odd, as if it belonged to someone else, someone other than the man he’d spent the last year with. “Her life in danger? It’s much more likely that my poor bloody father’s at risk of being taken for every Knut he owns by that harpy- this is her revenge for you choosing me over her, you mark my words.”
“Hermione isn’t like that,” Ron snarled. “You know she isn’t.”
“Yes, she is like that,” Draco snapped. “Just ask Umbridge - I hear she still has nightmares about the Forbidden Forrest.”
It wasn’t the happiest of examples to have chosen. It might be true that Umbridge was still mentally scarred after her stay with the centaurs but Ron didn’t give a damn, and it brought back unfortunate memories of how much time he and Draco had spent on opposite sides before Malfoy père and fils had suddenly reformed.
“Hermione usually has a good reason for what she does.” Ron shrugged.
“I should have known you’d take her side,” Draco said, shooting to his feet and levelling an accusing finger at Ron. “You always do.”
“Bollocks,” Ron replied.
Usually that would be the cue for Draco to make some suggestive comment, and they would retire to the bedroom for make-up sex - or just shag on the sofa - but this time Draco wasn’t playing. He just stood there white-lipped and shaking with fury.
“You’ve never liked my father, have you?”
Ron’s head jerked; he couldn’t deny it. “He’s not my favourite person,” he said.
“No, that’s Hermione,” Draco sneered.
“Actually, it’s you, you prat, though I’m wondering why at the moment.”
Draco relaxed fractionally, but only someone who knew him well would be able to tell. “I just…”
Whatever Draco was going to say was interrupted by the sound of someone knocking at the door. He turned sharply on his heel, and stalked to the door. He opened it in a typically dramatic Malfoy manner but didn’t break out in the torrent of abuse that Ron expected. The reason for that became evident when the cold tones of Lucius Malfoy asked, “Do you intend to invite me in, or will you leave me kicking my heels on your threshold?”
Ron stood up, just as Draco gave way, allowing his father to enter the room. “Mr Weasley,” Lucius said, in the same clipped manner. “I presume my son has passed on the good news?”
Ron nodded. He didn’t trust himself to say anything that wouldn’t make the situation worse.
“How very gratifying to receive so much congratulation,” said Lucius. “My cup… runneth over with joy.”
Ron winced. Draco was a sarcastic sod when he put his mind to it, but he was a novice compared with his father. Sometimes, in the dark hours of the morning after a particularly nasty squabble, he wondered whether Draco was going to turn into another Lucius. Mostly, he thought not. Something had gone very badly wrong in Lucius’ life at some point to reduce him to this bitter man, and, whilst Draco was an affected ponce in many ways, he had an inner core of sweetness that was missing from his father. You just had to work very hard to find it.
“Look,” Ron said. “I can see that you two need some time together. You’ve got … things to talk about. I’ll leave you to it.”
Lucius’ cold eyes rested on Ron for a moment. “Do give Hermione my regards when you see her,” he said. Draco stiffened. “And do avoid upsetting her any more than necessary; she’s had quite enough drama for one evening.”
Ron met his gaze - long enough to show that he wasn’t backing down, but not long enough to get into some battle for dominance - then nodded. He was a bit brighter than the average dragon and didn’t need to prove who had the bigger… tail to see who was going to win.
Ron kissed Draco on his cheek. “I’ll see you in a bit,” he said. “And don’t worry.”
The last thing he heard before he Apparated away was Lucius saying, “I do wonder sometimes, Draco, where this streak of what can only be referred to as stupidity comes from? It certainly isn’t from me.”
Christ, he was a bastard.
The thought of Lucius with Hermione made him angry. She deserved better than that.
Hermione was expecting him. She opened the door, and gave him a long, cool stare that reminded him of Lucius. She was still dressed in the robes she’d worn to go to dinner, making her look older and more sophisticated. He didn’t like it; she didn’t look like his Hermione any more.
“I suppose you’d better come in,” she said, standing back to let him pass.
“Don’t worry,” he replied. “Your boyfriend’s told me not to upset you, and we all know what happens to people who cross Malfoys.”
His joke fell dreadfully flat, so he hurried on to add, “In my case, it usually means sleeping on that damned sofa. I don’t know if there’s anything that Lucius could do that’d be worse than that.”
Her lips twitched up in a smile, but it was quickly suppressed. She wasn’t in the mood to be entertained.
He sighed.
“So, you and Lucius, then?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, come on, you have to give me more than that.”
Hermione looked mutinous. “No, I don’t. A true friend would stand by my decisions,”
Ron settled down on the sofa - it was a proper, comfortable sofa, with cushions and everything - and said, “No, they wouldn’t. True friends stop people from running off and doing daft things. True friends don’t let people they care about jump off cliffs, do they?”
“I suppose not,” Hermione said, sitting down in a chair opposite him. “Not that marrying Lucius is like jumping off a cliff.”
Ron could think of several differences between marrying Lucius and jumping off a cliff. The thing was, all of them came out in favour of the cliff. It’d be quicker for one thing.
“All right,” she said. “We met, as you know, when he wanted to discuss you and Draco. I thought that it wouldn’t do any harm to see what he was up to, and it could do the two of you a bit of good. Well, after a bit, he was getting irritating, so I might have got a bit cross and I don’t suppose many people have ever told Lucius off, and erm…well, he liked it.
“Not that he said that in as many words, the sneaky sod. Oh no, he kept asking me out for dinner and letting me think that I was persuading him that he should leave you two well alone - you know, I don’t think he had any intention of interfering, he was just stringing me along - and then one day…” Hermione’s face lit up, the way she did when she had a particularly interesting problem to solve, or found a new book to read, and Ron’s heart sank. He’d never seen her look like that at him; she clearly had it bad.
“One day,” she continued. “He indicated that his interest in me was rather more personal, and wondered whether he was losing his touch because I really wasn’t picking up any of his hints, and I sort of blinked at him because I had no idea what he was talking about.
“And I think that, because I didn’t run off screaming or slap his face, he took that as encouragement and took a more direct approach, which was rather more effective than dropping hints.”
Ron had a fair idea what the direct approach was. Draco had made his feelings known by way of a marathon shagging session that had left Ron weak and bewildered and almost completely powerless to resist the remorseless juggernaut of Draco wanting him. Lucius was older, and therefore could be expected to be more experienced and better at the whole seduction business. He was surprised she was still able to think coherently. And grateful to be spared the details, of course.
“And how do you know he loves you?” Ron asked. “Because good sex alone isn’t enough to get married for.”
“No, but it’s a start,” she replied. “And a welcome change.”
It took a couple of seconds for that to sink in. “I was young,” he protested. “So were you. We didn’t really know what we were doing.”
“And you were gay, and that didn’t help either, did it?” She sighed. “We were never good together, but we still kept on trying. It’s not you so much… well, it’s mostly you, actually, so don’t think you’re off the hook, Ronald Weasley. For ages, I thought it was me.”
“No,” he protested. “Never you.”
“I know that now, but it took me a long time to realise it.”
Ron felt sick. He’d never realised how much he’d hurt Hermione. After the initial hexing she’d been calm and reasonable and even supportive of him, and all the while she’d been thinking that she’d failed in some way. And he knew how much she hated failure.
And then Lucius was there to pick up the pieces, though it sounded as if that hadn’t gone quite as he'd expected. He could only glimpse the workings of Lucius’ mind through the prism of Draco’s personality but there was nothing that irritated him more than being ignored. And that was essentially what Hermione had been doing - ignoring Lucius - but not in a studied, tactical way. It was like the wolf descending on its prey to find it looking back at him, utterly unconcerned, and scratching its ear.
It was a recipe for disaster; that’s what it was.
“Did he propose or you?” he asked. “Because I know what you’re like when you want something.”
He’d only intended that for a joke, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Both of them were determined to get what they wanted, whilst he was lazier - he supposed you could call it that. He, and Draco, both; muddling along together.
“He asked me. I can’t say I was expecting it, but I wasn’t going to say no. He’s not afraid of me, Ron.” Hermione smiled fondly. “I like that. I don’t have to pretend to be less than I am to make him feel comfortable. And he’s paying his house-elves. Not a lot, but he is doing it. Not because he thinks I’m right, but because it’s the only way I’d move into the manor, though I’m not supposed to tell anyone that,” she said. “He’ll take away my library privileges, if I’m not careful.”
“He’s dangerous,” he protested.
“So am I,” she replied.
“He’s ruthless,” Ron said helplessly.
“So’s Draco.”
“He’s not!”
“Oh, come off it,” she said. “Are you really telling me that you believe you were caught snogging at my twenty-first birthday party accidentally? That he didn’t plan it?”
Ron had never thought about it. He’d been too busy dodging hexes at the time, and the next couple of months had been spent grovelling to his family and friends, trying to explain why he’d done what he’d done. He hadn’t stopped for a moment to consider that a wizard as powerful as Draco could have cast some discreet charms to make sure they hadn’t been caught red handed. Well, more red-cocked, when you thought about it.
God, he was an idiot.
“I wanted to have that last day,” he said. “He kept telling me I had to choose, but I wouldn’t. It was selfish really, but I wanted one last day with my friends before everything changed. I didn’t think they’d speak to me ever again once they knew.”
“I know,” she said. “I knew you were cheating on me, just not who with. I knew, because you started paying attention to what I said, and buying me things I actually liked. You used to buy me books on Quidditch, and then, the next thing I knew, it was complex books on Arithmancy and the latest Potions journal.”
“Draco thought that…” Ron went white. Draco had suggested buying those things for Hermione. He’d never before realised that that was almost as big a betrayal as sleeping with him - that Draco knew more about what Hermione liked than Ron did - and how utterly cheap it had been to rely on his boyfriend to keep Hermione sweet.
Hermione nodded. “I thought so. Don’t look so worried; it’s all in the past now.”
“It isn’t, though, is it?” Ron stumbled for the right words. “I mean, Draco is convinced that this is all some kind of revenge, and he won’t believe that you’re not like that. It’s as if he hates you, but I don’t understand why.”
“Think about it,” she said. “Sixth year was spent chasing after Lavender when you really wanted to go out with me, and then, when you got me, it was barely a year before you started sneaking around behind my back with Draco. You’re not… the most reliable of boyfriends, I’m sorry. And it’s a lot easier to blame me than it is to blame you.”
Ron felt like he’d taken a Bludger to the gut. “I… God. I hadn’t thought of it like that. I was just… young and stupid I suppose.”
“And, of course, it doesn’t help that Molly’s never invited him to The Burrow.”
And there was another Bludger. “She has, I just didn’t tell him. I didn’t think he’d want to go.” And didn’t want to sit through several hours of Draco looking down his nose at The Burrow.
“Oh, Ron,” Hermione replied. “You are an idiot, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am,” he said. “How do you know this stuff? How do you stop making such awful, bloody mistakes?”
“I don’t; not really. There isn’t a homework planner for relationships; just lots and lots of bloody hard work.”
“Bugger,” he said. “If you don’t know how to do it, then what hope is there for me?”
“As much as you want there to be.”
“That’s not very encouraging.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I used up all my insane optimism in defeating Voldemort. This is real life; it’s much, much harder.” And then she grinned, but he knew she meant it, because it was true.
He was going to have to grow up. It was bugger, but there it was.
He left shortly thereafter. He couldn’t criticise her choices, when he hadn’t even been aware of the ones that he’d been making while he drifted into a relationship with Draco. He didn’t Apparate straight back to the flat but wandered around aimlessly for a while, which pretty much summed up how he’d been living his life so far.
When he finally returned home, Lucius was still there, and Draco looked a little less taut. Father and son had reconciled, it seemed, or at least agreed to paper over the cracks.
“How was Hermione?” Draco asked, and where once Ron would have just heard the edge in his voice, now he could hear the underlying uncertainty.
“Fine,” he replied, and settled on the sofa next to Draco. “She seems happy.”
“Is there any reason she ought not to be?” Lucius asked coldly.
“None at all,” Ron replied. “I’m sorry I didn’t offer my congratulations earlier, but it was something of a shock. It feels like we only left school last week, and now one of us is settling down and getting married. Goodness me, it’ll be Harry next.”
Both Malfoys were looking at him as if he were insane. This was not the reaction they were expecting.
“I was wondering,” he continued, “if you and Hermione would like to come over for dinner one evening. Draco is always saying we should entertain more.”
“Erm, yes,” Draco said. “Absolutely.”
“Not next weekend, though, because we’re going to my mother’s for lunch on Saturday,” Ron added. “And we’ll need all of Sunday to recover.”
“Are we?” Draco asked, utterly thrown by the news.
“We are,” Ron said firmly. “And I don’t want to hear any excuses from you - it’s about time you met my mother properly.”
It was probably unkind to use his mother’s tactics against Draco, when he hadn’t been trained to deal with them, but under the circumstances he could do with the head start. A couple of family lunches, and he’d be picking up the technique in no time at all.
In the meantime, well, no one said he had to grow up straight away.
Author: shiv5468
Title: Sofa So Good
Pairings: Ron/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Draco comes home with some unexpected news for Ron.
Ron sat on the cream sofa, with his legs perched on the coffee table before him, and pretended to read a magazine.
His mother didn’t think that cream was a proper colour for a sofa, but Draco had insisted. Draco thought it showed off Ron’s colouring, and his other suggestion - green - was clearly unacceptable to a Gryffindor. Ron got teased enough by his mates for taking up with the Slytherin’s Slytherin, without taking additional flak for a green colour scheme.
It was bad enough he had to think about a colour scheme - not that he did really, but Draco had shown him curtain fabrics, and carpet samples, and somehow he’d found himself being Consulted and Having Opinions without meaning to.
Draco was very good at that sort of thing: sneaking things up on you without you noticing. Living with him was like walking across Morecambe Bay: you thought you knew where all the landmarks were, until one day you found yourself being sucked under and flailing around hoping to be rescued before you were up to your neck in quicksand.
Ron hadn’t wanted this sofa at all. It wasn’t the cream he objected to, though his mother had plenty to say on the issue of protective charms and keeping things clean that all sounded very sensible, but all of the sticky out bits. In his view a sofa should be plump and soft and comfortable to sit on, and this sofa looked like nothing more than a game of jackstraws. All it would take was tugging one of the metal thingies, and the whole thing would fall apart.
But his mother had disapproved, and she’d even gone so far as tutting, and that meant that he had to take Draco’s side or the pair of them would take that as a sign that he was going off Malfoy and nothing could be further from the truth.
The sofa wasn’t just somewhere to sit; it was a bone of contention and a symbol of his affection for Draco all rolled into one.
He turned a page of the magazine, and tried to concentrate on the article.
Draco was late.
Which wasn’t really a reason to worry, even if you did know that he was having dinner with Lucius, and that Lucius didn’t approve of their relationship, because Lucius wasn’t going to do anything drastic or permanent in a public place - that’s what Draco said, and Ron believed him - so it was just likely that the dinner had gone on longer than expected.
Perhaps the port had been particularly fine, or Lucius had actually found something pleasant to say to his son.
Or perhaps Draco had been run over by the Knight Bus, because that was a lot more likely than Lucius having a good word to say to anyone. Although he wasn’t going to say that to Draco because that was very clearly a topic marked Quicksand: Do Not Enter.
He turned another three pages without reading a word written on them, then dropped the magazine. It wasn’t as if he was that interested in Vogue anyway.
Somehow his Quidditch magazines always made their way into the bathroom, so that Draco could read them in the bath, and it was too much effort to go and fetch one. Even Accio was too much effort, and took valuable energy away from fretting about Draco.
The fire flared up, and he grabbed the magazine again, and arranged himself into a picture of unconcern.
“Oh there you are…” he began, trying to sound airy, and then saw Draco’s face. He looked like someone had died. “What on earth is the matter? You look awful.”
Draco didn’t reply for several moments, just gazed into the middle distance, like someone who had seen the Snitch snatched from under their nose and couldn’t quite come to terms with it. “I’ve just had dinner with Lucius,” he said eventually.
“I know,” Ron replied.
“He brought someone along with him.” Draco stumbled forward, and slumped onto the sofa next to Ron. “Someone unexpected.”
“Well, short of him bringing back Voldemort, I can’t see what’s got you into such a state. Even if it is Voldemort, just say the word. I’ve got a couple of mates who are very good at seeing off Dark Lords, and we’ll just nip round and sort things out.” He patted Draco on the hand.
“It was one of your mates,” Draco said, still sounding shocked.
“Harry? What was he doing there?”
“Not Harry, the other one.”
“Hermione? Oh, that’s all right then. You had me worried for a bit.”
Draco fixed him with a glare. “You think that my father having dinner with your ex is in some way ‘all right’. Has someone Confunded you?”
Ron shifted uncomfortably. He was going to have to come clean about something, and that was never fun. Draco had an ability to hold grudges that would put Hermione to shame, and it had taken him months to get back into her good books after being caught snogging Draco at her birthday party. There were, he had to admit, more tactful ways of breaking up with someone, so he didn’t hold it against her that she’d fired off a volley of hexes. Most of the damage had healed quickly enough. He knew that Draco resented it, though - which was stupid really, because it was nothing less than he would have done in the same position.
“Well, she did mention that she was going out to lunch with him a couple of months ago, so it’s not really a surprise,” he said, trying to make it sound as if it was something that had slipped his mind as unworthy of mention rather than a bloody big secret.
“You knew that Lucius was seeing Granger?” Draco said, his voice rising in indignation. “You knew, and didn’t think to tell me?”
“They’re not seeing each other.” Ron laughed. “Apparently, he… er .. wanted to have his mind set at rest about … you know… us.” Ron congratulated himself on having made it to the end of the sentence without letting slip that Lucius had tried to recruit Hermione to split Draco and Ron up, and had been sent off with a flea in his ear. Hermione might not have been entirely happy at being dumped for another man, but she wasn’t going to go behind a friend’s back either.
Ron was just congratulating himself on having got away with it, when Draco dropped the bombshell. “Of course they’re seeing each other; they’re engaged.”
Ron grinned. “That’s not funny, Draco. Come off it.”
His grin faded, transmuted into a nervous grimace, as he realised that Draco wasn’t joking. “Shit. How the… why… I don’t… fuck.”
“That was my reaction, though to be fair, I expect I expressed it with rather less spluttering and a lot more vigour. It didn’t go down well. We had a blazing row - in public as well! - and I am in imminent danger of being disinherited in favour of a little half-blood. I hope you can afford to support me in the style to which I am accustomed, because if that vindictive bitch gets her way…”
“Hermione is pregnant?” Ron spluttered. “Good god. That doesn’t sound like her - she can’t have planned it.”
“Not yet,” Draco said mournfully. “But it can only be a matter of time. I shall have to get a job and practise economies.”
“Don’t be a pillock,” Ron said harshly. “This is more important than your inheritance - Hermione’s life might be in danger.”
Draco stiffened. “More important?” His voice sounded odd, as if it belonged to someone else, someone other than the man he’d spent the last year with. “Her life in danger? It’s much more likely that my poor bloody father’s at risk of being taken for every Knut he owns by that harpy- this is her revenge for you choosing me over her, you mark my words.”
“Hermione isn’t like that,” Ron snarled. “You know she isn’t.”
“Yes, she is like that,” Draco snapped. “Just ask Umbridge - I hear she still has nightmares about the Forbidden Forrest.”
It wasn’t the happiest of examples to have chosen. It might be true that Umbridge was still mentally scarred after her stay with the centaurs but Ron didn’t give a damn, and it brought back unfortunate memories of how much time he and Draco had spent on opposite sides before Malfoy père and fils had suddenly reformed.
“Hermione usually has a good reason for what she does.” Ron shrugged.
“I should have known you’d take her side,” Draco said, shooting to his feet and levelling an accusing finger at Ron. “You always do.”
“Bollocks,” Ron replied.
Usually that would be the cue for Draco to make some suggestive comment, and they would retire to the bedroom for make-up sex - or just shag on the sofa - but this time Draco wasn’t playing. He just stood there white-lipped and shaking with fury.
“You’ve never liked my father, have you?”
Ron’s head jerked; he couldn’t deny it. “He’s not my favourite person,” he said.
“No, that’s Hermione,” Draco sneered.
“Actually, it’s you, you prat, though I’m wondering why at the moment.”
Draco relaxed fractionally, but only someone who knew him well would be able to tell. “I just…”
Whatever Draco was going to say was interrupted by the sound of someone knocking at the door. He turned sharply on his heel, and stalked to the door. He opened it in a typically dramatic Malfoy manner but didn’t break out in the torrent of abuse that Ron expected. The reason for that became evident when the cold tones of Lucius Malfoy asked, “Do you intend to invite me in, or will you leave me kicking my heels on your threshold?”
Ron stood up, just as Draco gave way, allowing his father to enter the room. “Mr Weasley,” Lucius said, in the same clipped manner. “I presume my son has passed on the good news?”
Ron nodded. He didn’t trust himself to say anything that wouldn’t make the situation worse.
“How very gratifying to receive so much congratulation,” said Lucius. “My cup… runneth over with joy.”
Ron winced. Draco was a sarcastic sod when he put his mind to it, but he was a novice compared with his father. Sometimes, in the dark hours of the morning after a particularly nasty squabble, he wondered whether Draco was going to turn into another Lucius. Mostly, he thought not. Something had gone very badly wrong in Lucius’ life at some point to reduce him to this bitter man, and, whilst Draco was an affected ponce in many ways, he had an inner core of sweetness that was missing from his father. You just had to work very hard to find it.
“Look,” Ron said. “I can see that you two need some time together. You’ve got … things to talk about. I’ll leave you to it.”
Lucius’ cold eyes rested on Ron for a moment. “Do give Hermione my regards when you see her,” he said. Draco stiffened. “And do avoid upsetting her any more than necessary; she’s had quite enough drama for one evening.”
Ron met his gaze - long enough to show that he wasn’t backing down, but not long enough to get into some battle for dominance - then nodded. He was a bit brighter than the average dragon and didn’t need to prove who had the bigger… tail to see who was going to win.
Ron kissed Draco on his cheek. “I’ll see you in a bit,” he said. “And don’t worry.”
The last thing he heard before he Apparated away was Lucius saying, “I do wonder sometimes, Draco, where this streak of what can only be referred to as stupidity comes from? It certainly isn’t from me.”
Christ, he was a bastard.
The thought of Lucius with Hermione made him angry. She deserved better than that.
Hermione was expecting him. She opened the door, and gave him a long, cool stare that reminded him of Lucius. She was still dressed in the robes she’d worn to go to dinner, making her look older and more sophisticated. He didn’t like it; she didn’t look like his Hermione any more.
“I suppose you’d better come in,” she said, standing back to let him pass.
“Don’t worry,” he replied. “Your boyfriend’s told me not to upset you, and we all know what happens to people who cross Malfoys.”
His joke fell dreadfully flat, so he hurried on to add, “In my case, it usually means sleeping on that damned sofa. I don’t know if there’s anything that Lucius could do that’d be worse than that.”
Her lips twitched up in a smile, but it was quickly suppressed. She wasn’t in the mood to be entertained.
He sighed.
“So, you and Lucius, then?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, come on, you have to give me more than that.”
Hermione looked mutinous. “No, I don’t. A true friend would stand by my decisions,”
Ron settled down on the sofa - it was a proper, comfortable sofa, with cushions and everything - and said, “No, they wouldn’t. True friends stop people from running off and doing daft things. True friends don’t let people they care about jump off cliffs, do they?”
“I suppose not,” Hermione said, sitting down in a chair opposite him. “Not that marrying Lucius is like jumping off a cliff.”
Ron could think of several differences between marrying Lucius and jumping off a cliff. The thing was, all of them came out in favour of the cliff. It’d be quicker for one thing.
“All right,” she said. “We met, as you know, when he wanted to discuss you and Draco. I thought that it wouldn’t do any harm to see what he was up to, and it could do the two of you a bit of good. Well, after a bit, he was getting irritating, so I might have got a bit cross and I don’t suppose many people have ever told Lucius off, and erm…well, he liked it.
“Not that he said that in as many words, the sneaky sod. Oh no, he kept asking me out for dinner and letting me think that I was persuading him that he should leave you two well alone - you know, I don’t think he had any intention of interfering, he was just stringing me along - and then one day…” Hermione’s face lit up, the way she did when she had a particularly interesting problem to solve, or found a new book to read, and Ron’s heart sank. He’d never seen her look like that at him; she clearly had it bad.
“One day,” she continued. “He indicated that his interest in me was rather more personal, and wondered whether he was losing his touch because I really wasn’t picking up any of his hints, and I sort of blinked at him because I had no idea what he was talking about.
“And I think that, because I didn’t run off screaming or slap his face, he took that as encouragement and took a more direct approach, which was rather more effective than dropping hints.”
Ron had a fair idea what the direct approach was. Draco had made his feelings known by way of a marathon shagging session that had left Ron weak and bewildered and almost completely powerless to resist the remorseless juggernaut of Draco wanting him. Lucius was older, and therefore could be expected to be more experienced and better at the whole seduction business. He was surprised she was still able to think coherently. And grateful to be spared the details, of course.
“And how do you know he loves you?” Ron asked. “Because good sex alone isn’t enough to get married for.”
“No, but it’s a start,” she replied. “And a welcome change.”
It took a couple of seconds for that to sink in. “I was young,” he protested. “So were you. We didn’t really know what we were doing.”
“And you were gay, and that didn’t help either, did it?” She sighed. “We were never good together, but we still kept on trying. It’s not you so much… well, it’s mostly you, actually, so don’t think you’re off the hook, Ronald Weasley. For ages, I thought it was me.”
“No,” he protested. “Never you.”
“I know that now, but it took me a long time to realise it.”
Ron felt sick. He’d never realised how much he’d hurt Hermione. After the initial hexing she’d been calm and reasonable and even supportive of him, and all the while she’d been thinking that she’d failed in some way. And he knew how much she hated failure.
And then Lucius was there to pick up the pieces, though it sounded as if that hadn’t gone quite as he'd expected. He could only glimpse the workings of Lucius’ mind through the prism of Draco’s personality but there was nothing that irritated him more than being ignored. And that was essentially what Hermione had been doing - ignoring Lucius - but not in a studied, tactical way. It was like the wolf descending on its prey to find it looking back at him, utterly unconcerned, and scratching its ear.
It was a recipe for disaster; that’s what it was.
“Did he propose or you?” he asked. “Because I know what you’re like when you want something.”
He’d only intended that for a joke, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Both of them were determined to get what they wanted, whilst he was lazier - he supposed you could call it that. He, and Draco, both; muddling along together.
“He asked me. I can’t say I was expecting it, but I wasn’t going to say no. He’s not afraid of me, Ron.” Hermione smiled fondly. “I like that. I don’t have to pretend to be less than I am to make him feel comfortable. And he’s paying his house-elves. Not a lot, but he is doing it. Not because he thinks I’m right, but because it’s the only way I’d move into the manor, though I’m not supposed to tell anyone that,” she said. “He’ll take away my library privileges, if I’m not careful.”
“He’s dangerous,” he protested.
“So am I,” she replied.
“He’s ruthless,” Ron said helplessly.
“So’s Draco.”
“He’s not!”
“Oh, come off it,” she said. “Are you really telling me that you believe you were caught snogging at my twenty-first birthday party accidentally? That he didn’t plan it?”
Ron had never thought about it. He’d been too busy dodging hexes at the time, and the next couple of months had been spent grovelling to his family and friends, trying to explain why he’d done what he’d done. He hadn’t stopped for a moment to consider that a wizard as powerful as Draco could have cast some discreet charms to make sure they hadn’t been caught red handed. Well, more red-cocked, when you thought about it.
God, he was an idiot.
“I wanted to have that last day,” he said. “He kept telling me I had to choose, but I wouldn’t. It was selfish really, but I wanted one last day with my friends before everything changed. I didn’t think they’d speak to me ever again once they knew.”
“I know,” she said. “I knew you were cheating on me, just not who with. I knew, because you started paying attention to what I said, and buying me things I actually liked. You used to buy me books on Quidditch, and then, the next thing I knew, it was complex books on Arithmancy and the latest Potions journal.”
“Draco thought that…” Ron went white. Draco had suggested buying those things for Hermione. He’d never before realised that that was almost as big a betrayal as sleeping with him - that Draco knew more about what Hermione liked than Ron did - and how utterly cheap it had been to rely on his boyfriend to keep Hermione sweet.
Hermione nodded. “I thought so. Don’t look so worried; it’s all in the past now.”
“It isn’t, though, is it?” Ron stumbled for the right words. “I mean, Draco is convinced that this is all some kind of revenge, and he won’t believe that you’re not like that. It’s as if he hates you, but I don’t understand why.”
“Think about it,” she said. “Sixth year was spent chasing after Lavender when you really wanted to go out with me, and then, when you got me, it was barely a year before you started sneaking around behind my back with Draco. You’re not… the most reliable of boyfriends, I’m sorry. And it’s a lot easier to blame me than it is to blame you.”
Ron felt like he’d taken a Bludger to the gut. “I… God. I hadn’t thought of it like that. I was just… young and stupid I suppose.”
“And, of course, it doesn’t help that Molly’s never invited him to The Burrow.”
And there was another Bludger. “She has, I just didn’t tell him. I didn’t think he’d want to go.” And didn’t want to sit through several hours of Draco looking down his nose at The Burrow.
“Oh, Ron,” Hermione replied. “You are an idiot, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am,” he said. “How do you know this stuff? How do you stop making such awful, bloody mistakes?”
“I don’t; not really. There isn’t a homework planner for relationships; just lots and lots of bloody hard work.”
“Bugger,” he said. “If you don’t know how to do it, then what hope is there for me?”
“As much as you want there to be.”
“That’s not very encouraging.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I used up all my insane optimism in defeating Voldemort. This is real life; it’s much, much harder.” And then she grinned, but he knew she meant it, because it was true.
He was going to have to grow up. It was bugger, but there it was.
He left shortly thereafter. He couldn’t criticise her choices, when he hadn’t even been aware of the ones that he’d been making while he drifted into a relationship with Draco. He didn’t Apparate straight back to the flat but wandered around aimlessly for a while, which pretty much summed up how he’d been living his life so far.
When he finally returned home, Lucius was still there, and Draco looked a little less taut. Father and son had reconciled, it seemed, or at least agreed to paper over the cracks.
“How was Hermione?” Draco asked, and where once Ron would have just heard the edge in his voice, now he could hear the underlying uncertainty.
“Fine,” he replied, and settled on the sofa next to Draco. “She seems happy.”
“Is there any reason she ought not to be?” Lucius asked coldly.
“None at all,” Ron replied. “I’m sorry I didn’t offer my congratulations earlier, but it was something of a shock. It feels like we only left school last week, and now one of us is settling down and getting married. Goodness me, it’ll be Harry next.”
Both Malfoys were looking at him as if he were insane. This was not the reaction they were expecting.
“I was wondering,” he continued, “if you and Hermione would like to come over for dinner one evening. Draco is always saying we should entertain more.”
“Erm, yes,” Draco said. “Absolutely.”
“Not next weekend, though, because we’re going to my mother’s for lunch on Saturday,” Ron added. “And we’ll need all of Sunday to recover.”
“Are we?” Draco asked, utterly thrown by the news.
“We are,” Ron said firmly. “And I don’t want to hear any excuses from you - it’s about time you met my mother properly.”
It was probably unkind to use his mother’s tactics against Draco, when he hadn’t been trained to deal with them, but under the circumstances he could do with the head start. A couple of family lunches, and he’d be picking up the technique in no time at all.
In the meantime, well, no one said he had to grow up straight away.